#but it's the only source of vengeance I get in this life

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

For dating game: Donna Noble for a non Mash option from something I'm pretty sure I've seen you reblog stuff from, BJ, and Klinger

I can't believe I got 2 Donnas for this game and neither were the MASH one haha. And yes I AM a Doctor Who fan but like with Twin Peaks I'm only a shallow fake one because I only feel really passionate about RTD era :( sowwy again. I'm 0 for 2 today. But at least I didn't skip MASH s1-3 AND I didn't skip the 9th Doctor AND I read Laura's diary + Dale Cooper's tapes. So now everyone has to give me a little headpat and forgive me and say they're not mad at me thank you <3

Donna Noble

I couldn’t handle Donna QwQ I couldn’t match her energy it’s very sad :( I feel like I would do the exact opposite of what the Doctor did for her in terms of bringing out her most amazing qualities. And I do really try to highlight and praise the qualities of people in my life!! I just don’t know if I could help her reach her full potential. Which sounds like one of those weird therapy-talk approaches to relationships but unfortunately sometimes when you really admire someone you actually do start thinking about things like “am I supporting her journey effectively” and all that. But this is just a date right so it can just be a casual thing. I feel like Donna is someone with whom I could straight up be like Hey so I was never socialized properly and your last relationship ended comically terribly so do you want to like try practicing dating with each other? I think it could be fun! And then eventually she could move on to find happiness with Mr. Temple :)  

Wait actually sorry quick tangent if Donna doesn’t remember the Doctor what does she think happened to her fiance from way back when. Does she. Does she remember the giant alien spider or. Hang on--

BJ Hunnicutt

BJ Hunnicutt is the human equivalent of Disneyland. Everybody in the entire nation is absolutely obsessively feral over it it’s sooo beautiful it’s sooo fun you just HAVE to experience it it’s a quintessential expression of the American dream blah blah blah. But I will never attend this overpriced (constantly borrowing money) and overcrowded (too much competition from the rest of Mashblr) theme park. I do not care for its fastpass system (willingness to cheat on his partner) or its uninspiring coaster design (anger issues), and I am further offended to hear of the constant introduction of cost-cutting measures that harm visitor experience (growth of mustache). Not even the prospect of purchasing a fully functioning Cogsworth clock (chance to join the Punnihawk polycule) is enough to tempt me. It’s not happening. I am going to Dollywood (Maxwell Klinger).

Maxie my beautiful girl Maxie whomst is so very adored by me

My wife my kitten my sweet snuggly wuggly good time gal. My Dollywood. Know that I love and adore Maxwell for eternity <3

BUT. I must love her from afar because I couldn’t in good conscience waste her time when I figure there must be a more compatible match out there, ya know? Like, I know hardly anything about baseball and I wear the same clothes every day and I don’t eat red meat so I can’t even share those beloved hotdogs. Max deserves the Best as I’m sure we all agree, and we know he wants a serious long term partnership. I want the same thing, so I know that such a lifelong, committed relationship should be with someone who finds themself more easily compatible with Max’s tastes and interests.  

On an unrelated note, Charles sure seemed to get super into baseball in War For All Seasons, huh? :) And we know he cares a lot about his clothes, as we see him hiring a personal tailor at least once! :) And he was surprisingly eager to get to share in Max’s hotdog delivery in The Grim Reaper, too! :) So many random fun facts in this world \^w^/

#sorry 4 slipping in unwanted shipping content right under the wire like a youtuber rushing through a last minute plea to like and subscribe #I couldn't help it your honor :| #Asks that make you wrack your brains for 10 minutes straight only to give up and google what Donna's husband' first name is. It's Shaun. #I wonder if we'll see more of him in the New Content I am legit Excite wahoo #Starky loves answering questions #marley-manson #sorry for being so dismissive of BJ :/ it will happen again #also Idk if that joke made any sense. does anyone here still remember Vriska (Vriska). #mash #THE COGSWORTH CLOCK IS REAL BTW BUT IT'S $80 >:((( FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF I NEED TO STEAL HIM #HE BELONGS WITH ME!!!!! #also to be clear I've never been to disneyland obvs lmao I'm just a Jenny Nicholson / Defunctland enjoyer #I loooove watching stuff about the disney parks being bad and failing I know it's dumb and petty #but it's the only source of vengeance I get in this life #BTW did you know DOS purchased a house that used to belong to Walt Disney. idk if it was like on purpose or anything but he did #king shit I think. I hope he had crazy gay sex there. for petty reasons but also just cause he deserved that obviously. #The fact that literally anyone follows this blog and chooses to see these posts is a Bible level fucking miracle. #THANKS FOR THE ASK <3

[prickly-paprikash]

Something cool about Blue Eye Samurai is how sex is juxtaposed with the end-goals.

I really love how our three protagonists are all obsessed. And that obsession defines them, torments them, and are subsequently reborn through their obsessions.

Mizu, of course, is obsessed with the concept of revenge. It's not even about getting even or getting justice as some might use to justify the bloody road taken—it is simply about seeking satisfaction for Mizu. She cuts a bloody swathe across Japan because of what the Four White Devils did to her mother and herself. She does not concern herself with the ramifications of her wrath but merely charges forward, leaving behind a trail of viscera and gore behind her.

Like I said before, her vengeance and obsession with satisfaction is not painted by the show as wrong. It is how she allows it to affect others along the path. It's why the episode with Madame Kaji is so enlightening; Mizu should not tackle this quest as a vengeful revenant; an onryō. She has let the world define her as a monstrosity and so she embraced it, when Swordfather and Madame Kaji knew what the correct path was to satiate her need for vengeance. Treat her sword as the Artisan's tool it truly is. Treat her body the way an Artist would treat their canvas.

Madame Kaji and Swordfather are both outcasts, for being a woman and a blind man. Yet they found strength in their exclusion, becoming single-minded in their fields of art. Because sex is art and swordsmithing is art. It's what makes Mizu's body writing scene so fucking good.

Artistic vision becomes stagnant when one pulls from only one source. They become rigid and unbending when Mizu, like her namesake, must be fluid. She has shown fluidity in her use of her gender and her morals, but cannot apply that same flexibility towards her goal. Throughout season one, she was becoming an uninspired artist, merely painting the world in hues of scarlet. In a world that forces Women to be either Wives or Whores, Mizu chose to be a Warrior—but a warrior fights for a cause, whether it be just or otherwise. A soldier fights in an army. Mizu is neither of these things. She is an Artist first and foremost, and her medium is Death. Sex, something Mizu was at first hesitant before her failed marriage, and something she actively avoided afterwards, is what gives her a new perspective. Like an Illustrator studying life to better draw their intended worlds, taking inspiration from wherever one can find it.

Taigen and Akemi are also equally affected by the artistry of sex, as befitting of Mizu's fellow protagonists.

Akemi is quite obviously Mizu's narrative foil. Mizu chases after revenge like a bloodhound whereas Akemi longs for freedom like a bird in a cage. Both are fierce women who are unsatisfied with their lot in life, with their sex and gender being used against them in their lives. Literally, the episode "The Tale of the Ronin and the Bride" is a fucking triple entendre:

Mizu is the Ronin as well as the Bride.

The play showcases the tale of the Ronin and the Bride.

It is also Mizu as the Ronin and Akemi as the Bride.

And when Mizu finds her center as she melts down her blade and engages in body writing, this scene of enlightenment is juxtaposed with Akemi laying with her new husband Takayoshi. Both, in this moment, are taking control of their lives through sex. They are both taking control of their futures through the ways Madame Kaji taught them. Mizu and Akemi are both rebels against this oppressive society, and are both talented artists with their body. Whether that be sex, politicking, or ass-kicking.

Taigen, like the two women before, finds freedom through it but in a more subtle manner.

Where Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils, both using sex as a form of art and escape, Taigen finds liberation through his awakening.

Like the closeted bisexual man he is, he begins his journey of self-realization when he first encounters Mizu at the Dojo.

Every single battle these two have is purposefully rife with sexual tension. All his life, Taigen has been taught that a man must live with honor. That he must take control of his life and his identity, or he will have failed and that he is better off dead than to live with such shame.

Taigen is just as much a victim of the Patriarchal society around him. Mizu rails against it violently. Akemi seeks to run away from it all. And Taigen, with the privilege given to him by his manhood, chooses to become a perpetrator, enabling the vicious wheel of society to keep moving forward.

His obsession with honor leads him to hunting down and even protecting Mizu. Mizu is no doubt the better warrior, but even she knows she owes so much to Taigen. The blockhead not only did everything to protect her in the valley, but also sealed his lips shut even under the duress of torture. His obsession with honor becomes an obsession with Mizu.

His regrets over tormenting her over her looks and ethnicity as a child. His shame in having lost so decisively in his own dojo. Taigen was a man born with nothing and climbed up to the top with every advantage he could muster, and suddenly it's all ripped away by this one vengeful spirit passing by.

Taigen learns to surrender control around Mizu. He begins to discover his own sexuality and purpose around Mizu, redefining what honor really means to him now that he, as a man, has a budding attraction towards the man who beat him.

Mizu's Vengeance. Akemi's Freedom. Taigen's Honor. In all three, Sex becomes a catalyst in redefining what each of these concepts truly mean to them all. It's not just sex of course, but it is undeniable how the writers keep juxtaposing sexual acts and thoughts with massive character moments.

It changes how Mizu chases after her Vengeance. It recontextualizes how Akemi can be Free. It showcases the absurdity of the Honor forced upon Taigen.

It's so fucking refreshing seeing Sex not used as fanservice or shoe-horned in just to further a stale, poorly written cis-heterosexual romance; but used as a plot point that cannot be ignored. An impetus that fuels the narrative.

Moving forward, I'm curious as to how sex will be used.

The next few ideas aren't as sound or organized because I'm neither Asexual nor Genderfluid, so please if anyone reads this who understands it better, feel free to point it out.

I think it'd be cool if Mizu met the inverse of Madame Kaji. A person who is apathetic to sex. Sure, Swordfather has shades of this, but I'm tired of the person with disabilities also being on the Asexual spectrum. And I'm not saying that Ace or Graysexual people with disabilities don't exist! But they always tend to be written as having some form of disability (Varys from ASOIAF) or a Robot.

Just as artists need a variety of sources to pull inspiration from, I hope in the next seasons we get to see different perspectives on sex and gender. In London, it feels like Mizu finding the other half of herself, and with that having a better way of tackling her own identity. Whether it be gender, sex, combat, etc.

Basically what this inane rambling amounts to is that Blue Eye Samurai tackles sex and violence and revenge and obsession in ways that most media has yet to truly do. So that was pretty cool.

#blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai spoilers #blue eye samurai season 2 #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #akemi #taigen #metal #media analysis #character analysis #blue eye samurai meta #netflix are cowards for not announcing season 2 immediately #come on dickheads #the fans and the creators have been fighting for the green light #hand it over #you cocks #paprikash ramblings

[randomdragonfires]

If The Sun Ever Rises | Chapter 4

Chapter 4 | Right Where You Left Me

SUMMARY | After narrowly escaping the Battle Above God’s Eye, Prince Aemond is now a hidden fugitive within the very kingdom he once ruled. Driven by vengeance, he plans to usurp Aegon III and avenge his family. His rage-blinded path to the throne begins with getting rid of Cregan Stark and the men who support his nephew’s rule. Having nothing to lose, he recklessly kidnaps the Northerner’s betrothed - his own niece - hoping to lure him and his men out to fight.

Soon, Aemond finds that memories of a first love are strong, and that he cannot steel his heart against the woman he has loved all his life.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; Canon Divergence - Aemond lives (but barely); Violence; Stockholm Syndrome; Mental and Physical Trauma; Angst; Canon Incest; Manipulation; No Happy Endings In This House YAY; Slow burn, I think?

WORD COUNT | 3.4k

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

The days passed by in a quiet, green haze.

The cave where she had been made to stay shouldn’t have provided her with as much solitude as it did, given her circumstances. But with each passing moment, she found herself healing, growing stronger, and seeing as clearly as the blue sapphire that now haunted her dreams. She embraced the quietness of it all, allowing her situation to wash over her as she came to terms with it.

She had run, and she hadn’t made it. The claw marks and gashes all over her form were definite proof. In these last few days, she had been too weak to move. She felt pain with every weak movement in her limbs, ensuring her captivity for a longer period of time. But in the time that had passed as she recovered, one thing was constant.

The nightmares, and him.

Night after night, she found herself ensnared in a labyrinth of nightmares, each more vivid and terrifying than the last. In the darkness of her dreams, the snarling beast lurked, its eyes gleaming with malice as it bore down upon her with relentless fury. She would awaken with a start, her heart pounding against her chest as she gasped for air, drenched in cold sweat. The cave around her offered no solace, its walls closing in like the jaws of the predator she’d been trying to escape in her dreams.

In her tired state of mind, she thought she had imagined his warm palm on her forehead, checking for a fever. Had she imagined his mumbled Valyrian whispers too? Ēdrugon sȳrī, mandianna, she had heard, his voice as mellifluous as the calm waters of the stream outside. [Sleep well, niece.]

She had always loved listening to him speak.

At first, his presence was a comfort, his soothing words a balm to her frayed nerves. He would speak to her in hushed tones, murmuring smooth Valyrian into her ears as she struggled to comprehend the light touch of his moving lips on her skin. And when words failed, he would hold her close, his arms a sanctuary against the dreams that threatened to consume her.

Nyke paktot kesīr, he would say. Ao sagon rūsīr issa. [I’m here now… you’re with me.]

But as the nights wore on, confusion crept into her heart, clouding her thoughts like a dense fog. His touch, once a source of uninhibited, fanciful love, now stirred something unfamiliar within her, a longing and heaviness that she could not name. She would lie awake, breathing and panting in the silence of the cave, her mind awash with questions that had no answers.

Was it his gentle touch that set her soul ablaze, or was it merely the anger at being ripped away from her beloved in the middle of the night? How did it come to this? How did he end up becoming the very safety that she sought to gain by running far and away from him? She could not say, and so she clung to him like a lifeline, seeking refuge in the warmth of his embrace. What else could she do?

Those were the thoughts that consumed her as she sat up, her body sore as she grunted in pain. She sat up for the first time in what she assumed could only be days, and managed to stand up too. She braced herself with a hand on the slippery cave wall, her eyes landing on the mountain of discarded bandages - covered presumably in her own blood.

She closed her eyes shut and tried to get a grip on her surroundings once more - it seemed that no matter how many times she had tried, she couldn’t come to terms with being brought to the jungle by a man who made her heart rush to wherever he touched her - no matter his intentions to hurt her family.

Are you ashamed of me, mother? For wanting him despite it all? For never stopping?

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, determined to wrestle back control from the haunting memories that threatened to take her for all she was worth. At first, all she could hear were the echoes of that harrowing encounter - the guttural snarls of the boar and the piercing screams - both his and hers - that tore through the air.

No, no, no.

But she refused to let fear hold her captive any longer. Slowly, she forced her mind to shift its focus, reaching beyond the darkness that threatened to suffocate her. Gradually, the noises of her nightmares began to fade, replaced by the gentle sounds of the forest - the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the melodious chirping of birds, and the soothing murmur of the stream of water trickling nearby. Before she knew it, the water had called to her and she walked slowly before stepping inside.

The sting of the wounds from initial contact faded and gave way to a relaxing sensation that made her skin tingle. Her shift billowed in the water, and she let herself breathe before she lifted her head up to breathe. She kept up these motions until she raised her head up to find that Aemond had come back, from wherever he’d gone. His presence, though familiar, sent a jolt of anticipation coursing through her veins, stirring something deep within her.

His expression was one that she knew all too well; there was no mistaking the lust in his eyes as they simply stared at each other, unmoving. In the calmness of her mind, it was easy to forget the weight of their shared history, to lose herself in the fantasy of a time long before the war had torn them apart. Every stolen kiss, every tender touch—it all rushed back to her in a dizzying whirlwind of emotion, threatening to consume her with its intensity.

If she were to beckon him to her right now, would he come? Should she?

The question lingered in the air, heavy with anticipation and uncertainty. But before she could find the words to speak, he was the first to look away, breaking the spell that had held them captive. With a heavy sigh, she watched as he turned away, the distance between them stretching like an unbridgeable chasm. And in that bittersweet moment, she knew that some things were better left unsaid, some desires left unfulfilled. For as much as she yearned for his touch, she also knew the pain that lay in its wake—the shattered dreams, the broken promises.

One moment she wanted to see him die, and the next, her heart would tear itself apart with how much it wanted him. She hated this, not knowing how she felt about him.

But didn’t she?

He set up a fire and sat on a log, staring into the fire like it held all the answers. What did he hope to see?

When the water went from being calming to making her feel cold, she stepped out, damp clothes sticking to her form as she walked, resembling a Goddess come to life. She took her seat next to him, hugging her knees tight as she leaned forward to take in the warmth. She breathed in the smoky smell of the fire, goosebumps rising from the heat of the fire and his gaze, now focused on her.

“How long do you plan on keeping me here, uncle?”

Winterfell was beginning to feel less like a foreign land and more like a place she could learn to love and call home.

She had taken her time familiarizing herself with every nook and corner without intruding on what she wasn’t meant to see in her capacity as a guest. If the war ends in her mother’s favor, she knows she’ll soon be Lady of this castle - no longer a guest. She had walked around the gardens, taken her time with the Godswood, gone down to visit the kitchens, and strolled on the grounds countless times. She had made friends, people she loved to speak to and smile at every day; those who made this uncertain time much more bearable as she tried to push horrid thoughts about her family at war to the back of her mind.

And him.

Finding no answers to her confusions as to why Aemond would draw first blood by killing the brother of the woman he loved, her mind raced much too fast for her convenience. She knew why, though, deep down. She simply refused to believe it.

Believing it would mean coming to terms with the fact that he had given up on her. On them.

While she chose not to trust her mind, her heart was a lot more fickle. Lord Stark had been perfectly gracious and treated her with all the gentleness worthy of a Princess and a future wife. It was a calmer, happier, and much less doubtful relationship than the one she had with Aemond. It was steady, and it was hers now.

This would all be hers. Lord Stark would rule the Keep, and she would rule him. He was hers, and he made sure she had no doubts about the same.

The thought did not make her feel as bad as it used to. This would be her way of moving on with her life and doing her part to ensure her mother’s victory. Cregan brought her a satisfaction of doing things right that Aemond did not. She never had to doubt him or herself with this man. Lighter feelings of infatuation clouded her mind as she walked to the library, her purposeful stride taking her to where her future husband sat.

The scent of old parchment hung heavy in the air as she found herself closer to where he was, mingling with the subtle aroma of beeswax polish that adorned the wooden tables and chairs scattered throughout the room. At the heart of the library stood a grand fireplace, its crackling flames casting a warm glow that bathed the room in a soft, golden light. And right next to it, he sat in a wooden chair, elbow on the armrest as he held his face up by the chin. He looked worse for wear and dejected, and it pained her to see.

What was it about her that she only ever ended up with men who chose to brood like there was no tomorrow?

She stood by the arch, leaning to the side as she debated disturbing him when he seemed like he’d much rather be left alone. As she decided to step out and read while waiting for him to come out on his own accord, she heard his heavy voice call after her.

“Princess.”

“My lord.” She couldn’t possibly leave now, so she walked in, steps as quiet as the man himself. She took to standing in front of him, her figure forming a dark silhouette as she blocked the hearth from his view. He leaned forward and took her hands in his, and she was startled by how huge they were in comparison to hers. Aemond’s hands were beautiful in an obviously otherworldly Targaryen way, with nimble, dexterous fingers; Cregan’s were unabashedly huge and well-worked yet warm, just like him.

She would learn to stop comparing them soon. It would not be long. Damned mind and heart, forever at war.

He’d had to execute a Night’s Watch deserter today - the Northerners pass their own sentences, she’d been told. “I heard you’ve had a taxing day. I thought I’d…” It seemed silly to her now to think her presence would lighten him up given the circumstances. She turned to look at the path she’d walked through, nervous at her thoughts of inadequacy as she thought of a suitable excuse to walk away without feeling embarrassed. But it seemed that there was no need.

“I killed a man today. Swung Ice heavy and clean into his neck… and now, I hold the most beautiful woman in the realm with the very same hands.” He talked as though he was speaking to himself rather than her - there was a certain absent-mindedness about him that endeared him to her - or was it his way of showing that his mind was preoccupied?

“Aye, good fortune is shining upon me.”

She smiled, never considering that her presence could bring about that level of comfort to a man who seemed much more put together than she. Her gaze was half-lidded as she looked down at him, his head leaning forward to rest his forehead upon their conjoined hands.

“What’s it like?” She regretted the words immediately after they tumbled out, knowing very well that she was throwing into his face the very subject that he probably wished to forget.

“Do you really want to know? It is a topic unsuited for a woman of your gentle nature, Princess.”

“If you want to speak, I want to listen.”

She did not miss his somber smile, making it clear to her that he appreciated her company more than he let on - for now, that was enough. “When men pledge themselves to the Night’s Watch, it is an oath for life. It is a matter of keeping your word, of honor. And when you’ve proved that your word means little and less, you’ve disrespected those you swore to protect. When this happens… as their liege lord, it is my place to punish them for it. It is not something I take pride in, but it needs to be done. One cannot put off justice for too long. Never.”

“Does it always have to be you swinging the sword?”

“Aye. ‘Tis only respectful to the man losing his life, regardless of his fallacies.”

She nodded, understanding his reasoning, and grateful that he’d seen fit to let her understand. Most would dismiss her, saying it did not fall under a lady’s purview - but he didn’t, and she appreciated that more than he knew.

For a moment, they stayed together in silence. He only got warmer with each passing moment, a feeling of comfort in the cold air that she’d grown accustomed to. “I am grateful… that it’s you,” she said. She didn’t know what she hoped to achieve by saying it, but she did anyway.

“I’m glad you’re happier, Princess. I…” She found doubt in his eyes as he debated whether or not to say the words, but she wordlessly encouraged him to go ahead by squeezing his hands in her hold. “Your brother told me that your loyalties are… divided; that you will need time to accept me. I am glad that you are.”

She tensed at the mention of her affections for Aemond, but she was quick to let it pass. She would not entertain her heart’s pull towards the man who killed her brother - she would not. Here sat a good man with the patience of a maester - she would learn to be worthy of his affections.

Almost as though he sensed her train of thought, he pulled her right back to where he was. “Princess?”

She smiled, a tired smile of resignation as she found herself grateful at the hand she’d been dealt. A time of war, where well-bred men were turned into murderers - and somehow, the Gods saw fit to give this good man to her. She was thankful, and by the Gods, she would learn to love him well.

“I’m happy too.”

“How long do you plan on keeping me here, uncle?”

She refused to look at him. Her eyes were trained on the fire, the blaze blinding her for a moment until she turned to look the other way to escape the heat-induced tears in her eyes. She felt the dampness of her form and clothes dissipate with each passing moment, and she let her throat bob as she allowed herself to calm down.

“As long as it takes.” His voice was devoid of any emotion at all, and she was struck by how hard it was for her to read him through his words - it wasn’t like this before. She used to be able to make out his emotions from the simplest of words or noises, but now it was as though she was made to face a stranger. But then again, she didn’t know this man. The Aemond she knew and loved was not battle-tested and war-worn; he was a scholarly achiever who took more pride in himself than his spoils. How could she understand him if she did not know him at all?

“And you see no other way to exact revenge? He’s…” The weight of her words overwhelmed her, and she could not bring herself to complete the sentence.. Here she was, abducted at night from where her mother thought she’d be safe, by the man whom she once upon a time believed would protect her - eventually, both Winterfell and Aemond had led to her current state.

“The war is over, uncle. The realm is slowly getting back up and the lords are working towards peace once more. Must you truly be so vengeful? Undo all the work that is being done?” The anger and tension was palpable, with her not being able to contain herself. The more she spoke, the more she knew that all of what he did was unnecessary - but then again, this entire Dance was unnecessary, was it not? “Cregan is good to me. He’s a good man and he cares about Westeros, he cares about making Aegon a worthy King despite all the poor child has been through-”

“No amount of goodness can change the fact that Cregan Stark did not pledge allegiance to the rightful king.”

“The rightful king? Grandfather declared my mother the rightful heir long before Aegon was even born -”

“Before he was born! When he was born, she lost every right to the Iron Throne. A much more sensible woman would have stepped away, but my sweet sister -”

“It was HER RIGHT!”

“It was never hers and it was certainly not yours or your bastard brothers' to claim!” With words exchanged and thrown at each other like weapons, her hands had been animatedly moving about as was her habit. But she froze at those last words. She knew very well that he had too, if the sudden hitching of his breath was any indication.

He wouldn’t apologize, that much she knew. He was much too proud and condescending about his otherworldly and striking Targaryen features to apologize to her - for she knew very well what she was, even if nobody else would openly admit to it.

A bastard.

Her mind was a mess as she looked at him, at a loss for words. The spell had shifted, they weren’t bickering as they used to any longer. In the silence, a moment suspended in time, she looked at him - really, truly, looked.  

And there sat a boy. Not a battle-tested man who was now a hidden fugitive, but a boy. The boy that she’d known and loved. How much longer could they possibly hold on to grudges that neither had inflicted upon each other? The war had broken them, gotten them to drift apart - but where did it end?

Her heart ached as she beheld him, recognizing the boy she had once known beneath the bitterness and resentment that time and circumstance had piled upon him. The lines etched into his face told stories of battles fought and losses endured, but his eyes betrayed the weariness of a soul weighed down by burdens too heavy to bear alone.

He was tired. 

He was depressed, hungry for revenge and angry, but in close vicinity, as her hand reached up to let her fingertips graze over his eyepatch, she could not help but think. This was her Aemond. She’d waited for him to take her away, and in a cruel twist of fate, they ended up here.

In the dim glow of twilight, her voice, a tantalizing whisper, wrapped around him like a spell. "I haven't ever seen you without your eyepatch. You never let me." Each word, a delicate lure, tugged at something deep within her; a longing that she had never quite moved on from, but scarcely dared to acknowledge in her time away from him.

If she leaned in just a bit more, she could kiss him. Would it be wrong to? Did he want her to? What was he thinking?

His hand closed around her wrist, holding her delicate touch in place over his concealed eye. With a weary exhale, he released a breath burdened with the weight of countless battles, etched into the lines of his weathered face.

How had she gone this far without him? 

Before she let her fleetingly powerful feelings take over her, she closed her eyes and walked away. In the distance, a lone wolf's mournful howl pierced the tranquil stillness of the forest, making for a haunting melody.

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[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [2 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: As you begin to acclimate to life in the pack, your new leader seems to take a keen interest in your ability to survive. 

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse

A/N: i really hope you guys enjoy this next piece! mind the warnings ❤️

You run your tongue across your chapped lips before reaching for the skin of water hanging from a long strap across your shoulder. The liquid inside is over-warm from the sun hanging mercilessly overhead, but you are grateful for it still. 

Where are we even going?

The river had been days ago—three, perhaps four at your best estimation—and the pack had been pushing on ever since, riding out into the grass sea further than you had ever thought possible. When you had asked, your father had told you simply that there was nothing out there, his breath stinking of ale as he reminded you to keep your mind to your housework, else he would ensure you found out for yourself. And now, for all the fates cruel humor, you had found out anyway. 

You had been spared death at the river, but the same luck that had kept you breathing now also bound you to the blue-eyed-orc and his pack. You had tried twice already to sneak away in the darkness, only to find yourself practically nose to nose with your captor, his eyes bright even in the dark.

Dangerous out there in the dark, Sweetmeat, he’d said, turning you around with one huge hand on your shoulder, tapping the flat of his blade against your backside as your cheeks flamed with hot anger and embarrassment. If you’re looking to raise an army for vengeance, you should ride in daylight. Even now, your face heats with anger. You had no intention of riding to the capital to raise the alarm—even if you knew how to get there, you doubt anyone would care for the fate of a tiny village in the borderlands. 

You slip dangerously in the saddle, yelping as you grab for the reins, righting yourself. You had never ridden a horse before now, much preferring to watch the huge beasts from afar rather than subject yourself to them up close. The stallion beneath you seems to know it, tossing his head irritatedly as you pull back haphazardly. 

“I’m afraid the saddle is too big for you.” The voice startles you, and you almost slip down out of the saddle again as you whirl to look at its source. Mirthful blue eyes meet your own. “We shall have to find you a smaller one.” 

You glare at him, your mouth stubbornly shut. 

“Oh come now. Are you still angry about last night?” He makes no effort to hide his amusement. You keep your jaw locked, refusing to answer—which only serves to amuse him further. Finally, your ire loosens your tongue.

“You would have killed me three days ago,” you bite out through gritted teeth. “And left my corpse in the dirt.” 

“Aye,” he answers, cocking his head. “Yet I did not.” Somehow, this enrages you even more. 

“You hunted the others for sport—” You half choke on the words. “You ran them down like dogs.”

“What use is a lame horse, Sweetmeat?” He asks. “Or a dog that won’t hunt?” There is no derision in his words, only indifference. “I cannot ask my riders to carry that burden.”

“So you kill them.” 

“Aye.” You see reflected in his eyes the same cool apathy a wild dog might give a rabbit. “Would you ask a wolf to apologize for feeding its strongest cubs, Little One?” You bristle, but he continues before you can speak. “Perhaps because it is removed from you, you do not see it. But I have seen it. I have seen your great cities of men, and the bodies that line the ditches of their streets. There is death for them everywhere.” You want to deny the truth of his words, but they settle on your skin like oil. “Better a quick death by my steel than a slow one beneath the heel of the man you call King.”

He stops his horse, and you mirror him, watching the orc warily. 

“If you wish to return to it, you’ve my blessing to do so, Sweetmeat. May you go and die in whichever way seems best to you.” 

You are overcome with the urge to dig your heels into the stallion’s sides and take off, to cut through the swaying sea of grass like a clean blade—but you hesitate. 

Your life in the village had been one of little note and much misery; tending to your father as he sickened himself with either too much ale or for the want of it as the days ground on and on. You’d felt little sorrow at his passing, considering he’d blacked your eye only three days prior. There were, no doubt, several villagers that had escaped on horses of their own, racing back toward the mountain to warn others of the orc-pack roaming the borderlands. You suppose you could rejoin them—the same people who had watched as your father’s druken rages consumed him and done nothing to help you. 

Your skin prickles with distaste. 

“No?” He asks after a lengthy silence. “Then let us ride on.” 

You watch sullenly as he takes his place at the front of the group, the other riders falling into a loose line behind him. 

—

No one offers to help you as you struggle down from your horse when they break to make camp, and you drop unceremoniously to the ground. For the most part, the rest of the pack ignores you completely, regarding you with the same indifference one might pay a rock as they go about setting up their bedrolls and hobbling the horses. They dwarf you as you all line up to fill your water skins, and the one with chestnut hair—-the blue-eyed-one had called him Buck—narrows his eyes at you. 

“What’d you do to earn water today?” He sneers. “Get to the back. We’ll see if we have any left for you.” You dig your heels in gritting your teeth despite your fear. The protestation is there on your tongue, but before you can voice it, someone else speaks instead. 

“Give her the water, Bucky.” The blue-eyed-orc rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“Steve, she will do nothing but slow us down and rob us of our food, our water—”

“Calm, Bucky.” He holds up a hand. “The human will hunt tomorrow, and tomorrow she will earn it. Tonight, give her the water.” For a moment there is tension between them, a charged current you can’t see, but it soon breaks. Reluctantly, Bucky fills your water skin, shoving it into your hands with a grimace. 

“It was fine to give her Roth’s horse—he fell, he’s got no need for it now,” Bucky spits irritatedly. “But Tarrath’s a fortnight’s ride from here. She’s going to need to earn her water.” He frowns at you. “Like the rest of us.” Steve nods his understanding. 

“Aye. She will. Consider it half my portion.”

Angrily, you shuffle back over to your horse and begin unstrapping your bed-roll from its back. Nothing has been said outright, but you sleep away from the others, setting your roll up at the edge of camp. You know you aren’t welcome. You know you shouldn’t care at all for your usefulness, but you aren’t sure you’d fare any better wandering the grass sea alone. Your horse—Roth’s horse—stares down at you judgmentally while you wind the length of rope around his front legs, and you frown deeper. 

“Even the blasted horse,” you mutter, kicking aside a few loose rocks as you lay down the roll beside him. You don’t know how to hunt—it wasn’t as if your father had taught you, and you doubt he had the knowledge to do so in the first place. There is large bow strapped to the saddle, thus far untouched by you, and gently you undo the bindings. It is heavier than it looks, and you hold it aloft clumsily, the string biting hard into your fingers as you struggle to draw it back. 

“You won’t catch anything like that.” 

You don’t turn to look at him. 

“You didn’t have to give me your water. Steve.” He chuckles at the sound of his name on your lips. 

“I won’t be doing it again, Sweetmeat. So you’d better learn how to use that thing.” This time you do turn. He is closer than you anticipated, and you squeak with surprise as he plucks the bow from your hands with ease. “Hold it up, like this.” He draws the string back, the muscles rippling across his bare chest. “This is the sight, here, this notch.” He runs his thumb over the place where the arrow head will sit. “Come.” 

When you don’t move, he grips your hands firmly, winding them around the bow. 

“Like this, put your hand here.” His hand curls over yours, covering it completely. You’re practically trembling when he pulls away, your palms sweaty against the lacquered wood. “One last piece of advice, Sweetmeat.” 

“What?”

“Don’t miss.” 

to be continued

next

#chris evans #chris evans fandom #chris evans fanfiction #cevans fandom #cevans fic #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers au #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #boxofbonesfic #bones drabbles #Orc Au #Brave fic

[mhsdatgo]

Hotd writers choosing to adapt Mushroom's records out of everything they had in hand is the worst decision they could've ever come up with btw.

It's been stated time and time again that while F&B is purely built on records and gossip and morphed retelling of events out of bias and propaganda, Mushroom is the LEAST reliable of all the sources. He's a fool at Rhaenyra's court, his job is make people gasp and laugh, not retell historical events.

We're talking about the same guy who said that he had a penis large enough to match the size of his head, mind you. Also, he's obsessed with little girls giving BJs to Targaryen men somewhere in Flea Bottom. It's happened twice according to him.

The writers' reasoning for this choice is basically that F&B was written by Maesters and Septons, who were all greedy men, apart from being Green supporters. So anything they say is false, anything they say is written with sexist intent. Writer's intention was to do the exact opposite.

Then tell me, for the love of God, tell me, why is every woman apart from Rhaenyra, who is clearly whitewashed and I can go into heavy detail about that, basically shunned?

The Maesters claim Alicent left Viserys' body to rot and swell for days preparing and LEADING Rhaenyra's usurpation. She's the leader of the Greens, she and she alone. Not Otto. The Green Council answers only to her orders, they are loyal to HER.

I've seen people argue that since Alicent is what Maesters view as an "ideal" woman, then they would try anything to paint her in the best light possible. While I agree that this may be true, I don't think this is the case. In history books, even in real life, women are rarely painted as leaders or important figures.

For Queen Alicent to be written as THE face of the Greens, you know this mama wasn't playing around.

Now, how is this:

In ANY WAY, even comparable to THIS?:

At the end of ep.8 and quite literally the entirety of ep.9, Alicent is shown as a lost woman who doesn't even seem to know what she's doing, pushed by Viserys' last words about prophecy rather than SHEER DESIRE to get her hands dirty for her children's safety (which by the way will always be superior imo). The Green Council conspires behind her back, and on top of it all, she's yelled at by one of her own men and is made to take it like a beaten dog.

Moreover, we had Helaena's ROAST (yes it was a roast, my Queen inherited cunty lines from her cunty mother) against Aegon and her coronation, the latter being addressed as something quite wholesome, if you ask me. Alicent places her own crown upon her daughter's head and calls her "my Queen" after kissing her cheeks and kneeling. Afterwards, her and Alicent are literally written to be the only ones who could get through Aegon II's thick skull when he wanted to start the war right then and there as a result of Rhaenyra crowning herself on Dragonstone.

You hear me??? Aegon sat down and fucking listened to the two women in his life. Not the Council, them. These two were dogwalking him, the KING, on the daily, how is that sexist writing on the Maesters' part????

Yet these things are nowhere to be seen in Ryan Condal and Sara Hess' "progressive" show. We got beaten dog Alicent and Helaena being nothing but a walking spoiler machine other than yet another instrument to paint Aegon as the big bad wolf and usurper. Not a single scene of them counseling Aegon.

Baela and Rhaena have nearly no lines or scenes that don't show them in the presence of the Strongs. They are seemingly okay with anything Rhae throws their way because it's Rhae. The one and only scene about Baela openly speaking to her grandma about her wish to fight for Rhaenyra was deleted.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra is stripped of her rage and thirst for vengeance, and instead made to negotiate for peace while in the books she was the one pushing to go to war first.

Can you tell me, again, how the fanfiction that is Hotd supposed to prove that they want to be "progressive" in contrast to the Maesters' "sexist" work, when literally all they do is whitewash Rhaenyra and sideline any woman who isn't her?

#anti hotd #team green #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #queen helaena #hotd discourse #asoiaf discourse #queen alicent

[punkpandapatrixk]

🪩Your World-Changing Talents — Timeless Pick A Card

First, you change something about yourself, because you see the value in doing so, then you change your worldview. Second, you devote yourself to your Personal Happiness, because you see that happy people create better, kinder worlds, then you pursue your Art. Third, you jump timelines and shift your Personal Reality, and as you create your Destiny, so you sprinkle the world with excitement that is like that of your own~!💅🏻👗👒✨🦋

SONG for all piles: Tsukema Tsukeru by Kyary Pamyu Pamyu

MOVIE for all piles: Kamikaze Girls (2004)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

Reading guide: For those unfamiliar with tarot meanings, your ‘8 of Pentacles’ devotion—the second segment of this PAC—revolves around your almost sacrificial determination to pursue your Art. Whatever you choose to do with your Life, to become something great in this world… anything worth achieving in this world… always requires a certain degree of sacrifice. Dunno who the fuck came up with that Law, but that’s how it is in most cases.

Whether or not your sacrifices will be worth your while, is a pondering you can only answer after you’ve walked the plank and made manifest all you thought would be important to you. But remember this tiny fact: your Life Force has a time limit. So I always say, ‘If you’re gonna spill blood sweat and tears for anything at all, make sure it’s something that’s important to your Soul’.

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – Flame of Vengeance Incarnate

VIBE: Yoyuu by AKKOGORILLA

your untapped superpowers – 5 of Cups

I think you’re someone who carries a pool of regrets in your heart. You don’t always swim in it, but it’s like a weird aquarium of all your disappointments in a world you’ve come to know, and dislike, which you carry inside of you. When you were a kid, you already had set expectations about what you want to be or do with your Life. I guess you weren’t allowed to be yourself; weren’t supported in pursuing your heart’s true desires. You thought to yourself, ‘It’s not like what I like is a bad thing!’

People’s failure to understand where you’re coming from broke your heart—perhaps also self-esteem. You could’ve been made fun of for your unique perspectives. Because you were different, people acted as if you were out of touch with reality—like you were insane for even having thoughts and desires that didn’t match the norms. Your behaviours, mannerisms and fashion could’ve also been a source of your getting ‘bullied’ or belittled, in a manner of speaking.

Do you actually understand why you’re viewed so differently like this? The truth is, you’re an alien. You’re an astronaut with a mission. Two scenarios: 1. You came here to play whilst learning to understand the unique limitations that afflict the world of the Humans, 2. You came here specifically to break down conventions and boundaries because the limitations of the Human world are causing its inhabitants to stray even further from the truth of the Divine GOD of All That Is.

your ‘8 of Pentacles’ devotion – 7 of Cups

In a manner of speaking, you came into this world with a specific desire to not fit in, because your Soul’s purpose is to add more layers, shades, depths of colours into the Human experience. I hope that makes sense, seriously. You’re not necessarily a fighter of sort (you could decide to be though), but you’re just wanting to show people: ‘Yo, there are many ways to enjoy a Human’s Life. You don’t have to be restricted like that. Damn!’

Of all the piles, your rebellious spirit is the loudest. You could identify as an Indigo, Crystal or Rainbow Child. You could also have been born in the 50s, 60s, or you’re just generally into the punk aesthetic of that era. It was an era of vulgar charisma. Something about the spirit of rebellion of many artists during that era speaks to your Soul and could’ve inspired a pressing desire for Freedom. You like your Freedom and you’d do anything in your power to protect that Liberty—your sheer dignity for being alive.

You shouldn’t (you know you wouldn’t) stop dreaming your ideal Reality, no matter the oppositions. The drabness of the world actually pisses you off, and you want to fight that grotesque by being exactly your weird and wonderful self. You are fuelled by some kind of rage about the ropes put around people’s necks when it comes to choosing their own dreams or other people’s. You seek to destroy those ropes and avenge those whose flames of passion have been dimmed by their societies. You know you’d never allow yourself to be ordinary because your very existence IS your vengeance.

support for you to thrive – 4 of Cups Rx

I know you’re afraid of cages and lethargy. You’re most afraid of living the same days over and over again and repeating the same routines that have nothing to do with your Soul’s truths. You’re afraid of living the rest of your Life being normal, vanilla, unaccomplished, and above all, insignificant and unmemorable. This particular fear runs in the background of your mind and could cause you to want to be changeable at all times. But living on Planet Earth, a little bit of structure is necessary if you want to maintain any semblance of sanity.

Rather than being always ready to try all kinds of venue—to challenge or prove yourself in all ways to all people—try to really know the few things that actually matter to you. If you could devote yourself to only a handful of things that you know you will never regret dedicating your lifetime and energy into, you could become a real master of something meaningful. And if you do care about what some close people think about you, perhaps this is the best approach?

I think you could really change your world the moment you decide to focus. But first you have to find the precious light bulbs that shine a Light on the things that are treasures to your Heart. You probably won’t have enough numbers in your years to try and explore all possibilities, right? So, focus. Focus on one or two things that really matter. Below essay may be of some use😉

☆°・. Devotion to A Vocation .・°☆ | Punk Girl Culture + Pick A Card

PARADIGM SHIFT🔻💗

raison d’être by your Oversoul – Red Astrologer (William Lilly)

manifesting with the Magic of your being – Priestess of Innocence

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – All-Encompassing Spiritual Courage & Creativity

VIBE: NEXT LEVEL by aespa

your untapped superpowers – XIX The Sun

Since you were a child, you have always been different in that you saw the world with a brilliance in your Third Eye that allows you to see the deeper truths—as well as deceits—of the world. Always wiser beyond your years, you were practically a child sage. You saw through the black and white lies of the adults around you. And you felt a cold disregard for the mundanity of the hobbies and activities children your age were into.

You saw quite clearly some really strange things about the Human world that were normalised. And you couldn’t wrap your head around all this normalcy that wasn’t normal to you. In your heart, you promised yourself you wouldn’t be absorbed into all that insanity. So you created a world of your own that had nothing to do with the one you were part of. The world of your creation had only the colours you liked. It was separate from your immediate reality, but this inner world contained everything that would one day become your real Reality.

Of all the piles, I think you’re the most likely to become a celeb of some kind. Probably even a superstar in the entertainment industry. But whatever your line of vocation may be, you are definitely someone who will be recognised vastly by the public. Mostly for what you do to shine a new light unto this drab world of deceit. You could become some sort of a whistle blower—sharing with the world hidden truths that would liberate the minds of many people.

your ‘8 of Pentacles’ devotion – Page of Wands Rx

I think you’re someone who’s always been clear about certain evil and malice in the world that you think you were born to fight. But if you had to fight anything at all, it was that you had to fight for your place in the world. You believed that when you get older, you’ll be able to do something about all that’s wrong, abnormal, about the world. I’m not even sure if you’re fully aware of this, but…

Do you struggle within yourself to make manifest simple desires that should come easily to fulfil your basic needs—for your psychological and spiritual wellbeing? Manifestation doesn’t seem to work in your favour as easily as it does other people. You may have wondered what you’re doing wrong in the world for God to disfavour you so much. You can’t really understand what others are doing right for their manifestations to come so quickly.

But… easy come easy go, right? Your Soul actually has a very particular interest in understanding how the Devil works in this Matrix of a world we are living in. That’s why you’ve dealt with some serious lethargy and lack at some point in your Life. All for you to truly understand limitations, lack mindset, and many other trauma issues that typically hold people back from making manifest a Life of their true desires. If you can fully understand how limitations are set in place, you can unravel them for good!

support for you to thrive – Queen of Wands

If you chose this pile, there’s a very high chance you’re a Starseed. That’s why you refused to be like your environment or upbringing. You had this NEXT LEVEL understanding of who you are on a Soul level. You believed you were higher than the folly of Mankind. Sounds like arrogance, but what can you do when you’re literally nobler than the rest of Humanity, whose main characteristics are destructive, deceitful and bloodthirsty? You’ve always known you’re better than THAT.

Of all the piles, I think you’d resonate with the idea of never having your own free will. To some extent, it’s quite true because you’re like this important agent of change whose mission is too important to fail. From the Higher Realms, your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides were almost controlling your every step so you’d always be guided towards your Highest Destiny. From your perspective down here, some things may seem unfair. But if you could’ve seen things from your Higher Self’s perspective, you’d understand how supported you are in this messy Game called A Human’s Life.

If you’ve resonated with this pile, please acknowledge you’re a very special individual. You really came to Earth to be a trailblazer of sort. You’re definitely going to be famous one way or another. And although you may be worried about certain aspects of Life right now, there’s a secret here: knowing how much of your Life is dictated by your Higher Self, do you really think you could ever fail—at anything, really?

I’d recommend you read the previous segment again with this in mind😉

PARADIGM SHIFT🔻💛

raison d’être by your Oversoul – Gold Alchemist (Roger Bacon)

manifesting with the Magic of your being – Priestess of Healing

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – No-Nonsense Happy Go Lucky Attitude

VIBE: 2 Baddies & Ay-Yo by NCT 127

your untapped superpowers – Queen of Swords

Okay, I think people underestimate you because of the way you look, or that you don’t talk a lot. But you’re a quiet engine. There’s a lot going on in that pretty head of yours. You’re really intelligent, in fact, so intelligent you’re literally a weirdo for doing things differently. You know what I mean? Prof Snape, when he was a student at Hogwarts, figured out unusual-but-effective ways to brew his potions more quickly, with results that were even more potent. He was a quiet weirdo, but he was a brilliant potion master. Potion making was his interest, after all.

Do you know what your hobbies are? Are you brave enough to admit the things that light up your world? You must have pride in the pursuits that give true spiritual meaning to your Life. It’s your Life anyway. If you’re a bit shy about having strange interests, try to really understand the reasons your fears/worries/anxieties arise in the first place. Whose approval do you seek and why do you care anyway? Babe, it’s up to you what you wanna do with YOUR Life. Always remember that. On another note…

Because you’re so cute, or small, or soft-spoken, or just really patient (maybe just on the surface?), people think your head is empty. Mean people get really confident thinking they can fool you with their stupid words and stories. But quietly, you always, always see through their bullshit. One way or another, you always figure out who’s been shit talking behind your back, too. Your intellect literally cuts through the stupidity of conceited people. People would never expect such sharp intelligence to be housed in such a pretty face.

your ‘8 of Pentacles’ devotion – 10 of Cups

When you want to do well in the world, I think you really want to do it for your community. Your community could be your family, circle of friends, or the world at large, really. I think you don’t give yourself enough credit for how much you care. I think people could see you as standoffish, always doing your own thing, at your pace, can be quite lonesome, but you do care, dang, from a distance.

I think you don’t really want to be in close contact with people because you feel constantly misunderstood by them. It breaks your heart and you’re just afraid your hatred would only grow if you allowed yourself to feel that way always. So you intelligently decided to be a little closed off—it’s all your own protection as you also protect people from your nastiness (when you get upset). I think you’re really smart in that you know how to strike a balance. You just want to live in a peaceful world.

When you’re alone surrounded by only the things you like, you’re at your best. You think people should all strive to be a little selfish but happy like that. I think you could really change the world via showing people how prioritising your mental health and peace of mind leads to a better personality LOL

support for you to thrive – 3 of Pentacles Rx

You definitely need to work on your own. At least, you need to have your own thing that you can manage just by yourself. You know, the world isn’t the same as 50 years ago. Nowadays, thanks to the Internet, there are so many ‘jobs’ that can be managed alone. You can be an Internet creative in all kinds of medium. You could also be a solo small business owner. You could also be an online freelancer. You could also be an NFT miner or something.

I dunno, the possibilities for the future of ‘jobs’ are evolving constantly now and I think you’d be happy to know there are so many ways you can maintain your independence whilst avoiding dying alone and penniless. You don’t mind being alone; you just don’t wanna be penniless. And here is your confirmation that it is possible for you to live like that LMAO

Though I really think, when you’re much older you’ll eventually find your Soul Tribe and do exciting things with them. But that path will be accessible to you only after you’ve founded a solid base for yourself doing something you’re genuinely enjoying doing for the rest of your Life.

PARADIGM SHIFT🔻❤️

raison d’être by your Oversoul – Red Alchemist (John Dee)

manifesting with the Magic of your being – Priestess of Luck

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

#Punk Panda Pick A Pic #pick a card #pick a card reading #tarot pick a card #pac #pac reading #tarot pac #astroblr #tarotblr #writblr #witchblr #witchyvibes #witchythings #divine feminine #femme fatale #coquette #girlblogger #girlblogging #solarpunk #manifestation #inspiration #pink

[crownmemes]

Angry & Irritated Sentences, Vol. 17

(Angry and irritated sentences from various sources. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"I'm going for a walk before I say something I deeply regret."

"You're not the only person here with feelings."

"You're such a snob!"

"If vengeance is all you seek, seek it elsewhere."

"Stop being so frightening in front of my friends!"

"For once in your life, admit that you are up against something bigger than you!"

"Be quiet. I need to think right now, and you are grinding down my ears with all of your babbling!"

"Maybe there's nothing worth protecting in your life. I'm not ashamed that there is in mine."

"Don't you dare play the innocent with me!"

"Your ego is astounding."

"Don't you think I know what I sounded like today? Do you think I enjoy being humiliated and laughed at like that?"

"You show your face, you coward!"

"Do you take me for the sort of fool who'd make myself look so suspicious?"

"Forget logic. Try empathy."

"You’re staring at me. Stop!"

"Don't interfere. It's not of your business."

"Your politeness is so grating."

"Every once in a while, I like to hear the voice of someone who's on my side."

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about!"

"I almost died and you're cracking jokes!"

"Everything you've ever done, you've only ever done for yourself."

"Have you nothing better to do than sit with your feet on the desk, slurping tea?"

"Don't you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"

"I detest you more than you could ever know."

"I don't think you have the right to be this angry with me."

"You have no clue what it takes to do what I do!"

"I get a bit sick of you using your mouth as a cattle prod."

"Obedience doesn't come naturally to you, does it?"

"You're nothing but a petulant child!"

"I just asked you a straight question. I want you to give me a straight answer."

#rp meme #rp memes #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #single sentence starters #assorted; #angry;

[themodernwitchsguide]

tarot and their divinatory meanings

this is part one, with the Major Arcana

0 - The Fool

UPRIGHT: new beginnings, optimism and freedom (sometimes foolhardy), lightheartedness, infinite potential, lack of discipline, you are advised to take some risks

REVERSED: lack of caution/control, you need to be planning more, carelessness, apathy, even vanity/self-centeredness

I - The Magician

II - The High Priestess

UPRIGHT: willpower, self-reliance, a chance to use your skill(s), creativity/diplomacy, creating things for/by yourself

REVERSED: deception, trickery, insecurity that you may hide, poor judgement, someone may be using you/lying

III - The Empress

UPRIGHT: wisdom, mystery, don't get so caught up in yourself that you lose your way, listen to your gut, a cloudy future, secrets

REVERSED: confusion, you may have been ignoring your intuition, ignorance, passion that may distract you

IV - The Emperor

UPRIGHT: a parent/nurturer, femininity/a feminine person, the divine feminine, hidden actions (that benefit you), safety, good fortune, building a future

REVERSED: uncertainty, too concerned with others, lack of satisfaction, infidelity, letting others decide for you too often

V - The Hierophant

UPRIGHT: masculinity/a masculine person, honor, discipline, authoritative, reason, pursue your goals with strategy and logic, you may take on a leadership role

REVERSED: a tyrannical/weak person or leader, immaturity, lack of self-control, confusion, someone making you feel poweless

VI - The Lovers

UPRIGHT: tradition, ritual, servitude, follow the grain, religion, mercy/goodness, timidity

REVERSED: feeling controlled, go against the grain OR overgenerosity, weakness of institution, eccentricity

VII - The Chariot

UPRIGHT: love, trust, unity, a couple that has overcome trials, romance, harmony between two people while still maintaining individuality

REVERSED: contrarieties, imbalance, lack of communication, avoiding taking responsibility, failure to overcome

VIII - Strength

UPRIGHT: triumph, feeling vengeance/anger (not in a bad way), maintain focus and determination, control over a situation, create a plan or follow through with an existing one

REVERSED: defeat, lack of willpower OR obsession with goals, quarreling, unfavorable legal proceedings

IX - The Hermit

UPRIGHT: power, energy, strength despite circumstances, capability to speak your mind, a compassionate person who others rely on

REVERSED: abuse of power, loneliness or jealousy, weakness, lack of conviction/faith, self-esteem issues

X - The Wheel of Fortune

UPRIGHT: search for inner truth, take a chance to be alone and do some introspection, potentially a mentor enters your life, meditation

REVERSED: seclusion would only be harmful, hastiness, unreasonable fear/caution, trapped in your own world

XI - Justice

UPRIGHT: fate, the tides will change (whether for better or worse), external forces are at work, live in the moment (if things are going well) OR have faith (if things are going poorly)

REVERSED: bad luck has plagued you, do not cling to a sense of control--learn to accept your situation

XII - The Hanged Man

UPRIGHT: judgement will come (good/bad), equity, truth, being treated fairly, negotiations, legal matters

REVERSED: bigotry, bias, living in denial, cruel punishment, bad legal judgements

XIII - Death

UPRIGHT: spiritual wisdom, life put on pause, stall if you can so that you may reconsider, sacrifice

REVERSED: selfishness, feeling of wasted effort, over-exertion OR not enough effort

XIV - Temperance

UPRIGHT: end of an era and beginning of a new one, change, transformation, reminder of mortality, let go of unhealthy attachments

REVERSED: resisting change, depression, fear of the unknown is holding you back, lethargy, inertia

XV - The Devil

UPRIGHT: economy, do all things in moderation, patience, a level-headed person, re-evaluate your priorities, seek balance, connection with others

REVERSED: imbalance (the source of which is indicated by surrounding cards), misunderstanding, competition, too much of something

XVI - The Tower

UPRIGHT: greed, overindulgence, entrapment to an ideal, bad external influence(s), dissolution/vehemence

REVERSED: breaking from bondage, rest, a new life direction--but not without some effort

XVII - The Star

UPRIGHT: groundbreaking change, turbulent relationship--keep a level head, can indicate a disaster or just a sudden restructuring

REVERSED: tyranny, lack of or resistant to change, crisis looming on the horizon--let it happen

XVIII - The Moon

UPRIGHT: hope, recovering from a loss, a blend of past and future, bright prospects, faith, occult/spiritual power

REVERSED: arrogance, feeling of defeat/loss of faith, delays, indifference, lack of self-esteem

XIX - The Sun

UPRIGHT: a warning, danger in the dark, stay focused on your path, secrets, your fear will only hinder you

REVERSED: silence, confusion, negativity beginning to fade, instability, deception--but not severe

XX - Judgement

UPRIGHT: success, happiness, pleasure, a good relationship, contentment, share your gifts with others

REVERSED: joy--but less so than the upright meaning, perhaps you are unable to see the good things, over-optimism, uncertainty

XXI - The World

UPRIGHT: change of position, renewal, self-reflection, past may come to give consequence, acquiring a purpose

REVERSED: weakness, indecision due to self-consciousness, separation, denial, take time for yourself

UPRIGHT: completion, wholeness, travel, fulfillment/success, generosity, love for others

REVERSED: disappointment, you're missing something in your life, stagnation or an impending change that you're dreading

#pagan #paganism #polytheist #magic #magick #witch #polytheism #witchcraft #witchblr #tarotblr #tarot #tarot cards #tarot reading #tarot witch #tarot deck #divination #major arcana #spell work #spellwork #spellcasting

[sailoryooons]

Break | ksj (m)

☾ Pairing: Witch!Seokjin x cursed!reader

☾ Summary: Seokjin has been at your side for the last few years. He’s your closest friend, and the one person you don’t think you can live without. But what happens when you discover that he might be the source of the curse he’s been trying to help you escape from?

☾ Word Count: 18,990

☾ Genre: Supernatural, smut, angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Death and implied accidental murder of a sibling, childhood trauma, creepy vibes, heavy angst, a lot of internal monologue featuring angst, physical and verbal abuse from members of the town toward reader, sometimes confusing mentions of magic systems, explicit language, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), rough fucking from behind, dom/sub dynamics if you rEALLY squint, subspace/blacking out post sex, unhappy and ambiguous ending!!!!!!

☾ Published: May 22, 2023

☾ A/N: Hi hello this is one of the most random things I’ve ever written. I made a last minute choice to nosedive into this fic at the last second, which was certainly a choice. While it’s not my favorite work because of how hard I struggle to write it, I have a feel people are going to like it regardless and I shouldn’t be so hard on myself about it. Once again, Hali writes way too much for a small project and doesn’t even dip into the lore the way she wanted to! Thank you to @here2bbtstrash who was the amazing beta on this and fixed easily over 200 errors that I made while rush typing this. I handed this over unedited and unread from myself and they put this through the wash to have it in tiptop shape! 

❀ A/N 2: M created their own Little Hut rhyme and I have opted to feature it here for reader’s enjoyment:

Little hut, little hut

Killer dick game

Little hut, little hut

All men is the same

Little hut, little hut,

Murdered your twin

Little hut, little hut

Time to fuck Jin 

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | A Spring Offering Collab

Seokjin is good at holding grudges. Even as a child, his mother always said he had a tough time letting things go. He never knew how right she would be. His mother’s words are all he can think about as he storms through the dark of the forest, shadows whispering about him as he looks for the lone hut in the very dark of the woods. 

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

If his parents could see him now, he knows they would be broken. Tear-streaked and shaking, a lost boy alone in the woods and drowning in anger so hot that the ground scorches beneath his feet. Looking for a salve. Looking for vengeance. 

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Blood witches are dangerous. Seokjin knows this, everyone knows this. A blood witch is the reason why his parents are dead and he is storming through the darkness in the throes of madness. But Seokjin is only thirteen and full of pain and desperation, vowing to never let something happen like this again. If he has to use a devil to defeat a devil, he will. 

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

A dark stream wends its way through the trees. Seokjin gets a running start and jumps across the whispering waters. When he lands on the other side, he waits. It took a lot of searching to find someone to tell him how to find the witch in the woods. No one comes here, especially not in the dead of night on Beltane. 

They say only evil comes from the little hut in the woods. Seokjin knows now that it isn’t true. Evil comes from anywhere and everywhere, even from the people that one least expects. Evil killed his parents. Evil is why he is alone, crying on the edge of the stream, waiting for the sound of a banshee's call. 

He hears it then. A one-note wail, thin and high-pitched. His blood goes cold and the fight in him nearly goes out at the sound. His heart begins to pound so loud that it’s all he can hear, the thundering beat of panic and terror as he realizes what he’s about to do. 

“Little hut, little hut,” a voice that he cannot see calls to him. There is no hut that Seokjin can see. Only omnipresent darkness, cloying the air in front of him. A tingle skitters over his arms and he becomes acutely aware of another presence there with him in the dark. “I call to thee. Little hut, little hut, come to me.” 

Seokjin blinks rapidly a few times and sees the outline of a hut in front of him. It has a blurry shape like it’s really the idea of a house. It’s so shadowed and opaque that he’s not entirely sure if it’s really there. He walks toward it anyway, one foot in front of the other, looking at the hut. 

If a home could be a phantom, he thinks this is what the hut is. There is a vibrational pull here, a dull buzz in his veins as he gets closer and closer to where the blood witch lives. His stomach turns and his instincts beg him to leave. There is evil in this place. He knows it. Can feel its oily presence like a poisonous slick in his veins. 

A door - or rather what he imagines is a door shape - stands open in the hut. Inside is eternal darkness like Seokjin has never seen before. The buzzing in his veins has become stronger, an itch he can’t scratch. A ringing in his ears. 

Sometimes to beat evil, you must use evil. So Seokjin steps into the house despite all the reasons he should turn around and run. Because he is alone, he is in pain, and he needs some sort of penance. Justice. 

So he asks the blood witch for a favor. 

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

-

When the rock hits you right at the top of your spine, you know it isn’t an accident. All the same, you spin on your heel and look at the edge of the lake where the kids are skipping stones. They squeal and look away from you, huddled together as they giggle and look over their shoulders with frantic and excited faces. 

You clench your fists and keep going. What can you do to a group of kids? Tossing them into the lake while you’re an adult seems unfair, though it certainly crosses your mind. It isn’t necessarily their fault that they were taught to have such hate in their hearts at a young age, after all. 

So, you keep going, grinding your teeth as you march up the slope toward the main pathway that cuts through the park, gravel crunching beneath your feet as you quicken your strides to put distance between you and the cackling children. You’re not positive they won’t throw another rock at you, and you think that it might send you over the edge.

Early preparation for the Beltane festival is in full swing all over the park. There are trucks unloading carts and piecing together stalls, vendors and contractors with clipboards walking through spray painted grass with city officials, and a giant maypole waiting to be constructed. 

Living in a town of witchy folk can be fun, you suppose. The only downside is that most of the witches in your town despise you and think you’re an abhorrent blight to the earth. If killing and sacrifices hadn’t been outdated and frowned upon, you’re sure they would have stuck you to an altar as a child the first time you showed signs of being a leech. 

Leech. 

It’s an unkind thing to call witches who siphon magic. It isn’t something you can control - it isn’t even something you were born with. Most witches who siphon magic are born that way. A sort of magical defect in the way they interact naturally with the world. 

Most think of siphoners as a plague to the witch community. Thieves and monsters who can only feed on magic to make magic, a perversion of the natural balance of things. The way you look at it, witches who siphoned aren’t really any different from the natural order of the world. All living things need an energy source: food for animals, sun for plants, bacteria for amoebas. It isn’t different, really. 

Perhaps you would not be so kind to leeches, though, had you not began your existence as a siphoner at thirteen years old. 

It isn’t a night that you enjoy remembering, but it is certainly a night you can’t seem to forget. One moment you could command your magic like most other witches. Most, because you were a blood witch with raw talent and a powerful relationship with the earth’s energy. 

Blood witches were as revered as they were feared, witches who needed no spells. Who could use the magic within them instead of their connection with the earth to conjure. To blood witches, all other witches were leeches, really. You didn’t tell that to your coven, though you thought about the irony often. 

Your blood magic had vanished, though. It happened while you lay asleep in your bed, pressed up against your twin sister. Twins were a special thing in covens, a rarity in the magical order of the world that was seen as a good omen. There was a connection you shared with her deeper than the connection to your own magic, a bond that rooted the two of you together. That made you seek one another out for comfort. 

It had been storming that night and you had sought out the warmth of her bed and the vanilla sugar of her hair to soothe your nerves. You didn’t like storms and thunder very much, but she was wide awake in her bed, watching out the window as purple lighting cracked across the sky and thunder shook the house. 

You’d slipped into her bed without a word and she stood guardian over you, hand tucked in yours as she watched the sky light up. You remember her laying down next to you after the storm passed. The warmth of her breath on your cheek as she fell asleep. The hum between the two of you, soul recognizing soul.

She’d been dead by morning, magic siphoned and drained dry in the middle of the night. 

The memory of it is metallic in your mouth. You head toward your apartment, hands tucked into the pockets of your jeans, head down. Beltane always makes you think of your sister. Makes you think of the morning you woke up on your thirteenth Beltane to find her cold and dead, magical signature gone. Severed. Torn away from you. 

Losing your ability to generate magic was only second to losing your sister. You still feel adrift fifteen years later. Moving through the world with a piece of you missing. Two pieces of you, if you count the fact that you can feel the magic around you but not reach for it. You never reach for it, though you suspect that no one believes you.

Except maybe Seokjin. But even he doesn’t know the story of how you became what you are. All he knows is that you can’t create your own magic, and yet he’s never shamed you for it. Never turned his back on you, or berated you or bullied you. 

That sort of kindness is a rarity in your world.

Your small northeastern town is easy to navigate. There’s not much that happens that doesn’t immediately become the knowledge of all citizens, and there’s not really a way to get lost unless you’re a tourist coming to visit the country's spookiest and most magical town. The locals are pretty firm believers in magic, but the out of towners don’t really believe. They just want camp and kitsch. 

It’s busy season, the streets filled with people buying decorations to celebrate Beltane, restaurants full of tourists trying out local fare between going shop to shop. The festivals always draw a big crowd to your corner of the world, making it easier for you to blend in with all the rest of them. It almost makes you feel normal when someone doesn’t recognize you and immediately scowl. Sometimes you can even get away with eating at places that wouldn’t normally serve you, the workers too busy to really look at your face and see you. 

A few people have taken pity on you outside of Seokjin. Namjoon and Jimin would never turn you away, always welcoming you with open arms, a warm cup of tea and free books for as long as you like at their bookstore. You’re not technically allowed in the metaphysical store on Fourth, but as long as Yoongi is working, you can walk through the rows and rows of crystals, grimoires, spices and charms. Seokjin is where you’re really home, though, his bakery a place of safety and fresh-smelling sugar cookies. 

It’s where you go now, sticking to the shop windows and away from the tourists flowing all over Main Street like ants. There’s a line stretched out the door when you get to Magical Moon Bakery, and Jungkook looks helpless behind the counter as he nods while taking an order, wide-eyed and terrified. 

Seokjin is at the delivery counter, flour staining his cheek and brow as he nods politely and hands a box of cupcakes over to his customer. As though he can sense you, he lifts his head and swivels, eyes scanning until they land on you, immediately shining. Your stomach leaps the way it often does around him, especially when he breaks out into a beautiful smile and jerks his thumb at an apron.

You roll your eyes. You’re not technically an employee at the bakery, but you help often enough that you tease Seokjin sometimes that he should start paying you. You never mean it, of course. Your reward is his unearned and unlikely friendship, and the fact that his friends have taken you in even when other covens have turned their backs on you. 

Perhaps if he’d grown up here he’d hate you. It’s a thought you have often, even when you’re pulling the loop of a lavender apron over your head and tying it around your waist. You can’t imagine Seokjin ever hating you for no reason, but sometimes you wonder if he had the influence of the other kids of your town if it would be different. 

“Can you take over the order counter?” he asks, the blush on his face the only sign that he’s getting a little frazzled. You nod and he winks at you, leaning over to press a quick, chaste kiss on your cheek. “Worldwide best friend.”

“Mhmm,” is the only response you manage to string together, flustered by his proximity. 

It’s no secret that Seokjin is one of the best looking men in town. Even among witches, who are unnaturally beautiful to begin with, he stands out. Dark, silky hair swept back off of his forehead, dark eyes with a spark of caramel right around the pupil, lips full and lush like Aphrodite, and a face molded from the finest clay, glazed and perfected. 

Loving him isn’t hard. He’s as kind as he is beautiful, and Seokjin is silly. Able to make you laugh and draw you out of the melancholy that is permanently affixed on your person. It’s been that way since you met in your early twenties right after he moved to town, and you’re grateful for it. 

Even if loving him is pointless. He can never be yours - would never want to be yours in that way, anyway. 

So you settle for less. Settling for crumbs is what you’re good at. What people think you deserve, being the little leech that you are. 

No one you’re serving at the bakery knows you’re a leech, though. All they know is that they are eager to try the best baked goods in town, wondering at the menu as each item has a list of things it’s good for. Rose scones to make someone fall in love, marshmallow fluff cupcakes to soften the blow of bad news, gumdrop cakes to summon rain. 

Everything on the menu has a charm to it, both literally and figuratively. Seokjin is wildly creative in his carefully crafted menu, and he imbues magic in everything he makes from the eggs to the whipped frosting. 

Being here is nice. Jungkook grins when he sees you behind the counter, happy for the help. He still gets overwhelmed behind the till, and he’s more than happy to step back and chew his lip nervously when he processes a discount wrong. You’re up next to him before he can ask for help, typing on the screen while gently walking him through it again.

Jungkook is a good kid, an elemental witch who is prone to cause rainstorms when he gets stressed. For now, he is a bottle of sunshine, thanking you shyly and letting you know that he saved you a bag of butterscotch cookies in the back. 

“I put in a little extra sunshine,” he promises. By that, you know that he means magic. To give you. You open your mouth to scold him but he shakes his head furiously, long, wavy locks shaking. “I wanted to do it. Please don’t yell at me.”

That gets you. It’s hard to be mad at him, especially when anger is likely to set him off into a rainstorm. Jungkook’s round eyes are pleading and he pouts, a tactic you know he has learned from his boyfriend to use as a weapon. You think about sending Taehyung some choice text messages but instead, thank Jungkook for the cookies and continue to help him.

This is what keeps you going most days. The unfettered kindness that Seokjin and his friends show you. None of them are locals to town, but they had formed their own coven a little at a time, a circle under the broad umbrella of the town's overall witch population.

Covens are difficult. You’re both in and not in Seokjin’s coven, an unofficial member by friendship. But you don’t practice anymore - won’t let yourself - so you’re on the outside looking in most weekends and during spiritual times of the year. 

But by witch standard, you are a part of the covenstead of the town, the larger collective of witches who are loyal and responsible for one another, all answering to the high priestess. Who has begrudgingly let you stay as a member of the covenstead for the sheer fact that you’re her niece and nothing more. 

When the rush of customers and crinkling to-go bags slows, you lean against the counter and reach a hand out just as the door to the back swings open. Seokjin has a glass bottle of soda ready for you, and he blinks  in surprise when he sees your hand ready for it. You’re a little surprised as well. Though you have no magic on your own, you still sometimes predict things before they happen. Or at least, your instincts do.

“It’s freaky when the two of you do that,” Jungkook comments, eyes bouncing between you and Seokjin as the older hands you the bottle. “You’re always so in-tune.”

“She’s a witch,” Seokjin snorts, leaning against the glass case of mostly empty dishes as he takes a swig of his own. “Divination and all that is sort of what we do.” 

“Yeah, but it only happens with you.”

You don’t meet Seokjin’s eyes as you swig from the bottle, the carbonation fizzing on your tongue. “I can’t help it that I inspire magical abilities,” is Seokjin’s answer. Always deflecting. You're grateful for the way he rolls with the punches, easily accepting the way others talk about you two as an item so you don’t have to. “Plus, even witch-adjacents have the ability of foresight.” 

What he doesn’t say is that even in your dishonored position as a siphoner, you can get sensations and feelings. While you can sense magic and you’re still in tune with the world around you, Jungkook is right: you only have this sense of knowing with Seokjin, like there is a tiny string of fate connecting the two of you.

When it’s time to close down the shop, you help the two of them out. Seokjin goes to the back to begin batching things anew: fondant, bread, frosting - anything that he can let sit overnight or prep while the lights are out and he’s gone home. You focus on cleaning with Jungkook, letting him put on a pop playlist while he sings along, siren voice lulling you into a steady rhythm. 

Part of you wants to ask what they’re doing for Beltane. Celebrating the holidays use to be your favorite, threading flowers through your hair, blessing your hearth and home, weaving new spells of prosperity and happiness alongside your sister. Now you don’t participate in any of the rituals with the others. 

Most of the time, you celebrate alone in your room. Mark the points of the elements and the compass on your bedroom floor alone. Sit in front of a single candle, watching the flame flicker as you draw your circle of salt, murmuring blessings. It isn’t a powerful place of practice and you have no alter to command, but it's something. It’s yours. 

Instead of asking, you follow Seokjin and Jungkook out of the door on the promise of dinner. It is the one thing that does feel like a ritual you’re allowed to participate in, holding chapel at Seokjin’s dining room table and elbowing with Jimin and Taheyung to reach for the food piled high. 

Evening sky stretches overhead as you walk between Seokjin and Jungkook. You cast your eyes upward, watching the gray clouds float by. Seokjin throws an arm around you, pulling you in close and squeezing you to his side. He smells like vanilla and sweet orange from making his tangerina vanilla cakes for Yoongi. You breathe in his scent, letting it wash through you like a balm. 

His arm presses a little too hard on the bruise where the rock from earlier nailed you, and you hiss, reaching behind your head automatically to adjust his hold on you. 

“What?” he asks, lifting his arm and slowing his gait. Seokjin’s face is picture-perfect concern, mouth tilted downward, a crease in his brows. Before you can explain, his hands are pulling at the collar of your shirt. “You’ve got a welt here, what the hell is that?”

You smack at his hands and step away from him, pulling his warm fingers from your shirt. “It’s nothing.”

“Whenever you say ‘it’s nothing’ it's always something. Why do you have a lump on the top of your spine?”

Dancing away from him, you grab Jungkook who grunts, mouth full of corn chips as you shove him between you and Seokjin. More unhappy noises come from the youngest as Seokjin grabs for you but you squeak and use Jungkook’s broad body to block him again. 

“Yah!” Seokjin yells, reaching both arms around either side of Jungkook to grab you. He manages to get one of your arms, pulling you toward him - and by default, Jungkook - and keeps a firm grip while you swat and fight back. 

“Nooo!” Jungkook howls between the two of you, adding to the chaos as he shoves both of you away from him. “Stop using me as a battering ram! I’m going to drop my chips! Guys!” 

“Tell me why you have a wound!”

“It isn’t a wound!”

“It’s a type of wound!”

“Ugh let my arm go, hulk!”

“Stop hissing at me like a rat!”

Jungkook drops his bag of chips and lets out a long, forlorn wail. “My chiiiiiiiiips!” 

After a struggle, you manage to shake Seokjin off of you, taking a few steps back as you huff angrily, fists at your side. Seokjin sidesteps Jungkook who is pouting and looking at the ground, wavy bangs falling in his eyes as he stares at the spilled corn chips. Seokjin makes it worse by stepping on them, earning a shriek from Jungkook that goes ignored.

“Did someone hurt you?”

A rumble rolls through the sky from up above. You cast your gaze upward, looking at the clouds that are a little more swollen than they were a few minutes ago. You can sense the static in the air, a promise of lightning if you don’t diffuse Seokjin’s anger quickly. 

Similar to Jungkook, Seokjin is sensitive to the elements. Where Jungkook has an affinity for the sky and the rain, Seokjin has a lot more skill with fire. Still, Seokjin is a powerful witch and his rage on more than one occasion has disturbed the sky and the lake in the middle of town. 

It’s partly the reason he works so hard on never getting angry. 

“It’s nothing, Jin,” you answer softly, eyes pleading. You desperately want him to drop it. Part of you is honored that he cares, but the other half of you can’t bear the way he looks at you. “Please drop it.”

“Someone hurt you. Again.”

Thunder echoes across the sky. Jungkook looks upward. “That isn’t me, even though I am mad about my chips.”

“Jin, it isn’t a big deal. Please.” You glance upward, thunder rolling again. “You’re going to make it rain.”

“I’ll make it do more than that when I find out who did it.”

“They were just kids, Jin. You can’t-”

He swears loudly and there’s a flash of lightning above your head. It makes you think of that night with your sister, laying in bed to let the storm pass. You clap your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut, automatically crouching to make yourself small. 

Behind your shut eyes, you try not to let the memories come. Try not to imagine the vanilla scent of her hair, warm hands on your skin turned cold the next morning. You block out the screams, the way your mother shoved you away and your father yelled and yelled and yelled.

Above, the thunder stops. The rain doesn’t fall, and the air pressure returns to normal. Shivering, you crack an eye open to look at Seokjin, terrified at what you might find. His anger is so rare but flips on a dime, catching you off guard any time it happens. 

Jungkook is murmuring in Seokjin’s ear now, voice hushed and urgent. Seokjin’s eyes become unfocused as he nods, Jungkook’s hands grasping the older’s biceps firmly. When Seokjn’s eyes find yours over Jungkook’s shoulder, they’re fathomless. Endless pools of black and something else that you can’t decipher as he murmurs something back to Jungkook, who steps away.

Licking his lips, Seokjin offers you a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.” 

You swallow thickly. Reach out a tentative hand. “It’s okay.”

“You know I would never hurt you?”

Of course you know that. You aren’t afraid of Seokjin or the power he holds. You aren’t afraid of what he can do. You are afraid of the memories that nip at your heels like a pack of jackals, waiting for you to grow weak and fall before they attack. You are afraid of the way that it makes you feel when he cares about you. 

“I know that,” you murmur, letting him pull you to your feet. “It’s just the thunder, that's all.”

His smile is soft. “I know, I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hand. It’s a perfect fit, your palm in his. His skin buzzes with magic and you’re careful not to take any, always keeping your guard up so that you can never siphon again. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

-

Home isn’t the small apartment on the west side of town that you keep by yourself. Home is Seokjin’s two-story house in the suburbs made of brick and mortar. It’s the crowded dining room with eight chairs pulled close to the wooden table and a chandelier full of burner candles and incense. It’s Seokjion’s cat familiar running yowling down the corridor as Yoongi’s maine coon chases it, hissing. 

Home is seven witches who don’t care that you can’t generate your own magic, all of them laughing and pushing empty plates toward the middle of the table where Namjoon collects them with a snap of his fingers, the cutlery lifting and stacking neatly with the soft click of ceramic. 

Bloated and overly satiated, you lean back in your chair, sighing heavily. Yoongi is next to you, quiet and staring off into space the way that he often does. Next to him, Jimin and Namjoon have their heads bowed together whispering, a blush flushing across Namjoon’s wine-glazed expression and tops of his ears. 

Namjoon and Jimin strike something in you. A longing that tugs at your heart strings, drawing your gaze to the man sitting on the other side of you. Seokjin is leaning back in his chair, arm stretched over the back of your seat as he yawns mid-conversation with Hoseok. 

Seokjin is barely touching you, but just the warmth of his arm is enough to make you dizzy. It’s barely there, just against the top of your back. You lean into him a little, resting your head on top of his arm. He maneuvers his hand to scratch the top of your head lightly. It feels so nice that your eyes flutter shut, letting him play with your hair as the noise in the room drifts to a dull buzz. 

In another life, you think that this touch could be something more. Sometimes, you let yourself wonder if it is. Let yourself pretend that maybe Seokjin’s lingering gaze and lingering hand is more than the platonic affection he has for you. 

It’s a silly dream. 

When the dishes are washed and the others have said their goodbyes, it’s just you and Seokjin leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He has a glass of wine, sipping it thoughtfully as you put the cork back in the wine bottle. When you meet his gaze, you see something there. Hesitance. Anxiety. 

Seokjin chews on his lips and swishes the wine in his glass. The red arches elegantly along the sides of the glass, slowly dripping back down to pool in his cup. You remember once at a winery you could measure the legs or something when swishing wine in a glass to learn some small factoid about the wine, but it’s far from your memory now.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, taking a sip of your own. It’s a strong mulled wine with notes of cherry, you think. “You look nervous.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Your heart beats hard once. Then twice. Speeds up. Instead of answering right away, you take a sip of your wine, mind running through all of the things you think he might say. Maybe this is it, he’s going to tell you that you can’t come around as much. That though you’re his best friend, you have to stay away from his coven. 

Instead, Seokjin says, “You know I’ve looked into your situation.” You wince when he says it but he pushes forward, leaning off the counter as he grows eager. “You said you weren’t always a siphon, that you could control your own magic as a child. I’ve been researching similar cases, and there is a lot of evidence that supports that it might be a magical block.”

“Jin.”

“Look, I’m happy with the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with you. But I know that you aren’t happy with it.” His jaw flexes. “And I care about your happiness. I just… Yoongi and I have been reading up on rituals to release magical blocks, and with Beltane in a few days, we thought…”

Warmth bubbles in your chest. You know how much this means to him, trying to help you. To free you from the burden that you carry with you wherever you go. This is not the first time he has brought up trying to figure out your ailment. Your situation. And though you’re glad he cares about you enough to try, there is something humiliating about it. 

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Seokjin murmurs. You look up at him and his gaze is soft. Vulnerable. “But if you want us to try, we discussed it. And our circle is strong enough to try it on Beltane.”

Licking your lips, you nod once. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking of you.” You give him a look and he smiles, a little sad. “What? I am.” 

“Stop trying to be charming. I’ll only say yes if I want to.”

“I have no doubt about that. However, it is impossible for me to stop my charm. It is a natural gift.”

You roll your eyes. “Along with your insufferable humor.”

“There is nothing insufferable about me. Especially with Yoongi around.” 

You don’t push the argument. Seokjin grins again before opening a drawer in his kitchen, pulling out a small, cloth bag. There’s a green ribbon tying the top of it shut, and you smell the herbs inside of it immediately: cedar, bay leaves, mugwort. 

Seokjin holds the bag out to you and you frown, taking it. It’s weighted with crystals. You squeeze the bag a little, feeling the crunch of crystal fragments and herbs. There is a vibration that travels from your fingers up your arms and you feel a sense of solid warmth.

“A protection bag,” you deadpan. “Really?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t need this.”

“The welt on your neck says otherwise.”

“Please stop!” Your voice is loud in the empty kitchen. He pulls up short, leaning against the counter and watching you with wide eyes, lips parted slightly. You sigh deeply and close your eyes for a moment, calming yourself before you open them and say, “I don’t mean to yell, it’s just - it’s hard when I feel like all of you coddle me. It’s humiliating.” 

“It wasn’t my intention. I’d never want to make you feel that way.”

“I know.”

You do know. The intentions are good, but you can’t help the raw, venomous edge of frustration. It makes you feel less than, this constant need to help you. To do things for you. 

“I don’t want to be a problem that everyone feels like they need to solve. There’s more to me than being the covenstead’s leech.”

“You know that isn’t how we think of you.”

You give a frustrated noise. “Then please. Let me ask for help when I need it.” 

Seokjin is quick to catch the protection bag when you toss it back to him. He nods silently, eyes fixated on the floor. It feels like a hot stone has been dropped in your stomach, burning and weighing you down. How quickly a good dinner has turned sour, how the light air between the two of you has gone cold. 

“Thank you for dinner. And for looking into a way out of this,” you gesture wildly to yourself. He nods, but there’s no mirth in his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah of course. Let me know about… you know.” 

“Yeah. Yeah.”

That night, you have trouble sleeping, just like that night when you were thirteen years old. 

-

The back door to Shadow Metaphysical opens, creaking as Yoongi sticks his head out. His long hair is styled behind his ears and he’s in a soft-looking black sweater and jeans. He smiles when he sees you, gentle and kind as he opens the door a little wider, beckoning with his head to enter. 

Slipping through the back door, you enter a dark office. It’s only lit by candles spread over various shelves and desks, and a few hovering candles near the ceiling. It’s warm and cozy, and you spot Yoongi’s familiar napping on the chair pulled up to the desk where a computer shows some sort of accounting system. 

Yoongi leads you to the front of the store. It’s closed for the evening and he has receipts and cash laid out on the counter as he balances his drawer for the day. The shop has tall ceilings and is lined with rows and rows of dark shelving. The lighting here is not powered by candles or magic, but rather golden cafe lighting strung on the ceiling.

Shadow Metaphysical is one of your favorite places. It smells different each time you go in, the magic and the herbs and the spells inside of its four walls shifting with the energy of its employees and customers at all times. Today, it smells like night rain and crackling lightning. 

Wordlessly, Yoongi gestures at the shelving, signaling to do whatever you need. He busies himself with going back to counting bills, head down and trusting you not to steal anything. Not that he would care, as he’s always emphasized he has no problem not taking your money.

Still, you always pay him, especially since he lets you in after hours where no one can yell at you for being inside. The covenstead has barred magical stores from siphoners, convinced that they would cross the threshold and drain the shops of magic. 

It isn’t true, though you can feel the ebb and flow of open magic sources around you. You’re not here for magical purposes, specifically. There are things you can buy yourself and keep in your apartment to ground you to the earth, and there are still rituals and practices that you keep up with, even as your connection is severed.

As you pass rows and rows of books on rituals, you think about Seokjin’s offer to help you figure out your block. It wouldn’t be the first time you tried and failed to figure out what happened. With magic, the point of origin is always the key to any spell. The how and the where of your condition are important elements to figuring out the solution, but no one really knows the how and the where. 

Your friends don’t have full clarity on that night. You’ve never told them in explicit detail of how you woke up, full of your sister’s magic. The town calls you a kin killer and a leech, so you’re sure they know enough to know the source of your hesitation is violent and personal. 

Still, you slow as you pass a grimoire. The runes on it shine gold when you pause, winking at you, begging you to touch it. You feel the whisper of the spells of dozens of witches inside of it, their phantom fingers brushing down your arms. Your spine. You shiver and look away from the book, pressing on to the herbs section.

It would be nice not to feel the lure of power. Not to feel the itch and the cunning voices of magic begging you to use them use them use them use them-

“Stop,” you growl out loud. You don’t know who you’re talking to - yourself, the magic in the store, the universe. Taking a deep breath, you gather your wits and complete your shopping, moving with a robotic pace around the store to get what you need.

At the register, Yoongi gives you a wary look as you set things down on the counter. He takes his time scanning them, glancing at you occasionally. You can sense he wants to ask a question, dark eyes lingering a few times. That’s the thing about Yoongi, though. He’ll never ask, he’ll just wait until you give up.

Which you do, sighing and saying, “Ask.”

His lips twitch as he bags a few jars of thorns. “How often do the books in here talk to you?” You level a stare at him and he rolls his eyes. “I can hear you. And every time you’re in here, it’s like they all turn to look at you. Is it often?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Since it happened, there’s always been a pull or like magical objects to taunt me.” You chew your lip and rub your sweaty palms on your jeans. “It’s worse around the sabbat holidays.”

“Stronger magic.”

“Yeah.”

“Did Jin explain what ritual we talked about?” You shake your head. He pushes over a paper bag filled with all your things and you hand over your card. As he swipes it, Yoongi explains. “Two smaller rituals wrapped into one. Namjoon found a really old binding ritual that was used to form a bridge between multiple rituals.”

“So like when you chain spells together,” you offer. “Impressive. I guess that would be used for improving upon old rituals?”

“Yeah, exactly that. Seokjin had been doing some research on magical blocks and shit, and found one that locates a point of origin of the block whether it’s internal or external.” 

“External?” He nods. “Like a curse?”

“Yes. Any reason anyone would want to curse a thirteen-year-old?” 

Yoongi phrases it like a joke and chuckles. But you don’t laugh, stilling as you think about his question. Your immediate answer is no, at thirteen there was certainly nothing you could have done to be cursed. But you think about your parents, thinking about the fear revolving around their gifts for blood magic, think about the way they were always regarded with equal parts fear and reverence as coven leaders.

Curses aren’t common. It would take a coven of extremely skilled witches to curse someone, but it could take a single very skilled blood witch to toss one. Hexes aren’t long-term and are far more manageable, but you think about the way your power vanished, the way you bled your sister dry. 

The misery you’ve faced since, the loss of your parents shortly after, the hatred from the covenstead. 

“Holy shit, you don’t think you’re cursed, do you?” Yoongi’s question brings you out of your daze. All of the amusement has been wiped clean from his expression, eyes deadly serious. “Who would curse a child?”

“People were really afraid of my parents,” you admit. “My mom used to lead the covenstead here, you know?” That surprises him and you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, before my aunt. She isn’t a blood witch. My mom was and led the covenstead until um - my sister died.”

“I never knew that. No one talks about it.”

There is a question there. Yoongi won’t say it outright, but you sense the curiosity nonetheless. You feel your throat constrict a little as you murmur, “She stepped aside when my sister died. It was more political than anything, but no one talks about it out of respect for my aunt.”

“But still, to curse a child?”

“There was…” You think back to the time when you were thirteen. Those days are painted so painfully when you think about them that it is hard to remember anything else. “My parents were involved in the Trials that were going on at that time. Hunting Dissenters.”

Yoongi’s face darkens. “I see.”

“They had a lot of enemies. So maybe… I don’t know.”

For a few moments, Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He busies himself with packing away the rest of the till and waving his hand, dousing all the lights in the store with ease. There’s a little pang as he does it, such simple magic that costs him nothing. That you have no access to.

“Well,” Yoongi sighs, a little awkwardly. “Think about it. If - and it’s unlikely - that someone cursed you, you’ll know if we go through with the ritual.” He pauses and levels you with a look. “It is dangerous though. So consider the risk before you agree, hmm?”

You nod and thank him. He leads you out of the store and gives you an awkward smile goodbye. Never affectionate, but always polite and warm nonetheless. 

Sunset-purple skies stretch above you. It smells like fresh rain and earth outside. Town is quieter now that the evening crowd has finished dinner and gone home or back to their accommodations for the evening. You pass places with patio seating and small diners tucked between stores, wary eyes of the workers following you as you walk down the sidewalk. 

No one says good evening. Some don’t look at you at all. 

Curse. 

The word weighs heavy on you. You’d never considered that your condition could be from a curse before, but now that you think about it, you can’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind. 

The Trials had been a scary time for witches, Dissenters leaving covensteads to start their own, dark and forbidden spellwork becoming more and more popular among covens. Your parents - especially your mother and her sister - had been a huge part of cleansing the covenstead from witches who practice dark magic.

Especially the few blood witches. 

You had been a blood witch, though. Like your sister, like your mother. People had always been wary of them, which is why your mother worked so hard to get rid of the Dissenters when she was the head priestess. 

They give us a bad name, she would say darkly when you and your sister asked why she was getting rid of witches like you. Like her. In times like this, we have to work extra hard to prove we aren’t evil. 

And then you bled your sister dry. Drained her magic until she couldn’t fight you back and you woke up to that feeling of her cold hands on your overwhelmed skin. Your mother had never really looked at you the same after that, stepping down as the high priestess immediately. 

You suspect she protected you in the only way she could. Disallowing you to use magic of any sort, placing hard restrictions on how you could live, outlawing you from spaces where you had grown up. It was better than death. 

At least, you used to think so. 

Yoongi’s words weigh heavy on you as you sit in your apartment alone. You don’t bother to put the TV on, knowing that you won’t be able to pay attention to anything. Magic always comes at a price, and two rituals wrapped into one is going to take a toll. 

And yet, you think about getting to the bottom of this sickness, this curse. This inability to do anything but steal magic, to leech off of others. You think about how your magic used to feel, the way you could command fire with a snap of your fingers or make stars fall from your bedroom ceiling. 

An ache settles in your chest as you lay back on the couch and close your eyes, throat tight and eyes burning. You have been without magic for so long. Part of you thinks what's a little longer? But deep down, you crave it. The spark, the life, the touch of magic. 

You want to be able to enter stores without the itch underneath your skin, an addiction you can’t cure nor divulge in. You want to be able to be a part of a community again, to do rituals with Yoongi and Jungkook and Seokjin. You want to be able to help him in his bakery, imbuing his scones and cupcakes with love and a little spark of something extra. 

Tears flow hot on your face. You know what you want, and you know that it’s going to cost you to get it. You know that to do this, you’ll have to be open and honest, because there are only two possible options for your magic block: you are cursed or you have a mental block. 

It’s hard to know if being cursed as a result of your parents’ policing is worse than potentially having an internal block, an innate refusal to do magic because of what you did. 

That night sits at the back of your mind like a stone, sinking sinking sinking. Pulling you under as you think about it in explicit detail. Maybe you simply killed your twin. A horrible accident, but perhaps it was just you. Your magic. Your fault. 

And your magic had fled because of it, a self-inflicted punishment. 

Before you’re aware of what you’re doing, you have the phone in your hand, sniffing and wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Your face feels swollen and sticky with tears and overwarm and it’s hard to get a breath as you press the phone to your ear, listening to the ringing.

Seokjin picks up on the fourth ring, his voice cheery. “What, did Yoongi forget to let you in the store?”

“No.”

“I’m coming now,” Seokjin says, completely forgoing humor when he hears you sniff, hears the waver in your voice. “Are you home?”

“Yeah.”

“Did anyone hurt you?”

“No,” you hiccup. “I’m just really sad and I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Do you want to stay on the phone?” You shake your head and let out a little sob. Something about knowing he’s coming over to be with you cracks your resolve a little more. You realize he can’t see you when he prompts, “Hey, you there?”

“Sorry, no. Drive safely, please.”

“For you? Anything.”

Despite your tears, your mouth wobbles into a weak smile at that. It makes your heart squeeze just a little, underneath all the hurt. 

It doesn’t take him long to let himself in the apartment. You can sense him before he even gets to the stairs leading up to your unit, his crackling energy like a beacon to you. When he opens the door with the key you gave him, he fills the space with static, magic snapping and tinged with worry. 

Magic always belies how Seokjin feels. Like now, as he rushes across the apartment, he is lightning, all energy and anxiety popping and snapping as he sits on the couch next to you, pulling you into his chest. 

Seokjin is warm and smells like vanilla and sweet orange from the bakery. It’s soothing. You close your eyes and clutch the hem of his shirt, resolve cracking the rest of the way as he becomes your anchor as you drift out to sea, holding you so that you can be lost in the overwhelming feeling of loss without getting too far. 

He doesn’t tell you not to cry. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Seokjin leans back on the couch, pulling you into his lap, holding your knees so that he can hold you. One hand rubs your back and he rests his chin on the top of your head, leading you to use the crook of his neck as a place to hide - and turn into a waterfall for your tears. 

This is what you love about Seokjin though. He doesn’t pry. He just lets you use him, lets you cry it out and he waits. 

When the tears begin to dry and you find it easier to breathe again, you shift away from Seokjin and wipe your face. He smiles down at you, eyes glittering and expression so fond that you find yourself staring blankly into his face.

“I’m sorry,” you sniff. “And thank you for coming.”

“Anything for you.” You hate the way it makes your heart flip when he says that. You start to pull away from him to sit on the couch properly but his arms constrict you, keeping you to him. You frown but he asks, “I want to know what happened, if you’re ready to talk about it.”

Seokjin is so close his breath fans your face. You look up at him. Silky, long lashes that you could individually count with your proximity, beautiful tan and smooth skin with a glow all witches have, strong brows that you always thought made Seokjin’s face the perfect balance of boyish and beautiful. 

Your heart starts to speed up and your mouth dries out with the way he looks at you, intense and searching. Suddenly you’re afraid if he looks too hard, he’ll see down to your core. 

“I- yeah. I need some water,” you croak, pulling away. He lets you go this time, unaware that what you really need is space between the two of you, a barrier so he can’t see. So he won’t know. “Turns out sobbing makes you thirsty.” 

Before you can get all the way to the kitchen, there’s a soft clink accompanied by a full glass of water on your counter. You glare at Seokjin over your shoulder and he winces and shrugs in apology. 

As you gulp down mouthfuls of cool water, you wonder how to word exactly what you’re upset about. How you’re tired of existing in the world without your magic but you’re also unsure if you want to know the truth about why your magic left you. 

Seokjin is iffy on the details about the night your sister died. He’s never asked you explicitly for the story before, but if you want to go through with finding out the root cause of your block, you know you’ll be exposed. To him. To all of them. To his coven.

The desire to be one of them is so strong that it makes your knees weak as you walk toward the couch. You sit abruptly on the couch arm, staring into the distance as you drink the rest of the water. You want to join them so much, to celebrate the sabbat holidays, to feel the rush of a closed circle of magic and yet…

Would they accept you if they knew you killed your sister? You’re not so sure. 

You look at Seokjin. He waits patiently, watching you with soft eyes. Moonlight seeps in through the blinds behind him, wreathing him in silver light. He looks like a god, then. Of shadows, of night, of mystery. This best friend of yours who you love so much and who has loved you indiscriminately when he didn’t have to. 

“I talked to Yoongi about maybe doing the ritual,” you start slowly. Seokjin nods, encouraging you. “And I think I came to the conclusion that I want to do it. I’m tired of feeling everyone’s magic pull at me, like a vice that I have to ignore every day. And I’m tired of wanting to do things I used to, to feel the world around me. But most of all, I just want to be a part of something. A part of a coven, a family.”

Understanding paints Seokjin’s face. He reaches a hand out and takes yours, giving you a firm squeeze. “You know even with no magic, you’re our family, right?”

“It’s different.” He starts to protest but you shake your head. “I want to be in a coven and to feel the power of a circle. I want to celebrate and do rituals with you, I want to be a part of something magical. I can’t do that like this, not without the fear of draining everyone.”

He nods. “Of course. We’ll have you either way, you know? We’d still welcome you like this.”

“But I’d never be able to close your circle.” Seokjin nods. He knows the truth of this. “But this ritual requires truth, and there’s some things about me that I’ve never talked to you about. Things about the night I… I could no longer do magic. I want you to be informed, to know what we might find if we do this.”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“A coven and a working circle requires trust and honesty. I can never be one of you if you don’t know me completely.” 

He nods. “That is true.” 

“I’m going to tell you about the night that my sister died.” He squeezes your hand and nods, but says nothing else. “My sister and I were twins, both blood witches. Unusual enough for our parents and the covenstead to be incredibly proud of us, but not unusual enough for people to be afraid, you know?”

“Twins… That’s incredibly powerful.”

“Yeah,” you agree, throat tight. “We were really fond of the connection too, you know? It was nice to always have someone to rely on who was my perfect balance. We were never-” You take a breath. “Neither was more powerful than the other. There was never any jealousy or overpowering the other. We were always evenly matched.” 

“Whenever it would storm,” you continue. “I would go lay in her room. I hated storms but she loved them. I did this countless times up until we were thirteen. I don’t know… Jin, I don’t know what was different that night. I think back to it every single day, what did I do differently, was there an object I touched, a spell I used? And I come up with nothing. But on Beltane when we were thirteen, it was storming. We’d already finished the festival and our parents were out doing their duties and I went and I fell asleep in her room and… and I woke up…”

For a moment, you can’t get the words out. They get trapped in your throat and you stare, unseeing. You imagine the lightning against the window. The warmth of your sister's hands. The tree tap tap tapping against the window with the strength of the wind.

“I drained her in the middle of the night,” you whisper. It’s out now and you can’t stop, can’t look at Seokjin’s face to see his reaction. “I went to sleep as normal and when I woke up, she was freezing and lifeless and I felt more powerful than I ever had before. Like I was this magical battery charged up and sparking.” 

For a moment, you pause and look at Seokjin. You expect to see horror or disgust or a variety of negative emotions, but he’s still watching you. Fond. Waiting. No judgment. When he sees you staring, he gives you a tiny smile and a squeeze of your hand. 

“I’m still listening.” 

“Aren’t you…” You trail off and shake your head. “I killed my sister. Are you not horrified?”

He frowns then. “You didn’t kill your sister.”

“Yes I did.”

“You weren’t born a siphoner, how could you possibly predict that would ever happen? You didn’t get in that bed with her and then leech her magic, no matter how much it must feel that way. It wasn’t your fault, though I know hearing me say that doesn’t make it feel any less true in here.” He reaches forward and taps your heart lightly. “There is nothing I can say to ease the pain and guilt of that, but what you’re describing to me isn’t the tale of a murderer. It’s the story of someone who had a freak accident, which is more common among the magical community than one might think.”

“I don’t know what happened,” you admit, a tear escaping your eye. Before you can wipe it though, Seokjin’s thumb is there, swiping across your face and collecting it. You watch with wide eyes as he cups your face, looking at you with so much something that your head spins. “But in the morning, I was alive and she was dead. And my parents and everyone else hated me for it. That’s why they treat me the way they do. That’s why my mother stepped down as high priestess, why my parents were driven to grief. Why I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. Not anymore.” 

“How can anyone accept me like this?”

“Because it isn’t what defines you. We are not made up of only the things we do and the things that happen to us, and I promise you, this is something that happened to you.” 

“But why? Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Seokjin admits. “But we’re going to find out, okay? 

“What if the others don’t want me?” 

“They would never,” he’s quick to say. He’s still holding your face, wiping tears from your eyes. “And if they did, I don’t care. I’d do the ritual myself, just to prove to you that this burden you carry isn’t your fault.” 

You crack a grin, despite the dark topic. “Yeah? You’d try and do a circle for you?”

“I would walk through fire for you.”

You pull your face out of his hands and shove him a bit. “Fire is your favorite element, Jin. That’s not impressive.”

His laughter fills the room and he tugs at your hands. You grapple with him as he tries to pull you down, your ache forgotten as you laugh and squeal. “Yah! Let me try and be poetic! It was the first thing that I could think of.”

“You’re a witch, you’re practically impervious.” 

Seokjin overpowers you and pulls you down against his chest. Suddenly you’re very close again, your palms pressed against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat vibrating through your fingers. You make a surprised sound as he looks up at you, gaze a little darker. A little hazy. 

Gently, Seokjin reaches up and brushes his fingers across your chin. It’s featherlight and more intimate than you expect, making you blink in surprise. You’re frozen, limbs stuck and heart racing as you watch the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Suddenly the moment feels different - this feels different. 

“Not impervious to you though.”

When he says it, you don’t answer at first. You think you imagine him saying it. That suddenly this has blurred into a fantasy of yours. Perhaps you’re actually asleep, soothing your pain with dreams of Seokjin. Of being like this with him, pressed closed and intimate with his gaze burning. 

“What?” you whisper back, unable to string together a better response.

He doesn’t seem offended though, huffing a laugh. “Fire might not get to me,” he says. “You certainly did, though.”

“I don’t…”

“We’re practicing honesty because you’re right. If we’re going to lift this block on you and let you join our circle, there can’t be secrets between us. There’s so much to tell you, but I need you to know before we do this how I feel.”

“How you feel?”

“Yes. As the leader of our circle, it’s my duty to be honest with you and to give you an out. I don’t want you to cast our first circle and suddenly be able to see - feel - how I feel and then there’s no way out.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“I’d walk through fire for you - hey, stop laughing at me! Because you are an amazing person. But I would also do it because I have fallen head over heels for you. Chaotically so. Painfully so.” 

This is a dream. It has to be, because there is no way that Seokjin is lying under you, face so close to yours, hands gripping your forearms, and staring at you like that, gaze dreamy, smile on his face. 

“It’s not a dream,” he laughs, making you realize you’ve said it out loud. “Or perhaps it is a dream and I am once again imagining that I am the hero to your tale, a knight saving you because he likes you and you will let me because you like me. But that would be a silly dream, because you have always been the bravest person I know and you have always refused to be saved.” 

“You like me?”

“I do. And it’s okay if you don’t like me back. But I wanted you to know before you step into a circle with us. The others know - can see it light up inside of me every time we cast. But I didn’t want to surprise you with that. Not with this, not when it’s about you. It would have been cruel.”

Seokjin could never be cruel. The word cruel doesn’t even exist in the same plane of existence as this man. This witch who has never done anything but ask if you need help. Who simply enjoys baking things for the community and its visitors, filling every good with magic. A little extra something to make their lives more manageable, more fruitful. 

This man, who would have you even as you are in his coven of witches. Even if a circle couldn’t be drawn and salted correctly. Even if they have no use for you. This friend, who has heard what you’ve done - or didn’t do - and looks at you all the same. Doesn’t see a monster or someone terrible, doesn’t see someone capable of murder. 

The very thought of Seokjin loving you even as you are is enough to send a shiver through you. 

“You know why I thought I was dreaming, right?” you ask him. Seokjin shakes his head, watching your every move. “Because I have dreamed of you saying that often. It was always a comfort to me when I was sad or my longing to have you was intense. I just thought I never could. Wasn’t worthy of it, wasn’t-”

Seokjin moves faster than you can finish your sentence. He surges forward, hands skimming up your arms roughly to cup your face and pull you down to him. He presses his lips firmly to yours and anything you were going to say vanishes, thoughts a wisp of smoke. 

Sparks fly quite literally. Seokjin’s magic crackles and you resist to pull it in and consume it, too distracted by the soft feel of his lips. It’s just an innocent press of mouths at first, making your head spin as you realize you’re kissing Seokjin. 

Then, he pulls away to look at you, face aglow. You’re a little breathless and reeling when you open your eyes to see his grin. 

“You’re worthy of so much more,” he whispers. 

There’s no time to respond as he pulls your lips to his again, this time kissing you properly. He tastes sweet, like one of his meringue treats. The slide of his plush mouth against yours makes you dizzy. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping slightly and you become ravenous. 

Your tongue brushes against his teeth and he makes a throaty sound, opening up to let you deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping against his. He’s a slow kisser, dragging his tongue against yours and letting you fall fall fall into him. 

Seokjin’s hands slide from your face down your shoulders and past them, stopping only at your hips where he squeezes. Your stomach flips at the contact and you twitch a little bit, grinding down into him as his kisses go from languid to a little needier. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, head tilting back. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, mouth going to his jaw. You press wet kisses there, messy lips followed by your tongue, leaving a spit-slick trail. His skin makes your tongue tingle, magic vibrating. 

He slips his hands under the hem of your shirt and digs his blunt nails into your hips. “You know what?”

Grinning, you bring your mouth up to his. Slowly, you lower your hips so you’re pressed flush to his, rolling them again, this time painfully slow. Your breath catches in your throat at the slow-drag friction, the feeling of him shivering underneath you.

“That?” you ask, breathless against his mouth. 

“Enough,” he hisses.

The world spins. Seokjin grabs you and in a single, swift movement sits up and stands, carrying you with him. You squeal, hands shooting to grasp at his shoulders as he walks toward your room. He kicks his shin on the coffee table as he stumbles with you, balance off with the added weight.

He curses loudly and you can’t help but laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth when his sharp gaze snaps to yours. His eyes are dark dark, hungry and fathomless now as he raises a brow. “Yeah, you’re laughing?”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” you admit.

“You’re gonna be.”

A wild thrill shoots through you as he carries you to the bedroom. You forget how strong he is, muscles flexing as he shifts you again, careful not to drop you. It makes you feel giddy, but you squeak in a moment of terror when he drops you unceremoniously on your bed, the brief moment of freefall startling.

You land with a huff and he grins down at you as he stands up against the edge of the bed, knees squeezing your legs together as he reaches behind his neck to yank at his t-shirt. You watch, slack-jawed as he pulls the material up and over his head in a way that is somehow hot, as benign as it is. 

Seokjin is all gold and tan planes, body perfect in the low light of your room as he tosses his shirt. You take a second to admire his broad chest, dark nipples pebbling in the cool room. Dark hair trails from his belly button and vanishes in the waist of his jeans.

Seeking warmth, you reach for him. He leans forward, pressing his palms into the mattress to hover over you, knees placed on either side of your thighs. His muscles jump when you brush your hands up the softness of his stomach toward the harder muscle of his pecs. 

It feels like the sun is trapped underneath his skin, burning its way out of him as your fingers explore. You’ve never touched him like this, slow and reverant and full of unbridled desire. He watches you, drinking in the way you take him in. The way you take your time. 

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, looking up at him. His ears turn red and he rolls his eyes. You grin, dragging your hand up to rest over his chest where his heart thuds wildly beneath your palm. “I mean here, idiot. Yeah you’re hot too, but you’re beautiful in here.” 

Unreadable emotion flits across his face. Something like joy and pain - the pain of wanting to hear that for so long, waiting for the admission. You understand the same pain of desire filled so unexpectedly that it hurts. 

Seokjin kisses you again and this time with intent. He shifts and slides a knee between your legs, pressing up to the apex of your thighs. You groan and lift your hands, sliding them through his hair. The strands are silky soft and long. You twist your fingers at the nape of his neck, pulling him to you as the kiss turns messy.

Whatever this is between you is more magic than you’ve felt in years. You feel breathless as he kisses across your jaw and toward your neck, sucking harshly on the soft skin underneath your ear. You whine and he chuckles, hot breath hitting your ear.

“Why don’t you do that thing you love so much, hmm?” he asks, nipping your ear lobe. “Are you shy now? Don’t wanna grind on me?”

You do want to, but you hesitate. He encourages you, taking a hand and skimming down your waist to your ass, sliding under and squeezing your cheek as he lifts your hips in a motion to grind against him. The friction is good but not nearly enough and you let out a pitiful sound. 

“Come on,” he urges. “Do it right, then.”

Fuck. Fuck. 

You grind your cunt on his leg properly, planting your feet on the edge of the bed for leverage as Seokjin’s mouth ravages your neck. You’re lost in him, letting your mind go a little empty as you seek friction, needing to relieve the pressure throbbing in your cunt.

Arousal gathers in your stomach and you feel yourself slow-drip into your panties, so turned on by the sudden confidence Seokjin has when kissing you, when telling you to move. This is a side of him you’ve never explored and you dive in head first.

One hand leaving his hair, you grab his hand that’s on your ass as he continues to nip your collarbones, tongue laving over the sting of his bite. He lets you lead him by the wrist, and you guide his hand between your legs where you press his fingers to your zipper. 

“Please,” you rasp. “I need more.”

He sinks his teeth into the top of your right breast, tongue tasting your skin. “Is that so?”

“Please. You said you’d walk through fire for me.”

His laugh is loud and he buries his face in your neck. You can’t help but laugh too, pausing your greedy hands in exchange for mirth. “Yeah,” he agrees with a chaste kiss to your throat. “I did say that, huh?”

“Yes, so gimme.” 

“Yah. Of course I am.”

Years of friendship have erased any ability to feel awkward with Seokjin but for a moment, you’re afraid it’ll be weird, touching one another like this. Seokjin has no such qualms, unbuttoning your pants and yanking them down your legs with ease.

When he comes back up to lean over you, he doesn’t slot a knee between your legs. Instead, his fingers press firmly to your clothed cunt, a curse falling from his mouth as he feels how damp you are. You’re hot all over and yet you feel hotter still as he circles his fingers gently over your clit. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, lids fluttering closed. “Feels good.”

“You’re fucking drenched, all from a little kissing huh?”

“And grinding,” you add.

“Yeah, like a hungry little vixen, huh?” You nod, biting your bottom lip as you get lost in his lazy ministrations and pressure on your clit. It’s relieved some of the ache, but not nearly enough. “I can see on your face you already want more.” 

This time, Seokjin doesn’t make you ask for it. He hooks a finger in your underwear and pulls them to the side. Immediately you feel cold air against you, but he’s quick to slide his fingers up and down your wet folds, slicking them up to trail back up and circle slowly around your clit.

“Damn you’re fucking wet,” he curses. He leans up a little, eyes fucked out. “Take the rest off for me, baby.”

Baby. It shivers through you and you comply, though a little haphazardly. It’s hard to remove your shirt and bra with the way his fingers are slowly pressing your clit, making you thrash and gasp. 

As soon as you lay back down, no shirt and no bra, Seokjin is leaning forward, tongue darting out to flick against a stiffened nipple. You let out a loud moan and he hums in response, attacking his mouth to you and sucking. Fuck it feels good. You arch off the bed and his fingers leave your swollen clit to slide down your sticky mess to circle your entrance.

Gently, he sinks in a single finger. Your eyes roll back a little, pussy fluttering as he strokes your front wall. You’re tingling all over, buzzing with pleasure as he slowly fucks you with his finger, mouth busy plucking at your nipple with his teeth. 

You’re lost in it, melted into the bed as Seokjin plays you like a well-tuned instrument. The heel of his palm presses against your clit, providing just enough pressure as he fingers you to send the room spinning on its axis. 

He tongue-kisses across your chest, mouth ravenous against your heaving gasps as he finds your other nipple. The tip of his tongue circles, making you keen and squirm underneath him. He watches you with dark eyes, teasing the aching bud before nipping you lightly. 

“Sensitive,” he mumbles, dragging spit-slicked lips against your breast. “Can you take another finger?”

You nod eagerly, hungry to be filled. Your orgasm is starting to build slowly, worked up by the way he mouths at you, by the way Seokjin’s fingers reach so deep, pressing against your g-spot as he sinks another into your heat. 

“Shit,” you pant. “That feels so fucking good, Jin.”

“Mhmm.” He brings his mouth up to yours and your tongues tangle, teeth clinking together as he fucks you harder, the wet smack of your pussy against his palm loud. “Tight fucking pussy,” he pants, pressing hard against your front wall. Your heels dig into the bed as you try to keep up with the pleasure blooming in your stomach. “Gonna need to fuck you open a little if you’re gonna take me.”

If you’re gonna take me.

The promise of more has you rolling your hips up to meet his hand. He lets you fuck yourself on his fingers, dropping his gaze to look between your bodies. Your thighs and his stomach are slick with your juice, leaking around his fingers uncontrollably. 

When Seokjin introduces another finger, you hiss. The stretch is hard and it burns. He doesn’t keep thrusting right away, letting your cunt stretch around his three digits. But he’s pressed up against your soft spot, making you see stars as he puts unrelenting pressure on your nerves. 

It feels like insanity, the way he does this to you. The way Seokjin buries his face in your neck, your chests pressed together to provide friction against your teeth-marked nipples as he starts to build up a pace again, thrusting. 

“I’m gonna come,” you whisper, hands grabbing frantically at his sweaty shoulder blades. Your thighs are shaking and it’s hard to get a breath in. Your voice quakes as you gasp. “Fuck, Jin I’m - ah ah ah.”

“So come,” he says, as if it’s that simple. He puts weight behind the hand fucking you, quickens the pace. Presses so fucking hard you think you might blackout. “If you’re gonna come, then do it.” 

And you do. Just like that, nails digging into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched, you come around his fingers. He fucks you through it, breath hot in your ear. Your knees squeeze around his hips until you’re spent, collapsing against the mattress, boneless. 

Seokjin retracts his fingers. The sudden feeling of being empty makes you huff in protest and he laughs, lifting his face from your neck. You pout up at him and he kisses you again before leaning upward, straddling your legs. 

Your eyes zero in on his hands as they undo the top of his belt. His hand is covered in a wet sheen, cum-slicked and sticky. He doesn’t care, popping up the belt and pulling down the zipper of his pants. You grow eager, leaning up as he pulls the waist down, revealing the dark briefs that do nothing to hide how hard he is. 

With no warning, you reach for his clothed cock, squeezing firmly. He hisses and drops his hands, jeans only pulled halfway down his thighs. Seokjin tips his head back and moans at the ceiling as you lean forward and mouth at the damp spot on his briefs, tasting salt. 

“Fuck,” he swears and you grin, pressing and holding the flat of your tongue to the cloth to wet it. “You’re a little slut, huh?”

You hum in agreement. Fingers dancing up his thighs, you pause at the elastic band, looking up at him through your lashes. “Can I?”

Seokjin tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes half-lidded. He nods, watching and dazed as you peel the elastic down his hips slowly. You lean forward as you do, pressing a soft kiss to his hip bone. He twitches and sighs in response.

You look at his cock as it bobs against his stomach, brown tip smearing precum against his navel. You lick your lips and drag your hand up, fingers gripping his velvety shaft. He’s thick and heavy in your hand as you grasp him firmly, stroking upward. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, hips twitching. You grin up at him, swiping a thumb over the crown of his cock to spread the wetness down his shaft. He hums, entranced. “More.”

You don’t have to ask what he means. You lean upwards, pulling the tip of his cock toward your mouth. You slide just the tip into your mouth, suckling generously and running your tongue along the slit. His hand slips to the side of your neck, resting there but not doing anything. It’s a comforting weight as you take him in your mouth properly. 

Seokjin is art above you. Chest flushed, mouth open, eyes closed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was on his knees at worship. It is a sort of worship, the way you sink down on his cock, lips stretched wide, drool dripping down the side of your mouth and running down your jaw and neck. Is it not the spirit of loving him moving through you? Is this not heaven, looking up at him and seeing someone that has chosen you over and over again?

No pagan ritual in your life as a witch has felt like this. You swallow around him, eyes watering as you choke on his length, pulling back a little to catch your breath. Your hand squeezes him at the base, slick with your spit and his precum. Your mouth is wet and swollen as you lick the underside of his shaft, never looking away from his face.

“Fuck that mouth,” he sighs, eyes opening and looking down at you. He squeezes the side of your neck a little, fingers right against your throat. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I can’t hold out if you keep going. How do you like it?”

Instead of answering him, you pull off of him with a sloppy, wet noise. You make a show of running your tongue along your lips before turning around and crawling up the bed, wiggling your ass a little. Seokjin groans as he sheds his jeans and briefs the rest of the way. 

The bed sinks when he crawls behind you. You go down on your elbows, ass up high. He smacks each cheek firmly with both hands, making you yelp as he grips the stinging flesh, squeezing. “You have a good ass.”

“You have a nice dick.”

He laughs loudly at that. Seokjin’s hand skims down to your thighs, grabbing them and pushing them open. You sink a little lower on the bed, face pressed to the sheets and letting your eyes shut. The hair on his thighs sends a shiver up your spine as his legs brush against yours, hands roaming and squeezing your hips, your butt, your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters. His hands come back over the globes of your ass and sink toward your wet cunt. You moan as his thumbs peel you open, pressing around your clenching hole. “Shit.” 

The bed bounces as he moves again and then your eyes are snapping open, fingers twisting in your sheets when you feel the flat of his tongue swipe up your pussy. He hums in delight and you’re reeling, trying to catch your breath as he licks at you.

“Just wanted a taste,” he says, more to himself than you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it a few times and you nearly crumble right there at the unexpected stimulation. He slow-licks up to your hole, tracing it once before retracting his mouth. “I have all the time in the world for you to come in my mouth. Right now I just wanna feel you.”

“Yes, please.”

Your breath gets stuck when you feel the head of Seokjin’s cock catch your entrance. He’s thick, and even though you’re dripping down your thighs and stretched from his fingers, the pressure of him sinking into your heat slowly sends you moaning like a wanton whore, unable to stop the sounds escaping your mouth.

Seokjin is precise, hands holding your hips firmly until he’s fully seated in your cunt, your walls fluttering around him. You feel so full, his cock reaching deep enough to feel in your gut. When he pulls all the way out, you think something is wrong, but he fucks back into you hard.

“Oh shit,” you gasp, feeling the full weight of him spear you. “Holy shit.”

He doesn’t say anything but he grunts, setting a slow but deep pace. His hips snap into you with force, your knees spreading a little bit wider. He leans into it more, moving his hands to press into the small of your back. The full force of his weight pushing your hips into the bed as he slams into you makes you dizzy. 

An orgasm starts to build deep in your stomach. You claw at the bed, breaths coming out in a hiss. Seokjin grabs one of your hands, pulling it backward to pin it against your lower back before doing the same to the other. You’re completely pinned under him, pushed so far into the mattress you think you might fade and vanish into foam and sheets. 

Nothing here matters but the way he fucks into you, unrelenting, heavy, precise. He says your name and it rolls off his tongue sweeter than any pastry he’s ever made. Your orgasm creeps up on you, shaking and thunderous. It feels stronger than before, a pressure that makes you start to shiver, feet kicking under him.

For a moment, he slows, pulling off you a little. “Okay?”

“Keep going,” you beg him, voice high-pitched and strange to your ears. “Please don’t stop, I’ll tell you if I can’t take it.”

That’s all he needs. He redoubles and this time, changes his direction, hits that spot inside of you head on with his cock and you think you’re going to pass out. You become lifeless under him, unable to do anything but take it. The wave of your orgasm builds and builds and builds until finally, it breaches. 

You come for a second time, no noise coming out of you. It’s all white vision and squeezed thighs and ringing ears. You think you feel something like a bolt of lightning, a snap of power so strong as you clench around Seokjin that you taste static in the air. 

It’s hard to know how long it lasts. One moment you’re shaking and the next, you’re drifting, feeling weightless and exhausted. The weight of Seokjin’s touch keeps you tethered and from straying too far, but you’re somewhere in between nonetheless. 

Slowly, reality drips back to you. You think you may have dozed a little, your eyes dry as you blink them open. Seokjin is lying next to you, arm wrapped around you and eyes closed. He’s not breathing deep enough to be asleep, confirming it when his eyes open, sensing your gaze.

A smile lights up his face and you smile tiredly at him. Your cunt aches and your legs and arms are sore from being pinned, and you’re still a little shaky. Thoughts of your orgasm make you twitch, post-sex tremors that you can’t escape.

“Hi,” you rasp. “Did I fall asleep?”

“I think you blacked out.”

“I- what?” 

“I sort of…” he frowns. “There was like this electrical snap when I came. You clenched me so fucking hard I just… let go. I think we sort of had a magical orgasm.”

“A magical orgasm.”

He grins. “Just say thank you for the witch orgasm.”

“Ugh.” You smack his chest and he laughs hoarsely. 

It did feel like that though. Like a crackle of energy, like being struck by a storm of electricity and heat. You feel tired and heavy-limbed, but you feel sticky and sweaty too. “I need a shower.”

“Mhmm. I was waiting for you to come to.” He starts to sit up. “Come on, I’ll shower you. Then we need to sleep. We have to prepare you for your big day.”

“My big day?”

Seokjin grins as he reaches a hand for you. There’s a spark again when you touch and you hesitate, feeling the well of his magic there. It hums in him, a thunderhead of power and fire. He sees your expressions and softens. “You can’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Baby, I just fucked the everloving shit out of you and you know what you didn’t do?” Your brows pull together and he smiles. “You didn’t pull an ounce of my magic from me. I think you’re a lot better at control than you think you are.”

Licking your lips, you nod and let him pull you from bed. You are good at control. You had to be after your sister. It’s something you’ve practiced nonstop, the unconscious control of your desire for magic. Even when you sleep, you wake up often, fearful of losing your grip on yourself while you slumber.

It hasn’t happened yet. And as Seokjin leads you to the shower, you think… maybe it never will. Especially if the ritual goes right. Especially if you can get your magic back. 

Perhaps for the first time since you were thirteen, you feel a sliver of hope. When you look at Seokjin and you feel your heart stutter, you know that even without your magic, you’ve found something.

-

“Oh for the love of the land,” Yoongi groans when you appear in the basement of Seokjin’s home. “Look at the two of you.”

Everyone swivels to look at you and Seokjin, who are hand-in-hand. You freeze, pulling up short to take in the candle-lit room and the six other men who are all looking at you with equal parts happiness and a little bit of amusement.

You shift from foot to foot and chew your lip. Suddenly you want to turn tail and run back up the stairs and away from the watchful eyes of your friends - of Seokjin’s coven members. But Seokjin holds your hand tight, tugging you down the rest of the stairs into the gloom of the room.

Perhaps gloom isn’t the right word. The room is much too warm and smells of sage and thyme, a good feeling if not a little overwhelming. Outside this house, there is an entire festival going on at the park. The covenstead witches were furious when Seokjin let them know that he and his six would not be participating this year, as they had private matters to attend to.

It’s common for covens to use the holiday for something specific. Perhaps to bless a witch in need, or to strengthen a spell, or to defeat some evil. You remember that night that your parents left you alone for Beltane duties to fight and remove Dissenters, and how that turned out for you.

Magic hums all around you. It’s in the sigils on the ceiling of Seokjin’s sanctum and it’s in the ley lines that you can feel now more than ever as the veil between worlds thins. Each member of the coven has magic humming in their veins, a sort of signature taste and feel to it. You sense Yoongi’s deep shadows and Namjoons vibrant green, taste Jimin’s clean water and feel Hoseok’s pure air. Taehyung and Seokjin are the flickering flame that fills the room with light and heat, and Jungkook’s crackling storm greets you in the corner.

It’s hard to imagine where you fit in with them. But they don’t have a blood witch, who is all of these things wrapped into one. You know that they support you. The eight of you have gone over the ritual what feels like a hundred times at this point, perfecting it and making sure you know it inside and out.

The two rituals are wildly different. One to seek and find the source of your pain, led by Yoongi and Hoseok. Yoongi’s shadows and connection to the other side will help seek answers and provide clarity on whatever signs and hints come through the vision you’re supposed to have, and Hoseok’s strength with air will help keep you protected and clear of any negative energy.

Then, a small spell to build a bridge between the two rituals that Namjoon will handle with Jimin. Namjoon has it down to a science and has previously used it to link spells, and his affinity for earth will ground the entire circle. Jimin’s skill with water is to help guide you from ritual to ritual with ease and clarity. 

It’s the second half of the ritual that’s the most demanding, which is why it’s Taehyung and Jungkook conducting the destructive half, breaking whatever stands between you and your magic. Two warriors meant to sever your block or the target of your curse, whichever it may be.

And it’s possible that you’re cursed. You have briefly spoken about what that means. About what to do. It will most likely mean something damaging and life-threatening for whoever did curse you, if you forcefully try to shatter it instead of finding the cause. 

But there’s also potential for you to be harmed if the two of them try to break it and it’s too strong. It’s a risk that you have to assess in the moment, which is terrifying. You want to do it anyway, and you’re happy to find that they support you. That they’re there for you.

Coven members already, really. 

All seven of them are dressed to perform a ritual. Dark robes, anointed element symbols in dark ash on their brows. Yoongi has a small circlet around his head, making you pause and tilt your head as you glance at Seokjin. He sees your confusion and smiles. “Yoongi is our high priest tonight,” he murmurs. “He will start and end the circle so I can be here with you.”

Yoongi is blushing and looking up at the ceiling when you turn back to him. For him to step up and hold the circle as the beginning and end is a huge risk on him. He’ll be providing the most magic and taking on the most risk second only to you, all so that Seokjin can move freer and have more control.

“Yoongi is a very powerful witch, as you know,” Seokjin murmurs, steering you to the center of the room. “He holds circles for a lot of our rituals when we feel he’s better suited.” 

“Which is often,” Yoongi mutters at the ceiling where he keeps his gaze. 

“Yah, shut up, hag. Everyone get in their places.”

Seokjin puts you in the very center of the room. There is a pentagram chalked in powder, but there is no glow to it, no light to signal that it’s being used. He squeezes your shoulders and you look at him, wide eyed and afraid. His smile is warm and a little nervous, but he leans in and kisses you once.

“Trust us,” he says. “This will be hard on you. But we’ve got you.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t break the circle,” he reminds you. “If you have to break, do it when Namjoon is at the middle part and before we start the second ritual. He will open the circle a little, but it’ll be just for a moment before the second is started and locked.”

“Right. Ten second escape if I need to.”

“You only have that window if we need to stop. Once we start the second, there is no stopping until the full ritual is complete.”

“Got it.”

“Good luck,” Seokjin whispers and kisses you on the brow. “I’ll be right here.”

With a deep breath, he steps to the side and grasps your hand. The two of you stand alone in the middle, you and your anchor. Silence settles over the room. You haven’t been in the middle of a circle since you were a little girl receiving her first welcome into the coven. You had done that with your sister by your side and your mother at the head of the circle.

Now, you’re with Seokjin, with Yoongi at the head of the circle. Yoongi doesn’t really make eye contact with you, but you sense his calming aura even from where he stands at the first point of the circle. He rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, lifting his palms upward. “I stand at north, the beginning and end, start this circle, spirit ascend.”

You feel the ripple of magic in the room. Fire crackles at Yoongi’s feet, making you flinch. You watch as the red flames lick toward Hoseok, who is quick and light as he murmurs, “I stand northeast, to cleanse and protect, continue the circle, spirit to the next.”

You watch the flame as it sparks to life, moving clockwise around the room. Every time a member joins the circle, you feel the power thrum through the room, the pentagram beneath your feet beginning to glow. The flame comes all the way back around to Yoongi and he closes it, eyes opening and looking right at you.

Yoongi looks different than before, eyes shadowed and full of stars. “Begin,” he commands, voice like a thousand whispers. 

A little spike of fear goes through you as Hoseok begins to chant. You recognize the Latin immediately but your unpracticed ears lose trace of the meaning. It’s picked up slowly in the room and you feel your palms slick with sweat as the light of the pentagram pulses beneath your feet, the flames flickering around the feet of the coven members.

Yoongi’s voice picks up the chant like you’ve never heard him before. It’s uncanny and you lean into Seokjin, who squeezes your hand and looks down at you.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “This happens when he leads a circle. Veil is thin.”

Nodding your head, you turn to the front again, feeling the itch to pull power from the circle, to draw their magic into you. There’s so much of it filling the room, an open tap of water spilling into the sink. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, worried that you won’t be able to resist, worried that you’re going to pull from the magic and-

A wave of dizziness hits you. You gasp and bend over, hand circling your middle as though you’ve just been punched. Seokjin’s hands are on your back but you can’t hear him, a high-pitched ringing drowning out the sound of his voice. For a second, you’re lost in the sensation of having the air sucked from your lungs and the whine in your ears getting higher and higher.

Just when you think that your ear drums will burst, the ringing stops. There is a hushed whisper filling your ears and you still can’t catch your breath. The room spins a little and when you look up expecting to see Yoongi, all you see is dark trees and a blurry shadowy… building. Something. 

The whispers creep up on you. There are so many of them, hundreds - no, thousands - of voices brushing against you, dragging their fingers along your skin, touching you, hissing, singing, screaming. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced and their words are jumbled, sliding over one another.

Terror begins to claw at you. You try to remain calm, remembering that these are not the voices of spirits or something evil. Hoseok is commanding this ritual, an element of purity and guidance. He won’t let anything bad happen to you.

With faith in your future coven member, you try to focus on the voices. Try to decode them. Namjoon warned you that the messaging might be confusing. That you might not follow or understand what it’s saying. Symbols, images, key words. You need to reach for anything that seems like something, that can point to the origin of your block and follow it. 

Yoongi’s presence presses at the back of your mind. It startles you at first, to feel who you know is innately Yoongi. You follow the press of whatever he’s doing and you catch a few words that fly by you: little hut little hut. Little hut little hut. Little hut little hut. 

Unsure what it means, you cling to that. Little hut. It means something… you remember something about it. Yoongi’s presence fades away, satisfied that you’ve picked up on whatever it is he sees or senses. 

Flipping through memories, you try to remember why a hut might mean anything to you. There were no huts by your town… nothing that you can remember no one you know of. 

Little hut, little hut.

One memory sticks with you. Your sister playing in the background, hopscotching to a little tune that Mila down the street whispered to her about a witch in the woods. 

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Yes, you think. A rhyme about a witch who lived in the woods. More thing than witch, really. A shadowy being that took the shape of a hut, a creature of magic and curses that could be found in the darkest part of the woods when the veil is thin. 

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

You see it now. The blurry shape of a house that’s not really a house. The witch in the wood was a blood witch once, it was said. A witch who had long since dissented and practiced arcane magic, following a path that led her here. That led her to this. A thing of the woods. 

It occurs to you the weight of the appearance of her. This hut in the woods. Yoongi’s flippant remark about you being cursed is suddenly real.

Dread drops down in your stomach like a weight. You can’t hear anything beyond the rhyme, the chant to find the witch of the woods. You’re cursed, you realize. All the fear that your condition was self-inflicted, that it was your fault, that this was something you did. 

This is something that happened to you, Seokjin had said.

And he was right. Someone cursed you - did this to you. A child. 

Out there in the world, there is someone responsible for the death of your sister. Someone who took your magic, who turned you into a leech. The reason for your family's pain, the reason for them throwing you away. For your father and mother being driven mad, for the town turning against you.

You think about the rock that hit you just days ago. Thrown by a child taught to hate you. Taught that it was okay to hurt you because it was you. The town siphoner. A witch who couldn’t make her own magic, a parasite. 

Anger wells up inside of you and you latch onto the rhyme swirling around your head, clawing through it. This is the thread you must follow to find your curse giver. This is the clue.

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Dully, you are aware that Seokjin is next to you. You see him from the corner of your eye but it’s not Seokjin at all. Well - not as you now know him. This Seokjin is younger - a teenager by the looks of it. He’s not doing anything except staring out into the darkness. He fades in and out like a bad TV picture, glitching and blurring. But you know it’s him. 

His face is different though. Twisted in grief and pain, a frozen picture of angst. You imagine this is what you looked like when your sister died, a tableau of hurt and hate. 

Little hut, little hut

I call to thee

Little hut, little hut

Come to me

The Seokjin in front of you fades away. You reach out for him but your hands cut through empty air and darkness. He’s not really there and you have a hard time grasping the meaning of this. The voice sounds almost like Seokjin but not quite. Not as mature. 

Young Seokjin doesn’t show up again. You can feel the real Seokjin somewhere in the mess of the vision and the darkness, but you can’t hear him. Can’t see him. There is only the omnipresent darkness of the hut and the whispers of voices. 

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

There’s a flash of lightning. A storm in the darkness, splashes of purple and blue electricity. You cover your eyes as you hear thunder, low and soft somewhere. Across from you, your sister appears. She’s a fraternal twin who looks nothing like you except in the eyes. Your eyes look right back at you.

She’s the same age she was when she died. When you took her magic away. When you were cursed. She looks the same age as the apparition of Seokjin, and you try to understand. To make the connection from what you're seeing as the lightning lances again like it did that fateful night.

The rhyme keeps circling in a hurricane of whispers. 

As the ritual comes to a close, the vision begins to fade. You’re no better off than where you started and in a panic, you reach for the vision of your sister. You just want to hold her one last time, to feel the warmth of her skin.

But she isn’t real and she fades as Hoseok’s chanting falls to a murmur and then to a whisper, the air returning to normal. You can breathe again, and as you look up from where you’re bent over, you see Seokjin kneeling on the ground in front of you, holding you by the shoulders. His face is swimming with fear and concern, gaze searching.

Seokjin looks so much like his younger self. He’s matured into his face and is a handsome man, but he was a cute teenager. His face now is full of love and concern, but you think about his face in your vision. Twisted in pain and years. 

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

You straighten up suddenly, knocking him over on his ass as you do so. It feels like you’ve been slapped as you stare at him, a sudden buzz in your ears as you stare and stare and stare. The ritual comes to an end and Namjoon opens the circle - a foot in the door, more like - and begins to start his spell for Taehyung and Jungkook to weave the new ritual into the circle. 

Without thinking about it, you dash for the edge of the circle. Seokjin yells but you’re fast, surging between Namjoon and Jimin where the door exists. Namjoon’s head snaps to look at you, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Close it and close the circle,” you pant. 

“I-”

“Close the fucking circle!”

Seven pairs of eyes look at you then. They hesitate for a moment, the flames around them wavering. You can feel the power licking at their heels and something like rage shudders through you. You don’t know where to channel it yet and you begin to pace as Namjoon recloses the circle and turns to Yoongi. 

Slowly, Yoongi begins to finish the ritual. They work backward from Yoongi to Jungkook to Taehyung to Jimin. You don’t look at them, wringing your hands as you pace back and forth, heart reaching a wild beat. 

Images fly by. The hut, the whispers, Seokjin’s face, the thunderstorm, your sister. 

The narrative isn’t straightforward. You don’t quite understand the rhyme, or its function, but the second half sounds bad, sounds perhaps like a plea. A bargain. A need for a curse. You recall the thunderstorm on the night of Beltane, the way your sister watched with wide eyes while you sought her out. You think of Seokjin’s affinity for fire and storms, the way he can command thunder just by being upset. You think of his face, so full of pain and hate. 

Finally, they finish the circle. Seokjin rushes to you, hands outstretched and a question on his mouth but you jerk away from him. 

“Did you curse someone?” you demand, making him pull up short. He opens and closes his mouth. The silence in the room is deafening. You can hear your own heartbeat, pulse throbbing in your ears. “Seokjin, did you curse someone?”

“I… what does that have to do with-”

“Little hut, little hut. Hear my strife. Little hut, little hut. Ruin this life.” 

Three things happen then. The first is Seokjin’s confusion as he shakes his head, lost as to why you’re repeating a rhyme back to him. Then a flicker of memory followed by the drain of color on his face. He straightens up, blanched and shaking his head back and forth as he takes a step away from you.

“No,” he says and takes another step back. “That’s not right, I didn’t curse you.”

“What did you do?” 

“I didn’t curse you,” he says again. He seems lost in it though, like he’s saying it to himself. Yoongi takes a step toward Seokjin and he holds out a hand, warding Yoongi off. “I cursed the witches responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t curse you.” 

“You cursed someone?” Taehyung hisses from across the circle. “And you never thought to mention it in preparation for this?”

“Shut up, Taehyung,” Seokjin snaps. “I didn’t curse her. I did go into the woods that night to find the hut witch and I cursed the people responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t even know you then.” 

“Did you give a name? What did you say?” 

“I didn’t know their names!” He answers, frantic and looking at you pleadingly. “I didn’t - no. I remember it, I shared my blood with her, to show the memory. I saw their faces, but I didn’t know their names. We were -” his voice cracks and he clutches his hands against his chest, tears in his eyes. “I was so afraid when they came. We’d been going from town to town, trying to get away. My parents wanted to go back home, overseas. We just had to get there and then these witches, they came and blew down the door and they killed them.”

“So you cursed them based on a memory?”

“Yes,” he insists. “Baby, I didn’t curse you. How could I? How would I?”

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

“Seokjin.” You say his full name, voice ringing and calmer than you feel. Your stomach is in knots and you feel your mouth water, hinting at the nausea working its way up your throat. “Did you ask the blood witch in the hut to ruin the lives of the witches who killed your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Were your parents Dissenters killed on the night of Beltane?”

A long stretch of silence takes up the space between you. You stare at Seokjin and he becomes a stranger. Become another person on the street that looks at you with hate. Another face in the dozens of the town who don’t care if you exist. 

When Seokjin says nothing, it says everything. The final piece of information slots its way in and you feel like you’re going to crack open like an egg and spill out. Gooey and yolk-yellow. 

“That was why there was a storm,” you whisper. “Because you were angry and upset, wherever it was that you were. And you cursed my family. Not my parents. Our entire family. That’s why I lost my magic and siphoned my sister to death. That’s why my parents were driven to madness and their eventual end. It’s why everyone hates me. You cursed me with ruin.”

“I…” Seokjin shakes his head but can’t make the words come out. 

There is no way out now. You get everything picture perfect for the first time. It’s the perfect curse, really. Driving your family to ruin in different ways. Pushing you, the final member of the family, to the person you would eventually fall in love with, to the person that cursed you.

You can’t break it. Not knowing that it’s most likely at the cost of Seokjin’s life. Giving his blood to the witch was a terrible thing. She used it to cast the curse and likely to bind it to him. Which means if you want your magic, you must kill Seokjin. 

Instead of standing there to consider the possibility, you turn and run. He tries to run after you but someone stops him. He has his coven to comfort him for what he’s done and you have nothing and no one. Just how you started. 

Your runaway is messy. Tripping over thresholds, slipping down stairs. Night stretches over the world and the air is thrumming with energy. You think it would be so easy to tap into, to take and take and take the magic around you that echoes from the Beltane festivals. Would anyone even notice if you took a little?

Still, you don’t. Hot tears blind you as you stumble into the woods behind Seokjin’s house. It’s not the best shortcut when you’re distraught and overcome with tears, but you think you can get to your apartment building by memory alone. 

Around you, the world grows darker and quieter. Eventually, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and sniffling as the tears freefall. Something prickles on your skin and you slow your tangled escape to look around you.

The woods are unfamiliar. At least, they seem darker and hazier, like you’re somewhere that looks like the woods behind Seokjin’s house but isn't quite right. You’re more careful as you move forward, one foot in front of the other. 

A breeze cools the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, feeling more like a finger running down your spine than the actual wind. A whisper of noise wisps by you and you stop, frowning. Trying to grasp the words as they float by, indiscernible. 

You start walking again, following the sound of a voice that is always just a little too far ahead. A little too soft spoken for you to make out the words. When you do manage to catch up, you hear a soft little rhyme. 

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Something like a high-pitched wail rings out behind you. Your limbs lock and goosebumps explode over your arms and legs as you slowly crane your neck to look in the direction that you came. There’s no clear path, just tangled trees and darkness. 

A soft buzz tingles along your skin. You sense the magic, static that you can’t hear but you can feel and taste on your tongue. Slowly, you turn back to face the direction you’re walking. There is a tiny little stream in front of you, trickling and black.

Carefully, you step over it. Your hands quake. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck and your upper lip, your mouth trembling as you see the vague shape of a hut. Or perhaps it's just the idea of a hut, with a hole for a door that looks endless. Void. Dark. 

You think about your sister. See her face swimming in front of you, so full of life. Then it drains of color as you bleed her dry and steal everything from her. Every drop, turning her from a beautiful girl full of the sun and the sky into a husk. 

You clench your fists. 

Vengeance can’t bring her back. Vengeance can’t make them love you. But it can take away this fucking hurt inside of you, the pain that you have carried for so long that it feels like a wound that will never close. So you decide to take a page out of Seokjin’s book.

“Little hut, little hut,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Feel my ache. Little hut, little hut, make him break.” 

#seokjin smut #jin smut #jin bts smut #seokjin angst #jin angst #jin bts fanfic #seokjin bts fanfi #kim seokjin smut #jim seokjin fanfic #jin x reader #jin you #minors dni #minors do not interact

[twin-wings]

Vash and Knives' dynamic in the manga is extremely compelling to me. I really like how their conflict isn't a matter of innate temperaments, but the different ways in which they react to their experiences.

When they were kids, Knives was the one with the strongest desire to connect with humans. He had so much hope – and fear of rejection – that he literally started crying when he felt accepted by Conrad, the second person after Rem to learn about the twins' existence. And it's important that it was Knives, and not Vash, to say something like this:

I've always found it so interesting that between the two of them, Vash was the more cautious one. He was more reserved, quieter, and less emotional compared to Knives. And most importantly, he had fewer expectations about humans and whether or not they could become friends with them.

Vash has never been naive. He's very aware of how difficult it is for people to come to a mutual understanding – and how two beings as powerful as them will likely be seen with suspicion and fear by humans – but this doesn't mean that trying isn't worth it, not matter how many times it might fail.

What this moment conveys is not naive idealism, but an impossibly strong determination. Vash does believe that humans and plants can coexist peacefully, but he also knows it's an uphill road to get there.

Obviously Knives doesn't share the same hope. All the hope he had about humanity was crushed when he found out about Tesla. That was the day his innocence was irreparably lost.

But Knives wasn't the only one who was affected by that discovery. Vash's reaction was just as strong: we see him adamantly refusing food, trying to kill himself because he couldn't stand to be in a ship full of humans. We see him lashing out, angry and scared and unable to trust humans at all, not even Rem.

The whole flashback adds a lot of nuance to Vash's character: he knows humans are capable of terrible things, he doesn't just blindly trust them and doesn't see the world through rose-tinted glasses. But he still chooses empathy and forgiveness instead of resentment and vengeance again and again, because he knows humans are also capable of good, of changing and learning from their mistakes. Rem herself was proof of that: how she did all she could to prevent the tragedy of Tesla from happening again; how she gave her own life for everyone else, to grant everyone a ticket to the future. It was Rem who convinced Vash to have hope and gave him a reason to keep living, and it's her legacy that Vash tries to protect with his life.

Knives, on the other hand, bottled up his emotions, refusing to share his pain with Vash and Rem and using it to fuel his hatred. Knives was afraid of humans as much as Vash was, but instead of facing that fear head-on and overcoming it, he decided to eradicate the source.

The main conflict in Trigun isn't just about two brothers' ideological divergences, nor is it simply about stopping the "bad guy": it's about how good and evil coexist in human nature. Vash and Knives were bound to discover the dark side of humanity sooner or later, and they were bound to make a choice. While Knives only sees the evil that humans have done and refuses to give them a chance, Vash chooses to believe in people's potential for goodness.

They are two sides of the same coin. Both are incredibly powerful beings with the ability to exterminate humanity if they so wanted, but the way they choose to use their immense powers is completely opposite.

#trigun #trigun maximum #vash the stampede #millions knives #trigun meta #trigun spoilers #my post

[neo-nomatrix]

Burn

Namor x wakandan!reader

“Calm yourself Luna, I'm here.”.

Your arms wrapped around Namors shoulders as you pressed your body against his back and kissed his neck, taking in his smell of fresh rainwater. This wasn’t where you wanted to be right now.

It had been a year since you last saw Namor in person. When you left your home, your family, you found solace in him. At first it confused Namor, he never saw himself falling in love with a surface dweller.

“You’re telling me you’re from the ocean? How bizarre.”

“Well, just imagine how I feel, Yakuntik.”

Yakuntik. A nickname he had for you that made your knees absolutely weak. Whatever kind of siren trance he had on you seemed to be taking affect. You hate to admit it but, your time away from Wakanda was some of the best years of your life. You immediately fell in love with Namor and his life. You loved the people of Talokan. But, no matter how hard you try, nothing lasts forever.

You hated yourself for this. You hated that you allowed yourself to be pulled back into your vengeance and grudges. You vowed to never hurt Namor, but that was before he hurt your home. You may be his wife, but you were Wakandan first.

When you agreed to help trap Namor along with Shuri you were hesitant.

“We don’t know for a fact that this will stop him. Shuri, it could kill him.” Your eyes plead with her, putting all your hope that Shuri would have an ounce of mercy with you.

“He should have thought about that before killing my mother. Don’t let him make you forget about your queen,” she reminds you.

You could nearly feel your heart breaking as you kept Namor in place, trying to calm him down.

“You have to leave, Yakuntik,” he warns you.

“If I leave she will kill you!” You yell at him.

“Or I might just kill her,” his last words to you are ones you won’t forget.

He uses a spear to crack open a window, and puts a mask over your mouth to make sure you’ll survive in the water. The last you see is Shuri trying to take down Namor.

You know the last thing he wants is for you to come after him, but he also knows how stubborn you are. When you reach the small island Shuri has him at, you see Namor limping to get some source of water. He looks in dire need of it. A wing from his foot ripped off, claw marks on his cheek and body, eyes heavy, chest moving rapidly as he breathes.

You’re about to reach him before Shuri submerges him in flames from the jet. Having him drop to his knees. Your heart finally shatters in two. You watch as the love of your life begins to slowly fade away, you can’t help but think it’s all your fault.

“Do not come closer to him! There is water on you!”

Simultaneously you want to stop yourself and keep pushing ahead. You watch as Shuri takes a spear and presses it against Namors neck. The same neck you were kissing just a little while ago. She starts talking to him, most of it passing directly over your head. It wasn’t until you heard him say something in his mother tongue.

“I yield”.

At the same time Shuri lifts the spear she has on his neck you go running towards him. Placing his head on your lap. Your tears being the only source of water to him.

“Help me get him to water! Help me!” You scream at Shuri as your motionless husband lays there.

Once you get him to water you start brushing through his hair, mumbling about how you’re sorry and regret what you’ve done.

“Uthando, I never meant to hurt you. Please forgive me.”

“Yakuntik, you could never hurt me. You know that.”

As Namor starts to build his strength once again he begins assuring you none of this was directly because of you.

“My love. Don’t you understand? I could never be upset with you, no matter what. I would give up the oceans for you. I brought you the sun, and I have no intentions of taking it back.”

#tenoch huerta namor #namor x reader #black panther x reader #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #black panther wakanda forever #namor the sub mariner

[greensimp]

Gyutaro Reader Insert AU Idea #2

Gyutaro AU: Merpeople/Sirens

Gyutaro would be an eldritch horror of a siren. I would say he’d weigh about two tons, despite being extremely boney. What he lacks in fat he makes up for in bone density and muscle. He’d be long and sinewy, probably close to the length of a school bus or two.

Despite his size, he’s as close to the perfect predator as they come. His long and flowy, yet severely damaged green fins allow him to disguise himself as kelp or pollution. He’s a master at the stalk and kill method of hunting, but even better at the wait and ambush. The only indication that you’d get that you’ve entered his territory is a pair of glowing, orange and red eyes stalking you from afar. And if you’ve seen those eyes, you’re as good as dead already. The best you can do for yourself is pray to whatever god you believe in to make it a fast and painless death.

He'd loathe humans, because they’d be the reason he would be one of the last of his kind. They’re the reason his sister was taken from him. In a world where sirens exist, it would be a no-brainer that humans would exploit the hell out of them like they do other sea life. Gyutaro is thin because his normal food sources have been decimated due to bycatch and overfishing. His body is in constant survival mode, and he’s had to struggle his way out of countless fishing nets over his near century of life. Said fishing nets are the reason why his once beautiful fins are full of holes and tears.

His main motivation is vengeance. He’ll rip apart any human he sees in the water. Ume won’t be avenged until the human race goes extinct.

There have been sightings of him, although it is very rare to capture a picture of him and live to tell the tale. As well as the camera that took the picture (there are quite a few polaroid cameras, phones, and other picture-taking devices he’s collected as trophies over the years). There’s even a surprisingly accurate oil-painting a sailor did of him half a century ago.

While siren hunting had been made illegal internationally, that doesn’t stop poachers from trying to hunt him down. He’s like the ultimate prize. The last siren. What most of them are unprepared for is just how unnaturally powerful and large he is for his kind. He can tear through a fiberglass hull like paper with his claws, which is exactly the kind of boats most poachers take into the open water to avoid getting caught by the coast guards, navies, or even the satellites.

Despite all of his horrifying characteristics and behaviors, he is said to have the most hauntingly beautiful call in the entire ocean. Not much is known about what siren calls mean, but it is most likely a song of grief. If you hear it, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s near, as the sound waves can reach thousands of miles from its source. However, no matter where you are in proximity to him, his call will almost certainly bring even the toughest of men to tears. Nothing can match the decades of loneliness Gyutaro has had to endure.

How will the reader win the heart of this Gyutaro? What will they have to do to even survive two seconds next to him? Once again, that will be up to YOU for now.

If this post gets 200 likes, I’ll share the Gyutaro siren designs I drew a couple of days ago that gave me to inspo for this AU idea.

#gyutaro #kny au #gyutaro x y/n #demon slayer #alternate universe #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #fanfic #merpeople

[creative-caramel-coffee]

First Visions Pt 2

Pairings: Thornhill x Weems x Reader (platonic)

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: Reader is taken care of after part one.

TW: injury, concussion, vomiting, non-sexual semi-nudity (basically just getting help changing)

Part 1

A/n Based off multiple requests I received for a part two. In a more personal aspect, I want to dedicate this fic to one of my anons (they should know who they are). I respect their privacy too much to post what they have said, but I want them to know I am very glad to hear they are doing a bit better and I wish them luck with everything. I want them to know I am sorry for their struggle and Im glad my fics are a source of comfort to them. I want everyone to know that life is a fight and we are all soldiers. I wish this anon luck with their battles all future and present ones, and can only hope they come out on top each and every time. Stay safe everyone and make sure you listen to what your mind and body needs, and make sure to look after yourselves and reach out if you need help to either friends, family or professionals.

The nurse finished her speech on what to do and what not to do. You did your best not to fall asleep the whole time despite how much you wanted to. Weems was nodding as she took in the information, she then thanked the nurse who turned and left.

Ms Thornhill however did not leave. She pulled the principle aside and they spoke in hushed tones glancing at you every once in a while. The nurse said it would be ok for you to sleep but you would need to be woken up every few hours to reassess. Ms Thornhill had made it very clear she wanted to stay and help Larissa take care of you and based off how weems had simply deflated she won quite easily.

Both teachers turned to you and came back over, you sluggishly looked up at them making weems frown as she checked her watch.

“Well Ms L/n i think its best you head to bed. Ms Thornhill and I will alternate coming in to check on you throughout the night. Ms Thornhill will take you to the spare room and I’ll grab you some night clothes. I have some old T-shirt’s that should fit you.” She said with a smile and offered you, her hand. You looked up at her and took it. Her skin was soft and warm under your fingers, her grip strong as she hauled you up. You stumbled and she was quick to grab your elbow to make sure you didn’t fall over.

After she helped you off the couch, she passed you to Ms Thornhill who gently guided you into Larissa’s own quarters through the door at the back of the office.

You were led through some rooms, not really listening to much over the pounding of your head which had come back with vengeance. Ms Thornhill didn’t let you go once on the short trip. She sat you down on a spare bed and Weems turned and went to get you some of her old clothes to wear to bed.

You sat and simply looked at Ms Thornhill until you lightly rested your head on her shoulder feeling exhausted. Most likely due to the stress of your body dealing with its powers for the first time. Ms Thornhill sat quietly with you and stroked your hair gently.

Time passed, you had no idea how much, but you knew it had. Ms Weems came back, and the two teachers looked at each-other with matching expressions. Silently the conversed and decided you would need their help to change.

“Y/n can we help you?” The principal asked and you blinked slowly and nodded with a yawn. As the tall British woman began to undo the buttons of your school shirt, Ms Thornhill guided your arms out of the blazer and folded it neatly for later. You brought a hand up to scrub at your eyes while you gave another small yawn followed by a tired hum.

“Your defiantly ready for bed aren’t you Y/n/n” Ms Thornhill chuckled, and you gave a half-hearted smiled and nodded slowly so you didn’t aggravate the twenty mini lumberjacks that must have been chopping up your brain.

The principal gave a small hum and slid off your shirt now the buttons were undone. She grabbed the shirt from where it sat on the bed nearby and looked at you softly. “Arms up darling.” She said and you did albeit slowly. Gently she guided your arms into the correct holes and then your head.

“There you are.” She said once your head popped through, your hair slightly disheveled.

“Here i am.” You said softly and not without another yawn.

“Do you want me to redo your hair sweetheart?” Ms Thornhill asked as she tapped a finger on the middle of your back. “Want me to take this off?” She asked and you nodded.

She felt the back of the shirt and found the clip for your bra through the fabric and undid it. You slid it off and put it under your blazer.

“Yes please.” You said softly in reference to the earlier question.

“Alright.” She smiled. “Larissa, do you have a brush we can borrow?”

“I believe so. One moment.” She said and disappeared out the door, returning a moment later with a purple brush. With one teacher on each side, they undid their respective plait.

“How do you want it?” Ms Thornhill asked, noticing how you relaxed once there was no longer tension on your scalp. “Feel better?” She chuckled and used her fingers to gently massage your scalp. You sighed and lent into the touch.

“Just two loose plaits please. Otherwise, it knots something awful.” You muttered and she nodded and began to gently brush her side before passing the brush to Ms Weems who repeated the action on her own side.

After you had changed, your plaits had been loosely redone, and you had climbed into bed; weems walked over to the draw of the dresser and pulled out a small white object.

Upon closer inspection you realised it was a baby monitor, but you were too tired to care. Weems placed a baby monitor on the bedside

“it's just in case you needed anything in the night.” She said softly, “Ms Thornhill has your phone, like the nurse said no screens. So, this will work in the meantime. If you need one of us just talk into this or give us a yell. My bedrooms down the hall on the right. Ms Thornhill will be with me as this is the only spare room. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, anything at all darling no matter the time. Bathroom is through there.” She pointed to a door attached to the room you hadn’t noticed earlier.

“Goodnight darling.” Weems said and Ms THornhill echoed the sentiment.

You whispered goodnight and then you were out like a light.

It felt no sooner than your head had hit the pillows when you felt gentle hands caressing your cheek. You blinked your eyes open blearily to look up at your attacker. Ms Weems was stood over you, looking slightly groggy herself.

“Hello Y/n. As promised just checking in. I was worried when you didn’t wake up when i called your name.” She said looking more awake now. “Can you answer some questions for me darling?” She asked and retracted her hand. You gave a tired nod and she hummed to show she got the message.

“Do you know where you are?” She asked and you blinked and looked around for a second making the headmistress mildly concerned.

“Your apartment?”

“Very good Y/n. Do you know what month it is?” She asked and you nodded again. “Tell me sweetheart.” You gave a tired smile and gave her the month.

“Good. Can you tell me who I am?” She asked and you nodded.

“Principal Weems.” You said dopily and still half asleep.

“Good. Good job Y/n. Does anything hurt sweet girl?” Weems asked and your brow furrowed for a second.

“Yeah, just my head.” You said and Weems nodded and checked the time.

“Im afraid I can't give you anymore medicine yet. Im sorry. Do you feel sick at all?” She asked softly.

“A little but I’m fine it’ll pass.”

That response made Weems own brow furrow as she weighed her options and decided to trust you on this one.

“Alright, but if it gets worse don’t hesitate to get me.” She said. “One last thing. Can you wiggle your finger and toes for me?” She asked and you nodded and complied. “Good girl. You can go back to sleep now darling.” She said and you laid back down watching her as she turned off the lamp which was giving the room a soft glow. She bid you goodnight and you fell asleep again.

The next time you woke up there were no soft hands on your cheek or even any other presence in the room. However, your stomach was churning uncomfortably, and you hurried into a sitting position. You had barely made yourself upright when you gagged and mentally began to panic.

What would Ms Weems say if you threw up in her spare bed? You didn’t have time to debate it because your stomach decided to find out.

You gagged again and then threw up. Luckily it didn’t end up on the sheets, more just down the front of the shirt. You let out a tired whimper. You just wanted to sleep.

The disturbance through the baby monitor must have woken one of the teachers because a moment later they opened the door. Both of them. Ms Weems softened as she observed the situation. You froze, looking like a dear in headlights. Ms Thornhill crossed the room and flicked on the lamp switch.

“Oh darling.” Weems sighed sympathetically her face looking both sad for you and concerned. “Let’s get you into fresh clothes.”

She came over and sat on the bed turning to you and carefully peeling off the soiled shirt while Ms Thornhill held up the sheets to preserve your modesty. Ms Weems helped you into another shirt before turning away and taking the ruined clothes to the washing machine.

“Are you feeling ok now honey?” Ms Thornhill asked, and you nodded. “Good. Well since we are here let's do the questions then you can rest until morning. Sound alright with you?” She asked and you nodded. She went into the bathroom and came back with a damp cloth before coming and sitting where Weems had been moments prior.

“Can you tell me who I am?” She said studying you closely as she gently drew the rag across your chin.

“Ms Thornhill.” You mumbled and rubbed your eyes.

“Good job. Do you know what subject i teach?” She asked and you squinted.

“Botany?”

“Yep. And what year is it?” She asked and you frowned.

“2023?”

“Right again. Alright wiggle your fingers and toes for me.” And you did, making her smile. “And are you still feeling sick?” She asked and you gently shook your head. Weems smiled and came over from where she had been standing in the doorway unnoticed by both of you.

“I’ll leave this here just in case alright y/n?” She said and set down a plastic sick bag. You nodded and both teachers watched you lie back down.

“Go to sleep Y/n. I may not be here in the morning as i have classes, but Ms Weems will be either in her office or in her apartment. Just yell or use the monitor and she’ll be right with you. I’ll be back a little later with lunch for us all. Alright?” Ms Thornhill said, and you nodded sleepily against the pillow.

“‘Right” you said, and they both said goodnight again and left.

The final time you woke up it was bright. Well, it would have been if the curtains weren’t closed to keep the room at sufficiently dark, concussion friendly light levels.

You gingerly brought a hand up to your head and felt a spike of pain from the headache. The meds had defiantly worn off and you missed them sorely.

“Ms Weems?” You mumbled into the plastic monitor, hoping she would bring more medicine. There was no response, and you began to resign yourself to the fact you may have to get up when the door opened.

“Good morning darling. How are you feeling?” Of course, the monitor was one way, it was for babies.

“Like I’ve been bowling but my head was the ball. Do you have any more of that medicine from yesterday my headache was sent to challenge gods.” You said weakly.

“Oh sweetheart.” She said and came over to the bedside. “Take these and I’ll find you some food.” She said as she popped two white pills into your outstretched palm.

She handed you a glass of water which you took and swallowed down alongside the medicine.

“Life saver.” You grinned looking both fatigued and in pain.

“Stay here and I’ll find you something light to eat. You're not still feeling sick, are you?” She asked turning back with a worried expression. You shook your head and immediately regretted it as the meds were yet to kick in. You winced and so did the principle as she mirrored the expression.

“No.” You whispered holding your head in your hands.

“Alright.” She said and hesitated before going to get you some food.

About fifteen minutes later she came back with a bowl of toast and apple sauce. You moved from the position she left you in to take the tray from her with a soft ‘thank you’.

“I’ll be in my study. Try and go back to sleep after you’ve eaten your body needs rest.” she said kindly, and you nodded and slowly chewed a mouthful of toast. It was good and the butter was a nice touch.

After you had eaten you set the tray down on the side table and laid back down in the sheets. Willing yourself back into slumber you drifted off feeling slightly better.

The rest of the day went by lazily. You rested and when the time came ate lunch with Ms Weems and Ms Thornhill. The nurse stopped by after lunch to check in and said you were all good to return to your dorm. Ms Thornhill walked you back and Ms Weems had given you the next few days off to rest saying she would be by with meals and to check on you each day.

So, after it all, you were ok. Everything was ok. And for once that was also ok. Because it wasn’t the boring kind of ‘ok’. It was the kind of ‘ok’ that seemed almost a bit … magical, like witchcraft or … just maybe, it was the special kind of ok that the outcasts of nevermore were. The kind that came with new powers. New powers … or first visions.

#concussion #hurt reader #hurt / comfort #comfort #weems #larissa weems #principal weems #sicfic #whump #fluff #wednesday addams #marilyn thornhill #Ms Thornhill #marilyn thornhill is not laurel gates #reader #self insert #fanfic #fanfiction #platonic #injury #illness #sick #sick r #vomiting #help changing #psychic r #new powers #outcast r #student r #nevermore

[yelling-space]

Children of light/darkness

it wouldn't let me change the txt 2 black so enkis pink cuz i hate him

Couldnt stop thinking about that one stupid throw away line in fagcats monologuing so i decided to apply it to the rest of the gang becuse i can 4 context i'm going to assume the ratio of children of light:darkness is similar to that a 1:45 type thing. (includes a few hcs.)

  — "Living humans are divided into two groups, yes? There are children of light. Those destined to walk under the bright sun. Those people do well in all hardships of life. They have dear humans who they want to return to. Even in the darkest hour, they can feel the warmth of their loved ones in their heart and gain extra courage from that.” - Pocketcat

Obviously The Girl is a child of light since it’s stated in-game by the New Gods. A pure child, a blank slate birthed from the darkest pits of human creation. The literal embodiment of fear and hunger, a small light shrouded in darkness without even a glimmer of hope. A child who's been robbed of love;the first kind gesture she ever received was being freed from a cage by a man who smiled at her like she wasn't a horrific monster. Yet despite all her hesitation she slowly finds herself gaining comfort in his presence, enough to scrounge a little closer and find herself enjoying the sound his voice,a man that never stop talking even tho she doesn't speak back, doesn't quite understand why he shares his food with her yet gobbles it down before he can try taking it back the second she realises its safe to eat. And then he gifts her the doll. And she's not really sure what to do or what all these overwhelming feelings inside are but the raggedy thing never leaves her side as she trails him like a moth to flame.

Cahara's a child of light, he burns slow and soft. A little flicker of light in the darkness that'll last in the wind because it has the fuel to keep going and can light up other people. He’s a people person, a social butterfly who people are drawn to and ends up making connections wherever he goes. Despite everything he's been through and all the horrors and harsh realities of life he's faced, he's still able to find joy and a love for life. Quite literally one the only thing holding the group together and reason half these people even start to tolerate each other.

“Hooo~ you do? This is the most surprising! I feel like so many people lose the sight of happiness once they grow out of their naive little views of the world they had as younglings. But perhaps it is possible to feel like that, even as someone as old as you.” - Pocketcat

Ragnvaldr’s a child light. He burns bright and fast like a strip of magnesium, his light comes in bursts. Rage comes as quick as it goes and isn't a reliable source of fuel but shines so bright when it burns it almost hurts to witness.

His light’s too hot to get close to when he's burning, and therefore it doesn't get 'shared' before it's gone unlike Cahara’s who serves to light others over coaxing his own flame. Yet despite losing his family he still carries the love his people held for him in his heart, letting it fuel his fire even though he knows he'll never be able to return to them. Yet despite losing his family, Ragnvaldr still carries their memories alive in his heart and never loses sight of the happiness that was robbed from him so instead he keeps their spirits close while he seeks vengeance.

It's for that same reason The Girl and Ragnvaldr are both attracted to and seek out light despite being lights of their own. They both require others to fuel their flame and keep them afloat vs someone whose light is soft and nurturing more like Cahara’s, whose light draws others towards him. Is bright enough to warm your hands in the midst of a cold winter’s storm yet too weak to spark the light of rebellion and bring about change in the world.

 “In the opposite end of the spectrum, there are children of darkness. Those humans are often driven to depression and sorrow because of life's peculiar ways.But they have learned how to live with those feelings. In fact, they have grown to love the ever-pressing darkness within. Those humans are able to draw energy from darkness, they are not dependent on other people. They only need darkness, their old friend.So, humans of light and darkness... Which one are you?” - Pocketcat

It's how D'arce can be born with a silver spoon in her mouth and want for nothing as she gets older, pursuing what she thinks is her dream, leaving behind her luxurious life and continuing to strive higher and higher for her 'goals' – only to constantly be miserable despite it all. No matter what she gains or what she gives up, just never being satisfied, feeling like she's stagnating and making nothing herself despite all the accolades and medals and milestones she's achieved.

It's the same reason Enki can be born in darkness, wanting nothing more then the endless pursuit of knowledge – forced to eat his younger siblings, forced to claw his way out of a well, forced to eat bugs in order to survive, forced to backstab his twin sister, only ever finding twisted satisfaction in a rare moment of joy when he burns his family and the place he once called home into ash – feels so comfortable drowned in misery.

They’re both on completely different ends the moral and social spectrum, yet they both closed off their hearts to the world and poured themselves into their own goals. A way to close off their feelings and shut away from the rest of the world. They both just sorta look at Cahara and Ragnvaldr smiling, laughing and simply ,,,,enjoying existing in each other's company. And they just kinda stare in disbelief at this light in front of them, almost unable to actually believe what they're actually seeing, let alone comprehend how they're even able to exist so freely in a place like this. It doesn't make sense. They're all trapped in this horrific hellscape of a dungeon with strangers they've never met, barely surviving the passing hours with their mess of skill sets and feeble attempts to hold onto whatever draining sense of morality and justice they had before coming down here. And yet these two are smiling and cracking jokes. Talking like they'd been friends for years even though they barely know each other. they just seem so ,,, so,,, bright. no matter how much Enki and D’arce become familiar with the sight, they feel like they're intruding on something; they shouldn't be allowed to see this. 

It's something they've already come to terms within their own lives, after all. It's a feeling people like them don't need. They don't deserve it. Yet. something about the sight is just so warm and comforting they can’t quite bring themselves to tear their eyes from it. 

“Since you were a child of darkness, I imagine you agree when I say that we don't get the luxury of happiness.We only know brief joy every now and then, but even that is getting more rare every day.” - Pocketcat

Considering how both Enki and Ragnvaldr kinda blur the line a bit when it comes to their actions and motives; how Ragnvaldr can be argued to go 'darker' while enki goes 'lighter' despite their soul compositions (in my amazing  awful timeline of events at least.)

It’s how D'arce, a knight of one the most prestigious and well respected groups in the kingdom, borne of nobility, who grew up comfortably, never having to scrape by is constantly shaped in misery and loneliness, can never truly happy no matter how high she climbs in the world vs Cahara having known nothing but constant suffering and struggles, is still able to be happy and smile with people he cares for and find people that love him despite their line of work or less than fortunate situation. He's able to befriend people in every corner of the world he travels to; there's people who care for him and want to be around him. Even though he's experienced the hardship of life first hand he's still able to look at the world with just so much love for life and she just doesn't get how. D’arce just mystified by watching the fact that two men she knows, born into poverty or into nothing at all, scraping by, living minimal, nomadic, no stable environment or home - for Cahara, nobody to call his own until adulthood - just completely shocked by the fact that they can both smile, joke and seem to be just. happy. content with what they've managed to make for themselves.

And it's not as if D'arce hasnt made anything of herself; she’s clearly put in a lot of effort to get to where she is even if she came from an advantageous background, she had family, she had friends (singular, Le'garde, so maybe ok not even 1 friend but shhh),,, has no idea what she did wrong or what she's doing wrong to continue being so miserable in life.

They all have blood on their hands but she’s yet to realise the cause of it is what makes them different from each other.

Doesn't get how Cahara can sit there and joke about the other ways he made cash to get by when he was younger with a smile on his face. Or how Ragnvalder can sit there and laugh at Cahara horrible jokes after losing everything he’s ever held dear. The way they can chatter on about nothing for hours at a time or talk about their partners with just so much love in their voices knowing they'll probably never see them again. (Maybe even wondering if someone will ever talk about her like that with just so much shear adoration in their voice and this ‘swept off their feet’ look in their eyes, but also i can see that not even crossing her mind at the same time )

Enki and D’arce just sat there a lil bewildered watching the first people they've ever seen be genuinely happy in their lives even though they have almost nothing to their name, have lost everything and yet they can still smile and laugh with each other in a place like this???

They are just so confused by rag&cahara’s chemistry because they themselves don't know how to utilise humour and light-heartedness as ways to cope with the tragedy in their lives, having chosen to instead turn their focuses outward. For example, enlightenment and study & knighthood and an entire other persona, as a way to distract themselves from the struggles in their lives and unintentionally bring the focus away from their internal darkness.

It's also interesting to observe the parallels of duos such as Enki&Cahara and D'arce&Rag to, since Cahara serves to kind of draw people out of their shells and show them light, while Ragnvaldr's light could be seen as something turned into heat and ignite the spark of retribution and spur on the need to go on. While it doesn't make D'arce and Ragnvaldr very close, I can see how it would maybe inspire something in her and propel her forward in times of discouragement. (Whether that's out of admiration for rags ability to be able to still go on after everything thats happend or if it’s from the desire to find Le’gard before Rag fucking gets him☠️is up to you.)

Cahara’s used to sneaking around even though he's very bright, and so resorts to coaxing and persuasion, whereas Ragnvaldr is very obviously used to being a leader figure and just kind of 'shines' on people. I'm not sure how well those methods obviously work on people like Enki and D'arce (lowkey think they might be more beneficial if they swapped, but that's just makes the fact i tend to default to enki&cahara + d’arce&rag funnier), but the fact that they're watching it happen at all is so rare for them let alone the horrifying moment that occurs for the two of them when they realise they actually enjoying having these idiots around (each other included).

(This awful epiphany mainly applies to Enki. He’d rather be sacrificed again then admit he cares for any of these idiots, nevermind Cahara specifically. I don't think it really hits D’arce until they’re out of the dungeon if they make it and she doesn't have their company anymore.)

After all, the world was cruel to them so they became cruel back. That  probably affects the way they’d view/interact with Cahara/Rag. Enki especially would have a hard time trying to grasp how they are both able to be so,,,happy,, after going through so much, considering the fact he also went through hell and thus chose to close his heart to the world. Yet here he is, watching these two men who have come from nothing and lost everything who have been nothing but repeatedly wronged by life, talk about how beautiful it is and he just. Doesn't. Get. It. He went through abandonment, being pit against his own sibling to see who deserved to still breath in their parents eyes. He had to resort to more than questionable things in order to survive, he stabbed his own sister in the back and burnt his parents alive after crawling out the pit they tried to bury him in. Hell, he had to eat his own siblings/bugs for crying out loud. and the way he went about it makes sense to him. He's protecting himself. He's putting his interests into unemotional things that can't lash out and hurt him again - things that he can safely invest time and effort into, knowing it will fulfil him in some way, without the pressure of it having to impress someone or be worthy enough to try to seek praise from those around him. It's totally protective, wanting to keep himself from that same hurt, wanting to become powerful and knowledgeable enough to keep himself from being hurt ever again. Right?

It's almost a childish but at the same time totally jaded, adult-ified view of what he probably wanted as a child. Bitter and spiteful since all the while, and hell even his necro tendencies probably have something to do with wanting to be in control of and listened to by something for once in his life.

He most likely also shares a lot of The Girl's wonder in the fact that, despite all the awful shit that's happened and the terrible place they're in now, Cahara and Ragnvaldr are taking a good damn while to break under the darkness that's trying to eat them alive. And even if it's terrible how it manifests, could even argue that Ragnvaldr hallucinating his wife is him retreating back to a better time full of light to cope, similar to Cahara constantly going "oh, this is how i used to gain money, its nothing new lol” when Enki tries to beat around the bush and ask if Cahara’s even okay with,,,, this and just ends up being an answer he's not really sure how he feels about.

Enki: how do you do that Cahara: do what ? Enki: just,,, exist, and seem happy about it Cahara: well, existing is quite a beautiful thing, wouldn't you agree ? Enki: Cahara internally: [he doesn't know that finding worth in life is pointless] vs 

D'arce: how do you do that Ragnvaldr: do what? D'arce: keep going onward despite the weight of everything youve lost Ragnvaldr: i've been freed of the binds that kept me from avenging them, that's how D'arce: Ragnvaldr internally: [she doesn't know that weight will stay forever]

ldk why but I really like the idea of them all having similar views but completely opposite interpretations of something. They're all looking at the exact same sunset but seeing something entirely different, both affected by their light and darkness alignments but also just their individual life experiences that shaped their world views.

I can't find it rn but also there's some dialogue from Nosramus about seeing him in the dark; if you’re playing as Cahara/Ragnvaldr, it's a simple “oh your the person from ealier”. but if you’re playing as D’arce/Enki; the response is “the one creeping around in the shadow ealier” witch makes me giggle cuz ofc those 2 be finding comfort in the shadows and scrurrying around like rats in it

“Hooo~! Very good, very good. I love honest words, even when they hurt me. I say that now... But I'm probably going to feel really awful later on. But don't you worry about that. Really. I have grown to love this feeling of being rejected.”

-Pocketcat

Bonus Daan mention :

Daan’s a child darkness both in how it paroles the girl as children destined for greatness by the gods + both more attracted to “Light”(eg elise & cahara both children light & attract others 2 them) like moths 2 a flame then actually attract people to him

Being a child of darknesses also link him 2 fagcat + part the reason pocketcats so interested in the fact “someone like him” was chosen by the gods(much 2 daans dismay)

hes is literally drowning in misery. Thinks of his life as a curse he's forced 2 live threw with the thought things could be different/better ever crossing his mind 

Much like d’arce &enki never rly know the feeling of being loved & wanted baring teh short time he was with his wife (rip elies)

He has never known a peaceful happy day, mans just straight up NOT ALLOWED nice things & those he has get ripped away from him in the cruellest ways possible & having said lost thing repeatedly rubbed in his face (eg dead wife ,her coming back as stitches + fagcat never letting him know peace )

#fear and hunger #this is kinda old now but i refuse 2 edit it cuz it means i actually have 2 re-read it 2 see what i wrote #no i didn't proff read this as u can tell ur welcome #just realised there's no yellow either si just pretend girl and legard are yellow #there all just stuipd little duos in duos who are constaly paralleling each other it so funny i hate them all #cahara #ragnvaldr #funger #fear and hunger termina #daan #nosramus #d'arce #enki #fagcat #sorry i mean pocketcat #pocketcat #rambles

[starry-blue-echoes]

I had thoughts help.

So. Magical Girl AU. 2 ideas. First one is one I've touched upon very briefly before, but I love the idea of Weather's initial rage not simply being darkness but instead an overwhelming light, that relentlessly burns and destroys/ensnails anything near him. The darkness that overtook him actually calmed him, sealing that destructive light away. (Also maybe the dark was tied to Perla somehow idk.)

Then Pucci showed up and misread the situation completely. So now not only is Weather devoid of dark, he also is lacking in light as well, since that's still sealed away.

And when some light enters him again, and weakens that seal... well. Nobody liked what happened after that.

2nd idea: Perhaps those possessed by darkness look a little... off. Unless their modus operandi depends on going unnoticed, like Kira, they have some feature that twists their appearance, different for each person, and growing more pronounced the longer their body remains darkened. I imagine this would make the part 5 and 6 designs very interesting. :)

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

tbh, this AU is rotating really hard in my head and this is P E R F E C T

for the first part, I had an idea to both make it better and worse :>

so as I mentioned before, humans and most Earth Creatures in this are naturally born as beings of Light. However, what if while they can be corrupted by outside sources of Darkness, it's also somewhat..... natural, so to speak. Pain, fear, anger, even apathy, those feelings all make it a bit easier for Darkness to be inside them, but in healthy small amounts. Light meanwhile has more to do with emotions like happiness, determination, justice and can drive it back.........

so what if before his memories were taken, Weather completely gave into his newly unlocked Light. His Light that was once righteous and warm because burning and scalding, driving away the Darkness that would've been the balm to soothe his grief

Pucci (albeit accidentally and unintentionally) giving him this all powerful Light in the middle of his grief took away his ability to process his feelings and what had happened with Perla. These feelings toward tragedy are natural, healthy even, and necessary for the healing process. Instead, Weather got a bright, powerful but uncontrollable Light forced upon him that he didn't know how to use. He was a Magical Girl yes, and he wasn't necessarily a corrupted one, but that's simply because the Light burned too strong and bright to let it

The Light wanted justice, and in this case it was very close to vengeance. Perla was innocent and kind, and these people were hardly good. Perhaps they themselves were corrupted with Darkness, and Weather's own Light reacted to fight back, to protect, to try so desperately to keep him and what little he had left safe. The Light made him tunnel vision so much he didn't notice those getting caught in the crossfire nor the way his own body was slowly burning inside out. Didn't notice how his grief and anger and sadness where suddenly nonexistent beyond the desire to Do Good And Help By Getting Rid Of The Threat

Pucci awakening his power nearly spelt the end for Weather's life, had it gone for a few more hours

maybe that's also why Pucci brought him to Green Dolphin, hoping that the oppressive and constant Darkness will keep the seals firmly shut

this also raises the fun possibility of Jolyne And Co healing him not with Light like they usually have but with Darkness. Maybe Emporio could help here since he's been exposed to so much that it's basically a permanent part of him now, and in the process it helps balance himself out. They almost swap the excess power they have and finally get to be at peace

(also, I think for this bit I had a fun idea for the rain imagery. This whole time Weather is practically glowing, radiating Light constantly and the longer it goes one the more he begins to burn. His skin begins to crack in places, his eyes lighten to white, his hair begins to grow black at the tips and curl like it's been set on fire

((Actually hey what if Weather's hair is white because the overwhelming light from that one time basically bleached his hair))

but then....... when it's finally over. When they manage to douse the flames the overwhelming Light has brought, to give him Darkness to let him finally feel........ it gets cloudy and rains and finally Weather gets the chance to cry)

And shifting gears for the second idea, OF COURSE

Limbs and nails and teeth that are a bit too long or numerous, eyes that are a bit too vivid or have colored sclera, patches of skin that don't look quite right like instead they're scaled or leathery or just the completely wrong color, hair that seems to defy physics or sway in a nonexistent wind or not be completely made of hair at all, voices that have strange qualities and echoes to them, etc etc :)

Giorno and Emporio both grow up surrounded by those traits 24/7 and kinda got desensitized to it all. If anything, this is how people look and are supposed to be. To them, if someone looks normal they're an even bigger threat because that means either a) they're a trap and trying to get you to lower your guard and/or b) they're powerful enough to hide

#mmmmmm this au is so neat :> #magical girls #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #golden wind #jjba part 5 #stone ocean #stone ocean spoilers #jjba part 6 #jjba weather report #weather report #jjba pucci #enrico pucci #jjba perla #perla pucci #jjba emporio #emporio alnino #jjba giorno #giorno giovanna #sb answers #ailingwriter

[chloreen]

Don't crucify me, Blackbonnets, I want to talk about this ship for a second. So in season one we have this charmed feeling where everything is easy for Ed and Stede, right? It's cute, romantic, fluffy and it makes sense. Cue the Kraken. Look, I love the Kraken and I will defend the Kraken with my life but it took him all of 5 minutes to appear, and God did he appear with a vengeance. You can't just apologize your way out of a mess like this, no matter how many sexy cat collars you're wearing. Camping and fishing for a few days doesn't fix it either. He's in a better place now but Ed clearly has a lot of growing/figuring out to do still and the best way to do it isn't by being in a relationship - lest you start depending on the other person to be your only source of sanity.

(I'm being a total hypocrite now lol, I would probably let Izzy swoop in there but just. just belay that please)

And Stede is just learning how to be free. How to spread his wings. Be a pirate. Have admirers. Have all the fun he had dreamed of/and read about in his books. Doesn't he deserve the unbound experience, instead of being immediately dick-notized by Ed? I'm not saying they're not going to be endgame anyway - I'm saying that if we do get our s03 I hope these issues will be explored.

And regardless of everything I just said, look at the scenes they have together. Like I can't NOT enjoy them. I can't not invest my emotions in them. They are. so. beautiful. Such a testimony to the writing, directing, the whole crew. We need more of this. We need closure. We need this story finished.

#ofmd #our flag means death #adopt our crew #blackbonnet #stede bonnet #edward teach #I am sitting here giving healthy advice but I will die for the Kraken ya'll #I will let him do to me all these things he does in your fics and more