#this was the vibe the fic gave me not really a scene from it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Women make up for the other 50% of Tumblr’s audience.

#this was the vibe the fic gave me not really a scene from it

apparentlytheproblem · 8 months

Text

if was your boyfriend, never let you go keep you on my arm girl, you'd never be alone

druig recomendations

perfectly busy - @tokkiotears

lemme just say, HUSBAND DRUID OML. and I'm just a sucker for a confident and king Druid behavior. absolutley adoring this to no ends, smn send help, I forgot how to function. the not really complete without you got me. oh god. just o h g o d. i just feel like i should comment on the narrative, it was so well done and just hit the spot i didn't even know I had.

warnings-

not proofread, annoying men, druig in a button-up with the sleeves rolled up

"this isn't over" - @peterparkersnose

bro this slapped in so many different levels, like excuse me. And druig who shares books and annotates? and smug druig? godamn. the sexual tension- smn keep him away from me before i fall in love.

warnings-

angst, privacy invasion, accidental nudity, sexual tension, falling in love with something you could never have-?

sunshine - @itsapeterthing

firstly, i fell in love with the writing, its so stunning. it has such a fun and flowery vibe surrounding it which makes me just gush oml. it was just so sweet. AND how he gets flustered- literally hit all my marks and exceeded them. i hope you never stop writing these, they make my soul lighter.

warnings: eternals insulting druig as always, fluff

how could they not know? - @saintlike78

to start of, i love a vocal man who can tell you that he missed you. the scene itself was so soft. just love sick druig running back to your arms and you're wearing his shirt mwahh. i find it hilarious how no else has even noticed this happening before, my oblivious fools. its so adorablee.

warnings-

nothing but fluff really, dialog heavy.

hold - @redheadspark

bro, my love, angel, the gif itself got me a blushing mess, you have no idea what the fic did to me sheesh. i love a man who was so acceptable about her fear and so re-assuring, that's so perfectly written. i also love how the author has written these thoughts in her head as well as the internal debate. it just left me in awe i swear.

warnings-

Just a hint of angst but mostly fluff

warmth - @stranger-nightmare

these are one of my favorite's that I've encountered. the end was just lovley. Just the plot of this drabble has me on my knees. it was wonderfully thought and wonderfully written. the author has left no crumbs.

warnings-

one case of swearing, a lil bit of fluff, a whole lotta angst, nakedness but it’s not in a sexual way

boyfriend headcannons - @luventi

just a bunch of head cannons which i thought were amazing. overall its just so cute and has me screaming, crying and throwing up. honestly very underated.

warnings-

druig x gn eternal!reader, au where everyone is alive and happy and together, there will be dashes of suggestive content admits all the fluff so be warned!

shy lover - @writing-wh0re

[ it didn't have a title so I gave it this, I hope the author doesn't mind]

felt that this was just a must included, i don't wanna really have to summarize this cause there wasn't a single line that did not fail to have me hypnotized. just lovley work

warnings-

Smut18+, Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Male Performing Oral, Praise Kink (both), Begging Kink (?), Slight Cocky Druig, Cum kink (?)

1K notes · View notes

syoddeye · 24 days

Text

reading recs

received an anon the other day that requested fic recs of all ratings, here's a big list of some of my favorites! definitely not exhaustive, definitely forgot people, and i am so sorry in advance for that. please mind the tags on these fics.

SNAFU by @adnauseum11

I've posted about SNAFU before. This is one of my comfort series. Excellent characterization of a retired John Price, navigating a relationship with one of his oldest friends.

Heavy Weighs the Crown by @sentientcave

Newer series, very yummy so far. I love Charlie's characterization of the 141 in this universe, and their writing is delectable.

Rugby AU by @sentientcave

Another banger from Charlie. Reader Ripper is also yummy. Something to snack on. To quote: "I don't know anything about Rugby tbh this is just vibes and thots. Something somethin elaborate rituals."

Nobody by @391780

My gateway fic into Nikto. Without giving anything away, every chapter sends me into a short spiral. The most recent chapters have done heinous (affectionate) things to my brain.

Ursa Major by @the-californicationist

Have you ever been to Alaska? Ever wanted to visit? Honestly, read this fic and let Cali transport you there. Her ability to set the scene and bring it to life is un-fucking-matched. Doc (Reader) is a smart, confident reader-insert that feels like a real person.

Binders and Boyfriends by @pfhwrittes

Trans 141 and Trans Reader supremacy. Another comfort series from the wonderful Parker. Everything listed here is wonderful, but I have a major soft spot for P's Gaz-centric works.

Housemate!Gaz by @pfhwrittes

First, in this house, we hate Reader's roommate. Second, we are Widget fans. Third, could you fucking imagine opening the door and your new roommate was Kyle motherfucking Garrick? I'd faint.

Call of The Jurassic by @stuffireadandenjoy

Another newer series that put me on the edge of my seat. When I first saw that Tats was giving us my favorite fellas and putting them in Jurassic Park, ooooooh, I knew we were going to be spoiled rotten.

Wrong Number Right Day by @stuffireadandenjoy

"Kyle gets a wrong number text but decides to be a little generous that day." Reader's living the dream. Text Kyle Garrick and get cash money for rent? Very excited for more of this.

Price of Pegging by @gemmahale

Pegging and John Price. I could stop there, but I won't. Gemma nails the depiction of a submissive Captain Price. She also captures the dynamic of a couple trying something new extremely well, that gave me some fluffy feelings.

All of Gemma’s WIPs by @gemmahale

I've had the absolute privilege to read some previews of Gemma's work and the WORK and the DETAIL and the CHARACTERS are chef's kiss. Delicious. It's so difficult to pick just one. I love the Feywilds. Useful Girl. Call of the Wild. Do yourself a favor and spend some time in the tags.

Offer Me His Hunger by @kaadaaan

Something about a 141-er and a single mom that's gonna do it for me every time. In Offer Me His Hunger, it's Johnny, and Reader has no idea what she's in for. Jesus Christ, Kadan writes one of my favorite Johnnys, and really nails that obsessive and calculating streak.

The Space in Between by @391780

You will laugh, you will cry, you will love and hate mafia boss!John Price. Reader crosses paths with John and the 141, and gets caught in their wake. Early writes some of the best Reader characters of all time, and this one's no different. This story will get under your skin so fast, in the best way.

The Arrangement by @391780

Speaking of Early, this is THE gateway drug to her work, in my humble opinion. One of the first COD fics I ever read and converted me into being a Price girlie. Sugar Daddy Price x a cute, smart, and fucking funny Reader. Also one of my favorite characterizations of Simon of all time.

Club 141 by @greatstormcat

BDSM and the 141 make a Sy very happy. Reader starts off with a fake ass dom and is quickly properly introduced to BDSM culture with the fellas. Really solid group dynamics. Make sure you read that Price x Ghost post for a good fucking time.

Lamb to the Slaughter by @ohbo-ohno

Probably one of my favorite Ghoap fics of all time. The way my jaw was on the floor for the majority of this should've sent me to the emergency room. It's brutal, it's horrifying, and fuck me running, I loved it, start to finish.

The Pit by @peachesofteal

First, the nightmare of getting into an accident in the winter. Second, having Ghost and Soap find you. Oh boy, The Pit is peak Ghoap manipulation. When I got to the end, I just sat in silence. Stunned. It was amazing.

Eyes Wide, Tongue Tied by tippytulip (if you're on here, pls lmk!)

Another early COD fic for me. A thrill ride with a whip-smart Reader AND it's set in the Midwest. Those are two ways into my heart. The relationship between Reader and Price isn't an easy one, and he gives her a dozen and a half reasons to dislike him. Another ride of a fic, with great action scenes and group dynamics.

Trapper, Keeper by @tinypandacakes

A König fic that makes me screech no less than ten times per chapter. Panda writes a fucking scary König and it blows my mind. So much of it is subtle and manipulative, with few outright (so far, it's ongoing!) examples. I get a knot in my stomach every time I read and I LOVE IT.

DOG by Danceofthesevenveils

Another König fic that features a pathetic loser König, who is also one of the scariest motherfuckers I've ever read. The use of text messages underscores the creepy vibes, and a great vehicle for the Reader x König dynamic early on.

Desire Paths by @ceilidho

Manipulative best friend Johnny, you are iconic to me. Ceilidh writes some of the best nasty Johnny fic out there, but Desire Paths has my heart. Another ending that had me gasping.

Take Me Home, Country Road by @ceilidho

Cowboy Price, take me awayyyyyy. A fantastic Western AU focused on a Reader with a secret and a Sheriff Price that'll make you sit up straighter. Ceilidh captures John's voice so clearly, I can hear it when I read. That porch scene is seared into my brain in the best way.

Tender is the Flesh by @crashtestbunny

Do you like scary Simon? Do you like feeling unsettling and turned on? *slams table* Do I have the fic for you! Connie's butcher!Simon makes my blood run both hot and cold. "Oh she’s a stunner." lives in my head rent free. Also the apron tie bit.

Pornstar!AU by @shotmrmiller

Warning, if you don't smoke, you might start after reading Toni's porn AU. I love this depiction of Ghost, his control and his care. AND there's a threesome bit with Ghost x Reader x Price. It's what dreams are made of.

#sy fic recs #fic recs #once again i will say the COD fandom is SPOILED FOR CHOICE #so much talent

299 notes · View notes

freak-accident419 · 2 months

Text

Strange Honey

Billy (Burn 2019) x GN!Reader

Summary: One night at a bar, you meet a very mysterious man with a burn on the side of his face. As the tense and strained person you see him as, you decide to offer him some ease, giving the wannabe cowboy one hell of a ride.

Word Count: 2.4k

Content: 18+ Smut, MDNI, gender neutral reader, Billy the wannabe cowboy, penetration (unspecified genitals for reader), oral (male and reader receiving), swearing, reader being referred to as ‘pretty’ and ‘slut’, unprotected sex, drinking

(A/n: PLEASE PLEASE listen to this song, it’s not only by small, indie band but it’s also just so fitting!!: 60s western cowboy vibe and horniness, it’s an amazing fit—just trust me!! Also I want it to be implied that the Melinda SA scene never happened prior in this fic, otherwise Billy would have some sort of PTSD that would probably not make him ready for anything sexual for a long time :( nevertheless, i hope you enjoy!!)

The moment he walked in through those doors, he instantly became a mystery. Someone you have easily became infatuated with by just the mere sight of him.

Sure, his getup was quite tasteless—the denim on denim and subtle cowboy boots that screamed ‘wannabe cowboy’—but that wasn’t what really captivated you, despite the additional charm of his pretty eyes and lips; it was the red, tender burn occupying an area of skin on the right side of his face.

He lets out a gruff sigh of exhaustion as he sat one stool away from you at the bar, incoherently grumbling his order to the bartender. You observe him for a while, before getting his attention by whistling softly at him. When he turned to look at you, it allowed you to see him from a closer distance from before, and your eyes slightly widened at the clearer sight of his burn.

“Holy shit, man. You look like hell,” you scoff, raising your glass of liquor to your lips, taking a short, yet calculated sip. “The fuck happened to you?”

He looked at you with a displeased scowl, probably offended by your reaction. “I don’t wanna fucking talk about it,” he replied bitterly in a low mutter.

Only amused, you chuckle playfully. “Rough night?”

He nods quietly in agreement as the bartender gave him his drink. Bourbon, you assumed. “Alright,” you begin. “So what’s a handsome thing like you doing in a shithole like this?”

You finally saw a smile—or perhaps a smirk—creep onto the corner of his lips. You could tell he was quite flattered by the ‘handsome’ comment. And that smile only reinforced it, proving your point even more—he was incredibly attractive. “To drink,” he answered, finally looking up at you. He was exceptional at keeping eye contact. The way his brown eyes bore into yours enhanced your intrigue for him.

“To forget?” You assume, raising an eyebrow. He nodded a yes, offering an amused and knowing grin. He liked you. “Well… Bourbon’s not gonna do shit for you in this case.”

You call over the bartender. “Another firewater, please, for the gentleman,” you tell, then looking back at the man with an alluring smirk. “On me,” you wink. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Billy.” He let out a pleased chuckle, already fascinated by you. “Sorry, ‘firewater’?” He asked with a curious, blank face.

“It’s just liquor.” You scoff playfully, “And you call yourself a cowboy?”

“I never—”

“C’mon,” you snicker teasingly. “The jacket? The shirt? The jeans? And the fuckin’—fuckin’ cowboy boots?” You scoff as you look at him up and down. Checking him out, almost. “The belt buckle, however, is very impressive.”

The charming, brown-haired man grinned with a self-satisfied huff under his breath. He looked to the bartender as he abruptly gives him the drink you ordered him, then looked back at you, the slight curl of his lips still intact. “So what’s your whole deal then, hm? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in this very shithole?” He asks, referencing back to your cheeky question.

“I’m, uh… I’m also here to forget,” you pursed your lips then smirked as you answer him. The man shrugs in response and grabs his drink.

“Well, then. To the shitty events that led us to this shitty bar,” he raised his glass and then you raised yours.

“Cheers,” you mutter amusedly, and the two of you take a swig of your drinks.

Billy nearly choked on it as he scowled immediately, looking down at his glass with humorous contempt. “What the fuck is this shit?”

You felt your throat burn acidly, yet also gratifyingly as you gulp down your liquor, giggling at the sight of him. “Firewater,” you replied as you heard him mutter swears of complaints to himself.

“Yeah, no shit,” he retorted scornfully, “It’s strong as fuck.”

You raise an eyebrow, preparing to tease him. “You sure you’re a real cowboy?” You scoff with an endearing grin.

“Seriously? You’re still on about that?” He says in disbelief, yet he enjoyed the conversation nonetheless. “What, do I need a red bandana and a cowboy hat—”

“You definitely need a cowboy hat,” you chuckle. “That’s exactly what you’re missing.”

“So I need the whole getup?” He raises an eyebrow. You nod. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He was so attracted to your smile.

“Okay, so like… even a lasso?”

You laugh. “Of course. You can’t just be all hat and no cattle.”

He snickered under his breath. “I’m guessing I’m gonna need a horse as well?”

You pursed your lips, laughing once more. And he was addicted to it. “Hmm, a horse? Yeah, not so much,” you reply dismissively.

“Oh yeah? Isn’t that, like, standard cowboy criteria?” He huffs, staring into your eyes curiously, which reminded you again of his immaculate eye contact. “Why not?”

You take a confident swig of your firewater, feeling the burning sensation in your throat linger, licking your lips and returning his gaze…

“I know something else you can ride.”

* * *

He pushes you against the wall, hands under your shirt moving up and down your sides frantically as his his lips move roughly with yours. The confined atmosphere of the motel room was extremely hot, and you weren’t sure if it was from all the friction that you and Billy produced or the shitty, cheap air-conditioning. After all, you two were in a rush, drunk from arousal, and desperate for each other’s bodies. And because a dirty bathroom in a shitty bar deemed to be too unsanitary for your taste, you found the nearest motel.

“Hell,” you mutter into Billy’s lips hotly. You felt him grip onto your hips and start to grind on you, using the wall as a leverage as he rolled his hips onto yours. He muttered a curse as the friction of his jeans against yours had satisfyingly aggravated you both. The two of you whined from the grinding until you pushed him off of yourself, shoving him hard against the wall and going down onto your knees.

You begin to unbuckle the belt that you earlier regarded as impressive, due to its authentically cowboy-like quality, then unbuttoned and unzipped his tight, light-wash jeans, dragging it down to his ankles as well as his boxers. His cock sprang out immediately after you pulled down the cloth, and you held in a moan, admiring the sight.

“Fuck, Billy,” you breathe in awe, helping him step out of the clothes that were previously sitting at his ankles. You look up at him once—again, he was graceful at eye contact, and you could easily read his desperation.

You began to smear his precum around his slit, bringing out a small whimper from him. You start to hear him panting once your hand is around his dick, pumping at a slow pace. Then, his eyes rolled up to the back of his head in pleasure, letting out a sigh of arousal as the tempo of your hand increased.

You kept your hand at the base of his cock as you started to leave kitten licks on his sensitive pink tip, Billy eliciting sensual hums until your mouth eagerly welcomes in his head. He lets out a soft groan as your lips are around him, sucking the head as your hand moves up and down to stroke his shaft, your other hand resting on his thigh for support.

He bites back a moan as he choked out your name, and you feel his hands on your head once you move your mouth further down as far as you could. Now, you let both of your hands grip onto his porcelain hips for better control, your head bobbing up and down his girthy cock.

“M-mm, fuck, Y/n, you’re s-so fucking good for me, fuck,” he rasped, gripping onto your hair, letting his fingers tangle in the messy strands. Your cheeks flush as you increase your suction around him, finally hearing him moan, his vocals echoing in the empty motel room. “That’s it… yeah… fuck…” His volume increases once you fondle his balls, caressing him with your palm.

You feel yourself lose control of the entire situation as his hold on your hair tightened, him beginning to thrust his cock into your mouth, practically fucking your throat. Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you look up at him, nearly gagging on his dick.

“G-god,” he mumbled, using both hands on your head to practically use you as if your mouth was his own personal fleshlight. His moans began to increase in volume as you heard pathetic whines of desperation—but you couldn’t say anything, of course; you were the one spurring muffled moans, choking around his cock.

“Shit… Shit—I’m—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he breathed heavily, increasing his pace until he came, spilling his white, bitter fluid in your mouth, choking on his seed as you struggled to swallow it all—but you did.

Without giving either of you time to catch your breaths, Billy manhandled you, grabbing onto you and throwing you down on the squeaky, cheap mattress that the motel had to offer. He nearly ripped off your pants and your underwear along with it, moving his head between your legs and holding your thighs onto his shoulders. You felt the cold metal of his golden ring on your skin as his hands squeezed your thighs. You moaned out his name as you felt his tongue work on you, sucking and licking at your flesh.

“Ah—f-fuck—Billy!”

Your hips jolted at the sensation of his mouth pleasuring you, your knuckles turning pale as you grip tightly onto the sheets below you. His tongue moved down to prod at your hole, wetting it before his tongue would enter, making you release a prolonged, high-pitched whine. Almost instantly, he replaces it with a finger, pushing the digit in and out steadily, not hesitating to add another, the pace of the thrusts increasing until he finally pulled them out, watching you whimper from the loss of touch.

He quickly removes your shirt, lifting it off from above, and after taking off his jacket and throwing it to the side, you frantically unbuttoned his shirt, getting him out of the sleeves until the two of you were both completely naked.

He held you down once more on your back aggressively, sitting on his knees with his hands on the mattress between your head, a thin, silver necklace dangling above your face that hung from Billy’s neck. Your cheeks were flushed red and you panted as he lined up his body with yours, and finally eased his cock through your entrance. And once he was perfectly in, that was his signal.

He thrusted his hips quickly into yours, shoving his dick inside of you deeper with every snap of his hips, abusing your hole. His loud grunts easily transitioned into whimpers to full-on moans, hearing a couple of ‘fuck’’s and ‘oh god’’s. But you—you were even worse. You were under him, being fucked into the mattress, crying, screaming, and babbling. You were sure that the other guests of this motel could hear you from the thin walls, alongside the noisy bed creaking.

“Love how you’re taking my cock… Just look at you,” he muttered before letting out a high-pitched whimper and continuing his movements. “Feel so fucking good around me.”

His hands move down to your hips, digging his nails into your skin as he pulled you to his dick, thrusting even faster and deeper than before. Your soft whines were rhythmic, synced with each motion that his hips gave. You enjoyed the delicious sensation of him stretching you and your walls, tightening around him flawlessly. His shiny, silver necklace continued to sway above you, swinging with each rapid, harsh thrust.

You abruptly yank onto that thin chain, pulling him down to meet your lips. He moved his soft, wet lips with yours passionately and fervently, your tongue exploring his mouth, dancing with his. His thrusts never faltered as he kissed down to your jaw then to your neck, even nibbling and sucking in areas to give you hickeys.

You breathe heavily as you felt your body being flipped, Billy using his strong hands to move you onto your stomach, the side of your face being pressed onto the pillow. Then he pushed into your hole once again, one hand on your hip and the other on the top of the wooden bed frame, gripping it tight as he began to move. The bed squeaked again, its sounds mirroring the motion that took place on it. You were afraid he was going to fucking break it.

“O-oh! F-fuck! Don’t—Don’t fucking stop!” You cry desperately in between heavy breaths.

You were nearly drooling on the pillow as you moan loudly, Billy pounding you forcefully from behind, on top of you as if you were a fucking horse—he was a cowboy, alright.

“You like that? Hm? You like having my cock inside of you like this? Fucking slut…”

You began to feel his rhythm falter, his body gradually giving out with stuttered hips and abrupt, deep jerks inside you, panting and moaning heavily, his face flushed and sweaty.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close,” he groans, the erotic sound of skin slapping against skin only increasing as his nails begin to dig deeper into the bed frame, fucking into you as if you were a lifeless sex doll, practically using you. But he had respect for you, of course, feeling pleasured entirely by your body and noises.

“M-me too,” you whine, clenching onto the white bedsheets beneath you, feeling a knot in your stomach slowly begin to unravel.

Billy persisted to slam his hips vigorously against your ass, ramming his thick cock inside of you as the two of you moaned desperately, your vocals arousing each other as well.

“I-I’m—I’m gonna cum,” he mutters.

“Fuck—me too—I-I’m—”

“Fuck!” He whines.

And finally, with one last, strong thrust of his hips, he came deeply and heavily inside you, his warm, white fluids painting your walls, spurting selfishly yet generously deep inside of you. A loud, lewd moan escaped his pretty lips as his eyes shut tight, focusing on all the pleasure and release that he just received.

And not even a second later, you followed, crying out his name and cumming around his length, clutching the blankets and feeling full and filled completely with his semen.

Billy collapsed beside you, and the two of you laid there, panting heavily and catching each other’s breaths, all fucked out.

“Well, yee-haw, motherfucker,” you mumble amusedly to yourself, retrieving your pants to grab a cigarette from its pocket.

224 notes · View notes

sailoryooons · 1 year

Text

The Wood | JHS | (m)

☾ Pairing: witch!Hoseok x female reader

☾ Summary: From the moment you step foot in Kill Devil, you know something about the town is off. Determined to find out exactly how your sister went missing in such a small town, you receive unlikely help from the man staying in the motel room next to yours. But there is so much more than what meets the eye with Hoseok and the citizens of Kill Devil.

☾ Word Count: 16,786

☾ Genre: supernatural, psychological thriller, southern-gothic

☾ 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: Creepy town vibes somewhere in the south, unreliable narrator because she’s a dumb bitch, missing family member, descriptions of nightmares and night terrors, allusions to toxic citizens and intolerance in the southern US, cryptic exchanges, being attacked and choked by a strange entity, sleep paralysis, depictions of anxiety and panic and deep fear, manipulation, cat Yoongi.... sort of, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, slight hand job, a lot of spit and cum, fucking in a nasty ass motel room, mean Hoseok at the end, I don't know why I reference frogs so much please forgive me, ambiguous ending/unexplained ending, implied death of a side character off-screen

☾ Published: May 29, 2022

☾ A/N: Not only is this absolutely a million weeks late, it also is the longest it has ever - and I mean ever - taken me to write a fic. This was so hard for me to write, and I have deleted anad re-written thousands of words for this. The end result is something that I absolutely did not plan. This fic is ENTIRELY different from the original outline and idea, so at times it might seem where this piece doesn’t know where it’s going because it wasn’t until I got to the end of the smut scene last night that I realized what the hell this story needed.

I want to thank @here2bbtstrash because I could not have written this fic without them, but also for the amazing and thorough beta they gave this. This was one of my choppier/messier pieces and they helped fix this so much and I have giant feelings for M that are very normal. Also a special thank you to @gimmethatagustd for keeping me somewhat sane while really struggling with this piece.

☾ 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 | To Love A Monster Collab | Song Inspiration

Only God can save us!

It’s probably the tenth sign of the like that you’ve seen. Your palms feel sweaty on the wheel, the unsettling feeling in your stomach as you drive through God’s Country increasing. For some reason, as you catch glimpses of old abandoned churches at the end of red dirt roads and leaning fruit stands with no seller in sight, you think that perhaps God has forsaken this place.

The drive has been unremarkable, but the closer you get to Kill Devil you think perhaps the town is aptly named. You can’t help but get the sense - especially when you stop at a gas station with no one inside and a single working pump - that there is a reason the town sports such a unique title.

It’s hard to imagine why your sister would ever move here, even temporarily. Outside, the locusts whine, a high-pitched buzzsaw hidden in the boughs draped with Spanish moss. The paint on the road has long since faded, single lanes stretching North to South in an endless strip.

Sticky heat prickles your skin. Though there’s no one else around save for you and the locusts, you can’t help but look around nervously, eyes scouring the oak trees. The door to the gas station is locked, and the other side of your single-station pump has a red bag on the handle.

The sk sk sk of the pump is a slow heartbeat. Pulling out your phone while you wait, your stomach flips when you see that you have very little service. You’re about thirty minutes away from Kill Devil and an hour away from any major cities. Peppered along the map are small towns like Kill Devil, home to pecan farms, corn fields, and cotton gins.

You feel a long way from home.

A tingle slides down the back of your neck. You look up from your phone, gaze sweeping back and forth through the trees and over the cracked pavement of the station. There’s nothing else there, but you have the sense that the trees have eyes.

The pump clicks loudly and your heart lurches, hand flying to your chest as you shriek and turn. For a few moments, your heart beats so loudly in your ears you can’t hear the chirping of the locusts or your ragged breathing as you close your eyes, trying to level out your moment of panic.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling the handle and jiggling it lightly to ensure any dripping gas is shaken off.

Naturally, you’re a pretty calm person. The jumpiness belongs to your mother, who screams every time someone turns a corner in the house unexpectedly. It’s something about the feeling that clings to you like a second skin as you get in the car that has you shaken.

Or it’s the fact that your sister has been missing for two months.

On instinct, your hand goes to the necklace around your throat. It’s a heart-shaped locket, which would seem cheesy to anyone else. But for you, it’s one of the few coveted items you have from her.

It’s also something that you swear burned you in the middle of the night two months ago. You’re not sure if you believe in spiritual intuition or connection between family members, but what you do know is that you haven’t heard from her, and the local police have been no help.

Trust your gut. That’s what she’s always said. And you do trust your gut on this, this knowing that something is wrong.

On the road again, your tension continues to increase. The land has turned to steep up and down hills, pines lined on either side of the road, pocked with deep canyons.

Orange tire tracks appear and disappear on the highway, turning off onto clay roads with washed-out shoulders and deep ruts from all of the rain over the summer. Your sister had mentioned the house she was renting was nearly impossible to get to when the rain was bad.

A green sign that says Kill Devil City Limits passes by. No welcome sign, no little plaque announcing the population. Your music skips in and out, the connection to your phone weak. You switch to FM, flinching at the roaring static that comes through, finger jamming on the arrows to skip through to something passable.

Country. Country. Church. Country. Rock. Pop.

You leave it on the pop station, turning your eyes back to the road. A logging truck comes roaring up the hill, blasting by your sedan at top speed, making your car shake. Your heart squeezes in fear. You’ve passed over two dozen of them and they never drive any slower or any safer each time.

You’re going to kill Hanna if you find her lounging in her house, making you come all this way.

She had taken up a story there, investigating the town's eerie occult background for the media company that she worked for. Her editor had stopped receiving updates from her around the same time you’d stopped hearing from her.

When you called the landlord she was renting from, he was no help. Some idiot who owned seventeen houses dotted around the country, renting them out for twice the price they were worth.

The local police station had been worse. They’d done a wellness check several times after you called but insisted she wasn’t home. No signs of a break-in, no signs of a struggle. No reason to be missing. They refused to make it an official report, as there was no reason for her to be missing.

Have you considered she just doesn’t want to talk to you? they’d laughed on the phone.

It was a joke. Somehow you could not believe they refused to file a report, and you threatened to take it to the state police and anyone who would listen to you. The woman you had spoken to had chuckled then, her mirth sending a chill up your spine.

Have fun on hold, sweetheart.

You could not fathom how not a single person cared. Not the news, not any authority that you could get in contact with, and certainly not the lawyer you reached out to.

Let law enforcement handle it. Your pleas fell on deaf ears and it was like it didn’t even matter that an entire person was missing. You’d heard about the blunders of the law enforcement system before, but this was a new level of ignorance and oddity.

It was… unexplainable.

Which was why now, you were driving into the backwater town of Kill Devil in the southern part of the United States.

Dropping your speed down, you take the chance to look around. There are a few houses on the outskirts of the town, their yards sprawling with kudzu and their homes leaning heavily with brown vines climbing up the eaves. There are several old, broken-down trucks in the middle of the kudzu fields, swallowed by the invasive vine-like devil’s snare.

You’d heard of one-stop-light-towns but you had never seen one without. Kill Devil is made up of all stop signs. Everything is built around the courthouse, a red brick building dropped in the middle like a fungus growing its roots outward.

The sheriff’s office is just across the street with Crown Victoria model patrol cars. A taxidermist is right next door, the gold cursive font on the front of the glass door telling you it’s been there since the 70s.

Kill Devil has everything you expect. Antique shops with dusty windows and dry-rotted awnings, a convenience store that looks straight out of retro America, closed-down shops with empty shelves and shattered glass, and a single diner with station wagons and mud-slicked trucks in the parking lot.

A single motel stands at the edge of the town center. When you pull into the parking lot, you look up at the sign and frown. Like something out of a horror movie, the Lodging Motel is missing several letters in long-burnt-out neon, three letters blinking in the fading afternoon sun: Lodging Motel.

Die.

With one look at the crusted, three-paneled windows and mold-covered brick face, you think that you just might die.

Pink sun sinks behind the rolling hills of pine. You get out of the car, stretching and popping your joints as you look at your lodging with a sour taste in your mouth. You pass the ‘vacant’ sign as you walk to the small square building at the end with ‘front office’ on the window.

“Yeah no shit,” you mutter. You cannot imagine who would stay here out of anything but necessity.

In fact, it seems like there is no one staying at the hotel. This fact makes you jumpy as you approach the office, which is just a clerk's window and a woman with sunken eyes and a scowl on her face watching you. You swallow thickly as you give her a weak smile and nervous wave, trying to get past the sudden anxiety trembling in your hands.

“Hi,” you say. “I have a reservation for-”

A small window that’s about six inches tall and a foot wide pops open. She hacks, fluid-sounding and phlegmy before saying, “I can’t hear you with the damn window closed. What do you want?”

You clench your jaw. Slowly, you begin again. “I have a reservation.”

“ID and credit card.”

You slide the materials through the window. She holds them up close to her face, scrutinizing them. Crickets join the singing of the locusts. Mosquitos fly around your head and you cringe, swatting at them as you wait while she rolls her chair over to a cabinet.

Wordlessly, she puts your credit card on a manual credit card imprinter. You raise your brows, unsure of the last time you’ve seen someone do paper credit card printing instead of sliding it through a machine.

While you wait, you look past her into the office. It’s dingy inside but you can see a box TV and a window unit air conditioner rattling in the window. There are metal cabinets that form their own little skyscrapers around her office. An episode of I Love Lucy plays on the fuzzy TV screen.

“Here’s your room key.” She tosses it through the window. It’s room three, the key hanging on a diamond-shaped, acrylic keychain with Lodging Motel written in Sharpie. “We don’t got room service or maid service. If you need more towels, the launder-mat is down the street. Don’t run the hot water more than twenty minutes or so. If the AC ain’t on, hit ‘er a few times.”

“Great,” you deadpan. “Anything else?”

She scowls. “Mind the raccoons. They got rabies.”

“Thanks.”

Inside the room is just as expected: peeling wallpaper, red shag carpet with questionable stains and the unmistakable stench of cigarettes, sconce lighting with lampshades that look decades old, a twin with a horrible patterned blanket, frayed at the edges and moth-eaten, and a single, square dresser with a box TV on top and a white, corded phone.

The bathroom is no better. The tub is stained with limescale, cracked tiles, and a lamp that buzzes when you flip it on. You scream when you see the massive roach hanging out in the tub, gagging and running out to look for anything to kill it with.

You settle on a sneaker, and it’s a battle involving your high-pitched scream as you try and kill it. You do win, but you’re covered in sweat and shaking after your victory.

A sharp knock on the door startles you further. You drift to the front door, looking out the peephole to find that it is cracked and you cannot see the person standing just on the other side. You slide the chain lock in and open the door tentatively, peering out into the now early night.

“Everything okay?” a male voice asks. “I heard screaming.”

The voice belongs to someone who absolutely does not belong in Kill Devil. He’s dressed in jeans with large rips at the knee and a plain white shirt that hangs off his frame stylishly. He has a few necklaces on, a single hoop hanging from his right ear that catches the flickering parking lot light.

And he’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that stuns you. He has a slender face with smooth, flowing skin. His eyes are kind, glittering brown with flecks of lighter shades throughout. The slope of his cheekbones and jawline makes you think perhaps he’s into modeling, which would explain the taste in clothes.

But it does not explain what someone who looks like that is doing in this shithole town.

“I had to kill a roach,” you admit, a little hesitant. Your skin tingles under his gaze, your instincts picking up something that you can’t put your thumb on. “I don’t like them very much and it was fast.”

“Disgusting. I had to buy killer for them - it came in a two-pack if you want?” You don’t answer, watching him warily. He picks up on your anticipation and smiles, disarming. “Sorry - my name is Hoseok. You can call me Hobi, if you’d like. I’m staying next door which is just as gross as your room is I’m sure. I heard you yell and I got worried.”

“That’s kind of you. This doesn’t seem like a place where people would care if they heard screaming.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not from here.” He looks around the parking lot and his eyes focus on a raccoon meandering near the trash. You grimace, thinking about rabies. “Thank fuck, this place feels right out of fucking Deliverance.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling better at his distaste. “One sec, let me slide the lock off.” You close the door and slide the chain before opening it a little wider this time. “Yeah, this place gives me the creeps. Hopefully, I don’t have to be here long.”

“A night is long enough. You want that spray?”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Hoseok grins and holds up a finger, asking you to wait as he jogs to his room. He’s only gone for a moment, leaving you in the poorly lit lot with the tk tk tk of the raccoon pilfering through trash and the crickets creek creek creeking.

Hoseok’s door opens and he’s back, handing you a large, red can of lemon-scented Raid. “Just make sure you drown them. They did outlive the dinosaurs. Makes you wonder what the hell is in that stuff.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem…” He drifts off, unsure what your name is. You laugh, a little flustered by the way his entire face lights up when he smiles, and give him your name. “I like it. Well, I don’t know how long you’re here, but I’m your neighbor for a few days. Try not to catch any infections while you’re in there and holler if you need me.”

“Thanks,” you grin. You hold up the can and add, “Especially for this.”

With a wave goodnight, Hoseok returns to his room. The buzz of something instinctual fades with him, replaced once more with the unsettling frequency the town seems to vibrate at.

Closing the door firmly behind you and flicking the lock, you shiver. The eerie feeling that had been following you lingers.

After changing the sheets, inspecting the rest of the room and setting the spray can firmly on the pillow next to you, you lay on your back in bed, mattress lumpy and air conditioner rattling.

Moonlight streams through the curtain, catching dust motes floating in the air and turning them into diamonds. You stand in the middle of the room. Cold but humid air clings to your skin, the air conditioner rattling and dripping as it cools the room but does nothing to suck out the moisture. You don’t know why you’re standing in the middle of the room and you don’t remember waking up and getting out of bed, but you face the window, the curtains open just enough to face the empty parking lot.

Silence blankets the world. The hum of the air conditioner fades and you stare out into the silver-painted parking lot. Above the lot, a street light flickers on and off weakly. It goes out for a minute and flashes back on.

Someone leans against the pole. You can’t make out any features, just that there is a person there, perhaps facing you. The hair on your skin stands on end but you can’t move. Your instincts begin to prickle and there is a sharp feeling in your chest.

Belatedly, beyond your hypnotized stare, you realize the feeling is fear.

Your ears start to ring. You stare out at the shadow and the shadow stares back. Something is telling you to run run run but you don’t know how. Can’t move your feet. Panic begins to rise, your heart beating so fast that you can hear it over the steady whine in your ears.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump.

You can feel your pulse skyrocketing, your chest squeezing tight with terror as the beating gets louder and louder -

Awareness hits you like cold water. You lurch forward in bed, hands flying to your chest as you gasp for air. It takes a moment to get your bearings, the pounding in your heart so hard it feels like you might vomit. Battling the sheets, you rip them off of you, legs sticky with a sheen of sweat.

The lamp is still on in your room, the curtains are closed just the way you left them, and the bug killer rolls on the bed as you get up. Several paces away from the window, you catch your breath, running a hand over your face.

“Fuck,” you pant, realizing you were dreaming.

When your breathing levels out, you glance at the closed curtains. Something niggles at your brain. Slowly, you walk toward the window, feeling the hairs on your arms tingle and stand on end.

Lifting your shaking hands, you grip the curtain tight. Taking a deep breath, you hold it in and pull open the curtain just a bit.

Unlike your dream, there’s no moonlight outside. It’s so dark you almost can’t see anything in the parking lot. When the lot light flickers back on, your heart squeezes, expecting to see a shadow leaning against the pole. There’s nothing there, just empty lot and a dumpster. Not even the raccoon is around.

Blowing out your held breath, you close the curtain again and shake out your hands, trying to get rid of the jitters. Rolling your neck and shoulders, you try to work out the tension as you sit on the end of the bed, staring at the faded wallpaper.

The dream felt so real. You swear that if you turn your head, you’ll see silver moonlight through the curtains. That you’ll see that person - that shadow - standing outside of your window.

Exhaustion weighs heavy on you. You crawl back into bed, mattress damp and smelling like mildew even with the sheets that you put on it. You’re under a lot of stress and you hate this motel room as much as you already hate this town that you’ve barely started to explore. It makes sense that you’re having weird dreams.

Blanket pulled up to your chin, you eventually let your lids flutter shut until you’re taken by dreamless sleep.

Morning sun chases away the dregs of your strange dream from the night before. With daylight streaming between the curtains, the room looks no better. It’s a futile hope, perhaps, to keep thinking that the room will suddenly not look nearly as questionable as when you checked in.

At least there are no bugs.

Outside, the balmy air is filled with the voices of the locusts. You lock the door behind you and glance toward where Hoseok vanished the night before. His windows are closed and there’s no sign of him anywhere in the parking lot, so you head to your car, stomach begging for food.

Kill Devil is small in both size and population. The Diner is easy to find, tucked in the southwest corner of the town across from the courthouse. Folks wander about the parking lot, shaking one another’s hands and laughing as the weekend rush of people meanders up the steps for breakfast.

Your arrival is noted immediately. Eyes turn your way as you walk through the lot, loose gravel crunching under your feet. The lot is more packed dirt than pavement, full of holes and mud softened by rain.

Seeing a new face in a wretched little town like this probably isn’t common. Though you’re not familiar with growing up in such a small population, you remember what it was like knowing everyone at school. The same theory applies here when a portly man with raised brows stands, screen door in hand as he stares at you.

The man blocks the way to the inside of the diner. You pause and look up, noting the confusion on his face. After clearing your throat, he realizes that he’s completely frozen from opening the door and coughs, bowing his head and apologizing.

“You uh - visiting?” he asks, holding the door open for you. When you nod, he seems surprised, though that had to be the only answer. “Well, that doesn’t happen often. Welcome to Kill Devil.”

There’s a small host stand with a pile of laminated menus on top. A girl who looks to be about your age stares back at you, wiping her hands on a red apron tied around her waist. She’s in jeans and a t-shirt that says The Diner across the chest, her hair pulled up and stabbed through with a pen.

“Just you?” she asks, eyes fluttering to the man who shrugs behind you. You nod. “Right this way.”

The wooden walls are painted white, some of the paint peeling. There are miscellaneous animal heads with plaques underneath stating the names of their killers with a stamp of Jason’s Taxidermy. You try not to make eye contact with their black, glass eyes as you sit in a chair that wobbles from side to side.

You thank the hostess as she wanders off to get you coffee. The family at the table next to you does their best to whisper about who the hell is that as you look over the menu, flipping it to the breakfast side. The laminate is sticky and peeling at the corners.

It’s a pretty standard breakfast menu. You put it down on the table, nudging the container holding different colored sugar packets and sweeteners while you wait for your coffee. There’s a breakfast bar with people bent over steaming eggs and sitting atop cracked vinyl seats.

The door opens behind you at a steady rate as people pay their bills and leave while new customers are sitting. A presence at your back sends a cool tingle up your spine, making you straighten and look over your shoulder.

Hoseok stands in a shaft of sunlight coming through the window, turning him gold. For a moment, the diner around you falls to a hush of murmured voices, muting the clinking of spoons against ceramic and scraping chairs.

He’s dressed well again, in a simple white button-up with the button undone to reveal a strip of golden chest. His hair is slightly damp and styled back, an outrageously good look on him. The same hoop earring dangles in his ear but today he has on a few necklaces and rings on his fingers. Somehow, he makes the delicate pieces carry an edge.

“You survived the night, huh?” he says by way of greeting and then gestures to the chair across from you. “Would you mind company for breakfast?”

You shake your head, forgetting words for a moment as he smiles, radiant as ever. Hoseok pulls out the chair and sits down, a twinkle in his eye that makes your heart flutter as he plucks a menu from the holder at the center of the table. You can smell his rain and lavender scent from across the table.

“Thanks again,” you say, realizing you haven’t spoken yet. His brown eyes look at you over the top of the menu, and you can’t help but admire how beautiful they are. Warm, both dark and light, with flecks of chipped gold. “For the bug killer. I haven’t seen any more but I just know they’re there.”

“That’s the shitty thing about the South. All of God's least favorite creatures are here.” He glances at the table of scowling men next to you to emphasize. You hide your laughter with the plastic menu. “What brings you to this shit hole?”

“I’m… visiting my sister.”

“You sound unsure of that. Does she not know you’re coming?”

“She doesn’t.”

While they aren’t technically lies, you don’t know how much you can trust him. Instinct makes you hold the truth from him. After all, you don’t want him to know you’re in a town where no one knows you, and where no one knows you are. By yourself.

Hoseok looks at you again, his eyes narrowed. You feel tension creep into the air between you, your mouth drying out as he watches you silently.

The arrival of the hostess who is also your server saves you from another question. You both place your order, and you note the way the girl cuts her eyes to Hoseok, wary. Her hands shake a little.

When she leaves the two of you, you ask, “How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks.”

“Enough to win over the locals, hmm?”

His grin is sly as he drums his fingers on the table. “I’m their favorite - you’re perceptive.”

“My sister is an investigative journalist. She’s made me watch all kinds of shows and read books about psychology and body language with her. I picked up a few things.”

“An investigative journalist, huh?” Hoseok plucks a sugar packet and rips it open with his teeth. He shoots the ripped piece onto the table with a huff of air and dumps the contents on the table. Leaning on one elbow, he begins to trace patterns in the sugar. “So you’re not from here. No one here is smart enough for that.”

“No, she’s been living here since July.”

“What’s she investigating?” You hesitate again. He doesn’t look up from the patterns he’s tracing on the table, finger steady as it cuts through the white sugar.

“I don’t really know.” He does look up when you say that, gaze razor-sharp. A chill slides up your spine. So you add, “Something to do with the occult.”

Hoseok stops moving his finger through the sugar. He doesn’t look at you, but he’s fixated on the mess he’s made on the table. You chew on your bottom lip, eyes dropping to his little sweetened artwork. You don’t understand the pattern that he’s traced, but it buzzes your brain when you look at it.

The silence stretches on. He remains unmoving and silent. Anxiety starts to creep in and you wonder if he thinks you’re crazy or is going to get up and leave-

With a huff of laughter, he leans back and smiles at you.

“The occult huh? Interesting subject.”

“Know anything about it?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, what is really considered occult? Most of these Bible thumpers around here would consider being queer witchcraft.”

“You have a point there. Don’t tell them I’m a witch.”

He grins. “You can join my coven, then.”

“Do you think they know there’s more than two genders?”

Hoseok’s laugh is infectious. You laugh along with him, visibly ruffling the feathers of the table next to you.

For a moment, the two of you share a secret smile at your little table, wedged between the people who go to church every Sunday and swear by Fox News at brunch. It feels good to know you’re not the only person completely out of place in Kill Devil.

The arrival of your server with steaming plates breaks the moment, but you feel better about your morning nonetheless. Especially when the conversation switches from stilted exchanges about your sister and the occult to things about you and Hoseok.

Over runny eggs on toast and crunchy bacon, you learn that Hoseok is a shop owner in a small town very far from Kill Devil. He brushes over the fact that he’s visiting family to tell you all about his small corner of the world and all of his favorite plants.

“Fiona is a venus fly trap,” he giggles with a snap of bacon. “She’s my second favorite, but what I really love is my pitcher plants. They eat bugs, mostly, but they like to devour frogs too. The frogs love to hide in them, but sometimes the pitcher plants take kindly to them and don’t eat them. It never lasts.”

“I would hate for them to eat the frogs.”

“Hmm, circle of life.”

“But the poor frogs!”

Hoseok isn’t swayed. “There has to be a balance to everything. The pitcher plants will kill the frogs eventually. Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey. Their ecosystem doesn’t make sense. In order to pay back the food the pitcher plants bring them, the frog must die. It pays for power, in the end.”

“How do you mean?”

“Everything has a give and take.” He pauses to sip his coffee. He makes a face, opens a sugar packet, and empties it into the coffee. “In order to have life, we must have death. In order to have water, we must have fire, for earth, we must have air. There is a give and take in existence, and it has to stay that way.”

“If it doesn’t?”

“Chaos.”

“You know, a lot of theology believes that chaos created the world.”

“And perhaps it did. But in order to make the world, chaos needed…” Hoseok takes his butter knife in one hand and sticks out his pointer finger with the other. You watch as he places the knife horizontally across his finger, sliding it just so until he slowly lets it go, leaving it teetering back and forth, but never falling. “Balance. There has to be even weight on the scales to make it work.”

“Interesting. So you think there is true balance in the world.”

“Not always, which is why we must make it.”

“Hmm. You have some interesting opinions.”

“I am an interesting person.”

You like Hoseok. Conversation flows easily and it seems that he either doesn’t notice or does not care that he draws glances around the room, particularly when he gives a high-pitched laugh, leaning backward on the metal legs of his chair to clap his hands excitedly. You swear you see the table next to you flinch, though you can’t imagine why.

Hoseok insists on paying the bill, though you fight him all the way to the register. The elderly woman behind the till jams the pricing in from the ticket and slams the cash drawer shut when Hoseok hands over the bills. She makes sure not to tell you to have a good day, and you feel her sharp stare as you leave the interior of The Diner.

In fact, the stares of the citizens are just as intense outside. Hoseok rattles on about a time he got really high and forgot to feed his cat. “Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”

“What?” you ask, distracted by the way a group of men leaning against a red pickup glare. “Your cat talks?”

“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”

“No, but I’m sure he was very vocal.” Hoseok smirks, toeing the gravel of the parking lot as you reach your car. You glance over at the pickup truck again, seeing the four sets of eyes fixated on the two of you. “Why does everyone around here stare?”

“They’ll ignore you soon enough if you ignore them.”

“They don’t seem to ignore you.”

He gives you a wry smile. “I guess you’re right. Going to visit your sister, then?”

Digging around in your bag, you search for keys. “Yeah, she lives out in some place called Grave Hollow. How creepy is that?”

Silence is your only answer. You look up, pausing the search for your keys to find him staring at you with a blank expression. Your heart skips a beat - it’s the same wiped-clean face he had when you mentioned your sister investigating the occult.

Licking your lips, you ignore the feeling of a weighted stone dropping into your stomach. Hoseok says nothing.

Then, he’s chipper again. “Well have fun,” he chirps, shrugging and giving a wave as he backs away to leave. “Hopefully she has some cool occult stuff to tell you about. You know where to find me!

It’s hard to keep track of the way Hoseok’s mood flips on a dime. You stare after him, but he’s all smiles and sunshine again before turning on a heel to walk out of the parking lot. His hands are tucked into his pockets and he tilts his face toward the azure sky, whistling a tune with a happy cadence.

Something sticks to you as you watch him leave. You don’t know what it is, this feeling that you’re missing a critical detail. It’s like your instincts are scratching lightly at the door, but you have no key to flip the lock and no crowbar to force it open.

Anxiety returns when you remember the weight of the eyes still focused on you. Hurriedly, you snatch your keys from your bag and get in your car, tossing your bag on the seat and starting the engine. As soon as it purrs to life, you feel instant relief.

You hope that it lasts.

According to the research you’d done on Kill Devil, the town had been officially founded in the 1700s. Of course, being ‘officially’ founded didn’t mean much in the way of Western colonization. You had little doubt that the migration of people to the South chased out Native American tribes, as was the story everywhere.

Kill Devil has been named such since its inception, which occurred a little after Georgia had been named an official state. The abundance of soil for cotton and peanut fields made it a wet dream for the expansion of cotton gins and eventually, peanuts - there was even a rumor that peanut butter had been invented in Kill Devil first, but you knew that to be untrue.

A small town with a small impact. That was Kill Devil at the heart of its existence. It has always had a small population of sleepy folk. No stop lights, one church, a lot of paper companies coming in and cutting down trees, and some farming fields for various reasons.

There’s no reason that for a tiny little dot on the map, the town should be significant.

And yet it had called your sister here.

The car bounces, the suspension whining as you drive down the dirt road. A clay wall comes up on either side of you, roots of trees sticking out periodically. There’s no shoulder to the road, the rain has deepened the ruts on either side. You’re careful to keep in the middle, slowing down as the road tightens on corners.

Pine stretches as far as the eye can see. You pass the occasional neon tape, marking sections of trees for the paper company to let grow a little longer before hacking them down. Several metal gates with keep out and declaring different hunting clubs flash by. There’s even a sign that says Rucker’s Meat Processing.

GPS is unreliable out in the sticks where the cell towers don’t quite reach. You keep an eye on the flattened paper map in the passenger seat, marked with your red marker to make sure you take the right road.

A sigh of relief escapes you when you see a little metal post with a turn-off sign: Kill Ditch South. The house that your sister is renting lives off of that, only a mile down the road or so. Long drives appear between the trees, houses parked at the end of them. You feel a little less alone in the woods now knowing that there are people around.

Though you’re not sure how helpful they would be if something was wrong.

Worry creeps into your stomach as you slow the car. There’s a little mailbox with the address your sister gave you. It’s at the end of a short drive that’s been layered with gravel to make the incline easier on tires. It crunches beneath the tires as you drive toward the modest, white house. Your sister’s Four Runner is parked outside, making your heart thunder.

Turning the car off, you slide out into the humid air, hands trembling. Locusts scream, hidden in the trees. The sun is at its zenith, beating down on you as you slowly walk toward the house. It’s a single-story with two sets of windows facing the front. A wrap-around porch that leans to the side stands empty, save for a single bench.

As you pass your sister's car, you notice that the grass underneath is dead and dry. As if the car hasn’t moved for a while, denying the grass any sun to live. It makes you feel nauseous, feet like anvils as you take your first step up the stairs.

The creak of the wood makes you flinch.

“Hanna?” You call, voice shakier than you want it to be. “Hanna, it’s me! Don’t freak out!”

No one answers. Your stomach bubbles like acid, the slow drip of sweat down your neck making a chill rattle up your spine. You reach the door and swallow thickly, lifting your hands and knocking loudly.

“Hanna?”

Nothing but the sound of the locusts answers you.

Your palms feel sweaty as you knock again. This time, your voice cracks when you call, “Hanna? Please answer the door.”

Wind sweeps across the trees. One thing about the wind in a land of pines and hills is that it’s loud, making a whooshing sound as it’s picked up by the boughs of the trees, rattling and letting their needles shake to the floor.

It’s cool at your back and you feel your lip wobble when you lower your hand to the doorknob. When you twist, the door opens immediately, swinging of its own volition when you let go.

Inside the house is the kind of silence that terrifies you in horror movies. The air is heavy. Your ears ring, searching for any rasp of sound to tell you that your sister is home. Licking your lips, you step over the threshold, the wooden floor cracking beneath the weight of your feet.

To the immediate left of the door is an open kitchen. There are dishes on the dry rack and plants in the window, though they are wilted and dry. You chew your lip as you step further into the house, eyes sweeping around.

A blue, painted table stands in the middle of the kitchen. Piles of mail sit on top of it with a fake plant centerpiece and your sister's car keys.

Across from the kitchen is an open doorway with a stacked washer and dryer, and a folding table. It smells faintly of detergent, clothes folded in neat piles as if Hanna had just completed a laundry day.

Everything is silent in the living room. The couch looks cozy, with piles of blankets draped across it. There’s a faint smell of vanilla, though the wick on the candle doesn’t look like it’s been lit in a while. Dust collects on the TV stand and there are sandals by the door that leads to the back porch.

Chewing your lip, you gently press your fingers to the door of Hanna’s bedroom, holding your breath. The sudden fear that it’s going to swing open and you’ll find your sister dead in her bed nearly incapacitates you, making the room spin a little as the door fully swings open.

Nothing. No Hanna, no rotting smell of a dead body. Just an unmade bed in a room that smells vaguely of her cherry perfume, a bathroom with the door open, and a pile of clothes near the hamper.

The sight of the clothes on the floor and right next to the hamper slams you with a wave of nostalgia. You walk into the room and you unceremoniously plop yourself down on the edge of the bed. It sags underneath you but you don’t care, letting your face fall into your hands and letting a sob rip through you.

Hanna isn’t here. You knew she wouldn’t be, but the relief that you don’t find her dead is so poignant that you can barely breathe past the snot clotting your nose and the way your throat constricts as you let out the fear.

The sobs subside and you wipe your face, hands coming away sticky and wet. Through swollen eyes, you look around the room. With a wipe of your hands on your jeans, you get up and start looking around, pulling open drawers and looking for evidence of the last time that Hanna was in this home.

It’s slow going. You’re unfamiliar with the space and you don’t know what to look for. It doesn’t seem like she had packed anything, but then again, how would you know if she did?

There are signs that she hasn’t been in the house in weeks. Rotted food inside of the fridge, molded bread in the pantry.

Outside, weeds grow around the steps. A cricket pops from the railing to the grass where its green body vanishes. The yard isn’t much of a yard - it’s open to the trees and a kudzu field to the west.

Back inside, you grab Hanna’s keys and open her car. There is nothing inside that looks like she was trying to make a quick getaway. An extra pair of shoes shoved in the back, and an empty grocery bag she was using for trash - all normal things.

In the passenger seat, you strike gold.

Hanna’s journals and folders sit in the passenger seat, stacked in a leaning tower with pages sticking out from the edges of her books and slanted handwriting scrawled on the folder tabs. Gathering all of it, you head back inside and deposit the stack on the kitchen table before looking around the house again to see if there’s any sign of her.

Something in your gut tells you that Hanna hasn’t been in the home for at least a month, if not more.

Dread creeps into your stomach as you gather items and pack a bag. Your intention is to keep it on you at all times in the event that you find her cold and alone somewhere. The thought of needing it leaves a sour tang on your tongue, but you pack it nevertheless.

Bag over your shoulder and stack of Hanna’s investigative work in hand, you head off to your room at the motel. The afternoon sun still burns hot over your head, but you have no intention of sitting in the empty house that carries the scent of your sister’s absence.

… While most historical accounts and official state documents indicate that Kill Devil was founded in 1730, journals buried deep in the city’s crumbling library have written records of townsfolk living in this settled town long before it was declared an official town. The journals reference the town as Covenstead and are filled with generations of the same family names.

Booth.

Park.

Warren.

Kim.

Jung.

Jeon.

Min.

Generations of these families settled in Covenstead and built what is now Kill Devil. From the description of the town in the collection of journals, it appears that the general layout of the town is similar to Kill Devil’s current city map.

Throughout the journals, there is a reference to the Wood. It seems to be a place mentioned in reverence, and there are allusions to celebrations in the Wood with entries dated in alignment with sabbats on the Wheel of the Year.

Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe seeing him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter.

Your finger traces over your sister’s writing. She still writes in her cramped, crooked way, with the sabbats of pagan holidays crammed in the margins. You smile, biting your bottom lip again as you go through the written notes of her study. It is dizzying and you’re unsure what exactly you’re looking at, but something tickles the back of your mind as you reread the entry she copied from the long-dead Yoongi Min. There’s something you're missing.

This time, your eyes snag on a word.

“The Covenstead,” you murmur, reading it over again. “Why would he call it the Covenstead? Is that just an older way of speaking?”

A tingle pricks your neck as you stare at the entry. You can’t understand what made your sister think this entry was odd besides the old-fashioned writing and reference to Mabon, because she writes nothing more on her analysis, and none of the journals she had been studying were anywhere you could find.

Sighing, you push away her notebook and pull out a collection of folders and papers that she had on the town. It’s mostly renderings of the town in its heyday with maps and newspaper articles. There seems to be no correlation between her clippings of new business openings and random town news.

Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building

Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies

The Grove Neighborhood Building Plans Accepted by Mayor

Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident

Something catches your eye in the article about the mayor’s son who fell into a well and died at the bottom. You reach for your sister's notebook and flip to read the small dates shoved into the margins.

Mayor’s Son Experiences Fatal Well Accident

June 19, 1781

Litha: Summer Solstice

June 19-23

Grabbing the other newspaper clippings, you climb off of the bed and lay them flat against the sheets, each crinkling under the excited press of your fingers as your brain whirs. It’s a puzzle your sister seems to have figured out already, and one you don’t expect to understand.

But you do.

Kill Devil Court House Gets New Building

February 14, 1899

Bird Flu? Poultry Farm in Trouble After Flock Dies

March 19, 1899

Ostara: Spring Equinox

March 19-22

You suck in a breath as you look at the next clipping, using your pointer finger to keep your place on the sabbats calendar your sister has written down to see that the article for the new neighborhood The Grove is dated only a month before the mayor's son fell tragically in the well.

“Holy shit, Hanna,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your mouth and staring with burning eyes at the dates. “They match with pagan rituals? Something good, followed by something bad… like revenge? Punishment? Payment?”

The question bothers you. A flutter in your gut tells you that you’re asking the right questions as you stare at the pages, unseeing and trying to understand what your sister is getting at. She didn’t write down her thoughts explicitly - in case anyone stole her work, she’d said - and now you’re wishing she weren’t so paranoid. Or that she at least used a computer.

It isn’t an easy answer to puzzle out. An ache has settled deep in your temples and your half-eaten dinner has long gone cold. You decide you’ve earned a shower, though you don’t go into the bathroom without the bug spray armed and ready.

Briefly, you think about Hoseok. Such an oddity to the town. You can’t help but think about the way he changes from light to dark so quickly, face becoming shadowed and eyes masked, expression there and gone so quickly that you’re unsure if you saw it at all.

Strange. It’s all very strange.

There is a shadow in the parking lot again. This time, it’s closer. The bulb burning above the lot flickers, but stays on. The shadow stands just beyond the silver halo of light it distributes.

No moon hangs in the sky. It is dark dark dark - impossibly dark. You stare through a crack in your curtains, watching the shadow as it watches you. Dread weighs down the pit of your stomach and you feel a fresh wave of terror-laced nausea sweep through you.

You slide a foot backward gently, preparing to step away from the window. The shadow twitches and cocks its head to the side, not unlike a dog curious about something it’s heard. You suck in a sharp breath and hold it in, air screaming in your lungs, heart racing a frantic staccato.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck it seems to say, beating until it’s all you can hear and feel, pumping your system so full of adrenaline that you feel light-headed.

Your heart turns into a drum, frantic. It beats louder and louder and you feel rooted to your spot on the carpet, the soles of your feet surgical-stitched to the ugly shag carpet. You stare and stare and stare at the shadow and your heart is hammering so loud boom boom BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM-

Sweat-drenched and gasping for air, you sit up. Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it under the palm you have pressed against your chest. But the banging is coming from the hotel door, a steady stream of closed-fist hammering and Hoseok’s voice calling your name.

Peeling the covers back from your damp skin, you stumble to the door, nightmare-drunk and disoriented. You forget to remove the chain from the door, yanking it open and immediately slamming it to a stop as the chain pulls, refusing to let the door open.

Hoseok is on the other side, hair slightly disheveled, brows pulled together. He’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, a casual look by anyone’s standards but still effortlessly put together.

“Shit, hold on,” you slur, tongue heavy in your mouth with sleep. Closing the door, you slide the chain out, then reopen it successfully. “Sorry, is everything-”

“What’s going on?”

“What?”

His gaze is thunderous as he looks past you into your room. “You were screaming at the top of your lungs.”

Heat flushes your neck and face. “I-I’m sorry. I was having a nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m not mad. What’s going on?”

In the shadow of the night, he looks dangerous, made up of edges and eyes narrowed. “Can I come in?”

You open the door and move out of his way. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Out of habit, you latch the door when you shut it.

Hoseok is a little out of place in your room. Even when dressed down, he looks like he belongs on a private jet, lounging among soft, polished leather and sipping exotic coffee. Not in a rundown motel room with peeling wallpaper and smoke-stained ceilings.

“What’s all this?” Your stomach plummets when he sees the journals and papers on your bed. you rush to shove it all under the blanket but Hoseok is fast, plucking a sheet of paper and looking over it, face pinched. “Is this what you meant by your sister studies the occult?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was just um- looking over her work.”

“You know about the occult?”

“Not at all.”

He glances at you, razor-sharp. “Then why would you be looking it over for her?”

The atmosphere shifts. It occurs to you that he doesn’t know your sister is missing. Has no idea that you’re desperately trying to put together pieces of a broken puzzle, without any clue on where to find the remaining parts to view the entire picture.

You weigh the options of lying, losing precious time as the silence hangs heavy and awkward between the two of you. He watches, brows raised and expectant, fingers gripping the paper.

“My sister is missing.” It feels weird to say it. Your tongue feels heavy and as you stare over his shoulder at a fixed spot on the wall, it feels like someone else enters your body to tell him, “I came here because no one would help me find her. She was here studying the town's occult myths for work and vanished. I had this… horrible feeling when she stopped calling and answering.”

“Have you contacted the authorities?”

You scoff and throw a glare at him. “Of course I have. It’s useless and frustrating. No one seems to give a shit that there is a missing person, and every lawyer, law officer and city official I talk to don’t fucking care. It’s like they’re all programmed to give me the same answer. They keep telling me that they’ve seen her around or that she’s probably ignoring me on purpose. They make me seem crazy.”

You expect him to tell you to leave it to the authorities. That’s what Hanna’s boss had told you to do. No one seems to be alarmed, no one cares. But you do. Desperately. And you cannot wrap your head around them looking the other way.

You’re preparing for the same reaction when Hoseok surprises you by saying, “You’re not crazy.”

“I’m not?”

He quirks a brow and his rosebud lips twitch in a smirk. “Well, you probably are. But not for this. Have you asked around town about her?”

You shake your head. “I only went to the house that she was staying at. I wanted to see if maybe she really was ignoring me or maybe just… I don’t know. In the zone for work. She wasn’t there and it doesn’t look like there was any sign of distress.”

“Take me there.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.” He tosses the papers onto the pile on your bed. “We’ll be safe.”

“First of all,” you hedge. “How do I know that? I barely know you. Second of all, what is going there in the middle of the night going to help?”

“I’m good at investigating. Maybe I’ll see something that you don’t.”

“Sorry, are you a cop now?”

“No, it’s hard to explain but I promise I’m trying to help you.” When you don’t move, Hoseok grimaces. “Look,” he explains evenly. “I really am trying to help you. I haven’t been entirely honest about why I’m here in this town. I came because I was also interested in some things happening here. Now I’m worried your sister is involved.”

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. “Involved how?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping it’s a coincidence. Believe it or not, those do happen. But I’d like to visit her house to see if there’s anything at all that sticks out to me.” You hesitate, chewing on your lip. You don’t really know him, and now you trust him even less with his reasoning. “Please,” he adds.

You relent. “Fine.” Hanna is your main goal. You don’t trust Hoseok, but you wonder if he really can help you when no one else has. “Let’s go.”

Damp air rushes through the open windows of your car. You lowered them as you got in for a quick escape if Hoseok attacks you while you drive. He says nothing in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the pine trees rushing behind you.

Outside, the world is painted night-blue from the moon. There’s a weird hue to everything, making it feel as though you’re wading with heavy limbs through a dream. It’s no better when you arrive at the dark house.

It looks terrifying at night. There’s no street light to guide you, only that of the silver moon and the bright halogen lights of your car. You turn off your vehicle but switch the headlights on, turning on the high beams to shine on the house.

On the edges of where the light fades to shadow, your fear lies. The trees look taller than in the daylight, their branches like craggy limbs and reaching fingers. Anxiety bubbles uncomfortably in your stomach.

Each crunch of the grass beneath your feet falls too loud against the heavy silence. Here, you notice that the crickets are no longer singing. It’s just the hush of the wind gusting through the canyons and the far-away swell as it blows up the hills.

Though it’s not cool outside, there’s a chill on your skin. Hoseok walks up to the house, the beams of the car’s headlights throwing his shadow across it in jarring, monstrous shapes. You keep your eyes focused on him and your keys tucked in your hand, ready to use them as a weapon if needed.

Hoseok doesn’t seem concerned about your anxiety or the silence thrumming around the home. He walks up the steps and opens the door, vanishing into the dark mouth of the threshold. For a moment, you stand in the front yard, getting tunnel vision as you stare at the darkness in the doorway.

You imagine stepping over the threshold into that cool dark, letting it suck you in. You imagine that as soon as your shoes hit the creaking floor, Hoseok will snatch you by the waist and pull you into the belly of the beast. Once in his clutches, he’ll throw you to the ground and the last thing you’ll remember is-

Hoseok reappears in the doorway. You blink and the waking nightmare melts away, so vivid that you’re shaking where you’re standing, looking at him in confusion. He hops down the stairs, scowling as he crosses the front lawn in a few long strides.

He pauses when he sees your face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I…” you shake your head, trying to dispel the weird vision you had a moment ago. “Nothing. I just don’t like the dark very much.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you find anything?”

His lip twitches. It’s almost impossible to detect, but you’re so focused on his face and trying not to picture him as the man in the terrifying thought you had moments ago, that you see it. “No.”

Lying. He’s lying. You clutch your keys and your breath quickens. He moves to round the side of the car and take the passenger seat, but you step in front of him. He pulls up short, eyes narrowing as you stand between him and the vehicle, blood pumping.

“I think you’re lying.”

“About what?”

“A lot of things.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“My instinct.”

He hums. “Instinct isn’t always a good thing.” He looks you up and down. “I didn’t find anything,” he says again. “I just got a really weird feeling inside of the house.”

“And?”

“And it’s the same weird feeling I’ve gotten in other places where people visiting went missing. Including the motel we’re staying at.” That makes you recoil. You feel the blood drain from your face, making you a little dizzy. You don’t know what’s going on, don’t understand what he’s getting at. “Your sister’s notes were about the covenstead here.”

That word again. The covenstead and not Covenstead, like a town name. “It was the town name before it was Kill Devil.”

“No,” he corrects. “It was a landmark. A covenstead, for people who lived here. A coven.”

“A coven.” He nods. “Like vampires and witches?”

Hanna’s notes had included all of those pagan holidays crammed in the margins of her work. Marking dates of occurrences that coincided with sabbat holidays. “Hoseok,” you say slowly. “Are you telling me that a bunch of witches live here and have kidnapped my sister?”

He regards you for a moment, eyes flickering up and down. His face is unreadable and dark in the night air, eyes shadowed and haunting. “That’s actually exactly what I’m saying.”

“Witches aren’t real.”

He frowns. “I can prove that they are.”

“How?”

He gestures to the car. “Let’s go.”

When you were younger, your sister always believed in magic. You remember spending all of October huddled on the couch with crocheted blankets, watching Halloween movies with the blanket pulled warm over scabbed knees, with popcorn-greased fingers tucked under heated thighs. Hanna always picked the movies - Halloween was her time of the year and you were happy to indulge.

Hanna’s choices were always superb. Hocus Pocus received more airtime than anything else, replayed between Halloweentown one and two, Practical Magic, The Witches and The Addams Family among others. Every night of the month was crammed full of magic and spells and haunted houses, sweetened by candy corn and Butterfingers.

Those were the nights that you loved the most. There was no fighting, no whining and crying over Hanna stealing your hair clips or you breaking her hair dryer. It was just the two of you, pressed skin-to-skin and spelled by the scrolling movies.

It’s as close to magic as you’ve ever been. You don’t think you were ever closer to her than in those moments. Under the blankets and the dim candles your mother lit, you were one being, melded. You knew when she would gasp at every jump scare and whisper each one of her favorite lines.

Thinking back on it, you wonder if Hanna was onto something. She always insisted that parts of the movies had to be true. Stories are rooted in history, and though myth and legend changed with culture, colonization and the introduction of new religions, science and ideas, there was something about the concept of magic and spirit that felt real to her.

It was why she went to school and majored in journalism with minors in folklore and history. She had even started a master's program for occult studies and folklore, spending late nights studying between traveling across the country from haunt to haunt for her job.

Staring at her work on the bed of your hotel room as Hoseok adds some of his own notes and findings, you have never missed her more. There is a sudden ache inside of your chest, so strong that it takes your breath away. Your hand goes to the necklace at your neck, feeling flushed, heart pounding.

Hoseok is explaining how there used to be a coven of witches that lived in the Wood long before Kill Devil existed. The Wood, Hoseok explains, is like a living and breathing conduit of power. It was something that gave the coven power but also needed to be fed.

The Covenstead. You remember the journal entry that had called it the covenstead. A place where witches commune and live together as one functioning body of magic. That much power does things to a place, skews the way the world works a little bit. He gives examples of places all around the world with similar experiences: the Bermuda Triangle, Door To Hell, Reed Flute Cave. All places where an abundance of magic and energy warps the way life functions.

But the Wood was strange before the witches got here. Hoseok rolls out a map, fingers tracing the lines of the city. Clarity snaps like a rubberband stinging against skin as you stare at it, lips parted, inhaling sharply.

The city roads make a pentagram, and at the very center is the courthouse.

“This is on purpose,” Hoseok explains. “There are other places in the world where the way the city or town or village is built is like a pentagram. Usually, these are called portals. They’re different from faerie rings which have their own power and distortions. These portals are for practicing witches and those who know how to use them.”

“Portals for what?”

“Creatures of great power that exist in worlds that don’t belong to us. Part of what gives witches their ability to perform magic is their energy. They are attuned to the world around them in a way that humans are not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you understand the concept of third and fourth dimensions?”

“Third dimension is what we live in,” you answer mechanically, somewhat familiar with the idea. “If a fourth dimension existed, we wouldn’t know because it moves in a way that we are unable to perceive. The fourth dimension, in theory, is movement and sight we would never have.”

“Exactly. But witches are attuned to that. These pentagrams,” Hoseok murmurs, tapping the map. “Are made to connect to the fourth dimension. Pentagrams are not inherently evil or even paranormal, but similar to sacred geometry, they… radiate at a frequency that other dimensions do. Powerful symbols like this have existed since Mesopotamia.”

“I… how does this prove that magic is real?”

For a moment, you’re distracted by the way Hoseok’s artful fingers pluck your sister's notebook from the bed. He flips until you’re looking at her journal entries and the newspaper clippings with dates and headlines.

“Witchcraft is different in every culture and part of the world. These holidays have roots in Celtic and Welsh craft. It was brought over by the pilgrims when people fled England and traveled here. This is old - not as old as whatever lives in the Wood, but old enough that it’s powerful. These dates you’re looking at? They’re sacrifices to keep the Wood powerful.”

“How do you even know all of this?”

“I’ve studied it my entire life.”

“Why?”

“It’s just something that runs in my family. We’re very spiritual people.” Something about the way his voice wavers makes you look at him sharply. Hoseok isn’t looking at you, busying himself with sifting through papers. There’s a pinch in your gut that makes you think he’s lying, but you’re afraid to push the matter.

“Get some rest,” he says, breaking your exhausted train of thought. “We can talk more in the morning when you’re not exhausted.”

“Yeah.” You rub your weary eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

With Hoseok gone, you crawl into the bed, leaving the light on, staring off into the distance as your hand clutches your necklace. Your lip trembles and your throat constricts painfully. When you close your eyes, you feel tears slide down your face.

Tucking your face into the pillow to hide your tears, you let out a small, aching sound. You just want to know where your sister is, and somehow you’ve landed in the middle of a hateful little town with strange little people and a strange little fantasy.

Crying is inevitable. But at least it puts you to sleep.

This time, you know you’re dreaming. You don’t know how you know, but you do. There’s a watery feeling to the hotel room when you open your eyes. As though you’re both there and you’re not.

You glance at the clock but the numbers are all wrong. You rub your eyes and look again, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t make sense of them.

You want to sit up. You move your arms - no, you try to move your arms. They don’t move, suddenly too heavy to slide under the covers of your blanket and peel it back. Panic sparks in you as you try to shift your legs, but though you can feel them, you can’t move them.

Terror as you’ve never known slides between your ribs, sharp and poignant. You can’t breathe and you know you’re dreaming and yet you can’t move. You close your eyes, brain repeating the same words over and over again: wake up wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP-

It doesn’t happen. You open your eyes and your room still has the dream-glazed light to it, and you still can’t move. Something shifts in your peripheral vision. Your heart seizes in your chest so sharply you think you’ll die.

You cannot turn your head to look at the shadow that moves just beyond your sight. Tears slip from your eyes, hot, wet and burning. You can’t wipe them. They blind you, turn your vision into an opaque, watery mess as something slides to the foot of your bed.

When you feel the mattress dip, you try to scream. The sound is locked in your throat, with so much force behind it that you wait for your vocal cords to explode. The fear is raw now, your eyes wild, tears leaking as you mentally thrash and thrash and thrash.

Weight shifts on either side of the bed and you have the sense that there is someone crawling on you but you can’t see beyond your crying, can’t hear beyond the pounding of your own heartbeat slamming in your ears, blocking out every other noise and-

Something invisible to you grips your throat. You still have the instinct to move, driving you to madness as your brain signals for your hands to fly to your assailant and yank and remove the hold on your neck.

It’s crushing. You gasp for air, no noise coming out as the grip tightens, and you know with certainty that this is it. Whatever dream this is will kill you, this time.

The realization that you’re going to die suddenly mutes the terror. It slides behind a glass door, beating its fists, but it's duller now. You have sharper clarity, and briefly you think of what Hoseok said about beings from the fourth dimension, and how the witches summon them through their craft here. To this place. Where you cannot perceive them.

You wonder if this happened to Hanna. You miss her, your sister, with big dreams and fast smiles and a head full of magic and wondering. This, you think, is how you go. And perhaps you’ll join her.

Thoughts blend together, sloshed wine in a glass. They’re warm and liquid and have no shape to them, no real purpose. It’s like you know you’re thinking, but you don’t know of what. Darkness pools at the edge of your vision. It feels cold and alone but you drift toward it, away from the pain.

And then you can breathe.

Air comes sweeping in, forcing its way into your mouth, into your lungs. Your lungs inflate so painfully that for a split second, you think they’re on fire. Oxygen burns its way through you and bursts of color explode on the canvas of your closed eyes - you don’t remember closing your eyes.

You roll over in bed, coughing, mouth wet with spit and phlegm as you try to gulp in as much air as you can.

High-pitched ringing whines in your ears, and there are muffled sounds on the other end of it. The motel room tilts back into vision, melting into place. You think that the room has reloaded into your world wrong - everything is crooked.

Then you realize you’re laying on your side, gagging and gasping for air. There is a hand against to your back, palm cold, fingertips freezing. The touch, you realize, feels full of energy, your spine tingling where it’s pressed against you.

Lurching away from the touch, you roll to the side of the bed, looking at the person whose hand had been pressed against you.

Hoseok’s tangled in the sheets, hair a mess, shirtless and in sweats. He’s panting, flushed, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his body. But it’s his eyes that stop you from scrambling away. They’re dark, burning like two pieces of coal as he looks at you, kneeling with his hands in his lap, palms facing the ceiling.

Hoseok says something. The ringing in your ears has just started to die down and you shake your head, unsure of what he means and not confident in your ability to speak.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck just happened to me?”

“This is my fault, I’m so sorry.”

“What?”

He lifts his hands and you flinch. The look on his face is pure heartbreak, shrouded in golden light. “Please,” he murmurs. “Let me help you. I’m not going to hurt you.”

It’s quiet, save for the sound of the humming air conditioner.

Trust your gut, your sister had said.

So you do because he’s offered to help you thus far. You nod, giving him access to you. He sags in relief, shuffling forward tentatively as he takes your face in his hands. His palms are impossibly warm. Your eyes flutter shut at the touch, unable to look at him this close, this boy of light and something, as he cradles your face.

Warmth pools in your face, saturating down to your neck and chest. The ache in your lungs eases, and the lump in your throat continues to recede. You don’t want to ask what he’s doing. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to feel the terror of moments ago ever again, and with the way Hoseok is touching you, so close that his breath fans your brow, and you can smell him like rain and lavender, you want to embrace it.

There’s no thought process to the way you lean up into him. Your eyes are closed, your breath shaking as you seek him. Hoseok makes a surprised noise, but it vanishes as you press your lips against his.

Relief sweeps through you. It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before, every drop of terror fading away, momentarily forgotten. Every ache vanishes. It’s just Hoseok and the way he burns brighter than the sun, and the way it doesn’t hurt anymore.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he kisses you back. It’s sweet and soft-lipped, his fingers pressing into the side of your face gently as he pulls you to him. You follow his pull, both physically and something like a tether, getting up on your knees to get closer.

Hoseok breaks the kiss, nose brushing yours. You open your eyes, half-lidded and feeling dizzy from just the gentle press of lips. His eyes are dark, but you see the light flecks of brown in them, like an entire world of sun and stars exist in their depths.

“Make it go away,” you whisper.

You don’t specify. The pain, the nightmares, the fear, the weird town, the worry about your sister. You want it all to stop and this person you barely know - you feel as though he can take it away. Or mute it.

He nods, eyes closing as he kisses you properly. You forget what you were worried about, and it’s all you can do not to fall headfirst into Hoseok. His mouth is warm and wet, tongue soft but greedy as he pries your mouth open, drinking you in.

Hoseok’s lips tingle against yours, sending a shiver skating down your spine. You wrap your hands around his neck, fingers tangling in the silky strands there. He hums appreciatively when your nails slow-scratch at the base of his scalp.

Carefully, Hoseok shuffles you into his lap. Your knees dip on the mattress on either side of his hips, straddling his waist. His hands find the hem of your sleep shirt and pull upward. You break the kiss, a string of spit connecting your flushed mouths before the garment breaks it.

The room is cold, air hitting your bare chest and hardening your nipples immediately. You whine but Hoseok is fast, pressing your chest to his as he attaches his mouth to your neck, sucking at the tender flesh sharply.

“Fuck,” you whisper, letting your head drop backward heavily. Your eyes are shut and the world feels like it’s spinning. He has one hand on your hip, the other on the small of your back, pressing you to him to keep you warm and to rock your hips gently into his. “Feels good.”

He hums in response, sucking wet stains onto your flesh as he moves toward your chest. You push your tits out to meet his searching mouth, gasping lightly when the rough drag of his tongue swipes across your nipple.

The sensation is overwhelming. Your fingers dig into the back of his neck as Hoseok sucks your peak greedily. You’re grinding into his lap on your own now, panties clinging to your hot, sticky folds as you seek friction. He’s hard beneath you and you want to feel him.

Letting you rut in his lap, Hoseok drags delicate fingers over the curve of your ass and thigh, and his nails leave goosebumps in their wake. The feeling between your legs and at the base of your spine is heady as he lets go of one nipple with a sharp pop, tongue tracing a sloppy line to the other.

Hoseok’s teeth tease the tight bud and you whine. “Oh?” he asks, voice rough and low. “Gonna be a baby about it?”

You shake your head, but your lip juts out as you look at him, dazed. “Want more.”

“Tell me.”

Dropping one hand from his neck, you take the hand resting on your thigh, guiding it between your legs. Hoseok presses the pads of his fingers to your underwear and you let out a keen. It’s not nearly enough, but the pressure sends another wave of arousal flooding through you.

“Hmm,” he hums, dragging his fingers back and forth over the damp cloth. “Soaked from just that, huh?” You nod and he bites your collarbone. Fuck, he’s going to kill you, sending another tremble down your frame. He hooks a finger in your underwear, sliding against your glossy folds experimentally and he curses, “Fuck. Pussy is already messy and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Please.”

“What do you want? I already asked.”

“More.” Hoseok presses your clit, letting you drip onto his fingers, but he doesn’t move them. You grit your teeth. “Want your fingers,” you ask through clenched teeth. “Fuck me with them, anything. Please.”

He grins, face wicked before he kisses your nose. “See, you just had to tell me.”

You’re tense as he pulls your underwear to the side, shoving the fabric against your thigh. Cool air hits your cunt. You can’t recall ever wanting someone like this, vibrating uncontrollably as he traces your slit with his fingers, lazily circling your clit.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips and you drop your forehead on Hoseok’s shoulder. He lets you sag against him as he plays with your pussy, fingers barely dipping to tease your hole and gather juices before coming back to trace your clit, applying delicious pressure.

It feels so good. It’s mind-numbing, letting him do what he wants. Hoseok pants in your ear, breathing stilted between chaste kisses against the side of your head.

Painfully slow, Hoseok inserts a single finger into your wet heat. The sound you let out is high-pitched and loud. It’s not nearly enough, but you lose all sense of asking for more as his finger slides in deep, pressing against your front wall to massage that delicate spot inside of you.

“Oh shit,” you stutter, unable to help it.

He laughs, voice deep when he asks, “Yeah? That the spot?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He slow-drags his finger in and out of your pussy, fucking you slowly. He curses, teasing you only for a moment before he gifts you another. The stretch is so much better, and you melt. He thrusts leisurely, not hard and fast but deep. Your walls swallow his fingers, gripping them and begging him not to stop as a tight coil winds in your stomach as he presses hard against your g-spot.

It’s messy, the wet drag of his fingers in your cunt. You feel the slow drip of arousal every time he pulls back, soaking his hand. It drops down your thighs as he picks up the pace. You lift your hips a little, adding a bounce to his motions.

“Oh? You wanna do it?” He stops moving his hand and you let out a desperate sound. He laughs. “No, go ahead. If you’re so eager, do it yourself. Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

Seeking balance by holding his shoulders, you grip him tight, face tucked in his neck as you maneuver yourself, using your knees to lightly fuck yourself on his fingers. It feels so good, and you adjust the angle until you feel him hit that spot again, making you see stars.

It’s electric, this feeling rippling in your bloodstream. It feels different with Hoseok and you can’t place why, but your orgasm is building so sharply in your stomach that you nearly stop thrusting, overwhelmed by the sensation.

The pressure in your stomach winds and winds and winds until it snaps, every muscle in your thighs and ass squeezing tight, your hands turning to an iron grip, breath stuck in your lungs as you let out a strangled sound, squeezing Hoseok’s fingers as you come.

Hoseok is whispering something in your ear, but you can’t hear him over the thundering heartbeat of your pulse, shaking as you come down from your high. When you do, you’re vaguely aware that he’s pulled his fingers out, but he’s massaging the tight ring of muscles, making you shiver.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Wanna see you stretch yourself on my cock like that.”

“Wanna,” you mumbled.

Your limbs are heavy and lazy as you shuffle, uncoordinated. Hoseok laughs, finding you endearing as you scowl and shift off his lap. His touch is featherlight as he pulls your panties off. You need him, completely naked and shivering as your eyes drop from the smooth, carved planes of his chest and abs to the heavy imprint of his cock in his sweats.

And the wet stain mess you’ve made.

Flushed, you watch as he looks up at you, smirking. “Go on.”

Scooting toward him with eager hands, you rest with your feet tucked under you. Dipping your touch below his waistband, you grasp him firmly, cock heavy in your hand. He sighs, head tilting back a little while you slide your grip along his shaft.

Brushing your thumb over his tip to collect hot, sticky precum, you spread it, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you stroke him gently, testing the waters. His hips twitch and his mouth parts, gold light of the lamp turning him into Giovanni’s Apollo. He is ethereal, a burning sun and you suddenly understand why Icarus flew to his demise.

Maybe you will too.

With your other hand, you push Hoseok’s sweats down. Though you could feel the size and swollen weight of him in your hand, it’s still a marvel when you see his thick length, dark tip oozing precum.

A hiss escapes his teeth when you give him a firm squeeze. He lets you pump him lazily, and your mouth catches the underside of his jaw, teething and sucking sharp marks into his skin. He tastes like something electric and a little bit of sweat, your tongue buzzing.

“Hmm,” he hums, fingers gripping the back of your neck to pull your mouth back up to his. It’s more spit and him gasping into your mouth more than anything. “You know how stunning you are?”

You feel heat creep up in your cheeks. Hoseok shuffles away from you and you let go of your grip on him, watching his dick slap against his stomach, smearing precum. He sits near the headboard, leaning against the wallpaper and staring at you with hungry eyes.

“You’re going to make me shy,” you say softly, though you still crawl toward him. You can feel the slick slide of your inner thighs. He pumps his cock lazily, giving you a look that says he doesn’t believe you. “You’re pretty.”

“Think so?”

You nod, a little light-headed and uneven. You tilt toward the side and he catches you, hands sticky from your mixed arousal. Bending down, you capture his lips. Hoseok runs the crown of his cock through your folds and you moan, lips parting. He drinks in your sounds, licking them from the roof of your mouth.

For a moment, it’s just the teasing and sloppy kissing, pausing to pant into each other's mouths, slick from sweat. He presses the blunt head of his dick into your hole, dipping only a little before retreating and sliding back up to tease your clit.

“Hoseok,” you growl, biting on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the iron tang blooming in your mouth. He hisses out a laugh and does it again. This time, you lower your pussy, trying to catch him on an angle to sink down on him. “Stoooop.”

“Whiny baby,” he teases again. “Cock-hungry, huh?”

“Wanna be full.”

“Mmm.”

Hoseok repeats the motion, but this time lets you sink slowly on the length of him. The stretch stings, hurt-laced pleasure as you suck in a sharp breath and hold it. It feels like your lungs might burst, shaking as you slide down until your ass rests on his damp thighs and you feel the tip of his cock deep in your gut.

“Fuck,” you gasp, leaning forward, palms pressed to his shoulders. They slide a little, his skin warm and sweaty. You dig your nails in for purchase and he sucks in a sharp breath, but lets you claw your way back to sanity from the feeling. “Deep.”

His hands find purchase on your ass, digging in and massaging. “Come on, then. You were so eager for my fingers.”

You lift your hips a little, the slide delicious against your warm walls, and drop down with a wet smack. You both moan at that and you grin, putting the weight into Hoseok’s shoulders as you lift your hips again, hypnotized by the wet schlick of your cunt sliding on his length.

Everything fades away again. Your thighs burn as you increase your movements, chasing the buzz that has settled deep in your stomach. Hoseok lets you use him, his eyes fixed on the way your cunt drips into his lap.

His nails bite into the meat of your ass and you feel dragged under by the pleasure, the sting of his grip and the pressure of his cock hitting your g-spot sending you further and further.

Your legs grow a little tired, movements sloppy. Hoseok doesn’t mind, planting his feet on the bed and thrusting upward to meet you, hands supporting your weight under your ass. He helps lift you, pulling you up and down until you’re mumbling incoherently.

It feels mind-numbingly good, and the tension in your stomach grows taught and tight, your second orgasm oncoming.

“Come on,” Hoseok demands between clenched teeth. “Give it to me.”

You nod, sliding a hand between your thighs, fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure and speed to get you shaking again. White spots appear in your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut, letting him take over and fuck up into you, cunt gushing as you come hard enough around him that you fall forward.

Hoseok lets you lay on his chest, dead weight as he claws at your ass and thighs, rutting up into you. You’re dimly aware of the soaked mess of your smacking bodies, but your ears are ringing and you feel lighter than you’ve ever felt before.

You begin to whine in oversensitivity just as Hoseok slams into you as deep as he can, cock twitching and filling you up. You shiver as he grunts, hips bucking with a wet squelch as he gently fucks you through his orgasm.

Both of you lay there in a messy pile as his cock softens inside of you. Cum pools between your pressed bodies, but you don’t care. The room is humid, the light dim with the haze of how far gone you feel. Hoseok traces soft circles on your hips with his fingers. Your mouth is pressed against his jaw, breath kissing his skin.

You could fall asleep here, you think. It’s nice to forget for a while, to let your body feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, the shaking of his thighs against yours, the ache in your muscles.

Heaviness tugs at you, so close to pulling you under, but Hoseok stirs. You feel drunk, letting him peel the two of you apart until you’re stumbling to the shower. The air makes your tacky, cum-covered skin cold.

It’s hard to fit both of you in the shower, but you manage it, rotating under the rough spray of the hot water, hands exploring and kneading sore muscles. Your lips are abused and feel bruised, but it doesn’t stop you from seeking the comfort of his mouth, the world turning to static every time you kiss him.

The motel room smells like sex and sweat when you return to peel clothes back on. Wordlessly, Hoseok takes your hand and leads you to his room on the other side of the wall. It has the same faded wallpaper, the same dusty and stained lampshades, but it looks more lived in.

There are added pieces in the room. A dehumidifier hums in the corner, and there is a hamper full of clothes. Hoseok has added plants near the window, plasticky leaves vibrant green and shiny. Burnt-out incense sits on the plastic folding table he’s erected, books and papers splayed out over its surface. There’s a collection of crystals you can’t identify.

An inviting bed beckons you. You both fall into it, heavy-limbed and sighing. It smells like Hoseok, a mix of rain and lavender. There’s a sense of trepidation as you roll over on the mattress.

Carefully, Hoseok pulls you to him. He presses your back to his chest, one arm going under his head as he yawns and smacks his lips lightly, the other looping over your waist.

“No one is going to bother you,” he sleep-slurs. “I got rid of them. And they won’t go against me.”

You hum, sleep crawling up and stealing your thoughts. You wonder how he got rid of them and why they’re afraid of him.

It isn’t until he mumbles a response that you realize you’ve spoken your question out loud. “Because,” he sighs, words slow and soft, as he drifts off to sleep. “I told them you’re mine.”

Hoseok’s words are lost on you because you’re long asleep.

No dreams disturb you. When you wake up, you feel the weight of the night before on you. It’s cool and empty behind you as you startle, realizing you’d fallen asleep with Hoseok there. You look over your shoulder, blinking away sleep, and see that it’s just you in the dark room.

From the bathroom, you can hear the shower. You relax a little, groaning as you roll to your back and stare up at the popcorn-textured ceiling. Your thighs still burn with the soreness from the night before and you bite your bottom lip, trying to conceal your grin.

Gently, you bring your hand to prod at your neck where it had hurt so much last night. You remember the lock-limb nightmare, the feeling of needing to scream. The thought that you were dying.

Hoseok had saved you, but it begged the question of how. You remember asking him last night, but you cannot remember what he answered. You’re also surprised to find that you’re not in any pain from whoever or whatever had attacked you.

Unease turns your stomach but you decide to crawl out of his bed, wandering around his room. A salt lamp casts an orange glow on his makeshift desk. You’re drawn to the mess on top of it, looking at the stacks of books and frowning. They’re not in English - or any language that you know, embossed symbols and shapes on the covers and cracked spines.

Lifting a heavy, green canvas book, you flip it over in your hands. The edges of the paper are yellow and oxidized with time and there is a gold symbol pressed on the front. Your fingers trace the groove, remembering what Hoseok said the day before about sacred geometry.

Putting it down, you select another book. It has a pentagram on it. When you flip the book open, the pages are filled with slanted writing, diagrams, and shapes. You recognize sabbat dates and stop when you get to a picture of interlocking shapes. You trace the symbol absently, wondering what it means.

Why does he have books like this?

A current of electricity slides up the finger that’s tracing the symbol. You squeak in surprise and drop it, cringing at the loud clatter that it makes against the table. The shower flips off and you look at the shut door. Hoseok moves around before opening the door, sticking his head out. He’s dripping in water, hair slicked back, golden skin glistening.

Despite the night before, you avert your eyes, shy. He doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything, instead asking. “You okay?” He glances down at the books. “Good luck reading those.”

“Yeah,” you answer absently.

He grins. “Be out in a second.”

When Hoseok shuts the door, you feel unsettled. Rubbing your arms to fend off a sudden chill, you continue looking through the things on his table. There’s a small glass case with the exoskeleton of a frog. You cringe, thinking about Hoseok’s pet frog awaiting death in his pitcher plants.

Hoseok’s phone starts vibrating on the desk, making you gasp. Your hand goes to your chest, feeling the way your heart pounds violently against your rib cage. Looking at the screen, you see that someone named Yoongi is calling him.

You hesitate, cocking your head. The name rings familiar, and you watch as the call goes to voicemail. The screen fades to black but you keep staring at it. Not for the first time on your trip, you get the sense that you’re missing something, that there is something right there.

A text from Yoongi comes in, lighting up the screen.

Jung, you better not be fucking around with your prey again. We need to prepare.

It doesn’t sit well with you. When the screen goes dark, you tap it, bringing up the preview. What the hell does Yoongi mean fucking around with your prey? And what are they preparing for? You swear you remember the name Yoongi, retracing your thoughts.

You feel the blood drain from your face. You do know that name.

“Yoongi was so mad he wouldn’t talk to me for a week.”

“What?” you had asked him. “Your cat talks?”

“Oh- he- well he meows, you know what I mean?”

Slowly, you stiffen, remembering Hoseok’s words after breakfast. It had seemed silly then, that Hoseok was talking about a cat. But it’s not the only place you’ve seen Yoongi’s name.

Trust your gut, your sister always said.

You look at the bathroom door once before turning on your heel and creep from the room. You pull the front door open slowly, wincing and holding your breath as the outside world makes noise. Slipping through, you’re careful not to let the door click loudly before running to your room.

With the same care, you shut your door, flipping the bolt lock and sliding the chain in the door. The room feels like it’s spinning, your tunnel vision making you dizzy as you sweep your gaze back and forth, looking for the piles of your sister's research. It’s sitting on the floor, shoved off the bed where you let him fuck you last night.

The urge to vomit flips your stomach as you dive for the papers, riffling through them and scanning, feverish and sweaty. You find the entry you want, finger pressing to the page as you read it multiple times, fear making the words tangle.

Only Mabon is referenced in any of the journals explicitly, in a strange entry from a man named Yoongi Min. I have written it here for safekeeping: We bringeth the little lamb to The Wood today for the honor of Mabon. I loathe to see him go, for he hath brought cheer and many a smile to the Covenstead. May he bring us blessings and warmth in the winter.

Yoongi.

A sick feeling coils in your stomach as your hands tremble, eyes scanning the list of names your sister scribbled out as old families in Kill Devil. There’s another one you remember, the one that Yoongi used in his text to Hoseok.

Booth.

Park.

Warren.

Kim.

Jung.

Jeon.

Min.

A shaking hand presses to your mouth. Jung. “Fuck,” you squeak, looking at the wall separating you from Hoseok’s room.

It occurs to you that all this time, you thought the citizens were looking at Hoseok with contempt. How easily hatred can be confused for fear. Hoseok, who had shown up every time you were having a night terror. Who seemingly knew all the right things to do to ease you.

Hoseok, who had flashes of darkness that terrified you. Whose expression could go blank as he thought about something, but flip on a dime to a bright, sunny boy. Hoseok, whose presence always gave you a weird tingle, triggering some sort of instinct you couldn’t place.

Something happens then. With absolute certainty and a razor-sharp resolve that you’ve never experienced, you know your sister is dead. Perhaps you’ve always known. The sudden burning of your locket that night two months ago, the way that it looks like she ceased to exist. The eerie feeling dogging you, nipping at your heels.

Hanna is dead. The pain is only sharp for a second, a slice of agony as you bend over, arms wrapped around your stomach as you let out a silent scream. The grief is powerful but abrupt as you hear Hoseok call your name on the other side of the wall.

You stand. Because now you can’t mourn. Now, you must leave as quickly as possible. Because you hadn’t been trusting your gut, ignoring that weird little sense of something wrong.

Now isn’t the time to scream over what you know. Now you must get away from-

“Was it the books or the phone call?”

You whirl around. Hoseok is leaning against the wall by the door. The bolt is still flipped and the chain is still in place. You’re frozen to the spot, staring at him. He looks at the papers on the floor and back to you, smirk razor-sharp. Of course, he could get into the room without opening the lock.

All of the features you thought were beautiful are suddenly terrifying. “It took you way too long to puzzle it together, but I guess you’re not nearly as smart as Hanna.” You open your mouth but nothing comes out, throat constricted. “You were so easy to convince though, so I guess that’s something.”

“I don’t…” your voice is raspy, shaking.

“When you kept calling the city officials, I knew it was only time before you showed up here. I’ve been living in this fucking shit hole waiting.” He tsks and shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Took you forever.”

“The citizens?”

“Stay out of my way and stay out of the Wood. They’re the frogs I let live, so long as I find other ones.”

“Why?” you ask, shaking your head. It’s the only question you can think of. It’s the only question that matters: whywhywhywhy. “Why help me?”

“Sometimes a predator likes to play with its prey.”

It dawns on you that he had said as much at breakfast while he was tracing symbols on the table. He had been talking about his frogs, but he had been talking about you too. How many signs had you missed because he fucking smiled at you? Something dangerous lurking behind light flirting.

He points to himself. “Pitcher plant.” He points at you with a grin. “Frog. Ribbit.”

“Fuck you,” you snarl, fear replaced by a hatred that burns so hot the edges of your vision flash red. But it isn’t him you’re mad at. It’s you. For being so easily deceived. For being so casually influenced in a matter of days. “Fuck you, and your fucking town.”

“I did fuck you. You were special, though. I hope that makes you feel better. Didn’t fuck your sister. You’re cute, and I had time to spare.”

“All of this for what? To get off on the chase? The manipulation?”

He scoffs. “I already told you what this place is. It isn’t my fault you didn’t put it together. I almost hand-fed it to you. The Wood gives us power, and the Wood needs sacrifices.” Hoseok pushes himself off of the wall, his smile like the first light of the morning sun. “I’m taking you to the Wood.”

#hoseok smut #hobi smut #j hope smut #hoseok fanfic #j hope fanfic #bts fanfic #hobi fanfic #hoseok x reader #j hope x reader #minors dni #j hope x you #hobi x you #sailoryooons

557 notes · View notes

happilyfeatherafter · 3 months

Text

Happilyfeatherafter’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone, sneaking in a little bit late (I've been afk on a fun visit to the UK's biggest LGBTQ+ and Kink archive in London, and it was truly fascinating! Pay it a visit if you're in London.) But now I'm back with more fics that I've read and loved recently.

If you missed last week’s you can find my previous rec lists here for more!

9 February 2024

The Real Prize by @doctorprofessorsong is part two of River's glorious Dean x The Cartwright Twins fics. Dean is reunited with baseball player Joe, now retired, after an eventful case. After introducing his partner Cas, they get to reminiscing, fun, and a boat load of feelings. Only River can make you get this emotional over the aftermath of a gangbang and some voyeuristic partner sharing!

Good Times, Bad Times, Past Times by @lazarus-rose (art by @avalonlights) is another fantastic @deancasbigbang fic that gave me all the time travel feels. Dean doesn't see much of a future for himself with his demon deal looming, but then he meets a future version of himself from 2023. This Dean has his happily ever after with Cas after defeating Chuck and semi-retiring from hunting. But, there's a rogue angel who has gone back in time to kill Dean before he ever went to Hell. Time for tfw to reunite for one last hunt. Brilliantly executed, and masterfully characterised. I just love it when Dean meets Dean!

five minutes to six by saintedcastiel (@aliveboydean) is giving me The Morning Show / Newsroom / Newscaster Castiel! He's been the co-host of Good Morning, Lawrence! for a little over ten years when he stumbles across the story of a lifetime. But after the segment is pulled, he is desperate to unearth the corruption behind the scenes, whilst keeping his co-host, and the man he loves, in the dark. It's got mystery, it's got espionage, it's got heist vibes, it's got intrigue!

becoming of a man by wylf_storm (@denimshortsdean) is another stunning poem, from @winchester-reload's Suptober prompt liminal. Exploring intersecting boundaries, thresholds and transitional stages. Beautifully Dean and Cas, and really layered, every time I read it I find something new.

(we are) two queens by @luckshiptoshore for everyone who's been enjoying Luck's Are You Writing From The Heart? but might have missed this prior gem! Glorious fish out of water meets stubborn self-denial King. And for all your ‘Dean’s inner critic/homosexuality narrator sounds like Crowley’ needs. In which Cas mishears an idiom and chaos (and sexual tension) ensues. The pure joy of there's only one bed fic. Hilarious, sweet, and brimming with frustrated sexual tension as ever!

#happilyfeatherafter ficrec friday #destiel fic #destiel ficrec

77 notes · View notes

that-gay-guy-from-hell · 2 months

Text

I wonder how many times Sin Devil Triggered Vergil's accidentally hit things with his tail. He's been through a LOT of forms throughout his life but the closest thing to a "tail" he's ever had was Nelo Angelo's cape.

Just-- this is kind of hyper-specific but y'all know the scene from Robots where they first show Aunt Fanny (this one); I just imagine this is what it's like the first handful of times that Vergil uses his Sin Trigger. Just swinging his tail around by accident and hitting

EVERYTHING.

I mean, he wouldn't be so soft spoken as her but I think it would be the same vibe. Small fic; ignore some dumb logic-- = Rain heavily poured down onto the broken pavement as the three Sparda descendants stood together. It had been a long day and the targeted devil of today's contract was upon a high building, blissfully unaware of the death that was going to befall them. A Sin Devil Triggered Vergil and human Nero were currently going over the game plan about how to dispose of said devil. Dante was acting as a sort of lookout, standing off the side behind Vergil. Through a heavily distorted voice, Vergil spoke, "Are you sure about this?" "Yeah," Nero nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets, "I'll be fine; it's not like I haven't flown before." The plan was simple, Vergil was going to carry Nero up to the target where he'd snatch the devil with his "wings", dropping it right down to Dante; who would be waiting in his own Sin Devil Trigger. Vergil turned to speak to his brother, pivoting around, "Dante--?" A grunt left Dante's lips as he felt Vergil's tail whip into his middle, catching his clothes on the sharp scales and getting snagged stuck. Confused, Vergil turned the other way, causing his tail to move as well. Dante did his best to try and unravel his shirt but was unable to. Loud hearty laughter came from Nero as he watched. Dante shouted at his twin, "Would you stop moving?" Freezing in place, Vergil flinched as he felt Dante gently tug the shirt free. Though the scales aren't sensitive, this was still a very new sensation to the blue devil. Now free, Dante came around front, his shirt in ribbons, "You owe me a new shirt." Tilting his head in confusion, Vergil waited for Dante to elaborate; completely unaware of his tail that was flicking about. However, it was Nero who chimed in, "Should get a blanket too- or some bubble wrap- No, wait, I've got it!" He smiled with another loud laugh, "Pool noodles!" Dante joined the laughter, "That's a great idea; we should get the bright-colored ones too-" "Just to be safe," a thick layer of sarcasm filled Nero's voice, "His scales blend in so well with the environment, you know." As the pair laughed, Vergil let out a low huff, crossing his arms, "What are you two on about?" Dante walked over to his twin, placing a heavy hand on one of the silver-scaled shoulder pauldrons adorning Vergil's shoulder, "That deadly weapon that's coming out of your ass-" "It comes from the middle of my back," a small huff left through his teeth, shoving Dante's hand away, "Perhaps it would be best not to stand directly behind me, Dante." "Yeah- Yeah, sure," Dante gave a dismissive wave, "you still need to learn to control your tail, Verge-" "I can control it just fine. Now," he continued straight through, not allowing the others to rebuke his statement, "could we get this over with? Or would you rather waste more time?" Rolling his eyes, Dante shook his head, "You really gotta learn to loosen up, Vergil-- have some fun," with a smile, Dante Sin Triggered and awaited orders from the cranky blue devil.

57 notes · View notes

k-martins · 4 months

Note

Hey I was just wondering if you had any itafushi fic recs!! :)

Fanfic recommendations from your ITFS fairy godmother!

Separated according to classification! R.N = Reader's note (me)

Indelible by Lyrebirdswrites +4k words || Oneshot || AU Tattoo artist! Megumi and Florist! Yuji || Marriage proposal || Fluffy, love and peace || R.N: For more fanfics that use the language of flowers

The Seasons Of Our Life by auspicious_goblin +1k words || Oneshot || AU - No curses || ITFS will end like this If Gege is not a loser || Fluffy and slice to life || R.N: YES!!! ITFS ELDERLY YES!!!!

You’re The Only Good Thing In My Life by renarizaki +2k words || Oneshot || Canonical divergence || Megumi helps Yuji dye his hair || fluffy, slice to life andhumor || R.N: The Manga would be funnier if Yuji actually dyed his hair pink.

Nobody Saves Me The Way You Do by GallifreyanFairytale +3k words || Oneshot || Canon compatible || Yuji gives Megumi a bath || Anguish mainly || R.N: I love how this writer describes Megs' scenes and feelings <3

No One Gets it Right on the First (Or Second) Try by j_jabbers +12k words || Oneshot || AU - No curses || ITFS and its failed encounters || 5 + 1, humor, fluffy and slice to life || R.N: I really like Yuji's POV where he is a failure in love.

Plant Kisses Like Seeds by Miah_Kat +4k words || Oneshot || Canon compatible || Yuji has survivor's guilt, good thing Megumi is around || Anguish and fluffy || R.N: This fanfic hits my weak points very hard. I'm passionate about body worship scenes.

And I've Been Tryin' Not To Feel It by hijinks_n_lowjinks +37k words || In Progress || Au - No curses/College || ITFS slowly (or not if you're Megumi) falling in love || Humor, slice to life, fluffy || R. N: God bless jinks for always making my day better with an update to this fanfic.

Can't Have It Both Ways by vivevoce +4k words || Oneshot || Canonical divergence || The ITFS meeting takes Todo through all the stages of grief || Humor, nonsense and fluffy? I think it's cute || R.N: This fanfic made me wish for fillers with the people of Tokyo and Kyoto coming together in a common goal - to destroy Todo's lack of sanity

It's a Goddamn Blaze In The Dark by prosciutto +13k words || Oneshot || AU - No curses/college || roommates, stranger>friends>lovers what more do you want? || humor, angst, fluffy || R.N: I really like how Megumi and Yuji are portrayed here. I feel like if we got a glimpse of their dynamic outside of the manga this would be it.

All The Bad Dreams That You Hide by lexouran +5k words || Oneshot (my tears)) || Au - Spiderman || Megumi receives a visit from her neighborhood friend || anguish, fluffy slight smut(?) || R.N: CAN YOU HEAR MY TEARS FROM YOUR HOUSE??? BECAUSE I CRY EVERY TIME I THINK THIS FANFIC HAS NO CONTINUATION!!

The Rabbit In the Moon by zillala +266k words || In Progress || Canonical divergence || Megumi finally confesses after Shibuya || Friends to lovers, angst, slice to life, humor, fluffy || R.N: The first itfs fanfic I read and I will never regret it. God bless this author and her huge chapters that were my vitamin on dark nights without the manga.

Futile Devices by jellyjully +25k words || Oneshot || Post-canon || Yuji is exiled from Japan for years until Megumi finds him || Slice to life, humor, anguish, fluffy || R.N: This fanfic gave me vibes of a studio ghigle film. I think it's the ambiance.

To Have And To Hold by terriana +15k words || In progress || Post-canon and Dynamics a/b/o || Yuji tries to woo Megumi, but his lover's shikigami wouldn't approve of the idea || Humor, anguish, fluffy, slice to life || R.N: This fic gets funnier when I think about the kung fu bunny from eps 17. No wonder Yuji was so broken LMAO (Please terriana, if you see this tell me what you have planned for Nue, I'm very curious )

Hope this helps! (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

#I love recommending my favorite fanfics #if you want to ask #let me know what type you are (fluffy slice to life humor horror smut whatever)#support the writers!#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #itafushi #jjk spoilers #itadori yuji #fushiita #yuji itadori #jjk fanfic

69 notes · View notes

rosesradio · 29 days

Text

I’ve been seeing this thing around about rating pjo ships so i thought I’d give it a go 🤠 no personal offense if i don’t give your ship a high rating, i’m pretty particular except for when I’m not

Percabeth - 9/10. love them loads, but could have gone without the judo flip + other odd behaviors that are only seen as “cute” because the sexes are flipped, otherwise they’re great

Jercy - 1/10. i can see potential i guess but also there’s just a lot of better options for both of these characters imo, plus i see them as bros

Valgrace - 10/10, to storm or fire the world must fall, best friends to lovers, no notes

Solangelo - 2/10. i can see…the potential. their “significant annoyance” scene gave me the warm fuzzies as a 14 year old looking for rep. but oh my god how they’re written in canon sometimes is just so bad, it ruins fanon for me as well. not to mention the one-dimensional-ization done in order to amplify the “grumpy x sunshine !!!1!” trope. however i will say Some solangelo fans understand that they should Both be freaks (and in that AU it’s a respectable 8/10 from me) and the ship has fantastic fan artists

Shelper - 2/10. no hate i’m just bored…like who is shel?? tell me one thing about her personality. does she get any dialogue?? richard??

Jasper/Jiper - 1/10 the fake memories were cute but the inside of pipers head did not pass the Bechdel test. would love to see them as platonic soulmate roommates though

Jeyna - 1/10 the devotion is admirable but yk. can relate being aroace and latching on to some dude lmao

Theyna - 4/10. not my cup of tea but in a world where either they aren’t hunters or it’s an interpretation where the hunters can be lesbians…it’s a good ship. haven’t really seen much for them but I’m open to it. might prefer them as a platonic buddy cop duo though

Pernico - 4/10 i see them as annoying cousins but i respect the angst potential of unrequited love. i don’t think the ship as endgame would be good for either of the characters. however, again, really good fan artists

Jasico - 10/10 the drinking out of the chalice scene was hot don’t look at me. really good fan artists etc. i should write more with them

Valdangelo - 10/10, yk how i feel about pushing my blorbos together and making them kiss lol. massively underrated, read ceaseless eve, etc

Pipabeth - 7.5/10 i like percabeth more but it’s my favorite piper ship. I haven’t seen much content with them but i’ve liked what i have seen. I might make some stuff with them

Rachbeth - 2/10, the potential is there i guess but i see them as best friends

Perchel - 8.5/10 i guess i’m in the minority but what makes the pjo love triangle so compelling compared to other YA love triangles is that Both of the ships are really good. idk what to tell you they go well together

Lukercy - 6/10 i see the potential but if you’re going for dark fic vibes i think lukabeth is better

Lukabeth - 9/10 the dark fic potential has me chewing the furniture. wouldn’t ship them as like a fluffy endgame but that’s not the point

Frazel - 0/10 richard please let two people of the opposite sex be friends

Caleo - -100000000/10 nothing could be a better crafted anti-caleo fic than canon itself

#pjo #perhaps i will tag the positively rated ships and not the others…i’ll receive flames either way so 🧍#percabeth #pipabeth #valdangelo #jasico #valgrace #perachel

43 notes · View notes

shiny-jr · 5 months

Note

hiiii!! I recently got into quotev to read your most recent release, "how to steal a heart," and was curious if u have any recs for other yandere quotev fics? :o or just any quotev fics in general!! ^_^

feel free to disregard this question tho if u don't have any recs or simply don't want to answer!

Thank you, anon! I'm glad people seem to be liking that story so far. I'm hoping that I can find the time to write for it soon. Hopefully. Anyways, as for recommendations. That's a difficult request for me to answer for two reasons. One: I rarely have the time to read, and when I do read these days its physical books. And two: I'm terribly picky so if I don't like something about a fic its automatically out.

But, I managed to fish out a couple of things from my library that I finished reading ages ago. However, keep in mind, I meant what I said when I say that it has been a long time since I read these fics. So they may not be as good as I remember, or I may get some things wrong. Keep that in mind. Also, these are all yandere x reader stories.

Infectious Intent by Darkened Warrior. I remember when I first discovered this story, I stayed up reading it. I stayed up late, and legit got kinda scared because imagining certain scenes in this story and reading the details gave me the chills and was just not a good idea to read it while it was pitch black and the dead of night. Even the ending got me.

the martyrdom of a final girl by MAI. This is one of the more recent stories I've put in my library, and by recent I mean it's probably been there for almost a year now. I haven't caught up with the updates, but I remember the story really gave kinda protagonist and friend group in the 80's-90's sort of horror vibe to it. Although I don't remember if it got to the yandere yet. It really hooks you in with action that starts fairly quickly which I very much value when starting a new story.

Humorously Inconvenient Tragedies by riz. In all stories, I very much value action. If there's not action in the first few chapters, I usually toss the story out. However, this story managed to be the sole exception to that. I think it's the written tension that managed to keep me hooked. Like the questions of why and how, along with the tension between characters that keep me intrigued.

Bonus: Shameless plug for How To Steal A Heart because damn it if people won't write Latino yanderes then I gotta do it myself. Also because its a vital part in the whole oc lore I have which has been obscure up until very recently.

#shiny speaks #quotev stuff #recommendations

88 notes · View notes

closetsof-backlogged-dreams · 1 month

Note

HI QUEEN!!!! thoughts on the vision morgause showed to arthur and her motivations/was she lying/ should Arthur have killed uther?

AHHHHHH IVE BEEN WANTED TO BE ASKED THIS AND I DIDNT EVEN KNOW IT

alright so i think the first thing that needs to be considered is what her intentions were when she showed him the vision. i think the main consensus is that she wanted Arthur to kill Uther, and while i agree, i think Morgause deserves a few more layers than that. i genuinely think Morgause wanted the truth to be known.

imo, from what we've seen, Morgause is extremely similar to Morgana. in the early seasons, Morgana is justice with kindness. Morgause is justice without. Later, we watch Morgause slowly "corrupt" Morgana and watch her lose her kindness, turning her into the heartless villain she is by season five.

i think Morgause, while not out of the deep goodness of her heart, saw the injustice, and wanted it to be corrected. this manifested mostly in the form of Uther's death, but i do believe a small part of her just wanted the truth to be known :)

whether or not she was lying is something we will never truly know, but she could have been lying about two different things, and i want to attack them separately.

i 100% believe she wasn't lying about Uther using magic for Arthur's birth. i've wondered A LOT how the fuck she knew though, because sorry, who told her?? and merlin is the show it is, so it doesn't tell you these things, but there are enough breadcrumbs left behind so that we can assume she was a pupil of Nimueh's and learned of it from her.

but whether it was actually a vision of Ygraine? i really don't know. i'm not going to lie, the first time i saw the scene, it gave me all the wrong vibes. the ghost of Ygraine is able to meet her son for >5 minutes and one of the maybe two things she says to him is about how Uther used magic to birth Arthur and it killed her?? i don't know. it's strange.

but we also have to remember that we actually don't know anything about Ygraine! honestly, the fandom and fics tend to mention her x10 more than the actual show does. Arthur hardly speaks of her, as well as Uther, and we have to remember that this is the man who essentially killed his wife and is forced to live with that every goddamn day and is 100% romanticizing the woman she was—and then all Arthur has ever heard of her is this romanticized version from his father, and this is the dead mother he's never met. he's going to do some embellishing of her own.

so, for all we know, Ygraine was a terrible person. we really don't know. so i have no conclusive answer to whether or not Morgause was lying about it being a vision, and i think the show actually intended it that way. because that doesn't actually matter. what Ygraine said—that's the truth. the cold, honest truth. whether it actually came from his mother or from a false mimicry of her doesn't actually matter.

another thing i find really interesting is that while Morgause was obviously trying to provoke Arthur with this information and was clearly manipulating him, she really didn't take any extreme steps to ensure he killed Uther. this was also her first step to bring down Uther. it's almost like she tried to find the most moral option she could that dealt the fairest form of justice, and only when it failed was she forced to resort to more gruesome, hands-on approaches.

it also really doesn't seem like she has anything against Arthur in the beginning, which is so fascinating to me, but moving on lol.

now for the BIG one:

should Arthur have killed Uther in The Sins of the Father?

god, this one is hard, because you have to consider it from all angles.

from an objective, justice-based standpoint, you could say that Morgause was absolutely in the right in all of this, and that after learning this information, it was Arthur's duty to kill his father. his father killed his own wife due to his desperation for an heir, and then spent half a lifetime destroying an entire culture and group of people in an attempt to stem his guilt.

so, yes. Arthur should have killed his father, if we're viewing this from the eyes of pure justice.

but for Arthur's own conscious? from a political standpoint? absolutely the fuck not. it would have destroyed Arthur. even when Uther died season four, he was a wreck, so imagine if it has been Arthur. dear god.

and then imagine being an average citizen of Camelot, for whom Uther was probably an alright to not great king, but no one who deserves death, and learning that your beloved Prince Arthur committed patricide and his now king? jesus. that's not how you establish good subject-monarch relations.

and if enemy kingdoms heard about it? god, all the knights must be horribly divided, because most of them swore themselves to Camelot and its royalty, but who the hell do you stand with when your two royals tried to kill each other and one of them was successful? enemy kingdoms would attack, and with their armies as divided as they'd be, who knows how that'd go.

so overall, no. i genuinely believe Arthur shouldn't have killed his father. but that doesn't mean that Uther didn't deserve death.

anyways, i think that's all! this was a lot of fun, and tysm for the ask once again <3

#merlin meta #merthur #merlin #bbc merlin #bbcm #merlin thoughts #merlin discussion #morgause #the sins of the father #arthur pendragon

48 notes · View notes

mothwingwritings · 6 months

Text

Kiss The Pain Away

It’s October, which is one of the most choice months to exist, and I have been mia for weeks and didn’t wish you guys a hello and happy holidays to the start of Halloween so I apologize and please forgive me for that. ꃋᴖꃋ That being said HAPPY 17 DAYS INTO HALLOWEEN EVERYONE WAHOO YIPPEE!

I come humbly offering a little Motobe fic that I have been working on for an embarrassingly long amount of time some time now, and though it isn’t necessarily explicitly Halloween themed its yandere and messed up so it fits the bill well enough I hope. :D

I really want to maybe (big emphasis on the maybe) put out some kind of spooky/monster thing (even if it’s just a small blurb in the void) for Halloween but I think you all know me well enough by now to know that that may not happen, despite my best intentions. ^^; I will try my darndest though, so here’s to hoping. 八(＾□＾*)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy and I love and appreciate you all very much thank you for reading!!! ~<3

WARNINGS: Gore and a lot of blood, this whole fic is basically centered around reader hurting themselves (accidentally) so there is just so much blood. If blood is not your thing please be mindful. Also: kidnapping, forced affection, Motobe being a delusional creep, the tiniest mentions of noncom/dubcon and maybe cannibalism, language, violence, and just general dark/yandere vibes.

Blood surrounded you.

Pooling in your hand, dripping steadily to the floor, an intense pain was pulsating from the open wound it originated from. The weapon you had cut yourself with laid discarded at your feet on the floor, tossed aside the moment you grabbed it incorrectly and caused the gory scene you now stood the center of.

The cut left behind was deep and agonizing, extending over the entire length of your palm and down your wrist, tearing into the soft skin of your upper arm. The initial slice was so excruciating that for a horrifying moment you thought the whole hand had been sliced in two, your body trembling from the shock as you tried to assess the damage through the gore. A sharp gasp of pain hissed from your lips whenever you moved your arm, the searing sting causing tears to dribble down your cheeks as easily as the blood trickled down your arm.

“(Name), I’m back!”

Shit.

Your eyes darted toward the entrance of the house, panic quickly consuming you at the sound of Motobe’s cheery voice. He wasn’t supposed to be back for another hour at least, he told you as much before he left this morning. You cursed under your breath as you took in the mess around you, frowning at the realization that it would take far more than a hasty wipe up job to clear it all away. A deep frown settled on your face, you wouldn’t have attempted this had you of known what little time you truly had.

Motobe was not apt to follow a strict schedule, so trying to figure out when you would be left alone for an extended period of time was no easy task. The man had no concept of personal space, and from the moment he snatched you up moments of peace had become few and far between. He was always breathing down your neck, butting into your business, keeping constant tabs on each and every thing you did while you were trapped under his roof. He tried to play it off as if he was merely just spending quality time with you, taking an interest in your hobbies and life because he truly cared about getting to know you. All he wanted was to be in your presence, to understand you, to show you that he loved you.

The incessant hounding made you sick, his mockery of actual attentiveness rage inducing. That pleased little curl of his lip when you acknowledged him, or the sparkle in his eye when you gave in and conversed with him, did nothing but stir your disdain. It didn’t take you long to come to the conclusion that Motobe must be crazy if he saw his actions as that of a cherishing lover, as if everything he had done to you was anything besides fuel to stroke his ego, feeding his misguided obsession.

If a lasting relationship was his end game, he had already screwed up royally by knocking you out and locking you in his home against your will. It felt like ages since you had seen your friends, centuries since talking to your family. Your coworkers probably thought you were dead, and your landlord had definitely long since cleared out your apartment, someone else was most likely living out their day to day life peacefully inside it’s walls as you suffered. No amount of forced affection and smothering attention would help his case, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.

For months you had been plotting your escape. Motobe wasn’t keen on leaving you alone, and while he did all he could to spend as much time with you as physically possible, that didn’t mean he never left the house. Some time apart was unavoidable if he wanted to keep you fed and ‘cared’ for without risking you getting sick, hurt, or (god forbid) having you step out into the big, scary world on your own for an errand run.

Though he never seemed to stay out long, he definitely had some kind of life outside of you (a luxury you feared would never be awarded to you again, Motobe seemed quite content to have you rely on him entirely), but he kept you ignorant to the details of his sporadic comings and goings. It wasn’t that you were overly interested in what he did when he stepped away from the building that encapsulated you, but having no real clue as to his hobbies, relations, and profession made calculating what days and time frames he would be away for long periods of time difficult to decipher.

Nevertheless you persevered, and through a careful analysis of his activity you managed to narrow down several dates when he was sure to be gone for longer than just a few minutes, giving you a fair chance to make a move.

And from there, your plan truly took off.

With a tentative date and time, the next hurdle you focused on was taking note of his secret weapon stashes. You made the most of the moments he’d briefly unveil them, keeping to the shadows so that he wouldn’t spot you peeping, doing your best to commit their location to memory. While stealing peeks at his vast array of artillery, you couldn’t help but wonder who would need THAT many weapons, and what exactly he did out in the world that required him to be so armed? Was he in the military, or maybe a terrorist (the latter wouldn’t be all that shocking, considering how you arrived here)? Was this all just a really intense hobby? It unnerved you, but you pushed past your concerns. After all, he had never threatened you with his arsenal, why fret over it now?

Fueled by the taste of freedom on your tongue, you had started sucking up to Motobe, acting demure and agreeable to get his guard down and (hopefully) grant you more freedom. Each unwanted kiss was reciprocated, every advance responded to with a coy smile. You never considered yourself much of an actor, but seeing how easily he seemed to fall for it, maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit.

After weeks of gritting your teeth and putting up with his heavy handed affection, all your hard work had finally paid off. Your proverbial chains were lifted, and Motobe no longer suctioned himself to you all hours of the day, granting you some much needed leeway. You took that ounce of freedom and ran with it, walking around the house untethered, narrowing down which doors and windows would make the best escape routes.

Motobe opened up more to you in turn, sharing stories and tidbits from his life that he previously kept closely guarded. While thankful for any insight that may assist your plight, his ramblings left you more confused than anything. From his perspective, he made himself out to be some manner of hero, making cryptic comments that the livelihoods of so many people were weighing heavily on his already overburdened shoulders. He’d always make sure to add that you were never part of that burden, ‘saving’ you was his destiny and an honor, being your guardian was a privilege he didn’t take lightly.

Never mind the fact that you were never once in danger as you lived out your mundane, Motobe free life. If anything, you were probably much safer back then then you were now, but trying to explain that to Motobe was counterproductive, so you kept your mouth shut.

The best you could gather was that he saw himself as some manner of vigilante who did martial arts work on the side to fund his less lucrative job of being everyone’s great protector. His idealistic view on his existence would be endearing if you didn’t know the truth of it. Stomaching his rose tinted view of this life you lived with him was hard enough as is, but actively watching Motobe hide behind his savior complexto justify all his wrong doings added to your revulsion. If nothing else could be said for him, he certainly would make a fascinating case study for any psychiatrist who could stomach his self-righteous bullshit.

But regardless of how much you believed or understood him, you pretended to take an interest in Motobe’s life, using the pieces of info you gathered about his future plans and where he frequently traveled to finally hammer down the ideal timeslot of escape.

For once in a very long time, luck was on your side. And things only continued to get easier for you from there.

Motobe’s new lax outlook on your relationship carried over to his weapons as well, making it much easier for you to take stock of them. Being so close to so many deadly things frightened you, and the fact that they were never far from Motobe’s reach did little to ease your already shot nerves. You had seen him in action as he practiced in his private dojo, wielding each one with the skilled hands of an expert as he decimated training dummy after training dummy. Watching him had acquainted you well with the brutality he was able to inflict with said weapons at his disposal-the flayed dummies a brutal reminder that his gloating was not entirely bullshit. And it wasn’t just weapons either, the man had a knack for turning anything he laid hands on into a deadly device, be it a toothpick or a teddy bear. The damage he could do with an actual arsenal was more than enough to keep you from attempting anything haphazardly, forcing you into subservience to avoid upsetting him, fearful that he may eventually cast his ire your way.

However, even with his new found penchant for opening up, he seldom wielded his weaponry in your presence, mainly only taking them out for routine maintenance. This is how you gained most of your knowledge, by spying on him while he tended to and arranged his varying munitions. Though you did your best to be covert while you did so, you were pretty sure he was always aware you were near. He had asked you several times on cleaning days if you were interested in watching, but each time you bashfully declined, feigning ignorance to your own snooping. Truthfully, it upset you that he was able to read you so plainly, but you were thankful that he seemed to chock your research up to mild interest and not an assault plan.

After you felt you had a decent enough grasp on his hoard, including how they were secured and safeguarded, your plot was nearly to fruition. You had memorized the combination lock that let you into the vaulted room (after you had seen him do it once it was easy to remember, he had made the code your birth date after all), kept track of the different places he kept the keys that lead to each individual weapon case, snagging the one he was least likely to notice was missing. A date had been set for when he would be gone nearly the entire day, so all that was left for you to do was put your plan into action.

And that is how things had proceeded thus far, all according to plan. For a moment you thought maybe God or some other sort of powerful entity had thrown you a bone, pitying you enough that they finally decided to offer some divine intervention. Excitement buzzed throughout you, this was it! Everything had fallen into place and this was your moment to put all your hard work and planning into motion. You would be armed, you would hide, you would spring on Motobe as soon as he came through the door, stunning and wounding him, and then when he was downed you would run as fast as your goddamn legs would carry you and keep running until these past few months were just a horrible blur in the past.

It really was a shame that the key you managed to grab ended up unlocking the weapon you were least familiar with, one with a hidden blade concealed near the handle that you happened to learn about the hard way. Funny how after months of planning all your hope was quashed by one tiny misstep, the throbbing wound on your hand mocking you for even considering you had a chance of escape. If the God that assisted you thus far was watching, you wondered if he was laughing at you.

You frowned as you heard his heavy footsteps coming closer your way. “… Sweetie, can you hear me?”

You fumbled, slipping on your own fluids in an attempt to flee the scene and head to the relative safety of the bathroom. A hiss escaped your lips as your knees collided against the cold tile of the dojo floor with a dull thud, the resulting pain insignificant compared to that of your palm.

Apparently picking up on your blunder, the footsteps in the hall hastened until they stopped abruptly at the rooms entrance. You heard a sharp intake a breath, turning to find Motobe staring at the scene with wide eyes, a furrowed brow, and lips slightly parted as he took in the blood bath before him.

“Baby…” He cooed at you sickeningly, looking at you with such sad, pathetic eyes it made you want to vomit right on the spot. He took a few steps inside, making his way towards you. “What happened?”

His eyes flicked to the discarded weapon on the floor, and a brief shadow flitted across his features, “…You got into one of my caches?”

His voice wasn’t accusing so much as it was disappointed. He breathed a heavy sigh, coming upon your crumpled form with slow, calculated steps, as if you were a scared rabbit he was trying to keep from bolting. Instinctively you went to hide your wound, tucking your hand close to your body to shield your embarrassing faux pas from the man who hovered above you. You could practically feel the dissatisfaction radiating off him as you concealed yourself from him, a deep frown sure to be set on his face if you were to deign him the pleasure of eye contact.

“(Name),” his voice was sterner this time, punctuated by the use of your name and not one of his disgusting pet names, “Let me see your hand. This amount of blood loss is nothing to turn your nose at. You’ll need stitches at the very least. Please, let me see.”

He held out his hand patiently, which you stared at in consideration for several seconds before yielding. Shakily, you withdrew your hand from your chest, laying it gently in Motobe’s steady hold.

“Oh sweetheart” he clicked his tongue, gingerly holding your hand palm up, inspecting the gaping, self-inflicted wound, “Look at this! This is why I always tell you to ask me for help if you have an interest in any of the weapons, you’ll end up hurting yourself like this if you don’t know how to handle them properly.”

In every regard, Motobe was always so gentle with you. Speaking to you, touching you, being intimate with you, he always treated you as if you were made of glass ready to shatter at one mishandle. This interaction was no different, as he carefully turned your hand this way and that, a soft, sincere expression settled on his face. He was deeply concerned for you, worried and upset about the pain you were undoubtedly suffering through.

But even with all his apparent sincerity, the only feeling you could muster for him was contempt. If he hadn’t captured you and forced you into this suffocating house against your will, you would never have suffered an agony such as this. It didn’t matter how kindly he outwardly appeared, you would never give in to him, not when you knew what a monster he truly was.

He let out a low hum as he continued his inspection, “You damn near cut to the bone, we need to get you cleaned up so it doesn’t get infected,” He started to lean towards you, arms outstretched as they began to envelope you, “I’ll take you to the bathroom.”

Slapping his hands away, Motobe’s eyes widened as you scuttled back, your knees smearing your blood in a vibrant, gruesome streak.

“I can walk myself,” You hissed through clenched teeth, shooting him a hate filled glare. “Don’t touch me.”

He sighed, his brow furrowing, “Baby, look at how much blood you have lost. If you get up on your own, you are going to be dizzy. You already fell once, didn’t you?”

You continued to glare at him, jaw set in a harsh frown. You knew he was right, but couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. Your vision was already slightly blurred from the blood loss mixed with the anger that was coursing through your system, if you tried to stand on your own, you were sure to topple instantly.

Taking your silence as a go ahead, he slowly proceeded to wrap you in his arms, hoisting you up as one might a child. He made his way to the bathroom, being sure to avoid slipping on his way there.

With a grunt, he seated you on the toilet and proceeded to dig around for something to staunch the bleeding. It didn’t take him long to procure some gauze bandages and a warm, wet cloth to start cleaning the wound. He moved delicately, but you still cringed the moment he came to near to the torn flesh. Shooting you an empathetic look, he moved efficiently to minimize the time you spent in pain.

After he had gotten the wound moderately cleaned, he had you press a towel to it, catching the new blood that was seeping out. Your heart rate quickened as you saw him fish around for suturing supplies. The pain in your hand was already abysmal, and you weren’t looking forward to the new wave of agony a novice stick job was about to bring you.

He chuckled softly as he laid out his tools, preparing for the inevitable, “You know, I’m a little surprised. I always lock my weapons up securely, double checking them before I leave the room. I know I am getting older, but I am not so senile that I left one wide open…” He shot you a quick look, a definite questioning undertone to it that you found hard to face.

“It must have been some work getting to them,” his voice grew quieter as he turned his full attention your way. There was sternness to him that he didn’t typically use on you, making you want to shrink in on yourself. “Something tells me it wasn’t a mere coincidence that you had one in your possession, and judging by your lack of interest any other time I tried to teach you about them, I doubt you merely wanted to take a look.”

He crouched down, elbows resting on his knees as he stared deeply into your eyes, “(Name)… Why were you in my weapons? What were you trying to do?”

His voice was tinged with dismay, but remained disarmingly reserved. It was as if he knew your whole plan already and just wanted you to fess up to it. He was ready and waiting to hear you confess your sins, break down to him in a sobbing voice about how sorry you were, plead for his forgiveness. And he would give it to you, he always did. Because he loved you, because he cared for you more than anyone, because he was the only one on this entire planet who could ever hold such deep and profound affection for you. You felt like a little girl being scolded by her father, he may be let down by you, but his despondence over this moment would never overshadow the ceaseless adoration he has for you.

It made your blood boil. ��

“What was I trying to do?” You seethed, your body starting to slightly quake with your thinly concealed rage, “I was trying to get the fuck out of here! Escape to some place, any place, where I never have to see you again! You’re so deluded you probably conveniently forgot this, but you kidnapped me you asshole!”

You scooted as far back on the toilet as you could, giving yourself as much space as physically possible. You took a shuddering breath before continuing to spit your venom, meeting his gaze with daggers.

“You think I want to be here, trapped in this hell hole with you? You think I like having you paw at me, or that I get off to you forcing yourself on me? Do you think its fun to have every moment of my life under a microscope, all of my autonomy taken from me as you live out your sick little hero fantasy, convincing yourself that you are caring for me, helping me, or that you actually love me?”

You shook your head, fighting back angry tears that threatened to spill, “You’re SICK Itou, you have been for a very long time. I thought it was obvious at this point, but let me spell it out for you. I took the weapon to fucking attack you. I stole its so that I could hurt you bad enough to run away from this shit hole and get away from you forever.”

Your voice dropped as you stared into his tempestuous eyes, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Maybe you would never be strong or cunning enough to physically wound Motobe, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t hurt him in other ways.

“I fucking hate you,” your words were quiet, but clear, spoken with clear intent. “And no matter how much you pretend otherwise, I will always, always hate you.”

Silence hung in the air, punctuated only by the sound of your ragged breathing. A noticeable chill permeated the room, causing goose bumps to litter your flesh. You expected an intense reaction, a severe rebuttal to your stinging tirade, possibly even tears over how callously you were treating him. Instead, you received suffocating stillness, the man before you a rigid statue, his emotions impossible to read as you stared into his impassive face.

That scared you much more than his fury ever could.

“Hmmm,” he eventually hummed, eyes glazing over as they bored down on you, his grip slowly tightening around your arm, “I found you on your knees, but you must have fallen and hit your head too, huh sweetheart?”

“What’re you talking about-“

The exasperated words could barely leave your lips before he gave a tight squeeze, sending a wave of fresh pain up your already throbbing arm. You cried out, struggling to pull from his grasp, but it only made his grip stronger. You flopped around uselessly, trapped in his constricting hold, tears flooding your eyes as fresh blood seeped through the towel. Flowing freely from your palm down your wrist, it came in contact with Motobe’s hand and started to snake its way down his own arm, deep red trails cutting harsh lines across his unmarred flesh.

“Otherwise you wouldn’t be so cruel, so ungrateful, right? Not after all I’ve done. Not after all I continue to do for you.”

He removed the sopping cloth from your hand, discarding it with a wet slap as he threw it in the sink. He lowered his head to your palm as if he were inspecting your wound, planning how he would proceed in patching you up. His eyes flicked to yours briefly, a dangerous gleam flashing through them that caused a chill to course through you, disturbing you so deeply it froze you to your core.

His lips hovered over your damaged flesh, puffs of his breath causing discomfort when they hit your weeping cut. Gradually he lowered himself until his lips collided with your wound, a searing kiss pressed roughly against your mutilated skin. A pained whine squeaked from your throat, your body jolting in surprise upon contact. You felt violated, more so than you ever had, unimaginable pain driving you to the brink as he planted kiss after kiss upon your hand. Each smack of his lips was a new torture, your hand burning violently under his ministrations, coaxing cries of agony from your gut so vile they sounded nearly inhuman.

Your response did not deter him- instead he fed off of it. Pressing harder, drawing each kiss out as long as he could, letting his lips deliberately linger on your aching flesh, sparking wave after wave of misery the longer and deeper he dug in. You shuddered as you felt his tongue join in your torment, squirming past his fleshy lips to lap at the steady stream of blood gushing against his mouth.

After several endless moments he finally lifted his head, looking up at you with the same lovestruck, doe-eyed expression he reserved solely for you.

“A kiss to make you feel better, darlin’.”

You felt bile rise in your throat as you stared at him in horror, his lopsided grin tinged crimson with your fresh blood. The bright, violent red that coated his mouth and dribbled down his chin gave him a feral edge. It looked like he had tried to devour you, tear you apart until there was nothing left but your flesh digesting in the pit of his belly-the wolf consuming the lamb.

“But please try and be more mindful in the future,” his tongue swept across his lips, your essence now staining his tongue as his droopy eyes leered at you, “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean, sweetheart.”

#I just feel like Motobe would be insufferably delusion towards you so good luck my lovelies #baki the grappler #baki the grappler x reader #baki reader insert #motobe izou x reader #motobe x reader #yandere baki the grappler #yandere baki x reader #yandere motobe itou x reader #yandere x reader #yandere fic #dark fic #yandere reader insert #motobe itou #baki x reader #I hope you all enjoy and sorry it took forever to post anything TAT #mothwingswritings

82 notes · View notes

turtleinsoup · 4 months

Note

Please don‘t change your writing style and story for something as minor as a „fucking stoner“ (I love your response to that user btw, very diplomatic, very polite) because your writing is something that you enjoy, your story is your own creation and quite honestly, making the teens have a bit of weed (even though he didn’t) makes some of the stories somewhat more relatable in my opinion. I think I saw you interacting with the author of Third From The Son and they put that in their first work and I was shocked when I first read it, but it gave such a…casual vibe to their characters (not that the story is casual in any other way, but I digress, it’s still great). I mean, as long as you don‘t write about some heinous stuff or anything and especially as long as you tagged your fic appropriately (which you did) and put warnings in the notes (which you do) I don‘t think anyone should have any right telling you what to write or not write about, especially in such a rude way.

Sorry, I don‘t know if you like strangers on tumblr writing you stuff or if you‘d rather keep to your mutuals, I just sent an ask a bit ago, I was already pondering about doing that, but I felt really bad reading that comment, I hope you don‘t take that personally, it‘s solely the user‘s issue with a bit of weed I guess and they were really rude about that when the solution to their problem would have been to simply swipe away from your work.

Oh!

Thank you so much, that's very kind of you! It makes me grin so hard to know you appreciate my writing like this!! :')

It's disheartening to get such a comment, because if one person is commenting their displeasure, the actual figure of readers who dislike it is probably higher. (Big dip in comments for this chapter too, but that might have other reasons as well ofc :3)

You mention that scene in @thedawningofthehour!! Oh yeah, I see you there! It was the same for me! It also helped me notice that "marvelization" of storytelling, the santized-for-commercials purity that's been prominent in most media to maximize profits. It's explaining some of that cinematic blandness to me. Fanworks are free, we can do what we want. xD

I knew it was illegal, but if I had educated myself better on the public image of weed in the States, I might have approached the scene differently.

Though I already depicted graphic violence, and showed Donnie injecting drugs to change his genetic make-up. It's a little bizarre to shy away from "oh, he grew weed at some point".

(I might still go back and edit it, because I do want people to enjoy my story and I'm a whore for nice comments. xD) Your ask made me so happy, I'm still kicking my feet, haha! Thank you sm, and for validating so many of my feels on the matter!! xD Pls have a great day out there!!

#ask #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt lemonade leak #rottmnt donnie #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt fic #tmnt #rottmnt au #rottmnt fic rec

46 notes · View notes

infini-tree · 3 months

Text

episodic - part 3

< back | next >

---------------------

Summary: It's business as usual. At least it looks like it, and that has to count for something. The boys do a bit of arts and crafts. Krupp takes a step back.

A/N: literally the worst part of writing fic for CU is trying to think of pranks. they’re up there with choreographing fight scenes. also these next chapters were brought to you by: me referencing the movie’s art book i got as a gift. Locations And Fascinating Objects section my beloved…

this chapter's scene went through a lot of shuffling-- melvin was supposed to be in this one. but alas, once this was finalized he was pushed back into the next chapter. ideally. at the earliest. its been almost 4 years, i swear he actually has a part to play in this AU, he's technically part of the core secondary cast--

---------------------

Back in the present day, the boys snuck into the art room. Even now, there wasn’t a proper class for it in Jerome Horwitz, despite The Prank For Good. But because of it, Krupp never had the thought to put it under lock and key again. The doors still remained unlocked for any kid that needed it. And George and Harold had a big need. In fact, they had been caching away supplies when no one was looking.

Captain Underpants trailed behind them; he looked at the room and gave a small nod, murmuring something about being “back at the start”.

“What will we be doing this time, sidekicks?” He clapped his hands together. “Oh! I could try and ask for a carnival again–”

“NO!” both of them shouted. The hero jumped up in surprise and stayed in a low hover.

George was the quicker of the two to regain composure. “No, no– we’re doing something different.”

“Oh.”

Harold unpacked the contents of his bag. There was a ridiculous amount of flour and bottles around them, along with other plastic pails and shovels.

“Ooh, are we making a cake? Can I decorate it?” Captain asked.

George sighed. “It’s not for a cake.”

“Well, what is it for?”

Harold dumped a bunch of flour and oil into the largest bucket with the glee reserved for children about to make a huge mixture of stuff. “Sand!”

When the hero continued to look baffled, George cut in. “With Krupp instating the grade-wide assignment gauntlet, we have to retaliate with the exact opposite of that.”

“…Recess?”

“Close!” Harold began to mix the concoction with a plastic shovel. “Summer vacation!”

“And we need to make a lot to really sell the beach vibe.”

“Oh…” Captain nodded with the confidence of someone who had no idea what that meant. He knelt down and gave a curious sniff at the flour sand, catching the faint whiff of some sort of cooking oil. mix his own bucket the other boy handed to him.

To make a long story short, they managed to create enough of it to create a sizable layer in at least two classrooms. They hauled the first half of it to Guided’s classroom–or rather, Captain flew it over in record time. He began to push all the desks back and started to stack them high up against the edges of the wall. It reminded Harold of that one time he showed George a boardwalk on a faded postcard, tall buildings looming over sandy beaches.

“Why only two?” Captain asked as he stacked some of the desks on the teacher’s desk. “Why not make the whole school a beach?”

The boys perked up from their efforts to place the sand evenly across the classroom floor.

“‘Cause the first big tests are in Ms. Guided and Ribble’s classrooms,” Harold said.

“We’d have loved to do something big," George explained as he scattered the beach toys. "Really put the last big prank that happened here to shame–”

“But we had to improvise. Go for lots of smaller ones for the first part of this plan, you know?”

“First part?” Captain echoed.

“Yeah!” Harold continued, ushering them all out of the room. Captain followed in a low hover, and George swept over the remaining footprints with a hand. Looking back at their work, it looked like no one was ever in the room.

“The first bit is to wear all the teachers and Krupp down. And then–”

“Bam.” he punched into his own open palm. “That’s where you come in!”

Captain tilted his head. “I thought this was where I came in?”

“What? No– I mean, we appreciate your help, but you have a bigger part to play here.”

“I do?” he asked.

“We figured you’d want to get back at Krupp, right?” George said.

Captain was silent, his expression dumbfounded.

“With enough pressure, he’ll back off from you and he’ll back off with all the sudden assignments!” Harold clarified. “It’ll be great.”

“We’re not sure how long he’s planning on making everyone miserable, but we’re planning for the long game.”

That seemed to make things more murky for him but the curiosity still remained. He tilted his head with furrowed brows, as if trying to figure out the connection between the two facts. “…How long, exactly?”

“As long as it takes.” Harold gave him a good natured punch to the side. “Now come on, let’s get the other classroom set up.”

The boys grabbed his hands and led him back to the art room, chatting about what else they could do.

---------------------

The school didn’t know what hit them.

Later that day, the fourth graders enjoyed the slices of beaches in the pair of classrooms. They made their sandcastles and moats as the teachers tried– and failed– to get their papers from their desks buried under their own students’ desks.

And on the day after that, there was the petting zoo in the math classrooms on the same day a calculator-less test on long division was meant to happen. It was no tiger, but the kids enjoyed petting the sheep. For extra salt in the wound, there were numbers drawn in bright colors on their wool.

Corralling the animals out was one thing. Finding out they were only Sheeps #1-6 and 8 was another, leaving all the teachers to scramble to find the last sheep of the set for the past few hours.

Apparently, the third time wasn’t the charm as George and Harold were called into the principal’s office. When they walked in, he had never bothered to close one of the desk drawers, clearly embroiled in whatever work principals do. Krupp was faced away from them, yelling into the phone.

“How many times do I have to explain it to you, there probably isn’t a Sheep #7– are you falling asleep counting them?” He turned to face them and grimaced. “I’ll get back to you.”

He hung up the phone, glaring at them as they took their respective seats.

“Care to explain the last few days?”

Harold shifted in his seat as he gave a glance to the other boy. “We have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We were a bit too busy dealing with the sudden wave of assignments and tests to try anything,” George added with a shrug.

“Don’t play innocent with me. The gaps in my memory are extremely obvious.” He waggled an accusatory finger at them.

“Like we said, we were busy–”

“What– watching him get bit by sheep yesterday?!” He held up his other arm filled with band aids of various sizes.

George leaned over to the other boy and whispered, “Man, they can be really vicious, huh?”

Krupp slammed his fists onto his desk. He opened his hands. Closed them. Before pushing himself off his seat to look down at them. “Whether you’ll actually admit it, I’ll cut to the chase. Stop whatever you’re trying to do.”

“If it was us, why would we? You started it.”

“Oh, hah–” He let out an incredulous, breathless laugh at that. “I started it? You’re one to talk after all you’ve done to me. You should be grateful I don’t just hold you back right now for that comment!”

Harold was unmoved. “Man, you got so much worse– I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Oh, I can do so much worse after your little breaking and entering stunt,” he shot back. “Invading my privacy, looking into things you shouldn’t–”

“So you admit you were talking to him.”

“Now I never said anything about talking, have I?”

George and Harold leveled a glare at him, refusing to give him any confirmation or satisfaction that he was right. “So that is why you cracked down on the entire fourth grade, huh?”

“Or maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m losing sleep over mysterious injuries!” The boys wanted to speak up, but he refused to give them that. “And– and, seeing the school be nearly destroyed multiple times a week.”

“Not like you really cared about the school before,” George grumbled.

Krupp spluttered furiously, turning a new shade of red in the process. “Says the children who keep on endangering it and wasting its resources!"

“We’re saving the school!”

“From problems you made up.” He slowly made his way around his desk to them. “Is that why you made me your little stooge? Were you just tired and wanted to feel important in your little superhero fantasy? Or was getting rid of me the main motivation here?”

George stood up from his chair. “Oh, if we could have, we would have!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, it suddenly felt like the office had turned somewhat askew. Gone was the red in Krupp’s face and gone was the anger– if anything, he looked like he had been slapped in the face. His mouth opened. Closed. Nothing.

The boys were suddenly aware of the clock ticking, now that it was completely silent. George couldn’t help but be reminded of the time he said something that crossed some unseen line with his mom.

And just as quickly as the conversation was fishtailing out of what any of them were used to, the principal clambered for any sense of control.

“I’ll deal with the both of you later.” He put up a hand to rub his temples– and conveniently hid his eyes. “Get out.”

Harold blinked. “What–”

“NOW!” He whipped his arm to point at the door.

They stumbled out of their seats and ran without a second thought.

---------------------

For the rest of the last class of the school day, Harold was sitting on pins and needles as he looked at the clock. While most kids looked at it expectantly for the final bell to ring, right now he was dreading it. He figured George was doing the same.

Krupp getting the jump on them was a matter of when today , not if, especially when he was as mad as he was earlier.

Five minutes. He glanced to the front of the class. Even Rected was struggling with the new mandate to increase kids’ work. Which, he guessed, made sense– more work for them meant more stuff the teachers had to look at.

Two minutes.

Speaking of work, he was quickly scribbling out some ideas for the next issues. Though he couldn’t help but let his mind wander off to the other prank plans they had– he figured by the way Rected was pulling at his hair, they can bring Captain in for the cherry on top by the end of next week–

The speakers screeched to life. There was a beat of silence long enough for someone to ask if Krupp called an announcement on accident, until–

“Pop science fair, end of this week,” he said tersely. “Hope you can wow the teachers, since this is now a good chunk of your mark. How much? That’s the ‘pop’ part of that.”

The kids began to groan and slam their heads on their desks. Even more heads fell on their desks as another screech echoed through the school.

“You have George Beard and Harold Hutchins to thank for that. That will be all.”

The bell rang. One by one, everyone turned his direction, some shocked, others confused, many furious. Even Mr. Rected gave a baffled look.

After dodging the onslaught of kids ready to hound him or worse due to the announcement, he found George running down the hallway for similar reasons. At some point along the way, the other boy got their skateboards and helmets. With a frantic throw, they skateboarded out of the front yard and down the quickest route to their house.

“George?” Harold said, once they turned to their street. He had been eerily silent the whole time.

The other boy jumped off his own board and pulled his helmet off. He could see how much sweat was on his forehead now.

“Change of plans–” He stomped the end of the skateboard to make it stand before quickly grabbing it. “We’re taking stock of everything tonight.”

Harold stared at him. He knew why– he could still feel a flare of indignation from that announcement.

It was like George read his mind. “What Krupp said– those were fighting words. We’re going to move the Captain Plan up next.”

He gave a curt nod.

#mellsian fanfics #captain underpants #sticky notes au #estimated chapter total for this is uh #six now! may fluctuate but Yeah :)

44 notes · View notes

gidaryeong · 2 months

Text

Sejak episode 16

So daebi said: just marry this crossdressing weirdo that you're sexually obsessed with and have an heir, it's fine idec at this point. And Yi In didn't immediately jump on that but was like, well mom if you want it then I'm NOT going to do it 😤

Since this is the final installment I want to officially thank Sang-hwa for his service to the crown! His loyalty and diligence is only rivaled by his commitment to the bit. One of my favorite scenes in this entire show is the Gay Rumor era where he sprints off with the swiftness of Hermes to fetch the king's boyfriend some candy

I must say I wish they would've talked more baduk when they play baduk. They always debate their real life issues and the game is just something they dabble with in the background, the way I embroider things while watching TV, but they could be meta-talking about baduk strategies in a way that convinces us that this really is their Mutual Obsession while simultaneously shedding light on their personalities. Is Mong-woo an aggressive and haphazard player? Is she more intuitive or more calculating? Has she memorized previous games or does she not have to, because she's operating on Pure Vibes? I still don't know what they're like as players, or if the king is ever close to winning, or if Mong-woo is getting kinda bored of playing against him because he never puts up a real fight. (And how does that then translate to their sexual relationship: she told her dad from the start that she'd only marry someone who could beat her.) In their first game they didn't speak a word because they were so absorbed, and they didn't even notice it had begun to rain -- I liked that much better, because if Mong-woo is the greatest baduk genius in the world then she would be more obsessive about it, almost to the detriment of their relationship, like Beth in The Queen's Gambit. She'd want to go to Qing for the challenge and thrill of playing the Emperor, not (only) for her country and king and father. Okay sorry rant over.

Sometimes I pounce on my partner like this when he's just about to leave for the supermarket and I say "kdrama back hug 🥺" and he's always very patient with this extremely annoying behavior

"I cannot send Mong-woo to the Qing alone. So I'll choose the violent criminal who tried to stab me and instead stabbed her. He'll keep her safe."

Sure this is satisfying but did we have to spend so much time on this when we've got like 45 minutes airtime left to show Mong-woo's life-changing trip to Qing? Let me see her play the Emperor and pretend to lose! Let me see her flirt with the imperial harem and gain friends and enemies in court!!! Also: how did her father react to her crossdressing (since she gave it up when Myung-ha threatened to tell daddy)?

Shin Se-kyung having to teach worthless noblemen on how to start a fire is a must for any sageuk. To me.

It’s actually very sweet that everyone's just treating her like the princess now. But what's going to happen with the real princess? Another thing that they could have wrapped up instead of...

THIS. So writernim introduced this guy as a new threat in the last ep and then resolved it with no tension or conflict. Another thing that we could maybe have just have skipped in favor of Mong-woo Wreaking Havoc in the Imperial City.

PLEASE I don't understand anything!!! So they'll stay together forever now. But Mong-woo doesn't want to be his concubine (she'd resent him). And Yi In has no apparent plans to abdicate (he'll be king until he dies). Is she going to stay on as gidaryeong, and if so, why didn't she return to her station right away but tried to sneak away?

It’s so funny that she just gave up and told him her name anyway lmaooo. She was like baby you'll never beat me let's not pretend ❤️

Despite my ranting I did love this drama very much!! A fantastic set up with a somewhat underwhelming execution is my sweet spot because it means I can write fic about it 🫶

#my sejak tag #sejak: charmed deceit #captivating the king

26 notes · View notes

maybeimamuppet · 4 months

Text

OKAY MUPPETS IT IS TIIIIME FOR EZZYS OPINION HOUR

i saw the mean girls movie yesterday and i have THOUGHTS. spoilers below the cut but general thoughts up here

1. is it objectively not a super great movie? yes

2. is it my new favorite movie? yes

3. will i defend this movie tooth and nail from people who don’t like it just bc it’s a musical or bc they’re a 2004 purist? YES

4. did this movie make me feel so many conflicting emotions back to back i have now had a tummyache for 24 hours? YESSS

5. will i ever, ever, EVER IN MY LIFE forgive tina fey for the ending? no.

alright babes welcome to below the elementary school gym class parachute

last spoiler warning!!

these aren’t all in order and are most definitely not all the thoughts i had bc i have the memory storage of a flea and once an experience is over it is GONE FROM MY HEAD so this is the list of thoughts i struggled to put together when i got home lmao

overall thoughts:

it felt very gimmicky. the stage production felt gimmicky too but in a fun way, this was gimmicky in a way that kinda gave me a touch of the ick

it did not feel to me very much like a cohesive movie. it felt like browsing ig or tiktok and just seeing a hodgepodge of scenes stuck together. which is a cool idea but idk how well it worked in practice and i also don’t know if it was intentional.

this is not the word i’m looking for but in terms of personality they absolutely whitewashed all of the characters and i really don’t care for that. the visuals and the casting were so immaculate but in terms of personality they just made them all taste like unsweetened corn flakes.

i’m biased and didn’t care for most of the tweaks they made to the songs individually BUT i think they blended with each other more cohesively than they do in the stage production so that was cool. and i am able to understand why they made them more pop-esque than theatre-y it’s just not my personal vibe

it all felt very emma watson’s beauty and the beast. like. not deserving of much hate but also just not as good. it has its time and place but i still just. the changes they made were too much for me. that being said i am gonna be the #1 viewer whenever it’s released to streaming platforms was not kidding when i said this is a new favorite movie

the whole like. tiktok and iphone camera thing was an interesting??? idea. i really liked it for cautionary tale but the rest. i think it was a better idea than the way they executed it.

i miss do this thing!! i wish they had done like a mashup with it and the stupid with love reprise but i wasn’t mad at the reprise so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

fourth wall break was real cringe!!

thoughts abt cady:

angourie is so cute!!!!!!! she has the perfect look for cady. her costumes were kinda yikes but physically she’s mwah chefs kiss perfection

cady is so viscerally autistic in this version and it is DELIGHTFUL

but again i feel like they took so much from her. in the show she’s this overexcited little bubbly (autistic again but still) thing and she’s naive and then it’s revealed she’s conniving and manipulative and has this serious dark streak in her. in the movie it felt like she was just. awkward and then straight to conniving and manipulative. it was interesting but i miss my little jumping bean i wish they had given her some more spice

this movie has turned me into a cadina shipper of THE HIGHEST ORDER i’m already writing a fic for them and i call diiiiibs nobody else do it i write slow /j

i honestly really liked what ifs. i didn’t enjoy it as much as it roars but i think for the screen and for angourie’s voice it was a better fit. and i think it blended better with the new versions of the songs than it roars would have. not mad at it and the staging of it was really cool

cady being the one with a single parent is so interesting to me!! idk why they did that but i think it’s interesting. makes me wonder what happened to her dad but also go mom!!! women in stem!!!

her relationship with the art freaks was so???? weird??? it seemed like damian was the only one who really wanted all of them to be friends. i love this version of janis and damian together but when they were with cady it was all just so BLAND. it didn’t really feel like she and janis were friends at all which is what’s supposed to make the betrayal sting so much

whatever they were aiming for with someone gets hurt they missed hard bc holy cadina batman that shits gay dude BUT THE STAGING WAS SO COOL with everyone like frozen and then they all kick back in all crazy with the music it was great

janis thoughts:

THEY FUCKING RUINED HEEEEEEEER

AULI’I WAS SO PERFECT SHE WAS SO CUTE AND HER OUTFITS ARE SO COOL BUT THEY JUST TOOK AWAY ALL OF HER PERSONALITY

janis is supposed to be spunky and angry and hurt and vengeful and quirky and out there and firey and she’s meant to HAVE GRIT GOTDANGIT but again she just felt so whitewashed. like here’s a vaguely leftist lesbian in ripped jeans and cool eyeshadow that’s janis right?? LIKE NO IT IS NOT

i’d rather be me, while it had a little less vocal oomph behind it than the stage show, was as transcendent as i hoped for and i got chills multiple times. also the comedic timing of the bus was immaculate and the sound it made made me cackle

i can’t tell how i feel about the new middle school incident. i think it takes so much of the pain out of it for janis which is meant to be her main motivator. she was not supposed to be KICKED OUT she was PULLED OUT but i do kind of like that they clearly made it where regina kissed a girl and liked it and freaked out and that was the catalyst for everything

i do not ship this version of cadnis and that to me is unforgivable. they have sooo little chemistry as friends let alone lovers i just can’t stand it. janis doesn’t ever even seem like she wants cady around. it seems so much like they took away what makes janis janis just to turn her into another catalyst for regina and cady’s stories

apex predator was fun!! i honestly like it being janis and damian singing it better than janis and cady i think it works better as a warning and stuff! and also the band in the tree made me laugh so hard. i’m glad cady had them as her tour guides but again that’s all it felt like they were to each other and i miss them being a little posse

REVENGE PARTYYYYYYUH. i thought the staging was really fucking weird?? like all the pastels and shit didn’t really fit i would’ve much preferred it to start like that and then have blood dripping down the walls or something when they’re talking ABOUT PEOPLES HEADS ON SPIKES. but musically it was my favorite of everything!! i’m so happy they put the original verse back i almost screamed out loud in the theater when i heard it!!!!!

i never thought i would say this but i wish they had not canonically made her a lesbian. i will never forgive tina fey for having her end up with that random girl. no shade to the girl, she’s gorgeous and i’m glad we got some on screen, good, healthy queer rep. but in my eyes that is absolutely just a cop out because they know people wanted her to end up with cady or regina. they’re spitting on us and saying “here have your fucking lesbian and enjoy it this is what you get” and expect us to be happy with it. i get so angry every time i think about it and it honestly kind of ruined the whole thing for me. i would rather she have ended up with kevin g again. or like. honestly damian romantically would’ve made more sense in a twisted fucked up way. i just absolutely hate how they handled that.

damian thoughts:

HE! WAS! PERFECT! i am a grey henson stan first and a human being second but by golly he might be my new favorite. comedic timing on point and the fact we barely get to hear him sing is a FELONY. he was delightful and i love him also we love black queer rep!!! fuck yeah!!!! his bit with the fan before id rather be me. sent me into the dang stratosphere i love him so much

ALSO HIS DATE AT RHE END WE LOVE THESTRE BOYYYYY!!! ugh so cute i love

regina thoughts:

HOW DID THEY MAKE HER SUCH A COWARD???? HOW DO YOU TAKE A CHARACTER WITH SO MUCH POWER AND FUCK HER UP THIS BAD???

again everything that’s a core tenet of her personality was removed. i wasn’t afraid of her which is a CRIME bc renee on broadway’s regina was TERRIFYING. she just felt like one of those girls that every hs has like 7 of. they’re a dime a dozen, they’re rich and hot shit and they know it but you don’t care what they do because you know they’ll be divorced and broke and probably fat at your 10 year reunion. it’s giving peaked in high school and not queen bee which is really sad honestly

it made cady seem so much more evil tho?? like regina seemed. hurt. and cady was still so gung ho about taking her down. and it made janis seem much more manipulative too. i don’t care for either of those things

her costumes were so weird??? half that shit regina would not touch with a ten foot pole but it’s renee and she would and she’s hot so i do not care. also this isn’t a criticism but her halloween costume was giving gargoyle more than angel lol

plastics thoughts:

gretchen again felt really reductive. she was all anxiety. not that gretchen isn’t that onstage but it just felt like that was her entire personality. but bebe was adorable and i loved what’s wrong with me she did a great job

avantika was DELIGHTFUL. i loved her so much more than i was expecting to she was the only one where i never had a moment like “i am watching people acting in a movie they are repeating written lines” it felt much more like fluid with her. 10/10 beautifully done to her

aaron thoughts:

HOW DID THEY MAKE HIM MORE BORING????? MY GOD

he was already the most redundant character in the whole goddamn thing and they somehow made him even more useless. he could’ve been removed from the movie entirely and it would’ve changed NOTHING. he is white bread if he was a spice he’d be flour. didn’t think it was possible to make him more that but by golly they did it

HOW DID HE AND CADY END UP TOGETHER HE HAS THE CHEMISTRY OF A BRICK WALL. she has so much more romantic fire and chemistry with regina this is some of the most comphet shit i’ve ever seen. it’s giving wicked levels of comphet like gooooddamn.

misc. thoughts:

THAT LINDSAY LOHAN CAMEO HAD ME OUTBOF MY SEAT I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING BUT IT WAS AMAZING also that “i don’t know your life” was mwah

MS NORBURY SND MR DUVALLLL WERE SO CUUUUUTE i squealed ngl i love them

overall like 7/10 good movie i’m angry about a whole bunch but this is also amazing i’m so glad we got this new content and i am definitely hyperfixating on it now. so not that different from my stage show opinions lol

#ik this sounds like i’m shitting on it a lot but i promise i’m not #i absolutely loved it #i’m glad this amazing show is more accessible to people now #would absolutely recommend seeing it #i just have a lot of feelings #i feel like a parent #disappointed but not surprised and at the end of the day still absolutely in love #thus concludes opinion hour with ezzy #which actually took me almost exactly an hour to write #hope you enjoyed see you next time lol #entropy with ezzy #mean girls #mean girls musical #mean girls 2024 #caps tw #swear tw

42 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

thatcodmoment

That CoD Moment

pleazagirl3

Pleazagirl3

letangel

LETT ☆

achievemient-hunters

it's hard to remember what you've forgotten

the-exception-to-the-rules

The Exception