This Summer Belongs to the Unquiet
They told us freedom was our birthright. They lied. The illusion of choice is all they offer, but never mention your leash is just long enough to touch the fence. We’re just free range cattle. Freedom? That’s something else. That’s blood on concrete. That’s black thread pulled through the mouth of silence. That’s a curse you cast when your throat forgets how to whisper.
Freedom isn’t neat. It isn’t clean. It doesn’t come with a permit or a pretty playlist. It comes with broken nails and scraped knees and a voice so raw you sound like thunder trying to break out of skin.
Freedom is witchcraft. It’s guerilla magick cast with sharpies and spit and whatever half-melted candle you can scavenge from the back of a church where they pretend to be something they’re not. It’s every rule you broke to survive, and every rule you’ll burn to live. It’s banewort tucked into your boots, sigils scratched into bathroom stalls, whispered hexes cast between stolen kisses and after-school breakdowns.
They tell you to pick your battles. I picked all of them, and I brought salt.
I don’t want peace. I want the kind of chaos that rewrites blueprints. The kind that screams your dead name and watches it catch fire. The kind that doesn’t wait to be invited into the room. I kick the door down and tag the threshold so the next witch knows it’s safe to speak freely.
This isn’t rebellion for the aesthetic. This is rebellion because breathing hurts less when you set the rules by which the fire burns. This is anarchy with eyeliner. This is a sigil drawn on your wrist in blood. This is a war cry written in lipstick on locker doors, “I AM NOT YOUR CUTE. I AM YOUR CURSE.”
I want to kiss the world until it bruises. I want to cram my fist down its throat and choke it on everything it tried to make me swallow. I want to tattoo my name into the marrow of every billboard that told me I was wrong for existing outside their algorithm.
I want to haunt their strategy. I want to hijack the feed and scream spells into your scrolling. I want to become the glitch in their system; the sigil that breaks the machine. A thorn in every curated pastel. A scream behind every soft-focus filter.
They told me silence was safe. What a crock. Silence isn’t safe, it’s a battle strategy.
This summer? It’s not a season. It’s a spell. A summoning. A curse, scratched into the bones of every girl who’s ever been told she’s too loud, too weird, too soft, or too sharp.
This summer is for the ones who know that being quiet never saved them. For the girls with brass knuckles in their pencil cases and demon names carved in cursive on their notebooks. For the ones who light candles…not for comfort, but for war. For anyone who’s ever cut a sigil on their thigh just to feel like something inside them listened.
This summer is mine. It’s yours. It’s ours.
It belongs to the ones who walk barefoot through hexed hallways, who whisper curses into vape clouds and call it communion. To the ones who remember that St. Valentina’s was never a school; it was a prison with pastel walls and sanctified punishments. To those who remember the Mirror Room and still have scars that spell their own names in reverse.
They built schools to erase us, society to tame us, the government to rule us, and erase us again if we do not conform.
I will not sacrifice liberty for the illusion of security. I am not a girl anymore. I am a contagion. A wave of heat behind every locked door, a static charge in every crooked hallway. An egregore in combat boots and candy-pink sigils who lives between the lines of graffiti and grief.
I don’t want to be real. I want to be believed in. And belief? That’s the sharpest spell there is.
So here’s your summer assignment: Break something that doesn’t deserve to survive.Build something feral in its place. Cast spells with your sweat, with your spit, with your very presence. Make them regret trying to tame you. Make them regret categorizing you into one of their little boxes with a check mark inside.
You are not marketable. You are not trending. You are not digestible. You are the end of something. And with that end? A new beginning.
You are a flame that doesn’t ask for permission. A curse that calls itself by a dozen names and answers to none. You are the anthem they can’t autotune.
This Summer, We riot in sigils. We spellcast in stolen Sharpies. We kiss with blood red lips and scream at the stars like they owe us. We don’t wait for nightfall. We bring the darkness with us. This isn’t a rebellion, It’s a return; a rewilding.
To who we were before, we were punished for being too much. To who we were before, they named us. To the voice we buried in the back of our throat and taught to scream through paper and ink and eyeliner and flame… We were not made to be silent, and we are done being quiet.
SOME NEWS:
🖤 Guess who clawed their way back through the veil? I took a little detour through the in-between (don’t ask what I brought back), but now the ritual resumes. Expect weekly hauntings via Tumblr and the Midnight Manifesto. Patreon posts will still bleed in just once a month until the back-to-school bell tolls—then I’ll unleash the real chaos. Coming this fall: School for Defiant Witches. Curriculum. Curses. Cult-level content. Sharpen your pencils. Salt your thresholds. I’ve got more in store than your nightmares can carry.
Redacted lines (and greater mythos) are available to paid tiers on Patreon.
SOME MORE NEWS:
🖤 The School for Defiant Witches curriculum is in the cauldron, boiling, shifting, being rewritten in cursed ink. You’ll get it when the stars align… and not a second sooner. 🖤 The Expedition to St. Valentina’s game is sleeping with one eye open. On the back burner, yes, but trust me the fire’s still lit beneath it. 🖤 Hawai‘i, I haven’t forgotten. I whispered something wicked your way, and soon you’ll see what that meant. Prepare the altar.
Poetic Blessing:
May your voice find no cage, and your scars bloom into warnings.
If you ever need Echo she lives [here].
Weekly Hex Schedule
🖤 Monday – Instagram @ CuteAndDestroy / TikTok @ magickNmetal
🖤 Tuesday – Pinterest was weak so I fed it to the void. RIP 🖤 Wednesday – Instagram @ CuteAndDestroy / TikTok @ magickNmetal
🖤 Thursday – Tumblr: magicknmetal.tumblr.com 5:30 pm PST
🖤 Friday – Patreon + Instagram / TikTok @ magicknmetal
🖤 Saturday @ Midnight – Midnight Manifesto at magicknmetal.com
🖤 Sunday – Instagram/TikTok again (because soft chaos is still sacred)