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PODCAST RECS - Debunking and Fact-Checking for Witches & Witchcraft Spaces

A collection of podcast episodes fact-checking, debunking, or just providing some clarity on modern myths, misinformation, and conspiracy theories that are frequent flyers in witchcraft and pagan spaces, both theories mistakenly touted by community members and some of the utter drivel spouted by non-witches that still affects us today. Check out these shows on your favorite podcast app!

(Updates to be made whenever I find new content. There will be some crossover with my Witches In History Podcast Recs post and some of the content will be heavy. Blanket trigger warning for violence, abuse, bigotry, sexism, antisemitism, and mistreatment of women, queer people, and children.)

[Last Updated: October 17, 2024]

This post is broken into three basic sections:

Historical Misinformation

Modern Myths and the People Who Create Them

Conspiracy Theories and Moral Panics

List of Cited Podcasts, in alphabetical order

American Hysteria

BS-Free Witchcraft

Dig: A History Podcast

Hex Positive

Historical Blindness

History Uncovered

Morbid

Occultae Veritatis

Our Curious Past

Our Fake History

Ridiculous History

Stuff You Missed In History Class

The History of Witchcraft

Unobscured

You’re Wrong About…

Historical Misinformation

General History of Witchcraft

Historical Blindness - A Rediscovery of Witches, Pt 1 & 2 Oct 13, 2020 & Oct. 27, 2020 A discussion of the early modern witch craze and the myths, misconceptions, and theories about witches spread by academics. Topics of discussion include the works of Margaret Murray and Charles Leland, the founding of Wicca, the emergence of the midwife-witch myth, and folk healers as targets of witchcraft accusations. Sarah Handley-Cousins of “Dig: A History Podcast” supplies guest material for both episodes.

Hex Positive, Ep. 36 - Margaret Effing Murray with Trae Dorn July 1, 2023 Margaret Murray was a celebrated author, historian, folklorist, Egyptologist, archaeologist, anthropologist, first-wave feminist, and the first woman to be appointed to the position of lecturer in archaeology in the UK. So why so we get so annoyed whenever her name is mentioned in conversations about witchcraft? Well, it all has to do with a book Margaret wrote back in 1921...which just so happened to go on to have a profound influence on the roots of the modern witchcraft movement.

Nerd & Tie senpai and host of BS-Free Witchcraft Trae Dorn joins Bree NicGarran in the virtual studio to discuss the thoroughly-discredited witch-cult hypothesis, Murray's various writings and accomplishments, and why modern paganism might not have caught on so strongly without her.

BS-Free Witchcraft, Ep 03: The History of Wicca October 06, 2018 On this episode, Trae digs deep into the history of Wicca, and tries to give the most accurate history of the religion as they can. I mean, yeah, we know this is a general Witchcraft podcast, but Wicca is the most widely practiced form of Witchcraft in the US, UK, Canada and Australia… so how it got started is kind of important for the modern Witchcraft movement. (And trust me, there aren’t any pulled punches here.)

BS-Free Witchcraft, Ep. 28: The Burning Times May 30, 2020 On this installment of the podcast, we tackle probably one of the more controversial topics in the modern witchcraft movement: The Burning Times. What were the actual “Burning Times,” where do we get that phrase from, and what really happened? Also, how has this phrase been used in modern witchcraft? It’s a heavy one, folks.

Dig: A History Podcast - Both Man and Witch: Uncovering the Invisible History of Male Witches Sept 13, 2020 Since at least the 1970s, academic histories of witches and witchcraft have enjoyed a rare level of visibility in popular culture. Feminist, literary, and historical scholarship about witches has shaped popular culture to such a degree that the discipline has become more about unlearning everything we thought we knew about witches. Though historians have continued to investigate and re-interpret witch history, the general public remains fixated on the compelling, feminist narrative of the vulnerable women hanged and burned at the stake for upsetting the patriarchy. While this part of the story can be true, especially in certain contexts, it’s only part of the story, and frankly, not even the most interesting part. Today, we tackle male witches in early modern Eurasia and North America!

Dig: A History Podcast - Doctor, Healer, Midwife, Witch: How the the Women’s Health Movement Created the Myth of the Midwife-Witch Sept 6, 2020 In 1973, two professors active in the women’s health movement wrote a pamphlet for women to read in the consciousness-raising reading groups. The pamphlet, inspired by Our Bodies, Ourselves, looked to history to explain how women had been marginalized in their own healthcare. Women used to be an important part of the medical profession as midwives, they argued — but the midwives were forced out of practice because they were so often considered witches and persecuted by the patriarchy in the form of the Catholic Church. The idea that midwives were regularly accused of witchcraft seemed so obvious that it quickly became taken as fact. There was only one problem: it wasn’t true. In this episode, we follow the convoluted origin story of the myth of the midwife-witch.

Dig: A History Podcast - Cheesecloth, Spiritualism, and State Secrets: Helen Duncan’s Famous Witchcraft Trial July 3, 2022 Helen Duncan was charged under the 1735 Witchcraft Act, but her case was no eighteenth-century sensation: she was arrested, charged, and ultimately imprisoned in 1944. Of course, in 1944, Britain was at war, fighting fascism by day on the continent and hiding in air raid shelters by night at home. The spectacle of a Spiritualist medium on trial for witchcraft seemed out of place. What possessed the Home Secretary to allow this trial to make headlines all across the UK in 1944? That’s what we’re here to find out.

The Conspirators, Ep. 63 - The Last Witch Trial Nov. 26, 2017 England’s official laws regarding the prosecution of witches dates back to the 1600s. Those very same laws would also remain on the books until well into the 20th century. In 1944, a psychic medium named Helen Duncan would gain notoriety by becoming the last woman to be tried under England’s witchcraft laws.

The History of Witchcraft Podcast, hosted by Samuel Hume Witches didn’t exist, and yet thousands of people were executed for the crime of witchcraft. Why? The belief in magic and witchcraft has existed in every recorded human culture; this podcast looks at how people explained the inexplicable, turned random acts of nature into conscious acts of mortal or supernatural beings, and how desperate communities took revenge against the suspected perpetrators.

Unobscured, Season One - The Salem Witch Trials Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts. It’s 1692. And all hell is about to break loose.

Unobscured is a deep-dive history podcast from the labs of How Stuff Works, featuring the writing and narrative talents of Aaron Mahnke, horror novelist and the mind behind Lore and Cabinet of Curiosities.

As with his other series, Mahnke approaches the events in Salem armed with a mountain of research. Interviews with prominent historians add depth and documentation to each episode. And it’s not just the trials you’ll learn about; it’s the stories of the people, places, attitudes, and conflicts that led to the deaths of more than twenty innocent people.

Each week, a new aspect of the story is explored, gradually weaving events and personalities together in chronological order to create a perspective of the trials that is both expansive and intimate. From Bridget Bishop to Cotton Mather, from Andover to Salem Town, Mahkne digs deep to uncover the truth behind the most notorious witch trials in American history.

Think you know the story of Salem? Think again.

Witchcraft and Other Magical Practices

BS-Free Witchcraft, Ep. 43 - “Lilith” Jan. 29, 2022 Host Trae Dorn discusses the ongoing debate over whether or not it’s okay for non-Jewish witches to incorporate Lilith into their practices. Is Lilith closed? Is it cultural appropriation? There’s so much misinformation in New Age and poorly written witchcraft books on Lilith, it’s hard for some witches to get a clear picture. It’s common to run into folks on social media talking about Lilith as a “Goddess,” which she very much isn’t. Let’s dive into the origins of the folklore surrounding this figure, and we’ll let you decide whether or not it’s okay to work with Lilith. But, uh, spoiler – we don’t think you should.

Historical Blindness, Ep. 106 - Lilith, the Phantom Maiden November 22, 2022 Host Nathaniel Lloyd explores the evolution of the figure of Lilith, from Mesopotamian demon, to the first woman created by God, and back to a succubus mother of demons. It’s a tale of syncretism, superstition, forgery, and a dubious interpretation of scriptures.

BS-Free Witchcraft, Ep. 55 - Lucky Girl Syndrome and the Law of Attraction January 28, 2023 Trae takes a look at one of New Age spirituality’s most toxic philosophies - The Law of Attraction. The history of the idea is discussed, where it came from, and how this dangerous combination of prosperity gospel, purity culture, and victim-blaming has come back in a major way to a whole new generation as “Lucky Girl Syndrome.” 

Hex Positive, Ep. 19 - The Trouble with Tarot August 1, 2021 Tarot and tarot-reading have been a part of the modern witchcraft movement since the 1960s. But where did these cards and their meanings come from? Are they secretly Ancient Egyptian mystical texts? Do they have their origins among the Romani people? Are they a sacred closed practice that should not be used by outsiders? Nope, nope, and nope.

This month, we delve into the actual history of tarot cards, discover their origins on the gaming tables of Italy and France, meet the people who developed their imagery and symbolism into the deck we know today, and debunk some of the nonsense that’s been going around lately concerning their use. The Witchstorian is putting on her research specs for this one!

Stuff You Missed in History Class - A Brief History of Tarot Cards Oct. 26, 2020 How did a card game gain a reputation for being connected to mysticism? Tarot’s history takes a significant turn in the 18th century, but much of that shift in perception is based on one author’s suppositions and theories.

Hex Positive, Ep. 23 - The Name of the Game November 1, 2021 Bree delves into the history, myths, and urban legends surrounding Ouija boards. Along the way, we’ll uncover their origins in the spiritualist movement, discover the pop culture phenomenon that labeled them portals to hell, and try to separate fact from internet fiction with regard to what these talking boards can actually do.

Our Curious Past, Ep. 20 - The Curious History of the Ouija Board August 18, 2023 Host Peter Laws explores the history of the “talking board,” which was wildly popular in the early 1900s, until something happened that would tarnish its’ reputation for good. 

Ridiculous History - Brooms and Witchcraft, Pt. 1 & 2 Oct. 13-15, 2020 Most people are familiar with the stereotypical image of a witch: a haggard, often older individual with a peaked hat, black robes, a demonic familiar and, oddly enough, a penchant for cruising around on broomsticks. But where did that last weirdly specific trop of flying on a broomstick actually come from?  Could the stereotype of witches on broomsticks actually be a drug reference? Join Ben, Noel, and Casey as they continue digging through the history and folklore of witchcraft - and how it affected pop culture in the modern day.

Historical Blindness, Ep. 116 - The Key to the Secrets of King Solomon  May 02, 2023 Host Nathaniel Lloyd continues his occasional series on the history and mythology of magic. In this installment, he looks at the development of the story that the biblical King Solomon was actually a flying-carpet-riding, magic-ring-wielding wizard and alchemist who bound demons to do his will. The origins and content of the legendary Key of Solomon are also discussed.

Dig: A History Podcast - Plastic Shamans and Spiritual Hucksters: A History of Peddling and Protecting Native American Spirituality July 24, 2022 In the late 20th century, white Americans flocked to New Age spirituality, collecting crystals, hugging trees, and finding their places in the great Medicine Wheel. Many didn’t realize - or didn’t care - that much of this spirituality was based on the spiritual faiths and practices of Native American tribes. Frustrated with what they called “spiritual hucksterism,” members of the American Indian Movement (AIM) began protesting - and have never stopped. Who were these “plastic shamans,” and how did the spiritual services they sold become so popular?

Historical Blindness, Ep. 145 - All Is Number: Pythagoras and Numerology May 28, 2024 In this installment of the ongoing Encyclopedia Grimoria series, host Nathaniel Lloyd talks about a cult leader who is remembered as a great mathematician, whose real lasting contribution to the world is the nonsensical divination "magic" known as numerology.

Holidays

Hex Positive, Ep. 28 - The Easter-Ostara Debacle April 1, 2022 Host Bree NicGarran puts on her Witchstorian hat once more to delve into the origins of both Easter  and Ostara and to finally answer the age-old question: which came first  – the bunny or the egg?

Historical Blindness, Ep. 28 - A Very Historically Blind Christmas Dec. 18, 2018 An exploration of the origins of Christmas traditions, with special guest Brian Earl of the Christmas Past podcast. (There is also some mention of Christmas witches!) Further installments of this series explore additional Christmas traditions and iconography which have been falsely claimed to have pagan origins as well as the myths surrounding the history of Christmas itself. (Eps. 47, 63, 84, & 132 in December of subsequent years)

Modern Myths and the People Who Create Them

Ed and Lorraine Warren

You’re Wrong About…Ed and Lorraine Warren w. Jamie Loftus Nov 8 2021 Special Guest Jamie Loftus tells Sarah about Ed and Lorraine Warren (of The Conjuring and Annabelle fame). Topics of interest include Connecticut as a locus of scary happenings, New England uncles, and psychic communication with a tearstained Bigfoot.

Dig: A History Podcast - The Demonologist and the Clairvoyant: Ed and Lorraine Warren, Paranormal Investigation, and Exorcism in the Modern World Oct 3 2021 In the 1970s, Lorraine and Ed Warren had a spotlight of paranormal obsession shining on them. In the last decade, their work as paranormal investigators–ghost hunters–has been the premise for a blockbuster horror franchise totaling at least seven films so far, and more planned in the near future. So… what the heck? Is this for real? Yes, friends, today we’re talking about demonology, psychic connections to the dead, and the patriarchy. Just a typical day with your historians at Dig.

History Uncovered, Ep. 92 - The Enfield Haunting That Inspired "The Conjuring 2" Oct 25 2023 The Enfield Haunting began with a bang. Literally. From 1977 to 1979, an unassuming North London home was the site of near-constant paranormal activity, from knocking sounds and moving objects to disembodied voices and the terrifying alleged possession of one young daughter of the Hodgson family. But how much truth was there to these happenings? And since the Warrens got involved briefly and subsequently touted themselves as experts on the case (and made money from talking about it), how much of what we think we know reflects the actual events?

Hex Positive, Ep. 042 - Extended Warren Tea with Jenn the Ouija Girl and Lorelei Rivers Jan 01 2024 Discussions about the careers and rhetoric of the Warrens make the rounds regularly in conversations about the paranormal among members of the witchcraft community. But who were the Warrens? Why do they inspire such ire even as the Conjuring franchise gains steam? How much of what we think we know about the supernatural comes from them? And why is it important to recognize - and refute - their rhetoric when we encounter it? Bree NicGarran sits down with Jenn the Ouija Girl and Lorelei Rivers to spill ALL the tea.

"Paranormal" Literature & Media

You’re Wrong About…Winter Book Club - The Amityville Horror, Pts. 1-3 Dec 20 2021 - Feb 6 2022 Sarah tells guest host Jamie Loftus about the Amityville Horror, how it’s a Christmas story, and buying murder furniture might not be such a great idea. Further highlights include Jodie the Demon Pig, poor insulation and terrible parenting as evidence of a haunting, lots and lots of sunk cost fallacy, and how the book kind of debunks itself.

MORBID, Ep. 610 - The Amityville Horror Conspiracy October 17 2024 The supposed experience of the Lutz family at 112 Ocean Avenue served as the basis for the iconic haunted house story, “The Amityville Horror,” and the countless films adapted from or inspired by the original novel. However, unlike most other stories of paranormal experiences, “The Amityville Horror” became a phenomenon that influenced everything from Ronald DeFeo’s criminal defense during his murder trial to the American public’s belief in the supernatural. Yet for all their talk of it being a genuine story of demonic activity, in the years since the publication of the popular novel, a large body of evidence from skeptical evaluations to court records and interview transcripts suggest that America’s most notorious haunted house might not have been quite so haunted after all.

American Hysteria, Ep. 125 - I Was A Teenage Poltergeist October 14 2024 Sarah Marshall, host of “You’re Wrong About…,” transports us to the old world of British Hysteria to reveal the mysterious story of the Enfield Poltergeist and joins host Chelsea Weber Smith at the seance table to discuss the great unknown and the ghosts they know.

You’re Wrong About… - Michelle Remembers, Pt. 1-5 March 26, 2020 - April 30, 2020 Intrepid hosts Sarah and Mike delve into one of the foundational texts of the Satanic Panic - “Michelle Remembers.” A young woman spends a year undergoing hypnosis therapy, which uncovers repressed memories of shocking and horrifying abuse at the hands of a Satanic cult. The book became a foundational text for both mental health professionals and law enforcement attempting to grapple with an alleged nationwide network of insidiously invisible child-abducting cults. The only problem is…none of what Michelle remembered ever actually happened.

You’re Wrong About…. - The Satan Seller, Pt. 1-5 June 28, 2021 - August 9, 2021 Sarah and Mike return to Camp You’re Wrong About for another Satanic Panic story hour. This time, the summer book club explores Mike Warnke’s 1972 “memoir” about joining a demonic cult, rising through the ranks of Satan’s favorite lackeys, his sudden downfall and redemption, and the California hedonism that made him do it. This is followed by a discussion of the Cornerstone Magazine exposé that brought the facts to light and thoroughly discredited Warnke’s story.

American Hysteria, Eps. 64-66 - Chick Tracts, Pts. 1-3 March 20 - April 03, 2023 In his own lifetime, Jack Chick was one of most prolific and widely-read comic artists in history. His company, Chick Tracts, published hundreds of millions of copies of pocket-sized bible comics, filled with lurid illustrations of cackling demons, wicked witches, and sinister cults, all hell-bent on corrupting any hapless mortal they could get their hands on. These tracts were meant to be left where they might be found by a sinner in need of salvation, with a scared-straight morality-play approach to Christianity that contributed in no small part to the period in the late 20th century we now call the Satanic Panic. (There’s also a follow-up two-part episode about one of Chick’s “occult experts,” who claimed to be, among other things, a real-life vampire.)

History Uncovered, Ep. 95 - Roland Doe, The Boy Who Inspired "The Exorcist" November 15, 2023 In 1949, priests performed an exorcism on a boy referred to as "Roland Doe," aka Ronald Hunkeler, in a chilling ordeal that became the real-life inspiration for William Peter Blatty's 1971 book, "The Exorcist," and the movie adaptation released in 1973. But what really happened during this alleged exorcism and was there any proof of the claims of alleged demonic paranormal activity surrounding the events?

You're Wrong About... - The Exorcist (with Marlena Williams) December 27, 2023 Marlena Williams, author of "Night Mother: A Personal and Cultural History of the Exorcist," joins host Sarah Marshall to discuss the little possession movie that changed America forever. Was the set cursed by Satan himself, or plain old 70s misogyny? What makes a country going through a cultural upheaval embrace stories about the Devil? And - the most critical question of all - do Ouija boards really cause possession?

Frightful, Bonus Episode - Is the Paranormal Like A New Religion? June 25 2024 Since the early 2000s, paranormal content has exploded in popular culture. It seems we can't get enough of ghosts (and hunting for them). What could be behind this enthusiasm for spooky things? Host Peter Laws shares a theory - that the paranormal is a clever way for us to be religious...without being religious. (This is less a debunking than a discussion of a personal hypothesis, but it deals with the pervasiveness of cultural religious themes, the influence of social media on modern mythmaking, and the sense of community surrounding paranormal belief.)

Conspiracy Theories and Moral Panics

Ancient "Mysteries"

Historical Blindness, Pyramidiocy, Eps. 146-151 June-July 2024 Host Nathaniel Lloyd delves into the great pyramids and the various myths and misconceptions surrounding them, some of which, despite vast amounts of historical evidence to the contrary, endure to this very day. Further related segments on this topic may be found on the show's Patreon, including a highly interesting July 2024 minisode regarding "Books of the Dead," which examines claims about H.P. Lovecraft's "Necronomicon" and its' supposed relation to the Egyptian Book of the Dead and the Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus.

History Uncovered, Ep. 117 - The Real History Behind the Mythic City of Atlantis June 12, 2024 First mentioned by Plato in Timaeus and Critias, the lost city of Atlantis later became a widely debated topic among historians. But is Atlantis real? (Spoiler: No. No it is not.)

Hucksters, Secret Societies, and Antisemitism

Historical Blindness, Ep. 14 - Bloody Libel December 12, 2017 An exploration of one of the most destructive myths in history - the blood libel, or the false accusation that Jews of the Middle Ages and beyond ritually murdered Christian children, a lie that host Nathaniel Lloyd traces back to its’ roots in medieval England and the murder of one Young William of Norwich.

Historical Blindness, Eps. 56-57 - The Illuminati Illuminated September 15-29, 2020 A contemplation of the modern conservative conspiracy theory of a “deep state” leads host Nathaniel Lloyd back to the dawn of the modern conspiracy theory, the Enlightenment, when the ultimate conservative conspiracy theory was born as an explanation for the French Revolution: The Illuminati!

Historical Blindness, Eps. 38-40 - Nazi Occultism, Parts 1-3 July 2-30, 2019 An exploration of the dark roots of Nazi occult philosophies, from a neo-paganism preoccupied with the Nordic Pantheon, to a folksy back-to-the-land movement that evolved into a nationalist sentiment, to an ideology of racial supremacy all tied up with contemporary myths and pseudoscience. (The host is careful to note with clarity and vehemence at the start of each episode that this series IN NO WAY approves of, promotes, or supports this ideology and Nazism is roundly condemned at every turn. It’s not an easy listen, but understanding how and why this bigotry continues to be a problem in pagan spaces and how to recognize it is very important.) TL;DR - Fuck Nazis. No tolerance for genocidal fuckwads.

DIG: A History Podcast - Werewolves, Vampires, and the Aryans of Ancient Atlantis: The Occultic Roots of the Nazi Party Oct 17, 2021 Modern movie plotlines which portray Nazi obsessions with occultism might be exaggerated for dramatic effect, but they aren't made up out of wholecloth. The NSDAP, or the National Socialist Worker's Party, was a party ideologically enabled by occultist theories about the Aryan race and vampiric Jews, on old folk tales about secret vigilante courts and nationalist werewolves, and on pseudoscientific ideas about ice moons. In this episode, the hosts explore the occult ideas, racial mythology, and 'supernatural imaginary' that helped to create the Nazi Party.

Our Fake History, Eps. 66-68: Who Was the Mother of the Occult? May-June 2018 An exploration of the life and works of Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, self-described sage, medium, guru, author, and one of the founders of Theosophy.

The Satanic Panic

American Hysteria - Satanic Panic, pt 1 & 2 Dec. 10 2018 - Jan. 07, 2019 This two-part episode covers perhaps the most mystifying moral panic in US history, the 1980s and early 90s ‘Satanic Panic.’ For this episode, Chelsey covers the rise of organized Satanism beginning in the late 60s, as well as the adversarial countercultures of the hippies and the metalheads, and their apparent Satanic crimes that would be hailed as proof of their evil, as well as proof that teens, as well as children, were in serious moral peril. Satan was allegedly hypnotizing the youth with secret messages in backwards rock songs, teaching them occult magic in Saturday morning cartoons, and causing suicides through a popular role-playing games, all while helping religion blur into politics for good.

For part two, Chelsey will cover what came next, a serious investigation into an imagined network of Satanic cults ritually abusing children in daycare centers all over the country. Chelsey will try to understand this shocking decade in history, why it really happened, and the cultural issues it was really about.

BS-Free Witchcraft, Ep 10 - The Satanic Panic April 27, 2019 The Satanic Panic of the 70s, 80s, and 90s shaped the Modern Witchcraft Movement in a lot of unexpected ways. Its effects still ripple through a lot of our sources, so in this installment of the podcast we’re digging into this extremely weird part of American history. It’s a bit of a doozy, after all.

BS-Free Witchcraft - Ep. 32: A New Satanic Panic? February 27, 2021 A couple of years ago, we did an episode on the history of the Satanic Panic of the latter half of the twentieth century, but recent events have led us to ask - could it be happening again? It’s very possible that we are at the start of a new wave of satanic panic, and QAnon is just the latest symptom of a larger problem.

Occultae Veritatis, Case #014: Satanic Panic of Martensville Jan. 28, 2018 Today the hosts cover one of the various Satanic ritual abuse scandals that happened close to them. Is it full of hot air and false allegations? Yes. Yes it is. 

Occultae Veritatis, Case #097A & B: Dungeons, Dragons, and the Satanic Panic Dec. 07, 2019 - Dec. 15, 2019 Dungeons & Dragons, introduced in 1974, attracted millions of players, along with accusations by some religious figures that the game fostered demon worship and a belief in witchcraft and magic.

[Last Updated: October 17 2024]

[romanceyourdemons]

i think i might be onto something with my hypothesis that manic pixie dream girl stories and bodice rippers of the “kidnapped by the pirate king” variety occupy near-identical literary niches. making sweeping generalizations to note parallel tropes, both frequently start out with a depressed and aimless protagonist trapped in a shallow, materialistic, panopticon-like world. this world has robbed them of gender expression in a way that is meaningful to them, leaving them emasculated or disconnected from femininity and thereby alienated from the most fundamental parts of themself, and from any feeling of control in their life. enter the pixie or the pirate [or the dark wizard, or their cousin the mafioso]. this person is unorthodox, with an unrestrained attitude and gender expression so extreme as to be taboo—neon-colored hair or a glistening bare chest, skills and mannerisms that shock and entice. this person becomes obsessed with the protagonist and spirits them away into the pixie/pirate’s wild, taboo-breaking world. they violate the protagonist’s consent but never truly go against the protagonist’s will. often, they force the protagonist to affirm their (the protagonist’s) gender—requiring her to wear a silk dress to dinner, where he will treat her like a lady, or forcing him to commit some minor criminal act far out of his comfort zone that leaves him feeling powerful and masculine. the protagonist is transformed by the pixie/pirate’s attentions, becoming a part of that alluring outside world, and in return they are able to tame the pixie/pirate, if only a little. often, the final climactic moment of the story is when the protagonist is given a choice—something absent from their life before—and they are able to decisively make it—something they could never bring themself to do before. gender affirmed, identity developed, romance found, the protagonist ends the story a content and fully-realized person thanks to the pixie or the pirate, who has done virtually nothing in this story but act to bring the protagonist there. it’s the same fantasy for two different genders. we need more pirate kings with blue hair

[add1ctedt0you]

Wen Ruohan & Wen Qing

Wen Qing was renowned both within and without the Wen Clan of Qishan. She wasn’t the daughter of the head of the Wen family Wen Ruohan but rather the descendant of one of his elder cousins on the maternal side. Although they were distant relatives, Wen Ruohan had had a good relationship with his cousin since they were children. Furthermore, Wen Qing excelled in both the literary arts and the study of medicine. She was highly favored by Wen Ruohan for her talents and often attended the Wen Clan of Qishan’s various year-round banquets alongside him. The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Book 3, Chapter 12: Sandu: The three poisons

[prentissluvr]

literary parallels — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : light angst, fluff ➖⟢ cw : small injuries, few seconds of physical fighting (self-defense), no use of y/n, you have a dad and i gave him a name (rick lol), mentions of death of loved ones, sort of case fic, kinda ignores canon timeline in terms of a few minor things but canon doesn't matter much in this fic lol, poorly edited most likely ➖⟢ wc : 3.6K summary : sam is someone from your past at stanford university, and the last place you expect to see him again is on a case. that's exactly where you find him. i plan on doing a part two for this one in the future! :))

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

today is one of those days where the reality of your life feels strange, unwelcome, and somewhat foreign. it’s not as if you’re new to the hunting life; it’s just the opposite, and yet, you often feel removed from it, especially after having lived normally at college for a few years. but you were ripped back into hunting without being able to finish your degree by your father after the death of your closest cousin. 

so now you’re cooped up in a crappy motel room searching endlessly through detailed lore websites and the few books you have on you, trying to make sense of the odd patterns of killings in the small california town. that’s part of the pit in your stomach for today; the beach town, cayucos, is only three hours from stanford. 

being so close to your former university after almost a whole year brings back a whole lot of mixed feelings. mostly longing for the normalcy that you loved and lost, but also a renewed urgency to find what killed your cousin. she had been studying at a different college just an hour inland from you. when she died, you had wanted to salt and burn her body and move on. but when your father showed up with proof of odd circumstances, he pursuaded you to rejoin him in the hunting life.

the deaths in cayucos are certainly odd, but they lack the defining features that would allow you to identify the creature at fault. so, you’re searching for anything with a grudge against hot men and a killing cycle of seven years since those are about the only patterns so far. your dad is at the coroner’s office, meeting with an old hunter friend to check out the body of the latest victim.

that’s been another reminder of your brief time at a normal school with normal friends and normal hobbies. when your dad first told you he called in a friend to help, he’d asked you, “d’you remember john winchester? you met him once when you were a kid, he’s an old buddy of mine.” you shook your head and he shrugged, saying something about how it makes sense; you were young and only met him once. but the name stuck in your mind as he left, and it had nothing to do with hunting or when you were a kid on the road, stuck in motels, school if you were there long enough, or the town library if you were lucky.

that name, or the last name anyway, comes from the stanford part of your life, the one you keep cherished in the most protected corners of your heart. sam winchester was one of your few friends during your time there, and after hearing his family name spoken aloud, he’s floating through your mind all day.

he disappeared after jess, his girlfriend and one of your other few friends, died, mere weeks before your own cousin died and you left standford as well. you’ve always wondered what happened to him, the best conclusion you could come to being that he couldn’t bear her death. they were absolutely in love with each other, but you know jess would have wanted him to finish at stanford, then head to that law school he was bound to get that full-ride to. sam always had an air of strength about him, so it surprised you when you never saw him again. he wasn’t even at her funeral, and to this day, that’s your singular bone to pick with him. 

but, you can’t afford to think about him too much as you search for answers about the case. abandoning the lore websites for the meantime, you look over the police records of all the deaths that you can find, hoping to draw together any more patterns that you can use to narrow down your research. you’re jotting down a few notes, thinking you may have found something regarding accounts of a few of the men being last seen with a woman, when your train of thought is interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door.

on instinct, you draw your gun as you cross the room, looking through the peephole and silently cursing when you realize the light out front has gone out. all you can make out is the tall, broad silluete of a man thanks to the dimness of the twighlight sky.

you wait for a moment at the door, hoping he’ll just walk away after he doesn’t get an answer. but you’re unlucky, and he knocks again before calling out, “hello? rick sent me here to … help with the case, he said his kid was here. i’m john winchester’s son, sam.”

if you were in an old-timey cartoon, your jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. sam … sam winchester. it sounds just like him. trying to keep your head, you swap your gun for a nearby canteen of holy water and slip a silver knife into your pocket for accessibility. it’s too much of a coincidence for you to believe it.

you crack the door, just enough for him to hear you a bit better. “sam winchester? like stanford full-ride, lawyboy sam winchester?”

“i– how do you–” there’s a moment of silence, and you know that he’s piecing together the few clues he has; your voice and the last name you must share with your dad, the man he knows as rick. his voice is just as cautious as yours as he says your name like he can’t really believe it.

for a moment, you stop thinking when you hear his voice saying your name after so long, and you throw open the door and let him in. the light from the motel room finally illuminates his face, and it’s him, it’s really him. and the moment you think that is the moment you realize that could absolutely not be the case.

the second he turns to you from closing the door, you’re splashing holy water in his face so fast you barely catch the look he was about to give you; eyes so full of surprise and wonder and confusion and something akin to joy. you react quickly to his lack of reaction besides the normal surprise at getting splashed in the face, slashing at his arm with your silver knife to finish testing him. but he reacts just as fast as you, grabbing both of your wrists, spinning you around and pinning you to the flat surface of the door.

his hold is quite strong, but he doesn’t have the time to bear his full weight into holding you down before you react, so you’re able to manuever out of his hold with practiced ease. you lift one arm up as you yank the other down to make it so you’re able to slip down and to the side, out of his hold. then you’ve got a strong hand to his back, shoving him face-first against the door and your other arm bringing your knife to his throat.

the thought that his profile view with his pulled-taut eyebrows and the grimace on his mouth looks pretty has the audacity to float up to the forefront of your mind before you can squash it down. the whole struggle had taken mere seconds, and he resigns the minute you’ve got him pinned down.

“it’s me,” he pants, “i swear. ‘m not a shapeshifter or ghoul or anything, it was just instinct. sorry,” he explains quickly, “go ahead, test me.”

you debate saying “don’t mind if i do,” but decide that you don’t have to be teasing or snarky about it. instead, you tamp down your hesitance to hurt him, even a little bit because he still sort of feels like innocent, regular, lawboy sam to you, and you draw a thin line of blood at the spot where his neck slopes into his broad shoulder. there’s no burning, just a normal wince from his mouth, so you loosen your hold on him and step back, internally cringing at the small bit of blood beginning to slip down towards his collarbone.

“sorry,” you say, far more sincere than you would be if it’d been anybody else. this is the norm for hunters, but you haven’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that sam is a hunter. you’d never once would have guessed, though you suppose that was the point. you had done everything you could to hide that part of your life during your time at stanford.

“it’s fine,” he gives you an awkward half-smile, just as sincere as you. “just, y’know, your turn.” you’d been so busy taking in the sight of him standing there, looking almost exactly the same, but not quite, as he had in college, that you forgot about the courtesy of testing yourself too.

“right,” you clear your throat, “of course.” without the hesitance any normal person would have, you take the knife to your forearm and splash a bit of holy water on your skin. “there we go. no demons or shapeshifters or the like. that’s good.” you feel incredibly awkward all of the sudden, still so bewildered and thrown off balance by the collision of your two words. it feels like too much of a coincidence for you to be this close to your old school, be thinking about sam winchester, a symbol of that old life, then for him to show up and flip your whole entire understanding of him. there’s just about a million things running through your mind at just about a million miles per hour and it’s starting to make your head hurt.

the movement of his hand, reaching up to hold the small cut you gave him is what brings you out of your short lived reverie.

“god, i’m sorry. let me get you something for that.” you don’t give him the time to politely tell you, “no, it’s okay,” like you know he would before you’ve turned your back and crossed the room to grab a first aid kit from your bag and some rubbing alcohol from the bathroom. “sit down,” you urge him when you turn back to him, motioning towards the table you’d been seated at when he arrived.

he complies and once again, you’re thinking about the strangeness of sharing this sort of space with him. you’re used to seeing him in libraries so big that they’re almost grand for quiet study sessions or in the dining hall with his nose buried in a book or in the lecture hall where you first met him in a gen-ed class. you’re used to seeing him on one of the grassy quads with jess by his side or him in the big, open, and fancy old university buildings. now he looks right at home in the dingy motel room, so small it feels like his tall, broad frame shouldn’t fit in here, so dim that his sometimes blue or green eyes look sort of muddy. they’re pretty, nonetheless.

you set the first aid kit on the table and pull out a large bandaid and a bit of gauze. you reasses the cut to be sure he doesn’t need any other sort of bandaging and almost sigh in relief when you see how shallow it is. sam doesn’t speak or protest that he’s fine to do it himself as you pull the collar of his t-shirt aside just a bit. you’re sure his mind’s busy with a whole load of questions for you, just like you for him. the brush of your knuckles against his skin suddenly makes his presence feel more real. whatever contact you’d had during the short-lived fight you’d had was completely surreal; you weren’t sure he was really even sam, and if he was, it would feel like a lie anyways, for his hands to be rough or so quick in a fight.

he doesn’t so much as wince when you press alcohol soaked gauze to the cut, and though the wound is small and shallow enough that you’re sure it barely stings, it still feels like a sign of his being a hunter, being used to pain. you don’t like that thought; sweet, sincere, and ever so smart sam being used to pain. as you take care of the cut, he lets his eyes wander around the room, probably taking in how familiar it is, and how weird that it’s your motel room and all of your belongings packed into a single bag and your computer screen displaying hacked into police reports and the very same lore websites he frequents to solve a tricky case.

when you’re done he thanks you with a small smile and you take the seat across from him. as your fingers had brushed over his bare skin and felt a whisper of his strong shoulders, you’d gotten the strong urge to hug him. you missed him even more than you thought. that urge doesn’t leave when you move away from him.

you make a confused face at sam when he reaches for the first aid kit and pulls out another set of bandaids and gauze. he just hands you a gauze now soaked with alcohol and nods at you.

“for your arm,” he explains, because you’ve already forgotten about that as you accept it with a questioning brow.

“right,” you chuckle softly, swiping over the cut with the gauze, then taking and applying the bandaid that sam opened for you. when you’re done you have to drag your eyes up to meet sam’s gaze. there’s tension in the room, and though it’s not bad per se, it’s begging to be addressed and you’re not sure how to even start. it seems like sam’s not sure either.

so, you choose to jump right into the fire.

“it’s so good to see you, sam,” you confess, pushing all your sincerity into your voice, “i mean, this is absolutely insane and i can’t quite wrap my mind around it, but i guess i don’t really care because it’s so good to see you. i worried about you so much after … after jess died, i mean, you just dissappeared and … and i can imagine that has something to do with the fact that you’re a hunter, which is sort of incomprehensible to me, but–,” suddenly you’re hit with a new realization. if sam’s disappearance had to do with the supernatural, you wonder if jess’s death did too. but you don’t want to ask, not right now. “oh, god, and i never got to tell you how sorry i am. i– i mean. i can’t imagine.” there’s where your voice trails off and you look to sam to be the one to say something now.

“thanks,” he answers simply, voice gentle but a little pained, rightfully so. “she was your friend, too. i mean, we were all friends. and i’m sorry i disappeared like that. i, um, well, you’re right. hunting dragged me away. it’s complicated and i’ll explain it to you later. you deserve to know what happened to jess, but– but it’s a lot.” a moment of silence allows that to sink in; so something did happen to her, something more than just faulty electrical wiring in her apartment. sam’s genuine as he goes on, “and it’s great to see you too, really. it’s so strange, i mean all of this, obviously, but it’s even stranger how close we are to stanford. i was already thinking about it, about you all on the way over, and the next thing i know, you’re the suspicious hunter throwing holy water in my face.” 

you cringe a little at that, but sam smiles a little wider than he has all night. “that’s a good thing,” he half-laughs, “i don’t care how weird this coincidence is, i’m glad for it.” his hand twitches, almost as if he’d wanted to reach over and grab your hand, but thought better of it before it could happen. “i gotta ask, did you finish your degree?” the way he asks is so hopeful, and you immediately know how much he wants the answer to be yes. he’s thinking, if i couldn’t finish, please tell me at least one of us could. that one of us poor and foolish hunter kids who thought we could escape managed to long enough to finish a degree, prove that we could make something of ourselves in the normal world. it would be so nice to see that, if it couldn’t be me, it could be somebody, it could be you.

his face falls a little when he registers the sad smile on your face. your expression is more than enough of an answer, and the fact that he wanted so badly for you to have made it makes your heart break a little, for both him and you. we deserved better, you think.

“just about the same thing happened to me,” you begin to explain, “you remember my cousin, bex?” sam nods, recalling the way the two of you acted like siblings the few times he met her, how much you liked alike when you smiled, already sad for what he suspects he might hear. “she died a few weeks after jess. she and i both grew up hunting, and we both thought we got out of it, at least for a little while. we almost lasted all four years … i didn’t think there was anything weird with her death, but … my dad showed me proof of just that at her funeral, convinced me to come back to hunting with him. she was– she was hiding something, and, honestly i’m still not sure what happened. progress on her case has been slow. real slow, so we’ve been working on others in the meantime. keeping busy, you know.”

“oh, i know,” sam sighs, and you completely believe him. you wonder for a moment what bigger things he’s digging into before deciding it’s best if the two of you stick to what’s in front of you. if you go too deep, having each other, a new kind of steady presence from better times, might start feeling too unreal again. 

you want to preserve this delicate balance, where sam is still stanford sam and you’re still stanford you, but now there’s just a deeper understanding of each other. a knowing of what it’s like to grow up with a hunter for a father, to want to get away from it all, to want a sense of normalcy, and to want to learn and become something more and say “screw you!” to all of the expections. and on top of that, knowing how it feels to get so close to the finish line, only to have it ripped out of your hands like you’re a child who’s parents think they’ve had too much candy. only it’s far worse than a half eaten lollipop in the trash because people that you love died, and it was all so much more than just chasing after a momentary sugar high. 

“i’m sorry about bex,” sam says, this time actually reaching out and placing his hand on yours for a moment. his voice is as full of empathy and sincerity as ever. “she was amazing the few times i met her. i could see how close you two were.”

“thanks, sam.” you give him a small smile because those words feel so much better coming from him than just about anyone else. with that, the air seems to settle a little, and it’s far more bearable. you’ve still got a hundred and one questions to ask and a hundred and one more things to say to each other, but to find out you have this near-exact shared experience is like having so much of the weight of loneliness lifted from your chest. and it all feels even better because you know sam. you know him already. 

sure, there’s a whole lot you missed before, but you don’t doubt for a second that the sam sitting in front of you is as kind, funny, smart, witty, sincere, adorably awkward, and good as the sam you met and came to know at stanford. in fact, knowing he grew up the way he did just reaffirms his goodness to you. it’s not easy to live like that and continue choosing to be kind and well-meaning and true to yourself. then there’s this feeling of admiration for sam, just blooming in your chest and you hold back a wide grin because the timing’s not quite right. you still can’t shake the urge to hug him.

“well,” you smile casually, if not a little rueful as you say your next words, “i think our dads will go all hunter-dad-crazy on us if we keep playing catch up. i’ll give you a run down of everything i’ve got, then we can do what dropouts from the west coast’s most prestigious school’s do best; research.”

sam’s smile matches your own, and it’s achingly familiar. “well, we can’t have those asses ruin our not-quite-stanford-alumni reuinion. let’s get to work. we can pretend it’s like the good old days, spring freshman year, all of us cramming for the way-er exam at the back of the library and getting shushed by the librarians. we can pretend john and rick are the librarians.”

for the first time in a long time, you let out a loud laugh, surprised and pulled right out of you without warning. he smiles wide at the sound and finally, without restraint, you grin back. god, you missed him.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Thinking about your fic where Dallas is Tex’s older brother, where does mark come into play? Is there an au where they can be happy 😭💔💔

Well truthfully, in that fic, I think Mark’s in prison still, like at the end of That Was Then, This is Now 🥲

BUT let’s make an AU where they’re happy!

(TW- mentions of canon-typical violence/canon-typical darkness)

(Not a fic btw- just a rambly outline/headcanons)

In this AU, obviously Dally and Johnny live. (they still both have near-death experiences, but they survive yk?)

And canonically, Ponyboy and Mark Jennings are friends when they’re about 15-16ish. Now that we’ve made Dally survive, the two just end up meeting through Ponyboy. Now they know of each other, but they don’t know that they’re half-brothers. Dally thinks of Mark as a pesky kid who’s more annoying than Ponyboy but less annoying than Curly Shepard, and Mark thinks of Dally as a tough-hood-turned slightly pathetic guy who “Couldn’t even get the cops to kill him right smh” (crude I know but I genuinely think that’s what Mark would think 😭)

Then I’m gonna have Steve (he’s observant- in the book he was the one who found Johnny’s jacket in the lot, and the one who noticed Dally had taken his ring back from Sylvia) and Johnny (also pretty observant, just in more of a literary analysis way than in a physical way) discuss how similar the two are.

Eventually they mention it to Two-Bit, who’s like “Uh yeah they’re half brothers? Obviously?”

And Steve and Johnny are like “The fuck do you mean Pony’s buddy is Dally’s half brother??”

Two-Bit, who I’m making Mark’s cousin in this ‘cuz Emilio Estevez played both of them, goes “Yeah no- his mom, my aunt, cheated on her husband with Dally’s dad when I was like…four or five…which was how she got knocked up with Mark…y’all didn’t know that??”

Anyhow all three go tell Dally, who doesn’t initially care all that much. Mark’s got a stable life, and Dally doesn’t particularly feel the need to be part of it, although he does maybe start inviting the kid along to the drive in with him, Pony, and Johnny just a little more often

Mark is similarly indifferent when Pony tells him, just sorta says “Aw man, why’s Shepard get to have the cooler hood for an older brother??”

But that all comes crashing down when the events of TWTTIN come to pass. Now, instead of getting arrested when Bryon calls the cops on him, Mark remembers Dally. So he runs from the cops and shows up on Buck Merril’s doorstep just like Pony and Johnny did two years prior.

Dally’s initially mad about it- it’s one thing helping Johnny and Pony, and a whole other thing helping this annoying kid who got himself into this mess. But…he can also see himself in Mark, because the kid’s scared and helpless and alone, and is covering it with anger just like Dally always did.

So Dally lets Mark in. Angrily, and with a ton of complaints, but he lets him in all the same.

When the cops come around, looking for the runaway dealer Mark Jennings, Dally denies knowing anything, and the cops lose Mark’s trail and just kinda give up.

Then Dally forces Mark to dye his blonde hair brown (in a reverse-Ponyboy move lol), and bullies Buck Merril into giving the kid a job even with his record. (According to Mark on pg 147 of the book, he only started dealing to begin with because no jobs would take him with his police record) I’m pretty sure that Tulsa is actually big enough that no one recognizes him, especially with the dye job. I mean the town I’m from is a quarter of Tulsa’s size, and I still barely ever run into folks I know without planning it. And I get out a lot. So like if Mark’s at Buck’s place, I don’t think a lotta people will know of him- he’s sixteen, no one who goes there will know him. (And if they do, well, it’s Buck Merril’s place, nobody would dare to call the cops there anyhow.)

So Mark carries on like that, living low…ish…I mean c’mon he’s still Mark Jennings he still causes trouble. Just not so much trouble that Dally can’t keep him in check. He probably does still hate Bryon- just not enough to wanna kill him?? (Although again idk he’s still Mark maybe he wants revenge anyhow…he won’t get revenge tho ‘cuz I have other plot priorities and anyhow I think Bryon’s suffered enough)

Dally and Mark evolve to be kind of like fanon Tim and Curly- not particularly affectionate, but they care for each other. Mark shows it by helping Dally with chores occasionally, and sometimes stealing him stuff like rings and cigarettes. Dally shows it by letting Mark tease him, and by taking Mark places and spending time with him. And letting Mark call himself “Mark Winston”. (Again, Dallas acts like he doesn’t want to- hell, he probably believes he doesn’t want to, he’s pretty good at lying to himself- but he clearly does) (Tim, Johnny, Two-Bit, and Steve bully him mercilessly for this) (Sodapop doesn't ‘cuz he thinks it’s sweet and doesn’t wanna discourage it lol)

Then, about two years later, we’re at the start of my Tex fic, Hail Mary. That plays out about the same, except both Mark and Johnny convince him to help out with custody of a ten-year-old Tex.

Dally is annoyed still, but has begrudgingly grown to like these stupid kids- including Mason, who isn’t technically related to anyone but Tex, but hey he had a shitty cowboy dad too so he gets to be in the “shitty cowboy dad club” lol

I figure Dally stays in Garyville with Mason and Tex during the weekdays, and takes them to Buck’s on weekends ‘cause he does still have most of his life in Tulsa. Sometimes Johnny stays with them in Garyville too, ‘cuz yk, Johnny’s Dally’s best friend lol, and besides he’s not only an adult now too but is also an adult who is much more patient and easy to get along with than Dally.

Mark and Tex are a horrible combination to be around, even though Mark is eighteen now and really should be more mature than a ten year old. Dally has his mischievousness, sure, but neither Mark nor Tex were born with the little voice in their heads that says things like “arson is bad” and “actions have consequences”. Like Dally likes breaking laws- Mark and Tex don’t even consider laws. It’s bad. Dally and Mason leave them alone to go grocery shopping once and come back to see Mark has let the horses into the house, all because Tex triple-dog-dared him to. Another time, after Cole Collins tells Mason not to hang out with his kids anymore, Mark uses Cole’s car to teach Tex how to hot-wire things. Dally nearly murders him. So does Mason. It’s a problem…

Anyhow, those are my thoughts for now, lemme know yours!

[plounce]

i need to make up my own headcanons about folk dravanian beliefs. i don't think there are a lot of organized beliefs, i think it's a lot of people reacting to ishgardian oppression and struggle by trying to go the complete opposite direction while also unintentionally continuing over their established cultural ideas of what religion entails + trying to imitate the scary stories they were told (which weren't aiming to be accurate, but instead to portray the "other side" in as monstrous a light as possible) (most of the horror we get in game regarding heresy is about the ishgardian punishment + creation of heresy - levequests! witchdrop!). i think ysayle was a great organizer of different factions of heretics and actually got them coordinated with dragons (ty echo!), although she has her own cult of shiva that she led. i don't think every strain of dravo-coerthan folk belief centers around shiva. blood drinking -> transformation. how much information was shared of the true origins of the war pre-ysayle's echo vision by the dragons to the people? were any specific dragons especially keen on using elezen soldiers? how much interaction between dragons and heretics was there anyway? mind-controlled scalekin vs turned elezen. hyurs???? what role did ex-ishgardian hyurs have in the various movements? where do heretics live? what do they eat? how much did the sharlayan colony know of and interact with them? how much do heretics (get to) go up to the churning mists? there are several spots in the CCH where the boundary to the void seems thin - how much do heretics interact with voidsent? allagan voidsent v dragon war. do the eorzean dragons hate voidsent/allagans as much as their eastern/southern siblings/cousins? did they know bahamut was stuck up there? did they know tiamat kept herself stuck in azys lla? gnath onemind & their noxious anti-dragon vapes vs dragon scalekin mind control. are transformed heretics able to be mindcontrolled? what other folk heroes do heretics have? what do they think of the rest of the twelve? ysayle's cult was into hraesvelgr - are any really into nidhogg? eye symbolism? any weird beliefs about au ra coming from the heretic side? lightning as the opposite of ice? nidhogg is lightning-aspected in opposition to shiva's ice. the boy and the dragon gay? the boy and the dragon gay: a literary analysis??????

[celandeline]

Okay this is my first time asking for a one shot so I hope this makes sense. Okay how about Farleigh and reader aren’t close friends but they are close like behind closed door (if you know what I mean) and like reader is sensitive. So one day Farleigh makes a joke about her without noticing she is there and like hurts her feelings. Like does that make sense obviously you can ignore this if you want. But you if you could write about the part where he is apologizing to her (smut will be great honestly), but you do whatever you want.

sorry this took so long - i promise i'm working through all the lovely asks you guys sent me, it's just taking a minute (school and shit, you know)

anyways!

I'm Sorry (In Not So Many Words)

Farleigh Start is a lot of things. At first glance, a stuck up bitch, but that’s only the first of many layers. He’s wicked smart when it comes to literary analysis, can write an argumentative essay like nobody’s business, and breezes through books faster than anybody else you know. He’s funny in a bitchy kind of way that’s distinctly American and not to everyone's taste, but definitely to yours. He’s fashionable to a fault - a bit of a diva, truly - but on more than one occasion has held your hair back so you can vomit vodka into the toilet. He always has enough weed or coke or acid tabs to share and always has extra room in his dorm for you to crash if you’re too high to get home. He’s mean and nice at the same time, and to most people, it’s confusing. But not to you. 

To anyone else, you’re friends. Barely friends, even, connected only by the fact that Felix and Annabel are kind-of-sort-of a thing. You would have never have even met him if Annabel hadn’t dragged you into Felix’s circle, but you’re glad that you did. It’s fun, finding excuses to get each other alone, patting concealer over hickeys you’re not ‘supposed’ to have. And he’s nicer behind closed doors, when he’s not putting on a show for his cousin. You might even go as far as to say that he’s sweet, when it's the two of you alone. Of course, you’d never tell anyone - not that anyone would believe you, either. 

So when you overhear Felix ask Farleigh if he’d ever consider going out with you to double date with him and Annabel and he laughs, an icicle shoots through your heart. It’s condescending, his laugh; it’s you’re kidding and I would never and you can’t be serious all at the same time, and it shoots through you like a bullet. 

You don’t show up to Kings Arms even though Annabel texts you that that’s where everyone is, instead holing up in your room, the sound of Farleigh’s laughter banging around in your head. You don’t know what the truth is. Has he just been leading you on this whole time? Pretending to like you for… what? It can’t be sex, he can get that with other people, it can’t be drugs, he always supplies them, it can’t be money either… but the way he laughed, like it was so ludicrous that he would ever consider going on an actual date - a double date, even, which is really only half a date - with you. And to think that you liked him. Even just as a friend. Maybe you were wrong to think that his bitchiness was a front - maybe that’s just who he is. Maybe you were wrong to think that he was anything else. Maybe-

A gentle knock at your dorm door interrupts your spiraling, and you get up from your bed, padding across the room to look out the peephole, and find a familiar puff of curls. You’re opening the door before you can really think about if you want to see him right now, just out of habit. 

Farleigh smiles at you, and breezes into your room like nothing’s wrong. “Did I leave my grinder in here?”

“I don’t know.” You say, closing the door and retreating back to your bed, watching him sort through the things on your desk, looking for the little blue grinder he keeps with the rest of his weed supplies. He sorts through your things like they’re his - and if you’re being honest, some of them are. Over the course of the semester, the line between what’s yours and what’s his has blurred significantly. 

He turns around at the sound of your voice, peering down at you. “What’s wrong with you?” It’s teasing and sympathetic at the same time. 

“Nothing.” You shrug. “I’m just not feeling well.”

He squints, moving from the desk to sit down on the bed next to you. “Uh huh.”

You’re really not in the mood for him right now. “Fuck off.” Why should you give him the time of day when he was so rude behind your back? You don’t really want to tell him off to his face - he’s quick as a whip in an argument, you’ve seen it firsthand - but you really, really, don’t want to see him right now. 

He laughs, sharp and surprised. “Wow.” He says. “What?”

You roll your eyes. “What, what?” You mock him. You know you’re being childish, but you don’t really care - it was childish of him to laugh. 

He rolls his eyes back at you. “What’s your problem?” He asks. “You were perfectly fine earlier, did I say something?”

“Obviously.” You say.

He waits for you to keep going, but you don’t. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“I heard you and Felix.” You snap. “Is the idea of actually going on a date with me in public, with other people, that fucking funny?”

His face shifts into something you don’t recognize. “I-”

“If you don’t want to do this anymore, you should just say so.” You keep going. “I thought that we were actually, I don’t know, friends, at least. Call me crazy but I felt like I actually knew you, and actually liked you.” You laugh. “I just-” You pause. “Nevermind. I guess I was stupid for thinking that it went both ways. I guess I shouldn’t have, I mean, I was watching you do this same shit to other people, I don’t know why I thought I would be different-”

“I wasn’t laughing at the idea of going out with you, I was laughing because there’s no way in hell I would ever go on a double date with Felix and Annabel. They’re fucking insufferable as is.” He interrupts you, placing a hand on your cheek and turning your face so that you’re looking at him. “Did you really think I was laughing at you?”

“I wouldn’t have been so pissed off if I didn’t think you were.” You say, not quite sure whether to believe him or not. “But-”

“I’ll take you out.” He says it casually, thumbing over your cheekbone. “Just us. We can go get dinner at that new place by the pubs. If you want.”

All of the anger and doubt that had been piling up on your chest is suddenly lifted. “That sounds great.”

“Cool.” He says, grinning, his hand still caressing the side of your face. His fingers trail down the side of your neck and then he’s cradling your head, pulling you closer to press his lips to yours - softly, gently. It’s an ‘I’m sorry’ in fewer words, but you know him well enough to read it as an apology. 

You kiss him back, pouring your sorry back into him. You shouldn’t have been so quick to assume that he was laughing at you, you should have had more faith in the fact that companionship is a two way street - he seeks you out as much as you do him. It’s mutual, and in the heat of the moment, you had forgotten that. Sweeping your tongue into his mouth, you smile against his lips when he sighs into the kiss. 

He pulls away so that his lips are just brushing yours. “Let me make it up to you?”

“You don’t have to.” You say, leaning back as he gently pushes you down on the mattress. “It was really my fault, I misunderstood-” 

He noses down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake as your back hits the mattress. His curls tickle your skin as he works down your collarbone, rucking up your shirt so that he can kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his lashes as he does. Butterflies swirl in your stomach as he kisses over the skin. “Farleigh-”

“What?” It’s teasing and playful as he sits back on his heels to thumb at the waistband of your pants. He drops his voice slightly. “Can I?”

You nod, and he dips his fingers below your waistband, gently pulling your pants down to your ankles. You kick them off the rest of the way as he leans back down over you, holding your eyes with his as he noses between your thighs. You suck in a breath as his tongue makes contact with your skin, and a bolt of pleasure shoots through you. Your tip your head back against the mattress as he starts to work his mouth over you. He knows how to use his tongue - there’s a reason there’s a rumor about him sucking teachers off - and he puts it to work right away, diving in like he’s hungry for it. 

“Oh fuck-” You wind your fingers into his curls, tugging at the root. He moans into your skin, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. It’s good - it’s always good with him. That’s another thing about Farleigh - you can always trust him to actually get you off. Unlike most of the other guys you’ve been with.

But you feel a little guilty that he thinks he has to make it up to you, when you were the one who didn’t bother to ask him what he meant. If anything, you should be sucking him off. Tugging more insistently at his hair, you pull him up to latch your lips together in a kiss, licking yourself off his skin. He pants against your lips. “Why’d you stop me?”

“I want you to fuck me.” You say. That way it’s even, that way, you’re both getting to enjoy yourselves. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He shucks his trousers and boxers down in one motion, kicking them down the bed. He’s already hard - but he usually is, after burying his head between your thighs - and you don’t hesitate to reach out and stroke him a few times, watching his face change into that almost pained look he gets when you fuck him.

You line him up, brushing his skin against yours, and watch as his eyelids drop to half mast as he pushes in. The stretch just borders on the edge of too much, but the groan he lets out distracts you from the sting. He always sounds so pretty when you’re like this, tangled up in the sheets of your too-small dorm room bed. You wind a hand into his hair and pull him down into the crook of your neck so that you can nip at his earlobe as he starts that slow, delicious grind you’ve come to associate with him. 

He sinks his teeth into the skin of your neck, gently biting over a hickey that he left only a couple days before, refreshing the mark as he muffles a groan. You trail your lips down the shell of his ear until you find his neck again, doing the same. His hips stutter into yours as you suck at the tender skin of his neck, and you smile. Even though he’s on top, he’s still putty in your hands - or mouth, really.

“Farleigh.” You whisper against the mark you just left.

“Mm, what?” He nips at your collarbone.

“Switch with me.” You say. “Let me on top.”

He laughs, a breathy thing that borders on a whine. “I’m supposed to be making it up to you-”

“Which is why you should let me on top.” You say. 

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you-”

“Please?”

His hips stutter against yours again, and that's how you know you’ve got him. He pulls you tight to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and rolls across the mattress until he’s flat on his back and you’re straddling him without ever pulling out. Sitting up, you take in the sight of him, pupils blown wide, lips still slick with spit, a blooming mark peeking out from behind his ear, and plant your hands on his chest for leverage as you start to bounce. 

He grins, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle the moan that forces its way out of his chest as you work yourself up and down his cock, his hands finding their place on your hips, fingers digging into your skin. You purposefully scratch your fingernails down his chest to watch him squirm, and he uses his grip on your hips to fuck up into you, to watch you falter. It’s a fun game that you play, who can make the other keen and whine more, made even more fun by the fact that more often than not, you win. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Farleigh rasps, his grip tightening as he takes over your bouncing for you. You let him move you at his own pace, able to tell just by the way he whines that he’s close. He throws his head back and you watch his stomach tighten as he lets out a long groan. His whole body tenses, and then stills. You wait for his eyes to flutter open before you start bouncing again. 

He gasps, a high pitched laugh leaving his lips. “Shit-”

“I’m almost there.” You say, watching his face as the coil tightens in your gut. 

“Take your time.” He says, panting. “I’m good.”

He always says that, but you know it’s only a matter of time before it’s too much and he starts to grit his teeth. You know what it’s like - you’ve been on the other end before, already came but Farleigh’s still fucking, the drag growing more overstimulating the longer it goes on. So you bounce faster, focusing on the way he looks underneath you, debauched and panting, eyes half lidded as he watches you go up and down, sweat gathering in the hollow of his neck. God, he’s so beautiful. 

“Ah-” 

You shake apart on top of him, and he catches you as you slump down onto his chest, arms wrapping around your middle. You nose into the crook of his neck with a sigh, contentment washing over you. “‘M sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being stupid. Thinking you were laughing at me. Sulking about it.” You say, pressing a kiss to the warmth of his skin. 

“‘M sorry for making you think I was laughing at you.” He says. 

You sigh. “We’re good?”

“We’re good.” He says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

[lillyponders]

Call for beta-readers

I have finally completed my novel, and need beta-readers to evaluate it before I go on to query literary agents. I cannot financially compensate readers beyond token amounts, but I am willing to return the favour by reading and giving detailed feedback on your own manuscripts (so long as they are not significantly lengthier than my own).

If you are interested, please say so in the replies. Then I will DM you a list of things I would like you to pay attention to during your reading, and provide me with feedback on those points. I would like the interested readers to complete the reading in a month.

Brief info about the novel:

Length: 126k words

Genre: gothic mystery-romance, historical, LGBT

Inspirations and comparative titles: Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights (1847), Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla (1871-72), Sarah Waters' Affinity (1999), Guillermo del Toro's Crimson Peak (2015), Mexican Gothic (2020) by Sylvia Moreno Garcia, Bitterthorn (2023) by Kat Dunn, The Knowing (2024) by Emma Hinds.

Adult-grade, contains depictions of physical and sexual violence, and an explicit sex-scene

Story summary:

In 1872, a young prodigy spirit-medium Agnes Iddins is called to investigate a haunting of a great country house in Derbyshire.

The house, nicknamed 'Shrike's Barrow', had been a site of an extraordinary crime in 1831, when nearly the entire noble family and a few senior servants to boot were brutally murdered in a single night, 13 people in total.

Agnes is hired by the only surviving family member, baronet Sir Ethan Ramshaw, then a young man, and joined by a rationalist sceptic Dr William Trowley, Sir Ethan's distant cousin who is to inherit the estate. Agnes befriends the servants, especially the sardonic female gardener Heather, in an effort to uncover the circumstance leading up to the massacre.

When she contacts the spirit of one of the victims, her investigation takes an unexpected turn. Can Agnes solve the mystery and banish the evil spirit, or will she succumb to the darkness of Barrow?

[teddypickerry]

CHARACTERS I THINK WOULD BE 100x BETTER WITH JESS THAN RORY EVER WAS.

before the literati army comes for me, i don’t dislike them with passion like those fuckass dean fans. when i watch the show i enjoy them the most by far. i enjoy any scene jess is in. however, when i step back, yeah there was no way in hell they were gonna work out in the long run. the writers wouldn’t let that happen, nor should it have. they’re cute; but i’d prefer better for both of them in their own ways.

aka team rory gets therapy, jess gets bitches.

oo. serena van der woodsen (i know, i know. just stick with me!!!)

just hear me out for two seconds. do i think they’d last a lifetime? no, no the fuck i don’t. would they be fun to watch? oh, hell yeah. jess thinks she’s what she is, an annoying girl raised by a billionaire. but she somehow woos him with her long legs and careless attitude. do they break up after she graduates and does nothing with her life while he’s busting his ass off to make a couple hundred a week? um, yeah. but that’s probably already their third breakup because lily hated him at first (hiiii lorelai), blair was a bitch to him, chuck set him up, and gossip girl made a blast about his past. side note: what would jess’s gossip girl name be? i’m leaning toward a catcher in the rye reference. and would he probably be better fit for blair? mmm, yeah. but would that happen, mmm no. but that’s for another time.

oo. spencer hastings (here’s where we’re getting into it)

spencer is one of the few characters that challenges jess’s family dynamic. yeah, he dated his now step-cousin but her sister made out with her half-sister’s half-brother who share a dad that she technically shares sooooo. not to mention her mom’s not even her mom and she has an evil twin sister. so crazy family dynamic no one else understands? yeah they got that covered. i like to call spencer the better rory on speed. because well… spencer was on speed. she definitely fits the academic type who can not only match but challenge his literary references. she just gets it without trying and she’d sure as hell hold a grudge against liz. they’re both strong as hell but they need someone to lean on, they are kids.

oo. marissa cooper (you knew it was coming)

i don’t need to remind you guys of my absolute devotion toward this crossover ship. but hey i’m doing it anyways. let’s make a list, shall we? psycho mom who never took accountability for her actions and *borderline* abused them? check. dad who left? check. running off ‘cause life sucks x2? checcckkkkk. i mean the list could go on and on. my punk loving babies who mentioned the same book and bands, awwwww. i think the great thing about them is they both need to be protected whether they realize it or not. i think they’d be one of those couples that can speak with one look - no words necessary. she glances at him once and he’s holding onto her for dear life. have i imagined their entire relationship in my head? yes, yes i have. is that fic coming? it was supposed to but i suck. anyways, these two were doomed from their start. they really weren’t given a fair chance. but they got past it (or at least they were both *going* to). le sigh.

oo. literally anyone.

<3

[bluecastlecomic]

Previous | Next

My feeling on this scene is essentially that Abel feels like he failed Cissy as a parent, but he can still support Valancy a little.

As an aside, my buffer has pretty much evaporated, so I may need to take a couple weeks off to give myself time to finish some pages! I'm sorry!!!

Go to Start | Start of Part 2

[hp-hcs]

phantasm (remember?) — mattheo riddle x gn! hella manipulative! reader

phantasm noun noun: phantasm; plural noun: phantasms

LITERARY a figment of the imagination; an illusion or apparition.

warnings: minor character death, murder, severe manipulation, gaslighting, blink-and-you-miss-it reference to self harm,❗️stand-alone/no part two❗️

is he schizophrenic, high, or haunted? you decide!

❕it’s supposed to be confusing!!! you should finish reading this and be like “what the fuck did i just read”, alr?❕

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Mattheo Riddle had always been odd. Everyone knew that.

Maybe it had something to do with his parents. One Crucio from his father too many, perhaps. 

Maybe he hit his head when he was younger. That wasn’t too much of a stretch. He’d always been quite reckless. 

But either way, no one could pinpoint what event caused Mattheo to see things that weren’t really there. 

~~~

It first came to light when Mattheo, staying the night at his cousin’s house for a sleepover at the tender age of five, stomped over to his Aunt Narcissa to tattle.

“They pushed me down th’ stairs, Aunt Cissy!” he whined, sticking out his lower lip in a pout. “See? I even skinned my knee!”

“Who did? Draco?”

“No, Y/n!”

~~~

Mattheo couldn’t remember much about the Janus Thickey ward. 

He’d spent a month there when he was six, but didn’t have a single memory of his time there. Just vague flashes that haunted his nightmares, but ones that he could never remember once he woke. 

Narcissa remembered though. And so did Draco. 

The Malfoys both remember visiting Mattheo in the hospital, Draco clutching Mattheo’s stuffed dragon under one arm and holding onto the string of a “Get Well Soon!” mylar balloon in his other hand, only for the pair to find Mattheo hiding under his bed and mumbling to himself, furiously scratching at his arms and crying. 

The Malfoys remember. 

~~~

Mattheo couldn’t remember if you had always been there, or if you just showed up one day. 

There were a lot of things Mattheo couldn’t remember. 

~~~

“Who can tell me what a boggart is?” Professor Moody asked, pacing the front of the room with his odd, uneven gait. An old antique armoire stood near the front of the room, a large area around it cleared of the usual clutter that filled every inch of the classroom. 

Surprising absolutely nobody, Granger’s hand shot up. 

Mattheo shot a look over to his cousin, rolling his eyes, while Draco smothered a laugh in response.

“A boggart is a creature that takes on the form of one’s greatest fear, sir,” Granger said in that obnoxious know-it-all tone of hers. “No one knows what their true forms are.”

“One’s greatest fear, sir,” Mattheo mocked under his breath to Draco in a purposefully bad imitation of Granger. 

“Ah, Riddle. How nice of you to volunteer. Step on up, boy.” Moody’s hand came down on Mattheo’s shoulder from behind him, gripping it firmly. “Go on. Grab your wand.”

Mattheo’s face drained of color. Surely Moody wouldn’t…?

No, it’s Mad-Eye Moody. Of course he’d do something like this. 

Mattheo stood on shaking legs, gulping as he approached the ominously placed armoire. 

Everyone watched with rapt attention. 

What was Mattheo Riddle afraid of?

The Dark Lord? Dumbledore?

Or something more benign, like spiders or small spaces?

Whatever it was, Mattheo’s fellow students were not expecting a teenager to step out of the armoire. 

Maybe fourteen at the most, unassuming, wearing…Riddle’s quidditch jersey?

They weren’t a student, that was for sure. Nobody in the room recognized them.

(Except for the one poor bastard whose boggart it was.)

Professor Moody narrowed his eyes at the boggart, his gaze quickly shifting between the harmless-looking teen and the literal son of the Dark Lord, the latter of which was frozen stiff with fear, his wand threatening to slip from his quivering fingers at any moment.

The boggart tilted its head and smiled.

~~~

Is this how Potter feels, when Father’s inside his head?

Mattheo sat uncomfortably across from Professor Moody, the professor’s desk being the only thing separating them.

The professor said nothing, merely observing Mattheo. A bizarre enchanted cuckoo clock on the wall trumpeted like an elephant, signaling the hour, then returned to its steady tick tick tick.

“Mr. Riddle, do you ever hear…voices? Voices that maybe…encourage you to do bad things?”

Mattheo was sweating. How did he know about you? How?

“He’s just trying to get in your head, Mattheo,” you murmured, sitting next to him in the other armchair. “That’s all.”

Was it? Mattheo wondered. 

“Y’know, I’m starting to think you’re the one that’s in my head,” he said softly. “Nobody else thinks you’re real.”

Your face soured. “You think I’m not real? That I don’t exist? Huh? He’s lying to you! He’s a liar and a manipulator!”

“Just get out of my head!” Mattheo pleaded quietly. “Please!”

You fumed, jumping up to sit on the edge of Moody’s desk. You swung your legs back and forth, an angry expression marring your features. “Matty-”

“Stop calling me that!” he snapped. “Just go away! Leave me alone!”

“But you’re my best friend, Matty,” you insisted innocently. 

“We are not friends!”

You sighed dramatically as you laid down on the desk, putting the back of your hand up to your forehead—as if pretending to faint—as you did so. “Then what are we, Matty? Paramours? Estranged lovers?”

“Enemies,” he hissed, his knuckles white with how tightly he was clenching his fists. 

“Well, I have always loved the enemies to lovers trope,” you said breezily, smirking at him. “Besides, you haven’t got anyone else. Admit it. I’m all you have.”

Moody watched Mattheo have his one-sided conversation with wide eyes, unsure of what was happening. “Mr. Riddle? Are you alright? Wh-who are you talking to?”

“See?” You clicked your tongue, shaking your head slowly. “He thinks you’re crazy.”

“There are many talented healers that I could contact–”

Mattheo’s gaze kept darting between you and Moody as his breathing picked up. 

“Bet he wants to send you back to Janus Thickey,” you whispered, purposefully turning your voice soft and fearful, blinking back fake tears. “I don’t want to disappear again, Mattheo, please.”

“I–” Mattheo stammered, dread creeping up his spine at the thought of being alone again. 

“Please?” you begged. “You know what to do. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

“He– what? No!”

“But he wronged you,” you whisper softly, your tone manipulative and gentle. “He deserves to suffer.”

“Stop it!” Mattheo pleaded again, reflexively drawing his wand and pointing it at you. 

“He wronged you,” you repeated, eyes narrowing. 

“Stop!”

“He deserves to suffer.”

“Shut up!”

“He wronged you.”

“Y/n!”

“He deserves–”

“Avada Kedavra!”

You both fell silent, your argument abruptly cut off with the resounding thunk of Moody’s body hitting the floor. 

Dead. 

~~~

“Oh my Merlin– y-you killed someone!” Mattheo panicked, dropping his wand and grabbing fistfuls of his hair. 

“Oh, no no no, Matty. I didn’t kill anyone,” you said sweetly, examining your nails apathetically. “You did.”

“I’ll tell everyone,” Mattheo threatened through his quivering lower lip. “I will. I’ll tell them it was you.”

“Who’s going to believe you?” you cooed, your voice dripping in saccharine sweetness as you leaned forward to tousle his hair. 

Mattheo flinched back. 

You laughed, patting his cheek as you hopped off the desk. “Come find me when you’re ready to help me with my next…project.”

“Y-you planned this?”

“Duh.” You rolled your eyes. “Catch up, love. You’re not stupid.”

With that, you stand up on tiptoe, plant a fat kiss on his cheek, and disappear out the door without another word. 

Mattheo swore he could see bloody footprints marking your trail down the hall. 

[sammyluvr]

literary parallels — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, light angst, fluff, small injuries, few seconds of physical fighting (self-defense), no use of y/n, you have a dad and i gave him a name (rick lol), mentions of death of loved ones, sort of case fic, kinda ignores canon timeline in terms of a few minor things but canon doesn’t matter much in this fic lol, poorly edited most likely, 3.6K words. requested !

summary : sam is someone from your past at stanford university, and the last place you expect to see him again is on a case. that’s exactly where you find him.

today is one of those days where the reality of your life feels strange, unwelcome, and somewhat foreign. it’s not as if you’re new to the hunting life; it’s just the opposite, and yet, you often feel removed from it, especially after having lived normally at college for a few years. but you were ripped back into hunting without being able to finish your degree by your father after the death of your closest cousin. 

so now you’re cooped up in a crappy motel room searching endlessly through detailed lore websites and the few books you have on you, trying to make sense of the odd patterns of killings in the small california town. that’s part of the pit in your stomach for today; the beach town, cayucos, is only three hours from stanford. 

being so close to your former university after almost a whole year brings back a whole lot of mixed feelings. mostly longing for the normalcy that you loved and lost, but also a renewed urgency to find what killed your cousin. she had been studying at a different college just an hour inland from you. when she died, you had wanted to salt and burn her body and move on. but when your father showed up with proof of odd circumstances, he pursuaded you to rejoin him in the hunting life.

the deaths in cayucos are certainly odd, but they lack the defining features that would allow you to identify the creature at fault. so, you’re searching for anything with a grudge against hot men and a killing cycle of seven years since those are about the only patterns so far. your dad is at the coroner’s office, meeting with an old hunter friend to check out the body of the latest victim.

that’s been another reminder of your brief time at a normal school with normal friends and normal hobbies. when your dad first told you he called in a friend to help, he’d asked you, “d’you remember john winchester? you met him once when you were a kid, he’s an old buddy of mine.” you shook your head and he shrugged, saying something about how it makes sense; you were young and only met him once. but the name stuck in your mind as he left, and it had nothing to do with hunting or when you were a kid on the road, stuck in motels, school if you were there long enough, or the town library if you were lucky.

that name, or the last name anyway, comes from the stanford part of your life, the one you keep cherished in the most protected corners of your heart. sam winchester was one of your few friends during your time there, and after hearing his family name spoken aloud, he’s floating through your mind all day.

he disappeared after jess, his girlfriend and one of your other few friends, died, mere weeks before your own cousin died and you left standford as well. you’ve always wondered what happened to him, the best conclusion you could come to being that he couldn’t bear her death. they were absolutely in love with each other, but you know jess would have wanted him to finish at stanford, then head to that law school he was bound to get that full-ride to. sam always had an air of strength about him, so it surprised you when you never saw him again. he wasn’t even at her funeral, and to this day, that’s your singular bone to pick with him. 

but, you can’t afford to think about him too much as you search for answers about the case. abandoning the lore websites for the meantime, you look over the police records of all the deaths that you can find, hoping to draw together any more patterns that you can use to narrow down your research. you’re jotting down a few notes, thinking you may have found something regarding accounts of a few of the men being last seen with a woman, when your train of thought is interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door.

on instinct, you draw your gun as you cross the room, looking through the peephole and silently cursing when you realize the light out front has gone out. all you can make out is the tall, broad silluete of a man thanks to the dimness of the twighlight sky.

you wait for a moment at the door, hoping he’ll just walk away after he doesn’t get an answer. but you’re unlucky, and he knocks again before calling out, “hello? rick sent me here to … help with the case, he said his kid was here. i’m john winchester’s son, sam.”

if you were in an old-timey cartoon, your jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. sam … sam winchester. it sounds just like him. trying to keep your head, you swap your gun for a nearby canteen of holy water and slip a silver knife into your pocket for accessibility. it’s too much of a coincidence for you to believe it.

you crack the door, just enough for him to hear you a bit better. “sam winchester? like stanford full-ride, lawyboy sam winchester?”

“i– how do you–” there’s a moment of silence, and you know that he’s piecing together the few clues he has; your voice and the last name you must share with your dad, the man he knows as rick. his voice is just as cautious as yours as he says your name like he can’t really believe it.

for a moment, you stop thinking when you hear his voice saying your name after so long, and you throw open the door and let him in. the light from the motel room finally illuminates his face, and it’s him, it’s really him. and the moment you think that is the moment you realize that could absolutely not be the case.

the second he turns to you from closing the door, you’re splashing holy water in his face so fast you barely catch the look he was about to give you; eyes so full of surprise and wonder and confusion and something akin to joy. you react quickly to his lack of reaction besides the normal surprise at getting splashed in the face, slashing at his arm with your silver knife to finish testing him. but he reacts just as fast as you, grabbing both of your wrists, spinning you around and pinning you to the flat surface of the door.

his hold is quite strong, but he doesn’t have the time to bear his full weight into holding you down before you react, so you’re able to manuever out of his hold with practiced ease. you lift one arm up as you yank the other down to make it so you’re able to slip down and to the side, out of his hold. then you’ve got a strong hand to his back, shoving him face-first against the door and your other arm bringing your knife to his throat.

the thought that his profile view with his pulled-taut eyebrows and the grimace on his mouth looks pretty has the audacity to float up to the forefront of your mind before you can squash it down. the whole struggle had taken mere seconds, and he resigns the minute you’ve got him pinned down.

“it’s me,” he pants, “i swear. ‘m not a shapeshifter or ghoul or anything, it was just instinct. sorry,” he explains quickly, “go ahead, test me.”

you debate saying “don’t mind if i do,” but decide that you don’t have to be teasing or snarky about it. instead, you tamp down your hesitance to hurt him, even a little bit because he still sort of feels like innocent, regular, lawboy sam to you, and you draw a thin line of blood at the spot where his neck slopes into his broad shoulder. there’s no burning, just a normal wince from his mouth, so you loosen your hold on him and step back, internally cringing at the small bit of blood beginning to slip down towards his collarbone.

“sorry,” you say, far more sincere than you would be if it’d been anybody else. this is the norm for hunters, but you haven’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that sam is a hunter. you’d never once would have guessed, though you suppose that was the point. you had done everything you could to hide that part of your life during your time at stanford.

“it’s fine,” he gives you an awkward half-smile, just as sincere as you. “just, y’know, your turn.” you’d been so busy taking in the sight of him standing there, looking almost exactly the same, but not quite, as he had in college, that you forgot about the courtesy of testing yourself too.

“right,” you clear your throat, “of course.” without the hesitance any normal person would have, you take the knife to your forearm and splash a bit of holy water on your skin. “there we go. no demons or shapeshifters or the like. that’s good.” you feel incredibly awkward all of the sudden, still so bewildered and thrown off balance by the collision of your two words. it feels like too much of a coincidence for you to be this close to your old school, be thinking about sam winchester, a symbol of that old life, then for him to show up and flip your whole entire understanding of him. there’s just about a million things running through your mind at just about a million miles per hour and it’s starting to make your head hurt.

the movement of his hand, reaching up to hold the small cut you gave him is what brings you out of your short lived reverie.

“god, i’m sorry. let me get you something for that.” you don’t give him the time to politely tell you, “no, it’s okay,” like you know he would before you’ve turned your back and crossed the room to grab a first aid kit from your bag and some rubbing alcohol from the bathroom. “sit down,” you urge him when you turn back to him, motioning towards the table you’d been seated at when he arrived.

he complies and once again, you’re thinking about the strangeness of sharing this sort of space with him. you’re used to seeing him in libraries so big that they’re almost grand for quiet study sessions or in the dining hall with his nose buried in a book or in the lecture hall where you first met him in a gen-ed class. you’re used to seeing him on one of the grassy quads with jess by his side or him in the big, open, and fancy old university buildings. now he looks right at home in the dingy motel room, so small it feels like his tall, broad frame shouldn’t fit in here, so dim that his sometimes blue or green eyes look sort of muddy. they’re pretty, nonetheless.

you set the first aid kit on the table and pull out a large bandaid and a bit of gauze. you reasses the cut to be sure he doesn’t need any other sort of bandaging and almost sigh in relief when you see how shallow it is. sam doesn’t speak or protest that he’s fine to do it himself as you pull the collar of his t-shirt aside just a bit. you’re sure his mind’s busy with a whole load of questions for you, just like you for him. the brush of your knuckles against his skin suddenly makes his presence feel more real. whatever contact you’d had during the short-lived fight you’d had was completely surreal; you weren’t sure he was really even sam, and if he was, it would feel like a lie anyways, for his hands to be rough or so quick in a fight.

he doesn’t so much as wince when you press alcohol soaked gauze to the cut, and though the wound is small and shallow enough that you’re sure it barely stings, it still feels like a sign of his being a hunter, being used to pain. you don’t like that thought; sweet, sincere, and ever so smart sam being used to pain. as you take care of the cut, he lets his eyes wander around the room, probably taking in how familiar it is, and how weird that it’s your motel room and all of your belongings packed into a single bag and your computer screen displaying hacked into police reports and the very same lore websites he frequents to solve a tricky case.

when you’re done he thanks you with a small smile and you take the seat across from him. as your fingers had brushed over his bare skin and felt a whisper of his strong shoulders, you’d gotten the strong urge to hug him. you missed him even more than you thought. that urge doesn’t leave when you move away from him.

you make a confused face at sam when he reaches for the first aid kit and pulls out another set of bandaids and gauze. he just hands you a gauze now soaked with alcohol and nods at you.

“for your arm,” he explains, because you’ve already forgotten about that as you accept it with a questioning brow.

“right,” you chuckle softly, swiping over the cut with the gauze, then taking and applying the bandaid that sam opened for you. when you’re done you have to drag your eyes up to meet sam’s gaze. there’s tension in the room, and though it’s not bad per se, it’s begging to be addressed and you’re not sure how to even start. it seems like sam’s not sure either.

so, you choose to jump right into the fire.

“it’s so good to see you, sam,” you confess, pushing all your sincerity into your voice, “i mean, this is absolutely insane and i can’t quite wrap my mind around it, but i guess i don’t really care because it’s so good to see you. i worried about you so much after … after jess died, i mean, you just dissappeared and … and i can imagine that has something to do with the fact that you’re a hunter, which is sort of incomprehensible to me, but–,” suddenly you’re hit with a new realization. if sam’s disappearance had to do with the supernatural, you wonder if jess’s death did too. but you don’t want to ask, not right now. “oh, god, and i never got to tell you how sorry i am. i– i mean. i can’t imagine.” there’s where your voice trails off and you look to sam to be the one to say something now.

“thanks,” he answers simply, voice gentle but a little pained, rightfully so. “she was your friend, too. i mean, we were all friends. and i’m sorry i disappeared like that. i, um, well, you’re right. hunting dragged me away. it’s complicated and i’ll explain it to you later. you deserve to know what happened to jess, but– but it’s a lot.” a moment of silence allows that to sink in; so something did happen to her, something more than just faulty electrical wiring in her apartment. sam’s genuine as he goes on, “and it’s great to see you too, really. it’s so strange, i mean all of this, obviously, but it’s even stranger how close we are to stanford. i was already thinking about it, about you all on the way over, and the next thing i know, you’re the suspicious hunter throwing holy water in my face.” 

you cringe a little at that, but sam smiles a little wider than he has all night. “that’s a good thing,” he half-laughs, “i don’t care how weird this coincidence is, i’m glad for it.” his hand twitches, almost as if he’d wanted to reach over and grab your hand, but thought better of it before it could happen. “i gotta ask, did you finish your degree?” the way he asks is so hopeful, and you immediately know how much he wants the answer to be yes. he’s thinking, if i couldn’t finish, please tell me at least one of us could. that one of us poor and foolish hunter kids who thought we could escape managed to long enough to finish a degree, prove that we could make something of ourselves in the normal world. it would be so nice to see that, if it couldn’t be me, it could be somebody, it could be you.

his face falls a little when he registers the sad smile on your face. your expression is more than enough of an answer, and the fact that he wanted so badly for you to have made it makes your heart break a little, for both him and you. we deserved better, you think.

“just about the same thing happened to me,” you begin to explain, “you remember my cousin, bex?” sam nods, recalling the way the two of you acted like siblings the few times he met her, how much you liked alike when you smiled, already sad for what he suspects he might hear. “she died a few weeks after jess. she and i both grew up hunting, and we both thought we got out of it, at least for a little while. we almost lasted all four years … i didn’t think there was anything weird with her death, but … my dad showed me proof of just that at her funeral, convinced me to come back to hunting with him. she was– she was hiding something, and, honestly i’m still not sure what happened. progress on her case has been slow. real slow, so we’ve been working on others in the meantime. keeping busy, you know.”

“oh, i know,” sam sighs, and you completely believe him. you wonder for a moment what bigger things he’s digging into before deciding it’s best if the two of you stick to what’s in front of you. if you go too deep, having each other, a new kind of steady presence from better times, might start feeling too unreal again. 

you want to preserve this delicate balance, where sam is still stanford sam and you’re still stanford you, but now there’s just a deeper understanding of each other. a knowing of what it’s like to grow up with a hunter for a father, to want to get away from it all, to want a sense of normalcy, and to want to learn and become something more and say “screw you!” to all of the expections. and on top of that, knowing how it feels to get so close to the finish line, only to have it ripped out of your hands like you’re a child who’s parents think they’ve had too much candy. only it’s far worse than a half eaten lollipop in the trash because people that you love died, and it was all so much more than just chasing after a momentary sugar high. 

“i’m sorry about bex,” sam says, this time actually reaching out and placing his hand on yours for a moment. his voice is as full of empathy and sincerity as ever. “she was amazing the few times i met her. i could see how close you two were.”

“thanks, sam.” you give him a small smile because those words feel so much better coming from him than just about anyone else. with that, the air seems to settle a little, and it’s far more bearable. you’ve still got a hundred and one questions to ask and a hundred and one more things to say to each other, but to find out you have this near-exact shared experience is like having so much of the weight of loneliness lifted from your chest. and it all feels even better because you know sam. you know him already. 

sure, there’s a whole lot you missed before, but you don’t doubt for a second that the sam sitting in front of you is as kind, funny, smart, witty, sincere, adorably awkward, and good as the sam you met and came to know at stanford. in fact, knowing he grew up the way he did just reaffirms his goodness to you. it’s not easy to live like that and continue choosing to be kind and well-meaning and true to yourself. then there’s this feeling of admiration for sam, just blooming in your chest and you hold back a wide grin because the timing’s not quite right. you still can’t shake the urge to hug him.

“well,” you smile casually, if not a little rueful as you say your next words, “i think our dads will go all hunter-dad-crazy on us if we keep playing catch up. i’ll give you a run down of everything i’ve got, then we can do what dropouts from the west coast’s most prestigious school’s do best; research.”

sam’s smile matches your own, and it’s achingly familiar. “well, we can’t have those asses ruin our not-quite-stanford-alumni reuinion. let’s get to work. we can pretend it’s like the good old days, spring freshman year, all of us cramming for the way-er exam at the back of the library and getting shushed by the librarians. we can pretend john and rick are the librarians.”

for the first time in a long time, you let out a loud laugh, surprised and pulled right out of you without warning. he smiles wide at the sound and finally, without restraint, you grin back. god, you missed him.

[twstbookclub]

Fatal Attraction

Summary: Two lives stripped away in a moment's glance before they could even enjoy the gift of love presented in front of them. Caused by strife and wrath, this tragic tale is not one to be taken lightly. Pronouns: Gender Neutral POV: 2nd Admin/Writer: Kai⚔️ Tags: Azul Ashengrotto, Romeo and Juliet, angst, heavy angst, character death, be warned this is depressing Word count: 6,201

I'm gonna totally true here, I had so much fun writing Azul's angst fic, because I took one of my favorite pieces of literature and turned it into a fic-esque work. So, this takes inspiration from Romeo and Juliet, specifically the 1996 version of "Romeo + Juliet" with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. That version is a lot more modernized to use guns and drugs, etc but I tried my best to minimize all of that to give a less TW tag. I did take some dialogue from the actual literary piece and translated it into modern language, BUT NOT TOO MUCH cause it was honestly really hard 😭

6k words is insane to me because it's more than Malleus or Sebek

I am so sorry Azul stans

Lights illuminate the quiet streets at night, while the city comes alive during the day. However, two rival mafias operate in the town, hidden from the ordinary citizen's eye. Amidst the danger, a casino is the only place where people can forget their problems, but two lovers only need each other for peace.

Azul Ashengrotto is a hitman and negotiator for one of the mafia factions. Well known for his work within the organization and occasional work as a dealer in the casino, Azul is as cunning and deceptive as they come, but it's just his nature.

Azul strolls around the casino with his usual smirk, basking in the glory of a successful negotiation with a company. The other casino staff congratulate him, but he brushes it off, knowing it's all part of his job.

“There’s no need to congratulate me! It is simply my duty as a negotiator.”

After setting his things down, he jokes with some of the casino staff before heading off to prepare for the evening.

Sitting in the garden of your home, you sigh and admire the flowers as the day starts. The day feels long, and sadness makes it feel even longer. You have always been kept within the property of your home. You’re a child of a mafia organization, but your father is hellbent on keeping you from the outside world. You need more, but where could you get that without permission? Suddenly, during your train of thought, a familiar voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Well, good morning, cos," said the voice, playfully interrupting your thoughts.

"It’s still morning?" you respond, letting out a small sigh.

“The day’s barely begun?” Asked Cater, confused.

“Oh, Seven, this day feels too long and dull.”

“But it’s a good day! What sadness lengthens your hours?” Cater asked, trying to sound playful to lighten that solemn look in your eyes.

“Having to sit here and waste away makes my days long and dull, cousin.”

Cater sighs and tries to speak, but your mother calls for you with an alarmed voice. Shrill screams of your name echo, reaching the sky from how loud she is.

You hurriedly ascend the staircase to the second floor, stopping at the middle platform where your mother stood with pinched eyebrows and a subtle frown.

“Madam, I’m here. Is something the matter?”

“Finally! Come! We have something important to discuss. Cater—you can leave,” she said, pushing Cater away. Your mother paused as if something dawned on her at that moment. She shook her head and hastily added, “Wait! Cater, come back! You’re part of this, as well.”

You and Cater rushed to your bedroom and were made to sit on your bed. Maids rushed inside your chambers, and you found yourself being tugged around by each one. The familiar sensation of a brush and the smell of powder filled the room. The sound of rustling fabric and barked orders disturbed the silence.

“Despite what your father says, you are of age. You should go out more—find someone to give you thrills in life!” Your mother exclaimed, helping herself to sit at your vanity table. “I’ve been your mother for many years now, and I’m deeply concerned about your… self-isolation. This is only what I think is best!”

The rest of that conversation was mostly your mother telling you how “the world is your oyster” and that you should take advantage of it. You could only listen until she was tired of lecturing you and walked off to do other things. It ended with Cater helping you get ready.

“Alright. You heard the woman. You’re lucky that I know exactly where to take you,” Cater says with a sigh and starts looking through your closet for you.

The sound of shuffling cards, chips clattering on the tables, and cheers from winners rang through the different halls and rooms. Different themes exist on every floor depending on the games. A floor filled with different slot machine games was filled with neon lights and bright colors to accommodate the vibe. One of them had restaurants galore for each type of economy class that was visiting. Vibrant, blinding colors greeted you, and the mind could easily be overwhelmed by the sight. It smelled of cigarettes and smoke everywhere, and servers held trays of crystalline glasses filled with golden champagne.

Cater brought you to a casino to de-stress. He was familiar with this place, so he knew you’d be okay here. You walked around independently since Cater left you to play a round of Hearts with others he knew.

You watched how people crowded around the poker and baccarat tables. There was a mix of emotions lingering in the casino air: concentrated, frustrated, happy, and angry to name a few. When you turned to another section, you leaned against a pillar and looked in front of you, meeting a pair of bluish-purple eyes.

He was looking at you, too. He looked—

Gorgeous.

You stepped behind the pillar and poked your head out enough just for your eyes to meet his own again. The stranger gave you a modest smile and a gaze so fine that you just had to smile back. Dressed in a black button-up with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, fabric fitting his frame as two top buttons were open.

His hair was a pretty gray, and the beauty mark under his lip made his features come together like a perfect painting. His smile grew wider, and he looked away. Then you felt your cheeks grow hot.

It was an unfamiliar feeling. One only your maids and mother would describe to you as love, but is this really what it was? It felt right, but it was too new to confirm true.

When you met his eyes again, he had his hand out for you to take. You looked at the floor momentarily before moving closer and letting your palm touch his, and he guided you to sit at his table.

You looked around, then noticed it was a table of blackjack. Hmm… a simple game. He didn’t let go of your palm and dealt the cards with his free hand. You smiled softly and stared at how he held your hand as if you were glass. 

“You do realize that holding a stranger’s hand for this long is not normal,” you said while looking into his eyes, prompting a laugh to escape his lips

“Well, dear stranger, what is normal? It’s certainly not us.”

“How so?” you asked as you tried to slip your hand away again, but the gesture was met with a firm grip.

“Any other person would’ve walked away from a man with wandering eyes,” he said while leaning closer to you, but you moved away with a smile.

“Would it not be stranger if we were closer than this? Though, I don’t wish to interrupt how you are dealing with this game.”

“Oh? Do you wish to be closer? Closing the distance is not a problem to me.” His offer was tempting, but the words your mother spoke of flashed through your mind. Maybe this is something you should be doing?

“I… can allow that,” you whispered loud enough to reach his ears, quite confident that this was something you wanted

“Then stay while I deal as I please,” he whispered as he leaned closer, noses brushing for a moment before you moved away and stood from the chair you were in.

“Oh,” you laughed playfully and went towards the nearby bar, and he followed you without a complaint, “what a tease. I must say, you’re very forward and quick to act.”

“Wasting no time is what I do best,” he said, following you, watching your movements. “People call me charming and witty, but no praise will amount to anything if I fail to leave an impression on you. Don’t leave me feeling this empty, darling.”

“Why empty? Is the time spent with me so far not fulfilling enough?”

The man placed his fingers under your chin and made you look at him, then he took off his glasses in a swift move. “No, and I won’t be satisfied until I can do this...”

You felt a smile creep up as he pulled you closer and gave you a gentle kiss, only starting. After that gesture, you looked at him and kept your composure.

“Better,” Azul said after that short kiss, a smug look on his face, but he didn’t let you go.

You were a bit surprised by the feeling, but you couldn’t complain. “Is it?”

“Very. It makes me want more…” He whispered before kissing you again, this time letting it linger much longer. 

“You kiss as if you learned from a book,” you spoke softly after breaking it, but he only moved lower towards your ear and neck. 

“Hey, we can’t do this. As much as I enjoy your company, you are a mere stranger at the end of the day,” you said and pushed him back lightly, then tried to walk off. The man moved closer again and sat you down on a bar stool.

His lips found yours again, but you couldn’t lie to yourself. Your body could only respond to the kiss almost instantly. His hands didn’t let go of your waist, yet your own were on the nape of his neck and shoulder.

You don’t know how much time had passed, but you snapped out of it once Cater called your name. “Hello, Earth to cousin? We have to go!”

Cater looked at the man whose arms you were in and sighed in disappointment, clicking his tongue and pulling you away. “Come on!”

While getting pulled away, you kept turning around to watch as the man followed you, a determined look on his face as he tried to catch up. You were pulled up the stairs to the floor above and joined with the bodyguards you arrived with. 

The man remained at the bottom of the stairs, but he stared at you in disbelief.

“His name is Azul Ashengrotto, a hitman from the mafia your family fights against all the time! He’s the right-hand man,” Cater whispered to you, and you felt the smile on your face disappear. You stared down at the man but couldn’t utter a word.

“Is that…? No—they can’t be,” Azul whispered, still in disbelief.

After staring momentarily, you were pulled away, and Azul had to follow again. This continued, even with your head turning back a few times, just to meet the man following at a distance.

Azul stood at the casino door while you left, watching as your car left with a regretful expression in his eyes. “Not knowing and finding out too late—how the hell did we end up finding each other this way?” he said to himself as you stared back at him from the moving car, then he went back into the casino grounds.

After arriving home, you walked around your garden under the moonlight and sighed softly. You moved yourself to squat in front of the pool at the end of the concrete path, looking up at the moon. 

“Azul Ashengrotto… Who could he really be? What does his name have to do with anything?”

“The group that rivals my family name, but what is in that name? It’s not a hand, foot, or any other part belonging to me.” You stare down at your reflection in the water and smile softly at the thought of that man you had a slight moment with at the casino. 

You stand up and sigh, “Should he tell me he doesn’t like it, I would change it in a heartbeat—”

“Then should we change that name?”

You spin around and scream as he puts his hands on your arms, but the shock causes you to fall back into the pool with him. You quickly come up to the surface and spit out the water in your mouth, then stare at the pale indigo eyes on you.

“What are you doing here!? Did you follow me? If they see you, they’ll murder you!” You whispered loudly because of the panic, but your reaction made Azul laugh.

“That is the least of my worries.”

“But you’re the Ashengrotto, an ally of my mortal enemy—”

“I will neither, if you dislike it. What can they do to me?” He whispers the last part, moving closer and touching your cheek. “I was able to see you again. I’m satisfied with that. It’s better to be killed by their hatred than by the torture of not seeing you. You love me and I love you, so let them find me here. I want your love for as long as you’ll allow me to have it.”

You stare at his features for a moment before he kisses you softly, the quiet night enveloping the both of you. It was slow, but you could feel how he felt the same for you as you did him. The more time that passed, the more passion was being shared.

The pool water was warm, but the way he grabbed your hips with one hand and kept your head in place with the other gave you a chill down your spine, simply from how he made you feel. 

You pulled back after a while longer and felt your face burning, so you avoided looking at him. “The moon's light can only hide me so well, and now you’ve heard me speak tonight. Do you love me? I know that you’ll say yes, and I will take your word for it.”

You spoke while backing away to get out of the pool, and he followed, leaving kisses on your neck when he could. “If you love me, say it faithfully.”

“I swear by the moon—”

You sighed and pushed him back. “Don’t swear by her ever-changing beauty unless your love has conditions.”

“Then what do I swear by?” Azul asks, looking at you with confusion in his expression.

“Don’t swear at all. If you must, swear on yourself. If it comes from your heart, then I’ll believe you.”

“The love in my heart…” He whispers, then gives you light kisses again, but you quickly break it and turn away.

“Don’t. Although I enjoy this, I will have no joy in this promise tonight. It’s too soon, too rash, and—like a lightning strike—it will be gone too soon,” you said and climbed up the ladder to get out of the water, but his sudden call out made you stop.

“Will you leave me so unsatisfied?”

You turn around and look at him with surprise. “What satisfaction could you have tonight?”

“To tell me that your heart belongs to me”

He was right. He had declared his love for you, but you hadn’t done the same for him. Was this real? You smiled brightly and ran back into his arms, falling into the pool with him again.

“I gave it to you before you even asked!” You exclaimed before falling back in with him, your lips landing against his into an underwater kiss.

Coming up to the surface, you hear Cater calling for you around the house, and you shout. “I’ll be there!” You turn to Azul and pull him out, hurrying him to leave through a secret gate.

“I leave you with a few more words before good night. If you’ll allow me the honor of marriage, let me know tomorrow—in a way that I can visit you—where and what time we’ll marry,” you whisper with a smile and hold his hand through the iron bars of the gate.

Cater shouted again, and you could only shout once again. “I’m on my way!”

“May all of my fortune and my will always follow you. If you do not mean well, I beg you not to argue and leave me alone to grieve. I will send someone over to the casino tomorrow,” you told Azul before letting him go, not before giving him a kiss.

“I am yours, and you are mine. I’ll be happy to hear from you.”

“I hope you have a wonderful night.” You smiled again and ran off, and Azul walked off as well. Shortly after, you gasped to yourself and tried to find him again, rushing towards him.

“Azul!” you called out, catching his attention, and his smile only brightened your heart. “At what hour should I send for someone?”

“By 9 in the morning.”

“I won’t let you down. It’s an eternity until then.” You laugh softly and pull your necklace off you, giving it to him. He took it gladly and tightened his fist to avoid losing it.

“Good night, darling.” He said and walked away, looking back at you a few times until he was completely out of sight.

“A bittersweet sorrow that is parting, that I shall say ‘good night’ until tomorrow.” You said with a smile. Finally, you ran off into your home.

The next day, you were home alone, and you waited with anticipation for your cousin to arrive back to you. As soon as the door opened to your bedroom, you jumped up and saw Cater come in with a tired expression.

“Cater!”

“Oh, hey, cos,” he says and tucks himself into your bed, your expression turning into disappointment.

“Cater! What does my love say?”

“Your love? Oh! That negotiator guy,” he says, “… Hey, where are your parents?” Cater asked, looking at you with a cheeky smile.

“Where are my parents?” You sigh from frustration and pull the blankets off the kid. “Don't keep it from me any longer! What did Azul say!?”

Cater laughs before standing from the bed and going to your closet. He looks at your more formal clothing and then picks something out for you. “When you go out today, meet him at the church. There, a man waits to marry you later today.”

Your eyes lit up with excitement as you heard the news. You took the outfit into your hands and left to change, finding even more reason to leave your home today.

Arriving at the church, you noticed the cars parked in front were all the same. When you entered the wide chapel, your eyes instantly met his, and the warm golden lights illuminated the design.

You had always been here before, but how the room lit up now was mesmerizing. Seeing Azul made the moment even better because it was only you and him. You made your way down before meeting with him, and how sweet he was.

Speaking vows and promises while looking at your love in the eyes, you could finally understand why a wedding day was so important. You knew you would never forget this day even if fate decided to take you away tomorrow.

His hands held yours and carefully slipped a silver band on your finger. That was it. You were officially married to him.

“I love you,” you whispered, seeming as if now was a dream that would slip through your fingers.

“I love you too,” he responded, giving you a kiss to conceal it together.

Azul had to leave after that because his negotiation work was urgent, but he still ensured you arrived home safely.

Under that guise, Azul arrived at his own mafia’s headquarters. The room was a bit tense as he walked into his boss’ office, only to find a man tied on the marble floor. The room was dim and added to the atmosphere that the organization strived for.

At the snap of a finger, the man became unmasked, to reveal one of your relatives. Azul looked surprised but quickly had to hide it. 

“Boss. Is… this him?” Azul asked, looking his boss in the eye, but he was feeling a cold sweat for once.

“That’s right. You already know what you have to do. Don’t disappoint me, Ashengrotto.”

Azul nodded once and gestured to the guards to follow him with their victim, and he left behind them with a tense feeling. 

Your relative? One whom he now shared names with through his dearly beloved, but did he really want to kill this man? 

This man was a spy. Playing his organization like a game of chess, he could get away with it for a while, but his boss knew the truth from the beginning. The boss wasn’t an idiot, they wouldn’t be in the place they're in now if that was the case, so it wasn’t surprising.

This was different now, though.

Azul stared at this man’s back with hesitation. He didn’t want to do this to you, but this was his job. You knew that, too, but that wasn’t an excuse. Yet, if he didn’t do this, it was his life on the line along with this man.

You sat in your room while staring up at the statues of the Seven in your room, a warm smile on your face at the thought of your new husband, a lingering sadness that you couldn’t spend time with him.

“Oh, Seven… If only the stars could show me my husband now. If anything should happen, may the heavens take his soul and place it among the stars, so his radiance could illuminate the night, that not even the moon could compare,” you whispered to yourself while imagining Azul, causing you to smile more than you already were. “If only I could see him soon..”

Azul stood in front of the captured man with a bitter look in his eye. He called the guards off to be alone in the room, still hesitating about the choice in front of him.

“You know, you’re trembling… it’s obvious, buddy.” The man said with a laugh, his busted face still dripping some blood onto the floor.

Azul’s eyes widened, his voice slightly trembling. “What? Don’t say a word. Do not provoke me.”

“Why? Is the big man, Ashengrotto, finally scared?”

“Shut up—”

“What a baby. How the hell are you the right-hand man, if you can’t pull the trigger?”

“Don’t say anything else!”

“In my organization, you would’ve been killed for being this weak!”

“You don’t know a damn thing!” Azul yelled, swiftly taking out his gun and putting it to the man’s head. “Do you not wish to be saved? I can do that. I don’t want to do this. Not for…” His voice trailed off, a lump forming in his throat.

“Don’t be fucking weak. Do it!” The man yelled, messing around with the assassin in front of him. This man knew what he was doing but didn’t know the consequences.

The gun was taken off its safety as Azul took a deep breath, putting his personal emotions aside and speaking quieter. “To my beloved relative by name… May the Seven help you.”

The man grew confused before he was met with darkness. The sound of the gun echoing through the large room was enough of a message that it was over, but guilt started to take over the new silence.

“Shit… What the hell did I do?’ Azul whispered to himself before dropping the gun and staring at the corpse in front of him with disbelief.

You stared at the statues once again with a confused look on your face, at a loss for how to react. It had been a few hours, but you had just been told the news about your relative being killed by your husband’s hand.

“Say it isn’t so? Seven, don’t betray my heart this way… Am I supposed to criticize my husband? Speak ill of him? For the love he had for me, am I supposed to think of him as a traitor? Give up his word for actions?” You spoke to yourself, pleading with the gods above to give you an answer, but you received nothing.

Your heart ached at the deafening silence, and not even your ancestors could help you in this. It felt like your bloodline was shaming you for confiding in a sworn enemy, but you couldn't control who you could love...

Was it truly so easy to blame yourself for this?

Azul had quickly become a target under your family’s watchful eye. He had to do something, and quickly. Azul stared out the window from his office before he took a breath and fixed his glasses, only coming up with one answer.

“Guards, take me to them. I’ll be staying the night. In the meantime, prepare a burial.” Azul said calmly before grabbing his coat and leaving quickly.

You sat on your bed and tilted your head, hugging one of the pillows while thinking. Your mother left you to rest for the night, and you took the opportunity to lock yourself in. You let out a sigh and slowly stood up.

“Am I supposed to deny him? Divorce him for what he did? What a cruel thing to do to someone I love,” you said to yourself, but then you heard footsteps come in through your window.

The sound immediately caught your attention, and you were met with Azul standing there with regret in his eyes. You slowly went closer without your eyes moving away, scared that he would disappear.

“I’m sorry,” Azul whispered, his already sad eyes becoming glassy with the tears he couldn’t keep back anymore. “I swear to you and the Seven above, I didn’t want to do it—”

“I believe you. I can see it in your eyes. It was either that… or death, right? I know how this business goes, but that still won’t stop me from loving you.” You responded just as quietly, then looked over his body to make sure he didn’t have any injuries. Just doing this made your heart race.

Your hands slid down his coat to take it off, the ruffling sound of it hitting the ground mixing with the sounds of breathing and pattering rain hitting the ground outside. It made you a bit relieved that he could reach you before the rain began, but your heart rate wasn’t slowing down.

You loosened his tie and took off a few buttons so he could relax, but you were nervous. You guess… it’s kind of late to be nervous when you’re already married to him. Regardless, your hands just went with the flow, even if you didn’t have any experience in this aspect.

Azul watched your movements carefully before he leaned closer, taking off his glasses in the process. Your eyes met his indigo irises, your hands made their way to his neck and shoulder, and your heart was about to explode.

You willingly closed the space and kissed him as you knew he was about to do the same to you, but he returned it so gently. It was different from the time you met at the casino or in the pool that same night, but it felt perfect. Neither of you wanted to let go.

Morning came too fast. Azul woke up to the harsh reality of what was going to happen today. Any slight movement he made easily woke you up, but you could only give a small groan since you weren’t ready to get up yet. That noise made him smile and laugh before he sat up to see how you slowly opened your eyes

“It’s too early, and not time for you to go.” You whispered with a tired voice, still exhausted from the events of the day prior. Azul quickly moved to hover above you within the blink of an eye as your words caused him to feel warm.

“Then let’s not get out of these sheets—delay the morning by never coming out. I can appreciate just how divine my spouse looks while you look up at me like that.” Azul began playfully, slowly becoming genuine and affectionate with his words.

Before you could respond, Cater ran into your room and closed the door behind him, causing Azul to fall off your bed from surprise. “Your mother is on the way! Quick!” He said with panic, swiftly moving around to help out.

Azul got all of his things and you let him escape from the window, following him onto the balcony. He pulled you into a kiss for a moment before letting you go. “Stay safe. I’m sorry for what I did.”

You shook your head and gave him a gentle smile, placing your lips against his for a few seconds. “I love you. I love you more than anything. My life is yours.”

“My love…” Azul said somberly and sighed, placing a small kiss on your forehead. You felt the emotion he was feeling by just the way he was acting, and it left you confused. You looked at him with concern before giving him your ring from the day before.

You kissed the engraving on the band before placing the ring in his palm. “Just be safe. I will try to find out if something grave is being planned in hopes of stopping it.”

Azul just stayed quiet before he pushed you back inside your bedroom and quietly left. That was it between you two for now. You stared at the bed in front of you as your stomach began to turn in a bad way, but you could only whisper something to yourself as you fixed the robe you had put on when rushing.

“Letting someone out and bringing light in—why do I have a feeling that it will be in vain?” 

Azul stood in the church that had become special to him less than twenty-four hours ago, holding a small bottle in the palm of his hand, along with your ring and necklace beside it.

There was a war going on outside. He was the head that they wanted to capture for killing your father’s brother, an eye for an eye, and he didn’t want you to be brought into it. He was thankful that you could forgive him and still keep your love, but he didn’t deserve it after making you grieve for the loss of a relative and the loss of his presence beside yours.

He made sure to kiss the ring and the cross charm from your necklace, before putting them both on and staring up at the painted murals from the church’s ceiling, a soft expression at the memory of exchanging vows that were so fresh to him.

Without much hesitance, Azul popped open the small container and dropped some pills into his palm. His boss gave him these after he proposed to fake his death until this was over, composing a plan once a certain number of their kin had been killed in his stead.

One, two, three. Pills disappeared as Azul swallowed them. The drugs were quick, as he felt his heart begin to slow down and his breathing was coming to struggle for air. The church echoed the sounds of his quick suffering, until turning as quiet as the sleeping city he committed his sins.

In the morning, Cater ran into your room to find you clutching your chest, but not a single tear in your eyes. You were more shocked than anything. Your father stopped the war at the moment of finding out that their target was dead. Your husband was dead.

Cater, who was breathing heavily from running, went over to your side with a saddened look, letting out a sigh at the immense despair he could feel around you. “Cos, I’m sorry, but now… what’s your plan?”

Silence.

Nothing was your plan. How could there be a plan? The love you harbored couldn’t be shared with the one you married anymore. You let out a shaky breath and closed your eyes, a hidden tear finally dropping down your cheek.

Cater noticed your silence and went to lock your door, “He’s laid to rest at the church. I’ll take you to him.” 

Your body was simply guided by Cater now. He dressed you the best way that he could, in a way that your parents wouldn’t find suspicious. You hadn’t uttered a word or looked at him, but instead kept yourself together as if it was taking its time to affect you.

Your parents believed that you were grieving over your uncle’s death, so they left you alone. With that, Cater could take you over to the church during the sunset hour.

When you arrived, he guided you in and let your eyes lay upon the empty cathedral. The door closed behind you as Cater didn’t step in to leave you on your own. Finally being by yourself, you could relax as tears filled your eyes at the sight of the bed at the end of the aisle.

You slowly made your way closer and closer, each step making a sound that echoed through the space. The closer you got, the more detailed his body became. With gentleness and care, your hand wrapped around his and it felt weird.

“My love, death hasn’t taken your warmth yet?” You speak quietly and caress his cheek while holding back your tears. “You look as if life is still within you, and a peaceful sleep is all that affects you,” you said while leaning down to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Even your lips are as warm as the day. How precious…”

You went quiet after and closed your eyes, letting out a small sob before covering your eyes with your hands. The tears ran down your cheeks before being wiped away, not wanting to cry too bad after.

“What a cruel world we were born into,” you say quietly to your husband’s body before you look up at the ceiling above you, memories flashing through your head. A smile finally showed on your face at the thought of Azul, like his face and name always had these days.

You looked down as you held something in your hand. A small dagger with a black shine to it. You placed the tip of the blade at your chest and pierced yourself with it, the pain not being at all the same as losing the love of your life. You only let out a small wince and looked down at your husband, only to find him with a look of horror and his eyes wide open.

“No, you—” Azul started but quickly reacted to sit up and pull you to lay down where he was, struggling breaths coming from you as the blood seeped out of your wound. Azul tried to take it out, but your grip on the handle was strong even though your body was growing weak.

“What—” You whispered, tears falling down from your eyes as you tried to think, but you could only stare at Azul with a blurry vision from how fast your life was being taken away from you. “Why…?”

“Why? To protect you. Why would you follow me?” Azul asked with tears coming up to his own eyes. He held you tightly as if that would stop the slow death you were experiencing, but he wasn’t doing anything. He couldn’t. “Why wouldn’t you want to live?”

“Live…” You whispered, your slow blinking accompanied by a small smile only made this more bitter than it was, a gasp coming from you before you spoke again. “I couldn’t live without you.”

These words were soon followed by silence. A quiet breath was let go from you. Your body grew limp and still. Your hands had finally let go of the dagger that had you inflicted on yourself, but it was too late.

Azul just stared in a still stance, still holding you. He waited for something. Anything. A sign of life. Something to check if you were still there with him. When he didn’t get anything, he let out loud sobs while holding your lifeless body close to him, even putting out a few screams from the agony that surrounded his heart.

Every sound and movement he made echoed and pierced his ears with desperation and regret. If only he had told you the plan. If only he ran away with you instead, you would still be alive and smiling at him.

After his moment of grieving, he looked up and down at you, but then his eyes stopped at the blood-stained clothes you had on. His eyes locked onto the dagger before he carefully pulled it out and stared at the blade. 

The question he asked you earlier wasn’t in his mind anymore. Even if he stayed alive, he would die at the hands of your family once they realized that he was alive and that you died with him beside you. He couldn’t live without you either.

He stared at you for a moment before he took your hand into his and he closed his eyes. He placed the dagger against his neck and let out a breath before his body fell right next to yours, and a deafening silence befell them.

Two lovers. Both alike in dignity, now gone in mere moments from their organization’s strife. Young adults with so much more to life and love to share, could not stop the rage of others. A love story that ended so tragically changed the outcome of the respectful lives that they could’ve had.

[bichenique]

I AM HALFWAY BOOK 4 AND I LITERALLY PICKED IT UP THIS MORNING ft cql gifs

SVSSS SPOILERS‼️‼️

mxtx, count your fucking days bro. i can't recover from shen qingqiu and yue qingyuan's backstory AND then you put zhuzhi-lang and tianlang-jun. and then you talk about how tianlang-jun fell for su xiyan.

WHY IS TIANLANG-JUN SUCH AN UNCLE‼️‼️

tianlang jun: omg zhuzhi-lang, you also like shen qingqiu— you and binghe can share him!

zhuzhi-lang: girl i aint gonna steal my cousin's wife—

tianlang jun: girl, we're evil ppl. idk why you're out here doing morals on me

literally my face when i started reading the smut.

bing-mei meowmeow and his sad violin 🎻 bc he has to pull out. wtf is this erectile dysfunction man 😭😭 i busted out laughing so hard i had to put it down.

i will say tho i cannot get past the fact that shen qingqiu is luo binghe's master and he was a student — erm it doesn't sit right with me so i have to say guys that i don't ship it. will i fight you about it? absolutely NOT bc i have other things to do.

HOWEVER, i would like to say it was sweet when shen qingqiu promises to never leave binghe's side again.

liu qingge seems to have a crush on shen qingqiu tho 🤠 he was so mad when madam meiyun (? I forgor her name) was like, describing luo binghe but it also coincidentally matched up with liu qingge. he was like: NO HE DONT LOVE YOU! and stabbed her or something

liu qingge and this man —

same font. theyre the same. except liu qingge is more amicable??? (DOUBT, HE'D LITERALLY OBLITERATE YOU‼️‼️)

but they literally had the same reactions when crush related shit.

i cant fucking do this anymore. i should have been studying but i was studying something else 😭

i might drop su xiyan and tianlang jun BUT i have to write qi rong stuff.

i will say from a literary standpoint that reading svsss is refreshing as it is mxtx's debut novel to my knowledge. additionally, since i read all of her works to date, i can see the progression of how her works were censored right after her debut work. and honestly, that's depressing, and one can deduce that mxtx did become someone like shang qinghua/airplane shooting towards the sky.

as an artist, one has the right to express their creativity freely, and sqh and mxtx aren't getting the justice they should get.

i also like to think that sqh is just mxtx in a book, honestly.

[bracketsoffear]

Gunpowder Tim (The Mechanisms) "Ignoring his present day role as an immortal murderous space pirate, roving through the galaxy having “fun, violence” his origin story ballad, Gunpowder Tim vs the Moon Kaiser is basically world war 1 on the moon, with an Achillean inspiration. Tim is in the place of Achilles in this story, and after his best friend is killed, descends into a violent rage, and to include some convincing lyrics: “We’ll murder all the Lunar Men with fury heaven sent/And we’ll carpet Lenny’s tunnels with the rounds that we have spent/they tried to shake our firm resolve but haven’t made a dent/and their blood will run like wine.” “Take no prisoners give no quarter/show them all the color of their entrails on the floor/the Kaiser’s men are cattle to the slaughter/and their blood will run like wine.” “Their existence is a mad disease there needs to be a cull/upon their rancid soldier flesh out bayonets will dull.” The statements of wine, while a literary reference, show the delight and almost decadence Tim is viewing violence with, wanting it to be as abundant as wine. A later description of him by the First Mate: “So Gunpowder Tim cut a bloody red path/Through cannon and through infantry, dealing out his wrath/Battalions were gathered/and charged with his destruction/but all of them fell to his maddened corruption.” And, as if the battlefield origins and enjoyment of brutality isn’t enough, he is also musically aligned, both in lyric, with “the brutal hymn of gunpowder” as his “favorite song” and the slightly meta piece of info, the pirate crew he’s in is in-universe, a band.

Rachel (Animorphs) "The heavy-hitter of the guerilla resistance against alien mind-control brain slugs, Rachel very quickly becomes addicted to the thrill of battle. While all the Animorphs regularly kill people, she looks forward to it. She enjoys it so much that the rest of the team (and secretly, herself) are deeply disturbed by it. She once used her own amputated arm to beat someone to death. She murders her cousin by impaling him on her claws and chomping him like a shish kebab. When facing her death she only feels elated for the upcoming battle. She is so violent that Space Satan - basically a Fear Entity himself, an eldritch horror that craves fear and death - is a fan and offers her a job as a one-girl doomsday machine. She declines on account of being one of the "good guys", but recognizes that accepting his deal wouldn't actually change very much about her personally - it's just that her violence would be cast in a different light if she was "bad"."