#they were the serve of the century for me

[multific]

The Essence of Beauty

Count Orlok x Vampire!Reader

Summary: After years and years of looking, you believe you found what you have been looking for.

The dark castle stood in silence as the sun began to set.

You moved quietly through the grand hall, the hem of your black gown brushing against the cold stone floor. Clutched in your hands was a small vial, glowing faintly with an ethereal blue light—the potion.

You had spent years searching for it, a concoction crafted from forgotten alchemy, whispered about in ancient texts. When you started looking for it. You almost gave up.

Its power was said to be immense, a temporary reversal of decay, a momentary return to youth. 

Though you bore no scars of time, your beloved Orlok carried the weight of centuries on his shoulders. 

His once-proud visage had been transformed by the curse of undeath.

You found him in the chamber you both shared, seated by the wide arched window that opened to the forest below. 

The moonlight streamed through, illuminating his pale face. 

He just woke up. Since, unlike you, he cannot walk the earth during the day.

To you, he had always been beautiful.

"My love," you said softly, stepping closer to him. 

"You’ve returned," he said, his voice deep and echoing in the chamber. "Where have you been?"

"I went to find something for you. Something... I hoped might make you happy." you pulled the potion out of your pocket and showed it to him.

Orlok’s eyes narrowed. "What is this?"

"A potion," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "It can restore your youth. It makes you as you once were before the curse took hold. It won’t last forever, only for a short while, but... I thought you might wish to see yourself as you were."

He stared at the vial, an unreadable expression crossing his face. His clawed fingers brushed against the glass, but he did not take it. "You sought this for me?"

You nodded. "I know how the years have weighed on you, how the world has changed while you remained the same. And though I love you as you are, I thought perhaps this might bring you some joy."

Orlok’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile. "You did this because you pity me."

"No," you said quickly, placing your hands over his. "I did this because I love you. Because I cannot bear to see you in pain."

He lifted his gaze, searching your eyes for truth. 

For centuries, you had been by his side, his wife, his equal, his love. Unlike him, you had not aged. 

The curse had not marked you in the same way it did him. 

While he bore the scars of time, you remained untouched by its cruel hand. While he must hide from the sun, you are free to walk as you are.

"Do you wish me to be something I am not?" he asked quietly. His voice held no anger. 

"Never," you replied firmly. "You are everything to me, Orlok. I love you as you are. Not for your appearance, but for your soul. This potion is not something you have to take. It’s only something I thought you might want."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting back to the vial. He was deep in thought. "And you’ve tested it?"

You hesitated before answering. "Yes, of course. On myself. It worked... but only for a single night. By dawn, its effects faded, and I was as I had been."

"Then what purpose does it serve?" he asked, his voice tinged with sorrow. "To offer a fleeting glimpse of what once was, only to snatch it away by morning?"

You took his hand in yours, pressing it to your heart. "It serves no purpose beyond showing you what I see every night you emerge from your coffin. You think yourself hideous, but to me, you are perfect. This potion cannot change what truly matters, which is the love I hold for you."

Orlok leaned forward, his cold lips brushing against your forehead. "You are a fool to love me."

"I am the happiest fool in existence," you whispered, smiling through the tears that threatened to fall.

He studied you for a moment longer, then released a deep, shuddering sigh. "If this potion means so much to you, I will take it. But not because I seek youth or beauty. I will take it because you, my love, have given me a gift far greater than time, your heart."

Carefully, he uncorked the vial, the soft sound echoing in the silent chamber. 

The liquid shimmered as he raised it to his lips. You watched, your heart pounding, as he drank it in one swift motion.

For a moment, nothing happened. 

Then, slowly, a soft glow began to radiate from within him. His gaunt features smoothed, the pallor of his skin faded, and the deep lines etched by centuries disappeared. 

Before your eyes, Orlok transformed, becoming the man he once was.

He stood before you, tall and regal, his dark hair restored, his eyes gleaming with vitality. 

Yet, despite his changed appearance, he remained the same. He was still your Orlok.

"How do I appear to you now?" he asked, his voice lighter, hie breathing now even.

You smiled, stepping closer and placing your hands on either side of his face. "You appear as you always have to me, the man I love. This version of you is unchanged by time."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as the moonlight bathed you both in its glow. 

"And when this night ends, and the potion’s effects fade, will you still look at me this way?"

"Always," you promised, pressing your lips to his. "For in my eyes, you are eternal."

As the night wore on, you remained in each other’s arms, savouring the moment. You etched his young face into your mind for eternity.

When dawn approached, and the potion's magic began to weaken, Orlok did not mourn the loss of youth. 

Instead, he held you tighter as he once more laid down in his coffin, but he had you in his arms for this day.

"I must admit, it was nice to see the man I see in the paintings. You are quite handsome." you said as he closed the lid of his coffin.

"Even if I do not need such a potion, I must admit it was great to walk as a young man once more."

"I believe many women fell for you during your youth. But I'm glad I was able to bring back something like that for you."

"I do wonder, what did the potion bring back for you? You are already eternally beautiful."

"I looked like my teenage self. Younger but not as mature. But I believe once was enough. I prefer My Love as he is." his arms tightened around you as he slowly fell asleep.

"Thank you." he whispered before his eyes closed.

You were happy that in the end, he had a great time being young once more. It was a gift after all. 

Love was the only true eternity you needed.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[takaraphoenix]

Hey! It's me again! Your favorite indecisive author!

I'm gonna wrap up two multi-chapter fics this month and I am, once again, unable to decide which one I want to write the most. So I am outsourcing the decision making to you!

The Alpha Pack's Spark

Deucalion/Peter/Stiles, post season 2.

When Peter resurrected, he was still an Alpha. Deucalion and the Alpha Pack came to town because Deucalion heard about his former lover's death. He is pleasantly surprised to find Peter back alive.

He is also surprised when Peter comes to find him with three battered and bruised teenagers. Because Peter couldn't let Stiles slip out of the warehouse, injured and alone, and he somehow let himself be roped into tracking down the two wayward Betas.

While they agree to tend to Erica and Boyd until the teens are healed again, Deucalion makes it clear that there are no Betas in an Alpha Pack. But the two bond with the pack and they left Derek's pack and they need a pack.

Well then, it's a good thing that Stiles has magic that roots in his belief? If he wants it enough, it'll happen. And he wants Boyd and Erica to be able to stay in that pack, even if that meant being Alphas.

Color Deucalion, Peter and everyone else surprised when they realize Stiles is a Spark. And one powerful enough to create Alpha sparks.

Changed (For the Better)

Deucalion/Peter/Stiles, post apocalypse time-travel fix it.

The world had gone to shit. Everyone Stiles loved was dead, his mate had died in his arms just before Stiles used the last of his magic to go back in time and try to save everyone.

The spell took "save everyone" and brought Stiles back to the night Paige would die. So he could save Derek. What a wonderful coincident that Gerard is in town too, to betray Deucalion. Because in the end, Gerard had played a huge role in revealing the supernatural to the world and leading to everyone dying. So Stiles kills him, before he can ever do any harm.

Stiles didn't know what to expect though. Was he supposed to live out his time in the past? Would he just... die, once the deed was done?

He didn't expect to be transported back to his time... but in a different timeline.

People he lost years ago were alive again, everything was different. His mate, his Peter, was alive... and was happily mated to Deucalion. Who wasn't a bad guy in this timeline, because as a side-effect to his own revenge, Stiles had saved the man too.

Now Stiles has to adjust to this new reality, this new world that he doesn't belong to, while carrying the pain and trauma of the original timeline and being forced to watch the man he loved be in love with someone else.

Mutual Understanding

Derek/Stiles, sequel to Mutual Devotion and Mutual Benefit.

A rewrite of season 3A, minus the Alpha Pack and with a twist on the darach, in the universe where Derek and Stiles got together between s2 and s3. They're an established Alpha Pair and their pack - Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Jackson, Lydia, Peter, Danny and the recently added Scott and Allison - is good, they're strong. Are they strong enough to face this new threat together?

Shadow of the Sun

Peter/Stiles, in a sort of Shadow and Bone AU, as Darklina.

A long time ago, Peter's entire pack were slaughtered, because the royal family feared werewolves. Only Peter and his nephew Derek survived. Enraged and seeking vengeance, Peter gave himself to dark magic and, as a side-effect, created the Shadow Fold and made himself and Derek immortal.

Centuries later, the Argents are still on the throne. Under ever new identities, Peter and Derek serve at the court, training the supernatural army that King Gerard uses as cannon fodder.

All Peter wants is for the royals to be gone, for the oppression and death of his people to finally end. He knows that what he needs for that is a Spark, though most people believe the Spark to be a myth.

Stiles was just an orphan from the small town of Beacon Hills, signing up for the army because there was nothing else for someone of his status to do. Besides, he had his best friend Scott with him. They were making due.

Until they are sent through the Shadow Fold and Scott nearly dies. To protect his best friend, Stiles taps into a magic inside him that he didn't know he had - his Spark.

He is sent to the Little Palace, to be trained by General Hale in the use of his Spark so he could one day tear the Shadow Fold down for King Gerard.

(And let me be clear that when I say sort of Shadow and Bone, I very much mean "my Spark is not gonna work to uphold the status quo and the royals' rules, fully joining Peter to tear down their oppressors and be the power couple that Darklina should have been. Also, no Grisha, just general supernatural creatures as in Teen Wolf canon")

[cozmowrites]

Against the End

good omens au

======

The café was small and tucked away on a cobblestone street that Bakugou, angel of this little corner of Earth, had frequented for decades. A quaint space filled with the scent of roasted coffee and freshly baked pastries, it served as the perfect neutral ground. Today, though, the usual comfort of the place was disrupted by you.

You leaned back in your chair, an amused smirk pulling at your lips. Your sunglasses reflected the pale sunlight streaming through the windows. "Tell me, Bakugou, what's the real reason you called me here?" You asked, voice dripping with casual arrogance.

Bakugou fidgeted, his pale wings tucked tightly under the long beige coat he always wore. His golden blond hair was a little messy, as if he'd been ruffling it in frustration moments before you arrived. He finally crossed his arms over his chest. "Why the hell does there have to be a reason, huh? Maybe I wanted to see how bad you're screwing up your side's plans this time."

You laughed, the sound low and teasing. "Oh, please. If I'm screwing up, then you must be doing something right to make up for it. We both know that's not your style, angel boy."

He scowled, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Shut up."

It was always like this between you. Centuries of bickering, barbed insults, and trading favors, all under the guise of maintaining balance. It was easier that way. Easier than admitting that your constant run-ins weren't entirely accidental.

"Alright." You said, feigning disinterest. "If you're not here to chew me out, maybe you just wanted some company? Feeling lonely, angel?"

"I'm not lonely." He snapped, but his voice lacked its usual edge.

The truth was, he was lonely-though he'd rather die (again) than admit it. Heaven's bureaucracy was cold and unfeeling, and his fellow angels often treated him like an outlier, too fiery and independent for their taste. And you? You were his opposite in almost every way, but your company felt like a forbidden kind of comfort.

You sighed, leaning forward on the table, chin resting in your hand. "You know, I can't tell if you're the most stubborn celestial being I've ever met, or if you're just terrible at small talk."

He glared at you, his ruby-red eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're bad at pretending this isn't something else," you said, your tone softening just a fraction. "Every time you call me, it's because something's bothering you, and you need to talk about it without admitting you need to talk about it."

Bakugou opened his mouth, ready to snap at you, but stopped. His shoulders slumped slightly. Damn it, why were you always so perceptive?

"I hate them," he muttered after a long silence. "The other angels. All they care about is following orders, doing what's expected. None of them care about..."

"Humans?" You supplied when he trailed off.

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your gaze softened, the teasing edge in your expression fading. "You've always been too... soft? You're not made for Heaven, Bakugou. That's why I like you."

His head snapped up, eyes wide and searching your face for the telltale signs of mockery. But there were none. Your words hung in the air between you, heavier than either of you anticipated.

"W-what's that supposed to mean?" he stammered, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically flustered.

"It means you care," you said simply. "Even when you're pretending you don't. Even when it's inconvenient or downright stupid." You leaned back in your chair again, crossing your arms. "That's rare, angel boy."

He huffed, crossing his arms tighter. "Yeah, well, you're no better, demon. Don't think I don't notice how you've been pulling your punches lately. You're supposed to be spreading chaos, not holding the door open for little old ladies."

You shrugged. "What can I say? I've got a soft spot for humanity too. Don't go thinking you're special."

The air between you shifted, the banter fading into something unspoken but undeniable. Neither of you said it outright, but there was an understanding-a shared acknowledgment of the fragile, tenuous bond you'd formed over centuries of shared moments like this.

"You know," you said after a long pause, "for someone who claims to hate demons, you sure spend a lot of time with one."

He looked away, the faint blush returning to his cheeks. "Yeah, well... you're not as bad as the rest of them. Maybe."

"Aw, is that your way of saying you like me, Bakugou?"

"Don't push it."

You chuckled, but the sound was softer this time, almost fond.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled with the quiet hum of the café. The sunlight danced on the table, casting a warm glow over your intertwined fates.

It was in moments like this that the lines between angel and demon blurred. And though neither of you would admit it, you both knew that something had changed.

Maybe it was the way Bakugou didn't recoil when your fingers brushed against his while reaching for your coffee. Instead, he froze, his crimson eyes darting to where your fingers lingered near his. For a moment, he looked like a bomb about to go off.

"Watch it, dumbass!" he snapped, yanking his hand back like he'd been burned.

You chuckled, unbothered. "What's the matter, angel boy? Afraid you might catch something?"

"I'm not afraid of anything!" He barked, sitting up straighter. "Unlike you, I've actually got standards."

"Standards? You mean like sipping overpriced coffee in this pretentious café because you're too scared to admit you enjoy human stuff?" You teased, a grin spreading across your face.

"Shut up! I'm not scared, alright? I just..." He trailed off, glaring at the steaming cup in front of him like it had personally offended him. "I like the atmosphere. Not that it's any of your damn business."

"Of course you do." You let the sarcasm drip from your words, but your gaze softened. Bakugou Katsuki was such a contradiction-sharp edges hiding a heart so bright it was almost blinding. If he weren't so stubborn, you might have admitted how much you enjoyed these little meetings. But then again, where was the fun in that?

"So," you said, steering the conversation, "are we just going to sit here throwing insults, or are you going to tell me what's really on your mind? Because I know you didn't call me here to complain about Heaven's terrible government."

His scowl deepened, and he leaned forward, lowering his voice like the topic was dangerous to even utter aloud. "It's happening again."

Your brow furrowed. "What's happening again?"

"Armageddon," he said flatly, the weight of the word hanging between you like a thundercloud.

You blinked, caught off guard. "You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No, you look like you're about to bite someone's head off."

"Exactly." His glare was so intense you could practically feel the heat of it. "Those bastards up there think it's time to end it all. Wipe the slate clean and start over."

You leaned back in your chair, tipping your sunglasses down to study him properly. "And let me guess, your shiny little friends think you're going to play along."

"Of course they do!" Bakugou snapped. "They think I'm some mindless tool who'll just do what I'm told, just like everyone else... But I'm not letting them destroy this place."

You whistled low, impressed. "You know, for an angel, you're awfully good at rebellion. Almost like a certain demon I know."

"Don't compare me to you, you damn idiot," he growled, though there was no real venom in his tone.

You smirked, resting your chin on your hand. "Alright, so what's the plan, oh righteous one? How do you stop the apocalypse?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted, grinding his teeth. "But I'll figure it out. I've got to. There's too much good here."

Something in his words struck a chord in you. His conviction. It was one of the things you admired about him, even if you'd rather swallow glass than admit it outright.

"You know," you said casually, "if you're serious about stopping this... you're going to need help. And I'm not just saying that."

Bakugou shot you a suspicious look. "You offering to help me?"

"Maybe." You grinned, leaning forward. "But only because I can't stand the thought of losing my favorite angel to a stupid celestial war. It'd be such a waste."

He stared at you, brows furrowing in confusion. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," you said with a shrug. "You're a pain in my ass, Katsuki, but you're also... different. Special, even. If anyone can stop this mess, it's you."

For a moment, he was quiet, clearly trying to process your words. Then he scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Tch. You're just saying that because you know I'll win, and you don't want to be on the losing side."

"Sure, let's go with that," You said, unable to suppress your amusement. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, angel boy."

He bristled at the nickname but didn't argue further. Instead, he looked out the window, watching the humans pass by on the street outside. His expression softened, and for a brief moment, he looked almost vulnerable.

"They deserve better." He muttered, more to himself than to you.

You tilted your head, studying him. "What's this? An angel with a heart? You're going to ruin your reputation if you keep talking like that."

"Shut up." But his voice lacked its usual bite, and you couldn't help the warmth spreading in your chest.

Despite everything, you couldn't help but think that maybe, you were on the same side after all.

"Well," you said, standing and tossing a few bills onto the table, "if we're really going to save the world, I guess I'd better stick around. Someone's got to keep you from getting yourself killed."

He scowled, standing as well. "I don't need your help, dumbass."

"Too bad," you shot back, flashing him a grin. "You're stuck with me."

Bakugou muttered something under his breath, but as the two of you stepped out into the sunlight, you caught the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

[unsolicited-opinions]

This makes perfect sense and I'm grateful you shared this thought.

The secular Israeli Jew is different from the diasporan Jew, but that difference has multidimensional gradations.

My folks, for instance, grew up as mostly secular Jews in New York City neighborhoods which were overwhelmingly Jewish. Their public schools closed on the High Holidays because a majority of the students and teachers were at shul. They heard and understood conversations in Yiddish between their older relatives and neighbors, the Jewish Daily Forward (in Yiddish, on newsprint) was a daily source of news. Their daily lives were suffused with Jewish identity, and it was mostly secular. My father became Bar Mitzvah at the nearby Conservative shul, but that felt more like a tiresome familial obligation to him than a religious event. My mother's parents sent her to a Labor Zionist summer camp. She never learned Hebrew, but she's the family authority on Yiddishkeit. They didn't need to go to shul to be or feel Jewish and they were not particularly observant. Their Jewish world surrounded them, enveloped them, and permeated all parts of their daily lives. It was easy, almost effortless to feel Jewish.

Does that sound familiar?

My folks didn't appreciate this until they became the first in their families to leave NYC since their grandparents arrived through Ellis Island around the turn of the 19th century into the 20th.

An amazing job opportunity for my father moved my family to a smallish city in the US midwest.

It took my folks a few years in the midwest to realize that their (still young) kids didn't have any sense of Jewish identity. Their kids were growing up without the sense of community/identity they themselves had gotten from living in a place where Jewishness suffused their daily secular lives. That was absent here, and if they wanted their kids to know who they were, it would take work.

So they joined the local Reform synogogue, which was the only Jewish community in the area. Neither of their families had ever been a part of the Reform Movement before that. Neither of them had attended shabbat services regularly at any point in their lives. They volunteered. Each of them served on the board of this synogogue over the next couple decades. They drove each of their kids to Hebrew school and religious education classes. They sent me to Talmud Torah summer programs in a larger city with a larger Jewish community.

For years, I mostly resented all this. It took decades for me to finally understand why this was important to my parents.

When one doesn't have the option of living a Jewish life in a Jewish place with lots of other Jews, when one's daily life isn't suffused with Jewish community and Jewish identity, it takes work - it takes directed, intentional effort to build and maintain that identity.

Hindsight shows me that the Jewish education we got from the Reform synagogue wasn't ideal, but it was enough for us to know who we were and to be proud of who we were. It was enough to let us see the line of continuity stretching back in time and connecting us to that line.

What I take from this is that when you're a tiny minority living in a culture which is not yours, total assimilation is easy.

In those circumstances, learning and appreciating who you are is a choice with costs.

Diasporan Jews who continue to identify as Jews are those who choose it and invest in it.

You're not lazy, cousin. You're fortunate.

💙

sometimes i think about how i feel like a lazy jew compared to jews in diaspora, like i read through jumblr and don’t know many basic jewish things. i’ve been thinking about the privilege that israel provides you, as to growing up in a non-religious, but heavily influenced jewish environment, that you just by default, grow up kind of on a different scale of jewish. i think that what i mean to say is, that while i sometimes feel like a “lazy jew��, i think it might just be that israel created a jew that’s a little different. you might find it in many things, such as the lack of need to remember important dates, for example. it’s part of the national calendar and the overall lifestyle. idk if i make sense.

[alien-ally]

its almost like, hira was so into kiyoi - he is his favorite person and the most beautiful man to ever walk his world - that it had nothing to do with kiyoi at all. or so he thought because that’s how low his sense of self (in relation to other people) was. and that. ironically is the most self-possessed way to go about it. filled with disdain almost. at the thought of kiyoi wanting him just as much. this much depth,. and grasp of what you are creating. perhaps, i - with no exaggeration, will never stop thinking about them. i cant almost.

[amygdalae]

Ok kava really does give you vivid dreams. Tried some kava candy my dad gave me one evening and in my dreams I had a long conversation with some guy abt the classical piano works of Erik Satie. The gnossienes specifically. No. 2 was his favorite but I'm more partial to No. 1. his T shirt was blue. Also my pubes were gone for some reason

[we-are-not-afraid-92]

the primary reason that we have nosferatu (1922) is because bram stoker’s widow told murneau “no” to a dracula adaptation

with that in mind, we only have nosferatu (2024) because upon the discovery that the ORIGINAL nosferatu was basically dracula with the serial numbers scratched off, and the judge declared that all copies and negatives, too, had to be destroyed, some people caught wind of this and preserved copies in secret (all hail media piracy??)

had those copies not been preserved, nosferatu would likely have been a completely or almost completely forgotten horror film of the silent era

and for that matter, we only have nosferatu (2024) because robert eggers was so obsessed with the original to the point of writing a script and putting on a high school production of the original and still holding fast to adapting/reimagining it when he started film making

half the time I get simultaneously all emotional over this movie, over orlok, over everything that it all means to me in all its complexities, it’s due to some combination of these facts

I’m just so, so happy he exists. 🥲🥲

[magstorrn]

about to leave a scathing review for a historical fiction book on goodreads (felt so strongly about it i made an account for the first time) then chickening out once i realised i'd put down my full name and i dont want to offend the author TOO much in case we end up working in the same field as historians

[teenagefeeling]

on the topic of female-dominated fields, i have actually noticed what i think is a trend of younger men going into library science. and i looked it up on wikipedia and they cited an ala study from 2014 that already showed that. now, it's not a huge change, there's still like 4 times as many female librarians as there are male ones. but i have personally noticed more young men in both the public libraries i visit and in my mslis classes and i think statistics may reflect that as well. what that means for librarianship, i have no idea. i think it's generally a good thing to see a more diverse range of young people entering the field. it'll just be interesting to see if public perception of librarianship changes over time in relation to it.

[intheholler]

the appalachian murder ballad <3 one of the most interesting elements of americana and american folk, imo!

my wife recently gave me A Look when i had one playing in the car and she was like, "why do all of these old folk songs talk about killing people lmao" and i realized i wanted to Talk About It at length.

nerd shit under the cut, and it's long. y'all been warned

so, as y'all probably know, a lot of appalachian folk music grew its roots in scottish folk (and then was heavily influenced by Black folks once it arrived here, but that's a post for another time).

they existed, as most folk music does, to deliver a narrative--to pass on a story orally, especially in communities where literacy was not widespread. their whole purpose was to get the news out there about current events, and everyone loves a good murder mystery!

as an aside, i saw someone liken the murder ballad to a ye olde true crime podcast and tbh, yeah lol.

the "original" murder ballads started back across the pond as news stories printed on broadsheets and penned in such a way that it was easy to put to melody.

they were meant to be passed on and keep the people informed about the goings-on in town. i imagine that because these songs were left up to their original orators to get them going, this would be why we have sooo many variations of old folk songs.

naturally then, almost always, they were based on real events, either sung from an outside perspective, from the killer's perspective and in some cases, from the victim's. of course, like most things from days of yore, they reek of social dogshit. the particular flavor of dogshit of the OG murder ballad was misogyny.

so, the murder ballad came over when the english and scots-irish settlers did. in fact, a lot of the current murder ballads are still telling stories from centuries ago, and, as is the way of folk, getting rewritten and given new names and melodies and evolving into the modern recordings we hear today.

305 such scottish and english ballads were noted and collected into what is famously known as the Child Ballads collected by a professor named francis james child in the 19th century. they have been reshaped and covered and recorded a million and one times, as is the folk way.

while newer ones continued to largely fit the formula of retelling real events and murder trials (such as one of my favorite ones, little sadie, about a murderer getting chased through the carolinas to have justice handed down), they also evolved into sometimes fictional, (often unfortunately misogynistic) cautionary tales.

perhaps the most famous examples of these are omie wise and pretty polly where the woman's death almost feels justified as if it's her fault (big shocker).

but i digress. in this way, the evolution of the murder ballad came to serve a similar purpose as the spooky legends of appalachia did/do now.

(why do we have those urban legends and oral traditions warning yall out of the woods? to keep babies from gettin lost n dying in them. i know it's a fun tiktok trend rn to tell tale of spooky scary woods like there's really more haints out here than there are anywhere else, but that's a rant for another time too ain't it)

so, the aforementioned little sadie (also known as "bad lee brown" in some cases) was first recorded in the 1920s. i'm also plugging my favorite female-vocaist cover of it there because it's superior when a woman does it, sorry.

it is a pretty straightforward murder ballad in its content--in the original version, the guy kills a woman, a stranger or his girlfriend sometimes depending on who is covering it.

but instead of it being a cautionary 'be careful and don't get pregnant or it's your fault' tale like omie wise and pretty polly, the guy doesn't get away with it, and he's not portrayed as sympathetic like the murderer is in so many ballads.

a few decades after, women started saying fuck you and writing their own murder ballads.

in the 40s, the femme fatale trope was in full swing with women flipping the script and killing their male lovers for slights against them instead.

men began to enter the "find out" phase in these songs and paid up for being abusive partners. women regained their agency and humanity by actually giving themselves an active voice instead of just being essentially 'fridged in the ballads of old.

her majesty dolly parton even covered plenty of old ballads herself but then went on to write the bridge, telling the pregnant-woman-in-the-murder-ballad's side of things for once. love her.

as a listener, i realized that i personally prefer these modern covers of appalachian murder ballads sung by women-led acts like dolly and gillian welch and even the super-recent crooked still especially, because there is a sense of reclamation, subverting its roots by giving it a woman's voice instead.

meaning that, like a lot else from the problematic past, the appalachian murder ballad is something to be enjoyed with critical ears. violence against women is an evergreen issue, of course, and you're going to encounter a lot of that in this branch of historical music.

but with folk songs, and especially the murder ballad, being such a foundational element of appalachian history and culture and fitting squarely into the appalachian gothic, i still find them important and so, so interesting

i do feel it's worth mentioning that there are "tamer" ones. with traditional and modern murder ballads alike, some of them are just for "fun," like a murder mystery novel is enjoyable to read; not all have a message or retell a historical trial.

(for instance, i'd even argue ultra-modern, popular americana songs like hell's comin' with me is a contemporary americana murder ballad--being sung by a male vocalist and having evolved from being at the expense of a woman to instead being directed at a harmful and corrupt church. that kind of thing)

in short: it continues to evolve, and i continue to eat that shit up.

anyway, to leave off, lemme share with yall my personal favorite murder ballad which fits squarely into murder mystery/horror novel territory imo.

it's the 10th child ballad and was originally known as "the twa sisters." it's been covered to hell n back and named and renamed.

but! if you listen to any flavor of americana, chances are high you already know it; popular names are "the dreadful wind and rain" and sometimes just "wind and rain."

in it, a jealous older sister pushes her other sister into a river (or stream, or sea, depending on who's covering it) over a dumbass man. the little sister's body floats away and a fiddle maker come upon her and took parts of her body to make a fiddle of his own. the only song the new fiddle plays is the tale about how it came to be, and it is the same song you have been listening to until then.

how's that for genuinely spooky-scary appalachia, y'all?

[suzannahnatters]

all RIGHT:

Why You're Writing Medieval (and Medieval-Coded) Women Wrong: A RANT

(Or, For the Love of God, People, Stop Pretending Victorian Style Gender Roles Applied to All of History)

This is a problem I see alllll over the place - I'll be reading a medieval-coded book and the women will be told they aren't allowed to fight or learn or work, that they are only supposed to get married, keep house and have babies, &c &c.

If I point this out ppl will be like "yes but there was misogyny back then! women were treated terribly!" and OK. Stop right there.

By & large, what we as a culture think of as misogyny & patriarchy is the expression prevalent in Victorian times - not medieval. (And NO, this is not me blaming Victorians for their theme park version of "medieval history". This is me blaming 21st century people for being ignorant & refusing to do their homework).

Yes, there was misogyny in medieval times, but 1) in many ways it was actually markedly less severe than Victorian misogyny, tyvm - and 2) it was of a quite different type. (Disclaimer: I am speaking specifically of Frankish, Western European medieval women rather than those in other parts of the world. This applies to a lesser extent in Byzantium and I am still learning about women in the medieval Islamic world.)

So, here are the 2 vital things to remember about women when writing medieval or medieval-coded societies

FIRST. Where in Victorian times the primary axes of prejudice were gender and race - so that a male labourer had more rights than a female of the higher classes, and a middle class white man would be treated with more respect than an African or Indian dignitary - In medieval times, the primary axis of prejudice was, overwhelmingly, class. Thus, Frankish crusader knights arguably felt more solidarity with their Muslim opponents of knightly status, than they did their own peasants. Faith and age were also medieval axes of prejudice - children and young people were exploited ruthlessly, sent into war or marriage at 15 (boys) or 12 (girls). Gender was less important.

What this meant was that a medieval woman could expect - indeed demand - to be treated more or less the same way the men of her class were. Where no ancient legal obstacle existed, such as Salic law, a king's daughter could and did expect to rule, even after marriage.

Women of the knightly class could & did arm & fight - something that required a MASSIVE outlay of money, which was obviously at their discretion & disposal. See: Sichelgaita, Isabel de Conches, the unnamed women fighting in armour as knights during the Third Crusade, as recorded by Muslim chroniclers.

Tolkien's Eowyn is a great example of this medieval attitude to class trumping race: complaining that she's being told not to fight, she stresses her class: "I am of the house of Eorl & not a serving woman". She claims her rights, not as a woman, but as a member of the warrior class and the ruling family. Similarly in Renaissance Venice a doge protested the practice which saw 80% of noble women locked into convents for life: if these had been men they would have been "born to command & govern the world". Their class ought to have exempted them from discrimination on the basis of sex.

So, tip #1 for writing medieval women: remember that their class always outweighed their gender. They might be subordinate to the men within their own class, but not to those below.

SECOND. Whereas Victorians saw women's highest calling as marriage & children - the "angel in the house" ennobling & improving their men on a spiritual but rarely practical level - Medievals by contrast prized virginity/celibacy above marriage, seeing it as a way for women to transcend their sex. Often as nuns, saints, mystics; sometimes as warriors, queens, & ladies; always as businesswomen & merchants, women could & did forge their own paths in life

When Elizabeth I claimed to have "the heart & stomach of a king" & adopted the persona of the virgin queen, this was the norm she appealed to. Women could do things; they just had to prove they were Not Like Other Girls. By Elizabeth's time things were already changing: it was the Reformation that switched the ideal to marriage, & the Enlightenment that divorced femininity from reason, aggression & public life.

For more on this topic, read Katherine Hager's article "Endowed With Manly Courage: Medieval Perceptions of Women in Combat" on women who transcended gender to occupy a liminal space as warrior/virgin/saint.

So, tip #2: remember that for medieval women, wife and mother wasn't the ideal, virgin saint was the ideal. By proving yourself "not like other girls" you could gain significant autonomy & freedom.

Finally a bonus tip: if writing about medieval women, be sure to read writing on women's issues from the time so as to understand the terms in which these women spoke about & defended their ambitions. Start with Christine de Pisan.

I learned all this doing the reading for WATCHERS OF OUTREMER, my series of historical fantasy novels set in the medieval crusader states, which were dominated by strong medieval women! Book 5, THE HOUSE OF MOURNING (forthcoming 2023) will focus, to a greater extent than any other novel I've ever yet read or written, on the experience of women during the crusades - as warriors, captives, and political leaders. I can't wait to share it with you all!

[thesummerestsolstice]

Notes on the Care and Keeping of the Peredhel, by Maglor Feanorian:

Need to eat three times a day, more if they can be persuaded (they do not seem to have the refined palettes elves do, and do not like my attempts at Valinorean fine dining)

They are very fond of maple syrup

One of the human healers told me they were "growing boys," unsure of the significance of this– a reference to their shapeshifting abilities, perhaps?

It does not appear that they will reach a full elvish height, though that may change

They can hear high tones that elves can, but humans can't

This bodes very well for their education in music theory

They do not appear to have the venom that some humans do, as evidenced by the fact that both Mae and I have been bitten several times with no ill effect

Still, I am thankful that Finrod warned me of this human feature, as it has served me well in many battles

They have not bitten anyone in months, which I appreciate, especially given how sharp their teeth are

Boys said that they could talk to shadows– unsure whether or not they were just attempting to scare me (ask later? Bribe with maple syrup??)

They like having their hair brushed, but do not like any of the scented hair oils we have at the fortress

They refuse to eat bird meat; unsure of why but I won't push

Elros prefers wooden toys, Elrond fabric ones, and neither of them is fond of metal

They grow faster than elves, but are still too young to begin intensive battle training, Maedhros

They are very sensitive to the cold, ensure that they have ample blankets and cloaks, especially in winter

Feel much better after spending time with them– those who spent time around Luthien reported similar effects

They appear to appreciate being pat on the head

Based on information by uncle Arfin (regarding Eonwe), this is common amongst Maiar

I've only had them two years, an incredibly small time in the face of the centuries I've lived, but if anything happened to them I would kill everyone in this fortress and then myself

[chunksworld]

Swim

IZ*ONE Kim Minju x Male Reader | (Tags: Smut)

A/N: #BreedMinju. Thank you to Kaede for beta reading as always.

————————

You never imagined in your wet dreams, in all of the times you masturbated to her, or even that time you drunk texted her a picture of you shirtless after one too many drinks at the bar that the woman you met inside the elevator during your first day at the company some two odd years ago would be in your apartment watching some rom-com from the 90s that you are too inebriated to remember the title of. Your heart is pounding, partly because of the double serving of triple shot espresso you perhaps shouldn’t have drank this morning and partly because she looks devastatingly stunning in that white shirt that completely conceals whatever shorts she maybe wearing underneath which further accentuates those long legs of hers—

“I don’t remember the TV facing this direction, unless there’s something on my face?”

Shit.

Aside from her God-given physical features, it’s the way she can toy with your feelings and flirt with you so effortlessly that always leaves you wanting for more. Every single little interaction with her is an adventure on its own; the way she would wink at you every time you pass by her in the office, the way she would walk up to you to fix your tie while telling you how your perfume “smells like the oceanside on a summer day” —whatever the hell that means— or how she would always give you words of encouragement with that bright smile of hers during stressful days. 

It should mean something, has to mean something. Right? You can’t ask anyone for advice either, not when you’re the only two people born on this side of the century in your department. Your coworkers are either divorced or having a midlife crisis, and quite frankly, you might be having a quarter-life crisis if such a thing exists. You can’t stay professional any longer, and you are more than thankful that you’re not at the workplace right now because the thoughts swimming inside your head are absolutely not safe for work. And it’s all because of this fucking woman that’s laughing as if everything is sunshine and rainbows: Kim Minju. 

It doesn’t help that she’s the prettiest woman you know. even more so than the handful of girls you’ve hooked up with during college. Evidently, you are not the only one that shares that sentiment because you don’t miss the old way some of your older male coworkers would give her a certain, disgusting look that you wish to erase from your memories and you know she deserves better than them. She deserves someone like you, but you don’t exactly know if that feeling is reciprocated. But as to how far you can push your luck, you haven’t found out the answer to that yet—perhaps tonight is the night. 

“Are you still with me? Or did my goddess face lure you in too deep?” 

That now makes the two of you not paying attention to the movie—granted you’ve already seen it at least a dozen times during college when you were a hopeless romantic but who are you to turn down Minju when she specifically requested it? Plus, that’s not your concern at this very moment when she scoots ever so closely to you and the heat her skin radiates is enough to burn you. “Honestly, I don’t blame you if you have a crush on me. I sort of have that effect on guys.” There’s that fucking wink again, and the way she pouts her lips as if she is posing for a selfie. “I admire your resilience though, most guys would have me moaning their names on their bed already by this point.”

“Not funny, Minju.” It really isn’t, not when she’s mere inches away from you and if you were just a bit more drunk now those irresistible lips of hers would be meshed with yours now. You try to look away but you can’t, they captivate you to no end and you don’t even want to look away now—the sheen on those cherry red lips, the way they stand out against her milky white skin, the way she then bites her lower lips as to tempt you even further, the way sweat slowly drips down the side of her face and to her neck and you think they’d look good with your bite marks all over them.

Even if you look down, her succulent thighs and legs are all that will pervade your senses and you won’t be able to stop thinking about how you just want to rip whatever garments she’s wearing underneath and have her spread her legs while you eat her out like she’s your last meal on Earth. “You can’t just keep doing this for years and not expect me to make a move eventually.”

“Then what’s stopping you, hmm?” 

Minju somehow shifts even closer to you, her lips practically brushing against yours, her eyes staring deep into your soul, her hands resting on your thighs. She probes into you even deeper, much deeper than any other time and emergency sirens are popping up in your head. There have been many close encounters like this, way too many for your liking. 

The way she would wear pencil skirts on certain days and make it her mission to bend over in front of you as much as possible to show the unreal curvature of her ass—then proceeding to smirk as if she doesn’t know how much your cock wants to burst through your pants. The way she would purposely bump into you and pretend to fall so you can pull her into an inadvertent hug. 

Or when she would wear those dresses that hug her curves tightly during galas and she would give you a courtesy hug for a second longer than corporate policies would allow. Or when she kissed you during Christmas party last year and claimed that she had to do it because you two were “underneath a mistletoe.” 

It all has to end tonight, because God forbid you have to spend another night alone on your bed making a mess while you shoot ropes after ropes all over yourself thinking about her. It’s exhausting having to play these games with her when you’re 99% sure she is into you and you have to take action now before someone else does.

“Minju, I don’t think you’re ready for what I’m packing down there.” You test the waters even further, carefully studying her facial expressions while trying not to get lost in her eyes. It’s quite a difficult task when the alcohol is hitting you harder by the minute but when a sly grin appears across her face as if to challenge that statement, you know you have her right where you want her.

“Oh trust me, I know what you’re packing down there.” Minju glances downwards at your erection and your sweatpants are doing a poor job with how it’s about to poke through your pants. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be spending my Friday night here when I could be hanging out with Chaewon and Yujin.” It’s getting dangerous now, her hands traveling down your body and cupping your length through two layers of clothing.

And honestly you might as well be naked now with the way your cock reacts to her touch —your tip is leaking heavily and your breath starts to shorten. “So what’s it gonna be? You can’t tell me you have a different plan for how this night is going to end.” You can’t push back any further, you won’t push back. You take the first dip, lips pressed hungrily onto hers and she takes this opportunity to swing her legs over and straddle you on your couch—the movie in the background is long forgotten and all you care about right now is her.

You straighten yourself up and wrap your arms around her waist possessively; two years of pent up sexual frustration finally coming to an end and you make the most of it. Her lips are everything you’ve dreamed of; soft and sweet and succulent and you can’t help but think about how they slot in with yours perfectly as if you were meant to kiss her all this time. Your hands travel to her face to cup her cheeks, pushing her head deeper into yours and you notice her hands encircling around your back. 

You take a break to catch your bearings, staring deep again at her now lust-filled eyes and you get a front row seat to the facial expression you’ve been dying to see for forever now.  She moans into your mouth when one of your hands slides underneath her dress shirt to feel her smooth skin and the ridges of her abs which itself isn’t a surprise—what is surprising is the lack of bra when you travel further upwards and you come into contact with tits that you are sure is perky and round. “What a fucking slut, Minju. No bra?”

Your suspicions are confirmed when you practically rip the buttons off her shirt and throw it somewhere in your living room and your mouth waters at the sight of her breasts, they are definitely not the biggest you’ve seen but the way they sit on her perfectly shaped body with all of her curves and intricacies is more than enough to make up for it. “What’s the use of wearing one when I knew we were gonna end up like this anyways?” But before you could dive down to taste them you find your shirt being removed as well and the hunger in your eyes is mirrored by the way she’s staring down at your own pack of abs. 

“I mean if I had it my way I would’ve told you to be shirtless already with only your boxers on before I came over but you can’t have everything in life right?” She is as handsy as you, those delicate fingers mapping your chest and your stomach with every little touch as if to decipher where her lips would go later. But you absolutely cannot wait any longer, grabbing her hand and placing it on her sides while you devour her nipples. Taking her left breasts between your lips while massaging the right one and the whimper of your name that escapes her lips is downright sinful while you alternate between the two. 

You lick, slurp, and at times even get your teeth involved—just anything that can get her squirming and writhing on your lap is enough to fuel you. Even more so when she pushes your head deeper into her chest and she’s moaning “more please, fuck” in between whimpers.

Minju is one needy girl and that’s one fact that you find out quickly when she starts to grind on your hips and you can feel just how warm and wet her shorts are. You inadvertently bite on her nipples and she screams your name at the sensation. You utter a “sorry” in response but it doesn’t really matter when she gets off of you and you think you’ve absolutely screwed up. Fucking great. She stands up and you are about to give a more sincere and heartfelt apology but those thoughts are quickly washed away when she removes her shorts and then her panties.

“I want to see that cock. Now.”

You don’t waste a single moment before you proceed to do the same thing to your undergarments and the sight of her fully naked in front of you causes you to leak even more precum with your cock freely exposed to the air. Minju looks hot—which in itself might be an understatement with the way she’s fucking you with those wide eyes of hers, the way her nipples are glimmering under the lights of your living room thanks to your saliva, the way her abs contract with every breath she takes, the way those stocky thighs are slick with her essence. Forget those wet dreams because none of them could match witnessing the actual Kim Minju naked in real life in your apartment.

Minju squeals when you drag her back down towards you to make her straddle your lap again. No more games, no more foreplay, you slowly sink her down your cock and drink in her moans when she buries her face in your shoulder. She is suffocatingly tight, extremely wet but tight and you almost spill mere seconds after finally inserting your entire length inside her. You wince slightly as her manicured nails press into your shoulders and eventually your back. “Fucking—shit—If I only knew—” 

Your pace is slow and methodical, even though you want to just pound her into oblivion and have her screaming to the point your neighbors will complain the morning after. She is Minju after all and she deserves that respect, but as to how long you can control yourself you don’t know. For now, you are content to just have her in your arms and revel in this moment that you’d never thought would ever come. Just feeling how your cock molds perfectly inside her and how her small bunny hops gradually increase over time and her face becomes lost in pleasure is more than enough.

Especially when you feel every inch of her goddess-like body pressed against yours when she arches up to you; her thighs bouncing against yours, her abs grinding against yours, and those breasts pressed against your chest. “—so deep, fuck—harder!” It’s about time you take control and you do just that, you plant your feet to the ground and you grab handfuls of her asscheeks with each hand before thrusting up in time with her thrust and Minju’s gone completely delirious now. 

Gone are the coherent sentences as they are now replaced by expletive-filled chants of pleasure. She’s damn near crying on your cock, tears welling up in her eyes due to pleasure and so you pull her face away to get a glimpse of her sweat-misted face and how her eyes are unfocused. You don’t know what came over you but you feel your heart skip a beat seeing such surreal beauty up close and personal so you pull her in for another makeout session, continuing your long and hard thrusts while your tongue ravages her mouth much like your cock does with her pussy.

“Fucking hell, we should’ve done this sooner.” Another kiss on her lips, then another lick of her nipples—make that two licks, no in fact, you devour them once more. It’s becoming clearer that they’re starting to become your favorite part of her body and it’s completely justified. “ I can’t believe I had to jack off to your pictures when you were just one call away.” The woman in question doesn’t respond but she blushes, the raw honesty of your words is enough to reveal that shy and demure side of her again despite the situation you two are currently in. 

Minju just brushes her hair aside in response while looking away, taking the initiative to bounce on your cock and you let her take over once again. “W-Well I’m here now—“ A particularly hard thrust deep into a certain spot inside her has her clenching around your cock much tighter than usual, you take mental note of this “—I hope I’m as good as advertised.” Of course she is and even better than whatever scenario you were cooking up inside your head, but instead of showing it through words you just smile at her and hope that it’s enough to show your admiration and you let your body do the talking.

You’re noticing how tired she’s becoming being on top so you don’t waste any more time and pick up the pace while still letting her guide the way. It’s silence between the two of you aside from the sounds of passionate lovemaking and that is just enough to push you two closer to the edge. You feel her clench tighter around you again and likewise you can feel your balls throbbing in anticipation too. It’s been a stressful week at work and there’s no better place to unload than inside her welcoming pussy. You’re just as close to her as reaching your orgasm and it’s becoming extremely difficult not to do anything but to burst inside hers. 

Forget the lovemaking, you lift her up by her asscheeks and stand up from the couch and you immediately feel her limbs coil around your body as she gasps at the sensation of being fully seated by your cock. You start to thrust up again, this time more relentlessly without the restrictions of the couch and she’s leaking even more now and you can actually feel her juices stream down your cock and you know she’s extremely close. “D-Don’t stop, please. Don’t you ever fucking stop!” She’s bouncing much higher than before, almost completely unsheathing your length before she crashes back down on it again and now she’s actually crying in pleasure. 

“Hnnghhh! Fuck! I can’t, I can’t—” There was certainly no way she was going to last any longer. “—G-Gonna cum on your cock!” And a few more of those wild thrusts is all it takes to set her off, going limp and forcing you to grab hold of her even tighter so she doesn’t slip off—a task given difficult given how much sweat is emanating both of your bodies but you don’t care especially when all of those juices causes you to slip out of her for a minute and you don’t care about the mess you two are making on the floor at this very moment when you’re about to follow her with your own orgasm. 

“Such a fucking good girl for me, Minju.” You slide back inside her, this time it’s easier thanks to the lubrication she provided and you can’t help but grit your teeth and close your eyes. It’s too much, all of this. What transpired tonight and what it means for your future. It’s all too much to handle and you can’t hold it any longer. You’re about to give her the biggest load you’ve ever given anyone.  “You deserve all of this, I’ve wanted you so fucking bad.“ All she can do is nod as she is still sensitive from her own orgasm but with the way she’s wrapping her arms around you tighter she wants it as badly as you do. “Gonna fucking cum inside.”

“Please! I want your hot—hnggh—I want your cum. Please. When a beautiful woman like her gives you such a permission you don’t waste it, you hold her tight as you begin to pump ropes after ropes of cum in her pussy with every deep thrust. You don’t want to stop cumming, can’t stop cumming—your legs going weak and forcing you to sit down on the couch while you continue to unload deep inside Minju. It feels fucking euphoric, feeling your load drip back down to your cock and balls as that seemed to drain the soul out of you. 

You’ve been holding back from the moment you first saw her all those years ago and there’s no better feeling than this, not even a promotion could rival how addicting having sex with her feels and you want more. You want to continue diving into the ocean that is Kim Minju even if it means drowning, nothing else matters but her.

As if to try to coax more cum out of you, Minju continues to grind her hips while kissing you. This time it’s much more slow and gentle while you lay her on the couch and hover on top of her. It’s beautiful how her hair, though disheveled, cascades down her shoulders and fans out on the cushion below. 

Her limbs are still wrapped tight around you, your softening cock starting to harden while you begin to fuck her once more—you’re making a mess of the couch with how you’re fucking your cam back into her but it doesn’t matter when she’s going to be filled again. “You still have enough cum for me? I’m surprised.” 

You place kisses on her neck this time, making sure to leave marks dark enough that no amount of foundation can conceal it once Monday comes around. Surprisingly she doesn’t protest, perhaps she does want everyone to find out about you two. “Guess I didn’t do a good job of draining you, huh?” You respond by fucking her harder into the couch, feeling the furniture creak and move with every thrust and you render her speechless once again. 

Lean down to capture those bouncing tits in your mouth and continue to work her to another orgasm which wasn’t difficult to accomplish considering how sensitive she still is. It didn’t take long to set you off either and you unload whatever remaining load you have, which is still plenty considering you almost passed out with how much you left inside her just ten minutes ago.

She urges you to sit up on the couch again and she gets off of it to kneel down in front of you before then taking your flaccid cock in her mouth to clean you off. The sight is pornographic, the way she shows off your combined juices on her tongue before making a show of swallowing it all. “Hmm, we taste good together. I don’t mind having some more of that.”

Minju gets off her knees to sit down right beside you and the way her naked body glistens under the natural light outside your apartment is an unparalleled sight that has your heart swooning and doing backflips. “Well, I’m free this entire weekend.” And perhaps shooting your shot when all of this has already happened is quite a ridiculous predicament to be in but you don’t want to be selfish after all. Surely a girl like her has plenty of suitors you’re not aware of and you don’t want to tie her down especially when nothing is official yet.

“I guess I could be convinced.”

Those ten seconds of silence felt like an eternity. But it was all worth it the moment she gives you that smile that makes your heart race even faster. And despite kissing her for what seems like a million times already, this one has special weight. As if to tell the world that the most beautiful woman you have ever known and perhaps will ever know is now yours and there’s nothing that could change that. Screw all of those disgusting old men with their mid-life crisis because your quarter-life crisis just ended in the most satisfying way possible.

You’re embarrassed by the way you whine the moment you don’t feel her lips on yours anymore but you are quickly consoled the moment she stands up and turns around to flaunt that perfectly shaped ass of hers. Suddenly, blood rushes to your cock again as if you didn’t cum twice already. 

“Come on, take me to your bedroom.” Minju eyes you like a piece of meat once again when she pulls you up to your feet. 

“There’s one more hole you forgot to fill.”

[prythianpages]

Hopelessly Devoted | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader x Azriel | You're hopelessly devoted to Azriel, suspecting he’s your true love. Meanwhile, Eris is hopelessly longing after you. aka Eris being your mate but you're too infatuated with Az to notice.

warnings: slight angst, reader being a bit delulu

*also disclaimer that I am no expert in astrology and my knowledge is usually what I gathered from friends or tiktok so if I'm wrong, please correct me but do it nicely pls bc I am sensitive lol*

a/n: I wasn't sure whether to include Az or not in the pairing but I liked the idea of leaving this fic up to your interpretation. Anyway, happy reading! <3

As you entered the Night Court’s observatory, you traced your fingers along the edge of the great celestial map laid before you. You could feel the soft hum of magic beneath your fingertips, still smell the faintest hint of sage–a remnant of your father’s last ritual here. For centuries, your father has served as the Night Court’s astrologer. He’s guided and advised High Lord Rhysand and on occasion, Keir, the steward of the Court of Nightmares.

Above you, constellations and planets danced across the domed ceiling, the stars gleaming as though they were ready to whisper secrets just for you. You took a deep breath, centering yourself, and placed a palm flat against the massive zodiac wheel etched onto the floor. It began to glow, a warm golden light tracing symbols of the zodiacs and planets.

“Stars above and stars below, reveal the path I seek to know,” you quietly murmured.

The markings on the wheel shifted in response, aligning and realigning with clicking sounds, the warm golden light following. Then, your own chart had appeared, shimmering above you. It was a translucent web of stars and planets connected by silvery lines. You’ve read your birth chart many times, become so familiar with it that you knew it by heart even.

But tonight, you needed the extra reassurance. So you looked up, watching as the planets moved slowly. Your heartbeat a little faster as you spotted Jupiter making transit through your seventh house. The promise of growth, abundance, luck and most important of all, love filled the air. 

You slipped a small vial from the hidden pocket of your cobalt blue dress. The words Love Potion No.9 gleamed on the glass, the dark red liquid swirling. It was the enchanted perfume you’d bought from a witch last week—a little love potion designed to make you irresistibly alluring to your soulmate.

You felt a bit foolish, seeking a witch for guidance on love of all matters. Witches were frowned upon in the Court of Nightmares, after all. But impatience had finally nudged you to venture beyond the court’s dark mountain and into the surrounding forests, in search of someone who could help.

“Seek the one who walks between light and shadow with a mask of cool indifference, where fire meets the edge of night. There your heart shall find its match,” she had told you as she handed you the enchanted perfume.

Her words had only confirmed what you had been suspecting for years, centuries even.

Azriel was your soulmate. 

Azriel, the very embodiment of cool indifference, wore a mask of stoicism in the Court of Nightmares, just as High Lord Rhysand did. But his hazel eyes always seemed to burn with a hidden fire. And when you were alone with him, away from the cold nobility of the Night Court, Azriel would let that mask slip, revealing a kinder side that laughed and smiled with you. He was your friend and not only did he literally walk among shadows, he wielded them. It had to be him!

And then, there was your birth chart. Your seventh house lay in Taurus—a sign ruled by Venus. With Venus positioned in your twelfth house, everything pointed to the idea that your future soulmate would bring your happiness and pleasure. And since you met Azriel all those years ago during a counseling your father led, happiness had been an emotion you'd grown more familiar with.

The stars couldn’t have given you a clearer message!

**

There was a flutter in your stomach as you approached Azriel. The two of you had been stealing glances at one another, as you usually did anytime you found yourselves in the same place. He looked as beautiful as ever. As dreamy as ever. 

Though your High Lord and High Lady had moved to the center of the ballroom for a dance, he had stayed by the dais. “Hello,” you greeted him with a small smile.

Azriel turned to you, that mask of his slipping for just a brief moment to smile back at you. He took the extra wine glass in your hold, murmuring a small thanks. He turned his head back to the dance floor, attentive to his High Lady’s whereabouts. But he shifted closer to you, the coolness of his shadows caressing your bare arm and you couldn’t help but wonder if the perfume was working.

“You look nice,” he commented.

“Thanks.” A blush rose to your cheeks. You’d taken care to match your dress to the exact shade of his siphons. And he noticed. “So do you.”

“I wear this all the time.” Azriel replied drily, referring to his usual Illyrian leathers.

“Yeah, I know.” You cursed yourself inwardly for the awkward response, then shifted closer, leaning toward him. “Do I smell to you?”

Azriel paused, his shadows brushing close, as if curious themselves. “No,” he said after a moment.

“Oh.” Disappointment seeped into your voice despite your best efforts, and his gaze shifted to you, a hint of a frown in his brows.

“Do you want to smell?”

There’s a teasing edge to his tone, a subtle quirk of his lips. You shook your head, letting out a small, nervous laugh. "No. I just wanted to know if I smelled any…different…,” and then, in a much quieter tone, you murmured, “to you.”

Azriel considered your words. He looked to you in what seemed like permission. You gave a nod of your head and he leaned in, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. “You smell the same to me.” At the breath you let out, he quickly added: “which is good by the way. You smell nice.”

“Oh, okay,” you smile, albeit a bit awkwardly, the flutter you had felt in your stomach earlier twisting into a knot. 

“Y/n, is everything alright?” Azriel asked softly.

“Yeah, I just thought—” You stopped, not sure how to explain without sounding foolish. It wasn’t like you could admit to feeling disappointed over the lack of reaction from an enchanted perfume you’d spent quite a fortune on. Especially when he was the sole purpose for it. Had the witch scammed you?

Azriel waited for you patiently, concern flashing in his eyes. Maybe the perfume hadn’t worked, but the stars and planets had never led you astray. That still had to mean something, right? 

“I’m fine.” You finally said.

“Are you sure?”

The way he was looking at you had warmth creeping up your neck and settling deeper in your cheeks. “Yeah.”

A single shadow curled around Azriel’s ear and in the blink of an eye, his head turned. Your gaze followed his, to where Rhysand and Feyre were standing. Rhysand sent him a slight nod and with a sigh, Azriel returned it.

“Sorry, I have to go.” Azriel said, quickly downing the remaining wine from his glass.

You held out your hand, offering to take it for him.

“Thank you. I’ll be back. Don’t have too much fun without me, alright?”

“I’ll try not to,” you replied.

You watched Azriel disappear into his shadows before turning away from the dais and making your way to the refreshments table. You were eager for a refill on your glass. Perhaps a little more wine would help ease the sting of disappointment. But he’d said he’d be back, hadn’t he?

As you scanned the room, you noticed your father in conversation with one of Keir’s sons and your mother eyeing potential suitors for your older brother. As an elite warrior of the Darkbringers, he had no shortage of admirers, and it was only a matter of time before your mother secured him a match—perfect or not.

You suspected you’d be next on her matchmaking list, so you busied yourself with small talk among familiar ladies. Conversations were always a mind-numbing, the ladies your age exchanging beauty tips that centered around the male’s eye or fawning over this season’s most eligible males. Which this season just so happens to be your brother. Gross. If only they knew him the way you did….

Second to him was Bret—or some equally uninspiring name. A Scorpio, of all things, which clashed miserably with your chart. Not that it mattered. You had no interest in any noble of the Court of Nightmares. Or any male here. Most, if not all, were cruel and narcissists, only viewing females as child bearers and nothing more. 

There was a reason why this court was burdened with the title “Nightmares.”  And to marry someone from here would mean never waking up from this darkness. No stars to light your night skies, only endless shadow and despair.

So, you’d taken fate into your own hands. You’d turned to your birth chart, hoping the stars would lead you somewhere beyond Hewn City, beyond this never-ending nightmare. And they had. They led you to believe it was Azriel. Azriel, who was not only honorable and single but also, technically, part of the Court of Dreams. He’d been your friend for centuries, seeing you for who you are rather than an object or prize like most males here. 

As you sneak away from the conversation, you bump into something–someone. Behind you, a deep voice huffed a low, mocking chuckle. “Easy there, librarian.” 

You could recognize that voice anywhere, could recognize the heat radiating from him. It pressed down on you, leaving you simmering with irritation.

“I’m a libra, not a librarian.” You bit out. It hasn’t even been a minute and already you were exhausted by the searing presence behind you. “And besides, to you, it’s Lady Y/N.”

When you turned, you found Eris looming over you. His amber eyes gleamed with a familiar, infuriating mischief. He gave you that signature smirk of his, the one that made his sharp features all the more arrogant. “Such a harsh tone. Hardly fitting for a Lady.”

Your gaze hardened into a glare, only to have it stray toward a movement across the ballroom.  A flicker of shadow caught your attention, and your heart gave a small, hopeful jump as your gaze softened. There he was—Azriel.

He had returned to the ballroom…but he hadn’t returned to you…

Eris raised a glass to his lips, amber eyes flicking lazily between you and Azriel. “Disappointment doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not disappointed.” You muttered hastily.

He gave a scoff, his smirk widening with dark amusement. “Please. I can practically feel it.”

“Liar,” you shot back. 

“Azriel said he’d find me again and unlike you, he’s a male of his word,” you continued, not sure why you were telling Eris this. “He’s…”

Your words trailed off as you watched Azriel, who stood next to Nesta and Elain. He laughed–actually laughed!-- at something Elain had said, shadows absent from his frame as his focus remained solely on her. You couldn’t miss the soft smile playing on his lips, nor the warmth in his gaze. Did he do that with every female he knew? You thought he reserved that just for you…

The bubble in your chest slowly deflated.

“Keep dreaming,” Eris huffed out. He seemed to take special pleasure in your reaction. It prompted your cheeks to flush but this time, with irritation.

“Oh, go away, you prick,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?" he replied, leaning closer, his sharp gaze burning into you. You missed the flash of longing in his amber eyes, too focused on Azriel. Or the way the words that had been on the tip of his tongue faltered as your scent suddenly overwhelmed him, his breath hitching slightly.

 "You smell.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled absently.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice gruff and pupils flaring. “You smell different tonight…good...”

You blinked, barely processing his words. Was he actually being nice to you? In all the years you’ve known him, he’s always had snark remark after snark remark for you. The way it would roll smoothly off his tongue always left you wondering if he’d rehearse them for his visits to the Court of Nightmares. 

You fidgeted, fingers grazing your wine glass as you cast a hesitant glance back at Azriel. Your chest tightened as he remained engrossed in conversation with Elain. Turn around, please. But he hadn’t even looked your way once. 

Eris stepped in front of you, drawing your attention back to him. His gaze roamed over you, your dress. He took in the shade and he knew why you had chosen it–and for whom.  "You know," he said, his gaze lingering on your face.  "Red suits you far better.”

“And there he is, you’re back…”

"I’m serious. This—" He gestured to your gown with a slight grimace, his fingers brushing the silk fabric in disappointment. "This color washes you out. Red would bring out the color of your eyes…”

Your jaw clenched but you remained silent, refusing to admit that his words stirred something within you. Eris was insufferable, arrogant, and yet you couldn't deny his eye for detail. He, after all, was always dressed impeccably in the finest Autumn attire. But you would never give him the satisfaction of admitting he might be right.

His smirk widened, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Do you want to know another thing?”

“No,” you said immediately.

But he leaned in anyway, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re hopelessly devoted to a male who doesn’t even look your way.”

Your mouth opened, brows furrowing in protest, but he went on. His smirk softened, fading into a half-smile. One that didn’t reach his eyes, dimming the fire that usually burned so brightly there. And then, in a much quieter, reluctant tone, he murmured, “And I am no different, it seems.”

"But…" You stammered, resisting the urge to steal another glance at Azriel. "He does look my way…sometimes.”

Eris’s smile faded, his expression tightening. A flicker of pain crossed his face. So brief, you almost thought you imagined it.  "You’re delusional.”

“And you’re insufferable.” You scoffed, heart pounding.

“Better than being a fool.” 

The mocking tone was there but the usual sharpness had been softened by a strange, subtle sadness. Was this… pity?

You swallowed, lifting your chin defiantly. “The stars wouldn’t lie to me,” you said, though the conviction in your voice wavered. “He’s the one for me.”`

You met his eyes then and Eris held your gaze. His amber eyes warm and molten, the intensity of his stare prickling at your skin. An unsettling flutter erupted in your stomach, rising to your chest. A feeling you quickly dismissed when you felt something cool brush against your arm.

“Is he bothering you, y/n?”

Eris scoffed at the sudden presence beside you. It sickened him to see that sweet, adoring look on your face, the triumphant gleam in your eyes as you looked up at Azriel. The sight made Eris grit his teeth. His instincts roared at him, the fire in his veins was scorching.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze, realizing both males were waiting for your answer. “No,” you said but the way you shifted to stand behind Azriel said otherwise.

Azriel’s gaze hardened as he looked toward Eris. “Stay away from her,” he seethed.

A low growl rumbled from Eris’s chest as he took a step forward, his amber eyes flaring with rage. Though not as tall as Azriel, he seemed to tower over him at this moment. His teeth flashed as his lips curled into a snarl. “I do not take orders from bastards like you.”

Azriel’s wings tensed, threatening to unfurl and the movement of his shadows quickened. Like a storm ready to unfold. But before it could, you placed a hand on his arm. Right over one of his glowing siphons that seemed to be growing hotter and hotter, daring to match the fire coursing through Eris’s veins.

“Az, don’t,” you told him gently, not wanting to draw any attention to the three of you. You felt his muscles ease under your touch, his shadows brushing over your hand in agreement.

Eris’s gaze dropped to your hand on Azriel’s arm, his expression darkening into something unreadable. He exhaled sharply, turning his head as though trying to shake off whatever thought had crossed his mind.

When he looked back, his features had shifted into his usual cool mask, that infuriating smirk sliding back into place. He looked right at you.

“When you wake up from this deranged dream of yours, come find me.”

You watched him, feeling a strange, unwelcome tug in your chest as he turned to leave. Perhaps, one day you’d realize that the enchanted perfume you had bought was not a scam. 

And that the male you searched through the stars and planets for was not the one standing beside you, but the one who’d just walked away.

a/n: sorry if you're not a libra, I just thought it'd be funny for Eris to purposely say reader's sign wrong as he knows astrology is a huge influence on her.

[series masterlist]

[Eris masterlist]

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[meanbossart]

I think DnD lore is fascinating. The detail gone into building this universe should be celebrated, analyzed, and dissected. Pointing out inconsistencies and joking about - even becoming performatively "angry" at clumsy retcons or oversights in good humor - is the right of any devoted TTRPG player or fan.

However, I am really baffled by people who feel the need to point out or even reprehend creators who ignore or change part of the lore in their own stories to fit the narratives they they're trying to tell.

You know whats frustrating about trying to tell a story that takes place in a non-fictional world? That we have to adhere to the rules of how that world functions. Or at least we better do that or else a gaggle of sticklers will come barreling through all of the subtext, themes, and whatever point you the writer were trying to make, to instead point out that the *obscure and deeply debated* historical element you used was incorrect and took them out of the narrative, or ask why the character didn't simply "call the police".

The beautiful thing to me about DnD, on the other hand, is that it is deeply malleable. You can take things out or add things in or change them to your liking all in the name of serving the story that you want to tell and keeping it focused on what you deem important - instead of having to take random detours to explain how unimportant-event-that-slightly-facilitates-my-plot is possible. It was this magical rock. It was the Gods. It was fictional faction established in chapter two. It was this skeleton man I randomly met in a tomb.

I understand that this mindset might not appeal to people who want to read stories about strict and well-defined political and cultural conflict, or centuries-old Godly spats of biblical proportions based on ancient and well-established astral beef - if that kind of thing IS the main course for you, I get it. Go out there. Find it and eat it up.

But there is another section of people for whom those aspects are set-dressing, whose engagement depends more so on dynamics set between characters and their emotional development throughout the story - everything else is there to facilitate these interpersonal journeys and make it as concise and interesting as possible. Naturally, most people are going to be some mix of both archetypes, but I think they will always prioritize one over the other.

Regardless - remember, it's fantasy. You are arguing for (at times demanding, even) consistency in populations and creatures that have never existed. You GOTTA admit that that is a little silly.

[evegwood]

Nosferatu’s Contracts: A Linguistic Deepdive

(This is one half of a blogpost I put on my website! Read the full thing for a full list of sources and even MORE information on the contract from the 1922 film).

So I saw the new Nosferatu film the other day and while I didn't think it was all that fantastic (I loved the first half okay, calm down) the one thing that did stick out to me was the absolutely gorgeous scripts used for the contract that Thomas has to sign. Thank you to this Reddit post for sharing a picture of the entire thing:

The BEAUTIFUL red calligraphy is called Vyaz, a form of decorative Cyrillic calligraphy. In Vyaz script, letters are all joined and interwoven together to create a beautiful, ornamental typographical piece. The Wikipedia page about it is fucking pathetic but it does feature this example of text with a coloured breakdown of the individual words that comprise the piece:

Obviously this itched my language brain like crazy. The best resource I have found since to learn more about Vyaz is this full, free guide written by Viktor Pushkarev. He has also released a 254 page PDF for 25 euros called the Modern Slavic Vyaz Calligraphy Workbook and I think I'm going to have to buy it. His examples look stunning and I would love to learn more about this style of calligraphy. Thank you, Nosferatu.

The Vyaz calligraphy is only one style of writing used in that contract. The other is a completely different style of writing and, surprisingly (or not, maybe?) the best place to look for answers turned out to once again be Reddit. This commenter suggests it's another form of Cyrillic:

Here's some Glagolitic, to compare:

In a different thread, this commenter claims to have cracked it:

This commenter replies with an addition:

So that's cool! In that same thread, this commenter says that the contract looks like a Romanian hrisov, or medieval chancellery charter, and recommends this video explaining how they were written. As you can see from the example below that the commenter shared, these traditional contracts look pretty damn similar to Orlok's contract! So let's talk about them real quick, because it's interesting!

The video is by Adrian Gheorghe, a historian whose speciality is the editing and translation of all documents regarding Vlad the Impaler. He talks about how unlike letters, which would be written in Latin, these charters were written in Slavonic, a liturgical and "literary language, based on Slavic dialects of the Balkans, developed by monks in the 9th century" (X). Viktor Pushkarev suggests a book called Grammar of the Church Slavonic Language if you want to learn more about the grammar and syntax. Slavonic was often written in Glagolitic and hey, we've seen that before!

These charters also had explicit and strict structures that they adhered to. This strict standard served to not only prove the legitimacy of a document, but that "the document was drawn up with all due solemnity" (X). Interestingly, each charter would invoke God in the opening lines or would simply have a cross at the beginning, and according to the translations given above Count Orlok's contract does not seem to include this. I recommend checking out the video in its entirety to hear more about this cool bit of history.

But of course... that's not all that's written on the contract, is it? Thomas signs it, and he signs it in Kurrent script, an old traditional form of German cursive. If you'd like to learn how to write in Kurrent, there's a free guide by Margarete Mücke right here! Here's a screenshot I took of the scene along with a Kurrent alphabet for comparison:

Kurrent has a really interesting history. It evolved from gothic cursive at the beginning of the 16th century, which saw a lot of use in the medieval ages. Compared to the vast variety of gothic cursive writing styles, Kurrent was "beautiful, fast to write and comparatively legible" (X). It soon moved out of use solely in chancelleries and into everyday use, becoming more and more standardised.

This script saw a bit of a rollercoaster of popularity; in the early 1900s it was established and taught in all German schools, then steadily became seen as "antiquated and ugly", then the Nazis declared other writing scripts "Un-German" and promoted gothic typography until 1941 when Hitler declared Kurrent and its sister writing style Fraktur "to be of 'Jewish origin' and therefore taboo". More information about this can be found on this page about the history of Old German Script (another name for Kurrent).

So that's that! Count Orlok's contract is based on traditional charters of the region with set structures to highlight their legitimacy and importance as documents, using traditional scripts and handwriting of the time, and is also a style of document that is directly tied to Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Dracula and ultimately Nosferatu. Extremely cool and also totally makes sense considering Robert Eggers interest in authentic linguistic detail (like I didn't even mention the language that Orlok speaks throughout the film, which is Dacian, an extinct ancestor of Romanian). Lots of really tasty stuff to look at and I had a blast putting it all together.

Except.......... it's not the end. There's a whole second saga to be told about the contract from the 1922 film, and if you wanna read that (I get deep into talking occult symbols and angel languages) you're gonna have to read the original post on my site!