#hoaxes over hexes

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: We speak to those beyond. 3668 words.

1986

Time was not linear. Nor was it circular. It was an overlapping collage of everything that had ever happened. A compressed murder board. A grimoire swallowed whole. Eddie remembered it all.

A century of Eptesicus fuscus, a shell of consciousness. Hawkins. A sickness. A witch’s healing hand. Before that, the flatlands. A coven. You. Oh, you, his little witch.

“Those are not your apples.” Cleansing crystals by moonlight. Amabel, little witch. Lonely vampire. Collecting flowers and berries. Green milkweed. Unconditional good. A forest gate. “Bloodline magic, far and wide.” A bet, a kiss, and a name.  “I envy your world of absolutes. And I love you so.” Marguerite du Bruyeres’ letters to Guillaume du Bruyeres. Unmistakably vampire carnage. Blood of my blood.

Eddie let you slip onto the pillow, then escaped out of the trailer and into the early morning. The sun would rise soon but he needed to move. Run. Scream.

The sisters – Sally and Gillian. Penelope, the spellcaster. “By your hand he is taken and I die on this night, or you let us go and free yourself of this burden.” Transformation. Walking through the grass. Black-eyed Susan, tansy, elecampane, yellow carnation, cyclamen. Blood of my blood.

He remembered who he was before you. And before Roanoke. His accent and gait may have changed, but he was the same sad, doomed soul he’d been then. Still a monster.

Eddie sobbed. He went to the forest gate on the outskirts of town and laid in the grass, looking up at the starry sky, letting the shame and horror and regret drown him.

What was he to do? How would he tell you? Should he tell you? Would you be able to see it on his face?

He waited until the very last minutes of night to return to Forest Hills. Eddie moved slowly through the town; slowly, at least, for him. He could picture it all now, how it used to be. The dirt roads. The vacuum of quiet that proceeded the era of constant electrical white noise.

You slept well into the morning, but roused yourself before midday. Eddie was watching Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope. He seemed immersed, so you went about making breakfast. Assam tea with cocoa husks. Oatmeal with sultanas and brown sugar.

There was an awkwardness to Eddie when you sat next to him, curling up close enough to touch. Your mind cycled through possibilities with rapid fire speed. The notion it kept circling back to was – did he regret kissing you?

“Chewie reminds me of the creatures that live in the woods. Have you seen them? Over in the north-west?” you asked, trying to break the ice.

Eddie nodded. “They are shy,”

“Yeah. The humans don’t know about them. Well. They do, but most of them think it’s a hoax. They’re considered cryptids… Which is like, an animal or creature that may or may not exist…” You were rambling. “When they see one, they call it Bigfoot… But Chewie definitely looks like one.”

Eddie didn’t answer. You hadn’t appeared to notice the significance of him remembering something, even something innocuous like the existence of things in the woods.

You finished eating, washed your dishes, and returned to the couch. Star Wars ended and you had no real choice but to address the atmosphere.

“Are you okay?” you asked Eddie.

He looked at you, something in his expression you couldn’t quite place. He nodded. “Yes… Perhaps on edge regarding what your Witches will tell,”

“Yeah… Well then, let’s not put it off any longer.”

Directing Eddie to sit across the room, you knelt at your altar and lit two candles. A pale blue candle for truth. A darker indigo candle for intuition and breaking through illusion. With paper in front of you and a pen in hand, you closed your eyes.

The Witches Who Came Before were always with you, so you needn’t call for them. Instead, you spoke to them with clear intention.

“It is not my place to question you. But it is your place to guide me. To offer truth. Long ago, you foretold of us leaving the flatlands. Then, you warned me of returning. What would have happened if I had heeded that warning?”

The temperature of the room dropped and the air grew thick. Eddie felt his skin tingle and prickle, a frisson of fear and excitement running through him.

“I know you see him for what he is. Without him, Vecna would not have been defeated. Can you say without doubt that he would have been without my intervention?”

It was a challenge to them. If you and Eddie hadn’t destroyed Vecna, could your coven have stopped him? Could all the witches in the world have stop him? Maybe, sure. However, somewhere deep down you knew the answer. Vecna did not belong to this plane of existence. He wasn’t even of the world he inhabited. And a witch can only fight within the boundaries of the natural world.

If you had not come to Hawkins, if you had not found the bat and restored Eddie to his vampire form, Vecna would have taken the town, then the world.

The Witches were silent. It told you that you were right.

“You said that not all callings are sanctified, but that the voice calling me was coming into focus for you. Do you know what brought me here?”

The flames flickered and your hand picked up the signal. The words scrawled along the paper faster than you could read.

“Life and Death have no voice… They do not come calling in the night,” The Witches said. “Their siblings are to follow suit, yet they are wayward in their youth,”

“Which of their siblings called to me?” you asked.

“Destiny was formed in shattered ruins.”

The letters were so unfamiliar, you weren’t sure which witch was speaking to you. It didn’t matter. You had an answer. Destiny had broken free of the rules and reached out to you, urging you to come to Hawkins.

“If I was fated to return to Hawkins, then I was fated to find him?”

Y. E. S. was written over and over, the word tracing itself again and again.

“Why me?”

“Like calls to like. Fate to fate. Love to love,” they said. “History will not repeat itself,”

“A history I do not remember.”

For a moment, quiet. “Lore must be rewritten. You must remember.”

You looked over at Eddie, who could not see any of the words on the page. He was watching you intently, something so human behind his eyes.

“How?” you asked The Witches. “How can I remember?”

“By definition. Blood for blood. Magic for magic.”

You didn’t understand but it felt like enough information that you could figure it out. There was one more thing you needed to know. “The coven… Did I betray them or have they betrayed me?”

“Knowledge is… a creator’s prerogative.”

The pen dropped and the flames were snuffed by an unseen power. You breathed out and read the pages again. Eddie came to sit opposite you. He took the paper.

“Destiny is… a sentient thing?” Eddie asked.

“It’s not meant to be. Forces like fate and life and death shouldn’t… proactively… change the course of what happens on Earth. Not for good reason,”

“I assume we will not hear this reason from Destiny,”

“No… But… It’s an answer. I was called here to find you so we could kill Vecna.”

It was a hypothesis you had both considered. It should have felt satisfying to have it confirmed, yet it was a shallow kind of resolution.

“And, it had to be you,” Eddie said. He knew why it had to be you. No other witch would have saved a vampire. It pained him to see you confused and lost.

“When I get my memories back, I’ll know why it had to be me,”

“By definition. Blood for blood. Magic for magic,” Eddie read off the page. You nodded. “By definition, you are a witch, you are magic. Therefore, it is through magic that you will find your memories,” he reasoned.

It clicked into place in your mind. “And by definition, you are a vampire… blood… so… Through blood you’ll get yours back?” you guessed.

When you looked up at Eddie, you expected to see your own excited expression mirrored. Instead, there was restraint. He broke eye contact almost immediately and began to nod, standing up and walking away.

“Yes. Although I don’t-” he began.

“Stop,” you whispered.

You got up and followed him across the room, he took a step to move away from you but you grabbed him by the wrist. Eddie was helpless as you squinted your eyes and studied his face. When you figured it out, a small gasp slipped from your lips and you let go of him.

As you went to speak, your voice cracked and you had to start again. “How long?”

Eddie said your name with too much softness.

“No. No. Don’t… Don’t do that. How long have you remembered? Do you remember everything? When… When did you remember?” You felt like you were going to throw up.

It hurt.

Not the nausea or the sudden headache, but the deceit. You had thought you and Eddie were a united front. A team. But he had lied to you.

“Only last night, but-”

“Last night?! Was that before or after we…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Now that your face was contorted with fear and sadness, Eddie’s mirror yours.

“Please, let me tell you. I’ll tell you everything,” he begged. His hand reached out; he wanted to brush the tears from your cheeks.

You flinched and Eddie moved back in response.

Had you been stupid to trust a vampire? Was everything you felt about Eddie misguided? Were all your bad decisions going to lead to a reckoning, where excommunication was the best outcome you could hope for?

Eddie wanted desperately to spill it all out. To tell you everything that had happened in 1836. To warn you against trusting your coven. To help you find your memories, and maybe Kelsey’s too. But the more he pushed, the more you pulled away. He’d never had faith in anything, but he demanded it of himself in that moment. Have faith in fate. Have faith in his little witch.

Your mind was having trouble holding any one thought. Normally, you’d be cycling through them all, but it felt like your brain was empty. Long hallways leading to unfurnished rooms. Cavernous spaces. Haunted. You were frozen on the spot, watching Eddie watch you. Then, everything came into sharp focus at the sound of a knock on the trailer’s front door.

The tension was popped and you choked back a half-sob. Eddie hid himself in the bedroom, closing the door behind him, as you answered. He climbed onto the bed and curled up, regret washing over him as he closed his eyes and listened.

Sunlight poured in as the door swung open, Robin and Nancy’s shadows casting long across the trailer’s carpet. You frowned, at first, confused by their appearance. The grief was so intense that it was almost an entity standing beside them. You understood then.

“Hey,” Nancy greeted weakly.

“Hi,” you replied.

It felt strange following a normal social script with them. Yet, you all persisted.

“This is Dustin,” she introduced, taking a step to reveal a child standing behind her.

You knew who he was and nodded politely in his direction. He was already crying. Sighing, you looked away from them, out at Forest Hills. Life was returning to it, but you had been too busy with your own shit to notice.

“It might be too early for this,” you told them.

“It’s past midday,” Robin countered.

“No, I mean, too early in the grieving process. It’s only been a couple days,” you explained.

“Are you saying that… He won’t… Answer us… yet? Or that we aren’t ready to talk to him?” Nancy asked. “Because, no offense, but you don’t know us well enough to tell us if we’re ready,”

“We’re ready,” Robin added.

You sucked your bottom lip in, forgetting the split. You winced at the pain, tasted the blood. The blood. Was that how Eddie got his memory back? Had he kissed blood from your mouth and found history in it?

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Dustin squeaked. The boy’s face was pure misery. His nose was red from rubbing it with tissues. His eyes were bloodshot. He was clenching his jaw.

Stepping aside, you nodded. “Okay. Come in.”

Eddie stayed where he was, knowing it was not his place to intrude on such a private event.

You cleared the altar in the middle of the lounge room and directed the teens to sit around it. They watched as you gathered items from around the place and mumbled to yourself while scribbling into a notebook.

“Where there is death, there have always been attempts to commune with the dead. It is not a practice that belongs strictly to witches. Since the beginning of time, humans have sought out methods to speak to those they’ve lost. Where connection has been made, it is usually more to do with the dead than the methods of the living, but nonetheless, it has happened.”

Nancy was listening intently, ever the student. Robin and Dustin both looked at each other, sharing inpatient expressions.

“It’s important to understand history. If you want to participate in the craft, you owe it at least that,” you told them. “Our way of bridging us and them is dependent on the dead. How they appear is dictated by them entirely,”

“What does that mean?” Nancy asked.

“It means, I can send them a message and open the doorway, but if and how they walk through it has nothing to do with me. They could send a single message back. Just an echo I hear. Their form may appear, ready to hold conversation. Alternatively, they may close the door and lock it. You need to be prepared for any of these outcomes,”

“He’ll want to talk to us,” Dustin said. “I know he will.”

You hoped he was right.

If the altar was at the center of an invisible pentagram, you placed an object at each point. A small plate of chunks of cedarwood, burning slowly. Black onyx. Sprigs of vervain. A bowl of moon water. Finally, a white candle burning at where the top of the pentagram would be.

You sat at the altar and used a pin to open a tiny wound in your finger. Closing your eyes and letting the blood roll down your hand, you spoke. “I offer my blood, the blood of a born witch, in payment of passage into the ether.” You opened your eyes and looked at the teens. “You can call to him,” you instructed.

They looked between themselves, silently figuring out who would go first. Naturally, Nancy took a deep breath in. Her eyes glazed over with tears. Her voice was small. “Steve? Are you there?”

She looked to you for guidance; you nodded for her to continue.

“Steve… It’s Nancy… Robin and Dustin are here too… We…” She had to stop to steel her nerves. “We miss you. And. Um. We… we wanted…” It was suddenly impossible for her to say the words ‘to say goodbye.’ Nancy started to cry.

“Hey- hey, dingus,” Robin took over. “Are you there? You’re probably busy… hitting on ghost chicks already… But, um, if you could just… just tune in for a minute…”

Everyone’s attention snapped to the bowl of water as it shook and spilled. You felt him first. Warmth. Steve Harrington felt warm.

“He’s here,” you told them. “He’s listening.”

They all focused, trying to sense what you did. Slowly, his outline was becoming visible to you. He was behind his friends, leaning against the trailer’s wall, by the door. Steve’s arms were crossed against his chest and one leg was folded, foot flat against the wall. He appeared casual, already at peace with his death.

“Your friends wanted to say goodbye to you,” you said to him.

“Are you like…” Steve waved his hands in the air. “Like a witch?”

You nodded.

“All this is… Are you a- a good witch?”

“Was that a genuine question or are you quoting The Wizard of Oz?” you asked him.

Robin covered her face with her hands as Dustin rolled his eyes.

“I thought dying, might, you know, level him up?” Dustin whispered through his tears.

“I can hear you,” Steve said.

“Does he know we tried… we…” Nancy cut through the comedy with her grief, getting stuck on her words again.

Steve nodded. He moved through the trailer, his form semi-transparent and snapping with residual energy. He sat next to you, looking over at his friends. 

“He knows you tried to save him. He knows you didn’t want to leave him there,” you told them.

“Tell Dustin that he doesn’t need to feel guilty. I’m glad he wasn’t there,” Steve said.

“It’s good you weren’t there, Dustin. Steve is thankful you were safe and that you didn’t have to see him in the end,”

“And tell him that he’s the coolest kid I ever knew. That I figured that out on the train tracks. He’s cool and he’s so smart. Twice as smart as me. More, probably. He’s gonna grow up and be the kind of man I wish I was.”

You watched Steve as he spoke. The way he looked at Dustin with admiration in his eyes. Like this kid who probably worshipped him was actually the hero of the group.

You relayed Steve’s message word-for-word. Dustin whimpered and let Nancy wrap an arm around him.

“Thanks, man,” Dustin managed to get out. “I love you.”

Steve looked to Robin next. “I don’t know how to explain it to her,” he told you.

“It’s okay. I think she’ll understand,”

“Yeah… That’s it though. She gets me. And I get her. Like… I feel normal around her. I can just be… me. She’s my best friend… I have a shit load of regrets but not knowing Robin sooner is right at the top of that list. Tell her… that she’s so much braver than she thinks she is. And that she’s smart in a way nobody else is… And that she totally deserves to be loved. And not by some girl who keeps it a secret. Nothing like that. She deserves the whole love story movie thing… romantic comedy with the happy ending. Can you tell her that?”

You could and you did.

Robin nodded to herself in a self-soothing action, then pulled her knees up to her chest and started to rock. Steve frowned at her.

“Tell her that she should still go on the trip we were thinking about,”

“He says you should still go on the trip,” you said to her.

Robin barked out a broken laugh. “Sunshine, beers, and babes,” she said.

“Oh! And tell her if someone pauses Fast Times at Ridgemont High at 53 minutes and 5 seconds, she knows what it means.”

Robin laughed again and nodded. “Noted.”

Steve nodded along with her. “Maybe she should take Nancy on the trip. They’d actually make really good friends if they got to know each other,”

“I think they’re doing that,” you told him.

“That’s good…” He looked at Nancy. “I had the chance to tell her everything, near the end. Got some of it… Tell her… Shit. I don’t know how to say it without sounding like I’m blowing smoke up her ass,”

“You’re up Nancy. He needs a second. Says he doesn’t know how to tell you what he needs to without sounding like he’s blowing smoke up your ass.”

Everyone laughed. Except Steve. He held his hands up in question. “What the hell, man? You said you were a good witch!”

You liked Steve.

“Okay… She needs to really believe what I told her. About how she really helped me stop being such an asshole. And that it’s okay how it ended between us. I was stuck in the present but Nancy sees the future. Big plans, you know? She should know that’s a good thing.”

As soon as you started to give Nancy the message, she burst into tears again.

“Tell her that I love that she always trusts her gut. And that she’ll always look so hot with a shotgun… And tell her that I’ll say hi to Barb for her.”

The room fell into silence after the last of Nancy’s goodbye was said. Nobody was ready to move on just yet. After a few minutes of reflection, Steve’s form began to flicker. He knew what it meant. When you sat up straight, the others all looked at you.

“I gotta go,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” you replied softly. “Here. Hold my hand.”

Steve frowned, unsure of what would happen. Still, he thought it best to do what a good witch said. He took your hand and felt a zap of electricity or something magic.

“Any last words?” you asked him.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. The others all gasped. Steve looked to them then back to you. “They can hear me?”

Robin started to sob again. Dustin nodded.

“Oh, shit, okay. Shit… Hi… Shit…”

“It’s okay,” you told him, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah… Uh… Just… It’s okay, you know? It… it had to be this way. There’s already plenty of Steves in the world, you know? But there’s only one Dustin Henderson. One Robin Buckley. One Nancy Wheeler. The world needs you guys. So, it’s okay. I’m okay. I love you.”

The others cried and said goodbye. They held each other and let themselves feel it all.

Steve’s hand slowly faded out of yours, until there was nothing left but his warmth and the memory of him etched into his friends' minds like love letters swiped through wet concrete.

End Note: This chapter was written very much in collab with @dr-aculaaa, my resident Steve expert. Thank you so much! I hope you like how the scene turned out.

Chapter seventeen is a little bit of an interlude, it's an ode to both Steve and to the magic that runs through this story. But also... now she knows Eddie knows... yikes.

Grimoire updated!

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#Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Vampire!Eddie Munson

[dankusner]

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 2013

Henry Ford

from The New Vulgate:

Henry Ford was a nut. 

But he was an ungodly rich American nut, and when he got a bug up his butt, he had the resources to do something about it. 

He started his own newspaper, The Dearborn Independent, and when that was insufficient for spreading the hot news about the Hebrew-haters preferred hoax, “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion,” he distributed it through Ford dealerships and had it translated into German. 

When he decided he needed a dam, he hired forty Negroes to dig him one, specifying an all-colored crew to his contractor, then had them knock off work to sing him Stephen Foster songs — he was especially fond of “Old Black Joe” and “Old Kentucky Home.” 

Once he decided that the contemporary world had gone to hell in a handbasket, he set himself up with a Never-Never Land right there in Dearborn and named it Greenfield Village. 

It was a psychic twin to John D. and Abby Aldrich Rockefeller's Colonial Williamsburg (and both places were kin to Walt Disney's seven-eighths scaled Main Street USA, with its banjo-spanking Dixieland band, striped coats and straw hats direct from the blackface minstrel walkaround.) These were industrialist fantasies of pre-industrial feudal villages — once she'd presided over the founding of the Museum of Modern Art, Mrs. Rockefeller sent forth her minions, collectors who would shortly be dubbed "curators" and they worked New England and the Mid-Atlantic states the way maidenly New Englanders were working the mountains of the South, hunting for the pure and the purer. 

Her employees gathered up weather vanes and quilts, pried Pennsylvania Dutch hex signs off the front of barns, loaded trucks with cigar-store Indians and sewing baskets and duck decoys, each and every one of them by that celebrated and super-prolific folk artiste "Anonymous." 

Then she commissioned her curators to come up with a definition of "folk art" that would fit a collection that included no totem poles or kachinas or Navajo blankets or santos or bultos or bottle trees or wrought iron work or anything else made by anyone who wasn't rustic, white, and located on the eastern seaboard. 

Mary Black, the director of Abby's collection, declared, "The genesis, rise and disappearance of folk art is closely connected with the events of the 19th Century when the dissolution of the old ways left rural folk everywhere with an unused surplus of time and energy." 

It was a theory to warm the heart of any Rockefeller. Henry Ford, on the other hand, was a nouveau riche buttinski who supplied his own damn theories, and plenty of 'em. 

He turned collectors of his own loose, hunting for backwoods fiddlers who could remember the words and melodies of the old tunes, the fiddle tunes that were American's true pure heritage. 

He set himself up a dance hall in his factory's Engineering Lab, with his fiddle-and-dulcimer orchestra on hand at all times. 

He hired a dance instructor and produced a book, Good Morning — After a Sleep of 25 Years Old-Fashioned Dancing Is Being Revived by Mr. and Mrs. Henry Ford, then distributed hundreds of thousands of copies, just as he did with the Protocols. 

The book's rules of etiquette were as rigid and unwavering as a manual for a mass-production line. By now, Henry Ford had dance fever. 

He traveled the country preaching the gospel of his square-danced etiquette. 

At his factory, engineers were constantly being dragged onto the dance floor, and on his Georgia plantation, Negro children were taught the polka. 

He created his own record label for "Henry Ford's Old Time Dance Orchestra." 

When his collectors brought Stradivarius violins for his approval, he'd saw off a fiddle tune, then write a check. 

He purchased the cottage where Stephen Foster was born and had it moved to Greenfield Village. 

He bought a Cape Cod windmill, and English shepherd's cottage, the schoolhouse where the author of McGuffey's Reader swatted his first sleeping students, the Springfield courthouse where Abe Lincoln lost his first court case and the Ford's Theater chair Lincoln was sitting in when John Wilkes Booth shot him. 

He came within days and dimes of buying a pickled corpse alleged to be Booth. 

He tried to have Foster's Old Dog Tray exhumed and stuffed but the operation was a failure. 

He purchased a dozen railroad cars of research on the folkloric history of "Mary Had A Little Lamb." (The poem's author died at seventeen, the lamb was gored by a cow, and Mary herself ended up in an asylum.)

Henry Ford had hated farm life when he was a boy stuck on a farm, and he invented his way out of it — a couple of ways. 

Late on a night in 1936, one of the many family acts who were making it through the Depression off country music drove down a Michigan road trying to find a tourist court so they could sleep. 

It was the Rhodes Family — brother Speck Rhodes would play bass with Porter Wagoner for many years, all the while playing the Toby role, a black-toothed rube variant from the minstrel days, the white Jim Crow, the Arkansas Traveler's squatter. 

Exhausted, they found a country road — it sure seemed like a country road — so they pulled over and slept in the car. 

A guard woke them in the morning; they had spent the night in Henry Ford's driveway. 

He'd let them stay there because they drove a Ford. 

"Sure enough," says Speck's brother Dusty, "...here comes Henry Ford with two bodyguards. He was a real nice fellow and after we talked to him for a while he asked us to plays some music. He really did like country music." 

He asked Dusty Rhodes if he wanted to play one of his fiddles, then sent the servants to fetch it. 

"This is a genuine Stradivarius violin," Ford told him, "and is worth $150,000." 

He asked me if I would play 'Red Wing' for him because that was his favorite fiddle tune. So I played 'Red Wing' and several other tunes for him on that Stradivarius fiddle." Ford sure did love country music. 

"Red Wing" had been written and published in 1907 by Tin Pan Alley's Kerry Mills, author of "Rastus On Parade" and of "At A Georgia Camp Meeting" as well, the biggest cakewalk hit of the whole coon song era. 

Mills had been head of the violin department of the University of Michigan School of Music; he'd snagged the melody, all too appropriately, from Schumann's "The Merry Peasant." 

To this day, "Red Wing" is known as an old fiddle tune. 

(My mom, Lawrence Welk's cousin, Francesca Schweitzer Bull, has always played it oom-pah accordion style on the organ, but that's pretty much how she plays everything.) 

It is an old fiddle tune, just as it was in 1937, maybe just as it was by 1908. 

The vogue for coon songs was cooling down, and a brief fad for frontier Indian romance numbers came and went. 

It was a coon song of a different sort, and Henry Ford was right. 

It was country music, just as his driveway was close enough to a country road to fool country folks in a country band. 

Henry Ford, the man who killed off the horse-and-buggy-era, once the fastest man in the world, died by the light of a coal lamp. 

And that $150,000 fiddle of his? "Well," says Dusty Rhodes, "I have to admit that I didn't like it any better than the one Daddy made for me." Subject: Re: songlist… Date: May 10, 2017 at 1:21:56 PM CDT Turkey in the Straw https://youtu.be/VsnZxfkkoKQ

AKA Nigger Love a Watermelon https://youtu.be/hB5AMQslyC0?list=PL_UCF1Fbh6zbefQbXYDjD9-F2shfhjicY

AKA The Preacher and the Bear https://youtu.be/5LvuH907ZPs?list=PLOxExGKVeUTanhTVfSGZbvMS62aD4uVAZ

That playlist includes All Coons Look Alike to Me

Jim Crow by Daddy Rice https://youtu.be/xG2zd6NCzJ8

The Whistling Coon https://youtu.be/sVYHSlEssYY

You can probably look up every song he mentions and find it on YouSteal, but the main paradigm he proposes is Jim Crow and Zip Coon. So any coon song should cover the second base, and most Jim Crow material was eventually translated into hillbilly Hee Haw style material sans the blackface.

On 2017-05-03 18:06, Daniel Kusner wrote:

M do me a favor….

bart mentions a lot of songs in "does this road"

can you list four to ten songs [hopefully that are FRESH and in a way "UNDISCOVERED"] that absolutely sizzle?

and if so, can you link to perhaps youtube examples of the songs so i can get an idea of the sound?

not looking for songs that belong in a museum of sacred melodies.

looking for songs that MTV wished they'd cashed in on —

Songs that haven't already been done to death…..

xo

[blondrichclosetwitch]

900/902afraid of everyone

903 wishful thinking

9:11/9:12 Deanna live

936/938/939 hallelujah

1011\1012 kangaroo

1039 pushing forward back

1102\1103 no favors

1103 I almost do

1109\1111\1112 Rome

1112 coming down

11:36/11:38 Neptune city

1138 /11:39his story

1203 we can’t stop

1209 fourth dimension

1211\1212 golden years squandered

12 36\1238 wish you were sober

1238 /1239living in one country

102\103 fuck your acid trip

109 don’t forget me

111/112the tools of the inner warrior

136’pavane for the deceased child

138\139 lady

202 maniac

202/203song for Bob Dylan

209\211\212 thunder

212 telling lies (238\212)

236\spies

238-\239 strange wire

302no yeah

302\303-\309\3 11\312 straight no chaser

336 stay away Nirvana

336\338-\339 born to run

409\411\412 when the music‘s over live at the Isle of Wight

436 le promenoir of the two lovers

438-\439 ashtanga yoga opening

5 o’clock favorite crime

502\503 every time I’m with you danger mouse

509\511 I want you she’s so heavy

511\512 beautiful strangers

536 1979

602/603 seraphims

609\611\612 fish

636\and it stoned me

638\639 Dolly’s suite

6:53 bound 2 (14)

836/838-\839 the chain demo

9 o’clock\902-\903 it’s my own cheating heart that makes me cry

936 ghost

936\938-\939 freak

2 202\2203 dark but just a game

2209\2211 shout Tears for Fears

2211:\22:12 the gate

2236\Daddys gone danger mouse

1102 sketches and annoyances of a big man

1102 keep my Spirit alive

11 36\11 38\1139 hotel

1139 by my car

1153 divorce

1209 hoax

12:11/12:12 new again

12 36\12 38\1239 illest motherfucker alive

With my kid on my shoulders I try not to hurt anybody I like

Your voice has stolen my soul

Meet you down at the bottom, finish your bottle

I heard a rumor, everybody’s talking about you now

I cum a death’s head in your frock and we discuss the murder plan

Well this is a car and this is a gun and this is a day number one of our little crime-worn histories

We will eat out of their pantries and their parlors, ashy leaving in their beds and will unload into their heads on this mean season.

I’m down here for your soul

I’ve been here before I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor

When I first saw you you had on blue jeans knew what I was doing I came against them didn’t say excuse knew what I was doing.

Falling down, now I know her

I’m about taking a risk, that might fuck up your life

How many hot verses till you bitches start acknowledging the pictures we’ve been painting

Insanely perverted, rapey and scurvy

Oh we made quite a mess, babe

I’ll be driving, you look the other way. That ain’t easy to ignore when your shutters are open all the way.

I’m coming down

Neptune city (this showed up on the playlist 4 times today, usually Indicative of a blond with 4 planets in water; my mother said she had a “really bizarre” fall around 11:30)

Girls have an image too, but when they get mad at you there is no telling what they’ll say to hurt you.

Why you wanna go and tell a lie on me

We can’t stop (bookmark)

If I get locked up, I won’t finish the sent…

Wish you were sober

The clouds above and the fish below

Because of what you do all my world is you

don’t put a hex on me baby

Making me want you somehow

You were with your friends partying when the alcohol kicked in; said you wanted me dead.

Psychopathic don’t be so dramatic

We had magic, but you made it tragic

Now you’re manic, honestly I’ve had it

Listen to yourself; you need to get some help

Some words had truthful vengeance that could pin us to the floor; brought a few more people on and put the fear in a whole lot more

“From the brow of the super brain.”

Couple of songs from your old scrapbook could send her home again.

Is this my Sweet savior or the devil in disguise

Only the children born out of me will remain

I’m telling lies

You’ll come to me with tears and blame

Knowing this may help you to open up your eyes…Spies.

There’s something going on that’s not quite right.

Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, let me read your mind for the final time.

Straight no chaser

Stay away.

Everybody’s out on the run tonight but there’s no place left to hide

What have they done to our fair sister

Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and beat her stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn and tied her with fences and dragged her down

Music is your only friend until the end

I was you’re willing accomplice, Honey and I watched as you fled the scene

You used me as an alibi

It’s bittersweet to think about the damage that we do because I was going down, but I was doing it with you.

Your favorite crime.

Every time I’m with you I am drunk and you are too. We get so trashed. And every time I’m with you I’m fucked up and you are too.

Maybe there’s a singer with no ring around their little finger

If you ever hear that gunshot

I know you better than you fake it to see

I started wars in the heads of men

There’s bitches in my business

Bound to fall in love

When a real bitch hold you down, you’re supposed to drown

This that what we do, don’t tell your mom shit

I think making up/faking up stories is all right. Fiction is my thing. My attitude is always I and me and mine. It’s funny how me fucking her about has got me in this fucking mess. Liar liar liar liar liar pants on fire, lies and alibis lies more alibis.

So this is where the outcome unfurls and the truth is being told.

And one day in New York City, baby a girl fell from the sky

Hands are full of a fishing rod

There were bottles two, one for me and you

It’s dark but just a game, so play it like a Symphony.

They’ll both go down in infamy.

In violent times you shouldn’t have to sell your soul

I hope we live to tell the tale

shout, shout let it all out these are the things I can do without

I’m talking to you

Didn’t used to be so needy just more broken than normal

“He gotta get paid.”

Lyin in the hospital when I got shot

“Met ‘em in a hotel.”

I’ve known you for years. I know all your moves. I just can’t believe that it caved in this soon. I’m playing it over and over again in my head.

And I’ve killed little baby rabbits

All you got to do is say it

Divorce

This has broken me down

You knew the password so I let you in the door

But what you did was just as dark.

Cause you know you would never live up to my ex, though

Most insane out of body experience

“Keep your mask on.”

When they vandalized, He’ll evangelize

“I need a slow motion video right now.”

#8/30/2022

[evilmorticiadraws]

Cyran’s Advisory or An Ill Omen

Cyran cracked his knuckles and looked at his friends around the Hexes Over Hoaxes table in their meeting room. Losana met his gaze evenly as he dealt the cards, placed markers on the board. Everyone whistled and clapped in anticipation. He was acting as dealer for the first round, but he would become a player on the second round.

This was the Rainglen Certification College tournament. Winner would actually win a scholarship to the college and a free seat on the highly-venerated debate club. Cyran aimed to win today. A queue of participants had formed around the table, but the existing members were selected first since they had the experience and had won the qualifying round.

To win Hexes Over Hoaxes, you had to play with precision. Sometimes, it was even expedient to aim to lose... loss wasn't confirmed until everyone was dead in a geopolitical landgrab game. It was even possible for characters to come back from the dead, using necromancy. Never say die until the final dice is cast. And he always aimed to win.

With his quick wits and sharp thinking, he was a shoe-in to win. Everyone took their starting positions and discussed invasion and trade strategies. They took the obvious spots. Where could he go, second, that was less obvious? How could he make his play?

Surprisingly, he chose a less-used position in the north, on an island. From this point, he would have to draft many trade treaties and start an armada of boats to get those goods to other countries and players and also start construction a navy.

Games could last hours. Some of the early attendant players left. Only the current boardgamers and judges remained, close friends, families, and fans of the tournament. It was always like this. Popular at first, then whittled down to the hardcore enthusiasts or those that had real reason to be here and participate.

It wasn't about pride. It was about power. It was about control of the board, even when you were at a disadvantage.

Cyran's mind was whirling, calculating the wins and losses he had sustained in battle. It was close. In fact, his closest competition was his girlfriend, Losana. God, he loved her sharp mind. Everything he loved about that woman and in playing this game was the reason why he wanted to marry her someday. Maybe even start a family. No, stop, Cyran! You're getting distracted...

He had a boat send a peace treaty offer with a white flag.

She shot it down before it even got to shore. So much for that.

With his last remaining forces, he made a suicidal charge for her borders. Through careful play and use of his remaining units, he whittled down her military. She might have a fortress, but he would starve her out and he did. Cyran was frequently known for his ruthless final plays.

This time, it won him the game.

Losana cried tears of both happiness and anger that he won and not her. He hugged her, crying, promising to make her proud. When they got outside for a picture to be painted, he erupted his breath of fire into the air to make a column of smoke, he was so happy. The wyvern finally made the dragon proud. So much for not being a "real dragon."

They handed him his plaque for winning the tournament, which he took beaming. A full year of college and he owed nothing, all thanks to what his mother once called "a huge waste of time." The next week, he was on the debate team. By the end of the year, he was the advisor to the debate team.

Cyran thought of all this as he prepared to kill one of his subordinates in the Artifact Guild for thievery. The man had already lost a hand and this was the final cost for disobeying Cyran's directives here. Even the tighter regulations and rules hadn't stopped some from stealing what has rightfully his.

Every dragon has a right to his hoard. No one wants to lose what they've worked for, what they've earned, no matter what the cost or means to get it.

And Losana was dead now. He had only Omen to look after and he was determined to completely own Mistseek by the time she came of age. Here, baby, an entire city just for you. Just like in Hexes Over Hoaxes.

All those lessons served him well now.

Cyran Moonsplit lowered his trident as the handless guild member quivered and cried. His name was pointless. Cyran didn't even remember it. He just remembered the twisting feeling of betrayal in his gut, the darkness. Just like the night he found out Losana died of Devilstongue. Finding out it was possibly genetic in origin. Just like her own father had died of it, so too, she had gone.

The guild member was trying to crawl away. Cyran made a motion and the bodyguards kicked and punched him into submission. Cyran raised the trident and pushed the sharp ends directly into his heart. The guy screamed and cried more, wailing. Musical, almost.

This was what thieves deserved. This was what all thieves deserved.

Cyran made this guild into what it was based on order and clarity: we regulate the unsafe curses. We protect this town. We sell what we make, we buy more supplies, we expand and we keep everything running. Without order, what did you get? Chaos. And he hated disorder and chaos.

Cyran burned the poor stallion alive and ground him beneath his claws. He was nothing but charred embers by the time he was done. Then he pumped his fist over his head, still clutching his trident. It wasn't about just pride... it was about power.

It was about control.

"Clean up this mess!" he told his underlings and they obeyed. He went to the washroom to clean his suit until it was immaculate again and then washed his trident under the taps. Here, the water was filtered from safe groundwell sources and water-trees. By Losus, someday, he would have this town curse free again. Then no one would have to suffer like he had.

Maybe, if they hadn't all been beset by the curse, Losana might still be alive and Omen might still have a mother. Now, he was the mother. He was the mom. It was a heavy burden for him.

Mocha took his coat as he left. The loyal boar was always at his side with a quick quip or funny joke. Today, no joke. He looked extremely serious and coughed.

"Sir, your tie too? Now that we're done?"

"We're never done," Cyran growled. "There's always another traitor out there coming to get what I've build and they'll all get what's coming to them. I hate thieves. I hate thieves more than anything else in the world. They're cowardly and they're scared. They don't want to earn what they have, they just want to take."

Mocha just nodded, a little pale. His older brother was one of Cyran's best fighters in a pinch. Everything here, he made! Not without help, certainly, but he deserved this. He deserved to enjoy the fruits of his labors. He came from nothing and he gave Omen a home, a future.

He still had Losana's boat in the harbor. All that work to become a certified captain and she never really got to sell her own vessel unattended. He hoped someday soon, Omen would show interest in sailing again and she would take the rudder just like Losana had wanted her to someday.

In fact, he let his feet take him outside the Artifact Guild building (a massive white square edifice dominating the center of the city.) His wings took him further, out to the harbor beside the hollow burned-out church to Losus. Against the pier, it bobbed quietly. It was a massive craft and would have made any dragon proud. Harmonywood, still polished. He kept it painted. About once a week, he would take it on the sea and fish and look for fresh sources of new cursewater for the deadglass artifactory. Her name was Losana now.

Once, Losana had named her boat after him.

Now, he had named in after her, in memory of her. The years weighed down on him, like a stone. Times like this, facing the salty air and the open skies, he wondered if it was worth it. His daughter was showing a worrying interest in thievery and had taken to common burglery herself in the guild. He was trying to crack down on it, restricting her hobby time, increasing chore time, giving her time-outs and restricted quarters to her room but it just didn't seem to be working.

She was smart and resourceful, just like him. His favorite artifacts kept going missing and he pretended not to notice, but he knew. In his own way, he was proud of her. She was fighting what she saw as an unfair system and taking what belonged to her. In her own way, just like him. Truly his daughter.

Everything he did, he did for her. His precious Omen.

He still remembered picking out a name for her. His precious blue hatchling in his arms, with her big red eyes looking up at her. He picked out Omen... a religious name that Losana had suggested. In Losan literature, there would be an omen of hope born that meant that the tree would eternally return, over and over, to the coast of Pendalosa and always grow anew every year.

Even though they lost their Losan god, people still believed in their hearts that the stump would begin growing again, when faith was strong enough.

In his heart, Cyran believed it too. And that's why she was called Omen.

He paced up and down the pier for close to an hour, just thinking. How to handle his unruly child? The thieves, the traitors, the spies? They all wanted to bring down what he built but he couldn't allow that, obviously.

At that time, he began work on the Tear.

It started as a coin with a single frozen curse imbued in it: the power to see and hear for long distances. Then a quadruplicate curse was overlain.

In time, the coin would carry seven curses in all and become The Tear In Reality. It would never leave Cyran’s side.

Omen always was a word with more than one meaning.

#omen #cyran #writing #sparse #oddments #oddments shop #pevrea #original #backstory #villain #cyran moonsplit #hoaxes over hexes #losana moonsplit #losana #omen moonsplit #writingcommunity #amwriting #amwritingfantasy

[rockingrobin69]

Spoonful of what, now?

CW: illness (nothing serious), a bit of angst, a somewhat sticky situation. Sappy boys being saps. 1k

It wasn’t a complaint, and Draco said this with all the love in his heart, but Harry was the worst patient. He was whiney, and impatient, and stubborn. He wouldn’t take the pain meds because he didn’t like the way they made him feel. He wouldn’t drink Fever-Be-Gone because it was too sour, for crying out loud. It didn’t help that he was a trainee Healer himself and could probably recite proper procedure in his sleep. He was the absolute worst patient, even if Draco did say so himself.

And he kept trying to convince Draco to leave. “Just go to work,” he sniffled weakly, all brave-like and the-boy-hero everyone still expected him to be, for whatever reason. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t be an arse,” was Draco’s tight-lipped response. “Drink your tea.”

“I don’t like it,” Harry whimpered, nose scrunched. It really was disgusting how much Draco loved him.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, don’t be such a baby. Drink the damn tea.”

“You calling it tea doesn’t make it less of a potion,” Harry grunted, but he did as told with all the contempt of a five year old. Draco knew the liquid wouldn’t go down smoothly; he brewed the damned thing himself when Harry point blank refused all other treatments. But it would help him, Draco felt certain. And if not, at least it’d shut him up for a bit.

“Wha-“ Harry tried to say, startled, but Draco shook his head.

“You need to rest your throat now. You won’t be able to speak for the next ten minutes, I’m afraid, while it’s working. And in the meantime, you’re going to listen to me.”

Harry gave him this look, wide-eyed and terrified, and Draco felt a sadistic laughter bubbling in his abdomen. Harry tried to speak again, but all that came out this time was a garbled sort of ‘wrah’.

“That’s right. Now, look. I won’t marry you.” Perhaps it wasn’t sadistic laughter, actually; it might have been purely masochistic, because the look Harry gave him now hurt. “Not yet, anyway. We’re too young, Harry. It’s only been four years since the war, and I’m afraid you’re trying to rush this because you…” gods, even having planned this, it was still the most difficult thing Draco ever did in his life. With some exceptions, perhaps.

“I know you love me, but this fear you have of losing me is – it’s not healthy. What we have is real. I’m not going to run away, I’m not going to leave you. I don’t want you to propose out of sheer panic; I want it to be something you actually – Harry. I do want to marry you, at some point. But not like this. I love you more than anything, you must know that. You do, right?”

Harry’s eyes were pools of green, wet and agonizing, but he held out a hand for Draco to take. It was a little evil, maybe, doing it like this. No, it definitely was. But ever since Harry’s proposal last week Draco was lost. He just didn’t know how to do it in a way that wouldn’t hurt him, in a way that would make Harry understand. This was his best idea. Some genius he was.

“I’m so happy with you, Harry. So happy I often can’t believe it. When we first started dating, I thought it was a dream. Or a hoax, maybe. I kept waiting for the moment you’d go, ha, you actually believed it? and laugh in my face. Or hex me. Or something, I don’t know. But then I got to actually know you and… you’re the most important thing in my life. I can’t imagine myself without you. But we’re twenty two, and broke, and living in your adopting-mum’s attic. We work eighty hours a week and basically only see each other in the hospital. You see why it’s not the best timing, right?”

Harry nodded, curt, blinking away the tears. Draco wanted to hold him, but he kept himself back. “Waiting isn’t necessarily bad. This isn’t the world your parents got married in, or… the war is over. We have the luxury of time now. We have the luxury of waiting. We get to be young, now. You know? Actually be young.”

Damn it, was he crying? Draco turned away quickly, but Harry’s hand caught his chin and turned his face back, very gently. He was nodding. Draco’s heart was busy performing some sort of trick, possibly involving explosives.  

“You understand this isn’t rejection, right? I want to be with you. I always want to be with you. But the big, adult things – getting married, having children, all that – I’m not ready for that yet. Is that all right?”

Harry ran a thumb over Draco’s lip, very slowly. “I-“ he tested his voice, and seeing that it worked, he remained silent for another endless minute. “I love you, Draco.”

Gods. Gods. Draco closed his watery eyes and leaned against Harry’s hand. “I love you too,” he sniffled, trying hard to keep the words in but failing miserably. “Gods, Harry, so much.”

“Good,” Harry laughed, though it sounded heavy with sadness. “That’s good.”

“So – you understand?”

Another eternal minute. “I think so.” His voice was awfuly scratchy.

“How… how’s your throat feeling?”

“Yeah, better, I guess. My chest’s a little sore, but I doubt that’s related.” Draco’s eyes widened in alarm, but when he looked, Harry was smiling. “I’m kidding. I’m all right. Will you make me a proper tea, though? The potion leaves a bit of an aftertaste.”

“Of course, yes. Anything.” Draco was frightened by how much he meant it. He hurried to the door, but then stopped, turning back to him. “Harry… you’re not – you got what I meant, right? It’s not a no. Just… not right now.”

He took another godawful moment before responding. “I think I did, yeah. I’ll try again later. In a good few years, maybe.”

Draco’s smile was very tight in his chest. “If I don’t get you first, then.”

The relief in Harry’s eyes hurt more than anything else. “Yeah?”

“Yes. We’re – I’m still in this. Forever.” Gods, he was such a sap, it was horrible.

“Forever.” But it was all right, because Harry was a sap too.

He put extra honey in his tea, partly as an apology, and partly because his fingers were still shaking. Forever. It felt heavy, and uncomfortable, and impossibly right.

#drarry #fic #sick Harry #but it's okay Draco's taking care of him #angst? #fluff. #flangst! #sappy boys #healer draco #healer harry #proposal #not a yes #but not a no #RockingRobin69

[dracosaurusrex]

Take a Chance (Draco x Reader)

Summary: In which Draco is forced to come to terms with his behavior when he meets a girl much different than him.

Wordcount: 5.2k

Genre: Mostly fluff; slight angst; mutual pining

A/N: Happy New Year! I’ve been working on several fics lately, but this one was too tempting to resist. Like, I would think about it as I write my other drafts haha. Anyway, I hope you like it! Any feedback is much appreciated :D

Witches and wizards alike flitted across the skies as sounds of the blazing crowds consumed the quidditch pitch. The feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins fueled Draco’s senses. His mind, alert. His body, in sync. His eyes were peeled for the prized speck of gold. After several minutes of patrolling the air above, he sees it, and without a second to spare, he dives. Frigid wind angrily brushes against his platinum locks as he cuts through the sky--his focus now at an all time high. The sudden change in movement grabs the attention of the opposing team, and their seeker dived in just as fast, trailing behind the flash of green robes. Draco pressed onward, pulling his body inward to increase the acceleration--the snitch now within finger’s length. Within a spur of a second the two players collide, sending the boy flying off of his broomstick to fall freely towards the earth beneath him. The sky's the last thing that occupies his vision before it turns black. His body came into contact with the ground.

It was when he opened his eyes that he sees her. The girl with long, flowy locks was dressed in her Slytherin uniform, tending to the other seeker in the hospital wing. Despite the soreness that filled his body, he kept his gaze locked on her, observing her fluid motions as she addressed sustained wounds and injuries. She’s beautiful.

Draco witnesses Madame Pomfrey tapping the girl’s shoulder before gesturing to him. The moment she meets his gaze, a small smile appears on her face; and the boy, albeit the pain, makes the effort to cast one in return. His heart flutters as she approaches him--only worsening the closer she gets. 

“Hi,” She says sweetly, “I don’t think we’ve formally met. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here.” She reaches her hand out towards him. He looks at her straight before firmly gripping it.

“Draco Malfoy, but you probably knew that already.” She laughs before pointing at her green and silver tie.

“Very much so. Can you sit up?” The boy winces in pain at his attempt to do so. Taking notice of this, the girl steps closer to his side.

“Here let me help you.” Y/N cautiously snakes an arm around his back, and gently lifts him upward. In doing so, he takes in her scent--it consisted of dark chocolate and citrus. The palms that were wrapped firmly around his shoulder loosen as she pulls a chair to the bed. She takes a seat and grabs the clipboard that was placed on the nightstand.

“Do you feel pain anywhere?” The boy thought about pulling a pick up line then and there, but abandoned the thought immediately.

“Just soreness everywhere.” He looked at her as she jotted his information down. She then tears her gaze from it momentarily.

“Can you rate it on a scale from 1-10?” 

“Probably an 8.” Her gaze fixated on the board once again. Draco admired the serenity that framed her features. The light that was casted from the window shines down on her, wrapping her in an angelic aura. 

“I’m going to take your pulse now, okay?” Cold, slender fingers wrap around his wrist, gripping it gently as she takes two other fingers and presses it to the base of his palm. As she counts in her mind, the boy takes initiative to engage in conversation.

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” She takes a moment to respond, writing down his info on the chart. After she finishes, she tucks her hair behind her ear and faces him.

“You’re a year above me.” She states simply.

“Surely I would’ve seen you in the common room though.” 

“Perhaps, but I spend a lot of time here in the wing. That explains why.” 

“Why do you spend your time here?” He ignores the pain he feels when he leans on his elbow, and towards her. She rubs her chin in thought.

“Call it training if you will. I want to be a healer.”

“That’s quite the ambition.”

“We Slytherins have pride in becoming something great, do we not? What better way than to take the opportunity now?” The attraction the boy felt only grew at the sound of her words. She flashed him a smile as she stood up.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?” He asked with slight disappointment in his tone. Its sound stirred some interest in Y/N. With her back turned, she bit her lip before reassuring him.

“I’m just getting your potion, Malfoy. Don’t worry, I’ll be back.” She says before walking towards the front of the hall. The boy enjoys the energy she gives off, and allows his sights to linger on her as she plods through the aisles. He watches as she reaches for a vial from the shelf, proceeding to the way she dutifully writes down information on what seems to be a logbook. The girl catches his gaze, and grins slightly. The longer he lays on the hospital bed, under her care, the more he longs to remain there.

Y/N situates herself by his side again, handing the vial to the boy.

“You came in with your tibia and rib fractured, and your forearm broken. Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey was able to tend to you right away. The potion is to ease the pain. It’s recommended that you rest after you take it. You’ll be able to leave tomorrow morning.” Draco opens the vial and gulps down the fluid before making a face of disgust. The way his face contorts induces the girl into laughter. She proceeds to hand him a cup of water in exchange for the vial in his grasp. 

“You must’ve had a nasty fall. I’ll leave you to rest now.” Just as soon as she turns, the boy frantically grabs her wrist.

“Will you be around tomorrow morning?” He asks. She glances down at his hand, but his grip remains.

“Tomorrow is actually my free day.” Her voice held a certain timidness, heat swarmed her head, and her heart fluttered. “Why do you ask?”

Upon realization that his grip lingered much longer than it should have, he pulls away stammering, “N-no reason. I was just wondering.”

“I’ll be in the common room if you need anything.” She states.

“I’ll see you there then.” She nods before flashing one last grin, leaving the boy alone to rest. 

--

Draco awakens the following morning, with thoughts immediately drifting to the fourth year that he encountered the night before. With his body slightly aching and a noticeable urgency in his step, he approaches the dungeons, and slips into the Slytherin common room with hopes to see Y/N. When he does, however, disappointment greets him in the form of another boy occupying the space next to her. Books are laid out in front of them, leading him to assume that he was a fourth year as well. He can’t help but stare from afar. Not only did she seem diligent in her healing duties, but she seemed as equally so when it came to her studies. The sound of her melodic laugh overtakes his hearing, while the sight of her smiling induces his heart to palpitate abnormally—merely wishing that it was him in the place of the boy.

Before he could do anything, a firm arm wraps around his shoulder. Standing next to him was his good friend, Blaise.

“Did Madam Pomfrey fix you up well, mate?” He asks. In attempts to get her attention, Draco responds with a volume slightly louder than normal.

“If it weren’t for her, I’d probably be dead right now.” He was exaggerating, but it was enough to get her to face him. Blaise chuckled and shook his head.

“Dramatic as always, but at least you’re well.”  

Y/N kept her sights locked on the boy, noticing how his friends started pooling in. Suddenly, he was surrounded by those she knew as Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, and Daphne Greengrass--all who were her upperclassmen by a year. They showed him concern, asking what parts of his body were in pain, laughing when they made jokes, and patted his back with reassurance that the next match will be better. She looks at them with longing, wishing she could be as close to the boy in that moment.

Draco meets her gaze, and softens his own. He gives her a soft smile, reducing her stomach into mush. She responds to him with one herself. Warmth fills both hearts as the moment ensues, however the sounds of his friends voices and the presence of a hand waving in front of her face pull the two back into their respective years.

“Y/N, what are you looking at?” Her best friend, Malachi, asks her. He needed help with charms--nothing more, nothing less. The boy follows her line of vision, tracing it back to the platinum-haired boy.

“Malfoy? He’s a fifth year, isn't he? Do you fancy him?” He asked a little too loudly for comfort. Y/N frantically placed her hand over his mouth, and threw him a glare.

“Shut up, Mal! You’ll be the death of me!” She expresses her disdain with a slap to his shoulder, to which he responds with a wince. The boy grips the area and furrows his brows at the girl.

“Isn’t he a bully, though? I get he’s quite a stunner, but why would you, out of all people, like someone so foul?” He wasn’t wrong. Draco had a notorious reputation for picking on others, but memories from their interactions tell her that there’s more to him than what others think.

“I can’t even say I like him--I literally only interacted with him yesterday. Pull your head out of the gutter.”

“You do like him, or at least you’re mildly attracted to him. It’s written all over your face, Y/L/N.” He said teasingly. 

“Stop it before I use you to practice my hexing charms.” The girl grabs her wand as a way to hoax him. He laughs again before raising his arms in defeat.

“Fine, but with the way he’s looking at you, I’d say he’s mildly attracted to you too.” The warmth from Y/N’s heart fills her face, while her hands grow clammy. When she looks up, she begins to understand what Malachi was saying, because Draco was staring at her from where he was standing. Unbeknownst to her, the boy beside her packs his belongings silently, gaining her attention only when his chair screeches.

“Where are you going?” She asks.

“Mel is waiting for me in the courtyard. I promised we’d talk about her boy problems too.” He winks at her, eliciting imaginary steam from her head.

“I-I don’t have any boy problems!” It was her turn to speak in a tone much louder than what was acceptably normal, gaining the attention of the students around her. One of them being Draco himself. Malachi laughs at the girl before ruffling her hair.

“See you, Y/N!” The girl rubs her temples in frustration as she waves the boy away. 

“Idiot.” She mutters under her breath. Her mind is swamped with ideas to get back at her friend that she doesn’t notice him approaching her. Draco sits across from her, taking note of the way her quill was aggressively dragged along her roll of parchment. It amuses him seeing her riled up. Her face was scrunched in annoyance, and her cheek was planted on the surface of her palm.

“Pleasant morning, Y/L/N?” The sudden sound of his voice startles her.

“Very much so. Weren’t you with your friends?” She asks. Her sights juggled between him and the words in her text.

“I was. They went to breakfast.”

“You should eat also. You need to replenish your body from yesterday’s fall.” Y/N places her quill down, clasped her hands together, and looked at him with a knowing look in her eye.

“I would’ve, except I couldn’t help but overhear someone going on about their boy problems.” Draco leans forward with a mischievous expression. He raises his eyebrows at the girl, while 

A coy smirk spreads across his lips. She merely rolls her eyes in response.

“I don’t have any boy problems. My friend was being a git.” She stated in matter-of-fact. Concern then took over, and she remembered the boy’s fragile state. 

“In all seriousness though, how are you feeling? Do you feel any pain anywhere?” Draco, too, dropped his flirtatious facade at the sound of her voice. The expression held in her eyes elicited nervousness from him as they looked directly into his.

“I’m doing fine,” He pauses, “A little sore, but I’m fine.” The boy settled in a more serious state and leaned into his seat.

Feeling a little brave, Y/N reached for his hand, which was propped on the table and lightly  squeezed it. Her touch tingled his senses.

“I’m glad you’re alright. I can get you another vial if you’d like.” She says. A gentle tone fills her voice and she gives him yet another bright smile. He shakes his head--his lips pulling into a genuine grin.

“Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll be needing it.” She nods and retracts her grip. A comfortable silence ensues as she resumes her studies. The boy admires her from his seat. She has the same focused expression that she had when she tended to him the night before. Hair that fell to her face was tucked behind her ear. Her fingers mindlessly spun her quill as she read. She wasn’t actively trying to get his attention, but somehow that was all he could give her.

“Y/N,” He calls out.

“Yes?” 

“I think you’d make a wonderful healer.” The comment makes her face bloom into a bright expression. Within a few moments, she reaches into her bag. Out comes a green apple, which she then places in front of the boy.

“Thank you. With best intentions for you in mind, here’s an apple for your consumption.” He chuckles and takes it.

“Healer’s orders.”

--

Weeks go by since their first interaction. Due to the differences in their years, there isn’t much that goes on between them during the day (to Draco’s dismay). Y/N, although keeping herself occupied, finds that her thoughts drift to the boy from time to time as well. There are several things that irk her, however: the arrogant pride that comes out when with others, and the bullying. A gut-wrenching distaste sat within her every instance that she witnessed it, and the way he treats her in contrast to others is appalling. Therefore, she takes advantage of the distance. It doesn’t deny the butterflies that erupt in her stomach when she sees him, but it allows her to stay true to her morals and values, giving her some peace of mind.

In the midst of all her emotions, she finds herself sitting in potions, listening into Snape’s lecture on the Calming Draught. It was used for calming individuals suffering from shock or trauma, and was a substance commonly found in the hospital wing. The subject itself was something that Y/N desired to excel in, however there have been plenty of moments where she’s seen struggling. Taking note of this, Snape decides to request the assistance from one of the upperclassmen to tutor her. The class session for fourth years takes place during the later half of the day, and by then most fifth years have a study hall to utilize for OWLs review. Without much knowledge about her predicament, Draco walks into the classroom with disinterest painted on his face, and approaches the professor. 

“Mr. Malfoy, glad to see you could make it.”

“Of course, professor.” Snape senses the hint of the begrudging tone in his voice. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, please come up to the front.” The boy’s heart races at the sound of her last name. There’s a shift in energy almost immediately, as she’s seen walking towards the two. Her eyes widen at the sight of the familiar boy, moreover at the realization that he may very much be the tutor Snape was referring to.

“Draco, it’s nice to see you.” She says politely. He nods in response.

“It seems you’re already familiar with each other? Good. Y/L/N, you’re dismissed. Mr. Malfoy will be responsible for tutoring you from this point forward.” The boy waits for her at the entrance of the room while she collects her belongings. Another set of butterflies erupt, and nervousness racks her insides. She purposefully takes her time as she moves towards the door. Draco lightly grins when he sees her. 

“I didn’t know you were good in potions.” She says.

“Let me surprise you then.” 

The pair slowly made their way to the library, discussing things that have happened since the last time they spoke. The boy had been busy studying for his OWLs while Y/N spent her time in the hospital wing as always. It was a funny feeling, really--the ease that came when engaging in conversation. The fact that he was indeed a bully went past her head the more they spoke. In such little time, she learned new things about him, like the way he nodded when he paid attention to her speak, the way he’d fumble with the rings on his fingers, and the way he spoke with expressive hand gestures. He was boisterous and animated, and not too shabby in contrast to the moments when ill-formed words poured out of his mouth. 

“So what role does lavender play in this concoction?” The boy sat with her textbook in hand, quizzing the girl on the brewing process for Calming Draught. He glanced at the girl who was deep in thought.

“It’s calming to aches and an agent for relaxation, is it not?”

“Perfect.” Relief overcomes Y/N, and the comfort she feels around him increases.

“Draco, you’re taking your OWLs this year. What do you plan on doing after you graduate?” He takes a while to respond. It wasn’t something he thought about all the time. 

“Perhaps something close to Alchemy. I’m good with potions, so probably something within that realm.” The girl stared in awe.

“What’s with the look?” A scowl found its way to his face while he fiddled with the pages of her book.

“I think it’s really cool. I never would’ve expected.”

“And why’s that? I’ll have you know I’m very capable.” Y/N sensed a defensive tone in his voice. Nevertheless, she approached her response with much caution.

“Well,” She hesitated, “I don’t see you often, and when I do it’s mostly when you’re picking on others.” She lowered her volume towards the end of her sentence. The boy quirked a brow upward.

“And how does that impact my abilities to excel?” She actively avoided his gaze.

“I’m not saying it does, but it’s not like I know what goes on in that mind of yours either.” The boy softened the tension in his facial features. She was nervous, and he didn’t realize how much her opinion mattered to him until that moment. A small knot began to form in his stomach.

“Well what goes on in your mind when that happens?” He leans forward, interested in what she had to say.

“I would think, ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that.’” She said honestly. The frown on his lips deepened, the knot that had formed only grew bigger, and he glanced anywhere except her.  How was he supposed to respond? The differences between them felt greater than what it seemed. Without much thought, he silently closed the book and shifted it to her. With the feeling of defeat overcoming him, he lifts himself from his seat and leaves. 

The action alerts the girl right away. With her heartbeat elevated and her eyes widened, she frantically shoves her books in her bag, and trails after him in a brisk walk. She catches sight of the platinum-haired boy, and quickens her pace. With much urgency, she grabs his wrist, panting at the amount of energy she just spent trying to meet him.

“Draco, why’d you leave? Is there something wrong?” Y/N’s grip remained unwavering as he turned to her, exposing the shame that filled his eyes. Without meaning to make himself any more vulnerable, he faces away. 

“You can’t just walk away like that and expect me to pay no mind.” She says.

“I don’t think you should be seen with someone like me Y/L/N.”

“What are you talking about? You’re my tutor. I-”

“But I’m also a prick. You have your values, I have mine,” He scans her from head to toe, “I’m not exactly your definition of good.”

“Draco, I don’t understand why that would matter. You’re my tu-”

“Are you really that daft?” His sudden outburst shocked her.

“I like you, Y/N. Your damn opinion matters to me, but I don’t exactly fare well with others in comparison to you.” The girl stood there in shock. With her mind processing his declaration, she couldn’t find the proper words to form a coherent sentence. Draco shifted his view to her hand that remained wrapped around his wrist. Disappointed at her lack of response, he shook it off and trudged away. 

--

To be quite frank, Y/N didn’t know exactly what to feel. Surely, the boy crossed her mind here and there, and it wasn’t wrong to say that she enjoyed his company, but why would he like a fourth year like her? Wouldn’t it be more logical for him to like someone who had more in common with him? 

Three weeks had passed since their last encounter. The girl tried her very best to understand what Snape was lecturing about, so she wouldn’t have to be tutored by the boy. Besides, it wasn’t like he was making the effort to face her either. Whenever he’d enter the common room, he wouldn’t even look at her (at least that’s what she thought). The boy would take a seat with his friends, join in conversation, and laugh along as if the feelings he had for the younger was nonexistent. Perhaps that was the reality of the situation. It shouldn’t bother her--she didn’t want it to--but it did. She found herself cursing the day she tended to him. If only she had taken leave earlier, then he wouldn’t have known about her, and all of these feelings would’ve been avoided. At the same time, it was bliss talking to him--it felt natural. She was comfortable around him, and he believed in her ability to succeed. Yet, the barrier found within their differences managed to convince her to keep her feelings suppressed. 

“Earth to Y/N, what the heck is going on with you?” Y/N finds herself stuck tutoring Malachi in charms yet again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’ve been dozing off for a while now.”

“Oh, have I? I’m sorry. I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

“Clearly. You’re normally so focused. Did something happen recently?” As if on cue, Draco enters the common room, eyes meeting hers for a second before they shift elsewhere. She feels pain slowly creeping into her chest.

“Nothing, really,” She lies, “If it’s alright with you, I’m going to head to the hospital wing.” Malachi nods his head, and helps her from her seat.

“Can you make it there by yourself?” He asks. She nods before giving a weak smile. 

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” Draco witnesses the interaction from the sofas located in the center of the room. Jealousy arises at the sight of her friend lifting her, patting her back, and sharing her smile. At the same time, however, her dazed expression fills him with worry. His sight follows the girl as she walks past him, not bothering to spare him a glance. Malachi notices this, and approaches him as soon as she leaves the room.

“Malfoy, may I have a word with you?” His confrontation sparks the attention of the group of fifth years surrounding him.

“Anything you have to say to him, you can say to us. Spit it.” Pansy spews aggressively. 

“Easy now, Pans.” Draco lifts himself from his seat, “Let’s take this outside.” The two situate themselves in the halls of the dungeon, keeping silent for a short while.

“Is this about Y/N?” Draco asks. 

“You can’t fool me, Malfoy—I see how you look at her. She’s not okay, and as her friend, I want to know what happened.” The demand in his tone kindled a slight annoyance in the boy’s gut. 

“Nothing happened, and I can assure you that if she wanted you to know, then she would’ve told you already.” 

“Merlin, don’t you notice the way she looks at you?” The tension in Malachi’s voice grew. 

“What do you mean?” The previous question took Draco by shock.

“For two smart individuals, you both are incredibly daft.” A scowl appeared yet again on Draco’s face, however the other boy remains firm.

“If the reason behind the way you look at her is exactly what I think, then all I can say is that she thinks about you too.” The way he framed his words made Draco’s heart beat. He releases the tightness in his face, allowing himself to express more gentleness at the thought of Y/N.

Malachi continues, “Y/N has a logical way of thinking. With her head wrapped around her goals, how could she not? Her mind is constantly fixated on the next step and its consequences, so much so that she doesn’t allow her heart to decide.” The rosy feeling ignited within his chest once again. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you two are pining like idiots.” He says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Besides, I’m sure there’s a softy under that bully we all know.” 

“Shove off git.” 

“Pleasure.” Malachi retreats to the common room, leaving Draco alone in the hall. He chuckles softly before setting off to find Y/N. As he navigates his way through the halls and corridors, his thoughts drift to the way she responded in the past. Would he be able to handle it if she reacts the same way? When the boy finds her, she’s seen in the hospital wing organizing potion vials—her focus was completely locked onto her work. Once he’s in front of her, he clears his throat.

“Excuse me, can I have a vial of Calming Draught?” The familiar voice causes the girl to freeze in place. With much hesitation, she looks up at him.

“You need a referral, Malfoy.” She returns to her duties, but the boy doesn’t leave.

“Then is it alright if I can lay down here? I don’t feel too well.” Y/N glares at him.

“Should I hex myself then?” The boy pushes his luck, eliciting a sigh from the girl.

“What are you doing here, Draco?” The boy sits himself on the bed nearest to the counter she’s stationed in.

“I wasn’t feeling well. I’m feeling pain.” Y/N glances over to Madame Pomfrey, who’s occupied with other students. With a softened glance, she turns to Draco.

“Where does it hurt?” She asks. He points to his heart. “Right here.” The girl couldn’t help but let out a laugh, making him beam in response.

“Don’t waste my time, Malfoy.” She suppressed a smile and rolled her eyes.

“Time with you is time well spent.” Heat rises to her face before she releases a groan of frustration followed by a fit of giggles. She grabs his wrist and pulls him into a secluded hallway.

“Care to explain to me why you’re here? For real this time?” Draco’s face turns serious as he scans her eyes. Her body was close to his, arms crossed over her chest, and her face pointed up at him to meet his gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” the girl raises her eyebrows in response, prompting him to continue.

“I shouldn’t have left you the way I did.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I like you, and the opinion you have of me matters.” The boy stumbles over his words, “I’m a git, and you’re the exact opposite. You’re diligent, you’re smart, you’re considerate, you’re ambitious,” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “You deserve someone who has a better reputation than I do—someone who can help you.”

Y/N’s arms fell to her sides, her heart rate ramped up with its beats wildly pounding against her chest.

“I’m sorry too.” She says softly. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did,” she smiled weakly, “I knew I liked you also, Draco. I have for a while now. I was afraid of taking a chance—that our differences would somehow come between us, and drag us down.” The boy cherished the way she referred to their relationship with an “us”. It was as though they were already in this together. Furthermore, he closed his eyes in relief before opening them once more to face her. Without any warning, he snakes his arms around her waist and brings her into a close embrace.

“Surely we can work something out, right?” He asks. The depth of his voice induces goosebumps to rise on her skin. With hesitation, she trails her fingers up his forearms before resting her palms on his biceps. Her chest overflows with rosiness and warmth. 

“I think we can.” She presses her ear to his heart, taking in the sounds of his rapid heart beats. 

“You’ll give me a chance?” He parts from her, hands still lingering on her waist, his face slowly and mindlessly leaning in.

“Only if you give me one too.”  The gaze she holds shifts to his lips and back to his silvery orbs. Draco notices this, and lowers himself even closer to her. She can feel the shape of his lips ghosting over hers.

“What are you waiting for? Kiss-” The boy doesn’t hesitate to cut her off, pressing his lips gently on her own. He closes his eyes, and allows himself to memorize the feeling of her mouth. He then tightens his embrace, pressing her body flushed against his. The girl, in turn, steps on her tiptoes, and wraps her arms around his neck, bringing him even closer and deepening the kiss. Sparse breaths were taken in between, only to be disturbed by the reunion of their lips—each time becoming more passionate than the last. Draco lifts one of his hands to her cheek, dragging his thumb along her cheek bones, while she takes the liberty to run her fingers through his hair. The longing that has accumulated throughout the weeks poured throughout the duration of the kiss each caressed one another with gentle, affectionate intent. 

“Does your heart still hurt?” She asks before pressing her lips on his again. 

“I think I’ve been healed.” He responds briefly, and plants another one with him  smiling into it. 

“Good.”

“Good.” 

A/N: Thank you once again for reading! I’m going to try to post my other fics asap! School is starting up again, so I’ll try to find a way to adjust, although I can’t guarantee I’ll be posting as much :D Nevertheless, I’ll try my best; I appreciate you all and the support you give! I hope you have a great New Year!

Tags C:

@beiahadid @hahee154hq @mushi98 @stretchyice @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @saby06143 @rottenhexrt

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #slytherin imagines

[minor-solemnity]

Invention and Intrigue pt.3

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons​ @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

“You know, my friends call me Tom.” He interrupts you, sounding faintly amused, a small, irritatingly handsome smile curling his lips.

“And that’s what we are? Friends?”

You start meeting him more regularly after that. He finds you after dinner most nights and you spend hours in abandoned classrooms, researching and practising obscure forms of magic. Thankfully, he doesn’t bring any more fluffy animals for practical demonstrations. You swap theories and notes on cursed objects; delve deep into the histories of generational bloodline curses; and break down spells - both light and dark - into their most base forms to learn their mechanisms and constructions.

Honestly, it’s strange how easy it is to sit in companionable silence reading from the ancient tomes that Riddle has somehow managed to source. Riddle is patient and oddly kind when he explains aspects of magical theory that you don’t understand; he’s a good teacher. Given his reputation for being a studious, polite, and unendingly fair young man you don’t think this should shock you, but it does nonetheless. 

More interesting is the gratification that lights his expression when he succeeds in performing a spell for the first time, and the morbid curiosity he has for everything that could be classified as ‘dark’. You think that you should be concerned or nervous or scared but it’s difficult to summon those (very sensible, very reasonable) feelings when you are just as interested in what you’re discovering as he is. 

It’s nearly seven o’clock and you think you should probably be thinking about heading back to your common room in case Melanie starts to wonder where you are. Except… From where you’re sitting on the floor with a large, dark green blanket wrapped around your shoulders that Riddle had conjured for when when you’d complained about being cold, you can watch him without him noticing. You can study the way he curls over the book on legilimency he’s reading, head bowed, dark hair falling into his eyes and casting shadows along the sharp planes of his face. He pauses every so often to scribble down a thought or annotation and you watch the crease that forms on his forehead whenever he reaches a part of his reading that particularly interests him. He looks calm is the thing. Content. Peaceful. 

Unbidden, an image of him stretched out on a sofa, a book in his hands, you curled at his side, springs fully formed to the forefront of your mind. You can picture the way he might absently run a hand through your hair, or maybe it would be you tracing patterns against his chest… It’s a horrendously tempting portrayal of domesticity. You’re so lost in your fantasies that you don’t realise that you’ve been staring until he coughs politely and you’re brought thundering back to reality. He’s watching you with an expression that reads as part amusement and part consideration and you feel your cheeks grow warm under his scrutiny.

You get up and brush yourself off, folding the blanket over your arm and studiously ignore him. “I should… I need to get back. It’s getting late.” You say and are proud that your voice only wavers slightly. 

He hums softly in contemplation and nods. Once you’ve both gathered your things, he offers you his hand and you are reminded of the first time you’d spoken. You slumped against the wall, shivering and scared and him, holding his hand out to you like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Let me walk you back,” He says. Just as before, he doesn’t let go of your hand until you reach the entrance to your common room. When you try to return the blanket, he shakes his head and presses it back into your hands. “I conjured it for you. I’d like for you to keep it.” 

Just as before, he departs and you’re left holding the blanket, soft and warm and deep emerald green. Slytherin colours. His colours.

***

Three days later, you’re ready to take back every nice thought you’ve ever had about Riddle. You are seriously regretting ever having caught his attention. Sure, it’s been fun, you’ve learnt a lot of interesting things, and you’d be lying if you said that you’d not been enjoying getting know Riddle beyond the persona he puts forward to the rest of the school, but none of that can make up for the fact that he is leading you down into the bowels of the castle once more without a care in the world for your comfort or sanity.

“You don’t like the dungeons very much, do you?” He asks, taking in your jumpy demeanour and suspicious gaze with a sardonic smile. “Why is that, I wonder? Too scary for a good little girl like you?” The emphasis on the word ‘good’ serves both to underline the obvious sarcasm in his words and make your stomach clench in a way that is entirely inappropriate for the conversation at hand. You could curse yourself for the incredibly misplaced crush you’ve apparently developed.

You fold your arms over your chest and stare at the floor, unwilling to let him see how much his comment has affected you. You let out a shaky breath and murmur, “Self-preservation is not the same as being scared. Excuse me for not wanting to actively tempt fate and die in some godforsaken dungeon.” You snip, well aware that you’re being a little bit dramatic and not caring in the slightest. 

Riddle purses his lips together in a hard, thin line and it’s not difficult to see that you’re irritating him. “You seemed perfectly capable of defending yourself the last time you ventured down.”

“Just because I can defend myself doesn’t mean I want to have to.” You snap, following him through the door he’s holding open for you and glancing around in case this has all been some elaborate hoax Lestrange is waiting in the shadows to hex you to hell and back.

The door slams shut behind you and you whirl around, your wand outstretched. Riddle leans against the closed door, arms crossed, looking incredibly bored. “I would have hoped you’d have a little more trust in me by this point.” 

And well… He’s right, as much as it pains you to admit it. He’s only ever been kind to you - maybe a little condescending and arrogant at times, but that only serves to add to his charm. With a twinge of embarrassment, you stow your wand away and clench your jaw, unwilling to admit defeat quite so soon. “Yes, well, that was before you decided to lure me into the dungeons, Riddle. Forgive me for being—"

“You know, my friends call me Tom.” He interrupts you, sounding faintly amused, a small, irritatingly handsome smile curling his lips.

“And that’s what we are? Friends?” You stare at him blankly. Because… Well. You’re not. Friends, that is. Up until a few weeks ago, Tom Riddle hasn’t spared you a second glance since first year and why would he? You are… Well, you’re you. Angry at the world, melodramatic, and apparently, a budding dark sorcerer. It’s strangely reassuring to realise that it’s these things that he likes about you.

“Why wouldn’t we be? We’ve been spending plenty of time together, we have similar interests, we know things about each other that no one else does,” He’s circling you now, sweeping closer and closer until he’s right in front of you, perched elegantly against one of the desks. “What else would you call us?” He sounds so… calm. Congenial. Like it’s the most obvious and simple thing in the world. Except that there’s nothing congenial about the heat that flickers in the depths of his eyes. 

He cocks his head to the side, as though considering something very carefully, and then reaches out and catches your hand. With the same surprising strength that he’d displayed the last time you’d been in the dungeons alone with him, he pulls you forwards. Velocity and inertia work in tandem and you stumble towards him, prevented from collapsing against his chest only by his hand that moves to clasp your waist. Unbidden, your hands move to rest on his thighs. You can feel the way his muscles tense under your touch and you wonder if he’s as affected by the sudden proximity as you are. You wonder if his heart is tripping over itself the way yours is. You wonder (and a distant part of your mind laughs at the ridiculousness of the thought even as you think it) if he wants you the way you find yourself wanting him: entirely. You want to wrap yourself around every part of him, insert yourself into every aspect of his being. You’ve never considered yourself to be a possessive person before; you might have to start reconsidering that now.

You feel, more than you hear, his short sharp intake of breath and he spreads his legs just enough to provide a space for you. You press forward, tucking yourself between his legs, hands on his thighs, emotion and heat and, god, want flooding through you with all the unstoppable force of a tsunami crashing over a seawall. His eyes flicker between yours as he brushes a lock of hair away from your eyes, tucking it carefully behind your ear. He tilts your head up and lowers his until his lips are barely grazing yours. There’s something almost tentative about the way he holds himself, as though he’s holding himself back. 

Nervous. You think he might be nervous. And isn’t that just the most delicious thought?

Your heart thrums wildly in your chest and your fingers tighten instinctively against the fabric of his trousers. “Definitely not friends,” You whisper against his lips before you finally give in to the want that’s been building inside of you for weeks. 

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #minific #jinxqsu

[nyxxhexx]

I'm honestly so relieved that this all ended up to just be a hoax, and being upset and frustrated about the whole thing (as I've seen a lot of witches are) is a totally valid take. Honestly, I think this was a super important learning experience for everyone!

Since I get a lot of questions about Deity Communication anyway, I want to reiterate for a second that a lot of Deities' hurt and frustration over the situation as a whole was because people genuinely thought they needed protection. Apollo's frustration, Hecate's anger, and Artemis's being upset was well documented across platforms (both in public spheres, my own experience, and by witches whose practices I trust very much), but it definitely wasn't because of these fake hexes - it was legitimately about the disrespect they were feeling.

But apart from all that, what's the absolute worst that came out of this?

For a few days, everyone was honoring the moon and the Deities. The rest of the community quickly explained what was going on and got to the bottom of it, and now it's been a learning experience for all the baby witches who were panicking about it. Now they know the powers and limitations of hexes, what they can and can't do, and a little bit more about giving offerings, honoring the Deities and celestial bodies in their practice, and separating fact from fiction.

This is just my take on the situation, but I hope it can help provide a different perspective!

#hexing the moon #hexing the fae #hex the fae #hex the moon #patron deities #deity #deity communication #deities #artemis #athena #apollo #lunar witch #moon #witch #witches #witchblr #witchcraft #baby witch

[goddessdoeswitchery]

Hellenic Polytheism 101 Transcripts: Pillar of Hellenic Polytheism Sophrosyne

Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be moving onto to the next pillar of Hellenic Polytheism: Sophrosyne, which is, essentially, moderation, prudence, self-control, self-discipline, or temperance based upon thorough self-examination. Since we are coming up on a holiday season in the US, this seems like the perfect time to focus on Sophrosyne, and to remember it’s opposite, hubris, and how to avoid it. It is also important to remember that even in Ancient Greece, it was well understood that Sophrosyne could be taken too far, something we also understand still today.

“Earth shaker, you would not consider me sophrosyne if I were to fight with you for the sake of wretched mortals” Apollo says this to Poseidon in the Illiad, as Homer brings us a look at what Sophrosyne would mean to the same deity who brings us the Delphic Maxims, such as know know thyself, know by learning, exercise prudence, praise virtue, nothing in excess, know who is the judge, keep secret what should be kept secret, take sensible risks, be well behaved, be self disciplined, be sensible. This is not the only example in Homer’s work of Sophrosyne. In fact, there are a really a lot of them. I would definitely suggest you read both of them and look closely for examples of sophrosyne. Homer was very sensitive to the need for Sophrosyne in society and in an individual. On an individual level, sophrosyne prevented people form getting into serious trouble, both with themselves and on a religious level. After all, someone exercising sophrosyne would be very unlikely to become a spider after being cursed by Athena, right? On a modern level, someone exercising sophrosyne is less likely to face personal problems as well. You won’t wind up drinking to excess and getting into a car accident. You won’t find yourself challenging someone better than you to a fight. You won’t find yourself taking on more tasks than you can manage. You won’t find yourself spending more money than you can spare on things you don’t need. By exercising sophrosyne you can avoid a lot of trouble. On a societal level, we should try to exercise that same self control and temperance. After all, there is no reason for any country to spend more than 56 countries combined on defense spending. There is no reason for a city to cut taxes and not invest in repairing roads or assisting those who need it the most. There is no reason for a group of friends to go out in the middle of a pandemic to a bar just to have a good time. We can bring the ideals of sophrosyne to our own lives and encourage others to do the same, through voting and talking to others and being an example.

When we do not practice sophrosyne, we tend to fall victim to hubris. For someone who has spent any sort of time practicing Hellenic polytheism, we should all know exactly how bad hubris is. We’ve all probably seen it or heard it online. Recently, there was a lot of talk of witches online cursing the moon, specifically aimed at making Artemis or Apollo angry. Now, in the end, it was revealed to be some big hoax, a lie they told to make other witches start saying things about how they could tell someone had hexed the moon because their own spells weren’t as effective. Then the original hexers could say “Ha! We told you witch craft and the gods weren’t real, see? These guys said they noticed a change but we didn’t do anything, so clearly they must be faking!” The whole ordeal was a perfect example of what could happen if people fell victim to hubris, and many more sensible folks online pointed out that it was hubris, believing anyone could have an affect on a deity by cursing the moon. We’ve all seen other examples of hubris. Hellenic polytheists who say that Artemis would never let a man worship her, or a straight woman, or a woman who has had sex with a man. People who gatekeep, projecting their personal bigotry onto the Theoi. We’ve all come across. Hopefully, most have us have rolled our eyes and ignored it.

Even in mythology, hubris is painted to be among the worst things a person can be. Niobe lost her sons and daughters to Artemis and Apollo after she bragged to Leto that she was better than Leto for having more children. Arachne, turned into a spider for daring to compare herself to Athena. Antigone’s father, who lost his son and his wife for believing that his life was higher than the law of the gods. Oedipus refuses to accept his own fate and wound up falling victim to it because of his hubris. Ajax, believing he was entitled to the armor of Achilles and being driven mad and eventually killing himself. Icarus, flying to close to the sun, too prideful to listen to his father’s warnings. Orestes taking it upon himself to avenge his father by killing his mother and being driven mad.  Greek stories are teeming with examples of people who have fallen victim to hubris. In many of these stories, sophrosyne is pointed to as a virtue to aspire to strictly to avoid it’s opposite, hubris.

And yet, we can also take sophrosyne too far. For example, in the Bacchae, Pentheus holds himself as a champion of sophrosyne, as fails to understand that by being overly self-controlled and self-discplined and holding himself up as the model of sophrosyne, he ignores the moderation and temperance part. He tried to force everyone listen to him, to oppose the Bacchic rites, and, in the end, his obsession with only a part of sophrosyne causes his own death. The Ancient Greeks understood that there was such a thing as being too controlled. There was such a thing as a fatal exaggeration of one side of the many-sided virtue of sophrosyne. Thus one of the biggest keys to sophrosyne is moderation. Nothing in excess says one of the Delphic Maxims, not even self-control and self-discipline.

As we go through this holiday there a lot of ways you can apply sophrosyne to your life. One of the dangers of the holidays is becoming over-extended. For example, I have a large family. Like…..over 100 people kind of large. So large that we could probably fill a high school basketball stadium kind of large. It’s also got a lot of different branches. Mom’s side, which has dad and mom in separate houses. My ex-stepdad, whose family we still see. My dad and his family. My dad’s ex wife and her daughter and her kids, who I’m also close to. My girlfriend. My kids’ dad and his family. I always joke that we’ve got our own little 12 days of Christmas skit between grandpa jones, grandpa long, Uncle Cody, Uncle Andrew, my dad, his ex wife’s house, my girlfriend, the kids’ dad, his family, and we’ve still got to squeeze out time for our own holiday celebration too. Factor in the fact that, like most customer service based companies in the US, my job doesn’t allow us to take more than half of Christmas Eve and all of Christmas day off. Sure, we’ve got the Sunday before and after when I’m off as well, but that’s barely 3 days for 4 states and 10 places to visit. Factor in the budget for all those places and all those gifts, not to mention the drama that comes around when we decide where we’re having Thanksgiving at and you can understand why I bring up being overextended as a danger of the holiday season. Now, maybe that isn’t a problem for you. Maybe you become over extended by volunteering to work too many hours to help your more Christian friends have time off. Maybe you offer to do too much during Thanksgiving and wind up having to wake up at 5 am to get started on a meal that you can’t believe you promised to cook. Maybe during Halloween, you spend too much time focused on parties or trick-or-treating and realize that you would have had a much better time sitting at home, watching Halloweentown with a bowl of candy and some friends. Either way, we all tend to push ourselves too hard, especially once the holidays roll around and we start wanting to do everything so we can get every experience. We need to remember sophrosyne during this time. Exercise self-control and stay home when it’s something you want to do. Exercise self-discipline and avoid getting gifts when you can’t afford it, there is no shame in saying “Look, finances are strapped and I can’t manage more than X”. Exercise moderation and remember that you can’t actually do everything. Be prudent and accept the reality of whatever situation you are facing. Practice sophrosyne.

Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101 where we discussed another one of the Pillars of Hellenic polytheism, Sophrosyne. Today, I relied on the Odyssey, The Illiad, Sophrosyne: Self Knowledge and Self-Restraint in Greek Literature by Helen North, A Period of Opposition to Sophrosyne In Greek Thought also by Helen North, Mythology of the Greeks by George Grote, and the Wikipedia entry for Sophrosyne. Remember, all links to the resources I used can be found on my tumblr at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, along with a transcript of today��s episode under the tag “Transcripts”. I look forward to speaking with you all again on October 18th, where we will be discussing Eusebia.

#hellenic polytheism #hellenic polytheism 101 #transcripts #sophrosyne #pillars of hellenic polythiesm

[quanticlub]

Court of Chaos

1. Hexx - CAT

- Hex : to bewitch; practice witchcraft on: He was accused of hexing his neighbors' cows because they suddenly stopped giving milk.

- Hexx : malicious spell; charm

2. Jinxx - CROW

- Jinx : a person, thing, or influence supposed to bring bad luck

- Hijinks : boisterous celebration or merrymaking; unrestrained fun: The city is full of conventioneers indulging in their usual high jinks.

3. Trixx - FOX

- Trick : a crafty or underhanded device, maneuver, stratagem, or the like, intended to deceive or cheat; artifice; ruse; wile.

- Trick : an optical illusion

- Trick : a roguish or mischievous act; practical joke; prank

4. Toxx - SCORPION

- Toxic : causing unpleasant feelings; harmful or malicious: a toxic boyfriend; toxic criticism.

- Toxic : pertaining to or noting debt that will probably not be repaid: toxic mortgages.

5. Styxx - JELLYFISH

- Styx : river in the underworld, over which the souls of the dead were ferried by Charon, and by which the gods swore their most solemn oaths.

- Stick : a threat of punishment or unwelcome measures (often contrasted with the offer of reward as a means of persuasion).

* The jellyfish symbolizes truth in japan.

6. Hoaxx - JACKALOPE

- Hoax : a humorous or malicious deception.

7. Vilxx - WOLF

- Vilks : “wolves” in Latvian

8. Pauxx - SPIDER

- Pauk : bang, boom, explosion.

- Pauk : something unexpected.

- Pauk : pȁūk (Serbo-Croatian) spider

- Pauk : (Finnish) fee, pay

9. Raxx - KRAKEN

- Rax :  to perform the act of reaching or stretching; stretch one's self; reach for or try to obtain something

- Rack : a frame for holding cases of type

- Rack : a pair of antlers

- Rack: an instrument of torture having a frame on which the victim's body is bound and stretched until the limbs are pulled out of place

- Rack : to trouble, torment, or afflict

- Rack : any great mental or physical torment, or its cause

- Rack : wreck, destruction

10. Fluxx - CHAMELEON

- Flux : the action or process of flowing or flowing out.

- Flux : continuous change.

- Flux : the total electric or magnetic field passing through a surface

11. Shriexx - CICADA

- Shriek : utter a high-pitched piercing sound or words, especially as an expression of terror, pain, or excitement.

- Shriek : to cry out sharply in a high voice

12. Falxx - HAWK (sparrowhawk)

- Falx : a structure shaped like a sickle, as a fold of dura mater separating the cerebral hemispheres.

[mangaka-neko-chan]

Ya’ll know what time it is. It’s “Let’s talk about something *very unhappy noises*” tiiiime.YAYYYYY!!

So apprently there are some leaks about the new killer’s powers on reddit. This could be a hoax and that’s very likely because, for my part, there are many many things so unclear with this describtion.

But I still want to talk about it because if the final thing’s gonna be similar to this, I will definitely lose it. And to not start this all on a negative side, I’ll start with the good things first:

So the Devs gonna use an apprentice of the man we originally thought would be used as a killer. Which is very good, because now the new killer actually fits the gameplay and their role of an active killer instead of an originally really passive and already dead one.

It’s gonna be a female killer. And many many many of us wanted over all more female killers again.

The new “game mechanic” and “ability” brings in a new type of fear and nervosity for Survivors. And since I’m a fan of the tension this game creates. That’s a plus.

And that’s it.

Now to the more critisizable part, yaaaa.

So Idk, another Trapper character? We have a Trapper already. It’s the same point we had with Leatherface. Yes, he is no Hillbilly copy, because Hillbilly is actually based on Leatherface. But in this case Leatherface felt like a Hillbilly copy, since Hillbilly was in DBD first. So now another character who uses similar gadget like another killer who is already in game, feels still uncreative. And I swear, if some of the add ons are the same as Trappers... (very unlikely tho due to the new traps function WHICH BRINGS US TO THE NEXT AND MAIN POINT).

The function of the traps. If I look at the describtion, it’s what mostly let me say: “Ok. This can’t be real.” Because it’s so vague! It’s very hard to read but the list says:

Start the trial with 4 Reverse Bear Traps:

“Reverse Bear Traps are put on Dying Survivors.” “RBTs automatically sacrifice the survivor when they trigger.” “RBTs trigger automatically beyond the exit gates.” (see where this is going?) “RBTs trigger once their timers expire.” “RBTs timer start when a generator is completed” “Survivors can free themselves from RBTs by searching Jigsaw Boxes found around the map to find the correct key.”

So there will be one trap per survivor. That’s good. Means that the killer can’t just put seemingly infinite traps on the survivor’s head.They can only be put on survivors on dying state. When you got one of these on you there’s a timer that should go down as soon as a generator, so apparently, ONE, is completed. So it keeps Survivors away from doing gens, gives the Killer more time to do their work. Good. New difficulty. New challenge. Good. The Trap triggers when the timer’s on zero, and will, and that’s the part where we lose us here, sacrifice the Survivor automatically.

*short silence*

I could be now saying “That’s not how it works.”, could be all whiny, and fixate myself on the lore in which the Entity is only, and ONLY fed through the hooks. And not even killing a Survivor by your own hand brings the same delight to the Entity than sacrificing them on the hook. But I will contain myself and see it positively. Maybe we get a new sacrificing animation. Maybe there is new canon lore. I mean it’s also a new game mechanic after all. Maybe it’s just fake, what’s very likely to assume.

Maybe...

But it still seems a lil too drastic to me. I mean, why hooking, why mori when you can “almost mori” survivors without hooking them and you still get the same effect as hooking them which is part of the main difficulty as a killer because there are Survivors who free them and then you have to get them again... you get me here?

Also how long is the timer going? How much time do you have before you get instant game over? Noone knows. (Another point against this being real tbh.)

The Survivor though can free themselfes from the Trap by finding a so called “Jigsaw Box” which inherits a key to their Trap. That’s good. There should be always a way out. Although they must find the RIGHT KEY out of FOUR keys, which are SOMEWHERE on the map. Even finding a friggin hex totem is difficult sometimes! Well let’s hope the timer goes long enough.

And the last part is the one that bugs me the most. When the exit gates are open, and let’s say your timer goes still for 2 minutes and you’re hurt, it was a long and hard match after all. You already see yourself free and happy. Yay, 5000 points for escaping! This is so great! I still made it! Barely, but I did it! And you exit and die. Oh no wait, you don’t die. You’ll be sacificed. Because the Trap triggers automatically beyond the exit gates. So technicall goodbye exit points. Well earned or not.

...

“THAT’S JUST NOT HOW IT WOR-*cut*”

I’ll find that too much. We already have perks that shut out the survivors from their freedom in multiple ways and you can just snack them away if you can. But now you can totally forget the prior licensed Killer expanson. Because you got the new one. So better let those lil buggos escape, because they die either way, am I right? After this and Freddies nerf (which I ,wuaht??, didn’t find so terrible and unfair as everyone else but never mind) we can totally smack Gremlin Man in the trash. Just a few months after he was released. NICE. (sarcasm)

*sigh* Don’t worry guys. We’re almost through. You don’t have to stand this any longer.

Last thing. The secondary power. I read out. HMHRM

“Use the Secondary Power interaction to assume a crouching position. While crouching:

-The Pig (that’s the killers name btw) has no Terror Radius. -Activate the attack interaction to dash and perform an abush attack.” 

*puts down glasses*

No Terror radius. Wow, sounds familiar. Almost like the Wraith, and Michael Myers (1m TR aside), and Freddy. *gives a look*

This abilty must have a cooldown, or something that gives the killer a disadvantage. Cause you could just sneak upon everyone, and then later on get into the trap action. So maybe something like being slowed down like Myers. Something like that! And why does this killer need a secondary power, when their primary already seems... effective enough? Just... ehhh?? It’s so vague?

Let’s construct a match based on this info. Let’s say worst case. Mostly, one gen is already done when the killer finds a Survivor. The Killer sneaks up on them, downs them, puts a trap on them and baits them. I mean Borrowed Time won’t work here, am I right? Or they let them go, put more Traps on other Survivors during the match and, if the Killer can see the aura of the Jigsaw Boxes like with totems, just defends the Boxes. Something like that, who knows. That’s just worst case.

That being said. It’s very possible that it’s a hoax, that it’s not real or maybe even just a WIP. So far, from what I saw, the only thing people talk about is “There is a typo in this, so it MUST BE A HOAX”. Not about the vagueness or the fact that this seems really unbalanced. Plus we don’t even have release date. So I’ll just wait until the DLC is out. Maybe it’s gonna be totally different, maybe not. Maybe it’s even gonna be awesome and our fear unsubstantiated. I would be totally happy about that despite being sad about getting no original killer.

But what do you think about this? Do you think this is good. Do you think it’s balanced. Do you want it like that in the final DLC or would you be happier about an original killer with different abilities?

#dead by daylight #here goes nothing #*sweats* #I heared that it's very unlikely for the character who will possibly be the new killer #to actually BE the new killer #because they weren't as loyal as the describtion claims #so another hint against this being real #m n c talks

[imagineteamfreewill]

What He Never Had - Part 3

Title: What He Never Had

Pairing: Reader x Sam

Word Count: 1,075

Warnings: Witches/spells

Summary: Sam Winchester has a history of his relationships ending poorly, something you didn’t know when you hooked up with him the next morning. After something goes very wrong the next morning, he has the option to right the wrong and let you go, or hope that you can still reciprocate the feelings he has for you when all is the way it’s supposed to be. Your time together would change both of your lives forever, but it’s up to Sam as to whether the change would happen at all.

A/N: Most of this is told from Sam’s POV, but some is from the reader’s perspective. It takes place in Season 12; however, this story diverges from canon. For the sake of this fic, please ignore the season’s timeline and major plot.

What He Never Had Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', myHandler); function myHandler() { var v = document.body.innerHTML; var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; v = v.replace(/\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, input); document.body.innerHTML = v; } // ]]>

_______________

Three days passed and neither Sam nor his brother had figured out who the woman from the diner had been. After a day, they’d assumed she’d been put under a spell of some kind, but they hadn’t been able to figure out what kind of spell it was. They’d searched the three cars—hers, Sam’s hot-wired one, and the Impala—and both rooms for hex bags, though that idea had been a dead end. Cas hadn’t called since they’d first asked him to help them figure out what was going on, and Y/N hadn’t gotten any better. Sam finally resigned himself to the fact that the spell wasn’t going to wear off over time, unlike the many others they’d dealt with over the years.

“Sam? Are you sure you don’t want to come to the wedding planner with me?” Y/N asked for the fifth time that morning. Dean glared at Sam from across the motel table where they were researching and Sam kicked his shin before he could say anything.

“Um… Actually, yeah, I’ll come. I could use a break from work,” Sam replied, smiling. He closed his laptop and stood, stretching slightly. He tried not to notice the way Y/N’s gaze was focused intently on his lower stomach when he dropped his arms back down to his sides and readjusted his flannel. “You ready?” She blinked and then nodded, forcing a nonchalant smile.

Sam followed her outside to her car. It was old, blue, and falling apart, but when he’d asked her about it the day before when they’d made a dinner run, Y/N had told him that it had been the first big thing she’d ever purchased on her own. She had gotten it when she’d graduated college. When she’d told him the story, he could tell that it had been a truly happy moment in her life, and he hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he could easily hot-wire her a better car with no cost to her.

“Is something wrong, Sam? You know you can talk to me about anything.” Y/N’s question surprised him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“What?” Sam replied, stopping on the passenger side of the car. She shrugged a little and unlocked the doors, then slid into her seat. After he had buckled up and she was backing the car out of the parking spot, she glanced over at him again, looking reluctant to speak.

“I don’t know. I guess you just seem… Different. Less talkative than before. You’ve been quieter since I came back to our room,” Y/N admitted. Sam looked over at her, biting down on his lip. More than anything, he wanted to tell her what was going on. She deserved as much, but he couldn’t get himself to recount the story of the strange woman they had seen in the diner. He’d been putting it off for as long as possible so he could spend more time with her without having to think about how she was dealing with the supernatural. At the same time, however, he couldn’t get married. That cost money that he and Dean didn’t have, and he couldn’t get married to someone he had just met. It would be putting Y/N in danger, too, and the mere thought of that made bile rise in his throat.

“I’ve just been thinking a lot, I guess,” Sam replied slowly. He had to be careful about what he said to her. “Are we taking this too fast? I mean, maybe we should save up some more money. That way you could have a bigger wedding, or we could get a nicer apartment or something afterwards.” The lie came smoothly, but he felt a little ache inside his chest as he spoke about weddings and apartments. Sam hadn’t thought about those things since he’d wanted to propose to Jess over ten years ago. He watched Y/N chew on the inside of her cheek as she mulled over his words. She pulled the car over into the turn lane and flipped on the turn signal, eyes focused on the red arrow hanging over the intersection.

“Do you want to wait? If you want to, then I will. I don’t want you to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, Sam…” The irony of her words struck him. Here she was, being forced to think something that wasn’t even remotely true, yet her concern seemed to be only for him and his wishes. The ache in his chest grew bigger.

“Are you sure?” he asked. Y/N glanced over at him and nodded with a tiny smile, then reached up to smooth out the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows with her thumb. Sam realized that she’d done that a lot the past few days, but strangely enough, it didn’t bother him. He liked—no, loved—the little displays of affection that Y/N showed him. All the times she’d touched his hair, smoothed out little wrinkles, and put her hand on his back… It made him wish that their relationship was real. Even though he knew that he would never be able to have an apple-pie life, as Dean put it, he wanted so badly for the engagement and the relationship as a whole to be something other than a hoax.

Sam shook his head slightly once Y/N went back to driving, trying to get the romantic thoughts from his head. He needed to focus on reversing the spell and freeing her. After knowing firsthand what it was like to be made to think you were attracted to someone, all Sam wanted to do was make sure that Y/N would be okay in the long run.

“I’m gonna run inside and cancel our appointment, then,” Y/N told him, leaning across the center console of the car to kiss Sam’s cheek. He hadn’t even realized that they’d arrived at the wedding planner’s office and he smiled when she opened the door of the car to head inside.

“I love you, Sam.” She leaned against the metal edge of the door, eyes sparkling. Her smile was bright and adoring, and he couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“I love you too, Y/N.” The words came unbidden, almost easier than the lies he’d been telling. Sam tried not to see how happy they made her, or how happy Y/N’s words made him.

_______________

Forever Tag List: @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki, @deathtonormalcy56, @purgatoan, @feelmyroarrrr, @shadowgirl077, @mogaruke, @buckysmetallicstump, @amaranthinecastiel, @jpadjackles, @d-s-winchester, @kickasscas67, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @therebel1967, @supernatural-harrypotter7, @allinhishands, @ultimatecin73, @crystallstaircase, @a-screaming-ghost, @huffleypuffelycas, @procrastinating-fallen-angel, @kittycat-cas, @dracsgirl, @deansleather, @queenindecisive, @wildfirekhaleesi-ficrec, @fuckyeahfeysand, @sandlee44, @plaidstiel-wormstache, @spontaneousam, @writingbeautifulmen, @kristaparadowski, @adaliamalfoy, @winchesterforever12, @fangirl1802, @supernaturalyobsessed, @mamaredd123, @findingfitnessforme, @a-broken-hunter, @weepingrebelhottub, @notesfromalabprincess, @dustycelt, @becaamm, @riversong-sam, @you-know-whodoesthat-crazypeople, @therewillbeblood, @raylin19, @maddieburcham1

Sam Tag List: @lipstickandwhiskey, @bowtiesandapplepie, @itsemmyb, @ezauraemmaline, @beriala, @charliesbackbitches, @crzcorgi, @ellen-reincarnated1967, @gryffindorable713, @growleytria, @thegleegeneration, @samtomydeanwinchester, @i-never-said-a-pilot, @sis-tafics, @fandommaniacx, @meganwinchester1999, @samanddeanwinchester67, @ferferelli, @lilyoflothlorien, @iridianuniverse, @the-morning-star-falls, @ackleslaugh, @fangirling-instead-of-working, @eyes-of-a-disney-princess, @spnsimpleman, @faith-in-dean, @for-the-love-of-dean, @winchesterfiesta, @zanthiasplace, @pada-ackles-reads, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @gadreelsforbiddenfruit, @curliesallovertheplace, @jencharlan, @skybinx-blog, @thebunkerismyhome, @beachy2014, @fandom-book-nerd, @shipping-people-writing-things, @tia58, @sunriserose1023, @jotink78, @babypieandwhiskey, @waywardjoy, @fiveleaf, @spn-fan-girl-173, @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave, @samsgoddess, @notnaturalanahi , @thegreatficmaster , @megansescape , @blushingsamgirl , @impossible-box , @castiels-forbidden-angel , @everyday-supernatural-af , @nichelle-my-belle , @jared-padaloveme , @supernatural-jackles , @idreamofhazel , @wevegotworktodo , @moonriverbabe , @snowystarguardian , @phoenixia67 , @iamreadinginsecret , @growningupgeek , @20secspnfam4 , @deerlululucy , @supermoonpanda , @sleep-silent-angel , @trenchcoats-and-bees , @not-so-natural-spn , @shelovesallthethings , @memariana91 , @chelsea-winchester , @drarina1737 , @castieltrash1 , @deals-with-demons , @matteson-crazed

#swbb #sam winchester big bang #sam #sam winchester #reader x sam #sam x reader #reader x sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam fic #sam fanfic #sam fanfiction #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #imagineteamfreewill #spn #supernatural #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spnfanficpond #spn fanfic pond #reader insert #jellyfish fic

[socialistperpective]

Conspiracy theory lunatics make their way to power

Now that it’s in the open that the United States is an oligarchy with the 1 percent ruling the day it should be known Far-right conspiracies involving secret societies were never real. This reality culminated in the election of a corrupt, oligarch president. It should be obvious to most of us the ones pulling the strings behind the curtains are those who have money to buy politicians and bias policy in their favor. But alas, there apparently is still mounting evidence the New World Order is real and a shady group of secret societies rules everything. It even runs into pop culture. Celebrities like Beyoncé, Nicki Minaj and Rihanna are members of the Illuminati and use Satanic symbols to subtly convey their true intentions: to turn the world into the Devil’s playpen and destroy America with a one world government. Katy Perry will make appearances as a witch and Lana Del Rey will hex Donald Trump using witchcraft. And pedophile rings are involved somewhere, as always. The birth of the AltRight, or neo-Nazism, into mainstream culture has given these conspiracy theories legitimate attention. The White House will cite Infowars in a press release; Donald Trump will call Alex Jones frequently; someone will show up to a pizza parlor in Washington, D.C. with a loaded weapon suspecting the site of being home to a pedophile ring, a conspiracy which helped bring down Hillary Clinton. The ridiculousness is astounding and would be funny if it weren’t so serious.

Maybe once I did believe in New World Order conspiracy theories – the U.N. was going to take over the United States; the government was behind 9/11; climate change was a hoax to introduce environmental regulations to weaken the U.S; there was a collection of secret societies revolving around the Rothschilds and Bilderbergs plotting to take over the world. The list goes on. Oh yeah, I can’t forget about the shapeshifting lizard aliens who were in control of it all. These shapeshifters were in disguise as the elites, an alien race sent here to enslave mankind. If it sounds like paranoid schizophrenia that’s because it is. I believed in all that crap when I was in high school. High school. There are now grown adults who listen to Alex Jones, Paul Joseph Watson, and now Mike Cernovich as if they are prophets from the Bible. It’s a conspiracy industry. Members of the audience will go to town on the false information as if it’s fact. A recent trend are the millions of illegals voting for Hillary Clinton, giving her the popular vote. No evidence whatsoever, but these conspiracy theorists won’t let up and have the backing of a president who will repeat this information to the mainstream press.

To highlight the dangers of these conspiracy theorists going mainstream was President Trump pulling the United States out of the Paris Accord. He cited climate change as a hoax, coming directly from the mouth of Alex Jones. Trump says the United States is intentionally being treated unfairly in the deal and the agreement is meant to weaken our position on trade and destroy the fossil fuel industry (please do!). Switching to renewable energy would be the biggest boon to our economy and give us millions of jobs. A Green New Deal would better our society and save the planet. But Donald Trump used the support of his AltRight companions to make himself seem as though he has popularity for making that drastic, wrongheaded decision. And like the boneheaded chorus his lunatic conspiracy theorist fans are, they praised the decision, saying pulling out of the Paris Accord was right for America.

Has it never occurred to them Donald Trump is an elite? The man is a multi-billionaire, it’s safe to assume he doesn’t have our best interests at heart. In addition to coming from the top 1 percent, Donald Trump is birthed from the celebrity culture they claim to despise. Maybe it’s “you must work within the system to change it” nonsense or perhaps they wish to be Daddy Trump -- a famous con artist who exuberates pseudo-masculinity in a way the mainstream media manages to buy into, that even conspiracy-theorist lunatics buy into. I can’t help but think they are the only ones who still fall for Donald Trump. Their top ally, neo-Nazi Stephen Bannon is Trump’s right-hand man and he’ll keep tabs on Daddy Trump. If that doesn’t work out they can always blame the evil Jew Jared Kushner and his wife Ivanka, who recently converted to Judaism, for the president’s mishaps. Perhaps they are the ones vowing for control of the White House and any policy mistakes that detract from Daddy’s promises are on them.

Sorry for that weird moment, but now that the conspiracy-theory industry and “AltRight” have gone into the mainstream it’s time for us to take them seriously and give real analysis to their childish behavior. We can no longer say the country is undoubtedly making social progress when this is the group who came to power with Trump.

#conspiracy theories #altright #neonazis #donald trump #steve bannon #alex jones #paul joseph watson #mike cernovich #infowars #new world order #rothschild #bilderberg #paris accord #un #pizzagate

[renatedagmarmilada]

Sexing and Hexing...

SEXING AND HEXING 

manufactured illnesses remote

close friends, some family, dying of activated rare cancers Yes, I will take all RF's work off again, for you

at the laboratory, what are the terms the tsunami was also ours

all major disasters in recent years they manufactured the naughty girl theme

 to cover their sex program, used even on the highest then they had to hex you to cover you knowing

you and yours took the punches but didn't react Now write her Iron Cross story, that one(for yous out there

my mother told me that in Hitler's Germany

people used to say:first you got the iron cross, a medal

then you got the wooden cross, death) She that's me, told the police what you have done

but said nothing about the Royals they think it is a hoax-no reality

and think she that's me, is after the lab send a policeman round when her son is there

they already did-by re-energise we warned her not to write the truth

This time I will tune him... Get rid of Mustafa the toilet cleaner cum Personnel Manager

they'll catch me out with him he can't be cleared

he is a child rapist twice over move him somewhere else-

Now Mix her that's my work, old stuff which everyone knows

then use it straight as it stands that'll confuse the trail of her stuff,

 Ministry don't want the lab to be caught out so that is why the lab friends are needed

who  needed establishing on her work.. all the people on the machine will be wiped off soon

They took loads of her hair out in China as copy of Felix of Berlin

all atrocities by the Human Research system to be repeated ''I am going to deny it all

a whisper in the P.M.'s ear - he comes alright'' feeding misinformationcovert insertions determine what people hear

from random bits and pieces of information here and there, just sadistic destruction for the sake of it

paid for by Kissinger, Kaspar and Vance Said the bosses

I have always wanted to do something really evil like this! USA says; your UK bossess has turned

after a time, some of them just turn-killer, stop being normal-