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doctorbitchcrxft · 6 months ago

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Provenance | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, j e a l o u s y

Word Count: 6703

A/N: Taglist will be closing at the start of season 2! if you aren't currently tagged, and you'd like to join, please please let me know within the next two posts!!

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You gripped your beer tightly watching Dean getting a girl’s number across the bar from you.

“(Y/N), if you hold that thing any tighter, you’re gonna break it,” Sam snorted. “What’s your deal?”

You looked back at Sam but were unable to pull your eyes from Dean and his new “friend” for longer than a few seconds. “Nothing.” You took a swig of your drink.

“Are you sure you don’t know how you feel about Dean?” the brunet taunted.

You shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He snickered in response and returned to looking over the papers in front of him.

You waved Dean over, who held a hand up behind the woman’s back to get you to wait. You gestured again and his smile dropped. He said something to her quickly before making his way back over to you.

“I think we got something,” Sam told his brother.

Dean grinned over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave; just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one.”

You rolled your eyes. “So, what are we today, Dean? Rock stars, army rangers?”

“Reality TV scouts,” he grinned at you, ignoring the bite in your voice. “Looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right?”

“If by ‘not far off’ you mean ‘completely off the mark,’ then you’re spot on,” you deadpanned.

Dean shot you a look while he turned to his brother. “By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam responded to his question.

“Yeah, you can, but you don't.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all—” He trailed off as his brother looked back at the women at the bar.

“Dean!” you snapped your fingers at him.

He turned back. “Huh, what?”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside,” Sam continued.

“Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department,” Dean answered.

“No. Dad says different.”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s interest was piqued at the mention of his dad.

You pointed at the map. “John noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second, right here in 1945, and the third in 1970. Same M.O. as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside; the whole nine. Now, so much time passed that nobody checked the pattern. Except for your dad. It’s frustrating how much better he is at this than me sometimes,” you muttered at the end of your sentence.

“Alright, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up ‘til first thing though right?” Dean asked, trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah,” Sam answered.

“Good.” Before you could stop him, Dean was off to the two women again.

You were fuming; staring daggers at him and downing the rest of your drink.

Sam snickered at you. “Let’s get you out of here before you end up killing one of those girls.”

“Nah, I’d kill your brother. They didn’t do anything wrong,” you responded, helping Sam pick up the papers scattered about the table. “How ‘bout the Telescas’ house?” you asked.

***

You and Sam headed back to the motel you were staying in to research the history of the Telescas’ home. You sprawled out across Dean’s bed with your laptop, and Sam sat on his bed with his laptop.

“Finding anything?” you asked him.

“Nope. You?”

You shook your head. “Nada.”

He shut his laptop. “So? You wanna talk about it?”

You shut yours, too. “About what?”

“Dean?”

“Oh, hell no,” you snorted.

“You two are made for each other,” he deadpanned at your boxed-up emotions.

“Fuck off, Sam,” you retorted. “What about you? Still not ready to jump back into the dating pool?” You snuggled into the blankets on Dean’s bed, reveling in his scent emanating off them.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What was she like?” you asked after a moment.

“Who?”

“Jessica. You never told me much about her.”

He sighed. “She was just… the best, man. You two would’ve gotten along great, honestly. She was—” he grinned sadly at the thought of her, “—so smart. So beautiful. Quick, witty, and…” he shook his head. “I was looking for wedding rings. Few weeks before she...”

You smiled sadly at him. “She sounds amazing.”

“She was,” he responded. A quiet settled over the room.

“Don’t you think she would’ve wanted you to be… I don’t know, happy? Do you think she’d want you to move on? It’s been almost a year,” you said. “Jesus, I’ve known you guys for almost a year now," you realized.

He chuckled before going quiet again momentarily. “I think she would. But Jess… I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully over her. She was my best friend, y’know?”

You nodded. “I get it. I’m glad you had that with her, though. Sounds like you really loved each other.”

“We did.”

You and Sam went silent once more, and you succumbed to the tiredness of your limbs and mind. You were so comforted by the scent of worn leather, Dean’s cologne, and whiskey, that you slept better than you had in years.

***

When you woke up the next morning, Sam was standing over you, shaking you gently. You popped up and grabbed his wrist, twisting it and putting a hand to his throat. “Hey, hey,” he tried to calm you down, “Dean’s back.”

You released him immediately. “Sorry, dude. Uh… reflexes,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It’s okay. Dean does that, too.”

The man in question stumbled into the room tiredly. “Move your asses. Let’s go.”

***

You and Sam had just swept the Telescas’ house for EMF while Dean slept in the car trying to get over his hangover. When you returned to the car, you beeped the horn. Dean shot up a foot in the air and groaned.

“Man, that is so not cool.” He adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back against the car door. You and Sam climbed into your seats and began to explain what you had been up to.

“We just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were, well, out—” Sam trailed off.

Dean’s smirk made your stomach drop. “Good times.”

“—we checked the history of the house.”

“Nothing strange about the Telescas, either,” you said, swallowing your feelings.

“Alright,” Dean’s gravelly voice came, “so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something.”

“The house is clean,” you said.

“Yeah I know, you said that.”

“No, no, it’s empty. No furniture, nothing,” you explained.

Dean turned back to you. “Where's all their stuff?”

***

You felt so out of place in the swanky auction house the Telescas’ belongings had been brought to. Even the Impala looked like an outcast in the parking lot full of McLarens and Corvettes.

You and the brothers wandered around the auction house, and you wrapped your jacket tightly around yourself.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean commented. He took some food from a tray table as a man came up behind you.

“Can I help you?” the man questioned.

You wheeled around to face him.

“I'd like some champagne please,” Dean said in a mock posh voice.

You could’ve killed him. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at you, and you held out your hand to the man. “I’m (Y/N) Dewitt. This is Sam and Dean Connors. We’re with Connors Limited. We’re art dealers.”

The man didn’t give you the courtesy of a handshake. You fought the urge to make an inappropriate comment.

“You. Are… art dealers,” the man said, clearly having difficulty grasping that concept. “I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We're there, Chuckles, you just need to take another look.” Dean, of course, talked through a mouth full of food.

You shot a sharp look at Dean as he took a glass of champagne off the tray. He turned and walked off, and you followed him.

“Can you chill out?” you asked him.

“What?” he asked through a mouthful of champagne.

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t like this crowd either, but relax.” You noticed a painting just beyond where you and Dean were talking. It was of a family in an American Gothic style; presumably from the early 1900s. The family contained three young girls in frilly dresses, a man with a gaunt and creepy face, and a woman you assumed was the mother seated in a chair.

“A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?” a woman’s voice called from behind you.

You turned to the place the voice came from to find an extremely good looking woman in a sleek black dress with glossed lips descending the staircase. You noticed Dean beginning to ogle her as Sam answered her. “Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.”

The woman smiled as she approached you. “Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake.”

“I’m Sam,” he said. “This is my… brother, Dean.” Dean was still stuffing his face with food from passing trays. “And our friend, (Y/N).”

“Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?” Sarah questioned.

You snorted. You liked her.

“I'm good, thanks,” he smiled through a full mouth.

“So, can I help you with something?” she asked Sam. You knew she liked him; she was giving him the same look you often gave Dean.

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?” Sam asked her.

She grimaced. “The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

The man from earlier came up behind you. “I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave.”

You rolled your eyes, dropping your polite disposition. “Don’t have to tell us twice.”

“Apparently, I do,” he said.

“C’mon, Dean,” you said, dragging his arm out.

***

You and the brothers found a decently priced motel and approached the rooms you had been assigned.

“Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean scoffed at his brother.

“Art history course. It's good for meeting girls,” Sam replied simply.

Dean unlocked the door to his room and chuckled. “It's like I don't even know you.”

You walked a little further down to the room next to theirs and unlocked it only to find a gaudily outfitted room full of obnoxious disco decor. The "do not disturb" hanger was even of John Travolta’s silhouette from Saturday Night Fever.

“Huh.” You dropped your bag off and headed back to the boys’ room.

“What was… providence?” Dean was asking as you entered the room.

“Provenance,” you corrected. “It’s like a biography for a painting. You use ‘em to check the history of the pieces; in this case, to see if they have a freaky past.”

“Alright, professor,” Dean taunted you. “Well, we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” he smirked at his brother.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam smirked back.

“Not me,” Dean laughed.

You shot a look at Sam, too.

He seemed only mildly horrified. “No, no, no, pickups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn't my butt she was checking out,” Dean snorted.

You giggled despite yourself.

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” Sam deadpanned.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her,” Dean instructed his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but took out his phone. You weren’t sure when he had gotten her number, but he left about an hour later to take her out to dinner.

You and Dean sat in awkward silence for a bit.

“So…”

You went silent again.

“What’s goin’ on with us, (Y/N)? You’ve barely spoken a word to me this whole trip.”

You huffed. “Nothing.”

“Obviously, it’s not nothing.” Dean held your challenging stare.

“Seriously, drop it, please,” you said.

“Fine. You wanna go get some food?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You know I do.”

You and Dean found a crappy diner with deliciously greasy burgers to stuff your faces with.

“So, how ‘bout you, sweetheart? Why don’t you ever go out?” Dean asked.

“On dates, you mean?”

He nodded.

You nibbled on a fry. “I’m just not one for hookups. I can’t take ‘em,” you admitted. “You, though, are king of the unattached drifters.”

He chuckled. “What’s wrong with hookups?

“I get too attached, which kind of defeats the whole purpose,” you replied. “The idea of being intimate with somebody I don’t even know makes me want to throw up.”

“Why? You’re gorgeous. Anybody would kill to get with you," he said casually.

You ignored the way your heart swelled in your chest. “It’s not that, it’s just…” you sighed. “I’m, like, allergic to vulnerability.”

“I get it,” Dean chuckled. “You know by now I’m not exactly the best with it, either.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re worse than me,” you quipped. “You look like you’re gonna throw up any time you have to tell me you’re sorry or something like that.”

“Maybe it’s just your face,” he retorted.

“Hey!” you giggled. “You can’t call me gorgeous one minute then tell me looking at me makes you sick the next.”

He chuckled. “I just did, so…”

“Whatever, Winchester. What is it about hookups you enjoy so much, anyway?”

He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “Sex is just fun, I guess. Always helps me blow off steam.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure it does.”

“I’m serious! Helps me take a break from… all this.” He gestured around him.

“That’s why you have hobbies, Dean. Sex is not a hobby.”

“It can be! You draw, Sam reads, I fuck."

“Well, get a better one,” you scoffed.

“What would you suggest I do? Knitting?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, just… something a little more wholesome, maybe. You said it yourself, it doesn’t always make you feel great.”

“Never should’ve told you that,” he responded.

“Well, ya did, so.”

He snorted at you. “It’s frustrating how well you know me sometimes.”

“Oh, look at that, another crumb of vulnerability from Mr. Closed Book.”

“That’s the best diss you could come up with?”

“Hey, it’s not easy being effortlessly funny all the time,” you retorted. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

***

When you and Dean returned to the motel room, you pulled out your whetstone to sharpen your knives.

“Who you plannin’ on carvin’ up, sweetheart?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you answered.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he remarked.

“You do literally all the time,” you quipped. “You’re lucky you’re still in one piece. If you give me yours, I’ll sharpen ‘em, too.”

“Thanks,” he said. He handed his knives over to you.

Sam burst through the door at that moment holding a stack of papers. “Got ‘em.”

“So she just handed the providences over to you?” Dean questioned.

“Provenances,” you corrected.

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers—”

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

“And nothing. That's it. I left.”

“You didn't have to con her or do any… special favors or anything like that?” Dean questioned.

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” the younger brother scoffed.

“You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that.”

Sam ignored his brother. “Hey, I think I've got something here.”

You headed over to Sam’s seated position at the desk and looked over his shoulder at the papers. “ ‘Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910’,” you read off.

“Now, compare the names of the owners with my dad's journal,” Sam said.

Dean pulled it out. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam continued.

“So what do you think? It's haunted? Or cursed?” you asked.

“Either way, it's toast,” said Dean, getting up from his bed.

***

Under the cover of night, you and the brothers broke into the auction house. You were consistently impressed with and sexually frustrated by how easy scaling tall fences and gates were for Dean.

“Come on!” Dean urged you.

You disarmed the security alarm, wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. “Go ahead,” you whispered.

Dean picked the lock at your cue. You shone your flashlight ahead of you searching for the painting. When you found it, you and the boys were in and out within minutes. You and the boys had clearly been breaking and entering for years. You found it comical almost how good you were. You brought the painting out to a field behind the arthouse and set it alight.

Dean dusted off his hands. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor.”

***

Dean banged on your door the next morning. “We got a problem. I can't find my wallet.”

You opened it. “How the hell do you lose your wallet?”

“I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

“Fuck, dude, that’s bad.” You started pulling on your boots as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, I know. It's got my prints, my ID— well, my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on.”

You and the brothers hurried around the auction house searching for the wallet. Sam was clearly frustrated with his brother until he caught sight of Sarah.

“Hey guys!” she smiled.

You wheeled around at the sound of her voice and attempted to act cool.

“Sarah! Hey,” Sam breathed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Ahh, we.... we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye,” Sam responded.

“What are you talking about Sam, we're sticking around for at least another day or two,” Dean grinned as he strolled up to the two. He took his wallet out of his pocket and shot a look at Sam. “By the way, I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you.” He turned to Sarah. “I always forget, you know.” Dean chuckled and you grinned as he held out the cash to his brother. Sam took it and glared at him. “Well, we’ll leave you two crazy kids alone, I gotta go do something… somewhere.”

“Smooth, Dean,” you told him as you walked away from Sarah and Sam. The two of you headed back out to the Impala and sat in it waiting for Sam. When he returned, he was frantically saying the painting was back in the auction house.

“I don't understand. We burned the damn thing,” Sam rushed out.

“Yeah, thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean remarked.

“Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?” you chimed in.

“Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em,” Sam began.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?”

“Merchant,” you answered. “I say we find us a bookstore.”

***

And so, that was where you headed. You found a proprietor whose personality was interesting, to say the least. You found his quirk had a bit of charm to it.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?” he asked you.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam said.

You and Dean were flicking through a book with pictures of guns in it. The proprietor laid a book of newspaper clippings on the table in front of you. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, are you folks crime buffs?”

“Kinda. Yeah. Why do you ask?” you responded.

He held up the newspaper article before him. It talked about the sinking of the Titanic, and just next to it, read “Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.”

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean replied.

“The whole family was killed?” You tilted your head.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” the proprietor explained.

“Why'd he do it?” Sam questioned.

“Let's look. Ahh... ‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…’ “ he skimmed on. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… ‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um, so instead, old man Isaiah, well, he gave them all a shave.” He drew his hand across his throat and made a noise to go along with it. You and Dean joined in laughing with the proprietor.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” asked Dean.

The proprietor shook his head. “Just that they were all cremated.”

“Anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here. Somewhere. Right— here it is.”

It was a picture of the painting, but something seemed off to you.

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asked the man.

He nodded, and returned a few minutes later with it.

***

You and the boys sat at a table in the motel room and looked over the copy of the picture.

“I’m telling you,” you started, “The picture at the auction house, Dad’s looking down. Here, dad’s looking out. The painting changed.”

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean questioned.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, then how are we gonna stop him?” Sam asked.

“Maybe other things changed in the painting, too. Maybe it could give us some clues,” you answered.

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Dean looked down at you, confused. “I’m lost. Still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He walked over to his bed and laid back, crossing his arms. “Which is a good thing ‘cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend.”

Sam huffed. “Dude, enough already.”

“What?” he responded.

“What? Ever since we got here, you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?” he said defensively.

“Sam, relax,” you told him.

“Well, you like her don't you?” Dean pushed.

Sam threw his arms up and looked to the ceiling.

“Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off with a smile.

“What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave,” came Sam’s frustrated response.

“Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam.”

Sam snarled angrily. “You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?”

“ ‘Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time,” Dean answered calmly.

Sam stared at him and huffed before looking away.

“Look, I’m not crazy about hookups either, but maybe it would be helpful,” you suggested.

“And this isn't about just hooking up, okay?” Dean continued. “I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And... I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, but... I would think that she would want you to be happy.” Sam’s eyes welled with tears as his brother continued to talk. “God forbid, have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?”

“Yeah, I know she would,” Sam responded softly. “Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” you asked.

He wouldn’t answer you.

“Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so…” Dean trailed off.

Sam picked up his phone and cleared his throat. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, settling back on his bed.

“Sarah, hey, it's Sam… Hey, hi… Good. Good, yeah. Umm. What about you?... Yeah good, good, really good.”

Dean opened one eye and looked at his brother. “Smooth.”

You suppressed a laugh.

“So, ah, so listen,” Sam continued. “Me and my brother were, uh, thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I- I think maybe we are interested in buying it… What?!”

At Sam’s tone, you and Dean snapped to attention.

“Who'd you sell it to?” Sam stood up.

Dean rose and came to stand next to you.

“Sarah, I need an address right now,” Sam urged her.

Once she’d given it to you, you and the boys sped away in the Impala to an upscale neighborhood. You and the boys were surprised to see another car parked right outside the building: Sarah’s.

“Sam, what's happening?” she asked as you and the boys ran up the front steps of the house.

“I told you, you shouldn't have come,” he responded.

“Hello, anyone home?” Dean banged on the heavy front door.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger; what sort of danger?” Sarah asked Sam frantically.

“I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it.” Dean crouched down in front of you and you moved over to the windows, banging on them with all your might.

“What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah yelped.

“I wish it was that simple. Look, you really should wait in the car. It's for your own good,” Sam told her.

Dean got the door open and you followed him inside quickly.

“The hell I will. Evelyn's a friend,” she said, trailing behind you and the boys. “Evelyn?” She moved over to the elderly woman sitting half-turned away from you. Something was wrong and you knew it; the woman’s gaze seemed completely empty. “Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake. Are you alright?” She touched her shoulder gently.

“Sarah, don't. Sarah!” Sam told her.

Evelyn’s head tipped back, exposing her slashed throat.

Sarah jumped back in horror and screamed. Sam put his arm around her and led her out of the room. You and Dean stared up at the painting before following the younger brother out of the house.

***

Back in the motel room, you and Dean clacked away at the keys on your laptops while Sam paced in front of you. A knock on the door stirred all of you from your thoughts. Sarah stormed into the room and brushed past Sam.

“Hey. You alright?” he asked her.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's— alone— and found her like that,” she answered, wheeling around.

“Thank you,” Sam nodded.

“Don't thank me. I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?”

Sam looked back at you and Dean, and you shrugged.

“What,” he told her.

“What?”

“It's not 'who'. It's 'what' is killing those people,” he explained.

Sarah was still looking at Sam like he was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move,” he sighed.

The woman began to pace. “No, no. I was— I was seeing things. It's impossible.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Dean grinned.

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted.”

Sarah laughed humorlessly but had tears in her eyes. “You’re joking.” She looked between you and the Winchesters. “You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth,” the brunet told her.

“Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and… and I don't want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

“Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well, me and my Dad sold that painting that might have gotten these people killed. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared, because I am scared as hell, but I'm not going to run and hide either.” Sarah strutted over to the door. “So are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean said. “Marry that girl.”

***

You and the boys returned to Evelyn’s house to scope out the crime scene a little further. Sam picked the lock to let you, his brother, and Sarah inside.

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah protested.

Dean smirked. “You've already lied to the cops. What's another infraction?”

Once inside, you and Sam got the painting down from off the wall to examine it.

“Aren't you worried that it's gonna kill us?” Sarah asked.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we're alright in the daylight.”

You took the copy of the painting out of your pocket. “Sam, check it out. The razor: it's closed in this one, but it's open in that one.”

“What are you guys looking for?” she asked.

“Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, then it's doing so for a reason,” Dean explained.

“And look, the painting in the painting,” you pointed out. “Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something.”

Dean grabbed a thick glass ashtray and used it as a magnifying glass. You ignored how your body came alight as he wound his arm around you to reach the painting. “Merchant,” he read out.

***

Your next stop was a graveyard. Several, in fact. You stepped over gravestones carefully to avoid disrespecting the dead even further.

“What, are you superstitious?” Dean asked.

“A little, actually. I think I’m in such deep shit with the spirits already; I don’t wanna make it worse,” you laughed.

“You are somethin’ else, woman,” he smirked. “This is the third boneyard we've checked,” Dean addressed your group. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

Sam and Sarah talked amongst themselves behind you and you and Dean walked a bit ahead.

“Over there,” you said, pointing to a mausoleum. The group followed you into the mausoleum where you found four urns in front of little glass-fronted boxes on one wall. On the opposite, there were five brass nameplates.

Sarah looked at one of the boxes containing a little porcelain doll with brown hair. “Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.”

“It was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam told her. “Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case; put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Wind blew in the mausoleum, sending a chill down your spine.

“Notice anything strange here?” Dean asked.

“Ah, where do I start?” remarked Sarah.

Sam snickered.

“No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns,” said Dean.

“Yeah. There’s only four. Where’s the dad?” you questioned.

***

You and Dean discovered that Isaiah’s body had been buried in that same cemetery away from the rest of his family. You returned there that night with Sarah in tow.

You stood watch with Sarah while the boys dug the hole down to Isaiah’s corpse.

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she said.

Sam climbed out of the hole laboriously. “Well, ah, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?”

You giggled when Dean’s shovel tapped something hard. “Think I've got something.” He cracked the coffin open to reveal Isaiah’s rotten bones. You helped him out of the ground and began pouring salt and kerosene over the body.

“You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance.” Dean tossed the match he’d struck down on top of the body.

“God, I will never get used to that smell,” you commented.

“What? Burning flesh?” the older Winchester turned his head to you.

You made a face and scrunched up your nose to which Dean just smirked at you and chuckled.

***

You returned to Evelyn’s house soon after to make sure the job was complete and bury the painting. You and Dean remained outside and told Sam to go in with Sarah. You and Dean smiled at each other before turning the radio up. A love ballad played loudly through the speakers, and Sam turned to the two of you. You both snickered at the “what the fuck” gesture he was giving you. Sam motioned for the two of you to cut the music. You sighed and turned it off.

Before you and Dean could say a word to each other, the door slammed shut behind Sam and Sarah. You and Dean jumped out of the car and ran across the lawn, trying your best to unlock it.

“Guys! Hey! Is that you?” Sam called from inside.

“Sammy, you alright?” the older brother asked. Moments later, you got a call from Sam.

“Tell me you slammed the front door,” you said after you answered.

“Nope, it wasn't me. I think it was the little girl,” he told you.

“The little girl? What girl?”

“What’s he saying?” Dean interjected, leaning close to your ear and the phone.

“Yeah, she's out of the painting. I think it might've been her all along,” Sam said.

You snorted humorlessly. “The dad was trying to warn us all along. He was looking down at her the whole time.”

“Hey, hey, hey, let's recap later all right? Just get us out of here," the younger brother rushed out.

“Well, Dean’s trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well, knock it down!”

“Okay, smartass, just let me get my battering ram,” you remarked.

“(Y/N), the damn thing is coming!”

“I know, I know, just hold it off til we figure something out. Get some salt or iron or something,” you responded. “Stay on the phone with me!”

Moments later, you heard Sam say to himself, “What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.” Another minute or so went by before he spoke back into the phone. “Uh, (Y/N), give me a sec, don't go anywhere.”

You and Dean began to walk around the outside looking for an alternative entrance. A bit of yelling and crashing was heard on the other end of the phone. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, for now,” he responded.

“How’re we gonna waste her?” you asked.

“I don't know, she was already cremated. There's nothing left to burn.”

Dean got close to the phone again.

“Then how's she still around?” you challenged.

“There must be something else!” Sam went silent on the other end, but you could faintly hear Sarah’s voice.

“(Y/N), Sarah said the doll might have the kid's real hair. Human remains; same as bones.”

“The mausoleum,” you and Dean said in unison.

“Hang tight, Sam,” you said, snapping your phone shut. You and Dean sprinted back to the car, and Dean drove as fast and as wildly as he possibly could.

“One of these days, your driving’s gonna fucking kill us all,” you said, gripping the leather of the seat next to you and the door.

“Not now, (Y/N),” he responded evenly, driving even faster. He plowed straight through the fence of the cemetery and drove right up to the mausoleum. You and Dean jumped out of the car and hurried into the building.

Dean pounded the door of the glass box containing the doll with the butt of his gun, and then went to walk out of the mausoleum. “Come on, Dean,” he grimaced. “Cover your eyes!” He told you. He shot at the box, and you shielded your face as he did so. You leapt back into action and knocked away more of the glass with your hands, cutting them as you did so. You ignored the burning in your palms and took the doll out of its case.

You held the doll’s hair over the lighter, which Dean was having trouble lighting. “Come on, come on!” he said. Thankfully, the lighter caught the hairs of the doll and sent it up in flames. You dropped it on the floor between you and Dean and watched the rest of the doll burn.

Dean pulled out his phone moments later to call his brother. “Sam, you good?” He breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the phone.

You looked down at your bloodied hands. Dean followed your gaze. “(Y/N), you maniac, what were you doin’ pawin' at that glass with your bare hands, huh?”

“It seemed like a good idea in the moment,” you mumbled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” He guided you back to the car. He held your wrists and sat you down in the front seat of his car. He went to his trunk and returned a few moments later. He sat next to you and gingerly began wiping down your hands. You hissed and grabbed his hand at the pain. He looked back up to you and paused momentarily.

“Sorry,” you said.

“All good,” he responded and went back to work. He gently cleaned your wounds with an alcohol-soaked rag and began to wrap up your left hand. You watched as he worked, heart swelling at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you said.

“You’d do the same for me,” he muttered.

“I would,” you affirmed, smiling.

He picked a piece of glass out of your right hand. You hissed again.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “This one’s probably gonna need stitches.” He handed you his flask. “Drink this.”

You did as told and took a sip, swallowing sharply as you felt the first prick of the needle in your palm. “I’m not trying to be a little bitch. I’m really not when it comes to pain,” you said. “I can finish stitchin’ me up on my own if you wanna get back to Sam—”

“No. Let me,” he responded authoritatively. He looked up through his eyelashes at you before returning his attention to your fingers. He ran his along yours and gingerly cleaned the cuts, giving special attention to the deeper ones before bandaging the exterior of your hands. You flexed them painfully.

“Thank you. Seriously,” you said softly.

“Any time,” he responded.

***

“This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds," Dean explained to you. “Who'd suspect her? Sweet little girl. So then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Huh,” you said. “Psycho bitch.”

He scoffed. “You know you’re talking about a kid, right?”

“Yeah. Psycho bitch all the same.”

You and Dean were waiting outside of the auction house for Sam to finish talking to Sarah. You and he leaned against the car, watching Sarah and Sam talking at the door. Sam turned away from her before turning back moments later. He grabbed Sarah’s waist and pulled him to her, kissing her deeply.

“That's my boy,” Dean smiled.

“Alright, perv,” you remarked. You shoved him down into the car.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h

quite a few tags are broken; so sorry, my loves!! make sure you have my blog notifs on so you don't miss a chapter, and please let me know if ive misspelled your blog name!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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moistvonlipwig · 5 days ago

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Eternity, Growing Up, and Why Buffy Keeps Dating Vampires

Vampires in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, on a most basic level, represent stagnation, a desire to stay young forever, the refusal to grow up. The show emphasizes this several times: in the show's very first episode, Buffy recognizes a vampire by his outdated outfit, and in 2.07 "Lie to Me," Ford claims that becoming a vampire will allow him to "die young and stay pretty," the dream of "every American teen." Buffy's role as the titular vampire slayer can thus be read as a metaphor for her choosing to grow up and become an adult in the face of temptations to do otherwise. So what does it mean, then, that Buffy's two most narratively significant love interests are vampires -- that she repeatedly, across seven seasons, courts eternal immaturity? I would argue that Buffy's relationships with Angel and Spike represent her inner struggle to accept the reality of growing up and getting older.

Buffy and Angel's relationship is marked by repeated references to the concept of "forever" or an eternal relationship: "When I look into the future, all I see is you" (2.12 "Bad Eggs"); "Love is forever" (2.19 "I Only Have Eyes For You"); "Forever. That's the whole point" (3.01 "Anne"); "You still my girl?" / "Always" (3.17 "Enemies"); Buffy's "Buffy & Angel 4ever!" doodle on her notebook (3.20 "The Prom"); "How's forever? Does forever work for you?" (5.17 "Forever"). At first glance, this may appear to be a romantic cliche, but taken in context of what vampires represent, the motif takes on new meaning. To be eternal is to be like a vampire -- to stagnate, to never change or grow or mature. Indeed, Angel's final line on the entire show, in his and Buffy's last scene together, is, "I ain't getting any older" (7.22 "Chosen"). In Buffy the Vampire Slayer, immortality is synonymous with immaturity. To want a "forever" relationship, then, is to want to never grow up.

(This idea is revisited in the Angel episode 2.13 "Happy Anniversary," a disturbing tale about a man who responds to his impending breakup with his girlfriend Denise by attempting to freeze them both in time mid-coitus forever. Lorne's response -- "I can hold a note forever. But eventually that's just noise. It's the change we're listening for. The note coming after, and the one after that. That's what makes it music." -- is a perfect summation of the Buffyverse's stance on the concept of eternity. To last "forever" is not romantic or beautiful; it is simply to be in stasis.)

Buffy and Angel's relationship is also frequently associated with death, and Buffy's death in particular: "When you kiss me, I wanna die" (2.05 "Reptile Boy"); kissing against a gravestone reading "In Loving Memory" ("Bad Eggs"); Angel's dream of Buffy bursting into flames in the sunlight like a vampire after marrying him ("The Prom"). The implication is that, if Buffy stays in the relationship, it will metaphorically kill her, cut off her future, freeze her in this moment of teenage love until the end of time, like the first episode's vampire whose fashion sense was stuck in the past or, indeed, like the fate that almost befell poor Denise. To borrow a metaphor from Revolutionary Girl Utena (another show very concerned with the dichotomy of eternity vs. growing up), Angel and Buffy's relationship is their coffin. They can choose to stay trapped in it forever, to never grow or change, and thus to metaphorically die; or they can choose to leave, to grow and change and mature, to gain "the power to imagine the future" (Ikuhara Kunihiko, Utena DVD commentary), where before they could only imagine each other.

It's no coincidence that the second season's finale, an episode all about "becoming," about growing up and maturing, is when Buffy finally finds the strength to kill Angel in order to save the world. In doing so, she rejects her desire to stay young forever, trapped in her coffin with Angel for all of eternity, and chooses to continue to grow up instead. But, of course, growing up is never quite so simple; Angel comes back, and Buffy falls back into her relationship with him, falls back into her desire to pretend the events of the second season never happened and she is still the same young girl who never lost her "innocence" at his hands. Even when we consciously choose to grow up, it is all too easy to seek comfort in the idea that maybe, if we try hard enough, we won't have to. In the end, it is Angel who recognizes the harm their relationship is doing to Buffy, and he departs, taking Buffy's childhood with him. Her youth leaves her, as it leaves us all, whether she wants it to or not.

But Angel is not the last vampire she has a relationship with. In the show's sixth season, Buffy emerges from her literal coffin only to climb right back into a metaphorical one. In the time since she said goodbye to Angel, Buffy has attended college, had to drop out of college, had another romantic relationship fail, lost her mother, essentially become a parent to her newly-acquired sister, died through suicidal self-sacrifice, and been resurrected only to find that she is still just as depressed as she was before dying and is now swamped with bills she cannot pay. Her problems are firmly in the realm of adulthood, and at many points throughout the first half of the season, she longs for the grave she left instead of the life she has: "I was happy. [...] I think I was in heaven. [...] This is hell" (6.03 "After Life"); "There was no pain / no fear, no doubt / 'til they pulled me out / of heaven" (6.07 "Once More, with Feeling").

It is at this point that she begins a sexual relationship with Spike, her second dalliance with eternal immaturity. Buffy and Spike's relationship is also marked by references to death, with an emphasis this time on graves: Spike notices and verbalizes the shared experience they have of clawing their way out of their graves ("After Life"); Spike and Buffy fall into a grave together during Spike's song, during which he beseeches her to "let [him] rest in peace" ("Once More, with Feeling"); several of their sexual encounters literally occur inside the crypt Spike lives in; this crypt is brought into focus especially in 6.13 "Dead Things," in which Buffy and Spike place their hands on either side of its door, separated by her status as living and his as dead. Buffy additionally uses Spike as a proxy to call herself "dead inside" ("Dead Things"). Buffy may have literally risen from the dead, but in a metaphorical sense, she is still trapped in her coffin, unwilling to leave it.

There are, of course, multiple layers to the grave and coffin motif in Buffy the Vampire Slayer's sixth season. But I would argue that one such layer is that it serves as an extension of the death metaphor from Buffy and Angel's relationship, in which death signified Buffy never growing up. In this reading, Buffy's longing for the "heaven" granted to her by the grave is really a longing for the innocence of youth, now lost to her as she must continue to grow up. In Buffy's confession to Spike in "After Life" about where she was in death, she makes particular note of how "time didn't mean anything" in the place she labels "heaven," whereas in the real world, it's hellish "just getting through the next moment, and the one after that." Unlike Lorne, who saw beauty in the progression of time, Buffy sees only suffering, and longs for a time in her life when time itself seemed not to march forward at all.

It is no wonder, then, that she seeks comfort in someone who is frozen in time, who can never grow up. If Buffy's relationship with Angel represented her childhood desire to stay young forever and never face the hardships of adulthood, her relationship with Spike represents her adulthood desire to return to that period of youth and never leave it, to curl up in her coffin and close the lid. But unlike Buffy and Angel's relationship, which is littered with references to eternity, Buffy repeatedly insists on the temporary nature of her dalliance with Spike: "What we did is done. But I will never kiss you, Spike. Never touch you, ever, ever again" (6.08 "Tabula Rasa"); "Not gonna happen. Last night was the end of this freak show" (6.10 "Wrecked"). Buffy is furious with Spike for his hold over her and hates herself for wanting him, but returns to him again and again. She believes she shouldn't want to return to her unattainable youth, she knows she should accept her adult life and face its difficulties head-on, yet when confronted with its difficulties, she repeatedly goes to Spike to escape them, as in 6.11 "Gone," 6.12 "Doublemeat Palace," and 6.15 "As You Were."

If Angel represents Buffy's youth and Spike her nostalgia for that youth, then of course it follows that Angel must leave Buffy, but Buffy must leave Spike. Nostalgia, unlike youth, does not depart from us so easily. But she does leave him, and in the sixth season's finale, she finally crawls out of the grave she's been trapped in, represented by her leading her sister out of a literal grave and smiling at the world before her. As Buffy tells Dawn: "Things have really sucked lately, but it's all gonna change. And I wanna be there when it does. [...] And I want to see you grow up" (6.22 "Grave"). Change, the inevitable forward march of time, the reality of growing up -- these things no longer strike Buffy as hellish, but rather beautiful. She is an adult, and she is living in this ever-changing world, and she embraces that reality fully, leaving the coffin of youth behind for good.

What to make, then, of Buffy's relationship with Spike in the show's seventh season? I would argue that her evolving feelings towards Spike in the final season represent her reconciling with and forgiving her past self, the Buffy that didn't want to grow up, before finally letting that part of her go. She comes to recognize that Spike, like her past self, was capable of change, eternally immature though he may seem. She forgives herself for wanting him. When he offers to leave, she tells him she is "not ready for [him] to not be here" (7.14 "First Date"). She has already chosen to embrace and accept her adulthood, and she no longer resents her desire to return to childhood, but she still needs her inner eternal child with her.

It is in the very last episode of the series that she lets go, demonstrating her full-hearted and joyful acceptance of ephemerality in the process. Buffy has not told a romantic partner she loves them since Angel, although she told Angel she loved Riley in Angel 1.19 "Sanctuary," and from episodes like 4.03 "The Harsh Light of Day," it is clear how much the unexpected transience of her supposed-to-be-forever relationship with Angel has haunted her. But in 7.22 "Chosen," Buffy tells Spike she loves him in a moment when she knows for sure that his death is imminent and that their joint existence together is temporary. She no longer fears a love that is not eternal. Through Spike, she expresses her love for her past self and for the part of her that never quite grew up, and then she lets that part die with him, and with Sunnydale itself, the place where she spent her adolescence, another representation of the grave that was her dream of forever childhood. Despite this destruction and loss, Buffy only smiles in its face, and it is this smile we leave her on. She has grown up, she has forgiven herself for not wanting to grow up, she has let go of the last remnants of the childhood she once hoped would be eternal, and she has come to not only accept the ephemeral, ever-changing nature of life, but to meet it with love and joy. "The power to imagine the future" is hers to wield. And her smile tells us that she is finally ready to wield it.

#so anyway if you like btvs you should watch utena. is my point.#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs meta #buffy summers #btvs #it's what you do afterwards that counts #i'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back #it's gonna hurt a lot #her great catastrophe his great revelation

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la-femme-au-collier-vert · 21 days ago

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From The Library of Anne Rice (Part 1)

A list of books owned by Anne Rice including annotation information taken from auction listings at Bonham's, October 2024. Will continue in Part 2.

Frazer, James G. The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion (abridged edition).New York: MacMillan Publishing Co., 1963. She writes on the flyleaf in June of 2012: "When I bought this book I don't know. I know I read it or a copy of it in the 1980s when writing The Vampire Lestat. It is essential to me." On the jacket spine she has added "Sacred!"

Frazer, James G. The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion. 1981. Marked on the cover, "Gift to Stan from Anne 1985 / Save Always, AR," and internally reads in Stan's handwriting: "A gift to me from Anne because I've never read it."

Gaskell, Elizabeth. Tales of Mystery & the Macabre. Wordsworth edition, 2007. bears Rice's ownership signature to title page ("Anne Rice / May 29, 2012 / The Desert") and is tabbed and annotated throughout.

Gaskell, Elizabeth. North and South. Penguin Books, 2000. bears her ownership signature on the title page.

Hemingway, Ernest. For Whom the Bell Tolls. New York: Charles Scribner's Son, 1940. Original beige cloth stamped cover and spine, in facsimile dust jacket. First edition with the Scribner's "A" on the copyright page. With Post-it note to front pastedown indicating that the book was a gift "From Becket and Christina / Christmas / 2012."

King, B. B. & David Ritz. Blues All Around Me: The Autobiography of B.B. King. New York: Avon Books, 1996. First edition, inscribed to "To Anne / All the best to you / B.B. King / 10-18-96."

Montgomery, L.M. Anne of Green Gables. Cutchogue, NY: Buccaneer Books, 1976. Anne Rice ownership signature dated February 7, 2015, Palm Desert. Annotated on front pastedown; "It's immediately a pleasure, and making me want to write."

Montgomery, L.M. Emily's Quest. Oxford City Press, 2009. Anne Rice ownership signature dated February 21, 2015; annotated and tabbed.

Montgomery, L.M. Emily Climbs. Sourcebooks, 2014. Anne Rice ownership signature dated February 12, 2015.

Montgomery, L.M. Emily of New Moon. Ameron House, c.2015. Anne Rice ownership signature dated February 6, 2015, inscribed: "Reading the paperback and loving it so much I had to have a hardcover."

Montgomery, L.M. The Blue Castle. Sourcebooks, 2011. Anne Rice ownership signature dated May 12, 2015 to title page.

Puzo, Mario. The Godfather. New York: Putnam, 1969. Book club edition. On May 26 and 27, 2013, she writes, "Badly need this, Studying in detail" and on page 74 she writes, "Note how easily it flows." She has great praise for the nimbleness of the novel's p.o.v. and is often asking herself "how can I learn from this?" On p 225 she writes, "This is a most impressive piece of work and is masterly. Again I marvel at vocabulary, tone, and placement—organization of the book. I fight OCD as I write, I've come to see that, and this helps me to see what this novel accomplishes. Presenting the Don as a 'great' man, a 'genius,' without apology is a conscious approach that is so powerful."

Puzo, Mario. The Godfather. Another copy, later edition, lacking jacket. With Anne Rice's ownership signature.

Puzo, Mario. The Godfather Papers and Other Confessions. London; William Heinneman, 1972.

Puzo, Mario. The Fortunate Pilgrim. New York: Random House, 1997. Anne Rice ownership signature.

Wallace, Lew. Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. New York and London: Harper & Brothers, 1908. Anne Rice re-read this copy of Ben-Hur in 2006, a used copy she picked up somewhere, leaving detailed marginalia throughout and summing up her thoughts on the first flyleaf: "12-12-06: This is an amazing achievement: a Judeo-Christian novel. Jewish history and honor are here! And a woman tells this history to her son! How did we get away from this to The Robe ... 12-15-06: I've spent over two days reading & studying this wonderful book. It does seem unique—and it covers an amazing amt of material including a physical description of Our Lord, the crucifixion, etc. It is not anti-semitic. It presents Jews as exotic, 'oriental.' It has a primitive quality ... why is the prose so difficult? so 'dated'? Compare to Dickens." Rice's notes in the margin often compare the novel to (presumably the 1959 version of) the film, finding the novel superior in every way, and commenting more than once on its structural similarities to Dickens: "the whole spectacle and the co-incidence" (p 166).

Cleland, John. 1709-1789. Fanny Hill or Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. New York: Penguin Books, 1985. Annotated and with ownership signature to the title page: "Anne Rice / January 2014 / Palm Desert." Rice underscores Cleland's descriptions of bodies and physical acts, and in particular, wonders about the novel's p.o.v.: on p 108 she writes in the margin, "Is this a man's view? A gay man? An author who is male and female?"

Clinton, Bill. Born 1946. My Life. New York: Alfred Knopf, 2004. Jacket spine with label "From the library of Anne Rice" laid down to tail. First edition, inscribed on the title page, "To Anne—After doing this book, I admire you even more—Bill Clinton." with: a note on the Office of William J. Clinton letterhead: "2/17 —Huma—For author ANNE RICE.—Thanks, Sally." When Clinton published his memoir in 2024, Rice was one of the VIPs to receive a presentation copy, in which he expresses his admiration for her work after having written a book of his own.

Bellman, Henry. 1882-1945. Kings Row. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1943. Annotated and with ownership signature to front free endpaper: "Anne Rice / June 27, 2013 / Palm Desert." Rice has carefully read and annotated this copy, complementing the writing (particularly when Bellamann writes about Father Donovan) and adds a long note on the rear pastedown: "Pages & pages of this book are about the mind—about how the mind learns, expands, grows, experiences." Sometimes her comments are in conversation with the text, as when, on p 153, she underlines the town of Auvergne and writes "Auvergne, what a coincidence! As I plan a trip there and write about Lestat!"

Dickens, Charles. David Copperfield. New York: Penguin Classics, 2014. With ownership signature of Anne Rice dated June 11, 2018, tabbed and annotated throughout. On the preliminary leaf of Copperfield, Rice writes, "Again with my beloved David, and my beloved Dickens. I have just read Claire Tomalink 'The Invisible Woman' and her later bio of Dickens. I'm writing my new novel in my head."

Dickens, Charles. Great Expectations. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008. Signed and dated June 15, 2018, tabbed and annotated throughout.

Rawlings, Marjorie Kinnen. South Moon Under. New York, London: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1933 (undated later facsimile edition).

Mitchell, Margaret, Gone With the Wind. New York: [Simon and Schuster], 2011. Rice reread this copy in March of 2015, tabbing dozens of pages and commenting in the margins.

Tolstoy, Leo. War and Peace. New York: Alfred Knopf, 2007. The first date on this copy of War and Peace is June 30, 2010, and Rice writes: "The Desert / Being reborn in Tolstoy, studying at his feet—Searching for the Christ who is bigger than religion." In a different ink, Rice adds at the top of the same page, "Revisiting 7-16-17—Having seen much of the new BBC series with Lily James as Natasha." Rice has tabbed the pages throughout this volume and made extensive notes on character development and theme. On the rear flyleaf, she adds, "'Life is everything...' p 10064— use for L" as well as "The guiltlessness of suffering (do we make ourselves suffer to be guiltless)?"

Tolstoy, Leo. Anna Karinina. Translated by Rosamund Bartlett. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Signed and annotated February 19, 2015. Heavily tabbed, especially in the center part of the novel, and noted on the front flyleaf: "Reading chunks of the story of Levin & Kitty / So beautiful and smooth—"

#Anne Rice #The Vampire Chronicles #Interview With the Vampire #Inspirations

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harry-on-broadway · 2 years ago

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My Rock Star

Word Count: 3.6K || Rating: M

A/N: I knew I wanted to write a Grammys fic and had drafted one a couple of weeks ago. But after last night, it underwent a major overhaul to capture the magic of the evening. I really enjoyed writing this one and hope you enjoy reading it. Would love to hear your thoughts!

***

It was too soon.

And besides, he almost never brought anyone special to any of these events.

“You get that, right?” he whispered against your hair, fingers scratching lightly at the exposed skin of shoulder as he held you close in bed.

For anyone else, the two-year mark almost guaranteed attendance at your partner’s work events, but Harry’s situation meant you all played by a different set of rules.

“I get it,” you said, even though deep down a part of you felt hurt by his continued refusal to bring you into all facets of his life. You knew it came from a place of well-meaning, but that didn’t make it sting any less. You counted the freckles on his chest to distract yourself from the frustration brewing inside.

“I’m not happy about it,” Harry said somewhat forcefully. “If I could have you there I would.”

“And you can. You’re just choosing not to.” His hand stopped mid-scratch and you could feel him suck in a breath. “That was a low blow. I’m sorry.”

“You’re just being honest,” he said. It was clear he was trying not to snap back at you.

“No, I’m being petty and unfair.” You twisted and propped yourself up on your elbow to look him in the eye. “I know why you’re like this. It all comes from a place of love but sometimes I just want to celebrate my boyfriend. I want to support you.”

“And you do, love. Just because our situation isn’t traditional doesn’t mean it’s wrong or bad.”

You looked down at him. His eyes were clear, if a little tired, and you could see a faint puffiness under his eyes. He’d been working so hard recently, squeezing rehearsals, wardrobe fittings, and writing sessions in between shows. It was cruel to take out your anger on him when he hadn’t done anything wrong. You knew what you were in store for when you started dating and understood that this would always be part of your relationship. You ran your hands through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. “You’re right,” you said. “What we have is pretty damn great.” You planted a kiss on his lips. “Now how about we go to bed. I’m a little tired and I think you are too.”

Harry sighed. “I am. And I have to be up in…” He squinted, looking at the clock on your nightstand. “...five hours. Fuck.”

“Don’t think about it. Just go to sleep.” You rolled over and turned off the light, hoping to force him into getting at least a couple of hours of rest. “Goodnight, H.”

Within minutes you were listening to the sound of his quiet snores as your mind continued to swirl with thoughts of what it would be like to share just one celebratory moment with him.

***

Sunday afternoon and you were still in your sweats while the man of the hour was being helped into a sparkly patchwork jumpsuit.

You’d offered to step out and grab lunch with a girlfriend to give him some space, but he’d been insistent that you stay near. Which meant you’d been orbiting him and his team all day, sitting far enough away that you wouldn’t be in the way as Jeff came in and out of the room with updates and Lambert helped with last-minute fittings, but remaining close enough that you could see Harry when he went looking for reassurance.

You bounced between your book and phone, reading a few pages before responding to messages from Anne and Gemma, giving them the play-by-play and glimpses behind the scenes they so desperately wanted, until you felt someone tap your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Harry.

The room had cleared out, leaving the two of you with a moment of privacy for the first time all day. Harry pulled you into his chest, holding you tight.

“Nervous?” you asked, lips pressed to his chest. You felt him shrug. “It’s OK if you are. If you can tell anyone you can tell me.”

“I–I know I tell everyone shit like this doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t, but I really want to win. Prove to everyone that I matter.”

“You do matter, Harry,” you said, cupping his face in your hands. “And if it wouldn’t make you late, I’d make you sit down and listen while I listed off everything you’ve accomplished in the past couple of years.”

“I mean I wouldn’t be upset if you did that.”

You pinched his cheek, earning a giggle from him. “What I do want to talk about is this outfit.” He was decked out in a tight, low-cut jumpsuit in a sparkly geometric pattern that somewhat resembled an afghan that had rested on that back of your grandmother’s couch for a number of years. “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not going,” you teased. “I wouldn’t have been able to match you, fashionista.”

“I would have liked to see you try.”

“I’m sure you would.” You stepped back to fully take in Harry’s outfit. “You look really good, baby.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“I’m the one that gets to take this off of you tonight.”

Harry licked his lips and you could have sworn you felt something stiffen below his waist. “Uh, I think I can make that happen.”

“Good. Because you owe me.” You pressed up onto the balls of your feet, wrapped your arms around his neck, and pulled him close, and slotted your lips over his. The kiss was gentle at first, but as soon as you got a taste, something came over you. You nibbled at his lips, and when he returned the gesture with even more fervor, you slipped your tongue inside, deepening the kiss and pulling a low groan from Harry. You dug your fingers into his shoulders and started to stroke his growing bulge when you heard a slight cough from the doorway.

You parted, only to find Jeff standing there, artfully avoiding eye contact. “Car’s here, H,” he said as you all caught your breath. “Need to head out now.” He nodded your direction before walking purposefully out the door.

“Going to need a sec, Jeffrey,” Harry called after him.

“Fuck, that was awkward,” you said, feeling your face grow hot with embarrassment.

“He’s seen worse,” Harry offered in an attempt to help.

“Not with me, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Oh stop, you know you’re my one and only.” Harry inhaled. “It’s going to be good, right?”

“Of course,” you said in one last attempt to reassure him and calm his nerves. “Just go out there and make me proud.”

“Don’t know if I’ll be able to do that.”

“Yes, you will. Just by being you.” You pinched his cheek again. “Bringing home the big one will just be a bonus.”

“H! Car is leaving now!” Jeff called from the hall. “Adjust yourself on the way there.”

Harry leaned down to steal one final kiss. “See you at the party?”

You nodded, acknowledging your plan to meet him at a private afterparty some of his friends had organized. “I’m counting down the minutes.”

“Alright…”

“Harry, you need to go.”

“I know.” He picked up his phone and sunglasses from the table. “See you later.”

“Mhmm. And don’t forget your promise.”

“I won’t.” A cheeky grin had returned to his face. “You’re the only one undressing me tonight.” He turned towards the hall. “OK, Jeffrey,” he shouted, smacking his palm against the top of the door frame as he walked through. “Let’s go. We’re already late because of you!”

You rolled your eyes, pretty certain that Jeff would not appreciate Harry’s jokes when they were 15 minutes behind schedule and already fighting a losing battle against Los Angeles traffic.

Alone in the room, you turned your attention to your own outfit, a simple party dress you’d worn to bachelorette parties and nights out. In fact, you’d been wearing it when you’d first met Harry. It had to have some sort of luck, right? You slipped it on as you said a silent prayer for the night.

***

You’d already downed a drink before the ceremony started and were almost done with your second. Which meant you weren’t sure if Harry’s category was first or second or later in the show, so you played it safe and settled onto a small velvet couch, attention solely on one of the many televisions scattered around the room. You chewed on the straw as the telecast ran through the nominees, bracing yourself to hear a name that wasn’t Harry’s, only to be completely shocked when his name was read off the card.

The room erupted in screams as people shouted with joy, jumping up to hug one another, you stayed still on the chair, too surprised to move. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe he could do it. Hell, he’d done it once before. But you’d spent so much time preparing for the worst, thinking about how you’d soothe the sting of losing that you hadn’t spent much time thinking about how you’d be celebrating.

By the time you’d calmed down and returned to normalcy, Harry was already walking off stage. You smiled, thinking of how his short and direct speech was so…him. Seeing him holding that trophy had you breathing easier. One thing checked off the list.

Things slowed down after the win, you could tell he was nervy the second he stepped on the stage to perform, and after that, several losses in a row had dimmed the energy of your group. With just one category left, everyone was preparing to hype up the man of the hour when he arrived. You had started to tune out the broadcast as album of the year was announced, and you were convinced you were hallucinating when Harry’s fan read his name off the card. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as you watched Tom and Tyler and everyone around him pull him into a warm embrace before he made his way on stage. You tried not to think about how you wished you were the one holding him up there.

Waiting for him to finish up his interviews and photo calls after the show was the most agonizing thing you’d ever experienced, and no matter how many people you talked to, no matter how many appetizers you ate, you couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. Countless minutes later, you were alerted to his arrival when you heard screams and cheers coming from the entrance. You walked over to the bar to get him a drink, pausing when you felt someone behind you.

“Have you ever slept with a Grammy winner?” a voice purred in your ear.

You turned around to find Harry, curls flopping over his forehead, body clad in a nearly all black ensemble, save for the low cut white tank he had on underneath.

“Actually I have,” you said with a laugh.

“Shit, I messed that up. I was supposed to say three-time Grammy winner,” Harry slurred.

“Started the party early?” you teased.

“There may have been some libations passed around the backseat on the way over here, but I could never start celebrating without my best girl.”

“Who me?”

“Yes you!” Harry leaned his forehead against yours. “I-I really wanted you there,” he said softly. “Was thinking about you the whole time. How you should have been there beside me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you murmured, stroking his cheek. “I get you all night.” You kissed him. “And tomorrow.” Another kiss. “And the day after that.”

“You have me forever, love,” Harry said, eyes clearer than they had been all night.

You were about to respond when Tom and Ben bounded over, jumping on Harry’s back. “Fuck yeah! Album of the year!” Tom shouted, pulling Harry back to the center of the room. You laughed, picking up your drink and Harry’s, finding a quiet corner to chat with the band while Harry made his rounds.

***

It had been close to midnight the last time you looked at a clock. Any other night, you’d be fading about now, ready to head to bed, cuddling with Harry if he was in town, but tonight, you felt energized. A lull had fallen over the party as revelers searched for a third – or fourth – drink or chased down one of the trays of appetizers that had been moving around the room. You were trying to decide what your next cocktail would be, when someone grabbed your hand, jerking you out of your stupor.

“Harry?”

“This way,” he said, pulling you over to a door that led to somewhere unknown.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” You all wound up in an empty room that might have been used to store tables and other furniture when they weren't in use. “So,” Harry began. “I know I promised you something today, but I’ve clearly not held up my end of the bargain.”

You were confused. “Uh, what are you talking about?”

“I promised that you would be the one to undress me. And while you didn’t specify which outfit, I have a feeling you were partial to the jumpsuit. I’m hoping this,” he gestured to his jeans and tank. “Will suffice.”

You took a shaky breath. “I think I can work with this.”

“Well, go ahead.” Harry lifted his arms as you blinked incredulously.

“Wha-here? Now?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “It’s not like anyone will hear.” You stared at him. “Love, you’re loud, but not that loud.”

“Harry!”

“Everyone has been drinking since noon, they’re not going to notice we’re gone.” You chewed on your lip, unconvinced by his reasoning. “You know what, we can wait,” Harry said after a moment. “We’ll head home soon and then –”

“No! I don’t want that.” Harry’s brows jumped up his forehead. “I want you. Here. Now,” you continued.

“OK, love,” Harry said softly, as if he didn’t want to break whatever trance had come over you.

You approached him, kissing him fiercely as you pulled the jacket from his shoulders. He kissed you back, his dexterity not impacted by the large amount of alcohol he’d consumed that evening. When the jacket hit the floor, you untucked his shirt, grazing your fingertips along his skin as you pulled the garment over his head, depositing it on top of the pile. His pants were next, and you took your time undoing his belt, unbuttoning the trousers, and slowly peeling them down the muscle of his thighs and calves. You could hear him inhale, then let out a slow breath when your hands grazed over his hips, face just inches away from the bulge in his pants that was growing by the second. He kicked off his pants and was left standing nearly naked.

“Now this feels unfair,” he said, teasing evident in his voice.

“This was my consolation prize,” you said with a smirk.

“Well what do I get for winning?”

“This.” You brought his hand up your thigh and under your dress, pushing your panties to the side.

“Fuuuuccckk,” he moaned, feeling the dampness between your legs.

“You can’t expect me to watch you parading around on the carpet like that, walking up on stage, winning a fucking Grammy and not get wet for you.”

“Fucking hell,” he breathed. His fingers swiped at your center, barely there, the teasing touch only winding you up more.

“May I?” he asked.

“Of course.” You swallowed. “I got mine and now you’ll get yours.”

You could have sworn he growled as he thrust his fingers inside of you, thumb readily finding your clit. You were so slick that his fingers slipped out of rhythm several times before he was able to steady himself. The constant stopping and starting only built your desire, and you found yourself biting down on Harry’s shoulder to keep from crying out. He continued to circle your clit and you started to feel that sensation behind your belly button, like you were climbing up a hill and when Harry finally touched you just like that, you found yourself falling over the edge and into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” Harry said, his arms steadying you as you rode out your orgasm. “I’ve got you.”

You looked up at him, still dazed, and were only able to utter a single word. “More.”

Harry was quick to respond, stepping closer to you until you were backed up against the wall. “Up,” he said against the column of your throat where he was sucking kisses against every inch of exposed skin he could find. You jumped, or at least did the best impression of jump you could manage in your state, Harry’s arms catching you, and holding you close against him.

He could feel him, hot and hard against your core and in that moment you knew you needed him. All of him. Here and now in whatever room of this downton hotel you all had commandeered. You pawed at the waistband of his briefs, trying to pull them down. When they were pooled around his knees, Harry lined himself up with you, catching your eye and waiting for you to nod your consent before he pushed inside of you.

You all both cried out as you clenched around his cock. You always felt filled to the brim when he was inside of you, but tonight, it was like it had never been before. A perfect fit. Like you all were made for each other.

“Is this good?” Harry asked as you adjusted to him.

“Yes, so good,” you whined.

He rocked his hips, thrusting deeper, inching closer to the spot that drove you wild. He repeated the action again and again, moving farther each time until you were crying out with pleasure.

“H-, don’t stop, please,” you moaned.

You felt his fingers dig into your hips as he pulled you even closer to him as he increased his pace. His hips rammed into you, more aggressive than he usually was, until you could feel them falter. He was close and you needed to feel him spill over the edge.

“Come on, H, please baby, you’re close I know it.” You wrapped your fingers in the tangled curls at the base of his neck and tugged, pulling his face from your neck so you could look him in the eye. “Cum for me baby. My rock star.”

Harry groaned and when you felt his body shudder and that telltale warm wetness inside of you, you knew he’d finished. He was still for a moment, but when he adjusted, ready to pull out, he moved in a way that triggered your own orgasm, even better than the first. Numb and tingly in the best way possible, you gave him a hazy grin and leaned in to kiss him.

“Not the worst way to celebrate,” Harry said, breathless. “I should win awards more often.”

“There’s always Saturday,” you shot back.

“I like that way of thinking,” he said, patting your ass as you bent to straighten and adjust your panties. You’d need to clean up before you made your way back to the party. “That’s what I keep you around for.”

“My brain?” You smiled and tossed Harry his pants.

“Something like that.”

He’d just pulled his pants up when there was a knock at the door.

“H? You in there?” It sounded like Jeff and some others.

“Fuck!” Harry shot you an apologetic look.

“Go,” you urged, handing him his shirt and jacket. “They want to celebrate you.”

He pouted. “But maybe I don’t want to.”

“You were fine with celebrating a minute ago.”

“Yeah, because I was naked with you.”

“Go,” you repeated. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh? You coming home with me?” He grinned and you swore you swooned. Dimpled grin and disheveled curls, he was a sexier version of a matinee idol.

“You know I am. I always come home to you.”

“Yes, you do.” He kissed your cheek, a surprisingly chaste gesture when he’d been knuckle deep inside of you just minutes earlier. “I really do wish you had been there with me tonight.” He cleared his throat. “Tom and Tyler might have helped make the album, but it never would have existed if it hadn’t been for you.” His eyes were watering and he swiped at them with the back of his hand.

“Well that’s bullshit.”

“It’s not,” he said, firmly. “I feel like I never treat you as well as I should and that you could do so much better.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I have my reasons. Doesn’t make it better, but I do it because I care. One day, I hope I can give you everything you deserve.”

You were at a loss for words and settled for hugging him as tight as you could, until the crowd outside began to pound on the door. “I think your admirers are waiting,” you said. You pushed him forward. “Go, have fun.”

Looking over his shoulder, Harry walked across the room and opened the door. His friends embraced him and you had to fight the urge to intervene when a drunken Tommy and Tyler tried to hoist him onto their shoulders. Harry was laughing hard, and even from your distant vantage point, you could tell just how much love surrounded him.

There were a lot of challenges in your relationship, the chief one being having to share him with the rest of the world. But as you caught his eye and shared a smile, you were sure of one thing.

He’d always be your rock star.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles ff #harry fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fan fic #harry writing

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jessicaslittlelovesickmess · 1 year ago

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In this moment

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x Reader, Reader x oc!Liam (platonic)

Warnings: toxic Melissa, hint to miscarriage, pregnancy, angst, depression, let me know if I missed anything also unedited

Pt.3 of why did you invite me? Pt.2 Pt.4 Pt.5

8 years ago…

I sat alone in the empty hall, Melissa had just left all but slamming the door behind her while I had the pregnancy test in my back pocket. I tried to tell her when I had gotten home that I took one at work but her bags were stacked and she was ready to go.

The words left my lips and all I could do was cry “M-mel baby” but she only looked away “Mel!” It was a weak attempt. I reached out and grabbed her arm as she continued to pack “Melissa stop!” But she wouldn’t.

“I’m pregnant!”

“No you’re not”

We had been using both Melissa’s and mine’s dna so far there had been a few losses “Melissa, I really am!” My voice caught in my throat. “You’ll only lose it again!” She yelled finally facing me “it-it wasn’t my fault” the redhead shook her head before grabbing her things and leaving.

It wasn’t my fault…

Getting used to her absence was hard and as my stomach grew it became much harder it felt like learning to live once again. There were days where the shower felt out of reach, food didn’t feel necessary and I couldn’t move- glued to the bed I once shared with her.

I couldn’t change the sheets for a while, trying to hold onto her scent pretending she was just on a trip until her scent faded and reality hit. She was gone.

She was gone.

And I would raise our child alone

Liam came over a week after she left and looked over at me in sympathy before rolling me off the bed and into the bath. He sat with me and washed my hair just talking to me, I loved him and I hoped he knew “Liam, how will I do this?” I asked him.

“You have me”

I have him

“Thank you” I cried into my hands still in the tub as he rubbed my back

“This clump of cells is also part Liam” he joked

“Careful people might think you’re straight” I rolled my eyes causing him to gasp “as your best friend, you should be thankful I would go straight for you”

“You’re a dick” I laughed “now help me out please the water is getting cold”

“It’s a girl” the doctor smiled as my eyes remained on the screen, a girl, a girl, my little girl. Melissa had wanted a girl.

This was all we had ever wanted

I stared in the mirror, four months and I felt huge. I traced the stretch marks expanding across my stomach. There is a child in there I thought with a bittersweet smile my little girl, I hadn’t given her a name yet.

My due date was nearing

Soon I will have my little girl in my arms, Liam stood in the kitchen making lunch while I finished decorating the nursery. My hand gently glided across the crib back and forth while I glanced around the room, it was a fairytale’s dream.

Fuck you Melissa Ann Schemmenti

I cursed mentally as I sat on the plush rocking chair, Ann- Anna that’s the name of my girl. Pollyanna a name that I had always loved.

My Pollyanna Leah Schemmenti

“Congratulations Mama” Liam choked out as he handed me a small bundle of pink blankets this had to be the first time in fifteen years I had ever seen him cry.

I peaked over the blankets looking at her, my girl, and I laughed sadly “she’s fucking ginger” Fuck you Melissa Schemmenti.

“My girl”

#melissa schemmenti x daughter!reader #melissa ann schemmenti #melissa schemmenti imagine #melissa schemmenti x reader #lisa ann walter x reader #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #hurt/comfort #angst

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scotianostra · 2 months ago

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On 28th September 1928 Alexander Fleming, a Scottish researcher discovered penicillin.

I know we all like to blow our own trumpets and us, as Scots gave the world a lot, certainly punching above our weights, per head of population, but let’s be honest, Fleming never had much of a clue what to do with his discovery at first.

The discovery of penicillin, one of the world’s first antibiotics, marks a true turning point in human history — when doctors finally had a tool that could completely cure their patients of deadly infectious diseases.

Many school children can recite the basics. Penicillin was discovered in London in September of 1928. As the story goes, Dr. Alexander Fleming, the bacteriologist on duty at St. Mary’s Hospital, returned from a summer vacation in Scotland to find a messy lab bench and a good deal more.

Upon examining some colonies of Staphylococcus aureus, Dr. Fleming noted that a mold called Penicillium notatum had contaminated his Petri dishes. After carefully placing the dishes under his microscope, he was amazed to find that the mold prevented the normal growth of the staphylococci.

It took Fleming a few more weeks to grow enough of the persnickety mold so that he was able to confirm his findings. His conclusions turned out to be phenomenal: there was some factor in the Penicillium mold that not only inhibited the growth of the bacteria but, more important, might be harnessed to combat infectious diseases.

As Dr. Fleming famously wrote about that red-letter date: “When I woke up just after dawn on September 28, 1928, I certainly didn’t plan to revolutionize all medicine by discovering the world’s first antibiotic, or bacteria killer. But I guess that was exactly what I did.”

It took another 14 years before other scientists worked out how to successfully develop the drug when Anne Miller became the first civilian patient to be successfully treated with penicillin, lying near death at New Haven Hospital in Connecticut, after miscarrying and developing an infection that led to blood poisoning.

Much has been said about how penicillin is not as resillient as it once was, that may be true in some cases, but it is still the go to drug to fight infection all over the world.

#scotland #scottish #history #microbiologist #penicillin

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thepastisalreadywritten · 1 year ago

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Story and photographs by Ronan O’Connell

September 26, 2023

In the middle of a field in a lesser known part of Ireland is a large mound where sheep wander and graze freely.

Had they been in that same location centuries ago, these animals might have been stiff with terror, held aloft by chanting, costumed celebrants while being sacrificed to demonic spirits that were said to inhabit nearby Oweynagat cave.

This monumental mound lay at the heart of Rathcroghan, the hub of the ancient Irish kingdom of Connaught.

The former Iron Age center is now largely buried beneath the farmland of County Roscommon.

In 2021, Ireland applied for UNESCO World Heritage status for Rathcroghan (Rath-craw-hin). It remains on the organization's tentative list.

Rooted in lore

Spread across more than two square miles of rich agricultural land, Rathcroghan encompasses 240 archaeological sites, dating back 5,500 years.

They include burial mounds, ring forts (settlement sites), standing stones, linear earthworks, an Iron Age ritual sanctuary — and Oweynagat, the so-called gate to hell.

More than 2,000 years ago, when Ireland’s communities seem to have worshipped nature and the land itself, it was here at Rathcroghan that the Irish New Year festival of Samhain (SOW-in) was born, says archaeologist and Rathcroghan expert Daniel Curley.

In the 1800s, the Samhain tradition was brought by Irish immigrants to the United States, where it morphed into the sugar overload that is American Halloween.

Dorothy Ann Bray, a retired associate professor at McGill University and an expert in Irish folklore, explains that pre-Christian Irish divided each year into summer and winter.

Within that framework were four festivities.

Imbolc, on February 1, was a festival that coincided with lambing season.

Bealtaine, on May 1, marked the end of winter and involved customs like washing one’s face in dew, plucking the first blooming flowers, and dancing around a decorated tree.

August 1 heralded Lughnasadh, a harvest festival dedicated to the god Lugh and presided over by Irish kings.

Then on October 31 came Samhain, when one pastoral year ended and another began.

Rathcroghan was not a town, as Connaught had no proper urban centers and consisted of scattered rural properties.

Instead, it was a royal settlement and a key venue for these festivals.

During Samhain, in particular, Rathcroghan was a hive of activity focused on its elevated temple, which was surrounded by burial grounds for the Connachta elite.

Those same privileged people may have lived at Rathcroghan. The remaining lower-class Connachta communities resided in dispersed farms and descended on the site only for festivals.

At those lively events they traded, feasted, exchanged gifts, played games, arranged marriages, and announced declarations of war or peace.

Festivalgoers also may have made ritual offerings, possibly directed to the spirits of Ireland’s otherworld.

That murky, subterranean dimension, also known as Tír na nÓg (Teer-na-nohg), was inhabited by Ireland’s immortals, as well as a myriad of beasts, demons, and monsters.

During Samhain, some of these creatures escaped via Oweynagat cave (pronounced “Oen-na-gat” and meaning “cave of the cats”).

“Samhain was when the invisible wall between the living world and the otherworld disappeared,” says Mike McCarthy, a Rathcroghan tour guide and researcher who has co-authored several publications on the site.

“A whole host of fearsome otherworldly beasts emerged to ravage the surrounding landscape and make it ready for winter.”

Thankful for the agricultural efforts of these spirits but wary of falling victim to their fury, the people protected themselves from physical harm by lighting ritual fires on hilltops and in fields.

They disguised themselves as fellow ghouls, McCarthy says, so as not to be dragged into the otherworld via the cave.

Despite these engaging legends — and the extensive archaeological site in which they dwell — one easily could drive past Rathcroghan and spot nothing but paddocks.

Inhabited for more than 10,000 years, Ireland is so dense with historical remains that many are either largely or entirely unnoticed.

Some are hidden beneath the ground, having been abandoned centuries ago and then slowly consumed by nature.

That includes Rathcroghan, which some experts say may be Europe’s largest unexcavated royal complex.

Not only has it never been dug up, but it also predates Ireland’s written history.

That means scientists must piece together its tale using non-invasive technology and artifacts found in its vicinity.

While Irish people for centuries knew this site was home to Rathcroghan, it wasn’t until the 1990s that a team of Irish researchers used remote sensing technology to reveal its archaeological secrets beneath the ground.

“The beauty of the approach to date at Rathcroghan is that so much has been uncovered without the destruction that comes with excavating upstanding earthwork monuments,” Curley says.

“[Now] targeted excavation can be engaged with, which will answer our research questions while limiting the damage inherent with excavation.”

Becoming a UNESCO site

This policy of preserving Rathcroghan’s integrity and authenticity extends to tourism.

Despite its significance, Rathcroghan is one of Ireland’s less frequented attractions, drawing some 22,000 visitors a year compared with more than a million at the Cliffs of Moher.

That may not be the case had it long ago been heavily marketed as the “Birthplace of Halloween,” Curley says.

But there is no Halloween signage at Rathcroghan or in Tulsk, the nearest town.

Rathcroghan’s renown should soar, however, if Ireland is successful in its push to make it a UNESCO World Heritage site.

The Irish Government has included Rathcroghan as part of the “Royal Sites of Ireland,” which is on its newest list of locations to be considered for prized World Heritage status.

The global exposure potentially offered by UNESCO branding would likely attract many more visitors to Rathcroghan.

But it seems unlikely this historic jewel will be re-packaged as a kitschy Halloween tourist attraction.

“If Rathcroghan got a UNESCO listing and that attracted more attention here that would be great, because it might result in more funding to look after the site,” Curley says.

“But we want sustainable tourism, not a rush of gimmicky Halloween tourism.”

Those travelers who do seek out Rathcroghan might have trouble finding Oweynagat cave.

Oweynagat is elusive — despite being the birthplace of Medb, perhaps the most famous queen in Irish history, 2,000 years ago.

Barely signposted, it’s hidden beneath trees in a paddock at the end of a one-way, dead-end farm track, about a thousand yards south of the much more accessible temple mound.

Visitors are free to hop a fence, walk through a field, and peer into the narrow passage of Oweynagat.

In Ireland’s Iron Age, such behavior would have been enormously risky during Samhain, when even wearing a ghastly disguise might not have spared the wrath of a malevolent creature.

Two millennia later, most costumed trick-or-treaters on Halloween won’t realize they’re mimicking a prehistoric tradition — one with much higher stakes than the pursuit of candy.

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crazykuroneko · 2 years ago

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New details on IWTV S2 productions

Shooting will run for five months, wrapping on August 25 They edited it to August 31

Beside Paris, Prague will stand in for other locations, including potentially New Orleans (a/n: in early reports, they said they would possibly go back to shoot in NOLA)

Shooting is happening in Barrandov Studio, where the shooting for film Nosferatu is currently happening as well

"The previous season of Interview with the Vampire covered the first half of Rice’s book, with the second season primed to cover the events of the latter half. As numerous other Rice novels feature the same characters, however, this second season is not necessarily the last for the series"

Mark Johnson is replacing Rolin Jones as showrunner (a/n: afaik shows sometimes rolling roles like this. in the news on Claudia casting, both Mark and Rolin are still executive producers, and Rolin is supposedly still the head writer and show creator) It has been confirmed by the news outlet that this information is a mistake (see: first reblog)

"A release date for season two of Interview with the Vampire has not been set by AMC, but based on its production dates a window of early-to-mid 2024 seems likely."

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #jacob anderson #sam reid #eric bogosian #assad zaman #delainey hayles #we all know what makes amc iwtv amc iwtv is rolin #so keep giving him as many roles as you could be

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m-jelly · 1 year ago

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Hello, my darling Jelly!

I love how you write Levi with the kids, he's so sweet and caring 🥰

What do you think about the New Year holidays? Levi and reader started dating and she invited him to spend the winter break with her family and introduce him to her family as her boyfriend.

But there is a small problem. The reader has a younger 8-year-old sister who scared away all her ex-boyfriends (who actually was bad guys) and arranged hard pranks on them. In fact she did it because just doesn't want anyone to hurt again her older sister so she is childishly trying to protect her sister with such behavior.

A reader warns Levi about a possible little 8-year-old cute trouble, but he says that’s okay. At first, the reader's younger sister was wary of Levi and tried to prank him a couple of times. But after a while, she realizes that Levi is a very good person and accepts him. Kid stops her pranks and attempts to get rid of Levi and apologizes for thinking badly of him.

Levi says he accepts the apology and he is very happy that he is fully welcomed in reader’s family, because this is very important to him.

@ladycheesington <3

Two kinds of love

Levi x fem!Reader

Modern AU, couple, fluff, romance, cute, family, sweet, Levi has great reflexes.

Levi comes over for the New Year's holiday to meet your family. You think it's all perfect, but your sister and Levi are having a secret battle over your love. Eventually, they have a heart-to-heart and connect over their love for you.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6 @nbinairyn

Athena's gaze bore into Levi as he stood in the entrance hall with you at his side. She was determined to get rid of him because Levi looked like he was another bad man for you. Athena had to protect you at all costs. She blushed hard when Levi looked down at her and gave her the tiniest smile. She had to admit, he was handsome but he had to be trouble.

She didn't like it when you hugged Levi's arm and smiled in pride as you told your parents all about Levi and how madly in love you were. She pouted hard when Levi agreed with you and said you were his entire world, the love of his life and his soulmate. Athena wasn't buying it.

She hurried away and grabbed the first thing she needed to attack. She grabbed her slingshot and filled a balloon with water. It was clear she was up to something. She pulled back the balloon, aimed it at Levi and released the balloon.

Athena gasped in awe as Levi happily talked to you, reached his arm out and caught the small balloon without breaking it. He excused himself and got rid of the balloon. She expected Levi to get her into trouble, but he didn't say a thing.

Levi moved over to her causing her to hold her breath. "Your aim is impressive. I'd love to see more of your slingshot skills."

"You...you! Poopy head!"

Levi hummed a laugh as she ran off. He turned and joined you. "Your sister is funny."

You grinned. "She is. I know there is a massive age gap between us, but she's a little darling. I love her and I hope you get on with her. She's not been pulling pranks, right?"

Levi rubbed your back. "No. It's all good."

"Great!"

He played with your hair a little. "Are your feet okay? The shoes you wore here are new."

You hummed. "They're okay."

Levi knelt in front of you and pulled your socks off. He massaged your meet as he inspected. "I don't see any marks. Does this feel okay?"

"Thank you." You sighed. "You spoil me too much."

He smiled at you. "I love you. I love doting on you. I'll do anything for you."

Athena gazed at you and Levi in your own little world. She felt guilty wanting to go after Levi, but she didn't trust him fully. It didn't matter that you both were smiling and sharing sweet kisses.

She ran to the kitchen and made Levi a drink with washing-up liquid in it. She giggled and trotted over to Levi and handed the drink to him. "Mr! I have a drink for you!"

Levi gazed at it. "Oh, how sweet of you Athena. I would love to take it, but I already have a wonderful cup of tea made by your dad."

You smiled. "I'll take it."

She pulled the cup away from you. "No! It has to be his!"

You stared at her. "Athena. What's in the drink?"

She went white. "N-Nothing."

"Athena?"

She ran away from you. "Nothing!" She poured the drink down the sink and huffed. "Smart sister." She huffed and heard her dad talking to Levi about seeing the garden. "Perfect."

She grabbed some legos from her room and then put them into the slippers waiting for Levi. She skipped outside and grinned in pride knowing she had beaten Levi. She was calling it. She had victory.

She watched you walk out with Levi and talk to him. She frowned when she watched Levi start fiddling with someone in his hands. She clenched up when Levi walked over to her and offered her something.

Levi opened his hand to show a flower made from Lego. "For you."

Athena blushed. "Cute."

"I've never really played with Lego before, so thank you for getting me some to play with."

Athena took the flower. "You didn't have Lego as a kid?"

Levi shook his head. "No. I was poor as a kid. My mum and dad worked very hard to put me through school. I didn't play much as a kid because I was studying so much so my parents would be looked after when I was older." He smiled fondly. "They're lovely. They'd love you."

"You...you can play with my toys."

"Really? Thank you. I'd love to."

She shifted a little on her feet. "Um...what do you do?"

He sighed. "Well, I'm the CEO of a tea and coffee company. I like to spoil your sister with my money." He chuckled. "It's hard though because she doesn't like to be spoiled."

Athena giggled. "She doesn't ask mummy and daddy for much. She doesn't ask for things for her birthday."

Levi crouched in front of her. "How about we make a deal? I know you love your sister a bunch and you've been trying to prank me to get rid of me like the others. However, I'm not like those horrible men. I really, really love your sister and I want to grow old with her. So, how about we spoil her together? We work together to make her a very happy person."

Athena nodded. "Yes!"

Levi offered his hand. "Deal?"

She shook his hand. "Deal." She stared at Levi. "So, you're a nice man."

"I try to be. I do everything I can to help others and to make your sister smile." He blushed and sighed. "She's so pretty when she smiles and her laugh is so cute."

Athena nodded. "And, and, and she's so smart and funny!"

Levi smiled. "And her hugs are the best and she tells wonderful stories."

"She's brave and scares the monsters away."

Levi hummed a laugh. "She help you with nightmares?"

"Yes. Does she help you?"

"All the time."

She petted Levi's head. "Nightmares go away and leave this handsome man!"

"Thank you."

You walked over and giggled. "Handsome huh? That's the first time you've said something nice about a boyfriend of mine."

Athena smiled. "He's really cool and nice. We've reached an understanding."

"That so?"

She nodded. "Make sure to play with him all the time! He said he didn't play much as a kid. And, and, and no Legos!"

You looked over at Levi. "I promise to play with him every single day."

Levi blushed hard. "Tch, brat."

Athena frowned as you and Levi got playful. "You're both weird."

#levi ackerman #levi #aot levi #snk levi #aot fanfiction #fanfic #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi fanfiction #levi x reader #jelly fanfics #levi x reader fluff #levi x yn #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader

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themultifandomgal · 1 year ago

Text

Harry Styles- Insecurities

Being the girlfriend of Harry Styles can come with many cons as well as pros. We’ve been together now for 3 years. For 2 of those years we kept our relationship quiet for a few different reasons. The first being Harry knew that I would have a fair bit of hate, which would be expected since his fans just want the best for him. I was worried that people (news outlets) would say I’m only with him for the money and fame. Harry is a private person just as I am and neither of us really wanted our relationship out in the public. We enjoyed our own little bubble. Unfortunately our own little bubble was burst after Harry’s phone was hacked and photos of us cuddled on the sofa and kissing were leaked. Harry’s PR team we’re amazing and during any interview about our relationship Harry always responds with “I’d like to keep that part of my life private”. Of course I love him and I know he loves me, but there are times when I can feel very insecure thanks to the media. I try not to look at it, but it’s everywhere.

Before Harry, I was in another relationship. It was toxic. He would often point out little imperfections of mine which caused me to become quite self conscious. Since dating Harry things did get better, but just like anyone you have good days and bad days.

Harry is currently on a break from tour, so I’ve come away with him and his family. Gemma and I are sunbathing while Harry went to get us some drinks. I smile as I watch Harry walking back to us. He’s then stopped by a woman who at first I thought was just a fan, and maybe she is, but when I see her flirting with Harry the insecurities start to bubble

"Are you ok?” Gemma asks, probably seeing my smile drop. She’s beautiful. Long flowing brown hair, tan long legs, and even from here I can tell her skin is so clear she doesn’t need any makeup.

"Look at her"

"Who the girl?"

"Yeah. Look she's so pretty nothing like me. Sometimes I wonder why Harry’s with me. I have stretch marks on my thighs, cellulite, my skin isn’t perfect. My stomach isn’t flat. I just can’t help but think he could do so much better than me” I turn to look at Gemma who’s become my best friend over the last few years.

"Oh YN. I know you struggled after your ex. He was an awful human. But you know just as well as I do that Harry doesn't care about all that. He’s not a shallow person. He loves you just the way you are. God he doesn’t shut up about you half the time. I’ve heard he whines most of the time on your asking when your arriving”

“Everythin’ ok?” Harry asks walking over to us frowning

"I'm going to give you two some space" Gemma gets up and walks over to Anne and Robbin. I a sit up and cross my legs looking down at the stretch marks staring at me

"What's wrong?"

"Why are you with me?"

"Because I love you. You know that" Harry says confused. I sigh "is this about that girl?" I nod my head "oh YN come here" Harry pulls me into him "yes she was flirtin but I told her that I had a girlfriend that I love very much. She then apologised and asked if she could have my autograph. I said no because ‘m on holiday and would like to enjoy m’self. You know I love you more than I ever thought could be possible”

“Even though I’m not a hollywood supermodel?”

“You are one in my eyes. You are smart, kind, and very sexy” this makes me laugh a little as Harry kisses my cheek

"I’m sorry. I try not the be so insecure”

“I know you do love. You don’t need to apologise. Your still learnin to love yourself after your ex and deal with the media”

“How did I get so lucky with you?”

“More like how did I get so lucky with you. Love you”

“Love you too”

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction

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nian-7 · 7 months ago

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HAIII!! it’s me vani from the matchup requests hehehe (if u remember…but it’s okay if u dont lawl) i really love all your writings from almost all the fandoms you write for!! i think it’s probably your writing style which makes me really like your writings alot maybe?? basically, I LOVE YOUR BLOG ALOT N YOU SEEM RLLY COOL TOO!! :3c

also, I’d like to be friends w/ you aswell even though im literally a blank/empty blog…(；ω；) (sort of planning to probably post something soon tho, but im not sure when…)

ALSO NOW I WANNA REQUEST FOR SMTH NOW SOOO can i request letters A, G, I, K, & Q from the sfw alphabet with satsuki and anne??? thank you so much in advance! have a great day! ☆ (also love ur new theme btw :33)

HI VANI!! i do remember you, yes. i'm not that bad with names thankfully... BUT OFC WE CAN BE FRIENDS!! i'll be looking forward to whatever you post on your blog but i hope you enjoy your request!

Anne, Satsuki x gn!reader

✧fluff alphabet (a, g, i, k, q)

Affection (pda? how do they like physical affection?)

-Anne loves physical affection. It's always something they love to indulge in. Whether that's grabbing your face to turn it towards them for a kiss or just having their hand intertwined with yours.

Gentle (how gentle are they with you?)

-Super gentle! You're their lover after all, why would they want to be rough with you when they love you so much? Always touching you so sweetly and giving you kisses that are full of love always. They're a little playful but they're always gentle.

Impression (their first impression of you)

-I'm very certain that Anne notices your style out of everything first. Your style is what draws them to you in the first place so their first impression is based on how much they're into your style more than how you actually look.

Kisses (how do they kiss you? where?)

-Usually your cheeks or lips are preferred. They love leaving lipstick marks on your cheeks and they especially love it if you have squishy cheeks! It's always got an underlying playfulness when they kiss you but it's always full of love.

Quality Time (do they enjoy it? how do they like to spend it?)

-Of course! Lots of dates are in order when you date Anne. Usually they consist of going out rather than staying it. They love to spend time with you and they consider it all a 'date' whenever they spend one on one time with you.

Affection (pda? how do they like physical affection?)

-Super duper embarrassed about it... Satsuki loves affection, especially from you, but he can't help but feel extremely embarrassed. PDA isn't something he always prefers and would like smaller affections when it's in public.

-In private though? Go wild. He loves it all even when he's red as a tomato. Like a sponge soaking up all the affection he can get from you. Pouts a little when you stop...

Gentle (how gentle are they with you?)

-Again, super duper gentle. He treats you like you're about to break sometimes and he becomes the biggest softie around you. He can't help it!! You're just so special to him that he can't bare the thought of accidentally hurting you!

Impression (their first impression of you)

-His first impression of you can go one of two ways, it just depends on what you want to see it as.

-Either one, he finds you interesting and/or cool and is interested in befriending you at some point. Maybe you met through a mutual friend so he was trying not to intimidate you... (if you prefer a sort of slow-burn story)

-Or.. love at first sight. Absolutely smitten by you in every way. Your laugh, your smile, your face, and whatever else he sees before he gets caught staring like an idiot...

Kisses (how do they kiss you? where?)

-Anywhere and everywhere is okay with Satsuki. He loves kissing you (even if he's too embarrassed to even initiate it...) so he doesn't even care where he's kissing you as long as he is kissing you.

Quality Time (do they enjoy it? how do they like to spend it?)

-He loves quality time. Much less embarrassing than physical touch or words of affirmation although he loves both of those things a lot. Just being in your presence is enough to make his day and he loves to go on dates with you.

please do not repost any of my work without my permission, thank you for reading.

#fluff #x reader #gender neutral reader #paradox live x reader #paradox live #anne faulkner x reader #anne x reader #anne faulkner #satsuki x reader #satsuki ito #satsuki ito x reader

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fierymiasma · 2 years ago

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✸ Monstrous ✸ // Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Summary/Request: Could you write about a Hufflepuff's thoughts post-Solomon-dying? As the only house that sees Azkaban, I imagine they'd have a strong opinion on what to do about Sebastian.

♪ Tags: Slight Dark!Sebastian, angst, sadness, manipulation, making out, heartbreak

A/N: This is a slight variation of what actually happened in the game. Takes place after they have been dating for quite a while. Mostly Angst. Thought Sebastian's life was a bit too easy, you know? 😉

Word Count: 2.5k 💔

|| Masterlist || AO3 ||

Her lungs were burning with exertion as she chased Sebastian through the dark dungeon.

"Sebastian! Sebastian! Wait up, please!"

Part of her couldn't believe that any of this was real. Solomon. Anne. The killing curse. It was hard to wrap her mind around it all. She never thought Sebastian, the love of her life, was capable of killing anyone.

How did it all go so wrong?

Seeing the blight streaks of sunlight pour through the entranceway of the cave, she used the last burst of energy to catch up with the fleeing boy in front of her.

The Hufflepuff tackled him. Her hands fisted into his robes, begging him to slow down, to wait for her. Huffing, she bent over trying to catch her breath.

"Sebastian, why wouldn't you stop?" She gasped wetly, trying to even her respiratory rate. "I was calling after you!"

He broke off from her grasp, pacing frenetically back and forth. "Anne won't survive this. She's writhing away, inside and out." His arms were shaking, with anger or fear, she couldn't tell. "Solomon's never been there for us, not really. You saw him, didn't you? He was going to ruin her life. He attacked us first. I had to defend myself, defend you."

She gaped at him. "Sebastian," she whispered quietly. She's never seen him so unstable before. "S-sebastian, that's…that's not what happened. You struck first. I saw it, with my own eyes."

He paused, face trained on the ground before him. His eyes darted back and forth, thinking of something. "I couldn't let Solomon hurt you. He was going to take the both of us to Azkaban." He finally looked up to meet her eyes.

She took a step back from him, what she saw scared her. Sebastian's eyes were wild, full of fury and awful promises. Who was the man who stood before her?

Perhaps sensing her unease, he approached her gently. His rough, tremulous hands cupped her cheeks, willing her to stay in place. To be not so frightened of the monster in front of her. "It's all right, my love. I got you now. He'll never hurt you."

She wanted to throw up. A tear rolled down her cheek. Sebastian gently brushed it away from her face. "Sebastian, that's not what I'm afraid of. I don't care if Mr. Sallow tries to hurt me, I just care about you and Anne, Sebastian. Professor Fig says the dark arts leave a mark on the very fabric of our souls."

Sebastian's twisted into an ugly snarl. "Solomon attacked us, love. He attacked you. Was going to lock you up in Azkaban forever, throw away the key." His grip on her face tightened. She winced. "He's already given up on Anne, already ruined her life. I'm not going to let him ruin yours."

She shook her head harder in disagreement, trying to release herself from his grip.

Sebastian tried again, more soft and pleading this time. "Please, sweetheart, you need to understand me. I couldn't let him hurt you."

Finally, she dared to return his gaze. He was startled. Sebastian was able to see his reflection in her glistening eyes. He didn't recognize the man he saw. "No, the killing curse is never necessary. You could have used a myriad of other spells." The usual shy Hufflepuff stood her ground. "Goodness knows, we've dueled enough people to know how to handle ourselves."

Sebastian floundered. His sweet Hufflepuff always took his side. Against the professors, against Uncle Solomon, even against Ominis. "You don't understand. I had to do it. There was no other choice."

She scoffed, tired of his excuses and his constant twisting of his words. "There has always been choices, Sebastian. You just chose to make the bad ones."

Her mind was already racing, trying to repair the damage Sebastian had inflicted. She wasn't sure why, but it was always her instinct to cauterize the wounds to Sebastian always left in his wake. She wasn't sure at what point in their deep connection to each other she had fallen so naturally into this role. But, nevertheless she always covered for him.

Oh Merlin, Anne, Ominis. Two people had bore witness to Sebastian's crime. Two people who always protested against the more heinous of Sebastian's misdeeds. Already, she knew what the future had in store for her lover.

"Sebastian, you're going to go to Azkaban."

He froze. All his protests and pleads stopped. Sebastian's eyes were trained on her ghostly pale face. She blinked, she hadn't realized she said that part out loud.

"Ominis…he was on the way to speak with Headmaster Black. The second he hears of your uncle's fate…" she couldn't bring herself to finish her thought.

'"Love, I never intended on hurting anyone." His eyes brimmed with tears. "I did the right thing. Protecting the both of us. I know you, you wouldn't send me to Azkaban. You know I don't belong in Azkaban."

Something in her snapped. She was done with his pleads, his sly words, his excuses.

"No, Sebastian, you listen to me." her eyes felt hot. It was hard to see Sebastian's face through her tears. "The only reason why you're not in Azkaban is because, I have been there. I have seen what it does to people. The only reason why you're not there is because I don't believe anyone should be in there. Not Rookwood, not even Ranrok."

Sebastian was stunned silent. He had no idea what to say. Had all of his sweetheart's good will and patience towards him finallly run out?

She shook her head, deflating quickly, as most Hufflepuffs did. "S-Sebastian, I just need to think. I..We need to find Ominis."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

How did everything go so wrong? Standing alone in the Undercroft, she didn't know what to believe anymore. Ominis's words rang in her ears like a death toll before an execution.

"He clearly regrets everything, Ominis." She pleaded. "Sebastian had promised me that he won't do anything like this ever again."

Ominis lifted his head, turned slightly towards the sound of her voice. She shivered. It was almost as if Ominis was seeing right through her. "We've both heard that before. You are so in love with him. Ironically, it is you whose been so blind to his misdeeds."

Her throat was dry. She had no defense.

"Sebastian deserves to pay for his actions." Ominis decided. His fingers left deep imprints in his palms as he struggled to release his clenched fists.

Her heart leapt in her throat. Crazed eyes, blood tinged, decaying teeth. Emaciated individuals shivering in the cold damp cells. Dementors sucking the soul of everyone in Azkaban.

No, not Sebastian. Not her darling.

She reached up to brush the tears collecting at the corners of her eyes. Was Ominis right? Was Sebastian manipulating her? Just as he manipulated Ominis into opening the Scriptorium for him? It was no secret that Sebastian had a way with words, of charming people into what he wanted.

She thought of the way he looked at her, the way Sebastian begged her to convince Ominis to do the right thing.

"Make Ominis understand, love. He listens to you."

She found herself acquiescing to his wishes. "I'll talk to Ominis."

Sebastian looked relieved. "Thank you love. No matter what happens. I am glad to have been with you."

He surged forward, giving her a bruising kiss. His mouth was hot and rough. Her lips were already half parted in shock, allowing Sebastian's tongue to slip inside. She quickly fell apart, as she always had to Sebastian's strong will. His firm body was pressed flush against hers. Dark sparks were igniting in her chest. The warm smell of his rich cologne was dizzying and confusing.

What did that kiss mean?

She never once believed Sebastian as evil or malicious. He'd had been so of youthful boyhood and charm when they first met that she could never think of his actions as nefarious.

Now she wasn't so sure.

The heavy iron gates of the Undercroft creaked open, interrupting her deep thoughts. In strolled the very man himself.

She smiled grimly at Sebastian's appearance. "I've got your owl. What news do you have for me?"

Sebastian's face was dark and cold. "Ominis spoke with Anne. She believes I should pay for what I did, but she decided not to turn me in. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

She gave a small nod in agreement. Her heart felt a bit looser now that the threat of Azkaban had passed.

'The thing is, I think I lost my sister, lost my best friend too, forever." He looked up at her. "And I might be losing the love of my life too." He approached her, gauging her reaction closely. "I can't blame them. I wouldn't blame you either, if you gave up on me entirely. You've always believed in me. Always stood by my side. Always defended me when I flirted too far with the dark arts."

Her breath was caught in her throat. What were Sebastian's motives using such flattery on her? Were they empty words or soothe his frightened prey or pleas baring his fragile heart?

"I realize I can't undo what's been done. But I can try." Sebastian looked up into her eyes. "At least, with you by my side I know I have someone who won't let me stray."

She was incredulous. So, that was it? Mr. Sallow's death swept under the rug to become a distant memory. Anne, so fragile, so reliant on her former guardian, now alone forever? And Sebastian, escaping unscathed from the jaws of punishment?

What if everyone was right? What if, under all the coy looks, butterfly kisses, and whispered sweet nothings, Sebastian was using her? What if Ominis's fear and Professor Fig's hesitancy had merit?

What if she was flirting with evil, and she had been too lovesick to even notice?

She thought of all that she did for him. She stood up for him over the inferi relic, knowing with every fiber of her being how evil the artefact was. His sweetheart covered for him whenever Ominis looked too closely at his questionable actions. Merlin, she even cast Imperio on Ominis, a sweet boy who just wanted his friends to be safe and be good.

This…this wasn't right.

She wasn't sure if she had the power or the strength left in her to say it. Anne was right to not turn Sebastian into Azkaban. No one belonged in Azkaban. Not even the darkest wizard themselves. But…that didn't mean that Sebastian didn't still deserve some form of punishment. With tears in her eyes and conviction in her trembling voice, she issued her judgement. "No Sebastian, I know a punishment that is far worse for you than Azkaban.

He scoffed at the idea. "And what's that?"

"Me." She replied. "We're through, Sebastian." Something was screaming inside her heart. She could feel its fibers being torn to shreds. "I don't know what we were. I don't know what we are, or what we could have been." His eyes were glassy, tears swimming in his eyes. "But I know now, I cannot be with you. Y-you're dangerous. The effect you have on me."

If it had been Sebastian who was incapacitated, if it had been Solomon willing to strike the final blow on Sebastian, would she have used the killing curse?

If Sebastian had asked her harder to consume Isadora's magic to use it for evil, would she?

She was afraid of the answer.

"I love you so much Sebastian. The things I'm willing to do for you. The things I have done for you." She shook her head, the tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now. "Sebastian, this has to stop. This is too dangerous."

He looked like he was mortally wounded. She's only seen that expression once before, when Solomon had passed.

He shut his eyes tightly, "I understand. You're well within your right."

She bit her lips, ignoring her every instinct that she screaming at her to look away to turn from the intensity that was his fierce eyes. "Unless everything stops and you go back to the man that you once was, I don't know if I stand at your side anymore."

Sebastian was in free fall. He'd never felt more alone in the world. His parents. Anne. Uncle Solomon. Ominis. Now her too. The only good things that was left in his life was now leaving him. His Hufflepuff, his moral center, his emotional rock, his everything. Gone. In a blink of an eye. Their relationship and friendship were both drawing to their end. He despaired, thinking of their secret kisses in the dark, her warm embrace as she held him, her beautiful eyes looking at him with such joy. He looked up calculating, gauging her reaction. There was an uncertainty in her eyes that he could pinpoint. A part of her that was pained to have this conversation, full of regret for what she was doing.

It was enough of an opening for Sebastian.

His voice was about to crack. "Can I kiss you goodbye? Just this one last time?"

Against all of her better judgement, she gave a slight nod, almost afraid of saying yes out loud. It was all the permission he needed. He inclined his face towards her, capturing her in his lips. His jaw moved, devouring her hungrily. Sebastian couldn't help but deepen the kiss into something more risqué, almost forbidden. One last reminder of what she was leaving behind. To his delight, she was kissing back, as if starved for his love and attention despite every fiber in her body telling her what an awful this whole affair was. His teeth nibbled on her bottom lip dangerously. His kiss was full of promise of what Sebastian could offer, if only she succumbed to his wishes.

Her chest pressed against his, he could feel her quickened heartbeat against his.

They broke apart, panting. She refused to look at him in the eye, less she lose even more control of the situation.

"Good bye Sebastian." She declared with an air of uncertain finality.

Sebastian licked his lips, chasing at the last remnants of her taste on his lips. His eyes tracked her as she turned her back and left him. As the iron gates of the Undercroft shuttered close, he couldn't help but grin.

He would get what was rightfully his, in due time. Just with a little bit of patience.

He thought of how exceptional she was, how forgiving of his sins she would. He would change. For Ominis. For Anne. For her. He would do everything to be the man that she deserved.

He just hoped that it wasn't too late.

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