#because these freaks have besotted me mind heart and soul

[just-another-obsessed-fangirl]

breaking hearts for the fun and it's bloody

day 7 of @jagertittyshipweek: blood (i know it's not day 7 yet, i was just too excited to wait)

bloodless human version here:

[agl03]

Hello! I’m a new aos watcher, so I apologise if this is a repeated rant, I just wanted to vent a little and found your blog :) I just finished through season 3 and 4 and those were really… rough on fitzsimmons, more so than the first 2, and I think it’s because the writers were so inconsistent? 3A was just a mess to jemma. she was so hot and cold, but not in the way you’d expect from being on a planet. it was like watching a different character almost every other episode [1/6]

[2/6] she has ptsd, then she doesn’t, she’s professing love for fitz, then professing it for will. I was getting whiplash! It felt like the writers put her through hell and then didn’t know how to come back from it, but gathered their bearings in 3B (although if I’m honest, that felt a little cheap, because it was a redo for her relationship with fitz but she still never got to react to being on a freaking alien planet!)

[3/6] and then season 4 was so hard to watch how they tore fitz down. I just find it so hard to believe that, without jemma, fitz would be such a monster, because he had to be a good person too, right? otherwise its like he had 0 personality before jemma and she carved him into who he was, but that doesn’t make sense. I guess I’m still shocked that he never woke up from it, even though everyone else did. it felt like the writers pushed him far (too far) and didn’t know what to do with him.

[4/6] I haven’t seen season 5 so I hope they mention it a little bit, but it was a real struggle to see how extreme they went with him, and Im honestly struggling with whether or not i should go on because the writers seem to love to push them to extremes and then backpedal and not in any way that resolves anything, it really makes me cringe sometimes!

[5/6] I also thought it was strange that fitz got a chance to say, very clearly, that he would always choose jemma over anyone, but that jemma never said anything about that for will? I get that jemma is more reserved than fitz, but I’m still a little sore about that, it doesn’t help with fitz looking like besotted second choice, is all I’m saying. I guess I’ll have to see in the later seasons…

[6/6] anyway, i'm sorry for this, i had about 4 seasons of angst built up in me and i didn't know who to turn to! i really like the show, but i am starting to try and watch with less and less expectations because i keep getting my hopes up for a real resolution and it hasn't happened after almost 100 episodes... thank you for listening and for being so friendly from what i see! i hope i haven't poked old wounds or anything !

Hi Anon!

Welcome to the Fandom, and you have no idea how much these kinds of asks are right up my ally over the years.  I’d say go digging through my blog for more of the metas but that is spoiler central in there so I hope this will suffice until you are done.

First and foremost I don’t want to spoil anything for you but I’ll say to you what I said to the fandom at the end of Season 4....just hang in there we have to trust that the writers have a plan.   I”m REALLY gonna stress this one cause I have a feeling you’ll be back.

Season 3 does indeed hold many old wounds and a pile of story lines that started and then went no where or flat out didn’t make sense.  The whole Space Rando thing was upsetting to say the least but I will tell you the writers said in the Season 3 Declassified that he was nothing more than a roadblock in getting Fitzsimmons together, 12 episodes, but that is what is was.  Were there other ways they could have worked with a more father figure Space Rando and Jemma’s PTSD for that delay, yes, but to be very honest they did not have the real estate to do that kind of story the justice it needed with everything else going on.  It is also worth noting they had to fire the actor that played Will and in that had to change a few things, IE Hive was Ward.   Real estate wise the cast had gotten pretty large at that point and there just wasn’t enough time to properly deal with all that was going on.

Season 4 they did much better, had things mapped out better, but that still didn’t change the fact that I suspect there were a few lane changes story wise .  Again thanks to the declassified books.   And over the years I’ve done A LOT of metas on the Framework and I think something that gets lost a lot is what Radcliffe said he wanted and what AIDA actually did when it came to fixing a regret.

Radcliffe told AIDA, in order to keep the team quiet and not trying to bust out like May did, was to take away a regret.   And for May that was Bahrain.  That change was what set up the hell scape we came into with Hydra in charge.  Radcliffe was blissfully off on his happy Island with no clue what she was really up too until it was too late.  

After 4.14 when AIDA got her hands on the rest of the team she didn’t do like she did with May, Change her biggest regret, rather she changed A regret and for everyone but Fitz stuck them somewhere where they wouldn’t get in her way.  Mack got his daughter back and was ready to die in there with her.  Mace got to be the Hero Inhuman Leader he always wanted to be.  Coulson was a teacher.  May was where her regret left her.  Daisy (had she been replaced) would have just been another foot soldier in Ophelia’s army.  And Jemma was where she could never ever have a chance of getting to Fitz because she feared their love and that Jemma would take him from her.  And I have proof those were not the regrets that they would have had fixed and I’ll circle back to that in a second.

Fitz was her target all along.  She knew from the Darkhold she needed him for what she wanted.  Looking Glass and Love.  However, she didn’t realize that his heart always was Jemma’s and when he wasn’t brainwashed and controlled within an inch of his life that he’d leave her in a second.  She mistook his previous acts of caring and empathy as love and had no understanding of the depths of human emotions. IE you can love people different ways.  Sure he cared about AIDA but he loves Jemma with his heart and soul and vise versa.

As Fitz was her target she fixed things so that she could insert herself in his life in Jemma’s place and that he would have grown up with his awful father who taught him that cruelty and power was the way to go.  This also kept out any positive and caring influences like his Mother, Jemma, and the team.  

I said I had proof that some of those regrets weren’t necessarily what the team would have picked.  That came via Self Control from Robo Coulson and Robo Fitz bearing in mind these LMD’s all had scans of who’d they replaced.  Their memories and their desires.  

Robo Coulson told Robo May to let this whole hostile takeover happen because in the Framework they were happy and together.  That was decidedly not the case there though their connection ended up proving crucial to getting everyone out.  

Robo Fitz told Jemma he was doing this for her so they could get married, grow old together.  Had he known he would be sending Jemma literally into the grave Robo Fitz would not have gone along with the plan.  He thought he was getting Jemma and they were going to go live their own Happily Ever After in there.  Yeah, not the case either.  

With the not waking up, no one but Coulson woke up and that was only thanks to Tahiti.  And yes, it was brutal.  Every week my poor ask box got more and more upset and as a fandom we were more than ready to get the hell out of there.  I mistakingly died on the hill that Jemma would snap him out of it (though I did accurately predict the second Fitznapping....yay).  She didn’t because this isn’t Once Upon a Time, True Love’s kiss doesn’t break the curse of having your mind completely wiped by an evil LMD and the Magic Demon Book.  Now looking back it does make the fact that the second he had free will again, despite that other manipulated life where he was dedicated to Ophelia, it was still Jemma.   

Oh and Jemma did choose Fitz over Will, when the sandstorm hit.  She continued to go to Fitz and left Will....she would have never left Fitz in a sandstorm with the evil monster lurking about.  

That all being said sometimes crap just has to happen to move the story ahead and there is always a price to pay for the good.   I do think the Framework went too far but at the same time the writers were making a bit of a political statement there and they saw how good Iain was with evil bad guy.  

Shippping Fitzsimmons is a lot like a Marathon and you are about to the “What on earth have I done to myself,” point of the race.  But I promise the feeling of crossing that finish line at the end can’t be beat.

[allyvampirelass29]

Obsession’s Chains

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

Ally watched the snow flurries hurl past the window of the Wraith, feeling its breathing anger as it tore through the oncoming blizzard, and yet the freezing bluster could not compare to the cold inside the car.

She could feel him, even though she couldn't look at him, that distrust, that wounded anger that screamed without him saying a word. I'm sorry, Charlie, I'm so sorry. You damned crazy chick....... Vic's fury ripped through her mind like a howling wind, as she watched the onslaught of the eternal winter, the way the frost formed, etching itself in sparkling trails across the window, shivering in the face of what she'd just done. You just made a deal with the DEVIL, Jane........ Vic hissed. She's right....... I was free....... We did it, we........ won. She thought with another full bodied chill. Damn straight. All you had to do, Ally, was freaking walk away, but you just couldn't do it, could you? No....... Why the HELL not!? Because I was free........ but he was dead.

Ally shuddered as the cool leather of his glove brushed against her feverish cheek, one hand drawing back her curls. His eyes were like black frost as he looked at her, seized with that bitter cold, and seething froth that could only come from the dry ice concoction of love and hate felt to a deathly extreme.

"Charlie-" She breathed his name in the most tender ache, the sweet beguiling sound, robbing him of his clung-to hatred even as he held fast against such audacious charm. Beware that voice....... He could feel it, that desperation to ease his torment, even while she was the one in the cage.

She gasped as his glove moved swiftly over her soft lips, pressing hard, his fingers curling, clasping her mouth tight, coaxing her hot breath against his palm, and his other hand twitched on the Wraith's steering wheel.

"Not so fast, Allyssa Jolene....... Whatever desperate apologies and pleads you have planned for my sake, after so loathsome a stunt, I beg you to spare me," He growled, swerving up to the entrance, met by the towering twin candy canes, and twinkling coloured lights of the Christmasland Gates, his return heralded by the splendid ache of, "Last Christmas," trumpeting through the frosty air. How fitting, he thought with a vicious smirk.

"Welcome back to Christmasland, Mrs. Manx," He snickered cruelly, firmly muzzling her trembling mouth, unmoved by her morose green eyes. "I regret to say you return not as our most beloved queen, but as a disgraced traitor......" He snarled leaning closer, his furious exhale catching in her hair. Thankfully, your slighted husband is kind enough to welcome you back with open arms. However, you may find your festive kingdom far less, shall we say, hospitable. You'll have to toil for my generous forgiveness, My Dear, not in soft, spoken words, but with your entire body, starting with that hand. The crown is yours to win back, but if you dare make a move against me again, I will strike it forever from your dear little head, and I fear you'll find yourself in chains. Take your punishment, like a good girl, however, and I, of course, shall reward you immeasurably."

He felt his injured hatred softening, as he looked at her, so willing to comply, so repentant, making no move to pull away, eliciting no cry of protest, no adverse intent to his will, submitting in silent grace. He gently withdrew his hand from her mouth, feeling that worrisome and familiar ache in his heart, losing yet again to the love of her. I love you, Ally, but I HATE what you do to me, how you rule me. Love....... brings out the worst in us. And yours could be the RUIN of me.

"Charles....... I accept my punishment, though I pray you do not harden your heart against me. That is an admonishment, I could not survive." She whispered, out of breath, as the gates parted to let them pass.

"Nor I," He whispered back harshly, hating that it was true. As badly as he wanted to punish his pretty wife for her unfortunate rebellion, he couldn't carry out the sentence she deserved, and banish her, not from his home....... not from his love.

As the Wraith rolled forward, Charles felt himself melt into a sly smile, and he had to admit, in spite of the scathing betrayal, he was impressed by how clever she'd been, coaxing him out of his gloves, commandeering his car. My Fearless Little Femme Fatale, who knew you had it in you? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't touched, you choosing me over your eternal freedom, not knowing what I'm going to do to you.

He slammed on the brakes, and the Wraith screeched along the snow covered road, an intrusion of loud, white static glowing brighter and brighter around Ally, until she disappeared completely from her seat in a blinding flash, the car door still firmly locked. He let out a furious scream, tearing out of the car, searching for her in the whirl of snowfall.

"ALLYYYYYY!!!! WHERE ARE YOU!?!? ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!!!!"

He howled, dashing through the snow, until he found her, stricken, fighting tears, looking bewildered at him as he grasped her forearms, his eyes murderous, the static still encircling her like a halo.

"Is this h-how you mean to punish me, Charles? Ripping me from your inscape, banishing me from Christmasland!?"

"No, NEVER!!!" He snarled, yanking her along after him. "What fresh treachery is this!? You PLANNED this, you and that BITCH, I'm a damned FOOL!!! What a show, what a performance-!"

"NO!!!! Please!!! Charles, listen to me, I-I'm not doing this- I would never- I don't know what's happening!"

"LIAR!!!" He seethed, his teeth bared, wrenching her arm, dragging her back to the car, when she slammed up against the empty air, colliding with it like an unyielding wall, falling back into the snow.

"CHARLES!!! Charles, I promise you, I'm not doing this!!!!" She sobbed, as he grabbed for her in a panic, trying to pull her through the powerful shield, and this time she managed to go further, the projected force bending slightly with a strobing white haze, but the moment he let go of her hand, she was thrown back.

It hit him full force, as the static and white noise intensified her outline, the glimmering guilt flooding his dark eyes, and he was all too aware of why his Snow Angel was rudely being denied entrance to his merry inscape. I've been doing a little dabbling with your soul, My Sweet....... It appears there are some severely adverse effects....... He flew to her, and she reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he grunted, pulling her with great effort through the resistant gale of the flashing white glow, backing into it, as he pulled her into him. The wall beating airily against his back like an angry wave.

"Charles!!!! Charles, I'm so scared!!!" She cried out, burying her curly head in his shoulder, and he clinged to the back of it, the wind resistance, sending his coif to skew, her curls to scatter, blowing them in his face, his long, navy coat billowing in the unforgiving wind, her dress snapping around her bare legs.

"Hold onto me!!!" He yelled over the thundering sound, and with one final tug, she broke through the invisible wall, both of them collapsing in a heap, her on top of him, the breakneck gale, reduced to deafening silence.

"Charles, I promise, it wasn't me, please........" She pleaded through her tears, her trembling fingers clutching the blue velvet collar of his coat, and he reached up to brush his lips against hers, swallowing his guilt.

"I believe you."

**********

Charlie Manx cradled his terrified bride in his arms, as she hugged his neck, her long white skirt trailing along the wood floor of the hallway, her bare legs dangling, and he paused at the threshold to their bedroom, struck by the sublime irony, with a sardonic eyebrow raise.

"Ah yes, the sacred tradition of carrying the blushing bride across the threshold into eternal wedded bliss. How amusing....... We neglected the act on our wedding night, and here we are, poised with a second chance. Call me a superstitious man, but I suspect this oversight was where our problems first began. Might I suggest we not tempt fate yet again........?"

Ally's trembling lip eased itself into a fond smile, and Charlie smiled his most charming, as he swept her into the room, with a spin, holding his young bride just as he would have that night, allowing her a taste of heaven, before he let the hell around them rise.

She felt a giggle escape her lips, her windswept curls falling in her alight green eyes, and for the most fleeting of moments, she was again the newlywed Mrs. Manx, her bliss perfect, a woman madly in love, the night alive with such promised passion.

"We did forget, didn't we......? What bad luck we invited into our marriage!!! Might we have fixed it with our cheerful re-enactment, Charles? I suppose there was one other sacred act that fell to the wayside that night.........." She whispered softly, and he felt a quiver in his own lip, as he looked down at her, wanting her even more badly than he had then, choosing to violate her creative power, over letting her bequeath herself to him, body and soul. If given the choice now, Victoria's near fatal collision would not have been his priority. Oh how it could have waited..........

"Surprising isn't it? On both accounts. We were so enamoured, so wrapped up in each other after the ceremony......... I couldn't stop kissing you, touching you........"

He closed his eyes, remembering it in a desirous, besotted haze, this beautiful girl made his forever, with no hope of escape, deliciously oblivious to the horror that lay waiting in her new husband's heart.

"I'm still wrapped up in you......" She whispered breathily, and he sighed deeply, fighting his vicious attraction, and losing. No, I will not be so easily swayed this time. Seduce me twice...... Shame on you, Wife. I'm in control now, I'm the one holding the pen.

He hastily set her down in front of the canopied bed, trying not to look at the curve of her white legs, slightly red with cold. He could feel her disappointment, as he moved away from her, thrashing back the tenderness that always seemed to bloom between them. And yet, she did not run to him, or beg, or plead, she handled the slight with quiet grace, and he looked approving as she hung those mangled curls in shame. Yes, My Bride, submit and show me just how sorry you REALLY are.

"How much BETTER to have waited, Mrs. Manx," he chortled cruelly, slowly starting to pace in front of her, his eyes fixed. "The gesture means so much more to me now, than the pretense it would have been. Now that you know exactly what you're in for........ The man you wed was a LIE, a fiction, a fabrication, created to better woo you. To better USE you."

Ally felt the sting of his words, as they struck, but she wasn't going to make it that easy for him. "No Charles........" She said tremulous in a half whisper, her voice bleeding with that tenderness he couldn't escape. "I see him........ The man I married, the man I loved Once Upon a December........ I see him shining behind coal black eyes, and I know, everything he said, everything he felt, everything he was........ is real. You're not half the monster you insist on being. He's there, and I can save him........ if you'll let me."

Charles turned on her venomously, his black eyes pure poison, watching her wither in the hatred of his gaze, his pacing becoming more violent, with a furious whirl of his coat.

"You SEE only what I WANT you to see!!! The man you seek to save does not exist, Ally, he could not survive the monster, and while his was the light that brought you here, it is the darkness you have taken as your lover."

He stopped pacing and narrowed his smouldering eyes at her, his intense brow furrowed with dark intentions.

"What am I going to do with you.......?"

"You're going to punish me.........." She whispered meekly, in sorrowful defeat, her curly head downcast, and there was that delectable tinge of fear. How intoxicating, for you to both love and fear me in the same escaped breath.

Charles felt his hunched shoulders relax, and his expression softened, gently moving in closer, and she trembled at his touch, his whisked forefinger across her cheek, using his thumb to bring her head back up, as he cooed. "Ohhh my Sweet Wife........ Of COURSE, I'm going to punish you...... He pet the back of her head in a slow stroke, bringing her closer, his voice soothing, "But first....... I'm going to reward you...... for coming back to me."

Before she could take her next breath, Charles forced his lips over hers, taking them mercilessly, kissing and kissing her with reckless fury. She gasped against his lips, and it was like the hypnotic dance in the snowglobe, she couldn't help herself joining him, mirroring his passion, kissing him back in a haunted trance, hungering for his lips.

He forced her up against the foot of the bed, feeling her chest rise and fall against his, both of them breathless, his forceful affection turning her head, as he took control of her lips the same way he'd done with her hands. Effortlessly. He kissed her harder, angry and suffocating, like a man possessed by the darker side of his desire, in such stark contrast to the gentleman bridegroom that kissed and held her like a glass figure. I'm going to shatter you, my porcelain bride, until you beg for me to do it again........ and again.

He remembered how sneakily he'd tried to undo the laces at her breast, to no avail, last time, and he felt the rollicking thrill as he realized no such quarter need be granted now. His nostrils flared, kissing her deeply, his lips possessive, stealing her air, and he tore off his glove, shoving it into his chauffer coat's pocket, his claws poised, yanking open her laces with an open mouthed murmur.

Ally gasped against the violence of the kiss, as she felt the release of the loosened laces, her hand flying to her clavicle to keep her neckline from falling open.

He stopped kissing her in a lustful exhale, his dark eyes darting to the covered indent, and he eyed her until she let her hand fall away, already guessing his demand. He grinned wickedly, eying now the soft, dove white cleavage, biting his lip.

"You are....... the most incandescently beautiful creature ever I have beheld."

The burn rushed to her cheek, and he watched her breath catch, using that moment to fling her back onto the bed, and she acquiesced, falling back, her eyes glittering, nervous, excited, a little...... well, physically enthralled, and he drank in the sight of it, her wanting him, just as he was, not only the pretty paper, but the duplicity wrapped therein.

He hunched over her, a devious glint in his eye, as his lips found the soft curve of her bare ankle, kissing with slow, euphoric relish, in so scandalous a manner, such as Cassie Manx would have found reprehensible. A woman's ankles were a forbidden article in his time....... How unseemly, Charles, do attempt some decorum!!! He could hear her grating chastise, even as his younger wife elicited her own murmur of utter, pleasurable delight. She always was the practical one, the most petulant realist, wasn't she? No open mind, never one to choose her husband's pleasures over her own. Selfish shrew. He felt his heart quicken, pressing his open mouth over her other ankle, watching her toes curl, as she breathed her stunned satisfaction. You're nothing so hatefully provincial, Allyssa, you're just like me...... We crave the elusive taste of the fantastical. We're romantics, impassioned souls, freed from the constructs of reality. She could never love me as you do, because she did not understand my particular magic. Nothing creative or inspired about that miserable woman.

"Charles-" Ally moaned his name, and he grazed his long, razor sharp nails up and down her bare leg, scraping across the satin feel of it, bowing his dark head to kiss behind her knee, granting the slightest little nip, feeling her skin prickle beneath his hands.

"Oh my God......." She whimpered, and he could feel her breathless ache, as he fed her addiction, running his nails up her body, as he crawled over her, clasping a dainty wrist in each of his encircled claws, forcing her head back with the power of his passion.

She kissed him back in a fever, crazed, surrendering her petal soft lips, letting his ease hers open, pulling free one of her hands from his grasp, to touch his face. He viciously broke the kiss, with a scolding growl, both of them breathing hard.

"Did I say....... you could move?"

She sank further back into the bed, and he watched shamelessly as the loosened laces at her opened neckline danced while her chest rose and fell with the exertion.

"No," She whispered, trembling, and he snapped up the wrist she had just pulled free, his eyes commanding.

"Good. Don't. I'm in control. Say it."

"You're- You're in c-control." Ally breathed, feeling disoriented, her head swimming, secretly enamoured by this forceful, domineering side of him, telling her what to do, not being careful with his breakable doll at all, so reckless, possessive, dangerous, it was an intoxication.

Charlie simpered his approval, nodding with an eyebrow raise. "Good girl....... Free will is just an illusion, remember that, My Sweet. We tried it your way, and now we'll do it mine......... My gloves are the ones guiding yours, and deny it as you might, but you're BETTER for it," He besieged her lips again, pressing his thumbs against both of her wrists, feeling her breath hot against his mouth, as he applied pressure.

"I should CHAIN you to this bed, and never let you out of this room......" He rasped salaciously, rubbing his thumbs over and over her wrists, feeling her pulse quicken. "My, how entirely lovely these delicate wrists would look encircled in irons. The thought beckons........"

"Oh Charlie!" She mouthed back, and he kissed her a little softer, though he did not relinquish his hold, spreading her arms, as he pinned her flush to the white linen.

"Things are going to be much changed around here, My Pretty Prisoner........" He smirked, and Ally recoiled as the sharp edge of that hateful instrument of ink and hellfire, brushed teasingly against her lip.

"Do you see this?" He taunted, displaying it with sadistic flourish, releasing her wrists. "This belongs to me now, do you understand? You will use it how and when I want, but your knife is no longer under your control. I own it, and the hands that wield it."

She nodded solemnly, and watched him slip it back into the silk lining of his blood red waistcoat, feeling herself shudder as he pressed his lips hard to the back of her knuckles.

"Your unfettered freedom in my inscape is all but revoked, My Snow Queen. Until you can win back your crown, prove yourself worthy of my trust, you will need to be escorted by me, personally, any place you wish to go, pending my approval, of course......"

He leaned down, tenderly kissing her forehead, and she could feel the sincere apology on his lips, even before he gave it breath. "Forgive me this necessary cruelty....... but you will not be permitted to see your children, until such a time as I deem you do not intend to spirit them away from their home. I am sorry, but it must be this way......."

He gritted his teeth, his gaze a dark threat, his back arching with his ire, as he leaned over her. "And if you so much as touch my car again, or even THINK the name Vic........ I will be forced to take......... measures.

Ally shivered beneath his body, having no need for him to elaborate, and he relaxed against her, kissing her cheek in a soothe. "Nevermind that, for if tonight is any indication, your absolution is soon coming....... He whispered, his voice ripe with desire. Until then....... I am going to take such pleasure in your punishment........."

Her heart stopped in a seize, her surprised elicit escaping in a drawn out, breathy murmur, as he lowered his lips to her neckline, pressing them flush to her feminine cleft, kissing generously with parted lips, inching his kiss down into it, and then in easeful sigh, he nestled his head to her soft, sensitive breast.

She couldn't speak, couldn't even form words, her mind numb, and her hands cradled his head there, against her womanly curves, drifting through his silky, raven hair, stroking his strong, freshly-shaven jaw with her other fingers, her cheeks burning red. It may not be altogether ladylike to admit, but she loved him laying on her chest, so close to her beating heart.

"Don't you EVER leave me again." His voice began as an angry, volatile rasp, but ended in the broken sound of a desperate man.

"I'm sorry, My Love, I'm so sorry." She cried, green eyes miserable, stroking his silky, ebony waves and he hugged her body to his cheek, knowing how much control he had over her, how he could make her want him, make her dance, yanking her strings, and yet he also knew, to a distressing degree, how much control she had over him.......

She hugged him back, closer to her chest, and he loosened his crimson cravat, sweltering in the exquisite heat between them. That lingering, insatiable need to be closer.

"What Beautiful Wickedness, My Handsome Phantom, My Dark-Eyed Dream......." She whispered as she kissed the top of his head, and he felt himself melt beneath her lips.

He could have stayed like this forever, fallen fast asleep, pillowed upon so pleasing a swell, so soothed by her heartbeat's lullaby. Instead of indulging in this long-held fantasy, however, and giving into even more diabolical designs, everything within him sounded its protest as he pulled himself off of her, knowing exactly what had to be done, taking her wrist in hand, and concentrating hard as he encircled it in kisses.

Ally giggled, roving her fingers deeply though his soft, feathery black strands, leaving not even a remnant of his carefully slicked coif, beaming at him, with so much love in her heart that it physically hurt them both. He was so beautiful..... The most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, a miracle named Manx, drawn to his dark allure, and malevolent elegance, with a mad obsession. Punish me all you wish, especially if that punishment is this, but Charlie you cannot silence my love.

"You silly boy!!! Whatever are you doing?" She giggled as he whirled his hand airily around the wrist he'd just ringed in kisses, before snapping her other hand out of his hair, and pressing his lips along the curve of that wrist as well."

He smirked devilishly, his lip curling, his eyes intensifying, and his voice chilled her to the bone as he said it.

"Creating........"

She giggled again, but he sensed a wariness in that music that she tried so hard to hide, and his lips twisted up into a wry smile, satisfied with his work.

He coaxed her off the bed with another demanding kiss, pulling her up against him, as she pressed her lips to his, all too willingly, letting him lead her to the window, a luminous canvas of Christmasland at night.

He broke the kiss with a smug chuckle, playfully pushing her away, his eyes all mischief, stepping back slowly from her, towards the bedroom door.

"Somebody's in quite the playful humour, and I LOVE it!!!" She giggled, and he carefully brushed his finger under her chin, as she moved to follow him.

"As do I, Wife. Let's play. Come give chase. Let us see if absence cannot make the heart grow fonder, and chain anything so fickle as a woman's love."

She frowned, the edge in his voice giving her pause. "Charles, soft........ What mean you by this?"

"Come find out," He taunted with beckoning eyes, curling his finger flirtatiously as he brought it toward him.

Ally shook her loose curls, confused, but willing to play along, rushing to catch him, when she felt herself yanked back towards the window.

No no no, not again! She tried to pull free of the hold, yanking her arm towards her but something felt off, it wasn't a wall like before, it was airy, suspended, yes, but somehow almost..... tangible. She gave one more desperate pull before she saw them form around her wrists, ethereal white cuffs, glowing with a blue halo, appearing and disappearing just as fast with every frantic tug.

"I told you...... You'd look devastatingly lovely in chains, and these were made special just for you."

"CHARLES, NO!!! PLEASE, how CAN you do this!? Do not leave me, not like this!!! Please, Charles, have I not behaved as your perfect saint!?" Ally felt the stunned tears stream from her eyes, and Charlie snickered coldly, as she fought the floating irons, shaking them soundlessly, trying to pry one of the cuffs from her wrist.

"Save yourself the trouble, Sugar Plum, it's no use....... You'll only make yourself tired, and believe me, you'll need your strength for what comes next. My, yes, you have, and your pretty glowing bracelets will make sure you stay behaved."

He turned his handsome cheek inward, snidely, and she reached out for him, in a hopeless ache. "But I-I chose you.........."

He scoffed bitterly, his eyes black and biting. "No....... You chose HER first. You chose her, Ally, and for that you must be disciplined. So have I lavished my affection, now will I STARVE you of it, until you go so mad with the wanting of me, that nothing or no one can use you against me again!"

"Please, don't leave...... Keep me in these binds forged by your own imagination, but I pray you, My Charles........ don't leave me."

Charlie walked coolly towards her, and knelt, white silk stockings in hand, and she froze as he kissed his way up her naked leg, running his nails across her thigh, before sliding her stocking up over it, carefully tying the laces.

He did the same with her other leg, and then moved for the door, before stopping to look over his shoulder at her, marveling at such a pale vision bathed in moonlight from the window. "To keep you warm...... while I'm away........." He simpered, with another eyebrow raise, referring to both the kisses and the stockings.

"I do not understand you, Charles....... You said if I did exactly as you asked, submitted myself entirely to you, I would not end up in chains......." Ally pleaded softly, despaired to the depths, her voice aching, coaxing, and he held fast against the heartbroken sound.

The deed is done, Sweet Wife, your sin already committed. This........" He gestured grandly, twirling his fingers through the air, his eyes haughty, and full of black smoke, "Is your atonement. How magnanimous of your beloved husband to devise a compromise, so that you do not have to feel the shame and weight of steel. It'd be a shame to bruise such delicate porcelain, would it not? You're welcome."

Charlie raised his dark brow cleverly, bowing, mock genteel, with elegant flourish, waving his arm, and then he left her there, just a sad little doll, so forlorn and forgotten. No woman, be she lover or foe, or especially both........ makes a fool out of Charles Manx.

Ally sank to her knees, sobbing profusely, overwhelmed by the inflicted wonder and horror this fateful night had wrought, still feeling his frost on her skin, her lips burning for more of his, and already his dastardly plan was working its will to devastated perfection. Her body hummed with his lashed out passion, kisses smouldering in their trace, reckless caresses with drawn claws, and she craved him more than she ever had before, hugging her knees to her chest to quiet the thunderous pulse of her heart. What have you done to me, Charles? What is this wildness you have unleashed in my heart, this untamed passion and nakedness of thought. She felt like she was vibrating, she could feel it in her spine, tingling all over, breathless. No, no wait. That wasn't the intensity of the craving, that was real, something........ something WAS vibrating.

She reached her manacled hands behind her back, and this time she heard an impatient buzz, slipping her fingers twixt the laces to work it from under her corset. What is this, my surreptitious lover, my scheming husband? Another parting gift? I fear it cannot slake the absence of you that my body laments in every unsatisfied tremble.

She pulled it free, frowning as she held it before her, the screen dark. A mobile? No, no it couldn't be. I haven't seen mine in months, I left it at the library the day I was........ She shivered as she thought the word. "Taken."

She clicked it on to find an angry succession of choice word texts, the last one being,

"Damn you, Jane, just freaking tell me you ain't dead........."

"Vic......." She whispered softly, remembering when the tough, do-not-touch-me girl, had clapped her back in an uncharacteristic show of friendship. You clever thing!!! Her fingers fumbled over the keys, her hands still restrained by the thin air, but she managed to type well enough, with some difficulty.

"Not dead. Not yet. Restricted wouldn't be too far of a stretch........" She bit her bottom lip. "He bought it, Vic. You may despise me for my impulse in the heat of the moment, but I have no regrets."

The ding was deafening, frantic, and her eyes darted back and forth over the scathing reprimand.

"DAMN IT, ALLY!!!! WHAT the FRICK were you thinkin!? You've put me through HELL, worryin' sick about you!!!! THAT WAS SO DAMNED STUPID!!!! I thought you were done for........"

Awwwww, and Charlie swore we, with our unlike natures couldn't be friends. She smiled sadly, tugging on the chains as she tapped out her response. "What can I say? I'm just one doe-eyed, ditzy, damned crazy chick."

"Yeah uhhh sorry about that, I was so freaking pissed at you for changing the game, I got a little carried away there, Jane. You ain't stupid, you just fell in love with the devil, that's all. You're damn right that bastard bought it, hell I bought it. You were right, we didn't stand a chance without somebody on the inside. Congrats on your way too convincing reconciliation, GOD, I sure as hell wouldn't wanna be you....... Stay alive, Harlequin."

"You too, Hell on Wheels. My darling man's gone out....... indefinitely, and it appears I've been....... detained, but I will keep you apprised of the events, and get you an audience with the children, with their father none the wiser."

"Aunt Vicki's gonna take them on a one-way trip out of this hellhole." She replied with a winking face, making Ally smile, feeling hopeful.

"Oh I'm sure they'd adore such an exciting outing! How doting of you! Save them first, Vic........ Even if you must leave me behind to suffer the Wrath of Manx."

"Stop it. I'm getting you out, Jane, I promise. Don't you even talk like that."

Ally looked down, pulling weakly on her chains, watching their soft, transcendent white-blue glow reappear, and then fade, just as fast, her pale face dismal.

"I don't know, Victoria........ I fear I shall remain ever a prisoner of his love. Obsession's chains are not so easily broken."

[helianthus21]

In honor of the day after Fanfic Writers Appreciation Day I’d like to give a quick shout-out to my fav writers out there + rec one of their works. (this is not an exhaustive list so pls bear with me if ur not included..) Now in alphabetical order:

SPN fic:

@60r3d0m - He Bids Good-bye to Distance Maybe the reality is that he clings too much. Maybe he’s too desperate and sometimes, that makes him unkind. Sometimes, he’s rough, because it’s purgatory, because every godforsaken monster wants Cas, wants his angel who’s had the misfortune of being stranded here with him, so he snaps. So he says, Hey, Cas, get the fuck over here, if Cas strays too far. He says, Damn it, Cas, if Cas takes a step too deep into the woods without him, and then he yanks, takes the angel by the hand, brings him closer and closer, and with hands on Cas' hips, he guides him.  And then eventually, the true hunger of purgatory gets to Dean. 

#destiel #purgatory era #explicit

@babybluecas - Meeting Emma Dean’s pacing the hospital corridor like some nervous expecting father. After all, that’s who he is right now. And the daughter he didn’t know he had will be here any moment.

#destiel #modern au #dad dean #established relationship

@beefcakemish - “I think I wanna marry you” Absolutely everything has gone wrong on the day of Cas and Dean's wedding. Cas is almost ready to call the whole thing off.

#destiel #modern au #weddings

@bend-me-shape-me - The Long Way Home The one fic where Dean and Sam start a new life, meeting someone in the middle who will complete their their way to find their new home.

#destiel #modern au #family drama #misunderstandings

@jhoomwrites - The King’s Shame Castiel has inherited the crown after years of turbulence. His family has not been good to their people, and Castiel has much to atone for. He works so hard to bring peace, but his attraction to a kitchen boy might throw all that he’s worked to build into jeopardy…

#destiel #medieval au #king cas #peasant dean

@peanutbutterjelly-pie - After All These Years “Please, Dean!! Please!” “Are you kidding me?” Jo's eyes are suddenly very big and wide and a serious competition for Sam's puppy dog look. “It's just for a weekend …” “You want me to pretend to be your freaking boyfriend?”

#destiel #dean/jo (pretend) #au #fake relationship #single dad dean

@perfackles - Strangers In The Night When his life in San Francisco takes an unexpected turn, Sam decides to move back to Kansas with the hope of mending his relationship with his brother. Sam must now learn how to navigate the turbulent waters of his future while coming to terms with the demons of his past. Along the way Sam meets a mysterious stranger, Castiel – a man hopelessly besotted with his rather oblivious best friend. But there's more to Castiel than meets the eye, and a secret hanging over all their heads that could unravel everything they’ve worked so hard to build.

#destiel #one-time sam/cas #saileen #team free will

@procasdeanating - A Question of Silence England, March 1343: A new student enters the gates of St. Mary’s Well monastery. Dean Winchester struggles with his family's dark secret and the taint he's sure it left on his soul. He finds a friend in the young novice Castiel, who has pledged himself to a life of austerity and contemplation. In spite of being polar opposites in nearly every way, they fall for each other.

#destiel #historical au #religious conflict #explicit

@wanderingcas - atramentous Dean is a librarian who hopelessly falls for the shy, mysterious, book-savvy grad student who frequents the university library.

#destiel #modern au #librarian dean #student cas

Good Omens fic:

@rosemoonweaver​ - Of Penguins, Swans, and Magpies It's been six months since the world didn't end and things between Crowley and Aziraphale are... fine. Really, they are. They're together and happy and everything is just... fine. Except for the strange disconnected feeling that it's all sort of off and the fact that Aziraphale is changing the bookshop and wearing different clothes and being shady and Crowley is on edge and moody and... Okay, so everything isn't perfectly fine.

#ineffable husbands #wing fic #misunderstandings

@rcmclachlan - A Stone’s Throw From Jerusalem "Are you honestly going to make me listen to bebop in my final moments?”

#ineffable husbands #accidental marriage

TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel - Boredom in the Bookshop  An awful, wicked idea began to form in Crowley’s mind as he stared at Aziraphale. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have dared to put such an idea into action out of a sense of self-preservation… but he was so bored.   (Being bored always impaired Crowley’s judgement, which was how, in 1850, he ended up drunk, entirely naked, painted blue, and tied to a post in the middle of Bethnal Green. Aziraphale had to rescue him. The angel still referred to the incident on occasion. Crowley wished he’d forget.) -Crowley was bored. This was never a good thing.

#aziraphale/crowley #aziraphale & crowley #footnotes

TUA fic:

intheflowers - Wild Eyed Boy Klaus dropped into Dave's life with a flash of blue light. It was the first time Klaus suprised him, but it was far from the last, and while at first he’d wondered if Klaus was maybe a little mad, it wasn’t long before he was certain that he really, definitely was. Not that it mattered much. Klaus had stolen his heart long before then.

#klave #dave pov #vietnam war #angst with a happy ending

[lydia-can-live]

Nopelander...revisting an old post

I still see sooo much Outlander stuff on my dash so I thought I’d share my thoughts on Season 4. I don’t have high hopes for S5 and even though I said I was done, I am still curious. Hanging around to see how it turns out is different than being a die hard fan, which I was. Its amazing to me that the built-in fan base and super hot chemistry between the 2 leads could fizzle out to a boring, flat, emotionless promotion. The Fiery Cross is very focused on Roger and Brianna (with Jamie and Claire always watching an guiding which is a gift for those who crave a stable family life...and is too subtle and nuanced for these OL writers to grasp) so the magic of the show that was Jamie and Claire is no more.  Here is what I had to say about the S4 finale.  tl:dr OL used to be great, and instead of writing it as the romance-fantasy that it is, they subscribed to the theory that drama and plot are more interesting than nuanced intimacy and in doing so drained it of its charm and energy while at the same time bashed fans for not being happy about it.

Production ruined the magic that was Outlander in such a stumbling, amateurish, way. First off, they do not understand Jamie and Claire, who are soul mates, as well as best friends. They love making each other laugh and share many inside jokes. They know life is hard but as long as they can connect with each other, they’ll get through anything. In the show their relationship is tenuous and they never realistically comfort one another. Touching each other’s jaw line in lieu of good dialogue is just irritating. 2nd, the wigs take you out of the story, immediately. Why did that not concern anyone? Sam Heughan is a gorgeous man but I snort every time we see that alpaca hair. The only time I can take him seriously is when he is wearing a tri-corn. Claire’s hair looks passable from far away but up close it’s like, holy hairline! It really bothers me that this was not important to production. Jamie had shaggy hair in S1 because he was growing out a buzz cut he got at the Abbey, not because he liked having fringe. If they are trying to recreate S1 hair they have failed spectacularly.

Season Finale: Rescuing Dog Face. I want to care, but I don’t. Roger and Bree do not have an established or believable relationship. He showed up with his Paul McCartney hair in Boston and the writers decided he loved her and that’s all it’s based on. There is no chemistry between them but there isn’t any conversation, either. She is apathetic. We’ll never know how Sophie would deliver well written dialogue but with her somnolent, emotionless, delivery my guess is it wouldn’t have helped. Maybe they limited her dialogue because she couldn’t manage more than a few words at a time. Imagine the stirring ‘He’s real…I know’ or the riveting ‘You’re here’ with a modicum of energy. I know, it’s just as bad. She was miscast, obviously. They couldn’t have found a tall, American actress with dual UK/USA citizenship with an Equity card? Hey Bree: In the show, Roger humiliated then abandoned you at the Clan gathering because you didn’t want to marry him. He then had a relationship with you --in his mind--, while you were living on your own and trying to keep your eyes from closing while you talked.  Why do you love him? Back to Roger. A group of people are going against their own tribe to rescue Dog Face and risk alienation from said tribe just to get a stone they could have just taken from Claire? Come on. The tribe had sentries posted when Jamie and Claire were approaching but everyone had the night off to gather around for the drumming circle? The one guy watching the idiot tent gets clubbed (is he dead? We don’t know) by Jamie and no one notices? Finally the jig is up and the resulting scramble to “reach the river” is so laughably amateurish that I imagined the camera guy laughing like you do when you’re filming your friends in the backyard trying to recreate the Aragorn/Nazgul fight scene from the LOTR. Thankfully, Claire was there to bring a sensible end to it all with a very effective “Its ovah”. Even the Mohawk warriors were impressed. So did they all sleep in the idiot tent that night, or what? And Roger isn’t totally amazed looking at Claire and Jamie, together? No? He just cowers in her clutches. At least he’s not wearing those absolutely ridiculous but completely historically accurate culottes anymore. The Birth: Everyone complaining about this is correct. Claire would never have allowed her daughter to go through child birth in the 18th century without her. I don’t understand why the writers made this decision. That whole birthing chair thing was cringe worthy. Jocasta and her hand-made silk dress isn’t going to be assisting at a freaking birth. (I just kept seeing a thought bubble above Sophie that said “I should have stuck to dance”. I don’t think she’s enjoying Outlander that much.) In the book, while Bree is asking Jamie to stay for the birth, he pleadingly looks to Claire like ‘what do I do’ because, while he’s heard a lot of birthing going on, he’s never been asked to assist. It shows their complete unison as a team, their trust in each other, and it’s cute to see Jamie out of his element a little. More importantly, Jamie got to experience his grandchild with his heart burst wide open and he reveled in it. The dialogue in the book is touching and funny and it resonates because its tied to emotions that have long been been building. Jemmy is the catalyst for healing many of Jamie’s wounds regarding his children. He is the balm for his soul. In the show, Jamie barely acknowledges the baby. But here, blind Auntie --who in the show uses a cane-- you take the baby. Don’t hurt him with the giant brooch thing you are wearing. And don’t walk anywhere. Just stand there. Don’t you go dyin’ on me! Here’s the other thing: Bree loves her baby from the start. She makes that decision early on. When Jemmy is born she is completely devoted to him and his care. She wouldn’t be sitting in a room by herself while her baby is hanging with a bunch of people who seem to be just standing around in a circle.

Back to the book for a second: When Roger finally shows up, Bree is not broken. She’s besotted with her son and enjoying the loving embrace of her family. She’s whole. I like that Bree. She’s got a good heart. As much as I miss the humor between Jamie and Claire, I didn’t want to hear Sam call Claire “Granny” unless it was with a twinkle in his eye after he comes to the realization that this is the first time she’ll be called that, and it’s the first time he gets to say it. I hate book dialogue spoken with no depth or understanding of the moment. Intimacy is what DG gets so right in the books and I don’t like hearing actual lines unless it carries some weight, I’m looking at you “Turtle Soup” (cringe). Murtagh: When he jumped off that wagon I was like…Duncan LaCroix is just loving the shit out of this. I don’t like the Regulator plot because they are shit stirrers who like to argue and ruin gatherings. Murtagh should be sticking to his vow, which was to protect Jamie. These are 18th century people, they took that shit seriously. The fight with Jocasta was hilarious but when she said ‘let’s get breakfast’ and they pan over to Murtagh and he’s all laid out on the bed like ‘here’s your freakin’ breakfast, with sausage’ I laughed so hard I had to pause it, drink some water and pull myself together. I was dying. It wasn’t as funny the second time because I knew it was coming but the first time it was like I could see Duncan turning up that sexy vibe to 11 and it was both funny and ridiculous, and he knew it. Rogers Choice: They should have made Roger a man of worth by having him immediately want to go to Bree. If you freaking love her so much it wouldn’t be an issue. What is she going to do, choose Bonnet over you? It should have been with no hesitation. It would have redeemed him, gave the search and rescue a satisfying conclusion, and saved us from yet another use of the two lovers running toward each other imagery.  The music was so cliché I have to wonder if Bear is just picking stuff off a spotify muzak playlist. It’s clear that the show has lapsed into soap opera territory. Sam’s face when he said he had to –takes off glasses-- kill Murtagh wasn’t full on Drake Ramoray, but it was teetering close to it. Poor Outlander. You had the rare combination of chemistry, beauty, and talent combined with an eager and knowledgeable fan base and you reduced it to a strange wooden version of itself. Dedicated fans are leaving. I’m done. These writers are not smart or creative enough to chisel down The Fiery Cross. So much times passes during the gathering that surely Jamie will have outgrown his bangs, but of course he won’t. He just keeps hacking at them and I don’t want to stick around to watch.

Post Scriptum: Drinking game idea: Anytime anyone says Fraser’s Ridge. I mean, who talks like that? You’d say, ‘lets go home’. No one spouts the address when they reference home. ‘Where are you going?’ ‘123 State Street, where I live’. 

Post, post Scriptum: You could also have a drinking game for every time Claire crosses her arms but you’d better have plenty of libations on hand. post post post scriptum: Sam and Cait are tired of Outlander and can’t wait for it to be over.

[you-andthebottlemen]

20 - AU

Request: “Vampire Van”

For @storiesaboutvan and @lennonsjohn

This was a challenge, never written fantasy before and it’s clearly not my forte so my apologies. But hey I gave it a shot. Hope you like it and it somewhat lives up to your vampy van dreams. Thanks for the support guys xx

***********

The bar was a gothic heaven. It was dimly lit, with deep mahogany furniture and a black chandelier. It was kinda beautiful actually? The fire crackled in the corner and it felt warm on your skin as you walked by. It was inviting; being here alone was a better option than drinking alone at home anyway. You hung your coat over the back of the bar stool and ordered a glass of red wine to ease off the stress of the day. When the bartender brought it over to you, you said thank you and stared down at the red liquid, clinking your fingernails on the base of the glass before taking a long sip. You almost drained the whole thing in one go.

“Slow down love,” a smooth voice teased and you jumped slightly; you didn’t notice anyone come up behind you.

“Shit, you scared me!” You laughed.

“Sorry. I tend to do that to people,” the guy smiled, flashing his striking pearly whites. You couldn’t help but swoon a little.

You put your wine down and spun to look at him properly. He was like, actually beautiful. His soft brown hair fell in slight waves around his face and it was parted just off the middle. He had clear pale skin and only the smallest bit of light brown stubble on his jaw line. His piercing blue eyes seemed to be staring into your soul and oh god, those eyelashes. You noticed his black velvet jacket that clung to his body perfectly; a strange fashion choice but somehow he pulled it off to perfection. You wanted to run your hands over it and feel the soft fabric under your touch.

Only after he introduced himself and sat next to you, did you realise you’d gotten distracted staring at him.

“I’m Van,” he said pleasantly.

“Y/n,” you shook his hand and were taken aback by how cold it was despite the intense warmth of the room. He seemed to smirk to himself a little.

“What brings you here then, y/n?” Van asked.

“Um, the alcohol,” you replied, taking the last gulp of your wine.

Van smiled and shook his head.

“Bad day?” His tone was sympathetic.

“Oh yeah.”

..........

In no less than an hour and a fair few glasses of wine later, you were in the dark back corner with Van. You were sat on his lap, drunkenly laughing with your arms hanging around his neck and his bright blue eyes staring deeply into your own. He flirted with you hard and you couldn’t help but give in to it. There's was something so alluring about him. Not just in how he looked or how he spoke, but just in his presence. You felt as though you were being dragged into him like the tide, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

“I like this jacket,” you said, running your hands all over the soft fabric happily, the black velvet slightly changing colour as you pushed it back against the seam.

“I like you,” Van replied and you blushed. You saw him lick his lips and it was yet another turn on. He traced your jaw line with his finger and ran it down your neck, you shivered.

“Your hands are cold,” you giggled.

“I know, sorry,” he smiled, moving his hands away and loosening his grip around your waist.

“No, I didn’t mean for you to stop,” you replied, running your own finger along his cheek.

“Why are you so cold?” You asked, curious.

“I’m a vampire,” he said with a smirk. For a second you imagined it, you stopped moving your finger and stared at him. If he was a vampire, which he wasn’t...he’d be a very sexy one. 

“Ha ha very funny,” you poked your tongue out at him and he let out a breath from his nose as a laugh.

“I’m not kidding love,” Van said, he was amused. You just kept giggling at him. You also liked that he kept calling you ‘love’.

“Okay, so you’re a vampire then. Sure. What a cliche spot to be then, this weird gothic bar,” you told him, playing along with his joke.

“Yeah. I don’t usually come here,” he laughed, looking around the room with an eyebrow raised.

“Okay vampire boy, let’s go play pool,” you instructed, hopping up from his lap. He stared at you with a twinkle in his eye, as if he was totally besotted with you already. You tried to play it cool and act all sure of yourself.

You pulled Van by the hand and let him trail behind you, not turning to look at him. You grinned as you wobbled down the stairwell to the bottom level where the pool tables and jukebox were. He kept his hand on your waist to steady you; you liked the cold comfort.

Van stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, biting his lip as he watched you take out the pool sticks and set up the table. At some point between you sitting on his lap and now, he had unbuttoned his jacket and you saw the blue and white checkered shirt that hung close to his body. He had it undone slightly so you could see his chest hair and a thin gold chain hanging delicately around his neck. He looked effortlessly cool and suave, in a way you’d never seen before. His jaw line was so sharp it could kill.

“Put some music on. Something tells me you have great taste,” you smiled at him before taking the first shot at the pool table. You missed; probably because of all the alcohol you told yourself.

Van chuckled at you from behind the jukebox and you stuck out your bottom lip in a pout. He flipped a coin into the machine and sorted through the records, settling on something by The Doors. 

“Hey, don’t look like that, let me help you,” Van whispered and stood closely behind you. He pressed himself into you and held your waist with one hand and the arm with the stick in the other, helping you aim and steady it. God was he smooth.

You felt like you were in a film. The gentle sound of the music was being drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears. You felt nervous that Van was so close, but you liked it. Once he’d helped you aim, he helped you shoot. 

“No fucking way!” You cheered as you managed to get a ball down one of those little holes-with-netting things. 

You spun around, resting against the pool table with a smile and faced Van, he was already smiling down at you. He held your waist again and you gripped his arms, staring into his eyes; he was magnetic. 

“Do you even understand how irresistible you are?” Van said softly. Though he almost sounded pained. He licked his lips again.

You were still seeing stars and you felt yourself swooning again at his words. You could feel his body radiating coolness, rather than warmth. As you stared into his eyes and examined his face, you thought about his words. Could he be a vampire? There was definitely something otherworldly about him; you just couldn’t put your finger on what. 

“Irresistible how?” You asked, tilting your head to one side.

“Well for starters, you’re dead gorgeous. Like, stunning you know?” Van admitted, his eyes wide with what you thought was lust, trailing up and down your neck.

“And you smell really good too if that’s not weird to say,” he chuckled.

“So you don’t want to suck my blood or anything?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh god, I do. But I wasn’t gonna say that and freak you out love. If I’m honest, have no idea how much I’d love to bite into your neck,” Van told you, you couldn’t tell if it was still a joke but something in the back of your mind screamed he was serious.

“Well...I’m down if you are? Just don’t kill me or turn me into a vampire or something,” you responded, shrugging.

Van’s jaw dropped slightly, he was shocked. Then he smiled.

“Not necessary love, I can control myself. Just. I’d rather kiss you actually,” Van said, before moving closer to you again. The record in the background finished and all that played was white noise.

“Well you can do that too I guess,” you whispered to him.

Van moved your hair back behind your shoulder and wrapped one arm tighter around your body. He began to softly kiss your neck, sucking on it slightly. It sent shivers up your spine in the best way. When he made his way up your jaw, past your chin and to your lips he stopped quickly to look at you, as if asking permission. You nodded and he smiled, flashing those pointy white teeth again. You swore they could have been fangs. When he pressed his cold lips to yours it felt like fire and you had never been more happy to burn. 

Pulling away, your heart sank a little. You could kiss him all damn night it was that good. You were completely enamoured by him. You noticed you were shivering slightly. Van took off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders. The velvet was heavier than you thought, but it smelt good and felt comforting.

“So, Van. Do you like, sparkle when you go outside or something?” You asked curiously.

“No love, this isn’t Twilight,” Van chuckled, his smile was warm even if his skin wasn’t. He kissed your forehead and then went to change the song on the jukebox. 

[myrish-lace-love]

Making my way back to you

Summary: This is a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fix-it fic that I couldn’t get out of my head, so now I’ve written it. Season 6, pre-Seeing Red. What if Spike confessed his feelings about Buffy to Tara, and she helped him understand why Buffy might be pushing him away? Featuring domestic Spike, Tara and Dawn scenes, as well as Buffy and Spike reconciling.

A/N: So the poetry is Bad on Purpose, but feel free to make fun of it. :)

***

Convenient. That's what the night had been for her. Spike kicked a headstone. He was a whirl of raw nerves, off-kilter, angry and bitter. And sad. All right, all right, sad, too, because when she'd leapt into his arms, she'd kissed him like he was cool water and she was dying of thirst. She'd...ridden him, chose him, and he'd seen the same longing in her eyes that he felt in his gut, in his heart. And he'd hoped. Hoped the night might be a revelation to her rather than a regret. He kept hearing snatches of what they'd whispered to each other as the building cracked and broke around them. "I've got you, love, that's it, come with me now....Spike, don't let go, please, don't...never, love, never, you don't have to ask..."

And the worst: "I need you, Spike, I can't stop needing you." She'd touched his cheek. "And I don't want to stop, anymore." He'd kissed her knuckles, like the besotted fool he was, and smiled at her. "Then don't. I won't. I promise, kitten. I'll need you tell the end of time."

Making love, William sighed inside his head. He snarled. "Hardly, you idiot. Hardly. You think she spits on you and leaves the morning after if it's love?"

A squirrel stood transfixed, head cocked. Talking to myself again. Brilliant.

He stopped in front of Buffy's house. He knew she wasn't home, because he could recite her schedule like a book, let's not fool ourselves, and because he could smell something green and healthy Tara was making for dinner that Dawn inevitably wouldn't eat. Spike's spirits lifted a bit, enough that he rolled his shoulders and wiped his eyes. Little Bit didn't need to see him all wonky over a bird, especially if the bird was her sister. Deserved better than that.

He snuffed out his cigarette. Tara didn't like them in the house, and Spike did what he could to make Tara happy. Not that he went much out of his way, just brought groceries from time to time and helped her with the dishes. He'd spent a night consoling her when Willow left. He remembered patting her back awkwardly as she cried, soothing her, telling her she was better than Red deserved. That much was true, he thought. Tara might be quiet, even shy, and he normally didn't take much note of shy women. Liked them brash and bold. But Tara was strong, and she welcomed him into the house like he wasn't a freak. She had a lot in common with Joyce, now that he thought about it. The garden behind the Summers house was thriving.

"Spike!" He heard Dawn's squeal from the window and a smile came to him unbidden. She opened the door and bounced on her toes.

"'Lo Nibblet. Glinda cooking a nasty brew for us in her cauldron?"

Read more below or continue on AO3

"I heard that, you know." Tara's mild voice carried from the kitchen. "Both of you...well one of you anyway needs vitamins, and minerals. Lentils aren't that bad, Dawnie, they're a great source of protein." She pointed her spoon at Dawn. "I promise this won't taste as 'good for you' as last week's stew." Dawn looked at her expectantly. Tara sighed. "And...you can have ice cream once you've finished your homework and tried to eat your dinner."

Dawn clapped her hands. "Yes! One set of piping hot algebra homework coming up." She bounded up the stairs.

"Completed piping hot homework," Tara called after her. She kept stirring. She really was pretty, in an old-fashioned kind of way. Being out from under Red's shadow was good for her.

"There's blood in the fridge for you, Spike, if you're hungry." Tara kept the fridge stocked for him. Pig's blood, right next to the milk. Like it was normal. Like they were a family, of sorts.

Spike poured a mug and heated it up in the microwave. "You're good to us, you know, Glinda. Keep us in nutritious food, make sure the Bit does her schoolwork proper." He slurped on his straw and Tara winced. "Help us with our manners too." Spike kept drinking, silent this time, and winked, winning himself one of Tara's rare, soft smiles.

"I just do what needs doing, Spike, it's no trouble. I care about both of you. And Dawn adores you."

Something loosened in Spike's chest. Nibblet did seem to need him, and that was something he could hang on to. The warm feeling stayed with him through dinner, as Dawn groused about the "brown mush" that was lentil stew and crowed over her ice cream. Spike helped Tara check Dawn's homework afterwards, and caught Dawn stifling a yawn.

"Right, that's enough, off to bed, early to rise and all that rot." Spike saw Tara's raised eyebrow. "Meaning, sleep is important, Nibblet, it helps you...." Spike had trouble remembering what it was sleep did, anyway. He slept when he was bored, and that was about it.

Tara swooped in. "Get the rest your growing body needs so you can pay attention in class and keep learning, Dawnie."

Dawn tilted her head. "Want to try that again Tara? Not sure you sounded quite enough like an after-school special."

Tara laughed. "Scoot. Now. You'd better be asleep in half an hour, too, because Spike's vampire senses will tell me if you're not."

Spike faked a growl. Dawn giggled. "I know, I know. Goodnight!" She was up the stairs in a flash and Spike and Tara both counted down the seconds till they heard her hop in bed.

"Stuck the landing that time, I think. I'll go clean up, Glinda, you rest for a minute. Want some tea?"

"Thanks Spike."

***

Spike wiped down the last pot and returned it to the cabinet. He was pouring hot water over Tara's tea leaves when sadness hit him again like a wave. Too much time alone, and he always came back round to Buffy. Well, he was a big bad vampire, he could take a few knocks. He'd see Tara settled and head home to mope. Or kill some demons. You know, if they happened into his long, circuitous path home and ran into his stake. This was Sunnydale, after all.

"There you are, pet." Tara accepted the cup gratefully. Spike rubbed the back of his head. "Right, well, I'll be off, see you soon, then."

"What's wrong, Spike?" Tara looked at him over the rim of her cup.

"Wrong? Nothing, nothing at all, I'm fine, never been better, why would you think something's wrong?" Did her eyes have to be so blue, and so kind?

"You're just...wound up, and worn down, a little, Spike. If there's something you want to talk about you can, you know. I'm a good listener." Tara put her saucer down.

"Look, Glinda, it's kind of you but I'm...." Blue, and kind, with depths you could get lost in. Why did Red leave her, anyway? "Bugger it, all right, yeah, you win, I'm a mess." Spike sat down heavily.

"You want some hot chocolate?" Spike nodded. He felt a hand on his shoulder a moment later as she gave him the mug. She always remembered the marshmallows. He felt a lump in his throat.

"Spike, why are you crying, honey?"

Spike let out a harsh sob. “Convenient, what kind of a word is that, when I tried to show her my heart?”

Tara blinked. "Okay, so I'm guessing this is about Buffy, but, um, Spike, could you back up a little earlier?"

Spike turned the mug over in his hands. Buffy didn't want the Scoobies knowing about their relationship, if "relationship" even described what they had together. But that ship had sailed. Tara already knew, and he felt like he could trust her.

"Buffy and I, we..." Shagged? Fucked? Are destroying each other, a little at a time?

"So you do love her." Tara tucked her dark blond hair behind her ear. "I'd wondered."

Spike was speechless. "How could you know?"

Tara shrugged. “It's written all over you, when you're around her."

"So you think vampires can love, do you?" Spike bit the words out. "One of your crystal balls tell you that? Soulless, remember?"

Tara's smile was sad. "I don't think it's that simple. Or that black and white. Dawn's not human, and I love her." Tara's voice dropped so Spike had to strain to hear her. "I like to think she loves me."

Spike leaned forward. He hated seeing Tara upset, and Dawn cared about her, he knew it. Dawn would be lost without her. He had to make her understand. He rested a hand on her knee. "She does, pet, I know she does. She's crazy about you. How could you think she doesn't love you? You're one of the most important people in her life. Remember that."

Tara covered his hand with her own. "Well, then it can be true for you too, can't it? That you love Buffy?"

Spike paused for a beat. "Did you just trick me?"

Tara winked. "Maybe. I meant it though, Spike. I think Dawn can love, and so can you." Not to be underestimated, this one, he thought ruefully.

Tara squeezed Spike's hand and let go. "Love's not black and white, Spike, but I think Buffy needs it to be. Like a switch she can turn on and off. Demon or no demon. Soul or no soul. Can't you see why?"

Spike didn't like being told he was dense. Never mind that it might be true, he bristled nonetheless.

"No, I bloody well can't. Not as bright as you lot, after all." Maybe he should be going.  

Tara's voice was uncharacteristically sharp. "Well listen, then, for one in your...unlife. Say she has feelings for you. Say she cares about you deeply. Say she loves you. A creature without a soul. She kills them every night, Spike. Creatures in the dark. And I think, to live with herself, she has to believe they deserve it."

Death is your art. She was the Slayer, after all. Maybe Tara had a point.

"So if she loves you, what's to stop her from thinking she's been wrong about the others she's killed? To look back at her history, and see the beasts she's dusted, and wonder if one of them might have been capable of love? She couldn't be as fast or as strong as she needed to strike that blow. She can't afford the doubt. The shades of grey."

Spike turned his head away, stung. The demon in him roared back to life, wanted to break Tara, to hurt her, for making him understand why Buffy had to stay away from him. ""Buffy's not wrong about me. About what I am. Think I'm sweetness and light? Try this out, love. Turns out I can hit her, now, since she came back. And I do."

Tara seemed unfazed. "Always thought that was kind of...foreplay, for you two?"

Spike was grateful he couldn't blush. "Well...yeah. But that's not the point. You know what I told her, pet, when I found out I could? When I learned she was the only person I could hit? Told her she came back wrong. Twisted. Darker." Not entirely, true, he'd stopped at wrong, but he was making a point here. "Then I hit her some more."

Tara shrank back into the couch. Good. She needed to remember, too, what a monster he was. "So yeah, I hit her, a few nights ago, in fact, and she hit me back, and then she kissed me, out of nowhere, she kissed me, like she couldn't get enough, of what I was, she wrapped her arms around me, and then we..."

Tara cleared her throat after a minute. "Well. So, sex. And telling her she's wrong and dark and twisted inside."

"So don't you see? Don't you get it? I am a monster, Tara, I can't be what she needs. I'm vicious and cruel to her, and no amount of love can make up for that. Demon, through and through." Spike sat back, proud to have the upper hand again, even if it did make him miserable.

Tara regarded him steadily. "I don't think it's that easy for you either, Spike. It doesn't take a demon to do what you've done, to talk to Buffy the way you do." Tara sipped her tea, and managed to return her cup to the table with only the slightest of tremors. "Men in my family managed it all on their own." For once Spike was speechless. "You really believe that, Spike? That she's twisted and wrong inside?"

Somehow Spike knew that his ties to Tara, and Dawn, were at risk of breaking depending on his answer. So he closed his eyes, composed himself, and told the truth. "I don't know. I said it, because she's so far above me, she's untouchable, and I thought if I could drag her down to my level I might have a chance with her. Might be able to make a go of it. Which is ugly. But it's the truth. All I know for sure is that she came back...different. And I'm desperate enough to use that to get to her. Which is why I have to stop this. I can't do this to her. She shouldn't have to live where I live, in the depths, even if she's changed. No matter how much I want her to." Spike was exhausted, winded, like he'd fought an army of the undead.

Tara was still leaning a little away from him, but when she spoke, she spoke gently. "It could have gone the other way you know. Buffy could have come back more...'right'. Like, from heaven. Maybe you can hit angels, Spike. Bet the chip wouldn't have anticipated that." Tara seemed pleased with her joke and Spike chuckled along with her. He had to keep Buffy's secret safe, so Tara wouldn't know how close to the truth she'd come.

"Not bloody likely, but sure, Glinda, maybe Buffy's tricked out with wings these days. Either way, I gotta break it off. Slayer needs to be able to do her thing."

Tara sighed. "Tell her, Spike. All of it."

Spike threw out his arms and looked indignant. "How do you know I haven't?" Probably because she's known me for more than a week.

Tara collected his mug, and her cup. "Just tell her, so she can make her own choice. You and her. You'll be here on Thursday?"

So he'd be able to come back after all. See Nibblet, help Tara with her next green concoction. He was flooded with gratitude, but cut off the waterworks before they started. "Yeah. Yeah I will. Need anything?"

"Some bananas would be good."

"Right you are. Thanks for the...cocoa, love."

"Tell her, Spike," Tara called over her shoulder. "I'm going to ask you how it went next time you're here for dinner.

Bollocks. Now there really was no way out.

***

Spike was clicking through the TV channels listlessly when he heard a familiar knock. The Slayer. He'd been dreading this moment. He'd also been waiting in his crypt for two days for her to drop by.

"Spike? Are you home?" Always astounded him, that she had to ask if he was there. He could smell her, hear her the minute she was outside the concrete wall. One of the drawbacks of being human, he supposed. Buffy had told him once that her sense of smell was hardly enhanced, though her eyesight and hearing were "better than the average bear," was that the adorable way she'd put it? They'd been at the cemetery gate the day before Halloween and she'd been wearing pink trousers and a white hat, not that he'd committed it to memory.

"No, I'm out, gone for a jog, come back later, thanks." He couldn't help but smile when she burst through the door anyway. God but he wanted her. He could feel the heat rolling off her in waves from where he sat. But he had some pride. Not much, but some. "Are you deaf or daft, love? I'm not here. Sod off."

Thankfully Buffy ignored him. She came over to his chair, more tentative than usual. "So I came to you-"

"For a shag and some blows, I know, love, not interested." He clicked the remote for emphasis. He longed to touch her. He wanted to pull her down to him, feel her weight in his lap, run his hands through her soft and golden hair. He had about five more minutes of bravado in him, and he was going to have to use them. To tell her it was over. No need to fill her in on the details like Tara wanted. Had nothing to do with the fact that he was bloody terrified. Just not necessary, was all.

Buffy stepped in front of the television. "No, Spike. We have to talk." She was hugging herself, probably cold. Spike wanted to get up, to warm her. But having no body heat was a bitch, and she probably wouldn't appreciate his black duster draped over her. What had she called it, the skin of another Slayer? Yeah, bad idea. Also, physical proximity would unravel the last of his nerve and he'd be a blubbering mess, begging her to stay.

She started again. "I need you to know what I was thinking, when we brought the house down."

Spike gave her a leer. "It was a virtuoso performance built of convenience, love." She didn't move. What was it going to take, to drive her away?

Buffy winced. "I...I shouldn't have said that, Spike." No you damn well shouldn't have, pet. Why didn't he say that out loud? Why was he giving her a stiff nod instead?

"But you shouldn't have told me I came back wrong, either." Buffy balled her fists, and Spike felt himself start to rev up, for the fight, for the dance, for whatever she'd spare him. "I gave you my secret, Spike, and you threw it back in my face. Told me I was wrong. And you want me to believe you love me? Really?" Her voice was high and thin.

Spike conjured up the memory of Tara's hand on his arm. "I told you that because I'm a bad man, Buffy."

Buffy rolled her eyes, but her hands relaxed. "Right, you've always been bad." The crypt was very quiet. They were at a standoff, and Spike wasn't sure how to end it. Kiss her or kill her, the demon whispered.

Buffy jerked her chin. "So you got rid of the disgusting-ness that was the shrine, huh?"

Spike glanced at the clean-swept corner. "Yeah."

"You used it for the robot, didn't you."

"I told you, it wasn't-"

"Is anything real to you Spike? Is anything real to William?"

Spike clenched his jaw. Oh no, she wasn't going to get away that easily. She couldn't transfer all her love and affection to the dead man inside him. He got up. "William was a git. A poufter. William didn't have a killing bone in his body. William couldn’t fight side-by-side with you, love. William was pathetic."

"He's a part of you Spike."

Gotta stop this. Now. "Sure, sweetheart. Just like the demon is. You can't get out of the mess you're in by caring about dear William."

Buffy's stare was like ice. "I'd say we're in this 'mess' together, Spike."

"You know that's the first time you've referred to us as a couple, right?"

He saw her take a few deep breaths. "I want to hit you so bad right now."

Yes, the demon roared.

Buffy started pacing. "But I won't, because I'm not about the distractions, not this time."

Spike lit a cigarette. "Pity, that. Look, already told you, not interested. Thanks for stopping by. Shove off."

"So tell me more about William." Damn her singular bloody-mindedness. She wanted to know more about the dead poet? Maybe that was just what he needed to drive her away.

"Fine. Here. Let me show you something. If you want to know more of who I was. Whether you could have loved the ponce," he muttered. He stubbed out his cigarette and pulled a sheet of rumpled paper from underneath the chair.

He brandished the page in front of her and - couldn't do it. Couldn't give it to her. He remembered the night he'd written it, drunk off his gourd, three days after she'd told him she was ashamed of what they'd done. He'd sipped blood from a mug like the neutered fool he was and scrawled poetry to made himself feel better. He'd even used a quill, for what, old time’s sake? Then he'd gone and dusted a few vamps, which did wonders for his mood. He almost burned this poem too, but somehow it kept escaping the flames. Buffy was waiting expectantly, beautiful and bold. He'd kissed her, been inside her, done things with her he didn't have names for after a hundred years, but looking into her hazel eyes, he was...frightened.

Buffy's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Would you read it to me, Spike?"

He scoffed. "It's bloody awful, Buffy. Remember the laugh you and the Scoobies had when you found out what my name was? William the Bloody, terrible poetry? Hasn't changed, pet." He put a sneer in his voice. "In fact it’s gotten worse. Romance gets drained out of you when the demon takes over." That last part was a lie, and it looked like Buffy knew it.

"I'd like to hear it."

Spike stopped, and started, and stopped again.

"All right. One, stop smirking, love."

Buffy feigned innocence. "Smirking? No smirking. Genuine, one hundred percent curiosity here, Spike." She was daring him to do it, because she thought it would work, and she was right, damn it, because he couldn't resist a challenge, not from her.

"Two, I can't - I can't look at you when I read this, all right? I can't."

Buffy perched on the edge of his chair, patted the arm. "Could you sit with me?"

It was the first intimate gesture she'd offered. But she had him cornered, and she'd made him angry, and as much as his heart leapt to hear her offer, he couldn't help pushing it, and he needed to force her to leave. "You want to be next to an evil, soulless thing and have him spout poetry? You sure, love? Vampire, creature of the-

"Shut up, Spike." She sounded tired, defeated. "It was a lot to ask. I get it. I'll go." She got up with that blend of feral grace that moved him in ways he wished he could ignore, and started for the door.

When he began, he sounded hoarse to his own ears. He saw her pause out of the corner of his eye.

    Starlight and moonlight

    Are not my foes.

    But sunlight and your light

    Are the source of my woes.

    The pieces you give me

    Of who you really are

    Slayer, warrior, lover

    And my constant north star

    Are never enough. They never could be.

    I want all of you, sweet girl.

    So I can give you all of me.

    But we can't. I know it. So, farewell my love

    I'm here in the shadows, where I should be

    While you reside, fair and wondrous, far, far above me.

If it had been quiet before, the silence was deafening now. He watched her. Her head was down. Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder - god, that hair, needed a poem of its own, it did - and spoke.

"You're wrong."

"A poem isn't right or wrong, pet."

"This one is. I'm not above you. Or below you." Buffy stepped closer. "You stopped me, from dancing, when we were stuck in the...musical from hell. Why?"

"That dance would have killed you." He sighed. "Buffy, you know why."

"'This isn't real,' that was my refrain, wasn't it?"

"That's about the size of it. You were right, love. It can't be real." Maybe he could make Tara proud, explain how they were wrong for each other, how he'd just keep hurting her if he stayed.

"I lied, Spike. I lied. It is real, and I swear to you if you don't let me get this sentence out-" There were tears on her cheeks. He ached to go to her.

"If I love you..." She was trying the words out, seeing how they sounded. "If I love you, I might as well turn in my stake right now." She gave him a half-smile. "I don't expect you to understand."

"No? Try this on for size, pet. You're the Slayer, need to fight evil, the forces of darkness. Which includes yours truly. And if you could love me, then those creatures you dust with such deft and perky strokes could have hearts and minds of their own. You can't risk that." He reached out to touch her cheek, then remembered himself. "You shouldn't have to."

Buffy looked stunned. "Um, yeah. That's pretty much exactly it. Wait, did you figure that out on your own?"

Spike grinned. "Not as stupid as I look, pet."

"Tara. It must have been Tara."

Spike gave up. "Yeah that bird's smart. She's right too. So you see, now. We can't. I won't put you in that bind, Buffy."

He felt her fingers trace his cheek. All the promises he'd made to Tara, to himself, vanished the second she touched him. He wanted her, wanted her fire, wanted her beneath him, surrounding him. He held himself steady. Her hazel eyes were huge.

"I fight everything else, Spike. I can't fight you. I want to dance, Spike, but differently. I want - I want to go slow."

He drew her to him finally, finally running his hands through her hair. She twined her arms around him and he groaned. He’d go fast, slow, whatever she wanted. She didn’t know that, yet, but he intended to convince her to by the time the night was over.

“Then lead, love.” She kissed him, softly, and he matched her, pulling her down to the chair, letting her settle in his lap. He was hard already, god, he’d been hard the minute she walked in. But now she was his whole world, with her hair hanging like a curtain around them and her tongue dancing with his. She pulled back and he moaned at the loss of contact. He almost reached for her again, but saw the question in her eyes, and waited.

Buffy swallowed. "Wow. And, um, you don't mind? Going slow? You don't need the pain?" Spike would have been hurt if she hadn't looked so uncertain.

He cupped her cheek. "Don't mind it. Don't need it, pet."

She rested her forehead on his. "Your eyes are the hardest part."

'Not other parts, love?" He tried to keep his tone light, his hold on her loose. He'd never seen her this vulnerable.

"No. Your eyes. The way you look at me, like - like I'm not a monster, like I'm worth..."

To him she was an onslaught of light and heat and blinding energy. To think she could inhabit think that beautiful, tight, curvy - stay focused Spike - body and not understand...

"I could show you, love." He was purring, sliding his palms over the curve of her waist. He could hear the rapid beating of her heart. He drank in her scent as he kissed her neck, gently, grinning as she twisted and turned above him.

“More, Spike, please, I-“

“Think this would be easier without clothes, kitten, as much as I enjoy the challenge.”

***

"Really? Tara got Dawn to like bananas?" Buffy wrinkled her nose. She and Spike were walking up to her house, together. Like they did, now. Buffy even had her hand tucked into his arm. Spike felt like he was floating, like he hadn't come back down to Earth since...well, since he'd woken up with Buffy next to him, and it hadn't been a dream, and instead of punching him in the head and running, she'd curled up next to him and sighed happily.

Spike kicked a pebble with his boot. "Yeah, s'pose they got all kinds of nutrients and minerals, right?"

"Name one."

"Potassium. A-ha! Thought I wouldn't know, didn't you?" The thwack Buffy gave him was worth it. Spike made a show of rubbing his shoulder.

Tara and Dawn were both waiting at the door. Spike looked at Tara with a silent plea in his eyes. He didn't want Nibblet to fret, and he didn't want to have to go through with a long explanation, not if he didn't have to.

He needn't have worried. "Thanks for the bananas, Spike," Tara said warmly. She ushered them both into the house. Spike saw the table was set for four.

"Yeah, a big thank you for the gross addition to my breakfast." Dawn pouted. Buffy wrapped her up in a hug. "That's enough Dawn. Bananas are good for growing up tall and strong. They have potassium, you know."

"You told her," Tara murmured as he followed her into the kitchen, silently. Spike nodded, a little lost. Tara kissed him on the cheek. Daft, Red was, to leave one so sweet and kind. "Good job. You both look happy."

"Listen...thanks, Glinda, really, for everything." He wasn't sure how to put what he felt into those words.

"You're family, Spike," Tara said, as if that explained it all. And maybe it did, at that, Spike thought, as they dug into dinner together, Buffy's hand resting on his thigh under the table.

[lydia-can-live]

NopeLander

tl:dr Outlander used to be great, and instead of writing it as the romance-fantasy that it is, they subscribed to the theory that drama and plot are more interesting than nuanced intimacy and in doing so drained it of its charm and energy while at the same time bashed fans for not being happy about it.

Production ruined the magic that was Outlander in such a stumbling, amateurish, way. First off, they do not understand Jamie and Claire, who are best friends as well as lovers. They use humor to sustain their connection and share a lot of inside jokes. Physically they are rooted to their intimacy. In the show their relationship is tenuous and they never realistically comfort one another. Touching each other’s jaw line in lieu of good dialogue is just irritating. 2nd, the wigs take you out of the story, immediately. Why did that not concern anyone? Sam Heughan is a gorgeous man but I snort every time we see that alpaca hair. The only time I can take him seriously is when he is wearing a tri-corn. Claire’s hair looks passable from far away but up close it’s like, holy hairline! Jamie had shaggy hair in S1 because he was growing out the buzz cut he got at the Abbey, not because he liked having fringe. If they are trying to recreate S1 hair they have failed spectacularly.

Season Finale: Rescuing Dog Face. I want to care, but I don’t. Roger and Bree do not have an established or believable relationship. He showed up with his Paul McCartney hair in Boston and the writers decided he loved her and that’s all it’s based on. There is no chemistry between them but there isn’t any conversation, either. She is apathetic. We’ll never know how Sophie would deliver well written dialogue but with her somnolent delivery my guess is it wouldn’t have helped. Maybe they limited her dialogue because she couldn’t manage more than a few words at a time. She was miscast, obviously. They couldn’t have found a tall, American actress with dual UK/USA citizenship with an Equity card? Hey Show Bree: Roger humiliated then abandoned you at the Clan gathering because you didn’t want to marry him. He then had a relationship with you --in his mind--, while you were living on your own and trying to keep your eyes from closing while you talked.  Why do you love him? Back to Dog Face: A group of people are going against their own tribe to rescue Dog Face and risk alienation from said tribe just to get a stone they could have just taken from Claire? Come on. The tribe had sentries posted when Jamie and Claire were approaching but everyone had the night off to gather around for the drumming circle? The one guy watching the idiot tent gets clubbed (is he dead? We don’t know) by Jamie and no one notices? Finally the jig is up and the resulting scramble to “reach the river” is so laughably amateurish that I imagined the camera guy laughing like you do when you’re filming your friends in the backyard trying to recreate the Aragorn/Nazgul fight scene from the LOTR. Thankfully, Claire was there to bring a sensible end to it all with a very effective “Its ovah”. Even the Mohawk warriors were impressed. So did they all sleep in the idiot tent that night, or what? And Roger isn’t totally amazed seeing Claire and Jamie, together? No? He just cowers in her clutches. At least he’s not wearing those absolutely ridiculous but completely historically accurate culottes anymore. The Birth: Everyone complaining about this is correct. Claire would never have allowed her daughter to go through child birth in the 18th century without her. I don’t understand why the writers made this decision. That whole birthing chair thing was cringe worthy. Jocasta and her hand-made silk dress isn’t going to be assisting at a freaking birth.  In the book, while Bree is asking Jamie to stay for the birth, he pleadingly looks to Claire like ‘what do I do’ because, while he’s heard a lot of birthing going on, he’s never been asked to assist. It shows their complete unison as a team, their trust in each other, and it’s cute to see Jamie out of his element a little. More importantly, Jamie got to experience his grandchild with his heart burst wide open and he reveled in it. The dialogue in the book is touching and funny and it resonates because its tied to emotions that have long been been building. Jemmy is the catalyst for healing many of Jamie’s wounds regarding his children. He is the balm for his soul. In the show, Jamie barely acknowledges the baby. But here, blind Auntie --who in the show uses a cane-- you take the baby. Don’t hurt him with the giant brooch thing you are wearing. And don’t walk anywhere. Just stand there. Don’t you go dyin’ on me! Here’s the other thing: Bree loves her baby from the start. When Jemmy is born she is completely devoted to him and his care. She wouldn’t be sitting in a room by herself while her baby is hanging with a bunch of people who seem to be just standing around in a circle.  Back to the book for a second: When Roger finally shows up, Bree is not broken. She’s besotted with her son and enjoying the loving embrace of her family. She’s whole. I like that Bree.  

As much as I miss the humor between Jamie and Claire, I didn’t want to hear Sam call Claire “Granny” unless it was with a twinkle in his eye after he comes to the realization that this is the first time she’ll be called that, and it’s the first time he gets to say it. I hate book dialogue spoken with no depth or understanding of the moment. Intimacy is what DG gets so right in the books and I don’t like hearing actual lines unless it carries some weight, I’m looking at you “Turtle Soup” (cringe). Murtagh: When he jumped off that wagon I was like…Duncan LaCroix is just loving the shit out of this. I don’t like the Regulator plot because they are shit stirrers who like to argue and ruin gatherings. Murtagh should be sticking to his vow, which was to protect Jamie. These are 18th century people, they took that shit seriously. The fight with Jocasta was hilarious but when she said ‘let’s get breakfast’ and they pan over to Murtagh and he’s all laid out on the bed like ‘here’s your freakin’ breakfast, with sausage’ I laughed so hard I had to pause it, drink some water and pull myself together. I was dying. It wasn’t as funny the second time because I knew it was coming but the first time it was like I could see Duncan turning up that sexy vibe to 11 and it was both funny and ridiculous, and he knew it. Rogers Choice: They should have made Roger a man of worth by having him immediately want to go to Bree. If you freaking love her so much it wouldn’t be an issue. What is she going to do, choose Bonnet over you? It should have been with no hesitation. It would have redeemed him, gave the search and rescue a satisfying conclusion, and saved us from yet another use of the two lovers running toward each other imagery.  The music was so cliché I have to wonder if Bear is just picking stuff off a spotify muzak playlist. It’s clear that the show has lapsed into soap opera territory. Sam’s face when he said he had to –takes off glasses-- kill Murtagh, wasn’t full on Drake Ramoray, but it was teetering close to it. Poor Outlander. You had the rare combination of chemistry, beauty, and talent combined with an eager and knowledgeable fan base and you reduced it to a strange wooden version of itself. Dedicated fans are leaving. I’m done. These writers are not smart or creative enough to chisel down The Fiery Cross. So much times passes during the gathering that surely Jamie will have outgrown his bangs, but of course he won’t. He’ll just keep hacking at them and I don’t want to stick around to watch.

Post Scriptum: Drinking game idea: Anytime anyone says Fraser’s Ridge. I mean, who talks like that? You’d say, ‘lets go home’. No one spouts the address when they reference home. ‘Where are you going?’ ‘123 State Street, where I live’.  Post, post Scriptum: You could also have a drinking game for every time Claire crosses her arms but you’d better have plenty of libations on hand.