#i think it makes sense. they have less women in their lives. so they reckon with a lot more masculinity. more dick measuring.

[sciderman]

Sometimes i remember a comics moment i randomly came across somewhere, where Sam Wilson mentiones a musical and Steve Rodgers says he doesn't like musicals, to whitch Sam goes "Guess that means you really are straight" and even tho i don't care about Cap America or the Avengers, the moment stuck in me for that quote by Sam. And like....Sci, any ideas if straight men actually don't like musicals or is that bullshit?

actually i think i know more gay men who hate musicals than i know straight men who hate musicals. i've had a drag queen stop me point blank when i was about to sing a barbra streisand song, and i know so many gays who pointedly hate abba. so based on my experience i think the inverse is true. most of the straight men i know are kind of impartial about musicals, but gay men? hate.

my theory is that a lot of gay men don't want to fall into stereotypes, maybe. but thaaaaat's just a theory! a gay theory.

[basicallyaturtle]

Looking at pre-gender reckoning me, I often find myself wanting to distance myself from that person. It's not like that isn't me, just I kinda don't like that it is.

And that is pretty common. People talk about killing pretransistion selves or finally getting to be the you you want to be, and I mean, I still haven't socially transitioned, or medically transitioned. Really the only thing different is my hair length and I guess... like how I hold myself. Maybe it's not that different but I like to think that I have a different air about me than I did in that time. Anyway, all that to say I watched a video of pre realization me and I felt like man it's a shame that guy doesn't exist anymore. Well not like he doesn't, I am a continuation of that person's state of mind, so I am the same person in that anyone can say they are the same person as they used to be. But often times the sense of who a person is is wrapped up in their appearance, which is of course part of where the notion of 'grieving' trans people's former self comes from. Cause it's not like they stopped existing, they just appear to have stopped existing from an outside perspective. People have different ways of conceptualizing their own transitions, some see that they were always their gender and only realized it and corrected it later in life, some see their pretransistion self as a different person, someone they had to kill to get to live themselves, and others see their transition ad one step in the evolution of their life that is constantly happening, constantly changing us from our past self into out future self. I tend to go for a strange combination of 1 and 3 here, 1 because the realization hit like a bolt of lightning when I first saw it, and all these different parts of my past started slotting together into something that made sense, but also 3, because even if deep down I was a girl as a child, I certainly didn't identify that way, even after I learned what being trans was, so this feels more like another change, like going from a quiet nerd kid to a slightly rambunctious energetic college student, a big change sure, but just a change. So I've kind of held both of these in tandem, but I never really felt connection with the first one. I get how people would feel this way, and it's not unreasonable, especially if one spent a significant amount of time trapped in the closet before being able to transition in any way, then your previous gender can feel like a prison, and your old identity is the prison guard. It also makes sense just as a rebuttal to the trans grief as mentioned before when parents or friends or whoever will lament the loss of someone who is still in the room, just going you know what yeah fuck you that person's dead and I killed him.

ANYWAY I never felt connection to 2, but watching videos of that me, I kind of did, but not in the empowered way, just, damn that guy was neat, it is kind of a shame that he isn't around anymore. I literally still boy mode, and barely look different at all, so he does still exist to most people, and I don't particularly act any different, in the way that I'm just me and I'm not gonna shape my personality to try to conform to traditional gender roles, I'm still just me, so he basically is still here, just dresses in women's clothes at home and is a girl online. I don't know what it is that I look at that guy and think it's sad that he's gone. Maybe that people are their experiences, and that guy didn't know he was a girl. Like, it was another few months before he realized it, and hence I am here, but 'I' am not any different from 'him' in that big a way. Like I think back to when I first got to grad school, and I think of that person as basically the same as I am now. A little worse at make up, a little bit less knowledge about the world, but not too different. But when I think of my life before grad school it feels kind of like a dream. Not really because of the gender stuff, I don't think, I had a year after that before grad school that still feels fuzzy, though I was also home, so deep in the closet. Anyway whatever the point is grad school has taken up like 95 percent of my brain processes the last two years, whether because I had to or wanted to, and so it's difficult to think of a time before it. So why don't I look back at myself from when I first moved in and feel the same 'grief' as I di when I look at the person one year younger who still thinks he's a boy? I certainly have a lot more expetiences than her. I don't have videos of from that time, cause post reckoning I got big self conscious about any photo or video with me in it, so there are very little of those after realization. Not that weren't very few before, but I got more vigilant about not letting it happen. A shame really, but oh well. But I don't have any cohesive understanding of what I feel. I guess this also ties into this feeling of wanting to be a good guy. Like you see so many fucked up men in the world and trying my best to be a counterexample of that felt good, so when I relauzed I was not a man, it wa slike damn guess not. I don't think that's the full extent of it though,

So I guess the point of this is I feel a sort of regret that past boy me doesn't exist anymore, even though I've never interfaced with my gender identity in that fashion before, AND even though he basically still does exist, just calls herself something different and has longer hair. And if I'm going to see that me as a different person, I better see me at other points in my life post gender as different people too even though I don't.

[detectivereads]

Let’s Buy the Land and Cultivate it in a Different World vol 1 by Rokujuuyon Okazawa

4/5

This review is for fan entertainment, I'm not being paid.

A friend of mine let me borrow their books of this series, and I was instantly hooked. I love isekai and I have read other books that are like this series, dude gets transported to different world, he gets a bit of land and wants to live a quiet life, or he goes off adventuring and doing stuff that in his old life he would never be able to easily. Nothing is wrong with this type of story line, but as things progress in the plot, the MC gets a harem, and it turns into more romance less than about farming or adventuring. Again, nothing is wrong with it, but the size of these harems gets big, and I think it turns into a different story. Now I like harem stories as much as the next person, however I do think there should be a limit.

However, this book isn’t like that, he’s only focused on one wife and one wife only, which I find rather sweet. The main character does get temped with other women, but he stands proud and strong with his wife. The other women are not trying to get with him either.

The story starts with 9 people transported to a new world, one that is at war with demons, so the humans have been summoned to become champions to help with the fight. Each of the 8 people has a special power or skill but our main character Norio Itonami has none, or so the mage of the king says.

Norio actual met a god who picked him to be his champion and this god gave him a skill so powerful the mages of the king are to weak to sense it so it comes up with nothing. Now the king of the land thinks ‘okay this guy a dud so not my problem’ and in turn the king informs that once summon there is no way to send them back to their world which upsets the rest of the champions.

So, Norio is trying to make the best of a bad situation and ask for some land that he can call his own, which the king was more than happy to give and tells Norio you are no longer my kingdom’s problem, do what you want and leaves Norio alone.

Norio starts using his gift from the god to make fields for crops and fishes to get food, this is when we meet our female lead, Platte, a mermaid. At first, she comes off very arrogant, looking down on land creatures, but she is upset now that she won’t be able to bare the shame to go home after being caught by a land creature, so she chooses to stay with Norio.

Now Platte helps Norio out on the farm. She is skilled with potions, and she is a huge asset to the homestead. Then we discover that she is a foodie, she has never tried land food and she love it and is more willing to help with the farm. Norio wants to gather more supplies from the local forest, they come across a dungeon where there is a bunch of monsters and loot (Norio gets a super powerful sword). Then we meet a new character, the undead lich king, who Norio names Sensei.

Norio tells both Platte and Sensei that he came from another world, and he was given a gift from a god which Sensei freaks out, Sensei tells both Norio and Platte about his backstory, how he came to the area because the monster population was getting out of control, but by the end of the visit the three of them became friends.

Before the end of the first book, we met one more character who is a force to reckon with, a dragon named Veel, who, after a fight, pledged her loyalty to Norio.

[8-evil-annoying-catboys]

idk i can like understand being defensive of your lived experience but that post (with like less than 500 notes iirc so maybe most of my followers haven’t seen it) going on a rant about afab trans women felt incredibly mean-spirited and close-minded to me.

there are intersex trans women who were afab and who look very much like any average perisex trans woman does in terms of secondary sex characteristics because of their intersex condition. do they deserve to be spoken to like that? there are bigender people who are only able to reckon with identifying as same gender as cis people who were the same coercively assigned sex at birth as us by recontextualising their gender as being equally trans on both sides, and who actively recognise that our experience of that gender is inherently different from binary trans people of that gender specifically because we don’t want to speak over them, and many of us also look undeniably trans regardless of what gender we are being perceived as because of HRT or surgery, or again, in some cases, an intersex condition. do we deserve to be spoken to like that?

if an individual who self-identifies as a trans woman and was afab is speaking over trans women who were amab, making false equivalencies between their experiences, or claiming they know more about being a trans woman than trans women who were amab, then that should definitely be addressed, but the majority of trans people i’ve seen whose gender aligns in some way with the sex they were coercively assigned at birth, who still self-identify as trans, trip over themselves to justify it every time they bring it up, and hammer in the point that they don’t intend to speak over or falsely equate their experiences to those of the trans people who people usually think of when you say “trans woman” or “trans man” (BECAUSE YES. AMAB TRANS MEN EXIST TOO. BTW). when i talk about my experience (rarely), and whenever i see a trans person talk about this kind of experience (also rarely), it has ALWAYS been followed by “i understand that my experience is different from most other trans [women/men] and i do not intend to speak for the majority or speak over them when i talk about my experiences, i identify this way because i’m [intersex/bigender/multigender/more than one of the above] and this is the only way i can properly make sense of my experience.” and the existence of both trans women who were afab and trans men who were amab, regardless of their reasoning for that identification or their behavior towards other trans people, will not change cis people’s perception of trans people as a whole, not significantly anyway. there just aren’t that many trans people who fit into either of those categories for that to be true. sometimes you have to give people the benefit of the doubt, even if you have a good reason to see the phrase “afab trans woman” or “amab trans man” and get your hackles up.

also… i did notice the fact that that post specifically was only about afab trans women, even though amab trans men also exist and there is probably a similar proportion of them who act in a way that is harmful to or speaks over trans men who were afab, as the proportion of afab trans women who act in a way that is harmful to or speaks over trans women who were amab. i can’t help but wonder if OP of that post simply thinks amab trans men don’t exist, or that there’s some inherent quality about being a trans woman that can be appropriated, but no quality about being a trans man that can be appropriated, and therefore afab trans women are inherently a problem while amab trans men are not inherently a problem or even are never a problem. i’m sure i’ll never know, but i wonder.

anyway. afab trans women and amab trans men, i love us. we are entitled to self-identify the way we do in good faith, and i believe that most of us are doing so in good faith. i know i am, at least, and i would always rather give the benefit of the doubt to someone and later find out they don’t deserve it, rather than to lash out immediately at someone only to find out they have a good reason for acting or identifying the way they do.

and i want everyone who ISN’T an afab trans woman or amab trans man and is reading this to know that i agonised over whether or not to include myself and my experiences in this post, but i need to be authentic even when it’s scary. i am part of the demographic i described wherein i’m bigender, and the only way i was able to come to terms with being a woman was by, first of all going on testosterone and getting top surgery, and then recognising that i am a woman and i am also inherently different from cis women—i have much more in common with the average trans woman than the average cis woman. not to mention the fact that thanks to the way i dress and act and look, i am most commonly read as a trans woman, and have experienced transmisogyny from multiple angles in my actual ass real life. i haven’t tried saying “actually i have a pussy” because that is incredibly dehumanising, and even if i did, do you think anyone would believe that coming from a girl with a deep voice, square jaw, patchy facial hair, and even an adams apple if you look closely enough? yeah, i don’t think so either.

i am lucky to have been spared from experiencing physical violence as a result, but every day i am more scared of the very real possibility of that happening to me. so let me say: please think before you speak. the experience of amab trans women is inherently different from mine, but most of that, in my case, is related to what gives us gender euphoria and dysphoria, and like, my literal genitals. i would’ve never been comfortable identifying as a woman if i’d never gone on T, even if i had survived high school, which i doubt would’ve happened in that scenario too but that’s besides the point. amab trans women usually define their experiences by the ways in which they transition away from maleness or manhood/boyhood and into womanhood, but my experience is defined by how i transitioned away from femaleness and into a comfortable form of femininity, and through that comfortable form of femininity, i found a way to settle into womanhood that was comfortable for me, without leaving my hard-earned manhood behind. i am not alone in this, and i know that because the only reason i discovered that i was allowed to identify this way was by reading about the experiences of two fellow bigender trans people, one who is openly intersex and the other who is not openly intersex but also has not claimed to be perisex as far as i know. i am not intersex, but i implore you to consider intersex, and also genderqueer/multigender perspectives before making posts generalising entire groups of trans people whose identities don’t make sense to you. it’s very likely that if someone describes their gender in a way that you think is contradictory, the reason they describe themselves that way is because they are intersex or multigender. we are allowed to take up space in the trans community, and you should not talk over us any more than we should talk over you (which is not at all… obviously.)

[thirstymercury]

I dont write anymore. I thought this, thought why?, and then immediately wrote my answer as if it was waiting in the wings. feel like im monologing into a reel recorder~memorializing~

my mom said her favorite color is orange i remember where i was in the kitchen of the new jersey house so 70s it makes me whirl with sudden recognition of my place in the unfurling ribbon, false time, fake decades, significant by colors, what IS and is NOT okay, women. i wonder if she and i were in the kitchen after dinner today and i was once again lost in the spider vein on the back of her thigh, If i asked her again- what would she say? would her opinion still feel like it was conceived on the spot? i imagine her shuffling a crayon box in her mind trying to inhabit the right to care, trying to reckon with the fact that someone else would care. i cared enough to keep it in my head forever filed with the other Very Important Facts, like "righty tighty lefty loosy" and to coun the seconds between lighting and thunder. I feel with some certainty that i will be my grandmother lost on the way back from the bathroom but it seems impossible that i would ever lose my mom choosing orange. privately i tried to cope with the dissonance of an orange woman who owned nothing of the sort but the previous owner's shag carpeting sewn into the floor. but she liked the orange starburst best. she liked the orange slice candy-enough that she would buy small clear plastic containers of them from the grocery store and keep them up on the higher shelf of the pantry with the things like salt, baking powder, flour-the things only she would use. something for herself! these are the things i wont forget. i think even before i knew WHY it mattered, i knew that finding any trace of my mother in my house jumped out like the rarest treasure-baffling every time, orange slice candy holding this sort of ancient feminine mystique up there next to the food coloring drops we'd used twice a year- crescent crystal crusted goo here is the soul of a woman i knew i wanted to but couldn't know. she is somewhere behind the role. she is kept in clear plastic.

there is one song my mom ever said she liked (adele's rolling in the deep! a good choice!) i was in the car of the van years later. i had given up on asking. but she offered! music! i couldn't hold the all of her in my mind. i couldn't make it make sense. my mom who used to drive us home from practice in silence because 'she needed it' i was too young and too heartless to understand and so i judged her mercilessly . i should have realized this was as much a moment of HER as the orange candy. she chooses silence. all meaning aside- there she was. but id roll my eyes rather than see her too teen too resentful at this point and later id insult her to my friends 'she has no soul, she doesn't even like music!'. i didnt know it was okay to grieve a missing woman replaced by a perfect mother. i still don't know HOW maybe. me and my grief are kept in heirloom plastic container, still some sticky orange sugar crystals crusted in the corners. me and my grief live alone now and i don't need silence but I forget there is an alternative. sometimes for weeks

at dinner, in the NJ house mostly, when he was almost as child as i am now, my dad would tell stories of his life. the highlights practiced anecdotes a cadence of something repeated, with character voices, heroes villians. i still know the names of the children on my dads street when he grew up, what grew in the garden, his favorite albums in college. i can conjur the imagery like he was the protagonist in a book ive read a couple times over. my dad spills off the dinner table. is all his life at once printed along the time ribbon.

if you asked her any question, tried to know her before we were born- she had a look on her face like someone caught daydreaming in class no idea of the page number. she said she didnt remember. anything??? college would have been only ten years before or less. i still don't know how to cope with what that means if it were true. with what it means that my father didnt even try to help fill in the blanks. he knew her then too. what happened? where did she come from? where did she go? old enough at five to smell the sadness. id lay awake and senseless truths would come crushing in from all angles. in the dark down was up and ‘original sin' and 'infinity’ and the missing girl on the milk carton of my mother -earth,air and sky-seeing a wrongness so ingrained the adults are walking right through it without a wince as if it’s not there at all! feeling the cliff edge of mind where something dangles and dances never can be truly grasped. I tried to tell them "my bed feels like it is tipping". hoping this would be a layup-“snow is frozen, the e is silent, here is how to hold a pencil and here is how to hold the existential weight here is why you can stop asking” No. but you will grow into the gravity. You will forget where the cliff is entirely or grow tired on the way, maybe you will put up a fence. You will walk right through the solid wrongness and feel nothing at all. you may grow to find yourself sorted with the baking ingredients. the things that shine seasonally. you’ll be up on the high shelf wrapped in plastic having no idea how it came to be.

[northamptoncouplestherapy]

The Emotional Lives of Men

I’ve been thinking a lot about men in relationships.

About how challenges like work, marriage, and parenting affect our lives and our hearts. As I gear up to launch the Northampton Center for Couples Therapy’s newest men’s group (Men Helping Men), I upgraded my knowledge base and read (and listened to) some fantastic books and podcasts devoted to supporting men.

In my previous post (My Experiences with Men’s Groups: Sitting Down and Opening Up), I mentioned I was an active participant and facilitator in local men’s groups for several years. This work is not new to me, but I am revisiting it from a different lens now that I am a licensed social worker committed to supporting men in relationships via my expertise in couples therapy because men —as fathers, sons, and husbands —matter.

Two books I came across (and was impressed by) include Levant’s Masculinity Reconstructed and Farrell and Rosenberg’s Men at Midlife. What stood out to me about both resources was the amount of emotionality, sensitivity, and mood swings boys experience before adolescence. Some research even suggests that boys are more sensitive, feeling, and moody than their counterparts. Meaning culture plays a significant role in replacing emotionality with the appearance of strength (or lack of vulnerability), leaving men with more responsibility and a simultaneous deficit of consistent emotional advancement.

Translation: we (men) sometimes don’t recognize our emotions or the emotions of others. It’s worrying because the research shows that when you can’t identify a range of feelings, you are likely to have significant relationship challenges, like increased anxiety around any emotion (yours or others). Plus, those closest to you might also feel this anxiety (because it can be inherently anxiety-producing to be in the presence of another anxious (or angry) person).

In Levant’s book, he writes about men’s devotion to work and their emotional withdrawal as tough challenges men are up against. And in Men at Midlife, the authors observe men going in several directions in their lives and careers, including into dysfunction. Much of this dysfunction includes emotional immaturity, where men rely on their partners to detect and satisfy their emotional needs. And men often don’t look for answers themselves or meet their partners with emotional curiosity. In his research, John Gottman found similar results, including a high incidence of crankiness, insulting exchanges, and the repression (or even suppression) of stress. Agitation can also stress your body (think headaches, nausea, chest tightening, and other unwelcome symptoms). So our emotional development makes us and those around us (especially our intimate partners) stressed and avoidant or less likely to be vulnerable and communicative and more likely to experience stress in mind and body.

As a couples therapist, I see this first hand. Men often need help to identify feelings beyond basic emotions. Levant urges men to increase self-awareness, expressiveness, and empathy to enhance their relationships. Martin Lemon, a psychologist, and researcher outside of Chicago estimates nearly half of American men have no confidant, meaning they don’t discuss their emotional lives with anyone. This is astonishingly sad and hard to believe. In our culture, loneliness is a problem all of us must reckon with, but women tend to have more friends, closer friends and are more likely to keep their friends over a lifetime.

Relationships factor significantly into Farrell and Rosenberg’s categorization of middle-aged men’s growth and a sense of purpose. The authors suggest that we are generally not doing a great job emotionally. They also highlight patterns of working too much and over-concern with finances and external, quantifiable, unreliable measures of success. We men need to realize that we matter, and more so that we are wanted. The authors discuss the roles of acceptance, stagnation, expression, openness, isolation, and control, and how they play into the roles of men and strongly affect relationship and employment patterns and overall views on success and fulfillment.

I have a practical example of how this might manifest. When my wife was pregnant, I checked my email excessively. I responded to emails constantly, putting in more time than I ever have (probably 60 hours a week). There were many ways I couldn’t help her —with her nausea and physical pain and extending general empathy around pregnancy. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how. My mind leaped forward to life with a baby too often. Caught up in the future, I alleviated stress and exercised control through endless engagement with work by phone and laptop through email, text, spreadsheets, and electronic records.

My wife recognized my increased commitment to work, and I had to take notice, too. It was becoming intrusive. I did not realize it at the time, but this increased focus on work was my way of upping my productivity, claiming a role, cultivating my irreplaceability, exerting control, and being effective while simultaneously becoming emotionally ineffective and lacking presence and availability. What saddens me most is that I realized too slowly my most significant role was as a partner.

The above observations clarify the role of men’s groups and reinforce the importance of their role in helping us sort through our common issues together.

I have always found the company of other men enriching, satisfying, and deepening. I believe that bonding, friendship, and overall emotional wellbeing can be had in the company of other men and that it’s a pretty brave stance —especially, as we come out of this intensely isolated time and channel our courage into connecting.

Join me in Men Helping Men where I am devoted to providing a forum for men where we can broaden our emotional experiences and bandwidth and talk more about feelings without giving advice. Experiences like this are essential, they normalize connection and are a potent antidote to shame and other sticky emotions. through vulnerability and knowing agreement. It can motivate us to bring better parts of ourselves to those we care about as well as to validate the ways we feel about our identities.

If these subjects appeal to you, email Patrick to discuss the group.

[atopvisenyashill]

#rightful#asoiaf#excellent analysis i am applauding your efforts#no but really i think the point is that no one is the  heir#it's all down to who enough people accept as the person in charge#and i can see them just saying screw the iron throne that was just some targaryen nonsense at the end of Everything 

lmao that is exactly my point in much less words. after the deaths of daenerys and aegon vi (which, no matter how you fall regarding their morality/heroism and legitimacy, it doesn’t seem likely either of them are living to the epilogue endgame. even putting the show aside, fans of both of them have been predicting their deaths since like, the 90s) and the deaths of all the legimtiate Baratheons, there is no clear heir to the Iron Throne left alive. You either have to acclaim a bastard line or a female line and even those are super far off houses and relations. 

edric storm seems like the natural heir for the stormlands but there’s a difference between making a castle raised bastard a Lord Paramount because there’s literally no heirs left and making that bastard the KING. and while some of the decisions regarding how the targs marry into other houses make no sense bc grrm doesn’t understand women’s roles in medieval era as well as he thinks he does (lol) i do think there’s a doylist reason for the targ women to constantly marry into nothingburger houses like the penroses or the plumms, as well as Distinguished But Not Super Powerful houses like Tarth or Velaryon and its to make it so there’s no obvious heir and the lords are all forced to reckon with the last 300 years of extreme bloodshed and their culpability in maintaining the systems that have frequently destroyed their houses, marched their sons off to useless wars, and eaten their daughters alive. its not about whose grandpa sat on that spikey chair, it’s about who is willing to step up and lead.

i have decided to break down all the wild potential female line claimants to the iron throne thru the targaryen line because why not let’s go:

obviously there's our "modern" targaryen daughters: daenerys, rhaella, shaera, and rhaelle. that one is easy to explain in part because it's mostly incest, lol. it goes like so (mind you, i'm cutting out male siblings that don't inherit for now) -

Aegon V + Betha Blackwood -> Jaehaerys II, Shaera, Rhaelle (also Duncan & Daeron)

Jaehaerys II + Shaera -> Aerys + Rhaella -> Daenerys

Rhaelle + Ormund Baratheon -> Steffon Baratheon. Steffon + Cassandra Eastermont = Robert, Stannis, and Renly.

so rhaella & shaera's lines are the same as their brothers, and rhaelle is the grandmother of the baratheon kings, which means like the targaryen main line, all of their lines will be dead or illegitimate as well (rip myrcella, tommen, shireen, aegon vi, and daenerys tho).

that leads you up from aegon v to maekar’s daughters, and since we are at a time period where no main character was alive, i made a little graphic to explain easier. let's start with daeron ii (since he's maekar's father anyway) and work backwards:

there’s several ladies in this grouping: rhae, daella, aelora, daenora, and vaella. we know ‘recently’ a targaryen married the evenstar, and timeline wise, it can only be Rhae or Daella, likely to selwyn’s grandfather. which means claimant number one is selwyn & brienne as king & princess of dragonstone claimant. hell yeah.

there’s two “dead end” branches next. maekar has a granddaughter, vaella, but given she’s described as “simple” it’s likely she never married. daeron & myriah, meanwhile, had no daughters but their son rhaegel had two, aelora and daenora. aelora married her brother aelor but aelora killed herself several years after aelor died (it’s a wild story but not relevant). no children. daenora married into maekar’s line tho, to aerion brightflame and had a son, maegor targaryen, who was passed over for aegon v. we do not know if he married or had kids bc it’s not listed and it’s not like there’s a cadet targaryen house anywhere so if he did marry, probably all daughters.

even further back is aegon the unworthy who had one daughter: daenerys. yes that’s right, our second claimant for king and princess of dragonstone is doran and arianne martell (and then, haha, elia and aegon vi AGAIN, love nobility family trees). and then technically, because the martells are normal and don’t die off every two generations, probably a few offshoot martell cousins. and a reminder that minus mysterious maegor, we have no living male line descendants potentially hanging around either. but back to the targ line.

viserys ii had naerys who married aegon iv so their line is the same. aegon iii, his brother, had three daughters.

daena has daemon blackfyre and given that he was legitimized, you could make the argument that the blackfyres have a claim lmao, so any female line daemon kids could be fair game. then you have elaena targaryen who had several legitimate children: viserys plumm, & robin, laena, jocelyn, and joy penrose. that’s right my esteemed readers our third claimant for king and prince of dragonstone is phillip & dennis plumm!

*loud boos bc they’re not even a great house or a house that used to be kings, they’re just some random nobles in the westerlands* shut up i’m not finished!!

through elaena, the only targ pulling her weight out here to populate the family tree, we have our fourth claimant as well: Old Penrose of the Parchments for King on the Iron Throne!

there’s no reason laena, jocelyn, and joy did not marry but we have no info on them so just know if they married some random landed knight, we also have some random dude walking around the stormlands who could be the next king of westeros.

then we get JAEHAERYS but to keep with ignoring men in this post, i entitled it “alyssa’s line.”

baby visenya, who was a stillbirth & jaehaera, who died before having children, are the two “dead end” lines from the dance. before them is viserys, who had helaena but helaena’s heirs are aegon ii’s heirs.

now, jaehaerys had daenerys, alyssa, saera, viserra, daella, and gael. daenerys died before having children as did viserra. gael & saera had no legitimate children. that leaves alyssa and daella. daella had aemma arryn, who married back into the targ family tree to have rhaenyra. alyssa also married back into the family tree and had three sons, viserys, daemon, and aegon. aegon died as a baby, we know viserys, but daemon had two daughters with laena velaryon: baela and rhaena. laena herself is also a distant claimant through the female line - aemon, jaehaerys’ first born son, and jocelyn baratheon had rhaenys, the queen that never was, who had laena. through baela we get our fifth claimant for king of westeros, the literal toddler montereys velaryon! rhaena is kinda tricky - she had no children in her first marriage, and six daughters in her second to garmund hightower but he was the third son and his oldest brother had six kids so it’s not likely the hightower line descends from rhaena however it would be really funny if it did so for the sake of making myself laugh i give you our sixth claimant to the seat of house targaryen, king leyton hightower and prince of dragonstone baelor breakwind. this puts a lot of people in the running tbh, bc leyton has a million kids. his daughters marry and have kids with an ambrose, a tyrell, a cupps, and a redwyne (and a mormont but jorah and lynesse have no children).

(it would require all the hightower male heirs to die [not likely, there’s three of them] AND mad maid malora as well to get to alerie but king and queen mace and alerie tyrell with willas as prince of dragonstone is so fucking funny to me. hey daeron how olenna’s ass taste now.)

before jaehaerys, we have aenys, who had rhaena the boss bitch & alysanne. alysanne’s line is jaehaerys’ obviously, and rhaena married her brother aegon the uncrowned. they had two girls, aerea and rhaella, but neither lived to see adulthood. maegor never had living kids, which brings us back to aegon, who had only sons, and visenya and rhaenys, who married their brother.

i actually had a point to this which is that there is just no one sitting on that fucking chair at the ending because there is no one left alive to sit on it that the lords would choose. they’re not crowning a penrose or a plumm and they’re certainly not crowning my girls arianne and brienne however hilarious i think that would be. i think “westeros breaks up along weird new borders” makes sense just due to that alone - the north will push for independence (maybe parts of the riverlands will want to stick with the north), dorne isn’t likely to be thrilled about some random ass king, the iron islands is…the iron islands, so the only kingdoms that might actually want to stick together are the stormlands, the reach, the crownlands, the vale, and the westerlands, but also, all of these bitches hate each other right now & a lot of them are gonna bite it so who knows.

anyways tldr female line targaryen claimants include these wild choices for King & Heir:

Selwyn and Brienne of Tarth

Doran and Arianne Nymeros Martell of Dorne

Any female line Blackfyres

Phillip and Dennis Plumm of the Westerlands (so minor we don’t even know where their seat is lmao)

Old Penrose of the Parchments

Montereys Velaryon of Driftmark

Leyton and Baelor Hightower of Oldtown

Through Leyton, who has a whopping 10 children, we have House Ambrose, Cupps, Redwyne, and of course, the fat flower himself, House Tyrell as claimants eight thru like, fifty.

[mermaidsirennikita]

i know it’s only been two episodes, but what do u think of iwtv in comparison to the movie?

Uhhhh much better.

Something that I'm surprised people haven't reckoned with in regards to the movie (and it went over my head when I was a kid, with all my privilege and ignorance) is how bad it is on a racial level? The fetishization of Black women, the ~exotic Creole~ thing? And obviously, Anne Rice is... bad with most sensitive topics, but the movie doesn't make it any better. The sexualized deaths, the Black pain as a set piece. Yikes.

By updating the setting and Louis in general, you not only skip glorifying a plantation owner--you also dip into some really fascinating, little-covered aspects of history (the upper class Black family, the realities of Louis's professional limitations and his own degree of privilege due to colorism) and the show confronts them head on. I did not expect them to so explicitly tackle the conflicts in Louis and Lester's relationship due to their respective racial identities. To me, it adds an additional level to their conflict, and makes their approaches to the world and the division they experience make more realistic sense. Lestat being less repentant over murder isn't the only thing that comes between them, you know?

And I expect that this "magic meets the realities of the world" approach will extend to other aspects of their relationship. I think that Lestat's damaging dynamic with his mother is another place they could delve into there--his trauma and how that affects his relationship with Louis.

I think that the movie, like many movies that are subtext more than text, gets upheld as Thee Most Gay Thing, when it's like... never explicit. Not with Louis and Lestat, and not with Louis and Armand. And while I understand the limitations on a mainstream movie in the 90s.... particularly one involving a man who was and is a part of a homophobic cult in a main role ... There is a level of flower-giving I can't grant. I can say "this subtext was a big deal at this point in history", but that subtext hardly stands up next to the real shit that you get in this show. Not just the sex but the romance, the love. The adoration. Sam and Jacob also have much, much more chemistry than Brad and Tom did. And to be fucking frank, they're both giving much better performances. I don't know what world we're living in wherein we suddenly have decided that Brad Pitt is a good actor because he's been famous for X amount of years, but. Back in my day it was just acknowledged that he gave consistently wooden performances, and Interview... is one of the most...! Compared to Jacob acting his ass off every minute and Sam being the perfect Lestat, like--come on now.

It's just a better, more interesting, more dynamic project in every way. Even it being a show versus a movie makes it inherently easier for us to luxuriate in the world.

[linkspooky]

TOJI AND MAKI

The parallels between the two outcasts of the zenin clan have already been pointed out plenty of times in canon, for example they're both incredibly buff. However, I thought I would take a deeer look at both characters, as they share both a role as the abused child that destroys the system that created them, and the same fatal flaw.

1. The Child Who is Not Embraced by the Village Will Burn it Down to Feel its Warmth

"The Ones who Walk Away from Omelas" is a 1973 work of short philosophical fiction, about a summer festival in the utopian ity of OMelas, whose prosperity depends on the perpetual misery of a single child. The idea is written around the idea of the scapegoat, a reoccurring trope in stories where someone innocent is blamed, or outcast for the mistakes of other characters.

All of this to say that both Maki and Toji represent the archetype of the scapegoats of their generation. Just like the child of Omelas, all of the problems in the Zenin household are blamed on one child.

This is something Ogi does to Maki directly, and also Naoya recognizes that the other members of the clan did to Toji. They were unable to face their own inferiority, so they blamed it on a scapegoat. Ogi blames his failure to become the head of the clan on his children. The entire clan is unable to recognize Toji's strength, because it would make them question their traditionally held notions of strength, Toji requires the use of weapons and can fight without cursed techniques, which means the cursed techniques they were born with don't make them inherently better with other people.

This is also related to Gojo's criticisms of Jujutsu Society at large, of which the Zenin Household is a very toxic microcosm of. Gojo's critique is that the previous generation will sacrifice the lives of the younger generation, to maintain their power, and in the name of pointless tradition. In the Zenin family "tradition" is the idea that inherited curse technique determines a person's worth.

Their entire system is built around one, keeping cursed techniques in the clan, and two, passing down inherited curse techniques from father to child. Which would go farther to explain the treatment of women by the clan, but we're not getting into that this time. Basically, the "peace" and the "superiority" of the household are built on the idea of marking and scapegoating an outsider, that is anyone who doesn't fit in with the clan's traditions. "If you are not of the Zenin Clan you are not a sorcerer, and if you are not a sorcerer then you are not even Human". That quote alone should explain how Maki and Toji were both treated as subhuman 'monkeys' by everyone around them.

However, the story shows us by both Toji and Maki snapping how terrible these abusive power structures are. One person cannot handle all of that alone, so they snap. Of course they snap. It's not a sign of who Toji and Maki are as people, but rather how no one deserves to be treated that way. A major reocurring theme in Jujutsu Kaisen is no one person alone, can take responsibility for everything, not even Gojo who is the strongest can save everyone he wants to save or be responsible for all of society he needs allies too. Toji, and Maki without allies, they snap and lash out against the same abusive power structure that created them. They are so thoroughly othered by everyone around them, that they embrace their own inhumanity, Maki becomes a weapon bent on killing her family even murdering her own mother, and Toji outright calls himself a monkey.

This is also why Toji is referred to as the "destroyer of destinies" there are two reasons for this. One, Gege is making a thematic point here. The abusive system built on othering and excluding children among other things doesn't actually provide the stability it promises. The center does not hold. The abuse of the system perpetuates and only leads to more destruction. Toji's outcasting isn't something that just hurt Toji alone, everyone felt the consequences of it because the abusive system proliferates and only causes further destruction. The second reason is a Jungian idea on which the story is based on. Toji himself is much like a curse created by the actions of his entire family. If Mahito is created from the fear humans have for each other and acts as the shadow of humanity representing their dark side, Toji metaphorically represents the combined shadow and dark side of the zenin clan. In Watch Man, Rorsarch monologues about how the accumulated filth of all of the abuses that happen in the city will one day rise up and affect everyone.

"This city is afraid of me, I have seen it's true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will form up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout save us and I'll look down and whisper no."

This is expressing the same Jungian idea, a society that ignores these problems will only cause the muck to rise up further and further until it affects everyone. The Zenin clan was a microcosm for the abuses of Jujutsu Society as a whole, they weren't the only ones affected by their abuse because abuse perpetuates. They endured it until they snapped and then acted out that abuse. The Jungian idea put forth is that this sort of reckoning was always going to happen, as long as the Zenin clan continues to create these outcasts in order to hold themselves up as superior, another Toji will happen.

2. Love is the Worst Curse of Them All

Toji and Maki also share the same flaw as people. Their abuse revolved around the idea of outcasting them from the rest of the family, othering them, continually putting them down and also most likely not even doing the job of raising them as children or providing them with the help they needed. We don't see much of it, but in the databook apparently Toji regularly had cursed spirits sicked on him to mock him, and Maki was locked in the cursed spirit room as punishment.

This taught them not only do they need to be strong on their own, but also in order to prove themselves they both thought they needed to be stronger than anyone else in the clan. Toji left Jujutsu Society as a whole, whereas Maki just left the house, both of them with the motivation of proving themselves stronger than the people who looked down on them.

This strong sense of individualism is their greatest strength, and also their weakness, as the situation is more complicated than being stronger than a bully. Maki and Toji are made to feel alone because of their abuse, however, neither Maki nor Toji suffer their abuse alone.

Mai was abused right alongside Maki, they were both outcasts due to being twins. There's no point in arguing which one of them had it worse, because Ogi was perfectly willing to kill both daughters right alongside each other. Maki does and doesn't remember that Mai is right alongside her in her abuse, it's... a bit complicated.

I mention this because Makiaated reason why is that she would have hated herself if she stayed inside that household with Maki. She put pursuit of becoming a stronger sorcerer above her relationship with her sister.

Maki later states "I can't create a place where Mai would feel like she belongs". I don't believe that was always her intention from the start that she secretly left the household for Mai's sake, and wanted to get stronger to create a place where Mai belongs, because Maki's always been really clear she was doing it for her own sake. I think rather after the loss she suffered in Shibuya, and also the fight she had with her sister in the school met, that she came to change her mind and realized she wasn't just in this alone. She changed her mind, that she wanted to be together with Mai, but she didn't change it in time and tragedy struck.

I mention this because Maki and Toji both share the same tragic flaw. Both of them have no idea how to be close even to the people they love, so they end up pushing away the ones they love the most. Maki continually shows behavior of pushing away Mai, and in Toji's case he does everything he can to try to show himself he doesn't love his son.

Maki continually pushes away her sister Mai. Mai reacts to getting pushed away in a not-so-healthy way. Toji full on deadbeats his son. He doesn't raise him or participate in his life to the point where Megumi can't remember his face or name at all. Toji did everything he could to try to give Megumi to someone else, anyone else other than him and avoided his responsibility as a father.

It doesn't come from malice on Toji and Maki's part, but rather it's a less savory aspect of their abuse. Both Toji and Maki believe themselves to be worthless, and that they can't be accepted or loved. They've internalized the way the clan has treated them. They are so isolated that this comes out in how they treated their closest loved ones, their response is to always push them away and isolate themselves further. Toji narrates this, he chose to throw his son aside because he wanted to affirm himself and prove that he was better than Jujutsu Society. Maki says to Mai that she left the house and left Mai because staying would have meant hating herself.

They are both trying desperately to prove themselves as individually strong, to the point where loving anyone else, or even requiring that love from someone is a weakness. They prove they are strong by avoiding the vulnerability of loving someone else. Toji and Maki both try to separate themselves from their heart in order to become even more physically stronger. For Toji his heart was his son Megumi who he did everything to distance himself, forgetting his name, selling him to the Zenin clan, while at the same time paradoxically believing that he was somehow protecting Megumi and arranging for things that would have been better than Toji just stepping up as a father and taking care of him.

At the same time Maki pushes Mai away when Mai does not want that, and believes that also she can return to the clan and make it a safe place for her sister by being individually stronger than everyone else.

They both approach their loved ones this way, because they were taught that one, they are unworthy of love, and they choose to try to get stronger by throwing away anything that might make them vulnerable.

TWhich is why Maki breaks so hard, and lashes out at everyone when Mai is gone, because Maki believed that keeping Mai separate from herself and protecting her was her way of showing love.

However, Mai and Megumi are like... people. They're people entirely separate from Maki and Toji and also affected by their actions. Megumi was neglected his entire lives, whereas Mai didn't get to have a relationship with her sister and felt like she was worthless and only holding her sister back. This is the central idea of Toji and Maki's abuse narrative, that abuse is complicated, and abuse proliferates and hurts people you don't even intend for it to hurt. It has consequences. Megumi suffers the consequences of the Zenin family's abuse because it turned Toji into such an unfit and emotionally immature father. Mai was being abused alongside Maki, and even ended up dying from her abuser's hand as her father Ogi beat her half to death and locked her in a room. Now, as a consequence Maki is lashing out at everything around her. That's also why the connection between Toji and Maki is drawn, to show that as long as the abusive institution still stands, it's just going to keep creating more outcasts like Toji and Maki.

[hotporridgepot]

Been There

I didn't expect the first Ghosts fic I wrote to be from Julian's perspective, but this idea struck me and I can't stop thinking about it!

I've always imagined Julian to be the first one to properly talk to the Captain about his sexuality, and this is how I think that conversation would go.

It was one of Alison's "talks" that finally did it.

All it took was a sharp hairpin turn in the conversation, a misplaced comment from Kitty and bam, there it was. Button House's worst-kept secret was sent spinning across the circular space between their group therapy chairs. Julian's suddenly reminded, as the Captain evacuates the room in what looks like shock, of a news report he'd heard when he was a kid. It was of an unexploded bomb they dug up by a church. Everyone in the area had known it was there for a while, but to actually see it out in the open was something else.

Alison looks upset. Guilty, even. She keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs and pulling her cardigan over her hands.

"I thought he was okay," she mumbles, staring at the empty space on the wall Cap floated through. "He seemed to - last time we had a talk, he seemed like he wanted to -"

"Oh it's my fault, Alison," Kitty wails, thumping her hands down on her skirts as though she's smacking herself. "I was the one who asked about everyone's favourite beau. I shouldn't have fussed so much, I'm so sorry, it's just-"

"Kitty, it's fine!" Alison holds up her hands. "It's not your fault, it's just...complicated."

Julian watches as the conversation trickles down its many paths again. "My cousin's cousin was gay," Pat's saying to a bewildered Mary. Fanny's muttering about how she had no idea, Robin couldn't seem to care less, and Humphrey's still on the other side of the room asking for a rundown on what happened.

"Do you think he's alright?" Alison says.

Julian shrugs. "Damned if I know."

But the thing is, Julian does know. And the answer is most definitely no.

It might be a bit of an absurd conversation for the rest of the ghosts, but he's different. He comes from the time of - of gaydars, of Canal Street, of "metrosexual" plastered across the front of the Daily Mirror. Of Elton. Freddie. George. Coming out was a thing when he died. To pick up the vibe from someone simply wasn't done in Robin's time, nor Mary's. Nor even Pat's, really.

"I should probably go and see where he is," Julian says, feigning nonchalance.

No one responds. Alison's already on the other side of the room, complaining to Mike about "ghost stuff". Julian thumbs toward the back wall.

"Anyone wanna - no? Just me? Alright."

It doesn't take long to find the Captain. Whenever he's in any kind of sulk he always migrates to the window in the television room, staring at the gate outside like he's expecting someone to walk through it.

Now that he's here, Julian's not sure what to say. Best to try and get on Cap's level, really. Some more personal experience sharing. Alison would be proud.

"I've been there, you know," Julian says. It makes the Captain jump, a hand clutched to his chest before he turns back around and ignores Julian. "A couple of times, actually."

Cap sighs. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"New Year's Eve, 1971," Julian goes on, sauntering into the room. He's good at this, he decides. "That was the first time. We were absolutely spangled on a fat bottle of Haig, started playing strip poker and before you know it, my second moon landing was -"

"Blast it, Julian, this isn't about sex!"

The Cap's outburst stops Julian short. He backs up, wincing a bit as the Captain turns to face him. Julian's never seen any of them except for Kitty and Thomas cry, but he reckons that this is the stoic army equivalent. There's a deep, grey heaviness in the Captain's eyes, like something's been keeping him awake for a century.

It hits Julian, with a wave of shame and embarrassment he's very much not used to, how the older ghosts must see him. While he'd definitely be on the way to retirement were he still alive, he's a baby to the likes of Fanny and the Captain. A thoughtless, boisterous, fraternity-going thrillseeker. Shit-brained Bullingdon boy.

He isn't that, though. Not anymore. He's lived past that. He's died past that.

His own escapades might have been the wrong place to start. He realises now there are much more valuable things he could be saying; now, Julian suddenly remembers the other side of it all. Because he also comes from the time of Section 28. The AIDS crisis. Newspapers talking about a "gay gene". Newspapers spitting what Julian knew even then to be pure lie and vitriol.

He knows it's a big deal that the Captain just blurted it out in what looked like a fit of adrenaline that came and went against his will. To think of all those years, every second of Cap's life and afterlife built upon this cornerstone of a secret...it tugs at something in Julian's chest. It - well, it's a rotten thing.

Cautiously, Julian steps forward until he's sat opposite the Captain on the windowsill. He mumbles a "sorry" and clears his throat.

"Gets talked about these days, you know," Julian tries. "Like that wedding that came here, remember? It's a...thing."

A lame end to the sentence, but hey ho. It is a thing now.

Then the Captain clears his own throat. "I know it's a thing," he says pompously, "but it doesn't quite feel like my thing, if you catch my drift."

Julian frowns. "Wait, so you're not gay?"

"No, of course I - see, even that word! 'Gay'. It meant something completely different in my lifetime," the Captain says, fiddling with the buttons on his coat maniacally as though he wants them to fall off. "I feel so terribly out of touch for having kept it all inside for so long, that I can't possibly reduce it to the inconsequence people make of it today. I don't quite know how to navigate any of it. If it's even worth navigating, now that there's nothing I can do with the information."

Julian nods. It's making so much sense now. Poor sod.

"We all went in different directions after uni," Julian goes on. "Well, to some extent. One of the lads I romped about with is -"

The Captain pinches the bridge of his nose. "Julian, I said this wasn't about -"

"No, no, listen! I was going to say, one of the lads is married to a man now. Another one decided it wasn't for him and never did it again."

Cap's listening now. "...And as for you?"

Julian shrugs. "S'not something I thought about much when I wasn't up to the eyeballs in booze, but I suppose I'm - oh, I'd say 90 percent for women, 10 percent for men." Cautiously, he leans forward. "See? People still talk about that, too. Working out how you feel and all that malarkey. There's not really one way to about it, if I'm honest. There's never been one way about it."

The Captain's face softens, some of the heaviness in his eyes melting away.

"It doesn't matter who knows what, mate. Just give yourself some time."

"I've got plenty of that," Cap chuckles.

The sun's high in the sky now, beating feverishly hot through the window.

"You up for a bit of volley on the green? Humphrey's been begging us to play."

The Captain looks out the window at the grass, then back to the gate. "Not now, thank you. I'll watch from up here."

"Suit yourself." Julian gets up to go, something blooming in his chest he hasn't felt since he was alive. It's been a while since he truly helped someone, he thinks, and he's proud of it. Proud of them both.

"I'm all ears whenever you want to rant for a bit," he calls back as he leaves the room. "Remember, I've been there."

[imagine-that]

The L word

Pairing: Spike x Reader, sort of Spike x Buffy

Warnings: none really, kinda angsty ig??

AN: takes place in 4x09, also I’m in love with spike and proud of it

“Summers what did you do with my boyfriend?” You yell as you make your way to the living room of Giles’s home.

She looks up with an eyebrow raised, clearly un phased by your anger.

“Aren’t you supposed to only come out in the dark?” She asks boredly.

You groan, anger seething through you.

“Slayer, I mean it. Where is he?” You ask again, looking her dead in the eyes.

She sighs, standing up and walking over to you.

“He’s not here. Why would he come over here at all? We all want him dead, remember?” She explains again with a sigh.

“I don’t know! Where is he? I haven’t seen him in days. I thought... I thought maybe he’d come here to take something but I just... I don’t know!” You whine, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

“He probably ran off to hunt some sorority girls or something.” She responds with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, looking back at her with daggers of a stare. “You’re cruel, you know that? You think I don’t believe that he’d jump some whores bones behind my back? Or go back to Drusilla in a heartbeat? Not that the two are any different...” You mutter with a bitter tone. “But I do. I fear that every damn day I’m with him but that doesn’t stop me from staying with him always, which brings me back to my initial question: where is he?” You repeat, looking to her desperately.

“I don’t know. I tend not to keep tabs on the non threatening enemies.” She responds.

You huff a sigh, rubbing your eyes tiredly. “Fine I’ll just find him myself.” You mutter, storming out the door and into the warmth of the setting sun.

You walk your way home, laying defeatedly in your bed, patting at the side where Spike would usually be.

After a lot of worrisome hours, you finally fall into a less than peaceful sleep.

———————————————————————————

The next day is spent wandering around, hunting for Spike. You’re restless and you know you probably look crazed, wandering around the town of Sunnydale in your sweats and tank top, your hair a frizzy mess and your eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

You wander mindlessly towards Buffy and Willow’s dorm, stopping outside as you see her familiar curly head of hair. Your breath hitches as you see the familiar white head of hair suddenly appear next to her, racing across the lawn, not caring in the slightest how he ended up there. Just that he was there was enough.

You notice the conversation the two of them had started since he appeared but don’t care, jumping onto his back, your arms wrapped securely around him as you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck desperately.

He lets out a grunt in surprise, chuckling a bit as you place a kiss on his cheek, ignoring the rest of whatever crazy conversation he’d started with Buffy.

“Hello pet.” He hums, smirking as he helps you off his back, pulling you into his side.

“I was so worried.” You whisper as he breaths in the scent of your hair.

“I’m fine, I promise.” He responds, nipping at your ear playfully and making you giggle.

Buffy rolls her eyes, moving to push you out of the way. You whimper as she shoves you to the ground, watching as Spike fills with anger, going forward and punching her in the nose, only to cry out in pain and hold his head.

Buffy punches back, making him wince.

“As touching as this moment was, I have business with you.” She growls, grabbing Spike and tying him up easily.

You try to protest but every time she manages to fight you off, threatening to knock you out the next time you tried anything.

You trail after them, not wanting to lose his whereabouts again no matter what it took.

You follow her all the way into Giles’s house again, watching in horror as she tosses him to the ground.

Spike lets out a grunt. “Hey! Watch it!” He growls, glaring up at her.

“One more word out of you, and I swear...” She threatens, pointing at him with a dangerous look in her eye.

“Back off Buffy!” You warn but she gives you the same look, somehow making you back down.

You feel weak and helpless but she manages to scare you. You can’t put your finger on why, more than likely the aggression but she’s a force to be reckoned with and you know you fighting her would only end in your death.

Spike rolls his eyes again, looking bored.

“Swear, what? You're not gonna do anything to me. You don't got the stones.” He says with a small grin, making you feel slightly better yourself.

Buffy scoffs, looking at him in disbelief. “Oh, I got the stones. I got a whole bunch of .. stones.” She responds defensively.

Spike laughs, grinning to her tauntingly. “Yeah? You're all talk.” He challenges fearlessly, his tone almost bored. You giggle a bit yourself, glad he’s not completely miserable.

“GILES! I accidentally killed Spike. That's okay, right?” Buffy shouts, glaring daggers in his direction.

“Lay another hand on him and I’ll kill you myself!” You threaten, jumping in front of your boyfriend quickly.

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. He on the other hand, looks at you, a look of pride strong in his eyes, making you grin and blush a bit.

“Uh um just a minute...” Giles calls back, sounding confused.

The two bicker back and forth while you wait, uttering threat after threat.

She grabs him, shoving him into a chair harshly. You glare in protest, making your way to her to stop her rough movements but Spike makes eye contact with you, tilting his head in a way that tells you not to try anything.

He sneers at her with anger in his face. “I get this spell reversed, they'll be finding your body for weeks.” He growls, making your face twist in confusion.

“Spell?” You ask, ignoring the heat of the moment.

“Long story babe. You’ll hear all about it when we blow this popsicle stand.” He says with a smirk, glancing at Buffy menacingly.

“Oh please, make a move. I’m dying for a good slay.” Buffy glowers back, stepping closer to him angrily.

Suddenly, the tension dissipates between them and Buffy is untying him, as he stands he allows her the seat, barely giving you a second glance.

“Spike?” You ask, confused.

He ignores you, getting down on his knees.

“Giles!” You cry out in alarm, watching with wide eyes at the scene before you.

As Giles enters the room, you watch the moment continue, frozen in your spot against your better judgement.

“If the two of you could just remain civil long enough for-“ He starts but then he gets a picture of what’s happening.

“It’s just so sudden!” Buffy says with a small, gleeful smile. “I don’t know what to say.” She adds.

“Just say yes, and make me the happiest man on earth.” Spike urges, smiling at her with her hand held in his.

You feel tears brimming your eyes, blurring your vision slightly.

“But- but I thought I made you the happiest man on earth...” You mumble, looking to him longingly. Again, he’s too enthralled with Buffy to give you the time of day.

“Oh Spike! Of course it’s a yes!” Buffy squeals, embracing him in her arms.

A second later, their lips are pressed together, moving in sync and you feel your heart shatter inside your chest.

The feeling of emptiness sinks in as you feel the tears running down your face.

Finally, spike looks at you, a frown taking over his face.

“Oh y/n, it’s nothing personal. I did love you but Buffy and I are just meant to be. We’ve got so much history, it’s only right that something comes from it.” He explains, Buffy draped over his lap.

He reaches to give your hand a sympathetic squeeze but you jerk away, cradling your hand defensively as more tears form.

“D-do not touch me.” You growl, backing away from them and hiccuping between sobs.

“Come anywhere near me again and I’ll stake you myself.” You whisper, looking to him in a haunted daze.

The happy couple quickly gets too involved in each other to care, shrugging and distracting themselves with wedding details as you back out the door, your mind whirling with the memory of seeing them together like that.

You always doubted yourself, knowing Spike could probably find someone much better than you. But you’d never dreamed that of all the women he could get with, the one he’d want would be Buffy the slayer. He’d always hated her and her friends with a passion so strong, you never imagined that passion would go into something other than hatred.

You make your way back to your place like a zombie, your head too heavy with sorrow to think of anything else.

You let your tears roll down your face as you enter, grabbing your things as quickly as possible and shoving them all into a duffel bag, ignoring anything you see that belongs to Spike. You sniffle as you make a small accidental glance at the Polaroid you’d taken of the two of you together not long ago.

It usually made you laugh when you looked at it, seeing as it was you kissing the air considering the whole no pictures thing. Spike had hated taking it but you’d insisted and when you laughed at it you always saw a small, hesitant grin come to his face.

You collapse to the floor in tears, clutching the picture to you desperately. You longed for his touch, the cool fingertips that would send goosebumps over your entire body and warmth all at the same time.

You sit there feeling useless for what feels like hours, the ripe vision of Spike and Buffy sucking face fresh in your mind, taunting you.

Composing yourself, you rise to your feet, dragging yourself back outside.

“I will not let him unravel me like this.” You promise yourself, taking a deep breath.

You pull a hoodie on over your tank top, walking out into the cool night air and off towards the graveyard, needing to clear your head. For some reason the graveyard was oddly calming to you in a sense, the constant quiet and sense of aloneness comforting for you.

Suddenly, you see the scoobies fighting demons out of a crypt. You roll your eyes, turning to walk away but letting out a sigh as you decide to be a bigger person and help.

You run over, grabbing one of Buffy’s weapons and throwing your anger at her and Spike into fighting off one of the demons in front of you. You stab it, making it shrivel to the ground and die. You feel oddly liberated and refreshed, which makes you go after another, then another, then another. Next thing you know, you’ve killed all the demons in sight.

“Woah! Can someone say rage, party of one?” Xander jokes. No one laughs and you remain sulking, crossing your arms and ignoring the couple kissing in the corner.

The gang continues fighting demons as they come. You’re having fun for a while but then you watch as Spike gets attacked by one of them and you jump, surprised by what’s happened.

“Spike!” Buffy and you shout at the same time, both running to him. But Buffy’s faster, grabbing him in her hands and making you feel green with envy.

A second later you’re absolutely seething, watching her kiss him in a moment of worry and passion again. You bite your lip, trying to prevent yourself from saying or doing anything.

A few moments and many excruciating kisses later, a bolt of lightning crashes across the sky. You don’t think anything of it at first, but then Spike and Buffy jump apart as though they couldn’t possibly be anywhere near each other ever again.

“Oh ugh.” Buffy groans, looking at Spike as if he had bit her.

“Oh bloody hell!” Spike cries, his lips curling up in a show of absolute disgust.

The both of them wipe their lips, rubbing at their tongues like they’re on fire. Spike gags and Buffy pretends to tremble in disgust.

“Spike lips! Lips of Spike!” She bellows, shuddering.

“I happen to think you’d be lucky to kiss those lips.” You murmur hoarsely with a sad smile. Spike looks to you in shock, clearly knowing what all had happened.

“Y/n baby...” He says but you turn away, starting to walk away while rubbing your arms for warmth.

“Go away.” You sigh, making your way out of the graveyard quickly.

“Y/n!” He calls after you, running to catch up.

“I don’t want to talk to you Spike.” You say weakly, not even convincing yourself that it’s true.

He runs a little faster and gets in front of you, grabbing you gently by the shoulders to keep you where you are.

“C’mon pet... I would never do that to you, you know that.” He promises. You sigh, looking at him for the first time in the past few days.

“That’s just the thing Spike; I don’t know that. You still pine after Drusilla so I know you’d leave me for her in the blink of an eye. You still chase around college girls, even if you can’t feed off them. And now you’ve gone for Buffy. The slayer. The girl you’ve hated since day one.” You ramble, needing to get everything out in the open. “I’ve always been here for you but you will always put them first Spike and that kills me, it breaks me. But I live with it because I love you. But even with that, I’ve had enough of this whole focus on what you want all the time. It’s... I can’t do it anymore Spike. I’m tired, I’m so tired.” You cry, tears flowing out of you like a river once again.

Spike holds you in his arms, rubbing a hand over your back unsurely. “There there...” he says hesitantly, clearly unsure what to do in this situation.

With his minimal efforts of help, you recompose yourself and dab your eyes, waiting for him to start talking.

“Listen to me alright? That thing with the slayer was not real. Drusilla hates me and I want nothing to do with her either. The sorority girls? Just entertaining and good to take out my aggressions. You’re nothing like any of them. You’re better. You’re better because you’re you and you’re mine and because I love you damn it!” He exclaims, his tone one of desperation and desire as he’s meeting your eyes through his entire speech.

Your eyes open wider as you look up at him, sucking in your bottom lip.

“Y-you love me?” You ask quietly with a soft smile.

He nods, smirking and taking in a sigh. “Yes, I bloody love you with every piece of me.” He promises, running his hand over your hip while the other cups your face.

You stay stunned for a second. He’d never said the L word with you before. It was implied, it was shown through actions and gestures but never actually spoken. The words being directed at you from his lips though, that was the sweetest sound you could ever hear.

“I love you too Spike.” You say with a smile, closing the tense gap between you with an electrifying kiss. You both feel it all through your bodies, the connection binding itself once and for all.

He growls into your lips, making you smile.

“That slayer had nothing on you pet.” He promises, holding you close to him in an almost possessive way.

“Really?” You murmur doubtfully.

“Without a doubt.” He confirms roughly, digging his fingers into your hair.

You let out a moan and without hesitation, he hoists you up, your legs wrapped around his waist. The two of you stay glued to each others lips as he carries you back to the cavern you live in where he shows you just how much he loves you and only you.

[drivingsideways]

Hey talk to me about your top three favourite kdrama women. What makes them special? What's a fic you would like to write about any one of them?

Mystery anon! :D What a lovely ask. 

I’m going to cheat a bit and divide my answer into characters I loved a lot, but do not want to write fic about, because I think the canon gives me what I need; and characters that I loved a lot but NEED TO BE RESCUED ZOMG.  (My fic writing impulses are 50% spite and 50% fix-it )

Caveat being that I’ve still watched only maybe a dozen kdramas, so I’m pretty limited in my knowledge!

Characters that I love a lot, but have very zero fic impulses toward:

Han Yeo-jin from Stranger/Secret Forest: What a delight! What an iconique character! Is there anyone like her? NO. LSY-nim gives us a delightfully complex character, and Bae Doona knocks it out of the park in every single scene, so I’m just happy to be along for the ride. I think what makes Yeo-jin special for me is the intrinsic place of empathy that she operates from.  I think “righteous” is a word that often comes with negative connotations (self-righteous, for eg), but I do think she’s one of the most righteous-in-the-good-way characters I’ve watched in kdrama or any drama. I’m tired of stories that portray goodness as “boring” , as unworthy of narrative breadth or depth, and I love that Han Yeo-jin comes to us like a breath of fresh air in our particular dystopian narratives hellscape. She’s good, but never naive. She’s righteous but never cruel in her moral certainties.  I think that LSY nim, in the second season especially, gave Yeo-jin the kind of arc that character deserved when she’s forced to really dig deep into herself to figure out how she’s going to live in the world in the face of a deeply cutting, deeply personal disillusionment, and I’m really hoping for an S3 to see how that plays out further. 

Goo Hae-ryung from Rookie Historian: Ok, I will admit this may be rose tinted glasses view due to this show being my gateway drug into kdrama, but c’mon! She’s a reader! and a Thinker! And loves her wine! She’s plucky! She’s cute! She’s got a wry sense of humour! She’s got principles! She’s got a solid common sense to her that somehow doesn’t get in the way of her dreaming BIG! Oh dear, doesn’t she sound like the Mary-est of Mary Sues? Good for her.gif,  I say! Anyways, Shin Se-kyung is unutterably charming in this (AS IN EVERY SHOW OMG GIRL) and I just have a huge fondness for free-spirited heroines who get to tramp through the narrative changing the world as they do! 

Lee Ji-an from My Ahjussi: I’ve never had my heart broken more OR restored by any single character. IU is *phenomenal * in this, I think she really stepped up to what the script demanded from her. Ji-an’s weariness, her fear and vulnerability, her prickliness, her anger and her bitterness, and how, despite everything, she fights : GOD. Just. Again, what I love about the writing in this show is that it’s deeply empathetic without being cloyingly sentimental. I think a less, hmm, imaginative writer/PD might have focused on the Lee Ji-an the victim, and while the show definitely tells you in no uncertain terms that she is one,  of both circumstances and a cruel society, I think it refuses to take away her agency over her own life.(Lee Ji-an when we meet her is too busy hanging onto life by tooth and claw to indulge in self-pity, but we also see the toll it takes on her not to be able to say “this is too heavy a burden for me to carry myself and it isn’t my fault”; the show I think approaches Dong-hoon from the opposite side- his emotional isolation is partly a result of his own choices, but he doesn’t see it yet, and so his journey is also about letting people in and sharing the burden, but also recovering his own agency over his life. It’s an interestingly gender-bent arc, which is one of the things I love about this show. )

Ok, can I please add one more?

Hwang Han-joo from Melo is my Nature: She just felt SO real to me. She’s someone who doesn’t have the spectacular brilliance of either Jin-joo or Eun-jung, and struggles with accepting her limitations but not allowing herself to be defeated by them? I love her struggles as a mother, as a working woman in a sexist industry, a woman who’s perhaps having to rethink and reimagine what she wants from romance. I love that she’s a little silly, a lot kind, and an optimist, and just. I just think she’s the bravest of the three, tbh, and I LOVE HER AND I WOULD WATCH A SPIN OFF ABOUT JUST HER (i shouldn’t have faves among the three i know, BUT I DO, IT’S HER, IT’S HER.)

Ok! On to the next section! And I’m going to cheat again because I can’t stop at three. SORRY. NOT SORRY. 

Characters I love and SHOULD write fic for if I weren’t such a tired and lazy bunny:  

Song Sa-hui from Rookie Historian: Oh, girl, girl, GIRL. I love how she fights to snatch her freedom from the jaws of the patriarchy. I love that she unapologetically centers herself while doing that, because she knows that nobody else will.  I love that she’s prickly and calculating. I love that she’s smart and knowledgeable. I am SO HAPPY that she got to carve out a little bit of freedom for herself, even if it also is exile to some degree. She *should * be Emperor Jin’s Prime Minister and steering the ship of state, while also carrying on a tumultous affair with Queen Min Woo-hee, while ALSO commiserating with Emperor Jin about his boyfriend Historian Min Woo-won’s regrettable tendency towards Principles (TM) and masochism-but-not-in-the-fun-way. (This takes up much of his time which is why Song Sa-hui is running the country, of course. It works out well for all concerned, well, except her dad, of course.)

Song Ga-gyeong from Search:WWW: What’s NOT to love about our brilliant, beautiful, emotionally tortured gay icon? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I loved how the show allowed her to be flawed and make bad decisions, and then allowed her to make better decisions and regain control of her life. What I do need to do, of course, is see the CANON LOVE STORY between her and Cha Hyeon through to the end. It must, of course, include at least one baseball game, a lot of tequila and messy beach kisses. 

Oh Ji-hwa from Beyond Evil: Oh boy, this year’s runaway hit cleared the extremely low bar for standard crime/ thriller shows by leaving more than one of its female characters breathing and with all limbs intact, and got called feminist for it BUT it didn’t do justice to any of them in any meaningful way and that never hurt more than in the way they sidelined Kim Shin-rok’s talent by not giving Oh Ji-hwa anything much to do. She’s a tough as nails cop, a loving sister, a devoted but unsentimental friend-and by rights SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE HEROINE OF THIS SHOW. My secret fic fantasy is to rewrite the show entirely by making her , and the two other female characters in non-antagonist roles- Yoo Jae-yi and Im Sun-nyeo- as the central characters, as they investigate a serial killer who targets women.  It’s the only acceptable version of this done-to-death (ha!) genre, I have no idea what the Baeksang jury and tumblr fandom is smoking when they hype the show so much, I want none of it. 

Jung Sun-ah from The Devil Judge: I love her rage, her spite, her passionate defense of women, her style, her sexiness, her rage, her rage, her brilliance, her tenaciousness, her smartness, her clothes, her refusal to hate herself for everything she is and chooses to be, her ambition, her comfort wielding power, her EVERYTHING. Dead, her? NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT. Here’s what *really * happened at the end of canon- she gets out of the building by planting that lady-like but still deadly gun against Kang Yo-han’s temple and making him lead her through his own “secret escape route” or whatever the fuck it was the show wanted us to believe. From there on out, it’s all sunshine and beaches, and scheming and waiting for the right moment to strike again-though of course, this time around, she also has to reckon with vigilant, tenacious cop Soo-hyun -another character who REALLY didn’t die for manpain reasons and had the good sense to leave her gay best friend to follow his psychopath boyfriend to Switzerland or wherever it is that star crossed lovers in kdrama land meet up on the regs these days- anyways, Soo-hyun and her are in this catch-me-if-you-can epic transnational honest and cute cop-and-beautiful sexy villain chase and yes, they WILL kiss (and more) AND IT WILL BE GLORIOUS. 

*whew *

Thanks for coming to my TEDTalk.

[fyeahnevilleslongbottomsocs]

YOUR FINGERPRINTS ON MY SKIN, A PAINFUL REMINDER! ⚰️ CAN BE READ ON AO3

❝Catherine Cullen, born out of wedlock to the late Carlisle Cullen and Elspeth Fynch, struggled to live in the village that had ostracized her since birth. At nineteen, her only chance for survival is to sell her body; ironically this is what leads to her mortal demise. Aristide Athanasiou of the Volturi, finds a Blood Singer in the form of Catherine Cullen after intending to kill her, but he spares her. And he spares her over and over again until the painful reminder of her beating fragile heart becomes too much for him to bear.❞

part of PETALS FOR ARMOR a twilight au series of one-shots! please read tags before reading the one-shot!

warnings: mild smut, blood kink ( ??? im not sure about this but just in case ), prostitution, possessive behaviour

pairing(s): OC/OC | Carlisle Cullen/OC ( past relationship )

characters: catherine cullen ( oc ) | aristide athanasiou ( oc ) | aro ( mentioned ) | carlisle cullen ( mentioned ) | elspeth fynch ( oc )

click on ‘keep reading’ if you prefer to read this one-shot on here instead of on ao3!

RED EYES BURN into her pale freckled skin, they belong to a young man of the name Aristide. Catherine Cullen doesn't have to turn around to know it's him, he's the only one who ever looks at her. Her freckled skin and long messy, matted strawberry-blonde hair made her less than attractive compared to the other women in the area, and, of course, there was the fact she was a bastard child. None of the local men wanted her and the village scarcely brought in travelers. Catherine loosens the buttons on her late husband's old white blouse, exposing her the chest before turning around. The young woman nearly gasps when she sees that Aristide is standing right behind her. She had expected him to be across the street, where he normally waited, every night that she came to these parts for the past month and a half. If she thought about it, she would reckon that it was unusual, scarcely any traveler stayed this long but he paid her well so who was Catherine to complain.

She clutches her chest inhaling sharply. Before she can scold him for startling her, Aristide reaches up in a swift movement and brushes over her bruised cheek "My sweet singer, what harm as befallen thy cheek," He questions her in honey-coated voice, his fingers are freezing against her skin but it feels good against her throbbing cheek. Sometimes Catherine thinks that Aristide feels to cold to be truly alive. He was a strange young man, the strangest she had ever encountered.

"It is nothing, Aristide, merely Pastor Cullen," Catherine says, "He does detest me so, and with his old age —"

"You should forbear attending —"

"You know that I cannot do that, Aristide," Catherine says fiercely, more fiercely than she intends to. The last thing she needs to do is scare of the only paying customer she has but that place meant so much to her mother. Even though Pastor Cullen had always treated her and her mother terribly, her mother, Elspeth Fynch, had insisted that they go as often as they could. Her mother had said that the place was very important to her late father, Carlisle Cullen. 

"He is old, Aristide. I have heard gossip that he is appointing a new pastor soon."

"Has thou? I am sure it shall be his son, that cannot be much better," Aristide says, sarcasm dripping from his tone and he's met with a solemn look.

"Afraid not, his son went missing nearly twenty years ago," Catherine says quietly, "On one of those vampire hunts, his father planned . . . No one knows what happened to him, we do not talk about it but I have heard many good things about the man."

Her mother had talked highly of him, Carlisle this and Carlisle that, was what had filled Catherine's childhood. Her father was all her mother talked about, his death had left a hole in Elspeth's chest and if he had not died than nobody would have known that Catherine was born out of wedlock and she wouldn't be facing the poverty that she is now. And perhaps her mother would not have perished so brutally upon that pyre all those years ago. Talking about Carlisle Cullen now did nothing but leave a bitter taste in Catherine's mouth. 

Aristide frowns, he wonders if it's possible that the missing man had found real vampires and if he did that would mean, he's still around somewhere. Aristide had not sensed any in the area but there are plenty of sewers that they can hide in here. He pulls Catherine closer, she was his and his alone. Aristide had been passing through London when he seen her wandering the streets late at night, in need of money for medicine. In fact, Aristide had not met a single supernatural creature in this town, not even a witch and they were almost everywhere. Although just because he had not sensed another vampire around, it doesn't mean they weren't there, they could have easily found a mundane scent to cover theirs up, the son she spoke of could still be around, hidden in the shadows, it would make sense as to why his father had survived so long without a single uprising to his medieval ways. This son could be hidden somewhere, anywhere in this village which means Aristide would have to keep a closer watch on Catherine.

He had not meant to grow so attached to Catherine, he usually killed his blood-singers hours after encountering them but for some odd reason he found himself besotted with Catherine. Aristide had know her for a month or so by now. It started on a night quite like this and her alluring scent sang to him, her scent was much better than her appearance, she had been near this exact spot looking for anyone willing to pay her for sexual favours. He had given her the money in exchange for her to come back to his home where she believed that they would have sex but he had other plans. Catherine was supposed to be his dinner that night but as soon as the door closed behind her and he moved to pounce, she kissed him hard against his open mouth. The very same mouth that had been seconds away tearing through her jugular and draining her of her life. After that Aristide couldn't bring himself to kill her, he let her kiss him hard over and over, pressing hot and wet kisses on his mouth and down to his neck. It ignited a feeling in him he hadn't felt in centuries and he knew he had to keep her around, for the past month he's been coming to this dump of town just to see her night after night. Some nights, she wasn't there because she had made enough money to pay for the medicine of the little girl that lived near her. Aristide doesn't understand why she bothers to work so hard for someone that isn't herself but he's grown to adore it because that means she has to be here to do it.

Catherine presses a clammy hand to his face "Aristide, are you alright? You have grown tense . . . Have I done something to upset you?"

"No, my sweet singer, I am cold, it has naught to try with you." Aristide says, pressing a kiss to her forehead with causes her to shiver.

"Indeed, you are freezing . . . Shall we go back to your place and warm ourselves up," Catherine offers, pushing herself against Aristide's cold body. She looks up at him through her pale lashes, his red gaze is hot, it feels as though it's burning straight through to her wicked soul.

"That sounds enchanting, ma chérie," Aristide says smoothly, whispering in her ear. And off they go, arm in arm to Aristide's 'place' hardly a block away.

Unlike the last few times, Catherine does not throw herself on him immediately after the door closes behind her and as much as he'd love to see her naked body writhing with pleasure and bathed in the candle light, he assumes she's grown fond of him; she must trust him now. He licks his lower lip, it was naïve of her to trust him but something about the thought of earning her misplaced trust excited him.

He lights the candles and she sits down on his bed, technically not his bed but the person who owned it before he killed them, but Catherine doesn't need to know that. He smiles at her and she smiles back at him albeit a bit hesitantly, her heart speeds up and he wonders why — could it be she possibly fancies him?

Catherine's desperate, desperate enough to give her body time and time again to a man she's quite certain is the devil. He has red eyes and he's perfectly perfect and oh so tempting. There is no way that Aristide is human but she never dwells on it for long, she needs the money. Agatha is sick and her parents are even sicker, Agatha relies on her, Catherine couldn't let her down and she doesn't care if she's sinning or not.

He stalks towards her slowly and comes to a stop between her legs, he lifts her head up with a finger and leans down to kiss her, slowly but passionately. Her heart skips a beat as she kisses him back, she reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, he snakes his arms around her waist. Aristide starts trailing kisses down her mouth to her neck, allowing her to catch her breath as he didn't need to stop to do that. He kisses her neck, finding her pulse-point with ease, he kisses the spot again and again, then he gently drags his teeth against her skin which elicits a quiet moan from her. So unaware how close she is to death, he pulls away to study her, her eyes are closed and her pink lips are swollen. Freckles coat her face as well as her exposed shoulders, Aristide is sure that every inch of her is covered in freckles, making her look like a constellation in the sky.

Catherine lies down on the bed, she smiles up Aristide as she slowly begins to untie her dress, he reciprocates her smile as he begins to unbutton his petticoat. By time he's pulled his blouse of, she's untied her outer-layer corset, she shivers again and he wonder if his home is really that cold. He, of course, wouldn't truly notice.

"It is cold in here," Catherine whispers, her pale face flushed, as her thin fingers begin to remove her blouse, Aristide can see that they're trembling and he frowns. He had forgotten how sensitive humans were to temperatures.

"Keep it on, my sweet singer, you will be warmer that way," Aristide says, and it will be easier for her to leave quickly in case something goes wrong. He unbuckles his trousers, Catherine hums in response abandoning her attempt to undress herself and instead busies herself with watching him, she takes in his too perfect features, his long black curls which were pulled back with a thin white lace. His pale skin seems to glimmer in the light of the candles, he was heavenly-looking, almost god like. But every moment with him felt like a sin.

Once Aristide has kicked off his trousers, he crawls over her and listens to her heartbeat race. He settles himself between her legs and pushes her long skirt down to her waist to expose her thin and freckled legs. They're covered in bruises especially her thighs, and they're all from him, as gentle as he tries to be with her he always leaves evidence of his strength. He tugs off her undergarments, his calloused fingertips brushing against her inner most thighs as he does so.

She hisses at the harsh coolness but arches her hips towards him nevertheless, He smirks at her and says "Eager are we now, ma chérie?"

Catherine nods her head, whimpering. Playing it up because she just wanted to get this over with, she doesn't hate it and she quite enjoys their time together but she wishes he would be quicker. She just needed the money, Agatha is relying on her. If they got this done with quicker, she could probably get home in time to make some soup for Agatha and her parents. Aristide was the only good man she had ever been with, outside of her marriage, but this was never about good, this was about survival for not only herself but those she cared about. It was nothing more than that.

He chuckles, grabbing her legs and pulling her close. Their hips meet and Catherine shivers violently at the feeling of his freezing body pressed against her already cold one, Aristide hushes her, stroking her cheek in a gentle manner as he tells her to sit up. Catherine does as he asks, they're so close their bodies were practically one. Although she, herself, felt cold, to him she felt like a raging fire against his own cold, undead skin.

His finger traces her lips before pulling her into a bruising kiss, she hisses against his lips but the hiss turns into a pained moan as he thrusts into her. He's careful as he can be, she's a delicate flower compared to him and he could easily kill her this way. He pulls away from her, muttering "You're beautiful," against her bruised cheek. How he longs to taste her blood, her skin itself was surprisingly sweet and he's sure that her blood is even sweeter.

"Thank you, sir," She mumbles, bucking her hips into his. Quiet pants and moans escape her chapped, swollen lips. She grips her skirt tightly, her eyes screwed shut and Aristide watches her every expression with keen interest from the smallest twitch of her eyebrows to more noticeable action of her mouth falling open as louder moans fall from her lips. He's learned to let her do most of the moving because it results in less bruising, at first he didn't care but as their intimate encounters grew closer together, he had grown fond of her and her safety.

He gently moves his hands so they're entangled in her hair, he pulls on her matted locks slightly. Her strawberry-blonde hair appears almost golden in the glow of the candles. If she had the ability to take care of herself, she would have been breathtaking. Catherine, in Aristide's opinion was unique for a mortal. He could give her the power to be so much more than that, he had thought about it for an agonising amount of time. But, Aristide had never turned someone before, it was usually Aro who did that and Aristide had went alone this time around. 

Her heart pounds loudly, mocking him and his cowardice. He was afraid to turn her, he could kill her instead and for the first time in his immortal life, Aristide did not want to kill. He thought about bringing her to Volterra but he thought it unlikely that Aro would turn her, Catherine appeared to be lacking a gift, in other words, useless to Aro. But, she meant everything to Aristide. 

His name is whimpered, as he tugs a little harder on her hair, Catherine's hips press into his. Momentum is growing, a feeling akin to being alive grows inside him, Aristide moans lowly. He swallows the venom pooling his mouth and presses his lips to her shoulder, over and over and over, slowly moving up to her jawline.

After a few minutes, her moans get louder and her legs start to shake but Catherine does not cum. Typically the mortal doesn't last this long but Aristide had taken it slower tonight, mostly lost in his thoughts. But now, it was getting harder for him to ignore his bloodlust, he trusts into her hoping that it would be enough to push her over the edge but it's not. All he earns in a loud, pained moan and then she bites down on her lip hard and draws blood which is enough to send him spiraling over the edge. He inhales sharply as he does his best to restrain himself, he grips her skirt so tight that it tears. Aristide doesn't want to kill her, she's too precious, too good to be killed no matter how good her blood smells.

He pulls away from her, stumbling backwards and he hears her whine quietly as she sits up. She goes to ask for her pay but she falls short upon seeing the ravenous look on his face, her grin turns into an uneasy frown "Aristide, are you alright, have I done something wrong?" 

"Get out," He hisses, he wants nothing more to tear her apart, he wants to completely destroy her just for a drop of her precious blood, "Get out now!"

Catherine scrambles out of his bed, looking terrified out of her wits as apologies profusely fall from her lips, she tries to move closer to him but he throws the first thing he can grab — a pot — in her direction and he screams "GET OUT!"

For a moment, Aristide expects her to flee, he hopes that she will but Catherine surprises him and she stays. Stupid, foolish girl. 

Her eyes, blue as Aristide remembers the Mediterranean Sea to be, are wide with fear. Her bloodied lower lip is quivering but she stands motionless and determined. And although, Aristide would never raise a hand to her, he understands why the pastor raises his hand to her; she doesn't seem to obey what she's been told to do. 

"The money," Catherine says, trying and failing to keep her meek voice steady, "I did what you wanted me to do, if you're done I would like my pay." 

A thin line of blood trickle down her lip and onto her chin, his red eyes zero in on it. Catherine's words become lost to him, her pounding heart is all that Aristide can hear and he can no longer control himself. He lunges, she screams. 

He takes her out easily, his teeth tear into her jugular with ease, her scream becomes muffled by the blood filling her mouth, some of it splatters against Aristide's pale cheeks. It tastes much better than he ever imagined, Catherine was not the first Blood Singer he had encountered the many centuries he had been alive but she was by far his favourite. 

Her hand slams against his chest in a feeble attempt to fight him off but all she gains is a broken wrist. The snapping of her bones brings Aristide back to reality, he remembers that he doesn't want to kill her and with great difficulty he pulls himself away from her. Catherine screams meekly, her voice hoarse already, blood pools out of her mouth as she rolls onto her side and curls into herself. Her small frame trembles violently with every sound, the venom spreads through her veins like a forest fire, she has no idea what's happening.

Aristide watches with keen interest, he had seen Aro turn lots of people but it seems different now, a whole new experience for his old soul. Every tremble and every scream from her excites him. 

"Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop," Catherine screams over and over, she grits her teeth together after every word, eyes squeezing shut as she hugs herself around her middle, writhing violently on the wood floor, her words fade from harsh and hoarse screams to a soundless chant. 

Aristide reaches out, brushing her hair out of her face, she looks at him with complete and utter betrayal, she whispers a plea for him to put her out of her misery. He doesn't, his bright red eyes zero in on the bite he left on her neck. It was not as clean as Aro's and it would leave a nasty scar, Aristide thinks that it will look much better than the bruises of his fingerprints ever did on her. His bloodied lips pull into a satisfied smirk, she was his forever now. 

[groovybaybee]

Coming Down

submission for the bi-ficathon, what a beautiful month this is going to be.

(1.4k)

“It’s embarrassing!” I whined, “I have female genitalia, I should know how to please female genitalia.”

 Head thrown back against the back of the sofa in despair, my eyes squeezed tight to avoid the amused grin on his face.

 “I just don’t get it,” I sighed. My eyelids fluttered open as my head rolled to look to him, attempting to hide his smirk behind his drink. Gaze focused softly on the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, I continued, “I can’t eat pussy to save my life but can suck a dick just fine?”

 “More than fine from what I’ve heard.” Harry teased, quickly followed by another long gulp of water.

 “Never dating any of your friends again.” I grumbled, avoiding his eyes by fiddling with the trim of a cushion.

 “Good, fed up of hearing about that thing you do with your—”

“Hey!” I interrupt him with a firm prod in his arm. With a sigh, I slump back into the plush cushions, grumbling, “Don’t know why I’m ever talking to you about this, not like you’ve ever had a complaint.”

 “Could give you some tips if you like.” He replies with a smug grin. It takes everything I have not to smack that beautiful smirk away.

 “Very funny.” I mutter, turning my attention back to the television.

 “I kind of mean it…” Harry says gently, warmly. “Your date isn’t for a few hours. I could help.”

 His proposition stops me. It’s not a crazy idea. I would be learning from an expert, according to the stories I have heard. It definitely would not hurt to be able to avoid another awkward conversation with a girl after trying my very hardest and still not getting them where they need to be. Fuck it.

 “Okay, hit me.” I say with a touch of faux confidence.

 “Right… um, what do you—I mean, I could just start from the beginning, the kind of stuff I do?”

 I nod.

 “Okay, so obviously every person is different, this is just what I’ve experienced with the women I’ve been with,” I smirk at his little disclaimer before he continues on, “but I’d say go slow, really take your time and appreciate them.”

 “I need specifics, Styles, help a girl out.” I plead teasingly, trying to play off the fact that I was mentally storing every word he spoke.

 “Just, you know, kiss them.” He says, hands gesticulating wildly as he searches for the right words.

 “Wow, thanks genius. Maybe I should just google it.” I groan, more frustrated with myself than with him.

 “Fine, kiss her everywhere!” Harry exclaims exasperatedly, leaning back into the sofa. He takes a moment to look up at the ceiling, avoiding my shocked gaze at his sudden outburst. Harry is always so calm and relaxed, seeing him so suddenly worked up feels jarring to say the least, particularly when his eyes fix on a patch of paint on the ceiling, softening as he returns to his natural state and pours his heart into every word he speaks.. “Kiss every bit of her, show her how beautiful you find her and how lucky you are to get to see her like that because you’ve not been able to get the thought out of your head since you met her.”

 There is a beat of silence. My gaze falls to Harry’s throat, bobbing gently as he swallows. Eyes quickly flitting back to his face, as if I have been caught out, I meet his eyes. Their usual warmth remains, but there is something almost pained lurking.

 “Then give her some good old swirly whirly coochie smoochies.”

 “You’re vile.” I tell him, eyes rolling dramatically at his sudden change of tone. At least he makes himself laugh. And maybe me too a little bit. “I’m serious, Harry, help me.” I whine.

 “Okay, serious tips.” He turns to face me now, sitting cross-legged and enthusiastic enough for me to mirror his position, our knees occasionally grazing. “As with most sex stuff, the wetter the better.”

 It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at him, understanding deep down that what he says is true, despite its less than romantic appearance.

 “Just try a bunch of stuff and see what she likes. Start slow and kind of all over… then I think you can focus in on certain areas. Then you can vary patterns, pressure and area and all that good stuff.”

 “I once tried the whole ‘lick the alphabet’ thing but that didn’t seem to work.” I confess, heat storing itself in my cheeks.

 “Yeah, I had a similar thing, heard it was great but in practice… not so much.” I cannot help but smile at his response, not judging me in the slightest for my lack of knowledge and experience. “I think consistency is really underrated. When you find something that works stick to it. And communicate obviously.”

 There is a beat of silence. A moment passes, during which hesitation lights up Harry’s face, pulling his muscles into a brief frown before he vocalises his seemingly taboo thought.

 “You know what you like, right?” He asks, his eyebrows still slightly knitted.

 I nod, not trusting my voice under his intense stare.

 “I reckon she does too, so I would ask her what she likes, or if she likes what I’m doing to you.” His voice lowers. His eyes darken slightly, still enough for me to notice as the sound of the television is drowned out, a sudden tension in the room. The air becomes thick, palpable, as we sit watching one another.

 His chest moves heavily, exhaling harder and quicker as the seconds tick by. I can only assume from the way his eyes trail down my form that mine is doing the exact same thing. Blood pumps aggressively through my veins until I can feel my heartbeat in my neck as his plush bottom lip slips between his teeth. I feel my lips part, desperately seeking air as it seems to drain from the living room.

 I sense his body close to mine before I feel it. The scent of his cologne floats around me, encasing me in a bubble of him. I dare not move for fear of popping it and losing his presence.

 Our lips soon find themselves in a stand-off. Neither ready to make the first official move, but both silently urging the other to do so. His breath is warm against my skin, sweet from the ice cream we just ate. Desperate to know if his lips taste just as sugary, I feel myself inching toward him.

 Noses brushing, we settle into one another, comfortable and oddly familiar. Eyelids flutter shut as our bodies gravitate together. Our lips are barely grazing when I feel a vibration against my leg.

 My phone.

 “Leave it.” Harry whispers, his forehead leaning gently against mine.

 I want to.

 “Sorry.” I reply, opening my eyes and quickly pulling away to answer the call. “Hello?”

 “Hey! I got off work a little early, want to come round now instead of later?” my date for the evening asks excitedly.

 “Uh, yeah, sounds good.” I tell her, half-lying. I quickly say goodbye before hanging up. “Sorry.” I repeat.

 “No problem.” He tells me, not looking at me, his attention fixed solely on the television. “Go have fun.”

 “Do you want to talk about—”

 “Nothing to talk about.” Harry interrupts, turning to give me a quick smile. “Have a good date. Hope the tips work.”

 “Uh, yeah… thanks.” I say, utterly confused by him as I stand and gather my things. “See you round, I guess.”

 “Bye.” He says quietly, continuing not to look at me as I walk from the room and let myself out of his house.

 If only that call had not come through. If only I had not instinctively agreed to hang out. If only I stayed a few seconds longer, long enough watch Harry’s head roll back and hear him sigh, “Fucked it, mate.”

 Maybe then I would not continue to my date’s house. Maybe then I would not have another poor sexual experience. Maybe then I would not think of Harry as she comes on my tongue, body thrashing wildly as I follow his advice, unable to think of anything but him.

masterlist

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

About Time [G.W] - Part 1

pairing: George Weasley x OC

series description: On an unexpected night out, George meets the love of his life. And then suddenly loses her. What lengths will he go to in order to find her?

word count: 2.7k

taglist: @p0gues4l @amourtentiaa (let me know if you want to be added!)

series masterlist

X

“Fred, why are we doing this? It’s utterly ridiculous.”

“Oh come on now, it’s an experience!”

“I’d hardly consider eating in the dark an experience,” George scoffed. He was flabbergasted when Fred signed them up for this “blind” dating experience. Fred never had trouble meeting women at the bar, but he kept saying he needed a change of pace.

“You never know what tonight might lead to Georgie. Maybe you’ll meet your soulmate,” Fred said as he raised his eyebrows. They walked into the chic restaurant where the lobby was dimly lit. As they checked in, the host explained that all the waiters in the restaurant were blind. All part of the “experience.” One of the waiters requested they grab onto his shoulder and a few moments later they were escorted down the stairs and behind a black curtain into complete darkness. As they walked back, the waiter explained that the idea behind the dining experience is that the total darkness enhances the other senses, creating a truly unique dining experience. As they got to table, he added that the darkness cultivates an environment to truly connect with people.

“I hate this already,” George said.

“Shh…” Fred said, as he kicked George under the table.. It was then George noticed there was movement next to them. Their dates had arrived.

“Hello ladies. I’m Fred and this here’s George.” Fred greeted.

“Oh well hello,” a voice said, “I’m Angelina.”

“Hi, I’m Molly,” said the person sitting next to George. She had a soft and earnest voice with an American accent.

“Nice to meet you, Molly’s my mother’s name actually,” George responded.

“Oh…does it…suit her?” she asked.

“I reckon it does. Although, she’s a bit sturdy so Bernard might have been a better fit.”

She laughed lightly and said, “Okay.” After a momentary pause she asked, “So have you ever been here before?”

“I haven’t.”

“Me neither. To be honest, I’m not completely sold on this concept yet. I genuinely like to be able to see my food and the people I’m eating with.”

“Exactly. Fred had twist my arm to even get me here.”

“Glad that we’re in the same boat. Not that I’m not excited to meet you or anything…” she added. “Oh, something just touched my elbow,” she whispered.

“That wasn’t me,” George quickly said.

“Well that just makes it worse! If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

“It wasn’t me…because I’m touching something else,” Fred stated.

“Yes, and you’ll stop that right away, thank you,” Angelina responded.

A waiter approached and began filling the empty glasses. George found the glass in front of him and took a big swing before realizing that the glasses had been filled with wine and he choked slightly.

“You okay there?” Molly asked him.

“That is not water,” he said. She giggled as she took a more reasonable sip from her wine glass.

“You might be onto something there. Maybe we should just get drunk,” She whispered.

George smiled and said, “Cheers to that.” He held up his glass and within seconds he felt her glass lightly tap his, which was impressive considering the complete darkness.

“So, girls, be honest. Who is more beautiful?” Fred asked. George knew he was joking, but he was partially concerned the girls wouldn’t pick up on his subtleties.

“Oh, I am,” Angelina said.

“She is,” Molly added.

“Excellent!” Fred beamed. George tried not to roll his eyes and luckily Molly interrupted his thoughts.

“So George, what do you do for a living?” she asked.

“My brother and I own a joke shop in Diagon Alley. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

“Oh no way! I walk past that shop everyday. And what made you start that?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else with my life. At school we were always coming up with inventions for pranks and we quickly realized that we could make money doing what we loved.”

“That’s amazing. And I’m assuming you went to Hogwarts?”

“You would be correct. Now what’s your story? Ilvermorny and then how’d you get here?”

“Yes, I was a Thunderbird at Ilvermorny and once I finished school I wanted to do something different, explore a little. So I moved to London and worked some odd jobs for a while and now I’m an editor at the Daily Prophet.”

“Ah, if you’re responsible for fact checking Rita Skeeter, I think you should pursue another career path.”

“Very funny,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “My area is much less controversial. I’m a sports editor.”

George’s ears perked up at that. “What’s your team?” he asked.

“Kenmare. I have family in Ireland so I was born and raised a Kestrals fan. And let me guess, you follow the…Chudley Cannons?” she said, throwing out a blind guess.

George chuckled, “Puddlemere United. Although your instincts are good, my younger brother is obsessed with the Cannons.”

“Puddlemere…that’s respectable. They’re having a good year. Been to any matches yet?”

“I’ve been meaning to, but haven’t gotten to it this season. Too busy with the shop.”

“You should go if you get the chance. They are unbelievable to watch. The Chasers are just so in sync, it’s mesmerizing.”

“Did you play at all?” he asked.

“I was a Keeper. I miss being out on the pitch. Just something about the buzz that was in the air and having your whole house out there cheering for you. No better feeling.”

George smiled, thinking about the days he spent playing Quidditch for Gryffindor. She perfectly described what it was like to play and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed the crowd calling his name whenever he took out an opponent with a bludger.

“Fred and I were Beaters. It seems like those were the best years of my life.”

“Oh don’t tell me you peaked in school. Just when I thought I had met someone interesting.”

George thought carefully about his response. “I’m happy with my life, but we’re adults now. There was something about being younger, having your whole life ahead of you and not having to worry about paying bills and making a living. I miss the simpler times.”

“I can understand that. I do miss sneaking fire whiskey into the dorms. It’s not as fun when you can just go and buy it.” He smiled at her statement, remembering his own teenage shenanigans.

“You would’ve had fun with us at Hogwarts.”

“You don’t strike me as a troublemaker, George,” she said.

He chuckled and replied, “That’s because I’m on my best behavior tonight.”

“Well that’s no fun,” Molly flirted.

Suddenly, George felt himself get nervous. He hadn’t been on a proper date in a while and he wasn’t sure how to act or what to say. He felt tense instead of his usual carefree self. He realized that he might actually like this girl.

“So…what kind of music do you like?” she asked.

“I mostly listen to rock. Recently it’s been a lot of the Weird Sisters.”

“Oh I love the Weird Sisters!” she exclaimed. “I see them every time they come to London.”

“They’re great live. They played at one of our balls in school and it was incredible.”

“That sounds amazing,” she beamed. There was movement near them as the waiter placed what George assumed was the main course in front of them.

“Looks great,” he said. Molly laughed a genuine laugh as opposed to a polite chuckle and George felt butterflies at the sound of it. He never thought he could be so attracted to a voice. Something about her seemed special. The four of them ate and sounds of silverware filled the air as they did.

“I’m still not completely sold on this experience, but I will say this meal has been delicious,” she spoke. George was racking his brain for a response that might induce some conversation when Molly added, “The company hasn’t been too bad either.”

Before he could respond, Angelina said, “I’m going to run to the loo. Mol, will you join me?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, putting down her silverware. George was grateful for a few minutes to drum up some conversation topics as their dates vacated the table.

“How’s it going?” Fred asked him.

“Good…she seems great. I’m just rubbish at dates.”

“Well don’t sweat it. I’m going to invite Angelina back to our place after this. Maybe Molly will come too.”

“Is it really going that well over there?”

“I mean I’m not gonna marry the girl, but we’re getting along well enough.”

“Does it bother you that you don’t know what she looks like?” George asked.

“Sure, but I’ve never been one to shy away from risk.” George shook his head. Fred and George were on completely different wavelengths when it came to women. Fred was never concerned with commitment and was always living in the moment. But George was the opposite. He didn’t want to waste time on someone if it wasn’t going to turn into something meaningful.

Molly and Angelina returned to the table just as the dessert course was placed in front of them.

“I need to know…is the washroom pitch black as well?” he asked.

Molly giggled and said, “Now that would’ve solidified my opinion of this restaurant concept.”

They ate in silence for a moment when Molly asked, “So what’s your family like?”

“Big. I have five brothers and a sister.”

“Wow, and where do you fall in that mix?”

“In the middle. Fred and I are twins and then there are three brothers older than us and a younger brother and sister.”

“I’m sure you had fun growing up with such a big family.”

“I don’t think I always appreciated it when I was growing up, but now I love having such a big family.”

“That’s awesome.”

“And what about you?”

“I have two younger sisters. We grew up pretty close so it is tough to be so far from them.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”

“Since the holidays. I always come home for Christmas and usually my family will come out for a visit at some point in the spring or summer.”

“Do you ever think about moving back home?”

She paused for a moment, “No, I don’t think so. It seems like this is where I’m meant to be.”

George had finished off the glass of wine in front of him and he realized the waiter had cleared all the plates and their visionless meal was ending. He took a deep breath, wondering where this night would take them. He just wanted to see her. He wanted to look into her eyes and confirm there was a true connection between them. They all stood up from the table and Molly and George walked out as a pair toward the lobby, with Fred and Angelina in their wake.

It was quiet as George racked his brain for what to say. He couldn’t recall feeling this nervous around someone he barely knew. As they reached the curtain, he stopped her in an attempt to express his feelings. He didn’t want her thinking he was just interested in her based on her looks.

“Molly, I…erm…I just wanted to-“

“Oh George it’s okay, you don’t have to do this. I can tell when someone’s not interested in me. But thank you for making this dinner bearable.”

Before he could protest, Angelina came whizzing by in a huff. “Come on Molly,” she said grabbing Molly’s arm and leading her through the curtain. George just stood there frozen when he noticed Fred by his side.

“Well, read that one wrong,” he said.

“What the hell happened?” George asked.

“I may have whispered some sexually suggestive things to her that she did not take very well. How’d things go with you?”

“I dunno. I thought it was going well, but I may not have made a good impression.”

“Do you like her?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Then go get her!” George followed his advice and slid through the curtain, excited to see Molly for the first time.

But she wasn’t there. George walked through the front door, hoping she might be outside, but the street was empty. He hung his head and kicked himself for the way he let things transpire.

“She’s gone,” George said as Fred walked through the door.

“Ah rotten luck mate. Sorry to hear it. Shall we go for a pint?”

“I think I’ll just head home,” he said. Fred nodded and they walked down the street a bit before apparating back home.

X

George couldn’t sleep that night. He kept thinking that he had missed out on something special. He replayed every minute of that night in his head, thinking about how he should’ve been more engaged in the conversation and flirted with her more. George certainly knew how to flirt and he could not figure out why he froze up with Molly.

Eventually he got up and moved to the kitchen to pour a fire whiskey. He needed something to take the edge off and numb the feeling of regret. He tried to forget about this girl but the more he did, the more he convinced himself that if he just saw her, he would know. And it wasn’t just about physical attraction, although that was certainly a part of it. He just needed to see her. The mystery was driving him crazy.

After his second glass of fire whiskey, he started to think about how he could make his hope a reality. He considered visiting the Daily Prophet and trying to find her there, but that didn’t quite feel right. He could write a letter and suggest that they meet up, but the suspense of waiting on a response would kill him. Then it suddenly hit him.

He ran into the room and started fumbling through a junk drawer, looking for one thing in particular. He started throwing aside Extendable Ears and miscellaneous Skiving Snackboxes before he finally found it. All the rummaging seemed to have woken Fred because a moment later his voice came from the doorway.

“What are you doing?” he looked half asleep, but still concerned.

“I couldn’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Molly. I just need to see her.”

“Well it seems a bit late for that now, eh?”

“No, it’s not,” George said holding up the thin gold chain that held a spinning hourglass on the end.

“Mate, that’s a terrible idea. Time isn’t to be meddled with.”

He put the time turner around his neck. “I can do this. I won’t interact with anyone. I’ll just stand outside and have a smoke while she walks out. No conversation, no nothing.”

Fred let out a deep sigh, knowing this was a losing battle. “Just don’t be stupid. And don’t get caught.” With that, he spun the time turner four times and closed his eyes. He immediately disapparated to the restaurant and hid in the alley way across the street. It was only a few moments until Angelina and Molly would leave the restaurant. George considered his options and thought it was best to stay hidden, he didn’t want to have an awkward run in with his past self.

He waited for what seemed like an eternity (but was probably only a few minutes) when the front door opened. A dark skinned woman with long braids was leading the charge, pulling the arm of another woman. She had fair skin, covered in freckles and deep brown hair that hit just below her shoulders. She was petite, probably around 5’3” and very slender. But the most striking thing about her was her smile. He heard their voices and immediately recognized the American accent that belonged to the freckled woman. Angelina was explaining what had just happened and Molly stood there, reacting with a new facial expression after every sentence. And then she laughed and George felt his heart stop. She was the one. It seemed crazy for him to think that considering he had just met her, but he knew. He watched the two of them walk down the cobblestone street as he tried to commit every detail of Molly to memory. Next came the tricky part, finding her.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Let him go, pt.2

Summary: When Nick decided to keep Y/N out of the loop regarding Lucifer Morningstar, he never imagined one of his worst fears would come to life - to lose her.

Warnings: ANGST

Word count: 2.2k

Part 1

“I can go in there.” I spoke up, annoyed sitting on the sidelines and being kept out of the loop. If Nick had anything to do with it, I’d have ended up either dead or in the church with the rest of them. I was lucky not to be at the Academy when the hunters came, even luckier I had found a pastime with a riveting Summoning and Bounding literature masterpieces.

“No. Not gonna happen.” Nick waved me off, not bothering to spare me a glance and I scoff.

“Why not?” Harvey raised an eyebrow, eyeing me with interest. He definitely had questions.

“Yeah…Why not?” Folding my arms across my chest, I tilt my head to the right ever so slightly with the faintest, coldest smile I could muster.

“Because I don’t want you there.” Nick’s lips press together and I roll my eyes, but Sabrina was faster than me with her reply.

“I’ll go. I was baptized with holy water, remember?” She smirked, shrugging my way.

“So was I.” I raise my hand, stating it a bit too bitterly. Jealousy isn’t easy, especially not when it’s between two women who greatly respect each other.

“I am half angel. I reckon I have a good chance to stop them.” Yet my mouth keeps moving as if I want to say YOU’RE NOT THAT SPECIAL SPELLMAN, but I don’t say it. I don’t, but I can sense someone’s in my mind, probing for answers. Usually I’d assume it’s the Weird sisters, but this is Ambrose. I just know it.

“NO. They despise nephillims more than witches!” Nick raises his voice, turning to me with a hostile look in his usually loving eyes. The hostility doesn’t come from anger or hate, it’s not animosity, rather worry. It’s fear. “I will.” Sabrina repeats with a sigh, glancing between Nick and me. His eyes remain on me, lips pursing as the eye contact breaks and I finally feel like I can breathe. “You’re not seriously gonna let her go alone, are you? It’s a suicide mission.” Harvey’s eyes wander to me, pleading. He wants me to go, especially after he heard of my roots – a half witch is usually less than impressive, but a half angel with witch blood is unseen. Well…until I appeared. “You don’t seriously think I tell her what to do, do you?” Nick smirks, shrugging it off. He watched them leave, his back turned to me and I felt uncomfortable for the first time since I’ve met him. Nick had let his girlfriend go, yet asked me to stay.

“I couldn’t…I can’t risk you. You’re all I have in this wretched life and if something happened to you, I don’t think I’d survive it.”  

His words aimed for my heart and I flinch with the sheer intensity of the truth hidden within each, emotional syllable. It was the first time he had made me feel as if I matter since Sabrina came along. I felt loved. I felt needed.

It didn’t last.

A week later he and I parted ways.

Nick stayed true to his word, giving me space to breathe and he had his hands full with the new Sabrina and her wish to convert the coven into a church per her father’s view. She wanted to make a difference and while I agreed with some of the teaching, I didn’t fall prey to her charm. Something didn’t feel right and while I was expertly kept out of the loop, I had time to realize how much of my life revolved around Nick.

What little I had left of him felt as if it never existed.

I can’t lie and say he didn’t reach out a few times. It wasn’t a face to face talk, but I did get a few messages on my arm – a little secret we used to have. An enchanted pen to talk in class, when he was away for holidays. It was our way to always stay in contact and from what I’ve learned, he had given our secret away when he made the same pen and gave it to Sabrina. I was no longer our thing. It was just a thing.

“You really should be more careful with your thoughts.” Ambrose Spellman settles beside me, a small smile playing on his lips as if he isn’t here to reprimand me for the distasteful thoughts I’ve had about his cousin.

“Stop peering into my mind and you won’t be as insulted.” I shrug, turning my attention back to the book I’ve been studying. I have always been one of the best students at the Academy. I’d go as far as to claim I’m at the same level as Nick, if not better.

“You do realize Nick is miserable without you.” Ambrose leans on his elbow, smirking once he notices I closed my eyes. “He’s always talking about you. I’m genuinely concerned Sabrina will spell his mouth shut.” He chuckles, looking around as if to make sure we’re alone. “I mean, there’s an apocalypse happening and in an hour, yet he’s still only interested in threatening everyone not to tell you a single word about it.”

Snapping the book shut, I sit up straighter and turn to Ambrose. “What, in the name of Satan, are you talking about?!” The smallest of smiles appear on my lips, assumptions of it being a well-crafted lie making my heart remain steady. However, the smallest inkling of it being a truth thrashed my usually peaceful mind.

“Sabrina’s father, aka Satan, wants to make her his queen and from what I’ve realized, it is happening tonight and we made plans to trap the dark lord but I have a feeling it might not be as easy.” Ambrose pauses as he notices me pale and I’m sure I’m barely keeping a straight face at this point. “Everyone’s in it, but you. Even the mortals.” Ambrose leans back, having set the bait and he knows this will be the reason why I engage.

“We’ll be waiting. You might want to pop in for the coronation.” Ambrose raised both hands in mock surrender as if he didn’t just drop a major bomb my way. He made his way out of the library while I grabbed my bag and frantically searched for the pen.

CORONATION?!

No response.

NICK!!

No response. I know he sees it. I know he feels it. But if he knew me, he knew it would only provoke me. Just because we lost each other doesn’t mean I don’t love him – as a friend, as a woman. I need him, even if he doesn’t really need me back. He may think he does, but he doesn’t.

I am the one who needs his whispers and smiles. I’m the one who needs promises sweet as the touch of his hand. I was a slow dying flower, turning sour and untouchable when he found me. He saved me. And ever since then I’ve needed the darkness, the sweetness and even now I need the sadness and weakness coming from loving him. I need his voice to lull me to sleep, his fingers running through my hair, the tender touches that brought me peace.

I need him. It was dark enough, he saw me, he had me – he just didn’t want me. He made his choice and I know what that choice brings. He’ll do anything for Sabrina. It’s who he is, how he always wanted to love and he will risk everything.

At the end of the day, I’m the one who has nothing left to lose. He has everything to live for. I love him enough to let him go…to protect him while I do it.

With a snap of my fingers, a long, blood red dress wraps around my body. The lace weaves around my arms into long sleeves, the silk falling down to my feet. A slight chill runs down my spine as wind dances along my uncovered back and I smile – the dress is perfect. With a sigh, a spell the only earthly possession I care about onto my neck, the pendant with his initials resting just above my low-cut decollete.

“So you always have me close to you.” Nick smiles widely and my heart stops. He’s so beautiful. I wonder if he knows that he’s more than just a body though. He’s beautiful, inside and out. And he’s gifting me jewelry, something I’ve never had. How did he know?

Struggling to keep my tears in, I smile, looking down on the half a heart pendant. “I love it.”

I love you. I wanted to tell him. I did. I wanted him to know and to hell with it, but I couldn’t. To be so brave, to tell him what weighs on me is to risk losing him. He’d be uncomfortable around me if he didn’t feel it and I couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.

Instead of waiting for an invite, I followed the screams.

“Lanuae Magicae.”

Transporting myself into the ballroom wasn’t the plan, but I had to hurry. And I was right to.

“Well played, Spellman.” I hear Nick’s voice, instinctively looking for him and it seems as if he had felt me too as he turns to me, our eyes meeting. The surprise passing his features made my lips twitch, wanting to smile. It’s inevitable – Nick always makes me smile. But our reunion is cut short, the prison they tried to hold Satan in falling apart and I step back, looking to Nick in a panic, but he’s looking at her. He always is. “You try and try to defeat me. I am the Great Satan that no prison may contain!” Ignoring how handsome Lucifer is, I close my eyes and swallow thickly. Opening them again, I look at him and every time I look at him I know. I know he’s never going to be mine. But I can make sure he has his happy ending. “I can’t restrain him for long.” Sabrina warns and I take a step closer while Nick speaks. I always believed he’d be back to me – that we’d become more in time and we’d work out. We’d be the couple everyone envies – the power couple. I always wondered how he looks at me with so much love and tenderness but holds not romantic feelings. “There’s nothing stronger than an Acheron.” Nick exclaims, panic written on his face, fear rising in his eyes and clouding his judgment.

“Incorrect, Mr. Scratch. The mightiest prison is the first one, created by the False God. The human body. Flesh and bone. The strongest and most sacred bindings in nature.” Lilith explains, her own fear evident as she looks to Lucifer who was ready to kill everyone in the room. “It has to be me.” Sabrina says and I hear him scream “No” as he used to do for me. He doesn’t want to lose her. He can’t. He’d do anything for her and I’d do anything for him. “I’m the best binder and conjuror since Edward Spellman. If anyone can keep Him trapped, it’s me.” He exclaims, but I shake my head and look back at him only to see anything but certainty in his eyes. He feels like he must do it.

“No.” I step forth, determined – more than he is. “I am the best binder and conjuror.” Smiling, truthfully, I speak before he can interrupt me. “You love her. I love you. This is a testament to how much. Don’t forget me.” I plead, keeping my eyes on him as his lips quiver and shock paralyzes him. “Carne teneantur tenere tenebrasque.” I begin without so much as blinking. I don’t want to miss a single moment of the last time I will ever see him. Nick is trashing against someone. They’re holding him back. He’s muttering something and I can’t understand what, my focus must remain untouched. “Palatium, carcere…” And my mind darkens.

Gasping, I find myself on the sidelines, my body no longer mine to control as I leap toward Sabrina only for my eyes to close with Ambrose’s spell. “A sleeping spell. Well done.”

I think to myself, keeping an ear out to the outside. I can hear them, but it’s distant.

“You’ve made a big mistake, little nephillim.” Lucifer appears and I roll my eyes at him.

“Shh.” I point up, telling him to listen which only insults him.

“HOW DARE YOU TELL ME TO SHUT UP?!”

“Gah, you’re annoying.” I groan, casting a spell to bind him but it doesn’t work.

“Really thought you’re in control? Think again, little one!”

“Shit!”

What I didn’t know is how they decided my fate after I’ve fallen. “What happens now?” Sabrina asks, watching Nick crying over Y/N’s body, calling for her, muttering spells like it would make a difference. “You won’t like it, I’m afraid.” Lilith frowns, a sincere look of compassion in the borrowed eyes of Mary Wardwell.

“You’re not touching her!” Nick growls, his eyes focusing on her pale face and dark red lips – his favorite lipstick from the past times she’d asked for his opinion. He always chooses maroon. He won’t be able to again.

“She’s not going to Hell with you. I will make an impenetrable room at the Academy.” Nick promised, his heart aching and breaking at the sight of his necklace resting on her chest. She wore it – even now.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” And that’s when Nick fell asleep too.

PART 3