#something about his thing with mirrors having so many fucking layers of symbolism

[go-to-the-mirror]

cecil is most often described in how he looks like his father

[yuri-cocaine]

i finished pandae so thoughts below the cut BUT I HAVE TO YELL ABOUT SOMETHING FIRST

IVALICE STANS HOW WE DOING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i knew there has to be a reason why themis looks like ramza beyond “it’s a cute shonen face” and there has to be a reason why lahabrea’s dark armor creations were in mullonde!!! the heart of sabik is auracite that athena tampered with and what do you know, xiv’s ultima the high seraph is a primal summoned from another world. i’ve been crackpot theorizing lahabrea was behind the summoning of ultima and manipulating the war of lions based on nothing but the presence of the dark armor miniboss and now we get actual confirmation that his wife is the first to make contact with auracite and possibly ultima too. themis’s ramza resemblance is probably symbolic but i wouldn’t rule out that ramza has even met elidibus before.

AURACITE EXISTED BEFORE THE SUNDERING. ULTIMA THE HIGH SERAPH EXISTED BEFORE THE SUNDERING. 

this might also explain why the convocation seats are named after the scions of light from ff12--because they first convocation members probably were the actual scions of light that rose in opposition to the lucavi. elidibus and azem seats could be added later idk

the heart of sabik being auracite could also explain why lahabrea went from Stern Professor Who Won’t Round Up Your Grade to the bonkers version we know. auracite amplifies and twists your desires into something destructive, like with bagamnan and his wish to destroy the garlean empire. lahabrea’s duty to the star was probably similarly warped to him taking glee in destroying the shards, explaining why he’s a mustache twirling cackling villain as opposed to emet seeing the rejoining as a depressing burden. 

final thing: lahabrea is all about fire magicks. his sigil is from mateus’s glyph tho, and mateus is an esper of ice. he really is in opposition to mateus, and his dual personality even references the og mateus the ivalice one is named after. this has layers. 

about the fights: the first one was kinda easy, the second was a bit tricky, the third killed me bc i was too busy crying, BUT ATHENA. HOLY FUCK. SHE’S A GORGEOUS BUTTERFLY THAT SUMMONS HIGH SERAPH ADDS. i saw yet another take about how xiv female bosses are all sexy and boring but like....athena is supposed to be beautiful that’s how she masks her sinister motives and why she got so many ppl under her sway. let’s use our noggins before making hot takes on patch day 1 for clout. 

im so fucking glad that the “erich is our lahabrea” theory got debunked lol. i thought claudien was an erich shard because they share similar skin tone and eye color. that’s why when erich bade us farewell, i wasn’t too sad because he’s still here in aporia and we can talk to him whenever we want. (unlike ryne and gaia....haha..... ;_;)

THEMIS THO ;-; im glad they made it canon that the wol feels absolutely terrible about killing elidibus. in the ew msq we have the options of saying “I’m sorry.” to elidibus before he sends us to elpis, and now in pandae we look miserable when themis tells us athena is making him fight us. the scene when he’s starting to dissipate in the convocation meeting room mirrors his last moments in 5.3, but this time we save him!!!!! my wol finally got off her ass and used her healing on him!!!!!! way to go yuma 

i lost my mind when themis spoke to us as a friend tho. he has the face of a kyoani protag and the deepest voice in the cast. i will miss you so much my fluffy boy!!!!!! you deserve all the happiness in the world!!!! when he was drifting in the aetherial sea and the light started shining i was crying i hope his next life is full of joy. 

(massive copium: no themis minion means we get to see him again in the future even tho he should be like a baby lol)

i liked when erich said that he went around looking for the wol after abyssos wrapped up. my headcanon is that he approached my azem and asked to see the absurdly strong rabbit person familiar again, and azem was like “uhhh ummm okay....here” and she pulls out a little red bunny. “this is her resting mode,” says azem. “she used up too much strength investigating pandaemonium.”

[ojirocardigansniper]

impostign a poem this is straight up An Event .

watched cj da fucking x clip in my skills tag (what its FOR.) and resolutely i picked a poem to edit and post. ifyou like bsd pwease know its about my unrequited (in the same way) odazai crazy. if you don't then it's loosely about a teenager propositioning his older friend/mentor. and also he fundamentally believes he isn't worthy of human tenderness or something. anyway. i included some layers in the form, and there is a subtext (i don't know how easy to pick up if youdon't know the. characters though) you might enjoy reading it a couple times. :) pwease letme know if you read it! and anything you liked or thought. i love yuo

--

meaningless touch, you wish he would, but he wouldn't; you are too young (too empty). can't really look that in the eyes for long. what about not looking? attempting touch? no. it wouldn't be meaningless. so it can't happen. out beyond pretense of safety or comfort. (sick and ugly, to let it pretend to mean nothing.) either you're a heavy / empty symbol or a real and living child. child? debatable. (but on enough axes to leave the argument spinning, an unpleasant taste in his better mouth.) one can have and still be lonely. not satisfied, cold. (who else would willingly spend time around the deep hole of you?) he harbors a level of understanding that isn't admitted, but you know he sees in your shape his starving youth— the mirror across the bar. (you're too much a symbol of too many things, and you'd never give enough of yourself up— do you even have enough to give?— to wipe away the refractions.) to touch without safety, without comfort- that couldn't be meaningless. (like laying down beside a sleep-paralysis demon, wide awake.) he tells you, almost grave—  it's been considered. (and deemed too dangerous.) you won't get what you want, in truth or in lie, little pit trap.

thanks for. reading :) i love you

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

9: Helplessness

Heal my Wounds

grief/distance/helplessness

Warnings: Lady whump (environmental), recovery, nightmares

This is part of a series. If you haven’t, I suggest starting at Part 1.

.

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It was a bleak awakening. Valadan’s head was pounding from all the tears he had cried the previous day, and from a lack of water. His mouth was dry as well, his lips cracked. He stared up at the ceiling, wishing he could just fall asleep again. Sleep, and never wake up; at least not for a hundred years, like in that one silly fairytale his brother had told him when they were young. That way he wouldn’t have to face this day, and the consequences of his fucking arrogance.

But he had to get up. He had to find something to drink, and to take a piss. Most of all, he had to find out if Josephine had made it. And he was fucking terrified of the possibility that she hadn’t.

Valadan groaned as he rolled to the side, swinging his legs out of the bed. For a while he just sat there, cradling his head, staring at the floor instead of the ceiling now. Then his body reminded him of all he should be taking care of and he struggled to his feet. Walking over to a pile of clothes that might or might not have been cleaned before his departure, he pulled out the shirt that looked the most presentable. Dark brown fabric with some pretty embroidery at the sleeves, and only one visible stain. Okay, so those clothes had not been cleaned.

He took less care with the pants, grabbing the first pair he found, some washed out green, putting them on. On his way to the door, he ignored the pile of discarded armor, and slipped into a pair of low shoes. A quick glance down the hall revealed it to be empty. That was nice. Even nicer that it stayed empty until he had made it to the closest washing room.

He remained unbothered as he relieved himself, and as he splashed some water into his face. Inspecting his hands, he found that the few scratches he had caused himself had scabbed over and the traces of blood were gone. That was about the only positive thing he could think of, though. He probably looked like shit. Luckily, this room didn’t have any mirrors.

After drinking some water, there was no way to delay the inevitable any longer. Heart beating up to his throat, he made his way to the hospital. Before he had even crossed half the distance, his hands were wet with sweat and he wiped them against his pants.

The entrance to the hospital was a large double door, engraved with symbols of fire and healing. Valadan pulled one wing open, taking a deep breath. It smelled like sickness and herbs and alcohol — not the good kind.

He entered, pulling the door quietly closed behind him. There weren’t many people around. Three standing on the far side of the room, busy with conversation, and one a bit closer, messing with an assortment of tools and herbs on a broad table.

Valadan approached the latter. “Excuse me,” he said as soon as he was in earshot.

“What do you want?” the healer asked curtly. She was either busy, or rude, or both.

“Josephine Lightwood?” Valadan asked. “She’s —”

“Over there,” the healer cut him off, gesturing vaguely in the direction of a bunch of beds. Only one of them was in use, so it had to be her, even if Valadan couldn’t make out any details from where he was standing.

If she was in a bed, that meant she was alive. His hastily mumbled ‘thank you’ was barely discernible, but it didn’t seem like the healer cared, already busy with her work again.

Valadan’s legs were shaky as he walked over to the bed. The closer he came, the slower he moved. Josephine was covered with a white blanket, pulled almost up to her chin, her arms resting above it. Her skin, or what was visible of it, was almost as pale. Her right arm was hidden in thick layers of bandages, and more bandages were wrapped around her head. They covered her left eye, while her right eye was swollen shut, with bruises coloring her temple and cheek.

Stopping in front of the bed, Valadan swallowed. Fuck. This was so much worse than he had hoped, yet so much better than he had feared. She was alive. Everything else could be healed… could it? The images of her broken limbs moving as he carried her returned, and he struggled to fight them back.

“Do you —” he started to ask, then trailed off. It really didn’t seem like anyone cared if he was here or not, so why should he ask? He grabbed a chair that was standing next to another, empty bed, and dragged it closer. 

‘I’m sorry,’ was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say it out loud. It would be a cowardly thing to apologize like this, when she couldn’t hear it; when she couldn’t tell him where he could stick his worthless apology.

With nothing better to do, and no chance of managing to focus on anything else, Valadan decided to stay. He stared at the blanket, and at Josephine’s hand, and anywhere that wasn’t her bruised face and her bloodless lips.

How much time had passed when she started to stir, he couldn’t tell. It was a weak twitching of her fingers, a quiet whimper followed by irregular breaths that made him flinch. He should fuck off. If she was waking up, his face would surely be the last thing she wanted to see.

“Hey, she —” 

Valadan raised his head and found himself alone. Why the fuck was there no healer, why was no one around? When Josephine whimpered again, he swallowed, staring helplessly at her. She tried to move against the blankets and bandages holding her. He could see how her breaths quickened as she struggled, a distressed noise escaping her lips.

She’d fucking hate him for this, that much was sure, but he couldn’t just watch her and do nothing.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital, in the citadel.”

When it didn’t seem like his words did anything to help her, he reached for her hand; her left hand, and the only spot of her he could see that wasn’t covered in bandages. Closing his fingers around her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb, his voice was unsteady as he spoke again. 

“You’re safe here. Try to rest. The healers are taking care of you.” Or they would, if they’d be fucking here. Valadan swallowed, trying to suppress the fear and anger, to keep his voice even. “Everything will be all right. Just rest. I’m here. I’ll watch over you.”

She couldn’t be awake. There was little chance those words would actually have calmed her if she was. But she did calm down, the tension leaving her fingers. Valadan didn’t let go.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered. A promise to her and to himself. If there was no one else willing to stay at her side, he would. It was the least he could do.

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup​​​​​ @whumpshaped​​​​​ @whump-in-the-moonlight​

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Good morning! Whats your favorite show/movie? Who are your favorite characters? Why do you like them so much? Also!! Did you have a good sleep?

Okay so I was a film major for a while, and I have opinions. 

Penny Dreadful 

I love this show. Like, so much. I adore it. I can not get enough of that show. Just all of the imagery, and the fantastic writing and acting. The episode intro alone is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Eva Green is a goddess and I love everything she’s been in. The take on classic horror stories is So Good, and it actually became the inspiration for my Gay Frankenstein story! (Started as a stitch AU, and then went completely OC after I had Ideas) but the show itself is so intimate? I think it’s largely that the period they’re in, everything was so repressed and restricted. So when the characters break out of those moments, it’s more meaningful. And the love-hate relationship between Ms. Ives and Malcolm in season one? Exquisite.  I could literally write essay’s about this show, but I’ll restrain myself and just say: it’s the best ensemble show I’ve ever seen. The characters come together, but they also each have their own distinct lives that sometimes intersect, but in s2 especially, are quite separate. They are constant with one another like ensemble shows usually portray. Also gothic horror and romance? My absolute favorite. 

Anything by Guillermo del Toro

This man Owns My Entire Soul. I’m not even joking, everything he writes and directs is perfection. Crimson Peak is probably my favorite (I have a stitch AU for this too ;) ) because again, Gothic horror and romance. I’m a slut for that shit. Also Tom Hiddleston and Jessica Chastain? Delightful casting. I think it’s obvious by now that I love tragic relationships, so their dynamic is *chef’s kiss* amazing. they’re so damaged. And this quote right here is one of the BEST things I’ve ever read: 

“But the horror... The horror was for love. The things we do for love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. This love burns you and maims you and twists you inside out. It is a monstrous love and it makes monsters of us all.”

Engrave that on my headstone, please?? I’ve got a sort-of Dorian Gray AU (it’s delightful) that’s basically built on this entire premise. Mitch makes the mistake of falling in love with Stiles, and does many terrible things because of it. Mostly to himself, at least. 

I think my love of Crimson Peak is very closely tied with The Shape of Water. another beautiful movie, I could wax poetic about this forever. it was beautifully written, and such an artistic movie. I love the way it was filmed, and the set design, and all of the subtle imagery. Such as Elisa’s apartment being cast in cooler tones, it always felt very damp and had evidence of water damage, compared to Giles’, a mirror image of her own, in more warm tones. This is another one I could (and have) write essays about. There is so much packed into this movie, from the themes on toxic masculinity and entitlement, to the conversation on queerness and race and disability, and how all the various relationships are portrayed. Like. there is so much to pick apart in this movie. 

Aside from that, ofc Hell Boy deserves an honorable mention because i grew up on those movies. I’m pretty sure the Golden Army especially is responsible for who I am today, given all the lore on the fae in that universe. Wow, that explains so much about me... Also one of my first WoW characters was an elf named Nuala xD I still have her, too, and it’s been like 12 years lol

Near-Future Sci-Fi

Sci-fi is one of my favorite genres, I am a huge nerd for theoretical and astrophysics. But my favorite kind of sci-fi is the stuff that still takes place on Earth, rather than epic battles in space. Ex Machina and Annihilation are at the top of that list. Alex Garland is another writer/director that I love. He has the same kind of approach as del Toro, where he puts a lot of fine details into his work. And I love that it’s very cerebral; there are so many layers to Ex Machina. My English 101 prof actually refused to analyze it in class when I suggested it to him, because he didn’t think my class could. Basically handle? Dissecting that movie? Because a lot of it comes across as very surface level, but in some cases when you look deeper, it’s actually suggesting the opposite of what you might think at first glance. (And he was right, my fellow students were awful. I miss that class though, it was one of my favorites T_T Mr. Ryder was an awesome dude and super chill.) 

Morgan is another good example. As you can see, I fucking love androids lol. Which brings me to another of my all time favorite movies: Cloud Atlas. I could literally watch this movie endlessly, I love it so much. The acting, the writing, the filming, all of it is top notch. And one thing they did in the movie that didn’t come across in the book, was reusing the same actors through the different eras in the book. That was just so neat, because it really encapsulates how connected these souls are, as we follow the threads of their story throughout time. If you haven’t seen the movie, I can’t recommend it enough.  

Another one I always think of alongside Cloud Atlas, even though they aren’t related at all, is Predestination. It’s a great movie that explores the idea of fate and free will in a really clever way, utilizes time travel in a very organized way that I think was neat (think Umbrella Academy. They even use briefcases! As you can see, I love sci-fi bureaucracy, it’s fun. In fact The Bureau is another movie I enjoyed) and the main character is actually, explicitly trans, which was cool. You basically get to see the entire story of their life, and I don’t want to spoil anything, but it’s just. So good. Mindfuckery galore. 

Shoot, and I almost forgot! Arrival! That is one of the best movies, and another one I could watch nonstop. It focuses on mathematics and linguistics and I swear to god, I almost altered my entire college course because of this movie. Amy Addams is brilliant, Jeremy Renner is so soft and nerdy, and again, it has an amazing take on time travel. I am very particular about how time is handled in Sci-fi, and this portrayal was one of my favorite. (Most of my physics studies have been dedicated to the theory of time, so like. Strong Opinions.) 

Fantasy

Stardust! It wasn’t until Good Omens can out that I realized Neil Gaiman is responsible for most of the stories I loved as a kid lol, and I had no idea he wrote stardust! But that is such a beautiful movie (I have a Stardust AU lol) and it’s definitely one of my comfort movies. Captain Shakespeare is one of the best characters ever, bless Robert de Niro. I would die for him. Fun fact, i had no idea Ipswitch was a real place until like. 2019. I 100% thought it was made up for the movie 😂

Alongside Stardust, I’ve always loved The Golden Compass. It’s fantasy, but also with that old-timey steampunk science feel, which is so fun and surprisingly difficult to find! 

Mortal Engines also has the same kind of feel, and it was such an epic movie in every sense of the word. I’m a little sad that after all the work that went into it, it didn’t get a dedicated following or fan base, because I feel there’s so much potential in it. But at the same time, fandom tends to gather around media that has plenty of flaws for us to repair with gold, and there wasn’t much room for that in Mortal Engines. 

I’m going to put Jupiter Ascending here even though it technically fits with the sci-fi, because that section is long as fuck and also this movie has such a fantastic feel. Mila Kunis? beautiful. The CGI? beautiful. Eddy Redmayne? One of the best villain portrayals i’ve ever seen. The whole oedipal vibe he had was immaculate, as was their portrayal of reincarnation, and just. The world building. GOD. I get so weak for through world building. Also the fkn intergalactic bureaucracy when they’re basically at the space DMV? One of my all time favorite scenes in movie history. 

Horror

I have very little room in my life for horror. As I said, I have strong movie opinions, especially when it comes to horror movies. I don’t like how most of them rely on cheap jump scares and overused gore and gratuitous rape scenes, instead of, y'know, actual good writing. 

Which is EXACTLY why I adore It: Chapter 1 & 2. It has none of those things, but still manages to be so terrifying. They are my favorite horror movies, and I’m saying this as someone who has genuine childhood trauma bc of the novel. Like. I couldn’t shower/take baths alone until I was almost 10 T_T When I was 6-7 and saw kids play by storm drains, I would run over screaming about how Pennywise was going to get them. Like, I had issues man. I was terrified to see the first one, and wouldn’t go until I could go with my best friend after she had already seen it, so she could warn me when something scary was about to happen 😂

And, one of my favorite aspects of the movie, and the thing that gave me Mad Respect for Any Muschietti? The way he filmed Bev and her father. They have a character who is literally being molested, but they never once have to show it. And yet their interactions are still so viscerally upsetting to watch. Sexploitation puts me off of most horror, and the fact that Muschietti doesn’t use it here, even when it would be actually somewhat justified? *chef’s kiss*. I love him. 

I love horror as a concept, I’m just really picky about it because I expect the writing to be good. I don’t like short cuts. But in a lot of cases, even if I don’t enjoy the movie itself, I love to watch analysis videos on youtube! I love to see the philosophy and symbolism in different horror movies, even if i don’t like to watch the movies themselves. It’s a fun hobby. 

Misc. 

Then in general, some other stuff I love in no particular order:

The Internship (Bless Dylan, Stuart is such a bitch and I love him) 

American Assassin (ofc. The writing itself is eh, but Mitch is my man) 

Dylan’s episode of Weird City. (I actually have a lot of feelings about this one. Jordan Peele is another amazing writer/director, I really need to catch up on his works.) 

Dorian Gray (*chef’s kiss*)

Rogue One (Makes me cry every time) 

WARCRAFT (Obviously this is a fav. It made me so happy, words cannot express.) 

Coraline and most other stop motion animation. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for that. 

Literally anything associated with Tim Burton. Fun fact, when I was 12 and in middle school, I planned to decorate my future house inspired by tim burton. Like, i had Plans. 

Most adaptations of Alice in Wonderland!

So! this got long as fuck! But you said you like that kind of thing lol 😂 I had kinda Eh sleep since I was up so late lmao, and I kept waking up (as usual, rip). And I’m so mad I go up for nothing! The dude I was supposed to show my listing to never showed, and is refusing to answer my calls >_> It’s been 2 hours now, and I still haven’t heard from him. But whatever, I already have a full price cash offer on the house so who cares. And that means I can play WoW all day, now! 

[matteblackstars]

Nicholas x Tentacles : For Research

as requested by @catastrophicur fantasy verse + DP / sounding / throat fuckin’ / yes he’s a virgin / no its not written well, you know what, just keep walking, don’t look here

           Nicholas scampered down the halls with the type of excitement that had nearly everyone he passed looking nervously behind. Short cleric navigated past clergy with ease, slipping between droves of prayer walks that ended in disapproving scowls and heads shaking in disappointment. Not that he noticed, because he got the aFTernOOn oFF~ For research. Which terrified everyone. 

          Due to prior mishaps in the dorms, Nicholas was given his own room well away from the rest of the populace just in case he summoned another undead bear or 30ft snake that he still couldn’t find or the time when gravity reversed itself in the mess hall or-- needless to say, when half the clerics came down with a curse that made them dance nearly to death and the other half frozen in time reliving their trauma in a void-like hellscape, he was banished asked to move his studies far far away and to notify the higher ups when he was going to be doing something potentially dismal so they could avoid it. 

          So when the final piece of his spell finally arrived in the mail, he was beside himself running through the gardens to get to the abandoned wing of the church where he had been allowed to make camp. Dreary and a bit dusty, the large heavy door requires small thing’s whole body to push against and when he finally slips through, it opens up into a massive study. Books covered the walls and laid in haphazard stacks along the floor, papers spilling with ancient languages and symbols, candles and floating colorful orbs illuminating intricate gold writings, bones, potions, skulls, vials, gems, taxidermy rabbit, a mobile of the solar system, a mobile of a different solar system -- everywhere one looked there was something new and potentially dangerous lurking about. 

          His desk held a multitude of messy papers and ink pots filled with ink that shifted colors (one that looks suspiciously like blood), and a single thick heavy book. It was the same size if not wider than the cleric himself and it takes a strained heave to lift the cover before fingers rushed to find a particular page.           There.            It only takes him minutes to shuffle about his room, moving stacks of things out of the way to clear space on the floor and hunting down the bits and pieces of spell components that involved ink, a single bit of bone, chalk, and whatever else. The item he had been waiting for came in the shape of a small crystal pendant. Some easily made magicked trinket that produced as manny mirrors as the holder desired in any shape or size. The spell had a tiny hand written note on the side that strongly suggested its use and Nicholas wasn’t entirely sure why or how this aided in the spell, but mirrors had their own magical properties that he’d mentally note to delve into. Tall and rectangular, he follows the note’s directions until the space he’s made is surrounded by them floating delicately at the perimeter with gaps enough he can slip through. He takes a moment to proudly smile at himself in the corner of one and then another few minutes to apprehensively stare at the complicated chalk circle he’s made on the floor, wondering if it was... too big. He wanted to summon tentacles, not the whole tentacle monster. Or did he??

          There was a moment of doubt after everything was set up, last thing needed was the single drop of blood and ink to circle’s center, when his own eyes catch himself in a reflection.            “Am I being too nasty for this?”           Reflection shakes its head, of course not. It’s for fun. For research!            “Getting a handy by a tentacle for... research?”           You’re testing old magic that just happens to have the use of a few wiggly arms.            “And if it doesn’t listen...?”           Reflection chants back at him for research! for research! before short human is thoroughly convinced. For research. 

          Ink and blood fall with a deafening plop to its center, sleeves of thickly layered robes pushed up as far as they can so pale palms could press into the floor at circle’s sides, feeling the magic pulsate through limbs until incantation leaves the room silent. Chalk glows warmly, then dies out. The creaking groans of the walls and wood floor halting and little thing blinks, candle light flickering making the shadows dance and for a moment -- nothing happens. “WHAT” Disappointed bark has Nicholas flopping backwards and then forwards again to peer into the spell circle, sniffing bottle of ink and blood, wondering if it was his blood needed and-- well, that would make sense. Lips purse together, but the prick to his finger and the added dot of red leaves him full of expectation and.... noth-- oh?

          Leaning close, he can see movement, like a plant breaking its way through the surface of the earth, a single blackish-red tendril wiggles its way through. Arms shoot up with an excited YES, gaze bolting about as if someone would be there to congratulate him on his small success before immediately leaning down closer with words of encouragement. Maybe it was shy? Weak? It’s ok bb, Nicholas is here~ “There there little guy, come on, coooome on~” Chuckle brightens his face, completely forgetting the whole intent of bringing this thing out, and more focused on the fact that it was tiny and absolutely adorable. It wiggles nervously, then confidently, growing in size until finally Nicholas is sitting up and staring at it face to face. It’s inky looking and curious touch tells him it’s slimy but even that’s just clear with an almost oil-slick like sheen. 

          “Oh the staff at the cleaning staff would hate this--ACK??” Something touched his face! Head snaps around and in the reflected circle of the mirror is another tentacle, breaching its way through with curious intent toward summoner. Then another- and another-- “oh. Oh no, that’s too many--” Even in the circle before him do more start pulling themselves through, shapes and sizes varying as thin ones twisted about thicker bases, others nearing with clear intent to grab and-- “OOoooohkay, nope, we’re just going to just, stop all this. Do you understand me?” It’s definitely more of a nervous plead than a command. “I’m gonna need your friends to just... go back to-” Since when was there one wrapped around his ankle? And lord they were strong--

          “Hahaha-- ok ok, time to stop guys-- no-- no, don’t grab the other ankle, nooOOOoo-- I meAN IT--” The nervous panic was starting to set in as they took hold of each ankle that ignored his petty attempts at tearing them off and instead yanked legs apart with a loud yelp. The more he struggled, the more they seemed set on restraining him with their smooth heavy limbs, and even though feet kicked in an attempt to crawl backwards, his back smacked into the front of sturdy mirror that acted more like a wall caging him inside. Oil-slick slimy tentacles reaching from the mirror took their chance to drape over shoulders and slip into his neckline causing goosebumps across his skin. W-wait-- hey-- no no nO -- but the moment arm raises in protest, strong slick limb grabs his weak wrist, knee jerk reaction had frame twist to undo it, but all it does is make his free wrist captured. With arms now bound and ankles held taught apart, there’s a pause. Nicholas’ face contorted in frustration and then ultimately defeat as next tentacle wiggled across the floor in sly expectation over pants. 

          “F-fine. Fine!” Lips pursed together and things twisted in eager acknowledgement that had Nicholas bickering with it some more. “Oh- OH, So you CAN understand, fine! Just-- nothing too weird.” A mute point when he’s so compromised and a few more inky intruders start to tug and pull at his limbs until lower half is thoroughly spread and smaller constraints touch under clothes to elbow and knee. Another thicker one presses at his cheek approvingly, hugging against his neck in jaw as if that was some form of comfort before bold member slips beneath his pant line. 

          Now short cleric was... “pure”. Physically. Hands have enthusiastically explored himself and he was no stranger to relieving himself of his sexual frustrations, but this was the first time he’d had anyone but himself touch him and it showed. Any babbling he had done just seconds before cut themselves short and heart rate rises as warm limb grazed against him, sliding over balls and taint, between cheeks to come out the other side and wedge pants down just enough until butt sat on he chill floor and growing erection exposed if upper layers weren’t messily covering him. Something about not seeing what was happening only made everything more exciting, more nerve wracking as more eased their way beneath fabric to taste and squeeze gently over sensitive skin. 

          Anticipation and tinge of embarrassment has dark haired thing squirming with a single tentacle that wrapped around the base of him, easing itself upwards and back down again with ease. Then it moves a bit faster, others curling over sack with equally comforting tug, and it doesn’t take much for cleric to start breathing heavy against the limb that still licked at his cheek or try to hide behind elbows that were being raised ever higher by captors. It’s not until the smaller ones start writhing their way over the thick boys do things get overwhelming. 

          A long thin tip searches over penis head until it finds small slit to slowly wiggle into; gentle and curious, it presses in, waiting for any protest, and then out, repeating but going deeper while it joins brothers about the shaft, squeezing and releasing in an upward pulsing motion that has his legs trembling. It feels weird, tingling, and he has little control over how hips jerk desperately for escape or the friction at his wrists as tentacles tighten their grip there and at his ankles. Panting moans verge to the point of barely muffled whining, voice pitching and cracking with every wiggle as foreign limb slowly fucked itself into him. Another slithery blackish limb slid across pale thigh staying close to the crease of his leg before wrapping underneath his clothes possessively at his waist. Heat was pooling at the pit of his stomach with legs desperate to slam together, knees trembling as boiling point started to to get near. Panicked chest rising and falling, whatever this thing was, it realized he was getting close and started to move faster, wet suction growing stronger, and all too intrusive tip no longer leaving the hole it occupied, pumping with a dangerous speed that has Nicholas crying. 

          “Out-- Take it out-- Take it outtakeitoutplease-- PLEASE!!” Toes curled as he begged, overwhelmed tears welling up in the corner of his eyes before words are too complicated to say and tentacle slips out just as it gave conclusive squeeze and burst of cum decorated his stomach and thigh. Body jolts into silence that he’s finally granted release from his torture save for the echoed whine and pathetic needy whimpers that follow. Oh gross gross gross--! Shame is the first emotion to wash over him, embarrassment the next, and a tinge of fear-- why did that make him cum so hard?? Restraints give small cleric some slack and a welcomed relief as he tries to collect himself and palms smack tiredly against the floor. Head falls back against the mirror, hand resting on his chest with the realization that he’s been freed. Peace!! Peace at last -- mind evaluates himself and curious tug pulls clothes from over himself just to see the mess he’s left and that his dick was fine. Oh thank god. This relief last if only for a moment. 

          Single inky tendril slides sneakily towards his hip, feeling the air, attempting to take small tastes of his skin that Nicholas lazily tries to shoo away. Which was apparently the Wrong Thing To Do.

          The show of weakness has the same limb thick and strong, snatch at fragile waist, yanking him downwards onto his back with a hard thud. There was no time to yelp because the moment he does, mouth is occupied. Fat and heavy, slimy member forces its way to the back of his throat, excited by impulsive need for human to swallow and tighten around it. It’s patient enough to wait for Nicholas to stop struggling, a minute before he starts to breathe through his nose and then it moves, languidly pressing in hoping to feel the velvety vibrations of fragile mortal’s moans which would come soon enough. Beast, monster, demon -- thing doesn’t bother restraining arms (not that they weren’t eagerly feeling over their hopeless attempts to escape) because its focus was too busy working complicated layers of clothes to get at the softer fleshy bits. For Nicholas, it was hard to fight back when his attention was at his mouth trying to breathe, muffled protesting shouts dying off, and tongue curling instinctively about its surprisingly warm weight. Thoughts were a buzz and buzzing faster when he feels protective clothes leave him and holy garb torn to make way to his chest. He’s not sure if he’s completely bare, it wouldn’t have mattered now that pale skin was easy to mark and already was starting to turn pink in the places where tentacles had clung and sucked onto. 

          A multitude of thicker limbs caressed over him, feeling at the highs and lows of bone and muscle, and with nippled exposed, smaller mandibles slithered their way to dance and play with them. It doesn’t take long for distressed breathing to slow, acceptance as refractory period was rushed to a close, and soft muted moan surprised even him. He liked this -- sharp flick against his chest has him pressing his legs together, messy thighs sliding against each other while he takes what’s in his mouth a tad bit deeper. If he could swear he would, wondering if it was the lack of control or the feeling of captured prey that had him creeping up on next sinful sound.

          The tentacle at his waist smoothed underneath his back, lifting it to a small arch that Nicholas readily complied with, but he nearly chokes when lower half is flipped skyward. Thing must have sensed his tension and distraction came in the form of a strong thrust into his throat, a bit faster, a bit harder, then slowing down once the hands desperately hugged at the thing eased. Hands tried to grab for something else, something easier only to messily catch hold of the multitude of other tentacles that seemed to be joining to fray, curling around his legs that now hung over him. The embarrassment he felt before? Gone. Occasionally legs twitched and kicked, only to be haphazardly restrained while mandibles inched ever so dangerously close to the place no one has been in. Not that thing cared, it was busy coiling back over his hardening shaft, squeezing at balls and -- ok the embarrassments back when he’s hard again. Mind stimulated to a degree that was near overwhelming. 

          First to make curious prod is small, winding wet and slippery between exposed spread cheeks to tease at virgin hole, testing the waters and feeling his heart rate anxiously rise until breaching inward. Whimpered cry catches in his throat and once again legs try to right themselves with struggled jerk, back and behind wiggling in protest done more out of habit than need, but thick vice around his waist tightened and its tip pressed at his lower back so he was more firmly held in place. The one at his ass slid ever deeper, rhythmically pulsing at the edge, growing ever bigger the easier it was to stretch him wider, until it was finally built up enough to be fucking into him with wave-like motion that had little thing lightly bounding against the ground. 

          He’s melting into the floor moaning with little conscious need to hold back confused pitched sounds, every synapse bursting in strange new position when suddenly he tastes air. Deep breath gives way to shuddering sigh, tongue licking at wetted lips that had odd mix of saliva and mystery coating that had the faintest taste of magic to it and bleary eyes glance upwards to see the size of what was in his mouth now hungrily fall over tentacle-caged erection and taint to--

          “NO. HnGNGgghH-- W-Wait-- No-- I-- I can’t--ah-ah-aHW-Wait--” whether thing could understand him or not, pleading fell on deaf ears and tip was already wiggling and nudging around hole that was still occupied by far smaller guest that started to move slower, a bit deeper so that thick one could more easily lick at edges, pressing experimentally until finally it gave way. Clearly excited, it wasted no time trying to push deeper, twisting sloppy and moist around partner that squirmed eagerly inside of him.

          “AhhHHHhnNNN!!” Nicholas immediately became unabashedly loud. It didn’t hurt, not in the slightest, event as fat member stretched him far beyond the limits he thought was capable, both fucked into him with opposite momentums leaving him a mewling wreck, calling for names he’d only heard in dreams. it wasn’t nearly as nice to him this time around, the multitude of tentacles wrapped about his dick squeezing just hard enough that it wouldn’t let him cum as the two continued to move faster. The fullness was tantalizingly thrilling, he’d never felt this way even with what little toys he could get and he’s gotten so noisy with every rushed pant that left his sweat stained against the floor. The closer he gets, the more it tries to restrain him; wrists against the wood by his shoulders, one even found purchase at his neck, pushing chin upward so his unbelievably lewd cries have no where to go but echo off the walls of the room. For a minute, he even catches a glimpse of himself entangled in multicolored arms that all moved with eerie fluidity into him and he knows it’s him because when he opens his mouth, it does too and-- god he looks so obscene-- but so-- good---

          Back arches with ready anticipation of what’s to come, a needy moan as one of the tentacles manages to brush against the spot that made Nicholas want to end it all and the smaller stopping its thrusting in favor of focusing meager attention on sliding against it while larger continued to pump in tandem with his breath. Teeth bite hard into his lip and he almost wished he could dig his nails into a person, but that sentiment is short lived when nipple is pinched and that familiar searing heat started to boil. He can’t hold back, he can’t -- he can’t--! It was too much! This was too much -- He can’t-- “I can’t--!!” Red flushed body burns and he’s slick with his own sweat and cum, tipping over the edge again with violent cry that shakes him to his core. Tentacles thrust hard and deep, the small bulge against his stomach visible if it weren’t for his release that fell hotly across chest and face. 

          Vision falls away and the tension he had held now released, leaves small thing empty and used. The things inside him twist and turn comfortably, lazily easing their way out while his waist is lowered back into the floor with a gentle thump. The others leave just as slow, taking their time over glistening body, licking across his neck and cheek where pearly white globs were smeared towards his mouth as they passed by before disappearing back into the floor, mirrors or... wherever they had come from. 

          So there he was left, breathless and disarray, clothes littered and torn, holy garb staring at him shamefully while he weakly sat himself up to survey the damage done. Covered in marks, ‘hickies’, bruises, sweat, oily substance, and cum, lower back tingling and feeling empty after having his insides just jumbled about; Nicholas quietly shuffled across the floor over mirrored circle to where the spell book lay, symbols and words still vivid across the page and he... tears it out. 

          He was going to keep this one for himself. For later.            For research. 

[escapekissed]

Lucky do you have any favorite pieces of media from the psychological horror genre? Feels like its a genre that matches ur interests very well 👉🏽👈🏽

there are a couple that really speak to me!

first is rule of rose, which is a game that is incredibly formative to me. in a time where i was looking for representation as a young gay person and REALLY into looking up wiki pages for horror games, rule of rose showed me the symbolic trauma of puberty and toxic ‘love’ between girl children and the violence of patriarchal figures that i was looking for. it showed such cruelty but also such strength in its main character, and the symbolism? exquisite.... it also just has such a creepy atmosphere and the fact that the game is near impossible to play along with its shitty graphics for the enemies makes it so. peculiar and creepy in a very special way to me.

catherine is another atlus game near and dear to my heart, tho i dont  think i’m ever going to be playing full body for that exact reason. it’s a game basically about eugenics and misogyny, about gods&devils thinking of women as only reproductive objects and the men in their lives that ‘waste their reproductive time’ being tortured and killed for it, taking away a woman’s choice. i always thought it would be so interesting to do trans and lesbian takes on this game, and i have never really? stopped thinking about how this game is so thrilling in its themes of entitlement and stopping people’s freedom to love as they wish. this is also one of the only horror games in which the ‘human element’ actually interests me. so many horror games give u terrible people and i dont give a FUCK ABOUT THEM. but the way this game shows u just snippets of his life as a ‘break’ from the excruciatingly scary (to me, because time limits scare me LOL), stressful as hell puzzles. and u get to figure out the mystery of what is going on in people who would otherwise be boring to you, but in this game are shrouded in just enough mystery that ur actually interested in their boring day-to-day lives. its so satisfying just to drink with ur buds. its like really great gameplay to me tbh. i also just love katherine and catherine and they frusturate me so much and that’s exactly what they’re supposed to do which i LOVE. extremely effective atmosphere setting and worldbuilding, basically.

the lighthouse is my favorite horror movie tbh because it does suspense so well. the movie is literally themed around suspense, the suspense of not getting sexual satisfaction to completion, of being touch starved and lonely and repressed, of being able to hold ur boss but never kiss him, of being fed lobster but it tastes flavorless and bland and u can smell ur boss’s farts the whole time while he prattles on with disturbing sailor’s tales and barks out orders until he’s lulled into his drink. i honestly love this movie. and the acting is brilliant and unhinged

there’s a few indie games i really like that have been either formative to me or i just??? really like their vibe and i can basically tell from them i would like every game in the ‘genre.’

pocket mirror to me is like, this beautiful game about your own inner toxicity and escaping from yourself. i love indie 64-bit games like this, the background art is so beautiful, and while i’ve never played all the way through it because it scares me too much---i love ib and all the games in the ‘ib’ genre LOL.

doki doki literature club i know is a very strange game to like, but i enjoy it for letting the women be actual characters with their own thoughts and feelings. the pychological horror movie ‘i’m thinking of ending things’ is the exact opposite of this game.'i’m thinking of ending things’ is a backwards approach to feminist horror in my opinion. it’s from a male’s perspective of his hallucinations of a girl that once didn’t give him a second glance and his violence towards her in these fantasies. it takes itself painfully seriously. it pretends to deconstruct something that the director helped soldify (the manic pixie dream girl trope) in the public eye. doki doki literature club on the other hand, the passive character who ‘things happen to’ is the man. the active roles all go to the women in the game and what they do to themselves in order to be loved by not just a man, but the player, and in doing so they often become the all-knowing god of their own prison. like tell me that’s not the dopest thing u’ve ever heard of!

twilight zone is a big one for me but 5 episodes in particular have shaped how i view horror forever. ‘to serve man’---where the greatest, scariest thing in the world is not being able to understand the language another person is actually using and for them to manipulate u using ur own, actually wishing u harm as they placate you with your own interpretations. the episode where a rich man’s last will and testament is for his vain, selfish relatives to wear a mask until midnight that reveals symbolically how ugly they are to him. they bicker all night with petty squabbles, and then at midnight he reveals the mask has permeanantly shaped their faces to reveal who they really are and the abuse he suffered under them. the cornfield episode still scares the shit out of me as someone with an entitled younger brother whose entitlement and anger is often enabled by those around us, and i’ve always thought that it was such a good show of like, how patriarchy enables little boy’s violence. the episode ‘all the time in the world’ where an abused man with a shitty life is finally the last man on earth and he can do anything he’d like to do and all he wants to do is read but then he breaks his glasses. and finally! the episode where toys in a box come to life and bemoan their fate as they realize they will be trapped there forever in clothes and identities they do not recognize. these episodes always scare the shit out of me LOL.

besides that i really like. low-budget passion project indie games. the first that comes to mind is ‘the path’ which is about a family of four sisters of various ages all inspired by little red riding hood who stray from the path and are hunted by the woodsman. and then the game that YOU my dear myers! showed me! that haunts me to this day. basically a tape talks to you about the areas of a house and then starts to talk about the house as a living creature. and the living creature is hungry, without you inside it. the living creature is tired of being alone, it’s tired of being abandoned, it’s tired, and it’s eyes are empty with no one in the windows, and it’s mind is blank with no one in the bedroom, and it’s hangry there’s no one in its basement to feast on, to torment as it has been tormented by disuse.

last but not least, i really enjoy the book ‘sharp objects.’ which is not technically a horror novel. but it is about a serial killer, and about women and abuse and it has some of the best writing ever. so i highly recommend it AND the miniseries (watch the miniseries first then read the book bc the miniseries is like. directed better? but the novel is written and characterized better. it’s also very short u can finish it in like a day and a half).

honorable mentions for horror In General (not necessarily psychological horror) are: 1) the birdcage. i honestly consider this movie entirely unsettling. robin williams failing to portray a man that is actually attracted to nathan lane, which could be because they have simply been married so long but also is just awful to me in general bc it makes me feel like even our outwardly gay but still more masc gay men can’t love and be attracted to femme camp gays even when they’re married to them. the fact that both these men that could be so in love, that were so in love at one time, you can at the very least imagine, are told by their only son that they need to go back in the closet to impress some old ass republicans, giving the message that no matter how succesful you are in the gay community, no matter how bright and wonderful a presence you are, no matter how loving you are, no matter how much you love, no matter how interwoven you are in lgbt-ness, the straight people you love most will still try to change you to impress the wold. horrifying.

2) coraline. its children’s horror but that’s still horror baby! i think lately about how much the movie talks about mothers and birth. coraline calls whybie ‘why born’ and i just think about how much she thinks about creating a new life with a new mother, and how going through that small door into a long tube... it’s like crawling into a new womb and being reborn to a new mother that loves you. and that’s horrific from a feminist perspective in and of itself---that your child would feel so unloved and unimportant to you that she would literally... rather die in this life, technically, rather be ‘unborn’ to you and born anew to someone, someone just like you but better, someone just like you but what SHE wants a mother to be, feminine and skirted and smiling. and then there’s the fact that coraline only gives this up when she realizes her other mother basically wants to change her more to suit her liking in ways that would cause her pain, at which point she realizes this whole fantasy is a lie, not real, something meant to entice her and control her and make her ‘perfect’---the same way she wants her mother & father to be ‘perfect’ in a way that causes her to act out and hurt them. it’s psychological horror that’s technically not psychological horror in the best way, something you can really dig your teeth into, something that has so many layers to it. and the animation! gorgeous!

3) finally i have recently watched annihilation. and it kind of changed my life a little bit.... so often we’re used to viewing monsters as either 1) malicious or 2) romantic/sad/sexy. but the monster in this movie is literally a metaphor for cervical cancer. 

to me, the monsters and the corpses and all the beautiful scenery in this movie, in every color u can think of, a muted rainbow of flowers and nature at its best and most bizarre and sprawling. i often say that monsters are beautiful, but tbh, i feel like... somehow i always mean that in a way that is near-fetishitic, somehow self-depcrating way, where i want to consider what other people think is ‘ugly’ is ‘beautiful to me’ because what i am also ugly to other people as a monster to the cishet white patriarchy. there are things i consider beautiful, certainly, purely beautiful. but when i talk about monsters being beautiful, it is in the way the sublime is beautiful. it scares me, it haunts me, i love it, i want to possess it as part of me, a totem to carry in my back pocket to make the strength in my own ugliness stronger.

when i saw the monster in this movie (SPOILERS) i was immediately unnerved at this bad cgi abomination that bloomed from the most beautiul cgi cancer death cosmos imaginable. it scared me and i had to sleep with a light on for 2 days after LOL. but i was also moved by its gentleness. by the fact that the cervical cancer alien, when it tried to hurt you, wasn’t trying to hurt you at all. it was simply copying your movements. in the movie, it says that the creature wants nothing. it was simply copying. it was simply changing. it’s a prism of nature---and it corrupts yes, and it can hurt people and things and turn them into scary but still terribly unique and beautiful things that also kill---but the movie says that it wants nothing. it simply exists. it’s a part of nature, same as us, a part of the same universe and cosmos, despite being alien to us and stange and hurting us sometimes in ways that it doesn’t understand.

i don’t know. if i quite believe the movie when it says that, though. because i think if you copy someone, like a child would, you are trying to understand them. you are trying to understand yourself. you are trying to form yourself in another’s image when you have none, and you are failing at that, and hurting people and creating monsters in the process, but you are trying as best as you can to be whole and beautiful and sane like the lovely creatures you’ve met on this earth, or this body. to be part of something great and beautiful. to be part of another world.

maybe it doesn’t want anything. but do WE want anything as children, when we copy adults? why did the bear and the alligator try to eat our heroes if they were not hungry? did the bear and the alligator not WANT to eat? i think everything wants to live, and everything wants to grow, and if it can learn to live better and grow better it Will learn even if that is not its explicit intention. does the alien have feelings? does nature? do we have to personify things to understand them? no. does personifying things make us understand them less? no, yes, sometimes. we ask animals and nature to copy us, follow us, so that we can understand them better. the relationship in between----from the hurt, from the pain, from the droughts and the food shortages and the hurricanes and the fireworks---forms from our kindness and understanding. that our crops are useful, and the man-made mutation of our crops and the help of the ran and the sun is also useful. that our animals may not love us, but they need us, and we love them for putting their paw on our thighs to be pet, for following us into the bathroom even when we just wanted a moment alone.

regardless of its intentions, the alien, cancer, every creature, every human, they simply want to grow. in copying others---in trying to touch, to change, to understand, and be close---we learn to live in the same body, learn to live in the same world. the togetherness--the new sight the prism brings---it’s beautiful. it is beautiful to copy, however poorly. it is beautiful to try. we all shape others to our own standards---we sometimes forget we too, were made in own own perception of others’ image.

[h-styles-babes]

This Way Comes (Pt. 2)

Alright guys! Here’s the second and final part of my Halloween fic. Thank you so much for reading their first part. The response to it has been amazing. Hopefully the end lives up to the rest of the story.

Words: 11.5k

Warnings: Animal sacrifice (not described in any detail)

The rest of the weekend saw Harry and Andromeda living in a sort of sexed-out bliss. In the wee hours of Saturday morning, Harry woke up to Andie’s mouth around his erect cock, which led to another full round of sex. They woke up midmorning, and Harry made breakfast before they took a shower, where Andie was introduced to the wonders of shower sex. Then when they sat down in the living room for a movie marathon after lunch, Harry bent her over the arm of the couch while Pretty Woman played in the background. He laid her out on the kitchen table and sat in a chair to eat her out after dinner, then he took her back to her room. Sunday saw much of the same, only they ordered their meals in to avoid wasting time cooking.

Harry had class before Andie on both Monday and Tuesday, but they saw each other by late afternoon, controlling themselves enough to make and eat dinner before retiring to the bedroom. However, when Andie emerged from the room to go get a glass of water, she was confronted by the last person she wanted to see, especially since she was nearly naked and there was a mortal in her bed.

“Mum,” she gasped, pulling at the hem of Harry’s t-shirt she was wearing to better cover her bits. She had knickers on, but they didn’t do a great job of preserving her modesty.

The women who’d birthed her stood in her entryway, obviously fresh from stepping through the mirror portal. She was in the witch’s version of a power suit: a dark green, floor length velvet dress that draped around her shoulders and had a slit up to mid-thigh, exposing the spiked heels she wore. There were necklaces shaped in Wiccan symbols layered on her neck, and her earrings were obsidian marbles with amethysts in the center. Her familiar, a big, imposing raven, sat perched on her shoulder. Her eyes, that were the same pale shade of blue as Andie’s, peered on at her in a thinly veiled look of distaste and slight amusement. Annabel had been around long enough that she knew a walk of shame when she saw one.

“Hello, darling,” she greeted, the humour in her voice evident. “Classes going well?”

Andie rolled her eyes. “I went to class. I got out at four.”

Her mum hummed, stepping further into her daughter’s flat. She gave a low whistle and Lenore, her raven, flew to the top tier of Bub’s cat tree, peering down into the little hideout Bub was sleeping in the tier below. Bub hissed half-heartedly, realising belatedly that the intruder was a fellow familiar.

“Who is he, then? Sarah knows that nice boy from the American coven that’s here doing research. Mitch, I think.”

“No offense, but he’s not my type. And besides, Sarah is into him.”

“Then wh—”

Annabel was cut off by Harry’s voice coming down the hall.

“Where’d you go?” he called, spotting her at the end of the hall, peering into the living room. His brows furrowed. “Did someone knock at the door?”

“Uhh…” Andie stumbled, looking between Harry and her mum. This was definitely not the way she wanted her mother to find out she was in an intimate relationship with a mortal. She’d have preferred if it never happened, but she knew it would happen eventually, the way her and Harry were moving. This was just the worst way possible.

As soon as Harry came into her mother’s view, Andie could see the instant recognition that Harry is mortal. Her nostrils flared slightly, but she took a deep breath before arranging a contrite smile on her lips.

“Never took you as one to sleep with your wards, Andromeda,” Annabel said.

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, brows furrowed. The fact that he was only in his boxers made him less intimidating, but he was still the tallest, broadest person in the room.

Andie placed a hand on his chest, silently begging him to not get riled up or say anything else. “He’s my friend, Mum. He just so happened to get the attention of a wraith.”

Annabel pursed her lips as she looked Harry up and down before sighing. “Whatever. Would you two put some clothes on? We need to talk about what’s happening tomorrow.”

~*~*~*~*~

The American witch walked through Andie’s entryway portal at ten in the morning Wednesday. Sarah, Annabel, Mitch, Harry and Andie were already gathered in the living room when the mirror whirred to life. There was a shift in energy in the room when she stepped through the pearlescent haze of the portal, her tall, platform boot the first thing to emerge. Andie held her breath, waiting for the reveal of who this mysterious witch was. Sarah hadn’t ever mentioned her name, most likely on purpose.

When she finally completely tread into Andie’s entryway, her and Harry’s jaw dropped.

“Holy shit,” Harry muttered. Though, it had been completely silent in the room, so it was loud echoing off the wood flooring. “You’re Stevie Nicks.”

Her sage eyes landed on Harry, who was sat on the loveseat beside Andie, and she smiled softly. “Yes, I am. You must be the poor mortal we’re all worried about.”

Annabel made a grunting sound that sounded suspiciously like a “speak for yourself,” that everyone but Andie ignored. She shot her mother an annoyed look before turning back to their guest.

Stevie fucking Nicks was in her flat. No big deal.

“I suppose,” Harry agreed. “I thought the witch thing was just a rumour.”

“Me, too,” Andie whispered, still a bit awestruck. Never in a million years did she thin Stevie Nicks was a real witch.

“And you’re still tellin’ me your life isn’t like that American Horror Story season?” Harry asked.

Stevie laughed. “That was a little nod to my community. Keeping a secret for nearly a hundred years is hard work. Need to keep it fun somehow.”

“Can we get to business, please?” Annabel interjected. Her nostrils were flaring in that way she had when she was irritated. It was the same look she’d given Harry when she first met him a few days prior. It was a look Andie had been on the receiving end of many times in her life.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Annie,” Stevie admonished.

Annabel gave their guest a pointed look before rolling her eyes in submission. Andie had never seen her mother give up a fight so easily. They must have known each other pretty well for her mum, the pinnacle of the witch community, to acquiesce so quickly.

“And you must be Andromeda.” Stevie’s gaze turned to Andie, who was sat much more properly since Stevie walked into the room. “Your mom has told me a lot about you.”

“I won’t even ask if they were good things,” Andie grumbled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Stevie shot her a knowing smile, like she was privy to something that the rest of them weren’t. Andie wasn’t really willing to dive into it right then with a room full of people.

“You too, sweetheart.” Stevie made her way around Andie’s living room, taking up the one free seat next to Andie and Harry, in the big cushy chair that Andie had bought on a whim at a flea market the previous spring. It was gothic and beautiful and definitely an antique, and she just had to have it. Stevie looked just at home in the chair, her diminutive stature looking grand despite the high back.

“Now, let’s talk about this spell.”

~*~*~*~*~

The spell had to be performed on a full moon, and the full moon that month was too close for them to properly prepare. There were ingredients to be gathered that were not exactly something that was sold at the local apothecary, so it took some investigating and some late night adventures into the forest. The had four weeks to get all the necessary items as well as mentally prepare themselves to undertake this task.

Stevie had showed them the spell. It was…intense, to say the least. The ingredient list was nearly thirty bullet points long and the incantation that needed to be said went on for nearly three pages. Not to mention the diagram of the set up was intricate and required Harry to be laid in the center of a giant pentagram thirty feet in diameter mapped out in the branches of an elder tree. The candles that sat at each point of the pentagram had to be made of beeswax and dyed with powdered obsidian (which was not easily come by). The instructions only got more convoluted and involved from there. Andie was already ready to pull her hair out trying to organise who was to retrieve what.

For what it was worth, Harry was cool as a cucumber. When he would come home from work or class and see Andie hunched over her copy of the spell and fifteen different tabs open on her computer, he’d simply come over, drop kisses to her shoulders and neck, before closing the lid of her laptop and pulling her up from her seat. He only ever distracted her when he knew she’d been at it for hours on end, knowing the work she was doing was important. But she needed a break every few hours, and he was more than happy to be the source of her stress relief.

Harry and Andie hadn’t put a label on what exactly it was they were doing, yet. Harry was afraid to ask, worried that he’d freak her out and make her backtrack. Andie was concerned with making it official just for his soul to be sucked out by a wraith if her attempt at freeing Harry from this supernatural connection failed. It was an odd balancing act that they had never anticipated having to figure.

Andie was able to handle a week and a half holed up in her flat, doing her research, aside from going to class, before she finally needed a longer break than the hour and a half her and Harry would be together whenever he tore her away. She’d sent out a fire message to an apothecary in Romania that was pretty good about acquiring rare ingredients for obscure spells about the powdered obsidian. Given the time difference, she knew it would be hours, if not a full day, before she received a response. Then was a good a time as any to take a proper break and get out into the world while she had the chance.

When Harry got home from class that evening, Andie suggested they go out to dinner and maybe take a bit of a stroll. It was a crisp day, but not raining or windy, and it was already beginning to get dark. It was the perfect time to get out, and maybe they’d stumble upon some weird fungus they needed while they walked. Andie wouldn’t be disappointed if they didn’t find anything, but may as well take the chance. Two birds, and all that.

Harry quickly agreed and they headed off to a local Thai place without much deliberation on where to eat. They both had been craving it, it seemed, so they set off, hand in hand, Andie using some of that natural energy she possessed to keep their hands warm while exposed to the chilly autumn air. Harry was thankful, his fingers nearly turning blue the second they made it out onto the street.

As soon as they turned the corner onto the main road, laughing at a story Harry was regaling her with about someone in his Twentieth Century Literature lecture, a chill ran down Andie’s spine, not caused by the dropping temperature. She felt the blood drain from her face as she looked straight on at the wraith attached to Harry, much closer than it had been in the previous weeks. It was getting stronger, she realised, the just passed full moon probably lending to its power surge. Where it had been lingering about fifty meters away since it first latched onto Harry, it was now considerably closer, probably twenty meters, at max. It was close enough for Andie to make out the hallow darkness that occupied where it’s face should have been and the bony, gnarled stumps in the place of hands under the wispy blackness of the cloak that covered whatever form of a body that it had.

Harry noticed the dropped look of horror on Andie’s face as she gazed over their shoulders. He stopped their walk, but Andie pulled them along, beginning to mumble under her breath in a rapid cadence in a language Harry didn’t understand.

“What is it?” Harry asked, but Andie shushed him with a finger to her lips, her own mouth still moving. Harry realised belatedly that she was muttering a spell under her breath, and Harry had a sinking feeling that it was because of the darkness that had latched itself to him those weeks ago.

“Should we just go back to yours?” Harry asked.

Andie shook her head and kept pulling him along. He noticed the heat emanating from her hand in his rise in temperature, surpassing the comforting heat she’d been giving off before. He went to pull his hand away, lest it get too hot, but she kept a firm grip on it, silently telling Harry that it was best if his hand stayed in hers.

They were nearly to the Thai place before Andie relaxed and the heat left their hands. She seemed to still be on high alert, but her hackles weren’t raised anymore.

“Quick update to the warding spell I put on you,” she told him under her breath before Harry opened the door to the restaurant. “It’s getting closer.”

Harry shot her a wary look before turning to the hostess with a smile and asked for a table for two.

When they sat, Harry hooked his foot around the leg of Andie’s chair opposite him and pulled her in closer. “Why can’t I see it?”

“Part of being a witch or other supernatural being is having the Sight,” Andie told him, picking up her menu, even though she knew what she was going to order. She got yellow curry every time. “It’s pretty rare for a mortal to be able to see this sort of stuff. Usually only children can see them, or if there was witch blood somewhere back in their lineage, if it’s close enough to the current generation.”

“I can sort of feel it, though,” Harry added, looking over his own menu. “Like, especially when I’m alone in public. Sort of like I’m being watched.”

Andie nodded and reached her foot out to press up against his under the table. She could see he was a bit anxious about the news that the wraith was closer than normal, so she was offering support in a way that kept her hands free. She could still see the cloaked figure standing outside the big windows of the restaurant.

“I’m not surprised. The energy they give off is…not pleasant. Makes my skin crawl when they get close.” She rolled up the sleeve of her jumper to show him all her little hairs standing on end. “Don’t be surprised if your anxiety starts shooting through the roof. They’re like happiness suckers.”

“Kinda remind me of dementors.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s where the idea came from for those,” Andie agreed. “Except I don’t have a fancy spell to banish them away or whatever. Or a wand.”

“Honestly, when you first told me you were a witch, I was waiting for you to drop one out of your sleeve at any moment.”

Andie barked out a startled laugh as she gave a soft kick to his shin. “Shut up.”

~*~*~*~*~

They skipped their walk that night, for fear of the wraith getting ballsy in the darkness of the night. Harry suggested a day time stroll after he got back from class on Thursday instead, in the hour they had before the sun started to really set. Andie agreed, and they spent the rest of their night curled up on the couch, watching The Nightmare Before Christmas with Halloween only a week away.

By the time Thursday came around, Andie was in a good mood because Sarah had called her earlier in the day to let her know she’d gotten her hands on two more of the ingredients for the spell, and Andie had gotten word from that apothecary in Romania that the obsidian had come in and was ready for delivery. She’d arranged a portal transfer for Friday morning and couldn’t wait to get her hands on it.

When Harry retuned from class just twenty minutes after her, she greeted him with a kiss and pulled him straight back through the door, Harry chuckling at her exuberance. Andie chatted to him about the Halloween party Niall was throwing on Saturday that they’d agreed to attend, as well as the progress they were making in getting all the things they needed for the spell as they walked out of the flat and onto the road. Harry was just as glad as she was that there was only twelve more items on their list after just a little less than two weeks of searching, and one of the items was all the elder wood needed for the pentagram. It was shaping up nicely, and Andie was more confident that everything would pan out alright once the time came.

They stayed on populated city streets where people were still walking around to classes and milling about around shoppes and restaurants, just to be safe. The wraith was still just as close as it had been when they’d gone to dinner on Monday, but it seemed to be more passive now, abated by the extra hulking Andie had padded onto Harry’s warding spell. She wished there was something stronger she could put up around him, but hopefully it would only be another two weeks before they got him free of this thing.

Forgoing a proper dinner, they stopped by the cafe and bakery down the street to get tea and pastries and took them back to the flat. They set up a little faux picnic on the coffee table, sitting on their bums with their backs against the couch. Andie lit her fall candles around the space, filling the room with the comforting scent of cinnamon and apples.

They were quietly munching side by side for a few moments, not really feeling the need to fill the silence. Andie could feel Harry looking at the side of her face as they ate, but she figured he was lost in thought more than anything, so she was a little surprised when he spoke up.

“What are we doing?”

Andie looked at him, furrowing her eyebrows. “Eating?” she offered, more than a little confused.

Harry shook his head and huffed in frustration, though he realised the misunderstanding was due to his own poor word choice.

“No, I mean, like, what are we doing together? Like, I’m not sure if we’re dating or you’re my girlfriend or we’re just fucking or what.”

Andie’s mouth popped open in a little ‘O’ shape when she understood what it was he was getting at. “Oh, got it. Um…” She looked between Harry and the carpet before slowly putting down the fork full of white rice and chicken curry she’d had halfway to her mouth when he’d surprised her.

“I’m not trynna push for anything, I’m just curious how I’m supposed to act with you around our friends. We’ve got that party Saturday at Niall’s, and I’m just not sure.”

It was quiet, save for the sound of Bub licking his paws on the lowest tier of his cat tree. Andie was looking into Harry’s swirling green eyes, trying to decide what the best course of action was in that moment. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she wasn’t sure if either of them were ready for the truth, either. Although, who was she kidding? She was sure Harry would be elated by the truth. The only question really was whether or not she was willing to take that risk and expose Harry to her life that much more. Though, she supposed he was already in as deep as any mortal she’d seen. She reckoned she owed it to both of them to be honest.

“I uh…really like you, Harry, obviously. I have for pretty much as long as I’ve known you. I just never did anything about it because…ya know. The witch thing.”

“But I know about that now.” There was a sort of hopeful glint in Harry’s eyes, one that Andie was really glad she wasn’t about to crush.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “So my reasons for staying just a friend don’t exist anymore. I’m still worried about you, but you’ve handled all this the last few weeks remarkably well.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Harry teased, that smirk the mad her all soft and infuriated her at the same time pulled up on his lips.

She rolled her eyes. “I’d really like to be in a relationship with you, if that’s what you want, too.”

“Andromeda, are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

She shot him a withering look, daring him to make her rescind her proposition.

Harry snickered before reaching over to cradle the back of her neck with his hand, pulling her closer to him. He pressed a hard, closed-mouth kiss to her lips, smiling.

“I accept.”

“Wanker.”

~*~*~*~*~

Harry and Andie were already in Niall’s small kitchen before they saw the host amongst the throng of bodies already in the flat. Niall saw Harry immediately, his head of dark curly hair significantly taller than anybody else’s. Niall slung his arm around his friends shoulders, a little confused about his billowy, cream coloured shirt and strange trousers until he saw Andie standing on his other side, and everything made sense.

Niall started cackling, his head dropping back on his shoulder. “Oh God, this is great. I imagined you’d come dressed as Morticia or summat.”

Andie rolled her eyes at him. The choice to come as Ariel from The Little Mermaid hadn’t been an easy one, but Harry had pretty much begged her after she’d tried the costume on at the shoppe. He’d claimed her hair colour was perfect with it and that it would be great since no one would expect it from her. She had agreed that it would be pretty fun to be this girly, cute princess, something so opposite of her typical style. So, when she’d gotten dressed that evening, she’d been a little excited at seeing her in something that wasn’t her typical wardrobe. Harry had been appropriately shocked and giddy when he saw her once she emerged from the bathroom, especially with her face done up softly. He’d assured her he liked her how she normally presented herself, but it was novel to see her like she was that night.

Niall took a moment to cackle a little bit more before darting off to get them drinks. He returned only a minute or two later with two red cups, nearly full to the brim with some lightly tinged pink liquid. Andie was almost sure it was fruit punch before Niall completely watered it down with whatever liquor he put into it. When she took a sip, she knew for sure that it was about eighty-five percent rum and the rest of was fruit juice. One would probably be her limit for the night. It was never a good idea for a young witch to alter her senses while in a public place.

Harry, however, had no such qualms. He was a young college guy, ready and willing to let loose at the drop of a hat. And that was exactly what he was doing.

They were there only an hour before Andie realised that Harry was well on his way to being absolutely shit-faced. She noticed about half an hour in that his cup was never empty, but he was getting increasingly more giggly and droopy-lidded. She was sure Niall was behind the constant refills, and she didn’t want to reprimand either of them, but from previous experience, she knew Harry did not have the same tolerance that the Irishman did. She never got a chance to grab Niall and tell him to go easy on Harry’s next refills—or they’d be on their way to A & E before the end of the night—before she lost sight of her boyfriend. One second she had her eyes on him, hanging out with some of his other friends by the kitchen, then she’d looked around to try to find Niall, and when she looked back, Harry was gone.

A cursory glance over the room turned up nothing, which didn’t concern her much. Perhaps he’d gone to the restroom or disappeared into the crowd huddled in the kitchen.

However, after a solid five minutes, Andie started to get antsy, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach. She threw another look over the room, came up short, and then made her way to the hall where she knew Niall’s only restroom was located. Maybe he had finally succumb to the alcohol and was getting sick. That’s what she kept telling herself to try to keep herself calm.

She finally squeezed her way through the living room and to the hall. She knocked on the restroom door, calling out Harry’s name. When she received a female voice back, telling her she’d be out in a moment, Andie quickly moved on, down towards Niall’s room. Maybe Harry had went in to have lie down. Something was telling her that wasn’t the case, though.

Andie knocked on the door and pressed her ear close to the door to try to hear any type of activity on the other side. The only thing she could hear was what sounded like a very upset cat, so she opened the door just enough to peek her head in and look around. The room was empty, aside from Niall’s cat, Oreo, that was stood up on his desk, back arched, spitting and hissing and howling, eyes trained on the sliding door in Niall’s room that led to the small balcony that faced the pool area in the center of his flat building.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Andie cooed, stepping in and closing the door behind her to prevent anybody following her in. “You see another cat on your turf? I’ll go shoo ‘em off.” Andie reached out to try to calm her down, approaching from the front so she wouldn’t startle when Andie ran her finger over the top of Oreo’s head. However, the cat made no move to look away from the glass door, only seeming to get more worked up.

Andie finally turned to look over her shoulder to see what it was that had her so amped, and when she saw Harry stood out there, she gasped.

Harry had his back pressed up against the glass, seeming to be barely holding himself up, his knees bent and his head slumped back. She couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t need to in order to know what was happening. Because she could see the wraith hovering just on the other side of the railing, the blank darkness of its face seeming to take on a sinister glow. A hazy, pearlescent stream of energy connected its face to Harry’s, the physical embodiment of the force it was drawing from its victim.

It took Andie only a split second to turn on her heel and make her way to the door. She pushed the door open with a flick of her wrist, letting a rush of wind gust into the room. Andie felt a rush of energy and adrenaline surge through her veins as she flung her hand out, pushing the wraith away in a way that she had never managed before without casting an actual spell. It was like a gust of wind erupted from her palm and blew it back a few meters, severing whatever control it had on Harry.

He slumped to the ground, obviously dazed as he blinked hard and looked around, eyes trying extra hard to focus on Andie when he finally spotted her. She was sure she looked like a frightened mess. She’d never been so close to something so dark before and it was causing a chill to worm its way under her skin. She grabbed Harry by his elbow and pulled him up, keeping her free palm up and extended out from her, keeping the wraith at bay. A bolt of light was raying out from her hand. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but she was just glad it made the wraith wary and keep its distance.

“You’ve gotta get up, love,” Andie urged, using all her strength to haul him up off the ground. “We’ve gotta get back inside. I need to get you back to my flat.”

“‘m so tired,” Harry mumbled, seeming to try to push himself up by his hands, but he was having a hard time maintaining his balance. She knew the wraith had seized an opportunity to start harvesting Harry’s life force, and it wasn’t helped by his state of inebriation.

“I know, Harry, but you need to get up. Fuck, just crawl inside for all I care.”

Harry hummed and bobbed his head lazily. He managed to get his legs under him and slithered his way past Andie, into the safety of Niall’s room. Andie was already summoning a portal under her breath as she slid inside, closing the door behind her and throwing the lock. That really wouldn’t keep a persistent wraith out, but it gave her a sense of security that she needed in that moment.

The shimmering veil of the portal emerged on the door of Niall’s closet. Harry was slumped over on the wall next to it, watching with hazy eyes as is swirled in its magnificent rainbow pattern of colours. Andie leaned down and pretty much shoved him through it before stepping through herself, stumbling over his prone body in the entrance of her flat. She waved her hand over her mirror to close it before sagging to the floor beside her very unconscious boyfriend. Traveling via portal was already pretty trying on a mortal body, but mix that with his run in with the wraith and the copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed through their night, and he was down for the count. Andie’s fears were only mildly assuaged by the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath that he took.

She considered leaving him in the entrance with a pillow and a blanket, not wanting to disturb him, but she could only imagine how traumatised he’d be to wake up in the middle of the night on the cold wood floor, by himself, after the ordeal he’d gone through earlier.

So, with a sigh, she stood and grabbed him under his arms and started dragging him to her bedroom, glad for her unobstructed smooth floors, allowing him to just glide along in the soft material of his costume. Getting him up into the bed was a bit of a challenge, but luckily he roused just long enough to haul himself into the bed, and Andie had an easy enough time taking his shoes and trousers off before tucking the blankets up around him.

She sat with a tired huff beside him, rubbing her hands over her eyes. She remember belatedly about the makeup on her face, but she was past the point of really caring. She just wanted to curl up in bed beside him and sleep for the rest of her existence. Alas, she had to be responsible, considering she was mostly to blame for Harry being in this situation in the first place.

Andie fished her phone out of the waistband of her mermaid tail skirt, happy that it had somehow stayed pressed against her skin with the excitement of the night. She pressed the first name that popped up on her recent call log and waited impatiently for them to answer.

“I realise it’s Halloween, but some of us are old and like to sleep.”

“Sarah…”

Andie could immediately hear the shift in Sarah’s demeanour at the defeated sound in her voice. “What happened?”

~*~*~*~*~

It took the help of Mitch and Sarah for Harry to finally wake the next day.

If there was any question that the wraith had got its share of Harry the night before, there was none now. The only assurance Andie had that Harry wasn’t on the verge of death was the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deep, like he was peacefully sleeping.

Mitch and Sarah walked through her portal at eight that morning after a semi-frantic call Andie had placed to them only minutes before when Harry still hadn’t woken up. He was the early riser out of the two of them, no matter the circumstance, so Andie was appropriately concerned.

Mitch had worked his magic, having been trained in magical healing. He’d set up a mini apothecary on Andie’s bedside table, liquids and powders of all sorts laid out. Andie watched in a daze as he did whatever potion-making he was trained to do, all her thoughts on whether or not Harry would wake and what on earth she was going to do if he didn’t.

She was a wreck.

Mitch had eventually sent her out of the room, fed up with her constant pacing and her concerned looks. Sarah had corralled her into the kitchen, offering to make her a cuppa so she would sit down and chill out. She assured her that Harry was in the best hands possible and it was just going to take him a bit to get his energy back up from whatever bad juju the wraith had imparted.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Sarah asked after they’d sat together in silence for several minutes. It was the first time Andie hadn’t heard a teasing in her friend’s voice when she was talking about Andie’s secret feelings for her best friend.

That was the first time Andie met Sarah���s eyes that morning. She swallowed hard before answering,” Yeah, I really do.”

Mitch emerged from the room a half hour later, closing the door gently behind him.

“I’ve done what I can for now. He should be awake in the next hour or so.”

So they waited. Sarah turned on Andie’s telly and found some mindless reruns of Call the Midwife to play in the background as she flitted around the kitchen, preparing breakfast for all of them. Andie was glad that Sarah was so comfortable in her flat, because there was no way she was up to being a good host that morning. She couldn’t seem to pull her mind away from the boy laying unconscious in her bedroom.

Finally, around ten that morning, there was a stirring from behind her closed door, followed by a groan. Andie was out of her seat like a shot, already opening her door by the time Mitch and Sarah even got themselves out of their place on her couch.

“Harry?” Andie asked delicately, poking her head in at first and then completely stepping through the doorway when she saw he was awake and attempting to sit up in bed. She made her way to his side, helping him to prop himself up against the headboard. “How’re you feeling?”

“Really fuckin’ exhausted,” he huffed, slumping back against the new support. “What the fuck happened?”

“The wraith got too close last night. Started doin’ it’s…thing.” She grimaced as what little colour he had gained quickly drained from his face. “I found you. You’re gonna be pretty tired for a while, though.”

“That means no class or work until you’re back to one hundred percent,” Mitch told him, leaning in the doorway. “I’ve already forged some doctor notes to get you out of stuff for awhile.”

“And it would probably be best you stay here or with Andie until the next full moon. Now that it’s gotten close, it probably won’t be satisfied lingering at a distance anymore,” Sarah added.

“At home with my girlfriend and no responsibilities for three weeks? What a hardship,” Harry groaned sarcastically, flashing Andie a cheeky grin when she rolled her eyes playfully.

“We’ll leave you guys for now. Ring if you need us,” Sarah said, parting with a soft smile.

Mitch hung back. “Just wanted to let you know that Stevie got her hands on that crystal we need. Think there’s only four things left on our list now.”

Andie nodded. “Thanks, Mitch. What’s left?”

“The wood, which I’m gonna go out and gather the rest of today. Sarah’s got a good lead on the Bauhinia from a Japanese coven, and your mom is going next week to arrange to have a local farmer provide us with a goat.” Andie tried hard to suppress her shudder over the mention of the goat. Poor thing. Thankfully, Harry was too tired and out of it to really put together why they would be needing a live goat.

“What’s the last part?” Harry asked, sounding like he was already drifting off again.

“You,” Mitch stated simply. He turned to Andie. “I left a healing potion in your bathroom. Give him a tablespoon every eight hours or so. You can mix it with food if he can’t handle the taste. Hopefully he’ll regain most of his strength in the next week.”

Mitch saw himself out after Andie thanked him again and she heard both him and Sarah step back through the portal, leaving the flat quiet.

Andie turned to Harry. “I’m gonna go to campus tomorrow and drop of your doctor note. You’ll be safe in the flat for that time.”

Harry shook his head, brows furrowed and his eyes darting back and forth like he was searching for something, though he was staring at various points on the ceiling. “I can’t believe I just…walked outside. I don’t even remember making the decision to walk out there.”

She grabbed his shin through the blankets, offering a comforting weight. “It’s what a wraith does, Harry. It entices you into vulnerability in order to get to you. Not to mention, you were absolutely sloshed. Just a bad combination all around.”

“Safe to assume the blaring headache is from the hangover, then?”

Andie chuckled softly. “Yeah. Want some paracetamol?”

“Please? And somethin’ small to eat? Gonna throw up if I take painkillers on an empty stomach.”

Andie patted him on the leg before going to the kitchen to make him some toast and grab the tablets. She came back with both and a glass of water, and some of Harry’s colour seemed to have come back.

“Get all that down and go back to sleep. Gonna be doin’ a lot of that until you get your health back up.”

“Don’t wanna be lazy,” Harry argued, his eyelids already drooping and his form already slumping back into the little throne of pillows he’d made around himself to stay propped up.

“You’re not bein’ lazy,” Andie assured. “You’re lettin’ your body heal. Now hush, and close your eyes. I’ll come join you in a bit.”

Harry was asleep before Andie closed the door behind her.

~*~*~*~*~

The next weeks leading up to the full moon were full of getting Harry back to his normal self and making all the final arrangements for their ritual. Harry slept pretty much nonstop for three days, aside from getting up to use the restroom and eat, and Andie made him shower once. By the fourth day, he was able to stay up for a few hours at a time and made it out onto the couch to watch the telly and keep Andie company while she was getting stuff together for the full moon. By the end  of the weekend he was staying up all day with a short nap some time after lunch. The day he was finally awake before Andromeda was the day that she knew he had made it through in one piece.

Andie had gotten her mom to add an extra layer to the protective ward around her flat in order to keep the wraith out. There wasn’t a day that went by after the situation at the party that she didn’t see it lingering outside of her windows and the front door of her flat when she left occasionally to go the shoppes or show her face enough in class to not make her professors overly suspicious of her absence.

Harry had been relatively quiet about all of the preparations Andie had been doing, just casting an observant eye. It wasn’t until the full moon was five days away that Harry finally started asking questions. His most pressing one, however, was what the live goat was for. It was the question Andie was dreading the most, but she knew he’d have to be told beforehand anyway. It wasn’t something that you dropped on a person the day of the ritual.

“Part of the ritual is having you bathe in fresh goat blood while we do the incantation.”

The blood drained from Harry’s face, and he swallowed hard over the presumed bile that rose in his throat. He eventually licked his lips and nodded. “Awesome.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t want to freak you out unnecessarily.”

“No, I get it. I’m glad I only have five days to anxiously wait instead of a month.”

“Just close your eyes and pretend it’s a nice bath.”

He shot her a look that said he definitely wasn’t amused.

That was the most he’d asked about what was happening. When Andie had asked him if he wanted to know all the steps of the spell, he’d shook his head and told her he trusted her. That had simultaneously made soft butterflies fill her stomach as well as leave a heavy feeling in her chest. While she was very flattered that he trusted her so much—essentially with his life—, she was realistically wary of how everything was going to turn out. It was a daunting prospect.

In the few remaining days leading up to the spell, Harry was more clingy than normal. While he had always been the lovey, touchy type, he practically never left Andie’s side while they were in the flat together. She was sure he was getting stir crazy from being cooped up for so long, and she didn’t mind his undivided attention. But she was worried about his mental state, and she wondered if he was acting like this because he was scared of what would be happening that Friday night. She wanted to comfort him, reassure him that it would all be fine in the end, but she couldn’t lie to him. She didn’t know what was going to happen since she’d never done this before. Stevie had done her best to assure them that she’d seen this spell performed successfully once before. Andie didn’t necessarily like those odds, but considering the spell had only been done a handful of times in the history of witches, she supposed one successful account was better than nothing.

Friday morning, Andie woke up to the startling but very pleasant sensation of Harry’s face buried between her thighs, not yet at her center, but laving his tongue and teeth at her inner thighs, his thumbs teasing at the band of her knickers. He waited until he knew she was awake before pulling them aside and losing himself in the taste and smell of her. She came quicker than she ever had before, and she didn’t hesitate to flip Harry on his back and ride him until they were both sated and sweaty and in terrible need of a shower.

They lazed around until the sun began to barely set. They needed to meet the rest of their little group in the forest before the sun went down in order to set up their space while they still had daylight. The height of the spell wouldn’t be performed until the moon was high in the sky, but it was imperative that everything be in its proper place before that time came.

Andie made sure to bring lots of towels and heavy, weighted blankets for after Harry emerged from the blood bath. It was nearing the end of November, and the temperature was getting nearly to freezing in the middle of the night. While they blood itself would most likely keep him warm while he was in it, he’d freeze his arse off as soon as he stepped out. Andie didn’t want to traumatise him any more than necessary.

They walked hand in hand to the meeting spot in the forest, Andie keeping a wary eye on the wraith as it followed them, at a distance that was much too close for comfort. Although he couldn’t physically see it, she could tell Harry was aware of its presence, too, if not by the guarded stance Andie kept, then the way he shivered every few seconds while perspiring was a good indication. Even though they weren’t in direct contact, the wraith was still doing what it could to suck as much energy from him as it could.

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the large black boulder that had been the center of this whole occurrence. He hadn’t realised this would be the spot they'd be performing the ritual, Andie figured. It was the best place for it, though. The power it offered combined with the innate energy Andie and her mother possessed was their best bet and this going the way it was supposed to. They weren’t taking any chances by performing it somewhere where the harnessable energy was low.

When they got there, everybody but Sarah was already there. When Andie asked after her, Mitch nodded his head in the direction opposite where Harry and her had walked in, and she saw Sarah walking with a goat on a lead. She was sort of sad to have to drain the poor thing of its life, but they would be returning the carcass to the farmer so that he could do what they normally did to slaughtered animals. They would have just flushed the blood down the drain anyway, so it was no hardship on them to lend it out for a night.

Harry pressed his lips together tight when he caught sight of the animal, but he quickly diverted his gaze and watched as Stevie and Mitch worked together to arrange all the elder branches into a pentagram, the leaves and flowers stripped. Those were gathered in a bowl that would be used to mix into the bath Harry would be sat in for the ceremony. The elder tree had a sort of tie to earth in some mythology’s, so he wasn’t surprised by its use in this ritual.

“Oh good, I forgot to tell you to bring some stuff to keep him warm. Glad you remembered,” Stevie noted when she saw Andie with the stack of folded blankets and towels in her arms.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Harry asked, watching as everyone else started going around the pentagram and setting out items.

“Place one of these at each point, just inside the outer circle,” Stevie told him, handing him the black candles they’d made out of the beeswax and powdered obsidian. “They act as a spiritual barrier between you and the wraith.” She turned to Andie with a look of slight sorrow in her eyes. “You’re gonna have to drop your wards on him before we get started.”

Andie swallowed, hating the reminder. “Yeah, I know. Waitin’ until the last possible minute.”

Stevie nodded her understanding before going back to the satchel of goodies they were using in the spell. Harry went off to do as he was told, having a quiet conversation with Mitch, who was finishing the last bits of the pentagram, that Andie couldn’t hear.

Andie’s mum came up beside her as she was reading over the spell instructions one more time.

“If you don’t end up marrying this boy after all this, I will be very disappointed,” Annabel muttered to her as she grabbed more things out of the bag.

Andie looked at her mom from the corner of her eye, not raising her head from the spell book. “Thought you didn’t like him?”

“I don’t like that he’s mortal,” her mother sniffed indignantly. “Don’t like that you’ll be muddying our bloodline, mostly.”

“Who said I was having kids?” Andie asked.

Her mother gasped, affronted. She smacked her daughter’s arm when she smirked at her.

“Kidding. Kidding.”

“Anyway. Aside from him being a mortal, I do actually like him. And I assume you must, too, considering the lengths you’re going to in order to save his life.”

Andie was quiet for a long moment, not taking her eyes off the words printed on the page. Finally, when she was sure her mother was going to give up and walk away, she said, in a low voice, “I love him. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

She felt her mum rest a hand on her shoulder. It was gentle and loving in a way that Andie hadn’t gotten from her many times before. “I know. And that’s why I’m very proud of you for doing this. You’re going to make a very strong Head of Council one day.”

~*~*~*~*~

The butterflies filling Andromeda’s stomach seemed to take on a rapid flight as the moon rose in the darkness of the night, it’s brilliance and luminosity beaming down on their little clearing. She felt the power it leant surge through her veins, making the tips of her fingers and toes tingle like they were flowing with static electricity. The hairs on the back of her neck and her arms stood on end. Everything about the circumstances of the night filled Andie and her witch counterparts with nearly unbridled power.

“We need to begin,” Annabel called out, her eyes trained on the ever-rising moon.

Andie nodded and grabbed Harry’s hand to lead him to the center of the pentagram where a tub was set up, ready to hold Harry’s body and the blood sacrifice. She kept a towel with her, ready to offer it to Harry to cover him when he inevitably had to strip down in the briskness of the night.

“I’m gonna take the ward off of you now,” she told him quietly, helping him out of his jacket and draping it over her arm. “I have to do it before we perform the sacrifice. You’ll be vulnerable until we light the candles, but we’ll all be doing what we can to keep it away until then.”

Harry nodded his consent while he kicked out of his shoes and began peeling off the rest of his clothes. Andie offered him the towel she’d brought along to cover him before he took off his pants, poor thing already shivering in the cold. She wished she could do something to help keep him warm, but there’s couldn’t be any enchantments on him while the spell was being performed.

He slipped his pants off under the towel and handed them to Andie. He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding and looked at her. Acting on impulse, Andie reached a hand out to clasp around his neck and pulled him toward her. She placed her lips on his, letting his sweet, minty taste wash over her tastebuds as her tongue swept into his mouth. Harry bit gently at her lower lip.

Andie pulled her mouth away. They couldn’t waste time, but she couldn’t go into this spell without kissing him. It helped to boost her confidence, and she was hoping it was doing the same for Harry.

“Okay,” Andie sighed.

She looked back at her mother, who had the unsuspecting goat by the lead. Annabel walked it forward until she was beside Andie and Harry, waiting for Andie’s cue to start the ritual. Andie nodded to her before reaching her hands out over Harry, palms out. It was easier to eliminate the ward that she’d placed on him than it had been to place it, so with a few muttered words and less than a minutes time, Harry was as vulnerable as the day he was born. The five witches immediately took up a low stream of chanting, placing a temporary protection around the pentagram to keep the wraith at a safe distance until the obsidian candles were lit at the five points.

Both Harry and Andie looked away as her mother pulled out a sharpened blade made from the bone of wolf and pulled it with ease against the goat throat right above the basin. Harry jumped at the strangled bleat right before it went silent. Annabel magically pulled the blood from the animal until it was bled dry. She nodded her go-ahead to Andie.

“Step in,” she told Harry. She helped him maintain his modesty until he had submerged himself, taking the towel from him. Harry shuddered, both from the cold and from the very fact that he was sat in a bath full of blood. Andie summoned the mixture of herbs and the leaves and fruit from the harvested elder branches and sprinkled them into the bath until the bowl was empty.

She next summoned the large orb of alexandrite Stevie had acquired. “You need to hold this submerged under the blood for the entirety of the spell.”

Harry nodded and took it in both palms, watching it slowly disappear under the liquid crimson.

“Okay, we’re going to begin now,” Annabel announced, her eyes on the moon. It was nearly to its peak in the sky.

Andie nodded and backed out of the pentagram, giving Harry one last reassuring look over her shoulder.

Andromeda took her place at the head of the pentagram, the point that was oriented north. She took a deep, steadying breath as she look up, spying the wraith hovering a a few feet in the air above where Harry was submerged in the tub. The only thing keeping it at bay before the beginning of the spell was Mitch and Sarah chanting steadily, creating a temporary barrier. They had to time it perfectly between the cessation of the warding charm and the onset of the new incantation that would—hopefully—banish the wraith back to whatever hell hole it climbed out of and sever its tie to Harry.

Stevie caught Mitch and Sarah’s eyes, ready to count them down to stop as Andie got ready to begin reciting the new words. With a steady countdown from three, Andie took up the new incantation just a split second after Mitch and Sarah stopped. No magic could be present and active while the second one started, otherwise it would render their efforts useless. One draw back to magic: it didn’t do well to overlap major spells.

In the second between their chanting, the wraith surged forward, ready to dive straight toward Harry and begin its quick harvesting process. Andie’s heart jumped in her chest as she watched the cloaked figure race towards her boyfriend, vulnerable in the blood-filled tub, it’s weathered stumps of hands outstretched, ready to grasp Harry to it to quicken the process. Andie wanted to scream her protest, let anyone in hearing range hear her anguish, but she knew that the real way to keep Harry safe was to begin the incantation.

She raised her arms out to her side, palms up to draw the power of the moon and the soles of her feet tingled as the energy of the earth and the nearby boulder of obsidian. With a rush of breath, Andie started reciting the words she’d memorised in the weeks leading up the spell. Words that translated to a temporary opening of the portal between worlds, creating a tear in the fabric of space to access whatever depraved dimension from which the wraith had been drawn.

Her words felt like they created a tangible ripple in the atmosphere around her and she watched in relief as the wraith jolted back, less than a meter from having made contact with Harry. The wicks of the candles lighted simultaneously, taking up that magical flame that never moved or flickered.

The rest of the witches that made up the other four points of the pentagram began to chant in tandem with Andie after the first two lines, having also committed the words to memory. Andie felt the energy surge through her as they joined in, a buzz resonating in her chest as the brightness of the moon seemed to amplify. She could physically see the shining purple of her eyes illuminate the patches of grass in front of her.

Andie watched in wonder as the blood in the basin around Harry began to boil, rolling steadily. Harry looked down anxiously around him, wary of the sudden movement of the medium that held him. He didn’t look like he was in pain, so Andie’s own anxiety subsided for the time being.

The wind seemed to suddenly whip up around them, everyone’s hair lifting and seeming to be tugged in opposing directions. Andie was overwhelmed by the rush of it in her ears, unable to hear herself or the others chanting over the sound. It seemed to be creating a vacuum, Andie having to force the words out over the lack of oxygen suddenly in her lungs, like it was being sucked from her body from the force of the wind. Her rising panic over the sensation of suffocating was seeing Harry, completely unaffected by whatever was happening on the outer edges of the pentagram.

Suddenly and violently, the wind ceased and the flames of the candles went out, and a rogue cloud covered the moon, casting an impenetrable darkness over the clearing. The blood in the basin stilled. Andie’s heart sank, having the awful feeling that the spell wasn’t working, despite their continued chanting. She let her volume die down until she was just barely mumbling the words, looking first to her mother for reassurance. When Annabel just shrugged, her lips still forming the words of the spell, Andie looked to Stevie, who was already looking back at her. Stevie nodded her head, indicating that they were all to keep up the incantation, despite the sudden lack of activity.

She was terrified that something was wrong. She couldn’t live with herself if something bad happened to Harry if they had somehow performed the ritual wrong. That overwhelming dread of failure pitted her stomach and made her chest tight, like she was nearly to the point of tears. Witches didn’t cry in situations of stress, though, and she was push on until the end.

Even if the end meant the end of Harry. It would wreck her, but she would push on.

With the beginning of the next verse of words, Andie’s stomach dropped with the sudden sensation of floating. She continued her stream of words as she looked down, confirming that her feet were suddenly off the ground, and the distance between the two was ever increasing. Andie wasn’t afraid of heights, per se, but she wasn’t really willing to trust her safety of levitation when she wasn’t the one controlling it.

However, she didn’t really have a choice.

She felt a little better when she stopped rising, her feet about fifteen feet above the ground. She kept up her spell as she looked down at everyone else, still planted firmly in the earth. Despite her physical disconnection with one of her energy sources, she could feel and increased jolt of energy, and suddenly a splintering light shattered the dark veil of the sky. It nearly blinded Andie in its brilliance, and it radiated a heat like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The light that began as a shimmering white turned into a crimson red interspersed with flashes of yellow as the split in the sky broadened. Andie realised with a start that it was the fabric of space and time between dimensions that she was witnessing, tearing in order to suck back in the thing which it had birthed.

It was working.

Upon everyone’s realisation of what was happening, their enthusiasm for the spell increased, and they were all nearly shouting with the force of their words. Andie’s heart beat raced in her chest, and at first she thought it was just her excitement at the prospect of this all actually working and her and Harry being able to go back to their normal lives.

However, she realised after a moment it was caused by some sort of energy line that connected her with the wraith, her end connected in her chest and its connected to the void of its face. The connection drug the wraith up so it was eye-level with Andie, the light shining in her eyes from her magic illuminating it’s darkness. With a gush of wind from magical origins that Andie could more feel than actually know, the head covering of the supernatural entity blew back, revealing dark void of its face. A scream bubbled in her throat at the completely overpowering feeling of despair that shrouded her. No one was meant to look a wraith in its face. To do so meant certain death.

Blood rushed in her ears, her heartbeat reverberating in her head. If she hadn’t trusted Stevie’s account of the spell she’d witnessed, she could have sworn that the wraith had attached itself to her and was now doing what it needed to completely drain her. And the force of her magic would be more power than a wraith knew what to do with, most likely leading to some destruction that no one was prepared for. She hoped to whatever gods could hear her that Stevie’s account was correct.

She could hear Harry screaming her name from down on the ground. She couldn’t see him, afraid to take her gaze from the being, but she knew he was going to try to scramble from the tub, ready and willing to do what he could to get to her. She couldn’t let him ruin the spell, though. They’d put so much into it, and they were close to the end. Andromeda could feel it.

Without breaking eye contact or ceasing her stream of incantation, Andie shot one hand down, forcing Harry back into the basin. She heard his muffled sound of protest but paid him no mind as the spell was coming to the end. She only had two lines of words left and she was praying that something happened.

In the last five words of the incantation, there was a loud ripping sound, so loud Andie was sure she’d have some hearing loss. The once meter long opening in the sky opened into a large gouge, at least fifteen feet in diameter. The light and heat it emitted nearly burned her skin, and she was sure she’d have the shadowed image of it burned on her retinas forever.

The wraith gave a low screeching sound, like it was in pain. Andie would have smiled if she could focus on anything but completing the spell.

Upon the last word falling from her lips, the light that had been emanating from the opening burst with light, spitting out what felt like acid on both Andie and the wraith. She screamed out her pain, finally able to express her feelings with the words of the spell complete. The sound that the wraith gave out was like that of a thousand dying animals, completely drowning out Andie’s sobs. She watched through squinted eyes as the dark mass crumpled in on itself, the dark cloak swallowing its body as the darkness of its being paled and splintered. In some far place of her mind, Andie mused that he sort of looked like Voldemort when Harry Potter had finally killed him. She would have chuckled if anything other than the crippling pain would process in her brain.

A sigh of relief seemed to be breathed by the universe when that rip in the sky sucked the wraith into its depths, another brilliant flash of light surging before closing back up with a pop, like there was a change of pressure.

All the energy seeped from Andie’s body, all of her going limp while still being held in the air by the remnants of the spell. She didn’t even have the energy anymore to scream her agony. Her head dropped onto her shoulder as she started to slip into unconsciousness. She wouldn’t let herself fall completely, too stubborn to let her lights go out without making sure for herself that Harry was alright.

She hardly noticed when she started floating back to the ground. There was barely a register of panicked voices and the feeling of a body catching her before she hit the earth. Above the din of anxiety, she could barely make out Stevie’s voice.

“Get her in the tub with Harry. Completely submerged.”

When the skin of her arms first touched the still-warm blood, she flinched, the sting of her wounds flaring. Harry shushed her, barely keeping in his own sobs. His heart hurt looking at her. Her skin was singed from the heat and there were blotches of deep burns where the universes had spat that…stuff on her. He placed his hand over his eyes as he lowered her head back into the blood.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath as Harry pulled her back up. They way Stevie had instructed them, it seemed like this was supposed to heal her of her injuries. It was supposed to be like the final soothing solve to finish out the spell.

Being submerged in blood didn’t seem to register with Andromeda. When her face parted the surface, Harry was a little taken with her beauty. Even covered in the blood of a slaughtered animal and pale in a way that he had never seen her, she was absolutely stunning. He was sure the effort she’d made to save his life clouded his view, but he didn’t mind.

And behind the haze he was on at seeing her gorgeous face, he registered that the burns that had been there the moment before were gone. All that was left was the perfect smoothness of her skin.

Slowly, Andie blinked her eyes open, and the smile that broke across Harry’s face hurt his cheeks. He gave a relieved chuckle and helped her wipe the blood from her eyes. Her eyes seemed to first focus on the moon that was just behind Harry’s head, and then his eyes, the glowing green warming her soul.

“Hi.”

Harry’s chuckle turned into a full laugh as he wrapped both his arms behind her back. “Hi, darling.”

“You’re okay?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse from all the yelling that she’d done while she was in pain.

Harry nodded. “I’m okay. Thanks to you. And your mum and your friends.”

A soft smile flitted to her face, like she was too tired to do much more. “Good.”

“I love you,” Harry blurted. He was surprised at his candid admission, but he didn’t regret it. He’d been wanting to tell her that since they’d met.

Andie reached an arm out to grip the back of Harry’s head. He knew exactly what she was requesting, so he quickly moved his face to hers, letting their lips brush. He wanted to be grossed out by them both being covered in blood (and he would be later), but he was much too happy to be holding her alive in his arms to care.

“I love you, too.”

[siempre-pedro]

My Kid Punched His Kid |5|

Single Dad!Teacher!Ben Hardy x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: A playground fight between two 8-year-olds bring together 2 lonely single parents.

In This Chapter: CUTE/ROMANCE OVERLOAD, you might have to take a break from how fluffy this is. Our favorite single parents first date. will they continue to have a love hate but mostly hate relationship after it? 

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Here’s part 5 everybody!!! I’m so proud of this and really hope you like it. PLEASE COMMENT, I LOVE THE FEEDBACK!

TAGLIST IS CLOSED

Link to masterlist/playlist (totally recommend reading with the playlist on)

James lazily strolled into Ben’s bedroom Saturday evening with Frankie by his side, his small feet gliding along the dull white colored carpet as he turned the corner to the bathroom “Dad?” he questions. The man looks down and smiles through the thick layer of shaving cream on his face before lifting the boy onto the counter. He returned his attention to the mirror, praying as he brought the razor to his face, tonight was not the night to cut himself.  

“What’s up, mate?” he asks.

“How late are you going to be gone?” James asks between the giggles caused by Frankie licking his toes. Ben turns on the faucet and rises the leftover shaving cream off his face, he looks up and nods approvingly at his smooth skin.

“Not long I promise, just dinner and then I’ll come home. Uncle Gwil is going to put you to bed,” he explains as he helps him off the counter. Ben thinks about his son's tone of voice, did he not want him to go? Is he crying out for attention? Come on parenting! “Do you not want me to go?”  he ends up asking.

The boy shakes his head “No I want you to, dad. I promise,” James defends as he climbs onto the bed “Does she want to go out with you?” he jokes.

Ben cocks his head as he grabs his black suit jacket from off the bed “You know she probably doesn’t. I’m surprised she didn’t cancel,” he thinks aloud. That wasn’t a lie, he’d been waiting the entire week for Y/N to cancel on him with a lame excuse or to pick a fight so they’d be too mad at each other to go out.

“Do you like her?”

Ben starts to smile “Yeah, bud. I do, she’s not like other girls at all,” he says happily. “Alright what do we think?” he asks, slowly spinning around to get the stamp of approval. James eagerly nodded and gave him the thumbs up as he lightly bounced on the plush bed. Ben smiles and puts his phone and wallet in his pockets.

“Benny!” Gwil calls from downstairs. Ben runs and grabs his son who already was chanting to see his favorite uncle. “There’s my favorite 8-year-old!” Gwil cheers as the two descended the staircase.

“Remember to cook him actual food, I don’t want his teeth to rot. He’s into coming down to get cereal at 11 so that’s a no. Homework better be done,” Ben counts off all the instructions and puts James down who was whining at the fact it was a Saturday night and he shouldn’t have to do his homework that was due on Monday. Gwil rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets. As if he didn’t know the routine, he mocked his friend and nudged him with his shoulder.

“You’re nervous,” Gwil comments with a wide grin.

“Fuck off. I’m going to be late,” Ben brushes him off and heads for the door, a small bundle of nerves emerges from the pit of his stomach. Maybe he was a little nervous, he felt comfortable around her since he saw her almost every day. But this time there wasn’t a plethora of other parents or their own children, hell even alcohol wasn’t involved this time.

“Whatever you say, Mate. Have a good time,” Gwil laughs and shoos him out the door.

A few blocks away Y/N stood in the middle of her bedroom in her black silk robe as she held up different dresses to her audience of judges; Abby and Sampson. Abby wrapped her arm around the black lab’s large body and shook her head at the simple dark blue dress her mom held up. “I’m running out of dresses Abs,” Y/N sighs as she places it back in her closet.

The brunette girl sighs and scrunches her face “What else do you have Mom?” she sighs. Y/N bites her lip and tries to remember if she’d gotten ridden of it. It was a dress she bought with Lucy right after the divorce in an attempt to feel like her old self again. How symbolic, she thinks as she moves over the many hangers to find it in the very back.

She pulls it out and holds it up to herself to see if it would still fit. The dress was a tea length strapless powder blue dress. The pièce de résistance of the dress was the sheer high neck overlay with long sleeves and littered with shiny silver stars “That’s the one!” Abby gasps, getting off the bed to feel it with her own hands. Y/N laughs at her amusement and takes it off the hanger “He’s going to love it,” her daughter cheers.

Y/N takes the dress and slides into it in the bathroom, it fit like a glove. She had to admit that she looked damn good “Ben eat your heart out,” she whispers to herself as she pins back one side of her curly hair with a diamonded studded barrette. Abagail enters the bathroom and places a pair of opened toed block heeled shoes on the counter. “These?” Y/N confirmes, looking down at her. Abagail nods confidently and rejoined her dog on the bed.

Y/N emerges from the bathroom and twirls “He’ll like?”

“He’ll love.”

The doorbell suddenly rings, when the sound reaches the room the girls’ feeling start to shift. Abby clutched a little tighter to Sampson as she watched her mother nervously put her things into her purse. Feelings that were thought to be healed start to come out of a dark place in Abby’s mind. The fact that her mom was going on a date started to scare her, memories of the day she saw her dad strike her mom resurfaced. What if this man did it to her and she never came back? The girls lower lip starts to quiver and her blue eyes start to water. Y/N looks over and sees the sudden change in her daughter and concern washes away the nerves.

“A-Abby? Are you ok, darling?” she asks as she walks up to her. Abby stays still as her chest rises and falls rapidly, the tears starting to fall.

“W-will, h-h-he hurt you?” She asks between loud sobs. Y/N eyebrows knit together and lifts her up off the bed and into her arms. The child wraps her arms and legs around her, clinging to her body for dear life. Her sobs became louder and uncontrollable as she carried her down the stairs to answer the door.

Rami had already let himself in, Mary had begun to set up her sleeping back by the tv “What’s wrong?” he asks in a panic as his friend slowly make her way down the stairs, careful not to trip due to the heels she wore.

She places her hands on the back of Abby’s head and rocks her back and forth like she did when she was younger to comfort her “I-I don’t know,” she answers, “She asked if he’d hurt me…I thought therapy got her over that,” she whispered, trying to keep calm. Rami lovingly rubbed the girls back and sighed softly.

“Did you tell her who it was?”

“No! I thought it would be too confusing! I should cancel, he’s probably going to be late anyway.”

She was wrong. After she stopped speaking the doorbell rang and everyone’s head turned to look at the white door. Abby buried her head into the side of Y/N’s neck and her body clung to her tighter shuttering in fear. Y/N crossed the room and placed her hand on the doorknob reassuring her the whole time.

She was met with Ben’s smiling face but that beautiful smile quickly turned into a frown when he saw the state of one of his star students. Y/N wasn’t even able to take in the sight of how good he looked in a formal suit “What’s wrong?” he mouths.

“Grant,” she whispers simply. The blonde instantly understood what she meant by saying his name “Abby I want you to meet my date,” she coos, rubbing her back. Abby shakes her head and cries harder. “This is Ben.”

Ben’s jaw tightened and he reached out to touch her back “Tabby?” he asks softly as he takes a few steps closer. Abby’s cries soften at the sound of the nickname and the man’s familiar voice “Tabby look at me.” She complies and slowly turns her head, her wet eyes scanning him.

“You’re taking my mom?” she asks shyly, now embarrassed that he saw her cry.

“I-I am. Do you trust me?” he asks her which she nodded in response. “I promise to keep her safe.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a kind smile, the one he greeted her with every morning.  She weakly smiled and asked to be let go. Y/N sat her down and bent down to hug her tightly.

“Will you be ok with Rami and Mary?” she asks.

Abby nods and wipes her tears away “I will.”

“Call me if you need me to come home,” she encourages as she stands up and grabs her purse from off the table by the door. Abby just stands there and nods along with her breathing slowly returning to its normal pace. She trusts her teacher and she’d be lying to herself if she thought she didn’t like the idea of her mom going out with him. He was nice and had a kid, she liked James a lot he was as kind as his dad, a little awkward but he was nice.

Y/N rubs her hands together and approaches Rami “Please call me if anything happens,” she whispers pleadingly. The Egyptian nods and smiles at her reassuringly, his arms folded comfortably across his chest.

“Go have a good time, she’ll be fine. If you don’t go Lucy will kill you. I will kill you.”

Her nerves kept itching at her as they left the house “I’m sorry Ben,” she sighs.

“Y/N you have nothing to be sorry about, she’s seen things no kid should ever see. I’m glad you told her it was me,” he reassures opening the car door for her.

It was another gloomy night in London when they reached the heart of the city, the clouds covered the last of the glowing moon when they pulled in front of the restaurant. It was probably foreshadowing how their date would go. Fate had a funny way of setting up something no matter how mundane it was that would trigger a fight. Embarrassing wouldn’t it be to have all those people stare at them just eating at the bit to throw food at each other. The halt of the car brings her out of her thoughts turning her head to the parked car in front of them “Ready?” Ben asks, turning off the car.

Y/N sits up in her seat and quickly gets out, smoothing out her dress before shutting the car door. Ben walks around the car and holds out his arm for her. She raises an eyebrow and stands up straight which makes the teacher grumble and shakes his arm “The road hasn’t been paved in years…I don’t want you to fall,” he says through gritted teeth. Her Y/E/C looks down at the parking lot below her feet, after nodding in cautious agreeance she loops her arm around his.

When they walked inside the restaurant Y/N held back a gasp, her hand clenched onto his forearm a little tighter. This wasn’t a restaurant, it was a palace. The bright chandeliers hung on the cream-colored ceilings that were squared off with gold leaf detailing. Ben let go to walk up to the hostess stand so she took the opportunity to walk around the waiting area, it was like a dream or a ball since all the patrons wore their finest. She comes across the mirror and checks her hair for any fly aways when Ben walks up behind her. He himself is like a dream, like all the ones she’d had about him; beautiful.

She took his arm this time willingly but he didn’t offer it like the last, she turned on her heels and snakes her arm through his that was pressed against his side. The man smiles softly and follows the other man to their table. It was a round table in the middle of the room covered with a long white table cloth. They took their seats and as they opened the velvet menus she asks “How can you afford this place you’re a single father and a teacher?” Ben looks up from his menu with the green eyes lowered grumpily. “Let me help you pay for all this?”

“You’re a single mom and an artist,” he retorts. She lets out a small laugh and leans back in her chair, she looks at the overpriced food in a language she couldn’t understand and nodded along with his comments.

“Touche,” she says.

“I have it covered, I had to dip into the rainy day fund but it’s worth it.” Her eyes shot up at him, his face remained calm as he looked down at the menu.

“You take all your dates here?”

“No just you,” he mumbles as his fingers tap the menu.

A blush graces her cheeks and to hide it she brings her menu higher, before her giddy smile breaks out the waiter approaches with a wine list clutched tightly to his chest “Welcome to Le Loop may I offer our signature wine?” he asks monotone. Ben peered at the red wine with interest the wine list looking more desirable to him.

“Wait,” Y/N interjects, placing the menu on the table, “I want to see if we can do this,” her pointer fingers motons back and forth between them “without alcohol.” Ben’s eyes tear away from the wine and sees her pleading expression.

“Water will be fine, thank you,” he orders and she orders the same. The waiter's lips form a tight smile before walking away swiftly. The pair look at each other briefly with confident smiles, maybe they could actually pull this off without the liquid courage. Maybe was a strong word, fate will prove them wrong probably.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asks with a small twinge of laughter in her voice when Ben’s eyes flip back and forth between the open menu and his cell phone. Ben’s puckers his lips in thought and narrows his eyes as he types into his phone with his thumb.

“Google translate. I can’t understand any of this shit,” he complains keeping his voice down so it doesn’t attract the seething gazes of the people surrounding them. Y/N can’t help but to laugh at his actions, her hand delicately comes up to cover the snickering.  “Like seriously what the bloody hell are these things.” She studied his face as he tried to make out the French words, his messy brows would furrow together when he attempted to speak and how he would push his curls back when he got further in his face journey.

“Get lanières de poulet.”

“What’s that?”

“Chicken strips,” she giggles.

He was slightly embarrassed that he did in fact order the chicken strips, come all this way and spend all this money to get his sons latest obsession. But in his defense they were fancy chicken strips, they had a little sprig of green leaves on top and were served on a gold-rimmed plate. And they were good, hella good “So tell me,” she starts, swirling around mashed potatoes with her fork “How many first dates have you had?”

“Ah, we’re starting with the hardball questions.”

“Yeah so tell me.”

Ben wipes his hand with the cloth napkin and places it on the table “A few, I’ve put myself out there but they never make it past the first date,” he answers.

She leans back in her chair “Why’s that?”

“It all goes downhill when I mention I have a kid. Women love the idea of me but as soon as they know about James they don’t care.” Her heart slumps at his answer, gloom was hovering over their table waiting to ruin the evening, she wouldn’t let it.

“I have a daughter,” she comes back with, the corner of her mouth turned upwards. It got him to smile and laugh a little bit, gloom dissipated as they both laughed together.

“What about you? Any other first dates?”

Y/N simply shakes her head “Nope,” she pops the P and taps her plate gently with her fork. “I haven’t been on one since you know,” her voice suddenly drops and her smile slips. Ben frantically tries to apologize as he sits up in his chair and reaching his hand out for hers. She slowly takes it and runs her thumb over his “You don’t need to apologize, its been years and I need the push to go out…so thanks.”

“Well as your first date since your divorce I hope I’m doing alright,” he tries to lighten the mood.

“You’re doing better than I expected, I thought we would have fought by now and one of us would leave,” she admitted. Ben flashes a charming smile and winks before returning to his dinner, he never let go of her hand the entire time. She didn’t try to pull away either instead, she sat there the whole time as the conversation distracted her from eating with her non-dominant hand so she could hold onto his.

Ben hated this part; the check. He prepared himself for this and she as worth it, goddamn this woman was worth it. Putting on his best game face as the disgruntled waiter places the black book in Ben’s hand, his face was stone cold as he read the total, but a small grunt could be heard. Reluctantly, he slid his credit card into the small clear pouch and watched as his money walked away. “You didn’t have to spend all that money, Ben.”

“I know I didn’t. I wanted too,” he responded, taking his card back and shoving it in his pocket.

As they exited the restaurant she took his arm and used her other to place on his bicep. He looked at the car and then across the street at the lit up the walkway and the glowing yellow lights from Big Ben and other marvels of their city “Ben?” she questions looking up at him.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asks with a lopsided grin. He honestly wasn’t ready to go back home it was the first night in a long time where he felt he wasn’t waiting for an excuse to come home like in the past where he’d wanted James to act up so he could leave a terrible date. He prayed she’d say yes.

“Let me check in with Rami,” she says before quickly taking out her phone. It wasn’t a bad idea, he took out his phone and was greeted with 7 texts all from Gwil ‘Have you gotten laid yet?’ ‘car sex is wild mate!’ Ben rolls his eyes at his friend's responses and sends back ‘fuck you. I’ll be out a little longer.’

Y/N’s messages, on the other hand, were the exact opposite ‘Mary and Abby are watching a princess movie marathon. Please enjoy yourself.’ ‘Are you having fun yet?!?! The girls are asleep.’ Y/N smiles and puts her phone away and looks up to meet Ben’s glare on her “Let’s go.”

It was an oddly quiet evening, very few cars drove on the bridge allowing the small talk to echo in their ears. The chill of the water below them rose, her shoulder brushes against his arm, her hand rubbing the warm material of his coat for more warmth. Ben’s green eyes fell upon the look of the clock to the side of them “Second star to the right,” he starts to quote, his voice low as if he didn’t mean it to say out loud.

“And straight on till morning,” Y/N chuckles finishing the quote.

“We’re reading that in class,” he informs her as they stop walking to take in the sight of the landmark. Y/N laughs and rests her head on his shoulder, nodding.

“I know. Abby hates it…she prefers the movie,” she admits.

Ben scoffs in mock offense “You showed her the movie before the book? Y/N as a teacher I’m offended,” he starts. Y/N rolls her eyes and releases her arms to lean on the stone railing of the bridge “James is going to read the entire book first, then the cartoon,” he explains.

She hums in response “Because you know he’ll lose all interest?”

“Precisely.” They start to laugh when he stands next to her, his forearms resting against the cold stones and his hands rubbing together. A sudden smell fills Y/N’s nostrils, it's salty and delicious she examines. The glorious smell makes her turn her head, a pretzel cart was just a few feet ahead of them. Her painted lips form a smile and quickly walks, practically bouncing over to the cart, leaving Ben by himself mid-sentence. The pretzel slowly turning inside the warm glass container was going to make up for the lack of good food she knew they both wanted and didn’t get.

She trots back with the golden brown treat in hand “Want some?” she asks, practically shoving it in his direction. Ben happily takes a chunk of it, reclaiming her arm to continue their slow walk down the bridge. “I was visiting one of my best friends in the States and he had five of these at a Yankees game, God I thought he was going to vomit,” he laughs at the story.

“Gross, we’re only eating one,” she reminds him with a giggle.

With every step and small joke they make he starts to fall for her, they argue over the last chunk and God he loved every last second of he lighthearted argument. Obviously, she had the last bit that thorn in his side. Her pleased and triumphant made his heart skip a beat, and once they got to the other end of the bridge they look up at the buildings.

“In all my years I’ve never truly seen the city like this,” he confesses.

“Abby’s too young to really appreciate it, I-I’m glad I’m here…with you,” her confident voice falters and her eyes are unable to meet his surprised face. Panicked she let’s go and places her hands over her stomach feeling uneasy about admitting her feelings. She rushes over to the edge of the bridge and looks down at her reflection staring back at her in fear of throwing up at the sudden wave of feelings. What the hell was she thinking?

Ben’s reflection enters the scene below them in the dark water only illuminated the street lights. “You never cease to be a pain in my ass Y/N,” he starts making her roll her eyes “But I’m also glad I’m here with you too.” She looks over and smiles up at him which he returns, their eyes are briefly locked only to look down at each other's lips. Gravity was pulling them together, Ben more than Y/N when he takes the final plunge and places his lip over hers.

The kiss was much better than their first the only they shared at the bar with the taste of alcohol and lust on their lips. This one was soft and filled with nerves, they could faintly taste the salt of the pretzel and the bitterness of his cigarettes. She pulls away and drags her tongue over her bottom lip their eyes looking towards the ground “Ben,” she speaks.

“Hmm?”

“Will you kiss me again?” she asks finally looking up at his perfectly flushed face. He nods and places his hands on her waist to pull her in. Wrapping her arms around his neck he places his lips to her again, their chests pressing together. His hands snake around to touch her lower back, fingers gripping the fabric of her dress.

What felt like an eternity later Ben quietly walks through the door of his home, closing and locking the door behind him. Gwil quickly entered the room with a shit eating grin on his face “How’d it go?” he asks clearly amused to hear of the date.

“Mate it was probably the best date I’ve had,” Ben whispers, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the back of the couch. Gwil could see the lovestruck smile on his best friends lips, it was a smile and attitude he hadn’t seen even before Victoria left him.

“Are you falling for her?” he asks seriously.

“I am,” Ben laughs in disbelief “Can you believe it? I’m actually falling for someone, she’s the most irritating thing and I-I can’t get enough of her.” The brunette claps him gently on the shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, Mate.”

In another quiet home, Y/N sat curled on the couch with Rami opposite of her with his daughter groggily sitting in his lap as they talked before they left “You kissed him?”

“I did,” Y/N takes a hair tie and pulls her nicely done hair into a messy ponytail, her heels discarded on the floor.

“This is the same guy you told me a month ago should rot in a hole on the edge of the earth?”

“That’s the one.”

A small silence fills the air as the Egyptian thinks about what to say next, a million thoughts and questions were swirling around his mind “How do you feel about him now?”

“I like him. I still want to punch him in the face but I like Ben.” She placed her head on the couch, a happy smile forming on her lips. Rami reached out and touched her calf before getting up and reminding her to get some sleep. After he left she left her things on the floor and walked up the stairs and peered into her daughter's room to check on her. Abby’s brown curls sprawled on the pink pillow her chest rising and falling peacefully. Y/N closed the door behind her, it was time for well-deserved rest.

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[hellyeahomeland]

“False Friends” | Directed by Keith Gordon, Cinematography by Peter Levy

In case you hadn’t heard, Carrie smoked a few cigarettes this week. The opening of the episode is actually pretty interesting, the conversation with Yevgeny the previous night in the bar ringing in Carrie’s ears. (Carrie isn’t sleeping--again--and we all know that spells trouble for her.)

Carrie is, for the most part, a loner smoker. And a stress smoker. And a rooftop smoker, apparently! Here more than in previous instances where we’ve seen her smoke, the setting--all alone on the roof--visually represents her own headspace. 

She flashes back to the scene we’ve seen several times already this season. This time, however, we finally see Carrie clearly. She speaks, she’s lucid. There is real fear in her expression, but also longing. The reveal of course is that Carrie is on her meds and in her right mind, and she doesn’t want Yevgeny to leave. 

The camera turns to Yevgeny as Carrie’s dragged away. This is a shot we’ve seen already this season but, by the end of the episode, his expression takes on a different meaning. It’s not cold or detached. He doesn’t want to leave her either. 

The repetition of this specific memory and the way it’s morphed over the episodes is remarkably similar to early season one Brody. We all knew the Carrie/Brody parallels this season would be heavy; the show is not only retelling that story with roles reversed but also using many of the storytelling devices they used in season one. 

Then as now, the audience learns along with the characters what actually took place. First we learn that Brody actually did know Nazir; Nazir held him. Then we learn that Brody watched Tom Walker die. Then we learn that Brody is the one who beat Tom Walker to death (or at least he thought he did). The key difference obviously is that Brody was deceiving Carrie. Carrie is deceiving herself (or is she?).

IJLTP. (Any time this show does something with bokeh IJLTP.) (Bokeh is the way a camera lens renders out-of-focus points of light.)

We thought the framing of this particular shot was interesting. There are two blocks of color behind Carrie, orange and white, and her body lies squarely in the center of either, one half on either side. Maybe this was completely accidental, or maybe it’s symbolic and indicative of the way she’s being pulled in different directions. She also remains in the dark--figuratively and literally. In the first episode of the season, Carrie was often framed inside rectangular boundaries, now she’s half-in, half-out. Before, she felt trapped in the car, in her bedroom, in the fenced-in basketball court. Now, she finally gets some freedom (and maybe a dollop of “fresh” air, natch). 

(There is a similar Mad Men shot that Sara thinks about at least weekly that conveyed something similar about Don.) 

Linus Roache’s performance as David Wellington is fairly underrated. It’ll be interesting to see him in a context other than “Elizabeth Keane’s mouthpiece/bodyguard/sounding board/good cop/bad cop.” For example, this passive aggressive grin at new VP Ben Hayes when he makes a similarly passive aggressive comment about Princeton. 

...or this side eye when Ben Hayes suggests firing Saul, a “Keane holdover.” 

Carrie’s comment in the premiere that Mike was not an “alpha” looms large in this scene and throughout the episode. Carrie makes several comments about him finally doing the job the right way or her way. Their differing personalities and management styles are on full display visually here. Carrie towers over him, while Mike sits back, hands folded in his lap. 

Also, as a logistics person, it bothers Gail that Mike has set up his desk so his back is facing the window. With all of that top secret intel on his computer, isn’t having the windows right there a problem? Is this an intentional nod to his incompetence or did the better lighting of his office for the crew win out? (Sara thinks it can be both.)

The Saul/Haqqani scenes this episode were uniformly visually stunning. First, the show continues its use of light to reinforce who knows what. Here Haqqani’s face is cloaked in darkness while light falls across Saul’s face. 

Overall, Saul’s captivity plays out plot-wise obviously much differently this time than in season four. We’re struck as well by how different the mood is. Both men lean or hunch here. They’re tired, they’re old, they’ve done this before.

The slow pan around Jalal while he’s praying to reveal Tasneem is … *chef’s kiss* (and suggests so much her persona of being the ultimate puppet master, waiting around any corner).

More bokeh, more smoking. Smokehing. 

There’s more mirroring between Carrie and Jenna this week, which is probably how Jenna intends to befriend Carrie (“Carrie smokes? I should too!”), but it actually just feeds into Sara’s theory that Jenna is going to “single white female” Carrie. We love the framing here of Carrie, back to camera (and to Jenna), and Jenna lurking behind her. 

And some visual symmetry here. The camera shots of the two of them are often at a distance, speaking to the depth (or lack thereof) of their relationship. Throughout this episode we see a variety of different pairings between characters. The camera choices in these scenes illustrate closeness and proximity, or distance and mistrust.

In season four there were so many references to Saul losing his eyeglasses during the prisoner exchange. If you recall, he takes them off on the tarmac and Carrie picks them up after she convinces him to get up. Later, she returns his glasses to him just as their car is hit by an RPG. So, given that, two things: 

Saul losing his glasses and then getting them back is almost certainly a harbinger of shit to come! 

We absolutely loved the framing of this scene: Haqqani’s hands slowly coming into frame and gingerly placing the glasses back on Saul’s face. We mentioned above how different the mood was this time around with Saul and Haqqani and this gentle act seemed to encompass all of that.

Two old men, some (we, Jalal) would say past their prime, standing alone in the dark. 

And the dark gives way to a new dawn, a new day. We’re about to break out into song! 

But seriously, this was a gorgeously filmed scene. We do wonder how long they were waiting out in the mountains of Morocco for the sun to rise.

The scene between Haqqani and his son Jalal was the standout of the episode. It is such an eerie reflection of the end of “From A to B and Back Again” when Haqqani kills Aayan. That episode and its ending are at this point Homeland lore, which has the added benefit of making what was already a tense scene fucking unbearable. 

We love the use of perspective and shot/reverse shot here.

The parallels with “From A to B…” continue. Then as now, Saul looks on, helpless, wearing a similar outfit but this time with his hands unbound. Then as now, Haqqani makes a spectacle of it all, when he knows others are watching (the Americans via drone in season four, his entire crew in the courtyard now).

The kiss to the forehead. At this point we were about 650% sure Haqqani was about to shoot his son in the head.

And he does pull out the gun. Jalal literally stares down the barrel. 

Instead of killing him, Haqqani just throws him onto the street, which is maybe just as bad if you’re Jalal. The framing here is remarkable. Jalal stands in the center of the frame, back to the camera, ensconced in sunlight. He’s not awash in some heavenly light. On the contrary, it’s almost as if he’s just been spit out of it, cast out of the kingdom. It all seemed vaguely biblical, like a reverse Prodigal Son, though we’re not sure if that fits exactly. If you know, drop us a line!

We’re three episodes into the season, and we’ve gotten an “over Saul’s shoulder” shot in each one. This is now a theme!

Homeland is not a show that uses flashbacks that heavily (other than the aforementioned Brody/Nazir series from season one and when they de-aged Claire Danes by putting her hair in a half ponytail). They’ve been effective thus far, slowly peeling the layer on the onion that is Carrie’s Russian captivity. 

As Yevgeny recounts Carrie’s suicide attempt, we see split-second flashes in her head. At first, the images are blurry.

And just a few seconds later, they come into focus for us as Carrie remembers. All this is obvious enough, but we also think the way that the focus on the images shifts so suddenly and the way the sequences are edited serve to disorient the viewer in the same way Carrie remains disoriented and confused about just what happened during the seven lost months. 

This scene is notable for a few reasons. First, Carrie and Yevgeny remain so physically close. He leans into her. We also love that it’s more than just Carrie’s reaction to what he’s saying. We see Yevgeny’s reaction to her reaction, as well as his emotions in recounting it. He is remarkably free of judgment and shows legitimate, deep caring, possibly love, as he reveals one of Carrie’s darkest moments. 

And while Carrie makes an offhand remark about her relationship with Brody being accessible information in her “file,” the fact is she never talks about him. Like, ever. (Sara maintains Carrie has a mental and possibly physical “Brody box” that remains sealed.) The significance of Carrie opening up to Yevgeny about what is--sorry, folks--the love of her life really can’t be overstated.

All we have to say about this is “ughhhhhhhhhh.” 

We’re three episodes into the season, and we’ve gotten a “Carrie watches Yevgeny walk away” shot in each one. This is now a theme!

We really hope that the blaring red “ABSOLUTELY NO CELL PHONES” sign is a callback to when Brody infamously and inexplicably snuck his cell phone into the situation room in “Beirut Is Back,” allowing him to send a “DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!” text to Nazir just in the nick of time.

IJLTP.

Here is our Reverse Prodigal Son: lost and wondering, his face bloodied, bordering on delirious. 

And here is Tasneem, her beautiful aubergine scarf blowing perfectly in the wind (sorry, Sara forgot to do Things Tasneem Wore This Week, but she thinks this aubergine scarf is beautiful), looking like a goddamn puppet master goddess, coming to save him. And by “save” we mean “control and manipulate.” Saviors really do come in all different flavors on this show. 

[noramoya]

MICHAEL JACKSON, BLACK SUPERHERO: African-American Artists And Intelectuals, From Jay-Z To Henry Louis Gates, Weight In On Jackson’s Legacy.

“When Michael Jackson was a boy, you didn’t have to say “black is beautiful,” you just had to look at him and you knew. In 1969, as black people were getting comfortable with the idea that African features are gorgeous, he arrived as the perfect punctuation of that idea. He was cherubic with his rich brown skin, a broad nose and a big halo of curls atop his head at a time when the Afro was a powerful symbol of black pride. “People responded viscerally to Michael Jackson’s beauty,” says Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. 1969 was a year after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., a time when the black-power and civil rights movements seemed to be disintegrating, but Michael showed up, a soul-music prodigy irrepressibly optimistic and bursting with youthful enthusiasm. “Here was a child who clearly understood the R&B idiom,” says music-industry veteran Gary Harris. “He was some sort of test-tube creation from a mad soul doctor’s lab. If Diana Ross and Stevie Wonder had a child, it would have been Michael Jackson.”

He quickly became the number-one black child star of his era, and of all time. The first four Jackson 5 singles each topped Billboard‘s Hot 100, an unbelievable start. Black people fell in love so hard, he became more than an artist and more like a member of the family. You didn’t want anything to happen to him so much that you felt protective the way you did about a younger brother. “He was ours,” says Q-Tip. “He meant everything to black culture.”

It wasn’t just about Michael. A few years after the Johnson administration declared the black family broken with the Moynihan Report, the Jackson family was large, intact, vibrant, successful and seemingly happy, giving America an idealized image of domestic bliss. Jay-Z told me he grew up pretending to be Michael, singing alongside his two older sisters and brother. “Here you had Michael and four brothers,” says the Rev. Al Sharpton, “all talented and all cute and the strong father and the mother who was matriarchal and Janet, and it was like, ‘Wow, all this talent in this family, showing we could do something.’ We were proud of that.”

Michael had a second family: Motown was a deeply trusted brand in millions of black households. If Berry Gordy said it was good enough to release, you could bet it was great. The Jackson 5 were the last great act to come out of the Detroit label, further proof of Malcolm Gladwell’s theory in ‘Outliers: The Story of Success’, that life timing is critical to success, that the historical forces swirling around the moment when you emerge can make all the difference. “The Jacksons were the first family in line to truly benefit from the post-civil-rights era with America’s new open-arms policy toward black entertainment,” says ?uestlove. “1969 was the year the social floodgates opened and an 11-year-old led the charge in post-Malcolm/Martin/Motown America. Historians always forget the third-most-important M to help black America get access to the promised land is Motown

Thriller came out at the end of 1982, as the affirmative-action generation was beginning to make its move. Jesse Jackson would make a bid for the presidency, Eddie Murphy would launch his assault on the top layers of Hollywood, Oprah Winfrey would start her legendary talk show, and Bill Cosby would create the best-rated sitcom of the decade. Even before all that started, the vibe of black ascensionism was in the air, and Michael saw no reason why race should hold him back from the most elite level of his profession. He decided to ride his excellence to the zenith. Current Motown president Sylvia Rhone says, “Throughout his career, his success dramatically affected my view of what was possible and open for African-Americans.”

Many blacks now compare Michael with Barack Obama – perhaps the highest possible compliment in black America. Not only are they both integrationists and racial harmonists, but they both were determined to reach the top while refusing to let race hold them back. “There’s so many components of why Barack Obama is president,” says Diddy, “and Michael Jackson is one of them. He started a change in the perception of the African-American male on a worldwide level: his strength, always putting himself in a power position, being seen as a hero.” Sharpton echoes the point. “Way before Tiger Woods or Barack Obama, Michael made black people go pop-culture global,” he says. “You had people in France, South America and Iowa comfortable with their kids imitating a black kid from Gary, Indiana. And when some of those people in Iowa grew, they were comfortable with voting for Barack Obama because they got comfortable imitating a black kid named Michael Jackson when they were young. Obama is a phenomenon, but he’s the result of a process that Michael helped America graduate to.”

Michael was also a boardroom killer. In the decades before him, black recording artists were, as James Brown observed, in the show but not in show business. Many ended up losing the copyrights to their own songs and pocketing a fraction of the money their music brought in. Jackson knew all about that history. “He knew Berry Gordy made his money off copyrights,” cultural critic Nelson George says. “He knew the value of songs. That’s something he understood.” In 1984, when the ATV music-publishing catalog, which contained 251 Beatles songs, including “Yesterday,” “Let It Be” and “Hey Jude,” as well as work from Bob Dylan, went up for sale, Jackson went after it. After 10 months of negotiation, Jackson purchased the catalog for $47.5 million. His stake is now worth more than 10 times that, and the move was easily his shrewdest business conquest – and the asset that kept him afloat during his financially troubled last years. It proved his savvy, separating him from all those previous black artists who lacked the power to control the music business. But more than that, the symbolic power of Jackson owning the Beatles’ music cannot be overstated. Not only did he become as big as the Beatles, he bought them too. A century after American whites owned blacks, a black performer owned the product of the most elite white group in the world. It was an amazing turnabout, and one blacks took special pride in. A few nights after Jackson died, I was in L.A., searching the radio for an MJ song, when I came across “Strawberry Fields Forever” on an oldies station. I said, “Fuck it, Mike owns this. Same difference.” And I listened.

By the Nineties, Jackson no longer looked like a black person – after a series of surgeries, his facial features and skin color had become more and more Caucasoid. George says, “I don’t think there was any question: There was disquiet in the black community about the color thing. It was an issue. People didn’t wanna go out and say, ‘He’s fuckin’ becoming white,’ but people were like, ‘What’s that about?'” As Jackson was literally assimilating, we struggled with his choices but never symbolically tossed him out of the race, even though he seemed to be trying to surgically remove himself from it. “The reason black folk never turned their backs on him,” says Georgetown professor Michael Eric Dyson, “is because we realized he was merely acting out on his face what we collectively have been tempted to do in our souls: whitewash the memory and trace of our offending blackness.” Still, we struggled to understand why. Some have said he no longer wanted to see his father in the mirror, but there seem to be deeper forces at play. “I think he wanted to be a symbol of universalism,” Gates says, “and he erroneously thought his skin color, hair texture, the length of his nose and shape of his chin inhibited that. You could say he was appealing to the universal, but there’s no way of escaping, even giving him the benefit of the doubt, that it’s a function of Negro self-hatred and self-loathing, which is a function of slavery, Jim Crow, segregation and racism, which made blacks hate the very things that make them beautiful.”

Those who knew Jackson well say he wasn’t trying to surgically remove himself from the race. Producer Teddy Riley, who worked on Jackson’s Dangerous album, says, “Of course he loved being black. We’d be in sessions where we’d just vibe out and he’d say, ‘We are black, and we are the most talented people on the face of the Earth.’ I know this man loved his culture, he loved his race, he loved his people.” Questlove adds, “As a fellow child of a taskmaster, no one knows self-distorted insecurity like I do. A person ashamed of his roots would never have made a gazillion odes to Africa as he’s done.” And even as his face got whiter, his music stayed black and rooted in the R&B tradition he mastered as a kid.”

[doom-dreaming]

Kindness Conditioning: Part 2

Y’know, I was gonna go all the way with this one, but decided to stop it at the end of the ceremony because my brain turned to mush. @cacklefrendly it was nice knowing you, enjoy the afterlife

Reader uses he/him pronouns. If you’re not familiar with The Menagerie (aka: Twins’ Pet ‘Verse)...then you’re probably better off not knowing. Kidding. Mostly. I had no idea what I would be getting into when I started this whole thing, but I love it.

(Link to Part 1 here. I edited it to fit the backstory.)

- - - - - - - - - -

It was strange, going from one kind of captivity to another. Even stranger was the fact that, so far, the infamous Calypso Twins—rumored to be warlords in their own right—were gentler and more forgiving than your previous master. They’d fitted you with a simple collar, just a strip of orange leather with a small metal ring in the front, but that was the extent of their direct involvement with you for the first few days.

Mostly, you kept to yourself, watching their other...pets. You hadn’t been entirely surprised to find out you weren’t the only one—the shock had come from how many others there were. You wanted to get to know them, learn the social structure, but you were just too nervous. You felt out of place. How long had they been here? How had they been chosen? Were they found like you? Offered? Hand picked? You had too many questions and not enough courage for the answers.

The others, thankfully, didn’t go out of their way to bother you. They acknowledged you, offered reassuring smiles when they caught your eye, but didn’t approach—just let you sit by yourself and observe. The atmosphere was an interesting one. Surprisingly pleasant, for what you assumed was essentially a harem, not that you had any frame of reference. They didn’t seem to have cliques. Favored friends, sure, but they all got along, no one seemed to dislike anyone else. They laughed, joked, complained, fantasized.

You quietly filed away the information they gave freely in their conversations. Troy likes to bite. Tyreen is sloppy kisser. Both of them are incredibly protective. They like to cuddle in the mornings. Tyreen snores, but only Troy is allowed to tease her about it. Every pet had their purpose—which was, more often than not, in regards to something carnal. When the subject came up again on the third day, your expression must have given away your distaste.

“We’re not all here for that,” one of them remarked, barely glancing up from the book they were reading. “They know who’s not into that and they don’t give a shit. They want us for other things.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason we call you ‘Troy’s Chew Toy,” another laughed. “He goes harder on you than anyone else.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Your brain swam with this new information. Did they really mean… Were you supposed to take that literally?

“Don’t listen to them.” A young blonde with a sunny-yellow collar twisted the cap back onto the bottle of nail polish she’d been using. “They’ll find out what you like on the night of your collaring ceremony.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “C—collaring?” Your voice left you in a weak whisper, raspy from disuse.

“Oh! He speaks!”

“Shut up, leave him alone. Everyone goes through a public initiation ceremony,” the blonde explained, crossing the room toward you. “We get new, fancier collars—”

“Yeah, these are just the casual ones they can yank us around with.”

“—and you spend the night alone with both of them—”

“And the walls aren’t soundproofed around here, so—”

“Twins’ sakes, will you let her talk?! He needs to hear this from someone who isn’t horny.”

“Ash gets horny!”

“Yeah, but she’s not right now.”

The blonde—Ash, apparently—sat down next to you, rolling her eyes. “You’ll get used to them. They’re right, though. About the collars. ...and the soundproofing.” She studied your face for a moment, then sighed. “Don’t stress about it too much. It sounds worse than it actually is.”

Telling you not to stress was like telling a rakk hive not to hibernate, but you knew she meant well. You just hoped she was right.

- - - - - - - - -

The rest of the week leading up to the ceremony passed quietly, uneventfully. The twins made an appearance in the common room almost every night, sometimes bringing gifts or food for you and the others. They encouraged you to spend time with them, but never forced it; they didn’t get upset when you shied away from their hands and would ultimately leave you alone, retreating back to their private rooms with their chosen bedwarmers trailing closely behind them.

During the days, when the twins were out, occupied by their facade of godhood, the other pets showed you around, letting you in on the essentials and secrets of your new home. There was, in fact, a single soundproofed room. It was known as The Sanctum, and it was a completely twin-free zone. You’d expressed your disbelief, but the others assured you that the twins themselves had implemented the system. You could spend time to yourself, free of consequences, without the possibility of being summoned.

“Everyone has bad days where they just want to be left alone,” one of them had softly quipped, adjusting her glasses with a friendly smile. “They understand that.”

Gradually, your fears began to subside.

- - - - - - - - - -

The night of the ceremony felt different from the others. The air was charged. The ambient bustle of the stronghold seemed louder. The other pets were excited. And you were in a bath. An actual, warm bath.

“Hand me that soap, Troy? Thanks.” Tyreen’s hands were firm but gentle against your skin—you were still very aware that she could eviscerate you, but your eyes were shut and it was impossible to do anything other than relax while submerged in warm water, so you allowed it.

“Feels good, huh?” Troy’s voice was somewhere to your left, kinder and lacking the overtone of brashness it usually carried.

You nodded silently.

“Gonna get you all prettied up for the cameras…” Wait. Cameras? Your sudden tenseness drew a sigh from Tyreen. “They didn’t tell you, did they?” Her fingers rubbed over your shoulders. “There’s gonna be cameras. And a crowd. Just relax, we’ll be right beside ya the whole time, won’t we, Troy?”

“Yep, just you and us up on that stage. ‘Sides,” you opened your eyes in time to see him reach out and press his fingers under your chin, tilting your head so you were looking directly into his clear blue eyes. “Tonight? You’re the important one.”

- - - - - - - - - -

It was the first time you’d been outside since they’d found you. Dusk was falling across the desert; the cooling breeze caught the hem of your sheer hooded robe. You toyed with the fabric, trying not to pay too much attention to the sounds of the growing crowd below. Earlier in the week, the twins had taken your measurements; you hadn’t had the courage to ask why at the time. It clicked after your bath, when they’d presented you with a gauzy, golden, multi-layered robe. You’d been expecting some sort of regalia, given that it was a ceremony, but you honestly hadn’t expected something so beautiful. The back was sheerer than the rest, showing off your shoulder blades and neck. It shimmered in the light when you moved. Of course, it fit like a dream.

You’d begun to believe Troy’s words when you’d slipped into it, twirled in the mirror, seen the expressions of fond pride on the twins’ faces as they watched you. You’d begun to understand how easily they’d crafted their divinity and convinced so many people they were gods. You felt like one. Some of the confidence was fading, however, as you stood on the balcony. You couldn’t see the crowd, but it sounded…substantial.

“All you gotta do is stand there and look pretty,” Tyreen chirped, fixing your hood. “It’s not hard, that’s all me and Troy ever do.” She laughed to herself. “We’ll handle the talkin’, you just follow our cues.”

Troy stepped into place on your right, setting his hand on your shoulder. “You got this, Tiger.”

You didn’t have time to look up to see his expression before they escorted you to the edge of the balcony. The noise from below reached a deafening swell. All the anxiety of your past life resurfaced, shooting up from the dark corners of your mind where you’d been trying to leave it and forget about it—

Troy raised his right arm and the crowd fell immediately into hushed murmurs. The tracker-cam hovering just off the corner of the railing bobbed and whirred. “Another lost lamb has entered the Sacred Flock!” An enthusiastic but conservative cheer rose from below. “Rescued from a cruel fate at the hands of heathens!” The cheering became rowdier. “He joins us now as part of our family! To be respected, protected, and included in the collective of the Children of the Vault!”

The cheering crescendoed until Tyreen signaled in the same way Troy had, only with her left arm. “The Twin Gods demand he be treated with the same reverence you show us! Failure to do so will result in appropriate punishment!” Her markings flared, glowing visibly even under the floodlights.

Troy gave your shoulder a barely-perceptible tap. “Step forward to receive your blessing.”

You did as he commanded. You felt your hood being pulled back as you took the few necessary steps to the edge of the balcony, but barely had time to wonder if it was part of the ritual, because as soon as your head was uncovered, the entire crowd dropped to one knee.

“Blessed lamb of the Sacred Flock, accept this symbol of your devotion to the Children of the Vault.”

You fought to stay still as Tyreen lifted your new collar out in front of you for the crowd—and the cameras—to see. Dainty, doubled chains hung down in half-moons on either side of the sturdy, solid center ring. Silver studs set into the bright teal leather reflected the lights, and there in the center, fastened just below the ring, was a tiny blue bell. It was gorgeous.

“This collar signifies your loyalty to the Twin Gods,” Troy continued as Tyreen brought the collar up to your throat. You felt the delicate chains settle against your skin. “It grants you protection and privilege.” Warm fingers fastened it at the back of your neck. You couldn’t suppress a shiver. “Wear it with pride.”

As soon as the last words left Troy’s lips, the crowd bowed their heads. “The Children of the Vault welcome you, Blessed Lamb. Live your life bathed in the glory of the Twin Gods.”

- - - - - - - - - - - @corpseyb0nes @afterthedreamer @mischiefsilvertongue @marigold-magpie @tricerathotss @vanderlinde-exe @ayilachan @zipp0flare @luxury-of-insanity @nikyri-reaper @argentineanweaboo @vanillabuttercreamm @anni000001 @imchaoticnerd 

[sammyspreadyourwings]

U said to talk to u about ur AUs so here I come! Let’s do some more world building yeah? *cracks knuckles* I hope you don’t mind the up-coming long but very incoherent and messy rant about the WITCH!AU because I have MANY thoughts so let’s chat?! :DDD My Halloween loving ass is fucking living right now oh yeah.

World building ??? 👀👀👀

Why did they get rid of my Read Mores on Asks???? Anyway, buckle in y’all long post ahead.

🌠🌠🌠 (01) What if Brian’s presence somehow enhances one’s powers? That’s why he’s always being chased by spirits or other beings and bad witches want him for this and when they can’t have him they want to kill him? (you’d appreciated the extra layer of angst? XD Like do you want me because you truly love me or do you want me because of my Gift that would greatly benefit your own power)

That could potentially be a result because witches that work with spirits because they’re opening up liminal spaces. Not that Brian is aware of it, and is doing it mostly incidentally which is how some nastier spirits get attatched to him and cause some of Brian’s problems.

He does have that moment once or twice, once he figures out how all of this workes.

(02) What hex or spell do you think the witch (or the evil coven? For dramatic movie rivalry effect between sides LOL) cast to kill him? Something related to the hepatitis and ulcer? Disease or other stuffs? (I can’t help but think about the CW TV Series Supernatural witches have so many creative ways of killing someone through hexes, spells and curses)

So I don’t have any names yet, because I am Bad at them. The curse that I currently have in mind is that it’s kind of a paralyzation hex? Like when Brian gets hit with it, it moves more central, so he looses the ability to move and then eventually the ability to speak and eventually breathe.

(03) Imagine how distressed Brian would be because he loves Astronomy and stargazing but during night is always the most dangerous to him? However after meeting the other three they’re always with him (or at least one of them) especially at night? Dragging him out for drinks and all the other fun stuffs that Brian seems to be missing out on. (Freddie will ruffle his hair playfully saying something like you’re safe with us darling we’ll look after you and wink at him but he figures they just want to see him blush so yeah all the usual good old oblivious Brian trope LOL)

Bless oblivious Brian. The insomnia as a kid is what half inspired him to love the stars, because that’s all he’d have to stare at during those long nights. It’s also when those Things He Doesn’t See (his mother’s words) circle around him.

The other three naturally realize what Night means, and how it can affect an untrained Witch especially one that has a Gift like Brian’s. Roger is the one that tends to keep near Brian during the night because he’s simply the best at unnoticable protection charms. And he usually makes a big show of getting into disagreements when he senses that something is Wrong. Because Brian suddenly has a mood drop or John actually feels some kind of spirit (which tend to stay away from him because the dead can’t cross running water).

(04) I imagine the three sometimes turn themselves into animals like cats (witches are so often associated with cats and ravens etc. you know all that) to keep Brian company and to warn off evil beings around him like he’s ours back the fuck off?

Close! They actually use their familiars! Roger’s and Freddie’s are both cats (Roger’s is a maine coon, and Freddie’s is a very sleek looking calico), and Brian usually has to pick them up and put them in the house because “no, kitty, you can’t go to class with me!”

Meanwhile they’re like “dude.”

John’s is usually the one that keeps the best eye on Brian given that it’s a kestrel. She also isn’t fond of Brian because he keeps closing her window! How dare he!

John hasn’t quite managed to convinence her that it’s on accident because Brian doesn’t feel that she’s just not another Bird.

(05) Maybe one night Brian’s having “sleep paralysis” only this time the pressure gets heavier and heavier and help now he can’t breath and he’s panicking but can’t do a thing can’t move a muscle when suddenly he heard a low but cold voice speaking some language (Latin? But not quite there’s an extra edge to it) beside his bed but he can’t understand a word and the pressure just vanished like that. He whines low in his throat and struggles to move and tries to open his eyes but he’s suddenly very groggy and tired and then he felt gentle hands caressing his face and carding through his hair effectively soothing him and the voice is now crooning sweetly, calming him by saying things like you’re safe love sleep now and when he’s about to fall asleep the hands left that’s when he heard at least three different voices conversing with each other outside maybe? One sound worried, one sound furious and the last one seems to be thinking about something but they’re all speaking in some kind of language that he doesn’t understand.

Okay, I dig, I see what you’re doing here nonnie. 

So this is probably when Roger, John, and Freddie kind of figure out there’s something out there trying to get Brian because Drudes (nightmare demons from Germanic folklore) don’t just take a walk about on the prime material plane. Much less someone who isn’t having a nightmare.

Roger is furious, because after chasing the damned Drude away he checked his seals and found that his demonic protection one has been inverted and draws demons to them. He’s screaming his head off, because he doesn’t know why or how some one would know.

Freddie is just worried because Brian hadn’t reacted to it the way anyone else should have. Almost like he accepted that this was a thing that happened and not a literal demon eating his life force.

John is trying to figure out how the Drude got in on the first place, after Roger found out the seal, and why it would come for Brian directly. Freddie’s got the most “magic” out of the four of them, Brian’s being so tightly wrapped away. Maybe Brian is just awakening his powers and because of his Gift the Drude noticed. But Roger is right, Drudes don’t just come on this plane without cause.

Meanwhile, Brian is out cold/out of it for the next 16 hours because the Drude did get a good grip on Bri’s life force before the other three noticed. Which naturally makes the others clingy for like the next month. Roger keeps forcing his weird wood crafting hobbies into Brian’s bag, and John is always hanging around the physics building and Freddie is painting a really weird thing on the wall. Which kind of makes them look like satanists.

(06) Following no. (05) do you think witches have their own languages akin to Latin but maybe they’re some kind of variation? Also will there be different dialects based on uses, regions and powers?

They all have different casting languages, yes! Most are based on latin, while eastern witches tend to stick with very old forms of their countries languages (e.g chinese with china, Hindi). Some are actually symbol based, which Freddie is very adept at because it gives the most versatility.

(07) And you know like in horror movies how people are with Ouija boards and summoning rituals? Brian of course never participates he avoids most supernatural related stuffs like plague but maybe growing up his encounters people who do those type of stuff for fun and he’s kind hearted not wanting them to be in danger so he’d try to dissuade or stop them but once the spirits or evil beings were conjured the beings always go for Brian? The most severe incident is the Bloody Mary one she appears in mirrors and Brian almost got pulled in trying to save his classmate but eventually he was saved by another witch?

Brian grows up not believing in ghosts, but he can’t deny that’s weird that things happen every time they do mess with Oujia boards. The Bloody Mary thing left him with a permanent inability to walk through hallways in the dark. But he does have the scar on his arm from when whatever it was tried to pull him through the mirror. It was weird. He thinks his friend’s mom stopped it because she game them a really long lecture while bandaging Brian’s arm.

(08) Following no. (07) that’s where my this idea came from: do you think maybe one of Freddie, Roger or John’s family member saved Brian before (when he was a kid? A teenager?) although Brian doesn’t know it? (perhaps he’s passed out during that? Roger and John’s family are more likely to do so simply because of geographic wise?) And that elder witch recognized that Brian belongs in the coven with Freddie, Roger and John so he/she/they got home, told them about this very special boy (girl? person?) that they have to protect one day and proceed to spend years arranging for them to “casually” meet and hopefully become friends or even more?

Never considered this... but this is strangely in line with what kind of Gift I have planned for John.

It would be John’s mom that steps in. Brian accidentally invokes a vengeful spirit while playing in the park. It knocks him into a tree before she can get to him. She quickly banishes it before going over to Brian. Her hands push back his hair, checking his head (only a tiny little bump thankfully) when she feels her son? of all people on his skin. She knows John is a very strong Sympathic but for him to be on someone’s he’s never met.

And for this boy to attract such powerful spirits but existing? He didn’t even know what it was?

Well, she’s never been one to question the whims of the earth. Instead she tosses her hair back and starts yelling for someone to help. Ruth comes over quickly, and Mrs. Deacon explains that Brian fell from the tree. There’s no magic coming from Ruth, not like Brian.

Oh boy, she thinks. This is trouble.

When she goes home John is teasing Julie with a rattle. She picks him up and she bounces him on her hip, “I’ve met a special boy, one you’re going to have to protect and teach.”

(09) I imagine that the other three were waiting for the right time to reveal the truth to Brian while shielding him from not just the spirits or demons’ harm but from evil witch covens as well and maybe one day they just had a very unfortunate run in with some elders who harbor malicious agenda - news travels fast? Very soon EVERYONE and every beings that has connection to the Supernatural world KNOWS (except Brian ofc lol) hence the even more aggressive and violent attacks and the other three were constantly on high alert around Brian (while having to act casually it’s hard work really).

They were trying to find the right time, and there’s never a good time to go “so the dead like you because you’re a good transfer spot between worlds oh and the rest of the supernatural kind of hates you or wants to use you because of that.”

Brian finds out about this entire thing when the witch hits him with paralyzation curse. Well just before it because she basically does the villian info dump.

But just before that, when the attacks were ramping up, the others took turns being on Brian watch, cutting their nights short, sleeping in shifts, etc. Roger is literally running out of grimories to look for seals and protection spells. John has to pratically spell a moat into existence around their flat and even Freddie can’t find something to shield Brian’s presence without hampering his magical awakening. 

They’re all getting exhausted, Brian thinks it’s just stress of recording their first album and school work. Except he’s getting a little stir crazy, he’s literally not had a moment alone since the Drude attack (not that he knows it). So when all three of them invietably crash (between the shortened hours and magic drain it says a lot that they went as long as the did). Brian sneaks out.

I don’t think I have to explain what happens?

(10) Haha I like the idea of Freddie being the wild card in every sense especially when it comes to witchcraft obviously considering his cultural heritage is different from the ones in England so he/she/they dresses differently and casts his/her/their magic differently and it infuriates their opponent so fucking much. XD

Freddie uses a hand gesture, the other witch ????? what in the literal fuck? It bothers Roger too because he’s like, this isn’t going to work *spell works* HOW? WHY? 

John actually starts mimicking Freddie’s way of performing spells and his spells get that much more powerful and chaotic.

(11) Sammy I love you. <3333 *blows you kisses*

❤❤❤❤ Thank you for letting me ramble about things!!!

[tinkdw]

14x01: watching notes / mini meta

This episode is just like one long tick list of previous meta and I love it even if the actual ep itself was slightly bland with a few niggles, the thematics are so exciting for what it means for the show overall and the characters we love. Here’s my watching notes / mini meta short versions of the themes, (previous longer meta’s on each theme are linked with x or underlined sentences). Here we go!

I called the Angel wings, yay!

Opening song: shot down in flames by AC/DC. A song about unrequieted romantic feelings. Lmao. OK, good start...

- Dean screaming at Sam “all I see is everything we’ve lost” - cuts to just Cas dying. OK. Thanks for clarifying that meta from last year up for us Dabb ;)

- That freeze frame tho. Even shortened it’s still terrible. Stawp.

- Cut to Sam in the car, this is like the one with Rowena where it went from the opening song to her in the car and I love it, please do more. Oh, bonus if we can get one where Dean does it and he looks at the camera like he’s on the office and switches it from something rocky to, like, Miley Cyrus :p

- The point of the Jamil scene, whilst in itself it is divisive and has offended some viewers (and I do not condone that but I write meta so here is the meta), was clear re: Michael. Showing that Michael essentially is that asshole who doesn’t care how much you redeemed yourself and now are trying to do good but says you want selfish things and remembers that one time you did something wrong 8 years ago and won’t let you get past it. He also enjoys putting words in others’ mouths and judging them from above because he somehow thinks he is some all knowing, all judging clever clogs (and better than Gabriel, pfft he doesn’t even know our Gabriel but just assumes he’s better, ok then...). He’s a self absorbed, self assured, arrogant, genocidal, doesn’t give a shit about humanity wanker with a chip on his shoulder having inherited some power from his daddy he doesn’t know what to do with and has only shown so far that he can balls it up royally but somehow thinks this time, this time it'll work cos he’s oh so intelligent and right. Oh look, Michael is Trump.

- “A better world”. Well I’ve talked about that a lot previously, how this links to the other extreme end of the MoL, essentially we have the MoL at one end telling us the world can only be better if you remove anything supernatural and Michael at the other saying it can only be better if you remove anything natural. Longer meta on these and how they also link to John and the season 1 onwards black/white to grey area progression here: x and x  Dabb is really hammering home the grey area / balance themes in the middle for endgame and I love him for it.

- DEAD MANS BLOOD BULLETS what a great idea! I’ve not seen anyone comment on this yet but honestly, this is up there with salt hoolahoops and exorcisms saved on your phone ;)

- Sam “chief” Winchester. I’m living. I mean let the dude take a nap but the concept and symbolism of him as the leader, taking charge of the hunters and the bunker, Mary as his lieutenant, everyone looking up to him with respect because of what he has done and who he is rather than out of fear or duty... I can’t express just how much I love this and am grateful it’s as blatant as it is.

- Castiel gets kidnapped and used as “bait” (yes there’s like 5 layers of symbolism here and I hate/love it) and the whole thing with Sam telling them there’ll be no king of Hell goes down in Detroit. Yeah sure tell me Dabb doesn’t care about mirrors and previous canon references, parallels and subversions ;)

- I just can’t even with Sassy!Cas *rolls eyes* *uses “GOD” as a blatant blasphemy* is just so human, being so done when Kip makes his stupid OTT grand entrance whilst Cas is calmly sat in front of the fire pit and then tells him he’ll burn him to ash. YES MY SON.

- “Joined at the... (Dick)”. Yes Kip I get you, everyone does, literally everyone thinks they’re boning, cos duh, but you see they could actually have an ounce of happiness within the chaos if they weren’t so bloody miscommunicative and self hating that they haven’t even admitted their feelings let alone touched each other yet below the shoulder. But yes, please, do join the hoards of characters on the show who assume they are a couple. 

*Tink stares into the camera*

- The less said about Michael’s puny ass winged ‘twuform’ the better. Yes it looks like a pigeon with disproportionally tiny wings, yes it looks like Dean bent his halo (lolz) but aside from the humour there’s nothing good about this.

- Michael: Dean said yes for love. Ah yes. The power of love. I love to be reminded that this whole show’s premise since the pilot is love. Thanks Satan.

- Michael thinks Anael is everything Cas is. “The rebel, the Angel who doesn’t like playing by Heaven’s rules” I mean jeez, like a hammer to the face much! Well, Danneel said she did want to play Castiel so ;) x and x 

- Tbh I also got massive self reflection vibes here off the next part on performing!Dean and I just love how all this comes out of Dean’s own mouth, it’s just so symbolic. Every time Michael says something it seems to be a reflection on John or Dean or daddy issues of some sort.

Re: Performing!Dean: “You pretend to care about these things... pretty things, but that’s all it is, pretending. These trinkets, they don’t make you happy they just pass the time, they’re not what you really want”. *Tink stares at all of the meta on Performing!Dean repression by overcompensating, especially with sex to pass the time and try to alleviate his mood with women, especially since season 7, every time Cas is gone and he’s pining*.

- What do you really want? This basically works for both Dean and Cas (and Sam too to be fair but he’s not been mirrored previously so I’m going with the symbolism here being most relevant to Cas mirror Anael and Dean whose literally saying it through a veil): “love, to belong, to have a place a home a family... it’s very very human”.

- *Cough* blatant easy link and exposition of endgame Human!Cas and Nonperforming!Dean. *sends Dabb a giant fruit and donut basket*

- Cleary the theme of season 14 is “what do you want” just as season 13′s was “who are you”. Excellently linked themes.

- Sam is just going around all episode fixing other peoples issues and taking no time for himself, he needs a friend and a nap.

- Jack is actually not doing badly considering and I’m so happy they made him sad and angsty without being an annoying whiney teenager (I do have an issue with how Claire was made into this and am annoyed with the m/f difference but sigh, clearly they were trying to do something better with WS. Sigh again).

- I actually kinda loved the Sam / Nick scene. Since it was clear Mark P was coming back (literally why Satan) I made peace with it and expected Nick and I hope they continue with it as well as I think it started. Mark’s little gestures of itching and wincing really helped with the overall feel here so through gritted teeth I say kudos. Jared steals the show though at his own minute facial expressions and the deep meaning of this scene for him, I’m sure he enjoyed acting this immensely as he’s always cared a lot for the Sam/Lucifer storyline and it’s closure. Obviously it’s got implications for Michael!Dean so let’s see what happens. Sam was amazing obviously, man, I just... really hope Bucklemming don’t fuck this up as Nick’s likely their play thing. Fingers crossed, it’s off to a good start.

- If they really do follow through on this really cack-handed obvious “we can kill Michael by stabbing Dean and save Dean” story then I’ll be really fucking disappointed. This is lazy and too obvious, it also negates all the possibility for the Dean/John mirror from 2x01 with John angry at them for not killing him to kill Azazel and thus leading into Dean’s blatantly exposed self worth arc throughout the season while he struggles to feel worthy of being alive at the potential expense of the world, with his family telling him he does deserve to be saved (>...>). I mean... I just can’t really get my head around this not happening? Or it being so frankly badly written if it is? It feels more like a red herring to me, like, a giant red herring. If it doesn’t happen like this and they just stab Michael with the shittyretconblade then I’ll be shocked. Though I’ll be less shocked if it’s in the Bucklemming episode and I’ll attribute this to their shitty writing and Dabb really having zero fucking says in his own show anymore and the whole thing going downhill moving forwards. So either way it’s bad. So fingers, toes and everything crossed this isn’t what happens.

- The fact that Cas knew Sam would come save him gives me so many happy feels whereas I feel only a few seasons ago he would have said he’s not worth saving / why would Sam bother. He trusts Sam and he believes Sam loves him. Happy Tink.

- “He just told you he’s a demon?” “Yep”. I love Sassy! Sam.

- Bait. It’s kind of what you’re for isn’t it? I just... That was so hilariously triple, quadruple, whatever, entendre... bait for the audience, bait for the Winchesters, bait associated with fish as Castiel usually is, just, it made me laugh out loud and @bluestar86 looked at me like I’d gone nuts but I loved the cleverness of it. Though also fuck you Cas is more than bait ;) I mean Dabb knows that he loves Cas he’s being tongue in cheek but yeah, this made me chuckle big time.

- Michael has been to see Kip and it again hopefully will be a continuation of the theme of Michael being so black and white he turns grey people black or white. I’d love to see an opposite where his asking this question of what do you want actually makes someone choose to do the right thing.

- Mary “I have to think about the good Sam, because if I don’t I’ll just drown in the bad, for Dean’s sake I can’t do that, we can’t do that”. Wow. Mary ploughing on, seemingly cold to others until she’s probed, revealing her internal emotional struggle, forever threatening to overflow and the actual drive for her actions that in full circle are what makes her come across as uncaring. If this isn’t Mary’s whole arc since her resurrection in one sentence. If it ain’t also a massive TFW mirror. IN ONE SENTENCE. GOD I LOVE ANDREW DABB OK?!

- Bobby re-emphasising the family theme to Jack in the impala, reminiscent of Jack telling the Winchester’s they are his family in the impala last season.

- Equating Sam to Beyoncé for his glorious physique, hair and overall legend / icon status is just A. Brilliantly hilarious and reminding us how great Sam is but also B. So cool to give zero shits that Beyoncé is a woman and is just as capable of being a role model for a guy. Kudos Dabb. C. I just imagine Cas looking on like but I’m Beyoncé! ;)

- The fight scene is just too embarrassing, that knife flip between Mary and Sam is so 80’s bionic man and more wires like, my dudes, my guys, stawwwwwwp. I’m also annoyed tbh that Maggie is for some reason a young, relatively helpless and hapless girl rather than being an AU survivor and hunter. Like, why even bring her from the off no questions asked while questioning Jack, if she’s so helpless she’s hiding and gormless to the point Mary had to actually ask her if she knows how to stab someone. This is weird and I hope they’re going to show her developing cos urgh. wtf.

- Cas is “still breathing” after fighting like a human and being all bloodied up like a human without healing himself. straight into the #human!cas tag. 

- Callbacks to Crowley and as @bluestar86 said Kip just reminds us of another demon dude from 14x08 and this is totally true, “Barthamus call me Bart" and “Kipling call me Kip”. What’s next, “Judas call me J”?. 

- Sam’s “enough!” 

is the best moment of this episode hands down and I am excite for this symbolism for his character growth. I don’t personally think this is at all him declaring he’s King or Regent, he’s just asserting his very puny human authority, albeit as the one time could have been ruler but he isn’t and doesn’t want to be, and regardless the demons fear him for who he is as Sam Winchester not as a potential king. 

BOOM> Sam Fucking Winchester amiright?!

He’s feared by demons because of who he chooses to be as a person and he’s respected by humans for who he chooses to be.

It’s a total mirror opposite.

It’s a bookend. 

I LOVE it.

DAMN DABB.

- Cas supporting Sam, the only one who really asks how he is, is such brother / best friend goals. Sam being honest about his feelings and the opposite mirror of Cas deflecting from his own when Sam asks how he is in return is painful. Please Cas, tell us what you want.

- “Sunshine”. OK but literally the whole point of that scene was Bobby calling Mary sunshine while flirting with beer bottles. Nothing else happened. It’s like Dabb is literally wielding a Destiel subtext hammer and bashing it into canon in new and interesting ways every moment he can at this point when they’re not even in the episode or scene. I’m reminded of David/Violet. I wanted Mary/Bobby Destiel parallels and we got it in episode 1. Excellent.

- Cas and Jack have their deeply meaningful mirroring scene about feeling human whilst both sporting mirroring injuries from mirrored wounds and both being punched in the face. (Dabb loves mirrors so much I may send him a fruit and donut basket with a great big mirror inside too for shits and giggles). 

Cas and Jack’s scene is yet more exposition that neither are valid due to their powers but valid and loved for who they are. 

Just as Sam is feared by demons and respected by humans for who he is not due to any demon blood or destiny. 

Just as Dean is loved and will be saved by his family because of who he is not how useful he is as a tool.

I’m reminded of my tag #season who we are 13 because that was so set up in that season from Dabb’s own premiere, showing just how much he does hark back and have a clear and consistent thematic overview of his story. 

You may by this point see why I’m quite so done with the Dabb bashing on SM this week? How it’s totally inconsistent with the actual canon of the show? That he clearly knows exactly what he’s doing thematically even if he’s not so hot on small details and Bucklemming/Singer take turns dumping a turd into his and the others writers’ pot of gold every now and again? Yeah, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

- LET SAM SLEEP 2k19!!!

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 45

Title & Song: Take Me To Church

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count:  4300+

Summary: Genevieve decides it’s time to tell Alfie the truth.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Talk of abuse.

**Chapter song is Take Me To Church by Hozier**

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

***If this is your first time reading this story, don’t start here as it will contain huge spoilers and it’s best read unspoiled. <3 Thanks.***

My Masterlist. (Includes Parts 1-44)

You'd kept the promise to yourself of having nothing but wine until the cloud of grief started to depart from above your head. Alfie had gone back to work, giving you plenty of time to think. And you certainly needed it. You'd not made yourself work, you let things autopilot for a bit, just trying to control yourself and your thoughts and you were honestly feeling better.

You'd spent the afternoon in your secret room that lay behind your concealed room full of jewels. You'd started with gawking at your Faberge eggs, a glass of wine in your hand as you let the music from your record player move your hips about the highly decorated room.

The conversation with your Uncle, the letter from your father and mother, the intimate night you'd spent side by side with Alfie...all had your heart feeling a lot of things. You chew your lip and stare at the almost unnoticeable recess in the wall, wondering if you could stand to go into the room or if you'd lose your progress if you let yourself into your chamber full of memories. Perhaps it's the wine, perhaps your heart just desperately needed something concrete to latch onto, but you unlock and slide the door out of the way, leaving it just cracked as you flip on the chandelier that hung from the domed ceiling in the circular room.

You pace it in circles, sipping your wine, looking at the trunks, the stacks of hat boxes and the piles of paintings as you make your way to the large painting of Lilith that graced a wall made especially for it to rest on. You let out a heavy sigh, still feeling so proud every time you looked at it. A nude woman, Lilith with firey, long hair in lush scenery, snakes coiling around her body. You'd fallen in love with it the moment you'd seen it.

It was the first painting you'd ever stolen. Seeing as you stole it from a museum, a task that in hindsight wasn't the brightest idea, but you were so proud of your younger self for doing it and the memories brought a much-needed smile to your face. Looking at it, thinking of its endless layers of symbolism and meaning for you personally made your chest hurt. You sat beneath it, popping open a trunk that your mother had sent you after you'd bought your apartment in Paris. She missed you and you missed her, and seeing as you were a woman on the rise and on her own, she'd sent you the family heirlooms she'd managed to keep hidden from your father, hoping that you would somehow find a use for them one day. You hadn't had much hope that they'd ever see the light of day again, but a part of you now, deep deep down somewhere thought that maybe... there might be the possibility now that they could.

You run your fingers over the beautiful pieces made of silver and gold, bejeweled and still shining after you wipe away the dust. You set them to the side, looking to the rest of the contents of the trunk. The doll Elizabeth had sent you years ago, you give it a hug, setting it in your lap. It's long dark hair and shiny dark eyes did resemble you and you'd never found it as endearing as you did now.

What you'd found as passive aggressive when you'd first seen it, now meant the world to you, your mother wedding veil. At least father had let her still use it. You believe it was her mothers as it was fine and delicate but beautiful in its simple beading and fabric, you have the urge to place it on your head but you hold back. No need to open Pandora's box just yet.

A very worn and now holey scarf of your uncles that he'd given you was kept in here now, you'd used it to almost pieces, having mended it many times over. It used to smell like him, and that's why you loved it, it always made you feel safe and was a reminder that there was a man out there that loved you. It was as precious to you as the heirlooms, having been on so many of your first jobs with you. You'd even risked being caught to go back and retrieve it more than once.

The last thing at the bottom, a large ring, costume jewelry, but you'd worn it until it broke as a child. Your uncle had told you he'd taken it from a place in the holy land, and you knew that to be a lie now, but at the time you wore it so proudly. You felt like the most special little girl in the world. Perhaps you should blame him for your fascination with jewels, the memories bring tears to your eyes but for the first time in weeks, they were happy tears.

You'd spent a lot of time thinking about the truth today. How objective it could be, how it could be hidden and manipulated. You sat next to that trunk and thought through more glasses of wine, a few more tears, a few more laughs as you thumbed through old journals and memories of your family and felt connected through the pieces they'd passed down over the years.

You reach one of the last entries, another fight with your father. Your raging hormones had led you to scream the truth at him, about how you'd known for years and you'd tell your brothers and sisters to and then the world. The next entry has droplets of tears and blood on the page, a reminder of how he'd tried to beat that free spirit out of you. That girl that longed to be free from his restraints that weren't warranted and served no one but himself. You feel that same anger, even years past now and you wonder if your younger self would be disappointed with you.

You look into the mirror across the room that sat propped against a wall. An antique piece you'd brought from your apartment in Paris, now the reflective surface veined and muddled by time. You'd love it so much you hadn't wanted to chance it getting broken in the fragile state of its glass and frame and left it in here. You see how your reflection has changed from the time it hung on the wall of your tiny apartment that you fought so hard for. So much had changed, and yet so very little had all the same. Your face now older, but you still felt like that same little girl didn't you? Still walking under an invisible shadow, flinching at the mentions of your father, torn between telling the truth and staying safe.

But now you were a woman. You'd made a life for yourself, and you dare even entertain the thought that you might've found someone to share your life with. And you knew if you really were going to be with Alfie that couldn't live a lie anymore. You knew you owed it to yourself, and at this point, you certainly owed it to him. You knew your father deserved anything bad coming to him, and now with his last action of cutting you off from everyone, he'd given you a sort of freedom, hadn't he? He had nothing to threaten you with anymore. He'd taken your family away, he couldn't take your money or your belongings, they were all yours, and if he came for you for your illegal activities, you knew your Uncle wouldn't stand for it, neither would Alfie you liked to think. Even Palmer had said he would choose your relationship over the relationship he had with your father. Somewhere in your youthful rebellion that turned into a career, you'd secured a spot for yourself in the shadows of the high society that your father liked to creep about in. But now, you were the one with something to offer...not him.

You delicately place the items back in the trunk and pick up your now empty glass of wine. You never thought the day would come, but it had hadn't it? You were elated and you were terrified.

You notice how buzzed you are when you try to walk out of the room, but you don't think that this is a bad decision despite that fact. So you follow through.

"Aggie!" you shout from your doorway, and as always, give or take a few minutes she appears.

"Yes, my darling, what is it?"

"Would you send Alfie to my room please?"

"Of course dear, any reason?"

"I don't mean my bedroom." her eyebrows raise.

"Oh, you mean your...YOUR room." she almost stutters.

"Yes..." you pause she can see your face is serious. "I have something I need to tell him."

Her eyes go as wide as saucers.

"At breakfast in the morning, I want all the staff; house, land, and company together. I'll have an announcement to make."

Her hand reaches up to grab the pendant on her necklace. "What about?"

"It's not about marriage if you're leaping that far." you shake your head but she still seems nervous. "It's more important than that." you whisper.

"Genevieve you're going to give me a heart attack just tell me."

"I'm going to tell him the truth." your face looks oddly indifferent.

"The truth?"

"Yes." she keeps her eyes, blinking on you. "About my family."

She stumbles back slightly. "You...are you..sure? That's...Genevieve that's..."

"I know." you nod. "I'm tired of hiding. Tired of lying and pretending. It's time."

She moves and holds your face and kisses your cheeks. "My dear I have never been more proud to know you."

"I think Alfie's a good place to start...don't you?" you ask genuinely.

"I think it's the best place to start my child." she kisses your forehead and scurries away. --- You're pushing heavy canvases back and forth, looking over all the powerful women the paintings were subjects of. Ones you'd collected and never hung on your walls proudly where all could see. That would change soon.

"Is something the matter with Agatha she's a bit more jittery than usual." you hear Alfis say from the other room. "Fuckin' what?" the confusion at the newly existing hole in the wall clear in his voice. "What the fuck is this?" he asks, eyes wide as you turn to greet him as he walks into your personal sanctuary.

"My secret room." you answer softly, moving your hands out as if to present it.

"This been here the whole time?" his brows furrowed as he takes in its contents.

"Yeah. It's where I keep my most personal things."

He stays quiet for a moment, eyes finally landing on the large Lilith painting on the wall behind you.

"With what happened with my father when Elizabeth died..." your lips purse in thought of how to do this. "It crushed me at first, burned me to the ground as you witnessed." he moves towards you now, a kind expression worn for you as you talk about your pain. "But I see now it's an opportunity that I couldn't have afforded before. I have to rise from the ashes now."

"Like a phoenix, yeah." he nods, looking at you curiously.

"I wanted to share some pieces of myself with you." your eyes are so honest it cuts him deep when you meet his eyes. He could feel something different in the air around you. "Things I've not shared with anyone really. Some I've kept secret just for personal reasons, some I've been forced to keep."

"Forced?" he says, lips frowning at the thought.

"Yes." you nod. "Like this painting..." you say, turning to point to the Lilith portrait again. "This is the first painting I ever stole." he sees the smile on your face and his nerves eased.

"Really? You kept it?" he smiles back at you, standing next to you.

"I fell in love with it the moment I saw it and the museum wouldn't sell it to me so I stole it." you grin.

"I see not much has changed." he chuckles, knocking you with his elbow.

"If I fall in love with something and I can't have it through conventional means...I will find a way." your eyes meet his for a moment and his jaw tenses, following your odd smile as you turn and walk to the other side of the room. "Take a look around, Alfie. Ask whatever questions come into your head. You might as well have been giving a key to my mind and heart the moment you stepped in here. This room holds everything precious to me."

"And the eggs are in the other room?"

"Things far more intimate and meaningful are in here."

He's taken back by the answer. He thought you were absolutely bonkers over those eggs. He sees you're actively revealing yourself to him, and he's nervous as to why. He has many theories but he works within the parameters you've set for him.

He looks through the big canvases all in a pile against the wall. "I know you're fond of Lilith but it seems you're also fond of Judith as well?"

"I love the stories as a child. My uncle would read them to me. Told me I could grow up to be just as powerful if I wanted."

"This uncle...he on your mother's side of the family?"

"Yes. George didn't have any family left. Not that I would've spent any time with them willingly anyway. My mother's family was always where my heart was. Lovely people." you say with a warm smile.

"I'm guessin' I'm just lucky you never tried to cut my head off with a sword." he muses.

"I'd never." you let out a chuckle, opening a hat box full of papers and sifting through them. Drawings, letters, writings all mixed together from different eras of your life.

You let him peruse, he touches everything he passes, landing on your mother's veil. "This your mum's?" he asks, holding it as delicately as you had and it makes your stomach form knots.

"Yeah. It was her wedding veil."

"Lovely, that," he says softly. "That the dress?" he asks, a pointed finger a pile of dresses, a white on top of the pile where the veil sat.

"No. She gave Sara her wedding dress since she was the first to marry."

"But you got the veil?"

"Sara didn't want it." you shake your head.

"Your sister Elizabeth...she was married, she not want it either?" he asks, trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together that he couldn't see.

"No." you shake your head again.

"May I ask why not?"

"The veil was her mother's, and it meant a lot to her. I was the only child close to her side of the family, she thought it fitting I have it."

"Even though you're...and forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn but...even if you didn't want to be married?" he's grasping at something, you can see it in his eyes.

"It's not that I..." you shrug and sigh. His face falls as he sees you shake the thought out of your head. "She sent it a long time ago. Before Elizabeth was engaged." Only one confession per day, Genevieve, don't get sidetracked. You didn't want to explain that you'd just never thought you'd find anyone worth marrying. Not that you were against it.

He makes his way over to the trunk and you feel nauseous. "And this?"

"Things my mother sent for me to keep after I bought my first place in Paris. Pieces handed down in the family and the like." you say as casually as you can manage. You set the papers in your hands down to rest on the top of a box to hide how your hands were shaking.

"May I open it?"

"Yes, please." you say quietly with a supportive nod.

"Oh, how adorable. She looks just like you." he says in an amused tone, wiggling the doll in your direction and you smile.

"Elizabeth thought so as well. She put it in the trunk for me to have when mother sent it." the smile stays on your face for a moment.

He moves the large scarf, something that would hold no obvious importance to him, you see notebooks stacked neatly as he gets to what's in the bottom of the trunk.

"Fuckin' hell," he says in awe, holding up the Kiddush cup your mother had sent. "This is fuckin' breath-takin' luv!" he says, holding the silver and jeweled goblet in his hands, his eyes wide. "My family woulda killed to have somefin' this nice." he almost whispers. "Should've brought this out for Shabbat! It's beautiful!" he says enthusiastically. He sits it down delicately. You see his head tilt, and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. "These...these are some of the most beautiful pieces I've seen in years, Genevieve." the true astonishment in his face is both heartwarming and terrifying. You're waiting for him to finish that puzzle he'd been working on in his head.

You move to kneel next to him, not very far away. You felt you should be close for this part.

He pulls out the brilliant Seder plate, hand painted in Hebrew and so intricately decorated just the same. His brow furrows, you see his chin push back as you wait.

"This one has always been my favorite." you say quietly, picking up the shining gold and bejeweled Menorah with two hands, setting it in your lap. The gold shone bright and the intricately carved details decorate the base, hand painted sections in different colors all over, everything about it stunning.

"That looks like something straight from Jerusalem." he says with envy.

"That's where my uncle said it was from." you nod, still not meeting his eyes.

You see him blink fast, his eyes darting from the three pieces. "You said...your mother sent you these?"

"Yes." is all you can manage.

"These were...your mothers?"

"Her family's yes." you nod, the tightness in your chest making tears want to form in your eyes.

"Your mother's..." his head jerks suddenly tilting to the side. "Jewish?" with the spoken word his eyes meet yours.

"Yes." you whisper, he sees your breath picking up, you gulp nervously.

"That means you are..."

"Jewish." your mouth hangs open slightly, your eyes full of fear for what he'll say or do next.

He sets the plate on the floor, afraid he'll drop it. "You're Jewish?" his face is unreadable except for the shock, and perhaps that's all that was there.

"Yeah." you squeak out, setting the Menorah back into the trunk, then the plate and scooting closer to him. "My father...when he married my mum he made her convert. At least publically. He made her hide it, and hid it from her children."

"He...what?" you can feel the anger raising from deep in his chest.

"He only married her because he was in debt and needed her family's support and he only got that through blackmail on my grandfather. He told her after she'd agreed to marry him as a business truce that he wouldn't allow her to speak of her heritage."

"He fucking what?" the rage was clear now as he met your eyes.

"It was a sham marriage on all accounts. I only found out as a child because I was hiding and overheard their arguing about it. Otherwise, I don't know that I would've ever found out."

He reaches out and takes your hand. "You've been hiding this your whole life?"

"I had to. He threatened me if I didn't. I tried to confront him but he..." you stop yourself.

"He what?" his deep and threatening tone was back.

"I stood up to him, I did I-" he sees the desperation the memory holds in your eyes.

"What'd he do Genevieve?"

"Well, he... he struck me-" Alfie let's out a growl. "He told me he wouldn't let me see my mother's family ever again, lest they corrupt me. Said he'd send me to a Catholic boarding school for girls and I'd never see any of my family again." you lower your eyes, the shame burning your cheeks.

He lifts your chin to look at him. "You did nothing wrong." he says and the hot sting of tears happens so fast.

"I know that now." you rasp out.

He takes you by surprise, the pain in his chest for someone having oppressed your heritage burns through him as he takes you in his arms. "I'm so sorry you had to deal with that monster," he whispers. You nod and let yourself rest against him. "You were so hesitant about people knowing we were working together...or even sleeping together..." he shakes his head. Things were falling into place. "You were afraid he'd come after you." he moves you away, fingers on your chin.

"We aren't meant to have anything to do with other Jews." you sniffle. "Could cause too many questions." you whisper. "That's always been the agreement."

"That's what he meant in the letter." he feels a flash of anger, then a flash of deep, deep guilt. You'd risked working with him, being with him despite the possible consequences. Every time you'd gone out in public with him you'd been putting yourself in danger. He feels sick to his stomach. Was he who was really responsible for your father cutting you off from your family for good? He thinks he might be ill at the thought he had anything to do with that pain. "Fuck is this...I did this." he says, his hand dropping from your face. "I'm the reason he sent that letter, Gen....I-"

"It was all my decision. You didn't know. How could you?" your face is even more distraught as his falls, eyes looking absolutely gutted. "YOU did nothing wrong, Alfie. Don't let him make you think that too. This is all on him. We're just living our lives and he's the one that's trying to play God with people." Saying it to someone else felt so cathartic. It made it real, like you were also saying it to yourself. "I..." you feel the first tears start to fall. "I wanted to tell you so badly." and the confession makes your face hurt as you tense it to keep yourself together.

"Oh come now, Genny." he coos, holding you again. "I understand why you couldn't."

"I just can't hide anymore. I can't lie to you anymore." your voice is so weak it hurts his ears. The thought that you were thinking of him amidst something as epic as this for you emotionally started to mix with the guilt and make him start to hate himself. "It's such a big part of who you are and it is for me too but I couldn't express that to you before now and it's..." you let out a small hiccup noise you were so upset.

"Shhh..." he says, hands stroking your back and hair. "Don't upset yourself, luv. I'm not mad at you." you had needed to hear that. You'd been so afraid he'd hate you for lying to him. His identity was so fused with the fact that he was Jewish that you were afraid he'd shun you for denying it.

He was actually extremely proud of you. Standing up to a lifetime of abuse to an absolute horror of a human. A father was supposed to love and cherish a daughter, not do what he did to you. He wasn't mad, but as he held you, as the silence fell and his mind calmed, the many pieces fitting together in his mind, his stomach churned for a new reason.

Oh, fuck you were Jewish. He thought to himself. This created a new problem for him, a rift creating, heartbreaking problem. Being who he was, a man who held Jewish women in such high regard and a man he didn't think was worthy of a Jewish woman...where did that leave the two of you? He'd promised himself long ago that he wouldn't go near Jewish women but here he was, the only woman he'd ever felt this close to, and literally, your hearts pressed together this very second. The things he'd done to you, and dear God the things he'd said. His face winces at the thought. He was nothing but a fucking sodomite holding an angel in his arms he was certain.

The realization hits him like a grenade landed too close to him during the war, his vision quaking, his ears ringing. That thought that had sat in the back of his mind since you'd walked into his office that day that you were too good to be true, was, in fact, coming to fruition. He wasn't worthy of you. He never had been. He never would be. He couldn't be with you.

Pt. 46 Fortuna

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this@shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou 

[rightfulcaptxin]

Five times + duty (from UF Li)

Send me ‘five times + a word’ and I’ll write a drabble about our muses based on it. | Not Accepting | @anhonourablecaptain

Edward Teach knew a thing or two about duty.

It had, once upon a time, been his duty to attend frustratingly dull social gatherings with equally frustratingly dull snobbish fools who thought themselves far above the working classes, and grimaced if a servant so much as breathed on their fancy garments. It had been his duty to smile politely and spend a few minutes with each guest, and feign interest in their activities or recent achievements. It had been his duty to wear beautifully fine yet incredibly uncomfortable clothes, with too-high collars and glittering embroidery, and listen to them gush over how handsome he was becoming, and more endless, empty flattery that had one sole purpose: to persuade his family that he should marry their insipid daughters and grant them acess to his wealth. 

When he had thrown down his family name and taken up as a pirate, he had promised himself never again.

Yet, here he was, several years later and once again adorned in fine, uncomfortable clothes, surrounded by ignorant snobs at a dull social event. Duty, he mused, could really be a bitch. 

A hand at his back brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned to find Liam at his side - his Liam, his beloved prince, the only person in the world who could have persuaded him to attend the royal banquet. It hadn’t been his pleading words - ‘but I want you to be there at my side!’ - that had convinced him, or his promises that he could slip away at every available opportunity. In fact, it was knowing how happy Liam would be if he said yes that actually convinced the word out of him. 

And, he supposed, as the prince’s husband he should probably make an appearance. Yes. Duty was a bitch.

—

I am a prince of the realm. It is my duty to marry and produce an heir.

The sound of breaking glass snapped through the tense silence of the cabin, followed by the gentle tinkling as fragments rained down onto the floor. A few splinters of wood marked the exact point where the glass had struck the wall before it shattered. 

Sat behind his desk, Edward flexed his fingers and glared at the imperfection he had created. A bottle of rum sat at his elbow, still corked and - amazingly - still full. The alcohol could easily soothe his anger if he let it, numbing him of the betraying emotions he fought so hard to bury deep. This time, however, he found himself wanting to savour it. This bitterness gave him purpose. 

“Fuck your duty.” He hissed to the empty room, his hand balling into a tight fist. He slammed it down against the desk and pushed back his chair, letting it topple backwards as he strode to the windows at the rear of his cabin. He gazed out at the churning waters beyond, in the direction of the port they had so recently left. 

In the fading light of the evening, he could see the castle up on its hill overlooking the ocean, and felt a fresh wave of emotion reach up with icy fingers to claw at his throat. Buried within the layers of anger lay the foundations of a broken heart. 

That was something he couldn’t forgive.

—

“Why on earth did you agree to this?” Ed sighed, dropping onto the plush couch gratefully. He had looked rather more put-together only hours ago - a reasonably smart attire, his hair groomed and styled into a neat tail. Now his shirt was untucked and sleeves rolled to the elbows, his long waistcoat hung open, and his neat tail had dissolved into a haphazard attempt at order. 

“They are my brother’s children, Ed.” Liam looked over to his husband with a fond smile of amusement. “Killian needed five minutes of peace. Given all that he has done for me in the past, I felt it only right to do something for him in return.”

“Then buy him a gift.” Ed barked back, dragging a hand through his hair - and thus messing it up even further. “Do not offer to babysit his hellish offspring.” With a laugh, Liam rose from his chair, abandoning the documents he was studying for the realm, and sat beside his husband on the couch. He took one of Ed’s hands in both of his own, appreciating yet again how lucky he had been to find this man.

“You know they only pester you so much because they look up to you, and adore you.” Liam told him, bringing Ed’s hand to his lips. “The famous pirate who gave up his freedom to become a king consort.”

“I did not give up my freedom.” Edward corrected, gifting Liam with one of his rare, gentle smiles. “I merely honoured a duty to my own heart, which demanded I be at your side for what eternity remains to us.” He leant in then, and brushed a kiss across his husband’s lips. He would have lingered longer, but for the sound of many running feet in the hall beyond the room. “Speaking of duty…” He murmured with a groan. “Your brother owes me for this. Be sure to let him know.” As the door opened and children tumbled over one another into the room, Liam grinned.

Watching Ed push to his feet and chase them from the room - much to their delight and enjoyment - Liam smiled to himself. “Oh, I will, love. I will.”

—

It was often like looking in a mirror - so much so that it was, quite frankly, a little frightening. 

The prince stood upon the balcony that overlooked the castle’s private harbour, his gaze upon the two beautiful ships that called it home. Shielded from public eye by the sharp cliffs and walls that kept it private, it was the perfect place to house one of the most infamous vessels in their world. Not that it is much of a secret, really. If there was a soul in this kingdom who didn’t know their prince - their king - had married a pirate, he would be surprised.

“I had thought I might find you here.” He stepped up beside the prince, and gave him a side-long glance. Davian now stood to his shoulder, with some years of growing yet to come. If he continued at this rate, he would end up taller than both of them. “Your father said you seemed troubled earlier.”

“Troubled?” Davian scoffed a little. “I suppose that is one word for it.” His gaze remained fixed upon the ships below, his hands resting upon the balcony’s wall. Edward waited, patiently. Though he looked shockingly similar to him - a feat which had taken some considerable planning on Liam’s part - he was very much his father’s son. If he wanted to know what troubled him, he would only have to wait. “How did you do it?” Davian turned to him then, and Ed saw in his eyes the same kind of conflicting emotions he had seen in the mirror some years ago. “You gave up this kind of life once. You chose to live free out on the seas. You were happiest there, right? So how did you come back to it?”

Ah. There was the issue. Edward smiled easily - it truly was like stepping back into the past, and seeing a young Edward Thatch questioning how he wanted to live his life. “Well, that is easy enough to answer.” He touched a hand to Davian’s shoulder, steering him around to look again at his ship. “That life was what suited me best. It still does, even to this day. Your father knows that. I will always be that pirate, always drawn to the ocean. But no, Davian, I was not happiest there. I was once, for the longest time, but now… now I am happiest wherever my family is. If that is here, in this castle, then so be it.”

He turned the boy to him now, both hands settling on strong shoulders. “You are a prince, Davian. You have a duty to your kingdom and your people.” The prince’s shoulders slumped with resignation, and his eyes lowered. Edward smiled again. “But more importantly, you have a duty to yourself. If you wish to sail the seas as I did, if that is what will make you happy, then you must do it.” The boy’s head snapped up, surprised, and Ed laughed. “Did you think your father and I did not know? You have played at pirates since you were old enough to walk, Davian. The sea is in your blood.” He paused, and nodded at his ship. “It is about time she saw open water again.”

“Wait.” Davian looked from him to the ship, and back again. “You mean to give me the Revenge? But-,”

“I mean to let you borrow her.” Edward corrected with a grin. “After all, you will be coming home between voyages.” His voice lifted a little at the end of the last sentence, the statement becoming almost a question. Davian looked up at him, and smiled as he nodded. Then he stepped forward, and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“Thank you, Papa.”

—

He had expected neglect.

In his mind he had always pictured the gardens choked with weeds, and the grand gates bound with twists of ivy. He had seen shuttered windows gone green with moss, and cracked paint upon the walls. Perhaps that had been merely symbolic of his own abandonment and neglect of his former life? 

The gates had been perfectly polished when he’d approached them, and opened without creak or groan. The gardens, whilst a little wild and disorderly, were still maintained and cared for. The shutters were open; and he could see no cracks in any paintwork. The house, and the estate, were almost as he had left them. Almost. 

He had been no more than fourteen the last time he had stood here, staring up at the grand house that he had been born in. In fact, he had been right in this very spot the day before he had left for good, the afternoon of his grandfather’s funeral. He had often wondered what had happened when he had been discovered missing from his bed. Kidnapped, that was the ruling decision for many years. The young lord, sole heir to an extremely wealthy estate? A prime target, naturally. 

“If you are not ready to do this, we can come back another time.” Liam’s smooth, comforting voice drew him from his thoughts. He could feel the other man’s presence at his side, though he didn’t take his gaze from the house before them. 

“No. It is time.” He drew in a breath, steadying himself, and took a step towards the grand entrance. Before he could even make it to the steps, however, the door swung open, and a tall, thin man emerged. He was older than the last time Edward had seen him, his hair long gone to silver, but he still wore the beautifully cut tailored coat that had been part of his uniform for as long as he could remember. “Robert?”

“It cannot be…” Robert’s eyes widened, his lips parting in an expression of surprise. “My eyes deceive me.” A hand came up to his heart, surprise and disbelief rapidly changing into delight. “Young Master! Can it be you have returned?”

Edward felt a sudden pang of powerful emotion - enough to choke the words from his throat and sting the backs of his eyes. Robert, the man who had been loyal servant and companion to his grandfather since before his birth, the man who had helped to raise him, who had been so very, very fond of him, and who he had been so very fond of - the man whose surname he had taken for his own when leaving behind his old life to forge himself a brand new one. 

“I have indeed, old friend.” Robert rushed to him then, forgetting all rules of station as he took Edward’s hands in his own, before pulling him into a firm embrace. Edward returned it easily, amazed at the realisation of how much he had missed him. 

“I knew you still lived. I knew it. The others may have believed you dead - kidnapped in the night, a joke - but not I. I always told myself one day you would come home.” He pulled back, and stared into Edward’s face. “But… why now? After so long? What brings you home now?”

Stepping back from Robert, Edward turned and held out a hand to Liam, who took it at once. “Duty.” Ed smiled, turning back to Robert. “I want to introduce you to someone, Robert. Someone very important to me.”