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kj-1130 · 3 years

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Broken-Collapse pt2

TW//Mentions of rape/assault//TW

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“We wouldn’t have let you jump, (y/n). You don’t deserve that.”

“You don’t understand. They have connections and as soon as they step out of those cells, I am a dead man walking. I’d rather die at my own hands than theirs, so yes you should’ve let me jump.”

You pushed out of Olivia’s arms and ran into the bathroom. Walking into a stall, you locked it, slid down the wall, and started scratching your arms like crazy. You wanted to be grounded. You wanted to feel the pain. You wanted to see blood. You just wanted to be in control.

Amanda, Barba, and Oliva watched as you stormed off. The blonde was quick to follow, knowing how much damage you could do to yourself in just a short amount of time.

She heard the pants that were coming out and the occasional sniff. Walking towards the only closed door, she realized it was locked.

“(Y/n)? Sweetheart, I need you to open this door for me.”

The detective faintly heard her sergeant come in but kept her focus on the distraught girl inside the stall.

“N-no. I-I need to d-do it. Just le-let me do it.”

Both women could hear the franticness in your voice.

“Sweetie please just open the door. Let us help you.”

There was no answer. Your sobs only grew louder and breaths more distressed. Neither of them wanted to break the door so Rollins decided to slide underneath it and ignore how unsanitary it was.

She saw that your scratching had already broken skin and there was blood caking up on your arms. The detective quickly unlocked the door before grabbing your wrists and pulling them up, preventing you from hurting yourself any further.

Liv saw what was happening so she hurriedly went on the search for a first aid kit.

Rollins sat there, whispering reassurances while you were openly sobbing and whimpering in her chest.

“Breathe, honey, just breathe.”

You shook your head and kept hyperventilating as Liv came back with something to clean your wounds.

“It hurts. It hurts so bad.”

Amanda took a deep breath and assisted you in standing up. She led you to the sinks and helped you sit on the counter with the sergeant’s help.

The older woman cleaned your arms while you dropped your head onto the blonde’s shoulder. She rubbed your back and guided you through some breathing exercises.

“I’m tired.”

“You can take a nap soon-”

“No, I’m tired.”

You sat on the couch in Amanda’s apartment, staring blankly at the tv. She was right next to you but it felt like the distance between the two of you was miles considering you were off in your own world.

A light rub on your shoulder brings you back to earth and you realize Amanda is crouch’s in front of you. You didn’t even flinch which the blonde noticed and she gave a small smile.

“I ordered some Chinese food. You need to eat something.”

The detective lifted up her hands before bringing them to yours and helping you get up.

During dinner, Amanda was gently coaxing you to eat at least half of what was on your plate before you could go to bed. You were convinced that the food was somehow poisoned and not safe for you to eat—even though you knew she wouldn’t do that to you—and it had been so long since you last had a meal, that you rarely had an appetite and sometimes just the thought of food disgusted you.

With much persuasion and hesitance, you started to take a few bites. It was then you realized how hungry you actually were. Throughout the evening, you and Amanda chatted a bit which took your mind off of the case and your mental exhaustion for a while.

It was about 7 pm when you could barely stand, resulting in the detective changing your bandages, then leading you to the guest bedroom.

She tucked you in, telling you to come to her if you needed, before turning off the lamp and exiting the room.

It was 2 am and you were lying wide awake. You thought you’d be out like a light the moment your head hit the pillow considering all that happened today; but nope. All you had done was twist and turn; thinking about those sick smirks that were resting on their faces. Their yellow teeth and alcohol tinted breath. The look in their eyes that said ‘I’m coming for you.’

Before you could even give it a second thought, you were on your way to Amanda’s room. The door was open, so you went in and started calling her name before poking her in the side.

She grumbled before rolling over to face you. Immediately, she was alert, thinking something was wrong, but you shook your head.

“I-I couldn’t sleep. C-can I stay here w-with you?”

The blonde’s eyebrows raised to her hairline. You took her surprised silence as rejection and started to back out of the room slowly.

“N-never mind. D-don’t worry about it.”

This time, the older woman was the one shaking her head. She reached out and grabbed your wrist. She felt you tense for a second before relaxing and walking forward.

“Hey, no. It’s fine. C’mon.”

She lifted the covers as an invitation into her bed. You reluctantly crawled in and got settled. She could still see the hesitance in your eyes and slowly wrapped her arms around you. Once again, you tensed before relaxing with a deep breath.

You felt Amanda give you a light kiss on your hairline as you teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.

It was the first night in a long time that you dreamt of the roses instead of the thorns.

You stayed with Amanda for a week before the state practically forced you to go into foster care. They said ‘you weren’t in any immediate danger,’ anymore. You had been there for only a few days before they sent you to a foster family.

Something in your gut told you this was going to go bad. But it didn’t matter. Because no one listens to you. And if someone did, it was always too late.

It was your first day with your new foster family. It was a woman and who she claimed was her fiancé. She seemed kind of familiar to you; it was on the tip of your tongue but you just couldn’t remember where you’ve seen her.

At first they appeared to be a normal and loving couple, but they always say looks can be deceiving.

By the second day, you were locked in your new room, aka a storage closet. It was cold and probably moldy. You were hungry seeing as they hadn’t given you food since lunch yesterday.

You were huddled up in a corner rocking back and forth when the man busted through the door and started to drag you out by the arm with no explanation whatsoever. He was pulling you so hard, it felt like he dislocated your shoulder.

The buff man practically pushed you down the stairs and roughly led you to the couch. When you looked up, you felt all the blood drain from your face.

It was them. They were here for revenge.

You just wanted Amanda. Was that too much to ask?

Things continued like this for a week. Adam Johns and Michael Pierce were there everyday, waiting for you downstairs.

They would beat you then proceed to have sex with your limp, unconscious body. You thought it hurt the first time but this...this was unbearable. Sometimes, you’d disconnect mentally and just go into a state of nothingness. You didn’t feel, you couldn’t hear; it was just nothing. You wished that you could feel nothing all the time and leave this life. But you couldn’t. This was reality; your reality. And there was nothing you could do about it.

Should’ve let me jump

The blonde detective was walking from the cafe, on her way to work when she heard whimpers nearby.

She walked towards the sound with her hand hovering above her holster, just in case. She surveyed the area and what she saw broke her heart.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“I told you they were going to come for me.”

Rollins called Liv and told her the news. She immediately took you to the hospital, hoping that this time you could get a rape kit and put those bastards away for good.

She went into the room you were resting in and immediately saw your disheveled state. She was quick to run over and pull you in her arms.

That was all it took for you to completely break down. All you wanted these past few weeks was a loving touch; someone who would vow to take care of you no matter how broken or disconnected you seemed to be. All you wanted was Amanda. She was there when no one else was. She showed you the most affection since your mother died.

“We’re gonna put those bastards away for good. They’ll never be able to hurt you again. I promise you.”

For some reason you believed her.

“Manda c’mon! We’re gonna be late!”

“Okay, okay! I’m coming.”

It had been almost a whole year since you were last assaulted and you’ve been living with Amanda since. She was an excellent mother to you and you couldn’t have asked for a better life.

Admittedly, it was tough on both of you at first; you had to get used to someone helping and taking care of you as well and Amanda had to care for a child which is already a tough job let alone a child with major trauma. But the two of you made it work.

In weird ways, you bettered each other.

The detective came down the hall and grabbed her purse before walking towards you and swinging her arm across your shoulders.

“Finally. You know those hooligans can gobble up a whole 3 course meal in a span of 10 minutes. We’ll be lucky if an appetizer is left.”

The woman chuckled at your dramatics before heading towards the door with you in tow.

Living with your newfound parent made you happy; an emotion you had forgotten how to feel. The squad made you happy.

‘I’m glad I didn’t jump.’

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The ending lowkey sucks ngl. Hope you all liked it though!

#x reader #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu fic #law and order imagine #olivia benson #amanda rollins #amanda rollins x reader #teen!reader #platonic #the squad #law and order x reader #broken #collapse

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mittensmorgul · 3 years

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Hi, I have a question, and I hope it would be interesting for you too... Could we talk about angel's wings and feathers?..

I always thought that angel's wings were a part of their true form, a kind of energy which we can only see as a shadows or electric sparks or ash or something like this.

And I didn't think that it could be a real wings with feathers as bird's. Until, while rewatch, I've noticed that angel's feather were mentioned in SPN at least twice (maybe you've noticed more?):

1) In 8.12 when Henry Winchester time travels he uses an angel feather in spell. And then Dean tells that Henry stole an angel feather from the trunk of the Impala. So feathers are reall??? Why did the Winchestets keep the feather in the trunk of the Impala and where they get it? (ok, maybe they found it in the bunker)

2) In 12.13 Sam uses a white feather in spell returning Gavin back in time (we know this spell needs an angel feather)

So now we can see how the real angel feather looks like???

Does that mean that the angel's wings can be presented in physical world like a real wings with feathers and this is not fanfiction? I like this idea so much.

I think that the creators of the show didn't let us to see it, as many other great things, that is sad...

I would really like to know your thoughts about this.

(Sorry for my bad english, it is not my native language...)

Hi there! First off, your English is fine! (lol it’s my native language, and I just typed it “Inglish” by accident, so you’re already doing better than I am :’D)

ETA: DON’T REBLOGGY THIS YET. I forgotted something that @thayerkerbasy just reminded me of, and I’m editing this post... brb... okay NOW YOU CAN REBLOGGY!)

As far as I know, those are the only times in canon we ever see or hear mention of an angel feather, and both times it’s for the same exact spell. They reference that it’s Henry’s spell when they use it again in 12.13, but make no mention in dialogue of it being an angel feather. Yet Sam had a whole jar of fluffy little pin feathers, so the assumption is that they’d been collecting them for a while (unless those were either found in the Men of Letters’ spell ingredient stockpile when they moved into the bunker, or otherwise given to them by Cas at some point).

It’s weird, because they seem like a very limited commodity, especially after the angels fell and their wings all burned up. Even after Cas got his original grace back, his wings never seemingly recovered. When we did finally see his wing prints in 12.23, they were still... not healthy... So my thinking is that any spell that would require them will become impossible to cast when their current supply runs out. All the other angels-- at the end of the series-- were either dead or locked in Heaven with their broken wings. We never learned any of their fates. Maybe they were all rendered obsolete under the Heaven Remodel?

A little behind the scenes from the early days of SPN as a bonus, since it’s tangentially relevant:

When they were filming the very early episodes of SPN, they had a lot of choices to make about what to show us based on what their budget would allow them to portray. Think of an episode like Wendigo, 1.02. One thing I see people say often was that it was a shame we didn’t see more of the monster, but only saw like... bushes shaking, or a vague form moving through the underbrush, or a blur. They made a stylistic choice right there to keep it within budget.

The options they faced were showing us a “dude in a rubber mask” type monster and showing it more, versus one really terrifying shot of a Proper Monster™ dying in spectacular fashion. Rather than go full-on cheesemonster, they chose to leave most of it up to our imaginations, giving us glimpses or hints of the monster.

They went back and forth on this a bit over the years, attempting to show us more on occasion, but most of those times the audience reaction has been varying degrees of wtf... Think about some of the scenes where they attempted to give us more than a glimpse at the supernatural, or a blood splatter, or whatever. It didn’t always work well. Think: the wire fight from 13.23...

I mean, it took us until 11.14 to ever see an angel “flap away,” when we saw Casifer zap Dean off the exploding submarine.

For the most part, I appreciate the fact that they understood the limitations of their own budget and didn’t give angels cheap little wings just to be able to show them on camera. Over time, only being able to see them as shadows, or as char after the angel died, became part of the lore of the show.

I blame Adam Glass for writing that spell, because he probably thought it sounded cool or whatever, that it was effectively a throwaway line because no other spell they’ve ever used has required an angel feather as an ingredient, and in story it was only linked into this larger Men of Letters Legacy plot that in retrospect feels like Chuck tying up loose ends and putting previously “deactivated” plotlines back into play.

I do find it kind of interesting that both iterations of this spell (the second resurrected by Bucklemming) were both tied to Abaddon. Henry’s spell in 8.12 brought her into the story from the past, she eventually travelled to the much further distant past to bring Gavin into the present (presumably with her own power alone, no angel feather required), and then after she was killed, they used the spell to return Gavin to his own time. So in a a way, the spell was part of a closed narrative loop, never to be referred to again.

Kinda wild that we’d never heard of angel feathers being a thing for spells until we learn that Dean apparently had some just stashed in the trunk, though... :’D

As for how corporeal angel feathers are/were, they exist in the earthly plane enough to leave char marks when they burn, when an angel is killed, so they must always have had the potential to manifest physically. I can’t imagine they ever would’ve had a budget to show us anything more than what we usually saw, though. It did give them a LOT of flexibility over how exactly they presented them to us when they DID show us. And I can’t even imagine the suffering Misha would’ve endured as an actor spending all those years wearing some weird wing harness rig. It would’ve been... impractical. And the CGI the show could’ve afforded-- especially in earlier days-- would’ve been... bad...

But what they were able to show us? Was often awesome. Remember when Raphael showed off his wings in 5.03? LIGHTNING!

And when we finally did see actual corporeal-appearing wings in 8.23... it was Dramatique™

And for More CGI Is Sometimes A Bad Thing Science, please have the attempt at Michael’s “true form” from 14.01:

It’s kinda a super-letdown after AU!Michael’s previous shadow wing displays from 13.01, but more specifically from 13.22:

those... were... badass...

Even the pre-wire-fight wing shadows on Dean were badass:

But if they’d tried to show us more of them, to make them move through action scenes for example, it would’ve been... bad...

So what we’re left with is the knowledge that there is some sort of corporeal element to wings that we simply can’t see most of the time, but clearly angels have the ability to show or hide them at will, even from other angels. Could it be an act of will on the part of the angel that manifests a bit of their grace in the form of a physical feather? Honestly, that’s the theory I’ve personally adopted toward canon. In fanfic, I’ve read tons of various headcanons about what angel wings are and how they function-- everything from “a manifestation of their true form” to “angels share a lot of traits with birds” to “an extension of their grace,” and everything in between.

I personally, in canon, like to think of it as akin to how they’ve used angel grace for other spells. I mean, when we recall that angels haven’t been on Earth much for the last few thousand years (aside from at least a couple of known incidents where angels interfered with humanity, like Ishim and Company in 12.10, for example, and the presumptive extension that the Men of Letters knew of the existence of angels and likely summoned one up a time or two the same way Lily Sunder had, giving one explanation for how Henry Winchester knew of this spell and had an angel feather to use for it, but also recontextualized when Lily Sunder taught us that humans can use their own souls to power spells in the same way angels used their grace... which sort of makes the notion of needing an angel feather AND his own soul to charge that particular spell in 8.12 a bit redundant unless Lily’s knowledge of angelic magic was more advanced than Henry’s... hrmpf.... so much tangent... back to the point)...

We did eventually learn of other spells that required an angel’s actual grace, not concentrated in the form of a feather. The Angel Fall Spell in 8.23 being the prime example. Metatron took ALL of Cas’s grace for that one, even if he didn’t use all of it for the spell and left a “fragment” (Metatron described it as “not a lot, but enough.”).

ETA: HECK. I have 9.03 on the tv right now and it’s distractedly made me disgusted enough to have forgotten something that Thayer just reminded me of: Lucifer’s “fossilized feather” in 12.07. It held enough grace to restore and heal him after Rowena’s spell in 12.03 had degraded him. Which really only adds to the theory that “feathers” are simply bits of grace that have been rendered solid somehow, but that can be transformed back into grace as needed.

And then there was the Rift Spell for travelling to alternate universes that required archangel grace, as well as the time travel/ward breaking spell that Sam found in 11.14 that ALSO required archangel grace specifically. Would these spells have worked with an archangel “feather?” Possibly, if material feathers are somehow just crystalized bits of grace, but since we never got a full explanation in canon, and never even really saw corporeal feathery wings that dropped feathers or could be plucked, and never even had mention of corporeal feathers outside of their use in this single spell, it’s really up to our own interpretation. And I kind of like it that way, because that way we get to have fun little discussions like this one. :D

I know this isn’t a definitive answer, but it’s how it all makes sense to me, in the hand-wavey sort of way that all of canon works. :’D

#spn 8.12 #spn 12.13 #spn 8.23 #on the nature of angel grace #angels and souls #sigils and symbols #heck i know i used to have a spells tag...#spn 11.14 #spn 5.03 #spn 12.10 #spn 13.23 #spn 13.22 #spn 13.01 #spn 14.01 #Anonymous #spn 12.07

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simsadventures · 4 years

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Not Me: Chapter 2: Domestic Bliss

Summary: You throw a party at your house, and while on the outside you look like the perfect couple, the reality is quite different. Especially after you learn about another shocking truth. But Bucky seems to be shocked as well.

Warnings: angst, pretending, infidelity, hint of jealousy, swearing, betrayal, weight loss

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x wife!Reader

Word Count: 2555

A/N: I promise, all will be explained in a short time. What did we all think? Bucky is an ass, that’s for sure, but maybe there’s something behind his behaviour… who knows? XD FEEDBACK is gold, so please, let me know if you like it, or what was your favourite part :) xx

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You looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed. Where there used to be a happy, confident woman, was now standing an unsure being without shape or form. You always loved the way your boobs looked, having been one of the lucky girls to have their breasts just the right size and shape without undergoing surgery. But since you lost more than 20 pounds over the last year, your boobs all but disappeared.

So did the glow your skin used to have once. You were dull now, and if it weren’t for your hairdresser who tried to keep your hair shiny and healthy-looking, you bet you would like a walking dead. But no matter how much weight you lost, James didn’t seem to care.

It was pathetic to even try in the first place, because he would always mumble something like you’re not gonna get me, and would walk away, leaving you confused and hurt. You thought that maybe he thought you weren’t representative enough for him, so you tried to lose weight. But nothing happened because you were just the right amount of weight.

It came only with the constant heartbreak that you finally lost your appetite, and the pounds started to disappear from the scale.

You shrugged in the mirror and applied another layer of red lipstick to your lips and plastered a fake smile on your face. This would be a long night, you thought to yourself, as you descended the stairs leading to your formal room, aka the torture room, as you liked to call it.

It was there that most of the parties and meeting happened, and because it was your turn to host one of the Y/L/N family parties, you couldn’t even protest. Your whole family would be there, and so was James’.

After what your father told you that day, and the way he’s been acting towards you ever since then, you weren’t looking forward to seeing him. Nevertheless, you couldn’t wait to see two of your three brothers. Not that you wouldn’t see them almost every month, it being your only outlet and your flight towards safety, but their faces and goofy acts always made you smile.

When you saw your oldest brother, Max, you actually smiled at him, and you had to tell yourself not to rush too fast towards him, because it would actually look like you weren’t happy in your current position. The hostess of the party. Ugh!

You made sure that the caterers brought everything they should and that your home decorator came soon in the morning to put things in their places, but other than that, you couldn’t care less. It was just for a show, just like every other aspect of your life, apparently.

Max waved at you, and you came close enough to squeeze his hand affectionately. He looked you up and down and frowned, but didn’t say anything, being the polite one of the four of you. You wanted to say something, but then you felt somebody hauling you up from your feet and you screamed, not being able to contain yourself.

When you heard a huron laugh from behind you, you let out a chuckle and tapped his hand, signalling that he should let you down. It was the other brother, two years older than you, Thomas.

While Max was a cardio surgeon, Thomas was in the Army. He only recently got sent home from Afghanistan, and you couldn’t get enough of him, missing him like crazy over the past 7 months while he was on a mission.

“I swear to God, you’re lighter and lighter every time I see you, cheerio! You’re almost translucent, what the fuck is going on, huh?”

You just shook your head and put your fake smile on to calm him down so that he wouldn’t make a scene. Your father and James would eat you alive if somebody caused a scene and you wouldn’t be able to shush them appropriately.

“It’s this new diet I’m on, Tom! I thought I looked marvellous so thank you for bursting my little bubble,” you said playfully, hoping that neither of your brothers would see through you. But who were you kidding? You grew up with them, and you were their little sister, of course, they wouldn’t trust you just like that.

They both exchanged looks that said, right but didn’t press the matter for which you were extremely thankful. You looked around the room to see where your husband was, trying to keep up the appearances at least for a while, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. You shrugged and hoped he’d come as soon as possible, because you could see your father’s prying eyes on you, and you didn’t want to give him another reason to scold you.

To get your mind off of things, you looked for your nieces and nephews, Max’s children, so that nobody would ask you unnecessary questions and you could enjoy some time with your family before you had to go and speak with your father. You couldn’t find your mom anywhere, and you could bet she was outside having a cigarette, or 10. It was her outlet in this crazy world, and although you used to give her lectures, you totally got why she started this horrible habit. It even crossed your own mind a few times.

The little ones were having fun on the veranda, and after you greeted their mother, Felicia, you sat on your heels to let the little ones tell you all they needed.

“And auntie Y/N, why is grass green?” “Y/N, I have a boyfriend, his name is Joshua!”

You listened to the 4-year old asking question over his sister’s telling you about her kindergarten’s love, and you smiled to yourself. You loved the two of them, just as much as you loved the two babes in Felicia’s arms. One-year-old twins. Four children were apparently a lot to take in and to take care of, but Felicia was a pro, and you admired her for her patience with your brother because he sometimes acted worse than those kids.

“Shouldn’t you be in there, entertaining your guests with your husband?” You heard your father’s stern voice from behind you, and the hair on your neck stood up. You clenched your jaw, gave Felicia an apologetic smile and went back inside, without as much as looking at your father.

He didn’t like that too much, so he grabbed you by your upper arm, squeezing so much you could feel the blood draining from the limb.

“Don’t you give me this treatment, young lady. How about you put a smile on that pretty face of yours and stop being so sour, huh? Wouldn’t kill you to be pleasant for a day!”

You blinked away the tears welling in your eyes, nodded absentmindedly, which made him release your arm. You looked around the room once more, looking for James, when you saw him leaving one of the guest rooms on the floor ground. You sighed and put on a smile, which fell as soon as you saw another person leaving the room behind James. Her red hair seemed to be the only thing you saw, and you had to try really hard not to vomit at the sight.

It was one of your bridesmaids and great friends (sure), Natasha. They both looked like they either went through a tornado or they fucked each other’s souls out, and your heart fell.

Not only was he making your life a living hell, but he also fucked one of your friends? That was just perfect. You knew that if you saw him, you weren’t the only one, and sure enough, your father made his presence known again

“You can’t even keep a man? Pf, I thought at least that pussy of yours was for something, but I guess I was wrong,” he said mockingly and left you standing there, feeling like you stood under a cold shower.

James turned around the room, greeted a few people he missed due to his escapades before his eyes landed on you. You wanted to yell at him, wanted to throw stuff at him for doing this to you. Why he married you in the first place, you didn’t understand. You didn’t give him even a small smile as you walked towards him, and, for a second, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. That soon passed, and his typical scowl replaced the shock on his face.

When you reached him, and he snaked his arm your waist (which cause you to shudder in disgust, to be quite frank), you leaned in, and with a smile for the other guests of the party, you whispered to his ear,

“You could have at least each left the room in a different time. And you could have made sure you didn’t look like you just fucked one of my best friends, but maybe that’s just me, dear,” you hissed the last part of the sentence as you looked deep into his eyes and without as much as another thought left him standing there, and went to your brothers again.

Not that you wanted to talk to them about it, but you saw the looks on their faces, and you knew they saw the whole thing, from Bucky leaving the room with Natasha to you talking to him. And the looks on their faces were very close to two people ready to murder somebody, so you tried to go and calm them both down. You were just lucky your twin, Adam, wasn’t there, because he would definitely have already acted. And it wouldn’t be nice considering he was an MMA fighter.

“Is he fucking kidding me? I’m going to kill him, Y/N. Like seriously, it will take me one good measured punch, and he’s down,” Tom said, seething, and you patted his shoulder, keeping your fake smile on your lips.

“Don’t. Please, Tom, Max. Suits me for thinking he could actually love me. Let’s just forget about it and act as if nothing happened, can we?”

“Is that the reason you looked the way you do? For fuck’s sake, Y/N. That idiot’s been killing you for over a year, and now he’ll sleep with your friend, to top it all? Has he been beating you too? That why you have the forming bruise on your arm?” Max asked, his temper showing as well.

You looked down to your bare arm and saw that Max was right indeed. There was a bruise already kind of blue from where your father grabbed you minutes ago.

“It’s not like that, I promise. James hasn’t laid his arms on me, I swear. It’s from a pleasant conversation I had with dad a while ago,” you added, knowing that there was nothing your brothers could do about your despotic father.

They were both red from anger, and you didn’t blame them. If somebody treated your brothers the way James treated you, you’d probably tear them to pieces. Or, at least, the old you would. You didn’t know yourself anymore. This meek wife, trying to do as her father and her husband tell her. You were disgusted by yourself but couldn’t see a way out.

Somebody touched your arm, and from the surprised looks on your brothers’ faces, you knew exactly who it was. The fucking audacity of that woman.

“Natasha, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You asked her, so mockingly, you were actually surprised at yourself.

She looked taken aback, but she still laughed freely.

“What? Can’t I come and as hi to my dear friend?”

It was your turn to laugh in her face.

“Aaah. So I guess that’s what you’ve been doing in one of my guest rooms with my husband, then? Saying hi to him? You guys have some special secret handshake? Or did you fuck him after you exchanged pleasantries?”

She looked terrified, and before you could say more, or before she could start stuttering some lame excuse, you felt a hand on your hip, and from the unpleasant reaction of your body, you knew it was your husband. This was hilarious. His wife and mistress talking, and he just casually strode in.

“May I speak with you, Y/N?” James hissed into your ear, and you stabbed Natasha one last time with your eyes before you let James pull you away from the party into the kitchen.

You couldn’t even look at him, you thought you’d vomit if you did.

“What the fuck is your problem, huh? You’ve got everything you wanted, the house, the marriage, the prestige, everything. What more do you want from me?” He said, raising his voice, and you finally turned around to face him, your brows furrowed in disbelief.

“What? What are you talking about, James? You think I asked for any of this? For the hell my life is right now? Oh so great, I’m married to one of the sexiest CEO on the planet, good for me. But guess, what. I never asked for any of this. All I wanted was to take over the publishing part of the company, live in my little apartment, and maybe, maybe fall in love one day with a nice guy who would treat me right.

Did I think it could be you, for a while? Sure, but don’t worry. I don’t anymore. You asked me to marry you. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but at least I try to make this marriage work and don’t go fucking your best friends behind your back. But I guess I ask too much of you, don’t I? Well, excuse me, your excellence. I did everything you told me to. I stopped speaking up, I started cooking like crazy, wearing make-up all the damn time, wearing clothes like I was part of the Gossip Girl extras, just because you told me to. But I will never be good enough for you, will I? I don’t know what you want from me, James, I really don’t, but if we don’t go back to the party now, people will start asking questions we don’t have answers to,” you said, fighting the tears threatening to leave your eyes.

Bucky was watching your, his expression somewhere between surprise and anger. He looked at you, obviously wanting to continue fighting with you before something caught his attention.

“What the fuck is that on your arm?”

You scoffed and walked around him to leave the kitchen.

“Oh, now you care? Please, give me a break. I don’t know what your motives were to marry me if you wanted the whole company to yourself and had a deal with my father or something, but please, stop acting like you are the worried husband, ok? Let’s just get this party over with, and then you won’t have to look at me for weeks, just the way you like it,” you said with a fake smile (Bucky knew that much, that was definitely not a real smile of yours), and left the kitchen, not caring if he followed you or not.

He just stood there, confused and with more questions than with how many he initially came into the kitchen.

/Next Chapter >

Not Me:

@jennmurawski13 @lovely-geek @vogueworthy-barnes @veronawrites @loser-alert @trumpettay @thesoldierrogers @girlbehindthecameraposts @little-smurf @jesseswartzwelder @fuckwhateverfuck @learisa @karla-silva @blowing-mikey @afterlaughter27 @93generation @ungratefultroll @maybeisthemoon @greenprisca @geeksareunique @champagnesugamama @hailqueenconquer @grincheveryday @mc225g @thatweirdwalangpake @neerness @ntlmundy @captainchrisstan @sspider-parker @cap-just-said-language

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten @paradisiacalsparks @crazybutconfidentaf @owlyannah @lassini @s-trawberryv-eins @reniescarlett @bxrnsfeyson @the-soulofdevil

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove @kneel-begyourpardon @lumar014 @ptrs-prkrs

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone @sasbb23 @p8tn0lish @coffeebooksandfandom @waiting4inspiration @caswinchester2000 @mogaruke @justthatfangirloverthere @mushyjellybeans @livsheph @sebbbystaaan @notyourtypicalrose @itsunclebucky

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aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

How Dear Evan Hansen Changes the Musical’s Ending

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This article contains Dear Evan Hansen spoilers, both for the movie and the stage show.

No matter how you come to the story of Dear Evan Hansen, and regardless of the medium, things always have to end at the same apple orchard. It’s fitting since Evan’s first major lie about Connor Murphy, the boy who killed himself, was that they spent whole days in the then-abandoned orchard, talking about girls, boats, and whatever other fantasies Evan could concoct. And it’s here that Zoe Murphy, Connor’s younger sister, requests Evan meet her for the story’s final scene.

This is true of the stage show, which took Broadway by storm five years ago—winning six Tonys including for Best Musical and Best Actor for Ben Platt—and it’s the same for the movie, with Platt’s Evan coming to a now renewed orchard and sitting with the cinematic Zoe (Kaitlyn Dever). Among the trees, Evan can see at least one good thing that came out of his lies: The Connor Murphy Project reopened this small slice of paradise.

Yet how Dear Evan Hansen gets to that moment in the movie is drastically different from the stage musical. Then again, so is the world in the five years since the musical’s Broadway debut (and six since it was first performed in Washington D.C.). Hence why director Stephen Chbosky and screenwriter Steven Levenson, who adapted his own book from the stage, have attempted to adjust to our current social climate. The new ending addresses the harshest criticisms about the Evan Hansen character, and the values his tale might promote. This is, after all, a musical about a troubled young man who exploits the suicide of a stranger in his school to increase his popularity and to insinuate himself into the dead boy’s family.

But is the new ending an actual improvement? Well…

How Dear Evan Hansen Ends on Stage

The entire narrative of Dear Evan Hansen pivots on a misunderstanding between Evan and the Murphy family as the latter grieve over the suicide of Connor. When Connor’s parents, Cynthia and Larry, first misconstrue Evan’s letter to himself as their son’s suicide note, Evan attempts to correct them. However, they seem so heartbroken, and Evan is so desperate to please and be accepted—by anyone—he quickly goes along with it and begins spinning tales about his and Connor’s intimate friendship.

The musical is thus a rising crescendo that builds as Evan climbs higher and higher off his mistruths. So the inevitable moment where his house of cards comes crashing down is the narrative’s real climax. And yet, in the original version of Dear Evan Hansen, the story more or less ends right there. After Evan confesses in the song “Words Fail” that he lied about the letter and his entire friendship with Connor, the horrified Murphys walk away from him one by one, with various degrees of disgust. He then comes clean to his mother in the final big song of the show, “So Big / So Small,” where she comforts her son. She’ll never walk away.

The musical then quickly jumps one year into the future, with Evan revealed to be working part-time and attending community college, hoping to save up enough money to someday attend a university. Zoe, who’s now a senior in high school, invites Evan to the orchard where he thanks her family for never revealing his secret to the public—never telling the world he lied about Connor. And, rather incredulously, Zoe absolves Evan and the audience of any guilt. She says, “Everybody needed [the lie] for something.” She even goes so far to say it “saved my parents.” It brought her family closer together.

So while it’s still bittersweet since Evan’s relationship with the Murphys, including Zoe, is forever severed, there are still no real consequences for Evan other than Cynthia and Larry won’t pay for his college education. Even his guilt is assuaged, and he can brag to Zoe that he’s been reading the 10 books Connor said were his favorites in eighth grade. The show more or less ends in a figurative group hug by omitting through a time jump all of the messy fallout from his choices.

How Dear Evan Hansen the Movie Ends

In the film, “Words Fail” is still the climax of the story, with Evan confessing his sins and Zoe walking away. However, in one telling addition, Cynthia (played with delicate fragility by Amy Adams) is barely able to whisper, “I think it’s time for you to leave” while holding back tears. Since she was Evan’s biggest champion, that she is now the one who states explicitly he is disinvited from their home hits hardest.

Then after Evan’s heart-to-heart with his mother (Julianne Moore), we actually see Evan attempt to make amends for his misdeeds. For starters, the whole reason the truth finally came out in both versions of the story is because of the machinations of a schoolmate named Alana (Amandla Stenberg in the film), who accidentally unleashed a whole social media mob on the Murphys, with randos on the internet blaming the parents for Connor’s suicide.

On stage, this plot element is entirely dropped after Evan confesses to the Murphys, who presumably bear the brunt of the social media hate in quiet while protecting Evan’s secret. In the film though, Evan actually attempts to talk to Zoe in school the following week and she asks him to leave her alone. She also reveals the only reason her parents haven’t unmasked what Evan did is because “they’re afraid you’ll do something to yourself.” Like Connor.

Thus Evan gets on Twitter that night and tells the world, “[The Murphys] don’t deserve your hate. I do.” He confesses. Afterward, he again becomes a high school pariah, but we learn in montage he is more content this way as he tries to make further amends to the Murphys by not only reading Connor’s favorite books but tracking down someone’s phone video of Connor during his stint in rehab. Evan even finds footage of Connor playing his guitar, a feat he hid from his parents. The new song “A Little Closer,” which scores the final montage, is revealed to be a melody Connor wrote and sang in rehab, and Evan is able to at least mail that to Connor’s parents. He’s finally given them something true that they didn’t know about their son.

Only then, before the current school year ends, does Zoe invite Evan to an apple orchard and they reminisce about what might’ve been.

Does It Improve Evan Hansen and the Story?

The clear implication for adding these sequences, plus a song that the real Connor Murphy character can sing, is intended to fix the moral and thematic slipperiness at the heart of Dear Evan Hansen. Through a series of hummable ballads by songwriters Benji Pasek and Justin Paul, and some heartbreaking performances, including by Platt in the original cast, the stage production relies on the power of its emotions to overwhelm logic or deeper analysis. Some might even say it manipulates.

Yet over the years, the musical has had its fair share of detractors who pointed out how calculating and toxic the Evan Hansen character can appear. And the fact the musical just ends on the emotional high point without actually bothering to sift through the wreckage of what Evan did has always been a cheat.

Conversely, there are a few fleeting sequences in the stage version where the musical at least briefly seems to consider its darker implications. Evan’s loose group of (bad) friends in Alana and Jared contribute to this element in the song “Good for You,” where they sing in unison, “Well, I guess if I’m not of use, go ahead, you can cut me loose. Go ahead now, I won’t mind.”

The Alana relationship is particularly interesting in the show since it is only after she demands of Evan “how” will he raise $17,000 that he shows her Connor’s “suicide note.” He immediately protests after she decides to post it online, but did he not on some level show it to her in order for her to use it to raise $17,000 and reopen the apple orchard? After this scene, Alana ghosts him, suggesting she was herself only using Evan to brandish her social clout in the school and, eventually, her college applications.

The Dear Evan Hansen movie tries to wipe even this thorniness away. The context of Evan showing the note to Alana is handled slightly differently, but as a consequence there’s no ambiguity on why he showed it to her—he did not intend for her to share it online. She also, like Evan, is softened around the edges when she does answer Evan’s ringing phone on-screen and cries that she tried to take the letter down but it’s still all over social media.

The logic behind the change would seem to make both Evan and Alana more purely sympathetic and blameless for their mistakes. In Alana’s case, she isn’t a master manipulator, and in Evan’s case it is beyond his control when others take things too far. He then puts in the work to help the Murphys, beginning by admitting to the world his dishonesty.

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By David Crow

Hawkeye Trailer Finally Brings Captain America Musical to the Stage

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These were obviously conscious choices made after the five years and full lifetime which passed since 2016—a year where Barack Obama was still president and the #MeToo movement hadn’t yet occurred. Now in an age where social accountability, especially in online life, and alleged authenticity are valued more than ever, having a hero who lies to the world and gets away with it is inherently problematic. So the flaws in Evan’s choices, and even Alana’s, are “fixed” with crocodile tears of regret from Alana, and then Evan making an actual effort to atone for his mistakes.

Yet I would argue it doesn’t actually improve the fundamental issues with the musical. In the case of Alana, having a character show the ugly side of social manipulation, even among ostensibly sympathetic figures, was one of the truer impulses in a story that otherwise glorifies the healing power of finding validation from strangers on the internet. While both the film and show also depict the downside of online life with a discordant singing hydra coming after the Murphys, it’s only because of a couple of misguided mistakes. And in the case of the stage show, the larger message is Evan’s musical platitudes are simply too powerful (or profitable) for the Murphys to shatter.

In 2021, Evan and his creators make the choice that he can admit his mistakes. Yet the story still attempts to justify Evan’s actions, which ironically puts the film at odds with itself. It basks in the splendor of Evan’s self-help ballad, “You Will Be Found,” and then shows him suffering comeuppance for lying—even if Zoe still gives him final absolution.

The one significant change that clicks for me is Evan at least seeking out some hidden truth about Connor, and sharing it with the real people who actually loved him instead of strangers, who in turn would only again offer performative gestures and signaled virtue toward a kid they otherwise ignored. Hearing Colton Ryan’s Connor sing for himself—for the first time in any medium—and not merely be a puppet for Evan’s self-serving fantasies was a significant, moving improvement over how this thread is resolved on the stage.

Still, I think going further in that direction with Evan realizing the crassness of what he created, and the emptiness of his bromides, would’ve made this a more interesting narrative. But what do I know? My instincts wouldn’t have turned this into a Broadway anthem for Generation Z. So how about yourself? Do you like the new ending to Dear Evan Hansen?

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laurawritesandgames · 4 years

Text

For Beetlelands Week 2020

Title: Write Like the Wind

Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)

Rating: T

Ships: Beetlejuice/Adam/Barbara

Prompt: One Bed

Summary: Adam wants to do something for nerd-kind now that he has ghostly powers. Beetlejuice and Barbara help out. Spoilers for The Winds of Winter.

When Beetlejuice returned from the Netherworld, he came back powerful. Barbara wasn’t exactly sure how—the story changed with each telling.

But he returned with enough power to teleport her and Adam pretty much anywhere he could visualize. Thanks to Google Street View, he could visualize quite a few things.

Being able to teleport was very helpful when Adam had a specific request.

The ghosts and demon appeared inside a very fancy home, with sunlight streaming in the windows. Beetlejuice was hovering between Barbara and Adam, holding their hands. Barbara suspected this wasn’t strictly part of his teleportation ability, but it was a nice excuse to hold hands.

The demon shimmered in and out briefly, wincing.

“Everything okay?” Barbara asked.

“Teleporting all the way to New Mexico is a lot. We’re definitely gonna need to stop by a bolt-hole on the way back.” According to Beetlejuice, undead travellers could recharge in places with a lot of “death energy”—graveyards, usually, or famous battlefields.

The clicking of a keyboard drew the three of them to an office where a large, grey-haired man sat in front of his computer.

Adam sucked in a breath. “There he is,” he whispered.

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. “Sexy, you’re dead. He can’t hear you.” Sure enough, the writer hadn’t turned around at the sound of Beetlejuice’s voice.

“Oh.” Adam looked a bit disappointed. “I guess I just assumed that he’d be attuned to the supernatural. He’s a master of the sci-fi/fantasy genre! Anyway, let’s go see what he’s working on.” He crossed his fingers as the three of them huddled around the author’s computer screen.

Barbara felt a bit awkward reading over someone’s shoulder, and looked politely aside. She’d never gotten into sci-fi and fantasy the way Adam had; he’d know better than she would what they were looking at.

Her husband’s face fell. “Wild Cards?!” he spluttered. “Wild freaking Cards! I know he only edits the anthologies, but they’re a distraction!” He ran his hands through his hair. “Just write the books, George!”

“I can take over his computer and threaten to start deleting files until the books are done!” Beetlejuice crowed. “Make it seem like he’s got a computer virus!”

Adam’s gaze flicked between Beetlejuice and the author’s computer a few times.

Barbara cleared her throat.

“No, of course not,” Adam said quickly. “Thanks for saving me from myself, sweetie.” He kissed her cheek. He focused on the author, holding out his hand. “Sorry about this.”

The author stopped what he was doing. He saved then exited out of the document. Adam searched through the computer files for a moment then made the author open up a document titled The Winds of Winter.

The document opened after a few moments. ‘Want to pick up where you left off?’ Word asked helpfully, and the author clicked on it. There were a bunch of unfamiliar words and names on the page that showed up.

No sense in me reading this. Barbara decided to look around a famous author’s office. She’d expected him to have a bunch of memorabilia from the TV show, but the furnishings were really quite ordinary. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of bookshelves filled with books.

There was silence from the author, whose fingers were poised over the keyboard.

“C’mon, Sexy, get writing.” Beetlejuice hovered in mid-air, bobbing slightly. He was also eyeing the author’s office, but he was probably wondering where to put spiders.

“Er, there’s no way I can give him partial control, can I? I can’t write the next book!”

“Not how it works, newb.”

Adam sighed. “Okay. Um, my thoughts definitely won’t be his, but maybe I can make a start. Barbara, you took that course in creative writing in college, right? Do you have any tips?” Adam was an amazing man with many good qualities, but pure creativity wasn’t one of them.

“I can try, but I wasn’t writing award-winning fantasy novels back in college.” Barbara dredged up some memories of the TV show. “Maybe you should make the White Walkers show up! You know, inject some tension.”

“It’s an Arianne Martel chapter.”

Barbara had no idea what that meant. “Um…have a dragon show up?”

“I appreciate the thought, but Arianne is going to treat with Young Griff, and the entire point is that he’s a supposed Targaryen that doesn’t have dragons.”

Beetlejuice spoke up. “Have some brothers and sisters bone. Shove a little smut in there.”

“Not only does that not work in this chapter, I’m also not comfortable with that.”

“Or skip to a Dany chapter,” Barbara suggested. “I just want good things for her. How’s she doing, anyway?”

“Not well.” Adam made the author pull up a Dany chapter. He watched the blinking cursor for a few moments, frowning in thought.

Beetlejuice added, “You could write a bunch of dialogue in what’s basically a white room and see where it takes you. That’s an A-plus writing strategy, right there.”

Adam sighed, rubbing his forehead. After a few more moments of intense concentration, he looked away from the computer screen.

The author shook his head, blinking a few times.

“Maybe just having the document open will prompt him to write?” Adam asked hopefully.

The author closed out of The Winds of Winter and went back to a document called Wild Cards_edits.

Adam’s shoulders slumped.

Beetlejuice hovered closer. “Just casually mentioning that we can take out the phone, snap some pics of these new chapters, and threaten to leak them if he doesn’t write the books.”

“Photos of chapters over his shoulder?” Barbara said. “That’s pretty terrifying.”

The demon chuckled darkly.

“Ah. And that was exactly the point.” Beetlejuice might have changed a lot since his return from the Netherworld, but his love of fear and chaos that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“No, Beetlejuice,” Adam said. “It wouldn’t work anyway. What kind of writing would you get if someone was bullied into it?”

“Bleh, you’re no fun. Where to next, Sexy? That Rothfuss guy?”

“Let’s just go home.”

“Have to make a quick stop first, but okay.” Beetlejuice grabbed their hands and teleported them away.

They landed in someplace pitch black. Beetlejuice lit a match of neon green fire, revealing a small underground crypt barely large enough for the three of them. Every surface was draped with dust and cobwebs. A half-open coffin showed patchy, stained velvet. If there was a door to this crypt, the match didn’t reveal it.

Beetlejuice tilted his head. “Ahhh, that’s better.” He frowned slightly, as if listening to something. Barbara couldn’t hear anything. “Yep, think it’s still sandworm free! Lemme just recharge for a while.”

“You’ve been here before?” she asked.

“Nah, but I saw drawings from some ghost hunters back in the Netherworld. Ghost hunters can go topside to bring ghosts back, and they need places to rest, too.”

“So, ghost hunters are ghosts who hunt other ghosts?”

“Yeah, and they’re the worst. The Bureau of the Dead won’t let anyone go topside unless they’re a boot-licker. But it was good to know a few of their tricks when I got banished up here.”

Barbara glanced at Adam, who normally would’ve loved Netherworld lore. It wasn’t every day that Beetlejuice opened up about a place that was, in his words, “total Meh-ville.” But Adam wasn’t even listening. The gloomy atmosphere of the crypt fit his gloomy expression perfectly.

“Hey,” Barbara said softly. When Adam turned her way, she squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted it to.”

“I guess art just has to happen at its own pace. You can’t force it. I just feel bad for all the other dead readers who’ll never get to read the end of the series. All they’ll have is the TV show’s ending.” He snorted in disgust.

“Maybe you planted a seed. Who knows? Inspiration is a funny thing.”

“And there’s always fanfic,” Beetlejuice added.

“It’s not the same,” Adam said with a sigh.

“Heh, speaking of fanfic….” Beetlejuice hopped into the coffin. “Oh noooo. There’s only one bed!”

Barbara and Adam stared at him. She had no idea what he was talking about.

Beetlejuice huffed. “Oh, come on. None of you ever read a romance fic? Hell, a romance novel?”

“No,” Adam said.

“Not really my thing,” Barbara added. She was a fan of biographies and autobiographies of famous people, personally. “And, also? Not a bed. It’s a coffin. And sleeping in a coffin is also not my thing.”

“Jesus, so picky.” Beetlejuice snapped his fingers, and the coffin became their bed at home. “Get over here.” He hesitated then said, “Please.” Barbara and Adam had had conversations with him about asking instead of demanding; happily, it looked like those conversations were sticking.

Beetlejuice had just done them a huge favour, and a little cuddling might cheer Adam up. Barbara went to join Beetlejuice, shooting a questioning glance at Adam. He followed them, though he was still brooding.

She and Beetlejuice let Adam slide between them as the three sorted themselves out. (Sometimes, Beetlejuice would throw in extra limbs or a few clones just for the added challenge.) After some scooching and wriggling, Barbara’s cheek rested on Adam’s shoulder as she stroked his chest gently and held his left hand. Beetlejuice had one arm over the two of them and was, for some reason, nibbling on Adam’s hair, which sometimes became kissing the top of his head. After a while, you got used to a certain amount of weirdness.

Gradually, Adam began to relax. First, the tension left his shoulders. Then, he cracked his neck and his jaw untightened. (He’d needed to wear a mouthguard when he slept when he was alive. He was always grinding his teeth.)

“Maybe…” he murmured. “Maybe I could write the ending to the books. It’ll be fanfic, but it’ll be something, at least. I can work on that project while the Deetzes are asleep. I’ve never written fic before, but I could try. It’s not like I need to eat or sleep. And I’ve been looking for a new project ever since I finished the model.” His model of the town had a place of pride in the attic, which the Maitlands had cleaned out and repurposed into an arts and crafts room. They still kept up with their hobbies, but they had fewer now that they were busy rehabilitating Beetlejuice and parenting Lydia.

“I’m sure it’ll be great, hon.” Barbara kissed his cheek. “I’ll help however I can.”

“And I can tell you all about what fic tropes you can put in!” Beetlejuice said. “Or what fic tropes we can do ourselves.” He must’ve been thinking about some sexual ones, for he chortled and squeezed Adam’s butt. “Gotta keep the rating PG-13 for Beetlelands Week, but…you know which ones.” He winked at no one in particular, it seemed. Sometimes, he pretended he had an audience; Barbara and Adam just ignored it.

Beetlejuice moved to nuzzling Adam’s throat. After a few moments, he began patting Barbara’s hair.

Barbara giggled. “Aren’t you supposed to be recharging?”

“It’s called multitasking, baby.” Idly, he commented, “Shit, fluff is hard to end. How do you even end something that by its nature has low stakes and minimal conflict?”

What was he talking about? Barbara shrugged.

Adam thoughtfully said, “Maybe with a kiss?”

“Hah!” Barbara couldn’t help but grin when Beetlejuice laughed like that. This wasn’t an evil cackle or a dark chuckle, but an open, cheerful sound that she’d been hearing more and more since they’d started dating. “Perfect! You’re so ready to be a fic writer, Sexy!”

Beetlejuice kissed Adam on the lips, and the cuddling in a false bed in an underground crypt continued.

Not for the first time, Barbara reflected, My afterlife is so weird.

But it did have its perks.

#beetlelandsweek2020 #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice #beetlelands #adam maitland #barbara maitland #adam x barbara x beetlejuice

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ladyanput · 4 years

Text

Seeing Green Ch.11

I gave zero fucks this chapter. I promise I'll make up for it in the next one.

---

Marinette stared down at her cell phone with a blank look, before she took in a deep breath, raising her gaze to Bruce, who was sitting across the table from her. She and the Waynes were seating in the dining hall, with the kwami from the Miraculous box flying around, exploring everything they could get their tiny hands on.

“Mr. Wayn- um, Bruce? I was thinking, since you said you were going to get the Justice League in on the entire Paris situation, I want my team in on it too.” Marinette said firmly as Alfred set down a delicate china cup in front of her, filled with fragrant, flowery tea.

“You have a team? I thought you just had the pervy cat.” Jason rose a brow, his hand clenched tight around a mug of coffee. He had been tense ever since they had returned to the manor without Eva, but was holding himself together rather well.

“Oh, I have three other members in my team. Queen Bee, Viperion, and Ryuko.” Marinette sipped the tea, then hummed in approval. She motioned to Wayzz, who made his way down and indulged himself in some of the tea as well. “They are keeping Paris safe while I’m away. I find it odd, from what they’ve told me there has been no akuma attacks in the city since I left.”

“Maybe the crazy butterfly man is taking a holiday?” Tim snorted as he downed his coffee as well, ignoring a glare from Damian. “Or maybe he left the country?”

“Angel, are you sure Paris would be safe if you brought your team here and left the city unattended?” Damian reached over and gently took her hand, lacing their fingers gently. He smiled at her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I just mean that, I wouldn’t want anyone hurt.”

“I’m sure. A lot of things need to be done now, thanks to all that’s happened.” Marinette got to her feet, a determined look on her face, her blue eyes sparking with a fierceness. “I need to find Hawkmoth, I need a stable team and I just want this all over. I mean, first I need to find a new Black Cat holder, then I need to introduce Lady Vixen to the team, and hopefully Alya won’t be akumatized, and-”

“Miss Marinette.” Alfred quieted her by setting a hand on her shoulder when he noticed the girl had begun to tremble. The older gentleman gave her a kind smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder. “There is no need to fret for now. Just take a deep breath, your parents are on a flight over here, remember? They are due to arrive in a few hours, perhaps you should just take some time to collect yourself? You were just faced through many traumatic incidents in only a short week, so I suggest just laying low for at least a day?”

“Alfred’s right. If you get too worked up right now, you’re going to overexert yourself, maybe even make rash decisions.” Bruce gave the girl a kind smile, then after a moment of silence, he nodded. “But once your parents are here and settled, you can bring your team here without issue, then we can contact the League. Hawkmoth has tormented Paris long enough and he needs to be dealt with before it gets too far out of control.”

Marinette visibly relaxed, but then tensed when she heard the sound of someone running. Evangeline appeared in the doorway, clutching the Fox miraculous tightly in her hand and seeming visibly shaking.

“Eva, what happened, are you okay?” Marinette took a step towards her, but Eva held a hand up, stopping her in her tracks. “Eva?”

Evangeline was quiet as she went over and embraced Jason tightly, buried her face in his chest and trembled. Jason held her close, concern flickering across his features before he led her out of the room before anyone could say a word.

Marinette stared after them before she hugged herself tightly. What on earth had happened?

…

When Marinette’s parents arrived and rushed to embrace her, the young girl let loose the tears she had been holding in. She wept and sobbed in her mother’s embrace, while her father talked quietly with Bruce, thanking the man for paying for their tickets to get to Gotham.

“Well I know she would have wanted her family with her after facing such an experience. And the two of you must have been worried sick when you heard that Marinette had gone missing.” Bruce shook Tom’s hand, exchanging a look with Damian as a confused look crossed the parents’ faces.

“We were never informed. We only heard about it when you called us, Mr. Wayne.” Sabine admitted, fury brimming at the edge of her tone as she spoke. She held her daughter tighter as realization settled in. “We had never been told about the incident with the other villain either.”

“I-I’m so sorry, Mama, I should have called, I’m so so sorry..” Marinette hiccuped as she tried to wipe away her tears, her nose and eyes red from crying.

“You mean to tell me Caline never called you? She never once informed anyone of what happened in Gotham?” Evangeline, in a much better state now, looked ready to take something heavy and go beat up one Miss Caline Bustier. “She should have called you the moment she realized Marinette was missing! The moment she knew that your daughter was being held captive with a gun to her head! Tom, Sabine, I’m sorry that I didn’t call.”

“That’s enough, both of you” Sabine’s firm tone made any more apologies die off both ladies’ lips. “What matters is that Marinette is safe and that horrible boy is in jail. Honestly, I hope his foolish father doesn’t try to turn this around on her.”

“Knowing Gabriel Agreste, he’ll get his secretary to handle everything while he stays back in his mansion and cries about his missing wife.” Eva commented dryly, crossing her arms and grinning when she heard a giggle leave Marinette’s lips. “Okay, enough of this sappy stuff. I am starving and I think we’ve all cried enough for one day. No one is dead, so let’s get some dinner and talk about our course of action from here, such as getting Marinette home.”

“But the Wayne Gala!” Marinette blurted out the words before she could stop herself. She suddenly looked sheepish at all of the stares being sent her way, and shifted uncomfortably. “I-it’s in a few days and I was really looking forward to attending. Please? I made Eva and I dresses and everything.”

“I don’t know…” Tom’s brow furrowed as he didn’t quite grasp why his daughter didn’t want to leave the city where she had faced such horrible things. But when he caught sight of how one of the Wayne boys and his daughter were looking at each other, it clicked, it was the same look he always gave Sabine. The two of them were in love, even if they didn’t realize it yet. “Well… One or two days couldn’t hurt, but afterwards we’re going straight home and contacting the school board about this entire incident. It wouldn’t have happened in the first place if your teacher had been more careful.”

There were many hums of agreement and Marinette hugged her father tightly, squealing in excitement. She’d get the dream night, one last perfect night with Damian before she had to go home to Paris and deal with the headache that is her class and the torment that is one Lila Rossi.

…

Gabriel frowned as he entered the filthy, disgusting Gotham police station with Natalie. This is why he hated going out in public, people were so disgusting, so sloppy and uncouth. He had to get his son out of here before they all corrupted him.

"Pardon me." Natalie stepped forward towards the reception desk, her face a perfect blank slate as she gazed the woman at the desk now. "We are here to take Adrien Agreste home."

"Are you his legal guardian?" The woman behind the glass rose a brow, before Gabriel stepped forward and showed his ID. The receptionist nodded and pushed a button on the com. "Commissioner, Adrien Agreste's legal guardians are here."

Gabriel felt an irk of irritation as a gruff looking cop stepped through the doors, eyeing the duo before holding out his hand.

"Commissioner Gordon. I take it you're Gabriel Agreste? Sorry that we had to meet under these circumstances." Gordon kept his hand held out, but when he got none in return, he dropped his hand and guided the man back towards the cells, where Adrien was being kept.

Adrien was found curled up in a corner, looking dazed, his left cheek covered in scratches from Lady Vixen's sharp claws.

"Son, what have you done this time?" Gabriel stepped forward, barely hidden fury being heard in his tone. Adrien raised his gaze and met his father's, allowing Gabriel to see the madness in his eyes.

"Father, I had my Miraculous taken away."

…

Marinette sighed as she stepped into the library and saw Eva sitting in one of the comfy chairs, staring down at her Miraculous with Trixx on her shoulder.

"Evangeline, what happened today?" Marinette stepped forward and nearly froze when Trixx's and Eva's eyes snapped up, both pairs of eyes the same shade of unearthly purple.

"I don't deserve this Miraculous." Eva blurted out, moving to unclasp the necklace, but Marinette quickly moved to stop her, her gut clenching at the sight of the shakiness in Eva's eyes. "Marinette, I'm a loose cannon, I attacked Adrien so easily, I-"

"Why did you, though? I've seen you angry, but never so ready to cause physical harm like that. I mean, it was so out of left field for you." She hugged her friend, giving her back a few gentle pats.

"... My ex boyfriend said the same thing to me. I was trapped because he had me in this horrible abusive relationship and I didn't ever leave because… Because he kept threatening to kill himself." Eva stared down at her trembling hands, before letting out a shaky whimper. "One day I did. And as I was shoving my bags into my car, he came out of the house with a gun. He called me name, put the barrel in his mouth, and-"

Marinette didn't need to know the rest.

"But I saw a therapist and I worked through that shit. He did that to hurt me, to spite me. It wasn't my fault, he would have done anything to control me or to hurt me. So that's why I'm so adamant on you seeing a therapist, sugar cookie." Eva took her hand gently, giving it a squeeze. "It wasn't your fault. It was never your fault, Adrien was bound to do this because no one ever told him no, no one ever taught him right. Yes, like Plagg explained, the Miraculous may have corrupted him, but that shouldn't excuse him from what he did."

Marinette was quiet for a long time, trying to digest those words as she left the library, allowing Trixx to talk to her newfound kit in peace.

Marinette wandered the halls of Wayne Manor, her mind just… Gone. Off trying to process all that had happened to her in only a few days. When she finally came out of her senses, she found herself standing in front of Damian's bedroom door. With a small smile, she knocked.

Damian answered the door, his eyes lit with concern as soon as he realized who it was. But before he could get a word out, Marinette reached up and pulled him down for a soft kiss.

"Thank you. Thank you so much for respecting me."

"Angel, where did this come from?" Damian let out a surprised laugh as he gathered Marinette close, giving her forehead a soft kiss.

"Today just made me realize that if you find shut that treats you right, you should never let him go." Mari shrugged and smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

Tim, who decided to exit his bedroom just at that very moment, made a gagging noise and went off to discuss with his brothers that he needed to stop coming across random make out sessions. It was getting utterly ridiculous.

…

Marinette set the Miraculous box down on the coffee table, as the Wayne family watched. She pulled out what looked like a pair of glasses, and smiled as Kaalki gave her a muzzle, then opened up a portal.

Out of the portal stepped Chloé Bourgeois, Luka Couffaine, and Kagami Tsurugi. The trio brightened at the sight of Marinette and rushed forward, old friends hugging onto each other for dear life.

"Are you sure the League will listen this time?" Kagami took a step back, wearily eyeing Bruce Wayne. "They've been ignoring our calls for years."

"They'll listen, we'll make them listen if it's the last thing we do." Marinette said firmly.

Soon the entire team was down in the Bat cave, facing the monitor. Ladybug stood with Ryuko, Queen Bee, Viperion, and Lady Vixen as the Justice League came onto the screen.

She forced a smile as she introduced herself, and fought back tears as she thought of the partner that would never be introduced.

If only she had been stronger, she could have saved him.

Taglist: @realrandomposts @interobanginyourmom @ladybug-182 @ladylb @zalladane @mochinek0 @persephonebutkore @urbanpineapplefarmer @vixen-uchiha @angelofmusickaterinapetrova @thewheezingbubbledragon @northernbluetongue @violatiger8 @thequestionablyhuman @ginamarie1512 @maude-zarella @2sunchild2 @saphiraazure2708 @ayuchan07 @virgil-is-a-cutie @thepeacetea

#Seeing Green #miraculous fic #marinette deserves better

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desiraypark · 4 years

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Yellow Light

The Continuation of RED LIGHT

Characters: Adam Sackler x Female Reader (You) Storytelling: You are Adam, then you are You

Content: This isn’t as messy as I originally intended. Just an ounce of mess. Some angst. Ends with fluff.

I’m avoiding certain content warnings because I don’t want to spoil it, but I will say that by third or fourth paragraph, you might get an understanding of what’s going on. Please feel free to add content/trigger warnings in the tags when you reblog!

I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE THIS!

ADAM

It had been almost three months since you slow danced with her in Michelle’s bedroom...and three months since you fucked her brains out. You’d missed her so much. Everything about her. The sex was just the cherry on top of the sundae. Work was becoming steady in Atlanta; pussy was abundant. But you missed her.

After that night, you discussed a temporary long-distance relationship. For a short period, you both would save money. But once you were a little more financially stable, you’d get a place and she’d come down to test the waters. Since that night, you talked to each other on the phone once, sometimes twice a day.

But after nearly three months of long-distance loving, the conversations started to get shorter. Replies to text messages were one sentence or one word. And it didn’t take long for you to know that something was up, because it was always a task to get the girl to shut the hell up. As far as you knew, she didn’t have social media, so you couldn’t spy on her. But you kept it cool. Maybe she was just busy. Then, another week floated by, and communication just...stopped.

You gave in. You (painfully) made a Facebook account, found Michelle, and sent her a message one night after a 14-hour shooting day. The movie’s called The Dead Keep Dying, and it’ll soon be coming to a local film festival near you, by the way. Adam Sackler: Michelle, it’s Adam. Is everything okay with YN? Every few minutes, you checked your messages, awaiting a reply. Then, at one point, you noticed something had changed about your message. It had been “read”. But Michelle didn’t respond. ____________________ YOU Three Weeks Later

You made your way up the sidewalk with a purse hanging lazily over your shoulder and a deli sandwich in your hand. All you wanted to do was take off your bra and sit in front of your television. But the closer you got to your building, the sooner you realized that plan wasn’t going to work out. You instinctively touched your belly, and let it drop away. “Hey...” Adam said, standing on the steps. You stopped and stared up at him. “Hey.” “What’s going on? Are you alright?” he asked. You clomped up the stairs and straight to the heavy door. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Adam followed you into the building, to your apartment door, and he followed you inside. “What did I do?” he asked with his hands in the air, that Sackler impatience bubbling beneath the surface. He pushed the door closed behind him, and you dropped your keys and purse on your dining table.

Relief radiated through your flesh when you sat in your wooden dining chair. Finally, you took a deep breath and spoke.

“You put a fuckin’ baby in me, Sackler. That’s what you did.” Adam walked into your line of view with a dropped jaw and a red face. The corners of his mouth lifted and those dimples started to appear. But they quickly disappeared. “You didn’t get rid of it, did you?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. You tugged at the plastic bag holding your sandwich . “No, I didn’t.” Before you pulled out your sandwich, you peeled yourself out of your jacket. His eyes roll down to your belly. You pivoted to face him completely and held your arms out--revealing the slight protrusion under your shirt. Adam rushed to you, fell to his knees and pressed his face against your belly. Without thinking, you ran your fingers through his hair. “Wait, I thought you took that B pill?” he asked, pulling his head away. You yanked your sandwich out of the bag and began unraveling the white paper around it.

“Apparently, if you’re ovulating when you take it, it doesn’t work. And guess what?” “...you were ovulating...” You snapped and pointed your finger at Adam with a wink, then bit into your sandwich. He stood to his feet and stared down at you, taking the sight in. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked while rubbing his goatee. Puppy dog eyes making you melt. You took a deep breath and took a small bite of your sandwich. “I needed some time to think,” you soon answered. “Think about what?” “Well...first of all, I had to figure out if I wanted to keep it...” Adam threw his head back and rolled his eyes. “God, not this shit again...” “Not what shit?” His soft demeanor transformed into his characteristic fury. He plowed right past your question.

“So, what...you were gonna get an abortion and I would have never fucking known you were pregnant, right?!” “Adam, I would have talked to you about it. I just needed to thi--” “We fucked in June, so you’re what...you’re four months now? Right?” he asked, hands moving about as he expressed his thoughts.

“Seventeen weeks...”

“Okay, seventeen fucking weeks, I don’t know how many fucking months that is. But it’s October, and we fucked in June. You didn’t just find this shit out...”

“No, Adam, I didn’t, bu--” “Did you find out around Labor Day? When you started talking to me like I was a fucking...like I was a fucking nuisance or some shit?!” he asked. “Adam, can you relax, please?” you asked, holding up your hands.

He took a deep breath, rested a hand at his hip and looked away. Then he looked back at you. “Why did I have to get on a fucking plane to New fucking York to find out you were pregnant, Y/N?" “Because I needed time to think Adam,” you repeated. “Think about what? What did you need to think about?!” “To think about if I wanted to raise a child with you, Adam!” you blurted out. His neck snapped back and his face contorted. “You say it like I...like a fucking disgust you or some shit.” “No. I say it like someone who was with you for two years before you decided to fucking leave me for another state!” you shouted, throwing a pack of plastic utensils to emphasize the words “leave me”. It didn’t go anywhere, unfortunately. It just fluttered in the air for a millisecond before it fell inches away from your feet. “I thought we worked this out? I thought we moved past that?” Adam asked. “Well, I did. But I’ve gotta start doing the thinking for two people now.” Again, your hand innately fell to your belly. You gave it a soothing rub, and Adam watched your hand move in the circular motion. Tears began to well in his eyes and his voice started cracking.

“You’re talking as if I’m going to abandon my child, and I wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t fucking do that shit.”

”No. I actually don’t know if you would do that or not,” you said. You stood up and carried your sandwich to the kitchen. Your appetite was slipping from you. Of course, Adam was on your heels. “I wouldn’t fucking do that. I’m telling you that I wouldn’t.” Just as you put your sandwich on the counter, Adam whirled you around to face him. His face was red, as were his eyes. “I would never do that shit to my own kid. Or you.” You looked down, but he lifted your face with a finger to your chin. “I’ll move back to New York. I’ll pack my shit, come back, and we’ll get a place.” Now, tears started to roll down your cheeks, but he quickly wiped them away. He kissed your lips.

“Okay?” he asked. He pressed his forehead to yours. “Okay?” “Okay, Adam. Okay...” He pressed his hands against your belly again, and started to laugh. Pure joy emanated from his vocal cords. You laughed with him and rested your arms on his shoulders. You gave each other a peck on the lips, and breathed each other in.

“Adam Sackler...” you said. “Yeah...?”

He moved his hands to your waist and rocked side to side with you. “If you go back on your word and abandon me and this baby, I swear to God, I will find you, pour cement over your dick and bite your nipples off.” Adam laughed. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, babe.” You gripped his jaw hard and made his mouth form into an oval. He stuck his tongue out, and you wrapped your lips around it. Then, he grabbed the nape of your neck and devoured your mouth.

#adam sackler untitled reunion

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lustresky · 4 years

Text

all i ask [peter parker x f!reader]

summary: You question your true feelings for Peter after missing out on five years of your life.

wc: 2400ish.

themes: angst(ish), fluff, happy endings, best friends to lovers trope, mention of dermatillomania, existential questionings...

a/n: this is the first x reader that i have ever written, so sorry in advance if it’s awkward:’’’) english also isn’t my first language, so please do hit me up if i make any mistakes/some things sound wrong! still, i hope that some of you out there will still like this lil thing. i just want to keep peter in my pocket gawd what a bby:’’’’’’’( p.s. title is a song by adele! just had to name this that cuz it unexpectedly came into my playlist while i was writing this and the song just fit so well that it shocked me haha

requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER ENDGAME, RIGHT BEFORE FFH. IT EXCLUDES THE LOVE STORY BETWEEN LIZ & PETER IN HOMECOMING.

available on ao3.

The rom-com flickered on the screen in front of your and Peter’s eyes, the only light illuminating the small living room.

Your legs were sprawled on top of Peter’s own, your arms becoming a bit numb from the fact that you haven’t moved them from their cramp inducing position for the past fifteen minutes. It wasn’t your fault— the small sofa could only leave you and Peter enough space to lounge about.

He had invited you over for some much needed “hang out” time. Considering the fact that both of you had missed out on five years of your life, you had suggested you both catch up on all of the movies the two of you had missed; but one thing led to another and now you were both watching late 90’s and early 2000’s films.

You were surprised, and maybe even mildly offended, when Peter had said that he had never watched Mean Girls nor Clueless. The boy who spew out pop comic references every other second had never watched the classics for every teenage girl? The blasphemy!

You fiddled with the fluffy throw covering your legs and partially, Peter’s. Your attention wasn’t really on the movie anymore, you’d seen it multiple times. Could probably recite it by heart, you thought, if you concentrated hard enough.

Speaking of concentration, your eyes inadvertently found their spot upon Peter’s face. It was quite funny, and maybe even adorable if you wanted to go that way, how concentrated the geeky boy was over such a cliché film. You had never once thought, with all of the years that you had known him, that he would listen and take Cher Horowitz’s words to heart.

Peter didn’t notice your gaze, and so you took that as an unspoken permission to roam your eyes over his features: the small lines already appearing beside his eyes, a tell-tale sign of how much he smiled— or at least, tried to, these days. There were those chiseled cheeks and the sharp jawline that he somehow managed to maintain despite eating delivery food every other day. (You can’t blame May, she tries her best, really; but sometimes Thai or Chinese is just way more palatable.) His nose, a bit crooked, from an ”accident.“ (You still don’t really know the exact details about that one, and frankly, you think it would hurt just hearing about it.) Soft curls of his brown hair fell over his forehead, messy and barely brushed.

Truly, you could probably spend a whole hour just staring at him. It’s weird, you know, who the hell stares at their own best friend for long periods of time? Well, MJ probably does, but then again she draws people most of the time so that’s socially allowed... and well— she’s MJ. She just… does that. You suppose.

Maybe she does have a point, you mused. People-watching seemed fun, seeing the way that people processed information was interesting, but you couldn’t really imagine doing that to anyone— anyone else but Peter, at least.

You loved Peter. It wasn’t even a question. Truly, you did— he was family. However, after the Snap, you started to question how you truly felt about him.

Did you ‘love’ him? You had asked yourself that question multiple times already. Then again, he was cute, goal-oriented, stubborn, loyal, smart, geeky, strong... (not just physically, between his difficult childhood and what you both had just gone through, you think that he may just be the strongest person that you know, mentally.) He knew how to make you laugh, how to make you feel safe… God, he was your exact type.

However, you had always put your feelings aside ever since you came back from the dead. What if it was just your mind craving for affection, afraid that you would never be able to experience the love that you had always wanted? Were you just terrified of the thought of not living your life to the fullest, that you started to ’love’ the first person to have ever given you warmth, just because the choice to do so was taken away from you?

Did you actually love him in that way? Would you still have loved him in that way, even if that purple fucking raisin didn’t come out of the fucking sky and take you both away from reality without even asking? Were you just blindsided? Were you wearing rose-coloured glasses?

What type of love for him did you feel, exactly?

It didn’t really help that Peter was way more clingy and touchy now. Sure, you were best friends even before then, but you never really touched each other so often before. His actions only further spiraled your pondering.

His hands seemed to linger more on your shoulders, nowadays. Now, he would, absentmindedly, lay his hands on your thighs while you were talking. Now, his hugs were tighter, warmer, and always included both of his arms— unlike those casual, one armed hugs that you would give each other while saying goodbye after school, right before you both ceased existing.

While talking, his eyes seemed to stare straight into yours, which always made you falter with your words before you shook his gaze off. Once, you saw him fixating his eyes on your lips while you vented to him about a mathematical formula that gave you a hard time.

He never really did that before— whenever you didn’t understand something, he would always just give you a small grin before shaking his head and finding a way to better explain the topic to you. At first, you thought that maybe he just had a lot on his mind, that he was just staring into space…

Or maybe, just maybe, he loved you. In that way.

Though, now that you thought more about it, maybe he just craved affection like you did. He went through a lot. His life was never devoid of danger, and it wasn’t questionable to want comfort after all of the things that he had gone through. Did he truly feel that way about you, or did he only see you as a comfort tool? You wouldn’t be angry if he did, out of all the people that you knew that deserved more reassurance and love, he was definitely on top of the list.

You didn’t mind. You understood.

Was he in the same boat as you?

You startled yourself away from your thoughts when Peter suddenly retracted his body further back into the couch, as if he wanted to bury himself in it. His brows were furrowed, nose scrunched, lips curled up in disgust; though to your relief his eyes were still glued to the screen and he hadn’t just seen you checking him out. You chuckled at the unexpected reaction, “What’s gotten you so worked up?”

Peter shook his head from side to side, as if that would help him from his current situation. “I get that they aren’t really related, but it’s just— weird.” He replied.

Intrigued, you shifted your eyes over to the screen, and was welcomed by Cher and Josh kissing. You laughed at Peter’s disgust.

“How is it weird? They’ve had— like, very evident tension for half of the movie, Pete.” You replied, eyes watching the way Josh held Cher’s face in his hands. As much as you would never admit it, your stomach fluttered at the scene. “Don’t tell me you didn’t expect it to happen.”

Peter groaned. “It’s not that I didn’t expect it to happen, it’s just— Josh is what, almost twenty or something? And Cher is our age!” He rattled off. “I’m having flashbacks to when I learned that Luke and Leia were actually related.”

You shook your head and let out a snort. Typical Peter, always finding a way to reference Star Wars.

“It’s just a lil’ kiss scene Pete, don’t get so worked up about it.” You chuckled. You let out a dreamy sigh, your lip unknowingly curling into a small smile. Truth be told, you've always wanted something so passionate yet so soft like that to happen to you.

You couldn’t help but let the next words tumble out of your mouth. “Isn’t it romantic though? The fact that the person that Cher has been searching and looking for so hard was actually just right there.”

“Always there…” Your voice slowly found itself becoming quieter, until it was only a ghost of a whisper. “Right by your side.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot. What the fuck was all that sudden sentimental bullshit, Y/N? You thought to yourself.

You hoped that Peter just didn’t pick up on what you had just said. The movie was loud enough to cover it, right?

With a reassuring breath, mostly to yourself, you turned your gaze back to Peter’s face.

Only to find him staring back at you.

Fuck, what were you thinking? With his enhanced senses, of course he would’ve heard what you had said.

Your breath got caught in your throat as your brain almost short circuited from the unexpected eye contact. His stare was unrelenting; from the dim light of the television, you can see his dilated irises, swimming with what you can only assume was longing… and hope.

The air suddenly seemed thick with tension. What kind it was? You weren’t really sure, but the movie and its noises were now just background noise and lighting. From the corner of your eyes, you see Peter’s Adam apple bob up and down as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Y/N…” He started, slowly, seemingly unsure of how to word his sentence. You mustered up a small bit of courage and sent him a small smile, patiently waiting for his brain to catch up with his mouth. It was one of his quirks that you adored so much, how much he struggled with the right words to say, because he knew the gravity of them; even if he did end up just spewing them out in the end.

“I— I don’t really know how to say this exactly, but,” Peter chewed on his bottom lip. “God I just— I just need to man up and say it because it’s been on my mind ever since I came back and I don’t think I can put it off any longer because I’m scared that you’ll disappear again and that I’ll never have the chance to say the truth and I—“ He stopped in his tracks, seemingly running out of words to say. His head dropped to look at his lap, as he started fidgeting with his hands and picking at his cuticles. A nervous tick that you recognized.

You straightened up from your lounging position, and slowly reached out your arms to lay your own hands on top of his, effectively gaining his attention and stopping his quite destructive habit. Bit by bit, he faced you once more; albeit now his eyes seemed to be more glassy.

“Y/N,” He took a shaky breath. “You— you mean so much to me.“ His eyes stared straight through you, and by now you felt your eyes start getting teary too.

“When it was happening I— all I could think about was how I felt about you. I— I felt so fucking selfish. I didn’t even think about Aunt May— or Ned, or MJ. All I thought about was how much I regretted not telling you how I actually felt about you sooner— that I’ll never be able to tell you how much I actually fucking loved you—“

Instinctively, you cut him off with your index placed on his lips. Now it was your turn to let out a shaky breath as your hand descended and found itself laying once more on Peter’s own.

Peter loved you. Even before the snap. Even before you disappeared.

The sight of Peter in front of you: vulnerable, hair ruffled, cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears red, his eyes watering as he poured his heart out to you was the moment that answered all of your doubts from before.

That was when you realized that you loved him, too. Truly. Without a doubt.

You loved him before everything went to hell, you still love him now, and fuck, you would still love him even if you hadn’t died. You weren’t wearing rose-coloured glasses, hell, far from it. You were seeing everything clearly. You were seeing everything just the way that they are.

You opened your lips, and a strangled but genuine giggle came out. “Pete, I love you too. I’ve loved you since— fuck, I can’t even remember when I actually started fucking loving you. You’ve been such a constant in my life that I questioned myself whether I truly loved you romantically, because I’m also a fucking idiot that thought that the type of love that I had for you was only platonic. Turns out they’re both one and the same.” You were laughing now, with a few hiccups here and there from the hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

“And shut up— you aren’t selfish,” With a new wave of courage, you lifted up one of your hands again and cradled his face. He leaned into it, impulsively, sniffling. “You’re one of the most selfless people that I know, hell, you put yourself in danger for people that you don’t even fucking know. I… I honestly think you could use more selfishness sometimes.” You laughed, softly, trying to regain a bit more composure with the tidal wave of emotions washing through you.

Peter, thankfully, found your quip funny. He snorted, shaking his head, as he lifted the sleeve of his Midtown Tech hoodie up to wipe at his tears. He wiped yours too, and you thanked him with a genuine smile.

All hearts now bared, you both just stared at each other, not really knowing what else to say nor do. From what you could tell, the movie was over now, the ending scene just slowly rolling in as it always does.

You opened your mouth, about to break the silence, when Peter beat you to it.

“Can I kiss you?”

A chuckle escaped your mouth before you could reply properly, and a huge grin overtook your face as your cheeks heated up once more. You squeezed his hands, and nodded.

Peter leaned in, and you had never felt more at peace.

#lily’s lil’ stories #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #fanfic #ff #x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #spiderman #spiderman x reader #one shot #angst #best friends to lovers #fluff #subtle (not really) movie references #existential musings #pete n reader's been thru a lot ok:(

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song-of-kalinaw · 3 years

Text

BASIC INFORMATION

Human Host

Name: Lilith Selene Lair

DOB: October 16, 1996

Ethnicity: Korean-American

Eye color: Dark Brown

Hair: Black, waist length

Occupation: Socialite, Empire Heiress

Current Location: Seoul, South Korea

Demoness

Name: Lilith

DOB: [information redacted]

Origin: Garden of Eden

Entity type: Original Succubus

Eye Color: Black Onyx

Hair: Black, waist length; morphs to preference

Current Location: Seoul, South Korea; Interuniverse travel

PERSONALITY

Human Host

Lilith Selene Lair, the mute heiress to the Lair Group of Companies, has her life planned out for her even before she was conceived. But after being born with a heart problem and spending most of her childhood in the hospital with only her brother as company-- she was known in their circle as the quiet princess, not just because of her mysterious mutism but because of the timid personality she adapted after her stay in the hospital.

She can be seen mostly keeping to herself but come forums or parties organized by her family or their friends, Lilith can play quite the host with her handy tablet always ready with a funny retort or an interesting inquiry. The heiress is also fond of kids and pets, which is why on warm afternoons or in the early mornings, she'll visit the park in their gated community to watch the toddlers play or pet a dog or two.

In her free time, she mostly stays indoors in the estate library poring over books or in her sunroom, just painting landscapes or abstract art she wishes to share with her brother in the slim chance he'd remember her.

Demoness

Lilith, the mother of demons and Adam's first wife, has learned to love partying. She would internally roll her eyes and offer snide remarks at her human host whenever the latter would attend functions and formal dinners-- the elegance wasn't lost on her, but after centuries of holding court at Pandemonium, the formal parties has simply grown to bore her.

On the chance that her host would slip and unleash her, the demoness always finds her way to bars and clubs, just taking her fill of alcohol and sex; creating an underground image for the heiress. Reckless and determined to have her moments of fun, Lilith would sometimes even alter her host's appearance so she can disappear to some random country or hop in a lover's yacht and not show up for days or weeks at a time, feigning sickness with the help of her human doctor friend.

BACKSTORY

trigger warning: description of rape, cursing, violence, death disclaimer: this story was written in the point of view of lilith (the human host) and lilith (the first woman, mother of demons). God and adam was depicted here as what the writer assumes is how lilith (the first woman) saw them. please don't take offense in the story Her first memory came in a flash of light before her eyes, mere moments before she heard the beeping of machines and the antiseptic in the air fills her nostrils. She's back on her hospital bedㅡ and it feels wrong, like she shouldn't be there. Wearily, Lilith opened her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of her hospital room. The familiar surrounding easing her worries, which if she takes time to think about is actually sad on her part. She's spent more time in this ward than on her wing in their estate. A depressing thought considering it's not something any teenager can normally stay. Unfortunately for her, normal has never been part of her upbringing, which also could be the reason why its her brother, Lucien, standing by her bedside with... wait, is that blood? She reached out, earning herself a smile from her beloved brother, but when she tried to speakㅡ panic came over her body, her lips were forming words but only incoherent sounds seem to slip out. I can't speak. What's happening to me? Her panicked gaze find Lucien's, frantic tears already rolling down her cheeks. Brother, help! was what she wanted to scream but no words escaped her mouth. And amidst her confusion and panic, a voice at the back of her mind demands her to shut up. Whose subconscious tells them to shut up? Her confusion at this new development was enough to abate her tears and panic. But instead of getting an answer, not that she was expecting one, a wave of new memories washed over her. In quick succession, flashes of memories flooded her mind resulting to a terrible headache coupled with the erratic beeping of her heart monitor. It felt wrong, as if they are a memory of someone ancient and yet she's looking at them from their perspective. She saw a blazing warm light together with the sound of birds chirping and the smell of crisp summer air. There was a man with her, holding her a hand... and another, who felt like he could be their Father. Came the next memory, it was of her and their Father. Somehow they were talking about Adam and how he wanted to sleep with her. She came to their father because it felt wrong somehow. She was happy just helping around, caring for the animals and plants. But now... The memory faded into black but the unsettling feeling at the pit of her stomach remains. Who owns these memories? The next memory filled her with dread. It was her Adam on top of her, forcing her to submit, telling her it was their father's wishes. They needed to reproduce, he said. The Garden needs more caretakers and it is their duty to care for all that was created by the Father. Lilith was sobbing now, feeling her skull about to crack open from the sudden tsunami of memories. Is this a dream? She couldn't quite tell. Next came another memory, this time it was of her refusing Adam's advances. It felt as if some time has passed and she's now known how to stand for herself. And there on her periphery, children. The sight of them makes her heart full right before the memory fades. Lilith's feeling all the emotions associated with the memories even when they are not her own, but she somehow feels a connection with whoever is projecting them on her. Keep watching. You'll understand. Now she's hearing voices on top of the dreams but the sense of doom in the pit of her stomach and her growing hatred for the man she knows as Adam has kept her sobbing silently on her bed. She feels Lucien give her hand a squeeze, grounding her as another wave pulls her under. This time it was Adam pushing her down and forcing her legs open with his knees. She spat at him in disgust, mustering enough force to push him off their bed while she stands over him, foot pressing on the inside of the man's thighs. "Lilith,

you witch!", he grunted as she pressed the heel of her foot harder on his thighs. Who gave this man the idea that he can control everything? They were made from the same soil, the Father gave them life as equals and yet... Another memory surfaced, this one felt heavier than all the other that came before it. She's barely aware of Lucien shaking her awake, his voice laced with worry as her heart monitor gives a series of beeps. She heard a booming voice ordering the archangels after her as she fled through the dessert, towards the only salvation she's heard of: The Red Sea. No angel of the Father will dare cross the shallow waters without fear of falling from His grace. Adam has been using her children to keep her in The Garden and do his bidding, forcing himself upon her and expecting her to just bite her tongue and part her legs like a mindless whore. But she's grown tired of protecting his ego and the children she so dearly loved. Enough is enough. She'll come back for her children just as soon as she finds them a safe place to live, away from the judging eyes of the Father and the self-centered ways of Adam. But luck was really not on her side. As soon as her feet landed on the wet loam bordering her promised salvation, three archangels loomed over her-- all of them pointed spears of heavenly fire at her tired body, ordering her to go back and serve her husband. All will be forgiven, they said. But she's no fool to believe any of their words especially when its the Father that sent them after her. The same Father that she first ran to when Adam suggested they sleep together. The same Father she expected would protect her. No. She will not turn back now and have Adam control her life for the rest of their days in The Garden. She would rather die than serve an egomaniac who sees her not as an equal but as an object created for his own wanton needs. "We'll ask one last time. Come back with us to The Garden or the Father will kill a hundred of your children for each day you spend out of Adam's sights." At this, Lilith choked on a sob. She spent years taking all she could of Adam's and the Father's demands... would it be so wrong to choose herself this one time? With a heavy heart, she turned towards the cold and calculating gaze of the archangels. If she goes back, she will suffer by Adam's side and with him as role model, it won't be long until their children start to follow him by example- and that's the last thing Lilith would want for her children. "Tell your Father that I will never take a single step inside The Garden again, nor would I like to set my eyes on Adam. My children would be better off dead than be raised by someone more obnoxious than filth.", and with this, she felt her heart broke knowing the Father heard. The memory faded into darkness but the heaviness in Lilith's heart stayed, leaving her sobbing on the bed with that sense of impending doom. She knows that wasn't the end, for whoever was showing her the memories has only grown more aggrieved. Feel my pain, pet. That voice- filled with resentment and hate. She knows she should be familiar with the story unfolding in her head but somehow she can't recall who it was about. She finds herself gasping for air in between her sobs. Lucien cradling her in his arms. "You'll be okay, Lili." But somehow she can't find comfort in his words. Not this time. With these thoughts ringing in her mind, she was once again pulled under- a crushing feeling of hatred and need for revenge pressing in around her. She was standing on the same wet loam, The Read Sea a sprawling landscape before her. But this time no angels can be seen on the horizon. It has been years since her heart broke for her children, and she mourned their deaths. She still does. But no amount of mourning can ever get the pain of a mother losing her child off her chest. She will not rest until both Adam and the Father suffer from the things they've put her through. One thing she learned from denouncing the Father was that her original protection is gone. And that The Red Sea

is where all the lascivious beings gather- a vast majority of them giving her what she needs and satiating her hunger for the pleasures of the flesh. She'd have to thank the Father for her gift to procreate as more of her children grew from the seeds these monsters produce every time they bed her. It was on one of those nights, hundreds of her children sprung out from the seed her lovers released on the earth, that he came. She heard news of his fall- the brightest angel stripped of his rank: Lucifer Morningstar. Fate has brought them together, it seems. They spent nights creating more Children of the Lilim, hushed promises exchanged in the heat of passion. He promised her revenge and delivered, getting Adam and his new wife out of The Garden after one too many tricks to go against the Father. She enjoyed her time with him, even spent millennia ruling the pits by his side. But she got bored. Thinking of new ways to punish the damned has started to grow stale. And that's when Lucien has made a summoning. Her brother summoned a demon. But why? She felt chills run through her body. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear an answer. But of course, the entity responsible for the memories have other ideas. She's suddenly aware of herself instantly stopping from sobbing, an amused smile spreading over her lips as she pushes Lucien off her. She's aware of the motions but couldn't control any of them. Hush now, pet. I'll play nice with you, just don't do anything stupid. Without meaning to, she suddenly became aware that she's now a prisoner in her own mind. Or what used to be her mind. "Hello, Lucien." The voice that came out of her mouth was melodic, lilting in a way that makes it sound like she's about to sing a lullaby- and this made her brother smile. But I couldn't speak when I woke up. "That's right, pet. You can't. But I can." Her brother's eyes widened, "Lili... who are you talking to? Are you feeling alright?" He attempted to take her hand. "Should I call your doctor?" She wanted to scream yes- do anything to let him know of her presence. "Oh stop with your acting, boy. Don't pretend you're really concerned now when you've thought about her death countless times before." A childish giggle escapes her lips while she pulls his shirt open, displaying the pattern of blood on his pale skin. She finds his gaze then, understanding of the situation finally dawning on him. "What were you thinking summoning someone you have no idea of containing? Creative choice using your sister as host. I kind of like this youthful body." Lucien, what is she saying? You wouldn't... "Oh but he did, pet. That's why I'm here." Lucien's shoulders slumped, silent sobs wracking his body as the gravity of what he's done caught up to him. "Now, where were we? Oh right. The price for your stupidity." She claps her hands, like a child getting ready to unwrap her presents on Christmas morning. "First, your sister's voice. I'm not as heartless as you think so I'd let her play once in awhile but without her voice." She adjusts her body on the bed, mindlessly pulling at the tubes connecting her to the machines. "No soul shall hear her voice again, unless of course when it's my time to have fun with her body. A good deal, don't you think?" "Next Lucien, is the memory of something or someone you most treasure. We both know who that is." She means me. Lucien began to protest but was met with nothing bad a dismissive wave of her hand, "Now boy, who said this was a negotiation?" "You will lose her. But you will forever have the feeling of losing something you hold dear- that empty feeling in your chest that will only grow as time passes. It will consume you, dear boy. And the pits will be there once it does." And it was with these words and Lucien's pleading and guilt-stricken face, did her gaze start to darken- her consciousness getting lulled once again into slumber. You'll always look for him. And she knows she will. The worst kind of mourning after all, is when the one you lost is still alive but will never be back in your life again

no matter how much you wish for them to be.

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tuffdwightwest · 4 years

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You Are My Best Friend Ch. 1

"Snotlout!" Gobbers voice rang out right before a hooked hand smacked a piece of metal. Startling Snotlout back awake as he cried out in fear, forgetting briefly where he was.

Seeing the familiarity of the forge though, his cry quickly turned into a groan as he crossed his arms meeting Gobbers gaze. "What? Can't a viking get a little shut eye around here?" He complained.

"Not when you are working with me, boyo. Perhaps you would like to work on the next shipment of maces needed instead of the meager, sharpen these axes job I have going for ya." Gobber responded. Turning away from the Jorgenson as he went back to what Snotlout assumed was forging some new maces.

For a months now, Snotlout had taken over Hiccups old job in the forge. Working as a second hand to Gobber. He had been promised the 'Official Weapon Tester Position' but that was clearly not the case. In fact the other Riders had a good laugh as even his father piped in and agreed that it would teach him some humility.

If Snotlout's life was a fable this chapter would be called the dark years. Still mumbling he still went back to work as he focused on sharpening the blade. Trying to ignore Gobbers off-key singing as he silently cursed Hiccup's name. As they were nearing being finished however Gobber piped up with something that actually caught his interest.

"-ading off with her cousin Lars to the Northern Markets. With that Zippleback with her, I bet she'll come back with more gold then she could carry!" Gobber boasted with a laugh.

"Uh who? What's going on?" Snotlout cut in having missed the beginning of whatever Gobber was speaking about.

"Ruffnut. She is trying to become a Trader of all things and for a few weeks she'll be training with her Cousin Lars on the business." He explained. Snotlout blinked in surprise at this. Of course he knew that both the twins were planning on trying different avenues for professions, something that their family had been harping on them about, both had been adamant on saying that they were Dragon Riders and that was what they would stay. Although now apparently it seemed that Ruffnut was going to try being a merchant?

"Uh when did she leave?" He asked.

"Just this morning; well done!" Gobber said before quickly switching into something else as he noticed Snotlout for once actually finish his work. Looking down Snotlout hadn't even noticed he was on the last sword. Grinning he set it aside, feeling mighty pleased with himself as he stood.

"This mean I can go?" He questioned.

"Gah, yes! Get more work done without having to deal with your moping anyway." Gobber complained although he still had a small smirk. Excited Snotlout turned to leave as he practically raced out of the Forge.

It wasn't dusk yet and the sun was still decently in the sky which left him a good four hours to actually have some fun for once. Usually he would go straight to Hookfang and the two would go flying together but today he actually veered off course as he remembered the conversation he was just having with Gobber. He was actually kind of curious about why Ruff chose to do that and he figured Tuffnut would be the best one to ask.

After all, he still was gearing for Ruffnuts love and her suddenly up and leaving was quite a shock for him. He thought they were finally getting somewhere!

With those indignant thoughts he found himself in front of the Nuts house. It was further back on the island and looked like it needed its fair share of repairs. With cracks lining the walls and even a few smashed windows. The chicken coop behind the house actually giving a kind of unpleasant odor. Come to think of it. Snotlout had never really visited the twins at their house and at this moment, he kind of wished he still hadn't.

Just as he was about to knock on the door, a squeal sounded from behind him. Turning he came face to what appeared to be a very angry boar. The animal stomping on the ground as it glared at what it deemed an unwelcome trespasser. "Uh... nice boar." Snotlout mumbled trying to calm the animal as he held out his hands, trying to make himself less threatening. The boar however just stomped the ground again, shaking its burly head as it gave a loud snort.

Then with a roar the animal started to rush Snotlout. Screaming out in terror, Snotlout went to move out of the way but before he could he was suddenly pushed to the side as something shot out from behind him. Not suspecting it he fell back on his ass but at least now he could identify Tuff as the twin rode on the Boars back, laughing and giggling as the beast tried to buck him off.

Just as Snotlout was starting to get concerned, the boar finally started to calm as Tuffnut finally jumped off. "Next time. Lets do that in the boar pit okay Bjorn. Also! Good pig telling us when theres strange men at the house." Tuffnuts voice rang out as he petted the boar behind the ears. The once angry animal just snorted as it sniffed at the twins hair, Tuffnut without a helmet, before it started to trot off.

Standing up Tuffnut brushed himself off before crawling up the steps and standing next to Snotlout. His eyes alight with amusement as he looked down at him. Realizing that Snotlout still hadn't gotten back up, he cursed before scrambling to his feet. "Why is there an angry boar guarding your house?" He scoffed already angry at what just happened.

"Why not?" Tuff responded. The retort Snotlout had was lost in the absurdity of that so instead he just threw his hands up, thinking of many reasons why not to have a boar guarding your house. Visitors being maimed being one of them. Before he could though Tuff beat him too it.

"You need something? Not to cut off your imminent rant but none of you have ever come to our house before. Unless its overhead, on dragon and you are yelling at us to get Barf and Belch cause Svens sheep got out again." Tuff explained, "Although still, its not usually you." He added looking at Snotlout warily.

Ignoring it though Snotlout shrugged, "I heard Ruff left and I just came to find out why. I thought you two weren't gonna go through with your tribes demands?" He said jumping right into it. Tuff looked surprised for a moment before he just shrugged, his whole body moving with the effort. Instead of answering though he just gestured Snotlout to follow him inside. Although Snotlout really didn't want to know what the interior looked like, he still followed.

"We weren't initially but Mom convinced Ruff to trail along with Lars. She said she actually enjoyed it so... yeah she's gonna try to be a Merchant or whatever." Tuff said, voice a little detached when he said it. He didn't exactly sound pleased by his sisters decision but it was obvious he was at least trying to be supportive. "They wouldn't let me go with her either." He added at the end.

Glancing around the surprisingly tidy inside, he listened to Tuffs explanation and couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. He was mostly sad that he wouldn't be able to recite his newest poem to her, while Tuff was upset cause he already missed his sister. "Two weeks?"

"Or more. Depends on how it all goes." Tuff responded with a sigh as he went and sat down in the center of the floor. "What am I even gonna do while she's gone? She took Barf and Belch so I don't even have that." He complained.

Snotlout pursed his lips before going and sitting next to him. Whatever he was planning on saying in comfort though was lost as he actually smelt the twin. Now usually they smelt like a mixture of BO, Zippleback gas and cheese. A disgusting scent but they were always proud of it. Today though, today he smelt like, "Why do you smell like freshly baked sugar cookies?" He asked.

Tuffnut looked surprised as he spared a glance at Snotlout. Snotlout was actually surprised to see the twins face redden as he averted his gaze and mumbled something under his breath. "What?" Snotlout shot back leaning in closer to hear.

"My mom made both Ruffnut and me bathe in this special oil she made. She said she didn't want us smelling like a dead rat so she's making Ruff and me bathe more often. Except it has always been me. Ruff always somehow finds a way to avoid it while I walk right into it." Tuffnut huffed crossing his arms.

Snotlout grinned finding Tuffs distress amusing, "I think its an improvement. Might actually want to hang around you more now that I don't gag everytime I'm downwind."

"Haha..." Came Tuffnuts response as he kicked at Snotlouts boat. "Speaking of hanging out though. Do you wanna hang out?" Tuffnut asked offhandedly.

"I really just wanted to know why Ruff left. Was gonna go take Hookfang for a flight. He's been restless." Snotlout responded, moving to get up as he was reminded of his original goal. He was still looking at Tuff however as he caught a flash of hurt cross over his face before the twin quickly covered it up with a half smile.

"Yeah okay, I get it. Maybe later?" He asked.

Snotlout frowned, Tuffnut sounded almost desperate and what was with the hurt look he gave him. It wasn't like they hanged out all the time so why did he suddenly want too today. Feeling wary he just shrugged, "I'm a busy dude." Was his response as he turned to leave.

If Tuff was trying to pull him into a prank he wasn't falling for it. Tuff didn't say anything as he left the house either so Snotlout just assumed he realized that Snotlout was too good to be tricked.

Now to go flying.

#tuffnut #snotlout #tufflout #yambf #httyd

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certain-as-the-sun · 4 years

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Hey Jealousy

A High School-is AU. Inspired by the Gin Blossoms’ song of the same name. Contains: Alcohol Abuse, miscarriage, unwanted sexual touching.

Hey Jealousy

Tell me do you think it'd be all right If I could just crash here tonight You can see I'm in no shape for driving And anyway I've got no place to go And you know it might not be that bad You were the best I'd ever had If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago I might not be alone

It was a rainy night. Belle sat in her father’s house on the edge of town, far enough away that she got the peace and quiet she craved, but still close enough that running errands into town wouldn’t take all day. She sat in her favorite chair, a hot mug of tea steaming beside her. Her bookcase gleamed in the firelight, beckoning her to choose from her vast collection. Tonight was a night she didn’t want to dwell on. Five years ago her whole world changed. Her first love had been lost to her. Her true love if she still believed in fairy tales. They had been so good together. They had their lives figured out. She would finish school, open her bookshop and live happily ever after. Fate it seemed, was not as kind. The accident wasn’t Adam’s fault. He knew that, but it didn’t stop people from talking. Small town like theirs, it didn’t take long for word to spread about the group of teenage boys who took a joy ride that left one dead.

Adam never could hold his alcohol. He tried so many times to quit. Rehab, counseling. Through it all, there had been Belle. She was the one constant in his ever changing life. He was trying. He was trying to be who he needed to be, who Belle needed him to be. But there are some demons that are just too hard to get rid of. Orphaned at ten, bounced around from home to home. He was an angry young man, a temper that could explode at the smallest of things. He starting drinking at a young age, stealing what he could from his less than desirable foster parents. He fell in with the wild crowd. The kind of boys who stole cars, drank, partied hard. It landed him in a group home for at-risk boys.

He was adopted at sixteen by an older gay couple. Cogsworth and Lumiere could not have been more opposite in their manners and appearance. Cogsworth was portly and fussy. Lumiere was flamboyant and loud. Between them, they showered Adam with the love and acceptance he had so desperately needed. They got him into AA, helped him find a good sponsor, someone Adam could always call when and if he needed to talk to someone other than his dads. Hatter whose real name Adam never knew, had been a foster kid too, adopted as an older teen. Hatter understood the pressure Adam felt, the loneliness that came from a life spent apart. Between the three men loving Adam he was able to stay clean for over a year.

Belle was an only child to a widowed clockmaker. She was an honor student, on the fast track to the Ivy League. They met when Cogsworth signed Adam up for an English tutor. Cogsworth valued education and wanted Adam to improve so he could attend college and make something of himself. At first Adam and Belle wanted nothing to do with each other. He didn’t think he needed a tutor and not one as attractive as Belle was. His teenage brain envisioned her as the naughty librarian he had seen in dirty magazines. Acting on horrid advice from his friends, he was rude and demeaning. His efforts were rewarded with a slap and disgust. At home that evening, he sought out better advice. Cogsworth told the boy to write her an apology. Lumiere told him to bring her a rose. Hatter, the straight man in his life agreed that Adam had treated Belle poorly, asked him what he was going to do about it. Adam had to do better.

And better he did. He apologized, profusely. Belle wasn’t sure she could trust him. She knew who he hung around with. But they started spending time together. Little by little the real Adam shone through. Behind the tough as nails exterior he showed the world, he allowed Belle to see him. He could very kind to those in need. He organized toy drives for foster kids. Once at the store when the cloud let loose a deluge of water, he offered to pull her car up for an elderly woman so she wouldn’t get drenched to the bone.

He still had his temper. If his temper got the better of him, Belle wouldn’t stand for it. More times she left him where he was standing when he was losing it. He’d never hurt her but she wouldn’t take that chance. He scared her badly one night. They had been in his room and she had accidentally knocked over a framed photograph. The glass broke and damaged the photo. He roared with anger and before he realized what was happening he had tossed everything from his desk and slammed his fist into the wall. She ran from the room. In his angered haze, he heard her cries from the living room. He stopped thrashing and stepped into the hall. She was still there. Seated on the couch, his dads on either side of her. Cogsworth shook his head at his son.

Anger management with Hatter came next. He never wanted to see anyone he cared about be subject to his temper. He wrote Belle a letter, even mailed it. He never knew if she read it but she did forgive him.

The day of the accident started bad. His anniversary of sobriety was coming up. He would be two years clean. A milestone for any addict. It was little things piling up to big things. A memory of his parents, long gone from his life. A bad grade on a test he and Belle had studied so hard for. An argument between Adam and Cogsworth about grades and school. A misunderstanding between Lumiere. The anger simmered to a full boil. A temper flare from Adam had him storming out of the house. Deep in the back of his mind he knew what he had to do. He needed to call Hatter. Get his head on straight.

He could call Belle. But she was busy. She had an interview in the morning. An interview that could make or break her college plans. She didn’t need him distracting her. Maybe she would let him just sleep in her bed while she prepared. If he was with her, he could calm down and be able to go home and apologize. If he was with her he wouldn’t be able to do something stupid. Pausing over her contact, a text popped up.

Pre-game with boys. Don’t be a wuss.

He had been ducking texts like these for weeks. Gaston was from his old life. A life he didn’t want anymore. Gaston had been his best friend once upon a time. Before his dads. Before Hatter. Before Belle. Adam dropped Gaston soon after he began seeing Belle near constantly. Belle hated Gaston. She found his crass and chauvinistic behavior revolting. Rumor has it he had three kids with three different girls.

When he and Belle first started dating, he took her to a party that Gaston was throwing. He had taken over his parents cabin in the woods. Everyone from school was there, even people from other schools that had heard about the bash in the woods. Cars lined the dirt road leading up to the cabin. You could hear the party before you saw it. Belle, to put it plainly was not a party girl. Her idea of a Friday night was spent at the small bookstore on Main Street, browsing and putting books on layaway. Mrs. Potts, the owner kept a log of Belle’s books and would sometimes write off a few when she needed to. Belle was happiest when she and Adam had dinner together at the cafe next door to the bookstore and just took a walk in the park. But she agreed. Adam had been doing so well and she thought it was only fair that she share in his world when he spent so much time in hers.

Gaston saw them first. The feeling between Gaston and Belle was mutual. He blamed her for changing Adam from the guy he was to the guy he is. Behind her back he called her a bitch, a nag, killjoy. The tall, broad teenager with coal black hair strode up to them as they entered the house, a bottle of beer in his hand. He snapped his fingers at Kevin to get Adam a drink. He saw red when Belle took Adam’s hand and shook her head when the small portly boy offered them both bottles. He was going to take her down a peg or two.

It took some time but he finally got Adam and Belle separated. She had gotten tree sap on her hand when they had gone outside. She was expecting Adam to be waiting for her outside the bathroom when she came back out from washing her hands. But he wasn’t. He had gotten pulled into a conversation with Gaston’s latest blonde. She started towards him when Gaston got in her path.

“Never thought little miss perfect would grace us with her presence,” Gaston taunted. “Thought you were too good to hang out with the likes of us.” He leaned closer to her, pushing her back against the wall. “Not sure what my boy Adam sees in a frigid bitch like you.”

His breath reeked of stale beer, corn ships and tobacco. He ran his hand over her bare shoulder, she had lost her sweater somewhere. She tried to move out Gaston’s way but he caged her. “Gaston, please. Just leave us alone.”

“I want to know what kind of spell you got my boy under,” he said, his hand moving its way down her body, over her. Tears stung her eyes. Where was Adam? “Maybe if I get a taste, I might understand.”

“Stop it, please.”

Across the room Adam caught sight of his girlfriend. He pushed through the crowd of drinking people. Gaston had Belle pressed against the wall, his hands on her. Without thinking he charged at Gaston shoving him away from Belle.

“Get away from her!” Adam all but growled. He kept himself between Belle and Gaston, his fists balled. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“She came on to me man!” Gaston argued. “I told you. I warned you about her. She’s a bitch. You’re better off without her.”

“Adam let’s just go,” Belle said, putting her hand on his arm. “He’s not worth it. Let’s just go.”

“Shut up, you stupid —“ Gaston didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Adam swung his fist forward and knocked his former best friend square in his jaw.

“You will not speak to my girlfriend like that ever again,” Adam said. He took Belle’s hand and they left. Alone in her car he held her close as she cried. No one had ever touched her like that before. Not even Adam. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’d never come if I thought that’s what he’d do. Please, I’m so sorry.”

Staring at the text, it was a siren’s call. If he was honest with himself, he did miss his friend. Hanging with he boys would be the easy choice. It would be so easy to just fall into a stupor with the boys. He wouldn’t have to think about anything else. Not school, not his dads, not even Hatter. He knew what he needed to do. The siren call was stronger. He wanted to go. He wanted to fall into oblivion. He could fall for one night and when the dust settled he would start over. That was the life an addict. He knew what he needed to do and did what he wanted. He made the easy choice.

Where you at? Three words. That’s all it took to ruin his life. Three words.

The ravine. And don’t bring that bitch.

Don’t call her that.

Three hours later Adam had fallen off the wagon hard. He had drunk two bottles of Stoli, his hard liquor of choice and finished off a six pack of a cheap beer Stanley brought. Once he started Adam couldn’t stop. He couldn't have just one drink. He would keep going until he couldn’t see straight. When Adam polished off what they others had brought they went to get more. Driving a town over and with Stanley’s fake ID and Cogsworth’s credit card, the boys loaded up with more. Two more bottles of Stoli down and Adam was drunker than he had been in his life.

Neither Adam or Gaston had any business driving. The only sober one among the boys that night was Kevin also known as LeFou. Kevin was Gaston’s lackey. The small, overweight, nerdy boy just wanted to be popular. He did Gaston’s homework, really anything Gaston wanted. He was in the backseat with Adam that night. Gaston sped down the road, the radio screaming profanity laced rock. Reckless and stupid. Empty bottles rolled around the back of the car. They were invincible. On top of the world. Until they weren’t.

No one was sure as to the exact nature of the accident that left one dead, two severely injured and one with minor cuts and scrapes. Kevin, the sweet boy who just wanted to belong was dead. Stanley walked away. Gaston had severe brain damage and would likely require twenty-four/seven care for the rest of his life. Adam broke his right collarbone, the three bones in his right arm, the femur of his right leg and had broken glass embedded in his face. Scars he would bear for the rest of his life.

Belle, Hatter and his dads sat constant vigil by his side while he recovered from surgery. His handsome face distorted and scarred from the accident. Mixed emotions filled Belle. Anger, betrayal, hurt, sadness. How could he do this? Interview or not, he could have called her. Should have called her. In fact, he had called her. Several times. The first time she answered. She heard the shouts and loud music in the background. In his slurred speech he told her how much he loved her and how he was sorry. She begged him to tell her where he was. She would come get him and take him home. Get him to Hatter and his dads. Get him sober again. He wouldn’t listen. After the calls ended, texts came through. At first they were from Adam. Drunken decelerations of love. Disjointed thoughts of an unclear mind. Then they changed. They called her names, demeaned her. She turned her phone off. Adam had to be beyond reason if he let Gaston talk to her in such a way.

Adam and Stanley had to be the ones to face the music when it came down to blame for the accident. They each took a lesser sentence, community service, mandatory rehab, counseling and they were expelled. Adam became the worst version of himself. Guilt over took him. He withdrew into himself, became bitter, letting his anger consume him. If he did speak to anyone, there was no kindness in his words. Belle stood by him, did her best to help him through the darkness. Her breaking point came during her second year of college. He had done well over the holidays. He was getting better. So when the stick said Pregnant she was able to think to the future again. They had taken their lives day by day for the last two years. She could see a glimmer of hope in their darkness.

Fate, cruel as always, laughed. He had been working at the grocery store when she came in. Gaston’s mother. Seeing Adam whole set her grief anew. He stood there unmoving as she berated him, blamed him for everything that happened that night. Her son wouldn’t do the things they had said about him. Adam was a dirty orphan who drug her son down with him. Management lead her away from him but the damage had been done. In a stupor he walked out of the store grabbing a bottle of his poison on the way out. He missed her calls. Ignored them. Ignored everyone as he drank himself stupid again.

Belle was done. She could only watch him destroy himself for so long. And losing her child was the final straw.

“I won’t sit by and watch you drink yourself to death,” she said. “I can’t do it anymore.”

The last time she saw Adam, he had passed out on her dorm room floor. The last she heard he’d voluntarily checked himself into an in patient clinic. Belle kept in contact with Lumiere and Cogsworth. They came to her graduation when her own father was too ill to make the drive. They stood by her when she lost her father. The two men rarely mentioned Adam except in passing. He was out of rehab. Seemed to be doing well. He was working. Stocking shelves at a big box store. Somewhere he didn’t have to see customers.

Belle sighed away the memories and stood up from her chair and took out her favorite book. A leather bound copy of Sense and Sensibility. Opening it at random, dried flowers fell from the pages. Tucked between another page was a yellowing piece of notebook paper. A letter. A letter from Adam in the Before.

My Belle,

It feels so great to be able to call you mine. I know I’m not the easiest guy you could be with. I’m so grateful that you are. As promised, I’m doing better. Learning to take a breath to settle my anger before speaking. I need to explain what happened. The photo in my room, was my mother. The only thing I managed to keep throughout my childhood and moves. I am so sorry that I lost my temper. It wasn't acceptable behavior and I know that. I am going to forever be working on myself, to be who you need me to be.

I love you, Belle. Don’t give up on me.

Yours always,

Adam

She slid the letter back into the book. That Adam was long gone. He had a way with words. One minute he was a master poet, extolling words of love and devotion. But there was the other side of the coin. His words, when used in anger could tear a person down and leave them shattered. But that was then. She was a different person now.

You can trust me not to think And not to sleep around If you don't expect too much from me You might not be let down Cause all I really want is to be with you Feeling like I matter too If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago I might be here with you

His shift was ending. He didn’t have anywhere to be. His dads had taken a cruise, trusting they could leave Adam home alone for the first time in years. He didn’t have many friends that he could call to see if they wanted to grab a bite. In fact not counting Hatter, he didn’t have anyone he could call anymore. He took out his phone to check the time. It was just after eight. Jack in the Box would still be open. He could go there, eat a cheap burger and fries and go home. He smiled sadly looking at the picture that was a perfect moment in time. Belle. Lumiere had taken the photo. Together on the tire swing in the backyard. They had been so happy. Back when she was still his. Back before everything went to hell.

He still had her number in his phone. He never called it. He was sure she’d hang up on him before he ever got a word spoken. That was if she hadn’t blocked his number altogether. There was so much he wanted to tell her. To apologize for. He loved her. Loved her enough that he would be okay if she never came back to him. Not that the sting of jealousy didn’t bite him in the ass when he saw her with someone else.

He had seen her from afar so many times over the years. She still called his dads when something good happened to her. They would always tell him if she was coming over or if they had talked to her. Adam never asked Cogsworth or Lumiere to say he was thinking of her. That he still loved her with all the passion he still had. He wouldn’t do that to her. Not again.

He found himself walking in the rain. After the accident, he never drove again. He wasn’t sure where he was going until he found himself outside her house. She was sitting in front of the fire reading, like she always did. Taking a breath, he walked away from the window and to the front door. He pressed the doorbell and waited.

Belle never imagined who would be on the other side of her door.

“Adam?”

“Belle.” No matter how many years passed by, Adam saying her name was enough to send shockwaves through her whole body.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I know if I hadn’t messed up that night, I wouldn’t be standing out here in the rain,” he said, his blue eyes staring at her. “There are so many things that I’ve done that I’m not proud of. Hurting you, driving you away will always be on the top of my list.”

“You really hurt me, Adam. How can I ever trust you again?”

He fished something out of his pocket. A bronze colored coin. Belle had seen the collection of sobriety coins Hatter had. Hatter was eighteen years sober. So often they just wanted to get Adam to thirty days. Thirty days. Then to ninety days. To a hundred and eighty. To one year. The bronze coin in his hand had a 2 stamped in the center of it.

“Two years, yesterday Belle,” he said. “730 days. Dad and Pop came to the meeting. Hatter actually cried.”

Two years. Belle tried to imagine Hatter crying. The thought made her giggle. She caught his eye and in an instant it was like they were seventeen again. He pulled her to him, expression nervous but hopeful as he waited for her to make the next move. Maybe it was too much to hope he would take her back so soon. But she had to know. Had to know there would never be another for him. She was it. He would spend the rest of his life making up for the last five years of hell he put them through. He needed and wanted her with every fiber of being. She must have seen it, weighed the consequences in her own mind. Seconds passed and her lips crashed into his, igniting a passion she had long buried. He walked her backwards into the house, kicking the door closed behind them. Between their increasingly fervent kisses, he was apologizing.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Maurice died,” he said as she pulled his wet coat from him. “I’m sorry for passing out in your yard.”

“Adam, if you list everything you’re sorry for, you’ll be here until Christmas.”

Christmas sounded good to Adam. He could spend a Christmas with Belle. A birthday with Belle. God, was this really happening? Was she really there? He had to be sure.

“Am I really here?” he whispered into her hair, holding her close to him.

“Yes, you’re really here. I’m here.” Belle traced the marks on his face.

“You can count on me now, Belle. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Prove it.”

A low chuckle escaped his throat as he kissed her again. He drank her in, every sight, every scent mixing with memories. Lifting her into his arms holding her close. He pressed her against the wall, his lips finding all the places that brought her pleasure. The places only he knew. Her legs wrapped around him, as if they had never been apart.

Her senses came back to her first. She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t let him back into her life. She knew the risks and her heart could only break so many times.

“Wait, Adam. Stop. Put me down,” she said. With her feet on the ground, her head was coming out of the clouds.

“Belle? Aren’t you happy I’m back?”

“Oh, Adam,” she sighed. “I have wanted nothing but for you to be sober and happy. But I can’t be the root of your happiness. I won’t survive it again.”

He nodded. He’d heard this before, from his fathers, from Hatter. He expected it from Belle. She had been hurt the most by his actions. Because she could walk away.

“I understand Belle. I do. It will take more than just words and promises. Because I’ve said and done things that I am not proud of. I’ve hurt you. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I love you.”

He took out his phone, opening the notes app. Scrolling down he found a letter he had written to her during his final rehab stay. He began to read.

“My dearest Belle, there is nothing that I can say that will ever make up for my behavior. There is nothing I regret more. I lie here in my bed thinking about what — no not what — who we lost. Who they could have been if they’d had a better father. I will never forgive myself for walking away. Walking away from you, from what you meant — mean to me. I am so sorry that you were alone. I am sorry that my selfish wants overtook me when you needed me most. Nothing I can ever do will make up for that. In the worst moment of your — our lives, you were alone. And that is not right. It will never be right. And if you can ever forgive me, I will work forever to earn back your love and your trust. And even if you never can, knowing that I tried will be enough for me. I love you Belle. I love you enough to walk away if that’s what you want from me.”

He stopped reading and looked up at her. “What do you want Belle?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You. Demons and all.”

#hey jealousy #beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast fan fic #gin blossoms #inspired by music

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jay-and-dean · 5 years

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Rescue You Chapter 4 : November 4 and 5.

Dean x reader

Summary : My name is Y/n. I’m the outcast of my witch community. This is the story of how I rescued Dean Winchester, the story of how he saved me.

Serie Warnings : Swearing. Injuries. Smut. Fluff. Angst.

Chapter warning : Injuries, swearing, a hint of Angst, fluff.

Words : 3k

***Rescue You Masterlist***

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___________________________

November 4, 6:14 am

“Y/n ?” Dean’s voice calls me softly.

In my dream, I’m not afraid to cling to this voice with all I am. Somehow not afraid of what he could do or be… I’m floating in this world where music can be seen and where Dean’s smell can hold and carry me…

“Y/n ?” This voice is not in my dream…

I open my eyes and my breath gets stuck in my throat. His smell is not really holding me, but his arms are, and the only music is his breathing.

“I’m sorry to wake you… You’re crushing me” he says low.

My arm is wrapped around him, nails dug in his opposite side, like I harpoon him. My eyes widen, I let go of his chest in a gasp.

“I’m… I’m sorry” I say sitting up.

“No I am” he sighs. “I just… each time I pushed your hand you grabbed me tighter and… I’m sorry, it…”

“Hurts” I cut him. “Of course.”

Getting out of the cover I feel the violent bite of the cold and rub my face. It’s snowing, already. I sight and look at the table, my breath short, my burned skin still hurting, anxiety getting high… I just hope they won’t make my day too busy.

“I have to… find food” I say, trying to hide the trembling in my voice. “And another blanket. Okay…”

“Hey…” Dean’s voice pierces the fog of panic suddenly suffocating me. “It’s okay Y/n. I can wait, you need to take care of you.”

A sarcastic laugh escapes me. Take care of me…

November 5, 9 pm.

I run. I can’t really run because the snow slows me, but I go as fast as possible. My lungs are burning with the frosty air I’m breathing fast, my ears hurts and my fingers too, the tears on my face are the only warm thing I feel.

They trapped me. My mother trapped me at home, I couldn’t get food and I couldn’t get a blanket for Dean. I had to work like a dog and to beg, I had to lie. She never let me go out, even when I yelled, even when I cried ; until now.

I reach the door and open it with shaking hands, if he’s dead…

The room is cold, but not as much as the outside. I fall on my knees. Dean is on the floor, pale, cold, he tried to get up and failed.

“Dean ? Dean !” I reach him, checking his pulse and touching his face. “Dean… Please” I sob.

And he opens his eyes, frowning when he sees me. I take his face and squeeze it against my chest, silently thanking whoever listens.

“I was worried…” he mumbles.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry” I sob and I feel his hand rest on my hip.

We stay just like that for a little while. Me on my knees, and him against me, holding me back the best he can, my tears falling on his head, his hand gently stroking my side, like he was trying to comfort me.

Then I laboriously help him back on the bed and open the large bag I brought. I wrap him in covers, and put water to boil. I give him something to drink and he finishes it really fast. Then I take my hot water bottle and fill it with the boiling water, with the rest, I make the magical infusion I stole.

Dean just looks at me, busy like an ant ; he’s clinging to the covers and sometimes trying to speak, but I don’t give him time because I know what he will ask : Where do the bruises come from. And I have no answers, just that Diana came again. At least my mother feels guilty now that this ugly witch beat the shit out of me, and she will leave me be a little.

“Here” I blow on the bowl a little, making the steam moisten his forehead. “Sorry” I smile, wiping his face. “This is a potion I stole, it makes you heal faster.”

He looks at me, suspicious, and smells the mixture with a disgusted face.

“Where did you found that Y/n ?” he asks and I lower my head.

“I stole it” I sigh, not saying I stole it from the old lady Stinson, who broke her neck of the femur. They will give her more anyway.

“I don’t trust witches” he says and my heart sank.

“You don’t…” I can’t speak more, the intense fear and pain I felt sine yesterday, exploding at contact of his words.

I put the precious bowl cautiously on the table and turn my back on him.

“Y/n… I trust you” he sighs. “But this is witchcraft and…”

“Shut up” I say coldly. “J-just shut up.”

I take a deep breath and try not to cry.

“I won’t be able to protect you for long” I start with a sinister tone. “I… You have no idea of the s-sacrifices…”

“Yes I do” he cuts me.

“SHUT UP ! I-I DON’T WANT YOU TO HEAL ! I DON’T WANT YOU TO LEAVE BUT IF YOU DON’T…” I turned to face him and tears are running down my face now. “They will kill you… I don’t know how to heal you without what I know…”

“I’m sorry” he grunts.

“I can’t let them find you… B-but what if next time they lock me up for a week ?”

“Come here” he simply says and I hesitate, looking away. “Please.”

As I come closer, he sits up more in a groan of pain. I sit on the chair and he puts a hand on my thigh. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to breathe despite the intense pain and the weakness.

“I’ll drink it” he states. “I trust you. But you have to promise me you won’t ever put your life in danger for me.”

I turn my head and catch his eyes with eyebrows frowned and my lower lip between my lips from trying not to cry. His handsome eyes searching mine. And here it is, the moment I can talk for the first time in my life. The person I can trust enough to refuse a promise.

“What life ?” I state low.

November 5, almost midnight.

Dean ate and drank. It took an hour but I helped him to the bathroom, using the chair as a support, and for pauses. He wanted to, and while he was sweating bullets because of pain, I clenched my teeth and gave him that because he asked for help. As usual, I talked a lot, at first about nothing important, but now, an hour later, as I help him back on the bed, I’m talking about Diana.

“Every witch has one, a godmother… I was so jealous when I was a child… Now not so much” I grunt when he hisses, sitting down. “Here, the pillow is good, you can lean on it…”

“B-before I met you” he pants, trying to hide his pain. “I hated witches… Now it’s worse.”

“I know…” I sigh, leaving a short silence. “Are hunters as cruel as they say ?” I finally ask shyly.

“I guess some of them are… But the ones I know, they’re good people.”

I stare at him for a while, and can’t decide if I can smile right now, I want to, I always want to when he looks at me, but this talk is treason.

I’m checking on his wounds, and am satisfied to find them healing. His hoodie is open, and he doesn’t wear a t-shirt underneath it, it makes it easier for the bandages. I’m sitting on the bed, against his thigh, cleaning the massive cut on his stomach, when I feel his warm hand on my cheek.

I look up and find his gaze. His hand flattens on the side of my face and I close my eyes for a second. What is this rattle inside of me ? Like a swarm in my stomach. When I’m deprived of sight, my other senses cling to him, and the skin of his chest under my hand becomes the softer thing I ever touched, the smell irradiating of him…

“You’re cold” he whispers.

When I open my eyes again, everything has changed, my eyes can’t look away, I sit up straighter and stare at his beautiful face.

“I don’t want you to go and come back with bruises again” he admits, his thumb brushing my jaw.

“Tonight I’ll stay” I shrug, not knowing what else to say. “Hey, you will get sick if you stay like that” I finally manage to tear myself off of his charm.

I close his sweater and give him his toothbrush.

“You have to eat something too” he says with his mouth fool of toothpaste before he spits on what I gave him, his arms unable to brush longer.

“I bought like ten chocolate bars, just in case, I’ll eat one” I smile, searching my bag. “Hey look, razor !”

He smiles, his bright white teeth lighting the room. Everything changed since he touched my face, but I can’t explain it, he’s just… I want him close.

I sit on the bed and put a towel on his chest. While I take foam in my hand, I try to ignore him staring, try to focus. When I put it on his cheek, his eyes are a little too close to mine, almost drowning my will to be careful.

“Where am I supposed to put it ?” I chuckle.

“Everywhere you see beard, and try to avoid my mouth and nose” he smiles.

I start spreading the foam on his face with excessive caution, brushing his jaw, his upper lip, gently grazing his throat.

If my gestures are very slow, my thoughts, them, are going thousand miles. And yes, this is a freckles on his lip. I just wish I would have met him differently, I wish I wasn’t born a witch, the most useless witch of all times. I wish I could have seen him with all his strength one day ; but I won’t, because the minute he can walk, he will leave me forever. At least I would have known whatever is happening now, and I will have a memory to cherish.

“Against the grain, neck last” he says low.

“I’ll try not to cut you” I state and put the razor on his cheek, making his skin appear behind the foam and hair. “I love the smell of shaving foam” I say absent-mindedly.

“Why ?” his Adam’s apple dances before my eyes.

“I don’t know, it’s manly but soft…” I smile. “Kinda comforting.”

Like you.

I get closer and now I can smell the mint of his breath too, I rinse the razor in the bowl of water on the chair and come back to his face slowly. When I come close to his mouth, he forms a thin line with it, hiding both his lips to make it easier for me.

“Oops” I chuckle when a bit of foam falls on his lips after he made them appear again.

I wipe it with my thumb, immediately freezing when I realize I’m touching those lips. My shy finger just lingers on the plumb pink flesh, and even the awareness of him staring, probably wondering what is wrong with me, doesn’t make me look away…

His face comes a little closer, slowly, he doesn’t need to move much to make his face touch mine.

His lips capture mine in a shy kiss.

My heart stops, my world crashes on itself, but not in a bomb-destructive way, more in a revelation. I put a hand on his good shoulder and come closer, desperate to feel him more, to taste him more. His mouth against mine opens just a little to grab my lower lip, his hand comes back to my cheek.

I never felt anything like this before. This dream is the most powerful and beautiful I have ever had, and it’s not even a dream. I wish I could stay like that forever, just feeling those lips on mine.

When the tip of his tongue wets my mouth, I open it, allowing him to caress me the way he wants. His hot tongue meets mine in a sensual skim at first, then in an eager dance. I grab his face and keep him against me while he devours me, breathing only the air he gives me until it’s not enough for both of us and he breaks the kiss to inhale.

He stares at me and, for the first time in my life I don’t have any doubt. If he regrets, I will just keep taking care of him until he can be safe, thankful for that day I felt alive in my life ; if he wants to kiss me again…

He does. Slow and tender, smiling in the kiss, cutting all my thoughts.

“That’s disgusting” he chuckles with a grin and, once again, I have no doubt, because he can’t mean anything unkind, he’s just Dean. “We have shaving foam everywhere. I think I have some in my mouth…”

I laugh through my nose and put another shy and chaste kiss on his lips. Taking the towel, I wipe my face and the rebellious strand of my hair that fell from my bun, now sticking to my cheek. Then I take the razor in my hand and smile in awe.

“Only half your face is shaved.”

He turns his head slowly to grant me access to the hairy side of his face.

In concentration, I stick my tongue out a little but don’t realize it before he kisses the tiny tip of it. My eyes widen and I blush, pecking his plumb lips once again like we were a thing, like we were usual and natural.

Several times during the minutes it takes me to shave him with caution, he steals a kiss or two. Until it becomes a little game : me giving him a smile when he catches my lips, or escaping to give him my cheek or nose, just to tenderly kiss him when he grunts… He gives me his throat like he gave me his cheeks, with a trust so pure ; and the razor blade caresses his skin while I put an audacious kiss on the naked side of his Adam’s apple.

When comes the moment I wipe his face with wet towel, our lips have met a thousand times. And I know now that it never will be enough.

I lay close, this time slipping between the wall and him, my daring hand coming under the hem of his hoodie to touch the skin of his stomach, he kisses the top of my head and silence slowly wraps us, a peaceful calm, swathed in a snowy night.

“This witch thing…” he says low. “Do you know how fast it works ?”

I shrug and look up to meet the subdued light of the oil lamp reflecting in his bright eyes.

“My ribs already hurt less” he states.

I sit up and smile wide.

“Really ? Oh great !” rubbing his jaw, I realize the cut on his eyebrow is almost healed. “I should steal more…”

“You’re not going back there for now, Y/n” he frowns.

I bend to kiss him, unable to stop tasting him, unable to stay away. His hand grabs my thigh when I kiss the corner of his lips, his cheek and jaw. He turns his head to make me focus back on his mouth.

I have no idea how long we have been kissing, but I feel like a teen, lips swollen from making out too long. His hand is under my own sweater now, just calmly motionless on my lower back.

“Mh that mouth…” he murmurs. “We will make it, Y/n… They won’t hurt you more.”

We. They.

We means we’re in the same side, and I agree. From now on, I’ll be in our side. I snuggle against him and put my hand on his heart, hiding the anxiety on my face : If I manage to save him, I will have won this battle, and I will be happy just knowing he is okay ; but sooner or later, they will learn of Dean being alive… And I will burn.

He’s not stupid, I know he realizes that, we both know.

“I heard them talking about you” I say, trying to sound lazy when I’m suddenly a little sad. “They were saying you had an angel…”

“Have an angel ?” he chuckles. “I don’t own an angel, like I would have a cat… He’s my friend. Cas, Castiel. He saved me from Hell, and we went to Purgatory together…”

I stay there, listening. He tells me about his brother, and how he became a hunter, how he was raised like a soldier, he tells me about crappy motels rooms and that archangel that made them believe he was the Trickster. I met the actual trickster, he’s not as powerful. He tells me about this witch Rowena, I heard of her once, but the Coven don’t like her because she doesn’t respect the rules…

I tell him about these rules. About what they did to my father, how this messes with people’s brain, how broken he is now. I tell him about my only friend, Aiden, and our past together, the way they treated me, and convinced him his marriage was for the best. And I start to betray my blood even more : The delicious safety of his hand stroking my back, I start telling him about the Coven operation, about Mam Griffin impressive powers…

A gust of freezing air carrying snow suddenly enters the room when the door opens. Dean protectively wrap his arm around me even more when I sit up in terror, trying to see clearly if someone just found us.

The world is about the crash.

I frown to discern who is that shape, staying outside, staring at us.

And when it moves, I finally can see.

“Aiden ?”

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marjanefan · 4 years

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Inside No. 9 ‘The Stakeout’ review (includes spoilers)

Spoilers- please only read after watching the Stakeout.

Also includes spoilers for The League of Gentlemen Christmas special, Don’t look now and The Wicker Man

This is a fascinating and thought-provoking episode for several reasons.

It very deliberately plays with and subverts the tropes of police drama Thompson and Varney discuss these tropes as they bond over the episode, particularly around the portrayals of an older more knowledgeable policeman taking a younger ‘rookie’ under his wing (which is apparently the relationship that is being set up in the episode). This helps misdirect the viewer way from the true nature of the story we are watching.

The Cop Buddy genre is regularly used to explore male bonding and friendship and the codes of behaviour between men. It is particularly rare in mainstream media (particularly Hollywood films) to see explorations of men relating to and relying on each other emotionally . The cop buddy genre seems to be one genre where this is not just accepted but expected. Possibly because of this in recent years there has been a move to include knowing jokes about the latently homoerotic nature of these stories and to play up the elements of ‘bromance’ (Hot Fuzz is a good example of this). At the same time these knowing jokes end up actually affirming heteronormativity and disavowing these undercurrents by turning them into something that can be discounted as not serious and something to be laughed at. The heterosexual order is always left in place. However the Stakeout ends with an act of a violence that upends the standard endings of cop buddy movies/shows where the two male police acknowledge their friendship then move on.

The relationships between men (in particular how the power dynamics play out) is a recurrent theme in Inside No. 9 in episodes such as ‘ Tom and Gerri’, ‘The Bill’, ‘The referee’s a wxxxer’ and ‘Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room’ amongst others. Indeed this is along with ‘Bernie Clifton’s dressing room’ almost entirely a two hander between Pemberton and Shearsmith. This episode plays out very differently indeed but in its own way examines how men relate to each other .

We see Varney and Thompson bond over the three nights of the story. The banter between them is beautifully observed with Varney trying to win over Thompson (I particularly like the use of the fortunately/unfortunately game on the first and third nights with their subtle indications of changing dynamics between Thompson and Varney).

It is even more fascinating as a vampire story (or more specifically as Adam Tandy referred to it at the BFI preview as a hidden vampire story). There are only subtle indications during the episode such as Varney’s disgust at the smell of Thompson’s curry and his knocking on the door of the car so Thompson invites him in to indicate his true nature. It is interesting to compare The Stakeout to the recent BBC adaptation of ‘Dracula’ which was co-written by Pemberton and Shearsmith’s League of Gentlemen colleague and friend Mark Gatiss. This adaptation explored and questioned the tropes around vampire stories (such as why do vampires need to be invited in and why they dislike garlic). Varney actually says ‘And I’m not a cliché, I hope’ to the audience at the beginning of the episode, almost expressing Pemberton and Shearsmith’s desire to bring something new to the telling of such stories and to entertain the audience. ‘The Stakeout’ may take an apparently more straightforward approach to these tropes but it does explore their deeper meanings in a subtle manner.

Worth noting here the name Varney was inspired by the character of Varney the vampire who appeared in Victorian ‘penny dreadfuls’. Varney actually introduced several tropes to vampire lore such as fangs and superhuman strength (both of which Varney in The Stakeout has!) but many of the tropes included in the episode came later. Varney’s name deliberate nod to the history of vampires in popular culture and possibly Varney’s use of a Victorian stiletto blade is also another nod to the character.

The viewer if they wish could read ‘The Stakeout’ as a supernatural riff on ‘Line of duty’ with Varney’s vampirism being a metaphor for corruption. Certainly it fits in with current police dramas where other members of the police are as much to be mistrusted and morally comprised as the criminals.

However Pemberton and Shearsmith are very familiar with vampire lore and the tropes of vampire stories, and more significantly with their deeper significance and psychological meanings.

It is of course not the first time Pemberton and Shearsmith have given us a vampire story. One of their most memorable and loved pieces of work is the League of Gentlemen Christmas special from 2000 which includes a vampire story concerning Herr Lipp with it’s eventual revelation that it is Herr Lipp’s wife Lotte, not Lipp himself who is the vampire.( At this point it is worth flagging up that in this story Matthew Parker mistakes Herr Lipp’s sexual interest in him for him being a vampire but Lipp actually saves Matthew from becoming a vampire because of his feeling for him).

Vampires remain a perennial obsession in popular culture, especially over the past twenty-five years. We have seen the success of Buffy the vampire slayer, The Twilight series (both films and novels), True blood (both films and novels) and the Blade series, amongst other vampire franchises in various media. These series portray vampires dealing with life in the modern world. These series portray vampires as complex characters with inner lives who are capable of emotions such as guilt and love. The young human female central figure (Buffy, Bella, Sookie) form romantic relationships with vampires (Angel and later Spike, Edward, Bill) and these stories use male vampires to explore female desire and female fears about the nature of their male lovers. Indeed, vampire stories have long been used to explore both female and male sexual desire and anxieties around sexuality. This is an important point when discussing the episode.

In the South Bank show on Pemberton and Shearsmith which was filmed during the filming of series five Steve Pemberton spoke about why he loves some of his favourite horror films specifically ‘The Wicker Man’ and ‘Don’t look now’. He spoke of how powerful he found the tragic endings of these films and the fact that evil prevails. It is worth discussing The Stakeout in relation to these films. (Please note these are very simple overviews of both films!) In both these stories two decent, if misguided men (Neil Howie in ‘The Wicker Man’, John Baxter in’ Don’t look now’) end up getting killed as a result of misinterpreting and underestimating the forces they are up against. Both men attempt to be logical in an illogical world, but fail to deal with the illogical parts of their own personalities. Both men are destroyed by their failure to address and deal with underlying desires. Howie behaves with open contempt toward the Summerisle residents and their beliefs and practices, while holding his own hard-line religious beliefs (Lord Summerisle taunts he is getting to die a martyrs death which is something that should please him). He also fails to look at his own desires and motivations for wanting to protect Rowan as a symbol of purity. Baxter tries to support his wife Laura through her grief for their daughter Christine and is troubled by her desire to contact Christine beyond the grave. He ignores his own deep grief and desire to have Christine return. Ironically he gets his wish to be reunited with her when he is killed.

Like Baxter in Don’t Look Now, Thompson fails to deal with his grief for his former partner Dobson (Malik Ibheis) in a constructive way. He also fails to properly deal with his feelings of guilt that he was absent from the car (getting food) when his partner was killed. He decides to go on a one man mission to find his killer without informing anyone, not just ignoring the actual surveillance operation he and Varney are supposed to be working on but also putting his job and as it turns out his life at risk. It could be argued Varney kills Thompson because he is the one person who shows any interest in answering questions around Dobson’s death. Thompson is reunited in the most horrendously ironic manner with Dobson in the last moments of the episode. The vampirised Dobson will feed on Thompsons blood just as Thompson’s grief and feelings of guilt have eaten away at his personality. Steve Pemberton manages to convey Thompson’s horror at the situation in his final seconds as Dobson approaches but also conveys almost a sense of acceptance and affection.

It is worth discussing here what the psychoanalyst Ernest Jones wrote about vampires in his 1931 book ‘On the nightmare’ (as an aside this book is available as a free pdf online). He argues that vampire lore speaks to the desire to be reunited with dead loved ones. He also discusses that where there was unconscious guilt associated with the relationship (as Thompson has ) these feelings may get subverted into something darker. As the Wikipedia entry for vampires puts it ‘Jones surmised in this case the original wish of a reunion may be drastically changed: desire is replaced by fear; love is replaced by sadism, and the object or loved one is replaced by an unknown entity’- this certainly fits the description of what occurs to Thompson’.

Jones also wrote about how vampire lore also is informed by sexuality and repressed sexual desires and how repression can ultimately turn them into something cruel (the oral fixation of vampire stories was also commented on by Freud)

It can also be argued that this is a story about Thompson being destroyed by his failure to acknowledge his latent homosexuality. Varney represents both Thompson’s desire for intimacy with other men and his fear of what will occur if he allows himself to become close to another man. Varney is handsome, outgoing and (apparently) courageous – all attractive qualities. Varney finally attacks and feds on Thompson only after they have gotten to know each other and he has won Thompson’s trust by apparently saving him during the shoot-out. We know from what he says early on Varney feds once a month. He could have attacked Thompson the first night of the stakeout. However he waits until the point where Thompson has bonded with him. This seems to indicate that Varney possibly needs to feel a connection to the people he feeds on. But it also is possible further evidence that Varney represents Thompson’s fear of what would happen he allows himself to open up to the possibility of a relationship with another man . Varney is only able to enter the car (symbolic of Thompson’s emotional space) and finally attack Thompson because he was invited to…

We also never discover what exactly what the relationship between Varney and Thompson’s dead partner Dobson was. But it could be assumed there was some bond as Varney chose to turn him into a vampire who will be his companion (It is a well-known trope in vampire stories that vampire chose to turn potential lovers into vampires- however Varney refers to Dobson as ‘my child’). Could it be that they were involved in a relationship? Varney turning Dobson into a vampire represents Thompson’s fear of being imitate with another man as being something unnatural and corrupting. Varney also gets to have the relationship with Dobson Thompson could not bring himself to have. Thompson makes a point of describing Dobson as a married man and father, focussing on him as a model of heterosexuality, possibly disavowing and discounting any feeling he himself had for him. But the fact Thompson is willing to go so far to get justice for Dobson and that he carries his photo around does testify to the depth of his feelings.

Varney, with his interest in veganism, healthy diet, Chai lattes, yoga (a cut scene involved Varney teaching Thompson yoga techniques to help him relax) and openness in discussing feelings represents quite a different model of masculinity to both Thompson and Dobson (Thompson mentions how different he is to Dobson who could apparently be moody). Varney tries to get Thompson to take both his physical and mental health more seriously and tries to show him useful tools to help him with this. However every single one of these suggestions actually turns out just for the purposes of helping Thompson be a better victim /feed in the end . For example as noted in the podcast (although cut from the final episode) Thompson undoes the first button of his shirt exposing his neck as a result of a relaxation technique Varney showed him. Varney’s concern about Thompson’s blood pressure and not giving himself food poisoning is more to do with insuring he will be ready to feed on him at the right time. Could Varney represent Thompson’s anxieties about men who do not necessarily conform to his view of what constitutes masculinity (and how in the end it may make men like him behind )?

The conversations about Thompson and Varney about food also indicate aspects of their character which are worth noting – particularly in light of how psychoanalysis discusses oral fixation in vampire lore. Thompson’s appetite for food which is commented on several times throughout the episode can be said to indicate several things. On one level it is ironic someone who is so concerned with feeding himself becomes food. Also as I pointed out earlier Dobson was killed while Thompson was collecting food, which exacerbates his feelings of guilt. But Thompson’s appetite for food could be said to be a way of connecting to others. He remembers his feasts with Dobson affectionately (including relating a very novel use for an empty pringles tube!) and he offers Varney food (namely his curry) as a way of getting to know him. Thompson could be seen as a comfort eater and as using food as a substitute for affection and bonding with those he cares about. Varney’s repulsion at Thompson’s curry could possibly deeper than a vampire’s dislike of garlic but because he senses it is a symbol of Thompson’s disconnect from his own feelings and desires. When Varney describes himself as a flexitarian who only feeds on meat once a month early on in the episode he is indicating he in control of his appetites and desires but also aware and willing to acknowledge them. This gives him a power which Thompson lacks and why he ultimately gets the upper hand in the relationship. In the final moments of the episode Varney instructs the now vampirised Dobson to feed on Thompson’s blood .Thompson who used food to try and connect to both his dead partner and Varney is finally gets his moment of connection with both in the most ironic way imaginable.

The moment when Varney finally reveals his true nature to Thompson and attacks him has erotic power that it occasioned a question at the BFI preview., and which Pemberton and Shearsmith discussed the homoerotic nature of the moment on their podcast about the episode It could be seen as the point where the relationship between Varney and Thompson’s relationship is finally ’consummated’. It could also be read as a metaphor for a sexual assault.

Just some final observations about the episode…

The episode is beautifully shot (at some considerable expense apparently!) by Mattias Nyberg creating both a dreamlike and disturbing atmosphere. The way both Pemberton’s and Shearsmith’s faces are lit are astonishing. Christian Henson’s (as ever) wonderful score with it’s Hungarian influence and soaring distorted strings further adds to the sense foreboding. The graveyard background is also used in a subtle manner but does help convey an foreboding mood. And of course the direction by Giullem Morales (who has directed several episodes of the show) is as usual excellent but as a director who came from a background in horror this story in particular must have appealed.

The poster for the episode places Varney and Thompson against the backdrop of barren branches which almost become a spiders web (of course we only eventually find out who the spider and fly in the relationship is).

I also have to note Pemberton and Shearsmith wrote this episode in a few days after another script was turned down. This makes the fact this is such a powerful episode with such beautifully observed dialogue and skilful seeding of the final reveal even more impressive.

This is just my own take on the episode. It is enjoyable on many levels- as a police procedural, a vampire story and a brilliantly acted two hander between Pemberton and Shearsmith and is further proof of their enormous gifts as writers and actors and their ability to transcend and enrich genres.

#inside no.9 #guillem morales #christian henson #reece shearsmith #steve pemberton

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artistic-writer · 4 years

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The Paradox of Light :: CS AU : Rated E :: part 2

Title: The Paradox of Light by @artistic-writer Summary: Imagine having one person, one constant, one love in your life that holds your head when you go under the surface. They will be there forever, holding your hand through everything life can throw at the pair of you, but what happens when a crack forms? What happens when it grows into something neither of you can control? What happens when the one person who was there to guide you becomes an obstacle and rather than hold you up, they pull you down? How do you find your way out of the darkness without your light? Rating: E Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, sexual addiction, domestic violence, fighting, choking, erotic asphyxiation (use in a non-informed manner), depression, death of Liam Jones, panic attacks, PTSD, attempted rape/non-con/dub-con, stab wounds, bar fights, rehab/AA meetings

- but there is a happy ending to this story, i promise.

Author’s Note: I missed this ficversary because of everything that is going on in the world right now, but its been in the plan to re-release it as a multichapter for some time. It’s A LOT otherwise and whilst I initially always intended this to be a one shot, because I wrote it in one go, its not logical to expect people to stop and read so many words in one go. The lovely fanart by @itsfabianadocarmo features in all chapters, so go show her some love!

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!! This fic has a lot of them for a reason. If you want to ask about any, please don’t be afraid to message me.

Part Two [ below the cut ]

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Five months ago

“Hi, Emma, it’s Will.”

“Is he…?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so, lass.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t let him leave.”

Like so many phone calls before, Emma knew exactly what it meant when Will called her. He was a good friend of theirs, a military buddy of Killian’s and the manager of the local bar that just happened to be where Killian went night after night to poison himself into a stupor. Will could not turn him away whilst sober, despite knowing exactly what he was trying to achieve by drinking more than his weight in spirits, but even Will had a limit to how far he would go to help his friend.

And by Will’s tone, Emma knew Killian had reached his brand new threshold. Steadily he had become immune to the effects of prolonging drinking, becoming even more depressed as he had remained sober for longer, and to make matters even worse, Emma had let him. She felt awful, watching the man that she loved crumble each and every night he returned home in a mess of bitter tasting kisses and sloppy groping.

But she had made a choice, as selfish as it seemed, to ignore the rancid taste on Killian’s tongue night after night in favour of her own high that lie on the other side of her orgasm. They had fallen into a routine of him drinking himself stupid, his emotions getting the better of him when it was never enough, and then the both of them falling into bed and into each other to numb what they were feeling. It was wrong, and it was selfish, but Emma never wanted it to end.

What lay just beyond their grief was their hope, a guiding beacon of deliverance, and the only thing in their way was the pleasure of getting there, each losing themselves in the other and falling asleep in each other's arms. It had been enough and they had managed to function, neither saying a word of what they required because the other always knew. Except now they had become addicted to each other, with no sense of moderation, and that was why Emma found herself driving out to Will’s bar at midnight to retrieve her next fix.

Killian always drank in the same booth because that corner of the bar was dimly lit and he could hide his tears after each glass. When Emma approached it didn’t escape her notice that the table was full of empty tumblers, none with a single drop of alcohol left in the bottom, and that there were more than usual covering the wooden surface. He was slumped back in the soft, dark green leather seat, his chin on his chest and his fingers wrapped around what she assumed was his last drink, even though the glass looked as dry as a bone.

“Will cut me off,” he grumbled against his chest, not looking up to meet her gaze. Emma sighed pitifully.

“Come on, Killian, let’s get you home,” she coaxed gently as she moved some of the glasses away from the edge of the table. If he stumbled she didn’t need him breaking a glass or worse.

“I’m not…” he began, quickly blowing out his cheeks and swallowing the rise of burning bile that had crept up his throat.

“I think you’re done drinking,” Emma offered. She stepped forward and ran her hand through his hair as he lifted his head to look at her, a genuine smile that she had not seen for months plastered across his face, but as quickly as it appeared, it faded and Killian wrenched his head away from her touch.

“I’m not done drinking,” he spat, unable to stop himself when he fell sideways and out of the booth. Killian barely stopped his face colliding with the floor and quickly pushed himself to his knees. “That...That bastard said I’ve had enough!” He waved an accusing finger towards the bar, his eyes squinting at Will who simply watched with a solemn expression.

Emma gave Will a quick apologetic smile before turning back to Killian and crouching down beside him. “I think you’ve had enough,” Emma said seriously, her jaw clenching and her arms straining as she hooked her arm into his elbow and yanked Killian to his feet.

Killian shook his head from side to side, sucking on his bottom lip and closing his eyes just long enough to stop the world spinning. “I know I’ve got room for more,” he laughed maniacally, falling against Emma who struggled to hold him aloft by herself. Luckily, Will had seen the display, on more than one occasion, and was on hand to help instantly.

“Yeah? And why is that, mate?” Will lifted Killian’s arm and ducked under it, holding him with Emma who mirrored his actions on the opposite side. They shuffled towards the back door, that exit closest to Emma’s car, Killian still giggling like he had just outsmarted his biggest nemesis. They stopped briefly when Killian plastered his hand to the side of Will’s head, turning his face to his as his eyes peeled open and he looked him dead in the eye.

“Because I can still feel,” Killian said softly, his voice wavering on the last word. Will paused, the bleakness behind Killian’s eyes something he had never noticed before now. They were dull, the spark of blue he once saw from both Jones brothers now gone, replaced with a blackness that had turned them grey. Killian’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a lump of tears down his throat and his lips twitched into a weak smile as he patted Will’s cheek and pressed his forehead against his. “It still hurts.”

“I’m sorry, mate,” Will almost whispered, grabbing the back of Killian’s head and holding him steady. “I wish I could take it away, you know that.”

“You can,” Killian whimpered. “Just one more…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupted gently and Killian looked away from his friend and back to the woman he loved with a slight sway. Will caught him and stopped him from falling backwards. “Let’s just go home.”

Her words were code, Emma knew it and Killian knew it too. Home wasn’t where they lived, parked their cars at night and watched their television. No, home was more than that. It was the place of peace they found inside of each other, the place they went to when they needed each other the most because the guilt of living was too much to bear. And above all else, home was where they could forget about the world and where the weight of misery was lifted from their shoulders.

They barely spoke on the way home, the cold night air whistling through Killian’s tousled hair as he rested his head against the doorframe, the window of the truck rolled all the way down. He sang to himself, songs from his tours of duty, songs that reminded him of his brother’s both familial and adoptive. The words were gut wrenching and Emma had no idea he even knew he was saying them aloud, but she simply drove and listened, the now familiar lump once again forming in her throat as he sobbed through each verse beside her.

“Emma?” Killian coughed her name roughly, a burn tearing through his lungs that was most likely from the cold and the alcohol. He had found the couch, his body too intoxicated to find its way to anywhere else in the house and he had collapsed back into the softness of the cushions as if they had beckoned him.

“Right here,” Emma murmured softly, tossing her car keys onto the kitchen island and moving into the lounge. “Here, drink this,” Emma commanded gently, lifting Killian’s hand and guiding it to the tall glass of water in her hand. He fumbled, barely gripping the slippery glass, so she helped him lift it to his lips and he sipped the ice cold liquid with disgust.

“Water?” Killian grimaced, turning his face away from it like a child. “Where is the rum?”

“No more rum,” Emma chastised, placing the glass on the table in front of them and settling beside him on the couch. She laid her hand down over his knee, feeling how cold he was through the fabric of his jeans.

“It’s not enough,” Killian scoffed, his words quickly turning into a sorrowful sob as they left his mouth. Emma knew what he meant and gave his knee a squeeze. The alcohol was not enough to take away the pain anymore and Emma wished she could ease his burden and carry some of his despair.

“Killian, I…” she began gently.

“You love me, right?” he blurted suddenly. Emma frowned a little as she took in his expression. It was soft, desperate and child like and his lip quivered. Killian’s cheeks flushed red and the tears in his eyes came back, the redness around his eyes reappearing as she saw the fresh wave that threatened to fall.

“Of course,” Emma slid closer to him and flattened her palm to his cheek. Killian leaned into her touch and held her hand to his face as he inhaled her scent. “I will always love you.”

“I want…” he stuttered, searching her eyes for a sign that she could understand what he wanted without him having to force the rest of the words from his mouth. Killian pulled Emma’s hand a little until she had no choice but to move with her arm and so she did, straddling his lap as he had intended.

“I know,” Emma whispered, leaning her forehead against his and cupping his face in her hands. Killian’s scruff tickled her palms but she ignored it as his tears soaked her fingers. “I want it too,” she gulped hard, her fingers sliding up and down the sides of his face, threading through his sideburns and tracing the outline of his elfen ears.

With a hefty sigh of relief, Killian’s dam broke and his audible cry of anguish rumbled from deep in his chest. “I know we shouldn’t,” he sobbed, his breath hitching in his throat and his hands finding the hem of Emma’s sweater. “But I just want to…”

“Feel free?” Emma sighed softly. Killian nodded against her and Emma pulled her face from his and moved off of his lap. He was hit with the very real panic of never letting the stabbing sensation in his chest be replaced with anything else until Emma grabbed the back of her sweater and pulled it over her head. She tossed it aside, made short work of her jeans and bra and left him stunned to silence when she stood before him as gloriously naked as the day she was born.

She was an angel, of that he was sure. She was a celestial being sent to guide him through the path of shadows and light his way to freedom. Only, Killian knew as much as Emma did, that if that was true, she was about to become one of the fallen, an angel tempted by the sins of man and never to be redeemed.

“Me too,” Emma rasped, sitting astride his lap once more and frantically tugging at the belt of his jeans. Helpless to aid her because of the heaviness of his limbs, Killian simply watched her nimble fingers work on the button of his jeans, tugging the sides apart and sending a shock wave of arousal coursing right through him.

This time was about her need, Killian knew that. She was quick, barely allowing herself to become aroused before sinking down onto him, wincing at the stretch and burn he knew she would undoubtedly feel from his girth. And there was a hurriedness in her actions, a hunter like instinct to find her own quarry that scared him a little until she found a rhythm that made her shudder and leaned forward to taste his lips.

“Make me come, Killian,” Emma gasped between bounces, planting her lips against his only long enough to feel them on her skin and not taste the sourness of rum on his breath. “Take me there.”

Killian wrapped his arms around her naked form, planting his hands firmly against her back until he felt the bumps of her spine beneath the tips of his fingers. Emma’s soft, downy body hair sprang to attention and she arched her back willingly when Killian curved her body away from his and loomed forward to capture a nipple between his lips. They were dry and cracked against her skin but Emma didn’t mind the texture. It was like a trigger, her external pain amplifying her internal struggle for release that only Killian could give her.

Nails clawed over her skin and teeth bit down on the peaks of her breasts and Emma screamed out, her orgasm ripping through her body like an exorcism, leaving its mark in the form of weak shudders and soft whimpers as the demon of desolation left her body once more. Killian followed shortly afterwards, his hips jutting into her throbbing core only a few more times before he found his own salvation and went deaf from it, the beacon of light shining through him once more.

There was a moment after they had both peaked that they felt free. They were free from pain, free to let hands roam over gentle curves and through messed up side parted hair, but it never lasted. They both knew they would wake up the next day, the high of their bliss having subsided and the demons of despair making their inevitable return, but for now all they had was this moment, and in this moment, they were alive.

Four months ago

Emma knew this day would come. Killian had left for work as normal, kissing her goodbye and acting as normal as any other person in the world. His breath was fresh and minty, a tiny remnant of toothpaste caught in the corner of his mouth that Emma had wiped away with a wet thumb pad. And there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, one that Emma had not seen for months, a smile of genuine glee on his face and a sparkle in his eyes as he let the door close behind him and waved goodbye.

It wasn’t long after home time, when she had received no messages like she usually did, that panic set in and Emma realised that what Killian had been experiencing in the morning was simply mania. Depression was an evil thing, worming itself into the lives of unsuspecting people, creeping up on them without remorse. Every once in a while, there would be a peak of happiness that professionals would call mania, the manic side of being so low that you can’t physically take it anymore.

Killian had always texted Emma to tell her he was at Will’s bar, but not tonight, and after Will had texted her to say he had confiscated Killian’s keys, she had resigned herself to the fact that he was probably not coming home for the first time since Liam had died. She felt empty and was unable to drink the cinnamon topped hot chocolate she had prepared shortly before bed, simply leaving the milky drink to go cold and lumps of melted cream to float around the surface.

Emma knew she hadn’t been asleep long when she heard the rattle of keys struggling to find the lock on the front door. There was barely even the disorientation of sleep clouding her mind or the fuzz of sleep covering the inside of her mouth before she heard the cursing coming from the kitchen and the breaking of ceramic against the floor. The cold chocolate had met its demise against the slate tiles and Killian hadn’t even lowered his voice as he swore about the mess.

“Swan!” He called out groggily, his voice booming through the silent house. A light chuckle followed his shout but Emma did not move, her limbs heavy and her mind exhausted from her worry that had now been abated. She knew he would find his way to bed, he always had before, but the tingle in her joints and the increase of her heart beat told her that her body was not as annoyed as she should be.

The bedroom door opened with a thud as it hit the wall behind, the indent from the doorknob leaving a mark in the plaster of ever increasing depth. It was fruitless trying to cover it up now because if it wasn’t one addiction making the door fly open in a sloppy maneuver, it was the desperation of the other sending the cold, round handle into the wall night after night as they tore each other’s clothes off seeking their high.

“Swan?” Killian whispered all too loudly as he stumbled over his boots midway through kicking them off. “Are you awake?” He made it to the edge of the bed, falling forward and only just stopping himself with two flat palms to the mattress.

“I am now,” Emma lied, rolling over to face him. He was merry, not doubt about it, his rosy cheeks and red tipped ears telling her exactly his poison of choice. Rum always made him blush in random places.

“I tried to be quiet,” Killian slurred, swaying side to side as he lifted his knee onto the bed in an ungainly manner. He lost his balance instantly and slammed his foot back to the floor before he toppled over. “Did you make the bed higher?” He mumbled, inspecting the edge of the mattress with a frown.

“No, Killian,” Emma sighed, sitting up and flicking her hair behind her shoulders. She never went to bed with her hair tied up anymore, not since meeting Killian, but it had been months since he had absently run his fingers through it in his sleep and inhaled the soft vanilla scent from her shampoo.

“I like your hair,” Killian grinned at her, eyelids heavy and a boyish smirk plastered across his face. Emma rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him, shaking her head a little. “It’s so…” He paused, trying to find the words, poking his tongue out and sucking behind his teeth until he made a squeaking noise. “...yellow.”

“Yellow?” Emma asked incredulously.

“Aye, like the bug,” Killian smiled at her and it was real, a soft curve of his lips that were slightly parted and told her that he was happy, if only for this moment. He attempted to mount the bed once again, this time victoriously, and shuffled onto his side once he had taken a good two minutes to free his arms from the confines of his leather jacket. He tossed it across the room with little effort and when he ran his hand through his hair, Emma noticed the dried blood adorning his knuckles in the light of the moon.

“You’ve cut your hand,” She said quickly, pulling his hand closer so she could inspect it. The skin on his knuckles had burst open leaving a jagged edged wound in its wake, the fresh, bright red blood still trying to escape through the dried, dark brown crust. Emma leaned over and pulled the toggle switch on one of their bedside lamps, the room erupting in a dim orange glow as soon as the clicking sound filled their ears.

“I’m fine,” Killian shrugged dismissively.

Emma looked up from his hand to meet his gaze and her eyes went wide, the light flooding into her pupils and making her eyes sting. “Killian! You’re hurt!” She shrieked, moving closer, the feather duvet ruffling around her as she did, her eyes roaming over his face. He was beat, there were no bones about that, a purple swell under his right eye keeping his eyelids together and a dried line of blood that had trickled down the side of his face.

“You should see the other guy,” Killian said joyously, giving her a wink. Emma tutted, mostly at herself because as her hand hovered over a freshly reopened wound on his right cheek, she felt a surge of want that scared her. She was fascinated by the patterns of splattered blood on his shirt collar, turning the blue material into a dark maroon colour under ear spot, and she felt a blush creep up the back of her neck.

“Killian, I’m serious,” Emma chastised, enjoying the weight of his hand in hers, even if she shouldn’t under the circumstances. Her mind wandered briefly when he turned their hands over, brushing his thumb over the backside of her knuckles in a move so gentle her heart skipped in her chest and she had to swallow hard.

“So am I,” he said softly, his good eye fluttering closed when Emma’s featherlight fingertips brushed over the split skin next to his hairline.

“Is this all your blood?” Emma asked nervously as her eyes flickered over his face more urgently. Her gaze roamed lower and took in his shirt, top buttons tore off most likely from an opponent who had grabbed at the material. He had some dark red fingerprint type smudges across his neck, half shaped moon bruises there from fingernails and his chest hair glistened with a wet look.

“I’m sure it is not all mine,” Killian announced proudly. “I gave as good as I got, love, trust me.”

Emma flattened her hands out over his shirt, dread setting into her heart when she felt the warm, wet sensation under her fingers and realised that the wet look to his chest hair was in fact blood, his blood, from a wound that had been newly inflicted or was struggling to stem itself under the friction of his shirt. Emma tore at the remainder of his buttons, ripping the edges of his shirt apart in haste.

“Oh my god,” She exclaimed breathlessly, her face turning alabaster and heat prickling her skin when she saw the damage. “Fuck, Killian, you’ve been stabbed!”

“What?” Killian laughed nervously, craning his neck to look down at where Emma was looking. Sure enough, even through blurred vision, Killian could see the irregular circular shape punched into his pec, the flaps of skin around the edges the faintest shade of white under the layer of caked on blood. He lifted his head again, the colour draining from his face in shock. “Well, bugger.”

The hospital was more than understanding and why wouldn’t they believe the word of the local sheriff when she told them her boyfriend was accidentally injured in a bar fight? It probably wasn’t a million miles from the truth, but Killian could not remember how it had happened. A quick call to Will confirmed that there had been an altercation in the bar that, but nothing more than a few pickled slurs and insults that had fizzled out towards closing time. It seemed whoever Killian had ticked off had followed him out back because Will had found a broken bottle by the dumpster, the bottom shattered, bloody fingerprints around the neck and the sharp, pointed edges covered in dried blood.

“You are lucky,” Emma snapped, tossing her purse onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m alright, love,” Killian said with a wince as he shrugged out of his blood stained jacket whilst being mindful of his injury.

“That’s not the point,” Emma bit out, unable to look in his direction. “Not only did you not come home when Will’s closed, but when you did finally fall through the door you were stabbed, Killian! Stabbed!”

“I’m sorry, Swan,” Killian gulped, the last few hours having sobered him up enough that he could see the pain in her posture and the hurt in her voice as it switched between anger and fear. He moved towards her, his bootless feet falling silent on the tile, sidestepping the congealed chocolate he had spilled a few hours ago.

Emma leaned forward, trembling hands clinging to the edge of the marble as the emotion of the whole evening hit her like a freight train. Killian’s hands were on her as soon as the flood gates opened, drawing slow circles over the curve of her shoulder joints with his thumbs as she cried. Emma shook, her whole body wracked with sobs she had been holding in since the moment she discovered the gaping hole in his chest.

“Damn it, Killian!” She cried, slamming a flat palm into the cold, stone surface in front of her.

“I know,” he soothed sympathetically.

“They said you were lucky!” She screeched, turning to face him. He didn’t step back and ignored the pain that shot through his wound with the twist of his arm.

“I know…,” he agreed.

“Half an inch to the right and that bottle would have pierced your heart!” Emma bellowed, her eyes falling to where the dried blood had turned his shirt a dark shade of brown. The hospital had cleaned away most of the blood that had stuck to his chest hair and he had left his shirt open on the way home, so Emma reached out and pressed her fingers against the steady beat of his heart, the skin warm and supple under her touch. She raked her nails over the patch of hair above his heart, millimeters from the tape of the bandage covering the hole in his pec and couldn’t stop the quiver in her lip as the tears tumbled from her eyes. “I could have lost you,” she whimpered, lifting her head to finally face him, the expression of a broken man staring back at her. “I can’t lose you.”

Killian fought the ache in his chest and lifted his arms, pulling her into his embrace, the bandage on his chest quickly soaked by Emma’s tears. “I know,” he sighed sadly, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing his hands up and down her back.

There were no words that he could say that would make her feel better. Emma had been stronger than he could have ever been but finally her integrity had shattered into a thousand pieces, all of which he held in his hands, a charge he neither felt qualified or strong enough to uphold. Emma’s fingers clutched at the edges of his shirt as she cried, holding him to her with distress in her wails that he would never forget.

She lifted her head and real fear flashed through her eyes, turning the honey hues into a murky hazel. Killian met her gaze, the silence between them saying everything that they needed to. He recognised the look in her eyes, he had seen it before when Liam had died and she had thought she would lose him to the sharp edge of a razor blade or in a bottle of prescription painkillers. It was primal, urgent and miserable want of the highest degree.

And he felt it too.

“What are we doing to each other?” Killian rasped, his voice catching in his throat as his eyes flickered between hers and her lips.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Emma commanded on a heaving breath, her fingers curling around the crusty edges of his shirt.

“Emma, I…” Killian began, his sobriety giving him a moment of clarity in this toxic part of their relationship he hadn’t experienced until now. Emma’s hands were on the back of his neck before any more words could escape his mouth, his body ignoring his brain’s objections as soon as their lips met. The kiss was feverish, burning them up from the inside out and making them gasp for oxygen between tastes of tongues, clashes of teeth and the biting of lips.

They had sex differently now. It wasn’t making love so much as fucking, diving into each other until they were drowning in the sounds of pleasure and the smell of their sweat sheened skin invaded their senses. It was hurried, like a race into wretchedness with no winner, a sprint for the finish line that left them elated but never sated.

Killian wanted her, and Emma wanted him. That was all they knew.

When Emma tangled her fingers into his hair, pulling in frustration, Killian growled and it set a switch off inside of Emma. Gone were her tears, gone was her worry that she might never have him again, instead the vacancy in her core replaced with desire, deep and sultry that had her tugging again at the dark locks and biting his bottom lip a little harder than he was used to. He cried out again and tore his lips from hers, dabbing his stinging bottom lip with a fingertip and inspecting it for blood. Killian looked up at her again, confused and aroused, Emma was looking up at him through her eyelashes, her body arching into his and her teeth troubling her bottom lip salaciously. He grinned, the intense throb in his jeans hurting that little bit more than before.

“There’s my pirate,” Emma cooed his nickname, wrapping her fingers around the chain that Killian wore around his neck. He never took it off because it held one of his most prized possessions, Liam’s ring, and she slid her hand down the cool metal links until she had it in her palm.

Killian surged forward, ignoring the sting of pain as he hoisted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She could feel his length through his jeans pressing into the thin material of the pajamas she had neglected to change out of in her panic to get him to the hospital before and it made her groan, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling his already open mouth to hers.

Their kisses were messy, wet and rushed, tongues diving deeper than they ever had before. Emma noticed the distinctly faded taste of a different brand of rum on Killian’s tongue and wondered if he had drunk through Will’s supply already that week, but it was short lived when Killian swiped an extended arm over the kitchen table, ridding it of a few magazines and candles, and them slammed her down on the hard, wooden surface with a grunt. He stood back, a dark hollowness to his stare as he grabbed the waistband of her pants and underwear at the same time and pulled them off in one motion.

“Hurry,” Emma begged wantonly, writhing on the table and watching his hands fumble with the button of his jeans. “I need you,” She purred as she traced circles over her clit, slicking her nectar from her fluttering core and using it as lubrication over the pulsating bundle of nerves. Killian was free in no time, roughly grabbing Emma’s knees as he stepped up to the edge of the table and pulling her to him, his tip stretching her entrance in just the most torturous way.

“I need you too,” Killian said firmly, his entire body shaking from holding himself back. Emma hooked her legs around his back, digging her heels into his spine and pulled him closer, impaling herself with a raging satisfaction.

“So, take me,” She challenged and it was all Killian needed to begin a rhythm with his hips that left her inner walls screaming for more and her body boneless.

He was relentless, gasping for breath and holding her to him as he thrust into her, barely leaving the comfort of her fiery centre for fear he might never find his way back. Emma yelped when he pulled her a little too harshly, hooking his hands behind her knees, his fingernails digging into her flesh so hard she was sure she would have bruises the next day. They would be a reminder, proof of their devotion and a visual description of the actions of their addiction to each other, hidden from friends but they would know they were there.

They would always know they were there.

As with any dependency, their trysts had become stale and they needed more each time in order to find the shining light within each other and feel the relief of a climax as it washed over them. Killian stopped his pounding thrusts when Emma screamed his name in such a way that meant she was close, cruelty he knew, but he wasn’t done with taking her to heaven just yet. Emma whined with a frown, but it was short lived because ignoring the searing pain from the stitches pulling against his freshly torn skin on his chest, Killian pulled her up off the table and into his arms, spinning them and stumbled into the side of the refrigerator.

“Yes,” Emma whispered, clutching the sides of his face and clawing at his cheeks. “More,” she panted, biting his chin and stiffening as he rolled his hips in that perfect way again and again.

“You’ll never lose me,” Killian panted between thrusts, his hands grabbing the globes of her naked ass as he leaned his entire weight against the buzzing appliance to hold Emma up. “Never,” he affirmed with a deep, core clenching plunge into her that made Emma bury her face in his neck and squeal with her impending orgasm.

“I’m there,” Emma sighed and she felt Killian grab the top of the refrigerator, pulling himself into her even harder to prolong her pleasure. “Come with me,” she begged, her voice almost as if she was crying, ready to explode on the inside, the approaching light inside of her numbing her senses and taking away her breath as well as her pain. Killian crowed, his legs buckling and giving out from underneath him, the pair of them tumbling to the floor and rolling into the remnants of the hot chocolate long forgotten.

Their bliss wouldn’t last, they both knew that, for tomorrow they would wake up still broken and damaged.

#cs au #hurt/comfort #the paradox of light #tpol #icymi

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