#// throw a pretty boy at him & he shrivels up and DIES

[thebestlangston]

── ✧ OOC

Aaron is the type of guy to be so neck-deep in his repression & internalized homophobia that the second he kisses a guy, he will genuinely run to a toilet and proceed to empty his stomach.

[lueurjun]

ੰ first kiss with enha | ꒰ jake , sunghoon ꒱

enhypen reaction—there comes a time in a lot of relationships where the next step is taken, and here’s how the nerve-racking first kiss experience went for you and your mans. kinda long, i got carried away<3

version one: heeseung and jay.

. . . . . . . ꒰ JAKE ꒱ ,,

FERAL BOY PT2

the rizz this man has is insane

but like heeseung, when it comes to you, his confidence kind of shrivels up and dies

you make him tongue tied

and you know it too ❪ he’s not exactly subtle with the bright red cheeks and stumbling over his own words ❫

to be honest it kinda fuels your ego

because who doesn’t love making a confident boy weak at the knees?

he’s a simp for you and it fills you with so much pride

not that he doesn’t make you weak at the knees

because he does

especially when he flashes you that pretty grin and calls you the most endearing name on the planet in that hot aussie accent of his

but you’re better at hiding it than he is

at least you can still form a sentence

with this, i feel like you’ll be the one to make the first move

because you’re a goddamn icon

the kiss happens a few weeks into your relationship so everything is relatively new

but you’re 90% sure that he wants to kiss you

because the amount of times you’ve caught that godforsaken boy staring at your lips

he even leaned in at one point and you were sure that was the moment

but then he got shy and backed away

i can literally imagine his shy face. i’m eating my pillows shsjsjs my gosh

you decided to wait it out and see whether he would grow some balls

because the thing about jake is that he’s all talk over text

the messages he sends you and his actions in person are drastically different

he’s so me

but after another week of missed opportunities, you’ve had enough

you want those plump lips on your own STAT

so you decide to take the lead because you are sick of jake and his inability to bring his texts to life

it finally happens on a cold tuesday evening, a month into dating

the pair of you decided to go on a cute little bowling date

jake swears he’s a legend at bowling but you’re certain you can beat him

and you do — which shocks the life out of him

that’s right. humble him bae

you’re on your last turn and you’re filled with nerves as you grab the ball

not because you’re worried about bowling, but because of what you’re going to do after it

the universe appears to work in your favour because you get a strike

victory washes over you as you turn and stroll towards him, a cocky smirk on your lips which he rolls his eyes at

even though it’s the goddamn hottest thing he’s ever seen

however, he’s caught off guard when you throw your arms around his neck and plant your lips onto his

bro literally freezes on the spot

hands hovering over your waist with his eyes wide

because you’re kissing him

YOU

ARE KISSING HIM?

alexa play that should be me

you quickly pull away when you realise that he’s not kissing you back

“did i read this wrong or—”

“no. absolutely not. i was caught off guard.”

you smile at how red his face has gone, and decide to try again

though you lean in slowly this time, and he’s faster, cupping your jaw as your lips move against each other

the smack he talked through text comes to life through the kiss which he takes the lead on this time

just casually making out in a bowling alley-

you pull away before the two of you could get scolded by a worker

he rests his forehead against your own and sighs

“thank goodness you did it first because i was absolutely shitting myself.”

. . . . . . . ꒰ SUNGHOON ꒱ ,,

to be frank, this poor boy is stressed

and not because he’s nervous about kissing you, no he’s anything BUT nervous

his frustration levels are off the charts because no matter how much he tries, you literally won’t let him kiss you

and you’re not intentional about it either, which makes it that much more frustrating

don’t hate me but you’re oblivious as hell

at this point, sunghoon isn’t even sure whether the two of you are even dating

because sure you hold hands, but you’ve never hung out with him alone outside of your group of friends

the two of you communicate through text and you call sometimes but it all just seems?? friendly??

i literally had a boyfriend that was like this, im speaking from the soul

it’s almost like you didn’t wanna be alone with him and it bruised his ego A LOT

and it hurt his feelings but he wouldn’t admit that one out loud

he knows you probably don’t mean anything by it, but he also doesn’t know how to bring it up to you

when he brought it up to his friends, they were just as clueless as him because you are quite unreadable and as sweet as they think you are, they also can’t figure you out

cue them all staring at you from across the room, trying to sus you out

“are we sure they know you’re dating?”

sunoo had meant no harm in his question, but it didn’t take the sting away

“maybe you’re delusional and it all happened in your head because they do not seem interested in you whatsoever.”

#supportivebesties

as if you heard jungwon’s comment, you turned on your heel and started walking towards him

which made all of them panic and get into poses that looked anything but natural

heeseung was reading book upside down

both groups of your friends merged together and try to act like they aren’t watching you drag him away

once out of earshot, you whip around to face him looking like a puppy that just got kicked

which catches him by surprise

because why are you upset?

ur a match made in headache heaven

and his surprise heightens with the next words that fly out of your pouted lips

“do you not like me?”

huh?

i beg your pardon?

does he not—

WHAT?

sunghoon can’t believe his ears

“do i not like you? shouldnt i be the one asking you that?”

ooh that was really bratty!

great now you’re both confused messes

staring at each other like ???

“it’s just- we- we don’t really act like a couple and i’m starting to think you don’t like me as much as i like you…”

sunghoon genuinely has to stop himself from laughing from sheer disbelief

because you had been feeling this way too?

what are the odds??

it’s almost like communication is a relationship foundation

“i do like you—way more than you realize. i was a little worried that you had forgotten we are dating…”

it’s humiliating to admit, but sunghoon supposes that honesty is the best policy in this situation

the way you unintentionally humbled him-

“then why didn’t you ever try to make a move…”

“i did! i tried kissing you multiple times but you always moved or walked away.”

you had? honestly you had no recollection of seeing him try to kiss you

perhaps you were just extremely oblivious

a brief silence settles over the two of you and neither of you are sure where to go from here

it’s almost painful and sunghoon’s fingers are itching to grab you and hold you in some way

“if i kiss you, promise you won’t walk away?”

it breaks your heart that he even had to ask

but you delicately raise your pinky finger, and marvel as he cautiously intertwines his around yours

“i promise.”

thats all he needs to hear before he draws you forward, pinky fingers still wrapped around each other as he finally feels your lips against his own

neither of you want it to end, revelling in the warmth each other provides with your pinky fingers still inlaced between you

it appears neither of you are willing to put an end to the moment, so your friends do it for you

a chorus of hollers and whistles echo through the air

“maybe he wasn’t delusional after all.”

[canyouhearme83]

How are you so salty over the fact that you could barely get three kids out before your dick stopped working. Like get the fuck over it dude.

It's not like anyone would want to fuck you anyway, gross ass son of a cuck. I bet those coders only called you an 'it' because your dick is so fucked up. They saw it and didn't even bother looking at the rest of you.

Like seriously bro that shit probably looks like every Tetris block at the same time. God damn corkscrew cock having MF.

Just because your wife had to play twister in bed just for you to even have the possibility of continuing your pathetic fucking bloodline doesn't mean you have to end like, 30 other peoples.

There's one thing about you that definitely ISN'T a monster, and that's your fucking penis. That shit is the size of a pepperoni slice. How you even got it into your wife in the first place is a goddamn enigma.

Your dick is so short your wife asked you if it was in yet 30 minutes after you finished. You send dick pics and people have to put their phone under a microscope to see it.

When you were born the doctors put F on your birth certificate because they couldn't see it and thought you were AFAB. They looked at you and said "oh wow, congratulations on your beautiful baby girl!" And then you had to get it legally changed.

All of your friends talked about boners and you didn't know what they meant because yours didn't do that. Sex-ed didn't make any sense to you because you didn't think anything that size could even make it close.

The unrecognizable lump of flesh you have now that used to be your penis is probably more appealing to any woman than the sad toothpick dick you had back when you weren't parading around in a discount aisle moldy easter bunny halloween costume.

When you fucking died I bet that was the most blood flow you got anywhere NEAR your crotch in years.

After it stopped working, your wife probably sighed in relief because she didn't have to act like she could feel anything in bed. But it's not like she had to do it for long, One Pump Willy, you could only get 30 seconds out of it and then it was over.

You probably felt it and rushed to the bedroom before it went away.

When you asked your wife if she wanted to have some fun, she replied with 'Yeah sure I have a few minutes.'

You were known as the One Pump Wonder, mostly because it was almost magical the way that you even had ONE kid, let alone THREE. If you didn't do well at that restaurant, you probably would've had to be an attraction at the circus.

"Come one, come all!" They'd say, "Come and see the man who can't!" Then they'd throw water balloons at you. You'd have turned out to be a clown either way, just one of them your ego wouldn't be inflated larger than one of those balloons from that fucking robot that killed your daughter.

The size of that knife you used is just you compensating. You probably picked it out and went "Wow! That's the biggest I've ever seen!" And it was 4 inches.

In high school, your wife's friends probably went "What do you even see in him? What's the appeal?" And she'd say, "He has a wonderful personality." Then, they'd say "and?" And she would have nothing to add.

Were those kids even yours? Or did she just go to a sperm bank so you wouldn't feel bad. Your pullout game was probably incredible, because there was nothing to even pull out. You can't take something out if it can't even go in in the first place.

Your wife was pretty wrong about that personality thing, anyway. You're bland as fuck. Basic ass white boy. Pack it up, Willy, don't you have some fishing to do? A car to repair? Football to watch?

You think you're all that, when you're literally nothing. You're just some jealous, boring wannabe Jeff the Killer fanboy 1-inch-dick having unemployed cunt in a flea-ridden antique Saw trap fursuit.

Put that ruler away, and stop sulking over your sorry below average deflated shriveled up raisin excuse of a dick, and grow up. Because this 'Murderous Grieving Father' look you've been going for doesn't suit you, honey. Never did. A select few people look hot with a knife in hand, and you are NOT one of them.

I’m not reading all that.

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter three rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peter’s greatest love and Spiderman’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

Peter arrived at the Avengers tower with a little pep in his step. His new neighbor was on his mind and he couldn’t get her off. He knew it was a long shot, after all you’d only had one conversation, but he felt like there was a connection between you. You were awkward, he was awkward. What more does a relationship need?

Tony was quick to notice the change in Peters mood. A dreamy smile crept across his face every now and then while Tony was trying to explain something about his nanotechnology.

“Alright Underoos, whats on your mind? A girl? Boy? That gorgeous Aunt of yours? Oh wait no, that’s what’s on my mind.” Tony smirked, making a blush paint Peters cheeks.

“Nothing sir. Sorry, I’ll pay attention.” Peter answered quickly. Tony scanned Peter up and down skeptically.

“So its a girl. Alright. Who is she?” Tony asked, motioning for Peter to sit down with him.

“This girl moved in across the hall from me about a week ago. I’d see her on the stairs sometimes, or in the lobby. She’s beautiful, Mr. Stark. I mean, really beautiful. And I know girls are a lot more than their appearance, trust me, but I can never look away. It’s like God made a perfect batch of cookie dough, and then made a perfect cookie cutter, and then hand made her just for me. There’s just, there’s something about her. I feel like I’ve always known her, and I don’t even know her yet. She knocked on my door this morning and I nearly had a heart attack when I saw her through the peephole. I played dumb and acted like I didn’t know she lived across the hall.” Peter started to explain. A twinge of embarrassment struck him at the memory of what he said to you.

“Oh God. You said something stupid, didn’t you?” Tony inquired, noticing the look of embarrassment on Peters face as he recalled their conversation. Tony leaned on his hands like a child, this stuff exciting him more than anything.

“I insulted her dead father and called him smelly.” Peter admitted, and Tony laughed.

“But she found it funny and agreed with me.” Peter quickly followed up.

“Wow. Normally I’d say there’s no coming back from that, but she seems like a keeper. So, are you gonna throw on your Spidey suit and take her for a ride around the city? Works with all the ladies.” Tony wiggled eyebrows, but Peter shook his head.

“No. Spider-Man isn’t a party trick or some tactic to pick up girls. Plus, I want her to like me for me. That’s why I invited her over for dinner tonight.” Peter answered. Tony looked down at his hands, not wanting Peter to see how proud he was. He couldn’t let Peter get too cocky.

“That was a test and you passed.” To y quipped. “Alright, spider child, you have my blessing. But no funny business tonight. If I find out I’m gonna have to design nanotech baby clothes, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Peter blushed at the mere thought of what Tony was implying and spent the rest of his time at the tower going over missions to get you off his mind.

You arrived at Peters at 6:07. You were done getting ready at 5:45, and sat in the living room on your phone until you were slightly late. You didn’t want to be early, like some loser. Or even worse, on time. You had to be fashionably, but not rudely, late.

You knocked on Peters door at 6:07 and waited. The door swung open instantly, as if he’d be waiting right behind.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He stated. “I’ll let you decide if I was waiting at the door for you or if I’m just really fast. “

He had successfully broken the ice, and you gave kudos to him for trying.

You, on the other hand, were drawing a blank. You had no idea what to say and you were a reporter for crying out loud. You didn’t get tripped up on my words, but something about Peter Parker and that damn collared shirt rendered you unable to formulate a thought. All you could do was stand there and smile at him. You felt like you were standing weirdly and all the sudden had no idea where to put your hands. Do you leave them at your sides? That felt too stiff and soldier-like. But where else would they go? You were pretty sure every brain cell had left your body at that point, leaving you defenseless.

“You look nice.” Peter blurted, interrupting the awkward silence that had settled between you. Even he seemed surprised by his statement. You looked down and shrugged. You looked as nice as a lazy person who didn’t fully unpack their clothes could look. You had on a casual grey dress that was made of some sort of t-shirt material, and your hair was in a loose bun with a few curls framing your face. Peter took in your appearance with what looked like approval. Then you noticed Peters gaze falling to your feet.

“Converse with a dress.” He noted. “Bold move.”

You felt your personality re-enter your body, finally, and nodded.

“Oh yeah. You know me. Quirky and cool and not like other girls.” You joked as you clicked your heels together. “You look nice too. Very…Freddie Benson.”

Freddie Benson? Who the hell makes an ICarly reference to compliment someone? This night was going downhill fast and you regretted ever knocking on his door.

“Dude. You’re tanking.” Venom said in your ear, you had to agree. This couldn’t be going worse.

But lo and behold, Peters beautiful laugh filled your ears once again.

“That’s what I was going for!” He cheered. “My friend Ned always teases me for wearing sweaters and button downs but he just doesn’t have the vision.”

“Come in.” He suddenly stepped aside and gestured inward. “Dinners almost ready.”

Peters apartment looked just like yours, but much more homey. You saw his baby pictures on the wall, coupled with pictures of him and his parents through the years. You noticed a framed picture of a different couple on the coffee table. They resembled Peter but you didn’t see them in any photos with him past the age of around 7. There was a candle next to the frame, as well as a ceramic cross. You quickly looked away, not wanting to overstep.

“You must be Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you.” You heard a woman’s voice from behind you. You turned around and saw a woman in high pants and a yellow tank top, recognized her from the pictures with Peter.

“I am. It’s very nice to meet you too, Mrs. Parker.” You said politely and shook her hand.

“Please.” She shook your hand. “Call me May.”

“May.” You repeated with a smile.

You turned around and saw Peter pulling out a chair for you, so you sat down while May finished preparing dinner. You offered to help, being the polite ass bitch that you were, but May insisted that you were the guest. A plate of “meatloaf” was soon placed in front of you and Peter. The term “meatloaf” is used very loosely. It looked more like an old shriveled brain. Peter made eye contact with you and winked.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” He whispered. He glanced at May, who was busy pouring the drinks, before leaning in closer and whispering, “it’s way worse.”

You playfully kicked Peter under the table and he giggled, quickly masking the sound with a drink of water.

“So, Y/N, where do you go to school?” May started the conversation. You took a bite of meatloaf, nearly died, and swallowed before answering.

“I’m actually taking a gap year before I start my junior year at Berkeley.” You told her. “And I work part time as a reporter.”

“That’s a very good school.” She complimented. “And I thought you looked familiar. I’ve seen your show on YouTube.”

“I haven’t.” Peter realized. “What’s it called?”

“The L/n Report.” You answered. “I started it my freshman year and it just kinda took off.”

“Oh. I’ve read some of yoru articles, but I haven’t seen the show.” Peter realized. “I can’t believe you do that. That’s really cool. You’re really cool.”

“Thank you.” You winked at him, not used to being praised for your work.

“Peter told me about your father.” May changed the subject. “I’m so sorry to hear that he passed. He left the apartment to you?”

“He did.” You nodded. “And it’s all right. We were estranged anyway.”

“It must be so different living alone in a city.” May sighed. “Did you dorm while at Berkeley?”

“No, I lived with my boyfriend.” You shook your head. Peter began choking on his water at the mention of a boyfriend and May shot him a look.

“Peter. Manners.” She said sternly.

“Boyfriend?” Was all he managed to say between coughs and sputters.

Oh great. Time for this conversation.

“Ex-boyfriend.” You corrected. “I got him demoted to traffic duty for two weeks and he wasn’t too happy about it.”

“He broke up with you over that?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “That’s gotta be the dumbest reason for a breakup I’ve ever heard.”

“May I ask how you got him demoted?” May wondered.

“Well, I’m an investigative reporter, and my ex, Andy, is a cop.” You began. “I looked at some classified files on his computer and used them against someone.”

“Carlton Drake, right?” She realized the story sounded familiar. “I read about that. Your exposé about him was everywhere.”

“Didn’t he die in his own rocket?” Peter asked you, fully invested in the story.

“Yea. I was there. Me and…my friend.” You caught yourself before almost mentioning Venom.

“Gosh I read that story forever ago.” May recalled. “It was all over the news here. I remember Peter ranting to me that this girl was straight out of high school and already taking down shady guys in San Francisco. You were obsessed with the article, remember Peter? I’m pretty sure you hung it up.”

Peter, you guessed it, turned bright red.

“I just thought you were cool. You know, taking down bad guys and all at such a young age. It really inspired me.” Peter explained. He suddenly looked panicked, like he said too much, and you wondered what it inspired him to do.

“Thank you Peter.” You smiled fondly. “How old are you anyway?”

“19. I’ll be 20 on August 10th.” He said proudly. “What about you?”

“He’s legal.” Venom whispered in your ear. You couldn’t even be mad at her, you were thinking the same thing.

“I’m 20.” You told him, and smile crept across his face.

“And this boyfriend, where is he now?” May asked. May wasn’t blind to what was happening between her nephew and this new neighbor and knew that’s what Peter was dying to ask.

“I would very much also like to know that.” Peter said, almost robotically. He leaned in closer and stared at you while he awaited the answer.

“He’s engaged, actually.” You said between sips of water, making Peter sigh in relief. “To a friend of mine. They’re getting married this summer.”

It was the first time you said those words out loud. You didn’t feel sad, like you thought you would. You didn’t really know how you felt. The smile that broke out on Peters face gave a clear indication on how he felt, though.

“That’s great. I mean, not great great. Great for him, I mean. It’s always good to move on. Wether it be with an old friend or a brand new one. Maybe it’s with someone you just met. You never know. Things just happen between the most random of people. Could be a stranger. Or, or, hear me out, it could be less of a stranger. Like a barista, or a mailman or a…a neighbor.” Peter stumbled over his words, the last part coming out very quietly. “I’m sorry that things didn’t work out though. Between you and him, I mean. ”

“Thanks.” You shrugged. “It was tough at first but, I’m okay now. He wasn’t the one.”

“When you do find the one, you’ll know. I knew almost immediately that Ben was the one. I saw him and my heart said “that’s the one you’ve been looking for” and I believed it.” May sighed wistfully. You could see her eyes glistening behind her glasses and did something rather bold. You put your hand on top of hers and squeezed. She gave off this loving motherly vibe that you had only seen in movies but never felt for yourself. May gave you the warmest smile and squeezed your hand back.

“That’s lovely May. Although, I always thought when you met the one, your heart wouldn’t say that it’s been looking for that person. I always thought it would say ‘welcome home’, or something like that. You know? Like, you’ve always known them. I don’t know though. Maybe I’ve just seen The Princess Bride one too many times.” You shrugged.

“Ah. That’s a classic in this household.” May recalled. “Peter would refuse to go to bed without watching it.”

“Because it’s a cinematic masterpiece.” Peter sassed. “You’re trying to embarrass me by pointing out that even as a child I had impeccable taste? Oh please.”

You laughed at his remark, making May noticed the smile that broke out on Peters face when he succeeded in making their new neighbor laugh.

May looked at you for a while with a content smile on her face before saying, “Yeah. I suppose you do have good taste.”

[friendlylocalwhumper]

8 and 26 for Lux, maybe? (sorry, darling, I miss seeing you scared)

content warning: graphic gore, child abuse (followed by a scene of recovery from said abuse in adulthood)

8: pour salt in my muse’s wound(s)

“No, n-n-no, please, ple-ease don’t!”

One hand pulls the wound open, the deep gash from the knife. Lux squirms, panting and gasping, both wrists easily pinned by the hand wrapped around them.

“You know, this is one of the ways we interrogated your kind.” Above him, black hair brushed back and slicked down so no curls break free, Lux’s father frowns sternly. “Before they died, some of them were half salt. Something about it made their magic shrivel up, they couldn’t heal themselves.”

Ragged sobs spill out of the pinned warlock, face feeling hot from all the crying. His father makes a sound of disgust and picks up the container of salt that he snatched up off the counter.

“Like it or not, you’re my son. It’s my job to teach you what’s waiting out in the world for you.” The cold words are immediately followed by movement. Lux can’t even process that his wrists have been released as one of his father’s hands pulls open the stab wound with burning efficiency, and the other flips the container of salt upside down.

The ten-year-old’s head snaps back, body arching to let out the loudest scream he’s capable of. Salt fills the wound in his abdomen, the agony doubling as it’s forcefully shoved in to make room for more. It’s packed in tightly, gritty and sharp. The kitchen spins around him, fuzzy and darkening, as the boy hears his whines echoing weirdly. Gauze is wrapped around him, big hands lifting and turning him to get it around his back and tied off.

His dad sounds calmer, sated, when he says, “There. That’ll teach you.” Instinctive healing magic glows in the boy’s hand, but one push of his father’s palm against the wrapped, salt-stuffed wound, and the magic is snuffed out, agony twisting Lux’s face into the shape of a silent scream.

Maybe this will finally fix him so that he doesn’t have magic anymore.

26: frighten my muse

It’s a stupid thing to be scared of, salt. He knows that it’s dumb. He also knows that there will be salt in the house, whether he’s nervous about seeing it or not - Lux refuses to eat unsalted food just because his father was a cruel, traumatized man who couldn’t tell the difference between a violent war-hardened warlock and a ten year old.

Still, when Emory pulls the container out of the shopping bag, a new brand, one they usually never even see at the store - the brand that used to always be on the counter of his childhood home - Lux stares, paling. He watches as Emory sets it down, changes his mind, and picks it back up to pull the metal piece out from under the sticker so it can be used without hassle.

“I-I don’t like that kind,” Lux croaks, arms wrapped around his middle. Emory looks up.

“This kind?” He lifts the cylinder in gesture, his sleeve coming up to show off a pretty metal-and-leather bracelet. Lux’s eyes focus on the accessory instead of the container.

“Yeah. Can you, can we - can we throw it out? I can go to the store and get a different one. Or, or… I think there’s some pink salt in a grinder over by the fridge, that’ll last us a couple days at least, I can-”

“It’s okay.” Emory dunks the fresh container into the trash to show that he has no hesitation - but he already opened it, and it fell upside down, so in the silence after his sweet gesture, salt pours out and cascades down the garbage, making a static-like sound against the trash bag.

He looks concerned, now, spotting Lux’s hands flying up to press in on his ears and drown out the sound.

He didn’t mean to close his eyes. When Lux opens them again, Emory’s standing closer, reaching out to pull Lux’s hands down from his ears.

The warlock flinches back so hard that he falls off the kitchen stool. Staggering away, eyes wild with panic, he gets his back to the wall and protects his stomach with his arms.

“I should’ve made sure the salt was closed,” Emory offers, backing off. “And I shouldn’t’ve moved closer. Do you want to-”

“My dad stabbed me,” He blurts out, nervous but impatient with himself. After years with Emory, he’s tired of slow, gentle coaxing to get him to spill what he needs to say. He’s gotten bolder over time, and with his old fear there’s now new self-righteous frustration. “When I was little. Got me on my back on the floor and poured salt in. Packed it tight, dressed it, so it’d stay. That’s what he did to warlocks in the war. It hurt so bad I kept passing out, but I couldn’t heal myself. I had to go to the hospital, he told them that it was some kind of freak experiment with other kids. They believed him. I’m really - r-really frustrated that he made me scared of stupid salt.”

Emory used to react with a lot more horror to these kinds of confessions. Now, he just sits down, scratching at his chin for a minute.

“That’s messed up,” He mutters, clearly imagining the horrific mental image. “I didn’t know you were scared of it.”

Lux rolls one shoulder, as if considering whether he needs to have a breakdown, before he sighs and comes back over to sit next to Emory, righting the stool that he knocked away from the breakfast bar. “It’s one of those stupid things I try to keep buried. It’s annoying.”

“Dr. Tierney says you shouldn’t victimize yourself like that.”

“By pushing stuff down? She doesn’t know how much stuff I have in my head. I have to push most of it down to get through the day.”

“That’s what you used to have to do. But you’ve got help now. You can tell me you hate the kind of salt I bought, I won’t ever think that kind of thing is dumb.”

The warm hand that finds its way onto his back, then up under his shirt to scratch soothingly over itching scars, makes Lux melt forward onto the countertop. “Ye-eah, I… I know. You never think I’m dumb. I just… feel so happy here, I forget sometimes. That things used to be so messed up. And it feels good to… get attention for it, I guess.”

Unfazed, Emory hums, “Well, yeah. You were a kid, alone with someone scary. You deserve attention for it. Even if you didn’t get the help you needed back then, I’ll still listen to you talking about it. You don’t have to just shove it down and try to handle it yourself. Do you need me to get any certain kind of salt?”

“Um, the, uh… the grinder kind is find. In the plastic that looks like glass?”

“The kind we usually get. Okay, I’ll remember. You wanna come to the store with me real quick to pick it up?”

“Yeah. Can we… can you keep scratching my back, just for a minute?”

With a kiss to his shoulder, Emory answers, “Sure, Curls. One more minute.”

[crow-in-a-teapot]

tower of nero spoilers

i have just finished the tower of nero. and before i go searching for other people’s thoughts and art and more of the characters i love so much, i want to write down some of my own thoughts because i know as soon as i delve into that ‘ton spoilers’ hashtag there are going to be complaints and criticisms and so much that i don’t want to hear, or essays that’ll make me upset, or things that’ll change my perception on the book (because on this website people really love to hate the trials of apollo).

i want to start with: i loved it. it didn’t feel earth-shattering or huge and momentous like some of my favourite riordanverse books (house of hades, the blood of olympus, the last olympian and maybe some of the magnus chase books take those pedestals for me) but it was satisfying. and i think it was satisfying because it in no way felt like an ending. whether because eventually rick will write that will-and-nico-go-through-tartarus-and-save-bob novella, or because we (or at least i) will continue writing and imagining and creating for this world i don’t know. he didn’t wrap up the story in a perfect little bow like ‘nineteen years later’, he simply put it on pause. gave us a glimpse of where every character was at at the end.

the only thing that makes me so angry and upset is that i did manage to get some spoilers for moments that i know would have been so good to experience for the first time if i hadn’t been spoiled for them. the moment where rachel mentions penguins in a mansion near her house, nico getting mental health advice from mr d, the fact that will and nico were going to be in the book for so much of the story, but the big thing was literally spoiled for me two days ago, it was the reason i sat down to read it as fast as possible because i was terrified of getting more spoiled and not being able to experience the moments for myself, was that piper had a girlfriend. i know that reading that for the first time would have been so cool and surprising, and the fact that when it came up for a moment in the last couple pages all i felt was disappointment because it was spoiled for me and because it was now tinged with whatever that person was saying about her having a girlfriend.

but i still had some warm fuzzy moments, the two parts where apollo thinks he’s going to die but nico comes up behind him - so good. impeccable. 

Leader Guy spat. ‘Now, I kill you.’

He raised his sword... and froze. His face turned pale. His skin began to shrivel. His beard fell out whisker by whisker like dead pine needles. Finally, his skin crumbled away, along with his clothes and flesh, until Leader Guy was nothing but a bleached-white skeleton, holding a sword in his bony hands. 

Standing behind him, his hand on the skeleton’s shoulder, was Nico di Angelo.

and

Nero raised his hand, ready to give the kill command, when behind me a mighty BOOM! shook the chamber. Half our enemies were thrown off their feet. Cracks sprouted in the windowsand the marble columns. Ceiling tiles broke, raining dust like split bags of flour. 

I turned to see the impenetrable blast doors lying twisted and broken, a strangely emaciated red bull standing in the breach. Behind it stood Nico di Angelo.

gods. poetic brilliance. i can’t believe i’m still a nico di angelo stannie in the year 2021. in five years i have not changed (ever since the tv show announcement last summer i have managed to morph into myself from 2017)

from here i’m not sure where to go next i kind of want to go through everything, except it’ll be more difficult than my tyrant’s tomb reaction because i wasn’t reading on a kindle and thus can’t just do funny little reactions to screenshots of quotes, so i’ll just skim through the book page by page and see what i can comment on (i’m not planning on doing analysis today, no thank you, just enjoying the end of my childhood and trying to squeeze as much out of it as possible)

i have an emotional attachment to mr. snake from the very first chapter, and am very upset that he’ll never get off on his baltimore stop and get to see his wife, lu had no reason to shoot and kill him like that.

that brings me to lu, i liked her, it was interesting to see how rick kind of brought in not only the overarching theme of abuse, but also people who let the abuse happen, i have more i could say on this i’m too lazy to right now, and i promised no analysis - or the fact that Lu had conspired to make the show non-lethal to spare Meg’s feelings rather than - oh, I don’t know - refusing to do Nero’s dirty work in the first place and getting Meg out of that house of horrors. 

And are you any better? taunted a small voice in my brain. How many times have you stood up to Zeus?

Okay, small voice. Fair point. Tyrants are not easy to opppose or walk away from, especially when you depend on them for everything.

the parallels to meg and lester heading to percy’s apartment, and then to camp half blood to the hidden oracle was so cool to read, every callback to the hidden oracle just there to remind us readers exactly how far apollo has come and how he’s changed; the entire chapter with sally, paul and estelle just felt sickly sweet, it just didn’t seem real how wholesome and good that family is, like i get why apollo broke down and just sobbed in that shower.

also rick really saying acab again in toa, i thought he was done after that elf cop chapter in magnus chase (the magnus chase series is a masterpiece) but apparently not, with A ‘good cop’ is still a cop... still a part of the mind game.

the grey sisters, i forgot about them completely but this threw me back into was it the sea of monsters when annabeth summoned them? i’m not sure, it could have been the lightning thief either, they really remind me of the disney hercules movie. the whole ganymede paragraph was gold, i love gods being canonically confirmed lgbt in the riordanverse. i also love the whole eye-tossing part - 

‘He will crush our eye,’ Anger cried, ‘if we don’t recite our verses!’

‘I will not!’

‘We will all die!’ Wasp said. ‘He is crazy!’

‘I AM NOT!’

‘Fine, you win!’ Tempest howled.

also, the explanation for why dionysus chooses to look the way he does was perfect, because it was something i often wondered about and wasn’t expecting to get an explanation for, and i imagine the whole mythological dionysus to look like.. well like a more feminine apollo i guess, beautiful in a gender non-comforming way.

Other Olympians could never comprehend why Dionysus chose this form when he could look like anything he wanted. In ancient times, he’d been famous for his youthful beauty that defied gender.

... 

In retaliation, Dionysus had decided to look and act as ungodly as possible. He was like a child refusing to tuck in his shirt, comb his hair or brush his teeth, just to show his parents how little he cared.

every scene with nico at camp just BREAKS ME, i would throw in screenshots of every damn quote but unfortunately, as said above, cannot and would rather not type every one; we’ll start with, obviously apollo confirming to him that jason is dead. 

He didn’t look angry exactly. He looked as if he’d been hit in the gut not just once but so many times over the course of so many years that he was beginning to lose perspective on what it meant to be in pain. He swayed on his feet. He blinked. Then he flinched, jerking his hands away from Meg’s as if he’d just remembered his own touch was poison.

ugh then will talking about how nico’s doing, confirming that he’s suffering with ptsd, mr d giving him advice, helping him sort though what voices in his head are real and which ones aren’t, then the paragraph that just recounts every horrific thing poor nico has been through, how will has to reassure him that he’s okay and ‘with friends’ when he wakes up after shadow travel

will’s kindness to apollo, buying him clothes, and apollo finding seymour the leopard’s head in his bed, put there by mr d aaaa AAAA A A A A A THE ORDINARY, EVERYDAY CAMP HALF BLOOD THINGS..

i could go on for years and years about how much i appreciate rachel having a big role in this book, and the visit to her apartment, everything, her art, the fact that she got what she wanted, she’s going to PARIS to study ART, she isn’t forced to be someone she’s not by her dad, and gets to be a big part of a demigod mission and not stand on the sidelines for once.

i love that her landscapes are still visions, that she still paints the quests demigods go on - the burning maze, jason’s funeral pyre, caligula’s ships; and how nico ~appreciates art~

‘And, hey, di Angelo -’ she pushed him playfully away from the canvas he’d been ogling - ‘don’t brush against the art! I don’t care about the paintings, but if you get any colour on you, you’ll ruin that whole black-and-white aesthetic you’ve got going.’

i. love. rachel.

WILL GLOWS!! THE HEADCANONS FROM LIKE FIVE YEARS AGO THAT YOU’D SEE FLOATING AROUND ABOUT HIM MANIPULATING LIGHT!! CONFIRMED!! CANON!! AMAZING

I AM  OBSESSED WITH THE TROGS, I LOVE THEM, THEY ARE GREAT, not gonna lie, i was expecting something more dramatic and spooky with how worried will was and how dionysus was going.. visiting the cavern-runners isn’t ♫ good for your mental health  ♫ but the little hat frog gremlins were a good addition. i like them very much and their funky little soup shenanigans. quoting the ghost king himself: trogs good. nice hats. (IM SORRY I KEEP MENTIONING HIM BUT I JUST) also how apollo starts wishing for breadsticks a s ajoke and theY STRAIGHT UP HAVE BREADSTICKS? HUH? WHERE DID THEY GET THE BREADSTICKS FROM??

yeah, i’m also still very much upset by every mention of jason grace, it’s funny how ever since his death in the burning maze i have grown to love him more and more and that’s not fun for me, for that boy to become one of my main comfort character’s and have his death and sacrifice and nobility mentioned every few chapters. i’m pretty sure i cried when he appeared to talk in apollo’s dreams, and this time the tears weren’t from the effort of keeping my eyes open and working for hours straight reading this book (i remember staying up until 2am to finish the sequel to beautiful, broken things, it was very much worth it)

‘All right, Jason. We miss you, though.’

ALSO. THE FACT THAT THIS KID. THIS CHILD. HAD TO THINK ‘BUT IF A HERO ISN’T READY TO LOSE EVERYTHING FOR A GREATER CAUSE, IS THAT PERSON REALLY A HERO?’ A KID ISN’T SUPPOSED TO THINK ABOUT THAT AND BE READY TO SACRIFICE THEMSELVES FOR THE GREATER GOOD,, i,, ugh,, he’s supposed to be finishing school and designing temples not being the perfect hero and soldier,, spain without the s,,

as @couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name said: ‘thinking about how ghost! Jason didn’t seem to understand why Apollo was so upset about his death because he’s been raised to believe a hero’s sacrifice is noble and his life doesn’t matter in the grand scheme and also if he doesn’t understand why the person who watched him get horrifically killed is so torn up over his death he probably doesn’t even realize his other friends are grieving him..’

IM SO UPSET THE ARROW OF DODONA IS DEAD D: IT WAS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE CHARACTERS ALL THE FUNNIEST MOMENTS WERE BECAUSE OF THAT ARROW AND IT'S DEATH WAS SO SAD WTH LIKE WE FIND OUT HOW USELESS THE ARROW FELT AND HOW THE GROVE OF DODONA ALL THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CRAP AND WOULD FAIL APOLLO AND THEN ONCE WE FEEL BAD FOR IT, IT DIES??

the entire python battle was pretty grim, there is a part of me that's like because this is the last book series i would have loved say the magnus chase and kane chronicles gang in a giant battle with everyone like the battle of manhattan but even more dramatic, but even so, i did appreciate that python battle and the whole almost-falling-into-the-depths-of-tartarus thing.

him talking to artemis was cool, but JESUS: 'I turned and strode out of my room, trying to recall how the god Apollo walked.' like that HURTS. it was such a huge culture shock for apollo to go throught this huge character arc and be so human and understand the pain of others, to be around gods again who are so.. apathetic. also, zeus. 'Interesting how he put that: I had done him proud. I had been useful in making him look good. My heart did not melt. I did not feel that this was a warm-and-fuzzy reconciliation with my father. Let's be honest: some fathers don't deserve that. Some aren't capable of it.'

OKAY OKAY SO THE END?? CHIRON TALKING TO A CAT (BAST) AND A SEVERED HEAD (MIMIR) ABOUT SHARED PROBLEMS WITHIN THE PANTHEONS!! WILL AND NICO RECEIVING A PROPHECY FROM RACHEL TO GO TO TARTARUS AND SAVE BOB!! THE HUNTERS OF ARTEMIS, INCLUDING THALIA AND REYNA BEING BEST FRIENDS (qpr.. qpr..) HUNTING THE TEUMESSIAN FOX!! PERCY, ANNABETH AND GROVER, THE ORIGINAL TRIO, GOING ON A CHAOTIC ROAD TRIP TOGETHER!! - SO MANY STAND-ALONE SET -UPS PFSJSJSJ

okay quick word on the reunions at the end: funny little elephant visitation program with livia and hannibal. love that for them. calypso and leo's relationship seems rocky and complicated, but that's to be expected, i think even if they do get properly back together again it might not last long, because it does pretty much feel like a teenage relationship where the two aren't very compatible, but we'll see. hazel and frank are so funny with their gold plated necklaces. lavinia - tap-dance icon. almost cried at the mention of jason's temple-extension plan again. percy not being sure about what he wants to do in college is accurate and i like that that's left to be up-for-interpretation (rick does THE MOST for the fanfic writers pfsjsj). i am OBSESSED with aeithales, like i hate deserts so the burning maze setting is not my favourite but GOD that HOUSE, the vibes are off-the-charts. i'd love a house made of living trees that's also a greenhouse filled with dryads. meg gets a unicorn. that is so great.

i kind of wish the book hadn't ended with 'Call on me. I will be there for you.' because every time I imagine the friends theme song and i don't think that's the vibe he was going for, BUT i do love him talking to meg, that was genuinely emotional - 'You'll come back?' she asked. 'Always,' I promised. 'The sun always comes back.' ; i really wish it had ended with that, but i guess apollo does tend to break fourth walls and talk to the readers, like a lot of the protagonists of riordanverse books.

[hange-zone]

anything fluffy for jeanmarco 😭 like them realizing they have feelings for each other 🥺 i cant take anymore sadness for them 😔

The first thing Marco does when Jean says, “I like you,” is to hug him. Which wasn’t exactly in any of the scenarios he’d practiced with Armin or carefully gone over in his head. But Marco is warm and nice-smelling and Jean really, really likeshim, so much so it leaves him all slushy inside, so he responds by wrapping his arms around the taller boy and hugs him back. They stay like that for a few long seconds. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest and he bets, embarrassingly, that Marco can too. And he isn’t sure what to make of it. He isn’t sure what the hug is supposed to mean, either, so after a while he wriggles them apart and tilts his chin up, meeting Marco’s caramel eyes.

“Um,” he starts. Then, feeling so lame, because it’s such a terrible desperate silly move, but also he needs to know definitively  where Marco stands and the other boy has so far said nothing, he ventures, “Er. Do you…like me…?”  

He feels his face burn as Marco regards him questioningly, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as he mulls over Jean’s words. Jean bites his lip, watching as the evening sunlight catches on the planes of his face. They’re standing inches apart and he can see every minute detail: the pale hairs, almost like peach fuzz, over the curve of his square jaw and every pore and line across his cheeks and in the corners of his mouth where he smiled, and the flecks of gold in his eyes which regarded him wordlessly. He can feel himself fixating on how the warm rays of the fading day illuminate his long lashes and how his cheeks were dusted with freckles - ugh, how he wanted to crush his stupidly red and soft mouth against his, cradle his obnoxiously handsome face and- 

“Of course I like you,” Marco says, after a pause. His expression is neutral and his voice is even and bright. From his response it seemed as if they were discussing nothing more consequential than what to have for dinner. Which it certainly was not - or at least it felt that way to Jean. He continues, in that same reasonable way: “You’re a great guy, Jean. Why wouldn’t I?” 

Oh my god, Jean thinks. Oh my god. It’s actually worse now. They’re nowhere closer to an understanding. He likes him, he really does, and Marco was usually sharp and incisive and good at these things, but he was either being deliberately obtuse or maybe words didn’t mean anything anymore, they were just sounds people made with their mouths, the whole project of language was a construct, yes, the concept of the author had died and there was no single intention to be assigned to anything, anymore. And so it was totally reasonable for Marco to act this way because what was ‘I like you’ or 'do you like me' or even the idea of 'liking' supposed to mean anyway?

He makes a face and reaches a hand to scrub at the back of his neck, which is hot under his touch. His entire face - no, his whole body - is on fire now. He actually wants to shrivel up and die, or at least go and scold Armin, who he irrationally hates now, because he’d hyped him up and told him it was a good idea and why didn’t anyone warn him it would be so bloody awkward?

Marco looks upon Jean’s furiously blushing face and starts laughing. “Sorry,” he says, pausing to catch his breath. “Sorry - you look constipated - sorry, I-���

Jean stares at him uncomprehendingly, mouth hanging open and body stock-still. His hand is paused in his hair and his eyes are large and blank, barely registering the other boy’s movements. “What?” He manages.

“Armin’s a little snitch,” Marco says, amusedly, by way of explanation. He’s still laughing. “Or maybe you two just discuss everything really loudly and maybe Eren heard -“

At the sound of the too-loud, too-annoying boy’s name Jean unfroze. “Him?” He sputters.

“Joking,” Marco says. “You’re not exactly subtle when you like someone” - and Jean thinks, involuntarily, of the times he’d tried to play it off when their hands had brushed together and the one time they ended up huddled together in bed but he’d really rationalised it was them keeping warm - and he lets out a long breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The other boy was watching him, a cheeky smile playing at his lips. He continues: “Besides, I thought I was pretty obvious. Like, duh, why else would I tell you goodnight every single day and squeeze your hand and why are we even planning our lives together?”

“Friends do that,” Jean says weakly, miserably. 

“…really?” 

“Armin and Eren do,” he offers stubbornly.

“And we’ve caught them messing about in the broom cupboard - ”

“Fine, you win,” he says huffily, throwing his hands up. He really likes Marco, but he really does not like how smug he looks. And how good and hot he looks while smirking at him. Ugh.

Marco can probably read his mind, because he slings an arm around Jean’s shoulders, pulling him close, and plants an exaggerated kiss in his hair. “There,” he says, nuzzling him. “You happy now?”

Jean nods grudgingly. He is, of course, because he likes Marco and Marco likes him back (here he can only think in interrobangs),  but also that was such a dick move on his part. He’s annoyed at the other boy, but he also wishes that he’d kiss the top of his head again so he can feel that slow heart-flip. “...Yes.”

“Good,” Marco says, voice suddenly low and serious. His long fingers reach out to cup the other boy’s chin. Jean lets his eyes trail up the slender fingers, past his tanned wrist and forearms, across his broad shoulders, eventually settling on Marco’s face, which is angled, ever so slightly, downward. His features are relaxed and an easy smile is on the edges of his lips. It’s a diagonal line, a heartbeat long, between them. Their noses are almost touching. His breath hitches as his gaze flickers to Marco’s - they are so close and he is drowning in the amber of the other boy’s eyes as they share a long look. Then, just before their lips meet, Marco whispers, breath soft against his mouth: “I like you a terrible lot, Jean Kirschstein.” 

When they do kiss, it is exactly as he’s imagined and words have meaning again because it is exactly as the words feel: simple and tender and sweet. And the whole time he can’t help but think about how he really, really likes this boy. 

--

here you go anon! it isn't exactly them realising their feelings for each other, mostly because it’s painfully obvious but i do hope this suffices:”) they are such goofy dorks & adorable kids in love. and just putting it out there shamelessly - i wrote something ages ago about how they’d confessed but it’s so lame!  anyway it’s quite funny to see how far we’ve come. (also in my head that the last scene where they kiss is exactly like this moment [insert interrobangs!!]) 

(and here’s the ao3 crosspost + encouragement to submit more!)

[yankyo]

Sugar Sugar - Part three

Was Sugar Sugar only supposed to be three parts? Yes! Am I going to have to write another chapter? Yes!! But!! After much waiting, the next installment of the Sugar Sugar series

Warnings - reader gets hit on by a creep and Beej saves her

~~~~~~~~~~

If she looked into the mirror one last time, perhaps she would chicken out and decide to just stay home, but it had officially been more than six weeks since Beetlejuice had last stopped by and she was starting to get frustrated. Doubts and insecurities had begun to fester, but every so often she would see one of his lookalikes creeping by the store, as if to check up on her but they always vanished before she could try and question them. There was also the rumor that Beetlejuice was no longer welcoming lovers like he once had, in fact she had heard there were quite a few people who had attempted to seduce the greaser, only to be swiftly and brutally shot down with a glower and a hiss. 

Was he turning them down because he had settled down with some else? Or was it because of her? There was no way to find out but to ask the man and the only way to do that was to go to the bar he frequented herself. The candy maker squared her shoulders and avoided looking at her reflection as she settled on her recently fixed up bike, taking only a single moment to try and rally herself before she finally took off. As irritated as she was that Beetlejuice had ran away, that irritation had proved quite useful to her, she was able to throw all of that frustration into fixing up her bike until it was running  good as new - and if tonight went horrifically, hey, she could always go with her original plan, pack up her stuff and finally leave town. She just couldn't leave until she had at least tried to figure out what things were with Beetlejuice - and maybe finally pinned the slippery bastard down and had her way with him. She just had to square her shoulders, steel her nerves, and just go for it. No more trying to subtly seduce him or mincing around her words - this time she was going to be straight with him and find out once and for all how he really felt. 

----------

"Boss, if you're so worried, why don'tcha just check up on her yourself?" While Bee had been dubbed his right hand, the idiot was about to lose that status if he kept asking such stupid questions. He couldn't just go see her himself. Not when he was still picturing her bent over her counter, skirt flipped up over that perfect ass while he - well, until he could stop thinking with his stupid dick, he had to stay away. Surely he misread the situation last time. Surely she only saw him as a convenient friend, his status around town making it so no one messed around with her no more. That was the only logical explanation, after all, why would such a beautiful and smart girl - someone who clearly had their shit together- want anything to do with a bonafide mess like him? He should just be glad she treated him like a friend and crush this stupid infatuation he had for her deep deep down. Usually, he would've just found someone new to play with - there was no end to the people who tried using sex to get in good with him after all and perhaps he could chase her sweetness from his veins with someone else. There was just one problem though - he couldn't muster up even the slightest bit of interest in anyone else. No, every single time someone came to try and play around with him, he found himself comparing them to her. The eye color wasn't right. The hair wasn't short and curly. Their smile wasn't as bright. Their scent wasn't sweet. They didn't sound like her. They didn't move like her. They weren't her. And that was all he wanted! The demon growled low in his throat, sending a sideways glare at his second in command. 

"Just go check on her again, make sure she's ok." He hissed, Bee raised his hands in surrender and stood as if to leave before he paused, his head tilting with confusion as he stared ahead in the bar. 

"Um boss? She's uh.... she's right there." Beetlejuice's head snapped up, his eyes locking on to the figure his second was talking about just as that sweet scent swept through the bar. She was actually here, his sweetness. Almost instinctively, the demon rose to his feet before he saw something that made him freeze in his spot. Someone was flirting with his girl! From his spot, he could see some slimy son of a bitch leaning over her, his eyes trailing over what was obviously Beetlejuice's - and worst of all, even from across the bar he could smell her sweetness being tainted with discomfort and fear as that slimeball drew ever closer to her. Oh hell no. 

----------

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to try and drink to recollect her courage, but when she had walked in the bar, she could see Beetlejuice sitting all the way in the back, his expression very much less than pleased. And call her cowardly, but that expression made all the confidence she had spent all day building up shrivel right back up. She picked something sweet and strong, planning to just have a drink or two before she went back to meet him, unfortunately she was halfway through the first drink when a hand settled on her waist and a man smelling very strongly of alcohol and smoke idled up far too close for comfort. 

"Well, hello there, don't think I've ever seen you around." He purred, seemingly indifferent to the way she had stiffened. 

"Hah, yeah, this kinda place usually isn't my scene." She tried to give a polite laugh, but it came out strained. His hand was still on her waist. She didn't like it, it was hot and heavy and firm - holding her fast so she couldn't take a step away.

"No doubt, a pretty girl like you? A place like this probably looks like a dump to you." Why was he leaning in closer? "But I bet that's why you're here, yeah? Pretty thing like you all dolled up, hoping to catch the eye of some gutter trash to take home? Them uptown boys not taking care of that pussy?" She blanched at his crudeness, finally attempting to squirm away, only for him to grab her chin in his other hand and yank her face his way. "Oh come on, no need to be shy. I can tell what you want. I can give it to you, if you're good." Protests gathered and died at her lips, fear and disgust making her mute even as she tried to yank herself back. 

"Doncha see that the lady doesn't like you?" A heavy hand settled on her shoulder, cool and gentle as she was easily pulled away from the drunkard and behind a familiar figure. 

"Beetlejuice." The word escaped unbidden, a relieved sigh, even as the drunkard stumbled back fearfully at the sight of the red hot anger burning in the demon's eyes. 

"J-just a casual spat with my lady, y-y-you know how it is. Let them get outta line and they walk all over ya." Despite his obvious fear, the drunkard kept talking, even glancing over Beetlejuice's shoulder to look at her. "C-come on babe, we really should be going." He reached out a hand to her, as if to urge her forwards, but jerked back quickly as a harsh growl sounded from her protector. 

"Get. The fuck. Out." Beetlejuice hissed, his voice dripping with venom as his hair burned a brighter red. The man didn't need to be told twice. For a tense moment, Beetlejuice was still, watching to make sure the guy had left the bar before he slowly turned around to face her, his hair still tinged with red, but his expression softened. "Sweetness, what are ya doing here?" Ah. Fuck. Moment of truth. Just tell him the truth. Tell him you're here to see him! Before she could even open her mouth, Beetlejuice was looking her over, finally seeming to notice what she was wearing. Form fitting torn jeans, a black and white striped top and high heeled boots. "Damn, sweetness, you look good in my stripes!" His eyes trailed over her body hungrily, making a shiver jolt down her spine. "You know, you're missing something..." he took a step closer, his body less than a hair away from hers. 

"Wh-what's that?" She asked, cursing herself for her stammer. Without a word, he shed his leather jacket and set it on her shoulders, his smile only growing at the sight. The jacket swamped her small frame, but she didn't hesitate to push her arms through the sleeves and pull it tight around her body. The smell of oil, leather, and smoke mixed with his own musk clung to the fabric and enveloped her - fuck, she never wanted to take it off and.. his hair was pink. A soft, cotton candy pink she hadn't yet seen before. 

----------

Holy fuck, god, satan, whatever - he never wanted her to take off his jacket. The sleeves were so long they covered her hands and the jacket was clearly much too big for her - but dammit she looked so good. He could just see it, her publically being his girl, riding on his bike, cuddling together on the couch, going on those stupid sappy dates he usually made fun of - always in his jacket, her hand in his. Fuck, he had it bad, didn't he? He was in some serious trouble here, he couldn't go getting all mushy for her like this. If she wasn't into him for sex she definitely wouldn't wanna be the subject of his stupid lovey lovey affections. 

"Hey, Slick?" His head snapped up as she began talking, this time he was the one stumbling over his words as he rushed to answer her. 

"Y-yeah babes?" 

"Your hair is pink, what does that mean?" Huh? Fuck.

[brief-candle]

ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ - Muzan Kibutsuji

the longest of my boys

took a reallllllly long time too lol. was it worth it? maybe.

had to fix about 20,000 mistakes because as an english person i accidentally kept using american versions and you know we don’t let that slide round these parts

series: demon slayer/ kimetsu no yaiba

notes: yandere, muzan being a dick, muzan in general, many minor character deaths, some gore, self-deprecation, starving.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

It was a dark night; murky and thick was the fog that surrounded you and your fellow demon slayers. You were all rather low down in the ranks, mostly due to lack of experience rather than any lack of effort. The moon hung in the sky as if on an invisible string, a full and bright circle.

"The moon is pretty tonight, isn't it?" Said one of your teammates after more silence than she seemed able to handle. You believed her name was Hanako, though you weren't quite sure. 

Another person merely grunted in response, and another elbowed him swiftly after. 

"Yeah, I think so," that person spoke, not sparing a glance upwards. He only looked towards 'Hanako', seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from her. She only giggled as everyone moved forward,  "Focus, everyone," another person who had taken upon himself the role of the leader had piped up, "the demon's said to be around here. Stay sharp."

Yes, stay sharp. That was the most vital thing when looking for a demon. It was always a case of spotting it before it spotted you; the first blow could very easily be the last. 

"I'm sure it'll be fine. They only sent us Mizunoto, after all," Hanako reasoned, voice light and without an ounce of concern. Everyone muttered in agreement with that, then, before another pitched in: "Yeah, besides if anything happens, we've got a Tsuguko on our side!"

It was then that everyone turned and glanced in your direction. You, the girl who didn't talk much, who no one knew much about, either. It was as if everyone had just now remembered you existed, and stared upon you with newfound awe. It's not as if Tsuguko were common, after all. They were probably even rarer than Hashira, even if they were less powerful. There wasn't much else you could do but glance around at all of the curious pairs of eyes and nod in acknowledgment. Hopefully you wouldn't have to put your training to the test, and you could just be there as a background character instead. That would mean there was no threat, after all.

Thankfully they all looked away soon after, suddenly disinterested. Not that it was extremely shocking; You didn't have the most striking or memorable appearance. Plus you weren't exactly being talkative or upholding a constant flow of conversation with your intriguing personality. Instead you were just following everyone else, two steps behind, beginning to berate yourself for... well, berating yourself. How could you even think of becoming one of the Hashira when you couldn't even stand up to yourself for yourself? It was a miracle that your teacher had even seen any potential in you in the first place. You'd barely been able to hold a sword steady before then, and had survived the Final Selection through luck alone. There really was no hope for-

Putrid.

You slapped your hand onto your nose, cringing immensely from the odour seeping through the air. The Mizunoto ahead didn't even seem to notice you'd stopped, and only one or two appeared to be aware of the disgusting stench ruining the forest air. You could barely call out to them as you were- the more of it that filled your lungs, the closer you got to vomiting. And if there was one thing you didn't need to be known for, it was throwing up before even encountering a demon.

But that smell was unlike anything you'd sniffed out before. It was almost suffocating from a single breath.

"Hey, everyone!" You finally called out, a desperate and breathless outburst that made you want to shrivel up and seep into the floor you stood upon. Especially when their gazes were filled with concern and confusion. But here, you had to cast the shadows lurking in the crevasses of your mind out to focus on the situation: there was no doubt that there was a powerful demon nearby. Extremely powerful- more powerful than any demon you'd come across yet. Maybe even more powerful than any demon you'd come across even in the distant future.

Who are you kidding- such a thing is foolish to think.

“Please... be cautious. I think there's a very powerful demon nearby.” Your mouth was running away with you again, leaving your brain in the dirt as it struggled to catch up and come up with any half-decent sentences to convince your companions to be wary, "Don't hesitate to withdraw if need be." 

For a moment, it was silent. You were almost convinced that everyone had died where they stood before one of them began to laugh.

“Of course there's not a powerful demon around- why would they send Mizunoto to an area full of demons we wouldn't be able to defeat?” He spat, tone scornful and expression condescending. To be completely blunt, he was an idiot, especially as he continued: “And withdraw? Really? Why the hell would we withdraw? What do you take us for? A bunch of cowards?”

Yet his harsh words seemed to spur on the rest of the Mizunoto, who began to chuckle with him. But even still, he wasn't done.

“Real demon slayers don't run from a challenge- they find a way around it. They're skilled enough to find a way around it. How do you think we passed the Final Selection?" 

“To be honest, through luck.” The words flew from your mouth before you could catch them and shove them down to your chests. “Real demon slayers, as you put it, don't charge into battle without a plan. But even a plan isn't good enough all the time. Real demon slayers know when to quit and withdraw.” Your hands seemed to be flying everywhere, at this point very much out of your control. This time the people's eyes were upon you as you began to fume more and more, the demon slayer who you'd very quickly shut up could only stare on, shocked. “But sure, if you wanna go and get yourself get killed for something as idiotic and worthless as your damned pride, then go right on ahead. Be my guest!" With each word, you jabbed your finger more and more aggressively in his direction, your scowl deepening to such an extent that you never thought it'd straighten out again, “But I refuse to die with you! I'd much rather actually do something with my life rather than waste it through one stupid mistake, thank you very much!”

He looked dumbfounded still, mouth gaping similarly to that of a fish. And he made about as much sound as one, too. Everyone else seemed to be in a similar state, looking between one another as if to say: 'is this the same person from just a few minutes ago?' It certainly wasn't unfounded, either, as even you were taken aback by your own outburst. But you certainly weren't remorseful. It was hard enough to train with someone who zoned out constantly, who only gave praise through his silence, who only seemed to think for himself. Never mind being on a mission with people you don't even know, who don't know what you've experienced yet still look down on you for giving them an ounce of your common sense. To say the least, it was infuriating.

He'd taken it gracefully, all things considered. From the now-distant look in his eyes, you also assumed that you'd given him some food for thought as well.

Even though the tension in the air had considerably heightened after your outburst, it tasted a little cleaner as it passed into your lungs and it seemed much easier to focus on regulating your breathing back to its usual rhythm. Not even the sounds of chirping birds filled the silence. It was as if there were no birds in the area at all. Such a thing was so far-fetched that you couldn't tell if it made you want to laugh at its ridiculousness or if it just egged on the part of your mind that was determined that everything was going to go wrong. Either way, you ended up shrugging it off, trudging on with the group in silence.

“What's this demon all about then?” Someone had asked, whether to simply fill the silence or out of genuine curiosity was unknown.

Another demon slayer that you didn't know anything about took it upon himself to reply, "Dunno, probably just some new demon who's gone on a mini rampage."

You felt your eyebrows furrow and lips purse with disapproval with the way he phrased it . However you didn't call him out; you'd made enough of a bad impression as is, never mind attacking someone over how they phrased a demon slaughtering innocent people. With that in mind, you straightened out your facial features with a small sigh. Your first mission again after months of stressful training, and you were being this moody.

Mind lost in the clouds, you didn't see the massive root of the tree sticking several inches out of the dirt. Not even a second passed as the ground rushed up to meet your face. The dirt beckoned, calling out to you mockingly. You were so useless that you tripped over the root of a tree when people several ranks below you hadn't fumbled once. How could you even think that you could protect them if everything went pear-shaped if you can't even notice a root when you're simply daydreaming? The audacity!

That was another thing you'd have to ask Muichiro to teach you.

Well, at least it wasn't all bad- you'd managed to catch yourself with your hands and shoot back onto your feet before anyone had turned around to spot you in such a pathetic state.

Rancid.

That filthy stench was back again, stronger than before. You'd forgotten it had existed between now and the last time. It was overpowering, and you barely held back from gagging from the first lungful.  “What's that smell?” 'Hanako' seemed in a similar state, but on the worse end of it. She'd gone deathly pale, and was visibly trembling. Upon looking closer, her eyes were watering as well, and her hand was clutched around her nose like a vice. A different person had his hands clutched over his ears, and was curled in on himself.

“W-what's wrong with everyone?” Someone, clearly unaffected by the demon's nearby presence, stuttered. It was then that you realised how you all must look to those whose senses weren't so heightened: several people looking extremely ill so suddenly when you'd all barely set foot onto the site of your mission. 

There's a dangerous demon in the area! 

Your vision was only just clearing up from the swift and sudden headache that came with the exposure to such a potent smell. There was no way you could pull yourself together; there was no way you'd be any use at all.

It's probably too dangerous for anyone else to take on! 

Yes, but there was no chance in hell that you could take it on either, was there?

If it appears and you're in this state-

That's right- you're right. Here you were, hunched over, in a worse state than the majority of the Mizunoto, with your level of experience and the privilege of being a Tsuguko. It was cowardly. Yes, you should be careful, but that doesn't mean you should be so downright pathetic in that you're so reluctant to fight a more powerful demon than usual for a few moments so that everyone can escape.

-everyone will die. 

And it'd be all your fault, too.

That, if nothing else, gave you the strength to straighten your back and stand tall. You stood taller than you had for months. Perhaps the false bravado you plastered onto your exterior would trick your muscles into halting their quivering and force the adrenaline through your veins. All the help your body could provide would be greatly appreciated, for this could very well be your final fight.

I might not even become a Hashira...

No, but what would that matter in the end? It's not as if you were ready to become a Hashira anyway, though you liked the thought of eventually being that strong. But today, in this moment, none of that mattered. What mattered was protecting humanity.

That was what a demon slayer of any caliber strived for, wasn't it?

The bravado you had strung up almost collapsed when you saw it stood there, through the trees. Ghostly pale as the moon itself, clad in a white hat to match his trousers, contrasting with a black suit jacket and curly hair like ink. It faced away from you all, so you couldn't see its face, but the sense of dread that filled your stomach was burning as it rushed through your body.

Run. 

You almost listened, instinct to survive barely stomped upon by a trained mind. In these moments when you wanted to run away most, you had to remain the most calm you'd ever be. To show cowardice and fear is to hand defeat to these beasts upon a silver platter.

“Everyone,” your voice was softer than you'd remembered, mellow as you strolled through each word, “get yourselves out of here. Don't waste a single moment; return to headquarters, seek out a Hashira or even Oyakata-sama himself.”

It was incredible how in a moment of peril they all listened to you, hung onto every word. For a brief second, you contemplated if this was how Kagaya Ubuyashiki himself felt, being the centre of attention with every slight movement. “Whatever you do, you must make haste and warn them,” you weren't sure how exactly you knew who the demon was, but your gut screamed the name at you until it shook your very core, “that on this mission we encountered not the demon we were to be hunting, but Kibutsuji Muzan. This is of the utmost importance. And I-"

You had to swallow and pause, almost choking on those words. It was a moment of hesitance to continue, to admit such a thing to not only them, but yourself also. Yet it needed to be said, for if not now, then perhaps never.

“I may very well not follow you out of this forest.”

The tears threatened you at the corner of your eyes, of exposing your frail heart even more in front of these strangers who felt closer to you than your mentor had felt most of the time.

"So treat this as my final request, alright?"

Your voice definitely wavered there, the prospect of dying looming over your head as if it were the Grim Reaper himself, sharpening his scythe with deafening and long strokes. The Mizunoto were silent, like the dead, for several seconds. It was as if the air had been stolen from their lungs and left them physically incapable of speech. This usually wouldn't be an issue, if you weren't anxiously counting down the seconds until the demon reared its head and lunged.

"(L/N)-san..." 'Hanako' had uttered. You felt sorry for her, there. She'd gone and learned your name yet you hadn't bothered to offer her the same courtesy. If only you had the time here to apologise to each and every one of them, for not giving them the time of day to listen to them, to learn who they were. They were like you, each with their own sob stories of ambition and loss that they'd yet to fully live out.

Would you live yours out, or would the curtain fall in just a few short minutes? Or were you being cocky by even giving yourself that long?

“We'll do it." Ah, it was that Mizunoto from before. The one you'd snapped at. You hoped he'd look back on it positively, and learn from it, rather than resent you for lashing out with no prior warning. You saw none of the latter in his eyes- he had such kind eyes- and you almost opened your eyes' floodgates then and there. But you held them tightly shut as you whispered your appreciation.

“Be safe. Take care of each other. I hope to see you all in a few days, okay?”

“Yes. The best of luck, (L/N)-san.” Was the overall message you got from their mumbles as they passed. Their footsteps through the greenery echoed in your ears like thunder, but your own were like their own volcanic eruptions, all melting into each other to form one deafening mess.

Keep calm. That was the first thing you'd been taught. It was the most relevant now, considering you'd mastered the others.

You knew he knew you were there, and approaching. There was no point in adding in some fancy stealth footwork if your target could sniff you out in an instant. Yet that didn't mean you approached without caution- that would be hypocritical of you, wouldn't it? So with one hand grasped firmly on the hilt of your sword, you inched forwards until you were some meters away. Close enough to lunge forward, but far enough that you'd see an attack coming. The silence was thick, tense. You had no desire to fill it, never mind any ideas of what to fill it with. How do you break the ice with a demon, anyway? Oh, lovely weather tonight, isn't it? How many humans have you maimed and tucked into recently? It was such a ridiculous concept that you almost laughed at the mere thought. But in front of Kibutsuji Muzan, as a demon slayer? You already had enough of a death wish by merely standing there.

“Do you really think you're enough to hold me back from those running away?”

You really didn't expect him to talk, especially not while you were internally coming up with demon ice breakers instead of tactics. Why did you distract yourself with something so stupid in such a serious moment? You even had to hold yourself back from asking him to repeat what he said, and by the time you'd recalled what he'd said you'd pretty much ran out of time to respond. And you could tell he wasn't happy with that.

"Well..." what could you possibly respond with here?! Saying 'yes, actually' was way too cocky, way too stupid, and way too big of a lie. So you remain with a, “not really. Hopefully they're quick enough to get away before I have to do any 'holding back', as you put it.” By the latter part, you really meant 'before I'm dead', but it'd come across too weak to say that.

“Don't be foolish,” his voice was smooth and monotonous, yet condescending in every aspect of the word, “they won't set foot out of this forest alive.”

In a way, you were confident he was wrong; you hadn't travelled far into the forest before encountering him, so they didn't have far to go to prove him wrong.

In an act of boldness, which you very shortly after relabelled as foolishness, you blurted out the question: “and what makes you so sure?”

They were a bright shade of red, were his eyes. A saturated crimson that drew the eye, even away from the narrow slits taking the place of his written. They added some colour to the otherwise monochromatic him, and you weren't quite sure if it added to or took away from your near paralysing terror.

Definitely added, you decided, as you whipped your sword from its sheath to block his hand. If your eyes hadn't caught it and your mind not been prepared, it would have been a swift death- an irreparable slash to the jugular. The reality you were facing was beginning to seep in now, no matter how you tried to block it out: the chances you would die at any conceivable moment was incredibly high. The amount of Hashira this man (though you detested likening demons to humans) had mangled and demolished probably outnumbered the total number of people you'd even spoken to. Such a terrifying thought caused your hands to tremble, weakening your hold on the blade. None of you missed this, and just as he moved to shatter your blade with ease, you shot to the side. In fact, your desire to move pulled your upper body faster than your feet could carry, causing you to lose your footing. It was momentary- you soon scampered back to your feet- but it had allowed him to move closer and prepare another ruthless attack. One that was sure to kill if it landed.

You had to move. To move faster, and quicker than you'd moved before, to keep light on your feet with a head clear of doubt. Only then could you keep yourself alive.

Your feet led you to retreat, narrowly escaping those cobalt claws again through a backwards leap. You must be graceful, yet each attack must be as strong as a thousand years of work, for you must challenge someone with a thousand years of slaughter. With a goal and half-baked plan clear in mind, you seized the grip of your sword, shifted your feet away from each other and focussed your breathing. Your subconscious usually handled this with ease, but you couldn't rely on just that. You had to charge your breathing technique into overtime, even if your limbs felt like they would fall apart with a simple touch, even if you collapsed under your own weight and couldn't move even a toe for several days. Because then, at least you'd be alive.

Sixth Form. 

He's approaching. 

Allow him, you thought. As long as you had a chance of pushing him back, of stalling him whilst you fled after your comrades.

Sea of ​​Clouds and Haze.

Such a menacing aura felt as if it was a hair away, though you learned not to judge from that alone as you dashed forwards. Just because it felt so suffocating, didn't mean he was close enough to do that. After all, at his level, he didn't need to be.

You couldn't avoid the slash at your face his talons had left, but you forced yourself to grit your teeth and ignore the severe pain leaking from your forehead.

I'm still alive.

The blade required much more force than you were used to providing to even pierce his skin, yet the adrenaline coursing through your veins aided you massively. You forced yourself onward, unleashing attack after attack. It was a whirlwind of a technique that you'd not yet quite mastered, and you were determined to. Because you'd live past this, you had to! What would all that torturous training be worth otherwise, after all?

.

.

.

A demon slayer of any calibre strove to protect humanity, didn't they?

The stronger demon slayers protect the weaker ones as well, who protect those weaker than them. That's how the cycle worked, wasn't it?

But then why was no one coming to your help?

By this point you weren't sure how much time had passed since you started fighting the original demon. Though 'fighting' probably wasn't the correct term, as it was more of a one-handed beating since your first attack. You must have pissed him off so much by actually cutting him a wee bit that he didn't give you chance to even launch the quickest, and what you thought was the simplest, move. That was an achievement in and of itself, right? You wondered if Muichiro would praise you for that, or whether he'd tell you to get up and continue.

Even with your dominant hand twisted beyond repair, so much so that you wondered if everything would reattach if you somehow got out of this.

Even with your tibia, snapped not-so-cleanly in two, breaking out of your skin. At least, you thought it was your tibia. You only read an anatomy book once years ago, before even thinking of joining the Corps. Your bone didn't look quite like how they were illustrated in the book, with their clean lines and minimum shading. Then again, they didn't really draw bone with edges so jagged that there must be fragments dotted around somewhere in your swelling, bruised leg. Though what part of you wasn't bruised and swelling? What part of you wasn't caked in your drying blood?

You'd been cocky, hadn't you? To think you'd escape a fight with Kibutsuji Muzan as a mere Tsuguko when esteemed Hashira hadn't come close. It was foolish. You'd always prided yourself on being too cautious, telling yourself you had to be with your mediocre skills. Perhaps it was the moment of hesitation rather than launching your next attack immediately that brought you down. That moment where you swelled with pride, thinking 'I really do have potential!' only to be beaten so brutally. You wondered with morbid curiosity on how messed up your face looked. And you wondered with dried-up tear ducts whether Muichiro would mourn your death even a little, whether he'd become attached to you at all through the time you'd spent together.

You wondered what he saw in you in the first place.

There was movement in the upper range of your sight, just out of reach as to what it was. You'd look up, but you weren't sure you could even move your neck at that point. Though it wasn't as if you had a choice. “Humans are pitifully weak creatures aren't they?” Ah, how smooth his voice was. It was calming to listen to now. Perhaps it was due to having very little to worry about now, now that you could almost see the falling of the red velvet curtains. You felt like you wanted to nod, to agree with him, anything to keep from the silence. The silence brought your current existence into question.

“You always sought validation, didn't you? Validation that the demon slayers never gave you.” He spoke the truth, with words spun like silk. How many times had he said those very sentences? And how many times would he say them further?

"Always so worried about how weak you were, how much of a failure to your title you were." It was like he knew you as well as you knew yourself, and you clung onto every word, convinced that you'd finally found someone who understood you. In that moment, you had forgotten who he was, too delirious from pain and blood loss to care if he were the most manipulative demon or the most angelic person.

"But you have potential, one that can grow with my help."

You could be strong? You? How strong? How many lives could you save with that power? How many people would look up to you and think: 'Wow, I want to be like her'?

“So, what do you say?” Your vision, fading in and out of focus, was filled with the image of that pale hand, dancing around and shifting into two before merging back into one. 

There was no argument within when you somehow found the energy to grasp it. 

.

.

.

"Are you starving yourself again?"

Don't answer. 

You didn't have the energy to answer, nor the will. You didn't care about the trouble it'd get you in with him, nor the repercussions from it.

“Answer me, (Y/N).” His voice, silky as ever, held that dangerous tone to it as he uttered each word.

Don't answer. 

In an instant, your face was captured by one hand, eyes that were now filled with such an extraordinary amount of fear being raised to meet furious crimson irises. Veins stood raised upon his alabaster face, lips drawn back into a snarl.

“Did you not hear me?” Rage dripped from every syllable, fingers tightening with the passing seconds. He'd probably break your jaw again as punishment, thereby giving you an excuse not to answer him. "It's useless- such a stupid thing won't bring them back."

You felt the muscles in your face jerk at that comment, images of the Mizunoto you'd tried to help escape flashing through your mind. Your senses tingled as a reminder: the sight of their faces as they saw you approach, initially filled with relief, before swiftly switching to fear, then the expression of pain and anguish that'd forever be etched into their skin; the sounds of their screams, of tearing flesh and snapping bones, of pleas of mercy, apologies to families that would never know exactly what had happened to their children, siblings, cousins; the smell of their blood that seemed so irresistible, so delectable as it seeped into the midnight air; the texture of their skin, how easily they fell apart with the slightest pressure; the taste of their corpses, of those unfortunate enough to still be alive as you tore through them.

It was his features changing that had brought you back to the present, sitting in your new room where you busied yourself through hiding away from the sun and wasting yourself away through starvation. His expression had shifted from incomprehensible anger to smug satisfaction, eyes glued to the lower part of your face.

As a string hit the back of your palm, so did the realisation of why: you were drooling. Drooling over the taste of the comrades you had murdered with your own two hands. No one had forced you to- Muzan hadn't told you to- you simply shot through the forest like a bat out of hell after being turned, your injuries not even fully recovered.

“Oh dear, aren't you disgusting? No manners at all,” it wasn't even teasing with Muzan, no matter how much of a lilt he put onto his voice, it was always mocking, "Really, did anyone even try to teach you such a simple concept?" You knew better than to answer the obviously rhetorical question. The last time you had done that, Muzan ripped out your tongue without a moment's hesitation. If you were to lie and say that no one had taught you, Muzan would gouge out your eyes. Sometimes there was no way to please him other than silence, and there was definitely no way to please him other than complete subservience. Muzan didn't tolerate disobedience in any way, shape or form. You often wondered why he'd kept you around so long, which was what you were doing now as you apologised profusely and wiped your mouth with your handkerchief, especially with how long it took you to completely adapt to the Muzan's-way-or-no-way lifestyle, but that didn't mean by any means that he was gentle with you.

If you weren't as acquainted with him as you were, you'd say he was delusionally and disturbingly infatuated with you, but as he twisted your head to face his and crushed your lips with his, you reminded yourself of your doubt that Muzan can feel such things. As you obediently and swiftly parted your lips for him, careful not to take too long lest he reprimands and punishes you again, you believe the only thing he feels with you is the satisfaction of being fully and completely in control.

[cagestark]

Better Late Than Never//1

And Merry Christmas to YOU

Aka I started another project that I will take twenty years to finish. But @starkerflowers prompts were just too fucking good.

About: With interest in his work waning, famous writer Tony Stark (under the pseudonym AE Potts) changes his entire public relations platform, which includes hosting a meet-and-greet contest where one lucky fan will get to spend the day with him. That one lucky fan is Peter Parker. Peter is 21. Will contain nff, alcoholism, suicide attempts, character death (not major), drug mentions, anxiety, anxiety attacks. 

Read here on AO3. 

-

Tony is awakened from a drunken, dreamless sleep by a tub of envelopes and small packages being upended over his head. He jerks upright with a shout from where he was slumped over his writing desk, upending the (empty) bottle of whiskey that had lulled him to sleep. Pepper stands over him, impeccable in every way he is not.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, pushing envelopes off of where they have pooled on his lap. “You could have taken my eye out, Peppercorn. What are you trying to do, perform Lingchi on me? What is all this?”

“Fan mail,” she says. Her voice is stern and unsympathetic. The first time she’d found him passed out drunk over his desk, she had panicked and nearly called for an ambulance. The next handful of times she had just covered him with a blanket and regarded him with sad eyes the next morning when she brought him coffee. But those were ten years ago. Not to mention, all in her first few weeks on the job— “Social media is revolting. You never answer fan mail, you never do Q&A’s, you haven’t done an interview in almost a decade.”

“Fuck this,” Tony mutters, opening one drawer. “Where’s my whiskey?”

“In your bloodstream, I’d imagine. Don’t brush this off, Tony. Sales are waning. We need to make some serious changes in our PR or I’ll be putting in my two-weeks’ notice.”

That gets Tony’s attention. Pepper hadn’t threatened to quit after his last book when he’d killed off one of the most popular characters (one of his personal favorites, may she rest in fictional peace) and the public had flipped their shit. She hadn’t threatened to quit years before that when she walked in on him hunched over his desk with a straw to his nose, three sheets to the wind on far more than just whiskey. She has the disposition of a mountain: unflinching and ever-enduring.

“You mean it,” says Tony.

“I mean it.”

His shoulders sag. He glances around the room: the mess, the junk, the empty alcohol bottles, the half-finished manuscripts. There’s a strange feeling in the back of his throat, acidic, like he might throw up. Or cry. When his mouth opens to say something sarcastic, something about not letting the door hit her on the way out if she expects him to play nice with the media, all that comes out is a broken: “I can’t lose you, Pep.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “You will. If you don’t make some changes. Okay?”

Maybe this is what it means to be balanced on a knife’s edge, where one way ends in pain and the other ends in terminal inconvenience. But he knows which one he has to pick. His whole life is just a big inconvenience, but pain? Tony has spent enough time with his hand flat against the stove’s burner to know that he’d rather die than feel it again, rather die than lose one of the only people left who can stand him.

He picks up the closest letter and tears it open, blinking heavily to clear his eyes. Pepper leans down to press a kiss to the crown of his head and then gags. “Take a shower, when you get the chance,” she mutters, smiling.

-

The letters start off by being good for one thing: his ego. Adoring fans have been writing to his penname and business address for decades since he put out his first super-hero novel, titled IRON-MAN. Pepper has chosen to give him recent fan-mail, considering he’s spent so long ignoring it that if he were to answer them in order of reception, he might encounter fans who didn’t even remember the letters once sent. Or ones who were dead.

They are all variations of the same thing. The handwriting changes, gentle feminine cursive to childish scrawling to neat block lettering, but the message is usually the same. DEAR MR. POTTS. I’VE READ EVERY BOOK YOU’VE EVER WRITTEN. I GOT YOUR NAME TATTOOED ON MY ASS. IRON-MAN IS MY HERO. I’VE NEVER READ PROSE AS LOVELY AS YOURS. WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?

At Pepper’s request, Tony drafts a generic letter to send in response, something about how he can’t respond personally to every letter but he wants them to know that he’s read what they’ve written and ‘holds it close to his heart’.

“It’s good,” Pepper approves. “Sign them yourself.”

“Good?” Tony says. “I was joking—this letter is trash. Anyone who knows me would see this for the sarcasm it is—”

“Then thank God none of the fans know you,” Pepper responds coolly.

She has a point. Tony has existed in relative seclusion since he first began publishing his works at 24. After twenty years, he’d managed to remain mostly anonymous. A pseudonym does most of the work, including non-disclosure agreements for his employees. Any time a presence is required, he sends Rhodey or Happy or Pepper even. Theory pages abound on the internet, sites devoted to finding out who the real AE POTTS is. Even though one picture leaked of him during the early 2000’s (a grainy godforsaken thing that didn’t even show his best angle), there were still some disbelievers. One popular conspiracy theory is that AE is Pepper, considering Tony stole her last name to use as his own.

Maybe that’s why his declining image in the media bothers her so much.

A week later, Tony’s hand has a cramp the way it hasn’t since he was a little boy learning to write his letters. Freehand has never been his specialty—it’s far too slow for the way his mind works, bounding a sentence, a scene, a chapter ahead. Signing so many letters is going to freeze his hand in a claw like position. He’s sure of it.

Then Pepper drops the next bombshell on him: the contest.

“It goes against everything I’ve been working so hard to do for the last twenty years,” Tony shouts at the zenith of their argument. “I do not want to be known! I don’t want the fame; I just wanted the goddamn fortune, is that too much to ask for?”

“Times have changed,” Pepper says through her teeth. She holds her own, spine straight. She hasn’t shirked away from his angry outbursts ever, not even when they were children growing up together in Manhattan. “I’m not asking you to do a 20/20 Special. I’m not asking for an interview on Ellen. I’m asking for you to meet with one fan. Have a goddamn lunch with them. If you can’t handle that, then you can kiss your fortune goodbye. Mark my words.”

Tony marks them. He fucking marks them, okay? When he’s drinking himself blind, locked in his office (good luck getting in now, Pep), they ring around his skull like a dime in the dryer. Sometime around dawn, she picks the lock on the door and mops his brow while he vomits in the tiny trashcan beside his desk.

“I’m not doing this to torture you,” she says with uncharacteristic tenderness. Her hand on his forehead occasionally rifling through his greasy hair is not what’s making his eyes prickle with tears—it’s the vomiting. Honest. He’s not that touch-starved. “You know that, right? I hate seeing you like this.”

“I know,” he chokes miserably, gagging again. So he agrees to the Willy Wonka Initiative. Pepper puts out the word that the infamous AE POTTS will be selecting a single fan to meet face to face. Anyone eighteen or older is eligible to participate, as long as they write a letter explaining why they should get it blah blah blah. A golden ticket might have been funner. At least then Tony might have had an excuse to wear the tacky purple suit and tophat.

In the meantime, Pepper reveals that she’s been having Happy screen his mail to only show him the happy letters—figures. His hate mail isn’t extensive, but it certainly exists, having increased exponentially since he killed off Natasha in the last novel.

FUCKING MYSOGINISTIC ASSHOLE, Cheryl from Newport tenderly writes. YOU HAD ONE GOOD FEMALE CHARACTER, AND YOU KILLED HER OFF. I HOPE ANOTHER WOMAN NEVER LETS YOU BETWEEN THEIR LEGS AGAIN AND YOUR DICK SHRIVELS OFF.

Tony thinks that’s pretty succinct. He posts it up on his desk propped up against the last picture ever taken of him and his mother. Killing off Natasha had been an idea he’d personally revolted against for months. Sure, it made sense that sensitive, strong Natasha would be the one to sacrifice herself in order to stop the villain from succeeding in wiping out half the universe. It made sense for a woman to be the one to give her life to protect others.

After all, hadn’t his own mother died trying to protect Tony?

The weekend after the contest drops on their social media platforms, Pepper texts to tell him that it’s being received far, far better than they might have ever hoped for. Already dozens of letters had been received, letters which must have been penned and mailed just hours after the news had spread.

Joy, Tony texts back.

I haven’t told you the best news, she says. That’s how Tony knows that the next news will be the worst news, absolutely the worst news of all. You get to pick the fan.

-

“Any letter catching your eye?” Pepper asks him over lunch in his office.

“They’re all the same,” Tony laments. Even his own ego can only take so much stroking. After a while, the fan mail has become mostly routine and lackluster, though he keeps opening it, keeps signing the response letters, keeps sending them out. “I’m going to end up picking one at random, Pep.”

“I don’t care how you pick,” Pepper says. “As long as you do—and as long as you’re ready to suffer with the consequences of your choice.”

“Suffer? God, I love the light you bring into my life. The unending optimism. The unparalleled faith and trust in me.”

Her eyes glitter even as they roll. “If you like me so much, you can buy lunch next time.”

Tony snorts, taking a large bite from his burger. “Gold digger.”

“I’ve seen your taxes, Tony. These days, there isn’t much gold to dig for.”

“Ouch, kill shot.”

-

The letter arrives only one week before the contest deadline. In the top drawer of his desk are three other letters from potential winners, mostly picked at random, sometimes because Tony likes their handwriting, sometimes because they say something funny that actually makes him laugh. When he opens up the letter from Peter B. Parker, he scans the first lines not intending to be impressed.

Dear Mr. Potts, Peter writes.

I’ve written you so many letters that it should be easy by now. I don’t know why my hands are shaking. Maybe I’m nervous because I know for certain that this one, someone will actually read.

I received my first copy of IRON-MAN when I was eight years old—yes, a little bit heavy for a kid that age, but my parents had just died unexpectedly in a car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in, and my uncle gave me his first edition. Iron-man’s story was one of the only things that got through to me as a kid. His struggle to come to terms with losing his own parents, his loneliness, his fear. The way he overcomes all of that and still goes on to do good…yeah. It meant a lot to a grief-stricken kid. Obviously.

Pretty much every birthday and Christmas, I end up receiving one of your books as a gift. My family and friends know me so well, I have nearly a half-dozen copies of AVENGERS (it’s one of my favorites). The things you write about are so close to my heart, so close to some of the experiences I’ve had in real life. My struggle with mental illness. My abuse and neglect. And the way you write these things makes me think…fear, I guess…that maybe you know something about them too.

I would love to get to meet you and talk about your incredible books. I’d love to get to know you. Not going to lie, as a fanboy, I’d probably be happy to just sit at the same table with you and have a meal. I’ll buy. We don’t even have to talk (okay I swear I’m not as desperate as I sound!). I’m sure you’ve received so many awesome letters, and I know that the fan you pick will be so, so lucky.

(Every letter I write to you, I ask if you could please return my book. It’s been five years since I sent it. I’m sure you don’t even have it anymore, maybe you threw it away from the start. But if you do have it, even if you don’t pick me to win the contest, it would mean so much if you sent it back. When I mailed it to you in Jan. 2014, my uncle was still alive. He’s gone now…anyway it’s one of the only things of his that I have left.)

Your fan always,

PETER.

PS: please disregard the last letter I sent…obviously.

Tony rereads the letter twice. He feels a swirl of emotion in his stomach, not dissimilar to the queasiness after a long night of drinking. This—this is what he sacrificed by being so closed-off from his fans. While he’d known that his fans were real and obviously human, a part of him had never felt the magnitude of it before. These are people with feelings and experiences. This Parker kid (a self-proclaimed fanboy) lost his parents too, and far younger than Tony had. In a car accident.

Maybe Peter hadn’t been there, hadn’t been in the car, hadn’t watched his mother parents go up in flames, but it’s still a tragedy all in its own right. And all at eight years old. Jesus Christ. This kid has been looking up to him for ten years and more, and he had no fucking idea that kind of dysfunctional altar he’d been worshiping at.

Tony goes into the private bathroom connected to his office and gags up—nothing. Drool. But it still leaves his mouth slimy, so he brushes his teeth until he’s spitting pink into the sink, and when he catches sight of the haphazard reflection in the mirror, he pities it. He leans forward to touch foreheads with it, auto-intimacy. Do better, some voice in the back of his head says, but it’s not his voice.

Happy picks up his cellphone on the first ring. Of the ninth call.

“What do you fucking want, Tony?” he hisses into the receiver. “I’m at the movie theater seeing that new Star Wars. You made me go out into the lobby—”

“Then I’m doing you a favor,” Tony says, cracking open the cap on a sparkling water. “Look, I have important questions, I wouldn’t have called otherwise. My fan mail—how much of it has Pepper kept?”

“Jesus, how should I know? Totes and totes full, at least—”

“Brilliant—”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? I’m missing the movie!”

“Didn’t I say you’re not missing much? I’m asking you because Pepper will make me do it myself: I need you to find specific letters from one fan: Peter B. Parker. Address is Queens, but he could be from anywhere. I’m also especially interested in acquiring a package he sent me in January 2014.”

“Christ, could you be any more mysterious?” Happy mutters. “Text me the details you bastard, I’m not missing another moment of Mark Hamill.”

-

It turns out that Pepper is not only a saint in all ways previously mentioned, but she is a saint in this as well: his fan mail from the last ten years has been saved and meticulously organized by month and year of reception. Happy comes to Tony’s office in the city the next day with a package, the outside brittle but address clear.

The writing is the same script as the letter newly received from Peter, though the handwriting has become more mature over time. Neater. Confined. No more hasty slant from an enthusiastic hand. The kid’s contest entry is in the top drawer of Tony’s desk—the previous potential winners are now the cherries on top of the reject pile. His stomach is heavy as a stone while he tears open the five-year-old package.

Out tumbles a pre-addressed package that was meant to carry the book back to its owner, back to Peter. Then, one first edition of IRON-MAN, the cover a little tattered, the spine creaky. Also included is another letter, torn from a spiral notebook. He opens it with shaking hands.

DEAR MISTER POTTS

I KNOW THAT GETTING A RESPONSE FROM MY LETTERS IS A LONG SHOT, BUT I’M REALLY HOPING THAT YOU’LL AUTOGRAPH THIS COPY OF IRON-MAN AND RETURN IT TO ME. IT IS MY UNCLE BEN’S…

It goes on to describe how his Uncle’s birthday is coming up and Peter hopes to give the autographed book to his Uncle. Tony reads with a heavy heart, knowing now that Tony hadn’t bothered even opening the package, hadn’t tried to sign it—and even if he had, Ben hadn’t lived long enough to celebrate his next birthday. What a son of a bitch Tony is.

For the first time in three months, Tony goes home.

Most days he stays at the space he rents in the fancy Manhattan building, the one that holds his office and Pepper’s own workspace as well as the other people who work for him (Happy, Beck, Rhodey). The mansion outside Manhattan belonged to Tony’s father and his mother. When his mother had still been alive, it had been a cold place that he had endured staying at for her sake. After his mother had died, it had been a torture chamber, or worse—a stale, suffocating tomb.

Then Howard had died and somehow left it to Tony (probably out of some misguided duty to ‘keep it in the family’). Tony made a personal habit to visit it infrequently and stay there even less often; but Pepper maintains it for him, has it cleaned, keeps it safe. Uses it as storage, Tony knows. For his fan mail.

It takes up three entire rooms, floor to ceiling clear totes labeled with months and years. Just looking at it makes Tony feel small, ashamed of how little he cared about interacting with his fans. It’s no wonder sales were down. Searching for Peter’s letters would be like looking for a needle in a haystack—but he has to do it, and he can’t let Happy bear the brunt of the weight anymore either. This is on Tony.

So he begins pulling totes from the room and scattering their contents on the oaken table and floors of the dining room. Five hours and seven totes later, and Tony still has no letter from Peter.

Pepper finds him at midnight. She comes bursting in through the front door—Tony can hear the sound of the door colliding with the wall from the force she’s used—shouting his name. The hysteria in her voice chills him to the bone. It’s worse than the tone she uses when Tony fucks up; this is the tone she uses when there’s a Tragedy, when something is Wrong.

She finds him in the dining room surrounded by letters, kneeling up from where he was slumped on the floor. He must be a sight, but she is one too, her hair a mess, her eyes red. When she sees him, all the breath goes out of her, one hand clutching at her breast as the other grabs the back of a chair for support.

“Jesus, Pep, what’s happened? Is it your father, another heart attack—?”

“Why don’t you ever answer your goddamn phone, you bastard!” She says through heaving breaths. “You don’t leave the office for weeks and suddenly no one can find you, you won’t pick up your phone—”

It takes a long moment for the pieces to connect.

“Oh Christ,” Tony says, chidingly. “What, you were scared for me?”

She slumps into one chair and puts her face into her well-manicured hands. Tony drops back onto his ass. He’s not a good man, not a sensitive man. The last woman who had cried in front of him was his mother, and look at all the ways he had failed her. But the longer he sits letting Pepper cry, the more it feels like bamboo shoots growing under his tender fingernails. Fuck it. He gets up, knees creaking, and goes to her.

They sit side by side at the dining table no one has eaten at in twelve years. Pepper leans into him, her thin shoulders shaking. Shame makes his own eyes burn, because he thought what did she have to be afraid of? But maybe she saw his car in the driveway of the unhappy home he avoids and assumed that he’d come here to Hemingway himself. Maybe she sat in the drive steeling herself to come into the sight of his body.

“I’m going through the fan mail,” Tony says at last.

“I can see that,” she says. Her scathing tone drips with tears.

“I’m okay, Pep,” he says. He’s not sure if it’s true. He’s not sure if he’s been okay ever since he blinked awake upside down and suspended by the seatbelt in the back seat of his mother’s Cadillac, glass littering the roof (and the roof had become the floor, then, see? Because they were upside down), the smell of gas and smoke in his nose). Maybe he’s not okay. Maybe it’s all a fucking lie, but he’s not going to off himself. Not when there’s a mystery afoot. “I promise.”

She nods, one damp hand reaching out blindly for his. It’s an awkward angle to hold hands at, but he doesn’t complain. And awkward or not, it feels nice to be touched in a kind, even platonic way.

“What are you looking for?” Pepper asks at last, wiping at the wet, swollen skin beneath her eyes.

“Why? You want to help?” Tony asks.

“Might as well,” she says. “I always do your heavy lifting, don’t I?”

-

With Pepper’s help, they find the first letter. Somehow the Willy Wonka Initiative has reversed until Tony feels like a kid, ripping open chocolate bars, desperate for a glimpse of gold. At dawn, a cry echoes in the dining room startling Tony from where he was slumping against a tote, dozing.

“I’ve got one, Tony!” Pepper shouts. She’s barefoot, her panty hose taken off and folded on the table, her sensible jacket removed and slung over the back of a chair. Her rumpled shirt and tendrils coming free from her ponytail reveal how much energy she’s been putting into this with him—maybe to make up for her emotional outburst earlier, maybe like a mother humoring a child’s singular beneficial interest. “From Peter B. Parker, address is Queens, same as before.”

“What’s the date?” Tony asks. He slips in a pile of letters from last August and nearly breaks his neck. Wishful fucking thinking.

“Last May. Here—”

Tony takes the letter and collapses in a chair, his lower back grateful for the support. He recognizes Peter’s handwriting as he tears the letter open, and he can feel Pepper’s presence over his shoulder, reading along with him.

This letter is different from the others. Tony knows it right away. The first indication should have been the date; Tony’s most recent novel dropped early May of last year. His most controversial work to date, with praise glorious and venomous in kind. Which way did the scales tip when it came to Peter, Tony wonders.

I know that you won’t read this. I’ve written you twice a year since I was ten years old, and you’ve never written back. I don’t blame you. I’m sure you’re busy—I guess I just needed to get these words down somewhere, so that they exist, so that somewhere there is a record of me after I’m dead.

Tony reads the rest in a dazed blur. At one point, Pepper’s hand lifts to press against her mouth, but still they read on, huddled together for convenience and then for comfort.

In the letter, Peter describes the tragedy of his uncle’s death and how he felt personally responsible, and how after months of guilt, when he’d read about Natasha’s sacrifice, he’d decided to take action. Against himself.

If someone’s death can do so much good in the world, Peter wrote with shaky script. Then maybe mine could too. I’m not deluded or anything. I know that I’m not a superhero and that I’m not fighting against some sanctimonious super villain. But I feel like if my death could make May’s life easier, then I have to do it.

“Jesus. Tony, don’t read this—” Pepper reaches out for the letter but Tony nearly rips it in half trying to keep it away from her.

It’s not just for May, Peter admits. I’m ready to stop hurting, too.

Peter signs off, for good. Only it hadn’t been for good—Peter’s most recent letter had obviously proven that, and hadn’t he written it himself? Ignore my last letter, obviously, he’d said. Something must have changed Peter’s mind, but one thing was clear: it hadn’t been Tony. Because Tony had been so self-absorbed, so tangled in his own grief and ego and addictions he hadn’t even read the letter. If Pepper hadn’t saved it, then it might have been destroyed, no record left of Peter’s words at all.

“Tony,” Pepper says. She takes the letter from his fingers and he lets it go. His hands are numb. “This isn’t your fault. Peter obviously was unstable—he’d just watched his uncle being murdered in front of him. No one in their right mind would read Natasha’s death and think that you were encouraging them to take their own life.”

“I know that,” Tony snaps. Lying. Then: “I’m not an idiot, Pep.”

Maybe the biggest lie of all.

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 6

Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait… how does the saying go again?

Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL

A/N: In this story, Peter has Tom’s dog, Tessa.The dogs in the story play a minor but key role.

Word count: 2.5k

Part 5 <<< >>> Part 7

MASTERLIST

                He couldn’t believe she was once again teasing him, getting a thrill out of his reaction. It was a real skill she had.

“Don’t be so modest, I saw the way you threw the ax, Parker. I don’t know what you’re trying to hide under that baggy sweatshirt of yours, but I admit I’m getting curiouser and curiouser. Makes me wonder how jacked you are under there.”

                Peter’s face went through fifty shades of red in the span of five seconds, and Emmeline was beyond proud of herself for making him blush like that. She did seem to have a certain talent in embarrassing Peter; hopefully he knew it was all in good grace and she didn’t mean ill.

                 She twirled her empty cup between her fingers, smiling wickedly.

“You just love to see me wriggle in my chair when you say something like that,” he accused her.

“I’m not lying, though.” She raised a brow. “Emmeline Gerard only has one word, and it is true.”

                Emmeline Gerard was also a huge flirt and if Peter wasn’t so dense, he would notice it. That was a typical male thing: to not see when a woman was openly hitting on them and then complain that they are always the ones who are expected to take the first step.

“Don’t care.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest – maybe to show off his biceps, maybe to show her he was mad, he wouldn’t admit to either. “I feel objectified all the same.”

“Here, have a cookie, you’ll feel better,” Emmeline enjoined him, pushing the treat towards him. “I didn’t mean it, quit sulking.”

“Oh, so you think I’m fat?” he asked in mock-offense as he grabbed the cookie and bit into it.

                They both laughed and she swatted his shoulder for acting like an idiot.

“I’ll forgive you on one condition,” he started, the laughter dying down as he looked at her, locking his gaze on her and uncrossing his arms.

                Her smile dropped.

“I’m not going to like it, am I?” she asked in a sigh. “Alright, I guess I brought this on myself. What do you wanna know?”

                He wasn’t surprised that she had guessed what it was about. He hadn’t been able to think about anything else since she talked about her parents an hour ago. He just needed to know what went on in her life – Emmeline was so secretive! He was the one with a secret alter ego, yet she acted like she was secretly Batman.

                He began to fidget, brows furrowed as he proceeded to tell her something he rarely ever brought up.

“It’s more of a request, actually. I- euh, I’m an orphan too,” he stated, making her drop her jaw and stop playing with her empty cup. “I understand better than anyone why you don’t like to talk about your parents, biological or adopted. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you ever want to talk to someone… you know, instead of throwing sharp deadly weapons around-“ He smiled a little and she mirrored the expression. They had both sobered up pretty quickly after his opening statement. “You can talk to me.”

                She shrugged.

“I don’t remember much; I wouldn’t know what to say even if I wanted to talk about it. I was so young…” She sighed, eyes not leaving his. “My adoptive parents are the only ones I know, and they are basically strangers to me. What about you? Any luck in that area?”

“I wasn’t really adopted like you think.” Peter chewed on his lip and rubbed his chin. “One day my parents left me in the care of my aunt and uncle, and they just never came back. Plane crash,” he explained. “I can remember them but sometimes I forget what they looked like. It’s scary to think that I could forget them entirely one day.”

“How’s life with your aunt and uncle?” Emmeline pushed him, the eagerness visible in the way she stared wide-eyed, fingers tugging at her sleeve.

“My uncle died when I was in high school, during a robbery gone wrong.” Jesus Christ, it hurt to talk about it, more than he had anticipated, but he could see that his words finally reached her, moved her. They acted like a key unlocking something. She was drinking up his every word. “Life was good with them. Aunt May is the best, and I couldn’t have asked for better parents than them.” He swallowed with difficulty, wondering what kind of parents he had before that fateful plane crash.

                His increasingly dark train of thought was interrupted when he felt a warm hand resting on his closed fist. He looked up again, finding Emmeline’s concerned eyes set on him.

“But enough with the pathetic story of my life.”

                Slowly, he loosened his fist, relaxing under her touch. Emmeline didn’t move her hand, rather she let her fingers slip in his now unstrained fist.

“I’d drink to that if my cup wasn’t empty,” Emmeline chuckled, humorlessly. He watched her mood shift under his eyes, becoming bitter. She sucked in her cheeks and focused on their joined hands. “Did you vote for my father at the last election?”

“… yes,” Peter admitted, feeling it wasn’t the right answer though it was the truth.

“I didn’t. I told him I did, of course. He never even considered I could vote for someone else; it was a given that the family would vote for him.”

“Why didn’t you?” Peter asked in what was barely above a whisper. Her aura exuded rancor.

“I’m not a difficult person, or at least, I don’t think so. I never wished for all the things I have today, all the… the money, the reputation, the social status… It was all so abstract to the little girl I was. I just wanted parents, you know?”

                Peter nodded; he thought he knew where she was going.

“But it wasn’t what I got. I would often cry about it to my friends in the beginning, but quickly got shut down. I found out at an early age that people do not pity the rich, even if it’s a crying little girl who longs for some form of parental love,” she spat out the last part, still resenting the people who had turned their back on her when she needed them. It was Peter’s turn to squeeze her hand. “So, here you go. That’s why I’m such a stuck-up bitch today. No one’s ever told me it was okay to talk about how I feel, until a few months ago.”

“What happened a few months ago?”

                Peter’s entire body had tensed up at this point. He could hear his blood pulsing in his temples and waited for the bomb. He already knew the answer, but it would have been strange not to ask. He was the one who told her to talk to a friend, that someone cared, that someone would listen.

                Emmeline seemed to recompose herself and shook her head a little, letting him go and pushing away her cup, clearing her throat. When she looked up, the dark clouds in her eyes had dissipated.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” she said with a forced laugh, turning her attention to the window. “I hadn’t realized it was already dark outside, I should get going. Bella’s waiting for me.”

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he asked, accepting that this was as much information he would get for today and thinking about nothing but the night he found her being pressed against a wall, blouse ripped open, a man with a hand down his pants all over her.

                He saw the hesitation cross her face, but she must have had the same thought as him; she stood up and grabbed her coat before looking at him.

“Yes, please.”

  *

                  That night Peter broke one of his own new rules and stopped by her place on his way back from a mission. He couldn’t help it, as much as he had tried.

                When he knocked on the window, Bella immediately began to jump excitedly, pawing at the glass and barking. It must have been double glazing because he barely heard a thing at all. Emmeline soon walked into the living room, toothbrush in her mouth, raising her arms in a “what the fuck man” gesture. At least, that was how Peter interpreted it.

                She walked back where she came from, and reappeared a minute later, with no more toothbrush.

“Thought you wouldn’t come here again,” she said as a way of greeting him when she opened the French window, letting Bella out to greet him properly.

“At least someone’s happy to see me,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her as he sat down to play with her dog. “I totally just came to see Bella by the way, you can go back inside.”

                Emmeline wasn’t amused and she let him know.

“Alright, alright. I just wanted to see how far along you were this that deal of ours,” he told her, raising both hands in surrender.

“How-“ she made a helpless hand gesture. “How do you know? How can you possibly know that I finally talked to someone today? Who the fuck are you?”

“Ugh, language, young lady,” he giggled, standing up to talk to her at eye-level. “Let’s say I have a spider sense that tells me those things.”

“This is very weird.”

“How is it any weirder than feminine intuition? I’m listening.”

“Half the human population has it,” she stated, point blank. “It’s a real thing, unlike your… spidey- tingle.”

“Spider sense,” he corrected her.

“Same difference.”

“You are being very difficult tonight. I thought you’d be in a lighter mood now that you unburdened yourself a little bit,” he whined, pointing a finger at her. Emmeline didn’t give two shits that he was Spider-Man, she swatted his accusing finger away and took a step forward.

“Tone it down a notch, Spidey-boy,” she warned him. “I held my end of the bargain, now I get to be in whatever mood I want.”

“It wasn’t a bargain; I didn’t promise anything in exchange.”

“Well then I want something.” She planted her feet firmly on the ground, and her hands on her hips.

                Peter sighed, regretting this impromptu visit already, though he couldn’t deny he loved their superhero and civilian banter. The way she stood up to him would have made him shrivel away a few years back, but he was glad he had grown out of his awkward teenager phase and could stand up for himself now.

                Though the awkward teenage still showed once every now and then, most of the time when she said something saucy.

“I’m not swinging you around New York,” he warned her. “Last time I did that, the girl got sick.”

“That’s not what I want,” Emmeline scoffed, waving her hand to dismiss his idea. “Who would ask for that anyway? We’re in December, my nose would freeze and fall off.”

“Alright, name your price then, princess.”

“Do not start using pet names, or I will wipe the floor with your ass, Spidey-boy.” For a second, he thought she just might. “Just promise make sure that what happened to me doesn’t happen to another girl, yeah? That’s my price.”

                Peter wasn’t expecting this request, but he nodded without thinking about it. It was a given.

“I will.”

“Good. Now fuck off of my balcony. I was going to bed,” she shooed him away, like you did to a stray cat.

“You’re so mean to me!”

“It’s tough love, baby!” She laughed and waved him goodbye through the window, waiting until he left, and Bella strutted back inside to close the door. “He’s a bit strange for a superhero, don’t you think?”

  *

                  Emmeline never talked about Spider-Man to Peter, but he could still see the way their late-night chats affected her moods. She was often less grumpy when he visited her. It made him feel terrible because they were both becoming dependent on his visits, and as odd as it might sound, Peter was jealous of his alter ego. Jealous because Emmeline seemed to like Spider-Man better than Peter Parker.

                But Emmeline didn’t sit next to Spider-Man in class, she sat next to Peter, and for that he was infinitely grateful. She was better than him in physics anyway, it was a nice change from always being the nerdy one. Then again, when you’re a biophysics post-grad, the chances of you being the only nerd in the room were very slim.

“Will you be my partner?” she asked him, bursting his little bubble of silent contemplation. He hadn’t realized he had zoned out in the middle of class until she spoke up.

“Uh?” was all he was capable of answering.

“The assignment. We should do it together, partner-up,” she clarified. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

                Peter flinched and grimaced a little, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No?”

“You’ve being doing that a lot lately. Don’t you sleep at night?”

                Not as much as I’d like, he thought. Somehow, when he wasn’t visiting her as Spider-Man, it was because he was hanging out with her as Peter Parker, and the rest of the time he spent on Spider duty. He knew he was heading towards burn out, but he couldn’t hit the breaks either.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he replied in a failed attempt to sound cool. She narrowed her eyes at him. “But I’ll do the assignment with you, sure. I’ll need your notes though, I have some catching up to do.”

“Not a problem.” She pulled out her agenda to scribble something down. “Since you were daydreaming again, let me recap for you: the assignment is due January 8th, jot that down. I’ll bring my notes this Thursday when we meet at the library, is that okay?”

“You’re the best,” Peter told her with a crooked smile that was meant to be charming. Emmeline rolled her eyes.

“Don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation.”

“When should we start working then?” he asked, changing the subject. Another thing he noticed: she didn’t like compliments.

“We can start tonight if you want. You won’t need my notes to decide on a topic and get started,” she suggested. “My place, 7p.m.?”

                A resounding alarm began to pound in Peter’s head, reminding him that one meeting with her dog would give him away on the spot.

“Didn’t you say Bella doesn’t like strangers?” he questioned, trying to find a way out of this. “We won’t get much done if she’s busy barking up at me.”

“She’s not home at the moment. She must have eaten something bad because she kept vomiting and whining. I brought her to the vet, she’ll be back at the end of the week.”

                Peter knew how much she loved Bella, and the pitiful sigh she let out at the end of her explanation constricted his heart. There he was, trying to dodge out of a study session with the girl he liked to preserve his secret identity, while she was lonely in her huge apartment because her beloved four-legged companion was sick.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure she’ll be alright.” She nodded and forced a smile. “And tonight works fine for me.”

“Bring Tessa, I haven’t seen her in a week.”

.

.

.

Reblog to save a writer

Taglist: @of-virtuoso

[icyharrington]

Heaven In Hell (Michael Langdon X Madison Montgomery X Reader)

this is....very nasty. enjoy :) i didn’t proofread this too hard lol so i apologize for that but hopefully y’all like it anyway lmao

plot: michael langdon has come to save you from your own personal hell, and he has madison montgomery in tow. you both decide to thank him for his efforts.

warnings: fem!Reader, f/f/m threesome, hawthorne!michael, blowjobs, lesbian sex, cunnilingus, sexual intercourse, face riding, spanking, murder(lmao), and the works lol

word count: 5.1k

tags: @chloerrose @pastatophhistory @lttlcoven @prettykitten123 @langdonsrapture @thefakestthot @obsessivenostalgicbaby @cerrychenly @babyhoney-coco @helloitsmestar @80seddie @lambofcairo @jcshadowkiss-blog @kinkylangdon @belusima @errmynee @casualtears @madhatterweasley @meeeeeeeeeps @sassylangdon @langdonsdemon @princessd1e @laurahollislovescarmilla @speakingofmemess @sodanova

Knock knock knock.

You were lying on your back, staring up at the discolored, cracked ceiling above you when you heard it. You hardly reacted, just barely turning your head to one side, cheek brushing the foul-smelling pillowcase propped under your neck. Somehow, each time you attempted to change the pillowcase, it ended up smelling even worse than the last. It was frustrating, considering the only other place you could possibly sleep was the floor, and you’d seen roaches scuttling across the carpet one too many times to feel comfortable doing that. It made sense to you, though.

This was hell, after all.

You’d been trapped there ever since you’d attempted descensum during the seven wonders test with the rest of your coven; you had no idea how long ago it had even happened. In hell, there was no division of day or night- only endless hours ticking on for all eternity. For all you knew, the world could be burnt to a crisp. It didn’t matter; you were going to be stuck here forever. At this point you’d gotten used to it.

Knock knock knock.

The knocks came louder now, and you scowled, imagining your seedy landlord standing outside, holding your eviction notice in one hand. It happened so frequently that you’d stopped being affected by it: he’d tell you that you hadn’t paid your rent in months, and you’d cringe at his lower row of crooked yellow teeth and the foul smell of his breath. Maybe you can convince me not to evict you, though, he’d say, coming closer to you, making you gag as his filthy hands reached out to brush your skin. And then you’d scream at him to leave, and then it would happen all over again.

You grunted, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, scanning the floor for any sort of crawling creature before you set your feet down. Pulling your moth-eaten sweater tighter against your body, you shivered, because of fucking course it was perpetually winter in your personal hell, and of course the heat was always turned off.

Knock knock knock.

“I’m coming,” you shouted, turning the doorknob and yanking it open.

There was your landlord, scraggly porn-stache and all, his beady eyes wandering over you with the discretion of a twelve year old boy.

“Let me guess,” you said in a monotone, crossing your arms in front of you. “I haven’t paid the rent in three months.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to evict you,” he said. You mouthed the words to yourself as he spoke, having memorized them from hearing them so many times before. He said the exact same thing every time- you would’ve thought that there would be a bit more variety in hell, but apparently not. “Unless…” he ran his tongue over his thin upper lip, wrinkles in his face deepening as he gave you a coy smirk.

“I wouldn’t touch your shriveled dick with a foot-long pole,” you said flatly. He hardly reacted, only taking a step forward into your room, liver-spot covered hands reaching down to grab at his crotch. He licked his lips again, and you expected him to continue on with his attempt at seduction, but instead his head was jerked back by his hair, the assailant obscured in the shadows. You watched in shock as a blade was then yanked harshly across the man’s throat, ushering forward a fountain of blood as he let out a pathetic gurgling noise. He dropped to the ground limply, revealing in the doorway a man that you didn’t recognize.

He was handsome, with well-styled blond hair and angular features. He was dressed in all black, save for a white collar, which was accentuated with a neatly tied ribbon. He took one look at your slack-jawed expression and smirked, folding his hands behind him.

“Hello, (y/n),” he said calmly. “My name is Michael.”

“You’re- you aren’t…from here,” you mumbled, eyes wide as saucers, unsure of what to make of all this.

“So you know where you are?” Michael asked, tilting his head to one side. You couldn’t help but admire the beauty of this man, mouth nearly watering as you regarded each perfect feature of his face. It’d been so long since you’d actually seen someone other than your landlord, who you were sure had been designed specifically by Satan to repulse you.

“Hell,” you said.

“Mhm.” He looked down at the landlord’s body with a disinterested expression, carefully stepping over him to join you inside the tiny apartment. His pale eyes scanned over the contents of the room, which wasn’t much; his lips turned down slightly in disgust, taking in the stained walls and dirty carpet, and you almost felt embarrassed, as if you had any sort of control over this place. “You won’t be for long, though. I’m the man that’s gonna get you out of here.”

You narrowed your eyes, searching for any hint of jest beyond the man’s stoic face, but there was none. “That’s impossible,” you said softly, but you were hopeful, perhaps against your best interest. This was probably just a sick joke, meant to throw you off and make you think you had a chance of escape before tearing it all away.

His lips curved up slightly, and you drew in a breath. “I have someone here with me who might convince you otherwise.”

He held his hand out towards the door, and from the shadowy hallway, sprang a petite blonde. And not just any petite blonde, you quickly realized.

It was Madison fucking Montgomery.

Jumping over the limp body of your former landlord, she pounced on you before you had time to say anything, squeezing you so tight you could hardly breathe. Immediately you reciprocated, burying your head in the crook of her neck. She smelled exactly as you’d remembered, like hairspray and expensive perfume, and you sobbed into her shoulder as she pulled you against her.

“(Y/n), I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you again,” she sighed, pulling away to look at you. God, she was beautiful, and you couldn’t believe you’d almost forgotten. Her large brown eyes were rimmed with tears as she stared at you, plump bottom lip wobbling despite the huge smile on her face.

“Madison,” was all you could muster, all at once overcome with happiness, laughter spilling past your lips uncontrollably. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I was in hell, too,” she said. “But this guy came and saved me. And now he’s gonna save you.”

“You died?” The last thing you remembered, Madison had gone to perform descensum with the rest of the coven. Had she gotten trapped, too?

“Long story,” she said with a dismissive eye roll, reaching up to wipe away her tears. “What’s important is that we’re both getting the fuck out of here.”

She took a second to look around the room, scrunching up her face as a roach made its way past her foot and towards the bathroom. “I honestly didn’t think anything could be worse than my personal retail hell,” she remarked. “But this is pretty fucking close.”

“I know, right?” you said, unable to stop yourself from running your hands up and down Madison’s slim hips. It was hard not to indulge yourself in human contact after spending an eternity in hell, especially when you were being visited by the girl you used to fuck regularly back on earth.

You and Madison hadn’t ever established your relationship when you were alive; she was always your best friend, who you just so happened to have a lot of sex with. Sometimes you’d cuddle afterwards, and you’d definitely harbored feelings for the bitchy blonde, but you were never willing to admit it to yourself.

“I missed you so much,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around your neck. You looked at each other for a moment before she pressed her lips against yours, wasting no time before parting her lips and easing her warm tongue into your mouth. You gasped at the feeling, digging your fingers into her hips, almost entirely forgetting that the two of you weren’t alone.

“Fuck, baby,” she said, moving her lips to your jaw and sending vibrations through your body. “I missed that, too.” She brought her hands from around your neck and onto your breasts, squeezing them hungrily through your sweater.

You shifted your gaze towards Michael, who was standing off to the side. “Madison, can we… can we wait til we’re alone?”  

“Why?” she breathed, trailing kisses down onto your neck. “I wanna fuck you now. Right here in hell, baby.”

You couldn’t deny the aching sensation that had begun to make itself known between your thighs, but the thought of this all happening in front of someone was a little too much, even for you.

“What about…” you said, voice trailing off when you turned to look in Michael’s direction. His face was devoid of any expression as he looked off to the side awkwardly, but you could tell he was somewhat uncomfortable.

“What about what, baby?” she said, biting your earlobe and pulling at it. “I’m sure Michael wouldn’t mind seeing two hot girls fucking. I’ll bet he’d even wanna join in.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you saw Michael jerk his head towards the both of you, a light flush crossing his cheeks.

“And I think he deserves a thank-you for rescuing us, don’t you think?”

You chewed your bottom lip, considering this. You hardly knew this man, and you’d never been involved in a threesome before, but the idea was no doubt turning you on. You shifted, becoming painfully aware of the moisture soaking through your underwear, and you felt Madison’s hands move onto your ass.

“O-okay,” you said finally. Fuck it, you thought. What did you have to lose?

Madison beamed, before turning around and making her way over to Michael, blinking innocently as she reached for his hand.

“What do you say, daddy?” she cooed, bringing his fingers to her lips and taking two of them into her mouth. Michael seemed stunned, but from the growing bulge in the front of his trousers, it was obvious that the idea had excited him. Making a show of sucking Michael’s long fingers, Madison allowed her eyes to flutter shut as a soft moan left her mouth.

He hummed, leaving behind his momentary shyness in favor of a more confident attitude. “I suppose it’d be nice to be thanked for my efforts,” he said, voice rich and smooth and low. Madison smirked, pulling his fingers from her mouth with a pop, and without missing a beat dropped onto her knees in front of him.

She turned to you, lips twitching as she worked open the front of Michael’s pants. “Come on, (y/n),” she said, working the material partly down his thighs and hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers. “We have some thanking to do.”

Timidly, you joined Madison on your knees, blushing when your eyes met Michael’s hooded ones. He had a cocky half-smile across his full lips, and you certainly couldn’t blame him; he had two girls in front of him on their knees, practically begging to suck him off. What other response was there besides being cocky?

Madison pulled down his boxers, letting the fabric bunch up with his pants around his muscular thighs. His cock sprung free, fully hard, and you and Madison exchanged an eager glance at the sight. He was big, that was for sure, with beads of precum leaking down from the flush head. Madison leaned forward and darted her tongue out, lapping at the precum and wrapping her fist loosely around his base.

Desperate for a taste of him, you craned your neck and took one of his balls into your mouth, reveling in the salty flavor of his warm skin. He hissed at the sensation of two mouths on him, Madison’s eyes rolling back into her head as she slid her head further down on his thick cock. She dropped her hand down, placing it instead on your thigh, and you took the opportunity to administer slow licks onto his veiny shaft.

“So desperate to taste me,” Michael groaned, and you returned your attention to his balls, working at one with your mouth while you cupped the other in one hand. You kept your eyes open, watching Madison in awe as she took his entire length into her mouth, nose brushing the soft blonde tuft of curls at his pelvis. “Good girl.”

He thrust his hips forward slightly, wrapping his fingers around the base of her blond ponytail and tugging her towards him. A muffled choking sound escaped her throat, but she continued on like a pro, bobbing her head up and down and letting him brush the back of her throat every time.

Suddenly she pulled back, taking him out of her mouth but lingering at the flushed tip, licking across his slit one final time.

“C’mere, baby,” she said to you hoarsely, moving to the side so you could take her place. You scooted over, wasting no time before taking hold of Michael’s length; Madison stroked your hair, gathering it behind you and holding it out of your face as you took several inches of him into your mouth. His cock was already wet with Madison’s saliva, but you didn’t care- you circled your tongue lazily over the head, eyelids drooping as the taste of his skin filled your mouth.

You heard Michael exhale loudly, and then he laced his fingers through your hair, guiding you all the way down his cock until you reached your hand. There was a shuffling noise as Madison let go of your hair and moved around beside you, and you peered over to find her undressing herself. She’d removed her shirt already, leaving her in a simple nude colored bra, and was already working off her unfashionable work pants that somehow still managed to look good on her.

You took your hand off of Michael’s length so you could take more of him into your mouth, instead placing it on his hip, tears prickling your eyes when you felt him reach your throat. Madison had done it so effortlessly, even looking pretty while taking cock deep into her throat, and you couldn’t understand how she could be so perfect at everything she did. You were struggling, reminding yourself to take shallow breaths in through your nose, jaw aching as you kept it unhinged. Still, though, you were enjoying yourself, and the way you were making Michael moan.

You felt saliva begin to dribble down your chin as Michael bucked forward into you a few times, yanking your hair at the root painfully so you couldn’t move away. He was grunting noisily, pushing himself deep, your fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks. Then, unexpectedly, he pulled out of you, his massive cock gleaming with spit in front of your face. You averted your gaze up to him, blinking a few times to rid your eyes of the tears, and he flashed a smile so subtle you almost thought you’d imagined it.

“You two. Get up,” he said, his tone authoritative and even. You jumped to your feet, maybe with a bit too much enthusiasm, because he chuckled, his eyes glinting mischievously as Madison followed suit. She was only in her underwear now, nothing remarkably sexy, but in all honesty, everything looked sexy on Madison Montgomery.

Madison took your arms and adjusted you to face her, proceeding to tug your sweater off over your head, leaving you in a simple cotton bra. Next came your leggings, which she shimmied down your lower body, and you kicked them haphazardly to the side.

“What do you want us to do, daddy?” she purred, twirling her hair around one finger and batting her eyes. You sank your teeth into your lower lip, pressing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing between them.

Michael’s lips twitched, reaching down to pull his pants back up and tuck himself inside. “I want you to show each other how happy you are to be reunited.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice; Madison embraced you, planting a sloppy, wet kiss on your lips. She moved with the kiss, easing you back towards the bed, hands groping hungrily at your thighs and ass. She paused to bite your lower lip, rolling it between her teeth while turning the both of you around so that she was sitting on the edge of your bed. You straddled her, her hands instantly finding their way onto the soft curves of your ass, lips attaching to the delicate skin above your collarbone. Snaking her hands around to your back, she expertly unclasped your bra in a matter of seconds; you drew away, giving her room to slip the garment off entirely, exposing your hardened nipples to the cool air.

“Fuck, I missed you,” she mumbled before licking your nipple, your body erupting in goosebumps at the warm sensation. She nipped slightly at the peak of your skin, making you squirm, and then moved on to suck gently on your areola.

“God, Madison,” you whispered, rolling your hips instinctively so you could feel the friction of her thighs against your crotch. She inched upwards to the skin above your nipple, giving you an open-mouthed kiss before applying suction, obviously intending to leave a hickey. Madison had always loved marking you, and you loved being marked; the more bruises you were left with, the better.

She nibbled on you, jolting you with both pleasure and slight pain, darting her tongue over where she’d bitten afterwards. Then she brought her head up from your chest to meet your eyes, and you brushed your lips against hers once again, teeth clashing as the kiss became rough and needy.

She held onto your waist, falling backwards onto the bed, pulling you on top of her in the process. Moaning into her mouth, you reached between her legs and palmed her through her dampened underwear, so worked up that Michael was only an afterthought.

You broke the kiss and turned over your shoulder, shooting Michael a coy look, excited to see his reaction. He was standing a few feet away, digging the heel of his palm into his bulge, light eyes fixated closely on you and Madison.

“Go on,” he croaked, wetting his lips. He nodded his head, urging you to continue on, and you slipped yourself off of Madison and stood up at the edge of the bed.

“I can’t wait to finally taste you again,” you said, gesturing for Madison to move further up on the bed. She did, eyes glazed and heavy-lidded as she surveyed you, gripping the sheets until her knuckles turned white. You joined her back on the bed, kneeling on the edge as you admired her petite body, cream colored skin smooth and soft. You crawled your way up between her legs, giving gentle kisses to her jaw and neck until you reached the front of her throat, administering a slightly harsher nip, allowing yourself a few moments of distraction to leave a blooming bruise there.

She was always so responsive to your touch, writhing beneath the weight of your body and throwing her head back into the pillows. You pulled her bra straps down her slender shoulders, hoisting her up slightly to undo the clasp. She finished taking it off, flinging the bra onto the floor, and for a fleeting moment you remembered that technically, you were about to have sex in a dingy, dirty apartment infested with roaches.

Whatever, you thought, traveling down Madison’s body, slipping down her underwear and leaving her bare. None of this place is real, anyway. It’s just hell.

You kissed her stomach tenderly, creeping downwards to reach her pelvis and then her inner thighs, intentionally avoiding her dripping center for the time being. Reaching underneath her thighs and wrapping your hands around to get a good hold, you opened her legs, blowing cool air onto her slit. She whimpered, entwining her fingers with your hair and pulling you towards her.

“Please,” she whined, spreading her legs further, and you slid your tongue along the innermost part of one thigh teasingly. She whimpered loudly, tightening her grip on your hair, and without warning you plunged yourself forward.

You licked up between her folds, taking one hand from her thigh and instead using it to spread her outer lips as you swirled your tongue over her opening. She was so wet, her juices were starting to leak down her inner thighs and onto the sheets below, and you dipped your tongue past her entrance, reveling in her taste.

A string of expletives left her mouth, chest rising and falling as she fought to catch her breath, and you pushed your tongue further inside her while using your hand to rub small circles on her aching clit.

You felt the bed dip behind you, and then a pair of large hands grasped your hips firmly; you were pulled upwards, your hips high in the air while your face remained buried in Madison’s heat, shivering when Michael poked at your ass with his freed erection.

You heard Michael inhale sharply, his hands tracing down your spine and onto the small of your back before he slid his cock down through your folds and pushed the head against your opening. You groaned lowly against Madison, repositioning your head so you could focus on her clit, forming shapes on it rapidly with your tongue.

Michael sighed, entering you with one hand on your ass cheek. Your mouth fell open, forgetting about Madison as you felt your tight walls stretch for the first time in an eternity. “Fuck,” you muttered, pressing your bitten red lips against Madison’s clit, eliciting a rapturous moan from the brown-eyed blonde.

Testing the waters, Michael rutted his hips delicately, getting you used to the feeling of his cock inside you. He was massive, to the point where it almost hurt the deeper he went, but your natural moisture made it far easier for him to start sliding in and out. You tried your best to remain composed as you worked at Madison’s clit, bringing one shaky hand to her opening so you could slide two fingers inside of her, but it was hard not to let out a moan at the snug feeling of Michael’s cock. He clutched at the padded skin between your hips and thighs hard enough to bruise, snapping his hips forward forcefully, and you cried out.

It wasn’t long before Michael was fucking you hard and deep, pushing into you with thrust after ruthless thrust, eyes rolling back into your head as your fingers continued to pump sloppily in and out of Madison. With each sound that passed your lips, you’d send vibrations up throughout her, your tongue swirling over her bud as her entire body tensed and shook.

This was crazy, so fucking crazy, but you were in hell and nothing made sense and right now, nothing mattered but chasing your pleasure. You bucked your hips back towards this enigmatic man, your supposed savior, and it occurred to you that you didn’t care if this was all just a figment of your imagination, if he really had no real intentions of saving your soul. This, alone, was enough for you.

“You take— my cock—so well,” Michael panted, his words breaking up with each decadent thrust of his hips. Your pace quickened inside Madison, no longer in full control of your actions as Michael worked you open, hot cheek pressing against Madison’s slim inner thigh.

He landed a harsh slap onto your ass cheek and you whimpered, the stinging sensation shooting straight down between your legs and only intensifying the wetness there. Upon seeing your reaction, he took a fist full of your ass in his hand and spread you, digging his fingernails into your skin with enough force to draw blood.

“God,” you rasped, your entire body shifting up the bed, scissoring your fingers apart inside Madison before adding a third. Madison’s moans were rampant now, high-pitched and shameless, her fingers tweaking her perfectly upturned nipples as you worked at her.

Abruptly, Madison took you by your hair and brought you away from her wetness, taking a few seconds to catch her breath before speaking. Chest rising and falling, she looked at you through lust-filled eyes, gesturing towards Michael who had stilled his cock inside you. “Do you mind if I steal him from you? I’ve been craving dick for the longest time.”

You laughed, nodding as Michael slipped out of you, your juices dripping down your legs. You wanted to whine at the lack of penetration, but you knew that Madison would make it up to you soon enough, and it would be worth the wait. Madison slipped herself off the bed, looking deliciously debauched with hair in disarray and lips glossy with spit, and you followed, finally able to get a good look at Michael.

His lightly gelled hair had softened from its hold, falling in loose waves around his face, framing his chiseled jaw. He’d apparently undressed himself fully while you and Madison had been on the bed together, his naked chest glowing with perspiration. He looked godlike, on his knees with his legs parted, cock hard enough to brush against his flat stomach and glistening with your juices.

“I’ll take over from here,” said Madison as she cocked her head to one side, oozing confidence and power. That’s my girl, you thought to yourself, feeling a fresh wave of arousal wash over you as she climbed back onto the bed, pushing Michael onto his back and kneeling on either side of his torso. If Michael was a god, then Madison had to be a goddess; she reached up behind her to take her hair down from its modest ponytail, shaking it out so it fell over her shoulders in silky waves, smirking down at an entranced Michael beneath her. “(Y/n), come here, and let Michael taste you.”

You obliged, getting back on the bed and adjusting yourself over Michael’s head; he ran his hands up along the plush outside of your thighs, and you winced when you felt him stroke at the spots he’d grabbed earlier, surely having left deep purple splotches in the process. You lowered yourself down onto his face while Madison did the same on his cock, holding onto his thick shaft as she eased herself onto him.

The noise was vulgar and wet; she glided down onto him without any resistance, Michael’s moans reverberating throughout you when his mouth reached your folds. He took a long lick up between your outer lips, growing impatient soon after and bringing you to fully take him over, his mouth completely devouring you like he was starving.

Madison took to bouncing on Michael’s cock, clearly experienced in this; her small, rounded breasts bounced obscenely, and it took everything inside you not to close your eyes as Michael lapped wildly at your center. She was so fucking beautiful it was surreal, looking like an angel from a Renaissance painting as her curvaceous hips rolled with Michael’s pelvis.

Michael left one hand on your hip, using the other to grope Madison’s tits without much finesse, thumb roughly caressing her nipple. His mouth was almost as good as his cock, and it was difficult not to lose control and completely suffocate him, his tongue maneuvering between your clit and folds skillfully.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Madison praised, impaling herself deeper on Michael and circling her hips to feel every inch of him. This caused Michael to groan loudly against you, your breath hitching and head tilting back towards the ceiling- you knew you were close.

Madison took both of your clammy hands in hers, guiding them up to her breasts as Michael moved his hand back to your hip, and gratefully you palmed them, her fingers loosely settled around your wrists. You leaned your upper body forward upon seeing Madison do so, and she kissed you, running her tongue along your puffy lower lip and jamming it between your teeth impatiently as both of you used Michael’s body.

You swallowed Madison’s moan, her breaths quickening, and you could tell that she, too, was close; you bit her lower lip and pulled it back towards you, massaging her breasts in your hands, sweat trickling down your forehead.

A pair of large hands forced you down so you were entirely on top of Michael’s face, his tongue reaching parts of you that you didn’t know existed, and then a cacophony of colors erupted before your eyes; a white-hot sensation enveloped you, and for the first time in an eternity, you orgasmed, incoherent words leaving your lips and falling into Madison’s opened mouth.

It took you a long time to recover, and by the time your vision had un-blurred, Madison and Michael had both had their own respective orgasms. You wished you could’ve seen Madison as she was pushed over the edge, but you knew when you returned from hell, you’d have all the time in the world to watch her cum over and over and over again. And for that, you were beyond grateful.

You got up off of Michael, his plump mouth gleaming from having been buried between your thighs, hooded eyes vacant and drooping as his pale chest rose and fell. Madison removed herself from him, bending down to place a chaste kiss on his lips and running her tongue across her top lip.

“You taste just as good as I remembered, baby,” she said, raising one eyebrow at you suggestively, and you just shook your head and laughed. Michael twirled his wrist limply, still wiped out from his climax; on cue, the three of you were dressed again, this time in far nicer clothing than before. You considered questioning this ability, but then remembered he had literally been able to descend into hell to save you- you doubted there was anything he couldn’t do.

Michael got off the bed and stood up, examining his arms for any creases in his jacket. Then he smiled, appearing unaffected by what had just happened, cool and composed in his exterior. He extended his arms towards the both of you, indicating for you and Madison to latch onto them, and you did. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” said Madison with a scoff. “I can’t wait to get out of this shithole.”

What a perfect last day in hell, you thought, as Michael shut his eyes and began to recite something under his breath. You took in a breath, and all at once the world dropped dead.

When the light seeped back in, you felt a soft breeze against your face, pure and soft. You didn’t need to adjust your vision to know you were back on earth. Back home.

The eternity had finally ended.

[romancemeyamato]

24 Hours with Negan (part 1 of 5)

You had just turned 17 when the outbreak began. You can still see the faces of your family members when you close your eyes. The way your dad looked when he fought to protect you. He tried so hard to protect everyone, but in the end he just wasn't strong enough- between the dogs and your baby brother and your older sister and your step mother who was always afraid- there was just too much for him to look after.

Anyways, you're alone now. Well, you feel alone... You do have somewhat of a friend in Matthew. Matt's helped save you more than a few times on your travels, but lately he's been getting pretty pushy on what he wants from your relationship and it's starting to scare you.

"We're just friends," you remind him once again.

Matt sighs in frustration, "I know that (y/n), I'm just saying you should give me a chance. We're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse for Christ sake and you're being choosy on who you want for a boy friend!"

You kick a few large rocks as you walk. It's not like you haven't thought about having a boyfriend, or at least someone to date. But Matt has always just been a friend. You kick another stone. You and Matt have been following the railroad tracks for a few hours now, hoping to find some kind of shelter before nightfall. The last thing you want is to be sleeping up in a tree for another night!

"Have you ever considered that maybe I don't want a boy friend?"

"Seriously, you're 19 years old and you still want to be single?" He asks, stopping in the middle of the track to look at you. You look back at him.

He's not an ugly guy- about 24 years old, you think. He's got light skin that's slightly burnt by the Georgia sun, and dark brown hair that falls messily over his eyes. In fact, you think before the apocalypse you might've given a guy like him a chance. But now all you can think about is how his whiny and pushy behavior is a liability. You can practically hear your dad's voice calling him a 'little bitch'. You can't help but giggle at the voice in your head.

"So now you're laughing at me," he growls.

"No, I wasn't laughing at you," you try to tell him but Matt just shakes his head and starts walking away.

"C'mon, let's go before it gets too late," he says over his shoulder.

About twenty minutes later the two of you wind up at a railway station. Matt looks back at you and gives a hand signal- it means he sees walkers, two of them. You crouch down low, pulling your axe handle from the sling on your back. You feel a wave of adrenalin rush through your body, making your fingertips go cold. No matter how many times you face them, the dead always give you a little bit of fear. But if you can clear out the walkers then maybe you won't have to sleep outside tonight, and that's reason enough to run up to them and take a swing.

The first walker turns to you with a growl, it's jaw is hanging loose and you wonder how it can even see you with it's eyes shriveled in their sockets. It doesn't matter- you swing your axe handle as hard as you can and sigh in relief as it's skull caves in around the temple. You turn to Matt with a smile as you see him drop the second walker by stabbing it's forehead.

"Alright, good job-" you start to say, but suddenly cold dirty fingers are digging into your shoulder. You turn and a third walker is pushing you down, trying to bite your face. You feel it's overgrown fingernails cutting into your flesh and your heart starts pounding in panic. You try to push it away, but it's a freshly turned walker and so it's much stronger than the already rotting ones.

"Matt!" You yell, tripping over the first walker you killed and landing hard on your back. It feels like the air's been knocked out of you, and you struggle to take a breath. You look up, but Matt's just standing there, staring at you. The walker on top of you so close you can smell it's breath- like roadkill and the worst morning breath you've ever smelled. It nearly makes you gag, and tears sting the corner of your eyes from it.

"Matt, help," you ask again.

Finally Matt starts to move. "You know, (y/n)" he says, "if it weren't for me, you'd probably be dead by now. In fact, with all the times I've saved your ass, I know you'd be dead by now."

You try to push the walker back or roll over but your arms are shaking with the effort of just keeping it off of you. "Matt!" You yell in desperation. The walker is so close now you have to turn your face just to keep from being bit. "Please!" You beg.

"I'm just saying," he continues, walking over to you and kneeling so that he can talk to your face, "a little appreciation would be nice." In a swift movement he plunges his blade into the walkers head, causing it's blood to spill over your face and chest. It's thick and black like tar and smells ten times worse then the walker breath did.

"What the fuck, Matt!" You yell, rolling the dead body off of you. "Are you serious!? Why didn't you tell me there was a third walker?" You're yelling loudly and a part of you is worried there may be more undead lurking in the station, but you're just so frustrated. "I could've died!" Tears are starting to stream down your cheeks and you quickly rub your face to wipe them away.

"I'm sorry," Matt replies, "I swear I didn't see that one. I just feel like you don't appreciate me is all..."

You wipe the blood and tears from your face as Matt steps closer to you. He grabs your shoulders and looks you in the eyes. His sadness almost looks believable.

"I'm sorry," he says again, this time pulling you into a hug. He almost smells as bad as the walkers. "I wasn't gonna let it hurt you, I promise. I would never let anything hurt you. I care about you, (y/n), more than you know."

You really don't want to be hugging him, but the adrenalin and the fear from almost being bitten has you seeking comfort- and so you hug Matt back, holding on to him as you cry. It's so frustrating to feel this way but at least you're not completely alone in this fucked up world.

"See, baby, I'll take care of you." You feel a wave of nausea creep up as he says those words.

"Let's go," you say finally, shrugging him off of you. You grab your axe handle from the ground and hold it tightly in your grip, ready for whatever's in the station.

Unfortunately, the inside of the station is a complete bust. Luckily, there aren't any more walkers but the entire back wall is completely busted open which makes it less than ideal to spend the night. You sigh in frustration, glass crunching under your boots as you explore what little is left of the crumbling building. You discover a small pushed over concession stand. From the looks of what's left someone else had already took anything that was worth anything.

You sigh in frustration, "looks like someone's already been through here, took anything we might need." You turn to Matt, who's standing behind a counter.

"Not everything," he says, smiling wildly. He holds up small box, and it takes a moment for your brain to register that it's a box of condoms.

You feel your stomach drop like a ball of ice. "Seriously, those are probably expired," you tell him, trying to keep your cool.

"Hmm," he turns the box over and scans the expiration date. "They got a few more years before they expire, actually," he tells you. "(Y/n), when are you gonna stop playing hard to get?"

You feel another trickle of fear radiate through your body, and tighten your grip on your axe handle. "I'm not playing hard to get. Matt, I told you we're just friends."

"Well I don't want to be just friends. I saved your life!"

"It's your fault that thing even got to me!" You yell back.

"No! Not then," Matt yells, shaking his head, "I saved your life back when your father died!"

You feel a rush of anger, and your hand tightens on the handle once again.

"Can't you just be a little bit grateful to me? It's not like you've got tons of options out here. When your dad died, I was there to pick up the pieces, remember?"

"Shut up, Matt," you warn through clenched teeth.

"No," he says, stepping closer to you. "I won't shut up. I'm the shoulder you cried on when you had no one. I'm the one who took you in and kept you safe."

You feel hot tears start prick the corners of your eyes. "Shut up, Matt! I already said no!"

"I'm the one who kept you safe when your dad couldn't! And this is how you repay me? By being an unappreciative bitch?! I should've just left you to- "

You don't even remember swinging your axe handle. The only thing you feel is the satisfaction of shutting him up. He falls to the ground clenching him stomach where you hit him.

"Are you serious! You fucking bitch!" He clenches his fist and you instinctively step back, ready to defend yourself.

*CLANK* *CLANK* *CLANK*

You both turn towards the sound, your heart pounding fiercely as you see a figure step out from behind a crumbled piece of back wall. The first thought that crosses your mind is, "oh, shit." This guys tall, and muscular, and carrying a barbed wire covered bat. And if this guy's here to rob you or kill you, there's no way you'll defeat him without Matt's help. You grit your teeth at the idea of asking Matt for help. *'I'd rather take my chances,'* you think you yourself.

"Well, well, well... what do we have here?" The man asks, practically yelling. "Here I am, just passing through the area when I stumble upon a quaint little rail station. I think to myself this is as good a place as any to drop a load, but lo and behold, there's already a pile shit here! Ain't that right, Matt?"

You don't know what to think, and hold your breath as the man steps closer to you. He turns to face Matt, adjusting his grip on the bat.

"Matt? More like shat! Ain't that right doll face?"

You realize suddenly that this man is here to protect you and you feel your chest swell in relief.

"Yea, fuck you!" Matt shouts at the man, throwing the box of condoms at you in retaliation. You can't help but shake your head at his immaturity.

"See, now that wasn't very nice Shat. You really are a real piece of shit. And you know what I do to pieces of shit?" The man looks back at you for a moment, giving you a handsome smirk that makes your heart pound just a little bit faster. "Well, actually, I don't do anything to pieces of shit. But Lucille here, well-" he clangs his bat, Lucille, against the floor three more times- "she likes to take pieces of shit and bash 'em up until they become piles of shit."

Matt doesn't say anything, instead he looks back up at you, pulling the same sad face he tried earlier. "I'm sorry, (y/n). Listen man-" he looks back to the stranger, this time Lucille is inches from his face- "we don't want any trouble. You can stay here tonight and (y/n) and I will leave. We were just leaving anyways."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" You practically growl the words to Matt.

"Looks like the little lady has spoken," he points Lucille at Matt again, this time making sure to press the barbs against Matt's face. "Seems like you'll be staying here, and (y/n) will be leaving with me."

You feel a wave of butterflies in your belly at the thought of leaving with this man. Even knowing him for less than a minute he feels like the better choice.

"What do you say, doll face?" He asks you.

You nod yes, making sure to stare Matt in the eyes. "I never owed you anything... goodbye Matt."

You grab the one bag you and Matt shared and pull it over your shoulder, turning to walk away. As you exit the rail station you hear the stranger laugh. "Oh, she's savage. You should never fuck over someone who's savage..." Anything else he says is lost as you step outside into the late afternoon sun.

A few moments later, the stranger joins you, stretching out his long limbs before starting his treck on the railway track. It's hard keeping up with his long stride, but even so, you find yourself starting at him from behind. His dark leather jacket is stained with dried blood, and after that little show in the train station you don't know if it's come from the living or the dead. Not that it really matters. He's resting Lucille on his shoulder, and his other shoulder carries a small brown rucksack. You're trying to figure out what kind of man he might've been before the outbreak- a soldier? No, soldiers don't wear black boots. A cop maybe? Or-

You crash abruptly against the strangers chest as he stops to face you. "Listen, doll face, you don't actually have to follow me. You don't owe me anything either."

You look up at him, suddenly aware of just how gross you must look and smell with walker blood on your shirt. But for some reason you don't step back, and neither does he. "I, um, I was going this way before the rail station," you say weakly.

"Is that so," he asks with a small smile. Good God, maybe it's because you've not seen another living human since Matt, but this stranger is devilishly good looking and your entire body heats up just from looking at him. He smiles down at you, and let's his gaze roam down your body. "Well, in that case, the name's Negan."

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever - Chapter Three

Pairing: Peter Parker X Venom!reader

Warnings: none

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Masterlist

Peter arrived at the Avengers tower with a little pep in his step. His new neighbor was on his mind and he couldn’t get her off. He had somehow managed not to completely blow it with her. He knew it was a long shot, after all they’d only had one conversation, but he felt like there was a connection between them. She was awkward, he was awkward. What more does a relationship need?

Tony was quick to notice the change in Peters mood. A dreamy smile crept across his face every now and then while Tony was trying to explain something about his nanotechnology.

“Alright Underoos, whats on your mind? A girl? Boy? That gorgeous Aunt of yours? Oh wait no, that’s what’s on my mind.” Tony smirked. A blush painted Peters cheeks.

“Nothing sir. Sorry, I’ll pay attention.” Peter answered quickly. Tony scanned Peter up and down.

“So its a girl. Alright. Who is she?” Tony asked, motioning for Peter to sit down with him. Peters heart skipped a beat at the opportunity to talk about the girl he was so badly crushing on.

“This girl moved in across the hall from me about a week ago. I’d see her on the stairs sometimes, or in the lobby. She’s beautiful, Mr. Stark. I mean, really beautiful. And I know girls are a lot more than their appearance, trust me, but I can never look away. It’s like God made a perfect batch of cookie dough, and then made a perfect cookie cutter, and then hand made her just for me. There’s just, there’s something about her, man. I feel like I’ve always known her, and I don’t even know her yet. She knocked on my door this morning and I nearly had a heart attack when I saw her through the peephole. I played dumb and acted like I didn’t know she lived across the hall.” Peter started to explain. A twinge of embarrassment struck him at the memory of what he said to Y/N.

“Oh God. You said something stupid, didn’t you?” Tony inquired, noticing the look of embarrassment on Peters face as he recalled their conversation. Tony leaned on his hands like a child. This stuff excited him more than anything.

“I insulted her dead father and called him smelly.” Peter admitted. Tony laughed.

“But she found it funny and agreed with me.” Peter quickly followed up. Tony looked impressed.

“Wow. Normally I’d say there’s no coming back from that, but she seems like a keeper. So, are you gonna throw on your Spidey suit and take her for a ride around the city? Works with all the ladies.” Tony wiggled eyebrows. Peter shook his head.

“No. Spider-Man isn’t a party trick or some tactic to pick up girls. Plus, I want her to like me for me. That’s why I invited her over for dinner tonight.” Peter answered. Tony looked down at his hands, not wanting Peter to see how proud he was. He couldn’t let Peter get too cocky.

“That was a test and you passed. Alright, spider child, you have my blessing. But no funny business tonight. If I find out I’m gonna have to design nanotech baby clothes, I’m gonna be pissed.” Tony said. Peter blushed at the mere thought of what Tony was implying. He spent the rest of his time at the tower going over missions and training.

I arrived at Peters at 6:07. I was done getting ready at 5:45, and sat in the living room on my phone until I was slightly late. I didn’t want to be early, like some loser. Or even worse, on time. I had to be fashionably, but not rudely, late.

I knocked on Peters door and waited. The door swung open instantly, as if he’d be waiting. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of him waiting for me. Peter must’ve read my mind. He turned red, must be a habit of his, and smiled.

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ll let you decide if I was waiting at the door for you or if I’m just really fast. “ Peter said, breaking the ice. At least, he tried to. And kudos to him for trying. But I was drawing a blank on my part. I had no idea what to say. I was a reporter for crying out loud. I don’t get tripped up on my words. But something about Peter Parker and that damn collared shirt rendered me unable to formulate a thought. All I could do was stand there and smile at him, like a Jackass. I felt like I was standing weirdly and I all the sudden had no idea where to put my hands. Do I leave them at my sides? That felt too stiff and soldier-like. But where else would they go? I was pretty sure every brain cell had left my body at that point.

“You look nice.” Peter blurted, interrupting the awkward silence that had settled between us. Even he seemed surprised by his statement. I looked as nice as a lazy person who didn’t fully unpack their clothes could look. I had on a casual grey dress that was made of some sort of t-shirt material. It was bunched in the front and hugged my figure nicely. My hair was in a loose bun with a few curls framing my face. Peter took in my appearance with what looked like approval. Then I noticed Peters gaze falling to my feet.

“Converse with a dress. Nice.” He commented. I felt my personality re-enter my body, finally.

“Oh yeah. You know me. Quirky and cool and not like other girls.” I said sarcastically and attempted to flip my hair, but my dumbass forgot it was in a bun. I still made the hand motion and Peter seemed to get what I was going for. He laughed. I felt myself relax at the magical sound.

“You look nice too. Very…Freddie Benson.” I said. Freddie Benson? Who the hell makes an ICarly reference to compliment someone? This night was going downhill fast and I regretted ever knocking on his door.

“Dude. You’re tanking.” Venom said. I had to agree. This couldn’t be going worse.

But lo and behold, Peters beautiful laugh filled my ears once again.

“That’s what I was going for! My friend Ned always teases me for wearing sweaters and button downs but he just doesn’t have the vision.” Peter said. We smiled at each other. Maybe this night wasn’t gonna be so bad after all. He suddenly stepped aside and gestured inward.

“Come in. Dinners almost ready.”

Peters apartment looked just like mine, but much more homey. I saw his baby pictures on the wall, coupled with pictures of him and his parents through the years. Then I noticed a framed picture of a different couple on the coffee table. They resembled Peter but I didn’t see them in any photos with him past the age of around 7. There was a candle next to the frame. I quickly looked away, not wanting to overstep.

“You must be Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you.” I heard a woman’s voice. I turned around and saw a young woman in high pants and a yellow tank top. I recognized her from the pictures with Peter.

“I am. It’s very nice to meet you too Mrs. Parker.” I said politely and shook her hand. She smiled at me and fixed her glasses.

“Please. Call me May.” She said.

“May.” I repeated. Hm. If this was Aunt May, where were Peters parents?

Peter and I sat down while May finished preparing dinner. I offered to help, being the polite ass bitch that I am, but May insisted I sat down and waited. A plate of “meatloaf” was placed in front of me soon enough. I use the term “meatloaf” very loosely. It looked more like an old shriveled brain. Peter made eye contact with me and winked.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” He whispered. I nodded and gave him a small smile. He glanced at May, who was busy pouring the drinks, before leaning in closer and whispering “it’s way worse.”

I kicked Peter under the table and he giggled, quickly masking the sound with a drink of water. It’s a shame. I love that sound.

“So, Y/N, where do you go to school?” May asked. I took a bite of meatloaf, nearly died, and swallowed before answering.

“I’m actually taking a gap year before I start at NYU in the fall.” I said. May nodded in approval.

“That’s a very good school. I hadn’t realized you were in college.” She said.

“Y/N used to live in San Francisco.” Peter quipped. He smiled at me , proud of himself for remembering. May looked impressed.

“Yea. I grew up here in Queens and moved to San Francisco to live with my fiancée last year. But I just moved back last week.” I said. Peter began choking on his water. May shot him a look.

“Peter. Manners.” She said sternly. He wipes his mouth after catching his breath.

“Fiancée?” Was all he managed to say between coughs and sputters. Oh great. Time for this conversation.

“Ex-fiancée. He broke off the engagement after I got him fired from his internship at a law firm.” I said sheepishly. I overshared, just a tad. Peter and May didn’t seem put off by it though. Peter looked relieved more than anything.

“May I ask how you got him fired?” May asked.

“Well, I’m an investigative reporter, and my boyfriend Andy was studying to become a lawyer. Andy had some information pertaining to a case on the man who owned the Life Foundation. I was supposed to interview him about his rocket but he was a terrible, terrible guy, and I knew it. I looked at Andy’s classified files to find out more about him and found some things I wasn’t supposed to. I confronted him about it in our interview and he ended up getting me and Andy fired in one day.” I recalled. It seemed like so long ago. I felt a coldness run through my bones at the memory. Mays eyes widened.

“I knew your name sounded familiar when Peter told me you moved in across the hall. You were the one that took Carlton Drake down, right?” She asked. I merely nodded. I hadn’t heard his name in months. It still sent shivers down my spine. You don’t forget a man who stabbed you after trying to kidnap you and take you to an alien planet.

“Didn’t he die in his own rocket?” Peter asked.

“Yea. I was there. Me and…my friend.” I said, almost mentioning Venom.

“Gosh I read that story forever ago. It was all over the news here. I remember Peter ranting to me that this young girl was straight out of high school and already taking down shady guys in San Francisco. You were obsessed with the article, remember Peter? I’m pretty sure you hung it up. “ May recalled. Peter, you guessed it, turned bright red.

“I just thought you were cool. Taking down bad guys and all at such a young age. It really inspired me.” Peter explained. He suddenly looked panicked, like he said too much. I blushed at his compliment.

“Thank you Peter. How old are you anyway?” I asked.

“17. I’ll be 18 on August 10th.” He said proudly. “What about you?” He asked.

“He’s legal.” Venom whispered. I couldn’t even be mad at her. I was thinking the same thing.

“I’m 19.” I said. A smile crept across his face.

“And this fiancée, where is he now?” May asked. May wasn’t blind to what was happening between her nephew and this new neighbor. She could sense his crush and knew he was dying to know more.

“I would very much also like to know that.” Peter said, almost robotically. He leaned in closer and stared at me while he awaited my answer.

“He’s engaged again. Not to me this time though. They’re getting married this summer.” I said. It was the first time I said those words out loud. I didn’t feel sad, like I thought I would. I didn’t know how I felt. The smile that broke out on Peters face gave a clear indication on how he felt though.

“That’s great. I mean, not great great. Great for him, I mean. It’s always good to move on. Wether it be with an old friend or a brand new one. Maybe it’s with someone you just met. You never know. Things just happen between the most random of people. Could be a stranger. Or, or, hear me out, it could be less of a stranger. Like a barista, or a mailman or a…a neighbor.” Peter said. The last part came out very quietly. I almost didn’t hear him. He looked up at me slowly. “I’m sorry that things didn’t work out though. Between you and him, I mean. ” Peter said honestly. I smiled at him.

“Thanks. It was tough at first but, I’m okay now. He wasn’t the one.” I said. And I meant it too. May smiled.

“When you do find the one, you’ll know. Your heart will whisper ‘it’s you, it’s always been you. You’re the one I’ve been looking for.’ At least, that’s what my heart said when I met Ben. I just knew he was the one for me.” May said with a happy smile. I could see her eyes glistened behind her glasses. I did something rather bold. I put my hand on top of hers and squeezed. She gave off this loving motherly vibe that I had only read about in stories and seen in movies but never felt for myself. May gave me the warmest smile and squeezed my hand back.

“That’s lovely May. Although, I always thought when you met the one, your heart wouldn’t say that it’s been looking for that person. I always thought it would say ‘welcome home’, or something like that. You know? Like, you’ve always known them. I don’t know though. Maybe I’ve just seen The Princess Bride one too many times.” I shrugged. May laughed.

“Ah. That’s a classic in this household. Peter would refuse to go to bed without watching it.” May recalled. Peter didn’t turn red this time. He only rolled his eyes.

“Because it’s a cinematic masterpiece. You’re trying to embarrass me by pointing out that even as a child I had impeccable taste? Oh please.” Peter sassed his Aunt. I laughed at his remark. May noticed the smile that broke out on Peters face when he succeeded in making their new neighbor laugh.

May looked at me for a while with a content smile on her face before saying “Yeah. I suppose you do have good taste.”

Tag List 🏷

@monimiin @truthdaze @honeyccoated @constellationswithapurpose @condy-wants-a-cookie @zipp0flare @vxidnik @maddie-laufeyson

[elizabethrobertajones]

14x08 watching notes

This episode is the Worst I had to lie to my mum when I came downstairs trembling and tear-stained to get a cup of tea to recover, and play it all off as cold symptoms, and now I feel complicit in some sort of deceit with the episode and like Meredith broke the fourth wall through sheer pain.

Good morning, I slept in until seven after they started digging up the road outside at 9pm at night, so I still kinda have a lingering headache from that, but I'm pretty sure Meredith is about to make good on the Dean n Jack murder pact or something else of that level of awfulness so... *deep breath*

-

YAY it is Lily!! I mean it was pretty obvious from the costuming because wow she's a distinct person but idk maybe some people thought it was her mom?

Anyway getting a recap just of how terribly Jack is doing and then also a reminder of Lily Sunder is just.. Good recap. *kisses fingers*

(*curls up in agony*)

In all the drama I never noticed Rowena being among those who yelled "Jack!" when he went down and to be honest she knew him five minutes and I'm crediting all that panic in her voice to his absolutely ridiculous powers of being the most adoptable creature in the cosmos. You take one look at him and you want to make sure his shoelaces are tied properly and he has a glass of milk.

Anyway he totally caught Rowena off her guard and made her express an Emotion(TM) that was not spite and a good chunk of that is new and improved Rowena of the last year or so, but also just... She bonded HARD :P

-

Ironically I left the spoon in my coffee in my haste to get up here and start watching so now I will drink it like that and possibly exit the episode also wearing an eye patch

-

I watched a second and tucked the largest, most comforting stuffed toy this family owns under my arm. Yes, not my personal stash of friends, the family heirloom squishy guy who has been with us through all the worst stuff D:

-

The framing is Sam sitting at Jack's bedside, Dad no.1 as season 13 firmly established for us, and the dad with the closest traditional relationship of father/son to Jack. Then Cas hovers nearby, struggling to be as close but still Dad no.2 with the ongoing and uncomplicated connection to Jack in the sense that both just sort of accept they're now father and son without any debate or internal wrangling, and that's always been Jack's in with the family and the way he inadvertently got Cas to vouch for him from beyond the grave when he said Castiel was his father and Sam immediately just flipped to Team Jack, not, of course, that he'd not been giving him a huge chance and trying to reach out to him already, but that was his "oh shit this is now my son because Cas is dead" moment.

Finally, Dean fills the foreground, face in shadow, the conflicted Dad no.3 who can't even face his dying son, taking it personally because this is literally the fourth smol child he's taken under his wing who he then lost, from Sam, Ben, Emma, a truly tragic collection of lost children. He resisted adopting Jack because he couldn't be a parent again, not after what Sam put him through as a parent, and yet Jack, the most adoptable boy in the cosmos, eventually wormed his way under Dean's skin too, and by the end of season 13 Dean was acting fatherly towards him and by this season Dean's been opening up the doors and letting Jack be his son. And. Whoops. As SOON as you took him on a hunt for one on one father son bonding time, look what happened.

And so Dean will lurk in the foreground, not looking at Jack, peering moodily into some dark empty box that metaphorically is his soul or his remaining ability to cope with losing children or some such nonsense. The pandora's box of parenthood. He's full on dark romantic hero brooding.

-

OH  NO  IT IS A RECORD PLAYER NOT A BOX

-

I need our family to retroactively adopt a larger, squishier friend to hug in this trying time

-

Having archived every single one of my watching notes ever between last episode and this episode, I'm more than usually pained by Dean's "not meant to be crap" line because he's been resisting it the entire frikkin time, when Sam kept, even long long long before they knew their real destinies, musing if HIS own personal angst was meant to be and Dean was like don't give me that destiny crap. I swear there's lines about this back in season 2 or 3 when Sam is musing on his powers and the grim lot fate had dealt them. This is a callback line to Dean dealing with his own sense of unravelling control and pure panic about what was happening to Sam, back when that was a thing in the very early seasons and he was having to face the kid he raised from a baby amongst all that tragedy now recklessly declaring all sorts of horrific things about not being able to resist his destiny. Oh, also, in season 2, while under a murder pact from John about killing him if he couldn't save him.

Honestly, it's barely a relationship worth mentioning if you don't have a murder pact going with Dean. Ben is literally the only one of all 4 children AND CLAIRE who hasn't had one with Dean.

-

If this episode involves Dean bringing any of his records in to play for Jack I'm gonna go out in my pyjamas and take a long walk to the sea and then keep walking once I reach it

-

Dean you did not walk nearly far enough for Jack to not hear you thump the wall outside his room

-

PS: totally figured the promo scene was an early emotional beat between Dean and Cas which utterly delights me because the earlier that came in the episode the better as it meant less and less chance it was about anything other than Dean and Cas having an intense relationship over this whole thing.

-

Jack is the absolute worst about dying. He's this saintly angelic little boy from like, no later than 1900s literature, who exists only to bravely suffer and love with his whole heart. He's snatched out of an era when kids needed morality tales about how to die politely of consumption with the least amount of fuss for their parents and 300 siblings.

How dare you fucking die selflessly. Humanity is at its Bithc This Isn't Fair stage. Throw a fit. Go walk into the sea out of protest.

-

Okay you're in Kansas I understand how that is an unrelastic option and I grew up spoiled by the immediate location of the sea should I ever need to walk into it.

-

This show has never made me cry before the title card before.

-

This is the Pippin and Gandalf scene from Return of the King with the whole Into the West thing that they wrote for a sick fan who died before the movie came out and literally Annie Lennox sings what would be Jack's THEME for this scene.

-

Sam is horrified that Jack didn't even live long enough for a LotR marathon to explain the reference that's making him bawl.

-

I LOVE that this scene with Dean n Cas is just about Dean being a wuss about watching his son die because that's so much worse than Jack having asked for a mercy kill or anything. And this all before the title card. Cas tearing Dean a new one about going in and watching your son die smiling beautifully like a little cherub who can't wait to find out what happens next.

-

Jack's gonna be dead before the title card, isn't he?

-

Oof.

-

Hey, Dean, one more reason to hate yourself :) :) :)

-

Also robbed Cas of watching him go.

-

But I think tbh they could have done this if Dean wasn't being a coward about watching Jack die that they would leave Sam to sit at this side in the last moment.

-

Ugh, my eyes are leaking too much to type. What the hell is all this wet stuff coming out of them.

-

I've never seen a TFW shot where Sam was the shortest but he is slumped over like someone cut all his strings.

-

"Your brother's in pain" AND WE'RE NOT? YOU'RE NOT? CAS ISN'T?

-

Dean stopping Cas going after Sam with just a catch of his shoulder... Ugh. The two of them are still connected through all this in a way where Cas and Dean are connected whether Dean's in the most obvious pain or Sam is.

-

Cas, pls be selfish and in the most obvious pain at some point this episode.

-

Oh please don't make me watch Dean telling his mom that Jack died

please

I beg you

-

They put a photo of Kelly next to Jack's bed D: Or has he always had that?

-

That's not even the photo that Cas had pinned to his board in 12x10 and yes I went and checked, I'm leaking tears too much to watch because Cas is standing over him and this is going to be the worst while Dean's answerphone message lays over the top.

I'm so not here to watch TFW mourn their son.

-

They had him for like a WEEK this SUCKS.

-

ALso I said "please don't make me watch" so they cut away to Cas mourning silently while Dean talks to Mary's answerphone because Meredith is an evil fairy who whimsically takes your wishes and twists them into even worse options.

-

*takes my glasses off and throws them aside angrily when Sam emerges carrying a duffel over his shoulder and wearing the fucking orange jacket he first met Jack in*

-

God, I don't even wear them for focus, just lack of headaches. Why was I bothering.

-

7x10 and this episode are probably going to be unholy companions in this show's canon

"She's come down with acute Tear Duct Blockage. The only option is head amputation or we make her cry, NOW" "Don't worry, I have just the thing."

-

Dean this answerphone message huuuurts

Also explains the Buckleming issue of not calling Mary, to just say, yeah, it escalated, rapidly.

-

Your brother is storming off and Cas is broken.

-

If I have to see Cas see a set of PB&J crusts and a glass of milk identical to what Dean saw in 9x10 I'm - well, I'm still here instead of walking off into the sea so my threats are starting to look a bit performative. BUT I'M THINKING IT.

-

Cas watches Sam go, while Dean is being dwarfed by the bunker and obfuscated by its maze of corridors.

-

*presses my hands over my eyeballs* STOP. STOP IT. GOD. You're not even sobbing or anything you're just lEAKING. This is so annoying! I'm gonna dehydrate and they'll find a shrivelled skellington here and I'll go with just a few quiet sniffs and a dumb smile on my face like fucking Jack did.

Now I'm just distraught about the first time ever in canon we see Cas drive, it's in his dumb blue car and Dean's broken and not up for driving even if Sam presumably hadn't stolen the car for his errand/driving until he finds the sea and walking off into it mission. All my myriad fantasies about Cas behind the wheel of the impala and Dean grinning at him like yeah that's my baby (which one is he talking about?), and nope we're getting Cas's little partymobile and Dean's mute expression of grief.

-

NEVER MIND THEY SHOWED ME SAM CURLED UP ON THE GROUND USING THE IMPALA AS A BELOVED FAMILY HEIRLOOM TO HUG AND I SOBBED OUT LOUD FUCK  YOU MEREDITH FUCK YOU

-

I need the tissues why were they not here in preparation for this episode

-

I need to avoid my mum all day on the ground of spoilers because my face is a walking spoiler

-

"TELL ME YOU DIDN'T  MAKE A DEAL" "wha- no, I'm trying to make a pyre"

Making a pyre doesn't usually involve curling up on the floor.

Cas is getting an accidental glimpse of 13x01's emotional landscape, not that anyone will tell him this was what it was like for Dean, that we now have Sam in the spot of. We're getting some mirror image missing moments, like we just saw Dean get the axe out but did see him begging God... in this one we see Sam go take it out on a tree.

-

Incidentally I re-read all of Terrible Coffee AU two days ago for Reasons and the scene where Sam is whaling on a tree while screaming into the sky is pretty much this. Which is fucking hilarious that 2 years ago I decided Sam taking out his feelings on the local trees was a Thing when he was depressed.

(I wrote that scene the day Eileen was murdered on the show and honestly at the time he was mostly just angry on canon!Sam's behalf and I figured I'd come up with plot reasons later.)

-

Oh, they weren't driving the party!mobile, they were driving something else. I'm not even gonna ask where they get these vehicles

-

Yeah I'm harping on Dabb vs cars because Cas is talking about Jack's story ending like this and certainty of death for angels and this is just... the worst.

-

the story line - Cas deciding how their stories go. Dean resisting the how it's supposed to be of Jack's death. TFW want to take the narrative into their own hands. We KNOW in this world deaths are stored in notebooks, potential ways to pass that you skate past until one claims you. They're free to write their own stories but the ending is always pre-written for them... It's just a matter of which one. But Cas especially... Jack was supposed to bring paradise, and maybe the emotional landscape between season 12 and 14 is a gulf of difference in their openness and bonds, largely facilitated by Jack's presence in the narrative and relentless open love for everyone who was nice to him and even those who weren't in Dean's case. He breezed through their lives, manic pixie dream girl'd them to emotional health, and mayfly'd out. But that's THEIR stories. That's not JACK's story. That's not the epic destiny something as cosmically powerful as him was due, and the potential he was shown to have... It abruptly gets into the territory of Dany having her whole Stallion That Mounts the World prophecy for the son she lost... I've not watched the TV show since it diverged so wildly I couldn't hack it any more, but the books with everyone wondering if, like, Jon Snow was this guy instead, etc, picking this that and the other guy... what if Dany's lost child WAS the only one it applied to and the prophecy just fizzled out? ASoIaF looms over Jack's narrative... He's literally been framed against an Iron Throne in the past, and his character arc for parts of season 13 was a sort of anti-Joffrey in many ways. And then in death, GRRM's unromantic look at fairytales and heroic narratives comes for him too, that maybe it doesn't always happen like the stories say...

... but of course, he also has LotR coding, and in THAT regard, Sam Gamgee has his good old speech about the heroes in the stories and how we relate to them and are inspired by them and become them. The stories that matter. And Jack's was supposed to be one of those. In a way, their lives have been so epic that Jack mostly having a personal impact rather than a cosmic one seems wrong to them. That he didn't become the great hero of his own story, but was a tragic hero who ran a dramatic but personal arc and burned out because his asshole father killed him and his asshole uncle presumably finished him off with an experiment in grace transfusion. At least if my dashboard is to be believed :P It's inconcievable to TFW, the "making it up as we go" people who tore up the script and threw away the pages, that they can't just make this happen or that Jack didn't serve some great purpose. Even men as weary of Destiny as they are, struggle. Just because that was their lives, so how could the son of all three of them not follow in all his fathers' footsteps?

-

"Jack being taken before his time... Being taken before *me*" Cas shut the fuck up.

But that is the speech from Theoden, and once again Sam is Gandalf, which is fucking hilarious that Sam's been Gandalf TWICE this episode.

Ever it's grown on the tombs of my forebears...

you have four bears???

-

God dammit that joke didn't stop me crying as they go knock their glasses together and hold Jack's lil 3 dads wake

-

3 Dads Wake is a great name for a whiskey

-

God, Cas is drinking.

-

CAS.

-

They need to give him like one bottle to every finger of whiskey they drink but dammit if they don't get Cas loaded.

-

Letting them talk privately about how aweomse Jack was and not letting us hear it is a crime

-

Listen you don't even know me if you didn't think as soon as the nougat appeared on screen I didn't hit pause and sob for a whole minute with my hands over my face

-

Officially worse than bobby and the goddamn licorice conversation

-

Cas laughing with caramel hanging out of his mouth is the worst thing the sho whas ever done and I'm suing for emotional damage

-

Imagine being one of the bitter stans who hates one or more of TFW or Jack right now watching this scene. God, are you even human. They're eating Jack's secret nougat stash they all pretended they didn't know he had.

-

I can't believe I'm now thinking that Lily showing up will probably be a lighthearted way to bring up the mood of the episode.

-

Cas is offficially wobbly! We have Cas tipsyness!!

-

Sam tapping out first. Oh no. Don't leave. Don't.

-

Fuck you Sam Winchester how dare you canonically be the most lightweight of TFW consistently for the entire show and need to go crash off the side of your bed and sleep on the floor while Dean n Cas are still drinking together.

-

Did Dean seriously outdrink Cas.

-

Well that's... something.

I am gonna cling to that like a rock in the churning sea I have walked out into.

-

Also I managed to calm myself down with walking around my room taking deep breaths so I could go downstairs pretending not to be a wreck, so I could get tea, and my mum made me finish the sudoku for her. I don't have the heart to show her this episode. She loves Jack more than anyone in this god damn fandom and maybe more than Cas does. Maybe I'll lie to her and say the show ended last episode and Jack was fine hahahahaaaa

-

OH FUCK I hit play and there was a single line of dialogue for the whole wake. Dean drunkenly slurring to Cas, I think, you know we did everything we could, right?

I'm...

*walks further out into the ocean*

-

"Here's to you Jack, wherever you are" I am not okay.

-

Oh fork you Meredith we did not need to see the boy in Heaven eating burgers.

-

Oh fork you Meredith we did not need to see the boy in Heaven eating burgers while on a case with all of his dads.

-

OH SON OF A BENCH THIS IS THE DODGE CITY CASE AKA 13x06 MEREDITH YOU DINK.

-

Oh dear, Heaven is broken. Who was the ashhole who was saying that Jack should die so that he can go to Heaven so he's well-placed to help deal with all this nonsense.

-

LOL Jack would be the sort of person who goes to Heaven and doesn't need more than a second of prompting to be  like oh wait I am dead and in Heaven, and just, like... Go open the door. Just pop his head out like cooee I wanna hang with my dads anyone here to replace the bulb in the sun so I can carry on hanging out here for eternity?

Like, seriously, I'm dead, this is when I am supposed to catch a break.

-

Let The Boy Say Fork.

-

Listen, secondary to his power to be adopted by everyone on sight, Jack is uncanny also with just walking into trouble.

-

And to try and be clam for a moment, this is Jack getting pulled back into the story, but not just by unfortunate happenstance, because he was the one with the sharpness, the cosmic awareness even on this level that Heaven just doesn't quiiiiite work for him in the way it's supposed to even if say it was at full power, that he is the one who voluntarily not just understands instantly that something is wrong, but then is fully snapped back to his old self, and chooses to open the door, and that is the moment of choosing to continue his story, at least for now.

It's like how the last time we saw Bobby chronologically was in Inside Man and Cas and Sam woke him from his repose and got the fighting spirit back into him enough to open his own door and rejoin the story for one last hurrah... And it was a choice there too, a moment of once more telling the natural order to screw itself, Bobby could step outside the proscribed ending of his narrative one last time.

Unless Jack finds him and is adopted on sight today.

-

Sam looks way too healthy.

Invigorated by having a Plan

-

Lils. Finally getting to see the Bunker filled with all her stolen research notes.

And no that wasn't canon before, but boy am I hoping she recognises her research amongst all the bunker's angel lore.

-

Men stealing fuckin everything

-

"We've never looked through Kevin's angel tablet translations"

HAVEN'T WE?

NO

WE HAVEN'T

THEY HAVE BEEN THERE

FIVE

FUCKING

YEARS

And every forking time something comes up where they might be useful I say, HEY WHAT ABOUT KEVIN'S ANGEL TABLET TRANSLATIONS?

and the show says

hey so we don't have the angel tablet but we do have the demon tablet

and I'm like I'm sure that won't have any dumb side effects that could be avoided by having the angel tablet translation just on hand in your archive

did Meredith hear me screeching

because I screeched very very loud after 13x14

13x13 sorry

that was Bucklemming handing her the wrong fucking tablet

-

this is bitter vindication but feels even better than her and Bobo remembering the grace extracting needle in 12x19

-

Glynn is a fucking gift.

-

On the other hand this episode now is pulling on 9x06 and 12x10 at once and that makes me feel woozy

I can't deal with a Glockeybo combo

-

Also waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah Kevin's handwriting. I can't deal with that AND Bobby memories AND FUCKING NOUGAT DEATH

-

Which I mean I do feel instantly better about once he opened the door and let himself back into the story and I stopped crying at once and cheered up and Lily is indeed providing much needed relief, wild as that all sounds.

-

Lily trying to explain her soul magic to Sam and Dean, rubes who haven't done a single enochian calculation in their lives.

Wait, no, Sam has done one, in ... 12x19 ...

But yeah, a rube and a completely self-taught asshole who knows like one thing about it.

And she's like oh yeah just use his soul and they're like AAH WTF LILY and she's like er this is the most obvious thing in the world what is the problem here

-

where are my cas reaction shots

-

Jack wearing an eyepatch for the rest of the show would be adorable and hilarious

-

"it won't cost much... he'll never miss it" trust me his soul is enormous and boated with sweet nougat love, he can spare it, guys.

-

Dean being able to say "Jack's dead" one day later, when he couldn't say it about Cas practically until he was BACK

-

Nice trade. TECHNICALLY nothing dodgy about it at all, at least in the sense that aside from resurrection consent issues from Jack, once he's back the choice is still on him to choose to grow old and die as Lily has done, or even to stop using the magic to sustain himself and die again immediately if he is squicked out by it... Or it all comes from trading on his OWN soul power.

Definitely better than demon deals or having any favours looming over them etc

And with Heaven in the state it's in, honestly sending Lily there might be easier than they think if NO ONE IS LEFT TO RUN IT.

Er, imminent ghostpocalypse issues aside.

-

We're in ghostpocalypse territory as of a minute ago show time, btw.

-

Cas has quietly observed all this chatter and we get back to him when he says, "Don't you think Jack should decide for himself" so honestly Cas is right there with me, and I always like when me and Cas are the ones agreeing on a thing in the episode.

-

Obligatory reminder that Sam is more aware than most about soul stuff

*takes another piece of coal off the pile I was going to send Meredith for ruining christmas*

-

HEY, ANUBIS.

Don't tell him about what they did to Osiris

Unless that would amuse him

Wait never mind Meredith is literally throwing in amusing snark about 7x04 which I think when Adam Glass disowned that episode (despite how I actually think it's really good and he was too hard on it) he never expected anyone would ever want to throw in amused references about it in canon ever again.

-

"When God left - sorry, long story - " Lily is one of the few people who seems able to conceptually roll with the nonsense TFW deals in all day.

She should join the squad. Always room for a 100 year old badass with deep enochian lore knowledge.

-

I'm sorry has Jack crashed Kelly's heaven or is this a rando little girl. I immediately thought she was Kelly in the long shot and they substituted a lil girl for POV when we got closer and actually had to go back and look again and she was the little girl all along.

-

This also conceptually looks so much like Cas's eternal tuesday afternoon.. A rainy, flower-filled garden.

-

Roosevelt looks SO much like the doggie in 11x20 aside from anything else

-

IT IS KELLY

-

This is horrifying since they never ever got to meet ever until now and I'm suing Meredith

-

I mean I'm already suing her but I'm just adding this to the list of complaints. My laywers are working overtime on this episode.

-

FORK!! THEY GOT HER BACK FROM LEGENDS OF TOMORROW FOR A DAY!!!!

-

Can Kelly and Jack go on a rampage around Heaven to fix things?

-

Her hair is suspiciously darker from the back which I think is her Legends look from the gifs I've seen

-

Wait, Bobby had a forking dog called Rumsfeld, and Kelly has Roosevelt.

-

"Hi mom you're dead"

".......................................................... NOooOoOooooOOoo No no no baby no"

Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

-

Dean resisting the spell and complainging "gotta happen, no other way" is making me feel like the Heaven Drama is going to smack them right before they can get it all done and give them a LOT MORE to worry about than Jack but also give them a roundabout way to see him again and also, of course, mean Lily might be useful for an entirely other purpose while she's here...

-

Dean right now is rationalising this through the lens of that all their terrible deals have been terrible and that this is just one more step on the Winchester life and death merry-go-round, and of course that Jack is about to get the full family treatment he deserves. But that's the Winchester lens of looking at things that even when deaths are brutal and lives cut unfairly short, there's going to be a way to bring them back if they haven't finished their stories. John finished his, in 2x22 seeing Dean get the revenge he needed to be at peace, but everyone else...

Is it ethically right to put Jack on that merry-go-round when he smiled sweetly and died with as much enthusiasm as he gave pretty much everything in his life?

-

The table lamps are out in the bunker D: them being dark is so ominous

-

And Cas shows up like shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit something worse going on guys

-

They're so casual about just summoning gods into their front room these days

Of course they're doing it in the spot in front of the door with the war room behind in one direction... The opposite end of the library to where they opened the rift.

-

Sam picks his way through the wet paint but Dean stands right in the centre of this circle for SUMMONING THE GOD WHO DECIDES WHO LIVES AND DIES AND WHERE THEY GO to have this lil chat with Lil?

-

And now Dean steps out of it and corners her with the obvious question - what's wrong with your magic and why are you risking going to Hell to stop using it entirely?

-

I'm so sorry you have to look at more dead angels, Cas

I'm also so sorry they were killed by black slime because wow after season 7 that was a laugh and a half for you

-

... Can you swear in the hallways of Heaven?

-

DUMA LIVES

(probably "for now" though hopefully longer than that)

Ma'am are you aware you have a Nougat on the loose too

I'd love it if Cas is like hi what's happening also have you seen my son

-

This actress needs to come back for a 3rd time to follow Dean around in a crisis moment.

-

OH NO now Cas is coming to the heaven memory and seeing what Jack considered his best memory

-

YEAH. I knew Naomi would show up, I just didn't know when :D

(She wasn't in the credits as far as I could tell but I already sort of knew they were leaving people off? Or maybe I was thinking lol I bet Amanda Tapping is in this episode and they won't tell us... On the other hand she mAY have been in the credits but I was WEEPING MY EYES OUT so didn't clock her despite my efforts to hold myself together and see who was coming up on screen)

-

Naomi doesn't have the most dramatic entrance on the show but she sure is racking up points for good entrances one at a time each time she appears. She never just, like... toddles onto screen normally.

-

"Perhaps the angel side of him knew he was in Heaven" honestly the most tragic thing I was trying not to think about is that he knew the entire time but he was willing to play along and enjoy hanging with his dads for eternity despite that.

-

Oh man it's another dispute over who owns Jack. Is this kid never going to be allowed to just sit and eat burgers and nougat? (Hopefully not at the same time)

-

Also based on last episode where it seemed like the Empty was awakening but had Lucifer's eyes and we were all NOOO fork that!! is there some more complicated forked up aspect to what's going on or is it just itself and awake and coming for Jack?

-

I love how Naomi just casually knows how many people are in Heaven

-

"What's one nephilim boy against all that?" "But he's MY nephilim boy!!"

-

OH NO NAOMI

-

NOT LIKE THIIIIIS

-

We better get an answer on her state by the end of the episode because she's my fave villain bar Metatron on the entire show and devouring her in shadow is just... yikes.

-

"give it a sec" *POOF* Anubis is prompt, okay.

-

He probably honestly is somewhat slighted that they're 14 years into their career and he hasn't clapped eyes on them.

-

"Yeah, we've died." "A LOT."

-

I honestly, at this point, do not blame them for their lax attitude towards the permanence of death. They need a lot of counselling they're not getting and until they do they really are going to always be terrible at this.

-

A brief moment where Anubis is like, am I going to get Flirty Banter with Dean Winchester?? and he looks at him and Dean's eyes are all dead and "my son is dead" and Anubis sighs like welp not today oh well better luck next time, if I survive this...

-

Getting flirty banter with Dean is a sign of high honour and takes you to some very interesting places.

-

Into Dean if you stick with it like Crowley did

-

And Lily's been standing there this whole time like wow these boys suck up all the attention in the room and I kinda hate them

-

Oh I LOVE this abacus. Is this some nerdy ass research that meredith did to know better than most what to expect here? Even I haven't heard this one, though I haven't really revisited Egypt lore after the expected Egyptology phase as a kid...

Anyway the half white half black beads are super interesting in a wider show symbolism way.

-

Oh deeear, Lily.

-

Of course that instantly makes you fascinated about what would happen if TFW stuck their hands over it.

-

What a good line on the show's philosophy about making your own fate - it's not destiny or a choice from above or anything like that. Your individual actions get you sent to Heaven or Hell in the natural course of things and it's weighed in such a way all he can do is use his equipment to read which way you're going... Everything else is down to you. Free Will, write your own story.

Of course, if Lily did some huge sacrifice I bet she could change things.

-

CAS LAUGHED

ugh this episode should be banned.

-

If you hug Kelly I'm rioting.

-

Everyone who ever hugs Cas slaps their hands firmly on Misha's broad shoulders like it's law and digs in and I don't know if it's because Cas has this wonderful presence about him that even when you're around Misha acting him in the moment you get swept up in it, or you just want to hug Misha like that, but Cas hugs look like the most amazing hugs in the universe and everyone just GOES for it.

Also I am typing this nonsense because I literally used up my box of tissues earlier and the next option is stealing a roll of toilet paper. So I will snark and try and ward off the sobbing.

-

"I'm so sorry. I failed you." Kelly, who has spent about 5 minutes in Jack's presence and understands his nature even beyond her blind faith in him from before but now gets to see the evidence of it: "You didn't. You didn't."

Yes, please can more characters tell Cas that he did a good job even when things don't quite go to plan. Dean's drunken slurring about how they did the best they could, this...

Kelly tells Cas how wonderful Jack is like Cas doesn't know and Cas breaks up.

And you know what this looks like and I'm not going to survive typing this and can already feel my eyeballs filling up with water... 10x20 and Jimmy and Amelia talking about Claire at the end of the episode oh god I hate it take it away from me.

-

Oh good Cas telling Jack we need you alive to fix Heaven but just in a passive way where you not being dead means the Empty backs the fuck off rather than you having to DO anything

-

Ooops the Empty is here as Dumas. I suspect she's not surviving this episode but MAYBE Naomi survives.

-

I am saying with full wishful thinking after seeing her completely consumed by black goo

-

I do like the concept of "THERE ARE MAJOR STAKES TO RESURRECT THE BOY. BRING HIM BACK THIS INSTANT. LITERALLY SAVE THE UNIVERSE BY BRINGING THE NOUGAT SON BACK TO EARTH." because that makes it so much different from "hey bring me back and maybe accidentally unleash some terrible evil in the process but we'll deal with it later  because that's what we do"

-

"HE'S OUR KID" Sam snaps

I hate it, thanks

For the love of god appeal to  her more as a fellow parent.

-

Dean DIRECTLY EQUATES Jack and May

Hold me

-

Equating no soul to not being human in front of Sam aka our no soul test case. Owie. Another reminder of just how hard Dean took it in season 6 until he got Sam back, all that skin crawling feeling of being around him...

You know what? Jack reminds me of the sort of example nice ensoulled Sam stuff we saw in 6x12 when Jared was allowed to play over the top sweet and uncomplicted for a few scenes, just to be a total contrast to how he'd been acting thus far in the season. Of course, we saw him for like 3 scenes of Dean smiling in pure relief when Sam did Nice Things before it all got complicated again, and Jack's been a long-time character :P But Sam does have a sweet street that when it emerges in the rare times it can be uncomplicated, is I think the closest equivalent to where Jack's innocent sweetness is drawn from. He's the son of Sam's puppy dog eyes specifically.

But yeah I think Lily just needs to have this resistance and anger about it all to make it so much more of a flip if she were to decide to do the spell, so that it counts as an even gooder good deed to MAYBE flip her chances. By giving her a good work to do.

And hey maybe if she meets Jack for a minute she'll love him and then be changed by the experience and go out and do more good things etc etc.

-

DUMAS IS SO GOOD AT BEING CREEPY!!

-

Misha hammed the FORK out of being the Empty and now she has to live up to it and she IS.

-

CAS don't fight the Empty by trying to stab it, fight the Empty by humming this is the song that never ends.

-

*makes a disgruntled sad noise about being forced to see Jack laid out on a table in his cute lil PJs with his cute lil socks*

-

Wait, if Lily does this spell does this mean she's using up the last of her soul to do it and going to the Empty anyway?

-

ANGRY LIONESS KELLY COMING TO YELL AT THE EMPTY AND GIVE IT A PIECE OF HER MIND

I've just paused after her yelling "STOP" but whatever happens next, she leaped in when Cas was getting kicked around and that's BAD ASS.

-

Hitting Kelly is like... probably a rage button Jack didn't even know he had so I would like to see how that goes over, but we cut to them trying to resurrect him.

-

I forking love how this is 2 seasons in a row where the message seems to be that you live to spite nihilism and the bitter end of death.

-

D'aw even though Sam said they'd pray it was Dean who used prayer to reach out to Cas in Heaven to give him that heads up. Like, totally practical rather than the sort of prayer he's made before to Cas that was all emotional appeal, but, let's save our son, huh?

-

CAS NO DON'T SAY THAT

The Empty might also really want to think about that because it knows you forking suck to keep around so trading yourself for Jack is like... really? do I really want that? :P

-

"Not for years. EONS, MAYBE." Cas, bud. I love you. I want you to stay alive that long. Do you really forking think that with the life you lead you have eons left? I mean it's really heartening to hear you talk about yourself this way. But I have to ask.

-

The Empty telling Cas that it'll come for him when he finally lets himself be happy is forking hilarious. Cas hasn't been happy once in his life and he doesn't plan to start now. Eons, maybe.

Just like that, he's unlocked eternal, grumpy life. Take notes, Lily.

-

I mean on a practical level this is basically like, yeah, this is why Destiel isn't canon, because as soon as Cas allows himself to be happy, he's ALWAYS known he gets punished for it. In 4x20 he rebelled for Dean and was instantly dragged back by Naomi... This sense of another mission, never belonging, always being on the outside and not getting the emotional resolution he needs, and actively running from it at times or throwing himself in the way of danger to make Dean be happy without him... it's interesting honestly that the Empty is here as Duma and not Naomi as she's been the agent of hoiking him back from happiness enough times in canon... And that fear of losing everything as soon as you're happy? That's what first kept Dean from Jack and then as soon as he really truly fathered Jack, happened to him. Like, that's Team Free Will's entire life story, starting with Jess, to date, here with the Empty making this threat.

-

Duma survived!!

-

Cas... really could have just bought a few minutes to do the spell rather than given himself that burden >.>

But he's determined to make a more lasting sacrifice, one that ensures this won't happen again with Jack, that he can always die whenever he wants and go to Heaven and not be bothered here.

-

Oops Jack's angry now. Now he's seen a dad sacrifice for him, he's suddenly got a case of the Winchester Angsts. Dean in season 2, for starters. Not a good place to be D: Dean in season 2 is proportionately his worst season.

-

I'm not crying because I think I already died earlier in the episode, but that was... truly awful... to watch Cas tell Jack he's at peace with it and he loves him and everyone loves him and then Kelly butts in like I LOVE YOU TOO and mom him a bit with straightening his jacket and hugging him and... UGH.

-

Lily has either the start of a heart attack or loses her soul entirely in the background and wanders into a corner to die? Er.

-

OH HEY WE ALSO MANAGED TO GET THE WORST DEAN HUG SINCE 2x22 WHEN HE GRABS JACK. NEVER SEEN HIM HUG LIKE THAT BEFORE, DON'T WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN THANKS

-

Nope, she just dieded.

Let's hope she went to heaven and we get a super corny young Lily surprise Alicia Witt return moment at the end since this episode is just throwing everything at it.

-

It's Anubis' office!!!

Wow, that's a noisy annoying place to work

Still, I LOVE these visualisations of where the cosmic forces of the universe work

-

I called it super corny but I'm DYING to see Lily's fate change.

-

"Say hello to your daughter for me" DOn't make me cry about Lily please I beg you I am run dry

-

OH THANK GOD NAOMI SURVIVED. Hooooooraaaaay!!!!!!! Oh this is a wonderful ending to a perfect episode to not have to deal with her having being consumed and left dead off-screen somewhere.

-

LOL that slam as he realises what's up and even though she obviously can do what she wants, he's still protectively closing Kelly's door to put a barrier between her and Naomi.

-

"I'm here to thank you"

Oldest trope in the book, but I love when they look over their shoulder to see if "you" is someone else, and Cas, unflappable Cas, in Naomi's presence, still checks the infinite empty corridor.

-

*double checks*

"...... you're welcome?"

Wheee unlocked new plot for altrusim!

-

Ahahaaaahaaaaaaaaa Jack wrapped in a fluffy grey robe. Listen. I am

not

okay.

Jack with his burger and Dean's dead guy robe, spitefully living...

-

I bet Dean made the burger

-

WHY did I type that when I knew how likely it was to make my eyes burn.

-

I did not cry at the last scene of them all at the table so I am going to eat extra cookies at lunch as a reward.

And Jack and Cas sharing a little glance, knowing what Cas did. Father and Son's first dire family secret! :')

-

And gently roll the camera away to credits to leave them to their happy little scene.

-

Presumably with a slow fade so you can fumble for some more tissues.

Gyah.

[rksora]

❤      ━━━━━━    i can feel it coming, like a mirage with wings  ┊           𝐌𝐀𝐘​ ◞  EVALUATION PREPARATION ₊

jiwon’s set herself up for failure, she knows this. 

does she regret it come halfway through the month? yes. while most of the work, such as learning the lyrics and memorizing the choreography had come easy. spending endless hours being grilled by coach after coach about her vocal technique had come in an opposite fashion: it was slow and painful. while improvement had come in the months she’s been at kt, surprisingly so, she’s nowhere near the power vocal that haseul unnie or ariel sunbae was, nor did she ever intend to be, she knows, decidedly, that that was what their trainers were going to harp on when the end of the month comes.

did she aim to please? not really. but some part of her wants to do better, wants to not have the trainers lay wasted eyes on her and tell her afterwards that she should have practiced harder, done better. that she wasted the last month on this because in truth, no one liked criticism. especially when it came to something she hadn’t ( or most likely, wouldn’t ) put her whole heart into. 

it’s been seven months of this inutile thinking. maybe it was time ... seven months and while she liked the people, she wasn’t sure if she fit as well as their ceo had made it seem at the beginning. 

had signing the contract off the bat been a bad idea? should she have thought it through more?

it was too late for that, she sighs. and there was no way she would be able to repay the cost to buy out her contract if she were to drop out now. but another year and a half of this? would she make it?

it was too soon to tell, much like it was too late to change the song she had chosen for the month. while not a hard song, whatsoever, there were intricacies and details that jiwon hadn’t foreseen. like how much technique and vocal fluidity the overall song was, two qualities jiwon didn’t identify with nor was professionally and technically used to. while in her lessons had capitalized on tone and general vibrato, lessening of the vibration that clung to her voice in order for the actual sound to be properly portrayed in her voice ; never had any of the coaches ventured further from that. she was, after all, still learning. she was, also, not main vocal material.

but taking on a whole song like this on her own without relying on a backtrack, even the most senior of idols couldn’t do that. how did they expect her to do it?

                                  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

“so, tell me why you couldn’t just do automatic?”

she frowns, pushing the food around her plate as jaehyun comes to sit beside her at lunch. “the dance is too boring.”

                                 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

her first run through comes and goes in front of jaehyun. she’s haggard, nearly on the verge of collapsing when the last beat of the song rings out and she’s wiping her brow with the sleeve of her sweatshirperpetuallylly exhausted, even if the dance itself wasn’t what tired her out; she could feel her lungs burning. 

“you know this month’s evaluation is about singing .... live, right?” 

jiwon grimaces. head hung as she presses her water bottle against her cheek, a grumbled, “i know,” comes past her lips as she moves to rewind the song. 

 “then?”

she shrugs, dropping the bottle once she had emptied it. “it’s not like i’m trying to become a main vocal or anything, i might as well improve my dancing while doing the absolute minimum with singing.”

“minimum ...” she hears the amusement in his voice and can already see the gears working in his head. “so you call the falsetto in the chorus ‘minimum’? you’ve gotten a little cocky, jiwon-ah.”

“it’s not cocky,” she sneers, “and who said i had to do the falsetto, anyways?”

this time, jaehyun shrugs. “maybe automatic wasn’t such a bad choice, after all ...”

to which jiwon laughs, throwing him the remote of the stereo, effectively signaling him to restart the song. “just play the song, pretty boy.”

                                ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━      

it sucked. just when she had hope that she could possibly survive this month’s evaluation, the moment she had to run the length of her performance ( sans the actual dancing ) by one of her coaches, they stop her right in her tracks.

her fingers flex around the microphone as coach kim stares at her, a steeled gaze that stems from the exasperation he feels.

“so, why did you skip the falsetto?”

“i ..” she gulps, “it’s too hard to do.”

coach kim continues his stare, to a point that jiwon wonders just how his eyeballs hadn’t shriveled up from the lack of moisture. was he trying to start some type of impromptu staring contest? she squints.

“do it again,” he finally answers her, shuffling papers; tidying up and making his way to the door. but not before he turns back, hand of the handle: “this time, with the falsetto.”

some part of jiwon dies a little, oh fuck me.