#innocent sorrow UGHHH

[mr-awesome-balls]

i forgot how much the dgm openings were such bops???????

[your-divine-ribs]

Incredible

Words: 3.4k

Anyone who follows my main blog knows I’m obsessed with Van’s hands so when I saw the above post on here I knew I had to write something // friends/housemates to lovers // smut of course (it’s Sunday)

Imagines Masterlist Main Masterlist

"Damn it!" You cry out, frustrated as your finger slips off the guitar string and an ugly twanging sound emanates from the instrument as you attempt to strum. "I'm never gonna get the hang of this. It's too hard!"

"Maybe we should take a break, we can try again in a little while."

Van eyes you warily with a sympathetic look on his face, and for some reason this just makes you even more determined. It can't be that hard. He makes it look so simple, the way he effortlessly picks at the strings and the way his dexterous fingers move gracefully over the frets.

Oh but his hands...

Now you're distracted again but you can't help it. His hands are just so beautiful, large broad palms with long, supple fingers. He has his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and you can see raised veins protruding under his skin. You never even realised having a hand kink was a thing until Van became the current object of your desires. Now you can't take your eyes off them and you're beginning to wonder whether you should have asked someone else to teach you how to play your new guitar instead.

"But I don't want to stop... not yet. You know how I hate to give up on things." You shift where you sit, pulling the acoustic guitar closer to your body. "Can you just show me the C chord again? Just one more time? If I can get the hang of this one then we can have a break, okay?"

You've been close friends with Van for years now and house-mates for just three months, but last weekend you'd slept together, and we're not just talking 'good mates sharing a bed and a bit of platonic cuddling' sleeping together. In fact not much sleeping occurred at all. You'd both stumbled home drunk from the pub after Van had offered to take you out to drown your sorrows after your latest relationship had broken down, and somehow one thing had led to another. You weren't even sure who'd made the first move now as your recollections were so hazy, but it had been loud and messy and passionate, clothes torn from bodies in haste, kisses searing skin, hips clashing desperately. It wouldn't have been so bad if you'd addressed the incident when you'd first woken up, but instead you'd just gathered up your clothes and sidled out of Van's bedroom the next morning, shamefaced and embarrassed whilst he'd still been snoring. Neither one of you had mentioned it since.

And now here you are, sitting cross-legged opposite Van on the floor of your living room, trying to concentrate on chords and finger patterns when your mind is in the gutter just from watching him innocently strum.

"Okay," he smiles. "So you need three fingers for C, but they each need to be on a different fret. It's a bit of a stretch at first, but you'll get the hang of it. Just watch me... watch where I place my fingers."

And you do watch, seeing how he curls his slender fingers around the neck of his guitar, his index, middle and ring finger depressing three strings, spanning the frets effortlessly. "And you only strum the bottom five strings for this one." He lightly strums with the other hand to demonstrate. "See... it's simple."

You offer him a mock scowl as you strain to get the correct positioning. "Simple for you maybe with those freakishly long fingers of yours!"

Van chuckles, pretending to take offence. "Hey, less of the freak-talk! Didn't anyone ever tell you not to disrespect your teachers?"

You stick your tongue out at him playfully. "Sorry Sir!"

"That's better," he smirks back at you. "Now come on, try again. I know you can do it."

"Ughhh," you grumble, getting your index and middle finger into position but then failing to reach the third fret. "It's impossible, I can't reach."

"C'mon, don't give up," he says in encouragement. "It just takes practice, that's all. You'll find if ya keep doing it your fingers'll get used to it. I don't even have to think about it now, it's like muscle memory."

You try again, twisting your hand, your ring finger hovering over the correct position. It's not comfortable but you manage it... just.

"Yay I did it!" You squeal, transfixed with watching the way Van's beaming smile lights up his whole face instead of the guitar in your lap as you go to strum, your lapse in concentration meaning that your finger slips yet again.

"Ah shit!" You curse, rubbing the tips of your fingers with your thumb. They feel bruised from the pressure of the hard strings. "I swear these strings are made out of razor wire, my fingers are so sore."

"Everyone gets sore fingers at first, especially on acoustic, it's the steel strings," he explains. "Ya have to toughen 'em up. I was the same when I first started, I hated it in fact. After a while it didn't bother me though. They get all hard and calloused up after a while. Look at 'em now!"

He swings his guitar around and off his lap, setting it on the floor, shuffling over to you on his bum. He's so close that your knees knock together. He offers you his left hand, waggling his fingers in your face and you hesitate, unsure what he's asking of you, your pulse rate automatically increasing with his proximity.

"Go on, look at 'em!" He urges. "Feel 'em! Feel my fingertips."

He looks so eager that you can't refuse, taking hold of his outstretched hand in both of yours and looking down to study it. His skin is warm and the backs of his hands are surprisingly soft, but sure enough there are small callouses on each fingertip, the skin tough and hardened after years of pressing down on the unforgiving strings.

"See what I mean?" He says, but you don't look up at him when you nod a reply. You're enjoying holding his hand a little too much, your fingers gently stroking over the rough patches of skin, your pulse starting to quicken as your mind races with a million thoughts which definitely don't involve Van's abilities at playing a musical instrument. You're wondering what those fingers would feel like dipping below the hem of your skirt and trailing up the bare skin of your inner thighs. Even though you've already been intimate you were both too tipsy to take your time and really appreciate the moment and each other's bodies. It's all a hazy blur... more's the pity.

"Okay... can I have my hand back now?" Van laughs and it snaps you out of your day-dreaming.

"Oh... err... yeah... sure," you mumble, your embarrassment increasing, letting go immediately.

"Unless ya wanna keep hold of it of course..."

You're still not looking directly at Van but you can hear the teasing tone in his voice, you can picture the mischievous smile stretched wide on his lips. Your cheeks are glowing but there's nowhere to hide. He's too close. You decide to laugh it off.

"No thanks!" You scoff, finally looking up to meet his eyes which are glowing playfully. "Why the hell would I wanna do that?"

"Well... there's a lot that can be said for these freakishly long fingers of mine if you must know..."

"Oh really?" You roll your eyes dramatically, trying to ignore the embers that are sparking down low in your body at the way his voice has dropped to a deeper, more sultry tone. "You got some secret special talent or something?"

He looks back at you, his cheeky grin practically splitting his face in two. "Mmm... maybe I have."

Fuck... why does he have to be so gorgeous? It's a bad idea to get involved with your house-mate. You know it is. Last week was a mistake. A stupid, drunken one. But still you can't resist the temptation to flirt back.

"So... you gonna tell me what it is then?"

You look at him eagerly, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. You know that he can see the colour in your cheeks now but you're past caring. He's wearing the same hue, albeit muted on his pale skin. There's no mistaking the tension in the air, it's heavy and full of the sort of chemistry that makes your heart pound and your body thrum. You feel like a tuning fork, resonating on his frequency.

"I could do," he says, and you see him reach over in your outer field of vision, feel the guitar lift off your lap as he grabs it and moves it aside. "Or I could just show you..."

It all happens so quickly. One moment your eyes are fixed on each others, the next he's lunging forward, one hand curling around the back of your neck, the other cupping your face, pulling you to him in a rush of heat.

"Van!" You gasp out a split second before his lips crash against yours, any further words snatched right out of your mouth and swallowed by his hungry lips. He lets out a low moan as his tongue slips between your lips and the sound reverberates somewhere deep inside you, igniting a need for him that catches you unawares. It's desperate and fierce, increasing with each passing second as your lips press against each others with bruising desire, any hesitance melting away in an instant.

"Can't stop thinking about you," he admits breathily in between kisses, his hands wandering down to your ass as he grabs handfuls of your flesh, hauling your body effortlessly up and on to his lap. "Ever since last weekend. The feel of your lips... your hands... your... everything. God, I want you so much... wanna hear you moan like that again."

His words rile you up even more and you eagerly straddle his lap, your hands winding around the back of his head to tangle in his hair. "Why didn't you say something? I've been walking on egg-shells this past week. I was so worried we'd made a mistake... thought maybe you regretted it."

"Me?" His voice goes high. "You were the one who sneaked out and didn't say a word! I thought I'd messed up jumping on you like I did."

So... he was the one who'd made the first move then. You can't hold back the self-satisfied smile that emerges on your lips. You push your pelvis into his so there's no mistaking that you want this just as much as he does. "Maybe we ought to do it again... you know... just to make sure it's what we both want."

"I couldn't agree more," he smirks back, needing little encouragement. His hands are already gripping the hem of your skirt and pulling it up around your hips, his lips on your neck, peppering it with hot, wet kisses. "Wanna see how incredible I am with these hands then?" He mumbles against your skin.

God, he's so fucking cocky sometimes, but far from it putting you off it actually turns you on. You don't doubt for a second that those fingers can create more than just beautiful music and you're already throbbing at the thought.

"Uh-huh," you breathe, tipping your head back to extend your neck, eyes fluttering shut until you hear Van let out a low chuckle.

"Oh, very cute," he muses as you feel his fingertips gently tugging on the elastic waistband of your panties.

You groan internally as you crane your neck to follow his gaze, realising you're wearing the most ridiculous pair of novelty panties, the day of the week emblazoned across the front in a garish pink font.

"Scared you'll forget what day of the week it is or summat?"

"Ah crap," you grumble, your cheeks glowing scarlet with embarrassment as Van traces the lettering with a fingertip, a featherlight touch that sends shivers of heat sparking through your core. "I didn't know this was gonna happen did I? I'm not exactly... uhh... prepared."

"Don't worry love, I'll make sure you don't forget today in a hurry," he mutters self-assuredly, his smile salacious.

You swallow hard, your voice coming out shaky as his fingertips hook under the waistband, starting to inch them down your hips. "Show me then."

There's an awkward moment of fumbling where you try to assist Van with shedding your underwear, your limbs getting entangled as you slide off his lap. Then he's easing your body down carefully on to the carpeted floor beside him, softly smiling down on you as you feel a warm hand slide between your thighs, gently parting them. His touch feels amazing on your skin.

"I've liked you for ages ya know," he says in an awed tone, his fingertips gliding upwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "I never knew you felt the same way though. Thought you reckoned I was just the annoying loud one in the group."

"You are the annoying loud one," you smirk up at him teasingly, a quiet gasp escaping as you feel his fingertips connect with the sensitive flesh between your thighs. "I still fancy you like mad though."

His touch is gentle, teasing as he slides it upwards through your folds, exploring your warm wetness. He brushes over your clit lightly, eliciting a tiny whimper from you, heat in his eyes simmering in recognition of the effect he's having on you.

"You're so pretty love... wanna make you feel good."

He circles your clit a few times, experimenting with different motions and pressures, all the time watching you closely, listening keenly for the tell-tale whimpers that fall from your lips when he catches exactly the right spot.

"Fuck Van," you whisper, feeling self-conscious under the intensity of his gaze. You attempt to turn your head away but he catches your jaw with his free hand, tilting your face back up to his.

"Don't hide away... please. You're gorgeous like this."

He dips his head to press his lips to yours again, his breath hot in your mouth whilst the calloused roughness of his fingers stroke up and down, parting your lips and spreading your wetness around.

It's like the rest of the world ceases to exist. The air around you is thick and expectant, the only sounds punctuating the quiet the wet smacking sounds of Van's lips and your erratic breaths. When he pulls back to look at you he looks fucking perfect... his full lips saliva-slick and swollen from your kisses, his ocean eyes heavy-lidded and hazed over with lust and affection. You want him. You want him so bad you can feel the ache in your very bones.

"Mmm... need more," you murmur, tipping your hips upwards, spreading your legs even wider, buzzing with arousal.

"Don't worry babe, I'm gonna take care of you," he whispers into the shell of your ear, his lips trailing down to suck a reminder of this moment on to the flesh of your neck.

You feel a fingertip travelling lower, tracing your slit, pushing gently inside. It feels so good your hips piston even further up in response, craving more. You whimper keenly, your breath coming out in hot choked bursts.

"Feels good, huh?" He purrs, sliding another digit into your slick heat, your walls clenching and fluttering at the contact. Your response is a mewl of pleasure as he twists his hand to press the heel of his palm against your swollen nub, plunging his fingers deeper as he rocks his hand, creating a sweet friction that has your legs instantly trembling.

He's slow to start, fucking into you deliberately with his slender fingers, his gaze unwavering as he intently watches for every tiny spasm on your features to guide him. The intensity of the moment is incredible, any embarrassment or self-consciousness you felt before now completely disintegrated, your hips rolling eagerly to meet his every thrust.

"So good... so good for me," he utters quietly, tenderly smoothing your hair back with one hand, the other in contrast plunging into you harder and faster, his fingers flexing and curling, stretching you out in the most agonisingly divine way.

Your eyes roll before fluttering shut, your mouth hanging open, whimpers and sighs and moans spilling forth as the pressure builds uncontrollably in your core. And then... all of a sudden... an unexpected burst of heat, a flash of brilliance behind the darkness of your eyelids. You moan loud and drawn out, your face screwing up in ecstasy.

"There?" Van says, his voice thick with arousal, his skilled fingers expertly caressing a hidden spot deep inside, faster and faster, the heel of his hand sliding over your pulsing clit again and again.

"YES... oh god yes... don't stop!" You choke out, your words broken sobs of pleasure, tears spilling over on to your hot cheeks as you shoot out a hand to grasp Van's forearm. You hold on tight, nails digging harshly into his flesh, making him hiss. He just increases the pressure and the pace, relentless.

It's too much... way too fucking much... it feels like your entire being is going to explode into smithereens as your body starts convulsing, your back and hips arching up off the floor and crashing back down like a wave as you cry out.

"Fuck... fuck... FUCK!"

Everything goes fuzzy for a moment, your body finally going slack, your eyes screwed shut as you shiver with aftershocks.

"Fuckin' 'ell..." you hear Van mutter, his voice a low whisper filled with awe-like wonder, and that's when you come round enough to feel it.

"Wha..." you begin, eyes flicking open and legs snapping shut as you scrabble to hoist your body up into a sitting position. There's a sticky wetness between your legs that's way beyond what you'd normally expect and you're caught between horror and embarrassment and bewilderment until you glance up at Van and see his smug look of amazement as he proudly assesses his handiwork.

"Woah... that was so fucking hot! Have you ever... I mean does that normally happen when you come?"

"No, never!" You squeal, the heat of humiliation combining with exhilaration and astonishment that your own body's been hiding this particular capability from you for all of these years... not only have you just had the most intense and powerful orgasm of your life but he made you fucking squirt. "I didn't even realise I could! Oh my god I'm so embarrassed right now!"

You shift on the floor, feeling the dampness that's gathered beneath you, quickly tugging your skirt down to cover your modesty before your hands are flying up to hide your fiery cheeks. Van's on his knees in an instant, hands wrapping gently around your wrists, easing them away so he can see your face clearly.

"Don't be embarrassed... please! Seriously... I'm not lying when I say that was the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life..." He trails off, eyes full of wonderment with a smile bright enough to burn through the deepest and darkest of doubts. He tangles his fingers in yours, entwining them and pulling your hands into his lap. "You're amazing and beautiful and sweet... and if that wasn't enough to make me lose my goddamn mind whenever we're in the same room together, now I have the knowledge that I can make you sq..."

"Van… stop!" You cry, cutting him off abruptly before he can elaborate, pretending to frown as you see his brows pull together quizzically.

"What?"

"I'm never gonna hear the end of this now am I?" You shake your head, giggling as his trademark mischievous grin takes over.

"Well... there is one particular way you can get me to shut up if you must know..."

He's looking at you like you've just rocked his entire world and you're on a high yourself, a warm fizz of excitement blooming in your gut as your mind whirls with thoughts of what the future could hold for the two of you. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he smiles, warm and adoring. "Kiss me."

[butlersdolly]

you’re mine.

pairing: yandere!elvis!austin x naive!fem reader

prompt: you and elvis were childhood best friends but little did u know he loved you, too much almost

warnings: this is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as obsessive and manipulative behavior, stalking, abuse of power, and some elements of victim blaming, which some people may find disturbing or triggering.

You and Elvis were best friends since the 1st grade, you loved him so much with all your heart, his slicked back hair, his dark blue eyes, his lace shirt that hugged his waist ever so perfectly, I mean what could go wrong with a handsome best friend. You guys dated all through 9th grade to 10th grade, until your strict dad found out you dated him. “YOU’RE NOT DATING THAT YOUNG MAN Y/N” he spits at you “but dad he’s a nice boy he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me!” you looked at him with puppy eyes “YOU’RE NOT DATING A PRESLEY NOT SOON NOT EVER.” he slammed his door shut. You’re eyes welled up with tears while walking to elvis’s house to tell him the news.

You knocked on elvis’s door to see him smiling towards you while pulling you into a hug. “Hi my love” he said while looking at you. You didn’t hug him back and just stood there with a sorrowful look “Elvis there’s something that I need to tell you” you said quietly, He looked concerned “Yes? what happened” while walking you up to his room. “My daddy told me to stop seeing each other” you said with your eyes lowered not wanting to meet his dark gaze “So, you’re breaking up with me?” he asks you calmly. You don't want to break up with him but when your father discovered your relationship with elvis, he immediately forbade you to see him. You love elvis but you were too afraid of your father to disobey him. So you said, "Yes, I'm breaking up with you, elvis." You expected any kind of reaction from him, but not for him to laugh. A cold, unenthusiastic, dark laugh that sent shivers through your body. He started walking. backwards and when he gets to the door, he closed it then locked it. You looked at him confused. His jaw ticked in thought, and then what he said next made your heart still. "There's something you don't seem to understand Y/n. I'd rather see you dead than with someone else." He ran his thumb over his bottom lip and smiled innocently. "So babe, cut the bullshit, okay? Your mine, and only mine.”

sorry guys i had no ideas for the rest i had to finish it with the sneak peak ughhh so sorry :(

[stranger-nightmare]

Is it wrong to be like

“Hey at least out of the pain and sorrow we saw Jason get his ass melted in half by the upiside down gate.”

Like I get that was like supposed to be a like ‘oh Jesus that’s awful’ scene because like damn the upside down gate will fuck you up.

I mean look what it did to Henry but still

Seeing Jason get melted in half was just

“Hahaha nice” like consolation prize? We don’t have to worry about Jason trying to do whatever he was planning on. Ya know murdering innocent kids.

Also are we sure max is even still in her body? Like she was gone from the black space when el went to like find her memories.

So basically she’s just like a body. And vecna ya know melty fire man, has her memories.

Like nice one brought back a beating heart without max in it.

So season 5 is def gonna deal with that I assume. Or Henry is gonna use max as a vessel since ya know her body is still techinecly alive so season 5 they are gonna have to fight max. I can feel it.

-🎸😈

LMAO WAIT WAIT WAIT I DIDNT EVEN SEE THAT

I must’ve still been sobbing too hard or something bc I did not see that happen ahhh! but honestly it’s what he deserved, fuck him and his douchebag friend who thought it was okay to pin a small girl down to the floor like that!! I mean I know Erica isn’t exactly defenceless but come on

ughhh my poor darling Max as well, I really hope she’s gonna be okay in the end bc I can’t stand losing her too, it’s too much

but ngl then having to fight ‘Max’ would be super cool, emotionally traumatising for sure, but super cool

- hope

[allyvampirelass29]

Murder at Cripple Creek

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

A boomtown swimming with ghosts Dead eyes can't hide Their hedonist living Drinking, debauchery and sinning Scarlet ladies having babies But a whorehouse is not a home Trading flesh for coin Tempting patrons, at the sacrifice of your boy Little Charlie grew up in the hellish dark The sins of the mother Scarring the son's heart Murder brewing in this simmering fleshpot Oh Hateful Harlot, Mother Manx Is is to your neglect and bitter thanks Your baby boy, molested, and you can't protect Your little dreamer from the wicked world you wrought for him Blood on a beautiful boy's hands But the only thing murdered here Is his innocence. Sending his rapist and that lustful bitch Back to hell Charlie, Charlie you're not a villain You had to save yourself.......

Is...... anyone alive out there? It's been days, and I'm still sobbing, my heart desolated by the roiling emotional turmoil, my ignited rage murderous. I don't know about you guys, but...... I'm an absolute wreck. WHY are you DOING this to me, NOS4A2!?!? After the brilliant turn of last week, the sleek sophistication, and glamourous entrapment, "Cripple Creek," was a backhand strike, a blatant violation that I never saw coming, and I spent the entire episode, quivering, sobbing, pleading desperately behind my hands plastered over my face, watching between my fingers, helpless to stop the punishing abuse My Charlie suffers in two different timelines, his bruises of an abused childhood mingling with the fresh wounds of now, as he is tortured, beaten and berated by Bing Partridge!!!

I hated this episode. I HATED it. There, I said it. But I think you're supposed to, I think that was the sole purpose of this traumatizing ordeal. However, as far as Bing (GO TO HELL YOU FILTHY BASTARD) is concerned, the writer's motivation seems drastically convoluted. If this was supposed to be Bing's Big Epiphany, his "redemption," (Ughhh seriously?) This episode fails miserably in accomplishing that. And if this episode was meant to do, what I had predicted back in Season One, cement him as the actual villain of NOS4A2, making him the more immoral evil, be his rise in notoriety, his coming of age as it were, into the monster he was always going to be, giving Charlie and Vic someone to unite their hatred against, it fails to do that too. The biggest misstep of the series, after so elegant a triumph, I'm going to drown my sorrows in ice cream, and try to forget that any of it ever happened. Close your eyes, and think of Christmasland........

I audibly groaned when we opened onto Bing at the Lake House. After so much needless repetition in an otherwise FLAWLESS episode, I REALLY did not want to relive Bing's point of view of the siege, unless it was him getting shot by white knight Chris McQueen over, and over, and over........ Thankfully, the rewind didn't last too long, but I was having NONE of his, "Are you there, God, it's me, Bing Partridge," moment!!! On his knees in the graveyard, (Why...... why are we in a graveyard?) Bing appeals to the heavens, proclaiming his own innocence, asking God to show him what he should do next. I snickered coldly, the whole thing melodramatic, and absurd, as he cries, "I've been so good!!!" Secretly, I was fantasizing about Buffy SLAYING his creepster ass in the graveyard, beating him bloody, before staking him in the heart with a witty saying like, "It's been a gas, Bing, but I get the last laugh!!!" Alas, alack, no such luck. His appeal to the heavens was answered not in divine intervention, but with bird droppings splattering in his mouth, which of course, translated in Bing-A-Ling Logic to, "Kill the FIRST person that tries to help you, bury him in the freshly dug grave, and take his keys!!!" It's PRAYING Bing, you dolt, not preying!!!

While the side quest FINALLY explains how Bing was able to catch up to Charlie and Wayne, after previously believed to be on foot, not to mention shot, which would have been IMPOSSIBLE, supernatural car not withstanding, it's altogether unnecessary. It was the less than scenic route to get to last week's blood-curdling cliff hanger, and I really think we could have done without all the maudlin hullaballoo, and picked right up from there. Also, it creeped me out BIG TIME hearing Bing Partridge say, "Hidey holes," because that's what I called them last week, when Charlie was adorably telling Wayne about his hiding places. "Look at you with your hidey holes, Babe!!!" Needless to say, Bing has ruined that phrase for me FOREVER!!!

"Charlie, Charlie, telling lies, soon he will be crying cries......" A chilling foreboding that was like ice in my veins........ I was definitely crying cries...... I literally WEPT with this horrid little rhyme, and even still I was so naïve, unprepared, for the gut-churning horror that waited in the shadows of a broken little boy's murdered childhood, and the degradation of the beautiful soul that survived it. It's one of the most grueling, and disturbing things, I've ever watched, and like my Darling Boy, strapped to the chair, enduring forced interrogation by gassing, brutal beatings by Bing's homicidal, ham-fisted punches, and some....... deeply unsettling sexual innuendo, I felt like I was the one getting tortured.........

I did utterly enjoy Charlie's feigned relief, as he uses that silver tongue, in valiant effort, to slip his way out of this sickening predicament. "Bing, My Dear Fellow, thank the stars! I thought you had been done in by those wretched McQueens!!" Charlie gasps, thankfully, knowing full well he'd left Bing behind to die, and for good reason. Any other time, this would have worked, Charlie would have used his coaxing charm, and Bing's oafish gullibility, twisted them into a breathtaking manipulation, weaving the lie that he had no choice but to leave him behind, and Bing would have eaten it out of the palm of his hand, because he wants that badly for it to be true. But Bing watched it happen, his face falling, as Charlie sped off without him, and he's DONE playing. Charlie's pleas fall on deaf ears, as Bing drugs him for answers, revealing the fatalities of every single one of Charlie's former accomplices, and with the finality of one apocalyptic truth....... Bing descends into a frenzied, foaming madness.

"Cripple Creek," is the double edged sword that none of us were meant to survive. Switching between the stabbing scenes of Charlie's withering assault, his lifeline to The Wraith, cruelly severed, and the slicing violation of his childhood self, his innocence massacred before our very eyes, our bleeding hearts never stood a chance. I always knew that Charlie's childhood was going to be horrid, downright Dickensian, devoid of magic and light, unloved by his drunk, whore mother, but I had no idea the HELL this beautiful boy endured at so tender an age, forever scarred, betrayed by the one person he trusted, respected, desperately in need of a father figure, only to be exploited in the most heinous way. It's a MIRACLE My Precious Love can even function as an adult, much less still manage to find wonder and beauty in the world, clinging, clawing to hold onto his ember, his remnant of pure light that persevered in a life of darkness.

The inexplicable joy at seeing a young Charlie Manx, aged 11 or 12, tapdancing on stage, along with the giddy marvel that this young actor looks just like our leading man in miniature, is short-lived, as a stranger takes an uncomfortable interest in him....... I don't know how, maybe it was the intent way he watched him dance, or the way he touched his shoulder a little too long, but I knew........ I KNEW this man was going to sexually abuse Charles, I felt it gnawing in my stomach, instantly unnerved, and I hoped with all my heart, my first instinct was wrong....... I'm devastated to say........ it was not.

Not only does this manipulative pedophile Son of a BITCH molest my baby, he first uses him to persuade other boys to flock to his house, knowing full well how much the young ones look up to Charlie, as their leader. He wins Charlie's favour and trust by befriending him, and giving our little darling the one thing he wants more than anything else. Escape. Escape from the vulgar, gratuitously sexual environment, that no young boy should have to endure, a chance to make money, have an honest, respectable living. A chance to have a father figure, a man to look up to, learn from, and take him under his wing. The shop owner offers all of that, with a crooked smile, the charade falling dangerously away, as he knocks back a shot glass, eying our boy, and then says in the cruelest, most chilling voice. "You've earned yourself some fun........"

Thankfully, NOS4A2 was not overly graphic in this lewd portrayal, but the innuendo was enough to make me ugly cry, and seethe, as this sweet child is violated by someone he admires so much, realizing in horror, that he led all of his friends to be mishandled in this same disgusting manner, like lambs to the slaughter. But our brave little Manx was NOT going to let this sin go unpunished, and I clapped, cheering him on, as he uses his sled, now tainted by its means of acquisition, to kill the shopkeeper, dark fire flashing in his eyes, blood splattering on the shot glass, and I've never been so happy, or nervously relieved to see someone die.

His mother comes to him, and instead of crying, and taking her boy in her arms, stroking his dark curls, soothing his fear, and assuaging his guilt, she just scoffs at his accusation, the picture of apathy, and places the blame back on him. "You knew too, Charlie!!!" You WHORE-ABLE Mother!!! Your son was just sexually ASSAULTED, and YOU DARE make it his own fault, like he'd turned a blind eye, and therefore deserved to get raped!?!? Charlie might not have killed her, if she'd actually had a maternal bone in her body, if she'd done SOMETHING, shown any sign of regret or compassion, but she doesn't, and I feel nothing but proud as he finishes her off too. Her death was surprising, given the admonishing way Charlie talks about his mother, creating the impression that she'd been a bane on his existence his entire life, and yes, as a writer, I wanted to see more of a direct conflict between them to make that defining moment that much more satisfying, but as a viewer, I was just grateful she was dead, and Charlie was free. The only murder perpetrated, the only death I mourned at Cripple Creek, was that of Charlie's innocence, his childhood slaughtered.

Meanwhile, Bing continues to torture Charlie in the present day, my chest shuddering with every thrown punch, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. What was the deafening truth spoken that sends Bing Partridge into a flailing rage, you ask?

"Christmasland is for children. We are special...... That's why we can't go......."

Charlie was never going to take Bing to Christmasland. All that this poor dope had lived for, dreamed of, for eight years, amidst his conning his way into dentists' offices, and offing mothers, and it was always a lie. I had suspected it the entire time, especially after the mention of a, "special feast," but what SHOCKED me the most, was the unimaginable heartbreak of Charlie's own deepest secret coming to light, and as Bing draws it forth, it's like drawing blood. In spite of being the architect of his lifelong dream, and greatest solace from a life full of abject misery, Charlie doesn't think he deserves Christmasland, because he sees himself as ruined........

I broke down sobbing, that pain, that anguish, that he's so long carried with him, ripping through me, and I'm tearing up even as I write this, remembering....... Charlie denying himself his own dream, seeing himself as a ruined article that might profane its pure vision, is a tragedy that I can't come back from. It's a sorrowful, aching confession, and yet somehow it explains so much, and in this, his greatest pain, his darkest secret, I felt intimately closer to him. At last........ we see why Charlie never stays long in his Christmas kingdom, why he's so focused on the next child, and the next, sacrificing time with his own daughter, because they deserve Christmasland, and he doesn't. Always the courier, never the partaker. Christmasland is for children, and Charlie Manx never got the chance to be one.

The searing pains of his past still guide so much of who he is today, placing a strict emphasis on propriety in every aspect of his person, in manner, speech, and dress, because he was robbed of his dignity as a child. I also, FINALLY, after two seasons, understand why he turns the children into vampires, a contradiction to his love of them, that has remained frustratingly elusive to my grasp. Charlie's childhood was taken from him, brought to a vulnerable, violent end, and by turning the Lost Children, theirs becomes eternal. They never have to grow up, and lose that purity, that innocence. I also realized, that by giving them their bite back, they are able to defend themselves, meaning no one can ever hurt them again.......

There was so much awful going on, so much inflicted misery, and disorienting chaos, that I was sure I'd heard wrong when Bing decides on an even more dehumanizing method of torture. Did Bing just...... call Charlie a BITCH!? I shook my head, but there it was again, and at this point I'd HAD it. Somebody give me a GUN, I will WASTE this SICK BASTARD myself!!! The skeevy sexual threat against Charlie felt like overkill to me, utterly ridiculous, a cheap shot at adding dramatic effect, especially in the face of his childhood shame. Bing has exhibited absolutely no inclination of...... swinging that way, as it were, before, and yeah they kind of threw in last minute that he'd done this to Mike's father, offscreen, but I don't know WHY he would do that, especially given his particular affinity for Mike. Charlie, himself, pointed out that there was no indication in the Graveyard of What Might Be that Mike needed saving, or that his father deserved punishing. It's awkward, and disturbing, and there seemed to me no method in this madness.

"If I'm a monster....... who deserves to die....... You deserve so much worse." BAM. Hell yeah, Babe!!! Thank GOD, Charlie's quick enough to convince Bing that he too is a monster, and we are spared any further asinine innuendo. Bing, after these series of unfortunate events, beating, berating, and threatening Charlie with rape, suddenly, deus ex machina-esque has a change of heart, and an epiphany that comes a LOT TOO LATE!!! We're both monsters, we BOTH deserve to die....... What we're doing is WRONG. Was I happy when Bing urged Wayne to go, and tell a police officer that his mom is Vic McQueen? Yes. Do I believe he did it out of the goodness of his heart, and has finally seen the light? Freaking HELL NO!!! Bing, after losing Christmasland, has nothing left to live for, and this is his way of giving up. If I can't go to Christmasland, Wayne can't go...... and he decides a bizarre murder/suicide in The Wraith is his final act of redemption.

Before they even showed the car crusher, I was already sobbing profusely, losing my freaking mind, because I had figured out exactly where Bing had taken Charlie.

"There's going to be two less monsters in the world........"

Meaning to crush them both, and kill the Wraith irrevocably, Bing puts on his mask, and presses the button. At first Wayne laughs, and thinks it's a game, his inner vampire child coming out, but when it hits him that Charlie's in actual danger, he realizes he has a choice to make....... Save Charlie Manx, or let him die, and go home safe to his Mom and Lou.

"No, My Boy, this isn't a game, it's time to play, Save Father Christmas!!!"

Charlie calls out frantically, coaxingly to his young charge, and I loved that so much, my heart overwhelmed with emotion. Yes, Wayne, PRETTY PLEASE save Father Christmas!!! A lot of people despised him for what happened next, screaming at Wayne for his choice, even calling him a stupid kid, but I, myself, felt even more love in my heart for that already dearly cherished little lad, as he smiles, and slams down on the button, halting the crusher, and saving Charlie from imminent death.

It's a profound moment, the abductee choosing to save his kidnapper's life, and many cried out strongly against it, but you have to understand....... Charlie Manx has become so much more to Wayne than the scary face in his mother's paintings. Here is a man that has shown genuine interest in his life, his hopes, his dreams, who has treated him gently, fussed over him, concerned, and who has come to love him like a father. Couple that with The Wraith's effects on Wayne, slowly tying the two of them together, it makes perfect sense to me, how this unexpected bond has formed. Yes, had Vic been there, herself, he would have chosen her over Charlie in a second, but when faced with the reality of letting Charlie die, our tender-hearted Bats just couldn't do it.

"Do think of me at Christmastime, won't you?"

CHARLIE. LIKE. A. BOSS!!!! The single greatest moment, and brightest scene in an hour of plunging darkness, is definitely Charlie, snapping back into his delectably dark, unrivaled perfection (although, I must say I still found him incredibly dashing in his distinguished grays) charging Bing Partridge, murder striking in his wild, smouldering eyes, stabbing him, with a reveling whisper, twisting the knife, with this most PERFECT line, that gave me wonderous, reverberating chills!!! I also LOVED how Charlie glowers in his lumpy face and says, "You were never special." DAMN that's HOT!!! My only grievance with an otherwise ENTHRALLING moment, was that inexplicably, yet again, CHARLIE DIDN'T KILL BING!!! Charlie has KILLED for so much less, and while he did offer a vague explanation about prison being so much worse for Bing than hell, it felt like hell frozen over that Charlie would ever let Bing live. I know this is the writers wanting to keep Bing around to creep another day, but MY GOD, hang that Partridge from a pear tree, and HAVE DONE already!!!!!

This was an especially dark episode, but there were flashes of some really beautiful, albeit fleeting moments, first with Wayne and Craig, and then with Millie and Cassie, though the reoccurring theme, the common thread, did seem to be Innocence Lost. I was startled with the The Wraith's sneaky trick of causing a child to forget their parents the longer they are in the car, and BLESS YOU, Craig for helping your son remember his mother, and fight the transformation!!! He tells Wayne that Vic's favourite movie was Jaws, and Wayne tells him that her favourite holiday is the 4th of July. (Which is really cool, because it's my favourite too!!!) This slows the Wraith's effects on Wayne, and becomes a very special moment between father and son, as they fight to keep Vic's memory alive.

"How do you know my mom?"

"She was my best friend."

More overwhelmed sobs, because apparently I haven't cried enough this episode!!! Craig decides not to tell Wayne that he's his father, but our little Bats is ingeniously clever, and I think he's going to figure it out before long!!! Another mini heart attack comes with a second lost tooth. The suspense of Wayne's slow turning, mirroring the tender emotion in this scene was fantastic.

Millie and her mother have a similar moment, and I thought that was BRILLIANT of her to introduce Vampire Millie to her former human self. The two play with dolls, and human Millie talks about how she can't wait to go on a date, and have adventures when she grows up! It's such an endearing scene, and also incredibly sad, as the pale, gaunt shell of Vampire Millie envies her bright, and bubbly human counterpart, seeing the hope and innocence that she's so long been bereft of. "She's me...... Who I'm supposed to be." Cassie explains that her father's sad fantasy is depriving Millie of the gift of growing up, and explains that there's nothing Charlie Manx fears more than a woman with her own mind, and that's the LAST thing he wants his beloved daughter to become. A woman that would eventually leave him. More tears. Poor Millie. Poor Charlie!! Can I just give everybody a hug!?

"Cripple Creek," lingers like BAD Dream, and all I want to do right now, is curl up with Charlie Manx, hold him in my arms, stroke his cheek, soothe him with the tenderest hands, and softest words, tell him he's beautiful, and that he deserves Christmasland, and the world, that he's not ruined, but PURE!!! This was my least favourite episode in the entire series, and just like, "The Gas Mask Man," will be skipped indefinitely in the re-watch, but like I said, it endeared Charlie even more to my heart, and I feel fiercely protective over him, over that goodness that still glows in his dark eyes, despite lifetimes of feeling unloved, and in ever-present pain. All I ever wanted in Season One, was a glimpse into the past that crafted my mysterious and refined vampire chauffeur, and this entire experience, My Darlings, is an exercise in, "Be Careful What You Wish For..........."

[goodcoat-shortfriend]

Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace (A Sherlock Fanfic)

[CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5]

CHAPTER 6:

After being thoroughly scolded by both John and Lestrade, Sherlock spends the next several hours pacing around Baker Street, reflecting on the events of the day in attempt to forge a path of action. He tries writing down his feelings, but can't find any words in existence to appropriately express himself, resulting in the dramatic stabbing of a blank sheet of paper on his mantle.

Shaking his hair with frustration, Sherlock finally decides to head over and make sure Molly is okay.

Every possible course of action flashes through his mind during the cab ride, and he hasn't the faintest idea which of them is "right". Sherlock can't stand not knowing- especially when the matter at hand involves his own life.

After climbing out of the taxi with great effort, Sherlock hesitates on Molly's front porch, still unsure of what exactly he was going to say. Be kind. First and foremost he was there to check on her well-being.

The detective straightens his shoulders and knocks. He doesn't have to wait long for for an answer, yet the moment seems to drag out for an eternity as he wonders what Molly is doing. Was she lounged in front of the telly, drowning out her sorrows in ice cream, or curled up in bed, ignoring the bombardment of persistent phone calls from distant relatives, wondering what was going on?

Molly opens the door slowly, and Sherlock is surprised to see that she is still in her dress. Her face is damp and swollen from crying, but she has a full glass of wine in her left hand to help take the edge off.

"Hello Sherlock," she greets timidly.

"Hi Molly," he replies with a sympathetic smile. "May I come in?"

She steps aside without delay, inviting him in without so much as a word.

Her flat is warm, causing Sherlock to pause and remove his coat and scarf, hanging them on the hook in the entryway. He turns back to Molly attentively. "Are you alright?" he asks with candor.

"Ughhh," Molly sighs disgruntledly. "If one more person asks me that today, I swear…"

He could tell she was on edge, desperately trying to hold herself together. She was rather transparent in that respect. Be gentle, he reminds himself, knowing he would need to exercise extreme patience with her this evening.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but this is me asking, Molly," he emphasizes the pronoun. "You don't have to put on an act. Now, are you okay?"

She takes a sip of her wine, avoiding the question and shrugging apathetically as she swallows. The flavor was a bit bitter for her taste, but somehow it felt like an appropriate personification of her emotions.

"Molly, look I just- I want to say that I'm sorry," Sherlock admits, filling the silence between them as she distractedly contemplates the tang of wine on her tongue.

Molly looks up at him curiously, meeting his attentive blue-green eyes. A seemingly genuine apology from Sherlock Holmes? That takes her by surprise. She feels quite vulnerable suddenly. Like a snail roaming through a garden without its shell. Sherlock often had that effect on her.

"Apologize for what, Sherlock? Seeing the truth when no one else could? That's hardly newsworthy," she points out, doing her best not to fall apart before him.

"No," he corrects authoritatively. "For hurting you." He looks down with contrition. "I seem to do that quite a lot. And I don't mean to..."

Molly inhales deeply. "I know you don't," she assures him. And it's true. Sherlock didn't wake up every morning with the intention of hurting those around him. His general insensitivity was a side effect of his ability to see things beyond the scope of the normal human experience.

Sherlock's attentive gaze bores into her mercilessly as he steps closer to Molly. He swiftly transfers her drink to the nearest flat surface before taking her face in his hands. Captivated by the simultaneous innocence and intimacy of the gesture, Molly is immediately comforted as Sherlock strokes her cheeks consolingly.

"Molly, it has come to my attention that my actions today may have implied certain... intentions moving forward," he clears his throat uneasily, removing his hands from her face. "That is-"

"Relax Sherlock," Molly interrupts, knowing what he trying to say, and sparing him the discomfort of actually having to say it. "It's fine," she assures him with an unconvincing smile.

"No, it's not fine," he acknowledges, struggling to come to terms with his own behavior. "I've interfered with the course of your life and-"

"-and I'm glad you did!" Molly finishes with an uncomfortable, albeit slightly delirious laugh. "But I'm a big girl, Sherlock. I'm fully aware of what I sacrificed today, and I don't expect anything from you in recompense. I know you..." she grins foolishly at herself. "I know you don't want the things most people want. And I can't criticize you for being the way you are because I love you the way you are!"

Sherlock's breath catches ever so slightly at the way those three little words fall so effortlessly from her lips.

Molly has a similar realization, at once overwhelmed and relieved at having finally admitted it out loud. "I love you, Sherlock," she repeats with desperation. After all, she had nothing to lose. "I- I don't know what that means to you, or if it means anything at all. But I am done pretending like it isn't true."