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artistic-writer · 4 years

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The Paradox of Light :: CS AU : Rated E :: part 5

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

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

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

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

Part Five [ below the cut ]

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Five Years Later

Killian hated the meetings. He hated the way other people hated themselves because it felt like it belittled the way he despised himself. There were no words that he could ever have used to describe how rotten he felt, right down to the core, disgusted with his actions. He carried his shame around with him daily but he didn’t mind, because the sobriety chip he always kept in his pocket was far more important to him. It kept him grounded, reminded him of what he had lost but also somehow gained. There had only ever been one other thing as important in his life, but she had seen him for what he truly was and had left.

It was his turning point, the fork in the road, and luckily he had made the right decision and got clean. It would have been so much easier to have fallen back into a bottle, swam around in the bitterness of alcohol but he would have eventually drowned. So he went to the meetings, he told his story and the room of other addicts applauded him each and every time, and he couldn’t help but wish he wasn’t going through it alone. He wished Emma was there with him, to see how far he had come, but the guilt he carried for how he had treated her never let up and whilst he knew she was living in New York, thanks to Will, he was too contrite to find her.

Emma was adamant that he get help and despite her leaving him to do it alone, he figured it was the last thing he could have done for her to prove to her he wasn’t anything like the monster he had become.

“You come here often?” a voice said from beside him, making him jump a little. The hot coffee he was stirring with a tiny wooden stick sloshed out of the styrofoam cup and over his hand making him almost drop the cup in his haste to shake off the boiling liquid.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” The woman said hurriedly, grabbing a handful of the provided napkins and dabbing his hand without invitation. “Are you okay?”

Killian took the napkins from her and rubbed at his hand, the skin red and sore almost instantly. He stared at the mark, an oddly shaped blemish that resembled a hook, and frowned. “Yeah, I’m alright,” he said with a weak smile. “Hollye, right?” He offered her his hand after wiping the coffee from it down the leg of his jeans.

“Yeah,” she smiled back with a ruby tint to her cheeks. “Killian, right?” She pretended she didn’t know, letting her hand linger in his a little longer than intended.

“I am, thank you” he nodded, slipping his fingers from hers and returning to his half spilled coffee. “I’m not very good at making these, but would you like a coffee?”

“Please,” she smiled again, leaning on the table and cocking her head to one side. She was dressed to impress it seemed, her very low cut top exposing more than enough cleavage to make any man blush or salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs. She glanced behind her to make sure the other attendees were helping to clear the chairs before sucking in a breath. “I’m sorry. I know we are not supposed to form relationships outside of these things…”

“Relationships?” Killian visibly winced at her words, squinting an eye closed as he offered her the coffee cup. It was only half full lest they experience any more accidents, with a little wooden stirring stick poking out of the plastic sip lid. She took the coffee, clutching it with both hands and looked down at the wispy steam escaping from the lid clearly embarrassed. “Look, I’m sure you are a very nice lass,” he offered her quickly, dipping his head to catch her gaze and giving her a smile. “I’m just not…”

“Oh, of course,” Hollye shrugged, straightening herself up and pulling at her top, trying to cover up a little.

“I mean you no offense,” Killian said softly.

“She must be a very lucky woman,” Hollye said with a forced smile, trying not to sound too jealous over a woman she didn’t even know existed.

Killian laughed, the sarcastic chortle making him shake his head. “It was I who was the lucky one,” he said sadly. He shifted his weight, looking down at his own coffee which he swore bore Emma’s resemblance in the honey coloured crema.

“Was?” Hollye prodded with a frown. “I’ve heard your story. Was that her?”

Killian nodded. “Aye,” he blushed with a sigh. He had lost count of the times he had relived what had happened that night, in his nightmares and in the meetings. Each time things got easier to talk about, but it still shocked him to the core when a new member would gasp at his revelation, unable to hold their judgement.

“You still love her, don’t you?” Hollye smiled knowingly. Killian looked up and met her gaze, the upturned corners of her lips reminding him a little of the way Emma used to smile.

“I do,” he said without hesitation. “I always will.”

“Have you asked for forgiveness?” Hollye’s words hung on Killian’s mind. One of the first stages of recovery from any addiction was asking for forgiveness from the ones you had wronged. They didn’t have to absolve you, that was their choice, but there would be no progression in your recovery if you didn’t ask. Hollye took in Killian’s million mile stare. “I think you should.”

“It’s not exactly as easy as that,” Killian looked down again, lifting his cup to his mouth and taking a sip of the foul tasting bitterness the meeting organisers tried to pass for coffee. “I’ve only seen her twice since she left.”

“And what did she say?” Hollye prompted with a sip of her own cup, the sour liquid burning her tongue.

“Why am I even telling you this?” Killian chuckled, suddenly embarrassed. “We don't even know each other’s surnames.”

“And yet, you know how I walked the streets giving out hand jobs for a twenty and I know how you nearly raped your girlfriend because you were drangry,” she said with a ‘so there’ look.

“Drangry?” Killian cringed as he said the word. It sounded wrong in his mouth, clearly not recognised by any officiating language body. Hollye had seemingly made it up on the stop.

“Drunk angry. So drunk you are angry about everything. Drangry,” she clarified like it was obvious and took another sip of the coffee. “So tell me, what did she say?”

“Nothing,” Killian looked away sheepishly, the prick of red covering the tips of her ears. “I said I’ve only seen her twice, as in seen her. From afar.”

“Oh, you mean like a stalker,” Hollye teased and his head snapped up to give her a confused look. “Was you hiding in the shadows? Maybe nearby whilst she visited the grave of a loved one?” Hollye laughed but Killian did not join her, because by some miserable coincidence, she was right.

The first time he had seen Emma, he had thought he was imagining things. It was a year after she had left and when he had visited Liam’s grave on his birthday, there were fresh yellow flowers laid over the ground in front of the headstone with a small note that read, ‘See you tomorrow’ on it. The groundskeeper had described Emma exactly how he had remembered her and when he had returned the next day, skulking in the shadow of a nearby tree, she had appeared like a daydream come to life.

The next year he expected her return and sure enough, right on time on what would have been Liam’s birthday, she appeared again with a bunch of yellow flowers and sat at the grave for hours. She talked about a man named Graham, about how he made her happy and even though he wasn’t exactly the person she imagined spending the rest of her life with, she thought Liam would approve of him. That was the last time Killian saw her and he told himself that he was still new to the recovery process and he should stay away, all the while seething with jealousy and hatred for a man he had never met who had given her happiness when all he could have given her was more pain.

“Oh Lord, you did, didn’t you?” Hollye giggled, half scandalized by his silent admission. “You stalked her over the grave of a loved one!”

“My loved one,” Killian huffed. “My brother.”

“Oh,” Hollye lost her smile, her joviality fading immediately. She had been listening to Killian’s story for long enough to know that losing his brother was the start of his decline. “I’m sorry.”

Killian gave her a quick sideways smile. “You didn’t know,” he said quietly. “No harm done.”

“Isn’t it your brother’s birthday next month?” Hollye nudged his hand with hers, bringing him back to reality. She lifted her cup to her mouth, closing her lips over the warmed styrofoam and blowing gently over the surface of the coffee. It rippled and bobbed against the side of the cup, threatening to splash her face. When Killian gave her a strange look she just shrugged. “Do you even listen to anyone else’s story at these things, or do I have to do all the hard work for both of us?”

“I listen,” Killian pouted.

“Then you will also know it is Liam’s birthday next month,” Hollye emphasized his brother’s name and Killian staved off tears at the upcoming event. It was hard, it always had been, but even more so since he had been sober. There was temptation everywhere he looked, obvious and subliminal, but what really gave him the most turmoil was fighting the urge to see Emma again. In a way it was a welcome distraction, only it was becoming more and more difficult knowing she was in the same town at the same time every year and he hadn’t seen her for three.

“You should ask for forgiveness,” Hollye repeated, interrupting his thoughts.

“You’re a good person, Hollye,” Killian smiled, offering her his hand. She took it, shaking their joined hands up and down between them with a smirk.

“I’ve been called worse,” she winked.

One month later

Emma came home every year for exactly two reasons.

Her adoptive parents still lived in the town so she used the time to visit them, making sure that they were doing well and managing in their increasingly elderly state. They were older when they adopted her, having already had children of their own, but never being the sort of people to turn away a stray. Emma’s adoptive brother David tried to find the time to meet her at home, but he was busy and often it was just her. Not that the Nolans minded, because Emma was happy and that was all they had ever wanted her to be.

Secondly, Emma had never found peace at the passing of her friend, Liam Jones. He was taken from her life too soon, cruelly, and she had struggled with his loss for many years. When she had moved away she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling deep within her that meant she missed him terribly. New York felt like half a world away so to relieve the build up of anxiety, each year she would return home and visit his grave.

She tended the site, weeding and making sure that it was kept spic and span. Liam was a military man and so would never have wanted anything so messy representing the man he once was. Emma bought him flowers, always the same sunshine yellow Chrysanthemums because Liam always used to say that they reminded him of her. They were a happy flower, despite their association with mourning, and Emma always smiled when she saw them.

So far, each visit had gone without a hiccup. Until today.

When she approached Liam’s grave, there was already a huge bunch of bright, yellow chrysanthemums piled on top of the freshly weeded patch of grass in front of his headstone. The flowers were fresh, each petal tightly fixed in place, the crimped edges of each to tight to blow in the slight breeze. Emma frowned and looked around, but the graveyard was deserted, no other visitors catching her eye. She looked back to the flowers and noticed a card. Her brow knitted together in a quizzical expression as she knelt down and plucked it from the still tied bunch.

“Granny’s. 7pm.”

Emma’s breath left her and the hair on the back of her neck prickled to life, straining against her skin. It had been five years without a single word, but she would never forget the slightly italic, old world handwriting of Killian Jones.

In the time it had taken her to regain her composure she had returned back to the Nolans humble home and was greeted at the door by the enthusiastic Will. Will was almost five years old, not planned but not loved any less, and ran at her with an excited squeal as he called her name. His hair flopped over his eyes as her ran, feet pounding the hardwood floor of the hallway and almost jumped into her arms as she crouched to greet him.

“Mommy!” Will sang, leaping before he even reached her with utter faith that she would catch him.

“Hey lightning bug,” Emma chimed, setting him on her hip and brushing the lightly curled hair from his face. When she did, the blue of his eyes shone through his smile, his cheeks flushed and his words catching on his breath as he tried to tell her all about his day.

“We were playing pirates!” Will said, wide eyed and excited. “I was the Captain! And we walked the plank! And there were sharks if we fell into the lava!” He squeaked rapidly, his tiny lungs filling up between each sentence.

“Lava?” Emma quirked her brow, looked at him and trying to hide her smile. He nodded, a big grin on his face.

“But I didn’t fall in, did I?” Will almost arched his entire body towards the man approaching them, leaning out of Emma’s embrace with outstretched arms and a cocky grin on his face.

Graham was tall, broad and had the most amazing demeanour Emma had even known. She smiled as he walked towards them in jeans and a causal tee, his hair the same floppy brown style as Will’s and a warming smile that made her feel at ease. They even shared little habits. Will’s face when he was in trouble mirrored Graham’s when he was in her bad books and they both pulled the same face when they tried to bend the truth.

“No you did not, Captain,” Graham shook his head, saluting and going along with the boy’s story. “There was that time you pushed me in though,” he grunted, pulling Will into his arms.

“You said you wouldn’t tell!” Will gasped, giggling when Graham jabbed his fingers into his sides and wiggled them, instantly causing Will to almost bend in half and wriggle in his arms.

“So you had fun without me?” Emma asked softly, her heart swelling with joy as her son hit the ground running, calling out for Papa Nolan as he tore off along the hallway and ignored her question. Emma watched him go, only looked back to Graham as he rounded the corner and bounded out of sight, the Nolans cat fleeing under a nearby armchair just like she always had when they visited.

“Not intentionally,” Graham beamed, touching her elbow as he leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss, his hand slipping down her forearm and gripping her fingers. “How was it?” He knew that she visited Liam every year and that she always had to do it alone. He just wished sometimes that she would let him in as much as the dead man.

Emma shrugged, her smile fading with the reminder. “The same. I talked, he listened,” she said sadly.

“Did you tell him everything?” Graham asked her, his features suddenly flashing with a sense of nervousness, his voice lowering slightly as he shot a glance over his shoulder. “About us?”

Emma looked up at him and slipped her hand from his. “I did,” she said solemnly and Graham offered her a weak twitch of a smile. “It won’t be long,” she promised him, flattening her hand to his cheek and rubbing her thumb over his skin there. “I promise.”

“I don’t like lying,” Graham whispered, leaning closer to her. “The Nolans are good people. I feel like a fraud.”

“You are not,” Emma told him firmly. “I am the one lying to myself, and you, and I promised, the day I found out I was pregnant, that I would never be that person again.” Despite his best efforts, Graham would never be the man Emma yearned for him to be and whilst she never regretted a single moment with him, and loved each and every memory they had made together as a family, she had vowed to never settle for enough.

She and Graham had spoken at great length about their imploding relationship and they had decided to part on good terms, share custody of Will and work at being the best parent figures they could be. They would always be there for him, in any capacity, but they also had another hurdle to leap. The Nolans. Emma’s adoptive parents loved Graham like a son and after so long they had almost adopted him as their own, so they both knew that telling them would crush them completely. They had agreed to both come home, visit family of all kinds and then tell everyone later on.

“It’s still hard, you know?” Graham told her in a hushed voice. “Pretending,” he clarified.

“I know,” she said apologetically. “But Will doesn’t know yet, and I haven’t told my parents,” Emma sighed. “I can almost hear Mamma Nolan’s voice now. “What did you do? He was a good man!” She imitated her adoptive mother’s voice so closely that Graham laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“I am a good man,” he grinned boyishly.

“Yes you are,” Emma told him firmly just like she had done a thousand times before. “It’s just…”

“I know,” Graham told her softly. “I understand, I really do. I’m just going to really miss Will, you know?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Emma smiled reassuringly. “I would never keep him from you, you know that.”

“Thank you,” Graham just about had time to say out loud before said child came running through the house again, Papa Nolan in tow, a feather sticking from his silvery hair and a little plastic archery set in his hands dwarfed by his size.

“Indians!” Will yelled, a high pitched scream following as he tore past them and out the back door into the yard.

“Okay,” Emma laughed, watching her adoptive father sneak past them emitting his own high pitched noise and patting his palm over an open mouth. “You boys have fun!” Emma called after them.

“Are you going somewhere?” Graham frowned at her words and fiddled nervously with the belt loop of his jeans. Emma blushed a little, looking down at her feet before diving her hand into her pocket and pulling out the card. She looked at it one more time before handing it to Graham.

“This was on Liam’s grave,” she said gently. “For me.”

“Is this from him?” Graham said with a little too much resentment, the tone in his voice one he couldn’t hide. Emma had never lied to him about her past, any part of it, and she knew that one day this moment would come. They had both expected it a lot sooner. “Are you going?”

“I’ll be fine,” Emma reassured him quickly, taking the card from his hand before he set it on fire with his angry stare. She took his hand in hers and when he looked up at her she gave him a small smile. “It will be okay. He just wants to talk.”

Graham blinked at her with a twisted smirk. “How do you know that?”

“I know him,” Emma nodded firmly. “Tell Will I have gone to see Belle, okay?” She smiled quickly, checking her watch and realising that if she didn’t leave now she would be late for her impromptu meeting. When she looked back up, Graham’s face was etched with agony. “Words are all he has left. I have to go and talk to him.”

“Be careful,” Graham warned but his worries were extinguished when Emma cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheek. “I worry.”

“Don’t.” Emma reached for the door behind her and pulled it open, mindful to be gone before Will came back through from the yard. “I’ll call Will at eight to say goodnight.”

When she reached Granny’s Diner, the hub of their hometown, far earlier than the card had invited her to meet, Killian was sitting in their usual little booth already. He was sitting browsing the menu, a fruitless task seeing as they had spent most of their teens memorizing the items word for word, but it seemed he welcomed the distraction. His leg bounced up and down under the table and he wiped at his brow, checking his watch every few seconds just in case it had decided to run slow.

He looked good from what Emma could see from the doorway, having snuck in behind another patron to avoid the ringing bell alerting him to her early presence. She felt like a stalker, watching him from the shadows of a doorside booth, staring at the back of his head as she worked up the courage to approach. He had cut his hair and shaved, leaving his trademark length of stubble that was a little more silver than she remembered now he was approaching his forties. The hair on his sideburns was more white than black now and a sparse peppering of black littering his hairline.

Emma wasn’t going to lie, he was hot. He had put on a little weight, his cheeks filled out when she saw his profile turn to check the clock above Granny’s bar area. Maybe it was the parent in her that found his new look so appealing, the classic dad style of his casual black sweater tight over his muscles making her swoon a little, or maybe it was just seeing him after five years telling her what she had always known.

Killian Jones was, and always would be, the man that made her tingle, set her skin ablaze with passion and she missed him like the deserts miss the rain. It was wrong, she knew that, but she couldn’t stop loving him, even after everything that had happened. After everything that was said, he still knew her better than she knew herself, and was the only man who could ever show her the light.

“Are you going to stare into the back of my head all night, Swan?” he called out to her over the almost deserted diner as he kept his gaze fixed on the menu in front of him. He smirked to himself when he heard her get up and make her way to him, the hot chocolate in front of him topped with cream and cinnamon. Emma slid into the booth opposite him, a fixed stare on her face as he slid the mug towards her.

Emma looked down at the beverage and reached for it instinctively. “How did you…”

“You were always early,” he interrupted her with a smirk. “I assume you still like hot chocolate with cinnamon on top?” He arched an eyebrow at her, his boyish smile sending a shiver straight to her gut.

“You look good,” Emma mentioned nonchalantly and took a sip of her cocoa, licking her lips and wiping the smudge of cream from her nose.

“So do you,” Killian smiled, ignoring the fact she had dodged his question. Maybe she didn’t want to make small talk and that was fine with him, because he just needed to hear her voice to know that she was okay, and when her cheeks flushed with pink at his words, he knew she was.

“How was work?” Emma watched him over the rim of her mug, the slightly cooled liquid level reduced enough from her sipping to be able to see him over the cream now. It was a loaded question and she knew it.

Killian took a sharp breath, not expecting her to dive straight in with the hard questions, but he gave her a genuine smile that finally felt natural. He lifted his hand and lightly scratched the skin behind his ear, a habit he had always had. “Work was good. Has been for about three years now,” he said softly, his fingers picking at the dog eared menu in front of him.

“And your colleagues?” Emma pushed, setting the mug back down in front of her. Maybe it was cruel to ask him such a question before other pleasantries but she needed to know that she hadn’t sacrificed her happiness for nothing.

Killian simply smiled and it was serene. “Gone,” he told her proudly. Killian had managed to get help and medication to quell the voices in his head and therapy had helped him understand how to deal with how he was feeling. The more he understood about why he had been on such a self destructive path, the less they said to him and the more they faded away into the background. “I’ve been off my meds for six months now. Certified as normal as can be.”

Emma coughed at a sip of her drink, almost spitting it back into the cup. “I bet you still stir your tea clockwise though,” she teased, her lips finally spreading into the kind of coy smirk he had missed so much.

“I do,” Killian blushed, his British accent somehow as prevalent as ever in those two words. His family has migrated for work, but both him and Liam has never lost the accent of their mother tongue. It had always fascinated Emma to no end how certain things that he had done whilst they were together were so quintessentially British, but above all else, the insistence that tea be stirred clockwise had sealed the notion that he was certifiably insane firmly in her mind forever.

“So normal,” she mocked once more like they had never been apart. A silence fell between them, the clinking of mugs from the washing up area not even enough of a distraction. Killian twisted his lips into a sideways pout and fiddled with the menu some more, crossing and uncrossing his legs under the table, mindful not to bump Emma’s knees. Emma looked around, taking in the decor of the diner that hadn’t changed in at least twenty years.

“Liam loved yellow chrysanths, you know,” Killian said suddenly, breaking the silence with a common ground. “He always said they reminded him of you.”

“The flowers?” Emma frowned at another of his Britishisms.

Killian chuckled lightly. “Yeah, the flowers,” he blushed.

“I bring them every year,” Emma told him, tilting her cup and noticing the mixture of melted cream and cinnamon powder lurking in the bottom. “But you know that.” She looked right at him, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug idly as she stared into the hue of his eyes. She had missed it, the darker circle around the blue that shone like the brightest sapphire when he was happy and was as dark as the depths of the ocean when he was aroused. He didn’t look away, holding her gaze unashamedly.

“I missed you the first year you came and the groundskeeper described someone who can have only been you, so the year after I came back.”

“You didn’t say anything,” Emma pried softly, prompting him to continue.

“I couldn’t,” Killian admitted shyly. “I was still such a mess, I just hid in the shadows after…” he paused, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“After?” Emma cocked her head to the side.

Killian let out a breath with exasperation. “Graham,” he said with a spiteful tone and Emma looked away. “I heard you talking about Graham and how happy you were and I was nowhere near mended. I couldn’t talk to you. I would have just made you regret coming back, and I would never do that to you. Liam meant as much to you as he did to me so I couldn't give you a reason to stop coming to visit him.”

“I would never…” Emma began but Killian interrupted her with a little more force than he intended.

“I would have probably said something I would have regretted, and it would have been selfish of me to put that sort of pressure on you,” he gulped, swallowing the distaste of compunction down his throat. “Again.”

“Oh, Killian,” Emma said softly, reaching across the table between them and clutching his hand in hers. He stilled at her touch, something he had missed like oxygen once it had been denied him for so long, and stared at their hands. His heart took off in his chest, banging against the curve of his ribcage and made the base of his spine tingle with delight. Emma offered him a comforting smile but he quickly tore his hand from hers.

Killian froze, palms flattened to the table in front of him as images of him assaulting Emma flickered behind his eyes. He pinched his eyes closed, his breathing becoming shallow, and tiny beads of sweat oozing from his brow. It was a panic attack, plain and simple, and he had encountered enough to know that it would pass, but he couldn’t help his bodies reaction to Emma’s touch. He felt like he didn’t deserve her compassion, in any form, and the tiniest touch had sent his body into an episode.

“Killian?” Emma asked mildly, confused by his sudden reaction. She had encountered her own fair share of attacks to know what he was going through and immediately moved around to sit at his side, shielding him from view of the other diner goers and laying her hand over his. “Killian, come back to me,” she whispered, her body pressed against his and her mouth so close to his ear that her voice was all he could hear. “Shhh, breathe.”

Her voice was faint but Killian heard her as clear as day through the fog in his mind. He felt the warmth of her hands on his, the softness of her lips against his ear and her breath on his neck, and a relief washed over him immediately, his lungs filling with cool air as he deepened his breathing the way his therapist had instructed. When he was finally able to move, Killian clutched her fingers, lacing them with his as he resumed his steadying breaths. Emma rubbed her thumb over his, watching the profile of his face as his brow relaxed and he peeled his eyes open once more.

“I’m sorry,” Killian whimpered, his body relaxing back in the seat.

“Don’t apologize,” Emma said firmly. “You are still clearly working through some things.”

“Just one,” Killian laughed nervously, the adrenaline from his attack making him shake a little. He turned to her and swallowed hard, looking down at the rip in the green leather between them. “Would you…” he began, fidgeting.

“Go on,” Emma nudged him with her elbow and he looked up at her shyly.

“Part of the...process...is asking for forgiveness,” he began, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “And I know I don’t deserve it, and I don’t want you to feel like you owe me a single thing, not after what I did to you…”

“Killian,” Emma stopped him, grabbing his forearm and flattening her palm to his cheek. He gasped at her touch again but this time he felt a warming calm flood over his entire body, the anxiety chased away by a new kind of light that he had never seen or felt before. It was heavenly.

“Hmm?” he grunted sheepishly.

“I forgive you,” Emma smiled warmly. Her thumb brushed the apple of his cheek and his lips twitched, mirroring her smile back. “I forgave you a long time ago,” she repeated, sliding her hand behind his head and pulling his head towards her until their foreheads touched. It was as intimate as they had ever been, honest and raw and Killian’s hand flew up to cup her cheek in his hand. He felt Emma relax, his anticipation of her fleeing long gone.

A single tear rolled down his cheek and his eyes fluttered closed. “Thank you,” he whispered and he meant it with all his heart.

One Month Later

Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to this. Maybe there was some divinity to the whole process, but it wasn’t just Killian who had been addicted, and when he had asked her if she wanted to go to a meeting with him, she had said yes. Graham had returned to New York, leaving Emma and Will another month at the Nolans, but tomorrow they were flying home and the thought of not being able to say goodbye because Killian had gone to a meeting was selfish. So Emma had agreed to go with him when he had suggested it, both of them knowing it was going to be some of the last moments they would spend together for a while.

The room was just like her own meetings, a church hall rented out to the organisers for a small donation that probably wouldn’t go very far. It wasn’t a sit in a circle type meeting because everyone in this one was a veteran addict, mostly around the same age who had all fallen into some sort of crisis. For some it was drugs, for most it was alcohol and as they skimmed over their introductions, Emma felt like she might have been the only person there addicted to sex.

As she had explained a thousand times before in her story that it wasn’t about the act itself. It was always about finding the numbness of climax, the light beyond the shadows, where she had felt safe and free. But as everyone in front of her nodded in agreement with her statements like a faithful congregation, she couldn’t help but feel Killian’s eyes transfixed onto her and burning into her flesh. Meetings were a place of brutal honesty and she never divulged his name, but that didn’t stop the tuts and head shakes of disgust.

If only they knew the villain of her story was sitting within their flock, a wolf amongst lambs. Emma wondered how they would have reacted to realise that their judgement was actually hypocrisy, and the very same repugnant responses to Killian’s story were about her and how she had dragged him into the light with her. She was happy now, and Killian’s smile told her he was too. But then Emma mentioned she had a son, the new light in her life, a welcomed addiction that she never wanted to quit, and the whole room smiled with her.

Except for Killian. His face paled and he shifted in his seat, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed almost audible. As she caught his eye, the anguish plastered across his face at the new knowledge that Graham had given her yet another thing he never could, she knew she had given him hope and then snatched it away again, but there were no secrets at these things. And it was something that she couldn’t hide anymore.

“A son?” Killian said from behind her as she wrinkled her nose at the pitiful array of donuts on offer. The coffee was bad enough, but why they insisted on plain, unsugared rings of dough was beyond her.

“Are we all addicted to sugar too?” She scoffed, poking one of the offending treats and avoiding his question entirely.

“We can’t have nice things,” Killian laughed, wrapping his fingers around the coffee cup in his hands.

“Clearly,” Emma frowned, selecting the biggest donut from the half empty box. It was cold, heavy and when she bit into it, there was no familiar crunch of sugar on her teeth or dusting on her lips, but she licked at them anyway.

“How is it?” Killian teased, sipping his coffee and trying to hide his smirk.

“You know it's disgusting,” Emma said quietly and grabbed a napkin to spit the almost undercooked dough into. It was bland, tasted like flour and water on her tongue and she had to get rid of it immediately, wiping the napkin down her tongue, balling it up in another and tossing it into the provided trash can next to the table.

“Try the coffee,” Killian suggested with a restrained chuckle. “It’s...just as bad,” he sighed.

“Thanks,” Emma retorted sarcastically.

“So, a son? Why didn’t you tell me?” Killian asked softly, his words genuinely intrigued and not laced with the anger Emma had expected. She finally looked up at him and he smiled back at her, head tilted to the side and an expectant look in his eyes.

“I didn’t know how to?” Emma asked, questioning her own words.

“I mean, I have no right to expect anything from you,” Killian clarified quickly when he sensed he had made her a little uneasy. “Least of all to wait for me.”

“You wanted me to wait for you?” Emma asked gently.

“Selfishly, yes, at first,” Killian revealed with a nod. “But then I realised that you were right. I needed to mend, we both did, and our grief for Liam was something we had to do alone.”

“Becoming a mother changed me overnight,” Emma said with a happy grin. “He’s amazing and I followed the path laid out in front of me because of him.”

Killian shifted his weight, inhaling hard and peering down into his half filled coffee cup. “Do you think…” Killian paused, eyebrows knitting together on his face. “...In another life, you would have waited?” He asked awkwardly.

Emma paused, her cheeks prickling with the heat of a blush.

“Never mind,” Killian shook his head, dismissing his words. “It’s selfish of me to ask that.”

“In another life,” Emma said firmly, sucking in a shaking breath. She reached between them, brushing her fingers over his, the most intimate they could be in a public meeting that discouraged relationships between attendees. Killian watched her fingers with a stilled breath, his entire body buzzing, his skin tightening over his bones and his mouth going dry. “Maybe in this one.”

Killian’s head snapped up to meet her gaze, the tears behind his eyes threatening to soothe the sting along his eyelids. His eyes searched hers, flickering over the leafy green hues that were accented by the crinkles in her skin at their corners from her soft smile. He didn’t know what to say, struck silent with her admission that could mean any one of a thousand things. The one he hoped for lingered on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask her for another chance, but the sobriety chip in his pocket burned into his skin through the cotton and told him he didn’t deserve her.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Emma asked gently, rousing him from his thoughts. “I know a place that serves real donuts,” she joked, shooting one last disgusted look at the flimsy white box beside her. “And coffee,” she said quickly. “Real coffee,” she hummed, almost able to taste the smoothness of citrus notes on her tongue.

Killian grinned at her, a boyish, wide open mouthed grin that was accompanied with a sound from his throat like laughter. “Alright,” he agreed, tossing his coffee into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

The roadside diner was just outside of town, away from the familiar prying eyes they never could seem to escape by coming home. It was nice to see everyone, but sometimes they were just too invested in other people’s lives and Emma had discovered this diner as a means of escape. It was close enough that if she got called back for Will she was near but far enough out that she felt separated from the constant questions and stares. And they served donuts to die for.

It was like any other diner, like they were all set out in a generic way that made Emma think they were all owned by a single person. The countertop was black marble and even so late in the day it consistently clinked with the contact of plate after plate as orders flooded out of the kitchen. The floor was a green tile, speckled with white and with an orange pattern in the center that resembled a color blindness test card, and was polished so much Emma could see her reflection. The walls were the same shade of green and the leatherette sofas in the booths and on the bar stools matched the orange tone of the floor pattern, two huge ceiling fans whirling around above the walkway to keep the place cooled.

Spotlights lit the bar area, a constant drip of coffee from the machine next to the cash register cathartic to watch. Emma had spent many hours on one of these stools, timing the drips of coffee in her mind and awaiting a refill from the server as she contemplated her life. Graham had come into her life in a moment of great need, but he had been different from Killian, and she had warmed up to him as a friend before anything else. She tested him, made sure that she was what he wanted, and gave him the chance to escape on more than one occasion, but he had stayed, resolute and steadfast when she had tried to push him away.

“Just go. I can’t give you what you want.”

“I just want you. All of you.”

“How am I ever going to be enough? You know what I am about, what I have been through. How can you expect to love me when I can’t love you back?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

In a way, Emma regretted letting him stay. She had been nothing but honest, telling him that he was never going to be the man that she loved, and for that she was sorry. She didn’t regret their relationship, because it was built on a mutual respect, and he did love her, but it wasn’t fair that she let him carry the weight of their relationship alone. It had taken him nearly five years of never hearing her say ‘I love you’ before Graham had finally snapped, deciding that she was right and he couldn’t pretend anymore.

They hadn’t fought, not in front of Will anyway, and were separating on good terms. They had agreed that he would go home to New York ahead of her and Will, packing up his stuff and moving out of their house and their lives. They would explain things to Will another time, but they both had faith that he would be okay with it as much as they were, and they would both still love him just the same. Now that Graham was officially moved out, Emma felt like she could breathe again, a strange sensation that she hadn’t felt since leaving Killian, but one that she had missed every single day.

They sat down to order, sitting opposite each other in one of the way back booths so they could talk a bit more privately. Killian looked around the diner as they sat, taking in the photographs of local heroes and aged newspaper clippings that were framed on every available wall surface. Clearly the place saw a lot of celebrities and the owner seemed to be a little bit of a cinephile, old movie posters and signed memorabilia scattered all around the place.

“You come here a lot?” Killian asked Emma as a waitress took their order of two coffees.

“Sometimes I come here to think,” Emma shrugged, arching her back into the leather bench and letting out a groan.

It hadn’t escaped Killian’s notice that the waiting staff knew her by name and they knew how she took her coffee too. “Sometimes?” He quipped, arching his eyebrow at her.

“Okay, so I think a lot,” Emma grinned, glaring at him playfully.

“About Graham?” Killian prompted selfishly. He hated the man, his name on his tongue like a poison in his mouth, but he respected that Emma was satisfied.

“Sometimes,” she whispered noncommittally.

“Does he make you happy?” Kilian couldn't stop the words as they fell from his lips, screwing his face up and expecting an earful of abuse for his cheek. Emma looked up at him aghast and he quickly shook off the feeling of dread he had because he had to know. “It’s all I have ever wanted for you, Swan.”

“He did,” Emma stared into his eyes, readying herself for her confession. “We are seperated.” Killian frowned, confusion etched across his face. He knew she had come to their hometown with Graham, but it did explain how she had managed to get away to meet with him so often in the last eight weeks. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sorry,” he lied.

“Liar,” Emma smirked. “It’s okay, really. You know you have to be happy to move on, and I was for a time. Now I am not. It’s really that simple.” Emma shrugged a sigh and brushed a stray hair from her face, letting the rest tumble over her shoulders. She had decided to wear her hair down for the meeting, maybe subconsciously because she knew Killian had always liked it that way, which was confirmed when his eye flickered to watch her hand toy with the golden tresses.

“As long as you are okay,” he smiled warmly. “So why New York?” Killian asked her, changing the subject to something he had always wondered. New York wasn’t a million miles away, so he knew she wasn’t running away from anything, and it always left the door open for him to visit, something he had resisted for so long.

“Who said I lived in New York?” Emma narrowed her gaze at him, wondering if she had inadvertently mentioned something in the meeting. She didn’t remember telling him, or even letting it slip over Liam’s grave, but then she was hit with a realisation that made her sigh and Killian laugh.

“Will,” she said with a groan.

“Will fucking Scarlett,” Killian said with a nod. “Can’t keep his mouth shut that lad. Never could,” he laughed.

“And what were you doing in Will’s bar, huh?” Emma accused, thanking the small, blonde haired waitress who had poured their coffees.

“Drinking water,” Killian told her with a knowing look. “Which is boring, by the way.”

Emma giggled, reaching for her mug. The coffee was boiling hot, the ceramic burning her fingers as she pulled it towards her without a visible wince of pain. “But I bet your breath smells fresher,” she mocked.

“Indeed,” Killian blushed a little, lifting his coffee to his lips.

“New York was just somewhere I could be nobody for a while,” Emma admitted. “I needed to heal as much as you but I suppose, if I am being honest with myself, I didn’t want to move too far away. I couldn’t...” She looked down into her lap. Honesty was the best policy, or so they said. “I needed to still be close to you.”

She looked up at her admission and Killian felt the pang of guilt in his heart. “Because of...you know?” He asked gently, not wanting to mention her dependency too much. It was good to talk about things, they had both learned that the hard way, but old wounds didn’t need to be reopened unnecessarily. Emma was an addict too, and he was her drug of choice. She nodded sadly. “And now?” He pushed, watching her shift in the seat.

“Now I just…” Emma lost her words, sitting forward in the booth and pushing her arms across the table until their fingers were almost touching. She could swear there were sparks between them when Killian didn’t move away but instead mirrored her movements and sat forward in his own seat, the leather groaning under his weight.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” Killian finished for her, reading her mind and almost whispering the words. He pushed his coffee mug aside with the back of his hand and reached for hers, sliding it out of their way. He bunched her hands up in his, lifting them to his lips and planting a soft kiss to the back of her knuckles, letting his lips linger as he inhaled her scent.

“I shouldn’t,” Emma told herself out loud but her words didn’t match her actions when she kept her hands exactly where they were, savouring the feel of his mouth of her skin after so long. She felt a tickle in her stomach, the dropping sensation followed by a welcome feeling of delight that was so familiar and yet different. It wasn’t like before, when they were both slaves to each other’s mercy.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Killian began, but as he tried to pull his hands away, Emma stopped him, fingernails digging into his flesh that made him stare in her direction dumbfounded. Her face had changed, softness appearing around her eyes as the barriers she was holding up melted away and there was something else behind her eyes that he had never seen before. It was understanding and unselfishness and before he had time to ask her what it meant, Emma was pushing herself to her feet, grabbing his soft, woolen sweater and pulling him to her across the wooden surface of the table.

Her lips crashed into his and Killian’s mind exploded, eyebrows jumping up his face with surprise and his entire body paralyzed to respond. She paused, her lips on his, waiting for him to react, the grip loosening on the material of his sweater when she thought he wouldn’t, but when she heard the soft moan come from way down deep in his chest, she smirked coyly against his mouth and slid her tongue over his lips as they parted.

“Come to New York,” she whispered, their noses pressed side by side, her hand jumping to trace the silver of his sideburn with a single finger. Her eyes fluttered open and met his, the longing reflected in both of their stares.

There was nothing Killian could do but nod, a steady bob of his head that earned him another chaste kiss. Emma knew it wouldn’t be easy, they would have to contend with a long distance thing for a while, but she had faith they could make it work. There was just one more tiny detail she had to iron out, but that would have to wait until she was home.

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

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whirlybirdwhat · 4 years

Text

Sea of Monsters - Chapter 15

You want 5.8k of Sabo? Have 5.8k of Sabo

Sabo makes promises and promises (its in his nature) but he finds two promises he’ll never break (the circle of Goa can’t trap him anymore)

Or: Sabo finds his brothers and a dream

Edit: THIS NOW HAS A PODFIC TO GO WITH IT THANKS TO THE AWEOSME @oceanaromantic!!!! Please go check it out, its absolutely awesome to listen to! (Part 1 Part 2)

Read the entire series on Ao3 for better quality and authors notes! Gen, creepy, featuring all of the Straw Hats, multi-chapter story. (Tag “Ficart” on my blog should also show some fan art for this fic!)

“The East Blue has a different nickname to those in the Grand Line, and those who hail it as home have a few… unique traits.”

Promise? - Sabo

The walls of Goa have stood for a thousand years, and will stand for a thousand more – or so the legends say, whispered in the allies of Edge town and declared loudly from the pedestals of high town.

They aren’t wrong, not entirely.

Goa’s walls, old, decaying, but uncracking (somethings locked inside), have stood for a thousand years, and maybe a thousand more.

Sabo, three and watching from besides his father’s knee as Edgetown inhabitants walk near the walls and never come back, knows it will hardly last a hundred more.

(There’s old magic in the walls, entrapping and tangling, like something got trapped there and never quite managed to find the key out. It’s something not quite dark and not quite light – sometimes, on moonless nights, Sabo feels as if it is watching him.)

His parents tell him that the walls keep him safe – bad things are out there Sabo; don’t you want to make Mommy and Daddy happy and stay alive? - but Sabo always wonders why they don’t tread near it.

Why no one does.

(Is it the presence? The not quite thing that stares at him in the night and sings songs of breaking and ruin, of young kings and ruined empires?)

Hightown is not a real town. Or at least, Sabo doesn’t think it is. Everything’s pretend here, hinging not on their own politics, but the outside world they don’t ever speak of.

They don’t speak of harsh words to perfect children behind golden doors, they don’t speak of the occasional too hard slap, and they certainly don’t speak of the pointed ears adorning each of their heads, or the wings shifted under clothes.

Or – they do, and its applauded and praised if you have gold lining your pockets, and cursed if you have a single smudge of dirt on you.

Its pretend, because Sabo doesn’t know what is real or not.

(Does he do as the king does, and shed his cloak and sleeves to show the world the wings upon his back, crafted of gold and iron and a metal of not here, show them the spots of glowing blue dancing along his shoulder blades and how pointed his teeth can get if he smiles just so? Or does he do as his parents do, as the rest of the country does, and hide, hide, hide -)

There’s a man Sabo sees when his family rides a carriage to the docks, to greet some royalty or other. Sabo wasn’t paying attention, too distracted by the itchy cloth tying his wings to his back and hidden under a weighted cloak.

But he does see the man – because the man is so very different.

Sparks of gold and shimmering elsewhere scatter across his limbs as he walks bare-chested towards the gate of the city. His back is bloody – two gouges, flesh torn and horrendous, are placed in the spot where Sabo’s own winged limbs attach.

There’s no pain in his face, eve as people shout at him from the street corners, young children tossing rocks at his face. It’s only a serene calmness as he looks straight into Sabo’s eyes.

His mother doesn’t even try to hide him from sight.

“Ah. He didn’t follow the rules. Shame.” She sniffs, and the carriage continues onward.

Sabo suddenly gains the sense that something is terrible, near irreversibly wrong. (Everything’s a contradiction)

He doesn’t wonder if should bare his back anymore.

His parents have always told him to be quiet, to listen, to obey, to put your wings down and stand up straight, can’t you follow the rules for once, you summoned child?

And Sabo hates it, but can’t protest against them, because rules and laws are what keeps the society of High Town together, and if someone were to break it, well, someone always wants to try children’s blood to keep them young.

Sabo understands it all now, because he’s five, and he’s figured it out – he’s figured it all out.

(Have you ever been trapped inside a faery ring? An old one? No? Well it goes something like this.

There’s a circle of rocks, incomplete and alluring, inviting travelers in. In the circle is a wondrous life of peace and serenity, so people go and dance and dance.

But then, so suddenly, somebody decides to shut the entrance, slide a rock into a place that should never be filled, let the power wash over and drag the darkness in.

Suddenly, the people aren’t dancing anymore. Suddenly, they are puppets on a string, dancing because stopping means death, and continuing does too, but maybe if they are pretty enough, perfect enough, they will be the exception?

(They never are)

Suddenly, there are rules and laws. Suddenly, a promise is binding by the soul not just the heart, and wings are wrong and lights are bad. Suddenly, the people aren’t happy being themselves, being the people who wanted to dance in the light in life, but want to be like them instead.

Those outside the circle.

Suddenly, only the powerful are worthy to have limbs of freedom and rules bind everyone else, because if there is no order, no truth then this kingdom of deceit shall eat itself in its wild dance of slavery.

Thus, the circle is endless around Goa, making more within itself, because the people keep on wanting to dance and dance and dance, but oh, they never truly will.)

Sabo doesn’t want to dance anymore.

In the dark of the night, Sabo shucks off the heavy long shirt his parents swaddle him in, and looks at the mark between his shoulder blades in mirror. It glows, ever so faintly, and Sabo remembers what his parents like to call him when he’s being impolite.

Summoned child.

He touches his ears, and wonders what his parents try to imitate, what race exists beyond these walls that they try to be so bad that his mother cut her ears and bound her wings.

Why do they try to pretend?

Three circles mean three gates to break, but Sabo has been nothing but persistent since the day he was born.

(Oh, Outlook, look he has the markings!

What! He was summoned, he should be like the Outside! Witch, what is this?

I told you, my powers are limited! The witch of the mountain has all the true capabilities!

Damn you! Out! Didit, kill the thing.

What?

You heard me!

But we already told the neighbors that we were with child, what happens when there is no child?)

He’s lucky enough that the highest one doesn’t bind him (yet, if his father has anything to say about it,) but Hightown likes to call him back at night.

Sabo knows, though, he knows the weakness within.

He runs away to Edgetown on a moonless night, and that is his first mistake, because the next night the pale moon bright beams are just enough to illuminate what stands at the edges of the outer wall.

The streets aren’t safe at night, and not because of any human(?) presence, and Sabo spends the night walking the line between known and unknown. The alley he nests in has a view of the sea, normally a comfort for Sabo, but tonight, as he wraps his wings around him, he can only think of the haze of mist looming over the Watergates like a resting tiger.

The white lights blinking lazily at him from the harbor do not help either.

(The harbor lights are normally gold)

A night in the cold and a night in the streets, a night of using a blade of iron and cold silver to chip a small whole in the wall, (break the barrier break what has been set and Sabo will be free from what call him back,) and Sabo is ready to venture out.

He has never been out before.

(What will it be like? A shining paradise, like his parents fantasize when they invite foreigners to dine? Or a terror born of hell, like his parents whisper about in the shadows? Wil it be warm and inviting or freezing and alienating?

Sabo wants to know.)

No one notices him as he approaches the ivy-covered gates at the edge of the city. They are rarely opened, even by Edgetown inhabitants, and the bronze along the edges has eroded. With age.

There are no guards, nothing to prevent Sabo from cutting his hand open and pressing it against the wall.

(There’s a creature in the walls, don’t you know? Faery circles aren’t just made of stone and magic.)

I promise, he whispers in his mind, feeling like any audible noise would break the eerie silence that has fallen over the land around him, I shall bring ruin.

A shift, and his hand isn’t there anymore – blood drips from his open wrist, plinking against the stone ground.

Drip.

There is no pain, only a numbness settling deep within Sabo’s chest as he stares at the empty place.

“Oh,” he says, the first audible word he’s said in this realm tonight, and takes a step forward.

He didn’t expect the shadows to be warm.

(A promise made, a promise kept, break these walls and passage shall be granted.)

He wakes up surrounded by fire and screams. A brief thought crosses through his mind, wondering if he awoke in hell, but a look at bright sky destroys the notion.

He’s not in hell – he’s Outside, and all that remains of his promise is the scar wrapping around his wrist, like it’s been there for years not a – a – how long has it been?

Whatever. He’s outside and it’s so much more than he thought it would be.

Here are the rules, unspoken and followed in the circling kingdom of Goa.

One – do not rebel.

(Broken)

Two – do not bare your back in public. Only the king is worthy.

(Broken. The coat falls from his shoulders like water.)

Three - do not go outside the walls.

(Broken - he’s free)

It takes him a month to get used to the outside. In that time, a time of starving of cold and terror, Sabo learns and sees, and doesn’t mind not being seen anymore.

In Grey Terminal, there are people, who have washed up on the. Shores and never quite managed to. escape, instead hiding underneath homes of broken logs, and People, like Sabo, with the blood of darkness running through their veins.

It’s easy enough to tell the difference. In Goa, traits such as theirs were shunned and hidden (though they could never quite manage it -), a curse that only royalty could wield, and the absence of it was praised in children.

Outside, the people thrive with it. Tails and scales and claws and wings creepy by Sabo’s hiding spot every night, glowing eyes in every corner, and the hazy mist of Goa’s walls never quite manages to seize them in their grasp. The people are starving and dirty and terrible but they are prideful.

(They scare Sabo, because Sabo’s been trapped for so long that he’s so weak, but he’s learning he’ll be proud too – can’t you see how sharp his teeth are getting?)

Despite this though, they don’t leave the Terminal. There’s something in the woods, they whisper, something dangerous, and the Lord of the Coast patrols the waters for any tasty snack. Sabo doesn’t disagree – he sees the looming beast and glowing red eyes that don’t dare tread past the torches on the edge of the trash heaps, and the foot prints (five times as large as anyone in Grey Terminal) that do.

He doesn’t sleep much for that first month.

But Sabo also learns that they know how to enter the kingdom without getting caught up in its tangling web. (An underground passage hidden under Trash Heap Mount, a gate guarded by a sleeping dog that can be bribed with the right type of meat to get in.

There are a lot of disappearances in Grey Terminal.)

He doesn’t dare go back, not yet at least.

Not until he meets Ace.

In a place like the Terminal, the people have nothing better to do than eat, sleep, fight, survive, and talk to remind them of something other than their miserable existence.

It’s no surprise that rumors run rampant – but one does more than others.

(Hey – you hear it happened again?

Damn, Devil child is back?

Burnt down a shack – killed a man – stole our goods – beat up twenty men – isn’t he only five?-)

There’s a child, they say, that lives in the woods. He’s half beast and half monster, half hellfire and half killer. He has eyes like the pits of hell and hands that burn anything he touches, and if you give him an answer he doesn’t like, he’ll kill you.

(He likes to go into the city a lot. Passage is needed after all.)

Sabo doesn’t want to meet him, but at the same time, he’s so goddamn curious that it's killing him not to seek him out.

In the end, though, it’s not a choice, because Ace takes one look at his shiny wings and socks him right in the face.

Its stupidly strong for a five-year-old, and maybe Sabo should be smarter than this but instead of running away he punches right back.

“What did you do that for, you asshole!” Sabo waves the pipe he found threateningly at him. The person (creature?) in front of his is his height, but with half charred tan skin and fire licking up through cracks in his skin. His hands are sharp, and the freckles that would have made him childish are a glowing hot red. Black hair, matted with blood (his?) covers his eyes slightly, and there’s dirt all over him, but what Sabo can’t look away from is his eyes.

He looks just like Sabo did when he looks in a mirror.

“'Cause I felt like it, asshole! Now give me your goggles!”

“What! Hell no, back off you dick!” He doesn’t care about his eyes anymore, just beating this idiot into the dirt because in hindsight that punch didn’t hurt that much, just stung a little.

“No!”

“Then I’ll just take them!”

Sabo readies his claws and twirls his pipe with little skill. The blue patches on his shoulders glow and wings flare threateningly from where they hover over his back.

“Try it flame freak!”

The dust doesn’t settle for another two hours.

“You ain’t half bad.”

“Neither are you.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

(A promise made, a promise kept.)

Ace doesn’t attack Sabo anymore. In Grey terminal, it seems to be a form of protection – people still try to gut you if you talk to them or tread too near to their territory, but Sabo doesn’t have to worry about people attacking him unprovoked.

(Unless it’s the pirate gang that’s settled on the shores. But he’s too underneath their notice anyway.)

It’s a nice life – fun even.

He and Ace team up sometimes to get more loot, to grab food, or to even fight. Its less like a truce, and more like an alliance now.

Sabo learns some more.

(He knows when Ace’s grip will burn and when it will crack, when he’s safe to touch and when the fire inside heats up the world outside. He understands will Ace will punch and when he will kick, how to move in tandem, how Ace will shift ever so subtly to keep from hitting his wings, and how Ace likes staring at the glowing things when they see the sunrise together.

He learns.)

But it not until they start sparring on the cliffside that he learns the truth.

(“Do you have a dream Ace?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“'Cause I think I figured mine out”

There’s a book hidden underneath Sabo’s hideout, old and fraying, but sturdy in his cover and pages. It’s a captain’s log, a pirate captain’s log, and suddenly Sabo has an inkling to what he wants.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I think I’m going to be a pirate.”

“Really? Me too…”

“…”

“Hey Sabo? I have an idea.”)

And a friendship is formed.

(His first– and it’s a so much bigger promise than any he’s ever made before.)

The first thing Ace does it take him into the forest. And the first thing he tells him is don’t look back.

Sabo doesn’t question it, and follows him in

It’s quiet at first, normal, but Sabo notes. the wide berth Ace gives the pawprints in the path and copies him.

Soon the path isn’t there anymore, and the sky isn’t either, tall trees consuming it all. There are odd sounds Surrounding him, creeping in, hot breaths running down his back but Sabo doesn’t look back, even when one of the voices sounds like a human scream.

Ace looks back at him, gives him a wicked smirk and presses a finger to his lips and dashes off. In silence, with completely wild grin, Sabo dashes after him.

He ignores the deer he sees three times, each time more rotted than the next till all that’s left is bleached bones, and ignores the giant wolf with six eyes in the caves they play before. Ace jumps to the trees in the game of impromptu tag. They started, and in a spur of instinct, Sabo flies after him, wings beating with a. power he didn’t know he had. Ace laughs, and it’s like the spell is broken – it’s like acceptance, like the final binds that tied him to the circle of Goa have broken and he’s free to be free in this monstrous jungle of half-dead things – he can look back now, but he doesn’t feel like it anymore.

Sabo laughs too, and tackles Ace to the ground, tumbling in the weirdly red mud together.

He could get used to this.

He does get used to it, for the next five years. He and Ace know the best way to get to Edgetown and all the food there (apparently, the dog likes it when its offerings are. drunk and confused), know to combine heat with flight and claws with claws. Sabo knows Ace uses the lights scattered across his limbs as a nightlight, sometimes. He learns Ace lives with the Witch of the Mountain, that he has a Grandpa with wings different that Sabo’s with a thousand eyes and Fists of Love that are really Fists of Pain. He learns whose son Ace is, and Ace learns his heritage.

They don’t care though – but if Sabo will a little more brutal to anyone who curses the child of the Pirate King, and Ace will subtly cover up the mysterious appearance of Outlook’s second child (the same night his other fled – faery circle faery rules, soul for soul and child for child – this one is a much better fit anyway), then no one is going to say anything.

Sabo gets used to the forest, the jungle, with its Trees that blot out light anywhere but the deadliest center, with its alligators with three mouths and tigers that sometimes have human hands and face (but still so bloody.) He gets used to the scratches (gouges more like) that appear in the wood around their pirate stash, and the drags in the dirt that are bigger than anything he’s seen so far. He looks back, sometimes, when he’s feeling brave. Each time he gets the feeling that he’s barely escaped death.

Sabo gets used to flight, the way he can’t quite get above the trees (are they endless in this forest?) but he can fly Ace over trash heaps and stone walls. He gets used to wings being free and not bound to his. Back, and. The claws along his finger tips that he can bare proudly without fear.

The people of Grey Terminal start whispering about two Devil Children now, one of the woods and one of the city, born of hell and hell raisers who don’t have the morality even people in the East Blue have.

(Sabo’s oddly proud the first time he catches the whispers – they call him fallen and fae, and can’t you see how his wings have turned from gold? He’s just as feared as Ace now – maybe more, because unlike Ace, he sleeps in the same place as the Grey Terminal folk.)

It’s all good - Then it all changes when Ace comes back with stories about a new boy in the mountain witch’s hut, made of rubber and hunger more than anyone can satisfy.

The kid starts chasing Ace through the forest – Sabo is surprised he hasn’t died yet. He, meaning the brat (Luffy, was that his name?) of course. Ace tells him how he falls down ravines and gets crushed by falling longs and eat by crocodiles, but every time he comes back alive, ugh.

(In whispers, Ace tells him how he kicked the kid down the ravine, the one with the wolves at the bottom, the ones who limbs are too thin and claws to long. How he came back a week later, covered in blood, too much just to come from the scratches along his limbs. He whispers how Luffy’s movements are often too quick to see, and how the shadows bend toward him, how Luffy not quite monstrous in the same way there.)

It’s fine, until Luffy finally manages to make it to the edge of the woods and hears about the treasure. Of course, the brat would want to be a pirate, shouts it out to the world. They time him to the tree, and it’s as he’s crying for them not to kill him Sabo starts to see him.

His teeth are sharp, and even though the Veil shouldn’t really affect him, Sabo can’t really focus on him entirely. His limbs are weird, but Sabo’s sure that’s just the rubber, but there’s the oddest haze above his head and his teeth are as sharp as daggers. His skin tends to fade out of focus (is he scaled or furred? Sabo can’t tell) and his tears aren’t quite the color they should be.

But he’s loud, so they have to shut him up, but as he prepares to kill him, the men from Bluejam’s crew, the one people who aren’t afraid of the Devil Children, round the corner.

And there’s nothing Sabo can do as they take Luffy, who refuses to spill their secret, away.

They move the treasure, but no one’s come to check the hiding place. Sabo’s always been a smart child, that was the one thing his parents got right about it, so he easily puts two and two together and –

“Oh no.”

Shit.

They arrive in crashing commotion, but when they look around only Porchemy’s still standing. There’s red smattered all over the room and several limbs without bodies on the floor. Porchemy’s terrified, his spiked gloved hands bloody, but so is Luffy, blood in his mouth and many, many bleeding holes and cuts ooze sluggishly.

He’s hanging from the ceiling wrapped in chains that dig into his skin. Seemingly over kill for a seven-year-old, but –

“YOU KILLED THEM! YOU ATE THEM! YOU MONSTER! YOU’RE THE WORSE OF ALL THE BEAST HERE YOU UNATURALFREAK -DEVIL FRUIT TEETH AND WHATEVER’S GOING ON IN THAT WEIRD BODY OF YOURS – HOW DARE YOU!”

BY Porchemy’s words, it might not be.

Whatever. Luffy clearly hasn’t spoken, even if he is terrifying, so Ace and Sabo have to save him – a debts a debt.

He goes down easily enough, a huge bite mark in his leg slowing him down. He’s not dead, not yet, but maybe he’ll pass on the message to Bluejam that they’re called the Devil Children for a reason.

Sabo feels Luffy smile blindingly into his back from his position on Sabo’s back and thinks maybe it’s worth it.

Luffy becomes their friend and makes Ace want to live (only a little) in the span of five minutes, after they patched up his bruises and holes and cuts, so he’s not that bad. They carefully don’t mention the three other thugs that were with Porchemy, and only ask about his devil fruit power.

(Sabo wonders why being alone hurts him so much, so much more than anything. The pain in his eyes was something he hadn’t even seen in Ace.)

They make their way to the Witch’s hut after that, because if Bluejam isn’t terrified of them, he will be after them, or maybe even make a hunt (it’s been done before) for them, so Sabo can’t live in Grey Terminal anymore.

(It’s a good thing he and Ace put their most valuable stuff with the pirate stash, or else Sabo wouldn’t have his log book anymore.)

The Witch of the Mountain has been said to live there for 1000 years. Ace tells Sabo that’s a lie, because Dadan’s just super ugly not super old, but seeing the mountain hut, strong and sturdy with marks of age in the old corner and a power wreathing about its borders, a sense powerful and dark, he has some doubts.

Doesn’t stop him from calling her a hag to her face though. If he’s gonna live here it’s gonna be on his terms.

She’s mad, tells him she’s a bandit not a hag or witch, but he doesn’t miss how she whispers something over him at night, something that makes the pressing sense of the border disappear.

It’s good.

Soon, the people speak of three Devil Children, start calling them the Three Devils, and Sabo can’t help but laugh in joy at it.

Here out in the forest, surrounded by two children with dreams just like his, he can finally breath without the force of Goa’s circle pressing down on him �� not even a memory can hold him back.

With Luffy and Ace, he trains his skills, becomes stronger than he ever was before.

Ace is still on equal footing with him – but Luffy has absolutely no control over his devil fruit. Its comical at times, other times terrifying because he rockets himself into the river the idiot, but that’s okay.

Ace and Sabo will help him.

(What they don’t mention is how Dadan takes him away sometimes, when the bandits are going on a raid. How Luffy isn’t afraid of the beasts of the jungle, how the rotting deer bows its head at him as they go past, how Luffy gets quiet when they mention he can’t that much, how he’s always, always hungry, how he can move faster that Ace and Sabo if he so wills it occasionally, and how his claws leave huge gouges in the dirt. How his eyes flash red and he becomes a little less Luffy and a little more beast.

They don’t like to talk about it.)

The useful thing about Luffy is that with a third person they can look like an adult when they sneak into Edgetown and get free food.

Dine in dashes are great - actually cooked food – could it get any better? Something that wasn’t Magra’s cooking?

(The secret useful thing about Luffy is that they don’t need an offering anymore to get passed the guardian of the hidden gate. They tried, the first time, but Luffy chomped at the beast, the flesh-eating beast, and it cowered before him and let them through. Luffy was kind enough to let the beast still have its snack.)

This time they’re eating at a place that Ace swears is fantastic, and it is, so they’ve eaten through a hundred bowls and they’re on their hundred and first when the tentacled cook finally discovers them.

Sabo’s laughing as he shoots out the window, flapping wings to keep him above his brothers as they crash to the ground, food still shoved in their cheeks.

He’s flying, flying, flying, and everyone’s staring and laughing, but he doesn’t care so much but then – oh but then-

“Sabo?”

He tells his friends who he is, fearing the crash and fall – these kids he stares at have been feral from birth but Sabo was a part of the Faery Ring, of the curse of Goa, where everyone’s trapped but- They don’t care.

And Sabo knows he’s found something great, so he tells them of another great secret, of how he’s going to see the world as a pirate and write it all down and publish his captain’s log, and maybe, just maybe, change the world so that nothing like Goa exists.

He shouts it to the cliffs, to the sea, to island and worlds itself, and he thinks the hazy being lounging on the walls of Goa nods in approval.

Ace goes next, voice just as proud, and vows to be a famous pirate, with his name spread across the world.

Then Luffy goes, face brave and bold and declares in a voice and tone Sabo’s sure he will hear a thousand times again –

“I’M GOING TO BE THE KING OF THE PIRATES!”

And well, doesn’t the world shake at the flames Sabo sees above Luffy’s head?

An hour later, and Ace is pouring sake out for all of them.

“Don’t you guys know,” He says, proudly, finishing the last pour, “That when men share a drink, they become brothers forever?”

Luffy grins, eyes wide, and Sabo can’t help but mirror it, taking a cup for himself.

“TO BROTHERS!” Ace cries, and holds out his cup.

“TO BROTHERS!” Sabo cries in return, the same as Luffy, and then they throw back their drinks, laughing like they have nothing to worry about.

And inside – Sabo feels the promise taking place, wreathing around his heart and binding him tight to these people beside him – no, he won’t ever forget them, lose them, be without them.

This vow is his promise, and it’s the one rule Goa has that Sabo hasn’t been able to break.

(A promise made, a promise kept, after all)

Now that they’re brothers, Sabo also has a new grandpa.

He doesn’t like his new grandpa, but at least he’s officially part of the family?

Garp – Gramps, sorry- makes a good pillow anyway. His wings are super soft.

They run wild and rampant still, even more than before. Goa kingdom, Hightown, everything is a far-off memory now.

No one ever tries to reign them in, lets them be feral and free as they please.

Makino’s the only one who really tries anyway, but no one ever wants to make her mad so they listen to her. (Mamakino, Luffy calls her sometimes, Mama, and Sabo wonders if it’s what a motherly touch should feel like.)

Sabo figures out how to coexist with his brothers, more than just sharing a room, but now a tree house, everything.

He knows that Ace likes to use his glowing spots as a night light (nothing new), and Luffy is endless fascinated with his wings and his stories. He knows that the biggest piece of meat, even if it’s not the best one, should go to Luffy or else he gets twitchy, and you can’t let Luffy be the last one in the tree house or else the beasts will creep in. He knows that Ace is dumb, and will try to start fights with the true beasts, but if you chuck Luffy at him they won’t always fight back (and if they do, and they can’t take them down, they should run to Dadan’s as fast as they can.) he learns that words hurt, and his brothers have some bad views on themselves (he’ll curse Porchemy for the rest of his days) but he’s here so that’s okay.

Sabo knows that he (they) can be free.

(But – the people of the Grand Line whisper about the East Blue – say that it’s a sea of monsters, and they aren’t wrong, not at all.

But that also means even the smallest ones are monsters as well.

There’s one winter, a harsh one, when Sabo is eleven. There’s not enough food to go around and people would rather starve to death than face the cold. He and Ace fail to notice Luffy getting twitchy, fail to notice how his eyes are crazed and how he doesn’t meet their own eyes and instead remains fixated on the ground, don’t notice till Luffy lunges at one of the visiting bandits and Garp is too slow to catch him and oh hell-

The blood.

Sabo’s not proud that he can’t look at Luffy or be defenseless against him for a month after that.)

Faery Rings don’t like it when their prey escapes, don’t you know?

His father sends out lackeys, threatening his brothers and he has no choice but to let them lead him back to the dance as they shove him over the gates.

(A promise made, a promise kept.)

He’s back, he’s back in hell, and there’s someone in the place that was never meant for him (Stelly-) So why do they want him back, why can’t he be free, he made the deal didn’t he?

(A promise made, a promise kept.)

His wings are bound so tightly and his shirts covering up what can glow, and Sabo feels like he can’t breathe.He can’t – he can’t, is he the only one who hears the screams outside as they burn the terminal down? Don’t they know that the monsters are inside not outside?

(A promise made, a promise kept.)

Sabo’s not a part of Goa anymore. He can’t be, not like this. He’s decided, he had a plan, a promise, but now there are only two promises he swears he’ll keep.

One – to the being of the circle, that’s been so quiet now that he’s back and not half-feral - I shall bring ruin.

And two – the most important (To brothers!)

He sends a letter off, and prepares to leave, trusting that he’s brothers will live and he will meet them both out on the Grand Line.

(A promise made, a promise kept.)

(But what happens when the promise breaks?)

He has a flag above his head, a compass in hand, and a boat and waves beneath his feet. He sails out of Goa’s harbor, the only safe one, sure that he can make it past the big ship that’s rolling past him. He waves at the island, and ignores how the shadows reach back for him.

The wings on his back stretch, and finally, finally finally he is Fr-

Fire.

There’s so much fire – it burns, oh god it burns help and he’s drowning water everywhere, his dream no- Ace Luffy HELP!

Darkness.

“Who am I?”

(A promise made, a promise unkept.)

(Who knew a fae who didn’t keep to the rules?)

27 notes · View notes

azfellandco · 5 years

Text

This is not for you.

First off, do not reblog this. There are only a handful of people whose opinions on this topic I care about, and they are perfectly capable of reaching me through discord should they want to discuss this post. I know saying this is not going to deter anybody who is really determined, but I just want to make very clear what this post is for: this is for me and my friends. This is not me “weighing in on the discourse”, this is not meant to be taken as a point for or against any argument. This is me, talking about how I feel.

I think I’m done writing for Good Omens. Maybe not forever but certainly for a good long while, at the very least until tumblr’s newest obsession shifts again, preferably until this fandom shrinks back down to something more closely resembling the five people in a dinghy it felt like when I first started writing here a year ago(ish).

There’s a number of reasons for this but the primary one is: I feel too watched here. I don’t like the number of followers I have, I don’t like the number of strangers I get coming into my inbox or commenting on my posts, and I certainly do not like the atmosphere surrounding Neil Gaiman and Michael Sheen’s involvement and/or observation of this fandom.

It seems to me that many things Neil Gaiman has been saying, many things people are applauding as evidence of good representation and engagement with his fans, aren’t really his ideas and his work to take credit for. To name just one example, the conversation going on lately about Crowley dressing in women’s clothes during the Mesopotamia scene. A friend of mine made a post about this in April and it just seems to me to be too much coincidence that Neil Gaiman, active tumblr user and frequent trawler of the Good Omens tag himself, didn’t see fit to talk about this himself until people’s discussions of gender and representation started gaining traction. It seems to me that if Neil Gaiman had really intended Crowley to have been dressed in women’s clothes and read as female presenting, he might have said something about that before it became popular. Retroactively deciding something is a way because people like that idea is not the same thing as intentional representation.

And it’s the same for the pair of them being asexual and nonbinary, and the same with him endorsing queer readings just in general. It’s only been after the fandom started saying these things that he’s started saying them, too, after insisting, historically, for thirty years, that Aziraphale and Crowley are not a couple. And please don’t misunderstand me, I don’t want him to say “they’re explicitly gay” or whatever else, I want him to get out. I want Neil Gaiman to subscribe to what he has claimed to support in killing the author, and stop commenting. Stop lurking, stop answering people’s questions, stop treating the community that has sprung up around this book as his. It isn’t. Fandom spaces belong to the fans, not the creators, and headcanons and fanwork belong to the people who make them, the predominantly queer and female people who make them.

I am done writing for this fandom because I am tired of seeing concepts that originated with me and my friends, for fun, for free, come out of the mouth of a middle-aged cishet white man who is making money off his writing. Do you know when I write? I write in bits and spurts walking home from work, while I’m waiting for the water to boil for pasta, in the half hour break I get at my night job. Do you know what I’m doing when I’m not writing? Desperately and scramblingly trying to take care of myself, to cook and clean and do grocery shopping and laundry and all the while worrying that maybe today is the day I drop something, maybe today is the day I miss a ball in the juggling act of supporting myself and my frankly ridiculous cocktail of mental illnesses and hurt myself or lose my job. Do you know why I write, why I do fandom? So that I have somewhere to let off steam, something safe to think about besides how totally screaming scared I am, all the time. I am 24 years old and I make just enough to survive and not much extra, and I am constantly aware that I need help and can’t afford it, and that I’m just biding my time at my job, trying desperately to hang on long enough that I’ll be eligible for benefits and thus can begin looking for mental and physical health advice.

And it is just exhausting to me that I can write, pour my heart into something I love and care about and post it online for the benefit of other people who love and care about the same thing, and then have to contemplate the idea that Neil Gaiman or Michael Sheen are seeing my work. That these well-off people, happily settled into life and kids and a career that puts food on their tables and allows them to live without worrying about whether the next time they have a really bad day they’re going to lose everything, can see the things I write, can see the things we all write, fic and meta and headcanons and queer readings going back thirty years, in some cases, and say it was inspirational to the way Aziraphale was portrayed in the show or, even worse, just completely fail to acknowledge that the fandom influenced a changing perception of the material at all. Because Neil Gaiman’s tune about this all has definitely been changing since the show came out.

I don’t know, I know this isn’t fully rational but Neil Gaiman and Michael Sheen lurking here has made me feel like I’ve put together a portfolio of work, somehow, without intending to or thinking about it, because I don’t think of the writing I do for fandom as serious work. I don’t consider my fandom presence to be a professional pursuit, but just by existing in this space as a professional writer himself, Neil Gaiman makes me feel like I ought to. Like if I say something insightful enough somewhere, sometime, someone will swoop down and tell me they’d like to give me money for it, because I desperately, desperately need money or at least the kind of emotional security having a great deal of money or a steady supply of work I can do without physically and emotionally exhausting myself can bring. I don’t have to have a good customer service presence on here, I don’t have to be friendly and marketable and neurotypical and stable, because this is a hobby and my livelihood doesn’t depend on it, but the vague shadow of the idea that Neil Gaiman or Michael Sheen could see my work and be impressed by it throws that out the window.

This blog isn’t going anywhere but I am done writing for this fandom, fanfiction and meta and headcanons and all of it, because every time I do some tiny part of me is hopeful that it will lead to financial stability, somehow, and it isn’t going to, and it isn’t healthy. I am going to write some fic for some smaller fandoms for a while, smaller fandoms that my handful of friends are interested in, and I might try to work on some original writing. If part of my angst about this whole mess comes from wanting to get paid for my writing, that would seem a sensible course of action.

#begone thought

22 notes · View notes

ficdirectory · 7 years

Text

Fic’s Fic Recs:

#3 (Rachel, inspirational quotes meme) by chemiglee (1,006 words)

Rating: G

Summary: spec fic for Funny Girl outcome (5.01)

Fic’s Comments: A refreshing possibility written prior to season 5 airing, giving Rachel the time she needs to grow as a performer, but in a sweet, respectful and unexpected way.

***

An Unexpected Goodbye by tarajean621 (914 words)

Rating: T

Summary: Rachel says an unexpected goodbye to something she loves after a medical emergency. Set pre 3x05, “The First Time.”

Fic’s Comments: Rachel’s heartbreak and loss are both poetically and eloquently described in this powerful story. One of my all-time favorites by this author.

***

Blaine the Distracted Tour Guide by alilactree (1,208 words)

Rating: PG

Summary: AU. Blaine, the distracted tour guide, has a penchant for blurting out terrible puns.

Fic’s Comments: Not my usual cup of tea, but Blaine’s characterization here always brings a smile to my face. Try to read it without smiling. I dare you.

***

Carry That Weight by hedgerose (50K+ words)

Rating: NC-17

Summary: AU. When Blaine's friend Susan drags him to an American Idol audition, he's not even trying to get past the first round-- much less into the top ten. And after getting through Disco Week, avoiding the media, and dealing with his very absent parents, Blaine's not sure he even wants to win-- although falling in love might make up for a lot of that. And maybe, just maybe, he can win this thing.

Fic’s Comments: As a longtime fan of American Idol (through Season 8) I always love a good, well-written account of Blaine Anderson competing.

***

Caught In The Storm by tarajean621 (1,402 words)

Rating: M

Summary: The rain had been unrelenting all week. Blaine, their usual chauffer, has his car in the shop. They’d planned to walk to make sure Unique got home okay, but a ride would be even safer. And dryer. Moving the piano inside will only take a few minutes. Allusions to episode 4x19, “Sweet Dreams.” WARNINGS: Violence, drugging of a minor. (Other characters include Sam, Marley & Brad.)

Fic’s Comments: An intense story with unexpected humor, the author does a fabulous job of building this particular scenario and of making it believable. Such a power packed story. I love it.

***

Dancing Shoes by tarajean621 (853 words)

Rating: T

Summary: AU. Mike & several of the New Directions go to great lengths to bring music to a silent world.

Fic’s Comments: I adore Mike as this story’s unexpected unsung hero. Vivid and poignant, the author creates a world completely devoid of music and uses Glee’s familiar characters to show just how vital music is, especially for people who love to sing and dance.

***

Follow Me, I’ll Be Your River by joshbroban (7 chapters)

Rating: NC-17 (not rated, so that’s my approximation)

Summary: Ryder Lynn is having a rough time. Confused about his feelings for Unique and dealing with emotions he's suppressed for five years, he's doing everything he can to hold it together.

Fic’s Comments: An unflinchingly realistic look at coping in the aftermath of sexual abuse. Definitely heed the warnings on this one, though.

***

Food to My Soul by thealmigtytrebleclef (1,039 words)

Rating: G (not rated, so that’s my approximation)

Summary: She’s always done her best.

Fic’s Comments: This is a totally precious story written for Glee Family Fic Week, focused on the Puckerman family. I absolutely love the complexity of the day, how everything wasn’t exactly as Jake wanted, but how eventually, all the pieces fell into place. I don’t want to spoil it for those who haven’t read it yet, but if not, you should definitely give this one a chance.

***

Heart’s False Start by Sappho’s Ghost (73,027 words)

Rating: M

Summary: It begins as most things do: with a kiss. / After a break up with Brittany, Santana moves in with Quinn and things spin out of control. Future fic, rated M. Contains graphic depictions of violence.

Fic’s Comments: This is absolutely incredible. My favorite part of this fic was the final chapter (but everything leading up to it is a must-read, for the last chapter to make sense.) I don’t want to give anything away for those who have not read it but know that this author knows how to characterize these women in a way that feels deep, and honest and real. This story does not shy away from the impact of trauma and recovery from it. It remains, I think, one of my most favorite fics in the entirety of the Glee fandom. So powerful.

***

Her Name Is by chemiglee (1,236 words)

Rating: G

Summary: He gives her a name. (Or, the story of how Tina got her name.) Written for Glee Family Fic Week. My headcanon is that Tina has an older brother, since there is a picture of one (I think) in her locker in Diva.

Fic’s Comments: I love this fic because of the strong history Tina is given and how beautifully supporting and loving her family is. She’s in character, even as a baby, which is so impressive.

***

Hunger by tarajean621 (808 words)

Rating: T

Summary: The last few months have sucked, if Sam’s being honest. The motel was okay at first, but he had been looking at it as a temporary thing.

Fic’s Comments: A stark, but not hopeless, look at Sam’s family as they struggle to keep afloat financially. Kindness comes from a friend, when Sam least expects, but very much needs it.

***

Mine, Never Mine by rm (3,214 words)

Rating: M

Summary: The Anderson family is full of secrets, and Blaine’s father isn’t exactly. (This is based on a fandom theory that was circulating pre-“Big Brother,” that Cooper is really Blaine’s father rather than much older brother.)

Fic’s Comments: As the child of very young parents, I was wary when I first read this summary, but decided to give it a chance. I have to say, I am so glad I did. The author handled this theory in a plausible, respectful way, and I really applaud them for the complex storytelling in this. The tiny blurbs at different points in their lives read so effectively and powerfully. Fantastic story. One I recommended directly after reading.

***

Open House by tarajean621 (2,029 words)

Rating: PG

Summary: When Sam comes back from New York, it takes a few hours to locate his family. They aren’t registered at the motel anymore, and he has a moment of panic. (And guilt too. He’d done odd jobs for Mr. Schuester to offset the cost of the trip, so it’s not that. It’s that they depended on what he made in tips delivering pizza, and between final rehearsals and then the trip, he hadn’t been working. And his family isn’t where he left them.)

Fic’s Comments: There is a warmth implicit in this fic that’s almost impossible to communicate unless you read it for yourself. Sam’s father is depicted as loving and firm, and always wanting the best for his family. Mercedes and her family are what one would hope to find in the middle of financial hard times. Loving and open.

***

Perception by tarajean621 (360 words)

Rating: G

Summary: It was basically wishful thinking, the whole Army thing. Allusions to early Season 4.

Fic’s Comments: A beautifully brief look at Finn soul-searching and wanting to connect with his father after being kicked out of the army. The author has this great ability to give Finn this level of depth in very few words that is entirely believable.

***

Quinn, Puck and Beth by tarajean621 (754 words)

Rating: G

Summary: An otherwise untitled glimpse into an AU where Quinn has kept Beth. How she and her family struggle to adjust to life after her car accident in 3x14, “On My Way.

Fic’s Commments: It’s so rare to come upon a fic that addresses positively introducing a child to a parent’s wheelchair, as well as childcare from a chair. For those of us who live each day from a chair, it’s reassuring that fic like this exists that does not depict this type of life change as the end of a character’s world - just something to adapt to.

***

Something Peaceful by joshbroban (6 chapters)

Rating: G

Summary: When Sam Evans is hit by tragedy, he not only begins the process of grieving, but the journey of exploring the faith he’s followed blindly since the day he was born and learning how death has affected the people around him.

Fic’s Comments: This is one of the most deep, profound and quietly strong stories I have ever read. A beautiful portrayal of faith, loss, family and friends. The characterization is excellent - especially the depth and strength given to Joe. But Sam, Tina and Blaine all shine in their own rights. I love the role that The God Squad plays and how it really is that place of acceptance for so many who need it - much like glee club used to be.

***

Welcome to Apartment Life by KillerQueen80 (456 words)

Rating: G

Summary: Blaine is trying to adjust to apartment life in a big city.

Fic’s Comments: A short, sweet, and entertaining story. This one always makes me smile.

#glee fic #fic recs #i wrote this up a while ago #no idea why it's been hanging out in my drafts for so long #go read glee stories #they're great

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queen-of-deans-booty · 7 years

Text

My Fallen Angel- Part Two

Part One

Characters: Human!CastielxArchangel!Reader, Sam, Dean (mentioned), all the other archangels (mentioned), God (mentioned), a lot of other angels

Word Count: 1,565

Warnings: This is a world where Cas was never an angel so is this really a warning? Other than that, it’s just fluff

Request: Hey! Can you write a part 2 of the fic "My human, My angel" or another oneshot but with human!cas x angel!reader ? I would love that!! If you don't want to it's okay :) I love your writing! Keep up the good work!

Author’s Note: This is part two to ‘My Human, My Angel’. Please, send in requests because I love reading them and I love writing them! If you would like to be tagged in my future fics and my Series Rewrite that is coming soon, let me know and I’ll add you!

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom (if you wished to not be tagged, let me know and I’ll remove you)

You felt like a failure. You felt like you failed the Winchesters and you felt like you failed Castiel. Metatron couldn’t be located and you knew he was Heaven, doing more damage than good. You couldn’t get in there because the entrance was moved and you had no way of finding it.

In all of the time you existed, you never once gave up but you couldn’t feel more helpless than you do now.

Your brothers were gone. You knew that if Gabriel, Michael or even Raphael were here, they would be much help but they weren’t. Your younger brothers and sisters were gone and you only had the Angel Radio to guide you but most Angels thought you were dead.

If word got out to Metatron that you were alive, you didn’t know what he would do to you or the boys you lived with. You needed your family now.

“Y/N?” A knock interrupted your thoughts and you looked at the door to the bathroom you were in. Well, the blurry version of it since you’ve been crying for the last half hour. You weren’t new to human emotions but you didn’t’ know what you were feeling now. IT was like the weight of the world was on your shoulders and your chest hurt and your heart was heavy.

“I’m okay.” You lied, your voice betraying you. The door opened and Castiel popped his head in, a frown on his face.

“No you aren’t. May I come in?” Ever since you kissed Castiel, you and him were dating. You didn’t know anything about dating or what to do but he was slowly teaching you and helping you along.

You nodded to Castiel and he walked in, closing the door behind him. You were sitting inside the empty tub, leaning back against the wall. Castiel sat on the floor next to the tub and gave you a look of concern.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel reached over and took your hand in his.

“I’m a failure. I failed my family. I can’t find Metatron and I can’t find the door to Heaven. I am supposed to protect my family with my brothers because we are the oldest but they’re gone. Lucifer is in the cage, Raphael is dead, Michael is in there with Lucifer, and Gabriel may or may not be dead. I’m the only one left and I failed.” You started to cry again and you looked down.

“You are not a failure. Metatron is a very powerful Angel and is trying to stay hidden from you and all the other Angels.”

“But I’m more powerful and I can’t even find the damn door to Heaven. How pathetic am I?” You sighed sadly. “Why am I feeling like this? I feel heavy, like there is a lot of weight on me.”

“That’s called guilt. But there is nothing you should feel guilty of. You did nothing wrong. You are trying as best as you could and for humans, sometimes that’s all you can do. You are not a disappointment if that’s how you feel.” Cas rubbed your arm and you looked at him.

“Tell me what to do.” You whispered.

“I can’t. That is for you to decide and only you. However, maybe it’s time to let your family know you’re alive. It might bring major problems up but at least you’ll have your family. Dean and Sam are my family and I never leave them. Michael once ruled Heaven but now he’s gone. Time to step up and finish what Michael started. Your younger siblings need you.”

“I’ve been gone for so long. What if they hate me?” All you wanted was your family.

“They won’t. They need you and you need them.” Castiel helped you stand and he wiped the remaining tears off your cheeks. He was right. You needed your family now more than ever.

“You’re right.” You nodded, biting your lip.

“Oh, and the next time you have a problem, come talk to me. That is what you do when you’re in a relationship. Don’t hide in a motel bathroom and try to take it on alone. You can always come to me for anything. We’re in this together.” Castiel said, pushing some hair behind your ear.

“Thank you.” You smiled and leaned in, capturing his lips with yours. His lips were always chapped but you loved them that way. They were rough but always gentle. Castiel pulled away with a smile and took your hand, leading you out the bathroom.

“Are you doing okay?” Sam said, looking up when you exited.

“I am, thank you, Sam,” You gave him a kind smile. He nodded and you frowned, looking around the small motel room. “Where is Dean?”

“He’s out right now.” Sam smirked, hinting to something else.

“Where?” You asked.

“He’s out with a girl right now.”

“Why aren’t we with them? I bet we could have a fun time together. Steer from everything is going on.” You suggested.

“He wouldn’t be interested in that.” Sam blushed a bit.

“Why not?” You asked, tilting your head in confusion.

“He means he’s having sex with a girl right now.” Castiel said for Sam. Sam nodded and chuckled, blushing a bit more.

“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Sam. Having sex is very natural and needed for human survival, ultimately.” You informed him.

“Have you found Metatron yet?” Sam asked, changing the topic.

“No, unfortunately but I have a way to find him and I need the help of my family. I need to make a call. Excuse me.” You let go of Castiel’s hand and walked to the front door.

“Let me help you.” Castiel said. You sighed and turned around, looking at him.

“I can’t have you with me. I need you to stay here.”

“Why?” He looked hurt a bit.

“Castiel, I want nothing more for you to help me but you once told me that being in a relationship means protecting and caring for the other person. This is me protecting you because it will get messy and I can’t lose you too.” You looked at Sam and then left the room, using your wings to transport you to the middle of the field.

It was now or never.

Brothers and Sisters, it is I, Y/N. I know I may have been missing for a long time but I am back now and I need your help. Please, forgive me of my actions and meet me. I have come to protect you and take us home.

You waited for anyone to show, if anyone wanted to show. Angel radio broadcasted to all Angels and you knew that Metatron would be listening in. He needed to hear you and he needed to fear you. You were back and you were going to bring your family home.

One by one, Angel after Angel was appearing before you. Soon there was so many of them and they were all staring at you. They were waiting for you to speak and you took a deep breath. You could make your voice project and boom so that everyone would be able to hear you.

“Brothers and sisters, I have come to apologize for my absence. I know you thought I died along with Raphael or pushed into the cage with Lucifer and Michael. Maybe even disappeared with Gabriel. I have been hiding because I thought I was a failure.

“I wasn’t there when my family needed me and for that, I am deeply sorry. Our father is no where to be seen and now that Michael is gone, Heaven has no ruler. Metatron has taken it upon himself to do just that and expel us all out. But I say to hell with that. I am here to bring us all home and I can’t do it without your help.

“If our father were to see us now, he would be disappointed in his second child. I was supposed to look after all of you and I didn’t. But I am right now. Metatron has hidden the entrance to Heaven and I need your help finding it. When we do, I will fight to have our home back. I am able to beat Metatron but I can’t when I can’t get into Heaven. Please, help me.” You stared at your brothers and sisters, waiting for a response.

With your excellent hearing, you heard a clap come from an Angel. Another Angel started clapping and soon, every Angel were applauding you. You were gone for so long but you were back and you would fight until you couldn’t anymore. You were very powerful and with the help of this many Angels, you were sure to beat one.

“Please, go find the entrance. I want Metatron to know I’m coming. That we’re coming. If he escapes, I will be able to find him so he’s in trouble either way.” With that, Angels started to disappear to look for the entrance. They all left, leaving you alone.

You were trying to fix a wrong into a right and bringing your family home will do that. You spread your wings far and your eyes narrowed as if Metatron was right in front of you.

I’m coming for you, Metatron. When I find you, this will be the end for you.

This was war and you were sure to win.

Forever tags:

@heart-shaped-boxes-and-glasses @maddieburcham1

Other tags:

@jensen-jarpad @supernatural-jackles @jpadjackles @notnaturalanahi @mysteriouslyme81 @deathtonormalcy56 @27bmm @just-another-busy-fangirl

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