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brawltogethernow · 1 year ago

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—

L fell over from his customary seated position, died in his nemesis's arms, then came to in his customary seated position.

He fell over.

"Richard?" said Wammy, the alias he'd been using four cases ago. "Are you alright?"

"Watari?" he said dumbly, into the floor. Wammy was dead. He hadn't wanted it to be true, but he had been sure when he saw the data kill switch had been flipped, pieces of information slotting together to form a whole even when he didn't want them to. His own hand had carved him into a device that did this process automatically. It was too late to deny facts.

"What?" said Wammy like he didn't recognize the Japanese alias.

L pushed himself up halfway off the ground. "Fuuuuuck this," he said, and fell over again.

⁣

"Why me?" he wondered aloud. "Does this happen to everyone killed by the murder notebooks? I can't investigate an infinite multiverse, Weatherby."

"Probably not," conceded Wammy. He was currently humoring L gamely. L had been able to provide multiple descriptions of future events that would confirm he wasn't cracking up, but none of them had happened yet. He had never been much of one for keeping track of the date regarding matters where someone could do it for him, which didn't help. Well. Wammy would come around.

L was humoring himself, too, for now. There was no point assuming his mind wasn't reliable. Using his brain to run diagnostics on itself could wait until it seemed necessary. If he was having an Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge moment it was certainly going on for a very long time.

He ground his molars against each other. The Kira murders had been supernatural, but clearly guided by a hand that either was mortal or thought the same way. So far, this seemed...random.

"I don't like this," he informed the room, and incidentally Wammy. His latest sugar cube tower collapsed and split into two factions, one falling into his tea and the other scattering across his desk. Tea sloshed out of its cup in futile pursuit of the desk faction.

He picked up the teacup by the mostly not sticky handle and sipped it, pursuing the grit at the bottom of its basin. He put it down and but his thumbnail. It was slightly sweet. He needed to wash his hands. He added, "Well. I like it better than being dead."

⁣

He sent the party interested in his current case an e-mail with enough key bullet points of the solution for them to clean up what was left of it themselves, which was more than he felt like doing for a rerun of a case. If he were stuck only rehashing already closed cases he might entertain the theory that this was Hell. But the world was wide, he had only lived a year or so beyond this in the first place, and the Kira case was still open.

He tried to console himself that Light Yagami possessed one of the most ruthlessly brilliant minds L had ever encountered. This did not make him feel any better about being beaten by a fucking child. L was an extremely petty man about things like that.

(He had been a worse minor. If he had been eighteen as well when faced with such an infuriating suspect, he would probably have been the one instigating physical altercations. He would have broken Light's perfect nose instead of playing around with him, and then maybe he wouldn't be undead.)

He gnawed his thumbnail, brain too itchy to be content just pressing it against his bottom lip where he could usually stop. He knew on one level of thought he was risking ending up with sore and bloody cuticles, but it was not the level primarily in charge of his teeth and hands when he was stressed. Was he stressed? Extremely, yes. But should he have been? His life wasn't even in danger, nor was Wammy's. Kira hadn't claimed his first kill yet, probably hadn't acquired his weapon, that awful, intriguing, unassuming notebook. And when he did, L could just...

L didn't even have to do anything. He could just ignore it, and stay ensconced in whatever HQ he chose. Name unrecorded, face unknown, existence not relevant to Light Yagami's twisted morals. He already knew all the key mechanics of Kira. The method, the means—he was sure he'd already known the why. He had all the answers he wanted. Light had given him his answers.

His true face... It was all the confession L had needed. An honor, even.

Ha!

L didn't need anyone's sanction to solve the Kira problem, either. He could steal the notebook. He could hire a hitman.

Dull pain and the taste of blood alerted him that he'd bitten through his thumb.

He popped it into his mouth to keep blood off his keyboard. No, he didn't want to kill Light Yagami. He probably should kill Light Yagami, but he didn't want to. He wanted to... To...

⁣

Of the many casualties of the Kira case, there was no one he cared to intervene for he hadn't led to danger with his own hand. (Should he have cared more about Beyond? Eh, he'd interfere if Wammy brought it up.) Even Naomi, who he hadn't spoken to in years, should have no reason to return to her home country if L didn't repeat old plays.

...He wondered if he was perhaps taking the wrong lessons about treating people as expendable from the situation.

He tapped his fingers. Naomi. He had liked her.

He spent an hour at the keys confirming where she was. The sun had set around him, at some point, leaving him in a black room with the monitor a white inferno at the center. Moved to Burbank, engaged, retired. She must be bored out of her mind in an empty room of her own making. No wonder she had died over this case too.

He hoped it was exciting first. Light had never mentioned her.

Focusing all of her faculties on her boytoy only for a killer to take him away... She must have gotten very unlucky to have not proved a bigger obstacle.

⁣

After it came clear that L was reporting his experiences accurately (or hallucinating his confidant's confirmations), Wammy sat silently for a subjectively long minute and forty-seven seconds.

"What is it like?" he asked at last. "Dying."

"I don't know, I was kind of distracted," L deflected, because this is true.

Wammy gave him a blank yet communicative look.

L bit down on his other, less raw thumb. Why hadn't Wammy come back with him, possessed of his own experience to draw on? Was there another Wammy, elsewhere, who has gone back alone?

Could it be he really didn't die? No. L was sure.

Kira had done that, but even spider-scrabbling blunted fingertips at the bottom recesses of the linty pockets of his heart, L couldn't find it in himself to feel too righteously indignant. L was the one who had wanted to win badly enough he'd anted up his allies in their game. He had been cocky. He had been too cavalier.

"Frustrating," he answered. "Like when you can't stay awake even though you're in the middle of a project."

The brain, whirling determinedly away even as it stopped receiving fresh blood, as the vision narrowed down to a thin line, a screen shutting off uncaring of whether it was the end of the program.

⁣

He researched relevant players he hadn't been aware of at this point. All were transpiring to be about where he'd have plced them.

The web of events was elaborate. But that could have been dream logic. He'd tried, but never gotten the hang of, lucid dreaming. He was not sure he would be truly convinced this was happening until he'd discovered a why.

He hovered his overful teacup not quite at his lips. Next, he could find a backdoor into the TCPD systems, but...maybe...

He wormed into Yagami Light's computer instead. After 24 hours of passive data collection this provided him with Souichirou's passwords and how Light concealed he was using them.

It was very amateur, which was the best way to hack an organization that thought it was going to be hacked by professionals. Casual exploitation of loose security.

It was child's play on top of this to get a day-old visual on Light. L looked at the security photo and felt a thrill up his spine. Ah, death really didn't change me for the better at all, he thought.

⁣

"What's next in the docket?" asked Wammy, tidying up the workstation they were slated to abandon. (L remained on his computer chair and let this happen around him.) He was content to follow L's lead, even knowing he had led them both to their deaths.

"I want to find out why I've come back in time, and how," said L. "...But I don't have any leads to speak of."

"Except young Yagami," concluded Wammy, who was not an unclever man.

"I don't want to return to the Kira case," L admitted.

"Completely understandable," said Wammy without judgment. He was not an overly moral man, either.

L fidgeted. Flopped somewhat. "The Kira case is the most interesting case on the planet right now," he said.

Wammy waited.

"But I already know how he kills," L sulked. "And dying kind of hurt."

Wammy's mouth pursed at this. But he only asked, "What are you planning, L?"

"I'm going to insert myself," announced L, rising and stepping out of his chair. "What do we have in liquid assets right now?"

"What will this be put toward?" inquired Wammy.

L rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and thought about it, chewing his lip. "Shenanigans," he declared.

He realized he had forgotten a social step and stopped his creep for the exit. He swiveled his head around. "Though Weatherby, if you want to return to the school for a year or two, or perhaps go on vacation—"

"I'll go where you go," interrupted Wammy, chilly.

L pursed his lips, finding now he'd began it that this was not the perfunctory check-in he'd taken it for. He said, "I would prefer if you didn't die."

Wammy sighed. "A similar sentiment is why I will accompany you."

L turned back around. "I see," he said, nodding. "Emotional blackmail."

"This time I trust you to take the appropriate precautions," said Wammy.

"Ugh," said L. "You're no fun."

⁣

To enact his very ingenious and only partially driven by general doubt in reality and spite scheme, L got a job at a pastry chain in Tokyo.

After less than a single afternoon, the manager deemed L unfit to serve customers (this was correct), so he was shuffled onto glazing duty. He accepted this without complain as, due to the pop-up-cum-cart-style layout of the establishment, this still allowed him a clear view of anyone patronizing the establishment. Moreover, he did not especially want to serve customers.

He despised the thin plastic sanitation gloves, which felt like rather than protecting his hands they moved the barrier of contaminated flesh up to his wrists, oils creeping and substances splashing upwards, until he wanted to decontaminate his arms up to the elbows and down to the bone.

It's for the case, he told himself even though there was no case, not really. It was the same process of steeling himself to put discomfort aside for a greater cause.

The greater cause this time was just bullying Yagami Light.

This is a cinnamon roll of great justice, he told himself, then held it up to eye level and examined it, debating whether to eat half of it in front of his manager. For great justice.

⁣

His fingers twitched. He solved cold cases from his backlog and sent in tips about them thumb-typed on a PDA on his lunch breaks. He was so understimulated he contemplated playing some stocks, which he was trying to cut back on. He had more money than one person could ever need and than he had any inclination to redistribute responsibly, and also he acclimated to them the way some people did to pachinko.

⁣

The manager sat him down. "I have been informed I can't fire you," he said.

"Yes," said L, who had purchased the chain before applying for the job.

"But I want to," said his manager, like it was important L knew.

"That's fine," said L. He pulled an industrial tub of cold icing over, stuck one finger into it, and licked it.

The manager's mouth flexed murderously. L entertained himself briefly by imagining this scheme if Light was his manager.

⁣

When Light finally walked in, L had been shuffled back to cashier duty to get him to stop licking the donut icing, where he would remain until customer satisfaction dropped untenably low. With a pull that was gravity-inevitable, they locked eyes across the room, and a realization was clear to L at once:

He's bored again.

Without anyone challenging to oppose him, Kira was already getting bored. A smile spread like an ocean oil slick over L's face. Or perhaps like the mysterious and ever-widening sticky spot under the second stove that no one could seem to mop up.

Everything was falling in line with his loftiest expectations. Light would crawl on his knees right to L. He didn't realize it, but he was desperate.

And L would lead this insufferable man, in his supplication, right through the mystery floor goo.

L favored Light with his (he was told) very unsettling customer service smile. "Welcome to Cinnabon," he said.

—

AO3

#death note #fic #w #l lawliet #cinnabon au #how do you spell..........how do you spell the baseball video game one.#quillish wammy #quillsh wammy #EACH VARIANT WORSE THAN THE LAST

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possum-quesadilla · 4 months ago

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Chapter 9 of Time’s Arrow, “I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel, I am all the things they might have said to you” is here! Woof. Sorry everyone. Happy Beetlejuice 2 premiere! :,)

THIS CHAPTER IS PARTICULARLY ROUGH. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Extras below!

- The lyrics for this chapter’s title is from “Never Love An Anchor” by The Crane Wives.

- “The next ten months moved at the speed of a dream.” - A call back to a line from Time is a Flat Circle, which itself is a reference to “Asteroid City”! Gotcha again!

- “They read ‘Flowers for Algernon’, ‘An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge’, and… some sort of Jane Austen novels.” - I wonder if those stories are thematically relevant to this chapter?

- “He had no idea what to do about his fur anyhow. It had never grown in that long and thick before, how was he supposed to know it would do that?” - It was growing properly because he was finally happy and healthy enough for it to do so!

- “She was tall. Well, at least taller than him. Damnit.” - Bela is 5’9”! She is on the shorter side for demons. Beej is just especially small, since he was malnourished.

- “Her roots were black, the rest of her hair cascaded down to her shoulders in similar curls to his own, colored with a gentle lavender hue.” - Bela’s resting hair color is purple instead of green like Beej!

- “She had an orange-jeweled nose ring.” - Bela and Deb have matching nose rings, since exchanging jewelry is how demons court each other!

- “Shades of a gentle maroon red flickered through Bela’s hair.” - Bela has different colors for her emotions than Beej does!

- “Most were “whales”, stolen away in malevolent Deals to forever be a supply for the demon they were tied to. Slowly withering away to nothing.” - this is inspired by “Doctor Sleep”, because I’m a huge Mike Flanagan fiend.

- “They were all strange, all lacked the innate ability to socially adapt that the other demons thrived off of.” - Autism can run in a family, and it sure does run in the Shoggoth family!

- “He didn’t know why she was upset, but he knew it was up to him to make it better. (Why else was he here?)” - Still partially believes his only purpose is to make others happy, or they wouldn’t want him around.

- “… she hesitated, still firmly grasping the bright green fleece blanket he’d summoned from his room around her shoulders.” - The same blanket Charles got Beej for his room!

- “ “I watched this movie last night, since I couldn’t fall asleep. It was..” their voice caught in their throat, and their breath hitched. Beetlejuice slowly rose from his chair, setting the ice pack on the counter. “… lotta.. big feelings about it, huh?” They rapidly nodded, wrapping their arms around themself. “I don’t… I can’t keep living the way I do.” ” - Ash watched “I Saw The TV Glow”, which is a horror movie about being trans. It gutted me the first time I saw it. Ash had a similar visceral reaction, and it made her rethink how she is living. It also informs a lot of this chapter’s theming, but it is not required viewing for this fic. It is very, very difficult to watch for neurodivergent queers.

- “The living need attention too, Ash. It’s okay.” - This line is partially taken from “Dead Girls” by Penelope Scott, which is a very important song on Ash’s playlist.

- “You feel like you’ll die if you stay there. Or… worse.” - An “I Saw The TV Glow” reference. There’s quite a few in here.

- “Thank you, Beetlejuice.” - the first time they’ve called him by his actual name!

- Anyone spot more Time is a Flat Circle parallels?

- “It was then that Beetlejuice got hit by his first car.” - This is mostly a joke about how I, the author, have been hit by 4 cars. I feel like Beej would be similarly unlucky.

- “… it’s like being a wolf dog.” - This is based on how I’ve explained what it was like to grow up in my household.

- “Memories washed away like chalk on the sidewalk.” - Another “I Saw The TV Glow” reference.

- “Adam and Barbara celebrated their birthdays, which landed a couple days apart from each other, by smelling wine and watching ‘Lord of the Rings’ together. Beetlejuice was invited to join them.” - Based on something Adam made Beej he would promise to do in an earlier chapter!

- “June was full of beautiful sunsets he watched with his family.” - This was, like the previous thing, also listed among the reasons Beej should keep “living” in a previous chapter.

- “At the end of the month, walking to school and the store with Lydia, Beetlejuice realized with horror that Lydia was taller than him. Like, at least half a foot taller.” - Lydia is 5’7” now, he’s just being dramatic.

- “(How could no one see it? He felt so happy, but still he felt pieces of him slowly dying and rotting away. How could no one see that he was rotten? That he was dying?)” - This is partially another “I Saw The TV Glow” reference, and a reference to the ending of the song “you smell of dead flowers” by vslush and cliesel

- “August came like a thief in the night.” - A callback to Time is a Flat Circle! Which is itself an Edgar Allen Poe reference.

- “… they say old man Hirsch signed up for it right before he went missing.” - Yes he is named after Alex Hirsch, creator of “Gravity Falls”. Love ya Alex!

- “ “I managed to talk him down from another viewing of ‘Pride and Prejudice’!” (Another? What was that? They’d seen it before?)” - This is meant to alert the reader that something is very wrong, as “Pride and Prejudice” was brought up before by Beetlejuice himself.

- “Beetlejuice scratched at their left arm. The scars had started to fade.” - He was resorting to self-regulating self harm less enough that his arm was healing before this point.

- “I… I couldn’t.. I didn’t have enough energy to resist the Seal w-.. without a cult.” - Beetlejuice was tricking people to sign up for his cult under the guise of a “Loyalty Program”.

- “Why have they been going missing, then?” … “They swore they were choking on the taste of blood, bile rising in their throat as they felt their flesh between their teeth.” - Beetlejuice ate a few members of his cult. That’s why there’s missing persons in the town.

- “Someone’s hand gripped the back of their shirt, trying to pull them out of the kitchen. Panic spiked within them. Beetlejuice felt the blow to the back of their head, the horrible stabbing agony in their chest. That familiar, terrifying sensation they’d felt over and over and over and- ”- Beetlejuice had flashbacks to being killed during the loop over and over because Charles touched his old wound and it scared him, hence why he lashed out.

- “There’s still time. There has to be.” - Yet another “I Saw The TV Glow” reference.

- “ “Hello, pet.” Time’s up.” - Meant to envoke a terrifying line in “Yo, Girl” from Heathers the musical.

- “I’ll make you wish you could die!” - This line was originally going to be a more blatant reference to a line that Circus Baby from the FNAF series says often, “You won’t die, but you’ll wish you could.”

- “You always bounce ba- ” - Meant to be a reference to this scene from “Adventure Time” which I’ve… never seen…

- “Beetlejuice was distantly aware that Cyrus brought his claws up to his mouth to lick some of the blood off of them. “Choke on it,” they sputtered, although they weren’t sure if Cyrus could understand them through all of the blood that bubbled out of their mouth.” - Meant to be a reference to the horrific death of Captain Rhodes from “Day of the Dead”!

- “Beetlejuice wheezed out a last croak as Cyrus once again gripped their hoof and continued dragging them towards the portal.” - This is meant to evoke the gut-wrenching opening scene of “Scream”. Specifically, the part where Ghostface is dragging Casey away, and she is wheezing out her last breaths, which her parents can hear over the phone. The music in that scene never fails to make me cry. (I cried my eyes out rewatching that scene and imagining it playing when the Maitlands see the basement, but that’s not how things will happen…)

- “I’m sorry I was the one you loved.” - From “I’m Your Man” by Mitski.

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odditiesnoctobermidnightroad · 4 months ago

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Vords words from Count Monty Cristo: “ Velcome my LOVELIEzz! Zhis is zhe Vampire-bat-vampire-Count Monty Cristo zpeaking.

I’ve heard there is zomekind of ‘challenge’ going about. It iz involving things to draw, thoughtz to conjure, ideaz to zew. A ‘prompt’, az it vhere. Vhell, OBVIOUZLY I’m zhe best when it comes to ideaz, but because I’m zo very generouz, I’m also giving you a read-at-your-own-pace list of ztoriez -von right after zhe other for each day of October to enjoy for zhis blez’zed October-zeazon.

Read vone each day and illuztrate vhat you zhee az you read; or, draw zomething that inzpired you from reading zhe ztoriez!

Phantasmagoria by Lewis Carol

Dracula’s Guest by Bram Stoker

The Signal Man by Charles Dickens

Bluebeard by Charles Perrault

Godfather Death by The Brothers Grimm

Feathertop by Nathanial Hawthorne

King of the Cats from old Scotland

The Romance of Certain Old Clothes by Henry James

The Shadow by Hans Christian Anderson

The Landlady by Roald Dahl

There Shall be no Darkness by James Blish

The New Mother by Lucy Clifford

-DEZIGNATED POEM TIME!!!- The Raven, The Cremation of Sam McGee, The Ballad of Tam Lin, Hist Whist, The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner

The Monkey’s Paw by W.W. Jacobs

There will Come Soft Rains by Ray Bradbury

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

Uncle Otto’s Truck by Stephen King

Oh, Whistle and I’ll come to you My Lad by James Joyce

The Lottery by Shirley Jackson

Tailypo from Apalachian Folklore

Fritt-Flacc by Jules Verne

An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambroise Bierce

The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde

Lot. 249 by Arthur Conan Doyle

The Red Room by H. G. Wells

The Cats of Ulthar by H.P. Lovecraft

The Body Snatcher by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Vampyre by John William Pilodori

The Shout by Robert Graves

The Masque of the Red Death or really anything you want by Edgar Allan Poe

Your OWN story

There are zo MANY possibilities to be had! ‘ave at it!” - Monty Cristo

#promptober #inktober #inktober challenge #oddities #odditiesinoctober #oddities in october #literature #horror literature #oddity art #count monty cristo #mouse the witching cat #horror short story #edgar allan poe #ambroise bierce #oscar wilde #stephen king #h.p. lovecraft #h.g. wells #brothers grimm

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fanofspooky · 4 months ago

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The Twilight Zone S5E22

An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge

“Tonight, a presentation so special and unique that for the first time in the five years we've been presenting The Twilight Zone, we're offering a film shot in France by others. Winner of the Cannes Film Festival of 1962, as well as other international awards, here is a haunting study of the incredible from the past master of the incredible, Ambrose Bierce. Here is the French production of 'An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.'”

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jabberkay · 2 months ago

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The Hanging Tree (scrapped …)

. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · .

Heavily inspired by the short story An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Pierce

I know it’s a scrap but I’m posting it anyways to see if anyone really cares about this 😭 I have no motivation to continue it.

. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · .

Sejanus Plinth × Reader (kinda) | One Shot

Warnings: fear, mentions of death, detailed descriptions of bruises and wounds, blood, gun violence, public execution, death, injury, ooc and probably bad writing (sorry), lacking dialogue (also sorry)

(please tell me if I miss anything)

. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · .

Sejanus stood on the creaky wooden trapdoor, hearing the crowd clamor with shock and horror as they saw a young girl be brought up beside him. He was not the focus, but rather her. One of their own.

Many of them thought this a promiscuous act. The tears that rolled down both of their faces made the crowd believe they'd not committed any of what they were being accused of. They were children, scared children. They thought that the peacekeepers were heartless, cruel people. That this was thoughtless and dangerous.

The crowd seemed to roar with despondency and disbelief, some murmuring to one another and others sobbing.

His gaze roved over the distraught faces, as they had not bothered to cover his eyes or the rest of his face. He noticed the crying women and the confused, afflicted children that clung to them.

His hands were tightly bound behind his back, a loose somewhat relaxed noose wrapped upon his neck, its rough edges stabbing into the skin there.

The melodic chirping of mockingjays sounded overhead, picking up the distressed voices and turning it into a song. Their depressing cadence washed over the crowd like requiem.

Rope gripped his neck tightly, already beginning to leave a mark. The peacekeepers read off the charges, his charges, which fell on deaf ears.

In the sea of faces, he saw y/n. He'd met them at the Hob, and they'd been kind to him despite his more privileged origins. They were beauty—a sobbing, miserable beauty. He noticed their rolling tears and the sobs that wracked through their bodies like tremors in the earth.

It was then that Sejanus began to plan something, anything, to save them. To save the Covey, to save himself.

About two and a half meters in front of him was the edge of the stage, and just a foot away from his platform were two peacekeepers, whom he recognized from their training. Neither of them looked comfortable with the situation.

Sejanus supposed he could somehow free

He looked out of the corner of his eye to the smaller girl, but she was blocked by the large trunk of the tree.

Then, abruptly, a head peacekeeper began counting down to pull the lever that opened the trapdoors.

"Six, five, four." The last seconds were agonizing, but not near as bad as when he dropped from the platform.

His head began to throb wildly, and his hands instinctively tried to free themselves from the confines behind his back to lessen the pressure against his throat.

Sejanus' mind began to dull, his vision becoming blurry and his eyes watering. He was sure it was over, over for everything, everyone. Everything had begun to slow down.

It was then, by some miraculous force, that the branch attached to the noose snapped and his body collapsed into the stage. He felt strangely congested, and his head felt heavy, like the weight of his thoughts had caused him to fall.

He wasn't suffocating any longer, but his ears picked up on the all too familiar orders of the head peacekeeper as he ordered the rest into position.

Sejanus got to his feet unsteadily, the men had moved their fund to a ready positions but looked at him pitifully, hesitating on their shots.

He stumbled off the stage and into the crowd just when they had begun to fire. He could hear the bullets whizzing and cries of the audience who had been caught in the crossfire.

His sole focus was y/n, Sejanus didn’t think he could live without y/n.

A bullet was lodged into his back of his knee, pain shot up his legs and seemed to linger at every nerve ending on his body.

Despite the pain, he pushed through, never stopping until he made it y/n’s distraught face. He took their hand, “c’mon, quickly.”

His plan was to get to the woods, to get deep enough in that they could run away and never be found. To catch a train and be with his Ma and Pa.

They didn’t fight him. Y/n took Sejanus’ hand and supported some of his wait as they slipped through the crowd.

They heard him groan in pain as another shot landed in his abdomen just before they ducked behind a building. They both heard the shouting, the bullets flying and people screaming.

Sejanus groaned and whimpered in pain, nearly collapsing there, but y/n couldn’t let him, not until they were safe.

They dragged him through the seam and into the outskirts of the District. Once they were deep enough in the woods, they set him against a tree and attempted to treat his wounds.

“Shh,” they whispered, attempting to quiet him down in case anyone was looking for them. “I’ve got you, Sejanus.”

His gaze was soft and tired, the pain wrapped around his whole body, constricting him like a snake. “Sorry,” a wince left his barely parted lips as they ripped off a sleeve and tied it around his leg before inspecting the wound that had landed in his mid-back.

He didn’t try to stop them from treating the bullet wounds, knowing he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do so.

Unfortunately this is where it ends :((

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buckybarnesss · 1 year ago

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Wait, had Stiles being Derek's anchor been fully acknowledged/confirmed by someone in the show's production before that instagram post?

lol no despite how blatant it is.

however jeff davis explained the scene at the end of 3B was inspired by an occurrence at owl creek bridge which just makes it more blatantly obvious.

a man who has a dream before death where he escapes his execution to return to his wife --- bruh.

the first episode of 3B is titled anchors after all and the entirety of season 3 has a overreaching theme of memory and the ways memories can be manipulated, altered and are unreliable. this is a framing device for multiple episodes. we get multiple flashbacks and non-linear storytelling more than once.

lunar eclipse shows allison, scott and stiles finding the nemeton from a different perspective of the events of wolf moon.

3B's early episodes get reframed once the reveal of stiles's possession is known.

season also focuses on the memory of talia hale and claudia stilinski more than ever.

the last scene where derek retreats into his mind to a safe space -- safe person -- is so revealing about him and it's so, so obvious that stiles has become his anchor.

like, we know anchors can be people as scott's anchor was allison for a long time and malia's anchor is also stiles, liam's is arguably mason and isaac's is the memory of his father before he became a piece of shit.

we also know anchors can be more abstract since derek's was an emotion for a long time after the fire. he anchored himself to his anger (and self-loathing i would argue) only for it to shift to stiles as his trust grew.

it's actually really well done in tying the themes of the season together in that one moment.

#my blog #teen wolf #thoughts on teen wolf #sterek

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jasminewalkerauthor · 5 months ago

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Trope chats: Dream twists

The dream plot twist, a narrative device wherein a significant portion of the story is revealed to be a dream or illusion, has been a recurring trope in literature. This essay embarks on a deep dive into the appeal, pitfalls, and evolution of the dream plot twist, examining its historical roots, its enduring appeal, the challenges it poses, and how it has evolved over time.

The dream plot twist captivates readers by challenging their perception of reality within the narrative. It adds a layer of complexity to the storytelling, prompting readers to question the authenticity of the events they've witnessed. This twist provides a sense of surprise and revelation, offering authors a unique opportunity to subvert expectations and manipulate the narrative trajectory. The dream plot twist can evoke a range of emotions, from shock and disbelief to introspection and reevaluation, as readers grapple with the implications of the revelation.

The dream plot twist has roots in ancient storytelling traditions, where dreams were often considered conduits to otherworldly realms or divine messages. However, it gained prominence in Western literature with the advent of psychological realism in the 19th century. Works like Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and Ambrose Bierce's "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge" demonstrated how dreams could be wielded as powerful narrative tools.

Over time, the dream plot twist has evolved, taking on various forms and purposes. It has been used to explore the nature of consciousness and reality, as seen in Philip K. Dick's science fiction works like "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" and Christopher Nolan's film "Inception." Alternatively, authors have employed dream sequences to delve into characters' inner thoughts and emotions, providing insight into their subconscious minds.

Despite its appeal, the dream plot twist is not without its pitfalls. The revelation that a significant portion of the story was a dream can leave readers feeling cheated or manipulated. If not executed skillfully, it can be perceived as a narrative shortcut or a cheap gimmick. Authors must tread carefully to ensure that the twist enhances the story rather than undermining the reader's investment in the narrative.

Moreover, excessive use of the dream plot twist can lead to predictability, diminishing its impact over time. Readers may become wary of investing emotionally in a story, fearing that the events they witness may ultimately prove illusory.

The dream plot twist can significantly impact reader engagement, for better or worse. When executed effectively, it can prompt readers to reassess the entire narrative, fostering discussions and interpretations. However, if mishandled, it may lead to frustration and a sense of betrayal, eroding the trust between the author and the audience.

The dream plot twist remains a fascinating and versatile narrative device, offering authors a unique tool to explore themes of perception, reality, and consciousness. Its enduring appeal lies in its ability to surprise, challenge, and provoke thought. However, authors must navigate the potential pitfalls with care, ensuring that the twist enhances the narrative rather than diminishing the reader's investment. As literature continues to evolve, the dream plot twist remains a potent and enigmatic element, weaving its ethereal magic through the fabric of storytelling.

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