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onmyyan · 1 year ago

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Ain't no sunshine chapter 3

A/n: canon typical violence someone gets stabbed (not you) feedback is always welcome

The clock ticks in an uncomfortable rhythm, almost pounding in your ears, you swallow around nothing and try to take a deep breath, only a few more minutes now.

Sitting cross cross felt childish but you needed the comfort of being low to the ground, before you stood a proud grandfather clock, the thing always intimidated you for some reason, maybe it's because you could smell how expensive it was, how priceless, but it was the only room in the house you could guarantee would be free of any nuisances, aka your estranged family.

A lone little Debbie cupcake in hand, a candle in another, you stick the candle inside the soft flesh of the treat, lighting it with the silver zippo, the seconds begin to count down as the wax melts, today was your eighteenth birthday, and the day you'd find true freedom. A day you'd been waiting for since you'd decided to wash your hands of the Wayne's and all who associated with them.

Bruce had begun to add to his collection of broken people one by one a new face was added to the house, and one by one you were met with the same cold indifference.

Barbara Gordon came into your life warmly, on the arm of Dick, she was kind to you in the beginning, making a point to ask you questions and listening intently when you answered, immediately you admired the older woman, her charming grin and bright demeanor was like a light inside the house, until she became who you eventually discovered was Oracle, tied up in the world of heroes and monsters, she too joined the club of exclusion, unintentionally forgetting plans the two of you had made more often than not, sharing inside jokes with Dick about last night's patrol or even taking on a mentor role for Damian, each action like a stab to the heart.

The last straw felt like the smallest one. And it came in the form of Cassandra Cain.

The girl came to the family under reasons you couldn't know, but she was troubled, you could see the same look in her eyes you had when you looked in the mirror as a child, she didn't outright reject your friendship like Damian, but she was seemingly as disinterested in you as the rest of your family, the real kick to your heart came when you walked past a moment shared between her and Bruce, he was comforting her, you couldn't hear the words spoken but you could feel the love pouring from Bruce, how he had a gentle hand on her shoulder, showing her a kind of love he'd never once shown you.

It wasn't her fault and you held no grudge against her, but it still felt like a slap to the face, and every time you saw her, every time she followed them down to their little hiding spot, the acid-like sting deep in your chest got worse. It was then you made a promise to yourself, you'd stop trying, no more reaching out to Dick or praying Jason would message you back, no more begging for Tim's attention or Damian's respect, and you were sure as shit done asking Bruce to love you.

You're brought back to the present moment by the loud ring of the clock before you, the echoing sound brought a ear splitting grin to your face, finally, you were done.

Blowing out the candle, you toss it on the floor, standing with a pep in your step. You'd had your bags moved out days ago so the only thing left was to leave. A chatter could be heard the closer you got to the front door, male and female voices happily spoke with one another, but you were so unfazed, too excited about your current plans to care they'd gathered without you on your birthday.

"Oh hey (Y/n)" Dick says after spotting your form in the doorway, see the only reason you were here is because the dining room lead to the front door, and your new found freedom.

You nod at him, taking in the sight of popcorn and half empty pizza boxes, a movie projected on the wall, ah so they decided to have a little get together?

None of your concern.

"Sorry we didn't call you down, didn't realize you were home" Dick says a look of pity in his eyes, "do you want some?" It's almost said with a wince.

"Nah." Was your simple response, and with that you walked out of their door and lives.

You'd bought an apartment with your own money, you'd been working since you were fourteen, saving every penny for this moment exactly. It was in a shit part of town with an even shitter interior but it was yours and you loved it. Water dripped into a mostly full bucket in the corner, the lights took a full forty seconds to turn on and it reeked of old cigarettes.

Yet you couldn't wipe the smile off your face.

Feeling that euphoric rush had you buzzing all night, besides the bed in your room was, questionable to say the least, so you decided to stay up. Cleaning what you could with what you had made you feel even better, this terrible little space was all yours, no condescending people or assholes in sight.

Feeling hungry, you throw on a black puffer coat and a matching beanie and start to brave the Gotham cold. Each step is taken with a new gratitude, the farther you get from that family the better you feel.

Your happiness is pulled to a grinding halt by the sound of rapid footsteps behind you, without thinking you turn, fist balled tightly in perfect form, Patty would be proud if she saw the way you decked the bastard running up on you.

You nailed him right in the throat sending him to his knees, his knife cluttering to the ground before your feet, grabbing the weapon you point it down at his choking body, your hands still despite your rapid heartbeat. The wheezing man made a swipe at your ankles causing you to bring the knife down right into his shoulder, a scream rips though his throat, the adrenaline in your body has you running on autopilot.

Kicking him in the side of the head to quickly sprint to the corner store where you'd planned on going in the first place, your hands shake as you grab your food, but again, that smile stays on your face.

Not only had you moved out today, you'd proved to yourself you didn't need them for anything, not protection, not validation, nothing, it was like you could breathe again.

The next few weeks are business as usual at the manor, until Barbara looks at the calendar and realizes she'd, along with everyone, had forgotten your birthday. The guilt ate at her until she made her way to your room knocking softly, a cupcake in hand she called out, "(Y/n)? Listen I'm so sorry about your birthday, I got my dates mixed up." The lie came easy, but no response was heard, "I get if you're completely pissed at me, at us but-"

"Miss (L/n) has moved out."

"what? How is that possible we would have noticed her moving out." As if to prove Alfred wrong Barbara opens your door, only to find a barren room, empty of any signs of life. She turns to the older man, a thousand questions burning on her tongue, but he seemed to read her, "you'd be surprised what goes unnoticed in this house miss Gordon, have a good afternoon." He leaves her with this and it only makes the guilt and confusion worse.

She pulls out her phone scrolling to a number she hadn't used in a while, biting her thumb as it rings she's hoping you clear all her confusion when you answered, but you don't, instead an automated message tells her your phone has been disconnected. Now she begins to worry, you were so young, just barely an adult, the idea of you out on your own in Gotham had her heart sinking, clicking the family group chat she sends a message that will change everything.

"We need to talk about (Y/n)."

#yananswers #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #neglected reader #aint no sunshine

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kiame-sama · 9 months ago

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Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU

Warnings; Several yanderes, platonic yanderes, romantic yanderes, yandere behavior, monster au, fem reader, no one starts off knowing reader is fem so they/them pronouns used, deranged behavior, spiders, driders, centaurs, unicorns, Nemean lions, werewolves, selkies, minotaurs, genies, nagas, magic, threats, panic,

~~~~~~~~

Nothing made sense anymore.

None of what you saw could have possibly been real, and even if it was, where did that leave you? The area was not familiar and you had gone through one of those mirrors to get where you were. Hopefully those... things... wouldn't think to look for you where you decided to hide out until you got a plan together. This was all provided you could think of a plan despite everything going on around you.

When you had woken up inside a coffin, the panic had set in so quickly. Since the very second that coffin spilled you out on the marble floors to the odd creatures that greeted you with unhindered curiosity, you were afraid and lost. Even now as impossible things had taken place, a thought echoed in your head from what one of the creatures had said.

I thought Humans were extinct?

Certainly a few of those you saw around you looked human, but most were some kind of creature or abominable hybrid. None of it made sense because creatures like this couldn't possibly exist, right? If that was true, you were suffering some kind of psychotic break. But if it wasn't true, if you could actually trust your eyes to tell you the truth, then you had something completely new to deal with.

Exhaustion hit you hard enough that you couldn't help but cuddle close to your stone companion and shelter, seeking comfort in the cold statue.

~•§•~

Eyes slowly flickered open in the dark, searching with sleep-hazed confusion at the oddly cramped surroundings. Attempting to lift your hands only made more confusion race through your mind as some kind of lid stopped you from completing the motion. The fog of sleep that had hung so heavy in your mind was now replaced with sharp awareness and clarity, throwing you into a state of panic as you realized you were trapped.

The dark container you found yourself in had you thrashing and desperate for freedom from your newfound confines. Your kicking and thrashing- painful against the lid of your container- managed to actually knock the top loose and slightly ajar. That bit of light from outside was the only encouragement your knowledge deprived brain needed to know it was doing the right thing by struggling. What you didn't expect was the feeling of this human-sized container pitching forward to spill you out unceremoniously on the ground.

The cold surface beneath you felt even colder on your soft face, wondering just where you were and why all of your memories leading up to that moment were just a blur. You didn't have long to spend on your musings before an unusual voice reached your ears, closer to a baritone than a tenor but still a masculine sounding tone.

"Oh my, I thought we had all of the students accounted for. Could it be I miscounted?"

You pushed yourself up with your hands to try and face whoever was speaking, seeing an oddly feathered man with dark black hair walking towards you. He wore a mask- or perhaps he truly had a beak- that made him look like a rather large corvid walking towards you. Despite his humanoid features, something in the back of your mind told you that this man was not what he appeared at first glance. Even his bright yellow eyes that shined from beneath the black mask seemed inhuman as they studied you intently.

"You certainly don't seem like one of the sudents I selected. I'm fairly sure I would remember someone odd... like you..?"

The man stopped in his tracks, regarding you strangely as if he were actually looking at you now. He certainly wasn't recognizeable to you and you had no sense of familiarity upon seeing him. Something about you must have caught the man's attention as he cocked his head to the side, crouching next to you and observing you keenly. Something about the way he moved was so bird-like you wondered if he was pretending to be some character or if there were actually something inhuman about him.

"I don't often need to ask this question, and I am very curious now what your answer will be, but what are you?"

That was certainly an odd question. You thought the answer would have been obvious, but something about the whole situation made you feel like what you were going through wasn't normal.

"Human..? Isn't everyone?"

There was a long moment of silence and it was in this silence you decided to look around now that your poor face stopped hurting from your abrupt meeting with the ground. You were in the center of a large room where what seemed to be dozens of coffins with various sizes and shapes floated around you. The container you came from was also a coffin and you could see where you had actually damaged the smooth wood with your desperate attempt at freedom.

Beyond the floating coffins- as surreal as they were- you noticed that you were not the only two present. Many others were standing around you, all in the same black, purple, and gold robes. All looking at you with unguarded curiosity. It was as you looked at these unusually robed people that you began to realize none of them looked particularly human. The more you searched, the clearer it became that none of those standing around you seemed to be fully human.

One of those standing there was a heartbreakingly beautiful bird-man with smooth complexion and flawless makeup darkening his lovely purple eyes. His fair blond hair woven with long feathers. Behind him was a long train of peacock feathers in iridescent colors that seemed all the more colorful beneath the flicking candlelight. As he noticed you glance at him, he seemed to almost puff out his chest in pride and the feather train behind him ruffled ever so slightly.

There was what you could only describe as a some kind of horned horse-man standing not too far from the bird-man. He had fiery red hair that complimented his smokey blue eyes, a prominent golden horn sat in the middle of his forehead with two long strands of hair framing the protrusion. His horse-half had pure white fur, the tail of the horse sporting the same flaming hair the human-half had. The hooves on the horse half were that same sparkling golden that made the hybrid almost seem regal in a way.

Even beyond the two oddities you saw more and more inhuman features on the beings standing around you. There was a light murmur of conversation humming through the air and that was when you caught something unusual.

"I thought Humans were extinct?"

You were brought back to attention by the man in front of you clapping his hands as he stood back to full height. He had an unsettling smile playing on his lips and he regarded you the same way one would regard a lost puppy sitting, shivering from fear and cold at their door.

"You actually are a Human, aren't you? How amazing! To think, a Human just appeared at my college after centuries of one not even being sighted! How thrilling. This certainly is an unusual situation, and it is my duty as Headmage to safeguard such an endangered creature. Worry not, little Human, you are safe here. Aren't I just the kindest?"

You felt like you had been dropped in some wretched nightmare that made no sense despite how desperately you searched for it. There was no such thing as horned horse men, or crow men, or peacock men! None of this was possibly happening because these things just didn't exist where you were from. Maybe as a child you had believed such lies, but as an adult you couldn't comprehend these creatures possibly existing. It was just madness.

It was as you were pulling yourself to your feet that another voice spoke up, this one a touch deeper than that of the Crow man.

"Merveilleux~ to see such a mythical being up close like this... Their beauty is absolutely stunning in such a captivating and exotic way, très bien!"

You saw the man speaking and felt a little confused when he was taller than many of those standing around him. As others moved to look at him you saw just what it was that gave him such height above the rest. It looked as if someone had taken the top half of a man and attached it to the body of a spider about where the face would be. The spider body itself was compact with black markings along the abdomen and long, spindly legs that seemed more than double the length of the body. Two prominent fangs sat curled at the front of the man, slightly obscured by his robes hanging over them, but you could see the faint sheen of venom on the pointed surface of the far too-large mandibles.

Something about seeing the handsome face and shining green eyes of the blond man paired with the monstrous spider-body that he was attached to made the world seem to spin and pitch beneath you. Though you had just managed to get to your feet you certainly didn't feel steady on them, but as the crow man reached out to steady you, you did the only thing you could think of and bolted. Your sudden flight from the situation made several others startle, and in the confusion you darted for what looked like an exit or portal out.

It had not been what you hoped it to be as you found yourself standing before a dark castle that seemed all the more intimidating compared to the monster filled room you just fled. Still, you could try to find somewhere in the castle to lay low, maybe even out on one of the balconies next to the many Gargoyles that overlooked the dour building. There had to be somewhere out of place enough for you to hide- or so you hoped- from the hybrid monsters that so happily decided to keep you despite not knowing a thing about you.

The slow wandering of halls with no opposition put you on edge, wondering if you just got lucky or if you hadn't seen anyone for a reason. Even as your footsteps quietly echoed in the dark halls, you remained vigilant in your quest to find somewhere out of the way.

Eventually that quest for somewhere safe led you to one of the many rooftops of the building. Your salvation came in the form of a recessed alcove that went further back than it appeared, facing away from the front of the castle. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep you sheltered from the rather cold wind and make you feel concealed even among the rooftop.

With Gargoyles as your company and adrenaline quickly fading, you found yourself exhausted and in need of a rest. Despite how fast you seemed to have stumbled upon your hiding place, you could see it had actually been quite a distance you must have run. The portal far away on the other side of the enormous drawbridge that let you into the castle. Your energy was sapped and you were more than confused, but you couldn't fight the insistent pull of sleep on your frazzled mind forever.

~•§•~

The old crow Fae was still reeling from the absolute shock he had just gone through, but most would likely be feeling the same were they in his shoes. It simply was next to impossible, but an actual Human was roaming the halls of Night Raven College. He himself had last seen a Human more than half a millennia ago and they had since been declared extinct for several centuries. Seeing such a mythical being in the Hall of Mirrors was certainly unexpected and curious.

At first he believed they were a Selkie who had lost their fur, but the absolute lack of magic from them told him all he needed to know. Humans were the only non-magic species that had reached sentience in Twisted Wonderland, but this left them at a disadvantage as all other sentient species had magic and quickly out competed them. Some of the Naga and other beastman tribes even took to eating humans as a delicacy before they were declared extinct. Now Crowley had what was very possibly the first recorded Human in centuries somewhere lost in his college.

The grants he could get to care for the Human alone justified finding them and keeping them at Night Raven despite the fact they were not actually a student or member of the college. Even beyond just the money to keep such a rare specimen safe, he was going to get to see their magicless qualities first hand. It was always assumed that Humans had some kind of innate abilities to make up for the fact that they didn't have magic. Their affable nature made them great at keeping the peace between strong personalities and powerful magic users. Though Humans were technically at the bottom of the food chain as far as sentient species were concerned, Crowley could keep this one creature safe at Night Raven College.

All he needed to do now was find the wayward Human and get them to settle down. Of course, there was still the question for where the Human could possibly stay that would ensure their safety.

~•§•~

The dark haired prince walked through the somber halls of Diasomnia. Emerald eyes taking note of the ever familiar surroundings that made up his temporary home. The dour prince was looking to visit his beloved Gargoyles and figured now was as good a time as any. He had not been invited to the ceremony after all and he was not so rude as to show up without invitation and no good reason. Besides, it had been a while since he last visited his beloved statues.

As he made his usual rounds based on the age of the statue, the horned royal paused when greeted with an unfamiliar sight. Beneath one of the Gargoyles was someone soft and delicate looking. They were clearly not made of the same stone as the statues, but by all appearances the Gargoyles had borne a child of flesh and not stone. Perhaps Lilia would know where this odd little creature came from.

The prince was gentle removing the soft (s/c) being from beneath the statue, taking care to not wake the warm creature. His obsidian wings flared with contentment as he managed to extract the oddly delicate humanoid. Outwardly appearing, they almost seemed to be a selkie without fur, but their scent said otherwise. They were much softer than a siren or banshee which often had very taut skin. With renewed purpose, the thorn prince carried his new discovery to his own room, tucking the little being into his blankets. He would find somewhere else for the odd creature to stay after he conversed with Lilia. For now, he could leave the fragile being in the safety of his nest until he figured out what they were.

Perhaps he would crash the ceremony after all. Even if he wasn't invited, this was a good reason.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere twst #yandere monster #monster au #twst monster au #Humans are Extinct TWST AU

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crowsofdarkness · 2 months ago

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Pennywise follows you into the house of mirrors, giving you the opportunity to live out your secret fantasy.

words: 2,326.

18+ CW's below the cut( masturbation with use of a dildo, monster fucking, stalking, unprotected p in v, drool kink, clown kink, oral with female receiving, and slight breath play)

a/n: this is a wild one, i will admit it. but blame it on the dark romance books i've read.

This was so fucked up.

I shouldn’t be here at the carnival, especially with the rumors of a killer clown being on the loose but that was exactly why I was here. For weeks, people have gone missing without a trace. Anytime the cops questioned witnesses, they all said the same thing: a clown with a red balloon was seen.

The same clown I’ve seen standing outside of my window and slowly following me in the distance anywhere I went. At first, I thought he was coming to kill me but after the third night in a row of seeing him watch me from my bedroom window as I dressed from the shower, it was clear Pennywise’s intentions were something other than death.

Fear filled me when I first saw him but very quickly, that feeling changed to curiosity then arousal. The other night when I knew he was watching in the shadows outside my house, I left my bedroom window open for a clear view to my bed where I lay spread wide. My bare cunt on display as I worked my vibrating dildo in and out of it, slowly at first so I could get adjusted to it. It was a new, thicker one, and all I could imagine was a certain clown's cock. When I awoke the next morning from my post orgasm slumber, I found a red balloon tied to the footboard of my bed with a flyer for the local carnival. Something even more peculiar was that the dildo I used the night before was missing. I’d washed it and let it sit out on my nightstand to dry out and when I woke up, it was gone.

Another thing that was missing? My copy of Haunting Adeline which was bookmarked at the house of mirrors scene. I was certain I had it on the bed next to me but I couldn’t find it. I wasn’t too sure what a murderous clown needed with a dark romance book and a dildo but I tried not to think of it too much because I needed to get ready.

Surely if I had any sense I wouldn’t be coming to the carnival after being invited by a killer clown but the idea of finding him in the shadows had me showing up.

Like I said, this whole entire thing was so fucked up. I blame it on all of the dark romance books I’ve read.

The crowds of the carnival were nearly as thick as the fog that danced around me as I pushed my way through. It was a warm summer night in Derry and the breeze blew the bottom of my red dress. I wasn’t much of a person that liked to go on the rides but there was one particular attraction I had my heart set on. Hells Mouth also known as the house of mirrors. Something deep in my gut told me to head straight there.

“Sorry, excuse me,” I murmured, pushing past a couple who were busy making out in front of the hot dog stand.

I came to a brief opening of the crowd, breathing in a somewhat clean breath of air and looked around. I wasn’t too sure where Hells Mouth was located so for a second I was afraid I was nowhere near it. But then, off in the distance, I noticed a familiar pair of bright, glowing eyes belonging to a figure that was waving. For a moment, I stood frozen on an intake of breath as the trance he put me under began to grow stronger with each passing second.

“Such a pretty girl,” Pennywise’s voice spoke in my mind.

Suddenly, his form was gone and in its place was the opening for Hells Mouth so I followed the path with quick strides, knowing he was waiting for me. If I had any last reservations on what I was about to do, now would have been the perfect time to turn around and run the other way. Instead, I put more of a pep in my step as I came up to the end of the line, only six people in front of me.

While I waited, I hummed a soft tune to myself and felt the excitement fester low in my gut knowing what was about to happen. Well, I may not have known exactly what Pennywise’s plans were for me in the house of mirrors but something told me it wasn’t death.

By the time I entered Hells Mouth, I was alone since no one else was waiting in line for my group but honestly, I preferred it that way. Almost instantly, my senses were thrown off by the red lights, the loud music, and the amount of mirrors that were showing my reflection every which way. I stood in the middle of six mirrors creating an optical illusion that made me dizzy. Just over my shoulder in my reflection, a single red balloon slowly drifted closer to me and my heart rate picked up, hands shaking at my sides.

This is it. I was eithergoing to die or get fucked in the house of mirrors by a killer clown.

I’m so fucked up for hoping it was the second one.

The balloon made a loud popping noise causing me to jump with a slight yell just as a new face materialized in the mirror behind me. White painted face with red lips, bright orange eyes, and even brighter hair. He broke out into a large, creepy smile, drool pooling off of his bottom lip and a warmth spread between my legs causing me to bite back a moan. He stood frozen behind me, not moving an inch or speaking, completely still and silent. His white and red clown outfit was askew a bit, the bottom of it damp. The faintest smell of earth and water lingered in the air.

“Say my name,” his voice finally spoke in my mind but he remained still.

My voice caught in my throat, unable to speak, because suddenly this was very real. If I spoke his name, what we were about to do would be something I couldn’t return from.

Fuck it.

“Pennywise,” I choked on a whisper.

That seemed to finally break him from his state because he was on me with such speed, I fell against the mirror with my cheek pressed up against it. My breath hitched as his warm breath fanned over the back of my neck.

“Did you wear this pretty dress for me?” He asked with a gravelly voice I’d never heard before.

I nodded with a whimpered yes.

“Good girl,” his lips nibbled on the shell of my ear. “On your knees.”

Very quickly, I obeyed his command by getting on my knees with the mirrors surrounding us. Pennywise stood tall as he roughly cupped my cheek to force my gaze up at him.

“Are you real?” I asked.

Along with the rumors of a killer clown on the loose in Derry, people were saying it was a figment of people's imaginations. Pennywise didn’t actually exist, he was only what people imagined. That’s how he killed his victims.

“Is this real enough for you?” Pennywise questioned, stuffing a gloved finger deep inside of my mouth causing me to nearly gag on it.

I expected him to remove it but instead he made me suck on it for a few more beats, my moans muffled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my reflection in the mirror and mentally chastised myself for becoming so turned on at the sight of me on my knees for a clown while I sucked on his finger.

“You’re afraid of me,” Pennywise wore a slight frown.

I did my best to shake my head while not stopping sucking on his finger but he could see right through me. Yes, I was extremely turned on by him but there was that lingering feeling of fear, of not knowing what his true intentions with me were.

Bending his face towards me, he gave me a crooked smile now as drool dripped from his lip. I wanted nothing more than to have him drool like this all over me.

“I will feast on your flesh as I feed on your fear,” he said, putting emphasis on feed.

A loud pop echoed in the small space and soon, Pennywise was kneeling behind me, forcing me on all fours. He quickly made work of pushing up my dress to my stomach, exposing my red lace thong to him. I knew he saw the wet spot because he made a sickening laugh; one that brought chills to my body.

“You’ve been such a tease every night. Making me watch you touch this pretty cunt while I couldn’t do anything about it,” Pennywise groaned, his face between my legs from behind.

I pushed myself towards him, desperate to feel his mouth and tongue against me. I kept my eyes on the mirror to my left since that was the one that showed me everything. Pennywise was on his knees, face so close to my cunt but not quite touching it, and I saw him grip my panties to rip them away from me. The fabric fluttered to the ground and he took a deep breath with that signature smile as he smelled me.

“Please,” I begged, thrusting myself closer to him again.

He cocked his head to the side so eerily it brought goosebumps to my skin.

“What does my pretty girl want?”

I swallowed thickly while letting my head fall to my arm that was perching me up on the ground.

“I think I need to be asking you that question,” I said. “What do you want from me?”

A thick silence filled the air for three solid beats before Pennywise wore that far away look again, muttering two words.

“Your soul.”

Not having more than half a second to prepare, Pennywise wide mouth was on me, his tongue devouring my cunt. I felt sharp teeth graze over my cunt followed by the smoothness of his tongue. I bucked my hips into his mouth, desperate to feel more of him when he stated fucking me with his tounge. It was as if he was starved and the only thing that could fill his hunger was me.

“Oh,” I moaned with fluttering eyes.

It felt so good. Never had a human partner ever pleased me this way.

Turning my head more towards the side, I looked in the mirror to see Pennywise’s face buried deep between my legs, my bare ass in the air. All too quickly, the familiar burn of an orgasm flickered at the base of my spine and I nearly cried because I didn’t want this to end. I needed this to go on forever.

As if sensing it, Pennywise pulled away from my cunt just before I came and made quick work of freeing his cock from the tights of his costume. My eyes nearly bulged out of my head when I took in the size of it and suddenly worried if it would hurt. I cried out in pleasure when he finally entered me, filling me to the brim. He yanked my head up with a tight grip in my hair so he could force me to watch us in the mirror. The entire scene was sinful. A clown fucking me from behind, my breasts nearly spilling out from the top of my dress from how hard he was thrusting into me, and the blissed out look on my face.

“Your fear is strong,” Pennywise said through gritted teeth, his grip on my hair and the other on my hip bruising. “It lingers on your skin and I can smell it.”

He sniffed the crook of my neck when he leaned over me, his tongue lapping up the sweat that gathered there. I couldn’t speak, too paralyzed by the orgasm that was about to rip through me. Pennywise removed the grip from my hair to wrap his hand around my throat, nearly cutting off my airway with how strong it was. Stars danced at the edge of my vision when I felt my consciousness slowly slip through his fingers. I was ready to succumb to the darkness, letting it swallow me whole, but before I could, Pennywise removed his grip from around my throat to grip my other hip, now fucking me down to the floor. The sound of skin on skin echoed loudly against the glass of the mirrors along with our shared groans.

I writhed against the dirty carpet, the friction somehow feeling like heaven against my skin, and his cock still inside of me for a very long moment. I expected to feel his warm cum shoot inside of me but there was nothing. I looked at our reflection once more and nearly gasped. No longer was there a clown behind me but a gorgeous human with bright blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. Brown hair soft as feathers fell into his eyes but he made no movement to brush it away.

“Gonna fill you up,” the human version of Pennywise muttered under his breath, a soft finger pressing circles against my clit.

Neither of us lasted much longer, both sharing our releases together, and I felt his cum leak down my inner thigh onto the ground beneath us. Breathless, I fell completely spent and let my eyes shut for a second to gather myself. Even though I couldn’t see him, I felt Pennywise’s presence loom over me in the red lit room.

“Open your eyes for me, pretty girl,” his voice spoke in my mind.

Barley opening them, I saw his clown form in the mirror pocketing my panties before lifting my head up to gaze at him.

“We will soon take our long rest together,” he wheezed, brushing his lips over mine in a barely there kiss.

Before I could return it, he was gone, leaving me alone in Hells Mouth.

#crow calls #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard imagines #bill skarsgard fluff #bill skarsgard fics #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard blurbs #pennywise #IT #monster fucking #pennywise x reader #pennywise smut

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busket · 1 year ago

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I understand personal preference and that some people just don't like ships with men, and that's ok! but I'm annoyed at the implication from some fans that labru has less depth as a relationship than farcille or any other wlw ship in dungeon meshi, and the idea that people are only shipping it as a joke, or because they're horny, or because they're misogynistic and don't want to look at female characters, etc etc. I've seen people call it like, "bloodlust obsession that turns to horniness" and it made me realize that the people who don't ship labru don't understand their dynamic at all. labru shippers didn't just pull this out of our asses lol

a lot of the story around kabru involves how he and laios are perfect opposites of eachother. NARRATIVE FOILS, if you will. everywhere kabru thrives (social interaction, charisma, the surface) laios completely fails. and everywhere that laios is most successful (in the dungeon against monsters) kabru keeps getting killed. not only that but their desires are mirrors of each other too: laios grew up bullied by humans and wanted to become a monster, kabru grew up dehumanized by his villagers and then the elves, so he wants to affirm his identity as a human being.

despite how kabru should be repulsed by laios due to his hatred of monsters, he's drawn to him instead. kabru spends the entire story trying to get to laios to talk to him and to get to know him. firstly he knows laios is closest to defeating the dungeon lord and needs to sus out if he's a good person, but he admits that he really wants to be friends with laios too, not just to determine his virtue but to see what value laios sees in monsters. he wants laios to share his interest in people, he wants laios to be interested in him back. kabru never had any true bloodlust or desire to kill laios, he was prepared to go that far if laios wasn't a good person, but once finding out that he has good intentions kabru spends all his energy trying to help laios instead. and when you consider that kabru spent his childhood believing he was half monster because of how he was ostracized in utaya, his curiosity about how laios could possibly love monsters feels so much more personal.

and for laios, he's not used to anyone taking an interest in him. people are constantly telling him he's weird, and the person he believed to be his best friend told him he couldn't stand him. he misses falin so dearly because she thinks he's the coolest man on earth, so meeting someone and being told "I hate monsters but I still want to know YOU" would have an impact on him, I think. in postcanon they become good friends, kabru becomes laios' right hand man to help him with more of the dicey social aspects of being a leader. laios asks him to stay by his side and help him, and kabru says "yeah, that's what I've been doing this whole time"

I wouldn't claim that a romantic relationship between them is CANON, but I wouldn't even say that about farcille either tbh (and I love farcille just as much so don't come for me lol) this isn't a comedy crackship that yaoi fans just made up. laios and kabru are really multi dimensional characters and they're made to reflect eachother in every way, even down to their physical design. so it's not out of nowhere that people ship them

#dungeon meshi #labru #MY INSANE YAOI RAMBLINGS

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ultravi0lence14 · 5 months ago

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SMALL TALKS

DEAN WINCHESTER X DEMON!READER

WARNINGS: nothing!! just pure, tooth rotting fluff that will also make you yearn for dad!dean

SUMMARY: with majority of their children being in school, little monster and dean have their plates full with keeping each of them out of trouble.

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

the truck door slammed behind dean and his little monster in the passenger seat, your face turning to his as he heard a soft sigh leave your lips. what had just transpired at the school had been shocking, seeing that you and dean strived on the fact that your children tell you everything.

lily and milo had been picked up by sam and his wife the second you and dean got the call, knowing that this visit to the school was going to be one without a three and two year old attached to your hips. the car ride was silent, soft chatter filling the space when clara and lincoln were picked up from their middle school, but that was it.

there was a grace period in which the two of you could drop the eldest children off at home and wait until the little’s need to be picked up from their elementary school. it was mostly filled with you and dean talking about what course of action you’d take with the phone call, but it was also listening to clara talk about her day and how her history teacher was out to get her.

when the clock struck 3pm, the truck was rumbling back down the road, headed to an impending conversation that dean never thought he’d need to have in his life. he never thought he’d ever have children, better yet ten foster ones, so when his little monster got a call that one of their children had gotten in a fight, he knew that this was going to be a big moment in his parenting journey.

by the time it was 3:15, five out of six of his children were in the car. luke and sam were babbling to each other about pokémon or god knows what boys their ages talked about, sadie was showing you the drawing she made in art class, marley was eagerly listening to her sisters rambles while adding in her own little commentary, and then there was scarlett, sitting behind your seat and longingly staring out the window.

dean was watching her intently, seeing the remnants of sadness on her cheeks. it was evidentially clear that dean’s little scarlett was thinking about two things; the mean words that the cruel boy sneered at her today, and how bad of a punishment her twin brother thatcher was going to get for defending her.

that is what the call had been about. apparently, a boy a year older than scarlett had cornered her on the playground, spewing hurtful words about how she was taken in by you and dean like an unwanted mutt. the poor girl had already been in tears by the time the boy had said her real parents never wanted her, and thatcher had already been reaching for the boys shoulder from behind.

from what the principal explained to you and dean, the blows thatcher delivered to this boy were brutal, and a broken nose and severely bruised eye had been left in the wake of the nine year olds rage. no one talked to his siblings like that — heck, no one talked to his twin like that without hearing back from him.

he’d been taken down to the principal’s office, and the call had been made. this had all been around twenty minutes ago, and dean still remembered the view of thatcher’s arm around scarlett’s shoulder, her tiny hand clutching his tightly in the rearview mirror of the truck.

his son was fiercely protective, and dean couldn’t even be really mad at him for what he did.

but as the last of the children left the car, scampering up the gravel of the driveway, you and dean looked at each other, a look that spoke a thousand words. you two weren’t even mad at thatch; that little boy had it coming for what he said to scarlett, and someone had to teach him a lesson. but as parents, you needed to make sure your kids knew that violence was never the answer.

as much as the two of you resorted to it most of the time.

“dean i don’t know what to do,” you finally said, breaking the silence and scrubbing a hand down your face. “this has never happened before. and as much as i would love to tell thatch that i’m proud of him, i know as parents we can’t do that.”

a laugh tore from dean’s lips, rumbling in his chest as he grabbed your hand, bringing it to his mouth and running your knuckles across in a feather soft motion. “i know baby,” he breathed, holding your hand tightly in his grasp. “but as much as he should know that looking out for scar is important, he also needs to know that sometimes violence isn’t the answer.”

“this is really rich coming from us.” you chuckled, and dean couldn’t agree more. you were a demon for hell’s sake, he a hunter. violence was in your nature, and there was a gnawing feeling in dean’s gut that thatcher got his keen sense of violence from his daddy.

a smile graced dean’s lips, and in a feeble attempt to get to the conversation at hand, he leaned over the centre console and opened your door, leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek before he spoke softly in your ear. “cmon little monster, let’s go do some hard core parenting.”

thatcher had been sitting on one of the lawn chairs in the backyard, spine still and hands placed delicately in his lap as he thought about the days events. that’s where you and dean had found him, and it stirred a solemn feeling in your gut that your little boy felt so broken up when all he wanted to do was protect his twin sister.

it was his birthright to protect. he and scarlett had come into the world together — albeit thatcher three minutes earlier, and it would be a cold day in hell before he saw his sister cry at the hands of false words.

you and dean had been standing at the back door, waiting for a good moment to interfere when thatcher’s voice broke through the tense silence. “i would do it again y’know,” he spoke clearly, turning his head slightly so his side profile was on display to you and dean. “and not just for scar, for all of my siblings.” a lump rose in your throat, a sudden realization that you had raised your children to be kind and good people, someone who people could trust.

“i don’t care that majority of them aren’t my blood siblings,” thatcher continued, ringing his hands together as you and dean stayed silent. “they’re my family, you’re my family. you guys were there for me and scarlett when things got tough. so was clara, link — heck even milo and lily.” he giggled at the end of his statement, and you couldn’t help but let a teary giggle out as well.

“what i’m trying to say is that all of you mean the world to me, and i would beat up as many bullies as i need to just to make sure that my siblings are smiling.”

the pitter patter of your feet running over to where thatcher sat was the first sound to be heard, your sniffling the second. you lunged at the nine year old boy who was way too wise beyond his years and engulfed him in a hug from behind. kisses were planted on his forehead, and the idea to say violence was never the answer went completely out the window.

“you might not be biologically ours,” you spoke into his ear, ruffling his hair as you spoke. “but you will always be our son, always have a special place in me and your dads hearts.” your words were followed by dean’s hand resting on thatch’s shoulder, the boy in question turning his head to look at his father.

“you are mine and your mothers son through and through, thatcher winchester; and i’ve got some tricks to teach you if more bullies try to mess with scarlett or any of your other siblings again.”

thatcher just smiled, resting his head on dean’s shoulder as you nuzzled your face against his. “i love you mama, i love you too papa.”

and at once, dean winchester knew what peace was. he felt it in the loving embrace of his little demon, in the arms of his ten foster children. he felt it in the beautiful home you and him created as a safe space for your children, and he finally understood what normalcy felt like.

TAGS: @titsout4jackles @starzify @floralscented @deansbeer @bluemerakis @deanangel @haunteres @figthoughts @gibson-g1rl @foolinthera1n @whisperingdaze @honeyryewhiskey @misatxox @a-lil-pr1ncess

NAT BABBLES: i love post szn 15 dean having a litter of children and living happily on a farm with his lil monster☺️

#little monster #titsout4jackles #dean winchester x demon!reader #dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester #ultravi0lence14 #supernatural x reader #imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean x reader

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forwards-beckon-rebound · 6 months ago

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more jason todd hcs because i said so!!! pt 2

or more like what was he doing at wayne manor when he wasn't busy being robin pt 1

back in crime alley, he’d go to the one library because it opened late and had air conditioning and heating (a luxury his own home didn’t have)

he’d read basically anything he could get his hands on

mostly he reads stories about fantastical adventures in far off lands, fighting monsters and saving the day

sometimes he read stuff like the little princess and prays that really will be him one day

so when he meets batman for the first time and he doesn’t get beaten up for stealing the tires but instead adopted? he can’t help but want to see where this goes

he tries so hard to make bruce not regret his decision

he makes sure to stay at the top of his classes, even when that means late nights studying in his room even after all of his training

he finds any newspaper articles that he can on robin and marvels at all of his feats

he reads true crime cases, even if they make his stomach churn, so he can improve his investigation skills

he trains until he retches on the floor, and then he cleans it up so as not to bother anyone and goes back to training

sure he acts all confident and happy but really? he knows that his current life was given to him by the whims of some rich guy and he could very well lose it all the next day

he stashed nonperishable food in his room, trinkets he’s been gifted that he thinks he could sell

but as the days go by and it seems like bruce has no intention of making him leave, and in fact he’s being treated almost like a son? it makes jason gain hope

the first time bruce asks him to come to a gala, jason is so excited he can’t sleep

he's stressing out over his suit (it's the first time he's ever worn one, much less had one custom made to fit him)

he checks up on it multiple times a day and will lowkey freak out if he finds a wrinkle (he won't because obviously it's alfred)

he's practicing how to tie a tie in the mirror perfectly

once he gets to the gala, he's buzzing from the nerves and excitement

will he feel out of place amongst all of these rich people who probably see him as a charity case?

sure, but the fact that he’s making a public appearance…surely this means that his stay at the manor will not be short-lived

he gets introduced as bruce’s adopted son and with each greeting he can’t help but puff his chest out just a bit more

as he wanders towards the punch bowl, he hears a group of ladies gossip about whether jason is actually bruce’s illegitimate child

it makes sense. they both have black hair, blue eyes, the same square jaw and heavy set eyebrows

he could probably correct them if he wanted to. but this is one rumour he doesn’t mind floating around

and that night, he has never been more grateful for the colour of his eyes

he thinks somewhere along the way he gets caught up in all of it

he lets himself get comfortable at the manor

he didn't have much in his room growing up. mostly because there wasn't anything to display to begin with, but also because they'd be evicted from their previous place so often, more belongings just meant more things to move

fills his room with personal trinkets. a dagger here, a mask there. he has photos framed. him meeting the justice league, with the titans, his first christmas at the manor (bruce has the same one in his office too)

i personally hc that some entrepreneurial gothamites have made bootleg batman and robin merch (actually is it bootleg if there's no official merch? who knows)

kind of like those i heart new york shirts with the local tourist spots on it

but it's batman lmfao

butttttttt i'm just imagining them coming across a dude selling chibi batman and robin merch while they're on patrol

and bruce hates it because like why is his head so big? why are his eyes so disproportionately large? does he have some sort of illness

but he notices how long jason's staring at them so he breaks the batsona for a bit to buy it for him

and jason has it on display in his room

imagine if they have one of those height markers in the house from when dick was still home

and then they add jason's and he can't help but stare enviously at dick's marking and wonders when he'll get there

alfred assures him he will be as tall as master dick one day, and they'll make sure to add it so that he "wins," as he so put it

unfortunately that day won't come. not because he doesn't grow taller than dick but by that point, it's too late

he has his own personal corner in the library

it's a cozy armchair that's just close enough to a window to get natural light while he's reading, but also close to the fireplace so that on winter days he's not freezing to death

it wasn't like that when he first got there. actually, the chair was much closer to the fireplace, where the rest of the furniture is arranged

but as time went on, he thought it'd be okay if he moved the chair just a littleeee bit more to the right. surely bruce wouldn't mind. and nobody ever said anything, so he'd move it bit by bit until eventually it was where it still is

it looks kind of out of place at this point. i mean, imagine a singular armchair way off to the side. but it's his spot and nobody moves it, even after he's gone

honestly, everybody else never really went into the library before or after, but whenever jason had free time, that's where he would be

he's just always there, even though he's been told that he's allowed to take the books around the house or to school if he wants

he's so careful with keeping the books safe, thinks it best that he leaves them in the library

he doesn't want to give them a reason to think he's a bother

he will bring a few books to his room, the ones he likes to read before he goes to sleep to wind down

i'm just thinking about the little reminders of jason todd scattered throughout the manor

the dining chair that's a little wobbly from the time jason tried to show bruce a trick

a burn mark on a wooden pan handle from the first time alfred taught him how to cook

a window pane that's not quite like the rest of them after he tried to copy dick's iconic quad flip

a bronze dog statue in a hallway because of course the waynes would own one. its head is shinier than the rest of its body from the times he would pet it

and sure, you could call it damage if you wanted to

but it's hard to think about it that way when really, those are some of the last reminders that he really was there

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getobitchs · 6 months ago

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What You Took From Me - R. S.

✧.* content warning : angst, fluff ig?

✧.* w/c : 1.07k

✧.* n/a : nothin

✧.* tagline : @sugurus-thoughts ; (text me to be on the next tagline)

₊ ⊹🪻 ✧ ˚i

The Heian era was a time of elegance and tradition, where the beauty of the cherry blossoms mirrored the fleeting moments of happiness that mortals clung to. For you, life had once been simple, your days spent tending to the small garden by your family’s home, your nights bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Until him.

Sukuna.

You had met him by chance — or so you had believed. A man of devastating beauty and an aura that sent chills down your spine, he was both terrifying and magnetic. Sukuna wasn’t just a man; he was a force of nature. A god among mortals, cloaked in an ever-present air of danger and power.

Yet, despite the fear he inspired, he had chosen you. Out of all the women in the land, it was you who had caught his eye. And in an act of defiance against both his nature and the world that feared him, he had married you.

At first, you had been afraid, unsure of his intentions. But Sukuna — when he wasn’t reigning over curses or instilling fear — had been a surprisingly gentle husband. He brought you rare flowers, sat beside you while you worked in the garden, and listened as you spoke of your dreams and fears. He wasn’t one to smile often, but when he did, it was like the sun breaking through a storm.

You fell in love with him, despite the warnings whispered by the wind and the shadowy aura that clung to him like a second skin. And for a time, you were happy.

But time was unkind to mortals.

Your health began to wane, your once-strong body betraying you as the years passed. You tried to hide it, to keep the growing weakness in your limbs and the ache in your chest a secret, but Sukuna knew. He always knew.

He watched helplessly as you grew weaker, his frustration manifesting in the crackle of his cursed energy. He could destroy entire villages, topple kingdoms, and command legions of curses, but he couldn’t stop the inevitable march of time. He couldn’t save you.

You died one spring morning, the scent of cherry blossoms heavy in the air. Sukuna had held you in his arms as you took your last breath, his four crimson eyes fixed on your face as though he could will you back to life.

“I’ll find you,” he had murmured, his voice breaking in a way you had never heard before. “No matter where you go, I’ll find you again.”

And then you were gone.

Centuries passed.

For years after your death, Sukuna clung to his memories of you, reliving every fleeting moment of happiness he had shared with you. He tried to forget, to bury your image beneath the blood and chaos of his reign, but no matter how much he destroyed, no matter how many lives he claimed, your face always lingered in the corners of his mind.

When he was eventually sealed, he welcomed the silence. If the world had nothing left to offer him, perhaps oblivion was the only answer.

But fate is cruel, and the threads of destiny are never truly severed.

In 2018, Sukuna awakened, dragged back into the world through forbidden sorcery. It was a strange new time, filled with loud machines, flashing lights, and a world that had forgotten his name. He should have reveled in the opportunity to spread fear and reclaim his throne, yet his mind was elsewhere.

The centuries had dulled nothing. He still thought of you. Your laughter, your touch, the way you had looked at him as though he weren’t a monster. He had lost you once, and the thought of living without you again filled him with an ache he couldn’t name.

Then, one ordinary evening, he saw you.

You were standing outside a café, bathed in the soft glow of a neon sign, your laughter carrying over the hum of the city. Time seemed to freeze. Sukuna’s crimson eyes locked onto you, his heart — something he had long believed dead — thudding painfully in his chest.

It was you.

You looked different, your modern clothes and styled hair unfamiliar, but there was no mistaking you. The shape of your smile, the way you tilted your head as you laughed — it was the same as it had been centuries ago.

For a moment, he could only stand there, staring. He had spent so long believing he would never see you again that the sight of you now felt like a dream.

You didn’t notice him at first, engrossed in your conversation with a friend. But then your eyes flickered toward him, and the world shifted.

You froze, your laughter dying in your throat as your gaze met his. There was no recognition in your eyes, but something passed between you — a spark, a faint pull that made your heart stutter.

Sukuna crossed the street without hesitation, his movements as smooth and predatory as they had been in the Heian era. He stopped in front of you, towering over you, his presence commanding your full attention.

“Can I help you?” you asked, your voice polite but wary.

His gaze softened as he took you in, his crimson eyes scanning your face for any hint of familiarity. “Do you believe in fate?” he asked, his voice low and resonant.

You blinked, startled by the question. “I… I guess?”

His lips curled into a smirk, though it lacked the malice it usually carried. “You should.”

Your friend nudged you, murmuring something about him being strange, but you didn’t move. There was something about him that felt… familiar.

“Have we met before?” you asked, your voice hesitant.

His smirk faltered for just a moment, replaced by something more vulnerable. “In another life, perhaps.”

You didn’t understand what he meant, but there was something in his gaze that made your chest ache, a strange and inexplicable feeling of loss and longing.

Sukuna didn’t press further. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to frighten you or risk losing you again. But as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll meet again,” he said, echoing the promise you had made to him centuries ago.

You stood there, watching him disappear into the crowd, your heart heavy with an emotion you couldn’t name.

And for the first time in centuries, Sukuna felt hope.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #more sukuna fluff bc why tf not #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen ryomen

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ma1dita · 1 year ago

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when the curtains close

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> love me dry | next -> asking for trouble words: 5.3k summary: (post-tlt) The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Pollux, Annabeth, Percy, and Mr. D find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: yeah to me this fic sounds and feels like that tiktok of the girl humming to her microwave. depictions of the titular battle of the labyrinth at CHB, some blood/gore, death & grief. the usual. you forced me to by lizzy mcalpine. references to cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams if you squint (posted 5/14/24)

—

The first time Pollux has a panic attack, time seems to stop and the world keeps moving on without him.

He’s reminded of a time when you rambled on about how anxiety takes possession of the senses like a moment frozen in a snapshot meant for you to identify. In the memory, you had your feet kicked up on the dash flipping through a DSM-5 while he and Castor took turns speeding up and down Farm Road (totally normal older sister behavior from you, and when a cop pulled you over, the three of you narrowly escaped a ticket by talking in riddles and godly smoke that smelled like grapes). Pollux still remembers the sound of laughter in the car blending like three different chords to an archaic melody (or squawking crows in the strawberry fields)— the bond between you three laid out before time knew limits and was always meant to be.

It’s still his favorite song. You’re their favorite (and only) sister, they love to joke. These are facts that will never change.

“You two have each other, and well, I’ve got this,” you had said, the Zippo flicking open and closed against your thumb in the blossoming darkness of the car. Pink and purple rays of waning light blanketed the old hatchback as it steadily made its way back towards Half-Blood Hill, comfortable silence shared in the way only siblings can stand to be quiet—when there are no words needed to get a point across. But you’ve always set yourself apart from the pack, not needing anyone like how they need each other.

Not since Luke left, at least. The growing distance between you three since your untimely resignation from camp was proof enough. Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s in the rearview mirror as they both noticed your sad smile. His brother’s voice broke through the silence then, having always been the one blunt enough to say what was on his mind, “You’ve got us too if you let us see you more often.” Your fidgeting stops.

“It’s not you two, it’s just hard to be back here sometimes. I see things for what they used to be instead of how they really are now. Now it’s just… it has to be all business.”

Pollux cracked a smile, “S’what you get for growing up. Soon we’ll just be annoying voices in your head like you are to us.” Shutting your textbook, you turned to look at them from the passenger seat, eyes that match theirs darting between their blond heads, “All of us have to grow up eventually. Except maybe you two— I prefer you in my nightmares like the kids from The Shining. Whenever you get sick of Dad, come see me. Gods know that camp deserves a break from the two of you too.” Your knuckles knocked against both of their heads affectionately as he put the car in park, “My built-in bodyguards, huh? Always looking out for me.”

All words and meaning escape Pollux now as he stands in the greenery of the North Woods with battle gear ill-fitted to his large frame. It’s the first siege he’s ever taken part in, the first time he’s had to use battle strategies outside of Capture the Flag and the first time he’s slashed his way through monsters and demigods with the intent to try and kill or be killed. Sword and Shield could have never prepared any of them for this—as his eyes meet Castor’s and then yours with all of you thinking the same thing, the three of you join the sea of iridescent orange through mind-numbing black moving like a sharp three-pronged sword.

This type of stuff isn’t typical for him, he thinks. He and Castor are used to being comedic relief— being the source of laughs and juice boxes for pesky little campers instead of facing the real world outside the boundaries of the Mist. Perhaps your father babied them to make up for the time he lost with you, but there’s a moment where he wonders how being kept soft will keep him alive in a world as harsh as this one.

Childlike innocence is ripped away from them in the bubble they’ve inhabited until this moment. Home is now a warzone and like lambs set up for slaughter, the twins both turn to look at you as a shuddering gasp leaves your mouth at the carnage in your surroundings, monster blood and fallen friends and enemies at your feet. Breaking away from formation to take a deep breath, he looks at the sky and wonders where your father is, but smoke and soot fill his lungs and he coughs desperately for a breath of fresh air.

Pollux thinks he must have stopped breathing before Castor took his last breath. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but sometimes life was just funny like that.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Just like you told him.

Castor was always the more manic one while Pollux knew how to endure. Children of Dionysus are forced to befriend insanity before it makes an enemy out of them—twisting the ugly into what’s real and creating something beautiful out of the deranged. You’ve shown the boys how you detach from emotion by recognizing the details—separating fact and fiction, a methodical process only describable by the blood that runs through your veins. Pollux doesn’t know where to start—everything happens so fast but it plays out in front of him like someone put the pieces together to a stop-motion animation.

He sees Castor’s sword fall to the ground when he gets slashed on the forearm and sees him get clubbed over the head with a metal weapon he’s only seen bad renditions forged for theater practices and hanging on the walls of the armory. Castor falls first to his knees, and then into the dirt with a thud. He never knew there could be that much blood coming out of a person, much less a mirror image of himself. Pollux sees your face come into his line of vision, deep maroon splatters on your face glittering with hints of ichor and then you’re moving because he can’t. The enemy is coming back for him now, and for a moment he wonders if Castor will be mad if he lets him. He sees you turn in an instant, swinging your sword down on the neck of the aggressor, a teenager not much older than he and his brother are—were. It’s funny how his brain immediately makes the switch to past tense, and how he can’t stop thinking about how he’ll now and forever be older than his twin. Pollux then sees you catch the body of the boy you just killed as life seeps out of him slower than it did for Castor.

It doesn’t make him feel any better, though.

His knees hit the ground next to his twin, touching the sludge of dirt soft like quicksand and moist with what he hopes is not blood, but Pollux is not quite sure of what else there is to hope for. His fist is wrapped around Castor’s shirtsleeve, touching faded orange and sweat as he holds on for dear life. Maybe if he tries hard enough his soul will still be intertwined with his. Your hand touches his shoulder, five fingers reaching out to brush the back of his neck and the feeling of your skin helps him refocus a bit, even if you’re saying something he can’t make out. Then the metal of your Zippo lighter feels cool to the touch within his palm and he knows what he needs to do.

The battle isn’t over, but for the three of you, everything stops here. There is no going forward without your brother. You were never meant to be children of war.

Pollux hears the sound of his heartbeat thundering through his ears, blood rushing through his veins and can’t help but notice the silence amid the chaos. There are no words fit for this—and even if there were, Castor and you were always the more talkative ones. He hears the spark of the purple flame between his fingers, blowing the smoke over him and his brother’s body, and their father’s powers blanket them like how you used to tuck them into bed, warm and safe. This is what your family is—unconventional and unending even in different realms of existence. And then Grover’s scream of panic echoes through the air and everyone hears that. Hysteria ensues as monsters and demigods alike run amok, and Pollux realizes he’s stopped shaking.

In his father’s domain, he will always find comfort.

You stand above him now directing campers calmly with a free hand—a brewing storm crackling underneath your skin that he now understands. Hidden by the illusion of smoke, Pollux’s tired bones rest alongside his brother’s dead ones— together as they always were meant to be.

The three of you together, his little family—that is a fact he hoped would never change.

The smell of grapes envelops him as he leans his forehead against your muddy leg… when did the battle end? It almost masks the scent of death that rips through the air as your hand brushes through his sandy hair. Pollux stinks of sweat and you stifle a laugh as you see him smell his armpit. You three were always the same type of fucked up. He doesn’t look down at Castor laid across his lap but knows he would’ve found it funny too. Ignorance of reality even for a moment serves as a comfort. Purple meets purple as he looks up at you with a smile that doesn’t fit his face anymore and he croaks, “Wonder what dad would say about our first battle…”

Glory was never meant to be this bittersweet—it tastes like blood in his mouth until he wipes it away from his cheek and realizes it’s Castor’s. In a way, it’s his too, everything about him and within him is exactly the same down to the star stuff the fates wove them from.

“I’ll be the one to tell him. You take care of Castor,” you answer, as if there’s anything else he would want to do and then he realizes you’re crying— and he’s seeing all of the pieces put together in front of him in this photograph in his mind.

Pollux blinks slowly.

Suddenly the image he has of you is more defined— there is new meaning to the sadness you could never shake off all these years, and he is too young to lose his greatest love, which makes him realize then that so were you.

How long does this have to go on? he wonders, grabbing onto your hand with an eagerness only comparable to the feeling he got when you and Luke whisked him and Castor away from Florida all those years ago. This punishment of living while half of his soul does not—what is he supposed to do next? This was supposed to be the safe place. There is nowhere left to run. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your shaking blood-soaked hand, a secret within the smoke.

Pollux thinks there will always be a part of him frozen in time now, a memory of this day hung up in his mind like a portrait as he holds Castor’s cold hand in his warm one.

—

Annabeth finds you in the middle of the strawberry fields before the sun sets. She knows you won’t be sleeping tonight, not if you can fight it— not when there’s so much to do. You’ve long grown out of your ripped-up and tie-dyed camp shirts, and the one slung on your frame is newly pressed and starchy from the storage room of the Big House, still stiff against your freshly washed skin. When she’s close enough to touch you, you’ve been scrubbed clean of today.

She doesn’t have to be a daughter of Athena to know that you know that she’s there even if you can’t see her, but for once she feels like she has to hide. For once, Annabeth Chase doesn’t know what to say. How can she explain the feeling of guilt that coils around her brain like barbed wire—how can she even begin to apologize for the thing wearing her brother’s skin, knowing that it killed yours? For once, her hubris is crushed by the sinking feeling of humiliation.

“Was your first quest all you thought it would be, Annie?”

As she takes her navy cap off, silver braided strands around her face wave in the wind as a reminder of what Luke put her through. Though as she looks at you now with your berry-stained fingers plucking at stems one by one instead of using your powers, she thinks that your mind is elsewhere—anywhere but here, where everything is a painful reminder of your five years as a camper.

Five years with Luke.

Mourning him isn’t a new feeling for either of you, even though he comes in and out of your lives like a poltergeist you want to bash across the head, just always out of reach. But he’s a constant, even when he’s not here and he’s what binds you two together as you huddle hidden away from the rest of camp.

“He did this for you.”

It’s not a question, more so a fact out of Annie’s mouth when you finally meet her eyes and sigh, “Luke’s always had a way going about things. The most stubborn man to ever live.” You toss another strawberry into the crate at your feet. No one’s working right now, trying to tend to the injured and the dead. Everyone’s doing their best to chase away the nightmares that are bound to come, and she knows you’ll be making rounds with her on the night shift to ease everyone’s anxieties. But there’s a thought so strong it makes her head hurt, bursting at the seams until she can’t stop with her last-ditch effort to fix her found family.

“Maybe if we find him, we can save—”

“He’s been out of time for a while now, Annabeth. We both knew that,” you say, voice firm and unwavering. You’ve never sounded so monotone before, and it hits her as her mouth falls agape, “You’re giving up on him? Why… why would you give up on him?” Anger courses through her veins like fire and she’s mad that she’s at the center of this prophecy, of Hermes’s anger for his doomed son who will love you until the ends of the earth.

And what of her?

What of the hope she has in happy endings, how is it that you’re so damn calm? Annabeth kicks at the crate, strawberries rolling out in different directions and your jaw tightens as you let her be petulant, let her scream and yell until her inner child can catch up with the reality of the world around you.

“How could you?”

Your name echoes as she repeats it, grabbing at your shoulders and she’s as desperate as the truth that shakes her when you cup her face in your hands and wipe her tears.

“You’ve carried the weight of the world Annabeth– you know what it feels like to let it go. It’s time to let him go. There’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.”

Then it hits her that you knew of his fate and yet this was still the outcome. There was nothing else to do but watch him be puppeteered by a Titan and have to fight evil while it wears his face.

“He came to you after he saw me, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you love him anymore?”

Because it wouldn’t have changed a thing, your eyes say. Instead, you grimace as you say, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it were true?” You lean down and pick up the fallen berries, some bruised and covered in dirt, and then you look at her again with teary eyes.

“Some prophecy huh? To lose a love to worse than death. What could we have done besides love him until the end?”

“He’s still in there. I know you know that too. Don’t talk about him like he’s not,” Annabeth insists, and a sad smile settles upon your face. It’s as gentle as the kiss of the breeze on your cheeks.

“I lost a brother today, Annie.”

“Me too.”

—

The funny thing about planning funerals is that with all the fuss it takes to organize one, you still find extra time on your hands. Barely getting any sleep and dragging yourself out of your dad’s bed, Pollux snores loudly next to you after hours of working on Castor’s shroud. Sleep wasn’t expected for either of you, but being unconscious was the only way of giving your brains a reprieve. The both of you have been busy doubling down on the preparations, even if it means Mr. D won’t be back in time while he’s out rallying gods for war.

The faster Castor’s earthly body is reconnected with his soul, the easier his trip will be into the Underworld, Nico says, and it’s funny how comforting the little emo pipsqueak can be when it comes to matters of death.

Perhaps this is the solace you bring to others with things you’re able to control—keeping camp afloat is something you were always good at, and helping every traumatized child that comes up to you for a juice box or a lullaby eases the guilt that follows you. Walking around Camp Half-Blood for more than a weekend made you feel like a judge, jury, and executioner. Though most of the campers from almost five years ago have either aged out, defected, or died—the ones that remain still look at you like you’re trouble.

Perhaps you always will be.

You even found yourself with the time to pray to Hermes last night for your brother’s safe passage into the afterlife, though if he’s angry at Annabeth, he must hate you for letting Luke go. Dinner didn’t seem appetizing enough anyway, so your whole plate was tossed into the hearth. You hope he likes chicken and rice.

But if a god can’t fight fate, what did he expect you to do?

The Iris Message to your dad last night was difficult, to say the least. Pollux’s hands shook as he continued to paint grape vines onto the silk cloth and the both of you didn’t say anything when your father started to cry. He out of all of the gods knows what it’s like to be tested to the limits—to endure pain and it’s a gift you and your brother are grateful for in times like these. Watching the god display the human emotion that either of you couldn’t as freely made it more real though.

There was also the interesting predicament of Chris Rodriguez being locked up in the basement of the Big House. Replacing screaming fits with serenity was almost second nature, and your gentle hands were what got Clarisse to truly respect you again for the first time in years. You could hear her sneak downstairs and talk to him while he slept (and the look in her eyes when you’d greet her with a cup of coffee made it known to you that she finally understands what it means to love someone who’s lost—two demigod daughters filled with a lot of rage and hurt were more alike than they think).

So the morning of your little brother’s funeral, you found yourself on the shoreline of Canoe Lake, setting your Redbull against the post of the dock and looking out onto the water.

You needed to do something with your hands. In the past few days, if your fingers were not occupied by pen and paper, a guitar, supply crates, or anything else that was helpful to others and all the more distracting for you, it’s been so easy to pick at any little thing. Perhaps it was your subconscious trying to reflect the damage on the inside, but today, your nail polish was chipped beyond belief. A small price to pay to not lose it without a signature boyish smile to ease your worries and amber eyes that could help you escape from the routine.

Running camp was always easier back then with your runaway boy and his scarred cheek.

How pathetic.

Crouched over in the sand, you plucked stones and filled your pockets with them. They knocked against each other — weighing your pockets down as you walked closer to the dock. Swinging your feet off the side and chucking them into the water, you could barely achieve a ripple.

It’s so quiet that you end up wondering if the rocks in your pockets would weigh you down to the bottom of the lake. It must be nice down there, to exist away from everything.

Bubbles surface slowly in front of you, then Percy’s head bobs in the water as he squints at you through sunlight.

“You chucked a rock at my head!”

A smile tugs at your lips, almost indiscernible but definitely there, “I was trying to skip them. Didn’t know you were doing water tricks in there, kid.” His grin gleams like freshwater pearls, pulling himself up onto the dock as his hand clasps yours. Shaking his sopping hair, Percy’s gangly frame sits next to yours like a wet bag of sand—all wrinkly and misshapen and sprinkling you with lakewater.

“Maybe next time don’t pick rocks the size of your fist. How many have you got in there? Your aim is scarily accurate,” he laughs and you huff and shake your head when his hand sticks into your pocket and takes out a few smooth ones to roll around in his hand. You mirror him, watching him skip a few stones into the water that reach a good distance before sinking into the depths of the lake.

There’s something sad about feeling comfortable to trauma dump on the teenage son of Poseidon, but with the way he grabs your arm at your third unsuccessful toss of a rock, you can’t do anything else but sigh.

“Why didn’t any of you call me, Percy?”

He was waiting for this question—it’s been banging around in his head since the beginning of Annabeth’s quest, and perhaps her talk with you yesterday didn’t go as expected so once again he’s left with the difficult part.

Things happen to turn out pretty difficult for him a lot, he's noticed.

Many things could have been made easier in the past few weeks: Ariadne being your stepmother and her blessing to you would’ve made the Labyrinth easier to navigate, and having another demigod to fight alongside him instead of a mortal girl would’ve been a plus too. But he looks at you with ocean eyes and a smaller smile that reminds you of how he looked at you when you dropped him off in Montauk the summer you met him and quit your head counselor job.

“You’ve already made a lot of difficult decisions. We weren’t sure if…”

The rotten wood beneath you creaks under your shifting weight as you turn to him, tucking your legs underneath your bottom.

“Didn’t think I could handle it?”

He shakes his head, “The opposite, actually. Annabeth has this notion that you’re the only one that can save him. You know, back on my first quest I met Luke’s dad and he told me something…”

You swallow instead of answering. There’s no way Percy is giving you Hermes’s advice right now. Somehow this feels like karmic retribution after years of spiting that asshole, and what he tells you next is more of a sign that it must be true.

“He said, ‘Do you know what that feels like? To be so close to someone you love knowing neither of you has any choice but to keep hurting each other?’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.”

“With Luke and his mom?” you ask, picking at the remaining slivers of varnish on your thumbnail.

“With you and Luke. I didn’t call you, because… why would I want to see you hurt after everything?” Percy says this like it’s something he would do for everyone.

Perhaps it is, but the knot that forms in your throat feels as heavy as the boulder you almost sunk into his skull. He’s tall enough to lean your head against now, and you don’t mind the water spots that will form along the side of your funeral outfit. The shape of him it leaves will remind you of the little brother you gained through so much loss.

“Plus he has a new girlfriend. Absolute horse of a girl,” he jokes. It slips over your head but you still giggle, “I could’ve taken her.”

“I know, that was Grover’s worry. You’re prettier anyway…” Percy pauses, and then clears his throat, “You’ve always taken care of this place, y’know? Even after….I just think someone ought to take care of you.”

Your shoulder bumps against his as you finally skip a rock. It only bounces across the water twice and you think Percy might have had something to do with it, but you’re not bothered by the help this time around.

—

You wake up in the dark of night to see your dad looming in the doorway to his office. With drool and a post-it stuck to your cheek, he comes over to ruffle your hair in amicable silence.

“Hard at work or hardly working?” he chuckles, leaning over your shoulder to scan over the paperwork sorted into piles for him to sign from his absence.

“Hm. You wish,” you scoff, leaning against your arm as you look at him. He’s not in his usual eyesore of attire, wearing a clean-pressed suit with his hair slightly slicked back.

“You look good. The meeting went okay?”

“Grover will be fine. The Council of Cloven Elders? Not so much. Neither are the gods ready to take sides. Putting out little fires everywhere as we speak.”

The wheels of the office chair roll as you swing your feet, and if you both listen closely enough you can hear Pollux snoring upstairs. Chiron loved the earplugs you gave him.

Your father’s face smooths out a bit at the sight of you and the sound of his son’s breathing upstairs and he asks, “Are you? Good?”

A shrug slides off your shoulders, “How does one be good in a world like this one?”

A startling scream echoes off the walls of the Big House, rattling the floorboards from below as your father grimaces.

The work is never done for you two.

“Don’t look at me like that. It was worse when he first came here.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mumbles, brushing lint off your shirt before he notices you’re donning neon orange. “Didn’t do laundry, princess?”

“Pollux and I haven’t gone back to our cabin since... I can wake him up if you—”

Mr. D shakes his head and goes to toss his body onto the couch against the window, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Dad? Do you think Chris is a bad person?”

A beat passes and you think he may have fallen asleep, but then his voice sounds like gravel scraping up his throat.

“I don’t think anyone can be bad, kid. I think it is more often that people get lost. What Rodriguez needs is someone to take hold of him gently, and hand his life back to him—you…Clarisse… that’s what we’re giving him.”

Now you’re silent, staring at the dust on his name placard at the edge of the desk.

“Do you think otherwise?”

He calls your name again, and you look up like you’re about to lie to him but don’t have the energy to.

“Princess, do you think you’re a bad person?”

He stands up and walks around to your side of the desk, sitting on the edge so you have to look at him.

“I killed someone. During the battle. Didn’t even think twice about it, slashed his neck as soon as Castor went down and…” you sniff. “I kill monsters, Dad, not children. How does that make me any different?”

The last time blood was on your hands like this it was Luke’s in the Garden of Hesperides. All these years later you ended up being right— the only person you vowed to get bloody for is Luke Castellan, and now in a twisted turn of fate, you’ve bloodied your hands because of him.

“Because you did it for your brother. There are no other explanations needed.”

He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the drop in your shoulders, but your dad also sees the strength in your bones that spans generations and he knows you and Pollux are strong because you are both his.

“Humans believe in life everlasting—glory, as some call it, but they’re too focused on achieving it on earth instead of enjoying what life has to offer,” he scoffs, “Everyone has the guts to die, but no one has the guts to truly live. How sad.”

“His name was Rowan. Son of Hecate. I taught him how to whistle the summer I left. This is all my fault, Dad,” you say shakily as he comes near and pulls you into his side. He shushes you but you relent.

“Luke’s killing all these people to fulfill a promise he made for me. I’m just fucking disgusted with myself for being the cause of it all. What good life can I deserve when wherever I go I leave a trail of blood?”

Love and addiction must be so alike; to know that to be sober you can’t indulge in the vice ever again—not only does it hurt you, but others around you. But through the years you’ve always kept the taste of his name in your mouth, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, and the knowledge of why he’s destroying the world so he can make you a better one. Insanity stems from fighting for so long that you embrace the pain; feeling something so intensely that when it consumes you you’re able to walk out the other side and wear it as armor.

Not everyone is hardwired to persevere.

There are moments like a night like these where it would be easy to give up. Instead, you pour two glasses of whiskey you’ve conjured and hand one to your dad. You both sip on your drinks slowly, embracing the crawling feeling of the burn.

“Liquor is one way out and death is another,” your dad sighs blissfully. He almost looks rejuvenated by the alcohol he knows he’ll hear about from Zeus later, but perhaps the death of his son is a good enough pardon.

“For some of us, we don’t have to think about the answer.”

Mr. D grabs a pen off the desk and starts signing papers to do something with his hands, and then you speak again, “I think I’d rather die for people I love,” and your dad’s attention whips to your blank face staring at the moon outside the window. “Instead of killing for them. I’ve never been a good soldier, Dad.”

Mr. D looks at you thoughtfully and wonders where all the time has gone that you sit there in front of him with more knowledge than him at your mortal age before saying, “You’re my daughter. You’re a fighter. Death is for chumps anyway.”

He lifts you by the arm to try to usher you up the stairs but you stay in his office chair swatting his hands away.

“Got work to do, you and I. Not getting rid of me until it’s done.”

“When are you going home?” he asks, pulling up a chair next to yours.

“I am home.”

You don’t look up from the papers you were filing, stubbornness leaking through your voice.

“If there is a war coming, I want to be home as much as I can. I’m finishing my last semester and I’ll be here before and after classes. You can’t stop me, dad.”

And he knows that too.

There is no such thing as leaving Camp Half-Blood for you.

Never for too long. Your love for it is scattered everywhere campers can see.

—

In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness. - Tennessee Williams

#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #made by ma1dita ♥︎#pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst

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360degreesasthecrowflies · 3 months ago

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(Perhaps controversial) theories on Harry Potter first drafts/story structure

I've been reading some more old Harry Potter meta (critique) (damn I miss those LiveJournal esque communities) and after some of the theories I've read I'm now 90% sure that Deathly Hallows was actually the third, or maybe even second book that Joanne started writing.

I love deconstruction and I am a writer, so this kind of thing interests me on a personal level as a high-profile reference that a lot of people might be familiar with, even as generally I have strong critiques for Joanne both as a person, and as what I consider to be something of an impostor in the fantasy genre, as a writer who both openly (at the start of her career) disavowed fantasy classics as beneath her, claimed not to be writing fantasy, and in my opinion, heavily plagiarised works of other authors within the genre and then played ignorant when called out on it by people who by that point had less power and industry clout than she did.

This is going to be critical of JKR, so for those not interested in that, maybe don't read on below the cut. It's not my intention to make anyone feel negative about something that's special or sacred to them.

Some members of the LJ community noted that Deathly Hallows (DH) has many, many recurring references and callbacks to the first book, Philosopher's Stone (PS), with certain characters even seeming to regress to those versions of them in terms of their behaviors, motivations, and what they centrally held as important.

After considering it again I've also come to the conclusion that that's one aspect that throws so many readers off DH as a conclusion to the series, a series that has 'grown up with' the reader and consciously shifted from children's lit to YA; and from a series of fantasy holiday movies helmed by Chris Columbus to a fantasy adventure series with gruesome monsters and wands becoming essentially the ranged weapon variant of lightsabers or the conduit for MCU-esque superhero abilities... that in terms of the writing, the morals, and the overarching themes, actually DH goes backward in that regard to the Roald Dahl-inspired simple morality of the first book where violence was cartoonish, monsters were existential rather than grounded, and Harry and friends were essentially young children trying their best to solve a mystery; rather than the adults the world has contextually by now established them to be.

Joanne has boasted that she had written the Epilogue very early on. What if she had in fact written out a lot of DH very early on?

She knew the books were going to cover (at least) seven school years. I think she decided after the first one, she would write (most of) the end of the series, and then if she needed to, she could write more than 5 other books in between.

DH takes place when Harry isn't in school. But nothing about the story means it has to take place when Harry should be in school.

Thematic and character-based parallels-wise, it might have actually made a lot of sense for Harry to be the same age that his parents were when they passed away, in Deathly Hallows, to make the walk through to the forest with his parents' ghosts, back the same age as they were when he first saw them in the Mirror of Erised more of an exact parallel tearjerker.

And a lot of the criticisms that DH faces - "why didn't we see inside Hogwarts during Snape's regime, and what happened to Neville, Luna and Ginny and the rest of the kids in Harry's year?" - would be nixed if this story was never meant to take place in Harry's final school year.

I suspect that what happened at some point during the height of her fame and blowup is that Joanne realised that a) she was so successful already she wouldn't have to write as many books as she had originally planned; especially because b) movies were now also in the works or being released, and the actors would only be believable as teenagers for a certain duration, but this led to c) now she had a smaller total possible number of books in which to fit all of her vague ideas of where the story would end up going and what the big setpieces were planned to be. (Hence the lengths started to balloon)

I might end up writing a part 2 to this because (ironically) I don't want to make this post so long, but as a starting point I would theorize her original outline may have gone something like the following:

Book 1, Harry Potter and the Philsopher's Stone. Establishes our characters and the main setpieces; Harry Potter, Ron-and-Hermione (who essentially function as a two-headed sidekick machine), Snape, Dumbledore, Voldemort, James-and-Lily-Potter

X number of books, as-yet undefined, at least one per school year, but potentially many more, like most contemporaries to her went in to their careers expecting to write, that expand on the young characters' relationships in small ways, with Draco Malfoy, his foil friends to HRH, and his family, as minor antagonists to drag out the series as long as possible - and never intended as more than that, while Dumbledore and Snape bubble away in the background

Harry's final year of school, in which Dumbledore is killed by Snape in front of Harry at the climax of the year, is buried in the school grounds, and Snape ascends to the Headmaster role

Only then at some point, Voldemort is resurrected and takes pride of place as the main villain, pushing Snape down into the secondary villain/antihero role

The final book in which Harry returns to Hogwarts a la Lord of the Rings/The Empire Strikes back, too late to have a confrontation with Snape (a classic tragic beat) and instead has his showdown with Voldemort, finishing his parents' legacy and completing what they themselves could not do.

I genuinely believe that all of the following were late additions to the story that ended up taking on a life of their own with the fandom, that Joanne never planned for, never really anticipated, and - because we know that she is both stubborn to change in general, and sees herself as a visionary above steer or critique - refused to meaningfully update or edit around in the final version of the last book:

Sirius Black existing at all

Remus Lupin existing at all

Peter Pettigrew existing at all

Fudge, Umbridge, and the Ministry-vs-Dumbledore/Harry sideplot - which, knowing that Joanne is a woman of faith, reeks of a 'skeptical nonbelievers vs true Christians of faith' plot

Luna

Everything about the Triwizard Tournament

Everything about the Yule Ball

Everything about the World Cup (I would go as far as proposing these were originally planned as three episodic books that she ended up blending together)

Spotlight Death Eaters like Barty Crouch and Bellatrix Lestrange

The Founders, the Basilisk, and the Sword of Gryffindor

The Horcruxes

Anything about magical creatures, aside from as episodic flavor to provide a one-off background character

International characters like Fleur, Krum and Madame Maxime

Most fight scenes, including everything with the Dept of Mysteries

Grimmauld Place and Kreacher

And perhaps controversially, most of the racist/blood war elements of the conflict in the books. Because, in DH, apart from flavor description of what the Death Eaters etc. are doing...

The conflict described seems, as it did in PS, to be primarily a personal one, with Voldemort's vendetta being against Harry specifically, and as a proxy, Dumbledore's followers, and people who believed in him and his ideals.

And maybe that's why Harry, the character, never seems to end up caring that much about the foundational principles of why they are fighting the war, and who it is actually there to protect, besides his personal connection with Voldemort as his personal nemesis...

Because Joanne never originally wrote it that way. Voldemort dies, and "all was well."

#hp meta #anti jkr #story structure #fantasy #dumbledore #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #text post

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fulcrum-021 · 2 months ago

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I genuinely think it's so important to understand that the Onderon Lasat's and in extension Saw Gerrara's actions towards Kallus' first unit really weren't particularly cruel or heinous. As much as I can enjoy the ANGSTY potential of dialing it up, I do see a tendency to interpret the angstier version as canon. And while I don't necessarily think there's anything wrong with having differing interpretations of canon, I do still want to share my own opinion on it, 'cause I do think it holds some interesting political implications and it also tells us a great deal about how the Empire further indoctrinated its soldiers through the tragedy of war. It also gives us an interesting insight into Kallus' character.

This is really just me rambling though, so I put it under the cut :)

So, first, what do we know about the incident on Onderon?

"I remember my first unit. The boys and I were deployed to Onderon to bring peace and security to a troubled world. We were on a routine patrol and ran into one of your rebel friends, a Lasat mercenary who worked for Saw Gerrera. I was lucky, knocked out by the first blast. I came to, but found I couldn't move. And then I saw him, the Lasat, calmly walk through smoke and fire to finish my unit off, one by one. The injured never had a chance. Always wondered why he let me live."

Script source

Now, what stands out from this incident as particularly heinous would be the killing of the wounded, as this irl + in SW is usually regarded as a war crime or at least morally wrong.

Here's the thing though... Long before Kallus' run-in with the Onderon Rebellion the Empire had already far overstepped these boundaries themselves by ordering the killing of republic fighters on Onderon, including civilians, children and the elderly.

While the methodic, indiscriminate killing of Imperials is far more extreme than what we see from the Ghost Crew and their other allies, it is not a unique incident. In fact, the method is modelled after the Empire themselves. Saw Gerrera's whole point is to play by the Empire's rules. And while you could argue it cruel to target blindly, with no regard for the actions and beliefs of the individual, this is again the Empire's own rules.

What I think is so interesting is that in a way, Kallus and the Onderon Lasat are created to mirror each other. The Onderon Lasat was a Mercenary. He was paid to be there. He was doing his job. It was nothing personal.

Yet Kallus views it as such, as evident by him wondering why the mercenary let him live, implying some level of personal intention. One which most likely wasn't there. It was just another job to him. He most likely didn't even know Kallus was still alive.

He isn't described to have been sadistic or even cruel. He's described to have been calm - which is really the most chilling. He's not taking out his personal hatred or even getting some sadistic enjoyment. He's merely finishing a task. As normal and casual like doing paperwork. Because just like Kallus, his job involves ridding the world of rot. They just happen to disagree on who the rotten apples are. Same methods, same motivation. They're not so different.

The thing is, the Onderon Lasat is no more of a monster than Kallus is. Kallus is someone else's Onderon Lasat. To someone else, he's the guy who calmly, apathetically killed off their team, friends, family, as if it was just another chore on his list.

The only difference is that a mercenary is defined as working for the highest bidder regardless of personal ethics/politics, while Kallus was motivated by his ideals. But in that regard, wasn't the mercenary's actions even less personal?

This also goes for Saw and Kallus btw. They're on opposing sides, but in a way they really aren't so different. They're willing to use and hurt people to reach their goal, both motivated by what they believe to be the greater good. They're both playing by the same rules until Kallus defects and finally takes a stand against said rules. I think Kallus' apparent dislike for Saw and his methods in season 4 isn't due to his own experience, but moreso because Saw is holding up a mirror to who Kallus used to be. A man so torn up by war that he's willing to do everything in his power to bring his enemy down. All in a misplaced, desperate attempt to find peace. To heal. To be safe. To save everyone.

I just think it's very interesting to think about. 'Cause Kallus' story from Onderon does make Zeb empathize with him, but not due to it being an exceptionally awful thing Kallus went through, but because Kallus' story is a mirror to Zeb's story from Lasan.

"I fought to the end. We held the palace. And then there was a bomb. And when I woke up, it was all just gone."

Script source

When Zeb hears Kallus' story, he realizes they've both experienced the horror of war. Up until this point, Kallus has seemed to thrive in bringing the face of death and destruction. It's hard to imagine him being the one on the receiving end. It's hard to imagine he even knows or cares what it feels like.

Realizing that Kallus is just another man broken by war, just like himself, definitely makes Zeb understand Kallus better. It doesn't justify his behavior, but it explains it.

The way Kallus views the incident on Onderon also gives us a good insight into how the Empire would operate. For one, Kallus talks about Saw as if he's a personal friend of Zeb, purely due to them both being Rebels, despite the fact that they're part of different cells with very different goals and ideals. Just like how Kallus to some extent viewed Lasat as the same, he views all Rebels as the same.

Speaking of Lasat, I do wanna talk about how Kallus' interactions with Lasat slowly broke his narrow-minded perception of them. 'Cause the first Lasat gave him the impression that they were violent and without honor or ideals binding them. They'd do anything for personal gain.

Then on Lasan he faces a honor guardsman who fights with honor, even yielding to Kallus and facing defeat with the same honor.

Then finally, he meets Zeb. Zeb who originally reminds him way more of the mercenary than the guardsman he faced. Zeb who seemingly is nothing but a brute, taking his anger out on any imperial who might cross his path. Except he's wrong. Upon being faced with an injured enemy - an enemy who he knows to be deserving of his wrath - he still chooses to follow his morals, not wanting to win through unfair means. He's not needlessly cruel, nor is he the brainless muscles Kallus initially mistook him for. He's smart. Perceptive. Empathetic. He's loyal to his friends and to his honor, rather facing death than the destiny the Empire would grant him. He's perhaps even too smart, as he starts to ask the questions Kallus never dared to. Still, he's not being cruel. He's being honest. He's being honorable.

Zeb is everything Kallus had tried to convince himself Lasats can't be. 'cause if Zeb is all of those things... If Lasat are all those things... Then what does that make the Empire? What does that say of Kallus?

#alexsandr kallus #garazeb orrelios #onderon lasat #saw gerrera #swr #sw rebels #star wars rebels

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persevereforahappyending · 1 year ago

Text

A Beacon in the Dark |2|

Pairing: Joey x Reader

Summary: Joey likes helping people, it's what she's best at. Hunting down the monsters of myth and legend might be the best way to save people.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Ana made Caleb breakfast as usual, she helped him make sure all his stuff was in his backpack like usual, and she walked him to school like usual. She tried to keep everything as normal as possible, when she got back home the other night her note was still on the counter and Caleb hadn’t mentioned anything yet, so she assumed he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night. The only thing Ana did differently was she couldn’t help her eyes darting around constantly, looking for you or any more surprises, she also had her gun tucked in her pants, covered up by her shirt. She was supposed to be done with the type of life they would involve her carrying around a gun, especially when she was with her son, she couldn’t believe she was considering your job offer.

Ana couldn’t deny that she was curious. She was struggling to find a job, ideally, she wanted something in the medical field she knew that wasn’t going to happen though. The only way she’d be able to continue helping people that way would be to keep being an underground doctor, but that very thing was what led her to getting captured and almost killed by a vampire. She wouldn’t be able to continue to make enough to live off of if she only helped specific people or didn’t do big injuries where she could potentially kill the patient. She was clean and she had no intention of slipping, but she didn’t want to give herself the opportunity to fuck things up again.

“I have a job interview today,” Ana said as the school got within eyesight.

“Cool,” Caleb mumbled.

“I’m not sure how long it’ll take but I should be done in time to get you from school.”

Caleb just nodded. Ana held in a sigh; she didn’t need Caleb to be excited for her, but he was acting like he didn’t expect much from it. She couldn’t really blame him; he’d seen her spend every day applying and getting rejected by jobs. When Ana did get an interview, she always came home already knowing she wouldn’t be called back.

“See you later,” he mumbled before running off and catching up with his friends.

Ana opened her mouth ‘I love you’ on the tip of her tongue but she didn’t bother finishing this time, she knew Caleb wouldn’t hear it anyway. She stood at the entrance until the bell rang, signaling all the kids that it was time to get to class. She waited there until all the students had filed inside and she finally lost sight of the top of Caleb’s head. Just as she turned around to walk away you pulled up in a Jeep.

Ana rolled her eyes, when you said you’d pick her up after she dropped her son off, she didn’t realize how literal you meant it. You had clearly been watching her, you knew where her son went to school and what time it started, your timing for pulling up was perfect, too perfect. She glared at you when you rolled down the window, smirking at her, your eyes were once again hidden behind sunglasses, but she knew your eyes were on her.

Ana flung open the door and jumped in the passenger seat. “If you try anything, or if this is a trick in anyway,” Ana turned in her seat, glaring into your eyes despite the sunglasses. “I will shoot you.”

“And a good morning to you,” you said, not losing your smirk as you turned to face the road again. You checked your mirrors before pulling out and began driving to wherever you were taking Ana.

“I’m serious,” Ana continued to glare at the side of your head.

“I brought you a coffee,” you looked down at the coffee in the cup holder. “I got it black; you didn’t seem like the type to want a bunch of sugar and crap in it.”

“Do you think I’m joking?”

You let out a small chuckle, but quickly covered it by turning it into a smile. Ana wasn’t sure if you were just that arrogant or what, she was tempted to shoot you just to prove to you she would. “I assure you; I am well aware you’re not joking.”

“So, do you just have a death wish then?”

You let out a humorless chuckle. Ana made a note of that, she had been joking, half joking, but it almost seemed like you did have a death wish. “You’re not going to kill me,” you said confidently. “You’re incredibly capable of that.” Ana raised an eyebrow. “But you won’t kill me, not if you don’t actually have too.”

“Where are we going?” Ana asked, rolling her eyes.

“Out of the city,” you said simply. Ana’s eyes widened; she told Caleb she would be back in time to pick him up. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back before your kid gets out of school.”

Ana snapped her gaze to you, narrowing her eyes. “How’d you know I was worried about that?” There was something about you, something Ana couldn’t quite pin, she knew you weren’t a vampire, there was nothing to indicate you were something more than human, but Ana had a feeling. You knew so much about her, what happened during her last job, about vampires, about her son, and just now, you knew what she was worried about. It wouldn’t be a completely crazy leap to think you could read minds.

“I’m not a mind reader.” That certainly did nothing to disprove Ana’s theory. “You love your son,” you shrugged. “It’s clear you’re trying to makeup to him, you don’t want to let him down.”

Ana continued to stare at you, you nailed it, she didn’t like it when others could read her just as well as she could read them. You continued on driving though, never once glancing at her. She wondered what made you tick, if you were always this calm or if it was only for her. You read her so well the night before, despite having a gun pointed at you, you knew she wouldn’t shoot you. It was the same as today, you knew Ana had a gun on her, you had to have, yet you were relaxed and driving as if the two of you were on a road trip out of the city.

The trip continued until the two of you were well out of the city, driving down a two-lane road lined with trees on both sides. It was a gorgeous drive; however, it was also out in the middle of nowhere. Ana didn’t know who you were, where you were taking her, or who you were taking her to, the only thing she knew was that you wanted her for a job, but even with that you had been vague on. The woods were thick enough that if you took Ana out there, she could be lost forever, no one would know what happened to her.

You turned on your blinker, turning down another paved road. Ana furrowed her brow until, finally, you passed a mansion, it had a long driveway, completely fenced in, and the large house sat all the way back, well away from the road. After a few more minutes, you passed by another mansion, with a similar layout. The mansions in the middle of nowhere reminded Ana of the one Abigail lived in, the place her last job took place, where everything happened, but these mansions didn’t look run down and abandoned.

You kept driving down the road, passing mansion after mansion on each side every few minutes. Ana couldn’t imagine living in a place like this, giant houses, with who knew how many rooms, several minutes apart from the next house. There was complete and total privacy, one could hardly consider them as neighbors with how far apart they were.

You finally turned down the driveway of one of the mansions. After slowly coming to a stop in front of the large metal gate, the gate was all stone and metal, the tips of the fence pointed so that if anyone were to climb it, they’d most definitely injure themselves. You rolled down your window, staring at the little box without saying a word. A second later there was a loud grinding sound and the gate slowly slid open. You rolled your widow back up and continued driving forward, the gate closing almost instantly after you crossed the threshold.

Ana shoved her hands in her pocket, fiddling around with the candy she had shoved in there. She debated for half a second before grabbing a piece of candy, quickly unwrapping it, and shoved it in her mouth. She caught you glancing at her out of the side of your eye, but you didn’t say anything. Ana straightened her back and continued to stare out the windshield as you continued to drive up the long driveway. Her mouth fell open, nearly losing her candy in the process, as the mansion fully came into view. The house was newer than the one Abigail had, but much bigger. Ana couldn’t imagine living in a house so big, she could imagine having to decorate that many rooms.

You pulled the car around, coming to a gentle stop right in front of the front steps. Ana glanced at her watch; it had taken nearly an hour to get wherever you had taken her. “We’re here,” you said, smiling at Ana before jumping out of the car.

You ran around the car, pulling the door open the rest of the way after Ana opened it. You held out your hand to help her out. She rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car and walking right past your outstretched hand. Ana ignored the small sigh you let out, choosing to continue walking up the steps and waiting for you at the front door. You quickly closed the car door and ran after her, smiling at her as you stood in front of her again. She raised an unamused eyebrow at you.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re just delightful when being interviewed?” you asked, smirking.

“I’m here for your boss,” Ana said, giving you a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t have to be anything to you.”

You let out a small hum and then put your hand on the door handle, giving Ana a mischievous smile before allowing the door to swing open. You made a dramatic gesture with your arm, allowing Ana to enter first. Ana walked through the door, turning in a circle as she took in the high ceilings and the various art and weapons hanging on the walls. Ana jumped, whipping around when she heard the large wood door slam shut. She eyed you as you walked away from the door, she hadn’t forgotten that the last time she was in a mansion, she got locked in and nearly died.

“This way,” you said, nodding your head for Ana to follow.

Ana followed you through a room, then down a long hallway. The mansion was massive, it had items in every room and on every wall, it almost didn’t look lived in though. Everything was clean and perfect but as they passed a sitting room Ana couldn’t imagine someone had ever sat on the couch or any of the chairs in the room, though there were shelves lined with old books, their spines worn from age or years of being read.

You came to a stop outside another rather large wood door. You gave a small knock, but you didn’t wait for whoever was on the other side to acknowledge it before opening the door. You held the door open, allowing Ana to step in first once again. Her eyes widened as she took in the room, unlike the rest of the house, at least from what she had seen, this room had a blonde woman sitting at a desk with five computer monitors in front of her, the wall behind her was plastered with various images, sketches, and newspaper clippings of monsters or reports of strange happenings, from all over the world. Off to the right was a peg board on wheels, with the same thing, news paper clippings, online articles and social medias posts printed out and pegged on, though unlike the wall, the board seemed to be all about the same event, in the same place.

The blonde woman stood up, stepping out from around the desk. Ana looked her up and down, she was wearing some jeans and a simple jacket. If Ana had seen the woman walking down the street, she would never have imagined she lived in a mansion and had the type of money she must have.

“Ana Lucia Cruz,” the woman said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she held out her hand. “My name is Grace.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ana said, giving Ana’s hand a shake. So far, she liked Grace better than you, so she was considering the meeting a success for the moment. “And I would prefer Joey, if you don’t mind.” Grace tilted her head at the request. “For privacy reasons.”

“Of course, Joey,” Grace nodded, giving her a kind smile. “Please, join me,” she gestured to the other side of the room, leading Joey to a set of chairs next to a small table.

“Thank you,” Joey took one of the seats while Grace took the other. You moved to stand behind Grace on her left, as if you were her own person bodyguard. “I have to say,” Joey said, shaking her head as Grace offered her a cup of tea. “You have much better manners than your,” she flicked her gaze up at you, “associate.” Your only response was a smirk.

“What did you do?” Grace turned to you, exasperated.

Joey silently chuckled at the way your face fell. “You asked me to recruit her,” you said, pointing at Joey as you tried to defend yourself.

“Outside my son’s school,” Joey added. “Right after I dropped him off.”

Grace shook her head in disappointment. “How else was I supposed to do it!” you gestured widely with your hands. “This is the first person I’ve ever tried to bring in.”

“No, one else does this?” Joey asked. She figured there weren’t many people in this line of work, but she didn’t expect you and your boss to be the only ones. “Well, don’t I feel special,” she mumbled.

“You are special,” Grace said, leaning forward. “You survived something horrific, something unnatural.” Joey looked up, meeting Grace’s eyes, she saw determination, but she also saw compassion staring back at her. “Not many have the capabilities to survive something like that, it takes a particular kind of person to see a darkness like that and not runaway.” Grace leaned back in her chair. “That’s exactly the kind of person we’re looking for to join our cause.”

“Your cause?” Joey raised an eyebrow. “Y/N told me you experienced something similar to me.”

Grace tensed up, glancing at you out of the side of her eye, making you cast your eyes down to the floor like a scolded child. “I have, it’s why I do what I do. I don’t want anyone to suffer what I-what we have.”

“And you, what, just have so much money you don’t know what to do with,” Joey shrugged. “So, you might as well pay people to go fight the supernatural?”

“I mean it is the one thing that Le Domas fortune is good for,” you mumbled.

Joey’s eyes snapped to you the same time as Grace’s but for vastly different reasons. Your eyes widened as if you just realized you said that out loud. “Le Domas?” Joey whispered. “I recognize that name.” She rifled through her memory; she didn’t know the Le Domas family, but she knew she had heard of them. Her eyes widened when she realized why.

Joey shot out of her seat so fast, reaching behind her to grab the gun in her pants as soon as she was on her feet. “Don’t,” you said. Joey froze, slowly lifting her eyes to see you standing in front of Grace, in the line of fire.

Joey slowly took her hand off her gun and raised it, showing you her hands were empty. Joey wasn’t one to scare easily but the way your voice changed, the look in your eyes, Joey had missed judged you. You had been friendly with every interaction, to the point it was irritating. However, seeing you stand in front of her now, she saw it, the look in your eye, you would not hesitate to kill her if it meant protecting Grace.

“Guess you really are her guard dog,” Joey mumbled. She didn’t take her eyes off of you, she noticed the way yours darkened at her comment.

“It’s okay,” Grace said. She stood up, resting a hand on your shoulder to ease you back. It took a second, but you slowly relaxed and moved to stand behind Grace again.

“Whatever you think you know,” Grace said softly. “I promise you, it’s not even close to the truth.”

“Everyone knows the story of the Le Domas family,” Joey said, trying to relax again. She didn’t want you to see how on edge she was. She thought her guard was up before getting in the car with you, that was nowhere near to how on alert she was now. “A very rich, very prominent family, all dead, their bodies in pieces, and it all happened on their youngest son’s wedding night. They couldn’t prove she had done it, though everyone suspected, considering she came from nothing, and they were rich beyond imagination.”

Grace rested her chin on her hand as she nodded at Joey’s words. “They made a deal with a demon,” Grace finally whispered. “I thought I was marrying the love of my life and getting the family I always dreamed of,” she gave a sad smile, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Then they tried to kill me.” She looked back up at Joey again.

Joey slowly sat back down; she saw you take a step back, looking back down at the floor again. “It was a thing of theirs,” Grace continued. “If you married into the family you had to play a game, if you picked Hide and Seek then you hid, while they hunted you down,” she was staring off into the distance, seeming to be talking to herself more than anything. “If they didn’t kill you before sunrise then the whole family was going to die, that was the deal they made with Mr. Le Bail, he was the reason they had their fortune to begin with and in returned he required a sacrifice.”

“And you were…” Joey started but she wasn’t sure how to finish her sentence.

Grace nodded. “I married Alex, then that night he and his entire family tried to kill me,” she gave Joey a sad smile again. “Clearly, I survived,” she looked down at herself. “Mr. Le Bail allowed me to live and though their investigation was thorough, there was no evidence I had killed the entire family, so, since I was technically the last living relative after my marriage, I got everything,” she shrugged.

Joey nodded; she thought her night trying to survive a ballerina vampire had been bad. She couldn’t imagine thinking you were marrying the love of your life only for him to try sacrificing you to a demon his family made a deal with. “And now you use their fortune to help others.”

Grace nodded. “I try, figured the money should go to doing some good.” She cleared her throat, blinking away the tears that had seemed to begun to fill her eyes. “I also use it for payment, it’s how I pay Y/N for jobs, it’s how I could pay you. I assure you, the job may be dangerous, it may be shady at times, but the money is legit.”

Joey nodded, taking all the information in. That was one of the things she was worried about. It didn’t matter how much she could be making from a job, she still had to go through a process to make sure it wasn’t traceable and that it looked legit. Grace’s money was legit, she could pay Joey no problem and Joey could just have it go into the bank, no questions asked.

“And what about you?” Joey asked, looking at you. “What’s your story?” she tilted her head, waiting to see what kind of answer you gave this time.

Even from a distance Joey could see the way your body tensed up at her question, but you looked up, meeting her gaze. “Werewolves,” you said simply.

That piqued Joey’s interest, but it was clear you weren’t going to elaborate anymore. “Look,” she sighed, slumping back in her chair. “I admire what you want to do but I-”

“One job,” Grace said, leaning forward in her own chair. “We can call it a trial run,” she smiled. “On both sides, we can see how you do, and you can see exactly what we do, you can see if this,” she gestured around the room. “Is something you want to be a part of.”

Joey opened her mouth ready to reject the offer, even though she was tempted. “You’ll still get paid of course,” Grace said quickly. “Just one job, just see what we’re all about.”

Joey stared at Grace for a second, she could see the woman hardened by the trauma she experienced but she also saw compassion, someone who wanted to help others despite everything she had been through. Joey flicked her gaze to you, she didn’t know how you came to be with Grace but your loyalty to your boss was clear, she also saw underneath all the jokes and banter was someone incredibly guarded and trying to atone for something in their past, though Joey couldn’t image what for.

“Okay,” Joey said, looking back at Grace. “One job.” Grace smiled at that, which Joey couldn’t help but return. Joey had been curious ever since you approached her, she wasn’t sure she fully knew what she was getting into just yet though.

Taglist: @thinking1bee

#joey (abigail)#joey abigail #ana lucia cruz #ana lucia cruz abigail #joey (abigail) x reader #ana lucia cruz x reader #abigail 2024 #abigail movie #abigail #ana lucia cruz (joey)#melissa barrera #a beacon in the dark

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bloodblanks · 3 months ago

Text

one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter xviii.

After a long journey and many contemplations, you finally make it to the elevator.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

World damage.

The world was fracturing before his very eyes. Much like the recently accelerating pace of his realm shifting, the world he knew was now crumbling. But unlike the modifications the dimension went through, his world wouldn’t converge and come to a peaceful stillness again. It would only disintegrate, further and further, piece by piece, falling apart until there was nothing left.

Because what did he really have besides you?

He had recovered his pitiful memories; recalled the empty husk of a life he had been living. A life so lonesome he had attempted to end it.

It was only upon his brief entanglement with death that he had discovered something worthwhile in his life, and it was you. He assumed it was the natural progression of living beings that crossed over to this world, but regardless of how he became the monster he was today, he had lost the very person that brought meaning to his life.

Cannot understand.

He struggled to comprehend just how you could have become human, and understood just as little what was occurring to him now—his gradual transformation—but what did it matter?

What did it matter when you had left with no intention of turning back?

He had watched the outline of your back as you trudged away, permitted his eyes to bore a hole into your silhouette as you slowly disappeared from his sight. With a pathetic desperation, he had clung onto your presence until the very end. Perhaps there was a part of him, deep down, that wished you’d turn back. He knew it was a selfish, wretched desire on his part. You were human. You had your life to return to.

A life devoid of monsters like him.

Why?

As he sunk further into the depths of despair, his body mirroring his mind as he crumpled over with his head in his hands, the same question kept repeating in his mind.

Why did this happen?

Why—

—

It was a bizarre experience, to go from feeling so little that the numbness in his chest threatened to devour him whole, to feeling as if his heart would swell up with utmost tenderness and burst into a calamity of emotions.

Rivulets of affection were constantly pouring from the organ thumping in his chest, and yet it only felt as if his capacity for love was growing with each passing day.

Love—that’s what it was. An emotion unchanged by time, surviving the centuries, bypassing barriers, and transcending across worlds.

Never before had he put much thought into love. He was sure that he loved mother at an early age, but he had lost her after she became a mere husk of the woman she was; a ghost. As for father, he wasn’t sure if he had ever loved him. ‘Love’ was not a word often used in the family, especially not by father. If he thought back on it, he would come to the conclusion that father loved nobody besides himself.

The older brother was a miniature version of father. He didn’t blame him for it, but he could not bring himself to love him, either. The friends he did have were merely associates whose fathers were like his own; he had no attachment to them, either.

Various women had approached him throughout his life, but beneath the endearing smile and syrupy words, was a blatant desire for wealth and status. That was what most saw when looking at him—a figure demonstrating prosperity, rather than a person.

But in this world, none of those things mattered. In the darkness of the abyss that encroached upon your forms, all significance boiled down to you and him.

Here, you were everything important to him. And here, you loved him too.

Which was why, when the following question tumbled out past your lips, he took it into serious consideration despite its disquieting implications.

“Possible change me human?”

—

Hurt. Everything hurt.

As the memories flowed through his mind like the violent crash of ocean waves against the accompanying shore, he shuddered. Before long, he was uncontrollably shaking, his body wracked by agonizing sobs.

A lot pain. Too much pain.

His heart—the bastard organ residing in his chest—was pulsating with unadulterated excruciation, each beat causing it to expand into what felt like tightly wound barbed wire, its spikes mercilessly digging into his flesh. He felt the urge to rip it out—reach into his chest and tear out the organ—just so it would cease to cause him suffering.

Love, you had said. The word has come out strained, barely audible despite it having seemingly taken a great deal of effort to enunciate. Nevertheless, he adored hearing the sound from your lips. Oh, how he wished he could have heard it under any other circumstance. How he wished he could have heard it softly whispered to him, the words sealed with the promise of a kiss, but he knew that was a long-lost dream. A dream whisked away by events beyond his control.

He wanted to blame himself; he truly did. But even the most corrosive hatred swirling in the depths of his heart was unable to conjure enough toxins to pin the entirety of the blame upon his own self. Despite the anger and despair clouding his mind, the reality of the situation remained unchanged—he could not have done anything to prevent this.

Not possible change.

No matter the amount of alternate scenarios and timelines he ran through in his mind, not a single other outcome influenced by his own actions could have resulted in your togetherness.

Perhaps Dante’s seventh circle was not a place for him to emerge as a tree and be attacked by harpies. Maybe, instead, his punishment for the sin of suicide was to become a monster such as himself, forever fated to suffer the misfortune of losing his beloved.

The thought of losing you sent another wave of raw anguish cascading upon him. His hand instinctively grasped at his own chest, fingers tensed and digging into his flesh.

Would this pain go away if he tore his heart out of his chest? Or would it cease to splinter inside the still beating organ?

Not know.

He wasn’t certain of anything; not anymore. The dichotomy between his decades of existence as an unfeeling entity and the newfound sensations accompanied by his recovering humanity was a jarring contrast, one that felt foreign and yet harrowingly familiar.

There was still so much more to this situation that he failed to understand, but one thing stood strikingly clear, and that was the affection he held for you.

Dare he say it? It almost felt like blasphemy, to utter such a word as a creature so despicable, but he knew of no better term with which to describe his emotions.

He choked back another strangled sob, gasping as he desperately inhaled air. His fists clenched, the tension causing his knuckles to whiten as he shook.

“...Love,” he murmured, his voice painfully soft. He took another sharp breath, the oxygen barely reaching his lungs.

His hands trembled as he spoke, the fists he held tightening as tears formed in his eyes.

“Me love you,” he finally whispered, the words coming out like a prayer. A teardrop escaped his waterline, sliding down his cheek, dangling off his chin momentarily before shattering upon the back of his hand.

Miss you. Want for you return.

He hadn’t even said goodbye to you. Not properly. He found himself lamenting that fact as he wept, his body crumpling like a discarded sheet of paper underneath a weight too heavy for him to bear.

Would it be so wrong? Would it be so wrong to find you and say goodbye? He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was for the best if you simply left, if you left and forgot about his existence. And yet... he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Despite all rational judgement, the crushing pain that perforated his soul demanded him to see you just one more time, even if it was simply to bid farewell.

Unable to resist the torment any longer, he slowly raised his head, wiping away the fresh tears staining his cheek. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to his feet and stood up.

Like a man possessed, he started making his way through the numerous corridors, his chest filled with the desperate desire to see you before your final departure from his world, and consequently, his life.

—

With the crawling man’s help, you were able to make it to the elevator in one piece. It looked the same as it did in your recollection—a vacant room with only the transportation device, tinted in green.

You stood a few feet away from the elevator, your back turned to its imposing steel doors. The crawling man stayed on the ground before you, glancing upwards to meet your eyes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The pregnant silence hung heavy in the air.

“You leave?” the crawling man finally asked, his words cutting through the tense tranquillity. Somehow, he seemed reluctant to let you depart, but perhaps you were just projecting your own asinine feelings onto him.

“Correct,” you replied, your voice quiet and tone solemn.

“I see.” No, he doesn’t sound upset, you told yourself. Stop being delusional.

It was much harder than you expected to utter the phrase, the words seeming to stop and curdle in your mouth before you could choke them out. After another long minute of silence, you finally managed to force the word out.

“Goodbye.”

In the back of your mind, you remembered Mr. Silvair, the chopped head, the hooded entity, and last of all, the man with a red umbrella—Mr. Scarletella. You wished that you could’ve said goodbye to them, too. Somehow, it felt wrong leaving this place without having bid proper farewells. You supposed you had become attached to this realm during your brief stay, as strange as that was.

Perhaps it was only natural for you to grow accustomed to this world. You were once a part of it, after all.

“Goodbye,” the crawling man answered. You did your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as you waved to him, forcing a smile on firmly pressed together lips. Something in your chest had split open, and the cavity was threatening to swallow you whole.

The crawling man returned your wave. Another lingering moment passed.

You watched as he turned around and left, crawling beyond the room where your eyes could no longer reach. A dull pain pulsated from your sternum.

You stared at the empty space before you for a while longer, before turning around to face the elevator at last. You swallowed hard, reducing the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and forcing it past down your throat past the hardened lump lodged in your esophagus.

You reached towards the elevator button, your fingers hovering above the small square button as you contemplated your next decision. You just needed to press it, walk into the elevator, and be done with it, right? You’d return to your world, stop your transformation, and go back to your former life.

For some reason, you didn’t feel satisfied with that resolution.

Just leave, you told yourself. You need to leave.

Still, you couldn’t press the button.

Leave.

Your digits trembled.

He told you to leave, didn’t he?

You found yourself frowning, a bitter taste sitting on top of your tongue. Mr. Scarletella did, in fact, tell you to leave. You had no reason to stay.

You have no reason to stay.

Before you could think any further, you touched your hand to the button, the small metal panel retracting at the pressure. You could hear the gentle hum of the elevator as it became reanimated.

A memory, much like a distant dream, tugged at your consciousness. The soft rumble of the elevator faded into the distance as visions danced across your mind.

Door device.

“Elevator,” you repeated after him. He smiled, nodding encouragingly at you. You felt a strange warmth blossom in your heart, a feeling that you began to understand as want.

Human teach me language.

“Correct.” He had started to learn your language, too. As time passed, your communications with one another became easier, and your comprehension of humans and the other world grew. Bit by bit, you started to understand the realm outside of your void, something you found endless fascination and reverence in.

“Me learn language good?” you questioned, curiously awaiting the man’s answer. As you observed him, you noticed that the roots of his hair had grown out. In contrast to the earthly tone of his former strands, the new growth was a brilliant scarlet. You glanced at his arms—the injuries had begun to mend themselves, his flesh stitching itself back together. His arms were much paler than you initially remembered. Even with his blood draining out of him, his skin was warmer.

Human change body.

“Very good,” he smiled, reaching out and gently patting your head. His fingers caressed your hair, and you leaned into his touch, craning your neck for more of the comforting sensation.

“You change,” you mused, a soft sigh of contentedness leaving your lips as you basked in the warmth emanating from his palm.

“Me happy,” he chuckled. “Not want be human.”

Surprise.

At his words, your eyes widened. You straightened up a little but remained still, not wanting to lose the tenderness with which he pet your hair.

“Why?” You struggled to understand why he wouldn’t want to be human. The world of humans seemed far more interesting, far more appealing than the stationary void you resided within.

“It’s always raining,” he murmured, his voice suddenly taking on a somber tone.

Not know.

“Raining?” you repeated the word you hadn’t heard before. His language had far more words than yours did, and you found yourself struggling to fathom many of the concepts. All the concepts you knew, you had attempted to replicate already—there were small replicas of the outside building that you had manifested in your abyss.

“Liquid fall,” he explained. Despite his elaboration, you weren’t sure what he was describing.

“Not understand.”

“Liquid fall, troubled,” your human continued. You couldn’t be certain why the plummet of water would cause displeasure, but the correlation of the two concepts was enough for you to understand that he did not enjoy such an occurrence.

Human troubled. Not like.

“Here,” you started, “liquid not fall.”

“Here,” he echoed, “not troubled.”

The sharp beeping of the elevator pierced your ears, cutting through the hazy reminiscence. Your skin creased as your eyebrows furrowed, your fingers ghosting over your forehead as you tried to process the memory you just recovered.

Before you had time to do that, however, the elevator shuddered to a stop. Your eyes instantly snapped open, widening as soon as you saw what was inside.

Behind the slowly parting elevator doors stood a figure, their face shrouded by the shadow of a distinct garment—the hood of a diaphanous, bloodstained raincoat.

next chapter ->

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wr-n · 28 days ago

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you guys ever think Dust has an aversion to mirrors because he hates being reminded of what he has done? how his eyes are wrong and he has to face his brother's killer?

maybe he envies Classic sans because he feels like he was robbed of everything he could have been.

now hear me out: What if he goes to a classic timeline just so he can watch from afar. He visits often to see his brother alive and well. he watches the other monsters talk and shop and sleep peacefully.

on the off chance he is spotted, he either teleports away or ignores them till they leave him alone. if they persist, he just shoves them away and runs off.

one day he finds out that this sans is dating grillby and oh my god he never knew his envy could reach new heights till now. because he was also in a timeline where he had a bit of a crush on the bartender.

so he watches the two joke and eat and share chaste affections but soon finds himself getting closer and closer. sometimes he wears disguises and sits a booth away or be standing just around the corner to catch some shared puns between the two.

one day grillby bumps into dust and mistakes him for classic, apologizing and asking if he's alright.

flustered and frozen from the shock of actually getting caught, he just stands there as grillby gently ushers him inside the bar.

and dust had every intention of leaving, never coming back to this timeline to find a new one but... he cant seem to pry himself away when grillby gently pulled him into a comforting embrace

all at once, dust realizes how utterly exhausted he is and sinks into their arms. it was... nice.

and he spends his days silently spending a few hours with grillby when sans is with papyrus to check puzzles or working his many jobs. its selfish, he thinks, but sans wont know.

grillby does think its weird that he sees two different moods in his boyfriend. the wild swing between cheezy puns and silent stares. how one never wears his hood and the other always did.

depression, he tries to reason. so he doesnt try to push them to talk - not that he would anyway when he's in his moods.

when he asks him about it on normal days, sans just asks what he's talking about and grillby never questions it again. okay, he's either in denial or just doesnt wanna talk about it.

but one day, dust makes a mistake. while watching tv in grillby's living room, he dozes off and is wracked by terrors in his sleep. and when grillby tries to comfort his fitful sleep, he wakes up and forget where he was, attacking grillby.

its only when grillby talks him down that he sees dust's red eyes and realizes something was deeply wrong.

and... dust vanished.

grillby never saw that side of sans again, though he still feared sans was hiding something from him. what could cause his fluffy boyfriend to lash out like that?

time passed and... one day dust returned. purely out of guilt and... maybe a little curiosity.

he didn't interact again, he had enough with ruining people's lives. but he couldnt help but want to see grillby again. he was so kind to him even if it was only because he was mistaken for his other self.

#might write more about this idea but i had to write it or id explode #if theres a fic liek this somewhere im begging for it on hand and foot #wraith notes #dust sans #murder sans #grillby #sans

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livefastwritetrash · 11 months ago

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I see a lot of speculation that the “Infamous Puppy Debacle of ‘94” was a matter of Edwin getting jealous over Charles’s attention.

Consider instead.

Edwin follows that line up with “the living are MESSY.” So I put it to you.

An alternate perspective on the Infamous Puppy Debacle of ‘94:

Be Charles Rowland, circa 1994. It’s been 5 years since you’ve had to think about eating or drinking or sleeping or using the restroom or any sort of bodily function really. Your latest client moved on but he left his sweet little golden retriever behind with no one to care for her.

You could care for her.

You always wanted a dog. Dad never had to say no because you had never asked. You never wanted to bring one around knowing they might get hurt. There’s no one to hurt them now.

She comes back to the office. You drag an old sofa in there to give her a bed fit for a queen. You gather up any ball-shaped objects around you aren’t particularly attached to. She’s partial to the tiny black and white football that’s enchanted to always roll back to you. A proper Manchester United fan.

Edwin isn’t happy of course. But then again he rarely is. The dog will be as good for him as she is for you, surely. He could do with someone to care for him with even half of the kindness he shows others. Even if it’s usually through that layer of ice you’ve slowly been chipping away at for want of the friend inside.

Edwin’s budged up nice and cozy with the dog on the couch by that very evening, and you’re feeling quite proud of yourself for your excellent judgement.

An urgent case arises before the sun is up, bothering no one because it’s not like either of you were asleep. If anything it saved you from another devastating loss at the hands of Colonel Mustard in the study with the lead pipe. You tell your new football fan to be a good girl while you’re gone and dip out through the mirror.

It takes longer than expected. Evening is falling again when you and Edwin finally catch your breath in a local park, safe for the moment and free to return to home base. In the whirlwind of the day, you can’t help but feel you've forgotten something…

A jogger runs by with a dog on a leash. Oh.

Another person with a dog pulls up short. They produce a plastic baggy and stoop to collect their pet's leavings. Oh no.

On a bench across the way, a dog owner consoles their bullpup that dinner will be forthcoming as soon as they get home. The stout little monster ignores them, intent on rendering the log in its mouth into a million strips of fiber.

You share a look with Edwin and book it to the nearest mirror.

Being a ghost has its perks. For one, you’ve never been happier to be free of any olfactory senses as you enter the office. There are puddles and plops and any number of messes you try not to look too close at. Edwin’s meticulous case files are in shreds, boxes toppled, tops riddled with tooth marks and slobber.

Your modest but valuable collection of artifacts and other magical ephemera has become a jumbled mass of chew toys on every surface in the room, some being very nearly ingested before rejected.

Perhaps the only edible item in there had been a bag of magic jelly babies, and there were a few piles looking suspiciously sparkly and wet that spoke to where that ended up.

And then there’s your girl, actively tearing into a couch cushion in search of more food as you take in the carnage. She raises her head to greet you, tongue lolling, tail wagging, and she makes an excited dash across the room. Straight for Edwin.

Before you can so much as reach for him, he’s on his back with a wet squelch. She’s ruining his perfect hair and perfect clothes and perfect face with clumsy paws and a drooling a tongue, until he finally remembers he doesn’t have to endure this. He sinks into the floor and out of sight, catching your eye as he does so in a look that could freeze a lesser man’s heart but mostly just makes you feel a little guilty.

In the minutes that follow, you calm her down and dig out a magic can of steak and kidney pudding that had always refilled itself since the days of the Blitz. Not that food was much use to ghosts, but Edwin had been in the midst of a world war fixation ever since he learned there was a second one.

The dog looks so happy as you pour it out on the floor, and you fluff her ears hoping to make her as cute as possible as Edwin’s footsteps echo in the hall.

He enters through the front door this time, still dripping in drool with a rip in the shoulder of his fine jacket and one knee sock scrunched low on his ankle with a few deep runs in the yarn. You think the tousled hair suits him at least, though he doesn’t look in the mood to receive a compliment, so you wisely refrain from making that particular quip.

Instead you kneel down and turn on the charm, tugging those puppy jowls up in a grin to match your own, going for the sympathy plea. But it seems 50-year-old magical steak and kidney pudding didn’t exactly sit well, and she immediately makes the most horrid wrenching noises you’ve ever heard before spewing all over the hardwood. She takes a couple interested sniffs and then goes in for seconds, and honestly yeah, maybe you were a little hasty in thinking you could be a dog guy.

It doesn’t take long to find the client’s adult daughter and anonymously drop off the dog she’s been seeking since it disappeared from her father’s flat overnight. Maybe you’d got a bit ahead of yourself on that count too.

It takes ages to get the office back in shape, and Edwin makes you do most of the scrubbing because it’s “good practice” for interacting with physical objects, but mostly it just makes your hands itch. The case files get severely simplified and moved to a vertical filing system, and you feel a bit bad for it but at least that’s less paperwork for you.

Overall you don’t regret your brief foray into pet ownership, but it’s a relief to know there’s no one relying on you for their every need at all hours of the day. Edwin is attempting to retrieve something from under the couch and holds out a hand, so you cross the room to move a billiards stick about a foot nearer to his reach.

He scoops up whatever it is before you can see, but that probably means it’s none of your business anyway. If he seems a little colder in the days following the dog debacle, you assume it’s lingering annoyance for all the trouble she caused. Fortunately an interesting case sweeps through soon enough, and all is forgiven in the wake of a good mystery.

Edwin has always been the observant one. So it’s no surprise it takes you a few weeks to notice that a new object has taken up a place of honor on his desk. How about that. You look over to where he’s resting on the couch, nose in a book, cushion tucked to his chest with several prominent stitches marring the upholstery. He resolutely does not look back.

You smile to yourself and turn back to the new desk ornament, a familiar articulated wooden hand collected from one case or another awhile back. Only now it’s holding a tiny checkered football marred with punctures by canine teeth.

Huh. Five years in, and you think you know a chap. Maybe that layer of ice didn’t have far to go after all.

—

And THAT was the infamous puppy debacle of ‘94.

🐾

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #dbda #dead boy detectives netflix #charles rowland #the infamous puppy debacle of ‘94

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