#there were way more massacres than just my lai | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

knightofthenewrepublic · 3 months ago

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The Battle of Manhattan didn’t go the way the Fandom thinks it did; we need to address the “massacre” of the Titan Army!

The Battle of Manhattan is the most pivotal event of the first series. And we see the entire thing exclusively from Percy’s point of view. He takes us through the thickest of the fight from one end of Manhattan Island to the next, and shows us a desperate fight of good against evil.

But we have another point of view for the battle, one that comes from the demigods of the Titan army, and one that informs us of a far different, darker side to the conflict. One where an entire army of children is massacred by the victorious Olympians, without a thought or even a care. It’s a shocking, confronting side of the struggle that most fans don’t seem to be aware of.

But it’s also completely inaccurate.

Now I love Alabaster; he’s one of my favorite characters, and I want nothing but the best for him. But he’s a demonstrably unreliable narrator. I don’t even mean that he’s intentionally dishonest; but he’s very badly misinformed about what actually happened. And that gives the fandom three major misconceptions that need to be cleared up.

Alabaster gets the casualty ratio for the battle wrong (the Olympians had more than he thinks).

The Titan army has far fewer demigods than most fans think (not much more than 50 at the most).

Alabaster does say that there was a “massacre” at the end of the battle, but most of the TA demigods had deserted before that!

Part 1) The Olympians Have High Casualties

“It was a massacre. If I remember right, my mother told me that Camp Half-Blood and its allies had sixteen casualties total. We had hundreds.” (pg 219)

This is the only time we get a specific number for Olympian casualties, but it just doesn’t match up with what actually happens in the books. Looking back at all the deaths we do see:

Charlie Beckendorf -1

one [Hellhound] got hold of an Apollo camper and dragged him away. I didn’t see what happened to him next. I didn’t want to know. (pg 182) -1

Michael Yew -1

A young dragon had appeared in Harlem, and a dozen wood nymphs died before the monster was finally defeated. (pg 203) -12

“We lost twenty satyrs against some giants at Fort Washington,” [Grover] said, his voice trembling. (pg 203) -20 Giants smashed through trees, and naiads faded as their life sources were destroyed. (pg 243) -1< Enemy archers returned fire, and a Hunter fell from a high branch. (pg 244) -1 Too many of our friends lay wounded in the streets. Too many were missing. (pg 257) -1< The flagpoles were hung with horrible trophies –helmets and armor pieces from defeated campers. (pg 282) -1< The Drakon lashed out, swallowing three californian centaurs in one gulp before I could even get close. (pg 288) -3 Poison spewed everywhere, melting centaurs into dust along with quite a few monsters, (pg 288) -1< The Drakon snapped up one Ares camper in a gulp. (pg 291) -1

Silena Beauregard -1

Leneus -1

a body covered in the golden burial shroud of Apollo’s cabin. I didn’t know who was underneath. I don't want to find out. (pg 303) -1

Oddly enough, we actually miss the moment that was probably the worst for the Olympians, the final push by Kronos that breaks through their line. After Clarisse slays the drakon and the monsters are driven back again, Percy and co. take the opportunity to go up to Olympus. Percy gives Pandora’s Pithos to Hestia, and then contacts Poseidon via his throne. It’s just as he finishes that Thalia comes up and tells them that Kronos is coming again, but they miss the fighting.

By the time we got to the street, it was too late. Campers and Hunters lay wounded on the ground. Clarisse must have lost a fight with a Hyperborean giant, because she and her chariot were frozen in a block of ice. The centaurs were nowhere to be seen. Either they’d panicked and ran, or they’d been disintegrated. (pg 312) -<500

And finally, Kronos does kill some people on Olympus itself.

A few minor gods and nature spirits had tried to stop Kronos. What remained of them was strewn about the road: shattered armor, ripped clothing, swords and spears broken in half. (pg 322) -1<

The specific deaths we have mentioned during the battle amount to 48 at the very least; and that is an extremely conservative estimate that only includes the deaths Percy has the time and presence of mind to witness in all the carnage. Considering how many others must have happened, factoring the sudden disappearance of the 500 centaurs in particular, it was likely in the hundreds. And most of the centaurs probably ran at the end, but even that would have involved heavy casualties.

It’s true that actual demigods were a smaller fraction of Olympian forces, and so would have made up just a fraction of losses. The number 16 might actually make sense if it were just the number of campers lost, but that’s not what Hecate said, she said total.

It might be significant that Hecate is the actual source of this misinformation. Would she have reason to lie to her own son, or might she herself be out of the loop. Right now, we just can’t know.

And she might be underestimating Titan Army losses too. Considering how many times a wave of several hundred monsters tear into Manhattan, and get thrown back by the Olympians only to return later with no discernable drop in numbers, until the army is finally routed entirely, it wouldn’t surprise me if the TA actually took a thousand or more casualties. But those would be overwhelmingly monsters, because:

Part 2) Less Than Fifty Demigods Were Even In The Titan Army

To prove that there could not possibly have been hundreds of TA demigods killed at Manhattan, we need look no farther than Alabaster's own account.

“There was a war between the gods and titans last summer and most half-bloods–demigods like me–fought for the Olympians.” (pg 218)

So the TA could not have had more demigods than the Olympians; and they had about a hundred. There are forty campers to start with, who are quickly joined by the Hunters, who now have thirty members. Then, in the last hours of the fight, they are finally joined by the Ares cabin, which brings another thirty (jeez Ares, you animal!). So Olympus has an even hundred demigods. (The Hunters aren’t necessarily all demigods by birth, but I don’t think Alabaster would make a distinction based on that.)

So the TA has less than a hundred demigods, significantly less. I would argue they probably had no more than fifty because that lines up with the only solid numbers we ever get for them. And every time the TA is described, demigods are a clear minority. First, look at the foes Percy encounters when he infiltrates the Princess Andromeda:

I saw monsters patrolling the upper decks of the ship–dracaenae snake-women, hellhounds, giants, and the humanoid seal-demons known as telkhines . . . . . “I don’t care what your nose says!” snarled a half-human half-dog voice—a telkhine. “The last time you smelled half-blood, it turned out to be a meatloaf sandwich!” “Meatloaf sandwiches are good!” a second voice snarled . . . . . a telkhine was hunched over a console . . . . . a half dozen telkhines were tromping down the stairs . . . . . past another telkhine . . . . . And in the fountain squatted a giant crab . . . . . a couple of dracaenae slithered across my path . . . . . As I was running up the stairwell, a kid charged down . . . . . Laistrygonian giants filed in on either side of the swimming pool . . . . . demigod archers appeared on the roof . . . . . two hellhounds leapt down . . . . . The crowed of monsters parted . . . . . Giants jeered. Dracaenae hissed with laughter . . . . . throwing monsters off their feet . . . . .I knew him, of course: Ethan Nakamura . . . . . two giants lumbered forward . . . . . Panicked monsters surged backward . . . . . one of the dracaenae hissed . . . . . I pushed through a crowd of monsters . . . . . Monsters yelled at me from above.

That was a quick summary of all the enemies Percy and Charlie encounter on the Princess Andromeda, I’m not crazy enough to try and write the whole chapter. But it’s pretty clear there are only a few demigods amid dozens of monsters. We hear the same thing from Poseidon later, that “there were only a few demigod warriors aboard that ship”; we might question whether or not Poseidon is a trustworthy source, but the evidence does back him up.

When we finally get to the battle, the disparity of demigod numbers in the TA is again evident:

The bronze image showed Long Island Sound near La Guardia. A fleet of a dozen speed boats raced through the dark water toward Manhattan. Each boat was packed with demigods in full Greek armor. At the back of the lead boat, a purple banner emblazoned with a black scythe flapped in the night wind. I’d never seen that design before, but it wasn’t hard to figure out: the battle flag of Kronos. “Scan the perimeter of the island,” I said. “Quick.” Annabeth shifted the scene south to the harbor. A Staten Island Ferry was plowing through the waves near Ellis Island. The deck was crowded with dracaenae and a whole pack of hellhounds. Swimming in front of the ship was a pod of marine mammals. At first I thought they were dolphins. Then I saw their doglike faces and swords strapped to their waists, and I realized they were telkhines—sea demons. The scene shifted again: the Jersey shore, right at the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel. A hundred assorted monsters were marching past the lanes of stopped traffic: giants with clubs, rogue Cyclopes, a few fire-spitting dragons, and just to rub it in, a World War II-era Sherman tank, pushing cars out of the way as it rumbled into the tunnel. (pg 167)

Here we see the first wave of the Titan Army as a three pronged attack (which Percy says on the next page collectively numbered at least 300) and only one of the units has demigods. It’s the one that Kronos leads, so it’s probably meant to be a more elite unit, at least at first.

We don’t know for sure how many there are. Speedboats are usually made to carry 4-6 people so a dozen would be possible 48 to 72. Considering Alabaster says there were significantly less demigods in the TA than the Olympians, I would guess it’s on the lower end; and that does match another number we see in a moment.

This fleet never reaches Manhattan, since Percy bribes the East River to swamp their boats. Those who say many TA demigods were killed in the battle might point to this as Percy causing a bunch of kids to drown; but Alabaster never mentions a mass drowning in his narrative of the battle, and he would have been on one of those boats, so it’s safe to say they just went for a swim.

(And Kronos was with them, which means that a very angry titan lord was suddenly pitched into the river and had to swim with the rest of them. That’s not really relevant, I just want everyone to know that.)

Percy is then immediately told that “Another army is marching over the Williamsburg bridge.” This fourth prong of the attack, led by the Minotaur, also has no demigods in it.

An entire phalanx of dracaenae marched in the lead . . . About a hundred more monsters marched behind them. (pg 182) More monsters surged forward —snakes and giants and telkines—but the Minotaur roared at them, and they backed off. (pg 186)

But more monsters keep advancing because by the time Percy kills the minotaur and the demigods charge and rout the whole group, it had grown to 200

Finally, the monsters turned and fled—about twenty left alive out of two hundred. (pg 188)

So the grand total for the first TA attack was 500 soldiers or more, with only 40-70 of them demigods. And after the monsters on the Williamsburg bridge retreat, those demigods show back up.

Then I saw the crowd at the base of the bridge. The retreating monsters were running straight toward their reinforcements. It was a small group, maybe thirty or forty demigods in battle armor, mounted on skeletal horses. One of them held a purple banner with the black scythe design. The lead horseman trotted forward. He took off his helm, and I recognized Kronos himself, his eyes like molten gold. (pg1 188)

This is the only time we get anywhere close to a specific number when TA demigods are concerned. It would have been the same group that was sunk in the East River, who then had to swim for Brooklynn; which is where they are now trying to take the Williamsburg bridge. This reinforces the idea that the number of demigods in the boats was only a little more than forty, since they would not have suffered more than a few injuries in the sinkings.

I’m going to come back to this moment later to demonstrate how Percy refrains from killing other demigods, even in his Achilles state, but the other important thing to note is that this is the last time Kronos organizes his demigods into a unit that he leads personally. After they fail to break through here, Kronos just has them take on a secondary role, and puts his faith in bigger and bigger monsters to lead the charge instead.

The Titan Army units on Long Island then spend the evening marching the long way around Manhattan (for some reason) because they make camp for the night in New Jersey, at Medusa’s old lair. Percy again describes demigods as the small minority.

Hundreds of tents and fires surrounded the property. Mostly I saw monsters, but there were some human mercenaries in combat fatigues and demigods in armor too. A purple-and-black banner hung outside the emporium, guarded by two huge blue Hyperboreans.

And this is only part of the Titan army, because there are more troops north of Manhattan.

“Tell my brother Hyperion to move our main force south into Central Park. The halfbloods will be in such disarray they will not be able to defend themselves.” (pg 237)

The army that marches into central park is bigger than the one camped in New Jersey. And it is made up exclusively of monsters.

At the north end of the reservoir, the enemy vanguard broke through the woods—a warrior in golden armor leading a battalion of Laistrygonian giants with huge bronze axes. Hundreds of other monsters poured out behind them. (pg 243)

There is not a single mention of a demigod. However they’re already joining the fight in other places.

When it flew above the rooftops, I could see fires here and there around the city. It looked like my friends were having a rough time. Kronos was attacking on several fronts. (pg 251)

After Percy kills the Clazmonian Sow, the momentum of the battle shifts. With his main force failing to deliver a knockout punch, Kronos has his remaining armies spread out to put equal pressure on the entire defensive line, and catch it in a massive envelopment.

Midtown was a war zone. We flew over little skirmishes everywhere. A giant was ripping up trees in Bryant Park while dryads pelted him with nuts. Outside the Waldorf Astoria, a bronze statue of Benjamin Franklin was whacking a hellhound with a rolled-up newspaper. A trio of Hephaestus campers fought a squad of dracaenae in the middle of Rockefeller Center . . . . . The hunters had set up a defensive line on 37th, just three blocks north of Olympus. To the east on Park Avenue, Jake Mason and some other Hephaestus campers were leading an army of statues against the enemy. To the west, the Demeter cabin and Grover’s nature spirits had turned Sixth Avenue into a jungle that was hampering a squadron of Kronos’s demigods . . . . . I spotted a familiar silver owl banner in the southeast corner of the fight, 33rd at the Park Avenue tunnel. Annabeth and two of her siblings were holding back a Hyperborean giant . . . . . The next hour was a blur. I fought like I’d never fought before—wading into legions of dracaenae, taking out dozens of telkines with every strike, destroying empousai and knocking out enemy demigods . . . . . At one point Grover was next to me, bonking snake women over the head with his cudgel. Then he disappeared in the crowd, and it was Thalia at my side, driving monsters back with the power of her magic shield. Mrs. O’Leary bounded out of nowhere, picked up a Laistrygonian giant in her mouth and flung him like a Frisbee. Annabeth used her invisibility cap to sneak behind enemy lines. Whenever a monster disintegrated for no apparent reason with a surprised look on his face, I knew Annabeth had been there . . . . . Kronos was riding towards us on a golden chariot. A dozen Laistrygonian giants bore torches before him. Two Hyperboreans carried his black-and-purple banners . . .

“THEN THE WINGED HUSSAARSSS AARRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVED” SABATON BLASTS ON ELECTRIC GUITAR

Sorry, sorry, I mean then Chiron and the 500 centaurs arrived!

Kronos’s forces looked as confused as we were. Giants lowered their clubs. Dracaenae hissed. Even Kronos’s honor guard looked uneasy. Then, to our left, a hundred monsters cried out at once. Kronos’s entire northern flank surged forward. I thought we were doomed, but they didn’t attack. They ran straight past us and crashed into their southern allies . . . a shower of arrows arced over our heads and slammed into the enemy, vaporizing hundreds of demons. (pg 258)

This is how the second phase of the battle ends. And during the entire night, out of a sea of monsters (hehe) we only see one unit of TA demigods. And it’s the last time we get any reference to them participating in the battle.

After being driven south, the TA apparently did another long march, because they make camp northeast of Manhattan.

The Titan army had set up camp all around the U.N. complex. The flagpoles were hung with horrible trophies—helmets and armor from defeated campers. All along First Avenue, giants sharpened their axes. Telkines repaired armor at makeshift forges. (pg 282)

Ethan is the only demigod mentioned this time. And he doesn’t appear to take part in the next attack, aside from releasing the drakon. We get less of a description of the enemy army this time, but it’s all monsters.

The rest of the battle wasn’t going well. The centaurs had panicked under the onslaught of giants and demons. An occasional orange camp T-shirt appeared in the sea of fighting, but quickly disappeared. (pg 289)

Of course the Ares cabin arrives, the drakon kills Silena, and Clarisse kills it. It’s another rout for the TA.

The monsters retreated toward 35th Street. (pg 298) There was no answer from the enemy. Slowly, they began to fall back behind a dracaenae shield wall, while Clarisse drove in circles around Fifth Avenue, daring anyone to cross her path. (pg 299)

After that we have the final phase of the battle, when the Titan Army finally breaks through the Olympian lines. But once again, we have no reference to demigods other than Ethan.

The Titan Army ringed the building, standing maybe twenty feet from the doors. Kronos’s vanguard was in the lead: Ethan Nakamura, the dracaenae queen in her green armor, and two Hyperboreans. I didn’t see Prometheus. (pg 312) “ROWWF!” Mrs. O’Leary bounded toward me, ignoring the growling monsters on either side. (pg 315) There were thousands of [skeletan soldiers], and as they emerged, the titan’s monsters got jumpy and started to back up. (pg 315) The armies of the dead clashed with the Titan’s monsters. Fifth Avenue exploded into absolute chaos. Mortals screamed and ran for cover. Demeter waved her hand and an entire column of giants turned into a wheat field. Persephone changed the dracaenae spears into sunflowers. Nico slashed and hacked his way through the enemy, trying to protect pedestrians as best as he could. My parents ran toward me , dodging monsters and zombies, but there was nothing I could do to help them. (pg 318).

The fight continues like this, until Typhon is destroyed, and the defenders are joined by the gods, and Poseidon’s army of cyclopes. It’s then that the Titan army is “massacred.” Most of the fandom thinks that the demigods were killed too, but that’s not the case.

PART 3: The TA Demigods Deserted Before The Final Battle

As Alabaster remembers it:

the war didn’t go our way. I fought on the battlefield against the enemy, but most of our allies ran. Kronos himself marched on Olympus, only to be killed by a son of Poseidon. After Kronos’s death, the Olympian gods smashed any remaining resistance. It was a massacre. “We weren’t all destroyed,” Alabaster said. “Most of the remaining half-bloods fled or were captured. They were so demoralized they joined the enemy. (pg 219)

When you look at this narrative, and compare it to The Last Olympian, it’s actually more complicated than the TA demigods simply getting massacred.

Al says that while he was fighting, most of his allies ran. That’s odd, because we don’t see the relative numbers of monsters go down at any point. What we do see, is the number of demigods go down.

As I illustrated in Part 2, the Battle of Manhattan has four distinct phases. Phase one, that ends when the Williamsburg Bridge is destroyed. The second phase, that starts when Hyperion attacks Central Park, and ends when the Party Ponies arrive. The third phase, which is all about the attack of the drakon. And the final phase, when Kronos breaks through.

We only see TA demigods in the first two phases; they attack the Williamsburg Bridge in the first phase as part of the Kronos’s main force, then in the second phase they’re relegated to a supporting role by hitting the defenders western flank. And that’s the last we see of them. After that, Etahn is the only demigod left standing in the TA. Alabaster must be somewhere in the background, as a retcon, but there’s no one beyond the two of them.

You might think that they’ve just already been killed by this point. After all, Percy blows up the Princess Andromeda, then goes into an Achilles Curse fueled berserker mode several times in the first two phases of the battle. Surely he must have killed hundreds of kids, right?

No, not even close.

Maybe not any at all.

On the Princess Andromeda Percy finds lots of monsters, but the number of demigods he finds could be counted on one hand. And the first one he meets; Percy spares him and tells him to get his friends and evacuate. We can’t prove whether or not any demigods were killed in the blast; we just know that the two we can confirm were still on board, Ethan and Alabaster, both survived. And when Alabaster recounts it, he doesn’t mention any bad losses at this point.

As for the Curse of Achilles, it doesn’t send Percy into anything like the berserker state some people think of it as. It might seem like that when Percy lets loose on the Williamsburg Bridge:

You’re going to ask how the whole “invincible” thing worked: if I magically dodged every weapon, or if the weapon hit me and just didn’t harm me. Honestly, I don’t remember. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to let these monsters invade my hometown. I sliced through armor like it was made of paper. Snake women exploded. Hellhounds melted to shadow. I slashed and stabbed and whirled, and I might have even laughed once or twice—a crazy laugh that scared me as much as it did my enemies. (pg 188)

But when push comes to shove, Percy can control the Curse, and what he does during it. That last moment was when he was fighting nothing but monsters. But when the TA demigods arrived, Percy pulled his punches like he always does.

I tried to wound his men, not kill. That slowed me down, but these weren’t monsters. They were demigods who’d fallen under Kronos’s spell. I couldn’t see faces under their helmets, but some of them had probably been my friends. I slashed the legs off their horses and made the skeletal mounts disintegrate. After the first few demigods took a spill, the rest figured out they’d better dismount and fight me on foot. (pg 189)

Percy is still in complete control of what he’s doing; even when the worst happens.

“Annabeth!” I turned in time to see her fall, clutching her arm. A demigod with a bloody knife stood over her . . . . . I locked eyes with the enemy demigod. He wore an eye patch under his helmet: Ethan Nakamura, the son of Nemesis. Somehow he’d survived the explosion on the Princess Andromeda. I slammed him in the face with my sword hilt so hard I dented his helm. (pg 190)

Percy really has all the reason to hate Ethan at this point; after Percy spared his life in Antaeus’ arena, Ethan still joined the side that had been ready to write off his death, and deliberately helped Kronos achieve his physical resurrection. Because of that Percy’s friends and even-Riordan-doesn’t-know how many mortals are going to die in the next few days; and on top of all that, Ethan just stabbed the love of his life.

And all Percy does is knock him out, maybe a little harder than necessary. He makes no effort to kill him. Those aren’t the actions of a berserker with no control.

In fact, the knife turns out to be poisonsed. And Ethan now has an idea where Percy’s Achilles Spot is, and might tell Kronos. And even after all of that, Percy doesn’t seriously think about killing him as an option.

“I’ll bonk him on the head harder next time.” (pg 241)

But more on topic, there is no reason to think the TA demigods have particularly high casualties in this phase of the battle, though they have a few:

Our archers shot a volley, bringing down several of the enemy, but they just kept riding. (pg 189)

Though it’s vague if they are hitting the riders or the horses. In fact, it might actually be Kronos who’s responsible for more of their losses.

[Kronos] struck the bridge with the butt of his scythe, and a wave of pure force blasted me backward. Cars went careening. Demigods—even Luke’s own men—were blown off the edge of the bridge. (pg 192)

I will die on the hill that between this, Ethan, and other implied moments, Kronos killed more of his own demigods than Percy did.

In the second phase of the battle, when we see the TA demigods attack again, they’re in a very different situation.

To the west, the Demeter cabin and Grover’s nature spirits had turned Sixth Avenue into a jungle that was hampering a squadron of Kronos’s demigods. (pg 255)

This is the only thing we see the TA demigods do as a group in this phase; and they’re fighting people who are using very defensive tactics, more hampering than harmful. They’re not likely to lose many fighters. A few of them do cross Percy’s path in the chaos, but even at his most Achilles fueled chaos he never loses control.

The next hour was a blur. I fought like I’d never fought before—wading into legions of dracaenae, taking out dozens of telkines with every strike, destroying empousai and knocking out enemy demigods. (pg 257)

He talks about killing monsters, but always “knocking out” demigods. Finally, that phase of the battle ends when the centaurs show up. Did the centaurs kill any demigods? After all, Percy said they “trampled everything in their path.”

Well the only report we get on the TA demigods puts them to the west. When the centaurs attack, they come out of the north east and drive the enemy south, and start off a wave of panic that ripples down the enemy lines ahead of them. The demigods were probably running before any centaur reached them, and might have had better chances of being trampled by their own monsters.

So if the TA demigods aren’t taking many losses, where do they all go in the third and fourth phases, when we don’t see any except Ethan?

They desert.

Alabaster: “I fought on the battlefield against the enemy, but most of our allies ran.”

I think the demigods of the TA signed up with no real idea of what would happen when they fought the Olympians. They thought they were going to have a sure victory.

Chris Rodriguez said it in SOM:

“I hear they got two more [drakon] coming,” [Chris] said. “They keep arriving at this rate, oh, man—no contest!” (pg 122)

Alabaster C. Torrington said it in SOM:

“Kronos wasn’t supposed to lose! You said the odds of winning were in the Titan’s favor! You told me Camp Half-Blood would be destroyed!” (pg 196)

And they probably weren’t well prepared for the war either. At one point Luke says they will fight well because he has been training the army. But most of them join because they are the children of minor gods who swear for Kronos, and that doesn’t happen until the end of BOTL, after Luke has been possessed. Most of the TA demigods never got training from him; including their two highest ranking members, Ethan and Alabaster. It’s no wonder most of them weren’t prepared.

As I was running up the stairwell, a kid charged down. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap. His armor was half on. He drew his sword and yelled, “Kronos!” but he sounded more scared than angry . . . . No way was I going to hurt him. I didn’t need a weapon for this. I stepped inside his strike and grabbed his wrist, slamming it against the wall. His sword clattered out of his hand. (pg 18)

And the demigods might not hold much loyalty to Kronos, a violent and temperamental eldritch horror!

Ethan moistened his lips. “He’s still fighting you, isn’t he? Luke—” “Nonesense,” Kronos spat. “Repeat that lie, and I will cut out your tongue. The boy’s soul has been crushed.” (pg 236) “But, my lord,” Ethan said. “Your regeneration.” Kronos pointed at Ethan, and the demigod froze. “Does it seem,” Kronos hissed. “that I need to regenerate?” Ethan didn’t respond. Kind of hard to do when you’re immobilized in time. Kronos snapped his fingers and Ethan collapsed. (pg 284)

And the demigods might have witnessed a darker side to his army that we didn’t.

Back on my first visit to the Princess Andromeda, my old enemy Luke had kept dazed tourists on board for show, shrouded in Mist so they didn’t realize they were on a monster infested ship. Now i didn’t see any sign of tourists. I hated to think what had happened to them, but I kind of doubted they’d been allowed to go home with their bingo winnings. (pg 15)

So, the demigods deserted. After the second phase of the battle we don’t see any at the Titan camp at the U.N., or taking any part in the last phases of the battle. They had been fed false promises, were treated badly, and were being sent against enemies out of their league.

“Most of the remaining half-bloods fled or were captured. They were so demoralized they joined the enemy.”

All except two, Alabaster and Ethan. The son of Nemesis, who has already given so much and is so desperate to see something good and fair come out of it; and the son of Hecate, who was promised victory, and is desperate to avenge the death of his siblings. Ironically, the two demigods who stayed loyal to Kronos the longest, did so because they had faith in their godly parents.

So if there was no “massacre” of TA demigods at the end of the Battle of Manhattan, why is Alabaster so insistent that there was one?

“Yes,” Alabaster said bitterly. “Camp Half-Blood decided that they would accept any children of the minor gods. They would build us cabins at camp and pretend that they didn’t just blindly massacre us for resisting. (pg 220) “But I’ll never bow to the Olympian gods after the atrocities they committed. Their followers are blind. I’d never set foot in their camp, and if I did, it would only be to give that son of Poseidon what he deserves.” (pg 221)

Well, it’s because the children of Hecate suffered the most in the war. She didn’t have as many children as other gods, and Alabaster was the only one to fight in it and survive. He claims he convinced “most” of his siblings to join; but if Hecate does not have many children, and he is the only survivor of the battle, how are there still enough of his siblings to decently fill a cabin, it’s likely “most” was only slightly more than half. The sad irony is that the fact that the smaller group of demigods had more casualties than the larger ones (and it sounds like not just more proportionately, but more in actual numbers), also kind of disproves that there could have been a large massacre that affected them all.

Alabaster was a scared, frustrated, exhausted kid; who convinced his siblings to fight in a destructive war, and was the only one of them to survive. To him, that is probably always going to feel like a brutal massacre.

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angelbarelywrites · 13 days ago

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♡ slashers scenarios | may i have this dance?

♡ fandoms; Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, The Boy, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair, Brahms Heelshire

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; none really!!

♡notes; this popped into my brain the other day and i thought we were due for some fluff. i’m writing part two congruently so that’ll be posted soon too!!

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Micheal Myers

> Micheal Myers does not dance

> He doesn’t know how, and he doesn’t want to learn

> But like with a lot of things, you get him to bend his rules

> He has a habit of looming in doorways to watch you

> At first it’s disconcerting, but you learn it’s just how he is

> So you pay him no mind as he’s watching you dance around the kitchen to some song that’s too popular for him to know

> Sweet and silly and carefree…

> He clicks the speaker off with a quiet huff

> “Hey, I was listening to that-“ You pout

> He rolls his eyes and puts on something a bit more to his taste

> And before you can playfully complain any more, he wraps his arms around you from behind and sways softly

> It takes a second for you to process it- he’s not normally so…gentle

> But in his own weird little way, he’s dancing with you

> He tenses a bit when you turn around- he’s embarrassed but would never admit it- but when you kiss his cheek he relaxes and gives a quiet hum

>And he keeps swaying as you lay your head on his chest

>Just for you, as long as you don’t tell anyone…Micheal Myers does dance. Just a little.

Thomas Hewitt

> Thomas doesn’t think about dancing

> He’s seen it on TV, read about it in books…but the Hewitts aren’t really the dancing types

> Nearest thing to dancing that he can think of ever doing is being held by his mama, when she’d sing and rock him when he was hurt or upset

> And it’s been a long time since anyone could hold him like that

> But one day you’re upset- he doesn’t know why but you burst into tears the moment he walked in, and it has him in a tizzy

> He quickly scoops you up, checking for any injuries but…nothing. You’re just crying and he hates seeing you like that

> So he does what used to make him feel better

> He can’t sing- or at least won’t, his words are always few and far between- but he hums, low and rumbling in his chest

> As he holds you and slowly sways you start to calm down

> You sniffle and all of the sudden giggle

> “Thomas Hewitt; are you dancin’ with me right now?”

> He looks confused but slowly nods as he thinks about it

> “Well thank you. I needed this.”

> He nuzzles you and continues until you’re calm- and far after that if you’ll let him

Bubba Sawyer

> As we know, Bubba is a very sheltered fellow, but he does like dancing!

> He’s not particularly coordinated but he doesn’t need much coaxing to twirl you around and around

> He’ll dance without music, humming a nonsense tune to you, maybe even whistling

> And if you sing to him he can’t help grinning and giggling

> It’s not uncommon for him to sway and spin with you in the living room if the radio got left on

> And he gets shy when you’re caught by one of his brothers

> “Bubba you stop wasting time, you little—“

> You cock your hip and give Drayton a cold look

> “Oh, I’m a waste of time now, cook?”

> Like always a smart remark goes a long way with Drayton, the twins immediately “oooh”ing and teasing him as he flusters

> Soon enough he’s chasing them out cursing and wielding a pair of tongs

> Leaving you and Bubba forgotten and free to sneak off and continue your fun in peace

Vincent Sinclair

> You’d have to ask

> Probably more than once, honestly

> Vincent is an artistic man, that’s not a doubt in the slightest- but he’s not even a little interested in anything that involves performance

> But you have a way of getting your way with him

> “Vince baby?”

> “…”

> “Pretty please?”

> “…”

> “If we take pictures then you can paint us.”

> He perks up a bit and you know you’ve got him

> “Cmon silly!” You drag him into the house of Wax, camcorder in hand

> Having gotten that far, you finally realize you don’t particularly know how to dance either, not really

> But you don’t tell him that, instead turning on the music and pulling him against you

> You’re clumsy and awkward and adorable as you spin around with him, not even a bit embarrassed

> He isn’t sure the reference stills are usable, but he’s more than happy the sweet moment on camera

Brahms Heelshire

> Brahms treats you like royalty- whatever you want is yours

> So if you say you’d like to go dancing, he is more than happy to arrange something

> Though of course, he doesn’t like leaving home… no matter. There’s plenty of room in the manor

> He makes a date out of it- he’s prone to making dates out of lots of silly things

> Silly or not, it’s sweet, and as always you fawn over him and praise him for the thoughtfulness

> He even bought you a cute outfit for the occasion - he loves dolling you up (pun slightly intended)

> After setting the music he bows and offers his hand- being a rich brat he knows a bit of ballroom dancing

> He’s more than happy to teach you, humming “1-2-3” with your steps

> But he’s laughing and giggling and just can’t stop gushing over how cute you are

> So if you fall into slow dancing like it’s the prom, he doesn’t mind

> Any dance with you is more than he can ask for

#slashers #slashers x reader #slashers x you #tcm #thomas hewitt #house of wax #bubba sawyer x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #halloween #micheal myers x reader #texas chainsaw the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre #the boy #dead by daylight #brahms heelsire x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #vincent sinclair

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pursuitseternal · 3 months ago

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Can i get prompt 20 with astarion x f!tav? Maybe she is in her fertile period and very horny or maybe carrying his child and hormones are messing up with her head (idk if u feel comfortable writing about it, i didn't find your rules. If you don't, ok) and Astarion offers his thigh for her to get off :))

“Helpful…”

UA Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Ask Prompts

CW: pregnancy smut

Thirty-six weeks… it’s been. Not that you’re counting. Each day is more taxing than the last… a blissful sort of torture, one you endure with a smile.

Most days.

But, days like today, you question your sanity and doubt your strength.

You couldn’t even count the sum of enemies you slaughtered. You brought down the Chosens of the Dead Three, you massacred an Illithid army….

And now the rapid flutter and kicking in your rounded belly is enough to lay you up for hours. The ache and stretch it is to bring a life into this world takes your literal breath away. Of course it doesn’t help that the child inside is Dhampir… and that its father is equally demanding at times, in different ways.

As you’ve grown heavier, rounder, Astarion has grown more attentive, helping around your cottage in the Underdark. Honestly, you sometimes scratch your head to watch the once selfish, snarky bastard of a Spawn become a snarky, helpful bastard of a Spawn.

There is one way he has relished helping you; the more demand the child inside you places on your body, the more demand your body has on you for… release. Sometimes it makes you cry, how madly you want Astarion to fuck you. Doesn’t matter where or when or for how long.

With that little problem, he’s more than eager to help. The further into your term you get, the worse the ache is, but the more exhausted you are too. Often some days, you just swallow the rage of lust that simmers inside you, but other days, he notices far too easily.

His nostrils flare as you enter your little study. He reclines on the little couch near the fire, the dim light dancing off the brightly colored spines of books around you. Scenting your need, he opens his arms, a familiar invitation to rest against him. You take the last few waddling steps, hands on your knees as you lower your rear to the couch. Your body fills the space between his legs, grimacing as it creaks under you.

Your cheeks are flush with need, and now they burn with embarrassment. “Gods I feel huge,” you bemoan, trying not to make the wooden frame of the couch groan under you again as you shift closer to your Vampiric love. “I can’t wait much longer, love,” you groan, leaning back against the cool hard planes of his torso.

“A few more weeks, and then our little one will be here,” he whispers into your ear, lips pressing a kiss, fingers pulling the stray wisps of hair back over your shoulder. “I’m sure she will be as fierce as you…”

“That’s your guess? She?” You give an airy laugh. “Well, she certainly is already fierce, given the amount of kicking, punching, and spinning that plagues me at all hours.”

A cool hand wanders over the taut curve of your belly, and instantly the child thumps against the pressure. You cry out at the pain, laughing at the look of surprise on Astarion’s face as your belly shifts with the babe’s movement within. “Incredible,” he breathes before looking at you, tilting your face into his by clasping your chin. “You’re… incredible,” lips murmur against yours. “Nearly impossible odds against us to create a dhampir, and here you are heavy with my child. Wouldn’t be the first time we were victorious against the impossible, hmm?”

“Knowing you, it won’t be the last, either,” you laugh, pursing your lips to kiss him slowly, sweetly. Hands work their way lower to the base of your belly, rucking up your skin to hunt down that source of your scent, that center of your searing need. Cool fingers on your skin give you instant relief, climbing their caress higher and higher until the dip inside you. Your aching spine bends even more, tilting your heavy hips to let him explore deeper.

Heavenly, his chilled thumb dances over your constantly hardened clit, his fingers cooling the ever-burning walls of your cunt. You hiss, riding his fingers. But your body is too laden to move like this. Your hips lock up, your back crying out in pain from your position.

And Astarion reads it in the smallest twinge of your face. Crimson eyes widen in concern, and he shushes you, soothing you as you are lifted up in his strong arms. “Ride me,” he purrs. But your hip joints already protest at the idea of being spread for his waist.

A pitiful whimper escapes you as you manage to pull yourself up on your knees on the couch to face him. Those silver brows furrow, hands at your waist to steady you… both of you. His sight roams over your flushed complexion and sweaty brow, and he guides you over his one long leg, propping it up to press beneath you.

“Use my thigh, my darling,” he murmurs, “your saviour is here.” He grins, raskish and conceited. That same line from when he once would reach out to you in combat. But you’re too pent up to tease, burning too hot with a need to find release with him in any capacity.

A hiss escapes your lips as you settle your folds on the bone of his thigh. Hard, corded muscle cools your wet and aching cunt as you grind. Slick soaks instantly through your panties and definitely into the fabric of his pants. But it only makes his hands grip harder into your hips. The fabric of your loose, flowing dress is no match for the iron clutch of his dexterous fingers.

“Fuck,” you curse, bracing your hands on either side of his head as you move faster. That new angle rubs your clit perfectly, the pressure of his thigh beneath you makes your mouth water with the promise of relief.

“Tch, language, darling,” he chides, slipping a hand beneath your skirts to find your clit with deadly precision, even blindly. “Do you want our babe to be born swearing like Karlach?”

You hang your head, laughing breathlessly until your ribs hurt. You didn’t know they could do that. A bite of your lip, and you grind faster, harder, savoring the way your soaked clothes rub over the aching nerves of your folds. Delicious friction that soothes the ache inside you.

And his finger, gods, it coaxes sighs from your lips, circles made to tease your nub from its swollen hood until you’re shaking.

“Come for me, my love…” he rasps as you hang your head closer to his honeyed lips. Words whispered to you a thousand times before seem to penetrate you deep in your belly, the fluttering of your child making you catch your breath. It grips your whole stomach, your climax. The whole swell of your belly tightens, and then tightens some more. Legs shake, and your whole body floods with the burst of pleasure you craved all day. Little strangled noises fall from your lips, until panting, you rest, unable to move off his leg.

“Where would you be without me, darling?” he purrs, slipping his hand deeper between your thighs, stroking and stretching your walls. Feeling them flutter on his fingers.

You huff a humored, tired laugh, “Not pregnant, for one.” He pouts back at you. “And two, I’d be lost without you my love.” You lean forward for a kiss, letting him hold you up. Letting him support you in all the ways he can.

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operationandre · 4 months ago

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Zero Day told through Mitski lyrics.

(LONG POST!!!! moments and scenes will not be in order)

Andre’s last moments.

“And I want a love that falls as fast as a body from the balcony, and I want to kiss like my heart is hitting the ground” - Townie

— Andre’s last words were asking Cal for permission, for instructions to die. He wanted to die at the exact same time, not a moment before or a moment after. His love for Cal overshadowed everything. His plans to run, the false passports, the foreign money—they were all useless in that moment. He wanted to coincide with cal, to be one with each other. Their blood would share the same floor, mixing together in a last show of their devotion.

The Burning of the Crosses

“You’re my best friend, now I’ve no one to tell how I lost my best friend” - The Frost

— The thought of someone burning their crosses would make Andre and Cal laugh. They would make fun of the perpetrators together, but now they lay under the ground or on a cold metal table in a lab somewhere. There is no one to talk to. There’s a darkness for both of the boys, but it’s different from what they’re used to. Unlike the darkness in Cal’s eyes that used to make Andre’s chest burn, Andre finds this blackness cold and he does not feel anything from it. Unlike the darkness in Andre’s words that would always excite Cal, Cal is bored.

The Reactions of Their Families

“So if you need to be mean, be mean to me” - I Don’t Smoke

— After the massacre, both Andre and Cal’s parents blame themselves, especially after the police question them and ask them how they didn’t notice anything awry. They wish that they had been a source of relief for their boys. In their eyes, Cal and Andre are still their babies, and they do not want to believe they did anything wrong. They want nothing blamed on their boys; they want everything on them.

Andre’s Last Conversation With His Dad

“Lately I’ve been crying like a small child, so please, hurry, leave me, I can’t breathe, please don’t say you love me.” - First Love / Late Spring

— Andre’s eyes have always been focused on Cal. He believed that no one would ever love him, at least not to the extent Cal did. The moment his dad says the words ‘I’m proud of you’ his world almost falls apart. Would his dad understand him? Would his dad be proud of him in his final moments?

Cal’s Diary With the Sitar

“Mom, am I still young? Can I dream for a few months more?” - Class of 2013

— Cal knew what the outcome of the crime would be. He was aware that he was not coming out, that he truly did not want to come out. He would’ve ended everything the same way no matter if the crime happened or not. He knows Zero Day is coming up soon, and he wants to keep that dream almost completely separate from the way his loved ones know him.

Andre’s Plans vs Cal’s Plans

“But, Big Spoon, you have so much to do, and I have nothing ahead of me” - Your Best American Girl

— Andre and Cal have very different views for both the future and the present. Andre works, has gotten into college, and is in multiple clubs and track. he wanted to run after Zero Day. He wanted to live. On the other hand, Cal had nothing, no job, no outlook for after Zero Day. He knew of Andre’s wants, but he also knew it was never a choice for him.

Final Moments

“I just need a quiet place where I can scream how I love you” - I Want You

— The ultimate show of devotion from the two boys is their deaths. They are surrounded by nothing but quiet, only slightly disturbed by police sirens and a 911 operator. There is nothing in their mind other than one another. Their lives flash behind their eyes and what they see are visions of each other.

Cal’s Hopes for His Family and Rachel

“Maybe when you tell your friends, you can tell them what you saw in me, and not the way I am” - Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart

— While Cal doesn’t care what people think of him or what his legacy is, he wants to keep intact the minds and reputations of those he left behind. They shall not be disgraced simply because they trusted him. He even clears their names for the police in his final statement.

The Final Diary

“So why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t you stop me and paint it over?” - Why Didn’t You Stop Me?

— Andre and Cal state multiple times that this had to happen, that they have to even the score of life. They blame others, almost explicitly saying there have been moments that should worry people, but they have been allowed to keep going and no one can stop them now.

“I Couldn’t Have Done This With Anyone Else.”

“One word from you and I would jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby, tell me ‘don’t’ so I can crawl back in” - First Love / Late Spring

— Cal is it for Andre; Andre is it for Cal. They exist in each others’ minds but not as parasites, simply as another train of thought. Anything the other says is gospel; every word the boys say sounds like it is coming from one mouth, one mind. They will do whatever the other person tells them to do.

Andre and Cal Finding One Another in Life

“Little boys cry and look around for comfort, and always get what they want” - Real Men

— The moment Cal and Andre meet, they know they have found their person. They will never judge one another, and they have shared experiences. They hate together, and they love together.

Cal Defending Andre to Rachel

“But with everybody watching us, our every move, we keep it secret, won’t let them have it” - Once More to See You

— Cal knows the truth behind the reason for recording, but he refuses to tell Rachel for multiple reasons. He doesn’t speak on anything until she mentions Andre. he quickly moves the blame to himself, saying he’s insecure and needs attention. He knows he and Andre are being observed and how others find them weird or off putting, but he refuses to play into it. Their true thoughts are reserved for one another. No one else is allowed in.

“We’ll be like God.” “No, we will be God.”

“You believe me like a god, I’ll destroy you like I am” - I’m Your Man

— The two boys view themselves as something greater than life, as something beyond religion and beyond belief. They take everything into their hands: their peer’s lives and the balance of the world.

The End.

#andre kriegman #zero day #zero day 2003 #zeroday #cal gabriel #caldre #calvin gabriel #ben coccio #my writing #my words #mitski #lyrics #sad as fuck

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wasawattpadkid · 2 years ago

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Housewife

Part - 4

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, hinting masturbation

Part 1

"This is my favorite outfit so far." Tatum clapped as you spun around. The outfit in question was a checkered skirt matched with a sleeveless mock turtleneck top. Thankfully the stockings you bought yesterday had yet to fail. You kicked up your white go go boot striking a pose for a laugh. "This whole style choice of yours is dick repellent." Randy said, opening up his granola bar. You snatched it from him taking a bite. "You'll have to give me some tips then because I'm pretty sure you get more dick than all of us combined. And that's including Stu so that says something." Stu pointed at you surprised at the sudden dig. "How'd you know?" He said making the group laugh harder. Randy grabbed his granola bar back not caring you had just eaten part of it. You laid down on the concrete resting your head on Randy's lap.

"Since when did you two get so close?" Stu asked knowing about how hostile yesterday was. "Since I found out she's a lesbian." Randy joked. Billy looked at you seemingly to give the idea some thought. "She can do whatever she wants to it's a free country, as long as she invites me to watch." Stu said and Tatum shook her head. "Me and Randall here made up in 2nd period. He's not so bad when he's not babbling on about shitty horror movies."

Randy stands up knocking your head forward. "Okay which is better Texas Chainsaw Massacre the 1974 original or Aliens the 1979 original?" Billy scrunched up his nose like that was even a question. "Texas Chainsaw Massacre no contest." Billy spoke and Stu echoed his answer. Even Tatum put her two cents in. "Leather face is in Texas Chainsaw Massacre right?" Stu nodded. "Oh then that movie." Everyone looked at Sydney to give the last answer. "Don't look at me I haven't seen either of them." Billy laid back down mimicking your position.

"Aliens is by far a better choice because-" Stu started throwing grapes at him not missing a single shot. "Booooo!" You laughed at Stu happy to know the crowd agreed with you. "Told ya." You chimed as Randy sat back down. "What are you two doing tonight?" Sydney asked Stu and Billy. "Probably chill at my place, watch some movies. Why you wanna come?" She shook her head. "I was just curious." Sydney said picking at her nails. "Welp I'm going to split. If I don't see ya have a good weekend." You waved them off as you went back into the school. Walking the halls you headed towards the nearest bathroom.

You propped your purse up on the sink pulling a compact out. Funny enough the bags under your eyes seemed softer than they've been in months. "You sure are in a good mood today." Billy said as Stu locked the door. You jumped at his voice clutching imaginary pearls. "Did we scare you?" Stu asked leaning on Billy. "What gave it away Sherlock?" You closed the compact sliding it back in your purse. "You two shouldn't be in here." Stu bent down to check under the stalls. "Relax we're the only ones here." He said standing back up. "Still, being a girl in a bathroom with two guys that have girlfriends isn't really a good look for me."

"It's not like we're going to have our way with you." Billy watched your body tense up at Stu's words. "Unless you'd want that of course." You were uncomfortable. You'd like to say you trusted them but you'd only known them for 3 days. "Lay off man." Billy shrugged his friend arm off his shoulder before talking again. "We just came in here to ask about tonight. I'm running by the video store after school, what movie do you want to watch?" You calmed down just a little seeing Stu smile at you. It was genuine not one with two meanings behind it.

"Any movie? Or are you wanting horror movies?" Stu hopped up sitting on the sink. "We're watching Christine first." Billy looked at him then back to you. "Whatever you want to watch." It was a risk. He wouldn't sit though some boring ass chick flick. Not even for you. He's seen one too many with Sydney. "Have you seen Ferris Bueller's day off?" Both the boys shook thier head. "Are you being serious? It's one of the best movies ever." You said shocked. They highly doubted that but they let you have your moment.

You and the boys made plans for tonight. Billy would stop by the video store to pick up Christine, Ferris Bueller's day off, and he refused to tell you what he picked out. Saying "it's a surprise." You volunteered to cook dinner. They argued saying they could live off popcorn but you wouldn't allow it. Anyone staying at your house would be having a home cooked meal. Stu was simply bringing himself and a deck of cards.

The bell rang and you quickly shoved your school supplies in your locker leaving them for the Monday to come. "Are you ready to have your mind blown?" Stu's hands blew away from his head as he stuck his tongue out faking an explosion. "I doubt your little movie is that good. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Stu tried to hold hands with you which you quickly shut down. "If you're worried about Tatum and Syd they're both already gone. Dewy picked them up." You were worried about them. You were also worried about that giddy feeling crawling back up your chest. "I'm not worried I'm appalled. I'm not some cheap whore you know?" You walked backwards for a second to catch his reaction.

"I'm well aware of that Ms. Crocker." The two of you cracked jokes and had playful banter as you made it to your car. "Do I get to pick music this time?" With the puppy like expression on his face he already knew your answer. "Sure but you're not going to like the options." You both slid into the car, Stu going straight for the glove box. "Elvis, Beatles, Boston, the Bee Gees? Really?" You looked at him with a smile. "Don't shit on the Bee Gees." You said holding back a laugh. The car pulled out of the parking lot heading straight to your place. "I care about you but we've got to do something about this." He held up a Carpenters tape with a look of shame on his face. "Most of these aren't even mine okay?" He simply hummed with doubt.

"Whatever you say Betty." He grabbed one tape pushing it into the tape deck. "This, I can get behind." He said confident in his selection. "What'd you pick-" Stu's finger rested on your lips. "Shh let it play." You swatted his hand away with a smile. Space Oddity began playing to your surprise. "I learn something new about you everyday." You said as he began singing the words as horribly as he could. He might be a little on the annoying side but he sure could make you laugh. At some point you chimed in. You both sang the songs together laughing at each other back and forth. Stu wasn't so bad.

"Put the tape back where you got it." He said "yes ma'am" as he slid it back into the glove compartment. You clicked the garage door open and slowly pulled your car in. The car became quiet once you pulled out the key. You closed the garage door, you and Stu hopping out at the same time. "Make sure to take your shoes off before you go in." You slipped off your boots carrying them inside. "Just bring your shoes up to my room." Stu didn't want to fuck this up but you made it too easy for him to make jokes. "You're taking me to your bedroom?" He said as cheesey as humanly possible. Before you could come up with a snarky response he pushed you out of the way.

"Holy shit this place is ugly!" Your face dropped as you closed the garage door. "I love it!" He exclaimed walking to the kitchen. "Is that a compliment?" You asked genuinely confused. Stu paused for a moment sniffing the air. "What is that smell?" You chuckled at his concern. "It's the pot roast." Confusion painted his face. "You started cooking this morning?" You smiled sheepishly. "Well yeah I knew you two were coming over." He might've just fell in love with you. "Come on let's put our shoes up and get dinner done before Billy gets here."

Stu looked all around not being able to look at one thing for too long. "Woah this is your room?" He admired the posters on your wall first. "The one and only." You grabbed his shoes sitting them up on the rack next to yours. "You like these movies?" He asked like you had them up there just to start conversations. "Of course I like them. That's kinda why I bought the posters."

Stu had to revaluate everything he thought about you. "You know your place reminds me of Dazed and Confused." You lit up at the name. "Oh my God I love that movie!" Stu took a second to really look at you. He thought you were hot from the second he saw you. That feeling hasn't changed any but there's definitely more to it. "I saw it in theaters like 4 times. You know you don't have such bad taste after all." You fake gasped. "I have amazing taste you just wait."

"Speaking of taste I've got to get started on dinner." He followed you to the kitchen with a question. "Isn't it already done?" He must not cook a lot. "The roast is yes but I've got to make mashed potatoes to go with it. Oh and do you want Macaroni and cheese or green beans?" He was definitely in love with you. "Why are you doing all this?" He asked his voice kind of sad. Stu really hadn't been a priority or even cared for, for a very long time. "Because you and Billy are my guests and I'll be damned if you leave here without having a good meal. Now Mac and cheese or green beans?"

Billy pulled into the driveway slowly as to not attract attention. It would be his ass if Sydney and Tatum saw his car over at your house. Before he could knock he stopped to listen to the sound of your laughter paired with Stu's. It was a pleasant sound but he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. His knuckles made contact with the wood alerting you and Stu both. "I'll get it. Keep stirring the mashed potatoes so they don't stick." Billy knocked once more. He wasn't very patient. "I'm coming!" You opened the door waving Billy inside. "Where's your coat it's freezing out there?" It was then he realized he left his jacket in the car. There was no way that unbuttoned flannel and white t-shirt was providing him any warmth.

"Hey buddy!" Stu waved from the kitchen. "I need you to open the garage so I can pull my car in." You made a stirring motion to Stu noticing he stopped. "Yeah give me one sec." You said to Billy as you opened the door to the garage. Clicking the button on the wall the door slowly lifted up. "Thanks babe." He said as he walked to his car. "Babe?" You whispered as your chest grew tight. "Betty help it's bubbling!" Stu shouted your nickname. You shook your head walking back into the house. "The heats too high." Slowly you turned the knob and the bubbling stopped. "Have you tried some yet?"

"No." He said but the small dot of mashed potatoes on his nose said other wise. Your thumb swiped off the food from his face and he knew he'd been caught. You wiped your hands on your apron. "Was it good?" He dipped his finger in the pot pointing it towards you. "Try it." He tried to smear it on your face but you wouldn't let him. "No!" You shouted with a laugh running around the kitchen. Stu chased you around the table laughing as much as you were. "What is going on? I can hear you all outside." Billy asked as he shut the door to the garage. "You really wanna know?" Stu asked.

It was too late. Now Stu chased Billy leaving you to laugh at both of them. "Get near me and I'll bite your fucking finger off Macher I mean it." You were belly laughing at this point. "Okay guys calm down the foods done. Billy, the plates are up there can you set the table?" Without a response he grabbed the plates. "Stu can you get the silverware? It's in that drawer." You pointed to the wood cabinet. "On it." Stu grabbed one of everything sitting them on the placemats next to the plates Billy sat down. You were busy moving the mac and cheese into a pyrex dish. "Someone sit this on the table." Billy and Stu both jumped to help nearly knocking the hot food out of your hands.

You awkwardly laughed at the silence. "Don't worry I've got another one." You handed Billy the glassware, quickly filling another one up with mashed potatoes to give to Stu. "I've got iced tea, lemonade, soda and water." You opened the fridge showing them what you had. "I'll have Dr. Pepper." Stu said and you handed him the glass bottle. "Billy for you?" Both the boys looked flushed. "What's that at the bottom shelf?" Stu pointed. You bent down seeing a bottle of Coke.

Unbeknownst to you every time you bent over the tops of your thigh high stockings were on display. Billy's eyes followed the black line from your ankles all the way to the little black bow at the top. Stu looked over at Billy trying to read his mind. "It's Coke. Did you want this instead?" You asked. "I'll take that." Billy grabbed it from your hand. "Let me get you two the bottle opener." You pulled out the drawer grabbing the opener and tossing it to Billy. "Where's your bathroom?" Stu asked politely. "Down the hall and to the left." With speed he left the Dr. Pepper on the table and practically sprinted to the bathroom.

"What's his problem?" You asked Billy. He only shrugged. Although he knew exactly what his problem was. It was the same problem he was starting to have. Billy sat down at the dinner table popping the lid off of his bottle. "Thank you." His was quiet but not silent. "You're welcome. It's the best I can do. Do you want your roast on top of your mashed potatoes or separate?" He thought about it for a second. "Separate is fine." You nodded grabbing his plate from the table. You put a good amount of roast and vegetables on his plate before sitting it back down in front of him. "Smells good."

"Let's just hope it tastes good." You laughed. "But thank you. Stu helped quite a lot actually." That was surprising. Living with Stu, he got take out 5 days a week and the other days they barley ate at all. Neither Billy or Stu cooked. Not for lack of trying on Billy's end. You placed a spoon in the mashed potatoes and in the Mac and cheese before fixing you a glass of water. You sat it down on the table picking up Stu's plate. Once he had a good amount you put his plate back where you got it.

"Is he coming?" The question almost made Billy laugh. With the Coke bottle up to his lips he said "Probably." The joke went clear over your head. In the meantime you hung your apron up and sat the salt and pepper down on the table. "There you are. I thought you fell in." You smiled and he returned it. Billy's eyes found Stu's having a silent shameful conversation. The last thing you did before sitting down was fix your own plate. While you put food on your plate Stu went ahead and grabbed his fork. Before he could eat Billy kicked him under the table. "Ow!"

"The bowl's hot." Billy made an excuse for his friends outburst. You went back to what you were doing as the two had a conversation. "Wait for her." Billy mouthed. Stu's lips formed an 'o' as he understood what he meant. You finally sat down with them finishing putting food on your plate. They both waited patiently for you to take the first bite. "Do you think I poisoned it?" You asked wondering about their odd behavior. "No but you cooked it so you should get to eat first." There it was again that giddy feeling. "Oh..." You said with a smile.

You had never seen two people eat so much. It made you think they'd never had food in their lives. Both bowls were completely empty and the poor crockpot looked like it'd seen hell before. "That was the best damn food I've ever had." Stu exclaimed. "Thank you, Y/n." He said grabbing your hand on the table. "You're welcome. If there's one thing I can do it's cook." Billy's head laid on his crossed arms on top of the table. "Is he dead?" You whispered to Stu. Your hand rubbed Billy's back slowly hoping he wasn't sick. "You alright?"

"I can't move." He mumbled against the table cloth. You bit your lip trying not to laugh. Billy sat up his head falling back over the kitchen chair. A moan left his lips from how much he ate. Stu saw the way you straightened up in your chair. Your eyes raked over Billy's exposed neck. His adams apple on prominent display. "Damn." Billy sat up looking at you. "What's wrong?

"Huh?" You asked furrowing your brows. "You said 'Damn' like something was wrong." Stu really couldn't help but laugh. "What's funny shit face?" He asked his giggly friend. "Oh nothing. Leave the dishes I'll clean them up." Billy rolled his eyes. In all his years being friends with him he had never once seen Stu clean a dish. "You don't have to do that I'll do them later after you guys go home."

Home? That thought never crossed either of their minds. They didn't want to go "home." "Listen I love hanging out with you both but I seriously can't have two grown men in my house staying the night that I barley know. What if you robbed the place?" That was your concern. Billy smiled at the innocent worry. "Then you'd get what we stole back monday at school. Don't you have a guest room we could stay in?" You did but it was used as a junk room now. There's no way you could clean it out tonight. They could stay in your dad's room but considering that's were the guns are you'd rather not. "Do you even have something to change into if you were to spend the night?"

Stu jumped from the table going to grab his bag. "I brought mine and Billy's clothes." You put your head in your hands as you groaned. "Fine but you're both sleeping on my bedroom floor." If that's what the rules were then so be it but they knew how easily they could bend them.

Taglist: @katie-tibo @danodoll21 @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n

Part 5

A/N: I haven't proofread this yet so I apologize from any misspellings. I'll be going through it again tonight. Hope everyone's enjoying it so far!

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months ago

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The Girl Next Door - VI

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence, divider by animatedglittergraphics

6. creature of the night

In the back of the yellow taxi driven by the faithful Chas, John makes a point not to touch you. You are so heartbroken by the events of the past half hour that it does not even register that Chas is driving you somewhere other than your mutual apartment building, until you pull up in front of a dilapidated storefront declaring “BOWL, BOW, BOWL” on the neon sign.

“What…?”

“My friend Beeman’s place. Somewhere to lay low,” John explains, throwing open the door of the cab.

“Thanks, Chas,” you say, because John never seems to find it necessary to do so.

“Sure, y/n,” answers the young man. “Hey John–”

John slams the door shut on Chas’s question.

“You’re so mean to him,” you sigh.

He only answers that with a snort, coughing to the side. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

He leads you through the doors, and up some stairs to a living space above the bowling alley. It is long, with high ceilings, white subway tiles, and crumbling lead paint on the paneling. A bank of windows stretches all down the wall.

It’s an interesting space, but the windows could be a problem for you, come dawn.

“There’s a big closet in the other room,” he assures you, like he can read your mind.

He directs you into a chair at a long table, and all business, starts loosening his tie.

“John…wait.”

“You don’t have time to wait. You look like shit, and his blood will contaminate your ability to fight him.” He cocks his head, looking down at you. “Unless you don’t plan on fighting him? You looked pretty cozy when I found you.”

A thread of heat dances down that connection between you, and you pause with surprise as you recognize it for what it is. Jealousy? After the way he’s avoided you? Is he fucking kidding right now?

“You look like shit,” you counter, and you realize it’s true. His skin is sallow; there are dark circles under his eyes. He was always slender, but now he borders on too thin. You know he doesn’t take care of himself, but this is beyond the usual abuse. Was he not sleeping or eating because of you? You think on what Wick said to you. He doesn’t look good. I won’t have to wait long for you. What the fuck did that mean? “Are you ok?” you demand, standing to examine him more closely.

“I’m fine,” he grouses, backing away.

You don’t believe him, and the two of you stand in the kitchen facing off with each other, both pissed, though you suspect, for different reasons.

Somehow you know if you keep pushing him, John will just refuse to talk to you at all, stubborn bull of a man that he is. So you change tack, appealing to the know-it-all in him.

“What…is he?”

“John Wick is a hybrid,” Constantine explains matter of factly. “Half human, half vampire. Your perfect predator. They have to drink vampire blood to stay alive, and they can live a long time.”

“He drank my blood,” you admit, touching the marks at your throat that still have not healed. Usually such an injury would have sealed over by now. “But then…he gave me some back.”

Constantine snorts. “Yeah, I saw that.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“He said…I reminded him of someone he once knew.”

“When you’ve lived as long as he has, probably everyone reminds you of someone,” John scoffs.

“He slaughtered all of don Juan’s vampires, at Perla. Juan was going to hold me hostage to bait you. But then Wick came up the stairs, and…Jesus Christ. It was a massacre.”

“Yeah. He does that.”

“Juan got away, and Wick…spared me.”

“Spared you, huh? Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”

Your annoyance spikes. “You know, for someone who has been avoiding me like the plague, you sure seem to care about who I kiss!”

“You can makeout with whoever you want, sweetheart, I couldn’t care less. But what the hell were you doing at Perla?”

His tone suggests he might feel otherwise.

“Hunting.”

“At the Master’s own club? Are you kidding me?”

For a moment you are taken aback, and then you really see red. “I didn’t know it was the Master’s club because you’ve never fucking told me anything, John!” Seething, you go on, “You didn’t have to fuck me. You didn’t have to feed me. But it would have been nice if you could have at least prepared me!”

In the end you are toe to toe, and points to John for not flinching while your eyes are flashing orange and your fangs are bared.

“I tried,” he insists through his teeth, a lot more calmly than you. “But everytime I’m around you…”

You share blood and body fluids, is the short of it, and you know he’s not wrong.

You let out a long breath, trying to calm down. The following inhale does not exactly help you; it’s all John, his yummy cologne and the scent of his skin and that beautiful essence coursing beneath it and jesus fucking christ no wonder he hates you.

You retreat, turning your back on him, trying not to cry, trying not to yell, and trying not to tackle him to the floor to drink him down.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, and you mean it. “I didn’t know how to control it.” You think about that golden thread between you, and the way don Juan taunted you, and the name slung so freely by the vampire hunter like it was an insult. Maybe you have an inkling of why John’s been avoiding you like the plague. “What did I do to you, John?”

“I know you didn’t mean to.”

He sounds as miserable as you feel.

“Mean to what?”

“You made me your creature, y/n. Familiar, human servant, famulus, bonded, thrall, Renfield. You want all the names for it?”

You turn to look at him, your heart breaking all over again. “I just…liked you, John.”

More than liked him, apparently, but you’d rather die than admit it now.

He nods, suddenly very interested in a stain on the wall, his jaw clenching. “I liked you too,” he admits. “But this is…not good.”

You feel that light inside you, that warmth that is a part of him, somehow, a part of you. You tug on it, and he can’t help but look at you then. “It feels good?” you say.

“Yeah.” He takes a step closer towards you. “But if I was damned before…” Another step. “I’m really fucked now.”

You shake your head, at such a loss. What kind of a God would forsake his children so freely, if not a complete sadist? Isn’t he supposed to be all love and forgiveness?

“We’re not bad people, John.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter. There are rules.”

“You know, you’ve never told me…why you think you’re going to Hell?”

“Because when I was a teenager, and driven to despair living in an institution because of the things God gave me the gift to see…I killed myself. I spent two minutes in the fiery pit before they brought me back, but it was enough. It’s…pure agony, y/n, and it lasts for an eternity.”

Your lip quivers as the magnitude of what he’s telling you sinks in. Growing up, Heaven and Hell were such abstractions to you. Something you suspected your parents threatened you with just to get you to behave. But hearing him say it like this…you believe him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, John. Can it be undone? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Sadly, he just shakes his head. Does that mean it’s irreversible? With a heavy sigh he sits down in one of the kitchen chairs, pulling over his bottle of Ardbeg and splashing a couple fingers into a glass. He doesn’t offer you any–not that you’d want it, but still rude. You shouldn’t be surprised by now. “I admit I didn’t think you could even do it yet, you’re so new.”

You think about the power the two of you called up, the last time you were together. You’ve always been fire together, even when you barely knew each other. Isn’t that worth something? How is that not something gifted by God, if indeed that motherfucker does exist?

“Are you ready now?” he asks, sounding resigned, pulling his collar aside again.

You look away, because the sight of his bare throat affects you like a teenager with a PLAYBOY centerfold, making you flush all over. Jesus Christ, will you ever not want him so much?

Even with your belly full of dhampir blood; his pulse calls to you with a siren’s song.

His heart beats for you, your deepest instincts whisper, even while your head knows it's all a wishful thought.

“I can find someone else, John. I’ve caused you so much trouble.”

The sound he makes at the thought of you with someone else low in his throat is nearly a growl–but then ends in a violent cough.

You take a step closer. “Are you sick? Do you have the flu or something?”

He actually laughs at that–then coughs some more. “No, I don’t have the flu.”

“Then what?”

The bitter curl of lips he offers you hurts your heart. “The irony is, I’d probably be dead by now if not for you.”

“What?”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m dying, y/n. I’ve got cancer.” He spits the last word, as though he finds it utterly absurd, like an insult God has personally bestowed upon him.

You feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you, a ringing in your ears like you were at ground zero of an explosion. Cancer? All the things this man has faced…and…he’s got fucking cancer?

“How long have you known?” Your voice cracks with the effort to keep it all in.

“Not long.”

“Prognosis?” you ask quietly, fearing the answer like the monster under the bed.

“Not good.” When he sees your lip trembling he adds, “Please don’t fuss.” You don’t have much blood to spare, but you feel the sting of tears start to well in your eyes again. “And definitely don’t cry. Come on, y/n.” The admonition turns into a coughing fit. He turns his head, covering it with his sleeve. When he lowers his arm you see the stain of blood from his lips, and your heart hits rock bottom.

“Oh my god. You should be in a hospital!”

If you can sense so much, how did you miss this?

“Well…I’m kind of busy trying to save the world right now. Whatever Hell’s cooking up this time, it’s big. I can feel it. If I don’t stop it…nothing up here might matter anymore anyway.”

“Ok…what do we need to do?”

He snorts. “We? Oh no. You’re staying out of it. I leave you unsupervised and you get tangled up with the Master of the City and the world’s most dangerous dhampir in one night?”

You clench your jaw, trying to hold it in. Your despair, and your frustration, because for someone so smart this man sure can be a fucking idiot.

“John, you should be in treatment!”

He shrugs, paying you that rueful half smile that ties your heartstrings up in knots. It would be a full on grin for most people. You realize that he would fucking hate it if you started weeping all over him, but this form of expression of your grief for him is acceptable. This, he’s actually enjoying, the weird bastard.

This man is going to be the death of you.

You are on the verge of chewing him out when he tugs at that connection between you, and that golden coil inside you flares to life. You shudder, closing your eyes, hardly able to keep yourself from crawling into his lap. You’re trying not to be a horny mess in the middle of this serious discussion–and failing badly.

“Feel that?”

“What is it?” He has so much more experience with this metaphysical stuff than you.

He chews on his answer for a long time, before finally admitting, “I’ve been doing some reading. I think…we’re bound.”

“Bound how?”

“Our life forces,” he tries to explain. “We can…feel each other. It’s how I found you tonight. I felt you calling me, I knew you were in trouble. And we make each other stronger. I think…you’re keeping me alive, for now, but I don’t know for how long. The cancer’s still getting worse, just…slower.”

“You should have told me.”

“I…didn’t know how,” he admits. Most people would have added, I’m sorry, but not John Constantine.

You finally get up the courage to take another step closer, standing between his spread legs. You reach out to touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone, the line of his dark hair around his ear. You should have noticed immediately that he was looking gaunt. His eyes close under your touch, a long sigh escaping him, and you sense how horrible it’s been for him to carry this burden all alone. Always so alone, your John, and mostly, by his own choice.

“If you need money for chemo I’ll get it for you.”

His lips twist with amusement at hearing that. “Yeah? You gonna rob a drug cartel for me, Miss Vigilante?” Such is the state of the American healthcare system, that such extremes might be necessary.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

He laughs, then regrets it as the coughing takes over. “Jesus. I’m sorry,” you say, patting his shoulder.

“This is why I can’t be around you,” he snarks deadpan. “I’ll lose a damn lung.”

You sigh, unable to stop yourself from thinking about the woman you saw him with last night.

“Does…Angela know?”

He blinks at that. “No, why would she?”

“Isn’t she…your girlfriend?”

Again, he starts to laugh, then forces himself to be still, squeezing his eyes shut. “What? No, we just met.” His dark eyes are practically sparkling as he looks up at you now, unbearably smug. He thinks this is funny, and you are so not going to tell him you were ready to chew through the concrete of your apartment building after seeing them together. “She’s helping me with a case. Or I’m helping her. The demon half-breeds are up to something big. I think they’re after her.”

“Oh.” You are the worst, because rather than sympathy for that poor woman, all you feel is relief. “I…that’s awful.”

“Yeah. I warded her apartment while I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. If she stays put, she should be fine…in theory.”

“Oh. That was…nice of you.”

You can tell John is fighting not to smirk at you. “Yeah, that's me.”

Annoyed by his cheek, you insist, “You like her though. I could tell.”

“She’s alright,” he answers, interested in a knot in the table suddenly.

“You want her. I guess I don’t blame you. She’s pretty cute.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“I’m dying, for one.”

“All humans are in the process of dying.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Just saying. Better not waste your time.” You're interested in the floor too, as you say this. The thought of him with another woman claws at your insides, but you try to handle it like an adult.

“You trying to get rid of me now?”

“Did I ever have you?”

If you’d still had to breathe, you would have held your breath, waiting for his answer, yearning for some acknowledgement of what is between you. But he only shakes his head, at you or himself you’re not sure, pouring himself another drink.

Your heart sinks like a stone to the bottom of a cold, cold lake.

“You trying to clear your dance card for John Wick?”

“You mean Jardani?”

“Oh, Jardani?” he singsongs mockingly, fluttering his lashes. “No one’s called him that in this century.”

“Fine. Whatever his name is, the answer’s no. He scares the fuck out of me.”

It’s mostly true, though maybe not for the right reasons.

“You didn’t look too scared, in the alley together. You looked like you were going to eat each other.”

You kind of did exactly that, and you didn’t know it was possible to blush as a vampire, but goddammit there it is. Cherry red heat, blistering your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

“I don’t have to take this from you,” you growl, turning to go, though where you have no idea.

“Hey, wait.” He catches your hand in his, and you are reminded somehow of the last time you were together. You have the control not to throw him onto the floor this time, just looking at him from under your lashes.

“I’ve been waiting, John,” you finally say, and there’s no accusation in it now. Just resignation. Because if what he says is true–you’ve got the time to wait, but he definitely doesn’t. It seems surreal, that he could actually be fatally ill.

He sighs, and you marvel at how much this man can convey with the expulsion of some air. Annoyance, and maybe even some regret. “I warned you, when this whole thing started, that I’m not boyfriend material.”

Why does hearing him say that hurt so much? You feel the sting of tears again, but you don’t let them fall. “I never expected you to be my boyfriend, John.”

“Then what did you want from me?”

He seems genuinely curious, maybe as confused about all this as you are, and looking down into his soulful dark eyes you realize you don’t actually have an answer. You have all these feelings for this man, all this emotion that feels like a goddamn electrical storm crackling inside you, and yet…what did you want from him? Chocolates? Flowers? Love poems? You fucking knew better than that. You weren’t going to date like a normal couple. You weren’t going to move in together or meet each other’s parents. “I don’t know,” you admit, sounding as surprised as you feel. “Just some acknowledgement, maybe, that I meant something to you.

He lifts an eyebrow to that. “Okay. Consider it acknowledged.”

Somehow, this doesn’t exactly satisfy you. Disgusted, more with yourself than him now, you try to retreat again, but he won’t let go of your hand.

“I like you, y/n,” he says with emphasis, squeezing your palm like there’s something you’re supposed to be reading between the lines. “But I don’t have anything to offer you except a target on your back. I’ve brought you nothing but trouble.”

“Is that what you really think?”

Does he hate himself so much?

“I know it, y/n.”

You can’t help but think of the joy you’ve felt in his arms. The pleasure, and the triumph, and the utter elation. That is why you have chased him, you realize. Because in the fleeting moments in which you catch him–you feel like you’re on top of the world. No one else has ever come close to making you feel the way John Constantine does–and if you say any of this out loud you’re afraid he’ll roll his eyes and laugh at you.

With his handsome face in your hand you lean down as though drawn by a string, hoping to show him how you feel instead. Can’t he feel it, through this connection between you? The way you adore him? You think you feel it start to glow, and if you can invoke that magic you shared before, then surely he’ll understand. Maybe he will value himself more, if he understands how precious he is to you. He watches your approach with parted lips, his eyes fixed on you. But at the last minute he turns his head, and you freeze with mortification for his rejection.

“You’ve still got dhampir blood in your mouth,” he says quietly, not meeting your gaze.

He’s not wrong, of course. You didn’t exactly have a chance to brush your fucking teeth–and maybe that is pretty gross.

You disgust him.

You are a bloodsucking creature of the night, and even if he’s dying inside, he’s a demon hunter to the bone.

Why you ever thought he could love you, is anyone’s guess.

#john constantine #constantine 2005 #constantine x reader #constantine x you #john constantine x reader #john constantine x you #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #constantine fic #constantine vampire au #the girl next door fic #john wick #don john #john wick x reader #john wick x you #don john x reader #don john x you

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heavenlymorals · 7 months ago

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The Tragedy of Dutch Van Dir Linde

Warning: spoilers ahead for both Red Dead games.

Dutch Van Dir Linde is one of the finest characters I've ever come across and that I think about a lot because in many ways, he is represents the dreams that people have and the awful reality of it too.

Heytham, what the hell do you mean that this manic, selfish, delusional piece of shit is like you or me?

Here is an example. When you were a kid, did your parents tell you that your dreams will come true if you worked hard? And did you believe it? I know I did. I studied often, got a great SAT score, joined many extracurriculars, did volunteer work regularly, got a part time job, had all high grades in advanced level courses and in AP/honor programs and I had one goal. To get into my dream college.

I made my resume. I did everything right. I listen to what people better than me told me to do and I waited for that acceptance letter- so confident that I would get into the university. Never once did I imagine that I'd get rejected, but I did. For a 17 year old kid, it felt like the world was ending. I remember sobbing myself to sleep, waking up, and then just laying on my bed disappointed in the world and the lies it fed me. In a perfect world, I'd have gotten accepted. Worst people than me got accepted, why couldn't I?

But I moved on. Life continued and I was fine. I was bitter, sure, but I managed to get over it and work towards better paths and a better future.

But what if I didn't? What if I got hung up on that forever? What if I fought the rejection? What would I have done? What would I have not done?

This little experience, one that many people have gone through, is kind of a microcosm of the much bigger human truth that the world will never be an ideal place due to the human nature.

If I was like Dutch, I would have fought the rejection- I would stick so diligently to the ideal that I believed in so hard, even though that failure was more than likely a guarantee. I wouldn't find an alternative to be better and do better things. I'll get hung up on a dream and never move past it.

That's his dilemma. He believes in the ideal, like we all do, but he will fight tooth and nail to make that ideal real while we will sigh and realize that life will never be the way we want it to be.

Dutch feels betrayed by the world, or at least by his vision of the world- especially America.

America was a country built on the promise of all men being born equal under God and under the law. All men.

That was the dream, the hope, and the promise.

What happened instead? The continuing of the institute of slavery, the massacre of natives, the monopoly of magnates, and the constant discrimination of those not considered 'white'.

It was disgusting and awful and it should've never happened- but it did and people tried to remedy it in ways that were gradual but real. They found different paths and different dreams and though there is still much work to be done, people are finding a way.

Dutch couldn't do that though. He refused to do that. He wanted the ideal and he wanted it immediately, even though it was impossible. He killed for his ideal, he robbed for his ideal, and he led people to hell for his ideal.

But it didn't matter. His ideal will never exist and he couldn't accept that- which leads to his end.

He won't be caught. And he didn't get caught by commiting suicide- a final fight. He wouldn't surrender to John or the Pinkertons, because that would mean admitting that his entire life was a struggle for nothing because his vision will never be realized if people like Cornwall or Favours or the professor continue to exist. Life was hell because of those people and the American dream did not exist because of those people.

"What a beautiful dream. So poorly rendered," - Dutch to Arthur.

And Dutch is right! From the very beginning that this country was created, it relied on an ideal that turned out to be a lie.

And Dutch couldn't handle that and wanted a perfect world that can never be realized and he tried to get that perfect world by lying and stealing and cheating and killing. What a depressing dichotomy.

Now, of course, when it comes to the personal motivations of Dutch, whether pride, hubris, narcissism, or any of that, they can all by factors to Dutch's pointless battle, but his motivation has always been clear and it never changed-

"Yeah, I know it's tough. You like Dutch. He's a charming fellow. He makes sense. He's like one of those nature writers from back East. Only he takes things a tiny little step too far. Rather than just loving the flowers and the animals and the harmony between man and beast, he shoots people in the head for money. And disagreeing with him. Now, I'm not a great intellect, but the metaphysical leap from admiring a flower to shooting a man in the head because he doesn't like a flower, is a leap too far." Edgar Ross to John Marston.

Dutch lived and died to create an ideal that would never be real because he could never accept reality and that is one of the saddest fates a man could have.

#Dutch's story makes me so sad #because his dream is such a beautiful dream #but he fails to realize that it is only a dream #and can never actually happen as long as people exist #how foolish he was #how valiant #and how terrible for he damned people for this dream like Arthur and John and Molly and so many others #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #john marston #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #red dead redemption #character analysis #story analysis

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slay00ryu · 18 days ago

Note

Reader x Ronin, alternate ‘good’ ending where instead of kissing or stabbing Ronin the reader decides to stab themself as a form of dedication to Ronin? He said he wanted a body, and they were more than willing for him to get their heart (literally)

I fear this may be too dark, so please ignore it if you don’t feel comfortable with it ❤️ I understand themes like this can be uncomfortable to write !!

Submitting Your Aorta to The Devil.

☪︎ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

Trigger Warnings

Gore

Blood

Su1c1d3

Spoilers for Ronin ending

Obsession

Ronin™

6 tws? Hah, that's a devilish number...

☪︎ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

This was the day.

The day on which you would meet your beloved Devil. Oh that man who drove you absolutely crazy. The man who made a fool out of you with words alone.

Now here you are, in front of the purgatory, dressed up for that special occasion in your favourite clothes. You put your hand to your heart, the organ was beating so loud, the sound was ringing in your ears.

You took a deep breath to calm you excitement before you stepped into the damned alley. There was gore splattered all over the walls, grafity hidden behind blood and guts, body parts laying on the ground like regular trash. Most people would throw up at such sight, but you my love are far from being like most people, your morality is gone at least most of it.

No normal person would stay in that server and dance with the devil just to end up wrapped around his fingers.

Ronin took his sweet time shaping you into whatever your current form was. He was your muse, but you were his canvas. The canvas he had complete control over...

You didn't have to wait long for him to arrive. You heard the sound of heavy steps from behind and a quiet chuckle, chuckle you know oh so well.

"So we meet!" He said, his voice excited and amused. You turned around and scoffed at his shit-eating grin.

"Always the devil Ronin Beaufort."

"Aren't you a pleasure?" He chuckled at your answer and walked up to you dangerously close. "Gotta say, seein' you in person makes me feel some type of way. An' I wonder how you feel about, well..." He paused and pinned you to the wall.

Mouth close to your ear, hot breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. Oh how beautiful your devilish lover is. You felt the blush creep onto your cheeks, your breath hitching in your throat.

"Do you like me now, darlin'?" His voice dark, full of mystery and fascination, The closure makes the butterflies in your stomach fight to rip it open and fly out of your body in a bloody massacre.

"I do." You replied without any hesitation. Why lie? The devil knows you too well anyway.

"Oh, to speak the truth, the truth, anything but the truth!" Ronin's eyes are full of confidence, and something else, something way darker that is buried deeper, deep enough so unwanted eyes won't see. "Write me a love note, darlin'?" He asked in mocking amusement.

"I know your name , I could end up." Lie. Of course you wouldn't end him. Your lungs are filled with him, your brain can think only of him. You could never call the police on him.

"Hah! Coulda, woulda, shoulda." He started, looking deep into you eyes. "You could end me, you should end me, but would'ja end me?" His whispers filled your ears, caused you to shiver under his gaze.

"..." You didn't answer, didn't have to. It was the devil's speech after all.

"I don't think so! Where are the boys in blue? Why is it jus' us in my favourite gruesome alley? Why is that even after knowing who I am, you still wanna see me?" He paused, moved his mouth closer to your ear. "Some might say you're obsessed, even."

You took a deep calming breath. You couldn't just play his way now, could you?

"Why did you invite me to the server?" You asked in the most collected voice you could get out of your vocal cords.

"I did it for you. You were starving, so i gave you instability. You wanted inspiration, so i became your muse. You wanted love, darlin', so I gave you love. Isn't it everything you ever wanted?" The sound of his voice made your whole body boil. You wanted to do so many things right now. But you needed to listen to him, his words were like some sacred speech that was the most important moment in your entire life.

"I think you always knew. C'mon, why didn't you leave? Call the cops? There were so many... opportunities." Another pause. "If I may... I think you're a little too in love." He sounded like he had the greatest time of his life, just fucking with your head like he always did.

He gave you a new form, a new way of life. Ronin made you feel alive again. Oh but how could you thank him for that? What would satisfy the Devil?

"I told you baby. I'm your little wish fulfilment. I'm what you dream of. Isn't this a story for the ages?" He smirked. "C'mon! Tell me what you want. Do you hate me? Do you love me? Are you gonna kill me? I've got a knife right here. Or are you kissing me, darling? How much do you feel?" These words were what you needed.

Ronin has told you so many times about taking your aorta. He used his threat of slicing your throat open as love confessions. He wanted a body. So why don't you give him what he wants?

You smiled sweetly, innocently even.

You slowly moved you body closer to his, brushing you lips against his. But before Ronin could kiss you back, you snatched the knife away from him and without any second thought you stuck the knife deep into your chest, but far from the heart to avoid the most important muscle.

Ronin backed away in surprise, watching with wide opened eyes as blood splattered around your chest, turning your clothes dark red. He held you by firmly by your waist, shock in his eyes.

"What the hell Y/N?" He asked, voice shaken.

"You wanted a body Ronin, so I am offering my own as a proof of how crazy I am for you. Claim my aorta, steal it while I am still conscious." You had to take deep breaths, mixed with coughs while you spoke.

Ronin's expression was a mix of shock, love, fascination and a small amount of despair.

He chuckled darkly and kissed you hungrily, after all it was the last kiss you will ever share.

"Your wish is my command, darlin'. I will claim your aorta, steal it beating and hot." He whispered against your lips and you could feel him cutting you deeper with the knife, making it easier for him to take what was being gifted to him as a form of sacrifice for his love,

As your mind was somewhere between reality and death you could feel Ronin's skilled hands move inside of your chest, the sound of breaking bone and tore flesh was like the finest song for your sick romance. Ronin's hands were stained with your blood, it looked like every piece of your body wanted to be connected to Ronin to leave a stain on him forever.

Before you took your final breath and Ronin took what he wanted from the depths of your chest, he placed a kiss to your forehead and whispered against your hair.

"Thank you for this wonderful gift, my twisted fallen angel." And with that your heart was kept safe between the devil's fingers, where it was from the very beginning and your lifeless body was gently laid down in the centre of the purgatory.

Oh, what a beautiful love declaration it was.

#killer chat #killer chat ronin #gender neutral reader #cw: gore #tw blood

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robin-evry · 2 months ago

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𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐔!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❄️🌙

Former Sword Champion of the Luofu, and the creator of the Cloud Knights' legends of undefeated might. Now, her name has been wiped from the records, and she is a traitor of the Xianzhou walking on the fine line between sanity and mara-struck.

< part 1 > < Part 2 >

( English is not my first language )

After managing to bypass the nation of eternity storm, the ship is docked at ritou and the sailors are taking care of matters of getting the cargo into the city.

During this moment, it was already night and everyone was already asleep and only a few soldiers were active and yet they still lack concentration.

Jingliu!reader uses this opportunity to sneak into the city, They steal laundry from one of the houses in ritou and endow themselves in it as well by wearing a straw hat to cover their face.

During sunrise, they stroll the inazuma city, it was peaceful and beautiful. This aching feeling of bloodshed, their mara is acting up again.

They made their way out of the city, not before bumping into certain blonde housekeepers of the kamisato clan. Before he could react, the person was already a few miles away from where they bumped into him. He realizes some of his clothes have some ice crystals in it.

On the coast of a beach, jingliu!reader is standing trying to meditate to keep themselves sane before her mara takes place, multiple nobushi approach them.

Nobushi : HEY YOU.

Jingliu!reader : ...

Nobushi :ARE YOU DEAF, WE WERE TALKING TO YOU-

Jingliu!reader : QUITE....

A burst of cryo burst out the ground sending smoke and shards of ice circle around them and when the smoke cleared all of the nobushi had been frozen completely.

"so loud" jingliu!reader soon leaves the area not until stealing the money of the nobushi for themselves. as well the now corpse of the frozen nobushi falls down, revealing they're inside have been frozen completely.

Behind a bush, thoma was watching the entire scene unfold, he knows that random stranger wasn't some normal ronin, so he got a hunch to follow them

Suddenly he noticed someone looking at him, the ronin was looking straight at him and continued walking their path leaving a trail of icy foot prints.

Jingliu!reader rented a room in an inn for the past few days using the money they stole from the ronin. It was by far a small room with only a futon and coffee table plus lamp but it could work. They sit in the middle of the room and started to meditate.

Suddenly they send an ice dagger towards the paper door and it pierce someone, they open the door and reveal a shuutmasuban spying on them.

Later on, in the kamisato residents, a commotion happened and the clan head and his sibling have to get out and see what happens. Jingliu!reader standing in the courtyard with the shuutmasuban that was spying on them, they throw the body of the ninja towards the stair and then look at ayato.

Jingliu! reader : you know, it's rude to spy on people

Ayato : my apologies, it was just a procedure to make sure you're not a threat.

Jingliu!reader : *look at thoma* so you're the one that ratted me to your masyer

Ayato : it was just a procedure we usually do to make this city stay safe

Jingliu!reader : hmm, are you afraid I might kill you people. You have more love for your people than your own god.

Ayato : if that may be the case, I guess I have no choice but to eliminate you before you forward your plan of massacre

Multiple shutmasuban appear and point their blade on their neck

Jingliu!reader : hmm you got guts, but you don't need to worry about me... I'm not planning on staying at your nation for long.

Jingliu!reader Walk away from the estate

After that confrontation, no more of the shuutmasuban is spying on them.

Usually sometimes at night jingliu!reader would go out to hunt for monsters or some criminals. On one particular night the corpse of a hundreds frozen of rift hounds are laying on the ground with slashes in their body as well being paled by spikes of ice, the ground they're standing on is completely frozen as well the atmosphere around them amidst a cold mist. And jingliu!reader standing there and holding a sword made out of ice.

Suddenly a young man started to walk over the corpse of the rift hounds as well walk past the icy mist without getting frozen as well clapping their hands.

This man is exceptionally beautiful like a doll,His attire consists of black shorts and black sandals, and a large hat with four upwards-curving hooks along the circumference, and what seems to be his mask on the center. he stops Infront and looks at them

Scaramouche : I presume you're the person that helps you in their fight against osial correct.

Jingliu!reader : that's correct...

Scaramouche : you're much stronger than you look, originally when you landed on inazuma I've been following you, I originally presumed you were blind until I realized your movements. You're not blind are you

Jingliu!reader : I have never claimed I was blind

Scaramouche : you wild the power of ice Without wielding a vision, your swordsmanship is fast, swift, unpredictable and powerful. Even tho you hide yourself under this reserve and weak person, I realized that you're pretty sadistic.

Jingliu!reader : .... What do you want with me

Scaramouche : how about you meet our majesty, the Archon of Snezhnaya.

Jingliu!reader : ...

#genhsin impact #genshin crossover #genshin headcanons #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai posting #jingliu!reader

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distortionbobble · 1 year ago

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Royal Flowers Chapter 6

series masterlist

prev | next

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! none this chapter but the series will have eventual smut, canon-level violence and just general warnings.

a/n: last update until sept 8th, hope y'all enjoy <33 would appreciate your comments and reblogs, because that’s what really motivates me to keep writing . thanks for reading!

Anakin’s back to ignoring you. You’ve been doing the basic training on your own— pushups and the like to maintain your strength, but the silence from him as the week passes on is both uncomfortable and cutting. It’s unlike the first time you had gone silent on one another— that was shy and awkward, while this is borne of a fury that Anakin holds for you. He holds you responsible for the massacre that’s yet to come, and believes that you aren’t doing all that you can do.

Oh, well. It doesn’t matter to you— at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself each night as he sits there, seething next to you in the darkness of your room. It doesn’t matter if he’s angry. It’s for the good of the galaxy. The lives of a few to save the many.

The plans and formations are all mapped out in your head, using the skill that you’ve acquired over the years to swiftly internalize all information at a moment’s notice. You can’t write it down, save the paper trail be held against you in the future either by Separatists or the governing body of Naboo. It feels like you’re walking on a razor’s edge, and your appetite has waned thanks to your growing nausea. You’ve been a spy for years now, so long that espionage feels more comfortable than breathing, but this? This is different. This has real consequences, ones that will be all your fault. You wish there was a way out of this.

Dawn of the massacre, you wake up to the first rays of light and sit up, woken from a terrible dream in which your hands had been dripping blood. You sit and stare at your palms, trying to convince yourself that it’s not your fault, that it won’t be on your hands. You have to stifle your tears, nausea and anxiety making you restless. You’re so distraught that you don’t see Anakin isn’t laying next to you, oblivious to the fact until the soft click of the door makes you look up sharply. He’s holding a tray of food in his hand, the sharpness of his face from the days prior faded to a soft look of resignation.

“C’mon, milady,” He murmurs, sliding the tray of food in front of you. It’s something basic, making you suspect that he’d gone to the kitchens and found nobody there, and had thus arranged the food himself. “You haven’t been eating right, and just now, it seemed like you were having a nightmare.” You thank him but don’t move to eat it, still trying to regulate your breathing. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know,” Anakin tries to persuade you.

“It is, Anakin,” You gasp, clutching at the sheets as sweat rolls down your body. The anxiety that you’ve suppressed for the past week rears its ugly head, sitting heavy on your chest and forcing you to take shallow breaths. “It is too late. If I interfere, it won’t be just the people that die— because I promise you, they’ll die regardless of what I do— it’ll be me and you up next for execution. I can’t get out of this. There will be blood on my hands,” You whimper, still looking at your hands. For a moment, you wish you could undo it all. Go back all those years and say no to Padme when she asked you to spy within the court. Say no to spying, to putting yourself in this position where you couldn’t do the right thing. Why did it need to be you who makes the tough choices? Why do your hands have to be the ones stained with innocent blood?

Anakin watches you as a shudder tears through your spine and you choke, still fixated on your hands until he grabs your chin and turns your focus to him.

“Hey, eyes on me,” He says. Distantly, you realize that you don’t think you’ve ever felt this kind of gentleness from him before. “I know. I know what you’re feeling, what you’re going through. I don’t agree with how you handled it but,” he swallows roughly, scanning your stiff form, and sits down on the bed, soothingly stroking your arm to ground you. “It’s not your fault. It’s not. If this is what needs to happen, then I trust you. There is no blood on your hands; like you said, the Separatists will kill them with or without your support.” You don’t know how much of his words he actually means but it calms you down, just enough for your body to relax and for your breathing to return to normal. He watches you carefully, and you know he’s thinking, analyzing the situation, before he sighs and stands up.

“It’s soon, isn’t it?” He asks gravely. You nod, picking at the food on the plate as your thoughts swarm you. “Eat,” He says as gently as he can. “You’ll need strength for today.”

~~~

It’s far enough from you that the palace goes on relatively unaffected by the battle. While it’s not a commonplace occurrence, this kind of violence from Separatists isn’t exactly new. But the level of violence, the speed and weaponry that they used today, that is new.

A messenger arrives at the palace on a beat-up speeder, panting and holding a blood-soaked piece of cloth to his abdomen as he stands before the Council in the chambers. “There’s too many,” he gasps. “We need reinforcements.” You nod carefully, knowing all the while that there’s nothing you can do.

“Get this man medical attention,” you call to the palace guards, who quickly usher him away. You catch Reyna’s eyes briefly, her stony face spiking alarm in you as you try to reflect compliance to the Sith mission. You clear your throat as you make eye contact with the startled ministers.

“Send in our fleet from the west side, in from the valley of the Gallo Mountains. We’ll catch them with the element of surprise,” you order.

“But milady, the valley seems to me a rather unstrategic position,” one minister protests. You nod again, aware that this is something they would have noticed.

“Nowhere else would give any sort of strategic advantage. They’ve formed a full circle atop the hills, with only a small gap between Deej’a peak and the nearby Darkwalker’s cave. If we attack from anywhere else, not only do we lose strategic advantage and the element of surprise, their forces will quickly surround us, trapping a bubble with no way out.” You speak quickly but forcefully, and the authority in your voice snaps your subordinates into action. But still, you can’t let this all fall on your head when the battle is done.

“I simply don’t see another way of proceeding,” you sigh, quickly forming a rebuttal in your head as you wait for the ministers to bring up any other points.

“You’re right, milady. There’s no other way to proceed,” the same minister responds, nodding.

“I’ll call for the Republic to send reinforcements. They’ll save us,” you sigh, rubbing your temple as a headache brews. You know damn well it won’t save them. They’re trying to rub it in, show just how weak the Republic is and bring Naboo to its knees. You don’t totally understand the motive, but then again, with the Separatists there isn’t always a clear motive. It seems to you that they almost do it just for the sake of sowing chaos.

You just have to get through today, you assure yourself.

The palace is quickly swept up in action, people waiting with bated breath for the transmission from the troops as they send update after update. You almost can’t listen, heart in your throat as they enter the valley. It’s a death trap, because the Separatists know where they are under the tree cover.

Anakin once told you about the soldier’s minute. How, when in battle, a minute that would seem miniscule in the grand scheme of things becomes the most important determinant of life and death. The soldier’s minute confronts you now, whispers in your ear to do something and save those poor souls. You’re enclosed by your ugly decisions, and the cage that they’ve formed seems to be tightening around you. You could intervene, jump in and give them that extra minute, and the thought almost spreads to your limbs to take root before you make eye contact with Reyna. The mere sight of her threatening face is enough to give you pause.

And then the soldier’s minute is over. Comms channels are flooded with the holos of panicked soldiers, each reporting news of a series of blasts that had wiped out the leaders of the charge. Agonized screams and the sound of pure panic fills the room, and the leaders sit in solemnity and horror as you watch it unfold in real time.

Anakin. I need Anakin, he can fix this. But he’s not here, is he? You bite your knuckle as you try to suppress your tears.

“They could see them,” you eke out, remembering your position in this massacre. You force a shocked expression but the guilt comes naturally. You knew some of those soldiers. Some of them were young. And you killed them.

You meet Reyna’s eyes again, and while distrust still lingers in her eyes, she nods in mild approval.

You’ve stained your conscience forever, all for the mild approval of the Separatists. The reality of the situation makes you want to laugh, despite there being no humor in the situation.

“Call the Gungans. Call the Republic again,” you command, nails digging into your palms as you blink away tears. Maintain your facade of control.

“Milady, the Gungans will not get involved in this battle, as they fear risking too many of their own army. We’ve called the Republic, but it… they’re not coming, Milady. No one is coming,” the kingdom’s commander in chief says, resigned.

The room is bathed in a stiff, uncomfortable silence. It’s as though the ghosts of your dead soldiers are in the room, packing it in, suffocating you as you watch the massacre unfold until the last commlink has been lost. The ministers leave, one by one, until it’s just you and Reyna in the room. You’re filled with dread at the thought of talking to her, borne of the awkwardness and her threat from earlier to both you and Anakin.

“I still do not trust you,” Reyna hisses from the corner of the room. You can’t hold back your reaction— the emotional toll that your actions today took on you have wiped clean your composure and ability to rise above her instigating.

“I couldn’t give less of a damn if you trust me or not, Reyna. But frankly, I do wonder why it matters to you so much? Each Separatist is here because we believe in a cause. You, however, have an obsession that seems like it drives you to total madness. Distrusting me, the person who was put in the position to complete this mission, seems like a rather miserable way of living, my lady Reyna,” You snap. You hold her in your gaze as she blinks, affronted, her body snapping away from you in shock.

“I care because unlike you, my queen, Naboo has stolen from me. I have reason to care, reason to give my life to this cause. Naboo took my family away from me. After the Raxus address, many years ago, my uncle and father voiced their support of Count Dooku. Publicly. And for that, they were punished.” Reyna’s voice wavers, her bottom lip wobbles, but it’s all so practiced that you know she’s bluffing.

“You lie.” A glint forms in her eye when you call out the falsehood, smiling broadly as she moves to exit the room.

“Maybe I do, milady, or maybe I don’t— again, I don’t trust you, so what does it matter?” Reyna winks at you almost playfully before she disappears into the hallway, leaving you alone with your guilt and sorrow.

It’s almost worse.

~~~

The conversation between you and Anakin is stifled that night. He doesn’t even bother putting up the Noise-Dampening Bubble like he does every night, talking to you coolly as if the massacre hadn’t happened just hours before. His nonchalance shocks you, the way it sounds as though he truly doesn’t care about what happened. It doesn’t fit the Anakin you know, and you’re thoroughly confused but ready to put it all behind you as you lay down.

Dreams pull you under— shadowy, cool darkness and the vague feeling of guilt follows you as you journey into your subconscious. You find yourself in the blurred dreamscape staring at the faces of the soldiers you knew and sent to their deaths, a blaster in your arms as they stare at you, seemingly trapped behind a pane of glass. Your arm raises of its own accord and fires into the glass, raining shards in the space between you and the soldiers. Once, twice, thrice you fire at them and they each fold like the train of your skirts, bones snapping and flesh mangling in order to crudely resemble the softness of your luxurious regal dresses. Horror fills you as you stare at the bodies and you wake up with a start, gasping and clutching the sheets as you instinctively seek for Anakin in your fear. He’s already awake, moving about in the shadows of the room before he lifts his hands up, presumably setting up a bubble so you can converse freely. He turns to you, tossing a cloak at the bed before donning his own cloak.

“Get dressed, quickly,” He hisses at you, pacing over to the window and unlatching it as you fumble to get it over your arms and slide out of the bed clumsily.

“What’s going on?” You ask, your voice raspy from the rapidly-fading daze of sleep.

“Don’t ask questions, and just come here. Quickly, we don’t have much time,” he responds, climbing onto the railing of the balcony and holding his hand out to you.

“Anakin, we’ll fall!” You whisper back.

“Forget all that. Do you trust me?” He asks, gentler this time as you take his hand and nod. Then he pulls you over to him and hurtles the both of you towards the ground. You gasp sharply as the wind rushes around you— you knew he was mad at you, but killing you seems excessive! The howl of the air around you slowly quiets as he catches your descent, hovering the both of you above the ground gently before he lowers you completely, taking your hand and running to the armory before you even have the chance to recover.

The lights are off when you enter, with no personnel as you’d given them all the rest of the night off to recover from the ordeal that the Separatists had put you through. After all, you knew that they weren’t exactly planning anything else. Anakin guides you to a Skyflipper— you recognize its design to be the same craft that he’d taken you on your date so many moons ago, and the nostalgia twists your lips into a wistful smile. That day, the two of you had flown and it had been a happy occasion, very different from the situation that you’d found yourself in now.

Despite the silence between you as Anakin sets up the Skyflipper without explanation, you’re glad you’re with him. You’ve been a little bit lost without him. He doesn’t look back at you as he sets off, making sure the sound of the craft was as silent as possible before sending the two of you sailing over the green terrain of Naboo.

You don’t say anything, just allowing yourself to be by him as night closes around you. The terrors of yesterday feel distant and faint when he’s next to you, which is an altogether different terror that you don’t want to unpack quite yet. No, you just want to enjoy being next to him for now. Makes your mind go quiet.

“We’re here,” Anakin says grimly as he lands the Skyflipper. The trees that spread over the glass paneling make you acutely aware that you are in the valley, right where you had ordered the soldiers to enter.

“Anakin…” You murmur, your throat dry. He doesn’t listen, barrelling past you to open the ramp and step into the wilderness. You have no choice but to follow him, unease rolling in your stomach as he walks ahead.

“You have to understand, milady,” He urges, standing in front of the fallen as he turns to you. “I have a duty as a soldier to stop this.”

“I don’t see how I can,” You whisper, your gaze falling upon the bodies of your people.

“You don’t have to know how,” He responds quietly, moving towards you and for a second it seems like he was going to comfort you somehow before he stops, squeezing his hands awkwardly. “You just have to try.”

“But what’s the point?” You ask. “If I try to stop them, they’ll find out and they’ll kill the both of us.”

“We just have to make sure they don’t find out. Milady, look at me,” he commands you softly, taking your hand in his. “That could have been me.” You exhale harshly at his words but you know he’s right— you have to shed your fear of being caught and prevent as much harm as you can, but you’re also going to have to stay without suspicion. You need to do both.

“We’ll figure it out,” you affirm, rubbing the bridge of your nose with your finger. “Never again will this happen, Anakin.”

“We’re in this together, milady,” Anakin says. “So what do we do now?”

“Call General Kenobi,” you order. “We’re gonna need some reinforcements.”

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sequenceshift-blog · 5 months ago

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SequenceShift Starlo

It's been a while since I've put out anything for SequenceShift. So, I decided to start rambling about my depictions of Undertale Yellow characters in my AU. I decided to go with Starlo, mainly due to @profounddefendorcrusade-blog and their posts about him.

So, what's the deal with Starlo in SequenceShift?

Sorry for a lack of pictures btw.

Well, like UTY Starlo, he was childhood friends with Ceroba and the Sheriff of the Wild East. For a time, he was pretty much almost entirely identical to how he is in vanilla UTY.

Until the massacre of the Wild East.

Basically, a Renegade human (NOT one of the six souls) made their way underground, falling into the Barrens, and started laying waste to the Wild East. Almost half of its inhabitants were killed and Starlo cracked under the pressure, with Dina being the one who brought down the assailant.

This basically mentally broke him. He had believed in Western culture without any of its actual drawbacks, only to have to come to terms with the harsh realities of lawbringing. Now many of his friends were gone and the community he worked so hard to build was shattered. However, he eventually started to take this as a learning experience into becoming an actually responsible and competent lawbringer. He swore himself into Ceroba's service, trained to become a deadly combatant, and was eventually made Chief of the newly formed Royal Rangers. Rather than just pretending to be badass, he genuinely became badass with the goal of making sure nothing like the Wild East Massacre happens ever again.

Unfortunately, this came with its own flaws.

He and the Feisty Four started to grow distant from one another, despite them being core members of the Rangers. This was a mix of trauma and their new jobs. Eventually they started seeing each other less as friends and more as coworkers, with only Moray and Mooch truly sticking together. This didn't really help Starlo, who devoted himself even more to Ceroba.

At his core, he's still the same kind-hearted, dorky farmboy who's looking out for his friends and community, which ties into his main motivation. He wants to make Ceroba, his best friend, happy again. However, he is willing to go to drastic measures to accomplish that, even if he knows it's wrong.

On a Pacifist/Light Neutral run, he still shows off that cowboy persona of his. He still wears his poncho and sheriff's badge over his Ranger uniform and holds a lot of the same demeanor, even if it's not as prominent. It's used as a coping mechanism (with him still yearning for that escapist Western fantasy he was living out) and to help cheer up those around him. He keeps up this persona, hoping to be able to willingly bring Clover to Ceroba. He only drops it at the end of the Barrens, where he (reluctantly) attacks Clover after they show that they aren't going to just go with him.

However, cracks start to show in his persona the more monsters Clover kills. He starts simply being passive aggressive, but the more ruthless a neutral run is, the more hostile he becomes, showing more of that darker anti-hero side. Should go without saying, but it becomes especially apparent if Clover kills any of the Feisty Four. This reaches its lowest point in the Vengeance/No Mercy route, where straight up ditches the poncho and badge, instead wearing his Ranger uniform on full display, showing that he's fully embraced his role as a ruthless lawbringer.

However, on a Pacifist run, he can be convinced to see the error of his ways. His version of Undyne's Friendship interactions has Clover and Dina bringing the Feisty Five back together, which definitely improves Starlo's morale and mental state. This eventually leads him to take a stand against Ceroba, not because he's disillusioned with her. Rather it's because he still cares for her as a friend (no matter how much wrong she's done) and knows that by continuing to collect human souls for Project Integrity, she's only digging herself into a bigger hole.

Tl;dr: Starlo in SequenceShift has the same cowboy persona, but hides a more ruthless antihero side beneath that. However, even that's a mask for the same kind-hearted, dorky farmer who just wants to make his best friend happy.

Thanks for indulging in my ramblings. It's good to be talking about my AU again. If you wanna hear more about any of the other characters (or if I missed something about Starlo), feel free to hit me up!

#undertale #undertale yellow #undertale au #undertale yellow au #undertale sequenceshift au #uty starlo #the feisty five #ramblings

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wayfayrr · 6 months ago

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The Menace Anon understands so you chose "Guard" and I open the curtains to our star.

Here we got the Courage!Reader and I don't know shit about the series, except for the "Excuuusee me, princess" meme. So I apologize for that. I hope you have as much fun as I have writing this.

Courage!Reader isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but they are strong.

Their Sword the Crissword, I had to look for it, I never saw the cartoon.

Other Nickname than Courage, Guard.

Reader will definitely get asked to have an arm wrestling match against Twilight. It ended with a tie as the table split into two.

Courage!Reader is annoying the shit out of Legend.

„Excuuusee me, Veteran!“

It's just a theory about the series as they only have the Triforce of Wisdom and Power. Reader has Courage since birth.

Stamina Monster, fought a Lynel and tackled the second one immediately.

Can fight with a sword, but used their fists more.

They pick up Time like it's not a big deal.

Please never let them in a group with Legend

Courage and Warriors scheme to give Legend blood pressure problems, not intentionally, maybe.

Wind loves how far they can throw him into the air, he feels like a little child like that.

Has definitely thrown Wind and Four into the water like they do stone skipping. Wind had 3 skips, Four even 5 skips.

Gets every information they want with flirting to boys and girls.

Their Song is "I've gotta Feeling" from Black Eyed Peas.

Now how they met.

Warriors' PoV:

We landed into a Hyrule nobody of us recognise again. We were near a village, we could see smoke rising in the distance. So we walked to the smoke to gather some information about the shadow, but we stopped as we heard a fight. The old man ordered us to the spot and as we arrived we found a hylian fighting with nothing but their fists against a monster army. They won. We looked at them astounded as they rolled their shoulders before getting a fairy out of a cage.

„Sprite, are you okay?“

The fairy named "Sprite" tackled her saviour with a bright smile.

„Of course! If my hero's saves me how can I be not okay?!“

The hylian laughed awkwardly and nodded.

„That's good, now come on! We have to go back!“

The fairy give the person a kiss on their cheeks, before sitting down on their shoulder. They started to run to the direction, where the smoke was. We stood there letting it all sink in.

„What the fuck!? Were they even hylian?! Look at this massacre!?“ Legend pointed at the dead monsters laying on the floor and bleeding profusely.

„That even were blackblooded monsters... If a civilian is that strong in this Hyrule, then how strong is the hero?“ Time talked to himself thinkingly.

We all stood there for good three minutes, before walking to the village, where the hylian ran to. On our way there we saw so many dead monsters. In one of them was a broken sword, well one part of it the other stucked inside another monster. It was obvious, that they were longer dead than the one before, so this person killed them on their way to the camp and they were all blackblooded.

As we arrived the village, well actually it was Hyrule Castle Town, and walked in. The guards greeted us politely. We walked further into the buzzing town and saw a crowd around a single person, the villagers were obviously flirting with the one in the middle, who seemed to like the attention until.

„READER!! WHERE WERE YOU!?“ a blonde girl screamed out and the hylian in the middle of the crowd.

„Well, excuuusee me, princess. But someone has to save Sprite from the monsters around Hyrule. I can't be at your every beck and call. I'm the hero after all, I'm always busy. Especially with all of Ganon's minions running around like crazy.“ they shrugged their shoulders and looked very carefree in my opinion.

„They have to be great confidence in themself or are a complete idiot.“ I muttered under my breath but the Vet heard me and answered.

„Or both“

Wind snorted at that and Time spoke up.

„Be quiet boys.“

Our leader walked towards the bickering couple and began to speak again.

„Excuse me, but did we hear correctly that you are the hero of Hyrule?“

The two stopped immediately and before the hylian could answer their fairy spoke up.

„Of course they are! They beaten Ganon multiple times and defended Hyrule like it's not a problem! So who are you?!“ The so-called hero gently grabbed the fairy and sat her forcefully on their shoulder.

„That's right! I'm the hero, Reader. Nice to meet'cha!“ they winked and gave a salut with two fingers grinning widely.

Legend behind me sighed and mumbled.

„Great another Warriors, exactly what Hyrule needed.“

I wanted to say something but the new hero was one step ahead of me.

„Well, excuuusee me! But I can't be another "Warriors" as I'm Reader the Hero of Courage! So please be so kind and shut up.“

I could see a beautiful friendship between me and them. So I swopped in and started to talk to the Hero of Courage.

„Well, Reader. I'm Warriors and our leader, the one wo asked you is Time, we'd like to talk to you.“ I grinned and he grinned back.

„Well... well... well... Why would you want to talk to little ol' me? I normally get asked 100 times the minute to do something, so what do you want, pretty boy?“ They flirted which caused me to laugh at their honeyed words.

„Well, let's start about that we call each other by nicknames as we all have the name "Link" like mine is Warriors and grumpy behind me is Legend...“

„Grumpy would be understatement, he looked like he hate everything that lives and breathes and probably some issues too. He kinda reminds me of a pissed rabbit“ I tried not to laugh as Twilight held Legend back.

„Well yeah, something like that. We would ask you to join us.“

„Can I ask why you need my help?“ they didn't lose this smirk, which made Legend even madder.

„We're chasing something and something that Wars didn't mentioned is, that we all are heros. Legend is the Hero of Legends, Wars the Hero of Warriors and I'm the Hero of Time.“ Time intervened and the hero before us began to think.

„Pass.“

„What!?“ Said Zelda beside them. „Why would you say no!! They need you!! Come on, Reader!!“

„Because I wouldn't be able to see you pretty face anymore, princess! I thought, that was obvious.“ They said that in a matter-of-fact tone, before laughing wholeheartedly.

Sky looked at them with fondness or at their interactions and the princess turned around and walked away with a beetred face.

„You Go With Them! This is an order, Reader.“

„Okay okay, I will go with them... But can you take care of Sprite? I don't want her to come with me.“

„Good!“ with that the princess grabbed the fairy and ran away, meanwhile the knight laughed.

„I would've go with them even without the order.“

„Then why did you did you declined?“ asked Hyrule and Courage just turned to us with a sad smile.

„Because this would be the last time I would tease her for a long time...“ and with that they came with us. They lighten up the mood, nevermind the circumstances and got more information out of the villagers inside a tavern in two hours then we ever could in one day. Legend and Reader warmed up a little bit. Courage still annoyes the Vet to hell and back, but it's now more like a friendly, flirty for Courage's case, bickering.

This is how they met and how Courage!Reader joined the group. Warriors are probably their partner in crime until the Chain turned Yandere. Than they try to give Reader the easy life they deserve, after all they are the only "Link" who fought Ganon more then one time. Four is gonna steal their sword to study it and maintain it, even after he became Yandere as Four wanted to fight with them in battle. Courage proves their salt continuously with every battle to come, they don't care if they steal their sword, again they have their fists. Twilight definitely tries to beat them at arm wrestling to show Reader that they need him and his protection. Legend and them are bickering all the time, especially if Reader flirted with someone other than him... again. Wild cooks with them, they only can make simple dishes so Wild is happy to teach them more recipes. Time is also protective and always puts Courage behind him, even if they just lift him out of their way, he will do it again. Sky is going to smother them. They fight Ganon multiple times, after my research. So that means that Reader should know everything about him, if they weren't so stupid! Sky always blames everyone else but Reader like a Karen Mom. Wind is all over them as Courage is strong and their power of endurance is no joke either. He wants to be carried by them or thrown in the Skies or in lakes. Here are your new words.

Scam

Trauma

Unknown

Sacrifice

Lorule

Actor

So the Menace will return! And now give the god damn sword back, Wind!!

I don't blame you for not watching the show - it's pretty bad - a fun watch if you're just looking for something that doesn't take itself seriously though.

this reader sounds a lot better than courage himself is though!! and AUGH reader punching monsters to death has me blushing !! wars has taste getting close to them first before the rest of the chain do, I wonder if he uses that to his advantage when the rest all start falling harder because I could completely see him pulling cards like "oh I trusted you from the start and supported you don't you prefer me" or even just rubbing how he's closer to them into their faces

four just nabbing their sword between battles makes me chuckle too, like SURE he's kinda messing them up if not for them also being a brawler but he just wants to see how he could make them a better sword! can you really blame them?

also I don't make the rules but wind is their little brother now. he feels like he can be a kid around them and not keep up his hero face, he's safe around them - he just wishes he could get granny and aryll to meet them (how many skips could aryll get I wonder?)

sky being like an overbearing mum is also great, he's a gremlin at heart but it takes a step back around the worse gremlins <3

as for the next word? hmmmmm how about trauma for this one?

#legend with blood pressure problems?#when he watches guard and warriors making out for certain #tell me yan wars WOULDN'T suggest it to rile legend up #link!reader #guard #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #yandere link #linked universe #moss✦answers #the menace anon

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kanansdume · 8 months ago

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I've got a lot of complicated feelings on Jude Watson's writing in Star Wars, both positive and negative, but occasionally something she writes just... hits. And this quote? This fucking HITS.

This is from Secrets of the Jedi, the novel that discusses Siri and Obi-Wan's romantic relationship that has now been de-canonized. This particular scene is after their relationship has been discovered and they're breaking up in order to remain Jedi because they've been told they cannot do both.

But the line that hits me the most is Siri saying "I was so afraid of what lay ahead that I wanted to let go of my own will" because... WOW. Wow is that Star Wars to its core. That is literally EXACTLY what Anakin and Padme do in their own relationship, Anakin in particular. It's his FEAR of the future, even one that might not even happen, that causes him to let go of his own will and do things he KNOWS are wrong just to try to prevent it. Padme ignores a lot of her own boundaries and morals and better judgment in order to be in a relationship with Anakin. She lets go of the fact that Anakin makes her uncomfortable, she lets go of the fact that Anakin straight-up claims he's a fascist, she lets go of Anakin massacring the Tuskens. If we take TCW into account, then she also lets go of Anakin's possessiveness and sexist demands as well as the fact that he SCARES her sometimes and nearly beats a man to death in order to punish her for what he believed to be a lack of fidelity on her part. She lets go of a LOT of her own will in order to love Anakin.

And Siri asks the question afterwards, is that what love is? Obi-Wan doesn't have a response, but I think the novel does have a stance on the issue. It's a little muddied by a lack of understanding of what attachment is, but I think the answer within Star Wars itself is that this ISN'T what love is. This is what love can LEAD to if you allow it to do so, and it's not an uncommon thing to happen, but this isn't actually love itself. This is what ATTACHMENT is. This is the precise definition of attachment, this fear of what MIGHT happen to something that makes you feel good that it causes you to give up your own will in order to keep it and avoid the feeling of loss. But love is selfless, love is compassion, love is about letting go of your own desires in order to prioritize someone else's happiness.

And within this exact same novel, we actually see a perfect example of this kind of love, showcased through Qui-Gon and the way he feels about Obi-Wan. They're separated partway through the story and Qui-Gon is constantly thinking about how much he misses Obi-Wan and wishes Obi-Wan were with him, but he's capable of recognizing that their mission could save many lives from being lost and that's more important than his desire to be with someone he cares about. There's a moment where Qui-Gon discovers that Obi-Wan is in some kind of danger and he has to choose between trying to rescue Obi-Wan or continuing on with his mission, he CANNOT do both. In his thoughts, he recognizes that losing Obi-Wan would be devastatingly painful, equally as painful as losing Tahl had been, but he still chooses to continue with the mission because there are TWENTY lives on the line and his love for Obi-Wan cannot cost those twenty people their lives. THIS is what love looks like, THIS is genuine selfless compassion for another person. And nothing in the novel ever condemns Qui-Gon for how he feels about Obi-Wan or indicates that he needs to change or end his relationship with Obi-Wan, but it also doesn't shy away from showing just how deeply Qui-Gon DOES care for Obi-Wan.

And while I can believe Siri and Obi-Wan's feelings for each other were genuine, it turns into a selfish attachment VERY quickly. They nearly immediately decide to start living a lie and wanting to change an entire culture just so they can have something they want, despite the fact that Siri at least says that these rules exist for a reason. Their personal happiness becomes more important than anything else momentarily. They both claim that they'll be able to do their duty still, that they'll be able to balance both, but they're also both very ready to deceive other people who care about them in order to keep this thing that makes them feel good. The hurt they are willing to cause to others is small, but it's also something that could continue to grow and snowball into something more and more selfish. What happens when they can't see each other for a really long time and start to get desperate to find a way to be together? What happens when the lies start piling up and cause misunderstandings in their other relationships? The more they cling to each other, the more willing they will be to do the next selfish thing until eventually those selfish choices stop being so small.

This is what attachment does, this is the danger of that kind of love. It's not that all love is always like this, but just that this is an incredibly common thing to happen, especially in romantic relationships. Siri and Obi-Wan literally get to the point of losing their sense of self and their own will INCREDIBLY quickly because neither of them wants to have to make a choice because they're too afraid of losing either their relationship OR their status as Jedi. But, inevitably, they HAVE to choose. They would always have had to choose, regardless of how long the lie lasted or whether it was even discovered at all.

But love does not HAVE to be like this. Love does not inevitably steal your sense of self or your willingness to make your own decisions. It is absolutely possible to have a healthy love that does none of those things and this novel 100% shows that. Just because Obi-Wan and Siri's feelings for each other are genuine does not automatically make them selfless or free of attachment. And while I have my issues with this novel and the way it handles this storyline, including the fact that I'm like 85% sure that this isn't the intended message, I really like what it says about what selfish love can do to you and the way it subtly shows what true selfless love can look like.

#star wars #jude watson #secrets of the jedi #obi-wan kenobi #siri tachi #siriwan #attachment #attachment ≠ love

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beepersteeper · 9 months ago

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Bedside Manner -- Astarion x Tav Fluff

Tav yells out for healing from way out of reach. She's been cornered by the enemies with only her sword and wits to keep her alive, and both were wearing very thin. She takes one more blow to her lower stomach and the edges of her vision start to fade to a deep red. She falls, dead weight onto the ground. Unable to keep any part of her crumpled body up.

“Get up!" Shadowheart screams, becoming surrounded by the enemies that just took Tav down. “Someone get her up!"

“Dont you die on me damn you!" Astarion shouts disengaging from his fight and bolting to Tav's side. He saw her breathing shallow labored breaths holding pressure on a gaping wound on her stomach with her hands, now covered in thick blood, almost black with how deep the red is. “Let's not waste anymore blood, hm?" He tries in vain to comfort her with a joke while he opens the largest health potion he has and putting it to her lips. She grabs it and chugs the whole thing. He pushes her hand off the wound and adds a shirt from his pack to the wound applying better pressure than she was. “You need to get out of here. Now." He states without giving her an option to reject. He slaps a scroll of misty step into her hand “NOW!" he shouts.

She does and sets herself well outside of combat, watching her friends finish the fight. Shadowheart and Karlach disappear, Astarion misty steps himself to Tav, ignoring any possible loot there may have been.

Tav tries to lift the makeshift bandage and before she can Astarion forces his hand onto it. “Leave it!" He scolds “you don't take off the bandage until it stops bleeding or we can get that greater restoration scroll. Just keep pressure."

He looks at his hands with her blood slipping between his hands. Where there would usually be hunger in his eyes, desperation and fear sat. No funny quips or sideways comments slip from his tongue. He gives her another bottle for her to drink and adds another shirt to the wound watching it quickly turn crimson. “Fuck” he curses under his breath “where the fuck is that cleric!"

“Must be pretty bad if you're worried about a little blood." She laughs weakly

“A little blood my arse. Have you seen yourself? Besides I thought I was the only one who is supposed to make you bloodless, hm?” He relaxes a bit, feeling better that she's alert, and joking. But mostly that he is sitting with her. Knowing that she's okay right now. "where in the nine hells is Shadowheart!?”

"Give her time,” Tav says, closing her eyes for more than a moment, " she'll get here.”

"Aht aht.” He says tapping her cheek with his hand to open her eyes. "you're going to open those pretty little eyes right now. You gotta stay with me. “ He urges. Shadowheart reappears and uses the scroll and sits back on her heels. And waits for the magic to take effect.

The magic was enough to save Tav from immediate peril but the wound still needs stitched up, still bleeding but so much less. “The closest town is a two days walk, in peak shape. She'll bleed out by then” Shadowheart says, staring at the ground, trying not to consider Tav dying.

"Just get me back and I'll do it myself. I've stitched bigger wounds on fellow soldiers, doing it myself can't be that much harder." She winces as Astarion changes his pressure on her stomach.

“Rubbish." Astarion mutters “I've seen your attempt and mending clothes, you will not massacre your skin any more than it already is.” He slightly lifts the edge of her bandage to peak at the wound, still bleeding but slowed down enough to put on another rag. He tosses the soiled cloth to the side, replacing it with a clean one. "Just get us back. I'll get that closed. I've closed up my siblings' wounds before.”

With a flourish Shadowheart transports the party back to camp and Astarion carries her like the most fragile package to his tent, demanding that she lay down and keep pressure.

“Just… stay there. I'll be back.” He holds up his hands making the stop motion. He leaves the tent, hollering to the other party members for the things he needs “get me a bottle of something to knock her ass out without putting her to sleep. This is going to hurt, but I need her to be alert." coming back soon after with a bottle of whisky and a glass. He fills the glass and puts a length of fishing line and a needle and hands her the bottle. “You're going to want to get real greedy with that. This isn't going to be pleasant. And I'm going to need to get you out of that” he points at her upper body. He holds her body weight as he delicately unties her broken armor and peels the soaked shirt off her frame.

As she laid half dressed she listened, taking a large mouthful, feeling it burn down her throat. “If you wanted me out of my clothes this is a terrible time to ask" she chokes at the burn in her throat. And take another.

“Darling, I've gotten you out of your clothes several times already, this has nothing to do with that." He chuckles, letting himself breathe a little more freely calming his own nerves to steady his hans as he threads the fishing line through a thick needle. She nods at him signaling that she's ready.

He pours clean water into her wound to flush out any debris from and starts stitching her flesh.

“fucksake" Tav winces but stays still clutching at the cloth below her. Trying to take her mind off the throbbing pain she asks “where'd you learn to do this?"

“it's a sappy story" he says “I think I can remember my mother fixing holes in the knees of my pants. When I was turned I vowed to keep some part of her alive." He shrugged “I can't even remember her face anymore, but when I sew something, or someone I suppose in this case, I feel like I almost can remember her. That and the scent of roses." He shrugs and shakes his head, continuing to focus on his patient.

She takes another greedy mouthful, a trail of hot tears cut through the dirt and blood on her face from the hot pain permeating from her stomach.

“I know it's quite a sad story but I'm shocked it's brought you to tears.“ He pokes fun, still diligently tending to her open wound.

“You're stabbing me, repeatedly, asshole." She reminds "but I appreciate you sharing that with me.”

"Stabbing you” he chuckles to himself “You’ll to be fine.” He scoffs "Honestly you're the first person I've ever told, count yourself lucky.”

She tries to smile but a sharp pain rips through her mind "AHH” she hisses loudly rocketing her head back trying to keep center still, and drinks again, several throatfulls. Her mind starts to fall into a drunken haze, lessening the pain in her flesh.

“About halfway there darling." astarion whispers, not pulling his eyes from his work. “Your doing great."

“Thanks for doing this." She says relaxing more into the whisky's embrace. “And thanks for getting me out of there. You really put your own neck on the line for me.”

“You're worth more to me alive than dead Tav." He says with a slight smile creeping at the corners of his mouth “who else would I hang out with on respite days?”

"you'd find someone to deal with you.” she laughs.

“perhaps, but they're not you.” He says trying to joke but unable to hide his sincerity. “I've grown quite fond of you, you know."

“Come off it." Tav says in disbelief “I'm not dying, you don't have to try to make me feel better like this."

“I mean it." He says tying a knot in a stitch “this" gestures to her stomach before continuing his work “just gave me the push to tell you. I forgot that you mortals are so very fragile." He stops for a moment letting his gaze meet hers. “I would be remiss if I had to watch you die and not tell you what you mean to me.”

A bashful smile becomes her lips "I'm not dying anytime soon. You're gonna have to tell me all this again when I'm not getting more drunk by the minute." She takes another drink and trails off into thought “you said I had pretty eyes." She chuckles and winces as he returns to the final stitches.

“I did.” He admits shaking his head and smiling “we’re just about done here. But you're not getting up and moving around to rip these stitches for a while. So think about what you need."

“Something to eat." She sighs “I'm starving."

“It's good that you have an appetite." He says “anything else?" He ties off the last few knots making sure it's secure.

She lays quietly, trying to think through the waves of her intoxication. “Would it be too forward to ask for a kiss?”

"I don't think so.” He smiles, returning his needle to his sewing kit. He leaned over her and placed a quick and tender kiss on her lips tasting hints of whisky on her breath "Even better than I thought it would be” He coos. "Now just stay here, relax. I'll be right back.”

He returns with a bowl of stew in one hand, his chalice of blood in the other, a canteen around his body and a roll of bandages in the crook of his elbow. "You think you can sit?” He asks, setting down all of the goods he's brought with him. After helping her sit he wraps the cloth around her waist several times tying it off with a knot over the wound to add pressure. He sits on a stool crossing his legs next to Tav drinking from his chalice slowly. Urging her to drink some water and eat something “Darling, you've drunk near this entire bottle” he reaches for the whisky bottle and sloshes the remaining quarter of the liquid “and you need to eat something before you pass out."

She obliges, taking small spoonfuls of her supper. “Thanks, Astarion, for everything today.”

“Don't mention it." He waves his hand waving the notion of thanks away “you would have done the same. And who knows with the rate this group is going you very well might have to.” He laughs uncrossing his legs leaning his elbows on his knees with his hands dangling into the space between the two of them. He extends one of his hands for her to take.

She is hesitant at first but places her hand delicately in his. He puts his other hand on hers rubbing her knuckles with his thumb.

“I'm going to be honest, I have no idea what I'm doing." He laughs

"Maybe it's okay, not to know.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“What? Are we just supposed to go about our days as if nothing has changed?”

"what's changed?” She asked with a smirk "were just a couple of friends that hold hands now. Nothings wrong with that."

"that… sounds good to me.“ He smiles “now you need to go lay down and get some rest. You've gotta start healing, it'll be a couple of days till you're really back on your feet." He stands up helping her to her feet. "Let's get you back to your tent.”

She wobbles on her bloodless and drunken legs And falls into him. Astarion catches her and helps her back onto the bedroll below them.

"Looks like you're not going anywhere darling. Just stay here, I'll just sleep outside tonight.”

“Nonsense. I'll just get back to my tent, you're not sleeping outside." Tav argues propping herself up on her elbows and falling back down wincing from pain. Trying in vain to be the strong leader everyone is used to seeing. “Okay, maybe you're right."

“what do you suggest then?” He asks, crossing his arms, unimpressed by her arguing, concerned for her pain.

“Why won't you just stay?" She says plainly, nothing lacing her meaning “besides…” she trails off, worry painting her face "what if I rip my stitches or start getting worse.” She covers her face with her hands

"What's actually wrong?" He asks kneeling down placing his hand on her shoulder, rubbing her skin trying to comfort her.

"I'm scared okay?” She hisses through her tears, speaking frantically. "I've never been hurt this bad. I'm always the one who comes out unscathed. I don't get hurt. And then the one time I am hurt I'm on death's door. I'm scared of when it ultimately hurts more later because I know it will hurt more than it does now, than it did earlier. What if I started bleeding again and couldn't stop it. And no one knew. And I would just…” she starts to weep

Astarion shushes her while sitting next to her leaning on her his footlocker for support and rubs comforting circles on her shoulder “I'm not going to let that happen." He whispers. “I'm not going anywhere. Now get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up.” He grabs his cup and finishes the red liquid in it. “I promise.”

Tav falls asleep pretty quickly, with her hand holding onto the edge of his shirt for comfort, knowing that he's right there.

Astarion reaches into his footlocker and grabs a book to read while he stands vigilant making sure Tav stays well through the night.

#bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 #astarion fluff

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petalsthefish · 2 months ago

Text

How Did It End?

jilytober shuffle song fest day #11 with song "How Did It End" by Taylor Swift. READ ON A03 Yes, this one killed me to write, thanks for asking. I was also devastated that I couldn't fit "my beloved ghost, and me, sitting in a tree, D-Y-I-N-G" into this fic, but rest assured I will find a way to use it before the end of this jilytober

"We hereby conduct this post-mortem," Erica Sanders said, her voice steady as she snapped on her gloves. She cast a quick, sidelong glance at her partner, Frank Longbottom, who stood stiffly beside her. His face had drained of all color, as pale as the lifeless bodies that lay on the ground.

Frank had known the victims in life. Now, those same faces lay frozen in death, and he couldn’t seem to reconcile the sight. His hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles white from the tension that coursed through him like a taut wire ready to snap. "Right," he murmured, his voice barely audible, as if speaking any louder might shatter what little resolve he had left.

Erica hesitated for a moment, her practiced professionalism wavering as she noticed the pain etched across her partner's face. Her eyes softened with concern, a rare crack in her otherwise composed demeanor. "I can call someone else if you'd rather," she whispered, leaning closer, her voice low and comforting. It was an offer of escape, one she rarely made, but Frank's distress was palpable. She had seen him like this only once before—back when they had discovered the massacre at the McKinnon estate. The memory of bodies strewn across the room in grim silence, blood painting the walls, still haunted her. "You don’t have to stay."

Frank shook his head, almost imperceptibly at first, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of his answer. But then he stiffened, resolve hardening despite the overwhelming grief that threatened to consume him. The weight of the moment pressed down on his shoulders, and his breath hitched as he tried to steady himself. His eyes, clouded with sorrow, flickered over the bodies. "He was a reckless kid," Frank muttered, his voice breaking as emotion surged to the surface. "And she... she was my wife’s friend . I can’t believe this. It seemed–they were basically just kids. Damn it!” The final words came out as a strangled curse, his frustration too great to contain any longer.

Without warning, his frustration boiled over. Frank lashed out, kicking a nearby pram with enough force to send it skidding across the hall, the clang echoing in the space. The outburst left him panting, but it did little to ease the turmoil inside him.

Erica’s frown deepened, her heart aching for him in a way that surpassed the professional detachment she was supposed to maintain. “Frank, they were your friends. You shouldn’t have to do this,” she said gently, the words an echo of the sympathy she rarely voiced.

For a long moment, Frank said nothing. He stood there, staring down at the bodies as though willing them to wake up, to tell him this was all some terrible mistake. But the silence stretched on, heavy and absolute. He swallowed hard, his head bowing under the weight of grief. "Confirm it, Erica," he said, his voice raw, barely above a whisper. "Just... confirm their deaths."

Kneeling beside the male body, Erica’s gloved fingers hovered over his cold neck, hesitating for just a moment before making contact. The chill of his skin seeped through the latex. In that brief touch, she felt it—an abrupt severing of life, a vibrant force reduced to something distant and hollow. It was as if the magic that had once radiated from him had been snuffed out, leaving only a ghost of what had once been.

Irreversible.

Erica Sanders had worked as an investigator and mortician for the Ministry of Magic for six years—long enough to become accustomed to the unnerving quiet of the dead, but never long enough to grow numb to the tragedy of it. Since her days at Hogwarts, where she’d studied with some of these very people, she had seen more bodies than she could count, most victims of the Unforgivable Curses. The faces of the fallen blurred together in her mind, a haunting gallery of lives destroyed by the relentless darkness festering in their world. It was a darkness that seemed to grow with every year, every life lost to it.

"James Potter," she breathed out, the name catching in her throat as if saying it aloud made it more real. Her heart clenched, a deep ache spreading through her chest as she watched Frank's shoulders tremble with grief. His back was turned to her, but she could feel the weight of his sorrow, heavy in the air between them. Erica blinked rapidly, forcing herself to stay composed. She had to remain professional, even now. Especially now. For Frank.

"Dead," she confirmed softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, though the word seemed to echo through the room, final and unforgiving.

James's head rested close to his wife’s, their hair mingling in a tragic twist—his dark, wild locks intertwined with Lily’s fiery red. It was as if, even in death, they could not be separated. Erica’s gaze shifted to Lily, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the deep gash on Lily’s forehead, where she had struck her head when she fell. Blood had dried along the wound, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

Erica’s hand trembled as she reached out to check for a pulse on Lily’s still form, though she knew in her heart what she would find—or wouldn’t find. Her fingers brushed against the delicate skin of Lily’s wrist, and a profound sense of loss washed over her. There was nothing. No heartbeat. No magic. Just silence.

"Lily Potter," she whispered, the words thick with sorrow. As they left her lips, she saw Frank's resolve crumble entirely. He buried his face in his hands, his grief now a physical thing, raw and uncontainable. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Erica wished desperately that there was something she could say to ease his pain, but no words could undo the horror of what they had found.

"Dead," she repeated, though this time the word felt heavier, as if it carried with it the weight of their entire world crashing down.

Erica remained kneeling, her hands still resting on the bodies of the Potters.

“They were good people,” Frank said, his voice rough with sorrow, breaking the silence as Erica gently brushed Lily’s hair from her blood-streaked face. “James... he was always so full of life. He'd crack jokes even when everything was falling apart. He had this way of making you believe that everything would be okay, no matter how bad it got. And Lily... she had the biggest heart. She loved so deeply, cared so much... she didn’t deserve this.”

Erica stood, moving toward Frank to offer comfort, wishing Alice were there. She knew Frank's wife had been close to the Potters, and had known them well. Erica remembered the Longbottoms had a son the same age as the baby cradled feet away in the arms of a giant man named Hagrid. Perhaps the families had shared playdates.

Frank’s gaze lingered on James and Lily’s lifeless bodies. “They fought so hard... did everything they could to protect everyone. And now... their son, Harry...” Frank’s voice cracked, a fresh wave of anguish overwhelming him. “He’s just a baby. His parents are gone... and he’s all alone.” Frank turned away, fists clenched, fury mingling with his sorrow. "How could this happen? How could they be careless enough not to have their wands ready? James could’ve held his own in a duel. And Lily... she could’ve Apparated with the baby." His voice wavered, eyes burning with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “They gave everything. And now... now...” His shoulders sagged under the weight of the loss. "They were the best of us... and now they’re gone."

Erica felt the depth of Frank's grief. She understood the pain of losing people you loved. But as she stood in the Potter household, surrounded by the aftermath of yet another senseless tragedy, it wasn’t the two lifeless bodies in front of her that unsettled her the most.

No, it was the third body—the one hidden away upstairs, the one Frank had warned her to examine last. The name on everyone’s mind, yet too cautious to speak aloud.

"Should we call the Minister of Magic?" Erica asked softly, her voice barely breaking the oppressive silence as she glanced at Frank.

Frank’s jaw tightened, his gaze hard and resolute. "We tell no one," he replied, his tone firm, almost chilling. "Not until you’ve confirmed it’s him."

A wave of nausea rose in Erica’s stomach. Facing death was one thing—but the possibility that it was his body, that he might be dead, brought an entirely different fear. It could mean this nightmare was finally over... or, far worse, that it had only just begun.

Suddenly, the oppressive silence of the room was broken by the soft pop of Apparition. Erica turned toward the doorway just as her friend, Alannah, appeared. The color drained from Alannah’s face the moment she saw the two lifeless twenty-one-year-olds sprawled on the floor. Her breath caught in her throat as recognition hit her like a blow.

Her enchanted quill, hovering beside her, scratched noiselessly on parchment, capturing every detail of the scene. But for once, Alannah, the relentless reporter, had no questions. Her mouth remained firmly shut, the weight of what she saw rendering her speechless.

"Oh... it’s the Potters," she whispered, her wide blue eyes flickering with shock. "I went to school with them. They were only three years behind me."

“Alannah,” Erica said, her tone sharp with exasperation. “Who told you to come here?”

“Old Bathilda’s been talking up the whole town,” Alannah replied, regaining some composure. "Rumors are spreading like wildfire. They’re saying the Minister of Magic and the head of the Auror department are on their way."

Erica’s stomach twisted. "Oh no," she muttered, paling. "We haven’t even finished the initial investigation."

Alannah gave a small, apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Erica. News like this travels fast... Such a shame about the Potters, though."

Frank, who had been silently grieving, clenched his fists tighter, his voice thick with emotion as he spoke. “He never let down his guard normally,” he said, his eyes locked on James’s lifeless form. “I can’t believe they didn’t have their wands. What on earth could have convinced them that they were safe?”

“Was he after them?” Erica asked Frank, who often knew more than the average Auror.

Frank shook his head, either unwilling to answer or not knowing the truth of what happened. The Potter’s had been young, so to be on the radar of such a dark wizard had to mean something. Frank leaned against the wall and looked like he was going to throw up, with one hand clenched on his abdomen.

Alannah shifted uneasily, her trembling voice breaking the tension as she asked the question that had been hanging over them all. “Is it true? What people are saying about... Voldemort?”

Frank shifted uncomfortably near Erica, his gaze fixated on the staircase, where faint signs of a struggle told a story only he could fully piece together. He had been one of the first on the scene and had witnessed everything—the path Lily Potter had taken as she raced toward the nursery in a desperate attempt to save her son. The weight of that memory clung to him like a shadow, and Erica could sense how heavily it sat on his mind.

“I’d best be goin,” came the deep, sorrow-filled voice of the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid. He stood near them, cradling the infant in his massive arms. “Sirius Black gave me his motorbike t’ get the child t’ where he needs t’ be safe.”

Erica hadn’t known Hagrid well, but the sight of him now—broken with grief, holding Harry Potter as if he were his own flesh and blood—stirred something in her. Silent tears streaked down his face and molded into his beard. The only sound that pierced the oppressive quiet of the room was the soft, muffled cries of the baby, pressed against Hagrid’s chest, oblivious to the tragedy that had destroyed his family.

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Frank said, his voice thick but steady as he waved a hand at the giant man. “Give my best to Dumbledore.”

Erica, Frank, and Alannah stood in silence, watching as Hagrid carefully carried the child through the debris. Half the house had been obliterated—walls reduced to rubble, furniture shattered, a battlefield even though it seemed Voldemort had been the only one casting spells. Frank had found Lily and James’s wands upstairs in their bedroom when he first arrived. That meant whatever had happened to them was either the result of wandless magic or the deadly work of the man no one wanted to think about.

"Longbottom?" Alannah’s voice trembled as she broke the silence, her question barely above a whisper. She needed an answer—needed to make sense of the horror unfolding around them, just as they all did.

Frank exhaled, the sound hollow in the suffocating stillness of the room. His gaze never wavered from the staircase, as though he already knew what awaited them at the top. "We don’t know yet," he replied, his voice heavy with the weight of uncertainty. "But Erica… she’ll find out soon enough."

Dread crept into Erica’s bones like an unshakable fog, thick and relentless. Whatever waited upstairs would change everything—confirm or deny a fate too terrifying to utter. If the body up there was really his—the Dark Lord himself—then this nightmare could finally be over. But if it wasn’t...

Erica steeled herself, her stomach knotting as she took a step forward, carefully stepping over the bodies of James and Lily Potter. Her gaze locked on the staircase, stretching ahead of her like a shadowed path to a terrible revelation. She could almost hear it in her mind—Lily Potter’s frantic footsteps pounding up those very stairs, her only thought to reach the nursery. Even as death closed in, she hadn’t run to save herself.

She had run to save her son.

The scene played in Erica’s mind as she ascended, her footfalls silent against the wooden steps. Lily had been found upstairs, her body still warm, the faintest whisper of breath left in her lungs as if she had held on—held on long enough to ensure her baby was safe. Erica could almost feel the woman’s lingering presence, the fierce love that had kept her alive, even for a few precious seconds more.

As Erica reached the top of the staircase and crossed the threshold into the nursery, the sight before her was chilling. Furniture had been hastily piled against the door, a last-ditch effort to block the inevitable. Lily Potter had no wand. Neither had her husband. They had faced the end unarmed but defiant, driven by something far stronger than magic—an unyielding determination to protect their son.

And now, just beyond the scattered toys and the overturned crib, lay the figure that filled Erica with a dread deeper than she had ever known. It was the body she had been avoiding, the one she feared to examine—the one that could change everything.

Please be dead.

Her breath hitched as she took a hesitant step forward, the weight of what she was about to confirm pressing down on her like an invisible hand. Behind her, she heard Frank, who had likely come to back her up in case the man was not dead. The room, once a place of warmth and love, now felt suffocating, each breath harder than the last. Her heartbeat quickened, pounding in her ears as her gaze finally settled on the body lying crumpled on the floor.

One sharp gasp escaped her lips, and her knees almost gave way. Her hand shot out, gripping the wall for support as recognition hit her like a wave of ice. She knew that face, that grotesque visage—had seen it once before, years ago, when she was just a girl because of her stupid pureblood brother. It was unmistakable, etched into her memory like a nightmare that refused to fade. The slits for a nose, the unnaturally pale, almost waxen skin, and those long, bony fingers—fingers that once held unimaginable power, now limp and lifeless.

It was him.

The dark wizard who had terrorized the world, whose name was still spoken only in whispers. And now, here he was, lying in a heap on the nursery floor, as still as the dead. She stared at his form, waiting—hoping—for any sign of life, any subtle twitch of movement that would confirm her worst fears. But there was nothing. No rise or fall of his chest. No flicker of those terrible eyes. He was dead.

She hoped.

Her legs trembled as she moved closer, the chill of the room intensifying as she approached his body. She knelt beside him, her fingers shaking as she reached out, stopping just short of his skin. The air around him felt wrong, almost heavy with the residue of dark magic, and Erica hesitated, afraid to make contact.

Could it really be over?

Her mind raced as she knelt there, staring at the fallen Dark Lord. Erica’s fingers hovered just above his cold, pale skin. One touch would tell her the truth. One touch could confirm whether this was truly the end, or if something far darker was waiting to be unleashed.

She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying her breath. Then, summoning all the courage she had, she pressed her hand to Voldemort’s chest. His skin was ice beneath her touch, and she felt no pulse, no heartbeat. Nothing. He was as dead as any other body she had examined in her years at the Ministry. She pulled her hand away slowly, her heart still racing, the weight of what she had just done sinking in.

“Is it really over?” Frank whispered behind her, disbelief in his voice.

Erica stood in silence, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as she cast one final, lingering glance at the lifeless form of the Dark Lord. His twisted figure lay crumpled at her feet, the menace that had once filled the air now dissipating into an eerie stillness. She forced herself to tear her gaze away and turned toward the door where Frank stood. Her limbs felt heavy, as if weighed down by the enormity of what had just transpired.

Faint cries echoed from the room behind her, the fragile wails of a baby who should not have been left alive. The sound tugged at her heart, but before she could process it, the distant roar of a motorbike filled the air, growing louder and louder until it drowned out the infant's cries completely. Erica paused, her senses reeling, and turned back to the nursery. Her breath caught in her throat.

Through the massive, jagged hole in the nursery wall, she glimpsed a figure—Hagrid, unmistakably—soaring into the night on an enormous, enchanted motorbike. His massive arms cradled the tiny form of the baby in question, the one who had somehow survived. A baby who should have been dead, but instead, was being carried off into the sky.

Erica's mind raced, unable to comprehend what her eyes were telling her. No one could survive the killing curse— no one —and certainly not a mere infant. Yet, there he was, the child untouched by death’s hand. She stumbled backward, her legs giving way as disbelief surged through her body. Her fingers grasped the doorframe, seeking something solid to hold onto, anything to ground her in the reality that felt increasingly surreal.

The truth hit her all at once, a wave of shock that chilled her to the core: Harry Potter . The name echoed in her mind, but now it carried new weight, a new meaning. The boy who had survived the Dark Lord’s wrath. The boy who had lived when he should have perished.

Erica’s heart pounded in her chest as she stared out into the night, the motorbike disappearing into the distance. The world had changed in an instant, and nothing would ever be the same again. Harry Potter—the boy who lived—had defied the impossible.

“How did he do it?” She whispered to herself, more than to Frank, “How did it end?”

#petals talks #james potter #lily evans #jily fic #Haloween 19

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