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psychewritesbs · 2 years

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Chapter 171: Tokyo Colony No. 1, part 11: Rabid dog

Happy, happy JJK-Sunday!

No but for real, I am totally that weird person who is obsessed with Megumi’s extreme duality.

I know there are people who don’t see it, others who don’t like it, others who are surprised by it, others who love it, etc.

As someone amongst the group that loves this aspect of Megumi’s personality, to me, the diversity of reactions from other JJK readers speaks to the richness of the reading experience that is JJK.

In my opinion, this also speaks to Gege’s ability as a writer. Put simply, Gege’s characters are human af precisely because they are highly multi-dimensional.

Take Megumi, he is deeply compassionate and ruthless at the same time.

It’s almost like Megumi has a rabid dog living inside his shadow... and I don’t mean Kon.

You get a Megumi, you get a Megumi, EVERYONE gets a Megumi!

When I saw all of Megumi’s “shadow clones”, I immediately thought of this Oprah meme.

Basically, we all get a Megumi!

All that to say that if I was a character in JJK I would not want to fight against Megumi.

The boy is insanely intelligent, strategic (and I dare say manipulative), and brutal. If he wants to fck you up, as we have seen so far, he will not hesitate to do it.

The scarier part about Megumi is that he keeps this impulse for violence and bloodlust buried tightly under wraps within his shadow. More on that in a bit.

Now, the idea that these are “shadow clones” reminds me of Naruto--which I had to binge over the Christmas break because my 7 year old nephew is walking down his super cool auntie’s path and starting to consume anime from a young age.

Even if I am not a huge fan of Naruto, I loved bonding with my nephew over it.

This got me wondering about Naruto’s Shikamaru and what other characters in anime and manga use their shadow as part of their “special ability”.

For now I can only speak for Shikamaru. So... what is the difference between Shikamaru’s shadow and Megumi’s shadow?

The Jungian shadow

Right, so linkspooky wrote an amazing and in-depth post about this that you should read here.

Linkspooky also straight up said something I had been holding back from saying ever since I started consuming JJK back when we first learn that Megumi’s technique is shadow-based:

“Megumi is perhaps the most Jungian character, in the Jungian manga, about Jungian ideas.”

The literal conversation in my head about this sounds more along the lines of: Gege must be familiar with Jungian Psychology. There is no way that it is a coincidence that he got all of these details right.

Even if it is not listed in the fan book that Gege reads or has read Jung, it is besides the point. Gege does not need to quote Jung the way Ishida does to show he understands these concepts.

Gege is the kind of writer who strikes a fine balance between showing and telling after all.

And the way he shows Megumi’s shadow skill is very much nearly a textbook-definition of the Jungian shadow. As he reveals more about Megumi’s skill, the more I become convinced of this headcanon.

While I am all for reading a work of fiction at face-value (I literally look for reading material where I can just turn off my brain and enjoy because JJK consumes too much brain rot energy), JJK lends itself for in-depth interpretations of the symbolism within the story that may or may not be canonically explained within the text at face-value. That is why the fandom loves speculating and theorizing about the characters and the story.

In other words, I love that Gege trusts his audience so much--in the end, even if as readers we do not consciously understand the symbols he uses, our subconscious understands and assimilates them.

Which brings us back to Shikamaru vs. Megumi.

Shikamaru vs. Megumi

This is not about who is cooler. While Shikamaru is an amazing character, you will find me rooting for Megumi 300% of the time.

But about how their shadow-based techniques are different and how Megumi’s is in line with the Jungian shadow.

The panel shown below is a loose representation of how Shikamaru uses his shadow.

I say it is a “loose representation” because, unlike Megumi, Shikamaru does not store items/Shikigami or create shadow clones from his shadow.

Shikamaru’s shadow is what, at face-value, we all consider to be that black reflection cast by the light that follows us around. And just like Megumi, Shikamaru has conscious control over it.

But that’s where the similarities begin and end--which is how Megumi fooled Reggie this chapter.

The reason Megumi can store items and manifest Shikigami and copies of himself from his shadow is because, unlike Shikamaru, Megumi’s shadow is not limited to the area of his literal shadow.

This sort of explains how a barrierless domain can have “shadow above you too.”

Simply put, from a Jungian perspective: the shadow is not limited to your literal shadow, but all around you.

While the shadow is usually defined as the “space” that stores repressed material (this includes both “positive” and “negative” personality traits but Megumi also uses it for weapons, etc), the shadow is also everything that you don’t know that you don’t now.

The shadow is also everything that is outside of conscious awareness.

Which means that the Jungian shadow is structurally closer to the archetypal realm of the collective subconscious.

Or, to put it in JJK-terms, in Jungian Psych, the shadow has access to the realm between dreaming and waking that we saw back in chapter 160.

This last bit is just pure speculation on my behalf given what I’ve shared about the Jungian shadow and how Gege’s use of the shadow is consistent with Jungian Psych. But, as I like to say, I could be 300% wrong.

Let’s see what Gege comes up with.

Rabid dog

Other than linkspooky’s meta about Megumi’s shadow, which I mentioned earlier, there is a couple of really good meta addressing Megumi’s repressed self floating around in the #jjk meta tag. So I am not really going to go in depth into that because, as the story has progressed, I’ve been writing about it myself too.

But you can check out one of littleholmes’ meta here and hamliet’s meta literary perspective of what they predict Megumi’s arc will look like considering his current facedown with his own shadow.

Because that is exactly one of the “things” that Gege is writing about to usher Megumi’s growth as a character. Megumi’s anxiety drives his shadow self out into the light and so he becomes and acts out this shadow self’s mindset and perspective.

In other words, he has a tendency towards acting out his repressed violent and sadistic self--a sort of rabid dog driven by a bloodlust instinct.

I have to say that Uchida Yuma (Megumi’s seiyu) did an outstanding job channeling Megumi’s crazed laughter in chapter 23 of the anime. So I am totally looking forward to not only seeing chapter 171 animated, but also listening to the seiyu’s interpretation of Megumi’s crazy.

Anyways... I got really Depth Psychology 101 today so... if you’ve read this far, I thank you as always and hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

I also hope you have a happy JJK-Sunday!

#jujutsu kaisen #fushiguro megumi #jjk meta #jujutsu kaisen meta #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk spoilers #jjk ch 171 #god I love jujutsu kaisen #one last taco #I am only eating one last taco #fck yeah barbacoa

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embrassemoi · 3 years

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Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 22

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader CW: Language, angst, violence, blood A/N: thanks for all the comments/asks xx

Chap 22 Playlist

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 22: How I'm imaginin' You

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March 15th, 1976

It was just over ten past eleven when they called it a day.

“Night, Reg! I’ll see you later!” Y/N called. Regulus beamed, waving back before scurrying in the direction of the Slytherin common room. For the past week, she had brought him to the small hidden room by the library she found over the winter break. Red and green blankets clashed together on the old couch, pillows and candles, books and even his violin was there. It became their — or mostly his safe place.

She’s kept quiet about their secret meetings, mainly because Regulus seemed so skittish at the mention of other people and simply because he was a Slytherin. It put her into a tricky position considering not many Slytherins were like Regulus — they weren’t nice to those of her blood status. Besides, house rivalry was no joke and honestly, Y/N was confused. What did he mean that he couldn’t be seen with her?

The bitter cold began to subside as April neared. The full moon had risen, nearing its peak as she walked through the empty corridors, way past curfew. Distantly, she could hear footsteps becoming louder but made no move to hide once the student came into view with no prefect or Head Boy or Girl pass. That was until the hunched figure seemed to drift closer, coming into her direct line of view. Once they passed, the student knocked into shoulder roughly, making Y/N stagger back into the rough jagged wall.

Crinkles formed in her skin, frowning. They knocked into her purposely. The first thing she took notice of was their tie, a Slytherin. Of course. But when her eyes continued to drift up, she wasn’t surprised to see who it was: Snape.

“Watch where you’re going,” he says, a nasty leer on his face.

“You better watch yourself. Must be obsessed with me.”

“Is that a threat?” It wasn’t, not really, but Snape’s ego is a fragile, fickle thing.

Snape stands taller, his shoulders squaring to appear intimidating but it does nothing but make Y/N’s lip curl up before suppressing it.

“Seems like it to you.”

Seething, his skin becomes an angry blotchy pink. Greasy hair never mattered to her, some people even rocked it but on Snape — anything on him seemed to irk her. His hair seems to stick to his face and an intrusive thought wiggles in and suddenly, she wants to ring it out — see if enough grease would come out so she could cook with it.

But, she readjusted her vision, observing the tight grip he has on his and that he managed to draw without her noticing. On instinct, Y/N slips her out too, her other hand ready to use wandless magic.

She remembers a long time ago, her mother always told her to never start a fight, but to finish it. She guesses that there wasn’t another other option but to listen.

“You’re foul — wretched trollop —” “What did you just call me?!”

Snape jabs a nasty finger into her shoulder before she slaps it down, hard. “You heard me, trollop. Things were so much better when you weren’t around.” His voice drops low, dripping in venom.

“Could say the same thing. I wonder if Lily knows the way you treat women when she isn’t around.” Y/N dangles the threat above his head for leverage. “I bet she would be in for a real shock if I told her.”

There was an ugly pause.

Snape’s nose flares and she would have backed down but since she hadn’t gotten to defend herself last time around Lily, there was no way she wasn’t going to this time.

Snape steps closer in a challenging manner. Eyes burned strong in detest that she even feels it. His hand trembles, going white from how hard he’s gripping his wand. A wild look crosses; he looks feral — like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth.

A spell is already forming on his tongue before she raises her wand, throwing up a shielding spell she learned. A bright blue sheet, in the shape of an invisible dome explodes from the tip of her wand just as Snape shoots a spell. The curse is powerful, making her knees buckle. It was at that moment she realized that maybe she should’ve just walked away. Y/N was good at defensive charms — great — but not at offence charms and clearly, they were among Snape’s specialties.

As shoots another spell, Y/N focuses and puts all of her concentration into the shielding charm — so strong that it pushes Snape back roughly and an item from his pocket slips out, plummeting to the floor. In strong silver letters that made her skin raise with goosebumps, it read: The Dark Arts. The overpowering sensation of revulsion and outrage fuels her, beginning to shake.

“You’re a fucking freak,” she blurts.

It touched a nerve. “Watch it, you dirty little mudbl —”

Most people (and Y/N would include herself with them) like to think of themselves as rational beings; civil, thoughtful, just, benevolent, humane. However, when things ripped at the seams without a given warning, people — we — are no better than wild animals. Even if you don’t know it, there’s an animal inside all of us, waiting to pounce and protect.

Without a beat, filled with pure adrenaline, hate and shock, the protective spell fell and Y/N stormed up to him, drawing her entire arm back as her fist curled into a ball. In a flurry, she delivered a sharp blow as hard as she could in the nose.

There was a loud cracking sound that ricocheted through the corridor, simultaneously, thick blood gushed out of Snape’s nose like a waterfall. It sprayed all over their robes, the ground and covered her hand.

She winced in pain, flicking her wrist a few times, noting the skin splitting around her knuckles deeply. Her ears rang like a whirling fan, radio static, a hissing radiator as Snape stumbled back, a hand shooting up to stop the bleeding. His eyes were filled with tears.

“Call… me that again…” her breathing was ragging and voice shaky, “And we’ll see what else happens.” Before Snape could retaliate, Y/N spun around and dashed off to the Gryffindor common room.

Her footsteps echoed around as she felt her eyes sting with tears but made sure to squeeze her eyes shut. Out of all people, she wasn’t going to cry because of Snape.

She wasn’t a mu — a mudl — she wasn’t that. She was more than that word.

She needed to tell Lily.

Tears were replaced with anger. There wasn’t a single coherent thought that seemed to force its way out.

Before the Fat Lady had time to ask for the password, Y/N shouted it out, nearly ripping the portrait door off. The force resulted in a large — BANG! — then slammed shut and Y/N distantly heard the portrait yell.

She took a deep breath, bending over while a hand clutched her knee. Distracted, it caused her to miss the familiar boy sitting on the opposite side of the room who stood up.

Her fist began to ache once the shock slowly wore off. A quiet, dejected groan slipped out as she stared at her clothes. She must’ve looked insane.

The sound of the wooden floorboards creaked and Y/N peered up. There, dressed in all black clothing was Sirius, staring at her bewildered. His eyes scanned her entire body, noticing the rusty blood staining her white blouse and hand.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” She gritted out defensively. She wasn’t in the mood to be anywhere near Sirius, let alone hear another insult. Without the ability to think rationally, Y/N wondered if she’d had the restraint to not punch him if he said something idiotic.

Sirius’ brow raised, not expecting that response but didn’t bite back. “I — Merlin — what happened to you? Are you okay?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, attempting to shield herself and moved towards the stairs. “Like you care.”

“I don’t,” he counters quickly. But he sighed, gravitating towards her and lightly grasped her elbow. Y/N turns around harshly, ripping away from him.

“Who do you think you are? Don’t touch me!”

Sirius’ hands raised, signalling submission; similar to a prey to its predator. “I’m not going to hurt you and I’m certainly not going to let you bleed everywhere! Come, sit — I’ll patch you up.”

She eyed him warily, then closed her eyes. Y/N’s chest rose in irregular intervals, weighing out the pros and cons.

She’s heard that he’s gotten into fights and probably wasn’t lying about knowing how to patch up wounds.

He’s an asshole.

He didn’t like her.

She didn’t trust him

Why would he want to help her?

But the stinging sensation flooded in again. Y/N desperately sought to gauge for any underlying motive but Sirius was unreadable. If anything, his grey quartz eyes weren’t as hardened; more blue bleed in, looking brighter — her heart gave a little thump.

With a nod, Sirius gave a weak smile and led her to the couch closest to the fireplace for light. He told her to stay put, took his jacket, threw it on the couch opposite, then ran up to his dorm and grabbed a medical kit along with a bowl and cloth. Rushing back, Sirius set down his supplies and with a flick of his wand, the bowl was instantly filled with water, his hands sparkling clean.

Body angled to face her while sitting, Sirius gently took her hand and submerged the cloth in water, ringing it out, then diligently worked to clean off the blood.

Why didn’t he just use magic? He wouldn’t have to touch her then…

She burned more from his touch than the wounds themselves. When it came to James or Remus, there wasn’t anything that made her skin tingle or spike in sudden shyness when she touched them. But whenever Sirius was just near, she felt her heart speed up, palms start to sweat and brain go completely blank.

They sat in silence. Every now and then, Sirius would glance up. Only when he had a disinfectant, he flicked his hair out of his face, seeming to be in deep thought and spoke;

“What happened?”

Y/N remained quiet, a faraway look now settled in her eyes. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she broke Snape’s nose. She’s seen what broken noses looked like — she grew up colouring nose and sinus anatomical charts in the O.R gallery while she waited for her mom to finish surgery. She was in deep, deep trouble if Snape were to rattle. Detention, house points, expulsion — a possible criminal assault charge.

Shit.

“Hey, Y/N.” He placed a hand on her knee, the cool metal of his rings seeped through her stockings. That caught her attention. That was the first time he’d ever said her first name. His voice was soft — the softest he’d ever spoken to her before. “It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me but I promise I won’t tell a soul. Not even Potter or Evans. It’ll be our little secret.”

She breathed, “I… um —” She stopped and Sirius gave an encouraging squeeze. “Snape, he… he called me a you-know-what and I…” The rest was self-explanatory.

Sirius’s body became stiff. There was a subtle change in his micro-expressions as his jaw tensed, sharpening his features even more. His eyes, which burned with a fiery rage contrasted greatly as he cradled her hand as if she were made out of glass. Sirius huffed, mumbling out ‘thank you for telling me’ and proceeding to clean the wounds. She winced as the cotton pad touched her knuckles, her free hand clutching onto his shirt.

“I know this part’s shit. I’m sorry, sorry…”

She bit down on her bottom lip to prevent pained noises from slipping out. Sirius applied a light magical cream that helps reduce scarring and wrapped gauze around her hand; holding it in place with a magical seal that made it into a light cast. He added a few magical seals along with waterproof charms.

“There.”

She marvelled at his work, he did an amazing job and whatever he did, her pain reduced drastically. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me…” His voice trailed off, a small smile appearing, “Anyone that hates Snviellus is… okay in my books. And what are co-parents for?” He tries to joke. At this, Y/N perks up, a sharp exhale of air forced its way from her lungs; emulating a half-light-hearted scoff.

But soon their smiles disappeared and something strange flashed in Sirius’ eyes. Suddenly, the air around them shifted, becoming tense and enclosed.

Sirius was oddly close to her — since when did they become that close?

Her heart pounded wildly in her ribcage and Y/N wondered if he could hear it over the crackling fire. He’s so close that she could feel his breath fanning her skin. She registered his thumb grazing over the bandage. The warm colour from the fire illuminated his face, different from his usual cool-toned skin. His face looked sharp, more refined than usual. He looked enchanting, so regal and otherworldly without trying to — like a painting.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something but he trails off, leaning closer. His hand trailed up, touching her arm lightly and moved to cup her cheek delicately. The entire time, his eyes trained on her for any glimmer of irritability or discomfort. His thumb began to stroke her skin and she lent into it. It’s large and warm and his touch feels so, so fucking good.

Sirius chooses his next words with caution. “Can I?” He murmurs but the question is clear — louder than any screaming match she had with him. His lips are millimetres away from hers.

In times like these, that Gryffindor bravery was nonexistent.

Y/N’s mind is vacant, internally freaking out but still manages to choke out, “Yes.”

Frozen in place, his eyes flicker from her eyes, then lips, and back to her eyes. He tilts her head back slightly using his hand before it travels to the back of her neck and leans in. But, there’s something in Sirius that hesitates.

The hesitation is too long because a voice could be heard from beyond the portrait and the sound of it swinging open causes them to break apart. She misses the contact already. Sirius stands hastily, wand swishing to clean up the mess around them in a daze. A beautiful blush settles on his face; a hand runs through his hair, rings catching the low light and widens the gap between them. He put his jacket back on.

Y/N’s brain hadn’t caught up yet. Too much happened too quickly.

“Pads? Where have you’ve been? The moo —” the moment he sees her, his voice draws out, “— ooooony! Moony! He’s waiting for us. Whiskers! Ugh — h-hey!”

Peter fucking Pettigrew, in the flesh.

She makes sure to hide her hand and bloodied shirt from him. “Evening, Pete.”

Sirius coughs awkwardly and clears his throat, Peter doesn’t look suspicious. “Yeah, ugh — right. Sorry,” he takes a pause, eyes drifting momentarily to her and back to Peter, “Was busy with our Puffskein. Let’s go.”

“Night, L/N!” Peter acknowledges. He even sends finger guns.

Y/N is left stunned, watching Sirius leave. The door clicks and her body slackens.

In a haze, she padded into her dorm: quiet and dark, everyone fast asleep. She took a very cold shower, changed into her pyjamas, brushed her teeth and threw out her bloodied robes. Then, she pulls back the curtains around her bed. A floating candle burned brightly as Lily was there, writing in her journal.

“What took you so long?!” Lily chirped, sliding over to give her more room to slip in. Letting the drapes fall shut behind, she hummed in response.

“Puffskein. Oats.” She’ll talk to Lily about Snape another day — that is if Dumbledore doesn’t expel her.

Y/N rolled over to her side, facing away from Lily. The cool pillow did nothing to help chill her heated skin. It’s like she can feel the ghost of Sirius’ fingers graze her cheek still.

Lily babbled — something about Dorcas and Mary inviting them to skate one last time before the ice melted. But it all went in one ear and out the other.

God, she thought, mad at the realization. There was no point in denying it anymore; she’d been doing so for months and clearly, it was fruitless. I like Sirius Black. I really, really like Sirius Black.

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She didn’t get a wink of sleep. Her mind reeled the entire night, replacing the scenarios again and again, analyzing everything he said, his actions — that look on his face. All she thought about was Sirius: his eyes, his smile, his hair, his skin, his hands, his fucking lips — Argh! Sirius was the personification of Firewhiskey and all she wanted to do was drink more of him — and they hadn’t even kissed!

Sirius is arrogant, rude, cold, cat-called her — insulted her! A part of her felt disgusted — disgust how her heart raced wherever the mere thought of him appeared in her mind. Disgusted how her heart leaped whenever he was near. Out of all people, why him?!

She fucking hated Peter Pettigrew right now — or loved him, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he saved her from making a terrible mistake.

Okay, okay! First things first, she had to stop thinking about him! She forced herself to think about something else: Charms — Professor Flitwick — Peter’s grandma in her ‘purple knickers’ — Slughorn — Slughorn in his underwear — yes, that certainly stopped any more lewd thoughts. Her mind and body were at war.

“Rise n’shine, darlings!” Marlene sang in a high-pitched Victorian accent as she tripped the blinds back. Y/N peeked out from the small gap in her curtains, watching Marlene tiredly. Everyone groaned, Dorcas even threw a pillow at her. Y/N, unaffected, blinked and perched herself against the headboard, yawning. “Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!”

“Marls…” Dorcas groaned. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the clock that hung above their large window, quickly collapsing into bed and dove under the covers. “It’s six in the morning…”

Marlene hopped over and ripped off Lily’s covers only to realize she was with her. She skipped her way over, ripping the drapes back and jumped into her bed. Toulouse hissed, jumping off before Marlene snuggled up to Lily, proding her cheek.

She gave Y/N a once over, “Morning sugar.”

She continued to poke Lily who forced her eyes open, trying to swat at her. Lily flipped over, moving over to Y/N. Marlene rolled her eyes, but a hurt pang flashed her face before she covered it up. Instead, she bellowed, taking hold of Lily’s shoulders and shook.

“EVANS! EVANS — YOU TOO L/N, WAKE UP NOW!”

“McKinnon! What do you want?!”

She gave a triumphant smirk. “Quidditch! It’s Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff today!”

Marlene was already decked out in her tracksuit, ready to go on a jog around the castle with the rest of the Gryffindor team. Once everyone woke up, they all gave her one of many pep talks and ushered her off.

The morning was slow for everyone but Y/N. Her thoughts drifted away from Sirius, only to think about the next worst thing possible; Snape.

Damn… she had to tell Lily, but how? ‘Hey, Petals! One of your friends — if not your best friend, called me, a Muggleborn — which if you forgot, you are too —the cruellest word there is! And he was caught with a book about The Dark Arts!’

She would tell her, but not today, or at least until after the Quidditch game.

As Y/N got ready for the day, everyone noticed the bandage around her hand (which she lied and made an excuse using Oats), then headed down for breakfast. The Gryffindor team was huddled around Marlene and James. Mary and Alice sat close, giving her a small wave.

Downing coffee after coffee, the caffeine strangely made her sleepier as she listened to James and Marlene’s agonizing rambles. Lazily flicking through sections of the Daily Prophet, she waited for a letter from her mother. None — again. Until a hand came out of nowhere, snatching the paper from her grasp, leaving Y/N to huff out.

She didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. “Mornin’ Professor,” she mumbled, reaching over to grab it from him.

“You look like you’ve been shagging the whomping willow,” Remus jokes, shaking his head with a smile.

At this, Mary leans in and whispers into her ear, “Didn’t we suggest Remus —” “Or Black? Not a tree!” Marlene adds.

She ignored them but felt her stomach drop at the mention of Sirius. Remus wore his gold oversized glasses today. His curls were tousled, eyes slightly bloodshot and he seemed to be sluggish that morning. She scooted over making room as he took a seat next to her. She grinned back, “You look like shit too, Lupin.”

Remus’ smile turned brighter.

James floated two plates to them, filled with their favourite foods while Y/N poured Remus a mug of coffee, dumping an ungodly amount of sugar in, handing it to him. From all the times they brought coffee or tea for each other, whether that be for study groups, lounging in the common room or walking past the kitchens while heading to class, they knew how they liked their beverages by heart.

He flashed a tired smile, humming as he took a sip. Their dating rumours hadn’t calmed down yet, so when a couple of students passed by, looking between them enviously, they both side-eyed each other humorously.

“We’re such catches,” she whispered to him.

“Abso-bloody-lutely — hey!” He randomly cuts in, pointing to her bandaged hand, “We’re matching.”

He raised his hand, showing a couple of his fingers taped together before a long bandage was wrapped around his palm and travelled down his wrist, disappearing beyond his red sweater.

Y/N mused at it before grabbing a quill from Marlene who’d been sketching out the Quidditch pitch and dipped it into an inkpot, handing it to Remus.

His head tilted, “Hmm?”

“Sign mine and I’ll sign yours?”

His long calloused fingers took the quill from her, doodling on the white bandage gently. He drew Dumbledore with pom-poms, cheering for the upcoming Quidditch game, along with a smiley face, his initials and a couple magical creatures. Then passed the quill back, placing his bandage hand on the table and flicked open the Daily Prophet. A few splotches of ink splattered around as she drew The Beatles on broomsticks, all chasing a Golden Snitch. She also drew Remus as David Bowie’s cover as Aladdin Sane, using his scars to make the lightning bolt and quickly signed her name.

Lily and Peter had come in, taking a seat and Y/N had become hyper-aware of Sirius sitting down directly across from her. Both of them stiffened and she continued to avoid his gaze as she drew on Remus.

“We’re going to be fine, it’s only Hufflepuff.”

“Nope, Hufflepuffs know how to get shit done,” Peter says, his mouth stuffed with food. “Never underestimate them — what the fuck?!”

Everyone in the Great Hall collectively held a breath, looking up at the Slytherin table. Lily’s eyes almost bugged out in rage, her ears becoming red as she got up and walked over.

It was Snape, but it wasn’t his nose that caught people’s attention. No — his nose was fine — he must’ve gone to the hospital wing that night.

“What happened to him! Ahah!” Peter cried out, “He looks like my house elf!”

There, Snape stood completely bald with no eyebrows and wearing Gryffindor robes.

Y/N slapped a hand to her mouth, desperately trying to calm her shrieking laughter but couldn’t. She and Remus lent on each other, trying to not tip over the hall bench. Everyone whopped loudly, James even whistled.

But as everyone was occupied with the sight, the person who she expected to be howling in laughter that most definitely should’ve been was Sirius. He simply drank from his goblet, his eyes peered over to her with a knowing look and bowed his head ever so slightly and looked away.

Oh.

Ohhh.

She was left with more unanswered questions than ever.

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

Text

A little drabble exchange for @theamazingbard that accidentally became more of a ficlet. Threw in a little hispanic nursery rhyme since I don’t know if we have them in english for making pain go away. I tried googling but it was unhelpful.

TW: Descriptions of blood, drinking it, gross stuff like that. Canon-typical wounds. References to drinking and inebriation.

WC: 2617

Lips Black as the Rose

Featuring highervampire!Jaskier as he tries to figure himself out after being turned. A bit of spice in there. Am I picking and choosing parts of the lore as I see fit? Yes. Is it very sexy of me to do so? One hundred percent. Will I beta this before posting? Oh absolutely not, you know the drill. ‘No beta, we die like men and get our shit wrecked in the comments’ is my go-to Ao3 tag for a reason.

Under no circumstances would Jaskier ever cause harm to another living thing, but the world did not reciprocate that exact philosophy. He’d been chased and held at the business end of many a sword, dagger, lance, and—on several unfortunately memorable occasions—a startling variety of available flatware. Things were rougher after meeting Geralt and having his usual human pursuers overshadowed by the threat of monsters.

Where once a spoon in the hands of a rabid duke would seem a most threatening opponent, Jaskier now found himself on the run from a more literal array of rabid beasts, and he could quote the running speeds the prove that having an extra pair of legs did indeed give certain monsters a leg up, so to speak, on the competition. But then, having no legs at all could prove a better advantage, and such creatures as those often had the additional advantage of long, venomous teeth.

Suffice to say, it was a difficult thing to be a lover in a world of fighters. Particularly when one falls into the company of another presumed lover, only to discover that their invitation to dinner was, in truth, an invitation to be dinner.

A vampire. Young, wine drunk, and foolish, Jaskier allowed himself to be led into the vampire’s den. It had been many years ago, he no longer remembered the details. He only remembered a sharp pain on his shoulder, followed by a woozy numbness, and he awoke in a strange bed, in an inn he did not check into, with his reflection missing from the mirror. He’d run away from home shortly after, fearing a bloodlust that was never to come.

It was a strange thing, being a vampire. After months of research, Jaskier came to no conclusions as to what it meant to be one exactly. He experimented with the content of old myths, touching silver very cautiously, taking delicate bites of foods prepared with garlic. He could cross a river just as well as any man. All in all, there was not much wrong with him, and he wondered what all the fuss was about. Well, there was a bit of fuss in that he could no longer be sure of his appearance, and he’d become more vain than ever, relying on the opinions of others to assure him that he looked presentable. This was a particular bother where Geralt was concerned, for he rarely paid compliments—if ever—and was not inclined to offer opinions concerning such trifling things as fashion or appearances.

Jaskier felt sure that Geralt would have noticed right away, but when their paths crossed again, Geralt seemed entirely ignorant of Jaskier’s dramatic change in biology. Running his tongue over his teeth, he could find no fangs. People complimented him on his eyes, still cooing over how bright and blue they were; and he’d been so afraid they’d turned a ghastly red as in the stories. From what he could tell, he appeared human. He had no violent urges to drain the blood from red-cheeked virgins, nor had he transformed into a bat and flown into the night. Sunlight only burned his skin as much as it had before, though it might have been harder on his eyes. He found himself squinting more in the afternoon, and it was unpleasant hot at times.

All in all, he was relatively normal.

“Such beauty ought to be preserved evermore.” That was what the vampire had told him that night. A great favor, immortality, but he wished he might have been offered a list of instructions to go with it. Figuring things out on his own was exasperating. And though he was not quite compelled to drink blood, there were times when he was … drawn. By curiosity.

When Geralt returned from a hunt, his flesh torn and body bleeding, Jaskier found it challenging to tend his wounds. Many times, he’d almost given into temptation. It did not help that he’d wanted to know the taste of Geralt’s skin long before the transformation. Now, there was an intoxicating layer to the fantasy, and the smell of Geralt’s blood made him hazy, like the bouquet of a strong wine. Or more realistically, the cloud of bitter vodka. If it had been a particularly nasty fight, Jaskier was sure he could taste Geralt’s blood by the smell alone, so powerful it made his nose wrinkle. He could get drunk on the fumes, and it was not always so pleasant.

He never dared try. There were too many things to consider. For a start, there was no telling what the blood of a witcher would do to him—and that was before factoring potions into the equation. Having never fed of blood, Jaskier did not know how his instincts would react, and he was sure he had some animal instinct to him now. He might drain Geralt dry in a matter of minutes, or the taste of blood might make him go insane and start tearing at his surroundings like a mad beast! Or, simplest and frightening of all, Geralt might kill him. So Jaskier kept his secret, never giving in to his curiosity.

But one day, he’d slipped.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. He clenched his hand and a sharp smell pervaded the air. In sharpening his sword, his hand had slipped. He’d cut the meat of his palm, just above his wrist.

Jaskier was up at once, Geralt’s bag in hand, ready to wrap the wound. He was very quick these days in getting things bundled up as soon as possible. Once the wounds were wrapped, the smell was not as pronounced. He fished out a strip of cloth and had it round Geralt’s hand in a matter of moments, working efficiently with good practice.

Geralt smiled ruefully. “A clean wound, at least. Should stitch itself up by morning.” He chuckled and inspected the wound, his eyes flicking over to Jaskier. “Haven’t done that since I was a child sharpening my first dagger,” he said.

“Did you cut yourself often in training?” Jaskier asked.

“No, not so often. We didn’t waste wrappings on such small scrapes either.”

There was a distracting shadow of red seeping through the cloth. Jaskier scoffed. “So you let it bleed into the open air, did you?”

“We were less inclined to coddle than humans.”

“Coddle?” Jaskier said, raising an offended hand to his chest. “My dear, a dressing is hardly evidence of coddling. If I wished to coddle you, I’d kiss it better and sing a little chant.”

Geralt presented his hand to Jaskier, smirking humorously. “Then do it. I’ve never heard of humans having such power as to kiss wounds better. Would save me a lot of trouble.”

“Erm … ” Jaskier flushed, considering the proffered wound. He nearly made a joke about lacking such power, being no longer human, but he bit it back. To cover his hesitation, he took Geralt’s hand and gently sang the rhyme his nurse used to calm him after a scraped elbow or knee. His tongue rolled musically as he rubbed the dressing carefully. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.” Then he bent his head down to kiss the place.

“I don’t see what frogs’ tails have to do with my hand,” Geralt joked.

But Jaskier did not hear him. Instead, he felt oddly fixed in place, a metallic tang on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and licked at his bottom lip to chase the memory of the taste. As he did, his tongue scraped the end of a long, pointed tooth. He stumbled back unsteadily, muttered his excuses, and fled to the safety of his bedroll across camp. There he sat, writing nonsense in his notebook as though struck by sudden inspiration.

He’d tasted Geralt’s blood. And now he wanted more.

The next few hunts were blessedly without injury. Jaskier found he was able to breathe again. It twisted his gut whenever Geralt went off to fulfill a contract, and his conscience was at odds with this new obsession. He wanted Geralt to come back whole and unharmed. But he wanted some cut, some smallest scrape upon which to lathe his tongue. When he thought of it, he felt a stirring in his gums, and touching the place, he found the fangs had grown in again. It took concentration to hide them again. He took to smiling with his mouth closed after the first incident, and he developed a habit of biting his lips.

When they came to a larger town, Jaskier went straight to the butcher. To quell his growing need, he bought fresh meat, sneaking a sip from the blood dish beneath the draining sheep’s carcass while the butcher’s back was turned. It had the strangest effect on him. Within minutes of leaving the butcher’s shop, he felt light-headed. He felt drunk, in short, and he wobbled his way to the inn, a giggle in his throat.

For dinner, he asked the potmaid to send the loin to the cook and surprised Geralt with it: a small treat to celebrate his recent hunting success. In truth, he wanted nothing to do with it, festering in the shame of his lie. The loin had merely been an excuse: something to keep the butcher busy while he drank his curiosity like some writhing leech dredged up from the water.

It made him drunk. He made note of it in his book and swore that would be the end of things. This odd affair made it easy to forget, his stomach turning in guilt and disgust at the thought of repeating the act. He was fine and healthy without blood, therefore there was no need to partake. He could go the rest of his life perfectly happy never drinking another drop. Until the day it fell from Geralt’s lip.

Jaskier stared at it from across the room. Geralt had just returned from a fight, his eyes and blood black with potion. His armour was scratched up, covered in foulness from monsters unknown, but he was alive and whole, hardly bruised. Jaskier tried to focus on the smell of the guts dripping from his armour. It was still as disgusting as ever, even with vampiric senses to influence his opinion. The wretched blood was still unappetizing. But above it, he smelled a strange scent: sweet, a touch of iron. And there, shining on Geralt’s lip, the wet glisten of blood.

He swallowed hard as Geralt wiped the cut on the back of his hand. The blood smudged along his chin, all the more enticing. His knuckles turned white on the sheet of his bed as he held himself in place. Ordinarily, he would be up on his feet to help coax Geralt out of his armour by now, but he did not trust himself to be so close.

Geralt shed his shoulder pads, looking at Jaskier from the corner of his eye. “It’s a bit slippery,” he said. He inclined his head, beckoning Jaskier over. That was their way. They did not ask things from one another. It was simple routine, and the brief lapse was something awkward to acknowledge.

What excuses could he provide? Jaskier stood on trembling legs and made his way, biting his own lip to hide the fangs he felt beginning to grow. His fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the clasps, far too close to Geralt’s face. His breath caught, watching a bead of dark blood roll down his lip, over his chin. His lip was stained black.

Geralt had always had nice lips, Jaskier felt. He was always reminded torturously of this fact when he helped Geralt out of his armour. How could one undress such a man without indulging in the fantasy of what came after, even a little? But oh, it was a dangerous line of thought. Now he was bewitched by his senses, his focus single-mindedly drawn to that point on Geralt’s lip. To kiss him now, to lick the blood from his lip—it would be divine. He felt his heart beat faster at the prospect, his hands stalling to unbuckle Geralt’s breastplate as he stared. Just one taste. One kiss was all he wanted.

A hand pressed against his chest, stopping him short. Jaskier startled out of his unconscious reverie and looked at Geralt in horror. He hadn’t—! Had he? His attention flicked between Geralt’s eyes and his lip, and to his relief, the blood remained untouched.

“Not just now,” Geralt said, voice rumbling in his chest. “The potions might paralyze you—at least for a day. Anything lesser would die from a drink of it. It turns my blood to poison.”

Jaskier blinked, edging back. “I … don’t understand your meaning,” he feigned.

Geralt followed him, stepping forward. He raised a hand, caressing Jaskier’s cheek gently. “I know,” he said. “You’re not the best at keeping secrets. I noticed some time ago you stopped aging, and there’s no shadow at your feet, even on the brightest afternoon.”

He swiped his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip. Jaskier gasped, his lips parting, and Geralt pushed in. Then, his thumb was pushing Jaskier’s top lip away, revealing a glistening fang. He nodded, satisfied, and stepped back once more.

“You’re a vampire,” Geralt said. “And not a common one either. My medallion doesn’t react to you at all.” He chuckled and added, “As if you could be common by any measure.”

Jaskier turned away, picking up one of Geralt’s shoulder pads. He clutched it to his chest, whether for protection or for comfort he could not say. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was afraid to tell you … afraid what you might say. What you … might do.”

A warm hand smoothed down his arm comfortingly. There was a teasing quality to Geralt’s voice when he spoke. A hand wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, making him nearly jump in surprise.

“In regards to what: the knowledge that you’re a vampire, or the knowledge that you want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, words hot against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier shivered, the adrenaline of his fear quickly turning to something sweeter. “Both,” he sighed. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to understand Geralt’s intent.

“You cannot drink of me tonight,” Geralt whispered, “but I can satisfy that other hunger, if you only have the discipline to keep your teeth to yourself.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?” The way Geralt’s hand slipped lower and lower down his front, Jaskier thought he knew. Even so …

Geralt chuckled, nose pressing to the back of Jaskier’s neck. “I’m saying I’m tired of the way you look at me like a man starving and refuse to do something about it. It’s gotten worse. It was bad enough before, waiting for you to make your move, but since your turning, it’s insufferable. I feel like the centerpiece of a banquet, waiting to be devoured.”

“You said I couldn’t kiss you,” Jaskier said, breath coming up short as he felt himself pressed back against a firm chest, a second hand coming up to tug at the edge of his chemise. “I have no discipline whatsoever. And you know that.”

“Well then.”

Jaskier dropped the plate of armour as he was pushed backward. He fell, his knees caught by the edge of the bed. Arms caged him on either side, and above him. Geralt smiled, a drop of blood falling onto the sheets below. He pressed his thumb to Jaskier’s mouth once more, something ravenous in his eyes.

“Well then,” he repeated. “Looks like I’ll have to devour you instead.”

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #vampire!jaskier #highervampire!jaskier #showing off a bit of my culture there with the little rhyme #mexican / irish blended household baby!#sadly though I learned the rhyme from spanish classes instead of from my family lmao #such is life #lips black as the rose fic #persie's tag #I TOLD you I'd leave things unfulfilled #suffer

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maxineswritingcenter · 3 years

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You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 6

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To say that I was doing well after I left Derek’s house would be a lie. I really don’t understand why it hurts so much. We barely knew each other outside of a few encounters. Was it just me that felt the aching in my chest? I want to believe that he felt the same thing, but that seemed selfish. That I wanted him to miss me. That I dreamed of him showing up at my window and begging to see me. But that wouldn’t be real, that was a fantasy. Derek would never act like that. That was just my fantasy.

I promised Stiles I wouldn’t get romantically involved with Derek, but it was more painful than I have ever imagined.

I sat in Coach Finstock’s office while the school day went on. Relacing the netting on the crosses that were used in case any of the players broke their own. The repetitive movements were mind numbing so it was probably for the best. I could zone out and not think about Derek.

Tonight was parent teacher conferences for some students who weren’t doing well academically, both Scott and Stiles were a part of that list. But who could blame them? One of them was a werewolf and the other was friends with the aforementioned werewolf. The weeks seemed to run together, it didn’t even feel like autumn yet, but we were halfway to winter.

I had stayed away like I promised. The only times I even heard about Derek was from what Scott told Stiles. They were both planning on finding the alpha and taking him down together. That would be good for him. Good for both of them. I have been feeling so many emotions since then. A lot of anxiety and anger. But they never felt like my own. I sighed and rested my eyes for a minute, the repeated movements slowing my brain down enough to sleep on Coach’s desk.

The man in front of me was badly burned, one side of his face was pink and muddled, much of his hair was burned on that side.

“I need your help.” Derek’s voice echoed, “If you can hear me, I need you to give me a sign. Blink. Raise a finger. Anything. Just… Just something to point me in the right direction, okay?” The man, his Uncle Peter, stayed in the same position.

He sighed, “Someone killed Laura. Your niece, Laura? Whoever he is, he’s an Alpha now… but he’s one without a pack, which means he’s not as strong. I can take him. But, I have to find him first.” Still no response.

“Look, if you know something, just give me a sign. Is it one of us? Did someone else make it out of the fire?”

Still getting no response, he became agitated, “Just give me anything! Blink! Raise a finger! Anything!” He growled, reaching for the man, “SAY SOMETHING”!

“Hey.” I jolted at the sound of Finstock’s voice. He stood in the doorway of his office.

“You alright, kid?” He asked, his eyes went from my face to the crosse that I was aggressively fixing the net on. What was that? Was I… seeing what Derek was seeing? No, that was impossible. Insane even.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” I went back to relacing, tugging the knots taut and reaching for a lighter to burn the ends of the string so they wouldn’t unravel.

“Do I need to kick his ass?” He asked, his large eyes looking a little more crazy than usual. He was trying to seem threatening, but I wasn’t threatened by his booming voice and looks anymore. He was alluding to someone not treating me right but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

I chuckled a little, “No. It’s not his fault. He’s going through a lot right now.” I stood up and placed the crosse in the spare locker with the rest of them, “Besides, I probably shouldn’t be dating considering the last guy I was dating murdered my parents and tried to murder me.” The humor was dark, but what a way to cope.

“Any news on that guy?” He stood up straight, walking to his desk.

“Nope. I think he skipped town. He’s the feds' problem now.”

“Does Stiles want to be a doctor?” He changed the subject, he was looking at a paper in his hand.

“Uh… Not that I know of.” I shrugged.

“Because he wrote a detailed history of male circumcision on his economics test.”

I got out late, well past the time the student teacher meetings were over. Filing records, grading a couple things for Finstock and ordering more pearls for the upcoming games since we were running low. These days really run together, especially when you’re trying to forget most of the year that happens.

Speaking of happening, was I really seeing the same thing Derek could? It didn’t make sense. They were just random dreams. Like the one the other day where Derek was speaking to this woman about how she didn’t kill his sister. That was just a dream. But… Why could I feel sadness? Sadness, guilt and pain.

I got home, seeing that Stiles’ Jeep was nowhere in sight meaning that he was off to do more werewolf nonsense with Scott. I trusted Scott to keep him safe, but that didn’t mean I wanted Stiles running around where there was an alpha on the loose.

That night I made dinner, ate, saved two plates for Uncle Noah and Stiles and sat in the living room. They were running a story on another body that had been found. A bus driver killed in an animal attack. They were calling it a mountain lion. A mountain lion was more likely than a werewolf normally. But here we are. Officially werewolf capital of the world. I turned off the TV and laid back on the cushions, closing my eyes. Maybe a couch nap would relax me a little, it would kill my back in the morning, but I would be able to tell when Stiles came home.

Scott and Stiles were walking towards me across the school lawn, playfully pushing each other.

“I’m gonna kill both of you.” Derek’s voice said, “What the hell was that? What are you trying to do, attract the entire state to the school?” He was frustrated and angry, but also a little scared. Finding the alpha is what he needed to do, at the same time though, this person got the jump on Laura.

“Sorry…I didn’t know it would be that loud…” Scott said sheepishly.

“Yeah, it was loud… And it was awesome!” Stiles cheered.

“Shut up.” Derek barked.

“Don’t be such a sour wolf.” Stiles mocked.

“What’d you do with him?” Scott asked, looking around me.

“What?” Derek asked, I turned to see an empty backseat, “I didn’t do anything…” I saw Scott and Stiles’ eyes widen as pain exploded through my back. Blood gushed from my mouth as I was lifted up. I was coughing and choking on my own blood. Pain and fear were running through me, my heart pumping so quickly causing more and more blood to gush from my mouth. The last thing I saw was the world rushing by me as I was thrown towards the school wall.

I woke up before I made impact. My heart was racing and my back ached. I reached behind myself awkwardly. The only thing I felt was the raised bumpy scar from my stab wound. So it was just a dream, but it felt so real. So…Was it real? Did I just experience Derek…

I looked up at the clock and saw it was well into the early morning. I got up and made my way upstairs, Stiles’ door was slightly open and there was still light inside. I just went in, panic already starting to build in my chest. Stiles was sitting at his computer, he turned and looked up. He looked like he had a long night.

“Stiles, is…” I swallowed thickly, “Is Derek d-…Dead?” My lip was trembling. He opened his mouth to answer then closed it. He avoided my eyes.

“I really don’t know.” He explained what happened at the school that night. How the alpha attacked them and chased them around the school and that when they got out, Derek’s body was gone.

“I don’t know if he crawled off somewhere or if the alpha dragged him away before the cops showed up. But I’m pretty sure I won’t have to go back to school until Monday. We tried to blow the alpha up. And we also kinda blamed Derek for it.”

I shook my head and chuckled, “Nice. Throwing a dead man under the bus, after all he’s done for me.”

“It wasn’t my idea!” He shouted in a hushed tone, “We thought he was dead for sure. But now I don’t know. Besides, we couldn’t give up the big secret to a hunter’s daughter, a dick, and Lydia who has been through enough already.” I nodded and left the room. He called after me but I couldn’t be in the room anymore. Just… they could have blamed anyone. A rabid animal even, but they were blaming Derek. I closed the door and leaned against it, slowly sliding down until I met the floor. My chest felt tight and I wanted to cry. I had cried so much lately I didn’t know if I could. My emotions were running so high and it was so confusing? Why was everything so different?

It was Monday morning and tonight was another full moon, meaning Scott was jumpy and could turn at any moment. The night before they had gone off to “hang” but Stiles was really bad at hiding the alcohol he had taken to get drunk with Scott.

I was eating cereal at the kitchen table when Stiles came down. He was groaning and definitely hungover.

“Booze doesn’t pay, does it?” I smiled.

“You’re more chipper than usual.” He grimaced a bit, holding his head.

“Not chipper, just really good at fakin’ it.” I went in for another spoonful. He looked away, hearing Uncle Noah coming through the kitchen on his phone.

“We are watching his family’s house. Maybe he’ll wind up there?” Uncle Noah looked up, seeing Stiles, “Give me a second.”

“Don’t you have a test to get to?” He asked.

“What’s going on? Did you find Derek yet?” Stiles asked, more pep in his voice.

“I’m working on it. You go take your test.” He said firmly.

“All right, Dad, listen to me-” Stiles stood up.

“Go!” He shouted, I had never heard him shout before.

“This is really important! You have to be careful tonight, okay? Especially tonight.”

“Stiles, I’m always careful.”

“Dad, you’ve never dealt with this kind of thing before, okay? At least, not like this.”

“I know. Which is why I brought in people who have. State detective. Go take your test.” Stiles grumbled but grabbed his book bag and left the house. Uncle Noah sighed and went back to his phone call as he followed Stiles out the door.

Later on in the day, Stiles texted me. He probably shouldn’t be, especially with his test.

STILES: Scott had a panic attack about Allison. He said he might kill someone.

I sighed, my thumbs dancing over the phone screen.

(Y/N): Then we’ll chain him up so he can’t get out. I’ll pick up some chains at the hardware store.

After a stop at the hardware store, I got to the lacrosse fields where Coach Finstock was looking over a list.

“How’s the pink-eye epidemic?” I asked. He rolled his eyes.

“Real good, half of my players had to go on the bench. Goddammit, Greenberg.” I looked over the list.

“Who’s Bilinski?” I squinted at his sloppy writing.

“That one.” He pointed his pen towards Stiles.

“You put Stiles on the first line?” I smiled, perhaps my subtle hints had worked.

“Yeah, and we made McCall co-captain.”

I blew air out of my mouth, “I’m sure Jackson shit a brick.”

He shook his head, “Yeah, he’s not taking it well.” I shrugged and made my way over to the bench where Scott and Stiles were in the middle of a conversation. I didn’t join, just listened in.

“Yeah, she likes you. She’s totally into you.” Scott smirked. Stiles grinned, clearly excited. The She in this scenario could be none other than Lydia Martin. But there was something about Scott’s tone that threw me off. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lydia making her way to her seat in the bleachers, pulling out a compact mirror and fixing her lipstick. I didn’t want to believe that Scott would do that to his friend, but the facts were pointing towards it.

Practice seemed to be going well, that is until Scott got pushed over during a practice run. I could practically feel his anger from across the field.

“All right, you’re up, big boy! Let’s go!” Coach called. Scott retaliated this by knocking into another player, and sending him hard on his back. I winced, intaking a breath through my teeth.

“That’s it, McCall! That’s the spirit! You earn it! Earn it, McCall!” Coach grinned. Maybe this is why we had so many players on the bench. Coach could see victory when Scott played. It was Stiles' turn on the offensive against Scott. With the full moon so close, I don’t think their friendship would do Stiles any favors, he shoved Stiles away just as hard and fast as the other player. Each time he got a goal. The next player, Danny, also was a victim of werewolf rage since Scott hit him in the face, sending him to the ground. I grabbed Coach’s whistle and blew it, calling for the play to pause.

I jogged up to Danny and knelt down, some other players surrounded as well.

“Danny, can you hear me?” He nodded slowly, holding his bleeding nose. I stood up, “Take him to the bench guys.” I walked back over to Stiles and Scott.

“Everybody likes Danny. Now everybody’s gonna hate you.”

“I don’t care.” Scott said smugly. Stiles shook his head and went back to the benches.

“What the hell is your problem? You make co-captain and it goes to your head.” I shoved his shoulder. He breathed out, his eyes glowed yellow

“You don’t want to mess with me right now.”

I narrowed my eyes, “Is that a threat?” He smirked, his eyes going up and down my body.

“It could be.” I looked at him in disgust.

“First Lydia and now me? You’re a really shitty friend, Scott.” I made my way back to Stiles who was staring back at the bleachers. Jackson and Lydia were talking.

“He did it.” He whispered. I squeezed his arm lightly. It was going to be a long night.

That night, Stiles and I went to the McCall’s house to get prepared for the full moon. Stiles carried a duffle bag to the best of his ability, even though it had the steel chains and locks I had bought. One of the only reasons I came was so if I needed to I could get him out quickly. The other was because I didn’t know how he would react to the situation with Lydia. Stiles unlocked the door and went inside. Did Mrs. McCall know he had a key?“

Scott?” We heard her call. Mrs. McCall turned the corner and saw us in the hallway. She was in her scrubs, probably going in for a late night shift.

“Stiles.”

“And (Y/N).” I waved.

“Ah.” Her eyes went to Stiles' hand, she pointed, “Key.”

“Oh, yeah, I had one made.” Well, that answers that question.

“That doesn’t surprise me. It scares me, but it doesn’t surprise me” And then, like a buffoon, Stiles dropped the duffel bag with a heavy thud.

“What is that?”

“Uh, school project.” He lied. Mrs. McCall, who either believed the lie or just wanted to change the subject, asked: “He’s okay, right?”

“Who, Scott? Yeah, totally.” Stiles lied.

“He just doesn’t talk to me, not much anymore. Not like he used to.” She said somberly. I could only imagine that’s how my mom felt when I went into high school and into a phase where parents were uncool.

“Well, he had a bit of a rough week.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. Yeah. Um, okay. Uh, be careful tonight.”

“You, too.”

“Full moon.” She looked out the window. Stiles and I stiffened.

“What?”

“There’s a full moon tonight. You should see how the ER gets. Brings out all the nutjobs.”

“Oh.” He breathed out, both of our shoulders dropped.

“Yeah…” She said awkwardly.

“Right…”

“You know, it’s, um, actually where they came up with the word "lunatic.”

We opened the door to Scott’s room. Stiles dropped the duffel and turned on the lights. We both jumped when we saw Scott sitting in his computer chair.

“Oh my god.” I put a hand on my chest, trying to catch my breath.

“Dude, you scared the hell out of us. Your mom said you weren’t home.”

“I came in through the window.” he said blankly. Stiles and I shared a glance.

“Okay, um, let’s get this set up.” Stiles bent down to get into the duffel bag that was near the radiator, “(Y/N) got the heavy duty stuff.” I kept my distance from Scott, staying right by the door, ready to grab Stiles and book it.

“I’m fine,” Scott said, causing us both to stare, “I’m just gonna lock the door and turn in early.” We all knew a door wouldn’t stop him, he had other plans in mind.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked, “Cause you got this kinda serial killer look goin’ on in your eyes. I’m hopin’ it’s the full moon taking effect cause it’s starting to freak me out.”

“I’m fine.” Scott repeated, “You should both go home.”

“Alright, we’ll leave.” He stood up then stopped, clearly trying to put his back up plan into motion, ‘Well would you at least look in the bag and see what we bought? You know, maybe you use it, maybe you don’t.”

“Just in case you’re feeling a little anxious.” I smiled. Scott got up and walked to the duffel bag. He bent down and pulled out the thick, metal chains.

“You’re thinking I would put these on? Chain me up like a dog?” He snarled and dropped the chains.

“Actually, no.” Stiles quickly pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and slapped him on Scott’s wrist, chaining him to the heater. I grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him away when Scott lunged.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Scott growled.

“Protecting you from yourself.” Stiles sighed and glared, “And giving you payback. For making out with Lydia.” And there it was. Maybe I should have checked the bag for other items he bought. He went downstairs, leaving me and Scott in the bedroom.

“(Y/N), uncuff me!” He struggled.

I shook my head, “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I don’t have the key.”

He lunged and growled, causing me to jump. I looked away, embarrassed that I was showing him that I was afraid. But I was afraid. I’ve known this kid practically his entire life and he was turning into a completely different and dangerous person.

“You like that? Hmm?” He hummed suggestively. I shook my head, talking to him was probably going to just make things worse. Thankfully, Stiles had come back…with a dog bowl.

“I brought you some water.” He said, pouring water from a bottle into the bowl and setting it down in front of Scott.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU” Scott roared and threw the bowl at Stiles.

“Stiles…” I whispered. The situation was getting dangerous.

“You kissed her, Scott! Okay? You kissed Lydia. And that’s my…The one girl that I have-'' Stiles shook his head, “You know, for the past three hours, I’ve been thinking it’s probably just the full moon, you know? He doesn’t even know what he’s doing and tomorrow he’ll be back to normal. He probably won’t even remember what a complete dumbass he’s been. A son of a bitch. A frickin’ unbelievable piece of crap friend.”

“She kissed me.” Scott interrupted.

“What?” Stiles looked so betrayed.

Scott grinned menacingly, “I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me.” Stiles glared and walked out of the room, I followed behind.

“She had her hands all over me, she would have done anything I wanted! ANYTHING!” Scott’s voice rang through the house. Stiles paced back and forth outside the door.

“Stiles?” Scott called through the door, “Please let me out. It’s the full moon, I swear! You know I wouldn’t do any of this on purpose. Stiles, let me out. This is starting to hurt. You said it, Stiles, it’s the full moon. It’s Allison breaking up with me. It’s not just a break, she broke up with me. It’s killing me! I’m feeling hopeless. Just let me out.” Stiles paused, looking towards the door. I looked him in the eye, shaking my head.

“He’s just trying to make you feel bad.”

Stiles nodded, “I can’t.” He called.

“No! No no no!” Scott shouted, followed by screaming. And then silence. Stiles opened the door, Scott was gone. Only broken handcuffs remained. I grabbed a set of chains and started going downstairs.

“Stiles, stay here.”

“(Y/N)!” He called, grabbing my arm before I went out the door.

“Stay put.” I glared, shutting the door behind me. Scott was a sweet kid normally. But if I needed to keep Stiles safe and if that meant knocking out a couple of his teeth then I would. I went around back to his window and followed the path of broken grass into the woods. I gripped onto the chains tightly, ready to swing if I needed to. My plan had been to knock him out and chain him to a tree. Not sure how well that would work though.

I stopped in a clearing, having lost the trail. Behind me a twig snapped. I’ve always been an act first, ask questions later in these situations. I swung the chain, cracking Scott across the face. My eyes widened at the state of him. Like Derek, he had coarse hair growing down his cheeks, the bridge of his nose was scrunched up and appeared more animal like, his brow bone protruded. His jawline though? Still weird.

Scott’s head had swung to the side with the chain, he looked back slowly, and glared as he spit blood onto the ground. The scrape on his cheek healed almost immediately.

Ha ha, I’m in danger.

“Scott.” I said cautiously, taking a slow step back, “You know me. I’m your friend.” He wasn’t moving closer, but he also hadn’t stopped looking at me with his glowing yellow eyes like I was food.

“So, uh, you blow off your steam. Do some running, clear your head, that good stuff. And I will see you tomorrow. Okay?” I smiled nervously, he didn’t answer, “Okay.” Now it was time to run since I had gotten myself a decent head start. I turned and ran, hearing a roar and footsteps behind me. I threw the chains back over my head, hoping to trip him or hit him in the head. That didn’t seem to do much since he didn’t slow down.

All at once I was body slammed to the ground and turned on my back. Scott was sitting on top of me, leaning down he roared loudly in my face. His large pointed canines shone in the moonlight.

I screamed, shoving and kicking at him, “SCOTT! SCOTT PLEASE!” He thrusted a clawed hand down towards my chest that I barely caught. He seemed slightly confused, but pushed down. I whined, using everything I had keeping his sharp claws from my chest. I couldn’t even breathe.

“Scott, please don’t hurt me.” I begged through my teeth. He roared again, raising his other arm to strike when something flashed across my vision. Whatever it was, it knocked Scott off of me. I gasped for air, my lungs and muscles were screaming at me. The two began to fight, growling and snarling. I sat up, scrambling to get out of the direction of the brawl. I couldn’t see much in the dark since the clouds had covered the moon, but whoever it was got Scott on the ground, roaring down at him. The other stood up straight just as the moon’s light peaked through. And there stood Derek Hale - tall, proud, and very much alive.

---------------------

Read part 7 here!

Oh boy, who could have seen that coming? Anyone who’s seen season 1, that’s who.

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated!

Comment below or message me about being on the taglist :)

You Saved Me tag:

@nyotamalfoy

@fruitloopzzz

@babygirl-angel-love

@aestheticeggs (hi eggy)

#derek hale x reader #teen wolf fic #teen wolf x reader

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b1ksh88p · 3 years

Text

Be Mine Chapter 3

Plot: A storm is brewing in Valentine, and you’re in the middle of it. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen Harry and there’s already been a horrendous murder. With tensions high and everyone finger pointing your ex, Edmund, makes everything worse by spreading gossip. With the sting of rejection still weighing heavy on your heart you attempt to clear everything up only to make things worse.

Describing your mood as sour would be a understatement. You were numb. A grey cloud loomed over your usual cheery exterior as you went through day to day activities. Whenever someone asked if you were alright you’d chalk it up to trivial excuses. When in actuality you were torn that you’d been stupid enough to try and have a picnic with a killer. If you were sane maybe you’d tell the Sheriff and get some of his boys in uniform to smoke Harry out somehow but you had no taste for revenge. All you wanted was to move on.

But it seemed your ex had other plans. You worked in the diner, usually taking up the night shifts to rid yourself of boredom. As you were cleaning a table you overheard a couple chatting away about you of all topics. Why your name was in their mouths you didn’t know but from what you got out of it made you want to raise hellfire.

“I heard she goes down there every night to see that killer.”

“Edmund said that the sherif saw her go in with food and came out empty handed.”

“No way, maybe she’s a killer.”

There’s no way you could allow these two peons spread such outlandish babble. You’ve never killed anyone nor would you ever. The thought of murdering another made you sick to your stomach. “Edmund is a long-nosed good for nothing asshole who spends his time making up calumniations and dumping his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day for a dumb blonde with a baby voice. You two and the rest of your bubble headed friends would be fools to believe anything that comes out his mouth.” You finish with a astute turn into the back for a extensive smoke break.

If you saw Edmund or that sleazy sheriff you’d be sure to give them a piece of your mind. And speak of the devil, there he was. Your blood was replaced with boiling water as you stomped your way towards him. He was with the sherif and some other random cop you didn’t know. Both of them saw you coming and started to drift apart before you whistle and jogged towards the two snakes.

“Where we going boys? Running away from the new killer of the town?”

“Now listen Y/N I didn’t mean to start anything.” The sheriff assured.

You weren’t impressed. “You’re just the last one seen in the mines so...it makes sense.” Edmund shrugged.

“And you were the last one fucking the blonde bimbo you cheated on me with and she has crabs....so it makes sense right?” You snap back garnering a chortle from the other cop.

“It’s not my fault you’re a boring bitch who can’t get anyone to date you except for some psycho?!” He growled.

“I’m not dating anyone and I’m not a killer. Instead of gossiping like little girls how about you three go investigate and find the real killer.” You throw down the cigarette and stomp it out beneath your heel.

“We apologize if we’ve caused you any trouble Miss, we’re doing the best we can.” The Sheriff whispered.

“Keep my name out your ass licking mouths and out the fucking paper.” You demand before walking back inside the diner.

After your shift you began to walk home. The ominous glow of streetlights did little to scare you. On your way to you lovely home you stopped by the liquor store. A bit tipsy you ventured the winding fucked up roads. The quiet sounds of the night were ruined by the sounds of sirens. It had been what? 72 hours and some change since the last murder what the hell could the coppers be speeding for? Even in your mildly drunken stupor you noticed where they were heading. The mines. Sober you would’ve kept walking like any sane person but you were running on anger, worry, and rum. A mix that didn’t bode well when making good decisions.

You knew a shortcut through the trees and made haste. By the time you fought through flora and fauna two cars were already there. The sheriff and Edmund were there holding lanterns and guns. You step out from behind the trees, face bathed in red and blue lights. Softly stepping towards the shit show. “What the fuck are you two asswipes doing?!” You call out as you make your way to the entrance of the mine. Before they can stop you you’re in front of the cold entrance.

“You protecting your boyfriend again?” Edmund spat as he loaded his gun.

“You don’t have a gotdamn clue who killed those two. It takes you dumb mother fuckers months to even get close to closing a case!”

“We know he’s down there Y/N and he’s gonna fucking burn for what he did. And if you gotta burn with him so fucking be it!” He aimed the gun at you which almost made you piss yourself. You stumble back as he aims it at you. The thumping of your heart beat in your ears.

“I’m not you enemy! And neither is he!” Your words were bold but hoarse.

“That son of a bitch killed family. I don’t care what you think he’s going to die, and if I have to shoot you to get to him I fucking will!” The sheriffs attempts to calm down Edmund were futile. He had his eyes on you. They were large and red and full of rage. He looked like a rabid animal and you his prey.

“...You’re angry I get that but this is a mob attack not a lawful pick up. You have no evidence-“

“DONT GIVE ME A FUCKING LESSON IN LAW BITCH I AM THE FUCKING LAW!” He shot at the ground beneath your feet sending dirt into your eyes. The muffled scolding from the sheriff did nothing to stop your beating heart. In fact there were bigger problems.

Another shot cracked through the night sending you to the ground covering your head. The grotesque sound of choking made you gag. The Sheriff was on the ground, clambering hands grabbing at the gaping hole in his chest as he bled out. Edmund was in shock. He held the man’s dead hand with wide eyes. Perfect time to get away. You book it into the mines. It was dark and cold, even chillier with a fresh murderer on your heels. At first you didn’t hear him but a shot echoed through the caves followed by some demands for you and Harry to reveal yourselves. That wasn’t happening so you keep running, ducking into random corridors to try and throw him off your trail.

Apart of you was afraid of running into Harry. What if he was angry at you? Running into one killer to escape the other was a chance you really didn’t want to take. You’d rather wait it out and hide. Hopefully Harry would take care of Edmund and you could run away without interacting with either of them. You stop running to hide in a old mining cart that was turned over. Covering your mouth with shaking hands you listen. A heavy set of footsteps past you, Edmund more than likely. It wasn’t like Harry to be so loud. He taunted what you assumed were the shadows to face him like a real man. He didn’t really see him right? You wish you could peek but you were far to afraid you’d get your head blown off.

“So that’s what you look like. Y’know it’s crazy. You don’t look like a monster.” He cocked the gun. “Tell me how you did it. How you killed my dad you fucking monster.” He demanded.

There was no response on Harry’s end. You hear something fall to the ground and then Edmund’s smug laughter. What the hell was going on? You quietly peak from out your hiding space. The minimal lighting made the scene hard to make out but by the looks of it Harry had...given up. He had thrown his pick axe ahead of him, taken off the mask, and dropped to his knees. A gloved hand on the barrel of the gun pointing it to his head. You couldn’t believe your eyes. Was he insane? Edmund goes into a end game spill about how long he’s waited to do this. How he’d pin the Sheriff’s and I’s murder on Harry and walk out the mines a hero. During this you start to crawl towards them, ready to rush him or throw a rock, anything to buy Harry time. Your chest is tight as you hold your breath. Nearing the both of them as quietly as you possibly can. Edmund cocks the gun and says something to the effect of “everyone dies, somebody should’ve take your sorry ass out long ago.” Before you hear a shot.

It hits the ceiling once you use all your might to swing Harry’s pickaxe into Edmund’s head, through his cheek. The blast was so close to Harry he fell back in pain. Edmund leans on the wall holding the left side of his face, still turned away from you. When he does look at you all the blood drains from your body. His tongue hung from the broken jaw like a salivating dog, torn flesh dangled around missing teeth, with so much flesh exposed blood spritzed out every time he moved closer to you. He couldn’t move his jaw so when he spoke it was a gurgled cacophony of rage and disbelief. You lift the pick axe once more but see him lift the shotgun and take aim. This makes you freeze like a deer in headlights. You close your eyes, bracing for impact. But to your surprise it never comes. Instead Harry had gotten up and tackled him, only problem was that he got shot.

The two men fell to the ground. Edmund kicking him off and frantically reaching into his pocket for two more shells. Without thinking you kick the gun from his hands. He tried to get up but you stomp on his chest with all the rage bottled up inside. He looks up at you with that mangled face and large eyes but mercy was the last thing on your mind. You look over him, raise the crude weapon, and allow the cold metal to pierce through his chest. You let out a exasperated scream as you continue your onslaught. Hammering down years of neglect, wasted time, slander, and abuse into what’s left of his broken body. When you’re done he’s left torn apart. Rib cage broken and organs exposed. In all the madness you vomit from the stress and overall exertion of energy you used up. The groans from Harry snap you back to reality and you go to aid him.

“Oh god oh shit hold on hold on.” You ramble. Your hands try their best to cover the wound. He was shot in the side. Luckily it wasn’t a direct hit but without medical attention it was gonna get nasty. You use Edmund’s jacket to help stop the bleeding. He was just staring at you. “What? What the hell are you gonna yell at me for now???” You yell trying not to cry. He lifts a bloody hand to your face.

FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON DRAGON BALL Z

#harry warden #slasher #slashers #fanfic

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jensungf · 4 years

Text

𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄? ฅ 𝐥.𝐣𝐧

summary: your mother always told you a lot as a child — about how you should always be kind to others, to always watch out for stray kittens in dark allies on your way to school and most importantly, to not judge a book by its cover. you didn’t always listen to her. yet you would have to say your biggest weakness would come in the form of cats. and maybe lee jeno as well.

pairing: shy!reader + badboy!lee jeno genre: high school!au, fluff<3 word count: 1.8k warnings: language, mentions of disease

author’s note: another one of my blurbs that accidentally turned into a really long drabble hehe i hope the anonnie who requested this enjoys! <3 as always constructive criticism is appreciated and you can request after checking my prompt list.

just like every other caring parent, your mom went on and on about what she deemed to be important life lessons during your childhood, and even now — about how you should always be kind to others, to always watch out for stray kittens if you pass by the alley next to the flower garden on your way to school and most importantly, to not judge a book by its cover.

you tried your best to listen to her. you really did. but sometimes, people had weaknesses and besides your more than often bouts of procrastination and incessant affinity for watermelon sour patch candies —

(“if i was your dentist, i’d probably hate and love you,” jisung snickered as you shot him a look of confusion. “‘cause you must have hella cavities but that would mean i could charge you more money! i’m so sm- ow, that hurts (y/n)!” you rolled your eyes after picking up the bag of watermelon sour patches you had thrown at his forehead and ripping it open to pop one in your mouth)

— yet you would have to say your biggest weakness would come in the form of cats. cute, fluffy, insanely adorable stray cats.

although you had your fair share of friends, you preferred to stray away from human interaction (honestly, it was too much of a hassle, you were never really the type to approach people first anyways, your shyness getting the best of you and you preferred it that way), you preferred the company of much smaller, fluffier animals. although your mother always warned you about the dangers stray animals possessed, whether it be how they could carry rabid diseases or put you at risk of bad luck, you stopped hesitating to bring some snacks for the poor, small kittens years ago on your daily walk to school.

you paused as soon as you heard a small mewl followed by some rustling and shuffled your feet forward, peering into the dark alley before you felt something nudge against your leg. you jumped back, but let out a sigh of relief. you crouched down, holding your hand out for the tiny kitten to nuzzle against.

you cooed and reached into your backpack, bringing out the cubes of watermelon you had packed earlier before gently offering a piece to the black and white kitten.

“what do you think you’re doing?” a gruff voice asked, causing you to flinch and jump back. your head snapped up, only to find the source of the voice to be someone who scared you a lot more than you liked to admit.

lee jeno.

everyone who knew anyone knew that lee jeno fit in with the cliche archetype of a bad boy. he hung out with his troublemaker friends in a group of seven (including jisung, but how you still managed to be friends with that giant noodle without encountering his friends, you will still never know), with rumors spreading like wildfire amongst your peers of them always being late to school, stirring up mischief with their motorbikes and causing ruckuses during detention.

you didn’t expect him to be here out of all places.

he was never the center of all of the attention, preferring to stay behind his loudmouth friends and observe quietly, laughing whenever donghyuck or jaemin would make a joke and joining in with his friends’ antics whenever he felt like it. but make no mistake — the moment anyone saw his muscular arms and the glint in his eye, they knew he wasn’t going to be one to mess with.

you realized he was staring you expectantly, waiting for an answer but your brain seemed to short-circuit from surprise. you opened your mouth, desperately trying to rack up a response with your pea-sized brain (stupid y/n, why did i have to forget how to speak an entire language right at this very moment?, you groaned internally) before closing your mouth and averting your eyes to the very interesting concrete ground.

“cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” he teased, smirking almost flirtatiously. (you never noticed it but jeno’s ears flushed red, not knowing where this sudden confidence came from. he usually wasn’t the type to flirt… at least not like this in broad daylight with a random pretty stranger. he’d be damned to say jaemin was finally rubbing off on him.)

you bit your lip, unsure what to say back and cursed yourself for being so awkward. you glanced briefly at his figure, his broad shoulders donning his signature outfit of a black leather jacket, low cut almost hawaiian-looking shirt and ripped skinny jeans (it was literally so sunny outside, how was he not sweating in that? also, did he ever wash that jacket? you could’ve sworn you had never even seen him without it) before pressing your lips into a firm, thin line.

your eyes fluttered down to the kitty, ignoring him, yet you were struggling to remember how to breathe properly. your friends had always called you shy, albeit approachable, but you never realized how difficult it was for you to just simply talk to someone you actually sort of wanted to talk to until this very moment. why was just saying a single word so hard? and why did it have to be the school’s notorious bad boy here with you out of everyone in this town?

he frowned, not used to girls blatantly ignoring him, but it wasn’t the first time it happened. he tried to search your face for any sign of recognition, but you were too invested in the cat, or rather, his cat to pay him any attention.

(he’s never been jealous of a cat before but he’d never admit that at this moment, he would’ve liked to switch places with nal. what a nice life it must be for a cat to be fed watermelon all day and be coddled with attention and affection from a pretty girl.)

“how’d you know she liked watermelon?” he asked before bending down. your eyes flickered up until you realized how close he was to you, only a few mere inches away from your body. you shrugged, not trusting your voice to speak.

“nal,” he whispered, bending down to your level, whistling to coax her towards him. she meowed, licking the last bit drop of watermelon juice on her paw before pouncing towards jeno, her fluffy tail looping around his beat-up hightops. his usual stoic expression curled up into a boyish grin as he started petting her and murmuring praises of how adorable she was.

you could hardly believe your own two eyes. lee jeno, everyone’s picture-perfect example of a bad boy who looked like he walked straight out of the cheesiest teenage rom-com flick was ... a softie for cats?

never in a million years would you have pictured this in your mind.

you tried to stifle the laughter bubbling in your chest, but jeno looked up to catch your eyes. heat crept up your spine and consumed your face, causing you to look back down at the kitty who was nuzzling against him again.

“what’s so funny?” he asked, cocking his head and raising his eyebrows.

you couldn’t help it if your heart decided to do somersaults seeing his innocent expression, resembling that of a confused five-year-old child.

you shook your head before softly asking, “she’s yours?”

he bit back a grin at finally hearing your voice and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a silver chain collar with a charm (engraved with “nal”), the silver bell attached to it lightly jingling. how ironic yet fitting, you thought.

“i can’t take her home with me because i’m allergic, so i let her roam around here and visit every day until i can find a place for her to stay,” he explains as he scratches her behind the ear, earning a delightful meow before slipping the chain over her head.

you took a step back, mentally taking a snapshot of this moment. you couldn’t help but giggle lightly once you realized that jeno and nal looked almost exactly alike, as if nal was jeno in cat form, with her black and white fur adorned with a chain collar looking exactly like his usual monochromatic outfit and worn black leather jacket, not to mention the silver chain bracelets and necklace he wore all the time.

jeno’s head snapped up once again to watch you laugh.

his heart thumped a little harder than he would’ve liked to admit.

“bad boys don’t take care of stray cats,” you say, finally locking eyes with jeno. “especially the bad boys who are allergic to cats,” you smile.

he shrugged, his boyish grin still etched on his handsome face. (screw handsome, you couldn’t lie — you’ve wondered on more than one occasion how blessed his parents must be to have a son whose looks could rival a professional model’s face.)

you couldn’t help but notice how different he seemed now, looking more like a carefree and lovable child rather than a reckless troublemaker.

“don’t judge a book by its cover, sweetheart,” he said before giving you a wink, starkly contrasting with the way he tried to hide how he scratched his reddening nape afterwards.

he gave one last gentle rub to nal’s head before standing up, getting on his motorbike. he looked back, with a glint of something in his eyes. “need a ride, sweetheart? or the cat still got your tongue?”

you froze in your spot, feeling your face turn hot with embarrassment. you weren’t used to this. it was the school’s bad boy after all.

but you could get used to it.

mustering all the courage inside of your shy mighty heart, you look down at nal and gave her a gentle kiss on the top of her head, letting her nibble on one last piece of watermelon.

“my mother always told me not to judge a book by its cover,” you mused, a hint of playfulness in your voice. “i guess i was wrong about you.”

“i’m y/n,” you added shyly.

jeno’s eyes crinkled into crescents, a genuine smile forming on his face.

“jeno.”

you walked hesitantly up to his bike, and took a seat behind him gingerly.

you let your arms fall to grip the sides of the seat, before jeno shook his head and lifted your hands up to wrap your arms securely around his toned torso. “hold on tight.”

guess your mother was right after all.

+ bonus blurb!

#jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #jeno fluff #jeno x reader #kwritersworldnet #nct dream scenarios #nct dream blurbs #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #fluff #jeno drabbles #drabbles #high school!au #badboy!au #i love badboy!jeno so much THIS WAS SO CUTE #leyna writes #hehe if anyone cant tell the symbol is a cats paw

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kiwi-strawberry-banana · 4 years

Text

So, this post is going to be an analysis on SkekTek the Scientist, comparing his movie self versus his tv self, as well as various predictions for season 2 or onwards. I know there have been analysis of him before, but this is a big ole hodgepodge of my own thoughts.

Ok, so, I will make no secret that SkekTek is my favorite, and as such I may or may not have analyzed him a lot in many pictures from the movie and tv show, and heres what I think;

The first season is only a peek at his descent into madness, as well as the lengths he will go to gain the approval of all around him.

In the show, it is already shown that SkekTek seeks the approval of those around him, especially the Emperor. He is regarded as the weakest Skeksis and, as such, is at the end of a lot of ridicule from the other Skeksis (he is most commonly referred to as "weakling" by various Skeksis including SkekVar the General, SkekMal the Hunter, and I believe SkekSo the Emperor). The ridicule is to the point where he is often secluded in his lab with his only friends being animals and Sidetic. ("SkekTek never forgets a true friend.")

His desire for acceptance from the other Skeksis is so deep reaching that he forsakes many things, such as his friendship with Aughra.

When she is being strapped to the chair, preparing to be drained, she brings up their past friendship. There is so much nuance behind here doing so. In that moment, she is reaching out to SkekTek, reminding him of what they once had, of how she hasn't forgotten.

She is reaching out and giving him a chance to stop. And if he had simply brushed her off, I wouldn't be bringing this up. But rather than immediately ignore her or respond

He looks to The Emperor, the Skeksis that rules over all of them, and one that SkekTek has been vying for approval from for so long.

And SkekSo knows it.

(Gif credit @rabid-apathy)

He doesn't tell SkekTek to get a move on, nor does he berate him. Instead, he looks to the side, almost as in a "you know what to do" type gesture. At this point, SkekTek is in too far deep, so desperate for the approval of his brethren that don't care about him in the slightest that he forsakes the possibility of rekindling a lost friendship.

"Another world, another time."

If you rewatch this scene and watch Aughras reaction after SkekTek says that (because I can't find the gif or pic of it), she is genuinely hurt and saddened by SkekTeks response. She was being genuine when she reminded him of their friendship and was hoping that maybe it could still be there, that he could stop this.

But he didn't.

And after further ridicule from multiple Skeksis and gorging himself on essence, he does what some would say is the moment he snaps.

He kills the Gruenaks.

I know this scene has already been analyzed before, so I won't go as in depth, but that moment was a very pivotal scene. Aside from it being the moment that all the anger that has been building up inside SkekTek comes out, as well as when the idea of the Garthim comes to pass, it is also both a sad and terrifying moment for both the Gruenaks and SkekTek.

For the Gruenaks, the moment is terrifying because they were so close to freedom only for the horrifying reality to come crashing back in their faces.

And for SkekTek, the moment is horrifying for two reasons. One, because he had been going through so much ridicule and mockery for so long despite everything he did for the Skeksis that the moment of two Gruenak slaves defying him ("No slaves") was the ultimate tipping point.

For so long, I don't think SkekTek even felt like one of the Skeksis. It is commented on by the Emperor when he confronts SkekTek on how much essence will be needed for immortality (Can't remember the exact quote, but it is along the lines of how SkekTek takes solace in animals compared to being around the other Skeksis). Time and time again, SkekTek rarely interacts with other Skeksis unless they need something. So when he sees the Gruenaks have turned against him, he goes on a long spiel about how he is SkekTek the Scientist, a master of life and death, etc.

But he ends it with:

"I am Skeksis!"

A yell that is desperate. A need for affirmation, one that no Skeksis has given him. And with it, he snaps.

If the Gruenaks hadn't resisted, it's likely he still would have killed them. If not, they would have at least been severely wounded. There was too much rage and, combined with him being drunk on essence, there was nothing the Gruenaks could have done to calm SkekTek down.

And that moment with the Gruenaks? That is the point where things tip.

That moment is the first big step into his descent into insanity.

There had been smaller steps up until then, such as the draining of Gelfling, the loss of his eye, the constant ridicule, and draining Aughra. But the Gruenaks was big.

Which brings me to my next point:

I don't know if this has been brought up before, if it has I have not seen it, but SkekTek is horrifyingly different when you compare his tv self and his movie self.

Tv:

Movie:

All the other Skeksis are obviously decrepit by the time of the movie (fun fact, movie SkekOk has one extra pair of glasses compared to tv SkekOk), however SkekTek is the most different.

We see him lose his eye in the show, and while the book states that he replaced his own arm and leg with robotic prosthetics, as well as put tubes in his body to study his bloodflow, those things do not happen before the tv show.

And I know this because, if you compare the two, it is clear that Skektek does have both arms in the show where as in the movie:

You can clearly see that that arm is definitely a robotic one.

(Fun fact 2, watch his scenes from the movie and watch his arms. While he will use the robotic one, he doesn't actually move that one around all that much compared to his other arm.)

Aside from his arm, movie SkekTek has a large amount of tubes, wires, and metal pieces all throughout his body, including even more where his eye prosthetic is.

I could go on with the side by side comparisons, but I think it is safe to say that there is more that happens to SkekTek aside from him aging.

But a final big change from the time of the show versus the movie has to be his animals.

I've already stated that in the show, they are his only real companions (especially Sidetic). The animals in his lab are his only company and, frankly, are rather calm when it's just SkekTek in the lab. But by the movie? He is constantly yelling at them to be quiet, regarding them cruelly and awfully while they screech about the moment he enters the room.

Which brings me to my final point and some speculation:

It is likely that, despite the creation of the Garthim, as well as him having developed the method for creating essence, SkekTek is still going to be the subject of constant ridicule by the Skeksis, to the point where his last shred of sanity snaps and he begins the experiments on his body.

Whether those experiments are due to the Emperors demand for a solution for his own deteriorating body or because SkekTek is so desperate to no longer be seen as weak that he replaces his limbs in a desperate bid for more strength, that is up for debate.

SkekTek is one of the few Skeksis to actually think about things such as the wellbeing of Thra (his momentary plea to the Emperor that the more they drain Gelfling, the faster the Darkening will spread), as well as having moments of genuine kindness to creatures that aren't Skeksis ("Hush now, hush now. All is well."), but like the rest of the Skeksis, SkekTek is driven by a combination of greed and fear, one that sends him on a downward spiral until he meets his ultimate end.

Tldr; SkekTek has a rougher time in the foreseeable future. Someone give this vulture a vacation please.

(Also, I do not condone any of the awful things SkekTek does. Yes, killing is bad.)

(Final thing, I know there is debatable continuity between the show and the movie. Even so, I still wanted to do this. Because I can.)

#the dark crystal #the dark crystal age of resistance #skeksis #skektek #my post #analysis

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write-like-you-mean-it · 4 years

Text

A Hunter’s Prey: Death and the Notebook

“You really should be advancing further than this,” said Illumi. It has been a week since we’ve arrived back at the Zoldyck mansion. Illumi has mainly been ignoring me and I the same to him. I have yet to decipher if what happened was a mistake or intentional. The kiss has left me more confused than I was before. I felt like I couldn’t breathe around him. All the air was sucked into a space less than a straw width.

“I’m trying the best I can,” I said while letting go of my aura. I was at the point of holding zetsu for a full hour. That’s at least what Illumi calls it. I focus aura away from escaping my body rather than having it flow. The week has been replaced with training. The meeting with Hisoka and Machi seemed like a long time ago.

“I doubt it,” muttered Illumi while he practiced with his aura. He’s been doing that more than before too. Usually when I practiced, he would watch me. The awkwardness has left tension. If it is good or bad tension has yet to be determined.

I turn to face him. “I am trying. You haven’t been giving me anything beyond telling me that I’m not good enough.” I watched as another pin hit the back wall. There were hundreds sprinkled into the wall. They all seemed to be a random mess of needles; yet, I knew they weren’t He would pick a place and aim. Every place was calculated and cold.

“Get back to your training. I won’t tell you again.” I wouldn’t get through to him. He thought he was correct and I was wrong.

I closed my eyes once again and held my aura. My only solace has been within my aura. It gave me a peace of mind as if every second held memories. There was only a beautiful picture of strength and tranquility that took over. Power took over me. I felt power that I didn;’t know I could possess. Why didn’t Machi want me to gain this power? Why did she know Hisoka? Did she know Illumi?

The door slammed open. It was a crash of fear that made me lose concentration. On the other hand, Illumi didn’t even flinch. I turned towards the noise. It was Milluki. “Netero is dead.” Illumi threw another needle. It landed in between two dots. Perfection once again.

“The chairman is dead. Interesting.” Illumi finally turned to look at his brother. “How?”

“It was the ants,” panted Milluki. He must’ve ran here. This must’ve been a big deal for him to actually leave his room. I hadn’t seen him since the dinner. Milluki noticed me. He took a deep breath and tried to stand a little taller. “Oh hello there beautiful. I didn’t notice you there.”

“Milluki,” shouted Illumi while aiming a pin at his brother. “Why are you telling me this? Shouldn’t you tell father?”

“Father told me to tell you. Well tell you that and Gon’s almost dead.” This piqued Illumi’s interest. Gon? I remember that name. Where have I heard it before?

“And Kil?” asked Illumi.

“Alive.”

Illumi seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. What does Killua have to do with Gon? This conversation didn’t involve me. I shouldn’t ask anything. Yet, I could get information from Milluki more than I could from Illumi.

“Do you think Kil is coming for it?” Illumi stated. Milluki entered the room finally and stood, a little too close for comfort, to me. Illumi followed suit as a sign of dominance.

“Father thinks he’s on his way. He should be here soon.”

Illumi nodded his head slowly and sighed. “That means we’ll have to watch it very, very closely.”

“I already have cameras on him. He seemed to be as happy as normal. No change.” Milluki stepped a little too close. His arm brushed against mine.

“Then you have a job to do,” growled Illumi while he pulled on my arm. His grip held tightly. I could feel his aura pulsing through his body. Every inch of him had a level of bloodlust only held for rabid animals protecting their prey. Illumi pulled me behind him. It was the most protection I’ve gotten all week. “Leave, Milluki.”

“I can take a hint,” Milluki said while walking to the door. “You know you can’t protect her forever. You’re going to have to leave her alone sometime. And when that time comes, she may come running to me.” Milluki knew he’d have to try running as fast as he could. Within the place he stood, were many, many needles.

I held onto Illumi’s arm. “Illumi,” I said in a quiet voice. His anger still pulsed with every second. It was ravenous and exhilarating to feel. I could feel my heartbeat match every pulse of his aura. “Let him go. I’m not going with him.”

It took another minute before he finally dropped his aura. For the first time in days, Illumi finally looked at me. “You’re mine and only mine.”

I could only nod my head. I don’t think I was agreeing to agree but rather to stop his anger. It was all consuming and powerful. Too powerful that I didn’t want it to snap or I would be lying in the wake of the disaster.

“Illumi,” I repeated as I finally stepped away. His eyes still locked on mine. “Let’s be done for today.”

Another pregnant pause took over the conversation. “Okay.” I didn’t notice that aura was escaping from my hands. It must’ve been a defense tactic. Or an offensive that I had yet to learn.

We took the long way back to the room. Illumi only does this when he’s had a terrible day. Most of the time it is after a mission or when I hadn’t advanced as much as he wanted in one day. We’ve been taking this trip longer than the short one.

Once in the room, Illumi went back to his computer setup. He pulled out a Hunter card. “You’re a Hunter?” I ask while sitting on the bed.

“Yes. I got it a year ago.” I watched as he pulled up article after article about the chairman’s death and the boy, Gon’s condition.

Gon? The name rattled in my head for far too long. The book! His name had my treatment. It was like that with Hisoka too. “Whose Gon? And why is his name in your book?”

“You’ve been snooping in my stuff?” Illumi didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“I did the day you brought me to this room. The notebook had my name, Hisoka’s, Gon’s, Kurapika's, and Leorio’s name in it the same. Why?”

Illumi stayed quiet while typing a few more things on the computer. “Are you going to answer?” I asked. I waited a few more minutes before repeating my question. It received the same response.

“Why don’t you tell me anything? Our life together is going to be very boring if you don’t tell me things. Especially if these things have to do with me.” Illumi stopped typing.

“Our life?” he asked. The words seemed so foriegn even though I had spoken them only a few seconds before. I didn’t even realize that I had said them.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “If I’m to stay here, then it will be very boring to me.” Backtracking wasn’t going to help. It was already out on the table. ‘Our life’ might’ve been a Fruedian slip but it was done.

“Our life,” he repeated. This time a more puzzled look took over my face. What was happening? Was I going insane? Wasn’t it only weeks ago that he captured me and chained me up? I shouldn’t be thinking like this.

My body lied back onto the bed and covered my face. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I closed my eyes in the hope that everything would disappear. It was a hope that I would wake up back in my bed after a long night of drinking and I had dreamed all of this up. Yes, this must’ve been a vivid dream that had a mind of its own.

I almost believed my mind until I felt the bed shift. Once I opened my eyes, I saw Illumi sitting next to me. He held the little book in his hand. “Y/N, do you really want to know about this?” he asked. His voice was calm like a babbling brook or the soft rain on a Sunday. There was a melting feeling towards his words.

“Yes.”

Illumi sighed while flipping to the page with my name. “I wrote your name down when I finally learned it. I saw you on a mission many years ago. I couldn’t get you out of my head ever since then.”

“And the others.”

“They’re acquaintances of Kil. Kurapika and Leorio are off doing other things. Hisoka is an acquaintance of mine. Sadly, you had the opportunity to meet him.”

“So Hisoka is your friend.”

“No,” interjected Illumi. “Zoldycks do not have any friends. They only have their family. Friends get the likes of us killed.”

“And Gon?”

“He’s the person that is playing friends with Kil,” said Illumi while turning the page to meet his name. “They met at the Hunter Exam and have been inseparable ever since. I tried to convince Kil that I and the family was all he needed. He escaped rather easily with the help of Gon. Kurapika, and Leorio. Hisoka watches over Gon due to his power. We have similar goals.”

I looked away from Illumi for a second. It seems as though Illumi had yet to grasp that Gon was his friend. I could feel it in my soul that they were friends, best friends even. If Gon is truly dying, then Killua must be in hell.

I realized something in the quietness. If Illumi had no friends, then he must live an unhappy life. His family seemed like a mess. He was stuck with no one to talk to except his parents. No wonder he wants to keep me here. I was to be the only support he has had. While Illumi will deny that Hisoka is his friend, I knew otherwise. Hisoka didn’t have to watch me.

Silence fell on the room once again. “What am I to you?” My question was a silent one. It was one that I wanted to know for so long.

“My wife,” he said while closing the book. I rolled my eyes.

“Then what does that mean?”

Illumi got up to put the book back in its place. “It means that you’re mine until death. I’ll watch over you like my father watches over my mother. You’ll be the daughter of the Zoldycks. We’ll have many children and train them to be assassins like me. We carry down the tradition.”

“So you’re next in line?”

Illumi stopped for a second. He waited to answer this one until he climbed back into bed. “No, I am not.”

“But you’re the eldest. Shouldn’t it be you?” There was a look in Illumi’s eyes. One that held passion and drive yet was soft and quiet.

“Do you want to know about the Zoldyck hierarchy?” he asked. Our space was closing ever so slightly. I didn’t even notice until there was less than a six inches difference between us. I don’t remember when this happened. I pulled away to the side of the bed once again.

“If you want to tell me,” I said.

“I should tell you. As it will impact your future as much as mine.” Ilumi mirrored me when pulled back. It was like he realized the same thing as I did. Weirdly enough the gap felt too far. It was an expanse of blankets that a small sea could traverse easily. Part of me wanted to take a boat to the seat and close the gap. Part of me wanted to escape across the beach until I met civilization once again.

“Who is the next heir?”

“Killua.”

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#illumi x reader #illumi zoldyck #hunterxhunter #hxh #A Hunter's Prey #chapter 14

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

Note

Story about Joey being a vampire hunter and Sammy being a vampire. You can bring in Norman ((human or vampire))to to safe him

Summary: In which Sammy is sometimes a very ugly bat, and his boss might want to kill him. Normal workplace issues.

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[[MORE]]

Hypsignathus monstrosus. Commonly known as the hammer-headed bat (or big-lipped bat if you preferred a more unusual denominator), is a frugivorous species of megabat widely distributed in West and Central Africa. It's the only member of its genus, Hypsignathus, which in itself is part of the Epomophorimi tribe alongside other four unique genera.

The largest bat in continental Africa, with wingspans approaching 1 m (or about 3 ft), and the males being almost twice as heavy as the females. It's a sexually dimorphic bat species, with differences including several adaptations that help males produce and amplify vocalizations. Mainly the differing size of the males' larynges, which are about three times as large as those of females, and the large resonating chambers on their faces that give them such a distinct look.

The females in turn, appear more fox-like as is the norm of most megabat species.

All in all, information that really didn't help Sammy in the slightest, as he tried to make sense of three different books that, in theory, should give him a vague idea of what the hell was going on with his body this time...

To put it in simpler terms, he'd turned into a bat, as per say of those ye olde queer tales of vampires that were capable of shifting into those little chittering flying rats that flew out of caves and dreary old castles at night…

But then what he'd seen reflected (because most modern mirrors were not backed by silver or other such pure metals) had most definitely not looked like a squashed-nosed winged rat. It had looked truly like a freakish monster.

But that was getting a little ahead of himself really...

There were things one had to note beforehand to really comprehend what Sammy Lawrence was currently going through: Starting with the attack.

Two years ago he'd been assaulted by what he'd once assumed to be a creature of mere legend, although at the time he'd thought it was a random dog attack because what had taken a chunk off of him looked inhuman (more like a very warped looking pug-snoutted thing now that he really thought about it).

On awakening the next morning at the hospital, he'd been informed that he'd henceforth be barred from entering such facilities because he now suffered from vampirism, and that his name and records had been archived by some secret governmental agency that then directed him to a sub-civilization of non-humans.

Shocked and confused, he'd been quickly integrated into a coven that took no time to teach him the basics.

He was to live life as if nothing had changed, hidden among mere humans, yet he'd be judged as a pest by those that recognized specific documentation he now had to carry for "security reasons" (aka clearance for services to deny him due to his ailment).

Oh and he had to cope with the harrowing realization that food did nothing for him other than eliciting a form of pleasure (through stimulating his taste buds) and that he needed to instead find nourishment in human blood, otherwise he'd either die or go into an uncontrollable frenzied state (in which case he might end up dead anyway because if he so much as killed a person he'd be put down like a rabid dog).

No pressure right?

Funnily enough, Sammy had actually adapted to this drastic change. The poor man had to, otherwise he was screwed.

And then again it hadn't been all that difficult since the coven was less of what you'd assume from the olden tales of groups or communities of vampires living in the same roost, and more of a civil service in of itself.

It was like having a parole officer really. One that gave you some pointers in the right direction, and that reminded you of feeding schedules.

Feeding itself wasn't as bad either, twice every month in specially assigned locations where cattle would be provided to them by a few sponsored ranches.

What really bothered Sammy about all this was the maturing of his vampirical traits. Specifically the part when one night he found himself ripping out of his clothes and seeing his body grotesquely transform into a quadrupedal flying thing that he couldn't quite put a name to. Hence why he'd come to the library in search of answers.

Still the best description he got was for some African fruit bat that had a face that not even a mother could love.

How could a vampire seemingly become a herbivorous bat, when he knew for certain he'd slaughtered two horses the previous night?

"Found anything yet deary?"

Sammy startled slightly as Mrs. Harrison, bless her for being the supportive sweet old grandma figure that she was in his time of need (and one of the few humans who knew of his predicament and didn't judge him for it), joined him with a couple of books.

She'd taken them both, plus Abigail, to the library to help him figure out about his strange transformations.

She was also the one who took Abby on the nights he needed to feed because he couldn't trust himself not to attack her.

He was too akin to a wild animal on a frenzy when he felt the hunger calling, which Mrs. Harrison had stated was normal for fledgeling vampires like himself.

"Honestly, just this ugly looking thing… it's the closest I've found to what I saw in the mirror."

"Ah, the hammer-headed bat! They're quite unique I'd say… My dear husband, god rest his soul, used to stuff them back when he hunted in Africa. He thought they might bring him luck, the nutter." The old linguistics teacher smiled, the gaps where she was missing teeth making it look slightly crooked but no less endearing. "It isn't unusual for vampires to instinctively take on forms that don't quite match their dietary needs. Most who change become similar to a species that best suits their needs. This one I'd say has qualities befitting of you deary."

"That's… not very comforting." His nose had always been a sore spot. Turning into an animal whose face was 90% nose was just insulting to him.

"Don't take it so badly deary." Mrs. Harrison chuckled. "What I mean to say is these bats, specifically the males, are known to be quite vocal. You, my dear, are quite vocal, are you not?"

Well, when she put it like that…

"That's a yes in those pretty eyes of yours deary. And besides, not many new vampires can say they naturally became megabats. You're very well endowed in that aspect."

She took great joy in getting him to blush at such a comment. He could see the devilish glee in her kind old eyes, accentuated by crows feet and wrinkles.

They picked up a few books on the "specialized" area, Sammy vehemently ignoring Abby's questions of why his face was so red, and soon enough the trio was on their way back to the apartment.

Sick leave (which he took twice a month as mandated by the coven) would be over tomorrow, so Sammy needed to prepare.

Because working in an enclosed cartoon studio run by Joey Drew would definitely spell trouble for a vampire that had just earned their shifting ability.

There are a set of very specific rules for new vampires. Don't expose yourself, don't expose the community, don't expose the sponsors or patrons.

Sammy had gotten pretty lucky, Mrs. Harrison was a patron and one of the best at her job.

She provided rehoming possibilities to fledgeling vampires, and ensured their safety within the communities they'd been integrated in.

She also kept an eye on hunters.

So of course Sammy was quite aware that Joey Drew was a person he needed to watch out for.

Joey Drew, who was notorious for having at least 36 confirmed kills under his belt. Here's where things got tough: Joey knew Sammy was a vampire, so he tended to keep a pretty good eye on the music director as well.

It was a perpetual game of cat and mouse.

A very dangerous one that had just reached a new level.

Because Sammy's overall safety lay within what his coworkers thought of him vs what they thought of their boss's eccentricities.

No one was crazy enough to believe that their coworker was secretly a vampire, or that their boss was essentially the equivalent of a vampire poacher.

And that is what Sammy wanted to maintain. A veil of normalcy to keep himself safe. One that would be much harder to maintain now that he had matured out of the first two years of being a fledgeling and developed such a large and rather monstrous looking shift.

Hazel eyes locked with icy blue ones as the music director locked eyes with the founder of Joey Drew Studios. They drank coffee in the break room, surrounded by oblivious employees, and maintained this tense stare-down until Henry came by to drag Joey away.

Then Sammy would let out a quiet sigh of relief and go back to work ironing out the flaws in his current composition.

Jack would pass by his office to drop off a few new lyrics, he'd point out which needed a bit of tweaking, and then he'd be alone with his thoughts and his sheets up until he had to help Susie with recording.

Then he'd spend a good hour or two conducting the band, catching the brief glimpses of his ever watching boss in the corners of his eyes.

The staring contest would restart on every break, and Sammy would have to seek safety by mingling with coworkers (some of which he could not stand).

Norman was often his go to, as Joey never risked these sorts of behaviours with the larger southern man around.

The projectionist was a very bright man after all, and could dig up dirt on anyone that so much as rubbed him the wrong way.

It was a miracle he hadn't figured out Sammy's little secret thus far.

"Runnin' from the boss again?"

"That man is insane… I swear he's obsessed with me, Polk. It's creepy!" He'd replied after sneaking away to practically glue himself to Norman's side during another much needed coffee break. He desperately needed a smoke, his skin felt tight and uncomfortable.

"Drew don't know no boundaries. Yous should consider takin' it up to Henry." Norman suggested. "Only man ta boss will listen to."

"I wouldn't want to bother Henry because of Joey." Sammy huffed. "The poor man isn't his keeper."

"Sure coulda fooled me." Only three more hours of this. Three more hours and he could go home.

"Mr. Lawrence, a word." Speak of the devil… Joey Drew himself feeling bolder than ever as he moved over to address Sammy in Norman's company. "About the most recent composition."

"Devil's Swing. What of it?" He'd worked hard on it to act as a counterpart to Angel's Tango. One of his finer masterpieces if he did say so himself.

"I find it's going in the right direction… But it just lacks this… shine to it." Joey gestured vaguely "Like it's missing something that'd make it just right."

"Shine… you think it's missing some shine?" Sammy suppressed the need to growl. What was the man on about? Just this morning he'd been happy with it!

Lord forbid Mr. Drew could ever make up his mind.

Norman watched the exchange quietly, keeping a close eye on both of them as Joey gave one of his signature grins. The kind that'd make the little devil darling himself quite jealous with just how much tooth it showed.

"As we're on a tight schedule, I have to ask you to fix it by midnight tonight. Since you were on sick-leave recently, I'm sure you can compensate for setting us back with overtime." Oh, oh dear.

Sammy could now see what he was up to.

By midnight the studio would be virtually empty. Just him, the ever oblivious Wally Franks, and Joey Drew himself.

Oh he was in trouble… Unless he could do the alterations well before, but then if Joey wanted to trap him in the studio where he couldn't get help, who's to say he'd accept any of his corrections?

"I…"

"Well, on with it then! No time to waste!" Joey gave him an overly friendly pat on the shoulder, those icy blues glinting with manic glee as he walked off.

Norman wrinkled his nose.

"That man ain't right in the head… Yous just came back from the doc."

"You know how it is. Only thing Drew cares about is money." And Henry, to an obsessive degree actually. More so than following Sammy around now that he thought about it.

Either way, he had to get to work now, or he'd be screwed. "I'm going back into my office. There's no way I'm sticking around until midnight."

"Best o'luck. I'll be in my booth if ya need anythin' from me."

Sammy needed an escape from their boss, but he couldn't exactly tell Norman that. He was the last person that needed to find out one of his coworkers was a damn bat-shaped leech. The blackmail would be horrid!

The clock read 23:47 by the time Sammy had finished, and honestly the blond was ready to break.

One by one everyone in his department had packed up for the night and gone home. Susie had come by to give him a quick peck on the cheek before she'd saunters off humming a chipper tune.

Jack had come by to remind him not to stay too late and then been on his way as well. Wally himself was nowhere to be seen, probably cleaning that spill he'd heard about in Heavenly Toys, so the music director was completely and utterly alone.

And he was running out of time.

Joey was going to get him.

"Damn it… I've been good with this. I haven't even tasted human blood, and I'm still going to get put down by some crazy asshole…" he put his face in his hands and groaned. The tightness if his skin had only worsened as his stress piled up.

Stress-shifting was very much a thing and he really didn't want to chance transforming in the studio to release some of the tension.

With his luck Wally might walk in on him.

"What do I do…?" He could try scaring his boss into letting it go. That bat form of his was pretty ugly, it'd scare the devil right out of Drew himself.

Or it'd just make him step up to the challenge.

A knock startled him out of his thoughts.

"Y-yes?" He chastised himself for sounding so shaky, especially when it wasn't that grinning bastard who opened the door. "Norman?"

"Hey Sammy, I need a favour." The Louisianian greeted him. "I messed up my arm pretty bad while fixin' one o' them projectors. Yous wouldn't mind drivin' me to the hospital right?"

"I… No of course." He was surprised, noticing the makeshift dressings on Norman's arm. They were messy but he couldn't see or smell his injury so it was likely a burn of some kind. Those projectors tended to overheat and catch fire at times.

"Good, I'd ask Henry but he wents home early tonight… Strange really, Mr. Drew let a lot of folk go home early tonight..." Norman shrugged "And even if he could drive, I wouldn't bother ta boss t'do this for me."

"I'll drive, I was done anyway." He left the sheets out so that Joey would find them as they were with ease. "Nearly midnight too, so Drew can't get on my case for leaving a little earlier."

This was the escape he needed.

He owed Norman his life, even if the other man didn't realize it.

The two made their way outside at a leisurely pace before Norman motioned for Sammy to follow, much to the blond's confusion.

They ended up in an alleyway (not dodgy at all, nope) where Normal pulled off the bandages and revealed his arm was just fine. Sammy stared, eyebrows raised.

"I lied, I don't need to go to the doc, but I don't think that butcher needs to know that… Have a good night Sammy, and stay safe." The much taller man grinned cheekily before transforming before Sammy's very eyes, into a truly massive Mauritian flying fox.

"Oh you're kidding…" The larger vampire chittered, clearly amused by his reaction, before flying off into the night. "So much for having something over Polk…"

The music director huffed and began walking towards his car, stopping when it dawned on him. Norman would likely cash in this favour when he least expected it…

"Son of a bitch, that man better not ask for something impossible…"

You win some, you lose some.

As much as he hated to lose to Norman so often, Sammy was at least glad to win this despute with Joey.

For the time being at least.

#Eps Writes:#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Sammy Lawrence #Norman Polk #Joey Drew

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neekaasaddie · 4 years

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Silver Chevy Silverado Part 3

You know that feeling before a storm? The wind whistles, leaves rustle. Not in a menacing way, but in melancholy anticipation. There’s this electricity in the air. The atmosphere is unstable. Suddenly the polarities of the world become apparent. The clouds start condensating, becoming heavier and darker with their burdens until eventually they can’t hold on anymore and they let it all out. You’re standing in no-man’s-land and you know it. You’re conscious of your position in the middle phase––something’s gonna happen soon. You’re on a bridge and when you get to the other side, it’ll be completely different. The animals sense it first. They don’t come out of their dens and nests. They prepare for the storm.

“Come over!” someone shouts over the hedge to my right.

I sit up onto my knees, only seeing a head in the distance over the foliage.

Him? Why is he asking me to come over? Did he forget our previous interaction? Because I don’t think it ended on a very good note.

“But I’m reading!” I yell back.

I’m not reading, actually. I’m journaling––but my book is lying right next to me. I don’t know why I said I was reading. I guess reading seems more urgent and a better excuse not to go over than journaling does.

I peer over the hedge again, watching him as he lights a pipe. The pungent smell of weed wafts through the air and penetrates my nose.

He waves his hand in a motion towards himself and shouts, “Come on!”

Damn it.

I leave everything lying on the lawn and hop over the hedge, staring at the patchy green grass as I approach him. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. He obviously doesn’t like me. But if he doesn’t like me, why is he initiating an interaction?

The intense afternoon sun blares onto my body and I feel like an ant under an interrogation lamp. I squint, my eyes adjusting from the shaded area I occupied previously to the strong rays of a setting sun.

As I approach him my stomach contorts itself into a million knots. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and have him make me feel horrible about it for days after. I don’t want him to pick me apart.

I feel like I’m walking on eggshells.

I shouldn’t even care.

I should stop caring.

I attempt to un-squint my eyes as I approach him, my eyes tracing up from the ground.

He’s shirtless.

God damn it. It’d be much easier to hate him if he wasn’t hot.

“What’s up?” he asks, reaching into his pocket, extracting a pack of Camels, and selecting a cigarette. As he places it on his lower lip, he stares right through me. I’ve never met someone with eyes like his. I remember the first time I spoke to him, they were attentive and kind. I study him for a bit longer. His gaze is oddly distant today. There seems to be a disconnect––but they’re still incredibly mesmerizing.

I realize I’ve been staring at him for too long so I turn my face away. “…Nothing,” I say, flustered.

“You were just hanging out on your front lawn alone?” he asks, taking a drag. My eyes drift down to his bare chest but I catch myself quickly and respond.

“Yeah…well kinda…but I was reading.” Could I be anymore incoherent? I can practically hear the eggshells cracking underneath my feet.

“What are you reading?”

“The Inferno by Dante Alighieri.”

He responds with a shrug. I kick myself for answering honestly instead of diverting the conversation back to him. I don’t need him to tell me I’m a dork.

He takes a step towards me and the tangy aroma of weed pervades my nostrils once more. Maybe that’s why this conversation is insanely dry.

“So what have you done today?” he asks. He takes another drag and as he exhales the smoke, I smell something else besides weed and tobacco.

His breath is heavy with the scent of alcohol.

This whole interaction is bizarre and confusing. Didn’t he imply that other day that we weren’t friends? Why is he asking me what I’ve done today?

I stare blankly at the ground for a good five seconds. I feel something in me shift, but I’m not sure what it is. “Uh…well let’s see. I went on my morning walk, made some pancakes and coffee, gardened a little, and played some video games––” Stop talking.

“Video games?”

Shit. “Yeah.”

“You’re a gamer,” he snorts in that all-too familiar condescending tone.

“Well, no. I just play the games my brother had for his old Xbox 360.”

i receive a grunt as a response.

He picks apart everything I do and I’ve been nothing but nice to him.

God this is awkward.

I watch the smoke of his cigarette swirl and swivel through the air in a silky light grey streak. He takes out his phone and starts scrolling mindlessly.

He asks me to come talk to him, doesn’t really talk to me, and then whips out his phone. What the fuck is going on?

When his cigarette dwindles down to just the pale yellow filter, he glances at it for a moment, then flicks it onto the road. I physically reel at the sight of him intentionally littering, especially since it's a cigarette bud.

Now it’s my turn.

“You’re just gonna fling that onto the road and not pick it up?” I ask.

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” he snaps, grabbing another cigarette from the pack.

“You know that pollutes our oceans and contaminates our water supply.”

He rolls his eyes to the gods and scoffs. “The street cleaners will clean it before it goes anywhere.”

“When was the last time you saw a street cleaner come through this street?”

“Look, this is where my taxpayer money goes, so I’m gonna use it––and I pay a lot of taxes.”

“Oh yeah cause you’re in such a high tax bracket,” I snort.

“Whatever,” he spits, walking back to his garage and grabbing a twenty-four ounce can of Heineken. My legs instinctually take a couple steps back.

I don’t feel good. Something’s not right. The first time we spoke he wasn’t like this. What’s different? He had just come from work then––he was probably sober. That morning we spoke and he was rude, he had some alcohol. Right now, he’s high and drunk––and I doubt the cigarettes help.

He turns around.

“Woah, woah where are you going?”

“What?” I ask, my quivering voice riddled with anxiety.

“You’re just gonna call me a loser and leave?”

“I never called you a loser I just––”

“You did!”

“No! I just pointed out that you probably aren’t in a high tax bracket but it’s okay because I’m not either! It was a joke, I swear!”

“No, no. I got exactly what you were saying. You think I’m a loser. It makes sense, I mean, I still live with my parents. I have a mediocre, low-paying job and I party all the time. I do drugs––in fact, I’ve done every fucking drug in this world. I smoke a lot, I drink a lot and, like you said, I’m not in a high tax bracket.”

He takes a step closer. The concentrated stench of weed, tobacco, and alcohol radiates off of him to configure the most repulsive and fear inducing concoction––the scent of sheer volatility.

My stomach leaps into my throat.

I attempt to distance myself but find my back against a tree. He stumbles forward, slamming his hand onto the trunk of the tree right beside my head. He downs half of the large beer can and wipes the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, his erratic eyes and intense gaze violate me.

I’m frozen with terror.

I could shove him off and run home––it’s only a few long strides from where I’m standing––but suddenly the distance seems insurmountable.

“You know, I drank a fifth of whiskey earlier too, let’s add that to the list,” he says, almost slurring. His marajuana-and-alcohol-laden breath molests my nose as he exhales.

“What list?”

“Oh, you know, that mental list you keep of all the repulsive shit I do. Let’s see, I mean, just within the last couple hours I've smoked cigarettes and flung the buds onto the street, I’ve smoked weed, I drank too much alcohol, and I’m drinking even more alcohol now.” He leans his face even closer to mine. I feel like I’m face-to-face with a raging bull. The kind eyes I once used to revere have transformed into the most spiteful pair of snake eyes known to man. “Did I forget anything?” he hisses.

I feel hot tears well up behind my eyes. I don’t dare blink. “Look, I’m just your neighbor. You asked me to come over and talk to you. There’s no list in my head. I don’t know who you’re mad at and I don’t know where this is coming from, but I barely know you and I just made a joke––I didn’t mean anything by it––”

“Shut up!” he shouts. Slobbering spit flies onto my cheek but I don’t have the strength to wipe it off so I just let it slowly drip off the side of my face.

He’s breathing heavily. The hand he hit against the trunk is still there, trapping me in a malicious embrace. Veins protrude from his neck and onto his jaw. His previously calming green irises are being suffocated by red bulging bloodshot vessels. Who is this person?

“You think I wanted my life to be like this? You think I wanted this? Well I didn’t, and I still don’t––but I’m stuck here.” he slurs. “You think a stupid kid like you knows anything? I know everything.” He pauses. “Like I know this––I know that you like me,” he scoffs, “or at least you did. You’re so obvious. I see the way you look at me and talk to me––the way you get all flustered and fake-shy.” He proceeds to pitch up his voice and flail his arms to produce a wildly inaccurate imitation of me. In doing so, he releases me from his cage and I feel as if I can breathe a little again. “Oh me, oh my! Why, I am just a damsel in distress! Please, give me attention!”

“I think I’m gonna go,” I say shakily, inching to the right and then backwards towards the safety of my front yard. My mannerism is slow and intentional, as if I was confronted by a rabid animal.

But before I can get very far, he grabs my arm.

“Leaving so soon? But the fun just started! I was gonna tell you that I don’t fucking like you. You’re nineteen! You’re a kid. You’re weird. You reek of desperation! And you talk like you know what life is, but you don’t even know your face from your ass! You’ve never lived! You don’t know what life is! You’re a fucking child for God’s sake!” His eyes scan downwards and back up. I hunch, suddenly feeling naked. “I mean, your body definitely isn’t shaped like a child’s,�� he chuckles dangerously. “I’ll give you this much––you’re hot––but that’s about it. The most I’d do is fuck you.”

I feel vomit rise in the back of my throat. This is too much.

“Just stop!” I scream, a single teardrop falling from my left eye, I feel it mingle with the slobber that’s still left over on my face. I twist and rip my wrist from his grasp.

“Fine!” he roars, tossing his head back and slamming the last half of his beer. He crushes the can in his palm, throws it in the back of his truck, and opens the door.

“You’re gonna drive?” I shriek, walking towards him now instead of away. “Are you crazy?”

He chuckles as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “I do this all the time.”

“You’re fucked up! You could kill someone! You could kill yourself!”

He laughs in the most mocking, fiendish tone. “Yeah, and?”

With that, he slams the door of his silver Chevy Silverado, backs out, and speeds off to God knows where.

#short story #fiction #new author #teen short story #silver chevy silverado #part 3

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heartlesslywhumping · 5 years

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hi i love your prompts!! my friend is writing a story and wants to have some whump in it, so i thought i’d ask you if you had any prompts for it! it takes place 100 years after nuclear war broke out, and 12 young adults were forced into cryofreeze 50 years ago to see if they could live above ground. and while a lot of radiation cleared out, there’s still areas that are dangerously radiated. to make things worse, they all had their memories wiped and there are basically mutants above ground. ty!!

Oh daaaaaaaaang I love that idea! It reminds me of the 100 series, both the book series and TV show

(I refer to the young adults as a team here for ease of writing) ((also, there’s nothing bad under the cut, this is just a really long post and I’m breaking it up a bit))

One member gets a debilitating disease from the radiation, something similar to cancer. The rest of the team has to watch as the member suffers and slowly deteriorates, all while the member brushes it off and tries to hide how they’re suffering. Whether or not the member recovers is up to the writer.

The vegetation has mutated leading to the team preparing something wrong or eating the wrong thing. This leads to allergic reactions, poisoning, comas, seizures, vomiting, hallucinations, all the fun stuff.

There’s something bad in the water to include rain, mist, snow, etc. Does it cause them to hallucinate or does it cause physical harm? How does the team react to having no water?

One member touches or eats something that messes with their brain and leads them to attacking the team. The team has to physically restrain and contain the affected member. Now the team has two members out of commision, one injured and one potentially insane. The team has to listen to the affected member raving, screaming, thrashing, and pounding against their restraints. The team doesn’t know what happened, if it’s curable, or what they do next. The elephant in the room is the fact that they may have to kill the affected member. Meanwhile, the member acts like a rabid animal, snarling, clawing, screaming incoherently, sobbing, thrashing, throwing things, tearing at everything and everyone.

Consider what the member was/is. Weakest or strongest? Social butterfly or lone wolf? Leader or rebel? All of this will affect the team emotionally and physically. The way a trained warrior fights versus the way a healer would is vastly different. The most experienced or the least experienced would react and hit differently than the other option

If the member recovers: They now have to live with what they did for the rest of their lives. Do they look at the injured member and are stuck with horror and guilt? How does their dynamic with the team tear at what they did? What are the lasting emotional and physical repercussions? Is the injured member unconscious? Is it debatable if the injured member will live? What if the affected member potentially killed their friend? Were they aware of what they were doing but unable to stop? Were they fully gone? Do they still hear the screams and pleads to stop? The horrible things they said? Do they still feel what they did to the injured member? Can they still smell and taste the blood and dirt? Is there still blood under their fingernails? Will they ever trust themselves again? Will anyone else?

If they don’t: Who decides to kill the member or make the executive decision to leave the member behind? Does the member fight back or lie still when they’re about to be killed? Do they have moments of clarity and beg for either death or life? Are they shot, stabbed, poisoned etc? If they’re left behind, are they left food and water just in case? If they still manage to recover, does the decision to leave the member behind come back to bite the team in the butt? Or does the recovered member come back and save the team? The team now has to deal with leaving the member behind. Walking away to the screaming and thrashing.

If the writer is writing from multiple POVs, play with writing in one you wouldn’t expect here. Try writing from inside the affected member’s mind. Are they aware of what they’re doing but they’re a puppet in their own body? Are they completely insane? What does that look like? Do they think the team intends to harm them or do they think the team are intruders? What do they think or feel as they die? As they’re left behind to die slowly? POVs can really add to some unique whump

There are mutants?

Is the team revered or looked down on because they are not mutated? (Or are they?)

Revered:

Treated like gods, which seems nice at first until the people start demanding miracles

If they team can’t provide those miracles, it’s likely that they will be killed and/or tortured

The team frantically tries to escape while providing those miracles

Consider El Dorado (the animated movie) if it wasn’t a children’s comedy and things went significantly worse

Looked down:

Are they experimented on?

“Welcomed” by a group only to find out later that they’re meant for a sacrifice or meal

Enslaved

Hunted for sport

Creatures have mutated. Give them elongated necks, extra heads, insane amount of eyes, rows of teeth, reloadable stingers, giant insects, heightened vision and hearing, what have you. Let your horror mind go crazy (we all have a horror mind). The more grotesque and crazy your mutated creatures get, the more havoc they can wreak. Remember that this is a dystopian! In the Hunger Games there were birds that could mimic voices/screams, and wasps whose stings could cause hallucinations and/or death. Go crazy! Have your creatures melded with technology? Or gotten technological features all on their own? Do they have specific radiation related abilities? Play with this and then set the worst of it all upon your OCs *evil laughter*

Some ideas to play with just from our own world that creatures (animals, insects, aquatic beings) can do

Bites

Stings

Poison/venom

Swarms

Suffocation

Overwhelming a prey

Camouflage

Lures (think of angler fish or cookie cutter sharks that light up in the darkness to attract prey. Or venus flytraps)

Crocodiles and their death rolls

Forcing a prey to drown

Some octopi can whip their prey with venomous tentacles

Animals and bugs can spit

Choking

Marble cone snails literally deploy a venom filled harpoon

Suckers or various ways of sticking to prey

Constantly following until the prey is exhausted

There is a breed of wild, big cat (like a leopard) that mimics the cry of baby monkeys

Crushing

Paralyzation

Echolocation

Just read what tentacled sea snakes do!

“They can basically read minds. Maybe they can’t control other objects, nor can they tell exactly it is what they’re thinking, but based on their evolutionary method, they know where their prey is going to swim, and wait there with their jaws wide open. How does it manage this, you ask? Well, because of a fish’s innate reaction to perceived danger. It’s call C-start. When a fish sense sound waves in the water, their body automatically jolts and they go swimming speedily away from potential predators. The tentacled sea snake, however, moves its mid-section in order to purposefully trigger this response, then, when the fish tries to flee, it ends up right in the snake’s waiting mouth.”

And all of this is just from our own world. Also….just look at Australia.

Some more quick ones are to remove resources. Remove food, water, shelter, anything. Make the world itself a terrifying place. Mess with the elements of nature, mess with creatures, mess with people (do the mutants have powers? Even simple things like better strength or endurance? Better senses that can smell, hear, see, taste danger? Natural resistant to things that hurt the team? It doesn’t have to be X-men style powers unless you want it to), mess with e v e r y t h i n g.

Also, how have the mutants survived so long? What do they have that the team doesn’t and how can that hurt the team?

To heighten something, add a layer of time sensitivity or danger. Is something coming for them? Do they know?

And of course, there are lots more for mind wiping. This is just getting into a pretty long post and I’ve already re-written this several times (stupid tumblr kept crashing and my webpage kept reloading and deleting everything I’d already written) so I’m going to cut it off here with those quick ways to add whump as well.

If you’d like a follow up with mind wiping stuff, just message me! I’ll try to respond quicker this time 😅

Thanks for the ask! I’d love to know how this story goes! If it’s ever publicly shared somewhere (printed in a book, turned into a comic, posted on wattpad) message me again! I’d love to read it! (And if it’s never shared, I totally get that. Writers are weird and stories get away from us.) All the best of luck to your friend!!!!

Some gruesome things that animals do below this line

_____________________________________________________

Cannibalism

Eating prey alive

There is a breed of ant that makes a vertical, sticky platform filled with holes. Once a bug sticks to it, the ants pop out and pull it in various directions while stinging it to death. Some bugs can be stuck there for hours, being torn into manageable chunks

Spiders and their webbing up prey for later. Some do it while their prey is alive

#whump prompts #anonymous #heartless answers #insects #gore #my prompts

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hope-for-olicity · 5 years

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Crushing the romance stigma once and for all Romance novel sales tally in the billions of dollars every year. (That's right: billions. With a "b".) And still, literary critics and other various bookish snobs continue to malign the genre, loudly and with great disdain. Why is that? If you ask these folks, they'll tell you romance novels are nothing but badly written trash. So, y'all have read a bunch of romance novels before forming that opinion, I assume? Oh, no, they'll say, noses tipped heavenward. They don't read romance (with all the contempt in the world placed on the word "romance"). Huh. Now I'm confused. Why would people be so openly hostile to a genre they've never read? I think I can tell you why.The romance stigma and genre misconceptions are so deeply ingrained in us as a society that we have trouble overlooking them, even with glaring examples to the contrary. Heck, even bestselling romance authors like Nicholas Sparks hesitate to admit they write romance. Mr. Sparks insists that he writes “love stories”. On his website, Sparks lays out the difference between “love stories” and romance as follows: “It’s equivalent to the difference between a "legal thriller" and a "techno-thriller." In that instance, both novels include many of the same elements: suspense, good and bad forces pitted against each other, scenes that build to a major plot point, etc. But aside from the obvious, those novels are in different sub-genres and the sub-genres have different requirements. For instance, legal thrillers generally have a court room scene on center stage, techno-thrillers use the world or a city as their setting. Legal thrillers explore the nuances of law, techno-thrillers explore the nuances of scientific or military conflict. The same situation applies with romance novels and love stories. Though both have romantic elements, the sub-genres have different requirements. Love stories must use universal characters and settings. Romance novels are not bound by this requirement and characters can be rich, famous, or people who lived centuries ago, and the settings can be exotic. Love stories can differ in theme, romance novels have a general theme—‘the taming of a man.’ And finally, romance novels usually have happy endings while love stories are not bound by this requirement. Love stories usually end tragically or, at best, on a bittersweet note.” I’m sorry, no disrespect intended, but if you’ve written a story in which the romantic relationship between two characters is the focus, you’ve written a romance novel, Mr. Sparks. The rest is just splitting hairs and can probably be construed as you protesting a bit too much. Throwing in a depressing ending doesn’t completely excuse you from the genre. Sorry. So, let’s take a look at the most common romance complaints and see if there’s actually anything to them: Romance novels are badly written I don’t know if y’all picked up on the implied “all” in that sentence, but I sure did. I don’t know of any genre outside of romance where people feel comfortable saying “all” of it is badly written. Are there some stinkers in the bunch? Absolutely. But I’ve also read plenty of stinkers in the sci fi, horror and mystery genres. I suppose my response to critics who say romance novels are badly written would be: have you read all romance novels? No? Well…there you go. And further...if they’re so badly written, why are they selling so well? Romance novels are formulaic I suppose this might depend on how broadly you define “formula”. For example: 1 person + 1 person = love and happiness Is that how a formula is defined? Because if that’s the definition, it could be argued that romance novels are formulaic. It is a somewhat unspoken “rule” that romance novels end with a HEA (happily ever after). But in my opinion, there’s A LOT that can happen in the middle of that particular formula, and there’s about a gazillion ways that particular equation can be worked out. I’ve read romance novels about everyday people with typical problems, and I’ve read romance novels about vampires and witches and angels. All the lovely variations in which the “formula” can be worked out and twisted about sure can make for some entertaining reading. Romance novels are predictable Again with the implied “all”. Sigh. I’m pretty hard to surprise. I knew that Darth Vadar was Luke’s father well before Luke did. I knew that one of the dead people Haley Joel Osment was seeing was Bruce Willis way before Bruce Willis knew. I knew what was going on at The Red Wedding well before Talisa took that knife to the gut. But I can honestly say that more than a few romance authors have managed to throw me for a loop with their plot gymnastics. (I’m looking at you, J.A. Redmerski!) So, are there some predictable romances out there? Sure. Can it be argued that the HEA is predictable? Absolutely. But to those still arguing this point, I have to ask: is your enjoyment of a book dependent on your inability to predict the story’s ultimate direction? Even if you know where the story will end up, can you not just enjoy the ebb and flow of the story, the writer’s word choices, the snap of the dialog and crackling chemistry between characters? If not...well, that’s kind of sad! Why bother reading at all if that’s the case? There’s no plot; it’s all just about sex This is another one of those all-inclusive statements that should just be ignored. Are there some romance novels that are all about sex? Sure. And there are plenty of others that are intricately plotted (author Tarryn Fisher comes immediately to mind here) and meticulously researched. Beyond that, there’s even an entire subcategory of sweet and clean romances (even some Amish romances) that don’t contain any sex at all. Lesson to be learned here: As a rule, “all” and “never” statements are crap. “Real” writers don’t write romance Who gets to define what a “real” writer is? Was there some kind of specially appointed task force for this that I wasn’t aware of? As it turns out, writing is an art. So, just like any other art form, opinions on what is “good” and what is “real” will tend to vary greatly. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and there are no wrong answers. And just for the record, Jane Austen wrote romance novels. Anyone care to tell her—and her legions of rabid fans—that she wasn’t a real writer? No? Didn’t think so. Romance novels are unrealistic The “unrealistic” criticism usually exists in a couple of different forms: 1. The heroes and heroines are all perfect looking It’s true that as a society, we like pretty stuff. For that reason, you will find an abundance of pretty, seemingly perfect people in romance novels (especially on the covers). But, you’ll also find plenty of people who don’t fit into a perfect Barbie-and-Ken mold. I’ve read romances about a paraplegic hero, a heroine with CP, and a heroine so unattractive the hero is uncomfortable around her until he gets to know and love her. 2. HEAs don’t happen in real life You know who doesn’t believe in HEAs? Unhappy people. It’s true that no one is happy all the time, but to assume that no one ever gets a HEA is insane. There’s plenty of happiness out there for those who are willing to reach for it. And on a less philosophical note, I think romance readers generally understand that “HEA” is just a phrase. No one assumes that the main couple in the story continued to live out their lives without ever having another care in the world. The HEA is just where the story ends. Romance novels are just “bodice rippers” This one stems from a trend in the 70s and 80s that had innocent virgins (mostly in historical novels) on book covers being accosted by burly, half-dressed dudes (often Fabio) who were pretty much forcing themselves on them. Much like clothing and hairstyles, romance novel trends have also changed quite a bit since the 70s and 80s. For anyone who believes that all romance novels are “bodice rippers”, I encourage you to change out of your velour leisure suit, shut off your 8-track player and lava lamp, and venture to your local bookstore’s romance section. You’re in for a big surprise. Romance novels promote abusive relationships I’ll let you in on a little secret, folks. (Come closer…wouldn’t want this one getting out to just anyone) Women sometimes fantasize about being overpowered by a man. It’s a pretty standard fantasy, actually. Some dude (who looks like Thor or Wolverine) overcomes all of her good-girl protests and better judgement with nothing more than the raw animal power of his overwhelming manly hotness. No consequences, no one gets hurt. Does reading about such a fantasy make women prone to asking their husband/partner/lover to abuse and overpower them on a regular basis? No more so than reading To Kill a Mockingbird makes people prone to becoming lawyers, or reading The Bourne Identity makes people prone to amnesia. Typically, readers are capable of distinguishing between fantasy and reality. Critics who spew drivel about romance novels promoting abuse against women seem to think otherwise, though. And further, as I’ve mentioned before, I’ve read a lot of romance novels. A. Lot. The portion of those novels that featured a man overpowering a woman amounts to maybe 2% of the total. It’s hardly fair to assume that all romance novels—or even a majority of romance novels, for that matter--promote that kind of relationship. It’s just “mommy porn” Sorry, but it’s just not statistically possible that all of the billions of dollars’ worth of romances sold each year were read by mommies. Women and men (yes, men read romance, too) of all ages enjoy romances. This statement is just a desperate attempt by critics to shame readers into buying the types of books theythink everyone should be reading. It’s like trying to convince people they should be watching PBS all the time. PBS is a great channel, but sometimes, you need a little HBO. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Anyone who tells you otherwise is just an egocentric bully trying to promote his/her own agenda. Romance novels are silly fluff I’m not going to argue that romance novels are doing their part to cure cancer or end world hunger. (And truthfully, neither are any novels) Some romances are about light subject matter, and others cover much deeper topics such as the grief of losing a spouse, kidnapping and child abuse, murder and even survival in a post-apocalyptic world. And those are just a few examples of the not-so-silly-fluffy topics you can find in romance novels today. There’s plenty more where those came from. Long-story-short, it would appear that nothing is wrong with the romance genre that isn’t also a problem for any other genre, other than what ignorant critics think of it. So, what can romance lovers do to help crush the romance stigma once and for all? Well, the first step is to admit, out loud and to anyone who asks, that you love romance novels. No more sheepishness. No more hiding your romance novels in speculative fiction dust jackets. No more refusing to let anyone see your Amazon browsing history or your Kindle’s contents. Be PROUD of what you read. The second step is to promote the books you read that help crush these myths. That’s what we’ll be doing here at Romance Rehab. What about all of you proud romance readers out there? What other romance misconceptions piss you off? Let’s talk.

#romance novels

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trenttrendspotter · 4 years

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“Just move daily!” With Nancy Trent

By Dr. William Seeds, Dr. Seeds, An orthopedic surgeon on a mission

Nancy Trent is a writer and speaker, a lifelong health advocate, a wellness influencer, a globe-trotting trend watcher, and the founder and president of Trent & Company, a leading health, and wellness PR firm. Nancy is an investigative reporter turned PR guru with seven books under her belt, continuing to spot and spark trends wherever she goes. Today, she is running publicity and social media campaigns for 50 different lifestyle clients across various industries.

Thank you for joining us! Can you share your “backstory” with us?

My father was tremendously influential in my outlook. He was an early health enthusiast and the first person that anyone in our family or neighborhood knew who took vitamins, ate healthy and exercised daily.

At an early age, I began to exercise with him every morning and started eating what we thought were healthy foods.

He was a vegetarian in college and that inspired me…he also learned about yoga there and we had fun trying asanas we saw in books.

I loved jogging and hiking and when I went to school out West. I made friends with others who had similar interests.

Soon I was writing about healthy subjects for local papers and magazines while studying journalism in school.

When I graduated, I began my career as an investigative reporter and wrote seven books on health and fitness before transitioning into public relations.

Can you share the most interesting story that happened to you since you started your career?

As a part of one of my early promotions, I was given the opportunity to introduce a major pharmaceutical product. As soon as I discovered the drug had more side effects than impact, I told my boss I didn’t want to work on it because it was bad business. He accused me of being immature and unprofessional. I quit the next day and decided to start my own business focused on real health.

When I was first working on healthy products it wasn’t the sexy, cool industry it is today. I had to educate people to be open to health-oriented brands and learn to talk about what they were interested in.

I am so grateful that people are realizing that if they want the most out of life, they have to increase their odds by taking care of themselves, physically, mentally and spiritually.

What were the main lessons or takeaways from that story?

Do what you believe in… there’s probably a good reason why YOU believe in it.

Hard work pays off no matter what anyone tells you…there is no such thing as an overnight success…results are never easy…trust me, overnight successes take a long time.

Never do anything that makes you feel uneasy or queasy…listen to your instincts.

Can you share a story about the biggest mistake you made when you were first starting?

I worked really hard for people who didn’t have the patience for PR and who did not care about the product or campaign as much as I did. While I kept working for them because I believed in their product, the effort and passion were not reciprocal. PR is a collaborative effort and mutual respect is non-negotiable.

Can you tell us what lesson you learned from that?

Work with passionate and compassionate people that are in it for the higher good. They will inspire and appreciate you to be the best partner and do your best work.

None of us are able to achieve success without some help along the way. Is there a particular person who you are grateful towards who helped get you to where you are?

My first account was Blue Mountain Arts Greeting Cards, founded by Susan Polis Schutz, America’s best-selling poet. Although she thought some of my creative ideas were crazy, she trusted me, she appreciated how hard I worked, and my optimism. I would never let her down and she knew it. I still work for her on some of her amazing documentaries.

Can you share a story about that?

It’s public knowledge that Susan had depression issues. I never questioned her…I thought her moods were because she was an artist and I respected that. I had no idea of the pain she went through until she wrote about it in Depression & Back and made a documentary about it; The Misunderstood Epidemic: Depression. Sometimes when she didn’t feel up to talking to a journalist, I would take her interviews for her over the phone. Reporters would tell who they thought was Susan that she sounded like me, and I acted like I was surprised. When I spoke to the reporters again as myself, I would tell them that I was honored to sound like an artist as accomplished as Susan. She sold more poetry books than any other author. Amazing!

Ok perfect. Now let’s jump to our main focus. When it comes to health and wellness, how is the work you are doing helping to make a bigger impact in the world?

There isn’t a major wellness trend that our agency hasn’t been involved in.

We’ve been a part of the mainstreaming of trends that changed the way we care for ourselves. From spa-ing, juicing, alkaline and plant-based eating, probiotics, and greening, we have had the pleasure of turning innovators into category leaders.

We helped create the fitness craze that started in the late 80s with the Reebok Step, the Body Bar and the Spinning Bike with Johnny G.

We were at the forefront of the plant-based movement starting with the China Study, Vega Plant-Based Protein and Quorn MycoProtein Meat Substitute.

Before that, we spread yoga in all forms from gurus like Gurmukh to organizations such as Kundalini, Hot Yoga and the USA Yoga Federation. We handled the press for the national yoga championships and helped the Brahma Kumaris open the first meditation museum.

We started the juicing revolution with Jay Kordich, the original Juiceman Juicer which we launched more than 25 years ago and continued later for our work with Earth Bar and Organic Avenue juice bars.

Can you share your top five “lifestyle tweaks” that you believe will help support people’s journey towards better wellbeing? Please give an example or story for each.

Movement — Any exercise keeps your equipment in better working order. Just move daily!

Supplementation — When we were first asked to promote a probiotic, I laughed my head off at the idea of ingesting bacteria…famous last words. Probiotics, prebiotic, medicinal mushrooms, glutathione, resveratrol, polyphenols, electrolytes — you need to take them all because you are not getting them through today’s foods no matter how healthy you eat.

Plant focused diet — I like eating and you can eat more vegetables than anything.

Prevention –Active people tend to focus on recovery, but prevention comes first.

Embrace stress — Stress can be good for you — You are not a lump, you are alive, a seed breaking through the ground. How you embrace stress is the issue. I see it as a mild cardiovascular work-out. It’s fun juggling too many things. Stress is a byproduct of productivity. You just have to keep punching.

If you could start a movement that would bring the most amount of wellness to the most amount of people, what would that be?

I already have but now I really am committed to getting people obsessed on prevention, aging healthfully and living more purposeful lives. If you love what you do you don’t work a day of your life.

What are your “5 Things I Wish Someone Told Me Before I Started” and why?

Actually, there are things everyone always tells you that don’t apply to entrepreneurs.

1. Work-life balance doesn’t work for everyone — It never worked for me and I hope it never does. I thrive on the intensity of the experience. Before I started my business when I first started my business and to this day. I work like a rabid animal. I am breaking inertia. I am getting people to do things they don’t want to do because ultimately it will be a better choice. Your brain has to always be on because you never know when that great idea will come. I rationalize that balance is going from one extreme to another. I work hard but I am with my family and friends, laugh, listen, learn, exercise and eat with the same intensity.

2. It’s okay to use your magnetism — It’s a great equalizer. It makes it more fun to be you when you feel good about how you look, and it makes it more fun for people to work with you. It also gives you power and clarity to make decisions and not be a victim…never be a victim!

3. Live below your means — Enjoy what you do but don’t get too caught up in the money you make. The most successful people I know live way below what they can afford because they are not doing it for the money. They are on a mission. Restauranteurs that eat up their profits, clothing designers that put all their money in clothes, that’s crazy! An entrepreneur’s payment is their idea of becoming everyone’s idea.

4. You’re always going to have to work hard — Every successful entrepreneur says you have to invest massive work…work around the clock…I never met a truly successful person who didn’t work insanely hard to build something substantial…not that they didn’t love it but you just can’t help yourself when you are on a mission.

5. Let yourself be vulnerable — You have to be open to new ideas and that means being really open and giving them time to germinate. Sometimes you let in bad ideas or bad people. But being open prohibits you from acting on the signs right away. It’s up to you to absolutely insist on learning from every mistake. If you don’t learn it could happen again.

Sustainability, veganism, mental health and environmental changes are big topics at the moment. Which one of these causes is dearest to you, and why?

Environmental focus — in case you haven’t noticed it…we are in trouble and a lot must be done quickly. We don’t have time to put our toe in the water. We have to jump in. Technology has a lot of answers and we have to start changing now. Meat uses more energy than plants, apparel is the most polluting industry in the country so stop buying so many clothes. Don’t use so much plastic. Really work on your personal plastic footprint. Do something…anything…and you will start doing more…

I also hate how hard it is to be healthy in this world and how our world gets infused with more and more junk…the food we eat, the information blasted at us, air and water pollution, the plastic in our ocean, our thinning soil… We must redecorate the world to be our own personal garden of Eden. It can be whatever as long as you really LOVE it.

As seen on Thrive Global

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were-cheetah-stiles · 7 years

Text

The College Years - Freshman Year (Chapter 19) -Stiles Stilinski

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “The Moving Out and Getting Older”

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Sarah Millin & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Cursing and angst.

Author’s Note: Anyone know what song I ripped the title from?

Summary: Stiles, Scott, Isaac and Simon help Y/N, Sarah and Hanna move out of their apartment for the summer.

Chapter Eighteen - Chapter Nineteen - Chapter Twenty

"What'd you do?" Scott yelled at Mina, horrified at her actions.

"SHE KILLED MY BROTHER, SHE DESERVES TO DIE!" Mina screamed back, holding the Queen at knifepoint.

"We don't kill, Mina." Scott tried to make her remember his rule.

"You may not, but I'm not part of your pack." Mina said, as she slit her neck and plunged the bowie knife into the Queen's heart. Mina turned back to Scott, blood splattered across her face. "Ask Zachary how many people her and Thaddeus have killed. ASK HIM! They deserve it, Scott! They deserve it." Mina had become rabid. Everyone looked around, horrified at the bloodshed.

Scott turned to Zachary, who frowned. "Thousands." He answered Scott's unspoken question. "Hanna doesn't deserve to turn into this." He added, gesturing to himself.

"You're right, bloodsucker, she doesn't." Mina ran over to Thaddeus, who was being restrained by Derek and Parrish and slit his throat, then stabbed him in the heart with the bowie knife, in one fell swoop. She was now drenched in blood. "If you were really a True Alpha, Scott, you would understand that not all supernatural creatures are worth saving."

"So they all just left?" Sarah asked, as she loaded her microwave into the storage box.

"Pretty much. They scattered after they saw Mina slaughter the Queen and Thaddeus in the middle of the street in front of the mansion." You told your roommate, catching her up on what had happened that fateful night. "I don't blame them. It was insane... and gory." You stared at the jar of olives in your hand, looking for the expiration date, as you sat in front of your open fridge, and then chucked it in the garbage.

"Where did Mina go?" Sarah asked.

"I'm pretty sure that she took her finals and went home actually." You shrugged. "Honestly, I don't want to kill, and watching her do it is definitely going to give me nightmares for the rest of time, but it ended it all and it saved Hanna so... I don't know. There was nothing we could do about her." You shook your head and went back to cleaning the food out of your apartment’s fridge.

"I can't believe that Hanna's taking her finals right now." Sarah commented. "After everything that happened."

You laughed and smiled up at Sarah, who was pulling items out of the drawers in their kitchen. "I expect nothing less of her."

Sarah laughed and agreed. “Yea, that is Han for you... It was nice what she did for Zachary, too."

"Seriously.. I know he killed Mary, and that's horrible, but he was just as much a victim as Hanna and the rest of them." You commented.

"So you're telling me that they abducted you and killed Mary?" The detective clarified, sitting across from the table Zachary in the interrogation room. "And you think that Hanna will corroborate your story?"

"Yes, sir. Because it's true. I loved Mary, we were going to move down to Cupertino together, I wouldn't have ever hurt her." Zachary said.

"Alright, stay here, I'll be right back." The detective walked into the hall to talk to the officer taking Hanna's statement. "What'd she say?"

"She said that the two guys that he described followed her home from campus, broke into her apartment and kidnapped her. She has restraint marks and bruises all over her body that corroborate that." The officer explained.

"And what'd she say about Pillit?"

"She said that she overheard them talking about trying to abduct both Zachary Pillit and Mary Henley, but Mary got wounded, and so they killed her and took Zachary, and yesterday, the kidnappers just left, so Zachary and Hanna escaped from the mansion finally. Honestly, sir, it sounds like they got lucky."

"Alright, take it to the D.A.'s office. I guess we'll be dropping the charges against Pillit." The detective directed the uniformed officer.

"So what now?" Sarah asked.

"Now, it's over, we all somehow managed to pass our classes, no one died, the vampires have left Berkeley for good, and I'm pretty sure that Stiles is going to spend the summer forcing Scott, Parrish and Lydia to create a bowie knife for the Pack." You smiled and shook your head.

"Damn right, I am, and we're going to add all this crap to the Bestiary too." Stiles poked his head into the door of the kitchen, catching the last bits of their conversation. "Scott and Isaac are back, what can they take to the storage unit next?" Stiles asked the girls.

"Um, if the TV's are all packed, those can go, and everything in the pantry and storage closet should be packed up and ready." You directed your sweaty boyfriend.

"Simon should have some boxes in my room packed too, and anything that's taped up on the dining room table." Sarah added on.

"Got it." Stiles said as he left the girls alone again.

Sarah looked at you and saw you smiling. "When are you going to see him again?" She asked.

You sighed. You didn't even want to think about your summer apart from Stiles. "The subletters are out of their apartment on August 15th, and Scott and Stiles are back in on August 16th, so Stiles will fly out on the 1st and we'll spend a few days in New York and then start driving back here after. We move back in a few days later so, yea, it should be fine though." You explained.

"Hey, did you guys put the cups away yet?" Stiles asked as he opened the door to the kitchen again, wiping sweat off of his forehead.

"Yes, but we have plastic cups just for you." You said, pointing to the red Solo cups sitting in a bag on the counter.

Stiles walked over to the sink, filled his cup up with cold water and chugged it down.

"So the one thing I'm curious about is what happens to Zachary after all of this?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, well, the university readmitted him and issued an apology letter on the website, and so he'll be back here next Fall with us to finally get his degree. But in the meantime, he's coming to Beacon Hills with us and we're going to try to train him to only drink animal blood.. reintegrate him as a functional, non-murdering member of society." Stiles answered her question. "But he's proven himself to be pretty loyal, and he's a cool guy, and he said he can fix my iPhone screen for free because of all of his Apple knowledge, so he's part of the Pack now."

"He is definitely going to keep your hands full this summer." You laughed to yourself.

"So what are you doing this summer, Stiles?" Sarah asked.

"Well, making a bowie knife, for one, and saving a young vampire, aaaand I'm also interning for the Sheriff's Department in Beacon Hills." He counted off on his fingers.

"Oh cool!"

"Not really, I'm basically on lunch runs and answering phones all day about kittens stuck in trees or some other non-emergent bullshit. But if it goes well, Scott's dad said that he would get me an internship with the San Francisco FBI field office next summer, so whatever."

"And you're with a senator this summer, Y/n?"

"Congresswoman, but yea." You answered.

"You're heading back home to Seattle for the summer, right? What are you doing?" Stiles asked Sarah.

"Nothing really, trying not to get murdered or abducted by Big Foot probably." She joked.

"Now Big Foot is a supernatural creature that I could get behind." Stiles commented with a smile.

"You nervous something will pop up in Beacon Hills this summer while you're home?" Sarah asked.

"I mean, they're still having a wendigo problem, so hopefully we can stop that and that'll be all. I'm sure it'll go by so quickly that we won't have enough time to have a supernatural disaster." Stiles glanced over at you, who was looking up at him from the floor, a look of genuine sadness on your face.

"What about the thing that that witch told you, Y/n?" Sarah asked.

You tapped your knuckles against the counter a few times and pursed your lips. "I don't know." You sighed. I'm taking all of my books from this semester with me and if something happens, I'll figure it out." You looked up at Stiles.

"Yea..." He mumbled, staring at you, anxious about the future.

Eighteen <- -> Twenty

we end Freshman year with smut (but Cat, there was no smut in this... I know :D)... see you all next chapter :D

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