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gollancz · 1 year

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Why I'm Not Allowed On Twitter Unsupervised Any More: A Photo Essay

Key Notes:

Since this was posted I discovered that the books had briefly been available in the UK under the name Peter Beagle rather than Peter S. Beagle in the mid-90s, which is why they didn't show up on the British Library search

The article by Tor.com @torbooks: Peter S. Beagle Has Finally Regained the Rights to His Body of Work

If you want our gorgeous limited edition, I believe there are still a handful left (except for the US and Canada, sorry lads), and you can get it here. I'm not kidding when I say I got a little teary-eyed when these showed up.

[Image Description: A tweet thread from the Gollancz twitter dated 20th July 2022, which goes as follows -

Tweet 1: You may have seen that we're printing a Brand New Edition of The Last Unicorn. We're very excited! I was asked to tweet about it. I wasn't asked to do it quite like this, but I also wasn't asked NOT to do it like this, and I have the twitter login so whose fault is that? (Thread emoji, and gif from the film Scream reading 'The Call is coming from inside the house!')

Tweet 2: Imagine, if you will, you are a small child in the UK during the late 80s/early 90s. You might look a bit like this, or you might have had parents who didn't choose suffering (ask my mum about The Saga of the Hat) (an image of a small girl approximately 3 years old wearing a blue dress and a big white hat)

Tweet 3: Imagine you have a cool older cousin, one who, as you get age, introduces you to fantasy films like Ladyhawk and The Princess Bride and has a post the whole family knows as 'the vampire and the naked lady'. She's extremely responsible for the way you turn out as an adult.

Tweet 4: One year, for your birthday, this cousin buys you a video. It's the first video that is yours, not to share. It has a bright yellow cover. The butterfly scares you. But you watch it on a loop. You don't realise how special it is, but it's a seed that burrows into your brain. (An image of a VHS of The Last Unicorn)

Tweet 5: A decade or so later, in your teens, you rediscover it. None of your friends have heard of it, despite also being fantasy-inclined. That's odd, you think. Is this an outlandishly weird title? Then you get older and you realise: no, it isn't. (Principal Skinner meme reading 'Am I out of touch? No, it's the people who don't know about The Last Unicorn who are wrong')

Tweet 6: Time and tech march on, you get a DVD of the film. You realise it's got Christopher Lee in it! And Angela Lansbury! Your mum tries to get you to listen to songs by America other than the soundtrack, but the only one that really sticks is the other one they did about a horse. (Gif of Walter White from Breaking Bad singing along to Horse With No Name)

Tweet 7: You realise that the film is based on a book. Like The Princess Bride, which you've also read (after spending longer than you're proud of trying to find an unabridged edition). 'Neat,' you think, 'I'll have to read that!'

Tweet 8: And then you can't find it. Because, as mentioned previously, you're in the UK. The Last Unicorn was published for the first time in 1968. But, if you look at the British Library's National Bibliography (super neat resource btw), that was, uh, about it. (screenshot of the search results from the National Bibliography showing four editions of The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle, one from Gollancz in 2022, one from IDW in 2019, one from Tachyon Publications in 2018, and one from Bodley Head in 1968)

Tweet 9: The Tachyon edition is the unfinished first draft of the story. The IDW edition is a gorgeous graphic novel. But in terms of the novel? I don't know how many reprints it had (if anyone knows, I'd love to find out), but there's a good chance it went out of print in the 70s.

Tweet 10: The film, however, was released in 1982. Although it didn't make it to the UK until 1986. Conservative estimates could put that between 10 and 15 years since the book was last available in the UK. This gives you a generation in the UK who only know the story through the film! (A screenshot of the IMDB page showing the different release dates for The Last Unicorn around the world)

Tweet 11: The screenplay was written by Peter S. Beagle, and made by the legendary animation directors Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass. That's right, the guys behind Thundercats and 2 out of the 3 films based on The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.

Tweet 12: The Book has been in print in the USA (and possibly all of North America) constantly since its publication, so it seems baffling that people in the UK haven't heard of it. As the internet became more prominent, however, it became easier to just... import a copy of the book.

Tweet 13: But! This also isn't quite as simple as you think. You see, until last year the rights to The Last Unicorn were tied up in legal limbo. And the US edition of the book contained changes that Peter wasn't happy with. (Link to the Tor.com article about the rights)

Tweet 14: Back to you, the 80s/90s kid, who is now an adult, happy that unicorns are A Thing again and you're living your best life. You're very easy to buy presents for. Your partner despairs of unicorns. You get a job working in books about magic and space. (unicorn emoji and photograph of a collection of unicorn memorabilia, including three different versions of The Last Unicorn)

Tweet 15: You mention that one day you would like to publish The Last Unicorn. That if you did, you would like to do a really beautiful edition of it. And you would like it to be purple. Because since the film is what you know, you associate it with purple.

Tweet 16: And, after taking a very circuitous route, here we are! This is the original text, that was first published in 1968. Reading it after you have only seen the film is the strangest experience - like being introduced to a very dear friend that you have never met before.

Tweet 17: Peter's screenplay kept the voice of the story so well, you can hear the characters when you read the book. But now there's so much more depth, softness and warmth to it. The butterfly doesn't seem so scary any more. And, it's beautiful. And it's purple. (Image of a hardback edition of The Last Unicorn, with a black base, purple background, and a linocut image of the unicorn in her wood. On the black cover underneath is a foiled unicorn with the moon and butterfly, the page edges are sprayed purple, and the endpapers are black with silver butterflies)

Tweet 18: Anyway, I've taken you on a three day trip that could have been done in a single tweet, but that's what happens when you let me drive. This edition is the limited exclusive one only available through the Gollancz Emporium and you can preorder here: (link to Gollancz Emporium)

Tweet 19: But there is also a standard edition available through all booksellers! You'll be getting the author's preferred text, with an introduction from Patrick Rothfuss. There's also a brand new audiobook and it will be available in eBook for the first time ever.

Tweet 20: It's like going from famine to feast, and I wasn't able to talk about this for months so now I am able to talk about it, I'm going to make the social media team cry. UNICORNS. SPECIAL EDITION. PURPLE. The End.

Tweet 21: Additional behind the scenes bonus detail - I did take this cover to the art meaning while wearing a unicorn onesie.

Tweet 22: The comms team wrestling me away from the twitter account: (gif of Ross from Friends shouting 'Stop typing! Stop typing!')

End ID]

#The Last Unicorn #Peter S. Beagle #Gollancz Blogging #Twitter Threads #Books #Long Post

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angelsanarchy · 9 months

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Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 01 -> CH 02

"Having any second thoughts about staying in the house of horrors?" "I'm embracing the horrors that make up my life, remember?"

A year ago Jack was being checked into a mental health facility by his best friend. He didn't resist. He felt like he had lost his mind in the process of losing his parents, his childhood dog, his fiancee and the baby she was carrying, along with things that weren't as important like his home in California and his job for the magazine. He had officially lost everything and the only thing that was keeping him tethered to life was Shanda. She refused to let him off himself so the next best thing was to get him help.

Jack had received a few diagnoses during his facilitation. He learned some hard truths as well. His mother had perished in the car accident with his father, the "neighbor" Duncan was actually not real and the people who lived next door were all much older and retired without children.

Once he finally got around to reaching out to Cleo, she threatened him with a restraining order if he ever contacted her again. He knew he deserved that after letting her suffer from a miscarriage alone.

The doctors felt as though the repressed memories of his sexual abuse as a child would eventually resurface. They claimed it to be PTSD triggered by the sudden deaths of his parents. The mental break was classified as a psychotic disorder which made him roll his eyes.

"Oh just that?" He had criticized the doctors at how blase they had been when he explained he tried to murder the ghost of his mother in the place she had died in the car wreck. He knew he was psychotic, he just wanted to make sure he would be able to get cigarettes when they locked him up and threw away the key. However once he got an established therapist, a plethora of medications and a regularly monitored schedule, they felt he was ready to be released.

"Are you sure this is where you want to be? We can get a place here that's not this house or you can move in with Crystal and I?" Shanda had picked Jack up from the facility and he was determined to gut out the memories of his childhood home and start over. There was nothing left in California for him and currently this was the only place he could go that he knew and didn't have to pay for.

"I'll be fine. I'm sure you've already removed the sharp objects so what's the worse thing I could get into?" Jack joked darkly.

"I'm serious. I can stay with you if you want? Crystal will understand." Shanda pressed. Jack hadn't been alone since the day she dropped him at the facility. The idea of leaving him unsupervised in a place with so many horrible memories didn't sit right with her.

"I'm highly medicated and supervised by a licensed therapist almost daily. Fuck, they even have a care worker that stops by at least twice a week to make sure I'm not just sitting around drinking myself to death so I think your bases are covered, Shan." Jack knew the medications had terrible side effects but he can honestly say killing himself hadn't been on his mind in at least 4 months.

Shanda had visited him in the facility once a month and once he leveled out, his therapist had him write apology letters to all those he had hurt. The only person to reply was his old coworker who had sent a "Sorry about you getting fired after you lost your mind" text. Shanda got a letter but she slapped him in the forehead and said "I love you, you stupid fucker." He didn't expect Cleo to respond but he hoped that she was doing alright.

He had abandon all forms of social media during his rehabilitation and had zero desire to fire up any of those accounts now that he was out. There were moments where he wasn't even sure why they agreed to release him but he wanted to at least try and live as normal as possible.

Shanda pulled up to Jack's childhood home which she had made sure to run threw top to bottom almost as if she was child proofing it for Jack's brain to handle. He joked about the sharp objects but she in fact replace the cutlery with plastic ware just to be sure.

"Having any second thoughts about staying in the house of horrors?" Shanda asked pulling him from his thoughts as he stared at the house.

"I'm embracing the horrors that made up my life, remember?" Jack looked from the house towards his best friend. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her into a hug inside of the car and feeling the bone crushing grip she had on him. He knew she was scared. He couldn't lie and say he wasn't either but he had to try. He couldn't live locked up forever.

They got out of the car and walked into the front doors. Things had been cleaned up. The window had been repaired and the floors looked polished.

"Jesus did you stress clean the whole house?" Jack teased tossing his bag on the floor.

"Fuck no, I called a service. I'm not Mary fucking Poppins, bitch." Shanda shook her head. Jack smiled at his friend and gave her a playful shove. He walked through the first floor of the house, into the kitchen and noticed the plastic ware.

"So who do I call when I need a can opener?" Jack tapped the top of some spaghetti-O's with a plastic knife.

"Try Ramen. It's in a package and you can tear it open with your teeth." Shanda had apparently gone grocery shopping too. The pantry as full of snacks and things for him to prepare that require minimal effort.

"Oh so you prefer I die of heart failure from the sodium instead of driving a corkscrew into my neck, I see." Jack tossed the package of Ramen on the counter. Jack's jokes about death or killing himself used to bring humor to their conversations but Shanda found it hard to hear him joke so freely after watching him go through his breakdown.

"Hey, I wouldn't be back here if I didn't think I could handle it. I promise to call you every day. I have my therapist on speed dial and I will talk to one of the neighbors about being my life alert or whatever if that will make you relax." Jack put his hands on Shanda's shoulders and rubbed hoping to ease her anxiety. She threw her arms around him to hug him once again. This time he hugged back with the same force.

"I love you, you stupid bitch. Don't you ever forget it." She said into is hair.

"I love you too, you whore." She had saved his life. It was time he started making something of it again so it would be worth it.

#Jack Thurlow #Jack x Y/N #One Shot Series #Culkin Cult #Rory Culkin #Jack Goes Home #Glass Houses #Y/n not mentioned in this chapter but this is just an intro for story layout #Y/n will appear in the third update #1/38

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my-own-walker · 7 months

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So glad to hear you're taking requests for this week! Luv ur stories 🙂

Can I pls request an angst re-imagining what you've happened in that movie night scene in asylum if Kit, Lana and Grace (you can change Grace for reader if you want, lol) were actually caught there by Jude instead of being mistaken when they were all sitting back soaking wet after having tried to escape?

Tysm

She's Not There

note: thank ya for the compliment! also, this pic makes me so sad :((( love this request tho! it's like a lil creative writing activity

warnings: AHS asylum, abuse, bl00d, really just sad themes, aka angst, does not end well for the reader (sorry)

Kit's POV

I loved her as she was. I never wanted to control her fire. All I needed was to be near it. To bask in the warmth of her spirit.

She came to me with the idea of escape. She relied on my resilience to get by. Who was I to dull that sparkle in her eye?

A big storm was on the way. A movie night was planned. Our plan seemed so solid, that we could taste the freedom. Nothing could get in the way of her and me trying to get out of there. To have a life together.

When the moment came, I felt sick. We were unsupervised. We could slip out unnoticed. So we did. Her, Shelley, and I. I paused outside the door to the common room, steeling my nerves. If I'm honest, I would have bailed right there, had it not been for her.

She looked back at me, hope in her eyes. She looked like a religious icon. Like someone you'd sacrifice yourself for. I took her hand and I followed her. I would have done anything for her.

She reluctantly let Lana join us after she begged. I may not have done what she did, but she was brave. And she was kind. And she was patient. Shelley sacrificed herself to allow us to pass without an orderly seeing us.

She kept on because she was fearless.

We exited into the storm, Lana with us instead of Shelley. It was terrifying. We quickened our pace through the blinding storm. Sheets of rain fell upon us, blurring our vision detrimentally. The hissing storm saturated the ground. Sticky, wet mud dragged us down and made moving nearly impossible.

We got turned around. We barely knew which way to go. The curtain of rain and wind made the trees around us blur like a watercolor painting. I couldn't breathe. The water encompassed my being, infiltrating my nose and mouth each time I tried to feed my lungs.

Then, my breath caught for a different reason. With a loud crack and a flash of pain, I was leveled, lying in the disgusting mud. A figure stood over me, holding what looked like a bat. They brandished the weapon and swung down upon me with a swoosh. All at once, everything was black.

I awoke coughing. Wet, thick coughs that tasted bad on my tongue. My vision was blurred. A sharp pain crackled through my skull. I feared my brain might split in two. I used two hands to hold my head, trying to squeeze the pain away, all while using the heels of my palms to wipe the clouds from my eyes.

With a few more blinks, I could see again. I lowered my hands and looked down at them. The sight left me shell-shocked. Both were covered in wet, fresh blood. It was grotesque. My chest constricted so tightly, it was as if the walls were trying to keep my heart from dropping.

Then a memory of her flashed across my vision. My head shot up and I scanned the room feverishly for a sign of her. I was in solitary, though, so no one was there. Not even a guard.

I stood from my place on the floor next to the back wall, but without the concrete propping my back up I fell back over onto my hands and knees. The splitting pain in my head rendered me useless on my feet. I crawled to the door and collapsed in a heap next to it.

In the seconds following, I heard the door unlatch, and then open. I didn't even have the strength to look up.

"Ah, you're awake," Sister Jude purred. "It's time you came with me."

Two orderlies grappled me roughly to my feet, securing my hands together with leather straps behind my back. The two of them, led by Sister Jude, dragged my limp body through the asylum, all the way to her office. My hanging feet hit each stair heavily as they dragged me upward.

The sight before me broke my heart. She sat slumped in a chair in front of Sister Jude's desk, bleeding from the back of her head. I perked up a bit upon seeing her, almost believing I could be let go and run to her.

They placed me in the seat next to her. Despite the awful pain, I craned my neck to see her face. She was nearly unrecognizable, brutalized heinously. She wasn't conscious. I full-body winced.

Next in came Lana, in better shape than the two of us, yet still bruised and bloodied.

Sister Jude snapped her finger at the orderly behind us and pointed at Y/N. "You! Wake her up," she barked. The man, dressed in all white, the front of his shirt stained with blood, shuffled over to her.

He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. Her head swung from side to side, limply, then, bobbed up slowly. She let out a sickening gurgle that made my stomach turn. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch her.

"So," Sister Jude began. "These are the three who took advantage of my kindness, hm?" She paced back and forth behind her desk. "You three believed it appropriate to try to leave. You sicken me."

"You've punished us enough," Lana croaked.

"Ah, yes?" Jude smiled. "I don't think so." She tutted her tongue. "I don't believe so at all."

Her head dipped back down beside me heavily, her chin making contact with her chest.

"Keep her awake," Jude barked. The orderly returned to Y/N's side and shook her again. This time, though, she didn't stir. A nauseating feeling crept up inside of me.

"Y/N?" I rasped, leaning to my left to nudge her with my shoulder. She still didn't stir. Water collected in my bottom eyelid as a lump formed in my throat.

"Get her out of here," Sister Jude ordered, gesturing toward the door. The man in all white picked her up, bridal style. Her head swayed loosely as he adjusted her in his arms.

My lip trembled. I sucked in a short breath before I let out a small cry. Tears collected in my eyelashes, making it hard for me to see. I couldn't wipe them away, I could only let them fall.

"No," I choked out, barely audible as the orderly took her away from me. I could only believe the worst.

How terrible it is to love something death can touch.

Part of me wanted to believe the worst was yet to come, but if she truly was gone, the worst had already come and gone. I swallowed my despair and steeled myself for whatever punishment I was to be dealt.

Because nothing could be worse than losing her.

SORRY IT WAS SAD THATS WHO I AM!!!

#evan peters #evan peters fic #ahs #evan peters x reader #kit walker #evan peters x female reader #evan peters oneshot #kit walker x reader #kit walker imagine #kit walker ahs

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ackermanbitch · 1 year

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Teenage Dirtbag (Peter Parker x Fem!Reader) Part 6.5?

a/n: so this is honestly just filler (which is why it's so SHORT) before the part of the fic that takes place during the beginning of homecoming. i dont see the point in writing for the rest of civil war when realistically this is as far as reader would be involved. also not using (y/n) bc i dont like it anymore :D

warnings: arguing?? but it's kind of funny, reader being very much tony's daughter and repressing very real and important emotions

pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5

word count: 730 (augh its so short im sorry, next chapter will be the normal length dw )

"Ross wants you in juvie, and honestly, I can't totally blame him! You were assisting war criminals. War. Criminals."

The teen groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to lean as far away from the boy sitting next to her, wondering why the hell he chose to sit right there when there was an entire private plane for him to roam. "Why didn't you have this conversation with me before I left?" She whispered angrily, adjusting the phone in her hand to speak directly into the microphone.

Regardless of where Peter sat, he would've heard Tony's yapping through the phone in response to being interrupted during a lecture.

"Oh I'm sorry my scolding doesn't line up with your schedule young lady, but this is the only time I could fit in to talk to you, what between all the meetings I'm having in an attempt to keep you out of jail!"

"Can't you, I don't know- tell them I happened to be going for a-... a nice stroll? Walked into the crossfire by mis-" She stumbled over her words, eyes darting to Peter who snorted at her idea before she even finished. He quickly cleared his throat, head turning away so quickly she thought he might've pulled something.

Tony brought his palm up to his forehead, some measly attempt to soothe his growing migraine, "This is not a joke, we're talking about you potentially doing prison time-"

"I've hardly done anything deserving a real charge Dad, they just think I'm going to do something and I obviously won't, seeing as my team of 'war criminals' are in fucking Alcatraz-"

"One, you need to watch your damn language and two, you think I don't know that? Of course I think these allegations are a load of bullshit, it doesn't make it any easier to shut them down." Tony sighed, checking the time on his phone before bringing it back to his ear. "Listen, I have to go, call me when you land and don't let Happy fall asleep. Can't have you two teenagers unsupervised on my private plane."

She glanced at Happy's snoring figure on the other side of the jet, "Yeah, sure, he's wide awake. Love you, bye." She deadpanned, hanging up before Tony could finish reciprocating the sentiment.

She may have forced a mask of indifference, even carelessness, when faced with the consequences but behind all that, her brain felt like a fucking circus. A circus with multiple tornado sirens going off, fires and mass hysteria. Oh, and every clown wore her face. Her stupid, 'rebel against dad' at any chance, war criminal assisting face. She'd rather end up in prison than have to face her dad again. What if he never forgives her for this, what if he never moves on, what if this isn't like every other time she's done something stupid, this could change the course of her li-

"You're not.. actually gonna go to jail, right?" Peter interrupted her raging thoughts, giving her quite the worried stare.

She sighed, fiddling with her phone, "No, he would never let that happen. Not with his troupe of lawyers. I'll get let off with a 'hefty warning'," She emphasized with air quotes, "AKA forty torturous minutes of Cap telling me how I need to make better choices. Though he's stuck in the clink right now so I don't know."

She tried to hide the slight shake to her voice, how it sounded more like she was convincing herself rather than explaining it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Don't tell Mr. Stark I said this but uh- Y'know, he's Captain America, he'll probably break out of there in no time."

She slowly turned her head to look at him, slowly letting a smile break out across her face. "Yeah, maybe. He's pretty crazy. Suuuch a rebellious guy, very anti-government."

Peter shrugged with a hopeful smile, "I don't know, this whole thing started over him not wanting to sign a peace treaty, that seems extremely anti-government."

"I guess you're right Parker, as always." She grinned, ignoring his flushed cheeks at her compliment and letting her eyes drift to Happy.

"You got a marker?"

taglist: @preciousbabypeter @lily-sinclair-2006 @b-barnes04 @ink-stained-eyes

#peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker #marvel x reader #tony stark x daughter reader #tony stark

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anna1306 · 1 year

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The Lost Boys Incorrect Quotes

In my defence, I was left unsupervised, too lazy to watch the show I need to watch for my big fic I have hyperfixation on, there was The Golden Girls and I had my unhinged brain with me

Don't know if this needs part 2 or not, really, this is a trial part

And also I got encouraged by @britany1997 c:

Marko: I'm perfectly capable of managing by myself. I don't need help. I'm a totally independent person.

Dwayne: I know, I know, sorry.

Marko: Also I need 67$ for the cab.

High, emotional Paul: Our families are gone. And we're alone. And there are too many years left, and I don't know what to do.

David: Get a poodle.

David, seeing Michael: I can't stand being near him, I hate him too much! I know I'm gonna do something crazy!

Marko: Whenever you feel you're about to lose control, just take my hand and give it a little squeeze *takes David's hand* I guarantee you'll feel a 100% better.

Michael: Hey, guys, long time no see!

David: *silently drinks beer*

Marko: *silently prays for his broken hand*

Paul: *takes away the knife from Dwayne* GIVE ME THAT! Do you want to spend the rest of your life rotting away in some disgusting jail cell, bribing screws for cigarettes and toilet paper?!

Dwayne: It's not a crime to cut the cake.

Paul: Oh... I thought you were going to stab Sam.

Dwayne: Don't be ridiculous. Do you honestly believe that I would stab Michael's brother in the middle of the Boardwalk?

Paul: Oh no, I guess not.

Dwayne: Of course not!

Paul: ...

Dwayne: I would wait for him to go somewhere alone. There are too many witnesses.

Star: Oh... Maybe you are right.

David: Of course I'm right, do you think I got this old by being stupid?

After winning in the arcade game

Marko: You'll be back. You know why? You are too competitive! It's always been your worst feature. Actually, no, your ears are your worst feature.

Paul: Can you believe that?

Dwayne: No, I always thought your bony feet were your worst feature.

Star after breakup with Michael: I just don't know. Michael was my first. And now trying it with someone else... I haven't had anyone after Michael, you know...

Paul: Get out of here!

Marko: Back off, Paul. Not all of us are classified by the Navy as a friendly port.

Marko: When Laddie had colic, I used to give him brandy.

David: You give brandy for teething to enfants, you rub it on their gums.

Marko: ... I gave it to him in bottle for colics. He was very happy.

Dwayne: Put it in my bottle, I'll be happy too.

Laddie: I wish I had a dog! He would be loyal, loving, fun. He would never leave my side.

David: I wish Michael was a dog. Would have solved a lot of problems.

Dwayne: You could have had him fixed.

Michael, describing the boys: And Paul... Wherever he goes, he finds himself a date.

Sam: So do hookers.

David, going away: I've been an idiot through this whole thing!

Paul, mumbling to himself: Darn right you have

David: *immediately appears right next to him*

Paul: *shriek of a death*

#tlb #thelostboys #thelostboys1987 #tlb1987 #david tlb #marko tlb #paul tlb #tlb dwayne #michael emerson #sam emerson #star tlb #incorrect quotes

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purpleprincessonfyre · 2 months

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And now something a bit soft, inspired by an idea that @jackiequick gave me that devolved into a full fledged Found Family fic. Sorry not sorry.

Marvel AU - Not Your Barbie Girl

Characters: Liane Felton and Jason Underwood aka JJ

Mentioned: Ethan Lensherr, The OG Avengers, Rochelle Romanoff-Felton, Rei Stark

Setting: The Avengers Tower, post Battle of New York

Themes: Found Family, Grumpy and Sunshine friends

IB: Not Your Barbie Girl by Ava Max

Liane was stressed. She was pacing her room back and forth, her music nearly blasting, her bed strewn in dresses and outfits, shoes cluttered across her floor and she was clenching her pillow tightly, trying not to scream. She was not doing well.

Ethan had asked her on a date. Yesterday. He was very slightly nudged by his brother Cole into saying it outloud but Liane had said yes almost immediately. Actually she'd shouted it. Causing everyone to stop in their tracks as her cheeks turned a deep shade of peony. But Ethan had smiled, that dumb sweet grin that made Liane feel special.

But now she had the arduous task of choosing what to wear. Smart? Casual? Smart casual? Streetwear? Black tie? She was racking her brain trying to predict what kind of date this was going to be or how her date was going to dress. Ethan wasn't really a suit person but what if he wore one tonight? There were too many options.

Finally Liane settled on a classic look of hers; white collared blouse, pale pink sweater, plaid grey skirt, white knee socks and black Mary Jane heels. She smiled as she put it on, feeling that confidence she had before and stepped out of her room to check with the other girls about her outfit choice.

But as Liane entered the main area she realised how quiet it was. She looked around and only saw one person. Jason Underwood. She frowned, clearly confused.

"Where did everyone go?"

"Nat's off training Rochelle and a few of the others, Bruce and some of the guys including Rei are at the lab and the rest are busy. I'm only here so the Tower isn't left unsupervised."

"Oh. Okay. Do you...do you mind if I get your opinion on something?"

"Go ahead but it might not be flattering," stated Jason, his eyes still fixed on his newspaper. Liane stood in front of him in her outfit, smiling.

"Does this outfit look good for my date tonight with Ethan?"

"Sure it does." Jason replied, still not looking up. Liane sighed.

"At least look at it."

"Fine." His gaze flicked up to her outfit then back to his paper.

"Yep, you look like your usual...pinky self."

"I- But what do you think? Be totally honest."

Jason lowered his paper, making eye contact with her, not sure if this was a trap or not.

"You want ME to be honest?"

"Brutally honest."

"Fine." He put his paper down, sat bolt upright and fixed his gaze on her outfit. He looked her up and down carefully before he spoke, having made up his mind.

"You dress like a Boarding School Student who thinks they're rebellious for wearing nail polish and earrings at school. You're on a date, not taking your SATs. All you'd need to top it off is a dog in your purse and a crucifix necklace to show them just how devout you are."

"Okay now you're just being rude."

"You wanted honest! And honesty is I don't like your outfit. You need to find something new."

"Wait what?" Jason stood up and got up to Liane's eye level, using all his skills acquired from being a godfather to Rei to try and talk some sense into Liane.

"You have spent your whole life dressing the way people expect you to dress, talking the way people expect you to, dating the way people tell you to and living the way people think you should live. Why don't you figure out who the real Liane Felton is for once?"

"N-no one's ever asked me that before...I- would you come shopping with me? For new clothes?"

Jason stopped still. He hadn't expected that. He turned around and saw her hopefully eyes and remembered that despite her reputation she was still so young. And naive. And he was literally her only option. If anyone could help this poor girl salvage a personal style from the wreckage of her preppy barbiecore closet then it would have to be him.

Jason held out his hand kindly, smiling.

"Let's get you some new clothes, Doll."

-----

The unlikely duo got out of the car and headed into the mall, in search of new clothes for Liane. Liane strode ahead, her eyes determined while Jason followed behind closely, also slightly acting as a guard dog to her since she wasn't the most liked person in the world.

They headed into the first clothes store they saw and grabbed a basket.

"Okay so what is your signature colour right now?"

"Uh pink?"

"Exactly. Not that pink isn't pretty but of course but maybe it's time to add some other colours to your closet. Pick out an outfit in every colour of the rainbow. A jacket, a dress, pants, a suit, skirt, you name it. And well we'll see what your new thing is."

Liane grinned. If there was one thing she excelled at, it was making an outfit. Soon the basket was overflowing with shades of crimson, ochre, tangerine, emerald, azure, navy and lavender and some whites and blacks were thrown in for good measure. After being satisfied with her choices, Liane marched into a dressing room with her outfits ready to try each of them.

Jason took a seat outside the changing area, ready to critique each look. Eventually Liane emerged in a red dress, topped with a red coat, black boots and a red hat. Jason raised an eyebrow, amused.

"A bit Carmen Sandiego for you."

"I dunno I think femme fatale suits me."

"Try again, Miss Scarlet."

Next she entered wearing a sunny yellow 50s style dress with white heels, a little cardigan and a bow in her hair. Jason tried not to laugh.

"Tell me about it, stud."

"Oh man! Not Sandra Dee! I was going for Marilyn.."

She kept trying on outfits in varying shades and pulling funny faces when Jason gave his verdict until he stopped her when she reached green, looking her up and down.

"None of these are working...what colours do you have left?"

"Blue, dark blue, black, white oh and purple!"

Jason's eyes lit up. He took Liane by the hand and led her back to the room.

"Try the purple jacket with this top, these pants and those mini gogo boots."

Liane nodded, seeing his vision and stepped back into the dressing room to redress, hopefully the final time. When she finally emerged Jason beamed from ear to ear. Liane was wearing a turtleneck styled white top with high waisted blue jeans, a purple leather jacket, white mini gogo boots with gold hoops in her ears and had stuck her signature heart-shaped sunglasses in her hair like an Alice band.

"What do you think?"

"I love it. It's mature, the colour suits you so well and you don't look like a school girl. And it's understated too. Very nice. But what do you think?"

"I really like it, it's so comfy too!"

"Liane Felton we have found your colour. But don't be afraid to experiment with other colours too don't limit yourself."

"Who knew you were so good at fashion?"

"Clearly I didn't."

"Ethan would be crazy not to be impressed by that outfit too."

"You think so?"

"I know so, Doll."

Liane smiled softly, then flung her arms around Jason's neck, standing on her tiptoes to reach as she hugged him tight, engulfing him in a cloud of her candy scented perfume. He was taken aback at first but realised she probably really needed this hug. Reluctantly he wrapped his arms around her in the hug, smiling as she held him close. Sometimes it was easy to forget that these Heroes of the Future are still pretty scared young people with fears and needs.

None more than Liane, who had been her mother's personal doll since birth. He'd heard the stories and the rumours but now he knew the real Liane he had nothing but sympathy for her. And after having dealt with her father in previous skirmishes and work, he felt sort of protective of the bubbly blonde princess. And she finally had a chance to break out of her shell for once and be her own person.

Hope you enjoyed!

Tagging: @jackiequick @gcthvile @cherrysft @blueboirick @meiramel @askstevella @ask-missparker @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @wizzzardofoz @finlayholmes @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @missstrawbs2001

#liane felton #liane's blog #askliane #marvel roleplay #violet pyre #marvel ask blog #mcu fandom #ask my ocs #ethane #uncle jj #jason underwood #glenn powell #amanda seyfried

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beantothemax · 10 months

Note

Osvald and Elena inbox fic jumpscare

Their lives wouldn't be the same as they once were. Obviously Rita was dead, but there was more than that. Even on the most calm and peaceful days, Osvald was on alert.

He abandoned his habit of walking alone and brought Elena with him. In fact, he hardly ever left her unsupervised for more than a few minutes. He couldn't lose her again.

Elena was more than okay with this. She missed him, and wanted to make up for the five years they'd been apart. He told her about his nervous habits and she didn't mind, she was just happy to have her papa back. What Osvald didn't know, was that she'd had her fair share of unpleasant experiences as well.

He slammed the door open with a groan. He'd misplaced his books and now they were nowhere to be seen. Not on the bookshelf, in any of the cabinets or even in his study. Such a thing usually wasn't a bother, but he was running late to a conference.

"Have you seen my magic books? The ones by M. J. Aguilar?" he groaned.

Elena looked up from her drawing and shook her head.

Osvald grew increasingly frustrated as he checked the entire house again and again, muttering obscenities under his breath.

Elena stayed at the table but would occasionally glance at him. The lines on her drawing became more unsteady and eventually she put down her pencil. She silently put away her drawing supplies before heading to her room with her hands over her ears.

Several more minutes passed before Osvald finally found his books. He stuffed them in his bag.

"I found them, let's-"

She wasn't sitting at the table.

He opened the door to her room, finding her tightly wrapped in her blanket. Noticing that he'd entered the room, she retreated further under the blanket and covered herself completely.

Osvald knelt beside her bed and tried to lift the blanket, but she held on tight.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's nothing," she muttered.

"Don't you want to visit Clarissa?"

"No."

He racked his brain for several seconds before landing on a potential reason she was like this. Clarissa and Castti told him that Harvey had done something to her, but they weren't clear on what it was, as Elena was hesitant to talk about it.

"...Are you scared because I was angry?" he asked.

At her silence, he realized he must be right. Osvald's heart grew heavy at the idea that Harvey had yelled at her, and he wanted to believe he hadn't, but he knew what kind of man Harvey was.

"I'm sorry Elena," he said softly, "I wasn't angry at you, I just couldn't find my books. I shouldn't have reacted like that."

Elena still refused to speak and stayed under the blanket.

"We can stay home today, at the next conference I'll just tell them I got sick," he said.

He got up to leave but stopped to look back at her, "I'll make some hot chocolate."

Hopefully that would make her feel better.

GHHHGHGATG,,,,, GOD. Elena being scared of Osvald because of.. whatever Harvey did to her… CRYING. SCREAMING.

#asks #pie-knight #inbox fic

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imaradiocure · 1 year

Text

The worst day of my life

Reaching over to your side of the bed, I expected to feel you beside me

I was jolted awake because you were not there

At the time I had no idea how 'The Reach' would haunt me for years in the twilight between sleep and wake

I'd continue to reach but I'd never find you.

I got up from bed and peered out into the living room, thinking maybe you'd fallen asleep on the couch or had gotten up early

and how niave of me it was, but I didn't yet know that this was the worst day of my life.

I think I called your name, but I can't be sure as panic set it and things became a little hazy at this point.

I found you in the bathroom. You were unresponsive. I didn't know what happened but as I tried to wake you, you didn't respond.

I remember looking down on us in the bathroom, with what was likely your dead body, but my brain did not accept that. You couldn't be gone. Not my Nick. Not my love.

I heard your voice from all around me say, "I'm so sorry," it was loud but it didn't come from your mouth. Maybe it was an auditory hallucination. The brain does strange things in the face of extreme stress and trauma.

I darted for a phone, but I couldn't find mine. I was so fucking panicked and scared and alone. I found your phone and dialed 911.

Things become more hazy. I knew this was an overdose because I saw the spoon in the bathroom. I told the operator it was heroin, the toxicology report would later say it was morphine.

I had to do CPR and the 911 operator instructed me but I failed. I failed you. I couldn't stop sobbing, hyperventilating. I was trying, but I was no good. I couldn't help you and I couldn't breathe either.

The paramedics arrived and I rushed to unlock the doors. I dont really know what happened after. They took you to the living room I think and I was sat in the bedroom. I was quietly sitting in shock, I kept asking if you were going to be okay. The female officer told me she didn't know yet.

They asked me questions and I dont remember what. They pronounced you dead and the doctor came to tell me and I kicked and I screamed "No! We were supposed to get married!" and other things, but I can't remember what they were. An officer may have been restraining me.

One of the many officers combing through my home asked if I wanted to go outside for fresh air or a cigarette and I must have agreed. I was in pajama shorts, so I went to my closet to grab a coat when officers panicked because they didn't want me unsupervised. Maybe they thought I was hiding drugs. Maybe they thought I was a danger. I don't know.

I stood outside shaking, blank, empty, in shock. In shorts and an open jacket in mid February in South Dakota.

I remember a male officer say something to the effect of "you look like you're doing alright"

I don't think I looked at him. I did not respond. I had already shut down. The female officer asked me if I could call someone, my mother. I tried to give the number but I guess I gave my own phone number. I was very confused. As I said, I had shut down.

Somehow they reached her and she came to get me from the home I had shared with my fiance. I was stone cold and silent until I saw her, hugged her, and broke down into wails and sobs. Before we left the female officer told me I was not going to be charged with anything, which hadn't even occured to me as a possibility.

For months I did nothing but sit or lay on my mother's couch. Sometimes I didn't recognize where I was. I couldn't look in the mirror. I couldn't eat. I couldn't exist. All I wanted was to go with him. I didn't want to be here without him.

People who pretended to be friends came and went. Family members collected my pets and belongings from the house I shared with my fiance. I couldn't return. I paid another month or two worth of rent just to avoid going back and tying up those loose ends.

I lost friends over 10 years long because I was "too sad to be around"

I was angry

I was empty

Nothing felt good. Nothing tasted good. Nothing felt like anything except for his absence.

I would have sudden panic attacks and freak out in a totally quiet home. The only way I could curb these was to observe my cats and note that they were sleeping calmly and therefore there must be no immediate danger. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't.

I thought a lot about suicide. I thought it was unfair for my friends and family to expect me to live in the debilitating pain just so they didn't have to suffer losing me. I should exist in the pits of hell to spare them the very grief I was lost in. It seemed so unfair.

There was no hope. There was nothing to live for. I was a shell. I either felt nothing at all or extreme emotions - anger or grief. I said extreme things to people in the deepest depths and I cut ties wherever need be.

Grief was like poison inside of me. I had a toxicity in my thoughts and speech. I had a skewed perspective and no one had it as bad as me. No one could truly understand my loss and pain and the trauma of finding the person I loved most dead on the worst day of my life.

I went crazy sometimes. I had brief periods of psychosis. I would run out of my house in fear and hide in bushes blocks away. Fear of what? I don't really know. I felt trapped and I needed to go.

Grief is a shapeshifter and it never really leaves.

It doesn't get 'better' it just changes and morphes into different contortions. Maybe we get better at carrying the weight over time. I'm not sure.

It's been six years and three days. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, the day of his viewing 6 years ago.

I still ache. I still get angry. I still love. I still yearn. I still have nightmares. I still feel cheated. Every so often, I still reach for him in the twilight of wake and sleep.

Nothing will ever fix it. Nothing will ever make it better. There's no remedy. No healing potion. No spell or ritual. Just ache. I will ache.

As I continue to live, I will only collect more grief and you will too.

Life is an endless collection of loss.

#grief #grieving #loss #widow #trauma #fiance #personal #writing #text #my story #bpd #borderline #abandonment #psychosis #complicated grief #ptsd

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quetzalpapalotl · 2 years

Note

Can you recommend any transformers media where religion and spirituality are big themes? Even better if there's dialogue between human and Cybertronian belief systems? The concept is giving me a mighty brain itch. Like, come on, they can point to their souls in their bodies! They know where they go when they die! And they're so powerful and long lived they look like gods themselves... Obviously different continuities have different takes on this but I am such a mark for world building involving these concepts. Do you have anything that comes to mind? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this as well, your transformers meta is fascinating and very insightful. You're the best!

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy my meta!

So with the caveat that there's a ton of Transformers media I have not seen, I can't think of any that explores that as deeply as you wish. The closest, I think, would be IDW2 where the world really feels like it exist on his own, rather than the wordbuilding existing for the sake of what the plot needs. The idea that their god is their planet does feel very present and there's even a moment where an organic tells the Cybertronians that they don't realize how weird they are, they live for so long and have physical proof of their own souls while most races don't have that certainty. It's great. It's a pity IDW2 was cut short I really wanted to see more of Ruckley's world.

But if you ask me what I like, personally, I'm kind of I take what I get girl, so if a TF series has Primus or other divinities I'm like sure yeah, I don't mind that, it can be very interesting if you play it right and I do have a divinity kink so. I really think that if they're gonna include Primus, they should go bonkers with it. However I do have a liking for the Quintesson-made backstory or similar and would like to see that again since it has pretty much been dropped in favor of Primus, because that really does makes this a robot story, you know? Robots gaining their own will, what does it mean to go beyond the purpose you were created for and it would be them creating and entire civilization of their own, not just integrating, which is fascinating.

I do strongly headcanon that IDW1 has a Quintesson-made backstory, which I mentioned here. And in general IDW1 works for me, but you know what works for me even more? Eugenesis, where Primus is a supercomputer the Quints stole from other race to figure out how to reach apotheosis and left unsupervised while they hid and it ended creating life, and Unicron is the same, except he's glitching. Both because I love "everything you know is a lie" twists in general and because it raises questions like, what even is a god? There is no practical difference between a supercomputer that can create life and which we cannot understand and a god. For example, let's say the world is a simulation, you may say that the creators of the simulation are like god, but rather I think they pretty much would be god, just because it woulf feel less mystical doesn't really change what it is.

Sorry that I'm giving you sort of the opposite that you asked for, but my favorite thing regarding this are chapters 10 and 11 of @lord-squiggletits Pay Unto Evil (i mean the whole thing is great but you can read those chapters on their own) which are focused on the SG universe and deal with the fact that yes, god is real and Optimus is his chosen one but god is also evil and does not care and what do you do with that? That is so, so, so important to me, I am not normal about it.

@sroloc--elbisivni also has a fic that combines the Guiding Hand and the G1 Quintessons that is so full of love and is beautiful and tastes like pearls, dares for the first time. And equally beutiful is this take on the origins of the Matrix by MagicalSpaceDragon, if you could see my love.

And while I have not read it yet, @bitegore has Please refrain from discussing theology in this server. which is exactly what it sounds like, Decepticons talking theology on Discord. And I can at least vouch that Red has fascinating ideas.

Those are what I can think of from the top of my head, sorry this isn't what you were asking for but it's what I can offer.

#truth be told i can take anything you say about cybertronian religion at face value being a story about transforming alien robots and that #but i'd rather avoid that being mixed with human beliefs #because being a us franchise i feel the default would be to bring up the christian god #and i'd like to keep the distance #not to be ex catholic on main but mmmmmmmm #quetzal rambles tf

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buckybarnesandmarvel · 1 year

Note

Lovieeeee I hope your exams are going well!! Here’s questions from your recent reblog :))

hey my love!! i'm so sorry i've been so bad at replying 😅😭 my brain is about to burst lmao, i'm doing so much revision 😅 thank you for sending these in!!

ooh so manyyy, literally everyone i write for plus a few

2. i love both, ahh i can't decide haha

3. nooooo

4. mermaids, nessie, megalodons, sea serpents, you name it, like 85% of the oceans haven't been explored, you can't tell me those fuckers don't exist

5. hazellll

6. in my defense, i was left unsupervised

7. hair ties all the way i'm sorry lmao

8. too many 💀

9. hotttt

10. i mean...

11. oooh probably acting :)

12. meh

13. a couple hours ago! (i'm so proud of myself :))

14. loveeee

15. nop

16. nop

17. nearsighted :)

18. i use a frizz serum and a couple oils :)

19. yessss

20. i say fizzy drink 💀😅

#you've got mail <3 #xx #ask game #sweet asks #moots <3 #katie ♡#chrisevansdaughter

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clearwillow · 2 years

Note

From the author question list that is making the rounds (sorry if it's too many in a row!):

15. What's your favourite plotless fic you have written?

22. What is it about watching the same two idiots falling in love over and over again?

23. Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?

39.Wildest AU scenario you have written?

@dchelyst Not too many! You're actually the first to send one of these ❤

What's your favourite plotless fic you have written?

I think Burnt Rubber, because the closest thing to a plot with that fic is Inuyasha and latex balloons, and there's no possible way that it could be expanded on XD

What is it about watching the same two idiots falling in love over and over again?

Doesn't matter how many variations there are, I think it's the "Oh." moment, because that's when things start clicking, and in my experience it's meant losing sleep until I see that realization become reality in the fic (and god help my brain if the chapters run out before then lol)

Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?

I've struggled with both at different times, but for the same reason - it doesn't feel "right". Some days it's easy to write a back-and-forth argument or conversation, but then I've got to go in and add little ticks to remind the reader that they're in the kitchen and not on the moon.

Descriptions usually depend on the situation. Like, I'm terrible at describing the layout of a house off the top of my head (this is how you get Rose Red if I'm left unsupervised). So I'll research and hit up realty websites to find the right place and go from there. When I researched for the wedding in Making Waves, I did this for everything involved with that. Dresses, cakes, procession, venue, even the little favor bags was a trip around Etsy. Their rings? The charm bracelet? Actual rings, though I Dr. Frankensteined Inuyasha's ring and the charm bracelet from at least two others.

Wildest AU scenario you have written?

I don't know if canon divergence counts as AU so I don't feel like I can say Mating Fever. I think...Making Waves, because it's an AU I was winging from the get-go, and still am. Behind that, maybe Kneel Before Me, for the light bdsm elements.

You'd think for someone whose AO3 list is mostly AUs I'd be able to answer that easier XD but also what I'd think might be different from someone else, so if anyone ever wants to rank them like this have fun lol there'll be a plateau of plain bagels basically

Writing asks

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gravitywonagain · 2 years

Text

oh god. oh no. what if... i'm so sorry. what if lwj went to qiongqi dao the second time, either with wwx or to meet him there, and instead of preventing jzxun's ambush, he tries to protect wwx like wn does, but instead of moving a massive fuckoff boulder, he grabs wwx's wrists and shields him with his body.

sixteen arrows sink through his flesh before the volley ends. wwx is stunned and horrified. "why would you do that, lan zhan?!" as lwj slowly collapses to the ground, reaching his hand towards wwx's face, "for wei ying." he spits blood. lwj is a strong cultivator but these wounds... wwx loses control of everything as he falls to his knees and cradles lwj in his arms. he screams, eyes blood red. jzxun accuses wwx of using lwj as a human shield, says it's his fault lwj is dead. lwj isn't dead yet he can't be dead no his heart is still beating he's just slowing it with his cultivation it's fine he's fine he can't be--

jzxuan still shows up when he does. wn still kills him. and now yllz is responsible for the deaths of two clan heirs (and anyone up on the cliff who was holding a bow). but this time he doesn't return to the burial mounds. this time the wens don't get a chance to sacrifice themselves for him. this time wwx tears jzxun apart with his own bare hands. sends wn back to yiling to get everyone out before the clans inevitably descend and he carries lwj's body back to koi tower himself. he walks past every armed guard, glaring them down, and brings lwj's body to his brother in the middle of the banquet hall and surrenders himself to the chief cultivator.

#i'm sorry #it's cursed #this is what my brain does when left unsupervised #now you get to share my pain #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian #wen ning #qiongqi dao ambush #canon divergent au #is lwj actually dead? who the fuck knows. certainly not me. brain why #my nonsense

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cocobittiebites · 3 years

Text

Shit post with Y/N hxh edition

So i’ve had a writing block for awhile so here you go my loves with something from my draft. I honestly don’t know what goes on in my head but i think i internalized some other incorrect quote posts so not all of this is original. In all honesty I love it when y/n is all over the place so imma project that here.

also gender neutral y/n rights 🤌🏼

Illumi: I am an assassin, I don't need love

*Y/N comes in tripping and chugging a monster energy drink*: Sorry I'm late! I had to fight off some guys-

Illumi: Guys? What guys? Do you need me to kill them? Social security number? You want their heads? I can give you their heads?

Hisoka: Well you can give me head~ *gets smacked by both of them*

*******************

Gon: Wow Y/N is really focused on their fight with Hisoka rn!

*Killua nods in agreement*

[meanwhile]

Y/n: wait why r we fighting again?

Hisoka: because you’re strong my little fruit<3

*tilts their head in confusion*: but why?

Hisoka: because I only want to fight the best-

Y/N: why though?

Hisoka: beca-

Y/N: Why. Though.

Hisoka: 👁⭐️👄💧👁

*******************

*Phinks over the phone*: I have your kids as hostages do as I say and bring the chain user. Then we might consider letting them go.

*Kurapika looks at Leorio and Y/N confused*: we don’t have any kids though?

Phinks: You sure? Cuz one of them asked me if they could have apple slices with peanut butter and the other looks like he’s capable of war crimes-

Y/N: OH MY GOD THEY HAVE GON AND KILLUA-

*******************

Chrollo: Aside from me, who is the hottest guy you know?

Y/N: This is a trick question isn’t it. You’re not gonna get angry right?

Chrollo: No, of course not

Y/N: Alright, it’s Illumi

[later]

Illumi walking past Chrollo: *nods*

Chrollo: Hello homewrecker

*******************

Y/n lays down dramatically: Betrayal is bitter

Shalnark: I ate one of your starburst, and it was only the orange one-

*******************

Y/N jokingly: You know I could always kill you for that-

Illumi, entering: Who do i need to kill?

Y/N: No Illumi i was only playing around-

Illumi, polishing his needles: no, I will kill

*******************

Y/N: What your type?

Hisoka: Well~ (h/c) hair, (e/c) eyes, oblivious, great fighter, around your height <3

Y/N: hehe kinda sounds like me, but I really don’t know anyone with that description

Hisoka: did i already mention oblivious?

Y/N: yeah

Hisoka: just making sure~

*******************

Leorio: How did you two end up being arrested?

Killua and Gon: in our defense we were left unsupervised

Kurapika: Wasn’t Y/N with you though?

Y/N: in my defense I was left unsupervised as well

*******************

Y/N: Yeah I don’t have any children

Kurapika: Y/N! The phantom troupe had Gon, Killua, and Alluka-

Y/N outside their base with a megaphone: Who ever decided to put their hands on my kids, please come outside so I can peacefully break your legs

*Chrollo inside considering become a step-father*

*******************

Chrollo trying to flirt: Tell me about yourself

Y/N: I get jealous of my phone when it dies

*******************

Y/N: so if womb is pronounced like “woom” and tomb is pronounced like “toom”, then why isn’t bomb pronounced like “boom”

Feitan: This is the worst than torture-

Phinks: shhhhh, let them speak

Shalnark: how does their brain work-

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allegra-writes · 4 years

Text

“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity.

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…"

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did.

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit"

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition.

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly.

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness.

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath.

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?"

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation"

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?"

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal"

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought.

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned.

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did.

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order"

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell.

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list"

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes,

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point.

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever.

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart.

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have?

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't.

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated?

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me."

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped.

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you.

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips.

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim.

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night.

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made.

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers.

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury.

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal"

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense.

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall.

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him.

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying.

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move.

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it.

"Shut up" He growled.

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven"

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long.

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips.

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides.

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me."

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end.

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you.

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?"

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined.

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides.

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream:

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

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