#a very sane individual | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strangersmunsons · 10 months

Text

read 'em and weep

you and Eddie meet at the library. he’s smitten.

Contains: Eddie x Reader, bookworm!reader, lovesick!Eddie, reader gives Eddie book recommendations. No mention of reader’s physical appearance, no use of y/n. Warnings: brief mention of loneliness & negligence in Eddie’s childhood. Word Count: ~2.2k it's my hope to make this a little series! i think eddie is def a bookish guy - no lord of the rings quoting, metal head dungeon master hates reading. he would certainly be open to any fantasy/horror recs you had for him! <3

Indiana. 1989.

Hawkins Library sees a lot of action in the summer.

They offer a wide variety of youth programs to keep the local kids busy and the parents sane while school is out. One of the main events is Saturday Story Time, a beloved weekly staple that you have recently been tasked with putting on.

It’s simple. You gather a number of books, usually with a common theme, and then read a select few to the children who had signed up for the day. Most of the kids in attendance are no older than six or so, with some parents even pulling up chairs to the back so they can sit with infants cradled in their arms. The older ones sit criss-cross-applesauce on carpet squares in front of you, their chubby faces alight with giggles as you recount each silly, fantastical story with all the spirit you can muster.

And then there’s always an accompanying arts and crafts project, of course. If you read The Very Hungry Caterpillar then, naturally, you have to make little googly-eyed caterpillars out of popsicle sticks and colorful pom-poms. You don’t make the rules.

If trouble occurs during Story Time, it’s usually in this phase. (Giving paste to toddlers is always a gamble – you never know what they’re gonna do with that.)

And on this particular morning, it’s been chaos from start to finish. A whopping eighteen kids had signed up, and you stretched yourself pretty thin trying to attend to everyone.

One of the babies spit up directly onto the little girl sitting in front of him and his mother. Someone slipped on their carpet square and fell harshly to the floor, earning a bruised elbow that you gently fussed over. You wrangled a pair of twins who fought bitterly over a bottle of Elmer’s glue. There were three individual running-with-scissors-scares and, finally, you spent a good ten minutes soothing one sobbing child with whom there was nothing apparently wrong with, and that you suspected was just in need of a good cry.

So yeah, it was basically pandemonium.

But eventually, to your great relief, things wound down. The audience dispersed, with their handmade goods clutched in sticky fists, and went to peruse the glossy line of picture books you put out for display. Within the next hour or two, everyone traded the cool darkness of the library for buttery sunshine, and all was quiet again. You waved cheerfully to the last parent-child duo as they made their exit, promising them that there’d be a fun activity next weekend too.

You love these storytime sessions, you really do, but sheesh. Sometimes they run you ragged. With the havoc of the morning finally over, and the promise of lunch in your near future, you try to shake off the weariness, and instead take it upon yourself to clean up the disorganized mess someone’s made of the horror section.

You’re going about your work, tongue poking out in concentration as you strain to reach the really high shelves, when you notice someone standing in your peripheral vision. You turn and glance at him, or at least, what you can see of him. He’s half-hidden by the shelf behind you, but you catch sight of brown hair and denim.

A pale face appears on a craned neck from around the corner. His dark eyes meet yours, widen slightly when he sees that you’ve caught him lurking, and he abruptly disappears again.

You purse your lips to hide your smile. This isn’t uncommon; such moments often occur when you’re cleaning up a section of books someone is hoping to sift through. In a small act of kindness, you move over to the neighboring shelf and look for something to busy yourself with; trying to give the guy a chance to browse without having to ask you to step aside.

He doesn’t emerge. You wait, expecting to sense him passing by you, but no dice. It’s amusing to think that someone might be frightened to approach you (You? Really?) but you can’t help feeling sorry that you were in his way.

The rest of your shift is rather uneventful. At the end of the day, you punch out and head home, the stranger behind the shelf forgotten.

When you come back to work on Monday, it’s much quieter than the last morning you’d been in. You greet your coworkers and set up shop at the front desk, opening up a book of your own to pass the time until someone needed assistance.

You’ve been reading for about half an hour when the big double doors open up for the day’s first visitor, the sound echoing loudly in the silent, spacious room. You look up in interest, ready to greet the person with a warm smile.

“Good morning!” you softly call out as he comes into view. He walks slowly towards you, shoes scuffing the checkered tile with each step. As he comes nearer, you can see that he’s biting his lip, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture oozing self-consciousness. He only makes eye contact with you for a second before his gaze flits away again.

He’s pretty conspicuous-looking to be approaching the desk with such hesitance, you think. He has dark hair that hangs in slightly-scraggly curls down to his chest, and huge dark eyes. The pale skin of his arms, sticking out from within a denim vest/Judas Priest t-shirt combo, are littered with tattoos.

He pauses a few feet away from you, like he’s debating whether he wants to stop and chat, or to simply veer off towards the bookshelves and start browsing. Ultimately he decides to shuffle forward, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Hi there. What can I do for you?” you ask, voice gentle but encouraging.

He looks down and rests a hand on the desk, absentmindedly tracing the wood pattern with his thumb. “Um, yes.” He doesn’t offer anything else.

There’s a pregnant pause, both of you digesting the fact that what you had asked was not a yes or no question.

He tries again. “I…am in need…of some new reading material.”

You nod gravely, expression serious. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Did you have anything specific in mind?”

He begins to rock lightly back and forth on his feet, contemplating. “I like fantasy, especially Tolkien. I read a lot of horror, too, and sometimes sci-fi. If you had any suggestions for me, that’d be great.”

“Oh, we can certainly find you something,” you reassure him, already flipping through a mental rolodex of your favorite books in those genres. “Here, come with me.”

You stand and move around the desk to meet him, beckoning for him to follow.

Eddie watches you run a delicate hand over the spines of the books, keenly aware of the clammy sweat that’s flooding his own palms. Be cool, Munson.

“So,” you begin, a gleam of excitement in your eyes, “you like fantasy. Do you read Le Guin?”

Eddie nods eagerly, hair bouncing slightly with the movement. “Oh yeah, I’ve read the Earthsea trilogy.”

“Have you read any of The Hainish Cycle books?”

“I haven’t read those ones, no.”

You pull out two slim paperbacks from the row, holding each one out for him so he can study the covers. “These ones are science fiction, and they’re pretty good. You might like Rocannon’s World since it’s similar to a fantasy novel, but personally I think Left Hand of Darkness is the best.” You suddenly pause, and look around furtively, like you were checking to make sure that you two are really alone. You even put a hand up to the side of your mouth, as though shielding the conversation from eavesdroppers.

“Honestly,” you lower your voice like you’re admitting something scandalous, “I even liked it better than Earthsea.”

“No!” Eddie immediately matches your whispered, gossipy tone and lets his jaw drop, pretending to be aghast.

“Yes!” you insist, seemingly delighted by his willingness to play along. Eddie’s heart soars.

“I guess I can’t refute that until I read it, huh? What’s it about?” he asked, taking it from your hand.

“An envoy is visiting this frozen alien planet, and he’s trying to convince them to join this intergalactic coalition that he represents, but they’re making it like, really difficult for him. Also, gender doesn’t exist, and there’s political turmoil stemming from border disputes.”

“...oh. Cool.”

The next half-hour passes in this fashion. Your soft, mild demeanor is aglow with enthusiasm as you pull out book after book, giving him an off-the-cuff elevator pitch for each. Eddie can practically feel the cartoon hearts swirling around his head, bright pink and red bubbles that are almost certainly going to appear out of thin air and give him away.

He can’t put his finger on what it is, precisely, that’s pulling him in so deeply, drawing him towards you like a magnet with an opposite pole. Maybe it’s the tender way you talk about each book, the love and care that’s so tangible in your sweet voice, the way you speak about them as though they’re your old friends. Perhaps they are.

It’s not an unfamiliar concept to Eddie. A childhood steeped in loneliness and poverty, instability and dysfunction, neglect from his volatile and unreliable parents…yeah, he gets it. The wanting, the longing, the dire need to escape to someplace that doesn’t exist, some place where things were better and didn’t hurt, a dreamworld that would be kinder to a scrawny little boy with unwashed hair and a mean father.

The closest he ever came to it was when he lost himself between the yellowed and dog-eared pages of the few, precious books he owned.

So he listens to you chatter away with chest-aching tenderness, already thinking that he could listen to you like this for hours and be glad for it.

“You love fantasy, but you’ve never read The Last Unicorn?”

Eddie gives you an apologetic half-shrug, no longer able to keep the goofy, besotted grin from unfurling across his face. “Never got around to it, I guess.”

“It makes me cry. You have to take it,” you tell him with pleading eyes, adding it to the top of the growing pile in his arms before he can refuse. Not that he ever would. How could he, when you look at him like that?

“You cry at this one, really?” He looks curiously at the artwork on the front, an innocent picture of the pale horned creature. “But it’s so unassuming…”

“Don’t be fooled, it’ll get you. Take it,” you repeat.

Eddie shifts the stack of books to cradle it in one arm, so he can raise the other at you in a salute. “Yes, ma’am. And when I’m finished with it, I’ll give you a full report on the emotional damage it caused me.”

This makes you giggle, lips turned up in a gorgeous smile, and Eddie knows he’s a goner.

Back at the front, you resume your previous positions at the desk. Him in front and you behind, this time separated by a short pile of books.

You hold your hand out. “Card, please, sir.” Polite and professional, but with a little sparkle in your eye that lets Eddie hope for a moment that his time with you this morning was more pleasure than business.

He fumbles with his wallet, slipping out his library card and slotting it between his index and middle fingers, extending it for you to take. His chunky silver rings catch the light.

You accept the offering. “Thank you” – you quickly read the messy signature at the bottom – “Edward.” You look back at him with a grin.

He cringes, face scrunching in embarrassment. “Oh God. Call me Eddie, please.”

The scanner gives a little chirp! as you begin the checkout process, nodding. “Will do, Eddie.” His name sounds like a song when you say it, one he never wants to stop listening to.

You finish scanning his books, and slide a receipt into the jacket of the novel on top (which just so happens to be Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love). Instead of sliding the stack towards him, you keep both hands clasped on the cover, hesitating. You bite your lip, an unconscious imitation of himself earlier. “Listen….”

Eddie straightens up a little, stomach flipping like a coin. “Yeah?”

You bow your head. “I’m sorry if I talked too much. It’s just – most people who come in don’t actually ask me for recommendations, and I got excited,” you admit quietly, looking sheepish.

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie says without missing a beat. “I appreciate it. I really enjoyed it, actually,” he adds, eager to quell your anxiety. “I liked talking with you.” More than you know.

“O-oh,” you stutter, taken aback. “I liked talking with you, too.”

Eddie nods, smiling slightly. “Would you like to…talk again?” He flushes scarlet and coughs. Smooth. “I just mean, when I finish these” – he motions towards the day’s finds – “we have to discuss them, right? You helped me pick ‘em out, after all.”

“Of course. You have to let me know what you think.”

His smile gets bigger. “So we’ll reconvene?”

“We’ll reconvene,” you chuckle.

“Awesome. Looking forward to it.” He sweeps up his books, and gives you a little wave. “Thanks again, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

And he can hardly wait. It looks like he’s got a lot of reading to do…

thanks for reading!!! <3 edit: this is now a series! Read Ch. 2-> Here!

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x bookworm!reader #stranger things fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

zattis · 4 months

Text

Sizable Security, Inc. (dp x dc thought)

With the ghost attacks at an all time low and the Infinite Realms blessedly calm, a twenty-something Danny Fenton decides to take care of his protection Obsession in a more mundane way: by becoming a bodyguard. A blessed late growth spurt meant that he inherited his father's height, though not his sheer bulk. Still, with an intimidating figure and his fighting knowledge, he figured that it wouldn't be an issue picking up a career as a "protection agent".

He hadn't expected all three (???) of his siblings to join him, starting a family business instead of joining a company that already existed.

Ellie had spent years on the road, traveling across the globe. It had fascinated her, of course, but she found herself missing her family. Going into security with him gave her the chance to go from place to place while being around someone she truly cared about.

Jazz ended up going along with it, rationalizing that keeping making clients feel secure was just as important as actually protecting them, and that she could still put her mind to good use. Not to mention her less chaotic demeanor meant she would usually be seen as the de facto leader of the group.

Then, somehow, Dan ended up joining them, turning their trio into a quartet. He said it was his parole opportunity to go along with them, and while he may relish in the chance to be aggressive, being around Jazz, Danny and Ellie kept him sane and opened him up to show genuine love, in his own way.

As it turns out, having four talented individuals on your payroll, all of whom have some degree of enhanced strength and senses, makes for an extremely valuable service. It also helps when no one in said group is shorter than six and a half feet tall.

Proud & Powerful Protection (the name was Ellie's idea) becomes an overnight sensation, developing a reputation for a 100% success rate and quickly getting booked by just about anyone who can afford them. As a matter of fact, two very wealthy, very public figures employ their services often, with both hoping to hire them full-time.

Lex Luthor sees the quartet as insurance for some of his most valuable employees and yet another one of his secret projects.

Bruce Wayne would rather they take care of his wards, since he's very tired of having to deal with kidnapping and extortion attempts.

Regardless, Jazz, Danny, Ellie and Dan look out for each other, and can pretty easily figure out when their employers aren't telling them everything.

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dc #danny fenton #tall jazz #jazz fenton #dani phantom #dan phantom #self indulgent #the fenton family genes go crazy

674 notes · View notes

sapphicdib · 23 days

Text

So. Rot Au. Remember that?

Tbh this is waaaaaay near the end of the story and honestly probably requires a TON more fucking context but I just needed to get this shit out of my system. Feel free to ask about what the fuck is going on because I’d LOOOOVE TO TELL. The basic gist is that Sig knows Sliver wants her, and every other rotted iterator, dead, but thankfully because she isn’t his local group senior, she can’t do anything to him…yet. But this also means Sig can’t do shit to her either. So…why not employ the help of his best friend by infecting him and making him do her dirty work? Sounds like a perfectly sound plan made by a very sane individual!

Yeah so Sig n Wind make a biiiiiig fucking oopsie and Sig finally realizes that shit might have gone too far. :)

Finally made a couple ocs too! The next-in-line for the group senior mark is Once Stagnant Opportunity, the second oldest…or well, now first lol. I’ll be uploading their ref…soon. Ish. Probably.

Also I’m not joking this shit took me a collective FIFTY FOUR HOURS to create. The first page took 29, the second took 19, and the third took 6. I’m boutta look so annoying but dear jesus please reblog this

Song lyrics are from this banger: https://open.spotify.com/track/4jV5C4eSy2VmOrXZhc4PLg?si=M9qdvk2_Qa-y45GYvyzqhg

#rain world #rain world downpour #no significant harassment #sliver of straw #chasing wind #rw nsh #rw sos #rw cw #comic #rain world au #rot au #my art #im not joking when i say this took me 54 hours to create. procreate says that #Spotify

213 notes · View notes

youremyheaven · 2 months

Text

Mrigashira: Obsessive & Obsessed Over

TW: suicide, rape, death, murder, abuse

This is part 2 of my Mrigashira series. For part 1, go here.

Rachel McAdams, Mrigashira Moon

I want to explore the nature of Mrigashira in relation to the obsessiveness it inspires in others and often how obsessive it can be. Mrigashira's mythology is tied to escape, changing form and running away. As I discussed extensively in part 1, truth-telling is part of a Mrigashira native's purpose. They are simply built that way. This is also a key part of the reason why others tend to be so magnetically drawn to them and are often driven to the point of obsession for them.

Mrigashira possesses a serpent yoni and serpents are known to represent transformation and renewal. The Kundalini is represented by a coiled serpent. Serpents have always been associated with temptation, dangerous allure, truth unveiling and change. People are drawn to Mrigashira natives because unconsciously they want to embody the freedom and honesty of these Martian individuals but having so many people pulling at your energy means you lose the sense of self and feel corrupted by their influence, to maintain their purity most Mrigashira natives live very reclusive lives. And this is for their own safety and well-being as well, the more these natives allow themselves to be projected on to by others, the more hatred they receive because of the collective shadow that is put up against them. Imagine being in the presence of a serpent all the time? Its bound to make others uneasy and restless, no matter how friendly, how inviting or welcoming they seem, you may be attracted to them but you do not want to be around them constantly, its too unnerving.

Similarly serpents belong to their burrows (or wherever they live idk lmao) not out in the open among people. Not only because its a threat to their very existence (people see a snake, they try to kill it) but because they are wired and conditioned to thrive in a very different sort of environment.

The allure of the serpent is very attractive but its constant in your face existence is not. Same goes for the veil lifting, truth revealing nature of these natives. Honesty is rare and so appreciated but imagine the truth staring you in the face all day everyday, you would go mad. There is a reason why ignorance is considered bliss, its because you need that veil over reality to keep yourself sane, if you saw things and perceived them as they are, you would drive yourself to lunacy. Most people are not prepared to receive and understand that kind of truth, its only after a certain stage in your spiritual journey that you are initiated into it.

There is a reason why the third eye chakra is the second highest chakra in the hierarchy (root chakra at the bottom from which you ascend upwards all the way up to your crown chakra). The third eye chakra is sight which allows us to see things as they are. The crown chakra which is the final chakra is the ability to understand things as they are. To understand we must first have clarity of vision and to have that we must ascend above all the other chakras.

Mrigashira natives project the truth and because of this, they are torn apart by others often. These natives represent the shadow of the gazer. Serpents beckoning for change, asking you to shed your shadow, and your inhibitions and renew yourself. This can be very painful and scary, as shadow work is always very difficult to do but instead of understanding that what we hate in others is a reflection of our shadow, most people just hate the Messenger themselves.

Petra Kelly, Mrigashira Moon, Vishaka Ketu (the man photographed next to her is her husband)

She was a founding member of the German Green Party and was a prominent activist in the 1980s who united ecological concerns with disarmament, social justice, and human rights. She was one of the OG ecofeminists imo

On 19 October 1992, the decomposed bodies of Kelly and her partner, ex-general and Green politician Gert Bastian (born 1923), were discovered in the bedroom of her house in Bonn by police officials after they received a call from both Bastian's wife and Kelly's grandmother who reported that they had not heard from either Bastian or Kelly for a few weeks. The police determined that Kelly was shot dead while sleeping by Bastian, who then killed himself. She was 44, he was 69. The last time anyone heard from the couple was on 30 September 1992 when Kelly sent a parcel to her grandmother.

Obviously, no one knows what transpired between the two or what might have led to this tragic end but being killed by your partner is unfortunately a pattern in the lives of many Mrigashira natives.

Obviously, not every Mrigashira will experience this so please do not worry or hyperventilate!!!!

One's spouse is a reflection of our subconscious, we are driven to the point of madness and murder when they project the truth of our subconscious back to us. We see the darkness, we see the ugliness and we feel violated. Obviously this is just one explanation and there could be numerous others.

The iconic ecofeminist artist Ana Mendieta was Vishaka Sun, Mrigashira Moon

Ana Mendieta died on September 8, 1985, in New York City, after falling from her 34th-floor apartment in Greenwich Village at 300 Mercer Street. She lived there with her husband of eight months, minimalist sculptor Carl Andre. The circumstances surrounding her death have been the subject of controversy. She fell 33 stories onto the roof of a deli. Just before her death, neighbours heard the couple arguing violently. The neighbours heard Mendieta scream out "no" right before her death, and Andre had scratches all over his face. There were no eyewitnesses to the events that led up to Mendieta's death. A recording of Andre's 911 call showed him saying: "My wife is an artist, and I'm an artist, and we had a quarrel about the fact that I was more, eh, exposed to the public than she was. And she went to the bedroom, and I went after her, and she went out the window." During three years of legal proceedings, Andre's lawyer described Mendieta's death as a possible accident or a suicide. After a nonjury trial, Andre was acquitted of second-degree murder in February 1988.

There are many parallels between Petra & Ana's lives. From the fact that both of them were Mrigashira Moon to the fact that both their husbands worked in the same field as them and that both of them were ecofeminists.

From what we know about the circumstances surrounding Ana's death, it's pretty clear that Carl did it and even reading about what he said on his 911 call is so??? like that sounds like some classic gaslighting and I'm inclined to believe it was probably over his jealousy of how she was a better artist than him. Petra's story we may never know but its not a stretch to think that something similar may have happened between her and that oldie.

Lana Turner, Mrigashira Rising

In 1957, while Turner was filming a movie, she had begun receiving phone calls and flowers on the set from mobster Johnny Stompanato (pictured with her above).

He pursued Turner aggressively, sending her various gifts. Turner was "thoroughly intrigued" and began casually dating him. After a friend informed her of who Stompanato actually was, she confronted him and tried to break off the affair. Stompanato was not easily deterred, and over the course of the following year, they carried on a relationship filled with violent arguments, physical abuse and repeated reconciliations. Turner would also claim that on one occasion he drugged her and took nude photographs of her while unconscious, potentially to use as blackmail.

I don't know if I have posted about it before but being violated or having your sexual intimacy exposed?? is also a Mrigashira theme. Ex: Jennifer Lawrence, Mrig Moon whose private pictures leaked in 2014, Pamela Anderson, Mrig Rising whose sex tape leaked in the 90s.

In 1957, Stompanato visited Turner on set in London and when she asked him to leave, he threatened her with a gun.

On the evening of March 26, 1958, Turner attended the Oscars. Stompanato, angered that he did not attend with her, awaited her return home that evening, whereupon he physically assaulted her. Around 8:00 p.m. on Friday, April 4, Stompanato arrived at Turner's rented home at 730 North Bedford Drive in Beverly Hills. The two began arguing heatedly in the bedroom, during which Stompanato threatened to kill Turner, her daughter Cheryl and her mother. Fearing that her mother's life was in danger, Cheryl – who had been watching television in an adjacent room – grabbed a kitchen knife and ran to Turner's defence. Stompanato died from stab wounds to his stomach.

This whole episode is very Mrigashira coded but thankfully Lana Turner survived and her abuser died.

Maurizio Gucci- Mrigashira Moon, Punarvasu Rising

If you've watched House of Gucci, you already know how this unfolds.

On 27 March 1995, Gucci was shot by a hired hitman on the steps outside his office as he arrived at work. His former wife Patrizia Reggiani was convicted in 1998 of arranging the killing. According to prosecutors, Reggiani's motives were a mixture of jealousy, money, and resentment towards her former husband. She served 18 years in prison and was released in October 2016.

I do believe all these people were murdered/attacked because of the resentment and envy their partners felt towards them even though due to the tragic circumstances there is very little proof of it.

Pamela Anderson, Mrigashira Rising

The Baywatch star married drummer Tommy Lee in 1995, after knowing him for just four days. Their stormy marriage lasted just 3 years, and in that time the Mötley Crüe member served 4 months in jail for domestic abuse against Anderson. It’s reported that during this incident Lee kicked Pamela while she was holding their son Dylan. But even though Anderson had helped to convict Lee, she was waiting for him when he came out and the pair briefly reconciled. Now, though, they’ve gone their separate ways.

A spiritual reason behind why people abuse others is like I said before on this post, they see their shadow reflected in you. The most powerful life saving thing you can do for yourself in these instances when a relationship (does not have to be romantic) takes a sour and dangerous turn is to LEAVE immediately. The longer you stay, the more you forgive/ignore them and overlook their tendencies, the darker the shadow grows because you are letting yourself submit to it. You have to understand that certain things cannot be talked through or come to an understanding about, like how a snake sizes you up before swallowing you whole, the initial triggers are proof of what their darkness is pulling them towards. When you dont recognise that as a sign and take your leave, they are even more agonised and disturbed because now they see all their ugliness reflected in you, how cruel and uncaring they are, everytime they look at you, they see you project their worst traits back to them. Have you noticed how men are always 100x more cruel to the woman who is extremely kind to him and puts up with him? He is not moved by her kindness to treat her better, he treats her worse because she reminds him of how much of a piece of shit he is, he sees his own failures as a human being reflected in her. A woman who does not put up with shit and leaves and cuts them off is also severing these spiritual ties which in a sense "liberates" the man from his shadow. This is why its so important to know your worth. You risk your own life by not knowing it. This is also the reason why men keep chasing the women who dont put up with shit, because theyre not projecting their shadow back to them.

Brooke Shields, Mrigashira Moon & Venus

Brooke was obsessed over by absolutely everyone in her youth. They sexualized a goddamn child and made money from it. Here's a very uncomfortable clip of Susan Sarandon talking about 11yr old Brooke.

I don't want to elaborate too much because it makes me uncomfortable af but read about Brooke's life and you'll see how Mrigashira's many themes unfolded in her life (toxic mom included)

Dante Alighieri, Mrigashira stellium (Sun, Mercury & Rising)

Now that we've discussed how obsession with Mrigashira women ends in tragedy, lets see how Mrigashira natives themselves can be very obsessive in love.

Dante first met Beatrice, who he has described as the love of his life when they were children. She died at 24yrs old and Dante & her were never married nor did they ever even have a conversation but Dante was passionately, madly obsessed with her. He wrote about her A LOT. (imagine writing a shit ton of poetry and prose about a woman you've never even talked to?? haha 👁️👄👁️)

They met twice in their life, he married another woman yet he wrote about Beatrice continuously and exalted her to the high heavens

Dante and Beatrice never even kissed. For Dante, though, it didn’t matter that his love for Beatrice remained unconsummated. Why? Because merely the act of loving her was enough. Loving someone was its own justification.

How could this be? It connects to how Dante’s understanding of his love for Beatrice evolved. By the end of Vita nuova, Dante has come to understand that his youthful love was superficial. Instead, he realizes that his love for her is his most direct experience of the divine nature of love. Beatrice, after all, was “sent from Heaven,” a gift from god. By loving her — even if it’s from afar — Dante is himself purified, brought to a new spiritual existence, and brought closer to god. This is one reason why the work is titled Vita nuova: Dante’s love of Beatrice grants him a new life.

Franz Kafka- Mrigashira Stellium (Moon, Mercury and Venus)

Kafka's Letters to Milena are very popular but what's even crazier is their relationship.

Milena was a translator. In 1919 she discovered a short story (The Stoker) by Prague writer Franz Kafka, and wrote to him to ask for permission to translate it from German to Czech. The letter launched an intense and increasingly passionate correspondence. Milena and Kafka met twice: they spent four days in Vienna together and later a day in Gmünd. Eventually, Kafka broke off the relationship, partly because Milena as unable to leave her husband, and their almost daily communication ceased abruptly in November 1920. They meant so much to each other, however, that they did exchange a few more letters in 1922 and 1923 (and Kafka turned over to Milena his diaries at the end of his life). Kafka died in 1924.

Mrigashira men 🤝passionate love affair with a women they've met twice

“You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” ― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

“Dear Milena, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.” Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time or have to reckon with time. But what if we don't have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.” ― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

(brb im ugly cryinggg 😭😩😭kafka was such a loverboy)

C.S Lewis, Mrigashira Moon

Joy was a feisty Jewish divorced single mother from the Bronx. Lewis, 17 years her senior, was a lifelong confirmed bachelor (he wrote The Chronicles of Narnia) . They exchanged vows at her hospital bedside after a devastating diagnosis of metastasized breast cancer. Joy spent her final days dying in the arms of her most unlikely husband.

Joy had bone cancer and wasn’t expected to live; miraculously, they had three years together before she finally succumbed to cancer at age 45.

The loss devastated C.S. Lewis (as one can tell by reading A Grief Observed, one of his most heart-wrenching, personal books). Perhaps the biggest lesson one can take away from the love between C.S. Lewis and Joy Davidman was their willingness to love each other, however risky, however unsafe it may be. Lewis expressed grief, shock, and dismay over his wife’s death, but he never expressed regret over marrying her, never wished that he had taken the “safe” way.

Lewis summed this up beautifully in his poem, As the Ruin Falls:

"All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.

I never had a selfless thought since I was born.

I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:

I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,

I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:

I talk of love --a scholar's parrot may talk Greek--

But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.

I see the chasm.

And everything you are was making

My heart into a bridge by which I might get back

From exile, and grow man.

And now the bridge is breaking.

For this I bless you as the ruin falls.

The pains You give me are more precious than all other gains."

They were together for 3 years during which she was very sick and bedridden, yet his love for her is soo profound and he wrote extensively about how much her death devastated him :((

Jim Carrey, Mrigashira Moon starred in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (directed by Michel Gondry, Punarvasu Rising) and this movie is an ode to the eternal nature of love. Two individuals whose memories are altered repeatedly to rid them of one another keep meeting each other again and again. Its such a beautiful story of how undying love is.

I think Punarvasu & Mrigashira natives are connected to each other in some way.

In this interview, Stephen Colbert (Mrigashira Moon) asks Keanu Reeves (Punarvasu Moon) "What happens when we die?" to which Keanu responds "I know that the people who love us, will miss us". Its a very earnest answer more so considering how both Stephen and Keanu have lost so many people in their lives. Keanu's ex gf died in a car accident a year after they had a stillborn daughter. Colbert lost his father and 2 brothers to a plane crash when he was 10.

In Sia's (Mrigashira Moon) MV for Elastic Heart, Maddie Ziegler (Punarvasu Moon) and Shia LaBeouf (Mrigashira Sun) are depicted as Sia's two selves who are warring with each other inside a cage, in the end Maddie makes it out of the cage while Shia is stuck inside. Sia said she wrote this song about a failing relationship so the MV can be understood as a symbolic representation of two sides of Sia battling whether to leave or stay in this relationship. Its particularly poignant to me that the person who makes it out alive is a Punarvasu native.

Its also quite well known how creepily obsessed Sia has been with Maddie over the years.

Hugh Dancy (Mrigashira Sun) played Will on Hannibal where the titular character was played by Mads Mikkelsen (Vishaka Moon)

The two share an intense toxic violent emotional relationship. He tries to kill him but he also saves him.

I think Mars-Jupiter relationships are often this way, intense and ultimately doomed because the two can never stay together.

Eminem, Saturn in Mrigashira atmakaraka (Chitra Sun, Dhanishta Moon) allegedly had a relationship with Mariah Carey (Punarvasu Moon) in the 2000s and repeatedly referenced her in his songs whilst she stayed quiet about him and often denied their relationship.

In 2002 Eminem rapped in his song Superman "What you trying be? My new wife? / What, you Mariah? Fly through twice.” On When the Music Stop, he said, “What the f–k you take me for, a joke? You smoking crack? ‘Fore I do that, I’d beg Mariah to take me back.”

In the same year, Mariah released a song called Clown in which she sang, “You should’ve never intimated we were lovers when you know very well we never even touched each other.”

She explained, “I talked to him, I spoke to him a few times, whatever,” she said at the time. “But in terms of me having an intimate relationship? With men, I can name them all on one hand, and he’s not one of them. I hung out with him, I spoke to him on the phone. I think I was probably with him a total of four times. And I don’t consider that dating somebody.”

Eminem went on talking about her obsessively for yeaaarsss (that's the Mrigashira in him/all his Mars energy in general, Martians are a whole new brand of obsessed)

In 2009, Eminem rapped in Bagpipes from Baghdad

“Mariah, whatever happened to us? Why did we have to break up?Nick Cannon, you pr–k, I wish you luck with the f–kin’ whore.”

Mind you that he himself admitted that they only dated for 6 months in 2002, 7 WHOLE YEARS LATER he is still singing about her, he's clearly still obsessed with her but he's also an asshole for speaking about her in such disparaging terms.

And that's when Mariah Carey dropped her iconic song Obsessed

in 2019, 17 years later, Eminem was still rapping about her lol

"I know me and Mariah didn’t end on a high note / But that other dude’s whipped — that p—y got him neutered, tried to tell him this chick’s a nut job before he got his jewels clipped / Almost got my caboose kicked / Fool, quit / You not gonna do s–t / I let her chop my balls off too before I lose to you, Nick.”

Sorry for spilling all the tea but I just think its soooo funny. Its no Dante & Beatrice but oh man lol

Through this example we see a negative toxic manifestation of Mrigashira's obsession and devotion to a partner.

Prince William, Mrigashira Sun and Princess Catherine, Punarvasu Moon are another Mrig-Punarvasu/Jupiter pairing I can think of

As we have seen from Eminem, Mrigashira men can often be violent and abusive

Johnny Depp-Mrigashira Sun, Kanye West- Mrigashira Sun, Salman Rushdie Mrigashira Sun & Moon, Shia LaBeouf- Mrigashira Sun have all been accused of abuse by their partners.

Obsession isn't a good thing and very few Mrigashira men are like Dante in today's world.

I hope this was interesting & informative.xx

#astrology observations #astrology notes #sidereal astrology #nakshatras #astrology #vedic astro notes #astro notes #vedic astrology #astro observations #astroblr #mrigashira #mars #jupiter

222 notes · View notes

beguines · 3 months

Text

Similarly, it is more than coincidence that the 1980s and 1990s saw the rise of self-help culture and the turn of psychological and counselling professionals towards "positive psychology" and "positive thinking". Laid thick with the values of neoliberalism, the discourse of "positive mental health" no longer focuses primarily on bringing the "insane" back to some state of normality but rather on the self-improvement of the individual. It is no longer enough to be "sane" or "normal"; one has to be constantly striving to be more positive and happier in life. This is a therapeutic quest which perfectly aligns with the neoliberal philosophy of personal responsibility and the need to constantly improve the self. It is a hegemonic discourse, thinly veiled as a therapeutic and medical expertise on the mind which promotes the values and goals of neoliberal capital. As Ehrenreich has stated of the "positive thinking" revolution in late capitalism, it promotes a model of deficit focused entirely on the individual:

"If optimism is the key to material success, and if you can achieve an optimistic outlook through the discipline of positive thinking, then there is no excuse for failure. The flip side of positivity is thus a harsh insistence on personal responsibility: if your business fails or your job is eliminated, it must [be] because you didn't try hard enough, didn't believe firmly enough in the inevitability of your success. As the economy has brought more layoffs and financial turbulence to the middle class, the promoters of positive thinking have increasingly emphasized this negative judgment: to be disappointed, resentful, or downcast is to be a 'victim' and a 'whiner.'"

In the same way, psychiatric labels have come to focus on deficits and failings in character which threaten the productivity and consumption activities of the individual in many social and economic arenas of life. Thus, the psychiatric discourse seeks to both depoliticise the fundamental inequalities and structural failings of capitalism as individual coping problems while reinforcing the values of competition and self-improvement as common sense and taken for granted. Speaking similarly of psychotherapy, Parker states that the individual's "'adaptation' to capitalism requires psychotherapists not merely to ameliorate the worst excesses of the system, but to ensure that this adaptation is geared to inciting and channelling the critical reflexive energy of citizens so that the very critique that they make of the economy serves to fine-tune it . . . Thus psychotherapy becomes crucial to the state health apparatus as a practice devoted to the balance of dissatisfaction and yearning requisite for consumption and production."

Bruce M.Z. Cohen, Psychiatric Hegemony: A Marxist Theory of Mental Illness

#bruce m.z. cohen #psychiatric hegemony #psychiatry

245 notes · View notes

toshidou · 1 year

Text

woe to the deer who is courted by the wolf . . .

pairing // könig x f!reader

word count // 7.2k

tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, vampire!könig, predator/prey kink, mentions of blood and injury, minor elements of horror (very minor), slightly misunderstood lonely vampire könig, unprotected sex, stomach bulge, rough sex, creampie, biting, blood sucking, blood play

an // after battling with writers block for over a month, who would have thought it'd take a blood sucking giant to free me from the shackles of having no inspiration? anyway this is the most i've ever written in one day, which is only slightly concerning. bone apple teeth!

thank you to @erosology for beta reading this, and forever being my number one hype man ;-;

Pale moonlight peaks through a frame of eerily still clouds, reflecting off the polished black steel planted in the ground at your feet. You can hear the whispers of your friends behind you, a little too old to be snickering and giggling behind the palms of their hands, although you’re entirely too old to have taken their bet in the first place.

It started off as a simple reunion between old friends, a short trek into once familiar woods to the spot you used to set up base for the night, roasting marshmallows over a concerningly large campfire, sharing cliche horror stories whilst swaddled in blankets. This very night had gone about the same, until someone brought up the old manor. An imposing house that watches over the village that surrounds it, well kept and suspiciously pristine, withstanding the tests of time despite the fact that not a single soul has ever been seen to enter or leave the premises.

It had been a longstanding dare, an easy way to get someone to down their drink, ‘I dare you to jump the fence and knock on the door’. No one has ever been stupid enough to go through with it, a couple tried, but got as far as the black iron that surrounds the perimeter before they gave up. And yet, here you stand, too many years later, an individual who should be both older and wiser than to commit several crimes for the sake of a stupid bet and childish curiosity, staring at that very same railing.

You can hardly hear the whispered words of your friends from where they cower behind you, your eyes transfixed on the looming building that seemingly stares back at you from where you remain fixed at the bottom of the hill. Mahogany brick unblemished, barely touched by weather, towers three stories high, trimmed ivy crawling up the walls as though attempting to reach out to the moon that watches over it. Each window is blocked by scarlet wooden shutters, an old-fashioned touch for a house surrounded by new builds; looking at it now feels like taking several steps back in time.

Not a single spec of light leaks through any crack in the shutters, each room bathed in darkness, the same way it always has. Surely, you think to yourself, surely no one can possibly be in there. Your theory has always been that the house is long since abandoned, its previous owner having died, looked after by a previously employed caretaker who hated to watch a building they loved go into disrepair. And although that doesn’t explain the suspicious lack of activity, it’s the only sane thought that you repeat to yourself as your fingers curl around sturdy black bars, and you begin to haul yourself over the iron fence.

A moment later, and the dull thud of your feet hitting neatly trimmed grass breaks tense silence, your eyes meeting with several widened pairs through steel bars. It’s the furthest anyone’s gotten, and even now, you feel like you’ve gone far enough. It’s certainly not too late to change your mind, to do the sensible thing and throw yourself back into safety, and just as you’re contemplating backing out of the bet, you feel the hairs on your nape stand on end, a chill down your spine so sharp it causes a physical flinch. When you turn around, you’re met with the very same house, not a shutter or brick out of place, yet something, somehow, feels different.

It’s like a siren call, luring you from the safety of your friends that remain frozen on the other side, hardly breathing as though they daren’t make a sound, apprehensive eyes focused on your shadowed form as you slowly make your way up the hill. It’s more daunting up close, no longer a silhouette against a twilight sky, now you can see details the distance has never gifted you, the way the wood shutters that plaster the windows are carved with swirls and intricate patterns, how the ivy hides bloomed flowers amongst pointed leaves, speckles of pink and purple that ease the tension that coils your muscles, only bolstering timid curiosity. And now you’re standing within feet of the house, you’re left in awe by the sheer size of it. It never seemed particularly small, not even from the gate, but the front door alone has you gulping down nothing but frigid air. You take a few tentative steps, eyes raking over the magnificent details carved into thick black oak, the centrepiece that catches your gaze being the solid gold knocker that sits just above your head, halfway up the door.

Two hollow eyes stare back at you, a skull with two rams horns that curl from golden bone, and between its bared teeth lies a ring that rests against ebony wood. It stands out from every other detail of the house, a spine-tingling reminder of where you stand, echoes of the myths that surround this house whispered by your trembling conscience, and yet shaking fingers reach for the ring, curling around cooled metal before lifting it, preparing to knock.

But you never get the chance, because in true horror movie fashion, you’re met with the slow creak of old hinges as the very door you stand before begins to open, and in the void of black it reveals, you swear you see two pinpricks of red that greet you in the darkness. Your entire body goes stiff, still clinging on to the gold loop of the knocker as though it’ll somehow ground you, yet it does nothing to chase away the overwhelming sense of impending doom that screams at you to turn, to run, to get as far away from this wretched place as your legs can take you.

You turn just in time to hear the worried calls of your friends before the door is yanked wide open, dragging you over the edge of the premises with it and sending you careening onto the floor, sliding against wood and scrambling up only to watch that very same door slam in your face.

Frozen. Every single part of you remains stock still as you try to adjust to the darkness. Not even the moonlight dares follow you inside, leaving you alone to dart your eyes in the pitch black, searching for some semblance of light you can latch onto. Yet the house offers you nothing, and you can’t help but see red dots every time you dare close your eyes. In the moment of still you’ve been given, your brain reels as it tries to think of a logical explanation for the door seemingly dragging you into the house with no human in sight to operate it, and in your panic, you can’t help but pray that you’ve fallen asleep by the campfire, and this is all an elaborate nightmare you’ll be able to laugh about when you awake.

A creak from behind you sends you hurtling back into reality, a sure reminder that this is no nightmare, not one you can wake up from, at least. Your head whips to the side, terror freezing your muscles solid as you lock onto crimson orbs once again, so bright they can be seen even with the absence of light to reflect off them, your blood curdling in your veins as they remain fixed on you, unblinking. You scurry backwards, the sound of your back slamming against the solid wall behind you echoing through the dark, fingers curling against peeling wallpaper in a last-ditch attempt to find the door handle.

Your pathetic scrabbling is interrupted by the harsh sound of a match striking against rough material, your eyes drawn to the responding flame it produces, but moreso, the large fingers that dwarf the stick they clutch.

“What a curious thing you are.”

Each syllable rumbles through very walls, practically shakes the structure of the house, a low timber steeped with an accent you can’t quite place, but certainly isn’t local. You daren’t breathe, let alone move, not even when the ground creaks and shakes with every purposeful, creeping step the stranger takes towards you. The flame grows as the match is brought to a wick, the flame whittling away the wood until all that remains is twisted charcoal, before transferring to the candle, the dying fire roaring back to life, casting a flickering golden glow onto the one holding it.

You’re met once again with red, but now you can see bleached tear tracks running from shoddy holes cut into black cloth, a mask fit for the monster that wears it, and as they stalk ever closer, you belatedly wonder how they’re going to navigate the stairs that must separate the two of you, certain that even someone familiar with a house must need more light in order to not fall. But they never begin their descent, and it’s only when the flame lies mere feet from you, yet so far out of your reach, you realise there are no steps. You’re face to face with a giant.

Adrenaline douses you like a torrent of water, your widened eyes alert and stricken with obvious fear, yet you didn’t expect the gentle touch that encircles your wrist, lungs sucking in a stuttered breath as you stare into the hollow red of its eyes. Large fingers draw your arm upwards, moving your frozen limb with ease, until it’s stretched far above your head, your fingers bumping against the smooth wax of the candle the giant passes off to you. Your brain scrambles for words, screams against the shackles of your fear-addled mind, waiting to release a slew of incoherent pleas for your freedom, yet your lips remain firmly sealed.

You feel a weight in your trouser pocket, eyes darting down to see his fingers pushing a box of matches into the gap of the material, only for your gaze to snap back to him as he hunches down, the material of his mask flowing down as his torso towers over you. You’re left caged against the wall, nowhere to run as his face levels next to your ear. It’s silent for a few horrific seconds, until that same spine-chilling voice purrs one single word.

“Run.”

It’s as though all your body needed was the instruction, responding immediately as you tear away from him, feet slapping against hardwood flooring as you careen towards what vaguely resembles an entrance way. The flame flickers dangerously, threatening to leave you in the dark once again, your fingers curling around the candle, whispering prayers that it doesn’t snuff out, that it doesn't leave you alone with whatever stalks you in the pitch black.

You don’t stop running until you reach a hallway, sprinting down the claustrophobic corridor until you finally reach an open door, rushing inside and pushing hefty wood until it clicks in place, sealing you within, safe for now. You hold up the candle to illuminate more of the room, watching as the soft glow bounces off a glinting gold frame and painstaking strokes of oil paint. An obscenely large portrait hangs on the wall in front of you, the image of a handsome man draped in fine purple robes, shoulder length brown hair pushed back with a crown of golden leaves. He sits in a chair, grand and crimson, lined with bronze, legs spread over the expensive velvet, one large hand curled over his thigh, the other propping his head up, his elbow resting against the arm of the chair in a way that can only be described as unbothered, and unamused. But the thing that has you utterly transfixed are the two red irises that stare right back at you, playful and taunting, and hauntingly familiar.

Surely this isn’t the man under the hood, the one who dragged you into his house and watched you scramble out of his grip the second he told you to flee. Because why would a man so handsome hide his face? Why would someone who looks so young own a house that has stood at the centre of your small village for far longer than you’ve been alive? Nothing seems to make sense, not a single aspect of the past 10 minutes feels real, and you can only hope your friends saw what happened and ran to get help, because you’re not sure there’s a way for you to conquer this man alone. It’s as you’re floundering for answers that you hear a noise from outside the room, instincts taking over as you quickly hide under a small dining table and blow out the candle, praying you haven’t given yourself away.

You’re not entirely stupid, you know the meaning of red eyes, and although you could attempt to soothe your psyche with whispered lies about contact lenses and make believe, you know better. The thing that chases you is no man, and certainly isn’t human, at least not anymore. And as terrified as you are, there isn’t a chance in hell you’re about to let yourself become this monster’s dinner.

You sit in the darkness, clutching the smouldering candle to your chest, and wait. Ears alert as you listen for the slightest sound that might give away your hunter, a breath, a sigh, a scratch, you do little more than hope that your hiding spot remains occupied by you, and you alone.

After a tense few minutes, picking up on no other sounds than the thrumming of your own heart, your fingers slowly make their way to your pocket, gingerly plucking the box out and pushing the case off. Despite the lack of light, and the trembling that consumes your body, you manage to fish out a match, and strike it, holding the newly lit flame to the wick of the candle.

Bleached tears. Red eyes. Large fingers. Looming body.

“Boo.”

The scream rips from your throat before your brain can catch up, the candle abandoned as it’s flung towards him in a last ditch attempt to throw him off, knees and hands protesting as they’re dragged along grooved wood, leaving grazes in their wake. The momentary pain isn’t enough to stop you, however, lungs heaving as you tear out of the room, clumsily bumping into walls and ornaments, impeded by the dark, motivated by sheer determination to live.

Your decision to toss away the candle comes to bite you firmly in the ass the second you find yourself tumbling down a set of stairs, and in a move of sheer instinct your hands attempt to slow your fall, only for the skin of your palm to get caught on a loose nail, slicing the flesh and leaving you wailing as your body finally slows to a stop against the cold stone floor you now find yourself lying on. Every bone in your body hurts, aches, but is overshadowed by the sharp sear of white hot pain as you cradle your torn skin to your chest, warm rivulets of blood oozing down your wrist, tracking rivers of red down your forearm until you hear the steady drip, drip, drip of your blood hitting stone.

A light appears above you, a halo of pastel yellow emanating around black cloth, and within a second, the fight leaves you, slumping further into the floor as you accept your death, hoping none of your friends were stupid enough to follow you only to meet the same pitiful fate.

“Please,” You mumble, voice finally found, entirely too late, “Just make it quick.” You hear little other than a hushed chuckle in response, a cat toying with its food.

“I imagine it looks worse than it is, kleine maus.”

You pause at that, curiosity ebbing through once more. You may not have paid enough attention to languages at school, but even in your state, you know enough to recognise those words.

“You’re German?” You mumble, fear forgotten in your shock-ridden state. The man shakes his head as he crouches next to you, extending his free hand towards the injured one you have secured to your torso, tittering again as you flinch. But you have little other choice than to let him pry your hand away, watching with wary eyes as he examines your sliced skin. He holds the candle closer to the wound, a soft tut passing his lips before he holds the candle towards you, urging you to take it with a gentle nod.

“Austrian. But close.”

It all feels strange, foreign, as though you’re being lulled into a false sense of security just so he can tell you to run once again, laughing maniacally as he watches you bleed over his floor. The fear returns once you have the candle securely in your grip, eyes locked on the way his fingers curl around the material that hides his face, and begin to remove it. Inches of once cloaked skin is revealed, a defined chin melts away to pursed lips, a smattering of dark facial hair that frames his mouth and curls up his jaw, the material pulled further only to reveal a hooked nose, and two narrowed eyes that reflect the candlelight in a way not dissimilar to precious gems, rich and vibrant. Maybe it’s the shock, or limited blood loss, but you can’t help but marvel at just how pretty he is.

Of course, it doesn’t last much longer, not when survival instincts kick in, the realisation that your bloodied hand is now near the mouth of a creature that lives entirely off the thing that keeps you alive. But the grip on your wrist is ironclad, strong yet not uncomfortably so, a strange juxtaposition between monster and man as he cocks his head at your wound. With a nod, seemingly more to himself than you, you can do little more than cry out as you’re hauled over his shoulder, his arm secured tightly around your waist, the hood forgotten in a small puddle of your blood on the stone flags.

It’s mere minutes later that he places you down on soft sheets, your body sinking into a plush mattress, left to watch him as he ambles around the egregiously large room, muttering foreign words under his breath as he roots through an ornate chest of draws. You must be in a fever dream, unsure how you went from running for your life, to being patched up by the very thing you were certain would kill you. And yet, here you are, watching as he almost awkwardly sidles to your seated figure, and kneels in front of you, once predatory eyes unable to hold your gaze as he sets out various medical items by your feet.

“Your hand, may I see it?”

You present your palm to him, watching as his eyebrows knit together, giant hands placing tentative touches against your skin as though he’s concerned about hurting you, the thought of which does nothing to aid your spiralling confusion. But you say nothing, you simply watch as he takes a damp cloth and begins cleaning your cut, fixated on the way his eyes snap to you with every pained hiss and suppressed whine, picking up on the way he ensures each subsequent touch is a tad gentler than the last. It’s not too much longer until he’s wrapping your hand with bandages, making sure the gauze is tight enough to keep your blood in, but not enough to cut off circulation, the type of gentle care you never would have suspected from the giant at your feet. Your curiosity has increased tenfold, not a trace of fear left to lick at your nerves and render you speechless, replaced only by the overwhelming need to know more, to learn everything.

“What’s your name?”

It’s his turn to freeze, ruby irises briefly flitting to yours, rounded with surprise, before they snap back down, making himself busy as he gathers up a scattered array of bloodied cloth.

“I… I have had many. The one most people knew me by was König.” It’s strange, the croon of his voice sounds almost nothing like the one whispered to you in the dark, from low and horrifying, to gentle, almost timid. You’re nothing short of fascinated, leaning forward as you scan over the contours of his face.

“Why’d you drag me into your house and tell me to run?”

“Why were you trying to knock on my door?”

Touché.

Heat licks at the skin of your cheeks at his brazen reminder of your attempted trespassing, your uninjured hand coming to rub at your neck in lieu of a response. After a moment of silence, he sighs, deflating into the plush carpet below.

“It has been a while since I last had any visitors. Your arrival was… Unexpected. You caught me off guard,” He pauses for a moment, pupils dilating as his fingers curl around the rags he holds in his hand, covered in your blood, “It has been even longer since I have been around fresh blood.” It feels surreal to have it confirmed, that the creature that sits before you is one you’ve seen only in movies and read in far-fetched romance novels. Yet, you feel no fear, that emotion all but vanished the second he halted everything just to care for an intruder's wound.

“My friends dared me to knock.” He cocks his head at that, a single eyebrow arching, bemused at your admission. “It’s been a dare for years, no one ever actually had the guts to do it.”

“Until you.”

A pause, your head dipping forward in an unsure nod.

“Until me.”

He’s staring at you unabashedly now, your eyes wandering over the rich details of the bedroom you reside in as an excuse to save yourself from his piercing gaze, an unreadable expression swimming in carmine eyes.

“I am glad it was you.”

You hate the embers of arousal that spark at his words, perturbed by your body’s reaction to seemingly innocent words spoken from a man you were sprinting away from less than an hour ago, and yet his eyes do nothing to put out the fire, intense and smouldering. You can’t bring yourself to look away, nor to quash the way your heart flutters as his torso leans closer to your thighs that subconsciously part to make room for him. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, nostrils flaring as sharp eyes zero in on the way your legs spread against silk sheets.

“And why is that, König?”

It’s as though you uttering his name opens the floodgates, black engulfing vermillion until only a sliver remains, thick fingers circling your shins as he leers further into the gap your parted thighs created, that same ravening stare that once sent fear trickling down your spine now leaves you gasping for breath for an entirely different reason.

“Because I haven’t seen something as pretty as you for a very long time, and I don’t know if I have the strength to stop myself again, maus.”

You couldn’t prevent the whispered whine of his name if you had tried, eyelashes fluttering as you move to curl your fingers in his shirt, giving pathetic little tugs to the soft material of his silk shirt, eyes dipping down to where loose material tucks into black pants. Your back arches, a shameless display of desire as you slide your body closer towards the edge of the bed, and further into his touch.

“Who said anything about stopping?”

Your words remain suspended in the air around you, two sets eyes locked onto each other, blown black with barely-suppressed lust, and yet you don’t dare to make the first move, waiting, wanting for him to shed his timid skin and swallow you whole, become the beast that stalked you through rooms just to feel the thrill of the chase. His hands leave your legs, instead balling up into tight fists against his own thighs, the skin around his knuckles taut as though restraining himself. For a mere moment, you fear he may have changed his mind, that is until he utters the word you craved to hear.

“Run.”

You ignore the lingering ache in your joints, your thighs burning as you dash from the bedroom with renewed purpose, fuelled by the all-consuming thoughts of what’s to come, excited to finally be caught, a far cry from the unbridled terror that sent you scrambling before. This time, he makes no effort to prowl in the shadows, your heart beat soaring as the loud thuds of footsteps echo from behind, the floorboards quaking under your feet from the force of his steps.

You know there isn’t a chance he’s running at full speed, but even then he catches you almost embarrassingly quickly, built arms encircling your waist and crushing you against his torso, bringing you to the floor in an instant, leaving you to writhe helplessly between his body and the floorboards. You don’t give in, however, limbs thrashing, nails clawing against whatever they can reach, whether it be the arms that pin you down, or the wood underneath you, feigning an attempt to escape.

That is until you feel two sharp points dig into your nape, not enough to break skin, but the threat of it leaves you frozen under him, a doe caught in the wolf’s jaws. But you don’t fear the bite like wild prey would, somehow, you crave it, to feel his teeth sink into you, to let him lap at your blood and drain you near dry, anything just to feel like you’re his.

The pressure of sharpened canines begins to lessen, his teeth slowly peeling back from your skin, although anticipating your body to begin thrashing once again. But you remain subdued, the embers now engulfed by crackling flames that lick at your nerves and set your skin alight. It’s only when his hips shift do you feel the tent in his pants pushing against the top of your thighs, your eyes fluttering shut as you push your ass down to grind shamelessly against his cock.

“Temptress,” The word is almost incomprehensible through the growl that reverberates through his throat, a sound that gives away entirely how affected he is, rough and wanting. “You should be trembling beneath me from fear and yet…”

His words trail off, a stuttered gasp replaces your heavy breathing when you feel sizeable fingers trailing down your sides before sliding under your body, cupping your inner thigh. Your heart hammers against your ribcage from the chase, now bolstered by the scandalous touch as his fingers skim past your clothed core, only catching onto the way his fingers curl into the material until it’s too late, hardly leaving you enough time to yelp before he’s tearing you bare below him. The tattered remains of your pants are haphazardly discarded, joined soon by the threadbare silk of your ripped panties, one of your favourite pairs torn in half with hardly an ounce of effort.

“Yet here you are, schätzchen, quivering with need, dripping for the cock of the one that hunts you.”

The rough pad of calloused fingers swipes against your exposed cunt, unable to suppress the heady whine that leaks past your agape lips, your forehead meeting the hardwood floor with a soft thump. That single touch renders you limp, muscles going lax as you melt into the glide of his fingers as they tease your folds, slowing on every up-stroke to rub slow circles against your clit. It’s maddening, the pace in which he picks you apart, leaving you to grind on his fingers like a wanton whore just to feel the surmounting pleasure that builds in response to his touch. A tut sounds from above, heavy breath cascading over your nape as his head dips down, lips dragging from neck to the shell of your ear.

“What a desperate little thing you are, maus, you know what we call things like you in my native tongue?” Your head shakes, a breathy ‘no’ muffled into the floor, “Schwanzschlampe, cock slut.” Embarrassment mixes in equal measure with arousal, curling one of your arms under your head to hide your face, the action short lived as strong arms flip you onto your back, one large hand gathering both your wrists together and pinning them above your head, exposed before him in every way. It’s undeniably more intimate in this position, your eyes given little other option than to lock onto his as his other hand continues to tease your dripping cunt, carmine swimming with unrestrained desire pinning you to the floor as effectively as his near crushing grip on your wrists.

“You can’t hide your pretty face from me, liebling, I want to see how much you crave my touch.” He presses his forehead to yours, low candlelight from lamps that line the corridor walls glint off the two long fangs that peak past reddened lips with every word spoken. And it’s seemingly your turn to catch him off guard, your head tilting upwards to push your lips to his, swallowing his surprised gasp down greedily, arching your chest to push against his. The kiss is desperate, messy, a combination of saliva drips down your chin, moans and rumbled grunts creating a symphony that drifts down the winding halls of his home. With a nudge, you ensure his eyes are locked to yours as you part your lips, your tongue curling over his teeth before brushing over the point of his elongated canine.

With a push, you feel the sting as his fang just barely dips into soft flesh, a drop of blood beading at the surface before you push the muscle to his, locked onto the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, the growl momentarily starting up again before his lips lock around your tongue, sucking at every morsel of blood that springs from the pinprick cut like a man starved. A man that has most likely been starved of blood directly from the source for more years that you’ve been alive.

If you thought that you’d unlocked the beast within him before, the taste of your blood brings out an entirely new side. His lips part from yours, the crimson in his frenzied eyes transforming before you, as though enriched from just a taste of warm iron. You watch as his pupils dilate and constrict, each push and pull between black and red prove hypnotic as his eyes slowly begin to refocus, the colour to his irises seem dull in comparison to the bright vermillion flecked with gold that peers down at you, still wild with hunger, driven by need.

The moment is broken mere seconds later when his head drops to your neck, sharpened teeth dragging along the throbbing pulse at the base of your throat, and just when you expect the bite, you’re left gasping for an entirely unrelated reason as your shirt comes apart against sharp enamel, shredded where it surrounds your naked torso, leaving you entirely bare. Yet all it takes is a singular glance to realise he remains fully dressed, not a single article shed.

“König,” Your voice comes out strained, practically whining as though prepared to beg, “Let me undress you?”

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking up to you from under his lashes before the grip on your arms lessens, his legs folding under him as he rights himself into a kneeling position over your body. He suddenly seems unsure, maybe a little self-conscious as you lean up brushing your fingers over flowing pristine white silk, taking your time as you unfasten each button, never once letting your eyes stray from his. And despite the hint of bashfulness, he keeps his gaze pinned to you, a wary lion caught off guard by brave prey.

After the last button falls undone, you let the tips of your fingers trace up revealed skin, before pushing the shirt from his shoulders, and watching as it billows onto the floor, exposing a defined chest highlighted by a smattering of scars that tell stories you could only dream of hearing. He’s nothing short of ethereal, otherworldly in every sense of the word, a behemoth of a beast, with the face of an angel.

“You cover up a lot for a man as handsome as you are.” Your disguised question prompts a flinch, solid fingers clutching into fists at his side, but before you can rush to amend your words, he slumps, resigned to your curiosity.

“I have garnered a reputation I do not wish to catch up to me. It is safer to keep myself hidden, maus.” You make a mental note if you somehow find yourself in his company after this night to ask him more, a carnal need to know everything that makes up the being knelt above you. But you tuck them away for now, refocusing your attention to the waistband of his trousers, deft fingers wasting little time undoing the silver clasp and dragging down the zip until the front peels open.

“Good thing you don’t have to keep hidden in front of me, huh?” Your lips tug upwards into a playful smirk, your hands planting on the solid muscle of his chest before you’re pushing him backwards, letting his legs splay out either side of your now free body before easing both his pants and underwear down the corded muscle of his thigh, marvelling at each inch of skin revealed to ravenous eyes. His trousers join the crumpled mess of clothes that lay scattered across the floor, giving him no time to adjust to his new found nudity before your head is ducking down, tongue flitting out to lick a long strip from the base of his cock to the tip.

Your enthusiasm is immediately rewarded with a faltered whine, watching from under your lashes as his head lolls backwards, trembling fingers coming to cup either side of your face. He’s big, his cock twitching against the defined muscle of his abdomen, thick and long, and nothing short of daunting. Yet you choose to focus on the way your pussy clenches around air at the mere sight of it, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you’ll understand what it is to be split open by him, to be fucked by him. Your tongue darts out once more to press against the tip, the small cut on the surface only just healed over, your spine shuddering at the dulled sting that follows as you begin to take the head of his cock between your lips, mouth stretched almost painfully around the girth.

It does nothing to dissuade you, however, tears clouding your vision of his blissed out expression as you swallow him down deeper, hardly taking more than two inches before your throat spasms around him in protest, coaxing a throaty whimper from spit-shined lips that has your hand darting down to your clit, fingers rubbing desperate circles into soaked flesh.

The following whine that reverberates around his cock swiftly gives you away, crimson eyes focusing in on the way your hand disappears between your thighs, before flitting back to the way your watering eyes remain locked to his, hissing out several curses in German at the sight of your lips wrapped around his straining cock.

“Your mouth… Gott, your fucking mouth,” strong fingers guide your head off his cock, your lips separating from the tip with a lewd pop, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting your lolled out tongue to his cock. “Need to fuck you, schätzchen, I can’t wait any longer, verdammte hölle—”

You’re not given any warning before he’s pinning your back to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and bending you in half, a feat you didn’t know you were capable of before his strong fingers moulded you into the perfect position to take his cock. Folded like this, you can’t help but feel like a doll in his hands, your height and weight rendered meaningless under the sheer size of the monster above you. Trepidation begins to simmer under the surface of your skin, trying to imagine just how your body could ever make room for him.

But he doesn’t leave you much time to fret before his head falls to your thighs, thick fingers twitching from where they hold up your legs as his nose buries into your pubic bone. Long strands of brunette block your vision, startling as you register the feeling of something thick and wet pressing against your folds.

“K-König!” Your cry prompts a responding groan from the man below you as his tongue licks firm stripes up the length of your cunt, glassy eyes drifting up to you as though intoxicated, drunk of the heady taste of your arousal. With a jolt, you’re left helpless to watch as one of his hands slides down your thigh, stuttering through another gasped moan of his name as you feel a single thick digit slide into the wet heat of your pussy, eyes watering at the stretch that merely one of his fingers provides.

He doesn’t hold up, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking the second he feels your walls clamp around him, slowly easing your muscles into accepting a second finger, distracting you from the momentary pain by lapping his tongue against your engorged clit. But even so, taking two of his fingers feels like more of a challenge than any cock you’ve taken in the past, eyes rolling backwards as he begins to crook them within you, calloused fingers rubbing against the gummy walls of your cunt in a way that has you convulsing around him, warbled sobs hiccuping past your lips as you feel your first climax rip through your body.

“One more, maus, I need you to take one more so I know I won’t hurt you.”

Tears track down your face, still processing the intensity that just wracked your body, but you nod down at him anyway, rewarded with a gentle smile and whispered praise as he cautiously eases a third finger into you, pausing the second he hears a pained hiss after the first knuckle. He hums, placing tender kitten licks against your still throbbing clit, letting you push past tender overstimulation to help pull your mind off the burning stretch, refocusing your attention to the pleasure his mouth provides.

“Doing so well, liebling, almost there…” His words are whispered against your glistening pussy, eyes firmly fixed on yours as he guides you through, until finally all three of his fingers are pushed to the hilt, cooed praise following immediately after.

“König, need you, I need you inside of me, please.” Your sniffled plea evokes nothing more than a playful smile from him as he cocks his head to the side.

“Am I not inside of you right now, maus?” His tone is teasing, words accompanied by a wiggle of the fingers that remain buried in your cunt, coaxing a depraved moan from your already raw throat.

“Your cock, wan’ your cock so bad,” It takes a second to search for the word that sits on the tip of your tongue, your eyes sparking when it finally comes to you, “Bitte, König.”

It’s immediate, the way his fingers pull from your cunt and secure themselves back around your thigh, darkened rubies glinting with that same predatory stare you’re all too familiar with now. He wastes no time as the tip of his cock bumps against soaked folds, your fingers wrapping around his veined shaft as you guide him inside, mouth parting in a silent cry as the tip pushes past the first ring of muscle and leaves you breathless.

There is no mistaking that three of his fingers gave you a mere taste of the stretch, belatedly wondering how on Earth he’ll fit amongst the tight walls of your cunt, and the other organs that surround it. But by some grace of God, he continues to move, inch after thick inch swallowed by your cunt as though it were made for him, a perfect match, the monster and his plaything, the predator and its ever willing prey.

A rush of air finally fills your lungs once the dull slap of his hips meets your ass, unfocused eyes widening as you take in the protrusion of his cock, the bulge obscenely large where it stretches out your skin.

“S’big, you’re so fuckin’ big, what the fuck—”

Slurred rambles are cut off with a searing kiss, passionate and fiery as his hips begin to draw back, swallowing down frenzied curses as he slams back into you, setting a cruel pace right from the start. You never had a chance, you should have known, and yet you regret nothing as he pounds into your abused cunt, your cervix meeting the tip of his weeping cock with each forceful thrust, thick veins rubbing against the walls of your pussy and leaving you glassy eyed and cock-drunk.

Mindless babbles flow from drooling lips, your neck drooping to the side as you hope your eyes convey your needs without resorting to incoherent words. But it takes little more than exposing your throat to him before his lips latch onto the flesh, sucking a line of bruises into your skin before finally settling over your jugular, the only pre-warning of the oncoming bite being the scrape of fangs before they’re puncturing skin, flooding your veins with a venom that has your toes curling, fingernails digging into the muscle of his back and dragging thick red lines against shuddering flesh.

His pace never falters, hips still careening against yours as his lips suck around the two minute incisions, drinking down your blood with a thirst you’ve never witnessed. Whether it’s the subduing poison that flows through your bloodstream, or the shift of hips as his cockhead nudges the walls of your cunt in a way that has stars blooming behind your eyelids, you find yourself hurtling into another climax, whimpered cries and bloodied nails evidence of your earth-shattering orgasm.

His lips finally part from your skin with a slick sigh, lips painted the most beautiful shade of crimson that drips down his chin, a line that marks your possession, evidence he’s consumed by you, drunk on you. And it’s as you lean down, your tongue dragging against the bloodied stubble of his chin, lapping up what remains of your scarlet ichor, that he finally succumbs to the pleasure, his cock jolting within you as he releases seemingly endless spurts of cum against your cervix, buried as deep within your body as biology will allow.

Panted breaths intermingle as his forehead presses flush to yours, lidded eyes, now nearly entirely consumed by gold peers at you, an interesting mix of fascination and something that looks almost fond discernible in his gaze. You still have so many questions, intrigued and just a little bit obsessed with the man above you, yet it’s apparent that your feelings are far from unrequited, and one day, every question that burns at your tongue and begs for answers will be satiated. For now, you’ll bask in his looming presence and tender care, grateful to have found him in the first place, however unfortunate the initial meeting was.

Just as his lips ghost against yours, the distant sound of creaking has you both freezing in place.

“H-Hello? You still in here?”

“... Scheiße.”

1K notes · View notes

iouinotes · 4 months

Text

Heroic Betrayal | Luke Castellan (part 1)

SPOILER FOR THE PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS SERIES AND THE BOOKS

pairing: Luke Castellan x female!reader

show: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

warnings: dark!character, betrayal, implied sexual content, heavy angst, kidnapping

word count: 5,8k

summary: When Luke switches to the dark side, he tries everything possible to win you for him.

a/n: so as the show comes to an end (dont cry dont cry dont cry), I thought I would finally post this :)))

read part 2 here

"I'll find you!" his voice echoes through the forest, my laughter much louder than I intend to. But that´s just how it always goes. It's our own little tradition.

Every year when the camp starts again and we meet after the holidays passed, we play hide and seek in the dangerous forest of the half-blood camp. The creatures usually don't come across our path, in recent years it has rarely happened, that we actually had to defend ourselves against them.

Once it was an angry dryad, who threw branches at me (she had a crush on Luke and wanted revenge, but since I could understand her feelings and felt sad for her, we sorted it out).

Another time we were spotted by some camp members, who made fun of us, but Luke must have said something to them later, because we haven't been bothered by these troublemakers since.

It is always the same pattern, but each time there is still something special about it. We have grown, became more mature (I think), and have more and more experience about the struggles in life.

So being able to just let go for a few moments and being completely alone with him is probably the best thing to keep myself sane (even if he drives me a little bit crazy with the love I hold for him).

But a lot has changed recently.

It all started when rumors spread, that Zeus' lightning bolt had been stolen by Poseidon's son. And then the most supportive, bravest, sassy kid in the world showed up here. Percy Jackson. Ever since I met him, even though it's not his fault, there's been war going on. The gods are angry, the monster attacks became worse and again, rumors about the oldest, most powerful titan Kronos reached the camp.

It scared and frightened many people, including me. That's why we've been training harder and stay awake, even when the stars are shining, so that we can prepare for any catastrophe. To be able to fight.

My mother is the goddess Demeter, my father a simple man. I adore them both, even though my mother isn't one of my closest contacts. But I never really held that against her, because at least she decided to acknowledge me as her daughter. After all, it's a privilege that not everyone gets. My siblings and friends at camp are important to me, but the world is changing and so is everything around it.

The only stability I have left is my boyfriend Luke.

If I had to rely on one person in the whole world (and by that I also mean the underworld), it would be him.

He's been my best friend since I arrived at this camp. We've been together through ups and downs, I know every side of him and he knows everything about me too. Many of the people here are like blank pages to me, but not him. He is like my favorite book, that lays open to me and allows me to read each letter individually. Just as I know every of his dreams, every secret, every truth and every lie. He is my protector, my hero in every dark night and every bright day. Without him, I don't even know who I am. He is a part of me and my heart wouldn't be whole without him.

I watched him grow up. From the small, thin boy whose eyes hid so much pain and sadness to the strong, soulful leader he is today.

His beauty cannot be influenced by anything, he is like my very own sun, without him I could not survive.

I wouldn't want it any other way though.

Now, I'm hiding behind a tree with my back pressed against the bark and I am able to hear the cracking and swinging of the branches.

I smile so wide, that my cheeks start to hurt, when I hear his voice calling. My heart is beating in my throat, but it's not just the adrenaline of not getting caught. It's because of my love for him, which is so strong that sometimes I'm afraid of it. But only in the moments when I realize that nothing, but him is my biggest flaw. I think I would do anything for him.

Then I concentrate again and listen to the sounds around me. But his voice has fallen silent and I don't hear his footsteps anymore.

My eyebrows furrow, confused I try to look around the tree and search for an orange t-shirt. Likely together with his slim body, biceps, beautiful face and wonderful personality.

But when I want to withdraw again, it's already too late. A branch breaks behind me and before I can move I'm pushed against the tree from behind.

I immediately feel his body against mine, hear the laughter in his voice and listen to his strained breathing. His hands wrap around my body and turn me towards him, so that we are now face to face.

He's taller than me and as I look up, I feel the familiar fluttering feeling in my chest. I am so in love with him.

He grins triumphantly at me and I lean against the tree, smiling kindly.

"Found you, princess." The light reflects in his brown eyes and some of his curls are laying wildly on his head. He looks like an angel.

"I made it easy for you." My voice teases him and when he leans in so close to me, that our lips almost touch, I forget how to think properly. A habit I can't change. He's just so captivating.

"Yeah? You think I wouldn't have found you otherwise? Funny. I remember that in the last few years, I always was the winner of our little game." His lips brush mine, I want nothing more than to kiss him. But he knows that, which is why he slowly pulls back, when I start to lean forward.

When I want to complain, he puts his hand around my waist and pulls me into his chest. My knees almost give out, I feel so intoxicated by his presence.

"I-I wanted you to find me." My voice whispers quietly.

His eyebrows rise in mock surprise.

"Then I guess, I can claim my prize without feeling bad." In the next second, his lips are on mine and I'm unable to do anything, other than kissing him back. I wrap my arms around his neck and enjoy the warmth that radiates from him. He sets my heart on fire.

While pushing me against the tree, I've completely forgotten about, he lets his hands wrap possessively around my waist. Digging his nails into my hips, to keep me grounded. Otherwise, I would probably get lost in those sensations.

Luke kisses in a way, like it's the last time he'll have the chance. (As if I would ever want to keep him from doing that).

He's passionate, my body feels like it's on fire and the heat inside me feels so good, that I want more. I can never get enough of him and he knows it. He grins against my lips, but he doesn't break the kiss. I think he secretely loves knowing how much he can mess with me, with just a few kisses.

My hands find his hair and pull him closer to me, our chests touch and his breathing mingles with mine.

It is wonderful and so precious, I would refuse any gift from the gods just to be close to him.

When he pulls away from me, our bodies are still close. My eyes open and look dreamily into his, our gazes reflect a familiarity and love that is like nothing I have ever experienced.

He smiles at me, pushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear and leans himself against me. His fingers stroke the exposed skin of my pulled-up shirt.

"I've missed you." If my heart hasn't melted before, it has now. I give him a kiss on the cheek and hug him, we stand in our embrace for a moment. Enjoying each other's closeness, the calm feeling until the next chaotic situation happens.

"Now we are together again. Only that matters." It's quiet around us and when I close my eyes for the second time, I hear his fast heartbeat. I have to supress a smile.

The wind is the only thing I hear until his voice breaks the silence.

"Something will happen soon. Something big." The peaceful atmosphere is threatened by his words and when I look at his face again, I see his worried eyes.

I sigh, but then nod to agree with him. "I thought about that too, it feels different. Like something is coming our way, that we can't control."

His fingers stroke my cheek and for a moment, his face holds an expression, that I can't understand. It resembles regret.

But before I can ask him about it, he smiles tenderly at me again.

"Nothing will separate us. The world is just a game. It's a matter of time and making the right moves." That is his motto. But I'm not always convinced of this. Even though I trust him to do the right thing.

"I'm just worried we'll get seperated, you know? Evil can be sneaky and traitors always exist. You never know who you can trust." Something I said must have really bothered him, because he looks like I just stabbed him.

This time I ask him about it.

"What's on your mind? You can tell me. Two people who worry about something are better, than one who is alone with it." I take his hand and stroke his skin, it feels cold even though we have summer.

"Nothing, just- I don't want to lose you. I couldn't be here without you. I need you. I mean...I-I love you. You know that I would do anything to keep us together, right?"

His words surprise me. I know he loves me. I can sense that, everyone probably does. But he has never worn his heart on his sleeve and the three magical words only come out of his mouth on special occasions. The fact that he's telling me now surprises me.

"Of course. I trust you. We will survive together, I know that. Are you worried because of the rumors about the Titan King?" This topic is always very critical and he usually doesn't like to talk about it, but this time I decide to address it directly.

"He will come. I just want you to be safe, when it happens." He sounds so confident it gives me goosebumps.

"Perhaps. His followers will definitely try. But love is stronger than anything else. Especially our love. We will get through it." He doesn't look convinced, so I turn his face towards mine and kiss him.

My voice sounds soft, when I speak again.

"Luke, I love you. I could never leave you. Not even the King of the Underworld will be able to keep us apart. I promised to be by your side in every moment of our lives. You are my soul and without it I am damned."

This seems to reassure him, but I feel like he's not telling me something of great importance. But I don't want to push him, I know he will tell me when the time comes.

He always does.

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

As the day comes to an end, I say goodnight to my siblings and report for my night watch duty. The situation has been a lot more worse the recent weeks. Kronos exists, my worst fear was confirmed. And he is building an army, that is so strong that it will be difficult to fight against it. But what I'm really worried about are the rumors about our people, who have also joined his cause.

Nobody knows who, the spies have been hiding ever since. I've never felt like I was paying more attention to my words than I am now. The only person I don't have to hold back to is Luke.

But even with him I notice the effects of the bad news. The circles under his eyes are darker than ever and his nerves are so frayed, that every little thing makes him want to explode. His temper is hanging by a thread, that is increasingly threatening to break. And I'm trying everything to prevent this.

No matter if I try it by making him laugh (which has become difficult), massaging his tense shoulders, trying to kiss him to the point of forgetfulness (usually it's the other way around) or when he takes out his frustration by burying himself deep inside me. With every thrust of his hips, I feel him relax, his hand so tight around my body as if I would run away, if he didn't hold me close enough.

He's changing and I'm trying my best to maintain his good sides. That he doesn't completely lose himself in his responsibilities and the pressure, that he has, because he is a member of the camp council.

Besides, I can't complain, when he fucks me until I can't breathe aynmore and I block out everything around me. When he comes, he whispers the sweetest things in my ear. Even if sometimes they sound so protective, that I could almost come from his voice alone.

When he whispers to me how good I am for him or how much he loves being able to have such a power over me like that - maybe it should scare me, but I trust him like no one else.

My mind concentrated his best for my shift, but when I finally go to bed after quiet some time, my eyes quickly close.

Looking back, I wish I had never let myself sleep that night.

Because, when I close my eyes I see waves. Hear the seagulls screaming in the sky, the fish swimming in the water and the distant cries of strangers.

It's all unusual and the bright light would blind me, if I didn't avert my gaze. And as soon as I do it, I see a ship. It's huge, rust shimmers in the sunrays, the anchor shows that it's been in the same place for a while now.

I feel something pulling me towards it, pushing and burning in my chest, leaving me with a tremor that I can feel, even in my deep sleep.

As I flit through the window like a ghost, I feel paralyzed. My blood freezes, I want to disappear immediately and in my mind I scream at myself to wake up.

But it's no use, whatever is here, someone decided that I have to see it. Only then, my wish will be fulfilled and I can wake up. So, I hide in a corner, there are scratched picture frames above me and broken glass is scattered on the floor. The monsters that loudly crush the glass ahead of me seem unstoppable.

I tremble as I look at at least seven dracaenae, several shaggy hellhounds and set my eyes on gigantes, that take up almost the entire room.

But that is nothing compared to the terror, that grips me when I see my classmates. My friends. People I trusted, who I fought alongside, for who I cared about. People I would have sacrificed myself for. They all betrayed me. And I feel close to tears. When I want to turn away, I hear a voice that almost brings me to my knees.

It's Luke.

My faithful and caring protector, my heroic love. Someone, to which I had dedicated everything. He was my life, with every single breath I took. The motivation behind my every action. The reason I wanted to survive in this cruel world. He was everything I had and everything I will ever have and in that moment it was abruptly taken from me.

I didn't have the strength to concentrate, it was as if every fiber of my body was on fire, triggered by the torment of my suffering heart. Seeing him like that, in black armor, Kronos' silver mark glittering around his neck, instead of his colorful necklace. A stoic, hostile expression on his face, his hands gripping his sword, it all hurt too much to watch.

And as I sank to the floor and covered my eyes with my hands, I was still forced to listen. I couldn't understand why he was saying such things.

"With every day he becomes stronger, with every participation in our army, we become stronger. Everything is planned, the camp is weak. Just like all of its residents. The surprise is on our side, because we will show no mercy. We will kill anyone, who does not confess to us. Do you hear me? No hostages will be taken. Only Hades population will be expanded."

The screams around me are so loud, so angry and horrific that I feel tears running down my cheeks.

I don't want to see any of that. The person infront of me is not my Luke.

A kind of fog creeps around me and I feel cold, it seems too late to forget it now. When I notice the golden coffin and Lukes hunched posture, the scar on the side of his face, I realize he is praying to him.

To the fall of Olympus. Kronos.

I want to cry, to scream, to be angry - but I just feel like every part of my heart is breaking and will never be whole again. Luke will never again be the one to heal it.

My consciousness leaves the ship until I finally wake up, but I can't move at first. I feel lost, my muscles are stiff and after a few seconds I notice that I'm shaking. But it's not because I'm cold, the summer air is wafting in the air.

Such dreams are rare, but are like the own scary predictions of the future.

And then it comes all back so me, the memories, that have just turned my whole life upside down. Traitor. The word appears in my mind, I feel like I almost can't breathe. And then there is a finger on my cheek, gently stroking the skin and my chest immediately becomes warm.

I know this gesture.

When I open my eyes, I see his loving eyes and the smile that covers his mouth makes my heart clench in sorrow.

It was just a nightmare. Luke would never betray me.

But the whispers in my head say otherwise.

As we continue to look at each other in silent, I notice his furrowed eyebrows.

"What's wrong, my love? Did you have a nightmare? You look scared. Don't be afraid, I'm here. I will always protect you." His voice is so calm, so usual loving and it makes the butterflies in my stomach fly around like crazy.

He is so beautiful.

As he briefly turns his head to tighten the blanket around me, I see his side profile and the scar. Reminders of my dream crash onto me like a lightning strike from Zeus himself.

I sat up abruptly. Luke is a servant of our enemy. How could I ignore that? I feel like I'm almost starting to hyperventilate. The thought, this nightmare, Luke's appearance, this evil feeling - it makes me sick. And I'm suddenly so afraid, more than I have ever been in my life. But I can't tell if it's the fact that I just found out he joined Cronos' army or that he broke my heart doing so.

I see him tense, my panic seems to be affecting him too.

My thoughts are so confusing, I don't know what to do, I have to tell someone. I have to-

His hands find their way to my cheeks, cupping them gently to direct his gaze towards himself. I would have preferred not to look at him, but I have no choice. His eyes search mine.

Then, as if the weight of Atlas punishment was put on his shoulders, he lowers them. His lips tremble slightly and his eyes look at me, as if I am the most valuable thing in the world and he is about to lose it.

"You know it." He doesn't have to say what he means by that. We both know.

I want to break away from him, but he won't let me. He's always been much stronger.

But everything still feels so different, light surrounds us and I can't really feel my body.

"Listen to me, please. I can explain it. Please-" The world goes silent, before he can finish his sentence.

It is too much.

I stifle a scream. I want to jump out of bed, but his hands hold me close. I only manage to fall to the ground, breathing heavily, but his arms are much stronger and I'm still weakened by my dream. He trys to hold me in a position, so that his back hugs me. His hands grab mine and one of them covers my mouth to silence me, when I want to scream for help.

With any other person, I would have known what to do. With anyone but him, I could have defended myself without any problems. But it wasn't just anyone and what he had done to me, the betrayal he had committed, was nothing I could handle.

I tried to wriggle out of his grip, to kick him, but the more I cried and the more hysterical I became, the easier it was for him to have control over me.

And for the first time, it scared me.

"Please calm down, I have to explain it to you- you have to know, that I never wanted to deceive you, please-" I notice how his voice is failing and he has to pull himself together, to not to lose his composure.

When I shake his hand away and want to yell again, he grabs my neck with such a warning force, that no sound escapes me.

I tremble in his hold. Tears stream down my cheeks and I literally feel my heart breaking.

Then he starts whispering in my ear and his grip feels like a tragic prison.

"Nobody can know. I never wanted you to find out. Not until I convinced you, that it is the right thing to join him. Because he will win, sweetheart. I want us to win by his side." His voice sounds so confident and at the same time, as if he was a completely different person.

Tears continue running down my face and he slightly let's go of me, so he can comfort me.

"If you would just listen to me, you will understand my actions. Please, just listen to me-" but the world blurs infront of my eyes and I am only able to whisper three words, before darkness surrounds me.

"You betrayed me."

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

When I wake up, my head hurts so much, that it takes me several minutes to open my eyes. When I finally do it, I almost have a heart attack.

I recognize the similarity of this room from my dream. When I stand up, I run to the round window and look out, being only able to see the blue sea. Feeling empty and alone.

When I want to step out the door, I expect it to be locked. But instead the handle turns and I step out of the room. I'm so surprised about that, that I'm acting without thinking twice.

As I walk around the next corner, the deck creaks and I see an ugly creature in front of me, that makes every instinct to escape kick in.

I run in the other direction, but every turn makes me more desperate and, without any consideration, I run into the hall, I was so afraid of.

It is filled with all kinds of ciders, and I also see the figures of my classmates, wounded and unhappy.

It's all so overwhelming, that I dont even see him standing on the podium, in the first place.

But as the monsters try to grab me, his voice echoes through the room with an affable authority.

"Nobody touches her. You hear me? Nobody. She is under my protection." I almost freeze into a stature, as he comes towards me and I have no way of avoiding him. No weapon is within my reach, his eyes notice my growing panic.

"Everyone leaves the room. Now." Nobody discusses it, even if some roll their eyes or quietly protest. His authority is unquestioned, it sends a cold shiver down my spine.

When the last doors slam shut, we stand a few meters opposite each other.

"The doors are guarded." It's the first thing he says.

When he tries to approach me, I lose my nerves and run to the corner with the broken glass, that I saw in my dream. I take them in my hands.

I see his eyes widen and he stops in his tracks.

"You- you want to fight me?" He actually sounds surprised and sad. Like I was the one who betrayed him and not the other way around.

"Don't come any closer. I may not have been able to do anything last time, but if you take one step closer then-" I don't know what to say. In no scenario did I ever think, I would have to threaten him.

But despite my warning, he comes towards me with his hands raised, the panic within me so palpable, that I can feel every muscle in my body.

I dodge, when he is only a few meters in front of me. Right into the next corner. As far away from him as possible.

"Princess, you can't keep me away forever. I've always loved that about you. You need me as much as you need to breathe."

It's supposed to sound sweet, but his words make me feel sick

"I'd rather suffocate." He didn't expect that. My words hit him so unexpectedly that he is almost speechless. Almost.

"I won't hurt you. You just have to let me get to you and I'll show you everything. You will understand, believe me." He really thinks, I'll just stay by his side and let him explain.

"Are you crazy? You're a traitor, Luke. You- you betrayed everyone. You betrayed me. How could you do this?" I suppress my tears, because that's exactly what he's waiting for. That my defense becomes weaker. I can't allow this.

"You dont understand. I always told you I would protect you. And I can only do that, if I'm on the winning side. And I am now. We are." His eyes flash with a craziness that makes me tremble. I don't recognize him.

"Why are you acting this way? You are doing the wrong thing - you give up everything. You're giving up on us." Tears leave my eyes and I see him take a few steps in my direction.

"I'm doing the right thing for us. You'll see. You just have to trust me, please. You know I always win. With the power he gives me, I will be invincible. You don't have to worry about one of us dying in this war anymore." I can't move, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have a way out now. He's too close.

"You are wrong. I would rather die in this war than join this monster and his deceitful army." The shards in my hand hurt, but I don't let them go. They're the only thing I can use to defend myself.

"You would leave me?" His eyes are staring into my soul.

"Would you fight me?" Every word is more intimidating.

"Would you stop loving me?" His words are like his own shards, leaving deep wounds in my heart.

He's standing right in front of me now, looking at me like I'm fragile.

Then he whispers "Would you kill me?"

In the next second, he suddenly has my hands in his, making me drop the glass. Be is only a few centimeters away from me now, his eyes are looking into my own.

"Would you, princess? Then show me." Suddenly he does something, I would have never expected. He takes out his sword and puts it in my hands.

His own hands go behind his back, his eyes tempting me. I feel all the blood in my body drain.

"Do it. I can't live in a world, where you don't love me anymore. In which you are no longer by my side. I am yours. That will never change, just like my love for you."

I can barely hold the sword, it's so wobbly in my hands. He stands in front of me and gives me every chance to defeat him. But I can't move.

It's quiet for a moment, then I see new hope in his eyes and when he speaks again, the tone of his voice melts my heart.

"What did you say a few months ago, you would always let me win? Let's win together this time. Please, just listen to me." His hand strokes my cheek. Wipes away the tears.

Then he drops his hand and grasps his sword, letting it fall to the ground.

He takes my hand instead.

"Follow me." He pulls me behind him, closer and closer to the golden coffin, it's like I'm in a trance, but when I finally feel the cold aura of something cruel, I'm able to think clearly again.

"No-" I don't want to be one step closer to this thing.

He turns around so quickly, that I can only slap his cheek, before he grabs me again.

"That was for kidnapping me. Let me go now!" I want to avoid his grasp. But again he does something I don't expect.

He holds me still, catches my gaze and then, kisses me so gently that the feeling alone makes me almost completely defenseless. His hands cup my cheeks, grip my hair, hold my body.

This is probably his worst trick. I've never been able to resist one of his kisses. And he knows that. He uses it against me.

Then he murmurs words against my lips, that barely reach my ears.

My heart is pounding in my throat.

"You feel this? We belong together. It is not written anywhere on which side we need to be. As long as we are together." His fingers stroke my lower lip, his figure towers over me and for a moment my surroundings fade. It's almost like always.

But he's not wearing his orange t-shirt, his expression isn't relaxed, and I don't hear any insults from the camp members in the distance.

"You're manipulating me." I am powerless against him. I thought we were on the same team, that no one had more power over the other one. But I was so wrong.

His eyebrows furrow again, and when his hands try to pull me against him, I hit his chest, without thinking, with the only piece of glass I hid in my pocket. But unlike I expected, nothing happens. The shard bounces off his skin and falls loudly to the ground. I can only stare at him in disbelief.

"How-" He just looks at me worried, no anger is visible in his eyes.

"You can't hurt me. I have the curse of Achilles upon me." I suddenly become aware of the effect the lake Styx in the underworld hast and I almost fall to the ground at the realization, my knees weaken.

"That was a test earlier. You wanted to see if I would kill you-" my voice fails.

He just looks at me sadly and smiles in regret. My heart becomes heavy.

"And I knew you wouldn't hurt me on purpose. You would never hurt someone you love. Not if you'd kill me in the process." What can I do? He knows me better than anyone, he can see right through my every thought.

"I can't do this, Luke. I-I can't be together with you, if you are like this." I'm serious, but he doesn't believe me.

"That's what you think, but it's a lie. The sooner you admit it to yourself, the more pain you avoid. Our souls are linked together, without me you are not able to live. I know, that you will continue to love me, no matter what I decide to do. That's how much you love me. You would rather die than not loving me."

I can't listen to him. I can't.

But his eyes are like all the promises in the world. He is my world. How could I ever forget that?

"Please come back with me, Luke. I-I won't tell anyone, but please. Let's go, let's forget everything, please-" I cant deal with this anymore. It's like he's draining all the energy out of me. More with every word, that leaves his lips.

"I can not do that. It will stay the way it is now. Don't fight against me, fight with me. You are so smart and loyal, you will be convinced. He will show you." His eyes now flash with something that frightens me. I see his hunger for power, something that has always been dormant within him.

"Luke, the only thing I ever really wanted was you. No power, no war, no prosperity. Only you. But I'm about to lose you. Don´t do this to me, I beg you." My hands find his face, stroke the skin and I look into his eyes. But they are no longer the same ones I fell in love with.

I never thought he would love having power more than he loves me. It breaks my heart.

"I have decided. Nothing will change about that. Not even your pleadings. I'm sorry." His eyes reflect my desperation.

"What's holding you back? All you need is me." He says it so confident, that I almost wonder, why I don´t agree with him.

But my conscience has always been my greatest strength.

"I won't betray them. I couldn't live with myself, if I did." He takes a step back.

"But you could live without me? You would rather be by Jackson's side than mine?" His words hurt me. But he speaks the truth.

"I love you Luke, more than I ever thought was possible. But just as you put power before me, I put loyalty first. And I'm not sorry about that."

Frustration finally seeps through his perfect facade. I wonder how long he's been playing with me. The thought of it makes everything inside me tighten.

"I am not letting you go. Our fate is set. You will recognize it too and when that happens, you will be on my side."

His conviction frightens me, but this time it doesn't freeze me into a statue. Now, I'm running away.

And luckely, he didn't expect that.

For a few minutes now I've noticed one of the windows, that doesn't look very stable. I just have to jump against it to open it.

"NO!" Luke's voice echoes across the room, loud and warning, but it doesn't stop me. Before he can catch up with me, I jump towards the window, my shoulder hurts, but I was right, it breaks.

But I didn't think about the height difference and I realize it might be too late to do something about it now.

As I try to hold on to the wall outside, two thoughts repeat in my mind.

Either I die or I'm trapped.

Then I hear Luke's voice. He sounds desperate and at the same time angry, like I have never heard him before.

The wall is slippery and it takes every bit of strength in me not to fall, I know it would be my death. I hold on to the broken wall.

"She is outside. Get her back, NOW!" My muscles hurt and I don't know what to do. Then I hear the loud beating of wings. Before I can see who it is, I hear Percy's quiet voice. I feel like crying.

"Drop down, I've got you." I have to trust him. So, I let myself fall without thinking.

Then I feel myself landing on something soft, I hold on to it and my knuckles turn white.

The screams and shouts of the monsters make me tremble, I just want to get out of here. Even if it means, that I perhaps will never see Luke again.

"Come on, now. They'll be here soon." As the wings of the Pegasus move towards the sky, towards freedom, I let the tears fall. The wind is beating around my ears and I can only see in the corner of my eyes that we are getting closer to the clouds.

Luke's threatening voice is the last thing I remember as I close my eyes from the grief of leaving him.

#percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan #x reader #greek gods #love #betrayal #angst #percy pjo #percy series #annabeth chase #percy jackson

155 notes · View notes