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technofantasia · 2 years

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The thing about Josuke is that, since the age of four, he's had 24/7 access to a secret superpower that lets him instantly and completely fix anything that goes wrong in his life. Anything that breaks, anyone that gets hurt, anything that happens and has a negative result can be immediately rewound and brushed off as if it never happened with nobody ever the wiser; after all, it's not like anyone he's met can even SEE his stand, let alone realize he's using it to do anything. Even if he does it while someone else is present, would they really believe that Josuke has some sort of healing superpower over the idea that they were just wrong about the thing having been broken in the first place? Probably not.

What kind of effect would that power have on a developing kid?

Imagine that he's playing a video game and he's getting really frustrated because he keeps dying in the same place over and over. If that happened to you, what would you do? Maybe gear up to chuck the controller into the TV? But, wait, you can't do that! If you did, it might be satisfying for a second, but then you'd have to deal with the fallout of a broken TV and an angry parent. Not worth it. Josuke, on the other hand? If HE totally destroyed the TV, he could have that momentary satisfaction of letting the frustration out, then just quickly fix the TV and get back to the grind. No harm, no foul, no bits of glass to sweep out of the carpet or mother tearing her hair out in upset. Of COURSE he'd do it. Why wouldn't he?

Imagine that he forgets his locker combination, because oops head too full of teenage miscellany. Would he go through the effort of fumbling around to find whichever pocket he shoved the slip of paper with his combination in to open it while he's already late to class? Or would he just tear the door off its hinges, retrieve his stuff, and shove it back on in two seconds flat? Imagine that he's messing around with some friends trying to climb a huge tree, when one of them falls getting two broken bones and a concussion. Would he call the friend an ambulance and decide climbing tall trees is too dangerous? Or would he just climb down, heal the friend back up, say something to the effect of "oh wow, good thing you ended up okay!", and continue doing what he was doing safe in the knowledge that his stand could save him or cushion the fall if HE ever slipped? (He may not be able to HEAL himself, but he can certainly protect himself from the same kinds of damage other people get.)

Those are all just hypotheticals, but we do see examples of him doing those kinds of things in the series. He beats up anyone who pisses him off only to instantly heal them afterwards. He tears off Hazamada's locker door to look inside without a second thought. In the wake of his grandpa's murder, he destroys and fixes a ton of furniture in his house. He mentions fixing a friend's broken leg. He DEFINITELY doesn't shy away from anything dangerous, and not just out of general shounen recklessness. When Aqua Necklace hides inside his mother's body, he forgoes any convoluted plan to save her and just punches her through the stomach without hesitation because he knows with 100% certainty, the certainty of lived experience, that she'd be completely fine afterwards, that she wouldn't even notice. He waited to try healing his grandpa when he saw him sprawled across the floor because he didn't have a doubt in his mind that, even if he took his time getting there, as soon as he did he'd be up again like nothing happened. (He was only wrong once.)

The thing about Josuke is that, since the age of four, he's learned that being reckless almost never leads to consequences. He's learned that its okay to make mistakes because pretty much any mistake he makes can be quickly and easily fixed with no lasting damage. He's learned that, as long as he's the one who takes responsibility for something, everything turns out okay for everyone.

We can see all that easily in his personality and the way he acts. He's unbelievably chill, cool-headed and reasonable even in situations where NOBODY would be; stakes are very different for somebody who can effortlessly reverse anything short of death, so of course he doesn't panic at those sorts of things. By contrast, things like "no money" or "waded into leech pool" (or, for a more serious example that comes up in the series, "friend/family is missing") are not as easily fixed and thus are a much bigger deal.

Despite how much it takes to make him full on panic, though, he is far from careful on a regular day. Sure, he may be chill, but all that means is that he'll calmly and deliberately do something insane instead of doing it in a panicked frenzy. We see dozens of examples of Josuke casually thinking his way out of situations by coming up with a crazy reckless solution on the spot that would be a last-ditch measure by anyone else, just because he's so used to thinking with his stand's ability in mind. (While you could maybe argue this applies to most Jojo protagonists, I still think Josuke manages to be one of the most reckless on-the-spot planners in the series while also being one of the most generally well-collected AND having a solidly in-place sense of self preservation, which is still an interesting combination in contrast with the other protagonists.)

It's worth noting, of course, that Josuke DOES have a bit of a (literal) hair-trigger temper, but rages on Josuke are short, concentrated, and in a strange sense, controlled. While he's certainly much less reasonable and more destructive than usual when in rage mode, said destruction never extends past the source of the anger; he feels mad, so he lets it out, handles the situation, and almost instantly falls back to baseline. Like chucking a controller at a TV and fixing it back up. A controlled explosion.

All of this is to say that, even when Josuke does reckless or destructive things, it's not because Josuke himself is a reckless or destructive person; far from it. Josuke's top priority is keeping the peace. Why else would he choose to be so meek towards bullies on the first day of school, even knowing he could wipe the floor with them? Why else would his first reaction to being told he was the result of an affair be to humbly apologize for the trouble his existence caused, instead of any kind of personal confusion or upset? The only reason he acts how he does is because he knows from experience that inserting himself into a situation, striking fast and hard however is appropriate, then fixing up the aftermath, is the most efficient way to solve problems for himself and everyone around him. He's not a pushover. He'll stand up for himself and what's important to him when he needs to. But ultimately he just wants the best for everyone, and since he's been gifted the ability to fix things, to heal, doesn't it make sense to use it?

In that way, Josuke acts as a perfect foil to Kira. Neither of them deny themselves whatever they want, neither of them are used to experiencing consequences for their actions, and both of them just want a peaceful life; the difference is, Kira destroys problems. Josuke fixes them.

An interesting side effect of this mindset is that Josuke ends up taking on responsibility for all sorts of things that are in no way his burdens to bear. We see a number of times throughout the series that he never backs away from a situation he could potentially do something about, to the point of even inserting himself into situations he really doesn't need to. Any time he CAN heal someone, he does; in the Harvest episode, in particular, Josuke heals a number of tiny injuries Okuyasu picked up without comment as soon as he could. It's so ingrained that, during their dice game, Rohan mutilates himself in order to keep Josuke from running away, since he knew Josuke would never leave him like that even though they hate each other. Of course Josuke would consider it his responsibility to heal the hand Rohan messed up himself such that he'd stay in a terrible situation he could easily walk away from just for the opportunity to heal him. It's a no-brainer.

And because Josuke takes on so much extra responsibility, because Josuke is considered by both all his friends and himself to be the multi-purpose get out of jail free card, he takes it that much harder whenever anything seriously goes wrong. There's almost a level of existential disbelief to it. Sure, anybody would be upset when something bad happens, like, say, a family member or friend dying because of your own negligence, but with Josuke... When his grandpa dies, and then paralleled later when Okuyasu gets blown up by Killer Queen, he sounds confused. Like he just experienced something impossible. People can't die around him. It's not even a question. He has a healing superpower! People can't die around someone with a healing superpower, especially not when they're literally a few steps away!! So, then, if it really did happen, what does that say about him? When he gets the call from Koichi during the fight against Sheer Heart Attack, he panics and rushes into action immediately. It's easy to imagine what could have been flashing through his mind.

Because of his stand, the stand he got after a formative experience when he was just a small kid, he always has the unique ability to help. To help himself, to help others. All he has to do is put in the effort, show as much kindness as he can as soon as it's needed, and he can keep everyone happy and healthy. At the end of the day, if he can do something, he will. Every time.

The thing about Josuke is that, since the age of four, he decided that he wanted to be like the person who saved him when he and his mom were stranded in the snow. He saw the way that guy went out of his way to help a total stranger, showing kindness to people who needed it more than he could ever know, taking off his coat in the cold despite his own injuries just because it was the right thing to do, and he thought: "I want to be like that". Through that decision, he received the power to do just that. Over the years, he used that power again and again; for himself, for others, for everyone he could. And eventually, that's exactly the kind of person he grew into.

#jjba #jojo #josuke higashikata #diamond is unbreakable #jjba part 4 #character analysis #hunny rambles #i love josuke. i love josuke. i love josuke? i love josuke!!#this was Not supposed to be this long oops #but ITS OK because now josuke gets that many more words to describe how much I love him

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humanpurposes · 1 year

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My Heart Belongs to Daddy part ii, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // And if it feels good, then it can't be bad

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, daddy kink, spanking, degradation, questionable relationship dynamics, infidelity, mentions of grief/loss, no underage elements

Words: 5900

A/n: Thank you for the love on the first part! Let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming parts or follow me @humanpurposes for updates. Also available to read on AO3.

The wedding of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen is turning out to be exhausting and a little overwhelming. It’s been built up for months as the event of the year in King’s Landing, extravagant and scandalous, which describes the family rather well.

Every room in the Red Keep has been booked to accommodate the city’s elite. It’s a beautiful venue, an ancient redbrick castle overlooking the bay, once a home for royalty, now the flagship of a chain of luxury hotels, and the crowning jewel in the Targaryen empire.

She glances around the ballroom where the guests are mingling while they wait for the arrival of the newlyweds. It doesn’t take her long to spot her mother, martini in hand, making smalltalk with Corlys Velaryon, who just happens to own the largest shipping company this side of the Narrow Sea. Alys Rivers is nothing if not efficient.

They had been surprised to receive an invitation at all, but then Rhaenyra has always valued appearances above everything else. They had hardly heard from her since Harwin’s funeral, and even then it was funny half-smiles and overcompensating niceties to gloss over the obvious pain in her eyes. That’s the thing about Rhaenyra, you can never really tell what she’s thinking.

She looked other-wordly floating down the aisle in a white satin and lace gown. Her father, Viserys, CEO of Targ Corp and patriarch of the Targaryen dynasty, walked beside her. Maybe it was the lighting in the Sept or the red and black suit, but he looked pale, and his eyes were heavy and tired. Rhaenyra’s step-daughters, Baela and Rhaena, trailed behind them in matching maroon dresses, while the three Strong boys lined up beside Daemon at the altar. A picture perfect family.

She tried not to judge Rhaenyra too harshly for wearing white– damn purity culture and the misogyny that comes with it, but she couldn’t help but think how she preferred the vintage cocktail dress she wore when she married Harwin.

She’d been too young to remember that wedding, but she’d seen the photos enough times. There was one she especially loved, of the bride and groom on the front lawn of Dragonstone, smiling to each other like they had a secret (turns out they did when Jace was born eight months later), while she and Helaena stood in front of them. Their faces were round and chubby, scrunched into the confused frown toddlers make when they’re made to wear pale pink dresses and carry round baskets of rose petals.

Alys fell out with her parents in her mid teens. She always said it was her uncle Lyonel who was there for her, who saw her through to adulthood, who offered her a room when a shitty ex-boyfriend left her with no money and a positive pregnancy test when she was twenty-two. And having no siblings, she said Harwin was more like a brother to her than a cousin.

Losing one of them would have been hard enough, but losing both had been devastating. In a lot of ways it still is.

“Harwin was so dear to us all,” was all Rhaenyra had said to them on the day of the funeral. So dear it took her just over a year to marry her own uncle.

Not that she’s in much of a position to judge.

A large, gentle hand settles on her back and Aemond hands her a flute of champagne. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He means the ballroom. Gold paints the vaulted ceiling and trails down the walls, the pillars and the archways, as sunset bleeds in through the windows.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, trying to hide a grin.

They’ve managed to avoid each other all day until now. He sat with his siblings at the ceremony, while she and Alys were on a bench at the back of the Sept.

She allows herself a better look at Aemond’s suit; midnight blue, with a subtle floral pattern that would be easy to miss if her eyes were only skimming over it, and a baby blue tie that matches his eyes perfectly. He’s cropped his hair for the occasion too, it’s shorter at the sides but still long enough at the top to run her fingers through, to tug on. He looks beautiful. He always looks beautiful.

His hand stays in place against her back, unassuming but just firm enough to keep her on edge as he leads her further into the hall. “The decor was inspired by Versailles, but the hall itself dates back to the original Keep. You’re into this sort of stuff, aren’t you?”

She doesn’t know why he needs to ask. At this point he knows better than anyone what she’s ‘into’.

“This used to be the throne room,” she says, nodding to the platform at the end of the hall. “Imagine, the Iron Throne used to sit there and now it’s a stage for fucking a jazz band.”

The corners of his mouth curl into a reserved smile that makes her heart hum. Aemond is rarely one for obnoxious laughter, but then every time she can make him smile it feels like a little victory. It hurts a little too.

They settle at the edge of the room and his hand slips away, but he makes up for it when he leans into her, close enough that she can smell the dark, almost boozy scent of his perfume on his neck. “How are you doing, by the way?”

It’s a question she’s avoided asking herself. She spots Jace, Luke and Joff across the room, sitting down at a table with Aegon, Daeron and another guy she doesn’t recognise. They look happier than she feels, and suddenly she feels ridiculous for wallowing in her own self pity.

She shrugs. “Alright I think.”

Aemond’s face is somewhere between a frown and amusement, the face that means I can see right through you.

She shifts on her feet, looking for something else to focus on.

Larys Strong, she notices, is standing by the bar. They had run into him at the Sept, and though they’d definitely made eye contact, he made no attempt at conversation. He keeps his head low, only looking up to glare at Alys.

“Gods that man’s pathetic,” Aemond mutters, following her line of sight. “Not still upset about Harrenhal, is he?”

“Considering mum took half his clients when she left, I’d say yes. He’s always been good at holding grudges, creepy uncle Larys.” Harwin’s brother, director of what used to be King’s Landing’s most successful PR firm, recently overtaken by Rivers PR.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘creepy second cousin Larys’?” Aemond says with a little smirk.

“My version has better ring to it, rolls off the tongue easier.”

A hand suddenly slaps her shoulder and she nearly drops her glass. Aemond quickly takes it from her as Viserys Targaryen pulls her into a stiff embrace and makes a grand exclamation about love and family that she forgets to pay attention to.

She’s a little bewildered but manages to smile. “Good to see you again, Mr Targaryen,” she says. As she pulls away she catches the eye of the woman standing over his shoulder. Alicent Hightower has donned her usual shade of dark green in a velvet dress that compliments her auburn hair and elaborate gold jewellery perfectly. She has a particularly sour look on her face this evening.

“How are you, love?” Viserys asks. “Doing well I hope?”

A thousand thoughts flood her head, but she can already see the interest dying in his eyes. So she just nods.

“How is school, you’re still at school, aren’t you?”

“She’s at the university, dear” Alicent corrects him, “final year, yes?” Her lips thin as her eyes finally spares a glance for her son. “Two years behind Aemond.”

Mother and son exchange a vacant look.

“Yes,” she says, making her best attempt at Alys’ networking voice, “I study History–”

“Excellent! Well wonderful to catch up, and good to see you too, son.”

Aemond nods in acknowledgement as his parents move away to offer a similarly shallow greeting to the next group of guests. His breath tickles over her neck as he sighs. At least Rhaenyra tries to act friendly.

“I’m sorry–” she blurts it out, not really sure why she assumes it’s her fault.

He smiles. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s an uneasy feeling of guilt settling in her stomach. She knew Aemond wasn’t on the best of terms with his parents, but she hadn’t realised it had gotten to a point where they would hardly even look at him.

Her fingertips brush over his as he hands her back the glass.

She watches his eyes as they start to skim over her lavender summer dress, the thin straps running over her shoulders, the dainty gold necklace on her neck and the gathering of silky fabric at her bust.

“You look lovely by the way,” he says.

For a moment she forgets how to breathe. Maybe she should be used to his compliments and praises by now, but it still makes her nervous. “For a lovely occasion,” she says, taking a tentative sip.

“Hmm.”

“Not a fan of weddings?”

“Not overly fond. This…” he briefly sweeps his gaze around the room, at the endless arrangements of orchids and roses, the crystal centrepieces on the tables and the perfect smiles that are just a little too forced. “It’s all very pretentious.”

“I would have thought you like that, all the pomp and ceremony.”

He huffs a laugh as he takes her glass and casually brings it to his lips. “Call it a combination of circumstances.” He keeps his eyes on her as he tips the glass back.

She does the same, admiring the sharp features of his face, his jaw, his chin, his neck and the way it bobs when he swallows.

He “tsks” at the dryness of the champagne and hands her back the glass. “Things with my family have never been straightforward.”

But even less so over the last year, she imagines. For most of her life, the Targaryens existed at a distance. She and Alys used to see more of the Strongs– Harwin, Rhaenyra and the boys– for birthdays, the occasional family dinner and that summer they joined them at Dragonstone. But that was before things really started to get messy, before the lawsuits and the infighting.

None of it is helped by the fact that Viserys and Alicent despise Alys. They think she’s an opportunist, desperate for some profitable connections, stealing away their golden boy. She knows her mother better than that. Alys is less of an opportunist, more of a pragmatist, and to her credit she doesn’t pretend to be oblivious to the benefits of dating the son of the wealthiest man in Westeros.

She likes to think Aemond’s more than that though. A little less entitled than Rhaenyra, and certainly more motivated than Aegon, but brilliant in his own ways. He has a first class degree in International Relations from the University of Oldtown, a quiet but mysterious public persona, with a Hightower work ethic and an understated confidence, usually wrapped up in a Prada suit or a vintage leather jacket.

She finishes her drink before she asks, “have you spoken to Jace and Luke yet?”

His face darkens. Another point of conflict. Aemond had a falling out with the Strong boys when they were kids, something to do with inappropriate use of a kitchen knife on Luke’s part, resulting in the scar slicing down the left side of Aemond’s face. By some miracle it managed to spare his eye.

“Might be worth saying ‘hello’ at least?” She suggests.

He glances over at their table with his lips pressed together, rubbing his thumb over his index finger.

Before she knows it her hand is on his bicep, stroking her thumb over the fabric of his suit. It’s her usual reaction when she notices he’s anxious.

His eyes meet hers. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep inhale. “Maybe later,” he mutters.

A rush of cheers and applause announces the arrival of the bride and groom. Rhaenyra has changed from the elaborate gown she wore to the Sept to a black slip dress, with rows and rows of diamonds dripping from her neck. They make their way to the high table and the guests begin to settle at the round tables around the hall. She doesn’t look back to Aemond before she heads for Jace and the others.

Jace is in his first year at KLU studying politics. It’s a small campus and she often sees him hanging around the humanities block or in the library. Understandably he’s not been himself these last few months.

“Alright?” he says brightly, pulling her into the first genuine hug she’s received all day.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure?”

Jace seemed so much younger a year ago. All three of the Strongs seem to have grown up far too quickly. “It’s just been… things have changed so quickly.” He runs his fingers through his dark curls, grown down to his shoulders, she notices. “I just miss him, you know?”

She offers him a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, of course.”

“But Daemon’s great. He makes mum happy. That’s what matters most.”

She sits between Aegon and the other guy at the table and realises she vaguely recognises him. He looks older than Jace, with dark hair, surprisingly sleek stubble and silver direwolf cufflinks on his sleeves.

The dinner is infuriatingly exquisite; seared tuna, steak that almost melts in her mouth, followed by a raspberry and rose pastry and a lemon posset topped with purple primrose petals. It’s all pretentious and so very Targaryen.

Her eyes keep wandering. There’s a haunting kind of beauty about watching Daemon and Rhaenyra. They keep their fingers intertwined and share smug, knowing glances. They fit perfectly together, despite the taboo of it all.

Alys and Aemond are at a table with the Velaryons and Aemond’s sister, Helaena and her girlfriend. Alys keeps a hand over Aemond’s as she talks to Rhaenys and Corlys about some (no doubt dull) business venture, but she’ll make it sound brilliant. Her skills of persuasion are second to none.

She had half expected Aemond to follow her, but that was a stupid expectation, wasn’t it? She’s enough to fuck behind closed doors, not enough to sit beside at a wedding dinner.

She needs to stop getting her hopes up. She needs to stop looking for more from him because she’s only setting herself up for failure. But that’s just the problem, she wants to cling to every look, every hand against her back, every whisper in her ear, and convince herself that, whatever this is, that it’s for something more than just carnal desire.

She often finds herself wondering if Alys really loves Aemond. It started off as a casual thing, from what she could gather without wanting to know the details. Alys would go on these overnight ‘work trips’, which she suspected were really dates.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she came downstairs one morning to find Aemond Targaryen in the kitchen, leaning over the island and sipping an espresso. That was after his last fight with Alicent and Viserys. He had been planning to retreat to Aegon’s, but ended up spending the night with Alys instead.

She watches Aemond, running a slender finger over his fork, his eyes moving sceptically around the room, until they settle on her.

He smirks, and then he turns to strike up a conversation with his sister.

Alys certainly likes him enough to get him involved in Rivers PR, to let him live in their house and sleep in her bed.

What does he get out of it, she wonders?

“Got your eye on someone?”

The unfamiliar voice snaps her out of her trance. The boy with black hair is leaning into her.

She glances down at his cufflinks. “Stark?” She guesses.

“Cregan. My dad’s an old mate of Viserys’.”

He’s a politics student too, a classmate of Jace’s and captain of the KLU rugby team with the muscles to prove it. She recognises him a little better as they talk; he was at Baela’s Halloween party last year, though they hadn’t spoken then.

Jace shoots her a quick wink from across the table and inclines his head ever so slightly towards Cregan. She swears under her breath and rolls her eyes at him. Gods, as if she needs help from her cousin to get laid.

It’s Aegon who starts ordering rounds of shots. She tries to stick to champagne at first, until she looks across the room again. Aemond leans into Alys, as though he might kiss her, but she turns her head and his lips settle on her cheek.

After seeing that, she reaches for the tequila, met with cheering from Aegon and Daeron.

Daemon and Rhaenyra take to the floor and sway to a dreamy number played by the jazz band. Rhaenyra soon takes Helaena by the hand and Daemon grabs his girls to join them on the dancefloor.

She smiles as she watches them all, Rhaenyra and Helaena spinning around each other, Baela and Rhaena giggling at Daemon’s smooth moves that come straight from a 50s movie.

“I feel like we should go up,” Jace says.

Luke starts to groan but Joffrey is already up and dragging his brothers with him.

Aegon turns to her in his seat. The oldest of the Targaryen Hightower siblings and undisputedly the messiest, but she had found him the most approachable that Summer at Dragonstone. “What do you say, kid?”

How could she say no to that sly, self-assured grin and those puppy dog eyes? They’re a little duller than Aemond’s, closer to grey than blue. She lets him lead her to the dance floor.

As she and Aegon sway to the charming brass and bass, she wonders if Aemond is watching them. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of checking. Not just yet.

Aegon leans into her ear. She ignores the sour, bitter smell of alcohol on his breath. “How is Aemond?”

It takes her off guard. She finds herself a little perplexed, eyebrows raised and lips parted as she tries to think of an answer that won’t seem suspicious.

But having to think about it at all must be incriminating.

Does Aegon know? If he did know, why would he want to bring it up?

“Good, as far as I’m aware.”

Her internal crisis seems to evade his attention. His eyes move between the space over her shoulder and the floor as he gnaws slightly on his lip. “Look, I know this isn’t your problem, but I just worry about him.”

Aegon Targaryen, worried about his brother?

“He said things were difficult lately.”

“Gods yeah, things have been tense with dad trying to sort out his will. Mum and Rhaenyra have been at each other’s throats, then there’s granddad trying to get something out of it all. It’s a fucking mess.”

Realistically she doesn’t know him that well, but between their few interactions and what she’s heard from Jace and Luke, Aegon is easy to understand. It’s strange seeing him so concerned, about anything really.

He sighs heavily. “Then Aemond went and completely fucked up a contract with Storm’s End and mum was livid.”

“That’s it? They fell out over a work issue?”

“She needed it. She’s really pushing for Aemond to take over from dad, because Gods know once Rhaenyra’s in charge she’s not letting the Hightowers get a fucking look in.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I’m the designated disaster child, no one expects anything from me. Aemond’s always been perfect. And now he isn’t.”

It would explain the dramatics of it all.

“Are they happy? Him and Alys?”

She’s not sure how she should know, or what the criteria for ‘happy’ would even be.

“They must be. I don’t see why he would stick around otherwise.”

Aegon’s lips flash into a crooked smile that disappears as quickly as it comes. “I think he wanted to get out. I said he could come live with me, hells, he could afford his own place.”

“So why doesn’t he? Get his own place, I mean.”

“He likes the distraction, something to get him away from Targ Corp, and the rest of us, I suppose. I think he needed an escape.”

The pace of the music picks up in a flourish and Aegon spins her under his arm. Aemond is looking at them.

At some point in the night, the band is swapped for a playlist of songs everyone knows the words to, and closer to midnight the hall becomes a haze of thumping bass and sparse bursts of red and green lights. She loses count of the number of cocktails she’s had, all she knows is her mind is buzzing blissfully. She feels happy and careless, but one drink away from a nasty hangover in the morning.

Aemond is still at his table, sipping a glass of what she guesses is whisky. He loves an old fashioned, if they’re out for dinner or if he makes it himself at home. He talks to Rhaenys and Corlys, and has a brief exchange with Daemon and Rhaenyra when they come over to him, but other than that he just sits and watches her.

She’s not sure how she ended up dancing with Cregan. He wraps a large, muscular arm around her waist and holds her close against him.

He brings his lips to the shell of her ear, shamelessly letting them brush against her skin. It feels nice. “Sure you’ve not got your eye on anyone?”

She smiles even though he can’t see her face. “Why is it important?”

“I’m trying to figure out what my chances are here,” he says as his mouth moves along her cheek.

She giggles as she pulls away from him. “You’re lovely,” she says.

“But?”

A hand lands firm on her shoulder. She recognises his perfume and a cool steel ring against her skin.

She turns into Aemond and puts her hands on his chest. “Are you going to dance with me?”

Aemond holds her wrists and leans into her so that she can hear him over the music. “I think you look tired.”

“I don’t feel tired. Where’s Alys?”

He cocks an eyebrow like he’s irritated she would ask. “She went to bed an hour ago.” Then his mouth curls into a smug pout. “Do you want me to take you upstairs?”

He starts to stroke his thumbs over her hands and his eyes, though hard to make out through the darkness, are fixed on hers. She can’t quite catch her breath. “Yeah, I do.”

They don’t speak as they head up. Her room is on the third floor, and they could take the lift but a few other guests have had the same idea. Quicker and quieter to take the stairs.

Occasionally her hand brushes against the sleeve of his suit but he doesn’t react. She listens to his breath, heavy and pointed, and imagines he might want to say something but keeps deciding against it.

They reach the hall on the third floor, lined with mahogany panelling, vintage gold lamp shades mounted on the walls and patterns of dragons swirling in the red carpet. It’s empty, so she weaves her arm through his.

Aemond holds her arm tight. “Had a nice time?”

It was nice to see her Strong cousins. It was nice to chat to Baela, and get to know Rhaena a little better. It was nice to dance with Cregan and to know Aegon cares about his brother.

“Yeah,” she sighs, letting her head drop against his shoulder. “You?”

Aemond starts to tell her about a conversation he had with Corlys about some new customs regulations that could screw over his company. She likes to watch him when he’s explaining something, how he moves his hand around, how he tilts his chin up and presses his lips together when he’s thinking.

When they come to her door she drags herself away from him and swipes her keycard over the lock. The door is heavy and Aemond reaches over her to prop it open as he follows her inside.

He switches on the low lights and hovers by the door to the ensuite, muttering about tariffs while she slips off her heels and places her jewellery on the vanity.

He looks deliciously casual and self-assured, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, the warm lights dancing over his cheekbones and the shape of his nose. “...they just can’t compete with the Triarchy, not to mention the extra costs…”

His eyes drift to where she stands. They stare at each other for a moment. The silence is screaming at her.

“Who was the guy you were dancing with?” He asks.

“Friend of Jace’s. He studies politics.”

Aemond hums and smiles to himself. “Looked like the two of you were getting on very well.”

She could point out his poorly placed frustration and that their entire involvement revolves around someone else.

“Is that why you came over?”

He’s still smiling but there’s an intensity to his stare. He puffs his chest a little as he takes a slow breath. He taps his fingers three times against the wall. “Did you like him?”

Restraint is one of Aemond’s most defining traits, she thinks, everything about him is meticulously planned, and every decision is a considered one. Restraint is also his downfall in some cases. He rarely raises his voice or gives into his impulses, but he tries too hard to hold back and craft his perfect image. It excites her whenever she sees the cracks and inconsistencies in him. They feel sacred, another secret she gets to keep.

She takes a few slow steps towards him, until she can smell his perfume again. “I might have done.”

“Might,” he echoes. “If it weren’t for what?”

She tilts her head. His eyes are soft and his lips are parted. She holds the scarred side of his face in her hand and kisses him. She intends it to be slow and reassuring but it’s too easy to get lost in him. She presses herself into him and caresses the back of his neck and she deepens the kiss.

Until his other hand cups her head, lightly pushing her away. “I should go back to the party,” he whispers.

“Why?”

He takes a breath through his nose.

“Stay with me for a little while,” she says, nudging her forehead against his. “I need you.”

His face starts to light up, a familiar playfulness in the curl of his mouth. “Need me?”

She trails her fingertips down his shirt, tracing over his chest and the ridges of his abs, dangerously close to his belt. “Aemond, please.”

He walks forward and she stumbles with him until her back is against the opposite wall. He grips her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. “Try again, sweetheart.” His voice is low and it makes her feel weightless.

“Please, daddy,” she whispers.

He half growls a “hmm” before he pulls her into him to claim her mouth. His kiss is firm, slow and hungry. She was right about the whisky. She can taste it on his tongue and feel it tingling on her lips.

His knee slides under her dress, between her thighs, and pushes up. She gasps at the pressure and starts to rut her hips against him.

“You’re so eager,” he hisses, “what a desperate little slut I’ve made out of you.”

His hands slip under her thighs to carry her to the edge of the bed. He’s careful as he draws her dress over her head and lays it out over the armchair by the window.

He leans over her, laying her down, working lips, tongue and hands over every inch of her bare body. He starts by kissing her neck, sucking at the soft spot that always makes her melt. His hands run over her collar to her breasts, kneading and pinching her nipples between his fingers. Then he goes lower, planting a trail of kisses down the valley that leads to her waist and her stomach. Usually he likes to drag this out, treat her to divine torture until she had to beg, but tonight he is urgent, no less desperate than she is.

His hands run down her thighs, skimming one moment and squeezing the next. And then she feels his lips against her panties.

“Oh you do need me, don’t you?” He teases. “You’re already so wet for me, baby.”

She writhes against his mouth, desperate for just a little more friction. “Oh fuck, please, daddy, just–”

“Not yet.” He stands over her, slips off his suit jacket and starts to roll the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the pale skin of his forearms. “I’m going to take care of this pretty pussy, but first you’re going to tell me why the fuck you thought you could flirt with Stark, right in front of me.”

She gazes up at him. His expression is stern and intense, and she finds it thrilling.

He pulls her to her feet and takes her place sitting at the edge of the bed, running his hands over the silky fabric covering his thighs.

“Come here,” he orders, taking her hand and guiding her to drape herself over his lap. She can feel the bulge in his pants pressing into her stomach.

He’s gentle at first, stroking his palm over her ass, toying with different pressures and patterns.

The first slap is gentle.

“How many– ah!”

The second slap is harsher and she groans at the sting it leaves behind.

“You’re gonna take what I give you,” he says, stroking softly again while his other hand rests on her neck. “We’re done when I say we’re done.” Slap. “Understood?”

“Fuck!” She gasps, “yes, daddy.”

“Hmm, that’s my good little girl,” he says, running his other hand through her hair. It’s comforting, lulling her into compliance. “Now, have you got an answer for me?”

“I wasn’t trying to flirt,” she utters.

Her answer is met with a few succinct blows. She doesn’t care to count them. She breathes through it, focusing on the burn and controlling her reactions to it. She tries to keep her hips still, but she can feel her pussy throbbing and her arousal dripping between her legs.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Aemond warns. “You’re smarter than that, baby, I know you are.”

He switches between tenderness and pain so easily. Every time she feels his hand against her flushed skin her belly tightens and she starts to shiver, never quite sure what to expect.

“Do you know what I think?” He asks, slipping finger underneath her panties, circling through the wetness and the sensitive flesh of her pussy. “I think you’re just a needy little whore, desperate for my attention. But it’s okay baby, I know you can’t help it, right?”

She can’t help the broken whimper that escapes her throat as he inches closer to where she needs him most, or the cry that comes when he withdraws his touch delivers another stinging slap.

“Shh, baby,” Aemond coos, “I know it hurts but I need you to know you’re mine,” a point he emphasises with another few strikes that have her squealing and squirming over his lap.

“I’m yours,” she mewls.

Slap. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, daddy!” She cries, “only yours.”

He strokes his palm over her again and she grips the duvet, expecting another slap. Instead, he curls his fingers over the hem of her panties and slowly drags them down over her thighs. “I’m going to take care of you, baby,” he says, planting a kiss at the base of her neck, “just like I always do.”

Unable to form a response, she nods absentmindedly. The anticipation is driving her crazy but she trusts him completely.

He positions her with her back on the bed again, and kneels before her. He kisses along her thighs, groaning with satisfaction at her little whimpers and moans.

He leans in and kisses her pussy as sweetly and delicately as he would her cheek, letting his lips linger against her. “I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day,” he says, teasing her with gentle pecks and licks while his hands knead at her thighs. “You looked so pretty in your little dress, I couldn’t wait to take it off and have you laid out for me, just like this.”

She runs her hands through his hair as he deepens his movements, that delicious feeling rising and rising as he draws his tongue from her entrance, up to tease her clit, and back down again.

He slides a single finger in, letting out a soft groan at her slick and the sound it makes as he inches further in.

Her hips buck when he starts to flick his tongue over her clit, met by the weight of his hand against her stomach to hold her in place.

“Just relax, sweetheart, be a good girl for me, that’s it.”

Her eyes start to glaze over as her orgasm builds slowly. Agonisingly slowly. She stills her hips, fighting the urge to grind against his mouth. She’s left panting and groaning, desperate for more but she has to be good for him.

“Daddy,” she chokes, feeling a single tear stream down her temple. “Please… please…” she whimpers as she feels herself hurtling closer and closer to the edge. Just a little more and she’ll fall apart.

“There you go,” he hums, pushing deeper and working his tongue faster. “I want you to cum, baby, want you to finish all over my mouth.”

Finally she comes with a stuttering moan, back arched and pleasure rippling through her body, leaving her pleasantly numb in the afterglow.

Aemond presses a sweet kiss against her quivering cunt, trailing back up her body, coming to nuzzle into her neck.

“You alright?” He whispers. “I’m not being too harsh, am I?”

She turns her head to look at him. His eyes are so bright and his breath washes over her skin. He’s still wearing his shirt. She wants to tear it off him, feel every inch of him with no barriers or modesty.

It just slips out, mindless and simple, like a breath or a heartbeat. “I love you.”

He looks at her, wide-eyed and vague. She leans up to kiss him and he pulls away.

Then he comes to his feet, looming over the bed. He wipes his hand over his mouth and drags it over his chin.

She’s sure her heart has stopped beating. Why is he staring at her? Why hasn’t he said anything?

“I should…” His eyes dart around the room, to his suit jacket discarded on the floor. Then back to her, trembling, breathless and bare.

She props herself up onto her elbows, drawing her legs together. She’s never felt ashamed of herself in front of him before.

“Aemond?”

Suddenly he snaps out of whatever trance he’s been under.

“Night,” he mumbles, disappearing around the corner of the ensuite. The door opens. The door clicks shut.

Her hands shoot up to her hair, tugging and gripping, if only to have something to do with her hands. When it gets too painful she smooths her hands over her neck. Her pulse drums under her skin and beads of sweat trail down her back.

What the fuck was that?

Tags : @marthawrites @randomdragonfires @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #modern!aemond #modern au #house of the dragon fanfiction #stepdad!aemond #my heart belongs to daddy

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girlactionfigure · 5 months

Text

SHOT 12 TIMES

Story of the girl who survived being shot 12 times by Hamas

LEE KERN

NOV 21

Eden is 20 years old.

She works in Human Resources in the IDF.

On October 7th she woke up in her base to the sound of a rocket siren.

She went to the bomb shelter wearing her pyjamas and flip flops on her feet.

She sheltered there with six others.

But then they heard gunshots.

They knew something wasn’t right and that they weren’t safe in the shelter.

They decided to run for their command centre - which also serves as a safe room.

They fled the bomb shelter and were met with gunfire from behind.

As Eden ran in her pyjamas, her flip flops came off.

The first bullet went in her left leg.

She continued to run - the adrenalin carrying her on.

She couldn’t see what happened to anyone else in the chaos.

She now knows two people were killed in that volley of fire.

She also knows that three escapees went to their bedroom to hide.

One was shot in the stomach.

Eden continued to run barefoot as bullets rang out.

She arrived outside the command centre.

There are two security doors.

She opened the first door with the code.

The second door wouldn’t open for her.

Other escapees had already arrived and were inside the room.

Eden believed the terrorists were behind her and told those hiding in the room.

They shouted through the door. They told her to run around the building to the back door.

Eden believed if she attempted to get to the back door she would die. She also believed if she stayed she would die.

She ran to the back door.

The soldiers let her in.

They tried to bandage her wound.

There were six people in the room.

There were only two guns.

Eden was 2nd in command.

And then the terrorists tried to break in.

For forty minutes.

For forty minutes they threw grenades against the door, trying to break in so they could kill the people inside.

Though shot in the leg, Eden she thought she’d be ok in the safe room.

There were two doors between them and the terrorists.

The terrorists used an RPG and broke through the first door.

The terrorists started throwing grenades at the second door.

Eden phoned her boyfriend and family and said her goodbyes. She thanked them for everything they’d done for her and asked them to pray.

Eden then received a message on her phone from a friend.

She opened it.

Eden glanced at the photo that downloaded before realising what it was and holding the phone away from herself.

It was a photo of a dead friend outside.

The terrorists had stolen the phone of a soldier they had killed - taken a photo of his corpse - and then sent the photo to Eden inside the room they were breaking into. Eden later discovered the terrorists had also sent the photo to the boy’s mother and uploaded it to his instagram page for his followers to see. In the photo they had broken in his face and teeth.

Eden realised the gravity of the situation. The terrorists had come to kill.

The terrorists continued to throw grenades at the last door.

Eden and her friends pointed their two guns at the door and waited.

Eden sent one last voice message to her father. In it you can hear the gunshots and the grenade that blew open the final door.

There was no more contact after that.

The first terrorists stormed in.

Eden waited to die. She accepted death and waited.

Those soldiers holding the guns managed to shoot two terrorists.

And then came in the grenade.

After the grenade came the gun fire.

For five minutes.

Eden was hit by several bullets.

Each bullet going into her felt like a boom in her body.

She laid down quietly and pretended to be dead.

With the bullets inside her she prayed not to be kidnapped.

After silence came she heard them talking in arabic.

They began rifling through people’s pockets and stealing phones.

Then they fired more bullets into Eden and the others on the floor in darkness.

She received the bullets in silence.

Then they left.

She waited several minutes.

This is how the dead feel, she thought.

She felt someone’s breath on her arm.

There was another survivor.

They had received one bullet.

Eden was happy she wasn’t alone.

They held hands and laid in the darkness.

All the while in the distance they could hear gunshots.

They held hands for four hours.

One of Eden’s other friends was dead and bleeding on her.

Eden pushed their body off.

There was blood everywhere in the room.

She didn’t know whose blood belonged to who.

Eden touched her body to find her wounds.

She and the other survivor took a shirt to try to make a dressing.

Eden wanted to escape but couldn’t move.

She tried to phone for help but the terrorists had destroyed the antenna.

So she just laid there in the dark feeling the bodies of her dead friends against her.

She thought of her family.

She thought she has to stay alive.

She wanted to sleep.

Her friend woke her up every time she drifted into unconsciousness.

After four hours of lying in dark like this they heard Hebrew voices.

They were scared it could be a trick.

Some people entered the room.

Eden felt confident it was the IDF.

She raised her hand out of the pile of bodies.

She was seen.

Eden was taken to a hospital.

She has now been in hospital for a month.

She had four hours of surgery the first day.

She has had five surgeries altogether.

She had 12 bullets enter her in total.

No one can tell Eden how long she’ll be in hospital.

She can’t stand.

She feels ok, relative to what she has experienced.

It takes her time to sleep.

Her story on October 7th began with a siren.

She gets anxiety when she hears sirens.

There are a lot of sirens in Israel because their neighbours frequently try to kill them.

END

Eden wanted this picture shown.

#Israel #October 7 #Hamas Massacre #IDF #Lee Kern #Eden

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miracles-and-butterflies · 5 months

Text

The second wip of the Reincarnation AU series; Isabela’s death.

Featuring another sketch at the end.

Time skip of fourteen years. What happened between Mirabel and Isabela’s deaths? You’ll never know.

Comments are always appreciated.

Warning, sensitive topics below: murder and character death.

~~~~~~

So Much Hides Behind My Smile

“Knock, knock? Mi flor? Are you in there?” Someone asks, opening the door.

Isabela is sat at her vanity, carefully taking out the flowers she’d woven into her hair that morning. From the mirror’s reflection, she can see Milagro stood in the doorway, her family going about minding their own business just behind.

It had been a busy day, of course. Her perfect, albeit long awaited, wedding.

“Of course, mi vida. Did you need something?”

“I just came to see you,” he answered, shutting the door behind him. He laughed, walking over to her, just about to set a hand on her shoulder. “Well, it’s been a long day but we’ve finally made it to the wedding night—”

“Get the fuck out of my room.” Isabela snarls.

Milagro blanks for a minute. “Um… where else am I meant to sleep?”

“I don’t care. It’s not my problem.” She seethes, turning back to the mirror.

“In case the rest of the day didn’t clue you in, mi flor, we are unfortunately husband and wife now. It very much is your problem. And from what I understand, the sooner you have a baby, the happier your Abuela will be. Which you’ll have a hard time achieving if you don’t want me here.”

“If you so much as touch my shoulder, I will rip your penis off and feed it to my carnivorous plants.”

Neither says anything more.

But it takes exactly two seconds for them to act.

Milagro goes to charge his entire body into hers but is yanked onto the floor by throned vines, as Isabela throws herself straight onto him.

“How dare you treat me like this!?”

“How dare you!? This is my room and don’t you forget it!”

“Just because you’re a Madrigal doesn’t mean you can get away with everything, princesa!”

They scratch and hiss and hit like wild jaguars, fighting over the last scrap of meat.

It just keeps going.

Not only does he deserve it and worse, she can let out all the steam that’s been building inside her.

~~~~~~

“A perfect match,” Alma hummed, as Bruno poured them all another round of wine. “Isabela deserves the best and that is what she has. They will both bring so much good to the Encanto.”

“I can’t believe it. Where has the time gone?” Bruno added.

Pepa nodded, still drying her hair. “It feels like just yesterday Isabela was born and now she’s married and going to have babies of her own.”

“That will be our Lolita soon,” Félix smiled.

“I’m too young to have grandchildren! We’re too young to have grandchildren! No offence, Mama.”

Alma was in too good a mood to even remotely care.

“Is it really Dolores’ wedding next?” Bruno asked, teasing. “Because I had a little peek into the future and I saw—”

“NO! DON’T YOU DARE RUIN IT! I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!” Pepa shrieked.

Bruno held his hands up in surrender as his sister began a play fight with him, Félix laughed riotously.

“Hey, I was only kidding!”

“Well, I don’t believe you!”

Alma chuckled too, before getting up. “I am going to check on Julieta and Agustín.”

“You do that,” Félix said. “I’ll keep an eye on these two.”

The rest of the grandkids, all of whom were drunk, were out in the courtyard, hyper as anything.

Camilo, Antonio and a variety of animals were dancing while Dolores played some lively tune on her bandola; Luisa singing a completely different song over the top.

Honestly, you wouldn’t know they were adults.

On any other day, she would probably have scolded them and sent them to bed. For now though, she is happy enough to just leave them. They aren’t hurting anyone or causing any trouble, to be fair.

Agustín and Julieta were sat quietly in another room, without the wine. Julieta has been in an odd state for the past few years with seemingly new cure, and Agustín has always preferred to keep some distance from his mother-in-law when he can help it.

But they should be together right now. This is Isabela’s day and they have all been her biggest supporters.

“They certainly make the happy couple,” Alma said, taking a seat beside them.

“Indeed.” Agustín agrees. “I had my doubts about this match, but I’m glad that I’ve been proved wrong.”

“So long as my girls are happy, then I’m happy.” Julieta declares.

“Well, mija, I can attest that Luisa is definitely happy.” She paused, trying to get the pair to hear the carryon happening outside. “And trying to make herself a soprano, apparently.”

After some wonky, forced long note from Luisa, they broke into laughter.

“It’s nice to see the kids are still enjoying life and spending time together,” Agustín remarked, smiling fondly.

Julieta’s smile drops.

“Not all of them.”

~~~~~~

Long after Milagro is gone and her temper has cooled, Isabela heads downstairs.

It’s late now.

The rest of the family is in bed. Or at least in their rooms.

She doesn’t know where Milagro went after she kicked him out, probably the guest bedroom, but she doesn’t care enough to check. He can sleep outside for all she cares.

She heard some footsteps on the way to the kitchen, but brushed them off.

One of Antonio’s animals, no doubt.

In the kitchen, she makes her way over to the coffee pot. It’s half full, just needs to be reheated - no doubt Luisa has beaten her to their usual midnight drinks.

Casita takes over, sliding her signature cup along to her.

“What do you think of all this, Casita?”

A few tiles clink.

“Mirabel? I’d be lectured for at least two hours about failed marriages in history or something if she was still alive.” Isabela glanced to the side. “Can’t imagine how she’d take this… knowing I just went back.”

More clinking.

“Well, what was I meant to do? I couldn’t say no.”

A cupboard smacks her shoulder, lightly.

She chuckled. Taking off the wedding ring.

“Haha, good point. You know, I always thought getting out of the Guzmán engagement would make me happy, and now I’m about two seconds away from committing murder.”

The beams squeak supportively.

“It’s nice to know someone’s got my back.”

The coffee pot, ready, is tilted over Isabela’s cup, filling it to the brim.

“Maybe I’ll let it happen. Let the family see he’s awful and then I’ll be free.”

It smells as good as usual, there’s an underlying hint of something that isn’t coffee though. She shrugs, and drinks it anyways.

Luisa’s been drunk since the ceremony ended, who knows what she’s put in here since. It’s probably alcohol - that she’s added in some spark of creativity. And Isabela isn’t too against the idea of alcohol in her coffee at all - it’s an idea she’ll try later, when she isn’t about to go to bed.

It doesn’t taste any different though.

She lets Casita dispose of the ring.

She returns to her room steadily, not paying much attention to the beautiful decorations that have been hanging since this morning.

It’s one of the odd times where she wasn’t the one to decorate Casita in her flora - it was her day. Abuela had made it very clear that she didn’t want Isabela to lift a finger.

She never really got a chance to admire them this morning either. She’s spent most of the day outside of Casita and when they have been home, she was in her room, getting ready with Dolores, her maid of honour.

Ah well.

They will still be there tomorrow.

All that matters now is that she’s alone, out of that hideous wedding dress and can sleep off her frustration with a drink.

She doesn’t bother switching on the light, just clambers into bed and setting the cup on her bedside table.

The café con leche is as inviting as always.

[Note reads, not in Isabela’s handwriting:

Dear family,

This is not about you, this is about me. I can’t cope with the pressure of being the perfect Madrigal any longer. I was not made to be a wife and mother - my most sincere apologies to Milagro, mi vida. I tried. You should not blame yourselves. I hope whatever is is next is better than this.

— Isabela]

#encanto #encanto reincarnation au #isabela madrigal #alma madrigal #julieta madrigal #agustín madrigal #pepa madrigal #félix madrigal #bruno madrigal #luisa madrigal #dolores madrigal #camilo madrigal #antonio madrigal #mirabel madrigal #my writing #my art #encanto fanart

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throneofsapphics · 8 months

Note

Hii how are you!!

I just got an idea and want to share it with you

Manorian x reader and she gets VERY drunk because something is really upsetting her, and when manorian finds her and freaks out, carrying her back home, she accidentally spills everything

bottom of the bottle's always dry

Manorian x f!Reader

Summary: Reader finally breaks down.

Warnings: grief, death of a parent, alcohol abuse, not proofread

A/N: hi! I’m doing pretty good! I love the idea but this got a teensy bit heavy, thank you for the request!

She put on a good front, she always did. No matter what, her mother taught her to hold herself together in the face of anything, to keep her composure. Even with her death, it felt wrong to break that lesson. She had to, had to be the strong one for her friends and family. She cried the appropriate amount, grieved the appropriate length, and comforted others how she should.

Manon and Dorian were there for her every step of the way, always asking if she needed anything, always providing comfort - but it was comfort she couldn’t bring herself to lean into. Independent and stubborn to a fault.

One month and a bottle of whiskey later, she felt the cracks begin. Still, she smiled in front of her friends, stayed long enough, made the right excuses, and left the tavern as soon as she could. Her hand braced on the brick wall, taking in steady breaths to try and clear her head. She slipped into an alley, sliding her back down the wall to sit. Just for a minute, just to get her bearings.

It was nearing half past three in the morning, and Manon began to panic. Taverns in rifthold closed no later than two, and y/n said she’d be home tonight. She’d never broken that word, if she said she was going to be somewhere - that’s where she’d be.

“She might have crashed at a friends.” Dorian offered. She could scent the anxiety on him, even from across the room. He sat in an armchair, leg bouncing, and eyes gazing towards the door.

“You know that’s bullshit.” She snapped.

He let out a slow exhale, before standing. “Let’s go find her then.”

It shouldn’t be that difficult to track her down. They never pried or asked, but she always told them where she’d be anyway. They changed into more discreet clothes, Manon not bothering to hide any of her weapons, and slipped out one of the side exits of the castle, pulling up their hoods.

“Gods, how much did you drink?” She blinked, staring up at them, her pupils wide and dilated. She absolutely reeked of alcohol - and crouched in an alley of all places. Not a sketchy one, but still, she was either sleeping or doing a very good job of feigning it when they arrived. She placed a hand behind her, trying to raise herself to her feet. Dorian caught her as she stumbled, and frowned.

Y/n had never been this drunk, as far as he knew. Always composed, always put together.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Manon snarled at her, and Dorian cut her a sharp look.

“Not here,” he muttered under his breath. He slung an arm under her shoulders, propping her up to start the trek home. Hopefully they wouldn’t encounter too many people - and would get back into the castle discreetly. Manon stalked ahead of them, her mere presence clearing the path of any wanderers. With Dorian’s hood, and a bit of magic disguising them, they managed to avoid attention from any onlookers. If she even remembered this tomorrow, he wanted to spare her as much embarrassment as possible.

Their progress was slow, Dorian keeping y/n from tripping and stumbling with every other step. Manon had paused in front of them, and without a word to him she grabbed y/n, slinging her over her shoulder, and stalked back towards the castle. He sighed, but matched her pace.

She didn’t bother fighting Manon as she slung her over her shoulder, with the witch’s temper she was better off keeping her mouth shut. Even if her head was still spinning. Dorian cast worried glances her way every one in a while, and she pointedly ignored them. Every step closer to the castle, she felt part of her crack - part of her start to crumble. If she met his gaze now, she might break into tears.

Manon not-so-gently dumped her on the couch before stalking away, returning moments later with a glass of water. “If I give this to you, are you going to spill it all over yourself?” She snapped.

Y/n glared at her, and took the glass from her. Her hands were shaking - but not for the reason she thought. A few sips of water, and she placed it to the side, mentally preparing herself for what would come next.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dorian started. Her eyes went wide, normally it was Manon who lost her temper, who snapped about something first.

“I needed to get,” she paused, trying to get the words to come correctly, “less dizzy.” Against her will, her words slurred together.

“You’ve never been this wasted before,” he growled, “what the fuck were you thinking? Hiding in some alley? Anything could’ve happened to you.”

Something about his words, his tone, broke down the final wall that had been crumbling all evening. “I don’t care,” her voice rose, “I don’t care. She’s gone. I can’t do anything right, I can’t be what everyone needs me to be. I’m fucking tired of it.” She tried to stand, but stumbled back into her seat.

Manon exchanged an alarmed glance with Dorian as y/n spoke, and as angry tears started to stream down her face, her fists clenched. “She’s gone, and I can’t even be the damn person she taught me to. I can’t fucking keep it together anymore.”

She, she’s talking about her mother. Manon frowned, trying to put the pieces together.

“Nobody said you need to keep it together.” Dorian tried to soothe, taking a seat next to her. She nearly screamed in frustration.

“She did. She told me to and I’m failing.”

“She’s dead.” Manon said bluntly, and ignored Dorian’s warning glare. Maybe it’s not the nicest or kindest delivery, but she’d tell y/n what she needed to hear. “Whatever she taught you to be, it’s bullshit.” She watched as y/n bit down on her lower lip, trying to let her words sink in. She’d probably have to repeat this when she was sober, and Manon huffed.

“We don’t care what everyone needs you to be,” Dorian said quietly, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Thankfully, some of the earlier anger seemed to melt away as she leaned into him, closing her eyes. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, but right now you will let us help you.”

Manon raised a brow at him, at the demanding tone. He rolled his eyes. But - if it would work for now, she’d take it.

She ‘let’ them take care of her that night, not that she had much of a choice - considering how drunk she was, but the fact that she wasn’t fighting them on it was enough to bring a ghost of a smile to Manon’s face. It disappeared quickly as she held her hair back, trying to rub soothing circles on her back as Dorian fetched some tonics to help.

#throne of glass fic #throne of glass imagine #manorian x y/n #manorian x reader #manorian imagine #poly!manorian #poly!manorian x reader #poly!manorian x y/n #manon blackbeak x y/n #manon blackbeak x reader #dorian havilliard x y/n #dorian havilliard x reader

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fangsforiris · 21 days

Note

Hi, i love your account! I wuold like to ask the reaction of the Sakamaki's and the Mukami's to Megan Fox in "Jennifer's Body" (2009). If you do, Ty! ❤️❤️

Hi love, thank you so much!!! I'm sorry for how long this took me, as I was busy with some work.

I really appreciate the support, and I hope this take was good!!

Just a TW for Cannibalism, as Jennifer's Body does have such themes. Overall, enjoy.

Word Count: 4527 Topics: Jennifer Check (Pre-Possession), Jennifer Check (Post-Possession) & Jennifer's Relationship with Needy

Sakamaki & Mukami’s Reaction to Jennifer from Jennifer’s Body!

Jennifer Check (Pre-Possession)

Sakamaki’s:

Shuu (Ririe):

・❥・ Shuu normally likes confident girls, ones who garner attention and know how to make a statement whilst being secure within themselves.

・❥・ His taste ranges, either he’d go for the typical ‘shy girl,’ someone who’d be easy to manipulate and fluster.

・❥・ OR someone who’s a bit of a challenge. Someone who has the confidence and isn’t afraid to show it. It makes for great sport, and it’s one of the only times you’ll see this man work.

・❥・ Usually, he lets his partner (in any case) do all the work, so to see a difference in power dynamic either will annoy him to a degree, or will get him into it.

・❥・ He can obviously tell if someone’s attractive, and ding ding ding– does Jennifer meet his standards.

・❥・ Shuu is canonically into the whole ‘Femme Fatale’ woman. So anyone who’s a maneater, even more so in this case, has his interest peaked.

・❥・ Considering how he definitely used to be somewhat of an ‘it’ boy himself, he can understand the infatuation and commotion over Jennifer.

・❥・ Would he act on anything, though? Not necessarily. Since she’s in the spotlight, he most likely won’t want to chase anyone.

・❥・ After all, Shuu has people attracted to him. Begging for him. Never the other way around.

・❥・ He’d rather die than pursue anybody.��

・❥・ In the rare case that she pursued him, he’d play along, using her only for entertainment before leaving her high and dry and wanting more.

・❥・ Realistically, he wouldn’t want to pay her any mind, though. Considering that just because she happens to be popular, doesn’t mean she’s all that.

Reiji:

・❥・ Reiji does like confident women, but would he go for someone like Jennifer? Not really.

・❥・ He’s more into those who are driven, ones who are studious and focused on their future with drive.

・❥・ The ones who are very secure with themselves that it’ll take a notch or two to break them in.

・❥・ However, he’s very perceptive. He’ll pick up on a few hints and clues that’ll suggest her mentality and subtle insecurity with everything that she does.

・❥・ Kind of how Shuu goes into his analytic mode.

・❥・ It’ll all tally up at the end, and depending on how it plays out maybe then he’ll use her as a test subject.

・❥・ In reality, he’d see Jennifer as a challenge.

・❥・ In the sense that he’d find it as entertainment to see how far he could push someone like her, and how long until she’d break.

・❥・ He wouldn’t be sloppy, and wouldn’t risk actually doing her harm that he knows can’t be reversible, since, of course, she’s in the spotlight and a constant magnet of attention.

・❥・ But realistically, would he go out of his way for a human that’s like most girls in their school? Definitely not.

Laito:

・❥・ Laito, like Ayato, is into women who absorb the spotlight.

・❥・ Seeing a pretty, charismatic, popular girl is exactly his type and he’d use every single charm in the book to spend a night or two with her.

・❥・ Perhaps flash his sly grin, learn her schedule, stalk his prey. You know, that sort of thing.

・❥・ Especially since Jennifer would remind him of his mother.

・❥・ With the whole promiscuous behaviour, subtle insecurity that she hides with her looks and a not-so-obvious facade, especially with her need for male attention. Laito would surely exploit this.

・❥・ He’d degrade her even. Making her question herself potentially.

・❥・ It would go both ways for him. He’d either be really into Jennifer, or attempt to kill her as a way of imposing his trauma and being rid of it slowly.

・❥・ However, he’d drift to wanting to get with her, just like Ayato.

・❥・ Honestly, those two are very similar in their tastes. They like a fun, popular, go-lucky girl that makes the night worth it.

・❥・ Laito would like the competition. The fact that everyone wanted Jennifer, coupled with her obvious attractiveness, helps with her ‘market value.’ As Laito would put it.

・❥・ He has a track record for going for these types of girls, as those who market themselves as ‘prudes’ ignites his interest to want to ‘corrupt’ them.

・❥・ If any of his brothers wanted to join him, since it’s canon that he’s into voyeurism/is a voyeur, it’d most likely turn him on tenfold.

Kanato:

・❥・ Realistically, he’d find her attractive, just as anyone would. After all, what else are the glasses and contacts for, right?

・❥・ Is Jennifer his type of woman? No.

・❥・ He’s into a softer, more docile woman. However, depending if Jennifer would show interest in him, he’d somewhat play along.

・❥・ Make no mistake, if Kanato doesn’t get what he wants he will turn on her. After all, he is who he is with his bratty tendencies.

・❥・ If he’s going for someone of her popularity, admittedly it’d urk him. Especially since Kanato doesn’t like being in the spotlight.

・❥・ Perhaps he’d admire her from afar, shame her and make small remarks to his Teddy as she passes by his locker. The small stuff.

・❥・ He wants to avoid anyone who even has a slight resemblance to his late mother. The thought of being with someone even close to her provocative, ‘whorish,’ tendencies ignites a lost trauma in him that he doesn’t want to deal with.

・❥・ If he absolutely needed to, he’d trap her and use her as prey before discarding her.

・❥・ But this is unlikely, since he, as well as anybody, knows his brother’s types and would want to avoid any discourse with them at all costs. Especially if he knows there is no point.

・❥・ Since he knows this is the type Ayato and Laito get off on, he’d leave her to their wants and desires.

Ayato:

・❥・ If there’s one thing this boy likes, it's girls who know how to attract attention.

・❥・ He’s definitely into the popular cheerleaders, the ones who’d be there for most of his matches and cheer him on.

・❥・ And Jennifer? Fits every single box for his criteria.

・❥・ He’s into the hot, popular chicks who everyone wants but can’t have. Something that’ll give him an excuse to show off is more than enough for him to start taking names.

・❥・ He’d probably even get possessive over her. Start acting all territorial because of his insistent need to one up everyone.

・❥・ Ayato would not be able to tell if Jennifer had any insecurities since he’s so caught up in the fantasy of taking something that everyone wants.

・❥・ He’d treat her like property, acting as if he owned her because of his slight interest in her. (Like how he did with Yui on day 1.)

・❥・ Ayato would most definitely scare off any guys who try to go after ‘his prey.’ It ruins the fun for him and as we all know, he isn’t that keen on sharing.

・❥・ Ayato would be trying to find her every single second of the day. Like no joke, you’d think they were attached by the hip. He wouldn’t let her leave and would get crazy upset if she tried to disobey what he wanted at the moment.

Subaru:

・❥・ Subaru wouldn’t want to get that concerned with someone like Jennifer.

・❥・ He’s quite shy around women, and with his obvious trust-issues, all that’s going off in his mind are alarm bells.

・❥・ He’s afraid of dealing with any woman again after what happened with his mother, so since that’s realistically all he knows, he’d keep her at arms length.

・❥・ He’d find her attractive, thinking that she’s pretty, this, that, and the third.

・❥・ But he’d be pretty unnerved to go up to her or even say anything. Especially knowing what his brothers might do. That’s what would mainly put him off.

・❥・ His brothers have eyes all around the school, whether it be friends, teachers, staff, and their personal familiars, they’re always watching.

・❥・ So if he were to suddenly show interest in any girl, especially a popular pretty girl that everyone wants, he’d never hear the end of it.

・❥・ He, along with Jennifer, have an insecurity which they base their entire personality off of. Jennifer tends to hide it better, but Subaru? He’s a total train wreck.

・❥・ He would never live it down if his brothers or the new circle of Mukami’s and Tsukinami’s + Kino that surround themselves within his presence had caught him with a little stupid crush.

・❥・ He would, however, gain more confidence in himself if he were tipsy. Making it easier for him to loosen up without the constant stress and reminders that he’s not good enough and could never be with someone as unattainable as Jennifer.

Mukami’s:

Ruki:

・❥・ Like Reiji, someone like Jennifer wouldn’t be someone he’d actively pursue.

・❥・ As in, he’s too busy to care about someone like her when he has his brothers and ‘The Adam and Eve’ plan to fulfill.

・❥・ He would keep more of a lookout for Yui at this time, perhaps even compare the two women in hopes of bringing Yui down.

・❥・ He’d see her just as every other popular girl at school, wouldn’t necessarily have any notion or reason as to why he’d care about a human.

・❥・ He’d barely have any actual, physical interactions with her, so that being said, why would Ruki care?

・❥・ On the slight chance that they do have interactions, he’d find himself curious as to what makes her tick.

・❥・ More specifically, what exactly is it that people are finding themselves interested in? After all, she’s just a mere human, right?

・❥・ He’d think the same for Yui, before realizing that unlike Jennifer, Yui has some degree of value to him. Even if it’s not as conventional.

・❥・ If Reiji was to pursue her, or show mild interest, I suppose he would too. Considering the competitive streak those two have going on.

・❥・ Canonically, Ruki does things to purposely spite Reiji, so it wouldn’t be so far off the mark if he were to mess around with a human to gain a reaction.

・❥・ It’s all in good fun, and after he’s done with toying around with Reiji and the girl (Jennifer,) he’d get back to what’s truly important.

・❥・ As in my opinion, Ruki’s drive for the plan even at some points outweighs how much he’d care about his own wellbeing along with Yui’s. Or anyone for that matter.

Kou:

・❥・ Kou would be interested in a popular girl. By all means.

・❥・ He himself understands the appeal and need to put up a front, especially for his fans due to his idol profession.

・❥・ Even if beauty is skin deep and on the surface level, Kou wouldn’t mind joining the train to appreciate it. He has a large appreciation for pretty things with appeal.

・❥・He especially loves the popularity, and to gain more fans by coexisting with Jennifer? He’s all ears.

・❥・Kou would definitely send a few flirty remarks her way, maybe even walk her to class to pass the time.

・❥・He’d immediately notice her reactions to the students deaths and figure something was off. Her carefree demeanour would be a pinpoint.

・❥・However, at the start he might chalk it up to different reactions to trauma or just a more over-the-top optimistic attitude.

・❥・Kou would use this as a chance to manipulate her if he truly needed something. It’s just keeping his options open, and considering how he always looks for the dual-uses in everyone he meets, it won’t be any different for Jennifer.

Yūma:

・❥・ Yūma honestly wouldn’t be that into someone like Jennifer.

・❥・ Sure, she’s definitely conventionally attractive by all means, but he wouldn’t want to care as much as messing with a girl of her social stance.

・❥・ He’d find it to be more of a hassle, especially with the Sakamaki’s chasing after her and getting all over her. He wouldn’t want to waste his time with someone who’s like the rest.

・❥・ He’s also really into independence. As in, for anyone to have something for themselves, he loves how driven people can be.

・❥・ For Jennifer, I don’t think he’d strike her as a girl with those same priorities in mind.

・❥・ Yūma would only see her as someone who could just be used to pass the time with, if the case called for it.

・❥・ Sure, Jennifer tends to be independent in some things, but the same energy isn’t being put into these important things which would turn Yūma away from the whole appeal.

・❥・ Yūma’s more of a bully-type if anything, and if he were to see her around the halls and saw any of the Sakamaki’s interact with her he’d definitely say a few remarks. Just to keep himself in the loop.

・❥・ He doesn’t care for superficial things, Yūma likes authenticity and being real. Most of the girls at his school are a cut and paste version of a blueprint who most likely lack the drive and ambition he prizes.

・❥・ So for someone like Jennifer, who prizes looks a lot, and isn’t exactly the kindest to her best friend, whilst caring for validation from others, to step into the picture… Yūma would disregard it and move on.

Azusa:

・❥・ Azusa would think she’s pretty, perhaps get lost in thought thinking about her.

・❥・ If he were to approach her, I don’t think it’d turn out the way he’d like it too.

・❥・ Azusa has this fear factor to him, not necessarily the ‘scream and run for your lives’ sort of factor, but the unsettling, unnerving factor which leads people to often misunderstand him.

・❥・ Especially with the whole ‘suicidal maniac’ vibe he’s got going on. And with his slower-than-normal processing.

・❥・ Jennifer would probably degrade him, call him names and slurs and want him to get away from her if he starts to bring up his knife collection or acts as standoffish as he does in the anime when first meeting Yui.

・❥・ He’s kind, and would mostly go for someone else who outlines that sort of mojo.

・❥・ If he saw her acting as impassive and indifferent as she does in the movie, I doubt he’d be interested in her.

・❥・ It would most likely remind him of the girl from his childhood at the orphanage, Christina, who bullied and abused him, which built up his masochistic needs.

・❥・ So if he were to see that side of Jennifer, he’d definitely be interested, but only in the sense of wanting to be degraded and pushed around.

・❥・ Unfortunately, Azusa is somewhat of a pushover in the sense that he’d allow anyone to step all over him, but only react if someone were to do that to his brothers. (He’s such a sweet boy.)

・❥・ If Azusa knew his brothers had an interest in her, he’d back off immediately. He respects and values them too much.

・❥・ If he truly liked and had a crush on Jennifer, he would give it up and take the pain, rather than losing all he has left (his brothers.)

Jennifer Check (Post-Possession)

Sakamaki’s:

Shuu (Ririe):

・❥・ Shuu definitely didn’t see that coming. Like at all.

・❥・ He’d have prior knowledge of the type of demon she was, considering how studious he used to be in his childhood.

・❥・ His ‘Femme Fatale’ turning out to be more trouble than it's worth was not something he’d be very excited or keen on dealing with. He’d most likely leave it to the others (Reiji) to deal with, only stepping in if he absolutely has to.

・❥・ He wouldn’t want to be a potential target, mostly because it’d be too much of a bother, but on the flipside, he’d be very unsettled.

・❥・ The entire cannibalism thing definitely unsettles him, like he feels the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand up at the thought, coupled by the goosebumps.

Reiji:

・❥・ Reiji has definitely heard of the Succubi/Succubus demon type. Considering how thorough this man’s research is.

・❥・ He’d be the most equipped to take out Jennifer if needed, especially if he finds himself in the position of becoming a potential target.

・❥・ You know how Needy did her research in the library? He most definitely has all those books at his disposal in his personal library and the library found within the Sakamaki Mansion.

・❥・ Reiji would be the most logical about this, taking measures to not have the fact that demons and vampires are found/revealed to be in the school.

・❥・ After all, that would be a catastrophe that even he doesn’t want to deal with. And Karlheinz’s reaction? There’s no telling what wrath would unleash. So safe to say Reiji would be quick on time and take care of the situation before it became worse.

Laito:

・❥・Laito, along with his triplet brothers are part demon, so a succubi demon isn’t exactly shocking.

・❥・It’d be rare to see one outside of Makai (The Demon World) and he’d probably bring it up mindlessly with his brothers.

・❥・Hell, you wouldn’t put it past him to have even previously dated a succubi.

・❥・Laito would find cannibalism in a sense, strangely romantic. To be one with someone else and love them so much to the point of consumption so a part of them would always be with you. It’s almost like Ayato’s ideology of ‘the weaker get eaten by the stronger, and a part of them stays.’

・❥・Would he want to stay away? Parts of him would want to be the next victim. A small lingering feeling as he roams the halls that he clings to. As he does canonically see death as the ultimate reprieve for a vampire. So he’d think it wouldn’t be that bad.

Kanato:

・❥・Kanato, along with his triplet brothers are part demon, so he’d know about the succubi kind.

・❥・He definitely has more knowledge about these certain types of demons, and how to deal with them. Like this boy has books that he religiously studied in hopes of pleasing his mother.

・❥・Kanato would be right in the sense that she gave off the ‘maneater’ vibe. Just like his mother.

・❥・Boy, does everything come in a full circle back to his mother. It’s like he can’t escape her, which makes him feel at the end with Jennifer and her existence.

・❥・He’d steer clear, especially considering his size, he’s not one to underestimate his potential opponents, despite how it may seem.

Ayato:

・❥・Ayato, along with his triplet brothers are part demon, so he would have sufficient knowledge.

・❥・Perhaps he even played around with one and dated one years ago. After all, he and Laito do have similar types.

・❥・Since all Cordelia ever made him do was study, he and Kanato would be the most educated out of all the brothers with how to deal with succubi and other forms they could take.

・❥・But for his Jennifer to be a succubi and be responsible for all the recent killings? In a sense, the cannibalism part would shake him the wrong way. Despite knowing, it still has a layer of discomfort to it. Especially when comparing it to his own small ideology.

・❥・He might keep a small distance, largely because he wouldn’t want to be the next victim of an attack. But don’t say that in front of him, he’d deny that he was even a little bit scared.

Subaru:

・❥・ Subaru would be thanking the moon and the stars for his gut feeling.

・❥・ He knew something was up and knew that it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with Jennifer, specifically any woman or human in that matter.

・❥・ He’d be really freaked out. After all, eating people? That’s a whole other thing that seems like it’d come from nightmares.

・❥・ He understands the blood for vampires. Sure. But letting bodies drop for the need of flesh and bone? Subaru wouldn’t be able to defend it.

・❥・ Subaru wouldn’t understand it at all. He’d feel very sympathetic, however.

・❥・ Especially with Jennifer’s kidnapping and assumption of being assaulted. He has experience with that from his mother, so it might be somewhat of a sore subject.

Mukami’s:

Ruki:

・❥・Ruki would be interested. In the sense of ‘how does a human get to this level of depravement?’

・❥・Like Reiji, it’d be a hassle, but he’d want to do more personal research on how it impacts Jennifer. As in, how does the restless hunger impact her mentality and consume her whole until she becomes a monster in need of satiation?

・❥・Ruki would assess Jennifer’s possession in terms of its potential threat to himself and others. He would analyze her abilities and any risks she poses, determining whether she's someone to be wary of or if she can be exploited for his own purposes.

・❥・Best believe that if he can exploit her, he would. After all, you don’t see something like this everyday.

・❥・ If he had to interact with her, everything would be calculated, as in he’d have everything set up on his terms. Don’t ask how he’d accomplish it, he just will.

Kou:

・❥・Admittedly, Kou would be shocked at first. Definitely not what he was expecting.

・❥・Or was it? Considering that maybe he would have a slight hunch, thanks to his all seeing eye and all.

・❥・After the shock factor wore off, he’d be curious, though. He’d approach Jennifer and ask questions about how the possession worked and how much she needed to replenish her hunger.

・❥・Considering how Yūma is a cannibal, he’d know some limited knowledge. Enough to get him by, but curiosity is one of Kou’s major traits that makes him end up in situations, either knowingly or unknowingly.

・❥・Despite it, he’d still approach with caution, as even Kou has his limits for how far he’d go to play around with someone.

Yūma:

・❥・ Considering that Yūma is canonically a cannibal, he’d understand the need to satiate an overwhelming hunger.

・❥・ Like out of everyone, he’d understand the best. And he’d get the whole stigma around it.

・❥・ But would he expect it? Hell no. Definitely not on his 2024 Bingo Card.

・❥・ He’d be empathetic to her situation, but after finding out that Jennifer prays on men, especially taking interest in larger men like him, he’d make it a point to steer clear.

・❥・ If the situation did arise where he was face to face with her, he’d be the one to kill her 100%. Considering how even he has the common knowledge that whatever this is, isn’t at all okay for the human realm. And without stating the obvious, that he can easily kill her, or anyone for that matter with his sheer strength.

Azusa:

・❥・Because of Azusa’s obvious fragile mentality, he would assume that she and him were one and the same. Especially with having a lurking darkness within her.

・❥・Azusa would be sympathetic towards her cannibalistic tendencies, and her situation. Given how this also impacts Yūma, his dear brother.

・❥・Azusa might see Jennifer as someone who shares his experiences of pain and isolation, leading him to want a connection with her. Would this work? Not exactly.

・❥・If it came to the point that Jennifer made him a target, he’d have mixed feelings. On one hand, he welcomes any pain and abuse into his life, so long as it’s him on the receiving end, and nobody else. On the other, fear would come into play as he wouldn’t know how dangerous she is.

・❥・Azusa’s self-destructive tendencies would make him a prime target, especially with his little-to-no care for his well-being, his brothers would have to intervene.

Jennifer’s Relationship with Needy

Sakamaki’s:

Shuu (Ririe):

・❥・ Shuu’s perceptive enough to see the tell-tell signs that those two aren’t just friends.

・❥・ Considering his relationship experience, he’d be able to tell if someone had hidden feelings for another.

・❥・ Perhaps because he’s been in the same predicament.

・❥・ Shuu would find their friendship very one-sided. Perhaps taunt Needy about it if they had a slight interaction.

Reiji:

・❥・ He knew there had to be more than what was beyond the surface.

・❥・ Although, Reiji would be very reluctant to admit that they had something more than ‘friends.’

・❥・ He’s very backwards in terms of thinking and beliefs.

・❥・ So for individuals in the modern world to have ‘undertones’ of liking the same gender… he would be at odds with that.

・❥・ Shuu’s definitely the more accepting one out of these two. However the standard might be.

Laito:

・❥・ Laito would be into it. (Obviously.)

・❥・ He’d tell straight away if Needy’s affections or Jennifer’s affections for one another surpassed that of ‘best friends.’

・❥・ Although he knows his mother had women as her partners before, he still isn’t as crazy about it.

・❥・ He’d remember his mother a lot in this time, often drawing back on her memory with her many escapades to make sense of it.

Kanato:

・❥・ Kanato obviously knows and has knowledge about women potentially having feelings for eachother.

・❥・ After all, his mother was someone who got around. Seeing as he was forced to watch said moments, he’d make the correlation.

・❥・ He’d have a realization moment that Jennifer was almost exactly like the woman his mother was when she was alive. Thus, noting how it was a good call to leave her for the others.

・❥・ Kanato would essentially find their friendship to be fake and judge Needy’s desperation to Teddy.

Ayato:

・❥・ Ayato wouldn’t want to believe that there was even a slight chance that those two had feelings for eachother.

・❥・ He’d get Needy to back off. Break off the friendship. It doesn’t matter.

・❥・ Ayato definitely doesn’t understand it that well. He isn’t as conservative as Reiji, but he’s definitely confused.

・❥・ Even he’d be able to tell that something about their relationship was a bit weird. However, he might chalk it up to ‘that’s just how girls are.’

Subaru:

・❥・ Subaru, considering how he’s some centuries younger than his brothers, would be more accepting towards it.

・❥・ He wouldn’t understand it as well, but would do his best to not criticize or spread hatred to someone just because they’re different.

・❥・ He’s been through hell and back with his older half-brothers, and understands what it’s like first hand to feel like your entire existence is a mistake.

・❥・ Subaru would be pretty skeptical of their friendship, often calling it into question and asking if it’s really a genuine relationship.

Mukami’s:

Ruki:

・❥・ Like Reiji, he’s definitely the opposite of forward thinking.

・❥・ He’d judge them, hardcore.

・❥・ He’s smart enough to know the signs, but for Jennifer and Needy to not be embarrassed? It’s confusing. He’d definitely need to be explained thoroughly.

・❥・ He’d laugh at their pathetic excuse of a friendship, perhaps even think back to the parallels between Azusa and those children at the orphanage.

Kou:

・❥・ Kou with his truth seeing eye would’ve seen this coming from a mile away.

・❥・ He’d be okay with it, however knowing that it could threaten his likeability isn’t something he’d be that crazy about.

・❥・ Kou would be skeptical of their friendship dynamics, and probably if he stuck around that long, he’d use his eye to confirm or deny any questions he might’ve had. After all, he’s quite nosy.

・❥・ But I doubt he’d care about it? After all it’s not his business nor his friendship, so he wouldn’t necessarily get involved. Only to tease but that’s all.

・❥・ However, he’d find it admirable how much they both care for each other, in their own twisted way, that is. It’s an honourable trait, and even when Jennifer is undergoing possession, she still resists hurting her best friend.

Yūma:

・❥・ Yūma was raised in a very religious conservative village. By the time he was just getting his memories back he was relearning what the ‘modern world’ revolves around.

・❥・ Yūma is naturally a down to earth person, however with his repressed trauma alongside religious upbringing he’ll be a bit skeptical.

・❥・ He wouldn’t tell Jennifer or Needy anything to their faces, however the lingering after thought would constantly be there.

・❥・ At first he’d assume that their friendship is decent, considering how in the village many were just attached by the hip. However upon closer inspection he would realize that it’s more control if anything.

・❥・ It’d remind him of his upbringing, which would send him into a deep thought process about his own roots.

Azusa:

・❥・ Azusa would want Jennifer or any person he liked to be happy. Regardless of whoever that happiness is with or is found with.

・❥・ He’d be sad, especially knowing he doesn’t think very highly of himself in the start.

・❥・ Would Azusa understand? Not as well. But if he were to do research then his comprehension would be a lot better than it started.

・❥・ In terms of their friendship… he’d remember the way the children treated him at the orphanage before joining Ruki and the others.

・❥・ It’d make him wonder if not everyone likes that sort of treatment, or if it was wrong to begin with. This would confuse him and have him questioning a lot.

I hope you stars enjoy this tidbit, and thank you again to the user who provided this ask!! <33

Side Note:

For Jennifer’s relationship with Needy, I based it on the comics and Needy’s confirmed underlying attraction for Jennifer which Jennifer at times plays into/reciprocates back.

#tw cannibalism #ask reply #diabolik lovers #shuu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #laito sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #ruki mukami #kou mukami #yuma mukami #azusa mukami

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spoonful-of-citrus-flowers · 5 months

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Crossroads of the Usher Children (& Grandchild), Pt. 2

Part One here!

Victorine LaFourcade: Verna is pretending to be a patient with heart issues (Pamela) to see what Victorine will do – if she’ll try to push this patient into human trials when they’re very much not ready or not. We know that she does try to start those human trials, leading to her argument with Alessandra where Victorine kills her in a crime of passion and tries to “save her” by installing the heart mesh, only to be driven insane by the sound of it (ironically, the heart mesh still beating in a dead person’s chest would have been exactly what would’ve happened if the patient wasn’t actually Verna.)

Rather eerily, this would also have been similar to what happened with the bodies Fortunato was hiding during their own human drug trials, and I think this is why Verna chooses to possess Victorine just before her death to speak to Roderick (“success is everything”), who was working in Fortunato at that time. (It’s also no accident that Vic specifically says Ali wasn’t a ‘team player’ – the same phrase Rufus Griswold said to Roderick when confronted over the missing bodies.)

Tamerlane Usher: Her crossroads was two-fold: that moment when Verna is acting as the sex worker who is supposed to look and act like Tamerlane, and Verna proceeds to talk about her grief over her (now 4) dead siblings – making both Tamerlane and BillT look rather uncomfortable. Instead of hiding behind others, I think the choice Verna wanted Tamerlane to make was to send her away, to reach out and talk to her husband herself about what was going on.

But Tamerlane never did, and in fact, chased him away. After her failed Goldbug launch, BillT tries to call her, and Verna even says that Tamerlane should talk to him. Again, Tamerlane refuses, attacking Verna in the mirrors until her death via mirror shards.

Frederick Usher: This one is pretty obvious – Verna herself spells it out. She would’ve chosen a different way, but that changed when Frederick chose to bring Morella home against medical advice and chose to torture her.

(Putting a keep reading here because Lenore's section is the longest)

Lenore Usher: Lenore’s crossroads is really one I had to think about, not because it’s subtle (her breaking into her mother’s room, calling the cops when she sees how her father has abused her mother, and refusing to shy away from the truth of that, even when it would benefit the company – and thus her, since she stands to inherit everything now that her father and aunts/uncles are dead), but because Lenore is so upstanding, there really wasn’t a crossroads for her at all – which is why I think Verna never actually shows up in Lenore’s life until it’s time for her to die. At no point could Verna have presented her with an alternate choice because Lenore would never have made another choice. This determination is something we later see Verna react positively to with another character: Arthur Gordon Pym. Now, obviously Pym is nowhere near as morally upright as Lenore, but he also refuses to compromise on whatever/whoever he cares about to make things easier for himself at that other person’s expense. (I took the line about him not having collateral and not being leveraged not to mean that he has nothing, because Verna wouldn’t even bother if that were the case, but that he will not let them take the fall for his crimes.) Similarly, Lenore refuses to sit down and say what Pym will tell her in order to make sure her father died an upstanding man and benefit the company/Usher family.

Back to Lenore, though – Verna openly regrets having to take Lenore’s life, but that was the deal she’d struck with both Roderick and Madeline – their bloodline ends before they die. As a last parting gift to Lenore, Verna tells her of all the lives she’d indirectly helped save when she rescued her mother and got her help. It’s certainly a painful scene, more so now that I realize that due to the deal, Roderick killed all the good that Lenore might’ve done had she survived – helping undo some of the damage he’d caused with Ligodone. But her choice to save her mother ensured that it wasn’t all for nothing: her mother would recover from her injuries, and go on to do just that. It's also a neat parallel with all of the other deaths (the other deaths ultimately making their lives/last goals futile), which I’ll list out here.

Prospero/Perry: seeks to prove himself by gathering blackmail material on all the famous people at his party – but he dies with no one else knowing of his goal, and even if they’d known, all the people he’d sought to blackmail are dead anyways.

Camille: fires her assistants, who were the only other people who knew of Victorine and her sneaking out the dead chimp bodies, and then gets mauled to death before being able to tell anyone her suspicions/what she’s learned.

Napoleon/Leo: buys a new look-a-like cat to cover up the fact that he thinks he’s killed his fiancé’s cat Pluto, but Pluto was never actually dead to begin with – just wandering nearby after being let out accidentally.

Victorine: insisting on getting a possibly life-saving heart mesh to human trials led to an argument resulting in the death of the inventor of said heart mesh (Alessandra), preventing it from being further developed and marketed by Fortunato.

Tamerlane: deeply insecure about herself, constantly latching onto others to be better by association with them – her figurative self-destruction/erasure becomes literal when she dies by destroying a mirror reflecting Verna (who was representing the ‘better’ Tamerlane).

Frederick: was secretly torturing his helpless wife under the false belief that she’d been unfaithful, while wanting to keep the appearance of a good, caring husband – shortly after his death (watching helplessly as a pendulum slices him in half), his daughter exposes him for the horrible man he was, destroying any reputation he may have had.

Lenore: wanted to put Usher/Fortunato money to good use as philanthropy, but though she dies, this is still carried out by Juno and Morella.

#the fall of the house of usher #verna #victorine lafourcade #tamerlane usher #frederick usher #lenore usher

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natsuki208 · 2 months

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What the 104th girls would be like as mothers 💕

Happy Mother’s Day from where I am. For you AOT fans, I made these quick headcanons. Enjoy :)

Mikasa Ackerman - She would be just as caring and protective of her children as her own mother was to her. She’d teach them how to be brave if things get hasty, and wouldn’t hesitate to fight for them any time. Of course she’d still have to pass down her family’s secret to them as well.

Annie Leonhart - A bit on the quiet side when talking to her kids, but shows her love for them through actions. Although she would not be keen to pass down her fighting skills to them as not wanting them to go through the same pressure she did. Just like Mikasa, will bust a tooth for them.

Sasha Braus - Dinnertime is family time! That’s her quote in the house. She’d hunt with them, teach them all they need to know to survive, and give all the hugs and kisses they ever need. Her kids might tease her from time to time but she always gets them back with extra teasing anyway.

Ymir - She used to think she was not much of a ‘children person’ but after becoming a mother herself, she’d be over the moon for them. Likes to tease with them as well; like when playing Hide n Seek she’d pretend she’s ignoring them only to playfully horseplay afterwards.

(Sorry, but there’s spoilers beneath, friend)

Historia Reiss - We all know she eventually became a mother by the end, and she will be nurturing, teaching and respectful to her daughter throughout her life - everything that her own mother never was. She’d tell her stories about her life from the Cadet Corps and the woman who helped change her life.

(Although if you ask me, Ymir should be the second mom)

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #mikasa ackerman #annie leonhart #sasha braus #ymir aot #historia reiss #aot headcanons

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andorerso · 6 months

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Rebelcaptain Whumptober: Day 22

for the prompt "Betrayal" Content warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, accidental murder, depression, grief, suicidal ideation, suicide. This one's heavy guys, please take care <3

“Stardust,” Papa says from the corner. Jyn tries not to look at him anymore; the image is too horrifying. His face is decaying, his eyes the milky blue of a corpse, and his clothes are torn and dirty. The same clothes he wore when he died in her arms… “Come join us.”

“We miss you,” Mama chimes in. Her appearance is the same as Papa’s. Jyn squeezes her eyes and attempts to ignore them. None of this is right. “We could be a family again.”

I already have a family. Jyn doesn’t say it. She doesn’t think she does. But Mama answers, “They’ll join us too, baby girl. You won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

“Wouldn’t it be better,” Papa continues, “if we were all together?”

Jyn pulls her legs to her chest and curls her body around it, pressing her head against her knees. The ground is dank under her. Mold is growing on the walls of this forgotten cell, the air stale, and her surroundings completely dark. They didn’t even give her a cot. She thinks she’s somewhere underground, and everything is deathly silent and still, like time itself has frozen. Is she the sole prisoner on this entire floor? How long ago did they throw her in here? How long has it been since she…

Last ate, last slept, last seen sunlight?

Could be days, could be weeks. She has no idea anymore. The blaster shot she took to the leg hasn’t killed her yet, but seeing her dead parents is probably not a good sign. Perhaps the burn is infected. Perhaps the imps gave her something. (Was there — an interrogation? Maybe… she thinks… A flash of cuffs snapping around her wrists… Real or not? She can’t recall.)

Perhaps she’s just losing her mind.

Mama and Papa keep watching from the corner, their eerie eyes burning a hole in her skin.

What do they want her to do?

“You know what to do,” Mama says. “You still have your vibroblade.”

Jyn reaches for the weapon, stashed in her breast band, and runs her fingers along the edge. It’s the one weapon they didn’t find when they captured her. She hadn’t used it, biding her time, waiting for the opportunity to strike. It was the only play she had left; it had to be perfect.

But now she regrets that decision. Should have just taken her chances and rolled with it. But she didn’t think they’d leave her here to waste away…

All alone in the dark.

“We’ll be here, Stardust,” Papa promises. His voice sounds closer than it did before, but she doesn’t raise her head to look at them, her eyes transfixed on the vibroblade. “We won’t let you die alone.”

A memory resurfaces. Scarif. The beach. Cassian. The warmth of his body against hers, the smell of blood, sweat, and blaster oil. She’d been content then. The blast was approaching, but she didn’t care. She was safe, she was home.

Now, it’s so cold. Jyn’s shivering in her thin jacket, her lips cracked and dry, her breathing slow and shallow. Papa’s promise doesn’t soothe her; her parents look like they stepped out of a nightmare rather than a comforting dream. This is nothing like the warm embrace of death on Scarif. Nothing so peaceful or kind.

Cassian’s face haunts her thoughts.

She can’t give up yet, can’t leave him…

“Foolish girl.” Jyn snaps her head up at the new voice, eyes widening. Her hand curls around the vibroblade as Krennic’s rotting face emerges from the shadows. “Nobody’s coming for you.”

“Stay away,” she snarls when he takes a step towards her. She presses her hand against her leg, hiding her weapon. Element of surprise. If he comes any closer, she’ll defend herself.

“Do you really think anybody cares about some stupid orphan girl? Nobody ever loved you enough to come back for you. Your mother would rather try to kill me than stay to protect you. Even your father abandoned you.” He pauses, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “Both your fathers.”

Jyn holds her tongue, refusing to show that his aim hit true, but the words burrow deep and take root in her heart. Hadn’t she thought the same so many times? Didn’t she resent her parents for years and years? What if he was right… What if no one was coming? She would die here in the dark, only the dead to keep her company.

The blade bites into her palm as she clutches it, but she barely feels the sting. Krennic stops in front of her, so close now that his shoes, not as polished and shiny as it was in life, brush hers.

“Why would anybody come for you now?” He whispers, leaning down towards her. “For a worthless nobody. You’re alone, Jyn. I killed your mother. I stole your father. And if he comes for you, I’ll kill your lover too.”

Jyn pounces. She’ll be damned if she’ll let him touch Cassian.

Her blade pierces his jugular, and Krennic stumbles back a step. With wide eyes, he clutches at his neck, a gurgling noise building in his throat.

Then he falls down and stops moving. It’s over in less than a second.

Except the body on the ground isn’t Krennic. It’s Cassian.

Her heart stalls in her chest. Jyn stares for a long second, still clutching the vibroblade. Her brain doesn’t quite comprehend what she’s seeing, can’t make the puzzle pieces fit together.

It doesn’t make sense. Cassian isn’t here. She’s alone in her cell, hundreds and thousands of kilometers away, feverish and dazed and probably drugged.

This isn’t real.

It can’t be real. It’s another hallucination, a mirage, her brain working against her once again.

Shaking, Jyn falls to her knees in front of him, the blade slipping from her grasp with a loud clatter.

“It’s not real,” she mutters to herself as she cradles his cheek, but the image doesn’t change. His skin is still warm under her touch, blood painting her hands red. It’s not real. She squeezes her eyes shut, willing the illusion to fall away and reveal the truth. Some guard, maybe, coming to check up on her… Maybe nothing. Maybe it’s all an illusion. “It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.”

She doesn’t open her eyes, but she knows the body under her hands hasn’t changed. She recognizes the shape of him, the feel of his skin on her hands, the lines of his jaw, the scratch of his stubble… It’s a deeper, base-level instinct. She knowshim.

Panic builds in her stomach. It can’t be real.

A hand reaches out to touch her shoulder, and she startles, grabbing her vibroblade again and slashing in an arc in front of her. The figure jumps back, and Jyn narrowly misses her target.

Bodhi stares at her with wide eyes, hands raised in front of him in a placating gesture. He says something but she doesn’t hear it through the white noise in her head. Her vision dims for a second, her chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths.

She can’t look at the body on the ground.

“It’s not real,” she gasps, her voice high, her chin quivering.

“It’s not,” Bodhi assures her, but his voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. There’s another figure at the door. Are they really here? She can’t tell anymore. Darkness begins to creep in at the edges. “It’s not real. Let us help you, Jyn.”

She doesn’t have the strength to answer.

The last thought she has before oblivion pulls her under is, it’s not real.

⁂

Everything is blurry after that. She slips in and out of consciousness, catching only brief glimpses of faces, conversations, surroundings.

(Bodhi blinking at her in worry. The hum of a ship’s engine. Someone holding her hand. A loud voice demanding, “What did she do?”

A clang. Shouting.

She’s crashing —

Cold. So much cold.

She’s dying. It feels like she’s dying.)

At one point, she wakes to bright lights above her head, a figure standing by her side, and something beeping in the background. Jyn squints, a groan tearing from her throat. The noise is too loud, the lights are too blinding. It feels like someone is drilling a hole into her skull.

She can’t feel her leg. Everything hurts, but the dull throbbing she’s gotten used to is gone.

“Jyn?” the figure speaks. She has to blink a few times before Bodhi’s face materializes under the harsh white lights. His face is pinched with worry, and dark circles decorate the skin under his eyes. “You’re on Hoth,” he continues in a soft but clear voice. “They’re about to wheel you in for surgery. Your leg’s infected, but they’re gonna do what they can, okay?”

“Cassian?” she croaks. Her throat is bone-dry and scratchy, but it’s the only question on her mind, and she has to know. “Did I… hurt Cassian?”

Bodhi’s face crumbles for a second. “You didn’t. Cassian’s fine. He was pulled into a meeting with Draven, but he’ll be here when you wake up.”

It wasn’t real.

With relief flooding her body, Jyn closes her eyes and lets herself be pulled under again.

⁂

Cassian’s not there when she wakes up.

It’s Bodhi again, blinking awake in the chair next to her when she tries to reach for the glass of water on the bedside table.

“Let me help.” He brings the glass to her lips and continues to talk as she eagerly gulps down big sips of water. “Surgery went well. They managed to save your leg. Just so. You had us worried for a second. You flatlined on the ship, you know. Twice.”

She hadn’t known. But that explains the way he’s looking at her, barely-contained grief hiding under his skin. She must have really scared them.

When the glass is empty, Bodhi reclaims his seat, and Jyn breathes in deeply, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. Her head feels clearer than it did the last time she woke. Her body is still weak and sore and aching in some places, but her mind is sharp. Sharper. She feels like herself again, though her memories are a little fuzzy, and her sense of time is jumbled. The puzzle pieces still don’t quite fit.

When she turns to face Bodhi, he’s watching her strangely. She has a dozen questions on her lips, and his apprehension only raises more.

“What happened?” she settles on eventually. She remembers her capture, but that’s the last thing she’s sure of.

“You were shot in the leg and captured. They gave you some psychoactive drug to question you. You were high when we found you, and it only made your injury worse. Jyn, I…” His eyes drop to the floor and refuses to meet hers again. A knot forms in her stomach at the tone of his voice. High with fear and grief. “I have to tell you something.”

And some part of her already knows.

Because he’s not here. And he should be.

“Where’s Cassian?” she asks without inflection, eerily calm for the situation.

Bodhi said — didn’t he say he’d be here? She’s almost certain she didn’t imagine that.

He should be here. He would be here, if she had nearly died, if she had nearly lost her leg…

Cassian would be by her side through it all. Unless he couldn’t, unless —

Bodhi doesn’t answer, still staring at the floor, and Jyn loses her patience.

“Bodhi!” The voice that tears out of her doesn’t sound like her own. “Tell me.”

Tell me he’s fine. Tell me it wasn’t me. Tell me I imagined it all. Tell me he’s just late or busy or on a mission. Tell me he just doesn’t want to see me, please tell me anything, anything

Bodhi crumbles, burying his head in his hands as a sob escapes him. She watches in slow motion like a crash she’s unable to stop, barely aware that she’s already shaking her head in denial.

“I’m sorry,” he cries, face hidden. “I’m so sorry.”

Jyn wishes she didn’t wake up.

⁂

Bodhi doesn’t tell her the details, but she knows what happened. It wasn’t some random mission while she was away, it wasn’t a tragic accident, or an unfortunate casualty.

She remembers it.

Remembers plunging the blade into Krennic’s — Cassian’s neck. His wide eyes as he fell. The gurgling noise he made.

In her head, she still sees Krennic. Can’t make sense of the idea that it was Cassian, that she could have done that.

It can’t be true please don’t let it

She doesn’t ask because a part of her hopes she’s wrong. (No, it’s not hope, not really. There’s no hope in her anymore. It’s just… a fantasy she clings to with tooth and nail while she can.)

But when Bodhi wheels her in to see his body, all pretenses fly out the window. Her breath catches, icy dread flooding her veins.

The jagged wound on his neck says everything it needs to.

Time itself stops as Jyn stares at the man she loves. The man who’s given her a home. Who taught her to be brave. Who broke down her walls and loved her so fiercely and came back for her time and time again.

He came back for her one last time. And it proved to be a fatal mistake.

“I did this?” Her lower lip trembles, her voice nothing more than a breathy gasp.

“You weren’t yourself —”

Placating words are the last thing she wants to hear. Temper flaring, she whips her head to snarl at Bodhi. “You said he was fine. You lied to me!”

“I —”

“Get out!” she yells in a voice she doesn’t recognize as her own. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Bodhi practically flees from the room, but not before she sees the grief and guilt shining in his eyes. She can’t find it in herself to care. Before the door even closes, she’s wheeling herself closer to the stretcher, her vision blurring as tears swim in her eyes.

Oh Force, what has she done…

Gently and with trembling hands, Jyn cradles his cheek, and a sob bursts out her lips. He’s so cold. So frighteningly still, so unnaturally pale. The only flash of color is the jagged red wound on his neck. Where she had slammed —

A whimper escapes her. He doesn’t look peaceful or like he’s sleeping or any of the other nonsense people sometimes say.

He looks dead.

Jyn gasps for breath, running her fingers through his hair. It’s just as soft as she remembers it. His lips quirked into a lopsided smile when she used to do that, his warm gaze sparkling with affection as he looked at her. But now his eyes are closed, his mouth doesn’t move, and his skin is cold as marble. Jyn raises his hand to her lips to kiss it, half-thinking that she can breathe some warmth into him, but it’s no use.

Cassian’s gone. Left without her. This body that remains is only a shell.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out through her tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

How could she have done this? What he must have thought in that split second as he realized what she’d done. Betrayed by the one person who was supposed to love him the most…

More sobs spill through her lips. Jyn buries her head in the crook of his neck, clutching desperately at his shoulders like it could change anything. Turn back time or bring him back. If she just held him strong enough, if she wanted it badly enough… She could drag his soul back into his body, breathe life into him again.

“Please, I’m sorry, please come back. I’m sorry, Cass, I’m sorry, please…”

Cassian doesn’t move. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t wrap his arms around her and stroke her hair and tell her it’s all going to be okay. No matter how close she burrows into him, there’s nothing but the bone-chilling cold leeching through his skin.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this… please not like this

Should have listened to Mama and Papa after all, Jyn thinks as violent sobs rack her body. Should have joined them when they asked.

Cassian would still be alive.

⁂

They burn Cassian’s body in a small, unofficial ceremony that only she, Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, and Melshi attend. She stands as far away from them as possible, clutching Cassian’s jacket around her body, and staring at the ground almost the entire time.

If she pretends it’s not happening, if she pretends she’s somewhere else, safe and warm in Cassian’s arms, it’s not real, right?

Bodhi says a few words that Jyn doesn’t hear. Chirrut talks about the Force, and she tries not to punch him because it’s not his fault, but she’s had enough of fairy tales. If the Force ever did exist, it sure seems like it fucking hates her.

When they ask if she wants to say anything, she declines.

Why would they want to hear anything from his murderer?

As the flames lick Cassian’s body, Jyn has a brief fantasy of throwing herself on the pyre with him. How fitting it would be. That’s how they were supposed to die on the beach; in the fiery embrace of the Death Star. Together.

Together is how they were supposed to go.

But, she thinks, they would stop her anyway. What’s the point? Everyone’s so fucking nice, so fucking understanding. They tell her it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t know what she was doing, that she was drugged and hallucinating…

It doesn’t really matter though. It was still her hands that held the blade. Her hands that ended his life, stained with his blood. Only Melshi seems to be in agreement.

Afterward, he stops for a second by her side and just looks at her, his gaze burning with the poisonous anger she deserves. Jyn stares back with bleary, unblinking, dead eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, but she hears all his accusations.

Cassian trusted you. Loved you. Gave you a home. You killed him.

You killed him.

He hates her, and it’s almost a relief.

She hates herself too.

⁂

“Tell me,” Jyn asks, her back pressed against the wall on the cot she and Cassian used to share. The fur of his parka tickles her face as she shifts. The coat is too big for her frame, but she can’t part with it. It stills smells like him, a bit, if she closes her eyes, presses her nose against the fabric, and pretends.

Technically, it’s hers now, but she can’t bring herself to think of it that way. This room, his jackets, her heart… things he will always own, no matter how long he’s been gone.

Sitting across from her on a chair, Bodhi heaves a sigh. “I’ve told you —”

“Tell me again.”

He squeezes his eyes shut with a pained grimace but doesn’t object. “We found you underground in that cell, completely oblivious to our presence. You were muttering to yourself. It was clear you weren’t in the right state of mind, but Cassian was just… so relieved we found you alive.” Jyn presses her lips together and sinks her nails into her palm. “You told him to stay back, but it was obvious you didn’t really see him. He was sure he could get through to you. We didn’t see the vibroblade. I…”

He trails off, exhaling a shuddering breath. She knows she’s punishing him by making him relive it over and over again, but the vengeful part of her doesn’t care. He condemned her to a fate worse than death when he lied to her about Cassian, so the least he can give her is this.

“Keep going,” she tells him.

“Jyn —”

“Keep. going.”

“You lunged,” he continues. He’s told the story over a dozen times, but it has yet to stop feeling like someone was carving her heart out of her chest. “It happened so fast, nobody had the time to react. Then…”

“Bodhi,” she warns when he stops again.

“You stabbed him in the neck,” he says, and Jyn squeezes her eyes shut. In her mind, she sees it. Not from her perspective, but as an outsider: Jyn lunging at Cassian, plunging the vibroblade into his throat. Cassian, falling, Jyn, standing over him with a bloody knife. Jyn, realizing the body on the floor was Cassian. Jyn, convincing herself it wasn’t real.

It plays in her mind on repeat; Jyn Erso, best hits. She can’t turn it off.

In all honesty, she doesn’t want to.

“He fell to the ground,” Bodhi goes on, “and that’s when you seemed to realize… You know the rest.”

“Yeah,” she snorts, opening her eyes. “Like how you lied to me.”

You were dying, Bodhi had said later, when she finally had the stomach to look at him again. You flatlined twice, and I was afraid… if I told you, you wouldn’t have wanted to survive.

Well, he was damn right about that. Every day is a struggle. Get out of bed, finish her daily assignments, wander the base like a lost person, think about Cassian. Think about what she did. Sleep. Or try to sleep. She doesn’t remember the last time she did. Isn’t even sure how long it’s been since Cassian —

Weeks, definitely. But time blurs. Maybe, she muses sometimes, maybe she’s still back at that Imperial base, and none of this is real. Nobody came for her, and she’s a prisoner trapped in her mind, living this nightmare.

It probably says something about her that she deeply wishes it was true.

“I’m sorry —” Bodhi begins, but she cuts him off.

“Don’t. I will never forgive you.”

But he’s not the villain here, not really. She is.

Jyn closes her eyes again, knocking her head against the wall as she pictures that day once more from the beginning. Jyn crouching on the floor with her blade. Cassian approaching with his hands held up. Jyn lunging —

“What are you doing?” Bodhi asks.

“I’m trying to picture it,” she answers honestly, and she can practically feel the confusion and concern radiating off him in waves. He still cares, even after everything.

She really wishes he didn’t. Hasn’t he realized that she’s only capable of hurting people?

“Why?”

Jyn doesn’t answer, but her eyes blink open.

“Tell me again,” she says.

⁂

She hears people whisper behind her back as she roams the base like a ghost.

Look. There she goes. Look at her.

Wait, is that —

Yes.

Didn’t she —

Yes.

Isn’t that Jyn Erso, daughter of the man who built the Death Star?

Didn’t she risk her life on Scarif to find the plans?

Didn’t she kill her own husband?

It hurts like nothing in her life ever has, but she doesn’t want the pain to end, and she refuses to learn to live around it. Chirrut tries to tell her to meditate, Bodhi tries to tell her to see a professional, but she laughs them off and avoids them instead. She doesn’t want to move on. She doesn’t want to be okay. She wants it to keep hurting forever, wants his absence to haunt her for the rest of her life, and his face to swim before her eyes every time she closes them.

The only medication she needs is a bottle of whiskey to help her fall asleep.

At night, when she does manage to get some shuteye, she stops dreaming about that day. Instead, she dreams about Cassian. He stands in the doorway of their room, looking the same as her parents had; a hazy film of blue over his eyes, his face rotting, his clothes torn, his smile sad. The gash on his neck is a constant reminder of what she’s done, but he never yells at her or accuses her of killing him.

Instead, he just tells her, “I miss you, Jyn. Come home,” and she knows what he’s asking.

Home is nothing but ashes in an urn. Home is gone.

And home is calling her back.

⁂

“I forgive you,” Jyn says when Bodhi’s door opens with a swoosh. He blinks at her in surprise, lips pulling into a frown.

“What?”

“I said I forgive you. And I want you to have this.” She pushes her necklace into his hands and hesitates, for a second, as he looks down and runs his thumb over the kyber. Her heart twists painfully for a second, but she knows it’ll be in good hands with him. It hasn’t given her comfort in months anyway.

So… what else is there left to do?

When she turns to leave, Bodhi calls after her. “Jyn! Wait. What are you doing?”

She hesitates, glancing around the empty hallway as she pulls Cassian’s parka tighter around her body. “I can’t stay here.”

It doesn’t feel right, not without him, and it’s time to do something about it.

“But your necklace…” He holds it out to her, concern marring his features. Jyn grabs his hand and curls his fingers around the crystal.

“It’s yours now.”

His gaze sweeps across her face, searching for something.

“Will you forgive yourself?” he asks. Jyn gives him a humorless smile.

“You know I can’t.”

“Cassian would forgive you.”

“I know.”

And that’s what makes it worse. He’d loved her until his last moments, and beyond that.

She can’t live with betraying that trust.

“Where are you going?” Bodhi wonders, voice tinged with a hint of sadness. He’s going to miss her, she knows, even despite the way she’s been treating him these past few months.

It’s selfish of her, but the thought is comforting.

“Somewhere far away from here.”

“Will I see you again?” he asks, but his tone suggests he already knows the answer. A small smile curls on her mouth. It’s a sad one, meant for goodbye, but it’s the first genuine smile that graced her lips since Cassian passed.

A weight has been lifted off her chest since she decided to leave. The grief lingers, but she can finally breathe again.

“I don’t think so.” She takes a deep breath and turns before her expression can betray her. “Take care of yourself, Bodhi.”

⁂

It ends the same it did for him.

In a way, it has ended already. She was dead the second he took his last breath, and everything else after that was just a long encore. A ghost who was forced to keep living without a heart.

But Jyn was never meant to survive without him. It was together, or not at all; she’s made that choice a long time ago.

So she twirls her vibroblade in her hand, the same that ended his life, and puts it against her throat.

Cassian is waiting.

#rebelcaptain #rogue one #therebelcaptainnetwork #dailyrebelcaptain #my fics #rcwhumptober #look i have no excuses #im sorry

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separatist-apologist · 10 months

Text

The Fire Won't Burn Me

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

for @elucienweekofficial

Summary: Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The first fall of snow marked the end of spending time outdoors. Elain woke to freezing wood floors and frosted over windows blocking out gray sunlight. Lucien had been right about the wolf pelt. Elain had given it to Jurian, who’d brought it back several days later, filled with down and big enough to cover her bed end to end.

She hadn’t even realized how cold the cottage was until she climbed from beneath the blanket. Quickly, she pulled on stockings and a dressing robe and rushed to toss more logs onto the fireplace. The cottage warmed quickly, though Elain dragged that blanket down so she could sit wrapped up on the little couch Jurian had provided with a mug of tea.

What did it say about her that she was enjoying this little break from her real life? Elain had begun to wonder, over the last month, if she couldn’t just stay. If Nesta returned, maybe…

But Nesta would know Amarantha had lied about Elain running off with a stable boy. Elain wasn’t particularly stealthy and Nesta was observant. If Elain had a secret romance, Nesta would have known, even if she wouldn’t have said something.

It was just…Elain felt at home for the first time in her life. Once the anxiety of Amarantha finding her had worn off, peace began to settle. Her plan of finding the King of Avalon had been pushed to the very back of her mind. Was it foolish to hope she could live forever hidden within the borders of the very same woman who’d tried to kill her? Maybe. And still at night, Elain wanted it all the same.

She wanted something else, too. Or, someone else. The same man tasked with killing her came to dinner every single night and rarely did he come empty handed. He’d eaten everything she’d ever laid before him, even when Elain knew it tasted badly.

And he’d kissed her. Only once, and on the cheek. She froze, unsure what she was supposed to do. Nothing, as it turned out, because Lucien made no mention of it the next time he visited, nor did he ever attempt to do it again. Though, she very much wanted him to.

If she’d been back at the palace, she might have tried to convince him to kiss her again through a little light flirting. An exposed ankle, a giggle at a remark…that was usually enough, right? But Lucien wasn’t a prince or even a nobleman, and he seemed blissfully unaware that when he came over and she’d lit only candles and her hair was perfectly curled, she was trying to stage a scene in which he pulled her in his arms and kissed her with frantic desperation.

That was what the heroes in those books Jurian had brought her were always doing, anyway. Reality was less romantic. That didn’t stop her from trying again, practically vibrating with excitement when she heard that first knock on the door. Lucien always rapped out a familiar pattern—a little song only they knew the words to. Elain scurried for the door, smiling at him before he ever said a word. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, visible despite the thick, fur-lined hood he wore.

“Let me in,” he complained. Elain stepped out of his way, delighted when he kicked snow from his boots onto the mat rather than her floors. Even Jurian hadn’t quite managed that. Lucien pulled his cloak from his body, hanging it against a hook in the wall before shaking out his long hair.

“I cooked,” Elain told him breathlessly. Lucien offered her a soft smile, thrusting a package between them.

“Oh yeah? What did you make?

“A lamb roast,” she replied. Elain had worked very carefully on it, desperate for him to like her cooking—and her. “And another apple pie.”

“Is it my birthday?” he joked, stepping around her. Elain took that moment to unwrap his parcel.

“Is this—”

“I figured if you’re trying to wed a prince from Avalon, you might as well know their favorite dishes,” Lucien replied, grinning at the yellow bound cookbook in her hands. “I’m happy to be the person you test all these new dishes on.”

She couldn’t help herself. Elain went to him, arms thrown around his middle. “This is…this is too nice, Lucien.”

He cleared his throat, though he held her all the same, hands rubbing down her spine. “I tried to kill you, remember? It’s nothing at all.”

“I’ve forgiven you for that,” she reminded him, regretfully pulling away. She could smell her meat waiting to be cut up and served.

“You may have, but I certainly haven’t,” he replied, following her into the kitchen. He’d taken to helping recently—doing dishes when they were finished eating or helping her cut up large slices of meat. Elain didn’t complain any more because she was beginning to suspect Lucien did those things in an effort to convince her he had his uses.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but sometimes she hoped he picked up the little tasks in the cottage because he wanted to be around her, too. Elain liked Lucien—liked the way he listened, how he always had a question ready to go. Lucien had an uncanny ability to make her feel both seen and heard. No one in her life had ever taken such a genuine interest in her seeds, her projects, her life.

“You should,” she finally murmured, handing him the carving knife. Lucien shot her a sideways glance—the sort that told her to mind her own business. But forgiving himself was her business, because how else would she ever convince him to kiss her again if he was too busy punishing himself for something she never thought about?

Elain set the table, thinking of the bottle of fruit wine she’d been making. It would almost be ready…maybe for the next meal, she thought ruefully. She had handwritten notes of beer brewing and she wanted to try her hand at that, too…maybe in the Spring, when she knew what she was doing with her life.

“Any word from Nesta?” she asked instead. Elain needed Nesta to come home if she was going to remain out here, if only to pay the rent Jurian would be wanting.

“No,” Lucien replied, carving up her meat carefully. “Not a whisper.”

“And that’s good?”

Lucien had explained this a hundred times before. If Nesta was dead, their stepmother would have an explanation for why she wouldn’t be returning. Some tragedy or love story or something that would plausibly excuse Nesta from ever stepping foot in the palace again. He genuinely believed no news was good news.

But a little more than a month had passed and Elain was getting antsy.

“Yes,” he said, laying out the meat on a dinged up serving platter.

“What if she’s injured and no one knows?” Elain asked, mind racing through the possibilities. “Or what if—”

“Elain. Have faith,” Lucien replied gently, his eyes searching her own. “Nesta is coming back.”

She nodded. “She told me three months.”

“It hasn’t been two,” he reminded her, just as he always did. “She’ll be back—and she’ll be looking for you the second she realizes you’ve gone.”

“She’ll never believe for a second I ran off with a stable boy,” Elain joked. Lucien didn’t smile as he sat, his expression almost pained.

“And if she returns…do you plan to abandon Avalon?” he asked her, waiting for Elain to join him. She brought out mashed potatoes and more bread, hoping to stuff him to the point he couldn’t walk. And then, she thought, she’d say Oh, Lucien, just stay the night…of course you can join me in my bed—

“Maybe,” she admitted, shaking her head of the fantasy. “Do you think it's better to go?”

Lucien shrugged, taking that first bite. An obscene groan escaped his lips, filling Elain with heat. She’d never heard him make such a sound, though she could imagine the sort of scenario in which he might. True, she had little experience with men, but she did have those third hand romance books Jurian had given her. Men were always groaning when they were well-pleased in the bedroom.

“Is it good?” she asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

“Yes,” he said, eyes closed while he chewed. “It’s perfect.”

Elain nearly flew over the table, crawled into his lap, and kissed him for saying so. When Lucien opened his eyes, she was staring back at her plate so he wouldn’t see her every lurid, too-curious thought.

“You didn’t answer. Do you think, if Nesta returns, I should still leave?”

“Do you think Nesta will return with an army?” he countered.

“Maybe. That does seem like something she might do.”

Lucien took another bite, grunting softly. “I can’t make that decision for you, princess. And I’m afraid my protection can only do so much. The queen employs her black guards, as you well know. They are loyal only to her. Sometimes I worry…”

He trailed off, though his fears lingered in the air. Elain could imagine them well, as she too had given a great deal of thought about what might happen if she returned home, miscalculated, and found herself in the dungeon.

“How is my father?”

Lucien grimaced. “The same.”

“So much has changed and yet everything feels the same,” she replied, watching Lucien spoon a mountain of potatoes on his plate. “I don’t want to go to Avalon if I don’t have to…I’d rather stay here.”

That caught his attention. “Would you marry Graysen instead?”

“No, not…I want to stay here,” she said, gesturing around her. “I think Jurian would let me if I could find some way to make money—”

“I’ll pay it,” he said, his expression slack. “If you…ah…I just mean, you don’t need to worry about money for now. I could…it’s the least I could do.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, heart hammering in her throat. “I’m sure I could find a job—”

“I want to,” Lucien insisted, likely more guilt manifesting itself. “If you’re thinking of staying, let me help so you don’t have to worry so much.”

“What do you get out of it?” she dared to ask. Lucien’s eyes found her own.

“Your company?” he asked helplessly. “I ah…I like being around you.”

“Really?” she asked. Lucien’s cheeks darkened the prettiest shade of pink.

“Yes,” he said gruffly. “Don’t act like you don’t know that.”

“I just like hearing you admit it,” Elain replied, digging into her own food. She could feel the huntsman’s eyes on her, watching her with open suspicion but Elain didn’t care. A huff of almost laughter slipped from just behind his teeth, causing her to smile.

“You know,” Lucien began, setting his fork down to rest a hand against his stomach, “if you’re thinking you’d like to stay, and Nesta hasn’t returned by the time spring is over, I was thinking you and I could try and track her down?”

Elain nearly screamed. “Really?” she asked. That was far more than Elain would ever dared to hope for. “You’d do that for me?”

More embarrassment stained that handsome face of his. “Sure,” he agreed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s better than seeing you marry a prince of Avalon.”

“Are you jealous?” she asked, forcing herself to sound playful rather than breathless. “Is this you finally confirming that the youngest son is impossibly handsome?”

Lucien rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were still tomato red. “I think he’d like you far more than I would appreciate.”

Elain could scarcely breathe. “So you are jealous?”

Lucien steepled his finger tips against his mouth. “What if I was?”

Elain didn’t know. She’d never gotten this far in her daydreams. Lucien either was overcome with desire and words weren’t necessary, or he admitted he had feelings for her and then reverted back to being passionately overwhelmed by his need for her. In real life, Lucien continued to sit in his chair, staring her down with an expression that practically dared her to say something.

And Elain found herself suddenly bashful. Blinking, she stood so abruptly that her knee collided with the underside of the table. Lucien backed away, eyes wide with surprise

“Pie,” she breathed, needing something to occupy her hands with. “I’ll—”

“Elain,” he called, but she’d already scurried to the kitchen. He could see her, of course. Elain felt Lucien’s eyes on her as she busied herself with more cutlery and plates. She heard the scraping of chair legs against the wood floor and the soft thudding steps of his boots as he came to her.

His fingers brushed the sides of her arms, clad in that blue bodice and nothing else. “I am jealous,” he whispered, curling those same fingers over just above her elbow. “That prince wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

Elain couldn’t breathe again. “And you do?” she dared to ask, her back colliding with the solid warmth of his chest. She swore she could hear his heart thudding in her ears, drowning out everything else.

“Want to find out?”

Elain turned, forcing herself to face him. If she couldn’t look him in the eye, what business did she have asking him for anything? “Yes,” she whispered, tilting her chin so if he wanted, he could kiss her. Elain could do many, many things.

But she refused to make that first move. Lucien blinked at her, staring like he was only just seeing her for the first time. For one horrible second, Elain was certain she’d taken it too far and Lucien was trying to let her down easy. That he’d tell her he didn’t want to be around her anymore.

And then he sighed, the sound so similar to the groan from dinner that Elain started a little. Whispering, “Thank the gods,” Lucien threaded one of his large hands in her hair and pulled her closer. Elain had to surge up on her tiptoes to meet him even as he hunched, their lips colliding with the same frantic hunger she’d been dreaming about.

It was far better than anything her stories promised. His mouth was soft, his fingers warm Elain pressed her palm flat against his chest, sliding up the buttons of his tunic to his exposed neck. She only wanted to touch a little skin, to feel his heart jumping against the hollow of his throat.

One kiss became two, became a third, until Elain was too dizzy and breathless to count. She couldn’t think, drowning in the warmth of his lips, of the masculine scent of him burning pleasantly just inside her nose. Lucien’s tongue slid from behind his teeth, tracing her bottom lip.

Open, she swore he asked. When Elain opened her eyes, though, his were closed shut, his face one of pure bliss. He liked this, she realized with awe. He wanted her. Nothing could have pleased her more.

Elain did as he wanted on that next kiss, parting her lips just to see what might happen. She had kissed other men before—boys, too, when she’d been younger. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of a tongue in her mouth. In fact, Elain distinctly remembered it being too wet and a little gross. The experience had been just that—an experience she hadn’t been keen to repeat. But she also remembered how her mind had been racing the entire time, cataloging everything happening with near clinical interest.

Lucien’s tongue darted forward, licking her own. His rumbled groan settled in her flipping, excited stomach, pulling her closer still as she tamped down the urge to rub her body against his own. And the next time his tongue came back, Elain was quick to meet him. Lucien tasted like rosemary and salt and something else—something distinct and wholly him.

She couldn’t hide her own squeaky moan. Lucien fisted her curls tighter, wrapping his other arm against her waist to hoist her not onto the kitchen counter, but up against his body. Vaguely, Elain was aware he was walking her somewhere. Did it make her wanton to wish he was taking her to bed?

Maybe not. Lucien merely took her to the couch, dropping against the soft yellow cushion so she was straddling his lap. Here she could touch him like she wanted without worrying she’d fall over and lose her balance. Immediately, Elain took advantage of their positions, running her hands down the flat plains of his broad chest.

Still wishing for skin. That was too forward, though, and too soon. Even as Lucien’s own hand spanned her backside, the other cupping her jaw tenderly—like she was special. Elain moaned again, unable to stop herself. Everything felt brand new and wildly exciting.

Elain felt like she could do anything she liked and Lucien would allow it. And when she rolled her hips, searching for something that could alleviate the ache growing between her legs, Lucien groaned loudly.

“Do that again,” he panted, adjusting himself so she when she did grind herself against him, she found proof of his own arousal waiting to greet her. Good. Elain felt rebellious, felt like the kind of person who could rub herself against a man with no expectations

Of course, it meant if she did have to marry that Prince of Avalon, she’d have to lie to him. Before, Elain would have found that intolerable, but now the only intolerable thing was not having Lucien. He lifted his hips to meet her in a frenzy of movement, until they were all lips and tongue and teeth. This was exactly what she’d been imagining, but better because it was happening. He was touching her, his fingers gripping her thighs to pull her closer until he skimmed her bare skin beneath her dress.

Inching closer and closer to where she was both terrified to let him touch and desperate for contact. She might have told him so, but that would have meant she had to stop kissing him and Elain didn’t know that she could. His mouth was addictive and the way he touched her seemed to make each kiss more pleasurable. Elain suddenly understood how the kitchen girls were always getting pregnant when she was a girl—she was ready to throw caution to the wind, too.

Especially when Lucien’s careful, clever fingers began rubbing lazy circles against her inner thigh, each pass coming higher and higher with what laid between them. She could have stopped him—Elain had the feeling Lucien was taking his time in an attempt to gauge if she wanted him to touch her or not.

Throwing caution to the wind, Elain pressed herself closer, until his hand was cupping her through her thin undergarment.

“Spread your legs, princess,” Lucien groaned, dragging his teeth against the sensitive skin of her neck. “Show me how wet you are.”

Panting, Elain did as he asked as best she could, given she was still in his lap and unwilling to move. Lucien rubbed a soft circle through the material, drawing a whimper from Elain’s throat. She watched his eyes flutter shut, saw how his lips parted to suck in his own ragged breath of air.

“Very wet,” he managed before making another pass. “Is this what you need, Elain?”

Another soft touch, dulled by the fabric separating their skin. Elain bucked, trying to get him to move it but Lucien’s free hand stilled her. Elain could feel his cock pressed against the curve of her ass, jumping slightly when he touched again.

“Do you touch yourself when I’m not around?” Lucien continued, drawing his face closer so the words were spoken against her cheek. “Do you think about me?”

“Yes,” she said, too far gone to lie.

His fingers curled around the fabric just how she’d hoped, slipping beneath without bothering to remove them at all.

“I want you to ride my hand,” he told her, holding her gaze with impossibly dark eyes. “I want you to make a mess of me.”

The pad of his thumb had begun making lazy passes against her slick cunt, teasing around her clit without ever touching it. Elain would have done anything he said so long as he kept touching her, and so she nodded.

Lucien kissed her again, slower than before. Certain he was trying to match his tongue to his fingers, Elain allowed herself to indulge in the feeling. To give in to what he was offering and take what she wanted, even if it was selfish.

“That’s it,” Lucien groaned, his own hips bucking upward. Elain writhed against him until finally he was rubbing her just where she wanted. Still teasing, his fingers dipping toward her entrance to push slightly just inside before dragging the slick arousal back up to her clit, over and over until Elain moaned mindlessly.

“Please,” she begged him, unable to articulate anything else. He knew, though. Lucien knew what she wanted and rather than speed himself up, he slowed down. Dragging her out, letting her build close enough to that edge before pulling her back. Over and over, until he looked like he wanted to die, too. Elain couldn’t stop herself, rolling her hips against his hand just like he’d asked her to. She was certain his fingers must be coated and told herself that was what he wanted.

She didn’t need to feel embarrassment or shame. Elain kissed Lucien, tongue invading his mouth. Distracted, Lucien’s fingers didn’t pull away when she built that last time. His focus lay on her lips against his and his own grinding erection he so desperately needed her to touch. She could have told him she would if he’d let her come if she’d wanted to pull away.

She didn’t. And Lucien continued his precise, tight circles until Elain did break the kiss, body jerking as her gathering release finally ignited like flame, engulfing her with pleasure. She couldn’t make any noise at all, her hand fisted in his shirt to keep herself from flying into a million little pieces.

“That’s it,” Lucien managed, his voice as broken as she felt. “Take what you need.”

What she needed was him, though she didn’t dare say so. Pleasure dragged on and on, coming over her in waves until her locked muscles finally spasmed, letting her collapse against him.

Luicen pressed a kiss to her forehead, his heart hammering loudly against her cheek. He pulled his hand away while she watched, sliding those fingers into his mouth to taste her. It was obscene—it should have disgusted her.

The sight convinced her to pull at the laces of his pants.

“Elain—” he tried, reaching for her wrists but Elain swatted him away.

“Fair is fair,” she replied. She wanted to give him something, too—and curiosity made her want to see him. She’d only read about the male appendage but Elain had been too sheltered to ever truly see one. Even that serving boy she’d once kissed, who’d wanted to show it to her, had become too spooked and changed his mind.

But Lucien was a living, breathing man who’d just made her come with his fingers and Elain thought she deserved to see him in all his glory. Once he realized she wanted to touch him, his protests died in favor of lifting his hips so she could shuck his pants to his knees. His cock sprang free, large and thick and swollen, and perhaps most thrilling of all, coated in fluid right against its slitted tip.

Lucien watched her grip him at the base, the appendage resting against his stomach proudly. Elain had logistical questions—would the whole thing fit in her body? Or would he only manage half? And did that bother him? She’d certainly try—she wanted to try, but maybe first with her hand.

“Elain—” Lucien broke off, choking slightly when she made that first pass up the length of him.

“Like this, right?” she asked, careful to make her eyes big and innocent. Just in case he didn’t like the experience, or would have been put off knowing how she spent her time at night when he wasn’t around.

“Gods,” Lucien panted, head thrown back. “Don’t stop.”

Like she could. Elain was having far too much fun winding him up and more fun still touching him. Elain considered this practice, or at least, an adjustment to what she hoped would come later. Nights spent together, tangled beneath the sheets while they planned their next move—and him, writhing against her, lost to the same heady pleasure. Lucien seemed spell-bound, filling Elain with a sense of power she’d never once felt before.

She gripped him tighter, marveling at how hard he felt—not squishy like she’d always suspected an erection might be, but closer to bone. While Lucien panted, acting as if he’d run for miles, Elain began to experiment with her grip. She stroked him, twisting near the tip of his cock until Lucien moaned. She squeezed and softened her hand, using the whimpering sounds to guide her.

Lucien didn’t warn her when he was close—he merely went tight like she had, gripping the arm of the couch for purchase before jerking hard. White fluid splattered against her hand, proof that he’d liked what she’d done. He watched her with wild, dark eyes, still panting, still moaning.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Realization seemed to dawn on Lucien which made Elain nervous. Was that regret looking back at her?

No, she decided when he cupped her face in his hands and pulled her closer for a soft, sweet kiss. “That wasn’t how this was supposed to go,” he whispered, a smile on his handsome face.

“How was it supposed to go, Lucien?”

“I was going to romance you,” he admitted, slipping from beneath her carefully. With one fluid motion, Lucien had his pants back on and was making his way to the kitchen for a rag. For her hand, she realized—and his cock, which he wiped off quickly before giving the cloth to her.

“You still could,” she said, smoothing out her dress primly. “There’s time.”

“Am I going to lose you to a Prince of Avalon?” he asked her, eyes sparkling. No, though Elain didn’t dare admit that. She couldn’t tell him what she wanted—this life, with him, small as it was. If Elain ended up with another man, it would be out of necessity and duty—to her sisters, her family, her home.

But Lucien would always be the man she wanted. Nothing could convince her otherwise.

“I suppose that depends on how good you are at romancing princesses.”

Lucien only smiled. “You’ll see then.”

Elain hoped he was right.

LUCIEN:

“Do I dare ask what is going on between you and Elain?” Jurian asked by way of greeting when Lucien stepped into his workshop.

Lucien only shrugged, though the memory of the night before—and her hand, wrapped so sweetly around his cock—surfaced before he could shove the memory aside. He was spending all his free time with her, working her up into what inevitably came next while trying to pretend a winter spent wrapped around princess Elain wasn’t going to eventually break his heart.

“She’s a nice girl,” Jurian reminded Lucien, slamming several wrapped packages to the woodblock countertop.

“Are you saying she could do better than me?”

“I’m asking if you’ve told her the truth about you,” Jurian replied, rounding on Lucien so quickly he stumbled back a step. “Does she know what kind of life you’re offering?”

“Mind your own fucking business,” Lucien snapped. Jurian leveled a dark scowl, though he said nothing else. Lucien tossed his coins to the table before storming back out into the cold. The meat was for Elain. He’d intended to go over that morning and waste the day with her, but Jurian had convinced Lucien to go back to the palace first. Just to check.

He’d never told Jurian who he was. The man had just known—and had kept the secret, even when he could have made quite a bit of money by selling him out to his father. It made Lucien wonder if he didn’t know who Elain was, too.

Lucien dropped his things off in the home he’d built high up in the trees. At the time, it had been practical. Anyone coming for him would be easily visible and his position defendable. He kept a quiver of arrows just outside the door and though he’d never had to use them, Lucien’s aim was good.

He wouldn’t miss.

Lucien found himself back in the palace by mid-afternoon. Knowing he’d be late for dinner with Elain, Lucien made his way toward the king to see if he could find any information about Nesta or Feyre he might pass along, if only to ease Elain’s fear. Selfishly, so long as Nesta was alive, Elain didn’t have to marry anyone but him. They'd go looking for her at the first hint of spring.

How Elain had managed to live twenty three years in the dark, gloomy palace was beyond Lucien. The once bustling halls were deserted again, the staff likely laid off now that the prince had been sent home wifeless. Curtains had been hung over every available window, blotting out sunlight in favor of long corridors filled with lurking shadows.

And black guards. Every time Lucien rounded a corner he found a pair of them patrolling. It was a little much, even for Amarantha. Lucien wondered if he couldn’t just vanish without her knowing where he’d gone. Or if she’d—

“...Know where they went!” A clear, masculine voice boomed just ahead. Lucien recognized it as the king. “Where did you send my daughters?”

“You’re unwell,” Amarantha’s voice crooned, her tone syrupy. “Darling, come back to bed—”

“Tell me where they—”

Lucien rounded the corner only to flatten himself fully against the wall, heart pounding in his throat. He was certain he wasn’t supposed to see what was unfolding before him. Amarantha curled a hand around her husband’s wrist, her whole body contorting into some awful, terrifying…creature. Gone was her lovely face, her unmarred skin, her lithe body. In turn, the thing that stood before the king had mottled, bruises over paper white skin, so thin it looked like a light breeze might tear it. Coal black eyes had become ringed in yellow and spidered with red blood vessels practically bulging at the sides. Silvery wisps of air stuck out in odd angles. The queen had become six inches shorter, though far more terrifying. Lucien dared another glance, watching the king slump forward, his eyes hazy once again.

“Go back to bed, darling,” she snarled, holding his gaze. “Everything is fine.”

“Everything…is fine…” the king repeated. Amarantha dropped her hold and Lucien spun again, moving quickly. He didn’t want her to know he’d seen her, didn’t want to be caught with this new, horrible information.

And yet, it was validating. He knew the change in the king couldn’t be grief alone. Magic—it was magic of some kind. Lucien didn’t understand it, but thought he could figure it out. And, he decided, as he stepped back into the cold, that he’d keep it from Elain, at least for now.

She’d panic and do something rash. Something that involved Beron, or one of Lucien’s brothers. For now, Lucien would continue to merely omit everything he knew, at least until he had a plan. And he’d continue to shield Elain, though he knew he couldn’t forever.

He’d thought Amarantha merely wanted Elain’s heart as a trophy. But now… now. Lucien wasn’t so sure. What he did know with certainty was that Amarantha would eventually learn he’d lied and she was in possession of a deer heart.

He’d go back only as necessary, just long enough to avoid arousing her suspicion. She wouldn’t be thinking of him, of that Lucien was sure. Amarantha had likely turned her attention to Elain’s remaining sisters. If Nesta could merely hold out to winter, he was certain he could find her

Tracking had always been a special skill of Lucien’s. Even when he’d been a prince of Avalon, he’d been the best tracker his father had. He could find Nesta Archeron, though after that, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Convince the sisters to get on a boat and sail far, far away? That seemed the best, and most unlikely course of action.

Maybe he’d write Eris. If he asked Jurian to deliver it, his father would know he was just across the border in Ellesmere but not where. And Beron would only know if Eris chose to tell him. Which Lucien thought his elder brother might keep a secret if he thought it might serve him.

How can I come home? How can I convince Beron to raise an army for the woman I’m falling in love with?

Lucien turned that thought over and over in his mind before knocking on Elain’s door. She answered, bouncy and bright. There was no hiding his delight when she flung her arms around his neck, and certainly none when he turned his face for a soft, lingering kiss.

“I missed you, too,” he told her gruffly. Too late, he realized he’d forgotten to bring her the meat he’d had Jurian butcher for him. “What if we went to my place tonight?”

Elain paused. “But…I made dinner.”

“After dinner?” he pressed, reaching for her face. “You could sleep in my bed tonight, if you’d like?”

She bit her bottom lip, her hesitation plain. “I…”

“Another night, then,” he replied smoothly before unbuttoning his cloak. He should have known it would be too early to share the same sleeping space. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself and she’d feel uncomfortable. It was what forced him out the door every night when all he really wanted was to follow her up to bed like a lost dog.

“I was going to ask you to stay tonight,” Elain said breathlessly. “I even…I even made a pie.”

“You always make a pie, princess,” Lucien replied affectionately. “What flavor this time?”

“Strawberry and cream.” Elain held it out, revealing a top crust with two little hearts cut into it. Overwhelmed with a surge of emotion, Lucien turned toward the plates she’d stacked on the counter.

“Of course I’ll stay with you,” he told her, not daring to look her in the eye. “You don’t have to bribe me with pie.”

She shrugged delicate shoulders, her cheeks flushed from what he surmised was embarrassment. “Just trying to make it enticing.”

“The enticing part of being with you is you, Elain,” he teased, running his fingers over the back of her neck. Elain shivered, darting out of his way so he could set the table. “If you want me in your bed and are looking for a meal to convince me, consider spreading yourself over the table next time.”

Elain swatted him in the stomach. “Don’t be crass, Lucien.” He merely laughed, sliding into his usual chair across from her, just as he always did. Elain held his gaze, chewing on that bottom lip. There was a question brewing—Lucien folded his hands and lifted his brows, waiting for her to just spit it out.

“Is that…something…you would do?” she finally squeaked, her face the shade of a particularly lovely rose.

Lucien’s cock throbbed at the mere suggestion. He shifted, trying to settle himself down but now all he could think about was Elain naked on the table, her cunt spread wide for him. He wanted that almost as much as he wanted to be buried inside of her. Lucien had dreams of putting her on his face, turned around so she could suck him at the same time.

“Yes,” he told her, hating the way his voice cracked ever so slightly. “I would like to taste you very much.”

Her eyes fell back to her plate. “Maybe you could?”

Lucien cocked his head, watching her the way he imagined a wolf accessed a doe. Only, Elain was no trembling fawn—she was a beast in her own right, with a set of fangs sharp enough to kill. Still, Lucien forced an easy, almost lazy smile to the surface.

“Why don’t you eat your dinner first?”

Elain’s gaze seemed to sharpen as she brought that first forkful of food toward her lips. The gods help him, because when her mouth closed around the utensil, Lucien nearly dragged her across the table anyway. There was no way Elain wasn’t aware of the effect she had on him. She moaned, eyes rolling in the back of her head. Lucien’s knee jerked upward, trying to force him to his feet only to slam into the table and rattle the dishes atop it.

“Everything all right, Lucien?” Elain asked, innocent as ever.

She would be the death of him. But oh. What a way to go. Lucien had all but forgotten what happened in the place, so caught up in those dark brown eyes and her pillowy pink lips.

You’re playing a dangerous game, princess,” he replied, leaning his elbows against the table. “You don’t know the outcome.”

“But you do?” Elain replied.

Lucien couldn’t take the challenge. He stood, intending to walk to her.

“Sit down, Lucien,” Elain said primly, dotting the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I was merely teasing you. Eat.”

His body screamed in protest, but Lucien did as she asked before he’d ever taken more than a step. He’d just reached for his fork when Elain murmured, “I’ve changed my mind. Come here, Lucien.”

He was back on his feet in an instant, intending to drag her up to bed and keep her there for the next full day—maybe two, if he could get away with it. He’d need to slip out at some point and check his traps, but that wouldn’t take long. An hour, two at the most of he moved quickly and there was no one he needed to drag back to the palace for punishment.

He reached her just as Elain said, “Kneel.”

Lucien paused, holding her gaze. And then slowly, sank to one knee. “My lady?”

“You said I didn’t know the outcome of the game I’m playing,” she replied, turning back to her plate. “But I think it is you, Lucien, who doesn’t know.”

“Are you toying with me?” he demanded, though he didn’t move, either. Let her see that he’d do whatever she asked, so when she did spread herself out for him, she could do it without fear or hesitation.

“No. I’m merely clueing you in to the game we’re playing,” she replied.

Lucien rose to his feet then, intending to finish his meal quickly, if only so he could kiss that sassy mouth of hers. He couldn’t resist walking to her, nor did he stop himself from bracketing her in his arms so she had to look up at him.

“I am well aware you hold all the cards, princess. If you want me to jump, simply tell me how high.”

Elain’s breath caught. Good. At least she knew, and didn’t need to worry so much about who was in control. There was no power struggle between them. Lucien was more than happy to cede it all to her. It was tempting to tell her everything–that she’d held all the cards from the first moment she’d truly looked at him.

That Lucien had walked away from a comfortable, easy life doing the queens bidding in order to have Elain. There was no reason to tell Elain that, though, and heap guilt on her when she was already worrying about so much. Lucien didn’t regret it, besides. He’d do it all again in a heartbeat if he could.

“How is everything at the palace?” Elain asked him once he was back in his seat. “Any news…?”

Lucien chewed in an attempt to hide how guilty he felt. Amarantha’s horrible true face popped into his head, alongside the knowledge that Elain’s father likely had been so absent for so long because of some strange spell. Looking at her, Lucien knew Elain would race home to try and free her father if she knew

And Amarantha would kill her without a second thought. So Lucien lied to her face, promising himself that one day, when they were in a position to help, he would tell her everything.

“Nothing’s changed.”

Elain sighed. “I know I should be grateful, but…”

“Two months of frost, Elain,” Lucien said, well aware his words were self-serving. After all, her father had decided to marry the witch—and regardless of the spell, Elain had suffered. He couldn’t help her, but Lucien could. And he’d promised to find Elain and keep her safe. He considered himself merely fulfilling her father’s plea. “And then we’ll leave.”

Elain gave him the prettiest smile. “I’m just antsy.”

“Soon, princess,” Lucien promised. That was at least true. And when dinner and pie was finished, and it was the two of them sitting on the couch, entangled in the other, Lucien didn’t mind at all when Elain asked if they could just sleep.

So long as she wanted him around, that was enough.

It would always be enough.

#elucien #i am so sleepy today

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inuyashamybeloved · 10 days

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“Front Piece” chapter 11 sneak peek.

(AKA, Yura is like the little sister Inuyasha never wanted and has no problem calling him out in his stupidity 🤣🤣—It's gonna be some days before it's finished)

Inuyasha observed the three women as they descended the shrine’s stairs; they all seemed overly satisfied, especially his mother, who kept prattling on and on about Kagome. She was as subtle as a fucking clown at a funeral and wasn’t even trying to hide it.

They had reluctantly left early because Yura and Kikyo needed to start preparing dinner for eight people, which truly was more like ten, given how much he and his old man ate. Kaede decided to stay until the end of the festivities and would get a ride from Shippo’s parents, likely missing most of the meeting. Inuyasha mentally snorted at that; the kid clearly wanted to spend time with Sota instead of being surrounded by grown-ups discussing his and Kikyo’s divorce, which was funny since she had been the first one to bring up the subject. But Inuyasha could understand why she suddenly changed her plans.

“We definitely have to come back,” Izayoi commented cheerfully.

“What, so you can keep following Kagome like a nutcase?” he quipped.

Izayoi huffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she retorted, looking out the window as Inuyasha started the ignition.

“Oh, please, don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here,” he remarked before looking at the rearview mirror and pointing an accusatory finger. “You two told her about my feelings for Kagome and made fucking sure to bring her and force a meeting.”

“Bravo, your brain is finally working,” Yura stated, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Inuyasha scowled at her, flipping her, then got serious when he remembered the other subject.

Kikyo had a point, but, sadly, there wasn’t much Inuyasha could do. “From what her friends said, Naraku’s hovering happens only at work. I told them of his fucking tendency to appear wherever you go, so they said they’d keep an eye whenever they go out with Kagome.”

“There’s something else you need to know, Inuyasha. I gave her our numbers just in case,” Kikyo explained, and Inuyasha turned to frown at her. “I just wanted to let her know she could count on us.”

“It’s a nice thought, but I doubt she’d call. Not only can Kagome be stubborn as fuck but also I just can’t see her reaching out to us, not even as a last resort,” he sighed.

It would be nice if she called him, needed him in any capacity.

“Why? Because Kikyo’s the wife of the guy she likes?” Yura quipped.

“Yes!—No! Damn it, Yura! Would you fucking stop with that?!”

“Stop with what, Inuyasha?!” Yura challenged him, and he could see Kikyo trying to calm her down without succeeding.

He growled, feeling his ears folding back against his skull. “Insisting that she likes me. We don’t fucking know that!”

“With all due respect to your mom, you’re a fucking idiot. Kagome clearly fucking likes you, or she wouldn't try so hard to seem okay every time she sees Kikyo. Or you, from what I could tell today,” Yura continued, completely ignoring his growling and Kikyo’s soft pleas. “Hell, even her mom looked heartbroken the first time we met her.”

Inuyasha wanted to believe her, but he wouldn’t let himself become hopeful just yet. He parked in front of Megumi Sakasagami’s building, and Yura quickly exited the car to go get her.

“What do you think?” he asked, turning to face Kikyo.

She hesitated for a moment, fidgeting with her bag’s strap. “I think it’s a safe bet. It was more evident today; she’d look at you with such longing whenever your attention was elsewhere. It was the same look you have whenever you look at her.”

Kikyo’s words stunned him into silence, and Inuyasha only reacted when Yura and her mom exited the building. “Once we’re done with dinner, you and Yura better tell me everything you think, okay?”

Chapters 1-10 on Ao3

Inuyasha/Kagome, Kikyo/Yura.

@xanthippe-writes

#inukag fic tease #inukag fic #inukag #inuyasha x kagome #kagome x inuyasha

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pebiejeebies · 5 months

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LORE FOR: MOCHI

Name(s):

Original name:

Green Mochi

Nicknames:

Mochi, Mooch, Moochi

What is mochi?

A matcha flavored mochi with raspberry jam

Who is mochi?

VERY LONG LORE AHEAD!!

Mochi used to be a very loyal back object, she didn’t like her mother (Vanilla mochi) at all and would do little to nothing of what she asks for, but she loved her father (Chocolate bar) a lot and would always do anything he asked for

Vanilla never really cared for mochi, mostly saw her as a servant more than her actual daughter, while Chocolate bar used to see everything that she couldn’t, he loved his daughter and cherished all her hard work

Mochi never really had a mother figure, but she had a younger sibling, Chocolate mochi, which mochi was forced to take care of instead of vanilla, making mochi the mother in this family

Chocolate bar was always overworked, and vanilla was almost never home when he was gone, mochi really never knew where she would go when dad was gone, but she had a little brother to take care of

With the lack of motherly love in mochi’s life, she became from a innocent older sister to a horrible mother figure to her little brother

She’d shout and tease her brother the same way her mother did, thinking that’s how a mother should be, full of hate and rage, but the young innocent child wouldn’t ever dare hate Mochi, because he knows that even though she’s rude to him, she’s been through a lot, as he has seen what their mother does to her

Choco mochi always cared for mochi, he’d make her laugh when her mother makes her cry, and she always felt grateful for him, so she promised her brother to try her best to change herself

One day, in a dark night, chocolate bar came late from work, but with a small surprise for his wife and kids, only to see mochi run away from her mother and hide behind her father in horror

When he looked at mochi, she had small scratches of jam on her face, and as he got furious, Vanilla looked at Chocolate bar in horror, mochi’s jam was on her long sharp nails, and the little brother was unconscious behind her, hiding under a table

Chocolate bar stared at vanilla with fury, but before he could charge at her, mochi stood in front of him and tried to keep him away from her, thinking that Vanilla might hurt him too

He held mochi’s hand softly and walked slowly towards her, as vanilla slowly walked backwards, she tried to apologize, but before she could continue speaking, he pointed to the door, stared at her in the eye, and whispered “leave.” In a soft voice, knowing there’s a child in complete horror beside him, he wouldn’t dare let mochi get startled by his shout

Without a word, she just ran away, never came back since.. and the moment she left and closed the door behind her, he rushed to his son in horror, thinking he was injured, or worse…

But mochi comforted her dad, and told him that he was hiding under there for so long he just slept, which.. was still bad but it was definitely better than what he thought

He held his two children in his arms, one heavily asleep, one half awake, and took them to their bedroom, tucked them in, and sat in between their beds to comfort them both, specifically mochi, since she was way too horrified to sleep without him

He sat on the chair in between the beds and fell asleep beside them, making sure that they slept first

Time skip, a year later she has met her new friend, and roommate, Eraser Pen, and have been living together since, as they were walking inside their house, they saw their neighbor run to her house in devastation and fear, Book

Why is Book so.. worried? Why is she running away?

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 8 months

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Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x2 Lost Girl

Summary: A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time. There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season. Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 556

Other Chapters: (1) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Debrief and impromptu strategy meeting complete, the group gradually started to disperse.

It had been a long day–or days, or, who even knew how time worked in this stupid place with no sun?--from waking to the sounds of the lost boys crying, to her run in with Pan and his games, to the Lost Boys’ ambush to her very emotional conversation with Mary Margaret–with her mother–it felt like they hadn’t had a moment of peace all day.

Emma wanted a friend, an ally, someone she could lean on, who would back her up without trying to fix her.

And so she stayed behind with Hook while everyone else left to set up camp. He got her. He knew what she needed, whether that was an encouraging word, some space to let her process, or even a bit of harmless flirtation.

Who would have thought Captain Hook would turn out to be the person she turned to when she just needed to be herself?

“Excellent show of patience, Love,” he said softly, reaching into his pocket, “and that’s what defeats a nasty little boy.”

“I certainly hope so…” she rolled her eyes goodnaturedly as he produced his flask, uncorked it and offered it to her. “Is rum your solution to everything?”

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” he quipped.

Emma watched as he took a long drag from the flask, thinking back to the last time they’d shared a drink together back on his ship. He’d given her just what she needed then too–encouragement after Rumplestiltskin questioned her abilities, a keepsake of Neal’s, and a chance for the two of them to decompress and share memories of the man they’d both known and cared for. He just got it.

When he offered her the flask again, this time she took it, taking a quick drink, appreciating the smooth burn of the alcohol.

“So just how did you unlock the map?”

She shrugged, simply answering. “I did what Pan asked.”

“Just who are you, Swan?” he asked, giving her an opening, a chance to unburden herself of what he had to know was a very emotional process.

But she’d already had the conversation with Mary Margaret. She’d already made herself vulnerable and bared her deepest pain. No way was she going there again tonight.

No, deep conversation wasn’t what she needed. Better to hide behind a little flirtation.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred.

He didn’t respond with the innuendo she was looking for, didn’t even give her that look she refused to admit made her squirm in the most pleasant of ways. No, for a long moment he remained silent, and then he turned toward her, his eyes sincere, completely genuine.

“Perhaps I would.”

Emma’s heart pounded as the fear crept in. This was too much, too much. He was too much. The flirtatious, innuendo driven pirate she could handle, but this good man who seemed to genuinely care for her?

Nope. A girl could get lost in those intense blue eyes and forget just what a terrible idea it was to let yourself fall for someone.

Captain Hook was fun, but Killian Jones was terrifying.

And so she did what she always did. She ran. Maybe she didn’t need a friend and ally after all. Maybe all she needed was herself.

It was safer that way.

NEXT CHAPTER-->

#season 3 rewatch drables #ouat fanfiction #cs fanfiction #my fanfiction

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morganski-19 · 3 months

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I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 9: Fights

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 8

cw: grief

December 1984

Julie stares at the small journal in her hands. Carefully figuring out how to wrap it so it looks pretty like her mom’s. It’s not a perfect present either. Her mom always insisted that she didn’t need to get her anything for her birthday, it already being enough that Julie was here at all. But that felt cheap, wrong. Her mom provided so much for her, she didn’t even deserve the world if it could be given.

So, she did the only thing she could do, wrote a story. It’s been the same for the last few years, something quick and easy but meaningful. A picture of the two of them that she drew, was last years, and now a story to accompany it.

A story where the two of them were happy. Not that they weren’t now, just a different type of happy. In her story, they were living in a house, not a trailer. Three floors, each with its own secrets to unravel. Ghost stories come to life and pictures moving on their own. Journeys they two of them would undertake, just the two of them.

Because that’s how it always was. Julie and her mom, hand in hand and fighting through life together.

They didn’t need anyone else, didn’t want it half of the time. Every time a new person came into their life, it ruined it just a bit. Always disrupted the peace that Julie and her mom had made. And while it could be lonely sometimes, just the two of them, she wouldn’t change it one bit.

So, it felt wrong not to get her something on her birthday. Which was today and Julie can’t even figure out how to wrap it properly. Giving up, she just does it. Folds the paper and tapes it down. The corners are a bit wrinkled, and the paper is sideways, but it’s wrapped.

When she gives it to her mom over breakfast, it’s taken with a smile. The bad wrapping ignored for what’s inside. The hug her mother gives her with a thank you makes up for everything. It didn’t matter that the present wasn’t anything special, it was special to her mom, and to her. That’s all it needed to be.

. . .

Present Day, December 1986

“The place looks the same as when I came here before,” Sarah concludes, writing something in her folder. “Except for the new decorations in Julie’s room, of course.”

Steve stands next to Julie, patiently waiting for the inspection to be over. Even though it went fine, he made sure nothing incriminating was in the house, it still made him nervous. Sarah seemed to be on his side of this, but he was still unsure.

Julie leans against the railing, picking at the skin around her nails. It’s gotten worse in the past few days, bandaids starting to wrap around her thumbs these days. Her hair pulled back in loose braids to hide the fact that it isn’t washed.

There’s this feeling that something is up, and not like it has been before. That something, significant, is coming up. A date that she is now spending without her mom. And he wants to talk about it, but she keeps shutting him out before he can even try. He just doesn’t know what to do.

“I just have some questions to ask the two of you, and then I’ll be on my way. Steve, how about you first.”

Steve nods and leads Sarah to the kitchen table, sitting across from her. She opens a different folder from the one she used in the inspection, glancing at what is inside before looking up at him.

“I had a few more questions about you before I get to discussing the adjustment. You said that you started taking care of the financial aspects of the house since you were sixteen?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s right.”

“Was that the first time your parents left you alone when they went on one of their trips?”

The urge to lie is strong. Just say that it was and get it over with, no one had to know the true extent of what his parents did. But she’s looking at him with the same concern she’d give Julie. That she’s looking out for him as well as her. And for the first time in his life, he feels the need to tell another adult the truth.

“Uh, no. They’ve been going on long trips since I was eight. Never as long as it was when I turned sixteen, but not that short either.”

A sourness turns in Sarah’s eyes with a slight twitch. He tenses, thinking it is geared toward him. But as she scribbles something in a file with his name, he can’t help but think it’s the same anger he’s been feeling for years.

“When you were eight, who was watching you?”

“Nannies mostly.”

“How many years did they hire nannies.”

Steve scratches at the back of his neck, trying to think. “Until I was twelve, thirteen maybe. At least the overnight ones, day to day ones stayed for another two or so years before there was none at all.”

A deep sigh escapes from her mouth as she continues to write. “How long were their trips then? Shorten than now.”

“Yeah. They were a month or two back then, getting longer as I got older. But when I turned sixteen, that’s when the longest one was.”

“And how long was that one?”

“Two years,” he says, for the first time letting it sink in how long it really was.

He knew that it was wrong that they left him alone, that much was obvious. When he was little, he used to cry and wish that they would come home. That they would want him. The hurt turned into anger with age, and now is just a distant memory.

The anger’s still there but trapped behind a veil of other people had it worse. At least he had a roof over his head and a never-ending cash flow to keep himself fed. A job that he went to every day and a car that he didn’t have to pay for. It was just how it was, and there was nothing Steve could do to change that.

But he’ll watch the Byers’, the Henderson’s, the Sinclair’s, and the Wheeler’s, Robin’s parents and Eddie’s uncle. All people who are there, for the most part, that want their kids. It’s hard to ignore the sting in his chest when he goes over for holiday dinners without his parents. Watching the other kids be loved by the people who created them. But it was fine because he made his own family with them. He had family because of them.

It was enough, until it wasn’t. Enough until his father called to berate him, and all that was left was the question of what he could do to earn his father’s love. His father’s respect, admiration. The answer was always nothing, and it was a simple fact that Steve accepted long ago.

“So, I’m going to hand you something, and it’s up to you to decide what you want to do with it, ok.” Sarah closes the folder she was writing in and slides it across the table.

“Ok,” he takes the folder and opens it. Inside is a list of evidence, with notes of how to gather materials to prove it, as well as a pamphlet on how to sue your parents for neglect, and the business card of a lawyer. “What is this?”

“Things I’ve started to write down since our last talk. It’s clear, from the way you talk about them, that they have neglected you. Which is why I asked you more questions about it today and given you this folder. If you would like to, you can sue them for neglect and, if there’s a paper trail of what you’ve said, probably win.”

Thoughts cloud his mind, making it impossible to fully grasp at what she’s saying. Sue his parents, clear neglect. Ruin the little relationship he has with his parents, for what, money. Proving in front of a court the exact type of people they were. Ruin their reputation among the public, and his among their friends because he stood up. Does he really want that?

“Of course, you don’t have to do it, not if you’re not comfortable with it. But, if you were to ever want reparations for the way they treated you, the evidence is there. And it’s damning.”

Steve opens his mouth a few times, but the words don’t come out. “I-I’ll think about it,” is all he can figure out what to say. Not a yes, but also not a no.

“Ok, let’s move on to something else, alright.”

“Ok.”

. . .

Julie is sitting at her lunch table, half falling asleep over her uncompleted math homework. She couldn’t get it done after the check in yesterday. Stress about what was going to come of it, that she might be moved again, had filled most of her day yesterday. Then she was too empty to think of doing anything other than lying in her bed. So, no homework got done.

Not like that was an uncommon occurrence these days. Homework seemed so trivial to the rest of her life. Moving houses, adjusting to new places. Grieving. All of it’s too much already, she doesn’t need to have homework piled on top of it.

Last night was bad, worst than normal. Which is to be expected of this week, but it still hurt. All the questions Sarah asked her to make sure she was adjusting, that she liked it there.

“Do you like it here, Julie?” she asked across the kitchen table.

“Yes,” Julie answered because it was the truth. But only half of it. “I do.”

Sarah had seemed satisfied with her answers, ending the meeting with a promise to be there if she should ever need it. If she would need to move again. Julie didn’t want to move again, she did really like it at Steve’s. There was just something missing, and that was the sad fact of Julie’s existence.

The worst part of it all is that his house started to feel like hers too. Her room was actually her room, with it’s painted walls and posters found at the thrift store. Clothes in the overflowing laundry bin, schoolwork scattered across all the surfaces. It’s her dishes in the sink and her tv program on pause in the living room.

Julie was finally starting to feel at home. Which was the problem.

“Can I ask you a question,” Max asks, breaking Julie out of her thoughts. “You totally don’t have to answer it, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I’ve been thinking about it and Steve mentioned that you two are living together now, and I just. Are you ok? Like really ok?”

“I’m fine,” Julie responds coldly, packing up her math homework.

“Yeah, no, I get that. It’s just, when Billy died, I was really going through it, and I didn’t really want to talk about it that much. But it helps, to talk about it, sometimes. And I’m here for you, we’re here for you, me and Jane. We’ve both dealt with this kind of stuff, so if you wanted to talk about it, you could. With us, I mean.”

They’re looking at her like they understand, and they might. But this isn’t the run of the mill thing here. Loosing a brother sucks, Julie’s sure, but she knows they weren’t as close as losing her mom. And Jane, well she didn’t know a lot about Jane so she can’t really speak on that.

This pain was hers and hers alone, and no one can really know what she’s going through. Not the counselors pulling her out of classes to talk to her, not her teachers asking to talk to her after class. Not even then, her only friends she’s had in a long time.

“I told you, I’m fine,” she spits.

She tries not to feel angry when people ask about it. Tries not to feel angry when they try to connect with her. Show that they care. Because she should be grateful that people still care about her. That there are other people who give a shit other than her mom. And a part of her is, but the rest of her stings with the knowledge that they’re only here because her mom is gone.

Max readjusts herself, pressing her lips together. “I get it, I do. Just know that we’re here.”

“Steve was just worried about you,” Jane adds, innocently.

“Jane,” Max exclaims, “We weren’t supposed to tell her that part.”

The only reason she ever met Steve in the first place was because she really had nothing else. And while she was always going to tell him about her existence, of his father’s affair, she’s not so sure she would have done it in the way she did. Meeting him was the last lifeline she had after everything, so she had to take it. It worked out, and she’s grateful.

And now he’s there and he cares, and it should be great, but it hurts. Every time he gives her the look of “I care about you, just know that I’m here” her heart burns because it will never be the same. He’s opened his home to her, worked to take her in, changed his life to accommodate her. She wouldn’t change it, wouldn’t take it all back. It’s nice to have somebody. But he’s not her mom and never will be.

Every time he does something remotely close to what her mom did, she gets a burst of rage. It shows her exactly what she has lost, and what it has meant for her, and she hates it.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Julie says while slinging her bag over her shoulder. She takes her full lunch bag and dumps it into the trash on her way out of the lunchroom, heading straight to the bathroom.

Slamming the door behind her, she heads for an empty stall. She sits on the toilet, pulling the long chain of her locket from underneath her shirt. Opening it to find what’s always been there, a picture of her and her mom. Small and cut off weird, but it didn’t matter.

Tears stream down her face as quiet sobs rip through her chest. She grips the small charm close to her heart and stares at the ceiling.

“Why?” she whispers in the empty bathroom. “Just why?”

. . .

The phone rings on Steve’s nightstand, pulling him out of his sleep. He rolls over to reach the phone, dragging Eddie with him, arms gripped around Steve’s waist.

“Let it keep ringing,” Eddie mumbles into Steve’s shoulder. “Sleep.”

“Can’t, might be the school.” Steve swats Eddie away, finally able to sit up and reach the phone.

Eddie rolls onto his back in protest. “Right, you have responsibilities now. That’s not weird at all.”

“Shut up,” Steve says while picking up the phone. “Harrington residence.”

“Hi, is this Steve?” the woman on the line says.

“Yes, who is this?”

“I’m Mrs. Peters, Julie’s English teacher. You’re listed as her guardian, and I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Is she ok?” He’s half ready to jump out of bed and run out the door if he needs to. Well, after putting clothes on.

Mrs. Peters sighs through the line. “Truth is, I’m not sure. I’ve had Julie in class before, and she was such a good student. One of the brightest I had. Her essays were so thoughtful and her creative writing assignments, they were beautiful. It’s all changed this year. She’s barely turning assignments in, and half asleep most of the time. I know what happened with her mom earlier this year, such a tragedy. And it’s expected that students who go through such a loss will slip a little with grades. But she skipped my class today, so I wanted to give you a call. I’m worried about her.”

Steve leans back on his headboard with a sigh. “I am too. I’ve tried to talk to her about this, but it’s always shut down.”

“I’m sure it’s a hard topic for her to talk about it.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“That’s all I really called for, to see if she’s getting the support she needs at home. I remember you, had you a few years ago when I was teaching seniors. You were a good kid when you started trying, I know you’ll take good care of her.”

His heart warms with some sort of pride. “Thank you, that means a lot. I’m really trying here.”

“I’m sure she knows that. I hope things go better for you, and you’ll be able to talk to her about this. Thank you for stepping up and taking her in.”

“Wasn’t that hard of a decision once I got to know her.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. I’ll let you go. Good luck, Steve.”

“Thanks for calling bye.” He hangs up the phone, sliding back down under his covers.

Eddie rolls over to look at him. “The school.”

“Yeah,” Steve says while staring at the ceiling. “Remember Mrs. Peters, she’s Julie’s English teacher. Said she missed class today, hasn’t been turning work in.”

Eddie hums. “You’re worried about her.”

How can he not be? When all he sees is the empty shell of a person some days. And he knows that’s not what she’s normally like. Because she’s bright and funny on the better days. And so, so caring.

It was there more in the middle, not the beginning, and not now. But if the night they first met was day one, and this is now day whatever it is. Right in the middle, he could see her, without the sadness that looms in her eyes. Just last week he saw it too, when they were picking up stuff for her room and painting it all. She was there. But the sadness came back again.

“It’s not like I’m expecting her to magically get better, for her grief to go away. I just,” he takes a deep breath. “I just want her to know that I’m here, that she can talk to me. Cause I might not know exactly what she’s going through, but I know enough about it. And even if I didn’t, I’m here to listen.”

He rolls on his side to face Eddie. Eddie takes his hand, encouraging him to continue.

“I just keep getting caught up in this loop of saying I want to help her. To let her know that I’m here. So she doesn’t have to go through this alone. But I never know how to say it, or show it, so I just don’t. And the days keep going on, and she’s still isolating herself. I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s hard, I know,” Eddie comforts. “And, as someone who lost a parent kinda like she did, it sucks, a lot. You think the world has ended and you’re left all alone. You’re angry, and sad, and so many emotions you just can’t name. But can I tell you something that you’re doing right?”

Steve shifts closer to Eddie. “What.”

“You’re showing her that you care. You take her out and change her room, despite the fears that you have. You ask her about her day, and make sure she has food to eat. You make her feel safe, Steve. That is more than any kid can ask for during this time. And while you’re still going to feel like you’re not doing enough. You’re doing the best that you can. If you want to ask her about her mom, you can, it just might not be met with the reaction you want it to.”

He lets out a long breath. “I think that’s why it’s taken me so long to say something. It’s already so weird knowing that we’re related. And knowing that the only reason I know that is because her mom died. It feels weird.”

Eddie presses a kiss to the back of Steve’s hand. “How are you doing with all of this? We haven’t really talked about it since when it first happened.”

Better, Steve thinks. He’s doing better. Even though he now wakes up in his painted room and almost goes into a panic attack. Even though he goes to a job he knows his dad hates. And now provides a home to the kid his dad never wanted.

It’s been hard accepting that he’s officially throwing away the role his parents expected him to play. That he’s finally breaking the last bit of relationship he has between them. He’s finally willing to leave. To have the life he wants, not what they want.

They want the wife and the kids with the picket fences and a good paying job. A respected, get a degree first kind of job. Where the anxieties and the nightmares never happen, and the trauma doesn’t exist. Where Steve’s hearing is normal, and his brain isn’t damaged. Where the scars aren’t there, and he won’t flinch every time the light flickers.

And while some of those things he still wants in his life. The kids, the house, a good paying job. Some aspects of his life are irreversible, unchanging. He didn’t ask for them, but that doesn’t mean they never happened. It’s a part of his life that they will never accept, or even know about.

“As good as I can be. I think a part of me will always hate him, for what he did. To me, and to Julie. And I’m tired of thinking that there will be a day where I’m not a disappointment to him. Especially when there are some parts of my life that I know would get me kicked out of the house. Out of his life. But” he takes a breath, “I don’t want to have a dad if that means I can’t be who I am.”

Eddie smiles, soft with a bit of pain. “It hurts to hear you say that, because I want you to have a family that will love you for all the amazing things that you are. But I am so proud of you for getting to a place where you can say that. I know it was hard.”

“It was,” Steve says, tears gathering in his eyes.

“C’mere,” Eddie pulls him into a hug, holding Steve close as everything lets go.

It was a lot of work getting to the place he is. Time and effort and tears. Years of built up, years of pain. But as the world came crumbling around him, he found more happiness in other people than he has in his entire life. Friends he never would have associated with, a family he never thought he would have.

And here in the bed his father paid for is a man that Steve likes, might even be starting to love. It’s the biggest fuck you he could have ever sent his father’s way. Because in Eddie’s arms, everything starts to fit into place. Everything finally made sense. He is finally, truly, himself.

Steve built himself a home. With Eddie, with Robin, with the kids, with Julie. He had his family, and nothing was going to take that from him now.

. . .

Julie just wants to go home. Wants to crawl into her bed and pray for sleep to come so this awful day can be over. Screw the test she has tomorrow, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. Not today, and not tomorrow. The sadness will keep coming back, no matter how hard she tries.

She’s just so tired of it being like this. Of having good days where it hurts a bit less, where she can smile and actually mean it. But then waking up the next day and feeling like everything is terrible and never going to get better. Where she can have good days like last weekend, just followed with terrible days like today.

And she knew this day was coming, and knew it was going to be hard. She knew that the day before, and the day after, hell the whole week would be rough. That the grief was going to hit its highest peak since that first week. But it was worse than she could have ever thought.

Steve has off from work today, which means when Julie walks out of the high school doors, his car is in its usual spot next to Eddie’s van. She’ll have to make conversation on the drive back, before being able to escape to her room.

It’s just twenty minutes, she tells herself. Twenty more minutes of an impossible day, before she can stop pretending.

“Hey,” Steve says when she walks up to his car.

She mumbles a small hello before shuffling into the passenger seat, shutting the door with a thud behind her. Steve says a goodbye to Eddie before climbing into the driver’s seat. Pulling out of the parking lot without a word.

“How was school?” he prompts, fishing for something. Like he knows.

Julie hates that. It’s just another thing that pangs in her chest. Something her mom would do countless times when she knew something was bothering Julie. Only another reminder that she isn’t here today. That Julie’s living with someone else.

Leaning her head against the window, watching the trees fly by as they drive, she tries to stay calm. Tries to find a normal way to respond so he’ll just stop.

“Like it always is,” she whispers, just audible enough that he’ll hear it, but quite enough so he knows she doesn’t want to talk about it.

He must understand because it’s the last thing he tries to talk about in the car. She just wraps her coat tighter around her, closing herself up as much as possible. Trying to convince her brain that just because she left the school, the tears aren’t allowed to break through again. She already cried in a bathroom today, she didn’t need to do it in his car either.

“Hey, could we talk for a minute?” Steve asks when they get home, stopping Julie from immediately locking herself away in her room.

She can’t help the eyeroll that comes, the visible slump in her shoulders as she turns to face him. Crossing her arms across her chest, coming off defensive to hide the range of emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

“What,” she says more bitter than she’d like to admit.

Steve flinches, not expecting the harshness in her voice. He takes a breath, trying to think of what to say, like it’s important. She can’t deal with another thing today.

“I got a call from one of your teachers today, Mrs. Peters. She said you missed class,” he says it with a level voice, face full of concern.

It does nothing but make her blood boil. He wasn’t supposed to know, wasn’t supposed to care. That wasn’t supposed to be his job. Steve was her brother, not her parent. Julie didn’t have one of those anymore. And the face he’s making is the one she would see all the time, practically lived on her mom’s face sometimes.

“So,” she rolls her eyes. Wishing he would just drop it.

It’s like the two images of them are morphing together in her mind. Her mom and Steve becoming one person. Like he’s replacing her, becoming the new person in her life to fill that role. He didn’t get to do that. She didn’t get to forget her mom. Even if she doesn’t live in the same house anymore, even if her life has changed. It was never supposed to.

“So. I’m worried about you. You’re missing class and skipping meals. You think I don’t notice when you go to school in the same clothes as the day before. I know that this all has to be a lot for you, believe me I know how life can just take everything and spit you out expecting you to recover like nothing happened. I know-.”

“You don’t know,” Julie bursts, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “You can’t possibly know what it’s like. It’s bad enough that you ask my friends to try to talk to me about it, at school even. You don’t get to say that you know what I’m going through.”

Steve takes a breath, looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t ask them to talk to you about it.”

“But you mentioned it to them, isn’t that enough.” She’s yelling now. Anger that she knows is misplaced, hitting the only target it could find.

“And I’m not saying I know what you’re going through. I’m saying that I’ve been in a place like yours before and it sucks. It’s one of the worst things a person can go through.”

“I get that you had a sad childhood, and your parents were never around. But that doesn’t give you the right to compare your situation to mine.”

It’s a low blow and she knows it. An arrow perfectly aimed just to get him to shut up. To get him to hurt enough to leave her alone. Because she can be mad at him. He’s here to be mad at. Giving her every opportunity to.

Because she can’t be mad at her mom. Julie can’t be mad at her for leaving her alone. For leaving at all. How can she be mad at the dead for leaving. She can wish and pray and beg the universe for her mom to come back. Cry a river of tears caused by the unbelievable grief that it’s left her in. Be upset with all that’s happened to her. Wonder what went wrong that night to take it all away from her.

But angry. No, that wasn’t allowed. She’s not allowed to be angry at her mom, especially for this.

Her words hit their mark, making Steve stop for a second. For his eyes to glaze over just a bit before he blinks it away. She should be remorseful, should take back everything she said and get it over with. But for a small second, she thinks that this might be over. That she can just run away without saying another word and cry herself to sleep for the third night in a row.

But instead, he keeps talking.

“That’s not what I was talking about, but that doesn’t matter. The point of all of this, was to tell you that I’m here if you ever want to talk.” The levelness of his voice is gone, and all that is left is bitterness behind his words. Just like she wanted, but it still stings. For reasons that she can’t quite explain even if she wanted to. But she’s tired of talking, so she just explodes.

“Just stop ok,” she pleads through her raised voice. “You’re not my mom.”

Her chest heaves with her words, the arrow coming back and hitting her instead. Tears well up in her eyes as she grabs her bag, running up the stairs before he can say anything else. And she’s pretty sure he does, but she can’t hear it. Doesn’t care that she didn’t.

Instead, she slams her door and falls into her bed. Not her bed, actually. Because her bed is back in the trailer park with her mom in the other room. Now it’s empty with nothing but her mother’s ghost, and Julie’s not even there to try and say hello.

. . .

“I’m not trying to be,” Steve says as Julie’s running up the stairs. She slams her bedroom door, isolating herself and blocking him out.

It could have gone better. A lot better. It actually went to shit. He didn’t know how else to do it. And he should have just waited, he saw what she was like in the car. That far off distant look as she just gazed out the window and didn’t talk. Not like he would ever force her to, but he wanted her to.

There was a day a few weeks ago where he picked her up, and she was so talkative. Told him about this book that she was reading for a book report and how much she liked it. How she saw herself in the main character, and loved how the world was crafted. Went on a on about it for the whole ride, and even past that. It was great, it was her.

That day, he saw past the grief that’s been encapsulating her. To the girl she was before the accident, before her mom passed. He just wanted to be able to see it more often sometimes.

It’s not like he was trying to speed run her grief, he never would. It just hurt to see her come home every day and shove all her feelings away just to keep a neutral face. To hide the fact that she was hurting from him. He didn’t have the right to see how she really felt, but he wanted to offer the key if she ever wanted to open the door.

So, he tried to, but look where that ended.

He runs a hand through his hair, keeping his hand and the back of his neck with a long exhale. Thoughts rushing through his head on how he can fix this. How he can apologize for pushing, and just take back everything that happened.

It’s an impossible task, he knows. Time, she just needs a little time to cool down. And Steve does too. The focus is on her, but he can’t ignore what she said either. Even if it wasn’t the worst this in the world, it was just enough to make him falter. To make him a little angry. Upset. He knew the technique well. Hurt someone else just because you’re hurting. Doesn’t make it right, but he knows.

Steve’s not angry at Julie, not for what she said. If anything, he’s just sad. Hurts for her and what she is going through. How even though he knows grief, he doesn’t know this. Losing a parent is something he never experienced, not like this. But he still wants to reach out.

He gives it an hour, lets her have her space. For her to cool down, and for him to as well. Let’s what happened settle in, so it’s not rushed.

Standing in front of Julie’s door, he knocks gently. She doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t hear music coming through the room, but that doesn’t mean she’s listening. He still talks anyway.

“Julie. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up like that, and I didn’t mean to make you upset. I could have been gentler, could have said it differently. And probably could have waited for a better time. But I’ve been worried about you for a while now. And while you probably don’t want me to be, it’s true. You’re my sister, and while we haven’t known each other for a long time, I still care about you.”

He pauses, thinking about what to say, and how to say it. To tread lightly. Deciding it’s best just to take a step back, just a bit.

“I’m going to be honest, I have,” he takes a deep breath, “no idea what I’m doing. When you showed up at my door that night, I didn’t know what was going to happen past that. What I did know, is that I wanted to help you. I wanted to get to know the sister that I never knew, that I was never given the chance to know. And you let me, you let me give you a space in my house, you let me into your life. Sure, there were a lot of other factors in there that I’m sure influenced that decision, but I hope at least part of it was that you wanted to get to know me too.”

Steve rests his head on the door, willing himself to just find a point to this. “You’re right, I have no clue what you’re going through. The other things in my life that I’ve gone through, they might be similar, but they’re not the same. And I would never say that they are. But I’m here for you, whether you want me to or not. You’re the only blood related family I got, too. I’m not going away that easy. But I can never know how you’re feeling if you don’t let me in.”

He waits a minute, seeing if she would open the door. But the hall clock’s second hand the only sound filling the space, so he steps back and turns to walk away. Until the door lock clicks.

“What about your parents?” Julie asks, door open.

A sigh of relief escapes his lungs, He might have done something a little right.

“I was sixteen when they left for two years straight with barely a phone call from them every few months. The only time they came back was to reprimand me for not getting into college the day of my high school graduation. They didn’t even go to the ceremony. I might be related to them, but they’re no family.”

Julie stares at him with tears still painting her eyes. Hair falling out of her ponytail and sweatshirt sleeve cuffs still a little damp. “You were left alone, here, all by yourself at sixteen?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I know a little what it’s like to be left behind at this age. Not the same, but not entirely different.”

She opens the door a little more, motioning with her head for him to come in. He walks into the room, sitting down next to her at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t really mean it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know you didn’t. I’m sorry for pushing.”

Wiping a fresh tear off her cheek, she pulls something from underneath the bed and holds it in her lap. A small journal. “Don’t be. I think I needed you too, just a little bit.”

“Can I ask what that is?”

Julie presses her lips together, blinking away a lingering tear. She hands him the journal, letting him take it. He doesn’t look in it though, it doesn’t feel right.

“I pretty much have a journal a year, sometimes two.” She points to the tall stack of journals on her desk. “Every year since I was seven. I wrote stories in them, journal entries, and drew pictures with them. A few years ago, I got an empty journal to write a story in for my mom. And every year, I would ask for it back and write a new story in it. It was her birthday present every year.”

He looks at the journal in his hand, already knowing where this is going. “I’m sure she loved it.”

“She did,” Julie whispered. “I never got to finish the one for this year. After everything that happened, just couldn’t bring myself to look at it. Let alone finish it.’

“I’m sure she would understand, you’ve had a rough couple of months.”

“Yeah,” she lets out a shaky breath. Leaning her head back on the foot of the bed and looking up towards the ceiling. “Today’s her birthday,” she chokes out. “And I just feel so guilty for not finishing it.”

Steve doesn’t quite know what to do, but he’s trying. “Hey,” he places a hand on her shoulder. “It’s ok.”

“No, it’s not.” Tears start to roll down her cheeks faster than she can wipe away. “I’m just so sad that she’s gone, and then I get angry. I get angry at her for leaving, and at the accident for happening. Then I get upset for being angry because I know it wasn’t her fault. I can’t be mad at her for something that’s not her fault.”

“You still have a right to feel whatever you are about it all though. Be mad at the universe, not her. Be upset that she’s not here anymore, wish that she was here. All of those things.” He laughs in his head about the irony of what he’s saying, about what he’s going to say. How it took other people telling him to do the same thing for him to finally let himself feel. “Keeping it all bottled up, ignoring that they’re there and telling yourself that you shouldn’t feel this way. That’s not healthy, believe me.”

Julie looks at him, finally. Eyes puffy and cheeks stained with tears. “I miss her.”

“I know you do.”

The dam lets itself loose and Julie crumbles, leaning toward Steve as she breaks. He pulls her into a hug similar to the one that he gave Dustin months prior when they were waiting in hospital rooms. Holding her close to shield away the bad, as the emotions ignored to keep appearances finally break free. Letting her know that he’s safe, and he’s here.

That he’ll always be here.

Part 10

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @cheddartreets, @theupsidedownrealestateagent, @acidbubblegummie, @sirsnacksalot, @l0st-strawberry, @helpimstuckposting, @strawberry-starss, @freddykicksasses, @italianwhore1, @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window, @rageagainsttheapathy, @nuggies4life, @ape31, @whimsicalwitchm, @chrissycunninghamfanblog, @michellegilligan, @hippielittlemetalhead, @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale, @jaytriesstuff, @confused-stripes, @faeb1tch42069, @marklee-blackmore, @hel-spawn, @genderless-spoon, @mamafaithful, @estrellami-1, @starryeyedpoet17 @i-amthepizzaman, @lilpomelito @melonmochi

#stranger things #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #long lost/secret sibling #steve has a sibling #steve harrington #julie lawson #eddie munson #steddie #max mayfield #el hopper #angst #cw grief #tw grief #i don't know which ways home fic

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