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klausysworld · 1 month

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Hey,I like your klaus mikaelson stories very much. Can you do one in which klaus and reader(yn) were in an arrange marriage and they cant stand each other?And they slowly fall in love and at the end he gets her pregnant? As in arranged marriage I mean,something like the marriage between hayley and Jackson. And if you can please add smut,fluff,jealousy and daddy kink. Thank you

An Alliance or a Marriage?

Y/n could not believe that she was doing this.

Y/n was Jacksons sister, they always had each others backs and protected the other. So when Hayley came into Jacksons life, had him falling in love while she had feelings for Elijah Mikaelson, Y/n knew they couldn't get married. The only reason they were actually getting married was to unite the werewolf clans and to share Hayley's hybrid abilities as part of the marriage ritual.

But it would come at the cost of Jackson's happiness and most likely his life. Y/n was not stupid. She knew the price of loving a Mikaelson and it was one that Jackson could not afford and one that Y/n would not let him pay.

So without thinking, she made a fast decision.

"What if Ione of the wolves married Klaus? That way Hayley gets to be with Elijah and Klaus doesn't have to be so wary of Jackson around Hope or whatever his worry is? Wouldn't it just be easier?" She questioned and she felt everyone's gaze turn to her, most genuinely considering the possibility while Klaus looked both pissed and amused.

"I wouldn't trust anyone with Hope and under no circumstances will I be marrying anyone." He answered before storming out without another word. Jackson was second to protest then some of the other wolves.

They all went back to the bayou and tried to forget about the day.

What the wolves were unaware of were the arguments in the Mikaelson compound. Mostly between Rebekah and Niklaus. Rebekah was telling Klaus that for once, he should think of Elijah's happiness instead of only being selfish yet again. She continued to go on about how it was for Hope, how he should be the one sacrificing for Hope, not Hayley as she had already given up so much. The fight went on for hours but by morning it was settled. Niklaus would marry a wolf of his choosing.

Y/n was his choice. She was quiet but smart. Small but strong. Which meant she would be the best of his options. He knew part of her feared him, unlike some of the wolves there. She may challenge him a little but she wasn't stupid enough to truly go against him. This was proven when she silently accepted his decision.

Jackson was entirely against the entire thing. His sister was getting married to the original hybrid, moving into the beasts den and becoming apart of his twisted family. But he too kept quiet after Y/n told him it was what needed to be done. It was the only chance for everyone to walk out somewhat alive.

That was why she was walking down the aisle, Jackson unwillingly giving her away to Klaus Mikaelson before Mary began the ceremony. As the words "you may kiss your bride" left her lips, their fates were sealed. Klaus stepped forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his brides soft lips and watched as her and every other wolf in the rooms eyes lit up with golden flames, united as one.

The compound remained busy for the rest of the day, Klaus and Y/n stayed in opposite sides of the room at all times. Elijah urged his brother to at least be kind, Klaus however ignored any and all advice and instead drank the night away. Marriage was not in the cards for him. It was not what he wanted and he now knew that he was tied to this girl, a girl he harboured no feelings toward and a girl who only looked at him with distaste, for at least one lifetime. He knew the likelihood of them every liking each other was slim and he also knew that there were lots of rules in this werewolf marriage that he would have to follow in order to have the wolves protecting Hope. So he got off his face drunk, to the point where he couldn't get himself up the stairs at the end of the night.

It wasn't the best way for Y/n to find him on their first night 'together'. When she gave him that look of uncertainty and upset when she found him at the bottom of the stairs slurring his words, he just rolled his eyes and told her to piss off. But she didn't. Instead she fought against his sloppy attempts of pushing her away and instead managed to get him up the stairs and to bed. He fell asleep in seconds leaving Y/n distressed and alone on her wedding night. Instead of sleeping she went back downstairs and cleaned up the mess left over from the wedding.

Klaus had come down in the morning to find her scrubbing the corner of the room. He glanced around and noticed everywhere was spotless, his eyes travelled to the stairs and he was hit with the memory of leaning against her as she struggled to carry him up each one. Guilt bubbled in the pit of his stomach but he ignored it and made his way into the room and past her.

Y/n just stared at the nonexistent spot on the ground and tiredly rubbed the sponge against it.

Rebekah came downstairs after a little while and frowned when she saw Y/n, exhausted and leaning against the wall while her arm moved almost robotically to scratch away at the floor.

“Y/n? Darling we have maids for this” she whispered softly, supporting her new sister-in-law and guiding her to stand up and walk toward the stairs.

“I was just helping” Y/n mumbled, “wine was spilt” she stated as she glanced over to the area she thought was stained with alcohol but when Rebekah glanced it was completely clean. She lead Y/n toward Klaus’s room but paused when she noticed the mess it was in and began to realise why Y/n hadn’t been to sleep. With a soft sigh she brought the she-wolf to her bedroom and helped Y/n out of her wedding dress.

“I suppose this isn’t the way you had hoped to get out of your dress” she joked gently but Y/n didn’t look amused.

“I’d rather you than your brother” she murmured and Rebekah gave a small laugh.

“One day you won’t think that” she whispered as she grabbed some of her pyjamas and passed them to Y/n. “He’ll become kinder after some time, it’ll be a difficult ride but you’ll get there. Besides he must already like you to have chosen you out of all the wolves” she convinced but Y/n just scoffed as she crawled into Rebekah’s bed and let her head hit the pillow

“Lucky me.” She quipped and Bekah hummed.

“I’ll get him to let you rest for today” she told her as she exited the room and let the girl sleep in her room for the day.

Klaus claimed not to care what Y/n did with her time, where she went or who she was with but Rebekah reminded him that she was his wife. Whether he was happy about or not.

“You either need to set her up a nice room for her to have for herself or you need to actually be her husband and have her feel comfortable enough to share one with you. My god Niklaus, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with her. It won’t give you a disease if you smile at the poor girl.” She scowled and Klaus glared but kept his trap shut.

Klaus knew Y/n was beautiful. She was delicate little thing, from what he had seen she could be very sensitive for a werewolf at times. But he knew she had a certain fire in her. He wondered what he would have to do to light that flame and have her snap at him. He wondered if her fear would override that anger.

It was much later in the day when he went to check on his new wife. Part of him worried she had ran away but he knew that she would stay, for the survival of her pack.

He found her curled up in his sisters pyjamas and bed. Reluctantly he picked her up and brought her to his room, tucking her into his bed and leaving her to rest there instead. After all, his bed was where she belonged now.

When evening came around, he made his way back to his room. As soon as he started getting ready for bed, Y/n forced herself up despite her still clearly needing sleep. He sighed as she left the room, ignoring his presence and going downstairs for the rest of the night.

Some days she would stay downstairs and behave almost zombie like as she tried to keep her mind running and eyes open, other times she just went to sleep while she knew Klaus was busy.

It annoyed him to no end but at the same time he was relieved that he never had to really see or speak to her. Still, whether either of them liked it, she was his wife and the fact that she wouldn’t stand in the same room as him was not something he appreciated.

So he did what he assumed to be best.

Forced her to spend time with him.

Often it would be in a painful silence as he stared her down and made sure she wouldn’t get up and leave. However after some time, she would have little conversations with him so that he would be sated and leave her alone for a little while later.

When in front of the other wolves, Klaus would become a different person. He would make sure to kiss Y/n’s cheek or head, hold her waist or hand. One because he had to make it seem as though they were some what happy so that the wolves would not turn on him and two because he liked to piss Jackson off. He took amusement in how the wolf would growl and scrunch his face up in distaste.

Y/n knew what Klaus was doing but didn’t see the point in arguing or getting all stressed about it, besides it only happened every now and then so it didn’t matter much.

However when Klaus began accidentally doing the little gestures when others weren’t around, as though it were his second nature, Y/n felt confused. She didn’t understand his motifs or what he wanted from her.

Rebekah told Y/n that he didn’t want anything, that he was just warming to her but Y/n was still skeptical. Even when Rebekah came into her room grinning and held out a piece of paper with a beautifully sketched version of Y/n’s face.

“He must’ve been bored out of his mind” Y/n mumbled dismissively as she handed the drawing back to Rebekah who rolled her eyes.

“He likes you” she argued and Y/n scoffed.

“He does not. He just wants me to do whatever he says”she countered and the mikaelson sister sighed

“He isn’t all bad, you know?” Bekah questioned

“Sure he isn’t. He’s quite lovely towards his daughter” she agreed and Rebekah hummed as she watched Y/n pretend to have no clue about Niklaus’s thoughts or feelings.

Klaus wouldn’t admit that he had become accustomed to Y/n’s presence and began to want it more often. He wasn’t too sure why but he had taken a fancying to her, he just had.

And he most certainly didn’t like when other people took a fancying to her as well. Not at all.

Now he knew that she would never peruse anything with anyone else, that would break the magical marriage binding the wolves together but it didn’t mean he didn’t get angry. Especially when another wolf could make her smile or blush better than he could. His teeth would bring, jaw would clench and his eyes would flicker gold.

It fuelled something ugly and twisted inside him.

Jealousy.

“Jealousy is a weak man’s disease” Niklaus had told Elijah many times over the centuries. “A man who knows his worth and his strength never had to fear that his girl would stray. Jealously means they are nothing. I am not nothing, I never will be.”

And yet, as soon as Y/n’s attention was given to an attractive werewolf, Klaus would feel as though he was nothing. He would feel that weakness that he loathed so deeply.

The only way to diminish that jealousy was to eliminate the threat. To pick away at the weakness piece by piece until only strength was left.

But that didn’t go well.

When Klaus killed a werewolf, Y/n went ballistic. It was the first time she had actually yelled at him, expressed her anger and threatened his position.

“It’s like you’re actually a fool! You hurt my pack and they will not protect you nor your child, this marriage will be pointless and finished-“ she ranted and his anger bubbled.

“This marriage will not end just because our pack says so” he growled and she glared at him, her pointer finger jabbed at his chest aggressively and it took everything within him not to snap it in half.

“It is hardly a marriage and it had only happened for the benefit of my pack and for your daughter. It is you that has a hundred enemies banging down the door at night and it will be you that suffers if you do not have the protection that I offer you.” She snapped and he sneered in her face. He wanted to kill her in that moment however at the same time, for whatever reason, he had never been more attracted to her. His wolf wanted to force her into submission. To spank and pound her until she admitted that she was his and wouldn’t ever threaten to leave him again. But he was also beyond furious at the possibility of his daughter’s life being on the line and so stormed past her before he would harm her.

He ignored her mutterings of how pathetic he was and locked himself in his arm room which was utterly destroyed by the end of the hour due to his never ending rage.

The next morning he had expected a pack of wolves to be stood at his door, angry and threatening. However he found them all sat at their long table, Y/n was at the head informing them that they had ‘found’ the pack member already dead and had brought him here so that they may take care of his body accordingly.

She lied for Klaus.

She let her family believe that it was someone else who had killed the wolf. When they accused Klaus, she snapped back at them that he was with her all day and had helped her take care of the body.

Y/n gave Klaus a look that dared him to contradict her words but he didn’t utter a word. He just stood at her side and placed a hand on her shoulder as he listened to the others discuss the traditional funeral that the wolf deserved.

Once they left, Y/n walked straight past Klaus and to her bedroom. She was unwilling to speak with her for the next few days. The only time she would was regarding Hope.

The small toddler had taken a strong liking to Y/n and often asked for her. Nobody could not love Hope once they spent some time with her so Y/n was always happy to have the baby in her arms.

Klaus too, very much enjoyed the sight of his wife holding his child. His mind began to spin together images of Y/n pregnant with his child. His wolf craved the thought. He could imagine how beautifully round her stomach would be and how he would press his hands to the bump while nuzzling into her hair.

And then he would think of how he would get her pregnant. She would be so gorgeous sprawled out in his bed.

Since their wedding day she had been in her own room but now Klaus desperately wanted her in his.

He wanted to be inside her. To claim her. To love her.

Never did he think he would love her.

Then again, never did he think he would be getting married or having a baby.

But all of those things had happened and he wouldn’t take them back. Perhaps he might’ve gone about them a little differently but he would have still wanted them to happen.

He told her that once.

One night when they were having dinner.

Somehow he had managed to convince her to share a meal with him and him alone. She couldn’t be bothered to fight over it so complied.

Y/n hadn’t expected him to actually make such an effort. Or to have been so lovely the entire evening. It was clear he wanted to impress her and to engage her, and he had but she didn’t understand why.

Until he told her of how he wouldn’t have changed things,not fully. He had admitted to her that he was somewhat happy with the fact that they were married. He didn’t say he loved her, he knew that would through her off but he made it obvious that he liked her much more than he had initially expressed.

She wasn’t so sure how to respond to him.

Y/n had thought that he was only nicer to her lately because he too was avoiding arguments but she hadn’t truly believed it was because he was being genuine.

Klaus noticed the frown on her face and looked down at his plate. “It’s a little silly I suppose” he muttered to himself, he couldn’t help the deflated feeling that travelled through him as he placed his fork down. “Neither of us wanted this marriage” he mumbled while standing up from his seat making his chair scrape against the floor with a painful sound.

Y/n felt the guilt sink in and she quickly got up also and rounded the table as he started to walk away. “Klaus,” she called softly, reaching out for his hand.

His eyes fluttered when she held onto his hand, he hadn’t felt the softness of her touch since their first and only kiss of their relationship from their wedding day.

He glanced to her and reluctantly shrugged her off. “No it doesn’t matter, I was being a fool” he argued and kept walking.

Y/n sighed to herself and rubbed her hands down her face in frustration.

The next morning Klaus ignored her, barely looked at her even.

It was later that day that she finally caught his attention and pulled him off into another room.

“Klaus” she murmured in annoyance when he went to open the door she had just pushed shut. “You’re behaving like a child” she tutted and he growled. “Would you just stop?” She told him and he glared at her.

“What do you want?” He asked, not bothering to soften his tone which made her frown again.

“I want you to talk to me” she whispered and he narrowed his eyes.

“You never want to talk to me.” he snapped, “you only want to because I made a stupid mistake”

“It wasn’t a mistake” she told him, her tone much gentler than his. “I just wasn’t expecting it”

“Why? Because it’s so shocking that I could possibly feel something-“

“God, Klaus no. You know I dont think you’re a heartless monster-“

“That strongly contradicts things you’ve said in the past-“ he argued and she made a sound of frustration.

“Well I’ve changed my mind” she told him and his jaw tightened. “Klaus I’m serious. I know you now, I’ve seen you”

“Then what is it about me that you cannot love?” He whispered and her eyes softened further. They stared at each other until Y/n stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Her arms went around his midsection and his went over her shoulders.

“It isn’t that I can’t” she mumbled and he closed his eyes

“You just don’t want to” he whispered but she still shook her head.

“I just don’t know how to” she corrected and he hummed quietly.

“But I love you” he uttered and she nodded.

“I know that now” she agreed “and I’ll make sure that I take that into consideration but Klaus, you can’t just expect that I’ll suddenly be all over you and madly in love” she told him and he frowned.

“Why not?” He asked and she scoffed softly. For centuries woman had been falling at his feet but the one woman that he married wouldn’t?

“Because the world doesn’t revolve around you?” She whispered, a little laugh in her voice that made him a little annoyed at first but when he saw her face he couldn’t help but laugh a little bit with her. Eventually he sighed and looked down with a small smile and a nod.

“I’ll earn your affections” he promised, kissing her forehead before exiting the room.

And from that day, he tried his very best to do just that.

Though of course they still had their arguments and disagreements, now he would be the first to apologise or to admit his wrong doings.

And slowly, like he had hoped, Y/n began to love him too.

Rebekah, Elijah, Hayley, Jackson and all the other wolves began to notice the much softer side to them both when they touched to spoke to each together. Some were happier than others about the change in dynamics between the two.

Jackson for one, was very put off when Klaus kissed his sister in front of everyone. What was worse was that she kissed him back and asked him to grab her a drink. They behaved like a real married couple. The wolves didn’t like it.

Some of them went as far to verbalise their opinions but Klaus’s siblings were quick to shut them up before they could upset Y/n. They reminded them that it was in the best interests of everyone that the two got along rather than Y/n living a miserable life just for the benefit of the pack. Eventually the majority agreed and kept quiet.

Jackson was most concerned.

Especially when he came round to visit and found Y/n sprawled across Klaus’s lap while reading a book..

“Y/n” he called, his gaze hard as he watched her lift her head and smile before getting up and going out for lunch with her brother. He expressed his worries and she assured him that Klaus was much better now and that she felt that she could love him. Jackson knew that her using the word ‘could’ was solely for his benefit. She wanted to say that she did love him.

With a small sigh he nodded and told her to just be happy and thanked her once more for everything she had done for him and their family.

When Y/n came home Klaus had made her a bubble bath for her to relax in. She laid in the water for a while before getting changed into comfy clothes and wondering downstairs. Klaus was in the kitchen grating Parmesan cheese over two dishes of pasta.

She smiled and sat at the table quietly, smiling at him when he placed the bowl infront of her before sitting down opposite with his own dish.

Klaus twisted his fork in the spaghetti and asked how her day with Jackson was. They chatted while they ate before loading the dishwasher and heading upstairs.

Y/n had been sleeping in his room lately. Mostly because they would accidentally fall asleep beside each-other when watching a film before bed but then Klaus asked if she would feel comfortable sharing a room with him and she agreed.

So this time they naturally just went to Klaus’s room or rather their room.

His eyes watched as she disappeared into the bathroom, a soft hum left her and her hips swayed gently. The tap started running which meant she was brushing her teeth and he followed her in and grabbed his own toothbrush to do the same. He glanced at her in the mirror as she focused on her mouth. He cleared his throat and finished cleaning up before kissing her head and going into their room to get changed into his sleep pants which he had only been wearing because he wasn’t sure if she would be comfortable with him in only briefs.

Klaus was unaware of how Y/n would imagine his naked body against hers, pressing and sliding against hers while they panted beneath the sheets of their bed.

It was why she started wearing tinier pyjamas to bed, in hopes it would entice him that extra bit.

The little shorts would allow him a glimpse of her ass, as though it was teasing him. And the little matching vest top would wrap around her upper body perfectly.

Klaus sat down on the bed and watched as she walked back in. His eyes glanced to wear her taut nipples would press against the Cotten of her clothes down to her long bare legs that he desperately wanted to bury between.

She let out a yawn as she slid into bed beside him and beneath the covers. He pulled her closer so that their bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces and sighed quietly as though having her touch soothed something inside of him.

“Thanks for tonight” she whispered as she leaned up and kissed his lips before laying her head down on her pillow. Klaus hummed and laid down with her.

“Thank you for having dinner with me again” he smiled and she returned it, her hand moved to caress his gently and he held onto hers tenderly.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, I love having dinner with you” she told him and his eyes flickered between hers as he took in her words because they both knew what she was actually saying.

“You do?” He whispered and she nodded.

“I do.”

Klaus kissed her again, for a few seconds longer this time. Just as he pulled his lips away from hers, she pushed them back together with a little more force. He groaned softly, his hand sliding down her back and over the curve of her ass to grip the back of her thigh and lift her leg up so her knee slide over his hip. His hand slid up under her shorts to feel the soft warmth of her pussy against his fingers.

Y/n moaned quietly against his mouth. Both her hands caressed his neck gently before one moved lower. Klaus grunted softly and pulled away from their kiss as he felt her hand cup his erection through his pants.

Their eyes locked as both their hands moved slowly, teasingly.

A small whimper left Y/n as Klaus’s fingers rubbed over her clit. She brought her hand under the waistband of his pants and wrapped her fingers around his cock. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip as she felt the length and thickness of him. Klaus’s mouth fell open slightly as he breathed shallowly.

Her hand pumped his cock slowly as he slipped a finger inside her. His thumb glided over her sensitive little bud, his eyes urging her to please move her hand faster. She complied and stroked him quicker, squeezing as she went.

His hips thrust against her hand while two fingers curled inside her to find her spot.

The whole room became hot and dark as the night deepened and the blankets were pulled over their heads to make them feel closer. Their breathing mixed together and little moans left them both as their hands moved faster.

Their mouths moved together sloppily as moans vibrated from both of them and their body moved in time to meet the other’s hand.

Y/n went first, her neck arched making Klaus move his lips down to suck along her throat while his hips thrust and his fingers fucked her fast. He panted as her cry of pleasure left her and he felt her pussy clamp down and release. It only took a few more squeezes of her hand around his cock for him to cum across her stomach.

They both lay, breathing heavily and looking at eachother. Y/n’s eyes squinted to see him in the dark, his hands were moving her onto her back so he could slot on top of her. Her thighs were nudged open and a gasp left her as the head of his cock started to push into her.

Klaus leaned down and kissed her again, deepening it in seconds so he could taste her while his cock finally felt the soft, wet warmth that he had longed for.

A strained cry of relief left her and her back arched off the bed as he filled her completely. His hands slid up her body and scrunched her shirt up above her breasts so that he could lean down and wrap his lips round one of her nipples.

“Klaus” she whimpered as his hips thrust slowly and his tongue flicked teasingly. He moaned softly around the bud before sucking it between his teeth. He released it with a pop before kissing up along her chest and throat until he took her lips to his. She kissed him back hungrily, accepting his tongue into her mouth without any resistance as his hips rolled faster into her.

He only pulled away from her lips when her pussy went unbearably tight on his cock, he let out a loud groan as he fucked into her as quickly as he could.

The harsh slap of his skin meeting hers repeated through the room alongside her moans for more. Klaus could feel himself getting closer to cumming and he was determined to fill her up. He wanted her to carry his next child.

His tongue traced the shell of her ear as she cried out and his fingers reached between her legs to rub at her clit until she was crying to cum.

“Shh sweetheart” he purred to her, “let me fill you” he whispered and the realisation of what he meant dawned on her.

“Klaus” she whimpered as she felt his cock release inside her. His hips slowed but didn’t stop as his cock softened momentarily before hardening again inside of her still.

He grunted softly as he glanced down at her, his fingers gently rolled over her clit while watching his cock slide in and out of her. He could see his cum spilling out of her and he desperately tried to fuck it back inside.

“I want you to be full of my child” he muttered to her and she moaned softly, her hand lifted to cup his cheek to draw his attention to her eyes.

"I love you" she whispered and he groaned quietly as he kissed her lips just briefly so she could speak again, "and I'll love our children" she told him making his hips buck roughly into her. She moaned in response and wrapped her arms around his neck while resting her head against his. "You''ll be such a good daddy to them" she murmured and a low growl rumbled through his chest as he took the praise and thrived off of it.

Y/n felt his pace quicken and her pleasure heighten making her kiss across his cheek to his ear slowly, "Please daddy?" she purred while her cunt clenched repeatedly and her lower stomach twisted into a series of knots. "Please give me your babies" she begged and he couldn't stop from snapping. His mind and body went haywire making her scream his name. Her body was practically vibrating as her body met his for the hundredth time and her head went back allowing his mouth to reattach onto her neck.

Her eyes rolled back when his teeth sunk into her throat.

Bliss rolled through both of them until their bodies were a heated, sweaty mess amongst the sheets.

His hand held the back of her head holding her face into his chest as they panted heavily. Her eyes closed as she felt him stroke her hair soothingly while he slid his cock out of her and caressed her swollen clit ever so gently with his thumb.

Y/n whimpered weakly and he smiled as he glanced down to watch her brows furrow together while her hips slowly rode the pad of his finger until one last cry left her alongside another orgasm.

Once he had ensured she was finished, he cleaned them both up and then their bed before dropping her down onto the fresh bedding and taking warmth in her giggle when she reached out and pulled him to lay beside her.

Klaus kept her snuggled up to him all night and into the next morning before reluctantly getting up and going downstairs to join the rest of the family.

He knew that everything was finally working out.

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rhenysz · 4 months

Text

Your Dead Eyes - Chapter 1

Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted your all your life, many people say that death was lurking around your eyes, maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron! reader fem.

A/n: This took longer than expected and isn't even half as long as I would have liked, but I've finally finished the first book and let's get to the real story! Thank you for the positive feedback 🙌🏻 This chapter was more about the sisters' bond, the next ones will be different. I think the Reader has an emotional dependence on Feyre 😥

*English is NOT my native language, this fanfic was translated with the help of an AI, any grammatical errors please let me know*

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Scars, family abandonment, mentioned death.

previous x next

"Do you not think you're exaggerating?" Elain asked you with forced gentleness. The sound of her sipping tea tickled your ears. Dropping your own teacup on the living room's coffee table – causing some splashes to stain the surface – you placed a hand on your chest in mock indignation, perhaps not entirely fake.

"I'd rather be thrown to the wolves than face the conjugal bed, and I must say I'm terrified of those animals." Your lips curled downward, "Men, in this case."

Elain's eyes crinkled at the corners, and the curve of her lips lifted even as she tried to dispel the amusement she felt.

"I understand. But maybe you should consider, I bet Feyre would return in time for your wedding." She spoke with her eyes lowered to the tea.

No, she wouldn't return. You wanted to shout out to Elain. Hardly would that beast willingly let your sister go, that is if she wasn't already in the belly of those faeries.

"I have no interest in getting married, sister. And who in their right mind would be interested in someone with my condition?" Your voice was soft, not a hint of resentment showing in your features.

Having a man in your life was not something you desired. They were rough, lazy, and smelled bad. Not even the twisted relationship Feyre had with that man could make you want one too.

"Maybe... you just haven't looked in the right place," Elain commented. Looked? Have holy patience. You were hardly going to look at anything, let alone a man. Realizing her bluntness, Elain widened her eyes towards you, "I didn't mean it that way, sister, it was just a figure of speech—"

Your laughter cut off Elain's awkward attempt to apologize. Your shoulders shook with the intensity of your laughter. Elain sighed in relief and awkwardly joined in.

Feyre didn't treat you as if you were about to burst into tears.

After that interesting conversation with Elain, Nesta barged into the room, interrupting – rather rudely – to announce that a luxurious carriage was approaching.

You could hear the rustle of Elain's skirts as she tried to beautify herself even more. Despite Nesta feigning an indifferent facade, she was also discreetly arranging her hair.

Laughing to yourself, you wondered how you must look in your supposed light blue dress. A hand grabbed your arm and gently lifted you from the sofa. Nesta, you could tell the difference. Elain had rougher hands from gardening, and Nesta's hands were colder.

"Let's go. Can you manage on your own?" Nesta asked. You appreciated that she allowed you to have your own autonomy. Nodding, you reached for the edge of the sofa where your cane rested and grabbed it.

When you heard the door opening, your head turned towards the sound and you went, dragging the golden tip of the cane across the floor, which hit the furniture warning you to dodge, and slowly going after your sisters – who were walking significantly slower to wait for you.

His cane hit the front door step. Carefully, you placed your foot in front to descend. The breeze made your hair flutter, and it felt so good; the wind kissed your skin like a longing lover.

"Welcome to our home... Lady." You heard Nesta as you finally caught up with your sisters. A brief moment of silence followed, soon to be cut by an extremely familiar laughter

.Your heart raced, and your free hand crumpled the dress you were wearing. Your lifeless eyes turned, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Nesta," she laughed, "doesn't recognize her own sister?" The air was expelled from your lungs, Feyre. A burning sensation started in your eyes, and without you realizing, fat tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. No matter how or where, you would always, always recognize your sister's voice.

The crunching of dried leaves alerted you that someone was approaching, a calm breath was blown on your face. Your trembling lips also parted as you tried to find the right words. Nothing came to mind; it was as if your brain had turned to jelly.

"My snowflake..." Feyre stepped forward, using her fingers to wipe away your tears. She missed you so much while she was with Tamlin. Her chest weighed every time she thought of you, her dearest sister.

Closing your eyes tightly, you let out a sob and threw yourself into Feyre's arms. Discarding the cane without care, your hands reached the back of your sister, pulling her into a tight and emotional embrace.

Feyre staggered under your weight and laughed. She laughed as she nestled in your arms and continued to laugh even as she felt Nesta's eyes drilling holes into her head.

You couldn't physically move away from Feyre while your sisters talked with her. Your hand clung to hers in the hope that if you held on tight enough, she wouldn't leave again.

But not even all the happiness you were feeling could make you ignore Feyre's excuse. Taking care of Aunt Ripleigh? You distinctly remembered that it wasn't Aunt Ripleigh who tore the door off the old cabin.

As expected, Nesta was cautious, hovering over you and Elain as if Feyre would reveal her true intentions at any moment. She declined Elain's invitation to go to the garden, seeing Feyre there made her physically sick, so she withdrew to avoid conflicts in front of her sisters.

You were focused on Feyre and Elain's conversation, desperately wanting her to talk about what happened.

Feyre tensed when Elain casually mentioned – distracted by the flowers – that Nesta visited her at Aunt Ripleigh's. Another lie.

You felt Feyre's breath near your face: "How have you been?"

Fine. You were fine, but not well enough to disguise the suspicion in your expression. Feyre quickly noticed and stepped back slightly.

"Why are you lying to us?" You were direct, no more beating around the bush. You needed answers, and not even Elain's presence would distract you from your goal.

Feyre widened her eyes toward Elain and was relieved to see that she was far enough away not to hear. Biting her lips, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the exit, giving a brief goodbye to Elain, who was so fascinated by the new petunia seedlings that she didn't care.

You were guided through a few doors until you reached a room that Feyre considered safe from curious ears.

You crossed your arms over your chest and impatiently waited for Feyre, who ran her hand through her hair and sighed, not knowing where to start. Then she decided to start with the worst.

"I– I'm in love with the High Lord of Prythian."

If you weren't already blind, you could swear your vision blurred at that moment.

And then Feyre told you, told about how the other side of the wall was breathtaking, told about the peculiar creatures that existed there, told about her frenemy Lucien, and told about how she fell in love with the beast that turned out to be so loving to her.

And to your dismay, she detailed the night of passion she had before being – gently – sent home.

"I didn't need to know that. I have a vivid imagination, and I hate myself for it." You spoke with disgust; Feyre chuckled and approached you, taking your hand and bringing it to her face.

"I haven't told you everything," you murmured for her to continue. Your fingers traced the contours of her face. She looked so different but at the same time so familiar. Perhaps she had become healthy.

"There was a male who threatened Tamlin, he was handsome, maybe the most beautiful male I've ever seen," she commented absentmindedly, "he asked for my name... Clare Beddor."

Clare Beddor, the name weighed on your tongue. Clare, your former neighbor who was killed in such a horrendous way that no one could bear to look for too long, according to your gossip source – Elain.

Feyre had given a false name to the fairy assassin. And you could swear she didn't know what had happened to that poor girl. And perhaps you weren't the most suitable person to tell her about the event; Feyre seemed happy sharing her new experiences. And you? You would allow yourself to be selfish for a moment.

"I understand."

Your sisters and your father went to the seasonal ball, and despite Elain's insistence, that wasn't your place. Your place was anywhere as long as it was far from high society. You certainly didn't fit the standards imposed by them, even though those who looked at you were dazzled.

"A beauty never seen before."

"I would die for features as delicate as yours."

"It's truly a shame…"

Feyre promised to come back early, just like you; she didn't like crowds and pompous people. Feyre promised to come back early.

So you did the only thing that was possible – you waited. Waited while eating, waited while talking to some servants, waited while invading Elain's garden, and waited until you got tired and chose the living room sofa as a great place to rest.

Inevitably, your eyes began to weigh, and before you realized it, sleep completely took you, plunging you into a deep state of peace, unable to hear the hurried steps through the house and the slam of the door closing.

Feyre promised to come back early.

Feyre hated goodbyes.

Perhaps, just perhaps, you should have already imagined that this would happen. Feyre was in love with the beast, and people in love tend to do foolish things.

That didn't ease the chest pain you felt when the next morning you were informed that she had returned to the fae lands in search of her High Lord. The feelings of betrayal and sadness walked hand in hand.

At the same time, you couldn't find the strength to harbor resentment towards her. Why would you? For the first time in her life, your sister was dedicating herself to something that truly made her happy. It didn't matter if she was leaving her family behind, right? No, that mattered to you.

Nesta hated dealing with your whirlwind of emotions; she hated that you depended on someone to be happy, and she made it clear when you woke up.

"Feyre is not responsible for what you feel. You are allowing yourself to stay in this state. Stop depending on her to live."

Despite being harsh, Nesta was spot-on with her words. Feyre was finally living her dream life; it was time for you to start living yours too, without anyone dictating how you should feel.

And thinking about this led you to where you were now, with your hands covered in clay – and probably not just your hands – trying to give some shape to that earthy mass on the spinning table in the studio.

Your mind wandered through all the possibilities of sculpture. Sculpting things your fingers had memorized or even inventing new forms to call conceptual. It would be ironic if your sculptures became famous.

Humming to yourself, your fingers gently moved over the clay's edges, shaping a small sphere; you pulled five points out and rounded the edges.

"They look like fingers." Merina's voice made you jump on the stool; Merina was one of the maids you had become close to, she had such a calm and gentle voice that, if you let her, could lull you to sleep.

"Well, I hope so. I'd be very upset if they looked like something else." You laughed, still molding your supposed fingers. Merina dragged a stool to join you, after, of course, looking down the hall to make sure no one was approaching.

She looked amazed at your hands giving life to the clay. Inevitably, her mind wandered, how? How were you capable? Feeling where your mind wandered, you chuckled softly and tilted your head in a silent invitation. Merina cleared her throat and asked:

"Why a hand?"

You subtly widened your eyes; that certainly wasn't the question you were expecting. A hum came from your throat before you answered Merina.

"It's with my hands that I see; they are my eyes to the world," you replied, licking your lips as you pondered, "I don't know how I manage it; I fear there's no logical explanation for it."

Merina didn't say anything, just grunted in response. Extending your hand, you searched the table until you found a small knife; bringing it close to the sculpture, you began making small fillets with it all along the hand's length.

Merina turned to you curiously, not understanding why you were deforming the piece. She gently nudged you with a – painfully pointed – question.

"Hmm, I've been thinking about it lately, hands with scars," you made one final cut and dropped the knife. Merina reached for an old cloth to help you clean your hands, "thank you. What would it be like to see with these hands? Would the texture of things be different? Or would the sensitivity be greater?" You rambled to her.

There were so many questions to consider, and in your opinion, you could already be considered a hands expert. That made you laugh.

Merina took the cloth from your hands and brought it toward your face, cleaning some clay splatters that had strayed there.

"I hope you don't have the answers on your own. It must be a horrible pain to have your hands torn apart." She commented, lowering the cloth.

A horrible pain? Makes sense. Whoever has hands like that must have a melancholic story behind them.

"You're right."

As promised, you lived your life the best way possible, and sculptures paved the way to your heart. Over time, your clay skills became refined, even daring to sculpt the features of your sisters; Nesta was your biggest supporter, even if she didn't admit it, there wasn't a day she didn't pass by to make sure your stock was full.

Each sister had their own shelf containing everything you thought resembled them. Elain had sculpted flowers and cakes, Nesta had books and red jewels, and Feyre had an arrow – just a sculpture, but it was the one you dedicated the most time to, whether smoothing the edges or trying to paint in the right places.

Because even though Feyre was a million miles away, you would love her all the way, and even if she never came back, you would find your way to her through the heart.

You wouldn't wait for her, but you wouldn't forget everything you had been through together.

And you might not even believe she would come back, but that tingling you felt in your fingers when you heard a knock on the door made you doubt your mental state.

It may be that besides being blind, you're also becoming deaf because hearing your sister's name from Elain's lips after so long is not a sign of good auditory nostalgia.

"Feyre?"

TAGLIST:

@dearestdaffodils @going-through-shit

@valeridarkness @wallacewillow0773638

@harrystylesfan2686 @carnationworld

@applerubyy @saltedcoffeescotch

@esposadomd @justdreamstars

@microwaveallthedemons

#~rhenysz #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #slow burn #eventual smut #eventual romance #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron

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tojiwrd · 9 months

Text

4: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

content warnings family problems, bad, sad, emotional infidelity, dangerously short chapter im sorry getting you ready for the next one <;33 flashback flashback y did satoru end it with u??

word count 1.3k

a/n i'll beat both of them up i promise

send thoughts ↞ prev next ↠ to be added to taglist

People said promising yourself to someone you love was euphoric; it was a feeling you couldn’t achieve through any other form of happiness or drugs. Satoru believed that because when he asked you to marry him and you said yes, he felt as though he could rearrange and hang every star in the sky to spell your names for the rest of eternity. It was electric, the feeling, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

But Satoru wasn’t somebody who was ever in the midst of two lines; if he was happy, he was so fucking happy, and if he was sad, he was so fucking sad.

Growing up in his home hadn’t taught him many things, but he’d come out of it with two lessons he’d always abide by:

Never, ever make promises you can’t keep.

If you can go against Gojo Takayashi’s wishes, do it.

He knew that he should wait to tell his parents about his engagement with you until you were with him, which is why he didn’t let it slip during the first dinner he had with his parents since he put a ring on your finger. When his father said he’d invited a guest over, Satoru felt more at ease to keep his mouth shut because, even though his parents were not his favorite people, he was itching to see their reaction. The little boy that lived somewhere in the abyss of his mind expected them to pop champagne, for his mother to immediately call each and every one of the people she knew to tell them the good news, for his father to pat him on the back with a gleeful smile that made him feel like he’d at least done one thing to make him proud.

And, even though his second rule was to always strive to go against his father, he felt it would be some sort of a twisted poetic number for his father to be proud of him for loving you. For you loving him back.

Kimura Hana was pleasant, and her parents even more so. Despite that, both children on the dinner table that night had a hard time trying to entertain themselves with the dull conversation. Their fathers droned on about their next upcoming business ventures, constantly toasting to the point they’d made a toast to the art of toasting, claiming that it was the best excuse for people to down more alcohol with good intention.

Hana kicked his leg underneath the table from beside him and Satoru, Y/N-loving, elated-over-his-engagement-in-private Satoru, almost sent her a glare for being so close to him. But he covered it when he noticed a small napkin she passed his way, a small giggle leaving her lips.

He opened it, and there he read, in pretty and small handwriting with red ink:

this is sooooo boring.

He looked around and patted his pockets subtly when her lithe fingers reached out, right above his lap, and offered him a pen. He gave her a small smile before replying:

If i have to hear another stupid toast, I’m going back to my room

She scanned his reply, and he noticed her lips curve up upwards as she did. Satoru leaned back, fork mushing the leftovers of his desert as he waited for her. Her hands reached down, and placed it right on his thigh and he almost jolted at the slight hint of her fingers against his jean-clad thighs.

He shakily opened the response, a misplaced sense of guilt ravishing his brain.

what about me???

He tried not to think much before he replied, reminding himself that this was friendly. She was being friendly.

You can come up too. I’d hate to leave you here with the wolves.

“Gojo,” Hana said, her voice loud enough for the entire table to hear. Satoru turned to her, raising his brows. “You wanted to show me that book, right?” She turned to her mother. “Ma, do we have enough time for me to go up and check it out?”

Her mother smiled a very specific kind of smile, and Satoru once again reminded himself that this was friendly.

“Oh, of course. With the way things are going, I think we have about twenty more toasts to go.”

Satoru glanced back at his father who, in his drunken stupor, paid him no mind while his mother barely looked his way, eyes focused on the empty plate below her.

When Hana went through his small bookshelf, something he didn’t think she’d actually do, he sat on his messy bed and watched her. She stopped at one of the books and pulled it out, a small smile on her lips as she turned back to look at Satoru.

“What is this?” she asked, plopping down on the bed as she scanned a CD he’d placed in the middle of all the books. It was something Geto had given him once after a fight he’d had with you two months into your relationship, and if he remembered correctly, he’d written, on top of the case with a thick, black marker: move on bro!! Geto had brought it up in one of your recent conversations and said he wasn’t right in the head to think either of you could ever move on from the other, and followed that statement by saying you were meant for each other.

“Uh, my friend gave it to me after I had a… well—”

“A breakup?”

It was a small falling out, but he didn’t correct her because it was so long ago. So, he nodded.

“Breakups are so—they’re so annoying.”

Satoru chuckled, curious. “Got your heart broke or somethin’?”

She shook her head vigorously, as though she hated that statement with every fiber in her bones. “No, at least not recently. Probably because I hate the idea of meaningless relationships.”

Meaningless relationships? “Elaborate.”

“I don’t know! Like, I’ve thought about it and I just don’t see the reason to tie myself down to someone, you know? I’m young and I have a lot of time to get serious and have joint bank accounts but now? I feel like if I ever tied myself down, it’d end sometime because we end up hating each other for holding each other back while we’re so young.”

He tried not to think about her words too much, but it was hard. He was sure she’d say something completely different were he to tell him about you and your engagement, sugarcoating her words and saying stuff like not you! I’m just talking about me, of course. And that was what he didn’t want. He appreciated her brutal honesty because she was unknowingly giving her perspective on something he hadn’t thought about before getting engaged.

You love her and you’re her fiance, a part of his mind told him, holding him back from probing further. But another part, the part of him that was always scared over one thing or another pushed him to ask her more.

And he did, he asked until he was unconsciously convincing himself that the two of you shouldn’t go through with this, but not enough for him to break it off with you.

What did convince him to break it off with you was something that happened around a month later, after he and Hana had hung out plenty of times due to the increasing closeness of their parents. It was because he found himself shifting his chair closer to hers during dinner. It was because he unconsciously raised his thigh everytime she passed him a note and didn’t reach out his hand so her fingers would graze over it. It was because he was texting her more than he was texting you, and a part of him didn’t seem to mind it.

He knew it was wrong, despite the plethora of times he tried to convince himself that it was platonic. He couldn’t deny that there was something so utterly wrong about how he didn’t want to tell Hana that he was engaged to you. He didn’t end it with you after doing something that would instantly cross the line he’d been teetering over the edge of for a month, he ended it with you when he felt like if she would cross that line unknowingly, he wouldn’t stop himself from giving in.

And Satoru didn’t want to cross that line.

#tell me how we feel ab this bc im kinda scared #babies im literally batman vengeance will be served dont u worry #gojo x reader #angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo angst #gojo satoru #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst

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multific · 1 year

Text

A Little Life

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.1K

Warnings: mentions of giving birth in impossible conditions, blood and violance

Summary: It was only meant to be a small visit. Your husband separated from you for his important meeting while you headed to meet the other ladies, however what you found is bloodshed and you needed to act fast.

Childbirth.

The birth of your baby is something you wanted to be as good as it possibly can even with all the pain.

You wanted to have your husband there, and many midwives to make sure your baby is safe coming into this world.

And yet, there you were.

Running in the woods like a rabbit running from wolves.

And your wolves were worse.

People who hated your husband and his family, swore to hurt your husband in a way they thought would be the worse, to take away the two things he loved the most.

His wife and his child.

Their plan was well thought out, but they never expected you to be able to run so well while in labour.

You heard them follow you, you could hear them stepping on branches, their swords clanking against surfaces. You had to run, at least until Aemond would realize something was off and would go find you.

You never stopped not even when the pain started to become unbearable. You knew you couldn't if they find you while you are giving birth, they would slay you and if they find you after, the cries of your little one will alarm them.

"Just a little more please, My Little Dragon." you said as you placed your hand on top of your belly, but of course, the little one living inside had other ideas, stubborn as their Father.

You had to stop, just for a moment, to take a breath and think.

Leaning against a tree, you stayed still and quiet, you didn't hear anyone. You saw in front of you that the woods nearly ended and now open land, which would allow your chasers to see you, so you really needed now Aemond to come and find you.

You were sure you lost the men behind you when the rain began. No noise came, hopefully, they left and thought the wolves would take care of you.

The rain was unforgiving, the thunder was loud, it hid your groans of pain.

"I need-" you needed a place, a house, a cave, something to prepare yourself. You ignored now for hours that your baby so desperately wanted to get out, you couldn't any longer.

You needed to take a deep breath and hoped your body would know what it needed to do.

You hoped your instincts would be able to take over and guide you through it all.

But of course, it wasn't that easy. And the rain only made things worse.

Then you spotted a small cave entrance. Just what you needed. A tiny little shelter. Just what you needed as the thunder kept rolling.

You let out many many long breaths and took deep ones in.

How were you going to do this was beyond you, but you knew you had to.

Somehow, because you really needed to push now.

"I'll be there holding your hand when you give birth. There is no need to worry Sweetheart."

"I'm terrified Aemond. I told you fear I'm not going to be a good mother." he leaned closer to you, pulling you into his arms.

"You will be the best. I know it from the way you take care of my sister's children. I promise, I will be there for you through it all." he placed a kiss to your shoulder.

You groaned out in pain, the rain never stopping as your struggles continued.

Why did you start to remember all his promises now? Promises he couldn't keep.

You took another breath and pushed.

"They are kicking." you announced as he entered your chambers.

He rushed over to you, placing his hand on your belly, waiting but nothing.

"You could try and talk to them. Maybe that will encourage the Little One." you said when you saw the sad expression on your husband's face.

Memories from your marriage filled your mind as it coped with the pain you were going through.

You never failed to push or to make sure you were going along nicely.

"You shouldn't go alone. You are ready to give birth at any moment now, My Love, you should stay home at all times."

"It is only a meeting with your sister, I will be fine."

"I shall go after you once my Uncle's meeting is over." the way he kissed you before you left, how breathless it left you could still feel on your lips.

After his important meeting, he went and found you with his sister, softly talking about children, he could hear you asked for advice from her about the babies.

"I don't want any of that. I wish to do as much as I can, no need for a maid to be there and care for my child. I am their mother, I want to care for them."

"If you want to do it all, there will be moments when it will be extremely difficult."

"I am aware. I wouldn't have want a child if I wasn't already aware of that. Aemond will be by my side to help."

"My brother will be a good father, without a doubt but men... after the third night of my twins crying without end... men can get impatient."

"Then he shouldn't have found himself between my legs if he doesn't want to deal with the consequences. Babies have two parents."

"I envy your determination and fire, Y/N." Aemond smirked, just how much did he love you, it was beyond words.

And this all leads to your final push.

Suddenly you were grateful you had so many questions towards the midwife when you and Aemond met her a couple of months ago.

You briefly knew what you needed to do. You needed to make sure the baby was breathing, and they wouldn't get cold.

So, you sacrificed some of your layers of dress to put around the little one.

As the baby cried, you were happy that they were breathing, wrapped safely in your arms in your clothes. As the rain stopped.

"Little Dragon, no need to yell. You are here, safe." you pulled them to your chest and finally let out a sigh. You were beyond exhausted, you were sure you'd faint if it wasn't for the fact that you knew you needed to protect your child.

You even forgot to check if you had a son or a daughter you were so occupied with your safety.

And as the sun began to set, you were ready for the night.

"I really wish your father could finally find us." you said as you looked down at your child, their big round blue eyes staring at you. "Hi. I'm your mother." as they put their hand out you let them grab your finger. You slightly covered their left eye, nodding. "Yup, you definitely look like Aemond." They yawned and you moved them a little closer to your chest. "We will be fine." you told more to yourself. As you moved the baby, you finally checked them over. They looked healthy.

A healthy little boy.

You knew you couldn't afford to dose off. You debated what you should do. Wait for someone to find you or slowly head back.

You really didn't feel like walking, your legs were a mess and if something or someone was to come after you, you were sure you couldn't run again.

"SWEETHEART." a yell came over the woods, you barely heard it, then the undeniable sound of a dragon.

A dragon you knew well.

Vhagar.

"MY LOVE." the voice was now a lot clearer. And louder.

"Aemond? HERE." of course, you yelling woke up your boy as you slowly stood up. Very slowly on extremely wobbly legs, you walked were the noise from a dragon could be heard. You saw Vhagar before you saw your husband.

"Aemond." you said as you fell to your knees. You heard people moving over to you.

"Y/N." you saw your husband walk to you as he too fell to his knees and took the bundle from you. You softly smiled.

"Congratulations. It's a boy." you said before fainting from exhaustion.

The next time you woke up you were in your own bed. You could see your son was placed right next to you, sleeping soundly on his belly as the candlelight illuminated him, you had a look.

He was beautiful, his silver hair already showing and you were jealous. You were jealous that this was your child you had to give birth to in the woods while also running from a group of very angry men. And he dared to look more like his father.

"My Love." you looked at the door and placed a finger on your lips, letting Aemond know to stay quiet.

"He's asleep."

"I see. I found who dared to do this... I found them all and I can confirm they have been dealt with. But you did such an amazing job. You ran, you hid and you even gave birth... My Love, you are amazing, and I'm truly thankful." he moved to sit next to your legs.

"I'm still very tired." you said as he lifted your hand and placed a kiss on your palm.

"Of course, I'll hand him to the maids and you can-"

"No!" you said so suddenly and a little too loudly, it stirred him up a little but he did settle when you placed a hand on his back. "You can't take him from me."

"Okay, he will stay." the instincts of a protective mother were like a dragon and Aemond wished not to fight with an angry dragon.

"You stay too." you grabbed his hand and he didn't move.

"I shall stay." he watched as you slowly lifted the baby and placed him on your chest, you moved to the other side of the bed slightly and waited for Aemond to join you.

When he removed his jacket you motioned for his undershirt.

"Take that off too." he gave you a look but did as he was told.

When he moved to lay on the bed you slowly moved your son to his chest. Aemond went stiff.

"You held him before right?"

"Yes, but..."

"Babes like skin to skin contact. To hear your heartbeat. He will sleep better if you hold him there." you said as you moved to the other side of his chest. Placing your head on his chest as you watched your son sleep soundly on the other side. "He's special. I can tell."

"Of course he is. He is our son after all. But you are much more special My Love, giving birth in those conditions to such a healthy and strong boy... on your own. You are much stronger than I thought you were." he said, his voice laced with just how proud he was. He had one arm around you while in the other he held his son.

“I did what every mother would, protected what’s precious. He looks like you, I went through all that and he looks like you.”

“Then he will behave like you.”

“So help the kingdoms.” this made Aemond chuckle but he placed a kiss on your forehead.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" you asked as you slowly were falling asleep.

"We will think of one when you wake. Sleep for now, My Love."

You didn't need to be told twice, knowing your baby was in secure hands, you quickly and comfortably fell asleep.

Aemond took a moment to fully look at his family.

When he arrived back only to find people dead and you gone, he was ready to burn the entire place down not only the castle. Every woman had been killed, and you were nowhere to be found, he thought of the worse. Then someone mentioned they saw you run into the woods with a group of very angry men following you. He jumped on Vhagar and headed after you, but it was hard to see due to the dense woods and the rain also didn't help. Aemond swore if anything happened to you or your child he would surely burn this place to the ground.

But then he found you, only in your underlayer while something was wrapped in your clothes, and he realized, you not only ran but you also gave birth.

As soon as you handed him the bundle, you fainted and he had to bring you back.

But now, everything had been dealt with, you were home, you were safe.

Aemond knew if anything happened to any of you, he would have gone mad.

Thankfully that never came to be.

He had you safely in his arms and his son in the other. He could finally breathe, although he knew his job as a father only began, he knew he would be able to do everything and more with you by his side.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @paola-carter @stunkbiggu

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

A/N: I am yet to watch the Series so this is not accurate to the plot, but Aemond inspired me to write, so here it is. Hope you all liked it!

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burnednotburied · 6 days

Text

Chapter Three

AO3 Link | Chapter 2 Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas

Note: This is not at all how I thought this chapter would start. Alas, I am riddled with religious trauma, and Taylor Swift just released the song “Guilty as Sin?” I mean… “My boredom’s bone-deep This cage was once just fine Am I allowed to cry? I dream of cracking locks, Throwing my life to the WOLVES” Are you kidding me? It’s perfect. So this started out differently than I planned. But what was I to do? I am just a girl.

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There were many topics on which you had been educated in-depth but were never supposed to experience first-hand.

Sex was one of those topics.

You knew the mechanics of it. The anatomy that was involved. Its purposes and benefits. The dangers of it.

You had been told, vehemently, that it was something that should never be done outside of the safe and proper confines of marriage.

Which meant you could never do it because you could never marry.

The Prophet had to remain pure.

Set apart.

Free from romantic, familial, worldly ties.

You were taught to suppress any desire to do otherwise. A task that you had been mostly successful at upholding.

But there were times when your eyes lingered where they shouldn’t and your own thoughts made you shiver and blush.

It was the sin of lust.

The other major vices were usually easily circumvented. You could be disciplined and selfless, just and kind, modest and brave.

You always did what you were told, and you didn’t ask questions.

You told yourself that you weren’t weak; you just knew your place. You knew what was expected of you, and no other options had ever been made available.

So, like thrown clay, you had allowed yourself to be molded into the person you were today, each piece of you carefully and intentionally shaped by the hands of others.

The Elders created the perfect Seraphite specimen. Quietly devout. Enigmatic. Indelible. Untouchable. Obedient.

A mouthpiece disguised as a leader.

A Prophet.

They made you.

You were not a naturally occurring thing.

Sometimes you didn’t even feel human.

Lust was one sin you knew could be concealed, buried far below your surface, unseen by critical eyes.

It was a small act of rebellion. A hidden glimmer of defiance. Although, you weren’t doing it on purpose.

And it was made especially loathsome due to the regrettable fact that it only ever happened to you when you were looking at or thinking of a woman…

Now the Wolf stood in front of you, hammer held tightly in her right hand.

Demons were quickly descending upon you, and you had just witnessed (and neglected to intervene into) the death of three of your own people. The only person you helped was the Wolf, your enemy, who you were meant to kill.

You could guess what the Elders would say if they were here now. How disappointed they would look as they pointed out your many failings.

For once, you didn’t care.

Strangely, despite everything, you felt like a bird whose cage door was just thrown wide open.

Or a well-trained dog that had been mistakenly let off leash.

You could breathe. Unrestricted.

Your eyes remained glued to the Wolf.

Her back was to you, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin. Her shoulders rose with each of her deep, deliberate breaths.

Time seemed to slow as your eyes traced down the length of her arms, taking in her strong form…

See, you knew the sin of lust was bad, if only because it made you stupid.

Or distracted, at the very least.

Demons were coming, and you had just been moments away from gutting this girl.

You definitely couldn’t trust her.

But you didn’t have to trust her to look at her.

A series of snapping twigs and high-pitched shrieks from the surrounding forest instantly brought your attention back to the approaching threat.

Demons were another one of those things that they taught you about but never thought you’d actually encounter.

When you arrived on the mainland that morning, you had been led to the network of Seraphite-built bridges, above the city, concealed in the clouds.

Nearly your entire day had been spent in the sky.

If there were any Demons below, you didn’t see them.

Honestly, you hoped you’d never have to come across the cursed creatures.

The sounds they made were animalistic, but somehow still eerily human. Like a voice that was either enraged or overwhelmed with pain.

You had been told that they were unsavable. Completely consumed by the disease and irrevocably punished for their sins. No longer even human.

As a child, you heard stories of the first Prophet valiantly fighting off hordes in defense of her early followers.

In training, they taught you how to fight both Demons and human adversaries alike. Although the former was always theoretical.

You were shown sketches, detailing the different stages of it.

Foolishly, you thought you were ready.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for what came running out from the cover of the trees.

It moved faster than you would’ve thought possible, too quickly for you to take it all in, but the glimpses you captured were grotesque.

It went straight for the Wolf, swinging its arms wildly. She effortlessly dodged its attack before striking with the hammer. Hard. It was dead in just three blows.

Two more approached from behind you, closest to Lev, and it was past time for you to be useful.

Lev was a skilled archer, but he was still a kid. And Yara, also a kid, only had use of one of her arms.

Both of the Demons were focused on Lev. He fired an arrow, hitting one of them in the chest, but it didn’t take it down.

Its back was to you.

You couldn’t let yourself freeze again.

You closed the distance between you and the beast, lifting your dagger with both hands and bringing it back down swiftly, piercing deeply through its skull.

It let out one last pained shriek as it fell.

The Wolf had taken out the other Demon before Lev had to loose another arrow.

But there were two more where those came from. One swung at the Wolf, and the other came for you.

You were able to dodge, narrowly missing the impact of its savage attack. Stepping back, you continued to evade its blows.

You swung at it, but the thing was fast. Your blade cut into its shoulder instead of its head. Ripping your weapon out, you tried again. This time, you hit your target.

That was two for you.

“Prophet, look out!” Yara shouted. Before you could discern which direction the threat was coming from, you were brutally thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of you entirely.

Death wore the grisly face of the Demon standing above you.

You had dropped your dagger, leaving you completely defenseless.

Lev’s arrows pierced its throat twice.

It kept coming.

You blinked and it was on the ground. The Wolf knelt over it, hammer crashing over its skull repeatedly, past when the thing was decidedly dead, until the hammer actually broke in her hand.

You just blinked again.

She saved you.

Why did she save you?

You scrambled to your feet, your breaths coming too quickly.

You tried not to panic.

You had only almost died.

You were fine.

The Wolf dropped the splintered remnants of the hammer and stood, shaking out her hand. You stared as she walked over to where your dagger lay on the ground and bent to pick it up.

She looked at you for—as far as you could tell—the first time since you’d cut her down from the rope.

She walked over, holding your gaze.

You realized that she could kill you now. That that was likely why she had saved you.

So she could end you herself.

Because you were the Prophet, and a Seraphite. Or because you had nearly killed her before.

She could even do it with your own weapon. The one that had been meant for her.

You imagined that would be satisfying for a brutish Wolf.

As she approached, you noticed that she towered over you, making you doubly aware of the fact that this was not a fight you would win if it came down to it. Especially when you were unarmed.

She stopped when she stood only a couple feet in front of you, turning the dagger over in her hand and simply offering it to you, handle-first.

Dumbly, you slowly reached out and took it.

Her hand fell back to her side.

There was a hint of a smug little smile on her face, like she knew what you had been thinking.

“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” she said, voice low. It was the first time she’d spoken directly to you, and you resented the way it made your cheeks warm.

Before you could come up with a competent response, Yara interrupted.

“Prophet, Wolf! Come on. We have to move!” She held a lit torch in her uninjured hand. Lev stood at her side, ready to run.

“Where are you going?” the Wolf asked, unsure if she would be following. You were already moving to join Yara and Lev.

“Out of these woods. We’ve gotta run! Now! The coast is this way.”

They took off into the trees with you close behind. The sound of footsteps falling behind you informed you of the Wolf’s apparent decision to tag along, at least for the time being.

You could also hear more Demons, closing in on either side, chasing the torch’s light. Which meant they were after Yara.

You ran faster, trying to close the distance between you just in case.

As she passed an abandoned vehicle, one of the Demons jumped out, tackling her to the ground.

Lev shot an arrow through its head as you ran to her, pushing the dead Demon off and helping her back to her feet.

The horrifying chorus of even more of them, just beyond your vision, made you startle with each screech.

“They’re all around us!” Yara cried, moving closer to her brother.

The Wolf, weaponless after breaking the hammer, quickly looked around, finding a glass bottle. She grabbed it and threw it at the next creature that emerged from the forest.

The Demon slowed, momentarily stunned, and the Wolf wasted no time knocking it over and bringing her foot down on its skull hard and fast.

Just one stomp and it was dead.

You flushed again, transfixed.

Stupid.

You should not find that attractive.

But she was undeniably incredible.

You shook your head in an attempt to refocus as you turned to watch Lev take down another with a couple well-aimed shots.

A shriek behind you revealed the presence of yet another. You turned to meet it, killing the thing easily enough.

It seemed your training in combat had been sufficient after all, at least where Demons were concerned.

“That was the last of them,” Yara said.

“You guys okay?” the Wolf asked, like she might actually care.

“Yeah,” Lev breathed out, bow and arrow still at the ready.

“We have to keep moving before more come,” Yara insisted, taking up the lead again as she pressed forward.

You all ran after her.

“Every direction looks the same,” said the Wolf. You were inclined to agree. “You sure you know where you’re going?”

“It has to be this way,” Yara said, quietly determined.

“What the hell am I doing?” the Wolf muttered to herself under her breath.

The four of you picked up your speed as the Demons grew closer.

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Abby seriously had no idea what the hell she was doing.

She was running through the woods, fighting off Infected with three Scars.

And one of them was the Prophet.

Who had been fully intending to disembowel her not too long ago…

Something had to be wrong with her. Maybe it was brain damage from nearly suffocating.

Because this wasn’t like her.

A couple hours ago, Abby was killing Scars. Happily.

Well maybe that wasn’t the best word for it. It didn’t make her happy. She just didn’t feel bad about it.

And now, she was prancing through the forest and going out of her way to protect Scars?

The kids were one thing. They seemed to be just as in danger with other Scars as they were with the Infected.

What had that one woman called them? Apostates?

Abby had done enough reading to know what the word meant. She guessed they must have broken some stupid, insane rule and run off.

Or been kicked out.

Either way, from what Abby had gathered, they had gone rogue and were being hunted by their own people.

Which meant they weren’t necessarily her enemy.

But the other girl. The Prophet…

Abby didn’t know what was going on with you.

Were you going rogue too, or were your friends just dead and you needed help getting past the Infected and out of the woods?

And yeah, you had been about to kill her before. But you’d stopped as soon as there was a distraction. Took the out the second it was offered.

And then you had been the one to cut her down.

So maybe you didn’t want to kill her.

That counted for something, right?

Abby didn’t let herself think too much about how pretty you were.

How stunning your eyes looked when they met hers.

How your fingers felt, lightly grazing her bare skin for just a second, then leaving all too soon.

And how you had definitely blushed when she spoke to you.

See? She totally wasn’t thinking about any of that at all.

And she was probably delusional.

And way too distracted, spending any amount of time or energy thinking about such crazy shit while you were all actively running for your lives.

Abby was bringing up the rear of the group, and she knew a horde of Stalkers was not far behind her.

She really hoped these Scars knew where they were going.

“It’s just up here!” the girl, Yara, shouted from up ahead, leading the way to a wall of hanging vines.

The boy, Lev, pulled the vines aside, revealing an opening behind. Yara carefully but quickly maneuvered through. You waited until both she and Lev were on the other side before looking up at Abby expectantly.

There wasn’t time to argue, so Abby went next. You followed closely behind, then let the vines fall back into place, hiding your path from the Infected that pursued.

On the other side, Abby was met with the sight of several dead bodies, clearly recently slaughtered.

She couldn’t tell from this distance what had killed them. Or if they were Scar or WLF.

“Those are fresh. There another way around?” she asked, maneuvering around the corpses.

Lev spoke up. “If there were, would we be going this way?”

Okay. Fair point.

Yara pointed to a chain link fence with the torch. “Come on, Lev. Get it open.”

The kid tried to bend the steel wires up to create an opening. It didn’t budge, despite his efforts.

“Move,” Abby said. He did.

She strained as the piece of fencing gave way beneath her hands.

“Get in there, Prophet,” she said, teeth clenched.

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You quickly slid through the opening and popped up on the other side.

Finally, you were free of the suffocating forest.

The clearing was illuminated with light of the full moon.

You wandered on ahead as Lev, Yara, and the Wolf came through the fence behind you.

“Prophet?” A new voice spoke out as you turned the corner. The reverence in the person’s tone alone told you that you were dealing with a Seraphite.

You turned toward the voice to see a woman you recognized but whose name you couldn’t recall. She was large and stood tall, the side of her face bloody and a pickaxe in her grip.

She had been part of a patrolling squad in the area. You’d seen her briefly earlier in the day, with Emily, after the Wolf had been captured.

The woman saw that you were, in fact, who she thought you were, and she bowed her head out of respect.

“Are you alright, Prophet? What are you doing out here? Where is Emily?”

You were at a loss for words.

Her voice was calm and concerned now, but you knew that she would kill Lev, Yara, and the Wolf if given the chance.

“I—”

Your two friends entered the clearing behind you, drawing her eyes toward them.

“Apostates,” she hissed, and instantly her demeanor changed.

She rushed past you, ruthlessly throwing Yara to the ground and lifting Lev up by his neck.

You moved without thinking, your dagger still tightly clutched in your fingers. Again, you raised your arms above your head, just as you had done when fighting the Demons. Using all of your strength, you brought the blade down above her head, piercing her skull. The weapon was long enough that it exited through her chin.

Her body slackened and slumped to the ground. Dead.

You stared down at her, feeling the weight of what you had just done.

This wasn’t a Demon. It wasn’t an animal.

She was a living person.

And a Seraphite. One of your own people.

You were supposed to be her Prophet. Her leader. Her new hope.

She hadn’t been watching her back because she never imagined that you could betray your people like that. That you would pose a threat to her.

You continued to stare, holding your breath. You couldn’t look away.

You didn’t deserve to look away.

You felt a sob rising in your throat. Your eyes began to water.

No. You would not cry.

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Abby was the last to enter the clearing.

By then, the Scar was already holding Lev in the air, and you were already approaching from behind, lifting your dagger.

Abby watched as you killed her.

Woah.

You were good with that knife, she’d give you that.

Yara and Lev got back to their feet and watched as you stared down at the dead Scar, unmoving. Like you were frozen.

You weren’t even breathing, and you looked like you might cry.

Abby had been wondering how many WLF soldiers you killed today before you got to her. If the three she’d seen hanging when she first came to were yours.

Now, she was sure they weren’t.

Because based on your reaction, that had to be your first time.

She wasn’t usually one to be especially sensitive to the emotions of others, but when she heard you sniffle, finally taking in a ragged breath, she couldn’t help but move towards you.

Abby thought of her own first kill. How easy it was to do in the heat of the moment, but how torn up she’d been in the aftermath.

She understood that it was necessary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard as hell.

She fought the urge to put a hand on your shoulder, or even rub your back soothingly. Reminded herself of who you were and who she was and all the reasons why she shouldn’t even be here right now.

Instead, she bent to retrieve your dagger from the body. She tried to hand it back to you, but you were still stuck, staring down.

“Hey. You did a good job.” She took your hand in hers, placing the handle into your palm and closing your fingers around it. She didn’t let go, allowing her hands to fully encompass yours.

Abby waited until you met her eyes. “You saved them,” she said, nodding towards Lev and Yara, who were both silently watching this unfold. “You did what you had to do.”

You drew your eyebrows together at that, like you wanted to argue. But you seemed to change your mind, ultimately just nodding your head lightly.

She let her hands drop and glanced back down at the slumped body again, her eyes catching on something.

“Wait. Is that my backpack?” Abby asked, looking more closely.

Beside her, you lifted your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“Probably. Emily gave it to her earlier,” you said numbly.

Abby didn’t need to ask who Emily was. She could guess.

She reclaimed her belongings while you pulled yourself together.

“Are you two alright?” you asked the siblings.

“Yes, Prophet,” Lev answered, watching you closely. Abby noticed that you seemed to bristle ever so slightly at his use of your title. You didn’t say anything though.

She held her rifle in her hands again, happy to have her stuff back.

Especially the guns.

Wordlessly, the Scar kids led the way into the nearest building.

Out of habit, Abby began gathering supplies as you went along, taking ammo and medical supplies and anything else that seemed useful.

“How’s the arm?” she asked Yara, breaking the long stretch of silence.

“I have it under control,” the girl insisted defensively.

“Okay…” Abby took a box of ammo from a cabinet. “Grab any supplies you find.”

“We can’t touch this stuff. It’s Old World,” Lev said, like that should’ve been obvious.

“Are you fu---? You need supplies. We’re not out of the woods yet.” She opened and then shut a drawer. “Pun fucking intended.”

“What’s a pun?” Lev asked from another room.

Abby didn’t have the energy to answer that question.

Instead she said, “I’ve never seen Scars go after Scars like that before.”

“Seraphites,” you and Lev corrected in unison as you explored different rooms of the building.

Again, she ignored. “So what the hell did you do?”

“I shaved my head,” Lev answered simply.

Abby scoffed. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

The group passed through building after dilapidated building, heading towards the coast. At least in theory.

“We’re almost there,” Yara said. “Just a little farther.”

She led the way down a steep drop-off into another run-down building. One where you wouldn’t be able to get back out the same way you went in.

“Now what?” Abby threw out, tired and frustrated.

“I’m quite confident it’s this way.”

“Quite confident?” Abby repeated incredulously.

“You don’t have to follow us,” Lev pointed out.

“You want me to leave you three out here alone?” Abby shot back.

Your response was an immediate and insistent, almost panicked, “No!”

Everyone else turned to you, surprised.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Lev offered.

Abby found the front doors, but they were held firmly closed by a metal gate on the outside.

Above the door was a large opening, too high for Abby to pull herself out of, but not too high for someone to climb through with a boost.

“If you get us through there, we’ll open the gate,” Lev said.

Abby remembered again that these were Scars she was dealing with. And like hell was she going to boost you all up to safety just so you could leave her stranded here.

“Get them out,” you said, as if you could read her mind. “I’ll stay with you.”

Lev started to protest but stopped after one shake of your head.

Abby nodded. “Okay. Come on.”

He gave you one last look before walking over to her, stepping into her open hands and pulling himself through the opening.

“Your turn.” Abby looked at Yara. “Watch that arm.” She carefully helped the injured girl maneuver up and out.

The all too familiar shriek of Infected sounded off behind you, coming from deeper in the building.

On the other side of the doors, Lev pushed at the gate. It wouldn’t budge.

“The gate’s stuck!”

“Fuck! Hurry up!” Abby looked back and forth between the door and the direction the Infected were coming from.

“We’ll look for another way!” Yara said, and the two of them disappeared from view.

Abby tried to stay calm and prepared herself for the inevitable fight.

“They’re not going to leave me,” you said, drawing her attention. You held your knife at the ready, rolling your shoulders back.

She didn’t respond, not sure if she believed you.

“They won’t,” you reiterated.

“I hope you’re right, Prophet.” She offered one of the weapons from her stash. “You ever shot a gun before?”

You shook your head but accepted the firearm anyway.

“Come here. I’ll show you.”

What Abby hoped would only be a few Infected turned out to be an entire horde. Runners, Stalkers, Clickers, and even a couple Shamblers.

You were fighting them off like a champ.

Seriously. She was impressed.

You’d kept the gun, watched her rushed demonstration on how to operate it, but ultimately chose to primarily stick with the dagger.

Both of you had been fighting for several minutes as you moved through the building. No sign of the other two Scars. Abby had pretty much resigned herself to needing to find her own way out.

She cleared the room she was in, lowering her weapon to take a breather.

You were in the next room, and it sounded like you had cleared that one out too.

The only warning Abby had before she felt the blow was you urgently shouting, “Wolf!”

A Stalker that she failed to notice had her pinned to the ground, knocking her rifle from her grip in the process.

It reared its head back as Abby struggled, fighting to get it off her.

A gunshot rang out, and the Infected slumped, lifeless.

She shoved it off her and sat up to see you standing there, borrowed gun still aimed and ready.

“Good girl!” Abby exclaimed, beaming up at you from where she sat on the floor.

Wait.

What the fuck?

She meant to say “good job”…

Actually, she hadn’t meant to say anything.

You lowered the weapon. Based on the look on your face, you were just as taken aback by her use of those words as Abby was. Although, she managed to keep it from showing on her face. Mostly.

She stood quickly and fumbled through a recovery. “Good shot. That was—I mean—It was a good… A good shot. Good job.”

You smiled softly at Abby’s obvious display of nerves, walking over to where her rifle had fallen when she was attacked.

You picked it up and returned it to her.

“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” you said, mimicking the teasing tone Abby had used when she said those same words to you earlier that night.

She made a face. Something that was equal parts embarrassment and amusement.

“Prophet! Over here!” came Lev’s quiet voice from the next room.

You shot Abby an I told you so look before the two of you ran after the sound.

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When Yara collapsed, the Wolf picked her up and carried her.

You listened as she quietly comforted your dear friend, encouraging her to keep breathing and promising to find somewhere to rest soon.

Your heart felt soft for her in that moment.

Or maybe you were just exhausted.

Lev led the group with you in the back, gun drawn and alert to the best of your current abilities.

You entered a clearing, full of enormous metal boxes and small, raised buildings. All things from the Old World that you had never seen before and didn’t have words for.

The Wolf instructed Lev to start checking the doors of all the small buildings. It took a few tries before he found one that was open.

The inside was in noticeably better shape than any other structure you’d seen on the mainland, with a few simple, fully intact pieces of furniture.

You watched as the Wolf moved through the first small room and into the second, carefully setting Yara down on the couch. She went over to the windows, checking again to make sure the four of you hadn’t been followed.

When Yara began to slowly remove her overshirt, you were quick to help, being especially careful with her injured arm.

It was swollen and bright red from her elbow down to her fingertips, visibly mangled. You had to bite back a gasp.

Lev stood on the other side of the room, a horribly worried expression on his face.

It wouldn’t be helpful for you to panic now.

“Hey,” you said to him, light and encouraging, drawing his gaze to you and away from his hurt older sister. “It just needs to be set. Okay?”

You turned your eyes to the Wolf who was still hovering by the window. “You know how to do that?”

The face she made confirmed what you already knew. Yara needed much more than just for the arm to be set.

Still, the Wolf walked over, instructing Lev to cut the discarded overshirt into strips and telling Yara to lean back.

You helped her, kneeling on the floor by the side of the couch where her head lay, ready to assist in any way you could.

“I’m gonna move it, okay?” said the Wolf.

“Okay.”

They were both speaking so softly.

“You ready?” she asked.

Yara nodded, reaching her uninjured hand out for one of yours. You held it, letting her squeeze as tightly as she needed to.

The crunching noise the arm made as it was set nearly made you sick.

Yara let out a series of pained noises, panting and grunting. You used your free hand to gently brush the loose strands of her hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears.

You whispered that the worst was over, and that she would be okay now.

You didn’t know if that was true, but you hoped it comforted her a little.

The Wolf broke a leg off a wooden chair, took the newly cut strips of fabric that Lev offered, and went to work bracing the newly-set arm, using the chair leg as a splint.

Yara watched the Wolf’s face.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The Wolf secured the last piece of cloth before she answered, meeting Yara’s gaze.

“Abby,” she said.

She stood, looking to Lev and then to you.

“I should go,” the Wolf—Abby—said.

You stood too, to walk her out.

Lev quickly filled in the space that you left, kneeling the same spot and taking Yara’s waiting hand in his.

Abby grabbed her backpack and followed you into the first room, toward the door.

You paused, turning to face her.

“Are you—” You wanted to ask where she was going. What she would do next. Really, if you were being honest, you didn’t want her to go at all.

But you didn’t have the right to ask for any of those things, so instead you went with, “Are you okay?”

You gestured to your neck, meaning to indicate the dark, noose-shaped bruises that circled her own throat.

It felt like so long ago that she’d been hanging in front of you, unfortunate to find herself on the wrong end of your dagger. But, realistically, only a couple of hours had gone by.

She cleared her throat, her own fingers instinctively ghosting over the marks.

“Oh umm… Yeah. It’ll be fine.” She waited a beat before adding, “Thanks for cutting me down.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, considering it was technically your fault she needed to be cut down in the first place.

You settled on a nod and a tight smile.

She turned to go, twisting the doorhandle and stepping back out into the rain.

Before you could close the door behind her, she looked back and said, “This area gets a lot of traffic. Whatever shape she’s in…” Abby leaned closer, hand on the door frame, “You need to get out of here by tomorrow.”

Again, you nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

She held your gaze for a moment longer before she turned and walked down the steps.

You shut and locked the door.

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As Abby walked away from the office trailer, she couldn’t help the images that came to mind.

She kept envisioning you and Lev and Yara, dead.

Hanged and gutted by the Scars.

Or shot by the WLF.

Or ripped to shreds by Infected.

She had real responsibilities. A friend to look for. A whole community counting on her.

She had a war to get back to.

But if she left now, would she always wonder about what happened to you?

The urge to stay near you—to protect you—was so overwhelming. She didn’t know where it was coming from or what she should do with it.

You were not safe, but she knew you were much safer with her.

Isaac had warned her that the first Scar Prophet had been able to make even the most dedicated soldiers turn on a dime. He said that with just a few carefully chosen words, she could make a person question where their loyalties lied.

It had seemed so ridiculous just that morning, but now you were doing the same thing to Abby.

You were in her head.

But this didn’t feel like manipulation.

She didn’t know what it was that drew her to you, but it felt real. Natural. And entirely unintentional.

Or maybe she was reading you all wrong, and you really were a master manipulator.

Abby needed to make a decision. Because she was currently standing still in the pouring rain with the trailer still in view.

She chose to trust her gut.

And her gut was telling her to turn around. To stay with you.

Owen would have to wait.

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Note: Thank you to anyone who’s read all three chapters of this! The fact that literally anyone has is absolutely bonkers to me. I’ve already learned so much about myself as a writer since I started writing fics a couple weeks ago. For example, this week I learned that I DO NOT enjoy writing fight scenes… Unfortunately it was thoroughly unavoidable for this chapter. Regardless, I really hope it was interesting to read, and I’m looking forward to fleshing out the relationship between Abby and my reader more and more!

#the wolf and the prophet #my writing #abby anderson #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic

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see-arcane · 13 days

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Blood of My Blood: Something to Cry About

Consider this a spinoff of a spinoff. Based on @ibrithir-was-here's Blood of My Blood and directly jumping off of @bluecatwriter's chapter, Overindulgence.

In which the Master of the castle runs into an unexpected concern regarding his dear vassal and being the monster in the picture is not quite as fun as he recalls.

(Warnings for suicidal ideation and domestic abuse.)

His eyes were shut, but he wasn’t sleeping.

It was not the first time his friend had greeted him so. Back in that first private summer there had been something of a game made from it. Whenever his friend was caught supine in bed or on a couch without the will to drag himself to consciousness and perform for his Master, the latter would sometimes test the limits of the act. A hand on his throat. Another under the shirt and over the drumming heart. That had been back when only one of them carried a chill.

What a distant thing that season was now. The dark-haired youth had only been able to hide his expression because fatigue still left its miserable countenance stamped on him. He had not been able to fully hide his shudders then; not when the hands began to move. Now here was his friend just shy of the full metamorphosis, human by the thinnest wisp of definition, a marble statue in his bed.

Stained marble. He was so drained as to nearly match the silver-white corona of hair on the pillow. There were the usual shadows under the eyes and the mottling spots that showed where his family nursed at throat and wrist. But the palette broke anew along one side. Even if it was to allow space for the bandages.

Bandages that had started white but now flared in spots of scarlet. Rings, rather.

Bites.

Ah, he had indulged deeply.

Enough to sand the years away to those earliest days when he himself had been a youth peddling soul and sacrifices away beneath the Mountain. Amusing as it was, and infinitely worth the woman’s face upon seeing the full claim of her husband in action, he did catch himself counting the hours until this whipcord stage would fade out of him. It would be a pain in and of itself for bone and beard and build to all even out again into full manhood. Just having his own voice in his ears would be a relief in itself. Unquestioned as his rule was, even he could not play deaf to the absurdity of the lord of the castle sounding a year short of his first shave.

He could almost fool himself into thinking dear Jonathan was playing ignorant because he did not recognize his Master’s voice. Almost.

“She wrapped it poorly,” he hummed. He sat at the faux dreamer’s hip. “The stain should not be visible.”

Jonathan’s eyes stayed shut. His breathing did not change, thin as it was. Perhaps the woman was in his head, whispering behind his back. But a simple check showed otherwise.

Mother and child were both out from underfoot for the moment, amusing themselves with animals. The boy maintained the wolves as his most cherished creatures, as was right, but the other beasts in the dark had hooked his eye as well. Bat and rat, owl and fox. The latter had scared him once, hearing it scream for the first time—a human shriek from an inhuman throat. The woman was out with another of her husband’s doting gifts, a book of fauna with all the airy definitions and dissections that mortal science had seen fit to cage the local range of species in. It was something to keep them busy and another little facet to add to the boy’s knowledge.

The woman felt him prying and a reflexive response tried to leap back at him. He shut her out before she could know where he was. Not that it would matter. He could revoke her meager privilege with his friend as he liked. But this was not for others to intrude on. Supposing Jonathan dropped his act sometime this decade.

“Oh, dear. I had not realized you were so depleted. Perhaps I should fetch some donors from the village and have them pipe their veins into yours. It worked so artfully for other patients. Or,” he made a show of slitting open a wrist to let the dark vein ooze, knowing the gesture was sensed even behind closed eyes, “since you are so set on the repose of death, we could go ahead and rescind all the playacting and reach denouement early. It would surely save much in time and tears and—,”

Jonathan’s eyes were open. Not looking at him. The pale hands remained folded atop the sheets. One was limp. The other was lax only from the effort to avoid becoming a fist.

“There you are. Ah, and there is the opportunity gone.”

His wrist was already healed. Sealed shut almost the instant it was cut. Even two nights on, he was swollen with his friend’s draught. He had to admire the vitality required for such a task. Poor Lucy would have wilted at the first two bites, with or without her impotent ring of suitors dumping their blood into her to drag out the inevitable. In truth, he had half-hoped that the sweet diversion of the Lesson would end with Jonathan’s heart stopping altogether. The feeding of blood was only a requirement if the transformation was intended to be a slower process, as it had been meted out to the woman.

Had Jonathan died, he would be undead within the same night. Perhaps even the same hour. Being siphoned for almost half a decade by three vampires would leave no room for the process to drag its heels. What a treat it might have been to see the woman realize what she’d done. All her beloved’s sacrifice thrown away because she’d grasped beyond what was hers. And better still to have the weight of the farce finally shrugged from his shoulders as it was ripped from Jonathan’s. The boy would have cheered, he knew, to see his Papa finally in their ranks completely.

And then would come their first hunt…

But he was woolgathering. And, in the fashion of a youth, chasing mere impulse when he knew the fruits were not yet ripe. Let the game play out, young man. He would have his way by the end, do not throw the foreplay away now.

Jonathan still did not look at him.

“You seem unable to turn your head, my friend. Did I truly spend so long with your neck? Memory does not lie and I can see myself that the shoulder received far more attention.”

Jonathan did turn his head—to face the wall. The ghost-light eyes hovered on the calendar, brow furrowed in reading the weeks. His lips moved in silent muttering.

A clawed finger reached out, hooking the pallid chin until Jonathan turned to him. There was a genuine wince as he did so. He had bitten deep and not with the usual set of teeth. He’d called upon the Wolf’s rows to be sure of strength and for the demonstration made before his greedy audience. But even with the heady extra helping of blood, even with the Lesson successfully taught, there was no sidestepping the fact of the method’s sloppiness. Intentional in the moment, yes, but…

But what? He will heal. And if he doesn’t, he will die and do better than heal. Call it a Lesson for him too. Such is the lot of one who clings to the role of livestock. Really, it is probably a boon to his penitent soul. A belated lashing for what he still considers his sins.

“Does it hurt?” he asked aloud.

Jonathan did not answer. Only stared at him. There was no fear there, nor even that constant element of melancholy. There was only a queer flatness. It might nearly be mistaken for the same glaze of placidity the woman tried to hide her rages with. But no, it was not even anger. What, then?

“Have you lost the use of your tongue as well?” The question came with a flicker of mesmer. It hooked the root of Jonathan’s tongue and yanked.

“No,” Jonathan offered blandly. And no more than that. As if there were truly no other words he had to spare for his Master.

“I had not realized you stored your vocabulary in your arteries.”

“Even if it were otherwise, I imagine I’d have little to say worth sharing.”

My friend, is this you sulking? It has been years!

Years since that last pregnant silence as he showed Mr. Harker the wolves at the door. Since he watched the young man sit and stew and struggle against tears before ascending wordlessly to his room. What a raw little thing he’d been then.

But the thing staring back at him was not raw. It was something leaden and tired and…bored? Was that it? Something near to that, perhaps, but sharper.

“Now, there is no need to pout. You know I have never ceased to cherish our little talks. But I do see you are making do with only water and bread. Dear Mina has left you like a lame pet up here.” In reality the water was fresh and the bread, baked the day before, was joined by what non-perishable goods the woman had scrounged by way of a breakfast. Even the boy had left him with what he considered a treasure by way of a bowl brimming with wild berries he’d picked himself around the castle. All this had been sampled, if thinly. “Yours is the only tongue here left to appreciate a vintage in its original state rather than filtered through a vein. Shall you have a claret or something stronger?”

“Neither. Thank you.”

Flat as a skipping stone. He did not even reach for the old half-joking insistence that he did not dare risk an overindulgence of wine or liquor as, quote, ‘If I drank every time I felt I needed it, I would be an alcoholic within a week.’ Instead, the stare. Still ongoing. Seeming to realize this, Jonathan made himself blink before trying to turn his head away. Back to the calendar.

His Master locked a full hand around his jaw and twisted him back. Another wince.

No fear. No sorrow. No anything. Just that blunt void of acknowledgment. That unknown thing hovering between ire and lethargy.

“Might I ask what it is that so fascinates you about the date? It must be some worthy holiday to outweigh your Master’s presence.”

“Not a holiday,” Jonathan allowed. “Though I suppose I should mark down the evening three nights prior as a milestone. Something to keep on record.” Three nights prior. When the Lesson was taught. “Your first bout of physical abuse on me. I had thought you couldn’t hold out beyond two years. Most of you don’t even make it past the first two months. Yet you are patient, so I figured there would be an insulation period.”

It was his turn to stare back. Jonathan waited as he did, seeming oddly like he was itching for a pocket watch to tally how many minutes he was wasting breath on this exchange. His Master’s hand moved from the pale chin to the bandaged shoulder.

“Most of who?”

The hand squeezed. Jonathan grimaced, but didn’t blink.

“The demographic of men I had hoped you were better than. There was evidence enough to suggest it. At least a ratio of odds that favored something less predictable. Despite what proofs there are to the contrary, you are not a violent man, Sir. Not when you can happily do worse than violence. Certainly not when the prelude to it provides better results and entertainment. Why else would you take such care to drag out a season of captivity or play your games on the Demeter? Why feed on a victim by drops rather than ravage outright but for the joy of watching their comprehension of the inevitable? The only instances in which you resort to straight aggression are when you want something over with.

“A mother eaten by wolves. Sacks of children thrown like scraps. Your own aide waiting ashore, slaughtered and stuffed in a stone wall to muddy your trail. Quick, quick, quick. Violence bores you in the same way doing linens bores a laundress. If it must be done, fine, let it be over with—but it is no more or less than something to scrape from the schedule. At a guess, that night’s violence was for Mina’s sake. I had not changed anything in my routine. Quincey had done no ill. Mina, I suspect…what? Blinked incorrectly? Asked to see me for a heartbeat beyond the scheduled feeding? Dared to request a moment of make-believe where you do not own us all, as if the very act of imagination equated a challenge to you?

“But that is all beside the point. You have stepped fully into the cliché. And I had accounted for that. The first round tallied. Fine. The issue comes with the timing. Your insistence on who else ought to be in the audience.” In his lap, one hand finally lost the fight and hardened into a fist. The other, attached to the bitten arm, only twitched. “Mina was the point of the show. But our son? Was he part of the Lesson too? Did you order him to stay as yet another hoop for her to jump through, to make her act and lie beyond all extremes? No, I should not ask. Of course he was.”

The ghost-light eyes burned.

“This, when he loves you as his Father. When the entire point of all this is giving him a life he can trust in. You saw him smile for you in this room. He held you and beamed and heard your stories. And then what? What did he ask before you left him in his coffin?”

The woman had not been in his mind at the time to overhear. She could not know. She could not have told her husband what the boy asked.

The boy, his smile fading, his eyes sunset-bright and wondering, blankets fidgeting in his hands.

‘Are you sure Papa is alright? He looked really tired…’

His Father had told him yes, of course, but Papa had been so enchanting that night that Father had not been able to help himself. Not to worry, his Mum would take care of him as she always did. All’s well, diavol. And the boy had tried to smile. Tried to believe him.

And couldn’t.

“He turns five next year. Five. And you are already blasting holes in the foundation of his faith in you. In what we have been building out of debris to produce a happy reality for him, in which his parents are not monsters.” Now a note of true venom slipped through his voice, the hollow-burning eyes narrowed to cold angles, and at last the feeling was recognized for what it was, and it was... “In which he does not have to be yet another actor for your benefit.”

…Disappointment.

Cold and grey and coarse with recognition. With experience.

“All of that being said, Sir, if you feel you must make another show of the obvious,” the fist uncurled to gesture at the mauled shoulder, “I ask that you reserve it strictly for the adults.” Finally the lambent gaze skidded away, looking not at Master or calendar, but at his still-resting hand on the covers. The fingers still hadn’t curled further than halfway to his palm. “Perhaps I’ll blame it on a doorknob next time.” Then, as if the entire topic were dismissed, he reached across to the nightstand. A notebook sat beside the dish of food. Not another diary, but a weighty planner. Jonathan folded it open to the latest page. The fountain pen’s cap was worked off with some difficulty by wedging it between the fingers of the lax hand. “Most of the itinerary was cleared a week ahead. The triplicates will take a little longer than I’d hoped, but they should still be ready within the month.” The nib poised on the page. “Was there anything else that needed attention, Sir?”

Besides you? said the ghost-light eyes.

His Master regarded him for a moment. Another. A third. As he regarded him, a clawed hand floated out and pinched the book out of Jonathan’s hold. The book flew like a discus into the furthest wall. Outside, a summer storm grumbled. He felt a distant twitch of his senses as the woman and the boy both prickled with worry. Storms were never just storms around the castle.

Jonathan capped the pen and waited. Even devoid of a psychic voice, his eyes spoke with an articulation so clear he might have talked aloud:

Go on. The moment fits the criteria. We are our only witnesses. Fetch a switch off a tree or a broken bottle while you’re at it. Really round out the scene.

“I came here,” his Master grated with rigid courtesy, “to offer some manner of respite. Perhaps even a token of reward for so expertly assisting in a much-needed Lesson. But I see I was mistaken. If I had known you were in such an ungrateful state, I would have waited. As it stands, it appears you need educating of your own. Poor Mina, she will be so disappointed to learn that her dearly-bought visits are now revoked.” He feigned his own interest in the calendar. Then at the vast window that looked out on the plummeting height of the tower and the half-moon squinting through the thunderhead’s cracks. “Our son’s as well, I think. He really is so spoiled in his free time. Bothering his poor beset Papa night and day when he has so much to do…

“Ah, but then, perhaps this is remiss of me too. I am no child despite my current face. I have run the entirety of this castle and its domain singlehandedly for centuries, all without any novice solicitors to flutter around my office. Likewise for the tending of the castle itself. Really, my friend, what reason is there for you to be so abused as to leave this room at all? To be bothered by maintaining the performance for mother and child? Such a labor, such a trial.

“Well, no more of it! You can stay here, they can stay without, and whenever it comes time to feed, you may empty your veins into a cup. Far tidier that way, and so much closer to the human façade besides! You do want the boy to learn how to pantomime humanity in full, yes? Of course you do. So that is how it shall be from here out. You in your tower, they in the crypt, and I shall endeavor to play go-between for all to the best of my ability. How does that suit you?”

He bared his teeth to the gums with his grin. Waiting for the tears. For the shattering of the dull mask. For the bribe, the plea, the grovel. He did all quite beautifully when the occasion called for it over the years. His wife did well enough, especially for one grappling with the impulse-weight of the Vampire, but Jonathan had it down to an artform. Indeed, he saw the first shine of dew come over the brilliant white-blue of the eyes, the quirk and twitch of his face into a grimace—

No. No, not a grimace.

A rictus.

The corners flinched up before Jonathan could hide it behind his hand. By then it was too late. Assuming the man could’ve stopped himself. A noise that tried to be a sob leapt through his teeth. It came out as a laugh. As did all the sounds that followed. A long hideous string of giggles boiling over into a cackle that brought rivers of tears to his shining eyes. It was not a man’s sound, but the mock-laughter of hyenas, the baying racket of jackals.

Unbidden, he leaned an inch away from his friend. Several inches. The movement snapped Jonathan’s eyes back to him, wide and wild and blazing and for one lunatic instant they seemed to brand the afterimage of the house in Piccadilly on the room, that surreal moment in which he first saw the uncanny Thing that wore his dear friend’s skin; a Thing that could and would kill him with his steel or his own hands. Even in a crowded street.

But that moment passed—long, long ago now, back before the insurance of the woman and her collared will were his precious cudgel—and Jonathan himself seemed wholly oblivious to the recollection. In his face there was only a madness of such profound despair and scorn that the effect dizzied.

“You do not understand. You really truly don’t, do you?” The words were cracked and brittle, barely holding an intelligible shape. “You talk of tokens and punishments. As if I have ever dared to hope, to even think of wanting anything for myself, since that night in October. As if I have not already imagined and lived, expected and met every possible nightmare that God could throw in my path and hers. I lived the first twenty years of a pointless joke of a life already under every bootheel the civilized human world had to offer, as did she. We grasped at crumbs of joy, of hope, of respite from the reality of our lots. This we could do because we had each other and our faith. Faith that for all the ills that humanity dealt out with the good, there was at least a chance for us. There was, we prayed, something better waiting on the other end of life. If we were good. If we did good.

“But then you had to prove it all wrong. To burst the lie. Not that God is not real. He so very clearly is. But you—all that you are, all that you’ve done, all you will continue to do without so much as a slap on the wrist from the divine Powers that Be—proved that He is fickle. That His love and protection is wholly conditional. That someone as good, as pure, as blisteringly virtuous as Mina could be burned by the Son for another’s sin, abandoned and denied like a used rag for the crime of someone else’s violation. All to have the ransom of her humanity dangled over our heads to spur a handful of strangers onto the hunt after…what? Four centuries’ worth of you owning these mountains and its people, all of them dutifully cowering and dying behind their own half-helpful crucifixes?

“But oh no! Too late! Complications abound! The mother is with child and it does not matter to the good men who swore to slaughter her! And God must have declared them good men, for they did so good with Lucy. Lucy, who has surely gone to Heaven with her slaying…or not. What proof is there? What guarantee is there that anyone with your poison in them can hope for salvation, alive or dead? They saw her corpse and nothing else. They choked on hope and called it evidence that this was the right thing to do. God’s will be done.

“I have already murdered to go against His will. I slew those good men to keep them from making an Isaac and a slaughtered lamb of my Loves. I damned myself then as I had been preparing to damn myself since the moment I woke to her screams and your work. Do you understand?”

Despite the sultry rainstorm air trying to bleed in through the window, the room was cold. Somehow it had grown outright frigid around the bed and the Thing hunching out of his sheets.

“I have nothing. Nothing at all but purpose. Nothing I would dare to want, knowing it will be lost. Nothing I have left to lose, having ceased to believe the lie that I have any potential for joy beyond a reflection of my Loves’ peace. Nothing resembling anything so laughable as respite on any level. I am reduced to a talking trough for the sake of a family who deserves worlds beyond the stain you and I would leave on them without supreme effort. So, go ahead. Play jailor. Play glutton. Play king of the castle and lord above all and whatever else you stopped being able to play with your last captive audience once they were worn down to cackling husks that only had room in themselves for hunger and jeering, knowing that you had no more to threaten them with after taking all that they had.

“In fact? Here. Since I still have some feeling in my left hand. Wouldn’t want you giving me a holiday from work without due reason, and it shall save you the trouble of inventing an excuse to maim the rest.”

As he spoke, Jonathan tore at the bandages. They fell away in grisly ribbons to reveal a far grimmer map of injury than expected. It was worse still when Jonathan twisted to show his back. Bites and bruises patterned him like gruesome puzzle pieces. There were stitches closing two flaps of skin together. In one portion there were small chunks of flesh entirely gone where the teeth had torn them loose.

“Go on. Get on with it. Or would it be better for you if I threw in a scream and a plea to top things off? Pick a script, Sir, let me know.”

Jonathan kept his back to his Master. His Master only stared. Then, with a hand laid gentle as a feather on the ruined shoulder:

“I believe you were right at the start. You do have little to say worth sharing.”

The hand traced the first of the marks. A broad bite clamped along the carotid; the kind that could have torn the entire throat out, Adam’s apple and all. If its maker were not cautious. It was only the ensuing that had been ragged, tearing at muscle more than vein. To make a necessary a point.

As if his friend cared. As if he should care whether his friend cared.

His thumb brushed over a small crater where a canine had torn away so thickly that the flesh dimpled.

Jonathan waited for it to be joined by others like it.

Waited. Waited.

It was almost a full minute before he realized the light touch on him was no touch at all. He turned to see his Master was gone. If he’d had the energy to leave the bed, he might have gone to the door. His Master was on the other side, turning the key over in his hand. As he lingered, a bat summoned to the window. Beady borrowed eyes peered through the glass, waiting for Jonathan to rise, to go to the door and see if it was open.

Should he lock it as he rose? As he tried to turn the knob? Or did he skip the key entirely and simply hold the door shut to watch him scrabble one-handed at it?

The bat watched Jonathan hobble from the bed and to the chair of the writing desk. He dragged the chair to the window. Sat. Stared out through the glass at the moon.

His Master willed the clouds to cover it.

Jonathan stared still.

Still.

His good hand was the only part that moved. There was something white being fidgeted with. A stick of chalk.

It was only when he felt the woman and the boy heading for the tower that the key was pocketed unused and its owner drifted as a mist through another window. The bat watched as Jonathan pocketed his chalk and stood from his chair upon hearing the child’s chirruping voice echoing up the stairs. Papa-Papa-Papa-are-you-up? Papa hid the bandages and donned a robe before grabbing a book at random for his lap while his good hand pinched cold food from his plate. The boy bounded in, mother in tow, Papa, Papa, look-look-look. Jonathan looked dutifully at the new drawings he’d made, including one done from life of a red fox that let them get this close before running off. Jonathan was duly impressed. His weak hand was in his woman’s fingers, gently held, more gently curling and testing the limp knuckles.

Their Master did not linger long enough to know whether Jonathan would tell her of their visit now or later. It was moot. The scene cloyed.

The bat flew and the mist sank away.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been in his women’s chambers. Even the sole woman left in the castle hardly bothered with them. Antique treasures were buried under the modern trappings he’d tossed their way in preparation for England. They would have been with him once he set the groundwork in London. Them and his good friend.

All dust now.

Like the dust now glazing so much of the old rooms. Jonathan had taken a Herculean task upon himself some years prior to try and chip at the disuse and damage of a room at a time between his usual work. The paperwork, the horses, the errands, the cautious playing of mouthpiece and shield between Master and subjects. Between all that, he set himself to the tidying of this hall or that chamber. It was as impressive as it was embarrassing to note whenever his Master passed by one of these rooms in a state of surprise. He’d half-forgotten most of them existed, let alone what they had looked like before the ennui set in. Even the tarnish on the fixtures and doorknobs was cleaned away.

‘Perhaps I’ll blame it on a doorknob next time.’

He curled his lip and shoved the thought away. Then shoved over a bookcase for good measure. Novels in half a dozen languages went tumbling alongside a few expensive baubles. Old gold bookends, glass statues, cut gems so large and hollowed they could hold a wealth of rings and bracelets. All to pair with the tailoring of the wardrobes. These stood at attention beside abandoned easels, instruments, and myriad other distractions. All things given to be taken away. Only as was merited, of course. Such lazy mincing things, his old Loves. Coaxing anything but bile or idleness from them was like convincing a snail to run.

And most of what was goaded had been—

‘You yourself never loved. You never loved!’

—not a fraction of what they had given at the start. Not even their beginnings had amounted to much after the consummation. Stolen or bartered or lured, his Loves had lapsed so quickly into backhanded camaraderie. They had made cats of themselves, knowing they were craved simply for the fact of their presence and it gave them as close to free reign as their Master would ever give. Not enemies, but pets. Pretty faces and musical laughter to populate the nights with more than his own echoes.

For there had been laughter. With him. At him. Sometimes he had even let them claw or snap at him just for the excuse of the punishment he would inflict after. Really, for the sake of something to actually do with them beyond their nightly sniping.

He left the chambers and frowned down the hall. Moonlight fell through the nearest southward chamber, the window clean for the first time in ages, the interior righted and swept. It held books he had read two centuries ago, an old chessboard he had lost a century before that, now with its polished crystal men standing at attention, fallen curtains beaten from their dust and hung anew, paintings and an elderly world map peppered with monsters reframed and set upon the walls. The latter had been drawn to his attention by Jonathan himself, smiling with the boy in his lap, mentioning idly that he had found a map of fascinating creatures he had no name for, might Father know them..?

Father had, of course. The boy had been enraptured for nights with his definitions, with the monsters proven wholly imaginary or simply animals or, he knew from experience, terribly real. Tales he had relayed giddily at the next family meal, his Papa wasted but smiling on between him and his mother who had already heard her dose of legendry down in the crypt. Holding his Loves with two good hands.

He knocked a dresser over as well.

What did he care? What did he possibly care whether his dear friend took some overdue recompense for his betrayal? For upending meticulous plans and striking a scar into his Master’s brow and daring to haggle for the chance to squat here, under his lenient aegis rather than order the woman to tear into him and their brat and bash her own skull to gruel? Really, his friend was lucky to have such a meager toll to pay.

Other than vassalage. Other than slaughtering in Love’s name over God’s and sending the hunting party’s scraps limping away. Other than complaining of his mangling only because it upset the child; because the child had to hide that he was upset, just like Mum and Papa hide from Father. Other than actively laying foundations for a second invasion of England once the boy is grown, selling himself further down the layers of Hell, for Love’s sake. Other than this, yes, most meager. Practically nothing. You are many things, old devil, but the least you can be is honest with yourself. Or are you not still preening to yourself even now at your bargain?

Your losses: A scratch on the head. A two-decade wait. A handful of women.

Your gains: Your mind. Your future no longer being a mere checklist. Your Harkers.

Your friend.

Draga ta.

He first bristled, then sighed. His mind was walled off. There was no spying. He could admit the obvious to himself.

Not now, not tomorrow, but eventually. No need to fret over it. Time is the sea that eats away all stone, however stubborn. He will break given ages enough. It took the weight of the Mountain and its Lessons, but you broke too. And you were better for it. This sour period will pass. They will all break and learn and be pieced into proper shape.

Obvious, obvious. Of course.

His feet took him to the southward room. Map, art, chess, books. One of many rooms with forgotten treasures. Converted and cleaned and left like little oases. For the boy, for the woman, for his Master.

And yet Jonathan’s own room remained bare.

There was a little bookcase, he knew. But was it used? Was there anything else in the man’s room but a bed, clothes, and a desk? Memory ticked back along his mind. All the visits made to drink or talk or, in his friend’s sleep, simply to watch. What was there to that room that was not already waiting for him when his Master first ordered him in?

Sometimes there were drawings or wild bouquets from the boy. Food from the woman whenever he worked into one of those stupors that made him forget his meals. No more than that. Almost five years under the castle’s roof, diving in and out of the place’s uncounted rooms, going to and from the towns or ordering from afar, and there was not a single thing within his personal four walls to suggest it. And was that not strange in itself? True, he might occasionally be locked inside the tower, but not as a constant.

If the point of giving something was to have it taken away, the reverse held true too. He did let his friend roam where he may more often than not. And his friend did make use of it and his limited access to his Master’s coffers.

For anyone other than himself.

Yes, well. He does have his chair and his window. If he has gone so long without need of more, so much the better. Far easier upkeep than some hangers-on you could mention.

The thought failed to raise a smile on him.

He gripped the bookcase before him—jammed end to end with hardcovers of multiple eras, not a volume out of place—and thought for several minutes of tipping it over. Perhaps throwing it into the courtyard. Instead, he walked his fingers along until they landed on a history text. Written in the native tongue, it was one of the less maddeningly misinformed volumes of the late 17th century. Even the illustrations were passable. Jonathan must have overlooked it. He had been as adamant as their son once upon a time when it came to unearthing old histories. More, he was making more than fair leaps with his practice in the different languages of the mountains.

The book left the room with him.

The book stayed with him for the rest of the night and all of the day.

His eyes were sent elsewhere.

The bats slept, but the rats were busy. Or they would be, if he’d had need of more than one left loitering in the shade under Jonathan’s wardrobe. Animal-fear waned to animal-confusion waned to animal-annoyance as hours ticked by and its verminous little belly went empty as it continued to keep watch for its Master. Eventually it was swapped for another, this one peeking through a crack near the roof. Fear-confusion-annoyance under his thrall again. The same went for a third and fourth rat. Their eyes all showed the same tedium.

Jonathan Harker only ever allowed himself leisure when he had no choice. He only had no choice when he was recuperating from exsanguination. It turned out that his idea of this amounted to either laying in bed or shuffling to the chair to look out the window. Sometimes he even stood and gripped the windowsill. And once, just once, he undid the latch and swung the pane open.

Looking out. Looking down.

His good hand moved on the windowsill as he stared. The chalk had returned. Scratch, scratch, scratch it went, all the way along the stone, like a student writing out a long verse. It was the damned shorthand, of course. Yet it couldn’t be a message for the woman. Her mind was sunk deep in the torpor. Deep enough that her Master could filter into her unnoticed. There was hardly anything worth digging for beyond the usual infantile fantasies of his brutal demise and carrying her Loves off into the sunset. All he needed was at the surface.

Just a few notes. Just enough to make sense of the arcane little dashes.

Scratch, scratch, scratch, Jonathan wrote.

His Master angled the latest rat so he could read it all and filter it through the woman’s knowledge. The rat squealed and flinched away into its hole as its Master’s own shock prodded its speck of a mind.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

DO NOT DO IT DO NOT DO IT DO NOT DO IT DO NOT DO IT

FOR THEM FOR THEM FOR THEM FOR THEM FOR THEM FOR THEM

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

He twitched in his coffin, almost rising wholly from the anchor of the death-sleep.

But then Jonathan sighed and closed the pane. The chalk was erased. A return to the chair, a return to the stare. This time with new tears tracking down his cheeks. He didn’t move again until his stomach snarled. The doorknob was checked—unlocked—and he took himself away to eat. His Master’s borrowed eyes followed him all the way down, watching him cook and carve a fish without relish. Watched him try and fail to open the office door—locked—before idling down one of the in-progress halls. He worked in the dust and the decrepit furnishings for a few hours before marching back up to the tower. His hands were empty despite having handled an array of oddments and literature and art.

Up. Chair. Stare. Bed. Wait.

It is nothing but a recent spell. He has been here almost half a decade. He’s not spent his time only in his little labors and bloodletting. Who could? Perhaps he dwells on the pending retribution for his outburst. Waiting for the sword to fall.

And what of the threadbare room? What of the trips that brought home nothing but sustenance to let him feed his family, give or take a new treat for them bartered from what allowance was spared for him?

What of it?

He did not answer himself. Only waited until the woman made her exit to the tower. The boy was called to under the level of her psychic awareness.

Come here, child. I have an important task for you.

The boy was still in his coffin, reading in the heap of blankets and fairy books. He poked his head up over the rim with a look that balanced between worry and curiosity.

A Lesson?

Not at the moment. Unless you wish for a Lesson on why not to keep your Father waiting.

But the boy was already scurrying out of his box and up the steps of the tomb. He paused to look up in wonder at his Father.

“Your face is coming back.”

So it was. Finally. He felt the itch along his cheek and jaw which told him adolescence was waning finally back to his prime, just as the shiver of bone announced the return to full stature. There was a reason he rarely drank this deep.

“It is. The body prefers its natural shape even after an indulgence too far. It may only be another night before I am myself again. But that is too long a wait for this. Here.” He passed the history text down into the boy’s small hands. “Be mindful of not turning to the wrong page. There are sights inside that your poor parents would not approve of.”

An easy bait, that. The boy’s eyes glittered like a little Pandora’s. For an instant. But then a cherubic moue passed over him as he mouthed out the title. What little blood he had in him flamed up to his cheek.

“I don’t think I can read this yet, Father.” The boy admitted as much as though it were a crime.

“I would be stunned if you could, child. No, this is something to bring to your Papa. He is a fiend as much for history as the trudge of modernity and I know he is as eager as you to master all tongues in the mountains. This shall be a fine practice for him as your little tales are for you. Come, I shall walk you up.” He reached to tuck the boy under his arm in the usual way only for the child to shrivel under his hand. His gaze had flicked away from his Father in the same moment as his buzzing little mind tried clumsily to bury something. “Diavol. Is there something you wish to tell me?”

The boy started to shake his head, knew better, and simply shrank deeper into himself. His eyes were nailed firmly to the hardcover. He hugged the volume like a paltry shield.

“Child.”

The lips trembled and cracked at the same time those brilliant ruby eyes rolled up to him. Fear hovered there, but it was not quite of his Father. It was the kind of fear a Father was meant to dispel.

“Are you and Papa fighting?”

“Where would get such an idea?”

His hand reached out again. The boy still cringed, but did not shrink from him. They walked from the tomb and on toward the stairs.

“Since our last meal he hasn’t talked how he used to.”

“Oh, dear. He has gone mute?”

“No. No, he talks. Only he skips over things now. Things he used to bring up all on his own.”

“We are not playing a guessing game, diavol. Speak plainly.”

They had made it to the floors aboveground now. The boy paused mid-step to look up at his Father, his face turned pale as ivory in a window’s moonlight.

“He has not talked about you, Father. Before he brought you up at least once whenever we were together. Asking what you taught me last. Sometimes he’d bring things up like you do. Little hints and edges of things I would have to go to you or Mum to ask about. Papa was the one who brought up journalism—the power that records the world—and told me to ask Mum about it. And he told me that you knew how to find buried treasure on a magic night, that everyone else was too scared to try. And…” His narrow throat worked with a strain. “And he told stories about before me. About how you and Mum and him all came together.”

A crest of the innate fondness rose and fell in the boy’s look at that. He was ever a fiend for the romance of his parents’ history before they came to live in the castle. The romance as their Master had scripted it.

Yet the child’s cheer over it blew out like a candle.

“He won’t talk about you at all now.” The ruby stare flicked up at him. “Not since we ate.”

Not since you tore at Papa like a wolf with a rabbit, Father.

“It has been less than a week, child. For all that I am an occasional favored subject,” he failed to ignore how something twisted in his chest at that, “it is nonsense to expect he keep a checklist of things to speak of. He is recuperating and things will slip a hazy mind. But, to answer your question, no, Papa and I are not fighting.”

The boy did not look away. Even the expected smile could not follow the rules.

And since when does he have rules of acting to follow?

“Was there something else?”

The fear was back. Redoubled. Not the kind dispelled by a Father.

“Father, are you the one who’s been making him sit?”

They had been walking again. Halfway to the tower. Now it was Father’s turn to freeze. Even to gawk.

“What?” The boy shivered at his tone, half-hiding behind the history book. He winced as the white hand at his shoulder grew out its claws. A long breath was forced. The claws retracted an increment. Then, again, “What do you mean ‘making him sit,’ child?”

“Do you remember when I had the Lesson about trancing?”

The one in which mother, child, and Master sank their psychic teeth in dear Jonathan’s mind and almost tore it three ways down the center with their mesmeric quibbling? Yes, vaguely.

“I recall.”

Now the boy looked away entirely. Facing the tower’s direction. Dread came off him like a perfume.

“Do you remember the sharp thoughts in Papa’s head?”

“…I do.”

“Mum said before—,” another lurch of the little throat, almost choking, “before we all jumped in him, when the Lesson started, that she could make him do things. Things people aren’t supposed to do to themselves. Like walk in a fire or make him stay in one place for hours and hours, not doing anything. No sleep or food or anything that keeps Papa alive. She could do that. But she didn’t. She hasn’t been. Papa would know and he’d not be so mad at her that time when she used him in the Lesson.” The child rattled where he stood, intent on the shadows that led up to the tower. “He was sitting at the window before that night. Lots of nights. And days. The first couple times, I thought he was waiting for me. Back when I first learned to do climbing. I snuck up to his door to surprise him. Watching in the keyhole.

“And he sat and sat and sat there, looking out the window. Sometimes he stood up to look closer, sometimes he scratched something out on the stone and wiped it off. Then he’d go back to sitting. It was strange. I didn’t know what it was. But then the Lesson happened and I saw—I saw him—,”

He could not finish and did not need to. His Father remembered.

Vision of a daylit escape. Rising from the chair. No message written on the sill. Just the open pane, his feet on the ledge, and a tipping over into gravity’s arms. Down, down, down. Gone. Among other methods by rope or steel. But the fall came first and crispest to his flailing mind.

Before. He was thinking of it even before that night. Since the boy started climbing. At least two years. And that was just when it was noticed.

The boy was making noise at him again. Accusing.

“Are you the one doing it, Father?”

He would have been mad if it was Mum. We all know no one is allowed to be mad at you. Right, Father?

He struggled with a sudden urge to snatch the child up by his scruff and drag him the rest of the way up to the tower. To hurl him squealing into the room where the loving couple roosted, watching their faces drop slack with horror, and then—

And then..?

Then his mind fell into a red haze. A livid shapeless blank where something like release from the growing storm behind his temples would finally come.

“No, child. I am not responsible.” He stole his hand back with a twitch. “Go the rest of the way yourself. There is something I must see to first.” The boy peered up at him. Doubt in miniature. “Do I need to tell you twice?”

The boy fled. Not walked, not ran, not ambled. Fled. From him.

What of it, old devil? Is this not the proper way? Your adversaries and their spawn cringing and scrambling from you at every turn, quailing under your thumb? This is victory at its height. Is it not so?

He thought of three harpies who mocked and robbed and tittered as he piled their centuries up with gifts and weeping sweetmeat.

He thought of the spur of a delightfully infuriating woman and the admiration of an impossible child.

He thought of his friend, red-handed with the enemies slain for his wife and his Master, slipping silently into servitude and his tithes of blood and obedience, the quiet misery free of charge, Sir.

He thought of his friend, sweeping dust from his mind as blithely as he banished it from his forsaken rooms, varnishing and whetting his nights to an edge finer than a surrendered kukri.

He thought of his friend, who had begun as a mere pending addition to his colony and was now evolved into a thing worth bartering for, worth sheltering and hoarding and honing despite a betrayal paid triply in death and deeds on his Master’s behalf.

He thought of his friend, screaming in his jaws. Clawing his way towards a laugh, look, son, see, son, it’s alright. No, Mina, no, let it be, let him do it, please, Mina, don’t, Mina, do not risk yourself, our boy, please, please.

He thought of his friend, mauled for another’s Lesson, half-dead, streaked in gore and sweat and tears, patched together with inexpert hands.

He thought of his friend in his desolate box of a room, staring out the window with a piece of chalk as the only barrier between life and death.

He thought of all these things and many more. He went on thinking them as he stalked away to his own room and went to work.

An hour had come and gone since he finished what was needed.

An hour and fifteen minutes since he masked himself from their senses and planted himself outside Jonathan’s door. He listened to the cadence of them as one might strain for snatches of birdsong. Only Jonathan and the boy were audible, but even the woman’s mental chatter carried a bristle on the air. His Harkers made such a warm sound all together.

The sound stopped as he turned the knob.

Three heads lifted like a trio of deer hearing a huntsman’s boot disturbing the grass.

They were huddled together on the bed, as always. The woman guarded her husband’s wounded side. The boy sat under his Papa’s good arm with two books open across their laps. Here was the history book and one of the fairy tale collections. They had been taking their turns reading a page apiece, son reading meticulously through a moment of fantasy in Hungarian while his Papa overdid a silly dull drone in the same tongue over the drudgery of an overpacked page for the child to groan at. Mum would cap the whole act by way of glancing at the page and then thinking a flash of knowledge into their heads. There, done. Thank you, Mum. Laughter abounded.

Until now.

“Goodness, such a hush. Do I interrupt?”

Jonathan, the immaculate actor, smiled and shook his head.

“Nothing that did not want interrupting. For some reason I’m failing to win any appreciation for the recital of 200-year-old politics across the Carpathians. Perhaps it’s my delivery.” The latter was directed half to his Master, half to the boy. He even cupped the child’s shoulder. Hinting. The boy offered him a smile in return.

And tried, “They didn’t make it like a story. Just a lot of, ‘This happened and then this and then this and then this.’ You and Mum could write it better.”

The woman offered a sing-song rebuttal of, Or you could, Dearest. It would make for very thorough writing practice.

The boy made a face of dismay and denial, pretending to take cover behind his book of fables. Cute. Precious, even. The whole charade was. Their Master felt his own grin strain to hold in place as he strolled to the bed. Anxiety thick enough to gag floated on the air.

“I leave such judgment to mother and son. For now, Papa and I must speak in private.” He set his gaze level with Jonathan’s. “There is something I require your assistance with, my friend.” His hand uncurled to take. “Come.”

“Of course,” from Jonathan. Not so much as a tremor. He turned to the woman as his good hand gave the boy a parting hug, then raised it to set in his Master’s palm. “I’m afraid you must take up the mantle of inflicting ancient territory disputes on him—,” But then found his good hand was trapped. By the boy. The woman tensed. Jonathan froze. “Sweetheart…”

“Papa, don’t go. Please don’t go.” The boy held fast around his Papa’s hand and half his arm, a feeble anchor whose attention jumped fitfully among his parents; not including his Father. “Mum, tell him not to. Please?” A hesitant thread of mesmer squirmed in his voice. His Father could have rolled his eyes. This tug-of-war again? Was the child dense? “He’s going to do it again.”

The room chilled.

Jonathan flicked a frantic gaze to his wife, blasting silent urgency through his thoughts. The woman fought an enormous urge of her own to spare her Master a glower before addressing her son:

Dearest. You know that night was only an accident. We are a long way from another meal besides.

Then, thrumming with the weight of a lie:

It’s alright.

But the boy would not swallow it this time. He was an amateur at playing pretend in the way of his parents. A child fed on blood and fairy tales full of monsters who lived in the house as much as without. The boy held onto his Papa and shook his head. Fear crashed up against sorrow and sorrow up against anger.

“It isn’t! You all keep saying it is, and it isn’t! Papa, he hurt you and he did it on purpose! He didn’t kiss you at all! It was just tearing and hurting and—,” a word stuck, choked, flew, “—and lying. He says you aren’t fighting, but you are, or he wouldn’t hurt you and make you sit and be sad and sharp all the time and…and…” His eyes were close to running now, the words melting into a hiccough. “…and he never even said sorry…” The boy forewent his Papa’s arm and clamped around his middle instead, hugging tight and hiding his face in the man’s side. “Papa, don’t go with him…”

Him, him, him.

Was he not even Father anymore?

“Quincey, I promise you we aren’t fighting. Even grownups make mistakes. That’s all that night was.” Then, silk-smooth, “Father apologized already.” He turned to the woman, expecting reinforcements, “Mina, you remember—,” But the woman was looking through him and into the boy. The boy, who had peeked up enough from his sniveling to think out at her, showing the little chat shared between Father and son on the way to the tower. Inhaling it, she looked to her husband with renewed alarm, reflecting their child’s tattling into Jonathan’s mind.

Jonathan lost another shade in his pallor. He turned all but snowy as his wife turned her attention to their Master. A blazing thing, all horror and hate and, surprised that she could still feel it, a new level of shocked disgust.

Even this is not beneath you?

‘This’ being the vision scraped from her son’s spying through the keyhole. Hours and nights and days’ worth of the sight of Jonathan Harker mesmerized by his window.

Her hands had drifted by reflex to grasp her husband, her position shifted in paltry protection of her prize. Likewise for the boy who now clung wholly around his Papa’s waist. Jonathan, meanwhile, appeared truly and entirely terrified to a degree his Master hadn’t seen since their last nights together in that long-ago summer. Afraid for them.

He held them each as best he could before lifting his good hand again—

“My Loves, it’s alright, I promise, I—,”

—and having it caught in his Master’s.

His Master, roiling with ire, pulled him forward. His kin, roiling with fear-hate-love, pulled back. Three iron grips all working against each other.

And what was begun in a battleground of the psyche not so long ago was made flesh upon the bed. Briefly. Just before they heard the pop.

A muffled sound, almost comical. Wet and cracking and quick.

Pop went Papa’s shoulder.

Papa made his own noise to go with it.

The iron grips turned to jelly, their owners flinching back as one. Jonathan caught himself on his working elbow and fought down another agonized note as its own pain throbbed up to the mangled shoulder. This he tried to turn into another smile as his breath came in a huffed stutter of a laugh.

“Oops,” he panted, wavering up on his knees. His only hand went to the sagging shoulder, the hold still too weak to hoist it. “See? Accidents happen.” A hoarse noise, fighting not to be a sob. “Darling, could you..?”

But she was already on him, aligning shoulder to socket, bracing, shoving—

Pop!

—the arm back in place. Another noise from Papa, this time through locked teeth.

“Thank you. See?” The fingers of his right hand flexed experimentally. Weak, but functional. “It’s fine, Sweetheart, it’s fine, you didn’t mean it, no one did, it’s alright…”

But the boy was past mere sniffling. Now he bawled. Red rivers of tears emptied from his eyes, turning his little face wax-white as he scrambled to his Papa, blubbering fragments of apology, of denial, of no no no, Papa, it isn’t alright, no no no. The woman’s eyes were running too. Shame and rage and pain streaked her face like a mask of grief as she wrapped herself around her husband, her mind a litany as garbled as her son’s.

Jonathan Jonathan sorry so sorry Darling my Love sorry sorry sorry sorrysorrysorrysosorry—

“It’s alright,” Jonathan echoed mindlessly back, the most he could do by way of dialogue through pain and panic. “It’s alright,” as his arms, now both water-weak and crippled, folded around wife and child. His back to his Master as if he might shield them.

His Master felt somehow as if he had ceased to be in the room. Now he was watching a lackluster play unfold. See here, the poor little family menaced and ravaged by the monster. The monster looms over them, gloating over the injuries left, waiting to strike again as they weep. The boy cries, the woman cries, Jonathan cries. And why not? The monster gives them something to cry about. As monsters should. As is right. The family belongs to the monster, not the reverse. The monster has no place within the family. Fragile and grating little thing that it is.

See how easily it’s wounded? How quickly it turns on the monster for a mistake? Not even his own! Not entirely his own, at least.

This time.

So. You can admit it.

The boy, the woman, Jonathan, all crying. All huddling against him. Away from him.

As if any of them can spare the loss of blood. As if they expect him to open his veins and refill them to make up for their own idiot blubbering. As if he can waste more of himself on their fumbling and failures. As if he has not hollowed himself of everything, feeding his blood and his time and his toil and his soul until he has only a husk left for himself, picture of the good husband and father, give give give, work work work, feed feed feed, and all they offer him is more need, more pain, more excuses, sorry, sorry, I did not mean it, Papa, I did not mean it, Darling—

He watched Jonathan raise his head enough to look over the heads of his Loves. A single pining glance at the window.

I did not mean it, draga mea.

“Enough.” It was not the bark he wished it to be. He was not even sure if his Harkers heard him. But they didn’t need to. Within a heartbeat he had shot forward snaked his arm around Jonathan’s middle. He hoisted the man like a doll, shock alone making him flinch and scrabble at the hold. The child keened piercingly and the mother’s mind erupted with hate-panic. Her Master flung an order out.

Hold the boy. Do not follow.

The woman spasmed against the order until every cord of muscle stood out from her like wire. Then she was giving a mute howl as she fell upon her son, snatching him up and trapping him in her arms. The boy shrilled deafeningly and fought his mother in a blur of little limbs, tugging, reaching, kicking, begging.

“Let go! Mum, let go! Papa! Papa!”

The boy’s face was a horror of running blood, his eyes turned to marbles of red glass.

Jonathan was little better. His Master had not allowed him to stand. He would waste time if he had; would have tried to dawdle, to scramble back and soothe the tantrum away, to trap himself and his Master another endless minute in this squalling hell of a room. So his Master had hoisted him up first as a farmer might trap an errant lamb under his arm, then threw him over his shoulder.

Then moved to the window.

The boy shrieked.

“Papa! Papa! No, let him go! Papa!”

“Please,” Jonathan’s voice was a hoarse whisper. His hands clung without strength to his Master’s back, trying to drag himself loose, straining towards mother and child like a dying flower bowing toward the sun. “Please, Sir, not like this. I have to go to them, have to explain things, I have to—,”

SLEEP.

Jonathan became a dead weight over his shoulder. The window was opened. Another scream from the boy, this one so great it turned into a nigh rupturing cough.

“Papa,” a reedy sound, “Papa, wake up, Papa..!”

Out the window they went.

Mid-descent, monster turned to mist, carrying his prey like a leaf in a breeze. Down and away and around the castle’s side. Finding the way back in that no eye or mind within the castle could discover.

Jonathan woke half an hour later.

He did so with a surprising lack of pain. As sleep melted off, he became aware of new wrappings layered on both shoulders. The left’s ragged side was plastered with a cooling sleeve of linen strips. His right was bound with something that felt like a fuzzing velvet numbness trapped under its bandages. Each side ate away their respective aches.

“Alchemy as men know it never did manage to turn iron to gold. But it bridged many gaps between simple medicine and magic’s bending of bodily law.”

Jonathan raised his head enough to see his Master sat at the opposite end of the bed. If one considered it a bed. They were in a nest of blankets and cushions that had been layered into a den of alien stonework. While not musty in the way of other ancient bedding strewn around the castle, they carried the spiced stamp of aromas from the work that was done in the adjoining room. Over his Master’s shoulder he could see a heavy oaken door left a crack open. A lamp glowed there, highlighting glass and clay vessels arranged on a far worktable. Some smoked. Some glowed. Some seemed to look back at him.

“Nature would have you heal over the course of weeks. Likely months. Supernature,” his Master gestured at the bandaged shoulders, “will see you healed within the next two nights at the latest. Of course, this will hardly matter if you decide to forsake your little chalk notes and throw yourself from the window.” Jonathan held his tongue as his Master sunk both eyes into him like brands. “The boy did not catch what you wrote on the windowsill, if it’s any consolation. You could let them go on believing I have been so monstrous as to force my poor friend, poor Papa, poor Darling, to sit dull and dead before the window for hours upon hours whenever he does not work or sleep or bleed. I am so suddenly the only monster under this roof as well as Master.”

Jonathan swallowed. Once, twice.

“Apologies. I shall—I shall explain things to them. Please, forgive me, Sir.”

“No.” Jonathan stared at him. Worry and confusion clashed and crumbled into each other behind the ghost-light eyes. “No,” his Master echoed, “this is not something that is forgiven any more than it is forgotten.” His hands clenched to white stones in his lap. “How long have you been like this, Jonathan?”

Do not lie.

Jonathan twitched but failed to catch his tongue in time.

“The first time was in mid-May. Back when I first started to suspect you. The prospect rose and fell in me more than once until the end of June. If it were not for the chance of seeing Mina again, I would have walked into the wolves on that last night together. I was still thinking of cliffs and wolves the day I escaped, prepared to take that route rather than have the Weird Sisters’ teeth pin me here forever. But those thoughts came and went.

“It wasn’t until October 3rd that the urge came back and never left. That was when I stopped being sure whether or not Mina would heed the threat of death potentially leading to undeath. I know she still thought of high buildings. Of train tracks. Fires. So I started thinking of them too. Just in case. After November, after the killing, I just kept thinking it. Whenever I was not busy or seen or sleeping. I have heard that suicides are damned outright. Murderers of good men too. I have thought sometimes that I could take that leap and die, but I would not know the difference once I woke to Hell. Sometimes I think I jumped an eternity ago and just can’t remember.

“I know I cannot risk it, of course. It would risk them too and leave them hurting besides. All it amounts to now is a sort of meditation. And I do appreciate the view. It is no more than that, I swear.”

“You swear,” his Master nodded. “You swear in this particular moment. Just as, not so long ago, caught in a snare, you thought of taking yourself away in earnest. The leap or the rope or the knife reached for in full daylight. A most effective slap to rouse your greedy little family from their play. But it does not bode well for this, your current oath. Only a thought, only a meditation. Not to worry. This is what you would have me believe?”

“Thought is not action, Sir. I would not still be here if it was.”

“Indeed, you are here. And doing what? Ah, let me specify. Doing what, besides working and bleeding?”

Jonathan frowned at him.

“Raising my family.”

“Which falls under work.”

A deeper frown, almost stormy.

“It hardly feels so, Sir. My Loves are not the burden you would paint them as.”

“Even if I believed you, you still have not answered my question. What are you doing, Jonathan Harker? What are you doing solely for yourself? You stare out a window that you must convince yourself every day not to leap from. You clear dust away from every room in the castle but your own. You touch a book only when you must be seen reading, you sing only when there is an ear besides yours to hear it, you wear your smiles the same way a maid dons her uniform. You do not answer me because you have no answer to give.” Lantern eyes burned. “In the five years since you have been here, you have done nothing but hollow yourself of everything. Blood and fealty and life and love. Yes, true, you live. Because that too is in your itinerary. Just another chore of maintenance.”

Jonathan sat up fully now.

“And?” A whisper. A thing of lead. “What does it matter?”

Why do you care?

“It matters because, even without a stomach, I am not immune to nausea. Call it secondhand indignation if you like. I have made deals with many devils and played pupil to the best of them. You see what bounty such Lessons have afforded me compared to,” he waved a clawed hand in Jonathan’s direction, “the usual lot of misery that comes to the would-be hero and the practicing martyr. If I should ever get around to some dire retribution from kismet, it will only be after nigh half a millennium of unchecked power and slaughter with nary an angel flying by to chide me for my play. Even Faustus got to have his allotment of pleasure before Mephistopheles tore him to shreds and flung his soul to Hell. But you? You spoke the truth before.

“You have nothing. You began with scarcely more than that. A narrow starving life with only the distraction of a woman who hardly merited the pedestal you lifted her on for playing nursemaid and starring, as so many muses do, within a theatre of high romance you painted around her; she, a soul as commonplace as a grain of sand in a desert. For her, you damn yourself. Her and the unholy miracle of the boy. You started with crumbs and gave away all you had and more, gaining nothing but the safeguarding of others’ fortune. Others’ lives. While you whore your life and veins away and tell yourself a chair and a window are sufficient for the last dregs of self you permit to exist.

“Do not mistake me. It is hilarious in the abstract. I would laugh if you were on a stage. But you are here and real and proving insufferable with your insistence on denying yourself any opportunity to do something other than play the role of grist in a mill.” He bared his teeth. It was not a grin. “But I waste my time telling you what you already know, yes? You have clearly made peace with this Spartan half-life. You did not even bat a lash at the prospect of mother and child’s visits being stripped away.” Jonathan’s breath stopped as his Master looked down on him. Lantern eyes now infernos. “Until tonight. There is a crack in the performance now. Father is suddenly a monster and he has stolen poor Papa away.

“And here, in this space, Papa can never be found. Not even by his wife’s prying mind.” White knuckles rapped against the strange black stonework. “It was not easy making this place. A genius loci can only flex so much. But the Scholomance exists in a space that is not possible and it was with brick from that Mountain that I formed these walls. A little sanctum away from Earthly meddling. Back before my condition required the grave soil. How nice to know it will not go to waste.”

Jonathan’s face fell as his Master stood. In less than a blink his Master was at the door, then through it, filling up the threshold. Perhaps too late it occurred to him that the nest of a room had no light lit in it. Not so much as a candle. The only illumination left was the faint glow at his Master’s back and the fires that were his Master’s eyes.

“You have a new task before you, my friend. Something to meditate on without distraction. No work. No window. No wife or child. The task is this: Think of something to do, to be, to want, that serves only you. An addition to your life that you can drop into the raw pit you have carved out of yourself to feed the clamoring maws of your dear family.”

His hand curled around the handle.

Jonathan’s eyes were wide and bright as stars.

“Wait—,”

“In the meantime, for as long as you fail in this endeavor, you will be here. To the boy and his mother, you will be a ghost. Undetectable by mind or sound or scent. They will only know you live by the taste of you in the cup. But do not rush yourself. Take however many nights or years you need.”

Jonathan fought his way out of the tangle of covers.

“Please, wait—,”

“I’m certain they will take it well.”

The door shut and bolted. A moment later there was a hammering in the dark interior, fists drumming against the thick oak. From the exterior it sounded barely louder than the patter of rain. The shouting only the buzz of an insect. Rain and insect grew slightly louder when the laboratory’s light was put out, erasing even the outline of the door. All was dark. Hammer, patter, shout, buzz.

Silently, the Master of the castle sighed.

He just as silently took a seat outside the door. His eyes were their own strange points of light in the pitch and they glanced down into the open face of his pocket watch. It stood out clearly enough to him. One hour. Two. Three. His friend carried on at intervals through them all. Shouts or sobs, pleas or pounding.

Out in the castle, mother and child were hunting. Father and Papa were nowhere to be found. They threw out the feelers of their psyche as far as they could go, scented the air, raced and called to each other on every floor and through every room. Nothing, nothing. The woman even dared to breach her Master’s bedroom.

Ah, close! So close! Did she detect her husband there? An echo of his presence?

Of course she did.

Her husband was the only one other than her Master to be allowed in that room, and then only with their Master’s beckoning. Even if she had no reason to doubt the freshness of the hint, there was still no following. Not into this space that only a student of the Mountain could detect, let alone enter. She came and went within walking distance of her beloved. All as he screamed out for her. For their boy. For their Master.

By the fourth hour the room had quieted.

He held his ear to the crack:

“Please…” came a croak almost too thin to count as a voice. “Please, I don’t understand this. What do you want from me? What am I supposed to say? Just tell me, please…”

I did. I did and you still cannot make sense of it. Draga mea, has this been you your whole life?

He wanted to laugh.

A curse was mouthed instead.

He stood, relit the lamp, unbolted the door, and found his arms suddenly full of his friend. The bandaged arms clung to him while a face streaked in tears and sweat ground into his chest, eyes somehow still running. He made a note to force a carafe down the man’s throat before he passed out. For now, he let his friend hold to him, shaking.

“Sir, Master, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for angering you. I only want to understand what has to be done to mend this. Please.”

He held his friend in turn, stroking through the white cloud of hair.

“That you say this means you have not taken the order to heart. How is it such a trial to want something? Whether you fear it being taken or not, how is it you cannot even name a thing you desire?”

“I don’t know.” The words left his friend like millstones. He seemed almost to deflate in his Master’s arms. “I don’t know.”

“You could not have been so before you were here. Before you were mine. Even the destitute will dream. Did you not want for anything then, however meager?”

Quiet unspooled for almost a minute. There was a small breath. He waited.

“…Wanting gets conditioned out of some lives,” was his friend’s answer. “Need comes first. Need is always there, taking up your mind and your time. Urgency. Efficiency. Every cent and minute hoarded. Books were a luxury. Second and thirdhand purchases, the rest from the library. Theatre was a treat to reserve once a season at most. No concerts, no revelries, no records playing in the apartment on a phonograph never afforded. The first time we did not know need was after the man I considered a father died and left the gift of his will behind. A house and a business and a bank account that finally did not sting to look at, traded into our hands at the loss of another precious life.

“Between Lucy and Hawkins, there was not even a heartbeat in which to be more than performative in appreciating our changed fortune. Not before the trap of you sprang again. Van Helsing’s call to arms. You know the rest. Even Mina, even the blessing of our child, those priceless wants above all others, were made into another thunderbolt from Fate. Another proof that some people are just not meant to want, let alone have. No matter how great or small a treasure. I learned that Lesson well enough even before you. And so I have schooled myself out of it. Wanting.

“The part of a mind that craves for itself has been atrophied and beaten into dust in me. But if you say I must want, I can perform otherwise. Tell me I am sick of the window and I shall board it up. Tell me to read, I will read. Or sing a song. Or dig up old recipes to enjoy even when I am not cooking to flavor myself. Or whatever else. Even while you all sleep. Even with no one looking.” Jonathan pulled his face away from his Master’s heart and turned bleary eyes up to him. Blue ringed in rose. “Whatever fixes this. Please.”

Throw him back in. He will do better in a week. A month at most. Do it.

He sensed mother and child outside the castle now. Running, circling. They had taken clothes from Jonathan’s wardrobe and, against the Lesson so gravely taught, son watched mother order the wolves to her, demanding they take her husband’s scent and search, go! The wolves would lead them to the usual route Jonathan took to the towns, no more. But they were desperate. Still weeping. Bloodless and starving for grief.

Do it.

Jonathan stared at him. Waiting for another blow. For a laugh, a sneer. A cold hand tossing him back into the dark. The dog laying before his Master’s rising boot, knowing the fine quarry brought home was no excuse for not wagging his tail as he did so.

A fine dragon you are, old devil. Are you so soft now? You laid out the terms. He has not satisfied them. Do it. Do it!

“Fifteen years. That is how long the boy has left to nurse from you if you have your way. Fifteen more years until he is a man, innocent of taking a single life. Likewise for his mother. Because you feed us all. Wasting and wasting until that final night. Do you expect to die and remain dead at that hour? Do you think I would lose you, even if Mephistopheles himself came up to collect?”

“No,” barely a breath. Jonathan seemed to wilt another inch as it left him.

“No. The wait ends. Your unlife begins. Which means what?”

Jonathan could not bring himself to speak. Only looked away. His Master thumbed away another tear.

“Eternity in potentia,” he answered himself. “Centuries. Longer. We both know the Vampire is made of its wants before anything else. Such is our nature. I will give credit to dear Mina for her control. She has far more cause for loathing me than her Sisters did and she does admirably against her own desires. Even if she only has as much will as my own allows, it is a thing of iron in itself. But what of you, draga mea?”

Recognition pinched Jonathan upright again. The ghost-light eyes gaped with what was uncertainty or else the wish to be uncertain.

“You will no longer be as you are. No more playing vassal. No more wearing the yoke of mere servility. No more stalling in your martyr’s Pit. You will be Vampire, you will be want. And what will you do if there is nothing of the latter there to catch you? What shall you do with infinity? Will you only be as my missing shadow? Only your woman’s faithful dog? Will you still have the boy, grown and whole, pulling at your apron strings? A servant, forever caught between bowing to others or laying as a corpse in the moonlight for lack of anyone to serve. That you would be for eternity?”

The hand that wiped the tear moved to Jonathan’s jaw. It held like a strut against his attempt to turn away.

“I always kill my pests. I may torture an enemy before his end. But I would ultimately be rid of them, not leave them to such a Hell as the one you seem so dedicated to crafting for yourself.”

The hand was a snare and it kept Jonathan facing forward. Straight into the basilisk gaze and the mesmer at its heart. An order that was a plea.

“Think. Think of one single thing you want for yourself tonight. Just one.”

The trance worked deep. Snapping at the heels of Jonathan’s mind like a hound after a fox. Further, further, down, down, through a pinhole of a tunnel into the abandoned gloom where the carcasses of hope and yearning had been thrown away. The trance dug. The trance prodded. The trance found a coin’s worth of treasure, like dead men’s gold hidden under a blue flame.

Here was another view from another window. After the departure of a captor. Before the arrival of the hypnotic mists and their hungry smiles. Sweetly in-between, here was the sight of the moonlit world back when it had been a beautiful balm. A sole comfort in his terror but a heartbeat from being spoiled by his hostesses’ threat.

Jonathan Harker had seen small shapes moving on the wind. An owl soaring far below. Moths fluttering past like living petals. So high, so close to the peaks and stars, a needle of nostalgia had found him. The boy within the young man who had wished with the hopeless fantasy of all hungry children looking up from their sparse plates and miserable families and through tatty curtains at the open and untouchable sky. Wished with sweet-somber futility for escape. For…for…

Jonathan spoke the wish aloud. A last wet trail fell from his bloodshot stare. His Master wiped this too.

And found Jonathan’s mouth with his before willing him back to sleep.

Mother and child were returning from the road. She had taken the boy up in her arms again, cursing as she half-ran, half-flew. The child had ceased sobbing, at last, but he rattled in her embrace. This had never happened before. They had not thought such a thing could happen. That anyone, let alone Papa and Father, could simply disappear. Especially from her senses. It was impossible to lose track of them. She always knew where they were. Always.

And now…

“Mum?” She had stopped. Her head cocked like a wolf’s, ears pricked high, eyes flaring. “Mum, what is it?”

There. They’re right there. How?

“Where, Mum? Are they close?”

She didn’t answer. Only took off at another rush, firing herself and her son like a spectral bullet through the forest. Perhaps the boy would have been more stunned than afraid that his mother could be such a blur if not for his worry. His senses were smaller than hers, still reaching and searching for whatever it was she’d found. It wasn’t until the outline of the castle came into view that he skimmed the presence of his fathers on the air. They were at the castle, but not within it.

Two frantic sets of eyes hunted around the grounds, trying to make sense of how the mingled presences could be so near and invisible at once. Closer. Closer.

Up.

They craned their heads until the moon met their gaze. That and the two shapes against the sky.

Jonathan was held close in his Master’s arms. The two of them were a speck against the stars. A moment more and they were drifting down to the ground. Jonathan was set lightly on his feet and almost knocked off them as his son clamped around his waist. His wife almost finished the job by locking her arms about his mending shoulders. Their Master watched on at a careful distance; no sudden moves to alert the herd.

The next hour was devoted to running both men’s tongues ragged.

Yes, diavol, he had lied. There had been a fight and he was embarrassed for it. But it was not what caused his Father’s tearing at Papa. That was his Father forgetting himself, forgetting how easy Papa was to break. Father grew angry at himself first for the mistake, then again when Papa was upset for frightening their son, and then most of all when, old man that his Father was, he had forgotten a remedy he had once known to cure away the injury and make Papa well again. It made him stormy, as all saw. He hated having a solution just out of reach.

But he had remembered at last. That was why he had come to take Papa away that evening. To put his mistake right. But then had come all the hurtful words from their harsh-tongued child, the tears, the fretting, and then that nasty surprise of a second mistake. Again, poor Papa was forced to pay the price for an unruly family. And Father had snatched him away before more pains could add up.

He had gone to a place that, he will be honest, did not exist properly inside the castle. Like a ballroom tucked into a woodshed. It was where his older magic was stored, back before Father was all that he was, back when he had need to worry about skin and bone. There he took Papa to heal. And to talk.

About his sitting and staring. About how he did this for lack of joy alone. Papa made himself so busy and tired that there was nothing left in him to play or take pleasure all on his own.

Was it the sharp thoughts again, Papa?

A tremor here from the boy. Begging, but bracing.

No, son, only absurd ones. The kind that grownups do not like to admit out loud because they do not wish to seem foolish or idle. Other things too. Little things that would need asking for. But your Papa hates to ask for anything, and so he hid all that in his head too, so he would not ask at all.

Yet Father had made him talk and ask and it turned out it really wasn’t such an absurd thing at all.

“I asked to fly.”

“Like us?”

“Like you. Isn’t that silly?”

“It’s silly that you didn’t ask! I always wanted to fly too, seeing Mum and Father do it so easy.” The boy held tight to him again, grinding the coagulation of old tears against his Papa’s neck. In a small voice he shuddered, “I thought you wanted to do something else. I thought…”

“I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry for scaring you all before. I would never listen to the sharp thoughts like that. It’s just a sour part of imagination. That’s all.” He rested his chin atop the boy’s head. One hand cupped him close. The other looped around the woman’s shoulders, the ease of the gesture proving the strength of the medicine. Her eyes dug in his. Knowing and shelving the truth for later. “I promise,” Jonathan breathed.

…Do you still want to fly?

“Once you have another meal in you, Darling. I think we are all too worn out for now.”

“No,” the Master intoned from the castle’s shadow, “You need not soften it. You are worn out, all of you. I remain the only one overfed and hale. I shall still be so once you are ready to feed again.” He waved his hand. “I shall skip my helping at the next feeding, lest I burst like a tick.” The boy perked up in his Papa’s lap while his mother narrowed her eyes. Father never skipped his taste of Papa. Not ever. Father only grinned. “But before Papa plays family dinner again, it must be agreed that he needs a holiday. I believe he had some ideas he wished to share with you.” His gaze flicked to Jonathan. “Is it not so, draga mea?”

Mother and child each recognized the term as it hit the air.

The woman was considerably less enthused than her son, who knew the words from the fairy tales. The magic words between one true love and another.

Jonathan distracted them both with the first small thing: A phonograph and new music to play on it. Perhaps even sheet music of their own, if any of them would dare to risk each others’ ears with the practice.

What was a phonograph, Papa? Was that like the music boxes he’d brought home for them?

Something like that…

Chatter carried on under the moon until Jonathan’s stomach growled. The woman stopped just short of carrying him off to the kitchen. Master and child dawdled behind. The latter pretended interest in a moth that had landed first on a flower, then a stone, and then up on his Father’s shoulder like a great grim tree.

But the moth flew off and still he did not look away.

“…Yes, child?”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Thank every god below the Earth, he did not bring himself to tears as he said it. Though he looked close. “I should never have thought you’d hurt Papa.”

“Ah, but I did hurt him. We all did. By accident, with carelessness, without ill intent, still he was hurt. We are fortunate that he is so forgiving a soul and strong enough to weather us. Such men as him are rare. I do not think I have met another like him in four hundred years.” The child’s eyes shined just short of another bloody tide he could not afford to lose. Sensing this, he snuffled and squinted and fought the weeping back. Good boy. “He will be alright. Amends will be made and we shall not repeat our mistakes with him. Papa does so much out of love for us. We will do the same, yes?”

He held out his hand. The boy forsook it to duck wholly under his arm in his accustomed spot, huddled close as a pup to his kin. The open hand drifted down to stroke his hair.

“Yes,” the boy nodded against him, scrubbing the last dry tracks of tears away on his suit. “Promise.”

“Good. No more tears tonight, diavol. There is nothing to cry about.”

#I promise I'm working on the Dracula Daily-inspiration ref post #but my internet has been patchy as hell and I couldn't get some of the ref links and images I needed #it'll be up soon #but in the meantime enjoy this lovely terrible Text Brick #-throws it through Blood of My Blood's window and runs-#jonathan harker #mina harker #quincey harker #dracula #dracula bad ending #blood of my blood #horror #my writing

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rainbowchaox · 6 months

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Philza fully has a soft spot for one Missa Sinfonia

I think it’s about time for everyone to fully understand that Philza has a soft spot for Missa. Whether you ship them platonically or romantically. Everyone needs to understand how gentle and how Missa can do no wrong Philza fully is.

First off literally whenever Missa is there Philza voice drops into the softest I ever heard him. Philza finally gets calm and relaxed with missa. Missa was canonically gone for ages left their actual son and was absent. Philza immediately forgave him. Missa thinks he is bad dad but he is not. Missa canonically had no choice but to be gone CAUSE? HE WAS LITERALLY HELD HOSTAGE BY WILD WOLVES.

If Missa had a choice in the matter he wouldn’t have never left Philza or Chayanne and eventually Tallulah. He would have always stayed by his family side. He is completely loyal to a fault. Missa isn’t perfect but Philza can clearly see that Missa is 100% on his side. And for some one like Philza where complete trust and loyalty is so hard to come by. Much less Philza giving trust and loyalty to somebody is the hardest thing to get. But once Philza trusts you? Practically have it for life. Only utter betrayal will break his trust.

Philza will wait and wait. It’s no problem for him. Philza forgives Missa so much. Even if others will hold a grudge over him being gone. Even if others fully believe that Missa doesn’t deserve Philza or deserve his family. Philza will always have a space for Missa in their home. There’s reasons why it’s Phil and Missa. Not just Philza.

Missa JUST cares so much about those he loves. And Philza definitely understands that about Missa. Which is why he has such a massive soft spot for his husband. There’s no anger. No resentment. No. Philza is just happy that Missa is back.

And this comes to what happened recently. The fight between Wilbur and Philza. Philza did snap and for good reason. Wilbur left for ages had him take care of his egg and Wilbur started getting upset? Wilbur doesn’t even know Tallulah at this point. Philza is more a dad to her than Wilbur. Sucks to point that out but it’s the truth. But all the anger Philza directed at Wilbur? He never directed at his husband Missa.

Missa was also a absent father. Missa also left him to care for Chayanne. But Philza can tell Missa never wanted to leave. That Missa loves chayanne and the rest of the eggs so much (literally one of the first things he did during his first stream back was kiss sleeping chayanne). And most importantly Missa is always on his side. They are team. A unit.

I remember when Tallulah was worried about if her father would still love her as she changed so much when he was gone. And Philza alluded that even chayanne changed and that was mainly because he didn’t talk about Missa much making him lose Spanish. And you know what? Missa never stopped loving his son. Was hella dramatic about it primarily because people putting ideas chayanne was doing drugs. But Missa never stopped loving chayanne.

Missa always cared for chayanne and if anything he wants to better for Philza and Chayanne and even Tallulah. As they connected right before the egg kidnappings happened. And Philza understood so he immediately saw the small amount of blame he did. He stopped talking about Missa.

There’s reasons why Missa holds Philzas heart. Why he trusts Missa so much. Why philzas is always loyal to Missa.

MISSA IS ALWAYS ON PHILZA SIDE NO QUESTIONS ASKED.

Missa just like Philza wants to save the eggs. Missa is always on Philza side. So of course Philza is soft. (Also Missa visited before the egg kidnapping lore. Definitely made him look better.) I just find it so interesting despite both Missa and Wilbur being in similar states of being absent fathers returning both connected to Philza. That Philza is visibly more soft towards Missa than Wilbur. It’s something the pissa nation should pick up on. Because really no one can say that Philza has a soft spot for his husband. We were always saying it but now it’s practically canon.

Anyways Missa PLS STREAM YOUR HUSBAND NEEDS IT!!!!!!!

#qsmp #pissa #Qsmp pissa #Deathduo #Essay!#guess who back back again it’s me the essay devil #pissa newspaper

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ghenry · 8 days

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Rewatched the Avatar TLA series with my partner recently, and fell in love with the world and characters all over again. I especially love the journey Zuko goes through the show as a character.

Zuko, son of Fire Lord Ozai. He seems pretty by-the-books at first as this angry villain, but something that makes him immediately unique for this kind of setting is his young age. He's barely older than Aang, our child protagonist.

"You're just a child." "Well, you're just a teenager!"

Although early on you start getting the idea that there's more nuance to him than this villain trying to incapacitate our protag, he shows some depth in his character here and there, usually through his uncle Iroh, a wise warrior that's there to aid and comfort his nephew, joining his banished trip on his own accord. While he's on the villain's side, it's worth noting he never hurts or intimidates innocent people, only ever fighting those already attacking or threatening him.

Even so, Zuko made it blatantly clear what his intents were. "I must capture the avatar to regain my honor." And he barely changed his mind about this throughout the entire first season, even when the two helped each-other out of hopeless circumstances, hinting that they're not meant to be sworn enemies.

"If we knew each-other back then, do you think we could've been friends too?"

Knowing the show and how it transpires across all 3 seasons, it's interesting seeing the intent the writers and showrunners had for these characters, and their hidden depth, all the way back in this first season. One of the finest examples would be Iroh sharing Zuko's history with fellow soldiers. A history which helps said soldiers --and in turn, the audience-- empathize with him.

Behind Zuko's scarred face is a story about a boy already feeling lost and unsure of himself, stumbling into a tragedy where his father --in sheer arrogance-- abused his son to a high degree in front of all his subordinates, in a heinous act he would call punishment.

Ever since then, he was banished to travel across the world to search for the avatar, a task his father felt was worthless, but was the same as leaving him out to die. This isn't the origin of a villain, but a downtrodden individual who couldn't find his place in life.

What Zuko called "honor" over and over again wasn't that, but his father's love. He already lost his mother, and instead yearned for his father's approval and affection. This culminated to his ultimate betrayal, siding with his sister and turning his back on his uncle, which lead to his imprisonment. During a crossroad and moment of insecurity, he threw his uncle Iroh to the wolves because he thought he would regain his honor and earn his right to be a part of his family once again.

Zuko would be welcomed back into his family, he retrieved what he thought was his honor --and what he thought was genuine love from his father.

"You have redeemed yourself, my son."

But even then, he still felt lost, alone, and without a sense of direction. Nothing changed, his soul still felt incomplete.

"For so long, I thought that if my dad accepted me, I'd be happy. My dad talks to me, he even thinks I'm a hero! Everything should be perfect, right? I should be happy now, but I'm not! I'm angrier than ever, and I don't know why!"

It took him a long time (about 2 and a half seasons) to realize he didn't need this sense of "honor" and what he was chasing was just a farce. His father only showed Zuko "love" when he seemed useful, an asset that was helping his fascist conquering of multiple nations by killing the Avatar.

All of this drew to an enthralling, terrifying, heart-wrenching moment between him and his father during the day of the eclipse. He used the minutes they could not fire bend as an opportunity to let out the truth and his own epiphany. He admitted that he never killed Aang --didn't even try, for that matter-- and that he's going to help him defeat his father's regime. Ozai immediately despised Zuko for this, proving his 'love' was conditional and hollow. And at that moment, as soon as the eclipse ceased, he attempted to kill his own son right then and there in a moment that never fails to draw tears out of me as soon as it happens.

Zuko survived his father's lethal attack, only by sheer will, and a lighting-redirection technique his uncle happened to teach him a while back, emphasizing how important Iroh is to him. Iroh is the father figure that truly loved Zuko unconditionally. Ozai, his biological father, could only grant him death. His uncle Iroh, at that moment, inadvertently granted him life.

And Zuko's story (mostly) ends in the middle of the 4-part finale. With the help of his friends, he tracked down Iroh who escaped from prison. The moment he sees his uncle, he breaks down as he's horribly ashamed of his actions, expecting Iroh to shun him as he feels he does not deserve his uncle's love after what he did to him.

"I was never angry with you . . . I was sad, because I was afraid you lost your way."

But Iroh doesn't hesitate to embrace him. Like I said, his love is unconditional. He knew Zuko wasn't evil, he was only being manipulated by the likes of his father and sister. He knew Zuko would find the right path, restore his own honor, and come back to him. It's such a beautiful moment and the soul-piercing conclusion to Zuko's story, a story they were building up since the literal first episode.

Of course, there's also Azula, his sister. She was considered a prodigy with her amazing fire bending abilities, mastering the skill of bending lightning, something only her father and uncle were able to do before her.

She was a spitting image of her father; fierce, manipulative, wrathful, the only thing she shared with her brother Zuko was their sense of determination. But we don't learn what really drives Azula until the finale. It's similar to Zuko. He felt incomplete without his father's love. While this was implied before the finale, Azula felt she was missing her mother's love.

While I think the argument could be made that this was just her own projection, it's important that this shows how --despite her more respected place in their family and nation-- she was just as broken and spiritually lost as Zuko. While Ozai showered his daughter with praise for all of her life, Azula felt her mother didn't love her, which ate away at her, deep inside. Much like Zuko, who felt he was fighting to earn his father's love.

Azula, to me, represents Zuko's future if he let his father manipulate him, just like Azula did to him. Would he have become this tyrannical fire lord if he just listened to his father, abandoned his inhibitions, and ensured his nation's regime? Maybe. But like Azula's interrupted crowning, it would have been shallow, lonely, and without any real sense of self-worth. Nothing to show for it but a broken mind.

Instead, Zuko became the fire lord on his own terms, and with the entire world in support of him, as he helped this quest for peace and balance across the nations. He earned his place in life through his own will, his own actions, and his amazing uncle who only wanted the best for him. He restored his honor himself, with lifelong friends by his side.

That's it, that's all I wanted to write about. This show rules.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko #prince zuko #azula #uncle iroh #fire lord zuko

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gacha99 · 3 months

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I did the Shamane event and I have to say his story is really gut wrenching T_T Even though it was super depressing, I found it be a really cool story nonetheless. I feel like Shamane's story is one about acceptance and moving on, as well as how to relearn your empathy for others after they've hurt you, or after your empathy has led you down the "wrong path".

His family situation is complicated, because he's constantly dealing with this inner turmoil and guilt over what happened because he feels like he was way too flippant about his families warnings against humans, and their need to stay away from humans all together. He feels that he is the one to blame for what happened to his family, even though it was humans that did that awful crime at the behest of Manus Vindictae.

Even when he's in that nightmare, he's looking for someone else to blame or someone else to point the finger at besides himself, which is why his mind keeps conjuring up Kumar even though he knows she wasn't even there that day.

But in actuality the only one to blame is the Manus, not Kumar or Shamane, or even Shamane's empathetic nature towards all things human or arcanist.

During the time we see him with the shaman, Shamane is trying to learn from this wizened old man who has made a place for himself in the wilderness. He respects and knows all of the rules of the place he's in, and he doesn't try to take claim over the land or food. When a sheep of his own gets captured by wolves, he stops Shamane from even helping because in his own words "No life should belong to me".

In a sense, he has learned how to adapt to the environment he's in and he respects the rules of the critters and animals in the forest, just as they respect him. To me, the old shaman that Shamane meets is a representation of the struggle that Mor Panhk faces with its Human and Arcanist community.

Unlike how Shamane learns from the shaman in the woods how to live peacefully among and with the nature around him, humans in this world cannot seem to trust or tolerate arcanists even if they "act civilly" (Hell, i'd even say Toothfairies story event was a prime example of how humans will never really respect or care for Arcanists even if their family is influential or rich) We never really learn the full extent of why those human friends of Shamane essentially betrayed him and decided to burn their tree down, but that lack of empathy towards Arcanists is what the Manus used to their advantage to have the tree burned in the first place.

I also think that the act of what the humans did and what the manus ordered them to do had such an effect on Shamane's family that it didn't allow for them to even love each other in that adversity.

The lack of empathy for others is ultimately the thing that led them to this path, not the other way around. And that's what Shamane learns from the shaman, and why he spends so much time learning how to live with the environment around him. Because he learns that everything around him is impacted by his own choices, and he has to try and walk in the shoes of a critter or a wolf to understand why they do what they do, rather than view them as monsters to be destroyed.

And even when his empathy for other creatures lands him hurt and injured once more, it doesn't matter because he still cares in the end and tries to help even a small little carbuncle. Shamane decides to offer up the empathy his family was never offered by humans, rather than let the actions of them ruin his own image of the world around him.

It's not really a story about forgiveness, but about how to heal and become a better person after you've faced a terrible action done toward you.

Anyways if I don't get him im gonna be so sad </3

#reverse: 1999 #re1999 #journey to mor pankh #shamane

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stormz369 · 2 months

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The King of Hell and Me: Ch 2 - Molting

Chapter Guide Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

Summary: Lucifer goes missing because he's embarrassed. Preening ensues. Wolf-demon reader. Warnings: fluff, Lucifer being bad at vulnerability, animal characteristics, implied arousal, rated mature (maybe?) Word Count: 3k

Lucifer had his own home, of course. But since the hotel’s grand re-opening, he’d been staying in his suite here. To be closer to Charlie, or to get himself out of his depression funk, or maybe both, it wasn’t clear. Either way, we’d found ourselves spending a lot of time together. We ate breakfast together most days, he told me all about his most recent duck-based inventions, and he was the only person I let into my office while I was doing my work for the hotel. Charlie had hired me as an all-purpose consultant, letting me work on any projects I wanted, and I dove straight into the advertising/community outreach/PR side of things. My work didn’t typically look like much until I had a completed product to present, so I didn’t like to have people watching my process, and as long as I kept her in the loop Charlie didn’t mind my secretive ways. But Lucifer was a creative mind too. He understood that sitting at my desk apparently doing nothing wasn’t actually nothing, and he let me be.

He was also the only person allowed to put things in my office, but that was only because he felt it was odd that I was a wolf without a pack, -because “Even hellhounds have packs, dear girl! Wolf-demons aren’t that uncommon, you need a family!”- and had started making one for me, a slowly growing pack of rubber ducks with wolf ears and fluffy tails. Every so often I’d find a new one in my office, and each one did something unusual. A pair facing each other on the windowsill had a laser between them that would alert us to intruders, but most were silly things like duck-wolves that could jump and growl, or were actually soap dispensers or changed color with the weather.

It actually worked out to be a mutually beneficial relationship. We both had a tendency to dive headfirst into our hyperfixations, and when one of us did, the other usually managed to keep them from spiraling too far. He’d comb my hair and fur, and remind me to take breaks. I’d bring him dinner and get him out of his room when he was getting frustrated. One time I even sat in the bathroom taking notes while he talked so he could shower without losing his flow. We weren't exactly romantic, but it was far more emotionally intimate than any romantic relationship I’d ever had. And, with no one else filling that role for either of us, we did end up on the receiving end of a lot of ‘old married couple’ jokes.

And that’s why, when he suddenly just wasn’t at the hotel one morning, I got a bit nervous. And, I’ll be honest, frustrated. I reminded myself that just because we typically spent breakfasts together didn’t mean we had to every day. Just because he’d told me every time he was leaving the hotel for the last few months didn’t mean he was beholden to me. We were friends, but he wasn’t mine and I couldn’t tell him what to do. I had no right or reason to be put off by this unexpected change to my routine. So I ate breakfast alone, went down to my office to work alone, and … couldn’t get into it. I couldn’t focus, everything was just a bit off. I should be able to hear his breathing, see his faint glow out of the corner of my eye, feel his hands in my hair. But I was entirely, soul crushingly, alone.

I texted him every day for the first week. Then once every few days, which quickly became once a week, but he never responded. He didn’t even look at them. I was starting to think he might be mad at me, but I couldn’t imagine what I could have done to upset him so much. I started working evenings, finding it less uncomfortable to be alone at night, but I had trouble getting much done either way. Charlie started bringing me breakfast in my office when everyone else had dinner. I appreciated that she was making sure I ate, but I was just as worried about her as she was about me. Lucifer hadn’t reached out to her either, and he wasn’t taking her calls, and her calm facade was starting to crack. At least she had Vaggie though. I was just alone.

A month into his disappearance I was working late again. Everyone was in bed, and I was trying to finish up this advertising campaign mock up for Charlie, when I heard the door of the hotel creak open. My ears perked up, and I cracked my office door open, listening carefully. I couldn’t make out who had come to visit. There were footsteps, light and airy but far too heavy to be Lucifer. I sniffed the air, glad for my more animalistic senses, hoping to catch some kind of clue. Friend, or foe? Welcome, or defend? The air smelled … musty, and damp. Something was very off.

I flicked my wrist, extending my claws, and made my way silently down the dark hallway. The intruder stumbled up the stairs, it would be silent to those without acute hearing, but I heard every step. I followed along, trying to visualize where they were from the sounds. They made their way past the elevator and up more flights of stairs, and I tracked along behind them, staying a floor below them to avoid detection. I wanted to know who they were, but I also wanted to know what they were looking for. When they finally made their way down a hallway, I glowered. They were on Charlie’s floor. I waited, listening halfway up the stairs so I could pounce if needed, until I heard them stop at a door. I jumped up, landing a few feet away from the short, trenchcoat clad figure. They jumped, pressing themself against the wall as if they could disappear through it, and dropped … a key?

“... Lucifer?” I whispered.

He turned toward me, a sheepish grin on his face. “... Heeey … I’m home!”

I sighed, scooping up his key and unlocking his door, gesturing for him to go inside. “Don’t wake Charlie.”

He nodded, darting inside. His footfalls were too heavy, he was hunched over a bit, and his back looked bulky under his coat. Something was wrong. He sat awkwardly on the couch, kicking his feet a bit. “Sooo … How’ve you been?”

“How have I been? … Luc, where have you been? … Y- you didn’t call, you didn’t tell anyone where you were going, or when you’d be back, you sneak in in the dead of night in whatever that is, you smell like a drowned bird, and you’re walking like an injured dog. And you ask how I’ve been???” A deranged laugh ripped its way out of my throat as I collapsed onto the seat next to him. “... Do you even care that we’ve all been worried sick? … I … you didn’t text me back … You were just … gone.”

He flinched a bit, hesitantly reaching for my hand. “... I .. I’m sorry, puppy … I didn’t mean to scare you. I just … I had something to attend to.”

I sighed softly, letting him take my hand. “What was so important that you couldn’t even tell us you were ok?”

“I … just had to …” He sighed. “Look, it’s kind of embarrassing, ok? I …” He mumbled something, a low whine in the back of his throat masking his words.

“... What was that?”

“I’m molting, ok?” He whined, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m molting, and I can’t comfortably put my wings away until it’s over, and they’re ugly right now! So I just … I thought I’d just go to the manor until it was over. I was only coming back tonight to get my sketchbook so I could work on a project…”

I blinked a bit, trying not to laugh. “... Right. … Just so I’m clear, cause I didn’t really interact with birds on earth. Molting is the one where birds lose a bunch of feathers and get new ones, right?” He nodded. “And it’s a yearly thing?”

He nodded again, “For most birds. Angels get a little one each year, and a big one each decade. It takes forever! It’s … unpleasant. Messy …” He grumbled softly; “humiliating.”

“Humiliating? It’s just part of having wings, isn’t it? How is that humiliating?”

“... You’ve seen my wings, what did you think of them?”

I let out a sigh, thinking. “... They’re bigger than I expected, but that makes sense since you’re not a bird. They’d have to be pretty big to lift you up … unless you’ve got hollow bones and they’re just ostentatious?” I chuckled a bit, hoping to lighten his mood, but it didn’t seem to work. “... They’re beautiful, and they look really soft … You look so majestic when you fly …”

“Exactly. … Beautiful. Majestic. That’s what they’re supposed to be … but when the molt comes they’re … really not that. … Molting is messy, and itchy, and … gross! … I look like a plucked chicken under this coat…” He whined softly, frustrated tears pricking at his eyes as he hid his face in his hands. “And the worst part is that I can’t even rush it along like we did in heaven, because I can’t reach!”

“... Can’t reach? … Do you have to pluck something, or?”

He nodded. “At the end of the molt the new feathers have these keratin sheaths that have to be removed … In heaven we’d get a few trusted angels together and circle up, but I can’t do that here! So I just have to wait for them to peel off on their own!”

I frowned softly, gently stroking his shoulder. He whined softly, looking at me hesitantly. “Lucifer, … I’m sure this is a … sensitive topic, and I’m sure there’s a reason you didn’t ask, but … if you wanted to ask, … I would help. And I promise, I wouldn’t judge you for what they look like right now, or talk to anyone else about it, or anything like that … It’s just like when you got that matt out of my fur, that was pretty embarrassing for me, but I couldn’t see it well enough to get it out myself. So you sat down with me, and you took a set of combs, and detangling spray, and a pair of scissors, and you fixed it for me. … You could have just cut it out, but you didn’t. You sat there and meticulously detangled it for hours, and then you trimmed everything so it wouldn’t get bad so easily again. Remember? … I could do the same for you.”

He nodded slowly, sighing softly. “I just … I didn’t want you to see … you don’t understand, they look really bad right now …”

“So did my neck.”

He thought for a moment, sighing before he carefully slipped the ugly beige trench coat off. His wings were pressed firmly against his back, almost trembling. He turned away, letting me get a good look at them. The majority of his flight feathers had already gone through the process, but about half of the fluffy down feathers were still encased, or partially encased, in cylindrical sheaths. I smiled softly, gently stroking down his spine. “It really doesn’t look so bad, Luci. Let’s get comfy, ok? Do you wanna lay down somewhere?”

A shiver went up his spine, and his wings attempted to puff up in response. It did look a bit sad, but I wasn’t gonna tell him that. He was feeling uncomfortable enough as it was. His wings were usually a source of great pride for him, I wasn’t about to make this harder for him. He slowly nodded, and carefully got up. I followed him to his bedroom, a little concerned by how wobbly he seemed.

“... Luc, is the molt really the only thing that’s going on? You seem a bit … off?”

He collapsed onto his bed, pulling a pillow under his chest and crossing his arms under himself. “It’s enough … The little molts take a lot of energy, but the big ones … The big ones really suck … I’ve been in bed pretty much since I left …”

I nodded, sitting next to him. “I see … so, I just start peeling these things off the feathers?”

He nodded. “Gently, please … You can roll them a bit if they resist, but if that doesn’t work move on to the next one. Most of them should be ready though.”

I hummed softly, gently taking the wing in front of me and carefully extending it. He groaned softly, following my movements compliantly. I let the wing rest on my legs and began carefully sliding my fingertips over the little cylinders. Most of the keratin sheaths started to flake and crumble away under my touch, and I carefully rolled the slightly more resistant ones between my fingers. Under my touch, fluffy down and contour feathers began to emerge. I gently brushed the debris away, careful of my claws. I knew I had to do this perfectly; to prove he could trust me with things like this. He wasn’t moving or making any noises though, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad.

I worked methodically from the bottom where his wing attached to his back, up and out to the wingtip, periodically brushing the detritus away and stroking his freshly exposed feathers. I finished the right side and got halfway through the wings on the left before I ran into one that started to peel away, but then didn’t want to budge. I was about to move on like he’d told me, but I paused when I heard the first noise Lucifer made since I started touching his wings; a high pitched whine. He squirmed uncomfortably, and his wings ruffled up a bit.

“... Luci? D- did I hurt you?”

“Noooo … I want it off …” He whimpered softly, pressing his face into the pillow. “... C- Can you scratch it a bit? Just a bit!”

I nodded, humming softly my agreement, and carefully ran a claw along the sheath. His high whine returned, but this time it seemed a bit more … pleased? I scratched again, watching little bits of the sheath peel away. After just a little bit more the sheath fell away entirely, releasing its fluffy feather, and Lucifer sighed happily.

“Ohhh fuck~ … Oh, that’s so much better! Your hands are magic~” He moaned softly, bringing a blush to my cheeks.

I cleared my throat; “... I’m glad you’re liking it, Luc.”

I carefully continued to the tip of his wing. There were only a few that hadn’t been ready to go yet, and his wings were back to their full, shiny, fluffy glory. He sighed happily, but didn’t move to get up, so I just continued to stroke his feathers.

“Ahh~ … Puppy, that’s wonderful~ … But y- … you do know, wings are sensitive, yeah?” He slowly lifted his head, looking over his shoulder at me. The heat on his face made me squirm shyly, and I shakily removed my hands.

“S- Sorry … I …” I blushed bright red, scooting backwards. He whined softly, slowly sitting up and facing me.

He shakily reached for my hand, running his thumb over my fingers. “... I wasn’t trying to make you stop. …”

I blushed even more, looking up at him shyly. “... So … should I continue?”

He slowly lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles gently. “... Only if you wish to.”

I nodded slowly, shakily pushing him to lay back down. He did, watching me out of the corner of his eye, and I straddled his hips, stroking his wings gently.

“... They’re so beautiful, Luci … You are beautiful …” I was mesmerized, letting my hands trail along the soft feathers.

He sighed happily, settling under me. “... I cannot believe I let this go on for a full blessed month when I could have had your hands on me this whole time …”

I chuckled softly, continuing to preen him gently. “Never again, yes? You come to me for this, whenever you need it. Or even if you just want it. … You take care of me, and I take care of you.”

“Because we’re an old married couple.” He nodded, yawning softly. “Yes, love, anything wifey wants~”

I blushed brightly, trying desperately to stop the squeak from leaving my mouth. Others had called us a married couple before, mostly to tease us, but we had never said it. “... That’s right, husband. Anything I want.”

He smirked slightly. “Husband … I like the way that word sounds when you say it ... If you’re not careful, I might just make you my wife for real …”

“... And what exactly would ‘being careful’ look like?”

“Oh, you know. Not letting me touch you anymore, keeping me out of your office, making fun of my ducks. … Taking your hands off my wings would definitely count as being careful.”

I chuckled softly, steeling my nerves and leaning forward to kiss his cheek. I whispered against his ear; “sounds like a horrible way to live. I think I’ll take my chances.”

His eyes flew open, looking up at me. A bright red blush spread across his face, and a hesitant smile graced his lips. “... I agree. A horrible way to live.”

He carefully slid out from under me, turning around so I was in his lap instead, and gently cupped my cheek, rubbing gently with his thumb. I leaned into his touch, sighing happily, and he slid his hand up to stroke my fluffy wolf ear. An almost electric feeling shot through me, leaving me gasping, and I hesitantly looked up at him. He smirked slightly, pulling me closer and kissing me softly before he whispered in my ear; “Now don’t give me that look, love~ You’ve been doing it to me this whole time~”

#hazbin #lucifer hazbin #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin hotel #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #fluff #wingplay #preening #molting #lucifer's wings #lucifer x reader #lucifer magne x reader

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stromuprisahat · 1 month

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Isn’t the status of Grisha much worse after TGT. How are the Righteous Gang claiming to be victors/heroes who made others lives better. From my pov, grisha are much worse off while the otkazatsya are in status quo. Also what was wrong with the grisha coming to LP to live. From the books, it seems that none of them had any connection to their parents/relatives. If so that can also mean that their family did not care enough to reach out to them after they left.

Or did the Darkling ban all communications.

I’m sure the Righteous Gang think that all the cons of their dumb decisions are in fact the Darklings fault. You know because he did this or he did that. They do bot think for a single moment that he was the only one doing anything for them. While the soldat sol (shouldn’t they have been doing some charity work in name of their Saint?) and all other grisha did not lift a single finger to elevate the position of grisha in Ravka through ANY means.

Ironically, the Gang's decision to abolish Grisha draft should serve to further alienate Ravkan commoners and destabilize Nikolai's reign.

"... His serfs will get a taste of money and education and start thinking about building lives and businesses of their own instead of praying for their master’s patronage. ... "

King of Scars- Chapter 11

Nikolai had abolished the practice of separating Grisha from their parents. There was no mandatory draft to pull children from their homes.

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 9

The fact they aren't able to offer protection to any Grisha in Ravka, therefore hardly to children scattered all over the country, AND there's no system of home education, therefore these children might either hurt someone by accident or suffer from wasting sickness, aside...

This should be a gigantic legal issue.

(Although there's plenty of questions regarding servitude in general.)

Pre-KoS Grisha automatically became serfs. Their families were compensated financially.

Let's say Grisha are no longer required to move to Little Palace, otherwise everything stays the same. Are there lists of Grisha serfs to keep track of them? And how do they serve? Why should a family that keeps the amount of pairs of working hands get any money? Does it mean that a family of free- albeit poor- peasants, suddenly include a child serf with obligations of their own? Do these "free-range" serfs get personal assignments? That sounds like a whole lot of extra bureaucracy.

The other option is much more disasterous. If Grisha are no longer serfs, there's no reason to pay their families. They should be recorded the same way other free Ravkans are, and these records don't seem to be particularly meticulous:

Another [Ravkan Grisha] had been hidden in a root cellar when the Grisha Examiners arrived to test her. “My mother told them I’d been killed by the fever that had swept through our village the previous spring,” the Tidemaker said. “The neighbors cut my hair and passed me off as their dead otkazat’sya son until I was old enough to leave.”

Siege and Storm- Chapter 7

A year here, a year there... who'll know if the missing Grisha moved away, died or got kidnapped? But don't worry, the worst is yet to come- otkazat'sya (serfs). Why are Grisha freed as soon as three of theirs start whispering their advices into young King's ear (One of them rumoured to be his mistress to boot!), while common Ravkans keep bending their backs under nobility's jeweled slippers!

This is a starving, war-torn country, through which a wave of pogroms swept only a few years back! The hatred won't disappear only because a dead Saint allegedly appointed three of Grisha to what exactly? Represent? Or rule in the puppet-King's stead?

Sure, Nikolai's (strange, innovatory) reforms lead to more food for the poor... BUT- serfs are still property of their owners, unlike Grisha. West was somehow forced to remain with the East- feeding them, losing money to them. Nobles lost some privilages and whoever's not a complete baffoon will figure out they're losing power. Church should be pissed, because their leader got deposed, religious cult with Crown-appointed head took over and Nikolai cut their incomes too! Anyone even slightly distrustful towards Grisha- and that means all through Ravkan social strata- has every reason to believe they are running the country, which no longer means one black boogeyman, but a Suli whore with the King-killer.

_____

Members of Second Army weren't discouraged from staying in touch with their families, quite contrary. To make it more... well, to make it more KoS-ish, we get some specific data from Zoya:

She’d written every week to her aunt and every week received a long, newsy letter back with drawings of chickens in the corners and tales of the interesting traders who came through Novokribirsk.

King of Scars- Chapter 25

Ivan doesn't mention his family in present time, but I'd like to imagine he used to visit his widowed, almost childless mother until she died of old age.

_____

The only reason all those barely adult Grisha are even theoretically allowed to be teenagers, is that they're safe enough, thanks to Aleksander's work.

He was thirteen, but he’d had a hundred names, a new one for every town, camp, and city ... He would have lived next door to a garbage gully if it meant a roof over his head, hot meals, waking up in the same room every morning without his heart hammering as he tried to remember where he was. ... Grisha living in camps and broken-down mines, hiding out in tunnels. ... No safe place. No haven. There will be, he promised in the darkness, new words written upon his heart. I will make one.

Demon in the Wood

If Grisha are faring better at the beginning of Shadow and Bone, it's his doing:

... though it was smaller than the Grand Palace, the “Little” Palace was still huge. It rose from the trees surrounding it like something carved from an enchanted forest, a cluster of dark wood walls and golden domes. As we drew closer, I saw that every inch of it was covered in intricate carvings of birds and flowers, twisting vines, and magical beasts. ... We passed door after door, until finally we reached a chamber where another uniformed maid stood waiting by an open doorway. Dimly, I registered a large room, heavy golden curtains, a fire burning in a beautifully tiled grate, but all I really cared about was the huge canopied bed. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat?” asked the woman.

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 5

While I can "excuse" some of the "heroes"- victim of otkazat'sya brainwashing institution, unloved privilaged kid with saviour complex, bigoted religious fanatics due to questionable parenting, universal punching bag... LB's new best girl's somehow coming out of it as the worst one.

Just the fact Zoya was saved by the very law she didn't mind abolishing, going from starving asset of her own mother to well-fed, respected soldier, who knows what do sable and silks look like... what a horrible life to lead! Such deterioration! If only the Darkling didn't bother trying, she'd be free to scrape along as she pleases!

Centuries worth of Aleksander's efforts are the reason Zoya gets to whine about her suicidal aunt instead of being maritally raped by some ancient creep, or outright dead after getting pregnant way too young.

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dejwrites · 2 years

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❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ⠀ ⠀⠀ happy together ⠀ 〳 ⠀ u.wakatoshi ‵

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ( synopsis ) if i should call you up, invest a dime. and you say you belong to me and ease my mind. imagine how the world could be, so very fine. so happy together or in which the heir to the biggest mafia/yakuza in japan is in an arranged marriage with a foreigner & it turns into a wicked jealous filled obsession. inspo from happy together by the turtles

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — fem reader, her/she pronouns, female pet names, the reader is black coded (mentions of skin complexion but isn't centered around the plot), yandere themes, yandere!ushijima, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, mentions of gore, yakuza/mafia au, choking kink, character death, possessive!ushijima, ooc!ushijima (only said ooc cause he does not act like the way he acts in hq), toxic relationship, ushijima father slaps him in one part, arranged marriage au,

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── reblogs & comments are highly appreciated

HOW COULD SOMEONE’S HANDS FEEL SO COLD? That thought lingered in the back of your mind when you felt Ushijima Wakatoshi’s hand placed on the lower part of your back as you waltz around the venue. You remembered how his touch felt so cold that it sent a shiver down your spine even though minutes ago you complained about hot you were in the vintage well-tailored white dress. You never actually expected your life to take a sudden change due to your father. It was a bit comical considering that he got you into this marriage and didn’t even bother to show up to walk you down the aisle. You felt like a sheep among some vicious hungry wolves. You had no friends in Japan. You had no family in Japan. Just Ushijima and his circle. You couldn’t even contact your family unless they contacted you first. You would think that you were the president’s daughter, but you were only one of the richest men in the world's daughter. That came with consequences. Your life was always under a microscope. Eat this. Dress this way. Don’t date this person. Attend this university. You didn’t actually think you’ll be scribbling ‘have an assassination threat on your head’ off your Bingo card.

So here you were, bound with Ushijima Wakatoshi for your safety and the future of your family. You should have known that an arranged marriage was going to be put on the table. Someone one would question why a foreigner has been hanging around the notorious family that controls more than eight districts in Japan. You planned to lay low, enjoy your time in Japan, maybe go back to school, and then when your father contacted Ushijima’s father, go back home. But the thing is, you knew that it wasn’t any going back home. For all you know, your father could have been dead. The thing is you knew this marriage wasn’t going to be rainbows and sunshine, Ushijima didn’t even smile as you waltz down the aisle in a room of strangers. You remembered the deadpan look he gave you, but that last dance is what caused your stomach to form the most horrendous knots as he brought your closer. You could feel his breath trickle at your earlobe before he’s whispering, “The only one for me is you, and you for me. We both have a lot on the line when it comes to this fuckin’ marriage. We’re stuck with each other, so let’s make sure this work.”

Even though he uttered those words in your ear over two months ago, you and Ushijima just couldn’t work. It wasn’t like you weren’t putting in the effort, you did. You even learned how to cook some of his favorite dishes and even then, you still were met with a harsh cold steel door. You remembered vividly when it seemed like a switch was turned on in his head. You sat in the living room like the pretty wife you were. The diamond ring on your wedding finger glistened under the family mansion light, you hated to admit that Ushijima picked out a beautiful ring when it wasn’t much meaning behind it. You were confused about why you and Ushijima were summoned here in the first place. It wasn’t like you two were doing anything romantic anyway, just you watching the maids cater to him due to him partying the previous night. When you heard the harsh footsteps and your eyes watched as men bowed as the Takashi Utsui entered the room. By the looks of his face, he looked pissed and your mind instantly panicked. You toyed with the ends of your dress as you watch Ushijima stand up with urgency to greet his father.

Your eyes bulged outward when you heard and witnessed the harsh slap Takashi placed against Ushijima’s cheek. The room was so silent and you observed everyone in the room. No one bulged at the action as if it happened before. You watched as one of Takashi’s men would rush to his side handing him a folder. He opened it with urgency revealing the photo of Ushijima in a club the previous night. A woman was on his lap kissing his neck. Your eyes instantly lowered in embarrassment. Even though this marriage had no love, you still felt a form of humiliation.

“What did I tell you before you said I do to that woman right there?” Takashi’s finger points at you.

Ushijima's jaw clenched tightly as if he was holding back an explosive bomb.

“Huh? I can’t seem to hear you.” Takashi stepped forward toward his son. His head tilted to the side as he was trying to hear Ushijima’s words.

“That if I embarrass her, I’m dishonoring my family,” Ushijima said.

“And?” Takashi asked.

“And she’s a part of the family now,” Ushijima said.

Your heart was beating so hard at the word. You watched as Takashi's fingers combed through his hair. He let out a sigh to calm himself down before he’s walking over to you extending his hand for you to take. You hesitantly took it as he helped you up, walking by his angry son to walk into the family garden in the backyard. Your hand grasped at his arm as you walked by his side. The sweet scent of the Cherry Blossom tree that was in their backyard. You remembered Ushijima mentioning that his father got the tree grown in the backyard because his mother adored the scent of when the petals free-fell to the ground. However, even though his parents divorced his father still made sure the tree was taken care of.

“I want you to go out,” His father commented as he was walking around the garden. He could feel your grasp upon his arm tighter, “You’ve been trapped up in the house while my reckless son goes out and embarrasses our family,” He commented.

“I don’t know anyone to go out with sir,” You commented. “I would rather be home, especially considering that it would only be a burden. Do I need to remind you, that I have a hit out on me?” You pointed out.

You watched as his lips formed a straight line, “Of course. I won’t let you go out alone, you’ll be with my assistant and her friends. Plus, I’m sure I’ll have some men in there if you need them,” he reminded.

You would look at him before simply nodding, not bothering to argue with him once again. “Okay.” was the only thing you said before he let go of your hand.

“Please enjoy your time out. I would hate to have to tell your father you hate it here.” He responded. “You deserve to be happy and I’ll be sure to ensure that.”

You forced a smile on your face which seems like you were doing that a lot. The sweet scent of the cherry blossoms lingered up your nostrils before you were speaking once again, “Okay, thank you.” You gave his arm a squeeze and a kind smile before departing to go back into the luxury home.

You were expecting to be met by Ushijima, but he was nowhere to be found. It didn’t particularly shock you, he got embarrassed in front of everyone. You were expecting to be met with your usual driver who hardly spoke to you unless you spoke to him first but instead was met with Tendou and Kai. Your eyebrows raised as you stared at him, “Let me guess, you’re taking me home.” You sighed and you didn’t get an answer, but you did follow them outside the huge mansion.

When you got in the SUV, you would sit in the back instantly indulging in the things on your phone before you heard Kai’s voice. “He actually does care about you, you know?”

You would shake your head, “Has a funny way of showing it.” You answered.

“But, please do not do something tonight that will upset him,” Tendo warned as his fingertips tapped at the steering wheel.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “He gets to go out and act a damn fool, but wants to lose his mind if I do the same,” You kissed your teeth. “I’m going to go out and have so much fun like his father said to do.”

The remaining amount of time in the car was quiet before you were dropped off at the luxury mansion that you resided in. Despite you decorating the huge mansion to your liking, it still didn’t feel like home. You were greeted by one of the maids, and you would only tell her that she could take the day off, especially considering that you believed today was one of her children's birthdays.

“But Mr.—“ The maid's words were cut off by you.

“I will handle him. You guys can have the rest of the day off. Go enjoy your child’s birthday,” You explained as you watched her face light up before she walked away to grab her things.

FOR ONCE YOU WERE ENJOYING YOURSELF. As you were at the bar attempting to flag down one of the bartenders, you could feel a male figure squeeze himself next to you and the countless others at the bar. His tall stature towered over you as you attempted once again to get the bartender’s attention. However, the man interjected whistling and getting the bartender’s attention.

“That’s the trick, to get their attention,” He commented as he gave you a smile that you returned. It was like a bird calling as the bartender flocked to him effortlessly. “This beautiful young woman has been trying to get your attention. I’ve told you guys about not being aware of the customers in front of you.” He warned.

“Sorry sir, it’s a bit hectic back here.” The bartender apologized as his eyes traveled to you. But when he noticed who you were, he looked away with quickness. “What can I get you?”

You would ignore his sudden break of eye contact and begin to list the drinks your section wanted. “Could you get them served to that section also?” You pointed to the section on the left of the club. “Add an extra bottle and just charge it to Ushijima Wakatoshi’s card.”

The gentlemen next to you eyebrows raised as he was trying to mentally put a face to the name that fell off your tongue. You leaned against the bar patiently before speaking, “Thanks for helping me. I appreciate it.” You gave him a kind smile as you watched one of the bottle girls load up the drinks on a tray to deliver to the section you were at.

“It’s no problem. We wouldn’t want to disappoint the wife of Ushijima Wakatoshi.” He responded.

You rolled your eyes hearing that statement, which the man caught instantly. “Is there a problem? Are you—”

Your words cut him off with a quickness. “It’s not a problem. I am his wife after all, but I just hate that here that’s all I’m known for.” You said to the gentlemen.

You understood that it was for the best for a lot of people to know who you were, but being known as the wife of a man who didn’t even take the marriage seriously himself felt even worst. You had so much more power than people expected, but here you were in an unknown world not being able to use that power.

You thanked the stranger once again before attempting to go back to the section, but you felt him tug you back towards him. He lets out a firm sigh before extending his hand toward you. “Let’s start over, I’m Lev Haiba. I own this club.” His hand motioned around the crowds of people in the nightclub.

You couldn’t help but snicker as you shook his head. “Y/N, heir to the biggest oil company in the world.” You answered. “But that has to stay between us.” You gave Lev a playful smirk and he only held his hand up in a defensive mode.

“Your secret is safe with me. I hope Japan is treating you well considering the uh—circumstances.” Lev says.

You could hear the pity in his voice. “I’m assuming you’ve heard the news of my loving husband?” You asked as the two of you were walking towards the section you were in.

“Everyone did. It was this club he was spotted doing said activities. However, it’s Ushijima Wakatoshi, no one is going to ruin his mood.” Lev admitted as he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “But I have said too much, I should get back to my job. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

You watched as he disappeared into the crowd, once again feeling like the sheep in a field filled with wolves as you sat down in one of the chairs. You instantly picked up the drink wanting to drink the night away.

WHEN YOU RETURNED HOME, you dropped your YSL heels on the floor as you stumbled into the house. You glanced at your phone and saw that it was four in the morning. You couldn’t believe that you stayed out so late. You definitely were going to have to rain check with the afternoon tea session with Ushijima’s mother. You attempted to tiptoe your way further inside the house not wanting to wake Ushijima (if he was home). You were aware that on some occasions Ushijima men would be at your house. It didn’t shock you that they were here in your living room doing gods know what. However, the weird feeling under the bottom of your feet caused you to instantly sober up. It felt wet, slightly slippery. You glanced down and your eyes grew big at the sight you were seeing. You had stepped in a small splatter of blood that decorated the thin plastic layer that was on the floor. Your heart rate increased instantly as you stumbled back in a horrified panic to be met with Ushijima catching you from falling.

“I—“ Your words were stuck in your throat. Your hands were shaking harshly and your heart felt like it was trying to claw out your chest. Your eyes stared at your husband as the crimson-colored liquid stained the white Versace button-down shirt.

“It’s good to know you’ve made it home safely. Now let’s go get cleaned up. We’re both in need of a shower anyway.” He firmly said.

You felt Ushijima grab hold of your forearm. His blood-covered fingertips stained your brown skin. “But we have guests.” You stuttered out.

“That’s fine, they will be busy cleaning up the mess that you made,” Ushijima confirmed.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you were being tugged into the shared bedroom. With urgency, Ushijima closed the door behind him. “Strip.” was the only thing he said as his hands went up to unbutton the buttons on his shirt.

You did what you were told, letting the dress you wore fall to the ground. You crossed your arms over your chest preventing Ushijima from seeing you like this. You didn’t even notice that he had already stripped out of his expensive clothing. You could sense him towering over you before you finally croaked out some words, “You said my mess? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Goosebumps decorated your skin when you felt Ushijima’s fingertips tracing alongside your side. His fingertips engraved you with the possible sin he just committed before you arrived home. He stopped right at the soft fabric of the thong you wore, letting out a low hum before pushing them down. You didn’t argue against his action. You weren’t sure if you were too afraid to or if you just wanted to see where this would go. You stepped out of your underwear before watching Ushijima disappear into the bathroom. The sound of the shower could be heard before his voice broke you out of your broken thoughts. Like an obedient dog, you walked into the bathroom with your hands still attempting to cover your bare body. Ushijima was already in the hot steaming shower washing over the blood that was on him. “I’ve already seen you vulnerable before, remember our wedding night?” He asked. “There’s no need to hide your body away from me.” He answered.

“You never responded to what I said. What mess have I created? You’re the one that’s going out every night and acting a fool,” You reminded him.

Ushijima let out a sigh, “Just get in the fuckin’ shower and we can talk.” He says, “Please.”

Hearing him say please was a shock to you, you took a couple of steps forward opening the door of the walk-in shower to join him. In a different world, such an intimate moment would have your stomach flowing with butterflies. But right now, your stomach could only twist in dangerous knots while you let the steaming hot water heat your body. “Did you have fun last night?” Ushijima asked.

Your eyes met with his as you felt the warm cloth filled with soap brush against your body. He was kind enough to clean you himself. Similar to a doll maker creating a doll, you felt that’s what Ushijima was doing. You were his doll as soon as you walked down the aisle clutching onto his father’s arm. “I did. It was nice to not be bottled up in his house. It can get lonely sometimes,” You answered.

“You have the maids, it can’t be that lonely,” He responded.

That was true. During your time living here, you managed to get to know each of the eight maids and two groundskeepers that worked to make sure Ushijima’s home looked nice. But it still felt lonely, cold. It didn’t feel like a home.

“Although, I appreciate their help around the place. It’s not the same.” You answered as your finger went up to motion for the young man to turn so you could wash his back. “You know this. I’m not asking for much, but can we at least pretend we’re enjoying this marriage.”

“I’m actually enjoying this marriage,” Ushijima responded with a chuckle.

“You have such a weird way to show it. Going out every night, being seen with other women—“ You stopped abruptly to let out a weary sigh. Not sure if the sudden feeling of being lightheaded came from the hotness of the shower or the fact that you’re finally voicing your opinions to Ushijima. “It’s humiliating.”

Ushijima didn’t say much about your words. The two of you continued to shower in silence before eventually getting out of it. At this point, you had sobered as you toyed with the ends of the soft white rob Ushijima put you in. You watched as Ushijima waltzed back into the bedroom, “Well, let me show that I will change.”

Your body leaned against the doorframe of the master bedroom bathroom, “Sex really can’t show me anything. Changed behavior though,” You said rolling your eyes at him.

“Come on, when was the last time we actually had sex.”

“You’re deflecting from the original conversation Ushi,” You sighed as you walked towards the dresser to find something to wear.

As you were searching for something to sleep in, you could feel Ushijima’s strong arms wrap around your waist. He tugged you closer to his body and you felt the growing boner poking at the fatness of your butt. “You haven’t called me Ushi since our wedding night.” He commented.

“You’re so annoying.” You sighed, but you didn’t bulge out his touch. “We both were drunk as ever that night. I can’t believe you still remember that.”

“Of course, I remembered it. You moaned it so beautifully while your head was buried into a pillow,” Ushijima reminded you as you felt his lips press against the exposed skin on your neck.

You felt your skin grow hotter with each harsh nibble, lick, and bite on your neck. One of Ushijima’s hands disappeared inside your robe and straight in between your thighs. His index and middle finger swiped at your wet folder and indulged how wet you were while you seemed to melt into his touch. “You don’t remember, hmm? How your thighs couldn’t stop shaking once we were done?” He asked as his fingertips that were covered in your wetness would rub at your clit. “How you wet up the sheets so badly?”

You made direct eye contact with Ushijima in the mirror that was connected to the dresser. The once softness that was in his eyes for a split second was gone. You weren’t particularly super religious, but you were sure you were looking into the eyes of the devil. He undid your rob and tugged it off your bare body causing you to gasp suddenly. Your thighs quivered for more as you felt your own wetness stain the inside of your thighs. Ushijima stopped the subtle circular motion on your clit before he’s talking once again. “Tell me you remember that and I’ll help you cum,” His words tickled your earlobe and you nodded instantly.

“I remember. Ushi—“ You desperately coughed up those words. “I remember.”

“Good,” Ushijima said while the grip around your waist grew tighter. “Now be a good wife and go to the bed and get on all fours, darling.”

You did what you were told, being sure to grab a pillow to make yourself feel more comfortable. The anticipation bubbling into your stomach as you could sense Ushijima behind you. When you felt him tug you closer to the bed, you swallowed the large lump forming in your throat. Your cunt so eager to swallow his cock bit by bit even though you were sure he wasn’t going to be so gentle. When you felt the tip of Ushijima’s cock enter you, you chewed at your lower lip getting ready for him to instantly bottom down inside you. The faint memory of your wedding night when he specifically praised you on how well you took his dick swirled around your head.

This time he took his time. Pushing his cock inside you slowly, teasingly, until you were gasping for him to put it all the way in. His large hands grasped at your waist before his hips begin to drive forward to be met with the soft flesh of your butt. Your head buried into the pillow caging in your moans before Ushijima grabbed the pillow and tossed it. “I need my men to hear you while they’re cleaning up your mess.” He said firmly.

His fingers buried into the flesh of your skin while the sound of skin slapping against each other could be heard. Ushijima was in a complete trace as he watched his cock disappear into your addicting cunt. “Go ahead, moan out how good Ushi is making you feel while they clean up your mess.” He said through gritted teeth.

“What mess?” You hiccuped out through moans. Your eyesight grew blurry due to the tears that accumulated through Ushijima’s thrusts.

You let out a yelp when Ushijima grabbed a hold of your head tugging you upward. His chest pressed against your sweat-coated back before he let go of your hand to use that hand to snake around to your neck. “Don’t act foolish Y/N.” He answered.

You could feel Ushijima’s cock twitch inside you as he stopped his thrusts abruptly. His hand wrapped around your neck and you could feel him give it a slight squeeze before his thrusting continued. “You know my doll. When you press your thumb in someone’s windpipe, index finger to their carotid artery, and your middle finger applies pressure to their jugular vein…they’ll lose consciousness.” Ushijima said.

The heat of the moment of your breath grasping away for a couple of seconds due to Ushijima mimicking the same thing he just told her, he let go of you and shoved your face further into the fluffiness of the mattress. “Even when I nearly took your breath away, you only clutched around my cock even tighter.” He said darkly.

His words sent a bone chilling shiver down your spine as you moaned out helplessly. “Ushi!” You moaned out.

His thrusting only continued, ignoring your little whimpers before he leaned over placing wet kisses on the middle of your spine. “You know that only makes a person lose consciousness, but if you continue you can damage the cortex of your brain which leads to your death.” He uttered as he was thrusting.

His chest heaved upwards as he traced his name upon your skin. “It took less than 6 minutes for your little friend Lev to finally fuckin’ die when I wrapped my hands around his throat.” He said through groans. You could feel his thrusting grow sloppy, he was about to cum.

“I had to clean up your mess Y/N,” he said.

You felt yourself orgasm immediately. The dangerous shiver that went though your body made your body go into complete shock. Your gasping out for Ushijima. The thought of him killing a man that talked to you pushed you to the edge. Perhaps you did flutter around his cock even more at the sound of those words coming out his mouth. Ushijima still fucked you through the explosive orgasm until he too was cumming mess, not bothering to pull out either. Filling you up to the brim with his cum just to trap you as his.

He let your body collapse on the bed like a rag doll. You were completely out of breath with his cum leaking out of you and when you met his eyes, they were soft once again.

“We’re starting a clean slate starting now. No more outside interferences when it comes to our marriage. We’re going to be happy together if we like it or not.” He said as he leaned down to place a kiss upon your temple.

“Now get some rest, my doll, we have tea with my mother in about eight hours.”

You really were still a sheep upon the family of wolves.

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#ushijima wakatoshi smut #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #x black reader #black reader #black reader smut

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animeyanderelover · 10 months

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Who I think would be the least to most difficult Yandere to deal with from the Wolf Pack in Twilight. Let's talk about the worst aspects of them that make them dangerous.

(Yes, I am having a brainrot right now.)

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusion, clinginess, manipulation, guilt-tripping, stalking, agression

Least to most difficult

Embry Call

Embry is "probably" the most harmless shape-shifter from the entire pack and that is mainly thanks to his shy, reserved and considerate nature. In comparison to most of his fellow wolves at least. He is pretty much the only wolf who is too scared and way too embarrassed to approach you directly after he's imprinted and he gives everything way too much thought. You can't even guess how much thought, care and practice has gone into the moment where he finally dares to start a conversation with you. He wrecks his brain and his nerves even more when he plans to ask you out. Obviously he's still obsessive, possessive and clingy but those traits of his are toned down thanks to his quiet and somewhat flustered personality as he cares about how his darling perceives him. A rejection would be the worst thing that could happen so he's very careful with the way he acts around you and the people you love most. He doesn't want to ruin any meaningful bonds you have with others because of him, wants to be accepted by those people if he could have the best possible scenario.

It is important to mention that he's still a little creep who stalks you for the first few weeks, unable to approach you with his jittery nerves. Whilst this dies down for the most part if you two are a couple and you understand and accept the situation that you're in as his imprint, bad habits hardly die down fully. He's not someone who falls very easily victim to negative and violent thoughts so it's safe to have him with you when you hang out with your friends or fellow family members. He gets jealous after a while sure but surprisingly enough he gives you a while to notice that he's in a slightly uncomfortable position with the lack of attention. Believe me, there are people who have way worse jealous reactions in comparison to Embry's more needy tugs on your clothes all of a sudden as he tenses up when the lack of attention starts affecting him. In general he prefers to not stick out or make a scene. It's within his own comfort and yours too. That results in Embry being able to not come over as a pushover or someone unneccessarily overbearing unless he senses that something is wrong.

The fact that he is somewhat aware that some of the stuff he does stalking isn't something he should do also pays off to him being as considerate as he is. Even if he has a hard time accepting this, Embry knows that personal space matters to you at times too. He could spend every waking second with you but before he risks you growing annoyed and tired of him, he at least makes the effort to leave you alone for a bit. What contributes to him caring so much about your own wishes too is his talent to stay in tune with your own emotions. Embry is very sensitive around you and for that picks up your current mood and it always affects him too. It allows him to be great at comforting you silently when you feel down but on the negative side it also means that you can't keep stuff hidden from him since he senses it when you're lying or are nervous about something. He relies on you, opens up about his own feelings which he normally never tells anyone, and for that reacts very emotional and desperate if he fears that you might leave him. Can you really leave him despite knowing all that?

Seth Clearwater

Seth is in all honesty such a sweetheart and devotee but there are a few things that play in him not being at the bottom of the list. His young age and the naivety when it comes to imprinting are two major parts in it. He has so much to learn about shape-shifting and about the world in general, has only heard stories about imprinting so that leads to him romanticizing everything about it when he finally finds his other half. You're his entire world the moment you locked eyes with him and ever since that moment, Seth has been unable to leave you alone. I'm not kidding, he follows you everywhere and wants to be always with you as he sees this as sort of normal. You're his imprint, he's supposed to stay with you and protect you. Telling him to leave or asking him for some time alone rarely ever works and the only thing you earn are tears blurring his eyes as the thought of leaving you hurts and scares him as his young age leads him to heightened separation anxiety. There are no bad intention of guilt-tripping you behind those tears but it manages to make you feel bad most of the time anyways.

You often find yourself gullible around Seth as he's so easily emotional. If Embry gets influenced by your emotions, Seth exhibits them even stronger than you. If you're happy, he is too but if you're sad, he's even more so. He's terribly sensitive so if he really notices that you're deeply miserable, he starts crying in most cases as he's unable to hold his emotions in. He never means to do anything harmful by being such an open book but his strong emotions coupled with his need to stay with you all the time can be mentally exhausting at times for you. On a positive side note this is what allows him to handle his jealousy better than some of the more experienced wolves though as he's joyful when you are, even if you're not paying attention to him at the moment. Be careful though, he's still one of the youngest of the pack so in moments where he does get furious, he has more troubles not keeping his emotions under control and channeling all of his negative feelings onto the person who elicited them in the first place. This gets especially out of hand if he has shifted.

Seth finds himself relying on you far more than he should, especially in the relationship since he's younger than most other members of the pack. This means on the one hand that you can manipulate him the easiest but it also means that he greatly panics and doesn't know what to do if you're emotionally hurt besides crying with you and acting overbearing. In the worst case he has a meltdown because he experiences your emotions so much stronger. Something that isn't even directly his fault but also plays into his placement is his sister. Leah has yet to find her imprint and remains incredibly bitter about Sam has imprinted on her cousin so I imagine her being very adamant to not let Seth suffer from any pain now that he has found his imprint. If Seth loves you too much to fully blame you from any pain he goes through because of separation, Leah will blame you and cause you to feel bad. At the same time she also realizes that her brother is a tad bit too obsessive and tries to teach him how to love someone in a more normal fashion if you're too soft for that.

Sam Uley

Surprisingly enough, Sam ranks fairly low on this list. I think that is mainly because he's very mature for his age and the fact that he was the first one to shift and had to explain and help everyone who shifted after him is a huge attribute to this. He's the alpha of the pact so that automatically forces him to take up more responsibilities than other members as he makes the decisions most of the time and additionally his pack tends to be a rowdy bunch so he has to remind them at times to snap out of it and act their part. With the most experience stocked behind him, it's perhaps unsurprising that Sam is aware about the fact that his imprint bond causes his feelings to dwell on the borderline of being unhealthy. So he makes the effort to control himself in order to not overwhelm and scare you away from him, he's very careful how much of his emotions he exposes around you. Sam has to stay in contact with you though as any distance for too long physically hurts him. He might be considerate but be aware that he won't leave you alone for too long either.

His experience and practice as the first wolf of the current generation enables him to be able to spend time with you around people without feeling all the time jealous or possessive. It's not a safety hazard to go out with Sam in public places as he lets you spend time with friends or interact with random strangers. He actually puts trust in you unless you prove him otherwise and that trust comes with more freedom for you as you know that he won't interfere unless you signal him so or unless he thinks that something is wrong. You're actually able to talk and rationalize with the alpha if something does bother him and both of you can negotiate certain stuff simply because he acknowledges your own feelings and wishes and tries his best to find a middle ground where both of you are comfortable. Sam leans more into the protective than possessive side and since you're his imprint, he sees it as his responsibility to guarantee your safety and happiness. I feel like especially because his father has given him and his mother troubles, he'd be very determined to make you happy.

Now that we've shaded enough positive things about him, let's talk about the bad stuff which is precisely the fact that he's the alpha and feels like it's his responsibility to make you happy. Because this leadership really shows at times in the relationship because especially if his darling isn't someone who speaks up, Sam will take pretty much control over it. He's very dominant and whilst he isn't domineering and only makes decision which he thinks are best for you, if he has set his mind to something it is very difficult to convince him otherwise. Yes, he is negotiating but only if you agree to his conditions or otherwise he won't let you leave. If something is an absolute "no" in his mind, it'll remain that way and there's literally nothing you can do. If you go against him even if he forbids you something, you'll truly experience all the reasons why he's still dangerous. If you go against a rule he has set, you'll lose his trust and not only that, Sam will grow very strict. Restrictions are suddenly interfering with your life as you fully experience him taking full control for a while. Until you've earned his trust back.

Jared Cameron

We're now entering the zone where things get out of hand, starting with Jared. Now, you might wonder why I've placed him above Sam because on the surface, Jared appears to be rather harmless. He's extroverted and constantly cracks jokes to elicit laughter or a smile out of you. Truthfully speaking though, Jared's problems already start with his perception of the imprint bond. He sees nothing wrong with it and he never questions his thoughts and his actions as a result either. Separation from you is literally one of the worst things you could do to him as he experiences pain and a few of the worst mood swings you'll see. He constantly switches back and forth between moping on the floor in misery to growling at other pack members, irritated and unmotivated. You always have to stay in some sort of contact with him or otherwise he'll ask you immediately why you couldn't come over to him or at least call him or send him a mail. To avoid all potential troubles Jared might experience if you aren't with him, you oftentimes are forced to spend entire days with him. Without a break.

Now, Jared cares about his darling and wants them to be happy with him but if they ever ask him for a short time alone, he'll only end up with a mix of confusion and hurt. He can spend every second with you because you're his imprint, you should feel the same, shouldn't you? The previously mentioned misunderstanding of his view of the imprint bond gives you only more of an headache because Jared is literally unable to understand or accept that you want your privacy at times too and want to spend time without him. Both of you might have gotten into arguments about this a few times already yet you got nowhere as Jared is always too dense to comprehend what you demand from him. What do you know about the imprint bond anyways? He's the shape-shifter, not you. This particular mindset is something that he goes by rather strongly and makes the situation only worse at times. You're human, you don't understand what's going on right now and just like that, Jared has written all your arguments and opinions off as your lack of understanding of his world.

With him around, it's impossible to have a decent conversation with others as he despises it when your attention isn't on him. He starts distracting you and if you try to ignore him or shove him away, he'll only get worse. There are also times where he just doesn't like a person for no rational reason and for that is always very wary and on guard around them. If they get anywhere near you, he'll glare heavily at them. It can or can't go well with him when you're with others he doesn't feel safe around. The moment he pulls you closer to him and you realize the growl vibrating inside his chest, you know it's time to leave though because you're not risking it as soon as you know what he is. Jared is willing to resort to emotional blackmailing if he sees the need for it and once you have him kneeling in front of you, hugging you and sobbing to not be mad at him and to not leave him, you'll find yourself stuck. Once he has realized that something works on you to convince you to not do something, he remembers it and uses it again. Especially arguments are always cut short for that reason as he hates getting in conflicts. Let's just stay happy like this.

Quil Ateara

Quil is almost similar to Jared in a few ways. Both wouldn't necessarily appear all that dangerous upon the first few glances. Quil himself is a very cheerful and happy individual and that only intensifies upon imprinting on you. He's charming and he's constantly complimenting you and in a few ways he's actually a bit better than Jared is. He is handling his jealousy better as happiness is something that makes you look only more beautiful so he just endures it for a while before he starts making sarcastic jokes, something you'll hopefully realize and turn around to give him the attention he so sorely craves. Quil is often taking you outside too because whilst he also enjoys just being somewhere with you where no people and no other distractions are, the city offers the chance for fun dates which he wants you two to have so there won't be such a big isolation factor. Physical separation from you is not something he can deal with at all though and even if he tries, he's unable to do anything after a while as your absence pains him greatly. You often have to come back to get him back on his feet.

Quil harbors a similar mindset as Jared in which he thinks that you probably react the way you are because you don't understand what's going on but differently from Jared, he tries to sympathize with you. Or at least give you the illusion of doing so, a strategy to appease you in order to not get into an unnecessary argument with you. That's a problem with Quil. He backs off and follows your wishes for a while so you calm down before he goes to break them again and act the same way, trying to justify his behavior by saying that he slipped up and that it isn't that easy for him to stay away from you thanks to the imprint bond. He's much more likely to use manipulation on you and it's frightening to think how much he actually calculates behind his happy grin. Technically speaking Quil's darling experiences more freedom than Jared's darling would but the main reason why Quil is higher is because he's far more unpredictable. Jared is with his behavior very frequent to the point where you can anticipate his reactions, Quil on the other hand is much more sly and frankly spoken, scarier.

This man takes matters into his own hands if he sees the need for it and that is a very frightening aspect. Sure, he won't kill or hurt humans unless he's given a good reason but whilst all the previous shape-shifters wouldn't go necessarily much against humans because it's their job to protect them from vampires, Quil will. He's almost apathetic to someone who has harmed or hurt you in any way or form as in his eyes, only someone truly evil could hurt you. It's difficult for such people to gain any forgiveness from him. Even if you forgive them, even if this is a person you still want in your life, if they fail to convince Quil, it's over. He will cut all ties you have with that person and even if your sadness breaks his heart, he views the connection with such a person only as toxic and as a guarantee to get you hurt again. Better cut ties before it hurts more. He doesn't shy away from using threats and intimidation to get the message across and the worst part about it is that he's lying to you. He tells you that he doesn't know why that person is suddenly avoiding you whilst comforting you all at the same time.

Paul Lahote

I think it's obvious why he's placed that high but let's jump straight into the mess that is Paul anyways. His temper is already short as it is so just imagine what it's going to be like once he imprints on his s/o. Paul, from the moment his world has shifted upon looking at you, acts incredibly possessive and dominant, jealous and aggressive. Being with you isn't just something he wants, it's something he needs and whether you like it or not, he's from that point on always sticking with you. Partially he might understand your point of view but at the end of the day, he's feeling incredibly entitled and even desperate as he just can't be away from you. He can't! Why can't you understand that? His entitlement is very difficult to handle as he essentially sees himself due to the imprint bond as the only one who is meant to protect you and who can protect you. So instead of being fully grateful if someone else helps you, he's pissed off that they interfered with a bond they couldn't even begin to fathom. You're not a victim to his ire but he's slightly mad when you ask someone else for help since that should be him.

As his possessive and protective obsession spikes his anger issues into space, you see yourself faced with multiple problems once you know what Paul is. His emotions are out of control as even the smallest thing could set him off at any time. One wrong glance from someone, one insult that is whispered behind your back or even a joke from a friend of yours that comes over wrong in his head. He tends to get angry over even the small stuff which you would usually brush off and don't pay too much attention too. He can't just ignore it if someone teases you or says something rude to you, even if it comes from someone you're close to. Not even to mention that his possessive side leads to increased jealousy to the point where he growls even at your close friends. He seems to trust no one with your safety besides himself. His overprotective behavior makes him on top of it all very overbearing as he's constantly hovering around you and makes a big fuss over you as soon as he realizes that you're in any sort of pain. He gives you even less space in such cases as all his instincts scream at him to take care of you.

There's definitely a big isolation factor alongside his limited patience. Paul does practice to control his temper but the amount of times he suffers from a relapse is saddening as much as disappointing for you as his feelings always get the better of him. In order to prevent anything bad from happening, you have to spend most of your time alone with him which Paul doesn't mind but you definitely do. You constantly have to neglect other people as Paul consumes almost all of your time for himself because otherwise he can't be reasoned with. You know he's very sweet and funny if he's alone and has your attention only on himself but the moment anyone else is around you two, he always seems to be on guard. Even his own pack members aren't an exception to that. If you want to do something alone, you need hours to convince Paul who doesn't want to hear any of it. You need to call him though multiple times an hour or otherwise he'll come running after you. Once you've left his field of vision, he's worried sick as his irritation increases every minute.

Leah Clearwater

We've nearly arrived at the top of the list now and the second place goes to the only female shape-shifter in the pack: Leah Clearwater. But why? Well, I feel like there's one big event that pretty much influenced her life and changed her personality. That's the day where Sam, her ex-boyfriend, imprinted on her cousin Emily and broke up with her. She was happily in love before her heart got torn apart and she hasn't forgiven Sam nor Emily fully for it. Worst is that Sam is now her alpha and she's seeing him and Emily being happy together far too often which only worsens her heartbreak. Even if Emily is his imprint, she can't get over it and it isn't until she locks eyes with you for the first time that she's for the first time able to understand why Sam made the decision he did. You're happiness, you're a cure and an absolute joy in her grim life and Leah knows that she'd do anything to keep you safe and happy. Alongside with the imprint bond comes a feeling of pressure unlike anything she has experienced before though as with the sheer ecstasy comes also stress and an overwhelming tightness in her chest.

Leah is insecure. Insecure and terrified. Whilst she has now gotten over Sam, the pain and the previous heartbreak now shifts into something else. Insecurity, fear and paranoia that somehow she'll lose you too. She doesn't want her heart to be broken again since she knows that she'd never recover if you would reject her and it's this paranoia and fear that turns her into this bitter, possessive and jealous woman. Sam and Emily have shaped her and she'll never recover from those issues throughout her entire life which means that she'll never learn how to deal with her emotions. Worst is that she doesn't even try, differently from some other wolves. I mean, even Paul tries to control his anger issues even if he fails but Leah never seeks treatment to better herself. She has better control over her ability to shift anyways and with the rest of her broken emotions, she doesn't see the need to practice to better herself. Instead she lets her fear guide her to act incredibly possessive and overprotective. She wants to do well but her reactions are always far too extreme as soon as she notices that something is wrong with you.

Her open insecurities are her main problem in the relationship as she's quite often worried that you'll find someone who you like more than her. Believe me, she knows that she is hard to be around but she can hardly reason with herself as her feelings always take control over her. She might not be as openly aggressive as Paul is but she'll definitely scare people away from you too. She gets very easily jealous and that can even apply to family members and closest friends of you, even if she knows herself that you value them only platonically. There's little to no respect she shows someone as soon as they've triggered her as she insults them in a bitter tone, poison seething through her words. She never apologizes to them either as her pride holds her back and she only feels guilty when she realizes that she's hurt you by acting so rude. Leah wants to shield you from feeling even an ounce of the pain she had to go through but that unfortunately leads her to cutting people out of your life as soon as they've made you cry. She doesn't care what their motives are, she'll never forgive them. They just have to stay away from you.

Jacob Black

Did you see this coming? Jacob and Leah are at the top of my list for the exact same reason. Both used to be very deeply in love with someone but both were rejected because that person loved someone else. I give Jacob the price of being the most difficult one though because I feel like he'll exhibit everything in an even worse way than Leah. Why? Because at this rate Jacob just doesn't care anymore. Paul cares about his darling and tries to control himself, Leah ocassionally cares and feels guilty, but Jacob just doesn't anymore. He's done with being hurt, done with being left behind for someone else. Now he has finally found his imprint, the person most important to him and he decides that he'll never allow history to repeat itself. That's why he's willing to go very far and use very low tricks to manage to get close to you as fast as possible as he's in a desperate rush right now as every person around you is suddenly turned into a potential rival in his eyes. He feels bad about it if he sees that it has a negative effect on you but he shoves it all away as he prioritizes his own needs.

Jacob is sure that if you give it a try with him, you'll soon forget about the sadness you experience. In his mind you two only need each other and no one else is really needed. He definitely lives after this philosophy as he makes you his absolute priority and neglects and ditches everyone else and expects you to do the same. If you don't do the same and actually meet others and prefer to spend time with them instead of spending time with him, he'll hold it against you and even more against the person who has such a bad influence on you. He pushes anyone away from you who hurts you even once or whom he simply dislikes for being close with you and since he's so incredibly clingy and no one really likes him with his sultry and rude attitude he always has around others, your social contacts begin to wither away. He's openly mentally unstable and very toxic to the point where everyone around him notices. Yet no one is able to reason with him and make him listen. Not his pack, not his alpha and not even his own father. If Bella tries to help him? That'll just end in a disaster as he has lost all sympathy for her.

From all shape-shifters, Jacob is also the one who uses guilt-tripping and emotional blackmailing the most without shame. Leah uses emotional blackmail sometimes too but not nearly as much as Jacob does. As soon as you start going against him and question the undeniable control he wants to have over your life to feel a little bit more secure, he's always resorting to it. Whether it's him justifying it all with the imprint bond or blaming Bella for having broken his heart previously and having made him this way, he does everything to take your mind elsewhere and stop you from protesting, stop you from leaving him. He can lose his cool for a moment and start shouting at you if you prove to be stubborn although at this point he has probably already started crying in hopes that tears will tug at your heartstrings. There's a point where he snaps though and that's probably when he's just unnerving as he threatens to hurt himself if you try to leave him. Do you want to risk it? I can tell you that he'll definitely start neglecting taking care of himself until you come back to him.

#yandere twilight #yandere sam #yandere sam uley #yandere jared #yandere jared cameron #yandere paul #yandere paul lahote #yandere embry #yandere embry call #yandere jacob #yandere jacob black #yandere quil #yandere quil ateara #yandere leah #yandere leah clearwater #yandere seth #yandere seth clearwater

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mirai-e-jump · 7 months

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Uchusen Vol. 182 (Autumn 2023) Kamen Rider Gotchard Main Cast Member & Staff Interviews (translations below)

Publication: October 2, 2023

Junsei Motojima (Houtarou Ichinose) Interview

"Motojima-san, please tell us what made you want to become an actor"

Motojima: My parents love movies, and that was the main reason for my interest in them. I especially like action movies. When I was young, I watched alot of action movies with my parents, and when I started middle school, I started watching movies I myself liked. Then, when I was in high school and thinking about my future career, I thought, "I can't think of anything else but acting."

"What’s your favorite movie?"

Motojima: I love the "007" series, which I first watched when I was in my third year of elementary school. Among them, I like "Casino Royale" the most. I also watch a wide range of other genres, both Japanese and foreign, as well as horror films. I also like anime.

"That being said, what's your favorite anime?"

Motojima: I like "Tokyo Revengers" and "Jujutsu Kaisen," and I love "ONE PIECE," which I've been watching since I was a child.

"Do you have any actors you're aiming to be like?"

Motojima: It would be Yoshizawa Ryo-san and Suzuki Ryohei-san. Yoshizawa Ryo-san is a senior at my agency, and is also my senior in Kamen Rider (Kamen Rider Meteor). I was moved by the preview screening of "Tokyo Revengers 2: Bloody Halloween." I've admired Suzuki Ryohei-san ever since I saw his powerful performance in "The Blood of Wolves 2." My goal is to act in a way that conveys power, even through the screen.

"Did you watch any of the Kamen Rider series when you were a child?"

Motojima: I remember watching "Kamen Rider OOO." I also had some Rider related toy swords at home, and I remember my parents scolding me with, "That's dangerous!" when I would sword fight with my friends (laughs).

"Please tell us about your audition for Kamen Rider Gotchard."

Motojima: During the audition, I had to play the role of Houtarou, as well as another role. Since I didn't know in advance which role I'd be playing, I prepared for both roles.

"What was it like when you received the news that you had been chosen?"

Motojima: My manager called me into his office for something else, and when I got there, with a serious look on his face, he said, "Junsei, I need to talk to you, so take a seat." Then, the conversation started off as if I had failed, with him saying, "You tried your best in the Kamen Rider audition, but…" I thought, "Guess things didn't work this time, huh?," and then he said, "You've been chosen to play the lead role" (laughs). Even though I was in the office, I was jumping up and down with joy.

"How did your family react?"

Motojima: After hearing that I had been chosen, I rushed home to tell my mother as soon as possible. My mother had been the biggest supporter of my Kamen Rider audition, so she cried tears of joy.

"Did you feel any pressure when you were chosen to play the main character?"

Motojima: Of course I did. I was happy, but at the same time I was worried about whether I could play the main character, as I had little experience as an actor. However, I thought it'd be a waste of time to be anxious, so I decided to read the script anyway.

"What were your impressions on the production of Gotchard?"

Motojima: I thought it was a very upbeat show. The story of the search for 101 Chemies is interesting, and when I learned that there are more than 50 transformation forms, I was shocked thinking, "That many?!" With some simple math, that means that there'll be at least one new form each time, right? I felt like my head was going to explode (laughs).

"How did you prepare for the role of Houtarou Ichinose?"

Motojima: In the materials we received in advance, it said, "He's not very good at studying, but he's athletic and has a very bright personality" So, in my daily life I thought about things like, "What would Houtarou do?" and, "How should Houtarou speak?," with that in mind, I always try to be Houtarou Ichinose. As I worked on the role, I began to get a clearer picture of Houtarou's character, and from episode 5 onward, I added some new performances that differed from the previous ones, further solidifying the role.

"Are there any elements of Houtarou that you noticed while performing?"

Motojima: He's "full of energy". Also, he has the personality of saying what he thinks immediately. Even in the first episode, there's a line where he said, "I have to say something!" I think another characteristic of Houtarou, is that he takes action immediately, not just with his words. I'm also trying to learn how to act like Houtarou. When I see an elderly person on the train, I want to be the kind of person who takes appropriate action and give up my seat.

"Has anything else in your life changed since being cast in Gotchard?"

Motojima: Filming starts very early in the morning, but I try to go to the gym before heading to the set. My routine is to get up alittle earlier, go to the gym, make a salad at home, take a bath for about an hour, and then go to the set.

"We think that routine is abit demanding….."

Motojima: Houtarou is always in good spirits, so I'm committed about going onto set in good spirits myself. So on days when my body is tired, I get up early and go to the gym to get my adrenaline pumping. I want to make sure that my energy and cheerfulness never changes, even as we continue filming for Gotchard.

"Are there any similarities between yourself and Houtarou?"

Motojima: Houtarou was suddenly entrusted with the role of "Kamen Rider," and I feel the same way in that I was also entrusted with the important role of "Houtarou Ichinose." This is the first time for me to try out a full time performance, so I have alot to work on, but, I think we both have one thing in common, and it's that we both will never give up.

"You mentioned that you make salad every day, so cooking is also something you have in common with Houtarou."

Motojima: That's true! I make my own salad in addition to the boxed lunch I receive on set. It's not a creative dish like Houtarou's, rather, it's just an ordinary salad (laughs).

"It'd be interesting to see a project like, "Houtarou Ichinose's Creative Cooking Course."

Motojima: No? What would I do? (laughs). "Junsei Motojima's Cooking Course" would be fine, but Houtarou's creative cooking might not be very helpful (laughs). But, I actually did do some creative cooking during the auditions. In the script I was given in advance during the audition, there's a scene where he makes a, "Cucumber hamburger with mustard and pollock mayonnaise," and in order to become Houtarou, I actually made and ate that creative dish before heading to the audition. Then, after each audition, I thought of creative dishes that Houtarou might make and made them. On the day of the final audition, I came up with the dish, "Spaghetti with pollock roe, cucumbers, and a suika bar (watermelon popsicle)."

"A suika bar?!"

Motojima: I think Houtarou's creative dishes are filled with things that children will love. I wanted to copy that too, so I also added a suika bar. The taste was……I'm not so sure about the taste (laughs).

"Are there any other things you pay attention to when playing Houtarou?"

Motojima: I think it's important to be aware of the camera. When I watched back episodes 1 and 2, I realized, perhaps due to my lack of experience, that I wasn't fully aware of the cameras.

"You have the most scenes with Rinne, so what are your impressions of Matsumoto Reiyo-san?"

Motojima: Reiyo-chan's personality is the complete opposite of Rinne's. Rinne is abit arrogant, but Reiyo-chan is very honest and cheerful. She's very easy to talk to, so we read the script together the day before and discuss the performance.

"What was your impression when you first saw Gotchard's suit?"

Motojima: The sparkling reflections were so cool, that I could see them from far away. I was excited to think that I would be able to do the dubbing for this sparkling Rider for the next year.

"What kinds of discussions did you have with Suit Actor Eitoku-san?"

Motojima: I've talked with Eitoku-san about many things, including movements. There are parts of the sword where I use Eitoku-san's movements as reference and try to match them, and there are also parts where Eitoku-san watches my movements. In a way, Eitoku-san and I are one and the same, so watching Eitoku-san play Gotchard is a good opportunity for me to look at Houtarou Ichinose objectively. It's not often in other dramas that two people play the same role, so it's an experience unique to Kamen Rider.

"How was the transformation pose decided?"

Motojima: After much thought with Action Director (Hirofumi) Fukuzawa-san, we settled on the pose of "Gather 2 Chemies, mixing them together, creating a triangle with an alchemy symbol, and then clapping." However, Eitoku-san's pose in episode 1 was so cool that I changed it to incorporate the same movement starting with episode 3. Please think of the transformation poses in episodes 1 and 2 as special editions, with the definitive version starting with episode 3!

"Isn't recording for the dub difficult?"

Motojima: No, it's alot of fun! When I'm doing voice acting, I’m in Gotchard's point of view, so I feel as if I’m actually fighting. It's also alot of fun to be able to put my voice into movements that can't actually happen. When Steamhopper Wild jumps up high in the first episode, I adlibed yelling, "Whoo~!" (laughs). Of course there are tough parts, but more than that, I'm very excited by each new experience I come across.

"What kind of stories can we expect from now on?"

Motojima: So far, Houtarou has managed to overcome obstacles on his own. However, I believe that there'll come a time when he'll face an obstacle that he can't overcome alone, so I'd like to see a development where he can work together with Rinne and his friends to defeat a strong enemy.

"If you've been going to the gym, you may have the opportunity to show off your well developed muscles."

Motojima: I'll tear off my clothes and say, "Now it's my turn!" (laughs). It'd be interesting to see such a development, but since Houtarou isn't a muscular character, I think it'd be great if there was a setting where his body changed due to the influence of the Chemies (laughs).

"Finally, for our readers who are excited about Gotchard, what can they expect in the future?"

Motojima: Suddenly, Houtarou has been entrusted with the role of Kamen Rider, but from now on, he'll become friends with many Chemies and continue to grow stronger and stronger. I'm working hard to grow as an actor with Houtarou, so I hope you'll pay attention as you watch the show. As for future developments, Houtarou and his friends will be going to unusual places for school events. Rinne and his best friend Kajiki will also play a big role, so please look forward to it! _

Reiyo Matsumoto (Rinne Kudo) Interview

"Please tell us how you became involved in this production"

Reiyo: I knew (Hoshino) Yuna-chan, who played Kurama Neon in "Kamen Rider Geats," so I would watch Geats's broadcast. I was thinking, "I want to do this too," and was then offered to audition for the role of Beroba, which I accepted. At that time, I was told that my image was alittle different, and I thought, "As I thought, it's difficult to get into Kamen Rider," but then, I was given the opportunity to audition for this role.

"How did you perform in the audition?"

Reiyo: The materials I received described her as an "honor student." But, I myself am not an honor student and I'm not very smart (laugh), so I tried my best to play the role of a tough character. I tried to develop my own image of Rinne, answering questions in an honor student like style, and wore my school uniform with my hair in a ponytail so that I would look like an honor student. The script we were given at the audition was set up like a school drama, and I think there was a line from Rinne where she says, "Rules are meant to be obeyed!" At that point, the setting didn't involve alchemy or spells, so I was surprised when I read the actual script after getting the role.

"Please tell us about the situation when you were informed that you had been chosen."

Reiyo: When I received the notification from my manager that I had passed the audition, I was studying for an exam in the study room of a library. That's why I didn't scream even though I was so happy. I rushed outside and was once again happy, shouting, "I did it!" (laughs).

"How did your family react?"

Reiyo: Everyone's reactions were as happy as mine. My father said, "When Reiyo came back from the audition, her face was different. That's why I definitely knew that she was chosen." (laughs)

"You've been active as a model, but have you always been interested in acting?"

Reiyo: I wanted to challenge myself to trying a wide range of other things, not just modeling. I've especially loved Kamen Rider since I was a child, so I was really happy when I got the role.

"What's your favorite entry in the Kamen Rider series?"

Reiyo: In particular, I remember "Kamen Rider OOO" well. I also remember "Wizard" and "Gaim." I have 2 older brothers, so I watched them with them. We had "Den-O" and "Kiva" transformation belts at home, and we used to play Rider, but it took a long time for us to actually start because my brothers and I were always fighting over who got to be the hero (laughs). My older brothers played the role of heroes, and I had many roles where I offered support. Come to think of it, my oldest brother is the same age as (Yasunari) Fujibayashi-san, who plays Spanner, and the younger brother is the same age as (Junsei) Motojima-kun, who plays Houtarou, so they're linked with Gotchard (laughs).

"What did your brothers, who influenced you, say to their sister when she was chosen to play the heroine?"

Reiyo: They said "You've surpassed us~" and, "Play the same way you played the hero when you were a kid" (laughs).

"Other than tokusatsu, what kind of shows do you watch?"

Reiyo: When it comes to anime, I like "The Promised Neverland," "My Hero Academia," "I Want to Eat Your Pancreas," and "Beyond the Boundary." There are so many other shows that I like, but when we start talking about anime, it seems like I'll never stop (laughs).

"Going back to Gotchard, do you consciously play the role of Rinne in the same way that you did before?"

Reiyo: I did it with "harshness." When she was little, her father went missing, and I think that's why she distrusts people and didn't make any friends. But as I read through the actual script, I noticed the kindness in Rinne. However, if I'm too gentle, it's difficult to see Rinne's strength, so it’s hard to find a balance. Rinne has a gap between harshness and gentleness, and I think her tsundere personality is charming. In episodes 1 and 2, there was alot of "tsun," but I hope you'll pay attention as her heart gradually relaxes.

"What did you think of the alchemist setting?"

Reiyo: I wasn't familiar with "alchemy," so I immediately went online to find out more. The cloak, rings, and other parts of the costume are also unrealistic but very cool. I love spells and magic, so when I read the script I excitedly thought, "I can do this!" I was so happy because it felt like the playground games I used to play with my friends in kindergarten were coming true (laughs).

"What are some of the most memorable alchemy scenes that have been broadcast so far?"

Reiyo: It's the scene in the first episode where the fallen leaves come to the surface. When I saw the broadcast, I thought, "So cool~" and fell in love with Rinne myself (laughs).

"There's a scene where you climb a staircase connected to a wall and recite a spell to open a door, but how did that play out on set?"

Reiyo: At first, it was difficult to visualize. When I read the script, I imagined that a hole would open in the wall when I cast a spell, but I was surprised to see a scene where a door was opened during filming. When I saw the finished video, I was very impressed with how it turned out and thought, "So that's what happened!"

"Did you receive any requests or advice from the Directors regarding your performance?"

Reiyo: Director (Ryuta) Tasaki advised us that, "Acting is a drive." While showing the actors a miniature toy car, he told us, "An actor cannot move without the gasoline of emotion. When you drive at top speed, you can give a great performance." So in other words, you have to perform from the heart, not just from your hands, in order for the viewers to understand what you're doing, and for you to be able to perform effectively as an actor. In order to give an emotional performance, I read the script in detail and try to understand Rinne's feelings from each line.

"What's the atmosphere on set like?"

Reiyo: We get along incredibly well and everyone is kind to each other. When we have free time during filming, we play games together, and it's alot of fun. We play puzzle games like, "Word Wolf" or, "Sea Turtle Soup." I also love gummy candy, so I always have some with me and give them to everyone (laughs).

"Please tell us your impressions of Junsei Motojima-san, who plays Houtarou."

Reiyo: Junsei-kun is really just like Houtarou. For example, when filming stops for a scene that's difficult to act in, the scene sometimes becomes an issue. At such times, Junsei-kun can just say a few words, and the scene instantly becomes more relaxed. In the beginning, I couldn't tell jokes and spoke with honorifics, but now I can laugh at Junsei's jokes and he can respond to mine.

"What are your impressions of another female cast member, Oto Abe-san, who plays the role of Renge Icho?"

Reiyo: We often work together in the waiting room, and Abe-san speaks in a straightforward manner, just like a Kansai person, which is extremely interesting. Abe-san's own laughter is so loud that it makes me happy to hear it. Abe's laughter lights up the atmosphere on set.

"How much do you know about future developments?"

Reiyo: I don't know anything at all! (laughs), that's why I always look forward to receiving the next script, and every time I go on set, I check to see if a new script has arrived.

"What do you want to do in the future as Rinne?"

Reiyo: First, I want to become stronger than Houtarou! Most heroines are saved by the hero, but I want to, "Become a heroine who's stronger than the hero" (laughs). That's why I want to challenge myself with action. And also, I want to transform into a Kamen Rider. Since I was a child, I've always wanted to transform into a Kamen Rider, and my older brothers and I even competed with each other for the belts (laughs). Recently, the number of female Kamen Riders have been increasing, so I hope that I'll get a chance to become one of them.

"Finally, please tell us about some future highlights"

Reiyo: Through her involvement with Houtarou, Rinne's mindset, which used to put rules first, has gradually changed. Some people may have watched episodes 1 and 2 and thought, "Isn't Rinne a scary kid?," But I think you'll gradually see a different side to her than the strict honor student character, so it's exciting. Please look forward to seeing Rinne's image crumble! (laughs). Still, I'll keep Rinne's strength and respect for the rules until the end. Thank you for your support throughout the year! _

Hiroki Uchida, Yosuke Minato, Keiichi Hasegawa Interviews

"First, we'd like to ask about the development of Kamen Rider Gotchard. When did Minato-san receive the offer to become Chief Producer?"

Minato: Last year, I was preparing for "Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger" with Chief Producer (Takahito) Omori. Ryohei Takahashi, a talented junior staff member, joined us as an assistant Producer, and we were ready to go at last. Whenever I join a production, I always keep one goal in mind. In King-Ohger I had set my goal as, "Moffun will take the world by storm!" But during this I was told, "Please take charge of the next Kamen Rider," and Moffun was left up to Omori and the others. The result was that Moffun became very popular…..(laugh). I immediately started meeting with Producer Ishimori-san, TV Asahi, and Bandai, where we decided to use the cards as the transformation items. On my way home, the first thing I did was call Uchida-san.

Uchida: Originally, I was invited to write the script for King-Ohger, so I thought it was going to be about that, but was surprised to hear that it was about a new Kamen Rider. I'd already cleared my schedule for King-Ohger, and I've been in contact with Minato-san since our school days, and we also worked together on "Kamen Rider Saber," so I was happy that he asked me to work on it, but I was honestly concerned, as the two of us are still young, would we be able to handle it?

Minato: When a new Producer launches a project, veteran Producers Shinichiro Shirakura and Hideaki Tsukada are supposed to watch over them. However, if you don't have a solid idea of what you want to do and what you want to achieve when launching the project, it'll end up becoming Shirakura and Tsukada's work. That's why, the first thing I asked Uchida-san, an old friend who I could easily express my true feelings and weaknesses to, was to participate in this project. However, Uchida-san was a main writer for the first time (at Toei), so I thought it'd be difficult for him to write for an entire year by himself. So, I asked Hasegawa-san, who helped with Saber, if he could join us as a sub writer in advance.

Hasegawa: You called me on the phone, right? To put it simply, at the time, I was so happy to be invited to work on Minato-kun's first project as a Chief.

"When he approached you two, you already had a card motif in mind, but where did the theme of "alchemy" come from?"

Minato: Over the course of our meeting, the word alchemy came up. This is a theme that so far, has never been used in the Kamen Rider series (in the main series), and the combination of cards and alchemy is rare. I thought, "Wouldn't it be interesting to depict this?"

Uchida: Also, at that time, the existence of Chemies hadn't been decided. I wasn't at the meeting, so, when I was briefed on it, I smiled bitterly at what a difficult path I'd chosen to go down…..

Minato: When Shirakura worked on the card battles in "Kamen Rider Ryuki," he concluded that the cards were like a proxy war, so he needed a gimmick that would allow the user to intervene. In "Kamen Rider Decade," the value of the cards was further enhanced by allowing users to become any Kamen Rider when using them, but this time, we needed to draw out the appeal of the cards even more. During all of this, the design of the cards that Bandai sent to us looked like living creatures, and the idea flashed in my mind that these were homunculi, monsters created through alchemy. That led us to Chemy. We agreed that it'd be exciting if the Kamen Riders fought using the cards that contained the various abilities of the Chemies, and that it'd actually be fun to collect the cards.

"At that point, was it also decided that there would be only one Kamen Rider appearing in the early stage?"

Minato: It was. If we were going to depict a hero who fights while switching cards, rather than increasing the number of Kamen Riders, it's better to increase the number of forms for each Rider, and this direction coincided with my desire to create a small number of Riders. In the early stages of the project, the idea was to keep the structure similar to "Kamen Rider Agito," with only 3 Riders. In the end, it became a single Rider, and he has to fight using all of his cards and switching between them.

"Did the current story come out of that initial plan?"

Minato: While working with Uchida-san on the scripts for the episodes 1 and 2, the flow of, "There are Chemies," "Alchemy is used," and "Houtarou enrolls at the Alchemist Academy" was determined. However, since there's so many people involved in the Kamen Rider series, when we were putting together the script, both Uchida-san and I were constantly receiving so many different opinions, that we felt like we couldn't accept them all…..With the way things were going, episodes 1 and 2 would get lost in story, and would never make it into the final script. After consulting with Shirakura, Tsukada, and senior Producer Kazuhiro Takahashi, it was decided that we ask Hasegawa-san, who had been asked to participate as a sub writer, to help us sort things out.

Hasegawa: Just when I was thinking, "Isn't it about time?" I received a call saying, "They're finally here!" But, when I thought it would be about episodes 5 and 6, I was told, "Please do episodes 1 and 2. These are the main ones." I was surprised and said, "Eh?!" and "They're not done yet?!" (laughs). At that point, it had been decided that Houtarou would be the son of a family restaurant, that he would meet Hopper1, and become a Kamen Rider. However, Houtarou was supposed to release the 101 Chemies. Houtarou, an unconventional guy, feels sorry for the Chemies he's stored in the cards and releases them, but then collects them again because of the trouble they've caused. It was a, "Cause problems and get credit for the solution" type of story. There was no clear enemy, and the Three Dark Sisters didn't exist.

Minato: I thought that if the Chemies were scattered all over the world and merged with bad people in town to become monsters, there'd be no need for a villain for the main character to face. Even if it became necessary halfway through, I ultimately didn't think it was necessary to have them appear in the first episode.

Uchida: There were so many elements revealed in the first episode, that I thought if we included even the villain, the audience wouldn't be able to keep up with the story

Hasegawa: By abandoning the "problem to solution" development, we needed an enemy.

Minato: At first, TV Asahi's producer (Chihiro) Inoue insisted that "It'd be better to aim for an easy to understand enemy." Then, Assistant Producer (Daigo) Matsura remembered this and proposed it again to Hasegawa-san, where the Three Dark Sisters were created.

Hasegawa: We had alot of discussions about what kind of enemy to make. "Kamen Rider Saber" had 3 males, and "Kamen Rider Revice" had 1 female and 2 males, so I came up with the idea of having 3 females to differentiate our characters.

Minato: I thought it was an interesting story, and that having three female villains would leave an impact. As a result, the first episode had a high proportion of female cast members for a Kamen Rider.

"It's true, the only male characters were Houtarou, Minato, Fuga Kudo, and Kajiki."

Hasegawa: At first, Kajiki wasn't there either. It started out as a couple students talking about urban legends, but then Inoue-san asked us to, "Make Houtarou have a friend," and so Kajiki was created.

"Chemies are living things, and we asked about this earlier, but was Hopper1 originally going to be the current mascot?"

Minato: It was Hasegawa-san's tastes.

Hasegawa: Ever since I read the first draft, I knew that Hopper1 had to be cute. Grasshoppers don't make noises, but I thought, "Let's make it cute!," so I improvised and wrote in that it says, "Hopper."

Minato: Hasegawa-san joined us without any prior knowledge, so he suggested out alot of ideas that we didn't think of, which was very helpful.

Uchida: I was happy to see that he kept the refreshing male and female buddy element, which we'd been advocating for since the beginning of the project.

"Did Uchida-san originally plan on making the male and female combination of Houtarou and Rinne the center of the story?"

Uchida: We were aiming for a fun and cheerful story about two teenagers, Houtarou and Rinne, who are both students.

Minato: In terms of casting, we planned from the beginning of the project to cast a young teenager as Houtarou.

Uchida: We also talked about how difficult it would be to find an actor who could play the role of Rinne.

Minato: Unlike Houtarou, who suddenly became a Kamen Rider, I thought that since she was his senior and came from a line of alchemists, even though they're classmates, she would require a slightly more mature attitude than Houtarou. I thought that the actor would be in her early twenties, older than Houtarou's actor.

Uchida: And then we met Matsumoto Reiyo-chan at an audition.

Minato: We found Rinne. And she's a mature 15 year old!

Hasegawa: Motojima Junsei-kun, who plays Houtarou, is exactly the image of Houtarou that I had envisioned. I thought they both fit their roles wonderfully.

Minato: I'm truly grateful for the opportunity of meeting Junsei-kun and Reiyo-chan.

"From episode 2 onwards, Renge Icho and Sabimaru Tsuruhara will appear as students of the Alchemist Academy."

Minato: They also existed at the time of Uchida-san's initial ideas. However, as I mentioned earlier, there was no villain at the beginning, so Renge and Sabimaru were set up as a rival team led by Kurogane Spanner.

Hasegawa: It was a 3 person team with Spanner as the leader, and Renge and Sabimaru as its members. They were going to fight for the Ride Chemy Cards with them. During the rough plotting stage of episodes 3 and 4, it was suggested that Spanner should be left alone.

Minato: I decided that Spanner would be like an elder brother, who guides Houtarou until he grows. That being the case, Spanner must be a strong character who can fight alone. That's when the characters were reconstructed, and Renge and Sabimaru became classmates of Houtarou and his friends at the Alchemist Academy. Come to think of it, it was Hasegawa-san's idea that Renge start speaking with a Kansai dialect.

Hasegawa: In the script for the episode 2, we had Renge speak with the Kansai dialect to differentiate her character.

Minato: I thought, "It's not going to be easy finding an actor who can speak in the Kansai dialect!," but it was fate that Abe Oto-san, who's from Osaka, was there for the audition. I asked her to improvise some lines in the Kansai dialect, and she really got into it. The only character in the Kamen Rider series with a Kansai dialect is Akiko Narumi from "Kamen Rider W," but it's rare for a character to have a Kansai dialect all the time.

Hasegawa: But, episode 3 reminded me of Akiko. There's also a takoyaki scene (laughs).

Minato: Originally, Sabimaru was set to have a VTuber avatar, rather than use AI. However, creating a VTuber was difficult, so we settled on AI.

Uchida: I had been in contact with (Rikiya) Tomizono-kun, who plays Sabimaru, for a long time, but I presented him with an audition without saying I was happy. I was happy to hear that he made it to the final audition. I knew he had experience as a voice actor and that he'd be able to play the voice of AI, so when he was chosen, I thought it was the perfect casting.

Minato: For the AI…..there was a proposal to use a voice actor, but despite his looks, Tomizono-kun can produce a low, handsome sounding voice, so we decided he could play the role of the AI as well. We were happy that we found someone who exceeded our expectations.

"We'd also like to ask about staffing. Director Ryuta Tasaki is the Pilot Director, and Hirofumi Fukuzawa, who was previously in charge of Super Sentai, will be the Action Director."

Minato: When Uchida-san and I, two newcomers, started Gotchard, we decided to ask a veteran Director who we could rely on to direct the pilot, so we asked Director Tazaki, who worked with us on "Avataro Sentai Donbrothers." I also asked Director Fukuzawa, who I had worked with on Donbrothers, and consider to be one of the top ten Action Directors in Asia, to be our director. As a result, the main staff, except for the writers, are the same as Donbrothers (laughs).

Uchida: Since the planning meeting, I've been wondering, "How would the alchemy be visualized in the first place?" On top of that, Director Tasaki carefully creates a format for the worldview and creates a work that's even more exciting than the script. Both episodes 1 and 2 had great visuals.

Hasegawa: The acting of the cast was also excellent. Kajiki was my favorite, but when I saw Kabe Amon-kun's performance in the show, I loved him even more. It's hard to resist the urge to only have him in more scenes when I'm working on the script (laughs).

"Please tell us about the opening theme song "CHEMY×STORY" and the insert song "Rising Fighter."

Minato: Since the very beginning of the project, I've been committed to the "Rider Kick Supremacy" principle. I mentioned Agito earlier, but Agito has been a special work in my life ever since I saw it for the first time when I was in my first year of middle school. The coolness of the combination of the Rider Kicks and the song "BELIEVE YOURSELF" has left a strong impression on me. Because of this impression, I'd always said that I wanted to leave the Rider Kick scene in the memories of the children watching Gotchard. We decided to play the "Kick Song" during the Rider Kick scene from the very beginning of the project, and it led to the song "Rising Fighter" sung by Beverly in episode 2. When music producer (Mayu) Ida-san asked me what kind of theme song I wanted to use for the opening, I said, "I want it to be an upbeat song." Then, BACK-ON was chosen as the artist, and we came up with a song with a bright, youthful feel that's typical of a high school Kamen Rider. I told Fujibayashi Seiko-san (who wrote the lyrics) that Gotchard was a bright, youthful school drama, and she wrote wonderful lyrics. Director Tasaki also responded to my wishes with a fast paced video, for which I can only express my gratitude.

Uchida: When I saw the opening video, I felt that we had to keep this positive feeling. It felt as if we received a message from Director Tasaki that the story of Gotchard should be like this.

"Broadcasting will continue for the next year. What are your goals for the future?"

Hasegawa: Our goal is to take good care of the characters. I'd like to continue to make the characters more appealing and continue to depict them throughout the year, including the villains.

Minato: If we look at some previous works, there are some characters who leave the show halfway (laughs).

Hasegawa: That's true…..(laughs) Right now, we're still at the stage of thinking about how to make the characters appealing in the drama. A year is a long period of time, and it's impossible to predict what kind of "chemical reactions" may occur. After overcoming these challenges, we may discover some aspects that we never thought of. First, I'm aiming for the final episode, and I'm going to write carefully without giving up on these characters.

Uchida: Of course, we value the characters, but when we actually met with the actors, we felt that, unlike in anime, one of the characteristics of live action productions is that, "Actors who aren't colored with any colors create their characters from scratch." As for Gotchard, Junsei Motojima-kun, who plays Houtarou, and Reiyo Matsumoto-chan, who plays Rinne, are making their first attempts at acting, so I think we must create a script that'll bring out their charm and brilliance even more. I'd also like to make Gotchard a show that can inspire the hearts of not only children, but also adults.

Minato: I'm going to get through the year thinking, "I must never lose the feeling of youth." Youth is a time of unconditional brilliance, and I think it makes not only the individual but also those around them smile. In Gotchard, I'll carefully depict the story of Houtarou and Rinne so that we can share the "sparkle" of youth together.

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

This is for the request from @mogami13 : Werewolf den mother steve being seduced to be eddie's mate which they wrote a post on found here. My post is not related to theirs, but you should ABSOLUTELY go read it and let them know if you want more!

This was so out of my comfort zone and it shows to me, but I wanted to try. Hopefully it does not disappoint! - Mickala ❤️❤️

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Everything you think you know about this town is wrong.

The raspy voice of Eddie’s mother on her death bed echoed in his head often over the years.

He was nine when she died.

She died before explaining what she meant.

When he moved in with his Uncle Wayne, he got an explanation in the form of a wolf suddenly running into his room, biting his shirt, and dragging him outside.

As he stood on the back porch, heart racing, he realized the wolf was his Uncle Wayne.

He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.

He watched as Wayne disappeared into the trees for a few minutes, unsure if he should follow or not. He assumed Wayne would have waited for him if he was supposed to, so he stayed put.

When he came back, he nudged Eddie to sit on the step, and rested on the porch next to him.

They stayed like that for a while, Eddie fighting sleep as much as he could.

Finally, Wayne stood up, moved to part of the porch that was hidden from neighbors, and transformed back.

Eddie just stared, flabbergasted.

It was one thing to just know the wolf was Wayne and another entirely to watch the transformation.

Wayne walked back inside, probably to put some clothes on, and Eddie followed slowly.

They talked for hours, almost until dawn, about the history of the town, the history of their family, how Eddie would have his transformation when he hit puberty. How his mother got sick because she wasn’t able to transform anymore due to an injury his father gave her years before.

“When we can’t become our true selves regularly, it hurts every version of us. Drains us. It’s important you let this part of you out. I can’t lose you like I lost her.”

He told Eddie about how he spent a decade trying to convince his sister to move in with him instead of Eddie’s father, that it would be harder to leave when Eddie was born.

And it was.

She never left. She got hurt. Then she got sick.

Now she was gone.

———

Eddie loved being able to transition whenever he wanted.

Wayne told him stories of other families in the area that would only do so once a month, on the full moon, how stereotypical, to keep from dying. They didn’t let their kids run in the woods, or curl up in a cuddle pile. Sure, Wayne and Eddie didn’t make much of a cuddle pile, but it was perfect the way it was.

The Harringtons were an example.

According to Wayne, they hid the fact that they were even wolves from everyone else. The strangest part, according to Wayne, was that their son, Steve, had a very delayed transition. Most wolves have their first transformation when they hit puberty, but his didn’t happen until he was 16. They didn’t know what finally made it happen, but Eddie hoped it wasn’t anything that would make him sick like his mom.

When he told Wayne that, Wayne smirked.

“Worried about Steve Harrington? Who are you and what have you done with my nephew?”

Eddie slapped his arm, but couldn’t ignore the blush on his cheeks.

So what if Eddie had a little, tiny, baby crush on Steve Harrington? Who didn’t? He was hot, he was popular, he was athletic.

Maybe he hung out with some of the worst bullies in the school, but he never actively bullied anyone.

It’s not like anything would ever happen. Steve wasn’t into guys and Eddie was probably the farthest thing from his type he could get.

————-

When he met Dustin Henderson, he knew immediately he had to protect this kid at all costs.

High school was a fucking war zone and he was the weakest link, it was clear to anyone with eyes.

But he came with a couple other kids, Mike and Lucas, who probably would be fine if they just kept their heads down and got involved with the right things.

Hellfire Club wasn’t the right thing, at least not if they wanted to be popular or even just remotely average.

But they insisted they wanted to be a part of it, that D&D had been their lives for so long, and it was the only way they could kind of stay connected to their friend Will, who’d moved before school started.

It took him too long to realize they meant Will Byers, the boy who got sick like his mom, but somehow survived. He couldn’t transform anymore, but would lead an otherwise normal life.

He welcomed them into the club, made everyone else already in it welcome them, explained that it was important for Freshman to get involved so that the upperclassmen had someone to pass it all down to.

Eddie was going off the assumption that he’d graduate, that all of them except Jeff would graduate.

But when spring break happened, he didn’t find it in him to care nearly as much about graduating. He just needed to survive.

————

When he woke up in the hospital, he felt instant dread.

He was alive, but at what cost?

Wayne was asleep in the chair next to him, Dustin asleep in the chair at the end of his bed, and Steve fucking Harrington was sitting next to Dustin, watching Eddie.

They were clean and changed, so it had to have been at least a day since his whole world nearly ended.

“How long?” His voice was barely even a whisper, but Steve must have incredible hearing.

“Four days,” he whispered back, probably trying to avoid Dustin and Wayne waking up.

Have they been here the whole time? Wayne couldn’t miss that much work, he’d get fired. And Dustin. Dustin’s just a kid. His mom must be worried.

Steve couldn’t possibly have sat here for four days. His parents would lose their shit.

“I’ve made them go home every day to shower and eat, try to sleep in a real bed. Told them I’d call if anything changed.”

So Steve had been here the whole time.

That explained the bags under his eyes.

“Eddie? You awake?”

Wayne’s sleepy voice made him turn his head. He let out a pained groan, his whole body resisting any movement.

“Stay still. You’ve got a lot of stitches holdin’ you together. Let me get the nurse.”

Wayne hurried out of the room, Steve watching them with a small smile.

“He’s been worried. I don’t think he’s slept more than a couple hours since he first got here.”

“Dustin?”

Steve looked over at Dustin, worried frown on his face.

“He thinks it’s his fault.”

“What? How?”

Eddie could ignore the pain pulsing through his veins for now. He had to understand how Dustin could possibly think any of this was his fault.

“He thinks if he’d jumped back through sooner, you wouldn’t have lost as much blood. Or that if he’d come up with a better backup plan, you never would’ve had to do it at all. We’ve never been this close to losing people.”

Wait, people, plural?

“Max?”

Steve stood up and came closer to his head, keeping his eyes on Dustin to make sure he didn’t wake up.

“She’s still in a coma. They don’t think she’ll come out of it.”

So she wasn’t dead, but she might as well be.

Eddie fought the tears welling up.

“Mr. Munson! Wonderful to see you awake.”

Steve and Eddie both jumped, Eddie letting out a hiss as he felt a searing pain along his side.

And then Dustin was awake.

“Eddie? Eddie!”

He was crowding in next to Steve, ignoring everyone else in the room. His eyes were wide and teary, and Eddie knew if Dustin started crying, it’d be game over for him.

“Hey bud. Doing okay?”

Not the right thing to say. Dustin let out a sob and collapsed against Steve, who wrapped his arms around him to hold him up.

“I’m just gonna bring him outside for a minute while you get checked over.”

“No!” Dustin exclaimed, pulling away. “I can’t leave him, Steve! Please.”

“Dustin, it’s okay. He’s okay. They have to check his bandages and we’ll be just around the corner.”

Steve looked at Eddie and silently asked him to reassure Dustin. He could do that. He was tired and in pain, but he could do this.

“I’ll see you in ten minutes, okay? Just take a lap, grab me a soda or something.”

“Sir, I don’t recomm-“ the nurse started, but was waved off by Wayne.

“Ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

Dustin let Steve lead him out of the room, Wayne following to close the door behind them.

“Alright, just have to check your vitals and do a pain assessment,” the nurse started. “This probably won’t be fun, but I’ll need to check the wounds on your legs and sides.”

Eddie nodded and let her get to work.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

But Wayne was holding his hand, and Dustin was coming back with a soda for him, and Steve was here for some reason.

He’d almost been eaten alive by demon bats, he could survive this nurse checking him over.

————

As soon as he was out of the hospital is when it started.

Dustin always found reasons to have Steve come with him to visit.

First, it was just because he was his ride, Claudia having to work a bit more because many of her coworkers had left town after the “quake.”

Then, Steve would stick around because Dustin insisted he wouldn’t stay for long and he didn’t want Steve to have to make two trips so quickly.

Which was kind of bullshit, Eddie and Steve both knew it, because Steve actually only lived about 8 minutes from Eddie and Wayne’s new trailer.

But they let him get away with it.

Eddie liked having another adult around. None of his friends from high school were allowed to talk to him, so it was pretty much just the kids and Wayne for the last two months.

Steve would sometimes even bring Robin, who Eddie would probably be in love with if he liked women at all.

Especially when she came out to him while Dustin was making sure the kids cleaned up the table after a campaign.

“What’s up with you and Steve?”

“What do you mean?”

She looked nervous. Were they a secret for some reason?

“Like, if you’re dating, you should just tell everyone. Pretty sure everyone thinks so anyway.”

Robin let out a loud laugh.

“Dude, no. We are obnoxiously platonic. Trust me.”

“Kinda hard to believe when you do everything together. You finished his sentence yesterday.”

Robin rolled her eyes.

“I’m super gay, Eddie. Not interested in Steve even a little bit.”

That…should’ve surprised him more, actually.

“So you’re just best friends?”

“Yeah, I mean, we’re pack, ya know?”

“Oh! You’re…” Eddie started, using his hands to pretend he had claws.

“No, actually. But I helped Steve get more comfortable with his whole wolf thing when his parents wanted nothing to do with it. My cousins on my dad’s side are wolves so it wasn’t really a secrecy problem.”

Eddie had kind of forgotten that there was any secrecy left. All the kids were wolves, so they openly talked about it often. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that any of them might not be.

“Have you done it since everything happened?”

“Uh. No. Owens said I had to heal completely before I tried.”

“Haven’t you been healed for two weeks?”

Eddie was silent.

“You’re scared.”

It wasn’t a question and he wasn’t going to deny it. He was scared.

He was scared that he wouldn’t be able to, sure. But he was even more scared that he’d face the same sickness his mom had, that Will had but managed to get through. He knew he wouldn’t be as lucky as Will, though.

“Would it be easier if you had someone with you the first time?”

“Maybe. Wayne offered, but I don’t want him to see if it goes wrong.”

“What about Steve?”

“He could stay with you when you try. He’s good in emergencies, especially if you end up hurt. He knows everyone so even if he couldn’t help, he could call the kids or Wayne or hell, Claudia. And I know he hasn’t spent much time with just you, but I think he wants to and doesn’t know how to do it.”

“She’s right,” Dustin said from the doorway.

“Why the hell were you listening to a private conversation?”

“Is it really private if you’re talking at a normal volume in a room where anyone can come and go at any time?”

“Watch your tone,” Eddie replied.

Dustin was right though. And so was Robin.

“I don’t wanna bother him.”

“Steve’s not gonna be bothered. He loves taking care of people! He’s basically our mom.”

“Jesus, dude, I’m not your mom,” Steve said as he walked into the room holding more trash than Eddie remembered there being on the table.

“You’re saying that holding a pile of trash that the children should’ve been cleaning up,” Eddie said with a smirk.

“Well, they’re getting distracted and I don’t have all night.”

“Spoken like a true mother.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but Eddie could see a small smile on his face. He was proud to be considered their mom.

“Eddie’s got a favor to ask, Steve.”

Eddie glared at Dustin.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“He’s lying. He needs someone to be with him when he transforms for the first time since, ya know, everything.”

Eddie glared at Robin now, too.

“Oh. Sure. When?”

“Uh. You really don’t have to. It might not even work. Don’t want you to waste your time.”

“It’s not a waste of time. We can try tomorrow after my shift if you want?”

Dustin was practically bouncing off the walls in excitement and Robin was hiding a smirk behind her hand.

“Yeah, okay. If you’re sure.”

Will started to walk in the room, then walked right back out when he felt the tension pouring from Eddie.

All the kids had done plenty of meddling, helping Dustin find reasons for Steve to always be around Eddie.

El and Max even convinced Steve that Eddie needed him to sit next to him at the diner when they had breakfast because he couldn’t cut his pancakes alone.

Which was fucking ridiculous and Steve actually believed it. Eddie would’ve been more annoyed if he wasn’t completely endeared by the fact that Steve hadn’t even asked him, just grabbed his fork and knife when they were brought to the table and started cutting them.

He didn’t stop him.

It was kind of nice to be taken care of.

So if he could have more of that for something like this, maybe he could just let it happen. No embarrassment, no arguing.

“Sure. See you at 9:30 tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Cool.”

————-

Eddie was a nervous wreck.

For all of Dustin’s meddling, he suddenly had no interest in helping Eddie through his anxiety.

He tried calling him three times, every time going to voicemail. He tried calling the other gremlins, same thing.

So they were all in on this, Dustin was just the boldest one.

He was nervous about the actual wolf part, definitely.

But he was nervous that Steve would be there. He would see him at his most vulnerable, possibly even worse if he couldn’t even change any more.

When he told Wayne about what he was doing, he just smiled and said “you’d know if you couldn’t, son.”

So Eddie waited for 9:30. He paced inside. He paced outside. He took a shower that he didn’t even need. He sat on the couch, twiddling his thumbs. He stood by the window watching for Steve to show up even though he knew he wouldn’t be there early.

He was a mess, plain and simple.

He could feel his heart thrumming with anticipation.

And then headlights flashed through the front windows and Eddie was opening the front door before Steve was even out of his car.

“Hey Eddie. You ready?”

How did he look so good coming from work? Still in his stupid vest, hair tucked behind his ears. A little sheen of sweat on his forehead because the AC was out at the store and the ride here wasn’t long enough to cool off in his car.

It was so fucking unfair.

“Eds?”

Jesus, okay. He had to get it together. Seriously.

“Yeah! I’m good. I’m just a little nervous. Don’t wanna end up bleeding out in the backyard,” he laughed nervously.

“Is that a possibility?” Steve asked, his voice choked and wobbling.

“Sorry! No. I don’t think so. I think I’ll be fine. Honest.”

Steve visibly relaxed and Eddie kind of hated himself a bit.

Dustin was the one who told Eddie about Steve being the first to get to them in the Upside Down, how Steve performed as much emergency care as he possibly could with Nancy helping before carrying him through the gate.

How Steve had been covered in more of Eddie’s blood than his own by the time the ambulance arrived.

How Steve didn’t sleep for nearly 48 hours because he wouldn’t leave Eddie’s side, half convinced he’d imagined rescuing him.

Eddie shouldn’t joke about bleeding out when the man who had to watch him nearly do so before was his only help tonight.

“Where are you doing this?”

“Uh. Back porch has a lot of space that neighbors couldn’t see. And then the woods are right there after.”

“Should I…um…stay human?”

“Yeah, just in case.”

Steve nodded and followed Eddie as he led him through the front door.

“Want a drink or anything? I have water, or beer, or…that’s it actually. I can run out and get you something else though if you want. You’re probably thirsty. Been a long day. I’ll be right back-“

“Eddie. I’m fine.”

Steve’s hand was on his shoulder. Warmth flooded through Eddie, his body relaxing under the touch.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Eddie led them out the back door and over to the side of the porch hidden from view.

Steve turned away while he stripped off his clothes and left them on the floor for after.

He took a few deep breaths and let his body relax.

He could do this.

It was natural.

One moment, he was considering telling Steve it wasn’t gonna happen, the next he was a wolf. He was so busy relaxing into the feeling, he didn’t notice Steve moving closer.

Until Steve’s hands were cupping his head, his fingers gently scratching at his fur.

It felt good and Eddie couldn’t help the low growl he let out.

“Feel okay?”

Steve still looked worried behind the unreadable look on his face.

Eddie nodded his head once.

He stood there, kind of afraid to move, kind of wanting to stay here just to keep Steve’s hands on him, kind of dying to run.

His human form was clumsy, could barely walk in a straight line sometimes without tripping over his own feet. His wolf form could run through trees at a speed most people couldn’t even fathom.

But Steve had his hands on him.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Oh.

“I mean, you always are. It’s just. I’ve never seen anything like you.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he could stand there taking Steve’s compliments. He knew Steve was still new to the wolf thing, maybe had never even properly seen another adult, so he tried not to let it mean much.

But Steve looked so earnest.

And then his hands moved to his neck, running his fingers through the fur there.

He paused suddenly, letting out a small laugh.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe Dustin was right.”

He felt Steve’s finger circle a spot near his shoulder blade, right where he knew he had a shock of gold fur instead of the dark brown that covered his whole body.

“I know I’m staying human tonight, but I have a spot of dark brown fur in the same spot. But the rest of my body is gold like this. I’ll show you next time.”

Next time, next time, next time.

“Dustin said that makes us soulmates.”

Of course Dustin said that.

But then he remembered his Uncle Wayne telling him about a spot he had in his fur for over a decade, a black circle instead of the gray of the rest of his body.

How his Uncle Wayne told him that he believed his soulmate had the same kind of spot, but gray.

How his spot disappeared randomly and he never got any explanation.

How a few years ago, he’d found out his high school sweetheart had died tragically in a car accident right around the time he lost the spot.

How he never put much stock into soulmates until then, but was now a firm believer.

It felt impossible. It had to be impossible.

“Oh my god.”

Steve’s hands dropped and Eddie whimpered.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled as he rested his hands back in Eddie’s fur. “I just realized. The first time Dustin tried to convince me to come to D&D was after the first time he saw my wolf. That little shit’s been trying to set us up for almost a year!”

Eddie huffed out a breath of disbelief or an attempt at laughter, he wasn’t sure.

“And Robin! She’s been trying to convince me to hang out with you since you came home from the hospital.” Steve pulled away and started pacing as Eddie watched. “The kids are all in on it. That’s why they always find reasons for me to stick around when you’re around.”

Steve plopped down on the floor, back to the wall of the house.

Eddie trotted over, plopping down on the floor next to him and placing his head in Steve’s lap.

He nudged his nose against Steve’s hand, wordlessly asking for Steve to pet his head.

He got the message.

“You don’t wanna go run?”

Eddie sighed against his lap.

“You could. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He didn’t want to. Not alone.

Maybe he could convince Steve to come with him to the lake next time, go for a run in those woods together.

Steve rested his head back against the wall.

“Do you believe in mates?”

He wasn’t really sure at this point. Maybe they were real, maybe they weren’t. Maybe Steve was his, maybe it was just a weird coincidence.

He nodded his head once.

“Do you think we’re mates?”

Eddie considered it.

He was part wolf. He was attacked and almost eaten to death by demon bats not that long ago. An evil half monster half human had nearly destroyed Hawkins.

So, yeah, they could very well be soulmates.

He nodded his head.

Steve curled himself inwards, letting his head rest on Eddie’s.

“How long are you staying like this? I kinda wanna kiss you.”

Well, he kinda wanted to kiss Steve too.

He pulled away and focused on what it would feel like to kiss Steve.

As soon as he was human again, he planted himself in Steve’s lap, not even caring that he was naked.

Steve looked at him, amused grin in place.

“You survived.”

“Worried I wouldn’t?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Soulmates, huh?”

Steve’s face was a cherry red, and Eddie was pretty sure he’d never been so in love.

He gripped Steve’s face between his hands, a mirror image of what Steve had done when he was a wolf.

“Can you believe Dustin wanted a dad so badly, he set his mom up like this?”

Steve snorted.

“Not his mom.”

“Sure about that? Didn’t you just punish him by taking away rides to the arcade for two weeks because of his attitude?”

“So?”

Eddie just raised his brows at him, smile widening as Steve shrugged.

“Okay, fine! Are you gonna kiss me or just keep teasing me about my favorite kid?”

“Oh, you want a kiss? From me?”

“Please.”

How could Eddie resist when he was asking so nicely?

Eddie’s kissed a lot of people. Girls in school, guys at the bar, Jeff once when he was really drunk.

But not a single one of them compared to this one.

Or any of the kisses they shared after.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #dustin henderson #robin buckley #wayne munson #the party #werewolves but not a/b/o #i mean you can definitely assume that could be added somewhere but i didn't write that #i'm not brave enough #requests #ficlet #i say ficlet like this isn't 4000 words

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