#i will take any excuse to maim him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wholoveseggs · 9 months

Note

Hey, happy new year! Love your Elijah fics. Maybe you could do one where he turns off his humanity and the reader gets him to turn it back on again. :)

Cold Truth

{Masterlist}

You and Klaus are on a mission to turn Elijah's humanity switch back on. The only problem is that you are the reason he turned it off in the first place.

~♡♡ Thanks for the request @originals23 - this one hurt! ♡♡~

4.3k words - Warnings: no smut, but so much angst, dramatic as fuck, violence, kidnapping, Klaus being Klaus, slightly spicy right at the end.

The air was thick with tension as you struggled in your restraints, glancing at Klaus as he drove down an empty street. He was humming to himself, looking very relaxed despite the fact that he was holding you hostage.

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me," you muttered, tugging on the cuffs that were binding your hands together. "We broke up, it's not a big deal," you added.

"Well, it seems to be a big deal to him," Klaus said, shooting you a knowing smirk. "And it's been affecting my life, so now it's a big deal to me."

You sighed and stared out the window, watching the scenery blur as you moved through the town. You didn't want to tell Klaus the details of your break up with Elijah, it was all too painful. But here you were, getting kidnapped by him, on your way to see Elijah, probably about to get murdered by the man you still loved. Great.

"It won't work you know," you said, staring blankly out the windshield, feeling that little bit of hope in your chest die out.

"I get that he doesn't have emotions anymore," you continued, "so he definitely doesn't care about you. Whatever little plan you have going, won't work." You sounded desperate to even your own ears, and you hated it, but at least Elijah's lack of feelings gave you an excuse not to be a complete mess when you were in his presence again. He wouldn't care, he was devoid of compassion and guilt. The thought filled your heart with an emptiness that spread to the rest of your body. You let the feeling encompass you, numbing yourself against the pain, because once this ordeal was over, you would be forced to finally accept that Elijah was really, truly, lost forever.

Klaus laughed and turned, shooting you a smirk. "I've done my fair share of terrible things," he began.

"But," he sighed and stopped laughing, "even I can see what a complete shit show this is. You broke up with him a week ago, and he flipped the switch immediately. This whole thing has been dramatic, even for my tastes."

"Oh please," you sneered, turning to glare at him. "You live for drama," you said, rolling your eyes.

Klaus snickered, shaking his head as if it were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Yes, well, as fun as this has been, there's only so much of it I can take."

You huffed and sighed, slumping in your seat as the light turned green. You turned away from him and tried not to let your anxiety show.

"Look," Klaus began, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "I'm going to be straight with you, love. Your break up with Elijah has been, inconvenient, to put it simply. He no longer cares about my well-being or the things I do. All he wants to do is feed, kill, drink and maim. I thought I would enjoy this side of him, but it turns out, the guy's a bloody asshole. And since you might have the ability to bring him out of this mess, it's in my best interest to try and help you."

You turned your head slowly, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. "You sure do have a way of showing it. Kidnapping is pretty terrible Klaus. Do you have any idea how scared I am right now? Not only have you kidnapped me, you are forcing me to confront my ex-boyfriend after I dumped him."

"I've done plenty to upset Elijah, but he's never flipped the switch over it. What exactly did you do to him?" Klaus demanded. He leaned closer to you, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he parked the car. "I'd suggest you start talking, sweetheart," he drawled, giving you a pointed look.

You bit your lip nervously, breaking under his intense gaze. Your shoulders dropped in defeat and you looked at your lap, chewing the inside of your cheek. You told him the truth, finally letting someone in on the secret you had kept from everyone.

"I told him that I didn't love him anymore, okay? I don't know," you trailed off, tears threatening to escape your eyes. "Look, I just, I needed to tell him something and that seemed easier than telling him the truth."

"So what's the truth?" Klaus asked gently. You couldn't bear to look him in the eye, so you stayed still and stayed quiet, trying to ignore the sound of blood rushing in your ears as you fought the urge to cry. After a few seconds, Klaus said your name softly, and when you looked up at him, there was genuine sympathy in his eyes.

You swallowed, trying to get ahold of yourself before you fell apart completely. "I want children, Klaus," you admitted. "And he can't give them to me. But it's okay, we broke up, and I'm fine." You were most definitely not fine, but that was beside the point. You finally confessed the truth, and felt a small bit of relief.

"Oh," he said. "Do you not want to adopt? Wouldn't surrogacy be an option? I can make a phone call and have a baby delivered to your door by tomorrow," he offered. You laughed, appreciating his attempts to make you feel better.

"No, Klaus. I'm sorry. I appreciate you trying, really I do," you said, giving him a sincere smile. "I want to have his child, and that is... well... impossible," you sighed.

There was a moment of silence, and you wondered what he was thinking. Klaus could be a lot of things, but you could tell he truly loved his siblings, no matter how much he claimed otherwise. His devotion was almost as intense as Elijah's and fear bubbled up in your stomach, knowing you were now in the crossfire of his affections for his older brother.

"You aren't still in love with him, are you?" Klaus asked. You felt your insides tremble at the mere mention of Elijah, but it wasn't enough to make your heart skip a beat or your head swirl. All you could feel was sorrow, because you knew how painful it would be to see him again. To be near him, but unable to touch him.

Klaus tilted his head, waiting for your answer. When he didn't get one, he asked again. "Answer the question, love," he said.

"Of course I still love him," you mumbled. "How could I not? I will always love him." You chuckled sadly, shaking your head and shrugging.

"Good, that will make this easier," Klaus said cheerfully, not sure how to react as he began fiddling with the radio station.

"He's going to kill me Klaus," you said, your voice flat and emotionless. "You're dragging me to him, and he's going to torture me or compel me into doing something bad and then when he's finished, he's going to kill me."

"Yes, possibly," Klaus agreed. "However, you could also bring him back and thus make my life a bit easier."

"We can only hope," you sighed. Klaus started driving towards the docks and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to control the terror building within you.

"Klaus, where are we going?" you asked warily, looking around.

"Well, my dear brother isn't answering his phone, so I'm tracking it instead," he said, gritting his teeth as he continued driving.

"Can we please just leave him alone?" you begged, but he didn't seem to hear you.

"Please," you added. "I'm begging you, Klaus. Don't torture me like this, I'm not strong enough to lose him twice."

"I really don't care how you feel about this, darling," he said, reaching a hand up and patting your head, before returning it to the steering wheel. "But don't worry, I promise I won't let him kill you."

You would have responded, but Klaus took the last turn and parked in front of one of the ships on the docks. He removed the handcuffs, his eyes darting about your surroundings in paranoia as he grabbed your wrists and dragged you out of the car. You didn't put up a fight and let him pull you along, too frightened and confused to even think about struggling. This wasn't what you had been expecting when Klaus took you, and now you didn't know what to say, so you remained silent and obedient. Klaus released his grip and took a step back, heading up the ramp to the ship.

You took a shaky breath and followed him, shivering a bit as you stepped on board. There was music playing, and while the exterior of the boat looked fairly plain, the inside was quite posh and immaculately decorated. You hesitated, glancing at Klaus, but he nodded his head and you followed him into a room. You could sense that Elijah was close. You slowly breathed in and your nose twitched when you caught the strong scent of bourbon.

"I see you have already begun celebrating, brother," Klaus drawled, glancing around the room.

"That depends on how you define celebration," came a quiet response, and you shuddered at the sound of his voice. It was Elijah, your Elijah, his words ringing with a lack of inflection that wasn't entirely evident in his tone. It had a falsely polite, and strangely charming touch, like the cold indifference and arrogance that comes from experiencing and achieving total freedom.

You watched as he poured himself another glass, sitting back in a chair. He stared straight ahead, not meeting your eyes as he lifted the glass to his lips, swirling the alcohol, tipping it slightly, and watching it roll around, before putting it down again, not even having taken a sip. You sniffed, doing your best to control your emotions and expression as you watched him, but your mask was slipping, and you couldn't hide the raw pain in your voice when you spoke.

"Are you okay?" you asked, sounding raspy and hoarse, even to your own ears. Normally, it would have made him feel guilty to hear you like this. Maybe he would have replied in his usual soft, intimate tone, grabbing your chin and kissing your lips gently, holding you close. But your Elijah was dead, and there was nothing left but the monster the switch had transformed him into. You glanced at his face and looked away immediately, the coldness in his dark eyes sinking into your soul. They were beautiful, and deadly, gazing at you in cold assessment, and his expression did not change as he gave you a humorless smile.

"I have never been better," he replied, not moving from his relaxed position on the chair, though you noticed a slight tightening in his jaw when you opened your mouth to speak again. You quickly snapped it shut and watched as he tapped the glass with his finger, gazing around the room and sighing. You didn't know if his admission was a good or a bad thing, but the way he carried himself, all arrogant grace and calculated casualness, had alarm bells ringing in your head, telling you that you were in great danger.

It was worse than you had expected. The man you loved, the one who had treated you with such gentleness and tenderness, the man whose heart was filled with love, loyalty and affection for you, was not present at all.

"We shouldn't have come here," you blurted out, your throat constricting at the sudden fear gripping you. His eyes flicked up to look at you, his brow furrowed as he stared. You cleared your throat, casting a worried glance at Klaus, who was standing by the bar, sipping his own drink and watching the whole scene play out.

"Why? What is the problem?" Elijah asked, and you couldn't tell if he was acting cavalier or genuinely didn't care. "You said you wanted to break up, and I obliged you. So tell me," he said, his dark eyes meeting yours, "why are you here?"

"Because," you began, but quickly lost your train of thought, shaking your head and trying to shake the overwhelming urge to cry. You sucked in a deep breath, tilting your chin up as you spoke. "Because we still have stuff we need to talk about, and we can't when you are like this."

"Like what?" he asked, sounding bored. Your jaw clenched as he casually poured himself more alcohol, draining the contents of his glass quickly and sighing.

"Well," Klaus interrupted, walking over and leaning forward on his knees, "You could start by being a tad less cocky, and try actually listening."

Elijah smirked at him, arching an eyebrow. "Niklaus, I suggest you shut your mouth before I rip your tongue out."

"That would be amusing," Klaus shot back, rolling his eyes. "I'd like to see you try, or have you forgotten I am stronger than you? You can't hurt me."

"Hmm," Elijah hummed thoughtfully, staring intently at his younger brother. "Let's test that."

Before either of you could react, Elijah reached out and grabbed the back of Klaus' head, yanking him forward and bringing his face inches from his own. He glared at him, snarling as Klaus groaned in pain.

"Don't be ridiculous," Klaus growled, his fingers flexing. Klaus easily pried his hands off of him and forced him to release him. He shoved Elijah back into the chair, a vicious smirk on his face as he crossed his arms.

"Eli," you said, tears welling up in your eyes. You moved to touch his arm, but he snatched it out of your reach and pushed it back, baring his fangs at you, his eyes completely black.

"Do not call me that," he responded coldly, shaking his head.

"You shouldn't have brought her," Elijah said to his brother, and you felt the sadness you had been suppressing all day come rushing back full force. You would not be strong enough to get through this.

"Oh don't blame me, dear brother," Klaus retorted, clasping his hands together and glaring at him in frustration. "It's very much her fault that you turned your humanity off, so I brought her here to fix her mistake."

"A mistake I care not to rectify," Elijah said, lifting his chin up haughtily.

"Oh," Klaus scoffed, fixing him with a nasty glare, "I bet you don't."

"Shut up," you mumbled, blinking furiously. Your legs were shaking, your knees about to give out as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Klaus stepped closer to you and you leaned against him, trembling, clinging to his shirt.

"Get a grip," Klaus hissed, glaring down at you in annoyance. He wrapped a hand around your throat and turned you around to face Elijah. His grip tightened, and you gasped in surprise and pain, your eyes wide as they met Elijah's intense gaze. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, something within him stirred at the sight of your fear, but it was buried beneath the ice of his indifference. Elijah narrowed his eyes as he stood up, smoothing down his tie as he approached.

"Niklaus, you are so painfully transparent," he began, an edge of amusement coloring his tone, "I do not care if you hurt her," he added, and his words cut deeper than any physical blow could.

"Eli," you pleaded, a soft whisper of pure agony coming from your lips, "How could you possibly say that? You swore you would always take care of me, protect me." He lowered his eyes, studying your features carefully. He looked down at you, stroking his chin.

"Hmm, you know, now that you say that, I'm feeling a little thirsty," he said, chuckling and stepping closer.

You shut your eyes, stifling a sob and trying to hide the fact that his words had broken your heart, shattering it into pieces. You couldn't bear his mockery, it was almost worse than not having him at all. It made the excruciating pain much more unbearable. Elijah stared at you, leaning closer and brushing a stray hair off of your cheek.

His lips hovered over yours for a split second, causing your lips to part in surprise and confusion, wanting his mouth to capture yours, knowing that the press of his lips was something you would always miss. Even when he was a monster, you felt yourself reacting to him instinctively, wanting nothing more than to be with him. But the kiss did not come, and he pulled away before you could rise to meet him.

"Do you think she knows how many ways she can die?" Elijah asked his brother, and Klaus sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I mean, with enough patience and creativity, even the simplest forms of death, can be quite extraordinary," he drawled.

Klaus pulled you back from Elijah, his grip on you tightening, you weren't sure who you feared more in that moment. "Elijah, I made a promise that I would not let you kill her," Klaus said, and Elijah rolled his eyes, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing.

"That promise can easily be broken," he said, as if talking about the weather.

"Actually, I thought I would take a page out of your book, find a loophole in the promise I made," Klaus said, his voice taunting as he smiled cruelly. You stopped breathing at his words, your body going rigid, Klaus was going to kill you.

"Elijah?" you whispered desperately, praying that he would protect you from Klaus. You were so cold, and you couldn't move, rooted in place with fear. He turned around abruptly, shrugging his shoulders as he walked across the room to make a new drink.

"You can go ahead and drain her if you so wish. It makes no difference to me," he said.

"Sorry love, I have to call his bluff," Klaus said, patting your head and then running a hand through your hair as his fangs grazed your neck. His voice was dark and malicious. "Say your goodbyes," he smirked.

"Klaus, please," you cried, panic coursing through you, but before he could do anything more, Elijah lunged at him, tearing him away from you. Your back hit the floor hard, your head snapping against the wood, causing you to see stars. You cradled your head, tasting blood in your mouth as you rolled on the floor. Elijah tackled Klaus, growling and snarling viciously, his fingers clenched around his brother's neck as he pinned him to the ground.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her," Elijah warned, but Klaus only smirked, using all his strength to shove Elijah off of him. Elijah's back connected with a pillar, falling to the floor as he clutched his head. He just sat there, head in his hands, his shoulders slumped, taking quick, shuddering breaths, attempting to regain some sort of composure. You crawled your way over to him, too dazed to stand up.

"Eli," you gasped, lifting his face up and forcing him to look at you. He didn't try to pull away, letting you caress his jaw. You slowly stroked his hair, shushing him gently as your fingers trailed over his cheekbones.

"Get away from me," he groaned, grabbing your wrist to keep you from touching him. His mind was reeling from the violent overload of emotions coursing through him. Having you here, so close to him, wanting him, loving him, it overwhelmed him, bringing back every single moment he had spent with you, every beautiful, painful, joyous moment of his entire existence.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sobbed, reaching out to touch him. He wasn't pushing you away, he was just sitting there, hunched over, breathing heavily. Your mind was too foggy to think about the consequences of your actions. There was an excruciating ache in your chest, and you needed Elijah to hold you.

You threw your arms around his shoulders and pressed your lips to the back of his neck, nuzzling him and letting tears stream down your face. He stilled, not fighting you, but not holding you.

"I lied to you Elijah, I'm sorry," you whispered, pressing your face into the crook of his neck as you hugged him tighter. "I love you, I never stopped. I'm sorry, please forgive me."

He didn't move, keeping his expression guarded as he put an arm around you, turning his body slightly to pull you in closer. He tilted his chin down and pressed his lips to the side of your head in a gentle kiss. His eyes were closed, your scent invading his nose, your hair tickling his neck. He sighed, your words, your presence, it was like a spark lighting up a flame of emotions in his chest as the switch in his head turned back on.

"I could never stop loving you," he murmured, opening his eyes and sitting up a bit, keeping you close to him.

"Well, looks like my work is done. Do give her a ride home when you are done, Elijah," Klaus drawled, smirking in triumph as he stood watching you, before swiftly making his way out of the room.

Elijah gripped your chin gently and forced you to turn to face him. You were horrified by the sadness in his dark eyes, but the relief you felt at seeing the love there tore you apart, and you burst into tears, gripping his face and pulling him towards you, kissing his lips, his jaw, his forehead, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.

"Darling," he sighed, looking down at your tear stained face. He gently ran his thumb over your cheekbone, bringing your forehead to his as he just held you.

"Forgive me, I-I-was so scared," you managed to get out, but he hushed you, your breathing synchronizing as he hugged you tightly, running a hand through your hair.

"Why did you lie to me?" he asked, pulling away and stroking your neck, your pulse fluttering beneath his touch.

"I was afraid," you replied, sniffing and wiping your tears. "I didn't want to hurt you, I thought it would be easier to let you go if I pushed you away instead."

"What were you afraid of?" he questioned, guiding your face up, needing to see your beautiful, tear filled eyes.

"I was terrified at the prospect of getting old, growing old, and putting you through that. You'd have to watch as you lived a lifetime with me, and eventually I would be gone and you would be left alone," you gasped out, the words flowing out unbidden, unable to control yourself now that the gates had been opened. "and.. I want children of my own, and a family, I can't have all of that with you. This past week I've been so torn, I thought leaving you was the best thing to do, because I knew my choice would hurt you, and you didn't deserve that, and I didn't know how else to do this."

Elijah smiled sadly, shaking his head and cupping your cheeks. "None of that matters, my darling, and it never will. Don't you understand that? You are worth the heartache, the pain, the loss. You are worth being human for."

He kissed you gently, brushing your hair out of your face, causing more tears to slip down your cheeks as you fisted your hands in his shirt, allowing him to pour all of his love and heartache into the kiss. You were left breathless, staring into his eyes, seeing the sadness there that matched yours.

"As for children, I know a few witches that could help us solve that issue," he said. You blinked rapidly, stunned that his answer was so easy, simple. The corners of his lips quirked up, and you felt your heart thundering in your chest, desperate to have him, keep him forever.

"Do you want that? To have children with me?" you asked, your hands in his, hoping, praying, that he truly understood what he was getting himself into.

"With you, yes, anything you wish for, I will give you," he replied, resting his head on your shoulder, and nuzzling your neck. You drew in a deep breath, so relieved and overcome with a surge of emotions that you grabbed his head and planted another firm, passionate kiss on his lips.

He chuckled, a deep, soothing sound that had you smiling despite all the tears you were shedding. Your fingers were clutching at his shirt, dragging him closer to you as you continued to kiss him, memorizing everything, his taste, the curves of his lips, the way his tongue felt against yours. He put his arm around your waist, and shifted, scooping you up into his lap, and into his arms.

"When was the last time we made love?" he whispered against your lips, pulling away and looking into your eyes, his gaze caressing your features softly.

"Three months," you whispered, stroking his stubbled jaw, running your fingers over his lips, marveling at the feel of his warm, soft skin, thinking that you almost never had the chance to be with him again.

"That's much too long," he murmured, sliding his hands up your thighs and grinning seductively. You chuckled, feeling a heated blush creep up your neck and spread across your cheeks. His fingers traced the edge of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"I love you, Elijah Mikaelson," you said, grinning broadly as your fingers threaded through his hair, savoring the feel of it. He just sat, staring at you with warmth and adoration, unspoken love shining in his deep brown eyes.

"For eternity, I will love you, my y/n," he whispered, pressing his lips gently against yours, and you melted into him, gripping the back of his neck as you felt a piece of your soul slide back into place, wrapped tightly around his heart.

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alovesongtheywrote · 1 year

Text

Cranberry Juice | Eddie Munson x Reader

♥ Summary: Getting kidnapped from a grocery store wasn't exactly on your to-do list, but neither was having sex with your blood-drunk vampire boyfriend on the dead bodies of your captors, so... [Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader]

♥ Warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni. Violence, gore, kidnapping, gun related violence & violence against women, drinking blood, drinking blood in a sexual nature, biting, minor character death, derogatory terms used for the reader by someone other than eddie, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink, very brief dubcon, monster fucking, angst, fluff.

♥ A/N: holy fuck, i haven't written a fem/afab reader in years. i've also never written smut before, so this is new.

♥ Word count: 15945

♥♥♥

You would think that in the two years following the murder of Chrissy Cunningham and the supposed death of Eddie Munson, Hawkins, Indiana would have calmed down a little bit. You would at least assume that they would put down their pitchforks and torches and give Eddie’s friends and loved ones some room to breathe- after all, Eddie’s name had been cleared of any and all crimes, and he was, as far as they knew, literally dead.

But nope!

Nope! No! No way! You still couldn’t leave your house without receiving a thousand angry glares from a thousand angry hicks. Really, you didn’t feel comfortable leaving the house alone anymore, and no one could blame you for that. Between the threats you’d received, the shit you’d seen, and the way the town banded together to hunt down your boyfriend in 1986, you were more than justified in feeling unsafe.

This drove Eddie up the fucking wall.

You were his partner, the love of his undead life, and he couldn’t protect you from the same town that initially drove him into hiding- the town that he had died saving. He couldn’t protect Wayne, either, or the Hellfire Club kids for that matter. He couldn’t shield any of you, or stick by your side throughout the day- the wings and claws that Vecna had so graciously given him upon his return to the living made hiding a little more than necessary. And hey, if those new features weren’t bad enough on their own, Hawkins still wanted Eddie’s head on a pike. If any Hawkins citizen saw him like this, in a new and monstrous form, that would be more than enough of an excuse to murder him then and there.

In short, Eddie was helpless. His new features, the claws and fangs which were meant to maim and kill were useless when it came to defending his loved ones. He was entirely unable to take care of the people he loved most, and he hated it.

Anger and resentment festered inside of him. He worried about you whenever you left the house. Even when you were safe with him, a dark corner of his mind still spiraled through all the horrible possibilities. He wanted to keep you safe, to keep you unharmed and alive, and the idea that he wouldn’t be able to do that gave him a sense of dread like no other.

And then his fears were realized.

It started out as a simple shopping trip. You needed to pick up a few things, so you went out to get them. That’s how most people go about grocery shopping. It was normal. Painfully average considering everything else going on in your life, and honestly, you kind of liked that.

You didn’t go out alone. Max also needed to pick up a few things, so you brought her with you. You were smart about it. You both kept your guards up and your keys between your fingers. You were safe. Or you were until you fell for the faux sense of safety provided by the fluorescent lights and the bland music playing overhead- a sense of safety that would be brutally fucking shattered.

Before that, though, you were just looking at juice.

The grocery store shelves in front of you were filled with bottles and bottles of beverages. For a moment, you pondered just how many forms of cranberry juice a company could make. The answer was a lot, apparently.

At your side, Max was fidgeting, impatiently tapping her cane against the ground. You couldn’t blame her, you’d been staring at juice for like, five minutes.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet, “If it’s cool with you, I’m gonna go grab the-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you snapped out of your juice-induced haze, “Go for it, I’ll be here.”

Letting her go was your first mistake.

She nodded at you and left the aisle, ignoring the pointed glare served to her by a middle-aged woman who occupied the aisle with you. As soon as Max was gone, the woman’s glare found its true target. The killer’s girlfriend. The Munson boy’s accomplice. You.

Unfortunately for the woman, your attention was already back on the juice.

Apple. Blackberry. Blueberry. Cranberry. Cran-apple. Cran-pineapple. Cran-mango. Cran-cherry. Cran-pomegranate. There really were a lot of cranberry juices. In all seriousness, you didn’t actually care about juice that much. It was just a nice distraction from the oncoming-

“Devil’s whore.”

Oh, yep, there it was.

You said nothing as the woman swore at you. You tuned out her whispered rant about your audacity- the nerve you had to go out in public after dating that ‘child-murdering monster.’ You were used to this treatment. Not everyone in Hawkins was this intense. Some were worse, and some were better, but there were enough angry citizens kicking around for you to grow numb to the insults. As long as they weren’t threatening your life, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. You just focused on the juice and let her voice fade out.

That was your second mistake.

You tuned back in to the sound of a click- the sound of a gun’s safety turning off. Panic filled your body as you returned to your surroundings. The woman was gone. Where she had vanished to was a mystery, but you didn’t really care. Not when, in her place, a man stood, aiming a gun right at your stomach.

After noting the gun, the first things you noticed were the man’s eyes- ice blue, cold, and cruel. He wore a sweatshirt beneath a white and green varsity jacket, the hood of which he had pulled up and over his blond hair. It was a clear attempt to provide your attacker with some anonymity- of course, that was instantly cancelled out by the print on the sleeve that read, “Hawkins High, ‘84.” He was your age- and when you looked closer, you realized that you knew him.

Kurt Robertson. He had been a classmate of yours, a jock who had treated “freaks” like you and Eddie rather poorly. Clearly, he had continued his athletic pursuits given his muscular frame. Fear pooled in your stomach as you realized that you were no match for him. You wouldn’t have been a match for him even if he didn’t have a gun.

You put your hands up slowly, “Hi, Kurt. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Don’t even try it, bitch. Come with me,” he grabbed you by your shoulder, pushing the gun into your hip.

“Uh, maybe,” you were playing with fire, “Can I ask what this is about?”

“You know full well what this is about. That freak boyfriend of yours murdered Chrissy- he murdered Jason, too. They were good kids, and there’s no justice for them.”

“So you decided to find some at the grocery store?”

“Shut up, bitch, I’m talking,” he slammed you into the shelving unit. You yelped like a wounded animal. Two bottles of cranberry juice fell to the floor, cracking open as they met the ground. Red spilled across the tiles.

“I’m here, we’re here,” he gestured to the store’s exit. The implication of backup made you shiver, “To do good by Jason. And Chrissy. Munson took their lives- we figured we’d return the favour. Send his slut to hell for him.”

A crooked smile spread across Kurt’s face as he let you go, pulling back from the shelves. He gestured to the glass doors again, “Now, let’s get a move on, shall we?”

“What, you’re taking me to a secondary location? Too afraid to kill me where everyone can see it?” It was an attempt to escape- to convince this guy to let you go. If you could get him to fuck off, you might be able to slip out the backdoor and get to Eddie. If you got to Eddie, you would be safe.

“No,” Kurt pressed the gun back against your stomach, “I just respect this fine establishment too much to get your fucking guts all over it.”

“This is a grocery store.”

“Hey!” your head jerked to the side to see who had spoken. Kurt did the same. Max was standing at the end of the aisle, her groceries in one hand and her cane in the other. She looked angry, murderous- you were proud of her for that glare alone.

“Is there a problem here?” she scowled at the man in front of you. You felt the gun turn. Its side pressed against you, hiding from view in the fabric of your shirt. The barrel was aimed at Max. Shit.

You turned back to face Kurt. He wouldn’t look at you. His eyes were fixed on the red-haired girl- his new target. You had to protect her. She’d probably be pissed at you for having that thought, but you had to protect her.

“There’s no problem,” you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice, “I just ran into a former classmate.”

Max looked like she didn’t believe you in the slightest, not that you could blame her for that. Everything from Kurt’s proximity to you to the juice on the floor spelled out trouble. You blinked.

“Actually, do you think you’re good to find your own way home? I think I’m gonna be a while. Just catching up, y’know?”

You blinked again- three short blinks. Three long blinks. Three short ones. You hoped she noticed.

She stared at you for a minute, looking deep into your eyes before nodding. She coughed out a quick, “Yeah, it’s fine. See you around,” and with that, Max was gone. You could only hope that your message had been received.

Kurt waited for a moment. The doors opened and closed. Max had left. Now, it was just you, a man with a gun, and a dozen shoppers who didn’t give a shit about whether or not Eddie Munson’s whore girlfriend got shot in the middle of the juice aisle.

“Kurt,” you tried, watching as he took in your surroundings and fixed his eyes on the door, “Chrissy was a good kid, and I’m so sorry that she’s gone. She didn’t deserve to die, but I promise, Eddie didn’t have anything to do with it-”

He took your arm in a grip that would surely leave bruises- if you lived long enough for them to form. You winced but continued on, trying again to free yourself diplomatically, “And Jason- Jason was extreme, you have to admit, but I’m sorry about him, too. He did some awful things, but he wasn’t evil-”

“Yeah, you’d know a lot about evil, wouldn’t you?” Kurt sneered, pulling you out of the store and into the alleyway behind it. A pickup truck was parked there, waiting for you. Diplomacy had failed. You had to try something else.

The first thing you did was grab the gun and shove it away from you. Kurt’s arm went with it, and he stumbled slightly. You stumbled, too, but your balance came back to you faster than his did. You used your brief advantage to punch your assailant in the face. Your fist connected with his jaw, sending Kurt right to the ground.

You shook out your hand and took a step away, momentarily stunned by your pain and your power. The doors of the pickup began to open. You ran. You were being chased by former jocks. You didn’t get far.

Two arms wrapped around you- one around your chest, and one around your neck. You tilted your head down and bit as hard as you possibly could. The guy screamed, letting go of you just as another pair of arms took hold.

You struggled, turning around in the man’s hold and scratching at his eyes. Someone ran behind you and grabbed at your arms, trying to stop you. You thrashed, hissing and fighting like an angry animal. It was futile.

You were pushed to the ground and a gun was pointed at your face. Kurt glared down at you, his eyes full of hate and his lip gushing blood. The rest of the boys backed off for the moment, standing on the sidelines, watching their leader.

“I should kill you. I should kill you right now you fucking bitch. Send you to hell with your Satanic fucking boyfriend.”

“Then do it,” you barked, adrenaline and impulse speaking for you more than anything else, “Kill me. Unless you’re scared to do it you quivering pussy-”

Kurt slammed the gun into the side of your head. Your vision went black. Your hearing faded to a soft buzz. Blood dripped down the length of your face. You didn’t feel it. You couldn’t feel anything. You didn’t hear the panicked whispers of the jocks, nor the quietly exclaimed, “Holy shit, dude! You fucking killed her!” or the, “She’s not dead, just knocked out, calm the fuck down,” that followed it.

For the moment, you were out of the game.

The boys loaded you into the truck as fast as they could. Their arms held you down, their hold on you tight, as if your unconscious body would spring up and perform a series of badass jiu-jitsu moves on them. That didn’t happen, but they wanted to be prepared.

The pickup sped out of the alleyway, putting the grocery store in its rearview mirror with law-breaking speed. If any of the jocks had bothered to look in said rearview mirror, they would have noticed a red-headed girl using the payphone that stood near the grocery store parking lot.

“Eddie? It’s Max. We have a problem.”

You woke to the stench of rotting wood and decomposing hay. Beneath you, a filthy concrete floor provided a cold embrace. Small stones and various pieces of dirt and debris dug into your soft flesh. In this position, your leg was twisted under your weight at an awkward angle.

Damning the discomfort, you kept still. Every part of you was tense, ready, waiting for some sign or sound of your abductors. Nothing happened. The only sound was the faint scurrying of mice, and the wind blowing through the trees outside. Still hesitant, you opened your eyes.

Most of the structure around you was made of decaying wood. Planks and beams extended across a vast room, stretching up to a high ceiling to meet with crumbling rafters. In some places, red and white paint had been applied to cover up some of the damage, but after years of neglect, the attempted solution had faded and chipped away.

Beams of golden sunlight streamed into the barn through dirty glass windows, and through a large square hole in the wall that had once housed a door. Far above your head, shitty old lights buzzed harshly, illuminating all of the grime that the sun couldn’t reach.

Outside, you could see a weed-filled field running off to a line of trees in the distance. Brambles twisted up near the barn’s entrance. Wildflowers bloomed among nettles and thorns. Vines tangled with the faulty wood of the walls. Even inside the barn, little sprouts popped up through cracks in the concrete. Dandelions puffed near rusted old farming equipment and piles of wasted hay.

This place was oddly beautiful- and clearly abandoned. You were far from help, and from the sound of it, you were completely alone.

Cautiously, you got to your feet. The spot of concrete that had served as your pillow was stained red. You didn’t want to think about that too hard. Putting it out of your mind, you took a few shaky steps, stumbling your way toward the exit. Your bruised body screamed in protest. The sound of your footfalls echoed through the barn. You kept going. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice.

A rusty pitchfork lay against the wall a few feet from the hole in the wall. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have touched the thing for fear of tetanus. Unfortunately, these were not normal circumstances. You armed yourself quickly and continued on, inching forward until the concrete turned to gravel underfoot.

You didn’t make it far.

The sound your movements made alerted your captors to the fact that you were awake. You could hear something drop around the side of the barn- something heavy. Male voices swore loudly. The sound of curses and other exclamations rang through the field, polluting the otherwise beautiful golden hour.

You looked around, desperately searching for a place to hide. You found nothing. There was no hiding place among the weeds and brambles, no space for nature to pull you in and protect you. Your fists tightened around the pitchfork as you realized that this would come down to a fight.

Unfortunately, you were right.

Jocks ran out from behind the barn like ants swarming from a hill. Someone cried out, “Skin only! Don’t kill her yet!”

You vaguely recognized some of the faces before you- the first one was Andy, one of the jocks who had been after Eddie in ‘86. You were able to push him back with your makeshift weapon. The next jock, unfortunately, got much closer. The smell of weed assaulted you, which was quickly followed by an actual assault. A fist met your cheek, and you staggered back, keeping yourself up with the handle of the pitchfork.

The jock didn’t let up. Another punch came your way, but you managed to step back and avoid it. The guy kicked at you weakly, but you easily dodged that, too. In retaliation, you raised the pitchfork and brought it down flat over the guy’s head, knocking him to the ground.

Alas, you were still surrounded. Five more jocks were perfectly ready for a fight, and you were quickly running out of strength and luck. Panic and pain surged through you as another hit connected with your jaw. A fist collided with your stomach. You fell to your knees. Another hand met your face. A ring broke the skin of your lips. Your chosen weapon fell to the ground as blow after blow fell upon you.

You did your best to shelter yourself from the attack. Sharp aches echoed through your limbs with every blow. You tried to separate yourself from the moment, mentally and physically. Curling into a ball on the ground and disassociating didn’t exactly make you feel brave or heroic, but it kept you from taking too much damage. Still, you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day- if you lasted that long.

You barely noticed when the kicks and punches stopped coming. You only snapped out of it fully when someone grabbed your arm. You winced. It was the first reaction they’d gotten from you since the attack began.

“Good,” Kurt grinned, “We didn’t break you.”

You said nothing, biting back several sarcastic remarks. None of them seemed appropriate for the situation. Instead, you slid your tongue over your lip, collecting the blood that pooled there. The next time Kurt opened his mouth to speak, you spit in his face.

“You fucking bitch!” Kurt shrieked, wiping frantically at his face, “Tie her up and get her back in the barn. We’re gonna take this slow, got it? She doesn’t get a quick death.”

Kurt’s lackeys obeyed. Someone bound your wrists together in front of you with duct tape. Rough hands pulled you up from the ground and shoved you back toward the barn. Fear began to take anger’s place as they threw you to the concrete. Blood dripped from your lip to the floor. You watched as it bleed between rocks and cracks below you. How much blood would you lose tonight?

Your heart raced. Breath escaped your battered lungs, but you couldn’t seem to pull any air in. Kurt glared down at you, his form outlined by the light of the setting sun. He looked at you like you were some sort of vermin he had to dispose of. You were sure that in his eyes, that was the truth.

The gun was in his hand.

“Remind me, Andy. How did they find Jason’s girl again?”

“I dunno. They didn’t even let her parents see her face. But Patrick,” Andy knelt down in front of you and grabbed your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look at him, “I got to see Patrick. All of his bones were shattered. Some kind of freak ritual, I guess.”

“Well, we don’t have a freak ritual, but,” Kurt aimed the gun at your leg, “We can always improvise. Answer me this, boys- will a bone break apart if you hit it with a bullet?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

His finger wrapped around the trigger.

A deafening bang echoed off the barn’s walls.

The sound didn’t come from the gun. Something had crashed into the roof. Dust reigned down on you and the boys as you all looked up, peering at the ceiling. Above you, the old lights began to flicker. The air seemed to chill by a few degrees.

The jocks staggered slightly, their eyes off of you and fixed on the ceiling. They all jumped as the horrendous screech of tearing metal met their ears. Whatever had landed on the roof, it was now clawing its way off. The boys turned to face the door, gripping their weapons and putting up their fists.

An inhuman sound split the calm twilight. You knew it well- that unnerving, predatory growl. You’d heard it a few times before, while running for your life in the Upside Down. While you watched the bats tear your lover apart. You fell back, crawling deeper into the barn.

The lights flicked off.

When they came back on, Eddie was standing in the would-be doorway of the barn, wings spread and fangs bared.

“Is that-?” one of the jocks whispered.

“Munson,” Andy spat. Kurt raised his gun, aiming the barrel at its new target.

He didn’t get the chance to shoot.

Eddie attacked first. He flew forward, seizing the face of the nearest man in his claws. In seconds, the man’s head was nothing more than a bloody mess. Screams filled the air as the first jock fell to the ground. Eddie fell with him, teeth to the man’s neck as blood pooled around them, a blood-red mirror on the concrete floor.

Your attackers stood stunned as Eddie moved on, leaving a body behind. Garnet drops flew to the floor as Eddie tore the next attacker into tiny little pieces. You were almost hypnotized by the way Eddie’s teeth sunk into the guy’s neck, by the way Eddie’s claws tore through his flesh. You could practically hear the sound of blood draining from his veins. When he pulled back, Eddie’s sweet brown eyes were blood red.

He was quick to jump at his next victim, claws and fangs tearing, and slashing, and biting until the man stopped moving.

It was only after that third man’s body was drained that your attackers shook themselves from their reverie and began to retaliate. They’d been aching for a chance to hurt Eddie for years. Now, they had even more of an excuse to kill him- if Eddie was a freak before, then what was he with wings and fangs? To them, he was a monster. He always had been, and he always would be.

They attacked.

It wasn’t too effective, all things considered. A fist flew at Eddie, and in response, he grabbed the offending hand, pulled the man close to him, and put his claws through the man’s chest. You almost felt sick at the sight of it- your boyfriend’s hand, rings and all, coming through the back of a man who beat you minutes before.

You knew Eddie was stronger now, inhumanly so, but you had never seen him use that strength like this- not on a person, at least. You were never afraid of Eddie. You knew that he would rather die than hurt you. But watching what he could do to a human- it filled you with unease, and with some other emotion that you refused to name.

That nameless emotion screamed in your ears as Eddie pulled the man towards him using the hand still in his chest. Eddie brought his fangs to the man’s throat and drank.

The sound of wood splintering filled the air as Eddie blocked a blow from a bat with his claws. He pulled his mouth away from his latest victim’s neck so that he could handle the weapon. He discarded the bat quickly, throwing it clear across the barn. He threw the wielder next, impaling him on some old farming equipment. The dandelions that lived beneath the aged machine were showered in a gush of ruby and wine.

Andy was next. He came at Eddie with a crowbar, and your stomach turned as you realized that all the jocks’ weapons- the bats, the crowbars, and the gun- were meant for you. You winced as Andy managed to land a hit, striking Eddie in the shoulder with enough strength to down a regular man. Fortunately, Eddie was not a regular man. He seized the crowbar and bent it, letting it fall to the floor.

“You- you killed Chrissy! And Patrick, and Jason-!”

Eddie’s eyes bore into Andy’s, speaking untold volumes, simmering with rage. Eddie wiped the blood from his mouth and took a step toward the jock.

“I didn’t kill any of them. I didn’t touch any of them. But you? You made my girl bleed. You’re gonna pay for that.”

In seconds, Andy was on the ground, unconscious or dead, you couldn’t tell. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth. Eddie didn’t bother drinking from him.

For a moment, then, the world fell silent. Eddie’s eyes met yours across the barn, across the sea of blood that he had spilled to protect you. Despite the gore, despite the blood that stained Eddie’s hands and the space under his nails, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. He was here. You were safe now.

But thinking that was your third mistake.

Eddie smiled back, and as he did, another ear-piercing bang echoed through the barn. There was nothing on the roof. There was nothing clawing down to the barn. There was nothing but you and Eddie, Kurt and his gun.

Eddie brought his hand to his side. When he moved it away, his skin was stained with both his blood and the blood of those he’d slain. You screamed. Eddie fell to his knees. Kurt took aim again. He levelled the gun at Eddie’s head.

You leapt at Kurt, using your bound fists as a weapon. You caught the man by surprise, knocking him right to the ground. The gun slid across the floor, away from both of you. Kurt quickly took the advantage, rolling over and pinning your hips to the ground with his. He raised his fist and brought it down on your face, once, then twice.

He didn’t land a third punch. Eddie tackled him off of you, hurling Kurt’s body away from yours. He stayed in front of you, protecting you from Kurt, blocking him from view. He was your shield, keeping you safe and out of the other man’s reach. Eddie snarled like an animal- a predator. It was a warning to Kurt. A message telling him, on no uncertain terms, to stay put.

Kurt did no such thing. He jumped at Eddie. Thick fingers dug deep into the bloody mark on Eddie’s side. He cried out in agony- the sound was something akin to a roar.

“You’re a monster,” Kurt yelled, his hands now covered in the dark cranberry shades of Eddie’s blood, “You’re a FUCKING MONSTER!”

Eddie stumbled backwards, a pained gasp leaving his lips. Your attacker showed no mercy. He advanced, landing a hit on Eddie’s jaw. Eddie fell to his knees.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” Kurt reached for the gun. He couldn’t find it.

Another shot rang out.

The sound echoed around the barn.

Blood spilled out from the brand-new bullet wound in Kurt’s chest. He fell to the ground with a dull thud. His blood pooled beneath him, like cranberry juice on the floor of a grocery store. Another blood-red mirror to reflect another lifeless corpse. Another red stain on the concrete.

You stood behind him, gun held tightly in your bound hands.

Silence followed. You could hear Eddie’s panting, and the sound of your heartbeat rushing in your ears. The busted farm lights buzzed overhead. Outside, in the twilight, cicadas sang, serenading you both. Each breath you took was tainted by the iron scent of blood. A chill danced up your skin. The barn was still cold- so fucking cold.

Eddie was struggling. New blood coursed through his system, making every inch of him feel warm. Something beneath his skin started to itch. He wanted to move. He wanted to hunt. He wanted you. He wanted to see you spread out before him, breathless and quivering, completely drunk on his cock. He wanted the taste of your blood to stain his tongue. He could feel an unending pulsation spread through him, driving him forward, almost controlling him in a way. His eyes met yours for just a moment before he forced himself to look away. A growl left his lips.

Across the room, you watched Eddie’s silent crisis, completely unaware of the feral desires harboured behind his big doe eyes. His claws curled at the concrete. You could hear them scratching against it- almost carving through it entirely. His breath seemed to come faster and faster, his chest rapidly rising and falling with every second that passed. You panicked, slightly, taking a small step towards him as your fear for his safety overtook your brain.

You lowered the gun.

“Eddie?” You called out, shattering the quiet with your desperation. Your voice was weak, shaking. You sounded broken.

In an instant, Eddie was on his knees before you. His cold clawed hands ran up your thighs and over your hips, slender fingers checking for hidden injuries, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His movements were gentle, though they edged on desperate, almost animalistic. Your heart twinged with guilt as sparks flew from each place he touched. Despite the situation, you wanted more of this- more of him.

You got just that when his lips joined his hands. He painted each part of you with kisses, brushing his mouth over your knees, your thighs, your hips. He paused over the faint purple of a forming bruise on your leg, his touch hovering over it slightly as passionate concern tore a growl from deep within his chest. You could feel his breath against your skin, hard and fast, nothing short of panicked. His fear for you melted your heart. You whispered his name. It came out as a plea- a blasphemous prayer in a God-fearing town.

“I’m here,” he replied, his voice low, “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Are you alright?”

You nodded, trying to breathe again as you adjusted to the safety of his presence. His hands slid up your body as he leaned in, pressing his lips and then his teeth against the soft skin of your thigh. He bit down, enough to mark you but not enough to make you bleed, “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

You whimpered, taking his chin between your fingers, urging him to meet your eyes. His face was pale, and his normally messy hair was wild and slightly damp from sweat. Blood spilled from his bottom lip. You couldn’t tell if it was his. Gently, you brushed the blood away with your thumb. He leaned into your touch, shutting his eyes for a moment, letting himself be there with you. When he opened his eyes again, there was something dark contained in the sweet brown of his irises- a grim determination.

“Baby,” he groaned, raising a hand to your wrists, “I’m gonna untie you, and then-” he paused, taking a deep breath.

“And then?”

“And then I need you to run.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong-?” a fresh wave of panic shot through you at Eddie’s warning.

Eddie paused for a moment. When he spoke again, he almost sounded afraid, “It’s nothing. Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I just- I need you to run from me.”

“Eddie, what do you mean?”

He didn’t answer.

“Eddie- Eddie, please-”

He dug his fingers into your thighs, pulling you down and knocking you onto your back. A small cry escaped you. Your heart began to pound in your chest as one of his massive hands curled in the dust beside you. In the time it took to blink, he was leaning over you, caging you in with his body. One of his legs found its home between yours. The way he stared down at you was a new kind of desperate- he looked hungry. Empty. Starving.

“I’ve had too much blood tonight, baby,” he leaned in, nipping at your throat, all teeth, no fangs. He made a point not to bite, “And it did something to me.”

“S-something?”

He slipped his hands into yours, pinning your arms above your head by your still-bound wrists. He pulled back to look at you, ravenous devotion clouding his eyes, “Something, baby. I don’t know what, but I-”

He cut himself off, looking away from your face and shutting his eyes tightly as if he could somehow fend off what he was feeling by pretending to be somewhere else. His grip on you tightened, and you fought off the urge to whimper. Again, you whispered his name.

“I want to taste you,” Eddie sounded horrified at his own words, but he didn’t stop, “I wanna feel you succumb beneath my hands. I want to feel your heart race for me, but I can’t tell whether it’s your blood I want on my tongue, or you. And I- I can’t hurt you, so I need you to run, okay?”

His eyes were still closed. He still refused to look at you. He seemed so deeply ashamed- and yet, heat pooled inside you, flowing down to your core. You drew in a breath, your chest rising sharply. Blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your face until everything beneath your skin felt like fire. Your eyes widened. Your thighs shook slightly. Any sense of self-preservation you had was throwing itself out the window in the wake of the fire that Eddie had unknowingly set inside of you- a fire that you had no intention of putting out.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed at your physical response. He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear, “Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of you?” your voice shook, and your body trembled beneath him, but a small smile took over your features at the thought, “Never.”

Eddie pressed his forehead against your shoulder. A small grin crossed his features, though there was no joy in it. There was something tragic in every movement he made. A desperate longing drove every action- a want for something he could not have.

“Goddamnit, I love you,” he whispered. His words were almost a whine, “But I need you to get out of here, okay? I need you to get somewhere safe, somewhere away from me, and I need you to stay there.”

He pressed his lips back to your neck, sucking your skin in between his teeth with enough pressure to bruise, but not to break. His claws bit into the tape, beginning to tear it.

“Eddie-” you spoke fast, panicking at the thought of leaving him like this, “Eddie, I’m not going anywhere. Not when you’re hurt. Look, I know you’re afraid to hurt me, and I know that you think you’re a monster, but you’re not,” you flushed as your voice broke, “You’re not a monster, Eds. You- you make me feel safe. I want to stay.”

He stopped tearing at the tape.

“Eddie,” you sounded more sure, “I’m here. I’m staying, and you won’t hurt me, you won’t lose control-”

“You don’t know that,” he hissed, his voice filled with so much self-loathing that the sound of it broke your heart.

“But I do. Eddie, everything you did tonight, you did to save me. To protect me. You aren’t gonna hurt me. You’re not-”

His hand was on your throat. He didn’t squeeze. There was no pressure, but his claws pricked in against your fragile skin. You should have been afraid of him, or at the very least you should have feared for your life. Eddie was dangerous. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, but you’d just witnessed him murder several people with the claws that were now against your throat. But in fear’s place, that deep longing still burned inside of you.

”Baby,” Eddie warned, “I need you to understand. There is so very little inside of me that wants to be nice, and there is so much of me that wants to-”

A sharp sting spread out from your neck as his claws drew the tiniest drops of blood. He leaned closer to you, to your neck, “I don’t want to show mercy or kindness. I want to fuck you until my cum is spilling out of you, until you can’t move, and then I wanna keep going. I want to use you until you know that that pretty little slit between your legs belongs to me. I want to claim you. To own you. To ruin you for everyone else. I want you to bleed for me, and that is terrifying.”

He paused, releasing your throat from his hold and bringing his lips to your neck. He lapped at the drops of blood that spilled from the pinprick-like wounds he’d made. The second his tongue was on you, he took his other hand off your wrists and moved his touch down your body. He stopped at the hem of your shirt, his fingers biting into the material, almost tearing it like they had torn your skin just moments before.

“Sweet girl, I wanna fuck you until it hurts- fuck you while we’re surrounded by the bodies of our enemies- and then I want to drain you. I am a monster. And I want you the way a monster would. Do you understand?”

Again, you should have been afraid. You should’ve let him free your wrists, and then you should have run away. You should have screamed.

Instead, you moaned.

You couldn’t help it. It just sort of slipped out of you- his words, the intensity of his gaze, the sweet sting at your neck- it all poured gasoline on the already raging fire burning inside your core. Your legs fell apart for him, thighs spreading wide as arousal pooled between them. Eddie looked a little surprised.

“Did you- did you just fucking moan?”

You grumbled, desperate to hide your face in shame. Your humiliation doubled when you realized that with Eddie’s heightened senses, he could probably tell that you wanted him. He could undoubtedly hear the racing of your heart and smell the want between your legs.

“You fucking heard me,” you sighed, looking away in defeat, “But you- you can’t just say shit like that. You have to know that I want you.”

“You want me? To what, to kill you? Because-”

You cut him off, sighing again at your boyfriend’s dramatics, “Oh my god, Eddie, I want you inside of me.”

He froze for a second, stunned into silence. You took that as a cue to carry on, “I want you to fuck me. To claim me. I want you to use me, to ruin me, whatever, I just want to be yours.”

Eddie remained quiet, though his features had softened slightly. You turned back to face him, shoving your shame out of your mind. You sat up in his hold, letting him wrap his arms around your waist as you encircled your still-bound arms around his neck. His eyes were still wide with shock, but there was an undeniable sense of adoration within them. In turn, Eddie saw no fear in your gaze- just determination. And arousal.

“I want you to take me,” you begged, twisting your fingers in his hair, “Right here, and right now, and if you have to do that ‘like a monster,’ then do it. I don’t care. I just want you.”

Another growl ripped itself from Eddie’s throat as he pushed you back to the ground, keeping your arms around him, “Do you understand what you’re getting yourself into?”

You nodded, leaning up and pressing your lips to his in a quick and surprisingly chaste kiss. He smiled against your skin- a genuine smile, this time. You’d convinced him. He sighed, reaching up to gently cup your face. He traced over your cheek as he spoke, “Use your words for me, sweet girl.”

You turned your head to press a kiss to his palm, “I know. Do you understand that I don’t care what I’m getting myself into?”

He raised an eyebrow. You continued, a devious smirk on your face.

“You could do whatever you want to me because I want this. I want you. And, hey if you don’t fuck me at this point, maybe I’ll do it myself and make you watch.”

On the last word, you parted your lips and bit Eddie’s hand. He choked. A blush covered his face, painting his features pink up to the tips of his ears. You smiled, satisfaction with your work sinking in as you leaned up to press a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. His skin was warm, far warmer than the palm he had on your face just moments before.

Eddie shook his head, snapping out of his flustered state. His eyes darkened as want crept back into his gaze. He took your arms from around his neck, pressing a kiss to your hands before he pressed them into the ground above your head. You were pinned.

“Even now, you’re such a fuckin’ brat,” Eddie purred, “Y’know, it might be a little tough for you to get yourself off seeing as you’re, y’know, at my mercy, but I’d like to see you try. I can’t complain about a show like that.”

You gave a defiant wiggle, stretching your hands as much as you could with your wrists still pinned and bound, “I know. That’s why I-”

A moan swallowed your words as he pressed a kiss to the column of your throat. The sound heightened in pitch, becoming a cry as his teeth bit into your soft flesh. Eddie smiled against your neck as he released his hold on your wrists. His hands moved down your body, his actions slow, fingers weighed down by intent. His touch lingered by your breasts for a second, giving your tits a harsh squeeze before he reached further. A sharp gasp left you as you felt his cold digits press against the bare skin beneath the hem of your shirt.

His grip tightened on the fabric, claws piercing through it before he tore it from you entirely, leaving your upper body exposed to the chill of the barn. Goosebumps rose on your skin. Beneath your bra, your nipples pebbled from both the cold and your arousal. Eddie made short work of that garment, too, not bothering with the clasp. In less than a second, your bra was in pieces on the floor beside your poor, poor shirt.

Eddie paused, taking in the sight of your chest. His hands slipped up and over your waist, stopping just beneath your breasts, “Holy shit,” his voice was rough, gravely- and it had you arching up into his hold, “You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking perfect.”

He leaned in, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, nipping at your flesh ever so slightly. His fangs threatened to pierce your skin, and you knew you wouldn’t mind if they did. You meant what you said. Eddie could have his way with you however he liked. He could cut you, bleed you, break you, and you would let him. You would lie there for him and just let him take everything he wanted. (Of course, you knew he wouldn’t. He loved you far too much to ever cause you real harm.)

You let out a whine, running your hands into Eddie’s hair. It was a little difficult- your wrists were still bound- but you did your best. He moaned, lips still against your skin, and you found yourself writhing at the sensation. Your body begged for more, for him to do more than touch and bite- you wanted to be fucked.

“Eddie, please- please,” the attempt was sweet, but your pleas went ignored. Eddie pulled his mouth away from your nipple, moving just slightly to mark up the rest of your chest. You tilted your head back, panting as his hands descended to the hem of your shorts, squeezing and scratching your sides as he went.

“Eds, please-”

“That’s it, good girl,” Eddie purred, teeth still against your chest, “Beg for me.”

You whined, bucking your hips up, trying to get some friction. Eddie laughed a little as you tried desperately to squeeze your thighs together. The leg he kept between yours prevented it, and you groaned, tugging on his hair in retaliation.

Eddie moaned, leaning back until you could see his eyes shut in pleasure, “So pretty. And such a fucking brat-”

He sunk his fangs deep into your chest. You cried out, digging your nails into his scalp. You keened weakly as he drank from you. He didn’t take much- he was already enduring what could be considered a blood overdose- but he did take enough to shut you up, to make you hurt.

When he pulled away, you were a mewling mess beneath him. Your whines only got louder when he dragged his tongue over the bite wound. A sharp grin exposed his fangs, now stained with your blood. He leaned in, kissing you deeply, sliding his tongue passed your lips. You could taste the copper tang of your life in his mouth.

He pulled away, breathless, and in seconds he was back on your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your arm, biting at your wrist and drawing blood before he moved back to your chest. He pulled your other nipple between his teeth, nipping and biting, making you whine. You moved your body against the thigh he kept between your legs, grinding on it. You were desperate and Eddie knew it.

He kissed down your stomach, biting at your hip as his grip tightened on the fabric of your shorts. You yelped at the sting of his teeth, the sharp piercing of his fangs in your flesh. Eddie’s tongue laved over your hip, lapping up the blood that dripped down your side. He tore your shorts to pieces before the blood could stain them, ripping your panties off with them.

A loud gasp escaped you, and you let out a whine as the cold barn air met with your dripping cunt. Eddie’s smile was almost shark-like. Lots of teeth.

“So pretty,” Eddie whispered, “And so wet for me, baby.”

He pressed a kiss to the new bite mark hip before he continued, “Y’know, watching you fuck yourself for me- I’d only last so long before I just took you for myself.”

Two fingers moved up your slit, gathering your arousal before meeting with your clit. His skin was rough, callused from fighting and from his guitar. His touch was electric, sending shockwaves through your spine. You couldn’t hold back your moan, nor could you control your hips as they bucked up into his hand.

“S-so,” you tried to speak as his fingers moved in tight circles over your sensitive nub, “You’d still fuck me, then?”

“I’d clean your fingers off first, but yes.”

“Oh, good. So either way, I get what I want.”

He paused his ministrations and pulled his fingers away entirely, digging them into your sides. You made a noise of protest, but Eddie remained still. For a second, he just stared at you, half squinting. In the time it took to blink, his teeth were on your chest again. He didn’t break the skin, but he got so dangerously close to it that you couldn’t help but shiver as want dripped down your thighs.

Eddie’s grip tightened on you, and you wondered what the bruises his ring-clad fingers left on your hips would look like later on. An especially sharp bite pulled you back to the present. You mewled, whining as Eddie nipped at the soft skin over your heart. You could almost feel your blood pumping faster through your veins, sending that same fire through each one of your nerves.

Slowly, though, Eddie’s fangs distanced themselves from you. It was just his lips on your skin. The pressure was still bruising to be sure, but something had changed.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Whatever,” you could feel Eddie speaking against you, his breath warm on your chest, “Whatever you want, just stay with me.”

A few short moments ago, he’d been begging you to run away from him. Now, he wanted you to stay. A quick kiss to your bloodied temple told you why.

‘I will,” you pulled his forehead to yours, locking eyes with him, “I promise I will.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, wrapping your arms around his neck as your nails gently scratched at his scalp. He melted into your touch before leaning in, pressing his soft lips against yours. The kiss was so gentle, so different from the harsh bites and scratches he’d delivered so far. Your body overflowed with want, a broken fountain pouring desire onto the floor.

“You,” you muttered against him, “Are everything I want.”

He looked down at you for a second, eyes wide and wanting. You leaned up, capturing his lips with yours. One of his hands came up, cupping your face gently, holding you like you were something precious. Your lips fit against his perfectly. The fire inside you was threatening to take down the goddamn barn.

You paused. Wrapping a strand of Eddie’s hair around your fingers, you gave a slight tug. You met his gaze with a small smile, removing your arms from around his neck and bringing them in front of you.

“Also, I would like to be untied, please.”

He laughed and did as you asked, freeing you with a swipe of his claw. Instantly, your hands were on his face, your fingers running over his cheekbones, sweeping under his eyes. With your new freedom, you were able to run your hands up and through his hair properly. Above you, Eddie seemed to purr.

Eddie lowered himself, kissing and biting down your breasts and stomach, leaving bruises as he went. His movements were the same as before, but there was a new passion to them. You brushed your fingers over his shoulders, scratching at him slightly. He gripped onto the soft skin of your inner thighs, threatening to tear into it. You arched your hips up towards him. He grabbed them, grip tight and claws digging in. You cried out quietly as he pushed them back to the ground. Your back stung slightly, but the pain was quickly put out of your mind.

“Stay put for me, will you, sweetheart?”

You barely had a moment to register his words. His lips met with your heat, and you cried out at the sensation. His tongue moved up and down, teasing your entrance before his lips closed around your clit. You couldn't keep your thighs from closing around his head when you felt the harsh edges of his teeth. He didn’t seem to mind. More than that, he moaned against you. You had to fight to keep still beneath him.

Eddie kissed and bit you, eating you out like a man starved, like an animal that hadn’t been fed in an eternity or longer. The pleasure he brought you was almost violent in nature. You let out a string of incomprehensible words, moaning and whimpering as he drank your arousal.

“You taste so good, baby,” he pressed his lips to your clit, “So sweet. You’re perfect.”

One of his hands slid back up your body, leaving goosebumps behind. He stopped between your breasts, strong fingers pressed against your sternum ever so slightly, holding you still. Over the next few moments, as his teeth and tongue teased you relentlessly, dragging you to the edge at a rapid pace, your hand slipped into his. His claws bit into your skin. Your nails bit into his.

“Fuck- fuck, Eddie-”

“Gettin’ close, sweetheart? Gonna cum for me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your words fell to nothing as you cried out his name, shaking as you came for him. Your voice echoed off the walls, and Eddie didn’t think he’d ever heard a sweeter sound. He could feel your heart racing under his hand, your pulse racing through your wrist. The way your fingers squeezed around his- like you wanted him, like you needed him- made him feel weak.

It took you a minute to come back to earth. You could barely hear Eddie shrugging off his shirt and jacket over the sound of your own panting. The metallic clink of his belt buckle meeting the floor as he removed it got your attention.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him. Your eyes traced up his slender waist, over scarred and tattooed skin. His wings cast sharp shadows over his body. He freed his cock from his pants, and you tried to keep yourself from drooling as it sprang up against his stomach.

Eddie had always been gifted. He had always been big, thick- the sight of him was always enough to make your mouth water. Even before the Upside Down had so kindly bestowed him with new shit, you thought he was perfect. But after?

You weren’t sure why Vecna had decided to give your boyfriend’s cock ridges and a few extra inches, but you weren’t about to look a gift dick in the mouth. You would never get used to the sight- it would always make you shiver with want, make you drip with need. Perhaps a rational person would be intimidated by the sheer size of him, by the ridges that now covered his length, but you? Never. You didn’t care about anything. You didn’t fear anything. You just wanted him.

Your eyes caught his- honey shining in the twilight, warm, wanting, and slightly hesitant. His pupils were blown out, dark voids drinking in the sight of you. He wanted to give you a moment to catch your breath. He wanted to take a second to kiss you and to hold you close. Eddie wanted to be gentle, but something deep inside him- specifically all the blood he’d drained from you and your attackers- demanded that he get his cock inside you as fast as he fucking could.

“Baby, are you- are you sure you want this? I’m not- I’m not gonna be nice.”

“I don’t care, I don’t-” you sat up, grabbing Eddie’s shoulders and pulling him down on top of you, “I want you, Eds. I don’t care about anything else.”

“Okay. Okay, just- promise me you’ll stop me. If I hurt you, or if it’s too much, promise you’ll stop me.”

“I will,” you could barely hear yourself over the pounding of your heart, “Whatever you need, I promise.”

He took a deep breath before taking his cock in his hand, stroking it twice. He lined himself up with your entrance, pressing against you ever so slightly. He kissed up your jaw, pressing his lips against your ear before he whispered, “I love you. And I’m sorry.”

In one swift movement, he was inside you, buried to the hilt. You were wet and ready for him, but the sudden stretch- the sudden ache of his length pressing against your walls was still a lot for your already sore body to take. Tears sprang to your eyes. A scream tore itself from your throat before you could block it, mingling in the air with the sound of Eddie’s moans.

You could see the guilt in his eyes, but he didn’t slow his pace. His thrusts were fast and deep, almost violent in their intensity. The drag of his cock inside your needy cunt- the feeling of his veins and ridges against your walls- had your eyes rolling back, had you moaning like some mindless slut.

Eddie wasn’t doing much better. He quickly lost himself in the feeling of your body writhing under his, squeezing his dick every time moved. He brushed against a spot inside you that made you see stars. Your muscles clenched as his cock brushed it over and over again. Pain and pleasure shot through you, sparking through your veins and making you dig your nails into his back. He barely felt it.

Eddie took your hips into his hands, his grip bruising, his claws digging in. You could feel your blood pooling beneath his claws, staining his nails red. His lips were against your chest again, his teeth biting and scratching your skin. You barely noticed. You were too focused on him, on his cock forcing its way deeper and deeper inside, finding places that only he could reach.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” His voice was raspy, rough around the edges as he tried to catch breath that he didn’t technically need.

“Still with you,” your voice was just as breathless as his, “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. The sound of his hips slamming into yours cut through the silence of the night. Your fingers moved over Eddie’s back, scratching white lines into his skin. Your hands danced over the bones and flesh of his wings, darting over every sensitive spot. You knew his body well, and in seconds he was melting into you. Maybe it was a dirty move- you pulling out all of the stops on him- but you were sure he didn’t mind if his moans were anything to go by. His cock twitched inside your walls, and you moaned at the sensation. You were weak and wanting, and he was much the same.

“That’s it, baby,” he purred, “That’s my girl. So fucking good for me, so tight.”

His words slurred together, morphing into a low growl as he fucked into you. The smell of sex filled the barn, overtaking the stench of blood and decay. The barn itself seemed to fade further and further from view with every stroke, leaving only Eddie behind. For the moment, it was just the two of you. There were no threats to your life, no disgusted old ladies in grocery stores, and no jocks that wanted you dead. It was just you and the boy you loved.

One of his hands left your hip, moving back downwards to press his fingers against your clit. You could feel him trying to set a pace while also trying to keep his claws from scratching your delicate skin. As his fingers traced those familiar tight circles, you spiralled under him, walls clenching down around him as you drowned in the feeling of his skin on yours.

You could faintly hear him whispering filthy things in your ear- descriptions of all the depraved things he would do to you spoken over the deafening roar of your beating heart and the sound of skin on skin. Between words, his lips pressed kisses to every part of you that he could reach. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you neared overstimulation. Eddie kissed them away.

Mindlessly, one of your hands slipped away from his wings and over his side. Your fingers brushed something wet, a gouge in Eddie’s skin. The bullet wound. Immediately he flinched, clenching his jaw tightly to keep from crying out. You pulled back with near-inhuman speed, but the damage had been done. In your panic, you didn’t notice Eddie’s pained gasp turning into a laugh. You didn’t feel his cock pulsing inside you. As apologies spilled from your mouth, he took your now-bloodied hand in his free one.

“Damn,” he spoke over you, his voice rough and low, “I guess I deserved that, huh?”

You stared up at him, stunned into silence. Your face burned under his gaze. Even if you knew how to respond to that, you didn’t get the chance. Eddie brought your fingers to and past his lips, stealing your breath from your lungs in the process. His tongue moved around your fingers with a certain grace as he licked the cranberry colour of his blood off of your skin. The sight of it- of his lips around your fingers, drawing you in- was enough to take you to the edge. A little added pressure on your clit was enough to send you over, into a white-hot abyss.

You cried out as your walls clenched down around him. Tears stained your cheeks as your orgasm overtook you. Eddie pulled back, groaning slightly. Transparent strings connected his lips to your now damp fingers. A devilish grin overtook his features, “You liked that, huh? You came hard for me, sweet thing.”

You let out an embarrassingly loud whine in agreement, your body shaking as it came down from its high. Eddie let out a groan that matched your volume as he moved his hips against yours at a harsh and unforgiving pace.

He panted, “I’m- I’m gonna need you to use your words, baby. Need you to- fuck- need you to tell me. You can do that for me, right?”

You let out another whimper before you let out a broken confession, “I- I liked that,” he leaned in to kiss you, but you cut him off again, “But you didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to be hurt- unless y’know, it’s kinky.”

Eddie froze for a second. Your words had caught him off guard. As he stilled inside you, his smile changed. Everything about him became less devilish and more genuine. He broke eye contact. You could just see a pink flush spread over the pale skin of his neck and cheeks as he buried his face in your shoulder. When he spoke again, his words were muffled by your flesh against his mouth.

“You’re too good to me.”

His thrusts picked back up again, the same as they were before. He slowly placed your hand back where he found it, “Far too good.”

A sharp sting spread through your body as his teeth pierced your flesh. A fresh round of tears pooled in your eyes at the new ache. Blood dripped down your shoulder and over your chest, painting red lines down your tits. Ruby-red droplets jumped slightly with each snap of his hips. You felt him twitch at the sight of it. His grip tightened, and he made a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr.

“You’re- fuck,” his voice edged on wicked, desperation seeping in as he reached up to wipe your tears away, “You’re mine. I’m gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to. Gonna make sure they know- make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

“Please, Eds. I want you- I want you to claim me. Want you to show them that I’m just your slut-”

Eddie felt a twinge in his chest, guilt taking arousal’s usual place. Degradation was usually fun to some degree, but he knew what people in this town called you. He knew what they thought you were and he knew the danger it put you in; and with the events that had led you here, his fear was raw. Worry burned through his head, turning brain cells into exposed wires. His lips quickly pressed his lips to yours bringing your pleas to a brief halt. When he pulled away, he whispered, “You know you’re more than that, right?”

“I know,” you leaned up to kiss him, recognizing the emotion in his eyes, “A thing can be two things. I’m a person, and I’m yours, body and soul. Just yours.”

He shut his eyes, chasing down your lips and kissing you breathless. It was sweet, not gentle, but kind- and you wanted to change that. You wrapped your teeth over his lower lip and bit down. You didn’t draw blood. You weren’t sure that you could, but you sure as hell tried. Eddie growled, but before he could say anything, you were whispering into him again.

“You’re mine, too. Remember that.”

The smile that crossed his face was blinding. Desire consumed him again as his hips moved against yours. His thrusts came faster, deeper, and impossibly harder. His eyes clouded over with lust, and you were pretty sure that if you had a mirror, you would see the same thing reflected in your own face. The want. The need. Your body melted beneath Eddie’s as he fucked into you the way he said he would- like a fucking animal.

Your body craved his- you wanted him to keep his word, to take you, claim you, protect you. You wondered, briefly, what it said about you- that you wanted your partner to commit acts of violence in your name. You brushed those thoughts away as a familiar tension began to build in your core.

As your edge grew nearer, Eddie could feel his monstrous instincts overtake him. He knew that his grip on your body was just a bit too firm, that he was leaving dark bruises and deep bite marks all over you. If he wasn’t careful, he would hurt you, but careful seemed to be the last thing you wanted. You kept begging him for more, arching your body into his, digging your nails into him. Soft, depraved pleas escaped your lips, morphing into cries as you came undone beneath him.

Eddie wasn’t sure what happened next. He blinked, eyes falling shut, and when he opened them, he was using your body with a level of violence he had always tried to keep you from.

A broken scream ripped its way out of your throat as the head of Eddie’s cock rammed against your cervix with bruising force. A blinding agony spread through you, crawling through your nerves and making you gasp for air. You could barely feel Eddie’s claws digging into your sides, barely feel it as he thrust back into you. Your thighs slammed shut around his hips. A whimper escaped your lips as your nails scratched down his back, desperately searching for purchase.

Eddie paused for a split second, looking down at you with wide, panicked eyes. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He hated himself for it. You took a deep breath as he kept moving, as he kept thrusting deep within your walls. You tried to relax, to let the pain fade. You failed. You felt the head of his cock hit your cervix a second time, and you bit down on your lip, drawing blood. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you held back a scream- you couldn’t hold back your pleas for mercy.

“Eddie-” your voice broke, “Eddie, stop. Please, please, stop- I can’t-”

All pleasure had left your voice, leaving only pain and fear behind. Again, he didn’t stop. He wanted to stop- he desperately wanted to stop. He needed to stop, and he knew that. He was hurting you, and that killed him, but some shameful part of his blood-drunk mind was excited by your pain. It wanted to keep going, even if he didn’t.

In a panic-fueled attempt to end your agony, your hands pressed against Eddie’s shoulders, pushing him back. It was enough to snap him out of it and make him stop- and it made him notice the blood dripping over your lip and down your chin.

The first word to pass his lips was, “No.”

There was a deep, disbelieving horror in his voice, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he had done to you. He reached for you, slowly and cautiously, giving you plenty of time to stop him. When you didn’t, he wiped the blood off your face with his thumb, cradling your jaw with the rest of his fingers.

“Shit- shit, shit, shit,” his other hand came up to hover near your face. Tears filled his eyes. If you didn’t see it, you would’ve heard it in his voice. Your boy sounded so broken, “I’m sorry, baby, fuck, I’m sorry. I wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “You know.”

Eddie wrapped his hands around yours and pinned your arms to the concrete above your head. He kept your fingers intertwined. As much as he hated himself for it, he didn’t want to let go. A whimper escaped you, and you watched Eddie’s face as he shut his eyes and hissed. For a moment, you thought he was hurt.

“Eddie-”

“You know that the man you love is a monster. You know that every time I touch you, I risk hurting you. You know I could kill you, the same way I killed those men tonight. The same way they tried to kill you, I could just-”

His hands squeezed yours. He wouldn’t look you in the eye. He looked anywhere else, just not into your eyes.

“Eddie,” your voice was softer, reassuring.

“Sweetheart, when I fuck you, you are being violated by a monster. If I claim you, it means that you’re owned by a monster. If we-if I got you pregnant, if you had my kids… they’d be like me. A monster just like their dad.”

He shifted slightly, preparing to pull away from you as he began to sink into that familiar pit of self-loathing. Eddie had barely moved an inch when you latched onto him further, clinging to him, wrapping your legs around his hips to make him stay.

“You think this is a violation? Eddie, I asked for this. Do you not want-?”

“Oh god. Baby, I want this. I want you, more than I should, but I hurt you. I didn’t stop when you needed me to, and that- it terrifies me. This was a mistake, I never should’ve-”

“I don’t think this was a mistake. Any of it,” you sat up a bit, just enough to press your forehead against his, “You stopped. I’m okay. And, uh… I kind of liked what you were saying. But-”

“But?”

“You really think our kids would be monsters?” you asked, “With you as their father? No way. Menaces, maybe, but not monsters.”

He said nothing, but a small smile crossed his face. He didn’t pull any further away. He just stared at you with those sweet doe eyes of his, so warm, so enamoured with you, and still so full of guilt.

It wasn’t a surprise that his mind had gone to such a place- he had killed a bunch of people moments before, fucked you on top of their bodies, and now, he had hurt you. It was an accident, you both knew that, but the guilt would eat him alive if he let it. You weren’t willing to let that happen. You hadn’t let those dark thoughts get to him in the past, and you sure as shit weren’t going to start now.

“Eddie. Everything you did tonight, you did to save me. Everything you do is to protect the people you love and care about. Tonight, two years ago, and even further back. You love with everything you have. You- are so brave, and so deeply kind, even if you pretend not to be, and if that makes you a monster, then I hope our children are monsters, too. And I hope they have your eyes.”

He remained still for a moment. His expression betrayed both his shock at your statement and his want. In the next second, his lips were on yours. He let go of your wrists, bringing his hands back to your face.

“I love you,” he whispered into the kiss, “I love you, I love you.”

You leaned up and into him, kissing him back as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, “I love you too. So much. And I want you to remember, I also killed a man tonight. If you’re a monster, then…”

He let out a quiet laugh, lips moving down your neck, feathering kisses over your skin all the way to your collarbone, “We’re monsters together, then.”

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, “Exactly,” you purred. You paused for a second, becoming violently aware of the weight of his cock inside of you. You taped your fingers against his spine before you thrust your hips down against his, “You can, uh… you can start again now. I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

You leaned closer, whispering against his lips, “I am.”

He pressed his lips to yours, tongue slipping between your lips as he began to thrust into you again. His pace was quick, but not painful, and not quite so unforgiving. Your fingers reached up to wrap around the messy strands of his hair, tugging gently. He moaned into the kiss, sounding hungry and desperate once again.

As you drew nearer to your edge, your thoughts began to race. His words spilled through your mind, drowning your psyche with every sentiment he’d put forward. He loves you deeply. He’s terrified of hurting you. He’s desperate to keep you safe. You mean something to him. He’s thought about having kids with you, and you wanted him to think about that- fuck.

Your walls tightened around him. His cock twitched inside of you as he neared his own edge.

You whimpered out Eddie’s name, tugging on his hair until he pulled away from you. His brows furrowed in concern as he took in the sight of you, but you didn’t look like you were in pain. Your eyes were wide, filled with lust, and your chest heaved with every breath you took. You were covered in blood and sweat, and you were the most beautiful thing Eddie had ever seen. He felt your hands move to his face, and his gaze focused on your lips as you spoke.

“Eddie,” your voice was soft, “I need you to cum inside me.”

You watched as his eyes widened, as his lips parted in shock and a faint blush covered his cheeks. You were kind of proud that even in a moment this intimate, you could still get him to flush like that.

“You- you want me to-?”

You nodded, cutting him off and pulling him closer, “I want you to fill me up. Breed me, please.”

He shivered, a current of electricity running through him at your words. His body and his instincts screamed at him to do exactly as you’d said.

“You,” he whispered, “You’re perfect.”

His mouth slipped downwards, lips pressing against the space between your throat and your shoulder. His teeth sunk into your shoulder. Pain spread through your skin, white-hot as your blood dripped over your chest. Your muscles spasmed around him as the coil snapped. Your grip tightened on his hair. You could faintly hear him cry out in your own haze. His claws dug into you as he fell over that all-consuming edge.

Eddie bit down harder on your throat as he came, drinking just enough from you to make you see stars. His cock throbbed against your walls as his seed spread inside you, thick, and hot, and perfect. You clung to him, your breath stuttering as your muscles clenched, milking him for more.

As he finished, the monstrous need to fuck and breed you faded away to nothing. He was left with the more human parts of him after that- the parts of him that knew what aftercare was and that you would need it, the parts of him that knew he had to get you somewhere safe, somewhere away from the bodies of your attackers. Your body was limp beneath Eddie’s. Your eyes were closed, and your lips slightly parted. You were fucked out, completely cock drunk, and utterly perfect.

Eddie brushed your hair off your face. You could hear him repeating your name softly as you came back to earth. When you opened your eyes, he was hovering above you, looking at you with more affection than you could put into words.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and slightly shaky.

“Hi,” you let one of your hands move up to his face, brushing your fingers over his cheek.

“You okay, pretty girl?”

“‘M more than okay.”

He smiled, taking your hand from his cheek and pressing his lips to it, “Thank god, I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t.”

“You’d probably lose your mind.”

“Oh, I’d definitely lose my mind.”

You finally caught your breath as he kissed each of your knuckles and your wrist before he brushed his lips down your arm and to your shoulder. He let his cheek rest against your chest, listening to your heartbeat as it finally slowed down to something resembling normal.

Once it had, he lifted his head back up to look you in the eye, “We should probably get out of here, though. Get you home.”

“God, I would like that so much.”

He pulled himself up until he was kneeling, fixing his pants and passing his shirt to you. You pulled it over your head, watching as he got to his feet. He held out his hands to you and you took them, letting him help you to stand. You shook slightly, weak in the knees from both the attack and from everything Eddie had done to you. You buried your face in his chest as his cum dripped down from your abused cunt onto your thigh.

“Ah,” you hissed, “I have no pants.”

Eddie left a hand on your arm, supporting you as he stooped down to collect your torn clothes, “I guess there’s no saving these?”

You shook your head, smiling slightly as he winced.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it baby,” you leaned up and kissed his cheek, “It was more than worth it.”

His grin showed you his teeth. He picked up his jacket off the ground and wrapped it around your shoulders. You still had no pants, but it would be enough for now. You pressed a kiss to his bare collarbone as thanks. He tilted your chin up with two fingers and kissed you properly.

“Come on,” he whispered, “Let’s go home.”

You pulled away from him for a second, looking around at the abandoned barn. It looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie. Blood covered the floor and stained the walls. Seven bodies laid out on the concrete, mutilated in various ways. You felt Eddie’s fingers on your jaw, gently bringing your gaze back to him.

His eyes were wide- something in them was almost scared. He didn’t want you to fear him- to hate him. He didn’t want you to think that he was a monster, but the bodies in the room only led to one conclusion- and you didn’t mind it. Monster or otherwise, Eddie was yours.

“Yeah,” you brushed your lips against his, “Let’s go home.”

A grin crossed his face, and the fear faded from his eyes as he bent down and scooped you up, pulling you into his arms. Maybe two years ago, when he was still human, he wouldn’t have been able to carry you home, but his vampiric strength was at present, a gift.

You let your head rest against his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck as he stepped through the blood, out of the barn, and into the night.

You fell asleep on the way home. You shut your eyes outside the barn, with the moon shining above you like a pearl in an inky black ocean, and opened them in the safety of the home you shared with Eddie- Hopper’s old cabin.

It had been in a bit of a state when Hopper had given it to you, but it was more than worth the hours you’d spent fixing it. It was a safe place for Eddie to stay- secret, isolated. It was the only place you could stay without the fear of capture and torture hanging over your heads.

At least, it had been. But that fear had come too close, breaking down your door and ripping its way into your life. You had been saved this time, but the experience followed you home. You weren’t sure what would come next.

You turned your focus away from the nebulous future and towards the present. Beneath you, your couch was soft. The living room was warmly lit by a lamp on the end side table next to you. You couldn’t see Eddie, but you could hear the sound of the tap running in the bathroom. From your spot, you could see grocery bags neatly folded on your kitchen table. With them sat a bottle of cranberry juice. You didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry at the sight of it.

You sat up and immediately, you had regrets. Every inch of your body ached. Your face stung from the blows you’d taken, and the space between your legs burned and throbbed. The bite marks that marred your skin stung, and you somehow managed to hit every bruise you had in the small act of sitting up.

Despite that pain, you forced yourself to try and stand. You failed miserably. Your knees buckled beneath you, and before you could do anything to maintain your balance, you were back on the couch. The door to the bathroom swung open, and Eddie burst out with a wet cloth in hand.

“Shit! You’re up, hi!”

You couldn’t help but smile at him as he sped towards the couch. He was still shirtless, wearing the same pants he’d worn while saving you. His missing shirt still covered your body and your legs were still bare. His jacket was thrown over the back of the couch beside you.

“Hi,” you reached out for him as he got to the couch. He took your hand in his, kissing it before he placed another kiss on your lips.

“Hey, hi,” he pulled back from you, giving your hand a squeeze, “Sorry, pretty thing, I was just- I was trying to get you cleaned up.”

“Oh! Well,” you reached for the hem of your shirt, “That should be a little easier now that I’m up, right?”

He flushed as you pulled your shirt over your head. It didn’t seem to matter that his cock had been inside you maybe an hour earlier, he still went red at the sight of your boobs. You smirked at him, reaching out and running a hand through his hair.

“You are far too cute, Eddie Munson.”

“And you,” he pushed you back onto the couch, throwing himself down next to you and pulling your legs over his lap, “Are far too beautiful, sweetheart.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your knee.

“So, do you uh- are you okay with this?” he raised the wet washcloth in his hand, “Or do you wanna shower, or?”

“Well, I would get up, but when I tried I fell, so,” you grimaced.

“I could help you,” he gave your leg a squeeze, “Could hold you, up if you want.”

You sat up, pressing kisses to his jaw, “I would like that.”

With a smile, he wrapped your arms around his neck and picked you back up. The trip to the bathroom was a short one. It took even less time for Eddie to remove his clothes and get both of you into the shower.

You kept your arms around him, leaning into his chest as warm water flowed over your back. You could feel your muscles begin to relax, knots unravelling the longer you stood there. Slowly, he started to move. His touch was heartbreakingly gentle as he cleaned every bite mark and every bruise.

In turn, you washed the sweat and blood that came with the fight off of him. Your fingers grazed his side, and you were pleased to find that the gunshot wound he’d taken had almost healed completely. Your hand remained there for a second, your touch feather-light and shaking slightly. You didn’t want to hurt him.

“Hey,” you whispered, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He laughed a little, though the sound was void of joy, “Yeah? I’m glad that you’re alive.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to your shoulder before asking you to hang onto him. Your hands clutched onto him as he knelt before you, washing off your thighs. You took a deep breath as his hands neared your cunt. He looked up at you with wide eyes, a question held within them.

He quickly put it into words, “You down for round two?”

You grinned as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, “Yes, please.”

His mouth was on you in an instant. He hooked your knees over his shoulders, pressing you up against the shower wall, keeping you steady with his hands. You tilted your head back at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your arousal. You found yourself biting down on your bottom lip as his lips wrapped around your clit. Your hands moved over your chest, pinching lightly at your nipples. In minutes, you were coming undone against him. Both of you were breathless as he pulled himself away from you.

When he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his lips. You wondered if he could taste himself in you. He cradled your face in his hands

“How’re you feeling?”

“Stupid good,” you murmured, brushing strands of Eddie’s dripping hair out of his eyes.

“That’s what I wanna hear,” he pulled you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist as he kissed you a thousand more times. You let out a content hum, smiling into him as you lost yourself in him.

As the two of you climbed out of the shower, you caught sight of your body in the mirror. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the reflection of your bruised and battered body. Bitemarks littered your skin. Splotches of red and purple covered your skin.

You felt heat build within you at the sight of everything Eddie had done- and you felt your stomach twist at the sight of the things he hadn’t. The marks he hadn’t left would leave scars on your mind. You hoped they wouldn’t stain your body longer than they had to.

Eddie noticed your gaze, your eyes riveted to the mirror. He stood from where he’d been drying off your legs and moved to stand behind you. He took your arms in his hands, running them down until your fingers intertwined with his over your stomach. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, just under the bloodied spot where Kurt’s gun had struck you so much earlier.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, gently rocking you from side to side.

“Hey, don’t apologize. You aren’t the one who kidnapped me at gunpoint and threatened to break my bones by way of gun,” you shook your head at the ridiculous nature of your captors’ plans, but Eddie had a different reaction.

He buried his face in your shoulder, letting out a whine, “Jesus Christ.”

His hands started to shake against your skin. His breath sped up as his arms tightened around you.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. That never should’ve happened, they never should’ve gotten to you.”

“Hey,” you broke eye contact with your reflection in the mirror and turned around in Eddie’s hold, “There was nothing you could have done. If you had been with me, they would have tried to hurt you. Maybe they would’ve succeeded. And we needed groceries, so-”

“Then I should’ve sent Steve with you. Or Nancy, just someone-”

“I had Max. She’s arguably scarier than Steve and- oh shit, Max,” you pushed away from Eddie, stumbling as you took a step back, “Max, is she okay!? Did someone get her?”

Eddie kept your forearms in his hands, helping to keep you steady, “Deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths. Max is alright. As soon as she called me I had Steve go and get her, ironically enough.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you let out a tired breath as you collapsed against Eddie’s chest, “I guess we have them to thank for the grocery bags on the table?”

Eddie pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “That we do.”

“God, I’m gonna have to call them. To say thank you. And sorry, my God,” you rubbed at your eyes with one hand, “I can’t believe I put Max through that, holy shit.”

“Hey, hey, you didn’t put Max through anything. You got her out of there. That was the best thing you could do, you kept her safe. Besides,” he moved back to look you in the eye, “Red’s a tough kid. She’s dealt with worse than this.”

“I know,” your voice was half a groan, “I still feel bad, though.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie gently grabbed a hold of you, turning you around to face yourself in the mirror. His hands slipped back into yours, and he brought them back to the expanse of your stomach, “You’ve had, what some would call, a long day, sweetheart.”

You leaned into him, letting out a soft whine when he pressed his lips to your shoulder. You squeezed his hands, “Yeah, you could say that.”

Eddie squeezed back, “Let’s get you to bed, huh?”

“Fuck. Yes, please.”

He picked you up again, pulling you into his arms and letting your head rest against his chest. You felt a bit ridiculous having him carry you around your small home, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. Your legs were tired, too weak to carry you. Fortunately, Eddie was more than strong enough.

He laid you on the bed gently, planting a kiss over your new bitemarks before he crawled into bed with you. He started at your side, but within minutes, he was on top of you, his head resting between your breasts. He took your hands in his, intertwining your fingers before kissing them gently.

The two of you lay in silence for a few moments. You ran a hand through his still-damp hair, listening to the sound of your breathing and his. For perhaps the first time today, you were both breathing evenly, completely calm.

On top of you, Eddie was listening to the sound of your heartbeat, sure and steady beneath him. He had spent so much of the day afraid that he would never hear that sound again. He had been terrified that he was going to lose you- that the town that had taken so much from him would take you, too.

But it hadn’t. It had tried, the jocks had tried, but he had stopped them. You were safe now. Safe, and protected, and Eddie seriously didn’t plan on letting you out of his sight for a few days.

“Hey,” you whispered, “How did you- how did you know where I was? Max saw me get kidnapped, but she didn’t know where they took me after.”

His fingers brushed over your temple, “I could smell your blood. Almost killed me when I noticed it. The stronger it got… the more I wanted to end them.”

You leaned into his touch, placing your hand over his.

“I wouldn’t take back what I did,” he continued, “I don’t regret it. I could never regret it. But I’m- I’m afraid that all I am is a weapon. That all I’ll ever be is a weapon. The things Vecna made me do…” he faded off into silence, pulling away and rubbing his hands over his eyes.

You sat up with him, reaching out to trace his strong, scarred arms. You could do nothing but watch as a war raged inside the man you loved. Guilt slipped beneath your skin, thrumming beneath muscle and bone. Eddie had protected you- he killed for you without remorse, and you were excited by that violence. You wondered again what that said about you.

Leaning forward, you pressed your forehead to Eddie’s. He relaxed against you, calmed by your touch.

“Hey, you know you’re more than that, right?” You echoed his words from earlier, “You’re not a weapon, you’re not his puppet, you’re-”

“I’m your man,” he said, a small grin crossing his face, “Your protector. Your slut.”

You giggled, shocked and pleased, and Eddie looked so proud to be the cause of the smile on your face. When his laughter subsided, you crawled into his hold, straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands moved to your waist. You sat there for a moment, taking in his lack of a heartbeat as he listened to the steady rhythm of yours.

“You know this goes both ways, right?” You whispered, running your fingers over the spot where his wings met his back, “You protect me, I protect you? And we protect… whatever comes along. I might not have the claws or the fangs, but I’ve been told I can be a bit of a bitch when I want to be, so there’s that.”

Eddie pulled you closer to him, pinning your chest to his and holding you there as he laid back on the mattress. One of his hands brushed through your hair while the other traced intricate patterns over your back. You shut your eyes and let yourself bury your face in the space between his neck and his shoulder.

“I know,” he tilted his face to press a kiss to your head, “I couldn’t have asked for a better bodyguard.”

You smiled against his throat, “Neither could I.”

You hummed contentedly as he pulled a blanket over your bodies. The mindless motions of his calloused hands on your back pulled the tension from your muscles, making you relax. Your eyelids grew heavy as you breathed him in- the faint scents of blood and cigarette smoke overtaken by the smell of your body wash. You were so calm, unafraid, and bizarrely happy for a woman who had spent most of her day trying not to die at the hands of her kidnappers.

Maybe having sex on the corpses of your enemies was just a natural mood booster. Maybe it was the man you were having sex with.

“You make me feel safe,” you murmured, words slurred with sleep, “Always have.”

“Good,” his voice was quiet, but he sounded like he was wide awake. You focused on the feeling of his hand running through your hair, of his skin, ice cold beneath your lips.

“Keep doing it?”

“I always will, sweetheart. I won’t let anything hurt you. I won’t lose you.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, and you smiled against his neck, “Good. Protect me.”

Without waiting for a response, you pulled his skin between your teeth and bit down; hard enough to bruise, but not hard enough to draw the sweet cranberry-coloured wine that ran through his veins. His soft moan was music to your ears. With your lips on his throat, and his hands in your hair, you fell into a dreamless sleep. Eddie stayed awake through the night, keeping watch over you until the sun began to rise.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader

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drakaripykiros130ac · 11 months

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“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness? But now they see you as you are.”

Alicent has spent many years putting on a gentle face before Viserys and the entire Court, managing to fool a lot of people…but of course, never Rhaenyra. And in this moment, she finally showed her true colors, for which I am glad.

Seeing green stans justifying her direct attack of the Crown Princess and the Heir to the Iron Throne is just… *sigh*

She was angry that her son had been “maimed” by a small child acting in self-defense and no consequences followed. And yet she, a grown woman, expected to intentionally harm the Heir to the Iron Throne and be allowed to get away with it. And she did get away with permanently scarring Rhaenyra (not at all surprising that TG stans forget that little detail). ‘Hypocrite’ should be Alicent’s middle name.

As much as she may have been upset at what happened to Aemond, Alicent didn’t waste the opportunity to further her own agenda in this moment. Aemond was not the only one hurt in this fight. Lucerys’ nose was broken, Baela and Rhaena were bleeding, Jacaerys was close to having his head bashed with a rock (Aemond could have killed him, had Lucerys not intervened). But of course, Alicent blew a kid fight out of proportion and used her son’s injury as an excuse to continue her vendetta against Rhaenyra and her children, a vendetta she had nourished for many years. Proof enough is how she directly accused Rhaenyra of taking her son’s eye, as if Rhaenyra had anything to do with it.

Duty? Sacrifice? Rhaenyra knows those too well. She suffered in the name of duty and sacrifice for years, but Alicent refuses to believe that other people can have the same amount of problems or even worse problems than her. She thinks that just because Rhaenyra had been defended by her own father for all these years (because of course, how dare he do that! And yet Alicent wouldn’t have minded having Otto back at Court so he could do the exact same thing for her), that means that she hasn’t sacrificed anything or hasn’t endured any hardships, when clearly she has.

Alicent wants justice, does she? I wonder…what would have happened if the roles had been reversed? If Aemond had been the one to take out Lucerys’ eye? Would she have gladly handed Aemond over so his eye could be removed as payment? I don’t think so. She would have gone with the same line: “He is your son, Viserys. Your blood.”

Lucerys is Viserys’ grandson. His blood, as well. And a child much younger than Aemond.

What would have happened if Aemond had bashed Jacaerys’ head with that rock and killed him? Would Alicent have preached justice for Rhaenyra’s son?

As proven many times, Alicent preaches honor, decency, duty, justice only when it suits her political agenda. When she is the one who finds herself in a terrible situation because of her own actions, those things don’t mean anything to her anymore. When the Faith’s ideologies make her look bad, she pretends like they don’t exist.

She is nothing but an insufferable, hypocritical, jealous and deceitful woman. The moment after that treasonous attack, Viserys should have sought to dissolve his marriage and permanently remove the Hightowers from Court. It would have done everyone a lot of good.

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danmeiconfession · 8 months

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No. I think Shen Yuan never really see these people as people even at the ends of the book. My dude really condemned Shen Jiu a modern man really gave no shit or felt any sorrow towards his enslavement and abuse. I read a fully grown man with modern sensibilities and values watch a child being horrifically abused. A child that was ENSLAVED, restrained, beaten, TORTURED by another man, an OWNER. And I read SY's thoughts on the matter. Read him condemning the child and feeling no horror or disgust at the act of child abuse. He felt nothing regarding the immorality and cruelty of slavery. Hell, When ZZL murdered GYX who was only ever just, kind, and helpful in all his interactions and to SY himself, I was upset SY seemed to feel nothing and felt no censure towards ZZL or sadness or guilt towards GYX who was trying to save him. But I excused it as him having other things to do because maybe for SY, it's easier for him to just push aside feelings over someone's death to focus on other things (though I was unnerved that he never seemed to think of it again or care).

SY intentionally condoned the murder of dozens of individuals to save his own skin, and never wrestled with his conscience over it. While SJ's self-hatred is detrimental to himself and those around him, at least he struggles emotionally and morally with his decisions. He still does them, but at least he doesn't excuse them or not even feel guilt or shame. SY however is completely shameless in doing whatever it takes to live. I honestly find characters like this interesting, but I found SY's character to be lacking because the author wanted him to be a self-centered survivalist while also a sweet, holy mother/mentor figure to LBH. That's a BL trope I usually find tedious and boring, especially because authors never have said overly kind, overly forgiving characters be kind to anyone accept a handful of characters who are plot relevant (sometimes even only the ML or villain) while they treat every other character as air or cardboard.

I was so convinced of SY's point of view on the original characters and novel, that I kept making excuses as SVSS unfolded. When he recounted the scheming and murdering of Sha Hauling in PIDW while fanboying over how excited he was to see her, I excused it as him not realizing the gravity of her crimes when they're committed against living people. And once he decided she wasn't that great and LBH deserved better, I was assured, even though he seemed to only do so because she was rude to himself. When he celebrated O!LBH's torture and mutilation of SJ for bullying him in his teen years and even called for SJ's castration, I excused it because who doesn't want to see an evil pedophile get what they deserve, and fans can get overly enthusiastic sometimes, even if calling for slow, multi-year mutilation and torture is a bit extreme even if LBH is your favorite characte

It seems a lot SJ haters like to excuse LBH's behavior the way they claim SJ fans excuse SJ's. LBH was the poor kid and bullied by kids in the neighborhood, then singled out and bullied at his school, before being treated to the abyss where he utilized the training he received at CQ and his innate demon heritage to establish himself. In PIDW, he proceeds to commit large scale mass murder, borderline genocide, destroy the human realms sects and defenses against spiritual and demonic threats, all why gruesomely maiming, torturing, dismembering, disemboweling, and feeding alive anyone he disliked. Uhhhh... disproportionate, much. Bitch slap and shame people if you want, but O!LBH is a monstrous, self-centered, sadistic freak show. He goes far beyond a victim of abuse reacting with anger and defensiveness. He controls the lives and wellbeing of all the people in the realms, and repeatedly makes time to find enjoyment in the torture, pain, and suffering of others on a scale he had never experienced himself. Meanwhile, SVSS!LBH still decided to start widespread violent capture of cultivators to date Xin Mo while SY was out of the picture only sparing CQ because he knew once SY was brought back, SY would be upset with him if he did. He shows no care for anyone else, human or demon, in the world of SVSS besides SY. His only regards for others are as useful allies and subordinates, enemies, and people he knows SY would lightly scold and admonish him for killing. LBH is fucked up in every universe, whether he gets bullied at school, or his teacher turns him into a live in homemaker.

At best, I could excuse this as SY not seeing other people as actual people. Maybe because he read about them as fictional characters first, he can't fully perceive them as humans, just characters, not as real people like him and SQH. Maybe he made an exception for LBH because LBH is his favorite character. But that care and regard clearly don't extend to anyone else.

I have no idea where people get the idea he sees them as real he doesn't. I couldn't care about a protagonist who didn't react with shock or horror or even just resigned sadness to child slavery. I couldn't give a shit about his romance anymore. I stopped reading. To be clear, I don't hate SY, or even his type of character. I'm just disappointed because I went into SVSS thinking I'd be getting a cute, sweet, slightly stupid, modern nerd flailing though a comedic romance full of ridiculous misunderstandings and pitfalls. It turned out, I got a self-centered, apathetic fanboy simultaneously stalking while trying to avoid and stay on the good side of his mentally unstable, over powered idol. Which I've actually read before too, but at least the author wasn't forcing every other character to remark on how sweet, kind, and good the fanboy who cared about nothing but his favorite character was.

Clearly, his anti-abuse philosophy only extended to LBH and no other child. He felt nothing regarding the immorality and cruelty of slavery." The hypocrisy displayed by SY is astonishing. It's fascinating how SY condemns child abuse, expressing concern for Binghe's mistreatment, yet dismisses Binghe's daily killings over five years to control Xin Mo as a consequence of past abuse. There's an apparent double standard. Moreover, in the same breath, witnessing SJ's appalling abuse, SY downplays its impact, suggesting that SJ's mistreatment doesn't excuse his transformation into a reprehensible individual. SY seems to overlook the scumbag-like behavior, focusing instead on SJ's skills, status, beauty, hard work, and wealth.

Why do people like this character lol?

#svsss #scumbag self saving system #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #shen yuan #luo binghe #scumbag system #zhuzhi lang #shang qinghua

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doe-eyed-fool · 6 months

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Fallen {Chapter Twenty Four}

Alastor x (fem)Reader

It had been about a week since that incident, I was still a little shaken from it. Though, I tried to keep my composure, and act normally. Most seem to buy it, except for two people. Angel Dust, he saw right through my act. He tried to make me feel better. Talking to me, inviting me out with him and Cherri. While I appreciated his efforts, it didn't help much. I tried to put his own worries at ease, but I wasn't much help either.

Then there was Alastor. Even if I wanted to pretend like everything was fine, it wouldn't convince him. He was patient with me and understanding. He did as I asked, and kept quiet about what he did to Liam. Though, telling from the grin on his face, he was satisfied with what he's done.

Today, Alastor had stopped by my room. He wanted to take a crack at trying to cheer me up too. But, the way he went about it was...shocking.

I answer the door, I've learned overtime that his knock pattern was different from the others. He stared down at me with a friendly(?) grin. "Good evening Y/n! How are you feeling?" He asks. I shrug. "About the same." Not great, but not terrible either. Somewhere in between. But, it wasn't a good in between. I knew that much.

"Well, that's not good." Alastor knew it too. "It's because of that, I came by. I wanted to ask you to join me this evening."

"Join you? I don't know Alastor, I'm not really in the mood to be going anywhere. I could tell I was dampening the mood, when Angel invited me out recently. I don't want to do the same with you." I tell him.

"Nonsense! You never let my spirits down! Y/n, I feel like this would be good for you. Trust me, you'll have a blast!" Alastor quickly adds. "And before you say anything, no, this evening will not involve murder or maiming of any kind."

"Then, what were you planning?" I ask him. Alastor offers his hand. "That's for you to find out." I hesitated, but took his hand anyway. "Aha! Wonderful! I assure you Y/n, you won't regret it!" He begins to walk with me, but pauses after taking another look at me. I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"I feel as if we should properly dress for the evening, shouldn't we?" He says before snapping his fingers. Suddenly, we were both wearing new outfits.

I wore a red midi dress with a black bow tied around my waist. While Alastor wore a red suit, because of course it was red.

"Perfect!" Alastor exclaims. "Alright, are you ready, dear?" He asks. "I don't think I will ever get use to sudden wardrobe changes. But yes, I am ready." Alastor chuckles at my comment before leading me out. He teleports us both, as not to draw attention from the others in hotel.

We had traveled to a upscale part of the city, anyone here clearly were proper and fairly rich. I felt so out of place, though Alastor acts as if he's been here hundreds of times. He probably has, now that I think about it.

"I say we should start the evening off with a nice meal. What do you think?" Alastor asks me. I couldn't pass up the chance for food, especially when I haven't ate all day. "That sounds fine." I tell him. Alastor leads me to a fancy looking restaurant.

He informed the host of his name and reservation, and was swiftly welcomed in. Though, I'm sure without one he'd get in. He was an overlord after all.

We were brought to our seats, and given a bottle of wine that was sat in a small bucket of ice. The host told us our waiter would be with us momentarily before excusing himself. "I know you don't drink, so I won't force you. But, if you change your mind..." Alastor says as he pours both of us a glass. "It'll be there."

"Well, it's not like I don't drink ever." I say while taking the glass. "I just, prefer not to over do it. I like to keep it light, you know?" I then took a sip. Wow. This is good. I dare not think about just how much this wine costed alone, on top of sitting down to eat here.

"Understandable." Alastor nods as he takes a sip himself. "I don't think I've gotten drunk in a while. Last time I did, I believe I found myself in a part of the pride ring I'd never been to before. Apparently, in my drunken state, I had bet quite the sum of money on a race horse...and lost."

I couldn't help but laugh a bit at that. "How much did you drink?" I ask. "Couldn't tell ya. But my pockets were hurting for a bit after that, I can say that for certain." Alastor chuckles.

"I can't even remember why I was drinking that much to begin with. But I recall Mimzy being there, and when Mimzy and I drink together...The night can take us literally anywhere. I even asked her, and she can't remember why either. But she had gotten herself into some trouble as well." He takes another swig.

"This Mimzy girl sounds like a blast." I say with a smile. "Oh, she is." Alastor chuckles. "Quite the trouble maker too. But, she's a decent woman. Me and her go way back. We were good friends when we were alive." He tells me. "We got each other out of a few sticky situations, every now and then."

"I notice your quite popular with women." I say. "You get along with them better, and it seems you only make friends with women. I'm surprised you don't have a girlfriend, or a wife." Alastor shrugs. "I was never interested. Romance, love, it was never a priority."

"Oh, I see." Something about hearing that made me a little disappointed. Not upset. But, I guess I was hoping for something? Then again, this could be a good thing. My delusions and silly emotions could finally settle. At least now, I know for sure I won't get hurt again.

Our waiter then arrived, and took our orders. As we ate, me and Alastor talked about all sorts of things. He told me a bit about his living days. How he was a popular radio host, though that was unsurprising. How he basically came from nothing made something of himself all on his own.

And being a black man in a time like that, it was more than a little difficult. But he did it, and he was damn proud of it too. He told me more stories of him and Mimzy, and from what he talked about, she was a handful. She would get herself into trouble and usually Alastor would have to help her out. But, she would always make up for it somehow.

By the end of dinner, he would take me to a jazz lounge. The relaxing atmosphere, along with a few drinks, had put me a calmer mood. While the restaurant made me a little anxious, this place was the total opposite. Jazz wasn't my most preferred music, but I still liked and appreciate it.

And as I said, it was very relaxing. I take a look around, there was a few couples in lounge, cuddled up next to each other. I smiled at the sight, but it made me a little jealous. My gaze then moved to Alastor. He was focused on the performance, so he didn't catch my stare.

Maybe it was the alcohol finally settling in, but, the lighting of the lounge made him look very handsome. And we were sitting so close, our shoulders nearly touched. My cheeks began to heat up, and I prayed he could hear my heart beating as fast as it was.

"I was never interested. Romance, love, it was never a priority."

My heart started to settle, upon remembering those words. I turn to face the stage, feeling that same twinge of disappointment again.

After that, Alastor and I took a stroll trough the city. We didn't talk much, but it was a comfortable silence. My arm interlocked with Alastors as we walked.

The night here in Hell was different from the one on Earth. Instead of a black sky full of stars, the red sky was a cool maroon. Even the bright pentagram had dimmed down, still bright enough to light the sky, but not enough to hurt your eyes. It was like looking at the moonlight.

"Y/n?"

I looked up at Alastor. "Did you have a nice time?" He asked me. I smile and nod my head. "I did. Thank you." Alastor's grin soften, he turned his attention ahead and kept walking. As we walked, the sound of music steadily grew louder.

Ahead of us, was a street performer, who was playing a saxophone. There was a small gathering of demons who watched him play, some playing money into the saxophone case next to him. He was pretty good.

Alastor suddenly stopped walking, unhooking his arm from mine, and twirled me around. "Alastor?" I gasp slightly. "May I have this dance?" He asks, pulling me close. "I thought I told you, I can't dance." I laugh weakly.

"You did fine the last time we danced." Alastor said, beginning to move. "Don't focus on the dancing, just focus on me." I tried to do what he said, keeping my eyes on him, trying to drown out my thoughts as we danced.

I follow his lead, and like before, he was perfect. I couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been dancing.

I became less tense by the second, just taking it all in. The soft music in my ears, the beautiful city lights. The very same feeling I had when Alastor held me like this before...I couldn't help but smile, and finally give in. Alastor made it clear, he wasn't interested in romance. But it was a nice thought.

It was nice to pretend for a while. Just for tonight, just in this moment.

As the song slowed to an end, Alastor and I found ourselves closer than when we started. Our lips but inches away from each other's. I half expected Alastor to back away after the song finally ended.

But, he stayed put. His eyes, looking deep into my own. I swore I saw something in his, I had never seen from him before.

It was really nice to pretend...

I inwardly sighed before pulling away from him. "That was nice." I say softly. Alastor was silent for a moment before speaking.

"Yes...Yes, it was."

Tag List! @krak-jj

@martinys-world

@cherry-cola-100

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader

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dangermousie · 3 months

Text

Ep 27 was all plot and no ship. In fact none of my favorite characters except Jiang Li herself appeared in it - it was devoid of the Duke, his sidekicks, Shen Yurong, Princess Wanning, any of the Yes and except for a few seconds’ appearance devoid of Jiang Jingrui.

Still it definitely moved the plot forward - namely the plot of the serpents’ nest that is the Jiangs. Because the grievances were not suffered by our protag but the original Jiang Li and any connections of love or blood were also not hers but the original Li’s, she’s able to be clear headed and not really emotionally involved except insofar as she feels bad for injustice and she’s gonna need that because stepmom has lost the few restraints she had and the rest of the family is useless.

I found this ep humanized both Ruoyao and stepmom for me. I found it so tragic that Ruoyao has finally stopped stepping out of her mother’s monstrous, smothering shadow (her mother’s love always looked controlling and conditional but this ep shows just how downright abusive it was and how Ruoyao had so little chance) only to have her agency taken away from her by mommy on the most basic level. A woman who would poison her own child to get rid of a stepdaughter should not be called a mother in any sense.

I hope Ruoyao gets some sort of a happy ending and a way to find out who she actually is but I doubt that since the drama very clearly implied in this ep she is not a Jiang but is a child of adultery between stepmom and diviner. Papa Jiang is not much of a father even to his blood (he just goes with whatever the woman he is currently sleeping with likes) but the moment he discovers she’s not his, that nunnery is gonna be best case scenario for Ruoyao. Not every family can be the Fans from JoL or the Xiaos from Nirvana in Fire 2.

Stepmom? What a horror show but the drama humanized her (while showing she shouldn’t be allowed to run around at all.) All the woman wanted at the start was to run off with that painter and live in obscure bliss (Ruoyao’s desire to run with worthless ex-fiance is quite reminiscent of that - like mother like daughter - tho at least Mom’s boo genuinely loved her.) But daddy prevented it and was going to marry her off to some sort of mental defective with a family that wanted that dude to have a child (and in that society that marriage is pretty much life of horror) unless she found herself another match and was all “why don’t you off Papa Jiang’s wife, she’s sick anyway” - and not excusing stepmom being a murderer but it’s like Shen Yurong - when all your choices are bad choices you are way more likely to do bad things to survive. In some other alternate universe, she married that painter who never became a diviner and is living a placidly virtuous existence.

Honestly, the moment she killed a friend to escape a hellish marriage it was the end for her - she sent Jiang Li away because of the whole “I murdered your mom can’t have you find out or just look at you” (and daddy blames her for soft heartedness in not killing her!!!) and the other kid was an accident - it’s basically she started out as a villain out of perceived necessity but then she had to continue and got worse and worse. The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, indeed.

I found it poignant she ultimately wasn’t able to maim monster daddy as requested by diviner. Not so poignant that she’s apparently repeating the way she was parented in the way she’s parenting her daughter despite knowing firsthand what that’s like. (But I wonder how much her obsession with getting Ruoyao the best marriage, the nicest reputation (no showing in public at age x), the best womanly skills (zither) is driven by her forever remembered terror of being a woman with no power and no options and no good marriage prospects.)

Even that scarred cousin who married the abuser got a little bit of interest from me - the way she tells his paralyzed body that even tho he beat her so badly she will take excellent care of him and the sheer terror in his eyes was great. Go girl!!!!

Still, hope next ep brings back the Duke and Co. (Jiang Li sent away the guard the Duke had on a mission for her and girl - bad life choice - guard had a big point in that he was there for her protection. And now diviner is coming and there is no guard. I guess she’s so bad at listening to instructions, the Duke will have to move in with her himself to make sure she does what he wants. What a hardship 😂)

#cdrama #the double

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allmyocsarebritish · 3 months

Text

Kiss, Maime, Kill: Chapter 8 (Finale)

Pairing: Alastor X killer! F Reader

Warnings!!: Angst and hurt/comfort, fluff, continues the theme of the series lol

Word count: 2.5k (!!!!)

1939

Pentagram City, Pride Ring

He was here. Of course you had known that already, but the additional confirmation was nice. Your new cheap radio became your prized possession, permanently tuned in to the radio station you had found it in the shop.

Chin resting on your hand, you sat at the stained table, radio on the desk top as you stared at it. Admittedly, you were fully zoned out by this point, so the blood curdling scream that sounded from the appliance gave you a fright. Such a fright, in fact, that you were unseated, and toppled off of your dinky stool. Pushing your hair out of your face, you straightened up, attention entirely focused on the radio.

He started his broadcast with the usual greeting. "Salutations, dear sinners!", once the screams ceased, that is. They were slightly unnerving at first, but more so as it reminded you of what your life used to be like, as a pose to *scaring* you. You *were* a serial killer, sentenced to eternal torture in a fiery pit of anguish for your unspeakable crimes. And besides, this was Al: you had no reason to fear him.

You had begun to doze off as the melodic rhythm of Alastor's voice soothed you, the sound of him bringing about a peace you had seldom felt since his death. Eyes half shut, your ears twitched at something he mentioned, which jolted you awake, now fully alert and wholly concentrated on Al.

"Now, the final song of the night, denizens of hell, is dedicated to Y/N Altruist, in the hopes that one day we shall reunite, Mon Cher. No matter how long it takes. We'll meet again."

The sound of your name coming from Alastor for the first time in six years was overpowering, to say the least.

"Let's say goodbye with a smile, dear,

Just for a while dear we must part,"

You stared at the radio, eyes wide and watering. He was singing, especially to you, not even knowing if you could hear.

"Don't let this parting upset you,

I won't forget you, sweetheart."

How much pain must he be feeling? Your inability to communicate was agonising.

"We'll meet again,

Don't know where,"

The sound of it made you cry. Again. How pathetically futile this was; waiting around and crying until you were numb solved nothing. Alastor was out there, actively waiting for you.

"Don't know when,

But I know we'll meet again,

Some sunny day."

His confidence filled you with determination. Aggressively wiping your eyes, you smiled. Bittersweet and barely there, but it was enough.

You needed answers. And you were going to get them, even if that meant laying in wait for any sinner you could question. Your hand instinctively clutched the knife residing in your pocket, subconsciously ensuring it was with you at all times.

The first flash of movement had you leaping out of the shadows, the unfortunate imp now pinned against the wall with a knife to his neck. The demon squirmed and writhed within your grasp, but your hold was firm.

"Fuck are you doing?" He stuttered out, your hand compressing his airways just enough to make him struggle.

"What do you know about overlords?" You asked hurriedly.

"Overlords? Are you shitting m-" The imp frowned, visibly confused and agitated.

"I'm not fooling around, you twit, so shake a leg and tell me what you fucking know!" You pressed the blade further into the imp's red skin, enough to send chills down his body and force cooperation.

"Alright alright! You fucking psycho! You new here or something? They're higher class than the rest of you sinners, they make deals-" His sentence was cut off by you pushing on his airways.

"No shit. Do you know the Radio Demon?"

"That who you're looking for?"

You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing.

"Coulda just said that in the first place, you crazy fucker." He rolled his eyes, ensuring your relaxed grip tensed again.

"Well excuse me for not assuming wrathians like yourself are big on politics."

He hissed at you, eyes glaring and teeth baring in a warning snarl, which you quickly and easily shut down.

"Whut nndo ngyou wuhnt tuh nghknow abuht thuh nghuew wuhn?"

"What?" You released your hand a small amount, just enough for his words to be clear.

"What do you want to know about the new one?"

"Where is he?" You asked, eager to finally find out where the fuck your husband was. Your body wracked with anticipation, blood rubbing cold and heart thumping in your chest.

"The fuck am I supposed to know?" The imp retorted. You let out a frustrated growl, nicking the skin of his neck with the silver blade, enough to cause pain but purposely avoiding fatality. For now.

He hissed again, this time due to the hurt. "Ugh, fine, fine! He topples Overlords, follow one of 'em for long enough and you'll see him sooner or later."

"Bushwa, there must be an easier way."

The imp stared back at you, all defiance now replaced with something so primal and sweet.

Fear.

*Now* he showed respect, you rolled your eyes. Was it really that hard in the first place? Nevertheless, this interrogation wasn't getting you anywhere.

"Nice talk, my good fellow. Abyssinia!" You released the hand that pinned him by his neck, the demon unceremoniously dropping to the ground. He took off at the first opportunity of freedom, throwing his head over his shoulder once at a safe distance away from you. You shrugged and moved onwards.

It wasn't that you doubted your ability; quite the contrary - you knew you were far from helpless. You had killed before meeting Alastor and your encounter with the imp proved you were still more than capable. But you also had brains, and knew following Overlords like a lost little puppy was bound to end disastrously, resulting in either your demise or enslavement. So you opted for a lesser measure than stalking.

Over the next week you made sure to track which Overlords went missing, the area they were situated in, their power and their status. It really didn't take a genius to work out that Alastor was toppling the lowest first, rising up the ranks efficiently. You weren't yet sure if he was actually aiming for the top, but you doubted it. That kind of image required constant guarding and unease, making it more hassle than it was worth in your eyes. Gaining a smaller sovereignity and fear was enough to survive comfortably.

That's what lead you to Cannibal Colony. (What would later become known to sinners as Cannibal town). The residence of one of the (currently) lowest ranking *sovereign* Overlords: Rosie. That wasn't to say she wasn't powerful, the reality was the contrary; but rather demonstrating the extent of Alastor's powers and capabilities. A fact which chilled you to the bone and reignited a spark that had long since died within you, memories of life by the side of a killer. (Not Y/N reminiscing fondly about killing people 💀 aH tHe gOoD oLd DaYs)

You strolled up the pathway, lost in thought as unanswered questions plagued your mind. Doubt and worry settled in, anxiety gripping your lungs and squeezing tight. Would he be here? Or was this yet another pointless exercise as a part of your eternal torment? A fate most becoming of a serial killer in all honesty. Separation from their accomplice and partner in crime. Drawing yourself out of these worries was becoming more and more difficult as time passed by, and you could only hope today would be the end of this immense struggle.

Instead you tried once more to concentrate solely on the task at hand, much as you did with the purchase of your precious radio. The pavement was surprisingly crisp and clean, reflecting the whole town's weird sense of order. The overall aesthetic somewhat combined old Americana and a town from your very early childhood. (1910's) A quaint little town, Alastor would love it here.

Crossing the street, you came face to face with a rather large building, clearly a recent construction. You looked up at the decorated sign, which read 'Franklin and Rosie's emporium', signalling that the Cannibal Overlord would not be far. Lingering around the entrance of the store in wait for Alastor to hopefully show up was of course an option, but it didn't take a genius to guess that this would not be the best plan of action. Instead, you opted to stroll the town, keeping a short distance from the area that you assumed could very well be the setting of Alastor's next broadcast.

• First and only instance in which this story becomes a dual narrative :0 •

Microphone in hand and arms folded behind his back, Alastor confidently strode into Cannibal Colony. The up and coming town felt homely and had therefore become a frequent haunt for the Radio Demon. Furthermore, he undoubtedly fit right in, with his own homicidal tendencies and overall aesthetic, being of a time period so close to the new town. Thus, he did not have to worry about being eaten as a consequence of being strikingly different, unlike much older demons, who stuck out like a sore thumb in the early 20th century village and because of this were devoured.

And, luckily for him, Alastor's resemblance to the existing residents won him the favour of the Cannibals, most notably their Overlord, Rosie. She became a strong ally, and Alastor would perhaps even consider her a friend. Certainly not someone who would feature on his broadcast any time soon.

"Good Morning, Alastor!" A chorus of feminine voices sang, and he turned to see a cluster of Cannibettes borderline swooning over the poor Overlord. His charismatic personality and immediate popularity did have a downside. Nevertheless, Al responded with his own greeting to the women, before briskly walking off. Interactions like this emphasised the gaping hole in his soul (ha poet) torn upon his departure from you. *He missed you desperately.*

Regardless of his inner turmoil, his smile persisted, however tight and painful it may be.

Turning sharply, Alastor entered a back street, a darkened alleyway in which he could dwell in solitude.

•

Beginning to doubt yourself yet again, you turned down a narrow passageway on the outskirt of the town, dragging and scuffing your feet along the ground as you went. The alley was dimly lit, a singular yellow street lamp barely luminating the whole street. It was dark and damp and dingy, juxtaposing the entire surrounding town. Shadows casted by the solitary lamp seemed to draw out and move around, as if personified. Which, honestly wouldn't be a stretch for Hell. And it wasn't, for you weren't alone.

A figure engulfed by deep blood red hues emerged from the aforementioned shadows. Extremely tall and somewhat lanky, the man had spindly, twisted antlers, fluffed out deer ears and a haunting smile. His eyes glowed crimson, pupils glitching and flickering between regular circles and radio dials at the sight of you.

Holy hell.

There he was.

Alastor.

Your Alastor.

He may have looked entirely different, as did you, but there was no doubt in your mind that you stood face to face with your husband.

"Cher? Is that- is that really you?" Even in person his voice held the static radio filter, though it dropped off almost entirely by the end of his sentence.

Teary eyed, you nodded, holding out your arms to him. Slowly and delicately at first he embraced you, as though you were fragile porcelain, as though he were afraid you would shatter at the slightest touch, as though you would leave him again. Once confident you weren't about to fizzle out like a daydream, Alastor hugged you so tight it became hard to breathe. Your arms instinctively wrapped around him, clinging with the same fervour.

"I missed you." You choked out, understatement of the century as he wiped your tears. No more crying your heart out alone every night.

"I missed you more, my darling." His smile was nonexistent for a short moment, a rare, strange surge of emotion clouding his features and causing his eyes to well.

It was a long time before your lungs were free to function, but you didn't mind. As empty as they may have been, your heart was full, and that was all that mattered.

"I love you, Y/N." Al whispered into your hair before relaxing his grip on you.

"I love you too, Alastor. I like your antlers. And your little ears."

Said ears flicked backwards as his smile tightened.

"Are you mocking me, Cher?" He asked, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Of course not." You softly pressed your thumb to his frown line, feeling him relax under the slightest pressure. Your thumb the fell away from his forehead, tracing a line down his face to his cheek, which you cupped with gentle hands. Reaching up on your tiptoes(/bending down if you're tall), you closed the distance between you both. How you had missed this. Your eyes grew misty yet again as you finally pulled away.

"I'm sorry." You laughed breathily, moving to wipe away tears with your sleeve, before Alastor intervened, delicately pushing down your hand and drying them himself.

"Whatever for, Cher?"

"For taking so fucking long to find you." You looked away until he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned your head back to face him.

"That wasn't your fault, nor could it be helped, darling. Don't torture yourself so needlessly."

His eyes held no sense of that manic adrenaline, rather a softness and adoration so rare and so pure.

"Now how about I acquaint you with a dear friend of mine, we just so happen to be right outside her residence! She's heard much about you, my dear." His chipper tone returned as that trademark smile resumed normality.

"Only good things I hope." You teased.

"But of course. Nothing beats you being back at my side Cher. I see good things coming our way, yes indeedy!"

Now onto business! Everything's better with a song, don't you agree...

(Jk)

Arm in arm, you turned back down the street with a new pep in your step, reunited with your love as the dark clouds within your mind began to clear for the first time. Yes, this was how you pictured spending eternity, Alastor forever your partner in crime. What in the seven rings made a pair of demons like you two deserving of such a raw, pure love was a mystery, but you were forever thankful. Hell was no longer torturous, and now you had eachother once more, you were determined never to let go again.

~ Fin ~

Phew! The end of my first multi chapter fic! Omg this was a rollercoaster and genuinely sad writing this, so maybe there will be a sequel. Feels fitting I'm posting this the night before my textiles exam and last ever day of school since the idea was concocted way back at the start of April in textiles with my friends whilst deffo doing work lol. It was also low-key therapeutic to essentially write out my separation anxiety somehow. Anyway, if you've read this far I just wanted to thank you so much for sticking around and I hope you enjoyed my silly little idea xxx

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you

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maidragoste · 2 years

Note

So rhae has a crush on reader ... DELICIOUS

So now we have ali, rhae, the foot man and harwin im our bag

I dont remember if you especified if she fights (with a sword and stuff) but if she was, she would be very present in the boys lives even more

As the boys grow older (in their child state aka pre-maimed aemond) she would spend time training with alicents children.

The reason of the bullying was because of the love their dear aunt held for some of them and the disregard towards another

Rhaenyra is always trying to be with you someway or another

One time she tried to seduce you amd you didnt even spare her a glance (daemon tought this to be funny)

Lucerys wants to be like you

You always baby your sons so much, you always run to kiss their cheeks

You keep harwin around as a political investment, you want the strong connections (he knows this, but he stays anyways)

You now are more dominant in life, you refuse to let someone take the lead

Otto secretly likes you (youre just as smart as him fr)

This is just my fan made headcannons in a way...i just like this series so much

Btw who do ypu picture as y/n, like your personal view?

Rhaenyra had a crush on the wife of her son's father, she's very 🤡 (like girl, why did you sleep with her husband instead of confessing that you were jealous?) but I still love her 🤪

Reader: *breathes*

All:

I never said it in any post but I'm sure Reader knows how to fight. I find it hard to believe that Corlys didn't teach her daughter to defend herself against her. She knows how to handle the sword because he and her uncles taught her how to use it. She used to fight with Laenor.

Even so, Reader prefers knives because they are easier to hide and if someone attacks her, no one expects her to have her weapons hidden.

I have the headcanon that when she was little and she accompanied her father and her uncles to sail, a sailor taught her to throw knives.

I can definitely see Reader on the parade ground accompanying the children in her lessons. I would be aware that Criston Cole does not overextend them.

I CAN TOTALLY SEE the reason for the bullying being the fight for Reader's love. I don't feel like she disowns Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey but it is evident that she loves the green children more and that she is more affectionate with them.

I really love your headcanons. Rhaenyra always tries to find an excuse to be with you, she looks forward to every time Viserys orders family dinners because that's the only way you'll agree to have dinner with her and she also takes advantage of your affection for Jace to get him to invite you. to spend time with them.

Rhaenyra wanting to seduce you and Alicent looking at everything furious. Larys is calm because she knows that the princess has no chance with you. And it's true, there's no way you're going to look at Rhaenyra that way again...It's more likely that something will happen between you and Daemon (and that he seems like a hateful man to you) before you have something with Rhaenyra.

Lucerys wanting to be like Reader 🥺🥺 He admires you so much because you keep smiling and being kind to people despite all the whispers from court

Your children are your greatest joy. You love teaching them new things and sharing your family customs with them. It is not a secret that you are a loving mother, you are always happy to hug them or kiss their cheek 🥰🥰

Harwin knows that you will never love him like before, but he is satisfied with being able to continue by your side and not hate him. He is content to be the father of your children.

DEFINITELY OTTO LIKES READER. Well, he doesn't agree with the relationship you have with his daughter (because he is a man of faith) but he likes you and you serve him. He notices how you protect his daughter and his grandchildren, how Aegon listens to you, and how you make people start thinking of Aegon as heir to the throne. You win support for the greens.

I see Reader as someone smart. She always knows what to say to make people happy and to make them trust her, that's why she was always very loved at court.

She also lets people see her as weak. Although she knows how to fight from the affair of Rhaenyra and Harwin the image of Reader. She takes advantage of that and makes the court feel sorry for her so she gets people to start disowning Rhaenyra and Harwin.

People see Reader as a nice and kind person, which shee is but sometimes she is nice to court people that she doesn't really like just to have allies. Larys is the first to notice, she begins to notice how the wrinkles around your eyes aren't as deep when your smile isn't sincere or how your fake laugh tends to be shorter.

By the way, anon, if you want, the next time you write to me, you can choose an emoji (it can be anything except 👾 or 🌺) so I can identify you 😊

I hope you are well anon and that you are happy with my answers 🥰❤️

#lu speaks #hotd x reader #the sea dragon the clubfoot and the green queen #velaryon reader #anon ask #anon <3 #thanks for the ask!#ask me anything #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #larys strong x reader #lucerys velaryon #harwin strong x reader

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cubicle-eyes · 1 year

Note

Hey, I’m the anon that requested the last Crimson one shot! Ty for taking my request! I will gladly ask for more, as I’m still obsessing over him atm! Could you do some hcs of him with a socially awkward/anxious reader? It may be a bit weird but it would mean a lot! And pwease make him nice (to us) :3. Thanks! ❤️ 😈

Crimson Knolastname x GN!Reader Headcanonss

Also this reader is anxious, there is references to pulling your own hair, chewing your nails, biting your knuckles

TW because this us an 18+ show I'm writing about. It may include cussing, sexual themes, and more.

----

Y/N sat on the floor underneath Crimson's desk, back pressed against the side where the drawers lay, writing in their journal to make scenarios and possible reactions. Most of them were either too obscure or made Y/N sound more confident, but it helped a lot. They glanced up at Crimson silently, watching him type on the computer, face unnaturally calm. Y/N scoot around so the side of their head rest against his leg, continuing to write as the typing slowed because one hand rest on

Y/N's head.

---

- Crimson doesn't entirely understand the concept of deep-rooted anxiety or any reason for being shy other than lying

- it takes some time for him to understand but when he does he becomes very protective

- Y/N: live laugh love

crimson: bite maim kill

- he trues to make you laugh if he notices you getting tense, but sometimes it doesn't help

- he doesn't know what to do when you won't talk to him, sitting in silence and bouncing your leg

----

Crimson gave up on trying to actually communicate and slid down the wall to sit next to Y/N with a sigh, taking his hat off and leaning his head against the wall. Y/N was messing with their hair, tugging and detailing the strands until they came out between their fingers. Crimson watched silently for a moment.

"You can't do that anymore, honey. You'll go bald."

"Maybe that's the point."

"It's not."

He reached over and took Y/N's hands away carefully. Y/N was prone to yank away violently when they were acting like this. There was a bandaid over several of Y/N's fingertips where they had chewed the nails down too far before Crim could stop them. He sighed, pulling Y/N closer, resting Y/N's hands on his knee.

"Where's your journal?"

----

- he definetly learns little breathing techniques with you because Chaz used to make fun of you

- of course he can't anymore-

- but he likes it and catches himself using them when he gets over-angry at a stupid worker when shooting them doesn't help

- he notices you biting your knuckles one day when you're talking with a few of his colleagues

----

Y/N nods absently, not really paying attention to the conversation as it happened. The attention was directed directly to them, since the conversation was about their bosses new lover, but Y/N felt more like an object then a person. They bit down particularly hard after a question about their sex life and winced, pulling their knuckle away in suprise. Crimson appeared immediately, wrapping a damp paper towel around it and glaring at the loan sharks.

"That's not a real appropriate question, is it fellas?"

A chorus of apologies and excuses were made, but Crimson paid them no mind. He shot the question asker and Y/N smiled faintly as the others scrambled quickly.

Crim applied more pressure to the bleeding knuckle and Y/N pulled away, recoiling.

"S-Sorry-"

"No, it's okay. I was a little too late to get that stupid finger out of your mouth."

"It's okay. I didn't even realize."

"You have a million little fidget things, you don't even use them."

The question was surly, but Y/N simply ignored it. They held Crimson's hand, using their thumb to play with his.

"I guess I just like your hands better."

----

IDK WHAT ELSE SO I TRIED THANK YOU FOR READING H

💙

#helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #crimson knolastname x gn reader #crimson knolastname x reader #helluva boss crimson #helluva boss crimson knolastname #crimson x reader #💙answered #💙stories

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oh-katsuki · 2 years

Text

leave the light on (gojo x reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

Summary: What Gojo Satoru has in innate talent for being a sorcerer, he lacks in intimacy and human connection.

"None of this is to say that he’s cruel by nature. He is, but you don’t think it’s because he tries to be. Satoru gets no pleasure from maiming. Hurting people, he says, is all just part of the game. It’s part of being the strongest. The weak get hurt and Gojo Satoru is anything but weak. But you don’t think that he’s cruel. At least not by choice. You’ve seen the regret, the flash of pain that crosses his features when he is reminded of the seemingly unending horrors he’s committed. That gentle side to him, which he rarely shows, is apparent to you even when he is locked deep behind the false facade he calls Gojo Satoru.

Still, he has redeemable qualities. They’re there, just as present as the others though perhaps more well-guarded. Gojo is sensitive. His feelings are fragile when it comes to love, kept close to his chest where no one can touch them. You like that about him. You like that he feels so deeply, that he loves so much he doesn’t know what to do with it. There’s tragedy there, in Satoru being so caring and so feeling but needing to carry out horrors you couldn’t imagine. You love that about him too, his tragedy."

Content Warnings: jujutsu kaisen manga spoilers, heavy angst, relationship problems, toxic relationship, very light smut, afab reader, slight mentions of depersonalization, resentment, mentions of obsession, implications of codependency but like... they’re not REALLY codependent

Word Count: 8k

A/N: let me know if i forgot any tags because i didn't know how to tab for this LOLLL also sorry in advance

Your boyfriend—or fiance, or soon-to-be husband—is a genius. He’s brilliant. If asked, he could exorcise any curse without really needing to put up much of a fight. You wouldn’t be the only person who would venture to say that he is the strongest sorcerer of your generation. You use the word “strongest” because he is not the “best”. The word “best” implies skill. It implies a desire to do good and take the action necessary to achieve it. Gojo Satoru was born this way and you wouldn’t describe him as is someone who does good.

The word “good” is so weighted. That’s not to say that Satoru isn’t. Good, you mean. He is, fundamentally so. But he’s not good. He’s not a good guy. You think that he tries. You think that some part of him wants to become the man you know that he is, but for all of his strengths, he is self-sabotaging to a fault. For every good thing he does, there is an equally reprehensible thing, like a scale forced to balance itself out. True Neutral, he incorrectly calls it. He tells you that someone with this much power can’t pick sides and that he needs to remain unbiased. You think that it’s just self-sabotaging. You think that “true neutral” is an excuse to keep himself tucked away behind the padlock he keeps around his chest. An excuse to be cruelest of all to the only person he claims to want to protect.

None of this is to say that he’s cruel by nature. He is, but you don’t think it’s because he tries to be. Satoru gets no pleasure from maiming. Hurting people, he says, is all just part of the game. It’s part of being the strongest. The weak get hurt and Gojo Satoru is anything but weak. But you don’t think that he’s cruel. At least not by choice. You’ve seen the regret, the flash of pain that crosses his features when he is reminded of the seemingly unending horrors he’s committed and the unignorable desire he has to protect those around him. That gentle side to him, which he rarely shows, is apparent to you even when he is locked deep behind the false facade he calls Gojo Satoru.

He’s smart, admirably so, and can keep up a conversation incredibly well. Very little truly gets by him, even if he pretends it does to protect your or his own best interest. And though he’s got a penchant for being irritating, he’s the furthest thing from boring. You think that Satoru might be the most interesting man you’ve ever met, if not the most deliberately annoying. He’s affectionate, or at least he used to be.

When you first started seeing Satoru, he had his hands on you at all times. There wasn’t anything someone could do to keep him from you. His affection, once he was willing to face it, bled from him like ink through paper. Now, the affection feels tired. It’s not as if it is gone, but you’re noticing with each day that it’s always the same. It should be a comfort. It would be if he were anyone else, but Gojo Satoru is Gojo Satoru and when he is stagnant it is cause for worry. You’ve learned that if he stays the same, it means that he’s putting on airs.

You don’t think this means that he doesn’t love you. In fact, you think he truly does. You think that Satoru loves you as much as he’s capable of loving any one person right now, but you’re learning that, between the weight of his title and the elusive qualities of his personality, it might not be much. You think, as minutes tick by to hours, that maybe he’s not capable of giving you the good love you deserve and that, in your devotion to him, you might be settling for less.

It’s nearly 2 am and the light in the living room is still on. You can see it coming in through the crack beneath your bedroom door. The space in the bed beside you is empty, still half-made from when Satoru left this morning.

He’d asked you to leave it on for him but said that you shouldn’t wait up. Satoru had told you after a quick kiss in the morning that he’d be back late but that he’d see you tomorrow. Still, it’s 2 am and the light in the living room is on. Its yellow-orange glow bleeds onto the bedroom carpet of your shared apartment. It paints the white of your comforter in a soft, late-night glow. You wiggle your fingers in it, looking at the way it deepens the silhouette of each individual finger and you ignore the empty feeling of the weightless bed beside you.

You hear the soft rustle of something in the kitchen, the clink of glass against the marble countertop, and you know that he’s arrived home. Satoru must have warped instead of using the door. You can hear him dragging his feet a little.

You rise from the bed, the soft carpet hitting your bare feet. It’s a little cold, like the air conditioner in the room is turned up too high, but you stand on it nonetheless, allowing your legs a moment to get used to the weight of you.

As you pad to the bedroom door, you can hear him sigh and you take a deep breath before you slowly turn the knob. The door lets out directly into the living room, an open space with high ceilings, carpeted because you prefer it that way. You can see the empty living room, a white couch facing a dark flat-screen TV, and a clear glass coffee table behind it. To your right, the kitchen, with its white marble shining under the light fixture’s nighttime glow.

Satoru is standing by the switch, his hand on the wall. His eyebrows perk up a little when he sees you come in and he tilts his head to the side. He’s taken his blindfold off, his finger hovering over the switch as if he were about to press it.

“You’re still up,” He says softly, his gaze softening when he roams it across your tired figure.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“I wanted to see you,” you speak softly. “How was the mission?”

Satoru shrugs his shoulders, giving you a little smile. “Fine, how was yours?”

“I didn’t have one,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “I was at Jujutsu High today, remember?”

He nods a little, white hair falling beside his ears. “Oh, that’s right. Sorry.”

You shake your head. “Doesn’t matter. Come to bed.”

Satoru switches the light off and you hear him move through the dark to you. When he reaches the doorway you’re standing in, his hand comes to your hip, long fingers brushing by it as he leans forward and kisses you softly. He tastes like copper and you furrow your brows at him as he moves past you and into the bedroom.

You watch as he takes off his shirt in the dark room, the way his muscles flex as he raises his arms above his head. It’s dark, but you’ve seen him enough times to know what it looks like by heart. You know him like this, naked and as vulnerable as he allows himself to be. You can make out the lines of his abdomen in the dark before he turns back to give you a soft smile. Satoru tilts his head toward the bed and you nod wordlessly, crawling into it as he steps into the bathroom, turning on the light and shutting the door.

The shower starts, a soft pitter-patter and hum of water through pipes. The sound makes you sad hearing it this late at night. Satoru showers after he’s killed someone and it’s with a heavy heart that you turn over in bed and close your eyes. You listen to the sounds as you lay in bed, the wet slap of water on the tile as he shampoos his hair and then the squeak of the knob as he turns the shower off. Then, you hear the soft rustle of his towel as he dries himself off before he opens the door to the bathroom and switches the light off again.

You turn over to watch him put on boxers to sleep in, following the way he steps into them before he pads around to the other side of the bed and pulls the sheets from where they’re tucked beneath the mattress. You go to him instinctively, crawling into his arms and onto his chest as he wraps them around you.

For a moment, you lay there quietly, feeling the deep inhale and exhale of his chest as he stares at the ceiling. His warmth, something only you are privy to, bleeds into your skin. It’s a reminder that he tries, that his vulnerability, while minimal, is ever-present when he is with you.

“Did you kill someone today?” You ask, watching the wall opposite you.

You feel him nod before he inhales and turns onto his side, pulling your face into his chest with a wide hand on the back of your head. “Yeah, but what does it matter?”

“I think it does,” you say softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m the strongest, why wouldn’t I be?” The strongest, not the best.

You give up on getting anything out of him. Satoru has never opened up to you about this type of thing. He lets those casual cruelties roll off of his shoulders. You’re not privy to what he feels or thinks about it.

It used to bother you. You used to yell at him for it, tell him that he needed to tell you things. Satoru would always insist that there was nothing to tell. He killed someone because he had to. He does it because he has to. You remember fighting with him about it, pushing for answers until you were completely defeated, until you wanted to cry from how little he shared with you. Now, you just feel numb. You know that he might be the same but you think it’s different to feel numb about something you have to do and about someone you love.

You do love him, more than anything. Satoru is someone who you love so deeply you feel it in your bones, but you also feel sorry for him. You resent him for his carelessness and the way he treats you, though you’ll never let it show. But you love him. For better or worse, he’s yours and you’re his.

His obsessiveness only spans across the superficial plane. You think that even if he loves you, he doesn’t have the capacity to love you properly. There’s no room for anything but what he is—or what he doesn’t know he is.

Laying next to him, it sometimes feels like you don’t know him. Satoru is so far away all the time. He’s always wandering off, lost somewhere deep in his thoughts and the facade he puts up. He’s so caught up in being beyond human that he’s forgotten that he is one.

You can feel it when you hold him, that indescribable wall he puts up between himself and the world. A long time ago you thought it was charming. You found his desire to be so far away from everyone else emotionally alluring. You wanted to be the only person he let in and now, even after being let in, you still somehow find yourself on the outside. This time, however, you’re too close to go to anyone else and too far to feel near to him. It gives way to a heady, aching feeling in your chest and beside you, Satoru stirs like he can feel it.

It’s through no fault of his own, you know that. Satoru is the way he is because of the circumstances presented to him and you don’t blame him—or you try not to. You know he loves you, you can feel it in his hesitance, in the heavy regret that sits on his tongue on the rare occasions he decides to share a little more with you. Satoru’s way of loving is through regret only. Loss is the only way he knows how to meet love.

Satoru falls asleep first, leaving you alone once again. He rolls to the other side of the bed, facing away from you with his arms secured around himself. You mirror his position and find that the bed feels the same whether he’s in it or not.

—

“You like me that much?” Gojo teases, tilting his chin back and angling his head towards the sky.

He’s looking at you over the apples of his cheeks through his eyelashes, his lower lash line hidden behind the round swell of flesh below them. Barely 16 years old and somehow managing to shine like polished silver.

You roll your eyes, huffing and turning away from him as you turn back to the textbook you’ve been pretending to read. “Fat fucking chance, Satoru.”

Satoru laughs, taunting further as he leans forward on his haunches, sinking into his weight and tilting his head to the side. “Then why are you so concerned with what I’m doing?”

“Because the way you’re tapping the pen on the table is insanely annoying, much like someone else I know,” you respond, clicking your teeth in exasperation.

There are times when you enjoy your borderline-hateful banter with Satoru. Today is not one of those days. Instead, his voice grates on your ears. It’s a rich tenor, not coming from the bottom of his chest, but the top somewhere near his collarbones.

For the most part, Satoru gets on your nerves. He has for the past year and a half. What makes it worse is that you can’t really figure out if you hate it or not. Satoru is someone who seems oddly far away despite his affinity for skinship and ceaseless talking. It’s like he speaks only in pre-thought-out, pre-recorded sentences that he’s deemed to fit the person that is Gojo Satoru.

Part of you wants to be closer to the real him, to dig past whatever it is he has mucking up the surface of him. Sometimes, you think it comes out. Only rarely and only in small snippets. Still, sometimes you’re able to see the flash of emotion that crosses his face when something happens, only a sliver. To you, it’s like light under the crack of a door—barely there, but casting the entirety of the room in a low, warm glow. You think it is exceptionally beautiful like the rest of him, like the intricately carved mask he wears.

Everything there is to like about Satoru is locked tight behind a door with a big, heavy lock. Some part of you, the more twisted part that believes there’s nothing you can’t fix, wants to unlock it and organize the boxes in there. You want to know more about him, to see Satoru in full for what he is. To dust off those boxes and clean them up so that he can breathe a little easier and the room can stay unlocked forever.

—

There’s a distinct sadness in realizing you’ve lost yourself to love. All of those little sacrifices, all of those small choices, all of those minuscule surrenders that start to add up. They change how you are made. People have often tried to sell romance to you as meeting in the middle. Don’t give to much and don’t give too little. Find the middle ground and stay in it. They don’t tell you that it still means fundamental change. It still means painting your face when you’d rather lay yourself bare. At least with Satoru, you think it does.

You don’t do it because he’s asked you to or because you think he wouldn’t love you otherwise. There’s no doubt that if you did lay yourself bare, he would accept you for everything you have. You think that even at your craziest, he would be as devoted as ever. You do it because you feel that somehow the truest part of you would become tainted if you let him touch it.

You’re not sure when that vague concept started to take shape in your mind, but it’s been there for quite some time. It’s a small voice, the one that tells you that you need to protect what you are or you’ll lose that too. You want to protect it, to take care of it the way you know Satoru is incapable of, so you paint your face around him. Only a little, emotional rouge and mascara, but it’s enough to offer you a wall of your own. You find that the longer you love Satoru, the more you match.

Today, you don’t recognize your reflection. The person looking at you doesn’t match who you perceive yourself to be, tired eyes half-lidded from years of emotional giving and reservation. You raise your fingers to your face, feeling the warm skin there and wondering when it took on this particularly dull, unrecognizable tone. You swallow your resentment for the man responsible, though you know it isn’t his fault. It’s thick going down, angry and bile-coated. It makes the back of your throat taste rancid, swelling with the weight of who you used to be as you choke it down. You put up less of a fight nowadays, swallowing yourself like medicine.

He’s been gone for days now and the apartment you share has remained largely empty. You spend your time at Jujutsu High, tending to his paperwork and occasionally his students in his all too frequent absences. He loves them too. You can see it when he talks about them, the way his expression takes on the more gentle quality he reserves for the people close to him. You love that about him. You think that when he looks like that, you could go on loving him like this forever.

The halls are empty this afternoon and your shoes click against the wood floor. It’s a dull, soft thud. The wood is old, worn over the years, and covered in scuff marks from the students who’ve passed through these halls, you included.

You can remember meeting him here, with Shoko and Getou and Nanami. Your ghost lingers here, haunting the halls in the last place you can remember being yourself. Satoru’s ghost lives here too, you think. All of yours do.

You think that Satoru lost the first half of himself when Toji Fushigurou killed him. His first real taste of failure. The second part, vanished when he was forced to kill Getou Suguru. Another failure of an entirely different kind. You ache for him when you remember. You ache for the losses he’s been forced to shoulder and the heart too big and heavy for the man that he is. It makes your resentment, this all too familiar anger, even more vile to you. It’s not his fault and you need to remind yourself of it every day. You think that if you didn’t, you’d lose your mind.

Satoru’s desk is disorganized and you heave a sigh when you walk up to it. You think that this place would smell like his cologne, the expensive one on his side of the bathroom counter, but it doesn’t. He’s not here enough. It’s the same way your apartment smells, vaguely empty and unlived in.

You sit in his desk chair, sifting through the paperwork before starting on the first. The important information is filled out, the curses he’s exorcised, the missions he’s been dispatched on. All of them are typed up into neat documents. Incident reports and death certificates and witness reports. Half of them are brutal. Half of them include death. Dangerous things he’s never told you about. The things that Satoru has bottled up in fear of scaring you off or burdening you with too much, all kept from you to protect you. It makes him feel like a stranger and, as you scrawl his signature across the bottom of each page, your heart sinks deeper into your chest until you don’t even bother to read them anymore. You can’t do it.

It’s late in the evening now and the sun has set, casting the office in a pale blue tone characteristic of the late hours of the night. You haven’t turned on the light in the room yet, eyes accustomed to the dim glow emanating from outside. It makes everything look soft. Even the hard edges of the desk in front of you recede into a fuzzy, red-blue line.

The only sound in the room is that of your breathing and the scrawl of the pen across paper. It sounds hazy in the pleasant way pen on paper does, spilling a thin line of black ink across the blue-cast paper marked with Satoru’s official seal.

Knock, knock. “You’re still here?”

You raise your head, half hoping to see Satoru, half knowing that it isn’t him. Nanami stands in the doorway, his gray suit brighter in the dark of the room.

“Yeah, finishing up some paperwork,” you mumble, glancing back down at the work in front of you.

“For him?” Nanami says it somewhat distastefully. It’s got a bite to it, as well as the characteristic downturn of gloomy understanding.

You shrug your shoulders, glancing up and offering him a little smile. “Who else would I do this for?”

Nanami gives a short laugh, nodding his head.

He lingers in the doorway, quiet for a moment as you continue your work.

“Need something?” You question, accustomed to Kento’s silent lingering. You’ve learned that it means he wants to ask you something. Lately, a lot of people hover this way.

“I was just curious if you’re alright?” He says, not stepping in further, his weight evenly resting on both of his feet and his hands at his sides.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You don’t look up, signing one paper and then the next.

Nanami gives an exasperated exhale, “It’s 10 pm and you haven’t even turned on the light in here. I’ve never seen you so eager to sit and do paperwork.”

You smile down at the paper you’re signing. “Do I have to keep the light on? I can see just fine like this.”

“It just seems like you’re hiding. That’s all.” Nanami says matter of factly, his tone even and as straightforward as ever.

“And what are you doing here?” you say, putting down the pen on the desk and looking up at him. “Like you said, it’s 10 pm and as I recall, you hate doing overtime.”

“I’m filling in for Satoru,” he offers cleanly. You know it means that he knows Satoru hasn’t been home in days.

“Sucks,” you respond bitterly. It’s petty, the way you feel yourself taking your anger out on him.

“My apologies. I was just worried.”

“You don’t need to be,” you say rolling your head on your shoulders. “Everything’s fine. I’m fine.”

You pause, feeling a lie come to the front of your mouth. It swells there, heavy and lead-laden. Nanami eyes you for a moment, you can make his features out in the dark of the room while he stares.

“Satoru and I are fine,” you add quietly, unable to keep looking at him.

You’re not quite sure why it feels like a lie, even though you know that it is. Maybe it’s because it hurts to admit that you’re not, that the romance you thought would be undying has taken on a sour and stale feel. That resentment, with its dull point, bores into the center of your chest like a boulder does to the soft earth it sits on.

“Sorry, but I don’t believe you.”

Nanami, before Satoru, was your closest friend. You shared everything with him and he begrudgingly listened. He took whatever weight you couldn’t manage without complaining. After Satoru, however, you found yourself distant, spending the recent years in a somewhat uncomfortable stalemate of things to say.

“So what, Nanami?” You laugh a bit, trying to keep the defensive edge from your voice. “You want me to spill all my relationship problems to you like we’re in high school again?”

Nanami shakes his head, “Not particularly.”

“Then what?” You breathe out, losing steam rather quickly.

“How long has it been since he’s been home?”

You purse your lips, jaw tensing as you debate on how to respond. How do you respond without letting on too much? You know it would kill Satoru to know you were having this conversation in the first place.

“This is the fourth day.”

Nanami nods a little, “did he tell you how long he’d be gone?”

“Does he ever?” You laugh. It’s not a real one, pitiful in the middle, and it gives away what you feel. Then, you stand from the desk, gathering the papers and organizing them into two semi-neat piles. “I should go home.”

“Why are you with him?”

You turn your head sharply, shocked by the bluntness of the question. Nanami simply peers back at you, his sincerity showing on his face. You know he doesn’t mean harm in posing the question, neither to you nor Satoru, and it doesn’t sound jealous. Instead, it comes across as quantitative and somewhat analytical, like his curiosity has been genuinely piqued. That, or he’s just good at hiding the affection you know he has for you. Probably both.

“Because I love him.”

You don’t even have to think about the answer. It’s instinctive and definitive. You love him and you always have. There’s no room for doubt because even through the hurt you feel at times because of him, love consumes the most space. It’s rich and heavy in your chest, slightly soured, but still ever-present.

“Even through this?” He says softly.

“Especially through this,” you offer, though not gently, “I would love him at the end of the world.”

Nanami nods and then laughs a little. It’s rare and the mood in the room lightens immediately.

“You’re a better person than me,” he says incredulously, gently.

“I don’t think I am.”

Nanami shrugs.

“You should head home too, Kento.” You say, placing your hand on his shoulder. “It’s late.”

—

Gojo’s face is in your chest, his shoulders rising and falling in steady breaths. He hasn’t spoken for almost an hour, instead he just sits against your chest and tries to gather his thoughts.

It’s been a year and a month since Satoru seemed like a person. Since he felt alive the way he was before he met Toji. Before Suguru defected. Instead, he’s been somewhat hollow, emptier than you’ve seen him before. These days, it seems like if you unlocked the door he hides, it would be empty. At least at first glance it would be.

You can feel your pajama shirt growing damp with his breath, your hands beginning to sweat where they rest against his thick shoulder blades. He’s trembling slightly like he’s afraid.

You don’t quite know how to deal with this side of him, though you know that what you feel is affection. You know that, somewhere between hating him and looking up to him, you’ve fallen in love with him. It’s undeniable, this fondness in your chest that blooms only when he’s around. Only when he looks at you, only when he smiles, only when you catch that sliver of light under the door.

“Why are you here?” you mumble.

He’s come to your dorm in the middle of the night. He knocked on the door and let himself in, talking you out of your sleepy haze before growing oddly quiet. Then, he collapsed into the position he’s in now, silently clutching you around the middle.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he offers, quietly. It’s barely a whisper, spoken hoarsely.

You open your mouth and stutter then fall silent without saying anything. You sit on his words, the way they must taste on his tongue, the admittance behind it. Your heart hammers in your chest, though whether it’s because of your nerves or because of your sadness for him, you don’t know.

“Okay.”

It’s all you can say. The simple word is the only thing you can muster.

You raise your hand to his hair, playing with the fine locks of white. You wrap them around your finger, enamored by their near-transparent beauty. Beneath it, you can see the way the skin of his collarbone catches the light. Satoru’s so fair-skinned. On more occasions than one, you’ve asked him if he needs an umbrella to keep from frying to a crisp when he walks to the convenience store. Tonight though, you think he looks exceptionally beautiful, almost glowing like a ghostly-pale spectre.

Suguru defected a month ago, leaving Satoru alone in a world he feels far too large for. You can tell that much from the stark change in his mask since Suguru left. It’s like there’s a small chip in it, the edge jagged and catching his skin when he moves too much.

Something in your chest blooms while you sit there. You feel privy to something no one else is. It’s like you’ve been let in on a secret and you almost feel privileged to be able to see it. This part of Satoru, the sensitive one that you’ve yet to see in full until tonight, is remarkably powerful. Tonight, Satoru is far easier to read.

You feel him swallow absentmindedly and brace yourself for the silence to be broken. When he inhales, it sounds like it bleeds. Satoru bleeds onto your chest and stomach where he lays, letting himself spill out into your lap like water in a basin.

“I think…” he starts, voice thick and laced with something you’ve never heard on him, “I think I love you.”

The lock on the door drops to the floor and light, warm and rich, floods out from the room that is behind the mask called Gojo Satoru.

—

When you return home, the kitchen light is off and you flip it on with a tired sigh. The apartment is still empty. You don’t know when Satoru will be back, but you do know to leave the light on. He doesn’t mind the bill, as long as he knows that he’s coming home to you.

You think about your conversation with Nanami, however short it was, and wonder if Satoru is truly rubbing off on you. It shouldn’t have been hard to indulge Nanami of all people in how you’re feeling, but even the little information you gave him felt like an insurmountable summit.

Maybe it’s because saying it will mean admitting that it’s real, that you two aren’t how you used to be. Speaking out loud that things are hard means speaking them into existence. You know that if you say it out loud, it will only get harder. You’ll be forced to mourn the loss of something you haven’t had in a long time.

You wouldn’t call it falling out of love. It’s just different now. The touches linger but they don’t feel the same. There is a quiet but pervasive distance between the person you know you are and the person you are living as. The real you is loud and obsessive, boisterous and nosey to a fault. It’s possible that the real you is even borderline psychotic about the people you love.

You and Satoru matched back then, wearing jealousy and possessiveness like a badge. Your obsession with each other, which still runs deep considering neither of you have the heart nor mind to pack your bags and leave, burned the brightest out of any of the emotions you experienced. You loved his subtle insecurity, the slightly dangerous edge he had to him when you pushed him to his absolute limit on jealousy. It was fun, it was exciting, and—though you feel it now, you don’t have the energy to indulge anymore. You’re too tired from trying to feel it deeper, to connect on a more personal level, to understand Satoru despite the fact that he doesn’t understand himself.

You used to grow worried when he’d vanish for so long. You used to obsess over it, drive yourself insane with a need to see him safe and sound back at home. Now, though the worry is still there, you know he’ll be back. There has never been a time he hasn’t returned home to you, though you hate to see him blood-drenched and battered. You know he will be home, returning to the kitchen whose light has been left on with sore feet and tired eyes. He’ll trudge in, dragging his bare feet on the carpet, and collect you in his arms. He’ll bleed affection, tell you that he missed you, kiss you goodnight, and then head to sleep without ever giving you the privilege of emotionally supporting him.

Satoru doesn’t come home for another four days and you’re reminded again that it somehow always feels like you’re worrying on your own. You’re tired of doing it alone.

—

The press of his body against yours. The smooth, almost-untouchable expanse of his chest slipping against your own. His hands laced with yours, long fingers curled beside your head around your smaller ones. You can feel the heat of his body radiating from him, droves of it pulling a thin sheen of sweat from your skin.

Satoru’s brows are knitted together, pulling up in the center and gently twisting his face into an expression of desperate, focused pleasure. You run your free hand along his jaw, carving out the contours of it with your fingers.

He groans into your hand, letting his head fall down against it as his hips continue their pace.

“I’m fuckin’ obsessed with you,” he breathes, blowing sticky hair from his forehead with his exhale.

“Oh yeah?” you whine softly, pinching his face in your hand before navigating it down to rest on his shoulder which moves fluidly with each thrust.

“Mhm,” he responds, raising his head so that his mouth hovers above yours, “I need you- all the time.”

Satoru kisses you, wet and warm. His tongue slides across yours, greedy in its endeavor to claim what lays behind your teeth. It clicks gently in the silence of the room, music of its own kind. He untangles his fingers from yours, reaching up to angle your face so that he can kiss you deeper, take you further.

You let him, malleable under his touch, warm with the lack of his ever-present infinity.

“Tell me you need me too,” he pulls away, lips brushing yours when he speaks.

“I need you, Satoru,” you respond, tipping your head back as he presses deeper between your legs.

You feel the swell of him there, the way he twitches inside of you with the rise of his emotion. Satoru presses on the most intimate part of you, the part you can hardly reach on your own. He sends you spinning and syrupy. Romantic in the way his body roams the expanse of your own, in the way he claims with his hands and mouth.

There’s a rise in your stomach that comes with a deep inhale of sweat-saturated air. It swims in your lower belly, turning over as he pistons his hips intentionally.

“Almost there?” he asks, mumbling under his breath. His tone has its characteristic upward lilt but is laced with a breathy desperation you find he reserves only for you.

You nod, tangling your fingers in his hair and Satoru obliges your need for closeness. He leans down, putting more of his body weight on you. If you could, you would crawl inside of his chest and live there. When it comes to Satoru, there is nothing more tempting.

“Together then,” he chokes, half delirious as red creeps up his neck to his ears and cheeks. “M’never gonna let you do it alone.”

You crest and spill over.

—

He comes back in the evening on a Saturday and you are home in the living room when he does. Satoru uses the front door this time, supposing that you are home and striving to not startle you, but you startle nonetheless when he pushes it open and takes off his shoes. You watch wide-eyed from the couch, quickly looking up and down his figure to ensure that he’s uninjured. Force of habit, a small reminder of your overpowering emotions for him.

Satoru takes a moment to figure out where you are, eyes scanning the room before they land on you with their distant cerulean stare. He’s unharmed you think, pale skin pristine and uniform completely untouched. You see the slump in his shoulders, the weary creep of exhaustion which he only shows in the confines of your home before he straightens out.

“There you are,” he breathes, features softening a little as he looks at you. “I was worried that you might be out.”

You don’t rise from the couch, glued to the seat with your back straight as you look at him. You’re not sure what’s different, why this return in particular is causing all of your resentment and anger to flare up at once. Maybe it’s your conversation with Nanami, whose perceptiveness has haunted your mind for days.

But more than resentment and anger, you’re sad. It’s an overwhelming feeling, starting in your chest and radiating out until it consumes your entire body. It spreads like water across a smooth table, filling you up with a heavy and sullen feeling that you’re been pushing off for the better part of a year. Satoru tilts his head a little at your expression.

“Did you miss me that much?” he teases, lips quirking up as they form around the syllables. He’s Gojo today, not Satoru. The difference to you is obvious. He’s wearing his mask.

You look over him, taking in all of the things about his figure that you’ve come to memorize. The way he shifts his weight forward on his hips, the way he always has his head slightly tilted, the blindfold clutched tightly in his left hand and the right one tucked deep into his pocket. You stare, dumbstruck by the swell of emotions in your chest, mostly bitter but some sweet.

“What’s wrong?” He says, voice dropping a little. He’s unable to feign ignorance any longer because by staying seated, you’ve broken the slowly-crumbling mask of normalcy you both wear.

“It’s been over a week.”

Your voice comes out small. It’s shell-shocked and hardly recognizable, thick and heavy with your regret.

“I told you I’d be out on a mission,” he defends, not moving from where he stands.

You peer at him, mouth pulling down in the corners against your will, and shake your head. Satoru told you he’d be gone, but not how long. You left the light on without even knowing when he’d be back. Your expression and the slight movement of your head tell him that you’re done pretending to be fine with it. You feel the silent admittance settle between you, thick in the air like smoke.

Satoru raises his eyebrows like he’s shocked before they settle on his face, expression falling flat before a look of deep regret takes over. It’s so strong that you can feel it coming from him in waves, guilt and sadness and confusion rolling steadily against your skin and lapping at your feet like waves on sand.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, head tilting towards the floor and voice weighted with the genuineness of his words.

Your chest tightens, fingers and toes numbing with the words as they ring in your ears. Emotion swells in your chest, threatening to crack it open and spill onto the floor and cushions beneath you. Then, your shoulders tighten and your face scrunches up as tears swell behind your eyes and spill over in one shaking breath.

It’s a quiet cry, silent but intrusive in your chest. You bring your hands to your face and sob, finally letting it out. You’re crying because his apology means that he feels it too, the gap between you two, the unhappiness that lingers in the halls of your home. It breaks your heart to acknowledge what you both have become, to look at the void between you head-on with him and finally see its existence for what it is.

Ugly, sticky, black tar clings to your skin. It makes it hard to breathe, alive now after being acknowledged and threatening to consume you both as you sob. Each breath comes like you’re trying to steal it, as if it would shake the rot from your skin.

Satoru doesn’t move, unable to deal with the emotions you’re currently showing him. He stands there as you cry, eyes so soft that it makes your chest ache.

“What happened to us?” You choke out, barely able to force the words from your throat.

Satoru’s mouth pulls down, eyes beginning to gloss over. He swallows thickly like he’s trying to bury the emotions, eyes watery as he shakes his head. His mouth is open, but there is no sound and his shoulders are stiff at his sides.

“I don’t know,” he breathes.

You sob again, aching and aching and aching. There’s only the ache, only the love you feel that has gone untouched for such a long time, unacknowledged.

“Do you still-” he starts, afraid, “do you still love me?”

“How could I not?” You say from across the room through a thick cry. It’s quiet, painful.

There’s a pregnant pause as Satoru collects his fears from the ground and you gather your thoughts.

“But it’s hard,” you admit quietly, sniffling and wiping under your eyes. “It’s hard to love you, Satoru.”

He only nods like he knows. His shoulders droop, body weight finally too much for him as he lets go of the ever-present facade for the first time in a long time. You say it out loud and Satoru takes it like he’s been waiting to hear it.

“What can…” he breathes, voice quiet and unrecognizable. “What can I do?”

You shrug your shoulders, watching the glow of the carpet under the kitchen light. “Do you love me?”

“More than anything,” he says and the emotion in it pulls your numbed gaze from the carpet to his face, which is wrought with an expression you’ve never seen on him.

“Then tell me,” you plead.

Why do you always have to guess and settle and soothe yourself? Why does it have to be this way? Where did you go? Why do you always have to leave the light on?

“I love you,” he says firmly and you feel it in your chest, but it’s not what you meant. Still, he wears that same look that makes you feel like you could go on loving him this way forever.

“I know,” you cry, “I know you do. I love you too.”

The words come from deep in your gut, coated in hurt and the tar that’s made its way into your lungs. You feel the poison in it when you breathe and in the words, you find a remnant of who you both used to be. You find the ghost of burning passion, of the undying adoration that has morphed into blind devotion.

“It’s not enough,” you say and Satoru, unequipped and uncertain, breaks.

His expression twists, his knees give out slightly under him.

“H-how can I-” his voice trembles and you finally, finally feel like you’re looking at the real him. “How can I fix it?”

You shrug, shaking your head. You don’t know. You don’t know how to work back everything you’ve both done to poison this. You’re uncertain if there’s an antidote for it, but you’re not ready to let go. You don’t want to let go of him.

“Do you want to make this work?” He says, dread creeping into his voice, that obsessive desire rearing its head.

You cry again, only having just collected yourself and losing it again to the fact that you both need to make it work in the first place.

“Of course,” you cry. “Of course, I do. B-but I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how I can- how I can keep doing this without losing everything I am.”

Satoru takes the first step towards you, moving hesitantly towards the couch before he finds your eyes.

They are so familiar. Everything about him is. He is so comfortable to you, so home-like in his presence. You bleed for it, you spill out at his feet as he approaches you and reaches a shaky hand toward your face. Then, when you press the weight of your head into his hand, he collects you in his arms and sits beside you, trembling with vulnerability. Both of you are.

“I don’t know what to do,” you weep into his arm, “Where did we go, Satoru?”

Your sobs come from the pit of your stomach like grief. You feel like you are mourning. Like you are grieving the loss of something and someone that is still right in front of you. Years of build-up come down at once in a violent press of emotions that you feel against your diaphragm and Satoru beside you shakes as he tries to choke back cries of the same manner.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. You weep.

How long has it been since you’ve been this vulnerable with each other? How long has it been since you’ve felt that Satoru was showing you the human side of him rather than having to dig for it?

You can feel the way grief and sadness crowd your chest. Love side-by-side with two ugly emotions as you reckon with his apology, with this conversation in comparison to the meaningless ones before it. You wonder why you always leave the light on.

That’s right, it’s because you love him. You love him so much that it hurts, that you don’t think you’ll know how to breathe if you can’t keep loving him.

Gojo Satoru is cruel, but he’s not a bad person. It’s unintentional. Little cruelties that build up and become a massacre. You’ve lost count of them— of the unwitting, unknowing blows the padlock around his chest has unintentionally delivered. But he’s not wicked. He’s not evil. Just cruel. It breaks your heart.

You know he tries. You know that he wants to try. Behind the eyes of the mask called Gojo Satoru that he wears, he mourns that he doesn’t know how. He dreads learning because no matter how much he tries, he can’t handle coming up short. Satoru doesn’t know how to fail and get back up again and you reap the consequences every single time. At least, outwardly you do.

So he hurts you even if he doesn’t mean to. The tragedy that is Gojo Satoru breaks your heart again and again. But you’ll stay. You’ll try to find yourselves as many times as you need to. Even if it breaks you, even if he’s cruel, even if the mask has been on so long that it is sewn into his skin, and even if there turns out to be nothing underneath it.

All because you love him. For all that he is and all that he isn’t, you’ll leave the light on anyway.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #tw: angst #tw: toxic relationships #[ 📕 – writing ]#tee hee this hurt my feelings to write #ANYWAYYY SORRY HOPE U ENJOY

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burningdreambanana · 5 months

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My problem with Alicent Hightower on HOTD

I'm team green but I have to admit I have a hard time with show Alicent and I honestly think it's because she's just not a well-written character. I mean I was rewatching HOTD and sometimes she doesn't like her own character, but more a foil to Rhaenyra. It also feels like she's the product of different writers who had different ideas about who she should be and never really agreed.

First of all, I think that Alicent's support for Rhaenyra as heir should have been changed the minute Aegon was born, as he immediately became a dangerous challenge that Rhaenyra would be forced to deal with. The show treats this issue as if it's a 20th succession story about who's going to take daddy's place as CEO or whatever but it's not, for Alicent to be so chill about it and act like Otto is making stuff up without basis is just wrong and anachronistic.

Secondly the reason Alicent turns against Rhaenyra feels weird and contrived to me. Like I can understand her being upset that Rhaenyra semi-lied about her sex life (not even a full lie since Alicent doesn't know she lied about not going to a brothel with Daemon but she did imply she was a virgin which wasn't true) and not wanting to talk to her anymore but to declare war???? And suddenly in ep6 she despises Rhaenyra and thinks she's going to kill her sons. Idk that's kind wild to me that she went there from a semi-lie, but was still ride or die for Rhaenyra after her son was born and Rhaenyra gave her the cold shoulder for years. I know there's been a time skip but it's not an excuse not to explain why a character became the way they are.

Thirdly, Alicent from ep8-9 feels like a completely different character than in ep6-7 and it's not explained by any logical turn of events. At the end of ep7, Alicent had the confirmation that Rhaenyra and Viserys couldn't care less about her children, Rhaenya saw her little brother maimed for life and asked that he be "sharply questioned" (which btw is supposed to be a medieval euphemism for torture), she lets people believed she murdered Laenor to create fear and married Daemon, who despises Otto. In ep8 they show up at court after 6 years of absence, accuse her of poisoning Viserys (when she's the one who stayed to take care of him), and make Viserys drag his dying corpse to the throne room so he could solve issues created by Rhaenyra's own stupid mistakes. Daemon proceeds to murder Vaemond without a warning or a trial for saying the exact same thing that Alicent, Aemond and Aegon have said many times. Logically, Alicent should be terrified and more determined than ever to put Aegon on the throne for her family's safety. But no, Rhaenyra makes a half-assed apology that doesn't even acknowledges Aemond's eye, doesn't involve a genuine gesture towards her brothers to show that she will keep them safe and Alicent is like you know? you're forgiven ! What I am angry about anyway? You'll make a great queen ! Like what happened? And then because the war still has to happen with the stupid misunderstanding that makes Alicent look really delusional and stupid. Also in ep6 and even at the beginning of ep8 she was plotting to put Aegon on the throne so why is she out of the loop at the Green council? It's just sad, no one has respect for the poor lady except maybe her sons and Cole. Anyway I think her character deserved way better. Personnally I would have keep the safety of her children as her motivation but also a more personal act where she realizes she spent her life catering to Viserys and Rhaenyra who walked all over her and gave her nothing in return, and decided to put Aegon on the throne to finally be free and have power through him.

#hotd critical #alicent hightower #hotd alicent #queen alicent #pro team green #anti viserys i targaryen #anti rhaenyra targaryen

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quatregats · 17 days

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been thinking more about the Hornblower amputation thing & your tags. It's an increasingly weird storytelling decision the more I think about it, to give your hero such a fear & then *never have it happen to him*. Chekhov's bonesaw. I suppose it gets deflected onto Bush. ... Especially weird given elements of Hornblower's career/peculiarities are ~loosely based on Nelson, famous for leaving bits of himself all over. Hornblower is, like, NOTICEABLY unmaimed. What's with that? Theories? Thoughts??

Ohhh yes I think I've had similar thoughts - honestly, I think that's part of the narrative frustration of Hornblower is that there are multiple Chekhov's bonesaw moments and they drive me up the wall. I do think that the mention of his fear of amputation was setting up for it to happen to Bush, not him, but I don't think that that was honestly the greatest decision on Forester's part....and then again I tend to be extremely mean to Forester so maybe other people will disagree with me. That's super interesting thinking about Nelson though, because Forester seems to like and want to buy into the "fragile but brilliant man" archetype but I do think that the getting beat up and battered is possibly a necessary corollary to that?? Who knows though, real naval history people feel free to challenge me here.

Honestly the best theory I have for the lack of Hornblower maiming is that Forester really likes putting Hornblower in the torment nexus by making him experience his worst fears through the people around him, which I think on some level is worse for him - he's very empathetic (or rather, he is more empathetic than he thinks a Good Navy Man should be), so while he'll throw himself under the bus for no reason at all, seeing other characters thrown under the bus is actually a miserable experience for him. I do think that if it had been him who had lost a leg (instead of it happening to Bush) there would have been much less fuss over the whole thing, so I do think that was a good narrative decision of Forester's part. I think there's also a similar thing with people who he loves dying around him - he has a death wish and wouldn't care if he himself died, but instead he's left to sit there dealing with the weight of their deaths on his hands and the weight of moving on after that. I think that this is what Forester was (sort of) going for - especially taking into account his interest in the psychology of independent command, which this partially plays into (he can't develop meaningful relationships because people keep dying, thereby isolating him Worse) - but I disagree with how he chose to resolve it, and don't think that it can be considered a "happy" ending as-is (mostly because I strongly disagree with some of the character arcs and also with Hornblower and Barbara as endgame as they are in the books, without addressing any of their main conflicts - speaking of Chekhov's bonesaws....)

But none of that excuses the fact that Hornblower escapes from everything unscathed. Literally give the man some battle wounds or something idk - no wonder he feels like he lives in another world, he's literally untouchable :')

#not sure if any of this is coherent analysis this is just thoughts from my very tired and addled brain #it's a really interesting question. much to turn around and rotate in the mind.....#percy yells at cecil scott #asks

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pyroangelo · 6 months

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I cant stop thinking about the distinction of reading buddie moments into the episode vs analyzing it through the lenses of Buck’s jealousy. I just keep getting stuck on the idea that Buck and Eddie were kinda just being bad friends to each other.

Eddie was so flippant throughout, right at the start he does ask Tommy if Buck’s tagging along to Vegas but when he hears Buck isnt he just shrugs and then they’re off. Then he’s kinda not meeting Buck’s eye that entire call with the cyclist trapped in the sewer. And again fully asking Buck what his plans are and then just shafting him to babysit Chris is truly wild to me.

But then we have Buck who likes Tommy and wants to get to know Tommy, see that Eddie and Tommy got real close real quick and instead of communicating or anything, his insecurities take over and he’s seething jealous, he’s feigning interest in a basketball game Eddie’s already asked him to come to several times as an excuse to see Tommy. Sure the scene in the firehouse where Eddie’s on the phone Buck is so desperate to get his attention, another time where they’re honestly just being bad friends and not communicating, Buck’s not outright saying he wants to hangout and Eddie’s not paying any attention to Buck. But again Buck only wants Eddie’s attention so Eddie can ask him again to come to the pick up game, he fully orders a new ball from Amazon to keep feigning interest.

And then he’s dragging Chim into his mess so he has an excuse to go to game, love Chim fully just seeing through Buck and saying he’s his “basketball beard.” Then he fully tackles Eddie, maims him(his own self-deprecating words) and then he finally gets Tommy to come and pay attention to him, and he admits “trying to get your attention has been exhausting”

So it was never really about Eddie and Buck feeling like he was being replaced as Eddie’s best friend, the fact that Tommy brings it up and Buck kinda just brushes that off tells me that Buck really isn’t cognizant of any romantic feeling for Eddie, at the moment at least.

There are three ways I see at framing the jealousy, First Buck thought what he was feeling was jealousy at Tommy being friends with Eddie, with how his pep talks with Maddie were going im sure it felt like that at first. Second theres feelings of jealousy buddie fans are projecting onto the situation, i am guilty of this too. But the third is the truth that Buck’s jealousy was actually directed at Eddie for monopolizing Tommy’s time and we can see that in Buck’s actions theoughout the episode. Everything Buck did was to try insert himself into Tommy and Eddie’s friendship.

That thought has kept me rewatching the episode. And my little Buddie heart is at odds with it still because man Buck and Eddie just kinda treated each other poorly this episode. But i guess the Miscommunication tag is popping for a reason and the jealousy is seething through everything. Eddie was mainly an obstacle to the friend Buck really wanted to make and he didnt communicate any of his frustrations to Eddie about it. And Eddie was just not really regarding Buck at all in his new friendship with Tommy.

Two steps forward one step back. Paula Abdul save me from these teen drama ass firefighter.

#911 abc #911 spoilers #eddie diaz #evan buckley #tommy kinard #i am not immune to jealousy fic writing tactics #rant #911 7x04 #long post

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thesithdiaries · 2 years

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Reconciliation (Aemond Targaryen imagine)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female Velaryon!reader

Requested: yes

Warnings: spoilers for episodes 6, 7, and 8, mentions of ✨strong✨ hair, angst, typical westeros violence

Buy me books and a coffee 🫶🏽

“I have felt the... strife... between our families of late, my Queen. And for any offense given by mine, I apologize. But we are one house. And long before that, we were friends. My daughter Y/N will have Dragonstone after me. I propose we betroth her to your son, Aemond. Ally ourselves... once and for all. Let them rule together. A most judicious proposition. Additionally, if Syrax brings forth another clutch of eggs, your son Aemond will have his choice of them, uh... a symbol of our goodwill.”

“The King and I thank you for your offer and we will consider it duly.”

Hours later, Viserys and Alicent had agreed, to her dismay. She was against it, claiming Rhaenyra had ulterior motives and also saying her children are “plain-faced”, which was not true.

Aemond, however, was genuinely happy. He got along with Y/N, they always had a very good friendship. Knowing that he, unfortunately, did not have a dragon, she also let him train Daelyx, her dragon. Alicent hated it but Viserys and Rhaenyra were delighted.

“Aemond!” Y/N greeted happily, trotting towards him. The prince stood on one of the balconies that overlooked the city. “I have been looking everywhere for you!”

“Y/N,” he whispered with a shy smile.

“I am heading to the dragonpit with my brothers, would you like to join us?” She asked, giving his hand a playful squeeze. He remembered what happened the previous day, with the pig.

“No,” he respectfully declined. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

Y/N’s face dropped, not expecting his answer since Aemond would always go with her if she asked. “Oh, alright… I will see you at dinner.”

He watched as she walked away. Aemond felt like a fool. He had always fancied Y/N, and would always look for an excuse to be around her. It was not difficult, considering she enjoyed being with him. Aemond received the news of their betrothal with glee.

It was going well until it wasn't.

The night Aemond lost his eye was eventful. Apart from claiming Vhagar and being maimed, he also lost Y/N. He saw, with his good eye, how she clutched her brothers for comfort. She was the only one that was not there when Lucerys, her twin brother, took his eye, yet she stood by their side without question. He saw how her demeanor changed from worry to anger when Jacaerys told everyone that they were called “bastards”. Aemond knew that the very true rumors affected Y/N and he never mentioned the word to her. But right now, she felt that he said it directly to her face.

Y/N never spoke a word to him during the remaining hours at Driftmark.

Six years later

Aemond’s heart was pumping erratically. Y/N was finally going to return to King’s Landing.

He had not seen or heard from her since they went to Driftmark. Aemond thought she would send letters to him yet he received none. As time went on, his insecurities got the better of him. She would never want to be with someone like him, someone that only has one eye. Of course, he was mistaken. Y/N could not write to him, not after what happened. Her brother took his eye, there was no possible way a relationship being remotely normal after that.

Aemond got distracted while training in the yard with Criston Cole. The spectators were whispering amongst themselves and subtly pointing. Aemond turned to look as well, curious as to why he was not getting attention.

It was Y/N.

She stood, along with Jacaerys and Lucerys, at the top of the stairs. The boys were laughing at something, rushing down the stairs but she did not move. Her dark hair was beautifully pulled back and adorned with beautiful jewels. Y/N stood there watching the yard.

Aemond could not take his eye away from her. He felt like a child again, all those emotions flooding back into his heart.

Their eyes met yet they made no silent greetings. Instead, Y/N turned around and entered the castle. Without a second thought, he went after her. They needed to talk, now more than ever.

“Y/N”, he called out behind her, quickly catching up. “Wait.”

“I am sure you have other duties to deal with, Aemond. Leave me alone.”

“We need to talk,” he informed her. When he realized Y/N was not going to stop, he grabbed onto her forearm and turned her around.

“I will scream,” Y/N hissed.

“I dare you,” Aemond replied with a smirk.

“I don't think my father will like that you are bothering me,” the princess told him before taking a big breath and opening her mouth to scream.

“Sshhh,” he shushed her, covering her mouth. He knew Daemon would not be pleased. Laenor or Harwin would probably not have been a huge threat but Aemond was sure the rogue prince would take his other eye out. He released her arm and stood back.

“Thank you,” Y/N rolled her eyes and walked away again.

“You are my betrothed,” Aemond reminded her.

“No, I am not,” she scoffed. “I am sure I don't need to remind you why.”

“You never answered any of my letters,” he whispered. Y/N stopped, sighing. “Why? Were you so repulsed by me having one eye?”

“No, Aemond” she turned around and sped towards him. “I was repulsed by the fact that my twin brother did it. Are you that clueless?”

“I-"

“I have to find my mother,” Y/N mentioned. “Goodbye.”

Aemond stood there watching her leave, again. He did not know what to say at that moment. All he cared about was that Y/N was not repulsed by him.

The throne room felt tense since King Viserys entered. The air felt thick. It was like Vaemond Velaryon’s anger was radiating from him when he heard how the Rhaenys sided with Rhaenyra.

Despite this, Aemond could only focus on Y/N. She stood by her older brother, Jace, who clutched her hand with his. Her eyes wandered to where Luke stood, she was worried and scared. Y/N hated seeing her twin in distress.

“Before we end this, I would like to announce that the betrothal between Prince Aemond and Princess Y/N still stands.”

Y/N stopped listening after that. Daemon and Rhaenyra turned to look at her. She held onto Jace, feeling lightheaded. After all these years, she thought her grandsire would not care about her betrothal to Aemond. It felt out of place now because of how separated the family was.

“Hello, my beautiful betrothed,” Aemond greeted her when he saw her sitting in the library hours later.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Hello, Aemond.”

“You do not seem pleased,” he noted.

“I don't know how to feel,” she confessed, playing with her hands. Aemond kneeled in front of her. “Do you wish to marry me? After everything?”

“I feel like the luckiest man in Westeros at this very moment. I have always loved you, Y/N,” Aemond kissed her hand, “I want to spend the rest of my life by your side.”

Y/N smiled softly, one of her hands gently touching the side of his face. "I have always loved you too."

Viserys wanted the family to eat dinner together.

Y/N was sitting next to Aemond before Luke invited her to dance while Jace was with Helaena.

Aemond was seething with jealousy. He did not like the fact that she was dancing with someone else, despite that person being her brother. He saw how Luke whispered something to her while looking at him, making her giggle.

He hit the table and stood up. “Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace... Luke... and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise... hm... strong. Come... let us drain our cups to these three... Strong boys."

“I dare you to say that again,” Jace warned him.

“Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

In a split second, Jace punched Aemond, who pushed him to the ground and Aegon slammed Luke’s head onto the table. Y/N stood there, looking at her betrothed with glossy eyes. “Why would you say that?” She whispered to him, trying to not cry.

At that moment, Aemond realized he was wrong. Once again, she sought comfort from her brothers. Jace rushed her out when he noticed the state she was in, Luke following them.

If she did not feel repulsed by him before, she definitely would now. Aemond wanted to run after her and apologize for everything, but he knew Daemon would never allow him to get close to Y/N.

It would have to wait until the following day. He was determined to make things better, the love he felt for her was stronger than anything.

#hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader

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misguidedasgardian · 2 years

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The White Dragon (13)

13. Driftmark

MASTERLIST

Summary: Your entire family unravels

Pairings: main Harwin Strong x Fem!Targaryen reader

Warnings: death, cursing, incest, medieval and A song of ice and Fire AU customs, violence, minors on minors violence, maiming, blood, use of a knife, underage drinking, you know the drill

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.8k

Notes: We are here! what happened in Driftmark with the Strong-Targaryens there too. I was so excited to post this, so I'm sorry for any mistakes... i tend to re read them and fix things after. SORRY

You all gathered in the courtyard after the rituals of the funeral of Lady Laena, all your family was there but the tension was building. Alicent looked hatefully at Rhaenyra, who was speaking with her kids

Rhaena and Bhaela were two beautiful children, you sent your own to give them their condolences, and the kids were gathering around the twins. including Aemma. But Jacaerys walked towards Ser Harwin, his head low

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ser Harwin”, muttered Jacaerys, Harwin smiled and ruffled his wild hairs

“Thank you my prince”, he whispered with a beautiful smile, you just smiled and let them share a moment together. You couldn't hate the poor prince, he was your nephew, and your future King. So you just walked away towards the balcony to gaze at the waves. You didn’t notice of course Rhaenyra walking towards Harwin as well to pull the boy from him, but also to share a few words

You noticed your uncle talking sharply with your father, you knew the king wanted to offer him a place in court, and, as could be expected, your uncle refused basing his decision on his pride. and when your father walked away, you saw an opportunity

“I’m sorry for your loss dear uncle”, he smiled sarcastically taking a sip of his cup of wine

“Thank you dear niece”, he answered, “did my brother send you as he failed?” he asked then

“Nothing of the sort”, you said then, “are you happy? In Pentos?”

“As happy as one could be”, he continued, “it’s the home of my daughters”

“They are beautiful, as their mother, thank the gods”, you mocked playfully, and you made him draw a small smile. “We need you, uncle”, you said bluntly, “Rhaenyra and I, we need you by our side”, that truly seemed to interest him, “I know it comes at great personal cost, but… I believe that if you move back with us, to the Keep, you will be of great help”

“And why would you need me?”

“One time a really whistle blower of an uncle told me…” you started, “he was really annoying, a joy-killer really”, he looked at you squinting his eyes with a teasing smile, “he told me that a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing”, you continued

“Is that right? he seemed so wise”, he mocked in turn

“He was”, you continued, “you don’t need us, uncle, but we need you”, con continued, “and I must mimic my father’s words into saying that is a space in court for you, if you want it, I know you don’t need it”, he smiled tenderly at you

“Otto sits at father’s small council again”, he noted

“That what we need help with”, you continued, “this is a silent war against Alicent for the control of the Kingdom, I know they want to install Aegon as King”, he nodded

“I will help you both”, he whispered, “this is a Targaryen rule”, he continued, “not to ever be challenged, specially by Hightower cunts”

Far to your knowledge, you would have never guessed that the unwavering gaze of your sister never left your form, angered at the sight of both of you both, uncle and nice, giggling and whispering.

You looked back at Rhaenyra and you found her right by Harwin's side, and the son they shared standing right then in front of them. You couldn’t help but feel bitter, all over your mouth and throat at the sight. Daemon caught this and grabbed your upper arm and give it a squeeze

“You’ve done well this past months, staying by father’s side”, he remarked, and you smiled

“Thank you uncle, now if you excuse me, we’ll talk later”, he nodded and you left him alone.

Unbeknownst to you Larys was sharing strange looks with a traumatized Alicent. Who shook at the thought of what she had provoked. Larys had killed his own father for her. She looked at her own father, proudly wearing the Hand of the King pin on his chest. Was the life of Lyonel worth having his father back?

She looked at the second in line to the throne talking to Daemon and decided it wasn't.

She looked at her weak and sick husband, tumbling towards her and calling her Aemma, and she decided it was.

Steffon and the commander were desmissed for the night and Criston Cole had the night's watch

“She is an idiot!”

“She is your future Queen, and our sister”, responded Aemond to his brother, as both looked at Helaena

“You married her then”, he snapped

“I would perform my duty, but mom betrothed me too”, he whispered

“Yeah, with that Strong girl”, he laughed

“She is our niece”, he said, “and she is as Targaryen as us”

“Well, good luck with that”, Aegon mocked, taking another cup of wine from a tray a servant girl offered, and then he winked at her. He didn’t seem to notice the disgusted face she made, as he went to pursue her, leaving Aemond gazing at his sister. But a distant roar made the boy take his attention away from Helaena and walked towards the balcony, he looked up at the clouds and saw something huge flying behind the clouds in a terrifying shadow

“Vhagar”, he whispered, marveled, but the boy got distracted again by the sight of his niece. As she walked aimlessly, “Aemma!”, he called, reaching out to her, the girl smiled at him.

“It’s probably Vhaelar, my mom’s dragon”, she told him, “she is huge!”

“She can’t be bigger than Vhagar”, Aemond told her.

“Well I don’t know about that but she is pretty big!”, she giggled. Aemond thought she was a silly little girl, but having her by his side is like having a little thing that cheered him up whenever and however.

“Show her to me”, he demanded, and she nodded enthusiastically

And as the sun finally hid behind the horizon, they waited until they were sent away to their chambers to sleep so they could sneak out in the middle of the night.

“This is Vhaelar”, she introduced, the white dragon was resting over the sand. Aemond thought the she-dragon reminded him of a fish with silvery scales. It was a robust creature with an incredible color but with fearsome details in her head, her huge teeth, her pointy horns…

Aemma grabbed his hand and together they went down the sand dune that separated from the dragon.

“Vhaelar!”, she called. The poor creature was sleeping, but when she heard the kid’s voice she lifted her head slowly and turned towards the princess. She didn’t like being disturbed so she growled at her, showing her her teeth. But at her eyes adjusted to the night and saw the little Aemma, and sniffed her to confirm her presence, she purred at her, making her giggle, but then the dragon just turned around and kept sleeping

“I don’t think she will listen to your command”, he mocked

“She never does”, she said, saddened. Vhaelar was indeed huge, but she was not Aemond’s goal tonight, she was a claimed dragon, but, by his calculations, there was Vhagar, unclaimed, sleeping soundly as well, a couple of dunes over.

So he grabbed Aemma’s hand and pulled her towards what he thought could be Vhagar

“What are we doing?”, she whispered, and Aemond pushed her down to the sand when he actually saw the huge beast also sleeping.

“That is Vhagar”, he indicated, and she at the sight of the dragon, opened her eyes and mouth widely, it was truly, the biggest dragon she had ever seen, “Stay here!”

“No wait! Aemond!”, she called, but it was too late, as the boy ran towards The Queen of dragons, she wanted to stop him, but her fear could more and she laid there as she saw the young boy waken the beast

She witnessed as Aemond told Vhagar to obey him, and she obeyed, and she witnessed how he climbed on her back and took off, leaving her on the ground.

You actually helped Qarl and Joffrey carry Laenor to his chambers, he was distraught, in tears for the loss of his sister, and you just happened to be there as he cried his lungs out in the hallway, drunk out of his mind. But as you made sure he was safely in his chambers you released yourself from that and exited HIghtide once again, finding yourself outside just where you were moments ago with your family, but right now it was empty.

Your children were asleep, or at least you hope so, but you didn’t have the faintest idea of here Harwin might be

But he found you, in the past 11 years he certainly had learned some things about you. You smiled as he pressed his chest to your back and kissed the side of your neck as you looked into the narrow sea

“Hello love”, he growled

“Hello my love”, you answered. His hand sneaked towards your belly, where it caressed the clothed skin.

“Any news?”, he asked softly against your ear. You shook your head

“Not yet”, you whispered, a little saddened. It had been 7 years since you had Aemma, you never had not even a scare of pregnancy. “I’m sorry”, you whispered

“You have nothing to be sorry for”, he whispered, hugging you too tightly against him, “we are being greedy, actually”, you giggled, “Three Strong Targaryen children are enough… the gods said”

“More and it would be a world imbalance”, you giggled back.

“There was actually going to be only two, but Rhaegar slipped through the crack”, he admitted. He chuckled and you giggled even more then he kissed you in the neck again, making you shiver

“Perhaps it is the castle we try to conceive in”, you tried. You turned still in his arms and he smiled down on you

“Right, we have already conceived in the Red Keep and in White-hall”

“Now in Hightide”, you suggested, “this is it!”, he gave you that knee-weakening smile you liked so much, and he leaned in to trap you lips with his

“We should get back to our rooms and get to it”, you suggested against his lips. He growled, his hands wandering to the side of your breasts

“Perhaps the salty air will help us”. you moaned against his mouth again as he trapped you against the retaining stone wall.

You got lost in his presence, being swallowed whole by him and his body caging you in. You hugged into his blue velvet vest so soft, just like he was, so soft for you, the Strongest knight of the seven kingdoms, your husband.

But as his greedy hand was tugging the skirts of your black dress, a loud roar interrupted you, it sounded just too close to be a dragon flying a drift, it was too close.

And suddenly, the gray sky darkened even more, huge wings covered everything you could see and a huge body crushed everything near where you were. Another loud roar so close you could feel the dragon’s breath. Harwin protected you with his body against the wall, cursing in your ear. Both of you were on high alert, scared out of your mind

“What the fuck?”, he cursed, when the best stopped moving, you looked over Harwin shoulders

It was Vhagar.

The biggest dragon in the world, the Queen of dragons, the conqueror.

You grabbed onto Harwin for dear life, he hugged you protectively sensing your distress, and you whined against his chest in panic

“Hey, are you alright?”, he whispered against the top of your head, you shook your head. “it’s fine, she won’t hurt us, it’s fine, she is leaving”, all those nightmares including that green beast came back to you, hunting you. All of those in which she flew menacingly above you, the ones she dove and swallowed you whole, all of them. You cried, cried against his chest, for once in your life, scared of a dragon.

Dragons were fire made flesh, and Targaryens were dragon made human .

You didn’t see who was riding her, but she flew away, as Harwin covered you in the mantle of shades and night against the wall

“She left, it’s ok”, he repeated, taking you off the wall and hugging you against him, caressing your head and your back

“I’m alright, I’m fine” you cried

“Let's get you inside, and some tea”, he whispered against your hair, and you nodded. Without letting go of you. He nodded, grabbing your hand and taking you up the stone stairs. There you found Aegon, drunk out of his mind and sitting on the rest of the steps. You looked at Harwin and together you grabbed him,

“Aegon, wake up”, you said softly, gently tapping on his cheek

“Please don’t tell mother”, he cried, Harwin grabbing him and putting him on his feet. the boy’s weight totally over your husband, the poor boy couldn’t walk by himself

“We’ll take you to your room”, you whispered. And you took him in with you.

“Please don’t tell my mother”, he cried again

“Please promise me, little brother, you are not going to drink again”, you said then

“I like the tate”, he blurred out, “I like how it feels”, Harwin looked at you over Aegon’s head with a sad look

“You like how it feels?”, you asked

“The numbness”, he confessed

“If you don’t drink like that again I won’t tell your mother”, you said then, grabbing his other arm

“Alright”, and you promise then to yourself to always keep an eye on Aegon for the next festivities to come.

Aemma, alone, ran back towards the castle, she remembered the steps in the dark they took so it wasn’t strange, but she was not less afraid because of it. But she was a dragon, she thought, she had to be brave. When she entered the cavernous entrance to the beach, she met her cousins and her two brother running towards her

“Aemma!” screamed Rhaegar, “what are you doing?”, a blush decorated her cheeks

“I was walking with Aemond”, she whispered

“Was it him? He stole my dragon!” screamed Rhaena at her face.

“I don’t know”, she whispered

“Vhagar was my mother’s dragon!”, she said then. Aemma didn’t know

“I’m sorry!”, she apologized and didn’t even know why

“It’s him!”, Baela screamed pointing at a triumphant Aemond who just walked in

“It’s me!”, he answered

“You stole my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new dragon rider now”. Rhaena threw herself at the boy, screaming, and he easily pushed her away, “maybe your cousins could find you a pig to ride, it would suit you”, he mocked her on the ground

“Aemond you are being mean” accused Aemma

“Now I can take you to Dragonstone, and you can get your own dragon”, he assured her, and that made her fleetingly happy, but Baela punched Aemond in the face

Jacaerys and Lucerys where going to go at him, but the Strong twins grabbed them

“Are you cousins? Or are you brothers? Everybody knows!” Aemond mocked at the four of them

“What?” Rhaegar growled, looking at Maekar

“Jacaerys is as Strong as you both are”, he said then, “just look at him”, the brothers looked at Jacaerys, and they found their father’s eyes looking right back at them.

“Aemma”, called Maekar, letting of Jacaerys, he and Lucerys pounced on Aemond. As Maekar grabbed his sister, pulling her away from Aemond

“Leave him alone!” cried the little one. But Aemond didn’t need any help as he punched the four of them out of his way.

He leaned down to grab a rock from the ground, but when he drew back his arm to throw it at Lucerys, he hit Aemma on the mouth with it, in an unfortunate accident. It happened so quick that everything from there turned to chaos

She cried, falling back with a broken lip that was going to need stitches. Her two brothers ran down to help her, as she screamed her little lungs out at the sharp and numbing pain on her mouth.

Both of her brothers comforted her. Meanwhile Aemond threatened Lucerys and Jacaerys with with the huge rock, so close to crushing the boy's head, when a dagger came out, and Jacaerys took his eye.

“What is the meaning of this?”, Ser Harrold ran towards Aemond, as Steffon ran towards Aemma, her upper lip was split open and copious amounts of blood was pouring out between her trembling little fingers

“Fetch the maesters!” the commander demanded.

“What is going on?”, you demanded loudly, reaching the hall where they all were, awakened and worried. You ran towards Aemma, who was sitting right next to a one-eyed Aemond, her hand was covering her mouth

“Let me see”, bitter tears still ran down her cheeks, but nobody was paying attention to her and her bloody bsuted lip, it looked awful, but not the worse injury of the night. You gasped when you saw Aemond’s face, all stitched, his eye lost. Your sister entered the hall then, running to her own injured child, Lucerys had his nose bleeding too. by his side your two sons stood, both unharmed. You looked back at Aemond and feared the worst

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Corlys demanded, walking in alongside Rhaenys, and the children all started to scream at each other, insulting and accusing. Aemma cried silently, grabbing her lip, and the maester just finished stitching Aemond’s eye and turned to tend to her. She screeched like the day she was born.

Harwin and you had to grab her and hold her tightly to let the Maester stitch up her lip, she twisted and turned in her father’s embrace, and her cries broke your heart. The desperation of knowing and seeing your child was in pain, and you could do nothing to help her. When she was done she curled into his father’s embrace and cried silently.

“She will scar, your grace”, the Maester sentenced. You just nodded.

“What happened?”, you repeated, this time your angry voice made the entire room silent, your eyes burned with rage as you looked at all the children, who were intimidated under your gaze. You then looked at Maekar, your son always told the truth. “Maekar”, you called

“It’s my son’s right to tell the tale”, Alicent chimed in, but you only had eyes for your oldest

“Baela and Rhaena were angry that Aemond claimed Vhagar, they accused him of stealing and wanted to beat him up”, he told you, Rhaegar looked at him in panic, “he fighted them off, so Lucerys and Jacaerys punch him as well”

“It's a lie!”

“It was an unfair fight so he picked a rock, he hit Aemma with it, but it was an accident”, he continued, “but he was going to hit Jace and Luke with it, it was a big rock, the size of their heads…”

“Prince Jacaerys had a blade he wanted to kill my son!”, screamed Alicent

“That’s when the blade came in”, Maekar finished. It was a gruesome tale, children against children. The dark culmination of years of tensions between your family, and the next generation was paying for it.

The children started screaming at each other again. and this time, your father, who had remained in the corner having a strong discussion with his guards, called for silence.

Harwin walked with Aemma in his arms to place himself near his sons, and you reached for them, your family.

“He told us that Jacaerys and Lucerys were bastards”, Maekar murmured to you, “And that we were brothers”, Harwin didn’t seem to listen, but your face turned pale.

Her sons accused Aemond to Rhaenyra in a similar fashion, as she turned pale as well.

“Awful insults were said to my sons and they were forced to defend themselves”, Rhaenyra then said. “awful insults were said to them, insults that are treacherous, his legitimacy was placed in doubt”. You know Rhaenya had to defend her own children, but Aemond had lost an eye. “Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned, to know where he heard such things”. Sharply questioned?

“Over insults?”, Alicent asked, “MY SON JUST LOST AN EYE, AND AEMMA GOT SCARRED FOR LIFE!”

“ENOUGH!”, demanded your father, “Aemond, where did you hear such things?”

“Aegon”, he accused, he was in his chambers, sleeping, so he couldn’t defend himself, but the boy’s eye was on his mother the entire time.

“This fighting must cease!”, he demanded, “we are family!”, he walked towards you, and check Aemma’s face, who was sniffing against his father’s chest, but more calm now. Your father caressed her silver hair and turned to the room. “Show your good will to one another! Your father, your gransdire, YOUR KINGS DEMANDS IT!”, Aemond walked towards you, and your daughter

“I’m sorry Aemma”, he murmured, she just nodded, still grabbing onto Harwin’s vest. You smiled at the boy, who had just lost his eye. Your father placed his hand on Aemond’s shoulder.

You looked at Rhaenyra and she met your eyes, you then looked at Jace, who took a step forwards.

“I’m sorry Aemond”

“Your apologies can’t make him whole!”, accused Alicent, “it insufficient”

“What would you have us do?”, asked your father, “we can’t restore his eye

“His eye was taken”, she said then, “I’ll have on of her son’s eye in return”, everything, everyone, tensed like a bow ready to lunch the arrow, “Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Jacaerys Velaryon” gasps and screams could be heard in the room, and as Criston moved an inch, you called for your own knight

“You will do no such thing!” your sister muttered

“Ser Steffon” you called with urgency, and the blonde knight took two long steps, standing in front of Crispin

“Take one more step Ser Crispin and I’ll gut you like a fish” he warned, his hand on his sword

“You are threatening the sworn sword of the Queen herself?” he mocked his own hand on his sword, “your sworn brother?”

“Is not a threat, is a warning” he answered

“He is sworn to obey me!”, demanded Alicent again, unaware of Steffon

“As your protector”, refused Criston, as he kept his eyes on Steffon

Your father walked towards Alicent to talk to her, but it didn’t meant anything, as when your father turned, she grabbed the dagger from his belt and ran towards Rhaenyra

“Stay with the King!”, shouted Ser Harrold, and what could be heard was Lucerys' piercing scream as Alicent attacked Rhaenyra with the dagger. Rhaenyra grabbed her

“Ser Criston!”, the dark-haired knight moved towards the pair, but Steffon grabbed him, slapping him across the face

“What the fuck did I said?”, he faced him, sharing menacing looks and dark promises of revenge between the two

“Enough!”

“Alicent drop the blade!”

“OUR CHILDREN ARE HURT!”, you screamed, and everything once again seemed to stop. Alicent let go of your sister and looked at you, her big eyes opened in disbelief, “Your son harmed my daughter, they harmed yours, blood for blood”, you said, “it’s enough for today”.

you daughter released herself from her father’s embrace, and walked slowly towards Aemond

“I’m sorry Aemond”, she whispered, leaning in and kissing the poor boy’s cheek. He then nodded, and walked towards his mother.

“Don’t mourn me, mother”, he said gently, “I might have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon”.

Notes: For those who read the book Fire and blood or have read about the dance you must know how it goes for children trying to tame their parent’s dragons… or already claimed dragons…well… Vhaelar wouldn’t hurt Aemma or the other Strong children. She knows them, and as we saw in GOT, dragons wouldn’t harm people they know their rider to be close to… but… she can press that snooze button regarding their commands 😂

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