#I may have to cut his pov from this chapter entirely | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mountainsandmayhem · 5 months ago

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BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing.

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin.

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club.

The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about.

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met.

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud.

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me.

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home.

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it.

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again.

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone.

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste.

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time.

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement.

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants.

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges.

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive.

“I can too!”

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?”

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.”

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?”

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.”

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.”

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

“I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated.

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.”

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.”

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle.

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask, “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?”

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours.

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.”

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.”

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream.

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.”

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years.

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo.

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him.

You

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night.

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!”

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.”

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.”

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.”

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs.

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?”

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?”

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?”

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind.

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.”

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!”

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes.

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops.

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself.

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile.

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo.

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man.

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning.

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve.

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it.

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear.

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in.

Spanking, five.

Whips and Crops, five.

Paddles, five.

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point.

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five.

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel.

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied.

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours.

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you.

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call.

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears.

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs.

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller.

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel.

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his.

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips.

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you.

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on.

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently.

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives.

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging.

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table.

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms.

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

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arte072 · 5 months ago

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Op was talking about the Stark girls but the problem with this take is that Sansa calls Arya ugly AND would also never die for her lol. In fact, she actively risked Arya’s life/safety multiple times be it the Trident incident, telling the entire court that Arya has traitor’s blood while she herself was a “good girl”, telling Cersei about Ned’s plan, etc etc. and never reflects upon it. She still blames Arya for Lady’s death in A Clash of Kings 😭

I’m sorry but Sansa’s dislike of Arya runs deep. Far deeper than any negativity that might be felt in reverse lbr. And it may not be as bad as say, Cersei and Tyrion, but it also doesn’t have to be for it to still be considered negative.

I’m just so baffled by the insistence that this fundamental aspect of their relationship be denied.

Name one moment of Sansa being selfless for Arya or standing up for her in any way. Name top three moments of Sansa saying or thinking anything positive specifically about Arya! (Vaguely remembering her existence in her idealized memories of Winterfell doesn’t count btw) They both care about each other as family, sure. But where’s the actual love y’all keep talking about?

I think the biggest evidence of the sheer dearth of positivity between these girls is the fact that Arya and Sansa are both POV characters with some of the highest chapter counts in the series, they’ve interacted with each other both in their own chapters and in other’s, and have thought about each other multiple times even after they’ve gone their separate ways. Yet the most ““positive”” quote this fandom has of them is Ned’s “sun and moon” comment. (And for context, this quote was said by Ned after Arya was angry at Sansa for victim-blaming Mycah for his own murder so…..lol)

In the combined 50 something chapters these girls have, the fact that the “Stark sisters LOVE each other!!!! 🤬” crowd has just that one quote spoken by their dad who was basically giving his daughter a lecture and nothing from the girls themselves is just…. sad tbh. Imagine if we were constantly told of the strength and love between Jon Snow and Arya’s relationship and the only evidence was Theon’s “Lord Stark’s sullen bastard has always been fond of his half-sister Arya”.

Sad.

There used to be this trite, overused comeback made by Sansa/Stark Sisters fans that went:

“Umm if Arya knew you were saying anything bad about Sansa she would fucking HATE you!!!!!”

and maybe so! Arya’s very empathetic and has been shown to defend Sansa and get upset on her sister’s behalf multiple times! But would the reverse be true?

Would Sansa hate me if I said negative things about Arya? And if so, where are the textual evidence for this? Because Ned’s “sun and moon; you share dna” is not cutting it I’m afraid 😔

#arya stark #sansa stark #and for what it’s worth #neither of these girls have to like each other for them be considered good or interesting character #if the fear is that Sansa may be perceived as a bad person for being mean to Arya I’ve never thought of it as that #Sansa can dislike her sister and still be a generally good person #she just has shit taste when it comes to people but like we already know this lmao #it has been firmly established since her very first chapter #I just think it’s insulting and weird to basically insist everyone should dumb down their reading comprehension #in the name of defending a fictional character at all costs

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ginnyluna · 8 months ago

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I've been thinking about Reyna lately. Specifically, about her romantic interests. Like, how she was supposedly in love with Jason before the swap, but did nothing when he disappeared, and then developped a crush on Percy in like three days. I know i'm not the only one thinking it's a bit weird and out of character for her, and i had a thought on that.

Headcanon alert: Maybe becoming Praetor isn't just about leading the legion. Why are there always two praetors, a boy and a girl? What if New Rome expects their praetors to get together, after their service? You gotta understand, yes there are many citizens in New Rome, but the thing is, there are very few actual demigods, those people are almost all legacies, several generations after an actual demigod, and almost none of them have any real power anymore. Maybe New Rome needs to insure they keep having powerful warriors to fufill their leadership positions. What better way to insure that than artificially putting two of their most powerful warriors together?

It's not necessarily obvious, more like an unwritten rule, but when two praetors are chosen, they know it comes with expectations. Praetors are good at meeting expectations, after all. And New Rome's senators are there to remind them of those expectations. To make things easier, when picking their next two praetors, sometimes, the Senate chooses two teens who are already a couple, if both are powerful enough. Sometimes, they may pass over a potential praetor if they explicitly refuse to be a part of this kind of engagement, or if their parents want to protect them from that. And sometimes, the Senate picks two powerful orphans, one who spent his entire life following the rules and trying to meet expectations, and one who just lost her family and would do anything to belong to a new one - bonus points if one is an extremely rare son of Jupiter, they'll definitly want to insure that this specific genetic will be passed on to the next generation.

So. I don't think Reyna was ever in love with either Jason or Percy (at least, to me, it really didnt' feel like it when reading her pov chapters). I think maybe she was just expected to be, so of course she tried to be. Reyna has always been a rule-follower, after all, she always does what is expected of her, she understands the hierarchy's needs. And maybe she longs for a family of her own, too, and Jason is a really good guy, it would be a really good match, so if that's what the legion expects of her, why not go for it.

Edit: more under the cut

Also, it would kinda explain Reyna's reactions, i think? Even though she's not in love with Jason, she still likes him, they're friends, and they have both unexplicitly agreed to this match when they accepted the role of praetors. So when Venus tells her that Jason will never end up with her, Reyna just... doesn't get it? Why wouldn't they end up together, that's part of the deal, right? Why would Jason change his mind? Reyna probably already knows he's not in love with her like she's not in love with him, but that's never been a problem for her, and it wasn't gonna be a problem for him either when he took the praetor badge, so what changed? Does he actually dislikes her that much?

So yeah, she's a bit hurt by that. She thought they had an agreement (unspoken, prehaps, but still, for her it was quite clear).

But then Jason vanishes. No one really knows what to do, they don't even know what happened, did he leave? was he kidnapped? is he dead? Of course Reyna is worried, he was her friend, but she has an entire camp to run, all by herself now. She also thinks, that's what Venus meant after all, doesn't matter if he's dead or if he left willingly, he'll never be a part of her family, the family she's been longing for. Reyna probably thinks she's cursed to be alone now, the forever-alone single praetor, what a depressing thought. But then comes Percy.

Percy is powerful. He's another very rare demigod. He's brave, strong-willed, a natural leader - all important qualities for a potential praetor. So when he succeeds his quest, brings back the golden eagle and saves Camp Jupiter, of course he is chosen to replace Jason. Reyna thinks, is this her second chance? Percy is also handsome, funny and kind, he would be just as good match as Jason.

But when Percy agrees to become praetor, he has absolutly no idea what expectations comes with it - it's not like anyone ever takes time to explain, everybody just usually knows about it, it's tradition and what not. So when he tells Reyna he already has a girlfriend, of course she's disappointed, her hopes for family and a sense of belonging are shattered, again.

My point is, what Reyna had for Jason and Percy, it was never about love. It was mostly about rationalizing New Rome's expectations, and a little about wanting to belong, to be a part of a family of her own.

#pjo #pjo headcanon #pjo hoo toa #hoo #hoo headcanon #camp jupiter #camp jupiter headcanon #cj headcanons #reyna avila ramirez arellano #reyna ramirez arellano #reyna ramirez #reyna headcanon #jason grace #percy jackson #percy jackson fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo #my stuff

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babybells123 · 7 months ago

Text

Regarding the original outline + some thoughts on Jon & Sansa…

This is a long one. Buckle up.

If there is one thing I have picked up on in the ASOIAF fandom, it’s the knee-jerk negative reaction towards any theory/parallel/connection between Jon and Sansa. This was exacerbated by the show, of course but even now - five years later, there is an insane amount of vitriol that my brain is unable to comprehend. And here’s the rub; the infamous 1993 outline is the irony of it all.

In a fandom that is a-okay with *certain* incest ships (r.e D@enerys x Jon, D@emon x Rh@enyra, Jon x Aria), as well as blatantly pedophilic ships (Sansa x S@ndor, Sansa x Littlefinger, Sansa x Tyrio*), how is Jon x Sansa the worst of them all? I’m going to pin it down to audience engagement with the show, particularly around the later seasons when Jon + Sansa reunite and people began to ‘ship’ them. So many believe that is how the ship took off, and thus it is mere crack - but there are posts tracking back to 2012/2013 theorising the possibility of Jon x Sansa. Was it spurred by the show? Certainly! But it does not take away from the fact that people were making valid arguments and essays before the general fandom was even comprehending a Jon and Sansa reunion on screen. And people were open to discussing/debating it with general civility (a far cry from today).

I’m 90% certain people weren’t criticising those who began to believe in Jon x Aria when the outline was leaked…(though there were most definitely shippers before). But we never see the same level of vitriol towards Jon x Aria shippers, which is strange.

In any case, let’s talk about said outline, some of the key points - and how I believe GRRM made the switch from Jon x Aria to Jon x Sansa. I’ll be drawing from GRRM’s past works, interviews, art, and his personal life - as well as other potential literary influences. I'll be linking metas along the way, but without further ado - let's go.

In October 1993, GRRM wrote a pitch outline for a publishing company. It was three pages long and conveyed alongside the first thirteen chapters of AGOT (170 pages). The three paged letter was leaked on twitter in February 2014, though there were multiple aspects parts blacked out. Keep in mind though, this may not be the *only* outline that exists. There are multiple outlines that have never been publicly released (and will likely remain that way).

But let’s just focus on the 1993 outline, since we’re privy to the details. The thirteen chapters attached to the outline did *not* yet have a Sansa POV, and that’s because in this outline, she wasn’t listed as a key character.

The key characters were; Bran, Jon, Tyrion, D@enerys, and Aria.

The first thirteen chapters were; Prologue; Bran I, Catelyn I, D@enerys I, Eddard I, Jon I, Catelyn II, Aria I, Bran II, Tyrion I, Jon II, D@enerys II, Eddard II, Tyrion II.

I’ve seen people claim that Sansa isn’t an important character since she wasn’t listed as a key character, but they conveniently leave out the fact that a) her chapters were not yet written, b)she was given an entirely different more passive storyline in this outline, c) she dies, d) this was far far before GRRM fleshed out his characters entirely - Sansa took on a life of her own and she became her own solid complex character with an arc in 4 out of 5 of the books; 25 chapters.

In fact, since the books have been published GRRM has regarded Sansa and the Starks as a main character as well;

Collider: In creating this world, did you start out with one family and then branch off into the rest of the world?

GRRM: Well, the Starks are certainly the centre of the story, when it begins. It all begins at Winterfell, with occasional cuts to Daenerys across the ocean, because there was no way I could get her into Winterfell. But, we bring all the characters together at Winterfell, and they’re all there for a while before they start to go their separate ways ... .But, the Starks are the centre of the book and, to a lesser extent, the Lannisters. They are still the major players.

Collider: When you went into this, did you intentionally take the children, put them in an adult setting and force them to be in very adult and complex situations?

GRRM: Yeah, the children were always at the heart of this. The Stark children, in particular, were always very central. Bran is the first viewpoint character that we meet, and then we meet Jon and Sansa and Arya and the rest of them. It was always my intention to do that.”

Collider report.

May 2016 - Balticon.

(…) George said he was “pissed” that the outline was posted in the office building and that someone took photos and shared them. He said it was a letter for him and the publisher only. He was very firm when telling this and it showed on his face.

He then said that he is not good with writing outlines, making book deadlines, and that often in outlines he was “making shit up”, and “characters changed along the way”.

He went straight from talking about the references in the actual books, to the “differences” in the outline from then to now. He did say that he still knows who sits the iron throne and the end game of the main 5, but also included Sansa, but did not give any details (for obvious reasons).

[question if he is still going with the 1991 ending]

“Yes, I mean, I did partly joke when I said I don’t know where I was going. I know the broad strokes, and I’ve known the broad strokes since 1991. I know who’s going to be on the Iron Throne. I know who’s gonna win some of the battles, I know the major characters, who’s gonna die and how they’re gonna die, and who’s gonna get married and all that. The major characters.

….

“So a lot of the minor characters I’m still discovering along the way. But the mains-”

[question if he knows Arya’s and Jon’s fates]

“Tyrion, Arya, Jon, Sansa, you know, all of the Stark kids, and the major Lannisters, yeah.”

Balticon report:

“Ah, how innocent I was… little did that guy in the picture imagine that he would be spending most of the next two decades in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros with Tyrion, Daenerys, Arya, Sansa, Jon Snow, Bran, and all the rest.”

GRRM's live journal:

So Sansa has clearly developed into an important character from GRRM’s words, and the key-characters argument can cease, because It’s very tiring to dispel that when the characters and story took on a life of its own. (I mean, Jaime was meant to remain a villain, but he was clearly given somewhat of a redemption arc in the main series).

I paraphrased what was written here for this whole section, so go check out the longer post!

The Aria in the original outline:

*NOTE: I am blacking out her actual names in case the wrong people find this post. None of this anti her, please keep that in mind.*

Five central characters will make it through all three volumes, [...] The five key players are Tyrion Lannister, D@enerys Targaryen, and three of the children of Winterfell, Aria, Bran, and the bastard Jon Snow.

Joffrey will not be sympathetic and Ned [what appears to say] will be accused of treason, but before he is taken he will help his wife and his daughter Aria escape back to Winterfell.

Tyrion Lannister, meanwhile, will befriend both Sansa and her sister Aria, while growing more and more disenchanted with his own family.

When Winterfell burns, Catelyn Stark will be forced to flee north with her son Bran and her daughter Aria. Wounded by Lannister riders, they will seek refuge at the Wall, but the men of the Night's Watch give up their families when they take the black, and Jon and Benjen will not be able to help, to Jon's anguish. It will lead to a bitter estrangement between Jon and Bran.

Aria will be more forgiving ... until she realises, with terror, that she has fallen in love with Jon, who is not only her half-brother but a man of the Night's Watch, sworn to celibacy. Their passion will continue to torment Jon and Aria throughout the trilogy, until the secret of Jon's true parentage is finally revealed in the last book.

Abandoned by the Night's Watch, Catelyn and her children will find their only hope of safety lies even further north, beyond the Wall, where they fall into the hands of Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall, and get a dreadful glimpse of the inhuman others as they attack the wilding encampment. Bran's magic, Aria's sword Needle, and the savagery of their direwolves will help them survive, but their mother Catelyn will die at the hands of the others.

Exiled, Tyrion will change sides, making common cause with the surviving Starks to bring his brother down, and falling helplessly in love with Aria Stark while he's at it. His passion is, alas, unreciprocated, but no less intense for that, and it will lead to a deadly rivalry between Tyrion and Jon Snow

Observations:

Exactly how old is Aria? Is she a warrior princess who cries at songs like her aunt? Does she enjoy/yearn for romance? Is she a stunningly beautiful maiden rivalling that of Cersei? How close were she and Jon? Did they have a good sibling relationship? Or were they distant? Does she look physically different to Jon? Does she have red hair?

The Sansa of the Original Outline:

‘Each of the contending families will learn it has a member of dubious loyalty in its midst. Sansa Stark, wed to Joffrey Baratheon, will bear him a son, the heir to the throne, and when the crunch comes she will choose her husband and child over her parents and siblings, a choice she will later bitterly rue.’

Tyrion Lannister, meanwhile, will befriend both Sansa and her sister Aria, while growing more and more disenchanted with his own family.

Jaime Lannister will follow Joffrey on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, by the simple expedient of killing everyone ahead of him in the line of succession and blaming his brother Tyrion for the murders.

More observations:

How old is Sansa? Is she 16? 17? She’s conveyed as a less important character in this outline - why? Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? She dies? Jaime kills her? What is her relationship with Aria like? Are/were they close? Or was Sansa initially meant to be a two-tone villain who betrayed her family? Is she overwhelmingly beautiful? Or is she the plainer sister?

It’s quite clear that both ASOIAF Aria and ASOIAF Sansa are entirely different characters to their outlined counterparts.

In the outline, Tyrion sacks and burns Winterfell. In ASOIAF, It’s Theon and later Ramsay who does this. In the outline, it’s Bran, Aria, and Catelyn who go beyond the Wall. In ASOIAF, it’s Bran, Meera, and Jojen (and Hodor). There are a couple of other changes made here, but there seems a pattern where certain acts *still* occur in the main series, they’re just given to different characters (which makes sense, as GRRM grows organically with his characters.)

So, when we take into account the fact of ASOIAF Sansa being considered a main/key character, her marriage to Tyrion, and the possibility of her being the first to reunite with Jon - perhaps GRRM did keep a Stark x Snow romance - but gave it to a different sister.

In the 2016 Balticon report, GRRM stated he wished that ‘some past things didn’t have such strong foreshadowing and that newer things had stronger foreshadowing.’ You can make a case for J0nrya foreshadowing in the first book, but I’d argue that ACOK/ASOS is where the Jon/Sansa clues and foreshadowing is rife. (and there are certainly Jon/Sansa clues in the first book as well.)

Now to circle back. The Aria of this outline doesn’t have a personality - none of the characters do, really. We don’t know how old she is. Is she a teenager? Is she close in age to Jon? We know she has her needle, so can infer she is a fighter and spirited, but is there a soft romantic side to her? Does she cry at songs like her aunt Lyanna? Does she yearn for love? Is she immensely beautiful? For a narrative like this? It'd be likely if Jon and Tyrion are fighting to the death over her, sort of like gallant knights fighting each other to win the heart of a fair maiden (very romantic and idealistic, mirroring the songs and the stories).

(This is how I am certainly inferring such a scene would have gone).

The ASOIAF Aria we know and love took on a life of her own. She’s described as plain looking (some envision her to be more beautiful than characters like D@ny, Cersei, and Sansa though). - But just quickly on that matter, Aria is indeed compared to Lyanna in looks and spirit, though Lyanna’s beauty was described as wild and implied as non-conventional; different perspectives have different opinions on her. For example, Cersei, Jaime, Devan, the Maester who wrote the WOIAF don’t consider her anything special. Whereas Ned, Robert, and Rhaegar do. So it’s one of those instances where you aren’t exactly sure. In any case, Aria's looks aren't a driving factor in her arc, and I don’t see ASOIAF Tyrion (as creepy as he is) suddenly falling in love with her due to mere attraction because presently, Aria is all knobbly knees and elbows, stick thin, a child, not a maiden, who will still be a pre-teen at the end of the series, if there is no massive time jump.

SHE'S JUST A BABY.

But then, Tyrion did lust after Sansa, so there’s that… however ….

Sansa’s beauty is a driving force in her narrative arc. She is objectified for her beauty. Preyed upon because of her beauty; in many ways it causes her to suffer. It’s largely why LF is grossly infatuated with her - she’s beautiful like Catelyn. Tyrion is attracted to Sansa and wishes to bed her, the H0und intends to rape her during the Blackwater battle, he also comments on her breasts growing, Joffrey sexually humiliates her in court, Ser Dontos has a pervy infatuation with her, Cersei despises Sansa because she is younger, more beautiful etc which she views as a threat.

So, beauty is pertinent to Sansa’s narrative, and it isn’t vain or shallow to say so because it’s a large part as to why she suffers. And her physical beauty is meant to compliment her indulgence in romantic idealism; knights, chivalry, courtly love, beautiful appearances thus equating to good people. It also contributes to perceptions of Sansa; nothing more than a pretty, stupid girl with naive dreams.

So back to ASOIAF Aria: Her arc largely surrounds nature & nature, mercy, war trauma and survival, friendship, belonging, and family. For the majority of the story, she is a traumatised 10 year old travelling through a war torn country, witness to awful horrors, forced to assume multiple identities, until she goes to Braavos and begins her faceless man arc. But this is obviously not her endgame - she is going to go home eventually, that is quite clear.

You can argue she had a little crush on Gendry (as a 10 year old would) (and perhaps something may happen with him when she is older, I think GRRM has played with it.) But other than that, romance is not a central part of Aria's arc insofar. For outline Aria it was, but current ASOIAF Aria is on a completely different tangent all together.

(and that poor poor child is suffering immensely while this is all occurring). Currently, she has no time for/interest in it. She hasn’t been involved in betrothals/marriages, or had men lusting after her (save ‘Mercy’ and people men making brutalising sexual comments towards her). She disguises herself as a boy for a good chunk of the story as it is safer to travel.

No, I’m not trying to reduce any sexual trauma/objectification she suffers, she’s a little girl for heaven’s sake - I’m merely stating that what she is going through is in some ways similar and different to what Sansa is going through. (Who currently is in a in a very Lolita type situation with LF and men sexually intimidating/abusing her has been a key part of her arc - as I said, she suffers significantly due to her beauty. She is something to possess, she isn't real or tangible, she is a beautiful maid with a vast claim to the North.)

Anyway, ASOIAF Aria finds songs and romance ‘stupid.’

“Sansa would have shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid.” (Arya VIII ASOS)

(but that doesn’t mean she won’t encounter it later in life, it just means that at this point of the story, she isn’t interested/likely won't encounter some epic grand romance that outline Aria was likely destined for. (And she’s 11 for god’s sake!).

‘But Sansa was dreaming of love at that age!’

Sansa has been a romantic idealistic dreamer since she was a little girl. She adored those stories and is the literal embodiment of the mediaeval pre-raphaelite maiden depicted in art. It’s central to her story arc, to her qualities, and how she functions/copes with things around her. “Life is not a song.” Is so fundamental to that.

So to reiterate ASOIAF Aria is a completely different character to outline Aria- for all we know OG Aria was 15 years old, very beautiful to the point of men duelling over her, (just as depicted in art above) likely a romantic heroine, had consistent memory lapses that would cause her to “realise in terror, she had fallen for Jon,” and based off of GRRM’s past works - was probably a redhead.

“But OG Aria has a sword named needle!”

Indeed, but as I stated, we don’t know anything else about her beyond that. Many have theorised that D@ny and Jon are the epic romance of the series, but it’s clear from this particular outline that GRRM intended for it to be Aria and Jon as the epic major romance of the series. That would mean Aria would have to be a somewhat romantically-inclined character, for this development to appear natural and not forced. Based on her current ASOIAF arc, it doesn’t track for her character to make a sudden 180. Her softness and vulnerable moments come from thinking of her family and home. Insofar, this isn’t equated to yearning for love, romance, children, as Sansa has done from the beginning of the series.

Now, we know GRRM is a self-proclaimed romantic, and ASOIAF Sansa exists very much as a deconstruction of romanticism.

“He said he is a romantic, in the classical sense. He said the trouble with being a romantic is that from a very early age you keep having your face smashed into the harshness of reality. That things aren’t always fair, bad things happen to good people, etc. he said it’s a realistic world, so romantics are burned quite often. This theme of romantic idealism conflicting with harsh reality is something he finds very dramatic and compelling, and he weaves it into his work.” (2005 interview).

Sansa is arguably, the embodiment of this dismantling. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that love isn’t real, or that it doesn’t deserve to exist in a gritty world such as Westeros. There were many couples who had good, happy marriages, even after war and loss and trauma. For example, apart from the Jon Snow situation, Ned and Catelyn had a remarkably healthy relationship. So it is possible - the takeaway from the series is not that hoping is meaningless, dreams are meaningless, love is meaningless. More so that it is complicated, and it must coexist alongside all the chaos in order to achieve a sort of

equilibrium. A literal ‘Dream of Spring’ a hope for happiness, rather than happiness itself. It tracks with the bittersweet conclusion to the series ; it is a grimdark story, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll be a grimdark ending where everyone good and noble dies and wishes/dreams/innate desires remain unfulfilled.

In fact, I argue that a lot of them will come true - but at what cost? It’ll be at the cost of loss and grief, of suffering upon suffering, but what’s inherently more powerful, what’s more subversive is having those characters persist and rebuild, regenerate, create a new world where love and chaos undoubtedly exist alongside each other, but just because there is chaos, that does not mean the love is miniscule or cancels out entirely.

Because if all these characters have the most unsatisfying, awful conclusions known to man, well - what was the point of everything? What was the point of their journeys? This isn’t a nihilistic story, and it won’t have a nihilistic ending like everyone assumes. It’s far more difficult for an author to craft such an ending, balancing things out whilst acknowledging all the loss and still holding out hope for a better future to come. That brighter days will arrive. That winter will end, and spring will be on the horizon.

“We may lose our heads, it’s true. But what if we prevail?” (Davos I ADWD).

And that right there, sums it up perfectly.

So you need characters like Sansa, characters like Brienne, D@ny, (you know what let’s just add all the Stark children of the series to the list, because every single character arc is about remaining resilient and prevailing in some way or another).

But it’s Sansa who exists as the meta character that embodies/indulges in all those romantic ideals that GRRM is intent on exploring - it thus makes perfect sense for it to be her that experiences the romance arc. Many people think she’ll end up with the H0und, or Harry the douchebag, because it’s a part of her growing up, maturing, learning from her negative biases etc etc but she shouldn’t have to be with abusive or douchy men to learn that. She’s already learned and suffered enough.

“It is my claim they want. No one will ever marry me for love.”

And how utterly heartbreaking that she has resigned to think this, with her arc only mid-way. But importantly, just a few chapters later she enters the garden of undisputed beauty and equates the snow landing on her face with romantic kisses, she dreams of innocence and winterfell, despite lamenting how she doesn’t belong in such a pure world, she steps out into it all the same. And she builds her home in the snow, content and for once - she’s the child she is, the child she is yearning to be.

So Sansa falling in love with Jon makes sense on a characteristic level. It’s something she never would have considered as a sheltered child, not just because he’s her bastard half brother but because he just didn’t exist in her idea of how the world works. He didn’t fit in with her idea of knights, and courtly love and chivalry. He wasn’t a gallant golden prince, he was dark, sulky and brooding. He existed on the parameters of her life, and she was comfortable with that distant association - but she still loved him, and he her.

Falling in love with Jon would equate to a dismantling of these previous prejudices she held; he’s utterly unconventional, the opposite of what she has shown attraction to (despite her first ‘love’ being Waymar Royce, who resembles Jon strikingly). The man she never really considered beyond courtesy and some scarce, fond memories - to be the one who restores her faith in men, in love, in dreams.

“Realising with terror that she has fallen in love with Jon… their passion will continue to torment them.”

tracks with Sansa’s characterisation particularly, her memory lapses, her clouded judgement, and inability to interpret things correctly (and something as confusing as this would certainly cause her to have some cognitive dissonance going on).

Not to mention caution around well… men. Because who would ever marry her for love? Who would ever take her for true? Love her without expectations and judgement? It’s Jon. Who has been there since the very beginning, who has been a silent unconscious hero, the answer to her prayers, who embodies all those romantic and knightly ideals she has so desperately wanted - despite her being unaware. Who has advocated for her claim - above everyone else.

“No one will ever marry me for love.” And that infamous Jon chapter follows. Jon who is never quite far from Sansa’s suitors. Jon, who has a similar dream of rebuilding Winterfell, of having children named after lost siblings, who wants to woo a girl by giving her a rose and loving beneath the heart tree - the heart of Winterfell. Who would undeniably want to have that beautiful soul-nourishing love he never received as a child, that he believes is perpetually unavailable to him.

Above all, they just fit together. It fits with GRRM’s William Faulkner-esque “the human heart in conflict with itself".” And this is a perfectly subversive way of encapsulating that Jon confusing brotherly love and affection with romance, struggling with the shame of it all - especially post-resurrection, the religious disillusionment that would occur, the notion of Jon being loved by the kind of girl he believed he never had the right to, who his deeply romantic heart is yearned for. (There is a reason GRRM let us know how badly Jon yearns for domesticity, Winterfell love, children, and a wife. He associates his love for Ygritte with her singing, her hair, her smile. He dreams of her tending to him with gentle hands) The simple yet meaningful things that have been denied to him because of his bastardry. And god, what better way to torment these two than by having them fall for each other - realising they fit each other so perfectly, yet tormented by their familial relation. Until, as the outline puts, the parentage is revealed.

Do I believe they will act on their feelings pre-parentage reveal? No. It’ll likely exist in the subtext, in private thoughts and actions. Angst, guilt. Again, the stuff that GRRM loves - the human heart is in conflict with itself.

Much like Lord Byron’s ‘The Bride of Abydos.” Where half-siblings fall in love with each other until they realise they are actually cousins. Lord Byron, who was famously in love with his half sister Augusta, who was a stranger to him for a good portion of his life until they properly got to know each other and fell in love. (Who does that sound like?’)

And if you’re wondering how Jon and Sansa could possibly connect to Lord Byron, well there is a ‘Byron the Beautiful’ in Alayne II AFFC, and Alayne I TWOW. GRRM has further instilled characters by the name of “Manfred” which is in reference to Lord Byron’s infamous work of the same name. (I urge you to check out all of Cappy's Byron metas, they are fantastic.

And, Jon has been called a “Brooding, Byronic, romantic heroine whom all the girls love.” GRRM knows what Byronic is inferring - he isn’t daft, he’s a writer - he reads other works and takes influence and sprinkles in so many things.

A Byronic character involves:

. . romantic melancholy, guilt for secret sin, pride, defiance, restlessness, alienation, revenge, remorse, moodiness, and such noble virtues as honor, altruism, courage, and pure love for a gentle woman. (Poetry Foundation, Lord Byron)

“GRRM: I was always intensely Romantic, even when I was too young to understand what that meant. But Romanticism has its dark side, as any Romantic soon discovers… which is where the melancholy comes in, I suppose. I don’t know if this is a matter of artistic influences so much as it is of temperament. But there’s always been something in the twilight that moves me, and a sunset speaks to me in a way that no sunrise ever has.”

Infinity plus:

And isn’t that exactly what he would be exploring with Jon and Sansa? It isn’t a conventional romance by any means. It could never exist normally until Jon’s parentage is revealed. And that is the tormented nature of it, that is the “bittersweetness” of it - it is rooted in realism, yes - and that to me, is Sansa receiving her true love, countering that no one would ever marry her for love. The gods will grant it to her, - but it’s wrapped up in this darker, morally ambiguous thing that is confusing for her, even though Jon would be her dream come true - he isn’t this neat little courtly golden package, but he embodies all those ideals more than any man she’s actually met.

It’s subversive to what both the characters and the readers expect, and it’s just a brilliant plot twist that screams unpredictability whilst fitting together like a perfect puzzle. It creates internal conflict and evokes those themes that GRRM loves to explore. By giving the ‘heroes’ of the series a motif such as incest is extremely bold; because it challenges the reader greatly. Some people don’t want Jon to end up with Sansa because it contradicts the image that they have of him in his head - the heroic male who will save the world with his heroic counterpart and together they shall rule the seven kingdoms. To embrace his father’s family, claim a dragon, fulfil the prophecy, be the third head of the dragon, reject his stark-ness. Very predictable. Done to death a thousand times over, and yet - it is what the general audience wants/expects. It’s what the dudebros who call him the ‘GOAT’ want, it’s what the Targ stans want, it’s what the show watchers wanted - but what does Jon want?

“Yet he could not let the wildlings breach the Wall, to threaten Winterfell and the north, the barrowlands and the Rills, White Harbor and the Stony Shore, even the Neck. For eight thousand years the men of House Stark had lived and died to protect their people against such ravagers and reavers . . . and bastard-born or no, the same blood ran in his veins. Bran and Rickon are still at Winterfell besides. Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, Farlen the kennelmaster, Mikken at his forge and Gage by his ovens . . . everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved.” (Jon II ASOS).

“I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

"He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.” (Jon XII ASOS).

“Red eyes, Jon realised, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.”

He had his answer then." (Jon XII ASOS)

“He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered.” (Jon VI ASOS)

“Ygritte answered for him. "His name is Jon Snow. He is Eddard Stark's blood, of Winterfell." (Jon VIII ACOK)

"Then you must do what needs be done," Qhorin Halfhand said. "You are the blood of Winterfell and a man of the Night's Watch." (Jon VI ASOS).

“You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place. When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said . . . but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman's hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods.” (Jon XII ASOS)

“He sat on the bench and buried his head in his hands. Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father's heir.” (Jon XII ASOS).

“If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.” (Jon V ASOS).

“If he must perish, let it be with a sword in his hand, fighting his father's killers. He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.” (Jon IX AGOT).

Look, at the end of the day - we don't know how the story will go, but based off of Jon’s character arc? His thoughts? His actions? His relationships with his siblings? The fact that he has warged into a magical beast directly associated with Starks? The North? The Old Gods? The weir wood trees? I think that instead of GRRM having Jon go down the conventional disadvantaged male hero finding out he is a secret prince and thus becoming King and a proper Targ, GRRM will subvert expectations (much to audience displeasure) and do the opposite.

Learning of his true identity will just cause more angst and a major identity crisis. The one thing Jon finds real and solid, that no one can take from him - is that he is Ned Stark’s son. He raised him. Perhaps they don’t share a direct blood link. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is that he was raised by him, loved by him. So instead of choosing his father’s family; embracing the secret prince persona and fighting for the throne - he’ll choose his mother’s family. And I think that is beautifully conclusive.

But back to Jon and Sansa. GRRM is given the opportunity to explore the sort of impact this incest motif has on fundamentally good people. And I think this is what he originally intended to do with Jon and Aria.

Yes, we have Jaime and Cersei, but this is real sibling incest and rife with toxic narcissism, possession etc. We have the T@rgaryens, which are messy beyond belief and practice it due to blood purity.

But Jon and Sansa clearly differ from the rest, and that is because they exist partly as foils as to what we previously have seen. Similar to Jonnel x Sansa. By intentionally refraining from the development of a properly-close sibling relationship, making Jon and Sansa fundamental opposites visually, and associating them with entirely different cultures (yet writing their core personas as the same, their dreams compatible, their thought process and idealism similar).

GRRM manages to pave the way into such a romance that comes as a shock to the characters, the narrative, and readers themselves. Because no one, absolutely no one would see it coming, and the people who have been privy to the theory - immediately dismiss it - and become quite angry when it is brought up. Like I said earlier, a knee-jerk reaction.

To quote this brilliant meta right here:

‘Whether Jon and Sansa fall in love is up to the author and his intended exploration of literary/mythic themes that his predecessors have deployed. He is not writing from (or for) the moral values of show watchers and book readers, or their anecdotal hopes for how things “should be.” He’s writing a narrative that breaks away from conventional storytelling and what we expect from such characters.’

…

‘ I don’t believe the author is giving up completely on the romantic dream. He has made Sansa more cautious, converted her dreams into mere prayers, and has forced her to examine her assumptions, but he’s not turning her into the H0und, who is too pessimistic and fatalistic as a suitor. Sandor’s assertion that all knights are killers makes fantasy so small, it’s eliminated. I think he is setting Sansa on a path where her dreams do die, and her life becomes about as romantic as that smokestack in Cleveland - until they start to come alive again when she travels North to the Wall.’

'That cold, hard reality is still present in the fact that they are brother and sister, but once Jon’s parentage is revealed, this will change. Like an inverted Cinderella (clock striking 12), the reality will become fantasy again. But it’s still inladen with this bitter reality of their relations. So taking this into account, I believe Jon and Sansa could happen because there is no other couple in the series with which GRRM can explore his fascination with fantasy becoming “smaller,” but not completely shrinking altogether. There are no two better characters who represent these ideas, who have the same quietly domestic desires - who do not (at the moment) actively lust for power and cause it to blind them.'

So in essence, Jon and Sansa exist as the subversion of romance. In a twisted, loving sort of way that is morally conflicting to the characters and audiences (for a time). That has existed between the lines, subtly and implicitly. That the audience gives absolutely no thought, because why would they? And if they do, they are abhorred by it - but I’d argue this is the entire point. But not for the reasons you think, not because of the incest - or J0nerys would disgust them.

From the moment he started the series, GRRM has employed incest as a major motif that impacts both the narrative and the characters - the causes the war, that contributes to T@rgaryen values, legacy etc, that propels aspects of narcissism and vitriol for characters like Cersei. It’s really really interesting stuff, as uncomfortable as it is - there are no other works that explore it so messily and beautifully with such nuance.

I believe people seriously underestimate GRRM’s use of omission and subtext. Seriously, just because something is not explicitly stated, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Unfortunately fans have such a surface level reading of the text, that they are unable to peel back the layers and get to its core. They don’t consider literary influences, or art, or the Romantic movement or anything. They claim they want a complex story that is subversive, yet they cheer for the three-headed dragon theory and all the most predictable plot points that have been absolutely done to death. But then they turn up their noses at anything that goes against the grain, or insinuates otherwise.

R + L = J is a great example of existence within the subtext, yet nobody denies that it is there. No one is called crazy or delusional for it. Ned never thinks of Jon’s true parentage despite harbouring that secret for years, because it is buried deep in his subconscious.

And much to the audience’s surprise (and dismay I'm sure) that is how Jon and Sansa will manifest. This is the human heart in conflict with Jon and Sansa, but not just them - the readers as well. It’s pointing to us, asking us how we’ll possibly handle it. We’re meant to feel this conflict of emotions - anguish and torment and yet hope for something ineffable - just like the characters.

To be able to evoke that as a writer is one of the most impressive feats I can think of - and for the majority of it to exist at this point, in a subconscious limbo? How utterly complex and painful and raw and intelligent but oh so very brilliant. Perhaps one of the most compelling things to come out of this entire series, if only the general audience was open to such discussions. But alas, we must contend with the community we have, and hope for a dream of spring to come upon us.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #meta #anti asoiaf fandom #jonsa meta #long post #lord byron #incest motif #original outline #literary subversion #sansa stark #jon snow

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somewhere-in-the-rain · 5 months ago

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Xaden’s mother theory

A couple of months ago when I reread Fourth Wing and Iron Flame I noticed an inconsistency with the character we’re given of Xaden’s mother (by this I mean an intentional inconsistency which I’ll get to later, rather than a fault of Rebecca Yarros’s). This is long, but please bear with me, I promise I’m making a point.

MINOR SPOILERS FOR FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME

There are as far as I remember three times in the series so far that Xaden’s mother has been mentioned (there may be others but these three stuck out in my memory):

I’d forgotten what it felt like to be loved, really, truly loved—it’d been so many years since Dad died. And mom… Not going there.

Fourth Wing (Chapter 39 - Xaden’s POV)

As far as I’m aware, this is the first time Xaden’s mother is mentioned in the series, on the very last page of Fourth Wing. To me, this line shows that Xaden was greatly hurt by his mother leaving—despite the clause in the wedding contract saying she was free to leave when he turned 10, it’s like he still didn’t actually expect her to. It’s clearly a sensitive topic for him, if he still doesn’t like to think about it 13 years later.

“What’s in our armoire right now?” … “What about the blanket my mother made me that’s tucked back on the top shelf?”

Iron Flame (Chapter 55)

So Xaden’s mother made him a blanket. This is where the main inconsistency in her character that I noticed happens. I personally have never made a blanket, but I knitted a scarf once and that took a very long time, and a blanket is much bigger than that. It shows she clearly cared about him (of course she did, he’s her son) and is a gesture that got me thinking—are these the actions of someone who would abandon their 10 year old son? I don’t think so.

The fact that the blanket is tucked away at the back of the armoire again emphasises the point that this is still a sensitive topic for Xaden.

“Where’s your mother?” He startles but quickly masks the reflex.“No one talks about her,” I continue. “There are no paintings, no references to her being at the Calldyr executions. Nothing. It’s like you were hatched and not born.” The moment stretches between us. “She left when I was young. Their marriage contract said an heir had to survive to the age of ten, and then she was free to go, which is what she did. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.” His voice sounds like he dragged it across broken glass.

Iron Flame (Chapter 58)

First of all the “hatched and not born” line is clearly foreshadowing for something, because I’m fairly sure there have been references made to wyvern hatching and I just think that’s such a particular phrasing to use.

Secondly, it doesn’t surprise me at all that there are no paintings or references remaining after she left. If Fen Riorson is anything like his son (and from what we’ve seen I think he is) I don’t think he’s the type to yearn for someone or admit to missing them after they leave. Xaden says that his mother cut off all contact when she left, so it makes sense that they’d remove all references to her, although I do think there is something else going on there (but it’s 1am right now and I don’t have the energy to work out what).

So to conclude, I don’t think that someone who hand-makes a blankets for their child would abandon their 10 year old son, cutting off all contact completely. I don’t think Xaden’s mother would do that. Even if she left Xaden’s father, surely she’d still keep in touch with Xaden? I don’t think she left willingly, and even if she wasn’t physically forced to leave I think there must’ve been some reason she did what she did, other than just being free to—either because she literally had no choice or because she was trying to protect Xaden from something, most likely something to do with the venin. I can’t remember if Rebecca Yarros confirmed it or not, but I’m certain she will play a large role in the later books (and definitely die at some point but that’s a different thing entirely). I think she knows something about the venin or about the dragons. I also think she’s running from something, and that there’s a reason she hasn’t tried to get in touch with Xaden in over a decade, not just indifference to his existence. Maybe Fen told her to stay away. Maybe she knew too much. Maybe it was something else entirely.

I do think Xaden knows more than he told Violet about this situation as well, or at least suspects something.

Anyway, if you made it this far THANK YOU and have some cookies 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪 I’m gonna go to sleep now

#this is what happens when I stay up past 1am #this is so long I’m sorry #the empyrean #fourth wing #iron flame #xaden riorson #fen riorson #onyx storm #onyx storm theory #my posts #rebecca yarros

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

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The Dollhouse 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Ann and Lulu. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.

Note: Hello again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖

You take your time unpacking. The more you think about the others, the more nervous you are. Peter’s nice enough and the others didn’t seem so bad but they’re still strangers to you. Everything about this is strange. New home, new school, new city...

You put away the last of your clothes and unzip the smaller pockets. You put away your charging cords and the little bits and bobs tucked away. You leave your pouch of toiletries on the dresser, a mirror mounted to it, and put your straightener and curling iron beside it, adjusting them until they’re perfectly horizontal.

You make yourself turn away before you can get hung up on the little imperfections in the wood. You pace in a full circle around the room then stop by the window. You nearly scream as an unexpected figure looks back at you.

Steve, the security guy, looks just as surprised then laughs at himself. His eyes crinkle and he waves. You don’t know what else to do but return the gesture. You back away shyly and cross your arms.

Maybe your dad is right. Maybe you aren’t cut out for college. It’s so confusing when he says that, he’s the one who wanted you to go so bad.

You stop by the bed as you hear the other girls coming down the stairs. You don’t move. If you’re still enough you might just disappear. Or at least, you won’t make enough noise to remind them of your existence.

No such luck. The knock on your door jolts you from your inaction. You don’t answer it right away. You could make an excuse. You could say you have a headache or that you’re tired. The latter isn’t entirely untrue.

You can’t. You don’t want things to be like they were before. You can’t let yourself be the odd one out.

You go to the door and open it. It’s one of those girls. You don’t remember her name. She has silvery purple eyeliner and glossy lips.

“Molly, was it?” She smiles and giggles, a small flutter in her fingers as she sways. “I’m Lulu, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” you utter quietly.

“We... we’re...” she looks behind her, “we’re going to make some drinks and play some ping pong--”

“Ping pong?” The door next to yours opens, startling both you and Lulu. “I’ve been waiting for some real competition.”

“Oh, hi, er... Peter?”

“Luanne, right?” He counters.

“Lulu,” she corrects, “you can come too!”

She giggles again. It’s not really humourous, more of a brittle crackle. When she does it, she almost twitches. She’s nervous. That makes you feel a little less so. You’re not the only scared one.

“Awesome,” Peter shuts his door, “you coming, Moll?”

You nod, surprised by his pet name. Moll? Your dad calls you Molly Anne but you like Molly just fine. You close your door and follow Lulu as she leads the way. You’re overly aware of Peter right behind you.

As you get to the kitchen, there’s a squeal. Barbie, the bouncy one, shakes moisture from her fingers and laughs. The other girls join her.

“You’re making such a mess,” the other girl, you think her name was Polly, chides.

“It ain’t fun if it ain’t messy,” Barbie chirps back then glances over at you. “Oh, there they are. Finally. We’re about to get started.”

You smile and Lulu skips ahead. She watches Barbie as she wipes up the mess then grabs the bottle and fills the lined up shot glasses. Peter steps up beside you, his elbow brushing yours. “Tequila, huh? You girls ready to get wild?”

“Think you can handle it?” Barbie goads.

“You know it. How about we make it interesting?”

“How’s that?” Barbie wonders, the other girls look between them, you included.

“Ping pong. Losers take a shot each round.”

“Hmm, well there’s six of us and only four paddles,” she tuts.

“We’ll do a tournament. Three teams.” Peter suggests.

“That works, I guess,” Barbie shrugs, “everyone in?”

You peer around and nod as the others do the same. You don’t want to be the party pooper. You’ve never played ping pong before.

“Dibs on Molly,” Peter nudges you with his elbow. “Ready to win, partner?”

You peek at him and shrug, “sure, but uh, I might not be very good.”

“I’ll take whoever,” another girl, the only one you haven’t met, says. She meets your gaze and smiles, “I’m Ann by the way.”

“Molly,” you reply, this time remembering to do so.

“Me and Polly will make it fair and won’t team up,” Barbie says, “how about it, Lu?”

Lulu giggles, “alright!”

“Guess it’s me and you,” Polly says to Ann.

“Alright, we got our teams but we’ll do some inaugural shots first! We have to christen this place!” Barbie whoops and takes a shot glass. “Come on, everyone.”

You don’t move until Peter does. He’s the first one, and the most eager, to join Barbie. Ann follows and Lulu’s close enough to take a glass, and Polly takes one with a trite look.

Barbie raises her glass, “cheers.”

You echo her and you watch the others drink before you do the same. You cover your mouth as you swallow, eyes watering, nearly choke. Lulu looks just as shocked by the sear of the alcohol and the other hiss and laugh about it.

“Holy shit, that’s strong,” Peter slams his glass back on the counter. “You bring that, Barbs?”

“Barbie,” she corrects him once more. “Yes, only the best.”

“Hmm, I think it would go great with pizza,” Peter says, “my treat. How about it, girls?”

“Pizza?” Lulu says hopefully.

“Can’t drink on an empty stomach. Or ping pong. Trust me, you don’t wanna touch a paddle without a good meal in ya,” he snickers.

“You’re goofy,” Barbie says, “but I am starving.”

“Me too,” Polly agrees.

You nod in agreement and your stomach rumbles. Peter looks at you and pats your shoulder, “Mood,” he rubs his stomach at the same time, “alright, toppings? What are thinking? Please don’t say cauliflower crust. I need real carbs in me.”

Things are getting interesting. The first round of ping pong is almost through and the tip tap, click clack of the ball bounces over the table top. You keep your eyes on the blurry white sphere, flick your wrist as fast as you can. Peter returns each shot, the game coming down to a duel as Lulu and Molly can only watch you battle.

A loud chime makes you falter you miss the shot. You curse and toss the paddle to the table. “No fair! The doorbell messed me up.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Peter sneers. “Losers get the pizza!”

“You are so lame,” you huff at him.

“Hey, I paid.”

You roll your eyes and spin away. Lulu sets down her paddle and follows your strut out of the room. You’re not that upset. It’s just a game and you are pretty hungry.

You open the door to the delivery man. You nearly slam it in his face as his eyes rove up and down you. It’s no unusual, you’ve noticed Peter’s stray glances all night, but it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable.

“Hello,” you sing.

“Hello,” smirks back, a bristle of a mustache over his lip. “All this for you two ladies?”

“It’s a party,” you assure him as you reach to take the boxes.

“Ah, exciting, getting lit?”

You almost laugh in his face. Is he trying to be cool? You balance the boxes and he hands over the paper bag with the dips to Lulu. She thanks him and only then does he really look at her. Another leer. Ew.

“Alright, well, have a good night, sir,” you grip the edge of the door.

“No tip?” He challenges.

“Um, Peter said he put one in the app,” you shrug, “sorry, but we don’t have one.”

“Hmm, well...” he eyes you up and down again, “not for nothing I guess.”

He winks and twists on his heel. As he strides away, you squint after him. His footfalls snag your eyes on his embossed shoes. Slowly, you shut the door before he can turn back and notice. You frown.

“What’s wrong?” Lulu asks.

“He... I don’t know. He just... didn’t strike me as a delivery man.”

“It it Uber?” She asks and looks at the boxes.

“Hmm, no receipt,” you glance down. “Guess we can ask Peter. Or, you know, it doesn’t matter.”

You turn and head back down the hall. You suppose anyone can wear Prada loafers. You go back to the gaming room and put the boxes down.

“Dig in!” You declare, “then time for the second round.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter grins, “me and Molly versus Ann and Polly. You girls better watch it. She’s a beast.”

Molly gives an awkward hum and wrings her hands. She stands back as everyone else clusters around for a slice. You use napkins, all too eager to bother with plates. Besides, you haven’t even checked the cupboards. You’ll probably have to go buy a bunch of stuff like that. That will be fun!

“Mm, this is so good,” Ann says. “It’s been forever since I had pizza.”

“Me too,” Molly agrees. “My dad only gets it when I get all As. Last year... well... it’ll be better second year.”

“Second year,” you echo, “me and Polly are second year too.”

“First,” Ann says.

“Second,” Peter adds.

“Third,” Lulu supplies with her trademark giggle, “you have to be third year to do exchange.”

“Ah, makes sense,” you accept.

The conversation dies down, replaced by eager chewing. You’re all ravenous. It isn’t until that moment that you realise how long the day’s been but you don’t want to call the night early. Not now that you’re finally back in the thick of it.

“You didn’t do your shots,” Peter says. “You and Lulu. You lost.”

“Oh, yeah, we’ll eat first.”

“Right,” he says doubtfully.

“Don’t get cocky, the night’s still young.”

“Mhmm,” his brows flick up.

You’re slightly irked by him. He’s friendly enough and you really can’t pick out a definitive reason why. He’s just... too much. Almost argumentative but not really aggressive. And he keeps calling your Barbs. You hate that.

“Come on then, Lu,” you crumple the napkin around your crust, “let’s take our shots.”

She still has a mouthful but she nods and follows you. You go around the table and take two shot glasses. You pour and push on towards your teammate. You count down and drink in tandem. She whines as she forces it down as you swig it down easily.

You can eat your humble pie for now, but you’ll get them back in the next one.

You bat the ball back across the table and trip, barely keeping from tumbling over. It’s late. Two at least. You’ve been at it for hours, back and forth, team versus team. You’ve lost almost every round you’ve played.

As you stumble for the next shot, you collide with your Ann. The two of you tangle up together as Peter hollers in victory. He’s the most skilled and thus the most sober of the group. You might suspect he’s a hustler but it might just be that no one else cares enough to be good at it.

“Game point,” Peter announces.

“Thank god,” Ann mutters, “I can’t handle anymore.”

“Probably a good idea,” Barbie yawns and looks at her partner. Lulu is at the table, her head in her arms as she snores. The sight of her makes your own eyelids heavier.

“Come on, let’s just get it over with.”

Peter smirks and tosses the ball up. He hits it with enough vim to send it bouncing high. Ann tries to swipe at it but only manages to hurl her paddle at the wall. She huffs in disappointment and you put down your own paddle.

“Huh, kinda anticlimactic,” Peter chuckles.

“Good game,” you say.

“I guess,” he looks at Molly and raises his hand, “good job, Molly.”

She slaps his palm gently, almost as if she’s afraid to touch him. You almost feel bad for Peter. He’s the only guy and everyone seems a bit awkward about that fact. Even him. You have to admit, you don’t exactly like that he’s there. It isn’t his fault but you just aren’t very comfortable around guys.

“Anyone down for solo?”

“Aren’t you tired of playing drunk people?” Barbie whines.

“Pour me a shot, Barbz, I can win fair and square,” he challenges.

“Barbie,” she snips back for probably the dozenth time.

“I think...” you rub your eyes, “I’m going to hit the hay. I’m dead on my feet.”

“Me too,” Ann slurs, “um, I’ll clean up the empty boxes first.”

“Leave em for the morning,” Barbie stands and waves her off.

“I don’t mind,” Ann insists.

“I can help,” Molly offers.

The two of them gather up the empty boxes and Barbie gently shakes Lulu awake. The poor thing snorts as she sits up too fast and nearly tips out of her seat. Barbie tries to get her up and you go over to help.

“I think maybe she shoulda done half shots,” Barbie says.

“Yeah, maybe,” you agree.

“She can sleep in my room. I’ll make sure she’s okay,” your friend offers.

“Good idea.”

“Boo, we’re in college. Come on, let’s pull an all nighter,” Peter says.

“Pfft,” Barbie scoffs as you as good as carry Lulu between you, “I save those for studying,”

“Same,” you laugh thinly.

“Hmm, well, it was fun I guess,” Peter mutters. “How about a rematch tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Barbie dismisses. “I think we all need to sleep. We got a lot to do around here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Peter says, “I’m spending tomorrow evening out my tan. Once winter’s here, I’ll be as pasty as a ghost.”

His humour fails to laid on the group of drunk and exhausted girls. You help Barbie with Lulu as Ann and Molly fold the cardboard boxes and carry them into the kitchen. You struggle to get the sleepy girl upstairs and Ann catches up to you as you hear Molly squeak out a good night.

As much fun as that was, you’re going to hate spending your first morning in the house hungover.

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amywritesthings · 1 year ago

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SILVER UNDERGROUND / deleted scene 01.

levi's pov #1. :: a deleted scene from chapter one. this is an alternate pov of levi's first conversation with james in the trost hospital.

happy silver underground eve! i thought i could give you all a little treat for the very first edition of additional SU content. this is a special levi-only drabble covering his pov when james first wakes up. i wrote it to better understand his own head while writing james' pov, but it wasn't necessary for the final draft. apologies for the pain, my dears. xo this is unedited. 1.8k words / angst, language, mentions of self hatred. :: please remember: this is additional content. nothing in the deleted drabbles are tied to the main content/overall final storyline.

He doesn’t bother knocking.

Levi can’t, not when you’ve been awake for twenty minutes. Twenty whole minutes where he wasn’t there. Twenty fucking minutes where you were alone, lying in a hospital cot, confused and out of sorts and more than likely asking for him.

He was supposed to be there.

He just didn’t think today would be the day it finally happened.

As he rushes through the hallways of the Trost District hospital, he tries to keep his face neutral. You’re going to need one hell of a recovery period, so he’s going to need to be strong — to hold true to his twilight promises he made six months ago, come what may.

According to Hange, you’d already been gone for several minutes by that time. That didn’t stop him from talking to you through the entire surgery prep process like you could hear him anyway. They’re cutting your shirt now. They’re setting up the blood bag. I’ll sit here all damn day hooked up to it if you need more.

(For someone notorious for silence, he sure had a lot of promises ready on his tongue.)

The door of the medical wing swings wide, and he could fall to his knees then and there: you’re sitting. For fuck’s sake, you’re actually sitting.

You look sickly, disoriented, but your eyes dart across the room towards the sudden intrusion. Your chest rises and falls in your gown. Your fingers are moving just fine.

He can’t say anything — he’s a goddamn coward waiting for the other shoe to drop in this miraculous awakening.

“Captain Levi!”

Doctor Rini’s voice calls to him, but the captain notices immediately that you don’t turn to the doctor. No. Your eyes never leave him, and it’s…

Blank.

Maybe you’re just exhausted.

Maybe you’re not quite here in the present yet.

“Doctor,” he replies, clipped to avoid emotion.

“I sent Nurse Phillipa to find you,” Doctor Rini exhales with anxiety.

“I was found.” Levi locks onto sarcasm as a defense mechanism. If it wasn’t for the good doctor, he’d already have been at the foot of your bedside. Begging for forgiveness is hardly enough. I’m sorry. “So?” I’m so sorry. “Tired of sleeping yet, or are we looking at six more months of winter?”

If you’re James, then you’ll tell him that you’d take another six months to avoid him.

If you’re still you, then you’ll tease that his left hand is trembling.

But you stare.

That’s it — that’s all you do.

Stare, and stare, and stare.

“You only look like total shit,” he continues with a snort, “so I guess that’s a good thing.”

“Captain—”

“Apologies for Levi’s intrusion, Doctor Rini.” Your attention turns when Erwin enters the room. Levi almost wants to demand you keep your eyes on him — look at me, James — but the commander speaks for the both of you. “Nurse Phillipa was able to locate me in my office. I had to retrieve Captain Levi personally. Is it alright if we come in, or is she not yet lucid?”

Of course she’s fucking lucid. She’s right here.

Levi takes a few steps forward, tightening his trembling hand into a fist to keep it concealed.

“She is… lucid, Commander.” The doctor stops there. There’s a but coming — he can feel it.

Levi doesn’t like this, not one fucking bit.

“But?” he snaps, glaring the doctor’s way for the first time since he burst into the room.

The doctor sighs with sadness then gestures towards the fallen lieutenant.

“Lieutenant, state your name.”

What?

Levi can’t help how fast his attention whips towards you. His stomach drops to the floor, digging itself into the dirt. You look… scared?

You shouldn’t be scared. He’s here. He promised he’d be here.

“...you originally stated she suffered a major concussion,” Erwin says.

“Yes, I did,” the doctor agrees, “and I also stated on the report that the probability of temporary to permanent post-traumatic memory damage was high.”

You have to be fucking joking.

Erwin states it in plain terms: “In other words, sustained amnesia.”

The fist at his side painfully tightens, his trimmed nails pushing into calloused skin. He sets his jaw, forcing himself to breathe through his nose.

“It never said anything about permanent,” Levi growls, pushing forward away from the doctor, away from the commander, to talk to you himself. Erwin’s fingertips touch his shoulder as if to dissuade him, but there’s nothing — absolutely nothing — that will keep him from this.

There’s no way it’s sustained.

Confusion in the beginning, maybe, but you just needed to talk a little. He’d show them both.

The visitor’s chair screeches against the floor until it hits the edge of your bed. You’re still doe-eyed and lost, lips parted like you’re wanting to speak — he can help. You two practically grew up with the same half-baked brain cell.

“Where are we?” Levi asks, leaning forward in his seat. He stares up at you with a hidden layer of affection, willing for the James he knows — the James he’s always known — to see.

I’m here. Look at me, James, I promised I’d be here.

“Levi,” Erwin warns. He doesn’t get it.

Levi nods his chin, albeit barely. “Answer the question.”

You pause, fidgeting in that way when you’re nervous. “I… don’t know.”

“You do know,” he urges.

“I don’t.”

“Where — are — we?”

“Stohess District?” you guess. It’s not that far off. Maybe he’s not being forceful enough.

“Try again, dumbass.”

Wrong idea — your eyes widen like you’d never been more insulted in your life. He’s jokingly called you worse. “Excuse me?”

“Levi.” Erwin again.

Levi refuses. “What’s this building called?”

“I said I don’t know,” you plead, and your voice sounds so small that it breaks his heart.

“Do you know what titans are?”

“Of course I know what the fuck titans are.”

His heart flutters at your swear. You’re not entirely lost. “Good. And do you know what the Survey Corps is?”

“Yes, why does this matter?��

“Do you know where you’re from?” If he wasn’t in control, then he’d reach out to your hand. Cup your cheek. Swear on heaven and Earth that you know this one — you just need a little more time. You need to try a little harder.

Yet your shoulders slack. “I don’t.”

Levi’s face drops, his voice taking a sharper edge by accident. “You do. You just aren’t trying hard enough.”

Maybe insults will work.

Maybe spilling his guts of all of his darkest secrets will help.

He’s a man falling through space and time itself, willing the past not to condemn him right now. He’s sinned a great deal in his life, but that doesn’t mean you should suffer for it, too.

Because you know. You know, you know, you know—

“I am trying, asshole,” you hiss, and his face lights up for just a moment.

There you are. There’s that fire. Fight — fight for this, fight with me, just fight.

“Levi,” Erwin interrupts, “that’s enough.”

Maybe it is enough.

Maybe you can rest and try tomorrow, to let you sit in this mental darkness for a little more time, but he’s waited six long months for this.

“So that’s it, then, huh?”

Levi dares to poke at the wound just one more time. You always worked best when adrenaline courses through your veins. That’s why you two were so perfect.

“You’re going to lay down and happily take being a nameless has-been after being stuck in a coma for months?”

But it was the wrong wound.

He regrets his strategy as soon as you look horrified, and he doesn’t have time to quell your fears. Your trust turns to Erwin for the truth. “It’s been months?!”

The fire dies. You’re terrified in this bed, one hiccup away from a panic attack, and Levi is powerless to fight it for you. Erwin takes over and the captain is glad for it — he’s a stone’s throw away from begging.

Come back to me. It was too much to ask of you, but he was selfish enough to ask on your near death bed anyway. Come back to me, James, or I’ll fucking drag you back myself.

But you’re not you.

You’re not you, and he’s the reason for it.

The captain chooses silence as he watches your face, memorizing the slopes of your face. His heart clenches with the hard decision in front of him: Erwin has a clearer head for this. He’s so blinded by his guilt that he’s already hurt you in the first hour of your revival.

Maybe this is his punishment for dragging you into all of this in the first place.

From the Underground City to Hell on Earth, he is the reckoning of your demise.

I think I’d remember the name of this piece of shit — in this case, you mean him.

You’re right. He is a piece of shit.

He is a danger to you.

You are in the middle of talking to Erwin when he abruptly stands from his chair, the wooden legs scraping sickeningly across the floor. Everything is underwater. He feels like his body is shutting down, so he does what he has to:

He turns to leave.

Facing the entrance, he drops his chin to his chest with a defeatist attitude. “This is a waste of time,” he urges the commander, relenting just one moment where he admits he’s fucked this up.

He’s not the right person for this, even if he’s always been your person.

He’s not the right guide to help you, even if all he’s ever done is hold your hand.

Maybe this is fate.

Maybe this is the second chance he’s always wanted for you — one without the Scouts, without running from the law, without looking over your shoulder.

Maybe Erwin will give you an honorable discharge so you can spend your days in the warmth of the sun.

He could live with that, even if he never sees you again.

“You’re always so quick to walk the fuck away.”

Suddenly his boot scuffs the floor.

His eyes shoot wide, staring at the floor ahead. There’s a splintered floor panel at the frame of the door he’s never noticed in the hundreds of times he’s come here.

For a moment he’s fooled. This could all be an elaborate trick to punish him for the shit he’s done in his life.

(Maybe you do remember, deep down somewhere he cannot follow yet.)

But you were right back then and you were right now: he is quick to walk away—

—if it means that he can't hurt you from this distance.

“I… didn’t mean to say that,” you correct quietly, and his face scrunches to battle the overwhelming bout of grief that washes over him. “I don’t know why I said that, sir. Forgive me.”

Sir.

Not Captain.

Not Ackerman.

Not Levi.

Before he can cause anymore damage, he walks out the door.

Erwin can take it from here.

#aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #amys deleted scenes.#fic: silver underground #levi ackerman x reader

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corneliaavenue-ao3 · 3 months ago

Text

Summer's a Knife (a graveyard fic)

Graveyard fics are fics that I started and will never return to. Some are vague outlines, some are 4 sentences, some are 40 pages. But if they haunt me, I want them to haunt you too.

I am actually sad that this became a graveyard fic. But I truly cannot write it anymore. I wanted to release this first chapter in May of 2022... you see how well that went for me.

This is the first summer after the war from Ginny's POV. It is sad, it is romantic, it deals with grief. It was going to have flashbacks to Ginny's sixth year. It was going to have 4 big chapters and a small epilogue, each chapter focusing on a month. It was going to be one of my favorite things I wrote. Unfortanetly, I don't feel that way anymore.

May (chapter title: so long daisy May) is the only complete (non-edited) chapter. I knew what I wanted to write in June (the best and worst day of June), no clue what July (I've been down since July) would bring, and an idea for August (August slipped away)

I even had a playlist made

Chapter 1 is below the cut because it is 10k words, and I am giving it all to you. After that I will explain the rest of the vibes of the fic with some snippets I wrote. Sorry this is a LONG POST.

You say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times. We're not trying.

If I bleed, you’ll be the last to know

So Long Daisy May

Ginny’s bloodstained trainers echoed on the cobblestone path to her Great Aunt’s house.

Once again, she was sent away for being too young. It wasn’t that long ago her parents were begging her to leave, to come back here for safety away from the final battle. Harry gave her a look that he didn’t want to see her either. She stayed of course. Fought in the war that was her fight as much as any other member of her family’s fight. Probably even more than most of them to be honest.

Now the war was over, she was sent away again. Her mum didn’t want Ginny to stay at Hogwarts any longer than necessary, wary of any lurking danger from Death Eaters still roaming the grounds. The Burrow was not safe yet. Her dad, Bill, and Charlie left soon after Voldemort fell to ensure that their home would be safe for them to come home. Molly Weasley could not bear to convince George to leave his twin’s side in the room of all the deceased. Ron was off somewhere once again, probably conjoined to Harry and Hermione’s sides, unbearable for them to separate.

That is how Ginny ends up with Percy of all brother’s returning to Great Aunt Muriel’s cold mansion that foggy, early morning.

Percy took a moment to knock on the front door. Ginny was planning to just walk inside, finding herself too tired to care about politeness and proper etiquette.

The front door swung open 30 seconds later, a small house elf stood in the entryway.

“Hey, Milsey. We were sent here to update Muriel and wait it out until the Burrow is safe,” Ginny said.

Milsey bowed down, “Of course, anything for Prewett blood.”

Ginny didn’t even try to hide her eye roll. She could practically hear Hermione in her ear ranting about House Elf Welfare.

“You don’t need to bow for us, Milsey,” Percy said. The first words he said aloud since their mum sent them here. Ginny did not know what to make of Percy anymore. He was the only brother who noticed anything was wrong with her during her first year at Hogwarts, and then he was the only one who checked up on her during her second year. Then he stopped caring about her. Ron told her that he got a letter from Percy telling him to stop being friends with Harry during his fifth year. She didn’t even get that. She could not understand how he could ignore his family for two years, and then come back begging for forgiveness.

Fred had forgiven him.

The thought of Fred made her entire insides clench. She wanted to vomit even though she had not had anything to eat in hours.

Percy walked through the front door, Ginny closely following.

“I am 109 years old, I just can’t have people showing up to my house unannounced at the crack of dawn. I have not even finished my tea yet this morning. Ginevra, your shoes are filthy. Take them off before you step on my Egyptian Rug, it is older than me and made from Sphynx fur,” Ginny’s aunt said in one breath.

Muriel stood in the doorway, wrapped in her silk nightgown, arms folded, looking very unpleased to see her niece and nephew. “And where is Molly? I need to speak with her about her inability to raise polite children who give warning when they are going to visit their aunt!”

Ginny felt Percy’s hand wrap around her bicep, warning her to not make a retort. “We will make sure we give you notice next time we visit, Auntie Muriel. Thank you for letting us pop in this morning,” Percy said, using his trademark pompous voice.

Muriel grunted, "I missed you Percy. You were always the most respectable Weasley. The Prewett blood runs strong in you."

Percy squeezed Ginny's arm again as a reminder to stay calm. Ginny turned and gave him a look that read something like I’m not a baby, get your annoying hands off of me. She wasn’t sure he quite got the message, but he removed his hand anyway.

“We are only here until dad gives us the all clear to go back home. I will clear out all of our things we left in your spare rooms. Your favorite Weasley can update you on what has happened in the last 24 hours.” Ginny turned, not even sparing a glance at Percy to see his reaction to the news that he would be the one updating the family about Fred’s death. She crossed over the sphinx rug and stormed up the stairs, making sure to leave dirty footprints with each step.

Her room was first. Her trunk sat in the middle of the floor, a few articles of clothing scattered across the floor, but mostly still packed. She didn’t want to admit it to her mum at the time, but she kept her trunk packed in case they needed to make another quick escape. Now, it seems so frivolous caring about her things when her family is now forever torn apart.

She quickly gathered her clothes strewn around and shoved them into her trunk. Levitating her trunk out the bedroom door and into the hallway.

The Ministry of Magic has more to worry about at the moment than some underage magic.

Her parent’s room was next. Unlike Ginny, they did not have their trunks already packed from school, so they did not bring much from the Burrow. Ginny noticed this on her third day at her aunt’s house when her mum had not changed robes. Looking around the room, Ginny gathered what little items were there and put them into her own trunk.

The twin’s room was last.

Ginny took a deep breath, bracing herself before pushing the door open slowly. Unsurprisingly, the room was a mess. Weasley Wizard Wheezes products piled in boxes on the floor and stacked on top of the bed. Mail in orders haphazardly organized in some system that only made sense to George. In the corner was Fred’s belongings frozen in time, never to be touched by him again.

Flashbacks to the Great Hall flooded her brain.

The smell of burning smoke clogged her nose. Seamus guided her back inside from the courtyard into the entryway of the Great Hall. Everything was too quiet. The emeralds littered on the floor cracked under her step, echoing against the stone walls. Suddenly Bill was there, pulling her from Seamus into his arms. He was crying. Why was he crying? He led her to the middle of the Great Hall where her family was huddled together. She counted the amount of heads, realizing two were missing. Slowly she approached her mum, who was kneeling on the ground in front of - NO.

Ginny stumbled, tripping over a box of sparklers on the ground. Her knees crashed into the footboard of the bed. A spare sparkler fizzled on the ground then ignited the entire box. An impressive explosion lit up the entire room, burning an imprint on the ceiling. Smoke filled her lungs. Spluttering, Ginny sunk to the ground, trying to catch her breath.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In and out. Quicker. Faster.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

She felt herself start to hyperventilate. Her throat clogged up, unable to suck in deep enough breath to fill her lungs with oxygen. Tears blurred her vision. Pressure built in her head, she felt like she was submerged underwater. Unable to catch her breath. Drowning in her tears.

Arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. For a second, she thought she was with Bill back in the Great Hall again before realizing that was not the brother holding her.

“It’s alright, Ginny,” Percy soothed her.

Sobs wracked her body. She was exhausted. She could not keep them in any longer. Tucking her head into Percy’s chest, Ginny cried for her brother. She would never hear Fred tell another joke or have a late night race on the brooms. Her whole body ached. Several hours after his death, she finally felt the magnitude of the loss of Fred.

Percy scratched her back, lightly tracing his fingertips down her spine, soothing her. Just like he had the time she broke down during their trip to Egypt. Slowly, oxygen inflated her lungs and her sobs lessened. Her breath slowed back to a stable rate.

"Thanks, Perce," Ginny said when she finally trusted her own voice.

"Don't mention it," he shrugged. "How about you get some rest, I will clean up the rest of this room."

Ginny was too tired to protest. Pulling herself to stand, Ginny nodded at Percy before slowly making her way back to her guest bedroom. She didn't even bother changing into fresh clothes before crawling into bed. Curled into a ball, she pulled the covers tightly around her.

Her thoughts drifted to the same person she dreamt about for the entire year before the blackness wrapped around her, pulling her into a deep sleep.

Hours too soon she was gently shook awake. Groggy eyes opened to her father smiling down at her. He aged so much within the last year. What red was once in his hair has turned primarily gray, fresh wrinkles were etched into his face. Ginny flung her arms around his neck.

“It’s safe to go home now.”

“Where’s Percy?” Ginny asked, hating how childish her voice sounded.

Her dad stroked her hair, “Already home. Let’s join him.”

Her dad grabbed the trunk on the ground and Ginny’s hand, side-apparating her to the Burrow. Teaching the sixth years how to apparate was not a priority this past year. Just another flaw in her education from the last 9 months. Her landing was not soft. Stumbling a few steps, Ginny stood at the top of the hill, just inside the ward line.

“Everyone else is inside,” her dad said.

Stumbling over herself, Ginny ran down the hill to her home. At first glance, the Burrow looked the same as the day she left it. But as she got closer to the front door, she noticed more things amiss. The treeline looked different like a few branches were knocked away. The grass was scorched yellow like someone burned it. Windows were cracked or blasted open with missing shards of glass.

The front door groaned open with her push. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together, heads bent down, all snapped up at the sound of her entering the kitchen.

“Ginny!” Hermione smiled, standing to embrace her in a hug.

Ginny squeezed her friend back. She didn’t get to appreciate seeing the three of them at Hogwarts. Hermione was much thinner than the last time she saw her. They all were.

Ron embraced her next, giving her a pat on the back. She let go and looked over at the end of the table where Harry now stood.

“Hi,” Harry said.

He looked good. Thin like the other two, but still handsome. He had somehow gotten taller over the last year, his hair long, messier than she had ever seen it. The dark rings around his eyes and his hollow cheeks emphasized his green eyes. Staring at her the same way he had a year ago, like he was staring into a brilliant light.

Her heart skipped a beat.

But in the next heartbeat, they were crossing the room to one another. His arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, hers around his waist. Pulling each other close. She pressed her ear against his chest.

He's alive, heart is beating, lungs are expanding with each breath.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive.

The stairs creaked, alerting them to the presence of another Weasley member. Ginny pulled back from Harry just slightly, not completely breaking contact, as George entered the room. Slowly, he crossed the room, giving Ginny a quick pat on the head before leaving out the back door. Reality sunk back in as she watched the back of George’s head.

Fred's dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

She felt her throat start to clog again. The unbearable feeling of loss started to overwhelm her. Slowly, she pulled away from Harry. She could not lose it again, especially not in front of the others who went through so much more than she had. Ron also lost Fred, and he wasn’t breaking down at the sight of George.

And George, who would see Fred’s face whenever he looked in the mirror, did not deserve Ginny breaking down by looking at him. It made her feel like an awful person for almost losing it. No one needed the stress of taking care of her while they too were struggling.

“He hasn’t said anything,” Ron said, filling the silence. Ginny realized her eyes had not left the back door George exited. “Charlie went back to Hogwarts to convince him to leave. He got back maybe 20 minutes before you did.”

Ginny wouldn’t know what to say either when everyone looked at you like they were seeing a ghost.

“Where’s everyone else?” Ginny asked.

Ron nodded to the back door. “Bill and Fleur are out back. They checked the house for curses, but haven’t finished the rest of the property.” He pointed to the stairs next. “Mum’s up in her room. I imagine now that dad is back, she will spend the rest of the day in the kitchen. She shares her love through food, you know. And I think she has a lot of love she will want to share.”

Ron’s prediction that Molly Weasley would cook a feast for dinner was not far off. A few hours later, everyone was crammed at the table, along with enough food to feed them for days. Harry sat next to her with a plate stacked full. Throughout their meal, they exchanged casual brushes and quick glances.

“What are Kingsley’s plans with the Ministry?” Harry asked her dad as he passed the salad bowl to her.

“There is a lot to figure out. The Ministry was corrupted, that is no secret.” Percy kept his head down, avoiding the gaze of his father. Arthur took a bite of his chicken before continuing, “It is fair to assume there will be trials, but those probably won’t occur until later this summer. First, the physical damages of the war need to be fixed before the government can fix itself. Kingsley is working with Gawain to assess the damage first.”

“Do we know how many people lost their lives?” Bill asked.

Arthur shook his head. “It is unclear. There are still those unaccounted for in addition to those in critical care at Saint Mungos. But right now the number is at 43, not including Death Eaters.”

The clattering of silverware halted. Silence overcame the table as the magnitude of the battle overcame them.

“Excuse me,” Harry stood, tossing his fork on his half finished plate of food. He crossed the kitchen and made his way up the stairs, not bothering to look back at any of them.

Ron silently stood too, following Harry up. Hermione paused, eyes following Ron, but she stayed in her seat. “He will be fine,” Hermione reassured the table, not making eye contact with any direct member of the Weasley family as she spoke.

The table remained awkwardly quiet for the rest of the meal. Fleur spoke of Shell Cottage to fill the silence. Ginny excused herself to her room as soon as she felt appropriate to leave.

“I will be right back,” Hermione said as she passed Ginny’s bedroom door later that evening, two plates of food balanced on her arm.

Ginny nodded and continued to get ready for bed. By the time Hermione returned, Ginny had already tucked herself into bed, facing the wall. Hermione silently dressed for bed. “Goodnight, Ginny.”

Her circadian clock was off. Even though her entire body felt exhausted, Ginny lay awake staring up at the cracked ceiling of her own bedroom for hours. Sleeping at Muriel’s threw her off. In other circumstances, she would have taken this opportunity for a night flight. But she didn't feel safe flying alone tonight. Her mum would also be worried sick if she found out Ginny went out alone unsupervised in the middle of the night. Ginny did not need to be an added reason for her mother's stress right now.

So instead she shifted in her bed, trying to drift off to sleep. Counting Hermione's rhythmic breaths as she slept on the cot next to her bed.

One.

Two.

In.

Out.

Ginny tried to prevent her thoughts from drifting to anything depressing. No Fred, no Hogwarts, not even her childhood home. So instead she tried to make her mind go blank, to think of absolutely nothing besides the sound of Hermione’s breath.

Her counts of Hermione’s breaths quickened. “No, please no!”

“Hermione?” Ginny leaned over the edge to peer down at her friend. Her face was twisted in distress. The faded quilt was thrown off her body as she tossed and turned in her sleep. “It’s fake! Please stop!” a blood curdling, terrible scream escaped Hermione’s lips.

Hermione bolted straight up, eyes widened in fear, her hand reached for her right forearm. Ginny crawled out of her bed, squeezing next to Hermione on the cot. Tentatively, she reached out, stroking her back.

Hermione flinched away from her touch before finally relaxing. She tugged the sleeves of her jumper down her arms and pulled her knees into her chest. Ginny continued to try to provide comfort to her friend.

After a few minutes of silence, Hermione finally looked at her. “Sorry.”

Wrapping Hermione into an embrace, Ginny whispered, “You have no need to apologize. I wasn’t even asleep.”

Hermione hummed. “Bellatrix, well…” she trailed off, staring out the bedroom window. The quarter moon provided minimal light in Ginny’s bedroom, so Ginny could hardly make out the look on Hermione’s face. “Nevermind,” Hermione finished, pushing herself away from Ginny, standing. “I’m going to go sleep upstairs, so you can get some rest. Goodnight Ginny.”

She grabbed her wand and bolted out the door, leaving Ginny all alone.

Ginny sighed and crawled back into her own bed. She punched her lumpy pillow, trying to find a comfortable enough position to drift off to sleep. With Hermione gone, she lost her distraction from letting her mind run wild. Now, thoughts of Bellatrix infiltrated her head.

Chaos reigned. Flashes of lights of every color surrounded her. She fired off spells at any person still cowardly enough to hide their face behind a mask. Harry was dead, but Tom had not won. She would make sure of it. Ginny caught sight of her wild mane of black hair before she saw her face. Firing off a cascade of curses, each aimed for Tom’s right-hand woman, each somehow deflected with ease. Bellatrix gave her a wicked smile, and for a moment Ginny wondered if Bellatrix knew exactly who she was and why she was so distraught. Hermione and Luna joined her side to fight Bellatrix. A streak of green passed her head, and for a moment, Ginny thought she would finally be at peace.

All good judgment she made hours prior about not flying tonight was out the window. She needed out.

Shoving her feet in her trainers and grabbing a jumper to combat the cool May evening air, Ginny quickly slipped out of her bedroom. Taking the stairs two at a time, pushing open the backdoor, and sprinting the moment she stepped out into the night.

With no one to tend to it in over a month and Death Eaters to trample it to the ground, the orchard was a disaster. Apples littered the ground, the sweet fruit squashed underfoot. The burnt grass damp with dew.

The broom closet smelled musty. Thankfully, it appeared untouched. Ginny grabbed an old Cleansweep, swinging one leg over the handle in a fluid motion. Her feet firmly placed on the ground, inhaling the cold air, she pushed off into the dark sky.

The common phrase “It’s like riding a broom,” never fit so eloquently. Months away from the sky, and it is almost like she had never left. She pressed her chest closer to the handle to center her gravity, and she was soaring. Past the treeline and the top of her home, she flew lazy laps. Circling the property, spiraling in the open air.

Her lungs expanded with cold air, her heart kicked faster with adrenaline, and her mind forgot old haunts. She felt invincible. She felt alive.

Slowly, she looped closer to the ground.

She noticed his dark hair first.

Once she flew within earshot, Harry started to speak. “Imagine my surprise to be awoken in the middle of the night to the sound of your brother snogging.”

For the first time in days, Ginny smiled "I hope it wasn't with the picture of Aunt Muriel he keeps stashed under his pillow.”

A laugh escaped Harry’s lips. It was one of the most joyous sounds Ginny ever heard. "I think he finally has reason to dispose of that picture."

“Oh?” Ginny questioned, the tips of her toes grazing the grass as she hovered closer to him.

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up, “Your brother is snogging Hermione Granger.”

“When did that happen? Oh, you haven’t been stuck third wheeling them this entire time have you?” Ginny asked, sympathetically patting Harry’s arm.

Harry looked down at where Ginny was touching him, slowly moving his other hand up to give her fingers a gentle squeeze. Ginny sucked in a breath.

He shook his head, letting go of her hand, “They didn’t snog until yesterday.”

“But yesterday was the ba-”

“Exactly,” Harry said, interrupting her. “How long have you been out here?”

"I couldn’t sleep, and Hermione had a nightmare,” she said, shaking her head. “It was Bellatrix. That's all that I know."

A dark look crossed Harry’s features. "I can only imagine."

Ginny did not push further. It wasn't Harry’s secret to tell, nor was it her's to know.

Instead, she slid off the Cleansweep and took a seat next to him. Enough space to not touch, but enough to feel the electricity between them. The hairs on her arm stood straight up. All day, tension wrung between them. Each touch sparked every nerve in her body. For months, she dreamt about what she would do when she saw him again, and now she was too overwhelmed to act.

They sat in the silence, staring up at the stars. As each second ticked by, she became more and more unsure how to express how much she missed him. Harry shifted beside her, and Ginny braved a glance to peek over at him only to find his bright, green eyes focused on her.

He hesitated for only a moment before his signature look of determination swept across his features. A look found right before doing something brave and stupid.

And then he kissed her.

If Ginny thought it was easy to return to flying after time away, nothing compared to kissing Harry. The feel of his mouth slanted against hers felt like coming home. Nothing was more natural. An instinct. Just like the instinct of Harry’s hands to wind in her hair and hers to press against his chest.

No words were said aloud, but so much was shared within one kiss. They were always good at having silent conversations. A single look. A single touch. So many emotions and thoughts expressed between them in those moments.

His hands in her hair. I missed you.

Her hands wrapped around his waist. Please don’t go again.

Their lips pressed together. I need you.

Eventually they broke apart after what could have been several days. Ginny always lost track of time when Harry kissed her. Pulling away, Ginny let out an uncharacteristic giggle, relishing in the warmth of an alive Harry.

She shifted her weight, leaning against his side. Her head rest on his shoulder. His arms snaked around her waist. Slot against one another like no time had passed since those days spent by the lake.

That is where they stayed until daylight broke over the horizon.

Days were quiet. Planning funerals drained livelihood out of the Burrow. Ginny found herself helping where she could. Her mum was constantly cooking in the kitchen, so Ginny would help clean. She didn’t speak, she kept her thoughts to herself. When Harry was in the room, they moved like they were dancing. Never touching.

Nights were loud. Hermione would leave her room after everyone officially went to bed to join Ron in his. That was when Ginny would sneak out to fly. Harry would join her minutes later, some joke on his lips about Ron and Hermione and how he wished maybe they went back to fighting. Then they would fly together or sit and talk. Eventually, they would fall asleep under the stars pressed into each other's arms, waking just at the crack of dawn to sneak back into their respective bedrooms.

One bright morning, Ginny followed the scent of fresh breads and sweet sugar down to the kitchen. Her mum hunched over the oven, a faded floral apron tied loosely around her waist. Ginny would not be surprised if she barely missed her mum waking up to slave away in the kitchen right as her and Harry were sneaking back into their beds.

“Morning, mum,” Ginny said, giving her mum a squeeze around the waist.

“Good morning, dear,” her mum replied, leaning into her hug. “I would like you and Charlie to run some errands for me today.”

“Sure,” Ginny said, stealing a pastry from the counter. “What do you need?” She asked, mouth full of scone.

Her mum turned back to the oven to pull out a fresh pie. “I would love it if you could run some of these breads to some families for me. The Browns, the Deacons, and the Rivers. I believe Deacon’s daughter was in your year. Sophie was it?”

The scone in her mouth went stale. Bile rose, burning her throat on the way up. Ginny grabbed a napkin off the counter and spit out the mushed up pastry. “Yeah, Sophie,” Ginny’s voice wavered. She cleared the acid from her throat, pushing the sound of late night giggles about Hogwarts gossip out from her head. “I can do that for you. Where’s Charlie?”

After wrangling her second eldest brother from the yard, the pair apparated, Ginny tightly wrapping her hand around Charlie's arm, to the home of Ron’s ex girlfriend.

Ever the introvert, Charlie left her to do all the talking and condolences.

After giving her final sorrows to the Brown Family, Charlie grabbed her arm and apparated them to the small Wizarding village the Deacon’s lived.

Ginny stumbles forward as her feet crashed into the stepping stones of her dead dormmates home. Steadying herself, Ginny wondered if she would ever get used to apparition. Flying makes sense. Apparating does not.

Grabbing her brother’s arm, she turned him to face her, “Listen, let me do this house alone, yeah?”

Charlie gave her a look, questioning her judgment. “You know you aren’t of age and mum would slit my throat.”

“Please. She was my friend.”

Something in her eyes must have given enough reasoning to Charlie to let her go alone. “I will wait over at the shop across the street. Meet me there when you’re done.”

Ginny pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his thick waist. Charlie was the closest of her siblings to her own height, so she could rest her chin on his shoulder during the embrace. “I won’t be too long.”

She turned away from her brother, the pie her mother gave her rest carefully on her arm. Steadying herself with a shaky breath, she knocked.

A moment passed. And then another. Ginny held her breath as she waited. Maybe she would not have to face them. Maybe she could set the pie down on the step and turn her back and run away from the grief inside the home. But before Ginny could follow her intrusive thoughts, the door opened to a beautiful woman with short auburn hair and laugh lines carved into her face even though she looked as though she had not had a reason to laugh in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Ginn-”

“Ginny come in,” Sophie’s mum invited her in, opening the door wider for Ginny to slip inside.

She shouldn’t be surprised that Mrs. Deacon knew who she was, a classmate of her daughters, a Weasley, a blood traitor whose family housed The Boy Who Lived for years. Ginny did not want to know what the exact reason was that Mrs. Deacon recognized her.

“My mum made this for you,” Ginny said, offering the baked pie that would never fill the Sophie-sized hole in her heart.

“Thank you, that is very sweet of her and sweet of you to drop it off.”

Sophie’s mum took the pie and set it on the kitchen counter filled with other condolence foods. Ginny felt nauseous at the sight.

Ginny sat on the gray loveseat and turned away from the sight and took in the room around her. Light cascaded in and reflected off of the framed photos on the cream wall to brighten the room. Photos of Sophie and her little brother, Samuel, were everywhere. Together with a woman, who must have been their grandmother, standing in Diagon Alley. Sophie singing in the frog choir with her hair tucked back in her signature butterfly clips. Sam tugging on a much younger Sophie’s hair and running away. All moments forever to cycle on repeat, but to never be updated again.

The bile that she swallowed that morning began to rise again.

“Would you like something to drink, dear?” Mrs. Deacon asked, pulling Ginny out of her reverie.

“No, thank you,” Ginny replied, even though she could probably use a glass of water or a shot of firewhiskey.

A grunt from the door leading to the hallway alerted Ginny of Mr. Deacon’s presence. He was a tall man, not as tall as her own father, but much wider. He worked for the Ministry’s Portkey Office. Sophie often boasted about all the places her father traveled for work, and Ginny could see it. A man like him did not belong behind a desk.

“Elric, this is Ginny. She is,” Mrs. Deacon paused, “She was one of Sophie’s classmates.”

Ginny stood to her feet, “Mr. Deacon, I am so sorry for your loss.”

Mr. Deacon waved his hand, his other rubbing his sternum like he too struggled with gastric reflux at the reminder of Sophie.

“I too am sorry for yours. I heard you lost a brother.”

The grief of losing Fred washed over her again like a wave that quickly retreated into a cool, cold nothing. “Yes, I did. Thank you.” Ginny sat back down on the couch. The Deacons sat across from her, gripping each other’s hands.

Silence swept over the room like a cloak. Thick, warm, and suffocating.

Ginny broke the silence first.

“Sophie was-,” Ginny paused, clearing her throat, “she was a beautiful soul. Her voice lit up the dorm room. She would sing under her breath and she studied and then belt songs in the shower. She was wicked at potions and brilliant at Gobstones. She was one of my best friends, and I am so sorry for your loss.”

The all too familiar prickling sensation behind her eyes grew. Rapidly blinking, trying to keep the tears at bay, because she had so much more to say. So she pressed on. “I was there,” Ginny said, looking up to meet Mrs. Deacon’s eye.

The scent of smoke encroached her olfactory system. The feel of Sophie’s manicured hand in her own haunted her skin.

Ginny ignored the memories and pressed on. “When You-Know-Who asked for a pause, I went out to the ground to help.” The words recover bodies left unsaid. “I saw her lying there. She was alive, and she was asking for you. She loved you so much.” The tears building in her eyes escaped, rolling steadily down her cheeks.

"They told us her body was recovered during The Silent Hour, but never by who," Mr. Deacon said, tears brimming his eyes. “Thank you, Ginny.”

The guilt bubbling in her gut was interrupted by footsteps bounding down the steps. Little, 12-year old, Samuel Deacon slid into the room.

“Ginny!” Samuel shouted, eyes filled with joy as though he were seeing a hero. And to him he probably was. She had not seen him in months. Thankfully, Samuel was long gone from Hogwarts during the battle, but the last time she saw him was forever ingrained in her brain. The memory seeped through her pores.

“Pain does not last forever,” Amycus Carrow said to a room full of scared students. “But the memory of it does.” He sauntered across the front of the entrance hall, each step deliberate to draw out the dramatics of what he was saying. Ginny guessed he got this schtick from Tom. “Which is why it makes such an excellent punishment. You remember the pain, so maybe next time you won’t misbehave.” He turned to face her, smiling like a Grindylow ready to to entangle their prey within their long fingers.

“Now can someone please tell me which illiterate idiot graffitied the walls?” Amycus’s voice echoes through the hall. Dozens of eyes stayed focused on the floor. “Was it you?” A finger pointing at a short Hufflepuff boy standing over in the corner. His eyes widened at being called out for a crime he never committed.

“No,” the boy stuttered.

“I don’t believe you,” Amycus sneered, clenching the collar of his cloak, dragging him out into the open. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Sa-Samuel,” the young boy managed to stutter out.

“Well, Sa-Samuel, I hope you remember to never misbehave again.” With those words, Amycus lifted his wand.

Quickly shoving her hand into her bag, fumbling around searching for the jar of paint stashed at the bottom. Her fingers found the cool glass and she yanked it out and threw it at Amycus’s feet.

He turned to meet her, and grinned. The Grindylow caught his prey. “I see I found the illiterate idiot.” He turned his wand to her face, “Crucio.”

“Sam, it is good to see you,” Ginny asked, voice overly pleasant.

To Ginny’s horror, Mrs. Deacon said, “Samuel has told me a lot about you.” She smiled too warmly at her. Like she wasn’t the reason Sam was not almost cursed in the first place. Like she wasn’t the last one to see her daughter alive. Like she deserved forgiveness.

Ginny’s stomach turned and threatened to spill out on their carpet. She needed to leave.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality. I do need to get going.”

Both of the Deacon’s stood immediately.

“Of course,” Mrs. Deacon said.

“Let me walk you out,” Mr. Deacon said.

So Ginny let herself be ushered out. She kept her mouth clamped shut. Afraid to vomit out words along with her guts.

As she reached the door, Mr. Deacon stopped her, “Sophie’s funeral is set on the thirteenth. We would love it if you could make it.”

Ginny couldn’t trust her words, so she nodded in agreement, and burst out the front door. As soon as the door closed, she broke out into a sprint, down to the corner shop where Charlie should be waiting for her.

He was leaning against the side wall, lazily smoking a cigarette.

"Take me home." Ginny said, walking past Charlie.

"But we have one more-"

"Take me home."

Charlie paused before grabbing her arm and spinning on his heel. They arrived in front of the Burrow a second later. Ginny sprinted to the broom shed. Grabbing the closest broom, not even checking whose it belongs to, Ginny kicked off of the ground.

She lapped the Burrow several times, streaking by as fast as the broom allowed her. Up in the air, she could blame her tears on the wind in her eyes instead of the guilt she felt in her heart.

That night, she did not fly.

Hermione snuck out of the room, but Ginny stayed in her bed. Waiting. A soft knock on the door alerted her of his presence. Her bed shifted from his added weight.

They avoided each other that day. Well really, Ginny avoided him and everyone else. Hiding in the sky, and when she was called inside by her mum, she hid in the kitchen. Charlie did not say anything to her, which was a blessing. Her mum did comment on the extra pie brought up, but a quick lie that the Rivers were not home avoided anymore questions.

Harry’s arms snuck around her waist, pulling her against his chest. She tucked herself under his chin as he pressed his nose into her hair. Her hair was still damp from the shower she took earlier that evening, but she knew Harry would not care. In fact, he probably preferred it. The scent of her shampoo freshly washed into her hair. It calmed him.

She wondered if he was struggling with what was going to happen tomorrow as much as she knew she would.

But she did not ask.

Slowly, his breaths evened as he fell asleep behind her. And Ginny fell shortly after.

All mornings have been quiet since the battle at the Burrow. But none compared to this one. Outside, the morning fog was thick and suffocating. Inside, so was the silence.

Weasley family members dressed in black to bury their loudest family member.

When it was time, her father led the family to the grave. Walking in a line to the apparition line on the edge of the Burrow property, and one-by-one apparating to Fred’s final destination. Ginny stood and watched as her loved ones disappeared with a pop. Her dad stood by her side and lifted his arm.

“Ready?”

No.

“Yes,” she said, gripping his arm.

The graveyard was busier than she expected. Her family is large, but so was Fred’s impact.

Old classmates of his, old teammates, old co-workers lined the chairs in the back. Professor McGonagall could be seen from her tall witch’s hat. Hagrid stood off to the side, already loudly sobbing. Ginny felt her tears join his.

She made her way to the front and sat in her seat nestled between Ron and George. The same small wizard that preached at Dumbledore’s funeral and Bill’s wedding stood in the front. A twisted thought crossed her mind about how busy that man is during this week.

And he talked in platitudes. He talked about his sacrifice, how he was a light in the family. But never really about Fred. Ginny wished she had taken the time to write something, then maybe Fred would have gotten the send off he deserved.

George gripped her hand near the end of the small wizard’s speech. “Are you ready to see some magic?”

Ginny grinned, a warmth spreading across her chest. “Always.”

George grinned back at her, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wand. With a small flick of his wrist. A bang behind the gravestones went off.

Gasps wrang out from behind her. Aunt Muriel gave out a shriek of terror, as fireworks lit up the foggy sky.

Sparks flew above her, spelling out the initials F.W. And for the first time all week, Ginny was crying, but she was not upset by it.

After the funeral, the mood was much brighter, the fog outside lifted with the smoke of the fireworks, and Ginny could feel like she could breathe again.

Slowly, the crowd began to thin. Angelina grabbed George’s arm and loudly declared that they were going to the Leaky to celebrate Fred’s life and a group followed her. Bill, Charlie, and Fleur followed shortly after them. After a moment of contemplation, Percy followed suit.

Her mother gave her a kiss on the cheek before heading further into the graveyard to where her brothers lay. Her father followed a few steps behind her.

Ron and Hermione were still sitting in their seats. Their chairs were now pushed impossibly close together as Hermione almost sat on Ron’s lap with her head tucked against his chest, and Ron’s face pressed into her hair. Masking the tears that he was shedding.

Ginny steadily made her way up to Fred’s grave. Ash sprinkled the grass from the firework show. She lowered herself to the ground, sitting to the right of the gravestone.

“Hey, Forge,” Ginny murmured, closing her eyes and resting her head on the stone. “Miss you.”

Ginny slowly descended down the stairs, unsure exactly which one would creak under her step. She wasn’t sure who would be worse to alert of her late night excursion: her mother or her great aunt.

All she wanted to do was see them and not just take Bill’s word for it that they were safe. Luna. Dean. Hermione. Ron. And of course Harry. Mum nearly locked her in her bedroom when Ginny asked to go to Shell Cottage.

So now she was sneaking to the fireplace in the middle of the night to floo her way over to Shell Cottage. A task significantly less dangerous than any of the times she snuck out in the middle of the night this last year.

The third from the bottom step let out a loud groan.

“Shit.”

“Going somewhere?” A voice from the top of the stairs called down to her. Thankfully, it was the person who would most likely go with her on this adventure.

“I thought getting some nice fresh, saltwater air would be nice at this time of night. Want to come along?” Ginny asked, nodding her head to the living room.

Fred quickly descended the stairs, uncaring if he woke the entire house along the way.

"Is that the plan then? Run off to Shell Cottage without letting anyone know where you're going?"

"You know."

"I know because I caught you sneaking out," Fred retorted. "And when mum and dad wake in the morning and find your bed empty? What will you do after they chain you to your bed?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, "They won't tie me to the bed."

"No, probably not, but you won't be let out of their sight. And when the time comes when it is important for you to sneak out, you won't be able to."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, hating that she didn't understand.

"I'm saying, wait. Wait until something big. I will go with you then. Not when you're sneaking out to see your boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend."

"I didn't realize you were sneaking off to see Thomas. Don't let me stop you then," Fred teased.

"Oh, shove off," Ginny said, pushing his shoulder.

Heavy footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. Harry stood above her, head of messy hair blocking the sun. He held his hand out, an offer to help her up.

She took it, pulling herself up and into his arms in one fluid motion. He enveloped her in a hug, holding her tight against his chest. Ginny breathed in the scent of him. Woodsy and cool, like the morning air in the autumn.

Reluctantly, she detangled herself from him, keeping her hand intertwined in his. There they stood, hand in hand, staring down at Fred Weasley’s grave.

Fred Weasley

1/4/1978 - 2/5/1998

Mischief

Harry gave her fingers a squeeze before letting go. He bent down in front of Fred’s grave. He paused for a second, before pulling out his wand, waving it carefully. A bouquet of daisies appeared in the dirt. Fresh and white. Harry stood, reaching back for her hand, but refusing to look at her.

“Hermione and I went to my parent’s graves on Christmas. She did this,” Harry said, waving his hands at the flowers on the ground, “I thought Fred deserved some too.” He bent down and picked one from the ground, “Daisies mean new beginnings.”

He shifted his weight, "or at least that's what Hermione told me when she showed me how to do the spell."

Ginny’s gut twisted into a knot. "They're beautiful," was all she could muster out. She wasn't sure she wanted a new beginning. She wanted to start all over.

"For you," Harry said, handing her a single flower.

Ginny smiled and accepted the pity flower. Harry didn't believe in the pity flowers either, but it was thoughtful, so Ginny tucked it into her pocket.

When she got home later that night, she tossed it into her windowsill. With hope that maybe the rest of the summer improved from the beginning.

The next several days were spent in mourning. Traveling from funeral to funeral.

Colin’s funeral was hard because she spent 30 minutes before leaving being coached by Hermione on the intricacies of a muggle funeral. Obviously, no fireworks like Fred’s nor an ablaze casket like at Dumbledore’s. But instead a metal contraption that would slowly lower his wooden casket into the ground.

She sat near front on the side with Neville and Seamus on either side of her. Harry with Ron and Hermione in the back, trying to keep attention off of them as much as possible.

Ginny grieved for her friend. Her Herbology partner. The person who never tired answering her questions about the Muggle World. The same sinking feeling that ebbed and flowed in her since the battle came back. She was the reason why he lost half of his first year lying petrified in the hospital wing. Tom was the reason he lost the rest of his life.

Tonks and Remus’s funerals were next. Members of the Order carried both caskets. Kingsley had tears streaming down his face with Tonks’ casket on his shoulders. Her dad looked more tired than usual under the weight of Remus’s casket.

Only one other gravestone stood in the ground on the plot of land. Tonks’ final resting place lay next to the empty grave of her father whose body was never recovered.

In the last row sat Andromeda cradling a young Teddy Lupin. Remus showed her a picture of young Teddy when he visited the Weasley’s at Muriel’s place. Then, his hair was a bright orange. Now, it lacked any sign of vibrance, instead he wore Remus’s signature sandy hair.

Next to Andromeda sat Narcissa, poised, dressed head to toe in expensive black robes. Looking every bit out of place Ginny is sure she felt.

Harry did a double-take after he noticed her next to his godson. Ginny reached forward and laced her fingers with his, offering a squeeze of comfort. On the other side of Harry, Ron pulled Hermione closer to his body.

Instead of the small wizard, Kingsley stood in front of the graves and gave a speech about hope and love and loss. A personal story about Tonks catching a death eater by tripping on top of him was interrupted by wails coming from the back row.

Little Teddy’s uncontrollable sobs echoed in the cemetery. Andromeda tried shushing him to no avail. Narcissa stood, offering a hand, a moment passed before Andromeda passed over her grandson to her sister. Narcissa carried Teddy further away from the funeral and whispers of the guests.

“She has no right,” hissed Ron.

“It’s fine,” Harry replied, his leg bouncing, looking everything but fine.

Kingsley continued on with Teddy’s sobs quieted by distance. Ron kept anxiously looking over his shoulder back at Narcissa while Hermione stared straight forward. Harry leaned forward in his seat, releasing his grip on her hand.

Ginny, for her part, kept listening to Kingsley and silently wondered if she would ever fully understand what happened with those three last year.

The funeral ended with Kingsley and Gawain Robards casting golden sparks at the pair of caskets before they slowly descended into the ground.

Gradually, the crowd began to thin out. Narcissa carefully returned to her sister’s side off in the back, swaying back and forth, cradling a sleepy Teddy in her arms.

Harry stood and started to make his way back towards where his Godson was.

“Mr. Potter. May I have a word?” Gawain Robards asked.

Harry froze momentarily, and Ginny wondered if he was going to tell the Head Auror to fuck right off before he calmly nodded. Robards stuck out his hand, leading Harry away from the crowds, in the opposite direction of Narcissa Malfoy.

Ginny stood frozen next to Ron and Hermione, both just as conflicted as she felt on whether they should eavesdrop on Robards and Harry’s conversation or confront Mrs. Malfoy.

Her mum approached the Black sisters. Ginny snuck over to the back, Ron and Hermione following her closely, ready to witness whatever drama could unfold between Molly Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy. But instead of sharp words or curses shot from wands, her mum swept both Andy and Narcissa into a warm embrace

“I am so sorry about your sister,” Mum said, pulling away from the Black sisters.

Narcissa placed a hand on her mum’s arm, “We do anything to protect our children.” She gave Andromeda a curt nod and took a slender finger to brush Teddy’s cheek. “I won’t intrude any longer than I meant to. It was good to see you, Andy.”

With a pop, Narcissa disappeared.

Harry stormed by a few seconds later, Robards still standing where Harry left him, hand rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice questioned.

“Later,” Harry shortly replied before apparating off, not even sparing Ginny a second glance.

Hermione sighed, turning to Ron. “Ready?” Ron gripped her hand and then both disappeared with another pop.

“Wanker,” Ginny muttered under her breath, “You were supposed to apparate me home.”

Kicking a rock on the ground, Ginny begrudgingly walked back to where her mother was now rocking Teddy.

On the thirteenth, Ginny dressed once again in black. Hermione and her traded their black robes so they were not wearing the exact same outfit to every funeral they attended. By the fourth day of funerals, Fleur was offering her wardrobe to them as well, altering her clothes to fit their bodies.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione attended every funeral, each of them feeling like they owed it to the witch or wizard who lost their life. Just yesterday, they attended the funeral of a Slytherin fifth year girl that none of them had even met. Ginny joined them most days. Harry side-along apparating her to the graveyard. Occasionally, other members of the D.A. would be in attendance and Ginny would stand next to them.

Harry planned on arriving right before the funeral started, but Ginny wanted to be there as early as possible. Hermione’s heels clicked as she walked down the Burrow steps into the kitchen. “Ready, Ginny?”

Together they apparated to a large wizarding cemetery. A place where thousands of purebloods were buried before. A place that currently had an unusually high amount of fresh mounds of dirt and 6 foot holes due to the significant amount of deaths during the war.

Ginny found her dormmates immediately. Jessica embracing Elise with Athena rubbing circles on her back. They all looked up as Ginny and Hermione approached the trio.

Jessica let go of Elise to engulf Ginny into a hug. "I am so sorry about Fred, Ginny."

"Thank you, Jess."

Jessica paused before wrapping Hermione in a hug as well.

Athena pulled something out of her pocket and placed it in Ginny’s hand.

"Here."

Opening her palm, Ginny felt that familiar tug of her gut. In her hand was a green butterfly clip, similar to the ones Sophie often donned in her hair. Looking up, she saw her roommates all had one clipped in their hair as well.

"Thank you," Ginny choked out, clipping her loose strands back.

"Do you want to sit with us?" Athena asked Hermione.

Hermione shook her head, "Thank you for the invite, but Ron and Harry should be arriving soon. I will sit with them in the back. You four should sit together."

Hermione gave Ginny’s shoulder a squeeze before walking to the back row of chairs.

The funeral started not too long later. Ginny pressed between Athena and Elise near the front. The four dormmates held hands the entire time, offering gentle squeezes of support to one another as they buried their friend. Little Samuel Deacon sobbed throughout the entire procession, and Ginny wished nothing more than him to have his sister back.

Ginny stayed back after the funeral to watch Harry approach the Deacon family. It was something he did after every burial, apologize to the family. Ginny wished Harry understood that Sophie’s death was not his fault.

Samuel turned away from his parents and gave her a small wave. Ginny lifted her hand, but turned away. The nausea associated with Sophie was churning in her stomach once again.

That night, with her back pressed against Harry’s chest and one of his arms draped across her churning stomach, she lay frozen still.

"You okay?" Harry murmured in her ear.

She wasn't, but she couldn't admit that secret out loud. Especially to the person who carried so much more guilt than she could even begin to imagine. So she lied.

"I'm fine."

Harry had no reason to believe her lie, since it was his favorite lie to tell too. But he pretended for her, pulling her closer to his chest, pressing his lips to the back of her skull.

Not shortly after, his breaths evened out as he was lulled to sleep. Ginny’s brain was ignited on fire, keeping her awake.

“I know, it’s going to be alright,” Ginny lied. Sophie continued to whimper in pain. Ginny could only bear to look at her face, scared of what the rest of her crushed body may look like.

“I want to go home,” Sophie cried out, tears leaking down her face. Ginny felt tears well up in her eyes too.

A sound from behind her drew her away from her dying friend. Ginny couldn’t see anyone, but something in her wanted to get up and follow.

Sophie’s weak cough drew her back in. Blood tinged on her lips, her face losing color as each second passed. “Will you stay with me until I go?” Sophie asked, her voice childlike. She is just a child, Ginny realized. At 17 years old, there was so much Sophie never experienced. So many people Sophie was leaving behind. Ginny’s gut flipped realizing this is why her own mother wanted her to stay hidden.

“Of course,” Ginny choked out.

Sophie’s fingers managed to find Ginny’s. “It’s okay, Gin. You were one of my best of friends.”

Ginny snapped herself out of the memory. Harry still wrapped tightly around her, his heat radiating off his body suffocating her. She wrestled herself out from underneath him, desperately trying to not wake him. She needed fresh air.

Barefoot in the grass, Ginny padded to the paddock and grabbed her broom. She took flight and hoped the night air could cool the fire she felt in her brain.

As the sun began to crack streaks of light in the sky, Ginny crept back into her bedroom. Harry softly snored in her sheets. Ginny smiled as she slid back into his arms. She had been awake for nearly 24 hours, her brain was finally exhausted enough to finally fall asleep.

With no more funerals to attend, the rest of May trickled by. Everyone was stagnant with grief, finding it difficult to progress on. Charlie was growing restless, staying now at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur, but not feeling like he could abandon the family back in Romania just yet. Every time he mentioned the country, her mum would burst into tears.

Percy was just there. All the time. He and her dad would attend work, but then he would always come back to the Burrow instead of his own apartment.

Ginny sat with George most days. They had a quiet understanding that talking was the last thing either one of them wanted to do. A few days a week, they would go to Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes and organize the mess. Some days, Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson would stop by and help up, filling in the silence with endless chatter. Other days, the pair would sit on the front counter, passing back and forth a bottle of butterbeer with the radio blasting Wizard Rock in the background.

Ron and Hermione were wrapped around each other at all times of the day. One couldn't even use the toilet without the other hovering nearby on the stairwell.

She had not seen Harry in days due to conflicting schedules. He would fall asleep in her bed after a long day of performing bullshit politics with Kingsley, and Ginny would join him after her nightly flight. When she finally rose in the late morning, his side of her bed would be cold.

Moments alone were rare, and those moments were spent exploring each other's bodies instead of exploring each other's thoughts. They were two vastly different novels only sharing a page with one another and then snapping the book shut before either one could read any further. So Ginny came to her own conclusions.

The burn marks on his thighs were fresh as though his escape dragon from Gringotts scorched him. The ribs she traced with finger in the dark told her that food was scarce. The lightning shaped scar on his chest told a horror story she didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole. The erythematous circle branded into his chest was the most confusing part of his story.

Ginny hated to think what conclusions Harry was drawing from her body.

On a cool evening in late May, Ginny decided to actually retire to bed at a reasonable time. The sky had opened into a massive thunderstorm which was not relenting any time soon. Harry and her had played a round of Exploding Snap earlier in the day to pass the time.

"Are you falling asleep with me tonight?" Harry asked, bare legs crossed on her bed, his hand propped behind his head. He looked so casual, like her bed was his own.

"Only if you promise not to snore tonight," Ginny teased.

A pillow flew at her face. Ginny snapped it from the air and threw it right back into Harry’s face. With glasses askew and a smile tugging at his lips, Harry reached out a hand to her.

She eagerly took it, being led to her own bed.

Ginny melted into Harry’s side, his hands immediately resting on her hips pulling her close. She tilted her chin to slot her lips against his.

This part was easy. Harry’s body was a map she had traced and memorized a year ago, and, during the quiet dark nights in her dorm room, she recited to herself.

His lips were soft and chapped. Teeth grazing her own lips, threatening to roughen her up with a bite or two. His chest pressed against her own. His hands, one always wrapped around a strand of her hair, tugging her whenever she pressed up against him just right. His strong thighs, one always slotted in between her legs.

That was the mantra she replayed in her head over and over while her fingers wandered down her skin last year.

But now, in the dark of her warm bedroom, it was Harry’s fingers trailing down her body.

“You’re perfect,” Harry murmured into her collarbone as she moaned his name.

Ginny came undone with the touch of his fingertips, her world bursting, once again, into a fire. Her insides ignited for Harry. She felt far from perfect, but with Harry she felt alive.

Her hands worked to remove his faded T-shirt, eager to return the favor. Fingers trailed down his chest, avoiding the new scars on his body. She wrapped her hand around his length and Harry’s breath hitched, a noise escaping his mouth that Ginny wanted to bottle up and savor forever. He never had to say anything to her ever again as long as he kept making that noise.

“Ginny,” Harry moaned, “I don’t think I will last much long-”

Ginny shut him up by capturing his mouth with her own. Teeth grazing his swollen lips. With a few more pumps, Harry shuddered about another moan that made Ginny’s toes curl.

Harry blinked his eyes open, green irises hidden behind his black pupils, staring hungerly at her. He pressed lazy kisses along her jawline, nose, forehead, before finally catching her lips. “You make me forget everything bad,” Harry sighed into her lips.

Ginny’s insides turned cold, the blazing heat evaporated and replaced by an icy tundra. She wasn’t sure why, Harry’s confession or the idea of forgetting, losing memories.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Ginny said, hoping to prevent any more confessions from slipping through his loose lips.

“Night, Gin” Harry replied softly.

Harry’s bare chest rose and fell with each breath, and Ginny wished nothing more than the ability to join him in unconsciousness. Her finger traced the lightning bolt on his chest, her own chest tightening with memories of that day. She thought she lost him. The final blow in a series of blows that kept hitting her over and over again that night.

With everything she lost, she had to keep taking steps. One at a time.

One breath in. One breath out.

Ginny glanced out her window. The rain had slowed to a trickle. The blooming daisy sitting in the window sill caught her eye. She bolted up from her bed, grabbing the flower on her way out the door.

The orchard was still a mess. Her mum had removed the destroyed flowers, but all that was left was upturned earth. Falling to her hands and knees, Ginny dug in the soil. A wand would have made it easier, but she did not want easy.

Taking a step back and admiring her work, the daisy Harry had given her now rooted in the soil of the orchard. Alone. With a promise of growth.

To new beginnings.

The best and worst day of June (chapter 2)

If May trickled slowly like the water on the River Styx, June crashed in like a tsunami under Poseidon's rage.

The back door slammed close after George drunkenly stumbly out

Maps of Australia and pictures of the brain were pinned up on her walls. Gwenog Jones’s face was covered by a colorful poster highlighting the anatomy of the brain.

“Do you need any help?” Ginny asked.

Hermione tutted, wrapping her hair into a bun and sticking her want through it. “I wouldn’t mind a fresh pair of eyes. Thanks.”

Ginny picked up one of the massive textbook with a brain on the cover Charms of the Central Nervous System: Don’t be Nervous! Opening to the back glossary, Ginny scanned the O’s until she found what she was looking for.

Peering over her shoulder, Hermione said “I didn’t obliviate my parents’ memories. I blocked them.”

“What’s the difference?”

Hermione stood from the bed and walked over to the brain poster covering Gwenog’s face. “Obliviation destroys old memories. Burns them. That is why Gilderoy Lockhart will never fully recover because so much of his brain was destroyed. If little bits are taken then there is some neuroplasticity and ability to regenerate what was missing, but if I took 17 years of my parents' lives from them, I would never be able to get that back.” She paused, staring off into the distance, as though she was realizing the challenge she could be facing instead.

Shaking her head, Hermione continued. “So instead of taking away their memories, I hid them behind a wall.”

“The hippocampus stores memories,” Hermione said, pointing to a part of the brain that looked nothing like a seahorse. “So that is where my parents’ memories are being blocked. I just put their old memories behind a wall and put new memories in front of that wall.”

“There has not been a whole lot of research, but in theory, worst case scenario, if I remove their new memories too quickly, I could cause their brain to blow.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“Not like pew pew,” Hermione said, mimicking an explosion. “More like, their brains would swell to fill in the space of the memories that I took back. Which could cause their brain to expand and possibly herniate causing a stroke."

She mindlessly flipped through the pages of the textbook, hoping something would give her hints about memory and memory loss.

Ginny drops comments every now and then about memory loss

She is not very happy that Hermione took her parents memories

“What are you planning on telling your parents when you see them?”

“That I am their daughter and I had to keep them safe.”

“Do you think they will understand?”

“From personal experience, amnesia and having your memories taken from you can be very traumatizing.”

“This is different from the diary, Ginny. I was trying to keep them safe.”

As we will find out in a later chapter, Ginny is not talking about the diary

"Are you going to go with them?" Ginny asks on a warm night.

"No, I don't fancy facing another Winter so soon," Harry replied

And there it was. A hint about what he had faced this past year, but neither one pushed forward. She could ask, and he might answer, but then he might ask the same of her. And that was something she did not want to answer. Some Gryffindor she is.

Harry tells her everything about the horcruxes and how we was one for the last 16 years of his life.

Ginny tells Harry very little about what she experienced this last year.

Hermione goes up to switch beds like they do every night and when Harry is lying next to her, she dreams about him. But when he talks she hears Tom. When she wakes and Harry is laying right next to her, she freaks the fuck out.

The next day she runs away to Lunas

Luna “I always liked being outside. Now I love it even more. It is open, and bright. I’m not a big fan of the dark right now.”

“If you want to talk about it, I will happily listen.”

“Ginny, you are such a good listener, but not a very good talker.”

“You should tell Ron that. He says I never shut up.”

“Oh no you talk, you just don’t talk about what is bothering you. You ask questions about me or how other people are doing, but when people ask how you are doing. You deflect. You talk about how Quidditch is going, or how your family is. But never you.

A few nights later, Harry joins her out flying, and that is when she admits that she is afraid that she was never in love with Harry, but she was attracted to the horcrux within him this entire time.

Harry has to put his big boy pants on and try to be emotionally mature hearing that from her. (Boy does not do a very good job, but at least he is trying)

He tries to get her to open up more about what happened to her and slowly we start to see some things

She picked up a strand of grass, carefully pulling it apart into two separate pieces. A simple distraction. "What do you know of last year?"

"Only what little Neville has told me."

"I'm sure what he told you paints the picture of what happened," she shrugged. She couldn't meet his gaze, she stared at the grass in her hand, delicately tying it into a knot. His hand reached for hers, fingers intertwining. He squeezed her hand gently, reassuringly. Offering support.

---

She is hiding. She doesn’t want to talk to Harry, or see her mum’s broken face. So she is hiding in the one place no one would look.

Laying on Fred’s bed, she could finally be alone.

***enter depressing thoughts here***

---

On June 22nd, she dreams of Tom. She always dreams of him on this day. Their anniversary of meeting face to face in a chamber meant to be a secret. She wants to ask Harry if he remembers, but she doesn't dare for the fear of what he might say.

I forgot.

Lucky you.

So she keeps this nightmare to herself just like she kept the past year to herself. She felt like she was slowly becoming a chamber full of secrets herself.

That night, with her back against Harry’s chest and one of his arms draped across her stomach, was the first time she felt brave all day. In the dark where he couldn’t see her face, when they were alone, unlikely to be overheard since the house was asleep. She finally muttered the truth that haunted her.

“I'm the reason Sophie's dead.”

The only indication that Harry heard her was the pause in his breath. Harry’s arm tightened, pulling her impossibly closer to his chest. And because he understands her perfectly, he does not suggest that she possibly could not be a murderer, he asks a different question.

“Why do you think so?”

She inhales slowly, calming down her nerves. “I left her on the courtyard. We were fighting together, Colin and Seamus were also there. Spells were flying everywhere, and I lost her in the crowd. There just was so much chaos. Then a death eater was in front of me, I think it was Avery, firing curse after curse at me,” Ginny paused, flashes of that night playing over and over in her mind. “I fired a reducto at the arch above his head and it collapsed on top of him. But it caused a lot more damage. It wasn’t much later that Voldemort called for a pause.

“After, well after, I went inside,” Ginny said, skipping over finding out about Fred’s death, “I went out to the courtyard to find survivors. To help. That is where I found her. Underneath the rubble that I caused.”

"You couldn’t have known.”

But Ginny felt like she should have known better. She knew innocent actions have consequences after surviving her first year

I've been down since July

In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you

The Great Depression

Pieces of her life were black. Dark and missing and forgotten. She had soared to unimaginable heights to try to find them, but every time she thought she heard a whisper of a memory, it turned into his voice mocking her, or worse, her own voice laughing at her.

Hermione and Ron come back from Australia

Hermione apologizes to Ginny because her mum cannot forgive her. Her dad had to play mediator in the argument.

Her parents are coming back to England eventually, but not yet. They wanted more time before returning home.

Ron and Ginny conversation

"It's supposed to be easy. Harry and me. How it was before."

"What did you used to talk about."

"I tried prying once to know what he was up to with Dumbledore, but Harry not so subtly shut that down quickly. So we stuck to safe topics. Quidditch, O.W.L.s, how maroon definitely isn't your color."

Ron scowled.

Criminal Trials get announced for the Death Eaters and the date

A brown owl flew into the kitchen, dropping off the newest edition of the Daily Prophet on Hermione’s plate. She reached into her shorts pocket to trade a knut for the paper. Ron fed a small piece of his breakfast sausage to the owl as compensation as well. The owl gave a satisfied hoot before flapping its wings and flying out of the kitchen window.

Ginny pointed her fork at her brother. "Who was the person I suggested you snogged for practice?"

"Are you seriously asking me security questions right now?"

"The Ron Weasley I know would never voluntarily give up some of his breakfast."

Ron stabbed his fork in another piece of sausage, taking the whole thing in his mouth, "Yeah well I've matured."

"Oh! They released the dates for the trails!" Hermione shouted, interrupting them.

Ron looked away from her and turned back to his girlfriend. “When’s Malfoy’s?” He asked, kindly swallowing his food before asking.

The Carrow trials get announced for like August 13th, making sure that they are AFTER Ginny's birthday which makes her an adult, therefore, she is required to speak at them if they summon her as a witness

yeah this was done intentionally, fuck the ministry for forcing my girl to have to relive her trauma

Harry’s birthday

Ginny gets drunk at Harry’s party

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?

August slipped away

Ginny’s birthday

Carrow trials

Amycus was a man. He only understood pain in tears and in blood. He didn’t understand that to girls blood meant nothing more than washing their sheets that night before bed. He didn’t understand that girlhood was pain, or that tears could be shed from grief or laughter.

Alecto was a woman. She understood that trauma of girlhood because no matter how horrid she currently is, she was a victim of it too. She understood how to torture a young girl scared of her past. She knew how to weaponize memories, or the lack thereof, so that Ginny could continue to torture herself without Alecto lifting another finger.

Ginny turned to the other side of the courtroom where Amycus Carrow sat. His face emotionless, but his muddy eyes filled with glee, like her reliving her torture was *erotic* for him.

She felt her heart quicken. Calm down.

Breathe in and out.

"Her brother told me."

Her mind brought her back to the floor of the DADA classroom. Those same hungry brown eyes staring down at her, his wand still raised. Every one of her nerve endings felt like it was on fire, every synapse filled with ice. Her mind bounced from one area of her body to the next, unable to focus on what body system hurt the most. Amycus lowered his wand and sneered down at her, "I know Alecto makes you forget her detentions, but I want this one to be unforgettable."

The courtroom was silent. The judge leaned forward in his chair, "Can you please further explain, Miss Weasley?"

Breathe In.

Out.

In.

Out.

• So since I never actually wrote what happened to Ginny during her time with Alecto, I will tell you all now. Alecto would erase Ginny's memory after every detention. Often times, the detentions were tame, because the punishment was the fact that Ginny was slowly losing her mind and she felt like she was reliving her first year at Hogwarts. Alecto figured out that Ginny was the girl in the chamber (because how would people not know this information? like Ginny wrote her suicide note on the wall in red paint) and used that to torment her. Also tying in the fact that Amycus was still torturing my poor girl with the cruciatus curse, Ginny was going through it. And it is not like she could really tell anyone what was happening to her because she didn't know what was happening to her. She eventually pieced it together.

• The coming together of Harry and Ginny officially

You'll Have New Septembers

The epilogue where Harry sends Ginny off on the Hogwarts express

#graveyard fic #hinny #ginny weasley #i could just upload the first chapter.... but that also feels like a disservice to the rest of the fic #Spotify

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audible-smiles · 11 months ago

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So, I think I may have accidentally found the worst book ever written by a human being.

I don't know if you guys have ever heard of Savitri Devi; she was a Hitler stan who moved from Greece to India, got really excited about "Aryan" racial mythology, changed her name, and tried to fuse Nazism with Hinduism. A lot of her ideology is patently absurd (e.g. Hitler is an avatar of Vishnu), but none of it is funny because she spent her entire life actively trying to build a coalition of the most violently racist people you can imagine. Hindutva paramilitary groups, American neo-Nazis, early ecofascists; you name them, she probably went to their meetings and wrote propaganda for them.

So, knowing this, it makes one feel particularly deranged to learn that she also wrote fiction about- and from the POV of- her many cats.

The book in question is called Long-Whiskers and the Two-Legged Goddess, or The True Story of a "most objectionable Nazi" and half-a-dozen Cats.

Published in 1965, this text features a protagonist named "Heliodora", who Devi admits in the introduction is just her lightly fictionalized self-insert. In the beginning Heliodora heroically rescues a stray kitten and its mother, but then the narrative grinds to a halt to explain the weird racial theories that brought her to India, before it picks right back up with the cat fancying. Here is an excerpt that may convey a little of how jarring these transitions can be:

"An unexpected thought crossed Heliodora’s mind, like a flash of lightning: “Had I gone to Europe in 1939, or even in 1940, 1 should not have had this lovely creature, nor, in fact, any of these cats to which I have given a home. They probably all would have been dead, by now — would have died of misery, in some gutter, without love, poor beautiful felines!” And a strange question followed that thought: “Was it for them that I was fated to remain here?” She knew the thought was a nonsensical one and the question too. For of what account was the life and happiness of any creatures, nay, of any human beings, including her own, compared with the Service of the Aryan Reich and of the Cause of truth?

It is all. Fucking. Like This. There are grim descriptions of feline suffering contrasted with long, ecstatic descriptions of her cats learning to trust the only nice human in the world (her). There are passages on the virtue of vegetarianism and the evils of (especially Kosher) slaughterhouses. She thinks it's a great idea to do medical experiments on criminals rather than animals! She thinks kids who throw rocks at cats should have their hands cut off! She starts chapters with direct quotes from Mein Kampf! When her favorite cat runs away she writes the (fully imaginary) story of his adventures on the streets, including him having cat sex. Here is the cat sex:

"The coquettish she-cat jumped up and ran away, only to stop again some twenty yards further and again to roll in the grass, calling for love, — and again to ran away as soon as the lover was about to take her. At last, however, — after many an unsuccessful leap and further and further galloping in the moonshine, Long- whiskers overcame her faked resistance and possessed her. He forgot himself, and she — his black silky panther — forgot herself. Their individualities ceased for a while to exist, and in him, the eternal He-Cat, Creator and Lord of everything, and in her, the co-eternal, sphinx-like, dark Feline Mother, Lady of all Life, once more mingled their opposite polarities and took consciousness of their double Godhead, as they had been doing for millions and millions of years. And once more the divine spark — the Creative Lightning — flashed through their furry bodies, and the daily miracle took place: there was life in the female’s womb."

Sooooo......anyway...........the lost cat finds its way back to her, but has caught feline distemper and dies in her arms, but then he is REINCARNATED IN ENGLAND, as a kitten in a decent (white) home where his family loves him. Heliodora is coincidentally going back to Europe at this time (she lists her religion as "national socialist" on the travel paperwork), which means we get pages and pages of her obsessing over every 'misstep' in the war, and Germany's tragic loss, but more importantly, she meets a random cat and he is (unknown to her), the reincarnation of her beloved Long-whiskers, the Cat Who Fucked. She sees that he's well-fed and happy and is like "I finally understand why Hitler was so nice to the British; they treat cats well so I guess they're Aryan too". I am not making any of this up:

“They have poured streams of fire over Germany; betrayed their own race; identified themselves with its worst enemies ...”

“Prrr, prrr, prrr,” purred back the cat; “that is because they had been (as they are still being) misled, deceived. But one day they shall wake up from their delusion, tum against their bad shepherds, and help the people of their own blood to build up a new Europe — the very Europe of your dreams, in which we creatures will all be happy — for they are good people at heart; good people like Aryans generally are, taken as a whole. Prrr, prrr, prrr . . . The proof of it is that they have taken such good care of me! Prrrrrrrrr . . .”

This version of her cat grows old and dies. Meanwhile, Heliodora is arrested and imprisoned for distributing Nazi propaganda. When she gets out, she meets the reincarnation of a different cat she had left behind in India. (All of her cats want to find her again after death because they love her so very much.) In between her banal, mundane descriptions of caring for this new cat, she describes her various arrests, interrogations, and brief periods of imprisonment. And then she moves, gives that cat away and gets another fucking cat. It is at this point where I completely lose track of which cat is meant to be the reincarnation of which other cat; this woman goes through cats like potato chips. She says she doesn't even love them as individuals, but as one piece of "the intangible Essence of Catdom", so I guess it doesn't fucking matter whether I know their names or not.

This woman's primary thesis is "human suffering doesn't matter, only animal suffering matters" and she beats it into the ground. Her secondary thesis is that national socialism is the one true religion and will save the world. Not only is this a deeply self-obsessed, morally incoherent, grotesque piece of writing, it is also boring as hell. It's half stories about how people who are mean to animals all deserve to get murdered, and half a travelogue where the protagonist goes on screeds about race-mixing every time she visits a new city. While you're reading it you feel as if time has stopped, and you will be stuck reading this terrible book for the rest of your life. All she knows how to do is repeat her two ideas over and over again. Honestly, it reads like heavy-handed satire of a very specific type of white woman. Heliodora wears golden swastika earrings.

I'm exhausted. Never read this book.

#nazi cw #nazis cw #books #just...really terrible books

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friendofcars · 1 year ago

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Hello! Here is data on point of view distribution across characters in The Dreamer Trilogy (which I will abbreviate as TD3) as a follow up to my TRC data from last year (viewable here). A rather long-winded discussion of the data, methods notes, and some supplemental figures and tables are under the cut. As it was not possible to include all values and stats in this post (nor in the alt text for image IDs), my spreadsheet can be viewed by clicking here,

This project quantifies and visualizes the distribution of chapters and pages in the books of TD3 across characters from whose POVs the story is told. I didn’t have much of a hypothesis going into data collection/analysis, especially not like I did for the TRC data, but I did expect to see Ronan’s POV having the most chapters and pages for the entire series, given the fact that he is the most central of the protagonists. I don’t think page time is the be-all-end-all for a character’s importance, of course, but it is still interesting to consider how spending more time from certain perspectives affects the perceived narrative. I won’t get much into that aspect of analysis in this post, but if anybody would actually like to discuss that, I’d love to!

Results (and Interpretation):

TD3 consists of 173 chapters and 1184 pages (using the U.S. hardcover editions), making the average chapter 6.84 pages. The longest chapter is 16 pages, and the shortest is 1 page.

Figure 1A: The average chapter in Mister Impossible (MI) is considerably longer (9.26 pages) than the average chapter in Call Down the Hawk (CDTH) (6.00 pages) and in Greywaren (GW) (6.40 pages), which makes sense as MI has just 38 chapters while CDTH has 80 and GW has 55 (see Fig. 2). To me, the effect of the longer chapters (and therefore extended time with the current POV character) makes the various POVs feel more temporally distant from one another- not in a narratively incoherent way, but in a way that echoes the sense of isolation experienced by dreamers and weaponized by Bryde as he tries to convince Ronan and Hennessy to abandon their loved ones.

Figure 1B: Chapter length is fairly consistent amongst POVs across the series. Matthew has the longest average chapter length (8.40 page) over a small set of chapters (5 total)- his character development (as told from his own POV) is limited to a small number of instances, which may have stretched his chapters a bit longer. The 'Other' category has the shortest average chapter length (5.13 pages) (Fig. 1B); it includes the typically short chapters from witnesses of Visionary explosions/aftermath (Mags, Dabney) as well as Nathan's manifesto excerpts. (As a side note, I've described the chapters depicting memories from the Barns as 'Mór and Niall.' These chapters do not collectively portray an equal balance of their POVs, but this was the simplest way to categorize them.)

Figure 2A-B: These graphs are representations of chapter distribution across POVs in TD3 in terms of chapter count (2A) and proportion of total chapters (2B). Some observed trends include Declan's proportion of total chapters remaining quite constant throughout the series, Ronan's decreasing, Hennessy's proportion of chapters nearly doubling from CDTH to MI (and staying at a similar proportion to MI in GW), and Jordan's proportion following an opposite trend (consistent proportion in CDTH and MI, followed by a more than 50% drop in GW). Carmen's proportion of chapters also declines after CDTH.

Figure 2C: This graph compares total chapters per character POV over the entire series. We can see that the largest proportion of the series is told from Ronan's POV (53 chapters, or 0.306 of all chapters). To put that in perspective, Hennessy has the next highest number of chapters (26, or 0.150 of all chapters), which is just under half the number of Ronan's. If all characters had an equal number of chapters from their POV (including the miscellaneous POVs as one category labeled Other), they would each have 21.6 chapters, represented by the horizontal dashed line; Declan, Jordan, Carmen, and Hennessy all have chapter counts relatively close to this number.

Figure 2D-E: These are representations of page distribution across POVs in TD3 in terms of page count (2D) and proportion of total pages (2E). Trends are similar to those depicted in 2A-B, but 2E does make Declan's increased proportion of page time in GW salient.

Figure 2F: This graph compares total pages per character POV over the entire series. The dashed line shows that if each character (plus the Other category) had equal page time in the series, readers would spend 148 pages with each POV. Again, page data is similar to chapter data, but comparing graphs 2C and 2F gives a clear visual indicator that Jordan's chapters (on average, 8.11 pages) are longer than Carmen's (on average, 6.08 pages), since Carmen has visibly more chapters in 2C yet nearly the same number of pages as Jordan in 2F.

Figure 3: Figure 3 shows distribution of chapters (3A-B) and pages (3C-D) in CDTH, as well as average chapter length for each character POV (3E). An equal distribution of chapters would have been 13.3 per character, and an equal distribution of pages would have been 80.0 per character. The 'Other' category included chapters from the perspectives of Lock, Breck Myrtle, Shawna Wells, Jason Morgenthaler (and Lin Draper, briefly, in the same chapter), Mags Harmonhouse, and Dabney Pitts. Carmen's average chapter length in CDTH (4.67 pages) is the lowest single-book average for character POVs appearing throughout the entire series. (Nathan's average chapter length is just 1.00 [Supplemental Figure 2], yet his POV only appears in GW via his manifesto excerpts, and while I have attributed these chapters to his POV, I interpret the POV as actually ambiguous. As with Kavinsky's text in TDT, it's not absolutely certain if we are reading from the writer or the reader's perspective [although in TDT, due to the lack of Kavinsky POV elsewhere, it's probably the latter]).

Figure 4: Figure 4 shows distribution of chapters (4A-B) and pages (4C-D) in MI, as well as average chapter length for each character POV (4E). An equal distribution of chapters would have been 5.43 per character, and an equal distribution of pages would have been 50.3 per character. The 'Other' category included two chapters, both with what I deemed omniscient narration. Declan had the shortest chapters in MI (8.20 pages), and Jordan had the longest (11.4 pages, the longest average for a character for a single book in this series).

Figure 5: Figure 5 shows distribution of chapters (4A-B) and pages (4C-D) in GW, as well as average chapter length for each character POV (4E). An equal distribution of chapters would have been 6.88 per character, and an equal distribution of pages would have been 44.0 per character. The 'Other' category included Nathan's manifesto excerpts (3 chapters), 1 chapter from Liliana's POV, and 3 other chapters with omniscient narration. While Ronan never has the longest chapters, his chapters are shorter relative to other POVs in Greywaren, perhaps as a result of the way his chapters are written during his time asleep/in the sweetmetal sea. I have not yet investigated whether chapters tend to be longer while characters are awake vs asleep or dreaming, but that's something that could be measured from the existing data in the spreadsheet! There is also a dramatic drop in Jordan's POV time in GW compared to the previous two books, perhaps because of her increased divergence from Hennessy and desire to establish a life that follows her own narrative.

Other findings: A major difference I noted between TRC and TD3 was the lack of split chapters in TD3. In TRC, the data analysis was made slightly complicated by having to account for the fact that a non-negligible number of chapters would make a distinct and discrete switch between POVs partway through. While I did not observe this in TD3, I did encounter more ambiguous/nebulous POVs as I previously mentioned. The increased presence of omniscience in the trilogy, for me, contributed to the increased sense of scale and stakes compared to TRC. This increased continuity amongst POV (not amongst core/recurring POV characters, but amongst groups of characters/communities depicted in the omnisciently narrated chapters) also contributed to a sense of dissolution of barriers and identities, perhaps thematically in line with Ronan's character development and increasingly holistic perspective of both his humanity and otherworldliness (although Ronan is not necessarily featured in these 'boundary-breaking' chapters). I also briefly looked at occurrences of back-to-back chapters from the same POV; this happens most frequently for Ronan in all three books, mainly in CDTH, and sometimes featuring a dreaming chapter directly before an awake chapter (or vice versa) in immediate succession. Declan (MI), Carmen (CDTH), and Jordan (CDTH) all have a pair of back-to-back chapters at some point in the series; Hennessy has 2 (MI, GW).

Conclusions: In all honesty, despite this project being quite fun and fulfilling and of course, worth doing, I do not think I have any particularly insightful conclusions about the data beyond what I've already discussed. Ronan took up the largest share of the chapters and pages as expected, although I am not sure I expected this to be true by such a large margin. I also was surprised that Declan did not have more chapter/page time, but it is possible that his notable inclusion in chapters from other characters' POVs increases his prominence in the series (and I suppose this is probably true for all characters who frequently appear in chapters outside their perspective). As with TRC, the number of POVs expands as the series develops, often with the effect of increasing the scope of the story's implications, and perhaps, more importantly, showing the story from additional angles that contextualize and/or distort narrative established by other characters' perspectives. I hope you've enjoyed exploring the data as I have, and those interested in my methodology may continue reading below!

Methods:

Data collection was straightforward in the sense that I simply counted the pages in each chapter and then assigned each chapter to a character based on the POV represented. The POV character assignment was more difficult than it was for TRC, as TD3 has more omnisciently narrated chapters, which in itself is easy to categorize, but they often zoom in on or are 'biased' towards the experience of a particular character, so I had to make some decisions as to what, for me, constituted sufficient focus on a character’s internal narration and expression vs. omniscience. In the spreadsheet, I took notes on these more subjectively driven decisions. Again, you can view it here! It also contains data on whether the chapter is from an awake or dreaming POV, and has the first lines of each chapter, among which are some fun repeating patterns.

For bar graphs with dots, each dot represents a single chapter. You may also notice that the graphs are missing p-values from statistical tests this time around! This is because, since completing the TRC data, I’ve realized that such measures of uncertainty re: significant differences are not appropriate for my dataset, which is not a sample representing a population, but rather a complete group of chapters (so parametric tests are not necessarily helpful or valid). However, I still like to run the tests for my own amusement and to see what the results would be if this were a dataset for which ANOVA and contingency tests were appropriate, so I have standard deviation bars on the graphs where calculable (but no standard deviations in the text of the results section for legibility) as well as the p-values in tables at the end of this post for anyone also curious. I did still calculate the numbers of chapters and pages that would represent an equal distribution across POV characters, which are represented by the dashed lines on the relevant figures. I think this is helpful to visually gauge 'over-representation' and 'under-representation' of character POVs.

Below are the supplemental figures showing all character POVs rather than lumping some together in an 'other' category. The MI data in figure 4 is not expanded below because the chapters designated as 'other' were omniscient and thus would have remained in the same category.

And finally, here are the omitted p-values, if you'd like to pretend along with me that all the chapters in TD3 are not a complete set but rather a representative sample of a greater population of chapters that's out there in the universe. :) When I give a p-value below the 0.05 threshold but still write 'no significant differences amongst any combination of characters, I mean that the p-values generated for the comparisons between each possible pair of characters were all above 0.05, which are distinct from the overall p-value generated from the ANOVA.

#the dreamer trilogy #call down the hawk #mister impossible #greywaren #ronan lynch #declan lynch #jordan hennessy #carmen farooq-lane #long post #rchl #now onto more qualitative/linguistic things! xoxo

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phyx-m · 2 months ago

Text

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 16: Everything Unwanted

Content warning: Sukuna POV, blood, cannibalism, violence, death.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

RITUAL (evocation) - Jon Hopkins 16 Psyche - Chelsea Wolfe Crimson and Clover - October Noir

* * * * *

Chapter 15 | Chapter 17

* * * * *

Four weeks ago…

Sukuna’s eyes open from sleep. He never wakes up slowly. There’s no in-between, no groggy transition. He is always simply awake. And today, of all days, is no expectation.

Today.

His blood brightens at the thought, anticipation building for the game he's been playing for years. All the impatience and all the trips north are finally about to yield something truly worth his attention.

Lying on his front, he pushes himself up on his elbows. His legs go next, swinging them over the side of the raised futon. He rises to his feet.

Standing, he stretches, rolling the tension from his neck as his feet tap toward the door to his private garden. Sliding it open, a sweltering breeze drifts in, fanning over his skin.

From the verandah, he watches the day awaken, noticing how unusually hot it is for this early hour. The air itself seems to ripple with haze, distorting the greenery.

Nearby, a cicada screams.

By afternoon, it’ll be hellish. But Sukuna doesn’t mind. Heat suits him—it reminds him of his power, given that he can incinerate entire areas if he chooses to.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come,” he calls in an expectant voice, aware it’s Uraume and not one of his three whores come to bother him.

In the last month, he’s grown disinterested in their bodies. He used to gladly fuck all three of them until he collapsed. But what once brought him some gratification has now faded.

The chamber door slides open.

“Good morning, Master Sukuna.” He casts a look over his shoulder as Uraume steps inside. “How may I assist in your preparations for today?”

Again, today.

Sukuna’s gaze drifts toward the garden, settling on the secluded bathing pavilion. Tucked away from the shrine, it serves as his personal sanctuary, a place of solitude he enjoys year-round.

“Prepare my bath,” he comments.

“Of course. I’ll have Ren, Sayuri, and Hina attend to it, and they can—”

“No.” Sukuna’s eyes cut back to his pale-haired subordinate, who dips their chin. “They’ll focus on preparing my meal afterward. Have a slew of other attendants tend to the bath. Then, you’ll help me dress once I’m finished.”

“Understood. Is there anything else you require?”

“For now—” There is one thing, but he doesn’t give voice to it. “No, that will be all.”

“Very well, Master.” Uraume bows and slips away to carry out his orders.

Peering skyward, Sukuna squints his four eyes against the harsh blistering sun, its rays burning down with an intensity that sets the air shimmering. The heat swells, foretelling of a coming storm certain to roll in by late afternoon—a slow, devious smile stretches across his face at the thought of what’s to come.

His future wife will make her first journey to his shrine today.

How will she manage it in this suffocating warmth? No more than that, he wonders how she’ll react when she meets him. And what does she feel about this union? Does she truly understand the circumstances she’s bound by?

He exhales.

He doubts it. But today, beneath the heat and the coming storm, she’ll learn.

For now, all he knows is that he’s looking forward to meeting her, finally.

* * * * *

Sukuna lounges in the bath far longer than intended. The day ahead presses in, but the ease of the water and the scent of cypress wood makes it difficult to leave. It’s too comfortable, too easy to stay submerged.

He tips his head back, water droplets glistening down the back of his neck where his hair is shortest. The tranquillity relieves his enormous body, allowing him to relax and forget everything beyond this moment.

Yet, as the sun shifts, casting longer shadows, and hunger burns in his stomach, he drags himself back to the present. He needs to eat sooner than later. He needs a clear head for when she arrives. He needs to be ready. With that in mind, he rises from the water, shaking off the last remnants of peace.

It doesn’t take him long to dress. He pulls on his bone-white hakama first while Uraume assists with the white kimono, tying the blue-trimmed fabric into a matching obi. Every knot is a small reminder of the formality he finds unnecessary.

He doesn’t truly believe in this union—not really. His motives for taking the Kasai girl as a wife are strictly selfish. After seven years of fighting, handing her over is their way of pacifying and submitting to him. For Sukuna, it’s a means of putting the clan on a leash, a way to humiliate them. Among other things.

“There.” Uraume finishes securing his garment before retrieving his sandals. He slips them on without a word, uncaring how he looks. With that, he heads off for his meal, his subordinate close behind.

As he walks through the corridors, attendants scurry about in a frenzy of activity—either rushing to prepare for his guests' arrival or desperately trying to avoid crossing his path. They lower their heads as he passes, keeping eye contact to a minimum if they can help it. He's long since lost count of how many reside at his shrine and hardly remembers most of their names.

Only the ones that matter.

Entering the private dining room, Sukuna finds a cushion set out for him and sinks onto it. His attendants move about quietly, preparing dishes for him while Uraume oversees their tasks.

He glances around the space, taking in its size, and, to his irritation, finds himself wondering how crowded it will become when his new wife joins him for meals. It’s a strange, unwelcome thought that he can’t distance himself from.

Worse, he feels curious about what she enjoys eating. Introducing her to new culinary tastes—ones beyond his usual… preferences—feels absurd. And yet, it stays with him.

“Here you are, Master Sukuna.” Ren sets his meal down, breaking the spell of his thoughts. Human flesh pools dark and viscous on the dish before him. She bows and steps back, but he doesn’t acknowledge her; he’s too hungry.

Lifting the chopsticks, he carefully picks up the savoury meat. Though he may not care how he appears, he’s still mindful of his attire. He hovers the food just above his tongue, ready to sink his teeth in. But a sharp knock at the door cuts through, forcing his attention away.

Annoyed, he glares, dropping the chopsticks.

“What?”

The door rustles open.

“Master Sukuna.” A man appears in the doorway— Takashi, his stablehand.

Sukuna’s blood cools.

This man despises him. He can see it in how he holds himself. Every tiny, little mannerism betrays his contempt: the slight thinning of his smug eyes, the way he adjusts his grip on the doorframe.

Sukuna has contemplated snapping his neck numerous times, wanting to watch his face turn an unhealthy shade of purple. But the insufferable prick proves useful in caring for his mounts. Unless Takashi does something to provoke him, the King of Curses will not hesitate to relieve him of his skin.

“What the hell do you want?” Sukuna growls, upper lip peeling back.

Takashi bows, though it’s reluctant.

“The stables can only hold so many horses,” he says, raising his head. “With your guests arriving, I’m unsure where to house the rest. And with this heat, there’s likely a storm coming later.”

Sukuna stares.

Was this whelp really asking him such an idiotic question?

“Let them take shelter in the forest,” he offers flatly, grip tightening around the chopsticks. “There’s more than enough cover there.”

His stablehand blinks stupidly, his features tightening.

“But Master, the forest—”

“Do you think they’ll melt in the rain?” Sukuna scoffs.

“Well, no… but I hardly think it’s a good idea to—”

“It’s not my concern if they’re uncomfortable. They’ll manage.” He pauses. Takashi knows better. He’s an offering. Sukuna held his village in the palm of his hand. One wrong move and that was it. “Do you need me to convince you to do what you’ve been brought here to do?”

Takashi hesitates at the warning—a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

“No... I’ll see to it, Master,” he murmurs, bowing then departing the room.

“Good,” Sukuna replies, flashing his teeth at the man’s retreating back.

With the door sliding shut, he once again focuses on his meal. He needs a clear mind—no distractions, no more delays. Picking up the chopsticks, he brings the meat close to his mouth, but suddenly, he stops.

The room feels quieter today, far more than usual. The whispering of robes and the chattering of his four subordinates are less. Aside from Uraume and Ren, normally, he can’t get the other two to shut up.

Lifting his head, he counts the familiar faces.

Uraume, Sayuri, Ren—

One of them is missing.

“Where’s Hina?” He once again lowers the chopsticks.

There’s a beat of silence.

Uraume shifts their pink eyes.

“She should be here, Master Sukuna,” they say, scanning the other two attendants. Ren keeps her hands tightly clasped, her head tilting down, narrowing on the hem of her robe.

Meanwhile, Sayuri busies herself with a bottle of sake, deliberately avoiding his stare. Unusual, the petulant bitch thrives on his attention.

“Where is she?” he repeats.

Nothing.

They remain silent.

There’s something neither of them is saying, and he knows it.

Fine.

He’ll have to draw it out.

“Ren.” The name barely pushes through his teeth as he drops the chopsticks onto the table, the flesh splattering. His upper right arm casually extends, and two fingers move, pointing directly at Sayuri. He knows Ren will provide answers, especially if he goads her. “Where is she?”

From his lower pair of eyes, he sees Sayuri stifle her hands while his upper pair catch Ren straightening her posture further—if that’s even possible.

Still, nothing.

“Well?” he growls, his patience is about to snap at this unusual disobedience. “Do I need to remove Sayuri’s fucking head to get a answer?”

“No.” Ren steps forward, breaking her rigid stance. “I saw Hina leave an hour ago, Master Sukuna.” A strange hesitation follows, as her eyes briefly flit to Sayuri before returning to him. “She said… she was going hunting.”

He scoffs.

“Hunting?”

Considering Hina's past, Uraume typically takes her hunting when the shrine's provisions are low. However, at this moment, the supplies are adequate. So why, of all days, has she chosen to venture out? She knows her place is here, knows she’s meant to remain and prepare for—

No…

He rises before he’s conscious of it.

It takes only seconds for him to stalk across the room.

Upper hand snapping out, he grasps Sayuri, strong fingers shackling around her jaw. With a firm tug, he pulls her forward, her robe tangling around her ankles as she stumbles.

"What the fuck did you do?" he snarls, red gaze clashing into her darkened one.

He knows Sayuri can be clever and knows she resents this situation—the arrival of the Kasai girl. But would she go that far? What had she whispered to Hina, leading her where he hoped she hadn't gone? Out hunting.

“Nothing,” Sayuri replies calmly, though a flicker of hurt dances across her face, and a fresh shine of tears glisten into her eyes.

Sukuna furrows his brow.

"Oh? Nothing?" he mocks, the grip on her chin tightens until she grits her teeth in pain. "Do you need me to repeat the question?" With one of his other hands, he presses two fingers into her temple. "Or should I just cut it out of your brainless hea—"

“Master, it’s true!” Ren blurts out quickly. Sukuna’s eyes shoot to her. “Sayuri, like me, doesn’t know anything—only that she left with a bow.”

“A bow?” he questions. “Are you lying to me? Because if you are…”

The two fingers poised against Sayuri’s skull press deeper until he feels the skin dimple.

Ren shakes her head rapidly.

“I’m not, Master Sukuna.”

Renewed anger causes his mouth to twitch as an unwanted emotion blooms in his gut, one he hates. One he has felt before—a feeling that should not exist.

He looks between his three subordinates.

Today was supposed to be simple. But now he must deal with this mess and go hunting himself.

With a vicious snarl, Sukuna releases Sayuri and shoves her away, letting her slump against the wall.

“Uraume,” he snaps, crossing the room and forcefully sliding the door open.

He strides down the corridor toward the attendants’ quarters, his white-haired subordinate close behind.

“Which room belongs to Hina?” He gestures to the passage of endless doors.

Uraume points to one, and Sukuna promptly slides it open. Peering inside, he notes that her cream-coloured robe is gone. If she did have a bow, it’s missing.

“When you take her hunting.” He casts his eyes over his shoulder. “How accurate is her shot?”

Uraume’s pink eyes flicker as they appear to sift through memories of past hunts.

“She’s improved,” they say, peeking up, their bangs shifting with the subtle movement. "She’s capable of hitting an animal’s vitals with a single shot.”

That’s all he needs to know to have him moving.

Through the corridor, his gait takes him left, right, then down the longest passage toward the entrance. As he walks, he unties his obi and hands it to Uraume without breaking pace.

“Keep preparing everything while I’m gone,” he mutters, opening the grand doors and stepping into the stifling heat.

The air feels thick and humid, suffocating like the horrid, unnatural sensation burrowing within him—like green things growing inside a deep, dark cave.

Unnatural.

He discards his sandals and kimono, leaving only his hakama. Uraume sweeps forward, carefully gathering his belongings.

"Everything will be in order, Master," they assure him.

Sukuna doesn’t respond. Urgency propels him to take the stone steps two at a time, but he pauses midway. A glance back at the pale-haired monk, he prepares to voice the command he had harboured since this morning.

"When she arrives… take care of her. We both know I won't be able to."

Without waiting for a reply, he descends the steps and slips past the tree line, vanishing into the receding green of the forest.

* * * * *

Sukuna knows this forest well—the winding streams, groves. Every slope and curve beneath his bare feet.

Only one road leads to his shrine—a dirt-packed trail snaking through the trees. Visitors are rare, aside from the first of the month and today, which is why he suspects his wayward subordinate is lurking somewhere along the path, hidden in the undergrowth.

Foolish woman.

He shouldn’t be out here. He should be back at the shrine—eating, preparing.

He’s starving.

But he presses on, long strides devouring the ground as he moves faster, heading deeper northward, skirting the edge of the road and passing the small stream that cuts through brush.

On a deep breath, he inhales, dragging in traces of the forest. Heat, moss, and the faint scent of sweat and smoke from the shrine’s hearth drift into his lungs.

His senses still.

Hina has always spent more time in the kitchen than the others.

He changes direction, slipping silently through a cluster of oaks as a flash of copper hair snatches his attention.

There you are.

Hina crouches low behind a thicket of tall grass. Her hair is tied back at the nape of her neck, beads of sweat gathering on her brow in the heavy sun. Despite the slickness of her skin, her bow is steady, fingers curling tightly around the string. The intensity of her focus is impressive, though she doesn’t sense his approach.

In the distance, closing in, the rumble of hooves shakes the air, drowning the crunch of twigs and leaves under his feet.

The sound swells.

Hina draws back. The fletching grazes her cheekbone as her eyes lock onto an unseen target beyond.

An all-consuming, maddening hunger erodes the last traces of reason as her arrow points toward the one thing he's been waiting for.

“You won’t be able to pull that string for long,” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the thicket.

Hina’s eyes dart toward him, body flinching, but she doesn’t lower the weapon. Instead, her grip coils tighter.

His muscles lock.

“If I were to guess that you’ve got that arrow trained on something quite delicate, would I be right?” His voice drops as he steps closer.

Hina swallows.

“I won’t miss,” she murmurs. To her credit, she manages to speak without stumbling over her words.

“I’m sure you won’t,” he smirks, circling her calmly.

Her eyes try to remain on her prey while watching the four-armed creature sizing her up.

Sukuna pauses.

Tenses. Waits.

He is indestructible, and she is nothing compared to him. Weak. Feeble.

His four eyes narrow.

Her calm begins to crack, breaths turning rapid.

“She’s an enemy, and you know this!” she shouts.

His upper lip twitches, smirk fading into something darker.

“I never took you for a fool, Hina.” He steps closer. “But here you are dooming yourself.”

Her legs tremble in the grass.

“This is a mistake! What you’re doing—allowing her to come here—is a mistake!”

“Are you questioning me, girl?”

The sound of the hooves grows louder making his blood sing.

“I can’t let her live,” she mutters, “I can’t.”

The bowstring draws back.

The hunger in his gut morphs into something nameless and untamed.

Hina inhales, adjusts the angle of the arrow, exhales, and—

The tether inside him snaps.

“Then you die.”

Sukuna cuts the air, slicing her arm. Hina screams, the arrow slipping and sinking into the ground.

In the next breath he’s on her, slamming her into the dirt.

Teeth sink into her throat, one vicious pull and the flesh gives way into an oozing hole. He doesn’t bother with care as he swallows the briny tang of her blood. It floods his throat, some of it cascading down his chin, soaking into his hakama and staining the white fabric with a deep red.

Hoofbeats draw closer.

He shoves Hina into the grass, her cries mutating into agonized screams. One particularly sharp wail disturbs a nearby murder of crows, sending them bursting from the treetops. Their shrieks become lost in the madness of sounds—of horses, of Hina’s torment, of her skin tearing, of the blood roaring in his ears, of—

"Father!" a distant, pure voice rings out with urgency.

Someone responds curtly, but Sukuna is too consumed to make sense of it.

Then, almost abruptly, the pounding hooves stop, and everything behind him falls into stillness.

For a moment, the quiet penetrates the fog clouding his mind, but his focus snaps back to Hina's dying form.

His upper right hand closes around her arm, fingers sinking knuckle-deep into flesh. With a swift jerk, he wrenches her arm from its socket, still gripping the bow. Blood splatters onto the grass as he severs the limb from her body, casting it aside with a careless toss.

Pressure settles at his back—he knows he’s being watched. He can feel the weight of every eye in the procession converge on him.

Somewhere among the onlookers, a voice trembles in fear, rambling incoherently.

He feels no shame for what he is and is more than ready to show them all.

Especially you.

Because finally, you've arrived.

Rising to his full height, the grass parts around Sukuna as he steps from the thicket toward the dirt-packed road.

Blood and saliva mix, dripping in thick strands from his mouth to his chin, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away.

Behind him, Hina's lifeless body drags, her hair catching on debris, soft eyes rolled back in terror.

She made her choice—and never stood a chance against him.

Once on the road, Sukuna finds himself flanked by the Kasai clan. Men he has battled for seven years glare at him as if holding a knife to his throat.

He has stripped them of many things—their dignity, their land, their people. Now, he takes one more, just as something was once taken from him.

You. One of their own flesh and blood.

And all they can do is stare—stare as if sheer willpower alone could erase him from existence. They stare because it's the only option left now that a treaty has been agreed upon. They stare because they know he could destroy them all with ease, though their fingers itch at the weapons sheathed at their sides.

"Sukuna Ryomen." He's not surprised when Lord Kasai nudges his horse forward, trying to project control over the situation. But the tremor in his voice betrays him. "As the patriarch of the Kasai clan, I am here to fulfill our agreement, uniting our clans through marriage."

Sukuna scoffs.

He has encountered the bastard several times before. With each meeting, he learns just how painfully paranoid he is about losing power. It’s his one true love, after all.

Striding closer, the King of Curses locks eyes with a woman atop a horse. Her stare. It’s worse than the burning sun itself.

Filthy snake.

He holds her gaze, unblinking, until her shoulders sag, though the defiance remains plastered on her pretty face.

"Is this my bride?" Sukuna drawls, not breaking eye contact, though they both know she isn't.

He’s already aware who his bride is.

One of his lower eyes has been stealing glances at you—the woman at the center of all this. The one perched on a horse in an elaborate multilayered kimono. And he wants a better look.

“No. This is my other daughter, Yuna,” Lord Kasai says, flicking an expectant look over his shoulder. Sukuna follows the shift, landing fully on you. The hostility in your father’s eyes, the undisguised hatred, he can almost taste it in his mouth.

So, you’re unwanted, just like him.

How fucking poetic.

At that, he wonders what name will leave your lips first. The King of Curses? The Disgraced One? Imaginary Demon? Monster, fiend, abomination, wretch? These thoughts circle as you ride toward him on horseback.

He starts walking, and the closer you come—

Oh.

Even from this distance, he can tell you’re a mess. The journey here has done you no favours.

Hot rays from the sun smudge your makeup. Dark kohl smears beneath your eyes. Whatever was once colouring your lips has faded away, but now he can’t stop staring at your damn mouth. He forces his red gaze upward to take in your wind-tousled hair, where wisteria flowers barely cling to their strands.

You look pitiful. The garment, the makeup, it’s like armour, desperately trying to peel away from you. Yet, that only piques his interest further.

There’s something captivating about your appearance atop the horse—chaotic, mirroring the wildness within him. It tugs at two sides, leaving him in a state of limbo, especially now that he’s stained with blood from the woman who tried to take you from him before you even properly met. But he’ll never reveal that; he’s not some guardian, nor does he hold a reputation as a sentinel.

He’s a killer, a hunter, a butcher. Not a protector. Never that. There’s a hierarchy to these things. The weak deserve to die—it’s simple. And you were just lucky today.

Sukuna continues his approach, dragging Hina’s body behind. Your sister rambles in the background, but he can't hear her; he’s too enthralled by the sight before him. Fascinated.

At last, he reaches you.

It's rare, but his pulse is drumming through his body—he can feel it in his teeth.

He notices your nervousness; your grip on the reins is so tight that he imagines your knuckles are white beneath those silk gloves—an odd choice for this heat.

Almost instinctively, a rumble emanates from his stomach maw as it opens, tongue lolling out. He catches your gaze lingering on it—a mix of fascination and repulsion in your curious eyes—before you look away.

Inwardly, he smirks at your shyness.

Even your mount shifts restlessly below you. With a gloved hand, you pat its neck, murmuring a soft, “Easy, girl.”

For a Kasai snake, you’re lovely, and you don’t even realize it. You seem uncomfortable in your own skin, and that makes you dangerous—because he wants to be the one to unravel you. To be the one to do so many fucking things to you.

But that urge dies before the thought can fully form.

Because, you lift your head, open your filthy, lying mouth, and all your deceptive charm starts to tumble out.

This could have been so simple.

So why did you start deceiving him from the very beginning? Why do you feel the need to hide from him? What the hell are you even hiding?

Because he’ll do whatever it takes to dismantle your walls, to watch your façade crumble. To see you break. But most importantly, to witness you become the triumphant downfall of the entire Kasai clan.

“Lord Sukuna, my name is—”

“You’re even uglier than I expected.”

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 17

#sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #dark content #heian sukuna #beneath the silk #dark fantasy #jjk fanfic #sukuna smut #true form sukuna #sukuna fanfic

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swifty-fox · 15 days ago

Note

I loved the cut scene from little beasts! Are there any scenes you cut from KFAK?

SO. Kfak was originally meant to be a 15k oneshot(lol) and then 30k and then 50k and the 70k.

So there were entire plotpoints that were scrapped or happened outside of Gale's POV (next chapter hehe) before they were ever written because I realized I had to go such different directions. I also don't work in versions so once something is deleted it is gone forever unless I decide to save it for whatever reason.

However!! I do have one small bit, and I may have posted it before and I may even slot it into Love song somewhere. But

“You ever think about how we had to decide who lived and who died?”

John shoots Gale a shocked look, “Come again?”

Gale gestures with his cigarette, “You know. You decide who you care about living and who it doesnt matter if they die?” When John continues to stare, silent and confounded Gale feels a flash of irritation.

“You know,” he insists, “It’s like, you’ve got your guys. And they’re your guys, your squad to lead and worry after and count them in their rows like ducklings. And then you’ve got the other guys. Veal’s guys or Kidds guys. The other guys. And sure they matter but they matter less than your charges.” His hands shake as he takes another hit of his cigarette, “They’re your guys and it’s not that they actually deserve to live more but you have to decide that they do because if you care about them all the same you can’t care about yours.”

“Buck-”

“And so you’re a God,” Gale’s voice wobbles, “And you’re their Major and you’re never ever their friend. Because then sometimes you gotta decide which of them, which of your guys deserve to live more and which deserve to live less and so you can’t be friends. You decide.”

The cigarette has burned away as he spoke, he sucks on nothing but filter and watches John’s profile in the night.

“I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“How’d you think about it then?”

John’s brow furrows and he shakes his head, “I don’t know. I can’t remember anymore I think.”

#swiftywrites #kingdom for a kiss #love song from a dog #clegan

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differentpostrebel · 2 months ago

Text

Lost and Found: A Pirate's Promise

Chapter 44: Whispers in the Woods: The Trap Unveiled

This gif because we find out Sanji was given those cuffs

And this gif because we find out Chopper and Carrot are in the Mirror World.

A/N We are back at it again with a new chapter! Yall when I tell you the vision is visioning, the smut is smutting, and just everything is going wild! Thank you guys for tuning in! Liking, commenting, reblogging, sharing, the whole nine yards! I'm forever grateful. Also remember pudding is 21 here this will add to the plot trust me!. And now without further ado, let the adventure begin!

Sanji X Reader, Sanji x Y/N, One Piece x Reader.

Sanji POV…

Morning has arrived, and I sit in my room, the sound of Germa soldiers training echoing through the walls. Sighing, I can’t help but feel a mix of anger and disgust. “Just how long do you plan on sitting there?” I ask Reiju, who’s sprawled out on the sofa, looking entirely too comfortable.

“Don’t be mean. Shouldn’t you be happy to see your long-lost sister?” she replies, her legs crossed casually.

“Stop saying that. I cut my ties with you, and I will not repeat myself!” I grit my teeth, trying to suppress the rage bubbling within me.

“I have nothing in common with someone who hangs tasteless art like that,” I say, pointing at the ridiculous portrait of our father that hangs on the wall.

“It’s a celebration of our triumph conquering the North Blue!” Reiju insists, as if that makes it any better. “It’s called The Conquest of the North Blue. It’s Father’s dream to rule over Germa as he once did. It’s funny; I think it’s natural for men to be drawn to power and glory.”

“Look at Ichiji,” she continues, and my blood runs cold. “He was drawn to your crewmate, Princess Y/N, and he is set to marry her.”

The mention of Y/N makes my stomach churn. I can’t shake the image of her with Ichiji, the thought of her being tied to that bastard gnawing at my insides. “I actually met her, too. Quite the personality, she is. She gave Yonji a run for his money before I stepped in and knocked some sense into him,” Reiju says, her tone almost admiring.

“But she is now to be wed to Ichiji, even if she refuses the marriage,” she adds, her voice dripping with amusement. I can feel my fists clenched tightly, my teeth grinding as I suppress the surge of anger rising within me.

“Why don’t you take advantage of your royal blood and seize the day rather than playing with your crewmates?” she taunts, leaning back into the sofa, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“Go to hell,” I snap back, frustration bubbling over.

“Now, now, would you talk that way to these handmaids who await your beck and call?” Reiju smirks as one of the handmaid's steps forward, bowing her head.

“How may we serve... young master?” she says, and for a moment, my heart skips a beat.

“No freakin' way!” I exclaim, my heart pounding in my chest. As heart eyes adorn my eye.

“Why fight your bloodline, dear brother? War is profitable, which is why we live in luxury. Let the minions fight in combat,” Reiju continues, and I can feel my muscles tense at her words.

“Does that not sound appealing?” she adds, gesturing to the handmaid as she pours wine into a glass, her expression smug. “We Vinsmokes have earned that right through the sheer power of our military might. You have that blood in your veins.”

“I don’t give a damn! I’m not getting married! I’m already engaged to Y/N!” I declare, my voice rising. It’s a lie, but it’s the only way I can stand my ground against her taunts.

“Oh? Y/N?” she raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Pudding is a fine woman.”

“Okay, and?! She’s nothing like Y/N!” I shoot back, my voice laced with irritation.

“Well, she’s already Ichiji’s bride-to-be, and from what I hear, once she arrives, Ichiji will have her in his quarters until the wedding to get her accustomed to the idea of sharing a bed.” Reiju says, her smile growing wider. “He already has the rings picked out, as well as the floral arrangements for the fiery princess.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Ichiji is planning to move in with her, to have her all to himself. I feel the anger boil within me, my heart racing as I imagine Y/N in Ichiji's clutches. “You’re lying! He wouldn’t dare!” I retort, but deep down, the fear gnaws at me.

“Oh, I assure you, dear brother,” Reiju replies, a smug grin plastered across her face. “Ichiji gets what he wants, and he wants Y/N. Just like Father wants power, and you… you will just have to accept your fate.”

“Never!” I shout, pushing back against the helplessness I feel. “I’ll find a way to stop this. I refuse to let any of you dictate my life or Y/N’s.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m quite fond of her,” Reiju says, her tone teasing. I can feel my teeth grinding together, frustration bubbling to the surface as her words sink in.

Suddenly, the doors to my room swing open, revealing the man I hate the most. “Father, what brings you here?” Reiju asks, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Are you still in here sulking?” he retorts, dismissively waving his hand as if my feelings are nothing more than a passing breeze.

“You bastard,” I mutter under my breath, my hands clenched into fists in my pockets.

“Show me some respect, son,” he snaps back, his eyes narrowing at me.

“Don’t call me that! I already have a father, and it’s not you!” I shoot back, my voice filled with defiance.

“Seems like you roughed up Yonji a bit, considering he’s strong,” he continues, an infuriating smirk creeping onto his face.

“Well, I guess that makes me stronger,” I say, matching his defiance with my own.

“Why don’t you meet me outside? A real man would use his fists to do the talking,” he challenges, clenching his fists tightly as he steps closer, the tension in the room thickening.

“A real man wouldn’t need to resort to violence to prove his worth,” I reply, my voice steady despite the anger coursing through me. “But if it’s a fight you want, I won’t back down.”

We made it outside, the Germa army encircling us like vultures. “That’s Master Sanji?” one of the soldiers whispers, a mix of awe and skepticism in their voices.

“I trust you’re prepared?” Judge asks, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Anytime you’re ready,” I reply, dismissing him as if he’s just another obstacle in my path.

“Time to duel!” he shouts, launching his blade at me with a speed that demands respect. But I’ve been trained for this moment; I dodge easily, feeling the adrenaline surge through me as the crowd begins to cheer.

“Once the tea party ends, I’m booking it back to my crew! I’m not marrying Pudding; I’m engaged to Y/N!” I yell, determination fueling my every word.

“Ichiji’s bride?! Now you’re just spouting off!” he laughs, swinging his blade again. I sidestep his attack, swiftly landing on the ground with my heart racing.

“This is all about strengthening your forces with Big Mom, right? It wouldn’t matter what I do after,” I pressed, determined to stand my ground.

“You don’t understand! You’ll stain the Vinsmoke name! Big Mom would punish us for treachery!” His voice dripped with frustration, and I could see the anger boiling beneath the surface.

“I don’t care about your family name!” I shot back, my fists clenched tightly. “All I care about is saving my crew and stopping Y/N’s marriage to Ichiji!”

“Y/N?” he sneered, the name sounding bitter on his lips. “ Her marriage to Ichiji is set in stone! Even if it was arranged! Pirate or not, she is still bound to marry!”

“Bound? To what? An arrangement made without her consent?” I countered, feeling the fire ignite within me. “She deserves more than this life, more than what you can offer her!”

The crowd around us was electric, their murmurs of disbelief and intrigue amplifying the tension in the air. Judge swung his blade once more, but I dodged again, feeling the thrill of the fight pulsing through my veins.

“He blocked the blade with his leg,” one of the Germa soldiers remarked, eyes wide with surprise.

“My feeble son I once knew wields Haki now?!” Judge exclaimed, his voice dripping with a mix of disbelief and disdain. I felt my teeth clench in frustration at his mocking tone.

“Fetch a sword!” he yelled, launching one directly at me. The blade spun through the air, glinting ominously in the sunlight.

“Take it. What’s the matter? Surely you haven’t forgotten my teachings,” he spat, as I easily dodged the weapon. I kicked the sword away, sending it flying into the distance.

“If you knew me at all, you’d know I don’t use that crap,” I shot back, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a flick of my lighter. I took a deep drag, feeling the familiar comfort wash over me amidst the chaos. “Get this through your skull: my hands are for cooking only.”

“That’s absurd!” he barked, his frustration palpable. “Unless I’m going to cook you up a meal, I won’t use blades or swords for that matter!” i said.

“Are you still making rat food? Service isn’t fit for royalty!” he retorted, his disdain cutting deep.

“Why resist the marriage?! Don’t you know what’s good for you?!” he shouted as he launched an aerial attack with his Raid Suit. I barely managed to evade his strike, the wind from his attack rushing past me.

The duel continued for a while, our movements a blur of strikes and dodges, the Germa soldiers cheering for my father. But he was relentless, using every trick he had up his sleeve. With a sudden burst of speed, he launched an attack that knocked me to the ground.

“Little Sanji,” I said, “I’ve got something I want to ask: do you owe someone respect just because you’re related by blood? Can’t think of one, huh? I’m sorry.” memories of my suffering flashing through my mind. Just as I was about to retaliate, he seized one of his own Germa soldiers, using him as a shield. My attack faltered as I realized what he was doing.

His electricity crackled to life, sending a shockwave through the air that sent me flying once more. I hit the ground hard, grit and dirt filling my mouth as I spat it out in anger.

After a grueling few minutes, the duel finally came to an end, and I was dragged back to my room, my body aching from the blows I had endured. Reiju was waiting for me, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation as she tended to my wounds.

“I’m surprised... you’re tough as nails,” she remarked, applying a band-aid over my forehead with a gentle touch. “I still can’t believe you’re still the same Sanji. You really are hopeless.”

“You can skip the small talk,” I said, exhaling a cloud of smoke from my cigarette, the familiar sensation offering me a momentary escape from the chaos of my life. “After I’m done with this damn tea party and end Y/N’s marriage, I’m out.”

“Then we will both be free from this curse,” I replied.

“I was hoping you were less than a scumbag, but you’re just worse. Get out of here; you’re a stranger to me!” I snapped, turning my back to face him. I didn’t want to deal with the remnants of my family ties right now.

“No chance,” Judge’s voice echoed from the doorway, making me tense. “Do I need to remind you that’s my blood in your veins?”

I glared at him, fists clenched, resisting the urge to lash out. “That was just an example of how loyal the Germa soldiers are,” he continued. “Willing to give their lives at a moment's notice, without hesitation.”

“They’re just puppets for you to control,” I spat, my voice low with contempt. “Why the hell do you want to use them? To conquer the North Blue again?”

A smirk crossed his face, his eyes glinting with that familiar arrogance. “Quick with the uptake, aren’t you? By forming this alliance with Big Mom, we’ll strengthen our forces tenfold,” he declared, his voice brimming with pride as if the outcome were inevitable.

“And since the princess happens to be a fighter and warrior, we’ll use her skills as well,” he added, his gaze hardening, as if Y/N’s fate had already been decided. The way he spoke of her, like a tool in his arsenal, only fueled my anger.

"Honestly, I did not intend to ruffle any feathers," Judge began, his voice cold as ice. His eyes gleamed with the same ruthlessness I had grown to despise. "In order to secure this alliance, Big Mom requires a blood relative. Since I wasn’t about to let my sons be used for that demented woman’s lineage, I remembered... years ago, I had another child. You, Sanji, will be the sacrifice. I haven’t changed my opinion of you—you’re still worthless in my eyes."

My stomach twisted in anger, but before I could respond, I heard a faint click. A cold metal sensation wrapped around my wrists, and I looked down to see small, golden cuffs. "What the hell is this?" I spat, my voice rising with alarm.

He grinned, enjoying the confusion on my face. "You remember the collars the Celestial Dragons use on their slaves, don’t you? These work the same way. The cuffs will detonate if you try to run—your hands will be blown to bits," he explained, as if it were a casual conversation.

I could feel my breath quicken as the realization set in. "Take them off!" I shouted, my hands trembling in panic.

He smirked, completely unbothered by my reaction. "Oh no, I don't think so. You value your hands, don't you? For cooking, for fighting, for... Y/N?" He paused, watching my expression change as he mentioned her name. "Ah, yes. You care for her deeply, don't you?"

I froze, dread pooling in my gut.

"See, we have a special hostage—a certain someone Y/N is quite fond of from her training days. Goes by the name King, if I recall correctly." His tone grew darker, more menacing. "If Y/N doesn’t cooperate, he and everyone on that island will be wiped out. She’ll have no choice but to go along with the wedding to Ichiji."

My blood ran cold. He was playing with every piece on the board, ensuring none of us had any escape.

"You’ll marry Pudding," he continued, as if it were the simplest decision. "And Y/N will marry Ichiji. If either of you even think about defying this plan, you’ll lose your hands... and Y/N will lose her loved ones."

I could feel the rage bubbling beneath the surface, but I was trapped, completely powerless. My fists clenched at my sides, the weight of the cuffs heavy against my skin. He had me cornered, and there was nothing I could do.

"You bastard," I whispered, my voice thick with fury and fear.

As the door clicked shut, leaving me alone in my room, my father’s words echoed in my mind. "You and the princess can’t escape." The weight of his declaration felt like chains around my body, suffocating me. The thought of Y/N, bound by this twisted marriage to Ichiji, made my chest tighten. I walked to the balcony, my feet heavy as if the cuffs had already bound more than my hands—they had trapped my soul.

The cool night air hit my face, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside me. I leaned against the railing, gripping it so tightly my knuckles turned white. The future looked bleak. No way out for Y/N, no way out for me. Both of us tangled in this nightmare of arranged marriages. I wanted to scream, to break something, to tear down everything that had been forced on us. But all I could do was grip my hair tightly, my fingers trembling with frustration, and yell into the dark sky. "Damn it!" The words echoed, but the hopelessness remained, sinking deeper into me.

Y/N POV…

I kept running in what felt like circles, my legs covered in dirt and my dress torn and tattered, with a few cuts marring my skin. One of the sleeves hung limply from my shoulder, but I couldn’t stop to assess the damage. I had to find Nami. Ever since Brulee took Carrot and Chopper, Nami had been my only hope, and I wouldn’t abandon her now.

I had tried to help Chopper as much as I could until he insisted I run, his voice trembling with urgency. The weight of my sword pressed against my back felt comforting, a reminder that I could still fight. Along with it, I clutched the small bag holding my two hidden blades and the thigh halter, my resolve growing stronger with every step.

Suddenly, my foot caught on a twisted root, and I stumbled, skinning my knee against the rough ground. I winced in pain, but I couldn't afford to stop. Not now. Not when my friends were in danger. Just then, I felt another shift in the air, a warning that danger was closing in.

I clenched my fist in rage, adrenaline surging through my veins. "That’s it!" I shouted, determination igniting within me. I pressed the red gemstone on my sword, and flames erupted along the blade, casting a fiery glow around me. The heat radiated off the metal, filling me with a sense of power I desperately needed.

With newfound purpose, I slashed through the underbrush, creating a path as the forest began to blaze around me. The flames danced, devouring the foliage in a brilliant display of orange and red, illuminating the darkness and pushing back the shadows that threatened to engulf me.

The crackling of the fire was a stark contrast to the pounding of my heart, but I pushed forward, each step fueled by the desire to reunite with Nami and Luffy. The blaze would draw attention—both from those who wished to help and those who sought to harm. But I didn’t care. I was done hiding, done running in circles.

Suddenly, I saw Nami and Luffy with the same giant from before. “Nami! Luffy!, I yelled as I made my way towards them. I hugged Nami and Luffy, relieved that they were okay. Nami begins to tell Luffy how we got separated. “I kept looking for you too, Y/N, alone until darkness fell,” Nami said, her voice carrying a hint of fatigue as she recounted the events.

“That's what matters,” Luffy said, stretching his arms out with a grin. “We’re all back together now! Alrighty then, it’s time to rescue Chopper and Carrot from that lady. Where are they?”

“Everything happened right here,” Nami explained, her eyes scanning the twisted forest. “But someone has to know something.” She turned to the giant looming underground. “Just say something already! Those weird monsters and Brulee didn’t even touch you!”

The giant turned his gaze towards Luffy and me, his curiosity piqued. “By the way, you two look pretty tough.”

Luffy scratched his head. “Thanks, I guess?”

“But what about you?” the giant asked, his attention shifting to Nami.

“Yeah! I’m strong as hell, what of it?” Nami snapped, her confidence unshaken.

The giant finally began to speak, “Well, once those things were given orders, they don’t stop until their task is completed.”

“Then why did they stop chasing us?” Nami asked, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Well…” I started, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. “I might have set a path on fire to get to you guys...”

Nami’s eyes widened in a mix of surprise and exasperation. “Y/N!”

“Hey, I had to make sure I found you both! It was either that or getting lost in circles,” I defended, still slightly out of breath from all the running.

Luffy laughed, seemingly unbothered. “That’s smart! Good job, Y/N.

The giant shifted uneasily as he began to explain, “Big Mom has the abilities from consuming the Soul-Soul Fruit. She can manipulate souls, taking fragments of a person’s life. The citizens in Totoland must choose between ‘Life or Leave,’ and when they give up part of their soul—equivalent to one year of their lifespan—everything around them becomes animated.”

He paused, his voice deepening. “We lovingly call these whimsical creatures ‘Homies,’ as they are infused with the essence of people’s souls. That... is the true nature of Totoland.”

I felt my stomach twist at the thought. “I’ll say this again... I hate it here!” I declared, my voice echoing in frustration.

Luffy, frowning, crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?! You’ve been watching us this whole time!”

“Yeah, just spit it out already!” Nami and I demanded together, glaring at the giant.

The giant’s eyes darkened with a mix of sadness and regret. “A very long time ago… Big Mom and I were once married… as husband and wife.”

“WHAT?!” All three of us shouted in unison, utterly shocked by his confession.

I could hardly believe it. This giant, who seemed so detached from everything, was once married to Big Mom? It felt like the entire world had been flipped upside down.

“This is crazy!” I exclaimed, still trying to process the wild revelations.

“So, you and Big Mom were…?” I asked, trailing off in disbelief.

“We even had two daughters together,” the giant continued, his voice filled with sadness. “But we separated. It’s not like me and the Homies are friends or anything; I’m beneath them.”

Suddenly, we heard loud thudding sounds approaching fast.

“What’s going on?” I asked, glancing around as the ground shook beneath us.

“It’s getting closer!” Nami warned, her eyes wide with concern.

“Who’s this guy?” I asked, spotting a figure emerging from the trees.

Someone appeared, yanking the first giant out of the ground by force.

“Get back, you guys!” Luffy shouted as we all stepped back cautiously.

Once the dust settled, we realized something shocking. “He’s not a giant... his head is just too big!” we all said in unison, completely taken aback.

“Don’t think we wouldn’t know you’d be spilling information to the enemy!” a voice growled. It was Cracker, one of Big Mom’s commanders.

“I just wanted to give my blessing to my daughter! I heard she was married!” the giant explained, desperate. “I also heard my daughter ran away… Lola!”

“Lola?!” Nami and I exclaimed at the same time.

“Wait… could it be?” I muttered, turning to Nami.

Nami’s eyes widened in realization. “Lola told us that her mom was a pirate… so it was Big Mom! I can’t believe it. This guy… is Lola’s father?”

Suddenly, a voice from behind shouted, “It’s the bird and the rabbit guy!”

“What?!” I turned, spotting Randolph, the rabbit, and his crane mount approaching.

Before they could get any closer, Cracker used Haki, halting them instantly.

“Wait a second… was that Haki?!” Luffy exclaimed.

“They all screamed in terror!” I added, watching as the homies withered away by Cracker’s presence.

“This is about to be a long, long night, you guys,” I said, gripping the hilt of my sword tightly.

“Well, Randolph…” Cracker began, his voice low and menacing. Suddenly, the rabbit and bird began speaking.

“You mean to tell me they can talk?!” I blurted, bewildered by the absurdity of it all.

Cracker continued, “You know Mama likes to stay ahead of the curve, especially after Strawhat Luffy defeated Doflamingo. And this princess here—” He glanced in my direction. “—also fought with him twice. She assumed Brulee would have trouble, so she sent me.”

Suddenly, Brulee’s voice echoed from afar. “Did my ears deceive me, or did I hear my dear brother correctly?”

“It’s official—I hate it here times three,” I muttered, completely done with the chaos surrounding us.

“It’s the tree monster!” Luffy exclaimed.

“She’s back, huh?” I sighed. “Looks like someone’s asking for a round two.”

“If she ordered me to off them, I would’ve done it!” Brulee hissed, emerging from the shadows.

“That’s right!” the talking tree Homie added. “We are the Seducing Woods team. We would’ve never let a single one of you live.”

I narrowed my eyes at the tree, ready to retaliate. “Listen, Branch,” I said defiantly.

“It’s Brulee!” she snapped back.

“Same thing,” I retorted, gripping the gemstone on my sword, ready to strike. “Looks like you’re really asking for a round two.”

Before I could make my move, Cracker interrupted us, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "It doesn't matter, Brulee. By tomorrow at noon, the Vinsmokes will be arriving at the Whole Cake Chateau, making time a precious commodity. Forming a family connection with the Vinsmokes has been a long-awaited goal that Mama has been working towards. She’ll finally be able to obtain Germa 66's military might and scientific technology," he explained, his eyes gleaming with malice.

I tensed, knowing where this was going.

"And the princess here," Cracker added, his gaze locking onto me, "she’s also set to marry the other Vinsmoke. He’s expecting her there as well."

My heart sank, anger swirling inside me at the mention of the arranged marriage. My grip tightened on my sword. "Over my dead body," I growled.

Nami shot me a worried glance, while Luffy clenched his fists, ready to fight. "We're not letting that happen!" he declared with his usual fire.

Brulee stepped forward, her sneer mocking us. "I know that already," she said with confidence, snapping her fingers as the clones around us shimmered and reverted back into animals. "She turned them back into animals!" Luffy exclaimed, wide-eyed.

"Wait a second, how can a tree talk?" Luffy added, confused.

I rolled my eyes. "See? This is why I nicknamed her Branch."

"It’s Brulee!" she snapped back, clearly irritated. "Besides, can a tree do this?" She held up a mirror, revealing Carrot and Chopper trapped inside.

"Luffy!" cried Chopper. "Luffy, Nami, Y/N, come and set us free!" Carrot added, tears in her eyes.

"Carrot! Chopper!" I shouted, stepping closer, my heart racing. "What happened? How did you get in there?" Luffy asked, bewildered.

Brulee smirked. "I took them to my mirror world. I can use a tricky ability, so you'd better be careful." "I’ve got these fools right where I want them," she taunted, suddenly dropping the mirror.

Instinctively, I lunged forward, catching it just before it could shatter on the ground. "I’ve got you guys," I breathed, my grip tight on the fragile surface. Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived.

Out of nowhere, Brulee emerged from the mirror, her fist connecting with my face before I had time to react. Pain shot through my lip as I hit the ground, the mirror slipping from my grasp and shattering into countless pieces.

"Y/N!" Nami screamed, rushing to my side. I groaned, wiping the blood from my mouth as I struggled to my feet, my sword still clenched in my hand.

"What happened?!" Luffy shouted, his voice laced with concern.

"We’re fine!" Carrot’s voice came from the broken shards. "It didn’t hurt us."

"Nothing happened here in the mirror world," Chopper added.

"That’s good news, at least," Luffy sighed, but his fists remained clenched, his eyes narrowed at Brulee.

"Luffy, listen!" Chopper said urgently, his voice echoing from the fragments of the shattered mirror. "We found out something important!"

Just as Chopper was about to reveal something important, Cracker grabbed the giant, ready to strike him down. Luffy quickly intervened.

“Second Gear! Are you ready? Gomu Gomu no… Red Hawk!” Luffy shouted as he lunged at Cracker.

Cracker managed to block the fiery punch, sprouting another arm. “You have a third arm?!” Luffy exclaimed, his excitement showing even in the midst of the battle.

Nami and I exchanged a glance as Luffy continued his relentless attack. “Nami, Y/N! Find a safe spot, okay?” Luffy called out, his eyes never leaving Cracker.

“Right!” we both nodded. I sheathed my sword once more, clutching my bag tightly as we sprinted away. The homies around us began to shift threateningly, but Nami quickly flashed Lola’s vivre card, halting them in their tracks.

“This must be Big Mom’s vivre card,” Nami said, her confidence rising as the homies froze.

"Whoa, Luffy!" Nami shouted as Luffy was knocked back toward us, the tree behind him slashed clean through.

“Damn it, this guy sucks!” Luffy grumbled, shaking off the dirt.

“You shall learn to respect Thousand Arm Cracker!” Cracker roared, tapping his body as even more limbs sprouted.

“This just got weirder,” I muttered.

Luffy continued to engage Cracker, but he was struggling. “Luffy, you can’t turn this into an all-out fight!” Nami warned.

“We need to find Sanji and leave this demented place,” Nami added, her voice laced with urgency.

“And stop my wedding,” I chimed in, determination burning in my eyes.

Cracker turned his gaze toward me, “Insolent brat, gaze upon my swords! Best remember the name—Pretzel!”

“Yeah, no. That’s just going to make me hungry,” I said, feeling my stomach rumble.

“Huh? How can you call it one of a kind when you’re holding six of them?” Nami questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s a good point,” the giant added from the sidelines.

Suddenly, Cracker launched Luffy farther away. Nami and I froze in panic as he disappeared into the distance.

“Oh no!” I exclaimed, watching as Cracker began his pursuit.

“Even Luffy is having a hard time,” Nami muttered in disbelief.

“Hang on, Luffy! We’re coming!” I shouted as we began running toward him, only to be blocked by a massive tree trunk.

“Great, what now?” I groaned, frustrated by yet another obstacle.

Brulee cackled from above. “Not so fast, missy. You forgot—I’m still here.”

I smirked, enjoying the chance to rile her up. “Well, you kind of blend in with the trees, Branch, so it was easy to forget.”

“It’s Brulee!” she snapped, her anger flaring.

“Looks like we have to fight them, Nami,” I said, clenching my fists and activating the electrical and fire charges.

“The Worst Generation, huh? Whoop-de-doo,” Brulee sneered. “You all spout nonsense about your captains becoming King of the Pirates, but it always ends the same way… in despair.”

She continued with a smug look, “You wander into Mama’s territory, and you’ll learn the same lesson Captain Kidd did… the same as Apoo, Gang Bege, and even the Mad Monk Urouge. Only Bege had the sense to join us. The rest? They never even caught a glimpse of Mama.”

The mention of Kidd’s name made my eyes widen in shock. I silently gasped, my heart racing, and Nami noticed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Y/N…” Nami whispered, trying to piece it together, but I quickly averted my gaze, unwilling to reveal anything just yet.

Brulee began to talk about Mad Monk Uroge, who had managed to take down one of the four Sweet Generals. “Mama was furious; she sent Brother Cracker to finish the job,” she said, pulling out another mirror and laughing wickedly. “Your friend has nowhere left to run. I imagine he’s on his last breath by now.”

She suddenly dropped the mirror, but it didn’t crack. Instead, it landed in front of me. “She’s gone,” Nami said, fear creeping into her voice. We both leaned closer to the mirror, seeing our reflections distorted by the shimmering surface.

“Nami, get behind me,” I instructed, my heart pounding. Suddenly, the mirror revealed Brulee’s face as she began to step out slowly, her expression twisted in delight. “Listen closely, you’ve reached your final stop in the New World. You want to fight an Emperor? You fools won’t even get close to Mama,” she sneered. “Infiltrating the tea party, stopping these weddings, and then walking out alive with your crewmates? This forest will be your final resting place.”

The mirror began to turn into liquid, and panic surged through me. “Nami, run!” I shouted, but before I could react, Brulee’s hand shot out, grabbing my left leg and pulling me down hard against the ground.

“Welcome to Mirror World! You’re going to love it here!” she cackled, and I thrashed violently, trying to free myself. I lifted my right leg, aiming a tremor kick at her head, but she caught my other leg, twisting me around like a rag doll.

“Oh no, Y/N!” Nami cried out, helpless to intervene as I clawed at the ground, desperately trying to reach for my sword. My fingers dug into the dirt, as I finally reached the hilt of my sword digging it into the ground, gripping it tightly as Brulee’s nails raked against my legs.

“Ahh!” I screamed, a mix of pain and fury coursing through me. “Let me go!”

“Come on, come on! Come to old Brulee!” she taunted, her grip tightening as she tried to pull me towards her. My arms felt like they were slipping away, the weight of her strength bearing down on me. I couldn’t pull out my blades; she’d still try to drag me in!

The once-white fabric of my dress was now stained and torn as I struggled against her grasp. “I can’t wait to teach you a lesson,” she said with a sadistic grin.

“I’m not going to let go!” I shouted back defiantly. “This branch really is annoying!”

“Nami, stay back!” I yelled, not wanting her to get pulled into this mess.

“Pound! Help her!” Nami shouted desperately, trying to rally our ally.

“Let her go, Brulee!” Pound said, almost landing a punch on her. Finally, with a growl of annoyance, Brulee released me, sending me flying into a nearby tree. I landed hard, the impact jarring my body, and I breathed slowly, wincing as her nails had left deep marks in my skin.

“Y/N!” Nami called out, rushing toward me. She helped me back up, concern etched on her face. As we began to walk back toward Pound and Brulee, I stopped her.

“Nami, wait.” I reached for my thigh halter and blades, securing them firmly against my thigh, feeling their familiar power surge through me as the blades glowed a bright white. “Here, take this bag.” I handed her my satchel, and she slung it over her shoulder.

“Thanks a bunch, Pound,” Nami said, a hint of determination in her voice.

“Are you serious? Nice going, Pound! You just committed treason against Mama!” Brulee spat, her tone sharp and accusatory.

“But I didn’t mean to,” Pound stammered, glancing between Nami and Brulee as if trying to gauge the situation.

“You’re dead to us, and soon you’ll be just dead,” Brulee hissed, her voice dripping with malice as she struggled to regain her footing.

Before she could recover, Nami took a step forward, her expression fierce. “Let’s end this!” With a swift motion, she released her Thunderbolt Tempo, the powerful strike illuminating the darkened mirror world. The bolt connected with Brulee, who shrieked in surprise and pain, her body convulsing as the electric energy coursed through her.

Brulee’s form began to shimmer and fade, slowly sinking back into the mirror world, unconscious. “Way to go, Nami!” I exclaimed, patting her on the back as relief washed over me.

“Thanks!” she said, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.

I moved toward where my sword had fallen, retrieving it from the ground and securing it behind me once more. With my sword and blades firmly in place, I felt a sense of readiness surge through me. “That reminds me, are you one of Lola’s friends?” Pound asked, glancing at Nami with curiosity.

Nami nodded, pulling out the Vivre Card that Lola had given her. The card glowed faintly in response to the mention of her friend, causing the surrounding Homies to back away, their eyes wide with recognition.

“Looks like that answers that,” I said, smirking at Nami’s cleverness. “I’ll make sure to put it to good use,” she teased, her confidence growing as she brandished the card like a weapon.

Sanji POV…

Night had fallen as I gazed out of the castle window from my room, the cool breeze rustling through the curtains. I stared up at the sky, my mind wandering, unable to find peace. My thoughts inevitably drifted to Y/N—the woman I cared for more than I could express. "Has she eaten?" I thought, concern gnawing at me. "Is she safe?" The idea of her trapped in this twisted arrangement made my blood boil. It was cruel, forcing Y/N into this nightmare, using King and those she loved as leverage.

And the worst part? "She doesn't even know." I growled under my breath, taking a drag from my cigarette, the smoke swirling around me in the dimly lit room. The weight of it all pressed on my chest—the deception, the manipulation, the damn Vinsmokes. I couldn’t stand it.

"Trouble sleeping?" came a familiar voice from behind me.

I didn’t bother turning around. “What do you want from me?” I muttered, flicking the ash off my cigarette.

"Give me some credit,” Reiju said, her voice soft but knowing. “Your big sister’s worried about her little brother.”

I scoffed at the sentiment. Worried? About me? That was hard to believe, especially considering everything. She moved closer, leaning against the wall beside me, but my eyes stayed focused on the stars above.

"You excited to see Ichiji and Niji tomorrow?" she asked, and my jaw clenched at the mention of those names. I could feel my blood boiling just thinking about them—the two bastards who had tormented me my entire childhood. Memories flooded back—Ichiji's sneering face as he threw punches, Niji laughing as he kicked me when I was down.

They hadn’t changed. And now Ichiji had dragged Y/N into this mess, planning a wedding ceremony that was as forced as my own.

“It’s been thirteen years since the whole family’s been back together,” Reiju continued, trying to fill the silence, but I wasn’t in the mood for nostalgia. “Tomorrow’s going to be a very busy day. We’re meeting Big Mom at the Whole Cake Chateau for your engagement ceremony with Pudding...”

I nearly crushed the cigarette in my fingers, the rage bubbling up.

“...And then it’ll be Ichiji and Y/N’s engagement ceremony.”

Those words hit me like a punch to the gut. Y/N—my Y/N—was being thrown into a ceremony with that monster, and she didn’t even know the full extent of the situation. The thought of her standing there, unaware of the strings being pulled behind her back, made me sick.

“He’s already having an engagement ceremony without her being there in the first place!” I barked, turning to face Reiju, my voice full of venom. “He’s doing this to make it all look perfect while she’s being trapped in this nightmare!”

Reiju’s face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes. “It’s the way the Vinsmokes work, Sanji. It’s all a game to them.”

I gritted my teeth, my hands balling into fists. “It’s not a game to her. It’s not a game to me.”

There was silence between us for a moment, the tension heavy. My thoughts kept returning to Y/N—how she deserved more than this sick charade. The only thing keeping me going was the hope that we could find a way out of this before it was too late.

Taking another drag of my cigarette, I turned back to the moon, its pale light spilling into the room.Hang in there, Y/N. I thought silently, watching the smoke drift toward the open window. I’ll find a way to save you.

#one piece #onepiece x reader #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #monkey d luffy #one piece sanji #sanji x y/n #sanji #whole cake arc #whole cake island #one piece nami #charlotte brulee #vinsmoke reiju #reiju #one piece reiju #germa 66

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musings-of-a-rose · 11 months ago

Text

Falling Slowly Chapter 6

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 4000+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: This chapter will be entirely from Tommy’s pov. It’s also bringing in a Joel story I’ve been dying to write.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Divider made by @benkeibear

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Falling Slowly Masterlist

Tommy Miller Masterlist

<<;Chapter 5<<

Tommy rubs his wrists as the officer unlocks his cuffs, gesturing to the phone on the wall.

"You get one call. 3 minutes."

Tommy nods and picks up the phone, hesitating a moment before dialing his brother's number.

“Hello?”

“Joel, it’s me. Uh, I’m ok.”

“Yeah?”

“But I’m in jail.”

“Goddammit.”

A little offended, Tommy defends himself. “Wasn’t my fault this time. I was at the bar, some guy goes crazy, starts swingin’ at a waitress, I stepped in, knocked him out, cops show up-” The din from the other room gets louder, like people are fighting almost. Look, it doesn’t matter. You gotta bail me out.”

“Now?”

“It’s Friday, you don’t get me out tonight, I’m in here all weekend. It’s a fuckin’ madhouse, Joel. I gotta get out.”

“Well, which jail? Travis County?”

“Yeah, on 10th.”

“Goddammit Tommy.”

“I’m sorry….Please?”

“Ok.” Joel hangs up after that and Tommy stares at the receiver for a moment, hoping that his brother shows up fast.

It's when he waits for Joel that Tommy really sees it. The way people are behaving oddly, just like the man in the bar, lunging at people or twitching. Some of the officers' hands shake as they restrain them, their heads moving from side to side as if trying to clear their minds of a fog. Something is happening, what specifically he can't say. But something is very wrong. All he knows is he has to get Daisy and Jax and get out of town with Joel and Sarah and Rose, if Joel wants that? Maybe to the cabin? Would Joel even believe him?

Just then an officer opens the cell, his hands shaking and fumbling with the keys, dropping them a couple of times before he jams them into the lock and pulls the door open. Tommy quickly walks past the officer, who's now shaking his head and walks down the hall towards the front desk. He sees Joel standing there, his arms crossed and a hard look on his face.

"I thought you were done with this shit, Tommy."

"We have to get out of here."

Joel snorts. "No shit. You think I want to spend my night here?"

Tommy looks at his brother, holding his gaze. "No, we have to leave. Somethin' isn't right."

"What-"

Screams and gunfire echo down the hall from where Tommy just was, obvious signs of multiple people fighting. Joel looks at Tommy and nods towards the front door as the desk officer draws her gun and moves down the hallway, her screams cut off by the door closing behind Joel.

Outside isn't any better. People are running, screaming down the street while other people chase them, pushing them down and…biting their necks? No. Kissing them? No, their lips aren't touching.

The window from a store front next to Tommy breaks, glass shattering all over the road as a person falls from the store, gashes covering their body as they jerk and twist. Suddenly, their, no, her head jerks up and she looks at them, something long and like tendrils sliding out of her mouth just as an inhuman sound comes from her throat, her body launching at the men.

"Shit!" Tommy yells as he moves from her way, her body crashing to the floor momentarily before popping back up.

"Move!" Joel yells and Tommy runs after him, heading towards his truck at the end of the street. Joel reaches it first, just as Tommy feels her fingers close around his shirt, pulling him to the ground. She straddles him, leaning her head towards his, the tendrils sliding from her mouth, reaching towards him, trying to pull her mouth closer to his as Tommy slams his mouth shut, desperately trying to shove her off him.

CLUNK!

A large wrench slams into the side of her head and she flies off Tommy, landing on the sidewalk, her body no longer moving. His chest is heaving as he gasps for air, Joel shoving his hand in his face to help him up.

"We gotta go!" He tosses the keys to Tommy who hops in, starting up the truck and taking off the second Joel closes his door, another one of those things pounding on the window, tendrils pressing up against it.

"Take 42nd to Palm and cut through that alley."

Tommy nods to his brother, his eyes glued to the road where people are running around, trying to avoid getting pounced on. He makes it to the shortcut, his tires screeching down the alley as he heads toward the neighborhood where he and Joel live.

"We'll grab Sarah first since we're up first."

Tommy nods. "Be quick, Joel. I have to get to Daisy and Jax."

But as they pull up to the dark street, they see Sarah running from the neighbor's house, a look of pure terror on her face. Tommy pulls up and Joel jumps out, his wrench in his hand as an old lady runs from the house Sarah just left, tripping over the stairs.

"Get in the truck!" Joel yells at Sarah as the old lady gets up. She grunts, running at them as Tommy moves from around the truck.

"What are we doing here Joel?"

Joel tightened his grip and swung, hitting the lady square in the face, her body hitting the ground.

"You just killed her!" Sarah gasps from behind Joel. He turns to her, kneeling a bit to her level.

"It's not just here. We have to be strong, ok?" She nods, hopping in the back as they jump in, the truck roaring to life as Tommy speeds off down the road towards his house.

They pull up and Tommy's stomach jumps to his throat. The front door is wide open, the plants on the front steps knocked over, dirt splattered across the ground.

"Fuck," Joel whispers under his breath. "Sarah, stay in the car and do not come out. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes."

Tommy opens his door, fingers trembling as a thousand horrible images cross his mind of what may lay inside the home he and Daisy had created. He tightens his grip on the shotgun he grabbed from his backseat, Joel sliding into a position behind him to cover him as they tentatively step inside.

The room is a mess. Furniture is upturned, frames dangling on the wall, broken glass scattered across the floor, the lights flickering as the lamp desperately tries to stay lit. But as they step towards the kitchen and the main stairwell, Tommy has to swallow down a wail, panic seeping through his veins and threatening to take over his mind, his body turning cold.

"Is that…blood?" Joel whispers, coming up beside Tommy, looking down at the dark puddle on the ground.

Tommy nods, not trusting his own voice as he rounds the corner, his shotgun weighing heavier in his hands. No one is in the kitchen, cups clattered on the floor, some drawers pulled out and silverware scattered across the floor.

Tommy then turns to the stairs leading to the bedrooms upstairs. Joel claps his hand on his shoulder, his eyebrows raised in a silent question of "You got this?"

Tommy nods, flexing his fingers against the wood of the shotgun and turns his gaze towards the stairs, slowly ascending them and taking a double step so as not to step on the creaky stair he'd promised Daisy he would fix months ago. His throat tightens thinking of her and he prays to whatever is listening that she's ok. That Jax is ok.

He makes it to the top of the stairs, more things scattered about the floor up here too and turns to Jax's room, his door half open. Toys are scattered about the floor, his lamp over turned and the room nearly pitch black. He swears he hears a small shuffle from the back of his closet and he swallows hard, terrified of what it could mean. He grips the gun tighter, taking a deep breath.

"Jax? It's Daddy."

There's a moment of silence, Tommy's stomach churning with every second as hope fades from him. But then the closet door bursts open and Jax jumps out, his arms outstretched towards his dad.

"DADDY!"

Tommy drops to his knees, quickly setting the shotgun on the floor and opens his arms, Jax throwing his own tiny ones around his neck, little tears streaming down his face as Tommy embraces him, his own tears falling freely.

"I am so glad to see you, little man! Are you ok?" Reluctantly, Tommy disentangles Jax from him and he looks at him. Nothing seems to be off about him other than the fact he was terrified.

"I ok, daddy."

"I'm so happy to hear that, little man. You were hiding and waiting for us?"

Jax's eyes go distant as he remembers, nodding his head. "Mommy said to hide and wait for you or Uncle Joel if she not come back."

Tommy's heart races at the mention of Daisy. "Jax, look at me." He turns his face up and looks up at his Dad, fear blowing his pupils wide. "Where's mommy?"

Jax is quiet for several moments before he speaks and Tommy almost misses it with how softly he talks.

"Mrs. Johnson was being mean to mommy."

Tommy feels himself go cold, blood rushing, heart pumping as fear floods his system. He tries hard to swallow down his fear for Jax. "What, uh, what happened?"

"Mommy woke me up. Said to hide in my best hiding spot. Not to come out until daddy or Uncle Joel or mommy come to get him. That if I do, if I stay really quiet, I win the game. But…" His eyes flick behind Tommy at the door, the door that had been half open when they came upstairs.

"Jax it's OK. You're safe."

Jax looks back at Tommy, eyes watering with fear. "Someone hit on my door. Mommy saw me hide. Took my..r..Rangers bat. She open the door and Mrs. Johnson…" He glances at the door again before looking down at his feet. "She was doing doggy sounds and chasing mommy. But not like when we play. She tried to bite mommy."

"Did she bite her?"

Jax thinks for a moment. "No."

Tommy lets out a puff of air. That's at least something good. "Where did they go?"

"Mommy ran out the door. She made a lot of noise. Mrs. Johnson chase her. I hear sounds from downstairs but then quiet. Then daddy get me. I win, daddy?"

Tommy pulls Jax in to his chest, hugging him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Yeah, bud. You win."

Joel clears his throat. "Tommy, we gotta go. We can't stay here."

"I can't leave Daisy. I can't, I-"

"Tommy." Joel speaks in his stern brother voice. "We have to keep the kids safe. Daisy wouldn't want you to risk Jax-"

Anger floods Tommy, heating his face, a rushing sound in his ears as he stands quickly, taking Jax with him. "How the fuck would you know what she wants?"

"Because she's a mom! How pissed would she be if something happened while we were lookin' and waitin' for her?"

He's pissed. So pissed but mostly because his brother is right. Daisy would skin him alive if something happened to Jax while they were looking for her.

"I… I can't…"

Joel grips his shoulder. "We'll go to the cabin still. It would be a safe place to hunker down. Leave her a note or somethin' but we have to go. Now."

Tommy nods, succumbing to his brother's order. They all head back downstairs, Tommy grabbing the pad of paper and pen that they always kept near the phone. He quickly scribbled a note to Daisy, telling her they had Jax and were heading to the cabin and to meet there. He ended it with an I love you, taking a shuddering breath as he sets the note on the table, Sarah placing Daisy's backpack next to it, the one she had packed last night in preparation for their weekend trip. While he wrote, Jax had grabbed his own little pack and Joel grabbed any food he could carry from the cabinets, tossing it into some grocery bags that were stored under the sink.

They all head to the front door, Joel doing a quick scan of the area before they silently move back towards the truck. Tommy takes one last look inside, speaking quietly while saying an internal prayer.

"Please be ok, Daisy."

The highway is blocked, everyone having the same idea as them. They cut across a field, intending to take a shortcut through town, but then chaos erupts. People pour from a movie theater, yelling, screaming, biting, and then Sarah yelling from the back seat before the sound of a plane crashing, way too close for comfort. And then his world flips, goes dark for a brief moment before Tommy wakes, upside down, the sounds of terror from the street quickly roaring back to life.

"DADDY!"

Jax's scream wakes him from his stupor, spurring him into action. He quickly undoes his belt, seeing Joel stir next to him.

"You ok, man?" Tommy asks as he drops to the roof, which is now the floor, with a grunt.

"M' fine. Sarah!"

"I'm stuck!"

Tommy sees Joel hit the roof and scramble out to get Sarah. Tommy does the same, whipping out his pocket knife and cutting Jax loose from the car seat Sarah had buckled him into when they left. He grabs him before he hits the floor and pulls him from the truck, faintly registering Sarah whimpering as Joel pulls her from the truck, another car slamming into it a moment later. Jax screams and buries his face in Tommy's neck, his little backpack somehow clutched in his tiny fist.

The truck is on fire and Tommy steps back, quickly grabbing up the shotgun that had slid from the truck when it had flipped. He looks over the hood at Joel, cradling Sarah in his arms but blocked in the alley.

"Go! Meet up at the river. Get her out of here, Joel!"

Tommy tightens his grip on Jax. "Keep your eyes closed, bud. Hold tight. I've got you."

He runs, his eyes on everyone and everything as they make their way down a few blocks before cutting down a side street. Mercifully, none of the things seem to notice them, too caught up in the chaos of the street and they make it around the edge of buildings and towards the river. But then he sees them, Joel cradling Sarah and pleading with a soldier who has his gun fixed on them. He quietly sets Jax down, who seems to sense the seriousness of the situation, and flattens himself to the ground, just like he does when they play soldiers.

Tommy raises the shotgun and takes a few steps. But then he hears a shot ring out and sees Joel and Sarah go down, the soldier stomping up to Joel, who's raising his hands, pleading, begging, telling the man they aren't sick. Without hesitation, Tommy clears the last step to put him in a decent range and pulls the trigger, the soldier instantly going down. Joel looks up at him, gratitude on his face. But Tommy doesn't see it. All he sees is Sarah, blood covering her shirt as she gasps on the ground.

"Oh God."

Joel snaps his head around and sees her, rushing towards his daughter. Tommy feels Jax hold onto his leg as Joel screams to Tommy for help. But what is he going to do? He has no medical training and he doubts the med pack on the soldier would do much-

"MOVE!"

In her element, Rose comes from nowhere, her shoulder jamming into Joel to move him aside as she expertly moves her hands over Sarah, ripping her shirt open. She confidently gives some orders to Joel, who takes a second to respond.

"Joel!"

He shakes his head and moves, doing exactly as she says when she says.

"Tommy! Bring me his med kit," Rose nods towards the fallen soldier.

In one swift movement, Tommy scoops up Jax and runs as fast as he can to the soldier, patting down his body until he finds the kit, yanking it from his vest.

"Tommy!"

"Joel, here!" Tommy tosses the kit to him, Joel catches it and rips it open, doing exactly what Rose says, while also trying to keep Sarah calm. But as he watches her work, Tommy knows there's no way she will be able to save Sarah with just a field patch kit. He glances down at the soldier, his walkie dangling from his shoulder and an idea occurs to him. He kneels, picking up the walkie and pressing the button, waiting a moment to talk.

"Soldier down, over!"

A moment passes before the static sound of someone picking up echoes across the small lot. "What's your position, over?"

"Back by the river. Murkmire street. Over."

"Stand by. We'll be there in 2, over."

There's nothing left to do but watch and pray that Sarah makes it not just for him and Jax, but for Joel. Especially for Joel. Tommy doesn't want to think about what would happen to Joel if Sarah…

"Daddy, is Sarah ok?"

Tommy looks down at Jax tucked into his side, his eyes wide and worried and it breaks his heart how much trauma Jax has had to see in the last few hours.

"I don't know, bud."

He nods, looking over towards her. "Rose is good doctor. She will help Sarah be better."

"I hope so, little man."

Tommy keeps an eye on the perimeter as Rose races to keep Sarah alive. After the longest 2 minutes of his life, Tommy sees the army truck pull around the corner, stopping just short of the soldier and Tommy. They jump out, raising their weapons to Tommy, who raises the shotgun in the air before slowly setting it down.

"Back up!"

Tommy does as he says, keeping his free hand in the air while the soldier moves towards their fallen man. But before he can say anything, Rose’s voice booms across the short distance.

“He’s gone. I couldn’t save him. But she can still be saved if you get us to med.”

The soldiers blink, staring down the several feet towards Rose, whose hand is now buried inside Sarah’s stomach, literally holding her life in her hands. They raise their guns towards them too but Rose just shakes her head.

“None of us are bit. She was shot. I need you to take me to med so I can save her.”

The soldiers look nervously from one to another before their leader replies.

“I’ll have to call this in.”

“Can you call it in while we’re en route?”

The soldier thinks for a moment. “How do I know if you’re telling the truth?”

“You can shoot us if we aren’t. But we have to do this now.”

The soldier hesitates for one more moment, glancing down at Sarah, who’s head was starting to loll from side to side as Joel speaks to her, trying to keep her conscious.

“Alright. Pull the truck around and help her load up. Do as she says when loading, I don’t want blood all over the back.”

“Yes sir!”

Everyone springs into action and before Tommy can even blink, they’re all loaded in the back of the army truck, racing towards the temporary medical camp they had erected at a nearby clinic. They whisk Sarah and Rose away, Joel not allowed to follow his daughter back to the quarantined rooms. Soldiers have to beat him back, but Tommy steps forward, Jax still clutched to his side.

“I got him! Joel. Joel! Look at me.”

Joel spins and looks at his brother, his eyes wild as he focuses on him.

"Hey man. If anyone here can save her, Rose can. But you gotta stay here. Keep out of her way. That's how you can help her. Ok?"

Joel's eyes are hard, but then he nods, crumbling to the floor. Tommy joins him, Joel clinging to his shirt as he cries for his daughter, Jax's little fist twisting into Joel's shirt as he tries to hug his broad shoulders. They stay like that for a while, Joel eventually settling, accepting Jax as he crawls into his lap, hugging onto his neck. Just when Tommy was about to go find some food, the doors open and another doctor walks out and over to them.

"Millers?"

Joel jumps to his feet and Tommy reaches over to take Jax, who had fallen asleep.

"Is she ok? Is my daughter…"

"She's alive. Thanks to that doctor she came with. If it wasn't for her, she wouldn't have made it."

Joel lets out a puff of air, silent tears falling down his cheeks. "Can I see her?"

"Yes. Follow me."

They follow the doctor through some doors and then she's there, so small and frail looking on a makeshift stretcher bed, Rose next to her holding her hand while Sarah sleeps. As soon as Joel walks in she stands, motioning to Joel to take her place, which he does, immediately holding Sarah's hand.

"I'm here, baby girl. I'm here." His eyes are only for Sarah, but he reaches out and grips Rose's arm. "Thank you."

"Of course. We'll talk later. For now, let her rest. And you get rest too, ok? Doctor's orders." She kisses the top of his head and gives his hand a small squeeze before walking towards the door.

"Are you guys ok? Where's Daisy?"

Tommy can feel his face harden. "She's not with us. I'm not sure where she is."

Rose nods. "I'm sure we'll find her. There's no way she would let anything keep her from you guys."

"Thanks, Rose."

3 weeks. 3 weeks have gone by since the world went to shit and the last time he'd seen her. The love of his life, the mother of his son.

Daisy.

Sarah was healing fast and well, even able to walk around the clinic several times before needing a break. She was eating and it was apparent that her wound was not going to affect her eating.

But Tommy, while ecstatic for his niece, was more than antsy. He was sick in his stomach at the thought of Daisy being out there alone. He couldn't think about the alternative, so he focused on that, convinced she had gone to the cabin like they'd said to do in the note.

"I have to go find her, Joel."

Joel looks up from where he sits. "You just gonna walk the 150 or so miles?"

"If I have to."

"You have a responsibility here. To Jax. To us-"

"I made a vow to her, Joel! She's my wife. I need to find her!"

Joel stands facing his brother. "I know, Tommy. But you have a job here. You have to protect him."

"But-"

"I promise, as soon as we can, we will all go to the cabin to find her. Ok?"

Tommy didn't fully believe his brother, not when there were whispers of a quarantine zone, and towns being erected by FEDRA that were supposed to be safe. He can't imagine Joel would give up safety for Sarah for his wife. But he was right - if anything happened to Jax, Daisy would straight up murder him.

A few days later, Rose quietly comes into the room to check on Sarah, closing the door behind her, which she rarely does. She leans over Sarah, who happened to be napping with Jax snuggled up next to her. Joel immediately moves to her side, his eyes glued to Rose.

“I think we need to leave here.” She says it so quietly, Tommy almost thinks he heard her wrong, moving closer to hear her better.

“Leave? Why?” Joel whispers back.

She glances towards the door and back at Joel. “I’ve heard…rumors. Quarantine zones-”

“Yeah, we have too,” Tommy cuts in. Joel glares at him, silently telling him to shut up.

“Yes, but I hear that once we’re all vetted, we won’t be able to leave.”

“What?” Tommy says out loud, Joel immediately shushing him.

Rose looks from Joel to Tommy and back. “Being locked in somewhere doesn’t sound good. Not with FEDRA running the place.”

“But wouldn’t it be safe for us? For the kids?” Joel asks, his eyebrows pulling up.

Rose is quiet for a moment. “I want to say yes, but really, I don’t know. FEDRA is already controlling this place, rationing out meager supplies and I know they pocket things for themselves. They’re scrambling and I don’t want an organization in panic mode to tell me what to do.”

Joel looks down at Sarah and Jax, still peacefully sleeping on the bed. He sighs, pushing some hair from Sarah’s face before looking back at Rose.

“So we have to leave.”

It takes them the rest of the week, but Joel and Tommy secure a car, big enough for them and some supplies. It should have enough gas to make it to the cabin, as Tommy and Joel went around siphoning gas from the surrounding cars to add to theirs. They carefully covered it with matching debris to hide it, crouching down and sneaking back under the fence to get more supplies that Rose had been tucking away all week. Medical supplies are already hard to come by and who knows what will be out there?

Under cover of night, just after a month after the outbreak happened, Tommy, Jax, Joel, Sarah, and Rose sneak out through the hole in the fence and make their way to the stashed car, grateful that nothing bothered them en route. Mercifully, they make it out of the area mostly unscathed, only having to run over a few runners on the way out. Once they get around the parked city traffic and onto the back roads, it becomes smoother sailing, probably due to the lack of people.

The closer they get to the cabin, the more nervous Tommy becomes. What if Daisy isn’t there? Would he really be able to leave Jax behind and go search for her? What if he never came back? Could he really live without Daisy? He gently pats the top of Jax’s head, which is currently in his lap, Sarah leaning on his shoulder completely passed out.

The sun starts to rise when they pull down the hidden drive to the cabin, Tommy sitting up a little straighter, shifting Sarah to lean against her window and Jax against her. His eyes scan the ground for tire marks, but of course, there are none. Either Daisy was smart and covered them or the elements did. They turn a corner and the cabin comes into view, the shutters still on all of the windows, looking exactly as it had when they were here last. Tommy swallows hard, his heart is racing and he feels like he’s going to vomit, almost like he can feel hope leaving him. Joel parks the car and Tommy gets out, grabbing his gun and closing the door behind him.

“I’ll check it out. You guys keep the kids safe. Anythin’ happens, just leave me. I’ll find you.”

“Tommy-”

But Tommy doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t hear anything over the rush in his head, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he sees her emerge from the house, the love of his life.

Daisy.

>>Chapter 7>>

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