#holds to that in spite of what her position demands of her

[gentle-hero-blog]

good metroid morning samus nation have you ever hated something to the point you become obsessed with it and it loops back around to kind of almost loving it. to be so extremely honest with you other m kindaaaaaa had good ideas with its characters it just failed spectacularly in executing them

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 18

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: pls trust me that some things will be explained in chapter 19 🙇

word count: 7,003

-Part 17- -Part 19-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Sharp, amber eyes pierce down into the male, despite having less than an inch’s difference in height. 

Lucien keeps his surprise under wraps as he greets his oldest brother, stood before the slightly dilapidated building he and his companions have taken up in, a few boards nailed over one of the upper windows that had broken during a particularly vicious storm. He recalls how Jurian had scavenged some of the plain silverware and they’d drawn spoons to see who would have to climb the roof and patch it up before the autumn chill hit. It’s a fond memory, in spite of his loss. 

“Eris,” Lucien greets shortly, holding position in blocking the male from strutting straight into his home as he knows the male would, given the chance. Not the building itself, exactly, but the people hidden away inside it, and he’d rather not subject them to another visit unless absolutely necessary. Neither of them are particularly well-equipped against Eris’ kind of verbal espionage, how he hunts the information he seeks and so effortlessly riles them up. Vassa is particularly prone to bursting into a flaming temper whenever the male pays them an unpleasant visit. 

“It’s rude to keep a guest waiting, Lucien,” Eris drawls from overside the threshold. Even after all this time he can’t help the instinctive part of him that cringes at the razor sharp tone used to cut into his name, carve it into something jagged and serrated. Perhaps when he was younger he might have returned with ‘it’s rude to show up without invitation’, but he learned long ago it’s best to avoid any kind of verbal conflict with the male. Ultimately it’s tiring and a waste of energy, so instead Lucien offers a mildly withering glare, and asks, “What are you here for?” 

Eris’s features remain sharp but blank, unshifting and drawing a clear line in the sand. Another silent demand he’s more than accustomed to, and wishes he wasn’t. “You can’t just show up without prior notice and expect to be escorted in. There are humans inside and you’ll scare them off.” 

“That’s fine by me,” Eris replies, his amber eyes silently simmering with inherent arrogance. “Step aside.”

“Don’t order me around,” Lucien replies evenly, not a note of sharpness to be found, but firm and unyielding. “You’re in their lands. Besides, they’ll be leaving shortly. You can wait a few minutes.” 

“It’s time sensitive,” Eris replies smoothly, neither having broken the eye contact. 

“You can wait a few minutes,” Lucien repeats.

Silence stretches, Eris’ brows narrowing ever so slightly in a frighteningly scathing glare that would have sent him sprinting to his room a few centuries ago. But he’s a grown male now, so he weathers the simmering look, keeping his feet firmly set on the ground, unfaltering in his stance. 

Within the silence, both can pick out the shuffle of human footfalls, the conversation that floats throughout the house, only detectable to fae hearing and each brother picks out as they trail further. It’s not until a latch clicks and a bolt is slid into place on the other side of the slightly wrecked estate that either of them shifts, and to Lucien’s invisible astonishment it’s Eris who looks away first. Even if it is to glance at the approaching Vassa over his shoulder, he notes it. 

“What’s he doing here?” Vassa questions, a derisive sneer in her tone as she pins the male darkening their doorstep with a look that could turn steak to coal in seconds. Lucien glances to Eris, wondering the same thing—wondering if he’ll answer now the humans have left and he’ll inevitably be allowed in. Sharp amber eyes slice to his own russet one, cutting and demanding, and Lucien bites back a sigh at his oldest brother’s incessant insistence on being obeyed. Even after all these years he’s just as controlling as he always was, though Lucien shouldn’t be surprised—Eris practically thrives in the cutthroat coliseum of the Autumn Court. 

Lucien steps aside in the doorway and Eris enters, bringing with him the harsh bite of the cold that’s sharper than it should be in the human lands. The distinct crispness that passes him as Eris strides past the both of them, removing his surprisingly plain cloak in one swift movement and chucking it over one of the hangers without looking. “I have news,” Eris replies vaguely, before striding further into the heart of the house and disappearing out of sight. 

Vassa shoots a fierce glare his direction, a slight scowl between her brows. “Did you know he was on his way?” She asks, already looking about ready to try smacking the male across the jaw. But Lucien shakes his head, already resigned to the evening being ruined, knowing her impatience isn’t directed at him. “I��m sober, aren’t I?” He replies wryly, a twist of a demeaning smile on his mouth to cool her flammable temper. 

After a long moment of pause, she huffs a laugh, low and raspy, some of the tension relieved from her rigid posture, fiery coloured ringlets jostled slightly from the tremble in her full shoulders. “We’d better go after him,” she says, a little more amused than she was previously, though that amusement dims swiftly at the thought of having to deal with more of the male’s unnecessary and underhanded jabs. Lucien nods, sighing once more before steeling himself, knowing he will inevitably end up in the position of mediator as he always does when people lose their calm, following after her. 

“And just when the cards were finally about to come out,” she mutters under her breath, and Lucien can practically see the scowl that has already worked itself back between her fiery brows, “I was looking forward to wiping the floor with Jurian.” 

The comment has his nostrils flaring delicately as mirth curves his mouth, lips twitching faintly. Between the three of them, Vassa is almost constantly on a losing streak, while Jurian frequently takes them for all they’re worth. He supposes it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is—Jurian’s mortality is debatable at best, an unverifiable grey area at worst. 

“Maybe we can fit in a few rounds after,” Lucien suggests as they make their way through the hallways, headed to the sitting room where the meetings most frequently take place. “The mood will probably be in need of some friendly competition.” 

“Friendly?” Vassa repeats sardonically, pausing just outside the door to the living room. “Those games are nothing short of bloodthirsty. Treating them so lightheartedly is why you never win.” 

Lucien refrains from reminding her that she has yet to go on a single winning streak against either of them. 

————

You shift uneasily in your seat, pulling the silk of the scarf a little tighter, making sure no patchy flesh will slip out from beneath the fine covering. Especially not over a meal. 

The comment springs to the forefront of your mind, rising like the sediment that’s stirred up upon a stone being dropped into the murky bottom of a lake. You know you’ll never be first choice. You’ll never have someone who’d choose you over everyone else, and if you’re honest with yourself it wouldn’t be that bad. You’ve survived this long without being someone’s first choice, so what’s changed? 

What’s changed?

A cold feels skates delicately beneath your speckled flesh at the imposing question, impossibly vast and inconceivably nuanced. So much has changed in the past two years it would be unreasonable to try and tackle it now, without even a paper and pen to aid you in the coherency of your thoughts. But maybe it’s a place to start—some small ideas to help take those opening steps, like how freshly born deer totter around on their delicate hooves, on thin, gangly legs before learning to leap and bound. 

So, you ask yourself again: What’s changed? 

Had it bothered you before that you weren’t first choice? Had you known you weren’t anyone’s first choice—yes, somewhere, but you hadn’t figured it out yet. Perhaps that’s why the comment stung, that you were robbed of making the discovery yourself, red-painted nails having clawed over the stone, carving scratches into the previously smooth surface, permanently tarnished and disheveled. 

No, thinking back, you’ve been first choice before. When you were eight, nine-ish, when you’d run down and about in the garden with Feyre who at that point couldn’t keep up with you yet. When you’d leap over tree stumps and balance on fallen trunks, sticking your arms out unevenly and watching with a strange sense of pride as Feyre doddered behind you, mimicking your stance and holding her own arms out as she made the trek over the mossy trunk. 

Then you’d gotten older, and left Feyre to play in the gardens, in the forest, by herself. Then you’d become closer with Elain a bit before your teens, the two of you often joined at the hip at parties, Nesta bearing down on the few who tried to approach, warding off any unwanted company with her fearsome countenance. You think you’d been one another’s choices then, when your mother would dress you up in complimentary fabrics, selecting patterns that would work well with one another, with little regard for the young girls she was dressing up—her own daughters. 

You like to think it had been you and Elain sticking together, in those last few years when your mother was around. 

That’s what’s changed. 

You’re surrounded by people who have found one another. 

And now your loneliness is starker than ever, yet you hadn’t even really realised it. How Feyre has Rhys and Nyx, Nesta has found Cassian, and even Elain is finding her way with Lucien. They’re the closest you’ve ever been with other people, and the closest you’ll get to other people. But they’ve all found someone else now, and you’re the odd one out. Of course you’d be the one without a mating bond, or whatever the special connection is that they were all afforded. 

You’re reminded of the confession you’d let slip in the midst of your fumbling mouth back in the library all that time ago. How you’d thought maybe…possibly there was a reason you’d felt a click with him. But you suppose you should have known better. You can’t even pretend that he was leading you on, in hindsight. It was obvious he was interested in Elain, and yet you’d thought… How stupid. And to tell him, too. To want something so sacred to them, and to wish it between yourself and him. All from wanting to be first. 

It shouldn’t matter to not be first, and yet it’s starkly painful. You can’t help but want that place. Wanted it so desperately you’d fooled yourself into seeing interest when in reality there was, just none for you. 

Your eyes traitorously stray from the small details on the rim of your porcelain plate—tiny ink drops of blue, red, and orange dotted about the edge—to the empty seat to your left, at one head of the table. 

Why had you ever made the mistake of opening up to him? Hoping for a gentle touch when your body feels like it was hewn from the most unloveable stone. The most unforgiving rock, and the coldest ice. So cold it would peel skin from flesh, so harsh it would be impossible to touch, so utterly unbearable there would be no choice but to remain alone.   

“Will you pass the potatoes?”

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts by the golden voice, meeting twinkling amber eyes as Mor watches you with a familiar expression. Warm and welcoming despite how you’d last seen one another. 

Swallowing, you nod. “Yeah, sure,” you reply as normally as you can, hand clutching the orange silk of your scarf to keep the material from sliding up as you carefully grip the lip of the ceramic bowl, passing it to her open hand. “Thank you,” Mor smiles, and you blink before remembering to retract your hand. She seems as she was before…back to the female you’d known her as. Is this…does it mean she’s accepted your apology? She’d seemed convinced of what she had told you, so you can’t quite trick yourself into believing that. But maybe civility? 

Right, you can understand it now. No matter how upset or hurt she might feel, she must not want to make it other people’s problem. Causing a scene over a dinner, one of the rare moments everyone’s together—most of you, anyway—isn’t worth it. No matter how your relationship might have soured, there’s no need to make the people around you miserable, too. 

Amber eyes gleam beneath the warm light, and you feel as though you can come to an agreement—one you’re ready to accept. You can both silently agree not to make it an issue for anyone else, a small kernel of warmth daring to flicker to life in your chest, the sense of connection that comes from mutual understanding despite a disagreement. For everyone else’s sake, the two of you can put everything aside. Even if it might only be temporary. 

“I like your scarf,” Mor says lightly, scooping the jagged, crispy roast potatoes onto the side of her plate, setting the bowl down in a spare space, “it suits you.” 

Again, you blink, caught off guard. You swallow thickly, managing a nod of your head, chest swelling as you eagerly take on the compliment, content to pretend even if it’s only for an hour or two. “Thank you,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, “I love your necklace.” Which is true, though in honesty it wouldn’t be difficult to find something compliment-worthy about her. She’s beautiful. 

Mor hums, glancing to another bowl, before settling on the reasonably sized boat of sauce, creating a small pool at the edge of her plate. You’re a little too occupied with watching Mor to notice the wary glance sent her way by Amren, or the warning one delivered from the High Lord himself. The tiny flicker of hope that maybe things could be patched up blocking out the rest of the picture as you gaze longingly at the female diagonal from you. 

“I suppose with the autumn chill in the air yours is a little more practical than some flimsy jewellery,” Mor replies lightly, plucking a cut of bread from the wooden board, drawing the butter closer to slather the fluffy and crusty slice. “Where did you find it? I should fetch one for myself.” 

“I’m sure you have more than enough scarves, Mor,” Rhys interjects smoothly, the serrated blade of his knife slicing effortlessly through the sinew of meat, slowly dissected into politely bite-sized pieces. “Any more and you’ll struggle to shut your wardrobe properly.”

Mor smiles icily, meeting his gaze with a cold look on her beautiful face. “Just stocking up before we have our eastern visitors.” 

Tension crackles across the table, so acute even you realise something strange is happening, watching nervously, and feeling somehow responsible for the perceived fallout. Eastern visitors…? People from the continent? Eastern…eastern…oh. Feyre had mentioned briefly the deal that had been struck between the High Lord and the Lord that reigns over his Court of Nightmares—Mor’s father. The permitted invasion of her safe haven. The slight fissure that had been opened raw between them—one you’d forgotten about, and had assumed had been fixed. 

“How is—” You fumble when Mor’s sharp eyes cut into you, caught off guard by the fierceness held within them. “…How is he?” You manage to ask, unsure whether you should even be interfering or whether you’re just putting your foot in it. Your hands shake under the table, heart pounding but you keep from shifting in your seat. 

“Who?” Mor asks blandly, ignoring the sharp glare Amren’s pinning her with. Disregarding the hard look on Rhys’ face, slight disappointment. Possibly wholly unaware of the grip Feyre has on her cutlery, head cast downward, brows pulled together. Your throat rolls, not wanting to say his name. 

It would be wrong. 

“Who else?” Nesta asks from across the table, her voice singing with the clean cut of steel as it slices through a silk ribbon, a whisper of anger hissing beneath her tone. Sharp amber eyes clash with cool silver, glinting like mercury and ice in spite of the oranges and yellows filling the room to give the allusion of warmth and familiarity. Tension simmers just below the surface, crackling like a metal weather vane struck by lightening, sizzling with barely restrained power. 

“Azriel,” you say quietly, hurrying through his name in less than a breath, feeling it brand your tongue, tingling at the roof of your mouth. Dispersing some of the charge. “How is he?” 

Amber and silver eyes remain locked for a little while longer, a pause stretching across the table and even to fae hearing there’s hardly a sound being made save for the strain of metal as knuckles strangle and warp the handles of fine cutlery. 

At last Mor looks away, dragging her gaze back to your own, the fire dimmed and smothered. 

“Well enough to be drinking again,” she answers, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. 

————

It’s a little difficult to dry the plates off with the scarf tied at your front, hiding your arms, but you manage. 

A cluster of small, iridescent bubbles float past your nose, wafting by, and Elain laughs as you step back suddenly in surprise, having been zoned out. 

There’s no need to be washing up anymore, not with the aids of magic, and if you’re honest you aren’t entirely sure how the two of you had ended up coming to the same wordless agreement, but here you are. Elain’s at the sink, bubbles frothy and foamy as she scrubs at the crockery and cutlery before depositing them on the side for you to dry with a towel. You don’t think the soapiness would agree with your skin.

The quiet settles between you, comfortable and without strain, two people sharing a space, and the apprehension you’d had before the dinner begins to slowly mellow, ice thawing out over a chilly night. 

Despite the slightly rough start, the night had progressed surprisingly smoothly, with you content to sit quietly while the others discussed various matters: Amren’s recreational studying of the Old Language; Nesta’s progression with swordplay, having begun wielding ataraxia during training; a discussion lead by Rhysand about wards that you’d partially tuned out, thinking of the crater you’d blasted through the House of Wind—at least it sounds like something that can be fixed. They aren’t permanently broken, just temporarily disabled. 

“Feyre’s birthday is coming up,” Elain says, seemingly out of nowhere, and you glance at her questioningly, humming in acknowledgement. “What are you thinking of getting her?” You ask, curiously content to follow along this path and see where she takes it. Elain sighs faintly, “I was thinking of making some herbal teas, actually…not many, but a few different ones to see if any help with stress, or sleeping, or the like. Generic benefits.” 

You nod your head slightly—it’s a thoughtful gift, bespoke and personal, too. She’s always good with presents. 

“You?” Elain asks, glancing at you lightly, speaking only loud enough to top the gentle babbling of water and splashing of suds. You glance down at the stack of dried plates, reaching for the wet cutlery to start on. “I haven’t thought of anything yet,” you answer honestly, considering, “it’s still a couple of months away, so I guess I hadn’t started thinking about it yet.” 

Elain’s quiet for a bit, and you get the sense she has something to say but is unsure how to bring it up. You wait patiently, preoccupying yourself with the cutlery, careful not to accidentally carve a chunk of flesh from the heel of your palm. 

“I think…Feyre would like to do something with all of us,” she says quietly, a little absently. “Perhaps not on the actual day, but sometime nearby.” 

“She would?” You ask, slightly surprised. Elain doesn’t meet your gaze this time, continuing to focus on washing up, giving her hands something to do, and you copy her after a moment, carrying on with the drying up. “She hasn’t said anything explicitly, but it’s the impression I’ve gotten,” Elain says faintly, then pauses again. “I think…I think it would be nice, too.” 

There’s a tremor in her fingertips, but she pushes them below the warm water, out of sight as if reaching for a fork or spoon beneath the frothy surface. 

“Particularly, after…” Her throat closes up, and you hesitantly reach out, gloves temporarily discarded while drying, bare fingers grazing the soft skin of her forearms, unable to feel the gentle tickle of tiny hairs anymore. “I’m sorry…” you murmur uselessly, watching helplessly as a droplet falls from her eye, splashing through into the dishwater below. But Elain shakes her head, hands raising from the water to continue moving, absently washing the last plate from the dinner. 

“I’d like to see more of you, too,” Elain says, swallowing thickly as she scrubs at the gleaming porcelain, clearing her throat. “So would Nesta. I think we’ve all been a bit distant lately, with one another I mean, and with Feyre having Nyx, and Nesta off in Day… We should spend more time together, and see each other more often, and speak more, just in general. And then there’s also Starfall, and we can see each other then, and celebrate, and—”

“Elain, Starfall’s months away,” you say gently, fingers shifting so they’re lightly gripping her wrist, pausing her motions, pulling her eyes to lock with your own. Wider than they should be.

You look at one another, watching silently, and you can feel the flutter of her pulse beneath your fingertips, erratic enough for even your own damaged hands to pick up on. 

“You’ll be there, won’t you?” She whispers, eyes hot and wet. 

You blink, grasping the heaviness of the question, then nod, unable to make your throat work, lower lip trembling a bit. “I’ll be there,” you manage to get out, feeling the familiar pressure behind your eyes. 

She nods back, before finally handing over that last plate that has been clean for a while, but between the soapiness of the dishwater, and the trembling of both your hands, the plate slips, and smashes on the floor. The pale fragments split and shatter, spraying across the cold tiles, and both of you jump at the startling noise, before looking at each other again, and laughing. Gasping, ragged breaths that have both of you leaning for support, tears welling in eyes as each of you are split between crying from desperate, manic humour, and dreadful, fearsome sadness. 

Neither of you can find it in yourselves to care about the shattered porcelain, the jagged fragments with blue, red, and orange ink drops dotted around the utterly broken rim of the plate. 

“I…I need to find something…to clean that up,” you gasp through laughter, wiping away the tears. Elain just nods, still heaving ragged breath into her lungs, eyes squeezed shut, ringlets of hair jostling with each shudder of mirth as she grips the edge of the sink, expression torn between sobbing laughter and wrecking grief, and you don’t think you can stand to be in the same room for much longer, subject to the violent turbulence. 

The light from the kitchen dims but your eyes adjust swiftly as you walk unevenly out into the dark hallway, rounding the corner to go look for a brush, or duster of some kind, even a cloth or a rag would do—

Both of you freeze as you round the corner to see one another, Mor’s figure losing its rigidity much more swiftly compared to your own that will remain locked up for the following few minutes. 

You swallow thickly, eyes wide as you take her in: the dimmed gold of her lustrous hair; the bare expanse of her elegant neck; the tray held in her red-tipped hands, those long, slightly rounded nails gleaming a deep rouge. “Mor,” you greet, a touch quieter than usual, “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Nor I, you,” she replies, watching you. A beat passes, and you swallow again, eyes flicking down to the tray in her hands. “Azriel’s?” You ask through the tightness in your throat, gently probing to see if she’s open to a conversation. You’ll leave, if she’s unresponsive—you know now what it’s like to be on either end of this strange dynamic. Mor nods her head once, still watching you silently, and you look elsewhere. Then nod your own head. “Nice seeing you,” you say quietly, then move to walk around her. 

“Wait,” Mor whispers at the last second, holding the tray in one hand and gripping your wrist with the other. You recoil sharply when her fingers squeeze your arm, and her hold lightens significantly, but she doesn’t immediately let go, digits stuttering away a second later. “Sorry,” she murmurs, stepping back by half a pace. “It’s okay,” you reply hastily, looking away as you pull your hand back to your body, “you didn’t know.” 

The words hang between you, and silence stretches in the relative darkness of the corridor.

When you manage to raise your gaze to glance at her, you nearly regret the choice—she’s making no effort to conceal the fierce defence in her sharp amber eyes. You’re about to turn to try and leave again though, when she speaks, and the tremor in her voice is pronounced enough to root you to the spot. 

“Tell me why you went to Eris.” 

————

The expression that was on the commander’s face had been enough to set the two of them on edge, Jurian offering Eris one of those slow but rare, slightly insane half-smiles he can make, that often has the spiralling effect distinctive to falling down through a nightmare on whoever’s unlucky enough to have it turned on them. It doesn’t come out often, but that it’s made an appearance this evening is a dark sign, and Lucien silently prays he will not be forced into a position where he will have to default to Eris’s defence in attempts to calm the potential ire that could catch in either of his human comrades. 

The day has proven to be tricky enough on its own—none of them need this added abrasion. 

Vassa strides across the room, taking up in the seat closest to the crackling hearth, the flame making her hair blaze brighter than natural, her already sharp eyes glinting in the firelight. 

It seems he’s the only one actively trying to avoid the conflict that’s brewing in the air, the other two appearing ready and more than content to fight fire with fire. He knows there’s no use explaining the redundancy of wielding that tactic against the male across from the human queen, with fire burning in his very blood. 

“You said you had news,” Vassa demands, charging straight to the point before Lucien’s even had a chance to seat himself on the other end of the sofa, opposite from Jurian. Between his chosen family and his blood-given one. But Eris won’t be rushed, and instead turns his attention to his youngest brother, the fire doing nothing to thaw the cool ice in his amber eyes. “How is your mate, Lucien?” 

Lucien allows himself the space of a blink to recompose himself, vaguely trying to hide his suspicion. It’s never good when he can’t see the end Eris is pursuing, but he’s used to being left in the dark when it comes to the male’s schemes—he just can’t help the instinctive aggression that prickles up the back of his neck at Elain being brought into this. 

“You aren’t one for idle chatter,” Lucien replies, calming the flame that had begun sizzling in his blood, “why don’t we skip ahead and get straight to the point, as this is such a time sensitive matter?” A sinister gleam appears in his oldest brother’s eyes, and he braces himself for whatever whip is about to lash into his skin. “Very well,” Eris says instead, leaning back into his chair, practically sprawling across it, dominating the space he takes up in his typically uncaring, arrogant fashion. But then the air shifts, his expression becoming serious. “How well-informed is your mate of Night Court affairs?” 

“Enough with this evasive subterfuge. What news do you bring?” Vassa demands harshly, Jurian seemingly agreeing with her anticipation to have the male rid of as soon as possible, a disagreeable look simmering in his rough features. But Lucien levels his brother with an evaluating glance, mechanical eye whirring faintly against the dim heat of the fire. “We each have our distances,” Lucien replies evenly, yielding a vague answer. He’s getting the distinct feeling something large has happened, or is about to. Maybe even happening as they speak—slabs of rock knocking into one another, having already been pushed into motion. 

Does this have anything to do with Elain’s visit being postponed? She had been supposed to arrive two days ago, but had had to change their meeting to a later date as she’d had a family matter to oversee. Lucien hadn’t tried to pry. 

“But you’re aware that Nesta Archeron and the General took a vacation to the Day Court?” Eris questions, and again Lucien has the distinct sense he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. A very big, very crucial piece of the puzzle. 

He nods, and braces himself. 

Though even foresight wouldn’t have been enough to prepare him for the news Eris had brought. 

A warning that shook him to his fae bones. 

————

You swallow thickly, frozen stiff as her truthful eyes bore into you. 

You open your mouth, lips ajar, but your throat is much too tight to release any sort of sound. 

Mor doesn’t shift, holding your gaze with a steadiness and conviction you can’t look away from, bound to her by an invisible tether that’s keeping you from hiding or running how you’d like to. “Surely you know…” she whispers, taking in a shallow breath, her lashes fluttering with an almost imperceptible shudder. “Surely you know what he did to me.” 

You give a faint nod of your head. 

Her amber eyes sharpen, and your stomach clenches beneath the look. “So explain yourself,” she utters lowly. “Don’t leave it up to me to pry the answers from you.” 

A seed of fear plants itself in your throat, something cool and slimy rinsing gently down your spine and you’re worried sweat is dripping down your ribs, rolling in salty droplets down the soft inside of your arms where the skin hasn’t yet grown dehydrated and flaky. Fingers tighten absently on the silk of the orange scarf banding around your upper body, tugging at the folds to try and hide the tremor of adrenaline that’s filtered into your bloodstream. 

You swallow thickly, but your throat won’t clear, and you realise that’s because there’s nothing there—no matter how much it feels the opposite. 

“I didn’t…” you clear your throat again. Rip your gaze away. “I didn’t want to disappoint any of you,” you force yourself to answer, voice catching at the pitiful excuse. 

Mor’s silent. 

Silent for long enough you nervously look at her. 

You flinch internally at the expression of horror on her features, shoulders bunching with shame as your brows curve, silently begging for a reply, and not this awful quiet that’s slowly gutting you. 

“You chose…” she swallows past a lump in her throat, and her scent has shifted but you can’t understand what it means, the minute changes that occur within fae bodies. “You willingly went to him? He didn’t even have to try and persuade you?” 

“Mor it wasn’t like that,” you try to clarify hurriedly. “I just—…I just thought it would be—”

“Easier?”

“No! I just thought it would— I don’t know… It would’t cause trouble! I just wanted to do it by myself so I wouldn’t have to bother any of you!”

“Wouldn’t cause trouble?” Mor repeats incredulously, a look of disbelief on her features, like she can’t grasp what you’re saying. “We were ready to help,” Mor bites back sharply, “all you had to do was ask for it. You could have spoken to Feyre, or any of your sisters about your magic. Any of us. You could have come to me, even—but you went to Eris.” Her voice is taut, rife with anger and hurt, but even in the dim light there’s a faint shine in her eyes, belying their wetness. “What made you think that we weren’t enough?” 

“I didn’t want to bother you!” You say back, matching her volume. 

“We’re your family! You’re supposed to bother us!” 

You take a small step back, fighting the humiliating wobble of your lip before you shake your head, fingertips tingling. “No. You’re— You’re Feyre’s family.” 

“Feyre’s your sister,” Mor emphasises, knuckles pushing up from beneath the smooth softness of her skin, pronounced from her bone-white grip on the tray that’s beginning to splinter. “Or is she no longer part of your family either? It seems the only person you even bother to speak to is Elain nowadays. Her and Azriel, anyway.” 

“And what does that matter?” You bite back, hands itching. “What does it matter if I only speak to Elain? Would you prefer I start speaking to you, Mor?” 

“Why not?” She nearly spits, energy being drawn out from the cave where she’d tried to smother it over dinner. “Why not?” You repeat, neither of you completely aware of how your voices are beginning to rise incrementally, ignoring or oblivious to the faint, sickly green light that definitely isn’t coming from the kitchen. “You’d like me to speak with you when this is the kind of conversation we’re having? You want me to be emotional, or vulnerable with you, or ask you for help when you shut me out the moment I do something wrong? When I fail?” 

“I might have shut you out but you didn’t even open up. Didn’t even give us a chance in the first place, don’t pretend otherwise,” Mor spits back. “If you can’t understand the pain you caused me, fine. I can’t help it if you won’t allow yourself to think of us as family. But what about your actual family? What about them?” 

“Don’t you dare try and talk to me about my own family Mor,” you grit out, nails digging into the flaky skin of your palms, heart pounding in your chest. “Haven’t you pried enough?” 

“Did you even think to consider how it would make them feel?” Mor jabs, barrelling ahead. “Can you grasp how hurt Feyre was that you didn’t go to her? Three sisters, and you decided that none of them were good enough? Just because you aren’t their first choice doesn’t mean they can’t be—”

“Mor.” 

Utter silence falls throughout the hallway at the barely restrained interruption. 

Both of you freeze at the sound of the third voice, filled with hissing winds and rasping shadow. Managing to stay calm despite the tempest in her blue-grey eyes. 

Before you, Mor blinks, and you’re unsure if you imagine the way colour drains from her features, still watching you. Further unsure if the faint green light was smothered of its own accord or the dark shadows that seem to be heavier now Feyre has appeared. Now the Cursebreaker has entered. 

Mor turns on her heel, shifting to meet Feyre’s eyes, but quiet stretches between them, and you get the impression a conversation is being had, though not through daemati powers. A single lock of golden hair shifts over Mor’s shoulder, falling out of place, though you can no longer see her expression. And then she nods. Just once, hardly perceptible, even to fae eyes, and you watch with a still pounding heart as the tray vanishes from her hands a second later, heels clicking softly across the floorboards as she wordlessly takes her exit, leaving you and…Feyre, alone in the hallway. 

You shift anxiously on your feet, swallowing thickly. 

“How much of that did you hear?” You ask quietly, looking away again, all the fight drained from you after the brief altercation. You’re entirely unaccustomed with those open arguments, haven’t had one since—well, since that last one with Feyre, that had the sound ward placed on your room. 

Feyre watches you, the previous storm quietened, but her eyes aren’t sparkling as usual. Instead she looks drained. Drained, and tired, and a little wary. “Enough,” she answers.

You shift again, a little begrudging she saw fit to interrupt, like you needed her to intervene. “It was fine, you know…” 

Feyre’s quiet, and you’re unsure if she’s angry. Angry at you for speaking to Mor that way. Angry at you for speaking so loudly when Nyx is probably asleep. Angry at you for not speaking to her first. Angry at you for the long, long list of reasons she should have by now. 

“It did hurt,” she says quietly, and you raise your gaze to meet her own, “that you thought you couldn’t come to us. To me.” 

Your lips purse, and you look away. 

“I was upset with your choice. Disappointed a little. Confused,” she continues in that quiet whisper that could carry with ease across a cavernous hall. “But what Mor said wasn’t true. Not in the way she phrased it.” 

“Feyre, it’s fine,” you say softly. “You don’t need to—”

“Mor knows that’s not true either.” 

Your lips purse again, that quiet stretching between you. 

You want to disintegrate on the spot. 

Fabric rustles slightly, and it’s the only clue you have to Feyre shifting. Then, “it’s late,” she says, moving away from the open wound of a topic. “We should talk more about this in the morning. When Madja comes round too.” She nods her head toward the corridor, but you look at her a little apologetically. “I was supposed to find Elain a brush,” you say, feeling embarrassed, “we broke a plate.” 

“The kitchen will clear it up,” Feyre replies, leaving no room for you to skate back to your older sister. 

So you end up walking with her back to your room. 

It’s dark out, and you can’t help but look forward to settling into bed, even if it hurts sometimes to roll over beneath the covers. That it hurts sometimes to lie on your sides, when your arms press into the sheets, with your weight resting atop them. At least you’re beginning to get used to it, the pain much more tolerable now, despite it having not decreased. 

You’ve both reached the top of the stairs, turning down the hallway that will lead to your bedroom, walking close enough together to make up for the fact your arms aren’t linked—Feyre guessing correctly it would probably hurt—when Feyre speaks. “Are Eris and Azriel the only other people who’ve felt your magic before?” She asks tentatively into the darkness of the house, seemingly having cooled off now you’re further from the spot of altercation. 

“Yes, I think so,” you answer in an equally soft voice. 

“Have either of them every commented on what it feels like?” She asks, and you’re aware how she’s keeping her gaze ahead. You move your eyes to look in the same direction, spotting your bedroom door on the right not far ahead. “Not that I can think of,” you reply, before adding, “though it’s never been…going, for as long as that.” 

Feyre’s silent, and you glance at her through the shadows, wondering what she’s thinking. You can’t read her expression, so resume your looking ahead. 

“When I was in autumn, though,” you begin hesitantly, hardly louder than a whisper, worrying who might overhear the unpleasant reference, “my magic almost…I don’t know…burst? It came through me very suddenly, and forcefully.” You recall the frighteningly large creature that had charged at you while in the woods, how your magic had melted the skin from its flesh. “We were both sick afterwards.” 

“Azriel was sick a lot when he first woke up,” Feyre says faintly, and your stomach clenches with guilt. 

You try to swallow past it, but it seems to remain lodged in your throat, unpleasantly settling in your stomach heavily enough you’re thankful when you reach your door, the evening nearly over with. 

“Why did you ask, by the way?” You question before slipping away into your room, paused over the threshold. 

Feyre glances at you, turned to leave but stopping. “Your magic…I could feel it in the hallway,” she answers, a wary note creeping into her voice. 

She seems disinclined to give anything else, so you again shift awkwardly in the doorway, before gathering the gut to ask, “how did it feel?” 

Something passes behind her blue-grey eyes, shuttering briefly as they close, before reopening. “Like I was dying again,” she answers quietly. 

You stare at her silently, the threshold of your room between you, the silence heavier than it was before. You don’t even know what to say to that. 

She doesn’t give you the time to think of a reply, however, as she releases a sigh. Her throat rolls as she meets your eyes. “Sleep well,” she says, and you catch as her attention dips to your hands, like she wants to take them, to hold them. 

But she doesn’t, instead looking back at you again, throat rolling for the second time.

“I love you,” she says hoarsely, speaking those words that are so sparsely exchanged between the four of you. 

You stiffen, emotion of a different kind tightening your throat, and you nod faintly. 

“I love you, too. Sleep well.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑣𝑜𝑤

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes.All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

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When faced with the demands of the strongest sorcerer, your family can’t possibly protest. Well, not that they would have wanted to, anyway. They must be happy they don’t have to deal with you anymore. 

Out of sheer spite, your mother insisted you live with the rest of the clan and be forced into a life of cruelty and discrimination, but even she would never dare defy Gojo Satoru. Besides, her wish has already been fulfilled. You still won’t have a shot at a normal life. Even if you had been given the right to choose for yourself, now that you’ve met Satoru and discovered what world this is, there’s no way you would ever take the easy way out. 

For better or worse, you will be a jujutsu sorcerer. 

True to his word, Satoru was able to convince the Gojo Clan members to let you stay with them. You’re not sure exactly what he told them, but he may as well be their deity. Granted, he’s still only a kid, but in the grand scheme of things, bringing in a single girl to stay at the estate isn’t that big of a deal. It isn’t a difficult request to fulfill. Based on the way everyone turns up their noses at the sight of you, however, you can tell they aren’t too happy about it. 

“No one here will ever hurt you,” Satoru promises. He keeps glancing over at you every few seconds as he leads you through the grounds of the estate—which is massive, might you add. He’s a lot more attentive than you were expecting. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re a weak, helpless baby bird. Which you might as well be, in all fairness. 

You nod and smile brightly. “Okay. Thank you, Satoru. I’m really happy to be here.” 

“Are your injuries really painful?” he asks with a frown. “We don’t have anyone here that knows how to convert cursed energy into positive energy. But if I try asking, maybe they can reach out to another clan and bring someone over to heal you.” 

“You don’t need to go to the trouble. I’ll be okay.” 

Satoru watches as your grin somehow gets even wider, despite the fact that the bruised, swollen parts of your face must be aching uncontrollably. He’s not sure why you’re always smiling so much. It’s not like you ever had any reason to smile. Not with how horribly your family has always treated you. 

Then again, that’s exactly what drew him in. Your warm, sunny disposition, which is so starkly different from what he’s used to. Even if it doesn’t make much sense, a smile suits you. He likes seeing you smile. 

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect that smile of yours.

You’re given a nice place to stay. Satoru insisted that you live in the same building as him. It’s obvious that he wants to keep you nearby, in case anyone dares to try anything. Although you’re willing to bet that they won’t risk upsetting him. Not when he’s made it clear that you’re off-limits. 

It’s kind of crazy how much power and authority a literal child has. 

Gojo Satoru is in a class of his own. The details of his upbringing were never openly disclosed in the anime or manga, but you know for a fact that he didn’t have anyone he could truly call a close friend. Not until he met Suguru. 

You may be hopelessly weak for now, but if nothing else, you’ll make it so that he never has to feel lonely.

That night, you settle into your big, spacious room. You didn’t bring anything along with you for the move. It’s not like you had any personal belongings to speak of. Certainly nothing valuable, either. Your new room is a bit empty right now, save for a few decorations here and there, but you resolve to brighten it up and make it your own. All in due time. 

Before you tuck in for bed, Satoru stops by. 

“Hi,” he greets, poking his head into the room. “You don’t mind if I come in for a bit, right?” 

“Of course not,” you smile. “Go right ahead.” 

He nods and steps inside. There’s a clan member waiting by the doorway, and they flash you a brief glare before turning their back towards you and sliding the door shut. As expected, you’re far from popular. They probably think you’re just a hindrance, or maybe even a distraction. You’re not sure if they’ll ever change how they feel about you, but it’s definitely better than staying with your own family. 

Besides, as long as Satoru likes you, that’s more than enough. 

“Is this room okay?” he asks, kneeling down onto a cushion. “If you don’t like it, I can get you a different room instead.” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure. 

“Really? You can be honest. I can tell that you’re the kind of person to hide how you feel because you don’t want to upset anyone else. I already know your dad is the one who beat you, but it didn’t look like you were going to rat him out.” 

“I just didn’t want to stir up even more of a fuss. Besides, seeing other people get hurt won’t make me feel any better. I’m happy enough just to be here. Again, thank you, Satoru. For helping me.”

You sure like to thank him a lot. He’s not really used to being thanked—for anything, really. He’s being trained and brought up as the strongest sorcerer. It’s a given that he’s meant to save and protect those who are weaker than him. But you don’t take any of that for granted. You’re never shy about showing your appreciation. You want him to know how much every one of his gestures means to you. 

He likes that. He likes it a lot. 

“If it’s alright, I’m going to try and go to sleep now,” you say. “I’m pretty tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Oh. Did you want to spend the night in my room? Like a sleepover? Would you be allowed to do that?” 

Satoru blinks. The invitation catches him off guard, and he watches as you pat the spot beside you, on your futon, still smiling brightly. 

He turns away in a hurry, cheeks red. 

“I-It’s fine,” he stammers. “I should sleep in my own room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It seems like you are, so… I’ll leave now. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” you happily reply, but Satoru is already out the door, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. 

You giggle at the sight. He’s so adorable. You can’t even express how happy you are to be here. The future may look grim, but you’re determined to change it, no matter what it takes. 

That night, you dream of a world where Gojo Satoru is saved. 

“Satoru. Here, try this. I made yummy rice balls for us to eat. There’s a secret ingredient inside. Can you guess what it is?” 

Satoru reaches out and takes a rice ball into his hands, furrowing his brows as he looks it over. As far as rice balls go, it looks pretty normal. It’s actually rolled up really neatly. He’s surprised you made this yourself. You did a pretty good job. 

“Secret ingredient, huh?” Satoru shrugs. “Sure, I’ll try it.” 

He takes a big bite, and although he’s not really sure what he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t this. 

“Gross!” he exclaims, immediately spitting it out of his mouth and onto the ground. He then proceeds to stare at the inside of the rice ball he just bit into. “Did you… you actually put chocolate inside of this? Disgusting! What’s wrong with you?!”

You frown. “What, you mean you don’t like it? I actually think it’s pretty good. I was sure this combination would be a hit.” 

Satoru watches, horrified, as you bite into your own rice ball, smiling all the while. There might actually be something wrong with you after all. He’s starting to realize that you’re slightly unhinged. 

“Remind me not to eat anything you make ever again,” he shudders. 

“I’ll pick something better next time, don’t worry. Oh! How about this? What do you think of rice balls stuffed with ice cream—” 

“No.”

This is what most of your days look like. It’s been just over a week since you arrived at the Gojo estate. Your injuries have almost fully healed. Also, you’re no longer required to do chores at virtually every waking moment, so whenever Satoru isn’t busy with training, you spend all of your time together.

Satoru has to do a lot of different things. It’s not just honing his jujutsu abilities, day in and day out. He isn’t allowed to slack off when it comes to academics, either. It’s clear that his family intends for him to be perfect in any way possible. They refuse to let him settle for anything other than the best. 

It’s a lot of pressure for a kid. Satoru makes it look easy, but nevertheless, you feel sorry for him. Which is why you always try to make sure that he’s having fun when he’s with you. You want him to have some semblance of a childhood, at the very least. 

Of course, you still can’t grant him the freedom you wish he had. It’s always inevitable that someone gets in the middle of your time together. 

“Master Satoru. It’s time for you to work on your studies.” 

One of his usual attendants comes to pick him up. Satoru clicks his tongue in visible annoyance, but as always, he doesn’t protest. He has a strong sense of duty and purpose. A determination to uphold his responsibilities as the strongest. 

Before he leaves, though, he turns back towards you. 

“I want [Name] to come with me today,” he says. “She can at least sit in the room while I’m doing my work, right?”

The attendant blinks. He’s bewildered, of course, and you’re not sure what else to do but bat your eyes at him with a bright, hopeful expression. You may be weak, but you’d like to think that you’re a pretty cute kid. It’s about time someone developed a soft spot for you. 

“She’ll distract you,” the attendant refuses. He narrows his eyes at you in frustration, so apparently, you’re not that cute.

Satoru pauses for a moment, then grabs you by the hand and pulls you close. 

“I want her there,” he insists, interlocking his fingers with yours. “She’s coming. I’ve already decided.” 

“Master Satoru, you can’t—” 

Too late. It seems like he’s in an awfully stubborn mood today, so for better or worse, you find yourself in the same room as him while he has his lesson. 

It’s a bit awkward. Satoru told you to sit right next to him the whole time, and although he doesn’t allow himself to get distracted, it still feels weird to be sitting in on a private lesson. While the teacher glares at you the whole time, no less. 

“Do you know what the answer to this question is?” the teacher asks, pointing to one of the questions in the textbook Satoru is learning from. 

Satoru chews on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “It’s… B. The answer is B.” 

“Sorry. I’m afraid that’s not correct,” the teacher says. She scribbles something down onto a piece of paper. “It’s alright. That was an exceptionally advanced question, so I can’t blame you for—” 

“It’s C.” 

To be honest, you didn’t mean to voice your thoughts aloud. It was a reflexive, absentminded remark. The answer was just so obvious that you ended up blurting it out. 

But now, both Satoru and the teacher are staring at you in bewilderment.

Satoru turns towards the teacher with a frown. “Is she right?” 

“...yes,” the teacher replies, looking somewhat reluctant to do so. “But it was a multiple choice question, so I’m sure it was just luck. Let’s move on to—” 

“[Name], what about the next one?” Satoru asks, pointing towards another spot on the page. “Try answering this one, too.” 

So, you do. You don’t just answer that question, but the next one, and the next one after it, and the next one after that, and so on and so forth. The teacher looks both amazed and horrified. Even Satoru can’t seem to hide how taken aback he is. They’re both staring at you like you’ve been hiding this incredible intelligence all along, when really, you’re kind of cheating. You died when you were sixteen years old. Satoru is incredibly smart for his age, but even taking that into account, your years of lived experience give you an obvious advantage. 

Still, you have to admit, it feels kind of nice. Finally being acknowledged for something, that is. 

Satoru’s lesson ends, and you can see the teacher whispering to the other Gojo Clan members about what just happened. Their eyes all widen in shock as they glance your way. They believe you’re ‘gifted’ all of a sudden, and while it doesn’t mean much for a jujutsu sorcerer, at least they might think a bit more highly of you from now on. Maybe they’ll finally approve of you being by Satoru’s side. 

“I didn’t know you were smart,” Satoru admits. “To be honest, up until now, I thought you were kind of dumb.”

“...oh.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” 

“Is there a good way to be dumb?” 

“I just meant that you seemed a bit dumb, because of how straightforward and simple you are. And you’re nice to everyone, no matter how badly they treat you. You’re easy to take advantage of, so… yeah. I thought you were dumb. Sorry.” 

Satoru chuckles sheepishly. You snort in response, amused by his uncharacteristic shyness. You suppose it doesn’t really matter whether people think you’re smart or not. From the moment you were born, it was clear that you would have to defy everyone’s expectations. You’re going to have to work harder than most in order to prove yourself. In order to have a chance at saving people.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Satoru remarks. 

“What thing?” 

“It’s a thing you do sometimes. You drift off, and even though you’re usually smiling all the time, your face will get all serious for a few moments.” 

“Oh. I guess I have a habit of getting lost in my thoughts. Sorry. I just really want to get stronger. I end up thinking about it a lot.” 

Satoru doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s strange that you’re so fixated on improving yourself. He’s the strongest, so of course, there’s a heavy burden upon his shoulders. He has to be the best. It’s both his birthright and his destiny. There’s simply no way around it. 

But as for you…

Come to think of it, do you actually need to become stronger? 

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect you. Even if he hasn’t known you for very long yet, he likes having you around. There’s no reason why he can’t look after you. It’d be nice if you got stronger too, he supposes, but it’s not like you’d ever be stronger than him. With him by your side, your future is already assured. 

Which is why it’s weird. There’s this urgency and desperation he senses from you, almost constantly. It’s not like your family is around anymore. And even if they ever tried to take you back, he wouldn’t let that happen. 

And yet, you’re still determined to become stronger. It’s almost like there’s something you’re not telling him. Something more than just a simple desire to prove yourself. 

…then again, maybe he’s reading into things too much. 

Word travels fast, and soon, pretty much everyone in the clan has discovered that you possess intellect far beyond what they imagined (not really, but whatever, you’ll take it). Satoru keeps insisting that you be allowed to sit in on his lessons from time to time. They reluctantly allow it, and sometimes, you even help answer some of the questions he has—instead of the teacher whose literal job it is to do so. She doesn’t seem to like you very much, unfortunately.

One night, as you’re preparing to go to bed, Satoru stops by your room again. 

He does this a lot. He usually makes a point of saying goodnight to you before he goes to sleep. It’s adorable, and it warms your heart to see that he’s starting to care for you so much. Sometimes, you still can’t believe this is the life you’re living. 

You were expecting him to poke his head into the room before exchanging a few words, as usual, but this time, he turns up with a futon of his own. 

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” he declares. 

You blink. “Oh. You got permission?” 

“Yes. They whined about it a lot, but I said I didn’t care. It’s not even a big deal. You said before we could have a sleepover, right? Unless… you changed your mind.” 

He averts his gaze, looking a bit bashful. Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll refuse. Although you’re not sure who in their right mind would turn away this adorable little sweetheart. 

“I definitely didn’t change my mind,” you grin. “I’m always happy to have a sleepover with you. We can stay up all night telling each other scary stories! I know a few really good ones.”

“Why would I be scared of some stupid stories?” Satoru brushes off. “I’ve already exorcized all kinds of cursed spirits. And none of those were scary, either. I’m too strong to have anything to be scared of.” 

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t heard them yet. You act tough now, but I bet you’ll be crying later.” 

Satoru rolls his eyes as he lays his futon down next to yours. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but once he’s lying down, facing you, and when he realizes just how close the two of you are… he’s embarrassed to admit that his heart starts beating a bit faster.

“If this is weird, I can leave,” he mumbles. 

“It’s not weird at all. Like I said, I’m happy you’re here. Ah. You’re not just trying to come up with excuses so you don’t have to hear my scary stories, right? I see right through you, Satoru. You’re not sneaky.” 

Satoru laughs. It’s a pleasant, melodic sound, and you hope you’ll be able to hear it more often from now on. 

Before you can start telling your stories—you really do have some good ones you’re excited to share—Satoru scoots in a bit closer, then gently places his hand down on top of yours. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and since you’re not sure what he’s referring to, you just frown. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re not strong, because I’m strong enough for the both of us. Before, I said I’d be your friend if you showed me how you planned on getting stronger, but… it’s fine. You don’t need to do that anymore. I’ll still be your friend. I don’t care if you’re weak or not. So, don’t worry about what anyone else says. I’ll stay with you no matter what.” 

Through the dark of night, you can’t tell, but he’s blushing profusely right now. He feels like he just said something really cheesy. But he’s not going to take it back. He doesn’t regret it. He means it wholeheartedly. 

You, his first ever friend, are irreplaceable. 

More time passes, and as much as it pains you to admit, you still haven’t gotten any stronger. 

While Satoru is busy training, you do the same. You try your absolute hardest to make some kind of progress, and yet, the changes are minimal—if any. It’s as if your body simply isn’t cut out for this, which is a bitter irony. To think that you’ve been reincarnated into a world where you have the potential to do a lot of good and help a lot of people, but your weakness is holding you back. 

The knowledge you have is invaluable. You know that. Even if you’re not all-powerful, you still have the ability to make a difference. But this is Jujutsu Kaisen. A world in which death isn’t just possible; it’s more common than surviving. If you don’t have any way of protecting yourself and others, who’s to say you’ll even last long enough to save everyone? 

It hurts. You hate being weak. You hate that your efforts yield no results. Unlike in the real world, where people can usually make up for talent or skill through sheer dedication and hard work, here, your fate may as well be sealed. 

“Not like that,” Satoru says, shaking his head. “Do it like this.” 

He proceeds to give you yet another up close demonstration of his cursed energy at work. He flattens several pop cans in one fell swoop, while you’ve been struggling to do the same to a single one of them. 

You exhale tiredly. “Stop saying it like it’s second nature. You have better control of your cursed energy than anyone else. I can’t possibly compare.” 

“Well, I don’t really know how else to explain it,” he shrugs. 

Your shoulders slump. A while ago, you had your sixth birthday. Which means it’s been slightly more than a year since you’ve gone to live with the Gojo Clan. A whole year, and still, you’re as weak as ever. You know it’s still too early to give up, but it’s hard not to feel discouraged when you have Satoru by your side, and every day, you’re reminded of the fact that you’ll be helpless to change his fate if this continues. 

“You’re getting upset again. Even though I keep telling you that it’s okay if you don’t get stronger. You have me. You won’t ever need to be scared.” 

Satoru smiles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a loose hug. During your time together, he’s become a lot more cheerful and expressive, which is of course due to your influence. It makes you happy to see, and you’re overjoyed that he cares about you to this extent. If you didn’t know what the future holds in store, you would’ve been more than willing to sit back and let him protect you.

He doesn’t realize that he’s destined for an early death. He’s so sure of himself, so confident in his strength, that he doesn’t even consider it to be a possibility. Which is why you do need to become stronger. Even if he doesn’t understand why. 

You hug him back for a few moments, then pull away—much to Satoru’s disappointment. 

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To train some more. I already talked to one of the clan members earlier. They agreed to help teach me. Reluctantly, but still.” 

“But we’re supposed to be having a lesson together soon,” he says, making a point to pout at you. 

You smile weakly. “Sorry. I’ll be there next time. I just… can’t afford to slack off. If I keep working hard, then eventually, something will give.” 

Of course, as you expected, your supervised training session doesn’t go much better. You can see the clan member repeatedly rolling their eyes at your lack of talent. The only reason they’re helping you at all is because Satoru insisted they honor your requests. 

Once again, you’re left feeling hopeless and deflated. You wonder if you’ll ever see any improvement, or if you truly are beyond salvation. Destined to be so weak that you can’t protect a single person. 

Not even your dearest friend. 

You stare down at your feet, gaze glassy, and for a moment, it feels like you’re about to cry. Isn’t there anything you can do? Anything at all? Some kind of trick that will allow even a weakling like you to have a fighting chance?

Some kind of… trick? 

All of a sudden, your eyes widen. .

Since meeting you, Satoru’s life has become a lot more fun.

He enjoys having you here. He never thought it would make that big of a difference, being able to spend time with a kid his own age. And not just any kid, but someone who’s taught him how to smile, laugh, and appreciate simple moments he used to take for granted before. He’s glad he made the decision to visit you again that fateful day. If he hadn’t done that, every day would still be just as monotonous and boring. Every day would be unbearably predictable. 

Satoru can never predict what you’re about to do next. It’s strange, because at first glance, you seem like a simpleton, but you always manage to find new ways to surprise him. 

Like right now, for instance. 

“[Name],” Satoru calls out. As always, he knows exactly where to find you. He can tell everyone’s cursed energy apart, and although yours is scarce, it easily stands out the most to him. It’s comforting and familiar. He’s fully committed it to memory by now, and if he wanted to, he could write a whole essay describing it. 

It doesn’t take long for Satoru to find you. For some reason, you’re standing in place and staring off into the distance with a vacant expression. You’re also holding something in your hand. Is that… a knife? 

“[Name],” Satoru repeats. He frowns as he steps closer to you. “What are you doing? What’s the knife for?”

You don’t respond at first, but then you turn towards him, in a rigid, unsettling manner. Your eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them before. Even your lips are slightly parted, as if something has you in awe.

“I understand now,” you mumble breathlessly. 

Whatever it is that you understand, Satoru definitely doesn’t. He’s unbelievably confused. And seriously, what’s with the knife? It’s starting to freak him out. 

Satoru knits his brows together. “What are you talking about? You’re being weird. Also, put the knife down before you end up hurting yourself.” 

“Okay. But first, let me show you something.”

You take a hurried step backwards. Satoru still doesn’t understand what’s going on. You’re never this cryptic. It’s throwing him off, and for some reason, he’s getting a bad feeling about all this. 

That bad feeling turns out to be right, because moments later, he watches as you drag the sharp end of the knife across your skin.

“Don’t—!”

Satoru cries out, but it’s already too late. There’s blood everywhere. It’s a deep gash. A serious injury. You’re wincing, looking lightheaded from the pain, as if you’re about to pass out any second. Satoru instinctively knows he has to get help, and yet, he’s too shocked to move. This has never happened before. He’s never watched someone get hurt in front of his eyes—someone he cares deeply about—and been helpless to do anything about it. He’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. A special, chosen existence. But right now, all of that feels pointless, because you’re in pain, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. 

“It’s okay,” you breathe out. “Just… watch.”

Satoru is about to cry out again, more desperately this time, but suddenly, he sees it. 

Your body is… healing?

It’s true. The gash on your arm, the one you just inflicted with the knife, has already fully healed. You pause for a moment, then wipe the blood off your skin, so that he can see more clearly. Sure enough, it’s gone. There’s no trace of the wound that was there a second ago. Almost as if what happened just now was a figment of his imagination.

“Reverse cursed technique,” Satoru mumbles in disbelief. “You… when did you learn how to do this? You never mentioned it before. And I didn’t notice any changes in the flow of your cursed energy, either.”

“I learned it just now.” 

“What?” 

“A few minutes ago. Before you came to find me. All of a sudden, I just knew how to do it. The knowledge appeared in my mind.” 

Satoru frowns. Something isn’t adding up. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is a very complex technique. Few individuals are actually able to pull it off. Even he doesn’t know how to heal himself. But such an ability was able to manifest in you? He supposes it’s not impossible, but given the nature of your cursed energy, and your overall lack of skill… it seems unlikely.

“I wanted to become stronger.” You pause for a moment, then shake your head. “Sorry. I needed to become stronger. So, I did. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but just now, I was able to confirm it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I think you already suspect it. That I didn’t obtain this ability naturally. I was frustrated that nothing was working, no matter what I did. I just couldn’t seem to improve, regardless of how hard I trained. So, I… took a gamble. I made a Binding Vow.” 

Satoru blinks. “A self-imposed vow?” 

You nod enthusiastically, but it still doesn’t make any sense. Would someone really gain the ability to use positive energy through a simple vow like that? It’s the first Satoru’s ever heard of it. And since healing is a rare, valuable power, most people would love to get their hands on it. If it was that easy, surely everyone would opt to do it, one way or another.

Once again, Satoru has a bad feeling about this. 

“I already knew that by imposing restrictions on yourself, through a Binding Vow, it’s possible to increase your cursed energy and empower your technique,” you say. “I wasn’t sure if it would work for me. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is complicated, after all. I knew I had to make it a pretty serious restriction, in order to have any chance of succeeding. Even then, it still might not have worked.”

You pause yet again, while Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat, and the next second, you’re smiling brightly, like always. 

As you utter the most horrifying words Satoru has ever heard. 

“In exchange for gaining the ability to use reverse cursed technique, I’m never allowed to use my cursed energy to harm anyone else, whether it’s a human or a cursed spirit. And if by some chance I do… I’ll die. Instantly.”

Satoru’s jaw drops open.

“...what?!” 

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[bannanasrus]

Should have picked a different Apartment

Contains Unwilling M/M vore with implied digestion

Going into the apartment that gave the thief bad vibes in the first place was the thief’s first mistake knocking over a vase was the second.

“Hell” cursed the thief hopping against hope, that no one had heard the crash of the vase.

Unfortunately for him the owner of the apartment had heard it, and very casually walked into the kitchen from the bedroom. “Can I help you” he asked in a polite manner that never the less held a threat.

“Oh hell”

“Indeed”

“Stay back I’m armed” warned the thief

“I quiver with fear” replied the owner a shark toothed grin spreading over his face

The thief swallowed, he hadn’t considered how big this guy really was when he’d made that threat but, taking him all in - he was about twice as wide as he was, and nearly a foot taller.

“Don’t even think about calling the cops!” He said attempting to gain some kind of control over the situation.

“Goodness me no” said the owner “I would never drag law enforcement here to deal with something so trivial”

“I’m trivial?” Asked the thief angrily in spite of his fear, yes he did have a reputation to uphold, in spite of the fact that he was currently frozen in fear.

“Yes” replied the owner “In a few hours, maybe a bit longer, you won’t be here” he considered something “Unless you want to get out right now that is, and save me the trouble”

“Hey! I think you’ve gotten mixed up with who is making the demands here!” snapped the thief. Less angry and more… huffy.

“Oh you are quite correct” replied the owner still smiling all the while - the same shark toothed calm smile.

“So, are you gonna give me all your money?” said the thief. It wasn’t actually a demand, it was a question. He really would have preferred to just get out of here, but his pride demanded that he at least make the attempt to leave here with some kind of valuables to put in his bag on the Balcony.

The owner stepped from the shadows, into an area that was bathed in moonlight and, shit thought the thief he really was Big, not big with a small b, but Big with a big B. He had short brownish hair which sat in a quiff, blue eyes, very lightly tanned skin, and it was impossible to not note his physique - he was positively herculean - the dressing gown he was wearing was only highlighting the thick round of his pecs which were visible at the top, and each of his thighs were as thick as a tree trunk - well maybe not literally but metaphorically yes!

“Is this a hold up?” he asked inquisitively still smiling “If it is, I feel the need of introductions, since we might be here a while - my name is Cecil”

“I won’t tell you mine!” replied the thief

“Very well” replied Cecil and thief could have sworn he added under his breath “It’s not as though food needs a name”

“Well I was just going to - ” quick as it had been said Cecil had moved forward at speed closing the distance between them, looming over the thief who gulped in fear again - he really didn’t want to see what this guy was going to do to him.

“Go?”

“Um”

“I wouldn’t like you to come all this way for nothing”

“No no, I want you to let me go”

“You know, I realised you looked familiar - though granted with those balaclavas every thief looks similar, but your build well that’s very distinctive - you robbed this building before didn’t you” his voice suddenly became very dangerous

The thief did remember it had been a few nights ago - an old lady’s apartment she had gotten up tried to take him, and he’d pushed her to the ground then he’d robbed her apartment. Not that there had been that much to take, only an antique necklace with a locket, it had been a waste though - too distinctive to get anything for it.

“Your silence, whether of fear or guilt is very confirming” said Cecil “Luckily for you, she isn’t dead” not thought Cecil that that’ll change your fate “But you did steal something of great sentimental value to her, a necklace, with a locket, made of gold?”

His and his boyfriend’s neighbour was an old, old lady who had once had to flee her home - the only treasure she had from it was in a necklace her parents gave to her as a child it contained a locket inside of which was a series of small locks of hair from her siblings. “Uh yeah” said the thief nervously, really regretting shoving that old lady now.

“Where is it?”

“In my bag”

“Which is where?”

“Oh the balcony”

Cecil moved to look at the dark balcony and saw the idiot thief attempting to lunge at him with a heavy lamp.

A few things happened in quick succession: first, Cecil dodged the swing, second the thief stumbled backwards losing his footing and finally third Cecil lunging forward like a python wrapped his huge arms around the thief opened his mouth wider than should have ben possible and shoved him headfirst into his mouth.

The thief shrieked in surprise and started kicking his legs trying to get out, but he was doomed Cecil slurped trying to see if any flavour came off of his meal. He disliked eating people like this he could never be sure that they were really clean, but oh well he was doing his part to keep crime off the street, and only part of his muscle came from the cheat of devouring people There was also the issue that clothes stood in the way of tasting the guy properly, there wasn’t much meat on him anyway. Sometimes - infact most of the time he preferred them this way - lean and mean easy to subdue though they still kicked up a storm in his gut speaking of which.

Angling his head back to help gravity do the rest he grabbed the socks and shoes off of the thief's feet and tossed them to the one side. In a few seconds the thief was curled in the stomach of Cecil whose dressing gown came loose exposing his tan thief filled gut and who let out a loud deep belch and moaned.

“you ate me, you actually ate me!!” Yelled the thief

“You tried to kill me with a lamp buddy” said Cecil

There were footsteps and in stepped Blake who merely sighed at Cecil’s gut. Whilst Cecil sat down on the sofa and spread his legs - the better to accommodate the expanse with.

“hey darling, said Cecil grinng at Blake who walked into the room and sat beside him

“it’s the middle of the night” replied Blake grumpily

“hey I didn’t choose what time this ruffian decided to perform home invasion!” Said Cecil cheerily

“you are way too upbeat at all times” grumbled Blake as he reached out with one hand and began rubbing Cecil’s stomach coaxing up another belch

“You are way too good at this” sighed Cecil dropping his head back and wrapping an arm around Blake’s torso pulling him against the dome of flesh that bulged occasionally with the struggles of its unwilling occupant in spite of himself Blake grinned and began rubbing with both hands as he shifted himself to straddle Cecil earning him a grunt of surprise and a belch as Cecil placed a hand on either side of Blake to keep him there. Blake leaned forward and tenderly kissed Cecil on his lips Cecil responded by wrapping his arms more firmly about Blake and giving a small moan of pleasure as Blake’s hands continued to massage him feeling as though he had found a good sized pocket of air Blake leaned away from Cecil as a gurgle starting in his stomach rapidly made it’s way up and out of Cecil’s mouth who had been sitting there eyes slightly heavy lidded

“Bouarrrrrrp” he moaned and Blake immediately fell back upon him “You are so so hot when you are like this” he whispered in Cecil’s ear “all full and belching” Cecil loved the praise from his gorgeous Boyfriend but…

“I’m hardly full” he replied “in fact I could scarf down 2, 3 more of these guys no problem” he whispered in Blakes ear he belched again smaller this time yet he chuckled as he saw Blake blush and giggle “in fact I still could do with another snack” he bit gently on Blakes ear relishing how it made Blake tingle all over “For some reason whenever I eat you - I feel at my fullest, my belly stretched to the max like I’ve eaten a full buffet plus some assholes that bother us on the way home - all of that just from you stretching me out” his voice was filled with desire, but it softened to gentle tenderness “all that from just you - my favourite 5 star meal”

“Cecil…” said Blake his hands moving from Cecil’s gut to his face “you are the most beautiful man” he kissed him moaning as Cecil’s hands began to grip his body until they were interrupted by a voice from Cecil’s gut

“Ewww, excuse me if you are going to, engage in activities then show me some respect and let me out”

“How are you still alive?” asked a gobsmacked Blake to Cecil’s gut “That last belch should have taken you to the Flats in the sky” he looked at Cecil who was similarly surprised

“Wait what the hell?” Yelled the thief

“Hey buddy good food shouldn’t talk” snapped Cecil annoyed that his time with Blake was being taken up by this asshat.

“I’m not food” shrieked the thief shoving violently against Cecil’s stomach walls

“Stop speaking and squirming” Said Cecil “Squirming’s all well and good at the start really gets me going - but after a while it’s just like shut up accept your fate and digest”

“You’re going to digest me?!!!” Shrieked the thief kicking again more violently

“Stop that” groaned Cecil grasping his stomach and belching again Blake slid off of his lap and onto the floor. It was surprisingly painful getting kicked - usually it didn’t hurt this much

“Hell no, Let me out - you can’t do this”

“You shouldn’t have broken into our Flat buddy”

“I am not your Buddy” yelled the thief shoving again at Cecils stomach walls this time actually hurting him more than quite a bit, damn it felt like getting stabbed - please tell me he didn’t actually have a weapon he thought to himself

“Ow” he whined “stop”

“Ha ha ha ha” not so confident now are you - you stupid greedy musclebound glutton”

“Stop hurting him” snapped Blake getting off the floor and ramming both hands onto the squirming mass Blake may not have had the ability to devour people and turn them to mush - but he certainly had the power to deliver a fierce push the thief yelped as we felt the shove and Cecil let out a loud rumbling belch. “BOUARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP Damn” ,he said “I must have gulped down a lot of air with that guy”. His hands returned to a much less engorged stomach.

“Would explain why he lasted so long and how despite being so scrawny he was able to give you such a bloat” said Blake whose own hands were on each of Cecil’s broad shoulders and were tracing down each of his biceps.

“Yeah” sighed Cecil “I mean he wasn’t so much scrawny as lean and thin”

“How did he taste” asked Blake

“Not of too much” replied Cecil “I was more eager to get him down than to taste him” Blake’s hand returned to and rubbed Cecil’s stomach feeling the lumps were moving weakly but not for much longer he thought

“Blake” asked Cecil

“Yes”

“Can you check the balcony please? This guy said he left his bag with Miss Olgania’s Locket in it”

“I will do that once I’m sure he can never rob Miss Olgania or us or anyone ever again” said Blake leaning forward and kissing Cecil

“Mmmmm” moaned Cecil moving forwards “My gut, my muscles - the most secure prison”

”Just right” Replied Blake smiling as his hands returned to his stomach.

Miss Valecia Olgania was aged somewhere in her seventies though she would never admit it insisting that she stopped aging at 39! She had grey hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head and wore a patterned black and white skirt and a pink top.

Upon hearing a knock at her door she moved over to it and after checking the spy-hole and seeing that it was her downstairs neighbours Cecil and Blake she unlocked, unchained and opened the door with a smile.

“Miss Olgania, it is our pleasure to return to you the locket that was stolen by the thief” said Cecil presenting the locket which was indeed within the black bag that the thief had said it was in, alongside several other presumably stolen goods which they had handed over the the police.

“Oh you really both are the kindest gentlemen!” Said Miss Olgania gladly taking the locket in her hands and holding it to her chest

“We just do our part for the community” Said Cecil

“and you are a part of it Miss Olgania” added Blake smiling

“But how did you get it back?!” Said Miss Olgania slightly puzzled - but only slightly.

Cecil laid a hand over the slight increase in thickness in his abs that was the only indication of his meal “let’s just say that he won’t be bothering you or us again any time soon.”

Miss Olgania simply smiled and laughed “Well all I can say is thank you my dears, and an invitation to my humble abode for a most ordinary meal is most certainly in order!” She invited them in and closed the door bustling over to where her calendar hung on a small hook and pulling it off, shall we say Friday night between 5 and 6?”

“That sounds wonderful said Cecil”

“Concurred” said Blake grinning

“And while we’re here why not have a cup of tea?”

“why not indeed” they chorused - after all who would refuse a cup of tea from such a nice lady?

Well I know someone who might but since he’s now part of someone who would never do so - I think we can leave him out!

Thank you so much for reading if you’ve made it this far

I very much hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments about grammar and spelling and punctuation would be very very welcome - I would much rather know if I’ve made a stupid mistake than not know!

[howyouloveyourdragon]

alicent had an older widowed or still unmarried sister that hears what otto has been planning and decides to ruin his plan and save alicent from that life by making viscerys focus on her instead. I think she could stop the dance of dragons if only to spite otto & become bugs with daemon while doing it. Headcanons but can use to turn it into something longer. Thanks for considering

oh gosh this was a very interesting take im so happy i could indulge :)

this is the first version, a second version will be posted soon after

pronouns: she/her warnings: vizzy t

so i decided to make her a widow seeing as i think it would add a lot of depth to see her wanting to protect alicent from the life that she herself had

maybe she catches viserys looking at alicent who just looks so much like herself when she got married for the first time

when otto sneaks into conversation that he wants to wed her to him, you put yourself forth and take over her expectations and go in her stead, smirking as flirtatiously as you can at the frail King and insisting you help with his ointments

now i could imagine you arguing with otto to let you trade positions with alicent seeing as you have also lost your spouse and it makes sense for you to empathise with him, he might argue that you are not the pure choice or perhaps push the both of you toward him

you don't wear your mother's dresses–they're too sacred for that and you forgo your religious symbols

so regardless you go instead of her and dressed in your mourning attire especially if you are still grieving, your father is an ambitious man and you know his intentions so you will simply foil them and marry the old king yourself

you are a beautiful woman with plenty of suitors before your first marriage and against your father's judgment, viserys is quick to welcome you

a warm comfort of understanding passes over you both

you do not feel the need to lay a thick affection, simply offering your condolences and rubbing his shoulders

slowly you make a show of exploring the castle ground with him, asking what has changed since you were young

it has been a long time since you were home and he is all the more keen to help you

eventually you propose a mutual decision

to get married and mutually benefit your families

but there is one condition

Rhaenyra will be Queen after he passes

he needs an son to quieten his council, someone to look out for Rhaenyra's throne and you need a husband

it is a logical choice and he cares for you

whether the relationship becomes platonic or romantic, he comes to a deep affection with you and especially after you fall pregnant with his child

though you both hold your breath once he is born a boy

as queen you take the role of alicent's guardian and suggest lightly to your husband that your father is not to be trusted

that he is cunning and resourceful

you convince your husband that otto's spies were planted and malicious only to threaten her throne

but you also pay a visit to rhaenyra

you ask her what happened very plainly and when she lies boldly to her, you send a warning and kiss on the forehead as a show of goodwill

then daemon is exiled again and it is the first time you raise your voice to your husband

the argument is long, loud and tedious but eventually he agrees to give rhaenyra a few more years of prospects and give daemon the chance of redemption

rhaenyra is unsure what to make of you and your possible intentions until you demand she have a place at the small council not as cupbearer but as an official presence to make decisions and learn from her fellow lords

slowly you guide her into positions of power and discuss with her the importance of morality

you request visits with her to dragonstone under the guise of motherly bonding

she requests to arrive on dragonback and surprisingly you agree with a smirk on your face

the ride is arduous and you cling to her waist tightly, clawing as though you will fall at any moment

but it is also exhilarating

once you both arrive, she is surprised to hear you have hidden something for her on her own grounds

she frowns, worried this may be a coup but when you lead her into the council room then gasps

there before her is daemon, her daemon grinning wildly

but it is not only that

he is dressed in traditional valyrian garb

otto hightower is not the only master of cunning in your family

you agree to be a witness and state calmly that if she is prepared to cement her choices then so are you

it's the first time she respects you

she's also grateful that you have gone to such levels to ensure her claim is protected

and so she gradually cares for you more and more

viserys on the other hand is outraged at your blatant disrespect which you throw back, regarding your own children with him

that you warm his bed despite what you may want yourself, that he never asks only summons her

and he's silent because for the first time someone is confronting other than his brother

because he didn't ask aemma either

he has been hailed for his need for peace and yet as he stands before you, it is not peace he has created it is secrecy and malice

he continues to argue weakly but when you refuse to spend the night in his chambers despite his calls and you do not arrive early to assist him in his ointments, he finds himself missing your gentle touch

you allow the children to eat at his side and arrive briefly where he practically ladens your plate himself but you're composed and collected and false

so instead of summoning you

he spends time with the children

he allows daemon to visit court, to not force his child into enduring flights just to see her husband

and eventually you summon him and he could not be more relieved

whether making up with him is because he has endeared you or strategic does not matter because your time becomes quickly occupied when rhaenyra falls pregnant with her first child

you coo at her swollen stomach and share any tips or guidances you are able and when she become irate you are there to provide her with the food of her cravings and anecdotes of embarrassing circumstances

daemon whether he likes it or not also becomes fond of you

you were the reason he could marry rhaenyra of course and he oddly likes your sharp tongue, especially when it is used against your father

so your sweet trio is admired and especially by viserys

the house of the dragon is united once more

you discuss with daemon one evening how you worry about what will come once rhaenyra's child is born and in the night he provides a strange comfort

he is a second son and his right to being heir was taken from him for a mere child instead and while he loves rhaenyra, he believes it was his birthright by order of law until seeing her arrival at dragonstone

the day everything changed and instead of a foolish princess he found a queen in the making

perhaps it is your motherly presence that cracks his shield but he finds himself spilling his hurt at viserys' continued rejection of him

you explain that you cannot reinstate his presence on the small council but he qucikly explains that is not what he meant

he wants a family as much as his brother does

and then it clicks

you will not stop a fight for power by sweet words and affirmations

you will influence your children's fondness for their sister

unite them strong

aegon will not want for a throne that he does not believe to be his and no amount of scheming can change that

so the bonding strategies ensue and surprisingly they work

aegon is beaming at the attention and little helaena is asking about syrax

but aemon is in the corner shyly so you coax him into his sister's presence

family dinners are mandatory

once jacaerys is born with or without silver hair, his aunt and uncles are fawning over the babe (though aegon still finds himself jealous of the attention from time to time)

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 6: Dead Crow Do Not Eat

“Take me with you. I need to work, Rook.” He caught her by the arm. “We have a contract. Use me.” “Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know what happens to people when I use them.” She moved closer, trailing a finger up his arm. He stepped backwards, releasing his hold on her with a groan. “Teia is a bad influence on you. You were never this much of a flirt before. I can’t even have a conversation with you.” “I’ve barely seen Teia in the last year.” Rook placed her hands on her hips. “Did Viago send you to nag at me in his place?” “No. You’re just…not the Fiammetta I remember.” He said and glanced to the side. Rook arched an eyebrow. “You used my name.” “You asked me to.” Her gaze lingered before shifting to the schools of fish in the meditation chamber’s window. “Neve and I are going to Dock Town to meet with the Threads. You can join us.” Her arms fell to her sides. “We leave in ten.”  She leaned in to murmur in his ear as she walked by. “And don’t pretend the change isn’t working in your favor.”

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???

Summary: Rook has a busy week, a run-in with an old hookup, and a really, really bad dream.

Word Count: 4.1k

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! warnings: blood, graphic depictions of bodily mutilation/murder, dead animals. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Neve’s demeanor softened as the days went on. Unsure if it was duty or guilt driving her, Rook dedicated much of her time to helping out in Dock Town, which incidentally provided a good excuse to avoid Lucanis. Even better, when a letter from Viago arrived requesting assistance in Treviso on several matters, she sent the Demon of Vyrantium in her stead. He could live up to her cousin’s standards. 

Soon, Rook found herself in high demand. Davrin’s invitation for her to train in the Arlathan Forest with him and Assan turned into a much needed reprieve. Later, she accompanied Harding and Taash into the Deep Roads to seek out a better understanding of Lace’s newfound power. Unfortunately, they ended up fighting an animated assembly of rocks and getting vague riddles from an ancient stone.

Wardens Evka and Antoine summoned Rook to inform her of new blight-related developments in the Hossberg Wetlands, but the First Warden cut her visit short. Upon returning to the Lighthouse, Emmrich requested she and Bellara’s company investigating the curiously named “Hand of Glory”, only to find an old colleague abusing the living and the dead. Dejected, he spent the next several days in his chambers, but Rook was able to cheer him up by accompanying him and Manfred on a graveyard stroll. It seemed to, for lack of a better term, lift his spirits. 

Exhausted from her endeavors, Rook returned to the meditation chamber, propping her staff against the wall and depositing her bag next to the wardrobe.

“Don’t tell me you’ve spent so much time away from the Crows that you’ve forgotten to check a room when you enter it, Rook.”

Startled, she looked down to find Lucanis sprawled across the chaise, his arm propped behind his head. He shifted into a sitting position, leaning forward.

“Viago would have a fit if he knew you were taking necromancy lessons.” 

“We lit candles and laid flowers on graves, Lucanis.” She rummaged through her pack, setting aside a few parcels. Gifts for Davrin and Neve. 

“Did you tire of the pantry? Certainly the Lighthouse could conjure you a new dwelling place outside of my chambers.”

He rose to his feet, following her as she wandered around the room. 

“I was checking for those choke points you mentioned.” 

Rook’s hand hovered over Varric’s shaving mirror just as she spotted Lucanis’ reflection. He stood behind her, leaning against a bookcase, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

Fuck. He was getting good at this. Whatever this was.  

“Are we done? I have to be somewhere soon.”

“Take me with you. I need to work, Rook.” He caught her by the arm. “We have a contract. Use me.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know what happens to people when I use them.” She moved closer, trailing a finger up his arm.

He stepped backwards, releasing his hold on her with a groan. “Teia is a bad influence on you. You were never this much of a flirt before. I can’t even have a conversation with you.”

“I’ve barely seen Teia in the last year.” Rook placed her hands on her hips. “Did Viago send you to nag at me in his place?”

“No. You’re just…not the Fiammetta I remember.” He said and glanced to the side.

Rook arched an eyebrow. “You used my name.”

“You asked me to.”

Her gaze lingered before shifting to the schools of fish in the meditation chamber’s window.

“Neve and I are going to Dock Town to meet with the Threads. You can join us.” Her arms fell to her sides. “We leave in ten.” 

She leaned in to murmur in his ear as she walked by.

“And don’t pretend the change isn’t working in your favor.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Lucanis had always said death was his calling. He just didn’t know Rook would be the cause. 

She was playing with him. He knew she was. What he couldn’t figure out was whether it was a game, a defense mechanism, or a way to get him to lower his guard.

He’d never been intimidated by strong women. After all, the Crows wouldn’t function without them.

“Well-positioned seeds, planted subtly and nurtured over time, grow stronger roots,” Caterina had always said. Few men among their ranks, except Viago, had the patience for that level of foresight or strategy.

But romancing strong women…that was a different story. Rather than serious relationships, Lucanis had fumbled through a few short-term romances and casual encounters in his early twenties. He wasn’t like Illario, who could have a different woman in his bed each night. Better to give up on intimacy altogether. Feelings were risky and falling in love got people killed. Being alone was easier when he could find pleasure in little things - coffee, cooking…killing. If he didn’t keep anyone close, it was one less person to worry about, one less distraction from his work. 

He settled down beside Rook in their booth at the Cobbled Swan, wincing as he drank coffee that might as well have been brewed in piss. 

“So…the Threads and the Shadow Dragons working together.” She said, “how do we feel about that?”

“It’s what’s best for Dock Town.” Neve replied, “I saved their leader, Damas, last week. They have just as much motivation to take out the Venatori as we do - and they owe me one.” 

Rook tensed beside him and Lucanis looked up, following her gaze towards a tall, fair-haired man, likely in his mid-30s, walking in. Well dressed, he walked with an air that made it clear he considered himself important. Accompanying him was a younger, shorter man with enough resemblance to Illario that Lucanis stiffened in surprise.

“Shit.” Rook whispered, her eyes glued to them as they approached.

“Trouble?” Neve asked. 

“Well…”

“Dock Town’s protectors, at your service,” the tall one confidently eased himself into his seat across from them. “What can the Threads do for…” He paused, brow furrowing as he gave Rook a once over. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“SMELLS LIKE SMOKEPOWDER AND AROUSAL-”

Arms crossed over his chest, Lucanis grimaced and turned his head to the side, trying to keep Spite in check. 

“Makal Damas? You said you were a Shadow Dragon.” Rook said, “Not the leader of the Threads.”

“And you said you were an Antivan Crow. I thought we were having a little fun lying.”

“She is a Crow.” Neve said dryly.

“ You’re the Rook everyone’s making such a fuss about?” Damas asked, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. 

“Anyone care to explain what’s going on?” Neve asked. 

“Rook and I have a little history, that’s all.” He took a swig from his stein. “Well, at least we can skip half the introductions. This is Elek Tavor, my second in command.”

Elek looked up from tracing the rim of his drink and nodded. 

“And you’re the infamous mage-killer?” Damas asked Lucanis. 

“Something like that.” he leaned over Rook to trade his coffee for a bottle of wine at the end of the table. 

“I’ve got names of missing people, including those hardly anyone noticed yet,” Elek interjected, eager to change the topic. “All yours. No catch.”

“No catch? Now that’s friendship.” Neve said. 

“Consider it a personal favor, if you want,” Damas purred. 

“The Venatori are getting too confident.” Elek continued, “We’ll increase our odds of getting them out of our streets if we work together.”

“You seem tough enough on your own,” Lucanis said. “Why do you need us?”

“I get my knuckles bloody from time to time. But if you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot going on. Those blood mages walked into this bar and abducted me .” Damas stuck his finger into his chest. “I’d like to correct that. The Threads are better neighbors than the Venatori, don’t you think?” 

“They are,” Neve chimed in. “Let’s speak candidly, then. Aelia’s a pain for both of us. I want her dead.” 

“Okay. Then we both hunt for Aelia.” Damas said. “You find her, you kill her. We find her? We’ll do the same. Dock Town is ours .” He leaned forward in his seat, lowering his voice. “But I’m open to sharing, Rook. Bear that in mind.” 

“So generous. I’ll remember that when I put all this on your tab.” 

“I knew I liked you.” Damas rose from his chair. “We’ll keep you posted.” He said to Neve and left for the door with Elek. 

Neve’s head snapped towards Rook once they were out of sight. “When did you sleep with the head of the Threads? ” 

“Give me a break. It was like a year ago and if I had any idea who he was - or how bad it would be -“

“ YOU COULD SHOW HER SOMETHING BETTER, LUCANIS.” 

Lucanis choked on his wine, quickly clearing his throat to cover it up, and stood abruptly from the table. 

“I’m going back to the Lighthouse. Next time you bring me along, make sure there’s something for me to kill.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

As she ascended the steps to her chamber, all Rook wanted was a nap. When Davrin came running after her, she knew it wasn’t happening.

“Rook,” Davrin panted, bending over to catch his breath, “the First Warden is summoning everyone back to Weisshaupt. Word of darkspawn hordes on the move, and an archdemon with them.”

“Fuck,” her hand instinctively reaching up to rub her tired eyes. “How much time do we have?”

“A day, a week? We’re going in blind, though. We need to know what we’re up against.”

The possibility of sleep now seemed distant and trivial, as guilt gnawed at her conscience. Was she so selfish that she could think about sleeping at a time like this?

“I’ll talk to Solas. Make sure the others are ready to move.”

No longer eager to return to her quarters, she begrudgingly shoved the doors open. Conversations with the Dread Wolf were rarely enjoyable. 

With a lazy flick of her wrist, ignited a row of candles on the ancient altar in front of the window and knelt before them. Eyes closed, she drew focus, her consciousness wandering from her body, searching the Fade for Solas’ prison. 

“How fares your battle?”

She opened her eyes with a start. The sight before her was bleak and colorless, a barren expanse stretching into infinity.

“The gods are moving against Weisshaupt and the Grey Wardens. I have little time. There are rumors of an archdemon involved. I need to know how to deal with them.”

Solas clasped his hands behind his back and paced, as if searching the ground beneath his feet for answers. “How are the Grey Wardens? Do they understand the danger they’re in yet?”

“Some. The First Warden is completely in denial, though. That…complicates things.” 

Solas halted, his gaze piercing through her, his demeanor growing more serious. “To defeat Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, you must unite the Wardens under your banner. How will you bring them to your side?”

“Seems I need to get around the First. Easy. Make him lose credibility. Classic political destabilization.”

“Spoken like an Antivan Crow.” Solas’ voice carried a hint of ambiguity that made it difficult for Rook to decipher whether he was praising or criticizing her.

“There never were Tevinter gods. The archdemons, as you call them, are weapons of the Evanuris. To harm them, you must first defeat their life force - the dragon thralls. And even with their dragons dead, they’ll be difficult to defeat.”

As Rook absorbed Solas’ revelations, her heart raced, its pounding echoing in her ears. “So what do I do?”

“Use my dagger. The one you recovered. It can pierce their enchantments and strike them down.”

“Got it,” Rook said, turning on her heel, eager to leave.

“You’re going in too fast! Take a moment. Remember what is at risk!”

She whirled around.

“I know exactly what is at risk!” she pointed at her chest. “That dragon could have leveled my city! Killed my family!”

“Yes. Good. Hold on to that. Remember the loss you have already survived. You will endure more, but your motivation to prevent it at any cost will keep you on the right path.” 

Rook scoffed. “You’re sick.”

“And you’re tired. Perhaps you need some rest. A moment to remember…”

As Solas faded away, the meditation room came back into view. Rook let out a long sigh and laid her head on the seat of the chaise. What the fuck was the Dread Wolf even talking about? Always lessons in everything. He was just as bad as Varric, as her father…

Exhaustion overwhelmed her, making her eyelids heavy and her limbs weak, a weariness that seeped into her very bones. A planned moment of focused breathing, meant to center herself, stretched into minutes, then…

Nothing.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Fiamma woke to a noise coming from the den and jolted upright in bed. She and her father’s small apartment carried sound through every wall, and she was certain if she’d noticed it, he was already investigating. 

When little flames are scared, they should be neither seen nor heard. 

With caution, she slipped her hand between her mattress and the bed frame, retrieving the encircled blade she’d gotten for her 17th birthday from Viago just days ago. She crept towards the door, carefully opening it a crack, and peered through the darkness, her eyes straining to see.

“I’ll give you a chance to leave my home, without consequence, but you must go now .” Her father growled from the kitchen. Fiamma peered around the corner, discovering him with his blade drawn, defensively poised and ready for a fight. She knew if she weren’t here, he’d have already engaged. 

He was buying her time. 

The intruder was facing away from her, and in the dim light filtering from the windows, she could see the glint of her father’s eyes as they met hers.

“You’re a Crow, no? Did someone put a contract on me? Surely my nephew, Viago, doesn’t think I’m a threat to him becoming Talon…”

Still buying time, but also providing thinly veiled directions. Fiamma read between the lines. 

Get out. Get help. Get Viago. 

She nodded in the dark and retreated to her room. The instant she shut her door behind her, she heard pots and pans flying, kitchen cabinets being thrown open, blows exchanged. Her movements were controlled and calm as she slipped a cloak over her nightgown and pulled on her boots. Unlatching her window, she crawled on top of her dresser and outside to the roof.  

This wasn’t their first break-in, or assassination attempt. Her father would be fine. She was simply leaving to give him peace of mind and fetch a cleanup crew. 

She navigated the rooftops to Viago’s, a short, five-minute walk, and jumped several feet over a gap in houses, aiming for his balcony. Missing just by inches, she caught herself on the railing, clinging to the rungs. She hoisted herself up, feeling the strain in her muscles as she flopped down onto the balcony stomach-first.

As she got up and brushed herself off, she caught sight of her cousin approaching, knife in hand, lowering it when he spotted her. With him was Illario Dellamorte, who he’d adopted as some sort of mentee. The boys always seemed to stick together. It was fine. She had Teia and her father. She’d kick their asses someday. 

Viago had taken contracts as soon as Caterina had allowed him to, and it wasn’t long before he’d amassed a small fortune for himself. He was a talented assassin. Incredible with poisons, not too bad with a blade either. Aunt Viama had married a few years back and settled down just outside of Treviso, so he’d purchased this apartment for himself as a reward for his efforts, deciding it was time for him to branch out on his own. 

“I’ve told you Fiamma.” Viago said through the glass, unlocking several deadbolts. “Use the front door.”

“The streets might not be safe. Someone broke into our house.” She said, as if reciting something she’d memorized. Everything felt slow, disjointed.

“What?” Illario blurted. 

“It was a Crow. My father’s holding him off in the kitchen. He’ll probably have handled it by the time we get back, but there could be others…”

“Right. Let’s go,” Viago said, leaping over his balcony railing to the neighboring roof with ease. Fiamma followed, successfully making the jump this time, with Illario trailing close behind. 

“Taking a contract on the Flame of Treviso. Fools.” He mumbled. “I’d like to know what idiot would even put one out.” 

“If it’s really a contract, it’s not sanctioned by Caterina or any of the Talons, to my knowledge.” Viago said, “Your father isn’t interested in Talon, so it can’t be anyone fearing competition..”

As they reached the apartment, Fiamma nudged her window pane and slid her curtains aside. Before she could step through, Viago held his hand out, entering first. Illario ducked in after him, holding out his hand to Fiamma. His arms were warm, a reassuring sense of security as he guided her down from atop the dresser.

The house was silent, still dark. A knot wound itself tightly in Fiamma’s stomach. 

Something was wrong. 

Viago motioned for them to stay back, slowly opening her bedroom door and creeping into the hall. The floorboards creaked slightly beneath his weight, likely intentionally on his part, as he tried to draw out the intruder. Illario’s arm snaked tightly around Fiamma’s waist, his shortsword drawn as they followed, shattered glass and splintered wood crunching beneath their boots.

The kitchen was a disaster, but noticeably empty. It wasn’t until Fiamma turned around to face the den that she stepped in something wet. Her breathing became shallow as she waved her hand to ignite a candle, but her nerves made her magic unstable, lighting every source of light in the apartment. 

The three of them squinted, eyes adjusting to the overwhelming brightness, before Fiamma’s legs gave way beneath her. Illario clung tightly to her as she fell to the floor with a single, devastated sob, burying her face in his shoulder. 

Dante De Riva’s lifeless body was slumped against the fireplace, a dead crow stuffed where his head should have been. His body was drenched in blood, the wedding band still on his left hand gleaming in the light through streaks of crimson. 

This wasn’t a clean job, wasn’t just a contract. It was a butchering. 

Viago crouched beside the body, elbows on his knees, and lowered his head. 

“Get her out of here, Illario.” He said, his tone void of emotion as he looked around for clues. This was future Talon, Viago. Not a grieving nephew. “Send Caterina and Lucanis back. Take major streets, stay out of the shadows.”  

Illario nodded, his grip on Fiamma tightening as he lifted her off the floor. Her chest heaved, throat constricting as her gaze fell upon her father’s desecrated corpse again, and he hoisted her into his arms, carrying her out the front door. 

“Walk Fiammetta. You have to.” 

She shook her head sadly as he set her down outside, tears streaming down her face.

“I promise you, there will be time to grieve later, but now we have to go .” He cupped her face in his hands. “If you think you’re safe out here, weeping in the street, you’re wrong. ” 

She sniffed and nodded, and he ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away her tears. 

“No one will hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

He took her by the hand and led her through the streets to Caterina’s villa, stopping to glance around corners, fingertips never leaving the hilt of his sword. 

The doors of Villa Dellamorte crashed open, making the windows tremble in their frames. Illario let them rattle shut behind him as he guided Fiamma to the couch in the sitting room.

“Mierda, Illario, did you really have to do that?”

His cousin Lucanis appeared in the doorway and paused, his forehead wrinkling as he drew nearer.

“ De Riva? What’s going on?”

Illario looked over his shoulder, exchanging silent words with his cousin. Lucanis looked down at Fiamma, her hands woven through her hair, as she hung her head low, staring at the flames rising in the hearth across from her.

“No…”

“Parents always die, right?” Fiamma asked, raising her head to stare intently at Lucanis. His face twisted in a grimace of guilt and agony, his lips parting slightly. 

“And someone always pays.” Illario reassured her through clenched teeth. 

“Who is slamming doors in my house!” Caterina shouted as she rounded the corner, her cane knocking against the wood. Her gaze fell upon Fiamma for several seconds, and she glanced between her grandsons in horror. 

“Dante?” she breathed. They both nodded solemnly in confirmation.  

“How can this be?” Caterina demanded. “Where is Viago?” 

“With the body.” Illario said quietly. 

Caterina frowned. “Lucanis, go. Stop by the Cantori’s on the way and send Arandrateia here.” She said, “I will meet you at the De Riva’s.” 

He departed swiftly, without question.

The First Talon’s obedient little dog.

“Illario, get Fiammetta a change of clothes from the spare room. Mierda…” 

Fiamma looked down at herself, finding the lower half of her nightgown drenched in her father’s blood. Following a trail of crimson footsteps, she realized she’d tracked blood across Caterina’s white marble floors.

“These moments define Crows, Fiammetta.” Caterina said. “I have buried my own parents, my children, all but two of my grandchildren. None of them died natural deaths. It does not get easier, but you endure. Or you let it get you killed, too.” 

She leaned forward on her cane. The handle featured an intricately carved crow’s head, and Fiamma’s stomach roiled. 

“Honor your father in death by not forfeiting your life. Grieve, and then let that fury guide you to survive.” 

Caterina rose, placing a hand on Fiamma’s shoulder. “This deed will not go unpunished. The Dellamortes and the De Rivas are strong houses. Us Crows honor our own.” She said, her cane scraping across the floor as she departed. 

Bullshit, Fiamma thought to herself, the Crows will slit one another’s throats for a shred of power.

When Illario returned, Fiamma couldn’t find the energy to change into the clean clothes he brought her. She sank to the floor, kneeling on the bearskin rug in front of the fire, wrapping her cloak tightly around her.

Illario set the neatly folded stack of clothes on the couch and joined her. Fiamma turned to her side and rested her head on his lap, staring into the hearth. His fingers hovered for a moment, surprised, before he stroked her hair.

“I will avenge your father’s death, Fiammetta. I swear on my life.”

She didn’t respond. Numbed, she transitioned into a state somewhere between dreaming and disassociation. She didn’t hear the door in the foyer creak open, or the shuffling of feet behind them. Only felt Teia reaching for her hands, squeezing them tightly in her own, caused her to stir from her oblivion.

“Fi…”

Face crumpled in dismay, Teia laid down beside her, and the three clung to one another until sunrise, when Viago and Lucanis returned home, looking nearly as haunted as Fiamma felt.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“Rook? Hey! Rook.”

Davrin banged on her chamber door with his fist again, and her eyes snapped open. Disoriented, she braced herself on the chaise and pushed herself up.

“Coming!”

She blinked rapidly, trying to dismiss the memories and emotions threatening to resurface, and grabbed her things.

“About damn time.” He grumbled as she joined him in the hall.

“How long was I out?” Rook asked, hurrying down the stairs after him.

“I don’t know, but things at Weisshaupt are getting worse. It’s time to go. Hopefully, your Dread Wolf friend had some insight.” 

“He’s not my friend. We don’t get tea in his little prison and exchange pleasantries.”

“What do you exchange, then?”

“Information. Verbal jabs, mostly.”

When they arrived in the hall, everyone else was waiting for her command. 

“There’s an Eluvian in storage in the vault. It was a gift from the Dalish.” Davrin said.

“Ours should go right to it…probably.” Bellara added. 

Rook caught sight of the Crow head buttons sewn into Lucanis’ vest and hesitated, overcome with a desire to pluck each one loose and cast them into the nothingness of the Fade. He took notice of her lingering gaze and furrowed his brow, tilting his head. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and shifted her attention.

“So we sneak into Weisshaupt, nice and quiet, then find Antoine and Evka.”

“Was…there a plan after that?” Neve asked.

“I’m not giving a speech.” Rook muttered, “Let’s go kill a fucking god.”

A/N: Okay well now that you've met Fi's dad...sorry! Lots of building this chapter, next one moves a bit more quickly. Next stop: Weisshaupt, Spite, and brooding. Thanks for the support! It really keeps my head on and me motivated. I appreciate you all soooo much. x

[tfp-stubborn-spark-au]

Chapter 1: the leap

Megatron had enough of starscream. Beaten within an inch of his life, he begins to bargain with the autobots in exchange for energon...

Some mine coordinates here, a few hit-and-runs there. Until he'd thought he'd finally been ready to make the leap to join the autobots.

As with everything else in his life, it all seemed to go horribly wrong.

Tw: suicide attempt (due to fear of torture/spite)

He vented deeply as he sprinted across the canyon, stasis cuffs still binding his wings and servos.

He felt dead inside.

Like all the other bad things in his admittedly slagged up existence, it started with failure.

But that was only the start, it was system: like crime & punishment. But this time, Megatron seemed more than pleased to grant him the death penalty.

And it all led him here, In a dusty canyon on a muddy planet being chased by the only other mech potentially more dangerous than Megatron.

He momentarily turned back, and yelped when he saw the prime hot on his trail.

He'd always been fast, but for as big as he was the prime sure could move.

"Stop! Now!" Optimus demanded.

"So you can take me in, lull into a false sense of security and then offline me?!" Starscream let out a sarcastic cackle.

"Not a chance!" He finished, with as much confidence as he could. But he knew he was running out of options...

And prime knew as well.

Starscream was rapidly closing the distance to the cliffside, the newest dead end in this maze of a canyon.

If I could fly I'd be out of this fragging pit by now!

He quickly glanced around for any opening, any way for an escape but any hope drained from his spark.

"Starscream, we're not going to hurt you..." Optimus said steadily.

Starscream took a shaky breath.

"Then explain what that was!" Prime looked away for a second.

"Starscream... arcee and cliffjumper were very close. When you let it slip that it was you that terminated him, arcee's emotions got the best of her." Optimus explained

Starscream began to circle around the area, trying still to look for a way out, until a thought reached his processor.

It made his spark sink, but he couldn't go back to Megatron and he was positive that whatever the autobots had in store for him would be far worse.

He smiled.

He has nothing left, no faction, no trine... everyone hed grown close with was now offline and any connections he tried to make just never worked out. He was completely and utterly alone.

But with this, he wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of offlining him.

Another chuckle escaped starscream. There was no humor in it, nor any sarcasm. It was purely dry.

"As if I hadn't lost anyone either... we're at war, prime. death is a way of life!"

"Everyone knows this... it doesn't make the loss any easier to deal with."

Starscream's gaze intensified, he scanned the prime's posture for any tells.

He saw that Optimus would continue to hold steadfast in his mission to capture the seeker.

"You're not gonna let me go, are you?" Starscream said steadily.

He could feel his spark begin to pound in his chasis, he began to brace himself for a fight.

If everything went to plan, he wouldn't even need to fight... that said, it wasn't much of a plan.

"I cannot allow you to escape, starscream. Not until-" Optimus was interrupted as starscream barreled into him in a maneuver that was completely unlike the nimble seeker and successfully caught Optimus off guard.

He stumbled back and starscream took off. Prime gave chase, shouting after him.

Starscream didn't bother listening, his cpu shouted at him enough.

He clambered up the side of a smaller cliff face until he was back on his pedes, he began to speed along a path that went upwards... high upwards.

Frag it all, frag this planet, frag this war, frag these factions and most of all...

Optimus's shouting was deafened by his own internal monologuing, he continued his quick journey as his spark pounded even harder.

He was really going to do this...

...frag you Megatron!

He lept over the edge, and bit back a scream as wind rushed past his frame without any wings to catch him.

And then... nothing.

---------------------------------------------------

Hey all, I'm new to this Fandom and I'm trying to get something set up for an au I have in mind. I won't say too much just now but I should have updates pretty frequently.

Next chapter will be the aftermath, he's dead but not quite :)

[demaparbat-hp]

The issue is that you’re always giving Katara the bare minimum of her culture. In your AUs, she can’t have both a betrothal necklace and hair loopies - she either has to have one or the other. I couldn’t even tell that it was Katara in your Lee and Kya AU. I thought it was Jin.

I think it’s wrong to assume that anyone who has an issue with your Fire Nation Katara AUs are automatically jealous and bitter Zutara antis. Even having read all the context, your portrayal of Katara in the Hunters AU along with the caption makes me uncomfortable as a woc.

I know it seems like I'm always putting Katara, in specific, in an uncomfortable position. Maybe I am.

I love to explore what situations like those—being forced to hide who you are, always a foreigner, holding on to a single remnant of your identity (and doesn't that sound like Zuko?)—do to a character. I don't always get it right, but I don't think there is a right way to do it.

These are extremely sensitive subjects, I know, and they are important to me, too.

It is never my intention to make anyone feel uncomfortable with what I think or how I decide to express it. I'm genuinely sorry if I made you feel that way.

I love these fictional cultures. I love these characters. And I don't want to "give Katara the bare minimum of her culture", but putting her in a position, within the AU, where she is forced to have only said bare minimum has consequences that I feel compelled to explore. Not only with Katara, but also with Zuko, with Aang, with Iroh, with Sokka... They are all different characters and react to these issues differently, and that's so interesting to think about.

The Southern Water Tribe culture is dying. Katara's culture is dying, and my stories' intention is not to finish the kill—I want to see how, despite every single obstacle thrown in its way, Katara's culture survives. And if I have to let her keep only her necklace to do so, then so be it.

On the other hand, I never thought of you as an anti, nor was it my intention to treat you, or any other anon, like one. You have been nothing but respectful so far (am I right to assume you're the one who asked about Katara's cultural identity in the first place?), and I would be a hypocrite to demand said respect without giving it in return.

Antis are rude. Antis are spiteful. Antis mention colonizers and woc and domestic abuse without caring or knowing about what they're talking about. Antis tear you down to feel better about themselves.

I refuse to treat anyone like an anti unless they give me reasons to do so.

You are not an anti. You are a person who has legitimate concerns about how I tackle sensitive issues in my AUs and artwork. You disagree with me, and you state your reasons for doing so, because these themes are important to you, personally.

I don't expect anyone to readily agree with me on anything. My opinion is my own, with all the conflict and trouble it may bring me. But it is mine, and I will defend it. However, I'm also self aware enough to recognize when I'm wrong, and when I'm treading on dangerous ground.

Someone once told me I'm as neutral as a wall. They meant it as an insult, but I guess they're right.

Judging everyone for the actions of a few is not really my thing. I have only come across one single anti so far (fortunately). I'm not about to get on the defensive and start attacking everyone. Unless they deserve it.

[evita-shelby]

12 Days of Smuffmas:

December 16th – fireplace and face fucking

(Tommy Shelby x Eva Smith)

cw: married sex, cold weather, dom/sub dynamics(m dom/f sub), rough blow job/face fucking, come swallowing

sequel to Sharing a drink and Sex Toys from last year

She hates cold weather.

Eva’s ideal temperature is warm enough to stop shivering in this godforsaken country.

After the fuse blew out the electricity in the entire house, Tommy is at least gallant enough to get the fireplaces going to warm up the house for her and the children who’d come home from school soon enough.

The witch is bundled in her fur trimmed robe and Tommy’s scarf ---which he only put on her to tease her about her inability to get used to the weather after a decade living here--- by the fire as Tommy joined her there.

“Reminds me of our first winter together.” He throws his arms around her as they reminisce about December 1920.

They had been married for six months, and still learning so much about each other. He learned she hated the cold and no matter how warm the fire was in their room; the witch would still shiver under the covers with him. Tommy was supposed to go downstairs to work on something or the other, but instead stayed in bed with her all morning.

She hadn’t been cold then, not with him to keep her warm like that. And just like then the witch won’t feel the bite of the cold tonight either.

“It does. Can you believe it’s been nine years since then?” To think it all began one December afternoon when Tommy Shelby gave into the curiosity of speaking to the witch who’d bewitched him before they ever even spoke a single word to each other.

“Gave you pink camellias so you’d know I wanted you. Had to go to a florist all the way in Coventry to find them.” The gangster looks at her lovingly as he admitted to something he’d never actually told her.

Almost a decade and still they learn a bit more of who they were before and are now.

“I had my suspicion that you knew they meant longing, took you long enough to admit it.” The dark-haired woman kissed him tenderly, struggling as she smiles having waited so long for him to admit to the flowers having been to woo her just as the hand painted cards had been.

There was no better matchmaker than Polly Gray. Same Polly who had gotten the cards done from the moment she saw Tommy and Eva share a look as the witch passed underneath his bedroom window, and the gangster forgot about everything else just to see her walk by.

Ten years since the first time since their eyes met that first time and both felt the thread of fate pulling them to each other in spite of the universe conspiring against them that entire year.

“And now that you’ve caught me, what will you do about it, eh?” he teases her, she’s still aching for him to finish what the toy started having been him the one to deny her that orgasm earlier by tripping over the fucking wire.

“I am owed an orgasm, Tommy.” She points out with a change in her tone, going from the loving wife to the demanding goddess. Despite the façade he has, Thomas Shelby quite enjoys letting his wife take him in hand and be the dominant one half the time.

“You short-circuited the entire house with that thing, love.” Tommy pulls back leaving her wanting, the hands holding her face keep her firmly where he wants telling her tonight he is the one in charge. “Gotta punish you for that.”

“You better will.” The witch stays on the ground as he rises to his feet and becomes Mr. Shelby who puts the fear of God into those who displease him.

He bids her to kneel for him and undo the trouser buttons to receive her punishment.

“Go on, love, open up.” This was not to be just a blow job, Tommy would be merciless, fuck her face until her eyes tear up and feels like she might suffocate on his cock.

He pulls her hair harshly and groans when Eva adjusts her position to take him all the way in. Tommy loves her wicked mouth, ever since that first morning together when she sucked him so good he woke up crying out her name.

Shelby is relentless as he sets a dangerous pace that almost has her reaching to squeeze his thigh thinking she won’t be able to handle it.

But she does, Eva services him as good as the best paid whore in England and grows impossibly wet at how good Tommy fucks her face. Moans around his cock and whines when her husband stops her from reaching between her legs to seek her own release.

The witch can taste his cum and, taking advantage of the empty family wing, Tommy cannot speak more than her name as his pleasure takes his ability to speak coherently as he gets closer and closer to his little death.

“Fuck, Evie!” the gangster turned politician rams his cock all the way in and forces her to swallow every drop of his seed as he comes with a crass shout.

The man could recite beautiful poetry and yet nothing sounded better in her ears like a spent Tommy catching his breath and regaining his ability to speak after they’ve fucked.

“If this is the only punishment I get for short-circuiting the house, what will I get if I do the same to 10 Downing Street?” Eva Shelby stays on her knees on the ground with Tommy’s hands still tangled in her dark hair as he laughs breathlessly.

“Who said it was over, woman?”

[jeanmoreaue]

Hello!

I’m the same anon that asked you to rank the AFTG characters’s attractiveness (based on the general public’s opinion) weeks ago

Now rank them as exy players based on the general public’s opinion😈 Like if you had to guess how much a pro team would be willing to pay to have them on their team judging by how good they are. Talk about them like how people talked about Mbappe Messi Griezmann.

omg hellooooo hope you’re doing well i love ranking things and i love you so here’s a top 10 list of the players we know enough of for me to rank lol:

1. Kevin Day - i think this one is pretty obvious. he was on the olympic team at like 18. even w the hand injury

2. Jean Moreau - okay personally i think that once Jean is healthy he could be as good as if not better than Kevin. it’s telling that the Ravens only lose once Jean leaves, not even when Kevin leaves. once he’s in therapy and healed from his injuries other teams won’t even know what hit them 😤 (but i could go on about how sports stars are a mix of talent + personality and Kevin is a little more appealing to teams than Jean since he’s so media trained)

3. Andrew Minyard - maybe idk enough about sports but the fact that he blocks as many goals as he does per game and can remember stats so well has got to be super appealing to pro teams. i mean maybe him putting in such low effort should make him lower on this list, but i still think he’d be in pretty high demand

4. Riko Moriyama - i’m genuinely not putting him here out of spite lmao Kevin lost his hand bc people were saying Riko was holding Kevin back + Neil was able to successfully shut out Riko in the Foxes v Ravens championship game by playing a position he only has a couple weeks experience in.. embarrassing for Riko truly

5. Jeremy Knox - tbh i think that talent-wise there are probably better players than Jeremy, like he’s really good but not like The Best. but i think they mention that the Trojans are in pretty high demand bc of their sportsmanship and i think Jeremy’s leadership/attitude do him a lot of favors (+ Kevin wouldn’t care about him unless he was really good lol). i’m undecided on whether Jeremy will go pro though (i think he’d make a good dude narrating games or coach etc)

6. Neil Josten - I think Neil has the capacity to be higher on this list and in time would be better than Riko and behind Andrew (i think Andrew’s better than Neil lmao <3). however i do think some of the Neil drama in the press might have him here. the PR of the pro team Neil joins is gonna have their work cut out for them

7. Zane Reacher - it’s unfortunate that he’s on this list, but Jean gave his stamp of approval that he should’ve been given a perfect court number so here he is

8. Laila Dermott - again Jean’s first words to her are “you’re very good”. Jean speaks and I listen fr 🙏

9. Grayson Johnson - 😔 unfortunately i think the implication was that he was next in line behind Zane. but he will soon be rotting in hell so he will never join a pro team!

10. Matt Boyd - keeps up with Kevin Day. won a championship. Matt is slay and a good candidate

[stray-kaz]

Take Off The Mask : a Kaz Brekker x f!reader Magpie verse

Summary: Magpie’s introduction. She keeps getting in ahead of the Crows on jewel heists, until one night they discover her wounded without knowing who she is or what she is doing there in that same mansion.

A/N: Thanks to @emmie44version for the Magpie idea. @writingmysanity​ I do still plan on writing from your wonderful Magpie idea also!

The corridors inside the mercher home were black as pitch and the air felt about as thick as the Crows made their way slowly through them, the eerie green glows from their bonelights the only illumination they carried. Inej edged out in front, her eyes the keenest from all her days spying in the dark. She was barely a metre from the door they wanted when she raised her empty hand, halting Kaz and Jesper in their tracks behind her.

“What is it?” Kaz muttered, frustrated by the interruption. “What’s the matter?”

Jesper peered over Inej’s shoulder, raising his bonelight high so he could see, then turned to look back at Kaz, his eyes wide and flickering a little in the glow.

“It’s a girl” he said, surprised. “There’s a girl on the floor.”

Kaz shouldered past him, rolling his eyes.

“Stop putting emphasis on ‘girl’, Jesper” he said. “You’ve seen one before.”

Behind Kaz’s back, Jesper stuck out his tongue before moving around Inej to crouch down next to the young woman lying crumpled against the shadowed wall. Maintaining his balance, he reached out and laid two fingers against the pulse under her jaw. He waited ten seconds, then nodded at the other two.

“She’s alive” he said. “Pulse is a bit iffy, though.”

Kaz took another step and winced as the sole of his shoe lifted away from the floor with a wet, sticky sound.

“That’s because she’s bleeding out” he remarked, as casually as if he were only saying the sky was blue. “Watch your step.”

Inej glanced at the girl and then up at Kaz. Her frown was determined, and he knew the look on her face.

“We have to take her with us” she said firmly. “She’ll likely die if we don’t, Kaz.”

Jesper glanced briefly at the girl’s face, then looked again, longer.

“Boss” he said quietly. “She’s wearing a mask.”

“Like a Komedie Brute mask?” Kaz asked.

Jesper shook his head.

“Nope. More like a masquerade mask.”

Sighing almost silently and crouching in spite of his painful right leg, Kaz peered more closely. Jesper was right. Holding their bonelights nearer to her face, they could all see the slick black mask set over the top half of her face, the nose a short bird’s beak, the top edges tapering high into sharp feather shapes.

Kaz straightened and glowered at Inej. She stood straight backed, uncowed.

“Inej, do you honestly expect me to save the life of the Magpie?” he demanded, shining his bonelight full on the mask so that she and Jesper could see the bright white mark slashed between the eyeholes. 

Jesper’s eyes widened, but Inej didn’t budge. She set her hands on her hips and nodded.

“Yes, Kaz” she answered promptly. “If you do not, Jes and I will do it.”

Jesper swallowed but said nothing, even as Kaz turned his unfathomable stare on him. Inej elbowed him in the ribs. Sighing heavily, Jesper handed his bonelight to her and then bent to gather the Magpie into his arms, wincing as his coat sleeve came into contact with the blood leaking from her side.

“Lovely night for a knife wound” he commented blithely.

“Lovely night to lose money” Kaz muttered in response, but he said nothing else as they returned to the front door and then to the night beyond it.

You woke in a strange room, a tight feeling wrapped around your ribs. You winced as you tried to move, levering slowly into a sitting position. The knife edge of what passed for early morning light in Ketterdam speared across the room, dimly illuminating the dark clad figure sitting in the chair beside the bed you were in. You recognised the cane in a panicked instant and hastily felt for your mask. You exhaled softly upon feeling it solidly still in place.

“Nobody touched it, Mags” Kaz Brekker, bastard of the Barrel, informed you.

In spite of your precarious state, you raised your eyebrows at that.

“‘Mags’?” you repeated, unable to keep the tiny grin from your lips.

He shrugged.

“I didn’t come up with it.”

“Nobody’s ever given my nickname a nickname before.”

A tilt of the head was all you got.

“What were you doing in that house?” he asked instead.

You shrugged back, ignoring the sore tug of the tight bandage wound snugly beneath your breasts.

“The same thing you were doing, I’d wager” you told him. “Thieving.”

A faint sneer curled across his mouth.

“You can’t be very good at it then” he said, tone blunt. “Good thieves don’t wind up with knife wounds as deep as the Fold. You nearly died in there, Magpie.”

You simply ignored this last and reacted to the barb instead.

“Good thieves also don’t wind up breaking their legs falling from windows, Dirtyhands.”

His eyes, blue as the sky above the smog, narrowed hard. 

“I’d heard of your prodigious abilities, Mags, but not your sharp tongue.”

You sent him a smile that confused his pulse.

“Shame on you then” you said, gentler than he expected. “I’ve heard of both of yours.”

You groaned a little as you eased yourself out of the bed and slipped your feet back into your leather boots. You shrugged into your hooded cloak, pulling up the hood to shade your face. Your smile under the beaked nose sent unwanted shivers down Kaz’s spine and goosebumps over his skin.

“Thanks for saving my life, Brekker” you said on your way to the door.

“It wasn’t me” he replied, too late.

You were already gone.

At the bottom of a steep flight of stairs stood a tall Zemeni man wearing a long bloodstained coat and curve brimmed hat, arms folded loosely. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of you.

“Evening, Mags” he said, failing to hide a smile.

You made your way slowly down the stairs until you stood in front of him, a Suli girl materialising beside him out of the shadows.

“So you’re the one with the nicknames” you mused, mimicking his head tilt. “What do they call you?”

Jesper grinned broadly.

“Handsome. Clever. Skilled.”

“Rash, reckless, egotistical” the girl interrupted. “And Jesper.”

“And you are?”

“Inej. I’m the reason you’re still breathing.”

You held out your hand, and after a brief hesitation, she shook it firmly.

“Magpie” you said, and grinned.

Jesper chuckled.

“Oh, we know that” he told you. “The mask gave it away.”

“As did the black wings tattooed over your shoulder blades” Inej added.

Jesper whistled long and low.

“Really? I must’ve missed those.”

Inej nudged him with her shoulder.

“That’s because seeing the half naked girl without her permission was prohibited” she reminded him, glancing at you.

“Thank you for that” you said, keeping your head high. “I think it’s high time I walked out of here. I’ve got some healing to do and a mercher to rob blind.”

There was the sound of a cane from above and then a cool, rasping voice.

“Before you go” Kaz said, standing tall at the head of the stairs. “Take off the mask.”

Jesper raised his eyebrows as you slowly pivoted on the second to bottom step and stared back up at Kaz. He met your stare with ease, leaning back on his heels, both hands curved around the head of his cane. He was unperturbed. He jerked his chin at you, along with the faintest twitch of an eyebrow, and you found your hands slowly moving upwards to your face, almost of their own accord.

You tugged your mask free and lowered it, allowing Kaz and only Kaz to glimpse your whole face, before sliding it back on.

“May I go now?” you asked with faux politeness.

Kaz nodded tersely, and the vision of your kohl smudged eyes remained with him even hours after you had slipped between Inej and Jesper and disappeared from the Slat.

Would he recognise you if he ever saw you on the street? Did he want to? They were not questions he was certain he could live with the answers to.

[just-horrible-things]

'Verse: Resistance AU: Chewtoy Timeline: Ari in captivity

Slow

When Riven claps Ari on the back, his hand comes away wet with fresh blood. “What's this?” he says, eyeing the red smear with distaste. “Blood.” “No shit. Who else is cutting you up?” “No one.” Irritation colours Ari’s tone. “I just reopened something. It's nothing.” “Show me.”

The instruction is only for show. He doesn't give her a chance to refuse or comply, he just yanks the back of her top free of her waistband and lifts it to expose her back. Ari bears it in sullen silence as his fingers prod and pry at the tender edges of the wounds. 

“You've been picking at this.” “I have not.” “Liar.” He swipes at the back of her head lazily enough that she ducks under it. “I have not,” she insists, “it's the middle of my back and I can barely fucking reach it, how would I be picking at it?”

He folds more of her shirt into his hand to better hold her still, and uses it to jerk her back into position for him to pry at her stripes. He presses down over the bleeding one briefly, as if to halt the steady seep of blood, only to immediately pry it open again with his nails. Ari hisses, and squirms perfunctorily.

“What is it? You finding lint in there or something?” Riven just hums, and clicks his tongue. “Is it infected? What are you looking at?” In spite of the pain she twists to try and look over her own shoulder.

“What’s wrong with you?” Riven demands. “What’s wrong with me.” Exhaustion saps the force from her incredulity. “What do you mean what’s wrong with me, that’s what I just–” “I mean, are you sick or something?” He runs his palm down her spine and she tries to step forwards again to get away from it. “You tell me,” she snaps. “What’s wrong with my back?”

She touches the stripes herself – not the one just beneath her shoulderblades that’s bleeding, but her lower back where she can reach. Her fingertips find the same scabs as usual, the same warm, tender skin between the cuts, no more swollen or painful than she expects.

She checks every day for infection. She takes antibiotics.

“If you didn’t want them to pull open you could give me less heavy lifting.” He tries to smack her again, catching just the very top of her head as she ducks it down. There’s not a lot of force in it. “I’m just saying. Sir.”

“These are a week old,” he says, finally releasing his grip on Ari’s shirt. “They shouldn’t still be bleeding.” Ari steps away from him promptly, tugging her shirt back down firmly to her hips. She doesn’t bother tucking it back in yet. He might not be done.

She can’t muster the defiance to glare at him, or the humility to plead with her eyes. She just looks at him, and he holds eye contact, clicking his tongue.

“You’re sick or something,” he decides. “Do you feel sick?” “Dunno, sir. I guess a bit.” She always feels like shit. She didn’t think she was sick though. She seems to get every cough and sniffle the prisoners bring in from the streets, but she doesn’t have a cold now. “Guess I’d better go easy on you for a bit, huh?” Ari drops her gaze. Does he want her to beg for it? Is it worth it? “Thanks, sir,” she mumbles reluctantly.

He checks her back every day for the next week. Trying to decide, no doubt, when she’s good for another beating. He doesn’t make her move any prisoners, or use the whip, but the daily examinations make her skin crawl. She’d almost rather have the extra pain than his hands all over her. 

But she minds her manners. She knows she needs the reprieve. If she doesn’t get some breaks sometimes, she’ll fall apart.

“Something’s wrong with you,” he keeps saying. Ari doesn’t feel like anything’s changed. Riven is what’s wrong with her. Is she supposed to be thriving under the abuse? “Are you sick?” “Are you eating right?” “You’re picking at it, aren’t you.” “If I find out you’re faking for attention…” “How the hell would I be faking?! I don’t even see what you’re looking at. I’m not the one saying I’m sick!” He slaps her, and she’s too slow to stop it turning her head and making her ears ring. “Sorry, sir,” she mumbles sullenly.

“You’re not healing. You’re not sick enough to not be healing.” She is healing. She checks her back every day. Especially with worrying about what sickness or infection Riven might be seeing in the cuts. It’s definitely healing.

If it’s slower than it should be, she can’t bring herself to care. What difference does it make?

After that he insists on putting ointment on her back, and bandages. They get soaked through when she showers, which means she’s uncomfortably damp overnight, but she doesn’t dare tamper with Riven’s work or he’ll accuse her of messing up her own wounds.

He gives her pills to take, too. A different antibiotic, which she accepts with indifference, and handfuls of multivitamins, which she complains about just for the sake of complaining.

The extra attention lasts about another week, plus a few intermittent check-ups after that as his interest wanes. Ari never figures out if she thinks he’s right about her healing too slowly or if he’s just being weird, or messing with her. It doesn’t seem important enough to dwell on.

Because her back does heal, slowly, and more’s the pity. She’s tempted to pick at it after all, as the cuts close and turn from red to pink. Riven just wants his canvas back.

[suchan3rd]

New Flame - FemReader x Leo Valdez Part 2

Please read part 1 before this one (:

TW: the F-words and a little of bullying but that about it (no smut, yet)

Anger. That's what you felt as you walked through the threshold of Aphrodite cabin. You sat on the bed that Piper said was now yours staring at the wall mentally throwing up at the excessive amount of pink decor.

"I'm so happy you're a child of Aphrodite" Piper said sitting down next to you on the bed. You managed a smile but you know that it looked forced. "What's wrong?" She asked, " you look upset."

"It's nothing really" you said, realizing that you would probably come off as petty and self centered.

"Tell me" Piper said, placing her hand on your arm.

"It's just," you sigh, "this is really important to me, and no one noticed. No one cared" And then, as if on cue, Drew and the rest of Aphrodite cabin walked in.

"Can you believe that he got a girl like that?" Drew said to the crowd behind her.

"Yeah, I don't know what he had to do to get someone that good looking," said a son of Aphrodite. Then Drew stopped and looked at Piper and me.

"What is she doing here?" Drew asked.

"Y/n's a daughter of Aphrodite, she just got claimed." Piper said standing up.

Drew laughed, "Piper you're truly turning into quite the jokester, but she can leave now."

"I'm not joking," Piper said, coming to your defense.

"And why do you hate me?" You say finally speaking up, "if you really don't want to share a cabin with me you could go sleep in the big house instead" Drew flushed bright red and clenched her fists. The rest of the campers that had come In with her filed into the cabin chuckling at their flustered cabin mate.

"Nice one" Piper said holding out her hand for a high five and you happily oblige.The next morning you wake up early, before the sun had come up. After trying, and failing, to fall back asleep you decide to take a walk around camp. You tug on your new bright orange cabin 10 shirt and quietly open the door to the crisp morning air. You breathe in, letting the perfume of pine and strawberries waft into your nose. You smile, you always loved the scent of strawberries. The morning silence was broken by crashes and bangs of metal on metal. And stepping into the clearing was none other than Leo Valdez. Great. He was carrying a large bronze wing in his arms. It looked heavy and you wondered how he could carry that without collapsing. Following him was the large metallic dragon Festus. He creaked Morse code at Leo.

"I know, I know" Leo was saying, " I'm sorry" you took a few steps forwards. You were planning on ignoring him, but your interest had peaked. What was "Mr. Popular" doing up so early? "What do you mean its my fault!" Leo demanded after a few moments of silence. You chuckled a bit at the Crack in his voice. Sometimes you forgot we were all still teenagers. Everyone at camp had to grow up fast. Leo turned slightly and the two of you locked eyes. "Uhh sorry, was I being loud."

"No, no need to apologize" for this, you think. "I just forgot to do something earlier" you say realizing the opportunity suddenly put in front of you.

"And what was that" he asks, the corner of his mouth quirked up, you force yourself to look away. You walk towards him and wind your arm, and throw it forward into his upper arm.

"Oww, fuck" he said dropping the wing and clutching his arm. "I thought you weren't going to punch me" he said looking up at her from his hunched over position, cradling his arm.

"Well now I do have a reason" you said crossing your arms.

"And what reason is that?" He asked with a bit of spite in his voice. You shook your head and turned away

"Asshole" you mutter under you breath. But once you're back in your cabin you can't help but picture the tug at his lips and the depth of his eyes.

[kikyoupdates]

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡'𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes. All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

prologue | story masterlist | next

When faced with the demands of the strongest sorcerer, your family can’t possibly protest. Well, not that they would have wanted to, anyway. They must be happy they don’t have to deal with you anymore. 

Out of sheer spite, your mother insisted you live with the rest of the clan and be forced into a life of cruelty and discrimination, but even she would never dare defy Gojo Satoru. Besides, her wish has already been fulfilled. You still won’t have a shot at a normal life. Even if you had been given the right to choose for yourself, now that you’ve met Satoru and discovered what world this is, there’s no way you would ever take the easy way out. 

For better or worse, you will be a jujutsu sorcerer. 

True to his word, Satoru was able to convince the Gojo Clan members to let you stay with them. You’re not sure exactly what he told them, but he may as well be their deity. Granted, he’s still only a kid, but in the grand scheme of things, bringing in a single girl to stay at the estate isn’t that big of a deal. It isn’t a difficult request to fulfill. Based on the way everyone turns up their noses at the sight of you, however, you can tell they aren’t too happy about it. 

“No one here will ever hurt you,” Satoru promises. He keeps glancing over at you every few seconds as he leads you through the grounds of the estate—which is massive, might you add. He’s a lot more attentive than you were expecting. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re a weak, helpless baby bird. Which you might as well be, in all fairness. 

You nod and smile brightly. “Okay. Thank you, Satoru. I’m really happy to be here.” 

“Are your injuries really painful?” he asks with a frown. “We don’t have anyone here that knows how to convert cursed energy into positive energy. But if I try asking, maybe they can reach out to another clan and bring someone over to heal you.” 

“You don’t need to go to the trouble. I’ll be okay.” 

Satoru watches as your grin somehow gets even wider, despite the fact that the bruised, swollen parts of your face must be aching uncontrollably. He’s not sure why you’re always smiling so much. It’s not like you ever had any reason to smile. Not with how horribly your family has always treated you. 

Then again, that’s exactly what drew him in. Your warm, sunny disposition, which is so starkly different from what he’s used to. Even if it doesn’t make much sense, a smile suits you. He likes seeing you smile. 

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect that smile of yours.

You’re given a nice place to stay. Satoru insisted that you live in the same building as him. It’s obvious that he wants to keep you nearby, in case anyone dares to try anything. Although you’re willing to bet that they won’t risk upsetting him. Not when he’s made it clear that you’re off-limits. 

It’s kind of crazy how much power and authority a literal child has. 

Gojo Satoru is in a class of his own. The details of his upbringing were never openly disclosed in the anime or manga, but you know for a fact that he didn’t have anyone he could truly call a close friend. Not until he met Suguru. 

You may be hopelessly weak for now, but if nothing else, you’ll make it so that he never has to feel lonely.

That night, you settle into your big, spacious room. You didn’t bring anything along with you for the move. It’s not like you had any personal belongings to speak of. Certainly nothing valuable, either. Your new room is a bit empty right now, save for a few decorations here and there, but you resolve to brighten it up and make it your own. All in due time. 

Before you tuck in for bed, Satoru stops by. 

“Hi,” he greets, poking his head into the room. “You don’t mind if I come in for a bit, right?” 

“Of course not,” you smile. “Go right ahead.” 

He nods and steps inside. There’s a clan member waiting by the doorway, and they flash you a brief glare before turning their back towards you and sliding the door shut. As expected, you’re far from popular. They probably think you’re just a hindrance, or maybe even a distraction. You’re not sure if they’ll ever change how they feel about you, but it’s definitely better than staying with your own family. 

Besides, as long as Satoru likes you, that’s more than enough. 

“Is this room okay?” he asks, kneeling down onto a cushion. “If you don’t like it, I can get you a different room instead.” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure. 

“Really? You can be honest. I can tell that you’re the kind of person to hide how you feel because you don’t want to upset anyone else. I already know your dad is the one who beat you, but it didn’t look like you were going to rat him out.” 

“I just didn’t want to stir up even more of a fuss. Besides, seeing other people get hurt won’t make me feel any better. I’m happy enough just to be here. Again, thank you, Satoru. For helping me.”

You sure like to thank him a lot. He’s not really used to being thanked—for anything, really. He’s being trained and brought up as the strongest sorcerer. It’s a given that he’s meant to save and protect those who are weaker than him. But you don’t take any of that for granted. You’re never shy about showing your appreciation. You want him to know how much every one of his gestures means to you. 

He likes that. He likes it a lot. 

“If it’s alright, I’m going to try and go to sleep now,” you say. “I’m pretty tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Oh. Did you want to spend the night in my room? Like a sleepover? Would you be allowed to do that?” 

Satoru blinks. The invitation catches him off guard, and he watches as you pat the spot beside you, on your futon, still smiling brightly. 

He turns away in a hurry, cheeks red. 

“I-It’s fine,” he stammers. “I should sleep in my own room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It seems like you are, so… I’ll leave now. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” you happily reply, but Satoru is already out the door, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. 

You giggle at the sight. He’s so adorable. You can’t even express how happy you are to be here. The future may look grim, but you’re determined to change it, no matter what it takes. 

That night, you dream of a world where Gojo Satoru is saved. 

“Satoru. Here, try this. I made yummy rice balls for us to eat. There’s a secret ingredient inside. Can you guess what it is?” 

Satoru reaches out and takes a rice ball into his hands, furrowing his brows as he looks it over. As far as rice balls go, it looks pretty normal. It’s actually rolled up really neatly. He’s surprised you made this yourself. You did a pretty good job. 

“Secret ingredient, huh?” Satoru shrugs. “Sure, I’ll try it.” 

He takes a big bite, and although he’s not really sure what he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t this. 

“Gross!” he exclaims, immediately spitting it out of his mouth and onto the ground. He then proceeds to stare at the inside of the rice ball he just bit into. “Did you… you actually put chocolate inside of this? Disgusting! What’s wrong with you?!”

You frown. “What, you mean you don’t like it? I actually think it’s pretty good. I was sure this combination would be a hit.” 

Satoru watches, horrified, as you bite into your own rice ball, smiling all the while. There might actually be something wrong with you after all. He’s starting to realize that you’re slightly unhinged. 

“Remind me not to eat anything you make ever again,” he shudders. 

“I’ll pick something better next time, don’t worry. Oh! How about this? What do you think of rice balls stuffed with ice cream—” 

“No.”

This is what most of your days look like. It’s been just over a week since you arrived at the Gojo estate. Your injuries have almost fully healed. Also, you’re no longer required to do chores at virtually every waking moment, so whenever Satoru isn’t busy with training, you spend all of your time together.

Satoru has to do a lot of different things. It’s not just honing his jujutsu abilities, day in and day out. He isn’t allowed to slack off when it comes to academics, either. It’s clear that his family intends for him to be perfect in any way possible. They refuse to let him settle for anything other than the best. 

It’s a lot of pressure for a kid. Satoru makes it look easy, but nevertheless, you feel sorry for him. Which is why you always try to make sure that he’s having fun when he’s with you. You want him to have some semblance of a childhood, at the very least. 

Of course, you still can’t grant him the freedom you wish he had. It’s always inevitable that someone gets in the middle of your time together. 

“Master Satoru. It’s time for you to work on your studies.” 

One of his usual attendants comes to pick him up. Satoru clicks his tongue in visible annoyance, but as always, he doesn’t protest. He has a strong sense of duty and purpose. A determination to uphold his responsibilities as the strongest. 

Before he leaves, though, he turns back towards you. 

“I want [Name] to come with me today,” he says. “She can at least sit in the room while I’m doing my work, right?”

The attendant blinks. He’s bewildered, of course, and you’re not sure what else to do but bat your eyes at him with a bright, hopeful expression. You may be weak, but you’d like to think that you’re a pretty cute kid. It’s about time someone developed a soft spot for you. 

“She’ll distract you,” the attendant refuses. He narrows his eyes at you in frustration, so apparently, you’re not that cute.

Satoru pauses for a moment, then grabs you by the hand and pulls you close. 

“I want her there,” he insists, interlocking his fingers with yours. “She’s coming. I’ve already decided.” 

“Master Satoru, you can’t—” 

Too late. It seems like he’s in an awfully stubborn mood today, so for better or worse, you find yourself in the same room as him while he has his lesson. 

It’s a bit awkward. Satoru told you to sit right next to him the whole time, and although he doesn’t allow himself to get distracted, it still feels weird to be sitting in on a private lesson. While the teacher glares at you the whole time, no less. 

“Do you know what the answer to this question is?” the teacher asks, pointing to one of the questions in the textbook Satoru is learning from. 

Satoru chews on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “It’s… B. The answer is B.” 

“Sorry. I’m afraid that’s not correct,” the teacher says. She scribbles something down onto a piece of paper. “It’s alright. That was an exceptionally advanced question, so I can’t blame you for—” 

“It’s C.” 

To be honest, you didn’t mean to voice your thoughts aloud. It was a reflexive, absentminded remark. The answer was just so obvious that you ended up blurting it out. 

But now, both Satoru and the teacher are staring at you in bewilderment.

Satoru turns towards the teacher with a frown. “Is she right?” 

“...yes,” the teacher replies, looking somewhat reluctant to do so. “But it was a multiple choice question, so I’m sure it was just luck. Let’s move on to—” 

“[Name], what about the next one?” Satoru asks, pointing towards another spot on the page. “Try answering this one, too.” 

So, you do. You don’t just answer that question, but the next one, and the next one after it, and the next one after that, and so on and so forth. The teacher looks both amazed and horrified. Even Satoru can’t seem to hide how taken aback he is. They’re both staring at you like you’ve been hiding this incredible intelligence all along, when really, you’re kind of cheating. You died when you were sixteen years old. Satoru is incredibly smart for his age, but even taking that into account, your years of lived experience give you an obvious advantage. 

Still, you have to admit, it feels kind of nice. Finally being acknowledged for something, that is. 

Satoru’s lesson ends, and you can see the teacher whispering to the other Gojo Clan members about what just happened. Their eyes all widen in shock as they glance your way. They believe you’re ‘gifted’ all of a sudden, and while it doesn’t mean much for a jujutsu sorcerer, at least they might think a bit more highly of you from now on. Maybe they’ll finally approve of you being by Satoru’s side. 

“I didn’t know you were smart,” Satoru admits. “To be honest, up until now, I thought you were kind of dumb.”

“...oh.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” 

“Is there a good way to be dumb?” 

“I just meant that you seemed a bit dumb, because of how straightforward and simple you are. And you’re nice to everyone, no matter how badly they treat you. You’re easy to take advantage of, so… yeah. I thought you were dumb. Sorry.” 

Satoru chuckles sheepishly. You snort in response, amused by his uncharacteristic shyness. You suppose it doesn’t really matter whether people think you’re smart or not. From the moment you were born, it was clear that you would have to defy everyone’s expectations. You’re going to have to work harder than most in order to prove yourself. In order to have a chance at saving people.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Satoru remarks. 

“What thing?” 

“It’s a thing you do sometimes. You drift off, and even though you’re usually smiling all the time, your face will get all serious for a few moments.” 

“Oh. I guess I have a habit of getting lost in my thoughts. Sorry. I just really want to get stronger. I end up thinking about it a lot.” 

Satoru doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s strange that you’re so fixated on improving yourself. He’s the strongest, so of course, there’s a heavy burden upon his shoulders. He has to be the best. It’s both his birthright and his destiny. There’s simply no way around it. 

But as for you…

Come to think of it, do you actually need to become stronger? 

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect you. Even if he hasn’t known you for very long yet, he likes having you around. There’s no reason why he can’t look after you. It’d be nice if you got stronger too, he supposes, but it’s not like you’d ever be stronger than him. With him by your side, your future is already assured. 

Which is why it’s weird. There’s this urgency and desperation he senses from you, almost constantly. It’s not like your family is around anymore. And even if they ever tried to take you back, he wouldn’t let that happen. 

And yet, you’re still determined to become stronger. It’s almost like there’s something you’re not telling him. Something more than just a simple desire to prove yourself. 

…then again, maybe he’s reading into things too much. 

Word travels fast, and soon, pretty much everyone in the clan has discovered that you possess intellect far beyond what they imagined (not really, but whatever, you’ll take it). Satoru keeps insisting that you be allowed to sit in on his lessons from time to time. They reluctantly allow it, and sometimes, you even help answer some of the questions he has—instead of the teacher whose literal job it is to do so. She doesn’t seem to like you very much, unfortunately.

One night, as you’re preparing to go to bed, Satoru stops by your room again. 

He does this a lot. He usually makes a point of saying goodnight to you before he goes to sleep. It’s adorable, and it warms your heart to see that he’s starting to care for you so much. Sometimes, you still can’t believe this is the life you’re living. 

You were expecting him to poke his head into the room before exchanging a few words, as usual, but this time, he turns up with a futon of his own. 

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” he declares. 

You blink. “Oh. You got permission?” 

“Yes. They whined about it a lot, but I said I didn’t care. It’s not even a big deal. You said before we could have a sleepover, right? Unless… you changed your mind.” 

He averts his gaze, looking a bit bashful. Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll refuse. Although you’re not sure who in their right mind would turn away this adorable little sweetheart. 

“I definitely didn’t change my mind,” you grin. “I’m always happy to have a sleepover with you. We can stay up all night telling each other scary stories! I know a few really good ones.”

“Why would I be scared of some stupid stories?” Satoru brushes off. “I’ve already exorcized all kinds of cursed spirits. And none of those were scary, either. I’m too strong to have anything to be scared of.” 

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t heard them yet. You act tough now, but I bet you’ll be crying later.” 

Satoru rolls his eyes as he lays his futon down next to yours. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but once he’s lying down, facing you, and when he realizes just how close the two of you are… he’s embarrassed to admit that his heart starts beating a bit faster.

“If this is weird, I can leave,” he mumbles. 

“It’s not weird at all. Like I said, I’m happy you’re here. Ah. You’re not just trying to come up with excuses so you don’t have to hear my scary stories, right? I see right through you, Satoru. You’re not sneaky.” 

Satoru laughs. It’s a pleasant, melodic sound, and you hope you’ll be able to hear it more often from now on. 

Before you can start telling your stories—you really do have some good ones you’re excited to share—Satoru scoots in a bit closer, then gently places his hand down on top of yours. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and since you’re not sure what he’s referring to, you just frown. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re not strong, because I’m strong enough for the both of us. Before, I said I’d be your friend if you showed me how you planned on getting stronger, but… it’s fine. You don’t need to do that anymore. I’ll still be your friend. I don’t care if you’re weak or not. So, don’t worry about what anyone else says. I’ll stay with you no matter what.” 

Through the dark of night, you can’t tell, but he’s blushing profusely right now. He feels like he just said something really cheesy. But he’s not going to take it back. He doesn’t regret it. He means it wholeheartedly. 

You, his first ever friend, are irreplaceable. 

More time passes, and as much as it pains you to admit, you still haven’t gotten any stronger. 

While Satoru is busy training, you do the same. You try your absolute hardest to make some kind of progress, and yet, the changes are minimal—if any. It’s as if your body simply isn’t cut out for this, which is a bitter irony. To think that you’ve been reincarnated into a world where you have the potential to do a lot of good and help a lot of people, but your weakness is holding you back. 

The knowledge you have is invaluable. You know that. Even if you’re not all-powerful, you still have the ability to make a difference. But this is Jujutsu Kaisen. A world in which death isn’t just possible; it’s more common than surviving. If you don’t have any way of protecting yourself and others, who’s to say you’ll even last long enough to save everyone? 

It hurts. You hate being weak. You hate that your efforts yield no results. Unlike in the real world, where people can usually make up for talent or skill through sheer dedication and hard work, here, your fate may as well be sealed. 

“Not like that,” Satoru says, shaking his head. “Do it like this.” 

He proceeds to give you yet another up close demonstration of his cursed energy at work. He flattens several pop cans in one fell swoop, while you’ve been struggling to do the same to a single one of them. 

You exhale tiredly. “Stop saying it like it’s second nature. You have better control of your cursed energy than anyone else. I can’t possibly compare.” 

“Well, I don’t really know how else to explain it,” he shrugs. 

Your shoulders slump. A while ago, you had your sixth birthday. Which means it’s been slightly more than a year since you’ve gone to live with the Gojo Clan. A whole year, and still, you’re as weak as ever. You know it’s still too early to give up, but it’s hard not to feel discouraged when you have Satoru by your side, and every day, you’re reminded of the fact that you’ll be helpless to change his fate if this continues. 

“You’re getting upset again. Even though I keep telling you that it’s okay if you don’t get stronger. You have me. You won’t ever need to be scared.” 

Satoru smiles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a loose hug. During your time together, he’s become a lot more cheerful and expressive, which is of course due to your influence. It makes you happy to see, and you’re overjoyed that he cares about you to this extent. If you didn’t know what the future holds in store, you would’ve been more than willing to sit back and let him protect you.

He doesn’t realize that he’s destined for an early death. He’s so sure of himself, so confident in his strength, that he doesn’t even consider it to be a possibility. Which is why you do need to become stronger. Even if he doesn’t understand why. 

You hug him back for a few moments, then pull away—much to Satoru’s disappointment. 

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To train some more. I already talked to one of the clan members earlier. They agreed to help teach me. Reluctantly, but still.” 

“But we’re supposed to be having a lesson together soon,” he says, making a point to pout at you. 

You smile weakly. “Sorry. I’ll be there next time. I just… can’t afford to slack off. If I keep working hard, then eventually, something will give.” 

Of course, as you expected, your supervised training session doesn’t go much better. You can see the clan member repeatedly rolling their eyes at your lack of talent. The only reason they’re helping you at all is because Satoru insisted they honor your requests. 

Once again, you’re left feeling hopeless and deflated. You wonder if you’ll ever see any improvement, or if you truly are beyond salvation. Destined to be so weak that you can’t protect a single person. 

Not even your dearest friend. 

You stare down at your feet, gaze glassy, and for a moment, it feels like you’re about to cry. Isn’t there anything you can do? Anything at all? Some kind of trick that will allow even a weakling like you to have a fighting chance?

Some kind of… trick? 

All of a sudden, your eyes widen. 

Since meeting you, Satoru’s life has become a lot more fun.

He enjoys having you here. He never thought it would make that big of a difference, being able to spend time with a kid his own age. And not just any kid, but someone who’s taught him how to smile, laugh, and appreciate simple moments he used to take for granted before. He’s glad he made the decision to visit you again that fateful day. If he hadn’t done that, every day would still be just as monotonous and boring. Every day would be unbearably predictable. 

Satoru can never predict what you’re about to do next. It’s strange, because at first glance, you seem like a simpleton, but you always manage to find new ways to surprise him. 

Like right now, for instance. 

“[Name],” Satoru calls out. As always, he knows exactly where to find you. He can tell everyone’s cursed energy apart, and although yours is scarce, it easily stands out the most to him. It’s comforting and familiar. He’s fully committed it to memory by now, and if he wanted to, he could write a whole essay describing it. 

It doesn’t take long for Satoru to find you. For some reason, you’re standing in place and staring off into the distance with a vacant expression. You’re also holding something in your hand. Is that… a knife? 

“[Name],” Satoru repeats. He frowns as he steps closer to you. “What are you doing? What’s the knife for?”

You don’t respond at first, but then you turn towards him, in a rigid, unsettling manner. Your eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them before. Even your lips are slightly parted, as if something has you in awe.

“I understand now,” you mumble breathlessly. 

Whatever it is that you understand, Satoru definitely doesn’t. He’s unbelievably confused. And seriously, what’s with the knife? It’s starting to freak him out. 

Satoru knits his brows together. “What are you talking about? You’re being weird. Also, put the knife down before you end up hurting yourself.” 

“Okay. But first, let me show you something.”

You take a hurried step backwards. Satoru still doesn’t understand what’s going on. You’re never this cryptic. It’s throwing him off, and for some reason, he’s getting a bad feeling about all this. 

That bad feeling turns out to be right, because moments later, he watches as you drag the sharp end of the knife across your skin.

“Don’t—!”

Satoru cries out, but it’s already too late. There’s blood everywhere. It’s a deep gash. A serious injury. You’re wincing, looking lightheaded from the pain, as if you’re about to pass out any second. Satoru instinctively knows he has to get help, and yet, he’s too shocked to move. This has never happened before. He’s never watched someone get hurt in front of his eyes—someone he cares deeply about—and been helpless to do anything about it. He’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. A special, chosen existence. But right now, all of that feels pointless, because you’re in pain, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. 

“It’s okay,” you breathe out. “Just… watch.”

Satoru is about to cry out again, more desperately this time, but suddenly, he sees it. 

Your body is… healing?

It’s true. The gash on your arm, the one you just inflicted with the knife, has already fully healed. You pause for a moment, then wipe the blood off your skin, so that he can see more clearly. Sure enough, it’s gone. There’s no trace of the wound that was there a second ago. Almost as if what happened just now was a figment of his imagination.

“Reverse cursed technique,” Satoru mumbles in disbelief. “You… when did you learn how to do this? You never mentioned it before. And I didn’t notice any changes in the flow of your cursed energy, either.”

“I learned it just now.” 

“What?” 

“A few minutes ago. Before you came to find me. All of a sudden, I just knew how to do it. The knowledge appeared in my mind.” 

Satoru frowns. Something isn’t adding up. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is a very complex technique. Few individuals are actually able to pull it off. Even he doesn’t know how to heal himself. But such an ability was able to manifest in you? He supposes it’s not impossible, but given the nature of your cursed energy, and your overall lack of skill… it seems unlikely.

“I wanted to become stronger.” You pause for a moment, then shake your head. “Sorry. I needed to become stronger. So, I did. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but just now, I was able to confirm it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I think you already suspect it. That I didn’t obtain this ability naturally. I was frustrated that nothing was working, no matter what I did. I just couldn’t seem to improve, regardless of how hard I trained. So, I… took a gamble. I made a Binding Vow.” 

Satoru blinks. “A self-imposed vow?” 

You nod enthusiastically, but it still doesn’t make any sense. Would someone really gain the ability to use positive energy through a simple vow like that? It’s the first Satoru’s ever heard of it. And since healing is a rare, valuable power, most people would love to get their hands on it. If it was that easy, surely everyone would opt to do it, one way or another.

Once again, Satoru has a bad feeling about this. 

“I already knew that by imposing restrictions on yourself, through a Binding Vow, it’s possible to increase your cursed energy and empower your technique,” you say. “I wasn’t sure if it would work for me. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is complicated, after all. I knew I had to make it a pretty serious restriction, in order to have any chance of succeeding. Even then, it still might not have worked.”

You pause yet again, while Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat, and the next second, you’re smiling brightly, like always. 

As you utter the most horrifying words Satoru has ever heard. 

“In exchange for gaining the ability to use reverse cursed technique, I’m never allowed to use my cursed energy to harm anyone else, whether it’s a human or a cursed spirit. And if by some chance I do… I’ll die. Instantly.”

Satoru’s jaw drops open.

“...what?!” 

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[yunoteru4ever]

Musing about the forbidden appeal of stalkers and how Mirai Nikki's framework benefits the overall love story

Something I think is unspoken about the appeal of... oh, let's politely say off-kilter *cough* love stories such as the one at the center of Future Diary is that, for many people, the idea of having a stalker can sound... appealing? Romantic, even?

Let me explain what I mean in more detail: If you've never truly experienced the horror/stress of having a stalker? The idea of someone choosing YOU to fixate upon as the object of their unyielding love/lust can actually sound pretty nice, in concept. Hell — even moreso if you've never had anyone openly and proudly declare their love for you. The notion of having a stalker can feel VALIDATING, even! The less luck you have in love, the more that discovering you have your own stalker can sound like a weird, wonderful fantasy. Or, shit... even if you're doing just fine in the dating/romance department, imagining someone harboring an undying obsession/devotion can still feel like a massive ego boost.

My point is: When dealing with a stalker is only a distant, abstract and purely theoretical concept, the "horror" side of it can easily fade into the far background. So yeah, I think there's a certain Forbidden Appeal to stalker-romances for many, despite the inherent darkness and danger that could/should logically come with such a thing. (Especially in RL, of course.)

In that context, the way Mirai Nikki's central love story is presented and framed is especially genius. And I say that for two primary reasons:

First reason — Mirai Nikki taps into that Forbidden Appeal partly by giving Yuno an increasingly sympathetic portrayal, but importantly also by placing this unhinged stalker character into a framework where her biggest downsides become comprehensible or even beneficial. Sure, Yuno seems to have a taste for violence and blood, but she's trapped in a goddamn Killing Game where both her own life and the fate of the fucking world is at stake. Furthermore, we later learn there's a ticking clock element that demands the "game" crown a victor ASAP. Against this background, Yuno's violence and darkness becomes, at worst, a bit of evil that's also handily beneficial. And at best? Her behavior becomes totally understandable due to contextual morality. (Besides, it also provides us with a reason to exploit yet another off-kilter romantic concept that can hold a dark appeal for some: the "willing to kill for you"-level love.)

Second reason — Yet in spite of what I just said, Future Diary doesn't shy away (...much*) from the threat inherent to having someone develop an unhealthy obsession with another. Yuno isn't some harmlessly funny sitcom stalker, nor is she the kind of stalker who the narrative fails to ever acknowledge as such in order preserve the "purity" of the central relationship's appeal. Yuki recognizes her as an obsessive stalker from the very beginning! There's no denying that she's violent and clearly dangerous! The fact that she's mentally unstable and therefore seems unpredictable is absolutely core to her character! The story is utterly up-front about these things... and it never lets us forget that, for all that we may feel bad for her or understand her actions, she's still a threat/potential threat to EVERYBODY around her.

Long after it's clear that the bizarre situation makes Yuno's worst traits much more positive, there are still MANY instances when the narrative reminds us of just how much of an unpredictable threat she is to even her supposed allies.

However...

*...I added that "(...much*)" caveat because there are some rare exceptions . A signature aspect of every Sakae Esuno story to date is the way he delights in swerving from the primary horror/suspense/action focus over to sudden bursts of comedy. For that reason, Mirai Nikki is definitely guilty of playing Yuno's stalking as mere 'wacky hijinx' on select occasions — for better or worse. For me, these sudden breaks in the tension are quirky and delightful, but I can understand if individual mileage varies.

All of this is really just me thinking out loud about why the portrayal of such a clearly "problematic" relationship works so well for me and many others. It isn't afraid to confront the inherent problems, but it also provides a (totally unrealistic) framework in which the problems are more tolerable, maybe even acceptable. It makes the stalker sympathetic via the gradual reveal of her backstory, but it also never lets us forget that's she's legit dangerous. And it does all of this while showing us a twisted relationship that might already be oddly appealing to some members of the audience.

Besides, look — Esuno knows this is pretty "out there" stuff. He was once asked if he'd want to date someone like Yuno himself. In that interview, he laughed before replying, "It's probably best we keep that kind of relationship in the realm of fiction." So it's not like he's legitimately recommending that anyone go out and date a crazed stalker. That's part of why the framework has to be SO extreme and SO fantastical for it work so well, IMO.

[hererafjastori]

I don‘t know if it‘s fanon or canon, that some of Hunter‘s scars where inflicted by Belos when he was in his cursed form, but I can‘t get this scene out of my head.

There is this specific kind of fanfic that I love, where Hunter gets adopted into the owl house and slowly unlearns all the toxic nonsense Belos taught him. He is allowed to be loud. He doesn‘t have to earn his bed, his meal, medical supplies, the roof over his head, etc. He is allowed to be loud. He is allowed to be childish. He is allowed to take a break. He is allowed to make mistakes. He is allowed to talk back to, and disagree with authority figures. Love and care (especially from a guardian to their child) should be unconditional. Getting physically punished is NEVER an appropriate reaction, he deserved better, and Eda would never do that, no matter what he does. And so on.

But I want to focus on the curse thing. Because in Belos has a cursed form. And the worst physical scars Hunter has, were inflicted upon him by Belos when he was in this state. And Hunter thinks that Belos isn‘t at fault for those things because he wasn‘t in control. That it was his own fault for triggering his uncle in some way or another. That he deserved those injuries because he set Belos off in the first place.

Eda also has a curse she doesn‘t have total control over that makes her more volatile. And we know, that even after turning into the harpy, she still needs those elixirs to stay in control (see ftf). There are infinite ways this can play out, but I can think of these:

1. Eda turns into a harpy and Hunter inacts plans to put himself in harms way to let Luz escape without injury. (physically shielding her; playing distraction;…)

2. Eda gets stressed/scared/starteled/frustrated/… and starts growing feathers. Hunter immediately panics, backpedals, apologises, maybe he has a panic attack.

3. Luz gets injured somehow. Maybe elixirs have run low and they couldn‘t get a hold of Morton in time. Maybe Eda grew claws at an inopportune time. Maybe there was a trial and error phase before she was able to properly judge the Harpy‘s strength.

4. Luz was injured by the owl beast in the days leading up to the season 1 finale, where Eda transforming seems to have been a regular occurence. She could have been attacked. She could have stood too close during a transformation. She could have held a shiny in her hand and get badly scratched whem the beast grabbed it. No matter what happened, she and Hunter start comparing scars inflicted on them by their guardians, and tell wildly different stories.

No matter how they got there I want to see Hunter react to Eda‘s reaction. She is in a similar position as Belos. She could use the same excuses: ”I couldn‘t control myself, why didn‘t you move out of the crossfire, or better yet, never let it get to this point in the first place, this is your fault”. She doesn‘t. If there are injuries, she helps patch them up. She gives them space if they need it. She apologizes. She takes accountability. She does everything in her power to keep then out of harms way. She is open and clear about what sets her off, what can be done to avoid that, what she does to keep the curse at bay, what are signs of an oncoming transformation and what they/ he can do in case she does transform/ lose control. She offers to help him move in with Darius/ the Parks/ Gwendoly/ Dell/ anyone who can protect him, and won‘t sell him out to Belos he would feel comfortable with, if he isn‘t willing to bear the risks of living with her. She doesn‘t demand forgiveness for whatever harm she caused, or for him to trust her in spite of that.

And Hunter is confronted with the fact that Belos could have - no, should have done the same, and has no excuse for doing what he did to him.

___________

tldr: Eda would be the second parental figure of Hunter, that has a curse liable to cause anyone in her vincinity harm, and I want to see Hunter confronted with that and the way she handles such a situation.