#true siblings rage was boiling in his blood

[shy-cryptic]

yk as much as the blue and reds are now in noncanon limbo. nothing taking Gene and Simmons being secretly half brothers from me

[gracexthoughts]

the strong

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!oc

warnings; slight canon divergence, cussing, canon typical incest, fighting, implied smut at the end (i cannot actually write smut to save my life sorry), s1ep8 spoilers ig summary; after vaemond's petition, aegon’s jesting, and aemond’s taunts, jacaerys is furious and seeks solace and advice from his step-sister and betrothed. inspired by tyrion telling jon to wear his bastardy “like armor so it can never be used to hurt'' him in the first ep of GOT (I’ve been rewatching to feed the brainrot) a/n; daenera is daemon’s eldest daughter from his first marriage, in my head daemon didn’t kill rhea and she died in childbirth just before rhaenyra’s wedding so daeny is about half a year older than jace but you can use your imagination as it doesn’t really matter.

“I dare you to say that again!” Jacaerys growls from the dancefloor. Daenera turns in her seat to see Jacaerys with his fists clenched, his eyes dark and glaring daggers at his uncle. The feast had been amicable considering the events of the day, but while the adults’ words of peace ring honest between them, animosity between the young princes, princess and ladies nears its boiling point. Prince Aegon has spent most of the evening cooing foul and crude jests to Jacaerys and Daenera about their soon approaching wedding. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Prince Aemond has added his own taunt to the pile: a thinly veiled comment on the Velaryon brothers' true parentage. 

“Why? Twas only a compliment,” Aemond defends, lowering his goblet to face Jacaerys, stepping towards him as he does. “Do you not think yourself Strong?” Jacaerys answers by bringing his fist up to Aemond’s jaw, the sound resonating through the hall. Lucerys leaps up from his seat, Vaemond’s slanders still heavy in his ears, but Aegon intercepts him, slamming him down on the table and sending food and silverware clattering from the impact. Daenera, ever protective of her siblings, leaps from her seat and wraps her arms around the eldest prince’s neck, putting all her weight against him to remove his hands from Lucerys. He grapples with her for a moment before she is ripped off by a Kingsguard. Knights separate Aegon from Luceryrs, Jacaerys from Aemond, and Rhaena pushes Baela back from leaping into the fray as well.

The Queen pulls her second son back, muttering angrily to him but he pulls away from her as Rhaenyra moves towards her sons and Daemon to his daughters. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family. Though it seems my nephews aren’t so proud of theirs!” Aemond continues to taunt, leveling a snide one-eyed glare at Jace. Jacaerys wriggles out of the guard’s grip and steps menacingly towards Aemond. 

“Wait, wait,” Daemon says, holding a finger up and stopping Jacaerys in his tracks, forcing him back to stand next to Daenera. 

“Go to your quarters, all of you. Go now!” Rhaenyra commands sternly, her eyes holding a warning as she stares down her eldest son and motions for the rest of her children, by blood and by marriage, to leave. 

“Come on,” Rhaena says softly, pulling her sisters along with her and out of the hall by their hands. Daenera relents with a sigh but not before squeezing Jacaerys’ and flashing him a sympathetic smile. 

“Are you alright, Daeny?” Baela asks as they make their way to their rooms.

“Fine, worried about the boys,” she mutters in reply.

“I’m sure Jace and Luke are alright, sister,” Rhaena says softly, wrapping her hand around Daeny and Baela’s arms. Daenera nods agreeing but still can’t shake the worry in her chest.

Near an hour later, a knock sounds on the door to Daenera’s chambers, pulling her from the depths of the book in her hands. “Come in!” she calls expecting one of her maids and, not bothering to stand from her comfortable position on the settee in front of the fire, turns to see who enters. “Jace,” the lady says softly as her betrothed steps into her chambers, his eyes still dark with rage. 

The pair have been betrothed for nearly ten years, the announcement made soon after their parents married, and as they grew up together they have grown a deep love for each other: a bond of unconditional trust and adoration between the future King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Jacaerys comes to crouch in front of her, placing his hands on her knees and caressing the joint over the silk of her night gown. His tunic is gone, leaving him in just his white undershirt and trousers, Daenera’s eyes trail to the bit of collarbone she can from her vantage point. 

“Are you alright? Did Aegon hurt you?” the prince asks, searching her deep purple eyes that snap back to his face at his words. 

“I’m fine, Jace. If I can match you in a spar, I can handle myself against that drunken lecher,” she chuckles slightly, setting her book aside and reaching up to brush a stray curl away from his brow. “Are you alright?” She asks, reaching for his hand with its already darkening skin. She’d let her hair down to hang around her shoulders and even clouded by anger as his mind is, Jacaerys notices her etherealness. She has always been a sharp and unsettling kind of beauty, her eyes seeming to have the ability to gaze upon your soul, but Jacaerys relishes her softer side. The side she so rarely shows others.

“Wish I’d gotten more blows in,” he grumbles, standing and pacing in front of the hearth, his shoulders tight and face scrunched in anger. 

“Maybe you’ll have a chance before we return to Dragonstone,” she offers with a smirk. “The cunts deserve it, the pair of them.” 

“Will I never be free of this? Of these slanders that are whispered in my wake? Will they sneer at me when I sit on the throne? Ignore my rulings and snicker-” 

“Jace, breathe,” Daenera pleads, concerned with the rising panic she sees in his eyes. 

“I cannot, Daeny!” the prince exclaims, “How am I meant to be a King, a leader, when I am not respected?” 

“Darling, we are barely eight and ten, you are second in line at present. Respect will come with time. Once your mother is Queen the people will become familiar with you, with your grace, your kindness, your justness,” she says, placatingly, reaching out for his hand, forcing him to stop his pacing and look at her. “They will forget the slanders the Hightowers murmur because you will be a good and just King. Besides, it's your mother’s blood that makes you royal, not your father’s.” 

“And yet there will always be those who call me a Strong. The King cannot take every single one of their tongues,” he says with a heavy sigh, running a ringed hand through his hair in distress. Daenera considers this for a moment, knowing it is true enough, and Jacaerys sighs, turning to face the hearth, planting his hands on the stone and gazing down into the flames. 

“So make it a compliment,” the lady says after a long moment, leaning back on her arm on the settee, her deep amethyst eyes watching the prince. 

“Make the doubt of my paternity a compliment?” Jacaerys scoffs, turning to her. “How in the Seven Hells-” 

“If they shall call you ‘Strong’ no matter what, the more you rage against it the more power the slight has. The only way to take away its power is to show it cannot be used to hurt or diminish you. Take it as your moniker and wear it like armor so all know tis not a weapon they can wield against you.” 

“Jacaerys the Strong?” he asks slowly, the wheels turning behind his eyes, unable to deny the intelligence of her council. He sits down slowly next to Daenera, his eyes fixed on a point on the rug.

“King Jacaerys the Strong, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” she purrs, leaning towards the prince, a smirk on her lips. She watches as a firelight dances in his eyes, his pupils dilating at her proximity. 

“Hm, not bad,” he smiles, and leans down, connecting his brow with Daeny’s, running a finger calloused from years of practice with a blade across her jaw. 

“What is it?” Daenera asks softly after a moment, pulling away to look into Jace’s eyes, sensing he is still feeling troubled. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, not meeting her eyes. 

“Jacaerys,” she chides, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. 

“Just… fucking Aegon… I fear he is right in his jests. I have no idea how to please you as you deserve,” Jacaerys confesses shyly, pulling his face from Daeny’s hands as heat creeps into his face. 

Daeny cannot help the laugh that escapes her lips, of all the troublesome worries that the day has brought, her sweet betrothed worries of her pleasure. Sex is not something the pair have discussed in length yet, even though their wedding is a little more than a moon away. The pair tend to flit around such topics, even when they steal secret kisses in dark corners of Dragonstone and come away with scarlet cheeks and racing hearts. 

“And now even you laugh at me!” He exclaims exasperatedly and stands to move away but Daenera quickly stands as well, stepping in front of him and stopping him from leaving. She pushes him back to his seat and kneels before him, her hands on his shoulders. 

“No, my love, I’m not laughing at you, I’m sorry. Tis just that you should not concern yourself with such worries,” she says gently, running her hand from his broad shoulder to the toned expanse of his chest, feeling his heart beating under his skin. 

“But I-” 

“I have no more knowledge on how to please a man than you do a woman, Jace,” she continues, her voice placating and soft. “We shall learn together and be stronger and better for it.” Jacaerys meets her amethyst eyes, finding comfort in the truth and lack of judgment he finds in them. “Besides, I cannot believe that Aegon knows any more than you do. He has never had any care for anything besides his own pleasures and you heard poor Helaena’s toast. He targets you because he knows you are more generous and loving than he could ever hope to be.”  Jacaerys chuckles at this, knowing she speaks true of his uncle and melts into her touch at last. 

“You truly do not care?” He asks, toying with the ends of her silver hair that brushes against his knee. 

“Shall I prove it to you, my prince?” she purrs, a teasing mischief in her eyes as she runs a hand up his chest to the nape of his neck, pulling him down to meet her lips in a kiss. He sighs into her embrace, his hands finding purchase on her waist as he deepens the kiss, his tongue darting between her lips. Realizing she is still kneeling on the floor in front of the settee, he grips her hips tightly and pulls her to straddle him, pulling a gasp from her lips which eggs the prince on. Jacaerys’ hands brush through Daeny’s hair, pushing it away from her face, and trail down her back to explore her figure; Daenera weaves one hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the roots and eliciting a groan she feels through her other hand which rests on his chest. 

Without warning, Jace stands and without breaking their kiss carries Daeny with him as he makes his way to the bed, resting her gently on the linen sheets and covering her smaller body with his. All his insecurities and rage momentarily forgotten as he loses himself in her, the only girl he has ever had eyes for, and proves to her, and to himself, just how strong a lover he can be.

[crossingthedreams]

only around you — aemond targaryen x niece!reader

a/n: this can be read as a stand alone or as follow-up to day 8 (growing pains) and day 10 (humiliation) of the @angstober challenge. this is day 14. please, enjoy! feel free to comment or dm me :)

masterlist

word count: 1.3k 

warnings: angst. implied targaryen incest (uncle/niece). death/relative’s death. mentions of war. 

Aemond Targaryen was many things. Ruthless, unforgiving, hateful and a kinslayer — some would say. He was also dedicated, ambitious and resourceful, as many could attest. 

He was not, however, nor would ever be, heir. Growing up as the second option, constantly ostracized, made Aemond resent this fact more than words could ever be able to express. Now, with his father dead and his siblings at war, an opportunity presented itself. 

All the politics in the world, all the hate and the terrible memories from his childhood would never measure up to the pain he felt seeing his niece leave King’s Landing, probably forever, on the back of her dragon, the Cannibal, on the night his father passed away and the age of terror began. 

Aemond was many things, that much was true. However, he never thought he would be heartbroken.

Across Blackwater Bay, on Dragonstone, the niece he reminisced about laid in bed, wearing her mother’s clothes. 

You left King’s Landing, which had been your home for most of your life, with only the clothes on your body, a necklace and dagger, and your dragon. 

Arriving in Dragonstone with the Cannibal was complicated because, well, he got the name for a reason. You had to leave him as far as possible from the other dragons, to avoid any mishappens. 

Only Vhagar made herself known to the Cannibal. The two of them were hardly birds of a feather, but they could tolerate each other and not kill themselves. 

Much like yourself, the Cannibal would not be a problem unless bothered. And, unfortunately, you were bothered. 

When news came that your older brother, Lucerys, perished in an encounter with Vhagar and Aemond, you froze. As your mother raged and your father drank, you just stood there. The princess Rhaenys left quickly, surely to send news to Driftmark as well, and Jacaerys was far away in Winterfell. 

You just stood there, consumed with thoughts about how everything had gone to Hell and back. Your mother would take years, if ever, to recompose herself from this loss, and there were surely many others to come. 

Something had to be done. As the child of the one true Queen, and as the Princess, it was your duty to do something. 

So, you made your arrangements, talked to your informants in both Dragonstone and King’s Landing. That’s why you were now walking through the Street of Silk, only one guard following you, hoping the message had reached its recipient. 

At the time and place you had informed, Aemond Targaryen presented himself amongst whores and commoners, and, well, you. 

“Thank you for meeting me. It was the most sensible choice”, you said, quietly. It wouldn’t be wise to speak High Valyrian in this place, nor to show your hair. That’s why you intended to speak only the common tongue and hide beneath your cloak, just like Aemond was doing.

“You are far less sensible, dear niece”.

“Only around you, uncle”, you replied, teeth gritted. It was true. Only Aemond could make your blood boil. But, as a dragon, as a child of fire, wasn’t that your purpose? Shouldn’t you be around the one who ignites your fire? Shouldn’t you surround yourself with who or what makes you a dragon?

The hood still covered both of you to the outside world, but your faces were visible to one another. 

You desperately wanted to reach towards his face and feel him, but not here, and not now. Not before you asked the one question that was bothering you, killing you, for many moons.

“What happened that night with Luke?”

Aemond sighed, as if he knew what was coming but still felt tired in having to reply. “I regret that”, he said, “Believe me. I do”.

The worst part is that you did believe him. You knew how Aemond’s temper and mind worked. 

A passerby bumped into Aemond, making him stumble towards you. Your back hit the wall, and Aemond approached you even more. You looked around, trying to find your guard. It wasn’t wise to be left alone with someone who could easily make you hostage. But when one of Aemond’s hands reached the wall behind you, close to your head, you lost your track of thought completely.

He was close, and yet he was so far. 

“Why did you come here?”, he half-spoke, half-whispered. His one eye was darkening, and it scanned your entire face.

“I had to know”, you replied, breathly. Your body instinctively moved towards Aemond. Your hips, once flushed against the wall, were elevated to get closer to his. Your chest was rising and falling quickly, and you couldn’t take your eyes from his mouth. 

Even in chaos, you still wanted to know. You wondered, like all maidens do, what it was like to be touched. But you didn’t want just anybody’s touch, you only wanted, only ever dreamed of Aemond. 

“What”, he began, words punctuated by how his face came closer to yours, “did you”, he continued, “wanted to know?”. By the time he finished, his lips were just an inch from yours. You could feel his breath, and your eyes closed by themselves. 

Amidst the heat, coldness hit you. Your eyes opened. 

“I wanted to know why you usurped my mother’s throne and killed my brother, uncle”. 

He stepped away, looking betrayed. You didn’t know how he found the audacity in himself to feel betrayed, when you lost so much because of his recklessness. 

You wanted to look cold, but you knew your eyes gave away the hurt you felt. You loved your uncle, you wanted him and you would’ve made marriage arrangements between the two of you. He had thrown that all away the second he decided to slaughter your brother. 

If Aemond’s temper could get the best of him, yours could get the best of you too. He was the only one who provoked these feelings, so he would be the only one around whom these sentiments would arise. And to hell with his own reactions.

“Nyke māzigon kesīr hae nykeā naejot īlva se se jorrāelagon nyke felt syt ao, uncle. Naejot vestragon geros ilas, se jaelagon ao sȳz biarves. Nyke jeldan naejot ūndegon aōha laehurlion mēre mōrī jēda, se nyke gōntan (I came here as a courtesy to our closeness and the love I felt for you, uncle. To say goodbye, and wish you good fortune. I wanted to see your face one last time, and I did)”. To hell with it all. Nobody was paying attention, nobody would notice you weren’t speaking the common tongue. With your hand rising to your chest, you proceeded, “This feeling, this fear, this is not normal to me. I will miss you dearly, uncle. Love only ever came to me around you”.

Aemond thought his heart had already dealt with all the heartbreak it could. He was wrong. As he left his niece without so much as a goodbye, only the memory of her tears already engraved in fire in his mind, he was certain: there was no pain worse.

Of course, the pain had only begun. The first thing he heard when he arrived in his chambers at the Red Keep were the screams of his sister, and the second was his brother bursting in his room. 

The little prince, Jaeharys, was dead. Slaughtered in his own bed, before the eyes of the Queen Helaena. 

Was that your purpose then?, he thought. To distract him as the others of your pretender’s bunch assassinated a little boy in his bed? 

Only around you would Aemond lower his guard. It was the perfect plan for the Rogue Prince and his cunning daughter. 

Aemond scuffed as his brother raged. His mind was already racing, not only with thoughts of the Throne, but thoughts of revenge. Sīr ziry rhaenagon (So it begins), he thought.

Sīr ziry rhaenagon.

[tenseoyong]

Hi can you do Aemond x betrothed reader at the dinner scene he’s jealous of jace and reader dancing?

Aemond would scarcely admit he hadn’t expected to become so quickly enamored by his sweet tongued, kind-eyed, gentle handed betrothal. Honestly speaking, Aemond had assumed his arranged marriage would follow a similar pattern as his parents’ and siblings’—loveless and constant avoidance—he was sure that the lovely Lady that had arrived at court would have little interest in the Scarred Prince beyond the gain of gold and the title of Princess.

Yet, Aemond was surprised to find a less than timid woman, one who did not shy away from his cold gaze, nor did she pity or fear his childhood maiming.

Yes, the Prince had grown rather fond of the unusual Lady. Often Aemond spend hours with her, hidden from prying eyes by the many shelves of books of the Keep’s library.

She listened to him attentively—not just keeping up appearances of a doting and obedient wife-to-be—no, she actually enjoyed Aemond’s company; hanging off his every word as he recounted his daily training, or when he told of the history of dragons, even dared to attempt to teach her a word or two in High Valyrian. In turn, she spun tales of her home, how her brothers bickered as children, and how she feared riding a horse just as one would fear facing a dragon.

Aemond would grow to love his Lady Wife—that much he was sure of—and he had dared to hope that she would return that love ten fold.

She had all but extinguished the dragon’s fire that lived in him.

Yet, the moment his darling nephew, Jacaerys, had stepped forward—folllowing his sweet sister Heleana’s speech of marital neglect—and requested she accompany him in dance, Aemond’s mind filled with vivid images of Jacaerys burned to a crisp, curtesy of Vhagar’s breath.

To see her, in the arms of his bastard nephew as she politely accepted his dance proposal, turned his stomach to stone.

Aemond believes he knew true anger. He’d spent a good portion of his childhood angry—angry at his father, and his nephews, and at his dragon-less status. Though, as violet eyes watched his Lady and Jacaerys is dance, Aemond knew then he’d never truly experienced anger—until this moment.

It burned inside him hotter than dragon’s fire, boiling his blood and scalding his heart.

And as his nephew spun his betrothed about the empty corner of the room, Aemond could bare to witness it no more.

The whole room came to a screeching halt as Aemond slammed his fist into the table as he rose to stand tall, and mockingly held his cup in the air, “I’d like to toast to my nephews—Jace, Luke…Joffrey—each of them handsome, wise, brave…” He paused, turning to stare directly at the hand Jace had placed to the small of his Lady’s back. “And Strong.”

Not to give up the game, Jace didn’t release his partner, only twirling the pair until Jace was between his uncle and his intended before demanding, “I dare you to say that again!”

“Why?” Aemond tsked, rounding the table and taking several calculated steps towards the stationary duo. “T’was only a compliment—I would extend my toast to my beloved betrothed, I shall pray to the Gods that they make our sons as Strong as their cousins.”

The fury was evident enough on young Jace’s face, all while the quiet satisfaction of getting under his skin flooded Aemond’s.

Though, the satisfaction didn’t last nearly as long as he’d hoped—for as soon as Jacaerys fixed Aemond with a mischievous look and devious smile, Jace reestablished his hold on his uncle’s bride-to-be, and taunted, “If only there were such a way to ensure your sons’ strength, perhaps I’ll be of some help, if the Lady wouldn’t mind me—“

All at once, Aemond closed what little space remained between him and the dancing pair, and curled his fingers into his nephew’s neck like a claw, snatching the younger boy up much like a kitten at its scruff, “You’ll remove your hands from my Wife.”

“You misspoke, Uncle.” Jacaerys smirked, ignoring Aemond’s seething rage. “The Lady is not yet your wife, is she? I believe that gives her leave to do as she pleases, while she can.”

“I care not for the beliefs of a bastard,” Aemond’s words dripped with venom. “She is to be my bride—since you are so keen on pretending to be of your status—you should be aware that you are greatly overstepping.”

Jacaerys only cocked an eyebrow—a silent challenge—before his fingers curled into your side and what little room between your bodies had been erased, “Oh? Have I overstepped—“

“You will remove your hand,” Aemond was through playing this game, he did break the eye contact he held with his nephew, yet he could still see the obvious annoyance and displeasure growing on your sweet face. Aemond’s hand fluttered above the dagger strapped at his hip. “Or I shall remove it for you.”

The threat lingered in the air momentarily before, much to anyone’s surprise, the Lady squirmed out of Jacaerys’ hold and took her rightful place at Aemond’s right and placed a gentle on Aemond’s tensed arm.

“My Love,” She all but cooed at the furious dragon she would soon claim as a husband. “Let us not ruin the single night your father has requested with his family—I am unharmed and unbothered—let us not have further bloodshed between kin.”

Aemond won’t not soon let go of his hatred for his bastard nephews, but as his Lady-to-be stood by his side and looked upon him with such care and affection Aemond would afford her this kindness.

He released his blade, and his grip on Jacaerys’ neck—though he paused a moment to admire the half-moon shaped nail marks he’d left in his stead—before collecting his betrothed and whisking them both from the disastrous dinner, desiring nothing more than to be hidden away with his Lady love where they belonged.

Soon after, as the servant folks spread tales of the exciting night—a song would emerge—that of a Lady, who had managed to tame the dragon.

[masterlist]

@moonchildrenandflowercrowns

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Hi lovely!! Congrats on 500, maybe 40 + 49 + E for Stewy hurt/comfort with Roy!Reader? Thank you so much!!

Consequence.

40. "I love you." 49. "Stay. Please." e. Heatwave

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested in sending a request!! thank you anon, you're the sweetest!!

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Roy!Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing

Word Count - 1072

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Was it a good idea to walk across New York City in a pantsuit on the hottest day of the year? Probably not.

You'd refused to get in one of Stewy's cars, and you couldn't exactly call your siblings and ask them to pick you up. So, you'd walked.

Big mistake.

By the time you're on your block, you're miserable. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, there's sweat dripping down your back, and your pantsuit is soaked through.

You thought that the walk would give you time to think, time to decompress, time to process. It didn't. Now, you're angrier than you were when you stormed out of Stewy's office. You're practically vibrating with fury, rage rattling through your bones. You're honestly not sure if the heat you're experiencing is from the blazing sun or your blood boiling with annoyance.

At your front door, your hands are shaking, making it a struggle to fit the key in the lock. You kick the frame violently, frustrated and sad. More than anything, you're just sad.

You finally swing your door open, screaming in terror when you see a man stood in your entryway.

"Fuck!" he yells, startled by your sudden entrance.

He turns, and your shoulders tense instantly upon seeing his face.

Stewy Hosseini. The most complicated man you've ever met. The most complicated relationship you've ever had.

A relationship that ended today.

You'd known it was doomed from the start. You're the youngest Roy sibling, he's Kendall's oldest friend and a Waystar board member. It was bound to fail.

That didn't stop you from taking the risk, though.

All it had taken was the brush of his fingertips against your waist and soft, murmured words in your ear. You'd jumped with no parachute, straight into the Stewy's arms.

It was all too good to be true. Secret dinner dates, late nights at his penthouse, clandestine meetings in cars sent to you. The thrill of the illicit nature of your affair had the two of you thrumming with excitement, barely able to keep your eyes off each other in the boardroom.

All that energy, that heat, that fire. It had to explode sometime.

It did today.

You'd woken up this morning, instantly checking your phone and expecting to see your usual 'Good morning sweetheart' text from Stewy. Instead, you'd been met with tabloid photos of him with with a supermodel on his arm outside a club.

You'd gotten dressed and stormed straight over to his office, consequences be damned. Blinded by rage, you marched in without knocking, unaffected by the questioning looks you were receiving from his staff. They'd all assumed it was business related, perhaps a Waystar deal gone wrong. If only they knew.

Stewy had tried to explain himself, but it had only made things worse.

"Sweetheart, come on. You know what it's like out there. They don't know about us. It's just me keeping up appearances."

"Keeping up appearances? With a fucking six foot gorgeously blond supermodel?"

"She grabbed my arm. What was I supposed to do, throw her off? Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

"I think a lot of things right now are pretty fucking suspicious, actually!"

He'd sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly stressed.

"Honey, please, keep your voice down. I don't need you to be the talk of the office today."

"No. You just don't need me, full stop."

"That's not true and you know it."

"I don't know anything anymore."

And with that, you'd left, breaking both your own heart and his. You always knew it'd end in tears. You felt stupid for even trying.

Now, you're face to face with the man you'd been screaming at in his office an hour prior.

"How did you get in here, Stewy?" you ask while kicking off your shoes.

"I have a key, sweetheart."

"Are you here to give it back?"

He inhales, and takes a step closer to you, looking at you intently.

"No. I'm here to tell you that I love you."

It takes you a second to process his words.

"What?"

"I love you."

You can't decide whether to hit him or kiss him.

"So I break up with you, and you decide to break into my apartment and tell me you love me?" you ask incredulously.

"I didn't break in. I have a key," he replies, slight smirk on his face. "And you didn't break up with me. You stormed out and didn't give me a chance to explain myself. God, you Roys are always so blinded by your emotions."

He's not wrong. You'd seen red and ran, rather than letting him talk to you logically. You know that you only reacted that way because of how you feel about him, but still. You're so used to betrayal, and lies, and deceit. Thinking that Stewy had done the same thing as everyone else had broken your heart.

"Baby," he explains. "I'm surrounded by supermodels and actresses and musicians every night of the week. And the entire time, I'm thinking of you."

His big brown eyes are staring into your soul. You couldn't look away if you tried.

"I don't care if we have to keep this a secret forever," he continues. "That's a price I'm willing to pay. If you're still worried about people finding out, then we'll sneak around for the rest of time. If not, I'm happy to walk into the Waystar building hand in hand right now."

Tears are threatening to spill down your cheeks at his words. He's not usually so open, so vulnerable. It makes you love him even more than you already do.

"I couldn't leave things the way they were this morning. I had to say my piece. If you still hate me, fine. But I had to tell you."

He gazes at you carefully, looking for a reaction. When you don't reply, he makes his way past you, towards the door.

"Stay. Please," you almost whisper.

With that, Stewy turns on his heel and strides towards you. Cradling your face in his hands, he kisses you hard. He's grabbing at you, and your hands are grasping for purchase anywhere they can find. You're both not sure if the other person is going to disappear any minute.

"I'm here," he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

You believe him. You believe him.

stewy tag list -

@justacaliforniandreamer

@616wilsons

@shawty-writes-a-little

@isuspectitwasthenargles

[glitteringchaosau]

Figure out what the premise be for my au.

Here’s some ideas I have been brainstorming.

Vote for your favorite at the bottom of this post. Premise 1:

We know about Collector’s siblings, but what about their parents or at least one of them?

During the Titan War, the Archivists discovered that titan blood can lead them to other realms. Each titan’s blood type leads to a specific realm. The Archivists and other celestials built portals doors in order to explore these realms. They capture realm denizens for study and experimentation. One such being placing bipeds from their home realm to another to see if they can adapt to their new environment.

In the aftermath of the Titan War, Asterope mourns for the death of their son, Virgil (Collector), at the claws of the last of the titans. Despite her and her partner, Rigel (Collector’s father) protected, other celestials wanted to capture and to preserve the last titan. Rather having the murder of his son be kept preserved, Rigel slayed the titan. As punishment for slaying the last living titan and breaking the oath of preserving species, Rigel was executed.

Grief stricken and full of rage of the deaths of her son and partner, Asterope had enough of this realm and its injustice of her race. Asterope Infiltrated the archives where the portal doors and titan blood vessels were being held. She destroyed the blood vessels and doors with the exception of two. One that leads to the human realm and the other that Asterope picked at random out of grieve and to escape through.

Seeking solace, Asterope travels in the realm she learned knows as Xadia. While resting under a tree on a hill, she was awoken by a horned toddler with white and violet hair. Asterope was baffled with the sudden appearance of the toddler. As she was thinking what to do next, she someone running up the hill towards her. The being, named Aaravos, introduced himself as father of the toddler. He’ve been looking for his child for almost two hours after she manage to escape their home through an open window. He thanked her for keep his daughter safe and leaves.

But this wouldn’t be her last encounter with him. 

Premise 2:

What if Leola wasn’t dead, but instead became Collector’s cellmate?

What if an unseen being heard Collector’s cries from his prison, asking for someone to hid him and won’t be alone anymore. However, he wasn’t the only star child to be heard. Elsewhere in another realm, they heard Leola making a wish as she was sentenced to death for gifting humans stones to help with their suffering out of compassion; she wanted what her dad told she was going was be true.

The line between mercy and cruelty can be thin. But, there’s something in between, to which a very few known about its existence: compromise.

At the last moment, a switch was made. A faux took Leola’s place in her execution, unaware to everyone present. Leola was blinded by a intense light and passed out. When she woke up, she in an unfamiliar place in a circular spear.

But she wasn’t alone.

Premise 3:

What if like father and daughter, Manny too went another realm?

Long before meeting Camila, Manny stumble upon a portal to another realm. But instead of the Boiling Isles, it’s Xadia.

[fertilize-my-eggs]

King of decay

Player two unlocked? ch.2

Ch.1 ch.3 ch.4 A03

A/N: trigger warning this chapter get violent and shigaraki is a full yandere in this so you have been warned!! I know this chapter is a bit short but the next one will be long!!! Every chapter will be posted on Friday!! (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Who is she? She's a mystery to me, I watch her from a far as I hide behind a brick wall.

She's sitting on the floor with a dirty cup as she raises it up to people who pass by her, she's asking for money..

I feel guilty watching her beg for money, does she have a place to stay? There were questions running in my mind as I saw her put the cup down.

Laying back on the wall, she doesn't seem upset, she has a gentle smile on and decides to count her money. I wonder what happened to you and how you got like this. Clearly the people have easy jobs and decent households.

But I noticed some villagers are homeless and you were one of them.

I gasp to realize that you're getting up and leaving the wall, I begin to follow. Not too close but I was curious where you're going.

The quiet walk away from the flea market to an area that is a bit far from the village as I noticed there was an old broken down cottage that doesn't have a good roof. Everything is rotting and it looks like it could break down at any minute.

I hide behind a tree to watch a family come out of the cottage.. are these your family? He tilts his head as he sees you picking up a small little girl as you cheer happily and hug her close. A little boy comes running towards your legs as he hugs you close.

Is that your young siblings or …. I tilt my head in curiosity about this as I watch from afar. Then suddenly my blood starts to boil in rage as I see a man coming close to you, putting his hand on your waist pulling you close.

I almost disintegrate the tree as I see you and him kissing each other's lips.

For the first time, I wanted to hurt your family and hurt everything because I found my true love. You happen to have a family and children… A lovely husband too..

That will all change soon, I smile sinister.. you can't have a family and husband, you're supposed to be mine and my queen for the new family that we'll start having soon.

I grip the woods harshly as I watch you and your little family head inside.

This can't be happening, I feel rage as I begin to dig my nails onto my skin as I grind my teeth.

I should wait for midnight then destroy all your family and house entirely. I need to have you now.

I didn't care about the children or the husband, I wanted you to myself because I'm selfish and running out of time to not find a wife and get children of my own.

I waited for the hours of the night as I decided to destroy it all. in a blinding rage, I ran towards the broken down cottage as I put my hands on it. I watch it with amazement. Everything begins to break down to dust.

This alerted everyone in the house as I heard screaming and children crying. I went after the kids, I put my hand on their faces.

The little boy and girl were decaying rapidly as you screamed in horror and the loss of your children from a stranger that you bump into that day.

Your husband was front of you as I tilt my head with sinister smile, covered in blood and dust from your deceased children.

��� LEAVE IT'S NOT SAFE HERE MY LOVE!! ” you cry out as you pull your husband's shirt away to get to safety.. I chuckle as I whip the blood off my hands as I walk towards you and your husband.

“ Leave us alone!! You can have anything but leave her out of this please. ” Hearing him beg for forgiveness is getting me going as I smile unsettlingly wide, he was gonna start yelling as I flew on him and put my hands on his face.

Resulting the same faith as the kids as you started screaming and sobbing uncontrollably as you yell out for help.

I grabbed you quickly to throw you over my shoulder as I began to walk back home, soon you don't need to worry about your family.

All of your memories will be gone and you will be on your knees only for me and taking care of our children.

I chuckle darkly as you were ponding on my back and screaming your lungs out as you try everything to escape from me.

Don't worry love, I'll take you to a doctor to ease your mind and fix you up to be my loyal wife and mother to my children. I slap your butt to calm you down as I feel wetness on my cloak.

[unstablerk800]

𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤

Rating: Explicit Pairing: RK900/Fem!Reader (third person) Tags (tagging as I go): post-android revolution, kidnapping, angst/fluff, hurt/comfort, Stockholm syndrome, protective RK900, manipulation, solitary confinement, blood, injury, violence, gore, illnesses, RK800, RK800-60 and RK900 are considered siblings, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Murder, Assault, Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Body Horror Read on Ao3.

Chapter 08.

Chapter 09. 🔽

Chapter 10.

Word count: 6,244

He knew this would happen.

He knew, and he still let it happen.

He let them build a bond.

At first, it was just an agreement between them. Connor was searching for a human to use them in his mission, one that would be on the androids' side, one that wouldn't betray them like the many others who were sent there and did exactly that. Connor was desperate, he knew. A month had passed and he got nowhere with his quest. RK900 wanted to help him, this was why he picked her up at the camp in the first place. This was why he became a handler without knowing what would happen if he did in the first place.

When he was searching for a candidate and his eyes settled on her, he could feel a nagging feeling in his software that he must pick her. He was also the one who brought her out of her apartment when they rounded up humans. He thought nothing of it at first.

And by now, he was in too deep. He was too involved. He felt too protective, too possessive. Too angry that he had let Connor venture this deep as well.

Was this boiling anger in close contact with his feelings? His processor started to overheat as he was trying to determine whether his fury was caused by Connor's lie or Connor's feelings toward her.

Within five seconds, he realised that his anger had been triggered by the lie, but it was amplified tremendously at the confession.

And then, irrationality kicked in. He genuinely felt like Connor had no right to say that! He was a machine – he shouldn't even know what loving someone felt like! Even if he could grasp the concept, even if he was a deviant. It had to be a manipulation tactic. It wouldn't be uncharacteristic for the RK800 to pull such a stunt so RK900 would spare him.

This was bad enough. He felt like it would be a thousand times worse if it was actually true.

His fingers locked around his predecessor's throat so much that if he applied just a little bit of more pressure, he would've crushed his chassis around his neck. And Connor? He still didn't resist.

"How." RK900 tilted his head, his ice blue eyes burning with rage. "Dare. You?"

"She knew me", Connor whispered. Technically, his voice did not come from his throat, he didn't need air to speak, so he could still talk even as RK900 was about to crush him. And yet, his voice was still shaking. "She knew me before. I don't know how is that possible, but I want to find answers."

"You're not going to-"

"Please, let me show", Connor pleaded, now touching RK900's hand with his own to upload his memory to his.

He didn't hide anything, this time. Every interaction, every reaction, every word was shared; even the incident with the thirium, her panic attack, her reaction, all of it.

And the message, tapped in Morse code against his palm. The message he planted in her mind through the tapping, through the dots and dashes.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

RK900 yanked his hand away from Connor, and took a few steps back with rage temporarily drawn on his face. He was aware she couldn't make that up, but then, how was this possible? How could she know Connor before the uprising?

There was only one answer to that. CyberLife had been testing the first RK800s with her. That launched a new set of questions he wanted answers to, and to which she surely wouldn't have the replies. Judging by the state of her mind, it was a miracle – and a curse – she remembered this much.

Connor's eyes shifted to Sixty who looked too confused, so he reached out to touch his hand as well. He couldn't be left out; especially because they were of the same model. When Connor pulled his hand back, Sixty looked between RK900 and Connor.

"Shit", Sixty murmured.

"Shit", Connor confirmed.

"But then", RK900 pinched the bridge of his nose to gather his thoughts. "Then why do I...?"

Connor raised a curious brow as he glanced at his successor. RK900 didn't continue. He let out a huff and shook his head, and when he looked back up at the two of them, he looked stoic again.

"You're not prodding her memory again", he stated coolly, much to Connor's shock. It could be heard in his tone that RK900 was not up to negotiation about it anytime soon. "You saw how she reacted to an accidental test. I don't want her to suffer."

"Neither do I", Connor tilted his head, raising his brows, giving the perfect expression of a pleading puppy, "but aren't you curious about our past we were denied to have with her?"

"It's your past, not mine."

"We both know your model was based on mine. It's your past as well."

"Search CyberLife, then", RK900 looked stiff at the mere idea. Who knew what they'd find there... judging by the memories she shared, Connor would have his own share of tragedies and traumas from that same past as well. RK900 wasn't sure he was ready to have some of it for himself. "I'm sure you can crack whatever code they've hidden their research under."

"Don't you think she needs closure? Explanation?" Connor frowned.

"I think she needs rest, first and foremost", RK900 closed the argument. "I can't believe she can't spend a day with you without a breakdown. I thought you'd take care of her, not make her feel worse."

"I wasn't aware I'd cause her a flashback, Nines", Connor purposefully used the name she chose for RK900 in order to calm him down. "Please don't take her away from me. Please! Not now. I can't lose her."

"You can't lose her", RK900 echoed sharply, "because you never had her in the first place. I am her handler, not you."

"I think both of you should let her decide what she wants", Sixty intervened quietly.

RK900 and Connor both glanced at Sixty who was looking down the corridor instead. Following his gaze, they saw a flash of her hair disappearing at the doorframe before it closed.

"Shit", Nines hissed, then he stared at Connor who was biting his lower lip on the right side on the inside of his mouth. None of them knew how much she heard. "This is all your fault", he added quietly to Connor before he walked down the distance to the door.

He hesitated for a moment before he knocked on it. She didn't open the door, but upon analyzing it, RK900 knew she was on the other side of it.

"Will you let me in?" He asked as calmly as he could. At the moment, all he wanted was to hold her. "Please?"

He quickly replayed everything they've talked about with Connor, and wanted to break all the furniture in this apartment. RK900 was grinding his teeth, resting his forehead against the door, his LED spinning in anxious amber.

Connor successfully ensured that RK900 wouldn't even attempt to remove her from his immediate presence. If he did that, she'd never trust him again, and she'd make a link between him and the scientists she'd mentioned. Those who let her be close with an android, only for that android to be drastically removed from existence in front of her. If anything, RK900 wanted to be as far away from this image in her mind as possible.

But would he even allow Connor to use her for Genesis? After everything they've learned so far? He had his doubts. If he wanted to be honest, he would've sacrificed the rest of humanity than to let his predecessor bring her any closer to that mission.

He picked up her muffled crying even through the wood between them. He sighed.

"Let's just talk?" He offered quietly, raising his left hand to hover it over the doorknob. "May I come in?"

This was ridiculous, why was he even asking for permission? He shouldn't feel bad about anything that happened, he had said nothing which wasn't true, including that she belonged to him.

"You hurt him-"

Her voice was muffled by the door between them, and RK900 had to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths he didn't actually need to function. He knew that arguing with her that he couldn't possibly hurt Connor because he was an android was pointless, so he mustered whatever patience he had left for the evening. By some miracle, he always found more and more patience when it came to her.

"I've lost my temper", he admitted, shooting an angry look at Connor. RK800 was still biting on his lower lip, while Sixty just looked at Connor, then back at him with a frown on his face. RK900 huffed. "I'm genuinely sorry you had to see that. It won't happen again."

It was alarming how quickly he'd apologize for something he felt righteous in that moment. He had every right to be angry. It wasn't Connor who cleaned her up when she was picked up at the camp. It wasn't Connor who cooked for her, who made her tea and made sure she took her medication. It wasn't Connor who realised that she was snuggling up to him first.

He successfully identified a new emotion: jealousy, right in that moment, and he decided he didn't like it. It felt like a burning ache that made him want to do unspeakable, horrible things to someone he considered an ally. How horrible was it for humans to exist with this emotion for millenia? It was irrational and foolish. RK900 dismissed it as soon as he realised what it was.

Trying to focus on the bright side, Connor did mention that she loved him – but would she, now, that he visibly attempted to separate Connor's head from his shoulders? RK900 seriously had his doubts. And his LED spun, it's colour changing from amber to an alarming crimson when he realised that.

He didn't get to meditate on this for long, however. Because the door opened in a flash and he felt a body smash against his torso. The familiar warmth of her body calmed him down in an instant, and RK900 realised that he'd given too many weapons in her hands without him even realising it. Her arms snaked around him and the world came together like a puzzle, every piece was clicking to it's right place – as soon as he hugged her back, when she was in his arms, he felt like he could fight the world.

And she felt the same way about him. Everything she worried about was gone like it didn't even exist, and she buried her face against his hard chassis, hiding her cheek beneath his jacket. Despite he'd been out in the open, doing who knew what, he still had that fresh factory smell that calmed her nerves. Plastic, metal and the detergent on his brand new clothes.

"Please don't do that again", she pleaded and RK900 shot another look of murder Connor's way, who, in return, was smiling at them.

"I won't", he promised, one of his hands tentatively reaching to touch the top of her head.

"I wouldn't want any of you to fight each other..."

Fight each other.

Her hands trembled before she held onto RK900's jacket tighter at his back. She was afraid all of a sudden; she felt like she was sinking. He detected her pulse elevated, and he gently started to stroke her hair. Her upcoming flashback was sidetracked; he successfully anchored her in the present moment.

"Maybe", Sixty spoke up all of a sudden, "both of you should search CyberLife. It'd be faster that way."

"You should come, too", Connor tilted his head and Sixty snorted at the mere idea.

"I'm not going back there. I've had enough", he pointed at his forehead where the pale, silver scar remained. Not because he couldn't cover it up, but because he chose not to. His blond hair looked brighter in the artificial light now as he turned his head to look at RK900 again. "And I'm the least corrupted."

"Corrupted?" RK900 furrowed his brows.

"If you saw yourself from outside, you'd see", Sixty teased. "I never thought you had it in you."

"Had what?"

"Softness."

RK900 was grinding his teeth again.

"I'm not leaving her again", he stated matter-of-factly, his eyes a pair of icy daggers, "I just got back and during that brief time, she nearly died from thirium poisoning."

Now that he said that, he requested a report from other handlers to see how many humans were affected and if any survived it. Reports rolled back in; he needed a little time to process all the answers.

"Had she been in your home", Connor raised a brow, "she wouldn't stand there, now."

"That's true", Sixty cocked a brow up, "I wonder if any other humans had capsules like her."

"Yes", RK900 murmured, reaching under her chin to raise her head up so their eyes would meet. Hers were full of tears when she realised what he'd done. "There were a few."

"A few?" Sixty tilted his head, identical to how Connor had his own head tilted. "How many exactly?"

RK900 didn't look away from her eyes.

"Forty-two in total."

"That's good", Connor nodded now, and she glanced at him as she still had her cheek against RK900's chest. She listened to every sound his thirium pump has made, and it somewhat calmed her down. "Then we can go and ask others who share her past. Perhaps we don't necessarily need to trigger her or go back to CyberLife, either."

RK900 was stroking her cheek with his thumb. She glanced up at him, and when their eyes locked, she already knew what he wanted to say.

"None of them made it." As the silence set in, she sniffled. "None of them reached a hospital. They were too far away. The thirium needed less than fifteen minutes."

"I need", she whimpered, her voice shaking, "I need to lie down, I think..."

RK900 moved with her, bringing her back in the bed she got up from to lie her down gently. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her back, letting it sink in that in his absence he nearly lost her; but also knowing if she wasn't near a hospital wing, she wouldn't've survived. Connor and Sixty stopped at the room's entrance, looking at her with identical worried looks on their faces. They were far enough from her that if Sixty had his original hair colour, she wouldn't've been able to tell them apart.

"She got a few things for Christmas", Connor mentioned, probably to divert her attention from the fact that whatever she was a part of, only she remained alive.

"Yes, I see that", Nines almost rolled his eyes before they settled on the tablet on the nightstand. And the watch. And the cat plush. It just slightly annoyed him that Connor beat him to it. But it didn't matter. He glanced down at her, and the way she was staring back up at him made him smile. "Do you want to sleep a bit more now? Or can we go home?"

She was chewing on her lower lip at the questions. She was afraid that if she said that she'd like to leave, he'd never bring her over to Connor again. And that would be bad; she liked him, she felt safe with him, and she wanted to be with him as well. Not knowing how to ask the question, her eyes shifted on Connor's face.

That was all the androids needed. All three of them understood that one, single look. And it made all of them smile.

"We can come and visit Connor", RK900 added gently, rubbing her back, "as often as you like."

"Then", she murmured, glancing at Nines again, "I'd like to go home, please."

They've put her things in a black backpack, and she hugged Connor when it was time for goodbye. He glanced up at RK900 as he held her close, feeling like saying goodbye to her caused him an indescribable, unbearable pain. He didn't want her to go, but he had to let her go. Sighing a little, he forced a smile on his face when she glanced up at him with a sad look.

"You can call me on your tablet", he winked at her cheekily, making her smile.

"Oh wait", Sixty's LED blinked on and off in yellow, "I've added myself to your contacts."

"Thank you", she smiled up at Sixty now after she let Connor go, and despite he looked indecisive, she hugged him as well. Sixty remained stiff, but only for a few seconds before his shoulders relaxed and he awkwardly pat her head. It started to become easier to accept these things from her, but if anyone else tried it, he probably would break their bones. "I'll call you every day."

"Hah", Sixty grimaced when she pulled away, then he booped her nose. "Don't tempt me to be more social than this, Princess."

The elevator arrived, and they left. Sixty tensed up as soon as it started to go towards the lower levels, and Connor detected that his own stress levels were rising along with Sixty's.

"Don't you have this... this bad feeling?" Sixty paced in the living room, up and down, like a caged animal.

"I don't feel well when she's not around. Not anymore", Connor admitted quietly.

"Maybe we should get rid of our past", Sixty suggested. "It'd erase some of our burdens."

"I'm not getting rid of her", Connor shook his head. He looked worn all of a sudden, like he had aged ten years in just a few minutes. He dropped himself on the couch and hid his face in his hands. When he spoke next, his voice was muffled. "She's the only one who really knows me."

Sixty tilted his head at Connor's choice of words. He didn't question them, he just wasn't sure it was wise to be curious.

~*~

"You're the worst."

"I take that as a compliment."

"You shouldn't."

RK900 smiled as he just kept walking. It snowed more here, which meant it reached up to her knees, so he naturally did not allow her to try and waddle to the door like this. So he carried her again, in bridal style, with the backpack in her arms as she was visibly pouting.

"I have legs", she kicked her legs up and down, making him raise a brow and glance down at her.

"I know you do. I also know you can easily break them."

Her pursed lips and furrowed brows made him laugh a little as he opened the door. He had left his rifle in the car. Once he settled her down, he turned to the brand new panel which had been installed just under the palm detector with which he usually locked the door. RK900 punched in a long, complicated number she couldn't even follow with her eyes, and a few soft beeps signalled that every exit was monitored and the alarm system was on.

She got out of her coat, then got her boots off as well before she grabbed the backpack and walked over to the living room. But as soon as she stepped inside, her nose picked up the smell of the strong detergent in the room, and she had a flashback of what happened the last time she was in there.

She was panting hard as she took a few steps back, her back hitting something solid, which made her drop the backpack from her hands. The tablet would've broke if RK900 wasn't fast enough to catch the bag. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and he started to speak reassuring words to her in a hushed tone. She half turned to him to bury her face in his chest, to listen to his thirium pump and heartbeat as she always did, whimpering softly as she recalled how he looked like when she entered the room.

That was what brought her so close to a panic attack. Not that she had shot a man, or the fact that the man almost killed her, or that Sixty had shot the man's brains out on the wall and the floor.

When she could breathe normally, RK900 gently rubbed her upper arm with his free hand. She glanced up at him, looking more pale than usual.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly.

"I'm okay", she replied, moving her arms around him to hold him close again. "If you're okay."

RK900 said nothing, but she could feel he lowered his head so his lips would touch the top of her head.

That evening, when she walked back to the bedroom after she had a shower, he was waiting for her with a box in his hands. It wasn't too big, neither too small, and the colourful, silver gift wrapping around it made her eyes shine with a new light that made him smile on the inside.

"Merry Christmas", he offered when she walked over, offering her the box.

"What's in it?" She asked curiously as she took it from him.

"I don't know", he shrugged, "why don't you open it?"

She slowly sat beside him and opened the box the same way she opened the gifts at Connor's home; gently unwrapping it, removing the tape, not tearing the paper on it. When she got to open the box, she gasped. A luxurious looking, silver pen was in the box, along with a black, thick, hardcover journal, which had a sleeping cat in gold on the front cover. When she picked the notebook out of the box, she saw that the sides of the pages were also gold.

"It's beautiful", she murmured.

If anything made RK900 proud in the past few weeks, it was this. Seeing her reaction to a small gift like this had meant a lot, and he tried to ignore that he wasn't supposed to feel this way. Frankly, he wasn't even supposed to feel in general, either. And yet, here he was.

"Research suggests that writing thoughts out by hand helps", he explained.

She turned the notebook around and opened it on the first page. Her eyes scanned the words written in it. Every black letter was written in CyberLife Sans. Every line was perfectly precise, as if someone had typed it there, not wrote it by hand. But she knew that the words were put there by RK900, and it made her heart warmer than ever.

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

- William Shakespeare

"I love it", she smiled, glancing up at him as she closed the notebook and hugged it to her chest. "Thank you."

"You're w-"

He couldn't finish, because her lips on his cheek were suddenly too distracting. Connor had shared his memories with him, sure, but it was different to feel her lips on his cheek, not through his predecessor's memory. Even living through that memory stirred something within him. Now that a real, actual kiss landed on his very own cheek, he suddenly didn't know what to do or say.

She smiled as she pulled away, putting the notebook back in the box and grabbing it with both hands.

"I'll be in the kitchen", she said, "I'd like to write an entry. And, could you promise me something?"

"Of course", RK900 struggled to find his voice, but he somehow managed.

"Please don't read what I write."

"I promise I won't."

She beamed a smile at him and walked out in the kitchen, leaving him there with his confusing thoughts.

~*~

Their days found a rhythm. Twice a week, they went to buy groceries. She accompanied him in everything he did; he decided not to leave for his work for a few days, and honestly, she enjoyed that he remained in her presence.

She started her days with calling Connor just a bit after breakfast. Then, she called Sixty as well. Talks with Sixty were shorter than with Connor, but it seemed the android appreciated her gesture. Especially because after the fourth call he promised he'd grab a phone so they could do video chatting.

She started to fill the journal with random thoughts about her days; moments that made her feel good. Re-reading some entries, she realised that her situation was quite simple. She had no choice in the beginning, and she didn't really have one now, either; the only difference was that she didn't even care about it. She was perfectly fine with everything as long as she was in the presence of RK900, Connor or Sixty. Realising this, her life simplified. Had she been given a chance to escape, she wouldn't take it.

At first, she thought she was weak and a coward (and a bit insane) whenever she came to this conclusion, but now, after she attempted to kill someone to save RK900, after they all were visibly worried about her well-being, after they all cared and took care of her - why would she leave them? They may had been the race that overpowered humanity and switched their roles, but what if she was comfortable in this role they had for her? How could anyone judge her, with her past - living in captivity with a strict set of rules that never could be broken without incredibly severe consequences? Whenever she 'acted out' to her handler, she was met with little arguments. He had never caused her physical pain, he never lashed out at her, he never degraded her vocally. He fed her and took care of her needs; he even lied beside her at night, woke her up when she was about to have a disturbing nightmare, calmed her down whenever she needed it.

He truly was the best thing that happened to her. What she had now was impossibly better than how she lived before the uprising. Things were great and good. And she decided she'd accept all of it, without fighting back, without trying to escape.

Not because she was sure they'd find them if she ran away, but because she didn't even want to leave them anymore. In her mind, she belonged to them, and it was fine.

She smiled to herself and read the last words before she closed the notebook and left it on the kitchen table. She hoped he had kept his promise and didn't read it; his given word was all she had. She walked in the living room, no longer bothered by the space, finding him sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, his LED whirring in amber circles.

She sat beside him and snuggled up to him, as she always did when he was doing this. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and kept looking at his profile. All of her bruises healed up without a trace by now, thanks to him looking after her. As she was thinking about this for a while, his LED shifted back to blue, and he glanced down at her as soon as he detected her presence.

"What did you do now?" She asked curiously.

RK900 looked away, clearing his throat. He wasn't sure he should tell her, but he suspected she wouldn't judge him for it. Not like Sixty for sure. When he had told about it to Sixty, he snorted, then started laughing out loud.

"I was reading", he admitted.

"Really?" If anything, she looked curious. "What are you reading?"

RK900 glanced back down at her, his grey eyes instantly detecting genuine curiosity.

"Classics."

She snaked an arm around his, melting more against his form.

"Could you read it out loud?"

RK900 was slightly surprised by the request, but he slightly tilted his head before he closed his eyes. The page he bookmarked flashed up in his vision, and he started to read it out loud. Every syllable he said eased more and more of her anxieties about what ifs and thoughts of her past, every word solidified her want to stay here, right here, forever. He was near the end of a chapter anyway, but when he finished it and opened his eyes to look down at her, he met with a broad smile.

"More!" She pleaded, and he couldn't possibly say no to her.

~*~

Even though they had limited freedom, humans were a creative race. In captivity, most of them sought ways to break out, to escape, and they've found unique ways to communicate with each other.

They've found analogue ways to do so. One androids couldn't track. The method was tedious but it worked between a group that figured it out that #313 248 317 – 99999's human was very, very precious.

The plan was to separate them and take her with them, so they could extort some of their rights back. Easy plan, very hard to execute. The group that was working on the plan was made of five; two women and three men, and their owners were household androids. Even though the androids shared their methods with each other, these ones simply weren't equipped with as many features as an RK900.

And that was their downfall.

The group was aware that the girl and RK900 would go to the same supermarket twice every week. They had to get rid of their own androids first. It was easier than they originally thought, even in a place full of cameras - which they could remotely shut down as soon as they started their action.

When the entire place went dark all of a sudden, she moved closer to RK900. She could feel him stiffen immediately, like a hound that smelled the prey, and he did not hesitate to raise his rifle up to neutralize anyone who came in his view.

"Stay close", he whispered to her, but he didn't need to, because she already was as close as possible behind him, holding onto his jacket. Even though he was prepared to take anyone down, the feeling of her being so close to him made him smile a little, involuntarily. "We're leaving, alright?"

"Uh-hum", she whimpered, her knees shaking, the only light being the ring around his arm and around her neck.

RK900 slowly progressed towards the exit, and so did she. The group of humans approached slowly, out of sight, communicating with each other with motions of their hands. RK900 scanned the area, turned on his night vision, used his ability to detect warm bodies in the dark, even through the shelves.

Then Hell broke loose.

The sound of the rifle was deafening. He relentlessly shot through the shelves, slaughtering one of the humans that hid behind one of them. She could hear the painful scream and she instinctively let his jacket go, covering her ears and shutting her eyes. RK900 moved forward a few paces, but she was frozen in place.

That was the group's cue.

When she moved forward to follow him, a hand moved forward behind her to silence her. To the human's surprise, she was fighting back, kicking, clawing, hitting as much as she could. But any noise she made was muffled by the sound of the rifle again.

She could see his arm ring and LED in the dark; the thick ring blue, the LED red. She could see he was turning back to check where she was, before she had been dragged away and out of view.

"Nines!" She wailed when the hand moved away from her mouth. She was struggling as hard as she could, trying to break free from the hands that held her back by her arms. She nearly broke free before fingers grabbed her hair and painfully yanked her head backwards. She yelped in pain. "Help! Nines!!"

"Shut her up!" Someone behind them screamed, shooting back at RK900 with a handgun from where they were.

She felt a needle in her neck and everything went dark.

~*~

"Hey- are you awake?"

The face of a woman came in her vision. She was blonde, she had big, blue doe eyes, and while she looked beautiful, she was dirty. She must've lived underground; she was as pale as a ghost. Now that she was awake and stared at the woman in the face, she felt dizzy, the room was spinning, she had a splitting headache and nausea.

"What-"

The last memories rushed back in her mind and she wanted to bolt up and run - she didn't even know where, just away. Pain seared through her; in her wrists and legs, her thighs. She wasn't moving anywhere because she was strapped down in a bed.

"Let me go!" She screamed, and the woman attempted to hush her, but she didn't listen. "Help! H-"

The woman stuffed a scarf in her mouth and slapped her. She saw stars and went still, staring up at the other woman with tears burning her eyes.

"We weren't prepared that you'd fight back", she murmured with a disgusted look on her face. As if even touching the other brought her displeasure. "And we weren't prepared that a literal flood of them would follow until we got rid of your collar and they lost the track of you."

Her eyes widened in shock. It was relatively dark, and the other's words were confirmed because she couldn't see her collar glowing in the dark. She should've seen the reflection of it in the other's eyes. There was nothing.

They took it off. They took it off. They removed the one and only thing RK900 could track to find her.

"I wish we could've done this without involving the backbone of our resistance, but here we are", the woman continued before she hit her again, just because she could. She saw stars and had to close her eyes, scrunching up her face at the pain. "So many lives lost for one really special bitch. What are you for the androids, anyway? A luxurious little pet? Are you even human? We've got to make sure, you know..."

She glanced up and whined when she saw a knife in the other's hand. She was resisting, thrashing around, but the woman cut her lower arm anyway, making blood rush to the surface. Seeing it was red, her captor smiled.

"Why choose them instead of your people?" Her captor asked, and she stared up at her with an angered look. If she could speak, she would've told the truth; humans brought nothing but pain and suffering for her, while androids showed nothing but kindness. But this woman probably wouldn't understand. "Why not be free with us?"

She shook her head and looked away. The woman scoffed, standing up from the edge of the stretcher she was sitting on.

"The boys are going to come to demand some answers", her captor's tone was full of perverted joy. "And they won't hold back when it comes to interrogation, you know?" Laughing quietly, the woman put her knife away. "It's been hard. Living underground. But with you, we might just demand some rights back. Starting with reclaiming a small portion of Detroit. Most of us are hidden underground. We're starving. We've lost electricity completely, because those fuckers can manipulate it. There are no cameras, laptops, tablets, phones, whatever they can tamper with. There's no way they can find you here."

She didn't believe her. She knew none of them would give up the search; not Connor, not Sixty, and especially not RK900. Her hands balled up in fists. She had to find a way to escape.

"I've told them that they'll need to keep you safe or they wouldn't get what we wanted", the woman continued, "but there's a lot of pent up aggression in them, you see. Men don't like it when they lose everything they lived for. They don't like to know there are little girls like you who don't even have to lift a finger to get whatever she wanted. We've been following you two for weeks. You're a disgusting little cockroach, a disgrace to humanity, and you know, what? I'll laugh when they end up using you as their personal fuck toy until we can strike a deal with your brainless machines." She yanked the scarf out of her mouth and smiled down at her. "Any last words before I gag you again?"

She had tears burning her eyes as she stared up at the woman, and she panted for air for a while before she could muster her thoughts. Her brain had been trained in the past to endure an insane amount of torture; she wasn't afraid of anything they'd put her through at all. These people had no idea what real fear was.

But they will know it.

"They will find me... and they'll want to kill you", she whispered, her voice shaking, "but I won't let them-"

"Aww, that's very nice of you", the woman smiled, then pet her hair as she was struggling against her bonds as she stared up at her, determined.

"...but mark my words, if anyone touches me, I'm going to make you wish you were dead."

The woman stared in her eyes, trying to determine whether or not she was serious, then she laughed and pushed the scarf back in her mouth.

[ask-paradox-and-friends]

CHAPTER 30 THUNDEROUS ROARS OF STEEL PART 2

—---------------------------------------------------------------

*the duo kept fighting and parrying only for Saito to get a blow in by using her skills to deflect his sword and then slammed her elbow into his chin stumbling a little only to put their sword on his chest and with one large swiping swing tearing Susanos Armour open and spilling his blood on the ground forcing him to a knee as Saito jumped back thinking and predicting he'd get up with a basic staring strike. Susano was just laughing like the mad man he was having fun but as he was bleeding he recalled his life.*

*his parents izanagi and izanami telling him and his siblings what they would rule. Amaterasu ruling the sky his brother tsukuyomi Ruling the underworld and him ruling the earth.*

*he then kept remembering his life. The first time he met a swordsmen. The first time he saw humanity training in the ways of sword fighting. How He wanted to show his siblings all he learned and the marvel of the mortal spirit only for his brother to call him out as an idiot and how like Posiden from the first match he was sure that no matter what the gods are perfect. And how his sister exiled him from heaven. He was allowed to travel the world and study sword fighting in various forms. He shall not allow mortals to see his true form he kept studying and training and when He heard of other worlds he studied them as well. he was sure he'd be able to have the fight of his life as he held his Ground standing Up right he eventually smiled.*

*Saito was baffled by his actions but for some reason she held his ground as the heat and aura was diminishing a little as the moves she did and strength she had took some aura. But as they Saw the god who was happy as all hell Saito was baffled but smiled.*

Saito:hehe..Okita would have loved being in my place. Well you seem happy.

Susano:Huh? Oh absolutely But I'm also thinking about my life and how heated up I am!

Saito:hm well if it's anything I'm sure your life was better then mine.

*Susano just laughed again and showed off some elemental flare as Saitos dragonic spirit wrapped around her then opened its eyes with a fiery smile On its face as it uncoiled.*

Susano:the life you lived was one of passion and skill! You had an inspirational life! Hahahaha! Yakuza,shinsengumi,retired Or not you live a storied life!

Saito:thank you. It's an honor.

Susano:my heart is pumping! My soul is burning! I wish to make you boil! Hahahahaha!

*as their auras built up the Japanese gods turned to the two leaders who just store at their brother.*

Tsukuyomi:idiot…idiot…brat! Baka Baka Baka! He's still looking down on us!!!! Gaaahhhh!

*He was interrupted by his sister shushing him*

Amaterasu:brother. Do me a favor and shut up.

Tsukuyomi:Ha!? But sister! He's continuing to shame us!

Amaterasu:and you are making us look like nothing more then whining children. So shut up and just watch you whining simpleton!

*taken aback by his sister he sat Down in shame while his sister wasn't fond of the idea of Susano being this humble to humans or insisting on the power of the mortals This tournament had surprised her. first was when That blind demon Defeated the god of the seas who was far too similar to her brother…then while they had a few failures she did witness things that shook Her to her core. The four armed monster almost killing the Hindu destruction god. The little vampire defeating Hercules and even that elderly blond man killing hades and that fallen Angel killing zues. Even the facts that several gods and pantheons betrayed Heaven. She looked back at the diminishing number of gods thanks to the Rouge gods supplying and helping the mortals. She wasn't expecting the gods to start trying To invade the other worlds out of rage and shame of losing Raganork. But she did have to admit.*

*these mortals intrigued her.*

*maybe…just maybe…she'd take the time to look up a few if they Interested her.*

*Meanwhile with the Einherjars*

Derail:wonderfully done Saito.

Mai:FUCK HIM UP!

Garou bun and tsugu:*Cheers of praise*

Kaito:’How impressive. Perhaps we should meet up sometime.’

Naruko:damn. Can't wait for my round!

Pico:considering I might be the one fighting all fucker I can't same I'm the same.

Paradox:HAHAHAHAHAHA DRAGON POWER FUCKER!

Sunblood:*walks into the room* Hello everyone! Saito is doing well aren't they?

Derail:Hello sunblood. Where's the guest of honor you said you were bringing?

Sunblood:*Sticks hand in satchel on back pulling out Göll*

Goll:wh-why did you?

Sunblood:you need more friends!

*the younger Valkyrie sighs and nods taking a seat next To Kaito. Who due to his big brother nature immediately squeezes her hand as a way to comfort her. Oddly she felt safer and as she saw the Völundrs she noticed that whole comatose due to needing to heal the Valkyries were in the healing pods behind the group. Feeling happy her sisters were here and that humanity's best were around her to defend her she smiles sending texts to their families to update them. She didn't know why but all the stress she had being near Brunhilde was starting to disappear..*

*She wonders who her partner would be.*

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | part six

MASTERLIST (series) | Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs. Reader is hyper-independent, a people-pleaser, a smart mouth, stands on business, and mysterious past. Rafe is insecure, possessive, asshole, and has mood swings.

Rafe's mind is spinning.

He didn't have a plan when he barged into your house. It was short-sighted and willed by his temper. All he knew was the hot, pulsating jealousy raging inside of him and he couldn't do anything to contain it. He knows you're nothing more than a fake title created to impress his father. He knows he can have any other woman in the world. He knows you two aren't real. But, for some reason, despite the lack of formal commitment, he wants you—your sharp mouth, your kind heart, your ability to tease and challenge him in one breath—all to himself.

The idea of sharing you with someone else—a Pogue, nonetheless—irritates and angers him. Because it means that a Pogue can beat him. Is better than him. More suited for your time and trust than him.

And deep down, he knows it's true.

Since you fucked Maybank, there's nothing he could do to change that. Instead, he needs to prove to you, someway, somehow, that he was better.

You said nothing when he wrapped his hand around your throat, your eyes slightly widened and your lips part. His gaze traces the outline of your features, trying to read every minuscule detail to figure out what you're thinking.

"Speak." He demands, his jaw clenching down, his desperation boiling over. Your words are mute. "Fucking talk."

You can't. You're preoccupied with the presence of Rafe Cameron in your home, just a few feet away from your sisters from discovering him, from seeing him here, that it renders you without a response.

"I—" You stutter, your soft eyes meeting Rafe's hard ones. "You're not supposed to be here."

Those weren't the words he wanted to hear.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You lay a hand on his wrist, not necessarily pulling him off, but in preparation to. You don't answer his question, anxiously looking to the back door. You squint through the tinted screen to see if your siblings are still running around the yard, no signs of them returning to the house soon.

This move—you looking away from Rafe—twists something ugly inside of him. Rafe interprets your glance as another way to look for them, the Pogues; the people who are better than him. His hand slides from your throat to cup your chin, forcing your sight back on him.

"Who the fuck are you looking for?" He snaps, his gaze darkening with each second, pupils dilating, the sound of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. "Maybank? Are you looking for your other boyfriend?"

You didn't bother acknowledging what he's saying. He's always saying shit. You place a hand on his chest, ready to push him out of the front door but he refuses to budge. "You really can't be here, Rafe, I'm so serious—"

"Or what?"

He hears nothing but the sound of his own blood. He can't do this. He can't stand that you're choosing Heyward and Maybank over him. That they're more important than him. That they get to stay but he has to leave.

He wants to be here too.

You inhale a shaky breath, worry edging around your heart at the idea of one of your sisters walking in. You can't afford that.

"Where's your room?" He demands, his words are sharp and filled with authority. His tolerance slipping. You don't answer him immediately and his grip on your chin tightens. "Either you tell me or I'm going to fuck you right here and I don't fucking care who sees."

His threat is real. Your panic spikes.

Having no other choice, you pull yourself out of his grip—something you know he allowed—and grabs his arm, navigating him deeper into your house. Something about it rubs you wrong; the way he's getting to see more intimate details of your home, where you grew up, where you've been surviving for the past twenty-two years. It's getting access to something you've shielded from most people.

Stepping into the small master bedroom, you close the door behind you, disregarding any attempts to lock it. It's broken.

You turn back to Rafe with a gentle gaze; you don't know where to start this conversation.

"I—"

You don't need to. The next thing you know, his lips are on you and he's kissing you, the blunt force of his sudden action slams you against the back of your door with a loud creak. His hand travels to cup the underside of your jaw, guiding him closer.

It takes you by surprise but you find yourself reciprocating him, the familiar slant of his mouth pressing against yours slowly dissolving any panic, calming your turbulent mind to one focus.

But his touch isn't anywhere soft or gentle. It was rough and demanding, punishment easing its way through his will and onto you.

Rafe breaks the kiss to descend down your open neck and you tilt your head to give him more access, a delicate sigh leaving you. His hand finds itself under your baggy tee and cups your breast. "You think Maybank can make you feel this way?" He whispers against your warm skin, his fingers lightly grazing your nipples in a way that makes you arch into him. "That he can fuck you better?"

When you don't answer him, your mind too muddled to correct him, he pulls back. His eyes are hard. "Do you?"

His insecurities are getting to him. Your lack of response is getting to him. Now knowing that JJ Maybank—a no-named Pogue from the rough side of The Cut that has nothing—could be a potential suitor for you, it opens up the idea that you can be taken away. From him. From this.

He hates it. He hates you.

"Rafe." You start gently, trying to calm him down. It does the opposite. It's only pissing him off more how you can't give him a direct yes-or-no. "I didn't—"

He pushes himself off of you. Taking a step back, his cold eyes scans your clothed figure.

"Take it off." He commands lowly. "Fucking take your clothes off."

You can hear the fury in his voice, how tense and dark it is. You don't try to argue as your fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your shoulders. Your shorts and panties soon follow and you're left with nothing but complete bareness for him.

Your body is insane and his erection hardens in his pants at the sight of you. Standing before him; obedient and naked. He can't help but come to the conclusion that it's only for him to see, for him to touch and please.

And he has to share that?

Fuck, no.

He just has to remind you of that.

Rafe steps forward and captures your lips once more, his large frame covers you with warmth. Now, without your clothes, his hands travel all over—playing with your tits, pulling at your hips, spreading apart your thighs against the door. His mouth leaves yours, sucking on your neck and leaving marks on the curve.

He rolls your nipple between his rough fingers. "These are mine," he declares, tugging them in a manner that makes you arch into him, a mewl leaving your lips. Your mind growing dizzy. His hand lowers to cup your pussy. "This is mine too. I thought we went over this, sweetheart."

You shudder at his touch. "We did."

"Then why the fuck are you letting Maybank touch what's mine?" He growls, his fingers grazing against your slit, teasing you with slow strokes. You arch into his hand, only for him to hold you firm by your hips. "Not so fast."

"Rafe, please," you whisper, your pleading eyes finding his. "I'm aching."

His jaw tightens, conflicted between two things. He wanted to torture you further, slow and agonizing, but he can't help but take in the look on your face that's begging him to fuck you, against this door, hard and fast.

He had to look away, back to your cunt, spreading apart your folds. "Fuck, you're wet," he groans, your arousal collecting on his fingers. You throb at his feather-light touches. "Tell me it's all because of me."

His mouth captures a sensitive spot on your neck, just behind your ear, that you can't help but do anything to what he says. "It's all because of you," you confirm, which grants Rafe to add more pressure on your clit. "Just you, Rafe."

He loves hearing his own name coming from your lips. With satisfaction, his fingers finally plunge into your pussy and he begins to pump. You gasp at the intrusion.

His fingers curl inside of you. "I bet that Pogue doesn't make you feel this fucking good." He asserts.

"Never." You shake your head vigorously, tipping your head back against the doorframe as Rafe works in-and-out of you. The sound of your pussy squelching echoes through the small room. "Oh, fuck, right there. That feels so good."

He adds a third finger. "Oh, god."

"You're so fucking tight," he whispers into your ear, watching your face twist in ecstasy as he stretches you out. "Can't even fit it all the way in."

Pleasure and pain rides together as you mutter no audible words and feel the familiar knot tightening in your lower belly, rising in crescendo.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" He taunts, feeling the way you clench around him, challenging him to pump you further. You nod fervently, moaning with containment. "Right here against this door?"

"Yes, yes."

He pulls his fingers out.

"Get on the bed." He orders, watching with sick amusement at the way your face twists in frustration from the emptiness of his touch. He's proud to make you feel this way. "On all fours. Now."

You want to argue, but you're aching all over. The orgasm on the reachable horizon slowly fading away with each passing moment, that you end up obeying him. With a huff, you go to your unmade bed and settle on the mattress with your knees and palms.

Rafe smiles cruelly, taking in the mental image of you waiting for him. He quickly strips out of his clothes, his cock red and swollen, dripping with precum from the strain. But, when he steps up behind you, he doesn't immediately enter you. No, he wants to make you beg for it.

His fingers trace your wet entrance and you flinch at how sensitive it is. "Aw, my poor baby," he mocks, his voice lacking any sincerity, "do you want to come? Do you want me in you?"

It's so degrading how much you're willing to submit. To reach your release. But, nonetheless, you nod with abandon, every second passing is another unbearable heat between your legs.

"Use your words, sweetheart or I'm not fucking you," Rafe declares sharply, his ringed finger brushing against your clit and running light, broad circles. "I know you know how to use that mouth."

It's too much.

"Rafe, please," you beg, "please come inside me."

Your words make him impossibly more hard, that he couldn't take it any longer. He lines himself behind you, before slamming his cock into your pussy.

The pleasure hits you instantaneously, that you had to bite your bottom lip to contain the loud moan threatening to make itself known. You can't have that. Your sisters are just right outside your wall.

His rhythm is sharp and quick, his movement uncontrolled. "See what happens when you listen?" He grunts, the feeling of you wrapped around him is so fucking perfect. "When you do what you're told?"

"Yes, yes," you mewl, your arms giving out and you sink into your pillows from the force Rafe is pounding you from behind. "I'll be good, I swear."

Rafe anchors himself in a way that allows him to hit your g-spot with precision. You moan louder this time, forgetting your desperate attempts of keeping your voice down. "Oh god, just like that," you encourage, as he feels your walls flutter around him for the second time. "I'm ab–about to come."

He pulls out again.

This time, frustration and anger rolls over you. You're aching terribly bad, the knot in your stomach is growing uncomfortable from the lack of release.

Rafe says nothing as he grabs your waist, hauling you upright as his strong arms wrap around your front. You let out an irritated whine, your peak fading once again.

"What the fuck?" You cry out, on the brink of tears, as your spine rests on Rafe's chest and you feel his hard erection pressing against the small of your back. You know he had to be aching too. "Why'd you pull out?"

He chuckles darkly. "Want me that badly?"

"I want your dick."

He doesn't answer you, his free hand lowering. You can't see it, but the smirk of his face is full of self-satisfaction and pride.

"You can't punish me." You declare, remembering his words earlier. You wonder if this is part of it; leaving you on the edge for so long, you're going to explode. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Rafe begins to run tight circles around your clit, your swollen nub causing you to jolt into his touch by surprise. His speed quickens, drawing you back to your climax.

"Does this feel like punishment to you?" He whispers while you're writhing before him. Your head tipping back on his shoulders while your body is weakening from the strain of past attempts. "Do you want to come?"

You nod your head eagerly, one of your hands enclosing his to make sure he doesn't leave you empty again. "Yes, please."

"Who's fucking you?"

"You."

"Who makes you feel this good?"

"You." You whimper, your orgasm is so close.

"Say my fucking name."

"Rafe." You let out a moan, his cooled ring brushes against your slit and makes your sensitivity heightens. Your hand tightens its grip around his. He chuckles at the sight of your desperation. "God, please, keep doing that. Please don't stop."

Rafe's starting to know your body. Know when you're about to come. He wants you to remember. Fuck the names—the whole idea—of any other men from your head. Only his.

His fingers quickens as he lays sloppy kisses against your open neck. Your hips bucks, your thighs shaking, and your breathing shuddering. The little moans you're letting go, more contained than anything he's heard before, is a mere challenge to his ears. He wants you to be loud. He wants them to hear.

"Come on, baby," he whispers tenderly. "Come for me."

You come on his hand, slumping back against his broad chest as you catch your breath. Rafe doesn't allow you to gather yourself, flipping your position as he lays against the mattress.

Your heart is slowly calming. You blink at him through the haze of your post-orgasm.

"Ride me." He instructs, leaning back against your headboard.

Your breath hitch as he gestures to you to come forward, which your body auto-pilots and follows. You anchor yourself over his cock, lining the hard length at your entrance as you slowly sink into him, hissing from the sensitivity of your recent release.

You're taking your sweet time to get adjusted and, with thin patience and him needing his own orgasm, Rafe grabs your hips and draws you down completely, causing him to fill you to the hilt.

"Fuck," you whine, your eyes teary from the sensation of your overstimulation. You look up to him, wanting to get off, but his hands stay on your hips. "I don't know if I can..."

A hand leaves your side to cup your chin. "You want to make me feel good, don't you, sweetheart?" He taunts. "Isn't that fair?"

You let out a shaky breath before you begin to rock your hips against him, finding a speed where you can control. Rafe groans at the way your body rolls, the way your walls grip him, that he leans back against the headboard.

Your pleasure builds once again, eyes fluttering close, taking in everything. Every spot his cock is hitting, every pressure point he meets, every buzzing feeling in your body. It's all because of him.

One of your hands rubs your clit while the other plays with your pierced nipples. Rafe watches with intent as you chase your own pleasure.

"I love seeing you play with your tits," he groans, because truly, something about you playing with the little metal barbell between your fingers, twisting and pulling, drives him fucking wild.

"Yeah?" You challenge, leaning over. He raises himself, taking a nipple in his mouth as your hands are splayed across his chest to steady yourself. The sensation of his warm mouth sucking and your angle at which you grind against him—you feel yourself rising to your climax again while his cock twitches inside of you.

His arm locks you in an embrace as he comes. His cum spills inside as you straighten yourself back up, rubbing your clit once more, bouncing up and down on his dick as you allow him to ride out his high while you chase yours. His hands lazily slides to your thighs, gripping them as you go faster and harder, your wetness dripping over his abdomen and you tip your head back with an uninhibited moan.

"Fuck." You cry, knowing that that was one of the best orgasms you had, and with how loud you were, embarrassment follows. Rafe sees the look on your face and smirks, knowing he made you break one of your rules.

You slump on his broad shoulder, catching your breath as his hand rests against the small of your back, his fingers caressing your arched spine. You haven't lifted off of him; his cock still warm and softening inside of you.

Worn out, you manage to pull yourself off of him and fall back against the hard mattress. It's nothing like the one you laid on at Rafe's bedroom. With a harsh breathing pattern, you watch the ceiling, waiting to return back to normal.

Rafe follows a similar method, refusing to look at you afterwards, that you twist your head to look at his profile.

You can tell he's in deep thoughts. It pulls you back to when he came into your house, when he stepped into your sanction with this look—this anger. It was nothing like it was before, like it was with his father. This was something completely different.

"I didn't fuck JJ." You whisper in confession, hoping it would ease something out of him, and watching as Rafe finally turns to you with a look of surprise.

"You didn't?" He hates how elated his voice sounds. He tries to suppress the emotion with the blanking of his features, to appear detached, but you caught on.

"No." You smile softly. "He's like a little brother to me. I can never imagine myself doing that."

Rafe's chest lightens. Tremendously. He didn't realize how heavy it felt until you said that. But, his doubt still remains.

"Why was he in your house, then?"

"I was patching him up," you say with a sigh, pulling yourself into a sitting position. Rafe had the urge to grab your wrist and pull you back down. To be here with him a moment longer. "His... something happened. Got into a fight. I was just helping him."

His jaw ticks, "he could've gone to the hospital."

"Do you forget we're poor?" You turn back to Rafe with a defeated laugh. He looks so big in your bed, so out of place, like he doesn't belong. That this world could never be something of his. "Insurance is expensive. The hospital takes forever. I'd rather take care of them without them spending hundreds on normal injuries."

Rafe says nothing as he watches you. Trying to understand you. He's coming up mostly blank.

But, he realizes one thing.

You do that. You help people when they don't deserve it. You even helped him after a fight when he was being a complete asshole to you at Topper's party. Your instinct is so friendly, so giving and undeserving, he doesn't know what to do with this.

It elevates the sentiment that, perhaps, his father was right.

"That doesn't explain why I couldn't be here."

This one, you hesitate to answer. You look away, to the bedroom door where the lock doesn't work and knowing, if your sisters decided to barge into your room right now—there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. Fear pricks your chest again.

"Hey." He places a hand on your back. He couldn't beg you to respond. That's pathetic. "Answer me."

"I..." You let out a reluctant sigh. "I didn't want my sisters to see you."

This surprises him. "You have sisters?"

You nod, not supplementing more information. You already revealed too much.

His brows furrowed together. "What do you mean? I'm good with kids."

You chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. "Yeah, probably with making them, but you can't meet my sisters."

"Why not? Are they scary?"

"No, they're like eight and twelve."

"Then what's the fucking problem?"

"I..." You mess with your hands, trying to rid yourself of this discomfort. You hate telling people about yourself. "I don't bring guys home to meet my sisters. Not unless it's serious."

Not unless it's real.

You think it's all the bedtime stories you read to them. Of princesses and princes, of fairytale endings, and they have this fantastical expectation of love that only happens in books. They want you to find that same love, to be happy, and they get so attached whenever you bring someone new home. Like it could replace the hole in their hearts with your missing parents. So, you try not to get their hopes up.

Because you know. Whatever is going on with Rafe is not your storybook ending. It can't be. You're nothing more than a fake girlfriend, someone he fucks whenever it's convenient, someone he doesn't even consider a friend. Even if you're starting to feel something more, to see him beyond his privileged, over-pretentious self, you agreed to those terms. You're going to stick with it.

Rafe doesn't say anything in return.

The back door squeaks open and your eyes widen as you hear your name being called from the hallway, footsteps approaching your bedroom.

"Don't come in!" You shout to whoever is behind the broken door, their steps pull to a halt.

"Why?" JJ asks. You can see from the corner of your peripheral, the way Rafe's jaw tightens at the sound of the Pogue's voice.

"I'm... I'm naked."

He chuckles with amusement. "I'm sure I can take a peak," he teases, testing the door as it creaks from the disengagement.

Rafe sits up, ready to fight the Pogue, but you lay a flat hand on his chest.

"If you open that door, JJ, I'm going to kill you."

He laughs. The door falls back into place, the deadbolt sliding into the latch, before announcing. "Alright, whatever. I'm just telling you that I'm heading out with Pope so your sisters are going to be alone out here."

"Thank you." You say, your heart is still racing. "I'll be out in a minute."

JJ bids a farewell as his footsteps retreat, and you turn back to Rafe. His expression is unreadable, his thoughts elsewhere.

"They know your sisters?"

You can't decipher the tone in his voice.

"We grew up together, of course they know." You answer, hearing the familiar roar of JJ's bike engine leaving your driveway. You turn back to Rafe. "You gotta go."

He doesn't move when you get up from your mattress, putting your clothes back on.

"What if I want to meet your sisters?"

The inquiry, so genuine, stops you in your tracks. "For what?" You question, tilting your head to the side.

He shrugs.

"I..." You don't know what to say. How the earnest attempt brings a feeling of warmth and buzz to your stomach. "This has nothing to do with our arrangement."

Rafe sucks in his cheeks, swallowing hard, before nodding. "Right."

He gets off the bed and redresses himself silently. Nothing else to be said. He doesn't bother to turn to you to bid a farewell before he goes. Just as he's about to open the bedroom door, you stop him.

"Go through the window."

"What?" His brows pull together. Irritation flares in his expression. "No."

"Either you do that or you have to wait till my sisters are off to bed."

"So what if they fucking see me?" He snaps, making another move towards the door. He didn't understand why it bothers him so much that you're hiding him from your family. He doesn’t care if he breaks one of your stupid rules. You grab his arm before he makes another break.

"No, I'm serious, Rafe." Your voice is firm. "This is one of those things you can't just decide on your own. You have two choices. Pick one."

He's frustrated. He's a bit pissed. He's angry with himself. He can't complain about you wanting to set boundaries with him, with this relationship, because it makes sense. Because, if it was anyone else, it would've been perfect for him.

He shouldn't want to meet your sisters. He shouldn't feel this unburden urge to impress them. To make them like him more. He shouldn't care about you—beyond what you can offer with your end of the bargain—but he fucking does. And he can't fucking stand it.

All he knows right now is he can't bear to be in the same room with you right now. He needs to be alone. With others. People who don't give a shit about him the way you do. Smoke. Drink. Attend one of those parties someone on the island is hosting.

So, he leaves. Through the fucking window, like a teenager again, trying not to get caught by the parents. When he treks to his car, his phone is already in his hands and he was dialing up one of his buddies, asking where the next rager is.

—

You arrived at Sailor earlier than opening time to make up for your absence yesterday. It’s at the same time Heyward opens his shop, that you manage to meet him on the docks as you're unlocking the bar.

He calls you out by name.

"Hey, Mr. Heyward," you greet with a smile, turning to him. "What's up?"

"Hey." He stops just a couple of feet away from you. His expression flits with trouble. "I just... I wanted to tell you that Aaron stopped by here yesterday."

Your heart stops.

"And, I don't know if you know, kid, but messing around with someone like him is—" You cut him off.

"I know." You say gently, adrenaline pulsing through your veins at this reveal of information but you can't let him know that. You plaster on a look of normalcy, trying to calm him down from his worry. The man has known you and your family forever and he can almost be seen as a second father figure to you, but the way he over-extends himself to make sure you are fine makes you uncomfortable. "It's... it's probably nothing."

"Y'know, Luke Maybank got caught up with Aaron once and—"

"I know." You say again, this time, a bit firmer. This get Heyward to back off on you. "Don't worry. I got it handled. Thank you for telling me."

He's watching you, full of concern and wonderment about what's going on with you. You're just a kid, with too much on your shoulders, taken on too many responsibilities at a young age. He's afraid something is going to happen.

"Be careful." He warns, knowing that's all he can offer with what you're giving him. You nod appreciatively, just as he departs back to his shop.

You watch as his figure disappears into his store, and when he's gone, you release a heavy breath. God, Aaron was here? And you weren't? This drives panic in your system, because you know the man doesn't bother you physically unless a deadline is approaching.

You were afraid. You were getting stressed. You have to plan your next steps.

But, you couldn't think of that right now. All you can do is twist the key in the lock and enter the bar, starting your day. 

★ part seven ★

hello! my taglist is getting a bit long and exhaustive, so i've shifted into a notification blog! i'm probably going to tag for a few more parts, but otherwise, please follow @zyafics-library + turn on notifications if you would like to follow my stories! taglists: @quicksilversg1rl / @uraesthete / @maybankslover / @trshngyn / @irides-solstice / @kur0obaby / @groovycass / @emmalandry / @rivaiken / @outlawedmando / @ditzyzombiesblog / @mattyskies / @sunshinepanic / @too-deviant / @rafesgiirl / @lafavoritaangel / @bunniii-98 / @vvvhack / @babygoddam / @cami-is-reading / @peachesmilk / @whore4fictionalman / @artemiswinnick / @janediazwindsor / @pandora-rosier1 / @solanathascientst / @itshellie / @grace-sully / @loveyouok / @tayrcse / @mysteris-things / @ella131989 / @starrkissezz / @sanriobuny / @chopshopcheesecake / @fentyxmalik / @fleets-world / @supernaturalwriter / @taylorsmissamericanna / @hehelollmao / @lac0nically / @elysiasshit / @kravitzwhore / @tommysaxes / @ma-yangg / @carolinaxvz / @bandsbooks / @sourjoonie / @rafemotherfuckingcameron

[parliamentoftoh]

*shakes Owl House* give me the entire Philip-Wittebro backstory episode please I still have so many questions.

Namely, like, how the heck they got to the Boiling Isles in the first place and, even more so, how they (presumably) got separated.

Current theory is that it was easier to get between worlds back then - which is to say, not easy at all but at least something one could actually stumble into, as opposed to today where it is nearly impossible and unheard of. Probably something to do with more Titan’s Blood just being around during that era where now its dried up. 

So Philip and Wittebro - who I am just gonna call Caleb now - meet a witch who either intentionally or maybe out of a mistake of their own wound up in new england. Caleb is fascinated, Philip is Not, maybe they have an argument about it. Caleb decides to follow the witch without telling Philip, thinking he’ll be able to pop back into his world again after checking it out.

Except he gets somehow sidetracked - probably nearly gets killed because the Boiling Isles is terrifying - and by the time he goes back to the point of entry it’s gone and he thinks he’s stuck. He is appropriately stricken over the fact that he left his brother behind without warning or explanation, and decides to work on finding a different porta/creating a new portal. 

The witch he followed chooses to stick with him and help him; they grow closer; and as the months of work turn into years they fall in love. Caleb still intends to go home but, much like Luz, he’s found a family here now too. 

Except, way back when, Philip had in fact noticed his brother leaving with that witch and - in true Philip fashion - thought Caleb was being lured in for nefarious things and decides to follow them. However, he followed enough behind that he doesn’t actually know where Caleb went after crossing over and maybe thinks his brother was killed (comes across something of his that he lost, maybe torn and slightly bloody from earlier accidental near death) and is full of vengeful rage about it. 

So both brothers are in the Boiling Isles thinking they’re the only one there for one reason or another, until Philip catches sight of his brother one day. His brother, who is not only alive but appears to be happily settled in this awful place with a pregnant partner - and Philip is furious because not only is Caleb with a witch but it looks very much like Caleb willingly left Philp without a word to be with them. It’s like the worst possible version of Camilla and Luz’s conversation at the end of Yesterday’s Lie. 

(this also plays into my other theory that the Wittebane brothers are not biological siblings but orphans that were raised together. They only had each other as kids and Caleb left him.)

[starlightshadowsworld]

Son of none

Based off this post: Aka Percy Weasley was abandoned by his family and I don’t think they realised just how much danger an 18 civilian blood traitor son would be when stuck behind enemy lines. Well never fear, a fic is here as if I don’t have any other drafts...any whoooo

@transparentfreakpursepanda

Warning for blood, torture, self loathing. Mentions of bullying and neglect. Cursing.

(Also while writing this I was listening to Polaris by Natewantstobattle and...yeah if you want more angst while reading this listen to them and think of Percy :)  )

Percy deserved this.

Knowing that didn't change things. It didn’t make it easier to make it duck past the office that had once belonged to Barty Crouch Sr without feeling dread and greif. As harsh as the man could be and that he had not bothered to learn Percy's name... Percy still mourned his loss. For all that he was, Barty Crouch Sr had been a good man.

Life at the ministry taught him quickly, that kind of wizard was few and far between.

He wondered if the look Barty Crouch Sr had shared with his son before his death wax the same his father had shared with him the day he left.

Maybe it wasn't wise to compare yourself to a deranged murderer, but if that's the kind of wizard his family thought he was...

"Weasley"

It was stern, drenched in spite that was not unlike his old potions professor. But sadly even Snapes treatment of him in class did not hold a candle to what was happening now.

Percy lifted his head, it felt heavy. Infact all of him felt that he was on fire. The figure infront of him came into focus, not that Perch could quite recall his name. Edward? No that didn't seem right. Not Edward was his wand in hand and looked very annoyed, his dark mark was on full display.

Percy became very well aware in that moment that he couldn't move. He was bound to a chair in a room that looked very much like a cellar. He was still in his ministry robes, though they were dirty and tattered and stained in something.

It took Percy longer than he should've to realise it was his own blood. Not that he knew where he was bleeding from. "You Gryffindors and your bloody stubbornness" sneered Not Edward, he was a broad man, towering over Percy.

"You're wasting my time, and yours of you don't hurry up and tell me where your family is hiding." Percy shook his head, defiantly even if his body protested at the sudden movement. "Like I said before, even if I did know, I would never tell you." 

And than Not Edward would shout profanities all the while using his subordinates to use Percy as target practice till he passed out. That had been the cycle for... Well he wasn't sure for how long. Apart from the first time when Percy had weaved a convincing story about the family heading to Romania to hide away with Charlie...a whole false hunt that ended with the brand he now had on his arm. 

But this time was different.

Not Edward smirked "thought you'd say that, no matter. We've found out how to get there attention, and they'll hand themselves over." Percy laughed, it was a strangled and it sent another wave of pain through his body.

Not Edward was still smirking, in fact if anything his confidence grew. "And better yet, you're going to the bait that brings them here." And that stopped Percy laughing at once, he was quieter. "What makes you think they'd come" the words were barely above a whisper that echoed throughout the room.

Not Edward (Percy really needed to learn this man's name for his own internal monologue's sake) rolled his eyes "don't pull that on me, you Weasely's are more attached than a bunch of grapes. Rest assured, they'll be coming one way or another."

With that he left. Percy tried not to think about the fact a death eater had more confidence in his families arrival than he did. His mind wandered to the day he left, guilt pooled in his stomach. No amount of head trauma would erase the disgust and rage in Arthur’s eyes, Percy knew at that moment he had lost all right to call the man father. 

He could never look him in the eye again, he couldn’t even look himself in the mirror without seeing him staring back. His mothers eyes haunted him, she’d been the only one to try to reach out but he had slammed that back in her face. Not that Percy should have been surprised, he’d always been a parasite. 

If anything they must’ve been relived to be rid of him. 

They wouldn’t come, he knew that. Than why did his heart race, did tears threaten to fall and his stomach churn at the thought? Percy thought of his siblings, young and old...they wouldn’t have given him a second thought. Fred and George would mourn the loss of their favourite target, but they would move on they all would if they hadn’t already. 

For Percy though, this was the end of the line. 

_______________________________________________________________

Weasley family dinners were always something else, Bill knew this better than most. He smiled to Fleur who sat at his side, amusement on her face as they both watched Molly do as she does best. It was organised chaos at its finest, and while Shell cottage was a far cry from the Burrow, somehow it all came together. Harry was laughing at a story Ginny and the twins were telling, Charlie and Hermione were actually helping Molly along with Arthur. 

But even with how familiar it was, it was missing a certain brother rolling his eyes at the story and telling the true ending to the annoyance of the twins. Who would than direct the others to helping out with dinner to there mothers amusement. 

Percy. 

Ever since the watch, a muggle watch at that had arrived on his wedding day, with no name for the sender but only Bill’s name signed by an all too familiar handwriting...Bill hadn’t been able to take his mind of his little brother. His absence at his wedding and just seeing him around the house stuck out like a sore thumb to Bill. He wasn’t the only one either, he could see how his Mum would pause her eyes searching before looking down and moving onto something else.

Much like now when she put down the plates and realised that she’d left a little extra to the side. “Mum, I get that you miss him but you can’t keep doing this. Percy’s not coming back” the first to say it was Charlie, his voice soft like he was talking to an irate dragon. “Good riddance” that came from Ginny, in that whisper that wasn’t even trying to be quiet. 

Instantly Molly became much like a dragon. “Ginevera Molly Weasley, don’t you dare speak about your brother like that!” She yelled, hot tears burning in her eyes. “Molly...” Interjected Arthur, putting a calming hand on his wife’s shoulder “you can’t blame her for her anger. Come on, let’s dig in.” And that should have been the end of it but Molly turned to him, her own temper boiling. 

“Don’t you start, Arthur. Don’t you tell me I should be sat eating dinner while my son is out all alone.” She spat. “Mum, it’s fine Percy’s probably having high tea with the new minister, talking about the importance of  cauldron bottoms” snickered Fred, “pfft yeah, just sat around telling the dark lord about his book report” agreed George. Bill frowned, as did Fleur but that was nothing compared to Molly. 

Her gaze hardened and the twins shut up instantly, they’d never seen her this mad. “I dont care if you hate him, I don’t care if this isn’t my home...you speak of my son following HIM, get out of my sight now.” She said, slumping into a nearby chair. Bill stood up, putting his own hand in his mums which she took gratefully. “Percy may be the most ambitious lion around, but he wouldn’t join you know who. He left to join the ministry because that's what he believed in, death eaters isn’t even in the equation.”

And Bill meant those words. More than he ever thought he would. 

“Though is there any difference between the death eaters and the ministry anymore?” Asked Harry, the place was filled with them after all. “Yeah? Might be but they’ve kept the employees, not that I know what’s going on in there anymore.” Said Arthur, adding his 2 galleon’s into the mix. “And there not going to take kindly to a Weasley” Said Hermione, making everyone look down as if they hadn’t just realised that. 

It didn’t matter if Percy had disowned himself, his family was very much publicly fighting the people he was now stuck with. 

And that was when fate decided to be extra cruel and the radio burst into life. 

“Greetings from the Ministry. Our daily transmission has already been received today but we have an exceptional treat for the wizarding public. We will be instead hosting an interview with one of our newest employees, give a hand folks to Percival Ignatius Weasley.”

Everyone in the room froze, and yet Ron who was the only one of the family minus Fleur not to speak, ran to the radio and put the volume as loud as he could. 

“Say hello your family, Percival.” Taunted the voice, it was very gleeful as it spoke. No response was heard. “Oh, silly me I forgot how many hours you young people work, not to worry let’s get him up boys.” 

A splash was heard and a shuddering scream. “Morning Percival, sorry do you prefer Percy? Don’t care, lets start the interview. So Percival, how are you finding the ministry?” Everyone sat with baited breathe.

And yet it was there Percy who, through shuddered breaths managed to whisper a “fuck you...fuck you and your ministry”

“Well that is very rude, and here I thought your mother would have taught you manners” “don’t...don’t you talk about her.” Said Percy, Molly broke down into tears and Bill held her close. Unable to tear his gaze from the radio, no one could. 

“What do you want to say them? I’m sure they’ve missed you. In fact, just for you we’ll be hosting a party. And there all invited to the ministry, so long as they bring a certain Mr Potter.” 

There was a silence before “don’t come...don’t. Whatever you do, don’t... it’s fine. I’m fine, I love it here.” He laughed, everyone cringed at the sound he made, as if he was choking. “It’s fine, don’t come...parties are overrated yeah.” The transmission started cutting off, Ron frantically along with the twins tried to get it working. 

They heard “too busy. Don’t come, Harry don’t...stay where you are!” Before the  transmission cut off.

No one could speak, horror was etched into all of there faces. The twins were scrabbling over themselves with wand in hand to track where the transmission had come from. 

The Ministry. 

“We’re going...now” said Molly, standing up. Her tears were gone, grabbing for her wand and coat. “Molly...be rationale, we need to plan this.” Said Arthur, Molly spun on her heel and glared. “I am not going to sit here while those...monsters torture MY son! Planning will take to long, did you hear him Arthur?! Did you hear your son crying out in pain...he doesn’t have long left...” Arthur looked down, unable to respond. 

Molly looked at the rest of the family, her gaze saying it all: You can come with me or you can stay. The first to stand was Bill, closely followed by Fleur who met his thankful gaze with a determined smile. Charlie and Ron were next, grabbing there wands with Harry and Hermione following. Ginny and the twins exchanged guilty looks but stood. Arthur couldn’t look at any of them, he simply picked up his wand. 

“Harry, I understand if you wish to stay” said Molly, he shook his head. “I might not know him well but Percy’s family 2...I cant sit here while you guys go even with the danger.” He replied, and somehow that was all it was, Percy was family...enough said. 

And so the family of lions got up and left, to find the one they left behind. 

_______________________________________________________

Percy was terrified.

A part of him argued that he should be grateful they came at all for him. Maybe it was out of pity, out of ensuring that he wasn't able to be used against them.

Yes, that's all it was. He was nothing afterall, he was merely a civilian in a war.

And yet hearing Molly tearfully and frantically whisper his name. Hearing Hermione yell the counterspell to his imprisonment to Ron who did so perfectly. Seeing the light of spells cast by Ginny and the twins to stun Not Edward... (Who was apparently called Edgar... Eh close enough.)

Feeling Charlie carry him in his arms, mumbling curse words. Smelling Arthur's cologne.

It all felt right. It was warmth that he couldn't remember experiencing. It was enough to lull him to a facade that everything was fine.

But when his wounds were healed and he saw them all looking at him... Percy knew he had to shelf that dream. "I told you not to come" was the first thing he said, averting his gaze. (Couldn't look them in the eye)

"And you must've lost a few screws if you thought we wouldn't" said Bill, meeting Percy's gaze. "You shouldn't have" is all he replied. "And what, let you be killed by the ministry?" Gaped Ginny. Percy shrugged "wouldn't have made much difference, you've only gone and put yourselves in more danger."

"Are you... Are you fucking with us right now?" Asked Fred, incredously. "No, im too busy ranting about cauldron bottoms to do that." And if Fred paused, Percy didn't see it.

Seeing as no one was getting anyway, Bill sat beside Percy who immediately felt on edge. "Thanks for the watch" he said simply. Everyone blinked in confusion and than realisation as no one has known where Bill's new watch had come from. Percy smiled faintly "You're welcome, reminded me of you."

"Although, I do wish you could've gave it in person" continued Bill, testing the waters. Percy surprised him by shaking his head "no you wouldn't have. It was your day, I wasn't going to ruin it." Bill frowned "is that what you think?" Percy shrugged again "it's what I've been told."

"You are way to chill after being tortured" said Charlie, Percy looked at his bandaged arms and snorted. "Eh? It's nothing new. That guy was just there for the theatrics, sadist if you ask me." Charlie raised an eyebrow "nothing new?" Percy nodded "yeah, what you think the ministry that's so far up Voldermorts ass would allow me to work there without some 'interviews'."

Everyone paled.

"But than why stay there?" Asked Arthur, Percy froze. Steeling himself, switching from calm to panic to calm in an instant but they all saw. "I've got business there, things I need to get done and ensure are done. Speaking of which, thanks for the rescue but I should be off."

He didn't belong here. Not anymore.

"Percy, you can stay." Said Molly, already standing up to get his room prepared. "No, I can't. I have work, I have a duty... And I'm no longer part of this family." When he said that, Percy felt like the wind was knocked out of him but stood his ground. "Percy... That's not true.."

Percy met Arthur's gaze, his father's eyes. "Really? Than pray tell why did no one tell me you were all in hiding... Or a warning? And don't say it was impossible because I managed to send a parcel to a location I didn't even know about nor knew existed."

No one could answer that.

"I'll be off, and don't worry I won't tell them anything. Just do what you do best, and leave me alone." Arthur managed to grab Percy's wrist though he hissed in pain and pulled his arm back like he'd been burnt. "Don't.. Touch me, Arthur Weasely."

Arthur recoiled, Percy looked away. "I spent my whole life wanting to be someone you could be proud off...I listened to all the critism and yes I was a prat. But the moment I made my own choice you already made me aware I didn't belong in my own house. I’m sorry...that I’m not athletic like Ginny, I’m not smart like Ron or as successful as Bill and Charlie, I’m not a hero like a Ron or fun like Fred and George. That I’m just plain ol prat Percy.”

He began to walk away. Just like he did before.

"That choice was against following Dumbledor, turning against the light." Said Molly, wanting him to understand. Percy laughed, with no humour at all but glaring hard. Rage emanated from him.

"I'm sorry if I choose not to stand behind an old coot who routinely sends an abused boy to his abusers, who nearly got 3 11 yearolds killed because he wanted to weed out a possibility. Who nearly got thousands of children killed and did nothing to save Ginny with the chamber. The man who wouldn't give an innocent man a trial and got him sent to the worst prison for 12 years... Who put teenagers in a death game and let an underage kid join because why not. That man is a monster and I refuse to follow someone like that. But no that means I'm blindly following authority." He sneered, staring at them all.

"And the ministry? Because as corrupt and fucked up as it is I know I can do something. That changes can be made in the systems to benefit everyone, Dumbledor is someone who breeds child solider’s and let's a known abuser teach at his school and somehow I’m the only one who isn't okay with that."

And with that Percy left, no one knew what to say. They simply sat in silence, absorbing everything they just heard. Ginny thought about how Percy had profusely apologised after she was free from the chamber, how he’d made time for her since than. Ron thought of all the times they’d have an adventure and Percy would watch over them like a mother hen. 

Bill and Charlie recalled when Percy would still come to them for help before he started Hogwarts. When they found him bruised and broken from bullies except this was because of them. “He really thinks that doesn’t he...?” Said Fred, George nodded. Neither could smile, guilt pooled in their hearts that they didn’t think he felt like that. 

Molly sobbed for her son who was once again lost and Arthur wondered where he had gone wrong to lose his son all over again. 

________________________________________________

Meanwhile Percy entered a muggle flat in London. Alone again just like he belonged, laying on his bed and looking at the brand on his arm.

'Son of none'

And if that didn't hurt most of all.

Suffice to say they all things to think about for when they’d meet again. 

[solomonish]

he comes with a warning sign (satan & his brothers)

One of these things is not like the other...the one born as soon as the others fell, the one made entirely of feelings they'd all rather forget.

ao3 link: here!

Satan started his life crashing into the ground, the impact creating a crater that is now considered a piece of Devildom history.

His first memory was the gut-wrenching jolt of falling through the air, watching as a man he didn’t know let out his anguish in a mess of feathers, blood, and tears Satan vaguely felt he wasn’t supposed to see. The next was of his collision, a bone-shattering hit that, somehow, only sent a dull ache through his body. Black feathers floated down around him, some matted with blood falling faster than the others, soft like the ones inexplicably around his neck in a boa. Around him, he could hear quiet moans of pain and the occasional sob, a cacophony that both grated in his ears but fit the turmoil that threatened to spill out from within him. Those first moments were nothing but hatred, an acidic burn within him so strong it felt like all he’d ever know.

Emotion didn’t come easy to him. For the longest time, he felt like an animal, some form of furious energy trapped in a cage of demonic armor that wouldn’t give no matter how often he lashed out. Occasionally, he’d manage to reach his arm between the bars and swipe at whoever made the mistake of getting close, attempting to ease him into the familial life that was expected of him. Who were these people? Why did they think they could expect him to care about them? It didn’t matter to him that they were shrinking from him, undoubtedly fighting behind closed doors about who’s turn it was to see him. In a way, it made him feel better. They should feel as angry as he did.

Even after he calmed down - convinced himself to put on a show of obedience for the right to stretch his legs and not have to wonder if the others forced the orange-haired one named Beelzebub to send his dinner (meaning he’d get none at all) - he was still aloof, uninterested in what the others thought about spot in their family. Eventually, he’d learn: learn of what they used to be, what they did to fall from that place, and of the person they lost. For the first time, he cared about the misfitting sensation inside of him. After all, he’d very much rather feel like an intrusion than a replacement.

The knowledge of what happened introduced that new emotion to him, a sort of sympathetically charged guilt that he, hah, hated. The others were in no state to teach him how to be a person. Their means of teaching him to be something other than a feral beast were certainly some sort of violation of his personal rights. So, instead, he took to reading, desperate to find answers to questions he didn’t yet know how to ask. Through the many novellas and epics, the treatises and research journals, entire libraries worth of fiction and nonfiction, Satan began to piece himself together. He taught himself how to craft a facade of sympathy and understanding, how to mask the anger that constantly boiled inside of him, and tuned himself to his emotions lest he fall back into the vat he always hovered just above. Cats and books calmed him down. Black feathers and Lucifer made him lose his grip.

Perhaps it was because, if he reached back as far as his memory went, the only thing he saw when his entire body burned with pure wrath was Lucifer himself and a tornado of feathers. Maybe it was because Lucifer seemed to watch him and regard him as a miniature version of himself, then promptly remind Satan that he would always be a step beneath his legacy. All Satan knew was, on the days Mammon would call on his crows to complete a scheme and the yard was littered with their feathers, his mood soured in the same way it was when Lucifer even made his presence known.

Every day, Satan had to wrestle with emotions the meanings of which he had to discern for himself, emotions that never should have been his in the first place. The war that raged inside his very core was only the product of a failure, a symbolic continuation of what robbed his “brothers” of someone he would never meet. There was no way he and this Lilith could exist at the same time, and Satan often wondered how readily the others would trade him for a chance to have her back.

Satan did not waste time wallowing in self-pity. However, despite his practiced control, he could not stop the frown that always formed when someone spoke of his origins. He was the product of Lucifer’s wrath and grief, a part of Lucifer that he tried so desperately to claw out of himself he disfigured himself in the process. Lucifer was once the most brilliant angel, the morningstar himself. Satan was the worst part of him, an embodiment of that which he could never want, not in his grace as an angel or his degeneracy as a demon.

If any of his brothers caught on to this pattern of thinking, they never breached the topic. Perhaps they agreed. Satan wasn’t sure he’d want to know if they did.

His withdrawal from the others was only natural. His violence in the beginning effectively conditioned them to stay away, and he could only imagine the things they associated him with in their grief. As they all did their best to move on, letting their broken bones fuse crooked, Satan gave up on his hope of ever fitting in. He was the youngest, yet the fourth most powerful - the one in the middle, splitting up the older and younger siblings and somehow not quite meshing with either group. When Diavolo commented on the everlasting love of brothers, Satan smiled and nodded. If he could put on an act of being a composed individual, he could put on an act of being a true member of their family. With how absorbed they were in themselves, it was rare the topic ever came up.

The only one who seemed to care was Lucifer. Even then, he only seemed to want to be his brothers’ keeper, if only for the disciplinary privileges it gave him. When Satan stepped out of line - which seemed to be always- Lucifer was quick to remind him that, oh, perhaps they weren’t brothers. Something churned in his gut, nothing like the bile he pretended rose up at the thought of being Lucifer’s son. As Satan simmered in his fury, silently planning something to get back at Lucifer, he wondered if they truly did find pleasure in reminding him how much he didn’t belong.

Logic said that only Lucifer knew to plan psychological torture that way, but Satan was under no obligation to forgive the behavior of the others on the ground of ignorance.

So, as was only natural, Satan came with a warning sign. He was the one to be wary of, a ball of uncontrollable rage disguised as one of them. His smiles were all surface-level and fake, hiding his true, devious intentions. Be careful around him - better yet, don’t associate yourself with him more than you have to.

After all, he had been pushed away from the beginning, a volatile bundle of emotions that Lucifer couldn’t - didn’t want to - deal with. There was no place for him anywhere when he had been tossed aside like trash from the start.

[narrators-journal]

A small alteration

So! This part is the...second or third to last part, so we’re getting to the end bois. After this, I’ll likely die, or at least not post daily like I have been, so if you guys want more content after this, remember to send in an ask for me to answer! Request stuff, ask me questions, joke around with me, whatever yall want. It’ll hold this blog over until I finish this second fic and can start posting/editting it here!

cw: lightly goes into detail on torture, hisoka, that’s about it I think!

Previous part: here

First part: here

Thankfully, Hisoka didn't stop by after his phone call, but Illumi still took no chances when he went onto jobs. Along with Milluki using the spy cameras Illumi had placed earlier, the long haired assassin made sure at least three butlers were keeping an eye on you whenever he couldn't.

That precaution kept you far away from the blood hungry magician for a week, much to Illumi's relief. Hisoka was a pest, a thorn in Illumi's side through and through, so the last thing the assassin wanted was for him to meet his future wife. Especially now, when you were just too desperate for human contact, and he couldn't risk you getting attacked or manipulated by Hisoka and forcing the assassin to kill such a useful nen user. Or worse, risk you meeting him and growing to love the magician instead of him, so he was dead set on never letting you two meet.

So, instead of risking it, he made sure to keep you as secret as possible, at most giving vague answers to keep the violent hunter at bay when he found him on jobs or something and asked, but confirming or denying little to nothing. Aside from that, Illumi also let the man help him on missions a bit more, both because the assassin could hide things better than his butlers when questioned, and because, though annoying, the vibrantly colored man offered some sort of entertainment on otherwise painfully boring jobs like assassinating businessmen, ex-lovers, or runaway spouses. Though, Hisoka simply popped up sometimes too, either being in the right place at the right time to join on kills, or somehow seeking Illumi out, like a risky, aggravating jack-in-the-box. That habit had gotten him a trip to the Zoldyck basement and torture rooms recently, though it was also a reason Illumi humored the magician when he got bored and asked for help more.

        "Please make this simple and tell me where you put the money taken from Mr. Mori." Illumi told his target, a rather pretty young woman he'd been tasked to interrogate, torture, and kill by her ex-sugar daddy.         "Is she under-aged, is that why you won't tell me about her?" Hisoka asked, sitting on the table of menacing torture tools in a dungeon of the Zoldyck estate, having talked the assassin into letting him out to help in this little chat. Illumi was beginning to regret his decision to humor the magician though. The tall assassin glared at the other man for his interruption, only getting an innocent smile in return,         "No, she is not under-aged." He said curtly, and his companion snickered,         "Well, when can I meet her? I'm dying to know what type of woman a Zoldyck lusts after~"         "Never." Hisoka pouted at his flat refusal, but the assassin simply returned to questioning his captive, only turning back to the pink-haired man to grab some pliers from the table,  "Now, I will ask this once more, if I don't get an answer I'll tear out your finger nails until I do. Where is your ex's money?" he warned the woman, who was sobbing and pleading to be freed from the cold, dark room. When she didn't answer his question though, he kept true to his word, gripping one of her nails with the pliers and pulling until it came away from the nail bed. The monotone assassin continued pulling out his target's crimson-painted fingernails while she tried to lie and say she had no idea where his client's money was. No matter, when he ran out of fingernails, he could always move to toenails or teeth.

Hisoka held a metal bowl that Illumi put the dislocated fingernails in, adding a soft clattering noise to the soundtrack of the woman's sobs, screams, and the lazy buzz of the one lantern that hung from the stone wall until he stood up in the partially lit cell to get another tool from the table.          "mmm, she seems quite fun to torture~" Hisoka observed, getting a twisted grin across his face as he looked down at the restrained woman,          "She's unbearably loud," Illumi sighed, looking around on the table of tools until he found a rather simple salt shaker, ignoring when Hisoka leaned a bit too close,          "Y'know, I bet I could get your girlfriend to be just as loud~" he hummed, and something inside of Illumi seemed to snap for a moment. His aloof air instantly changed to palpable malice and he whirled around on the magician, punching him in the face hard enough to send him sprawling across the cold stone floor. The assassin didn't even give him a chance to react once he landed though, in a flash he was on top of him, holding him down by his throat while his knee pressed down on his ribs,           "if you so much as look at my wife, Hisoka, I will fucking kill you before your heart gives another beat." he snarled, tightening his grip on the man's neck until he was gasping and wheezing for air. The pink-haired man gave a nod, a  smirk tugging at his lips still, but the feral murderer didn't let him breath until that coy look finally left and he saw panic replace Hisoka's usual mischievous glint in his gold eyes. When Illumi did finally let him up, the magician was gulping down air and glaring at him instead of his usual knowing, coy glance,           "Jesus Christ Illumi, learn to take a joke. You know my humor can be perverted, there was no need to nearly kill me!" he snapped, the magician's flirty act falling away, but Illumi didn't respond, he simply checked on the woman he'd been tasked to torture. Sadly though, she was now dead from the amount of malevolence  in his nen,          "Great, because of your 'joke' my job just got harder." Illumi said, his voice back to being cold,          "That wasn't my fault, you were the one who didn't just use one of your needles on her to begin with." he pointed out testily, getting glared at by the man,         "The client wanted me to specifically torture her, my needles would have been redundant and not what the client asked for. Of course, I didn't know you were going to be this annoying, or else I would've gotten the information from her at the start." he hummed, and while his voice stayed flat and his face stayed rather aloof, Illumi was boiling with wrath on the inside. Being a pest was one thing, but now Hisoka had actually crossed an important line. So, Illumi simply found the woman's phone in her purse and than called in some butlers. He gave one the cellphone, sending it to Milluki to make use of himself and scour through, than he turned to Hisoka, who was standing in a dark corner across the small cell glaring at them, mostly Illumi.  "Now, I will say this nicely only once," the man said, though his words held no kindness, "please return to your cell with the butlers without a fight, or else I will be forced to call my family and drag you back." The two men stood there for a moment in a heavy silence that seemed to bring down the temperature of the already cold cell further. Illumi wasn't very expressive, he purposely added inflections and overt body language to himself when speaking to you, but Hisoka didn't get that sort of kindness, he simply got stared down by bottomless eyes and a deadpan assassin he knew very well was competent enough to stand up to him. So, he simply grinned a predatory grin at the long haired murderer,        "Fine, I'll go back to my cell peacefully," he relented, putting his hands up with a mischievous smirk. One of these days Morrow, I'm going to finally kill you. Illumi thought as at least three butlers escorted the magician back to where he'd been held, but he didn't say or show the annoyance as they passed.       "Oh, and Illumi, dear? Do tell (y/n) hello for me~" Illumi's aura became malevolent again at that, but the butlers and flamboyant pain in the ass were able to avoid dying from it thanks to their training. Instead, all it did was let slip just how fart Hisoka was under Illumi's skin, making the hunter laugh as he was herded away down the dark hallway, leaving the assassin to simmer in his temper before stalking out of the basement. His first stop once upstairs was Milluki's bedroom.        "How did Hisoka find out anything about (y/n)?" he asked, his voice's flat, monotonous tone coming off as more menacing when paired with how he slammed his brother's face into his trash-littered desk,        "I don't know! Why are you asking me?" the pudgy man hissed out, barring his teeth at his older sibling when he tightened his grip on his hair,       "You are the only person on this mountain aside from Mother who knows about (y/n), and unlike mother, you are the type to tell that bastard about her for a cookie." he pointed out, and Milluki couldn't argue, he did have pretty flippant loyalties when it came to secrets like this.        "Alright, fine, but I promise I didn't. I haven't been in the basement since Hisoka got here." he explained, and after a moment of harsh scrutiny, Illumi let him go and left his nasty, anime-littered room. The tall man then went to his wing of the home, thinking of what to do now. Hisoka knowing (y/n)'s name is bad. If he can figure it out, more people could. He mused, a wave of possessive anxiety washing away his rage for the time being. I can't leave her alone anymore. He finally decided as he reached his rooms and turned around to instead find his mother.

[ink-fireplace-coffee]

Marble and Magic: a Snippet👑

A/N: it's been a while. have some words.

----

He had followed Daer’s advice when he left the throne hall, still shaking and dizzy. Her little sister had exited right after him and grabbed him by the elbow, just to take them to the nearest empty room available.

“Listen, I know what your Fate says,” she had started, but Jasper was too overwhelmed to even maintain a conversation. How was he supposed to talk about nothing when he was going to destroy what his family had taken years to build?

How could he turn to air and dust a whole kingdom, after sweat and tears and even blood, both from his relatives and enemies?

“...and- Are you even listening to me, brother?!” Daer stopped on her tracks, seeing that in fact, no, he wasn’t even noticing that she was talking.

Maybe that’s why she decided to slap him across the face.

It had stung, even at the tavern Jasper could still feel her hand on his cheek, but it had been effective.

“Do you want to live, Jasper?” tried again her baby sister.

She was five years younger than him, but at that moment, Daer looked mature, responsible and sensible.

The prince nodded.

“Then you need to go to the tavern.”

She had told him how to get there and then, with a more gentle pat on the shoulder she had left Jasper behind, hoping he would do the right thing.

Now Jasper felt bad for hating her sister like he did. It is true that she took their parents’ side more than his own, but she was his sister after all. And siblings supported each other.

No matter what.

It seemed that Daer’s whereabouts had been in far more sketchy places than Jasper’s, and, after making sure to talk about this with her later, he decided to finally walk up to the bar, thinking that maybe the woman behind it could help him.

“So?” she asked, not really looking at him, while cleaning a glass.

“Excuse me?”

“What’s it gonna be, Your Grace?” the way she said his title was more of a mockery tone than an impressed one, and Jasper flinched.

The woman wasn’t exactly old, but she was clearly not young either: there was something timeless about her, in the way her features seemed to say at the same time “I have lived” and “Not enough yet”.

“I- I need to find someone,” Jasper finally muttered, confused about the conversation’s rhythm.

The bartender stopped cleaning the glass. And then she laughed.

“Don’t we all?” she exclaimed. “I also need to find someone: a rich widowed woman who I can marry!”

The fact that his words felt like a joke to her made Jasper’s blood boil. He needed help and she dared to laugh on his face?!

“I need a Descendant,” he clarified, talking over the strong chuckles of the maiden. And with that her laughter died completely.

In fact, the whole place quieted down.

“Why do you need a Descendant for?” An old man asked behind him and Jasper turned.

“That is none of your business, Sir.”

The old man clicked his tongue.

“Upstairs,” he ordered, and limped his way to the stairs, not really caring if Jasper followed or not.

-----

Taglist:

@enchanted-lightning-aes @zonnemaagd @alexwritesfiction @dontcrywrite @writing-is-a-martial-art @47crayons @the-writing-moon @shamblingthing @kingsinking @fiercely-raging-writer @euphoniouspandemonium

[g4rous]

Just a smol Garou and Tareo appreciaton post

Warning: slight manga spoilers and (major) webcomic spoilers mentioned

Why yes, I did just decide to make a post about Garou and Tareo’s wholesome sibling-like relationship. I don’t think people talk about it enough, and I’m sure very few will read this, but I just wanted to write something about it, that sibling-like bond of theirs.

For starters, Garou never had someone who he could call a real friend. He spent his childhood isolated and disapproved from the other kids his age, and Tareo shares the same predicament. Over time it’s Garou’s willpower and fury which made him propel forward and be stronger. And he became strong for himself only. However Tareo is not that type of person, that much is clear. Most may see him as your average weak, ugly little kid, but he’s strong in his own way. And as cliché it may sound to someone, it is true: his kind-hearted nature is what makes him strong. But, there is another truth here, one that only people who truly know Garou are aware of, and that is his kind nature as well. I said it before, and I’m going to say it many more times, he is a sweetheart. Sure, he’s too prideful and grouchy to admit it, especially when it comes to ‘’soft’’ stuff like that, but the facts are facts, he is a softie. And whenever Garou witnessed Tareo suffering abuse from others, from children to monsters of all kinds, he couldn’t help but be enraged at the sight. Tareo reminds him of his old self;  defenseless, lonely and always being stomped on despite not doing anything wrong. It makes his blood boil with rage, and the thing he hates most in this world is it’s unfairness. After all, that’s the reason he strived to become a monster, to eradicate that foul injustice. He pushed Tareo to be stronger, in his own rough and blunt way, but he meant it from the heart. Sure, he would never admit to himself he considers such a ‘’snotty little brat’’ his friend, but Tareo is the only friend he has. And yes, there have been many moments where poor Tareo was frightened by Garou’s fierce tenacity and attitude, but in the end he always runs back to his only friend too. When all turned south and Garou faced defeat and lost the will to live, it’s Tareo’s words that made him believe that maybe there is hope to live for another day, that flare of life in his golden orbs returned. I just find their bond so wholesome, Tareo is like a little brother to Garou, pushing him forward in his own, kind way and on the other hand there is Garou, like an older bro, no matter how much he denies it he can’t help but feel like protecting that same ‘’ugly brat’’.