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lunarw0rks · 6 months

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hi!!! i was wondering if you could by chance do something where the reader is a paramedic, and they lose someone for the first time on the job, and they come back home a wreck?

id like price, soap or ghost with it, i feel like they'd understand what it's like to lose someone and feel like it's ur fault 😭

maybe they would say "you did everything you could, sweetheart."

idk ill be going into this field and it scares me that this stuff happens so often

──── ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ PRICE MASTERLIST ꒦꒷

‧₊˚⊹ warning(s): established relationship, death/grief, patient loss, hurt/comfort, emt!reader, gn!reader ‧˚₊

‧₊˚⊹ word count: 875 ‧˚₊ | a/n: this is short & i don't like it.

WOUNDS | JOHN PRICE

Exhaustion was nothing new to you. Countless hours on your feet, making life-or-death decisions, subsiding every worry to the back of your mind, and only focusing on the situation in front of you.

Stressful, difficult days were part of the bargain. Even on a good day, you still find yourself sore and spent. But today wasn’t a good day.

Loss should be something you were well acquainted with by now yet weren't. The initial heartache of losing a patient was too forbidding to cope with, and there was no time to pause and reflect. It felt careless, unjust even, to move on to the next—live—person.

It happened fast, too fast, and then you were onto your next case. In some ways, the chaotic influx of maimed people helped to blur your reality; to keep you from feeling. It all hit you the moment you took your uniform off, staggering home with an expression as lifeless as the corpse being shipped to the morgue.

You twisted your key into the lock, greeted by a dim and empty house. No warmth, no ambiance — only you and your grieving thoughts.

You rested your bags on the entry table with a dead weight, tugging off your shoes with the same quickness. When your psyche ached, the same pains in your muscles seemed considerably worse.

The shower called you the longer it took your exhausted legs to walk the steps. A steamy, warm cocoon to scrub your skin raw; until the emotions withered. At least that’s what you hoped to achieve.

But grief was ugly. Worse, somehow, because you had to become good friends with it to succeed. As you lathered yourself in suds, you closed your eyes and let the water beat down on you.

In a way, you knew deep down that this feeling would ever entirely disappear. The first loss is always the worst, but so are all the rest you’re doomed to deal with. Inevitable and unforgiving, while all the rest of the world moves on.

John crept up the stairs, hearing the drone and patter of the shower head in the distance. He found it strange that you hadn’t bothered to light up the downstairs. The only bulb illuminating his path to the bathroom was the sconce in the hallway.

The golden light from the washroom lit up the rest of the wall, beams widening when he pushed on the door. You stood under the rain, head tipped back with a wincing expression. Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if to mimic a hug, and how your thumbs caressed your dripping skin to self-soothe.

The scene in front of him reminded him of shellshock, only with less gore and chaos, thankfully. Though you appeared tranquil, he nearly felt the waves of woe radiating off you with the steam. Something had happened, something forlorn.

He sidled ahead, placing his boots on the bathmat. Though the door ground when it opened, you didn't bother to open your eyes. You were lost in the turmoil of the day, retracing every decision you made — tirelessly wondering if there was a detrimental mistake.

From behind, Price pulled you flush against his chest. Despite how obvious he had made his presence; you were still startled at the feeling of arms wrapped around you. He made no sudden movements, nuzzling your head back against him for support.

You slowly craned your neck to peer at him, seeing him fully clothed and actively soaking from the shower. His eyes were soft and empathetic, nearly all-knowing of the ins and outs of demise. In a way, the Captain did.

"John, your clothes..." You muttered, as to displace the emotional spotlight.

Quickly, he shushed your weak voice, pressing his lips to your forehead. All those calls he'd made over the years — juggling proficiency for blood; his own, his men, even civilians. That aching, ever-persistent guilt that rattled him when he was alone too long. He knew it like an old friend.

You, a healer, should not. It wasn't fair, seeing you struggling to keep your mind serene. And your appearance — fatigued, weeping eyes and a body that told the harrowing story for you.

With a shuffle of your heavy feet, you turned to face him. "I lost one today." You whispered into the crook of his neck, leaning on him with your full weight.

"I know, love." His thumb brushed your cheek as if wiping away the tears that had already washed down the drain.

The corners of his mouth distorted into a conflicted smile — one of support and uncertainty. There was nothing he could do but be your shoulder, that much he knew. If it were him in your position, that's all he would want.

Your quivering lips parted, waterworks brimming on your irises again.

He could feel the slump of your posture, the contort of regret and guilt written all over you. "You did all you could, sweetheart. Everything you could." John stopped you prematurely before you could bash yourself over misfortunes out of your control.

It was hypocritical, the man he glanced at in the mirror carrying the weight of too many casualties.

But it didn't matter when it was you; this was his burden to carry.

a/n: this doesn't have to be emt/paramedic specific. it could be any kind of healthcare worker or medic.

⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚ divider cred. - cafekitsune ˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆

#john price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price x you #price x y/n #mw2 x reader #mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #price cod #price mw2 #price x reader

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attractive-nuisance-esq · 7 months

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Ed’s journey this season is going to perfectly mirror addiction and recovery, and I am so fucking here for it. Watching these first three episodes of S2 was like watching a highly dramatized AU of my own descent into rock bottom (except everyone was dressed wayyyyyy cooler than I ever was), so I have a lot of thoughts, reactions, and insights that I want to share with other fans. I’m sure many of us who have struggled with our mental health connected with Ed in these episodes, but I think addiction is the most appropriate lens through which to view him because addicts (more often than people who struggle with other mental illnesses) so wholly destroy their own lives and utterly devastate those of their loved ones. I want to share - from the perspective of someone who has steered her own ship straight into a storm and woke up alone to face some very hard choices - what is going on with Ed at the start of this season and what I think is coming.

Let me start by saying that Ed isn’t literally addicted to any one thing, despite his heavy use of drugs and alcohol, but his goal is the same as that of all addicts: escape. He does not want to sit with the pain of Stede leaving him on an immediate, surface level; on a deeper, more habitual level, he doesn’t want to sit with the pain of his own self-loathing. Of course the two are related: the former brings the latter to a head. Stede abandoning him dredges up and brightly illuminates all of his insecurities, and now Ed has to run. Get out. Escape. Don’t think about it. So he is fighting, stealing, drinking, snorting, shooting, killing - whatever it takes to not think about it.

“Demon? I’m the fuckin’ devil.” People in recovery often talk about addiction as if it were a separate, sentient monster living within them. Ed taking on the mantle of demon - a creature known specifically for possession, for removing the host’s free will - is intentional. So is his insistence that he’s not just any demon but the demon. The worst there is. (More on that when we get to The Innkeeper.)

Izzy’s confrontation of Ed in the captain’s cabin and then on deck is a form of intervention. Izzy is trying to help Ed, but of course this goes terribly for him and for Ed because interventions (I cannot stress this enough) are maybe the worst thing you could do to an addict. All addicts know things are bad, but they cannot be pushed to change one single second before they’re ready. Ed knows things are bad. He’s well-aware of how he’s spending his time, how his crew feels about him, how disappointed Izzy is. Being confronted with all of those truths by Izzy was always only going to make him do two things: 1) dig further into his unhealthy coping mechanisms, never mind that they don’t have nearly the effect that they used to; and 2) lash out at the person who forced him to think about it. Izzy lost his leg the moment he stepped into Ed’s cabin.

The impossible bird. You guys remember the song Chandelier by Sia? The one about her addiction to alcohol? The whole thing may as well come right out of Ed’s mouth at the end of that first episode, because that experience is exactly what he’s trying to convey to Frenchie. Nevermind that Frenchie has the temerity to tell him the bird can’t exist, that it has to come down sometime, that flying forever isn’t sustainable. The bird can come down on its own terms, or crash… but Frenchie’s definitely not going to say that much. Still, “that sounds like something that can’t exist” hits Ed, and leads us to the next episode.

Now we’ve got Ed forlorn, heartbroken, almost catatonic while playing with his cake toppers. We don’t actually see him crying in the opening of the episode, which is the point. He’s done crying now. The impossible bird can’t exist, and Ed has already resigned himself to this. He’s decided to die. The only sure-fire permanent way to not think about it.

When next we see Ed, he seems to be doing better, but this is a huge red flag for anyone who knows to look. He’s giving away his responsibility to Frenchie; he’s cleaning the cabin for the closure. He knows the end is coming fast, and the relief that knowledge brings him leaves him weirdly at peace. It is he eeriest part of these episodes, IMO.

Then he goes to find his first mate, the person who knows him better than anyone else in the world, the man he just fucking shot and ordered killed. Ed needs his low opinion of himself validated, and of course he thinks he’ll get it from Izzy after everything he’s done to him. He wants the one person who has stuck with him through everything to confirm that he’s now irretrievably broken and no longer worthy of his love. Ed wants someone to tell him that he’s right: he should die.

He doesn’t get that from Izzy. Interestingly, Izzy doesn’t tell him he should die. He says “Clean up your own mess.” Izzy has learned the lesson now that Ed isn’t ready to get better and that he can’t make him be ready. (This post isn’t about Izzy, but hoo boy - I have big feels about that man.)

Ed has been indulging in various forms of self-destruction in order to not feel his feelings, and steering the ship into the storm is his worst indulgence yet. This is the worst of his crimes - not beheading or arson or a red wedding. It’s when he tries to bring down everyone who has ever loved him into his misery, into believing what he believes. The audience generally (and Ed’s audience of Stede specifically) can forgive him for hurting strangers and for the non-specific mayhem whose victims we’ve never met; but it is much less certain that anyone will forgive him for hurting the only family he’s ever known.

The storm itself is the perfect metaphor for Ed’s attempt on his and, incidentally, everyone else’s lives. One of the most common metaphors used by friends and family members of addicts is that of a hurricane: that their addicted loved-ones tend to destroy everything they touch, anyone who was foolish or brave enough to stick around. And, like hurricanes, addicts aren’t malicious. Ed’s primary goal here is to get himself killed, not to kill everyone else. He wants the ship to go down so his death is certain. His firing a cannonball into the mast and asking Jim and Archie to fight to the death isn’t malice: it’s utter and complete nihilism. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing and no one. The end is near, and he’s so fucking drunk and high off these distractions that he couldn’t think about it if he tried. He’s manic with relief. (See also: “Finally.”)

And now for the finale: Purgatory. Buckle up, because this is where the addiction analogy gets real *chef’s kiss.* Purgatory is the equivalent of the morning after the worst, most rock bottom binge night of your life. You wake up with no one for company but the ghosts of your former selves. Now what?

Well, first - who is Hornigold to Ed? Why is he the guy Ed sees? It’s because Hornigold is another addict, if you will, but one who is (in this Purgatory hallucination) farther along in his recovery. He can impart some wisdom from that place, but he can also stand in as someone Ed can loathe because they’re not as different as Ed once thought, even if Hornigold can say he’s grown.

Hornigold tries to give him soup. He tells Ed, “Gotta get these nutrients into you,” and then literally shoves soup down his throat. That’s what it’s like in rock bottom. You don’t want to take care of yourself, but some lizard brain survival instinct takes over and makes you drink water, eat a piece of fruit, take yourself to the hospital. These things don’t really happen voluntarily that morning after, but you can still count on that instinct to kick in with some damage control.

Ed telling Hornigold how he “got here.” Hornigold says “Mutiny. It’s always mutiny.” Ed insists his mutiny was special, worse somehow. This whole scene is exactly what happens in your first recovery support group meeting. You go in thinking no one has ever been as fucked and fucked up as you are, which makes you feel isolated and alone. But then you get there and everyone else in the circle has done the same shit, been through the same shit. Ed’s not actually the devil; he’s just another demon, like many demons before him.

Ed worries he’s insane when he reflects on everything he’s done. Hornigold’s reply that “Feeling bad isn’t going to rebuild an abdominal wall” is a concept that people usually learn a little bit later in recovery, so I expect we’ll see more on this theme from Ed. Guilt is a useless emotion that only serves to conversely make the addict feel better but doesn’t help the harmed party: the addict feels like their suffering is cleansing, but it’s not - feeling guilt is just more self-indulgence, more self-destruction. Hornigold - a fellow addict in this moment - is trying to get this lesson to him early. It’ll return.

“You’ve got to move on or blow your brains out.” We’re getting back to Purgatory as the metaphor for the morning-after rock bottom, because this is the exact calculation that every person in recovery has done. They all had to answer that one big question. Your whole life is a mess, and you made the mess. Do you want to clean it up? Or quit? (Or make some soup? Yeah. That big question can’t be answered without basic needs having been met. So let’s eat. Let’s start there. It’s easier.)

Now we have Ed’s fantasy about opening an inn: This is also a common part of the morning-after rock bottom. You start thinking about the wrong turns you took, the mistakes you made, the way your life was supposed to go and all the reasons you’re not where you wanted to be. (And all the people you can blame for the fact that your life didn’t go as planned.) And when that honest part of yourself starts telling you that actually it’s all your fault… well, a) you don’t wanna hear it, and b) you can’t silence (kill) that monster, no matter how hard you try. You’ve got to face it. Face all those truths you’ve been running from for years. Now you have to think about it.

So now the big question, the inevitable math. Hornigold suggests looking at the pros and the cons. That’s the easiest way to break the calculation into manageable variables. This is probably my favorite moment of the episode, because when you’re sitting there, morning after the worst night of your life, everything is fucked - these are the exact variables that go into your equation. Do I really want to live? You ask yourself that, and because your life is in fucking shambles, you come up with the stupidest goddamn reasons to keep going. You wanna see the next seasons of Good Omens and Loki. You wanna eat your mom’s spaghetti again. Sometimes it’s nice when someone hugs you. It’s never the big things that save your life; it’s a bunch of the littlest things. The smallest comforts. The big things… they’re too unattainable. They’re too much to hope for, and they’re more than you could possibly deserve. What are the pros of living for Ed? Warmth, good food, orgasms. This is a stunningly accurate representation of the things that will keep you alive once you’ve hit rock bottom.

And then the cons: “I don’t think anyone is waiting for me.” This is why addiction is the better metaphor. There is no human experience more isolating than addiction. You are alone in more ways than you’ve ever been before. You have pushed away or pissed off everyone who ever cared about you. And even the ones who will maybe still be there for you - they can’t help you clean up the mess you’ve made. You have to do the work alone, even if they’re still willing to stand next to you. And this con… it’s the scariest one. Your list of little pros looks so pathetic next to the horror of being utterly fucking alone. Who is going to brave that for some stupid shit like Tom Hiddleston sexily flipping his hair back in that Loki way he does? Why should Ed carry on just because blankets are cozy and marmalade is pleasant?

This is where we get to the moment on the mountain, and what Stede represents. Hornigold tells Ed “You’re unlovable, and you’re afraid to do anything about it.” Ed could do two things about being unlovable: He could try to fix it, or he could end it all. Hornigold represents the worst part of Ed: his weaknesses and cowardice. And if Hornigold is in the driver’s seat, he’s going to end it all. He throws the rock off the cliff, and Ed gets dragged down into the water to drown. (Let’s also talk later about how often addiction is compared to drowning, and how nothing else in the show actually threatened Ed’s life - not Izzy with a gun, not all the rhino horn, not Jim’s cannonball - like drowning in his own mind.)

But then there’s Stede. Stede is how the pros win over that one big, horrifying con. Stede is hope. Stede is just a glimmer of hope. Hope is the most important thing you need in the morning-after rock bottom. As much as I enjoy the idea that it was love that saved Ed, I don’t think that’s a wholly faithful interpretation. Because Stede’s love for Ed doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t fix anything - it certainly doesn’t fix Ed. It cannot fix Ed. Hornigold just told Ed that he’s the one who has to “do something about it,” because Ed is the only one who can save himself. But even if Stede’s love for him in itself isn’t what saves Ed, Ed’s trust in Stede combined with that love gives him hope. Stede loves Ed, truly loves him, came back to him even though he knows Ed’s nature, knows his list of crimes, knows what he’s done to Stede’s friends and family. And maybe Ed can find in himself what he trusts Stede truly sees. It’s a “maybe,” not a certainty. But it’s hope. Someone loves him. Maybe he can love himself, too.

This Woman’s Work: I read this song as referring more appropriately to Ed’s relationship with himself, in no small part because Ed literally made himself the woman in the cake topper couple. All the things that should have been done, should have been said - they’re things Ed needs to do and say to himself. He’s got a little life and a lot of strength left. The journey has just begun.

I want to pop back quickly to a few other moments in The Innkeeper that resonated, starting with Stede and Izzy’s discussion about what happened to Ed: “He went mad. He was a wild dog.” Izzy describes Ed’s breakdown as if he was no longer the same person he once was; this is exactly what addiction does to a person. Ed hasn’t been himself; he’s been held hostage by his need for escape, and he’s become something else. Possessed, if you will.

Izzy: “You and me did this to him, and we can’t let the crew suffer any more for our mistakes.” I’m not writing an essay on Izzy (yet), but this is a very interesting perspective that says a lot about Izzy. Stede and Izzy both owe apologies to Ed, but they are not responsible for his actions. I predict we’re going to see this theme explored in later episodes as a part of Ed’s healing process and recovery. And also hopefully in Izzy’s growth.

Frenchie’s line that “We’ve been living second-to-second for a while now” is a callback to the impossible bird idea. Which, again, is just Chandelier x Sia. “I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes, keep my glass full until morning light ‘cause I’m just holding on for tonight.”

So what’s next? For me, it was learning to sit alone in a quiet room with my thoughts. It was apologizing to the ones I hurt, because even if I didn’t mean to hurt them - even if I was suffering also and worse - they still got hurt, and in the end it didn’t matter why. It was developing the habit of liking myself, and acting on whatever self-love and affection I could conjure up. And yes… it was new seasons of Good Omens and Loki, my mom’s spaghetti, and hugs.

So I think Ed has a lot of accountability, reflection, and breaking of old habits in his future… but also warmth, good food, and orgasms. And good for him. That’s the beauty of recovery: we get to come back.

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ladythornofrivia · 8 months

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birthday sleep

Shinichiro has been rejected once again, bleeding from a fight. Scarring the girl away was the last thing he needs. His nights were filled up with nightmares—Mikey’s death. Working for the last several years as a nurse, his efforts of saving Mikey, hoping Mikey would heal and recover from the incident has made him more distraught. On the night of his birthday, his friend dragged him out for a celebration at Wakasa’s establishment. What better way to start the night is when they brought tons of girls who are interested in Shinichiro. Uninterested, he went out for a smoke and met a girl with a tattoo, who is more than meets the eye.

pair: Shinichiro x Reader

warnings: sad moments. fluff. smut. mentions of the original timeline. Shinichiro being lonely yet thirsty. fluff/comfort. happy ending. Mdni. Nsfw.

A/N: happy very belated birthday to Shinichiro, who has earned 20 rejections than Leonardo DiCaprio’s Oscar award. At least Shinichiro handles rejections better than…you already know who.

There hasn’t been a day where Shinichiro wouldn’t stop himself from liking one girl to the next. Better than sulking on a corner, he goes up to the next pretty girl he sees at the most random time. And fate hasn’t been kind to him; he got beat up in a fight. When he asked the girl out, his entire forehead bled. He was out, drunk from drinking stupidly and clumsily.

The girl screamed and scrammed, leaving poor Shinichiro out alone on the dark road outside of the closed shop with a saddened look adorned his face with his head slung forward; the bleeding made a whole mess. This is going to look like a crime scene. He called his friends, and as usual, his friends made fun of him for not getting the girl properly. The definition of properly is a foreign concept to Shinichiro.

On this current night, the memories of his bleeding forehead has been long forgotten; every pain he received was in the past. And though hurtful, he’d rather have physical pain than the memories of his younger brother.

Mikey.

When Shinichiro took a caregiving class for an eternal dedication his brother, hoping Mikey would heal, Shinichiro hadn’t realized the world was falling apart around him. Emma packed and bailed without a word, Haruchiyo and Takeomi are still in a ‘no speaking’ terms and Shinichiro’s grandpa passed away. He needed a distraction, to which by liking girls from afar and courting girls, which lead to his epic failure. No words can describe how much he hated being rejected, but it won’t mean he’ll surrender to despair.

But if anything, Shinichiro got sleepy and sloopy, as of late. Mikey’s passing affected Shinichiro so much he wouldn’t help himself to have coping mechanisms. Everything is just a survival tactic, out and in of his world. His body felt numb, but he needed his aggression to release from the painful forlorn he endured from sleepless nights from sacrificing his life as a leader of Black Dragons, and studying to become a caretaker for Mikey.

One night, Wakasa, who has now been established as the own of the nightclub. Wakasa is popular among the ladies, but he never beds with them unless he’s interested in someone that caught his eye.

That is the difference between Shinichiro and Wakasa. Every girl is special in Shinichiro’s eyes, but Wakasa wanted someone who stands out from all the rest of gravitating Wakasa himself. On that night, Wakasa sat beside his long time friend, smoking, as they watched the quiet field with tension air encompassing them. Not even the wind could soothe the darkness inside Shinichiro.

“I’m glad Mikey’s dead. I’d rather have him not suffer when he’s alive,” Wakasa stated.

“Without Mikey, I don’t know how I’m able to cope,” Shinichiro said, slouching his aching back. “I can’t do shit. Everything has gone wrong in my life. Grandpa’s dead, and Emma left. I shouldn’t have neglected her while I was taking care of Mikey. I could only wish that if there’s anything I would like to have back, it would happiness and family.”

Wakasa inhaled the cold air. “You like having family someday. And you like the idea of having someone in your life. It’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad? I got rejected before I even open my mouth,” Shinichiro responded. “The last girl rejected me while my head was bleeding.”

“Well, that’s what you get for being reckless.” Wakasa puffed. “Tell you what, since it’s your birthday today, let’s hang out tonight. It’s on me, Shin. You hang out, get drunk, get any girl that you wanted as long as you’re serious on courting her. Who knows, maybe she’ll take a liking to you. After all, I have a keen eye for special ones. Anybody can be anybody, but as long as they stick out like a sore thumb—in a good way—then everything will fall into place.”

Shinchiro’s sleepless eyes remained motionless. “Mind if I ask where are we heading tonight?”

Looking at the back over his shoulder blade, Wakasa’s lips curved upwards. “I think you know where.”

~~~

Music banged into his ears as his drink refilled for the second glass. The nightclub Wakasa established is excellent. Service, the appearance, the atmosphere, Shinichiro almost feels as if the life of loneliness and hard work has been paid off, despite Mikey’s passing took a toll on him. Everything has been brushed off, forgotten, as if his experiences on taking care of Mikey is non-existent.

Shinichiro closed his eyes, head laying back at the sofa frame to lean on, relaxed. Shinichiro barely looked around, not to girls, at least. One by one, the girls approached Shinichiro to spend time on the floor. While Wakasa encouraged, since he knows that Shinichiro has a thing for girls. Surprisingly, Shinichiro rejected him, which got Wakasa shook. The girls, nonetheless, went onto the dance floor, some hung out with other men who are available for a long chat.

“I thought you said you like girls,” Wakasa assumed. “You love girls, I know you do. Every where you go, when you see girls, you never miss your chance on flirting with them.”

“Not in the mood to talk,” Shinichiro blurted. “I’m just tired. I want to go to sleep and forget about all this shit.”

Wakasa leaned forward. “It’s your birthday today. Loosen up a little. I know there’s still there, the optimistic Shinichiro. You used to smile and laugh, even when beaten down, because you know that you can get through any obstacle.”

“Well, things changed,” Shinichiro whispered to himself.

“It’s not too late to remedy the damages.”

“Can you say the same when my family is dead and gone?”

Sighing, Wakasa snapped his fingers, and one of the servants came over for Wakasa to whisper in the servant’s ear. Minutes later, a lady in blue arrived and went near towards Shinichiro, who was taking a nap at the moment. By the time the lady touched, Shinichiro seized her hand, nearly breaking the bone on her wrist, but quickened his reflex on letting go, thus, leaving the nightclub by saying good night to Wakasa. Not interested in seeing Wakasa’s reaction, Shinichiro decided to end the night by going to a convenience store.

~~~

The convenient store is vacant and soundless, which he preferred. No matter how he looks at his life, he’d rather have quietness once in a while. He may want thrill and adventure, but there comes a time when he needed a quiet space, unlike Wakasa or Takeomi, who preferred to parade themselves with ladies and drinks and loud music. To his previous goals, he wanted to have own a bike shop, but when dreams hit harsh reality, there’s nothing more than an ultimate despair coming at anyone’s way. Everyone’s happiness loses everything when the path changes without a sudden warning. And even if it does, people are still in despair. Life is tough road unless being filthy rich. Though coming from a prestigious family, even when rich, some rich families treated their children as if they’re nothing. Hard work and resilience is all anyone has. Shinichiro soon gave up his dream bike shop to look out for Mikey until his death in July.

“What a mess,” he said to himself. He only bought himself some snacks, soda and a pack of cigarettes. As he went outside the store for a smoking break, he got his lighter to switch it on, but never worked. No matter how much forced he puts in, he wanted to fill in with the familiar taste.

“Need help there, handsome,” a voice said behind him.

Startled, Shincihiro turned around and glanced at girl, who stopped out of the shadows with her thick and baggy leather jacket, red sleeve jumper, covered limb to limb with combat boots. It was cold out at night, her hands tucked into the pockets. Her long curls framed against her gentle face as she took out the lighter she kept with her. As Shinichiro nodded, coaxed, you switched the lighter on and watched as his cigarette lit.

His watchful eyes took every inch and every detail of your visage. You are beautiful, no doubt. Unlike the girls in the club. You exuded quiet confidence, very womanly, even dressing in modest yet alluringly tight-fitted outfit.

“You come here often,” Shinichiro asked.

You squawked a short guffaw. “Is that your pick up line?”

“No,” he said. “I just thought it’s dangerous for a wonderful gorgeous woman like you to be out here alone in the night. There has been stalkers and kidnappers and killers alike.”

Chortling, you said, “Very sweet of you to think of me this way.” The stroke his face, which Shinichiro’s reaction stiffened, then softened at your touch; his face leaned in further, swaying, a little tipsy.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“I’m fine. I just got out from my birthday celebration.”

“Not good?”

“It’s good, but…not my kind of night,” he answered. “I just need peace and quiet. Too many things going all at once.”

“I understand.” Your eyes flickered from his face to his tall stature, still tipsy. “Want me to take you home?”

As you came forward, Shinichiro’s face dropped onto your chest, lulling.

“What’s your address, I’ll take you home.”

Instead of answering you, Shinichiro became unresponsive.

Slinging his arm over your shoulder. Luckily, you didn’t pack up too much stuff , just a phone wallet and cigarettes and lighter carried in your pockets, and carried him all the way back to your apartment. Inside of your apartment, it’s cold and clean, you placed Shinichiro down on the couch with cushioned pillows and thick blanket. Unpacking the snacks and ramen noodles, you strolled into the kitchen and heated up the ramen for him, while making ginger tea in the process with also a glass of sweet orange juice came prepared in case he didn’t like the ginger tea.

Microwave beeped, and the noodles are heated and softened, along with cooked meat you prepped in case of emergency comes. After a long preparation, you set the meal on the table in front of sleeping Shinichiro. After that, you took a long warm shower and changed your casual clothes into comforting ones. One of your arms is covered in whole blue phoenix tattoo. And by the time you returned back at the living room to check on Shinichiro, he woke up from a smell of ramen and ate with his eyes closed, sleepy and peaceful, slurping the savored soup and the contents. He looked adorable while eating. He took the mug off the table and drank the ginger tea. It was a bit bitter so you put the honey in case he hated the taste. To your success, he loved the taste of tea. After a strong alcohol sinking into the digestive system, it must’ve been hurtful. Whatever he’s experiencing at the moment, he needed a moment of solace. After eating the snacks, he went for the orange juice. He hummed, and somehow thanked you even though you haven’t been approaching him. You wanted to give him space out of respect.

Thank god no one else was living with you. Having freedom can be so nice, especially having a handsome man in your place.

Clearing your throat, Shinichiro turned around and saw you with a smile resting on his sleepy face.

“How’s the meal?”

“It’s great,” he said, his back slumping.

“Don’t force yourself to be awake,” you reminded him, perching with your legs stretched near towards Shinichiro’s thigh. Placing your hands over him, you adjusted his slouching back. His face turned green at his drunken state.

“The bathroom’s nearby. I can take you there,” you suggested.

Shinichiro’s hazy eyes gazed at you for a moment. Time stopped for him, his breath taken, his heart palpitated by the sight of your mature beauty. Even after a clean shower, you are more than just a beauty. With your one piece pajama, the blue ink of a koi fish tattoo displayed on your right thigh as you relaxed. Shinichiro’s heart thumped loudly against his ears. This time, it wasn’t from being drunk. He admired you more and more as his anxiety risen from you being so close to him on the couch. The fainted scent wafted through nostrils; his head became fuzzier with dying consciousness. He never met you before; hasn’t seen you around in the parts everywhere in Japan. Maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough.

“Have we ever met?” he asked.

“No, this is our first time meeting each other,” you said, positioning your arm on the couch frame. “Why? Did we meet somewhere?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just…you sound different.”

Perplexed, your head tilted. “Different? How so?”

“You don’t sound native,” he blurted, blushing. “I hope I didn’t offend you or anything.”

“Not at all,” you said. “I’ve been trying to study Japanese ever since I got here.”

“How long?”

“Around two years total,” you answered.

Whistling, Shinichiro splayed himself back at the couch frame, lifting one foot up. “I’m impressed. Not everyone handles Japanese easy. How did you learn it so fast?”

You shrugged. “Boredom.”

“Boredom? You mean you don’t have…”

“I neither have friends or anyone to converse with. Let’s just say that I’m in my own head space,” you explained.

“I see…” Shinichiro looked down at his drink, then drained the liquid substance into his throat as he eyed on you. “Didn’t mean to get drunk on you. It must’ve been a lot to take in.”

Shrugging, you said, “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

“Today’s my birthday.”

Smiling, you greeted him. But it remains noticeable when his expression wasn’t changing. “Sounds like you’re having a rough time. Do you want to talk about it?”

Placing the glass down, Shinichiro sighed, though his breath was uneven, shaking each time he exhaled. “I couldn’t celebrate without remembering that day.”

“What day?”

“The day when my brother passed away.” Shinicihiro’s steadied hand shielded on his face. “I couldn’t bear to acknowledge of my brother’s passing with acceptance. It’s all of my fault. If only I didn’t buy the airplane.”

“You’re only trying to make him happy. I don’t think it’s your fault,” you reasoned.

“But it was,” he objected. “I didn’t watch him closely. With much responsibility, I had to make sure I do everything I can to make him stay alive, hoping for the better result. Deep down, I knew that his condition got worse. Even his friends saw him the last time. If only I didn’t make that little error, it could’ve change everything. I shouldn’t have bought that plane.” By then, Shinichiro broke down into tears.

You scooted closer to him, rubbing on his back as your arm encompassed him, emitting a hush sound. “Shhh…everything will be alright, I know this. Even when your brother passed away, I’m sure that, somewhere, his soul is at peace. I’m sure that he’s happy that you took care of him the entire time.”

“I neglected everything that surrounds me. I neglected Emma,” he reasoned. “She packed and left, not knowing where she is. My grandfather died. And Mikey was the only family I have left. I have no one in my life now.”

“You have friends,” you assumed.

“My friends won’t understand,” he wept, sniffling. “That’s why I got drunk, because of Wakasa. He wanted me to get my mind off of Mikey by dragging me into a club and get a girl to mingle with. It wasn’t great. I was zoning out from life before me. I wasn’t having it.”

Your hand smoothed his back, noticing his breath began to steady after releasing the frustration he held in. Your eyes prickled with hot sensation, trying not to breakdown in front of him, but came up with a notion of subsiding the emotional pain. “I have 3 large packs of ice cream in the freezer. Sometimes desserts can set a good mood and lessens the tension. Just tell me which flavor you want and I’ll scoop it up for you.”

Shinichiro’s heart thudded. It wasn’t the alcohol again. One thing’s for sure for how the sensation clamored inside him. He felt…light. And right. Everything’s…quiet. His heart rate dissipated to tranquil as his eyes looked at you. Deep into the very soul of your eyes, he felt himself tranced, balanced between mind and heart—his old self was dying to get out. But each time he wants it out, the flooding memories of his old life might hurt him again. He wanted peace now. But how he can have peace when being silent within consistency. He’s not a young leader rebelled Black Dragons anymore. He’s just a young man with a burden scarred him.

You leaned back, separating yourself from him. “We’ll eat every junk food up. I swear, this can be the best method, but taking care of yourself in a healthy lifestyle. But first, junk food!” Then slowly, you stood up. “I know a place where they have the best pizza and burger and nacho cheese—nacho cheese are great! It comes with blue raspberry slushy, or cherry, if you like it more than the blue raspberry. And we could watch any movie that you like—trust me, watching comedy can be fun! Oh, and if you want something else, we can order sushi but with wasabi and katsu curry, and then we can add another pile of food we can ea—”

Snatching your wrist, he pulled you in for a kiss. Groaning, your long locks tucked back under his hand, tangling his tongue with yours, saliva thickened as you two share a heated passion he yearned. You nearly collapsed at his sudden yank, nearly knocking off the coffee table, but Shinichiro remedied it with his both hands steadying you by the waist, slithering the lines on your body. With a quiet hum, his lips lead to nibbling your cheek, kissing it lightly, almost his softer side is shown.

“You’re tickling me,” you sighed in exhilaration.

He pulled his head to see your flushed expression. “Where have you been all of my life?”

“Studying and doing things alone by myself without anyone being there for me,” you answered, cheeky. In a flash, you gave him a wink.

“Gee,” Shinichiro began, “I find it hard to believe that a beautiful woman is standing before me.”

Shaking your head, you said, “I’m not beautiful.”

Refusing your reply, “Beautiful doesn’t cover up how it feels or looks. I just know a beautiful soul when I see one.”

You said nothing, eyeing him with anticipation glimmering from your eyes.

“It’s pretty corny,” he admitted, his face flushed, index finger scratched the cheek below the eye.

Your hand rested on his face. “God, you’re so cute!” Tip of your nose rubbed against his as you let out a tiny squeal. Shinichiro watched you, his heart elated, eagerly pulling you closer to his body frame even though your bodies touched, he deepened the force, leaving you gasping, though not in a bad way.

“You want to get to know each other more? Unless you want to take a nap, it’s up to you,” you asked, eyes sparkling, hands wrapped around his neck, your lips are inches away to poke his.

His dark, cloudless eyes burned into your eyes as you watched it gleam. The misery etched on his lips faded into something more.

~~~

The door slammed open as you shared another long kiss with Shinichiro without falling or looking at your surroundings. Quiet sighs as your kisses went sloppy, and hungrier than the first. Once he rested you on an open futon bed, he placed you, laying down on your belly.

“Aaahh, Shinichiro!” your moans erected as Shinichiro took off of your tights shorts and spanked it.

“You’re such a slut, do you know that?” he said, his breath tickled your ass as he gave no warning when his teeth gnawed on your naked skin.

“Ahh,” you moaned out once more, turning yourself around as your legs spread before him. “Please fuck me! Right here, in my wet pussy. Lick me, fuck me, destroy me.”

Shinichiro watched as his stature towere over you, a beguiling creature displayed before him. He has collected porn than dates in his lifetime, but seeing you, he wanted to take a slow, showing trust as newfound partners.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” his voice had gone indistinct.

But you can distinguished the mood in his tone.

“You won’t hurt me,” you assured him, indicating him to move closer. “You won’t hurt me,” you repeated, plopping your kisses.

Shinichiro took into a consideration and unrestricted his attire. His black, baggy shirt came off as his pants are assisted by you. When his pants came undone, your hands clamped on his underwear, brought down as you spotted thick and lush hairlines—his happy trail downwards to his long and thick cock, leaking out with thick semen. His cold fingers pressed your tattooed skin, numbed clit throbbed at his touch.

Shinichiro could see your eyes begging him to rut you. His hands splayed and held your leg, kissing your inner thigh, then your lips as his cock shoved into your tight walls. With your wailed moans, Shinchiro sped his stamina. He hasn’t felt this good since the Black Dragon days. He had spent his life chasing girls who don’t approve of him, not even his weakened state, not even at his worst, or even as himself. His days during with Mikey, he rarely looked at girls, even when girls asked him to be their date, they only do it to get closer to Wakasa or Takeomi. Shinichiro is neither like them. Wakasa is quietly fierce while Takeomi is a chaotic and unruly. They both get girls but none of them stick in the next few months. With Shinichiro, he wanted something more than a simple date. Realizing his family his gone, all that’s left for him is to make a new one, but diving further to despair was the only way.

“More! Yes!” you groaned loudly, gyrating. His hot and thick cock fit you perfectly. The tip of his long, hardened cock pressed roughly against your g-spot. With a hot wave clambered into your body, Shinichiro picked up his pace and slammed it again onto your g-spot, earning a louder moans compare to previously. Fingers clawed onto his lanky, muscular backside, Shinichiro felt wet and warm blood stinging in cold air. His thrusts grew harder; with his few pounding movements, he felt your walls tightened, twitched against him.

“Shin,” you wailed into his hair, biting your lower lips.

“Argh,” he said, “hold me tight, baby.”

Despite the bleak memories he held with him, it was about time to end.

Tip of his cock twitch, leaking a hot seed into your hole. With countless immeasurable sighs, your bodies melded into one when Shinichiro laid beside you and held you in his arms, face to face. “I love you, (y/n),” he said. “I want to spend the rest of my life getting to know you. Your wrongs, your struggles, your greatest strength and joy—everything. I want to be there with you until the end. I want us to stay together.” His hand brushed your locks. With his soft touch lingered, your heart prickled.

“I love you more,” you said, weeping.

He kissed atop off of your hairline, then your nose, lips, and rubbed his nose together with yours. “Will you please go on a date with me,” he said with a shy voice. He’s not like Wakasa or Takeomi, Shinichiro knows what he wanted, what he needed. With you, all his inner turmoil with work and personal life and Mikey’s passing, Shinichiro wasn’t worried anymore. Shinichiro wanted an eternal happiness with you at his side, even with a scorching hell in life, he rekindled.

Chortling, you said, “How can I say no to a handsome man like you?”

Not long after, your bodies shifted under the washed sheets, no longer needing the heater.

By the end of the night, after a total of five rounds of intensive sexual intercourse, Shinichiro’s head rested in between your breasts. His soft, and disheveled, black hair played in between your fingers. Kissing his messy hair, you said, “Happy Birthday, Shinichiro.”

~~~

When Shinichiro got out from your house after sharing wonderful breakfast and a heated kiss, he spotted Wakasa approaching him with dreadful silence.

With a smile, Wakasa uttered, “Are you winning, Shin?”

please report if anyone decides to steal/plagiarize my work and notify me. thank you.

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joeyscherryjubilee · 1 year

Text

Like Calls to Like (III)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

Author's Note: I fully believe Aemond is a consent!king, he's gonna make sure his lady is comfortable and is about communication.

Warnings: smut, first time for Laenyra, Crispin Cole, Aemond coping a feel beneath the table and a lot of consent.

Word count: 4,825

Summary: Laenyra and Aemond have finally confessed their feelings for one another. But they must put their desires temporarily aside in order to sit through dinner. Aemond, however, does not want to wait to lay claim to his princess.

“You seem happy, my son.” Alicent held Aemond’s hands. She was clearly glad of her son’s mood, especially as he was prone to states of lonesome forlornness. Aemond and Laenyra had arrived for dinner with secretive smiles and looks of longing clear on their faces. “Truly happy.”

She noted how her son’s eye flickered across the room.

“I am, mother.” He said the words with an almost shy smile, his mind wandering momentarily and Alicent’s heart clenched for a love she would never have.

“Good.” She forced a smile and squeezed his hand.

Alicent left him in order to greet a weak Viserys. Aemond, of course, immediately went to Laenyra’s side, standing too close to be proper and his hands itching towards her. Whatever note his princess received at breakfast, its contents had clearly shifted their relationship.

“A fine couple.” Viserys rasped, his weight sagging over his embellished cane. His gaze was set on Aemond and Laenyra with an unappealing smile though his joy was warming to see.

Alicent could not argue that fact no matter how much she wished to deny it.

“Let us eat.” She said instead, knowing any approval shown in front of her husband would be followed by talk of a betrothal.

The king sat first and let out a sigh that told his relief at finally taking the weight off his aching body. The group followed suit and Laenyra secured her usual spot between Aemond and Helaena, insisting that her aunt give a full debrief of the new insect that had been recently acquired.

Aemond shifted in his chair, the food in front of him untouched and his hands tapping upon the table. He was trying with all his might, and failing miserably, to not keep glancing over at Laenyra. She kept catching him staring, giving him only a knowing smile in response before returning her attention to Helaena.

His princess seemed to be the height of decorum, as though they had not been pawing at each other just moments before entering for dinner. Laenyra had tugged him into a hidden passage, bringing him to her desperately and they were late arriving because of it.

Laenyra grinned as she caught him looking again, she could feel his gaze and the heat it held.

“The wings are fragile but powerful.” Helaena explained eagerly, using her hands to provide a diagram of the new bug she had found. Aegon huffed in boredom from across the table, but otherwise said nothing. “It appears to be praying when it is still.”

Laenyra did not find the topic intensely interesting but her aunt’s excitement kept her attention and she smiled at how animated Helaena was.

There was a calmness in the room that was a welcome change from the usual despair that permeated the family meals. Viserys was in reasonable health and Queen Alicent in a somewhat good mood. Laenyra’s heart was soaring as she dared to think of the man next to her and what they have revealed to each other that day.

The calmness evaporated though, when Laenyra felt the brush of a touch on her leg.

“Are you alright?” Helaena asked as she jolted in her chair, dropping her fork with a clatter.

Laenyra nodded earnestly and smiled bashfully at the table.

“Apologies.” She said quietly at the look of concern on her grandfather’s face and the sudden interest in the rest of the table’s. “I simply startled myself when I dropped my fork.”

Everyone seemed to believe her and return to their own conversations or thoughts.

Helaena resumed her explanations though Laenyra froze as a touch feathered across her leg once again.

She glanced to see Aemond looking extremely pleased with himself, one hand on his goblet and the other beneath the table, stroking a deft pattern on her thigh.

“Are you quite sure you are well, Princess?” Aemond asked quietly with such a touching tone of concern that she glared at him.

“Yes.” Laenyra whispered curtly.

His responding grin was lecherous as she returned her attention to Helaena, attempting to ignore how his fingers trailed so dangerously across her leg. A previously undiscovered desire flooded through her and the room suddenly became hot. She pressed her legs together, seeking an unknown source of pleasure.

Laenyra attempted to remove his hand but could not do so without risk of discovery, he was unfairly stronger than her. Aemond made no further move as she squirmed at his touch, resting his hand sentry upon her thigh.

The meal passed by slowly, his hand a constant upon her body and Laenyra found time agonising until finally the servants cleared away the plates and she could leave without fear of scrutiny.

“I am tired, I shall retire.” She stood and breathed a sigh of relief as Aemond’s hand fell away, she desired his touch more than anything, but not at a dinner and not in full view of their family.

Her awkwardness was covered by Helaena announcing that she was also tired and wished to retire. It was unknown if her aunt did wish to rest or was simply covering for Laenyra and Aemond with her unlimited knowledge, but either way, Laenyra was most grateful.

Viserys nodded his consent at their departure from the table.

“Ser Arryk, would you please escort Princess Helaena to her rooms, and Ser Erryk, if you would escort Prince Aegon.” Queen Alicent commanded the twins by the door. Aegon looked extremely discontent at the idea of being escorted to bed like a child, but made no argument against it.

“Aemond can escort Laenyra.” Viserys said with a joyful smile. “I have no doubt he will see her safely to her rooms.”

“Of course, my love.” Queen Alicent said tersely, though sent a nod to Ser Criston which did not go unnoticed by Aemond.

Laenyra bid everyone a goodnight and led the way out into the darkened hallway.

They made it round the first few corners in a formal fashion before Laenyra glanced around and grabbed his hand.

Aemond couldn’t contain his grin as she tugged him forcefully through the halls, darting left and right and right again. She only stilled once they were far away from the dining hall and hidden within an alcove.

“I can’t believe you.” Laenyra whispered hotly, but there was no anger in her voice, only a barely contained desire.

“I am to blame for being tempted by such a siren?” Aemond asked with a lofty tone and clasped his hands behind his back with the poise of a prince.

Laenyra scoffed in order to conceal her amusement.

“You are silly.” She muttered and Aemond laughed loudly in the empty hallway.

She was quick to silence him, slapping her hand over his mouth and glanced around. No footsteps came to enquire about the noise but Laenyra waited a long moment, her heart thrumming, before she lifted her hand.

Aemond’s heart soared and he ducked his head in order to kiss her. Laenyra’s breath stuttered at the force of it, her hands gripping his arms to keep herself from drowning in the kiss.

“I’ll meet you in your room.” She said hurriedly, her gaze slightly hazed as she managed to pull herself away. Laenyra flushed scarlet at her prince’s responding smile, it told a thousand promises and desires that sung between them.

She darted away before he could say anything and Aemond was rather glad for it. Anything he wished to say would be highly inappropriate.

Aemond departed in the opposite direction, taking the long way through the castle in order to prevent any further gossip about his comings and goings. In some ways he was lucky that Aegon was such a disappointment, the focus on his brother’s activities meant that Aemond himself was not watched with anywhere near as much scrutiny.

He huffed in quiet annoyance though, as he rounded a corner to come face-to-face with Ser Criston Cole. Aemond usually enjoyed the knight’s presence, even if Laenyra despised him, but his appearance was an extreme inconvenience.

“Where is Princess Laenyra?” Ser Criston asked but there was no true concern in his voice.

“She wished to speak to Helaena about something and asked to walk alone.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue, Laenyra often visited her aunt before bed, the two could be found talking deep into the night.

Aemond made to step around the knight, but his path was blocked.

“Do you have a moment, my prince?” He posed his words as a request, though Aemond knew a refusal would result in further inconvenience.

“Of course, Ser Criston.” Aemond’s tone was monotonous, attempting to contain the frustration at being kept from his princess.

“Your mother is concerned for you.” The words were poised like they were coming from a place of care. But Aemond knew anything said by Ser Criston were truly the thoughts of his mother, who no doubt wished to know more of her second son’s recent activities.

“How so?” Aemond asked, feigning ignorance.

“She worries about how you have been spending your time, you departed upon Vhagar this morning with no warning, accompanied by Laeny-”

“Princess Laenyra.” Aemond interrupted sharply and his look was stern.

“Apologies, Prince Aemond.” The knight grimaced at the prince’s tone but made no comment. “You were accompanied by Princess Laenyra and I believe your mother is worried as to what rumours may arise from the two of you spending so much time together, unsupervised.”

He allowed the implications of his words to hang between them.

“I appreciate your concern for mine and Princess Laenyra’s safety and reputation, but I am unsure as to why this is being brought up now. Being alone with the princess is not a new occurrence and we often fly upon Vhagar together.” Aemond would not give him an inch, his tone deadpan and the knight squirmed.

“The reason your mother is concerned, I believe, is because of the danger of impropriety.”

“Impropriety?” Aemond drawled, raising an eyebrow and maintained a straight face, hiding his inner amusement at how far past ‘impropriety’ he and Laenyra had ventured. “I do not understand what you are attempting to imply, Ser Criston. Though I suggest that when you report to my mother, you ensure she is aware that there is no risk of wrongdoing and if she has any further concerns, she can ask me herself.”

Ser Criston was smart enough to recognise a dismissal and nodded curtly, undoubtedly knowing how displeased Queen Alicent would be at his lack of new information.

The prince left the knight, venturing once again through the halls, seeking out his one true desire.

Aemond breathed a sigh of relief when he finally came within view of his rooms, his steps quickening even more and he practically leapt through the entryway. He barred the door securely and confirmed its sturdiness twice. There would be no risk of disturbance.

His princess was standing before the fireplace, her gaze upon the flames.

Laenyra looked over her shoulder at him, the glow of the fire illuminating her like a true dragon.

I would follow her through the seven hells if she asked it of me.

Aemond clenched his fists, attempting to maintain his dignity and a distance between them.

She smiled gently at his stationary form, closing the gap herself and sliding her hands into his. Laenyra raised herself and kissed him, not at all embarrassed that she desired him, and the idea warmed Aemond’s heart.

“Hello.” She whispered and reached to stroke his jawline with a fire in her eyes.

“Hello.” Aemond murmured, his hands resolutely remaining by his sides.

“I was half-worried you wouldn’t come.” Laenyra said with a small smile and he knew he was forgiven for his lateness.

“I will always come when you call.” He breathed softly.

Laenyra glanced down at his hands, not on her body, and pulled him closer by the lapels of his jacket. Capturing his lips as hers, Laenyra dared to tease him with her tongue, a quick movement that was only a promise of things to come.

Aemond felt himself harden as she continued to take the lead for both of them, but as her hand weaved into his hair, tugging at him, Aemond's resolve broke. His hands moved quickly as he growled against her, tugging her body against his, his hardness flush against her belly.

Laenyra moaned softly and allowed him to dominate her, his mouth bruising against her own with the force, his teeth nipping at her, his longing as fierce and savage as a dragon.

“You are certain this is what you desire?” He growled after a long moment, attempting to restrain himself, for her sake.

“You keep asking, I will not change my mind.” Laenyra insisted, confused at to why he was so cautious of their joining.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He explained though it did nothing to diminish Laenyra’s confusion. Aemond smiled to himself and stroked her cheek, his thumb gliding over her swollen lips.

“You won’t.” She insisted, reaching for him, attempting to pull him closer.

“Not like that, my love.” Aemond murmured and tried to think on the best way to explain it to her. He pressed another kiss to her cheek before moving to brush his kips against her throat. Laenyra let out a small moan, a sound he wished to bind to his soul, as he dared to let his teeth nip at her pulse. “I need to make sure that it won’t hurt when we come together.”

He attempted to save her ears from crudeness, unsure as to how she would react.

“Oh.” Laenyra breathed, understanding dawning and Aemond glanced up to see her flushed but eager.

“Yes.” He said with a small smile. “Is that alright?”

Laenyra nodded, suddenly shy as she stood before him, all of it so real and her desire stirring so agonisingly.

“Yes, I trust you, Aemond.” She said and joined her lips to his again, more desperate with the heat building within her.

Laenyra sought to press herself closer to him and he could no longer deny himself of his most precious desire.

His hands weren’t gentle as he finally laid claim to her body, enveloping one in her hair and the other around her waist. Laenyra shivered as Aemond’s mouth enveloped her own, his kiss rough and desperate.

Laenyra gripped his arms, attempting to tether herself lest she float away on her desire.

“My Laenyra.” Aemond growled softly. She sighed prettily against his lips, his words fuelling the fire between them. His fingers were hurried with the tiresome strings of her dress. With a growl of frustration and yet another futile attempt to undo her dress, Aemond unsheathed his dagger and with startling precision he cut through the ribbons and frills.

“How am I supposed to explain that?” Laenyra laughed in shock at such a barbaric move though it thrilled her.

Aemond grinned roguishly, tearing the remaining seam and pulling it off her.

“Just say you were attacked by a dragon.” He offered and Laenyra snorted, kicking the now ruined dress under the bed.

“Attacked is certainly the right term.” She muttered and laughed as Aemond yanked her towards him once again.

“‘Attack,’ is it, dear niece?” He drawled, perusing her figure and taking note of how her perfect she looked beneath the satin slip, how desperate he was to rid her of it. Her nipples hardened as he dared trail his fingers along her sides, treading dangerously across her stomach. “You seem rather eager considering this brutal attack.”

Laenyra grinned at his words, her cheeks flushing and chest heaving as determination built inside her. The princess was not a patient person, she was the blood of the dragon and they were not known for patience.

Taking a deep breath Laenyra tugged at her slip, lifting it over her head. The thin dress pooled deliciously around her feet, Laenyra’s head held high as she bared herself to him. Aemond stilled and he felt a dragon rear its head and roar within him.

“Is something wrong?” Laenyra asked, a mild panic flashing through her eyes and he could see her starting to worry.

He shook his head earnestly.

“You are perfect.” He said hoarsely. His hand shook slightly as he raised it, his palm cupping her right breast gently. Laenyra shifted as he ran his thumb over her nipple. It hardened as Aemond stroked it and he dared to do the same to the left.

“Hmm.” Aemond hummed as Laenyra shivered, but he didn’t believe the cold had anything to do with it. His hands slid upwards, goosebumps following his touch. He slid his hands up her neck into her dark tresses, reviling in the softness of Laenyra.

With a startling boldness Laenyra tugged at his waistband, pulling him closer and joining them together.

“My love.” He whispered against her lips, his hands greedy as he gripped her naked body, leading Laenyra backwards to the bed. Aemond picked her up with ease, laying her gently down upon the covers.

Aemond stood tall, his breath rising heavily as he took Laenyra in, the way she looked so sublime on his bed, her body red with his marks and the apex of her thighs glistening, because of him. With a new found confidence Aemond steadied his nerves and knelt upon the bed.

Laenyra’s eyes were on Aemond as he moved to hover over her. She squirmed though as he leant to lay soft kisses up her stomach and Laenyra held her breath as he dared to press a kiss on both breasts.

“I love you.” He whispered into her collarbone, his tongue sucking and nipping at her skin, Aemond relished in the marks that were quick to form.

Laenyra whimpered her response as Aemond’s fingers trailed downwards and sat dangerously above her wet heat.

“You are alright?” Aemond breathed quietly and she huffed at him.

“If you do not touch me soon.” She threatened and he chuckled, her huff soon stuttered as he stroked her softly, his thumb applying such a pressure that a moan escaped her. Aemond couldn’t help his smug grin as he coaxed moans and whimpers out of Laenyra with slow, determined motions.

Laenyra relaxed into his touch, her back arching and her hips bucking upwards at Aemond’s skilful touch. He delighted in her body’s reaction to her, dipping his thumb between her folds to brush at her clit, her body jerking deliciously at he stroked her pearl.

Aemond moved to adjust himself, kneeling before her to utilise both hands to please his princess.

“Good girl.” Aemond murmured and he explored her body with his hand. Her wetness increased and he inserted a finger, shocked at how loudly Laenyra moaned as he pleased her. His thumb continued to stroke her and she fisted the sheets, a heat building that she did not entirely understand.

“It’s alright Laenyra.” He purred as she writhed. “Let me please you.”

Her thighs shook when Aemond changed the angle of his wrist, his movements speeding up and a second finger pressing inside her. He could tell she would soon reach her peak and he was eager to seek out all the ways to bring her pleasure.

Aemond curled his fingers slightly and Laenyra fell over the edge, her hips bucking upwards into his hand as she came. His fingers slowed and he worked her through her pleasure, her thighs glistening and Aemond grinned at his triumph, leaning down to press a firm kiss to his princess, swallowing the pretty sounds she made as he touched her.

“That’s it.” He praised when her body started shifting once again.

Calmness seemed to radiate from him though Aemond was a storm of desire inside, his arousal straining desperately against the confines of his pants and he shifted pitifully, attempting to alleviate some of the pressure and failing.

Laenyra whined while Aemond struggled internally as he stroked her, his palm providing delicious pressure and friction to her clit. Her eyes fluttered shut once again as her hips starting to rocking against his hand, seeking more pleasure.

Laenyra’s thighs began tensing once more and Aemond knew she was close again, her second peak coming quicker with her wetness, her eagerness to receive pleasure now she had had a taste.

A soft moan escaped her lips and Aemond was desperate to hear the sound again, crooking his fingers in just the right way-

“Oh gods.” She choked at the precision of his movements as they brought her over the edge once again, her whole body shivering against him and he grinned, his lips seeking hers once again.

“Such perfection.” He whispered and Laenyra fidgeted under him, suddenly bashful as he looked over her flushed body. “Don’t hide from me.”

Aemond leant down to kiss her with startling softness, with one hand he tugged softly at her hair and with the other he finally freed himself from the tight confines of his breeches.

“I love you.” They said it at the same time, in such tandem that they smiled at each other, hearts beating as one.

Aemond settled above her, taking his length in one hand and Laenyra shuddered with pleasure as he teased her folds, letting her know what he was about to do.

She nodded to him.

“I am yours, Aemond.” Laenyra murmured with fire in her eyes.

He thrust gently, slipping inside her with relative ease.

He worked himself in patiently, using her building wetness to soften his entry. She was greedy and eager to take him but Aemond was determined for her to feel no discomfort. Laenyra whined as he stroked her softly, just enough to work her up more, not enough to provide any real pleasure, she was already overstimulated.

“You must wait.” He purred in her ear, the tightness of her almost too much. He had to go slow for both their sakes and he grabbed at her reaching hands, trapping them above her head with one of his, not allowing her to distract him further.

“Let me touch you.” Laenyra pleaded, her voice was desperate but she was beyond caring. The feeling of him between her legs was too much, such perfection that she writhed beneath him, willing Aemond to move.

“Patience.” He said softly, his own resolve weakening as Laenyra whimpered. Aemond would never hurt her, and ensuring she could take him properly was his first priority.

“Fuck patience.” Laenyra growled, bucking her hips to have him further inside her.

Aemond let out a low curse at the feel of her body welcoming him, yearning for his touch.

“This is much more difficult for me than for you, my love.” He murmured, his thumb pressing into her clit, groaning as she fluttered around him. Aemond dared to thrust gently, just slow movements to see if she could take more of him. Laenyra whimpered at the action, her cunt clenching desperately.

“Aemond.” She moaned as he gave a sharper thrust forward, her body finally taking all of him, the two of them joined together perfectly.

“It’s as though the gods have made you for me.” He whispered, relishing in the feeling of fitting so well inside her. Aemond’s free hand reached up to slide over her breasts, his thumb brushing over her nipple with a grin at how willing her body was to take all of him. His look predatory as Laenyra moaned wantonly at his touch.

She gasped as he thrust gently, only drawing out a fraction before sliding back in, her wetness allowing for easy access, just as he had hoped.

“You’re perfect.” Aemond murmured, one hand still locked about her wrists as he leant down to kiss her. Laenyra whimpered against him, the feel of his chest against her sensitive nipples, the pressure of his body against hers.

“I need you to move, please.” It was desperate, she was desperate and Aemond couldn’t help the pride at it being his touch to make her feel such a way. His.

“We’ll go slow to start.” Aemond followed his words with a gentle thrust and Laenyra saw stars, her hands fighting at his. She needed to touch him, to feel all of him as he allowed her to settle into the feel of him making love to her.

“Oh gods.” She whimpered as he began to speed up, her body egging him to increase his force. It was so much, it was too much but it was perfect. “Fuck.”

Aemond was too far gone to find her cursing amusing and pulled out entirely, waiting long enough Laenyra’s eyes to open in confusion before slamming himself back in. Her eyes widened and he finally released her hands, allowing her to grip at him.

Laenyra’s felt fat tears of pleasure cascade down her cheeks as her body finally let go and Aemond continued to thrust with so much force she had to scream into her pillow.

“You’re taking me so well.” He growled, his speed and force causing the very bed to creak dangerously. Aemond gripped the headboard with one hand to assist his movements, his other hand reaching down to gently stroke her clit, the juxtaposition of his movements only overwhelming her further. “You’re perfect, Laenyra.”

She grabbed his shoulders, clinging to him desperately as he brought them closer to their climax.

“Look at me.” Aemond ordered softly, his fingers gripped her jaw to face him. Laenyra reached and took his hands in hers, their fingers entwined as she looked upon him, their gaze set upon each other as they took and gave pleasure.

They soared and fell together, like dragons taking flight and the pleasure was unspeakable between them. Aemond delved his head into the crook of her neck at the intensity, biting into his lip so fiercely he drew blood in order to not scream out his pleasure.

Laenyra was not so controlled and moaned loudly in his ear, her hands clutching at him, attempting to tether herself to reality. Her thighs shook as she came back to herself, the overstimulation bearable as Aemond settled himself beside her, one arm thrown possessively over her.

“I love you.” Aemond said breathlessly. He noted with a fierce pleasure the marks upon Laenyra’s body, how flushed she was and how she looked at him like he was the only person in the world.

“I love you.” She murmured in agreement and reached weakly to stroke his face, tugging at his hair to pull him closer for another kiss.

Aemond gave her a kiss freely before pulling away, sitting up and hurrying to dress.

“Where are you going?” Laenyra asked in a tired voice, curious as to his movements. Aemond tugged on a tunic and pressed a swift kiss to her cheek.

“I will be gone one moment, my love.” He said and grinned at the sight of her exposed and satiated in his bed. She stretched to pull a pillow closer, fatigue settling in.

Laenyra hummed her consent to his movements, her body relaxed completely for perhaps the first time in years. She only closed her eyes for a moment though Aemond had returned by the time she opened them again.

He was standing at his desk, a small pot set atop the table as he mixed a herbal brew.

“Aemond?” She yawned aloud and he turned, a cup in one hand and a wash cloth in the other.

“Moon tea.” He explained quietly, offering the mug to her with a kind smile. “Helaena keeps a store in her rooms.”

She drank it quickly, not relishing in the bitter taste. Aemond stood before her, his touch soft as he wiped away the mess from her body.

“I love you.” He whispered after a moment, his eye flickering to her face as he discarded the cloth. Laenyra’s heart clenched at how vulnerable he was, how much of himself he was exposing to her and the trust they had.

She stood and reached for him, baring her body unashamedly now that Aemond had seen all of her. His gaze was intense, their eyes set on one another and her touch was soft as she traced the exposed parts of his scar. Laenyra vowed to have him remove it for her soon, but that was a discussion that would come later.

“I love you, Aemond.” Laenyra said with a fierce look, insisting that he knew how fiercely she felt for him. “It is you and I, forever.”

He warmed at her words and smiled as she pressed her forehead against his and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips.

“I would ask you to return to bed.” Laenyra whispered. “If you desire it.”

Aemond chuckled and nodded, kissing her brow.

“There are many things I desire in this world, and I dare say you in my bed is at the forefront of them all.”

____________________________

Tags: @grungegrrrl @daddysfavoritesexkitten @neenieweenie @m-indkiller

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resowrites · 11 months

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Upstairs, Downstairs - oneshot (request).

Summary: Henry gets sick and becomes the patient from hell…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, language, dialogue heavy, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 1186

A/N: My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Upstairs, Downstairs - oneshot.

She could hear Henry groaning as she mounted the stairs. Carefully she balanced the tray bearing some toast, her Nintendo Switch she was letting him borrow, and more painkillers. She entered their bedroom as quietly as she could, though Henry still stuck his head up to inspect the food he thought he could smell from the kitchen. "Did you cut the crusts off?" At this, she pursed her lips and dropped the tray onto the bedside table with a clank. The noise made him wince and she couldn't help but smirk.

"Yes your majesty, as well as some more painkillers and my Switch if you're up to playing it." But one look at Henry suggested that was unlikely, his eyes were screwed up against the pain despite the room being in total darkness.

"Tablets please."

"Oh darling, is your headache really no better?" She carefully helped sit him up and handed over the painkillers along with a glass of water.

"It's a migraine." She couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"No it isn't, it's just a bad headache--"

"It's a migraine!"

"Henry, I suffer from migraines myself, you're barely able to move. Now take your tablets and rest, you'll feel better in another hour or two. And it'll serve you right for staring at yourself in the mirror so long--"

"I was shaving!"

"Well try it blindfolded next time, that might resolve the issue permanently."

"Charming, and it wasn't that that did it, I was concentrating too hard painting my Warhammer--" she quickly interrupted, not wishing to get Henry started on the subject of Warhammer.

"Yeah that's fascinating, now take your tablets please."

"You know, this is not very good nursing… you're not even wearing a uniform!" She rolled her eyes again.

"Don't be a perv. And if you want a nurse, hire one. Though at this rate only a saint would cope."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He handed her back the glass and rested his head against the pillow, his eyes closed despite still talking.

"It means I've had to run around after you like a blue-arse fly and I'm nearing the end of my tether. Now have some toast--"

"In a minute, chat to me first." Henry patted her empty spot on the bed.

"Henry, you need to either have something to eat or go to sleep. I'll wake you at dinner, that's if you can still manage to eat…" He opened his eyes just in time to catch her smirk, but his expression suddenly grew more serious.

"… Don't leave." She burst out laughing.

"Henry, you're not a baby! Besides you need to rest."

"But I'm bored!"

"I am not here to entertain you, mister! I have a mountain of ironing to do as well as dinner to prepare." Henry's face became forlorn and for a moment she was genuinely worried. "Here, let me take your temperature…" She removed a thermometer from her pocket and held it up to his mouth.

"Warm it up first." She looked up to the ceiling and held her breath. When she tried again, Henry pulled away slightly.

"Make an aeroplane noise…"

"Henry, I really am losing my patience! Now let me take your temperature or I'll put this thermometer someplace it'll definitely feel cold!" He harrumphed but opened his mouth all the same.

"You know those tablets are no good, they didn't work when I took them earlier--" she shushed Henry, determined to get an accurate reading on the thermometer.

"Mmm… slightly high--"

"See, I told you I was coming down with something!"

"No, you told me you were painting your toys--"

"They're not toys!" She sighed.

"Whatever! Anyway your temperature's only slightly up, you're not feeling sick are you?" She looked at the plate of still-uneaten toast and began to wonder.

"Well, I'd get no sympathy from you either way! Now hand me that toast." She eyed the plate again, tempted to dump it all over him. He took one large bite. "Mmm… it's cold." She turned to go.

"Then chew on it, that'll warm it up."

"Wait! I didn't say you could leave." But the bedroom door slammed shut behind her.

She smiled as she gazed around the living room, both dogs snoozing at her feet. The housework was finished and she could finally put her feet up. It was a rare treat indeed to have a Henry-free afternoon and she was determined to enjoy it. But then her phone pinged. She ignored it and turned up the volume on the tv. Then came another ping. And another. Finally, the phone rang. "What?!" Oh, Henry, I'm trying to relax! Do I really need to come up there?" The phone rang off and she threw it aside, thoroughly irritated as she stomped up the steps. When she opened the bedroom door, he was sitting lower against the headboard, his eyes still closed. "Well?!"

"I need you to fluff my pillows." Her mouth fell open.

"You are kidding?! You made me come all the way up here, just for that?!"

"Yeah, I'm slipping. It's not comfy." She could tell Henry was trying not to laugh.

"Well carry on and I'll bloody smother you! That's if I can find a pillow big enough for that big fat head!" He held a finger up to his lips.

"Shhh… you're talking too loud."

"That's it! You're on your own. I'm not lifting another bloody finger for you…" For the second time that hour, she slammed the door. But just as she was making her way down the stairs, her phone pinged again. She knew better than to read the message, but she also knew Henry wouldn't stop bothering her until she did. Apparently, she'd forgotten something. Her brow furrowed. She was sure she hadn't bought anything up, but curiosity got the better of her and she made her way back towards the bedroom. When she entered the room, he didn't respond. She took a few steps closer, concerned whether he was alright. Suddenly the bed covers were thrown back.

"BOO!!!" She nearly hit the ceiling she jumped so high.

"Oh my God, you stupid twat! You nearly made me shit myself!" She went to grab hold of the bedside table for support but Henry just laughed and pulled her into a hug. "Get off me you silly sod, what did you really want me for?!" She tried to pull free of his arms but he held tight and smiled maniacally.

"I wanted you to take the tray down…" At that moment she could have knocked him out with it. "Oh and can you pick up the remote? It dropped on the floor." Her nostrils flared.

"Anything else, sire?!"

"Just your company m'lady…"

"I take it you're feeling better then?"

"Why don't you join me in here and find out…" Henry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I think not! You've been a pain in the arse all day and if possible, I'd like a bit of peace and quiet."

"Madam, you should know that's impossible." She sighed, finally smiling at him. Henry was right, in their household there was no such thing.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@elizabetharegina @fanfictionaddiction99 @luclittlepond @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @summersong69 @ushijimbo @penneferofvenerburg

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine

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wangxianficrecs · 5 months

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💙 The Sun Will Rise by vespertineflora

💙 The Sun Will Rise

by vespertineflora (@vespertineflora)

E, Series, WIP, 129k, Wangxian

Summary: For centuries, the villagers surrounding the Qianlian Forest have been beholden to a fearsome creature. A once loved Prince was long ago cursed into a monstrous form, and ever since has required the sacrifice of maidens to ensure the safety of the forest and the people living around it. This forlorn tradition might have continued for centuries longer... but when it comes time for Lotus Pier to send a maiden as tribute, Jiang Yanli is chosen, and Wei Wuxian won't stand for it. His plan is simple; he'll send Jiang Yanli off to live the long life she deserves with her fiancé, and offer himself as a sacrifice to the Prince instead. Kay's comments: Series is marked as incomplete, but feels complete! Part one is the main story and part two is an additional kinky scene added as an extra. This story is incredibly hot and not gonna lie started reading it for the smut, stayed for the plot, because not only are the explicit scenes perfect, but the story is also very compelling and I loved the slowly unravelling mystery aspect of it. I first read this story when it came out and could hardly wait for the next chapter, because I was just so hooked. Here we have Wei Wuxian being sacrified to a mysterious creature in place of Jiang Yanli, only turns out the mysterious creature is plant-tentacle-creature Lan Wangji, known as the Prince, who's not interested in killing Wei Wuxian, but will still make a meal out of him. Slowly but surely, the two of them become closer and Wei Wuxian can't help but want to figure out, what happened to Lan Wangji for him to have turned into this form. Excerpt: Wei Wuxian’s brow furrowed, finding that particularly strange, but just as he was about to kneel down and try to loosen the vine from around his foot, he felt something curl and tighten suddenly around his wrist, directly against the skin--his eyes darted down, just barely registering another vine that had grabbed onto him when-- A question seemed to spill into his his mind. He felt... strangely breathless at the unfamiliar sensation of impression, at the way he could almost feel the echo of words that hadn’t been spoken inside of his head, and at the inexplicable sense of familiarity he was left with. He didn’t actually hear anything, there weren't even really words, so much as just sensation... but he somehow knew what he was being asked all the same. It... this... whatever it was that reaching out to him... wanted to know who he was. “Wei Ying,” he gasped out, his words stumbling slightly as he tried to cope with the intimacy of having something pressing a thought directly into his head like this, before realizing what he’d said. “Ah... Wei Wuxian. I came from Lotus Pier. Are you... are you the Prince?” He... he had to be, didn’t he? Or if the legends were wrong, this was at least whatever entity that everyone called the Prince. It felt like a bit too much of a coincidence to expect one spiritual being at a certain location and run into a completely different one instead. There was a hesitation, something almost unsure, before Wei Wuxian felt the flicker of affirmation in his head. “Well, I... know you’re used to something a little different, but... I’m your offering this time,” Wei Wuxian continued explaining, because he knew this thing wanted him to. His heart was already racing again, the fears that had settled in the lull since his arrival immediately reviving, his thoughts spinning as he was immediately left confronting his mortality once more. “Is that... is that acceptable? Will I work for that?”

pov wei wuxian, canon era, alternate universe, fairy tale elements, human/monster romance, fantasy, tentacle monsters, monster lan wangji, tentacles, human wei wuxian, plants, vines, top lan wangji/bottom wei wuxian, eventual romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, angst with a happy ending, mystery, bamf wei wuxian, homesickness, falling in love, bdsm, reincarnation

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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seraphiism · 1 year

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𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ( 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 )

( the past is gone ; the future is far away. WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF? )

chara : dan heng fandom : honkai star rail quote cr : agust d a/n : he is just a little guy . also i've played for like 2 hrs i love writing abt men i love yet have no idea who they are

THE PAST IS A DESIRE DEMON / A DEVIL IN DISGUISE : INTOXICATING, ALLURING, AND EVERYTHING HE THOUGHT HE ONCE SURVIVED. THE PAST IS AN ILLUSION, A DREAM, A RECKONING : THE WOOL PULLED OVER ONE'S EYES, AN OBSCURE SMOKESCREEN, AND THE INABILITY TO DISTINGUISH WHAT WAS REAL AND WHAT WAS NOT IN MEANS OF COPING WITH WHAT WAS LOST.

the past is something dan heng cannot escape. journey after journey, battle after battle, the tides grow in their cruelty, threaten to drown a dragon in the waves of penitence. there is something that lingers in the strings of the heart-- a memory waning, the bitter taste of rust on his tongue-- how it anchors him so, prays for a downfall that one deems deserved.

the past is not something dan heng wishes to remember, but he does, anyway, because somewhere, there is the breaking of a seemingly cold soul that reminds him that even he cannot ignore his own humanity. defeat the spirit and it will return even stronger, suppress the sins of the past and they will return with even more hatred and anguish.

somewhere, he's drowning.

his vision fills with a clear blue-- tranquil. silent. forlorn. a clear blue, a violent storm, the harsh ebb and flow, then a muddled mess of blue and black. everything distorts, turns into white noise. he cannot see, cannot hear, feels his senses being stolen away, left in a limbo of uncertainty. something presses against his chest. something is pressing down and down -- a slow descent, the rapid rise and fall in attempt to breathe breathe breathe BREATHE --

dan heng cannot regain himself. he shuts his eyes, reminds himself that there is a way out of all things. composure and focus aligned, he controls his breathing. in and out, inhale and exhale. deep breath. there is a way out of all things. there is no need to be afraid. the pressure eases. the weight is lighter, but remains present, but the sway of the waters persists, and he cannot stabilize himself, find harbor and safety in the tides.

he opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is you. his head throbs, the floor beneath him far from comfortable. he cannot remember much, not really, recalls fighting beast after beast before seeing you in danger. he has always been a protector, a shield, but even then, he does not think his heart has ever raced so quickly in the desperation of guarding another. how quick he was, covering your body with his in order to save you from harm's way.

--ah. he remembers it all now. the way you cried out for him, that terrifying pain that engulfed his body, the quiet relief he felt when he realized you were okay, then the losing of himself and the welcoming of darkness.

you hover over him, concern etched all over your features, scratches and bruises adorning your face. your hand lingers on his chest, desperate. you seek comfort in the knowing of a beating heart, a weak apology spilling from your lips for about -- well, everything. dan heng doesn't quite understand it all-- an apology for shaking him so hard in means to wake him ( and maybe that's what it was, that weight, the strange instability in the tides. it was you all along, trying to pull your lover from the depths of the sea ). another apology for letting him get hurt, then another for--

his body hurts. his limbs ache, but he will be alright. he has to be. he smiles despite the panic and adrenaline that continues to rush through your bloodstream, and the mere sight means more than you could ever tell him. your words cut short, voice nearly breaking, and you cry the moment he places his hand over yours.

he does not speak of love so casually, finds that actions speak louder than words. in the way he squeezes your hand, utmost ardor found in blue hues, there is the silent confirmation that he is alright, that he's here with you.

"thank you." you whisper, and there are so many things you wish to say, but the words lodge themselves in your throat, heavy with the realization of what could have been. "thank you, dan heng."

you repeat this like a mantra unheard, the tears shamelessly spilling. he doesn't like the sight, feels the guilt rest on heavy shoulders, so he sits up, holds your hand a little tighter before he pulls you into a hug. how warm your tears are, he thinks, when you bury your face into the crook of his neck, and how grateful he is that you are able to share this moment, even if you are both injured. it doesn't matter in the end, he supposes. you are both alive and together, and that's all he needs.

"i won't leave you." he tells you. "you have me until the end."

#honkai star rail #dan heng #dan heng x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #oh What The Hell this was supposed to be like . fluffy and short ANYWAY #sorry dan heng idk you but ive met u and thts all i need !!!!! hope you're in character king. blows kiss #i love him . apparently i love men w red eyeliner who are closed off emotionally. xiao . ais .#.: writing

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space-invading-pigeon · 2 years

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After the events of season 1, his parents are pissed at him. How dare he bring the Harrington name down like that, getting into a fight with that nasty little Byers boy and LOSING, being spotted going TO the Byers house later that night, and, to top it all off, severing any chance his father had at a continuation of their annual contract with the Hagan family.

Steve's father beats the shit out of him, all while his mother watches on like it's the most borish thing she could be doing. The noise is bad enough that the neighbors, who spent Steve's whole childhood ignoring every sign of abuse or neglect, actually call the police. It's Hopper that shows up, and Steve's father ends up in handcuffs. Steve is taken in as well, but he gets to sit up front with Hopper, and by the end of the night, Mr. Harrington has been released into his wife's care. It becomes the last time that Steve sees either of his parents; he had tried to lie to Hopper, but almost immediately folded when the chief called him "son" and gave him this forlorn look, and Hopper turned right around and told Steve's father his options. Option A: get charged with assault, disturbing the peace, and child neglect, which would ruin his reputation even if they didn't stick, or option B: leave Steve his inheritance, the house, and his trust fund, as well as a monthly stipend until he turns 18, at which point Mr. Harrington would not contact Steve again. Mr. Harrington chooses option B without hesitating, and as soon as he leaves the station, he does exactly as instructed.

Steve's parents leave town that first week of December with nothing more for their only son than looks of disdain, and Steve has to settle alone in a big empty house. He pretends everything is fine, especially around Nancy- he just got her back, he can't risk losing her again- and for a while, he convinces everyone he is. No one but Hopper and Joyce know that his parents are gone, and both adults insist on helping him out.

Hopper teaches him how to take care of the property he now owns; Steve refuses to hire people, he's too scared of losing money, so he learns how to mow the lawn and rake leaves and make sure the plumbing and electricity are working fine. Joyce teaches him to take care of his finances: how to budget, how to save, how to make smart investment decisions, even how to estimate the cost of a shopping trip.

Because of their lessons, Steve is almost completely independent by the start of season 2. Unfortunately for the adults of the Party, Steve already knows how to not take care of himself, so he skips doctor's appointments and refuses to get any help from Hawkins Lab, even when they extend an offer (about a month after Will starts his therapy there). He won't sleep, only eats if he thinks someone will notice that he's getting thin, and learns to use Nancy's concealer (which he steals from her; not even Nancy can know how little he's coping). It all finally starts to calm down around Halloween, so he tries to get Nancy to relax, too, but Nancy just glares at him and drinks too much and tells him that she's never loved him and that he's bullshit. He spirals a little, but he still makes sure that Jonathan will take Nancy home before he runs away.

Nancy apologizes the next day, but when he asks her if she loves him, she stops talking, so Steve leaves her standing in the alley she led him to and drives home.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things headcanons #eddie and steve #the party #dustin henderson #emansteveation #its okay i hate me for that too

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moldycantaloupe · 2 months

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When The Sun Won't Shine

Words; 2.4k

Realtionships; Mountain/Aether, Mountain/Aether/Dewdrop

Tags; Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, hurt/little comfort, Fluff, Anger, Lots of it, Character Study, Happy Ending, Kinda, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Mountain had to sacrifice his own mourning to help his packmates. He forced himself to forget his grief, treat it as if it was something he read rather than lived through.

Notes; @forlorn-crows deemed it Mountain March over on Tumblr, so OBVIOUSLY I had to write mountain angst.

Read under cut or on Ao3 if you so desire.

Mountain didn’t know what to do with himself that day. Everything had changed so suddenly, all too much.

His pack had felt a distant pain when it began. As if a muscle had grown taught, ready to snap. They were all in their common room when it happened, all head’s snapping up in unison. The sharp pain in their chests confirmed it. Their Papa was in trouble.

They all split into pairs to go searching. Aether with Dewdrop, Ifrit with Zephyr. Mountain would stay to watch their den, keep them from harm's way. That was his first mistake, he thinks. It was hours later when he finally felt his heart rip out. One, two, three. Strings snapping off a guitar. Mountain grew antsy, growling at the pain in his body. He put on a record to distract himself, pacing crop circles into their rug. He swears he can still see those outlines today.

The door had all but slammed open. If he cared enough he would’ve felt the whiplash, but nothing could matter in that moment. Vaguely, he remembers feeling his body drain of blood as Aether stood in the door, a limp discoloured Dewdrop in his arms, his lungs rattling.

“Sister,” Aether choked out, unshed tears in his eyes, “she-”

Mountain was at his side in mere seconds, grasping at Dewdrop. He remembers beginning to shake then, the burnt smell of flesh forever branded to his mind. He cradled that small face into his hand, too hot for their little water demon.

“What did she do?” Mountain growled. “Where is Ifrit and Zephyr?”

Aether forced out a sob, his knees giving in to the tile underneath. Mountain fell with him, watched as the last string snapped.

“She took them.” Aether cried. “They’re gone!”

Mountain remembers yelling with Aether after the shock dissipated from his vessel, remembers feeling the last bit of himself snap loose. They both mourned together at that doorway, a newly broken ghoul between them. The moon was a blood red that night.

He wishes that he could say the rest of the night was a blur, that he doesn’t remember anything past that point. But he remembers it all like it was recent. Aether calling for Omega, a guttural scream for help echoing throughout the abbey walls. Omega taking Dewdrop away from the broken pair, having to spend minutes begging them both to let him take him to the infirmary, promising that he was not going to hurt their little ghoul. Promising his own life, his own home, just to make sure Dew would live through the night.

Aether begged Mountain, for what, they both don’t know. Begged for it to be a cruel joke, pleas rushing out of his mouth for their pack and papa to come back. Desperate for Sister to give them back. Omega kept in touch through their bond, updates coming in throughout the night. Mountain remember’s a second cry leaving his lungs when they were told what exactly happened to their water ghoul. His poor Dewdrop.

Mountain had to sacrifice his own mourning to help his packmates. He forced himself to forget his grief, treat it as if it was something he read rather than lived through. He became a pillar in their trio, something that couldn’t be brought down. That was the image he forced, the image he hoped his packmates saw. He turned his grief into anger, lashing out on his own time, away from spectating eyes. He would not become a fool for the ministry to play with.

The rest of the week was a blur to him. He only remembers the tears, the sleepless nights. The gasoline when Dewdrop woke and learned. He remembers practically forcing Aether to down food, to shower. Aether begging Omega to let him sleep, even if it was restless. He was so tired of the constant torment grief had brought, he just needed one night.

Having to live with a mourning and newly made fire ghoul only brought them pain. He still has the scar from when he had to get an unwilling Dewdrop to shower. Promising anything just to get him to try and live.

The ministry gave them all so little time to mourn what they lost before they were sent a letter, informing them of their new Papa, and a summoning for the next new moon. Two new ghouls would be joining their pack. Mountain growled, Aether sobbed, Dew combusted. Meeting their new Papa was brief. It was easier when they found out it was the Cardinal, as lousy as he was. It didn’t make the heartbreak go away, but it was easier.

Dewdrop was all anger. Not a moment went by without the yelling, the cursing. Glass shattering, knees falling to the ground in anguish, the tears. He locked himself away for days before Mountain and Aether busted through the door. That night was locked away in a part of his mind that he had no access to. All he could recall was the scream that Dew had let out, the idea that he had finally lost his Dewdrop.

The summoning went as awry as it could. Instead of summoning two new ghouls, they summoned four. Mountain sneered at that cocky grin the multi gave him, as if he was egging on the pain. The love that the air pair had for one another shone through in the entire room, clinging onto each other with their life.. He felt something in him fester when they met the new water ghoul. He was so innocent, so pure. He was everything. He was nothing. He was not his Dewdrop.

Aether was the personified version of grief. It wasn’t until after the summoning that Mountain had to track him down, finding him in his bathroom with his ceremonial robes in tatters. He was leaned up against the toilet, fat tears streaming down his face. Mountain forced his hands out of his hair, watching his nails come back red and bloody.

“They’re really gone,” Aether cried. Mountain held him close, letting his own chest muffle the screams he let out.

He took notice of Dewdrop and how he nearly avoided the new pack. The low growl when one of them came too close to him. He had finally accepted his fire, had finally decided he preferred his fire over water. But Mountain knew. Knew that with the snide remarks towards the new water ghoul, the angry stares their way, that he was still mourning his first element.

It was years later now. He would never admit it but he hated his new pack in the beginning. They were not the warm and chaos of Ifrit, the slow melodies of Zephyr. Their chaos was like a lightning storm, their warmth more like a summer’s day rather a hearth. Their slow, tender moments were different. Calling them warm would be wrong, calling them cold would be a lie. He never knows how to explain it, so he doesn’t. He thinks, hopes, that at least Aether understands.

It was a slow Wednesday. He was in the kitchen when he heard it, the slow start to the song he swore never to hear again coming from their living space. He turned in time to see Swiss putting the sleeve of the record on display, showcasing to the world the music that played that night. A record they hadn’t touched since, letting it rot away at the back of their stack. But Swiss didn’t know that. He couldn’t have. Mountain watched as he walked towards Cumulus on the couch, offering a hand to her. She giggled and accepted, being hoisted up onto her feet as he began dancing with her.

He caught eyes with Aether just in time. He couldn’t bear it. The sorrow in his eyes. The mild acceptance that coursed through his stature. His eyes flickered over to where Rain was now with Dewdrop, dancing together. Dew had a dopey smile on his face, Rain laughing at some remark that Swiss had said. Mountain realized at that moment that, no, he wasn’t over it.

He waited until Aether looked back to the group to walk away, abandoning his tea. He slipped out of their den, walking out towards the windy skies. He felt the earth welcoming him underneath his bare feet, calling him home. He headed towards his greenhouse.

Once inside, he heaved a sigh. He felt the familiar sting in his nose, his eyes begging to let the tears slip. But he didn’t know how, he couldn’t remember how. When was the last time he had cried about his first pack?

The earth ghoul made his way towards the back of the greenhouse, kneeling down to the flowers that occupied the space. They were the most taken care of out of all of the plants he catered for, one flower bed for each pack member, new and old. He sat down at the start of the flowers, staring at them. Monsella tulips, lavender, marigolds. Perfectly cared for. Something he couldn’t provide then, he provided now.

It was only recently when Mountain realized that he treated his past pack as an idea rather than a memory. Something that never existed outside of his head. He wished he could say that had scared him, but all he felt was numb. He doesn’t remember not feeling numb towards his grief.

He always had a distraction from himself. His drums, his new pack, his plants. It was rare that he was by himself with nothing to do, to let his thoughts fester. It was always a couple months before the anniversary that everything would come to a head in his psyche, forcing him to relive the trauma all over again. It seemed he was the only one of them that experienced this, and every year he felt all the guilt and grief weigh him down.

He hid the first two times this happened, too overwhelmed to even begin knowing what to do with himself. He hid in his room, door locked and curtains drawn. His pack collectively had given him three days the first time before Dew lock picked his way in, Aether eyeing the untouched food at the ground. He knows what it smelt like when they walked in; rotting leaves, mildew. He hadn’t showered for a week at that point, barely let the sun touch him. He fought tooth and nail with Aether to just get out of the bed, baring his fangs to the fire ghoul when he just stood there, eyes wide and unseeing. When he wanted to yell at both of them, he couldn’t even let out a word. All he could do was to give in and comply.

Now, he still hid away, but he left his door unlocked for his pack. Just to give them peace of mind.

He was forced out his head when he heard the door to the greenhouse open. He didn’t flinch, didn’t bother turning to see who it was. The scent of chlorine infiltrated his nostrils. He continued to pet one of the tulips, letting the soft touch ground him.

Aether continued walking towards him before he sat himself down right next to Mountain, close to the lavender. Mountain only gave him a glance to tell him that he was here, he was present. They sat like that for minutes, watching the flowers glow in the evening sun. Aether was the first to break the silence.

“Did Ivy ever tell you what Ifrit did when he was first summoned?” Aether turned to Mountain with a crooked smile. Mountain shook his head with creased brows.

“Papa was giving Ifrit a tour of the greenhouse, for some reason, and even encouraged him to touch one of the flowers.” Aether chuckled.

Mountain’s eyes went wide, his brows further creasing. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. turns out it was one of the flowers that Ivy had just gotten to bloom after maybe weeks of waiting, and, you know.” Aether made a noise that mimicked the explosion, hands gesturing a smoke cloud.

It was Mountain’s turn to chuckle, running a hand down his face. “Oh, Satanas.”

“Yeah, you think Dew’s rage is bad, have you ever seen Ivy’s?”

“No,” Mountain looked over at Aether, his hand against his chin, “and I never want to see it.”

They both laughed quietly, humming in unison when their laughs began to slow. Aether pursed his lips inward, rubbing his fingers over a stray rock.

“I miss them.” He nearly whispers.

Mountain sighed, his smile starting to slip. “I know.”

It was a minute more before he heaved a sigh, letting go of the tulip in favor of holding Aether close to him, letting the quint rest his head on his shoulder.

“I miss them, too.” He finally admitted. Aether looked up at him, a sad smile on his lips. Mountain felt the sting of tears from earlier, a shaky inhale, his form slumped. Finally, he let himself go.

Aether said nothing as Mountain silently cried, only rubbed at his shaking back in soothing notions. His hand covered his mouth, desperate to hide any whines that may leak through.

“I miss them so much, Aether.” He hiccuped. “It hurts so much.”

“I know,” Aether pressed a kiss into his shoulder, “just let it out for me, big guy.”

He let years of pent up tears flow out of him, finding comfort in his mate’s embrace. He cursed the ministry for what they did, what they had done to his pack and Papa. He let his years of anger, his grief, all his sorrow out. When his cries died down to small hiccups and shaky breaths, Aether had him stand. He wiped his tears away, smoothed down his hair, and walked them both back up to their den.

What waited for them was home. Nobody commented on his red, glassy eyes, or his slumped figure, or the way he held onto Aether as if he was his life. They all yelled at the two of them to sit down at the dinner table and eat, Cirrus specifically pushing them to the dining room. He ate in his own silence and listened intently to his pack talk about their days, random stories from the past, bickering with one another. Dew talked about something him and Zephyr used to do, a grin plastered on his face. Aether kept a hand on his thigh, rubbing circles with his thumb. He would never admit it outwardly, but that small notion kept him there. Kept him grounded during their dinner.

Mountain caught eyes with him and gave him a soft smile, one that met his eyes. He was ready to finally accept this new life, he thinks.

#lou writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #mountain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #Mountain march

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ghuleh-recs · 8 months

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Some fire gremlin-centric fic recs for you this week, friends. 🧡

you in the moonlight / @kkaisarion / Dew x Rain

When Dewdrop finds out that Copia accidentally summoned a new water ghoul, he’s ready to throw hands. He’s been the only water ghoul at the abbey for so long, there’s no way he’s about to share his territory with whoever just showed up.

Mine / @papaslittlesunshine / Dew x Phantom

Prompt: The new Quintessence ghoul & Dewdrop hatefuck (and i say hate very loosely. More like, Dew has been anxious about there being a new ghoul and is coping by trying to establish /he/ is the boss. So they've been butting heads the past few days and now the tension has boiled over) but that all changes and turns so super soft when the new guy lets slip that Dew is his first since being summoned.

Untitled - Part 1 & Part 2 / @littlemoon-beam / Dew x Aurora

Prompt: 18. "I can’t wait to take your innocence.”

Into the Eyes of Fire / @forlorn-crows / Dew x Ifrit

The look in question happened only a few hours ago: the pair of them galivanting around the stage, charging at each other like wild bulls during the bridge of Year Zero. Until Ifrit rose up on his toes, hovering only a few inches above Dew as he leaned in for a mock kiss. He may as well have been two feet taller with the way his rich brown eyes bore straight into Dew's, getting closer and closer until the water ghoul was forced to pull away.

view from the spire / @dewedup / Dew x Rain

“I’m nowhere close to being done with you yet, sweetheart.” The words fall from Rain’s lips like a sin, full of promise yet an underlying sense of sinister intent. And Dew… well Dew bites his lip to stifle a whimper.

-or Dewdrop has fear of heights and Rain wants to test his limits

The Snare of Devotion / @iamthecomet / Copia x Dew

Dew helps his papa out with a blow job. That's it, that's the fic. The first few days of tour are always the worst. Copia’s stressed, not sleeping. Intent on making sure everything is going to be perfect. He doesn’t take care of himself. And as much as his ghouls try to badger him into eating and drinking and sleeping, he never does. It happens every single cycle, until Dew inevitably finds a way to get him alone, take him apart, and put him back together. It’s as ritual as the rituals are. But by Dew’s count, they’re a few days late.

Playing With Fire / @miasmaghoul / Dew x Swiss

Dewdrop is called by the sun and Swiss is called by Dewdrop. What could possibly go wrong?

✩ Bookmark and please leave kudos and comments!!

#fic rec friday #my fic recs #the band ghost fic rec #the band ghost fanfiction #dewdrop ghoul #sodo ghoul #nameless ghouls #nameless ghouls fanfiction #rain ghoul #swiss army ghoul #copia #papa emeritus iv #aurora ghoul #ifrit ghoul #phantom ghoul #dewdrop fanfiction #the band ghost

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ultra-rockart · 7 months

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I have a problem with the Ahsoka series...

As someone who didn't watch Rebels and just getting back to Star Wars after being out of the fandom, episode 5 left me kinda flat...

WARNING: SPOILERS TO JEDI FALLEN ORDER AND AHSOKA EPISODE 5

Anyone who plays Jedi Fallen Order will immediately realize that the scene is a mirror of Cal and Jaro's 2nd vision duel. In fact, there were major Fallen Order vibes all throughout this episode and other episodes including all that psychometry (which Ahsoka has never demonstrated before this series but hey... the power of retcon compelled Dave Filoni).

But why did Ahsoka vs Anakin feel so flat for me? What should have been an emotional scene didn't hit me with the same feels that Fallen Order did.

And I got to thinking...

In Fallen Order, we first meet Cal and from the get-go we understand that this is a kid who's had to live on his own for a long time. He doesn't really think that much of himself--as evident by his "Trash, just not approved trash" comment.

Fallen Order and Survivor have been brilliant, character-driven games that really delved into issues of trauma, survivor's guilt, PTSD, insecurity, and loss of self-worth.

We learn that Cal survived Order 66 when he was just 13.

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And that his master sacrificed his life to save him. And we soon realize that Cal has remained trapped--emotionally and psychologically--that day he escaped clutching his fallen master's lightsaber in fear and helplessness. The fear became a means to survive--a coping mechanism.

When Cal first meets a vision of his master, Jaro Tapal, it's on Dathomir. The vault is booby trapped to test anyone who dare enter. He's faced with a vision of his fallen master and is overwhelmed with his own failures and breaks his lightsaber.

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Through Cere's urging and guidance, Cal travels to Ilum to retrieve his crystal and rebuild his lightsaber.

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There, he is tested and he faces his failures and shortcomings. He learns to forgive himself and face the past head on. He returns to Dathomir and back to face his master.

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What was the lesson in Cal facing Jaro? The lesson was forgiving himself of what happened. Of learning to trust that 13-yr-old child within. Jaro's sacrifice will always be a part of him but he also needs to move forward with the lessons he's learned. As long as Cal is alive, he has a choice to keep fighting--"Hold the line, and trust only in the Force."

It's a classic heroes journey.

The Anakin vs Ahsoka scene is similar in a lot of ways. But I found myself not having the same reaction.

If I watch that Fallen Order scene, I'm always moved to tears because in the hours I spent playing as him, I lived all of his failures, his fears, his emotions--I was Cal Kestis. I was that 13-yr old boy who emotionally shut down to the point that he lost his connection to the Force.

Fallen Order took the time to establish that Cal had been dealing with the guilt of not doing enough to save his master for the last 5 years. It took the time to lay the groundwork so the emotional beats really hit you in the feels in moments when they should.

My problem with the Ahsoka series is it breaks a fundamental rule in storytelling--Don't assume anything about your audience. A good chunk of that audience never saw Rebels. So, a good chunk of us were asking ourselves, "huh, so what exactly was the lesson here?"

In Ahsoka, we're never shown what her attachments to Anakin are. Is she a Padawan feeling abandoned by her master? Does she feel betrayed? What exactly is that baggage that she needs to move on from?

We get none of that because the series doesn't do enough character work to make her struggles known to the audience beforehand. Unless you watched Rebels, you'd have no clue nor feel the significance of the scene. What we get is her looking forlorn at any mention of Anakin. They just expect us to understand that she has unfinished business with him. What that is... it's never clear in the dialogue. So when we have a vision of her facing her master, it doesn't have the same emotional punch in the feels that Fallen Order has (unless you saw the animated series).

So her lesson was to live? Did we see her struggling with her purpose before this scene? No. Did we see her doubt herself and her place in the Order (in or out of it)? No. Do we see her still yearn for the past and what would have been her place in the Order but struggle with their betrayal? No. The message is jumbled, the lesson is vague because the show didn't do the work it needed to to earn that emotional payoff.

The one thing I loved was the visuals. Cinematography in this episode was breathtaking but it sacrifices storytelling over fan service and nostalgia.

Collider put it bluntly, "Ahsoka’s “training” stands in the place of actual storytelling. By driving Ahsoka and Anakin straight into a duel, we’re robbed of dialogue and character moments that could heighten the story that Filoni is attempting to tell. Filoni mistakenly believes that what audiences have been longing for is another poorly lit lightsaber duel — only this time between Anakin and Ahsoka — but that isn’t what anyone has been pining for. Especially not casual fans who know who Anakin is, but have no concept of why this duel with Ahsoka should matter to them... Star Wars is more than just lightsaber duels and resurrecting the Skywalkers for drama. It’s about the connections forged between the characters who are thrown into situations, cast against the backdrop of a galaxy at war, both seen and unseen. Those connections feel hollow when left to molder in the shadow of nostalgia."

Jedi Fallen Order and Survivor work from a storytelling perspective because they made us care about these characters. They built connections to Cere, to Jaro, to BD-1 and the rest of the Mantis crew and how they play a significant part in Cal's growth as a person and Jedi. And likewise, how Cal plays a part in each character's journey to self-actualization.

The more I think about the episode 5 scene the more pointless it felt (for lack of a better word) because this happens 5 years after Return of the Jedi... the part where Anakin was saved by Luke. She's also met and spoken to Luke so would know that Anakin was saved in the end.

So unless this is just Ahsoka sorting out her own issues of abandonment or whatever inside her head... it doesn't make sense for Anakin or the overall story. He was already saved. He went back to the light side after defeating Palpatine. Luke was able to do what no one else did. Or did she resent that or hate herself that it wasn't her that brought him back to the light? The problem is the show doesn't make it clear what her attachments to Anakin are. If it had spared a few episodes looking back at her training, Anakin's betrayal and her feelings of abandonment, it would have felt like a more full circle moment. If the show had taken the time to portray her going about her life without reason or purpose, the lesson would have meant something. The dialogue doesn't do the visuals justice. It's purposely vague and cryptic because the show doesn't know what Ahsoka ought to be struggling with. She has baggage but what that is they don't even know. So the visuals try to cover for the lack of any compelling dialogue.

We didn't need a duel or callbacks to Vader or Rebels. What we needed was to see was the same Anakin at the end of Return of the Jedi-- the same Anakin that was saved and made whole. We needed a conversation, not cryptic lessons--a conversation about why he lost himself, Luke and Leia's place in his life and salvation, and a reassurance to Ahsoka that she couldn't have prevented his fall from grace because he made the choice to fall to the Dark Side. Anakin alone made the choice and paid for his sins. That conversation would have brought more closure than "I choose to live."

It felt like the writers went "This would be such a cool scene to have" and "What would happen to get there?" Rather than have everything matter and happen organically to the overall story. By doing that, Ahsoka suffers the same problems as the sequels.

Fan service should serve as a purpose to further enrich your story. And your story should be clear to everyone not just a niche of your audience. A good story, no matter how simple it is, should stand on its own merit. Good character work and set up matters.

Just my 2 cents.

#ahsoka tano #ahsoka tv #ahsoka #anakin skywalker #jedi fallen order #cal kestis #dave filoni #ahsoka episode 5 #Youtube #fan service should serve a purpose to further the story not mask inadequacies #jaro tapal #nostalgia is not enough to replace actual story

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