One and Done: Sweets and Lemons (JJBA one shots)

Dream On Pt. 1 - Jotaro x Reader (feat. SDC)

A/N:  Warnings:  Death/murder of a parent, with a dash of mental manipulation of a child by a parent. 

I've been wrangling with this story.  It wants very badly to be much longer.  However, it gets to be a two parter, I think. We shall see.

Prologue:  1987

Y/N ran down the hallway of her family home towards the sound of her mother's screams.  She slammed open the door of her father's study, walls lined with his collection of artifacts collected in his most lucrative years.  Her sleep blurred eyes went wide with shock, her father was bent over her mother's body, a maniacal look in his eye. 

Y/N ran to her mother, dropping to the floor by her side.  Her father was in the act of removing his newest acquisition, an ancient arrow, from her mother's neck. Looking from her dying mother to her father's eyes, tears welled up.

"What happened?!"

"It was an accident!  I told her not to touch it...she stumbled.  I-I..."

Y/N sprung up, about to run to the phone to call for emergency services.  Her forward momentum caused her to jerk back roughly, her father's hand now on her arm.  Her wild gaze trailed up his arm to the dried blood at his neck, then to meet his eyes.  Before she could ask what he was doing, the arrow was plunged into her at the base of her neck.  Vision going black, her father's arms caught her body as she dropped to the floor.

After that night the dreams started; Y/N's bizarre adventure had begun.

Over a year later:

In her most recent dreams there were five men and a dog.  The first time Y/N had the dream there was no context, just their images.  She woke confused, disoriented, and covered in sweat.  Par for the course; her dreams frequently interrupted her sleep.  But this was different, not something that would come true.

Sitting straight upright, covers falling from her body, the night air hit her drenched skin with a shocking chill.  Eyes wide open, a single tear running down her cheek, Y/N walked quietly to the bathroom. 

She relieved herself then splashed water on her face as if to wash the images from her mind.  Her reflection was a sight; hair at all angles, eyes puffy, lips dry from the heavy breathing of a deep slumber. 

Examining herself with the sleep-addled mind of a young woman on the cusp of adulthood, her hand strayed to rub the scar at the base of her neck.  She sighed and flipped off the light.  Padding back to her bed, Y/N laid down.  Pulling the covers over her now freezing body, she fell back to sleep. 

A couple of weeks later the dream came again, with more detail and lasting longer. She woke, again with a jolt, and laid staring at the ceiling, then at the window across from her bed.  Eventually she gave up on recapturing slumber. 

Y/N switched on her bedside lamp and sat up.  She grabbed her journal, the image of an octopus on the cover, and pen.  This was her favorite writing utensil, purchased on vacation and reserved for the task of journaling.  The barrel of the pen had blue liquid sloshing with every movement.  Miniature sea stars and fish bounced along the waves of the minuscule 'ocean'. 

She flipped to the next blank page, dated the top and began to write.  Her overpriced therapist had suggested the journaling to help track the sleep disrupting dreams Y/N had been experiencing since her mother's death.  Despite feeling this was part of her therapist being lazy, she did enjoy the practice.  Unfortunately, the therapist was rather Freudian, always insisting her issues were centered around her mother or involved sexual repression.  Not her mother's death, her mother in general.