#I miss it every day… we had a chapter outline and everything….

[strifesolution]

30 and vtubert (or I guess pick any rt if song 30 sucks with vtubert)

Get Used To It - Ricky Montgomery

kept the song, different RT. for an abandoned teacher au

[falling-endlessly]

Boomerang (part 4)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: Vox is determined to win you over, no matter what. You just want your damn peace back.

Warnings: some mature themes (mention of sexual arousal)

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

Vox gripped the bathroom counter, staring at himself in the LED outlined mirror. "You've still got it," he said to himself firmly, lifting a clawed finger to point at his reflection. "Just be cool, man."

He relaxed his face into his signature grin, leaning an elbow against the counter. "Hey Y/n, how's everything? I was wondering if you wanted to go for coffee sometime?" He threw in a wink for good measure.

A second of silence passed before he shuddered violently, breaking composure. "Ugh, no, no. Focus, man. Okay," he repositioned himself, shoving his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. He cleared his throat, mustering up his best confident, devil-may-care expression. "Doll, what do you say we get out of here tonight, yeah? Just say the word and I'll get us a private room at your favorite restaurant."

His smile twitched. Shit. That wouldn’t work on you either.

This was ridiculous. He started trends on a whim, charmed the masses to hang off of his every word, and yet—here he was, rehearsing in front of a bathroom mirror like a prepubescent boy with a crush. And failing miserably too.

He shook his head to clear it, hands grasping at the sides of his monitor so tightly it displaced the pixels on his screen. "Think Vox, what did you do to make her like you the first time?"

But if he was being completely honest, it was actually you who made all of the first moves. You who captured his attention like a vice. You who reeled him in, hook, line and sinker. There was no grand courtship on his part. In fact, he couldn't even remember the exact moment he had started to fall for you. It was all so easy, natural, seamless. He didn't have to do anything except for be himself.

He pursed his lips, turning back to the mirror warily. And—whatever, fine, fuck it. Not like anyone could see him debase himself like this anyway.

Vox sighed, his smile dropping like an overused mask. The desperation and vulnerability that he hated so much creeped back into his eyes, making him tense.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm such a damn idiot and—I just..." he trailed off, before groaning, dropping his head in his hands. "Fuck, this is pathetic."

What was he doing? Wallowing in self pity like some lovesick loser? For fuck's sake, he wasn't just some spineless bottom feeder, he was Vox. CEO of Pride's largest conglomerate. People would kill to be in his position.

A shaky grin forced itself back on his face as he lifted his head. Fuck, enough of this. Nothing was going to get done if he just sat here and twiddled his thumbs all day. It was time to make a move.

With his mental armor back in place, he marched to your room like a man on a mission. He may or may not have sent a drone on your tail to find it, since everyone else in this damned hotel seemed hellbent on pretending that they had short term memory loss when he asked. It was still a prototype, unreleased to the public. A camera the size of an ant, for incognito purposes of course.

When he finally reached your door, he pasted a confident, charming smile on his face. One that he knew used to fluster you once upon a time.

"Just act natural," he chided himself quietly, taking a deep breath before knocking on your door.

There was a moment of silence, before some shuffling was heard, and then the handle was turned.

Vox froze as you opened the door, dressed in baggy sweats with your hair in a disarray. Your shirt had ridden to the side at some point, and the rumpled neckline was exposing the enticing dip of your collarbone. He felt his mouth go dry.

And suddenly it struck him how much he missed you. God, he'd missed you. Your comforting presence, your lively humor, even the small things like waking up next to you or seeing your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. And fuck, it hurt to have you just out of reach.

Your pretty mouth pulled down into a frown when you saw him, body language changing from relaxed to guarded in an instant.

Vox forced himself out of his trance, clearing his throat. This was his moment to shine. He'd practiced for this.

"Hey—" he started cheerfully, before the door was promptly shut in his face.

Vox blinked stupidly, standing in front of your room in shocked silence. Did—did you just—?

Frowning, he raised a hand to knock again. "Y/n?" He called out in confusion.

"Go away, asshole," your muffled voice came from somewhere on the other side of the door. "I don't want to talk to you."

"But—"

"I said beat it," you growled, before a glowing barrier materialized outside of your door. Fuck, if he touched that he knew he wouldn't stop bugging until tomorrow morning.

"Fine," he hissed under his breath, turning and storming away. So that was how you wanted to play it, huh? Fine, joke’s on you. He liked a challenge.

On the way back to his room though, he felt a familiar, pleasant tightness between his legs. Vox froze, slowly looking down at the noticeable tent in his pants in horror.

"Oh, come on."

****

The next few days could only be described as an intensely aggressive game of cat and mouse. He tailed your ass like a damn police dog, determined to get even a moment alone with you—but to his absolute irritation, you kept coming up with increasingly ridiculous ways to blow him off.

He invited you to take a walk with him after dinner? You suddenly developed a spontaneous stomach bug and now you were bedridden. He held a door open for you? You pushed open the other side of the double doors and maintained unimpressed eye contact with him the entire time. He couldn't even follow you with his micro-camera anymore, because you'd promptly discovered it and stabbed it to his bedroom door with a needle as a violent warning.

Nothing was going according to plan and he was growing more frustrated by the minute. What was the point of coming here if he saw you just as often as if he had stayed in his tower?

"How am I supposed to convince her to come back," his eye twitched, one night on a rant-filled phone call with Velvette. "If I can't fucking talk to her?"

Velvette looked at him like he was a dried piss stain on the wall. "Vox, do I look like I give a singular fuck about your dumpster fire of a love life?"

Ah yes, such encouraging commentary as always. Really, he didn't even know why he bothered to call if his abused ego was just going to get attacked while it was already rolling around in a fetal position.

"You're still on the call with me," he said pointedly.

Velvette rolled her eyes, scrunching her nose up at him in irritation. "Fine, since you're so pathetic, I guess I could spare some charity," she ignored his scoff, continuing without a hitch. "You need to fucking lay off, stop trying so damn hard to get her attention. It’s giving desperate and creepy."

"I'm not—"

"Yes you are," Velvette glared. "Listen. If you don't want to end up permanently dumped, you need to compromise. Stop acting on your emotions like a toddler, you can't fucking afford that right now. And neither can we," she grumbled the last part.

Vox dug his claws into the bedding he was lying on, tearing up the soft material. The thought of giving up on you physically pained him, but...this wouldn't really be giving up, right? Velvette was suggesting a temporary ceasefire, a way to make you let your guard down, which might not be such a bad idea. It was more like...a strategic redirection of his efforts. Something that would benefit him in the long run.

He needed to build up the trust you'd lost in him. Slowly, bit by bit, until you accepted his feelings again.

The gravity of the situation was daunting. Something told him that this was his last chance, that if he fucked up one more time, you really would be gone for good.

He couldn't afford to lose you like that. It would fucking break him.

A loud crash sounded in the background on the other line, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Velvette's face drew into an aggravated sneer as she turned around. "For fuck's sake. What the fuck is it no—"

The line went dark, cutting off the call.

Vox sighed, throwing his phone blindly somewhere on the bed as he leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep evaded him that night, but in its place he started to devise a new strategy. Velvette was right, if he kept pushing, he would only drive you away. It was time to change his approach, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was...time to put his pride on the backburner.

Because he could live without his pride, but fuck—he didn't even want to think about what an eternity without you would be like. Besides, it was only until all of this was over and you came back home. He just...had to be patient.

****

After taking a few days to regroup, Vox was now more than ready to put his plan into action.

He’d rehearsed an embarrassing amount of times in the bathroom mirror, popped a breath mint, chugged an energy drink, and slapped himself in the face for good measure. Not necessarily in that order.

Now, in the late hours of the morning, he waited patiently for everyone to filter out before making his move, quietly cornering you in the kitchen.

You were sitting in the far corner, hunched over a steaming mug just like he knew you would be. It was something you'd been doing since he first met you, always reserving twenty minutes after breakfast to enjoy a second cup. He didn't even need to look at the contents to know that there was only a single cream, but enough sugar to make an elephant go into cardiac arrest.

That precious information would forever be saved to his hard drive.

For a long moment, he just stood there like a certified creep, admiring the familiar scene with painful longing. You hadn't noticed him yet, so your expression was still the vision of perfect bliss, eyes closed with a slight uptick to the corner of your mouth. And suddenly, he wasn't in this shitty hotel anymore. The retro kitchen transformed into a sleek modern design, the white walls melting to light blue. It was one of the few lazy mornings both of you were able to spend together, and—

"What do you think you're doing?" Your irritated voice shattered his fantasy like a pane of rose-tinted glass.

"Ah, Y/n!" His grin slotted back into place like a puzzle piece. Fuck, he hadn't even said a proper sentence to you, and you were already looking at him like he was a piece of shit someone forgot to flush down a public toilet. He had to act fast or you'd walk out again. "Funny running into you like this," he chuckled, hiding his fidgeting hands behind his back. Electricity crackled between them. "Actually, I was wondering if—"

"No," you said sharply, cutting him off.

"I—What?" His grin twitched.

"Whatever it is that you're going to say, no," you snapped, turning your back to him for emphasis.

Vox went silent for a moment. Tone it down, he repeated in his head. Stick to the plan.

"Look," he started, softening his tone. "I realize that I haven't exactly been," he grimaced. "Fair to you."

You laughed bitterly. "Understatement of the decade, asshole."

"I'm sorry," he sighed, watching carefully as your shoulders tensed in surprise. "I'll stop, if that's what you want. I won't ask you out anymore or bother you with stupid, meaningless shit."

"But?" You said quietly.

"But I still want to be...friends with you," the word left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he swallowed it with a smile.

He chanced a quick glance at your face, and—well you looked like you didn't really buy it, but at least you didn't look like you wanted to kill him and dispose of his body in a ditch anymore.

"Alright," you said, after a long period of skeptical silence, your eyes unreadable. "I’ll hold you to it, then."

He closed his eyes. "Please, just consider—" he froze, processing your words.

You said yes? Fuck, you said yes!

He cleared his throat. "I mean, yeah, absolutely. Totally. Makes sense."

He caught the briefest flash of amusement in your eyes, before you turned to bring your empty mug to the sink.

"So, uh," he started giddily. Fuck rein it in man, slow down. "What are you doing later?"

“I’m busy today,” you shut him down immediately, making him deflate at your sharp tone. Then you paused for a second, seeming to contemplate something. “Well actually,” you said lightly, making him perk up again. “There is something you can join me for, but it’s a little…out of your depth.”

“Oh really? Try me,” he smirked confidently. As if anything would stop him from finally spending time with you today.

A vindictive spark suddenly flared in your eyes, making him hesitate. "Group therapy and trust exercises," you said smugly, and a jumble of odd noises quickly glitched from his head, his screen flashing briefly to show a giant, red exclamation point. "But since you're too busy with that billion dollar company and all, I thought you wouldn't be interested," you smiled sweetly.

Oh. You conniving little shit. You had him cornered.

Looks like he wasn’t the only one doing his homework.

“How f-f-fun,” he forced out, the words literally tasting like ash on his tongue.

“It is,” you nodded genuinely, making him double take. “I actually quite enjoy it.”

Vox pressed his lips together into a fine line, dread steadily welling in his chest as he realized that yes, you were actually serious. Sweet fuck.

For a second, Vox contemplated making a strategic retreat and calling it a day. He eyed the door behind him longingly.

But no, he couldn’t afford to back down from your little game just yet. If this was how you wanted to raise the stakes, fine. Bring it on.

Before he could lose his nerve, Vox mustered up a pained smile. "Actually," he said, making you raise a brow. "I'd like to give it a shot."

"Really?" You said incredulously.

"Yeah?" His grin twitched. "Why not?"

****

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah @yellowsubiesdance @dirk-strides @justaspectatorforfandomarts @harmoira @sunnyslug @gum-iie @lady-valtieri @mit-suri @whatelsecouldgowrong @sillysimplysilky @eternalera @aoiyx @hazellight11 @hopefully-not @tsuvvy @imcryinginemo @dinorawrss @rekoloid @ayesha-eroticax3 @sle3pyh3ad2 @l0verboyxoxo1111 @lucasisstupid @lu-ferri12 @fandom-queen37 @ilunapb @skyeliteratures @shannoncosplay @da-disappointment @memospacexx @crazyforbarnes

[httpknjoon]

(re)starting over again | kth; 14

plot | Your four-year relationship with Taehyung was going well and strong. Until he was involved in a car accident, resulting to him losing some memories. By some, it means everything that happened five years ago. Things he remember? His friends, his bakeshop, and his ex girlfriend from the past. With that, you tried to keep up, restarting over again.

words | 4.9K+

genres | fluff, angst, amnesia au

pairing | taehyung x reader, hoseok x reader

note | *cue that tiktok sound* okay, guys. we're back. did you miss us? hi! I'm back with my monthly update 💀 I already outlined everything. there are six chapters left in this series (not including the drabbles). thank you so much for patiently staying around. i appreciate y'all a lot. let me know your thoughts, enjoy reading!

main masterlist | series masterlist

When did texting someone become so hard?

It has been exactly three days since Taehyung got to talk to you again. He offered to drive you home after your date failed to show up. You said yes. You two had a friendly conversation in his car. Like you were old friends, which you were. But were you? It’s complicated. For the first time in years, he heard your laugh and saw you smile just like in the photos he saw when cleaning up at your shared house. He remembered you waving at him with a soft smile on your lips before getting into your apartment building.

You also said you never changed your number and you would reach out. But he wants to update you about the small celebration the bakery will have later next week. He tried typing something but later erased it before he could even finish the first word. He doesn’t know what to type or how to begin a conversation. So he just typed a single character and hit the send button.

It was past six in the evening. You were already in your PJs after a long day at work. Treating yourself with dumplings and beef fried rice from the nearest Chinese restaurant in your area, you let yourself indulge while your favorite sitcom plays on your TV screen.

“You’re not easy-going, but you’re passionate, and that’s good. And when you get upset about the little things, I think that I’m pretty good about making you feel better about that. And that’s good too. So, they can say that you’re high maintenance, but it’s okay because I like…maintaining you.”

You found yourself pursing your lips when your favorite character said that line. It was one of the quotes that stays in the back of your head almost every time. You were about to reach for the remote control to play it back again. But your phone, which you set into silent mode an hour ago, vibrated. Your eyebrows shoot up as you read who sent you a message.

From Jung Hoseok

Hi, YN. I really regret missing our date last time. Would you be willing to give me another chance with a cup of coffee this Friday? I know a great cafe around the city 🙂

The day after he failed to show up at the restaurant, you woke up to a text message from Hoseok apologizing again. You reassured him that you understood and he promised to make it up to you. You didn’t really expect anything from that and thought that he would just pass by like your past dates that Martha set up. So seeing him reaching out again was unexpected.

You smiled as you typed a reply.

To Jung Hoseok

Will there be tea? I don’t drink coffee.

You see those three dots immediately popping in, indicating that he’s typing. So you quickly typed in a follow-up message.

To Jung Hoseok

Just kidding! I’m okay with Friday. Around 5 PM?

He was quick to reply,

From Jung Hoseok

Okay. Should I pick you up?

You thought you would just feel pressured if he picked you up at your home. So you just offered an alternative.

To Jung Hoseok

We can just meet there :) Just send me the cafe’s location.

From Jung Hoseok

[location pin] 

To Jung Hoseok

Thank you! See you this Friday then.

From Jung Hoseok

See you, YN!

That’s a date for Friday, which is a few days from now. Even though he reached out again, you thought of keeping your expectations low. Because it helps avoid disappointment. You probably learned after your last dates with those guys you met before.

You continued playing the episode you were watching. Not even five minutes later, your phone vibrated again. You thought Hoseok forgot something. But immediately after reading the contact name, you froze staring at your screen.

From Aaa Love

👋

Of course, you quickly recognized who it was. Suddenly, you felt a sense of nostalgia in your head after seeing that name for a long time. Years after keeping this contact hidden on your list, you totally forgot that you never changed his contact name even after the accident. You cannot even remember when you hid his name in your list. Maybe it was one of those nights you were drunk with friends and made some decisions.

Before replying, you renamed the contact.

To Kim Taehyung

Hi, Tae 🙂

While waiting for his reply, you recalled that night. You remembered feeling good entering your apartment even though your date didn’t show up. When Jisoo asked you how it went through a video chat, you said that the date didn’t happen.

“Then, why do you look happy?” she asked that time.

That’s when you snapped out of your daze, “D-Do I?”

“Yeah, you’ve been smiling ever since we got on this call.”

“Oh…” your lips formed a thin line before speaking again. “I… I saw an old friend in the same restaurant.”

The last time you and Jisoo really talked about Taehyung was still the time she showed up unexpectedly after her wedding. You cried, she cried.

“Really? Who?”

“Taehyung.”

You wait for her reaction and you gradually see her eyes widen.

“What? What is he doing there? Did you talk?” she asked with surprise in her tone.

“Apparently, he’s doing some business here. And yes, we talked. He offered to drive me home.” you shared.

“And?”

“It was nice.”

Your simple and short answer had Jisoo simply staring at you through the screen. It was like she was studying you. You knew she had a lot to say in her head based on her quiet reaction. But then, she just said,

“Okay.”

From Kim Taehyung

Hello, YN. Just making sure I have the right number here haha

Taehyung finally replied. You let the episode play in the background as you tap on your screen,

To Kim Taehyung

I told you I didn’t change it!

From Kim Taehyung

I know, I’m sorry hehe

Just by the text, you can imagine him awkwardly laughing as he says that. Before you can reply, another text popped in.

From Kim Taehyung

Btw the celebration will be in the bakeshop. Next Saturday, 2 PM.

From Kim Taehyung

It’s a late lunch event with friends and family. We’re hoping you can come 😊

Reading that, a smile formed on your lips. With you working at school, you are usually free on weekends. 

To Kim Taehyung

Will do!

“Can you put dinosaurs in it?”

“Of course, bud. Anything you like.”

Taehyung softly ruffled Jihoon’s hair, who remained focused on coloring his activity book. The little kid’s birthday is coming up soon and the preparations for it had begun. Since Jimin would be the one making the multi-layered birthday Jurassic-themed cake, Taehyung offered to make the cupcakes. 

A couple of toys, specifically, dinosaurs, are all over the table that Jihoon and Taehyung occupy. And ever since he arrived at the shop this morning, the kid kept talking about his favorite animal. Being the best uncle that he is, Taehyung listens while being quietly amazed by how much Jihoon knows about dinosaurs. 

“Ashley just sent a copy of the contract in our e-mail earlier. She wants us to review it first before finalizing.” Jimin spoke while placing an apple juice box on the table.

Jihoon scoots a little to accommodate his father sitting next to him. He stayed busy with his crayons. 

“Have you read it?” Jimin asked.

Taehyung shakes his head, “I haven’t. I think I left my phone on silent while doing those lemon tarts.”

“Well, I think you should read it. They put something they probably forgot to mention before.” his friend noted.

His eyebrows draw together before reaching for his phone. Taehyung immediately clicked on the file sent to him from Ashley. He carefully read word by word written in the document. He thought everything was already mentioned in their online meeting days after he went to Incheon. Until he read one of the sections of the contract.

Staffing Arrangements

The bakery agrees to temporarily assign one of its capable bakers to work at the restaurant in Incheon for four weeks, beginning on the first day of offering the pastries on the menu of the restaurant. During this time, the assigned baker will head pastry production, equip training for restaurant staff, and guarantee regular quality control. The restaurant agrees to cover the entrusted baker's salary, expenses, and even housing if demanded.

After pausing for a few seconds, Taehyung scanned his eyes all over that part again. Just to make sure he understood it right. He looked back up to Jimin, who had his arms crossed over his chest while waiting for a reaction from him.

“So?”

“This means one of us had to stay here while the other had to manage around in Incheon.”

September is usually dry and warmer in Incheon.

After living in this part of the country for around two years now, you already got better at predicting the weather and climate. But today, your predictions were proven wrong when you had to stay under a waiting shed while the harsh raindrops poured continuously. You were too confident that you left your umbrella at home.

4:12 PM

You looked down at your phone. It has been almost thirty minutes since you stood in this shed, waiting for your usual bus to arrive. But you don’t know why there have only been two buses that passed by. You were unable to get on any of those since both were packed, considering the unexpected rainfall. You tried booking a cab but there’s nothing around your area at the moment. Your friend, Aileen already left earlier with her husband while Martha offered to drive you home but you live almost twenty minutes away from her. So, you kindly rejected her offer. Again, you were too confident that you would be able to ride the bus quickly.

Puffing your cheeks, you began dialing someone’s number. He answered after the second ring.

“Hey, Hoseok…” you greeted.

He was quick to reply, “Hi, are you on your way? I’m driving to the cafe.”

“Yeah, uhm, I’m kinda running late for our date tonight.” you chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Everything alright?” 

“Haha, yeah. Just waiting for a bus to stop by here the school. It’s raining like crazy today.” you mentioned.

“Yeah, it is… you know, I can pick you up if you want to.” he offered.

Your eyebrows lifted, “Really?”

“Of course, YN.”

“Okay, thank you so much!” you smiled, finally.

“No worries. I’m on my way.”

“Okay, take care,” you said before ending the call.

With your plans of getting ready pre-date at your home canceled, you sat on one of the benches in the shed and touched up yourself quickly. You reapplied your lipstick with your front camera as your mirror. You ran your hand through the stubborn flyaways of your hair before tying it into the easiest half-up, half-down hairstyle you know. You’re still in your usual work clothes, a statement T-shirt (with a friendly and maybe corny quote written on it and jeans. Originally, you would wear something cuter. But this one will do. Even though the cool breeze makes you wish you wore something warmer too.

And less than five minutes later, a black Audi stops right in front of the stop. Your legs bounced restlessly. The windows were tinted dark so you cannot really see who’s inside. But the door on the other side of the car opened and there, you recognized the man from the pictures on Martha’s phone. Almost like sunshine, his smile as he made his way to you made you smile too. Your fidgeting legs had already calmed down as he stopped in front of you.

“YN?” He asked since this was the first time you two really saw each other.

You nodded, “Hi. You’re Hoseok, right?”

Although you were at ease with his arrival, there was still an awkward tension between you two. But it tones down when you two chuckled.

“Yes, nice to meet you.” he smiled again. He quickly noticed you hugging yourself. “It’s cold. How about let’s get you inside?”

“Sounds good.” you agreed.

Joining him under his transparent umbrella, your shoulders brushed against each other, and you could feel his warmth beside you. He opened the car door for you while ensuring no raindrop would touch your skin. You mumbled a small ‘thank you’ when you finally got to sit inside. You watched as he made his way back to the driver’s side of the car.

“Are you okay? Everything’s fine?” he asked immediately.

“Yeah, thank you again for picking me up,” you replied. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied before reaching for something from the backseat. 

Your eyes widened when you saw what it was. It was like your eyes sparkled as he handed you the small bouquet of yellow tulips, tied with a matching gold ribbon. 

“I’m really sorry for missing our date last time.” he apologized, watching you appreciate the flowers.

It has been so long since you received flowers. You cannot even remember when was the last time. So you cannot help but feel this funny feeling in your stomach while you look at the flowers. Especially since yellow tulips are your favorite.

“You didn’t have to. I understand why,” you spoke, tilting your head in his direction. Your voice was small and soft.

“Still, you waited for me alone in that restaurant. I cancelled last minute… Do you love it?”

“Of course, I love yellow tulips!” you exclaimed before taking in its subtle scent.

“I’m glad. I may or may not have asked Martha for help with those.” he chuckled.

Hoseok began driving while you find it more comfortable being around him. He has this infectious smile that brings more warmth in this rainy weather. It probably helps when he’s with patients.

“How long have you been waiting there?” he asked, starting up a conversation.

“Oh, you know, like half an hour.” you sneered at yourself. You hear him gasp. You chuckled, “To be fair, it is a rainy day. I can usually find a ride easily. I just didn’t expect that it would rain today.”

“It’s usually sunny at this time of the year,” he noted.

“It is. I was already waiting for the bus when the rain poured,” you told him. 

“I thought you and Martha usually go home together?” he asked, looking from the road to you for a quick second.

“Sometimes. But I feel bad for making her drive past her house for like twenty minutes,” you revealed. 

You tried offering to pay for her gas but she declined. Although she constantly assured you that it’s fine, you feel like an inconvenience, especially after a busy day at work. You are very aware it’s a you problem. But it’s just the way it is.

You shifted in your seat, “How about you? Did you have work today?”

He nods, “Ah, yes. I got off my shift earlier this day. Then went home to see my dog before dropping her off at my sister’s.”

“Oh, you have a dog?”

“Yeah, a senior dog but Mickey’s still the family’s baby.” he chuckled. “We take turns with her. Some days, she’s with me. Or my sister’s or my parents’.”

“So, you’re originally from here in Incheon?” you asked, curious when he mentioned his family.

He shakes his head, “No, we moved here when I was in high school. I left during college. Then, came back when I began working. I like staying close to my family. And you?”

“No, I moved here from Seoul two years ago.” you shared.

“And what about your family? They stayed there?” he asked.

“Nope, I’m an only child. My parents died years ago– Please, don’t say you’re sorry. It’s fine, it’s been so long.” you chuckled when you saw how his expression changed. “But I do have my Aunty Belle. She’s around the city too. She looked after me until I left to study in SNU.”

“You went to SNU too?” Hoseok exclaimed.

You beamed, “Yes– Wait, we’re here?”

He laughed, “Yeah.”

Distracted, you didn’t notice the car arriving in front of the cafe Hoseok talked about. He told you to wait for him, leaving the car with the umbrella. He opened the car door for you and helped you with the umbrella. He does the same thing when opening the cafe’s front door for you. And when a bell clangs when the door opens, you get reminded of your favorite bakeshop back in Seoul.

“I’ll be having iced americano and a slice of carrot cake. How ‘bout you?” Hoseok turned to you as you two stood in front of the staff.

“I’ll have green tea and banana muffins,” you answered.

After ordering, you two sat on one of the empty pearly white tables and chairs near the glass window while waiting. It was a well-lit place. It has a minimalist and clean aesthetic. Hoseok sat across you, tapping his fingers along to the music playing in the background.

“So, what made you agree to do this blind date?” you asked him.

“Well, I’ve been single for the last three months and I never really tried blind dating before so I said yes when Martha told me about you,” he answered.

“Well, I hope she said nice things.” you two chuckled.

“Don't worry, she did.” He assured you. “How about you?”

“Martha had been setting me up for blind dates these past few months because I’ve been single ever since I came here in Incheon. The last dates I went to were unsuccessful so she promised that this one was gonna be great. So I agreed for the last time.” you told him.

“And so far, how is this one going?” he asked cheekily.

You pretended to think for a second, humming as you rubbed your chin. He laughed.

“It’s going great. You get plus points for my favorite flowers.” you smiled.

“Even though I didn't show up last time?”

He seemed really apologetic about that. He brought it up again for the nth time even though you already told him countless times that it’s okay.

You puffed, “Hoseok, it's fine. I really do understand. I used to work at a hospital, things can get a little spontaneous. No worries about it.”

A staff member came with your orders. She carefully placed your drinks and food on your table. You can feel your shoulders relaxing as you feel the warmth of the tea on your tongue when you take a sip from the cup.

“How was it?”

You smiled, “Nice. Perfect for a rainy day. How did you find this place? I don't think I ever reached this part of the city.”

“This is the only open cafe I see whenever I get off from my shift very late at night. I love their coffee here.” 

You nodded while taking a bite from the banana muffin you ordered. And you quickly recognized its difference from your usual banana muffin. You look at Hoseok who's enjoying his cake.

“How was it?” he asked, pointing his fork at your muffins.

“This feels a little dry and the texture’s a bit rough,” you whispered, not really wanting the nice lady at the cashier to hear you.

You don't want to be critical. But you just got used to having a soft and fluffy banana muffin or even bread with the right amount of sweetness in it.

He leaned a bit forward, mirroring you, “Really?” 

“Yeah, seems like it had a lot of flour,” you added before offering him one of the muffins.

You watched him take a bite and chew on it. After gulping it down, you wait for his opinion.

“It is dry.” he nods before putting the muffin down. “You seem to know a lot about bread. Do you bake?”

No, but I know someone who put his heart out and is a perfectionist in baking.

Instead of saying that, you shake your head.

“Oh, no. But I do love a lot of bread and pastries. I just know friends who bake back in Seoul.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. We probably didn't get to discuss that in the meeting we had.” 

Taehyung, along with Jimin, sat at the same table since that morning. Jihoon’s mom already picked him up earlier and the shop was already sold out by 5 PM so they closed early. Now, they are just having a call with Ashley about the contract.

“So, it means that based here on the contract, you want one of us to stay there in Incheon to oversee the pastries.” Jimin clarified.

“Yes, we just want to make sure that the quality of the products will be the same as what you have there in Seoul. Also, we thought that it might be better for our crew members to personally learn about it from the baker himself.” Ashley explained through the call set in loudspeaker mode.

Jimin looked at Taehyung who nods with that. This time, Taehyung has a question.

“You said that there would be a salary?” 

“Yes. There would be a separate salary for the baker who will be staying here with us for four weeks. And since traveling from Seoul to Incheon can be a hassle, if you want to, we can also provide temporary accommodation with complete furniture. My husband runs a condominium business here so the accommodation would be on one of his buildings.”

Both of the men’s jaws dropped with that information. Their eyes were wide as they met each other's gaze. They definitely didn't expect that information from her. They were unaware of how rich she was. They just know that she runs a great restaurant in Incheon.

Jimin cleared his dry throat, “Okay, thank you for clarifying it. But we hope you can still wait before we sign the contract since me and my friend still have to talk about it.” 

“Sure, of course. Just reach out to us whatever your decision is.”

“Thank you. Have a great night.”

As soon as Jimin ended the call, the two exchanged looks.

“So?” Taehyung began.

Jimin shakes his head, “I can't. Jihoon just began going to school. You know what my co-parenting arrangements with his mom are.” 

Taehyung nods. After learning about Jihoon’s existence, Jimin wanted to make up for those years he missed. He was hands-on in everything that his son takes part in. He is also helping Jihoon’s mom in looking after him since she is currently working in a nine-to-five job.

“It's fine with me. I went on vacation there once. It's nice there. Plus, we can split the salary.” He commented. 

And he didn't really have any obligations here in Seoul. Unlike his best friend. It would be easier and better if he went. Jimin can manage the shop while taking care of Jihoon. Taehyung is flexible in working everywhere. 

“It would also be nice to stay in a new place.”

“No, but the living finances in Seoul are really more expensive than here.”

You don't sure how long has it been since you and Hoseok arrived here in the cafe. You already finished your tea while the ice on his drink has already melted. The only muffin left was half-eaten. The plate of his carrot cake was already on your after he let you finish it when he noticed that you liked it after giving you a taste.

“It is. That's also another reason why I came back here.” Hoseok exclaimed. “I can't stand living with another careless roommate again.”

You laughed when he referenced his bad roommate experience he told you earlier. Hoseok has been funny and nice ever since he picked you up today. He talked about Mickey, his life back in Seoul, and a little bit about his family.

“But you said you stayed in Seoul after graduating, right?” he recalled.

“Yes, I did.”

“How? Did you live alone?”

“At first, I became roommates with my best friend there, who’s also a nurse. That lasted for a couple of years... Then, I moved in with the guy I was dating at the time.” You told him.

“Like in his apartment?”

You shake your head, “We bought a house.”

His jaw dropped, “You bought a house? In Seoul?!”

“Yeah, we did some research and saved up for it starting from our first anniversary. Apparently, foreclosed properties are cheap there.” You shared it like a fact.

Taehyung was the first one to bring up the idea of living together a few weeks before your anniversary. After talking about it, you two did some research and went to a lot of open houses. Then, you found out about foreclosed properties. Taehyung and you looked in about four foreclosed houses before landing on the one you called home. 

“What happened to the house after you broke up?” He asked.

You purse your lips, “He's living in it. But we agreed to talk about it soon.”

How soon is soon though?

“So it was a good breakup?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” 

The last sentence was almost a whisper by the end. You cleared your throat as if something was stuck in it. It was your turn to ask.

“How about you? How was your last relationship?”

Hoseok leaned back on his chair, crossing his arm over his chest, “It was great for the most part. We’ve been together for only one year. I actually proposed to her.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together, “Really? What happened?”

“We had a lot of misunderstandings in the last months of our relationship. It can be about everything. But mostly, she gets mad whenever I have an emergency in the hospital and I understand that. So one day, we harshly broke up during a fight before I left for work.”

“So it's a bad breakup?” 

“Yeah, a bit bitter.” He sneered. “But at least I don't share any property with her.”

It was a teasing remark to lighten up the mood. You grimaced and rolled your eyes. He laughed.

“The lady was too kind to ask us to go,” you said as Hoseok drove.

The moment you and Hoseok realized that the rain had stopped and the sky was already dark, you two got up and left. Hoseok insisted on paying, even playfully threatening to throw your wallet away if you ever pulled it out of your pocket.

“I’m sure she doesn't mind. She gave us free cupcakes.” He replied, pointing to the box resting on your lap.

“Are you sure you don't want to take this?” you asked because he handed you the box as soon as the lady gave it.

“Yeah, just update me with your review about it. I'm interested to hear more about your thoughts.”

You bit your lip from hearing that, “Okay.”

After a few minutes of listening (and singing along) to songs that played in his stereo, you arrived in front of your building. Of course, Hoseok opened your door for you. He helped you with the bag you brought to school so you could carry the flowers and cupcakes.

“Should I help you to your apartment?” He asked while you slid your bag into your arm, struggling. 

You gave up, letting him take your bag and the cupcakes, “Okay. Come in.”

You opened the door to your building and led the way to the stairs. He assured you that he was okay as you kept on looking back at him. And when you unlocked your apartment, you turned around.

"Do you want to go inside? Water, juice, or anything to drink?” You offered before putting the things on the counter near your door.

He smiled, “It's fine, I can't stay for too long. My next shift is at nine. I just want to make sure you'll make it to your door without dropping any of those.”

You looked down at your watch, “Oh my god. It’s already past eight. You should go! I should've taken a cab.”

“YN, it's okay! It's still early.” he chuckled. “Plus, I had a really great time talking with you.”

Your stomach flutters, looking at him. You noticed the same smile you saw earlier.

“I hope this isn't the last time we'll go out.”

You nodded, “Of course. Martha did it right this time.”

“How about next weekend? Sunday?” he asked.

“Sure, I’ll be back from Seoul by then.” 

His eyebrows raised, “Really? I’m going to be in Seoul for a conference on Saturday. When are you coming there?”

“The same day! I’m going to visit some friends.”  

“Maybe we can go there in Seoul together? So you don't have to commute.” He offered.

“That sounds good!” You agreed before looking down at your watch again. “But I think you should go now. I know you still have to do stuff before going to work.”

“Okay. Let's just talk about it later.” 

“Okay. Thank you for the flowers and everything, Hoseok,” you state before leaning in to give a quick kiss on his cheek.

He smiles, “You're welcome, YN. Tonight was great.”

“Text me when you make it to the hospital. Drive safely! Good night.”  You said as he walked back.

“Good night, YN.” He waved before walking down the stairs.

You closed the door to your apartment before leaning your back on it, looking at the yellow tulips on the counter.

What a lovely night.

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[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 25}

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller X Smuggler! Reader

Summary: Your intentions are to spin a web of lies to protect Ellie, but Marlene doesn't seem to mind and is willing to trade one body for another. Her righteousness knows no bounds and you realize she's set her sights on you.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insults, blood, minor injuries, fighting, physical fighting, guns, use of guns, minor character death, end of the world politics, end of the world rhetoric, misplaced heroism and hope, degrading language, marlene needs her own warning, talk of infection, talk of infected people, cordyceps is scary, reader is described as having red hair, reader has a nickname, please let me know if i missed any!

A/N: this was so fun to write, i hope y'all are ready for the last stretch. these two mean so so so incredibly much to me, which i will gush about in each chapter and the epilogue notations from here until the end. this is where the fic gets away from canon a lil bit but it's all for the best, please believe! love y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“I can’t believe you made it all this way alone.” She’s stepping close, almost as if she wants to inspect you from head to toe. But you both know there are no teeth marks or infection to be found. Her men would’ve already had you in cuffs and retrained. Condemned to a room with no sunlight until they were ready to deal with you, the Infected something Marlene was rightfully afraid of. But not so much so that she wasn’t cautious to the extreme, to the cunningly meticulous. “Thought you were lost in the aftermath of the convoy we lost outside the QZ.”

“I was scavenging nearby when that explosion went off, FEDRA was all over it within an hour.” You can feel the way her eyes rove over your body, from the simple, dirty clothing you donned to the pack that had seen better days and better loads. It was pretty sparse, you and Joel back to milling through every house or building for the chance at a next meal for Ellie. You two had taken to hunting again, on the way up here, the season warming up and spring allowing for some game to be caught. But you were all tired, this entire journey felt like it was coming to an end.

The energy of your trio something palpable, tense currents underlying every move and every day. The anxiety of Joel leaving you behind to go your own way underlying each conversation. Each interaction when the two of you were alone or Ellie was sleeping. He was trying, so goddamn hard, to make her feel okay. To bring out her manic giggling, her snorting laughter, a wide and gummy smile to her face. But none of it reached her eyes quite the way that it had before.

Marlene must mistake your silence for submission, because she heaves a great sigh and shakes her head.

“I sent Joel this way months ago with a girl in his charge. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of them as of yet. They were supposed to meet up with the convoy, the best protection we could offer for the journey.”

“I ran into them just outside the QZ, there had been an explosion. Too much noise, too much ruckus, it attracted a lot of Infected before FEDRA got their asses out of their heads.” You reach into a pocket, retrieving the map you had torn from the campus grounds so far away now. Well, that Joel had torn from the remnants of their lab. He had told you that nearly everything had been destroyed, no telling how long since they had packed up and moved on. But he had found a scrunched up map, a trail outlined to here.  

Her mouth is a thin line as she regards you, her plush lips taut as she mulls over the recollection and sees evidence that her people weren’t as thorough as she had intended for them to be. Her eyes cut up at you, meeting your own and her next words are a statement, not a question. “You’ve been travelling with him.”

“For a little while, we parted ways in Kansas City. The city was in the middle of an insane civil war once FEDRA was taken out. A hoard took over, from the underground tunnels when someone made the stupid decision to open fire on a crashed vehicle. We got separated.”

“And the girl?”

“Regular infection. From the chaos of getting away from the hoard.” You nodded your affirmation, you recalled the panic in her eyes. The weight of her as you tried to carry her out of that insanity, the pain of your broken arm. The desperation and heartbreak that turning off of the blocked freeway instead of backtracking had ended in. It could’ve been worse, it could’ve ended up the way you’re spinning the facts, an exaggeration of what actually happened.

But there was truth to your words. Ellie had indeed lost something that night, it just hadn’t been her life. It had been her hope in finding a cure, when her blood hadn’t worked on Sam. It was the beginning of her realizing the pedestal Marlene had placed her on with ill intentions.

“She’s dead.” It wasn’t a question. Just like you weren’t asking for her forgiveness for the loss of the young girl and acceptance for your sudden appearance. Your working relationship had always been just that, business. Straight to the point and no nonsense.

“Didn’t survive the infection she got. From trying to save a kid younger than her. Got bit, got clawed. Didn’t turn, but it took her down all the same.”

Marlene sees the challenge in your eyes, the truth of what you know she had been hiding from everyone involved in the convoy. The very reason Ellie had grappled with the meaning of her life for the past six months. The reason she had been so conflicted over whether or not to meet up with the woman before you as you finally caught wind of her whereabouts.

“I see.” Hands that are clasped in front of her go to her hips, a stance you know conveys the way her mind is working to process the false information you’ve brought her. “Well, come on. Let’s get you looked at a little closer. I see that nasty scar on your arm, bone broke through I’m assuming?”

“Yeah, happened in Kansas City. Did what I could for it too, hurt like a bitch when it was healing, it nearly took me out too.”

“Must’ve been rough, dealing with it all alone.”

“Hunkered down for the winter, found a cabin in a state park somewhere in between here and there.”

It’s nerve wracking, not being able to turn your head and see the form of Joel. Hovering on the outside of your eyesight, his presence something you were so used to even in the time you had spent apart. A time you hadn’t wanted to repeat in such extreme parameters. But the situation was dire, Ellie’s well-being at stake. The threat of someone looking for her, tearing apart earth and ash for her blood if they even suspected she was alive. If Joel so much was glimpsed himself, Marlene would make you both recount your stories over and over again, to find the flaws, to find the lies she would suspect were there.

The “doctor” that looked you over was nice enough. But he lacked cognitive skills, the ability to read someone the second he came in contact with them.

Jerry Anderson.

His only credentials happened to be a bachelor’s degree in science, yet he called himself a trained surgeon. Which makes sense to an extent, he worked alongside Marlene and the Fireflies. Tended to them, took care of them medically, he had on the job training. But to say that he was their best, that he was the one leading the research team trying to concoct a cure?

That was absolutely absurd.

You knew more than him, something he was quick to gauge. Asking after your own schooling, stating you were too young to have a degree, too young to have the knowledge he had.

“Doesn’t matter if you think I’m as skilled as you. I’ve got my EMT and Paramedic certifications while in high school, used them to get the upper hand at my own university, and managed to get an associates in two years. Medical anthropology. Granted its not science proper, but it’s still in the medical field.” You crossed your arms, not willing to be talked down to by the man currently looking over the chart he had filled out during your physical, it was paired with the diagram of injuries Marlene’s soldiers had asked of you when confronted outside the building before being let inside.

“I just don’t understand why Marlene thinks I need your assistance, you said it yourself that you didn’t want to stay too long.” The man is stocky, even as he stands at his full height and leans against a small desk he’s got set up in what had once been an administration office. The medical bay is just beyond the door, the rooms shoddy but clean enough to treat and house people. They’re using the hospital as their ground zero, their home base.

“I’m helping her to fine tune her set up, that’s all. She knows I worked under FEDRA in the Boston QZ, even if it was all just to stay alive and hide my own smuggling. But they paired me with a trained ER physician, and he taught me everything he knew.”

“Still doesn’t equate to a higher degree.”

“No, but it does give me a better understanding of modern day solutions rather than dated procedures we’re unable to conduct anymore. Sparse or surging power, outages, lack of equipment, lack of relevant medication, different ways of sterilizing tools and bandages. All of that is adaptive, regardless of proper education on the matter.”

“She wants you to go over my notes, the ones I had for the girl.” He levels you with a harsh look, eyes narrowing as he catches your own fiery ones. “But it doesn’t matter if she’s not alive, right?”

“Might not, in terms of immediate experimentation. But perhaps she wants a second opinion on the logistics of what she’s trying to do.”

“Cordyceps infects the brain, takes over. We both know that. That’s why the girl would’ve been on the table as soon as she was delivered. To ensure it could be looked at and studied. The way her brain connected with the infection instead of succumbing to it.”

“Seems like a waste of a human life if you got your way. How would you like it if someone wanted to cut your kid open and take their brain on the off chance it could tell you something more than just testing their blood and live responses? It’d feel pretty shitty, wouldn’t it?”

“How do you know I have a kid?” The man’s eyes narrow at you, color rising from the collar of his shirt to show the affect you were having on him. Calm and collected he was not, but you knew that the second he had refused to shake your hand when first meeting, even with Marlene standing beside him.

“I didn’t, not until you confirmed it. But you don’t act like it. Bringing her into the mess of the Fireflies, of having her housed her in the middle of Infected city, protected and patrolled even as it is.”

“And what do you know about being a good parent? Marlene says you’ve been alone for as long as she’s known you. No family, no friends, just parasocial relationships that depend completely on your skill set and what you smuggled into the zone for trade.”

“Mr. Anderson, there’s no need to insult me. I’m simply having a conversation with you, truly. I’m not the one tearing apart your every word, you’re the own who seems pretty self-righteous. But you have to admit, studying someone who is immune, that would surely give you more data than just immediately cutting out the part of them that houses the cordyceps?” You try to appease him, to appeal to the way he seems to want to be talked up and not talked with, switching from outright denying his plan of action to merely suggesting he could learn more than anyone else knows about the infection instead.

“I suppose it would, but simply running tests and gathering data wouldn’t make the cure. That could only be made from the fluids housed in the brain, the part of the body that is working in tandem with the infection.” He heaves a deep sigh, rubbing at his eyes as he thinks over your words. “Marlene wants a cure, the sooner the better. And then some semblance of normalcy can begin to be restored.”

“Do you really think Marlene has the resources and authority to distribute a cure on a scale large enough to make a difference? That she’s not going to use it as leverage in her challenge to whatever is left of FEDRA and their governing forces?”

“Are you questioning her intentions?” He freezes, eyes jumping to the window pane in the cracked open door. That alone tells you he’s thought the same before, but perhaps not dared to voice it lest it get to the wrong person. That he doesn’t want to be associated with the thought.

“I’m questioning the effectiveness of a farfetched cure for something that left humanity to its own devices for far too long. Do you realize that it won’t be able to undo the sheer lawlessness nature that’s taken over the world? Not to mention the adaptability and incredible evolutionary advantage the mycelium has over us? It’s older than most life itself and you think we have the ability to combat it on such a large scale so long after it’s ruined everything we’ve created as a society?”

The man is quiet, taking your words and mulling them over. You can see the shift in his shoulders, tension easing and then building taut again. He gestures to the notebooks and textbooks scattered over the surface of his desk, and you see a small photo peeking out from beneath a chart.

“I have to try, for my daughter. She deserves a better world than this.”

“To save your own daughter, you’d willingly kill another’s?”

“It’s a means to an end, one loss for the survival of many.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m talking about- the life of one that needn’t die doesn’t justify the small possibility of creating a cure.” You’re shuffling through the faded and water spotted pages, trying to see the man who in the words transcribed there and compare them to the one standing across from you and preaching his knowledge as something that could change the world. But he was a man of science once upon a time, that shows in his words that you skim over. But when you look back up at him, he’s not the one you see before you.

You see a man willing to do whatever it takes to save his family and while you understand that, have done just so to ensure the safety of your own people- it’s a vastly different scenario that you don’t want any part of.

“I just don’t want you or your daughter to end up dying for a future that’s impossible.” And with that you push away from his desk and walk past him. You can only hope that your words made him see things a little differently. Otherwise, it would be his demise, it would be his daughter’s. Both susceptible to the manipulation of Marlene and the Fireflies, at the whim of those who couldn’t be trusted. “You’re a man of science, see the truth to what can’t be and what is.”

You eat in the cafeteria with everyone else, the twenty or so people that are left of the faction. Military freeze-dried food is all they have left, but it’s crates and crates piled up in the kitchen. The power working off a generator they’ve rigged up. But there’s no tour for you, you don’t pass the security check to warrant one.

You can feel eyes on you as you insist on making your own pack, on boiling your own water and supervising each step of the food you’re about to consume. You aren’t taking any chances with them, not ever again. You had been trusting once, had fallen into the trap of hospitality and false narratives before. But not this time and not ever again. Maria had seen in it you, when you refused to eat the food placed in front of you in the mess hall back in Jackson.

They leave you be, for the most part. Attention half on them surrounding you in their own little pairs and trios, half of Jerry’s notebook open in front of you. The textbook he references multiple times beside it. A low hum of conversation permeates the air, and you know you’re presence is a part of it.

But you focus now, on the words in front of you. The notes a man who has given his life and skills to Marlene deems important enough to write down.

And it’s all utter nonsense.

Regardless, Marlene would never stop looking for Ellie. For her replacement.

You’re unsure exactly how Ellie gained her immunity, but you know it can’t be replicated without grand risks of not only being Infected yourself but your morality.

It’s dark by the time you seek her out, her room one of the many used as personal quarters in an upper floor. Her room is the only one occupied at the end of a hallway. Armed men at the front of it and surely one at the bottom of the stairwell for the floor just beyond the doors that lead to it.

“What questions do you have?”

She knew you were approaching, and her stance tells you as much.

She’s not allowing you into the room, but greeted you at the doorway. Left open just a smidge.

“The immunity. Depending on how it’s gained, would affect the research.” You try not to cross your arms but you regard the notes you’ve taken in your own small, palm sized journal. “If it’s gained as a child, it would explain the symbiosis between the brain and the mycelium. It could be entirely dumb luck, the timing of the bite, the type of blood someone has, their immune system, bloodlines, potential exposure to the mycelium in a different setting and an almost…”

“The girl, she was born with the immunity.” Seeing that you need some sort of answer or confirmation, the reasoning being Ellie’s immunity only one you had theorized about. Staying up many nights when you first met her and you spied the scarring along her forearm. She hadn’t needed to tell you she was immune, you had dealt with enough bites in the QZ infirmary to know. That she was alive, that she was her own person and seemingly healthy- it may not mean a cure is possible but it meant that adaptation was possible. Even on such a small scale as to affect one, very important person.

“There’s no way. If the mother had been bitten, the infection would’ve changed the baby too.”

The thought of being clawed open from the inside out terrifies you, it steals the next question from your mind as you picture a woman who looks faintly like Ellie holding tight to a swollen belly and tending to an angry wound rung in teeth marks.

“Amnio fluid is a miracle worker, but it’s not able to cure something like this.”

“Tell that to my dead friend. To the baby I had to protect.”

“Marlene…”

Suddenly shifting, her arms uncross and land on her hips. If you weren’t on immediate alert for the change in her demeanor, you would laugh at the comparison of Joel doing the same stance so often.

“Had some men come back from a trip to the old sight, they had left weeks ago.” Marlene keeps her voice even, but you already know. The web of lies you concocted; they’ve been spun around the end of a broom. The bristles of it catching your silk and turning it into an ugly failure.

“Seems that a settlement had quite the run in with a man matching Joel’s description and a young girl he was traveling with.” The muscles in her arm give her away and you take a few steps back only to feel a sting in the soft part of your shoulder. Looking down, all you see is the butt end of a dart sticking through your shirt. “They also said there was a woman with red hair. Scared the hell out of them as she tore the place apart.”

The lines of the tile and the marking along the walls drip, whatever was in the dart steals your center of gravity and you’re suddenly landing harshly on your knees. The metallic snap of handcuffs around your wrists has you struggling to hold your head up and meet Marlene’s glare.

“You fucking lied to me.”

“Want to fess up and tell me where they’re hiding? I’ll send every person I have at my disposal, Ellie is key to the cure. You have no fucking idea what you’re messing with.” Marlene is standing in front of you, your body sore and muscles twitching as the contents of the dart wear off. The door slams behind her, lock engaging.

“I took out a fucking bear and you think you’re gonna be the thing that traps me? You have no idea what it’s taken to get this far! You think you had a rough go of it, with your crew protecting you and your fucking vehicles? Your military meals and your steady supply of fresh water? You may have been strong once. Hell, you may have been the one to bring hope to people but right now you’re nothing more than a body in my way.” Struggling to stand, as if you’re a newborn foal, Marlen doesn’t bother to stop you or force you back down. She’s reading the weakness you’re displaying and it’s going to be her downfall.

The cuffs are tight, wrists sore and red even with how you had tried to avoid the irritation. But hours had gone by, it was surely well into the night if not the next day now. You wondered if Joel had grown worried, if he had left the post even with your plea to stay put, the last words you spoke with him.

“You’d rather risk your life out there than lend us a hand here? You’re more delusional than I thought, you have nothing to go back to. The QZ is a fucking mess, even worse than when we left. It’s only a matter of time before it falls like so many others before it. You have nothing, your life will have no meaning if you have to fight to survive everyday in endless travel.” Her anger flares, breaking her cool demeanor and showing you a glimpse of the woman she really is.

“I have my integrity.” You spit at her, crouching down to contort yourself easily. Not at all the shaking mess of limbs you had just been moments ago. Shoulders protesting the movement, you’re able to step over the links of the cuffs. With them now in front, you stalk toward her with intent. “I refuse to be a pawn in your ill-conceived endeavor. I refuse to be a part of your plan to kill innocent people on the off chance that your ignorant doctor can actually make something with deadly fluids and decaying brain matter.”

She doesn’t seem to realize that you aren’t going to hurt her, that your intention isn’t to get your hands on her. You want to rattle her, to scare her. To make her see that the way she’s going about keeping you here, forcing you to work with her, for her is never going to work. Her arms come up, one to ward you off from coming any closer while the other goes to the handle of her gun.

But you don’t want the gun and you don’t want her. You shove at her with your shoulder, feet quick after those first few slow steps across the room. The keys skid across the floor when she lands, the clasp keeping them secured to her beltloop breaking from the force. Swiping the belt of grenades you had found in the room earlier, you scoop them up and are out the door just as two shots break the glass panel. Cursing, you pull the door open and slam it shut behind you, the lock automatically engaging.

You wave at her through the crackled glass before running off down the hall before her men can close in.

She needed you, your knowledge, your skill set, your determination. She needed you to find Ellie, the girl she claims to have raised in honor of her friend, only to turn back on that promise and take her life. But  you had other people who wanted you. And after being alone for so long, that’s all that mattered. They are the only ones that mattered and you’d be damned if someone tried to keep you from returning to them. You would do anything to protect them, even take out an entire faction of self-righteous mercenaries.

Joel and Ellie both jump when the explosion echoes out, the plume of smoke that billows up into the morning sky as the smell of ash permeates the air. Even as far away as they are, deep suburbs of that surround the city, almost on the cusp of total wilderness they’re witness to it all. One of the tall buildings crashes loudly, the bottom floors caving in and it collapses in on itself. They can only assume it was the hospital that was marked on the map Joel had found but given over to you for your solo excursion into the depts of the city.

Brow furrowing, Joel watched as a wave of birds take to the air and flee, his attention focused on the erratic way they scatter in an attempt to escape the dark smoke pluming up endlessly. Movement out of the corner of his eye has him aiming the shotgun in his arms towards the source, but it’s too late. There’s a man and a young girl facing him, a gun aimed at him as Ellie scrambles to hide behind his frame.

They’re a mirror image of each other. A man shielding a young girl behind them with a gun cocked and ready to fire. But Joel can see the panic and hesitation in the man’s eyes, in his stance. He knows with just a glance that the man has been protected, has had people doing the shooting for him, keeping him safe, keeping him alive.

Ellie’s hand reached for the back of his jacket, gripping tight but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off the pair in front of him. But the man does, his glance behind him, landing on Ellie before he lowers his gun.

The girl behind him clings to him much the same way as Ellie does to Joel, even as the man holds his arms up gun above his head. It’s quiet in the street as he begins to slowly step back, making space between them. He sees Joel tense, the metal of the gun creaking in his grip as he keeps it aimed at the moving man.

They don’t exchange any words as they pivot, always facing each other even as the distance grows longer. Once they’re at the opposite end of the street, the man turns around an overgrown hedge that’s swallowed a picket fence lining the corner house and then they’re gone.

Neither of them knows what to say, the explosion and the pair of them too unique a set of events in your absence. Joel feels his stomach lurch at the thought of you being either trapped by Marlene or being in the vicinity of the explosion. His mind plays memories of each of your injuries:

The fall that you had taken in your haste to get them to safety after the explosion that started this whole journey, the way your head had bounced on the broken asphalt in a way that throbbed atop his head now. Forehead lighting up where his own injury scars the skin.

The way your voice echoed as a guttural, animalistic scream tore through your chest. Up in that house and too far away to do anything to help, the sight of you holding your arm tight to your chest, white bone peeking out from the fabric of your shirt and the bloody mess of your exposed skin.

The roars of an angry bear as it barrels towards him, Ellie tripping and you shoving her into his arms. The sight of you standing up to the great creature despite fighting off an infection.

The crack of ice that plunged you deep into freezing water, a man tangled with you as he tried to end your life. Joel frantically fighting off the last of their group and jumping in after you. The way it took forever to get you to wake up, your lips ice cold and your body shivering fiercely.

The way your voice was hoarse as you shouted out threats an swinging your machete at anything that came within five feet of you. Blood and spittle flying off of you with every move to stain the snow around you. The crazed and unhinged look in your eye when you finally honed in on him, his own state not the best.

No.

He dares to clench his eyes shut for a second and takes a deep breath, centering himself and forcing the thoughts back.

And then his memory plays each time your eyes found his after everything calmed down, how you would reach for him with such small, strong, capable hands. Time and time again, even after he failed time and time again to keep you safe.

That explosion was because of you, not something you would fall victim to. He believed that with everything in his soul.

He was still watching the far end of the street when the distant sound of tires squealing as they pivot meets his ears. The sound so rare now paired with the rev of an engine. And then he sees it, turning toward the other end of the street. A dark SUV, headlights off and windows down, with you in the driver’s seat.

The vehicle stops a few feet away, closer to the other curb lining the street. Despite the blood that stains your exposed arms and the dirt marring your face, your smile makes his heart skip a beat. You look beautiful and his chest swells with warmth where it had just been anxiety, your presence melting it away.

“Need a ride?”

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Days, Moons, Snow, and Letters: Proposing an new timeline for the ADWD North

The timeline you think you know around Jon's death is wrong, and this post is to show you why. Every discussion about who really wrote the Pink Letter is missing a crucial detail: Jon dies a month before Tycho Nestoris even reaches the Crofter's Village.

Yes, I am aware this sounds like an unbelievable claim. I would love for someone to convincingly prove me wrong, and if you believe you can, please let me know. However, I am reaching this conclusion using only the facts, which I will break down for you here.

Based on Asha's careful count of the days in The King's Prize and The Sacrifice, Jon's account of the moons from Jon VII onward, and Asha's, Theon's, and Jon's account of the snowstorm around Winterfell, I believe I can convincingly argue that by the time Tycho Nestoris arrives at Stannis' camp at the end of The Sacrifice—before any battle has taken place at all—Jon has already been dead for a month.

Very long (and dry) explanation below the cut. Please enjoy.

At the end, there's a Timeline breakdown illustrating the rough outline by the day, so don't worry if my tally of the weeks starts to get confusing, there is a clarifying list at the end.

The intuitive version—where George is giving us helpful hints

Jon VII, The Prince of Winterfell, and The King’s Prize. 

In The King’s Prize, Stannis’ host sets out from Deepwood Motte. Because this is important for timing everything else, let's call this Day 0.

In Jon VII, during a new moon, Jon receives a letter informing him of this plan ("we march against him")—I believe we can sync these events as occurring roughly contemporary to one another, with Jon VII happening a few days later. For ease later on, let's say Jon VII happens ~0.5 weeks after Asha departs Deepwood; this is ~Day 3.

Very shortly after that is Prince of Winterfell and Jeyne’s marriage: during this chapter, Roose receives word that Stannis has left Deepwood Motte. Allowing for just a bit more wiggle room (for Arnolf Karstark to have received a similar update as Jon did, and then to forward that information to ahead to Roose) we can place Prince of Winterfell fairly soon after Jon VII, itself after The King’s Prize begins. Let's call this ~Day 6.

Theon in Winterfell

Thanks to Asha keeping track of the days to the number, we know that Stannis' host spends at least 34 days on the march (Asha notes that "On the thirty-second day" grain ran out, at least two more days pass—the day "Lord Peasebury turned against the northmen" and "The next day the king's scouts chanced upon an abandoned crofters' village") and then Stannis' camp spends an additional 19 days at the Crofter's Village before Tycho and Theon arrive ("they had been three days from winterfell for nineteen days"). Therefore, we can almost exactly place Theon's arrival at the Crofter's Village no sooner than 53 days from the time they left Deepwood Motte. (It's possible, but not necessary, to insert more days between 32 and the Peasebury day, and we're trying to keep this march as short as possible.)

Therefore, the entirety of Theon’s Winterfell arc occurs during this time, since Prince of Winterfell starts right after the announcement that Stannis has begun to march, and because accounting for a ~3 days' ride between WF and the Village, Theon I occurs ~3 days before The Sacrifice. We can actually reasonably sync these chapters, but for the most part we don’t really have to—Ghost of Winterfell begins four days prior to Theon I, so that only needs to align with Tycho's arrival, and the Turncloak can just happen somewhere in between. But:

The one interesting thing to note is the snow in The Turncloak, when snow begins to fall heavily ("by nightfall snow was coming down so heavily"), and the snowstorm begins. However, it is also in this chapter that two scouts return to inform Roose that Stannis’ host has begun to break apart in the snow and had "slowed to a crawl". Comparing that to Asha's updates, this is at the earliest ~1 week into the march by Asha’s count, or anytime afterward ("fourth day of the march... snow began to fall" + "third day of snow, the king's host had begun to come apart"). So, by the time it starts snowing at Winterfell, or Asha, it's already been snowing a few days, at minimum. Accounting for additional travel time back to Winterfell from wherever Stannis is, and considering that this report comes just as Winterfell is getting snow, that means Stannis’ host got the snow roughly over a week before the snow reached Winterfell.

Almost like the snowstorm is following Stannis there. ;)  

Asha's Days

As for Asha and Jon’s storyline—where it actually matters here—it appears remarkably easy to compare time:

I believe Asha counting the days must be an exercise with narrative importance, and it's incredibly useful. As I said above, we can pin nearly to the day how much time elapsed from the beginning of Stannis’ march from Deepwood Motte until their arrival at the Crofter’s Village (no less than 34 days, cited above) and then add another 19 days at the Crofter’s Village in advance of Tycho’s arrival.

Together, the time from the beginning of The King’s Prize to the end of The Sacrifice is, at minimum, 53 days. Let's say Theon and Asha reunite on Day 53.

TWOW Theon appears to occur just before dawn the next day, and since The Battle at the Crofter’s Village appears to begin immediately after TWOW Theon ends, we’ll say that the Battle, therefore, is Day 54, or 7 weeks and 5 days following Stannis' departure from Deepwood Motte.

Jon's Moons

Meanwhile, every subsequent Jon chapter gives us either a moon phase or an account of days past:

Jon VII occurs during a new moon ("They had no moon to guide them home, and only now and then a patch of stars.") The weather is notably clear, clear enough that it's a plot element: this is the reason for heading to the weirwood grove now. When Jon returns he get the news of Stannis’ departure from Deepwood. We've allowed for some raven time, so we're calling this ~Day 3.

(As an aside, it’s been storming the last seven days, so the latest Mance could have left is a week prior, though obviously since we’re syncing this with Prince of Winterfell, Mance likely left earlier than that.)

Jon VIII occurs just before the half moon, about a week later. A moon "but half-full," to quote the text exactly. This is when Val departs to find Tormund. I interpret "but" to mean just before half-full, so we'll say this is 6 days later: ~Day 9.

Val says she will return on the "first night of the full moon." No one ever says she’s late, and Jon never worries about her being gone too long, so we can assume this is true—Val returns on the first night of the full moon, with Tormund, in Jon X. We can even be generous and say this is ~9 days later, and say Jon X occurs ~Day 18.

Since Val leaves in Jon VIII and returns a week later in Jon X, then Jon IX has just over a week’s period to occur. If we’re being generous, we can say this occurred only a few days after Jon VIII, around the actual half moon. Let's say Jon IX happens ~Day 11.

In Jon IX, Selyse arrives and declares she intends to stay “no more than a few days,” and while this prediction is not a trustworthy source, it might give us some kind of ballpark. Jon also notes the weather is clear in the morning for once, calling it a “respite.” He thinks the snows have "moved off to the south" (to Stannis?) but by the evening, the snow is "coming down more heavily". The next day, Tycho appears to be gone, and Alys arrives. 

So: Tycho appears to leave just over 1 week after Jon VII, when Jon received word that Stannis planned to march on Winterfell. This way, it makes intuitive sense that Jon sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte—barely any time has passed. It seems entirely possible that Stannis had yet to leave, or at least that Tycho could catch up with him on the march. So far, this feels entirely believable and logical.

In Jon X, Alys weds. Flint and Norrey have "hied" (hurried) to Castle Black for the Wedding, which is possible if we've said that Jon IX was ~1 week ago. The snow is still falling "heavily". Jon receives a letter confirming that eleven ships have left Eastwatch for Hardhome (likely a few days prior). Val arrives that night—our full moon, we presume. Again, this is Day ~18.

Jon XI begins the next morning. ("that day" until "finally, as the shadows of the afternoon grew long"). There is no place to fit any time in between here and Jon IX, because this chapter includes Jon showing Val her new quarters ("I've had the top floor made ready for you"). This is ~Day 19.

Also in Jon XI, Jon notes that the snow has finally stopped after two weeks ("a fortnight"). The last time we know the weather was clear for more than a few hours (so clear it was a plot point!) was Jon VII, when Jon went to the weirwood grove. By our count of the moon, Jon VII was two weeks ago, so this lines up exactly.

Tycho

So: we've said Tycho leaves in Jon IX, which is just over a week since Jon VII. If, at an estimate, we're saying Jon VII probably occurred about a half a week after Stannis actually left, Tycho departed Castle Black 1.5 weeks into Stannis' march. Again—he could catch up here, so makes sense that Jon sends Tycho to Deepwood Motte first.

Meanwhile, thanks to Asha, we know Tycho makes it to Stannis’ camp 7.5 weeks after their departure, on Day 53. If we are roughly syncing the start of The King’s Prize half a week before Jon VII, and seeing Tycho set out from Castle Black only a week later, then Tycho takes ~6 weeks to reach Stannis, and he’s not a teleporting banker at all. ~42 days is plenty of time to reach Deepwood Motte, negotiate the exchange of hostages, travel to Winterfell in the storm, grab Theon, and then make it back to Stannis’ camp. Again, this makes sense.

Jon X—Jon XIII

However, we now run into the problem of how much time has passed since Tycho left.

We said before that Jon X and Jon XI (the next day) occur ~1 week after Tycho departs. Jon XI is ~Day 19.

After that, Jon XII occurs exactly three days following Jon XI—there’s no space to add any extra time here. In Jon XI, Tormund and Jon agree to let the Wildlings through in three days' time, and Jon XII follows that event proceeding as scheduled. We can safely place Jon XII ~1.5 weeks following Tycho’s departure. Jon XII is ~Day 22.

Jon XIII is the only remaining Jon chapter without a moon phase or a clear date. However, there are a number of events that demand it be soon after Jon XII.

First, there's Tormund's return. Back in Jon XII, Jon says Tormund will take men to Oakenshield in “within a day or two.” In Jon XIII, Toregg returns in the morning to announce that Tormund has settled his people at Oakenshield and is returning in the afternoon. Tormund arrives that afternoon.

Then, there's the matter of Hardhome. In Jon XII, he recieves news of the disaster at Hardhome ("Very bad here. Wildlings eating their own dead"). Jon XIII begins with Jon and Selyse discussing Hardhome, seemingly for the first time; Jon later discusses a Hardhome ranging with Marsh and Yarwyck, also for the first time; Melisandre also tries to stop Jon from leaving for Hardhome, also for the first time. Jon XIII occurs as soon as Jon makes the plan to leave for Hardhome. He sounds hurried; he says "they are starving at Hardhome by the thousands," and he makes a plan with Leathers to arrange the meeting in the Shieldhall in time for Tormund's return from Oakenshield—the only thing holding them up from leaving is Tormund's return.

Up to you how long you think Jon would have waited to discuss this—I don't think very long. In order to argue that more time passes between Jon XII and Jon XIII, we need to argue that Jon hears of the starving Wildlings eating their own dead and waits for weeks before acting.

Additionally, Cregan Karstark is taken out of the Ice Cells in Jon XIII after having been imprisoned there sometime before Jon X. Considering Jon X and Jon XII have to be four days apart, that's fine, and we might imagine that Cregan has been there for maybe over a week, or more. However, Jon spent four days in an ice cell in ASOS Jon X and in this time Alliser Thorne threatened that Jon would "die in there." With that comparison, we're limited in the timeline by imagining how much longer than ~1 week we can keep Cregan Karstark alive in the ice cells prior to his release in Jon XIII without him freezing to death first.

Soon after, the Bastard Letter arrives, and Jon is killed.

Personally, I think it’s most likely that Jon XIII occurs only a few days following Jon XII. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say we can put Jon XIII ~1 week following Jon XII, and being generous we’ll say that Jon dies ~2.5 weeks after Tycho departs Castle Black. That is, therefore, 3.5 weeks after Jon first heard word that Stannis was leaving Deepwood Motte, and (we're guessing) ~4 weeks after Stannis actually left.

So Jon dies on ~Day 30. By this count, Jon's dead, and Tycho Nestoris still won’t arrive at the Crofter’s Village for another ~3.5 weeks—he can't come any faster, Asha's been counting.

Next, I'm going to propose (and acknowledge) the ways that other versions of this timeline will fix this problem, though I don't like them exactly. Then, afterwards, I'm going to give a last piece of evidence why I believe in the version of events I've just described.

If you're unintersted in "what-ifs," scroll down to "The Snowstorm"

The Less Intuitive Version—where George sneaks in "The Mystery Month"

Because I'm arguing that Jon appears to die on ~Day 30, and Tycho doesn't even reach Asha until Day 53, in order for us to believe Jon XIII happened after TWOW Theon, we’d need to invent a month to add in to Jon’s storyline. Jon XIII has to occur after Day 60, at minimum.

I call this the “Mystery Month”—is there a missing month in Jon’s storyline, or isn’t there?

There a couple ways to make this happen, and I'll explain why I don't believe them.

The trouble with slow ravens

Number one, across the board, it feels very tempting to add buffer time by imagining that Stannis left Deepwood Motte even earlier than we estimate—maybe a whole week, or even longer, before Jon hears about it in Jon VII. The main issue with this strategy is that Stannis has to send the letter, so the raven leaves at latest when Stannis does, and so now we're arguing that a raven takes over a week to fly to reach Jon .... which means that now we're also adding additional estimated time for how long it took a raven to deliver the Pink Letter, and everything has to be pushed even earlier.

That is to say: if we said it takes two weeks for word to reach Jon before Jon VII, I would say now the "battle" in the Pink Letter has to happen weeks earlier to account for this extended raven time.

The long wait before Jon XIII

The first, simplest way to add a month, is that we say this: Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII. It took Jon a month to plan for and to bring up Hardhome to Selyse, Selyse has waited over month to plan her weddings with Gerrick Kingsbloods’ daughters, and Tormund has been at Oakenshield for over a month. The Letter arrives a month after the Wildlings come through, and so long as the King’s Prize also began over a week before Jon gets the Letter about it in Jon VII, we can make this work. Tycho arrives on time, we skip ahead a month before Jon XIII, and then Jon dies after the battle.

Yes, this could be how it happens, No I do not think that it's convincingly possible that Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII.

If we don't want to try to force in a lot of time between Jon XII and Jon XIII, there are a few other ways to attempt to solve this (though these are still three timelines of entirely my own invention):

Skipping a moon before Jon VIII

We could add a month in between Jon VII and Jon VIII, where Jon VIII is not the waxing half moon following Jon VII’s new moon, but the one after that. We're locked in at the moon cycle, so instead of one week, this has to be a ~5 week gap. The major issue with this is: we’ve lined up Jon VII roughly with the beginning of Stannis’ march, and Tycho still hasn’t arrived at Castle Black yet. If we place Jon IX right after Jon VIII again, we'll add a month to our previous estimate of Jon IX can say that Tycho leaves ~Day 39.

With this timeline, Tycho has ~2 weeks to catch up with Stannis’ host, reaching both Deepwood Motte and Winterfell along the way. This seems unbelievably fast (considering that Deepwood to Winterfell alone was over two weeks in good weather).

The thing is, that doesn’t even matter: since this doesn’t change our earlier estimate of how long Jon has left to live after Tycho’s departure (~2.5 weeks), that still means Jon dies roughly around the same time Tycho arrives.

There's an even bigger logical issue here: in this scenario, that means Jon, who heard five weeks ago that Stannis is marching on Winterfell—which is apparently a two-week march ("fifteen days")—still sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte to catch Stannis. Why would Tycho go to Deepwood first, and not Winterfell, if Jon learned Stannis marched five weeks before Tycho left? It's true that it happened to work out, but Jon wouldn't have known, at this point, how snowed in Stannis is.

The Val takes three weeks version

Alternatively, here everything is spread out more, which is closer in spirit to what the Unofficial Timeline suggests.

We can try to give both Val and Tycho a little more time before Val's return, but we’re always trapped in a moon cycle between Jon VIII and Jon X because otherwise Val’s promise to return at the full moon doesn’t make any sense. The best way to do this is to imagine that Val leaves on a waning half moon, rather than waxing half moon. This means that Val has three weeks to travel, and it also means we have move Jon VIII to three weeks after Jon VII (and therefore ~3 weeks into King’s Prize). Here, Jon VIII is ~Day 24.

(However, this is counterintuitive—it’s more natural to imagine that being shown a half moon following a new moon would mean the waxing half moon. Also, I believe it goes contrary to the actual description: Jon notes the moon was “but half full,” and the “but” makes it seem like it will be half-full soon, not that it just was. Again, we can allow it. This also means that when Val looks at the half-moon and says: look for me at the first week of the full moon, she doesn’t mean next week, she means in ~3 weeks from now—after the moon has gone to new and then back to full again. Once again, this feels very counterintuitive to say, but it will give us more time.)

In this version of events, Tycho and Alys can still arrive as early as right after Jon VIII, and therefore that Tycho left Castle Black ~3 weeks after Jon VII, roughly around ~Day 26. (Once again, this doesn’t make too much intuitive sense to me: why would Jon send Tycho to Deepwood Motte three weeks into a two-week march?) 

This doesn’t change our count of time from Jon X—Jon XIII (a generous ~1.5 weeks) but now we’re saying say that Tycho left Castle Black three weeks prior to Jon X, so this gives us 4.5 weeks between Tycho’s departure and Jon’s death.

This solves the issue of the teleporting banker: Tycho leaves ~3 weeks into Stannis’ march and has ~4.5 weeks to make the trip, so he’s faster than Stannis but not impossibly fast. However, because the moon phases are still locking our ability to only month here for the moon to align, we still have Tycho arriving roughly the same time Jon dies.

Mystery Month+

Since we're trapped into a vague schedule by Jon's noted moon cycles, the only remaining option is to assume that one of the above is true, and that Jon XIII happens at least two weeks after Jon XII. That would also make the timeline work.

However, to me, this all seems highly counterintuitive and unlikely…

And that’s before we factor in the accounts of the weather. 

Yes, I have one more piece of evidence to propose, and although this is a bit more debatable, I believe it corroborates my initial timeline.

The Snowstorm

Asha sets out from Deepwood Motte, and four days later, the snows begin. By a week into the march ("third day of snow"), the host has begun to separate, and slow to a crawl.

Around this time, or a little later, we imagine the Bolton scouts see the Stannis host struggling, and turn home to report back. Several days later, accounting for vague travel time (because Stannis is less than halfway to Winterfell by this point), they report this to Roose, and it begins to snow in Winterfell, too. Let's say, roughly, it begins snowing at Winterfell around ~2 weeks after Stannis departs, maybe adding a couple days. This is when The Turncloak happens—let's say ~Day 16.

Remember what I said about the snow in The Turncloak being interesting?

In Jon VII (at my estimate, ~Day 3) the weather is clear—clear enough that Jon heads north of the Wall. If we're aligning these moments, this seems to be true for Stannis, too.

The first we hear of snows to the south in Jon IX ("moved off to the south"), and in Jon X, we hear that south of Castle Black the "kingsroad was said to be impassable" from snowstorms. In Jon XIII, Yarwyck points out that the Wall is getting snow blown against it because the "wind's from the south". This is three different accounts of harsh weather to the south, and all of this points to this being the storm at Winterfell. 

If we go back to my original timeline, Stannis leaves Deepwood Motte a little before Jon VII, and Jon X occurs two weeks later around ~Day 18. In that timeline, then those reports of impassable snows to the south line up exactly with when the snows appear to have hit Winterfell, from our estimation of the sync between King’s Prize and Turncloak. Snows hit Winterfell roughly ~Day 16, Jon gets reports that the Kingsroad is impassable ~Day 18. That lines up.

According to my proposed timeline, this is still four or five weeks before Tycho Nestoris arrives. A week later, in Jon XIII, when the winds from the south are only getting worse… that fits, because Asha and Theon have another three or four weeks of snow to go. And Jon is dead.

The End

TL;DR: Comparing Jon’s tracking of the moon, Asha’s tracking of the days, and accounts of the snowstorm around Winterfell all lead me to believe that Jon dies four weeks before Tycho Nestoris reaches the Crofter’s Village.

In my proposed timeline: Tycho leaves ~1 week after Stannis does, he takes ~6 weeks to make it to the Crofter’s Village, and Jon’s already been dead for a month. So, there's been a month since. This way, Jon sending Tycho to Deepwood makes sense, and Tycho taking 6 weeks to make the journey makes sense. The accounts of the snowstorms line up.

What doesn't make sense is: the Pink Letter arrives over a month too early to be real.

Implications

But what could I possibly be saying? I don't even really know. This is such an unusual conclusion that there is very little theorizing in the fandom about what this would mean.

.... Although, I do have a pet theory for this: it does feed into my desire for the Wildlings to make a surprise appearance in TWOW.

Take this with a grain of salt. BUT. We know from AGOT that it usually takes ~3 weeks to travel from Castle Black to Winterfell. That means that a Wildling host would have a month, or even five weeks, depending on timing, to have marched from Castle Black to Winterfell afterward, and could arrive at Winterfell right on time for Stannis to advance. If that were the case, it could explain why Stannis seems so unhurried at the Crofter's Village. Maybe he's waiting for them to arrive. It could work that way. I'm not getting into any other logistics here, because this is a tall tale to defend.

On the other hand, as much work as this was, I’d love to be proven wrong here! It's all in the name of science, if by science I mean obsessive analysis of fiction. If someone has a detail I’ve missed, please let me know.

TIMELINE

Day 0: King's Prize: Stannis Marches. The King's Prize begins.

Day ~3: Jon VII: New moon, word from Stannis.

Day 4: King's Prize: Snow begins for Asha.

Day ~6: Prince of Winterfell. Word from Arnolf that Stannis marches on Winterfell.

Day 7: King's Prize: Stannis' host begins to break apart in the snow.

Day ~9: Jon VIII: ~Half moon, Val departs and will return in ~a week.

Day ~11. Tycho Nestoris arrives and Jon sends him to Deepwood Motte. Jon notes it seems there are snows off to the south.

Day 15: King's Prize: Stannis has moved less than half the distance.

Day ~16. The Turncloak. It begins to snow heavily in Winterfell.

Day ~18. Jon X. Val returns, new moon. It's snowing heavily in Castle Black. Word comes that the Kingsroad south of Castle Black is impassable from heavy snow.

Day ~19. Jon XI. Jon meets with Tormund, shows Val her new quarters. Wildlings cross in three days.

Day 20. King's Prize: Asha loses her ankle chains because her horse dies.

Day ~22. Jon XII. The wildlings cross. Clear in the morning but Tormund notes snow will start again overnight. Tormund plans to go to Oakenshield in a day or two. Word of the Hardhome disaster.

Day 26. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of vegetables.

*Day ~30. Jon XIII, by my estimate. Jon plans to leave for Hardhome. Strong winds blowing snow from the south. Tormund returns from Oakenshield. Bastard Letter, Jon dies.

Day 32. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of grain.

Day 34. King's Prize: Stannis' host reaches the Crofter's Village.

Day 45. The Karstarks arrive at the Crofter's Village. (The Sacrifice)

Day 47. The Ghost in Winterfell: Ryswell man-at-arms found dead. Snow makes visibility outside Winterfell near-zero.

Day 48. Ghost in Winterfell: Aenys Frey's squire found dead in the morning. Flint crossbowman found dead in the afternoon. Stable collapses at night.

Day 49: Ghost in Winterfell: Yellow Dick found dead in the morning. Visibility so low Theon cannot see "three feet in front of him." Confrontation about whether Theon is the killer.

Day 50: Ghost in Winterfell: Theon stays up all night; just before the dawn the sounds of horns and drums outside wakes everyone Winterfell. Theon is found in the godswood by three of the spearwives and taken to meet Mance in the Burned Tower. Theon I: A raven arrives (from the Karstarks) informing Roose of Stannis' location. Theon and Jeyne escape and are found my Mors.

Day 53: The Sacrifice: Tycho Nestoris arrives with Theon, Jeyne, and the Ironborn from Deepwood Motte.

*Day 60: At minumum, earliest time Jon XIII can occur for the Pink Letter to be accurate.

[stxrsniolo]

✩ ࣭ worlds collide. ׂ っ

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 notes : dear reader, this story will unfold over approximately 15 chapters, all of which have been meticulously outlined by yours truly (aka me, yes). it’s a slow burn between the characters, filled with a little bit of everything—from scenes not suitable for sensitive audiences to purely comedic moments, and even the classic teenage drama you’d expect from characters navigating this stage of life. 𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 pairing : influencer!chris x hermit!reader

Chapter 05: Spam Alert

the morning light was harsh, a glaring contrast to the dim, secretive ambiance of the club where chris had felt the sting of rejection for the first time. he was sprawled on his bed, his phone in hand, staring at the last message he'd sent to y/n, still unread. the sun outside mocked his confusion, his pride, and his sudden, deep yearning for someone who had slipped away from him like smoke.

chris couldn't wrap his head around it. "she actually left me... there?" he murmured to himself, his voice a mix of disbelief and a newfound respect. he was used to being the one in control, the one who decided when the game was over; but y/n had changed the rules, and he was left reeling, his ego bruised, his curiosity and desire for her only intensified.

he threw his phone onto the bed in frustration, only to pick it up again, his fingers flying over the screen.

@ christophersturniolo: "y/n, i'm sorry if i went too far. talk to me."

he hit send, his heart racing with the hope of a response.

nothing.

his eyes flicked to his phone every few seconds, waiting, hoping. when no reply came, he sent another.

@ christophersturniolo: "did i scare you off? i didn't mean to, i swear."

still, silence.

chris, now feeling the unfamiliar pang of being ignored, began to spam her inbox with messages, each one a mix of apology and desperation, his goofy nature seeping through even in his earnest attempts to fix things.

@ christophersturniolo: "okay, i'm an idiot. but like, a lovable idiot, right?"

@ christophersturniolo: "can we pretend last night didn't happen? or at least, the part where you left?"

@ christophersturniolo: "i miss talking to you. can you just throw some sarcasm my way, please?"

he was relentless, each message sent with the hope that one would crack through her defenses. his phone buzzed with notifications from his brothers, asking where he was, but he ignored them, his focus solely on y/n.

@ christophersturniolo: "i promise, no more surprise kisses... unless you ask for one 🙂‍↕️"

his messages were a blend of humor, sincerity, and a touch of the vulnerability he rarely showed. he knew he was crossing into spam territory, but the idea of losing contact with y/n was more daunting than the thought of looking desperate.

the day dragged on, his phone a constant companion, each notification sound making his heart leap, only to be disappointed by messages from friends or fans, not her. his room, usually a shrine to his chaotic energy, felt empty without the back-and-forth of their texts.

@ christophersturniolo: "look, i know i'm not used to this, but you're different. i'm not used to wanting someone who doesn't want me back."

he paused, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his own words hitting him. he wasn't just playing a game anymore; he was genuinely into her, and that realization was both exhilarating and terrifying.

@ christophersturniolo: "i just want to understand you, to show you i'm not just some 'mid white boy' with a camera."

his phone finally vibrated with a message, and his heart leaped, only to sink when he saw it wasn't from y/n... but then, another notification. this time, it was her.

@ whosyn: "chris, you're overwhelming. i need space."

his reply was immediate, his goofy side tempered by the seriousness of her words.

@ christophersturniolo: "i'll back off... but not because i don't care. because i do, too much."

©𝗦𝗧𝗫𝗥𝗦𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢 | my little stars: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274

[oneofthosebells]

How are you doing? We miss uu

Hey anon! And hey to the other anons who've been dropping messages in my inbox every now and then for the last few months - if they're not the same person of course. Thanks so much for remembering me and reaching out. 🥰

Life's... okay. Full of ups and downs like for everyone, some health stuff I won't bore you with, but I'm surviving.

I'll be honest, I won't be coming back to YR fandom though. Not for any bad reasons! And I do really miss all the lovely people I met here, hope anyone reading this is doing well.

But for some reason my interest in Young Royals died overnight in a way that's never happened to me before and I wasn't expecting? Normally my obsessions fade slowly and I retain a lot of affection for them even once a new one takes over. This time it was like one day I was completely obsessed and the next day I woke up and felt... nothing. Not a flicker. I was halfway through a reaction series on YT, couldn't finish it. Went from checking the AO3 tag every day to not even wanting to read new chapters of the great fics I'd subscribed to.

(Honestly, if I had to guess why, I think it's that the show is too good? S3 gave me absolutely everything I wanted and was the perfect ending for me. Normally the shows I hyperfixate on are objectively Not Good, or at least deeply flawed in a way that leaves you grumbling 'and another thing...!' a year later.)

All that said, Incognito Mode is NOT abandoned. I know that might sound daft considering how long it's been! But the last couple of chapters are fully outlined and I still have every intention of finishing it. I open up the Word document for IM or my other WIPs at least once a week - then I stare at it for 30 mins, change two words and close it again. 😂 Totally lost all confidence in my ability to write. It'll come back eventually though, just no guarantees as to when.

(If any writers have any suggestions though, I'm all ears!)

Thanks again anon and hope you didn't mind me hijacking your post for a general ramble. Hope you and everyone else are good.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Can’t remember if i already sent asks so i’ll just throw another one on the pile 😊

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

This one for small baby stresses! Also I noticed there’s no set chapter count for the buddieshannon fic, do you have an estimate of how long it’s going to be? Or is it a secret 🤔🤫?

HEY! You can send as often as you want anyway, so no worries!

And not a secret - I don't have my outline broken down by chapter for this one. So I don't have a total count. Kind of like TWATYTK. It won't be THAT long though. I know where I want to stop and things I need to happen.

48 for 🔼:

---

He needs to talk to her about it. Even if she still doesn’t want to talk. 

Eddie parks the truck behind Shannon’s car. He grabs Jane in her carseat from the back, and heads into the house. His brain is completely preoccupied with what he’s going to say to Shannon. He misses the black sedan parked on the street in front of the house. Why would he even pay attention to it? People park there all the time. 

“Hey, Shan?” He calls when he opens the front door. “We’re home!” 

He kicks off his shoes, not wanting to put down the baby carrier. There’s a weird sort of hush over the house, a staleness that wasn’t here when he left.

“Shannon?” He tries again.

She steps out of the kitchen into the living room, so he can see her. Her hair is damp and curling a little, like she didn’t blow dry it. The way she always insists on doing. Her body language is tense. Nervous. Is she angry with him?

“Eddie-”

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says. “I… Sometimes we’re just going to need-”

“Eddie.” 

He shuts his mouth as his parents step out into the living room with Shannon. His parents. His mother and father. Why… Why the hell are they here? With Shannon. Who they have never been fans of. Oh god. Poor Shannon.

“Is that our granddaughter?” His mother coos brightly.

Eddie swallows as she starts to stride across the room towards him. His father trails behind her. 

“Mom, Dad,” Eddie says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Well,” Helena says, breathily, bending over Jane’s carrier. “You never told us when we could come meet her. So we asked your

---

48 for ⚡️:

---

“Over… Over what? Are you arguing with a seven-day old?” Buck asks, bewildered. 

“No, these are future concerns,” Eddie waves it off.

Buck looks confused, but rolls with it.

When they reach the bedroom, Buck pauses in the doorway, looking at Chris sitting in the bed, holding his sister. His eyes get big and he pouts a little.

Chris looks at him.  “Oh, Buck. You’re not going to cry are you?”

Buck��s pout turns into a frown. “So what if I do? This is so cute.”

Chris sighs. “You’re both really emotional lately.”

Buck blinks and rubs his eyes. “We’re not operating at full capacity, bud.”

Chris snorts. “That’s obvious.”

🗲🗲🗲

Despite a sort of tiredness he’s never actually known until now, Buck loves having a baby. His baby. 

For one thing, she’s so flipping cute. Like, the cutest. Somehow someone let Buck and Eddie take the most beautiful baby in the world, which is insane luck, because they already had the best kid. He should start doing scratch tickets. 

On top of that, it’s insanely cool. She’s different almost every day. Growing at an exponential and fascinating rate. She starts smiling right around a month old. Just one day, out of the blue. He picks her up and she starts smiling at him. And there it is. That’s her smile. The one she’s going to have for the rest of her life, but with baby fat and no teeth. A week later, as they’re packing her up to go to Bobby’s for Thanksgiving, she makes what can only be construed as the babiest form of a laugh. Eddie nearly cries. Chris spends the drive trying to get her to do it again. Within another two weeks, she’s laughing all the time. Like everything on earth is funny. And no one makes her laugh more than Bobby. A fact that makes Buck feel warm all over. 

By Christmas, her little personality has just exploded. Obviously she doesn’t talk, but she makes so much noise. Not crying. Just… Noise. 

[yallthemwitches]

Catch the Wind, Chapter 4: Solemnly Swear

A more marauders heavy chapter but lots of Jily moments as well. Deviates slightly from the Canon timeline.

It ends with some nice steamy fluff so consider that your dessert ;). Will post the @blvnk-art that inspired moments as well. Thanks for reading!

______________________________________________________________

He had heard her say his name. 

“James” 

He had half the mind to give away his secret and rip off his invisibility cloak to return to her. He got his grip, took a deep breath, and continued to walk away. We were so close. Merlin, so fucking close. His head was reeling. He knew he had to keep his wits about him—he had mucked everything up with Lily for so long, he couldn’t ruin his chance now that he had finally gotten in her good graces. Besides, she thinks we are just friends…which we are. Just normal friends. A friend that I also happen to fantasize about before I fall asleep every night–totally normal, nothing weird, friends.

He wasn’t lying about going to get fresh air though that wasn’t entirely the sole purpose of his departure. Rounding out of the courtyard and onto the grassy knoll on the east side of the castle, the Whomping Willow’s outline was just barely visible in the moonlight. As he approached, he heard a smattering of hushed voices.

Keeping his invisibility cloak over him, he pulled out of his wand in his back pocket and approached. Sirius and Peter were nowhere in sight ,human or otherwise, but the voices continued to get closer as he reached the tree. Mucliber, Avery, and Snape came into view—Mulciber pushing Snape ahead towards the branches which were starting to pick up a sway from the incoming intruders. 

“Ladies first,” Mulciber snickered, giving Snape another shove to the back. 

Snape muttered something under his breath but continued to step forward towards the trunk. The branches were swinging with aggressive force, but Snape dropped to his stomach and the army crawled past an attempted hit from the tree, just barely missing an impact on multiple occasions. . 

James sidestepped past the branch's reach and pinned his back on the trunk. He had a straight shot view of Snape now, still crawling, straight toward the passage that lay under the base. James started to move towards the opening when a black shadow passed out of the mouth of the entrance way. 

The giant black dog stood panting in a large grin directly in front of Snape. James froze. Merlin please. Do the right thing Pads. 

The dog bared its teeth and let out a growl before pouncing on Snape’s arm. Snape cried out and continued to shriek as Sirius’ dragged his body into the entrance of the passage. James threw off his invisibility cloak, and dived in after them.

————————————————————————————————————-

Lily, awoke to something vaguely sharp tapping on her cheek. She tried to swat it away, but as quickly as her hand moved, the tapping returned with a new vigor. Lily opened her eyes and sat up. A paper airplane, rather hastily formed with dirt smudged on it, flew away from her face and landed limply in her lap. 

My Friend Evans,

I don’t usually confide in new friends the same day I make them, but unfortunately, today is an exception (take it as a compliment if you wish). 

If you promise to come NO QUESTIONS ASKED, I could really and urgently use the help of a capable witch such as yourself. But again: only if you are willing to keep my discretion. 

I’m in the empty classroom by the dungeons. 

James (Potter)

Ps. Be a dear and bring your potions supplies. Thanks Friend!

Lily read the letter twice before looking up at the clock mounted on the dorm wall. 4:45 am. Brilliant. 

Lily threw a jumper over her nightgown and as quietly as possible assembled her potions kit from her bureau. 

She didn’t know what she expected when she reached the classroom, but it wasn’t what was waiting for her. 

James leaned against the stone wall in the backmost corner of the class. His back to the door, Lily could see his shirt was shredded along the right side and blood was oozing down his entire torso. She could see his chest moving heavily and his breath shallow and rapid. 

“What the fuck happened to you,” She ran up to him and slammed her potions kit down, causing him to jump at the crash. 

“No questions asked,” James wheezed out as he attempted to make a smile. His glasses were crooked and hanging off on one ear, but James was too busy cradling his injured arm to fix them. Lily moved to tuck it back into place, but didn’t remove her hand from his cheek once the glasses were uprighted. 

“Fine. Fine,” The second time came out much softer than the first, “But you at least need to tell me what I’m working with here. You really should be going to Madame Pomfrey. “

“No Pomfrey. I’m alright.” He heaved out. He moved his good arm to pick up the shredded one, wincing as he placed his hand in his lap for better access to the wound.

“Just needs a bit of love.” He smirked. 

Lily helped James out of his half shredded shirt and started to wipe off the blood. Despite the situation being dire, it wasn’t lost on her that she was hand washing his bare chest and arms, which were looking especially fit from the starting Quidditch season. “You’re ridiculous,” she told herself as she tried to keep an outwardly stoic disposition. Her fantasizing didn’t last long though as her brain started to repeat something she had remembered Severus talking about a long while ago. She took a moment to lean her torso back to catch a view out of the classroom window. Full Moon.

The wound itself was not as deep as the blood would have suggested. She hardly needed a healing salve to keep the cuts from weeping. She conjured some gauze from the classroom's drapes and dressed his arm and upper shoulder. 

“You’re getting better at transfiguration—has someone been tutoring you?” Now that the worst was over, James was becoming more or less true to form despite his mobility issue. 

Lily sighed and kept dressing him. They stayed silent for a while; James watched Lily as her hands moved expertly to toil the gauze around the rest of his side. Finally she spoke.

“Is Remus ok? At least tell me that.”

She was dressing his back so neither could see the other’s expression, but she could feel James tense under her hands. 

“Why wouldn’t he be,” he whispered out. 

Lily finished her work and packed up her kit. James had made to stand up and was trying to see how much movement he could get out of his arm without wincing. 

“Looks like the Quidditch match this week is going to be a fun one,” he said mostly to himself as he continued to struggle with his arm. Lily stood and watched him sternly, but said nothing. 

“Thank you, Evans. You really are a true friend.” He moved towards her and before she knew it had enveloped his good arm around her in an embrace. All the anger and frustration she was feeling about James keeping his secret melted away, and she reached an arm around his bare back. 

“Anytime.” 

The next morning the whole school was mayhem. With Snape in the hospital wing all first class and James sporting an arm in bandages, the entire student body was trying to sleuth out the previous evenings events with varying degrees of insanity. 

“I heard that they had a huge row on the Astronomy Tower and James hexed him until he fell off the side,” Lily overheard Amos telling the rest of the Hufflepuff house in the corridors.

Lily pushed her way past the group. Having Snape in the hospital wing as well created a new development she hadn’t expected. The frustration she felt the night before bubbled back into her chest and the thought that something between the two had happened made her want to be sick. And even if it wasn’t anything to do with Snape, where did James get off on being so careless and running around with Remus who is a– a—--.

She brushed the thought out of her mind as she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Snape was already there and sitting at his desk. Besides a bandage on his forearm, he looked completely unscathed–certainly not in the same state that James was in. She made a point to walk the long way around to her desk to get a better look at him. She had half the mind to ask if he was ok, but what good would that do anyhow? It would only give him hope that their friendship was still there. 

Lily sat in her seat and tried not to stare, but sitting in her own frustration was making her crazy. It wasn’t impossible to believe that Snape had decided to stick his nose where it shouldn’t have belonged, but was he that stupid? 

Once class ended, she rounded up her things and pushed past the class before Snape could catch her attention again. In the Great Hall, James and Sirius were sitting side by side amongst  a commotion of Gryffindor classmates who clamored to ask what had happened and more importantly if James expected to play the match that was later that week. Despite still not having the best control of his arm and attempting to act humble about the situation, it was clear by James’ face that he was enjoying being doted over. 

The questions that Lily had been asking herself that morning felt as though they were boiling over in her stomach. She couldn’t decide who, if her suspicions were true, was more mental: Snape for investigating or James clearly being some sort of accomplice…

The great hall door cracked open and Remus sidled his way into the room. His clothes looked dusty and worn-in and dark circles were etched deeply under his eyes. He had some cuts and scrapes lining his face and jaw, but otherwise seemed intact. 

Despite the audience buzzing around James, the entrance of his mate made him stand up and push past the crowd. Only halfway to the table, James took long strides to close the gap between himself and Remus, tumbling into an embrace. They held each other for a long moment and Remus looked like his eyes were becoming wet. James released him,clasped his good hand on his neck, and pushed their foreheads together with an exuberant grin. 

Sirius had followed James from the table, but kept his distance from them during their emotional reunion. For the first time in Lily’s memory, Sirius looked unsure of himself, not holding any of the cocky confidence he typically exuded wherever he went. 

James let go of Remus and stood to let the other two face each other. For a beat the boys looked at each other with a charged intensity. Finally, Remus raised his eyebrows and gave a smirk, inviting Sirius to practically pounce on him. The two embraced and wrestled a bit with each other before walking back to their seat all together with Sirius’ arm left perched around Remus’ shoulders. 

It did not go unnoticed to Lily that during the boys’ reuniting, Snape was regarding the whole scene from over at the Slytherin table. His eyes kept locked on the crew with a pained look that felt wholly different from his typical disgust.

The boys settled into business as usual as Sirius started up trying to contort James’ arms in ways that were impossible even with a fully healed appendage. 

Unable to help herself, Lily picked up her bag and plate and sidled herself to sit across from them.

“Mind if I sit here, friend.” She elongated the final word with a sarcastic flourish. 

James jumped at her presence and jerked his bad arm up to his hair as a reflex, wincing from the movement. 

“You lost Evans?” Sirius had the habit of regarding people like they were his playthings, and often it was uncomfortable to distinguish whether that sentiment was more malicious or seductive in nature. 

“Haven’t you heard, Black? I’ve been invited into the club.” Lily made a cheeky wink at James who in turn started to become very red and interested in his empty plate. 

“Remus, how are you? You missed patrol last night.” 

Remus pushed Sirius’ arm off his shoulders and righted himself at her attention. Despite looking exhausted, he gave her a warm and apologetic smile. 

“Sorry about that, I've been feeling pretty ill again--comes and goes, you know.” 

Sirius made a very conspicuous snort and Remus gave him a pointed look. Lily ignored it.

“Ah, well no worries. You need to take care of yourself. It just seemed by your entrance that something worse had happened…” She let herself trail off. The words came out innocent enough but all three boys seemed to straighten up a little and shift a bit in their seats. 

“What? You don’t greet your friends like that every morning? Awfully cold of you, Evans,” Sirius shot back quickly. 

“I’m sure if you asked, James would be happy to show you the same greeting.” Lily’s face turned bright red and lost her comeback. 

James swooped in.

“Ah, come off it, Pads. She’s not gonna want to be our friend if you are a cheeky arsehole all the time.”

Sirius put a cigarette to his lips and let it hang loosely from his mouth. “Ah, so you are calling it friends now?” He made a wink at Lily, but then softened. “Well if that's the case, I apologize for my sarcasm past and future.” Besides being worded as a jest, his disposition made it clear that he was metaphorically handing her an olive branch. 

Lily made a deliberate nod, and started to pack up her things. James, who had more or less watched in amusement at his mates interaction with her, finally started to perk back up and looked a little lost in himself. 

Before she could say goodbye, James blurted out loudly across the table, “C-could you help me with potions–later? Today? I’m really behind now with this arm and–”

Lily smiled warmly and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Yeah James, no worries—see you then.”

She gave her regards to the rest of the boys and left them to stare after her. 

Once she was out of sight, Sirius’ hunched down to whisper to the other two. 

“Not to digress, but what are we going to do about Snape? Highly unlikely Dumbledore gave him a confundus charm and I personally am not keen about a slimy git running around with marauder secrets.”

“I don’t know, but it’s not like we can do anything about it now. It would be too suspicious.” Remus retorted. Despite usually being the calm one of the group, worry was etched into his face, making him look even more exhausted then he already was. 

“Do you think she knows?” Remus ventured. Him and Lily had been friends for years. He would even call her one of his closest friends outside of the marauders and she wasn’t an idiot. Between her brains and the fact that Snape had probably put questions in her mind from when they were mates made his odds of keeping her in the dark rapidly small. 

“Who, Lily?” James responded. “If she does, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Sirius turned his eyes into slits. “Are you so sure about that Prongs?”

James didn’t falter in his response. “She’s not like that. She wouldn’t do anything to Remus–to us.”

Remus nodded as though convincing himself of James’ words and they continued to finish their meal.

__________________________________________________________________________

Lily sat waiting with her potions kit in the same empty classroom she had met him in the night before. Being able to sit with her questions made them burn more. Why won’t he tell me the truth? What could possibly be so heinous to work this hard to keep it hidden. Where does Snape fit in?

Rolling through these questions, she didn’t notice James come through the door. He had taken off the bandages she put on him before, and while still keeping parts of his arm dressed, red lines peeked out from his collar where his shoulder and chest were cut. 

“Hey you,” He leaned himself on the table across from her. They were almost in the exact position they had been before all of this mess–back when the only question Lily had on her mind was why she wanted to kiss him so badly. 

“Uh, hi.” She retorted and started to unpack her potions kit. “So, which potion are you wanting to–”

“Thanks again,” he cut in. “ I know I said it already but your help meant a lot. I know—I know it's been hard to be left in the dark.” His eyes reflected sympathy. 

All the theories and questions she had been fighting with all day rushed back into the forefront of her head. She could feel her face twisting into a grimace and her eyes peeking with tears. 

“Don’t be thick,” was all she could choke out. She wiped her nose and took a breath, composing herself. 

“I’m not,” he cooed at her and she glared at him. 

“You don’t just impact yourself, you know. It might be a fun go for you but there are other people involved, James. Don’t act like we can ignore that there was huge talk about Snape being in the hospital wing this morning—suspiciously with injuries like your own. A-And all the bits about Remus….”

She was rambling. She could feel the words tumbling out of her with no real intention and she couldn’t decipher whether she was pissed or sad or confused by the whole lot of the situation. 

James placed both of his hands on either side of her and she stopped, making a small choking sound as she fought hard to stop tears that felt overwhelmingly close. 

“Lily. You have to believe me when I say I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything but I can’t. I swore. What happened last night is ok– -it will be ok, for me and for Remus. But I’m sorry that I can’t give you the resolution you want. At least not right now.”

Lily sat slumped between James’ hands. Wiping away a stray tear, his eyes begged her to understand. 

“...And you didn’t hurt Snape?” She didn’t care if it sounded accusatory or not. 

He removed his hands from her sides and sat back against the table. 

“No, if anything I tried bloody hard to keep him safe if you can believe it. He made his own decisions and I made mine. But please Lily, believe that I did the best I could with the circumstances.”

Lily sat back in her seat and stared at the back wall for a moment. 

“You really care about your mates that much, huh? Enough to not even clear your name when people say that it’s your fault you and Snape are hurt. Not even to me.”

“Nothing is worse than breaking the trust of my friends.” She looked back at him and he held her gaze. For the first time his moral compass was clear.

He stood up from the desk and messed up his hair a bit. “I have to be honest with you, I really didn’t need any help with potions,” he admitted. “Just wanted to clear the air between us.”

He put his hands in his pockets and stood facing her. “If you want to leave I understand. I really wish I could give you more, Lily. I’m sorry.” 

She felt numb. On one hand nothing was resolved. She had no information about what happened to cause their wounds or what transpired to make Snape there in the first place. She had learned Remus was involved somehow, but that wasn’t satisfying enough. But if Remus really was a werewolf, and James was protecting that information, there was a heavier burden on him than she hadn’t thought he was capable of. To protect your friend was one thing, but to protect your friend who is ostracized and also can become deadly was another. 

In another time in her life she would have called him arrogant to try to handle all of this on his own, but knowing what she knew of him now, she respected it. He was someone who was willing to stake everything for the people he loved–even if it meant putting his own life in danger. 

Still ruminating, she packed up her things and headed for the door. James didn’t say anything. He just watched her as she opened the door and shut herself behind it. She stepped out into the corridor and felt her feet moving but her mind was completely somewhere else. Despite no real answers, her frustration from before had dropped away, and what was left was an admiration she hadn’t felt for him before. He was an idiot and a prat and sometimes too big headed for his own good, but he had better qualities too. He loved people enough to protect them despite it all. 

Without giving herself time to think twice about it, she turned on her feet and bounded back towards the classroom door. Inside, James had perched himself up on a stool and was reading through a rather lengthy parchment with a furrowed brow. His eyes shifted to the door when she entered before looking back at the page. 

“You know, the last thing I want to do is write this report for McGonagall. Honestly, what’s even the point,” he seemed to be talking to the air rather than Lily. “This day couldn’t get any worse, honestly. I’m starting to not even be able to stand myself, right now.”

She walked swiftly up to him and he looked up, raising his eyebrows at her approach.

“And why are you still here?”

He didn’t even make it halfway through the sentence before her hands were on both sides of his face. Tilting his head upward, she pressed her lips against his and he gasped as they touched. He let the parchment fall to the floor and grabbed at her waist, pulling her towards him to stand between his legs. He kissed her deeper. She could feel years of yearning being poured out of him as he tried to press her body as close as possible.She felt his hot breath wash over her as she obligingly opened her mouth to kiss him further. She elicited a small sigh as his hands moved to reach around her. 

They couldn’t have been together for longer than a minute, but it felt like they had lived lifetimes in that moment. Lily pulled away, feeling flushed and her mind foggy.  James’ eyes blinked open and looked drunk with happiness. He kept his head craning up, expecting her to kiss him once more. 

She softly ran her hands over his forearms and he dropped his embrace, letting his finger tips linger on her hips until the last moment. 

She righted herself and picked her discarded bag up from the ground. Fixing her mussed hair, she started for the door without saying anything. James’ eyes followed her movement with a clouded euphoria. She had seen his eyes like that before. He had looked at her like that in her dream.

“Bye.” She whispered as she opened the door. 

James remained unmoved but broke out into a lazy grin. His eyes burned into her and their combined desire clouded the room.

“Bye.”

[deleahtarte]

Hii!! I love your works especially Young God and Lemon Muffins and Apricity (a normal amount...) and I wanted to ask if you had any writing tips? You inspire me a lot and I wanted to know if you were willing to share some! It's totally alright if you don't want to 😊 but if you do thank you it means a lot!! Thank you, bye have a good day / night!! :]

I would LOVE to share my writing tips!! And thank you for the sweet compliment!

For a little backstory, I’ve been writing for 4 years, and have been committed to one other fandom that is not South Park. Now, as a warning, beware these are just all the things that I, Deleah, personally find to help me write. I truly believe it is different for everyone, and some things here might not work for you, and that’s alright! We all learn eventually what makes us tick, and I’m here to share mine!

1. Commitment!! I think one of the biggest factor in writing overall, the one that will help you the most is commitment. You have to write. Commitment is how you get better at everything. You have to write when you’re not in the mood to, you have to keep writing on those days where you feel like nothing is coming along, and you have to keep writing even when you don’t know exactly what you’re writing about. Sometimes when I write I think “this is it, this is max I can write it” but then I go re-read my previous works and realize wow, I actually improved!

2. READ BOOKS!! Personally, I cannot write unless I read a book. Observe how different authors write. See what you like about their writing style and what you don’t. For instance, I think this one writer could improve on the depth of their explanations but I think they have the most wonderful metaphors. Learn from them. When I find an author with amazing writing, I read all their books—regardless of whether I take interest in the actual story or not. I hope by doing so I learn and absorb their writing, like how people try to learn a specific artists art style.

3. Listen to music! To get myself into writing certain scenes or characters, I listen to songs that help invoke whatever I’m trying to write. For instance, when I write Kenny I listens to Young God by Halsey. But when I write Butters thoughts about Kenny I listen to Ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine. Basically, let the music put you in the mood of whatever it is you’re trying to convey. If you’re writing a sexy scene put on sexy music, etc, etc.

4. Have an outline! I know some people like to write stories just as they come, but I found that I when I did that in my first fandom, I miss out on so many things. I’m never satisfied with the story because I feel like things don’t connect. No foreshadowing, why did this happen here instead of there, what about pacing? Overall, every time I did it, the story turns out a mess. I believe that if you have the story outlined from beginning to end, everything will tie together like a well formed bow, ready for the taking. Because of this, I have every chapter planned out. All I would now need to do is write it.

5. This is the most important tip of all, you have to love writing. There’s no other way around it. It’s hard to get committed to something you don’t love. It’s hard to put time and effort into something you don’t care for. So unfortunately, you will have to love writing, or at least like it enough to be committed. I use to draw, thought I was decent at it, but I didn’t love it enough to fully pour my heart into it. I draw sometimes now, but I know if I put in the hours and work I could’ve become someone decent with art. But I didn’t, because as stated, I didn��t love it enough. I liked drawing, but I love writing. That’s where my heart is.

That’s it for just general tips overall!! If anyone has any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask!! 😄😄

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 45: Winter Vacation Katsu shows Mitsuhide around Kyoto; then back in the 16th century he has another surprise for her.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

“Now, the further you turn this, the warmer the water is.” I glanced over my shoulder to see if Mitsuhide was tracking the instructions, just in time to notice that he was looking at me, and not the plumbing.

Or perhaps I should say he was looking at my plumbing area, which very likely was visible below my bath towel. I raised both eyebrows at him and he winked. “You are a rather undeniable temptation.”

While it would have been nice to stay cocooned on the couch all day, eventually practicalities intruded. I introduced Mitsuhide to modern kitchen appliances, laughed as he spent five minutes turning off and on the lights in syncopated rhythm, fed him breakfast (well, it was lunch at that point), and now we were having a crash course in water management 101.

While running water was a concept he could get behind, he seemed not at all interested in temperature control, or the intricacies of how it worked from the source. “I presume there are people whose jobs there are to know specifically how it fits together, but at the moment, I’m only concerned with using it in its designated function.” He stuck his hand under the stream of water.

I twisted the level to make it warmer, and when he didn’t comment, I left it at that temperature. “On that note, I guess you’re an easier visitor than Shingen. He’s driving Sasuke crazy by taking everything apart to see how it works.”

“You spend a lot of time with them?” That unfamiliar tone was back in his voice. I don’t believe that he was actually jealous – just that there was enough history between the Oda and the Takeda-Uesugi alliance to mean that I had been hanging out with the enemy.

Lowering the conversational temperature back to casual, I said, “They’re the only people I know here since I prefer not to become close friends with anyone who will worry when I blip back into the past. So maybe let’s consider this time a neutral zone, and you can go back to trying to kill him when we return to the Sengoku era.”

What happens in modern Japan, stays in modern Japan.

He didn’t reply, but simply surveyed the pattern of water as it streamed down the walls of the postage stamp size stall. “So um, anyway, this is wasting water, so I’ll leave you to it…” I trailed off as he swiftly tossed away his clothes and stepped in.

He was so beautiful with the water flowed down his body, outlining every contour of his muscles. I know I had just spent the night and morning with that body, with this man, but I would never take that beauty for granted.

He raised that one eyebrow, smirked, and crooked his finger at me. “You did say something about needing to conserve water.

I had said that, yes. “There’s no room- eek!”

He reached out and pulled me in, bath towel and all. “My love, there is always room for you, no matter where I am.” He undid the now soaking towel and tossed it into the sink. Now there was little between us but water, and even that evaporated to steam when he wrapped his arms around me.

“Kitsune, I am not opposed to shower sex in concept, but we need a bigger…” My back would probably slide down the side and I’d hit my head and drown…

He rotated me away from him and I grabbed the towel bar for stability. “Hold on to that. I imagine that is what it was placed there for.”

Yeah, I’m not going to speculate on what Sasuke’s parents do in the shower, thanks for that mental picture.

He reached around to cup my breasts, and then I felt his teeth nipping at the side of my neck. “Oh God, we’re going to die.”

We did not die during shower sex… not any of the times we tried it.

Nor did Shingen and Mitsuhide attempt to kill each other when the four of us got together. Oh, the two of them would never become good friends – they were too much alike in the wrong ways, not to mention too different in every other way – but they managed mutual politeness during a meal that Sasuke and I cooked. That got upgraded to professional respect when they discussed the Yoshiaki and Motonari threats, which then devolved again to a cutthroat game of Catan that had both Sasuke and I eliminated within the first hour.

My moderately awesome ninja buddy and I watched the game from the sidelines for a little while before we both decided it would be safer to retreat to watching Picard (neither Shingen nor Mitsuhide had gotten into sci-fi, as travelling over 450 years into their future was sci-fi enough for both of them).

During the weeks as we counted down the time before the Togakushi wormhole manifestation, we all made the most of our time. Aside from breaking in the shower (and the breakfast bar, which Mitsuhide and I discovered was set at a very convenient height) we did actually emerge from the house every day to explore modern Kyoto. Mitsuhide decided that since this was more or less an enforced vacation, he would spend his time pursuing the interests that generally got pushed to the side amidst all the war councils, interrogations, and spying: live theater and music.

While I never could convince him to give K-pop - or any rock music for that matter – a chance, he did discover an appreciation for jazz. An unfortunate appreciation, since I disliked that sort of music. At least we were able to have a lively and ongoing debate over the merits of both, which usually devolved into mutual distraction.

Even though we always had a lovely time wandering through Kyoto in winter, my favorite part of the days were our evenings. I could be as cutthroat about Shogi and he and Shingen had been over Catan, and it was as much fun trying to outthink him and it was to distract him. I never won… though I came close twice.

Nor had I neglected my personal mission to organize the Mikumos’ library (with their permission). When they returned they would find everything neatly filed and cross referenced both in a database, and also in a hard copy notebook. Unfortunately, even after spending a couple of hours a day digging through their archives, I hadn’t discovered much about my father. True, Sasuke’s mother had kept a journal during that time which pinpointed when Aki and Francisco entered their lives, as well as what the two were studying, but otherwise the journal was pretty dry.

“Discover anything useful?” Mitsuhide wandered into the room with two cups of tea. I gratefully took it. Though he still couldn’t cook, he made a damn good cup of tea. I took a sip… and promptly burned my tongue. Good tea, but very hot tea. I fanned my mouth. He tsked. “The hazards of impatience, Brat… shall I kiss it to make it better?”

“Cute.” Not that I would ever turn down a kiss, even though it did threaten to throw me off track for the rest of the afternoon. Once we broke apart, I pulled out Professor Mikumo’s journal and read her description of Francisco. “We’re hosting a Portuguese exchange student who is very interested in Sengoku trade routes and any attempts by the explorers to influence politics. Or rather that was what the letter from his academic advisor stated. Unfortunately, this young man’s grasp on our language is tenuous at best, and as no one here speaks Portuguese, all of our work becomes delayed as we try to discuss everything in sign language.”

Mitsuhide politely nodded. “Yes, it is his lack of understanding that led to the most fascinating purchase of my life.” He tapped his lips, and followed that up by kissing me again. Mm. We were in danger of taking the afternoon off (again… it was last week’s work derailment that had led us to discover that the breakfast bar was the right height for eating… something that’s not actually food). No… this is important. I hadn’t even told him yet about that priest. “Francisco.”

“Dear me, have you forgotten my identity so quickly?” I shall have to give you a refresher on that topic.” He slid next to me and pulled me onto his lap.

I stopped his hands before they could make their way under my shirt. “I think he… or the priest who tried to buy me… might have been the one who shot Aki in 1578.”

To his credit, Mitsuhide immediately flipped into business mode. “On what evidence?”

Er. Well. “For Francisco, gut feeling, mostly. He had gun in his desk when I took the letter… and it was not there the next time I looked.” Before Mitsuhide could devil’s advocate me out of that, I added, “He’s been in Japan, both modern and Sengoku for over ten years, and yet he still hasn’t learned the language?”

“He could indeed be that incompetent.” By now, I knew that Mitsuhide wasn’t necessarily disagreeing with me – he was merely pointing out where I needed stronger proof.

“Ok, yes, sure. But it seems to me that whatever missions there were to send people like Aki back in time – they would have wanted the best.” But why had Aki never questioned Francisco’s language deficiencies? It seemed a critical error on his part, an error from someone who usually didn’t make errors. Unless Aki was well aware that Francisco was faking it, and pretending not to know in order to watch him? But if that were the case why give Francisco the letter for me? Ugh, I was confusing myself. Still, I needed to at least get everything out on the table before Mitsuhide started poking holes in my already shaky theory. “Suppose everything Francisco did was not incompetence, but a charade. He never intended to rescue me at the auction. But if his plan failed, he could fall back on his idiot disguise.”

If I reframed my view of everything Francisco had done, it could all have a sinister interpretation.

And here came Mr. Logic. “Was not the slave auction your idea to begin with?”

“It was. Francisco just took advantage of the opportunity I gave him.” But Mitsuhide was correct. I had brought the idea to Francisco and basically blackmailed him into it.

“Hm, and we won’t be doing anything like that again now will we?” The ‘royal we’ had returned. His arms tightened around me. “Now, you said something about the priest? I did interrogate him rather thoroughly, and he had no connection to the disappearances.”

Had I been mistaken in identifying the priest as the man who watched my gymnastics competition? I pulled the computer closer and tabbed into youtube. “Look at this.” Mitsuhide was quiet, intent as the video played. When the camera angle switched to show the priest, I paused and pinch zoomed it onto his face. “Same man?”

He leaned closer. “It is possible. The hat makes it difficult to be one hundred percent certain.”  He frowned, and it seemed there was some anger being directed inward. “Though perhaps that is me not wanting to believe that my interrogation technique to be infallible. I should have-.”

My turn to shush him with my finger. “Well, you questioned him as if he was what he appeared to be, a rather vicious priest. If that in itself was a disguise… well you didn’t know about the existence of time travel, so he might have training that the average psychopath does not.” I leaned back and rested my head on his shoulder. I really hoped he wasn’t going to beat himself up over this. “You can’t know everything.”

“It is, in fact my job to know everything.” His hands massaged low circles around my back. “However, I have promised you… as well as Hideyoshi and Mai… that I will no longer take on the world alone. Nor is there much I can do about these two men right now. Not when we are here, and they are somewhere in the past.” He stood up, and took me by the hand. “Come on, Brat, you’ve worked all afternoon.”

I had at that, so I let him lead me into the den, where another of those snoozy jazz stations was playing something in the key of dull syncopation. I dropped his hand and made a beeline for the remote. No, I wasn’t planning to subject him to K-pop, but a nice movie night would be good. He beat me to it and held it over my head. “Oh that’s mature.”

Single eyebrow raise. “One person’s immature is another person’s success.” He tossed the thing onto a shelf that was above both of our heads. “Come here. This music, as opposed that shrill wailing you inexplicably like, is designed for dancing.” He pulled me into a dance hold. “Have I mentioned that I am quite fond of your era’s style of dance.”

Before I could again protest his depiction of K-pop as ‘shrill wailing,’ he had my head resting on his shoulder, as he pressed his hand on my back. His lean grace might have been made for this, as he expertly maneuvered me in a small circle around the center of the room.

Eventually, that slowed to a single swaying embrace as we clung to each other. The sun had long set, the only light came from the glow of the TV and the neighbor’s Christmas lights shining through the window.

I knew the steps of this dance we were doing, knew that soon, Mitsuhide’s lips would kiss my cheek, and then my mouth, until the dance became something else entirely.

But for the moment, I was perfectly happy melting against his body, in the more innocent hold.

We had time.

Three weeks later, and four hundred and fifty(ish) years earlier…

As soon as we “landed” back in the Sengoku and split off from Sasuke and Shingen, we made our way to Azuchi. I had expected that Mitsuhide would settle in and immediately pick up war planning with Nobunaga and Hideyoshi. And while he had indeed spent the day and half the night conferring with them, we were off to Sakai the next morning.

Our machiya in Sakai was unchanged, it was Mituhide and I who were different. We were approaching the townhouse as ourselves, not as fake merchant and reluctant concubine. There was no need to put on any act.

The real Kyubei was waiting inside to greet us. He smiled and bowed formally as if we had been gone a year rather than just a couple of months.

“Did you keep watch on…?” Mitsuhide left the rest of the question trail off, which mean this likely had more to do with my mystery surprise and less to do with whatever Motonari was doing.

I unobtrusively tried to listen in on Mitsuhide’s conversation with Kyubei, but what little I could pick up was in kind of a master/vassal shorthand of half sentences. Eventually, Mitsuhide noticed me lingering in the corner. “Dear me, is a little spy trying to spoil her surprise?”

He should be well aware by now that I was not a fan of surprises, even one that he had promised was a “good” surprise, so I just crossed my arms and glared at him.

“Patience, Brat, I’m just confirming the timing of it all.”

Knowing that was all I was going to get out of him, I retreated upstairs and unpacked the few items of clothing I’d brought to Sakai with me. As I was changing out of my dusty travel clothes, Mitsuhide joined me – and once again he was wearing the long, dark wig. “I thought the disguise was retired.” Please don’t make me dress up as Kaya. I’d happily put away the Kaya identity for good, and at the moment was wearing one of Mai’s hastily altered kimonos. Though it wasn’t completely to my taste, it was a lot more casual than the elaborate concubine disguise.

Correctly sensing the direction of thoughts, Mitsuhide helped me adjust the fold on my obi. “It’s temporary. The man we are going to see knows me only as Kyubei. You, on the other hand, are perfectly fine.” He tugged on my hair, and of course the hairstyle instantly fell apart. Without Sho to help, I was useless in the coiffure department. “In any disguise… or, er, disarray.”

He helped restore my hair, and then, in a move reminiscent of his former disguise, he extended his arm. Without any hesitation, I took it and we walked out into the chill winter evening. “Are we walking?”

“Are you saying you would prefer to huddle up in a palanquin?” The teasing smile he gave me indicated that any future palanquin travel we did would be far less innocent than our last trip. “That could, of course, be arranged, but tonight, we’re not travelling very far.”

Though I puzzled for a moment as to whether or not that had been a clue to my surprise, his purposefully bland look offered no additional help. We were not heading in the direction of Francisco’s, so that possibility was off the table. Instead, we ended up in the local retail section – not the business area with merchant’s large import/export warehouses, but the smaller apothecaries, clothing shops and tea houses patronized by the people of Sakai.

Even so, when Mitsuhide stopped in front of an herbalist’s storefront, it seemed an odd choice. My confusion grew when he led me through the shop and up the stairs to the living area. Once we reached the top of the stairs, he stepped aside, allowing me to face the man who had risen from his dinner to greet us.

A man whose face I had seen nearly every day until I was nineteen… and after that, had only been viewable via a drawing. “Toshiie!”

While my brother stood there stunned, I threw myself into his arms. “I thought I saw you in Sakai last fall… but I figured I was imagining it.”

He allowed me a long hug before stepping out of the embrace. “I was going to rescue you… I just needed more time to…” He glanced at the teapot on the table.

“Rescue me? From what?” It sounded like Toshiie had… already known I was in Sakai?

He turned and faced Mitsuhide. “Him.”

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @selenacosmic @lyds323 @tele86 @akitsuneswife

[kyuriin-chan]

Tales of the Heart

Chapter 9

Words: 3.220

Tales of the Heart is a story of forbidden love, power, and destiny set in the eerie, gothic town of Lysford.

Sayuri Valmont, an enigmatic and powerful vampire from a prestigious family, finds herself drawn to Roman Alden, a humble librarian with an unsuspecting heart. Their first encounter sparks an undeniable connection-one that transcends mere attraction and pulls them into a world neither of them can control.

Summary - Chapter-index

The following day, Sayuri found herself tangled in the whirlwind of preparations for the grand ball. The mansion was bustling with activity—servants scurrying from room to room, carrying silk fabrics, setting up decorations, and arranging every detail to perfection. Yet despite the beauty and opulence of it all, Sayuri felt a familiar sense of dread creeping in.

She had never been fond of such events. Balls, gatherings, displays of wealth and grandeur—it all felt like an intricate game of masks and pretense. Everything had to be perfect. The right music, the right guests, the right conversations. It was a world where appearances mattered more than authenticity, and Sayuri, despite her noble upbringing, had always despised the way it made people hide behind their façades.

Victor, on the other hand, thrived in this environment. He was in his element, giving orders with a confident smile, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he played the role of a perfect host. To him, the ball wasn’t just a social event—it was a game, a stage to weave his influence, to make connections, and perhaps to enjoy a little bit of chaos on the side.

“Do you really have to make everything so... grand?” Sayuri asked, her voice tinged with frustration as she adjusted a delicate piece of embroidery that would adorn the ballroom walls.

Victor, standing by a nearby window, turned to look at her, the slightest smirk curving his lips. “Come now, sister. You know the importance of these things. If we want the town to forget the past month’s commotion, we need to show them something spectacular. A little show never hurt anyone.”

Sayuri scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. “You always think of it as a show. People will talk, laugh, gossip. But beneath all the pleasantries, it's just a game of masks.”

Victor’s expression softened slightly, but only enough to show that he understood. “I’m aware. But the game is necessary, especially now. It’s time we re-establish our presence. It’s time we remind Lysford who we are.”

Sayuri let out a long breath, walking over to the window and gazing out at the town below. She could see the outlines of the people walking the cobbled streets, unaware of the grand spectacle that was being prepared for them. They had no idea how much of a façade it all was. 

She thought of Roman. She thought of how he had looked at her—how he made her feel when she wasn’t playing a role. His kindness, his sincerity, the way he made her feel real when everyone around her was so consumed by appearances.

Her chest tightened. It was complicated, this feeling. How could someone like her—someone so used to deception, so immersed in a world of secrets—find solace in someone so… innocent?

“I still don’t see why we need a ball,” Sayuri muttered under her breath, her gaze never leaving the town below. She needed to distance herself from the noise, the preparations, the expectations. She needed to think.

Victor’s voice came from behind her, softer this time. “I know you, Sayuri. You’re trying to find an escape. You always do when things get complicated. But maybe this time, you should embrace it.”

Sayuri turned to look at him, her brow furrowed. “Embrace what?”

“The chaos, the complexity,” Victor said with a smile. “It’s all part of life, big sister. The moments you try to run from are the moments that matter the most. Don’t miss out.”

Sayuri didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she returned to her task, though her mind was elsewhere—on the quiet librarian who had managed to capture her attention in ways she hadn’t expected. The ballroom and all its opulence faded into the background. It was all so hollow, so empty in comparison to the stirrings of something deeper, something real.

Victor’s words hung in the air, and though she didn’t let it show, a flicker of realization passed through her. Maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to question the very world she had spent centuries hiding behind.

As the day wore on, the hum of preparation continued around them. But in the midst of the ongoing chaos, Sayuri’s thoughts began to shift. The grandeur of the ball, the expectations, the masks everyone would wear—it all seemed to fit perfectly. If she were going to be part of this grand charade, why not take it a step further?

She paused, then turned to Victor, who was examining some of the extravagant decorations that were being set up in the main hall. His back was to her, but she could see the faint smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the work. A wicked thought crossed her mind, one that both thrilled and unsettled her.

She approached him, her steps light and purposeful, and spoke, her voice steady, but with a certain edge. “Victor,” she began, catching his attention. “What if we made it... more interesting?” 

Victor’s gaze snapped to hers, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

Sayuri stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough so only he could hear. “A masquerade ball. A ball where no one knows who anyone truly is. Where every guest wears a mask, not just to hide their identity, but to hide their true selves—at least for a night.”

Victor’s eyebrows shot up in amusement, but the idea seemed to take root in his mind. “A masquerade?” He considered this, his lips curling into a sly smile. “You do enjoy stirring up trouble, don’t you?” 

Sayuri smiled faintly, her eyes gleaming. “I think it would be a perfect way to throw off any lingering suspicions. The people in this town are too perceptive—they’ve been on edge ever since the commotion with the Countess. A masquerade will make them feel more at ease, more distracted. It could give us the upper hand in many ways. Not to mention…” Her voice dropped slightly, her gaze narrowing thoughtfully, “it would allow me to enjoy the evening without anyone looking too closely at me.” 

Victor was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. He seemed to weigh the idea in his mind, watching her carefully. Then, a chuckle escaped him. “You’re right. A masquerade would be... perfect. No one would suspect a thing, and the secrecy would create an alluring air. The perfect distraction for our little town."

His gaze softened slightly as he studied her. "But, Sayuri… I get the feeling you’re not just talking about the town. You’re talking about yourself, aren’t you? Hiding behind a mask. Keeping things... distant.” 

Sayuri’s smile faltered just for a moment, but she quickly masked it with a sharp, confident grin. “What’s wrong with a little distance? Everyone wears a mask, whether they want to admit it or not. Even you.” She added, almost teasingly. “This way, I can experience the ball without having to pretend to be something I’m not.” 

Victor watched her, his gaze softening in understanding, before nodding slowly. “Very well. If you think it will be helpful... A masquerade it is. But don’t think you can hide from me entirely, sister. You may wear a mask, but I’ll still see through it.” 

Sayuri’s eyes darkened with amusement. “We’ll see about that.” 

Victor chuckled and turned away, already moving to spread the idea. But before he fully left, he looked back, a sly smirk on his face. “Oh, and don’t think for a second that I don’t see what’s going on, Sayuri. The librarian. He’s a bit too… interesting for you, isn’t he?” 

Sayuri froze, her pulse quickening. She masked her reaction immediately, her features impassive. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Victor’s smirk widened, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes. “Of course you don’t. But I’m watching, dear sister. I’m watching.” 

Sayuri watched him go, her mind racing, her heart betraying her with the unexpected flutter of nerves. The masquerade would be a perfect opportunity to observe, to get closer to Roman without revealing too much. She would have control. She always had control. But something about Roman made her question whether she truly wanted to remain in the shadows.

With a sharp breath, she turned away from the doorway, her gaze fixed on the preparations around her. She had an evening to plan—and secrets to keep hidden.

Roman held the ornate envelope in his hands, the wax seal still glistening in the dim light of his shop. His fingers traced the intricate design of the Valmont crest on the front, his mind racing as he wondered what this could possibly mean. A masquerade ball? He had heard the whispers of the grand event being organized by the Valmont family, but the thought that he—a simple librarian—would be invited seemed almost absurd. Yet, there it was, an invitation addressed to him in elegant script. 

His heart began to beat a little faster. His thoughts immediately went to Sayuri. Was this her doing? Had she invited him specifically, or was this a social event for the entire town? He recalled their last walk—the way she had looked at him, that teasing, yet tantalizing smile of hers. Had she seen something in him that intrigued her? Or was this just a formality, part of the game she seemed to enjoy playing? 

He couldn’t deny the flutter in his chest at the thought of seeing her again. The memory of their brief encounter left him restless, eager to know more, to understand her better. The idea of her at a grand masquerade ball, hidden behind a mask, made his pulse quicken. There was something about the way she carried herself—the mystery she embodied—that made him want to peel back the layers and see who she truly was beneath that enchanting exterior. 

Roman felt a mix of excitement and nerves at the thought of attending. He wasn’t accustomed to such lavish affairs. A quiet librarian like himself was more at ease surrounded by the quiet rustle of pages than the loud chatter and opulent decor of a ball. But this was different. This was her. 

He sighed softly, shaking his head at his own thoughts. He couldn’t deny it any longer—he was intrigued. And if this was his chance to get closer to Sayuri, to understand her more, then he had to attend. 

But the question remained—what was he supposed to wear? What could he possibly have that would fit in at such an extravagant event? He wasn’t sure how to approach it, but the desire to see her again—this time, in a setting where he could possibly learn more—overpowered his doubts. 

With a new sense of resolve, he tucked the invitation into his coat pocket, already imagining the evening to come. He would need to find a suitable outfit, something that would help him stand out, but not too much. He wasn’t used to attention, especially not in a crowd like the one that would surely attend the Valmont’s ball. But for her, for Sayuri, he was willing to step out of his comfort zone. 

And so, the days leading up to the event were filled with preparations. Roman spent much of his time contemplating the mystery of Sayuri—her beauty, her grace, the air of command she carried with her—and the way she had made him feel something he’d never quite experienced before. He felt as though he were on the edge of something important, something new, and he wasn’t sure whether it would bring joy or heartbreak. But that only made him more determined to find out. 

The night of the ball arrived, and Roman stood before his mirror, adjusting his dark suit. He had borrowed a more formal coat, one that fit the occasion, though he still felt a bit out of place. His fingers trembled slightly as he buttoned the coat, the weight of the invitation and the anticipation of the evening settling heavily in his chest. 

He wasn’t sure what would happen tonight, but he knew one thing for certain: he would not let the chance slip away. Tonight, at the masquerade ball, he would see Sayuri again. And this time, he was determined to find out more about the woman who had so easily captivated him.

Roman adjusted the mask carefully, the delicate silver design catching the light of the streetlamps as he took a deep breath. The cool night air brushed against his skin, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine. He wasn’t sure if it was the mask, the idea of the ball, or simply the thought of seeing Sayuri again, but his heart raced with a mix of excitement and uncertainty.

The town had never felt so alive, so vibrant, as it did that evening. Lanterns illuminated the cobblestone streets, casting a golden glow on the quaint buildings as townspeople dressed in their finest clothing mingled in excitement. The whispers of the grand event had spread quickly, and now, the usually quiet town of Lysford seemed to be buzzing with anticipation. 

Roman stepped cautiously onto the cobbled streets, his footsteps muffled in the soft night air. He had never been to such an extravagant gathering, never walked among the elite of Lysford, and now, walking towards the grand manor of the Valmonts, he felt a mix of awe and intimidation. The mansion loomed ahead, bathed in soft light, the windows gleaming like eyes watching the world outside. He couldn’t help but feel small in comparison to the imposing structure. But then his thoughts turned to her, and the anxiety melted away, replaced with a spark of hope. Sayuri.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy to spot her—after all, there were hundreds of masked faces tonight. But something told him he’d know her when he saw her. The way her sapphire eyes had glistened when she looked at him, the soft elegance of her movements—there was no mistaking her.

As Roman stepped into the grand hall of the Valmont mansion, he was immediately struck by the sheer opulence of the gathering. The towering ceilings were adorned with intricate gold moldings, and the chandeliers above glowed with a soft, warm light, casting delicate reflections on the polished marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of roses and candle wax, mingling with the faint aroma of fine wine. 

The guests, dressed in the finest silks and velvets, moved about the hall like living works of art. The women wore flowing gowns of deep crimson, midnight blue, and shimmering silver, each dress adorned with lace, pearls, or embroidered gold. The men were no less extravagant, their tailored coats and embroidered waistcoats reflecting the wealth and refinement of those in attendance. Every face was hidden behind a mask—some simple and elegant, others elaborate with feathers, jewels, or intricate filigree. 

The music swelled, a waltz played by an unseen orchestra, the notes drifting through the air like whispers from another world. Couples twirled gracefully across the floor, their movements precise and practiced, their laughter light and musical. Groups of nobles stood in quiet conversation, their voices hushed, though every now and then a delighted murmur or a quiet chuckle rose above the hum of the gathering.

Roman hesitated at the entrance, taking it all in. He had never seen such grandeur before, never felt so utterly out of place yet so enthralled at the same time. This was not a world he belonged to—yet tonight, he was here, a part of it, even if just for an evening. His eyes scanned the room, searching for one figure among the many. 

Sayuri. 

Would he recognize her in the sea of masked faces? Would she recognize him? 

A servant in a dark uniform passed by, offering a silver tray of champagne flutes. Roman shook his head, feeling too overwhelmed to indulge in the luxury. Instead, he took a steadying breath and stepped further inside, weaving through the crowd.

As he moved, he couldn't help but notice the stolen glances between guests, the subtle touches, the way whispers trailed behind gloved hands. There was an air of mystery here, of secrets hidden behind masks, of words spoken in the safety of anonymity. It made the ball feel almost otherworldly, as if stepping into it meant stepping into a different reality—one where identities blurred and the night itself carried a quiet kind of magic.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. 

Golden hair, styled up. A figure standing poised, regal, near the grand staircase, her gown flowing around her like the evening mist. Even with her mask, even from this distance, he knew. 

Roman’s breath hitched as he took her in. Sayuri stood at the edge of the grand hall, poised yet detached from the lively crowd, as if she existed in a world of her own. The golden glow of the chandeliers bathed her in soft light, making her hair shimmer like strands of sunlight spun into an elegant updo, with delicate jewels woven through the curls. 

Her crimson gown was nothing short of breathtaking. The rich fabric clung to her form before flowing like liquid silk to the floor, the deep red contrasting beautifully against her porcelain skin. The bodice was adorned with intricate embroidery, catching the light with every subtle movement. The full sleeves, made of the finest sheer lace, trailed delicately along her arms, adding to the air of quiet sophistication she carried. 

And then there was her mask. 

Black and gold, sculpted with the precision of an artist’s hand, it framed her striking blue eyes in a way that made them seem even more otherworldly. There was something almost mischievous in the way she held herself, her gaze sweeping the room with the ease of someone accustomed to such grandeur—yet she did not fully immerse herself in it. She stayed just beyond the reach of the swirling dancers, the laughter, the conversation, as if observing rather than participating. 

It was as though she were waiting. 

For him? 

Roman swallowed, his heart pounding as he wove through the crowd toward her. Each step felt heavier, anticipation curling in his stomach like a tightly coiled spring. He had always thought her beautiful, but tonight—tonight, she was something beyond that. She was a vision, a fairytale, a dream made real. 

Sayuri’s lips curved into a knowing smile as he approached, her head tilting ever so slightly. 

“Good evening, Roman.” Her voice was smooth, like silk gliding over his skin. 

He found himself momentarily speechless, captivated by the way her eyes studied him from behind the mask. 

“I—” He cleared his throat, steadying himself. “You look… breathtaking.” 

A quiet chuckle escaped her, and she took a step closer, just enough that he could catch the faintest scent of roses and something subtly sweet beneath it. 

“Flattering words from a charming librarian.” Her fingers, gloved in fine lace, reached out, brushing ever so lightly against the sleeve of his coat. “Tell me, Roman… do you waltz?” 

His pulse quickened. 

Tonight, it seemed, the fairytale was only just beginning.

Feel free to leave a heart and comment if you liked this chapter and my story so far 🫶🏻

I'm always happy to receive some honest feedback :)

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Taglist:

@we-love-toes @024mo @a-puppy13 @aris-post @tinnyrabbit @planetahmane

[exonerin]

9,11&19, pls?

Thank you for the questions. They're from this neat list.

9. What fic made you happiest to work on?

Most fics have this moment where everything slots together and I suddenly have a story. And I greatly enjoy going from doubting I'll ever manage something out of this to an actual plot.

But oftentimes, the final fic turns out drastically different from the initial plot outline. However, there's one exception. DISLOYAL followed every plot point I had written for it, and I'm very grateful for that. It's also my Obikin Big Bang project, so I had a lovely artist and beta reader on board.

11. What fic was the most difficult to write?

I'm a highly awkward person in real life. I suppose my comments and perhaps my fics don't hide that. I'm too anxious for conversations with people.

And writing a fic is the closest I get to talking without second-guessing every word and wasting so much energy on anticipating how you will react to what I say and what you want me to say and still missing almost nearly every context clue and body language you give me.

So, I don't like talking, which can get quite lonely sometimes. And I don't mind that. I'm quite content. However, it also means that the comments I receive on fics are a major percentage of the interactions I have in general.

And I would say In Your Dreams! was most difficult to write due to the lack of that interaction. I had one dedicated person (and I'm very grateful to them) comment on the chapters, but you can't expect a person to leave comments everywhere or be ready to comment straightaway. So, I would go chapters without comments, and it was quite difficult to keep writing that fic. It felt very much akin to talking to a wall, I suppose. And while that's a skill I excel in, it's not one I enjoy.

Anyway, all is well that ends well. I finished the fic and moved on to the next project. And such is life. I really do sound whiny complaining about something so silly, don't I?

19. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Would you believe me if I said I can't quite remember the specifics of fics when I'm finished with them?

But I do keep a closer track of my WIPs, and there's a specific Sith!Obi-Wan one that I rather like. It's an alternative take on the Mortis arc. The Son steals Obi-Wan instead of Ahsoka, and the poison doesn't turn Obi-Wan into a murderous, mindless puppet.

So, no one notices he has turned Dark. And this new Obi-Wan isn't evil, per se. He just wants to enjoy life. Drink a good cup of tea, watch his Padawan train his grand-Padawan in peace, a good night's rest in a comfortable bed. You know, the basics.

Sith!Obi-Wan is best when he's selfish, charms everyone's pants off, reckless, and the biggest dick on Coruscant in every sense of the word.

Now, I shared this before, but here's a piece of dialogue that I'm rather fond of (written in 2024, of course):

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

"It is a pleasant day, is it not, Count?" Obi-Wan asked pleasantly as he stepped out of the shadows.

"What do you want, Kenobi? I tire of your games."

"You see, my dear," Obi-Wan began conversationally, "there can only be two. One Master and one Apprentice."

Dooku shied away, watching him warily.

"What about Skywalker's apprentice, Kenobi? Is she a threat to this new order you wish to establish?"

"Oh, you do misunderstand."

Dooku looked like he would have scoffed before thinking better of it.

"Very well," he said. "Enlighten me, Kenobi, what is it you seek of me if not my death?"

"Let's solve this civilly, Count. No need to resort to bloodshed straightaway," Obi-Wan responded with a mild smile. Dooku scoffed in response, his manners momentarily forgotten.

"The identity of the Sith Lord, if you please. We know he works with the Separatists," Obi-Wan revealed, watching Dooku's expression stiffen.

"I did tell you, Kenobi. You refused to listen on Geonosis."

"I would so hate to spill blood here," Obi-Wan mused, weighing the hilt of his lightsaber in his hand. Anakin had developed an obsession with his lightsaber, so Obi-Wan had to be careful not to taint the kyber crystal held within.

"Sheev Palpatine," Dooku spat. "It's your precious Chancellor, the face of the Republic. He's the Master you've been looking for."

"And the Apprentice?"

Dooku was silent for a beat before arching one eyebrow. "It appears I overestimated your intelligence. You possess the same level of critical thinking as your boneheaded Padawan."

"Now, that's just untrue," Obi-Wan commented mildly, his mind racing over the implications of Dooku's confession.

Sheev Palpatine. Supreme Chancellor of the Repbulic. Sith Lord.

Yan Dooku. Count of Serenno. Figurehead of the Confederation of Seperatist Systems. Also Sith Lord.

Contemplatively, Obi-Wan nodded. It seemed he had to run some interference, after all.

"I'm much obliged for your candidness, Count."

"Qui-Gon told me stories about you. Somehow, he failed to mention your attitude," Dooku said.

Obi-Wan dipped into a shallow bow before straightening. "My Master spoke fondly of you, Count." Then, he turned around and left the platform.

"Kenobi."

"Yes?"

"This may be your best opportunity to kill me," Dooku said.

"It is not the Jedi way to kill or maim an unarmed or injured man. You're both," Obi-Wan pointed out. The signs were obvious. "Besides, I wouldn't want to curtail your vacation plans."

They both knew Dooku fled a sinking ship, which worked in Obi-Wan's favor. His soresu was a poor match to Dooku's makashi, so he would gladly forfeit any one-on-one fight with the Count. If Dooku would no longer form a threat for either Anakin or Ahsoka, Obi-Wan wouldn't interfere.

Dooku shook his head before pinning him with a look. Obi-Wan met Dooku's gaze head-on, unimpressed by the piercing, dark eyes.

"Yellow does not suit you, Kenobi."

"Ever the flatterer, Count," Obi-Wan quipped.

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

[bbina]

last two chapters of btl… im not ready 😭😭😭😭 like at all! this story was truly amazing and i looked forward to reading it every single day. i cant wait for more of your stories, keep up the good work! you really outdid yourself with this story ads ! 🩵 (once it ends im gonna binge read the WHOLE thing)

-🐇

IM NOT READY EITHER 😭 i already have an outline for it and everything and i cant.. i cant bring myself to end it but i have to wrap this story up ... its been a fun emotional rollercoaster with btl im so sad to see it run its course soon </3 im gonna miss the not so everyday updates, the chaos each chapter will bring to u guys and the amount of asks i get bc of said chapter, the theories yall had and more GAWD we built a lil cute community on here cus of btl 😭

[allie-campbell-bradshaw]

Chapter 1: Charlottesville

A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of Top Gun: Baby, a love story following Bradley Bradshaw and Allie Campbell. We all know that the first chapter of any story can be a bit of a dud…Please hang in there! There was so much important background information that I had to include. I mention this in my notes for every chapter, but just in case you missed it– I do not give permission for my work to be re-posted without credibility. If you do want to post this story to your page, please be sure that you tag my account or at least mention its original source in your post. Again, thank you for being here and I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Angst from a hard childhood, mentions of cancer, mentions of death, mentions of a funeral

POSTED: 05/08/2023

Chapter One: Charlottesville       

BRADLEY’S POV

      One bag. That’s all I had to bring. It’s not like that was all we could bring. We were allotted up to 90 pounds of clothes that we could bring, but that was it. 90 pounds of clothing items that get you through the spring, summer, winter, and fall. You could bring whatever you wanted to wear. However, you could only wear your personal clothing items on the weekends when you were allowed to leave base. And even then, we weren’t allowed to leave until the end of summer camp. From this afternoon until August 20th, I would be stuck in the confines and ownership of the United States Naval Academy.

      I managed to fit everything I owned into one duffle bag. Everything that I was okay with losing stayed hung in my closet or spread out on my counter. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give the auctioneers a thrill of excitement when they foreclose on the house. My house. All I have known since I was a baby. 14541 West Maple Drive was the heart of my identity in Charlottesville Virginia. Even when I went to UVA, I lived at home. I never once spent a night inside a dorm and I never once let a girl spend the night here. This was my safe space. My sanctuary. A place where I got to dictate who could come in and who was locked out, and there was one person who has remained locked out for the past four years.

      I took in one deep breath as I gazed around my bedroom one last time. The transformations that this room has been in made it seem almost foreign.I thought about everything that it has changed to throughout my life. It started as a blue room, with white furniture that consisted of a crib, a changing table, and a single dresser. Painted at the top of my light blue walls were clouds. Clouds that served as a reminder that my dad was always there with me when he would go on missions. Hanging over my crib was a mobile that had red planes hanging from its center. My mom told me that I would become mesmerized by their slight rotation, and on my fussiest of days, it was the only thing that could calm me down.

      Until the death of my father, my room stayed this way, with the crib being the only change once I upgraded to a starter-bed when I was a toddler. My mom couldn’t bring herself to go inside my room anymore, so one day Pete came in with a group of guys and painted it red. All of my white furniture was replaced with a dark-chocolate colored set. Gray sheets and curtains covered their respectable areas until I was in high school. That’s when I convinced my mom to let me paint my walls white. She gave me permission under the promise that I would not paint a single outline of a cloud.

      Pete and I painted every wall with multiple coats until all of the red was cleared. He then snuck me into my closet and painted a single black outlined cloud right above where my hangers were set. It was our secret. I never told my mom. To this day, it was the only thing I kept from her. Every day, as I was getting ready for school, I would steal a glance at the cloud, knocking on it twice every morning before I headed to the kitchen. It seems silly, but it was a part of my daily routine. A way to include my father in my daily life. I reached my hand out and knocked twice on the outlined cloud, letting out a slight sigh and feeling my eyes burn from the salt that was glistening over them. I am sure the new homeowners would paint over that little cloud. My father.

      This glance, this last glance, would serve as my final memory of my white walled, deep browned furniture, blue blanketed room. I turned my body and took one more glance at the framed picture of me and my mom. It was our last set of professional pictures that we had taken before she found out she was sick. I was a freshman in high school, with a smile that was fresh out of braces, my hair was a little curlier than it was now, and way fuller. But the deep ember color of my hair remained the same. The blonde began to deepen when I went through puberty, as well as my voice, and well…other things.

      I looked over at the framed picture that was next to me and my mom’s. It was a picture of me and him, taken after my last baseball game in high school where we won the State Tournament. Both of us looked so happy, me in my green and yellow jersey and him in his brown leather jacket, sporting all of the patches he has earned throughout his career. I was so naive to what he was doing behind the scenes. Behind his smile was the secret of a man who had just pulled my Naval Academy application.

      I stared at the picture and could feel my face starting to burn red with anger. I reached over and gripped the frame in my hand, turning the photo face down on the dresser. I was sure he would come in here one more time before the government seized the house. I was sure he would take one more sweep around the whole surface and take a few more items of memorabilia. He would come in here and see this photo laying on its back and know. He would know I still hated him, hated him for what he had done, hated him for holding me back.

      Before I knew it, I was speeding out of the house and heading to the cab that waited for me, taking no liberty in locking the door. Nothing I wanted was there anymore. I had everything I needed in my bag; a few hawaiian shirts, some jeans, socks, underwear, and my parents' wedding rings. The only physical thing I have left of them. The only thing I wanted. I know he keeps a considerable amount of their things in storage, knowing that one day I may want to look at them, but for now, I was content with carrying the gold bands that bonded them together for life. They were tucked away in a small leather box that once held my mom’s engagement ring. The silver band and square cut diamond that was currently rested on her finger, six feet below ground.

      I quickly shuffled into the back seat of the cab and directed him to take me to the Greyhound: Bus Stop, with my bus ticket tucked safely in the front zipper of my tan duffle bag. I forced myself not to look back at my white and blue cape cod home, knowing that if I did sneak in one more glance, I would jump out of the cab and run back. I would never make it to the Academy, and considering the circumstances, I have definitely earned my spot in the school.

      Before I knew it, I was sitting on a seat on the right side of the bus, staring out the window as it began to rain. What a metaphor, raining on the only town that I have known as home right as I bid everything farewell.

      I quickly glanced at my reflection through the window as the bus began to take off. I was wearing a pastel yellow hawaiian shirt with a maroon UVA shirt underneath. A pair of khaki shorts with my brown belt sported me underneath. Yeah, I know, but I don’t really care about my appearance right now. In a matter of hours, my whole wardrobe will only consist of various naval uniforms. I looked up at my hair and adjusted the slick part that I had over my left side, looking at the wave which used to be curls when I was younger. In my acceptance packet was information regarding the new hair procedures. Women were no longer required to get any sort of haircut, as long as their hair can fit tightly in the bun that they sport in the back of their head. And men no longer had to get a buzz cut as long as their hair was kept at a short length above their neck. Thank fuck!

      The bus drove right by the Hospice House of Piedmont. Big mistake on me for sitting on this end! I dropped my face and held my breath, feeling a tightness in my throat as a wave of mourning hit me. The last time I drove down this street was in his car, the tears streaming down my face as he drove me, an orphan, back to my house. March 17th was one of the worst days of my life. I could still remember every detail about that day. I remember the nurses quietly guiding him and I down the hall into my mother’s room. Her cervical cancer had progressed enough that she was no longer conscious. I grabbed onto her hand and squeezed as long as I could. Although she couldn’t express it, I could feel that she knew I was there, she knew I was holding her hand, and she knew tears were flowing down my face, begging her not to go yet, to stay with me just one more day. It wasn’t even 20 minutes later that she was gone, him and I were in the room as her spirit took off, to be reunited with my dad, her love, after 16 long years.

Of course the bus had to drive by the cemetery! Why wouldn’t they? I glanced over at the plot of land that I knew all too well. Riverview was one of the largest cemeteries in Charlottesville, and the one my mom chose to be buried in. When I started my junior year, her doctor’s discovered a mass in her cervix. It wasn’t long until that same doctor advised her to make arrangements, putting the battle we were going through in full picture. She held on for a whole nother year! Telling me every night that she loved me and promising she would do whatever she could to be at my graduation. She was only 2 months away when she just couldn’t fight anymore.

Her funeral was hard. Harder than losing her I think. She didn’t want much. Just a patch that was right by a bench, so I (and my “future Bradshaw’s” as she used to say) could come and sit and talk with her whenever I wanted. She had a simple light brown casket, and she was buried in the dress she had planned on wearing to my graduation, a light blue front-buttoned mid sleeve midi dress. In her hands were my dad’s cross necklace that he wore almost every day when he was in the air. He wasn’t wearing it the day he died, which my mom and I found to be haunting. We found it in his locker at Top Gun, and mom always said it was his soul’s way of leaving a piece of him with her. 

There were yellow tulips and white roses, her favorite flowers, everywhere in the funeral home. I picked out one yellow tulip and placed it next to her in her coffin, as a way for me to let her go, to let go of a sadness that I knew would destroy me if I didn’t. Attached to the tulip was a note that I wrote her, which was a print of the “Great Balls of Fire” lyrics. I couldn’t find my own words to say, so I made my goodbye a recitation of our family song. One that would play almost every night in our house. Not the actual song though, but rather a recording of my dad playing it to my mom on the night they were married. My mom didn’t tell me this until I was older, but she was nearly one month pregnant with me when they were married, so I guess I was there too when that recording was made! 

I watched as her casket was lowered to the ground. He was standing right behind me, ready to lend a shoulder, hand, hug, whatever, when I needed it. Behind him was every living member of him and my dad’s Top Gun class, which included Vice Admiral Kazansky, who is rumored to be Admiral within the next few years. I stayed and stared down at her casket, now well in its place under the ground for hours. He stayed with me, never leaving my side for a moment. Eventually, I turned around and made my way to his car, falling over and crying on the cold wet ground. He was there within seconds, holding onto me and rubbing my back as I wept. 

Once the bus turned the corner and headed away from the cemetery, I felt like I could breathe again. The air was less heavy, and the tightness in my throat diminished. I love you, mom I thought as the bus entered the area where Charlottesville High School, my alma mater, was located. I watched the rain pour down onto the school as graduates ran from the gymnasium to their cars. It was graduation day. I hate fate right now…

I didn’t speak a word to anyone from the day my mom was buried to the day of Graduation. Everyone at school avoided me like I was dipped in shit, and my teachers knew better than to ask me how I was doing. I just went to class, did my assignments, and went home. Despite the intense depression that I was going through, I still managed to pass all of my finals, although my grades for them were well below the expectation I held for myself, earning distinguished honors and a 3.94 GPA by graduation.

The only thing that kept me going through this time was checking my mailbox. I know that sounds dumb, but I would always have a string of excitement when I opened the black port at the front of my driveway. Every day that string would be sliced in half, leaving me to bleed all over the floor. Metaphorically speaking. He watched from the living room as I came into the house either empty handed or holding nothing but bills, which he generously paid for.

It wasn’t until we climbed out of his truck, him dressed in a button down and slacks, and me in my own, plus my yellow cap and gown, when he told me what he did. 

***

“Buds, we need to talk” Maverick said as he reached out and set a hand on Bradley’s sulked shoulder. Buds was Pete’s adopted nickname for Bradley. One that he started calling him after Goose died. One that Bradley always found peace in when it escaped his adopted dad’s lips.

Bradley turned his body to face him, but kept his eyes to the ground. This day was hard on so many levels. Hard because his mom didn’t make it. Hard because all of his friends knew where they were going, and he didn’t know yet. Hard because he had to start admitting that a rejection letter from the Naval Academy was imminent by this time.

“Hey,” Pete went on soothingly, “Trust me. You’ll want to hear this”.

Bradley looked up at Pete, a lifeless look in his eyes. He had no emotion and he has had no emotion for months now. He didn’t have it in him to be sad, or mad, or happy, or anxious anymore.

“I know you’ll probably hate me for this, but I have to tell you that I did something.” Pete said, causing Bradley to shift his stance, getting more curious with what Pete was about to say, “There’s a reason why you haven’t heard back from the Academy yet. That’s because I uhhh-I-”

Bradley’s life went numb as he heard Pete’s words about pulling his academy papers. He stood there, blinking and breathing slowly as he comprehended what Maverick had just confessed to him. 

“You-You what?” Bradley had managed to mutter. The first comment he made for months.

“I pulled your application papers. For reasons you can’t understand until you’re older”.

Bradley felt his whole body tighten into his fight or flight response as he considered how to react to this news. How could Pete do this to him? Pete watched as Bradley excitedly filled out the application in February, and never said anything. If Pete were to get in the way, Bradley would’ve preferred that it been back then. That he wouldn’t have let him mail in his application. Instead, Maverick had used his ties within the Navy to pull an applicant's papers. Papers that were already accepted into the Academy with open arms.

Bradley rose his hands and shoved Maverick back; “How could you!” He yelled, “How could you do this to me!” Pete’s face turned as the guilt of his actions sunk in, and he rose his hand to try to grab onto Bradley’s shoulders, but Bradley retaliated, pushing his hand back, “I hate you!” He screamed at him.

Pete tried to take another step forward, but Bradley only pushed him back further, “I mean it! I hate you!” Pete didn’t try to move forward again. Instead, he stood back and took in all of the insults that Bradley was throwing him. “Go home! Don’t come near me again!” Bradley sternly demanded as he turned on his heels. Maverick stood there, knowing it was best to not follow him.

Bradley angrily stomped toward the gymnasium, running his hands through his deep ember curls, not knowing exactly how to comprehend this news yet.

***

I crumpled my fist up and felt my chest tighten, taking deep breaths to contain my anger. An anger that I have held onto for years. I attempted to apply again after my first year of college, but right after I submitted my application, I received a handwritten letter from my “assumed father figure” saying that he pulled my application again. The letter urged me to continue working towards my degree in Political Science, and promised that if I still wanted to attend the Academy after graduation, that he would let me go.

Attending the Academy after earning a bachelor’s degree was as nontraditional as any practice goes, but it wasn’t impossible. It just meant that I would have a second degree once I graduated. The caveat to this was that I had to start over completely. USNA was not going to accept any of my UVA credits, which I found complete bullshit, but still not enough to deter me from attending. I had to go. It was the only way. The only way I wanted. I wanted to make my dad proud. He would have wanted this, and damn it I would have wanted him to see this.

This letter was the last time I heard from him. He never bothered to show his face again, or attempt to call, or even send gifts. However, he still managed to pay all of the bills on the house. He knew I would object to this, so before graduation, he had the billing address changed to his. Now that I have graduated college, I received a notice that the bills would be my responsibility, and since I was leaving, I would lose the house. He made it very clear to his attorney that if I went to the Academy, the house would go. My blood boiled even more since he gave me this ultimatum. I couldn’t let him win again. Not this time. Now it was my time to reclaim my life. To reclaim what I was robbed of. He may have set me back by 4 years, but I was determined to outrank him one day. One day, I would approach him and make him order to me, finally receiving the revenge that has been looming in my brain for years. Watch out Captain Mitchell, I’m coming for you.

[monsterkissed]

You said you liked to share BNGN trivia, so you got any tidbits?

some assorted trivialities (spoilers for a fanfic up to the latest chapter):

the fic was originally envisioned (and partly written) as a series of drabbles! if i had kept that going, it would currently be 5,376 drabbles long.

tiramisu was written into the outline entirely as bait/tribute to my partners, who are big siamese fans. she is now the most popular oc i have ever made for anything. i considered writing an origin story fic for her back when there was a jjba oc zine in the works, but it fell thru and now it only lives in my head. it involves multiple murders : )

bngn is not phf-compliant bc i did not want to read it. to make up for this i promise to find other horrible things for fugo to go through instead <3

probably not news to anyone by this point but here is some explicit confirmation: the first prologue that opens the fic is not about doppio

there are so many cases of foreshadowing in the form of jokes or joke-adjacent statements at this point that i cannot actually remember them all. if you see me make a silly comment in this fic there is at least a 20% chance it's actually a very sneaky mean comment hiding behind the linear progression of time

when i first drafted the outline act 3 was much much shorter and had a few drastic differences. one of these was that polnareff (or at least one of him) would have survived to support the gang much as he does in the original VA, but i could not think of anything fun for him to do that didn't detract from everything else, or at least nothing more fun than the inexplicable spectacle of two dead polnareffs after all of the build-up towards him. rip, rip.

speaking of fun: i wanted to have every major character get at least one really cool moment, regardless of how central they were to the story. i didn't want anyone to feel like you could cut them out completely and it wouldn't matter, i wanted to keep that ensemble feel of VA and give everyone room to affect the story in important ways, even if the fic still obviously has its focusses. of the ones i've published so far, i think i like mista's intervention in the Trish & Dop vs Fugo fight best out of those moments because i just had so much fun writing and visualising it and he felt like a natural fit to provoke fugo's own position in the story as a person fixated on the objective facts (which he was canonically Not Wrong about, in terms of sticking with bruno being a dubious plan for anyone fond of staying alive) to face off against someone who operates more on vibes and rolling the dice.

way back in the depths of drabble-draft the flashbacks were going to occur chronologically, followed by the present day stuff. but as i became aware that this was growing into something i realised that this would be stitching two pretty drastically different fics together back to back, and decided instead to use the current format. in theory this was purely going to allow me to show doppio's relationship with diavolo alongside his absence from him, so we can see simultaneously why he values and misses him so much and what he's becoming without him. in practice it led to a bunch of smaller changes that built up into, among other things, the premise of the entire canon divergence. technically, all of the flashbacks in act 1 and 2 "take place" during ch. 30. there is an implication to this that so far nobody has commented on ;)

i spent an amount of time researching macdonalds in italy that i will never ever get back

speaking of researching things that don't matter to anyone but me: everywhere a major scene happens is based on a specific spot i hand-picked on google maps. i roamed a lot of italian countryside via satellite trying to find the Exact kind of big, ugly, concrete-floored farm i had in mind for the first secco fight

technically this fic (or at least the extended universe around it) has sorbet and gelato VA-style origin stories to go with their fanstands (which i had a lot of fun with, workshopping around ideas for things that would make for excellent and suitably juicy assassination tools but vulnerable in a stand vs stand battle). much like tiramisu, so does my second stand-using oc brodo (who also cameos in 'I Think We're Alone Now', because skulking around trying not to be noticed is his speciality) the third, katarina, is only mostly goncharov-inspired, and Heart of Glass was originally going to be one of the chapter titles for this fic. another song with a very similar title still will be!

i had no intention of narancia being as big a presence in the fic as he was, but the longer i wrote the more i realised that he's just too fun to put in a room with doppio. the scene where he accepts the truth made me feel genuinely like a bit of a horrible person because i'd enjoyed building up their friendship so much and it was one of those chapters where i knew Exactly what the character would want to do and exactly why it would be the thing that would hurt them the most.

when i was hammering out the outline for what would become this fic an artist i had been following released a song that i put on in the background while i wrote, and then stopped writing and went back to listen to it properly twelve or thirteen times because it was eerily vibing perfectly with some of the themes i had been kicking around in my head trying to make something out of. it put a few seeds in my head in the way that some things serendipitously do, so much so that i almost named the whole fic after it. in the end, i decided to affix it to just one chapter where i felt it would best set the tone for the imminent descent to come. that chapter would be chapter thirty-eight.