#chapter four 49

[ineruditehills]

page 48-49 of Chapter Four - A Story Together!!

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[coquelicoq]

if you're wondering what the big deal is about the louis-philippe sentence in les misérables, it is, in the original french, 760 words long. the subject of the sentence doesn't appear until 95% of the way through, at word #711; the main verb is word #712. the sentence contains 91 commas and 49 semicolons and is almost entirely a list of laudatory adjectival phrases describing the erstwhile king of france. this is perhaps especially notable because les mis is, shall we say, not known for being particularly gung-ho about the monarchy.

this sentence copied and pasted into Word takes up more than one page single-spaced. in the 1800-page folio classique edition, it is fully two and a half of those 1800 pages. that means that les mis is 0.14% this single sentence. more of les mis is made up of this sentence than earth's atmosphere is made up of carbon dioxide (0.04%). if the page count of les mis stayed the same but every sentence was the length of this one, les mis would consist of only 720 sentences total.

incidentally, guess who named hugo a peer of france 17 years before the publication of les mis?

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.6 K Warnings: ANGST w/ comfort (but also not?) Prompt: At the Potter's. This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 49: High Hopes

January, 3rd, 1977

“Kids, come eat something before you leave,” Hope called from the dining room. You were just finishing up packing, Remus had borrowed you his wand and you were putting everything in place (including a mild arrangement of his room that had been evidently changed since you got there) and he had also allowed you to gemino some of the pictures he had in his wall. 

You had picked one with the four Marauders, one of 11 year old Remus and Sirius smiling at the camera, one of James and Sirius when they got on the quidditch team, one of Peter working on the map, the one of Sirius you thought was adorable the first time you saw it, one with Lily and Remus doing a presentation and a few others with Sirius and Remus in which you thought they looked adorable or that you could use to tease them later (Hope had given you a few of Rem that were basically gold). 

“Coming,” you said as you grabbed the pictures and started arranging them back onto his wall with a flick of his wand. Thankfully Remus’ wand seemed to like you since every time you used it she would respond and do exactly what you’d intended. “Rem, I’m leaving your wand on the desk,” you said after closing the suitcase and taking it in your hands as you stepped out. 

“Sweetheart, let me help you with that,” Hope said as she saw you walk with your suitcase in hand and was surprised when she pulled on it and it shot upwards pretty fast. You managed to catch it and her before she tripped backwards. “Levitation spell,” you said with an apologetic smile. 

“Sometimes I forget how many useful spells you wizards have for things like this,” she said with a smile and carefully took the suitcase from your hands and sat it in a corner of the room. “Could you add a spell like that to my suitcases, honey?” she asked as she turned to Lyall who nodded in return. “I don’t get why he didn’t tell me about those earlier,” she added as she shook her head. “I’ve got some fruit in the fridge, could you help me get it?” she asked you. 

You nodded and followed, this time the fae had sent her an assortment of tropical fruits, everything from bananas to watermelons and dragonfruit. You weren’t sure how they managed to get such a harvest in the middle of winter, but it probably had to do a lot with fae magic that you didn’t yet understand.

Remus was out of his room with a band shirt and a pair of light-wash jeans. He had one of his jumpers in his hands, but his house was warm enough for him to only wear his shirt and clearly he was confident enough to not wear thousands of layers at home. He didn’t mind if you or his parents saw the scars on his arms, you all knew he was a werewolf, and while he was sometimes self-conscious about you seeing them, you had made it clear –on countless occasions– that you would never be repulsed by them. 

So when you saw him, with his sweater casually crumpled up in his hand, you couldn’t help but smile. Hope was looking at you attentively, and she was even more confident about her initial thoughts now than she had been by everything she’d gotten from the letters, she just hoped Remus would understand the reference she had given him so she wouldn’t have to be blunt about it.

“What are Sex Pistols?” Lyall asked in a judgeful manner as he stared at Remus’ shirt with a frown.

You laughed because that was the exact reaction you expected a wizard to have after seeing the shirt and Hope was the one to answer, ��A muggle band, you’ve heard them!” She said and then she started singing “Now I’ve got a reason, now I’ve got a reason…” Lyall seemed as puzzled as before and Hope just sighed in defeat, “He’s truly hopeless.” 

You refrained from making the “Well he has a Hope” pun since it didn’t seem proper to make puns with the names of your friend’s parents. Although, a big part of you thought Hope wouldn’t really mind. 

“I thought you said she was a drummer when she was in a band,” you said, turning to Remus with a gasp. 

“I was,” she said with a shrug. 

“But your singing is fantastic!” 

She smiled. “Someone appreciates it,” she added in an exaggerated tone and walked your way, placed her hands on your back and motioned for you to sit on the table. “Come, darling, you can have all the strawberries left.”

“Mum!” Remus complained. 

“You’ve never told me I sing nice, Beag Gille. Suck it up, as you kids would say.” 

You had to hold back the giggle that threatened to escape your mouth as you sat down next to Hope. She had prepared some toast for jam. Of course, it wouldn’t be just any bread –this was Hope Lupin we were talking about– it was sourdough with dried cranberries and spices. You were going to eat it with butter and jam (that she had made with fae fruit, obviously) and even cream cheese (that one she bought on the muggle market a few miles from the cliffs, she was extra, but she wasn’t that extra). 

Hope really had served all the leftover berries on your plate, and she wouldn’t let you offer them to the boys. “They can eat them whenever they’re here, who knows when you’ll come back,” she explained and told you to ignore their pretty puppy eyes. 

At least you weren’t the only one who thought Remus had pretty puppy eyes. 

You nodded and continued eating, although you slipped two of them under the table in a very muggle magician kind of way, and nudged Remus’ leg with your own. He looked at you confused and you merely nodded downwards as you brought a piece of bread to your mouth. He looked down and instantly noticed your closed fist. 

You nodded again and he pulled his hand down in a casual sort of way, brushing his fingers over your hand to let you know he was there since you were telling Hope something about the floating spell. Eventually, he pulled his palm down underneath your fist and you turned your wrist over to let the berries fall on his hand. He allowed his hand to linger just a little bit more, enjoying the fact that he could touch you, and pulled away eventually. Grinning as he brought a piece of bread with peanut butter to his mouth. 

After breakfast, you waved your goodbyes to Remus’ parents. Lyall gave you a quick friendly hug and told you to take care and stay out of trouble while Hope embraced you for at least a minute, pulling you close to her as she did and squeezing you tightly. 

“Take care, all right? Cailín álainn?” 

You recognised one of those words, It’s what Remus had called you and Sirius once. But why would his mother call you “shit”?

“Álainn?” you asked. 

“My beautiful girl, of course,” she added and pressed a kiss to your hair. 

What did she say? Beautiful girl?!? But wasn’t that–

 “Off you go,” she added after finally separating from the embrace. “To have fun and all of that.” 

“But not too much fun,” Lyall added with an accusing finger directed towards Remus, but Hope was quick enough to push that finger out of the way and sigh at her husband.

“All the fun you want,” she said and took a small box from the mantel and opened it, revealing the very classic green of the floo powder. 

Remus took a handful and you did the same afterwards. “I’ll go first,” he said and threw the powder on the chimney as he said, “Potter’s Manor,” in a very clear voice. 

You were about to do the same when Hope pressed a hand on your shoulder. “You are a very strong woman,” she said as she stared at you directly. “A true hero.” You frowned, ready to refute her when she shook her head. “Take care of my Remus, will you? I know he’ll be taking care of you. You’re very dear to him.”

“Always,” you replied, without family left, your friends had become their equal and you would defend them with all your might if the situation needed it. Something like Christmas could not happen again. You refused to lose any more of your people. 

Hope smiled and pulled you into a quick hug, before turning you around with her hands and pushing you towards the chimney, “All right, Cailín álainn, no stalling, there are handsome men waiting for you on the other side.” You threw the powder into the fire. “Oh, and write me, darling. I want to hear all of your misadventures!” she said as you murmured the words and disappeared into the fireplace. 

Remus was on the other side, dusting off some remnant ashes from his pants as he looked around the living room, it seemed empty, he had already put on his sweater since the living room was chillier than his house, he was probably also being careful, in case there was anyone other than the Potters in the house. 

“Did we arrive at the right time?” you asked with a frown as you too dusted off your shoulder. 

“Yeah, they said about 10,” Remus replied as he checked his watch. It was 10:15, not English punctuality but that had been on his mum stalling the two of you.

Then you felt a hand gripping you from behind and pulling you upwards from the waist, you would have panicked, if you hadn’t instantly known it was Sirius. The invisibility cloak he had been wearing slipped from him as he buried his head on your neck. You had talked to Sirius and James every day, but that didn’t stop him from clinging to you the minute he spotted you. 

“How are you?” He whispered into your neck. 

“Kinda constrained,” you replied as you nodded towards his caging hands. 

“You know what I meant.” 

You swallowed, not quite sure if you were ready to talk about it all again. Thankfully, Prongs was there to save you. He took off the cloak with a rather exasperated sigh. “Pads! We were supposed to get them at the same time!” 

“Sorry,” Sirius mumbled in the least apologetic tone you’d heard. 

James shook his head and then pulled Moony into a short hug, “Merry Christmas, mate,” he said and then quite literally ripped you from Sirius’ grasp to give you a bear hug. 

“James, James, James,” you said as he overdid it with the squeezing. 

“Sorry,” he said as he pulled apart and you just shook your head with a smile in return. Sirius had pulled Remus into a similar hug, and he was still hugging the taller boy when James let go of you. You smiled when you saw how cosy they looked against each other and James placed his arm around your shoulder. 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” James said with a smile. “We need to discuss Marauder’s business.”

“But Peter’s not here,” you said. Sirius pulled apart from Remus who looked a little phased, took your suitcase and placed it on the table before plopping down on the sofa. 

“He’s on a family trip in Italy, he won’t be back ‘til after vacation, but we’ll write him the details,” Sirius said and then opened his arms and looked at you. “Come?” 

You rolled your eyes but did as told, secretly enjoying how clingy Sirius was, and sat on his lap like you often did. James sat on the table in front of you and pulled Moony by the arm so he would sit on the right in front of him,  next to you and Sirius. 

“We were thinking about a small little prank,” he said, “to mark our coming back to school and all that.”

“Yeah?” You asked, reclining onto Sirius and getting a little more comfortable. Remus, who had had you all to himself for more than a week, was having a rather hard time coping with the sudden space between the two of you. He was tempted to place his hand around Sirius’s shoulders and bring both of you closer to him, but he knew it wasn’t possible. 

“So Sirius and I were talking about the time you used the swamp bomb and how we had accidentally trapped a creature inside of it.” 

“And,” Sirius started from behind you. “We thought it was really interesting how the creature quite literally busted out the minute you exploded the bomb.” 

“It was not interesting,” Remus said almost bitterly. They hadn’t seen you fall, they hadn’t seen you in the water and they hadn’t smelled your fear as you stepped away from the murky water and frosted the lake. 

“From an impartial point of view,” you added with a shrug, clearly trying to excuse the boys’ words, you wouldn’t have used interesting to describe it either, but you kind of got what they meant by it. Remus had to hold back a scoff. He was having a hard time tolerating the bursting of the comfortable bubble you had both been immersed in. 

“Sorry Vix,” Sirius said with an apologetic look. “But hear us out. What if we put not one, but several creatures inside of a swamp bomb.” 

“Define creatures…” 

“Tadpoles,” Sirius said from behind, a small smirk playing on his lips. 

“You want them to turn into toads,” Remus said as he looked at the two boys, now a bit more invested in the prank. “Why?” 

“Because we want to infest Hogwarts with Toads,” James said with a satisfied smile. Sirius pulled a small crystal ball from his pocket and handed it over to you. Very condensed inside it, there was thick murky water. 

You took a look, “How many of them did you put in here?” you asked as you handed the ball to Remus, he pulled his hand faster than he normally would from yours, which made you frown. What’s with him? 

“About 17 dozen, Peter found a spawning bed filled with hundreds of them and the idea just came to us in an instant.” 

“We’ve been flying through the grounds to find some more, but most of them are frozen due to the snow.” 

“How many have you made?” You asked. 

James smiled, pulled a handful from his pocket, and placed it between your hands. Then he pulled another one and left it in Remus' hands. “Peter will be getting more in Italy, he promised.” 

“So we’ll have at least a hundred of these?” Remus asked. Sirius nodded. “How are you planning to explode them all at the same time?” 

“That’s why you two are here. You’re good with this kind of thing.” 

You scoffed with a smile, “You left us the hardest part!” 

“Try finding spawning beds and catching them in spheres, Vix,” Prongs retorted with a daring kind of face and stuck out your tongue to him. He gasped as he pulled back and played offended. 

“We could time-set them?” Remus offered. 

“Yeah, but what kind of charm would do that?” You asked. “A freezing charm, hiding them in the corner of classrooms and having them fall during first period?” 

“Told you they would figure it out,” Sirius said as he looked at the two of you with a proud smile and side eyes James who had a small frown and pursed lips. 

“Oh, that could actually work, but we’d have to perfect the charm so they all fall at the same time, if not they could figure it out and stop them from exploding,” Remus responded to you. 

“Does that mean one person would have to charm all of them? There’s no way in hell we’d have enough time.” 

“Not if we make the spell and teach the others how to do it,” he retorted. “Maybe we can run some tests… with toadless swamp bombs.” 

“Got some of those?” you asked James. 

“We can make them,” he responded with a shrug. 

And that’s how you set yourself up for the task, while Remus and you figured out how to deal with the spell, James and Sirius went out to make some toadless swamp bombs for you to test them. You didn’t see the Potters until it was dinner time. 

Effie was more than thrilled over the fact that you were staying at her house and she asked Mellie and Picksie to prepare some treats for you and Remus while Monty cooked dinner. “Boys, we’re talking girls stuff,” she announced after setting the table and pulled you to the side. You looked at them with a worried expression and Sirius shrugged, while James gave you a teasing thumbs up. 

Effie took you to a room filled with books and looked at you with a small frown. “You’ve already talked to Dumbledore?” 

It might have been toned like a question, but it sounded a lot more like a statement. “Yes.” 

She nodded and placed her hand on your shoulder, she had a sad sort of look on her face that made you feel like you were being pitied, which had you shift uncomfortably. It was completely different to the way she had looked at you back at the train station when you first met her, and you felt like the memories were flooding back. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked simply. “Have you talked about it to someone?” 

You hesitated to answer. “I don’t,” you said honestly. “I’d rather not think about it altogether.” 

She sighed and then nodded, as if she both knew it was a bad idea to suck it all up, and understood exactly where you were coming from. “You should process it, not now–” she added when she saw the deepening of your frown. “But you should eventually talk about it, even if it’s just to yourself.” 

You nodded to her words, “Now… since you’ll be staying with the boys and I know you’re dating Sirius, I’ve brought you this,” she said, handing you a crystal bottle with greenish liquid inside.

You knew well what it was since McGonagall had shown you an identical potion back in her special class. 

“Monty has already talked to the boys, but I wanted to make sure you were also taking care of yourself. Especially now that–” She didn’t finish, but you knew exactly what she meant. 

Especially now that you don’t have a mum.

“Thank you, Effie,” you said honestly, and she instantly pulled you into a hug. 

“I’m really sorry for everything you’ve gone through. I’ll work even harder so these kinds of things don’t happen again.”  You didn’t say anything, and she continued. “You were incredibly brave,” she added, “defending a friend against them, it must have been a tough call to make.” 

That had been the easiest part. You had never hesitated on whether to try to save Nina and your mother. The hard part was failing and having to live with it. 

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for showing them that we aren’t all on their side and that we won’t stand down to their bigotry.” 

You didn’t speak much, but Effie continued to give you praises for a couple of minutes, and then she told you a bit about the order and gave you a small keychain with a protean charm that would allow you to call her in case you ever needed her help. After that, she gave you a small pat on the back and told you dinner was ready. 

You were still a little shaken by the time you stepped out of the room and Remus was struggling not to wrap you in his arms and pull you into a tight hug. But it was Sirius the one who did it, he pressed a bunch of kisses to your face and then one on your lips. It was quick, and it had been a second, but it was enough to have James grumble something about being forgotten because you were around, and complaining to Moony when Sirius had you sit next to him, on his usual spot. 

Even though the talk with Effie had shaken you again, you were quick to let yourself be drowned by the merry atmosphere, James and Sirius complaining and somehow managed to flip the switch, leaving the problems at the back of your mind and actually enjoying the dinner and conversation even if the words wouldn’t quite reach your mind. 

Anything to avoid, anything to forget, even if only for a minute. 

Remus had been looking at you attentively throughout the dinner, the way Sirius was being extra touchy with you, he had probably noticed how upset you were too. Sirius wasn’t stupid. But he was waiting for the right time to talk to you. He was giving you space, but holding you close while at it. It was sweet, the two of you were a really sweet match, one made in heaven. And he was nothing more than a serpent, a tempting –or perhaps tempted– serpent that had fallen in love. 

He would have to put up some space, he would have to step away, because if any of you had a taste of his apple then that beautiful relationship, that made him feel so many things at once, would crumble, and he would be to blame. 

But how could he step away? You had been through hell and back and you needed your friends, even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, you needed them. And he was your best friend, for fucks sake. How could he prioritise his feelings over yours? Remus started to feel like a monster again, and it was not because he was a werewolf. But rather because he had allowed himself to bask on the idea of being with you and seeing you with Sirius, how close you were to each other, it just reminded him that it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible to have either of you. 

You might have allowed the conversation to swallow you, but you weren’t blind, you could tell there was something going on with Rem, he was different, he had been different the instant you appeared in Potter’s manor. And while at first, you thought it might have been because he was in a different house, it was like you could almost see the inner conflict inside his eyes. It was something similar to what you saw when you looked in the mirror, but at the same time, it was vastly different. 

Whatever it was that was troubling Remus, wasn’t related to what had happened that night, even if he had cried for Nina when you told him the story, even if he had been sad about your mother and had hugged you until you stopped crying, Remus’ mind was plagued with a different feeling, you weren’t sure why, but you knew. 

“That was delicious,” you said with a polite smile. “Thank you, Monty.” 

Monty beamed at your praise and sent you a very James Potter-like wink, “You’re welcome darling, you may dine here whenever you want. And I mean it, I don’t care if James and Sirius are busy, you’re family now.” 

It had been a short, almost throw-away comment, but you felt your heart swell with warmth when he said it. You had lost your parents, but you had gained Hope and you had gained Effie and Monty. You might have felt lonely, but you wouldn’t be alone. 

“That’s right,” James said as he placed his hands around your shoulder. “She’s like the sister I never got, isn’t she boys?” 

“Well she’s not like a sister to me,” Sirius said and sent you a wink that pulled a small chuckle from you. 

Remus didn’t respond. 

And again, you noticed. It was like you were noticing many things and a lot of them had to do with Remus. Like that one thing that you had seen hints of in the past was finally revealing itself and you weren’t sure exactly what it was, but you had the feeling that you’d be able to tell soon enough.

“Gross,” James said and pulled you closer to him. 

“You’ll take her to her room?” Effie asked. 

“Indeed,” he responded as he dragged you up their stairwell, “I’ll even give her a short tour.” 

“Aha?” you asked. 

He nodded in return and stepped right in front of you when you reached the end of the stairwell. “So, that way we have the office, the library and my parent’s room,” he said and moved to the other side of the hallway and pointed at a door. “This is mine and Sirius’ room, Mum and Dad used an extending charm to make you a room and Rem will stay with us.” 

“You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble…” 

“Because you always end up sleeping all together?” James teased. “Mum is open-minded but not that open-minded.” 

You gasped and punched James on the shoulder, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” He replied. “I believe Mellie and Picksie have already taken your stuff there, so you should be set to sleep if that’s what you want. You have your own bathroom, although there is also one at the end of the hall, you already know the one that’s downstairs, yeah?” 

You nodded in response. 

“Good, any questions?” 

“Nope.” 

“Excellent. Now, it’s not that late, and we’re planning to play a muggle board game Sirius got sent by Andromeda. It’s called Monopoly.” 

“Oh, I know how to play,” Remus said casually. 

“Meet you in our room?” James asked. 

“Yeah,” you said with a nod and walked inside yours. 

You took a quick shower and changed into a pair of comfortable pyjamas. With a towel still around your shoulders to catch the wetness of your hair, you knocked on their door. James was setting up the game and Sirius looked confused as Remus tried to explain the instructions to him, the three were sitting on the floor. You approached them and after sitting down, you carefully took the instructions from Remus’ hand. Again, he was quick to pull away from you and you tried to ignore the feeling as you sank into your seat and started to read through them. You were also slightly confused. The whole “put houses and hotels” was a concept you weren’t really familiar with, it was nothing like Wizard’s Chess! 

“So, you got it?” Remus asked.

“I have to pay if I fall on your property? But why? You would never charge me, we’re friends,” Sirius said. 

“Yes, but it’s the game’s rule. If he doesn’t charge you because you’re friends then he wouldn’t charge any of us and he would lose the game,” you explained.

“And what’s with this money?” he added as he took one of the bills from the game. “It looks so weird. But muggles also use paper, I remember that. How do they protect against falsification, like gemino and muggle forgers?”

“Sirius! You’re not thinking of using magic while playing, are you?” You said as you threw him a look.

“Is it against the rules? It’s not in here,” he added as he took the paper from your hands and showed it. 

“Of course, it isn’t,” you said as you took it from his hands. “It’s a muggle game Sirius, they don’t add ‘Spells are forbidden’ in the rules like we do.” 

“So that means no magic?” he asked. 

“No,” Remus and you said at the same time. 

“And no duplicating the money if you ran out either,” James warned. 

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be against the rules.”

You gave Sirius a stern look and turned to Remus, it was as if he instantly knew what you wanted since he handed over his wand. “Accio pencil.” 

A pencil flew from James’ desk and towards your hand. You caught it with ease and wrote down two new rules on the paper. 

THE USE OF ANY KIND OF MAGIC IS FORBIDDEN 

FORGING THE MONEY (BE IT BY MUGGLE MEANS OR WIZARDING ONES) IS ALSO FORBIDDEN.

“Now it’s against the rules.” 

“I’ve always found it fascinating how Moony’s wand just works when you use it,” James said as he looked at the item in question in disbelief. 

“You’re just jealous you can’t use it,” Sirius said as he took Remus’ wand and effortlessly levitated the pencil back to the desk. 

“I’m sure I can if I try hard enough,” James said, taking the wand in his hands and flicking it about. Nothing happened. He flicked it again and still nothing. He did again, with more force, and the pencil flicked from the spot and launched towards him. You were quick enough to move the game board over his face and the pencil’s tip crashed against it. 

“Shit, it made a dent,” you said as you pulled the board down and looked at the place that the pencil had, pretty much stabbed into. Right above the Angel of Islington, there was a dent in the shape of the pencil, the graphite tip had broken and was now stuck in the cardboard. 

“That would have been your face, mate,” Sirius said while James took Moony’s wand between his thumb and index fingers –as if it had been a bomb– and placed it in front of Remus’ crossed feet. 

Remus rolled his eyes and took his wand, he flicked in the air and both the chipped pencil and the gameboard were repaired, he didn’t even have to say a word. 

“Yeah, thanks Vix,” He said as he turned to you. You just shrugged in response. It had been almost instinctive, you didn’t even think before acting, you saw the pencil shake and you knew something bad might have happened. “Be my team.” 

“There are no teams in Monopoly,” Remus said with a sigh. 

“Well we could change that,” James said with a shrug. 

“If they didn’t change the rules for me to forge money, then they’re not gonna change them for you to steal my girlfriend.”

“How about we just start playing instead?” you offered, and in between you and Remus started distributing the money and placing things on the board. 

“I’ll be the dog,” Sirius said, instantly taking the small metal dog from Remus’ hands. 

“I’ll take the car,” James said. 

“And you, Little Witch?” 

“You pick first,” you said simply, and Remus stared at the pieces left in his hand like he wasn’t sure which one to take, and eventually he took the thimble. Pushing the rest of the pieces your way. 

You took the small battleship and placed it on “Go”. The rest of the boys did the same. 

“Hey Moons, can I have my £200?” James said.

“It’s only after the first round,” he explained. 

“It’s on the rules Prongs, didn’t you read them?” Sirius added as he handed him the paper and James scoffed at his hypocrisy. 

You laughed at their interaction and took the dice in your hands before shaking them and throwing them on the board, “Seven? Alright you go,” you said as you handed them to Remus who got a 10. James got an eight and Sirius got a 3.

“Good, so I start,” Remus said and threw the dice again, moving towards the spot marked on the board. 

The first couple of rounds were uneventful. You were all just playing around, and it wasn’t until at least 40 minutes later that things started to get a little more complicated. 

James had gotten possession of all the orange properties after making a deal with Sirius to exchange an orange for the last railroad that he needed to complete the set. Remus had somehow managed to get the entirety of the 3rd line and while you had 3 houses on Park Lane, no one had fallen even close to either of them in the last two rounds. 

“Remus please,” Sirius pleaded. “Please, please, let me go, just this once, I’ll pay you as soon as someone falls on Kings Cross. James is super close, look.” 

Remus shook his head. “I’m sorry Pads, rules are rules.” 

“But you let Vix go a couple of rounds ago.” 

“She gave me her get-out-of-jail card in exchange, and I’ve fallen there twice already. What would you give me in exchange?” 

“Moony!” Sirius whined. James had already taken his pink cards a round earlier when he fell and also had no money to pay for it. He would have to mortgage his properties to pay off, and James had already done it once and he had been terribly upset over just getting half of the money he paid for it.

You sighed, you didn’t want Sirius to lose, but you didn’t want him to be kicked out of the game so suddenly either. “How much do you have?” 

“£100.” 

You nodded and checked your money. You weren’t much better either but you had a bit of a cushion so you pulled the £150 he needed from your bill stack and handed it over. 

James gasped, “That’s so not fair! You made me mortgage White Chapel Rode to pay off my debt!” 

“I want it back with a 20% over the total when you have capital. And I will not be charged if I fall on your properties until you’ve paid up the debt.” 

“Never mind,” James said, swallowing his own words. “Not even because he’s your boyfriend. I mean he would have been better off getting a mortgage.” 

“No,” Remus said, charging the money Sirius owed and placing it on his own stack of bills. He currently had the thickest stack and the most properties. Unless there was a massive turn of events, he would win, and you definitely did not need him keeping Sirius’ properties. “Sirius would have had to mortgage at least four properties to get enough money to pay, that would mean he’d have to sell one of his railroads and therefore he would have lost his set, decreasing the total amount of profit he’d get if one of us fell on it. He would have also had to sell the houses in Islington and sell one of his blue afterwards. And only for half the money he spent on them initially. Besides, even if she won’t get charged, we will, so he has a 2/3 chance of getting the money to pay her back. If any of us fall on Kings Cross –and we’re both close– he’ll have enough to pay Vix back and he wouldn’t have sold off any of his properties. 

“But only to pay back, and then he’ll be broke again.” 

“He’s close to ‘Go’, he’ll capitalise then, and he’ll manage to survive for at least a few more turns. She’s actually saving his ass.” 

“That’s because she’s the best,” Sirius said and placed a kiss on your cheek before handing the dice to Remus and he threw them, falling on Park Lane and finally giving you enough money to continue with the next round without major issues. 

Sirius and James survived for a couple more rounds, but eventually, they both went bankrupt, James couldn’t pay a debt to the bank and he had to give all his properties back, and since you and Remus had enough money, you had to fight it out to get them on an auction. Sirius lost to Remus later, but this time around he didn’t even ask for a waiver. 

“Here, take it all Moony, I cannot fight against your economic skills,” he said dramatically and handed his leftover money and properties to Remus. 

James had pulled a pillow from the bed and was soundly sleeping beside you and Sirius, who had pulled you onto his lap shortly after he lost the game and was paying close attention to everything you did within the game. Then you fell into the dеathtrap that Remus had designed on Fleet Street and Picadilly. Losing most of your money after two rolls of the dice. Luckily he fell on Mayfair and Parklane afterwards and you managed to get back most of what you’d lost. 

A few more rounds went on and Sirius yawned. Pulling you closer to him. “Just give up, neither of you it’s going to win this one. Moony allowed you to pay half the debt last time you fell on Coventry and you let it slip when he fell on Kings Cross because he promised to do your Herbology homework. At this point, you owe more favours to each other than money.”  

“But you can’t give up on this game.” 

“Then be ruthless to each other and have one of the two go bankrupt.” 

You pouted, and James mumbled something in his sleep, “Moony, no. Let me keep my deed card, please…” The three of you laughed and you leaned down to place a deed card on his hand. He was quick to grip it and smiled. 

“How about a truce?” Sirius offered. “I really want to go to bed.” 

“Well then go,” Remus said with a shrug.

“I meant all of us to go to bed,” he said nonchalantly. “We haven’t cuddled in a while.” 

Remus swallowed, so much for space. “You mean– we’re still doing the cuddle thing?” 

“Just in case,” you said, “Moony took Vixen in, but we don’t know if it was just a one-time thing or not.” 

Remus knew. Moony had accepted Vixen already, he wasn’t gonna try and eat or chase her unless it was a game. He could just tell you and be done with it. No more Sirius on top of him in the mornings, no more you laying your head on his shoulder before you turned into Vixen. Just him and his own bed. The idea sounded like a nightmare.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, agreeing. “We shouldn’t let our guard down. Just in case.” 

“So, shake hands, kiss kiss, and you both win,” Sirius said as he placed his hands on your shoulder and shook them a little. 

You laughed and extended your hand for Remus to shake, “Truce?” 

“Truce,” he replied with a nod. 

“Let’s go then,” Sirius said as he patted your leg and pushed you to stand. 

“I’ll go wash my teeth,” you said as you waved at the boys and exited their room. 

“How is she?” Sirius asked the instant he was alone with Moony. Well, technically Prongs was there too but he slept like a log, so he might as well be in Narnia altogether. 

“You’ve seen her.” 

“Yeah, I can tell she’s shaken. Heck, I am shaken and I barely knew the girl. You knew Nina better, didn’t you?” 

“Vixen said she was crushing on me after the first study club, remember?” 

“That was Nina?” Sirius asked, shocked as he took a deep breath. “Anyway, how is she?” 

“Quiet,” Remus admitted. “She prefers avoiding the subject entirely. She only told me what happened the day after it happened and then one time when I found her crying outside, she mentioned how she felt. I think it’s much better not to pressure her to talk about it.” 

 “I assumed as much,” Sirius said with a sigh. “But I’m worried, her smile it… it barely reaches her eyes now.” 

Remus had noticed that too. The façade you had created was not enough to hide how you truly felt from either of the two, “I know.” 

“How can we change that?” 

“We can’t. We can only support her until she feels better.” 

“It’s agonising,” Sirius breathed and hid his face in between his hands. And he hasn’t even seen her cry, Remus thought. “You know the way Nina diеd–” Sirius started and looked up, his eyes were glassy with tears. “Vix was trying so hard to defend her, so hard to escape and then she– it was a split second Moony, barely a minute, she was trying to repair the path to continue and they sent a course her way, Nina stepped in, she took the blow instead because she new Vix was already rather weak…. Nina saved her.” 

“I know,” Remus said. 

“You know what’s the last thing Nina told her?” Remus shook his head. “That she was pleased Vix was the last thing she got to see. She thanked her for saving her, even if she didn’t…” Sirius stopped and wiped his eyes. Witnessing the entire thing in first person had taken a toll on him too, Remus could tell. Sirius wasn’t only suffering for you, but with you as well. He felt tempted to bring Sirius into a hug, even more when he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. 

Sirius didn’t feel worthy of crying, albeit he had done it more than once when he was alone, he thought that he didn’t have the right. It had been your mother and your close friend, he had been merely a spectator. What Sirius didn’t understand was that pain wasn’t something to be measured and weighed, it was not something to compare and pin against each other, you can’t say “I don’t deserve to cry” just because someone else has it a lot worse. Your feelings, no matter where they stem from, are valid since they are true for you. 

“She stayed there, she was crying on top of Nina, that was the last thing I saw. I– I didn’t think she would move.” 

“She wasn’t going to,” Remus said. You had never said that explicitly, but it had been obvious from the way things happened. “She would have kept trying if it hadn’t been for Barty.” 

“Barty, of all people,” Sirius said in disbelief. There was a second of quiet and then Sirius turned to look at Remus. He was as beautiful as he remembered, he hadn’t quite realised how much closer he’d veered to him while they talked but they were now much closer, his knees brushing against each other and he was close enough to get a whiff off Remus’ chocolaty scent, he smelled of you too.

Then the knob twisted and the door opened, Remus pulled back hastily and Sirius turned into Padfoot before you noticed he’d been crying. “Everything all right?” you asked with a frown when you felt the tense atmosphere. 

You looked at Remus but Padfoot was quicker and ran your way, jumping and placing his paws on your shoulders, his size made you stagger back a little and you laughed when he started to lick your face. Remus stared for a second and then flicked his wand so the game would go back to the box and then took it in his hand to place it on the table, avoiding the sight of the two of you almost entirely. 

“I missed you too, big boy,” you said as you brushed your hand over the back of Padfoot’s head, he barked softly in return and then dug his snout into your neck in the same way he did to Remus when you cuddled. You were petting him as Remus finished setting the bed.

The second Remus sat on the bed, Padfoot barked again, softer than he had earlier.

“Go ahead,” you said. “He’s better at petting you than I am anyway.” 

Padfoot gave you another short lick and jumped from you and towards Remus, throwing himself over in the same way he had with you, although Remus hadn’t even staggered. You smiled when you saw them.

Sirius was just happy he could hug Rem more now that he was Padfoot and was bossing him around so he would lay on the bed properly by biting his shirt and trying to pull him back. “Oi, Pads, I’m coming,” he said as he carefully unclasped his watch to set it on the night table. Padfoot barked again to hurry him. 

“You know Rem,” you said with a sneaky little smile. He hummed in return. “I think Sirius missed us more.” Padfoot’s face changed and he turned to you instantly, barking in retort. “I mean he was calling us often, he had me on his lap whenever he could, and I’m sure he would have asked me to play with his hair if it hadn’t been that we were so busy with the prank.” 

Remus smirked. “Oh, he definitely missed you more.” Padfoot now turned his head to him and barked. 

“I suppose I win the bet then,” you said with a smile and Padfoot barked one more time before running your way, but you were quicker and turned into Vixen before he placed his paws on your shoulders, sneaking in between his legs as he fell again, slightly startled. 

You ran under the bed and crossed the entire thing before jumping over and climbing onto Remus’ lap who was still sitting. He laughed as you brushed your head to his stomach and Padfoot barked at you for being so sneaky. You must have been saying something to each other –since you kept barking– but Remus was clueless as to what that might have been, so he just carefully raised you up and accommodated, allowing enough space for Padfoot to climb into and get comfortable himself.

“Didn’t you say you were tired?” he said with eyebrows raised at Padfoot who had now rested his snout on Remus’ shoulder. “Stop arguing with Vixen and sleep then.” Padfoot lifted his head and barked in return. “If not, we might as well finish the game.” 

The dog whined and sank back into Remus’ shoulder. After that, it didn’t take much for Remus soft and purposeful petting, for both you and Pads to fall asleep. Sirius now much calmer, he had both you and Remus around.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Remus noooooo!!!!!

Read more Marauders Fiction

[yinorii]

episode 1

me, as a create a four year plan to draw a piece for every episode of orv: huh, why do i feel such a creeping sense of despair

ANYWAYS this plan is also subtitled: bring myself to reread ORV and read the 49% that I haven't read yet without feeling too much existential dread, yay

(if you have recs of pieces that rewrite or reinterpret certain parts of the novel or recommendations for certain chapters, please throw them at me! I've got 550 pieces to go wooo so there's lots to go)

[weemssapphic]

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 23

previous chapter | next chapter | series page

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

chapter summary: how awkward can things possibly get during dinner with reader's parents?

words: ~ 2.4k | ao3 link in title

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Sitting at the table next to you, across from your parents, wasn’t any less tense than standing outside the restaurant - the first few minutes were cloaked in an awkward silence, save for ordering drinks, as the four of you poured over your menus, pointedly avoiding each other’s gazes. Your hand found Larissa’s thigh beneath the table, making her jump and catching your mother’s attention, who fixed her with a critical glance and a raised eyebrow - Larissa flushed, quickly averting her gaze back to her menu.

“Y/N hasn’t stopped speaking about you since she met you, you know,” your mother said once the food had been ordered. 

“Oh,” Larissa replied, tensing slightly, her hand finding yours beneath the table and gripping it as tightly as she could.

“She never mentioned your age… I can see why…”

Your grip on Larissa’s hand tightened in return and it looked like you were about to argue when your mother spoke again. “How old are you, exactly, if you don’t mind my asking, of course?”

Her words were polite but her tone indicated that there was no room for discussion - Larissa felt like a scolded schoolgirl as she cleared her throat. “I am 49.”

Your mother looked vindicated, rather than surprised, and it was clear that Larissa’s answer was not only what she’d been expecting, but exactly the answer she needed to fuel her own presumptions and prejudices.

“Well, lord only knows what you could have in common with my daughter at your age…”

If looks could kill, Larissa would be long buried - but so would your mother, as Larissa arched her brow, blue eyes piercing your mother’s gaze. Your mother was clearly testing her, and Larissa wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

“Mom-” you started, Larissa’s eyes flickering briefly to your face to see your pleading gaze, silently begging your mother to behave and leave Larissa alone.

“Y/N is a truly intelligent, remarkable woman and I’m lucky to know her,” Larissa started, keeping her tone gentle and attempting a soft, placating smile. “I can understand why you would be apprehensive, but I can assure you-”

“Well then I’m sure you can understand why it’s difficult for us to trust your intentions with our daughter,” your mother interjected, not quite as good as keeping her cool as Larissa - though, if she was being honest with herself, Larissa was dangerously close to losing her own cool.

Larissa felt the smile drop from her face as frustration rose within her. She hadn’t had a cigarette since university but, in that moment, she found herself wishing she still smoked, just so that she would have an excuse to go outside and get some fresh air.

“With all due respect, I’m not sure I do understand your lack of trust, as you have yet to ask me what my intentions with Y/N are.”

Larissa could feel you squeeze her hand even harder, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but she was in too deep now to back down. Your mother did not look pleased with her response, and her eyes narrowed as she opened her mouth to argue when she was interrupted by the arrival of your food.

Mercy didn’t favor Larissa, however - the moment that the waitress was out of earshot, your mother continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted, ignoring the full plate in front of her.

“Enlighten us, then.”

“Mom, please, j-”

You didn’t have a chance to get a word in between the power struggle clearly occurring, Larissa sitting just a little straighter in her seat as she spoke. “I intend to continue seeing Y/N and getting to know her for as long as she’ll allow me to be in her life and to love her,” she said coolly, raising an eyebrow in challenge as your mother rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine.

“Everything I said about Larissa on the phone is still true,” you breathed out in a rush, speaking quickly for fear of getting interrupted again. “Her age doesn’t affect any of that. She’s still the kindest, most intelligent person I’ve ever met, she still treats me better than anyone ever has, I still love her. Why does this change anything?”

“Because, sweetheart,” your mother started, clearly trying to keep her voice soft despite her annoyance at Larissa. “She could have gone to school with me, she’s old enough to be your mother and-”

“She’s not, though!”

“Can we just eat before the food goes cold?”

All heads at the table whipped around to your father as he broke his silence, his arms crossed over his chest in irritation. It managed to snap your mother out of whatever train of thought she was about to voice and, for a few minutes, the heated conversation settled down, replaced with another long, tense silence. You eased your hand reluctantly from beneath Larissa’s own to pick up your fork, and Larissa followed suit, keeping her gaze on her plate to avoid having to look at your mother.

“So,” you spoke up between bites as you reached for your glass. “How long is your drive tomorrow anyway?”

It took a little longer than it should have for your parents to respond - it was clear your mother was usually the one who dominated the conversation, but it quickly became clear to your father that she wasn’t in the mood to answer.

“Just about two hours,” he said gruffly, with a sideways glance at his wife.

“I don’t think Y/N mentioned where you’re off to…?” 

Your father raised an eyebrow as Larissa spoke, clearly surprised that she was willing to engage in conversation after the last attempt had gone so disastrously. After a moment, he relaxed a bit. “Montreal, one of my college buddies lives there with his family.”

Larissa smiled. “Montreal is a beautiful city, have you visited before?”

“It’s our first time, actually, he moved last year.”

“I’m sure you’re going to get the whole sightseeing program but if you’d like some recommendations for restaurants, I’d be happy to pass some on, I’ve spent a fair share of time in the city for conferences.”

Even your mother perked up at that, and the next twenty or so minutes were spent with you on your phone, Larissa and your father leaned over as you looked for the names and addresses of different places for you to send to your parents.

By the time dessert rolled around, the tension had mostly dissipated - for your father, anyway. Your mother was still uncharacteristically distant, though she had started to ask Larissa questions about what she did for work.

Larissa tensed a bit, glancing at you with a massive question mark in her gaze - the subject of outcasts had, naturally, not yet come up, and she was unsure if mentioning Nevermore would make everything that much worse. You smiled and gave her a subtle nod, and Larissa turned her gaze back to your mother, her hand finding your thigh beneath the table. 

To her credit, your mother handled the fact that Larissa ran a school for outcasts better than she had any other piece of information that evening, though Larissa conveniently left out her own ability and chose to highlight the work she was doing within the community and for her students. Your mother didn’t ask, either, and Larissa was grateful for it. 

When it was time to leave, Larissa stood first, shrugging on her coat and then helping you with yours, her hands moving to your shoulders to adjust the collar - you pushed yourself onto your toes and cupped her cheek, pressing your lips to Larissa’s right in front of your parents. She froze for a moment, and you pulled back just enough to meet her gaze for a moment, a soft smile on your face as you took in the blush quickly spreading across Larissa’s cheeks and whispered a barely audible ‘thank you’. 

Larissa busied her hands with smoothing out the collar of your coat, pointedly avoiding both your gaze and the eyes of your parents, who were watching the two of you like hawks. She finally dropped her hands to her sides and stepped aside, gesturing vaguely towards the door of the restaurant with a murmured ‘after you’ to your parents, who led the way outside.

Your mother was the first to crack, taking a step towards Larissa and wrapping her arms around her in the most tentative, awkward hug she’d ever received. She returned it just as hesitantly and broke it quickly, too overwhelmed to be able to school her features into something less bewildered.

“It was nice to meet you, Larissa,” your mother said, and Larissa couldn’t stop herself from uttering a murmured ‘was it?’ - your mother sighed. “I have to admit that you do seem like the perfect match for Y/N - and she seems to think so, as well, which is all a mother can really hope for her daughter, anyway… Perhaps we can meet on friendlier terms next time.”

It wasn’t quite an apology, not at all, but it made Larissa smile all the same, and she agreed as your father hugged you first, then Larissa, and your mother said her goodbyes to you - promising to send photos from the trip and then heading back to the car.

“She’ll come around,” your father said with a smile and a playful roll of his eyes in your direction. “Love you, kid. It was nice to meet you, Larissa.”

“Likewise.”

Once you and Larissa were back in her car, she slumped back in her seat, letting out an audible sigh as she turned on the engine and rolled her window down, desperate for some fresh air. She could feel the tension slowly melt away the longer she sat there taking in gulps of night air, until she finally turned towards you to see you biting your lip apologetically. 

“I think I might need to apologize for how that went,” you conceded softly, your voice remorseful.

Larissa chuckled. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, darling… though you could have warned your mother, I think she would have appreciated that.” In a much better mood now that she was alone with you again, her lips curled into a wry smile, her gaze soft as you started to blush.

“Yeah… hindsight and all that…” you mumbled with a nervous giggle, and Larissa giggled, too, reaching out to cup your jaw and draw you in for a soft, languid kiss, humming into your mouth as you parted your lips for her.

“I can think of a way you can make it up to me…” Larissa purred, and you smiled into the kiss.

“Actually… so can I,” you whispered shyly, drawing back and looking up at her. “I finished the painting, I’ve been meaning to tell you.” 

Larissa’s heart began to pound in her chest, and her eyes grew wide as she looked at you, smiling when she saw the nervousness in your gaze.

“If you want to come inside when you drive me home, I can give it to you?”

“I would love that,” Larissa whispered in response, suddenly feeling rather shy at the prospect of seeing what you’d painted - she was certain it would be good, but the fact that she herself was the subject made her a little nervous.

She drove you home and you led her into your bedroom, flicking on the lights and closing the door behind you. Taking Larissa’s hands, you guided her to the foot of your bed, urging her to sit and giving her a chaste peck to the corner of her lips. She could feel her own nervous anticipation rising by the second and she watched curiously as you let go of her hands before heading over to your desk - it was then that Larissa saw the back of a large canvas, leaned against the wall beneath the desk, something that had escaped her notice earlier.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed as you paused in your movements - Larissa did as told, and your subsequent, teasing “good girl” had her cheeks burning, something between a scoff and a whimper escaping her lips.

Larissa tried her best not to fidget as she waited patiently for further instructions, hearing the chair in front of the desk scrape against the floor as you no doubt reached behind it. Her heart was hammering so loudly in her chest that she almost missed what you said next.

“Open.”

Larissa’s heart leapt into her throat as her gaze found the canvas you were holding up. The painting was beautiful, that much was certain. You’d somehow managed to capture the rays of early afternoon sunlight in her bedroom perfectly, each crease in the sheets that covered Larissa’s body carefully and meticulously drawn to bring a lifelike quality to the painting. 

But, more than that, seeing herself the way you saw her - it made Larissa feel so loved that it brought tears to her eyes. She recalled the vulnerability of posing for you, the conversation you’d had that day and the uncomfortable emotions it had brought along with it, everything that had transpired since - that day felt a lifetime away and so much had happened since then. She tore her eyes away from the painting to meet your own, a touch of uncertainty in your gaze as you waited for Larissa’s reaction.

“Do you like it?” you asked finally, biting your lip.

Larissa stood and stepped towards you, carefully taking the canvas from you and placing it against the foot of your bed, wrapping her arms around your waist and bending over to kiss you, a string of soft, mumbled ‘thank you’s spilling from her lips like a prayer between each little kiss.

“Is that a yes?” you mumbled into the kiss, your lips spreading into a smile that made it hard to kiss Larissa back as your teeth clashed with hers.

Larissa chuckled and drew back slightly, her cheeks flushed as her tears threatened to overflow. “I’ve never felt more beautiful in my life,” she admitted, her voice hoarse with emotion - she could hear it herself, and it only made her blush grow.

“Well you are,” you whispered, a little breathlessly. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known… You deserve to feel that.”

Larissa reached up to cup your cheeks, tugging you in for a heated kiss as her fingers curled behind your ears, then slowly threaded themselves into your hair, holding you in place as her lips moved against your own, pouring every bit of love in her body into the kiss. “You’re incredible, darling… thank you.”

x

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[cinnamongorll]

Wildflower - masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC Synopsis: Joel Miller is an infuriating constant in Alex’s life. As her dad’s best friend and smuggling partner, she can’t seem to avoid him no matter how hard she tries.  When a weapons trade off goes wrong and Alex becomes the next target in a dangerous revenge vendetta, Joel is forced to uphold the promise he made to his friend to protect his daughter from the dangers of the post-apocalyptic world. But when Alex and Joel reluctantly grow closer, and she starts to peel back the layers of animosity between them, Alex realises that nothing is what it seems and that trusting Joel might be more dangerous than anything outside the QZ walls. Series tags: dbf!Joel, age gap (Joel is late 49, FMC is 26), older man/younger woman, slow burn, enemies to lovers, mean Joel, protective Joel, dark Joel, sexual tension, smut, mutual pining, feral Joel, first person, angst, more tags to be added, ultraviolence Joel.

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"I can fix him... woah maybe I can't" - taylor swift 🤍

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read chapter one here and on ao3

read chapter two here and on ao3

read chapter three here and on ao3

read chapter four here and on ao3

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[flowerandblood]

Brother, Lover, Son (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[description: Aemond is sent to Storm's End by his father to be trained in the nature of battle and warfare under Borros Baratheon eye, in preparation for his future role as commander of his brother's army. He is to choose one of his daughters as his future wife, but Borros only allows him to choose between four of them when his true desire is awakened by his fifth and youngest child.]

[warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, masturbation, kissing, smut, angst, sexual tension, domination, violence, kind of incest but not actually]

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond's words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm's End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This chapter stands apart from the main story and is a big, long "what if". This is very long oneshot (over 15.000 words).

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

Brother, Lover, Son Inside Alphabet

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm's End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

______

He was unable to understand his father's decision. The night after their conversation, after the King had conveyed his will to him he had cried with rage, lying with his face pressed against his pillow, his barely healed scar from Luke's cut burning and itching more than usual.

"I've decided that you will spend a few years in Storm's End, preparing for your role as commander under the tutelage of Lord Borros. After what has happened you need a change of environment, son. It'll do you good."

He wept quietly, remembering those words for the hundredth time. He thought with grief that what he needed was not a change of environment, but a father who would come in time, save him from his nephew's cut, support him later in front of everyone, hug him and comfort him.

Meanwhile, despite the fact that he had managed to tame the largest dragon that now walked the earth, his father was getting rid of him.

He thought that the lack of an eye made him now forever defiant in his eyes and he wanted to hide him somewhere far away from the world, condemning him to oblivion.

His mother begged his father to change his mind, but he said that his son was already eleven years old and would soon be a grown man, and she could visit him whenever she wanted.

Whether he wanted it or not, a week later he was standing in the courtyard wrapped in his crying mother's arms – Aegon yawned, uninteresed, looking around, Helaena was staring at her hands, thoughtful, and small Daeron sobbed loudly, not understanding why he had to leave.

He only grunted, looking at them, not knowing what to say – he simply nodded, turned and walked away, not wanting to cry in front of everyone like a little child.

When he reached Storm's End on Vhagar a heavy rain was pouring down all around him, through which he could see very little. He struggled to land near the fortress, and travelled a long distance on foot before encountering guards who came out to meet him and led him straight into the great stone stronghold.

Frozen and with a pounding heart he stepped inside – the keep seemed huge and cold to him, his wet footsteps echoing loudly and disturbingly all around him.

He was led into a large circular hall and saw a tall, massive, bearded man before him. He was strongly built, his shoulder-length hair was as dark as his beard, his thick eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, which he recognised that he was the reason for.

"What is the meaning of this? Why haven't you given him dry clothes yet?" He almost roared at his guards, who only nodded, moving immediately back towards the corridor.

"Royce!" The man called out in a voice so tubular that it echoed loudly throughout the hall, making him swallow heavily. He tried to keep an indifferent face, but he could feel his legs trembling.

Suddenly, a boy, taller than him and reminding him a bit of Jace, ran into the hall through a side entrance. He had short, curly hair and big brown eyes.

"Lead Prince Aemond to his chamber. Let him rest, and then both of you come to the feast." He said in a firm, unobjectionable voice from which his heart trembled.

His father-king had never spoken like this and he did not know how to act.

Royce, however, did not seem at all bothered by his father's harsh tone. He approached him with a light step and bowed, looking at him curiously.

"Follow me, my Prince." He said, and he simply moved behind him, snorting quietly with his nose.

They moved up the grand, richly carved stone staircase. He was walking so fast that it was hard to keep up with him – they turned into one of the main corridors, then Royce opened a wooden door and invited him inside.

He stepped into his chamber and realised to his surprise that this room was even bigger than the one he had lived in the Red Keep – there was already a fire in the fireplace, the warmth of the flames making him tremble a little less. Royce looked at him and opened the dresser, pulling out a linen shirt and breeches, glancing at him.

"Get changed. Unfortunately such fine weather here is normal. You'll have to get used to it. The supper will begin in an hour, father doesn't like anyone to be late. Make yourself comfortable." He said and patted him on the shoulder, stepping around him and walking out, leaving him with an embarrassed expression on his face.

No lord had ever touched him so brazenly or spoken to him so directly, but yet he felt some kind of relief after he had done so.

He thought that perhaps such gestures were made between friends, brothers, and swallowed quietly.

This was not his family.

He had been sent here as if to some great stone prison.

After a few minutes or so, the servants brought trunks with his belongings, which had been brought in several carriages, and he changed into an attire he thought appropriate for supper. A plump, smiling woman then walked into his chamber and informed him that she would be his servant and that he could ask her for anything he needed.

He felt strange.

He knew they were kind to him because he was a prince, because his father and Lord Baratheon had decided that he would one day marry one of his daughters.

They could not offend or discourage him.

He pressed his lips together at the thought and decided that he would not fall for this cheap pity.

He wondered for a moment how he was supposedly going to get to the chamber where the supper would take place, but a few minutes before the appointed time Royce knocked on his door asking if he was ready.

They went there together.

They entered a great hall from the ceiling of which hung a huge candlestick, behind a long table stretched a fireplace from which a fire gushed, on an oak table spread a whole lot of dishes he had not seen before.

He noticed, surprised, that Lord Borros had already eaten, ignoring the fact that not everyone was yet at the table, nor that he, the Prince, had yet to sit down. He swallowed quietly, sitting down in the seat Royce had indicated to him, the curious glances of his sisters made him lower his head, embarrassed.

They were looking at his eyepatch, at his scar.

He wanted to hide, to disappear.

Suddenly he heard a squeal from under the table that Royce had just ducked under. He pulled out a little girl laughing so loudly he felt uncomfortable – he tried to pull away from her brother, but he held her tight and pinched her flushed cheek.

"This is where you hid, little rascal. I'm sorry, this is no longer your place, from now on Prince Aemond sits here." He explained to her, and she stopped squirming, looking at him with furrowed brows and tightened lips.

He glanced at her, thinking she was about to start crying as loudly as she laughed, but she glanced back at Royce.

"Fine. He can sit there, but you can't." She burbled, jabbing her brother in his arm with her finger, stepping under the table again and appearing on the other side, taking the empty seat next to her other sister, the only fair-haired girl, who sighed heavily as she looked at her.

"Sit down. Don't act like an animal." She said, correcting her on the seat, her younger sister looked at her resentfully but said nothing.

"What do you want to eat?" She asked her as if she were her mother, and the girl pointed her finger at the roast. Lord Borros' low, firm voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Eat. Don't be shy. This is your home now." He said, glancing at him with his piercing brown eyes, putting some more meat from the platter beside him and handed it to him.

He swallowed hard, nodded and took a bit for his plate.

Throughout the supper he had been frustrated by the attentiveness of Lord Borros' daughters, except perhaps the youngest, who was too savage to concentrate on anything.

He had hardly slept through the night, curling up in his bed, trying not to cry from sadness and longing – he wanted to return to King's Landing, to a place where the sun greeted him every day, not rain and clouds, where was his library to hide in, his garden, his mother and his heritage.

He felt lost, lonely, forsaken.

His maid brought him his meal in the morning, warm milk with a platter of rolls and vegetables he liked.

He wondered how she knew this and whether Lord Borros had asked his mother about it before.

Then Royce came into his chamber and said that in an hour he would be training with his father in the courtyard and he could join them if he wished.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He was afraid of humiliation.

However, he recognised that Lord Borros could not see him as a weak coward, so he went downstairs, having previously dressed in the garments designed for sparrings, stepping into the courtyard from the side, through the cloisters, and stopped, looking at the view in front of him in disbelief.

Indeed Lord Borros and Royce were practising, both of them with wooden swords in their hands, all sorts of targets and shields around them, on tables surrounding them weapons he had not even seen in King's Landing.

What he did not understand, however, was what his youngest daughter was doing there with them.

"Stand firmer on your feet. Improve your posture." Borros shouted loudly at her as she pushed against Royce with vigour, her wooden sword even smaller than his, her dark hair tied up in a braid, determination and focus in her big, bright eyes.

Royce deflected her attack and with a single, powerful blow knocked her wooden sword out of her hand far away. She immediately ran after it, picking it up off the ground.

"Are you holding that sword or not?" Asked frustrated Royce, throwing his sword over his shoulder. "You need to have a stronger grip, focus."

"I'm trying!" She called out, running back to him and stopped, spotting him standing in front of the fortress entrance.

"Prince Aemond is here!" She exclaimed joyfully, and he blushed and lowered his head, embarrassed, feeling as if he had been caught in the act, even though he had done nothing wrong.

Borros and Royce immediately turned their gazes towards him, Lord Baratheon running the hilt of his sword over the sand.

"Come here." He said in a commanding voice, without any further pleasantries.

He pressed his lips together at the thought that Criston had always addressed him with respect, not forgetting his titles.

He swallowed loudly, walking towards them with his head lowered, pale, prepared for humiliation. Royce threw a wooden sword in his direction, which he caught in flight.

"Ready?" The boy asked him, and he nodded. Royce thrust at him suddenly, his blow swishing through the air, but he jumped back, spinning, trying to hit him from the side.

Royce blocked his blow and pushed him away, but he swished his sword once more, hitting him with all his strength on the shoulder. Royce hissed and recoiled, furrowing his brow, and he froze and stopped, swallowing loudly, looking at Lord Baratheon in horror. His daughter who stood beside him clapped her hands, a wide smile on her face. Borros nodded.

"Good. Royce, what did you do wrong?" His father asked, and Royce sighed heavily.

"I didn't dodge on my knees." He said resignedly. His father hummed under his breath.

"Exactly. How many times do I have to tell you. Footwork is key! Again." He ordered, Royce sighed, the expression of displeasure gone from his face.

They had had several duels with each other, already more evenly matched, Lord Baratheon after each one giving them remarks or showing them what they were doing wrong. He swallowed loudly as he turned to him.

"You have very good technique, but you are too tense in your shoulders. Relax them and your swing will be wider, you will be able to reach your enemy from a greater distance. Do you understand?" He asked and he nodded, unable to get the words out, his heart was beating like crazy.

His advice worked – he could feel in his hand that his sword was reaching farther, he hit Royce in the chest and he caught himself and hissed. Lord Borros came up and patted him firmly on the shoulder.

"Good. Just like that. Royce, legs." Borros said to him, and he felt his cheeks turn red, his belly filled with some kind of pride he didn't want to feel.

When they had finished and Borros said they could go and rest, he thought Royce would lurk somewhere in the middle of the fortress and beat him up for the warm words from his father.

Aegon always took it out on him later when he won some sparring organised by Criston Cole, saying that he had humiliated him in front of everyone.

Royce, however, seemed to have forgotten all about the training, hot and sweaty, saying he was thirsty and hungry. He told him they could go to the pantry together, and he nodded, although he'd never been in such a place before.

They went down into the underground – there were many servants walking around them, but they didn't seem to pay any attention to them, as if Royce's presence was normal for everyone. Royce went into one of the rooms and took two apples for them, on the way one of the servants asked him if they preferred to eat something warm.

"No." Said Royce, throwing him the other apple, turning back. They ate as they walked down the long, stone-cold corridors.

He wondered if he could ask him about it, but he couldn't hold his curiosity any longer.

"Do you have a library here?" He asked feigning indifference, biting into the sweet flesh of the fruit.

Only now did he feel the stress leave him, his stomach growling with hunger.

Royce looked at him puzzled.

"Yes, but it's rarely used. I can show you where it is if you want."

As promised, Royce took him to a gigantic room made up of huge stone bookcases filled to the brim with dusty tomes. Indeed, the place looked as if no one had looked there for a long time.

He knew that Lord Borros could not read, however, he wondered if his children couldn't do it either. He glanced at Royce and wondered if it was appropriate for him to ask such things.

So far Royce had been nice to him and was the only boy his age he could speak with about anything.

He figured he'd phrase the question so as not to give himself away.

"Don't you like books?" He asked casually, eating further, strolling across the room with him. Royce shrugged his shoulders.

"I like books about the war, but they have a lot of difficult words that I don't understand. My mother explained to me that they were difficult books for adults and that I could try to go back to them when I was older." He said calmly, and he swallowed loudly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Their mother was dead, but he wouldn't dare ask what had happened to her.

He hummed under his breath at his words and nodded.

"Sometimes I take books from here to read to my sister before bed. The youngest one you saw in the courtyard today." He said, taking one of the books from the shelf, looking through it without much concentration. He looked at him thoughtfully.

"Why is your little sister practising with you?" He asked, completely not understanding what she was doing there, having never seen any girl their age in King's Landing take an interest in such things before.

"And why not?" Royce replied with a question to question, shrugging his shoulders. He was surprised by this answer and did not know what to reply.

"She cried terribly when I didn't want to take her with me. She insisted on sword fighting and that's it. Didn't one of Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wives fight with a sword?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pressed his lips together, refraining from saying that the Targaryens were not like other people and not to compare them, but he decided it was rude and left the subject.

From then on, he found his asylum in the forgotten library of Storm's End, where he spent his afternoons after training with Royce and writing off his mother's letters.

Although he still felt lonely, Royce was good company, not imposing on him, having his barriers, respecting his space – he wasn't spiteful and didn't look down on girls the way Aegon did, didn't beat him surreptitiously when his father wasn't watching, didn't play silly jokes or mischief on him.

He was a good friend.

He liked to climb up to the small half-floor of the library from which he had a view of the whole place, settling in there with a few books and something to eat, spending long hours there.

One day, however, he heard, startled, as the door to the room opened, and Borros's youngest daughter ran inside like a storm, approaching one of the bookcases. She struggled to pull some book off a shelf she couldn't reach, and he watched her efforts without a word.

He wondered if he should help her, and then decided he didn't need to do anything for her.

The girl finally took the chair and stood on it, this time grabbing what she wanted. He blinked as she got off the chair and sat down on it, looking through some sort of large, colourful book, he could see from a distance how many illustrations it had.

He thought curiously that he would take it as soon as she had gone, however, she sat down comfortably and browsed further, wiggling her legs that did not reach the ground.

He sighed quietly and flipped the page of his book, discouraged, and she then lifted her head high and spotted him. He squeezed his eye shut when he heard her get up suddenly and run upstairs to him.

He thought he could bid farewell to silence and peace.

"What are you reading about?!" She asked, sitting down next to him at the table above which her head barely protruded.

She opened a large but rather thin book in front of him, with an ornate red cover on which a dragon-like shape flashed before his eye.

He didn't answer her question, pushing the book closer to himself, beginning to look through it quickly.

"I'm reading this!" She squealed in pain, wanting to take it from him, but he pushed her hand away.

"Be quiet." He growled, flicking through page after page, feeling his heart begin to pound.

Tales of the ancient Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.

Beautifully illustrated scenes of nuptials, dragons, battles, his ancestors on gilded, coloured illuminations.

In the Red Keep he had never seen such a book before.

He flipped its pages back to the beginning, wanting to start reading, but felt her hand tighten on his arm, her breathing uneven, as if she were about to cry.

"…I read it…." She mumbled, looking at him with big eyes full of tears, her face expressing as if she had never suffered so much in her life as she did in that moment.

"I'm reading it now. When I'm done I'll give it back to you." He said dryly, looking away.

He thought she was going to run off crying to complain to Royce or her father, pressing his lips together at the thought, but she drew in a loud breath, trying to hold back the loud sobs that were pushing at her throat.

"− and can I − uh - can I sit next to − and you'd read to me, and I − I − I'd like to −" She spoke incoherently and with difficulty, and he clenched his eye knowing that she wouldn't leave him alone. He sighed heavily, pushed her chair closer to him and moved the book to the side.

"Do you see anything?" He asked impatiently, looking at her, and she sat up on her knees to raise herself higher, looking at the open book curiously, her face completely changed its expression back to contented and gentle, although she was still red from tears.

"Yes."

He sighed heavily and began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a mysterious land called Valyria. It was known for its great sorcery and magic, and the most enchanted creatures of all had to be the almighty dragons, great flying reptiles breathing fire that resembled lizards in appearance. They had been invincible for thousands of years, sowing fear and confusion among humans who tried to tame them with prayers and gifts." He read in a calm voice and realised after a moment that she was listening to him as if enchanted, looking along with him at the text.

She glanced at him when he stopped reading, her gaze expressing joyful anticipation.

She really thought he was going to read the whole book to her now.

He didn't know how he felt about that thought.

It frustrated him that he had to exert himself for her just on her whim.

"Read on." She said softly, squirming on her lap in anticipation. "I really want to learn more about dragons."

He swallowed quietly at her words, lowering his head, looking blankly at the text in front of him.

Even though her sisters were trying with all their might to make contact and conversation with him, he could see them trying to avoid looking at his eyepatch, afraid they would say the wrong thing or offend him.

He was tired of it.

They pretended all the time.

But she wanted nothing more than for him to continue reading a story that interested her.

So he read on.

✦ - ✦ - ✦ A few years later ✦ - ✦ - ✦

When his mother sent him a letter that Helaena had finally given birth, he flew to King's Landing for a few days to see his nephews. He was pleased, although he did not particularly show it, that his sister had endured the hardships of labour well, being able to get out of bed almost immediately despite giving birth to two children rather than one.

He stood over the two beautiful, ornate wooden cradles in which the two white-haired infants lay and pressed his lips together, knowing that these innocent creatures had just pushed him in line to the throne.

He had inherited nothing.

All he had was Vhagar.

He knew everyone thought so − as he walked the corridors of the Red Keep he felt the stares of the lords and ladies of the court, he knew they were whispering about him. He appeared in King's Landing infrequently and always aroused a general curiosity that made him want to return to Storm's End at once.

There he didn't feel like an intruder, he thought with pain.

Despite his mother's pleas for him to stay for a few weeks, he decided that he would return to Storm's End as planned, remembering his promise to Lord Baratheon to return to the fortress before his Name Day.

The last supper he spent in the Red Keep was quiet and peaceful, the only people at the table who had the strength to speak were his grandfather and his mother.

Although the evening went on as usual, he could not get rid of the feeling that everyone around him was grey and dead, without energy or joy.

He recoiled from it.

Although he had always sought silence and solitude in Storm's End, suppers there were full of loud conversations and laughter, usually through the banter between Borros, his son and his youngest child, sometimes joined by Ellyn.

Cassandra usually pressed her lips together, looking at him with shame, perpetually worried that he was unhappy or embarrassed, trying to mother everyone, much to his frustration.

Ellyn was sweet and kind, but everything frightened her − she was close to tears when he and Royce had fierce duels during which she almost begged them not to hurt each other.

Maris was withdrawn and immersed in her thoughts, paying no attention to him after he had growled at her several times not to enter his chamber in his absence.

Neither of them frustrated him as much as Floris did.

As he walked down the corridor she tried to catch him under his arm, turning his journey from point to point into a romantic stroll. She constantly asked his opinion when it came to choosing a gown for the feast, to which he didn't feel like answering, uninterested.

Her approach tired him.

However, on the whole, he felt surprised and sad when he caught himself thinking that he was returning to Storm's End with relief.

He felt like a stranger, like an intruder in his own home and felt rage mixed with disappointment.

He returned on Vhagar to Storm's End late at night, flying in the middle of a terrible storm, entering the fortress all soaked.

He rolled his eye when he saw that Floris was waiting for him, dressed only in a slightly transparent night robe, holding some cloth in her hands.

"You're soaking wet, my Prince, let me help you." She said, looking at him with big eyes.

"No need. Don't follow me." He said dryly, heading to his chamber and locking himself in to make sure she would definitely not come after him.

He changed into dry clothes and collapsed on his bed, falling asleep almost immediately, hearing the loud thunder outside his window.

He woke up as always before dawn, looking tiredly at the grey, overcast sky – he murmured under his breath seeing that it wasn't raining and rose, putting on his breeches, dressing his boots lazily.

He liked to practice in the morning, in solitude, before everyone else was up – dueling with Royce was interesting and over the years they had formed a wordless, close bond, however he liked to train alone sometimes, wanting to surprise him later with an unexpected blow.

He stepped out into the courtyard and was immediately struck by the crisp, pleasant, refreshing air. He picked up one of the long swords and turned it around a few times in his hand, wanting to check that it lay well in his hand.

He shuddered and almost fell over when he felt someone suddenly jump onto his back.

"– brother! –" He heard a happy girlish squeal, someone's arms were embracing his neck from behind, her legs clenched around his waist.

"− fuck! − gods −" He hissed, feeling his heart pounding like a mad, looking back over his shoulder, although he knew perfectly well who he was going to see.

He felt her warm breath on his cheek, her pleasant floral scent filled his nose, her cheeks warm and flushed from the cold, her bright eyes shining with genuine joy at the sight of him.

She giggled seeing the look on his face.

"Where is your vigilance?" She asked amused and he snorted.

"Get off." He growled in frustration and pushed her away so that she had to slide back off the ground.

He looked at her frustrated, his lips pressed together into a thin line in shame.

"Can you finally stop doing that?" He said coolly, looking down at her, but she only smiled wider, putting her hands at her sides, not making anything of his words.

Only now did he realise that she too was wearing her training attire, tight black breeches, a buff white shirt, and over that an embroidered corset pleasantly hugging her waist, her long dark hair tied in a braid.

He swallowed loudly as he looked at her, wondering helplessly why he always lost his confidence in her presence.

She was driving him off balance.

"Forgive me. I couldn't help myself when I saw you." She said meekly, walking up to him with a light step, standing in front of him, her face gentle and happy.

She was glad to see him.

She was glad he was back.

He felt embarrassed at her words and looked away, pressing his lips together. She saw how tense he was and obviously felt remorse, because she lowered her gaze.

"I thought you'd come back last evening." She said softly, looking up at him again, her eyes big, sincere, warm.

She was always direct, always spoke straight from her heart, but there was no pressure or expectation of reciprocation, of an answer.

Her sincerity straddled him and he usually didn't know what to make of it, embarrassed and confused by her words.

"Something kept me in King's Landing." He replied briefly and dryly, looking at the hilt of his sword, turning it steadily in his hand, pressing its tip to the ground.

"I hope the Princess' delivery was quick and easy and that her children are healthy." She said softly, with genuine interest and concern.

"Mmm." That was the only thing that came out of his mouth. He felt an uncomfortable silence ensue between them, as it always did, but she seemed to make nothing of it.

"Will it bother you if I practise archery next to you?" She finally asked politely, looking at him expectantly, shifting from foot to foot.

"Do what you want." He said dryly, rolling the hilt of his sword in his hand and turned his back to her, striking one of the targets with its blade.

She answered him nothing to this, standing in silence for a moment, and then he heard her move as she approached one of the tables, taking from it the bow she always chose, given to her by her father. She positioned herself sideways to him, aiming at the shield from a long distance and hit the target immediately.

They practised like this in silence until Royce finally joined them.

She and Royce formed a very strong bond between them, which manifested itself in their constant conversations and closeness. He watched from the side as Royce embraced her, picked her up, leaned against her while standing next to her and felt embarrassed, never having been this close to Helaena himself, and even if he had been, he would not have had the courage to show it to her in this way.

She knew she couldn't afford the same type of closeness to him and didn't even try. She circled around him with an amused, joyful expression though, her eyes shining brightly at the sight of him, making him feel a squeeze in his throat.

He could not stop the rapid beating of his heart and the heat that spread through his body as her hand lightly touched his arm when she asked him something or wanted to comfort him.

She loved to surprise him, appearing in front of him out of nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack, and walking away laughing out loud at his expression, leaving him overwhelmed with embarrassment.

She repeated that his face was always stony and indifferent and that she was only checking how much she could get out of him.

The exchanges between them were usually unpredictable and chaotic – she never said what he expected of her and it made him perpetually tense in her presence.

He didn't even know when she stopped being a child, changing just like him, the height difference between them even greater than before.

It seemed to him as if she were a small wildflower that bloomed day by day, her shapes becoming more and more girlish, embarrassingly pleasing to his eye. Unlike her sisters, she didn't try to look older than she was – she allowed herself to mature slowly, without unnecessary haste, without killing her innocence, joy and lightness.

Pretty soon he began to see with horror that looking at her from the side was working on his mind, drawing reactions from his body that he was ashamed of.

He never lay with any woman, being like his mother a faithful follower of the Seven, believing that as a man he should be able to control himself and his desires completely.

He tried to avoid her, but at the same time he couldn't stop the squeeze of excitement in his stomach when she came to him in the library or during their joint training sessions – he never knew what she would do, what she would say, so he pretended to be indifferent, trying not to think about how hard his heart was pounding.

Nevertheless, he did not know what drove him to follow her one evening when, returning from the library, he saw that she was running down to underground crypts in nothing but her nightgown and robe tied loosely around her waist with a candle in her hand.

He thought he'd go and scare her like she had done to him, to make her feel what it was like.

That he'll teach her a lesson.

He followed her quietly, watching his every step, feeling like a predator trying to stalk its prey – he saw the faint light of her candle right in front of him, saw her silhouette standing in front of one of the crypts, her head bowed in thought.

He didn't know what possessed him to grab her by her neck with his hand, embracing her waist with his arm and pull her to him so violently that her body slammed into his, a sudden, high-pitched squeal escaped her mouth.

"Fucking unpleasant, isn't it?" He hissed into her ear, feeling her whole body tremble, her breathing accelerated and terrified – his hand tightened on her neck, the closeness of her body made his manhood pulse hard in his breeches against her buttocks.

"I wanted to see if you are able to make other than a happy, laughing face." He whispered mischievously into her ear and felt a shiver run through her body, her hand clamped on his arm.

She turned her head towards him, her eyes big, terrified, red, full of something he couldn't describe, her lips parted wide.

They were both breathing unevenly – they had never stood so close to each other before, a silence fell between them that terrified him.

A silence full of tension.

Say something, he thought, say I'm a nasty bastard, hit me, push me away.

He swallowed loudly when he felt her put her hand on his, her skin soft and warm.

"Today it is ten years since my mother passed away." She whispered in a trembling, soft voice, looking down, and he felt his heart stop.

He lifted his gaze to the sarcophagus with the large stone statue standing on top of it and recognised in it the face of a woman holding a book in her hands.

He felt an instant of shame, of guilt, of embarrassment wash over him.

He let go of her, pulling away from her, feeling his heart pounding like mad, terrified that he had gotten completely hard from their momentary closeness.

What was he doing?

He swallowed loudly, feeling like running away, sinking into the ground, disappearing, but he was unable to move.

"I come here often to pray to her to watch over us. Over our whole family. Over you too." She said in the end, and he swallowed silently, staring at the stone floor, unable to look at her, overpowered by shame.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'll never do it again." She whispered and turned away, moving towards the stairs, leaving him with the burning candle.

Since then, she has never startled him again.

Lord Borros celebrated his Name Day sumptuously, inviting first his subordinate lords and vassals to a great feast in Storm's End, and then setting out with his entire retinue for several days hunting in the forest.

He and Royce walked into the great hall together through a side entrance closest their table, set perpendicular to the tables where the other lords and guests were seated.

"I'm sure old Lord Errol and Lord Seaworth will get into a fight again. The wine is bad for their minds and they get mad. I don't understand why Father always seats them so close together." Royce said amused, sitting down in his seat.

His face involuntarily stretched into a smirk at the memory of how Borros had to separate them when Lord Errol started slamming Lord Seaworth's head against the oak table, demanding an apology.

"Were they by any chance companions on one of Father's expeditions?" He asked indifferently as he sat down next to him and swallowed hard noting how the word father had involuntarily slipped from his lips.

Not 'our' father.

Not 'your' father.

Just father, he reassured himself in his head.

It didn't mean anything.

"Yes, they were best companions, but you know how it is. When there's no war they get bored, so they create reasons for themselves to fight." He said with amusement, reaching for his wine-filled cup, taking a sip from it. He nodded his head.

He was unable to describe what kind of relationship he had with Royce – he never acted as if he was lower or higher than him, never let him feel his jealousy of his father, never took it out on him for his failures.

Royce simply accepted his presence on the very first day he appeared in Storm's End, and this state of acceptance continued through the years.

He couldn't imagine spending time with Aegon in the way he did with Royce. Royce, unlike him, knew exactly how much he could drink and when he should tell himself enough.

He did not read as much as he did, however, he was a man of intelligence, like his father often throwing in apt remarks – Royce was a good observer, better than him, so in a way they complemented each other on a daily basis.

He looked around the room – Lord Borros was discussing something with concern with his servant, apparently about the order in which the dishes were served or a problem with the wine, which, after all, could not be lacking in his house.

His gaze traveled further and he swallowed loudly, feeling his heart hit harder when he spotted his youngest daugther conversing with Ellyn, a wide smile and joy on her face, her eyes glowing.

He noticed that she didn't wear gowns like her older sisters who followed fashion of King's Landing – the neckline of her gown did not begin until below her breasts, which were covered only by her undershirt, the sleeves of her gown buff and partly slit, tied with bows from under which the white material of her nightgown shone through, her hair tied in an elaborate braid.

Her attire was so impressive to him because she usually dressed similarly to them whether she was training with them or attended her father's hunts.

Lord Baratheon's other lords and vassals gave her paternal affection, often laughing that Borros had not one son, but three.

Comparisons to men, however, did not take away her confidence, for she seemed to subconsciously understand that all her femininity and girlhood was released when she laughed and smiled, her face always gentle and warm.

He began to notice with frustration that men liked to make speak with her, finding her an interesting and entertaining companion, unafraid of uncomfortable topics. She would occasionally meet his impatient, tense gaze and he would then turn away, tightening his lips, feeling like a fool.

He pretended not to feel relieved and satisfied when, usually after a while, she sat down next to him, turning to him with some question, her knee pressed against his.

He took a deep sip from his cup, looking away.

Lord Borros finally arose and began his speech, thanking those gathered for coming, mentioning some important battles and people, before formally inviting everyone to eat and dance. With music blaring around them, Royce handed him a plate of roast meat that had literally just appeared on the table in front of them.

He tried to pretend he didn't see young Lord Wylde approach Lord Baratheon's youngest daughter asking her to dance, to which she agreed with a soft, wide smile. He tried not to glance surreptitiously as they circled around each other in the dance, her movements nimble, gentle, innocent, her hand barely touching his.

He took another sip of wine, feeling the artery in his throat pulsate, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

He felt relieved when the dance was over and they bowed to each other, but he tensed, however, clenching his hand into a fist as he noticed the young boy leaning over her, whispering something to her ear.

He felt anger.

He felt frustration.

He felt tension.

He tried to reassure himself with the thought that she was innocent and naïve, and he was making sure nothing happened to her, like the good big brother he actually wasn't.

"What happened?" Royce asked, clearly seeing the tension painted on his face, and he grunted low.

"Young lord Wylde seems to have taken a liking to your sister." He said offhandedly, feigning indifference, hoping Royce would take an interest in the matter for him. He, however, blinked, glancing at them, then shrugged his shoulders.

"My sister is wise, she can handle him if he's too insistent. Let her have her fun." He said lightly, taking a sip of wine, finishing off the leftover meat on his plate. He averted his gaze, feeling a squeeze in his stomach at his words.

When he saw out of the corner of his eye Floris standing up from her chair he also immediately stood up, knowing that she was going to torment him by speaking about topics that he was completely uninterested in.

Royce only laughed out loud when he told him he was going to go out into the fresh air for a while, knowing exactly who he was running from.

He went out a side entrance and heard Floris come up behind him, so he changed his plan and instead of the cloisters he headed for the library, knowing that she hadn't peeked in there and certainly wouldn't even stop to look.

He walked into the dark room and climbed the stairs to the half-floor where he always sat when he was a child, sitting down on the ground against the wall, running his hand over his face.

He wondered what was actually happening to him, feeling tired and discouraged.

He knew that eventually he would have to choose one of Borros' daughters to be his wife, but the Lord of Storm's End had let him know that he was to choose from four, not five.

"As I understand it, you will not consider her. She is still so young and childish, she would not do well in the Red Keep or as your wife. You know her nature: it's like locking a wild bird in a cage. For the rest, I am sure you are certainly interested in more mature women." He said and patted him on the shoulder with some expression of masculine tenderness from which he felt a tightening in his throat. He nodded only, unable to look him in the face.

He couldn't admit to him that thoughts of her invaded him at night, when he touched himself, when he fucked himself with his hand.

That he imagined she came to his chamber in the middle of the night, scared, innocent, warm, and he took her, slowly and tenderly, placing wet kisses full of desire and devotion on her soft face, listening to her sweet moans, assuring her that she was safe in his arms.

He squeezed his eye shut at the thought, swallowing loudly, feeling his cock pulsate hard at the thought.

He jumped up terrified when he heard the quiet creak of the door and cursed in his mind thinking that it was Floris who had finally found his hiding place.

However, he saw in the faint light of the torch from the corridor that the figure who was looking up at him from below was wearing a completely different dress.

He felt his heart begin to beat like mad, a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

"Brother?" He heard her quiet, worried voice, she spoke almost in a whisper, as if she was afraid someone would hear her. His voice caught in his throat.

He couldn't get anything out.

Go away, he thought pleadingly, but she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

She walked slowly upstairs, lifting her gown with her hands to avoid trampling on it, and knelt down next to him on the floor with a loud rustle, her scent immediately hitting his nostrils. He turned his head away, terrified, feeling that he was already completely hard, his chest rising and falling anxiously.

"Are you unwell?" She asked uncertainly, glancing at him, but he didn't dare look at her. He shook his head slowly and heard her swallow quietly.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" She asked again after a moment, and he pressed his lips together, feeling that his whole body was fighting not to throw himself at her, his breath heavy and anxious.

He answered nothing.

"I missed you." She whispered at last, and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain as if someone had stuck a needle in his chest. "When you're gone something is missing. Royce too…"

"Stop it." He growled colder than he would have liked, frustrated and terrified.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked impatiently, looking at her suddenly, breathing hard, his hand clenched into a fist as if he was about to hit her.

He saw her frightened, warm gaze, saw that she couldn't understand him, what frustrated him and what pleased him.

She swallowed loudly, surprised by his sudden outburst.

"You think I want to listen to this? I'm not your brother. Have you forgotten who I am already? Do you feel better when you forget that you should bow before me?" He exhaled in one breath, feeling the poison gathering in his heart fly out of him like a bloodthirsty wave, drowning everything around them, including her and him.

He felt a pang of remorse as he saw her face contort in pain, as if he had slapped her across the face. She blinked rapidly, tightening her lips, pulling away from him slightly, raising her arms as if in a gesture of defence, her body breathless all over. She swallowed quietly, her mouth quivering as she spoke her next words.

"To me, you will always be my brother." She said in a trembling voice, and he felt anger and hopelessness at her words.

He did not want to be her brother.

Not when she wasn't a Targaryen.

Not when he wanted to fuck her.

She squealed loudly as his hand brutally clamped down on her hair and pulled her close with a sudden movement so that she just slammed into his body, falling over, catching his arms to keep her balance. They both breathed loudly as they stared at each other for a long moment, he felt his head spin from the smell of her.

He felt a shudder pass through him as her hand touched his scarred cheek, his erection swelled painfully hard, leaving him breathless. Shivers ran down the back of his neck as her fingers slid slowly down his skin to his lips, pulsating and swollen. He pulled her face closer, making their foreheads touch.

He glanced at her lips, soft, pink, full, and then again at her eyes, warm, misty, surrounded by her beautiful dark lashes like a veil. His hand inch by inch drew her closer and closer, he could feel her accelerated, hot breath enveloping his face – the tip of his nose ran over her soft cheek and they both trembled, a quiet, sweet sigh escaped her lips, her fingers ran down his cheek.

When his lips brushed hers they both froze, looking at each other with misty eyes, breathing loudly. He waited for her reaction, for her to pull away, to shake her head and tell him no, but she didn't move an inch, her whole body quivered, her mouth parted as if invitingly, encouragingly. He leaned towards her, his thirsty, puffy lips pressed against hers, soft, fleshy, wonderfully moist.

She whispered his name quietly, and he kissed her again, each time more surely, more deeply, drawing her closer, her hand tightening on his cheek. Their hot, swollen lips danced with each other with a sticky, wet clicks that sent shivers through him, his free arm hugging her waist and pulling her closer, forcing her to sit on his lap.

They both panted into each other's mouths feeling their hands travel uncertainly over their bodies, his fingertips touching hair, the nape of her neck, her cheeks, her waist, repeating it all over again.

His manhood twitched in his breeches so hard that once in a while a low, helpless groan of pleasure ripped from his throat straight into her mouth, her lips responding timidly to his caresses, her hand trailing through his hair and down his neck.

Aroused to the limit, with a pounding heart, he tentatively slipped the tip of his tongue into her parted lips as if to see how she would react, whether it would be too much. He felt her tremble all over and draw in a loud breath, her fingers clenching tighter on his hair.

He repeated the flicks of his moist tongue and got the same wonderful reaction out of her – he moaned loudly when he felt tips of their tongues come into contact and lick, a strong shudder ran through his body, his hands tightening on the material of her gown.

They both flinched and pulled away immediately, looking at each other in horror when they heard someone grab the doorknob and then the door swung open with a loud creak. They both stood up, swallowing loudly, noticing Royce who was frowning through the lack of light and only saw them on the balcony a moment later.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing here?" He asked surprised and amused, seeing their faces.

"I felt unwell. The wine made me sick." He choked out wearily, avoiding her, feeling like his heart was about to leap out of his chest, running down the stairs.

"I'm better now, let's go." He said, stepping out into the corridor, trying to stop his body from shaking and the sights he saw before his eyes.

He was glad his tunic was long enough to cover what was going on inside his breeches.

Her soft lips pressed against his, her hand in his hair, her flowery, fresh scent, her warm breath, her tongue licking his.

He swallowed loudly, stepping back into the great hall, immediately bombarded with questions from Floris as to where he had gone for so long. He didn't answer her, sidestepping her, sitting down in his seat, taking a few deep sips of wine to calm himself.

What had he done?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What if she tells Royce? Or Father?

He ran his hand over his chin at that thought, feeling a tightening in his stomach, glancing nervously at the entrance.

He thought Borros would kill him if he found out.

A moment later, she and Royce also walked into the room, her face pale, though she tried to smile.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief.

Their gazes met and he immediately looked away, feeling her soft, wet tongue between his lips again, his cock throbbed painfully in his breeches, demanding to be relieved at last.

Never before had he come so quickly fucking himself with his own hand as he had that evening – the loud, low groan of relief and delight that broke from his throat was silenced by the pillow into which he pressed his face, his body trembling in spasms. He involuntarily whispered her name as he slowly came down from his peak, his eye tightened, a quiet panting came from his mouth.

He was disgusted with himself and what he had done.

He was disgusted at how pleasant it felt.

She was so innocent.

In the morning he felt crushed by remorse, by the fact that he had frightened her, that she herself did not know what had happened between them.

That she thought for certain he wanted to take advantage of her, to profit from the pleasure of her body and nothing more.

He knew she would go hunting with them, she always went, helping Borros instead of his servants.

He did not know how he would look her in the face.

He decided he would try to go to Lord Borros and convince him somehow to let him stay in the fortress.

"This is time for you and your children." He said to him, Lord Borros' servant was just helping him put on a tunic of thicker, warmer material designed for being outside in cold temperatures. Borros snorted at his words.

"My four daughters are staying and that I can understand, but you? Both my sons are to participate in the hunt." He said more commanding than stating. He looked at him, pretending to feel nothing at his words.

"I am not your son."

Borros pressed his lips together at his words – he waved his hand impatiently and ordered the servant to leave them alone. After a moment, the door closed behind him and a tense silence fell between them. Borros looked at him, wrinkling his wide, dark brows.

"You are not my son by blood, but I raised you. I made you a man. You and Royce are to come with me. Do you understand?" He asked low and clear, with the impatience characteristic of him when he was frustrated. He swallowed loudly and nodded his head.

You are not my son by blood, but I raised you.

I made you a man.

He did not want to admit to himself how much relief he felt at his words.

He no longer knew who he was and who he wasn't.

A dragon prince would never be an mere stag.

However, why was it that whenever Borros spoke in his presence he felt a respect and awe for him that made him unable to stand up to him?

That he didn't remind him of who he was, how he should address him?

Part of him wanted to be Royce's brother, wanted to be Borros Baratheon's son.

But he also wanted something else.

Someone else.

He wondered, riding his mount beside Royce through the dense forest whether she would agree if he asked for her hand.

Would she give up everything she loved for him and leave with him to the Red Keep, to the inheritance that was his by blood and law.

He swallowed quietly, ashamed of the direction his thoughts were taking.

He was desperate.

When they arrived in the field where the large tents slowly floated, he spotted her from afar, speaking quickly with his father about something. He lowered his head, terrified, dismounting from his horse, thinking only of what he had done the night before.

However, as Borros approached them in her company, he began to speak about where they would be going and what they were hunting, his voice focused and pleased with the weather and the fact that it was not raining.

He swallowed loudly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She turned her head away as soon as she noticed he was looking at her.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief and regret at the same time.

Perhaps if he found out the truth and required an explanation, he would have the courage to take her for himself and demand her hand.

He was not surprised when Borros ordered that all three of them and a few companions from his old days would accompany him on a deer hunt.

His youngest daughter was, as usual, armed with a bow, much to her father's delight hitting a partridge from long distances. Borros patted her firmly on the back so that she bent under the powerful strokes of his broad palm.

"Very good." He said lightly, walking on, ordering them to move north. He saw her give him a quick glance and then immediately turn her head away, tightening her lips, all red, and run after her father.

The hunt was a success and they returned to camp with enough meat to feed all comers. Large bonfires were lit in front of the tents, the cooks skinning and quartering the animals before his eyes. Royce and he sat down under one of the trees, exhausted.

Royce called out to his sister when he spotted her from afar to rest with them, and he felt a twist in his stomach, looking away, feigning indifference.

His younger sister approached them uncertainly, trying to converse lightly with her brother about something, her hands clenched on her lap. After a moment, Borros called out to his son from a distance, saying that he needed his help, so he got up at once and ran towards him, leaving them alone.

They both turned their heads away, unable to look at each other, a protracted, uncomfortable silence all around them.

He looked at the sun setting in the distance which he could see between the trees, feeling his heart pounding hard.

It seemed to him that what had happened between them earlier in the night was just a figment of his imagination.

"I will not disturb you, my Prince." She said in pain, lifting herself from the grass, and he looked at her surprised, his jaw clenched in a held breath at her words as he watched her walk away.

My Prince.

When Royce returned he told him he needed to drink some wine.

He drank more than usual, watching her from afar like a predator, seeing her cast him an uncertain, frightened glance once in a while.

He was frustrated and full of anger that he didn't know what to do with.

He decided to go to bed early, drunk, tired and discouraged. Royce urged him to stay up, that the campfires would burn late into the night, but he had neither the strength nor the desire to feast.

He moved towards his tent and went inside, slowly undoing the buckles of his tunic, pulling it off and throwing it indifferently on the grass beside his bed.

He heard someone come inside and thought it was his servant, so he loudly dismissed him, but the person who had walked inside did not move from his place.

"− brother −" He heard her quiet, uncertain voice and froze, his body went through a shiver.

He turned slowly to her over his shoulder, his gaze expressing shock – his mind was foggy, his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.

"What are you doing here?" He asked coldly. She swallowed loudly, her large, warm eyes full of terror and uncertainty.

She opened and closed her mouth several times but nothing came out of her throat, she rubbed her fingers against each otehr in a nervous gesture.

"− I − what happened yesterday −" She mumbled out, but he interrupted her in mid-sentence afraid of what she wanted to say.

"− forget about it −" He replied, turning away from her, untying the his breeches, wanting to get rid of them before lying down on the sheets. "− something else? −"

She turned her head away, embarrassed and hurt by his words and what he was doing, swallowing loudly, her brow furrowed as if in pain.

"− I want you to know that I won't tell anyone about this − that's all −" She whispered turning away and walked out, leaving him with a pounding heart and a feeling of overwhelming shame.

He ran his hand over his face and, in a gesture of anger, threw all his dishes off the table, which fell to the ground with a loud clang of steel.

Why did it have to be her?

He put his palms on the table, leaning his head forward, unable to calm himself, breathing loudly through his mouth.

Why couldn't it be Ellyn?

She was sweet, pretty, modest, well-read, quiet.

So why?

He came out of his tent like a living fury and stormed aggressively into her tent, heard her squeal of surprise as she jumped up on her bed, covering herself with a furs, sitting up in only her nightgown.

She looked up at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide as he ripped the furs from her hands, revealing her body peeking out from under the thin white material in front of him, her breath caught in her throat as he lay down on top of her, pressing her body against the bedding, his cock twitching hard between her thighs.

"− brother − what are you −" She whispered terrified, shivering all over, clasping her hands on his shirt.

"− tell me to stop −" He breathed out grabbing her trembling thighs in his hands, lifting them slightly and spreading them out in front of him, panting along with her, looking at her face full of disbelief. "− tell me to stop or I'll take what I want −"

He said in a raspy voice, his tongue invading between her swollen lips bringing out a helpless, drawn-out, surprised moan, her hands still clenched on the material of his shirt. He ran his hard, throbbing manhood hidden under the material between her thighs and she trembled all over, whimpering into his mouth.

He pulled away from her with a loud, wet click, looking at her like a madman, panting loudly along with her, parting her lower lip with his thumb, his hips rolling against her body in a slow back and forth motion.

"− say it −" He whispered weakly, looking down at her, her face flushed and red, her lips parted in a ragged breath, a quiet moan came from her mouth each time he rubbed against her womanhood again.

"− please, make me stop − please −" He growled out helplessly, but her lips only parted more at his words, her thighs spread wider in front of him, her soft hand running over his hot cheek.

He squeezed his eye shut, feeling her lower lip brush his, her hips tentatively began to respond to his movements, rubbing against him, driving him wild. He felt like he was about to explode.

"− please −" He panted into her mouth, the tips of their tongues licking each other, a sweet, lingering mewl came from her lips. His trembling hands slid from her thigh to her buttocks, squeezing them uncertainly, he sighed in delight feeling how indecently soft her skin was.

"− please − please −" He gasped in a trembling voice, but her hands weaved into his hair and drew him closer, her fingers trailing down his neck, slipping under his shirt, running over his bare back, leaving goosebumps in the areas of her touch. They both began to moan quietly and pant into each other's mouths, their kisses messy and loud, wet, sticky from their saliva.

"− marry me −" He exclaimed helplessly, lifting her nightgown higher, revealing to him the bare skin of her thigh and what lay between them. Slowly he slid his hand there, trembling along with her, her body quivering at his words, a loud sigh escaping her lips.

"− say you'll marry me −" He whispered, running his nose over her cheek, sliding down to her ear and then to her neck, placing slow, wet kisses on her skin. They both moaned helplessly as his fingers ran over her fleshy, slick folds, so intimately hidden, so now exposed, her expression of complete trust in him.

He sighed wearily when he felt her moisture on his fingers, warm and sticky, again and again running his hand over her puffy slit, her skin there hot, pulsing with heat. He felt her fingers tighten on his back, writhing beneath him each time his palm ran over the little bud hidden between her folds, a helpless sob escaping from her throat, her lips parted wide, droplets of sweat running down her skin.

"− Aemond −" She whimpered pleadingly, as if she were crying out to him for help, as if she were asking him to save her. He trembled all over at the sound of his name spoken so directly, so unashamedly, intimately, he felt as if his cock would explode with arousal.

He began to deliberately stroke her where his touch was driving her mad, his fingertips spreading her moisture all over her plushy womanhood, his swollen lips clinging to hers again, trying to silence her increasingly loud moans.

"− hush, my little one − someone will hear us − shhh −" He silenced her by sliding his tongue deep between her lips, almost to her throat, her hips began to rock faster and faster towards his hand, searching for any source of friction.

"− Aemond − what are we doing −" She mumbled quietly between sticky kisses and the licking of their tongues, his fingers massaging area around her pearl in a circular, sure motions, running over her hot entrance once in a while. He tentatively slid the tip of his finger into her throbbing, moist insides, and she trembled all over, drawing in air loudly.

"− what husband and wife do − what we're going to do every night −" He breathed out into her mouth and a quiet, sweet, surprised moan escaped her throat, he felt her wetness flowing from her slit into his palm, he felt her body on edge, her thighs were quivering all under his hand, her hips pushing greedily against his hand. He slid his finger into her with a wet click of her juices as his thumb continued to tease her puffy bud.

"− I − gods, it feels so warm − it tickles me so much inside −" She mewled, panting loudly, clearly feeling the tension gathering in her lower abdomen, and he thought with delight that she was about to come on his hand.

"− say you'll marry me −" He said in a raspy voice, watching as her body wriggled in front of him him in pleasure, her mouth wide open, her eyes looking at him in a way from which he felt like just throwing himself on top of her and sliding inside her.

"− I will − I will, please −" She cried out and suddenly froze, leaning back, pressing her cheek against the pillow.

An exasperated, pleading, startled moan erupted from her throat, she clenched her eyes shut as if what was just going through her body was too much − waves of pleasure shook her body, and he watched the sight in disbelief, seeing female fulfilment for the first time in his life.

His hand involuntarily slipped out from between her thighs and slid into his breeches, gripping his painfully hard erection. He forced her to look up at him by clamping his hand over her cheeks and he pressed himself into her lips, panting along with her, squeezing his fat cock intensely and quickly. He felt his fulfilment approaching embarrassingly fast, her scent, the touch of her lips and what he saw was enough to keep him on edge.

"− my sweetest − gods − oh, fuck −" He growled out into her mouth panting hard as he felt his hot spend spill over his hand, a wonderful relief and pleasure filled his whole body and lower abdomen − he could hear her loud breathing, her hand gently stroking his hair and cheek, calming him, soothing him.

He collapsed on top of her at last, panting hard, not believing it had really happened.

They lay like that, both of them breathing loudly, not saying a word, all around them the voices of drunken men arguing with each other and discussing loudly. He could feel their bodies trembling, hot with fulfilment − he pressed his face to her cheek, his lips against her ear.

"− do you want me to leave? −" He asked in a trembling voice, terrified of what he had done, what she would think of him now, what their father would think if he found out. He felt her small hands tightening on his shirt, her hand running through his hair.

"Stay with me."

So he stayed.

When he woke up, her warm body was snuggled against his chest, her fingers tightened on the material of his shirt as if she was afraid he would change his mind and leave her in the middle of the night.

He embraced her with his hands, his face snuggled into her hair, his nose filled with her wonderful scent.

He had never felt so fulfilled before.

So peaceful.

So safe.

He only gently disentangled himself from her sleeping embrace before dawn, not wanting anyone to see him leaving her tent and jump to hasty conclusions.

He also needed to speak to their father.

He had never before seen Lord Borros so furious as when he told him he had made his choice.

His foster father prowled around the tent like an enraged animal as he sat in a chair, tense, playing with his fingers.

"She's just a child. I thought you had more sense." Borros hissed at him, and he threw him a cold, displeased look.

"She is no longer a child. Would you rather she married a stranger instead of giving her to me? To your son?" He asked, his voice trembling uncertainly at his last words. Borros looked at him furrowing his eyebrows.

"I will not hurt her. She will be safe with me." He said calmly what he really thought. Borros snorted at his words.

"In King's Landing, between one fire-breathing dragon and another fighting for crown and power? I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed!" He exclaimed in a low breaking voice, and he felt a pain in his chest, swallowing loudly, taken completely by surprise by his words.

I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed.

"It's her or none, Father." He said coldly, clenching his hands into fists, not looking away even though he wanted to.

He heard Borros growl with rage, furiously turning to his servant to summon his youngest daughter at once.

He felt discomfort at the thought that perhaps she had changed her mind.

That she had only agreed under emotions, and now regretted it.

He was unable to look at her when he heard her walk into the tent, Borros immediately turned to her, his voice raised and impatient.

"Prince Aemond asks for your hand, daughter. Did you know about this?" He asked menacingly, referring to all the confusion he had caused with his decision. He felt his heart pounding as he waited for her words, his hands clenched into fists.

"Yes. I...I have already agreed." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard it. He swallowed loudly glancing at her finally, she was pale and frightened, looking at her father pleadingly, terrified of his anger.

"You have no idea what you agreed to, child." He said, half furious, half terrified, running his hand over his face, shaking his head, still pacing around the tent, unable to control himself.

"I do not want anyone else." She mumbled with difficulty, looking pleadingly at her father on the verge of tears. He felt heat in his chest at her words and pressed his lips together.

I do not want anyone else.

Without opposition from his daughter, Borros really had no choice. When they confirmed several times that they knew what they were doing and that it was what they wanted, he gave up, heartbroken, and ordered to summon a scribe, wanting to send a letter to King's Landing.

Neither he nor she had the courage to tell anyone what had happened.

Word of his decision spread like wildfire, however, and he had to deal with a barrage of questions from Royce, shocked and unsure if he was doing the right thing.

"But why her, brother? She is so young. I mean…I was sure you'd choose Ellyn." He said, scratching his chin, just as embarrassed as he was by this conversation. He didn't know what to say to him.

"I think I knew it from the beginning." He muttered, running his hand over his face in shame, all tense, glancing at Royce, who stared at him in disbelief.

His reaction was nothing compared to the despair and bitterness that gripped his sisters.

Cassandra took it best, with dignity, though her face twisted in pain as their father informed them of his decision at the evening feast. Maris turned pale and pursed her lips, but said nothing. Ellyn let out a loud, breaking sob, got up and left, unable to look at him.

Floris asked if he was mocking them.

He looked at his betrothed, pale and on the verge of tears, weighed down by what was happening around her, by what he had condemned her to.

"The King and Queen have decided that the nuptials will take place in two months." Their father continued, ignoring his daughter's brazen questions. Floris interrupted him again.

"My Prince, is it true? Did our father force you to make this decision?" She asked in disbelief, it was clearly beyond her mind that he could make such a decision of his own free will. He took a sip of wine from his goblet and set it down with a loud clang of steel.

"Quite the opposite. Your father tried to dissuade me from this decision, to no avail." He said coldly, his eye fixed on the one he desired, the one he chose – she looked at him, her eyes sad and terrified.

He pressed his lips greedily to hers, pinning her against the cool stone wall of the corridor as soon as they were alone, wiping tears from her face as they ran down her cheeks, absorbing her every silent sob.

"Tell me you haven't changed your mind." He gasped into her mouth, brushing them and caressing them with a loud, sticky clicks. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with such ferocity that he moaned low into her throat.

It was her answer.

To his relief, his betrothed wished their lives to go on as before – she didn't make him take romantic walks together on the cliff's edge, didn't expect flowers, letters, or other evidence of constant interest and love from him. Everything she wanted she could see in his gaze, which did not leave her for a moment.

Affection.

Thirst.

Desire.

He didn't have the courage to tell her how much he already wanted her all to himself, how much he wanted her to be the mother of his children.

He couldn't find the words to describe the heat and pride that overwhelmed him at the thought that she would be his wife, that he would be able to touch her shamelessly in front of everyone.

That he would be able to pick her up, embrace her, lean over her, touch her warm cheeks and hands the way Royce did.

No one but them knew that they both sneaked out of their chambers late at night and went to the library, shutting themselves up there, slowly discovering the pleasures and secrets of their bodies. He let her small hands slide his eyepatch off his head, let her place warm, tender kisses on his scar, holding her close.

They lay down on sheets and fabrics that they had scrupulously hidden under one of the shelves behind the books, finding lying on the stone floor very uncomfortable.

He did not dare to pull off her nightgown, wanting to show her respect and make her feel safe, but the mere sight of her naked body through the translucent material was enough to stimulate his senses completely and drive him mad.

He let himself kiss her soft, plump breasts through the thin fabric and she let out sweet sighs of delight every time, her hand stroking his hair as she pressed his face closer to her chest, signalling him not to stop.

He had no experience with women before her, so he wanted to understand exactly what gave her fulfillment, what touch or movement of his fingers made her spasm, what his words whispered in her ear made her suddenly come on his hand with a sweet sobs of pleasure.

He felt embarrassed and aroused when she whispered to him one night if she could touch him there.

Their lips connected and parted in sticky, lustful kisses as her trembling fingers untied his breeches, timidly slipping her hand underneath them. They both froze and inhaled loudly as her fingers traced againt his long, throbbing length, a low, helpless, guttural moan escaping his lips.

"− fuck −" He gasped into her mouth, surprised at how intense the sensation was, how pleasantly soft and gentle her hand felt.

He saw her timid gaze fixed on his face, her cheeks red with shame at what she was doing, at the feeling of his hard, twitching cock under her fingers.

"− do you want me to stop? −" She asked softly between their tender, sweet kisses.

He responded by taking her hand gently in his, squeezing her fingers around his manhood, guiding her up and down, his erection throbbing painfully hard in her embrace.

"− no −" He whispered in response, panting with her, his hips involuntarily rolling to the rhythm of her hand, searching for any source of rubbing.

"− how will it look like − on our wedding night? −" She asked softly, her voice slightly trembling, looking at him with dreamy eyes, what she was doing apparently aroused her as much as him.

His cock pulsed harder in her hand at her question, leaking from his precum − he licked his lips involuntarily, imagining what he would be able to do with her.

He didn't know how to describe it without scaring her.

"− I − ah − I'm going to touch you between your thighs − and then −" He gasped, pressing his lips together, feeling shivers all over his body, his hips rocking faster and faster in her hand, which squeezed his thick cock with a steady, firm strokes.

"− fuck − and then I'll put this inside you −" He whispered in a shaky voice into her mouth as he pressed his forehead against hers, gripping his hand tighter over hers on his erection.

He heard her draw in a sharp breath, she stared at him wide-eyed, unsure of what she thought of what she had just heard.

"− will it be painful? −" She asked with fear, and he kissed her again, slipping his slick tongue between her fleshy lips, drawing a soft moan from her. He broke away with a wet click, looking at her with his mouth slightly parted, feeling the heat and tension growing in his lower abdomen.

"− no − I − I'll do anything to not cause you pain −" He mumbled helplessly, their lips pressed together again in a lewd, sticky kiss, her breath heavy and uneven.

"− can you − can you do it now? − just for a try −" She whispered softly and he froze, staring at her in disbelief, his heart pounding like crazy.

"− I − we shouldn't before our nuptials −" He muttered hesitantly, though his whole body was screaming for him to throw himself at her and just slide it inside her. She swallowed loudly at his words.

"− I know − I just − I wish I knew what it felt like − so I wouldn't be afraid −" She mumbled helplessly and his heart clenched, a million of his thoughts fighting together at the same time in his head. He propped himself up on one elbow, laying between her thighs, gripping the fabric of his breeches.

"− just for a moment − agreed? −" He said in a trembling voice, his whole body quivering. She nodded quickly, breathing heavily, trustingly allowing him to lift the fabric of her nightgown higher.

They both gasped loudly as he slid his breeches down enough to release his hard, throbbing manhood. He leaned over her soft, warm face, placing a gentle, tender kiss on her lips, directing the fat, pink head of his cock to her wet, throbbing slit.

"− spread your thighs wider − yes, just like that −" He praised her, brushing her lips again, terrified of what he was about to do, yet feeling like he was about to explode with lust and desire.

They both moaned in surprise as he pressed his length against her entrance and slid a little inside her − she was so tight and hot that he was out of breath, her lips tightened, as he forced his way deeper into her harder, her eyebrows arching in discomfort.

"− fuck − breathe deeply − relax − does it hurt a lot? −" He whispered in a trembling voice looking at her, with remnants of his free will refraining from any movements. She shook her head.

"− n-no − I mean − a little − just − it's so big −" She mumbled out, a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks, her gaze warm, her lips puffy and pink with emotion. He licked his lips involuntarily at her words, feeling pride and shame at the same time.

"− you did this to me − always make me so fucking hard −" He exhaled in a trembling voice, his hands sliding down between her thighs, gently parting the folds of her entrance with his thumbs, trying to help himself and her. He felt her draw in a loud breath and clench her eyes shut.

He heard her swallow hard and begin to breathe loudly through her mouth, inhaling and exhaling, her body shivering all over under him. He felt her walls stop pressing down on him so panicky, and he pushed deeper into her, sighing loudly, her mouth parting wide at the feeling of so intense filling. Hearing no objection from her, he thrust his hips again, entering her all the way in with a loud groan.

He stared down at her, breathing hard, letting her get used to this strange, intense feeling, and then he pulled out slowly only to thrust into her again. They both gasped loudly as he began to move inside her, slowly, hesitantly, telling himself he would stop soon.

"− you're so warm −" He panted in a trembling voice, delighted at how amazing it felt to be squeezed from all sides by her hot, tight, fleshy wet walls, all sticky with her moisture, feeling a woman's insides for the first time in his life.

Her mouth parted wide and she mewled loudly as slowly his hips began to accelerate, thrusting his thick cock into her with a loud, sticky slaps, a quivering, low gasp of pleasure emanating from his throat.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled helplessly, her body trembling with each of his thrusts, panting louder and louder with him, her hands clenching on his sides. He threw her legs over his back, wanting to feel her deeper, streching her throbbing insides to the limit with his length. She sobbed loudly at the feeling, throwing her head back.

"− just a little longer −" He panted with difficulty, feeling only pleasure, only wonderful tension and her pulsing walls that brought him closer and closer to fulfillment.

He knew he should stop, but instead he fucked her harder and harder, feeling her walls clenching on his cock, sucking it inside, sticky, wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the stone room.

He knew he was on the verge of fullfilment.

"− don't stop − please, don't pull it out −" He heard her whimper underneath him from which his lips parted wide in shock, her body going into spasms each time he slid into her again, pressing her walls, clearly giving her immense pleasure with these movements.

A helpless groan ripped from his throat at her words, as he slammed into her with a sharp, quick thrusts, clamping his hands tightly on the soft, sweaty skin of her hips. He felt a shudder run through him as her hips began to respond to his thrusts, coming up to meet him.

"− I have to, little one − shhh −" He whispered into her mouth sliding his tongue between her lips, licking their swollen, fleshy texture, the taste of her saliva spreading across his palate like the sweetest juice.

"− I − I'm about to −" She mumbled with difficulty, her thighs responding greedily to his every thrust, rolling and rocking, as he panted loudly along with her, feeling her core begin to tighten and pulsate against him.

"− go on − come on my cock, sweet girl −" He cooed encouragingly, wanting nothing more than that, to see her fulfil, himself being on the edge, his thrusts messy and sloppy.

His words were enough to make her insides clench around his length tightly, then again and again, letting out of him an almost animalistic groan, her body leaning back as if trying to escape from him. He had to cover her mouth with his hand to silence her loud, high-pitched sobs.

"− you did so well − oh fuck, little one −" He growled out, with the remnants of his strong will sliding out of her, coming hard on her nightgown, his warm seed spilling over her nightgown while he was still squeezing himself with his hand.

She stared at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily, her whole body trembled from the fulfilment and waves of pleasure that continued to flow through her. He swallowed loudly, looking down at her with misty eye, licking his lips.

"− did it hurt? −" He asked in a shaky, low voice, and she blinked and pursed her lips in embarrassment.

"− only − only at the beginning −" She mumbled softly and he hummed under his breath, proud to see that he had given her pleasure, that she enjoyed what they had done as much as he did, and tied his breeches back up.

He leaned over her and brushed her lips gently, tenderly, her mouth swollen and wet with arousal − he ran his thumb over her hot, rosy cheek, looking at her with a pounding heart filled only with his affection for her.

Only with love.

"On our wedding night, not a drop will be wasted."

_____

Note from the author:

Lady Baratheon and Royce call Aemond brother, but this stems from their desire to shorten the distance between them. Calling him 'a prince' already seemed too staid at one point for them, and addressing him by his first name was unthinkable. However, it is only she and Royce who do this, their sisters still addressing him as 'my prince', not wanting to call "brother" their possibly future husband - which is why Aemond is so frustrated when Lady Baratheon calls him this, as if she is willfully rejecting him as a candidate for the role.

Aemond calls Borros "father" but does not see him as a replacement for Viserys. Viserys is his blood father, who has given him a legacy of which he is proud and with which he completely identifies. Borros, however, is a father figure to him, someone whose opinion Aemond counts with, whom he respects and values for what he has done for him over the years. Aemond has an affection for Borros that he was never able to develop towards Criston.

Despite Lady Baratheon and Royce's very close relationship, they did not relegate Aemond to the background or distance themselves from him. According to Lord Borros and his friends, they formed a trio. Royce was always where Aemond was, loving to watch his mischievous reactions to various events, and Lady Baratheon was always where Royce was, so they usually ended up together.

Aemond usually pretended he didn't care about their company, but the truth was that he got impatient when they disappeared from his sight for too long, simply getting bored without them.

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care

Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

_____

I can't express my love for this reality, I could keep writing this oneshot but I would make a book! This is probably my most beloved fanfic baby. Leave it some love if you enjoyed it! I'm so curious what do you think. 💐

_____

Taglist

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @ahristata @menaosama @queenofshinigamis @dark-night-sky-99

[spadesolace]

POLAROID LOVE

pairings: nwjns minji x nmixx 8th member! reader x nwjns hanni

synopsis: y/n did not intend to join the kpop industry but after her brother had convinced her, she's taken the industry by storm. what happens when she unintentionally catches the attention and heart of two members of the rookie group, newjeans that's taking everyone by storm?

tags: idol x idol! reader, reader is related to sim jake, wlw, angst, fluff, idol au, friends to lovers, slow burn, crack, smau, love triangle, reader is just dumb and oblivious half of the time

warnings: strong language, drama, cyberbullying, overworking, izone disbandment,(will add more as we progress)

featuring: newjeans, nmixx, iz*one, le sserafim, straykids' bangchan and felix, enhypen's jake

status: started (01/30/23) - completed (09/02/2023)

updates: whenever i can

PROFILES: freaky fishy fishy | new juice | iz*gone | the fimmies | the aussies

CHAPTERS:

00. what did i do this time?

01. PRETTY GIRLS MAKE ME PANIC

02. brought to you by hybe

03. she's a fan of yours

04. chan's room

05. new jeans

06. fimmies help me pls

07. NEW FRIENDS

08. HYEIN THE LUCKY NSWER

BONUS 01: oh i-

09. Jake the bitch

10. THEY'RE REAL (written)

11. i'll take them, thank you

12. i don't understand simlish

13. call me a dungeon master

14. just smile and wave

15. she's built different

16. why didn't you confess?

BONUS 02: dinner with newjeans

17. simping hours: open

18. right here (half-written)

19. just the two of us?

20. one point for rin

21. hanging out with rin

22. planning stage

23. confession from a mother of four

24. she by dodie

25. cute

BONUS 03: its a date

26. the night after

27. yoona to the rescue?

28. you. me. date?

29. mama meeting

30. uwu & cringe

BONUS 04: safe haven

31. snorlax and grim

32. team minyn or hanyn

33. delusions and confrontations

34. game on (half-written)

35. time out (written)

36. the actual minyn date

BONUS 05: can i have this dance?

37. lowkey

38. would you be so kind

BONUS 06: falling

BONUS 07: dis-bitch

39. mother…

40. the announcement

BONUS 08: jealousy jealousy

41. shake it off

42. yoona best girl

43. nmixx & twice (half-written)

44. practice practice

45. talk it out (half-written)

46. friends? (half-written)

47. d-day

48. whatever happens (half-written)

49. you have my heart (half-written)

50. girlfriends? (half-written)

epilogue: one | two | three

bonus: the shade | absolutely smitten

taglist [CLOSED]:

@lesbianslovesminji @sserajeans @trsrina @invusblog @haerinstolemyhrt @txtbrainrot @ddenoudepression @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @lcv3lies @rd0265667 @somsomishy @dream-chasers-things @captivq @limbforalimb @dmndtears @buuhsworld @oshyci @ksnu @falling-intoo-deep @sserafimez @hyukasverse @forever-in-the-sky2 @cixl-writes @wolfimini @j-wyoung @jisooftme @justme-idle @myahwritesss @paranoxic @edamboon @iluvhanni1

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 15

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"Something's bad is 'bout to happen to me."

summary: joel felt something's bad gonna come to him

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 15

masterlist!

previous | chapter 14

next | chapter 16

It’s been three months since Chicago—four or five months since you left the dusty plains of Texas behind, and it feels like a lifetime. You and Joel have crossed half the states now, weaving through the fabric of America, threading together the old and the new.

You’ve stood at the edge of the Atlantic, watched the crashing waves of Maine, and felt the bustling pulse of New York City beneath your feet. The journey hasn’t been easy, but the trials of the road have carved something deeper between you, something unshakable.

Now, in the heart of West Virginia, the air feels lighter, the weight of your past no longer suffocating your every breath. The mountains rise like ancient sentinels, cloaked in mist, and the trees burn with the colors of autumn—reds, oranges, and golds, like a fire that dances but never consumes. It’s Sunday morning, and the world feels hushed, as if creation itself is pausing to pray.

You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing down your dress, eyes tracing over the small gold cross that hangs delicately around your neck. It feels right to be heading to church again, even if you’re miles away from the one you grew up in.

God has not abandoned you, and in the quiet of your soul, you feel Him closer than ever. These days, prayer feels like a whispered conversation with the divine, a secret language only you and the heavens share.

The sunlight streams through the motel window, casting a golden glow over the room, as if the very hand of God is touching the space. Joel is sitting at the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots.

His face, marked by lines of experience and sorrow, looks softer in the morning light. You’ve seen him battle nightmares, wrestle with ghosts, but now, in this moment, there’s peace. A quiet, sacred peace that stretches between the two of you.

His face softens as he watches you in the reflection, a quiet admiration glowing in his eyes as you finish getting ready. You’re wearing a white dress, simple yet graceful, with a bandana tied in your hair.

It’s something about how the morning light dances on your skin, or maybe it’s the serenity you carry now—free from the burdens that once weighed you down. Joel is sitting on the edge of the bed, cleaning his boots, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

You catch him watching and smile through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “What?” you tease, the soft curve of your lips pulling a smile from him.

Joel chuckles, shaking his head like he's been caught. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

You laugh, a quiet sound that fills the room with warmth. “Yes, three times already this morning, Joel.”

He smiles, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his expression, but it’s laced with affection. Joel always does this—quietly admiring you, slipping in compliments like they’re secrets meant just for the two of you. And in moments like this, it’s as if the world outside doesn’t exist—just you and him, wrapped in your own quiet corner of peace.

As you adjust the bandana in your hair, you turn toward him, your voice soft and inviting. “You know, Joel,” you begin, keeping your tone relaxed, “why don’t you come pray with me today? Just today? It’s been a while.”

The words hang in the air gently, like you’re offering him a hand to hold, not pushing but hoping. You’ve asked him before—sometimes gently, other times more persistently—but Joel has always refused. He never says it harshly, but you know the weight of his past, the loss, the guilt, and it keeps him distant from anything that feels too close to redemption.

He looks down at his boots for a moment, the lines in his face deepening slightly, like he’s wrestling with something unsaid. Then, he looks back up at you, his eyes softer now. “You know I’m not good at that stuff, darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice gruff but tender. “But I’ll drive you. Always do.”

You knew he would say that, and it doesn’t hurt like it used to. Joel has his reasons, and you respect that. Still, you wanted to ask, to let him know the door is always open.

You nod, smiling at him gently. “Okay. Thank you.”

He stands up, grabbing his jacket and slipping it on as he walks over to you. He places a hand on your waist, pulling you in for a kiss on the forehead. “Go on,” he says quietly. “I’ll wait outside. You take your time.”

As he heads out to the truck, you take a deep breath, smoothing your dress one last time. You know Joel loves you—his way of showing it isn’t through prayer or words, but through the small acts, the way he always makes sure you’re safe, the way he waits for you, watches over you.

Outside, the air is crisp, the sun just starting to rise over the trees, casting long golden shadows across the parking lot. The church is only a few miles away, and as always, Joel will drive you there, wait in the truck or at a nearby diner. He may not join you inside, but his presence is always near, a quiet strength at your back.

You climb into the truck, Joel already behind the wheel, his hand resting on the gearshift. As you settle in, you glance over at him. “I won’t be long.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Take all the time you need.”

As the truck rumbles to life, you close your eyes for a moment, silently thanking God for this man beside you. You may walk different paths when it comes to faith, but in your heart, you carry prayers for him every day. Prayers for his peace, for his strength, and for the love you share.

You look out the window at the mountains in the distance, their peaks kissed by the morning mist. They remind you of the Psalms, where David speaks of lifting his eyes to the hills, asking where his help comes from. “My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” That scripture echoes in your mind as you gather your things and head for the door. You know you’re not walking this road alone.

And maybe, one day, Joel will find his way back to prayer too. But until then, you’ll keep walking, hand in hand, carrying each other through whatever comes next.

The church is filled with people when you enter, the air thick with the scent of old wood and candle wax, whispers of faith blending with the creaking of pews.

You hold your Bible close, the one Frank gave you, its worn edges comforting beneath your fingertips. It’s funny how he’s become one of your closest friends now, even though you don’t call him or Bill often.

But whenever you borrow Joel’s phone, you laugh with Frank like you’ve known each other for years. He’s a light in your life, a reminder that friendship, like faith, can come from the most unexpected places.

But as you sit down, squeezing past strangers to find a seat, your heart aches for the ones you can’t call—Emma, her absence a hollow place inside you. You wish you could hear her voice again, see her smile, tell her everything that’s happened.

Ellie too, her mischievous laugh, her energy, her stubborn loyalty. You miss her so much it hurts, like a dull ache you can’t shake. And with it, there’s that lingering guilt—taking her father away, no matter how much she understands or loves Joel herself. You shake your head, pushing it aside as the service begins, but the feeling lingers like a shadow.

When it’s time to pray, you bow your head, hands clasped tightly around your Bible, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and gratitude.

“Thank You, Lord,” you whisper, the words barely audible but full of meaning, “for this life I have now. For the freedom You’ve given me.”

It feels like a confession every time you say it—as though you’re finally realizing the full weight of what it means to have left home, to have stepped out of the cage your father built around you.

Leaving wasn’t just about escaping the walls of that house; it was about breaking free from the chains of his control, his expectations. You hadn’t even known how trapped you were until Joel came into your life, offering you a way out, a hand to hold as you stepped into the light.

Now, the open sky stretches endlessly above you, the road ahead full of possibilities. And with Joel by your side, it feels like you’ve found a new kind of salvation.

Not the kind your father preached about, not the kind written in sermons, but one built on love, trust, and the quiet strength that grows between two souls walking together.

As the service ends and the congregation begins to trickle out, you stay behind. There’s something pulling at you, a need for extra time with God, to speak in the stillness, to let your heart pour out fully.

You approach the father of the church, an old man with eyes that seem to hold centuries of wisdom. You ask him if you can stay a little longer, to pray alone, and he smiles gently, nodding.

“Take all the time you need, child,” he says softly, his voice full of kindness.

You thank him, feeling a surge of gratitude for this small, sacred space where you can be alone with your thoughts, with God. You kneel at the altar, the stone cool beneath your knees, and close your eyes.

The church is quiet now, the echoes of footsteps long gone, leaving only the faint hum of the outside world drifting in through stained-glass windows.

You begin to pray—not for yourself, but for everyone you love. For Joel, who holds your heart in his rough, calloused hands; who carries your burdens as if they were his own; who has given you a life you never dreamed possible.

You ask God to keep him safe, to guide him through the shadows of his past, and to grant him peace—the kind of peace that reaches into the deepest corners of the soul and brings light where there was only darkness.

You pray for Ellie, wild and free, with a heart too big for this world. You ask God to protect her, wherever she is, and to remind her that she’s loved—even if it’s from afar.

You think of Tommy and Maria, and little Luke, their family growing like a tree rooted in strength and love. You ask for their safety, their happiness, and for the future they’re building together.

And then, you pray for your mother.

Despite everything, despite the silence between you and the choices she made, she’s still your mother. You still love her, and you pray that one day, she’ll find her own freedom, her own peace, even if it’s not beside you.

The words flow from you like a river, unstoppable, carrying all your fears, hopes, and dreams. You pour out your heart, letting the prayers rise like incense toward the heavens.

“Lord, I ask for strength—for myself, for Joel, for everyone I love. Help us to walk the path before us with grace, with courage, and with love. And thank You, God, for bringing me here. For showing me that there is more to this life than fear. That love can redeem, that freedom can heal.”

The air feels lighter now, as if the weight of your soul has been lifted, your prayers floating upward like smoke. You sit there in silence for a few moments longer, letting the quiet wash over you, before you slowly rise to your feet.

You feel lighter, clearer, as though the act of praying has unburdened your heart in ways you hadn’t realized you needed.

Outside, you know Joel is waiting for you, probably sipping coffee in a diner, his eyes scanning the windows, always watching for you. You smile softly, knowing that even though he didn’t come inside, he’s always with you.

Just as God is—always with you, guiding you, protecting you, even in the silence.

You slowly rise, the peace of the prayer still wrapped around you like a cloak, but the moment you turn to leave, you freeze. There, blocking your path, is a man.

His presence feels like a shadow that suddenly crept in unnoticed. “Hello, darlin’,” he says, his voice low and honeyed, dripping with a false sweetness that sends a shiver down your spine.

"My God, you scares me!"

***

Joel sits at the diner, his coffee steaming in front of him, his eyes locked on the church across the street. His fingers drum against the table, a habitual rhythm when his mind is restless. His thoughts drift between you and the call he’s just received from Tommy.

When the phone buzzes in his pocket, Joel picks it up, glancing at the church one last time before answering.

“Hey, Tommy,” he greets, keeping his voice low, the comfort of your presence still lingering.

“Joel,” Tommy starts, his voice lighter than usual. “Got some good news for ya.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, sitting up straighter. “What is it?”

Tommy continues, a note of relief in his voice. “Just heard from the sheriff—the state cops dropped your girl’s dad’s report. Said you didn’t kidnap her. Neighbors backed you up, saying she left with you willingly. She’s old enough to make her own choices, so... looks like you’re in the clear. No charges, no kidnapping.”

Joel exhales slowly, a weight lifting from his chest. Relief settles in, though it’s only partial. He knows your father, knew him for years—persistent, stubborn.

Joel’s not naive enough to think that just because the law’s off his back, your father will let this go. There’s still the nagging fear that he’ll do something crazy, something desperate to bring you back. Joel frowns, his jaw tightening as he watches the church door.

“Yeah, that’s a relief, but he’s not gonna stop lookin’ for her, Tommy. I know him. He’s not gonna let her go just like that.”

Tommy’s voice softens, offering some reassurance. “Look, I get it, but don’t go worryin’ yourself sick. We’ll handle whatever comes. You two just stay outta sight for now, keep layin’ low.”

Joel nods to himself, trying to calm the worry gnawing at him. "I hope you're right."

The conversation shifts to business after that, Tommy updating him on the construction company. “Listen, I got a job comin’ up that’s takin’ me down to Miami. Thought maybe we could meet there? You, me, and her—get together for a bit. It's been so long, I miss you brother,”

Joel considers it, glancing at the dwindling cash in his wallet. “Sounds good, Tommy. But, I’m runnin’ low on money. Almost out, actually. Everything I got left is what I’m carryin’. You know I ain’t got any cards with me, not after all the rumors started.”

Tommy chuckles, always the practical one. “Don’t worry, man. You know I’m takin’ care of the company. You still gettin’ your share as a founder, whether you’re workin’ or not. I’ll bring cash with me when we meet up in Miami.”

Joel hesitates. It feels wrong, relying on Tommy’s work when he hasn’t been pulling his own weight lately. “I don’t like not earnin’ it, Tommy.”

“Ah, cut the crap. You’re my brother. You helped build this thing from the ground up. That money’s yours too, whether you’re workin’ or not. I’ll bring it, and you’ll take it. End of story. or You make a new card and I can transfer it to you,"

Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, alright, Thank you....Guess I’ll have to make a new card soon then. You think it’s safe now?”

“Yeah, it’s safe enough. The report’s dropped. No one’s lookin’ for you anymore, least not the law. Go ahead and get yourself sorted.”

Joel nods again, already thinking of the days ahead. “Alright. We’re headed to Richmond next, then maybe Charlotte or Atlanta. We’ll make our way down to Miami in four days.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tommy agrees.

Joel finishes his coffee, his thoughts still swirling when he catches sight of you stepping out of the church. You’re looking around for him, and he waves from the diner window.

The sight of you, with your Bible in hand and that familiar smile on your face, grounds him. He waves you over, already ending the call with Tommy as you cross the street.

When you walk into the diner, Joel’s smile softens. “Sorry I took so long,” you apologize, sliding into the booth next to him.

Joel leans over, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “It’s fine, baby. You hungry?”

You nod, settling into his side. The age difference between the two of you is always something that gets people’s attention—whispers, curious stares—but you’re beyond caring.

Let them look. What you and Joel have is real, deeper than anything they could ever understand.

Joel waves over the waitress, and you order breakfast: pancakes, bacon, eggs, and a vanilla milkshake. You ask Joel what he wants, but he shakes his head. “Just more coffee for me.”

The waitress leaves, and you snuggle closer to Joel on the long booth, his arm draped around your shoulders, holding you close. There’s a comfort in his touch, a silent promise of protection and love.

“Feelin’ good after your prayer?” Joel asks, his voice soft and genuine.

You smile, your heart warm. “Yeah, I am. I prayed for you too, you know.”

Joel’s hand tightens slightly on your shoulder, his heart full of an unspoken emotion. He doesn’t say it, but he’s grateful—grateful for you, for your faith, for the way you love him despite everything.

He tilts his head slightly, his lips tugging into a small, teasing smile.

"Is that so? What’d you pray about?" he asks, his voice low and playful, a touch of curiosity in his tone.

You smile, leaning in close until your noses nearly touch. “A girl never prays and tells, Joel. Never,” you tease, watching his eyes darken with amusement.

When he leans in to close the gap, your lips almost touching, you pull back just in time, giggling as Joel’s expression turns mock serious. His lips curl into a smirk, and before you can escape, he reaches out to tickle your sides, making you squeal with laughter.

“Joel! Stop!” you manage between giggles, but he only grins wider, his fingers relentless for a few more seconds until he finally stops, letting you catch your breath.

Some of the older folks in the diner cast side glances your way, their eyes full of judgment as if seeing a couple of teenagers in love. But neither of you cares. Let them look, let them wonder—you and Joel exist in your own world.

As your laughter dies down, you sense a brightness in him today, a lightness in his mood that makes your heart feel fuller. With a sly grin, you nudge him. “You seems so bright today. What’s the story, mister? Tess from Chicago calling you?”

Joel rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by your teasing. “Stop it,” he grumbles, though his lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “She was just bein’ friendly and I don't even have her number."

You chuckle, knowing you’ve hit a nerve, but it’s all in good fun. “Oh, sure. Maybe she’s asking about her perfume again? What, is she sellin’ perfume or something?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him, making him chuckle softly despite himself.

Shaking his head, Joel leans back against the booth, his fingers still brushing your shoulder. “Enough about Tess. I’ve got some good news, actually.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “What is it?”

Joel takes a breath, his eyes meeting yours as if he’s savoring the moment. “The cops dropped your dad’s report. Said you’re old enough to make your own choices. They had witnesses backin’ it up. They’re sayin’ it wasn’t kidnapping—you came with me willingly.”

"Baby, we're free." He said again.

The words hit you like a rush of wind, and for a moment, you just stare at him, processing what he’s said. Slowly, your face breaks into the biggest smile, your heart soaring with joy and relief. You let out a small scream of excitement, throwing your arms around Joel.

“Oh my God, Joel! You’re free! We’re free!” You hug him tightly, burying your face in his neck, your heart pounding with happiness. “Finally, finally we can go anywhere, do anything, and not worry about them coming after us!”

Joel wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you can feel the tension leaving his body, the weight of it finally lifting. There’s a sense of freedom now, a door opening where there once was none.

Joel wraps his arms tighter around you as you excitedly chatter about the future—the life you’ve both dreamed of in California. You’re beaming, your words spilling out in an excited rush.

“Oh my God, Joel! We could build that sheep ranch you’ve always wanted! I could grow a garden—vegetables, herbs, everything! I’d cook and bake for you from our own garden, send Bill and Frank strawberries like I promised Frank! And Ellie could visit, stay with us whenever she wants. We could—”

You pause, breathless, as Joel chuckles softly, watching you with fondness in his eyes. His chest rises and falls with the rhythm of his slow breaths, but as your voice fades, something shifts in him. His smile falters.

You see his gaze drift over your shoulder, his brows furrowing as if he’s spotted something—or someone. His body tenses again, his grip loosening on you. His face turns pale.

“Joel?” You tilt your head, noticing the change in him. He looks past you, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

Behind you, to him, two figures stand—figures that shouldn’t be here. Jamie and Ben. Their faces are ghostly pale, staring back at Joel as if accusing him, their expressions twisted in a mixture of anger and sorrow. He blinks, trying to shake the image, his heart beginning to race.

No. No fucking way.

He looks again, but they’re gone. Vanished as if they were never there, just figments of his mind. Sweat forms on his brow, his breathing quickening. What the hell is going on? Why is he seeing them?

“Joel?” Your voice pulls him back to reality, concern written across your face. “You okay?”

Joel swallows hard, his chest tight, trying to steady his breathing. He forces a weak smile, but his eyes still dart around nervously, as if expecting the figures to return. “Yeah, baby. I’m… I’m fine.”

But his heartbeat betrays him. That vision, those faces—they still linger, like shadows at the edges of his mind.

You turn your head, glancing behind you, eyes searching the space Joel had been staring at so intensely. "What are you looking at?" you ask, your curiosity piqued by his sudden change in demeanor.

Joel shakes his head, a quick smile spreading across his face, hiding the flicker of fear still curling in his chest. "Nothin’, baby. Just… nothin’." He dismisses it, brushing the hallucination aside like a bad dream. "What were you sayin’? I like hearin’ about your plans for us."

You smile softly, sensing he doesn't want to ruin the moment, so you let it go. But the thought you’ve been carrying for so long lingers on the tip of your tongue. You’ve always wanted a family, a home filled with love and warmth. You know you’re young, but you dream of little feet running around, laughter filling the rooms—a family with Joel.

But you’ve never said it out loud, too scared to ask if he’d want more children. You’re afraid of the weight his past might carry, the pain of losing his daughter still etched deeply into his soul. What if he doesn’t want to marry you? The uncertainty gnaws at you, so instead of voicing your fears, you ask, "Where’s the news from?"

Joel glances over at you, his hand brushing your knee. "Tommy called. We’re meetin’ him in Miami in four days, but first we’re headin’ to Richmond, then Charlotte, Atlanta, and finally Miami."

You brighten, excited by the plan. "Is Ellie coming with him?"

Joel shrugs, "I dunno, maybe. Haven’t heard."

Just as your excitement peaks, the food arrives, and the conversation shifts into lighter territory over pancakes and coffee.

After breakfast, you head back to the motel, and before long, you find yourselves tangled in each other’s arms, making love again as the sun streams through the windows. The intimacy feels like a quiet surrender, an unspoken promise to each other.

Later, you take a shower together, laughing as water trickles down your skin, and then you check out of the motel. Bags in hand, you toss them into the back of the car, getting ready for the drive to Richmond.

As you settle into the passenger seat, you slip on the matching sunglasses you and Joel bought in Pennsylvania last week. You lift your feet onto the dashboard, wiggling them to the rhythm of Dolly Parton’s voice spilling from the radio. Joel glances at you, his heart skipping a beat as he sees you all carefree, a vision of wild freedom beside him.

“Four hours to Richmond, right?” you ask, looking over at him.

“Yeah,” Joel nods, his eyes still on the road. “We’ll stop at a gas station, grab you some snacks. I need to hit the bank too.”

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “The bank? What for?”

“Gotta make a new card,” Joel explains. “Money’s runnin’ low, and Tommy’s gonna send us what we need.”

You tilt your head, teasing, “Joel, you didn’t work. Where’s the money even coming from?”

Joel chuckles softly, glancing your way. “It’s still my company, darlin’. Even if Tommy’s runnin’ it, I’m still gettin’ my cut. Just haven’t been using cards, tryin’ to stay off the radar, you know?”

You smirk, biting into your bubble gum. “Wow, Joel, you sound like my sugar daddy now.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Now where’d you learn a word like that?”

“The song,” you giggle, the playful tone lifting the mood even further.

Joel shoots you a sideways glance, teasing, “You sure do like callin’ me ‘daddy,’ don’t you, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks flush, the heat creeping up your neck. “Stop it, Joel,” you mumble, embarrassed but laughing.

Joel isn’t done teasing, his grin widening. “What’s the matter, baby? Gettin’ shy now?”

You melt into your seat, trying to hide your smile. “Joel, stop,” you say again, but there’s no real weight to it. You’re grinning ear to ear.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself, and you lightly smack his arm. “Ow, ow!” Joel laughs, pretending to wince as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Honey, I’m drivin’ here!”

You shake your head, laughing with him, feeling light and free. The road ahead stretches out endlessly, like a new beginning.

Eventually, you pull up to a gas station. You hop out of the car, asking Joel for money to grab snacks while he fills up the tank. He hands you a couple of bills, his eyes still distant, lost in thought. His mind drifts back to Jamie and Ben, those ghostly figures still haunting the edges of his vision, like shadows slipping through the cracks of his reality.

He pumps the gas, staring blankly at the numbers ticking up on the pump, but in his mind, those faces linger—faces of the dead, reminders of a past that refuses to stay buried. The heat of the day wraps around him, but Joel feels a cold sweat trickling down his back.

No matter how hard he tries to shake it, the memory of Ben and Jamie pulls at him like a chain, dragging him down, making it hard to breathe.

His thoughts tangle and twist, a labyrinth of dread and confusion. Ben and Jamie—they haunt him like specters, their faces floating at the edges of his consciousness like reflections on a disturbed pond, rippling but never quite vanishing.

He tries to shake it off, like you would a bad dream clinging too tightly. But no matter how much he tells himself it's nothing, just fatigue, the feeling digs in deeper, like a chain wrapped around his lungs, squeezing with every breath. 

Why now? Why are they showing up like this, like ghosts clawing their way into his reality?

Something bad’s coming. 

Joel can feel it in his bones. It’s the way the sky seems too bright, too still, the air too thick with heat and tension. His hand tightens on the gas pump as he fills the tank, but his mind drifts back to the possibility of pills—just a few to calm his nerves, help him sleep, something to keep him grounded.

It’s been too long since he last swallowed the bitterness of them, too long since he tried to hold back the nightmares that seem to be creeping in from every angle.

As the tank clicks full, Joel locks up the truck and walks into the store, spotting you instantly. You’re at the counter, smiling as you talk to the cashier—a guy in his mid-30s, with a casual grin that’s a little too friendly.

Joel sees the way the man’s eyes linger on you, sizing you up like you’re a prize to be won. You’re polite, not flirting back, but Joel knows that look in the guy’s eyes all too well.

His jaw tightens as he walks over, the air between him and the cashier thickening with unspoken tension. “Hey,” he murmurs, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

He makes sure the cashier can see the possessiveness in the way he holds you, a silent claim staked like a flag in the ground. “You got all you need?”

You nod, oblivious to the tension, “Yeah. You need anything else?”

“Yeah, but you wait in the truck,” Joel says, his voice calm, but there’s an edge to it, like a storm gathering on the horizon. You smile, thank the cashier, and head out, leaving Joel to face the man alone.

Joel steps closer to the counter, his voice low, “I need somethin' for sleep—pills. And somethin' for anxiety.”

The cashier looks him over, sizing him up, then slides a small bottle across the counter. “This one’s a big dose,” the guy says, cocking an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle it?”

“Just gimme the damn pills,” Joel mutters, pulling out his wallet.

As he’s counting out the bills, the cashier’s grin widens. “She’s a pretty little thing, huh? You’re a lucky man.”

Joel’s fingers freeze on the money, his pulse quickening. He doesn’t look up, trying to focus on the task, willing himself to ignore it. Not worth it.

“Where’d you get her?” the cashier continues, a smug edge to his voice. “I like me some of that, you know? Look at those tits and that slim little—”

Before the words are fully out of the man’s mouth, Joel’s hand is at his throat, gripping his shirt by the collar, yanking him forward across the counter. The cashier’s eyes widen in shock as Joel’s face inches closer, the fury in his gaze barely contained.

“What’d you say?” Joel’s voice is low, dangerous. His grip tightens, and the cashier's breath hitches in fear. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you ever talk about her like that again.”

The cashier stammers, eyes darting around, looking for an escape. “I’m sorry, man! I didn’t mean it—I’m sorry!”

Joel’s fist flies before he can think twice, smashing into the man’s nose with a sickening crack. Blood spills immediately, and the cashier clutches his face, whining in pain as Joel steps back, grabbing the pills and tossing the cash on the counter.

As Joel turns to leave, something catches his eye—a muted TV screen hanging in the corner of the store. The news is on, and a reporter’s voice echoes faintly through the store,

“Another body has been found, a young girl has been mutilated beyond recognition, suspected to be the work of the cannibal killer last seen in Chicago. The remains were discovered this morning in West Virginia… The suspect seen to be a caucasian man in his late 40s or ealy 50s, always wearing black leather jacket."

But Joel’s not listening about the suspect's characteristic. His head is still buzzing with adrenaline, his mind too consumed with the memory of the cashier’s words, the sickening way he talked about you. His grip on the pills tightens as he pushes through the door and heads to the truck.

You’re already sitting inside, looking up as he approaches. “What did you buy?” you ask, your voice light and curious.

Joel forces a smile, tucking the pills into his jacket pocket. “Just vitamins,” he says, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. The truck rumbles to life beneath them, but his heart is still racing from the encounter inside.

You hum, seemingly content with the answer, as the sound of Patsy Cline’s “Lovesick Blues” fills the cab. You chew your bubble gum, tapping your foot to the beat, oblivious to the storm brewing in Joel’s chest. He glances over at you, trying to let the sight of you melt the tension away, but it clings to him like the humidity in the air.

Joel grips the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead as the truck pulls out of the gas station, heading toward Richmond. The past clings to him like a shadow, and even though he’s beside you, it feels like something darker is lurking just out of sight, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

***

The sun rises softly over Richmond, casting a golden glow that warms the pavement and the hearts of those wandering its streets. It feels like the city has wrapped you and Joel in a cozy embrace, the air thick with the scent of blooming magnolias and fresh coffee from the little café you found tucked away in a corner. The day unfolds like a beautiful tapestry, woven with laughter and stolen glances.

You spent the morning wandering through the cobblestone streets, hand in hand with Joel, sharing stories and dreams. The laughter you both shared echoed like a sweet melody, a contrast to the heaviness that often hung over your heads. You visited the local art museum, marvelling at vibrant canvases that danced with color, each brushstroke inviting you to lose yourself in its depths. Later, you strolled along the riverbank, watching the water glisten like scattered diamonds under the sun.

As the day drifted into a golden sunset, you found a small restaurant with outdoor seating. Candlelight flickered against the evening breeze, and the two of you shared a plate of garlic shrimp and creamy risotto, the flavors rich and comforting, like the connection growing between you. Joel looked at you, his gaze softening as if the world around you faded into a mere whisper, leaving only the warmth of the moment.

But now, as the sun rose on a new day, the horizon painted with the soft pastels of dawn, you were packing up, getting ready to hit the road again.

Joel had decided to skip Charlotte, choosing instead to spend two days in Atlanta before go to Miami, a fresh adventure that sparked a glimmer of excitement in your heart.

You could feel the anticipation buzzing in the air as he loaded up the truck, your spirits buoyed by the sweet memories of the previous day.

Two hours into the drive, the truck hummed steadily along the highway, classic rock filling the cab. The Eagles’ “Hotel California” danced through the air like an old friend, familiar and comforting.

Joel’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel, a steady cadence that matched the beating of your heart. His face was focused, a portrait of concentration as the road stretched endlessly ahead, a ribbon of asphalt winding through the landscape.

You’re curled up in the passenger seat, your new book, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, in your lap. The words flow over you like a gentle stream, pulling you into a world where everything feels deeply real and beautifully haunting. As you read, the scenery rushes past the window—rolling hills painted in hues of green and gold, sprawling fields dotted with wildflowers dancing in the breeze, and the occasional farmhouse that looks like it stepped straight out of a postcard.

But something gnaws at Joel, the peace of the day shattered by an uncomfortable weight. He glances in the rearview mirror, a frown creasing his brow. A black car has been shadowing them since they left the motel in Richmond, its presence lurking like a dark cloud on a clear day. Not this again. The feeling is suffocating, tightening his chest as he thinks, Not this time. Just a coincidence.

Yet, as he studies the mirror, he can’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping in like shadows at dusk. Every time he thinks he might catch a glimpse of the driver’s face, the car swerves slightly, as if intentionally avoiding his gaze, slipping back into obscurity like a thief in the night. He mentally jots down the car’s license plate, the idea of keeping tabs on it soothing some of his fraying nerves.

“Doll,” he called softly, his voice breaking through your thoughts. You looked up from your book, "Hm?" a quizzical expression on your face.

“Can you help me with something?”

“What is it?” you asked, closing the book and focusing on him.

“Grab me a notepad and a pen, would ya? I want to note that plate number. Just in case.”

Your heart quickened as you registered the seriousness in his tone. Nodding, you scrambled to comply, shoving the book into your bag and grabbing the notepad from the glove compartment.

As Joel spelled out the license plate, you scribbled it down, your fingers moving quickly, the urgency palpable.

“Got it?” he asked, eyes still trained on the road.

“Yeah,” you replied, handing him the notepad.

He took it with his right hand, glancing at the rearview mirror again. But as his eyes locked with the driver, the black car swerved away, vanishing into the distance like a shadow at sunset.

“Who’s that?” you ask, fear creeping into your voice as you look back, your heart racing at the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

Joel’s jaw tightens, his mind racing. “I don’t know,” But even as he says it, the gnawing feeling persists, echoing in the silence between you.

He glances back at you, trying to calm the storm brewing in your eyes. “It’s okay. Just… keep that notepad in the truck, alright? Just in case he comes back.”

You nod, your unease palpable as you ask again, “Who is that, Joel?”

“It’s okay. Just some dude,” he reassures you, though the lie sits heavy on his tongue. It feels like he’s been following them since the motel.

You then telling him about the strange encounter with Negan in the church couple of days ago in West Virginia, how he seemed overly interested in your well-being, asking questions that made your skin crawl.

"It's funny how he always wear black leather jacket," you say

But Joel doesn’t hear you at all. His mind is miles away, tangled in dark thoughts about the car and the possibility that he’s being watched, that they might know about Ben and Jamie, that they suspect him. The shadows of his past loom larger with every mile they travel, threatening to swallow him whole.

The landscape shifts outside the truck’s window, fields giving way to towering trees that line the road like sentinels. Each passing mile is a testament to the journey you’re on together, yet the shadows linger, a reminder that safety is often an illusion, and sometimes the monsters are real.

[winterisol]

im in the trees, im in the breeze (1/?)

Rosquez Future Reconciliation Fic (2028-TBD)

Part Two. || Part Three.

Word Count: 1.9k words Warning(s): Description of motorcycle crash, tones of mistreatment

Valentino feels like he's being haunted by Marc Marquez, like as a cruel joke, as some sort of punishment from the gods no matter how hard he tries, Valentino can never escape Marc. Every corner he takes, every person he meets, Valentino is never free from the reminders. The reminders of his failures, of the worst moments of his life.

The sound of engines roaring filled Valentino’s ears, the screech of new tires echoing across every garage. The scent of gasoline and burning rubber, the sight of a buzzing paddock, it was a place all too familiar.

People often described racing as an addiction, the rush of riding at 300 KmpH, the highs of adrenaline after every win, and all the glamour that came with it. If you asked Valentino if he agreed with this statement, ten or even five years ago he would have said yes, saying that racing was like a drug to him. A want so strong it felt like a need.

But now, perhaps because he is older, racing didn’t feel like an addiction, no it was his home. 

Even after MotoGP, Valentino craved a piece of this familiarity, which WEC filled gracefully. However, just like his time in MotoGP, all good things come to an end. And Valentino was not getting any younger, he achieved enough, winning Le Mans 2026 and 2027. So just like MotoGP he hung up the leathers, bidding farewell to another chapter in his life.

Now he spent his time working on his one true passion. The VR46 Academy.

Currently he stood in the VR46 garage, staring down the timing table. Headphones covering his ears, eyes trailed a VR46 team bike, a number 49 currently displayed on the screen.

Diggia was a strong P3, the chequered flag waving as the garage around Valentino erupted into cheers. But he found his eyes wandering glued to the screen as it changed scenes, drawn back to a familiar number, its bold font and bright red colour almost taunting him.

93. Currently parading around the circuit in his usual P1 with Fermin Aldeguer a far P2. Distantly Valentino thought of Pecco who had fallen all the way down in tenth after an issue on the start. He wondered if Pecco felt bitter as his teammate celebrated, if Pecco kept thinking of what could have been if not for the issue.

Pecco’s teammate took to the new Ducati like a fish to water. In 2025 it was close, but Pecco was more consistent, more confident, and more experienced, at least in Ducati. 

2026 is when his teammate truly took off, having a stunning run of form at the end of the season, winning four races and five sprints, safely ensuring the title in Valencia. And then there was last year, a truly close battle between the two titans of Ducati. Pecco just about taking the title after an unfortunate incident in Valencia, another rider crashing into Pecco’s teammate in corner one, soundly ending his chance at the championship. 

And now, Pecco’s teammate was once again ahead in the championship, a dominant weekend at Sachsenring in contrast to Pecco’s crash in the sprint, a rare mistake from the five time MotoGP champion.

Since the beginning of the season there were the whispers, whispers of Marc Marquez, the youngest MotoGP champion, the new alien, babychamp, whispers of how he would finally surpass Valentino Rossi. How Marquez would finally get the tenth world championship, eight in the premier class, two from below.

But it wasn’t until this weekend, at the end of the race during the post-race press conference someone asked Marquez. 

“Marc, congrats on another victory this season, as we enter our summer break you must be thinking about how if you are able to continue this run of former you’ll surpass Valentino Rossi. Have you spoken to him about this?” The journalist asked.

Valentino pretended not to listen. Even if he was

“Ah, he was my idol growing up, but I do not care about that. Sure of course, it’s nice to have these numbers, but that’s not my goal, or even focus. I’m riding to enjoy winning with a team that has given me a great bike. And, uh no I see no reason to speak to him over something like that.” Marc responded. His face with his typical PR smile and tone of voice all too casual.

 The last part dug a nail into Valentino’s chest, a dull pain as every word processed in his head. Marc was careful with his words, but no matter how vague it was more than clear what Marc Marquez was trying to say.

Marc did not care about Valentino.

-

Valentino came to the next race. 

He had no original plans of being in Austria. No important team events, no big meetings, not even a sponsor to appease. No. Valentino came just to watch the race, or at least that's what he told Pecco when the other man found Valentino standing in his garage wearing a casual grey hoodie and jeans, not a single neon 46 logo in sight.

Valentino tried his hardest to focus on Pecco who was comfortably in P1, noting each lap time and sectors, logging each corner Pecco was still losing time. If his eyes also wandered a little bit more to the left towards the other side of the garage, it was nothing more than coincidence that the garage happened to have a large 93 written on its walls.

Following the end of qualifying Valentino found himself wandering around the paddock. By this time most people went to watch the Moto2 qualifying taking place, leaving the paddock relatively empty. 

Before slipping between the motorhomes and towards his own, he paused to tie his shoes. Looking up, a sense of déjà vu hit him, and there he was, standing in front of the Marquez brothers’ motorhome, inside the sound of a familiar, boisterous laugh bleeding out from its thin walls. Marc has always been a creature of habit

It took everything in his rational brain to quickly pivot away, deciding that he was better off going to his own motorhome, safe from any stupid thoughts. Like talking to Marc Marquez.

Entering his motorhome, he flopped on to his couch, staring at the mini kitchen, letting himself indulge in memories that he usually represses.

Laughter. Warm arms around his waist. Sat on the floor, a warm back pressed into his chest. Smell of xocolata desfeta filling the small space. A warm hand on his cheek, bringing his face closer until-

“Vale, are you going to watch the sprint?” A voice says, breaking the memories away.

“Oh, Celin, why are you here?” Valentino awkwardly stumbles, flustered by the younger boy’s presence.

“I’m going to hope you didn’t mean it in that way. I’m here because I left my airpods.” Celestino snarks back, pointedly grabbing the airpods from his kitchen counter and making his way out of the motorhome.

“Celin, you know I didn’t mean it in that way-” Valentino began.

“It's fine, you probably didn’t know this but I am a rider for KTM Tech3, I tend to show up for something called races.” Celestino cut off, spinning on his heel and marched off, presumably to his garage.

Dropping his head into his hands Valentino sighed. Just another one of his many headaches which has only gotten worse in the past few years has been Celestino. 

When he was younger he was the baby of the academy, the only person who could connect and control the chaos that was Marco Bezzecchi. He had always had an attitude, but Valentino always had a soft spot of the young spitfire.

So when Celestino began to struggle in Moto2 if it wasn’t for Valentino’s soft spot, Celestino would  have probably never made it to the top class.

But he did it, and to his own merit Celestino did it on his own. Finally making it into MotoGP in 2026, the kid did well, even with all the talk about how he was too old to be a rookie. 

Silently Valentino agreed with the criticism, himself shocked by KTM decision to replace Viñales with Celin but he was never going to admit that outloud. 

But their relationship would only take a turn for the worse as Celestino enter MotoGP. Perhaps it was the younger rider’s desire to prove himself to Valentino when all Valentino wanted was for the kid to be safe and happy. Or perhaps it was something more.

Franky said Celestino acts this way because Valentino never let him grow up. Mig thinks it's just in Celestino’s nature to be a little bitch. Bezz doesn’t see a problem with it, saying it's the “fun” part of Celestino’s personality. While Pecco only shook his head disapprovingly, telling Valentino to fix whatever went wrong in their relationship. And Luca, stared Valentino down with a knowing glare.

The truth is probably a mix of all of the above. But Luca’s look is something deeper, a haunting stare that sometimes appears in Valentino’s nightmare. Piercing blue eyes that know too much.

Truthfully Valentino and Celestino relationship took a turn for the worse because Celestino befriended a little Spanish bastard named Marc Marquez.

Unlike Marco, Pecco or even Franky, Celestino never idolised Valentino, of course he respected him, but never had a god worshipping phase like all the others. Perhaps it was because he knew Valentino at such a young age, and could see through the facade.

So when Celestino came bouncing back from a RedBull sponsorship event, eyes glowing as he recounted how great Marc Marquez was, Valentino couldn't help but feel jealous. Soon the random sponsorship event turned into Marc inviting Celestino out to a dirt bike track in Spain, and suddenly Celestino looked at Marc like he hung the stars. Just like Marc used to do to him.

The worst part was that Valentino could see parts of Marc in how Celestino acted. And this scared Valentino more than he is willing to admit.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Valentino exited his motorhome and returned towards the Ducati garage, slipping into Pecco’s garage just before the warm-up laps began.

Pecco was on pole, but Marc was a close second with a stroke of luck dragging both Aprillias up to third and fourth. Behind them was Pedro Acosta in the factory KTM and next to him in the final slot of the second row was Celestino.

Like always Valentino watched the lights carefully, hands flexed as if he was out there on the grid about to make the start. And then the lights went out.

It was Marco who would get the start wrong. His bike going sideways, front tires folding right on the start line as Marco tried to release the throttle. But he was nothing more than a passenger as his bike careened towards Celestino. 

Everything else felt like slow motion,  Celestino’s rear wheel being clipped by the sliding Aprilla, before the bike let go completely, throwing the younger rider into the air. 

Marco was already thrown off his bike, safely sliding on his back, probably leaving this incident with nothing more than a big bruise on his ribs and an even larger bruised ego. Celestino however dove left first, his left shoulder taking the brute of the force as he seemed to bounce along the tarmac, as if he was made of nothing more than rubber, rather than flesh and bone.

Valentino held his breath, fearfully watching as Marco raced towards Celestino, the younger man trying to quickly get up as on track marshals raced towards both of them.

But then the camera widened its shot pulling away from the runoff as it pans to another rider stranded in the middle of the circuit. 

The rider was cladded in the bright red Ducati colours, concerning laying on his stomach instead of his back. And like watching a car crash in slow motion a bike slowly approaches him and even from the screen it was clear the rider got the turn all wrong, and suddenly the bike is getting closer, too close. Until it finally makes contact with the stranded rider’s shoulder, clipping it before the other rider also loses control.

Red Flag.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

Clarification regarding MHA’s final chapter being published in a double issue

Weekly Shonen Jump’s annual publishing schedule plans for 52 issues. However, it might confuse you to know that those numbers begin in December, not January. For example, Issue #1 of the 2024 run was actually published in December of 2023, following 2023’s Issue #52 which was published in November.

WSJ also accounts for holiday breaks in this scheduling. Since 2016, they have released at least four “double issues” per year in accordance with Japanese holidays: Christmas, New Years, Golden Week, and Obon Festival, which fall in December, January, April, and August respectively.

As a result, you get back-to-back double issues in late December/early January, then a double issue in the last week of April and the first week of August.

Despite what you might think, double issues do not contain twice the amount of content.

Indeed, they occasionally have a couple extra color pages or two-page spreads than usual, but the main thing that is special about them is the “JUMP cast photo” covers. Weekly covers may highlight 2-3 characters from a couple series, or go for a bigger “splash page” look incorporating different series and more characters.

But double issues, without fail, cram absolutely everybody in there—the protagonist from nearly every series currently running in the magazine gets a spot on the cover, often with each of them matching in theme, as with this Christmas-themed one from the 2019 serialization:

And this year’s own Year of the Dragon New Years cover!

Obon’s double issue tends to have the summer theme, obviously, as we can see here with 2020 and 2022:

I even researched the last few times a series ended in the Obon double issue, and that would be Act-Age in 2020 and Nisekoi in 2016. From some light reading, Nisekoi typically had 16-17 pages per chapter, while the final chapter had 24. Act-Age, on the other hand, pretty consistently had 19-21, and its finale had 20 pages.

I researched how many pages MHA typically has for the Obon issue.

I also researched these numbers for the Golden Week double issue and it was similar, don’t question me, okay, I’m a freak.

These aren't noteworthy numbers; My Hero Academia has always varied between 15-21 pages, ebbing and flowing. Horikoshi said shortly after the Uraraka vs. Toga finale that his editor arranged for each chapter to be 15 pages because that was the number he could consistently complete, since sudden deviation or incomplete pages can cause serious stress to the rest of the publishing staff who have to arrange new chapters from around twenty different series every week.

From this information alone, we have no reason to believe the final chapter of MHA will contain double the typical number of pages.

However, we do have some tankōbon math to do here.

Volume 41 is being released a few days before the final chapter. We don’t have official confirmation, but most of the recent volumes have had 12 chapters and ended on a cliffhanger. In light of this, I suspect volume 41 will cover 411 through chapter 422, thus beginning the final volume, volume 42, on chapter 423.

The longest MHA tankōbon release has been 216 pages long, while the shortest is 184 pages.

We know we will get five more chapters from now, ending on chapter 430.

Every tankoban has at least 4 pages of table of contents and copyright, so the math works out this way:

4 pages + 45 pages with chapters 423, 424, and 425 = 49 pages Longest outcome: 216 – 49 = 167 167 divided into 5 new chapters: 33.40 average pages per chapter Shortest outcome: 184 – 49 = 135 135 divided into 5 new chapters: 27 average pages per chapter

This average is quite shocking to think about and begs the question, “what the fuck is UP, Horikoshi-sensei!?”

The recent trend of 15 pages per chapter for all eight chapters plus the four for table of contents/copyright would yield only 124 pages, which is definitely too few for release. I think there is a strong possibility we will get that upper range of his page count average, 20-21, until the end, which would yield about 154.

I said 184 was the shortest, but technically volume 7 had a unique release with 169 pages plus a drama CD and booklet, which makes me wonder if the final volume might have some sort of special content?? Or possibly volume 41 will end at 421, making it 11 chapters long while volume 42 is 9??

This answers some questions while raising a whole bunch more. I can't wait to find out~!!! <3

Note: I gathered most of the precise numbers-and-dates information referenced in this post—and my Jump GIGA post—from a fan-made Jump Database. Special thanks to the very dedicated people who maintain it.

[waywardsummoner46]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Sink Into the Darkness, My Light | Two | ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

"Join us, my Light."

Two centuries ago, the ruler of the Light disappeared, plunging the universe into chaos and disrupting the sacred, unspoken balance of the universe.

The eight rulers of the Darkness never stopped looking for her; their obsession never once waning since she vanished.

Recently, they've sensed something. Never around long enough to pinpoint but so euphoric that it sings within their veins. And since meeting you, well... slowly they begin to understand why.

"Sink into the darkness with us."

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

「✦」 PAIRING - yandere ot8!ateez x (?)reader

「✦」 GENRE - ancient gods!au, fantasy!au, magical powers!au

「✦」 WARNINGS - mind control, gaslighting, dom/sub, subspace (of a sort), temporary amnesia, manipulation, YANDERE AND DARK THEMES

「✦」 WORD COUNT - 4,863

「✦」 A/N - You're all so lovely. Thank you for the reception part one received. We meet another of the members in this chapter, enjoy.

「✦」 TAGLIST - Let me know if you'd like to be added :)

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

• one • two • three • four • five •

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

It was roughly 17:49 when you had another phone call. This time, it was Jee-Won’s caller ID that greeted you, not Ji-Ah’s. A picture of her kissing your smiling cheek and you with your eyes scrunched up. Funny how the picture held so much happiness but its motives caused you nothing but dread at whatever crazed things she wanted to discuss with you now.

  You sighed long and deep; your food was ready and you’d just sat down to begin digging in. How utterly stupid of you to assume that you could simply eat your food in peace. 

 “Hey, Jee-Won,” you said, masking your mild frustration. Speaking to her before you were going out was slowly tearing down the mental preparation you’d been working on. Dealing with her now was seriously reinforcing the recurring thoughts of simply not going… but you’d promised Ji-Ah. You couldn’t back out now (despite how much you wanted to).

  You loved Jee-Won dearly, you and her had been friends since you were very young. You knew basically everything about each other and could trust each other with everything. The fact that your personalities differ so greatly only made that friendship even stronger as one could offer outlooks and perspectives the other couldn’t. Through your care for each other, it was obvious you always had each others’ back.

  Doesn’t mean she doesn’t grate your nerves sometimes though.

  Jee-Won let out an ungodly squeal on her end of the phone and you had to pull the phone away from your ear, wincing. 

  “Happy birthday, my beautiful best friend! How are you on this gorgeous day?” Contrary to your mild vexation, her bubbly energy never failed to make you smile. This was something you could mirror, being practically all smiles yourself.

  Picking up your chopsticks, you began to twist the cheap store-bought noodles absentmindedly. “I’m wonderful, thank you. I’ve had a very… interesting day so far, but it has been genuinely good. How are you doing?” 

  Interesting was one word for it - neither Yunho nor Yeosang had left your mind all day. Thinking about them was natural and your best efforts were no match to their lingering effect on you. 

  Some selfish part of you wanted to go back to ‘Life Rose On’ right now just to see Yeosang again. Yunho you had resigned yourself to the understanding that you’d probably never see each other again (a fact that saddened you much more than it should’ve). Perhaps you were being childish in your hope that they knew each other. 

  It made sense; stumbling into two new pretty boys in the same shop on the same day. Couldn’t be entirely coincidental that they were in such close proximity with one another. Alas, the unknown was killing you and your unexplainable longing for the two handsome strangers remained. 

  And it was unexplainable. 

  Meeting and interacting with those two today felt so intense, so real. Somehow, talking to them was easy and could be done with the familiarity of long-time friends. After the initial hiccups (stumbling over your feet and words), when Yunho spoke to you it felt like every one of your senses was being stroked so sensually and lovingly that it made you shiver. When Yeosang had tucked that breathtaking purple rose behind your ear, that same shiver and unrestrained emotions of rightness returned. 

  … it bothered you. 

  Never in all of your years of living had you let anyone have such an effect on you. Nor were you one to be swayed by good looks alone so easily. Admittedly, both men were incredibly kind and friendly which enabled you to talk to them for longer, in addition to their angelic appearances.

  The effect that they’d had on you troubled you for a reason you couldn’t quite understand and, simply put, you were uncomfortable with it, especially after one meeting. 

  In conclusion, it wasn’t them that made you uncomfortable but rather the effect they had on you that did. Or did it? Oh, you didn’t know. These feelings confused you and only gave you a headache. 

  Realistically, you’d never see Yunho again and you’d probably see Yeosang once or twice more considering he worked in the florist you regulared. There you go, done. No need to dwell on it anymore. Nope. Not. At. All.

  “Hello? Are you still there?” Jee-Won’s mildly concerned voice startled you and made you realise just how far you’d sunk into the ocean of your thoughts. 

  You massaged your temples. “Sorry, Jee-Won. I didn’t sleep well last night, is all. What were you saying?”

  You practically taste her fond exasperation on the other end of the phone. “Are you sure you want to come out tonight? You know Ji-Ah won’t take it personally.”

  That snapped you to attention. 

  “I know that but I genuinely want to go, I promise.” Hoping your tone of false conviction was believable enough, you glanced at your watch. 17:54. Two hours and six minutes before you had to be there.

  “Mhm. Yeah, absolutely. I believe you one hundred percent.” Apparently, you were not as convincing as you’d once believed. “I won’t force you not to come because I know that despite how much you don’t want to go, you’ll go for the sake of other people. But please, if you need to go home early, please, please do. I know you don’t like it when everyone starts to get pissed.”

  Well, she wasn’t wrong there. The easy way out was like a weighted security blanket around your shoulders. A sense of grounding that you hadn’t realised you needed. Of course, Jee-Won noticed. Jee-Won, for all of her flaws, was a good friend. One that you wouldn’t replace for the world. 

  “Curse you and your eternal wisdom,” you said and laughed. Then in a quieter voice added, “And I will.”

  A muffled snap could be heard from the other end. “I know what will help.” Oh dear. “Getting our hair done together!”

  You supposed that the night was never destined to start on schedule; who knew that it would begin during your ramen?

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

 “Uh, Jee-Won I hate to burst your bubble but I think we’re in the wrong place. This looks like someone’s house, not somewhere where we can get our hair done.”

  “We are very much in the right place, my beautiful sunchild.”

  Your face twisted in immediate distaste. Sunchild? 

  You repeated it silently to Ji-Ah behind Jee-Won’s back and she mirrored your baffled expression. That certainly was a new one.

  Both of you turned to look at the building that was allegedly where you’d be getting your hairstyles for tonight. You didn’t necessarily see why Jee-Won had put so much emphasis on your hair in general, let alone praise this place to buggery and ultimately drag you two there against your will. Heck, you’d have been happy curling your hair or simply braiding it so at least it differed from your typical style.

  This place was huge. When she had said hair stylist, you expected a dainty little corner shop surrounded by similar establishments relatively close to ‘Life Rose On’. Everything was around there. The mansion that you beheld in front of you was on a whole new level.

  Never in your life had you seen a building like this, forget anything else. It was a truly impressive piece of architecture; there seemed to be multiple layers to the mansion and different areas with varying spires and towers. 

  The three of you stood on the entrance balcony. Beams of a rich brown supported the canopied roof and each were delicately hugged by the richest, healthiest clematis you’d ever had the honour of seeing in your life. Jung-Hee’s abilities to nurture plants was impressive but the owner of this fantastical building had powers akin to the Gods. Each beam seemed complimentary to the gold-lined, rectangular windows that were on either side of the main oak door, and the patterns on them made that of an intricate hourglass - one half stained a deep black and the other a blinding white, slowly being tainted by the darkness. Or at least, that’s how you saw it. Perhaps ‘The Hidden War Within’ was turning you into more of a poet than you thought.

  Removing yourself from the balcony temporarily, you strained your neck to ogle at the rest of the building. The roof the balcony on the ground floor was seemingly the foundations of the first floor as you saw that a set of glossy black rocking chairs and a dazzling coffee table sat atop it. This time, blood red roses wrapped around the fence bordering that area and worked as a nice contrast to the lighter purple of the clematis. 

  Of what you’d processed of the building so far, it was a double-layered abode with a relatively square shape. Then you looked to the right and it was more reminiscent of a castle than anything else for a circular tower merged into the rest of the building and had a spire at the top of it. It reminded you of a fairytale you read as a child. 

  Beyond that, there were two further layers to the house. Each topped with the traditional Korean dancheong roof, the building truly was like something out of a novel. 

  Quite peculiarly, there seemed to be… trees? Growing from some of the open windows? The picture it painted was exquisite but you wondered with unrestrained curiosity how on Earth the owner managed to achieve such a thing. 

  You’d have to tell Jung-Hee all about this mystical house next time you saw her. The fact that the mansion itself was well out of the way of the main road and surrounded by an incandescent forest was just feeding your slowly spiralling feelings of awe.

  As Ji-Ah and Jee-Won bickered by the front door, you took your sweet time to observe every sheltered nook and every single captivating cranny of the house’s exterior… when you caught a glimpse of something in the tower window. Squinting your eyes, they promptly widened once more when you realised it was a someone and not a something.

  Just as quickly as they’d come, they had disappeared. You blinked rapidly, trying in vain to see if you could catch a glimpse of the dark figure in the window. 

  From what little you had seen, whoever it was was male and looked relatively tall. His face was wholly covered by the shadow the lighting gave him but you could’ve sworn you saw the slightest hint of a smile.

    A shiver ran down your spine and you shook your head to recompose yourself. The day was catching up to you - getting to your head. You needed to breathe and stay grounded rather than let your head wander, especially in a place as isolated as this.   

  You were just about to go towards Ji-Ah and Jee-Won when something wet hit your nose. At first, the shock made you freeze momentarily but reaching up to touch the droplet you found it was only rain. Then, a booming clap echoed through the forest and then the rain began to pour down with a vengeance. 

  Running for the balcony, you avoided trampling the delicate pathway the owner had laid out. Ji-Ah and Jee-Won looked as though they were struggling to hold back their laughs and you raised a soaking finger at them.

  “Listen-”

  “Oh, you must be freezing!” A kind voice said from behind the two of them. All three of you looked at the mystery voice immediately and the breath left your lungs for the third time that day. “Please, do come in,” he said and gestured for you all to follow him through the front door.

  The man must’ve been a God because the urge to drop to your knees and worship him with everything you had was suffocating. 

  His hair was the first thing you noticed about him; silky raven locks lay gracefully across his forehead and framed his face perfectly, like a dark angel. You hadn’t had ample time to examine (appreciate) his face before he turned around but you saw his outfit.

  Long, dark tailored trousers hugged his legs. Flaring off towards his feet, you saw that the man wore glossy black heeled boots that only added to his intimidating aura. There was something so divine about a man confident in his appearance and this man was an example, not an exception.

  Embracing his torso was something akin to a black waistcoat except there were no sleeves nor were there any shoulder coverings; it came up to his chest and gave way to a bright white blouse whose sleeves hung from his muscular arms like decorations and a button up collar that gave the man an impression of elevated status. The cherry on top of the cake was the brief glimpse of an expensive silver necklace you noticed decorated his neck.

  You could basically hear the wealth and power screaming from his form as you followed dutifully behind him and through the mansion’s winding halls. Nothing around you was being processed, your attention wholly centered on the man you trailed behind.

  “You’ll catch flies if you don’t shut your mouth,” Ji-Ah’s smug voice said. Your attention was immediately directed at her, scandalised that she’d say something like that as loudly as she did.

  An inquisitive hum was heard from in front of you and your knees nearly buckled when seeing his face for the first time. 

  (Perfect, chiselled jawline. Perfect, sharp nose. Perfect, full lips. Perfect, piercing boba eyes and, undeniably, one of the most handsome faces you’ve ever seen.)

  One of his eyebrows were raised in question but lowered once he saw the two of you. “Ah, the architecture is rather impressive, isn’t it? This was built by my great, great grandfather during the nineteenth century.” 

  Letting out a subtle breath of relief at his misunderstanding, you subtly nudged Ji-Ah’s side with your elbow. She almost landed you in one of the most humiliating experiences of your life. You never would have forgiven her if he’d picked up on why your jaw was actually dropped.

  “Forgive me, I never did introduce myself,” he turned once more and bowed deeply. He straightened and made eye contact with you. 

  Perhaps you were delusional. Perhaps you were just seeing what you wanted to see. But the way he was looking at you made you feel like he was picking apart the very linings of your soul.

 “My name is Park Seonghwa, but you may call me Seonghwa.” 

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

  Eventually, Seonghwa led the three of you to what looked like a dining room.

  The walls altered between pink and white marble with streaks of gold complimenting the foundation colour. There were old sconces laid evenly across the walls of the gigantic room and they all lit up a long table, the key feature of the room. An impressive chandelier dangled from the ceiling and the scarce rays of light bounced off of it in a faint imitation of falling stars.

  What truly caught your attention was the painting on the opposite side of the room. It covered the entire wall; black and white paint entwining with each other to give the picture frame a misty effect and the same hourglass patterns from the windows lay in each corner of the frame. 

  Nine people were in the painting. Eight men and one woman. Each man wore an outfit straight from a fantasy novel, completely covered in black clothing. Some donned a cloak, others were clad in onyx medieval armour and one with a crown made entirely of black metal and dangerously glinting gemstones. Quite fascinatingly, the one with his hand on the girl’s shoulder wore a dark half skirt and black trousers that were connected to a torso of gold, floral patterns dusting a glossy tunic.

  In a certain light, it looked as though their eyes were following your slow movements around the space but you disregarded that thought as soon as it entered your head.

  The girl, on the other hand, well… the resemblance she bore to you was uncanny. She lay across the floor in front of the eight men and wore a white dress that could only be described as having the consistency of a cloud.

   “Hey, that’s kind of freaky,” Jee-Won said from behind you. She was also looking at the painting and was alternating her gaze from the painting girl and your face. 

  “Jee-Won, don’t be rude,” Ji-Ah scolded from her side. 

  “I am not being rude, I’m making an observation.”   “Could you try and be more polite about it next time then, please?” Ji-Ah returned, equally as sassy as Jee-Won had been. 

  You shook your head fondly at them. Since becoming a trio, it had been a constant battle between the two of which was right and which was wrong. Ji-Ah had a better understanding of social situations and standards whereas Jee-Won’s unfiltered opinions were something that both benefited her and were to her detriment - like right now. 

  Seonghwa entered your peripheral and placed a calming hand on each of your friends’ shoulders. “Now, now, there’s no need to argue, is there?” There was a power in his words that had the girls quieting down instantly. You were surprised at the look of sheer embarrassment that was on their faces; and you thought you were bad. 

  Seonghwa gave them each a pleased hum and crooked a pointy, gloved finger for you all to follow him. He sat down on a cream-coloured chaise longue, posture entirely straight, and patted the seat next to him as he made direct eye contact with you. 

  You gulped but did as he wished. Tension rendered your body immovable and prolonged eye contact was impossible. 

  Contrary to Yunho and Yeosang, Seonghwa had an effortless motherly energy to him and a deep part of you didn’t want to risk tarnishing that with any hesitance or inclination to disdain. Because you were very much not disdainful of Seonghwa, the exact opposite actually. 

  Watching as Ji-Ah and Jee-Won sat down on the two individual lounge chairs opposite you two, you remembered that you’d all come here to get your hair done. Nothing in this mansion seemed equipped to give you those services nor did you think that you’d have enough time between now - 18:40 - and when you had to be at the night club - 20:00. 

  Seonghwa might look like a miracle but you doubt he could perform them. 

  A clap and all three of you snapped to look at him. He held his entwined hands to his chest and smiled softly at you all. 

  “Firstly, I would like to welcome you to my home. I trust you’ll respect it as it will you during your time here.” The three of you nodded.

  “Excellent. Now, I understand each of you are here to have your beautiful hair styled to perfection for the birthday girl’s night out,” he gave you a wink and you felt your heart stutter in your chest. “Unfortunately, due to the late hour, my… colleagues will be taking two of you whilst I give my undivided attention to another.”   You all seemed to have a silent conversation with each other. His words and logic made sense but his implication that you would all be separated had you grimacing mildly. There wasn’t an issue, you were all grown women - you’d just thought that you could enjoy each others’ presence before the night out when you’d be swarmed by drunkards and junkies. Much fun. 

  The conspirational smile he gabe you all made you aware that he was privy to your mild displeasure. “My sincerest apologies, ladies. I simply wish to maximise time and efforts.”

  “It’s no trouble at all, thank you so much for even accepting us in on such short notice. You’re a lifesaver,” Jee-Won practically gushed. You raised your brow, short notice, huh? She’s acting as though she hasn’t had this planned for the better part of a week (you’d overheard her and Ji-Ah talking).

  Seonghwa raised a hand. “No need to thank us. We’re always happy to help, aren’t we, Yongbokie-dear?”

  A short man with pretty silver hair entered the room. He looked young, only mildly younger than you. “Of course, we are.” His deep voice contrasted his innocent features, much like Yeosang’s had but to a milder degree. He met Seonghwa’s eyes, “We’re ready now, Seonghwa-hyung.”

  “Have the three of you decided who will stay with me?” Seonghwa questioned, looking rather intensely at you. 

  You got so caught up in his eyes that you nearly missed Ji-Ah’s comment. “Jee-Won and I will leave you two to it. Thank you again, Seonghwa-ssi.” The look of unbridled horror on your face caused her to stifle a laugh and you prayed to whatever god was listening that Seonghwa didn’t pick up on it. 

  Seonghwa merely smiled in goodbye as they followed Yongbok out of the room… leaving you alone with a man who compromised your ability to talk.

  Being alone with Seonghwa was worse than being alone with Yunho or Yeosang. You didn’t know why but you genuinely felt as though words were beyond you right now. 

  As though approaching a frightened deer, he extended his hand slowly for you to take. Your eyes darted rapidly from his own and his hand, struggling to comprehend what he was asking of you, why you were reacting like this and just what was going to happen now. 

  “Shall we, darling?” Is it possible to melt into the floor? Because that’s how his voice made you feel. 

  With a new found determination, you took his hand and allowed him to bring you over to a window seat you hadn’t noticed on your way in. Lengthy, silk curtains obstructed it from the dining room’s view but once Seonghwa guided you through them, it was like being embraced by shadows. 

  Very little light penetrated the area for the curtains were dark enough to block the sconces from the dining room and where a window should have been there was only dark marble.

  Seonghwa gently sat you down on a chair in the centre of the area. You remained as silent as he while he rummaged through whatever was behind you. 

  Despite how many times you reflected on the whirlwind that was today, you still couldn’t completely comprehend any of the turns it had taken.

  An hour glass was placed on a previously unseen table in front of you and you jumped at the unexpected movement. Dark sand dominated the most of it and only a slither of white sand sat atop it. It seemed to be some form of bioilluminescant sand as it was glowing in the darkness. How, you did not know. You didn’t question it though, it was beautiful. 

  “Seonghwa-ssi? Excuse me if this is rude but I was wondering how you were going to style my hair in this lighting?” Your meek voice permeated the blanket of silence that had settled over you two. 

  His rummaging halted momentarily as he chuckled lowly. “Not rude at all, little one. A perfectly sound question.” You jumped slightly when you felt his hands in your hair, removing any accessories you had in and detangling the biggest knots. “I work better in the darkness, you see. I find its security to be some form of an embrace, you might say.”

  Your gaze remained fixed on the hourglass in front of you as you absorbed his words. You couldn’t understand how anyone could prefer the darkness to the light. The darkness was stifling and clung to you like a parasite, always had done, always will do. The hourglass was a direct representation of that; it was practically crushing the white sand and reducing it to the thinnest grains possible all in order to rid its presence entirely.

  Seonghwa began to part your hair, separating the top of your hair from the bottom. “What do you think of the darkness, dear?” He asked, and you could sense the genuine curiosity behind his words.

  “I don’t dislike it. I just prefer the light,” your words gained a few ounces of strength with every sentence you spoke. It shouldn’t be as substantial as it was but having been rendered speechless so many times today, the ability to talk was relieving to have once more.

  “How fascinating,” he whispered. Both hands were focused on the top half of your hair now; you felt two pieces of hair tickle your cheeks in what you assumed was him using them to structure your face. He parted your hair down the middle once more except this time it felt as though he was going to braid them. Going off of that assumption, you followed his hand movements as best as you could without actually seeing them as he begun to manoeuvre the right side of your hair. 

  “If I may ask, why do you prefer it?”

  It was a good question. The answer was as natural as breathing. “It’s… safe. It’s hope, it gives everything life and through that gives them happiness.”

  His hands finished the plait he was working on and he rested them tactfully on each side of your head, gently stroking the soft locks as he thought of an answer. “Wouldn’t you agree that without the darkness, there is no light? Similar to without death, there would be no life?”

    You hummed, digesting his words. Secretly, you were rather entertained by this turn in conversation. It was very reminiscent of ‘The Hidden War Within’ with the discussion of dark and light and their codependency on each other to survive but also how they consistently defy the other’s existence. 

  You started off slowly, choosing your words. “Alright, well… take a flower, it is inevitable that they will fall to the darkness and death that swallows it. But there’s always a light that shines down on it and through that light there will be a new bud that will be protected and nurtured by the light until the darkness once again claims that life.” 

  The white sand seemed to glow brighter all of a sudden and you paused in your words. How ironic. 

  “Finish what you were saying, dear. I am enjoying this immensely.” The sand dimmed and you found your head tilting at its loss.

  “Right, um. I think through the existence of light, darkness must consequently exist too. They need each other to balance the other out, that’s simply the way of the world. Too much of one thing - like overpopulation or war - can have a detrimental effect on that balance and that’s why the world is in so much discord today. Because that balance hasn’t existed for a long time. So to answer your question,” you could feel how your gaze was glued to the hourglass.

  For reasons you couldn’t explain, it was magnetic and you were hopeless to resist its pull. The more you spoke, the more the sand looked fluid; it began to twist and weave through and around one another until it mirrored the universe, stars filling in its vastness and only reminding it of its mortality. It was morbidly beautiful. 

  “I believe that without the darkness there would be no light. And I believe that, somewhere, there is a place where light and darkness meet and the distinction between good and evil is no more because there is only existence where morals and nature don’t have a sway.” 

  You reached for the hourglass and turned it over, watching as the sand glided across itself. Nature’s river, caught in a glass prison. “That is how we will find true peace. When war is over, when selflessness works alongside selfishness, when the line between love and hate isn’t so thin after all and instead becomes one.”

  Seonghwa had finished styling your hair minutes ago. He simply stood behind you, hands gently caressing your locks of hair as he listened intently. Even after you finished, slightly breathless, he remained silent as though taking in every last one of your words to heart and committing them to his memory.

  The curtain was ripped open and light spilled in the dark space you’d settled into. Inquisitively, you turned to look at him and your mouth dropped when you saw there were tears in his eyes.  

  “Oh, my - are you alright?”

  He burst into sobs, and hid his head in his hands as collapsed onto the chaise longue from earlier. You stood frozen, completely baffled at the turn of events and even more reluctant to approach him since you were sure you had caused it.  

  “Seonghwa-ssi, I am so sorry. I really-”   “No,” he raised his hand, stopping your apologies before they became ceaseless. He seemed to be struggling to compose himself if his long, deep breaths were anything to go by. 

  You stood, fiddling with the hourglass absentmindedly as you waited tensely for him to make the next move. 

  Seonghwa took one final deep breath and stood on shaky legs. He began walking over to you with such intent you stumbled back slightly. Before you realised what was happening, he grabbed your face in his hands - his teary eyes meeting your wide ones.  “You… are perfect.”

[empressofthewind]

Fun Facts About Near:

He is the youngest character in the series! Right after him is Matt by a margin of 569 days (1 year, 6 months and 23 days), and the oldest is Watari by a margin of about 58 years.

He is also among the shortest - an inch taller than Misa according to some translations of Volume 13, and equally as tall as her in others. Rester is the tallest, standing at approximately 6'3", which is around 1'3" taller than Near.

From chapters 59-108 of the manga, Near appears in a grand total of 724 panels. This includes panels that show any identifiable part of him (e.g. his hand, the top of his head), but excludes Linda's drawing of him and any official art in the chapter that was not part of the plot. If you count the drawing & art, he's present in 741 panels!

Of all the chapters he's in, he makes the most appearances in chapter 82, appearing in a total of 49 panels. For comparison, the next highest is chapter 101, in which he is shown 33 times.

He's shown twirling his hair 84 times, split across 18 chapters and 59 pages. He always uses his right hand, and his left hand is often resting on his knee.

He can be seen smiling in 32 panels across 12 chapters. The majority of these happen in chapter 78, where he is shown smiling in 11 out of the total 19 panels in which his mouth is visible.

According to Volume 13 (page 210), Near estimated that he spent 4080.02 USD on toys over the duration of the SPK's work on the Kira case. Out of 25 total items listed, 7 of them were purchased in Japan, and the other 18 were purchased in New York.

Of all his toys, the puppets make the most appearances, showing up in a total of 11 chapters. The second highest is his robots, which were present in 10 chapters. Despite being commonly associated with him, cards and puzzles were among the least popular, each appearing in only 2 chapters.

He has 28 rubber ducks (as far as we know).

Four of his toys are handmade! These are the finger puppets, the radio tower model he assembles out of paper, one of his darts, and the figures from one of his Lego sets (which are pre-made but he draws on the details and faces with a marker). The L mask he wears in the warehouse is also handmade.

He has a very bizarre-looking set of Christmas ornaments hanging from his Christmas tree, including 2 robots, 3 video game consoles and what looks like a black cat peering out of a gift-wrapped box.

The last person to address him by name in the manga is Light, in chapter 107. After this, he is only addressed once more by Aizawa, who refers to him as L.

[leportraitducadavre]

Let's get something out of the way, the "Sasuke as a medic" AU has nothing to do with Tsunade being more "suited" to mentor him; there's nothing she can teach him that he'd find useful in his quest (why would he, who has an enormous amount of chakra at his disposal, need to learn to delicately control his energy as Sakura canonically needs to as her chakra pool is small?), nor helpful. Tsunade would never even consider taking him out of the front lines to use him as a medic either, as doing so would be a waste of his immense power and capabilities in the field.

No. This AU isn't about Sasuke, it's about Sakura and how her stans want to disguise their ultimate desire for her to have more jutsus at her disposal than what Tsunade taught her.

Hate to break it to you, but being the student of a powerful ninja doesn't mean copy-pasting the abilities of the mentor down to the disciple. What they learn has all to do with their personal capabilities, desires, and natural strength. Naruto, while he used mostly his teacher's jutsu, quickly outgrew his teachings by taking the Rasengan further than his father and Jiraiya, Sasuke surpassed both Orochimaru and Kakashi, as Kabuto did with the Sannin by the end of the series.

Orochimaru knowing kenjutsu doesn't translate to Sakura being able to be even remotely good at it. Her "agility" (which isn't even canon as there's no mention of medics being agile, rather them staying away from danger) has to do with her being a medic-nin, and I'll reiterate, Orochimaru isn't a medic in a similar manner Tsunade is, that one is Kabuto. Why would Orochimaru take Sakura with him when Kabuto, a 19-year-old, devised a technique like Tsunade's without even meeting her before fighting her?

Sakura copy-pasted the techniques taught to her, she improved them in no manner:

Do you see where I'm going with this? Kabuto even has a larger pool of chakra as he was able to learn Senjutsu mode which Sakura will never be able to do (Tsunade and Sakura having a small chakra pool is the whole reason why the Yin Seal -that actually uses Yang, as that's the only chakra nature Tsunade possesses even exists).

Kabuto knew medical ninjutsu outside of Orochimaru's teachings as those were the reasons Orochimaru sought him out, the Sannin even admitted to looking for extraordinarily talented people to take "under his wing", and at no moment he even looked in Sakura's direction (I implore you to read yourself the whole Orochimaru vs. Team 7 fight, from Chapter 46 to Chapter 49, and tell me how many times Orochimaru even glances at Sakura's direction. He knows both Naruto and Sasuke's names, yet never mentions Sakura's).

I don't even understand why "being an expert at Genjutsu" has her fandom in such a chokehold, normal genjutsu became almost obsolete when the Sharingan (Yin Release at its finest) was introduced and the more the story unfolded the fewer regular genjutsu experts, of the likes of Kurenai or Shee, were introduced, as the strongest characters either used kekkei genkai genjutsu (which can't be broken by a single person as the chakra needs to be disturbed by someone else) or ninjutsu/taijutsu skills. Regular genjutsu can be broken by the target if they realize a genjutsu has been casted, it's mostly used as a quick diversion for an attack or to escape, and most ninja have that tool at their disposal.

[And if you think Sakura would be able to pull off a Genjutsu like Shee does and attack with the speed at which A attacked Jügo you're out of your mind, she used not a single remarkable genjutsu in the whole manga, having Sasuke do that for her during FoD and dispersed a single basic one. She fell for Kakashi's genjutsu on the bell test, had to wait for Sasuke's reassurance that an illusion was in place in the chünin exams, fell for Orochimaru's own genjutsu in FoD, and was fooled by a henge twice in the same chapter and once by non-other than Naruto who pretended to be Sasuke. She had four encounters with the genjutsu technique, and three out of the four times she fell for it and still, some of you still hold Kakashi's words as "proof of her wasted potential" when he's the same man who couldn't care less if she dropped out of the exam.]

And as a quick addition, why is Mokuton!Sakura so insanely popular? Her having Earth and Water releases (Ino also has those nature releases, what's your point?) means nothing as she'll need a huge amount of chakra (which she doesn't possess) and few ninjas are even capable of mixing the two.

While any ninja can learn to transform their chakra’s nature, and even transform it into different natures consecutively (which Sakura was never even shown to do as she only used her medical skills to fight), it is impossible for them to transform two at the same time.

And he could perform such a special jutsu because he was of a kekkei genkai bearing clan

Only those with the genetic abilities of these kekkei genkai have a chakra system capable of double-nature transformation.

Canonically, no one but Hashirama could naturally have such nature release (for god's sake, Naruto and Sasuke both have water and earth nature and they can't even use Mokuton!). Let me remind you the reason why Hashirama having Mokuton is so important thematically:

Mokuton is the expression of Yang (Life) at its finest; Yang Release uses chakra that is two parts physical energy and one part spiritual energy. It governs vitality and manipulates the body, breathing life into form to animate that which lacks life of its own, which is in direct opposition to the Sharingan that expresses Yin (creating form from nothing); Yin Release uses chakra that is two parts spiritual energy and one part physical energy. It governs imagination and manipulates the spirit, creating form from nothingness to give shape to that which has none (which is why the Sharingan is the ultimate expression of Genjutsu).

[Used Sasuke's chart to exemplify, as Madara has both Yin and Yang Releases as he modified his body using Hashirama's cells].

Yamato was experimented on by Orochimaru by using Hashirama's cells, so the only way Sakura could have such power is if she is experimented on by Orochimaru, and why on earth would he do that? Furthermore, Hashirama's cells would eat her alive in seconds, she couldn't handle a scratch amount of Kyuubi's chakra, how would she handle Hashirama's? This is the same man whose chakra was so vast and potent he healed himself unconsciously!

Sakura having delicate chakra control isn't a wild card you can use as you see fit to fulfill your fantasies, it means nothing outside her medical work. This notion that "Sakura has precise control of her chakra! That means she can learn any jutsu she wants!" is completely false.

First of all, Kakashi outright claims this idea of "no Jutsu should ever be beyond you," is "in theory, anyway." At no point does he say you'll be capable of learning chakra-draining ninjutsu with this skill alone as not a page after he claims this:

If you think this looks hard, it's even more difficult to maintain your chakra when using ninjutsu

Delicate chakra control in a portion of one's body (like fists when using Sakura's Cherry Blossom Impact) used to enhance one's strength (chakra enhancement is a feat used by every shinobi ever, like Lee and Gai themselves, albeit with different levels of expertise) isn't as chakra depleting as using Ninjutsu, which is why Sakura and Tsunade use it as their main fighting technique since they don't have a vast chakra pool as Hashirama had.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Anyway now that everyone's confused, have a chapter 49 snippet

Remus Lupin: Peter's asking me why he hasn't been added back to the group chat yet.

Sirius Black added Peter Pettigrew

Sirius Black: Stop fucking leaving then

Peter Pettigrew: You were supposed to add me back right after I left!

James Potter: but every time you leave the chat it becomes harder to forgive harder to forget harder to reconcile especially when i later come to you for help and you cruelly rebuff me

Remus Lupin: What are you on about?

Peter Pettigrew: James asked me to teach him the full functionality of Excel yesterday and I said no.

Remus Lupin: Why did you need to know the full functionality of Excel?

Peter Pettigrew: Some Lily related reason, probably.

James Potter: first of all peter if you're going to keep exiting the group chat in a huff you may as well vlookup new friends we four are meant to be a merged cell and i've had it with you exporting yourself elsewhere then deciding to pivot table your way back in

Peter Pettigrew: ......WHAT?

James Potter: see? i can learn excel all by myself

Remus Lupin: You've clearly just Googled a glossary of Excel terms.

James Potter: a full understanding of the terminology is a vital step towards excel proficiency my friend

Sirius Black: I'd love to take the piss too but he is actually using Excel for a serious reason

James Potter: that's right and now that i know how to wrap text and expand column widths it's over for you people

[soliska]

If We Fall Anyway - Chapter 50

Please enjoy my late but enthusiastic offering for @inuvember Day 19 InuKag <3 Thanks for organizing the fun every year, @inuvember !

"Kagome." He called simply in greeting. His eyes were intent as he made a quick sweep of her person.

He was just checking if she was ok, still uneasy every time he let her out of his sight. This Kagome knew intellectually. She really did!

But try telling that to her body.

CONTINUE

__________________________________

Summary:

What if the Shikon jewel didn’t exist and Naraku never came to be? What if Kagome fell down the well anyway and met a gruff, young inu-hanyou. Would they still become friends? What would be their story?

A tale told in snippets.

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