#chapter four 49

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

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The Last Mask (16)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 16 - Caught You

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 17.1

PREV : Chapter 15

The fourth game finally ended after twelve grueling rounds. In total, 49 players were eliminated. It was supposed to be 48, as only four players were meant to be eliminated in each round, but one round had five players caught in the elimination zone. They couldn’t come to a unanimous decision about who would be spared, and as a result, all five were executed.

You and soldier 011 had put your masks back on – you in your square mask and her in her triangle one. The players had left and descended the stairs back to the dormitory. Only you, manager 009, and several circle guards remained in the game location. The workers quietly cleaned the conveyor belt, erasing the blood and tidying up the room.

Once everything was in order, you and manager 009 left the area, walking through the labyrinth of corridors. The silence between you was heavy, but it didn’t last long.

“Where’s 019?” manager 009 asked.

You kept your gaze forward, your voice calm and steady in disguise. “Not sure. They should’ve been back by now.”

Manager 009 didn’t press further, and the conversation ended there. The two of you continued toward the control room in silence.

When you entered, the first thing you noticed was the Front Man standing in the center of the room. The screen displaying the pictures of the surviving players glowed brightly beneath him. Beside him stood the masked officer as they both gazed at the massive screens showing live feeds of the dormitory.

Your eyes scanned the room, and you spotted manager 009 walking towards their previous station. Taking that as a green light, you made your way to your own monitor and sat down.

Just as you settled into your seat, the double doors leading to the dormitory slid open, breaking the tense silence of the room. The sound drew everyone’s attention. A manager flanked by 16 soldiers marched in and they took their positions in front of the door.

You realized what was coming next. It was time to announce the results of the fourth game: the number of players eliminated, the remaining survivors, and the updated total of the accumulated prize money.

The manager announced, “Congratulations to all of you for making it through the fourth game. Here are the results of the fourth game.”

The dormitory lights dimmed, casting the room into an eerie semi-darkness. The only illumination came from the glowing piggy bank suspended near the ceiling. All eyes were drawn upward as stacks of bills cascaded into the transparent container. The players watched, some with awe, others with blank stares, as the money continued to fill the bank.

When the flow of money stopped, the manager’s voice echoed again, cutting through the silence. “49 players were eliminated in the fourth game. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 43.2 billion won. Since there are 24 players remaining, each person’s share would be 1.8 billion won.”

A ripple of reactions swept through the room. Half of the players erupted into gasps of delight, their voices rising in excitement.

“Wow!” one player exclaimed, their face lighting up as if they could already feel the weight of the cash in their hands.

The jubilation of some players stood in sharp contrast to the shock etched on the faces of others. Gi-hun’s team, in particular, exchanged flabbergasted glances. Jun-hee and the mother were looking at the floor, still in shock about their near-death experience. Gi-hun’s jaw clenched, his gaze flickering between the piggy bank and the delighted players. Dae-ho’s expression was pale and distant.

However, Yong-sik and Jung-bae initially looked somewhat elated to hear the announcement, faint smiles creeping onto their faces. However, one stern glance from the mother to Yong-sik and from Gi-hun to Jung-bae caused both of them to restrain themselves, quickly lowering their smiles as guilt and unease replaced their fleeting excitement.

The manager continued. “You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not.”

As the announcement hung in the air, a line of circle guards – the workers – entered the room. They set up the familiar voting counter at the front of the dormitory.

The manager added, “The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers. Player 456.”

Slowly, all eyes turned to Gi-hun. Whispers rippled through the group as they recognized him not only as the previous winner of these games but also as the one who had instigated the failed uprising against the game management. Some players stared at him with a mixture of awe and resentment, while others seemed to hold him responsible for the chaos and loss they had endured.

Gi-hun stood stoic, his jaw tight as if he was aware of the silent scrutiny bearing down on him. He then moved out of the crowd of players and headed towards the voting counter.

Behind your mask, you frowned in concern. Gi-hun must be blaming himself for almost everything, including the deaths of Young-il and other players. You knew he was kind and selfless, but when he became adamant about something, he could cross into selfishness. It was either that, or he had a heavy hero complex, or a gambling addiction, or he hadn’t yet realized the full impact his actions had on others. Even so, you couldn’t help but think he didn’t deserve the silent judgment radiating from the other players.

Gi-hun reached the voting counter and stopped. He stared at it for what felt like an eternity. The players behind him began exchanging confused glances, whispers rippling through the group. Even you felt a flicker of bafflement behind your mask. Gi-hun, the one who had tirelessly urged everyone to quit the games, the one who had orchestrated the failed revolt against the management, was actually hesitating?

What is he doing? you thought, your pulse quickening. He never hesitated to press X before. Why is he taking his time now?

Gi-hun’s hands hovered over the buttons, but he didn’t move. Then, his gaze slowly lifted. His scowl deepened, and his eyes locked onto one of the CCTVs in the dormitory. The intensity of his glare made your breath hitch. From the control room, one screen now displayed a clear feed of him staring directly into the lens. It wasn’t just a look of defiance; it was a challenge, a silent declaration to the management that he wasn’t finished. It was as if he wanted to show them that his fight wasn’t over – that he still had more to give.

You glanced at the Front Man, who remained as still as a statue in the center of the control room. His attention was fixed on the screen as if he too was assessing Gi-hun’s intent. The tension in the air was suffocating, the room silent except for the faint hum of the monitors.

After what felt like an eternity, Gi-hun lowered his gaze back to the voting counter. His jaw tightened as he raised his hand and pressed the X button. A lighter ping echoed through both the dormitory and the control room, signaling his vote. Without looking at anyone, he turned and walked to the X zone.

The voting process continued. One by one, the players approached the counter to cast their decision. Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Se-mi, player 333, Jun-hee, the mother, Hyun-ju, and Yong-sik all voted for X. You knew they would vote for the right thing. Including Gi-hun, that made a total of nine X votes. It gave you a glimmer of hope that you all could finally leave this place.

But the other players, they voted for O. Among them were the greedy old man with a ten-billion debt (100), his equally greedy underling (226), the late Thanos’ friend (124), and the shaman (044). Their choice was no surprise, but what angered you more was how they whispered and schemed during the process, influencing the undecided voters with hushed conversations and manipulative gestures.

In the end, the results were announced: [X: 11 | O: 13]. The outcome sent a wave of crushing disappointment through you. It had been so close to a tie, so painfully close to everyone finally going back home. To you, disguised as manager 007, the result felt like a punch to the gut.

The 13 players in the O zone erupted into hollers of delight and triumph. Their cheers filled the dormitory, their voices dripping with greed and selfishness. It didn’t matter to them that Jun-hee was pregnant. That fact had become apparent to many since the fourth game, but it didn’t sway their decision. They couldn’t care less about forcing a pregnant woman to stay here longer for the sake of their greed. Behind your mask, you furrowed your eyebrows in indignation.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed a movement. Glancing over, you saw the masked officer turning to face you. His voice, distorted by the mask, rang out. “Manager 007 and 009, continue with your next task.”

Manager 009 rose from their seat without hesitation. You mirrored their movement, rising and following them as they moved toward the back of the center. The two of you positioned yourselves behind the masked officer and the Front Man, standing like a pair of bodyguards.

The Front Man’s gaze remained fixed on the live feeds of the dormitory. Everyone could feel it, including yourself. His commanding presence that demanded respect and fear in equal measure. You stared at him from behind your square mask, your mind drifting back to the conversation you had with 011 during the fourth game.

***

[Flashback begins…]

“What do you mean he will spare me?” you asked, your voice hushed but sharp with confusion. Behind your triangle mask, your eyes widened, trying to process the weight of 011’s words. The two of you were still disguising as one another – you wearing her triangle mask, and 011 now donning your square one.

011 hesitated, a rare pause that betrayed her own uncertainty. She didn’t meet your gaze as she finally spoke. “I’ve worked under him as a pink guard for years. In all that time, I’ve never seen him issue an order like this. Telling the guards not to shoot a specific player. He’s strict, but it’s always been about fairness. He treats guards and players with the same rules. That’s why I think… even if you reveal yourself to him, he might spare you.”

Her words hung in the air, leaving you reeling. You stayed quiet, mulling over what she’d said. The idea of revealing yourself to the Front Man… Could you trust that he’d spare you? And even if he did, at what cost?

“Do you know what he would do to me if he finds me?” you asked, your curiosity laced with unease.

011 answered, “No. I don’t. But I’ve heard whispers among the guards. Rumors that it might have something to do with the VIPs. Not sure if it's true or not.”

You furrowed your eyebrows beneath the mask. “VIPs?”

She hesitated again, the silence stretching just a moment too long. Whether she regretted bringing it up or was unsure herself, you couldn’t tell.

“You could think of them as investors,” she finally said, her tone quieter now. “They fund this operation. They’re the ones who ensure it keeps going. That’s what I know so far. And from what I’ve heard, they watch these games regularly. For their entertainment.”

Your skin prickled with fear, the mere thought sending an icy wave down your spine. One thought sprang to mind almost instantly. You could be handed over to these so-called VIPs. Sold to them, perhaps. The idea made your stomach churn.

Before you could fully process the implications, Gyeong-seok’s voice broke the tense silence.

“They’re watching us?” he asked, his alarm palpable even through the distortion of his triangle mask. “Could it be that one of the VIPs likes her? And that’s why there’s an order not to shoot her?”

His words made your blood run cold. A fresh wave of fear surged through you, twisting in your chest like a vice. Your hands trembled uncontrollably and you promptly hugged them to your chest, trying to steady yourself. The thought of being singled out – not for safety, but for something darker – made your heart race with dread.

“That’s…” you started, your voice faltering. “That can’t be it. Right?”

011 seemed hesitant, her voice quieter than before as she replied, “I’m not sure. If you ask me, I don’t think that’s the case. But it’s best to stay safe and alert.”

Her words did little to calm your nerves. You sat there, mulling over everything she’d said. Fear and apprehension tightened in your chest. The thought of being under constant scrutiny – while you were supposed to guard the Front Man – made your stomach churn, but an even darker fear gnawed at you: what if you were being reserved for one of the VIPs? The possibility sent a chill through your veins. You couldn’t let yourself get caught, not by him or anyone else who might have plans for you beyond this nightmare.

“What should I do then?” you asked, your voice low and uncertain. “I’m going to be his guard soon enough.”

When 011 spoke, her tone was solemn. “Try to adapt as fast as possible. Do not speak unless you’re spoken to. Whatever he tells you to do, just do it. And always be on alert. Watch everything. Listen to everything. He doesn’t tolerate mistakes.”

You nodded, taking in her advice even as the apprehension gnawed at you. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about navigating a dangerous, unpredictable situation with a man who held absolute power over everyone here.

“Does he really need guards?” Gyeong-seok asked, his tone curious and innocent, as though the thought had just occurred to him.

011 glanced at him briefly before answering. “It’s customary to have two managers with him wherever he goes. He has a lot of tasks to oversee, and the managers assist with those duties. It’s as much about maintaining order as it is about support.”

Her explanation was straightforward, but it only added to your apprehension. You couldn’t afford to make a single mistake, not when you were walking such a thin line. And above all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the Front Man’s presence was more than just commanding. It was suffocating, like he could see straight through any disguise you wore.

[Flashback ends…]

***

Back to the present, you and manager 009 waited in silence, standing for a few minutes as the Front Man surveyed the live feeds and ensured every operation was running smoothly. His imposing figure was still, his masked face tilted slightly toward the screens as if scrutinizing every detail with precision.

Then, without warning, he spun around, striding toward the exit and eventually walking past you both. Manager 009 immediately fell into step behind him, and you quickly followed. The two of you flanked and followed the Captain as he descended into the labyrinth of colorful stairs, the vibrancy of the walls contrasting sharply with the dark-coloured control room.

The three of you arrived at the armory, a large, sterile room lined with racks of weapons. Rows of MP5 guns, pistols, and other equipment were neatly arranged. Multiple circle guards were stationed throughout the room, diligently performing tasks such as logging weapon serial numbers, testing firing mechanisms, and cleaning the firearms. Overseeing them was another manager who moved diligently between stations.

“Status report on the firearms,” the Captain commanded, his distorted voice filling the room.

The manager stepped forward and answered, “All weapons are accounted for, Captain. The inventory has been cross-checked, and all MP5s have been resecured. Pistols have been redistributed to guards as per protocol.”

The Captain gave a curt nod and turned to 009. “Ensure the biometric systems have been fully calibrated. Test random samples to verify their functionality.”

“Yes, Captain,” 009 replied, moving toward one of the nearby stations where guards were monitoring the equipment.

You stood quietly, waiting. The Captain’s gaze swept over the room before it landed on you.

“007,” he said finally, “verify the safeties on the pistols. Ensure they’re properly engaged.”

The task was very simple, and you couldn't be more glad. You nodded and moved toward the rack of pistols. You meticulously checked each one, toggling the safeties to confirm they were engaged. It took only a few minutes to complete and then you returned back to stand behind him.

Once 009 finished their task and the armory was taken care of, the Captain led the way through another series of corridors, descending a staircase until you reached a room marked with no identifying signage. The door slid open, revealing a sprawling IT hub filled with rows of computers and massive screens lining the walls. Workers in circle masks sat at the terminals, their fingers flying across keyboards as they edited and managed live feeds from across the facility. One manager was present, walking slowly as they supervised everything.

The Captain strode into the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. “Report.”

The manager straightened up and informed, “All live feeds are edited and being transmitted to the VIPs as scheduled. Editing for clarity and focus is underway. No interruptions have been detected.”

“Good,” the Captain replied. He turned to manager 009. “Check every videos that have been transferred online. Ensure the footage meets the required standards for transmission.”

“Yes, Captain,” 009 said, immediately moving to one of the editing stations.

The Captain’s masked face turned slightly in your direction, his geometrical mask facing you for a fleeting moment. Your breath hitched and you braced yourself inwardly, waiting for any task he would give to you. But instead of speaking, he simply turned away, his focus shifting back to the workers and the room’s activity.

You stood behind him, feeling tiny compared to his tall, strong figure. From where you were, you noticed the sharp lines of his coat and the way his gloved hands rested at his sides. He looked like he was completely in charge of everything, and even though neither of you said a word, it felt like the air between you was charged with some kind of energy. You couldn’t explain it, but it made you feel nervous, like he could see right through you without even speaking.

Your gaze drifted upward, catching the faint reflection of yourself in one of the monitors. Beneath the square mask, your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why had he looked at you? Why hadn’t he given you anything to do? Was he testing you?

“009,” the Captain’s voice broke the silence after a few minutes, deep and distorted as always. “Report.”

009 responded immediately, “The edits are nearly complete, Captain. All footage meets the standards for clarity and focus. There are no delays in the transmission to the VIPs.”

The Captain gave a small nod in approval. Before he could say more, his radio crackled briefly. The distorted voice of the masked officer came through. “Captain, there is a commotion among players in the hallway close to the restrooms.”

Your attention snapped to the conversation immediately. You straightened instinctively, your heartbeat picking up speed. The Captain gave no visible reaction, his body language calm and composed as he lifted the radio closer to his masked face. “Report.”

“Several O players started a fight against the X players,” the masked officer reported. “Some of them were player 124, 100, 388, 333, and 222.”

Your eyes widened beneath your mask, your breath catching in your throat. Player 222… Jun-hee. The image of her flashed in your mind. Her small, trembling form, her hands protectively cradling her pregnant belly. Fear surged through you. What is happening? Why is she involved?

The masked officer continued, “Do we intervene, captain? Further losses of players would ruin the next game.”

The Captain said nothing at first, the silence hanging heavy in the room. Then, he turned his masked face directly toward you. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place. Even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt as though he was peering straight into your thoughts. You stared back at him, your heart thudding loudly in your ears. You didn’t need him to say it. You already knew what he was about to ask.

“007,” the Captain finally said. “Go.”

You bowed your head respectfully. You spun on your heel and left the room in a calm demeanor. But as soon as you were out of sight, you quickened your pace, practically jogging as you navigated the labyrinth of colorful staircases.

Your heart pounded fiercely against your ribs, every beat a reminder of the urgency of the situation. The bright, almost whimsical colors of the walls felt jarring, out of place against the heavy dread settling over you. Jun-hee… what were they doing to her? Was she hurt? Was she safe? The thought of her, vulnerable and frightened, made your stomach churn. She didn’t deserve this.

As you descended another flight of stairs, two triangle guards appeared from a side corridor. They immediately fell into step behind you. You glanced over your shoulder briefly, your pulse spiking until you recognized the marks on their uniforms.

It was 011 and Gyeong-seok; the latter still disguised as soldiers. It seemed they had caught wind of the commotion. Their familiar presence sent a small wave of relief washing over you, though your anxiety remained. They flanked you without a word. The three of you moved as one, your pace quickening as you closed in on the hallway near the restrooms.

“This way,” 011 said softly, her voice barely audible beneath the hum of the facility. You were grateful for her guidance and you followed. Your focus was razor-sharp now. Whatever was happening, you had to get there. You had to protect Jun-hee and your friends. In this place, survival wasn’t just about making it through the games. It also meant defending yourself against players who had no qualms about killing one another.

The three of you arrived at the source of the commotion, the sound of shouting and scuffling growing louder with each step. The moment your gaze landed on the scene, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. Behind your square mask, your eyes widened in horror.

Player 124, the late Thanos’ friend, was towering over player 333, his fists flying with relentless fury. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, and player 333, sprawled on the floor, tried desperately to shield himself, his arms raised defensively. He couldn’t get up; the assault was unrelenting, leaving him completely at the mercy of his attacker.

Nearby, two more O players were savagely kicking another figure who was curled into a tight fetal position. His arms were wrapped protectively around his head, his knees pulled to his chest. You could clearly see his entire form trembling as if in extreme fear. From your vantage point, you couldn’t see who it was, but the viciousness of the attack made your stomach churn.

Then your eyes darted to Jun-hee, who was on the floor a few feet away. She was crawling, her trembling hands stretched out toward the man being kicked, as though trying to shield him despite her own fear and condition. Before she could reach him, one of the O players broke away from the group and stormed toward her, his face contorted with rage.

“You bitch!” he roared, his voice echoing off the walls. “You should’ve been dead! You should’ve been eliminated, and because of you, that round restarted and all my friends are gone!”

He must be referring to the Open, Dongdaemun game, when Jun-hee, the mother, and three other players were caught in the area of elimination and you restarted the round.

Jun-hee’s flushed face turned upward, tears streaking down her cheeks as she cradled her belly protectively. She froze, wide-eyed, as the man raised his fist, ready to strike.

But then something tugged at his ankle. The man staggered slightly, his focus snapping downward. There, on the floor, was Dae-ho. Blood dripped from his battered face, his nose swollen and bleeding, but his eyes burned with determination. Despite his injuries, despite the beating he’d already endured, he clung to the man’s ankle with all the strength he had left.

“Get away from her!” bellowed Dae-ho, his voice hoarse but unwavering.

The O player sneered, kicking at Dae-ho’s hand to free himself. Then another voice joined in, “You should’ve just stayed down!”

It was player 226. He stood beside player 100, who watched the chaos unfold with greedy and sickening enthusiasm. They were encouraging the Os to continue as they were content to let the others do their dirty work.

Player 226, his sneer widening, stepped forward and raised his leg, ready to drive his shoes into Dae-ho’s already bloodied face. However, you’d had enough.

Reaching for your revolver, you unlatched the safety in one smooth motion. Raising it to the ceiling, you fired a single shot. The deafening crack echoed through the hallway, silencing the chaos in an instant. Every head turned toward you, their expressions a mix of shock and fear as they registered the weapon in your hand.

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice distorted behind the mask but still commanding. The air around you seemed to shift as you stared down the O players who you knew for sure had started this bloody fist fight. 011 and Gyeong-seok were behind you, holding their MP5s at ready. For the first time, you felt... powerful.

Player 124 and the Os who had been beating and kicking player 333 and Dae-ho backed away immediately, retreating toward the wall. Player 333 and Dae-ho, battered and bruised, struggled to their feet. Blood smeared their faces, hands, and uniforms as they limped to stand protectively in front of Jun-hee, who was still trembling near the opposite wall. Her hands were tightly cradling her belly, tears streaking her flushed face.

“Hey!” player 100’s voice rang out, filled with indignation. He jabbed a finger in your direction, his fury evident in the way his eyes widened like saucers unevenly. “Why are you interrupting us?! Aren’t you supposed to just stand aside and let us be?! Why are you stopping us now, of all times?!”

For a moment, the hallway fell silent except for the heavy breathing of the injured players. All eyes were on you, waiting for your response. You felt the weight of their stares. Behind your square mask, your mind raced to formulate an answer that would justify your interference while maintaining the facade of authority.

You stood still for a moment, your thoughts racing behind the mask. You knew that the players weren’t the only ones watching you. Somewhere, the guards in the control room were likely observing through the CCTV too. You had to justify yourself to everyone.

Then again, the Captain had told you to “go”. That must have been a green light to intervene, right? You gripped the revolver in your hand tightly, resolving to follow through with his unspoken directive.

“Unnecessary fights will no longer be tolerated,” you stated, your voice calm but firm. “The total number of players is already critically low for the next game. Any further disruptions will jeopardize the next game to run smoothly.”

“Tolerated?” player 100’s voice rang out, laced with mockery and anger. He stepped forward slightly in defiance. “Since when do you care about what’s tolerated? You guards didn’t care when people were dying during lights out, did you? What changed now?”

011 raised her MP5 slightly, the weapon’s barrel glinting under the harsh lights of the hallway. Her voice cut through the rising tension, calm yet carrying an unmistakable edge. “Listen to the order, 100.”

“Order?” player 100’s voice rose, echoing through the hallway. “Give me a break! You didn’t care about ‘order’ when people were dying left and right during lights out. What’s so different now? Is it because there is a pregnant woman here?”

“The difference is,” you said, still calm, “your fist fight jeopardizes the next game. Further disruptions won’t be tolerated.”

“Jeopardizes the games?” he spat, stepping forward slightly. “What, because one player’s pregnant? Is that it? Are we supposed to pretend like there’s no special treatment here? Because it sure looks like there is.”

Your grip on the revolver tightened slightly, but your tone remained controlled. “The rules apply to everyone equally. Any player, pregnant or not, who participates in the games is subject to the same conditions. Your actions, however, directly endanger the balance of the competition.”

“Don’t make me laugh!” player 100 shouted, gesturing wildly. “We’re all fighting to survive, and now you expect us to play fair? Give me a break. You think you can scare me? You think that gun in your hand gives you power over us?”

Your patience, already stretched thin, finally snapped. Without a word, you strode forward, your shoes striking the floor with deliberate force. The revolver in your right hand glinted faintly. Player 100 faltered, his bluster evaporating as you closed the distance between you and him.

When you were mere inches away, you stopped, your masked face level with his. The air between you crackled with tension, and the other players shrank back, their eyes wide as they watched the confrontation unfold.

“Do you have a problem listening to orders, 100?” you asked, your voice low and cutting. The question hung in the air like a blade.

Player 100 stumbled back a step, his bravado completely gone. His gaze darted to the revolver in your hand, then back to your mask. For a moment, he looked like he might try to retort, but the words never came. Instead, he glared you up and down and muttered something under his breath.

He then turned around and stormed off. Player 226 shot you a stinky side-eye before following player 100. The rest of the O players trailed behind, with player 124 flicking off player 333 as he left.

Once the O players disappeared down the hallway, you turned your attention to player 333, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee. The two men immediately checked on Jun-hee, their concern evident.

“You okay?” Dae-ho asked gently.

Jun-hee nodded but then looked at him with worry. “But you… you're bleeding.”

Dae-ho quickly shook his head, forcing a grin. “I’m fine. This is nothing.”

“Like I said,” player 333 spoke up, his voice firm but calm, “we can’t let you go to the bathroom alone. It’s better to have two men with you at all times. Everyone now knows you’re pregnant.”

“But, Myung-gi…” Jun-hee’s voice softened as she turned her gaze to him. “You’re hurt too.”

So his name is Myung-gi, you thought, filing the information away.

Myung-gi straightened his lips and gave her a small nod, his tone reassuring. “I’m fine. Let’s go back.”

The three of them turned toward you and the other triangle guards, preparing to leave. As they began to walk past you, Jun-hee suddenly winced, her steps faltering slightly as her hand swiftly moved to her belly.

Your hand shot up instinctively, steadying her by placing it lightly on her shoulder. Jun-hee froze momentarily but avoided meeting your gaze, murmuring softly, “Thanks…”

You urged her calmly as your hand subconsciously brushed gently over the top of her head, smoothing her hair back toward her neck, “Go.”

Jun-hee’s reaction was immediate. Her wide eyes snapped to your masked face, her expression filled with surprise, almost disbelief. Her stare lingered, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of confusion. Why was she looking at you like that?

“Jun-hee,” Myung-gi called. “Let’s go.”

Jun-hee hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze lingering on you as though searching for something. But eventually, she turned and followed Dae-ho and Myung-gi. You stood still, watching as they moved further down the hallway, her steps slow and careful. Even as they walked away, Jun-hee’s gaze flickered back to you briefly, again and again.

You and the two triangle guards – 011 and Gyeong-seok – remained where you were until the trio disappeared from view. The silence in the hallway felt heavy, but none of you spoke. Instead, you exchanged quiet glances, a mutual understanding passing between the three of you. There was no room for discussion here. You all knew you were being watched. Somewhere in the labyrinth of colorful corridors, CCTVs were likely trained on you. And through those cameras, the masked officer and the Captain were likely observing every move.

Without a word, the three of you began to walk back the way you came. After a few minutes, 011 and Gyeong-seok peeled off from you in different direction. You didn’t look back as you continued alone.

***

The next thing you knew, two hours had passed. Time seemed to blur as you followed the Captain wherever he went. Manager 009 was always beside you, the two of you sticking close to the boss like shadows.

During this time, the Front Man went from room to room. He gave commands and checked on tasks to make sure everything in this twisted operation was running smoothly. He never raised his voice, but the way he spoke made it clear he expected perfection. Manager 009 got most of the work, being handed one task after another. Each one seemed complicated and time-consuming, but 009 handled them all quickly and without hesitation.

And you? Over those two hours, you only got three tasks. Each one was so simple it almost felt like a joke. You stood guard at a door for five minutes, delivered a report to a nearby circle guard, and checked a number on a screen. None of it took much effort. You finished each task easily, but the simplicity of it all left you confused.

Why was the Front Man treating you differently? Was it because 009 had already proven how capable they were, while you hadn’t yet? Or was there something else going on? The thought kept nagging at you, even as you tried to focus on blending in. You couldn’t decide if you should feel relieved that your tasks were so easy or offended that you weren’t trusted with more responsibility.

It reminded you back when you were tending to your part-time job. Even here, you were still worrying about how you looked in the eyes of your “boss.” Old habits, it seemed, were hard to break.

However, thirty minutes into this, the three of you were ascending towards the control room when the Front Man suddenly halted in his tracks. The abrupt pause in the all-purple hallway made you and 009 stop as well. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as the Captain slowly turned around to face you directly.

“007,” he said in his deep, distorted voice. “Head to the control room and take the elevator. It will lead you straight to the host's room above. It requires inspection. Check the lighting, furniture placement, and any potential issues. Check every room. Make a mental note of anything that needs attention, and inform the workers to handle it later.”

You blinked behind your mask, caught off guard by the sudden request. Now this was a difficult one. The host’s room? You had never been there but you didn't want to question him for fear of endangering your disguise and even show him that you were incompetent. So you kept your thoughts to yourself, lowering your head.

“Understood, Captain,” you replied.

The Captain stared at you for a moment longer before he turned to manager 009. “Continue with me to the next game's location. Ensure all workers are ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Captain,” 009 responded. Then, the two of them went back the way they came from down the hallway. You watched them for a second before turning toward the path that led to the control room.

You walked into the control room and saw managers sitting at their monitors, focused on their screens. You glanced around and noticed an elevator tucked beside the door you had just walked through.

Stepping up to it, you noticed the panel beside the door had only one button – an ‘up’ arrow. You pressed it. The doors slid open right away, revealing an elevator so bright unlike any other setting in this place. The inside was decorated in black and gold, looking fancy and elegant. The walls shimmered under soft lighting, and the floor was polished like a mirror. It felt too luxurious for this facility.

You stepped inside, glancing around quickly. There was only one floor option. You pressed the button, and the doors closed with a quiet hiss. The elevator moved up smoothly and seconds later, a small chime sounded and the doors slid open again.

The sight before you was stunning. The entire area was decorated in black and gold, making it feel grand and important. Directly outside the elevator was a long hallway with black doors on either side. At the end of the hallway, the space opened into a massive living room.

The living room looked like something out of a magazine. A huge television screen covered one wall, reflecting the soft glow of a fancy chandelier hanging above. Beneath it sat a single-seater sofa, placed right in front of the television. A small nightstand stood beside it. Other furniture was placed around the room – a table, a low cupboard with a diorama on top of it. The furniture and decorations were neatly arranged, making the living room look simple yet elegant, with the black and gold colors giving it a fancy and important feel.

You hesitated at the doorway, staring at the overwhelming luxury before you. Everything about it felt strange. You had seen wealth before, but this was different. It wasn’t just expensive. It was personal, like stepping into someone’s private space. Not only that. It felt like someone was watching you, even though you were completely alone.

The sound of the elevator doors beginning to close startled you into action. Without thinking, you quickly stepped forward into the hallway, the doors shutting behind you with a quiet finality.

Walking past the hallways and into the living room, you moved cautiously, inspecting the space. The sofa was perfectly neat, the cushions untouched. The nightstand held nothing above it. Then, the diorama caught your eye. It was a detailed miniature version of what seemed like a group of men playing musical instruments with a lady as a singer. Looking around, you realized there was another cupboard with a wired telephone.

Everything looked pristine, with no obvious technical issues in sight. Still, you wanted to inspect as much as possible per the Captain’s order.

In a way, you felt a small sense of satisfaction. Unlike the simple tasks he had given you before, this one required more effort. It almost felt like a test. It’s as if he was finally trusting you with something more significant. Not only that, but he had allowed you to enter this exclusive, luxurious space. Perhaps, through this task, you could learn more about this place and the way it operated.

You started by thoroughly examining the living room. You checked the lighting and other electronic systems. The television was in perfect condition, and the diorama sat undisturbed. The shelves were dust-free, and every piece of furniture was arranged with precision. It was as if no one had ever disturbed the space.

Satisfied with the state of the living room, you walked back into the hallway. Your gaze landed on the series of black doors lining the corridor.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to proceed further. Then, you remembered the Captain’s instructions – Check every room. That was as clear a green light as any.

You stepped up to the first door and pushed it open. The room inside matched the rest of the place, following the same black and gold aesthetic. It appeared to be a study with an expansive wooden desk in the center and several bookshelves lining the walls. Everything was arranged neatly with no signs of disarray. You checked the lighting, the air circulation, and the furniture’s condition before moving on.

The second room was a bathroom, designed with the same black and gold aesthetic. A large, polished black marble sink stretched along one side with gold-trimmed mirrors above it. The walk-in shower featured sleek glass doors and golden fixtures and a luxurious bathtub sat in the corner. It looked so deep and inviting. Like the study, this room was also flawless.

The third room contained what seemed to be a small, private meeting area. A circular table sat in the center, surrounded by four chairs. The walls were adorned with subtle gold accents, and a sleek control panel rested on the far side of the room. Like the others, this space was pristine with no indication of recent use.

Then, as you moved to the next door, you found yourself stepping into... a dressing room? Across from the door stood a mannequin dressed in a sleek black suit, its head adorned with a golden mask resembling an animal. Positioned on a raised platform, it gave the impression of something highly significant. Heavy black curtains flanked the display, adding to the dramatic presentation. To your left, a dressing table with a large mirror reflected the dim lighting of the room.

You glanced around and noticed a door, partially hidden behind the curtain. Curiosity tugged at you as you stepped closer and pushed it open. The moment you crossed the threshold, you stopped short. The lighting in this room was noticeably dimmer. It took you a moment to fully process what you were seeing. 

A bedroom.

A wide single bed was covered in black sheets, one pillow neatly propped against the headboard. A wardrobe stood to one side. A nightstand rested beside the bed. On the opposite side, a study desk held a large PC monitor. Several books were arranged precisely on both sides of the desk, accompanied by a lamp, a box of tissues, and a set of writing utensils. The air carried a distinct scent – leather, or perhaps a trace of cologne. In this room, the scent and presence of the Front Man lingered unmistakably.

On the other side of the nightstand was a solid black door. Before stepping through, you decided to check the bedroom thoroughly. You scanned the furniture, electronics, and every small detail, making sure everything looked normal.

Once satisfied, you finally approached the door and opened it. What lay beyond surprised you. A narrow brick hallway stretched to the right, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. At the end of the hall, a staircase led downward toward another door.

Glancing over your shoulder, you checked for anyone nearby. You felt like you were sneaking around, but technically, you weren’t. The Captain had told you to check every room, and this was no exception, even if it seemed strangely hidden. Like no one was supposed to access it except the boss himself.

Taking a deep breath, you descended the stairs slowly. When you reached the bottom, you hesitated before pushing the door open. The room was completely dark. Your hand searched along the wall until you found a switch. With a quick flick, the lights came on, casting a yellowish glow over the space.

The walls, like the hallway, were entirely made of brick. Rows of shelves lined every side of the room, filled with neatly stacked files, books, and documents. One wall was blocked by a shelf of drawers, each labeled, though the text was too small to read from where you stood.

Careful not to disturb anything, you walked further inside, scanning the shelves and the layout. Everything was perfectly arranged, untouched, as if no one had been here in a long time.

Once you were sure nothing was out of place, you turned back toward the door, ready to leave. But just as you moved, something unusual caught your eye. Sitting on a shelf close to the door was a small black box wrapped in a neatly tied hot pink ribbon. Unlike everything else in the room, this object looked so out of place, so different than other documents here.

You wondered why this box seemed so different from the other documents in the room. Curiosity sparked, you moved toward it and carefully grabbed the box.

Lifting the lid, you found a single framed sheet of paper inside. The heading at the top read, “Round 6.” Below, two neatly organized tables filled the page, and in an instant, you understood what it was. This was a record of winners from this game, dating all the way back to 1988.

Your mind immediately flashed to Young-il. He had told you he was the previous winner of this game in 2015. His name had to be here. Maybe seeing it would bring you some comfort, even if only a little.

You quickly scanned the list, searching for the year 2015. Your eyes landed on the correct row, and you followed it across to the winner’s name.

Except… it wasn’t his name.

“Hwang In-ho?” you murmured, confusion washing over you. That wasn’t Young-il. No. It was supposed to be Oh Young-il.

Your grip on the frame tightened as your mind raced. Who was Hwang In-ho? And why wasn’t Young-il listed as the winner of the game he claimed to have survived?

Wait. You lifted your gaze from the framed paper and stared into space, a sudden coldness running down your spine. Was he lying to you? Was he never a previous winner? But he knew so much about the game.

A thought struck you. Your eyes darted to the shelves filled with records. There had to be complete participant records somewhere in this room. Setting aside the box and framed paper, you rushed toward the rows of meticulously arranged files, scanning them carefully.

Each file was labeled neatly along the spine. After a quick search, your fingers stopped on a section titled “List of Players.” Your heart pounded as you searched for the year 2015. It was easy enough to find since the files were organized chronologically.

You pulled out a thick folder labeled “List of Players 1, 2015” and flipped it open. Page after page detailed the participants, but you quickly realized you had forgotten Hwang In-ho's player number.

Rushing back to the framed paper, your eyes locked onto the number next to his name. 132.

You hurried back to the file, flipping through pages as you repeated the number under your breath. Your fingers trembled as you searched frantically.

Finally, you found it. Player 132.

Your breath hitched as your gaze landed on the ID player photo attached to the upper left corner of the page. Your eyes widened in shock.

It was Young-il. A much younger version, his face softer, carrying a faint, hopeful smile. But then your gaze drifted to the name printed beside it.

Hwang In-ho.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. But… wasn’t his name supposed to be Oh Young-il?

The loud, jarring noise of the door swinging open sent a violent jolt through your body. Your breath caught in your throat as your heart slammed against your ribcage. You had been so completely absorbed in the record that the sudden intrusion felt like a gunshot in the silence.

Your head snapped toward the entrance, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights behind your mask. There, striding purposefully into the room, was the Front Man.

His masked face turned directly toward you, his entire posture exuding an imposing authority. The door shut behind him with an ominous finality, locking you inside with him. The weight of his presence sent a wave of overwhelming fear crashing over you.

You had been caught.

Your hands trembled as you slowly straightened up, the weight of the file slipping from your grasp. It hit the floor with a loud, unceremonious thud.

The Front Man took a step toward you.

Instinct took over. You took a step back.

Another step forward. Another step back. He was closing in, his slow, deliberate pace like a predator closing in on its prey. The fear gripping your chest made your breaths shallow, quick, and sounded deeper and distorted behind the square mask you're wearing. You kept moving backward until your spine met the cold, unyielding brick wall. Your breath hitched.

He did not stop.

His approach remained unhurried, measured, yet filled with intent. The air around you thickened as if the shelves around you were closing in. You felt suffocated. You pressed yourself against the wall, fingers splaying against the rough brick as if searching for a way to melt into it, to disappear entirely.

Then, in his deep, distorted voice, he finally spoke.

“007,” he said, his tone slow and deliberate. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you?”

A cold chill gripped your heart, squeezing until you thought you might choke on your own fear. He knew.

You swallowed hard but your throat felt dry as sandpaper. Your body refused to move, paralyzed under his scrutiny. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to run but there was nowhere to go. No escape. You were trapped in the narrow space between the shelves and him.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your mind raced, searching for a way to turn this around, to escape, to do something other than just stand there, vulnerable and completely at his mercy.

Your breath came in rapid, shallow pulls as your eyes darted across the dimly lit room, searching for any escape. The shelves boxed you in, towering with records of past games, past players, past victims. There was nowhere to go.

The Front Man were closing in on you, his presence suffocating you.

“You should’ve known you’d lose in this hide and seek game,” he said, his tone eerily calm yet heavy with unspoken threats.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. If you got caught now, what would happen? Would he spare you? 011 had said he would. But at what cost?

Your mind spiraled into terrifying possibilities. If you were spared, would he hand you over to the VIPs? Would you be nothing more than a prize, a twisted plaything for their amusement? The thought sent ice through your veins.

No. You had fought too hard. You had killed to protect yourself, to protect the people you loved, and to protect your body as a woman. You had survived this long and you weren’t about to surrender now. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to move, to fight.

Your breaths turned sharp, loud and unnatural through the mask. The Front Man took another step, his slow, measured pace sending a fresh wave of panic through you.

Then you remembered.

Your pistol.

The standard issue sidearm every square guard carried rested in the pocket of your jumpsuit’s bottom. Your grip tightened.

You braced yourself. The Front Man was getting closer, his figure looming over you, casting an inescapable shadow.

“You’ve been running long enough among these trashes,” he said, voice thick with certainty, with finality.

That was your moment.

You lunged for your pistol, fingers wrapping around the grip, yanking it free as you unlatched the safety in one swift motion. The cold weight of the gun grounded you. Without hesitation, you lifted it and fired.

But the Front Man moved with inhuman speed, ducking just before the bullet could meet its mark. His arm shot out to the side. You had no time to register what he was doing. Instinct took over, and you fired again.

Your shot met resistance, but not flesh. He had grabbed a thick file from a nearby shelf and raised it as a shield. The bullet struck the stack of papers, piercing but not stopping him.

Then he charged.

Like a predator finally closing in, his movements were terrifyingly fast, like a beast that had played with its prey long enough. He lunged forward, his dark form swallowing the space between you in an instant.

Your pulse spiked, adrenaline crashing through you. The walls of records blurred as your only thought became survival.

You had to move fast.

However, he caught you first. His gloved hand clamped around your wrist, twisting it just enough to force the revolver from your grasp. The weapon clattered to the floor. You gasped, breath hitching at the sudden loss of control – and at something else. His movement was eerily familiar.

Before you could dwell on it, he shoved you back. Your head was about to strike the brick wall and you instinctively shut your eyes tight. But instead of harsh impact, you felt a firm yet controlled buffer. His other hand had moved to cradle the back of your head, protecting your head against the wall with his gloved palm.

Your pupils dilated as the realization sank in, but there was no time to process. The Front Man was right there, his geometrical mask so close to yours that you could feel the heat of his breath through the distorted air of your own mask. His other hand wrapped around your throat. Not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind you that you were completely at his mercy.

Your legs were tangled. One of yours had slipped between his, and one of his was between yours, locking you both into place. The space between your bodies had nearly vanished, and the sound of rapid breathing filled the archive room. It belonged to yours and his, mingling together in the stillness.

A charged silence stretched between you. The tension was suffocating. Your chest rose and fell against his as adrenaline within you remained.

“You have allies,” his deep voice rumbled, low and unwavering, “among my guards.”

Before you could react, his gloved fingers slipped from your neck to the edge of your jumpsuit’s hoodie. A chilling realization gripped you. He was about to pull it down. To take off your mask. To expose you.

No.

Clenching your teeth behind the mask, you scrambled for a plan, for anything to break free. And then you felt it. His thigh, firm and brushing against yours.

With a sharp inhale, you moved. You slammed your knee against his, knocking his leg away, creating just enough space between your tangled bodies. Without hesitation, you raised your foot and kicked him squarely in the abdomen.

A grunt escaped him as he staggered back. You took the brief moment of respite to move. You turned sharply, gripping the nearest shelf, and with a raw, breathless yell, you shoved every file within reach off the shelves.

Papers and heavy binders cascaded toward him, crashing against his body, momentarily throwing him off guard. You didn’t wait to see how he recovered.

Heart pounding, you lunged past him, sprinting toward the door. Your fingers gripped the handle, yanking it open as you bolted up the stairs. Just as you reached the top, a heavy set of footsteps thundered behind you, fast and relentless, closing the distance far too quickly.

You didn’t dare to look behind you. Bursting through the door, you sprinted into the bedroom, but before you could make it halfway across the room, a force yanked your jumpsuit from behind. Your momentum was ripped away in an instant, fabric tearing as you were violently pulled backward and shoved onto the bed.

You landed sideways on the bed with a deep, distorted yelp behind your mask. Panic surged through you and you immediately scrambled to push yourself up but something heavy pressed down against you, shoving you back onto the mattress.

The Front Man.

He loomed over you, his weight pressing into you, keeping you pinned. You thrashed, twisting and bucking wildly beneath him, muffled grunts of struggle escaping your lips. His grip found your wrists and forced them down against the sheets.

Your legs were your last weapon. You kicked out violently, aiming for anything. His stomach, his ribs, even his groin. But he was faster as if he had anticipated your moves. In one swift motion, he maneuvered between your flailing limbs, pressing his legs firmly between yours to keep you restrained.

Even as he overpowered you, you refused to submit. You twisted, arched, struggled with everything you had, but he was stronger – far stronger. Unlike other men who had tried to take advantage of you, he wasn’t sloppy, he wasn’t careless. He was calculated and precise.

He held you there, unmoving like a boulder above you, as you thrashed beneath him. You fought with every last ounce of strength in your body but he didn’t budge. His sheer force pinned you down, absorbing each desperate attempt to break free.

Your breath came in sharp gasps, muscles screaming in exhaustion. Soon, your struggles slowed, jerky and uncoordinated, until they faded into mere trembling beneath his weight. Every attempt at escape had drained you, leaving your limbs weak and sluggish.

The only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths mixing with his heavy ones. Your chest rose and fell erratically, each inhale loud and desperate. His grip on your wrists didn’t waver. You glared up at the geometrical mask hovering inches above your face.

You felt the heat radiating between your bodies and the closeness. He remained still. The weight of his presence pressed into you, making your exhaustion feel even more overwhelming.

Your heart pounded wildly against your ribs, the realization settling in. You were trapped completely. He finally caught you.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. But in that heavy silence, an unspoken intensity hung between you.

He moved your wrists above your head, securing them in a firm grip with just his right hand. Your weakened struggle did nothing to deter him. His free hand reached for your hoodie, and this time, you didn’t resist. Your chest still heaved from exhaustion, breath escaping in rapid, uneven pulls as he pushed the fabric back.

Once your hoodie was down, his fingers slid to the back of your mask. With practiced ease, he unclasped it and pulled it away from your face. The mask left your skin, and he tossed it aside, letting it clatter somewhere in the distance.

Cool air kissed your damp skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat that had built beneath the jumpsuit. Sweat glistened along your face and neck, strands of hair clinging stubbornly to your skin. The sudden exposure made you hyper-aware of how raw and open you felt, your breath finally unfiltered, free in the space between you.

You glared up at him, your eyes burning with defiance despite your exhaustion. But he only stared. His mask tilted so slightly as if studying you. At this moment, his silence felt even more suffocating than any words he could have spoken.

Then, to your shock, he moved his left hand to the side of your face. His gloved fingers brushed against your damp skin as he gently tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. Your breath caught in your throat. This action – so soft, so familiar – sent a jolt through you. Only one person had ever done this before. But why was he doing it?

Slowly, he withdrew his hand and moved it to his own hoodie. Your glare faltered when he pulled it down out of the blue. You could hardly believe it when he reached for the clasp at the back of his mask, unfastening it with ease. Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs, as he slowly lifted it away.

And then, you saw him.

Your entire body locked in place, your breath caught in your throat. The world around you shrank, all sense of logic dissolving as your mind struggled to grasp what you were seeing.

It was him.

Young-il.

The man you thought had died. The man who had protected you, shielded you, fought alongside you. The man you had—

Your chest tightened, an overwhelming rush of emotions surging through you all at once. Relief, disbelief, betrayal, longing. The edges of your vision blurred and all you could do was stare, wide-eyed.

He looked just the same, but his hair was now slicked back neatly with oil, giving him an air of maturity and refinement that made him seem almost like a different man.

Your entire body trembled, overwhelmed with a torrent of emotions too vast to contain. It's like every emotion crashed into you all at once, leaving you breathless. You had mourned Young-il. You had thought he was gone forever, lost in the bloodshed of the uprising. Yet here he was, standing before you, alive. Breathing. Real.

But with that relief came something heavier, something darker.

Your chest tightened as realization set in. He had been behind that mask all along, watching, orchestrating, controlling the very nightmare you had been trying to survive. The games, the deaths, the suffering. Had all of it been at his command? Your mind raced, replaying every interaction you had with him back then, every moment of trust, every fleeting instance where you had allowed yourself to care. Had it all been a lie?

Was he ever truly one of us?

Your throat felt dry, your breath uneven. Why had he disguised himself as a player? Was it all some kind of elaborate test? A way to manipulate those around him? Or had there been something else – something deeper? Had he once been a victim of this place, just as you were? Or had he been in control from the very beginning?

Young-il stayed still above you, staring at you, his expression raw. The subtle tremble in his face betrayed the inner turmoil he tried so desperately to contain. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to speak, to offer some kind of explanation, but no words came.

The silence stretched between you, thick with tension, with questions left unspoken, with truths too painful to acknowledge.

His eyes, always so guarded, flickered with something you couldn’t quite decipher. Regret? Pain? Guilt? You don’t know anymore.

Your breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling with the weight of everything crashing down at once.

“You…” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “You were behind it all?”

His expression faltered, the conflict within him breaking through for just a moment before he steadied himself. But you had seen it. The hesitation, the uncertainty, the battle he was fighting within himself.

And it terrified you.

Because despite everything, despite the betrayal, despite the horror of what he had done… He still looked like the man you had fallen for.

He leaned down, his face inching closer to yours. You realized in that moment that you hadn’t moved at all. His grip on your wrists was weak yet you remained still, your body slack. The moment you saw his face, it was as if Young-il had turned off your resistance. After all, before all of this, he was the one who made you feel safe.

His warm breath mingled with yours. His eyes flickered between yours and your lips, searching, waiting. Your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, your mind racing. Should you resist? Should you let him?

The tension between you both thickened as he halted just an inch away. He hesitated, waiting for the slightest sign of resistance from you. When none came, he finally moved. Tilting his head slightly, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against yours. You kept your eyes open, staring ahead, seeing his face so close to you. His lips were firm, yet soft, pressing against yours with calm restraint.

You should resist. He orchestrated this entire operation. He had bloods on his hands. He betrayed you.

Yet, memories flooded your mind. The way he had taken care of you, how he protected you time and time again. How he shielded you from danger, ensured you were safe, treated you like someone precious. Was it real? Or had it all been part of a larger deception?

But you wanted to believe. Wanted to believe that when he said you were his purpose, when he told you that you were worth protecting, that he wanted to take care of you more than as friends – you wanted to believe it was all real.

You were lost in the trance of the moment until he deepened the kiss, his lips pressing more insistently against yours. You could feel it. He could barely restrain himself the longer he kissed you. A quiet sound escaped you as he pulled you further into it. And you found yourself liking it. Your lips parted shyly and he took the invitation, his tongue delving into your mouth with increasing hunger.

His grip on your wrists disappeared, his hands moving to unzip your jumpsuit instead. Yet, you kept your hands where they were, fingers brushing against the sheets above your head, as your eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the moment and to him.

NEXT : Chapter 17.1

PREV : Chapter 15

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! What do you think about you guarding the Front Man and you remembered a flashback when 011 told you that you might be spared because of the VIPs? Do you think that's the case? And what about the brawl between Myung-gi, Dae-ho (while protecting Jun-hee) against Nam-gyu (124) and the O players? Do you think scene like this will appear in Season 3? Also I want to know your thoughts on you finally confronted player 100 in that scene. And why did Jun-hee kept glancing at you afterward? Next, why do you think the Front Man suddenly gave you the task to inspect the host's room? And now, the moment you all have been waiting for. What do you think about the Front Man confronting you in the archive room? Then you two had a brief scuffle - and he did not even try to harm you - and then you were pinned to his bed. What do you think about the scene of you two on his bed, finally seeing one another's face? Do you like this direction I take to reveal his face? I've been thinking a lot about this moment and could finally write this down. What do you think about the kiss?

Besides that, I want to know. How many of you are underage? You might want to avoid the next chapter. Now I wonder how to separate the NSFW scene from the next chapter so underage readers couldn't read it.

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

[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

_____________________________________________

[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

[openphrase123]

FOUR EYES FIC READING COMPANION

so this fic is being released NONlinearly. but you may still want to read it in linear order. so here are all of the chapters in linear order <3 we're having a real haruhi suzumiya experience in this fic

this post will be updated every chapter with new links!

red chapters are chapters that have not been posted yet!

Pre-Canon

Memory of Self

Memory of Mirabelle

Memory of Odile

Memory of Siffrin

Memory of Bonnie

Act I

Loop 0

Loop [??] *SPECIAL NOTE: this one is here from the loop timeline and goes second despite its high number, because the zeroth loop is both in the siffrin and loop timeline

Act II

Loop [??]

Loop 2

Loop [??]

Loop [??]

Loop 8

Act III

Loop 9

Loop [??]

Loop [??]

Loop 24

Loop 33

Loop 47

Loop 49

Act IV

Loop 50

Loop 51

Loop 52

Loop 78

Loop [??]

Loop 85

Loop [??]

Loop 97

Loop 104

Act V

Loop [??] Part 1

Loop [??] Part 2

Act VI

Secret Boss

Recovery

[??] Part 1

[??] Part 2

[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.

[soliska]

If We Fall Anyway - Chapter 51

The sky had shifted into a wide expanse of muted oranges and pinks by the time he landed on the edge of the plateau. Even before his feet made contact with the rock, Kagome had already sensed him.

From afar he could see the generous smile she sent him as she met his eyes.

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.

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 |

Tags! @alerialblu @hopidoodle @redflamesofpassion @lavendertwilight89 @zelink-inukag @superpixie42 @four-letter-girl @anisaanisa @amethystablaze @lordofthechips @kawaiichan67@born-for-eachother @dawnrider @holi-holy @liz8080 @ruddcatha @lavendertwilight89 @mylindylady @inusmasha @lostinfantasyworlds @heynikkiyousofine @xanthippe-writes

Message if you want on/off the tag wall :)

[the-conversation-pod]

Finally, Some Good Fucking Food: The Marahuyo Project and Ossan no Pantsu Episode

AND WE'RE BACK!

After a longer break than we expected, we are finally back to catch up on some shows we really enjoyed this season. Come join us for a Bangers Only episode as we take a break from BL and explore the queer truth found in JP Habac and ANIMA Studios' (Gaya sa Pelikula) Marahuyo Project and Ossan no Pants ga Nandatte Ii Janai ka! aka Don't Care For an Old Man's Underwear!

Timestamps

The timestamps will now correspond with chapters on Spotify for easier navigation.

00:00:00 - Welcome

00:01:15 - Introduction

00:08:40 - Marahuyo Project: A Queer Activist's Story

00:20:24 - Marahuyo Project: On Queerness

00:30:16 - Marahuyo Project: Our Characters

00:42:09 - Marahuyo Project: The Christina Story

00:48:52 - Marahuyo Project: Parents and Children

00:54:54 - Marahuyo Project: Final Thoughts and Ratings

00:59:48 - Ossan no Pants

01:05:18 - Ossan no Pants: Our Characters

01:26:30 - Ossan no Pants: Key Character Arcs

01:36:49 - Ossan no Pants: Furuike and That Fucking Guy

01:45:25 Ossan no Pants: Final Thoughts and Ratings

01:51:18 - Importance of Variety in Media Consumption

The Conversation Transcripts!

Thanks to the continued efforts of @lurkingshan as an editor and proofreader, we are able to bring you transcripts of the episodes.

We will endeavor to make the transcripts available when the episodes launch, and it is our goal to make them available for past episodes (Coming soon thanks to @wen-kexing-apologist). When transcripts are available, we will attach them to the episode post (like this one) and put the transcript behind a Read More cut to cut down on scrolling.

Please send our volunteers your thanks!

00:00:00 - Welcome

NiNi

Welcome to The Conversation About BL, aka The Brown Liquor Podcast.

Ben

And there it is. I’m Ben.

NiNi

I’m NiNi.

Ben

And we’re you’re drunk Caribbean uncle and auntie here sitting on the porch in the rocking chairs.

NiNi

Four times a year we pop in to talk about what’s going on in the BL world.

Ben

We shoot the shit about stories and all the drama going into them. I review from a queer media lens.

NiNi

And I review from a romance and drama lens.

Ben

So if you like cracked-out takes and really intense emotional analysis…

NiNi

If you like talking about artistry, industry, and the discourse…

Ben

And if you generally just love simping…

NiNi

There is a lot of simping on this podcast…

Ben

We are the show for you!

00:01:15 - Introduction

Ben 

And we're back. This week we're going to be taking a little bit of a break from BL and doing a special class pre-award season discussion of two shows we loved so much that it restored my faith in television as a genre. We're going to be discussing Marahuyo Project from ANIMA Studios and we're going to be discussing Don't Care for an Old Man's Underwear! The Japanese name is Ossan no Pantsu ga Nandatte Ii Janai ka! 

Before we get into this, we're gonna do a little bit of a breakdown on our special class awards and why we often will pull them aside from our BL discussion. NiNi, would you like to offer some insight for us?

NiNi 

Sure, Ben, but first, we've got a guest. Say hi, Shan. [laughs]

Shan 

Ben just forgot that I'm a guest at this point. 

Ben 

It’s true. Shan's still here! She has not left the booth. [laughs]

Shan 

I just stay here permanently now. I have squatted in the booth. Hi people, it's Shan.

NiNi 

Always good to have you around, Shan. 

So, so we are talking a little bit outside of the BL genre this week. We are talking about our special class type programs. We have several categories of special class in our VIIB awards, but the one that we're talking about here is standout queer narrative. Those queer stories that are not technically romances, or at least go beyond the romance genre to reveal and get into some kind of queer truth that maybe romance is not best placed to delve into.

Ben 

Since Shan is here and she has watched so many dramas, [laughs] Shan, why don't you walk us through some of the things that distinguish broader sort of family- and community-oriented dramas versus, like, romcoms and romantic dramas.

Shan 

I think what makes a show a family drama, versus a romance drama that has family elements, is really what drives the story, what the focus and locust of the story is. In a romance, in a BL or a GL, a QL in general, the primary driver of the plot is a romantic relationship. In a family drama, what drives the plot is more about the relationships of a family unit. Or a drama that's more about community, like something like a Moonlight Chicken, you get community and the relationships between different community members, friendships and neighbors and things like that, being the driving force of the plot.

So when you're talking about categorization, that's really the difference. It's not that a family drama or a community-based drama cannot include romances. They very often or even usually do. It's just about really what drives the story. And in both of the dramas that we're talking about today, what drives the story is relationships that are more familial in nature or more friendship-oriented or more about how a community of people comes together.

Ben 

Something else that I think is notable in different styles of drama is what role the supporting cast has. NiNi, you've been probably the biggest fan of side characters and their roles in all the various QL we've watched. I’d like you to maybe talk a little bit about the role you feel for side characters in romance versus side characters in dramas.

NiNi 

When it comes to side characters in a romance, these people are usually the friends and family of the main couple. And they're usually deeply integrated into how these two people are coming together. Sometimes they have their own stories happening alongside that are sort of echoing the themes or maybe even opposing the themes in some really interesting ways. That's what I'm looking for when I'm thinking about side characters in a romance story. 

When you’re going outward to like family or community and talking about those stories, what you're looking for, for me anyway, is an expansion of the world. I want to know everything about this universe when I'm getting into a family drama, a community drama, a workplace drama. I want it to expand. I am a romance girl, so I like when a romantic drama focuses on the couple, and yes, you get some expansion of the world in that and an understanding of the world around them. But the couple's really the focus. I think in these wider dramas, I like understanding how these people's world operates and how they are all connected to each other inside of that world.

Ben 

I like the way you broke that down. In BL in particular, the friends are always built around their support for the core couple. Even in our award season, we award a Best Boy and Best Girl award each year. And that usually goes to one of the standout friends that supported our romantic leads. But in drama like this, I'm interested, like she said, in expanding the world, like what perils and challenges are the side characters facing that help add flavor to the core themes that we're exploring here? 

So with the two shows are gonna be talking about today, Marahuyo Project is about a young man who's a very out queer activist in his school in Manila, and after being expelled from the school is sent to a very rural town and there decides to create an LGBT club. Sorry, he uses the full acronym. LGBTQIA+ community while he's there. In our other show, Oppan for short, we're dealing with a middle-aged man kind of a grognard stuck in his way who, after a surprise encounter with a young gay man decides it's time for him to update himself and rebuild his relationship with his family and his co-workers. And it's a show fundamentally about personal growth. 

So those themes don't necessarily prioritize romance in them. And we'll get into that more as we focus on those shows. The last thing I wanna highlight before we talk about these shows, ‘cause we've been talking about it a lot, particularly with last season's complex disappointments for us, neither of these shows is in the bubble. These shows exist in a world very reminiscent of our own, and homophobia and the expectations of society at large and how queer people should conform are very much present themes in these stories.

And with that, NiNi, take us in!

NiNi 

Why is NiNi always taking us in? NiNi never knows what's happening here. [laughs]

00:08:40 - Marahuyo Project: A Queer Activist's Story

NiNi

So first up we're going to talk about the Marahuyo Project from the Philippines. Ben, what is Marahuyo Project about?

Ben 

About how that thankfully ANIMA Studios is not dead and Gaya sa Pelikula is not the last thing we're gonna see from them. JP Habac is still out there, friends, and he's still making stuff. 

Marahuyo Project is a kind of, like, a romance drama, sorta, about a young man named King. He is a queer activist at his school in Manila and he does not like the dean of his school. He ends up fussing with her and to piss her off, he ends up making out with his friend in front of her. She tries to separate them and he throws her to the ground accidentally, gets expelled for laying hands on her. And so he is sent away to the town of Marahuyo, a town very far from Manila, and he has to figure out how to exist in this community that doesn't have very much of an out queer network here. He decides to build an LGBTQIA+ organization on campus. And as with everything with these sort of stories, as soon as one person starts coming out, other people start coming out quite loudly in response, or not so loudly in other ways. This show is really fascinating because they insisted on using the entire LGBTQIA+ acronym, and they were intentional about that. 

Adrian Lindayag played King in this and he was also in The Boy Foretold by the Stars, which I forced Shan to watch. And she did not like it!

Shan 

You sure did. Forced is the right word. 

Ben

And she did not like it!

[Ben and Shan laugh]

Shan

I did not like it! But I loved Adrian. I was so excited to see him get another show, and a frankly much better written show. [laughs]

Ben 

And his friend who he kisses in the first episode is played by Tommy Alejandrino, who was the lead in The Day I Loved You, a show that I really loved. And I thought it was really special and kind of interesting that this show led in its very first episode with a kiss between two boys whose actors had played kind of femme-y characters before this. That felt really intentional.

I actually want to start with you, NiNi, because you grew up in an island community. I actually want your perspective on King being moved from the metro of Manila to an island that doesn't really have a stable power grid for all day power, and how you feel about him going from an urban center to a rural town.

NiNi 

It's so funny. I grew up in Trinidad and the southern Caribbean. Trinidad is considered a quote-unquote rich country and I grew up in the city. But I have friends who grew up in the country. My own family is from the country. My aunt used to tell stories, leaving town and going down to the country to spend time with her father's family, with her grandmother, sometimes with her cousins, and my friends now tell stories about that kind of stuff, as well. There's even a joke sometimes that if you got into trouble in town they would send you down south which is more rural. Or they would send you to live with your grandmother in Manzanilla, which is another rural area. So, there's some elements of that to the stories that I knew about the way that people grow up. And so there's a lot about Marahuyo that reminded me, not just of parts of Trinidad, but of other parts of the Caribbean that I'm familiar with and people that I know and that I'm friends with, have grown up in. 

So the whole thing about getting sent to country, it was so familiar in a lot of ways. That whole thing about not having power, or having these village politics kind of mentality about a lotta things. And ways that people can surprise you as well, because you have certain expectations of people who come from those kinds of communities and that kind of background and those kinds of situations where, you know, oh, you don't have lights, what do you know about anything? People make assumptions about people being backward or whatever, and actually no, that's not how it is. So this had a hint of familiarity to it in terms of the story. 

Also, I was glad to see it because so many Filipino stories are set in metro Manila or are set in the pretty tourist parts, not places like Marahuyo. I really enjoyed seeing that aspect of life in the Philippines. It felt very homey to me in a lot of ways. But this is one of the things that I enjoy about Filipino drama and about Filipino BL. A lot of these BLs are coming from countries that do feel familiar to me, but Filipino BL in particular has that ring of familiarity to me in a way that some of these other places don't.

Shan

NiNi, I think what you said about the assumptions people have about people who live in these more isolated places in the country or, like, on a small island, is really such an important thing that informed this story. Because King stormed onto that island with his big city attitude and he assumed that every single person he met was a hick who would never understand him. And I think one of the best parts of this story was seeing him have his eyes opened to the reality that there are queer people everywhere and there are people who can understand him everywhere and he has to be open to seeing them and connecting with them. I thought that was such an important piece of the journey that he went on as the main character of this story. I really loved the way the show peeled back those first assumptions that he had about a lot of the people he met in Marahuyo.

Ben 

It's very clear that King was sent to Marahuyo in the hopes that isolating him there digitally and physically would sort of, like, contain him. And it didn't. He seemed to adapt to his circumstances fairly quickly, even as he demanded that those circumstances [laughs] also adapt to him. I thought it was really interesting that they sent him to the mom who abandoned him essentially to hang out and live with his grandmother who's always had his back. That was probably one of the most unexpected dynamics in the whole show. I was not expecting that complex set of interactions where the grandma was so on his side that she had put a whole pride flag in his room and had dresses ready to help his friend, but the mom's still sorting her shit out.

Shan 

I loved the nuance of that, because… it can be complicated. We are shaped to some degree by our families and by the people who raised us, but we're also shaped by the world we live in. And I thought it was a cool choice to have King have an accepting and loving grandmother. His mother did not learn her fear and her bigotry from her own mother. And I think that's an interesting choice that really reflects reality.

Ben

I think what worked really well about having his grandma be so queer friendly is that when she tells him to give Marahuyo a chance, the growth arc that you mentioned is possible because he's able to receive that message from someone he trusts and respects, who he knows also trusts and respects him. I think that that sets him up to be open to learning things. ‘cause he spends the beginning of almost every episode giving us a small lesson in Filipino queer history, particularly as it pertains to colonization. 

I was gonna go to NiNi for that one and see if you had thoughts about that because you've spoken at length about the diasporic experience and living under extensive colonialism.

NiNi 

I mean, how much time do we have to have this conversation?

Ben 

Probably five to eight minutes.

[all laugh]

Shan

Yeah, do your whole talk on colonialism in five minutes, NiNi.

NiNi 

Oh my god, okay, no pressure. Yeah, I think that's one of the reasons that Filipino BL in particular does speak to me because of that colonized experience. The colonized experience is so specific and so similar all over the world, no matter where you were colonized or who you were colonized by. You recognize it in people, you recognize it in the society, you recognize it in the environment. The way that the Philippines is so Catholic and Catholicism is all over this story. How Catholicism has harmed people, how people find shelter in it, how people find safety in it, it's all over this. 

And one of the things about coming from a place that was colonized is that you have this sort of weird love/hate relationship with the people and the places and the experiences of the colonizer. On the one hand, like, revolution, resistance, that's part of it. And that's part of what King is dealing with as well. Talking about the parts of history that get hidden by the colonizer because it's inconvenient to them or they wanna bury some particular truth. That's the resistance part, but also the part where people are talking about things like tradition and gentility and all that stuff that the various deans, because it's two deans—three deans, I think—in this story. And they're all talking about things like propriety and respectability. And those are things that you're fighting against every single day, where those ideas even come from is a place in yourself that you sort of recognize, but you fight against every day. The experience of being colonized does a number on your head, it does a number on your society. It is wild to experience.

One of the things that I enjoyed about this is that it did give me that kind of feeling of wanting something out of the experience that you're not even sure what it is. Like you want revolution, but you also want all the things that the colonizer told you to have. It's this bizarre feeling. 

Shan 

It’s a mindfuck.

NiNi 

Yeah, it is a mindfuck. And it's a hard thing to explain to anybody who hasn't had the experience.

00:20:24 - Marahuyo Project: On Queerness

Ben 

I wanna start moving into our character specific discussion. When King first gets to the island, he has a very weird meet cute [Shan laughs] with like the island's favorite boy who's the scion of their most beloved or most successful, whatever, family—the Soliman family—where a, like, shit ton of fish gets thrown in the air. [laughs]

Shan

There's so many fishes!

NiNi 

He literally gets showered in fish and I'm like, this is so clever. Like, as a joke, it was a very good joke. 

Shan

Very effective.

NiNi

It was a very effective joke. And as a metaphor, also extremely effective. It was so good. This is the kinda shit that JP Habac excels at.

Ben 

I knew you were gonna love that. So, right away, because King won't shut the fuck up about the fact that he's queer, he ends up finding a trans girl in his class almost immediately, who's also beefing with the local priest, who ends up going by the name of Venice. And the two of them team up and decide they're gonna start their own LGBTQIA+ organization. And Venice, was like, we added more letters? Wait, what?! [laughs] How do I say all of those? 

Shan 

I love my naive girl. She doesn't know anything.

Ben

She's so pretty. [laughs] Also, shout out to Venice for eating in, like, every scene—

Shan

Every scene!

Ben

—for eight episodes.

NiNi 

So much rambutan, I swear.

Shan 

Always eating rambutan specifically, not just eating, eating this specific island fruit. [laughs] She loves ‘em.

Ben

So, Ino's family is very beloved on this island and Ino is the first obstacle they think they have to get past to getting their organization approved. But very quickly we suss out that Ino is likely closeted. And then we confirm that he's closeted in a really interesting bit we'll get into in a bit. 

I wanted, while we're here talking about the island politics, NiNi, to talk about the reveal we get later on that Ino’s ancestor, who his family has all of this pride for, exists because he outed a queer man and then robbed him. And then the island community built a tradition around the poetry that they stole from a queer man, who they then basically drove to death.

NiNi 

Yeah. This is a comedy, by the way.

[all laugh]

NiNi 

I just had to fire that one out.

Shan 

We started with all this super serious stuff. It sounds like such a heavy show. And it is, kind of, but it doesn't feel heavy. It just deals with heavy things.

Ben 

The themes are actually heavy when you think about them, but because you've got really optimistic and energetic young people, it doesn't feel as heavy as it actually is.

NiNi 

It really doesn't. But I mean, again, this is a story of colonization. Things get stolen all the time. Your own history gets stolen from you. And you have to go back into history and find your truths. So that work of uncovering and unearthing and archiving and storytelling and passing things down from generation to generation, that is real active work that takes place every single day in a colonized place. Unlearning a lot of what the colonizer tells you about yourself. All of that is part of the colonized experience and that's what I was really gratified to see them tackling in this show. This idea that they hid the truth from you and now you have to not only go and learn the truth but tell it to as many people as possible.

Shan 

Yeah, and I think it's really meaningful that they found out this truth via a story told to them by an elder on the island who they just kind of happened upon.

Ben 

But it happened because they were doing research. They were trying to justify their organization and it was recommended to them that they show that this organization would be good for Marahuyo as it currently is, not just because some kid from Manila says they need to have this. And so the trio that had formed at that point was doing real research into the history of the town itself, and that's what eventually led them to asking this woman about this history.

Shan 

Yeah, and to tie that into the romance, which you kind of alluded to, Ben, but we haven't really talked about is, King and Ino, they start with a very antagonistic relationship. Over time we figure out this antagonism on Ino's side is because King is pulling things out of him that he's trying to suppress. He feels uncomfortable because he is a closeted queer kid and King is loudly and forcefully demanding that folks recognize his queerness and also the queerness within themselves. And so, they have an uncomfortable dynamic that starts to smooth out over time as they get to know each other and understand each other better and as Ino decides to kind of push back his fear and start helping King try to make this club happen. 

So it's in that context that they're on this research trip and they go to this elder and she sits them down and she tells them this story. And that is how Ino finds out that his whole family legacy is built on a lie and that his ancestor harmed somebody who's just like him, a gay man who did nothing wrong. All he did was profess his feelings for somebody who didn't return them. And he was destroyed over that. That is what Ino's family legacy was built on. Finding that out was just a huge moment of despair for him. And in some ways brought him and King closer together as they worked through that, and in other ways made it even harder, I think, to imagine being able to be with someone like King, who's so open and so free. It was a really beautiful moment and it was a really important moment, both in the romance and in the broader story.

NiNi

There's two things that you said there, Shan, that I actually want to pull out. The part that you said about Ino’s ancestor having harmed somebody whose only sin was expressing feelings to somebody who didn't return them. I actually, I can't remember exactly, but wasn't the story that he did return the feelings and then panicked about them, or something like that? I can't remember.

Shan

I think we don't know.

Ben 

That part is unclear.

Shan

It's a speculation. 

Ben

What we learned, based upon what is provable, that he had written poems about his unrequited love for the Soliman ancestor. And then the Soliman ancestor unintentionally—or maybe intentionally—discovered these poems. He had not been given them. I think that's a big part of this too, is that—what's his name, Nalundasan—was outed. And then the Soliman ancestor turned on him in a vile way. And that ended horribly. And—

Shan 

So we don't know if he turned on him because he was afraid, because he was suppressing his own queerness, or if he was just a garden variety, homophobic heterosexual man. We don't know.

Ben 

I think what also makes me particularly sad about that story is Nalundasan, the person that they harmed in this, had performed a role as a community and cultural leader. And had chosen to closet himself, he left descendants behind. He formed a marriage and had kids. This was just the part of his life that he was not able to express, so he expressed it in his poetry that he had kept private until it was made public. And that part is really sad too, because Ino is closeted and knows it. 

A lot of times in BL, a lot of these guys are, like, untapped sexual beings who are activated by the power of BL and product placement. In this story, most of the characters are well aware of how they feel about who they are and what's going on with them. King definitely knew who he was the whole time. His loud gay ass showed up with his mullet and was like, you can't tell me what to do. 

Shan 

His rainbow mullet.

Ben

Speaking of his mullet, I have to get this out on the podcast. I will never forgive his mother for cutting his hair while he was asleep. That was horrible and vile. And the only thing saving her from these knives is she's played by Sue Prado.

[Shan laughs]

NiNi 

No, but legit, the fact that the show lets this go really upset me. Because it was such a violation. When it happened, I gasped. And the show gave it a lot of grace and let it go and that did not sit right with my spirit, I have to say.

Ben 

I agree.

00:30:16 - Marahuyo Project: Our Characters

Ben

Ino is an interesting queer character in that when he sees King right away, he sees him almost as a threat, because Ino is trying not to draw attention to his own queerness. Like, it's clear he maybe wants to leave at some point and then deal with his shit. And he can feel that he's not going to be able to get away with that around King. He's also drawn to King because, I mean, why wouldn't he be? He's tall, he's really pretty. He wears ridiculously gay shirts. Some of them show off his midriff.

Shan 

And he's brave! He's brave in a way that—

Ben

So brave!

Shan

—-Ino wishes he was. That's the thing, right?

NiNi 

There's so much about King and King and Venice in particular that had me thinking a lot about the importance of the people who can't hide.

Ben 

Mmhmm.

NiNi

And what they mean to the community and what it means for them to be out there at the vanguard, taking all the shit and how that's almost never recognized or rewarded or anything like that. But it's so important for the ones who are like Ino, the ones who are like Archie, to see the Kings and the Venices just loud and out in front and visible and unhideable and unapologetic and what that means. And the show really made you feel that. It made you feel not just that King and Venice are brave, but also how important what they were trying to do was, what the mission for them was.

Ben 

It's also interesting too because their mission is not academic for them. King was dealing with homophobia even in Manila. Then he lands in Marahuyo and he's like, same shit different day. That man got called a slur and was like “hmph, uncreative.” And I was like, wow, they're throwing slurs around in these shows again. Finally, mask off. And I was weirdly relieved that the show was mask off about its homophobia because it's very frustrating sometimes to talk about shows where the homophobia is kind of subtle. And you have to argue with people about your interpretation, where they think you're being cruel to the show for recognizing what the show is doing. I like that that wasn't an issue here, thank you, JP Habac! 

But in terms of what Venice is dealing with and what Archie and Ino are dealing with, queerness is also not academic for them either. King is not the first other homo they've ever encountered, because we learn that Ino's father almost or temporarily left his family for a love with another man and then chose to come back to his family and stay with their mom. And his dad explains that he loves Ino's mom and wants to be her husband even if it means he cannot enjoy his attraction to men. So, Ino is dealing with, like, a double closet in his life where the whole fucking town knows about his dad steppin’ out on his mom with a man. 

We learn that Venice and Archie lost their friend.

Shan 

Should we do, Ben, a rundown of the characters? ‘Cause we haven't really done that yet.

Ben 

We probably should. Let's go down the whole cast! 

Shan 

Let's go down the list.

Ben

We've got King, our favorite gay boy with a mullet that should not have been lost. [Ben and Shan laugh] We have Ino, who's our big man on campus who gets his shit rocked. We've got Venice, everyone's favorite local trans girl. Who eats rambutan all the time.

[Ben and Shan laugh]

Shan

She loves those fucking rambutans.

Ben 

Hanging around the local priest all the time is Archie, Venice's former friend who has pulled back on his friendship with Venice because of the death of their friend, who he repeatedly deadnames over the course of the show until he finally cracks through the core of his grief.

Archie is a complex character to talk about because he is also queer in some way and suffering in his own closet. And he's choosing a path that leads him to the priesthood as a way to survive under the pressures of the homophobia he lives under. 

NiNi 

So many thoughts about that.

Shan 

Yeah, let's not, let’s not lose sight of the girls. Let's not go down the Archie Road yet. We also have—

Ben 

Lorena! Aka Lorie. Lorie is probably some kind of queer. Might be bi, might be a lesbian, might be asexual. It's very clear—

Shan 

She's figuring it out.

Ben

—she's still figuring it out by the end of the show. We are not going to label her here because she has not chosen one for herself. She is sorting through her own angst with men because of her own father's infidelity. And she's very close to her friend, Lili, who is eventually revealed to be probably intersex. And it's very clear that their friendship is extremely important to them in a way feels romantic on Lili's end, but Lorie is still sorting through. But the reveal from Lili to Lorie about this truth about her is one of my favorite moments in the whole show. 

And then there's that asshole Marco who ruins it like five minutes later. I hate that boy.

Shan 

Marco, our villain. 

Ben

I hate that boy.

Shan

He's really the most villainous character in the show. 

Ben

I hate that boy so much!

Shan

He's the worst. He's the fucking worst.

Ben

[laughs]I hate him. I hate him so much! Mmmmmm.

Shan 

This is a story that takes place on a small island, but it’s also in a school. So there are school dynamics at play here with this group and how they come together. King and Venice connect pretty much right away when he gets there because they are both visibly queer and they latch onto each other. And King is very much, as Ben said earlier, an activist. He is loud and proud and he demands respect for his existence. And he also wants to create space for other people like him, or somewhere on the queer spectrum to have pride and to be able to come out and have space, too. Venice is very classic sunshine character. That girl is so pretty and so dumb and she's just the nicest girl, just ever! [laughs] But she just doesn't really know much. She doesn't know much about queerness because she's been very isolated. So King is teaching her about what it means to be a queer activist, what some of these terms mean, what it means to try to fight for your space, ‘cause she has been in a space of insisting on living as herself, but also accepting that in some ways she would have to just be quiet and conform to get by in the school, and King doesn't find that acceptable. So they latch onto each other through that.

And then Lorie is the mayor's daughter, so she has a lot of status in the town, similar to Ino, who’s part of this family that is the big legacy family. So they both have a lot of positional power within the school and within the community, which they use over the course of the story to help with the club and helping some of these other kids who are more like outcasts. Lili is friends with Lorie and that's her social entree in the school. Archie is part of the local church and close with the priest, which gives him a kind of authority too. He's seen on the island as almost like the deputy priest.

Ben 

I have to say it, he has the authority given to an overseer.

Shan 

Exactly. That is definitely his role. He's kind of a cop. 

And Marco is just a little asshole who’s just a fucking asshole to everybody all the time. And they're all in school together, they're in this forced proximity and King and his arrival to the island really awakens in a lot of these kids who are queer but have been suppressing it, who are closeted either knowing or not, he really awakens in them this kind of connection to their own queerness. And they have varying responses to that. Some of them really joyfully wanting to come and be part of what he's building. Some of them being really afraid of it. We see the whole spectrum of responses there.

Ben 

I think what also really works for me in terms of how this felt particularly queer, there's two big things. First, spoiler alert, they do not get to have their club. They are not given official approval for their club, but then they go, fuck you, we don't need it anyway. And then they have their march regardless. I love that. 

The other part I like is that we have three characters who agree to out themselves in some way by trying to pursue the organization that they want to have. You get King, who's like, “I'm gay. You can use whatever slurs you want. They apply.” You got Venice, who's chosen to stay optimistic despite the death of Christina. And then you've got Lorie, who's like, you guys suck. I have way more fun with these guys. I'm going over there with them. And then each of them ends up holding the confidence of someone else who is closeted that they're close to.

King is developing a romance with Ino, Venice is holding the confidence of Archie, who does not come out over the course of this show. He's still closeted in the end and cheering for them from the closet. Something that I really appreciate the show doing. There are still people in our communities who do not feel safe enough to come out. And Lorie is holding Lili's confidence about her truth about being intersex. And I like that those three did not betray that confidence to each other. I thought that was a really important thing that the show did because when you are protecting someone who's closeted, the best way to do that is to shut the fuck up. You don't even tell people who could be trusted with that info because it's not your info to share.

That's the big point about protecting closeted people, is, if they're gonna come out, they need to feel like it's something that they have control over. What's so evil about Marco is he went out of his way to take that moment from Lili because she embarrassed him because he wouldn't stop sexually harassing Lorie.

NiNi 

Yeah, I do like that you get three different takes on that whole, I guess you could call it end game, of the closet because you've got Archie who stays in, you've got Ino who comes out, and then you've got Lili who gets outed. And then you get to see how each of those things impact the characters. I found that to be really, really interesting to watch.

00:42:09 - Marahuyo Project: The Christina Story

Shan 

We should talk more, we've been alluding to it, but we should fully elaborate on the backstory with Archie and Venice because it is, I think, one of the most touching stories that this show told. 

So Archie and Venice and their friend Christina grew up together. They have been best friends since childhood. We don't get every detail, but what we do learn over time is that Christina, like Venice, was trans and somewhere in her transition and in her coming out, something went very badly for her and she ended up, presumably, ending her own life. This created very different responses in Archie and in Venice. Venice kind of carried on, she's a very optimistic person at heart and she carried on that way, kept Christina's memory close, and continued to live in her truth as a trans woman and carry that forward. Archie became so deeply afraid of queerness and the way that it could damage somebody's life that he locked up tight, and as a result of that, rejected Venice and her transition. 

When the story begins, he seems like—on the surface—just this hateful bigot. He's constantly deadnaming Venice and Christina. He is disapproving of Venice. He doesn't support her. And then you find out more about this history that they share together. And you find out more about what motivates him and how ultimately at the root of it he really is just so terrified for Venice that she will end up like Christina. And he thinks, wrongly of course, that preventing her from transitioning is going to save her life. And that is what is driving his behavior. What a nuanced story to tell about what is normally reduced to something so simple and hateful.

The emotions between Archie and Venice are so complex. And Venice, because she's a very kind and generous person, she has a lot of space for Archie. She understands why he's behaving the way he is, and she gives him a lot of grace around it. And she really tries to support him. Like, he is so afraid and doing so much to suppress his own queerness that it's manifesting physically for him. We see throughout the show he's got this anxiety habit of scratching at his neck. It gets gross, like, to the point where he's basically scratching—

Ben

It was gross. 

Shan

—his skin off. 

Ben 

If you have any phobias or squicks around people self harming because they've been scratching at themselves too much. You're gonna want to maybe be ready to look away when they show the back of Archie's neck—

Shan

Yeah, be prepared.

Ben

—because he's legit tearing his own body apart. They manifest how deeply he's tearing himself apart in the way he's scratching up his neck. It's really uncomfortable to watch.

Shan 

It is. And so Venice sees that, and she has a lot of sympathy for him. She understands why he's behaving in this way. And she doesn't tell anybody else. That's their private personal history. And she doesn't think it's hers to tell. It's just a really nuanced look at how these fears and anxieties and how suppression of your own queerness can manifest in these different forms of self-harm and harm to others. I just, I found it to be such a beautiful and touching story that didn't get all the way resolved by the end of the show, because you don't just fix something this deep overnight.

NiNi 

I think that the colonized thing adds another layer to this as well because the place that Archie is running towards, running away from himself, is the church. That's the colonial ramification. That's the idea that respectability will save you. That comes from the colonizer. All of that stuff is on top of all this other stuff that's happening with Archie. It's something that I recognize from people that I know, people that I grew up with, people who grew up in the Catholic Church, definitely, but also in other traditions that are imported traditions, that are colonizer traditions. This idea that if you are part of the establishment, if you are part of what they value, if you are somehow involved in that stuff, then you're safe. These ideas are not uncommon to even uncolonized societies, but there's a whole different layer and level of it that you get in colonized societies or societies that were colonized.

I don't even know if I can accurately describe how it works, but just know that there's layers to this shit. And one of those layers is Archie trying to disappear into the Catholic Church.

Ben 

My favorite thing about Archie, too, was despite how awful he seemed at first, they gave us signs early on that there was more going on here. There was the way that Venice didn't sneer at Archie. She mostly looked annoyed and disappointed. Like, it was clear that they had a relationship. And there was a moment when an adult stormed in on their party and Venice was in a dress. Archie, from the shadows, reaches out to her back and tries to pull her back from being seen because he's worried that something might happen to her. And I'm like, never mind. I know where the story is going! And I was way less worried about Archie. 

By the time we get the reveal about what happened to Christina, Archie is the one who is seemingly the most visibly devastated by this loss. So, all of his cruelty towards them was given context for me that doesn't make it okay, but humanizes it. This is not the best way to cope with this, because shoving your other friend into a closet is not going to help her either. But I understand that this is how you're trying to cope. It's not helping you, either. But I understand you.

00:48:52 - Marahuyo Project: Parents and Children

Ben

So, on a lighter note! [laughs] Since we've talked about a lot of sad things here.

Shan 

Here we go! This is a comedy. Let's remember. [laughs]

NiNi 

I was just about to say.

Ben 

On a lighter note, one of the most absolutely fantastic things about this show was the way that they had Adrian constantly breaking the fourth wall to look at us and kiki with us as the audience.

Shan 

Yes! Whenever King would look at us, I would get so thrilled. [laughs] And he was always pulling the best faces.  [laughs] 

Ben 

Adrian is really funny. Adrian, I don't think you'll ever hear us because we're a tiny little podcast, but we loved your work, sir. I loved your work and all three things I've seen you do. It was great. We love you. Thank you for the gift of King and the gift of Dominic.

Shan 

Do you have a favorite fourth wall break? Mine was when [laughs] he looked at the camera when Ino was talking to him by the water and was like, “oh my god, he loves me.”

Ben 

Yeah, that was the one for me!

[Ben and Shan laugh]

Shan 

I love that kid so much.

Ben 

I liked the little march they did at the end. I don’t think the mom deserved to be there. And I don't know about Ino's dad deserving to be there, but grandma deserved to be there and I'm glad she was there. I liked seeing them all walk together because it's a cool visual, even if I think it's not wholly earned by some of the time that they had available. 

Let's talk about Ino's mom. Ino's mom clocks very quickly when she starts seeing him hang around King that clearly he's gay, too. And she's like, what the fuck? What are you gonna do to our family? And he pushes back on that because he was ready for that particular fight. I was really proud that for a kid who they've been grooming to speak in front of crowds and talk about stuff, he was able to hold his ground against his mom. And I was really frustrated with his dad. I did not think his dad gave him any useful perspective or advice at all. And that was a real failure.

Shan 

That man was useless.

NiNi

I actually found the dad to be really sad. I think the dad was included almost as a cautionary tale? Because the dad just seemed so beaten down by his whole life, by everything that had happened to him, by all the choices that he had made. Yes, he's trying to make it so that his son doesn't have to make the same choices that he made once he realizes what's going on. Because the other thing is that he definitely buries his head in sand a little bit about Ino because of his own background and his own history.

Ben 

I think that's the only way to read him. 

Shan 

He definitely was.

Ben

I don't think we got really great answers about Judy, King's mom either, about why she left.

Shan

That was one of the disappointments for me. I really loved the show. I didn't think it was perfect. It had a couple areas where I think it could have been stronger and one of the primary ones was on Judy. I really wanted to understand her better because we know her mother, we know that she wasn't raised to be this way. So bigoted, so afraid. And I don't really feel like we ended the show understanding better why she left King. Why she treated him the way that she did. I just, I wanted to get a little bit deeper down into what was going on with her. And I just don't think we ever got there. 

NiNi 

Well, maybe the show didn't get there, but I got it. I know so many Judys. She left the country, went to the big city, fell in love with this man. I don't know what happened with her and the husband, but whatever it is, plus the whole thing with King, she didn't know how to deal with it. She ran straight home to the arms of something simpler and more familiar. It has nothing to do with the way that she was raised. It has everything to do with that, like, colonized mentality. Her life went to shit and it was because she didn't do the things that in her mind she was supposed to. Because I guarantee that she rebelled against her own mother, not just in running away to Manila, but also I am sure her mother's such a free spirit, she's definitely straight-laced, I'm telling you. It's a story that I've seen so many times. 

I agree that it wasn't on screen, but for me it was a shortcut. Like, I saw Judy, I saw the grandmother, I was like immediately I got it.

Shan 

Yeah, I appreciate that. I definitely needed the show to actually go there, [laughs] especially because like, this is a woman who abandoned her child and I wanted to understand why. And I wanted to understand the way that she chose to interact with him even after he came to live with her. And they just never dug into it. That was a bit of a disappointment for me.

Ben 

Big fan of this show never showing us King's dad, fuck that dude.

Shan 

Yeah, we didn't need to see him. I don't care about that.

Ben 

I also want to talk about… one of my favorite things was despite having limited connectivity on the island, King did not lose touch with his bestie in Manila, who called that man out on his shit every single time he got her on the phone. [laughs] It's very important when you're gay and extra that you have somebody who tells you when you're doin’ too much.

NiNi 

You do need a get a grip friend. And she was definitely the get a grip friend. It's one of the things that JP Habac likes to do, because he did the same thing with Vlad and his friend Sue in GSP [Gaya sa Pelikula]. She was not there, but she was his get a grip friend. She's the one who called him out on, like, sad dancing to The 1975.

I love a get grip friend, my favorite type of character.

00:54:54 - Marahuyo Project: Final Thoughts and Ratings

Ben 

My last positive comment about this show—I'm lying, I probably have hundreds more—[Shan laughs] is this show wore its politics on its sleeves, but in a way that didn't feel preachy. There's a really great moment where King is pushing back on a lesson they're having about fucking Machiavelli's The Prince. Oh my! [exhale sound] I went to an all male Catholic school, I have strong thoughts about [laughs] Machiavelli. 

I love King reminding people in that whole stupid argument that no social progress has ever been made by people being very polite to the powers that be. Every form of welfare and the social safety net that we all expect and rely upon, people fought and bled for. And I liked that there was not really a response to that. Are there any social services that you rely upon and expect? People died for that. So shut the fuck up. 

Great work. A+.

NiNi

And there's some little things that I want to really pick up the show on. The whole Balagtasan tradition, the debate in verse, it was so beautiful. I really enjoyed listening to the debate on a musical level, almost. And while we're talking about music again, this is from the people who did Gaya sa Pelikula. So of course the music was gonna be bangin’.

Ben 

This soundtrack, this soundtrack fucks!

Shan

Let me actually get the name of the song because holy shit, one of my favorite songs that I have ever heard in a drama. Let me pull it up.

NiNi 

Which one are we talking about? Di Inakala or Magpatuloy?

Shan 

My favorite song in this drama, so beautiful, it's called Di Inakala by Paul Pablo. Gorgeous.

Ben

It really is.

Shan

It was used in the romance arc. 

NiNi 

It's fabulous.

Shan

What was the one you really liked, NiNi?

NiNi 

I like, there's a song called Magpatuloy by Mijon and that song, I listen to literally every day now, every single day. One of the things I always love—

Shan

Beautiful.

NiNi

—about this team, about JP Habac, and he works with music supervisor Patricia Lasaten, they always pull out Filipino artists and songs in Filipino language front and center when they're doing music for their shows and I love it. I've learned about so many great artists and gotten into so much great music because of this team.

Ben 

We're gonna have to move on ‘cause now I'm gonna start talking about the consent part of their first kiss and how great that was. The show's great! Please go watch it.

Let's finally rate this show. Let's go around the board. Shan, rating?

Shan 

I gave this show a 9. I loved it. I think it's beautiful. I think it is required viewing for anybody who cares about queer drama, good community drama, good Filipino drama. There's just so many reasons to watch it. It has a bit of rough edges around some of the storytelling decisions. I don't think it's a perfect show, but it is beautiful and I intend to rewatch it and I hope everybody listening to this will watch it if you haven't already.

Ben 

NiNi, rating?

NiNi 

I also give this a 9 because I do agree that the things around King's mom sort of hung there. I don't think they necessarily had to be resolved, but they weren't really even addressed very much. So that would be why I dinged it, but it is a fantastic show.

Ben 

My public rating for this show is a 10. I do think it's one of those shows that anybody should watch. And if you are one of the listeners who likes what I have to say about things and is curious about how I think about stuff, it's one of those shows that I beg people to watch. It's one of those shows that you show people: here’s a short list of shows to watch to understand me as a person.

I think everybody should watch it. I agree with you both. Not a perfect show. Has some rough edges, but in terms of me recommending it to people, I'm givin’ it a 10. Top of the list. Go watch this. Right now.

NiNi 

So two nines and a ten, okay, I'm not mathing today. We're gonna give it a 9.5 from The Conversation.

Shan 

Feels right.

Ben 

I think a 9.5 from us is correct. It is an incredibly good show with a couple of quibbles we have about mostly the way they handled some of the adult storylines. But I think the youth storylines are crystal clear and really well-executed. And we get to see a side of queerness that we very rarely see. It’s a beautiful show. Please watch it.

00:59:48 - Ossan no Pants

NiNi 

Let's move on now to the next show that we're going to talk about, and it is called—let me see if I can get this correct…Ossan no Pantsu ga Nandatte Ii Janai ka!…I totally butchered that. English title is Don't Care for an Old Man's Underwear!

I just started watching this today so I'm very excited to discuss what of it I have seen and I am just prepared for the spoilers that are going to come. So Ben, what is Oppan about?

Ben

About how if we give Japan 50 minutes to tell a story, they're gonna use that time well! [laughs]

Shan

So well!

Ben

Oppan is about this man named Okita Makoto, who is a kind of upper-middle manager of a printer sales company. He is very much a salaryman type who is upholding a lot of casual misogyny because this is what he is taught to do, and he believes he's filling in the role that's expected of him. He goes to work every day. He works really hard. He sacrifices everything of importance that matters to him to be present for the work. and he leaves the household matters to his wife. And it's not going that great! 

He finds himself feeling distant from his wife, distant from his daughter who doesn't seem to like him; and their family is dealing with the crisis because for whatever reason, his son—who he's never been able to feel close to—refuses to go to school and doesn't leave his room. 

One day while walking to work, he almost falls down the stairs, because he lives in a walkable community, and is saved by a young gay man who catches him. The two of them have a little bit of bonding that comes from this. A friendship begins to grow between them. And over the course of this friendship, Makoto decides that he needs to change with the times and update himself, because he recognizes that he wants to better connect to people and what he's currently doing is not working. 

And the rest of the show is about Makoto learning how to be a good friend to this young gay man who's near to graduating from veterinary school, his wife, his two children who are an adult and approaching adulthood, and his coworkers. 

This is one of the kindest shows I've ever watched. When I tell you that a show about a misogynist was one of the most empathetic things I've watched this year, I am not being funny or being ironic. This show understands how everybody responds to societal misogyny, how it shapes them, hurts them, but doesn't have to be the end of their story. This was an absolutely delightful experience. I loved every single moment I spent with this show. Holy shit. 

NiNi, before we get into Shan's impressions, because I have much I want to ask Shan about, you are three episodes in. Just give us some of your initial impressions and thoughts on how you're feeling about the characters, and some of the stories you've encountered so far.

NiNi

The only reason that this show works is because Okita loves his family. He really truly loves his family, and he doesn't want to lose them, and he knows that they're slipping away from him. And there are so many ways that that kind of story turns negative. In this instance, the show uses that love and that fear of losing his family, and turns it in a positive direction. He turns it in on himself and says to himself, “What can I do to not let this happen? How can I bring them back to me? What have I been doing wrong and what can I now start to try to do right?” And that's really what stuck with me. 

We don't talk about this a lot in the world. I know this is a weird segue. Life is extremely hard on middle-aged men in the modern age, because they were told a certain way to be that has just, to their minds, vanished. They were told they were the main character and that everybody was around them to make sure that they succeeded. And that's gone, and they don't know how to deal with that. Watching a middle-aged man deal with that in a healthy way, in a way that looks at himself and says ‘I have to do better,’ I find incredibly satisfying. That spirit of, ‘I need to look at my life, look at my choices’ basically and ‘I need to fix the relationships in my life because I have broken them.’

01:05:18 - Ossan no Pants: Our Characters

Shan

I think we need to start with a little character cheat sheet.

Ben

Let's first name the Okita family members.

Shan

Makoto is our patriarch, as NiNi just so eloquently said, is the heart of this show, his journey. We have in his family, his wife Mika, his daughter Moe, and his son Kakeru. That’s our core family that we will keep coming back to. 

Our other main character is Igarashi Daichi, and he is the young gay man who lives in the neighborhood who meets Makoto and kind of starts the journey that he's on. Daichi also has parents who are relevant to the story. Mihoko is his mother and his dad, we will just be referring to as ‘That Asshole.’ 

Ben

—Fuck that dude! Ho ho!

Shan

Fuck that dude. We don't need to give him a name. 

Daichi also has a boyfriend who, in what I considered a bit of a revelation for this show, actually matters and has a story. Madoka is his name. He's very important. We'll talk about him. 

We also have a broad constellation of side characters in this show. I will not name them all because there are far too many, but a few that I think are really important to know because they have important plot lines or are part of important plot lines for our family are Hasegawa, who is a schoolmate of Kakeru's who is on the baseball team; and Shizuka, who is a schoolmate of Kakeru's who bonds with him over a shared interest. And then we have Furuike, who is Makoto's senior at work. Those folks all have pretty important actual arcs in the show. 

There are also other side characters who are Makoto's coworkers, Kakeru's schoolmates, and Moe's friends, but they're not as present in the narrative.

Good luck to our translator for having to do all those names. [Ben laughs] That's me, why am I, I'm giving myself luck!

It's a big cast. This is an ensemble show. It's a family drama. It is rooted within a family as the central unit of the story, and then we follow each of these family members on their own individual storylines that intersect with some of the other characters that we talked about.

Like, in terms of my overall feeling about this show, I just fucking love it. It is one of the best family dramas I've ever seen. It is one of the most thoughtful and smart shows that I have seen in the way that it takes the themes that it wants to explore and it really digs deep into them in a way that still feels really natural. Like, this show is absolutely intended to be educational television for a broad audience. And it also is just a really good drama that does not feel, usually, like an afterschool special. It feels like a very organic and natural story of a family and the people around them, rather than a show that's just sitting you down and preaching at you all the time, despite the fact that it is literally preaching at you a lot through the story and through its themes. 

You know, I think NiNi's summary of, kind of, the core plot of the story and the purpose of the story was spot on. This is really rooted in Makoto's journey to do better, to recognize that he has damaged his own relationships with his inability to change and evolve with the times, that he is the one who needs to do some thinking and some learning. And I think what's so beautiful about this show is that he is able to do that through the kindness and the compassion of a stranger who sees potential in him, who sees an opportunity to engage him and to help him learn, rather than just dismissing him. 

You really need both sides of that equation to make this work. You need somebody who is willing to admit that they're wrong and be open to learning. And you need someone who is willing to have patience for them and to see the good intentions behind some of their mistakes. And that's what you really get in Makoto and Daichi. They are the unconventional friendship that really powers this show, that gives Makoto the energy he needs and the knowledge he needs to do better by his family. And then in turn gives Daichi the support he needs when his life starts getting a little bit messier. 

One of my favorite things about this show is that when it starts, you kinda get a little niggling in the back of your head, you're a little worried. You're like, is Daichi a manic pixie dream gay? Is he just here to be this fairy who blesses Makoto and helps him be better and is used as this font of wisdom? Or is he going to be a full human and a real person? And it's definitely the latter. 

As the story goes on, we get his life filled in too. We learn about his struggles. We learn about his relationship. We learn about his family. We see him make mistakes, and we see him need to draw on strength from Makoto. This friendship becomes very mutual, and they change each other's lives. This is an all-time great drama. I love it. Everyone needs to watch it.

Ben

NiNi, I want to check in with you about Daichi at episode three, because you just got through the sequence where they went to the public bath together, and Makoto was trying to show Daichi some appreciation. And it was well intentioned, but kind of annoying. And Daichi got legitimately irritated in that moment and very politely told Makoto to step back.

I want to know how you feel about Daichi coming out of the sequences that happened in the public bath,

NiNi

I think the timing and pacing of that is actually perfect because I was just getting to the point in the story, having watched two and a half episodes of Daichi having what seemed like unending patience for Makoto and his foibles and his crass, sometimes crude expressions and the way that he is often unthinking before he says something. I was just getting to the point of being, does this kid not have any feelings or does he just exist to be Makoto's conscience and sounding board? 

And then that moment in the tub happened and I was like, okay, so he does get pissed off. And he does get annoyed and he does get exhausted and he does get tired of having to deal with this shit.

Ben

Daichi joins a very short list of characters who are now my all-time favorites. He and Shiro are gonna live in my psyche for the rest of my life.

Daichi is so fascinating because he's a well-read, self-actualized queer character who has the full support of his mother, who has clearly dealt with a lot of homophobia. And we learned that he suffered in high school when he was outed. But he has chosen to proceed through the world with kindness and not assume the worst from people, because it burns you out. We get to experience Daichi's complicated romance with his closeted boyfriend. 

And then the relationship he forms with Kakeru. Daichi is helping Kakeru because Kakeru might be going through some sort of queer awakening. He wants to have control over his gender presentation and he likes to be cute. He wants to be pretty. He wants to use feminine styling and cutesy girly things, because they make him happy. But he is not certain yet where he sits on the spectrum of sexuality. The big thing he hates the most is people projecting and presuming about him.

Shan

They really made a contrast here because Moe, Kakeru’s sister. She is so schlubby. She's like hair tossed up in a headband, unshowered, wearing, like, shapeless sweats. Just like looking like, you know, she didn't even bother with anything in the morning besides rolling out of bed. But then when she has to go out in the world and she does her hair and puts on makeup, she looks like a different person. The first time they showed Moe outside of the house all done up, I was literally like, who is that? Who the fuck is this girl? Why are we following her? It really took me a second to click in and realize that was Moe.

What I liked about the contrast there is that Kakeru, for him being pretty, coming on with these feminine styles, doing his makeup every day, that is what actually makes him happy. So he looks that way even when he's sitting in his own home. For Moe, that's not part of her self identity so much as part of the armor that she puts on in the world. They didn't comment on it at all in the show, but the visual contrast was there the whole time between these two siblings.

Ben

I love so much that Daichi was able to help Kakeru get himself out of that room by never telling him what to do, by always focusing on asking Kakeru questions to help Kakeru find the answer in himself. He often did the same with Makoto as well. He very gently corrected presumptions. 

Like, he—Makoto asked a reasonable question. “My son likes to dress up like a girl. Is he trans, and what do I do about that?” And Daichi is like, “Well, he hasn't said he's trans, so let's not presume there, but let's think about trans people for a moment.” And I really love the way that that was handled because Kakeru tells us plainly that he does like being a boy, but he wants to be pretty.

There's the bit where Kakeru is leaving and he thanks his dad for what he did, and his dad, desperate to try and say something that helps his son is like, “You survived being my son for 17 years, you can handle anything.” And I was like, Oh, buddy. [laughs] 

Man, I'm getting lost in all the characters I want to talk about. Let's go back one step and let's focus on Daichi. Daichi helps Kakeru by being gentle with him and letting him figure things out for himself, and then giving him encouragement and friendship when he needs it. And when we finally get to see Daichi's relationship with Madoka, it's complicated. He has an incredible meet-cute with the biggest man we've ever seen in a Japanese drama.

NiNi

I have seen that man! He is large!

Shan

That man is large. He's large.

NiNi, immediately: “Why did no one tell me there was a large man in this drama?”

NiNi

Ben and Shan can attest, literally I paused and I typed in the chat, “So who is this big one?” I was like, why is there a large man and nobody told me there was a large man here?

Ben

Shan is like, I feel like we failed on our strategy with needing to get her to watch this. We should have told her it was a big man. I'm just like, see, but then she would have felt like we were baiting her and she would have taken even longer to start. It's better that you discovered the large man— 

Shan

—We decided to let you discover on your own.

Ben

—You needed to discover the large man on your own as a, as a pleasant surprise.

NiNi

Listen, it was very pleasant and very surprising, because all of a sudden he was just there and he was large and I was like—

Shan

There he is. Can't miss him. He's so big.

NiNi

—these bitches, these, these bitches didn't tell me that there was a large man here—

Ben

Nope!

NiNi

—I'm disappointed in you all. I will say that much. [laughs]

Ben

Nope. We got exactly what we wanted. Because you kept watching. You like, “There's a large man. Is he going to show up again?” And then you kept watching. 

[Ben and Shan laugh]

NiNi

You…

Shan

Let's tell the people more about Madoka, Ben.

Ben

So Madoka is from a smaller community, and his family is anticipating his return home after completing his veterinary studies. He's going to take a position at a large clinic that's basically been prepared for him. He's expected to marry. And this is a huge amount of pressure on him. He doesn't want to disappoint his family and let them down because he's not shared this truth with them because he's afraid of that disappointment. 

I think for a lot of us, that was my big thing that kept me in the closet. Because my family wasn't more homophobic than like a standard Southern cosmopolitan family. But they have these ideas about who you're going to grow up to be in the life that you might be sharing with them as you get older. And when you tell them this about yourself, you are shattering whatever image of your life that they had growing up, particularly when you were able to hide what you were. 

Certain people cannot hide who they were. Daichi is one of those characters who could not hide who he was, and his peers made him suffer for it. And his father. Fuck that man. Fuck that man!

Shan

Seriously, fuck that man. We have nothing nice to say about him. Nothing!

Ben

But Daichi is being patient with Madoka, too, because he's not gonna demand like, “You have to come out so that we can be together.” He's patient with him and lets him sort through that. And the show lets that be as difficult as it needs to be. When these two eventually decide to marry, they have a stellar sequence that I will never get out of my brain. I don't wanna describe it further because you’re gonna watch this scene, NiNi, but know that the proposal sent all of the clowns into the stratosphere.

Shan

All of the clowns and all of the characters within the show as well. 

[Ben and Shan laugh]

The people inside the show reacting to it happening were perfect mirrors of all of us at home reacting to it happening. It was so good. And that's a surprising thing in and of itself, that in this family drama that was meant to be more mainstream, we actually saw two gay men decide to marry each other. Same-sex marriage is still not legal in Japan. That doesn't mean that people don't want to commit to each other in a meaningful way, and I think it was really powerful to see these characters make that choice. As the show goes on, we learn more about Daichi's family and his horrible fucking father— 

Ben

—Horrible man!

Shan

—and a fucking horrible homophobe who has made Daichi feel so isolated and small in so many ways. And we see this dynamic flip between him and Madoka, where he's been the one who's been patient and been strong while Madoka had to work out talking to his family. And then his horrible father comes back into the picture, and suddenly Daichi is the one who's having a crisis of confidence. And he doesn't know if he can commit to this life that he knows he wants because of the way that it disappoints his father, who he still has this attachment to. 

To see them get the chance to support each other through those journeys and to come out the other side of it was just such a really meaningful part of this story. And the way that it tied back to the Okita family because they have come to love Daichi. They have their own relationships with him. He's so important to them in a number of different ways. And so they get very invested in his life. We talked earlier about how in these dramas, the side characters don't exist just to power a romance, right? These are not fujoshis. That's not what's going on here— 

Ben

—Well, there is a fujoshi in the story. Like—

Shan

Although Moe does write—

Ben

—gay boys— [laughs]

Shan

Yeah, she's a mangaka. She does actually write yaoi manga, but she's not like that about Daichi and Madoka. They are real people to her. She's not looking at them as a fan girl. She's here for fictional romance only. 

So, the Okita family really cares about this couple and wants to see them happy and is so deeply emotionally invested in them that it becomes part of their family story, too. It's just a really beautiful way that Daichi's family became very connected to the Okita family, and that all of them became a bit of a surrogate family for Madoka—whose own family by the end of the story does know more about him and have accepted him—but are kind of far away. So he gets this familial support system through these other two families coming together and surrounding him and Daichi with love.

NiNi

Shan you said something there about being surprised about how they got to a wedding. I'm actually not surprised because one of the things that Ben and I have been discussing about Japanese drama when we've been discussing it lately is how there seems to be a category of Japanese drama in like the last five to ten years I’d say which is what I've been personally calling normalization drama.

Me, My Husband, and My Husband's Boyfriend. She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat. Koisenu Futari. Like, there's a list of these shows, and this list is building up, of shows that are looking at, they would probably use the term 'alternative lifestyles'. But what it's about is normalizing these things because so much of what I understand about Japanese culture is about not standing out. It's about conforming. And the reason, and Ben and I have talked about this, that a lot of homophobia and stuff that comes out in Japanese dramas is more about how people are rocking the boat than necessarily about the queerness in particular sometimes. 

One of the things that I have been looking at in these normalization dramas and in terms of what Japan tends to put in front of its audiences is about saying, “Look at these people, they're just like you. Isn't it lovely? Isn't it normal? These people are like us.” So I'm not surprised that this is something that came out of Japan.

Shan

I think that's a really accurate description of what this show is trying to do and why it does fit into that pattern. As we were watching live, it wasn't clear to us as we were going how much any of these side characters or storylines was going to get real attention. And so I think, honestly, I think we were all surprised that he was a real character, that Madoka got his own storyline, that he wasn't just there to be part of Daichi's backstory. That he wasn't just there to be a complication for Daichi, but that he became a character in his own right and got a whole story. 

Like, this show really became a true ensemble piece. Makoto's at the center of it always, but this show really cared about every single character. Even the side characters. Like, the characters that you would normally expect to only kind of be in the backgrounds of scenes. Some of them really got to come to the fore for, like, limited periods of time and really shine. 

One of my favorite side characters was Hasegawa, who is a classmate of Kakeru's, who was on the baseball team with Kakeru. One of my favorite little side stories in this show is that Hasegawa, he actually is really curious about Kakeru and he cares about why he has disappeared from school, and he wants to understand him. And he really makes an effort to reach out to him. He goes to Kakeru to ask for help with skin care because he has acne, and Kakeru gives him an amazing routine, buys him a whole slew of products and gives him—

Ben

—And it starts working like right away. That man's skin cleared up in like a week!

Shan

That boy looks amazing! His skin was cleared up within a week! He went to him for skincare help because he knew that that was a way to approach Kakeru that would be acceptable to him, and then use that as an in to try to rekindle their friendship. And eventually when Kakeru was ready, and felt like he could trust him again, they did start having more mutual exchanges and rebuilt their friendship. 

I mean, listen, I can't lie. We all know I was shipping it. I know this is not real—

Ben

I did not feel bad for Makoto when he was like, “Kakeru seems to be having some very nice interactions with a boy. I mean— 

Shan

He fully, he was like, does he like that boy?

Ben

—if that's where it's gonna go, we gotta make sure he knows. It's okay, son.”

Shan

Yeah, and we kind of knew it wasn't going to go there because that's not the point of the show. This is not a romance drama, and they already had a romance storyline that they were dealing with with Daichi and Madoka. But I was kind of shipping it, because this boy was such a nice boy. I really liked the way that this show made room for that. That one of the things that I think stands out the most about this show is how much empathy it has for all of its characters. Even the shitty dad. 

This show has some empathy for him. We don't like him, but the show has space to understand his perspective. All of these side characters, the show really cares about giving space to who they are and revealing through context that they also have the chance if they're willing to take it to learn more and open their mind and be kind to others.

01:26:30 - Ossan no Pants: Key Character Arcs

Ben

I'm gonna blow through a lot of these characters to power through some of the arcs they went on. 

NiNi, you watched episode two where Moe was determined to go to Comica to sell her manga to her readers. But the family was like, you're too sick. You cannot go to a public venue. And Makoto decides to step up and go sell the books for her and brings Daichi along to help. That was a really interesting episode for us to see Makoto step into Moe's passion and Moe's world and see what she values. And it's the beginning of the rebuilding of their relationship.

NiNi

The show isn't just about Makoto's relationship with Kakeru, it's about his relationship with his entire family. Because you see how disconnected he is from his family. Like, even the dog— ignores him. 

Ben

—Carlos!

NiNi

Like, there's a whole side plot about the dog ignoring him. Okay? I have a lot of thoughts about men of a certain age. We are feminists on this show, and as feminists we actually do love men and want better for them. One of the things about this show is watching a man also want better for himself. Beautiful.

Anyway, he's become so disconnected from his family because he doesn't have any kind of interiority, he has no inner life, he has no conception of self beyond what society has given him. He has no hobbies, he has no things that are interesting for him. On a day when he's at home and all the rest of his family is out or doing something that means something to them, he's sitting at home because he doesn't have anything to do. And then he eventually ends up going out and getting drunk in the park because what else does he have to do, because he has no other interest because he's never been allowed to have this internal life. 

And part of the show is about him actually doing that, and part of that story is him understanding his daughter's internal life because he's been so dismissive of what she does. She's a mangaka, she works on what we in fandom call the transformative works space.

Ben

[laughs] She's a doujin artist writing fic about her favorite characters.

Shan

I love her so much.

NiNi

She's fantastic. This is not something—yes, she makes money on it occasionally—but she does this for the love. This is a hobby for her. And he doesn't understand being so involved in something that you are not a professional at, you are an amateur in that sense of the word, but it's important to you. And what you do is important to people. It made me feel a lot of feelings about this podcast. I gotta be real with you. But anyway—

Ben

Aw, bestie!

[Shan laughs]

NiNi

It did, it really did. So him sort of stepping into her world and understanding that about her—to my mind the way that I saw it, it made him also feel a little bit sad that he doesn't have anything like that. I saw a little bit of sadness that even as he feels the joy of stepping into her world, and starting to understand his daughter a little more, and having them getting that little bit closer off of this interaction, and opening a little bit of a door for their relationship to start being repaired, I could see it raised a little bit of sadness in him as well. And I'm curious to follow that thread and see where it goes. 

One thing that I've been really interested in, I realized that Mika, the mom, actually does have a job outside of the home. When she first called from work, in my head I'm like, did we know she had a job? And the fact that when he gets home, she's always got food prepared on the table for him. He never asks about it. He never says thank you about it. It's expected that it's gonna be there. 

Ben

Good—

NiNi

He comes in at the end of the day. He never asks her about her day. He doesn't seem to have any interest. And I am waiting for him to realize. I am ready and excited to see how he starts repairing his relationships with each of these people in his family. Like he even has to repair his relationship with the dog at this point. That's how bad it's gotten.

Shan

[laughs] I'm so excited for you watching this show, NiNi. I do want to give Mika her due because she is the overlooked member of this family, she is doing so much of the invisible and emotional labor for the family. And the show does give her her due and you'll get to see all of that. It kind of builds on what you were saying about Moe and how she feels about the fandom stuff that she does. 

Like, this show really understands fandom and what it means to people. Mika, she is a mother. She does have a job that you'll learn more about. And she's also a fan. She is a fan of a K-pop group called RANDOM. That actually ends up being a really important part of who she is and a part of her story with Makoto and his journey to understand her. They really take that seriously and they really help you understand and they motivate her obsession with this K-pop group and really root you in following them as a fan has done for her in her life, and allow Makoto to understand that too. 

And when he gets there, when he finally fully clicks into what he owes to this group of K-pop idols who have given his wife something to feel joyful about is one of my favorite moments in the show.

Ben

So, Mika tells us about how she's given up a lot in her life to be the mom figure of this family. She was spiraling in a depressive state when Moe was having problems, Kakeru wouldn't leave his room, and Makoto didn't even want to talk to her about any of these big family problems. And she felt like if it had been someone else, they would have solved it already, that she had failed as a mom.

In this moment of despair, she saw an interview with the leader of RANDOM, and was really touched by the way he talked about dealing with the challenges in his life. That gave her a light out, and caring about RANDOM and the goings on with that band gave her a little light that she was able to hold on to, to hold fast, as her family dealt with these big problems that she was trying to just tackle for them.

Once she reveals all of this—as they're on the way to a concert together, by the way! 

Shan

Hell yeah!

Ben

Makoto says, “Ah, then RANDOM is the Okita family's benefactor.” I just love that man so much because that is the right response.

Shan

What a good attitude, sir! You’re doing amazing!

NiNi

What you just said just leads me to think about the scene that gives the show its name about the old man's underwear thing. Makoto has ways, of expressing yes, but also of conceiving the world through a lens that he can comprehend. The things that are incomprehensible to him. Finding a way to reframe it to himself that's comprehensible. Sometimes that's serendipitous, like the thing with the underwear. And sometimes that's considered, but him saying something like “RANDOM is the Okita family's benefactor,” that's him reframing this thing into a thing that makes sense to him that he can then use that as a way of understanding the idea that he's grappling with or that he's struggling with and I really like that.

Shan

Absolutely.

Ben

You're gonna love that moment you get there, NiNi, because you just came through the Comica stuff where Makoto, like you mentioned, has his own way of contextualizing how he appreciates what people are doing. He went through the whole Comica experience, and he appreciated how passionate everybody was, and how diligent and organized they were— 

NiNi

—And how efficient they were.

Shan

—Yes.

Ben

Yeah, that was his big thing he took away.

Shan

He saw them through a workplace lens ‘cause that's what he knows, you know?

Ben

And there's this great moment when they come out of the RANDOM concert. He lets Mika go and hang out with her other friends, because Mika ends up hanging out with Daichi's mom and another older female fan who are having fun talking about their favorite boy group. He ends up reading about RANDOM. 

When he's still hanging around, Mika wasn't expecting him to wait around for her. They're walking home together. They're talking about the band. He's like, he's read some articles. He's read about them. He's talking about the band—

Shan

—He selected a bias!

Ben

He picked a bias! He's like, “I completely understand why you like Seojun. I found that article you mentioned where he told that story. It's a beautiful, touching story. But we were watching them on the stage. Did you notice that the other member noticed when the other guy tripped and he helped cover for him?

[Shan laughs]

“I really appreciate the teamwork and determination he showed in that moment. He really touched me in that moment.” And he had his own bias coming out of the concert! [laughs]

Shan 

And then they’re out there practicing the dance moves! I can't wait for you to get to that episode.

Ben

It's so great because… Like, Daichi says it early and it kind of throws Makoto off. He's like, “I don't have any hobbies.” He's like, “Your family is your hobby. Everything you do is for the benefit of your family. That's what you're most passionate about.” 

And so we get through this whole thing where we learned that Moe is passionate about manga, it’s what she loves it’s what gets her up every day. Mika is passionate about RANDOM. It's what helps motivate her day in and day out. She gets this really great moment where she gets mad at her family for not appreciating the food she's doing, because she wanted to share a recipe that had won a contest with them. Nobody checked the fucking group chat. And everybody was up in their asses about their own shit that night. Nobody congratulated her, said anything nice about her food. And she went the fuck off on them and they all deserve that ass whooping.

We go on this long journey with these characters of understanding who they are and rebuilding their relationships with each other in a way that is so beautiful. This is great.

01:36:49 - Ossan no Pants: Furuike and That Fucking Guy

Ben

There's even in the show where an older version of Makoto shows up, like one of Makoto's seniors who has been displaced from one team because of being rude and sexually harassing women there. I don't think he was touching them inappropriately per se, but just his general demeanor was deeply offensive. 

And so he gets reassigned to their team. Makoto is able to reach through to him in a really great moment where they go and solve a major work problem together the way guys like them used to solve problems. And it's a way in for him to talk about how “That's not how the young people operate now. And your information and the way you operate is good and we should teach them. But also we got to open up to them too." What's so great is, like, Makoto is kind of an idiot. He's not mean-spirited, but he's doing irritating and annoying and harmful things to the people he cares about. 

Daichi's dad is the worst kind of bigot because he is well-read. He has heard all of the arguments. He does understand that his son is suffering, and is willfully choosing to exacerbate that dynamic because he thinks he knows what's best for his son. But it's not really for the benefit of his son. It's about power and control.

One of the things that often frustrates us when we talk about these shows, particularly Shan. Hello, Shan—is these shows often like to rush reconciliations and apologies so that we end with a moment where the whole family’s come back together through the power of love and teamwork or whatever. And Daichi's dad does not get to have that moment. He is excluded from the final triumphant moment of the series because he is too bigoted to let go of his own ego.

Shan

It was a thing of beauty to see a parent who did not deserve to be forgiven unforgiven and excused from the table.

[Ben laughs]

It is everything that I have ever wanted from a drama. I was so fucking happy, because most of the time in these shows, they just insist on pushing toward this unearned redemption that is so unsatisfying. And this show just said no, because you know what? This show has a really clear thesis. And it came through, I think, in a final speech from of all people, Furuike: You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to know everything, but you do have to care about hurting people. And you do have to try to do better. And you do have to be willing to learn and update yourself. 

And what he says in this final speech in the workplace is, “I'm older than all of you. And I have learned that going through life and all of its good and bad can really desensitize you to the things happening around you, to the experiences of others. And if you let yourself become desensitized, you will hurt other people. And if you can just try really hard to not get used to yourself, and to keep learning and to keep trying, you will do better and you will enjoy life more.” And that is really this show's thesis. 

And Daichi's father doesn't do that. He's not open to learning. He doesn't care ultimately that he's harming other people, because he thinks he's right and that's all that matters to him. And so he doesn't get forgiven. And he doesn't get to sit at the fucking family table at the end of the show and play happy families with everybody. He's not invited to the wedding. If he wants back in, he's going to have to try, and he's going to have to care. And he is going to have to put in the effort to update his thinking and make amends with his son and with the people his son loves. Until he does that, he is not welcome and he is not part of the family. 

And I just loved that the show was so firm on this. There is room for redemption for everyone, everyone deserves the chance to do better. But if you don't put in that work, you don't get to sit with us. Period.

Ben

PERIOD!

Shan

PERIOD!

Ben

[laughs] Let me tell you, NiNi, you will lose your mind when you get to this scene. I am still thinking about it. I was screaming to Twig for three hours about this scene because the Okita family is in this very fancy restaurant wearing their jackets and stuff and they start removing their jackets like fucking Care Bears revealing their stomachs and blasting this man with the hearts of everything that they love.

Shan

It was like the family Care Bear stare. Like they all pulled back their shirts and the beams came out of their chest. [laughs]

NiNi

I'm so mad at y 'all for a Care Bear stare. I haven't thought about the Care Bears in at least, at least two decades—

Ben

—30 years? [laughs]

NiNi

I can't stand y 'all ass. I can't stand y 'all ass!

Ben

Kakeru is like, “Yes, I'm wearing women's clothes.” And then Moe was like, “And I love to draw fujo art, fuck you.” And Mika's like—

Shan

—She like pulls back, she's got a t-shirt with like two people kissing on—

Ben

—she's like, “I'm old and I get to like idols too.” And then he looks over at Makoto's like, “At least you're the only normal one.” He's like, “No, I'm not. I’m the most fucking crazy person here. I love my family. I love all of these people. And I was asked to be here as the matchmaker for Daichi. And I'm going to tell you to your face that you are a bigot and an asshole.” 

He asked that man the most important question: “You are correct that the world is harsh, and that it's not going to be nice to our kids. But it doesn't matter if they're queer. They're going to be made to feel awful and bad and weird and wrong for any number of reasons, whether it be Moe loving to draw fujo art, Kakeru wanting to wear the clothes that make him feel better, or Harunishi wanting to wear his b-suke-kun to work every day.” [laughs] 

For any number of reasons these kids are going to be made to feel wrong and unhappy. And that's one of the things the show makes clear. None of the older men in this show are happy at all. Not Makoto, not Daichi's divorced dad, not Furuike when he gets assigned to their team originally, and not multiple colleagues of theirs who get downsized over the course of the show. No one is happy. 

Everyone is being asked to present and conform for the sake of others in the society and everyone is miserable as a result. And the Okita family says, “No, we're going to prioritize our happiness in this family. I'm doing these things as a parent because I love my family and I want them to be happy. I don't want them to suffer for other people and be miserable like you.” And he asked that man directly, “If the whole world is lining up to be cruel to your son, why are you trying to cut to the front of the line to get the first lick in?”

And that man had no answer for that.

Shan

Man, that was so infuriating. This was what was so challenging about fighting him, why Makoto struggled a little bit, and why Daichi really struggled, was that he wasn't an in your face, loud, screaming bigot. He would espouse his bigoted ideas in the most calm, rational matter of fact way. And it would make the other characters second guess themselves. He wasn't talking as if he was being hateful. He was talking as if he was just being the rational one in the room and the rest of them needed to come back to reality. 

That can be very disarming, trying to deal with somebody when they're presenting what they're saying to you as if they're just talking common sense and you're the one who's offbase. I liked that representation of a kind of bigotry that can feel a lot more insidious than the more in your face stuff that we often see depicted in media.

Ben 

I was really happy with it because they showed through Makoto and Furuike that they aren't trying to be mean-spirited when they interact with people these ways. They're just deeply out of touch and deeply misinformed and they were taught poorly. The worst thing about Daichi's asshole of a father is he's the people who teaches people to be like that.

01:45:25 Ossan no Pants: Final Thoughts and Ratings

Ben

What really works with this too is, like, Kakeru can be a real bitch over the course of the show when he gets pissed off with people expecting things from him. But I really like that for all that he doesn't share interests with his father that much, in so many ways he is a lot like his dad and how he handles interactions with people. That was a really well done arc— 

Shan

And him continually recognizing that.

Ben

—that he and he starts to recognize too. Yeah.

Ben

The final scenes of the show are so earned. Makoto is like, “If the world is going to fight my kids, they're going to have to go through me!” 

Shan

Hell yeah!

Ben

—And he's flexing in the mirror. And then the kids are coming through the door of the bathroom, because it's the day of Daichi's wedding. And Moe dunks on him right away. She's like, “You're not going to get buff in three days, Dad. Move. We have things to do today.”

[Ben and Shan laugh]

Kakeru’s like, “Move.” He's like, “Don't look at me like this.” They're like, “Get out of here, Dad.” And he's like, “Oka-san, your children are bullying me!” [laughs]

Shan

It was so nice to see this family that in the beginning was so strained with each other, they would have never joked with him that way when the show started because they had no trust in him and they were tense around him all the time. And to see them come all the way to the other side of getting back to a normal dynamic where they can just make fun of their dad for being a dork. That's such a beautiful way to show that he has rebuilt that trust with his kids. They feel comfortable now to make fun of him when he's standing in front of the mirror in his dorky underwear making macho poses.

Ben

[laughs] We finally get to their wedding and Makoto is given this parental position as Daichi's stand-in father. And of course Makoto is a crying, slobbery mess at this wedding.

Shan

The way that he weeps over this relationship makes me laugh every single time. [laughs] He's just so happy for them. He's so invested.

Ben

The long and short of it is, this is a show that is super empathetic about the way internalized misogyny has done so much damage to all of us. And it wants to gently lead us down the path to learning to reconnect with the things we love and the people we love without feeling the need to enforce arbitrary norms that have only made everyone miserable.

And it earns that repeatedly in every single moment for 11 fantastic episodes.

Shan

Man, what a show.

NiNi

I look forward to watching the next eight.

Shan

I'm so excited for you to finish it, NiNi. You're gonna love it.

Ben

Alright, hot ratings. NiNi, can't rate it yet. Shan, rating.

Shan

I gave the show a 9.5. I love it deeply. I think it is excellent. I think everyone should watch it. My ratings are about execution and I think there were a couple—not really wobbles in the show—but a couple little bits that could have been smoother. There were a couple scenes that didn't quite carry off the PSAs in a way that sounded like natural dialogue.

Ben 

You're going to have to let go of that moment at the end of episode five.

Shan

I can't do it. It's sticking. [Ben and Shan laugh] There's one scene in particular that felt deeply inauthentic in the way a character— 

Ben

—You're so mean!

Shan

—I'm sorry, but it's true. In the way the character reacted to something, instead of reacting in a way that felt authentic for his character, he gave a very after-school special speech, which felt so wrong from a character perspective. It just sticks in my brain. 

And so it's not technically perfect, but it is spiritually perfect. It is emotionally perfect. I love this show so much and I want everyone to watch it. I am in the process of bullying my own family into getting a Plex media server so I can force them to watch it. I just, I think everybody should see this show.

Ben

I'm giving this show an 11.

Shan

Nice. He's just gonna make sure the average pulls it back up to 10. [laughs] Which I am fine with!

NiNi

You see, whenever, whenever Ben does this and he calls producer privilege, I just sit here and I go mm okay. Because he's always on me about it.

Shan

Okay, I see how it is.

NiNi

Okay, have your 11, sir. Have your 11.

Ben

This is one of my favorite shows of all time. We've made a lot of memes on this podcast about my repeated mentioning of What Did You Eat Yesterday? or random diatribes about how New Siwaj could make good work if he wanted to make good work. 

Shan

Oh boy.

Ben

But this is, this was probably one of the most enjoyable experiences I've had with TV itself in a really long time. This was the kind of really homey and welcoming drama that I have really needed to believe in TV as a medium again.

I loved watching the show and I loved talking about this show with our friends the whole way through. This is the kind of drama that I feel determined to show to people

So, it gets a 10 from me, from The Conversation.

I am desperately begging you to go watch it. And then tell us how you feel about it.

01:51:18 - Importance of Variety in Media Consumption

NiNi 

So what are the connection points between these two shows, other than the frame, obviously, which is that these are queer narratives that go outside of and beyond romance? 

Ben

I don't want to be harsh to our listeners who enjoy BL when I say this. Watching both of these shows is a real relief for me, because sometimes BL feels so detached from reality that it can feel kind of alien. I need to get a couple of queer dramas in me a year that are about the queer experience in a grounded way, or else I go insane.

I am really relieved that both of these shows came to us when they came to us. Because I need experiences like this to make BL worth it for me. These are the kinds of projects I only encounter because I'm in the BL space.

Shan 

I think what connects these shows for me is that they both really care about all of the characters involved in the story. They try to tell really full stories about a community or a family that does not just narrow down to one point that's about one person or one relationship. They really try to take a holistic look at the full world around our characters, and how all of them form relationships with each other and how the world around them informs those relationships and puts stressors on them. It's just, like, a really complete immersion in both of these shows into a place and a way of living and a way of being that can sometimes feel missing in some of the other things that we watch and discuss on here. 

It's really refreshing to watch stuff like this sometimes. I think any healthy media diet requires some variety, requires stepping out of the same formula that you are used to in the media that you consume. What really matters to me about these shows in the context of this podcast where we discuss queer works, is that it really takes queer reality very seriously. And it roots its story, both of these shows, in a very close-to-realistic version of what it would mean to hold these identities in the world that we actually live in. When we are often watching shows that are in a bubble that don't deal with those realities, it's important to dip into that every once in a while. 

And, this is not a homework assignment, either of these shows. They're beautiful dramas. They are joyful. They are fun to watch. They are touching. Just because they have heavy themes and because you learn a lot doesn't mean that they're not also incredibly entertaining shows.

NiNi

For me, what I get out of being in this particular space and shows like these. I was calculating today. I am actually in a relationship maybe about once a decade, but I am living in the world all the rest of the time. While romance for me is…not exactly an escape—there are escapist elements to romance for me. I find a lot of fascination in different aspects of romance. I live in the world all of the time. And so getting into shows that are in the world, that are focused on things that I have much more of a day-to-day connection to than romance. Occasionally it's just fun to sit there. It's good and enjoyable and it feels good inside to sit in. You feel a little bit of coming home about it. And that's where I'm sitting with these two shows so far. Every so often I do need to watch something that isn't a romance, and I like when it's good.

These two are really good. 

Ben 

I gotta say that, too. Like, no disrespect to a lot of the work that we talk about on this podcast. We watch a lot of shows that are flawed in one way or another. And it's not for a lack of effort from the people making them. But every now and then, it's really helpful to watch a really, really good show or a really fucking good movie, and be like, damn, that was something else. It can be really inspiring and it can help keep you grounded.

You need to balance your media diet. You have got to not just watch romance. It will overly flavor your taste, and you're not gonna notice when the creators are playing with things outside of romance. You got to...expand your horizons, because the more types of stories you encounter, the more you'll be able to enjoy the stories that you love the most. It's good for you to watch something other than BL.

NiNi 

And with that, that is going to wrap us up on episode one of our fall season. Dun-da-da-dun!

Shan

Wow.

Ben 

I'm really glad we're starting on a high note because BOY was summer rough! Ha ha! Shit!

NiNi

I just want to point out we just at the end of the summer had our 50th episode. So this is our 51st and this is our 8th season. We are rounding out into almost two years of doing this show. We're going to have some thoughts about that as we wind down.

With that, we out. Say bye to the people, Shan.

Shan

Bye, people.

NiNi

Say bye to the people, Ben.

Ben

Peace!

[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.”

[bioniclemanga]

[ Chapter 8 - Page 49 ]

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It still kinda blows my mind that I technically finished this page almost a month ago... but my Ko-Fi subscribers get early access to pages, so they're already four pages ahead haha.

I meant to have this up last week, but I was away all weekend and when I came home, it was wicked late Sunday evening, and then I just kept forgetting to post it, even though the mantra was "When I get home today from work, I'll post this page!" Pft.

I tell people I have the memory of a doorknob. But hey, at least the page was actually done.

[sirnotsircos]

Fleur De Morte Ch.1

Hello! There are 4 Chapters to Fleur De Morte. I'll post them as they are edited and ready to go.

This takes place in Dragon 9:49, so three years before Veilguard, and if you've read "Eight little Talons" I've set that in Dragon 9:48 about 6 or so months before this fic. At this point Money is 24!

When I tell you I have a timeline I meant i have a timeline!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monroe wiped their mouth with the back of their hand. What was left of the colourless ointment rolled off on their skin and dissolved in the warm water of the wash basin. Monroe licked their lips, a mild waxy taste, akin to lipstick, but nothing more. What a waste. Monroe mourned the Pillow Talk they never got to use, sitting dormant in its vial stashed somewhere amongst the cluttered vanity. They’d been so close to drawing all the wimpers and moans, all the truths and secrets from those perpetually wine stained lips.

Monroe slid into the seat of their vanity and sorted away their potions. The perfumes and oils lined up in order of most expensive first for prying eyes and the actual poisons and serums slotted into the spring loaded compartment to the side of the unit. The afternoon, while not unpleasurable, was entirely underwhelming. 

Avitus, a magister born to piss away his wealth and status, had arrived too soon and unannounced. Monroe had been expecting to chase, not to be chased. A hazard of being trained by Teia, and in a way Viago. Seduction, a tool and efficiency, a virtue. 

At around midday there would be a recess in meetings that would make for a splendid surprise encounter. No time to ask questions, no time to wager risk and doubt. Just passion. It was charming in a way, how Avitus had the same idea. Monroe sighed, they almost felt bad. Avitus was the youngest son, thus the one who shouldered the least responsibility. Despite this he did  a lot of talking and arguing and a lot of making a reputation for himself. He spoke with the commanding air of the mediocre idealist and none of the substance required to inspire action. He was an extra chair for his family to occupy, nothing more. 

But he was loyal, hence the Pillow Talk. 

He was also a perfect mark. Monroe had been contracted three months ago to infiltrate the inner circle of Drusus, the oldest of the brothers, and perpetuate his assassination. In all actuality it was Viago’s contract, one worthy of a Talon. Drusus was a big target, someone who demanded either a lot of manpower or a lot of time. Viago could afford neither, but he could contract someonelse's time.

Monroe caught the scent of the eucalyptus bunch hanging in the window before they heard the minuscule whine of the shutters. They saw a flash to the right, sending them left just in time for a dagger to sail past them and hit the mirror’s frame with a thud.

In the window sat Teia clad in traveler’s leathers, her curls coiled up in a tight spiraled braid. It was getting dark, the winter months saw the sun setting as early as four in the afternoon. She had no doubt not been seen, she was never seen. 

“The fuck-” Monroe was on their feet, three throwing daggers clenched in their hand from a compartment nailed to the underside of their chair.

“Money,” Teia grinned, Monroe swore they heard a laugh at the edges of her voice, “you were slower than I expected.”

“I dodged,” Monroe shrugged, tucking the throwing knives away. They stood and opened their arms, Teia climbed down from the windowsill and met them in a hug, “What are you doing here?”

“Being dead,” Teia grinned.

“Huh?” Monroe quirked an eyebrow.

“Can I?” Teia gestured to the vanity stool and sat as Monroe nodded, “I died, have to lay low, hence the window.”

“You died in Minrathous?” 

“Yep.”

“For how long?”

Teia shrugged.

This clarified nothing. Monroe assumed it was something way above their pay grade.

“Vi’s coming by the way,” she was going through the bottles of perfume on the vanity, scrutinizing the labels. “Can I have this one?”

“When I’m done,” Monroe shrugged, eyeing the expensive bottle, “it’s a gift from a suitor.”

Teia wiggled her eyebrows and placed the bottle back on the vanity. Her fingers danced across the bottles, the charms and tassles swayed and clinked against the glass. In the lantern light of the room Monroe could see Teia clearer, and her state of subtle disarray. Her hair was damp, freshly washed, her skin red and dry, scrubbed clean with no normal after bathing aftercare. 

“Rough ni—” Monroe was cut off by a quick succession of knocks, five exactly.  Teia and Monroe shared a knowing look.

“Hello?” Monroe sang, sounding blissfully unaware, while blissfully aware. Viago was probably fuming, undercover wasn’t his thing. The fact that to the outside world he was standing outside a high end escort’s room must have been causing some kind of internal meltdown to occur. Monroe revelled in it.

Silence. Uncomfortable silence.  

“Are you in?” Came Viago’s voice, obviously through clenched teeth. 

Teia stifled a giggle. Monroe mauled over a handful of ways to drag this out, a few phrases to make him squirm. They settled on a pause, just long enough to be intentional but just short enough to interrupt the moment Viago got impatient enough to speak up.

“Just a moment,” Monroe mused.

When they opened the door Viago’s face was drawn up in a scowl, his eyes wide with annoyance. He’s going to kill me, was Monroe's first thought. Their second thought was that they were glad Teia was there, because Viago was always nicer when Teia was there.

“Hello, handsome gentleman,” Monroe gave a grin, less sly and suggestive than the one they normally greeted their guests with.

“Caria,” Viago sounded pained even uttering the faux name, “are you busy?”

Monroe blinked politely, “Am I?”

“Not particularly,” Teia hummed, inspecting an ornate compact housing rose coloured powder. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he huffed, threw up his arms and strode in annoyed, “you’re already here?”

“You’re slow,” she grinned.

“I-” Viago cut himself off, “ you left a mess.”

“I never leave messes,” Teia blinked innocently.

“Never?” Viago raised a brow and grinned.

“No thank-you,” Monroe made a face, “no mom and dad sex talk.”

“We weren’t —” Teia began.

“That’s not what —-” Viago rolled his eyes.

Monroe just held up their hands and shivered with the deep feeling of grossness that washed over them. 

Teia, as it turned out, had a boat to catch that evening, Monroe’s temporary apartment was close enough to the docks that she had convinced Viago her visit was strictly logical. Viago, on the other hand, was staying in the city for some time, first to help in Teia’s extraction and secondly to start the end game for the Drusus assassination. He had four agents stationed in Minrathous, one was a low level servant, hired for garden work, another a coachman, and the third, aside from Monroe, was working as a caretaker in the meeting halls. Every other agent seemed to be assigned to find the where and the how, Monroe of course was tasked with the when, which in the world of assassination is the hardest part. 

Dinner was ordered up to the room, Viago spent a very long time testing the different elements with all sorts of brews and concoctions, and they ate. Well Monroe and Teia ate, Viago grazed, still entirely unconvinced of the quality of the meal. Rich boy. Monroe liked to take jabs at Viago’s decadent sensibilities. It was part of the reason he never went undercover, that and the poison paranoia. Monroe often joked that Viago had only recruited them because he needed someone to do all the jobs he didn’t feel like doing himself. Viago agreed readily every time. He’d even referred fondly to Monroe as his “most worthwhile investment” a handful of times.

“You know they charge me for the whole plate,” Monroe mumbled surveying the scattered remains of Viago’s plate, only the moist inside of the bread were eaten, the hardened outside of the cheese sliced off, the centers of the sliced sausage missing. 

“The centre is the hardest part to poison,” Viago shrugged. Liar. 

“There’s kind of  a nice metaphor in there somewhere,” Teia hummed, picking at the centreless round of sausage from his plate. 

“Hm,” Viago  rolled his eyes playfully and unhooked a small flask from his hip, taking a swig with no hesitation and no grimace. Wine. Sometimes it was diluted poison. 

“I have bottles you know,” Monroe gestured to a crate in the corner with a hinged lid that housed non-perishables and wine, lots of wine. 

“ Your wine?” Teia gasped, “you mean bottles of snake venom?”

“Deathroot extract actually,” Monroe corrected, “venom gets lumpy after a while.”

“My apologies,” Teia hung her head, “ I did not mean to insult you, master poisoner.”

“I know-” Viago said through tight lips, “ you two are making fun of me, but neither of those would work well with wine. You taste both.” 

Monroe made a mental note, as much as Viago’s poison paranoia was a quirk to pick and prod at, he was in fact a master poisoner and more deadly than Monroe and Teia combined.  Poisoning took time and patience and Monroe wasn’t particularly good at utilizing either, they were much better at luring and striking. Which is why they’d been so surprised when Viago had contracted them for this job. Not that Monroe hadn’t gone undercover before but they were usually short term jobs or travel personas. Monroe had been living as Caria for months now. 

“Speaking of assassination,” Viago turned to Monroe, “report.”

“I’m doing good, thanks for asking,” because, in his own way, he was, “ Avitus came by earlier, wanted to see me before he left for a trip next week.”

“Avitus doesn’t have a trip on his itinerary,” Viago’s brow furrowed, he no doubt memorized every shred of information his agents had fed him.

“Nor does Drusus, and yet —” Monroe nodded towards the vanity, “he’s leaving tomorrow night for a meeting outside of Vyrantium.”

A trip so close to Vyrantium, a city nearly completely under siege by the Antaam, could only mean there were nefarious talks underway. While Money knew little of the reason behind the contract, they'd guessed it had something to do with the Antaam's sudden increased in fire power and the suspicious lack of Venatori intervention in the last few months in Vyrantium. While Avitus was too simple to be a Venatori mastermind, Drusus was a different story.

Teia pushed her stool back as Monroe pulled open the left drawer, amongst a litany of combs and hair oils they fished out a bound pack of papers.

“Letters, notes, missives,” Monroe explained, “some given, some taken.”

As Monroe unfolded the bundle they explained each piece, some were patterns they’d noticed, preferred lounges, regular meetings, pseudonyms they managed to narrow down. Most importantly, Monroe had managed to tip a waitress into translating a document they’d swiped whilst Avitus had bathed. The letter detailed a trip, of course written in code, but the same one Avitus and his brothers had used in their other communications before. Drusus was set to leave Minrathous a full week ahead of his brothers. 

“Reduced collateral,” Viago hummed.

“If the goal is to keep his solo travels secret he’ll have a smaller personal guard,” Teia agreed, “all we have to do is get eyes on him before he leaves the city.”

“He’s traveling by carriage,” Monroe said, pulling a ledger page from the bundle, “the rest are traveling by boat, so he’s headed in-land. He’ll be leaving from the west side of the city.”

“I can have people ready -” Viago cut himself short. 

They’d all heard it, the second top most step gave a whine as someone ascended to the third floor. Viago stepped clear of the door, should Monroe have to answer a knock he’d rather be unseen. Teia did the same, pressing herself against the wall next to the vanity. They waited for a moment, Monroe humming to themself as they gathered the bundle silently, tucking the papers into Viago’s outstretched hand. Then it came, three light knocks. 

“Morraine,” Monroe sighed quietly, “staff.”

Viago and Teia released their breaths but stayed tucked away. 

“Coming, love,” Monroe called. On the other side of the door stood Morraine, she was half Monroe’s height and had wirey grey hair scooped up in a slouching bun, in her hand was a bottle of wine with a fine gold seal. 

“That man’s sent you something right nice,” she muttered curtly then rummaged around her apron's big pocket, “an’ a letter.”

“Thank-you, Mory” Monroe smiled sweetly, “between you and me, I think the wine would be better enjoyed by the staff?”

Morriane smiled for the first time, her grin filled with greyed teeth.  She enjoyed wine. 

“Certainly,” Morraine nodded happily, bringing the bottle to her chest as if it were treasure.

“The letter?” Monroe reminded her. Moraine could’t care less, tossing the letter over the shoulder as she turned.  Monroe caught it as it fluttered through the door frame, the thick cardstock and ornate seal confirming it was a letter from Avitus. For what was supposed to be secret correspondence, Avitus had an inability to be unremarkable. Every letter he sent was always gilded and gaudy. 

“Test it,” Viago huffed when Monroe began breaking the seal.

“Vi-” Monroe ceased their protests as the letter was snatched from their hands.

Viago ran a series of tests, a spritz of some kind of root juice here, a swab and mix there. In a turn of events both Monroe and Teia saw coming, the letter was unpoisoned. 

It was a last minute request, a secret rendezvous under the stars.  Romantic both Monroe and Teia had agreed, stupid Viago frowned. Monroe got the feeling, as Avitus had left earlier that afternoon he’d not gotten his fill, yet his afternoon meetings couldn’t wait any longer. It should have been expected. Another chance for Pillow Talk perhaps. 

“It’s dark enough,” Viago looked out the window, off towards the docks, “Teia we should get going.”

“ Goodbye mi amor,” Teia reached up and grabbed Monroes shoulder, pulling them down so she could place a kiss on their crown, “you’re too tall.”

“Sorry, I’ll shrink for next time,” Monroe grinned, pulling her in for a hug, “I’ll be back soon.”

“You will,” Viago agreed, “this is almost done.”

“Next job, Vi,” Monroe spoke through Teia’s bun, “can I just be the end game guy, I miss good coffee.”

“We’ll see,” Viago smiled to himself, he’d never tell Monroe how much he’d missed them. Although, he considered throwing out a stray comment about needing them back sooner rather than later to help control Jacobus and his thirst for action. Instead he settled with a rare bout of sincerity, “you’ve done good work.”

I’m proud of you. 

They both left through the window, Viago considered leaving the way he’d come but figured Morriane would be too deep in her bottle to notice if he came or went. Monroe locked the shutters, as nice as Teia’s unannounced visit had been, they preferred their guests to use the door. The room was quiet and empty, the same quiet and empty it had been since they got here. There was no squabbling or grotesque shows of awkward affection, no feldglings to rile up on a midnight excursion or Heir attempting to tame said intensity the next morning. Instead it was pretty peaceful all things considered, Minrathous was a city filled with action and scandal but Monroe found themself rather alone in it all. 

Soon, they reassured themself as they say at the vanity to ready themself for their late night rendezvous.

[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.