#other times i o to read something where the author goes out of their way to say “don't worry! this actually is Not Fucked Up”

[mrskayathefrog]

yes, and

sometimes I do like to read about a healthy relationship and healthy communication and good friendships. sometimes it is nice to have an occasional actually good fictional model to base some (some! *some.* just some. I really want to emphasise just some) actionable good behaviour (like, how to Do A Confrontation that isn't too aggressive and will Get The Things Done that You Want Done, or how to make a phone call, or how to calmly explain why you did something that looks indefensible from the outside but which is relatively reasonable from the inside).

sometimes it's nice, you know?

Healthy relationships are clearly better in real-life but fucked-up ones are way more dramatically interesting in fiction. In much the same way–indeed, in exactly the same way–that feudal monarchy is a hell of a lot of fun in fantasy and historical fiction novels, but complete shit to actually live under.

[aethon-recs]

This Week (x2) in Tomarrymort (8 – 21 November 2024)

Hello! We have three multi-chaptered fics finishing this week, highlighted below. In addition, I made a rec list for Tomarrymort Necrophilia Fics 💀🤍 in support of the Tomarrymort Necro Fest hosted by @magical-menagerie-server, which kicks off in January.

Completed Fic:

Memories of a Killer by @chemfreak89 (M, 47k, complete) Age catches up with everyone. The infamous serial killer Voldemort now spends his time reading newspapers and making trips to the local library in search of a new crime novel. But one day he makes an interesting new acquaintance that shakes his quiet life and rekindles old flames and unknown desires. What quickens me is the violence in thee by @i-dream-of-libraries (M, 17k, complete) Harry is sold at auction to a man who is clearly in some kind of disguise - Lord Riddle isn't as charming as he looks, and the way he looks at Harry... A Regency AU inspired by the magnificent artwork of @stolenviolet. If I were you by @onehitpleb (E, 9k, complete) It is 1945 and Tom is eighteen, freshly graduated, and working a non-reputable job as a store clerk in Knockturn Alley. Somehow, he grows attached to the worst sort of person - an idiot.

In addition, a recap of the author notes from last week! (Please feel free to add some extra context to your fic update in the reblog, such as a little bit about the chapter(s) updated, and I’ll throw it in the update for next week!)

A Simple Request by @shyinsunlight (E, 70k, WIP) “As for the new chapter of A Simple Request, Harry tries and (unsurprisingly) fails to keep his personal life private. Some are having the time of their life, some others, not so much. Lifts can take you up, but going down is more interesting.” Wish by @sri-verse (E, 3k, WIP) “Wish is set after Harry's fifth year where he gets the ownership of Bellatrix's vault along side the Black vault. Looking at a gold goblet, he remembers his childhood wish of buying a gold cauldron and brings back Helga Hufflepuff's cup with him to fulfill that desire, unaware that he has freed the horcrux living in it.” To the Hilt by @izharmilgram (E, 28k, WIP) “To The Hilt is a royal arranged marriage au featuring nontraditional a/b/o, political schemes, ancient greek and abrahamic religion references, feral harry potter, and lots of power play and worship. It's neither only tomarry or only harrymort, but tomarrymort—meaning the core relationship is Tom/Harry/Voldemort. This includes Tom/Voldemort.” we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands by @boyneptunee (M, 50k, WIP) “The consequences of Harry's Time Travel seem inconsequential, at first. Until they stare right back at him with vicious eyes. There's trouble brewing in every direction, and the Future is not as certain and set in stone as one might think.” Time Stumbler by @wintumnly (T, 102k, WIP) “Harry is stuck in 1937 and spends the holidays with almost-eleven-year-old Tom Riddle. On the first day of Christmas, they both anxiously wait for Tom's Hogwarts letter together. Fluff, humor, and Tom Riddle is not good with feelings." 7 by @moontearpensfic (E, 44k, WIP) “Harry goes back in time to raise Tom AU: the boys discuss what might have happened to make Voldemort go to "sleep."” Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic (E, 22k, WIP) “Harry corrupts Tom AU: Tom and Harry celebrate Christmas--and something more! Your Wish, My Command by @moontearpensfic (E, 8k, WIP) “Hinny adopts Tom AU: Tom finally gets Harry to crack. 🔥”

*

Tomarrymort One Shots and Completed Fic

Complete | Chapters 8 and 9 of Memories of a Killer by @chemfreak89

Complete | Chapter 6 of What quickens me is the violence in thee by @i-dream-of-libraries

Complete | Chapter 4 of If I were you by @onehitpleb

Complete | Chapter 19 of Sits the wind in that quarter by @mosiva

One Shot | To be Imagined by @cyandenial

One Shot | god's hands by @curioushabitforarivergod

One Shot | bad behaviour by @milkandmoon-ao3

One Shot | two ways of being: the noun & the verb by cycloalkane

One Shot | set my soul on fire by @wynnefic

One Shot | Beach Episode by @crowcrowcrowthing

One Shot | First Duel by @being-luminous

*

Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics

Chapter 12 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapters 7 through 11 of in the silence by @satflesk22

Chapter 4 of friend of the devil (a friend of mine) by @shyinsunlight

Chapter 15 of Embryo by @cannibalinc

Chapter 4 of As It Begins by @duplicitywrites,@moontearpensfic

Chapters 7 and 8 of Stygian by @crowcrowcrowthing

Chapters 15 through 17 of Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear

Chapter 1 of the night is cold in the kingdom by @girl-with-goats

Chapters 5 and 6 of you speak of the devil (like he's not your friend) by @amuria

Chapters 131 through 134 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapters 1 and 2 of Small Mistakes by Crisis_Brewing

Chapter 5 of Hit 'N Run by @dragonaireabsolvare

Chapter 11 of Days always end in sunsets by @d00medbythenarrative

Chapter 25 of Time Stumbler by @wintumnly

Chapters 8 and 9 of Venom or Valor by @lightningant

Chapter 21 of Outrunning the Villain in You by @zenyteehee

Chapters 6 through 8 of To the Hilt by @izharmilgram

Chapter 9 of Do It Over by @thefangirlibrarian

Chapter 2 of Infinite by @moontearpensfic

Chapter 2 of Prizefighter by @dragonaireabsolvare

Chapter 8 of Fetters of the Damned by @sc0rpiflow3r

Chapters 13 and 14 of Hole in the Wall by tomrddle

Chapters 23 and 24 of Learning to love by @l-archiduchesse

Chapter 13 of He Who Shall Not Be Changed by @moontimefilter

Chapter 17 of Last Son of Black by @treacleteacups

Chapter 6 of Dreams Beyond Blood by @hikarimeroperiddle

*

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen

AO3 Link

Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!

Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You

Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.

Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. “A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-”

“Hi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,” Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.

Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.

On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaena’s, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaena’s embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abby’s other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.

“I’m sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, he’ll retrieve the stag antlers for you,” Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. “He’ll love the opportunity to prove himself.” Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she said primly. “I would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.” Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmara’s own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,” she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. “But we’ll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. That’s how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.”

“That’s true,” Abby chimed in. “And you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? I’m sure falconry is in your blood.” Floris’ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.

Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. “This is true. I suppose I should practice.”

“Practice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,��� Helaena continued. “My elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.”

Floris preened, leaning into Helaena’s side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abby’s heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaena’s ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaena’s care and attention. It did not go past Abby’s notice of Cassandra’s harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sister’s lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.

She’d be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.

As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. “With all that noise, they’re sure to scare away all their quarry,” Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.

The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on Kostōba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hull’s silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegon’s retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.

Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that he’d agreed to the offer, brushing off his mother’s gape mouthed indignation about it. “He’s the reason I still live, Mother,” Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightower’s anger that morning as they broke their fast. He’d brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.

Seeing Aegon’s confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.

“Good tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!” came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. “Good tidings to him on his nameday!”

“Good tidings!” came the call of the gathered crowd. “Prince Aegon!”

As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaena’s gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegon’s nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didn’t blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.

The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeron’s smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. “Allow me, my sister, ladies.”

As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brother’s hand tighten slightly around the girl’s fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.

The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Grover’s health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queen’s hands.

Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.

“Baela’s a Targaryen too,” Helaena muttered. “Why can’t they flock to her?”

The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.

“Because they’re afraid she’ll be a bad influence, I’m sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?” Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abby’s decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.

“Hasn’t Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?” Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaena’s, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.

“We’re doing the receiving line,” Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. “Aegon’s receiving his gifts and then we’ll have congratulations on the betrothal.” She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.

It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.

Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.

It was the King’s chair, but the king was not here.

“Are we to accompany you while you receive them?” Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.

“You look nice,” Abby told her with a small smile. “Not quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,” she teased and Wylla snorted.

“It’s a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. We’ll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things into…” She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. “Men waving around their big pointy things.”

“In a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,” Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. “And yes, I think you should. We’re receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.”

“And then we’ll go hawking,” Wylla said with a nod.

“I have to stay here,” Abby corrected with a shake of her head. “It is my duty to entertain with her Grace.”

The northerner’s brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friend’s skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “As I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully there’ll be time for me to go exploring later.” Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and she’d been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.

No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.

Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.

“Abrogail.”

Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.

The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl she’d been who he’d look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.

He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abby’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They’d only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.

“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”

“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.

Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh, “has not quite been pleased but…”

Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her Grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.

“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. “She was quite concerned about… the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.” Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day she’d been accused when coupled with Ser Edmund’s harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. “Apparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.” She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. “I have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.” Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.

“It will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,” Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake he’d plucked for himself. “What matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-”

“I may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know there’s only so much influence they have,” Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. “It will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?”

“Prince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,” he reminded her after swallowing. “I don’t recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.”

“Jeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,” she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemma’s siblings and half-siblings. She’d even traced her own tree: Harwin’s mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmo’s sister. Larys and Corynna’s mother had been a Frey. Abby’s mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. “And if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.”

She’d heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wife’s death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.

Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baela’s silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.

Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. “Ah, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?”

Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine she’d named Caelus was a little wonder. He’d been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but there’d always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.

“He did, and I know we brought him. The queen…” Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. “She said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That it’s my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.”

“Oh, did she?” Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. “Yes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.”

Rhaenyra should be here. She was the King’s eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abby’s spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?

Alone now, save for Larys.

‘Not alone anymore’, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.

This marriage, Alicent’s desire for control, Lord Otto’s keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegon’s pain was because of Rhaenyra.

Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.

“I am here when others are not,” she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piper’s wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abby’s gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.

Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.

“If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.”

Abby was not queen. She wasn’t certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didn’t matter, they would see what they wished.

“Lady Sarra,” Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicent’s eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. “I did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?”

Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.

“I don’t have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,” she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.

“That is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.” Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. “My legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?”

Even Baela’s mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princess’ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.

“Are we not taking a carriage?” Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.

“It is not a far walk,” Abby assured her. “And it’s nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.” She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.

“You all left so quickly!” she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandra’s dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?

This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.

“Of course, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “We would be happy to have you.” Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandra’s shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her family’s strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinor’s responding smile was kinder.

“Congratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,” Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandra’s eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.

“Yes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,” she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. “How comforting it must be to wed one’s childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.”

The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.

“Not to mention wedding a childhood playmate means there’s no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,” she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. “Now let’s fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.”

Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.

She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the ‘odd workings of an overactive imagination.’ That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.

‘He’ll have to lose an eye’.

“Would you care for some company?” came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?

“You’re not gallivanting with the boys?” Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jace’s gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only ‘boys’ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.

Or if he were lonely.

“I didn’t want to…” Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didn’t know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her mother’s frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemond’s nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegon’s day because of everything that happened.

The dead look in Mother’s eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.

All of them pinned to boards in the king’s Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.

The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that she’d been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.

Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.

Half fire.

Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.

Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.

Half fire.

‘But I am full flame,’’ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragon’s power. ‘Would this be what her nieces and nephews be?’ Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.

She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. “Thank you,” she said softly and Jace smiled at her. “Pity it’s not another marchpane tentacle.” He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.

“It was nice to dance with you at the feast,” he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where he’d wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.

“You're a good dancer. I should know, I’m a good dancer myself.” She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didn’t. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didn’t look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.

Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didn’t know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.

His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply… different.

“The mint winds and chokes like ivy,” she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. “The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.” She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. “I-.”

He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Helaena, are you-”

A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jace’s hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. “I’m taking you back to your tent, Helaena,” he said firmly. “We don’t know what’s- Ow!”

She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so he’d let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that he’d be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jace’s cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogail’s tent that was the source of the screaming.

Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyre’s scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.

On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.

“He-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-”

“I don’t know where he came from!” Abby’s trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. “I don’t…” She gulped. “I don’t think he meant Wylla to b-be there.” Her free hand was gripping the back of Wylla’s dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Give me the poker, Lady Abrogail,” he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. “There’s a girl.”

Harrion Karstark was shouting his sister’s name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.

Then, Aegon’s shout of, “Abby!” came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brother’s frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. “What happened?”

The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.

“This man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said. “Lady Wylla got him good.” His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.

“Did you throw it?” he asked. “Or did you pounce on him?”

Wylla blinked, her brother’s broad hands holding her shoulders. “I stabbed him.” Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. “He… I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion… I thought…” Wylla’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “He came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I just…”

Harrion’s hands tightened on his sister’s shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemond’s mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.

It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. “Well he’s dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.” He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. “Keep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.”

Wylla’s brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.

“I was half asleep,” Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. “At first I th-thought it was Wylla…” Helaena watched Abby’s hand clutch Aegon’s arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.

“How the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my lady’s tent?” Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayne’s had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. “Where were the patrols, Ser Criston?”

Their mother’s protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. “The patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.”

Aegon’s jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemond’s tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.

“Lady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,” Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. “And we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.” She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. “This is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,” she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. “These ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.” The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.

And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abby’s hand to pull her toward her tent.

Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them. Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.

Next Chapter

[starboy-sirius]

without touching his skin (how can i be guilty as sin?)

jegulus modern au (with a sprinkle of wolfstar) based off this post by @starchaserdreams because i saw it and couldn't not write it (hope that's okay!!) 7642 words | read it on ao3 here! |

✧˖*°࿐

James laughs at his best friend Sirius, who is staring at his phone in horror, his eyes wide and unblinking as he looks at the text James just sent from his phone. His mouth is open and he looks ridiculous. He’s likely to catch flies at this rate and James can’t help but cackle at his shocked face. 

It’s no secret that Sirius has been crushing on their friend Remus for the past year, following him around with puppy eyes and hanging off his every word. James has told him time and time again to make his move, that Remus won’t be horrible to him if he confesses because when has Remus ever been horrible to either of them? Never. So he wouldn’t so much as hurt a hair on Sirius’ head if the boy confessed. 

James also has it on good authority that Remus has fancied Sirius for nearly two years now, so he isn’t setting Sirius up for failure by urging him to confess. Of course, he’s sworn to secrecy by both of them so it’s not like he can spill either of their secrets to the other, even if it would help things along immensely. But Sirius being Sirius wouldn’t stop whining about how he wishes he could just confess already. 

James was only trying to make it easier for him.

So it has come to this. James grabbed Sirius’ phone before he could realise what he was doing, and sent Remus a text saying hey can we talk? I need to tell you something. It’s genius if you ask James because he’s done half the work for him. Making the initial move is always the most nerve wracking and James has gotten that out of Sirius’ way. 

Honestly, James isn’t sure why Sirius isn’t on his knees thanking him. Where’s the excitement? Usually James would be engulfed in a hug by now. 

“James, what the fuck?” Sirius whispers, eyes glued to his phone at the very unsendable text message. 

“It’s a good thing, mate! Now you just have to confess and boom! Dating,” James grins, patting Sirius’ thigh and leaning back into the beanbag he’s currently sitting in with an air of victory to him. 

Finally, Sirius lifts his eyes from the phone and tosses it across the room. He serves James a deadly stare. “James.”

Feeling apprehension dance along his spine, James sits up straighter. Sirius doesn’t say anything else, only stares at James with a look that gets more intense the longer it goes on. James fidgets uncomfortably. “Um, Sirius? You okay there, bud?”

“James,” Sirius repeats unblinkingly. “Because I love you, I am going to give you a ten second head start, but if you don’t run right now I am going to kill you.”

Alarmed, James jolts in the beanbag and tenses his legs as his flight mode activates. He wavers, mainly because he’s unsure as to whether Sirius is joking or not, but he gets ready just in case. “Really? I was only trying to help you out!”

“Really,” Sirius confirms gravely. “Ready? Countdown starts now.”

“Wait, Sirius—”

“Ten—”

“I really don’t think this is nece—”

“Nine—”

“I was only help—”

“Eight—”

“Fuck, okay,” James scrambles upwards and dashes out of Sirius’ bedroom. 

The positive to this situation is that Sirius’ house is fucking enormous. He’s a little on the richer side, which isn’t a huge shock because James is fairly wealthy himself, but Sirius moved into this place with his younger brother and his eldest cousin because his parents were verbally and physically abusing them. His cousin took them in immediately and Sirius helped buy them this place with the money that was left to him by a relative. 

The house, if one could call it that, is ornately decorated and very tasteful. It is more of a manor, James thinks as he rushes up a double staircase and onto the next floor’s landing. There are many paintings hung on the wall, some of them James knows were painted by Regulus, Sirius’ younger brother, and some are the works of Sirius’ niece, who also lives with them. Even the toddler’s paintings are encased in the same intricate, golden frames as some of the priceless antique ones and it makes James smile, even as he’s racing for his life. 

He can’t hear Sirius counting anymore but he knows that the boy must have stopped by now and is on the hunt for him. Honestly, James thinks he’s being a little dramatic but that’s an average day for Sirius, and so James thanks his lucky stars that Sirius hasn’t decided to go truly overboard. This is actually quite mild for him. 

A sudden bang from downstairs has James panicking and diving into the first door he comes across. It’s steamy when he first enters, a thick haze of heat hitting him in the face and James tries not to choke on the sudden onslaught. The smell is delicious, however, and James finds himself moving further into the room as his nose leads him to the pleasant scent. As he moves further into the ridiculously large room, James identifies that it smells of lavender, bergamot and pine. 

He wishes he could bottle it and spray it on his pillow so that he could get a guaranteed night of good sleep, because holy fuck does he want to ingest this smell right now. 

The sound of rushing water vaguely registers in his mind because suddenly it ceases, James now coming to the dawning realisation that the room he’s in is a bathroom and that there is definitely someone in here with him. Someone who was showering not seconds ago. Which means that whoever is in the shower-tub combo is probably about to step out of it. Naked. The person in the shower is going to step out of it dripping wet and completely naked. 

It could be Andromeda, Sirius’ cousin, or her husband Ted, or Regulus, Sirius’ brother. James doesn’t know which option is worse, they’re all awful for different reasons. Ah yes, a dripping wet, naked Regulus, how awful indeed, his brain supplies and James feels his skin flush. 

Listen, okay. James has known Sirius since they were eleven and met at some fancy, rich boarding school that all their ancestors had apparently gone to, which meant they had to as well. So he’s known him for quite a while, given that James is now twenty-one and at another prestigious university that their ancestors also went to. This means that he’s known Regulus for that time as a result of his unbreakably close friendship with Sirius. 

At first, James had thought Regulus was adorable with his cherub cheeks and his little curls. He looked like a child that would be modelling for kids clothing brands, but when he opened his mouth? Goddamn, he was such a little shit. He’d taken one look at James and spat the most unhinged insults James had ever heard. At age ten, no less! It had knocked James down a peg initially, but truthfully? James had become a little enamoured with Sirius’ spiteful younger brother. 

Sirius had apologised profusely to James, worrying that his little brother had put him off being best friends. He rushed to explain that it was a result of the way they’d been raised, which had then prompted the conversation about their parents which had James equally furious as he was heartbroken. James promised him that he had nothing to worry about, that he liked Regulus and his biting comments. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, James told him before crushing him in a tight hug.

So James had grown up with Sirius and therefore Regulus, and he’s watched the younger boy blossom in his own ways. He’d never hung out with them much at boarding school, having his own group of equally sarcastic and sharp-minded friends who looked at James like he was prey they could hunt and destroy. Despite their less than friendly demeanors, James always tried to talk to them when he could, wanting to get on with them because he cared for Regulus and they were his best friends. Openly, his favourite was Pandora, who was always the most receptive to him. Secretly, his second favourite was Barty because the boy had a wicked sense of humour when it wasn’t aimed at James with his incessant need to take the piss out of him. 

Regulus and his friends had followed in their footsteps and gone to the same university, which James knows Sirius was secretly happy about because it meant that he could spend more time with him before they got jobs and lives of their own. A part of James was happy too but he hadn’t wanted to look into why exactly that was. 

Of course, James knew deep down why exactly it was. 

Watching Regulus grow up from someone he classified as ‘Sirius’ little brother’ to Regulus, a young man who had his own name, his own personality, dreams and desires. A young man whom James could no longer deny to himself that he found effortlessly attractive. 

Which left James with the problem he has now: fancying Regulus. James is well aware that Regulus is his own person, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still Sirius’ brother, and James knows that Sirius would throw the hissy fit to end all hissy fits if James reveals that he fancies him. So James pines silently for the boy who throws insults at him like its second nature, like it’s as easy as breathing. It only makes James like him all the more, because the majority of people in James’ life trip over themselves to please him, but not Regulus. Regulus would rather set his hair on fire than be nice to James, he knows. 

Speaking of his hair, goddamn. 

Still curly as ever, only it’s longer now and it wafts elegantly around the nape of his neck, some parts of it wavier than curly. It looks like a halo, James thinks. He’s an angel. A fire spitting angel, which James thinks is the best kind. He’s elegant and lean and perfect, his skin like a doll’s and his lips pouty and shaped like Cupid’s arrow. James would do anything to kiss him. 

But James is a gentleman and he will not try anything on Regulus because he is Sirius’ brother, and he knows it would only complicate things between everyone. He also has no idea whether Regulus even likes him like that, everything seems to point to the negative considering they can’t have a conversation with Regulus insulting him at every opportunity. James thinks he’s rather insane to enjoy the way Regulus’ words cut into him, and he knows that just because he’s apparently gone mad doesn’t mean Regulus has. It doesn’t mean Regulus enjoys their verbal sparring as James does. 

James is a gentleman. He isn’t going to attempt anything with Regulus, end of story. 

He wishes he could remember that as a creamy, pale leg appears from behind the shower curtain and his brain completely short circuits. As the leg touches the ground an equally creamy and pale arm darts out to grab at the forest green towel hanging up on the wall, and then his entire body is out and James only just misses being flashed as the towel is brought up over the man’s crotch. 

Regulus’ crotch, because that is Regulus who has just gotten out of the shower. Regulus, who was naked a moment ago. Who is still naked now technically. He hasn’t even wrapped the towel around himself yet, is only holding it over his crotch and James feels like he’s going to faint. He's so lightheaded. He wants to believe it’s the steam but he can’t bring himself to pretend that it’s not all that exposed skin in front of him. 

Regulus hasn’t noticed he’s there yet as he brings the towel up to his face to wipe the water from his eyes. His skin is tinged pink from the heat of the water and James briefly wonders what it would be like to mark that skin, to leave it mottled with purples and reds and teeth marks. He grows hotter at every passing thought. 

He’s broken from his reverie when Regulus attempts to bring the towel up to his hair to dry the edges briefly. James knows that he only does it a little because the towel is too heavy on his curls and usually he uses an old t-shirt of Sirius’ that he stole, but all this information flies out of the window with what’s left of his melting brain as Regulus raises the towel high enough that it threatens to expose him. 

James lets out a rather embarrassing, strangled squeak at the prospect and is met with a frozen Regulus, who pauses and locks eyes with him, the steely grey going wide before narrowing playfully. He brings the towel down slowly, far too slowly for someone who is naked and vulnerable and naked, James thinks. 

Regulus wraps the towel around his waist, slinging it so low on his hips that James thinks he’s going to go into cardiac arrest, and leans back against the wall behind him. He smirks at James as he runs a head through his curls. Beads of water drip from his hair, down his neck and tantalisingly down his torso, traversing the divots of his toned abdomen. James follows a single drop from his prominent collarbones, past his pink nipples and down, down, down his lovely stomach. Just as the droplet is falling into the trail of hair underneath his belly button, James is brought back into the present by a teasing cough. 

Snapping his eyes back up to Regulus’ face, he finds that the boy is already looking at him with a single raised eyebrow. James feels his face flush and he prays that he doesn’t look like a tomato. Especially since Regulus is standing there like a Greek god, like someone who would be honoured by a multitude of sculptures that people like James would pay exorbitant amounts of money to stare at. 

“Hi, James,” Regulus purrs, his eyes never leaving James’ face.

“Hi,” James replies faintly, his voice slightly croaky from where it’s mostly been open since Regulus stepped out of the shower. 

Regulus grins like a shark but softens it when his tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip. James is attached to the movement like a limpet to the side of a ship. “Did you step in here so that you could catch me naked, James?”

“What?! No! Of course not! It was an accident, I swear,” James proclaims, arms waving around like a madman as he tries to remain calm. He can’t believe Regulus caught him in his bathroom, naked from his shower, and is just lounging against the wall with a permanent smirk on his face. 

James feels incredibly out of depth. 

Regulus hums, a delicate hand coming up to trace at his collarbone and play with the water droplets there. He tilts his neck to give himself more access and huffs out a laugh as James’ eyes follow the movement religiously. “That’s a shame.”

James nods, blindly agreeing without really listening, intently focused on the longer finger as it trails back and forth on Regulus’ marble-like skin. James wants to bite it. He snaps back to reality when his brain catches on to what Regulus has said. “Wait, what?”

“You know,” Regulus changes the topic, bringing his hand down to rest at the knot of the towel and James feels like his heart is going to give up on him. And that his dick is going to become very noticeable in his trousers. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush this much. What’s gotten you so worked up, James?”

James wants to curse him because he knows what’s gotten him so worked up, the little shit. James was wrong, Regulus is not an angel, he's the devil incarnate and he refuses to stand here and be embarrassed by him. Not long ago were the days where James used to tease him until he was beaming a bright red. James doesn’t like how the tables have turned. 

Distantly, James hears a victorious shout followed by what is definitely Sirius yelling his name like a madman. Regulus’ eyes flicker from James to the bathroom door and the latter realises that it’s the first time Regulus’ eyes have left him since he realised James was in here too. 

James sends him a sheepish smile as he begins to walk himself backward, as if Regulus is a wild animal he needs to keep his eyes on at all times lest he turn his back and allow himself to be attacked. “Well, that’s my cue! Lovely seeing you again, Regulus.”

Regulus’ eyes twinkle as he runs a hand over his wet curls. “Truly a pleasure, James. Try not to make a habit of following me into the bathroom when I’m wet and naked, hm?”

The laugh that forces its way out of James’ mouth is strained and bordering on hysterical as he tries not to trip on his way out. He’s still looking at Regulus, who’s staring at him like he’s a meal he wants to devour, and he can’t even find himself able to speak English. Garbled noises are the only thing that he’s able to come up with and it only makes Regulus’ smirk ever more shark-like. With one last look at the enticing boy in front of him, James fumbles with the door handle and practically sprints out of the bathroom. 

The alluring pull of Regulus’ silver eyes doesn't leave his mind. 

✧˖*°࿐

When James makes it back to Sirius’ bedroom on the floor below, Sirius is right where James left him, only that he’s sprawled out on his bed on his stomach, legs swishing back and forth with one hand twirling his wavy hair. James feels like he’s entered a rom-com. 

“Er, Pads?” He asks, bewildered by the image he’s presented with. The nickname is a long standing one that James can’t even remember the origins for, only that he, Sirius and their two friends Remus and Peter all have corresponding animal nicknames. 

“Prongs!” Sirius bellows as he jumps up and throws himself into James’ arms, his legs wrapping around his waist. 

Huffing at the sudden weight, James pulls away to look at Sirius’ face. “Hey, sexy. Fancy meeting you here.”

Sirius laughs, throwing his head back. When he returns his gaze to James it’s mischievous. “You know I love you, Jamie, but I’m afraid we cannot continue flirting like this. You see, I’m about to be a taken man.”

James almost drops him. “Oh shit, it worked?!”

“Well, almost,” Sirius informs as he unwraps his legs and pulls James to the bed with him. “Just as I was about to come and kill you, he responded saying that he also had something to tell me. I didn’t want to do it over the phone though, so I’ve invited him here. He’s on his way.”

“Fuck yeah!” James shouts and piles on top of Sirius, planting wet kisses all over his face as Sirius laughs and wraps his limbs around him like an octopus. James begins to dig his fingers into Sirius’ sides, delighting in the breathless giggles he lets out. “Hey, I’m just trying to get my fill, alright? My best mate is about to get a boyfriend.”

“James!” Breathless and bordering on hiccups, Sirius manoeuvres James so that they’re laying side to side facing each other. “James, if it all goes wrong I need you to beat Moony up for me.”

“What?! I can’t beat Remus up! Have you seen him angry? He’d kill me!” James exclaims, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist. 

“James, you have to! You’re my best friend, it’s basically the law,” Sirius whines, snuggling into the crook of James’ neck. 

Sensing the undertones of the conversation, James quietens down. Amongst all the joking and laughing, James can tell that Sirius is scared to confess his feelings for Remus. He can’t help but find it sweet because he has nothing to worry about, but James isn’t going to spoil that for him. 

“Listen to me, Sirius. You’re going to be okay. Remus isn’t going to hurt you or be mean to you, and even if he miraculously is then we’ll sic Regulus on him, okay?” James strokes a hand through Sirius’ hair, speaking softly. 

Sirius seems to mull this over, humming as he does so, and comes to a positive conclusion. “Oh, that’s brilliant. I mean, Regulus quite likes Remus so it might be a little hard to convince him, but if he sees how upset I am then I’m sure he’ll oblige. Good thinking, Prongs.”

They lay there silently after that, neither of them speaking but rather enjoying the moment they’re sharing in each other’s arms. It took a while for Sirius to get to this stage with James because of the way he was raised. James was always showered with love and affection from his parents, growing into a very physically affectionate person, whereas Sirius was the complete opposite. Love wasn’t given freely if at all in his family home, and the only other person with whom he shared affectionate physical touch was Regulus. Both brothers took a while to get used to James’ love language (one of them, anyway), but Sirius was the first to succumb to his cuddles. 

“Hey,” Sirius breaks the silence. “I’m probably going to talk to Remus in the garden because the flowers he helped plant are blooming and I want to show him. Do you mind staying up here by yourself? You can always go off and find Regulus if you get lonely.”

The thought brings James back to the bathroom and all that creamy skin on display, beckoning him like a blank canvas desperate to be brought to life by some paint. James never thought of himself as an artist but right now he would gladly take to Regulus’ body with his mouth as the brush. 

Holy fuck, he cannot be thinking of Regulus like this when he is literally wrapped around his older brother. Sirius would surely kill him if he knew what James was thinking about. Would hunt him down to the ends of the earth if he knew that James wants to kiss Regulus until his lips are red and swollen, and wants to mark every inch of his body until no one questions that Regulus is his. He wants to have Regulus whining and panting underneath him, or on top of him, or quite literally in any position, in any place and at any time. James isn’t fussy, he’ll take Regulus however he can get him.

Right, totally failed at not thinking filthy thoughts of Regulus when he’s cuddled up to Sirius. Shit. 

“Jamie? Are you alright?”

“Yes!” James nearly shouts and clears his throat when Sirius pulls away to look at him funny. “Perfectly well, thanks Pads.”

Before Sirius can object, there’s a knock at the door followed by the doorbell, and both boys shoot up so quickly that they trip over one another and fall into a heap on the floor. For a moment all they do is lie there as they contemplate getting up. They’re groaning, elbows and knees in places where those should never be, and James is pushing at Sirius’ shoulders in an attempt to make him get up.

“I’ve changed my mind, I can’t do it. You go and answer the door, Jamie. Tell him I’ve fallen ill.”

James rolls his eyes at Sirius who flops onto his back and throws an arm over his face like a fainting maiden. “Really, Sirius? What am I supposed to tell him you’ve come down with in fifteen minutes?”

Sirius contemplates it for a second before he’s snapping his fingers. “I know! We’ll tell him that it’s something you’ve come down with and I’ve caught it because it’s contagious. The whole house is on lockdown. It’s perfect!”

“Pads, that is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. There’s no way Remus will believe that.”

Huffing, Sirius throws his arms over his head and practically melts into the floor. “Well, I don’t see you coming up with any genius ideas!”

“Here’s one,” James responds sarcastically. “How about you go down and answer the door like a normal person? Take him to the garden to look at his flowers and then confess? You know, the original plan?”

Sirius looks at him. “James, that is just ridiculous.”

“Right.”

“Dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

James watches Sirius as he stares up at the high ceiling, fondness creeping over his features. “Sirius, do you not think you’re going to hurt Remus if you turn him away now? After you’ve said you need to tell him something?”

The doorbell rings a second time.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Sirius turns pleading eyes on James. “I can’t get the door, James. I can’t.”

James nods encouragingly. “You can, Sirius.”

“I can’t.”

The two of them are interrupted by the sounds of feet padding down the stairs. Unfortunately, James knows the sounds of those feet, and has practically committed them to memory. Regulus doesn’t enter the bedroom but he does call past the door, “I’ll get it, then, despite being a whole floor above. Tossers.”

Sirius and James stare at each other with wide eyes before they’re scrambling to get up, yelling out to Regulus, a cacophony of deep voices shouting up and down the stairs at each other.

“No, we’ll get it!”

“Reggie, you little shit, come back here!” 

They bound down the stairs, practically flying past them as they race to get to the door before Regulus. It’s not like they’re worried Regulus will say or not anything harmful, as Sirius said Regulus is surprisingly fond of Remus and often seeks him out for intellectual conversation, or so he says. It’s just that Regulus is well aware of Sirius’ feelings toward Remus and he makes it his life’s mission to make every possible hint known to man. 

James laughs wildly as they race against Regulus to get to the front door, Sirius cursing at the size of the house as they go, and once they reach the final set of stairs James hops on the bannister to slide down the the bottom.

It’s in vain, no matter how fun it was, because Regulus is already opening the door to a bored looking Remus. His expression changes dramatically when he sees the shit-eating grin on Regulus’ face, along with a panting James who looks wild with his hair sticking up everywhere, and Sirius who is a third of the way down the steps and clinging to the bannister as if he’s going to faint. 

“Er, is this a bad time?” Remus asks, eyes darting between the three of them. He looks faintly amused. 

Sirius shouts, “Yes, this is a terrible time, actually!” 

Just as Regulus croons, “This is a wonderful time, Remus, do come in.”

The younger boy practically drags him in and Sirius’ eyes burn at the contact of their hands. James grins at Remus and brings him into a hug that is quickly reciprocated. “Hey, Moony.”

“James, good to see you,” Remus murmurs before he pulls away to stare at Sirius who still hasn’t moved from the stairs. Remus ignores the snickering from Regulus and walks towards him. “Hi, Sirius.”

Sirius feels as though he’s going to faint. God, Remus is just so pretty. He’s all caramel hair and tan skin, scars from a childhood accident crossing from his eye, over his nose and to the corner of his lip, and Sirius hasn’t seen anyone as beautiful as him. He’s tall, towering over Sirius and making him feel as though he could be devoured in one bite. Sirius would let him. He would let Remus do anything he wanted, even if it meant consuming him whole. 

“Remus,” he breathes, heart pounding as Remus offers his hand out to him and he takes it, letting Remus assist him in walking down the stairs. 

Once he’s at the bottom he has to look up to meet Remus’ eyes, crinkled and warm, and he still hasn’t let go of his hand. In fact, Remus’ thumb is caressing his hand, the touch gentle and loving. Sirius is definitely going to faint. 

“Something you wanted to tell me, sweetheart?” Remus asks quietly, but it doesn’t matter because Regulus still hears it and fails to smother his laughter. 

Before James realises what he’s doing, he’s bringing one hand up to cup the boy’s nape and the other presses firmly against his mouth, cutting any sounds off and muffling them under his large palm. Regulus’ eyes flash with promise and danger, and James feels it dance along his skin like lightning. He doesn’t say anything as they continue to stare at each other, but it’s okay because now Remus and Sirius can continue without Regulus teasing them. 

“Not here,” Sirius sends a glare towards Regulus, who is paying him no mind now that James has his hands on him. “Do you want to go to the garden? Your flowers we planted are blooming. We can talk there.”

Intertwining their fingers, Remus nods with a smile. “I would love to.”

The two of them make their way towards the garden, but Sirius turns back at the last second, looking at James and Regulus who are still staring at one another. “James? You okay, mate?”

Snapping out of the haze, James flies away from Regulus as though he’s been bitten. He has to look at his hand to check that Regulus didn’t actually nip him. The boy sends that infuriatingly hot smirk his way, like he knows every dirty thing that James has ever thought about him, and James can feel himself beginning to sweat. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” James responds, voice abnormally high pitched. “Think I’m going to go and play video games in your room.”

“Alright, mate! Have fun,” Sirius chirps before he’s dragging a sappy looking Remus along with him. 

The silence in the foyer is so loaded that James thinks he could fire a gun with it. He’s instantly brought back to half an hour ago when he was in the bathroom, steam clouding his judgement and Regulus leaning back against the wall, water dripping down his lithe body looking like the figment of James’ wildest dreams and worst intentions. 

It’s clear to him now, he wants to do the dirtiest, most filthy things to Regulus. 

It’s also clear that he can’t do them without possibly ruining his friendship with Sirius, so he nods once to Regulus and attempts to make his way back upstairs. Regulus’ voice stops him like a siren’s call, and James is but a lowly sailor lost at sea and begging for a miracle. “Wouldn’t you rather play with me, James?”

It’s all he can do not to groan aloud. “Regulus,” he strains, voice tight.

“It’s okay,” Regulus purrs, stalking forward like a predator until his front is up against James’ back. The older boy sucks in a sharp breath. “I know you want to, James. Just let go. Give in to me.”

The thought is so tempting. All James wants to do is turn around and press his lips to Regulus’ in a smouldering kiss. He wants to walk him backwards until he’s shoving Regulus harshly into a wall, licking his way into the boy’s mouth and pressing a thigh against his crotch. 

James whines at the thought, and he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed at the sound when he feels Regulus smirk against his neck. He gasps when Regulus’ lips brush the sensitive skin of his neck, “Regulus.”

“I know you want me, James,” Regulus taunts, his naughty fingers brushing against James’ hips. “Turn around. You can have me.”

It’s the press of his soft lips against his neck that forcibly pulls James from the moment, eyes snapping open so quickly that he doesn't recall ever closing them. He practically jumps away from Regulus, the laughter that bubbles from his throat sounding more hysterical and breathless by the second.

He doesn’t turn around as he shouts, “Have to go! Great to see you again, Reg!”

James makes it two floors up in record speed, diving into Sirius’ double bed and groaning loudly. He ignores the aching problem in his trousers and tries to think of anything else. It’s a while before he can bring himself to unbury himself from the pillows of Sirius’ bed and actually play a game like he said. 

All he can think about is that he would much rather be playing with Regulus and how he won’t allow himself to. 

✧˖*°࿐

It’s the middle of the night, sometime past one o’clock, and James is wide awake.

After he’d spent most of the day playing video games alone, Sirius and Remus had entered his bedroom with matching grins and shiny red lips. James took one look at them before he lept up from the bean bag and pulled them both into a tight hug. He took great pleasure in telling both of them that he knew their feelings were reciprocated and that sitting watching them both pine was beyond painful, but that he’s happy they’re together now. 

Sirius looked incredibly put off that James had kept the secret from him, because they don’t do secrets, which in turn made James feel guilty because he was keeping his secret desires for his brother from him. James tries to reason with himself that he’s keeping it from him for his own good. After all, it isn’t like James is going to act on his feelings, so it’s never going to come to light. James is going to die with this secret. 

Remus looked pleased at the news that James had kept his secret, and James had pouted at him because really, Moony? Do you have such little faith in me? Remus had rolled his eyes and pulled James into his side. 

They spent the rest of the day talking about everything and anything, as they so usually do, but this time it was more geared towards Sirius and Remus and their endless yearning for one another. They played video games and spoke of the literature Remus was currently reading that James took an interest in. He'd recently read Pride and Prejudice and loved it, so Remus was giving him more recommendations every day. 

Once their conversation featured more yawning than words, Sirius had dragged the two of them into his bed and snuggled up facing Remus, pulling James close behind him and sighing in content when both boys wrapped their arms around his middle. Remus rolled his eyes at him before getting comfortable, a small yet happy smile on his face. James had snuggled right in, comforted by the familiar smell of Sirius’ shampoo and Remus’ cologne. 

He thought he’d sleep through the night soundly, but he was wrong. 

So now he lies awake on his back, staring at the ceiling because if he doesn’t then he’ll end up staring at the way Remus and Sirius are curled perfectly into one another like puzzle pieces. At some point, Sirius had turned around and Remus had pulled him tightly into the curve of his body, his face burying into Sirius’ neck almost possessively. 

James hadn’t felt like he was particularly welcome after that. 

He sighs dramatically, very happy for his friends but unable to stop the loneliness from creeping in. Fidgeting, he tries to get comfortable but ultimately he knows that it’s going to take a while for him to fall asleep again, if he ever will. Once he’s had enough of pretending to sleep, James carefully lifts the blanket from his body and sneaks out of the bed, cautious not to wake his two friends up in the process. 

He shuffles from the bed, careful not to stand on the floorboards that squeak or trip over the bean bags he knows they didn’t tidy up. Having been to Sirius’ house since he moved in years ago, treating it as his second home, James knows all the spots in the house that make noises, like the spot just in front of Sirius’ bedroom door, the fifth and eighth step in the staircase up to Regulus’ floor, and the three in a row on the staircase down to the kitchen. James hops over those but miscalculates due to his tiredness and accidentally steps on the third one. 

He winces as he pauses, waiting to hear the telltale sign that someone has woken up, and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t hear anything. The house is still slumbering, as James wishes he was, which he’s thankful for because little Dora is a nightmare when she gets woken up. James completely understands because he, too, gets incredibly grumpy if he’s woken up randomly in the night. Sirius jokes that it’s the only time he isn’t a ray of sunshine. 

Manoeuvring his way quietly down the rest of the stairs, James pads into the kitchen and goes about getting himself a glass of water. He thinks he could find his way around this kitchen even if he was drunk, blindfolded and under some temporary spell of amnesia. 

Leaning against the counter, James admires the way the moon shines in through the windows. It’s full, James having to squint to make sure it is actually a full moon, and it looks ethereal sitting in the dark blue of the midnight sky. Looking up at it, James wonders if the moon ever gets lonely hanging in the sky by itself and he can’t help but feel like the moon sometimes. It’s surrounded by glistening stars and yet it is still alone, shining brightly. James wonders if it has a favourite star.

James sure does. 

A creak that sounds very similar to the one James caused on the stairs earlier interrupts his train of thought. He waits with bated breath to see who he’s going to have to have an awkward midnight conversation with and prays it isn’t Remus or Sirius, because he doesn’t know how to tell them that sharing a bed with them makes him feel lonely. 

He’s saved from that conversation when his favourite star walks through the archway. 

Regulus is as beautiful at night as he is in the day, only now he’s softened by sleep and looking deliciously rumpled. His pale skin gleams in the moonlight making him look like his namesake and James just wants to bask in his glow for the rest of his life.

He’s wearing the smallest shorts known to man, so little as they ride up his creamy thighs that James thinks they look more like underwear. Perhaps they are, but James’ brain has melted from his head and he’s now trying to operate without one. All he can manage to do is stare at Regulus unblinkingly. The boy still hasn’t noticed James as he shuffles in the kitchen, one hand combing through his dark hair, which gives the older boy more time to ogle.  

Besides the tiny shorts, Regulus is wearing a dark green crop top, a colour that too closely resembles his bath towel and James feels his face heat at the memory. His perfectly toned stomach is on display, showcasing his lithe figure and James is so tempted to give in to his desires and mark that skin. He wants to see the indents from his teeth littered all over that body.

But James is a gentleman and a good friend. He will not maul Regulus. He will not even entertain the idea. 

His luck runs out when he takes a rather large gulp of water and Regulus’ eyes snap to him immediately. He doesn’t do anything for a second, other than halt in his tracks with groggy eyes, but then he’s moving towards James with the determination of a snake waiting to strike. James knows that these animals have the patience to wait it out until the very best moment and he has no doubt that Regulus is willing to do just that. 

Eyes shining with promise and pleasure, Regulus stops a few feet in front of James. “Fancy seeing you here.”

James raises an eyebrow, looking more confident than he feels. “We’re in your house. It’s not really much of a surprise, is it?”

Humming, Regulus makes his way to the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk. Setting the carton down on the counter, he reaches up to grab a glass from the cabinet. James watches the way his cropped top rises even more, the hint of a pink nipple teasing him and he places the glass of water down before he does something stupid like drop it. 

He pours the milk into the glass, places the carton back in the fridge and then leans back against the counter, looking at James intensely. They’re further apart now, but the atmosphere in the kitchen is so delicate, so loaded that James feels like they’re trapped in a box together. He can smell Regulus from where he leans against the sink. He smells like seduction and ruin.

“I just assumed you’d be fast asleep with your boyfriend and his boyfriend.”

James rolls his eyes. “Sirius is not my boyfriend.”

Raising the glass of milk to his lips, Regulus shrugs. “Could have fooled me with all that kissing I heard earlier.”

“Are you jealous, Regulus?” James prods, knowing it’s likely to stir up something he can’t entertain but unable to stop himself. Maybe it’s because they’re here together in the dead of night under a full moon that James feels as though he might give into the insanity calling his name. 

When he lowers the glass there’s a little drop of milk sitting in the corner of his lips and James thinks he’s going to go crazy if he doesn’t lick it right now. Regulus places the glass down on the counter and stalks over to James very slowly, slinky and sensual like a cat. “You know I am, James.”

James feels his breathing quicken as Regulus doesn’t stop until he’s face to face with him, nose to nose like Regulus doesn’t realise how badly he’s affecting him right now. Or maybe he does and he doesn’t care. Maybe this is what he wanted all along. 

Regulus places his hands either side of James, effectively caging him in and ceasing any escape that James may attempt to make. He whispers into the quiet, tension filled space between them, James’ shaky breathing the only sound other than his voice. “Maybe now you won’t run away from me, baby.”

“Regulus,” James breathes, bumping his nose against Regulus’ as the younger boy toys with him, bringing his face closer to James’ as though he’s going to kiss him and then pulling away again. “We can’t do this.”

Smirking at the already worked up state, Regulus stares into James’ hooded brown eyes. “We can. Just let go, James. I know you want this. Why not just give in?”

Speaking hushedly, James’ eyes flutter against his will, breathless at the intensity of the silver eyes staring him down. “I can’t. Sirius would never forgive me.”

Regulus groans quietly, hands flexing where they’re gripping the counter. “Sirius has nothing to do with this.”

“You’re his brother, Regulus. And I’m his best friend. I’m not meant to feel what I do for his younger brother.”

“And what is it that you feel, James?” Regulus asks, one hand sneaking along the counter to rest at James’ hip. “Tell me, what do you feel for me? Is it platonic?” James whines softly and shakes his head. Regulus continues, “Tell me, James. Tell me what you want.”

“I want to ruin you,” James breathes passionately, his already weak resolve crumbling pathetically. “I feel like every time I’m near you I’m going to go insane because all I want to do is reach out and kiss you. I want to consume you whole. I want to do every wicked, filthy thing I’ve ever thought about and let you do even worse to me. When I saw you in the bathroom I wanted nothing more than to join you in that shower and fuck you against the wall. Regulus, I dream of you and nothing else.”

Regulus’ breath hitches and he fails to stifle the moan that threatens to leave his throat at the dirty words James says to him. He can’t help the way his hips stutter forward and press into James’, their bodies aligned against the counter top. “Fuck, James. I want that too. I want it all.”

“But that’s not all,” James gasps at the feeling of hardness that rocks into his own. “I want to stay up talking to you about everything and nothing. I want to sleep in your bed and pull you into my arms as we fall asleep. I want you to explain the essay you’re writing for your literature degree and all the books you love. I want to impress you with my knowledge of Pride and Prejudice so much that you kiss me. I want to go on walks with you, have picnics and lick every insult from your lips as you berate me for being sappy and idiotic. I want you to be mine not just for the night but forever.”

“James,” Regulus responds before he’s crashing his lips to James’, moaning in delight as the older boy responds instantly, his hands coming up to cup Regulus’ jaw. He mumbles into James’ mouth, “You fucking idiot, I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen.”

✧˖*°࿐

(part two?)

[sashi-ya]

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 to 𝐋𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚 +18. Uni Literature Professor! Aizen x f! virgin! reader.

✦ requested by @zella07: Hiii sashii how are you doing? I just saw the requests are open I’m soo excited can I request Sōsuke Aizen x female reader? NsFw. please thank you 🙏🏻 ➜ well of course my sweet friend, please, be my guest and enjoy 🤭. ✦ tw: +18. MDNI. virgin! reader. age gap (20years ~) reader is ~20 y/o. uni student. taking your virginity. creampie. masturbation. public. ✦ wc:3.4k ✦ masterlist

The way he fixes his glasses, the way his big hands open the book. The way his fingers run through his chocolate hair, the sweet smirk, the calming soft tone of his voice, the subtle shadow under his eyes…

You aren’t just an innocent professor, Aizen. Aren’t you? you aren’t just an innocent student. Right, (name)?.

Caramel eyes fix on yours from time to time, spying you from over his laptop. You can feel his sight as piercing as if he was touching you, penetrating you with his intense gaze.

Your cheeks burn, the tip of your ears too. The back of your pencil dances in your mouth, barely bitten by your front teeth, making your lower lip pout so delicately… what a delicious victim for a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing.

He stands up, with an old book in his hand a smirk on his lips.

“So, can someone please tell me what does “L'Histoire de Juliette ou les Prospérités du vice” tells us about?” Aizen asks, sitting on the corner of his desk and crossing his long legs.

Some blush, others think. Literature is not just romantic sweet books; some are full of angst, and some are written by the Marquis de Sade. The day where erotica will be discussed to your literature classes has finally arrived.

You put down your pencil. It is shiny because of your saliva, and you haven’t even noticed. Lifting your hand, you wait for Mr. Aizen to notice you. And he does.

“Yes, dear (Name)?” he puts the book down, dedicating a full smile to you.

“Juliette is a story of violent pornography depictions but also intricated philosophical concepts that are truly dark… Classic Marquis de Sade” you answer, remembering how such novel had been your first erotic book you can recall ever reading.

He seems pleased. Aizen wanted to hear those words coming from your lips; he wanted to indulge into the idea of his sweet young student swimming into the deepest depraved waters of such novel.

“Very good, (Name). Tell me, did you read it?” he asks, he needs to be sure.

“I did, Mr. Aizen. “Juliette or Vice Amply Rewarded” is an exquisite work of art” you answer back, with a rather trembly voice and a soft bouncy leg under your desk. You swallow. It’s depraved, it’s dark and you are admitting publicly that you have read it.

He doesn’t say much more, but you can tell his eyes are now bathed by an aura of pride and something else you can’t quite recognize… or perhaps you can, and it seems to be hunger, lust, and immorality.

“I will ask you all to please read the book. By the end of the month, you should have a full analysis written. As for now, let’s start studying the author, shall we?”

The class goes by smoothly. There isn’t a better professor than him. And it’s not a coincidence that his classes are the most packed of all; in order to get a spot you need to rush the day the inscriptions open. Some, of course, aren’t there because of how amazing he is explaining literature but because of his looks. He is more than handsome, Aizen has something else that attracts women and men; he is naturally enticing, the way he speaks, the way he moves…

Two hours and a half are gone. Time flies when it comes to Sosuke’s classes. As you pick everything up and prepare to leave, a book slides on your desk. Your eyes scan the hand that rests on top of the cover, and slowly they go up to find out one of your stupid classmates.

“Wh- what?” you ask, you aren’t at uni to make friends. Much less with men. “So you have read the book? Can you tell me what is it about? Porno you said?” a smelly youngster asks you with a stupid smile that perhaps wants to portray sexual interest.

You grimace.

“Uh… yes. But… you should read it, is not exactly what you think” you murmur, closing with violence the zipper of your backpack.

“Oh… yeah? It’s like old people’s porn? Ha! Bet you really like to read about it” he spits, earning a look of total disgust coming from you.

“Is not the type of porn you are used to watch, dude. Can you please go away, I wanna go home” you tell him, trying to stand up. But he won’t let you.

A sudden hand lands on that asshole’s shoulder. “Miss (Name), I’d like to discuss something before you leave. Can you make some time for me?” Mr. Aizen tells you with a soft smile, while almost crushes that guy’s shoulder.

You blink twice, but them smile back at him. A little giggle slips out of your lips as the guy who had been annoying you begins to cough and silently runs away. Aizen looks like an angel, but his presence alone can make any other man run away.

You lower your gaze. His eyes are intimidating. “Thank you, professor” you murmur, standing up.

“No problem, (Name). Now, do you think you could really stay?” he asks, showing you, he wasn’t just making that up to scare that boy away.

A wave of heat hits your guts. The air feels heavy for some seconds. He really wants you to stay… “Uh, sure! I don’t have to work tonight, so I can stay. Is something the matter, sensei?”

Your professor, who is at least two decades older than you, beams in total satisfaction. Letting you know you are more than weak for him and all of those nights in which you have written endless erotic stories thinking of him haven’t been a mere dream.

“Oh no, don’t worry! I wanted to ask you about something. It’s ok if you can’t do it, but since you have already read Juliette, what about giving me your analysis before the end of the month? In exchange I will give you the freedom to choose any other erotic novel you wish to read and by the end of the month you could send in a different analysis” he suggests, walking towards his desk. You can see the way the small of his back looks just by how well his white shirt falls around his waist.

You gasp; you well understand why he is asking you this. Is not that he wants to punish you, he really wants to give you more freedom to read whatever you please. You have won the “teacher’s pet” title apparently… and you love it.

“Yes! I will! Thank you so much, Professor Aizen!” you chime, excitedly. And soon you took your hands to your mouth… did you just shown him what your favourite literature genre was?

Aizen walks around his desk, dragging sloppily his index on top of it. Sensually touching that surface, making you wish it was your skin.

You swallow, because his subtle scoff makes your back to arch unconsciously, your pupils to dilate and your core to throb.

“Very well, (Name). I’m glad you are committed to what you truly enjoy. I hate to force certain genres into some students, but you are a delight. Being your professor is very stimulating” he says, barely whispering.

His voice gets lower and raspier the more he speaks to you, but what makes you shiver are those words… he poetically chose to show how much he desires you. You are sure about it.

“The pleasure is mine, professor Aizen. I will hate the day these classes are over” you whisper, biting your lower lip immediately after. You unconsciously press your books against your chest, as if you were searching for some kind of relief; some kind of desperate touch.

Aizen grabs his suitcase and fixes his glasses. His hand, once again, brushes his hair back. “Let’s go and search for a good book at the library then” he orders.

You nod, pressing your books harder against your breasts to the point your nipples can feel it. And Aizen can clearly notice it. He very well knows about the effect he has on young students like you.

You follow him, the halls are already pretty empty. The last class is always the one the students will leave faster. Many hurry to get to their late-night jobs in time, others because are simply tired and want to go back to their rooms to sleep.

But definitely none of them would like to visit the library on a Friday night after a whole week of tiring classes… anyone but you…

The subtly white lights of each table barely illuminates the space. It’s as empty as you expected, and frankly not even the librarian seems to be at the counter during those hours.

“Ah… seems empty. What a pity, I wish more students would enjoy reading like you, (Name)… Do you know where erotica books are?” he asks, so nonchalantly.

Truth is, that you do know. You aren’t only a passive enjoyer of erotic literature; you even indulge on writing and posting it online… With a simple nod you take the lead. Aizen follows you, and you can sense his eyes tracing a path from your neck to the small of your back with his eyes. Or maybe that’s just what you wish he was doing… Indulging in your imagination is something you usually do, and it is as wrong, as tempting.

When you get to the little section of plus eighteen books you show them to your professor shily pointing at them.

He scoffs, sexily. “I will read the same you pick for the assignment” he says, leaving the suitcase on the little table near the bookcase. Aizen enjoys the way your fingertips run through the spines of each book. Until one catches your attention.

“Have you read Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, Aizen sensei?” you ask, pretty sure he did but still curious.

“Interest choice, (Name). I will read it” he murmurs, with a smirk that leaves you breathless.

You nod, picking the only copy available. You hand the book to him, grazing so softly his fingers. He inspects the cover page; he is making you so anxious and you have no idea why… what are you waiting for him to do?

“(Name), why did you pick this one? Is it because you wanna go deep into the moral aspects? Or because you enjoy immorality?” he asks, scanning the pages quickly.

You feel your heart about to jump from your chest, your breathing shortening. “I- uhh… I-“ you stutter, you aren’t really sure why you exactly chose such polemic novel.

And if oxygen wasn’t going inside you, it finally stops flowing completely to your lungs when his hand reach for your cheek as he bends forward to you. His thumb grazes your lip with such delicacy but so erotically that you can feel your knees failing to keep you standing.

“Do you find their age gap enticing? Or maybe the new experiences Lolita wants to try with Professor Hubert?” he asks, pushing his thumb in between your lips.

You blink slowly, letting his finger touch the tip of your tongue. Even such little touch tastes delicious, just as you imagined. Truth is, that you worship Aizen sensei as if he was a god. The god and guardian of your libidinous dreams.

“I… the- age…” you stutter, as he takes his glasses off with his free hand. He throws his head back just a little, and the sharpness of his mandible presents in front of you. You feel like an animal whose been deprived from food for so long… you just wanna jump and bite, and lick, and smell his neck… where this all has came from? You haven’t even touched a man in your life before, even at your age at which many of your friends already had immeasurable experience.

Aizen puts the glasses on top of the desk, slowly pushing you with his chest to it too. Your ass hits the table, your hands grab tightly to the edges of it. Nails carved in that old wood, toes curling inside your shoes. You can only feel surrounded by Aizen topping presence, and the subtle scent of his masculine fragrance.

You look up at him with puppy eyes that make him madly attracted to your innocence. “Tell me something, (Name)… all of those books have taught you well?” he asks, acknowledging your virginity so accurately.

You are amazed at how fast he was able to tell you haven’t ever tried the honeys of sex, and you can’t help but blindly wish he would be your first. Oh… and he will, darling.

He reaches for your thighs, sitting you over the table. “Were those books enough, or you wish for me to teach you?” he whispers, taking his lips closer to yours.

You let him approach you more and more, almost at the verge of fainting. You have waited for so long, just to let a man like him to take you. You feel dizzy, lightheaded. You can tell even your lips are throbbing, the blood pumping from your heart getting with strength at every inch of your body.

“I wish for Aizen sensei to teach me, please ~” you murmur, feeling the soft graze of his lips against yours. Drunken with pleasure, and slightly jolting when his hot palm lands on your thigh. And it goes up, under your skirt… so indecently searching for something he is sure he will find in the centre of your femininity… arousal pooling just because and for him.

“Heh… let’s focus this first lesson on your senses… shall we?” he orders, covering your eyes with his palm while his lips struck yours and his tongue mercilessly violates your mouth.

You gasp, receiving his indecent intrusion. You do as he tells; focus on your senses… The touch of his wet tongue against yours, flowing so organically one with the other. The taste of his mouth that’s so delicious. The scent of his perfume, musky, and masculine. The sound of a kiss so full of lust, reverberating with soft moans coming from you and low grunts coming from him.

The hand that’s been traveling up your leg finally finds the wet spot he has been wanting to reach. “So wet already… were you waiting for this, (Name)? Aren’t you a little bit corrupted?” he jokes, as if he wasn’t corrupt enough for taking you right there in such public spot at his work place.

“I… it’s because it’s you… professor Aizen ~” you purr, allowing your arms to rest on his shoulders.

He beams with sloppy eyelids, looking at you from the side with his fingers already in between your panties and sex. “Because of me? Are those stories you write inspired on me, (Name)?” he asks, showing you how much of a stalker he had been of your social media.

“Ai… Aizen sensei! You read my stories?” you ask, widening your eyes and soon spasming from his fingers penetrating your entrance. You bite your lips, pressing your forehead to his with subtle moans that you try to muffle.

He slowly goes in and out, trying the stretching capability of your walls. Sosuke is so pleased to find you are so pretty tight even to his fingers and he can only fantasize on how well his dick will feel once he is inside you.

“Of course, sweetheart. I told you; you are a delight of a pupil… that’s why you are so stimulating to me” he mumbles, whispering in your ear. “Will you write about this one experience, too? Let me help you with that too, please”

You tremble, your nails carve marks on the table as he alternates fingering and circles around your erected clit. You feel like losing control, like something unstoppable being unleashed inside you. And Aizen enjoys lifting your legs up to make you a lot more dilated than before.

He makes sure there is nobody around and proceeds to lower the zipper of his black formal pants. “Do you want me to teach you what it feels to have a man inside you, (Name)?” he asks, before doing anything else. Apparently he is still a gentleman despite the age difference, and the perverted idea of a professor fucking his student.

You nod biting your lower lip, still panting because of his unstoppable finger torture. “P-pwease, Aizen sensei… take me… teach me… be my first…” you whine, with eyes semi open, watching his perverse stare in between your almost touching eyelashes.

“That’s a very good girl… please, spread those beautiful legs for your sensei then”

You can feel how his hardness touches your entrance but doesn’t enter still. With your panties barely pushed to the side, it’s enough for your fluids to mix in one slippery cocktail of lust.

“I will be gentle with you, ok? I promise it won’t hurt” he whispers, kissing your cheek. Not only he is teaching you, but he pretends to take a caretaker role… because he knows he can. Because he knows he doubles your age, and because he knows you want it so bad. The upstanding professor Sosuke Aizen ended up being such a depraved man, after all…

“Yeah… yes thank you, Professor Aizen ~”

He attacks your lips once more, while one of his hands slowly massages one of your breasts over your blouse and the other one slowly reaches for the small of your back.

Sosuke slowly pulls you towards him, and you can feel the tip of his sex barely making some pressure on your labia. Is not yet enough to go inside, but the unhurried torture of the unknown feeling of having him inside is killing you…and you aren’t scared, the thing is that you can’t wait no more… you are dying to feel full of him, to give your precious treasure to him.

“I… please…” you plead, ripping a sexy laugh from him with his lips pressed against yours.

“You can’t wait no more, right? You want it badly, sweetheart? We should take it slow, I wanna enjoy making you a woman!” he taunts you, playing with your need, rejoicing in the chills and bumps of your skin the more he waits to make you his.

You cross your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Perhaps you aren’t doing this on purpose, and it’s just instinct and need. And Aizen knows it very well, you are ready for defloration…

“Don’t scream, bite my shoulder” he commands, pushing delicately your head towards his neck. He caresses your hair, and you can feel how he slowly opens his way inside your entrance. First, resting a few seconds right at the start of your sex and the slowly sliding himself inside.

You feel your walls stretching and soft inside “pop”. A pleasant pain that soon changes from a slight burn to an explosion of pleasure. And your teeth carved in his shoulder with a muzzled moan that will accompany Aizen’s memories forever.

“Ngh.. you are doing so good… you have no idea how good you feel around me… your virginal tightness” he grunts under his breath as his hips die to move faster.

“Am I, Aizen-sensei?” you ask, with incipient tears pooling on your eyes. It feels like heaven to be penetrated by him, to hear his soft moans of pleasure, his grunts as you expertly milk him with your walls.

He grunts, hallucinated by the way you suck him in with nothing but your spasming core. “Why- you… you where did you learn to do that? I… stop-” he frowns and tightens his jaw. He is clearly suffering, because he wants to last but it looks like he won’t be able to do so.  

You giggle… “from the novels I read, Professor Aizen ~”

Aizen swallows; he has stopped hugging you and now his hand slaps the table right next to your left hip. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you? You wanna be full of my cum, little depraved one?” he asks, seriously, stopping the thrusts just to make sure you know where you got yourself into.

“Fill me up, Aizen Sosuke…” you purr into his ear, biting his earlobe after.

ㅤㅤ“Gladly, sweetheart… please, keep it all inside for me”

[sortofanobsession]

omg I’m so glad you’re alive and I hope you’re feeling better. Can’t wait to read your Ted lasso writing again<3

Author's Note: ask and you shall receive...

Content warning: injury, hospital, surgery, anxiety, fear, cussing (it's Roy so duh) Crying.

Paring: Roy/Jamie

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Ao3

No Show Roy-o

Jamie paced the locker room. The team just watching him. 

Everyone's eyes snap to the door when someone starts to open it but they are disappointed when Ted and Beard walk in. The two coaches look at each other and then the team before heading into the office. 

"Okay, something is wrong," Ted says as he sets his backpack down. 

"Clearly," Beard replies. 

Ted watches the team through the window and notices all the attention on Tartt. Well, then he knew where to start.

"What's wrong, Jamie?" Ted asks as he approaches the striker. 

"Roy didn't show for training this morning and he isn't here yet."

"Has he ever missed before?" 

"The man actually lives to wake me up at 4 am to order me around," Jamie states. "No, he never misses. Not without a text at least."

"Did you call him?"

"I'm not daft," Jamie huffs. "Several times. No answer. Now it goes to voicemail."

"Some of us tried too," Isaac says. "Nothing."

"Keeley hasn't been able to ring him either," Jamie says. "Should I call his sister?"

"You have his sister's number?"

"For emergencies, and Phoebe," Jamie admits. 

"Hold on, you have contact with Roy's niece?" Ted asks. "She's what? 8?"

"That's really the important part to you now?" Jamie asks.

"Kinda, odd friendship there," Ted admits. 

"She insists I'm Roy's best friend, and Roy says it's for emergencies. She has a very different definition of emergencies, like you said, she's 8."

"Okay, fine," Ted says. He could let that go for now.  

"Do you think this counts as an emergency?" Jamie asks. 

"Let's see if he is doesn’t show, not just later than normal," Ted says. 

But when time comes to head out to the pitch and Roy still isn't there Jamie cracks and texts Roy's sister. She texts him back that she'll check his place. And that gives Jamie some reassurance as he begins training. He gives Ted his phone in case she or Roy calls. Ted initially thought it was silly, but about an hour in she does call. She tells Ted that Roy wasn't there and the fact he isn't answering for her is unusual. Roy would never ignore a call from her or Phoebe. But she also insists that Roy can handle himself. And she'll let them know if she hears anything. And that makes Ted a bit nervous. They were just about to take a break when Phoebe called Jamie. She is crying and Ted actually does call Jamie over for this one. And Jamie, still in his kit, drags Ted inside. Changes only his boots while still on the phone and whispers to Ted to get what he needs. 

"Where are we going?" Ted asks but does as Jamie says because something feels very wrong here. 

"The fucking hospital," Jamie hisses, not to be mean but more so Phoebe doesn't hear. 

"Oh, that's bad, yeah, let's go." Ted nods and follows Jamie’s lead. 

"We're on the way Phoebe, just stay there." 

Phoebe runs over and hugs Jamie when she sees him.

"Hey, Phoe," Jamie says and despite the fact she is 8 years old, Jamie hauls her up into his arms for a hug. And Ted is almost envious of how easy that seemed for him. But Ted is still very confused. "You remember Coach Ted?" Jamie asks her. She nods as Jamie sets her down. 

"Hi Phoebe," Ted says. "Are you okay?" Ted asks. 

She shrugs and looks over. Ted sees a doctor he had met before, but she looked out of place in street clothes. 

"Hey, Doc." Jamie hugs her. "What happened?"

"Still trying to sort that out," she says.

"You're Roy's sister?" Ted finally asks. 

"Oh sorry, yeah, Coach Lasso, Doc. Doc, Coach Lasso."

"Thanks Jamie," Ted says at the less than helpful introduction but Jamie is already being pulled away to the waiting area by Phoebe. 

"How much did Jamie tell you?" 

"Absolutely nothing," Ted admits. 

She shakes her head. "Right, Roy was brought in about a half hour ago. A friend of mine on shift recognized him and called me. They think he was hit by a car but we have no idea."

"Oh wow, I am so sorry, that-" Ted starts to say but she stops him.

"Thank you, he's in surgery now, I assume you will want to let Ms. Welton know. He might be out for a while."

"Yeah, right, good calls must run in the family," he says. 

"Something like that," she says before going to check on Phoebe. 

She leans in and whispers to Jamie that Roy is in surgery and it's a waiting game now. 

Ted calls Rebecca and Beard, then Keeley. Keeley is there in less than twenty minutes.

"Keeley?" Jamie asks when he sees her. She hugs Phoebe and then him. 

"Ted called," she says and smacks his arm. 

"What was that for?"

"You didn't call me!"

"I was busy with her," Jamie says, gesturing to Phoebe. Thankfully she had her headphones on and was curled up in a chair. 

"Fine, that is an acceptable excuse. Here," she hands him a bag. "I ran by Nelson Road and got your stuff. Sam had made sure it was packed up. They're all pretty worried."

"They aren't the only ones," Jamie glances at Phoebe. 

"Does Ted know?" 

She glances out the window to where Ted was clearly on the phone with Rebecca or Higgins.

"Know what?"

"About you and Roy?" She says.

"Nah, didn't know if I should tell him. We haven't talked about it."

"Well, I think this might genuinely blow your cover."

"Hasn't yet," Jamie says.

"Jamie, I know you. You're managing right now because of Phoebe, but the minute you see him, you-"

"I know," Jamie seems to deflate. "I am trying so hard but-" 

"Oh babe," she hugs him and grimaces. "I love you, Jamie but do us all a favor and change. I'll stay with her."

"Yeah, right, okay," Jamie says as he heads to the toilets to change. 

"Where's Jamie?" Ted asks when he gets back.

"Changing out of his kit, Ted there is something I need to tell you, the boys might get mad, but Jamie is going to need someone and as much as he tries to hide it he is terrified."

"Okay, lay it on me," Ted says.

"Roy and Jamie have been secretly dating since just after international break."

"Wow," Ted says. "That's…new information." He admits. "Does explain why he has Roy's sister in his phone. And why he was so worried when Roy didn't show up for training." 

"They were keeping it a secret because well, for a lot of reasons, but I believe that ship might have sailed based on the fact Jamie didn't even change out of his kit."

"Did change his boots," Ted says.

"Probably not easy to drive in," she says.

"Probably," Ted agrees. 

"Please don't make a big deal out of it, Jamie wasn't going to say anything because he wasn't sure if Roy would want him to, but Jamie brought you for a reason. He brought you because he trusts you and Roy trusts you. And I know you won't hold this against them."

"Heck no, I'm glad they have each other, just surprised is all. You think Jamie is just a ticking time bomb in this one?"

"Definitely," Keeley nods. "And I'm not sure what will set him off."

"Thanks for the heads up, I'll keep this between us unless something happens."

"Thank you, Ted." 

Keeley heads back to work after they promise to keep her in the loop. Roy's sister comes back a bit later to tell them that Roy was out of surgery but it would be a bit before anyone could see him.

"You should be at training," is the first thing out of Roy Kent's mouth when they walk in. He glares at Jamie. 

"Uncle Roy!" Phoebe rushes over and hugs him as best as she can.

"Hi, Phoebe," he says before looking at Jamie. 

"You really think I would stay at training after they called me?" Jamie challenges.

"Yes, not much you can do here," Roy says.

"How hard did that car hit you?” Jamie narrows his gaze at him. “Because clearly your brain is rattled, old man." 

"How you feeling, Roy?" Ted asks to get the two to quit being so grumpy.

"Like I got hit by a car," Roy states.

"You did," Phoebe sniffles. 

"I'm okay, kid," he says. Earning a scoff from Jamie. Roy glares at him. "You should-"

"Oh, Jamie Tartt's not going anywhere," Ted assures him. "Rebecca already knows you'll be out for a while, and sorry boys, but the cats out of the bag on this one."

"You told him," Roy glares at Jamie again.

"I did not," Jamie looks just as shocked. 

"Keeley told me," Ted says. "Because she was worried Jamie was handling it too well."

"Of course she was," Jamie complains. 

"You did cry, like a lot earlier," Phoebe says. 

"Thanks for that, Phoe," Jamie says, his tone less than amused at being called out by a literal child.

"Phoebe, why don't you help me find your mom and call Keeley," Ted says. 

She seems to weigh her options.

"And stop by the vending machines," Ted adds.

"Okay," she hugs her uncle again before following Ted out. Roy looks over at Jamie and can tell he really is hanging in by a thread.

"I'm fine," Roy says. And Jamie doesn't even say anything, just crawls in the bed beside Roy. Roy grunts but manages to shift a bit to make them both fit. "Better?" Roy asks once Jamie is practically molded into his side. 

"Yes, much," Jamie says and he buried his face in Roy's shoulder. 

"Why am I not surprised?" Roy's sister says when she walks in. 

"Not my idea," Roy says.

"Not complainin' though, yeah?" Jamie counters.

"Tear his stitches and I'm banning you myself, Tartt," she says.

"Ouch, Doc," Jamie says. "But fair."

She hums as she sets to checking his vitals. 

“Pain?” She asks.

He grunts.

“Roy,” she starts but Jamie beats her to it. 

“It's either now or you have to admit it when Phoebe gets back,” Jamie says. And whether it is because he's right or that Jamie's so close to losing it Roy knows he needs to answer. 

“Fine, 6.”

“Right,” his sister says.

She makes a few notes.

It was quiet again when she left. 

“Are you mad?” Jamie asks.

“That I got hit by a fucking car?” Roy counters. That seemed like an obvious question. Of fucking course he was. He could have died. His mind circles back as Jamie shifts. 

“That people know,” Jamie corrects. “About us.”

Roy considers it as best he can with painkillers in his system. And he really doesn't fucking care because Jamie is there with him and despite how he was acting before he was glad he was there. It had been terrifying to think he might die when he has people that need him. 

“No,” Roy finally answered. “Needed you here, and if that's the fucking cost. Fine.”

“Good, because I think the team knew something was up, but that might have been because I couldn't sit still.”

“When have you ever fucking sat still?” Roy posits.

“This was worse,” Jamie tells him. “I'm sure Will is going to be pissed at the state of my boots. Pacing constantly on a hard surface.”

“Well get you new fucking boots,” Roy assures.

“Least of my worries, love,” Jamie admits, carefully shifting so he can see Roy's face. “Scared the shit out of me when I couldn't- you weren't answering. No one could find you. You never-”

“Fuck,” Roy says because Jamie has tears streaming down his face and he hates when that happens. He hates that it's because of him, even if he had no say in what happened to him. Despite the ache it causes Roy reaches up and brushes as many of those tears away as he can without risking his stitches. “I'm-”

“Don't!” Jamie starts to pull away. The striker knew what he was about to say. Jamie vehemently shakes his head, causing Roy's hand to have to fall back to the bed. “You are not fucking fine, Roy,” Jamie states, and it was clear what little hold Jamie had on his feelings was slipping. “Because I’m not! Phoebe isn’t either. You nearly died! I can't…do you think I want to do any of this shit without you? Because I fucking don't.”

“Not fucking asking you to,” Roy says, and it probably comes out more aggressive than he intended because Jamie was no longer tucked against his side. The footballer was on his feet, having wound himself up to pacing again. And Roy's chest always gets tight when Jamie does that shit. He needs Jamie to be okay. But he knows he probably said that wrong when Jamie glares at him. 

“You didn't fucking have to,” Jamie retorts. And that's fair. 

“Fucking hell,” Roy grumbles, attempting to sit up so he can better track Jamie's movement. 

“Don’t do that,” Jamie grumbles as he moves back to help him. “Hurt yourself and your sister will boot me.”

“Then quit fucking pacing,” Roy tugs at Jamie's arm until he sits on the edge of the bed. Roy sighs, ignoring the ache in his ribs as he does. 

“I'm not fucking dying, Tartt. Fucking doctors made sure of it.”

“Barely,” Jamie says.

“But they fucking did, and that's fucking that.”

Jamie scoffs but doesn't bother arguing. He was anxious and still thinking about how much worse things could have been, and how much could still go wrong.

“Look at me, Tartt,” Roy demands. Jamie does. “I know this is a fucking mess, but I will be fucking fine. You know why?” Jamie shrugs. “Because you lot won't stop until I am. You, my sister and Ted fucking Lasso, are all fucking determined. Throw in Keeley and that fucking team. I probably won't get a fucking quiet moment til I'm back at the dog track. So fucking do it.”

“Are you telling me to take care of you?” Jamie asks. 

“Going to fucking do it anyway, yeah?”

“Of course,” Jamie nods. “What do you need me to do?”

“You're here, so things are already fucking better,” Roy states. That has warmth spreading through Jamie's chest because Roy has less filter than most, but it would appear he has even less now. And it's oddly sweet.

“Yeah, I'm here,” Jamie says as he shifts to prop his knee up on the bed and takes Roy's hand in his. The fact Roy seems to relax even more has Jamie smiling for what feels like the first time all day. “And you heard the gaffer, I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me.”

“Good, going to need help with the kid,” Roy says. “She is going to be impossible to get rid of.”

“Don't lie Kent, you love every second of it. You love that kid.”

“Not the only fucking one,” Roy states. 

“That loves Phoebe? Of course not, she's adorable and-”

Roy squeezes his hand. 

“That I love, you fucking muppet. Sometimes I wonder why but fucking hell, Tartt. I fucking love you.”

Jamie grins. “Fucking love you too, you prick.”

Roy tugs him until Jamie lays back down beside him. There is a knock at the door. Jamie goes to get up but Roy doesn't let him. 

“Well aren't you two adorable,” Ted says as he and Phoebe come in. 

“Fuck off, Lasso,” Roy grunts.

“Uncle Roy,” Phoebe starts.

“I know, kid,” Roy says. 

“Your mum probably knows where his wallet is more than he does,” Jamie says.

“Could probably finally cash out that tab I've heard about,” Ted adds.

“Oi, don't give her fucking ideas.”

“That's two,” Ted states. 

“Fucking hell,” Roy mutters, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the pillows. 

“Three,” Phoebe giggles. 

“I got you,” Jamie quietly tells Roy. Jamie grabs his wallet from his locker and tosses it to Phoebe. Phoebe gives him a look. “He's been through it, so I'll take the hit for him.” Jamie grins. Phoebe just shrugs and takes three quid from him.

“Now he owes you,” Phoebe says, setting his wallet on the table by his phone, which he had set aside to focus on Roy when he initially crawled into the bed. 

Roy glares at him, but it doesn't bother the striker. 

[cecilyv]

I’m asking you and your co-author this. I’m obsessed with your Buck/Tommy series. It’s one of the most well thought out and consistent pieces of fiction I’ve read in a while. I love your characterization of Tommy, and while we don’t know for sure yet that it will match how they move forward with the character in canon, it reads so true to what we’ve been given so far.

(Side note: I find that characters like Tommy are where fandom THRIVES because fanfic is inherently speculative so a character with bits of established history but with a lot unknown allows for rampant speculation from authors and fans. Like we have enough to have a blueprint for characterization but otherwise there is an immense amount of freedom for fandom to do whatever they want without it feeling “out of character” yet. I think it’s one of the many reasons Buck/Tommy became so popular so quickly. Their story is a blank slate.)

Y’all have built a relationship in that verse that is so real, and part of that is moments of tension that naturally happen between to grown people who are different. So you’ve shown us multiple times where Tommy is somewhat avoidant when he feels in a mood (when he goes to the gym in the 2nd fic, or when he gets snippy and buck leaves for the book store in fic 4, etc) and each time Buck has sort of been left to “read the room” so to speak and they’ve worked it out in a super realistic way.

I guess I wonder if you think that’s an aspect of their relationship they’ll eventually discuss head on or if it’s just something about each other they learn to live with. I can see it going both ways, it wouldn’t be unfair of Buck to snap at Tommy if it continues to happen and ask that Tommy just tell him when he needs space instead of getting snippy. But I also think it’s something he could just eventually know what to look for and give him that space w/o any conflict or being asked. Alternatively I don’t think it would be unfair of Tommy to outright say that he needs space sometimes and be irritated if that’s not given, but I also can see him just figuring out what he needs to do for himself in those times and figure out a way to avoid being snippy until he can get some space naturally (you already showed he does a decent job at that in fic 4 obviously)

Anyway as a chronic introvert and someone who requires a lot of alone time to feel centered and good I found those moments particularly interesting and would love to hear any thoughts to have on that point of friction between these two. Or any thoughts on them at all. I think I could read about your version of these characters for days and not get board lol.

Thanks!

Hey Nony! 

Thank you so much for the kind words. We really appreciate it and love our versions of Buck & Tommy from What Binds, too. 

Now for your question: 

@liminalmemories21 : It's an interesting question. I mean, I think to a certain extent they just learn to read each other better -- Buck figures out that Tommy leaving isn't 'leaving,' it's walking away to get space.  Tommy maybe learns when Buck is going to feel insecure and says "I'll be back in an hour," or "I have my phone, text me if you need me" -- just something that says he's coming back, and that he just needs a minute.

Cecily: I think it’s a lot of Buck realizing that Tommy's not leaving and he’s not mad; that’s not even really about him. Tommy can’t really voice what’s happening, say what he needs, but he does learn to say, “I’m going to the garage” or “heading to the gym” as he walks out of the room. Buck also starts to naturally give him space, like if they’ve both been home on the same 48, he tells Tommy he’s taking Dug for coffee or just disappears himself into the living room, headphones on while he boots up a game and Chris is on the other side. 

@liminalmemories21: Yeah, basically. Also, I think the longer Buck has Tommy, the more Tommy stays, the more sure he is that he'll recognize a big fight vs a little fight.  And that just takes time.  It's not something you can learn overnight, or believe down in your bones just because someone says so.

So there you go! And a sneak peek into how we hash out arguments between them on the back end. 

Thanks for the question! 

[nehswritesstuffs]

So, um, it's time for Nehs to go off again on One Piece bc my gears are turning thanks to Lore Piece being solid as per usual. Spoilers for chapter 1097 are under the cut, as well as talk of some of the basis of Crocomom, a fanon theory I do not ascribe to but don't necessarily dismiss, so if you do dismiss it then don't read I guess.

Okay, um... so I've been kind of thinking that Bonney isn't really twenty-four years old for a while and something more like a middle schooler (10-14), but this chapter to me sort of soft-confirmed it, as well as set things up for this other crazy-ass fucking thing I didn't think was even possible.

'Cause the end of the chapter puts things fourteen years ago, right? No mention so far of a kid despite Ginny's enthusiasm to get into Kuma's pants. Oda would have mentioned a kid, especially if it was already ten years old. Kuma is too cute to have been a dad and NOT gotten a moment with his baby. (LORD ALMIGHTY why is Kuma so adorable in this edition of Lore Piece I just wanna smush his cheeks and tell him he's doing a fantastic job at caring for his flock and being a rebel.) This means that Bonney is one of a few things:

Kuma and Ginny's daughter they had after rescuing her, giving her a different family name to distance her from the Buccaneer race, ala Ace going by Portgas

Ginny's rescued relative we don't know exists yet

Kuma's adoptive daughter that he takes in bc she looks hauntingly like Ginny

Ginny's daughter from things happening while she was kidnapped

Ginny's clone in the Clone Trooper sense, taken and prematurely aged

Ginny's clone in the Boba Fett sense, taken w/o being aged

No matter how you shake it, unless Bonney is some until-now-unknown child waiting to be rescued, all of these options point to her actually being somewhere around tween/young teen in actuality but presenting like an adult in order to get taken seriously. The anti-eyebrow piercing would even play into that, being a potential way for a kid to prove they're so big and tough and able to run with the big kids take me with you Shanks I'm no anchor. So, we're getting to her true origins soon, also where Vegapunk comes into play, whether he is a cause or a secret-keeper or whatever.

Now, remember how I said something about Crocomom? As it turns out, I feel like if we get any confirmation for the trans!Crocodile fan theory, it's gonna be within the next two or three chapters. Why? I think Croc is potentially connected to whomever captured Ginny. Iva, being their fabulous self, is not above using their power to disorient opponents. While this could mean that Crocodile is a cis man but got temporarily femme'd and turned back after humiliation, it also leaves open the possibility for Iva putting Croc through permanent HRT for either punishment purposes (so unwitting ftm not changing you back candy you've been bad now go learn a lesson) or for negotiation purposes (already afab ftm but give us our Ginny back and I can make you grow a dick and lose your tit fat). While I don't think that Crocodile was necessarily designed to be transgender from the beginning, I also feel like Oda has to know about the Crocomom/trans!Croc fanon and he is specifically the kind of author who just shrugs and goes with shit fans make up. That's how he got almost all, if not every single, birthday for the cast, so why not this twist? Like, I wasn't sold on it the first time I encountered this theory, but like I said: I never discounted it because we never know what's going on in Oda's brain. He really gave us a good potential set up here, so it'd be weird if he didn't use it.

(I still think that Crocomom specifically is a long shot since Luffy's five at this point, so unless Dragon is going to potentially wage war on his ex/babymama and neither of them mention Luffy, it leaves even more parts of the puzzle that don't quite fit (and Croc wouldn't already be ftm bc that's a lost chance at a new character design, which we all know Oda is shit at resisting). There's a lot of them that already don't fit to me, but that's neither here nor there. I'm just concerned that even if we do have ftm!Crocodile thanks to Iva's Devil Fruit, that a lack of Crocomom would mean that One Piece has its own version of the Blaise Zabini Debacle in the works (apologies for bringing HP into it but it's true) and we as a fandom are better than that.)

OR I COULD BE WRONG ABOUT ALL OF THIS AND GINNY WAS CAPTURED BY MARINES, GIVING HER TO VEGAPUNK FOR EXPERIMENTS, WHICH WOULD LEAD INTO OTHER STUFF but yeah

None of this theorizing I think could have been possible, like, ten/fifteen years ago, because part of me feels like Oda has been putting his foot down a lot based on what it is we've been getting. Some stuff could have, yeah, been sort of meddled with by the editors/SJ at this point, but it feels like he's been able to get away with a lot more than he did before. Being such an important asset can do that.

...but yeah, if none of this happens (or is at least more firmly kickstarted) by chapter 1100, chances are that we're not getting it.

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

For the Fanfic Writer Asks Meme!! O, R & X

❤️

Hello! Thank you so much! ❤️

O: What are your thoughts on people writing fanfic of your fanfic?

Ooh, tink beat you to this one! Here is my 'depends on the situation' answer.

R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?

The thing is, I try not to let authors influence me, because it was driven into my head in elementary school that if your writing style was even vaguely similar to an author, you could be accused of plagiarism. (And yes, I was like eight and this was told to me on a project on the solar system and I spent such a long time trying to figure out how not to type the distance between the sun and earth exactly the same as the book I was referencing and it stuck with me).

Reading Erin Hunter (Warrior Cats author) is what got me into writing in the first place and I would have to say Terry Pratchett.

As for fic authors, @tinknevertalks and @zeldamacgregor most definitely! Probably a bunch of others that I can't think of at the moment, because my mind goes blank so easily.

X: How would you categorize your fanfic reading?  Are you a voracious reader?  Do you carefully pick and choose?  Something in between?

I was reading a lot more before I started writing more than I can properly handle. When I made my debut on AO3 in June and up until October, I was reading right and left and having an absolute blast!!!

Voracious reader and I don't really carefully pick and choose, beyond ratings and language and I'm becoming looser with the rating because of how small a fandom Sanctuary is. I definitely don't pick and choose so much in Sanctuary.

I'm WAY more picky in Stargate SG-1 when it comes to reading. I'm Sam or Jack or Sam/Jack and I'm getting a little weary of how much Daniel is getting slapped up as the best of the best (emotionally unstable, willing to allow rape to happen man that he is. 😒) (It's getting to the point where I'm starting to hate Daniel (😅) because I just want to read found family or Sam/Jack but he sneaks in as major so much). So carefully pick and choose in Stargate, because I am just not a Daniel girl and I think I'm in the minority there, especially lately.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

When He Comes Around (My Feet Don't Touch the Ground)

In which Nandor sleeps upside down like a bat and the author somehow uses this very silly premise as an excuse to be disgustingly sappy

(read on Ao3) (registered users only)

I'm digging through some drafts and WIPs atm and I found this silly lil thing nearly finished, so I added a few more words and gave it a quick spit polish and here it is! Hardly a masterpiece but now it's out of my WIP file xD

Anyway, this literally came about bc I thought it would be funny if Nandor slept upside down, and then I accidentally got a bit cute and feels-y with it. Each small section is a different timeskip, so section one is like season one -- the simple familiar!Guillermo days -- section two is like, season 4 where the Colin plot is happening but the Nandor's wives plot isn't, or something. Basically a s4 where they're actually *not* being total dummies about their feelings. (I know. Unrealistic.) And section three is in the futurrrreeee but not with any mind to being season 5 compliant bc I wrote most of it before then. They are far too emotionally intelligent in this fic but what do you expect from a 2k-ish bubble of fluff.

Anyway, hope you like!

*

“Master?” Guillermo knocks gingerly, voice soft and welcoming. If he doesn’t ease Nandor out of his slumber gently, he’ll be bitchy all night. “Master, it’s nightfall.”

No answer. Guillermo takes a deep breath, and carefully nudges the door open, slipping into the darkened crypt like a shadow.

He calls out a couple more times, keeping his voice soft as he flits around lighting candles. He’s done a full circuit of the room before he gets any response: a quiet creak creeps under the closet door, followed by a low groan. “Guillermo? It feels early…”

“Days are getting shorter,” says Guillermo, apologetic. As if the relative distance of the sun and the earth is his fault, somehow. He’ sure Nandor could find a way to blame him for it somehow. He walks over to the closet door. “If you want we could set a time for the rest of the winter, I mean, you don’t have to be up all night. Ready, Master?”

“Yes, I am ready.”

Guillermo tugs the closet door open, squinting into the dark beyond as his soft candlelight creeps into the shadowed nook. It always takes his eyes a second to adjust; to pick out the details of his Master beyond the vague outline of a large, gently swaying object dangling from the ceiling.

Nandor blinks in the light, eyes heavy-lidded and mouth in a grumpy frown. His long, dark hair hangs straight down from his head, nearly brushing the floor as he peers at Guillermo upside-down, arms crossed tightly over his chest. With his legs hooked over a metal bar near the ceiling, his face dangles a few feet above the floor– and Guillermo sinks easily down to one knee. His master hates it when he ‘looms’ in the morning. The full weight of Nandor’s sleepy gaze lands upon Guillermo’s face as he comes within eye level.

“Good morning, Master,” says Guillermo, smiling as he tugs the door open wider.

Nandor squints his eyes and yawns like a cat before he answers in kind. “Good morning, Guillermo.”

“Sleep well?”

“Yes, for a very short while,” Nandor grumbles, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his back. “Eeesh. Daylight savings. I do not understand it.”

“It’s to do with the sun, Master,” says Guillermo, shuffling back and bracing himself in position with one hand extended and the other planted on the doorframe. “And the way we revolve round it.”

Nandor snorts in amusement. “Ah, Guillermo, clearly you are not a man of science. The sun goes around us.”

Guillermo bites his lip. “Of course, Master. Ready to get up?”

Humming, Nandor reaches out to take Guillermo’s offered hand. Once safely anchored he drops, flips round and lands gracefully on his feet with that strange vampiric control over gravity he has, bare toes sinking into the plush carpets piled at the bottom of the closet. Now he’s the one looming, arcing high into the air over Guillermo on his bended knee, an imposing figure even in the soft white drapes of his sleeping clothes. Like he’s a flawless greek statue, carved worshipfully from marble; and Guillermo is praying at his feet.

But the hand in his own isn’t marble, pale and cold though it may be. And the way it clings to Guillermo’s a few breaths longer before releasing him feels too human to be godly.

*

Guillermo’s gaze wanders around the crypt, quiet and curious. He’s been in here, of course, many times. But it’s funny how being relieved of his familiar duties has drastically cut down on his time spent in Nandor’s space. Several candles have burnt down and not been replaced yet and there’s a pile of long-overdue laundry, but otherwise it’s surprising how not-messy it is. But then, Nandor’s always been a bit of a neat freak; he just got complacent for a while with someone else to do the cleaning for him.

“Ah, yes, I have been meaning to do those,” Nandor gestures to the pile, and it may be Guillermo’s imagination but he seems embarrassed. “With the help of the all-knowing Google I discovered a local washerwoman; she has the machines and the dry cleaning, and she stays open very late. I meant to go today but the nights, they are so short…”

“Daylight savings strikes again,” Guillermo jokes softly, crossing over to the pile. “I can do it.”

“You do not have to –”

“No, it’s– it’s fine. I mean, not all the time. But you’re right; nights are short right now, and the days are, uh, long. Real long. I don’t mind running to the dry cleaners for you.”

Nandor regards him with a flash of vulnerability softening his eyes; his hands stay clasped sweetly in front of his chest. “Thank you, Guillermo.” Clearing his throat, he reaches for the clasp on his cloak. “I suppose it is time to turn in.”

Guillermo politely turns his back while Nandor disrobes, running his fingers along the mantelpiece. It’s a little dusty; maybe he should get Nandor one of those handheld vacuums to help him keep on top of it. Another tentative throat-clear has him turning round shortly, finding Nandor in his soft sleep clothes, his clothes from the day held gingerly in front of him in a neat pile. Guillermo smiles and takes them, adding them to the rest.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Nandor hesitates, then adds after a minute’s deliberation: “And you.”

Guillermo’s heart does some kind of tap dance. “Yeah, you better,” he jokingly deflects.

“You should go and do something fun; while you are out,” says Nandor. “Take advantage of the long day.”

“I’ve gotta be around for Colin.”

“Perhaps you could take him with you? If he is awake. The boy is a daywalker, too; he should have the chance to play in the sun.”

There’s something so wistful in Nandor’s voice it almost brings a tear to Guillermo’s eye. He nods. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

Nandor nods. “I hope the two of you will have fun. I would join you; if it would not burn me to little vampire crisps.”

“Maybe we’ll go to the dog park. I’ll take pictures for you.”

“That would be nice.” Backing up to his closet, Nandor turns and hooks his hands over the doorframe, swinging his legs up and casually defying gravity to hook his knees over the bar. Releasing the frame, he swings into position, long hair dangling, upside-down eyes regarding Guillermo warmly across the room.

A small laugh breaks free. It’s been so long since Guillermo’s been around to see Nandor’s ridiculous nightly routine. He’s actually missed it. He steps closer, brushing his hands over the expensive, ornate coffin that Nandor never uses because he prefers to be upside down, for some goddamn reason. Guillermo remembers fondly the day Nandor admitted to him that his finds being cooped up flat in the casket uncomfortable. Guillermo had gone all around the house, collecting up blankets and furs and rugs, treating everything moth-eaten and then drowning out the chemical smell in oils and scents he knew Nandor loved. He remembered installing the strongest chin-up bar he could find in that closet, as high as he could make it go without cutting off leg room, remembers lining the floor and walls with every soft and luxurious thing he’d found. But most of all he remembers Nandor’s face when he’d showed him; for all of Nandor’s little smiles and laughs he’d seen in his time serving, he thinks that’s the first time he’d ever had one directed at him. Stepping over, Guillermo leans on the doorframe and takes a peek inside, looking at the little nest he’d built with his own two hands.

A new addition to the soft wall hangings catches his eye. He raises his eyebrow. “That’s new.”

Nandor’s eyes flick to the very familiar green sweater. He looks back sheepishly. “Yes, well. You left it lying around. It is soft.”

“Looks good.”

Nandor relaxes minutely, hands clasped again. “Between you and me; I am thinking that this space is a little too small, these days. What if someone wants to sleep over?”

Biting back a smile, Guillermo feels the wall through the soft drapes, crouching to get a feel of the join where it meets the floor. “Hmm. guess you may be able to knock out one of these walls, extend the space a little. I can help.”

“Thank you, Guillermo.”

Guillermo feels the words tickle across his cheek, and that’s about how he realises his exploration has brought him in barely a few inches from Nandor’s upside down face. He has an up close view of Nandor’s dark, bright eyes, his furrowing brow, the pinch of his sharp canine as it bites his lip.

And then a hand alights on Guillermo’s cheek, right where the thanks did just seconds ago.

“Thank you,” says Nandor once more, soft. “For everything you do.”

He draws him close, and Guillermo goes; still on his knees, but now his beautiful god is praying back.

*

“Guillermo?”

“Nandor.”

“You are on my side of the closet.”

Guillermo opens one eye to peer at Nandor, incredulous. “...Seriously?”

Nandor tsks, wiggling his toes in the thick, plush pile of the rug. “I always sleep on the right side, Guillermo!”

“It only has sides because I helped you expand it.”

“Yes, and I like the right one!”

Guillermo clicks his tongue. He likes the right side, too – mainly because it was the side directly by the closet door, and years of protecting his former master from vampire assassins had him pretty geared towards placing himself in the vulnerable position. But then again, he and Nandor had a lot more of the same biological advantages and disadvantages than they used to these days. Rolling his eyes, Guillermo shuffle his knees, edging along the pole into the dark nook of the newly exposed left side of the closet. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you get murdered first.”

Nandor scoffs. “If anyone is foolish enough to intrude on our slumber, Guillermo, I think it will be them who is murdered first.” He smiles brightly when Guillermo finishes his shuffling. “Thank you. I’m coming innnnn!”

Guillermo laughs as Nandor swings himself onto the bar. Jeez, he’d married a dork. For fucking eternity. “Okay, okay. Get the door, mi vida?”

With a wave of Nandor’s hand, the door swings shut with a quiet click, another wave sliding the heavy precautionary deadbolt. Guillermo still needs him to teach him how to do that.

“Alone at last,” says Nandor in a low voice.

Guillermo bites his lip and shuffles a little closer to Nandor’s side, until he can press their hips together. “Uh oh. I know that tone.”

Nandor chuckles softly, and in the darkness Guillermo feels a soft, dry kiss press to his cheek. “Hmm. Maybe later; I am tired. It has been a long night.”

So is Guillermo, honestly. It has been a long night, and a cold one – where the hell are the sprawling days of summer when you need them? Fucking daylight savings. But he gives Nandor a teasing prod in the side anyway. “You’re getting old.”

“And don’t you be forgetting it,” says Nandor, haughty and self-important. But in their cosy, homey dark his arms wrap around Guillermo to tuck him in close, his voice ducking just low enough for Guillermo’s vampiric ears alone to catch. “But you keep me young.”

*

Thanks for reading <3 If you wanna chuck me a comment/reblog I'll love you forever

[koorinokujira]

Hey-ya! I saw that your requests are open. Can i perhaps request Date Masamune, Azai Nagamasa, and Fūma Kotarō with an s/o who got hurt while trying to protect them? Thank you!

Ah, my first request, how delightful! You asked and you shall receive, dear Anon! Now, despite being someone who writes so much, I have somewhat of a terrible reading comprehension, so I hope you meant it in the way that the s/o was the one doing the protecting (maybe it's unreasonable, but my brain also interpreted the other way and now I'm unsure, oof). That's the way I wrote it, but of course I'll gladly write it the other way around in the future, or even make a part 2 of this with other characters! More author's notes at the end. Happy reading!

⛊ His Shield - SB Imagines ⛊

(Masamune, Nagamasa, Kotarō)

You're no fighter, and yet you sneaked onto the battlefield nonetheless, wracked with worry for your beloved. You know you shouldn't be here, but how can you just sit around in safety while he risks your life for you and his clan? The idea that you'll just wait there anxiously and he may or may not come back alive... it's too much. You find a good spot where you can see most of the battlefield while still remaining hidden. Everything goes well for a while, until you see an enemy wielding a tanegashima aiming at the love of your life, without him noticing. Without thinking, you rush into the fray, and make it just in time to jump in front of the bullet...

⛊ Masamune ⛊

When Masamune hears the gunshot, his head instantly snaps back in that direction. He expects to see one of his men and is already ready to give new orders to make sure the party doesn't stop because of a single wounded. But instead, he sees you. He's stunned.

Your eyes are wide as you slowly fall on your knees, clutching the wound with your hand. You're bleeding, and badly. At least the pain is not such a problem, as you are in a state of shock, barely even comprehending what's happening. The One-Eyed Dragon lets out a low, frustrated grunt, struggling to believe what he's seeing. But he's a leader, and knows he can't just stand there. So he quickly starts barking out orders, making sure your position is well-defended. He also doesn't hesitate to order Kojūrō to quickly carry you to safety. His loyal eye is reluctant to leave his lord's side, but any potential protests are quickly shut down. Masamune is seeing red, and before anyone can say anything else, he's already tearing through the enemy with all of his six claws. You were supposed to stay home, sure. You shouldn't have come here, so getting hurt is technically your own fault in his eyes... but he quickly put two and two together and knows you most likely saved his life.

He cares about you too much to not be absolutely furious when someone hurts you. He already caused many a scene when someone even said something bad about you, so this is serious. His party mood is long gone, and the Dragon is ready to unleash worse death and destruction than Orochi himself. For you. He would do anything to take revenge on those who have wronged you. He doesn't forget so easily.

Kojūrō takes you back to safety and it's clear that even if he wishes to join his lord on the battlefield, he will gladly stay with you and protect you on his orders. You are his lord's greatest treasure, and so he will make sure you are safe. He even reassures you a few times when you panic in your somewhat-delirious state. You lost a lot of blood, but the medics you were brought to made sure the bleeding got stopped.

Eventually, the battle ends and the Dragon of Ōshū comes back. There's blood all over his armor, face and clothes. But judging by his calm, measured expression, it's clear none of it is his. Without a word, he kneels down beside you, and once he's sure it's fine, he gently pulls you into an embrace, careful not to cause you unnecessary pain. He runs his bloodied fingers through your hair, trying to soothe you, relieved that you're still alive. And you feel relieved too. You're both safe again, and most importantly, you're together. You've never been as happy to see that piercing eye of his as you are now.

"What you did was really stupid... but also cool."

The last word rolls off his tongue as he speaks that strange foreign language again and he rests his chin on the top of your head. His expression is a mix of frustration and that comforting, almost arrogant nonchalance you know him for.

"If you're so desperate to join the party, then at least learn how to fight and wear some armor. You know where I keep my spares," he then huffs, but it's clear he's not truly scolding you or playing down your bravery, it seems more like an invitation than anything. "Can't have you embarassing me like that again, you see?"

His expression turns into a somewhat playful grin when you smile and nod, before he plants a kiss on your forehead. He could never really be mad at you. But losing you... it terrifies him.

For what is a dragon without his star to guide him in the night sky?

⛊ Nagamasa ⛊

Nagamasa feels like his heart stopped working when he turns towards the sound of a gunshot and sees you fall to the ground like a sack of rice. Like always, he was just focused on fighting for justice and leading his men to victory, tunnel vision obscuring most of the things around him. But all it takes is one distraction, and everything crumbles before his eyes. And oh, is you getting wounded a distraction.

After a moment of shock, he finally rushes to your side, yelling for his men to protect you both and to not stop fighting. He sounds angry, though you are unable to tell if he's more mad at you or the attacker. Considering that he can be a rather volatile personality, your guess is good as anyone's. And in his head, he's absolutely furious. He really, really wants to yell at you- for not listening to him and not staying home. That slowly turns into anger at how you most likely thought your life was somehow worth less than his to even begin thinking about saving him. He knew what he was doing, he was ready for death in pursuit of justice! And yet, you, someone who doesn't even know how to wield a blade properly, just saved him so selflessly, and... no. The more he stares at your now tear-stained face, the more he realizes how much of that anger is fear in reality. Fear that you'll die and he will be powerless to stop it. Who else could he hold each night as he sleeps, who else could he love? Who would soothe his pains after he comes home, weary from battle? No one. There's no one else but you.

He takes you into his arms, his grip firm yet gentle as he runs with you to the sidelines. He feels like he's failing his men, but you are his priority right now. The world seems to fade around you both as time keeps ticking. But luckily, he gets you to safety and his men start taking care of your wounds. He's there the whole time, holding your hand as he anxiously watches the battle and barks out an order or two. But he knows you need him, and so he stays there the rest of the battle, which the Azai army luckily ends up winning. His anger slowly subsides, and the only part that remains is a desire to take revenge. That can wait, though.

For now, you need your gallant hero to take care of you.

⛊ Kotarō ⛊

Everything was going incredibly well for him. After all, why wouldn't it? Kotarō was the best of the best. Those who saw him didn't usually get to live for long, unless they hired him. The very definition of a shadow, just a thousand times more deadly. He had everything carefully planned out, and he knew that he could count on his insane reflex speed and well-trained senses to drag him out of trouble if something unexpected happened.

But there was one variable he never really counted on; you.

And it wasn't the first time. That's what drew him to you in the first place- you were one of the few who managed to surprise him. But those surprises were sweet in nature. Not... not this one. He knew about the attacker, of course, but he figured he'd take care of him right after he finishes gutting another enemy soldier like a fish. But you jumped in, thinking he could die.

You put your life on the line for him.

Everything around him seems to happen in slow-motion, even though he hesitates for barely even a second before taking you into his arms and disappearing with you to safety in a puff of smoke and feathers. He feels something... unfamiliar, long forgotten. Worry. And perhaps even a sliver of empathy. That honestly sends him into a spiral of doubt, even if he knows he can help you.

He's a ninja, after all. He forsook his humanity the moment he began training, if he even had any before. Emotions are but a distraction. He needs to be fully at peace through the bloodshed, no matter how many screams he hears or how much more his weapons get stained with crimson. An attached ninja is a bad ninja, everyone in his profession knows that. Despite you two being in a relationship, he considered it more of a courtesy and kept his distance, since you wouldn't be denied and kept finding him no matter how well he disguised himself.

But now, once you're further off, safe in the deepest part of the woods and he gently sets you down on the soft moss... it's like something is tugging at his heartstrings. You let out a sob, thinking you're going to die and reach out your bloodied hand towards him. You jumped in front of that bullet for him. A ninja who never even smiled at you, who never spoke a word to you and seemed to merely tolerate your presence. You cared. And by the kami, he wants more of that sudden warm feeling spreading all across his chest.

Kotarō gently takes your hand in his, and decides that it's now or never for him. His other hand carefully slides to the back of his mask...

...and he lets it fall down to the ground.

His face is quite beautiful, a bit older than you thought it would be. There's scars all around his eyes. And oh, those eyes. Dark scleras and white irises, as if someone flipped their color scheme on its head. They don't look human at all, and yet, there is a sadness in them that you can't help but get lost in. Your own eyes widen, and you completely forget about everything else, even your tears seem to dry in an instant. He showed you something almost no one else as seen... or maybe even no one. He sees your trust and wants to repay it in kind.

His face is as expressionless as ever, but you catch his lips move. Maybe it's just the wind, but you swear you can hear a quiet voice come out of his throat as he mouths those words.

"...forgive me. I'll do better. I am grateful."

And he will start by fixing you up and carrying you home.

---

Whew, it's finally here! I'm so, so sorry for the delay Anon, I promise I didn't forget about you! Before Christmas, I had to quickly write a fairly long story for my English class (which I also set in the Sengoku period, funnily enough). While it was my pride and joy, I was already on the verge of a burnout, so I had to recharge! Aaand after that it was a mix of writer's block and procrastion. I'm kind of sick again at the moment, so I decided to comfort myself with finally finishing this! (*_ _)人

I really enjoyed writing about all three (even though our dear Nagamasa-sama has a shorter entry)! And I'm also glad I got to use Kotarō's supposed legendary heritage. Some stories about him say he was partly oni and had inverted eyes, and considering his upper face is covered instead of the lower one, I saw an opportunity!

I hope you enjoyed reading, requests will remain open!

And as I always say...

Have an amazing day!

[land-of-holly]

Rings of Power Season 2 Episode 1 Liveblog

It's time!!! Let's see what we've got waiting for us!

Recaps! They really streamlined the season 1 story and hit some parts harder than others. Looking back, this appears to be a more S2E1 centric recap, presumably there will be more that showcase other plotlines.

You know, I think having let season 1 settle, I'm more willing to take it as a given and just see how season 2 builds on it.

Ooh, big pointy crown.

Oh, who is this guy? Okay, I'm guessing immediately post War of Wrath Sauron, with Adar at his side. Where do they keep finding these ordinary-ass looking dudes?

Like the makeup on New Adar is good, but he doesn't have the...slightly weird looking guy-ness underneath that really made Mawle stand out.

And Sauron looks like a televangelist about to solicit donations

Ooh looks like one orc was a little too trigger happy. If you're gonna fuck with Sauron you gotta make it stick.

What are they calling Sauron in the Black Speech? I'm gonna have to go back and check that

Come on, Adar is not going to crown himself. Sigh, they have not entirely gotten the urge toward petty fakeouts out of their system. It makes this show tedious to watch sometimes, seeing them unnecessarily draw out the tension as they try to force you to guess which way they're going to jag

But he is gonna BACKSTAB!!! Gotta be careful with making your crown too pointy. Yay, we're getting the Obliteration right off the bat! Just a fuckton of stabbies when he's probably already weak.

FROSTSPLOSION

Ooh there he goes, slithering down the cracks.

Oh no poor rat fremb :(

See, this is why Huan and Luthien had his ass dead to rights. Surrendering his body SUCKS.

oh no poor nice wagon lady.

Welcome back, Hal

The humans are looking for refuge...across the sea? Who is telling them this?? I mean Numenor is out there and legends of it probably exist, but still. Who made them a ship??

My read is that Sauron at this point is just flailing about for any path to power that might present itself. Bold move getting on a ship going west tho.

poor wise old steward dude

Title!

Wow you guys are in a hurry where u goin?

If this ends up being just a friendly race I'm gonna Object

Oh shit no this is The Real Shit, we're starting out big

Galadriel learns that there are consequences? To her actions??

Why are they switching languages? What language were they supposedly speaking before? What is the rationale behind this writing decision?

Oh yeah, Galadriel was 100% just embarrassed to admit she got hornswoggled by Sauron.

Well at least Gil-galad has a good argument. He cares for everyone left behind in Middle-earth

Okay, though are Elrond and Gil-galad ever going to be friends?? Is Gil-galad ever going to be something other than an Unreasonable Authority Figure plot device to oppose Elrond?

Elrond says fuck you I do what I want

Okay Hal is back in the Southlands. Is this present day, or back in the latter half of S1?

Really dude? The full Moses? What script writer is getting gratification from this?

Hal what r u doin??

Wizard friend? Where is Nori?

He is in touch with the Music

Oh hi Nori! Wait if it's so dry and dead out where'd she get her hair foliage? Looks like she got some fake leaves and olives from Michaels

Sauron's fur baby!

I hate this so much. We are in dramatic irony territory now--we know who Hal is. There is only one way to read this scene. So why is he here? What is his play?

Cirdan? CIRDAN!!

Heh, you CANNOT find a scion of Luthien who does not want to be found

Lol, drag her ass Gil. She is not out of trouble just because they are on the same side.

Wait is that the chasm Mae threw himself in? Is there already a Silmaril in there and ur gonna put some rings in it too?

:o POPPY!!!!!!! I am so blessed :DDDD Love wins!

I like the greyed out twilight lighting

O no the skull telescope guys are this season's evil moth ladies?

Okay I think I see Sauron's goal. He's pointing the Orc army at Eregion without fully taking command of it yet. And massively flexing on Adar just because he can. When it comes to concealing his identity, he is simply the best there is.

Oh he promises to "serve the Lord of Mordor", huh? I guess that one's hard to catch if you're not looking for an internal betrayal

RIP Waldreg, lol. Fur baby gotta eat. I wonder if that's supposed to bear fruit later or is just another flex.

shit that's some nice singing

More interfacing with The Elves Must Leave Because Reasons but at least it's brief. Really feels like unnecessary conflict still.

O no Cirdan got got! Poor Elrond :(. Not gonna argue with whether Sauron can actually put the whammy on an elf that old and powerful from 5000 miles away. It is what it is and we will see where it goes.

Love Gil's super-bling. Gotta make room for some more.

Go go metaphor tree powers activate!

I liked the far shot of the three OG ring elves, and the hand shot was cool (tolerable) for one second, but then it just looks silly, especially with the actors obviously trying real hard to keep their hands still for that long.

Tyelpe! Finally!!

He's coming as hal?? What is he doing???

And that's it! We didn't check in with Arondir and Theo or the Numenor crew at all, but I'm sure we'll get around to it. So far I think it's going well and I'm excited to see more!

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 37 - Summer's Intuition

The Hot Girls Only club is back! They find a gym that's a good halfway point between Willow Creek and Tartosa.

It's been enough time where things don't feel weird… You know, besides Libby nearly knocking herself out.

Also, Becca finally lost the tan.

Let's move on to the real fun part about Hot Girls Only: gossiping. Becca showered first. Moms don't get a lot of free shower time.

Ophelia wants to hear all about Duncan, but he's a newborn. He doesn't do much. It's his first birthday party tomorrow though. Everyone's invited!

Ophelia: Can't wait, Bec!

Summer: Oh, Libby, maybe you can bring that girl you started seeing!

Ophelia: I've missed a lot, apparently!

Libby: Summer, I was waiting to tell other people.

Summer: And I did it now so you wouldn't worry about it. You're welcome!

Ophelia: You're seeing someone? Libby, that's great!

Libby: Oh, yeah. I am. Sorry, I was going to tell you. I just didn't want it to be awkward.

Ophelia: It's been a whole in-game week, Lib. That's like a year! We're good, I swear.

Libby: Thanks, Feefs. That means a lot.

Ophelia blathers on and on about her job and her new hobbies or whatever but Summer senses something else is up. Ophelia seems way too chipper talking about gardening. Summer may be a ditz but she knows a pleasantly satisfied Sim when she sees one.

Summer: OMW Ophelia got laid!

Ophelia: What?! Summer Holiday! You don't- I never- I cannot believe… Watcher damn it, how did you know that? I haven't told anyone!

Summer: You didn't have to tell me. I have an ESPN about this sort of thing. You're giving big "I got woohooed" vibes.

Becca: Come on, O, give us the deets. You seeing someone new too?

Ophelia: Ugh, fine. He's a friend. It kind of just happened. We, uh, we actually agreed to be woohoo partners.

Becca: Oooh, I've read 17 books just like this. See you at the wedding, girly pop.

Ophelia: Oh, stop! I've been focusing on a lot, I don't need a relationship right now. We just want to have fun.

Libby: We support you no matter what. Just be careful, woohoo partners can be tricky.

Ophelia: Thanks, Lib. I'll be okay.

Libby: Make sure risky woohoo is off!

Becca: I give it a week before they're in love.

Ophelia: Don't you have a child to raise or something?

Becca: Newborns really don't do much. I'm plotting out potential routes for your woohoo partners storyline in my head right now.

Being friends with an author kind of sucks.

All things considered, Ophelia's doing well, but there's always room for improvement. She really should call that therapy office Xander recommended…

Ophelia goes for a jog that night. She's really loved being active lately. It's nice to find out something new about yourself.

[anqelically-archived]

moment 10 · ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hiyori shiina x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k

content: no light novel spoilers, fluff

navigation | event masterlist

humans are competitors by nature. prey and predator, to gain an advantage means for another to fall to a disadvantage. by any means, people fight their way to the top.

at the tokyo metropolitan advanced nurturing high school, classes have to fight their way to the top; they have to battle the other classes in order to graduate. class a, the highest class in each grade, is the only class able to graduate and receive the benefits of graduates— 100% guaranteed employment and college entry to any place.

however, fighting for the opportunity to be in class a was harder than everyone initially thought. those who were already in class a had a major advantage simply because they were class a.

the school’s class ranking system goes from a to d, a being the best and d being the worst. upon enrollment, you were placed in class d. in a class filled with the lowest of the low in the entire school, it was hard to rise to the top.

to most, you were inefficient just because you were class d. it was strange because everyone had flaws, yet the people in your class were deemed the ones who had it the worst.

you had classmates who would honestly fit the role of an outstanding student, such as yosuke hirata and suzune horikita, the class representatives. it made no sense for them to be in your class. they were living and walking proof that not everyone in your class was what they were made to be.

due to the standing of your class, it was hard to make friends in other classes. you weren’t sociable like kikyo kushida, and you didn’t participate in clubs you’d meet other people in like hirata. so you stuck to the people in your class, making acquaintances and friends with a few.

when you didn’t talk with them, you indulged yourself in reading, a way to relax and pass time when you weren’t doing homework. you often found yourself in the library, the place where you first met hiyori shiina.

you remember that meeting well. after all, it was the event that changed the course of your high school life.

it happened to be busy in the library that day. you first years had the paper shuffle exam soon, hence why the library was busy. students were cramming info into their brains, but what they were studying might not even help.

with other classes being the ones to make the exam questions, there was no telling what kind of content you would have to study. confident in your academic abilities and satisfied with some extra studying you did, you sat in the library for your own leisure.

you made sure to sit at the end of a table in case anyone else needed the space. you were unsure of how much time passed until a girl pulled out a chair. it was across from you and two seats away, but you could see her in your peripheral vision.

like you, she took out her own book and began to read it. though, you weren’t sure if she was actually reading it based on how she cast a glance at you every once in a while.

you placed a bookmark in your book before you met her glance. realizing she had been caught, the light-haired girl’s eyes traveled to your book.

“i noticed that you keep looking over. if you want to tell me something, then go ahead,” you told her. your words came out blunter than intended.

“o-oh,” the girl’s hands traveled to her lap, “i just noticed the book you were reading. it’s a great mystery, and the author is one of my favorites. they write splendidly.”

“you’re not wrong about how they right. i like how scattered it is, actually. it makes me think that i can read the chapters in any order and end up with the same result.”

“that was the true intention of the author, actually! this book was her final, so she wanted to write the best book she could. her wish became true because it became her best-selling novel, and it’s my favorite mystery. i’ve read it over multiple times, and i always happen to find something new!”

as this girl rambled to you, you recognized her as one of the students in class c. after seeing how most of class c acted, violent and rude, you didn’t expect to remember that this soft-spoken student would be in the same class.

you didn’t bring up the fact that you recognized her, “you know a lot about this book and the author. you must be a big fan.”

she smiled at you, “i am, yes. i love to read, and this library has become a second home to me. it’s like a whole new world to discover here. it’s unfortunate that i can barely find anyone to talk to books about. my classmates in class c, the people i am around most, don’t share the interests in books that i have. so i’m sorry for getting carried away, (l/n)-san. i tend to get really happy when talking about books!”

“don’t worry about it,” you waved your hand and smiled. “but hey, how do you know my name?”

“i happened to be standing in the hallway when ayanokouji-kun once called out to you. oh! let me first introduce myself. shiina hiyori, class c.”

hiyori’s arm stretched out so that her pale hand was right in front of you. you lifted your own hand off of the desk, shaking it with hers.

fate wasn’t something you originally believed, but meeting hiyori made you think differently. hiyori sat at the table you did before she even knew you were reading one of her favorite novels of all time. it couldn’t have been a mere coincidence.

you two left the library together and went your separate ways after reaching the lobby of the dorms. before hiyori watched you walk into the elevator, you gave her your number. simple texts turned into long conversations, long conversations into phone calls, phone calls into video calls, and so on.

there was something about the two of you that just clicked. before it even became official between the two of you, dating rumors had already spread throughout the school.

you guys often walked each other to class, ate your lunch together, and even hung out after school. it was impossible to prevent rumors after being seen together in public many times.

however, neither of you ever responded to them. some fell to believe that the two of you were already dating at that time, some thought it wasn’t true, and the rest had already forgotten about the subject.

everything would resurface on valentine’s day.

the 14th of february was quite a big deal around the school. boys and girls flocked together into different groups as if they were different cliques. pairs that were already dating took their chances to be near each other, either being thought of as cute or annoying (by those who were jealous).

you would’ve walked with hiyori to the school if it weren’t for the fact that she promised to meet with a friend before school started. so because how the two of you were in different classes, you would only see her at lunchtime.

classes ended and, immediately, people rushed into their groups. you found hirata at the other side of the classroom surrounded by girls. some of them weren’t even in your class, which made you wonder how they got here so fast.

you were already going to head to the cafeteria when kiyotaka ayanokouji, the boy you talked to sometimes because he sat behind you, spoke to you. he said, “hiyori-san is here for you.”

you cast him a glance before taking a look at the classroom door in the back. true to his word, hiyori stood there with a small bag in her hand. she was aware of everyone’s gazes, but she continued to walk in your direction.

“(y/n)! ayanokouji-kun! good, you’re in the same spot,” she smiled.

you resisted the urge to stand right next to her while she took out two boxes of chocolates. it was quite easy to tell the difference between the two, one was for a friend, and the other for someone she liked.

hiyori handed ayanokouji the red square-shaped box and you the pink heart-shaped one. you knew ayanokouji was looking at you, but you didn’t dare to meet his eye. you were sure that he, and every other person watching, had put some of the puzzle pieces together.

the brunette dismissed himself to avoid any more attention.

“i thought we’d meet at the cafeteria?” you spoke with hiyori in a quiet voice.

she nervously laughed, “sorry, i thought this would be a good time to give ayanokouji-kun his chocolates as well. i also wanted to walk with you, if you didn’t mind.”

unable to resist the sweet girl, you let her grab your free hand. she gently gave you three squeezes, a silent message just for you.

‘i love you’

note: i definitely think we need more cote content because it’s amazing, really. hiyori is best girl btw, and she deserves all the love ❤️❤️

please reblog for more!

[thecurioustale]

Switching Between Writing Sci-Fi & Fantasy

When I returned to Tumblr two weeks ago, I put out a call for folks to ask any questions they have about my work, my writing process, my writing style, or my takes as an author, or to suggest topics they'd like me to write about! Please consider this your occasional friendly reminder! I may not be famous, but I am an author, and here's your chance to tap the mind of one!

In that spirit, another great question I got from @fipindustries is:

How does it feel like to switch gears from fantasy to science fiction back and forth?

For me, this experience of switching over is a very strong discontinuity! The shock can only be mitigated by being spread out over time with, at minimum, a good night's sleep in between, or, more often, a span of a few days or more.

It's almost unheard of for me to work on both The Curious Tale and Galaxy Federal in the same day. If I work on one, that's basically the only one I'm working on that day. In fact, that's probably the only one I'm working on the next day, too—or the day after that.

When I'm in my fantasy mindset, I tend to stay there for days and sometimes weeks. Same goes for my sci-fi mindset. It's like getting magnetized: I become strongly aligned in one particular direction.

Even though you could read my fantasy and my sci-fi and say "Yep, these come from the same author," they are very different works in so many ways. As a "world," The Curious Tale is more romantic, more magical, more adventuresome, more epic, and more mysterious (I think). Galaxy Federal, in contrast, is more like a showcase of concepts that I find fascinating, woven together into an ambling plot and paired with an attempt to paint a picture of a future that I'd actually want to live in.

(I should specify that this technically only applies to the Galaxy Federal inaugural novel that I am working on, and not to Galaxy Federal in general. I actually envision Galaxy Federal, as a series, to have a lot of room for tonal diversity in it. For instance, I could see myself also doing like a noir crime story or something. The Curious Tale, on the other hand, has a pretty consistent tonality all the way throughout, if you don't count Empire on Ice, so no caveat is needed.)

What will inevitably happen, then, is that eventually—and usually pretty gradually—I'll get an itch to work on either my sci-fi story or my fantasy story. I'll eventually begin working on it, at least for that day and possibly for weeks. At some point, I'll begin losing steam. I won't lose interest in the actual story or setting, but the writing itself will become more difficult and less inspired for me. What usually happens next is that I'll have an itch around the same time to work on the other thing—give or take a few days or sometimes weeks of rest in between, where my desire to do any writing at all is low.

I've noticed that it's almost like a swinging pendulum, and, having noticed this, in more recent times I've begun to get better at seeing when my "steam" for one is subsiding and the other is rising.

What I typically don't do is try to buck this momentum and forcibly switch to the other story when I'm engrossed in the groove of the one. In fact it's almost like anathema to me in those moments to imagine stopping work on the story I'm working on and switching to the other. In this sense you might begin to notice some of the soft boundaries that mark out my limitations as a creative writer. I can force myself to switch—I've tried it—but I would characterize the experience is jarring and unpleasant.

Currently, I've been on a Galaxy Federal kick for about three weeks or so after months of mainly focusing on After The Hero (the central novel of The Curious Tale). During this past week, even though I've written upwards of 10,000 new words, I've begun to find my results less satisfying, and, tellingly, the writing is becoming harder. This suggests that the pendulum is swinging back the other way, and that I'll be working on The Curious Tale again soon enough.

It doesn't always happen, though. Sometimes I'll run out of steam for one, have an inert period, and then my next head of steam will actually be for the same story again. This typically happens more often with After The Hero, which has many different character POVS and multiple different stories happening in parallel as entry points for me to get inspired to write about. In contrast, the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel for all intents and purposes only has one character point-of-view: It's all Cherry all the time for virtually the entire novel. And there's only one story happening, albeit a big one. But you can see that there are fewer entry points for me to get inspired to write about. Also, Galaxy Federal is the second fiddle to my fantasy work. It's a worthy and legitimate work in its own right, and I can imagine a world where it's actually the more popular of my two series, but The Curious Tale will always be a little bit closer to my spark.

[eric-the-bmo]

The Neighborhood Watch, s3 ep5: Smash and Grab

[Summary: We're back! John and the polycule escape the guards to find Markus in the basement, and we run into a strange figure.] @gr3y-plays-ttrpgs

Last we left off, Greyson, Mr Grant, and some security guards had entered the casino room, and Mr Grant had told John he was under arrest. As of now, Louis asks if Mr Grant has the authority to do so, and Grayson says actually he doesn't not really, but he can remove them from the premises. Grant apologizes- force of habit- and tells them to leave, as they were seen causing a disturbance with the staff. Song shoots back and asks what the fuck they're doing with the townsfolk? She's not buying the response that they're volunteers- this casino gave out money on the opening day, after all.

All three PCs read bad situation- John doesn't get anything from his roll; he's too stuck in the panic of "Oh god I'm going to go to jail." John's got his hands raised- really, he's doing it since he's seen people do the same thing in movies and shows- and Lestat walks over and quietly puts a hand on John's arm to let him know he can lower them.

Song uses her telepathy for her roll, and finds out through Mr Grant's thoughts is that he's keeping calm, but wants to get the Cast out of here before his boss, Song's mother, finds out about this. Song also knows they need to find Markus, but there's no stairs leading to the next floors, so they'd need to go through the elevators.

Louis exchanges looks with John and the rest of the polycule. Song and Louis have a telepathic communication where Song informs Louis that Markus was taken down to the basement, and Louis wants to know what else is down there.

["Do you think we four could take these? Do you think your dad would back you up if we tried to punch them?"] And with that telepathic message as the only warning, Louis thinks "hey, what could go wrong?" and suddenly going to swing a punch at Mr Grant- but Grayson steps in and takes the hit, and Louis is all "oh my god i just punched my girlfriend's dad i am Going To Die"

Song freezes time, save for herself and her allies as John wonders what the Fuck Louis was thinking, and the Hex tells everyone to Run.

Since there's no stairs and time is frozen (the button won't call the elevator), John and Lestat rip the elevator door open, and everyone goes in the shaft to climb down the cables. Song takes off her heels to do so, Louis and Lestat are very good at this bc they've done similar things before, and meanwhile John has to be careful, since his claws can mess up the cables.

["Man," Louis comments. "This place really isn't built up to code."]

----

Markus groggily wakes up in a reinforced solitary confinement cell. The door has a slot that can slide open for food. There's crude, childish drawings on the walls- Markus is filled with rage at the possibility a child was put in one of these cells. They try some different methods (they find out the bed is reinforced to the floor) before deciding to just repeatedly kick the door for a few minutes.

Faintly, they hear a faint voice on the other side of the door- it's their neighbor Kenneth, who tells them he's tried that. After throwing multiple death threats at Kenneth (like "When I get out of here I'm going to kill every last one of you"), Markus learns that he's also in a cell, and not a guard. ["Uh, I don't know what kind of situation you're in, but I'm also stuck in here."] Kenneth asks if Markus also woke up in the middle of the lobby, and he begins ramble about various conspiracy theories he has about this place and why they're here- he thinks it's the FBI behind this, because what would a casino owner need an underground bunker for? (Markus says they'll get out of here eventually, and summons some bugs to burrow into the concrete around their cell's door.) Kenneth continues, saying he had went through a few elevators on the way down here, and maybe they're keeping something down here- while the walls are sturdy, occasionally there's rumbling like an earthquake. Markus decides to Tune In to find out if there's any truth to this- And something is down here, and it regards everyone as a threat except for one specific person (and who that is, exactly, is obstructed).

Markus continues to try to ram into the door every few minutes, but it's going to take a while for their bugs to burrow through and loosen the door.

------

The rest of the Main Cast (and Lestat) have made it down the shaft. John opens up the grate on top of the elevator car, and they all enter the basement- The button on the elevator reads "Basement Floor 1." Time starts moving again (and, presumably, this is when Markus has their above conversation with Kenneth), and the Cast all prepares for when the door opens.

They do, and Basement One greets them with a long white hallway with identical doors on each side. Song tries to use telepathy to find Markus to no avail- in fact, when she tries, loud screeching static enters the Cast's heads. She asks if anyone else has anything that can help, and John offers to try and track down Markus with some shapeshifting abilities. He's able to sense that Markus was here a while ago, as well as some others- Their scent starts in the first room to the right (which is missing a door), then down the hall, and around the corner. He starts to follow it, cautious and calculating, and the others follow; Lestat, who's taken up the rear of the walk order, touches Song's arm and lets her know he smells that something else was here: There's the scent of brimstone. He says it might be a demon. Song informs Louis of this, and he reminds the Cast that hey, he's a very killable man. He's just a guy.

["I am not immortal or supernatural in any way, I am just one man who made one deal with one devil a long time ago!"]

All of us go "hey you did what??" And Louis' response is pretty much "Oh did I not tell you guys that? Anyway now isn't the time for this conversation-" (Song promises she'll protect him, and John is too focused to make a comment.)

Turning the corner leads to a more office-looking environment. There's a mail room, and a large staff elevator on the far end of the hall. The offices aren't labeled with names, moreso titles. Inside the mail room, there's a white board with letters hung up and strings attaching them- like the Pepe Silvia meme. The Cast finds an ID card in the office break room so they can access the elevator; it's large enough to fit around ten people, or even a cart. As the doors close, they see a set of buttons that lets them know the basement has up to four floors, though B4 is locked. The crew temporarily wonders if they should find a way down there first (pick the lock??), Song suggests we go down one floor at a time- and then the elevator moves down, because someone on B2 pressed the button.

["I guess the decision's been made for us!"]

The Cast panics and prepares for possible combat- Louis and Song devise a tripwire. The doors open- and it's the town librarian Lauren, carrying a stack of papers, in a state similar to the so-called "volunteer" custodial staff. She steps inside as we all go "oh shit, we can't attack her," and she's pretty much ignoring us as she presses the button for B3. Song looks into the B2 hall and sees it's all conference rooms with more locals inside filling out forms, and while it's concerning, she figures it's not worth investigating at the moment. As we go down to B3, Song feels her magic return back to normal (no interference!), and John leans over to see what's on Lauren's papers: Transcripts? They're in her own handwriting and very generic, not referring to anyone by name (Guard One, Guard Three, etc). It describes where guards will be going in a facility (instructions for the tranced people?).

The doors open and Lauren starts to head down the hall, which is very different from the other ones. It's more like a prison walkway with reinforced doors. The walls are painted with crude, pleasant drawings of suns and trees. A voice echoes down the hall- Kenneth! He calls out to us, and we eventually find Markus as well, who assures us they're not hurt- and that their bugs have been working on loosening the concrete around their cell door, so maybe John can get them out.

Lestat offers to help as well, but I roll incredibly high (with a total of 16!!), and so John effortlessly rips the door off its hinges (Lestat, who was also going to help, is like "woah ok then"). Just as he does this, a man with a dark blue suit and a cane rounds the corner to greet Lauren, who hands him the paper stack, but spots the Main Cast. It's the same man who proposed the mayor build a casino, and was there for the opening ceremony earlier in the day. He introduces himself as Mr Dark, and asks what they're doing here. He asks for them to stay put, as he'd like to put them all in a cell- and Markus immediately attacks him with a swarm of hornets.

Lestat bristles and says that Mr Dark is where the brimstone scent is coming from, and the possible demon pushes Laura out of the way so she doesn't get hit by the bugs- six bodyguards suddenly rush in, taking some damage from the bugs and drawing their guns out towards the Main Cast. John uses the door as a shield, and Louis realizes all the guards look the same. Song remembers her knowledge that Lauren brought the town's firemen to life by writing them into existence- she must've created these guards. Song lets the crew know about this telepathically.

["Hey, Kenneth!" Louis shouts down the hall towards the cell. "There's some wild things going on out here that's right up your conspiracy theory alley!" "I KNEW IT!"]

Kenneth mentions his theory that Mr Dark is part of a larger organization dedicated to strange things, and actually he'd like to interview him at some point-

We temporarily wonder about destroying the papers (and about the extent of Lauren's abilities) before Song telepathically delves into Mr Dark's mind to get more information- she's surrounded by a black void. With a burst of flames Mr Dark appears, leaning on his cane and staring her down. He knows she's looking into his head. As Song wonders the best way to protect the victims in this scenario, Mr Dark answers her: "Oh my, dear- you can't. You're done." He commends her for being able to go this deep into his mind, making it known he knows who her mother is- and Song decides to get the fuck out of his head before he traps her there!

Louis tries to snatch the papers out of Mr Dark's hands, but Song tells him to just run, casting a fireball at the papers instead. The guards burn up and melt into a puddle. Song tries to look into Lauren's head to see who exactly is behind the trance.

Meanwhile, we free Kenneth, who also decides to get the fuck out of there. Song feels Mr Dark's presence blocking her from looking into Lauren's head, and due to a jinx Markus casts, she manages to get out of there before Mr Dark actually traps her.

We genuinely ponder over whether to run to B4 or not, but fuck it we gotta go! The Main Cast and the others race the hell out, and as we get to B1 and turn the corner, we see two guards- as well as Song's father.

The guards draw their weapons, and Grayson asks what's going on before Song tells him that her mother is involved. He goes pale, and the guards aren't listening to him btw so he just. knocks them out?? And tells the Cast to follow him. We all get into the elevator, and Grayson seems confused when Markus tells him they were locked in a cell ["Cells? We don't have cells in this facility."]- all of us are all "you absolutely do. a clairvoyant nerd was also locked in there." Meanwhile Markus reminds Kenneth not to touch them, since hey Ken's psychic powers work by touching people, and Markus doesn't want him to know things- John, being reminded of this, takes a step away from the clairvoyant.

Grayson says he can't just escort us out normally, due to all the guards wanting to capture us, so he zipties our hands together as the elevator doors open.So Grayson leads the Main Cast out of the casino, we learn Song can cry on command, and he leads us to a car and nervously takes us to what he's calling a safehouse- Meanwhile, Markus informs us there's something under the casino, and it's afraid of everyone save for one person.

["Listen Song we might have to kill your mom" "Well I thought she was dead for the past 18 years so it's no big deal"]

Grayson says he'll try to protect Song, and Markus says that there's a lot more people who need protecting, given what the casino is doing. We reach the safehouse- it's the house of Gerald, the poorly-disguised guard that Grayson had hired to watch over Song. We all head inside, and Geral inputs a code into the computer and the house goes into lockdown- metal plates cover the outside. He begins to hand the Main Cast some drinks.

John, in the middle of taking a sip of Capri-Sun, gets a sudden text from Shelby- it's a link to a video, with a message from her saying "HELP!!!" With the help of Markus (since this monster man has a flip phone and Cannot view videos), John is able to view the video is of Harold: It's clearly a video meant for Shelby only, where he's pretty much saying that he loves a challenge and is asking Shelby out on a date in a really creepy way. John really wants to kill a man, but they're

Notes/Commentary:

ITS TIME TO MURDER A MAN GET ME OUT OF THIS SAFEHOUSE—

"This place isn't built to code" "We need to burn it down."

"The third basement floor is actually a portal to hell /hj"

Eveyrone cheering when I suggested John rip open the elevator door :'-) ty <3

John and Lestat are entering an unspoken monster man solidarity! And to think John wanted to claw his face off half an hour ago <3

Love how whenever we commented on OSHA violations and the like the DM was all "this place was built in a month guys"

The entire time i was like "John is the fourth wheel of this polycule" /lh

Louis was having a blast the entire time btw. heist!!!

KENNETH!!!! MY BELOVED!!

Hm. have we considered the Thing down in here, how only one person isn't a threat- maybe that person is song's mom??

There was a bit where Markus asked Kenneth if he had any weapons, and Ken was all "no but if i had my katanas with me those guys wouldn't have stood a chance," he's such a fucking dweeb i adore him (i would hate him so much in real life /lh)

Part of me wonders how to have more Hunger rolls for John but. Oh Well

Props to Louis's player for trying to convince the DM that maybe Louis could've brought in a weapon [meanwhile I describe John as a living weapon, please he's practically an attack dog-]

Louis's player Did Not realize Louis never told the rest of the Cast about his devil deal so. Yeah that's one way to reveal it ig /lh

TAHTS THE FUCKING DEVIL

"Doors are a pretty versatile weapon"

OK. OK. MR DARK IS USING LAUREN TO MAKE BODYGUARDS THATS WILD.

ayo hold on is kenneth's theory is that mr dark works for the scp foundation- /hj

"If multiple copies of Lauren's writings make multiple clones, wouldn't that mean there's a bunch of those firefighters walking around then?" "God I hope so-"

ougughghjgh. is this what i get for wishing that John could be locked up in an enclosed space. is this my monkey's paw.

will his Hunger activate in here actually. Im so serious this is an enclosed space. he's hungry. they cant leave. its a good opportunity im just saying-

ive been. fixating on game notes the entire day. no beta we die like harold, byeee im taking a nap