#and these were supposed to be his ‘friends/family’

[wheneverfeasible]

Steve’s used to not being loved.

He’d known his parents didn’t love him since he was a young child. He’d known that the girls he casually took on dates and occasionally fucked didn’t love him. He’d known Tommy and Carol didn’t love him like friends were supposed to. They all loved his reputation, sure, but not him. It was easy though because he didn’t love them either.

He’d loved his parents once, a long time ago. Back before they were practically strangers, but that love had been the obligation of biology. He’d thought he loved Tommy and Carol, but it had all been too surface level and focused on popularity.

He had loved Nancy though. He finally found someone he could start to be his true self with and he loved her and he thought she loved him, only…only she didn’t.

He couldn’t blame her. After a while, when the same thing keeps happening, you kind of have to look for the common factor in all those loveless relationships and see what the real issue was. Simply put…

Steve was just unloveable.

Maybe it was his past. Not that he’d actually been a bully or anything, he’d actually shut down a lot of bullying even among his then-friends and teammates, but he had been kind of self-absorbed. Or maybe it was just the fact that he wasn’t as smart as the people he found himself surrounded by. Maybe it was just the fact that he wasn’t anything special, not at the end of the day.

Except he could take a punch.

And slowly, he found people that did love him. The other kids might tolerate him, might like him, but Dustin genuinely loved him, he knew that. Dustin was his original ride-or-die. Dustin might be a little shithead that constantly treated Steve like he was stupid, but he was like his brother. And Dustin also make him feel amazing and wanted and loved.

And then there was Robin. Most amazing of all really was that Robin loved him. His Platonic soulmate. His other ride-or-die. She saw him at his lowest and saw him at his highest, was there for him when he had stuff he didn’t want to drop on a teen boy who should be worrying about pimples and bad hair days, not interdimensional monsters and evil wizards. Robin made him feel loved too, even if she also sometimes teased him a little too sharply.

There was also Max of course. He’d been surprised at receiving a letter from her too, back when Vecna had been after her. He’d read it, back when she’d been in her coma. She hadn’t said she loved him, but it was there in other ways. The big brother she should have had all along.

So yeah, okay, Steve was loved. But it was platonic. It was friends, his new kind of family even, but it wasn’t the love he’d always wanted and never had. He just accepted the fact that people didn’t love him that way.

Which was why, when he realized he was in love with Eddie, he just sighed and accepted it and never changed anything in the way he interacted with the other man. He didn’t bother telling Eddie because he knew there was no point. Besides, Robin called him out on it, said he was being so obvious about his feelings, but Eddie never said anything too.

So okay. Steve was in love with Eddie, but Eddie wasn’t in love with Steve. Eddie also didn’t treat Steve any differently despite knowing that Steve loved him. After all, if Steve was so obvious about it, then Eddie had to know too already, right?

So Steve watched Eddie come out to them, had nodded along when Eddie nervously explained what bisexuality was, having already had his own crisis before though he realized he’d never officially come out either. But then if his feelings for Eddie were so obvious, he figured he didn’t have to, so he didn’t say anything and let Eddie have his moment.

And it didn’t matter that Eddie liked guys. He still couldn’t love Steve, so Steve just accepted it and let it be. He didn’t flinch when Eddie mentioned meeting a guy in the city, was even downright friendly when Eddie eventually brought the guy around to meet everyone.

It hurt, of course, but Steve’s feelings were his own problem; he wasn’t going to let the fact that he was in love with one of his best friends make things awkward. Eddie was nice enough that he never told Steve to knock it off when Steve got a little too touchy with him, though Steve backed off in his own when Eddie seemed a little panicked about it sometimes.

Steve was even there for Eddie when Eddie came over crying because he and guy broke up. He wouldn’t tell Steve why they broke up, not entirely, but eventually Steve learned it was because Eddie had feelings for someone else this entire time.

Steve wondered who it was, but in any case he just hoped Eddie got to be happy with them eventually. He later told Eddie one day when Eddie was over that he was a great guy, obviously, and anyone Eddie liked would be a lucky person. He hoped he didn’t sound judgmental about it, didn’t want Eddie to think he was being petty or whatever, but Eddie just looked sad again and left soon after.

Steve knew he had a problem about being too much sometimes. It had pushed Nancy away, and every girl he’d tried to date afterwards never really liked him enough either. It was still just his reputation and his hair that got him dates, not who he was himself. That was fine. Temporary companionship was better than nothing he supposed.

And life continued, and Steve kept loving Eddie, and he was content that Eddie let him love him, even if there was no hope of it being reciprocated.

And then Steve went on a date with a guy.

It was…okay. The guy was a lot handsier than Steve would like, and kind of boring when compared to Eddie, but Steve just shrugged and figured that at least it’s be someone else’s hand this time. And it was okay. No great spark or anything. More of a glorified one night stand than anything, but it was fine.

He knew he needed to get out dating again. Girls and guys. His love for Eddie wasn’t abating at all, so he couldn’t bring himself to actually date anyone, but he could do hookups.

Which was how Eddie found him one day, mouth around some guy at a bar in Indy because they had forgotten to lock the bathroom door. Oops. It was a little annoying though that Eddie looked as upset as he did. He appreciated the fact that Eddie didn’t call him out for his unwanted feelings, but it wasn’t fair that he thought Steve shouldn’t be able to move on.

They got into a fight.

They never exactly said what they were fighting about with words, but Eddie yelled at him for having unsafe sex, while Steve yelled at him for being a hypocrite, and then Eddie yelled at him for leading the guy on, and Steve said that that was a bit rich coming from him.

And Eddie was yelling and yelling and yelling about who knows what, telling Steve he shouldn’t be having random hookups in bathrooms when he wasn’t even gay, and Steve yelled that bisexual men can have bathroom hookups too, and that seemed to surprise Eddie for some reason.

In any case, it caused him to shut up for long enough for Steve to angrily tell him that just because Steve loved him, it didn’t give him the right to tell Steve what he could or could not do, especially when he knew Eddie didn’t love him back.

And then…

“You…you love me?” Eddie choked out, his eyes wide as he stared across the dark alley outside the bar, where he’d dragged Steve after catching him on his knees.

Steve rolled his eyes, jutting out one hip to place a hand on while the other hand ran aggressively through his hair. It was started to rain while they were in the bar, a light drizzle that was slowly weighing down their hair, not that either of them paid it any mind.

“Jesus, Munson, are you really going to make me listen to the whole spiel again?” He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in frustration. “This is bullshit, I’m bullshit, my love is bullshit, yadda yadda yadda. Or are we going the other way? The sad puppy eyes and the fact that you like someone else and it could never be me? I already know all this, Munson.”

Eddie continued gaping at Steve like a fish. It was starting to make him vaguely uncomfortable. Eddie shook his head, long strands of hair whipping wetly around him. “H-how long have you loved me?” Eddie whispered.

Steve’s frown deepened. “I don’t know, man. You probably clocked it before I even did. I just barely realized like a year and half ago.”

Eddie’s eyes bugged further. “You’ve love me for a year and a half?” he asked incredulously, making Steve’s frown turn from annoyance to confusion.

“You already knew this, Eddie.”

“I most certainly did not!”

And…oh. Oof. Okay. Steve grimaced and held his hands up suddenly in a surrender sort of way. “Yikes. Okay, well, this doesn’t have to change anythi—”

“This changes everything!” Eddie exclaimed in what others might cause a shriek.

Steve winced, taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. “Eddie…Eddie, please, c’mon,” he tried to reason, feeling dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He was suddenly remembering all the times he’d invaded Eddie’s space, how many times he’d flirted back with Eddie’s fake flirting, thinking it was okay because the other man knew how he felt.

Fuck. Fuck, he’d fucked up again.

“Eddie, I know you don’t love me, okay,” he rushed to say. “I know you can never love me. I get it, okay? I’m not trying to force you to feel any way or anything. Just like with Robin and Nancy, the fact that I like you doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Not…Steve,” Eddie said, reaching up to grip and pull at his own hair as an incredulous laugh escaped him. “Steve, I fucking love you.”

Steve tried not to let that hurt. He knew Eddie probably didn’t get how much him saying that pained Steve since it wasn’t the kind of love he was talking about, so he wasn’t going to get upset at him over that.

“I know,” he sighed, slowly letting himself relax his body posture. “I know you love me in a friend way. And that’s enough for me, really! I love you like a friend too, so the fact that I also—”

“No Steve,” Eddie cut in again, and while he seemed exasperated, a wide smile was also starting to curl over his lips. “Robin was right and you really are a dingus. I mean, yes, I love you as a friend, but I’m also in love with you. Romantic styles.”

“I…” Steve blinked. He tried to understand Eddie’s words but they didn’t make sense. “What?”

Eddie snorted out a laugh, and the smile curled on his lips stretched out into a grin. He took a step closer. “I’m in love with you, Steve Harrington. I have been since…hell, probably since you went all Ozzy on me. But definitely since I woke up in the hospital to you holding my hand.”

Steve’s stomach swooped. “I don’t understand,” he said, and even to his own ears there was a small whine there. “You don’t…people don’t love me,” he pointed out. “They can’t. There’s something about me that just makes it impossible.”

Eddie scoffed, reaching out once he was closer enough to curl his fingers in the sleeves at Steve’s biceps. They were both now well and truly wet from the rain, but neither of them paid any attention to it at all.

“Now that’s bullshit, Harrington. You’re so fucking easy to love. As a friend and as something…more. I love you, Steve.”

Steve wanted to deny it again, wanted to say that that was impossible, because…because he’d never heard those words. Sure, Dustin and Robin told him they loved him, but romantically? Even Nancy had never told him that in those words. Not even in a lie. He couldn’t fully comprehend that he was hearing them now.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie breathed, his hands moving to cup Steve’s jaw. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life telling you that. You’re stuck with me now, big boy.”

And then Eddie kissed him.

Eddie was true to his words. He told Steve he loved him every single day, told him with his words and his actions and when it was legal, he told him again in front of all their friends and found family when he made a vow as a his husband.

And Steve? Well, it took a while for him for actually believe it, but nowadays? When Eddie kisses him good morning every day in bed, whispering his devotion, and every night doing the same, telling Steve he’ll see him in his dreams? Well…

Steve’s used to being loved. And he spends every day loving in return.

~

Hi hello I have no idea what this is but I just started typing and then I didn’t stop until this was completed lol

Hostage hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[ellecdc]

Black!reader that is “I don’t smoke” (mitski) because if their parents ‘you need to be mean be mean to her me, she I can take it and put it inside of me’

hi babes, this was my take on Black!reader who was always hurting on behalf of everyone else. this fic is very angsty compared to my usual standards, so please keep that in mind before reading, and mind the warnings. of course, as typical on ellecdc we have a happy/hopeful ending

Remus Lupin x Black!sister reader after The Prank™ [4.7k words]

CW: The Prank™, Black family trauma, the Marauders aren't speaking to each other, depressive episodes and self-loathing, siblings get quasi-violent/threats of violence? but for a good cause?, Remus' typical self-loathing, discussion of forgiveness and hatred, breaking up [not pictured] and making up [pictured]

The worst part-

Though, even the thought caused Sirius to scoff humourlessly, because what could possibly be the worst part of this? What could possibly be any ‘more worse’ than the worst thing he’d ever done?

Still, Sirius supposed, wand to his head, the worst thing about all of this would be the fact that Sirius didn’t regret it. Not really.

If anything, he only felt stronger in his conviction that Snape deserved to be mauled violently to death.

Yet…

Yet he didn’t find he felt particularly good about it all; about the way Remus woke up with new, deep, angry scars across his face courtesy of The Wolf who finally had a chance at a meal only to have that stolen before he turned on himself, about the way he looked at Sirius with an expression of pure unadulterated betrayal and fury when he realised what happened, about the three well aimed hits he took from James, nor about the way he had to listen through the door as Remus ended your relationship with you, officially giving into all of his deep-seeded self-loathing and beliefs that no one could or should possibly accept him.

And all Sirius managed to do was prove that to be true; that Remus couldn’t trust anyone. And as a result, he robbed you of the only love you had access to save what little you received from Regulus and Sirius.

So perhaps Sirius regretted that, but without access to a Time Turner, there was nothing to be done. 

Nothing to be done. 

James had told him that “until he made things right with Remus, he wanted nothing to do with him”, and while he didn’t blame James, Sirius knew he was officially on his own because there would be no ‘making things right’. There was nothing right, not with Sirius, at least. 

There was nothing to be done. 

He brought the cigarette back up to his lips, the sensitive skin at the corner of his mouth cracking painfully as he took a drag. He appreciated the sting as his teeth started to taste like iron; the pain was both a welcome reminder and a distraction of his inner turmoil as he kept his gaze on the grounds below him.

He couldn’t look at the common room; the red and gold that once felt like home were merely shades of grey. He couldn’t look in a mirror; his permanently downturned lips and angry eyes found him looking more like his father than he did himself. He couldn’t look at his hands; they were blistered and cracked from his tryst in the forest where he emptied his lungs by screaming until he was choking on air and punching uselessly at a tree.

He couldn’t look at any of his friends, because they couldn’t even look at him; they hated him.

He was hated. 

Sirius had begun to wonder how many more classes he could miss before McGonagall followed through on her threats to write home when the portrait hole opened.

He couldn’t look, though. Because he was hated.

“Aren’t you meant to be in class?” He heard you call to him, listening to your measured steps as you made your way to his spot on a windowsill. 

“I could ask the same of you.” He gruffed; voice cracking from disuse, from chain smoking, and from the perpetual tightness he had felt since That Night. 

“What are you doing, Sirius?” You sighed; you were exhausted. Exhausted of him. 

He was exhausted too.

“I’m minding my business, Y/N.” He spat back, stubbing out his smoke before lighting another one with a snap of his fingers. “You should try it sometime.” 

With a wave of your hand, the smoke was gone.

“What the fuck?”

“Get up.” You ordered simply, and Sirius shook his head at you.

“Go back to the dungeons.”

“No.” 

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Y/N.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Great, neither am I.” 

“I don’t want you here.”

“And I don’t want to be here,” You agreed, voice rising at Sirius’ petulance, “but I’ve got a brother who decided to stop functioning a few weeks ago, so here I am.” 

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“You smell.”

“Yeah well, you’re ugly.” Sirius sneered, pulling out another cigarette only for you to vanish the entire pack. 

“When was the last time you showered?” You demanded, and Sirius refused to look at you.

“Hm? Or changed? Or ate? When’s the last time you brushed your teeth?”

Sirius kept his gaze pointed at the grounds outside. 

“Sirius. Your hair is greasy, you smell stale, you look gaunt, and…they’re going to write home.”

“Good.” Sirius spat quickly. “As they should.”

“Is that what you want, Sirius? You want more people to be mad at you? More people to punish you?”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re already doing that enough for the rest of us.” You sighed, attempting to grab him by the arm only for him to shove you away. 

“Get away from me, Y/N, I mean it.” 

“No, get up.”

“Fuck off.”

“Now.” You nearly growled, and Sirius turned to see you pointing your wand at him.

“What? Gonna hex me? Or are you gonna skip right to the Unforgivables, hm? Maybe an imperio? Or are you going to try some negative reinforcement? A crucio for disobedience? Salope stupide, de plus en plus comme ma mère chérie chaque jour.” (translation: stupid bitch, more and more like mother dearest every day)

Sirius flinched as you quickly raised your hand, prepared for a blow that you never landed. 

He looked back to see you standing there, hand poised like it was ready to hit him as you stared at him defiantly; your cool, piercing eyes so much like his own, but the displeased pinch of your mouth was that of your mother. 

“Is that what you want, Sirius? Huh? You want to be walloped a few more times on the nose so that everyone knows what a bad dog you are? You want to be punished for your misdeeds? Maybe get a few more of these?” And you punctuated your question by roughly grabbing at his jaw, fingers pressing into the painful bruises still healing courtesy of James. “That’s why you haven’t bothered healing them, yeah? So that everyone who sees will know what a right bastard you are.” He smacked your hand away with one arm and shoved you away from him with the other. 

“Or,” you continued - rather unphased by Sirius’ aggression - grabbing his balled up fist and bringing it up to your own face, “is it me you want to hit, hm? You want everyone else to hurt just as badly as you are? The world has been just terrible to you Sirius, you were dealt an awful hand! You just want everyone to suffer for it; to pay for the wrongs done to you.”

“Stop it.” Sirius hissed, trying to yank his hand away from you to no avail. 

“Hit me then, Sirius. Hit me. You wanna give into that Black Darkness? Want to be just as bad as they are? Just as bad as they’ve painted you to be? Go ahead.” 

“Stop.” 

“Then get up.” 

“Y/N…” He warned.

“Get up, Sirius.” 

“I hate you.” He spat, and your jaw tightened but you rolled your eyes as if you found him to be quite tiresome.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like you very much right now either.” 

He stood then, giving you no time to get out of his way before he was towering over you. You never faltered, though. He let you grab him by the sleeve of his shirt, he let you drag him up the stairs towards his dormitory - somewhere he hadn’t been since That Night, opting instead to sleep on the couches, a time or two in the room of requirement, and one night in the Shrieking Shack as Padfoot - and he let you bodily shove him into the boys’ bathroom. 

“Get in the shower, Sirius.”

“Sunny, please.”

“I’m not asking.” You said firmly. “Get in the shower.”

“I can’t.” 

You swore under your breath as you dragged him over to the shower stall, said nothing as he went no bones and sunk to the floor, and simply turned the shower on, soaking you both.

“Y/N, stop.” 

“Sirius, if you’re not going to take care of yourself, I will. Those are your choices.” You said defiantly, staring down at him as your school uniform became more and more drenched and your hair started sticking to the side of your neck.

Sirius let out a sigh and rested his head against his knees, and you accepted his relenting as the acquiescence it was. 

You pointed the shower head at him and began lathering soap into his hair before doing much the same with the conditioner. 

Sirius let the soap burn his eyes; welcomed it, even. He did nothing to help you with your tasks, though you didn’t ask him to. He did, however, draw the line at you trying to disrobe him.

“These need to come off, Sirius.” You said, pulling at his uniform shirt like something disgusting you found in a gutter.

“And I will take them off once you’re no longer staring at me.” He growled, causing you to scoff a humourless laugh.

“Like hells I’m letting you out of my sight again.”

Sirius simply groaned. 

“How are you going to wash your body, Sirius? Please don’t tell me you’re going to make me do that too.”

Sirius ripped the bar of soap out of your hands and glared at you as he shoved it beneath his clothes, washing himself the best he could under his sopping wet uniform. 

Though he was more than likely still sudsy, you shut the water off and vanished what water you could from both of your beings; each of your heads and uniforms still soaked as you flung open the bathroom door and marched across the hall.

Sirius’ mouth ran dry when you knocked on their dormitory door; somewhere between you confronting him in the common room and forcing him to bathe, classes seemed to have ended. 

He should’ve flung himself out of the common room window when he had the chance; he couldn’t see Remus, James, or Peter. They hated him.

He was hated.

Remus wouldn’t talk to any of them, and James and Peter weren’t talking to Sirius. Even though Remus had told them he didn’t want them “taking sides”, he didn’t seem to mind watching Sirius get iced out. 

Because he hated him.

Sirius was hated. 

“Oh…hi, Y/N…” James offered awkwardly as he opened the door. 

You barely spared him a glance. “Potter.” You greeted simply as you dipped under his arm which had been holding the door open and marched towards Sirius’ bed. 

Remus pulled his head through the hole of his jumper as he watched you start digging through Sirius’ trunk, sharing a quick glance with James and Peter before his gaze moved to Sirius all but cowering in the doorframe. 

“Are you…wet?” Peter asked cautiously then, all three boys staring at you in bemusement as you packed up a duffle. 

“Yeah.” You responded simply, throwing Sirius a towel that he (thankfully) caught as everyone’s eyes fell to him. 

Sirius quickly ran the towel over his person as you let his trunk close with a loud thunk, hiking the bag you packed for him over your shoulder and stalked out of the dorm room without sparing any of the boys - including your ex boyfriend - a passing glance. 

“Don’t you hate me?” Sirius whispered as he allowed you to lead him to the Slytherin dorms.

“No, Sirius. I hate what you did.” You sighed, never faltering in your steps but strengthening your hold on your brother's wrist. “I love you, that’s why I’m here.” 

Remus had tried telling Peter and James to leave him alone; he wanted to be alone. 

Yet somehow, every morning, the two of them would sit across from him in the Great Hall, say hello, and then talk amongst themselves whilst pretending he wasn’t there. 

That was fine, though. Remus was sort of pretending he wasn’t there, too. 

But while Remus could ignore James and Peter’s existence, Sirius’ existence, and even his own if he really tried hard enough, he couldn’t ignore your existence. 

He’d been more than slightly confused when you stormed into his dorm room last night completely drenched without your eyes ever cutting to him and packed up a bag for your equally drenched brother. 

He’d been more than slightly hurt when you left without sparing him a glance, too. Though he figured perhaps he deserved that. This is what he wanted, right?

Scratch that, actually, what he had wanted was to be safe and loved and protected by the people who promised to do that for him.

It wasn’t until Peter and James paused in their conversation to look at Remus concernedly that he realised he had caused his tea to overflow by means of accidental magic. 

Remus threw a wad of napkins at the mess as he made to stand, but his legs felt wholly incapable of holding him up when he saw you enter the Great Hall, quickly followed by a rather dispirited looking Sirius who nearly bumped into you as you paused at the entrance.

Your gaze automatically fell to the Slytherin table where Regulus was shooting you and Sirius a perturbed look. 

You turned then towards the Gryffindor table when your gaze fell to Remus.

He found himself unable to break your gaze; he wondered if you could see the heartbreak pooling in his eyes, or the longing painted in the space between his brows.

He wondered if you could even see past the new, ferocious scars decorating his face.

He certainly couldn’t. 

Your shoulders fell as you shook your head - so minutely that Remus wondered if he had only imagined it - before you grabbed Sirius’ sleeve and dragged him towards the Ravenclaw table where both Pandora and Benjy accepted the pair of you without issue. 

He was simultaneously grateful that neither of you were sitting over here and furious that the two of you deigned to sit anywhere else. You were his; his friend, and his girlfriend, you were supposed to be here with him. 

But he didn’t want either of you over here, he didn’t want… 

He didn’t…

“Moony?” James asked cautiously.

“Don’t call me that.” Remus gruffed before he stood abruptly and stormed out of the Great Hall. 

He never wanted any of this; sure, he wanted to go to school, but he never wanted friends. He didn’t need friends, he’d never had them before. He met some kind kids on the train who ended up being his roommates, but he was ready and willing to hold them at arm's length. 

And then…

And then he found that he rather liked their company, and that they seemed to enjoy his. And then he found that he cared for them, and that they seemed to care for him. And then they found out, and they were accepting of him. And then they did the impossible and found a way to be there for him like no one else before, they showed up for him in ways no one else had ever tried, in ways he never imagined possible. 

And then he fell in love, and then…

And then. 

And then one of the worst people Remus could imagine to know learned of his darkest secret, his biggest shame, his lifelong curse. 

And he learned that from one of his best friends. Snape learned of Remus’ darkest secret, biggest shame, and lifelong curse from one of his best friends. 

And suddenly, everything everyone had ever said about lycanthropy was true; he was a monster, unloveable, a threat and hazard to everyone around him.

And as he paused in front of a window where he could see his reflection - three violent claw marks from his left eye across the bridge of his nose down over his lips - the monster stared back at him. 

He was a beast. He was a monster playing dress up; cosplaying as a wizard day in and day out when in reality, deep down, he was a vicious, disgusting freak. 

And now everyone knew it; Sirius knew it, you knew it, Snape knew it.

And for those who didn’t know it, they could suspect it; rumours flying around of how Remus managed to be mauled by some creature and survive to tell the tale, because the only thing scarier than a beast among men is a man that can take on a beast and live to tell the tale.

The worst part-

But the thought made Remus snort humourlessly, because really, how could there be a worst part of any of this? What could possibly be ‘more worse’ than the worst thing to ever happen to him, second only to being bitten all those years ago. 

But Remus supposed, wand to his head, that the worst part of all of this was losing you.

Remus let out another humourless chuckle as he let his head fall with a thunk against the windowpane. 

And the absolute fucking kicker was that losing you had been his own doing. 

For the first time in perhaps five days, you were alone. 

You sat in the farthest corner of the library near rows of tomes with enough layers of dust on them to promise you some solitude as you waited for Sirius’ meeting with McGonagall to end. 

You’d convinced him (rather forced him) to start attending his classes again, though you were certain he wasn’t exactly a delight to have in the classroom at the moment. You only hoped it was enough for the school to refrain from writing home.

You dropped your quill and pressed your fingers into your eyes hard enough to see stars. Sirius was displeased with you for ordering him about. Regulus was displeased with you for babysitting Sirius and ‘cleaning up’ after him. Your parents were displeased with you seemingly because you were born with free will. Your professors were displeased with you for submitting sloppy work because you spent the majority of your time doing Sirius’ for him in order to keep him from being expelled. Your roommates were displeased with you for smuggling a dog into your room for the past week, even though he was very well behaved and slept dutifully on the end of your bed. And Remus…

And Remus. 

He had looked so hollow and… dead when he told you this needed to end, that he couldn’t see you anymore. You didn’t think he was capable of occlusion, but that was the only thing that could possibly explain how he could manage to look at you like you didn’t even matter to him anymore.

Perhaps you didn’t.

You didn’t matter. 

Perhaps you were too much like your brother; he couldn’t forgive him, so you were unforgivable too. Perhaps you were just too much of a Black for him; perhaps he realised the mistake in keeping your kind around. 

You couldn’t blame him, you supposed.

You were a tiresome bunch. You didn’t often want to keep your kind around, either. 

You shook yourself out of your pity party and returned to your notes, only to watch as Remus pulled out a chair opposite of you at your table. 

“The library’s plenty large, Lupin; I’m sure if you looked harder you could find another table.” you offered, hoping for indignation but landing somewhere around disheartened. 

“Is Sirius alright?” He murmured quietly, and you forced your eyes up to meet his. 

He looked dead tired; his eyes were sunken and his skin was missing its warm glow. But in his eyes laid an earnestness that had you remembering just how wholly safe and full you felt whenever you found yourself pinned beneath his gaze. 

You quickly looked away.

“Not really.” You replied honestly. “But I think he deserves that.” 

Remus made a noncommittal sound as he continued staring at the top of your head; you couldn’t see it, mind you, but you could certainly feel it.

“And you?” 

“What about me?”

“Are you alright?”

“Why?” You demanded, and Remus finally looked down into his lap. 

You stared at him as he wrung his hands in his lap while you catalogued the scars across his face. You wondered if where they landed over his eyes caused him any vision issues. You wondered what the ones over the bridge of his nose would feel like as you traced your fingertip over them. You wondered what the ones on his lips might feel like under your own. 

You hated them, knowing that he did too, knowing how he came to have them. But you loved them because they were his, because it was him. Because you loved him. 

“Are you alright?” You decided to ask then, and he looked up at you as if he was surprised you were still there.

“No.” He responded quickly.

“I’m sorry.” You offered, though you knew not what for. You really hadn’t done anything. 

“How-” Remus started, though he quickly looked back down at his hands as he searched for the words.

You waited for him. 

“How…can you help him?”

You felt your eyebrows furrow, because whatever you thought Remus might’ve been about to ask, it certainly wasn’t that. 

“What?” You asked dumbly. 

“How can you help Sirius? After all that he’s done?” He continued gently.

“I… because, Remus, someone has to.” 

Remus nodded as he considered your response. “There’s a… part of me that feels as though you’re choosing him over me.” 

“Remus. You chose; you made that decision for me. I didn’t choose anyone’s side.”

“So if we were still dating right now, would you have forgiven Sirius?”

“Forgiven?” You repeated incredulously. “Who said anything about forgiveness?” 

Remus simply blinked at you owlishly. 

“Remus, I cannot just sit here and let him whither away into nothing because I’m mad at him. He fucked up - big time - there’s no question about it. And deep down, I know he knows that too; that’s why he’s been torturing himself over it. There is no way in which I could treat him that would be worse than the way he’s treating himself right now. But I-”

You shook your head as you fought off the stinging in your sinuses; you did not want to cry in front of him. 

“There is no one rooting for us, Remus. No one. You’re pissed at him - rightfully so, and completely justified - Potter and Pettigrew are pissed at him too, he’s pissed at himself and I… someone has to, Remus. Someone has to root for him, I can’t…I can’t just abandon him, not when there’s no one else.” 

“I can’t… I can’t feel bad for him, Y/N.” Remus exclaimed helplessly. 

“I’m not asking you to; I’m simply telling you why I do.” 

“I don’t…I don’t know how to forgive him, dove, I don’t know how to not hate him for this.” He nearly sobbed, holding his hands out helplessly as if the grief and torment were tangible things he could crush in the palm of his hands if he could only catch them. “Why don’t you hate him? Please tell me? Because I genuinely want to know. I need to know - I don’t…I don’t want to hate him.” 

“He’s my brother, Rem.” You said simply, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “I hate what he’s done, I hate the choice he made, I hate the outcome of that choice, I hate what he did to you, I hate what that’s done to me, but… but I don’t hate him.” 

The two of you sat in silence for a while; the only sounds coming from the odd book being magically sent back to its shelf and the odd voices from students downstairs when a study group got a touch too boisterous. 

“Do you hate me?” Remus whispered then; your eyes flit up to meet his which were already steady on you. 

“No, Remus.” You whispered back.

He nodded as his gaze fell. “Just what I did?” 

Your lip quirked in the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Yes I…I sort of hated that, I suppose.” 

“I don’t want to hate him.” He repeated.

“I know.” 

“Do you-” Remus paused, turning away and screwing his eyes shut as you realised he was crying. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?”

“Remus…”

“I was scared, and hurt, and angry, and-” he hiccuped, reaching across the table as he nearly begged for your hand. You gave it willingly. “-and I hated him but I mostly hated myself.”

“I know, Rem.”

“Please? Do you…do you think you’d be able to forgive me? For leaving, for running, for abandoning you? You’ve never once given up on the people important to you and one bad thing happens to me and…and I just throw you away, I-” He looked at you as if he was only realising all of this now; hurt, frustration, anger, and betrayal all on your behalf flickered behind his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Remus.” You insisted, but he quickly shook his head at you. 

“It’s not; it’s not okay, I- … I’m not as gracious as you, clearly, but I just…I just feel like if you’re strong enough to forgive me then there’s…there’s hope for me, too. That maybe I can be strong enough to forgive Sirius.” 

“You’re forgiven, Remus.” 

His eyes fell shut as more tears fell, but you were sure it was more from relief than it was from pain. 

Both boys - Remus and Sirius - were so good at torturing themselves over choices they’ve made that you were certain no one else would ever have to as long as they both should live. 

And for different reasons, you loved them both beyond measure. 

“I don’t deserve forgiveness.” Remus whispered.

“Of course you do.” You countered, squeezing his hand in yours and watching as some of the tension in his shoulders dissipated. 

“Does Sirius?” He asked quietly, keeping his eyes pointed at where your joined hands sat on the table between you. 

You’re not sure when or how you became the leading expert on conflict resolution and forgiveness; perhaps it was in refereeing Sirius and Regulus’ petty squabbles growing up, perhaps it was in shielding Regulus from your parents fury, perhaps it was in trying to tame Sirius enough to keep him out of trouble, perhaps it was in being the youngest cousin along with Regulus and watching the siblings before you find their own ways to define what was right and good, perhaps…perhaps it came from the many examples of conflict and spite that you had witnessed growing up.

“I don’t know, Rem.” You answered honestly. “I think…I think the only one who can really know that is you.”

If he was displeased by your answer, he didn’t show it.

“But,” you continued cautiously, “I don’t think you have to forgive him for what he’s done. You just have to decide whether you’re going to hate him for it or love him in spite of it.” 

His lips pursed, pulling at scars both new and old in ways you’re not sure you’d ever grow tired of watching, as he nodded. “I don’t want to hate him.”

“I know, Rem.” 

“I don’t want James or Peter to hate him either…I don’t know why they were willing to watch him wither away like that.”

You couldn’t hide your smile at that; the first real smile you’d had since That Night. “They don’t, and they weren’t.” You countered, only moving to explain when he looked at you in bemusement. “They were the ones who told me how bad he was getting…they wanted to make sure someone was looking after him without giving into his pity party.” 

“Always taking care of everyone else, hm?” Remus murmured at you, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a delicate kiss to your knuckles. 

You simply hummed noncommittally. 

“Can I return the favour?”

“You can certainly try, but I’m quite high maintenance.” You teased gently. 

“That’s alright.” He agreed quickly. “You’re more than worth the effort.” 

You breathed out a quiet laugh through your nose. “Whatever you say, Lupin.”

[matrixbearer2024]

Imagine Ford with baby fever, he isn't really hit with it at the start as you had both just moved to gravity falls at the time. Despite being engaged fresh out of university, he told himself he was going to take his time with you. The both of you were young and ambitious, you both had plenty of time left.

Compared to him, you were pretty touchy and cuddly since coming to gravity falls. Ford supposed it had a lot to do with the engagement, which you were both still running a high from. It was difficult for him to completely focus on his research when you would randomly butt into his mind, his journals would have drawings or entries on you scattered about and you found that adorable.

You were more excited than him to plan your wedding, but Ford was the one more obsessed over it happening at all. He didn't think he would get to this point, much less with someone to have and hold; cherish through joy and sorrow for the rest of his days.

During one of your little expeditions through the forest(you were collecting fungal specimens to study while your lover was doing who knows what-) you both stumbled across a little kid crying in a clearing. The toddler was most likely only a couple years old and wailing for their parents.

Predictably, your fiancé stood there scratching the back of his neck awkwardly not entirely knowing what to do. Even if he was an older brother, it was only by a short while to a twin. So you figured it made sense that he didn't know what he was doing. Even so, Stanford rarely talked about his brother happily- more like somber or spiteful so you rarely brought it up when talking about relatives.

You weren't so fond of your family yourself, born to a house of multiples on multiples of children- your father's plan was to simply marry you off to someone old and wealthy to leech off that. You already knew how that ended up with your sisters and didn't want to fall into the same situation.

So you studied your ass off, but because your old man didn't want to support you through university- you ended up grasping at straws but at Backupsmore where you met the man who promised you forever. Somehow you felt like it was likely a better outcome than even if things went as planned.

Sure, he was kind of an asshole at the start as your academic rival- but you both learned to get along after a while. Acquaintances became friends and that friendship bloomed into romance, the rest is history.

Imagine the adoring look in Ford's eyes when you managed to gently comfort the child and calm them down. Apparently they had wandered too far from a nearby campsite and got lost, it didn't take long for the both of you to return the toddler to their parents and you ended up with a marigold in your hair as thanks.

It was that moment seeing you with the kid in your arms that Stanford's thoughts suddenly crashed to the side with a loud and adamant needwish to have a family with you. Which just as immediately both flustered and terrified him, most of the developments in your relationship with him happen this way. It's kind of as if this man is hilariously allergic to anything new.

Since that day he started being equally as clingy with you. From hugging you from behind as you cooked the both of you breakfast to practically developing a sixth sense to when you pull away from him in your shared bed. Having a living space heater for a partner was great in the cold months, but during the warmer months you sometimes wanted to kick Stanford out of the bed since you were baking from his warmth.

Sometimes he would catch you staring at some baby items when you both went to the store and that just worsened his already crippling yearning. Unintentionally he ended up making more rooms in the cabin than needed, you were surprised by the amount of space, not to mention you and Ford weren't exactly sure at the time what to use the rooms for. Partially you wondered how Ford was able to build the shack in such a way that the inside seemed much larger than the outside.

He went into a full blown infodump about a time-space anomaly on the land that he kind of abused Dr. Who style to actually make the inside of the house bigger than it actually is.

The touchiness festered and grew over the couple months towards the date of your planned wedding to make things official. It wasn't to say that you both haven't ever had sex, but there was something different about the hunger and electric desire that crackled between the both of you building up to that day.

The couple times you joked about having kids with your fiancé had him stuck between looking worried and turned on. Good thing you were both at home since you didn't exactly know what to make of it before he kissed the daylights out of you.

The wedding was small and quaint, neither of you had ever been one to flamboyantly show off anyway so it was just a ceremony to finalize things, you both opted to just remain in gravity falls for your honeymoon as well since it was just more convenient.

It was mostly friends who came to celebrate, the two of you opting not to invite your families given the less than savory situations you had with them. It really was the best day of your lives, you also had the photographer to thank for capturing the memories so well.

Stanford couldn't even keep his hands off you during the party, always having a hand on the small of your back or around your waist. Likewise, you couldn't stop leaning on him or hanging off his arm. Even during Fiddleford's best man speech, you'd met the man back in BMU and to say he and your fiancé/now husband got along like peas in a pod was an understatement.

You were barely listening to whatever was said though, far too entranced in the man who you were married to as he laughed or grew bashful of the things said about him. Stanford almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the intensity of the desire in your eyes, a flame to light fireworks and you were both sure come midnight explosions were sure to set off.

It didn't come as a surprise to anyone that after a couple weeks you were sick as a dog, puking and getting random bouts of dizziness that had Stanford in a panic since he couldn't pinpoint why. A quick trip to the hospital later and then came the news, you weren't poisoned, injured or dying, you were just pregnant!

Ford immediately fainted upon hearing those words, you still have no idea if it was the overwhelming shock or the joy.

[itneverendshere]

how would the cameron family react to rafe dating a pogue

found a girl my parents love - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) Ps: ward's not a monster in this, just an asshole sometimes, bc my boy rafe deserves a better father figure. also, didn’t know if this request was for this couple but i felt like it fitted them perfectly so here we are again 🫶🏻🤗

Rafe selfishly wanted to keep you a secret for as long as he could. 

Not because he was ashamed of you—not even close. You were his, the only person who actually got him. That part of him he never let anyone see, not his family, not his boys.

It was complicated, though, and his family didn't do "complicated" well. Especially not with a pogue. His dad would flip if he knew he was dating someone he hadn’t been personally introduced to before.

The bartender from the club, of all people. The one they’d see serving drinks to them all summer, like you didn’t exist outside those moments. That was the thing though, you did exist, more than anyone he’d ever known. You were real. That’s why he wanted to keep it just for himself. It was his one thing that no one else could touch, could ruin. Topper knew, sure, but he wasn’t going to run his mouth to Sarah after she broke his heart.

So yeah, he held on to it, kept you away from the world that would tear it down before it even had a chance to really breathe. Until Weezie stumbled into your date at the ice cream shop.

He remembered the way his heart stopped when he saw her walk in. Of all places. Of all the people. She looked at him with wide brown eyes, then at you, and then back to him like she’d just walked in on something she wasn’t supposed to see. 

And honestly? She did.

“What the hell are you doing here, Weeze?” he snapped, more out of panic than anger.

"Uh? Getting ice cream?" Her face lit up, a huge grin stretching across her cheeks. “What are you doing here? And with her?” She looked at you, her excitement bubbling over before Rafe could get a word in. “Oh my God, this is so cool! You’re dating her? Like, for real?”

You smiled awkwardly, sensing the tension rolling off him. He looked like he was seconds away from shitting himself. He could’ve killed Weezie right then and there. But instead, he just sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, well… don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Are you kidding?” Weezie practically bounced. “I won’t say a word. Scout’s honor.” She shot you a smile before turning to leave. “But like, this is so cool.”

He scowled at her, “Stop being creepy.”

You slapped his chest, scolding him “Be nice.”

“Oh, I like her!”

She kept her word. For a little while, at least.

A few weeks later, they were all sitting around the dinner table—Ward, Sarah, Rafe, and Weezie. Rose was out doing whatever the fuck she did with her friends. Everything was going fine until Weezie, mid-conversation about nothing important, let it slip.

“I saw Rafe and his girlfriend the other day,” she said, just like it was no big deal.

Girlfriend.

Rafe froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Sarah looked like she’d just been smacked in the face.

“Girlfriend?” Sarah’s voice went up an octave. “Since when do you have a girlfriend?”

He shot Weezie a look that could shove her ten feet under, but it was too late. She slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing her mistake.

Ward raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “You got something to share with the family, son?”

Rafe cleared his throat, putting his fork down, already working up a sweat. He knew he couldn’t lie his way out of this one. And honestly?

Maybe it was time to stop hiding. He glanced at Sarah, who still looked at him like he was from outer space, then at his dad. He’d always given him shit about girls, all these big speeches about how none of them were ever worth bringing home unless he was serious. 

Well, he was serious.

“Yeah,” Rafe muttered, meeting his dad’s eyes. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “Who?”

“She’s a pogue!”

Rafe closed his eyes, sighing as Weezie blurted the most important piece of information out. She really just dropped the biggest bomb in the most casual way possible. His dad’s expression didn’t change much, but Sarah? She was fully in shock, her jaw practically hitting the table.

“A Pogue?” Sarah repeated, like she couldn’t believe the words even existed in the same sentence as Rafe. “Are you serious? In this lifetime?”

He shot her a glare. “Yeah, a Pogue. What, is that some kind of crime?”

“What?” She shrieked, “You gave me so much shit when I dated John B!”

He clenched his jaw, his patience hanging by a thread. Of course she was going to bring up John B. She couldn’t let anything go. “That was different,” he snapped.

Sarah scoffed, folding her arms “Different? How exactly?”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Because John B’s a dirtbag who had you sneaking around doing God knows what. This is—” he stopped himself, trying to find the right words. “This is different, okay? She’s not like him.”

“So, it’s okay when you date a Pogue? Got it.”

“To be fair,” Weezie chimed in, “John B smelled like shit.”

He couldn’t help the snort that escaped his lips, even though the last thing he wanted to do was encourage her. Sarah shot Weezie a death glare, clearly not amused.

“Language,” Ward warned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I have to tell you girls? No swearing at the table.”

The room fell silent, everyone looking at Rafe like they were waiting for him to say something. His dad didn’t even look mad—if anything, he looked weirdly intrigued.

“So,” Ward said slowly, his gaze locking onto Rafe’s. “You’re serious about her then? Serious enough for me to meet her?”

Rafe swallowed. “Yeah. I am.”

“Alright. Let’s make that happen then.”

He blinked, completely thrown off. “What?”

Ward’s response was calm, almost too calm. “If you’re serious about this girl, then it’s time I meet her.”

Rafe just stared at him, unsure if he’d heard that right. His dad wasn’t angry? Was he impressed? Or was this some kind of setup?

“You... wanna meet her?” he repeated, like he needed the words to make sense.

His dad’s expression wasn’t the usual stone wall of judgment. “I’ve always said if it’s not serious, don’t bother bringing her around. You’re saying she’s important to you, right?”

“Uh, yeah…” Rafe’s voice trailed off, still half-expecting this to somehow turn into a lecture or some Ward Cameron test. “She is.”

He nodded, like he was already planning it. “Alright then, set it up. I’ll meet her.”

He couldn’t tell if this was a win or if he’d just walked into something he wasn’t prepared for. His whole plan was to avoid this exact conversation. He looked across the table, expecting Sarah to be just as blindsided as he was, but she was still stuck on one detail.

“You’re dating a Pogue,” she muttered, shaking her head like she couldn’t get past that fact. “I just… wow.”

Rafe shot her a glare. “Get over it.”

Weezie, always the little instigator, grinned. “She was cool.”

“Okay, so… when do I get to meet her?” Sarah’s brown eyes widened with curiosity. “Is she cute? What’s she like?”

This wasn’t how he thought the night was going to go at all. 

An hour later, he was lying in bed, staring at his phone, his mind still spinning from dinner. He pulled up your contact, hesitating for a second before hitting the FaceTime button. The screen flashed for a moment, and then there you were, all cozy in your own bed, unaware of what was about to hit.

“Hi baby,” you chirped, clearly happy to see him, “What’s up? You look stressed.”

Rafe rubbed his face, letting out a long breath. “Yeah, well, uh—something happened at dinner tonight.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion, tilting the phone closer to you. “What? Did Sarah say something dumb again?”

“Nah, worse,” he muttered. “Weezie... Weezie kinda let it slip. About us.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “Wait, what? She told them?!”

“Yeah,” he said, letting out a low chuckle at the memory of the whole dinner spiraling out of control. “Just dropped it casually like it was no big deal. Sarah freaked out, and my dad—" He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “He wants to meet you.”

For a second, you didn’t say anything. You just blinked, processing his words. 

“Wait... Ward Cameron wants to meet me? As in, your dad?”

“Yeah,” He mumbled, almost sheepishly. “He’s all, ‘If you’re serious, I should meet her,’ or some shit. Like it’s no big deal.”

You sat up straight, your heart racing. “Rafe, that is a big deal! What the hell do you mean he wants to meet me?!” Your voice rose, panic starting to take over. “Oh my God, I didn’t even think about having to meet your dad. I figured we’d just— I don’t know—figure it out later!”

Rafe winced, knowing this would freak you out. He tried to keep his voice calm, even though he wasn’t exactly calm himself. “Baby, it’s not like tomorrow or anything. We can plan it out.”

But you were already spiraling. “Your dad’s gonna take one look at me— What if he hates me? What if he tells you I’m not worth it, and then—” you paused, your voice breaking slightly, “What if you start to believe him?”

His stomach clenched at your words. He sat up, the phone now held closer to his face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there. What are you even talking about?”

You bit your lip, your thoughts running wild. “I mean... what if he convinces you that I’m not good enough? What if you start seeing me differently? You know how your dad is—he could talk you out of this, talk you out of us.”

Rafe shook his head, almost angry that you’d even think that way. “Are you serious right now? No way in hell is that happening. I don’t give a shit what my dad thinks. You’re the one I’m with because I want to be with you.”

You sighed, your nerves still rattled. “But what if he tries to get in your head? You always talk about how much pressure he puts on you. What if he—”

He cut you off, his voice firm, assertive. “Look, I’m serious about you. I told him that tonight. It doesn’t matter what he says, because you’re the one I love. No one’s changing my mind about that. Not even Ward fucking Cameron.” His eyes softened a little. “I already met your sister. This is just the next step, yeah? It’s us. We’re solid.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

He hated this—hated that the idea of meeting his dad was making you feel like this, but he couldn’t blame you. Ward was intimidating even on his best days, and this was not going to be one of those days.

“You’re not gonna throw up,” he said, trying to calm you down, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure you or himself.

You shook your head, running a hand through your bed hair. “What if I say something dumb? What if I screw up, and he hates me, and then everything goes downhill? I’m not, like... your people. You know that.”

His jaw clenched, hating the way you thought of yourself like that. “Don’t say that,” he scolded, “You’re exactly my people. You’re my person.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No ‘buts.’” He cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Listen to me. My dad’s opinion doesn’t change anything. He’s not gonna make me see you any differently. You’re still gonna be the same girl I’m crazy about, no matter what he says or doesn’t say. Got it?”

You took a deep breath, trying to believe him. “It’s just—I don’t know, Rafe. I don’t fit into that world, and what if he sees that right away?”

He hated that you felt this way, hated that his dad had this kind of power hanging over the two of you. “You don’t need to fit into his world, okay? You fit into mine, and that’s all that matters.”

Your lips quivered, and for a second, he thought you might start crying. He could feel the panic rolling off of you through the phone, and it hit him hard—he hadn’t realized just how terrified you were of this.

“What if he really doesn’t think I’m good enough for you?” You whispered, almost like you were scared to say it out loud.

Rafe’s heart clenched, and without thinking, he shot up out of bed, pacing his room like he needed to burn off the frustration

“You’re more than good enough for me.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away for a second like you were trying to compose yourself.

“I just don’t want him to—I don’t know? To make you feel like you have to choose between me and your family.”

He stopped pacing, his grip tightening on the phone. “If it ever came to that? I’d choose you. Every fucking time.”

You blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “Rafe—”

“I mean it,” he said, cutting you off again. “I’m not letting my dad, or anyone else, get in the way. I don’t care if he’s Ward Cameron or the president of the United States. He’s not gonna run my life, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you. And nothing my dad says or thinks is gonna change that. Ever.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall over. Not because you were scared anymore, but because of him. Because of how much he cared. How much he loved you, even when you were spiraling.

He was staring at the screen, concern written all over his face, brows furrowing, "Wait, are you crying?" His voice softened, like he wasn’t sure how to handle you like this, but he knew he wanted to. He needed to.

You quickly rubbed at your eyes, laughing to try and cover up the tears, "No, no, I just— got something in my eye." Your laugh was shaky, and you knew you weren’t fooling anyone.

He didn’t say anything for a second, just watched you with that loving look of his that made you want to bawl your eyes out even harder. He saw right through you. He always did.

“You know,” he finally said, “You don’t have to worry about all that shit. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And that’s when you almost lost it. Because wow. No one had ever said something like that to you before, not until him. Never like that, like he really meant it, like you were the most important thing in his world.

You sniffed, trying to laugh it off again, but it just came out all soft and broken. “I’m just—” you paused, not even sure how to explain how you were feeling, “I’m not used to this. Like, you... caring this much. Loving me like this.”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and he leaned a little closer to the screen, “I’m not stopping.”

“I know. I love you too.”

It was real now.

Meeting the Camerons wasn’t something you could avoid anymore, but at least you knew you had Rafe, a hundred percent.

“You still freaking out?” he asked, though his tone was lighter, like he knew the answer.

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’ll get over it.”

“Good,” he said, his smirk returning. “Because I kinda need you around.”

“Kinda?”

He grinned, dimples framing his face, “Okay, a lot.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Rafe hadn’t said a word the entire drive, which was already freaking you out more than you wanted to admit. His knuckles were white, tight around the steering wheel. His jaw was locked, teeth grinding together and you’d caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye at least three times in the past minute.

Your heart was hammering, stomach in knots, and you were starting to wonder if you might actually throw up by the time you got to Tannyhill.

“Baby, seriously, if we crash into a tree ‘cause you’re having a silent meltdown over there, that’s not gonna help either of us.”

He blinked, finally loosening his grip on the wheel. “Sorry. I’m just—fuck, I don’t know.”

You tried to smile, but it felt weak. “Yeah, me too. I feel like I’m walking into some kind of corporate job interview I didn’t apply for.”

Rafe snorted. “Yeah, except the CEO’s a control freak and the company’s, I don’t know, cursed or something.”

That made you laugh, a short, nervous laugh, but still. You appreciated the attempt at humor, even if the nerves in your stomach weren’t going anywhere.

“So, uh... game plan?” you asked, half-joking, but mostly serious. “Am I supposed to shake his hand? Call him Mr. Cameron? Or is it more of a ‘hey, what’s up, Ward?’ situation?”

Rafe finally cracked a grin, shaking his head. “God, I don’t know. Don’t call him Ward; that might send him into some power trip. But definitely don’t call him Mr. Cameron either, ‘cause that’ll just make it weird.”

“Great, so I’ll just go with ‘Hi’ and hope I don’t trip over my own feet.”

“Perfect,” Rafe deadpanned, glancing over at you, “Just be yourself. He’s not as bad as you think. Mostly.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Mostly?”

Rafe’s lips pressed together. "He's not gonna throw you out or anything. And if he does, we’re leaving together. But Sarah...”

“Sarah,” you groaned, leaning your head back against the seat. You’d barely met Sarah, and from what you could tell, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about Rafe’s choice in girlfriends.

“Just don’t let her get to you,” Rafe muttered, his hand reaching for yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “She’s just mad because I used to make John B’s life a living hell.”

“Define hell.”

Rafe smirked, his fingers still interlaced with yours. "I mean, I threw him off a boat once," he said casually, like that wasn’t one of the most insane things you’d ever heard.

You blinked. “You what?”

He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road, like it was no big deal. “He was running his mouth about me."

You stared at him in disbelief, “And you think I’m the one who needs to be worried?”

He laughed, finally loosening up a little, “Relax, baby. I’m not throwing you off anything.”

“So she’s not mad about me? She’s just mad about the double standard?”

“Yeah.”

That made it a little easier to breathe.

The silence settled back in for a moment as you pulled up to Tannyhill. The sight of the massive estate took your breath away. You couldn’t help but feel like you were entering a completely different world now that you were here—a world that wasn’t exactly built for you.

Rafe must’ve noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of your seat a little tighter because he let out a long breath.

“Hey, it’s just a dinner. We eat, we talk, we leave. It’s not like they’re gonna put you under a microscope.”

You gave him a side-eye. “You know, I wasn’t nervous until you said that.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Shit. Sorry.”

The car came to a stop, and you could see the flicker of lights through the windows of the house. The pressure in your chest was building, but Rafe turned toward you, his hand cupping your face.

“Listen,” his blue eyes locked on yours, “I don’t care what happens in there. You’ve got me. If anyone makes you feel like you don’t belong, we’re out. Promise.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you leaned into his touch. “Okay.”

“I’m serious,” he continued, stroking his thumb across your cheek. “One word and I’ll get you out.”

You kissed his palm, “I know.”

“Okay.” he muttered, then pulled away, giving one final deep breath before turning off the ignition. “Let’s get this over with.”

You both stepped out of the car, Rafe knocked once, and within seconds, it swung open to reveal Sarah standing there in all her kook-with-pogue -tendencies glory.

“Well, well,” she smirked, eyes narrowing at you two.

Rafe shot her a sharp look, “Knock it off.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let you in. “I’m kidding. Kinda.” She turned her attention to you, and you could feel her sizing you up, looking completely unfazed as she led the two of you further into the house. "Dad’s in the study. He’s waiting."

Your heart skipped a beat at that. Waiting? What did that even mean?

Rafe must have felt your nerves spike because he reached for your hand again, squeezing it as you followed Sarah down the long hallway.

The house felt even bigger on the inside, with its high ceilings and fancy decor. You felt out of place. But then you peeked over at Rafe, and something about the way he held your hand made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you did belong.

At least to him.

Sarah finally stopped outside a large wooden door, turning to you with an exaggerated sigh.

"Good luck.”

Rafe hesitated for a second, his hand still gripping yours tightly. "You ready?"

No. Absolutely not. But you nodded anyway. "Yeah. Let’s do this."

He pushed open the door, and there he was.

Ward Cameron, sitting behind a massive oak desk, looking as powerful and intimidating as ever. His eyes flicked up from whatever paperwork he was working on, settling on you with a sharp intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Rafe," Ward said, his voice smooth and controlled, before turning his gaze to you. "And you must be... her."

You swallowed hard, trying to muster up the courage to say something, anything. "Yeah, that’s me. Hi, Mr. Cameron."

You immediately regretted it. Mr. Cameron? It sounded too formal, too awkward.

Ward didn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, he looked amused. He stood up, coming around the desk to get a better look at you. His eyes scanned over you briefly, but it wasn’t the cold, judgmental look you’d expected. Instead, it felt more like... curiosity.

"So, you’re the girl my son’s been so serious about."

You nodded, wanting to be anywhere but stuck in that claustrophobic room despite its size, "That’s me.”

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he looked between you and Rafe, “I hear you’re working at the Country Club.”

It wasn’t really a question—more like he already knew everything about you. Oh. You didn’t like that, knowing that someone else was snooping around for dirt on you. At least it sounded like that was the plan.

You managed a nod, trying to keep your voice from sounding too hushed. “Yeah, I’ve been working there for a while.”

His expression didn’t really give anything away, but the way he looked at you, was unnerving. Rafe’s hand squeezed yours, reminding you that, no matter what, he had your back. One word and you were out.

“Good,” Ward finally said, “I like that you work.” He sneaked a stern look at your boyfriend before turning his attention back to you. “He could use some of that drive.”

Wait. What?

You hadn’t expected that. You thought maybe he’d grill you or give you the whole ‘what are your intentions with my son’routine. But no, he was... complimenting you? It had to be some kind of set up.

“Dad—” Rafe started, clearly not expecting that either, but Ward cut him off with a raised hand.

“No, seriously.” His eyes were back on you, and there was almost a smile there, like he was actually impressed. “It’s a good quality. I respect people who work hard, people who don’t just expect things to be handed to them. And from what I’ve heard, you’re one of those people.”

You didn’t even know what to say.

Ward Cameron? Complimenting you? Was this real life? You’d walked in here prepared for a full-on interrogation, and instead, he was... encouraging.

“I just hope some of that rubs off on my son,” Ward added, shooting Rafe a look, and you swore there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “He could stand to work a little harder. He’s always been a bit lazy.”

You bit back a laugh, glancing over at Rafe. He was glaring at his dad, but you could tell he wasn’t really pissed, just...embarrassed. You found it endearing.

“Thanks, Dad,” Rafe mumbled.

“I like it. Maybe you’ll inspire him to work a little harder.”

You blinked. Wait, was this actually happening? Did Ward Cameron, of all people, just say he liked you? This whole night felt like it was gonna be a disaster, and now... maybe it wasn’t gonna be so bad. You hoped so.

You really wanted his family to like you, you felt like you owned him at least trying.

“You know," Ward began, "I wasn't always the man you see standing here today." His voice took on a reflective tone, and you could sense the change in the atmosphere as he prepared to tell his story. "I grew up on the Cut, just like a lot of those kids you see around he, like you,” Ward said, almost casually, but you could tell it wasn’t a casual thing for him. "Back then, I didn’t have much. But I worked my ass off to get out of that place. I didn’t have a name, no wealth behind me. What I have now? I built that from the ground up. No one handed me anything."

Rafe, who had been quiet up until now, let out a small, barely audible sigh, shifting uncomfortably beside you. You took a quick glance at him and caught the unmistakable eye-roll he tried to hide.

Clearly, this wasn’t the first time Ward had given this speech. But at the same time, you could tell he was relieved that his dad wasn’t tearing into you. That had to count for something, right?

Ward, oblivious or perhaps just unfazed by his son’s reaction, continued, his voice gaining momentum like he was giving you some kind of motivational speech. "It wasn’t easy. There were plenty of times when I could’ve given up, but I didn’t. I pushed through, made connections, took risks. That’s how you get ahead. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes. Now look where I am—" He gestured around at the lavish room, the estate itself practically a testament to his success. "I built an empire. Something real. Something that can last."

You nodded politely, unsure if you were supposed to say something. Rafe’s obvious eye-rolling and silent huffs of frustration beside you made it clear that he’d heard all this a hundred times before. He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms, clearly waiting for his dad to wrap it up.

But Ward wasn’t done yet. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The point is," he said, his tone softening a little, "I respect people who are willing to work for what they want. I see that in you. It’s not about where you start—it’s about where you’re going."

Rafe let out a short, quiet breath that you might’ve missed if you weren’t sitting right next to him. He shot you a small, knowing smile, almost like he was apologizing for the speech but also relieved that Ward wasn’t being an asshole.

You squeezed his hand under the table. At least his dad wasn’t tearing you down.

"Thanks, Mr. Cameron," you said, finally finding your voice. "I really appreciate that."

He nodded, seeming satisfied with himself. "Just remember," he added, his voice lowering as if he was giving you some kind of life lesson, "Hard work pays off. You keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll get somewhere. Don’t ever settle, not even for him.”

“Thanks again.”

Rafe looked like he was about to explode from how much he was holding back, but he just gave you a quick wink as if to say, Yeah, this is typical dad, but hey—he likes you, so we’re good.

Ward clapped his hands together, the moment of sincerity quickly passing. "Alright, well, I think dinner’s ready. Shall we?"

He strode ahead, leading the way out of the study and toward the dining room, leaving you and Rafe a few steps behind. The moment he was out of earshot, you looked up at Rave, “You think we’re good?”

He smirked, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes, his tone all teasing. “Baby, I think he might build you a pedestal.” 

You couldn’t help but snort, trying to keep your voice down as you followed Ward. “Really? After that ‘self-made empire’ speech?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, giving you a knowing look. “Trust me, if you got through that and he didn’t start questioning your entire existence, you’re golden. The man sees himself in anyone who works hard enough to breathe without permission.”

You bit back a laugh, gripping his hand as you walked down the long hallway. “Yeah, I was getting that vibe.”

His grin grew wider, his thumb skimming over your knuckles. “And look, usually, it’s a full-blown interrogation by now. You’re good.”

You raised your eyebrows, slightly surprised. “Really?”

Rafe nodded. “Oh yeah. Sarah’s brought home guys before and it was... rough.” He shook his head, “He actually likes you. That’s rare.”

Maybe things with the Camerons were actually going to be okay.

[rafey-baby]

hidden 3

cw: outlaw!rafe being his usual self, hostage situation, mentions of murder, pogue!reader having some sexual awakenings & some backstory on rafe

wc: 2.3k

hope u enjoy xx

part 1 part 2

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

The following morning, her eyes groggily open in her own bed; covers tucked over her shoulders and head comfortably propped up by her pillow. She finds herself perplexed, doesn’t know how she ended up here since her last coherent memory from last night is sitting on the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck and letting her heavy lids close for what was originally supposed to be a few minutes.  

Her sock-clad feet pad over to the living room where Rafe is rummaging through some of his papers and whatnot; appearing as busy as ever.  

”Why don’t I remember coming home last night?” She stops to stand next to him. 

”Cause you sleep like a fucking rock. Had to carry you to your room,” he sounds disinterested, not even bothering to lift his head from the piece of paper he’s pinching between his fingers. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be some sort of a contract; letters unfortunately too tiny for her to be able to read from where she’s standing. 

“Oh. Thanks?”

Instead of leaving her passed out in his car like she would’ve assumed, he tucked her into bed? Maybe he owns a heart, after all.  

“It’s whatever,” he dismisses her while reading something over; seemingly deep in thought.  

“Do you— do you need help with that?” 

“Nah, I’m good,” his hand lifts up to scratch at the back of his head before he scribbles something down.

”Right…” she trails off, apparently rooted in her spot and unable to move.  

”Did you want something or what?” His tone is suddenly exasperated, eyes finally flickering up to peer into hers along with his brows raising expectantly.  

”No, I just…are we going somewhere today?” She can’t help but feel a little out of place in her own home with him there; almost as if she’s waiting for his next command to know what to do next. It makes something peculiar swim in the pits of her stomach.  

”Nah, just have to go over these. Can you, I don’t know, go to your room or something? You’re bothering me with your staring,” he grumbles and shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch; not sparing her another ounce of attention.  

”Okay,” she mumbles, a frown taking over her visage.  

Honestly, she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do now. Normally, she’d go to work at the surf shop near the beach but since Rafe so kindly took her phone and texted everyone in her contacts about a family emergency that would take some days to sort through, she can’t exactly do that. And besides work…well, she doesn’t really have much else going on in her life. It’s sad, really, how a literal criminal forcing his way into her house is the most exciting thing to happen to her in the past few years.  

All things considered though, she doesn’t mind living a quiet life in the Cut, just sometimes wishes she didn’t feel so…lonely. And don’t get her wrong, she has friends, she just sometimes yearns for something deeper than fun boat adventures or getting high with her feet dangling over the dock while a tangerine-colored sunset paints over the horizon.  

She’s always had this dream of traveling around the world or simply just somewhere that wasn’t the Outer Banks but her parents never had the money for it. Therefore, she settled and learned to earn a living by herself in order to keep a roof over her head.  

And she’s been content with her simple life, even considers herself to be happy but then she sat on Rafe’s lap and at the realization of him getting hard from her unconscious rubbing against him felt butterflies in her belly, maybe for the first time in her life. It was something she thought only happened in movies yet there they were; their fluttering wings poking at her core like some vicious reminder that she hadn’t let someone make her feel good in ages.  

Truth be told, she grew tired of guys not being able to make her come because they didn’t understand her needs; didn’t even bother to find them out which is why she sort of lost hope for the whole thing altogether. But then Rafe steps inside her home uninvited and is nothing but mean to her and suddenly she...

It's wrong.

It doesn't make any sense yet she still can't help but feel a certain pull towards him whenever he's close. And she doesn't like it one bit; wants to forget about it as quickly as the thought breaches her mind.

It's far too complex for her perplexed mind to grasp onto, which is why she confuses it for insanity; simply decides that she’s going crazy. And maybe she is, because why else would she suddenly care for Rafe? Why is a hidden part of her heart beginning to harbor gooey, fond feelings for a killer who’s technically holding her hostage? 

She’s sure her muddled brain is going to explode if she thinks about the matter any longer; instead opting to take a long, scalding shower due to the clothes she’s been wearing since yesterday starting to stick to her sweaty skin and making her feel even filthier than she already does. 

Unfortunately, the steaming water doesn't quite wash away the ache between her thighs.

She’s in the middle of pulling a shirt over the damp strands of her hair when harsh knuckles rap against her bedroom door and Rafe enters a second later; not even bothering to wait for a response.  

”Change of plans—” his words die down on his tongue when he notices her current state.  

”Rafe, what the fuck?” She quickly adjusts the hem over her waist, painfully aware of the fact that she’s not wearing any pants and his eyes are now fixed on the lace of her panties practically on show for him. 

”Why are you just barging into my room like that? I could’ve been naked!” She complains before snatching a pair of shorts off her floor; tugging them over her hips.  

”Shit, wouldn’t have minded if you were. Got a nice ass for a Pogue,” he shrugs while sporting an irritating smirk that makes her glare at him.  

”And you’ve got no manners for a Kook. Except, I’m not surprised,” she rolls her eyes when he feigns shock; exaggeratedly dropping his jaw.

”Puppy’s getting angry, huh? Where’s this attitude coming from? Thought you were still scared of me?” He belittles her with a condescending tinge in his laugh. 

And she’s about to respond when out of the blue the ring of her doorbell reverberates around the house.  

They both tense.  

“You’re expecting someone?” His tone turns bleak, frigid; inducing shivers to litter across her arms as her head turns towards the source of the sound.  

”N— no. I’m not,” she stutters because truthfully, she doesn’t have a clue as to who could be at her door in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday.  

”Did you fucking call someone?” He takes a threatening step towards her and she panics.   

”No! I promise, I didn’t. I don’t even— you literally have my phone, remember?” She tries to fruitlessly defend herself.  

”I swear, if you’re lying right now—”  

”I’m not, okay? I didn’t call anyone!” She reassures once more, although it seems like he’s not even listening anymore. Therefore, she tries to be logical. ”I should— I should go and see who it is, right?” 

The icebound water in his eyes bores into her as he weighs out his options. 

”Right, right. Yeah, you should do that," he finally settles on. "But if you even consider telling them anything, I swear I’m gonna fucking find you, you understand?” He grits out into her face and she flinches when she can feel his harsh breaths hit her mouth with each syllable.  

She quickly nods before teetering towards the entrance of her home and twisting the lock with precarious fingers.

Soon, she’s standing in front of two men wearing police uniforms. 

”Oh, sorry for the wait. Was um…in the bathroom. How can I— uh, help you?” She tries to appear unfazed; inhaling slowly and doing everything she can in order to not look as guilty as she feels. 

”We apologize for the inconvenience but we’ve been assigned to ask around the island in order to locate a criminal who’s potentially a threat to our entire community,” one of them says and she thinks his jaded eyes are peering into her soul and seeing right through her rickety facade. 

”Have you seen this man recently?” The other guy dangles a picture of Rafe in the air. She takes a moment to properly look at the photo as to not answer too quickly.  

“N— no, sorry. Can’t say I have. Why? Who is that?” She bats her lashes in confusion as her poor heart thuds in her ribcage. She wonders if they can hear it. 

”This is Rafe Cameron. You might’ve heard about Cameron Development? He became the owner after his father’s death a few years back. And now we have reason to believe that he’s the main suspect for the murder of a fellow officer,” he states with a serious expression. 

”Oh, that’s…that’s terrible,” her eyes widen in shock because she had no idea Rafe was a Cameron. Of course, she’d heard everyone talking about what had happened with Ward Cameron and the rumors surrounding the gold but she’d never cared enough to dig through for more information about the rest of his family.  

”Seems like the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree considering what Ward did to Sheriff Peterkin,” the one with the piercing stare snickers and her brows furrow because she doesn’t think the topic is all that hilarious.  

”I remember watching that in the news when it was all happening. Didn’t you guys also arrest an innocent Pogue with no actual proof?” Her question is sharp because the whole case still itches her in the wrong way. 

”That was— listen, I wasn’t even here back then, it was all very tragic. But the investigation on this case is still ongoing and we have a reliable witness claiming they saw Rafe dragging something heavy near the ocean the night before we found the body washed up on the shore. And according to multiple sources Rafe was the last person seen with our coworker at the island club a few hours prior to his death,” the guy explains and she momentarily wonders if they’re even allowed to share this much classified information with her.  

”Right. Well, I really wish I could help you but I unfortunately haven’t seen him,” her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek and she wonders if they can tell that she’s lying. 

“At this point, it seems like no one has. We’re suspecting that he might’ve fled the country. Anyway, we’ve got orders to search every house but honestly, we don’t think he’d be on this side of the island. So, we’re not gonna waste our time on that. Call this number if you notice anything out of the ordinary, though?”  

”Yes, of course. I really wish there was more I could do to help. Hope you guys find him soon,” she offers them a tight smile.  

”We’ll do our best,” they assure her before the door finally closes.  

Her back slides down against the wood as her labored breathing begins to slow down. She closes her eyes in a moment of relief until she feels Rafe’s presence interfering with her peace.  

”Who knew you were such a good liar? Shouldn’t believe everything you say too easily then, should I?” His gaze travels down her form and he genuinely seems impressed.  

”You killed a cop?” She decides to ignore his teasing. 

”Relax. He was a sleazy bastard who was helping me with some side business and became too greedy. What can I say? Don’t like being used. But believe me, he was not a good person,” he answers her question, maybe for the first time ever. 

”Right, right,” she tries her very best to understand where he’s coming from but she doesn’t think she’s ever going to be able to justify ending someone’s life with such indifference. In her opinion, he doesn’t have the right to decide whether someone gets to live or not; no matter how good or bad of a person they are. 

”Listen, I didn’t mean to do it, it just…happened, okay?” He tries to explain himself and he almost sounds vulnerable. She nearly feels bad for him.  

”You know, I could go to jail for helping you!” She snaps when frustration bubbles to the surface instead.  

”Calm down, Pup. You’re not going to jail, alright? And watch that fucking tone, yeah?” His hands rest on his head as he begins to pace around the hallway.  

”I just— cops don’t care about Pogues. If they find out I lied to them they’re gonna put me behind bars cause unlike you, I don’t have the money to bail myself out,” she tries to pointlessly reason with him.  

”Already told you, nothing’s gonna happen to you, okay? Now can you shut the fuck up so I can think?” He demands, halting his movements.  

”Did they, uh, tell you anything?” He speaks up again and she tells him everything she remembers from the brief conversation while he mulls over his situation. 

”Right, right. So, they don’t actually have any real proof about me killing the guy? Just speculation,” he confirms.  

”I guess, yeah? But I don’t know if they even know all the details about the case,” she offers in response and can practically hear the wheels turning in his head.  

”They didn’t happen to mention who the witness was?”  

”N— no, why?” Her voice wavers as she swallows around the question. 

He lifts his head to inspect her reaction when he seems to have finally conjured up some sort of a plan to clear his name.  

”Think I’m gonna have to pay him a little visit. And you’re gonna help, aren’t ya?”

She would very much like to find out whatever sin she committed in a past life that weighed so heavily that it made her end up in a position as wretched as this one.

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Believe in Me — jh86

summary: in which the summer following Jack’s rookie year is coming to an end. Not only did his rookie year come with being shafted by the league as the biggest bust, but he managed to get painted as the biggest (and newest) playboy of the league. His personal management team, the team’s management, and PR step in to clear this all up, but it takes work from Jack.

warnings/points of importance: use of y/n, fem!reader x jack, use of nicknames for female character and for Jack, fake dating trope, oblivious pining trope(?), childhood friends, minor usage of foul language, creation of side original characters for plot, time jumps, memories inserted - tumblr’s intention and italics used to notate, inner thoughts marked with ‘..’ and italicized if they occur

word count: 4.32

notes: any names used for original characters that relate to someone’s name or closely relate to a person’s name is purely by happenstance. The names were rolled by random from a generator where I inserted random first and last names.

© property of quinnylouhughesx43 ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

Y/n sat cross-legged on the worn wooden planks of the back porch swing, her eyes following the lazy dance of the sunset as it descended behind the distant tree line. Her childhood home had changed so little over the years, the same comforting embrace of familiarity wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a chilly evening. The porch swing squeaked in a soothing rhythm as both her and Jack slowly swung, a nostalgic tune that had serenaded countless summer nights spent sharing secrets and laughter with Jack. The only other kid who had been in her grade when she moved in, well really one of the only other neighborhood children. The other two children in the neighborhood were his brothers. All three of which had become as much a part of her life as the very foundation of the house she grew up in.

She had spent all day out with his family by the pool, her mother insisted he come to their house for dinner though. Nothing to offer course for their life, well a year ago it wouldn’t have been.

"Do you want to talk about your new headline?" Y/n tried to hold back the hint of amusement in her tone but failed miserably. Jack's rookie season had just come to an end before the beginning of summer. In just a few months he had gone from the talk of the league as the number one draft pick to talk of the league as a "bust."

He was nothing close to a bust. It was just how the year fell.

Jack leaned back in the swing, the sun's final strokes of light for the day painting his cheekbones. He sighed; a heavy exhale filled with the weight of the rumors that had been following him like a dark shadow. "It's just how it's going to be now. You know how it is with the media. They're desperate to find a new angle to keep me going." There were a few moments of silence shared between them before he found the words to continue. "First, it's all about my game, how I'm not scoring enough or I'm not this hotshot star that every analyst built me up to be. Season ends and it's about my supposed love life." His voice was a mix of annoyance and defeat. He was used to being the center of attention, truthfully he strived to be in the center of attention. He just wasn't used to it always being negative attention.

"To be it all, I have this video chat meeting with public relations, franchise management, and my management team about some idea they have come up with to help bring attention away from everything." Jack groaned. "We have three days left of the summer before we drive back to Jersey, I don't want to spend one of them in meetings."

Y/n nodded sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on his forearm and leaning herself over on him. "It's okay, bubs. Maybe it's nothing too serious." But she could tell from the furrow in his brow, the way his jaw clenched and the tension in his voice that he was already aware of what they had come up with. Or at least he had an idea. She didn't dare pry, they may be best friends, but Jack was clearly not ready to share his thoughts. "And... If it is serious I will be in Jersey this season to help you through it."

Jack gave her a grateful smile before standing up from the porch swing, stretching his arms out wide. "Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't worry about it tonight." He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, a gesture that was as commonplace as breathing between the two of them. "Thanks for the pep talk, toots." He said, using the childhood nickname that never failed to make her smile despite the circumstances. "I should head back down the street to my parent's place. It's getting late."

As he turned to leave, the rising moon cast a cool glow over the yard, highlighting the tall blades of grass that danced with the intermittent breeze. Y/n watched him go, her mind racing with the implications of what might happen at that during his meeting tomorrow. Would they really suggest something so ridiculous? And if they did, how would Jack handle it?

Jack's footsteps grew fainter until they were swallowed by the night. The house, once alive with the echoes of their laughter, now felt eerily quiet. Y/n remained seated out on the swing, her thoughts spiraling into a whirlwind of doubt and concern. She knew Jack was strong, capable of taking on any challenge thrown his way, but the thought of him being manipulated into some scheme to save the face of the Devils franchise made her sick. Then she thought, what if they didn't call a meeting to manipulate him into anything? What if it's simply to offer suggestions on what he can do differently going forward?

Y/n eventually shut that portion of her brain off and headed inside herself. A long hot shower and her bed was calling her name.

The next day Jack sat in his father's home office, the room smelling faintly of cologne and leather, waiting for the others to join the video call. The space was a testament to his father's success, filled with trophies and framed newspaper articles from his own days as a star player and coach. It was both inspiring and daunting, a constant reminder of the legacy he and his brothers were trying to live up to. The computer screen flickered to life, displaying a Zoom call with a row of faces, some familiar, some not. His management team, PR reps, and a couple of team officials stared back at him, all expectant and poised.

Jack leaned back in the chair, his casual attire feeling woefully inadequate among the suits and professional backgrounds of his callers. He had taken his mother's advice and dressed comfortably, but now he wished he had at least put on a button-up shirt. He glanced down at his New Jersey Devils t-shirt, the logo stretched slightly across his chest. It was a fan favorite, one that had been thrown at him in excitement by a young fan at a game. It felt like a piece of armor, a symbol of his pride and commitment to the team, but today it just made him feel like he was the kid, and he was playing dress-up in his dad's old gear.

The meeting began with a round of forced smiles and awkward greetings. The tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Y/n's words from the night before echoed in his mind, a comforting whisper amidst the storm of uncertainty. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for whoever their absurd suggestion be his girlfriend when they had conjured up the fake relationship idea to "fix" his image.

"Jack, before we start, do you remember the guidelines I told you for this relationship or should we go over them again with everyone here?" The voice was cold and calculated, belonging to one of the stern-faced PR reps. Her eyes bore into him through the screen, demanding his full attention.

Jack's stomach lurched. He had hoped they would just come right out with what was new, news. "I think everyone is aware of what we're trying to achieve here, but please go ahead," he said, trying to keep the sarcasm at bay.

The stern-faced public relations rep, Ms. Castellanos, nodded curtly. "Good. So, the first guideline is that you two must be seen together at least three times a week. This includes public appearances such as dates, her being seen attending your games, and even casual outings like grocery shopping or walking the dog. That is if you or her have one."

Jack's eyes widened slightly, glancing down at his half empty coffee mug. He didn't have a dog, but he still didn't know who this girl they paired him up with was. Plus, he didn't know if Y/n had picked up any new hobbies involving pets in her last year of college. It was never mentioned during their weekly calls or on visits. It would be important to know that since she’s going to be living with him.

"Jack, are you listening?" The voice brought him back to the present, the sternness of Ms. Castellanos' tone was unmistakable.

Jack swallowed down the anxiety that was bubbling up inside him and nodded in acknowledgement.

Ms. Castellanos continued, "Guideline two, and perhaps the most important one, is that the relationship must appear genuine. You must exhibit believable public affection and body language. This means holding hands, occasional kisses on the cheek, maybe a few on the lips if the situation calls for it. As for body language," the stone-cold lady stopped speaking, watching Jack carefully once more. "You're both young, attractive, and in the public eye. If you lean into each other, have your arms around each other's waist, or even occasionally rest your head on her shoulder, it'll look natural and convincing. The media will eat it up, and your image will be transformed from a lonely heartthrob to a lovestruck boyfriend in no time."

Jack felt his cheeks flush slightly, the thought of faking intimacy with someone he'd never met before was nerve-wracking, to say the least. He took another sip of his now lukewarm coffee, trying to imagine how awkward the first kiss would be. He had never been one for faking emotions, especially something as intimate as love.

Ms. Castellanos continued, her voice unforgiving. "Guideline four is critical. The relationship must end with your girlfriend, and I stress this, must be the one to initiate the breakup. It should be done publicly and dramatically enough to make headlines, but not so much that it causes a scandal." She paused, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in. "You cannot under any circumstances leave her. If it looks like you're the one who ended things, it'll only add fuel to the fire of your reputation. You need to be seen as the heartbroken party, the victim of a fickle heart. It'll humanize you, make you more relatable to the fans."

Jack felt his jaw clench at the coldness of the plan. He had agreed to a fake relationship to get the media off his back, but this was starting to feel like a script for a reality TV show gone wrong. "And what happens if we... I mean, if she gets tired of the whole thing?" He stumbled over his words, trying to maintain some semblance of respect for the stranger he was about to be romantically linked with.

"Ah, that's where guideline five comes into play," said Ms. Castellanos, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of her own cleverness. "We've prepared a non-disclosure agreement that she will be signing before the relationship begins. It's quite comprehensive and includes clauses for breaking it off in a controlled manner. She'll understand her role in this, Jack."

Jack's grip tightened around his coffee mug, the cheap porcelain feeling fragile under his thumb. "But who is she?" he repeated, his voice a little louder, a hint of frustration creeping in.

Ms. Castellanos' smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "Her name is Elena Petrov," she said smoothly. "A local influencer with a clean reputation. She's been briefed on the situation and has agreed to help. She's a fan of the team and understands the importance of this for your career."

"No." Jack huffed out. gaining the attention of everyone on the call. Just the same as Jack, everyone else barely stayed tuned into her annoying voice. "She is the reason I am in this shit hole. Her friend is the last girl I was with. Elena took all the pictures. Maggie? A little help here." Jack pleaded with the IT media girl that for some miraculous reason was sitting in on the call.

"Oh. Uhm, yes. It took me days to get the pictures she put up taken down. And Mr. Hughes, we were able to prove they were edited after looking closer at them," Maggie spoke up, her voice shaky, probably from fear of interrupting the woman that could potentially ruin their lives with a tweet.

Ms. Castellanos' eyes darted from Jack to Maggie and back again, her displeasure clear. "Jack, this is non-negotiable. This is what's best for your career right now. You need to be seen as more than just a party boy. The sooner you start this relationship with Elena, the sooner we can start repairing your image," she said, her voice like a whip cracking through the tension in the room.

Jack's manager, Mr. Taylor, cleared his throat before speaking up, his tone measured and calm. "Perhaps there's another option we haven't considered. What about Y/n?" he suggested, glancing at Jack, who looked up at him, hope flickering in his eyes.

Ms. Castellanos raised an eyebrow. "Your childhood friend?" She sounded skeptical, but the video stream grew quiet, all eyes on Jack.

Jack nodded, feeling the weight of the decision he was about to make. "Yeah, Y/n. We've been best friends since middle school. Everyone already thinks we're together. It'll be believable, and she's... she's not in the spotlight like Elena is. It'll keep things more low-key." He swallowed, hoping he wasn't about to ruin their friendship.

Ms. Castellanos leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. "Very well, Jack. We'll consider it. But you need to talk to her and make sure she's on board with this. The last thing we need is for her to spill the beans and ruin the whole charade."

Jack nodded, his heart racing. He knew Y/n would do anything for him but asking her to be his fake girlfriend was a big ask. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he was about to have. After the call ended, he let out a guttural groan due to frustration. He needed to go shoot some basketball or pucks before he talked Y/n, but he didn't have that time to waste. Instead of blowing off some of his stress he slipped on some shoes, kissed his momma goodbye, and headed out to the house he has visited time and time again.

The warm afternoon air was a major contrast to the coldness of the conversation he had just had. The streetlights flickered to life as Jack approached Y/n's house, the familiar path to her door as comforting as ever. He stopped in front of the door, the color of her door had changed since last summer, but the memories that lie behind it remained the same.

Jack took a deep breath before raising his hand to knock, the sound echoing through his head. Only thing on his mind was the conversation they were about to have. Jack flinched as he realized how hard and urgent he had beat on her mother’s front door. His heart thudded against his chest, partially with the anticipation of her reaction to the proposal and because of how quickly he had walked down the block. Jack took a deep breath in an urgent need to calm himself and appear as normal as possible before he was face to face with her.

Before he could finish his internal mantra of calming himself, the front door swung open in a rush. He was slightly hoping it would somehow be one of her relatives, but there she was, looking up at him with her soft, hopeful eyes. Her hair messily tossed into a messy bun atop her head and a sprinkle of fresh freckles danced across her nose from spending the day in the sun with his family yesterday. She was wearing the momentous hoodie that he had gifted her before leaving last summer. A hoodie that held a lot in its threads for the two of them. For her, it now held a lot of silent screams and wiped away tears from the last year, but it still held their joint memories.

‘It originally had become Jack’s superstitious hoodie for a while. The lucky hoodie he would wear all the way up to when he would change for warm ups, then she would wear it. This superstition developed during the years of world juniors. The year he brought home the Gold, the superstition shifted. Jack had a “girlfriend” that entire season and she wasn’t fond of the idea of Jack and Y/n swapping clothes like they did. The games with the development program were when she noticed this happening. She confronted Y/n about having a useless crush on her boyfriend and she would be taking over wearing his hoodie from then on. Jack didn’t take lightly to it, that was his best friend, his biggest non-family supporter. So, he decided y/n would wear the hoodie the entire time, from the time they all got dressed for the day to after the game. Now, it’s hers entirely, his decision since he couldn’t be here for her and live out his dream. He wanted her to have a piece of him, but if be a piece of them. Once again, it has become her comfort item as it has been back then.’

She fiddled with the stretched out sleeves hanging over left hand anxiously as her right hand was still grasping the door knob.

"How was your meeting?" The words fell from her lips so fast she hadn't taken a moment to invite him inside. Y/n had sat out on the porch swing all morning waiting to hear from him. Seeing him now ignited her anxiety and her need to know.

Jack let out a simple laugh at her eagerness to know. He softly touched her side, giving a slight nudge as if to signal her to walk backwards into the house.

The coolness of the air conditioning kissing his skin. "It was... interesting," he said, his voice a mix of relief and dread.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. She walked a few steps backwards with his guidance to allow him in, the old floorboards creaking under their weight. "Interesting as in good or interesting bad?"

Jack shrugged, his smile wavering as he let go of her and made his way into the living room. The same room where they had spent hours playing video games, watching movies, doing homework.

—Could he ask her to do this? What if it blows up in their faces and ruins everything. What if he ruins her? He’d never be able to live with himself for hurting her.

The couch looked inviting, but he knew better than to sit down without spilling his guts. "Well, it’s one of those ‘depends on how you take it’ interesting type situations..." he trailed off, his eyes wandering around the room.

Y/n looked at him, her eyebrows rising in a questioning manner. Her eyes were filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. She could read the hesitancy written all across him. Starting with wanting to open up about his meeting. Which is something he's never had an issue with, at least with her, to not wanting to sit down. Almost as if, if he got too comfortable he would tell too much.

Taking a hold of his hand, rubbing her thumb over his palm she leaned her head on his upper arm. A common gesture between them. “Jackers?” She whispered so softly, he nearly missed it. He hummed in response coming out from where he drifted off too. She took a hold of his hand and softly pulled him down to take a seat on the couch with her.

“Jackers, just tell me. Did they come up with something ridiculous?"

Jack let out a small laugh , the sound hollow and forced. "Ridiculous doesn't even begin to cover it," he whined, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "They want me to start a fake relationship with someone who I know is not going to help me. Then my manager suggested someone who would be great and I was for it because we already know each other but.." He took a deep breath, bracing himself for her reaction.

Y/n let go of his hand, in an unnatural reaction as they have been platonically physical since high school, "A fake relationship?" she echoed that one snippet. “With.. With who? Since I’ll be living with you I should be prepared for a new girl even if she is a fake girlfriend.”

Jack took a deep breath and looked up at her, his eyes filled with a desperation she had never seen before. "Toots, I really don't know what to do about this. PR decided on Elena Petrov. B—”

“You mean the friend of the bitch who started this mess? No I’m sorry the two who started this mess? You’re going to pounce around all lovey with the girl who put you here?!” Y/n’s chest heaved up and down heavily. She watched Jack’s face twist in annoyance then soften.

“If you had let me finish… I flat out said no. I will not and am not going to do this plan with her. When I told everyone on the call right then that I wouldn’t, my manager suggested someone else. But I don’t know if they’ll do it. They seem pretty disappointed in me…” Jack kept his voice even and didn’t raise it. He knew how you felt about being yelled at and he couldn’t be the one to cause a panic attack because he got a little upset.

“Well, who did they suggest? Maybe I can help. As long as it’s not Elena..”

“They suggested you. They asked me if I thought you would do it or if I would like you to do it with me. But if you're upset or disappointed, I'll tell them no right now," Jack explained, his voice a low rumble of uncertainty. He started fishing his phone out of his pocket in case he had to call his manager.

Y/n felt her throat tighten as a knot formed, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She had always been there for Jack, and he for her, but this was something entirely different. This was a line they hadn’t truly crossed, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to pretend to cross it again. "Jack, I..." she murmured looking down at her hands in her lap, her voice trembling slightly. "Yes, I'll do it."

Jack's head snapped to look at her, his eyes failing to meet hers as she’s staring down, though a spark of hope igniting within him still. "You will?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and relief.

Y/n nodded, her throat tight with unspoken emotions. "Yeah, I'll do it," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "For you, I'll do it."

Jack's shoulders slumped with relief. He reached out to lift her head hesitantly so that he could meet her eyes with his. His eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly. "You don't have to if you don't want to, management can figure it out.”

Y/n forced a smile and nodding her head yes, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and dread. The thrill of being able to go and do things with Jack was nice, but the dread of being scrutinized by females she didn’t know was already gnawing at her. "Besides, it's only for a couple of months, right?"

Jack's smile didn't part to show his teeth, it stayed tight lipped, evident he wasn't as enthused as his tone of voice was letting on. "Yup! Just for a couple of months."

"Okay, we can totally pull this off. It will be like playing pretend, remember?" She nudged him with her elbow, trying to lighten the mood with a memory from their childhood. More so for herself than him.

"You mean like when we got married under that old oak tree at my grandparents' house in the summer between sixth and seventh grade?" Jack nudged her back.

"Yup when you only agreed to get pretend married so you could get your first kiss."

She let a little giggle slip out as she reminisced on the memory of her and Jack as kids under the oak tree.

A young Jack with his signature smirk standing at the ‘altar’ with the “preacher Luke”. Jack didn’t wait for Luke to do his part of the pretend wedding he skipped straight to the kiss. ‘Couldn’t wait tootsie I was just wanting my 1st’

"If I remember correctly that was your first kiss too, and you asked for another one because of the ‘belly flies’." Jack teased her enjoying seeing her cheeky smile and blush creeping up on to her cheeks.

Y/n’s laughter echoed loudly through the room. "Jack Hughes, you are such a jerk!" She said playfully, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Jack laughed echoing her laughter. "So, do we have an agreement? You'll be okay with fake dating me, even though we never got fake divorced?"

Y/n shook her head yes once again, while rolling her eyes at the boy next to her. “Yes, Jackers. Even though you never fake divorced me, I will fake date you.”

If she only knew that Jack was silently and brutally beating himself up for this. They were in for a roller coaster of chaos and changes.

Now that he had secured one portion of the agreement, he has footwork left in figuring out how to get out of the hoops and twists. Like how to get out of that very public break up after a few months into dating. He wasn’t going to make her out to be some bitch she’s not.

And if Jack has it his way, they won’t be breaking up and it won’t be a “fake” relationship for long either.

Because Jack Hughes is hopelessly in love with his best friend. If he has any luck, besides puck luck, she loves him too.

notes 2.0: hello! welcome to my newest mini series, believe in me i hope you enjoyed the first part of the series. i am always open to kindly put creative criticism. i truly appreciate all of the continued support by reading, liking, & reblogging! thank you thank you!

[pitviperofdoom]

High School Time Travelers, Part 2

It's finally here! Follow up to this story.

***

“So. Spill. What the fuck is going on with you and Angelique?”

Raph fidgeted uncomfortably, and something within Erin roared out in protest at that. They were in her room, surrounded by her clutter and band posters and the stuff he kept at her house to keep his mom from throwing it away. He wasn’t supposed to be uncomfortable here.

Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I time-traveled last night.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” he said wearily. “I woke up in a house I haven’t set foot in for years, across the hall from someone I promised myself I’d never talk to again. It happened, and if you’re stuck on that part then this conversation can’t continue.”

Erin got up and paced her room, kicking aside her backpack, nearly knocking over the guitar stand in the corner. “What the fuck.”

“That’s what I said.”

“What the fuck, Raph.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

The absurdity hit her instantly—he didn’t mean to time travel, as if they were talking about him forgetting his homework or getting in Monica Dillon’s way during passing period. She wanted to laugh.

But then she remembered some of the weird things Angelique had said—about friendships imploding, about college, about shit not mattering in high school, all with the easy certainty of experience.

“Prove it,” she said. “Can you do that thing where you predict what I’m about to say?”

“I’m not stuck in a time loop, dumbass, yesterday I was thirty-three!” Raph snapped. “I had to go through math class trying to pretend I still remembered my teacher’s name!”

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Erin held up her hands placatingly. “There’s gotta be something.”

Raph sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I dunno. Anything meaningful and unchangeable I can remember won’t happen for a while, so if you’re willing to wait for the Trump presidency or the global pandemic, there’s that.”

“The what.”

“Wait, who’s president right now? It’s still Bush, right?”

Erin pulled a face.

“Next one’s Barack Obama, he’s gonna do two terms,” Raph informed her. “First black president.”

“Oh, huh. Cool,” Erin said faintly.

“Let’s see, what else, um… Balloon Boy? Has Balloon Boy happened yet?”

“No, what the fuck is Balloon Boy?”

Raph brightened. “Yeah, so at some point this family is gonna release like, a homemade weather balloon? Or something? And there’s gonna be this huge panic because they think their son is stuck inside it, but then it turns out he was fine and hiding in the basement the whole time and it was a hoax.”

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for that I guess?” Erin sat down again. “You’re seriously not fucking with me right now?”

“I mean, if you want, we could forget this conversation ever happened,” Raph offered. “Continue with our normal lives, while I keep under-reacting to devastating world events.”

“Christ, I don’t know.” Erin pressed her palms into her eyes. After a moment, she lifted her head again. “Wait a minute, we’re getting off track. What does this have to do with Angelique?”

Raph’s silence could not have been louder.

“Raph,” Erin said, a little desperately.

“First you have to promise you won’t be mad,” said Raph.

“Did you sleep with her in the—” Erin paused to do some arithmetic in her head. “—eighteen years between then and now?!”

“She’s my wife,” Raph blurted out.

Moments later, Erin’s mother knocked politely on the bedroom door. “Everything okay in there?” she asked. “That’s an awful lot of screaming for a Tuesday night.”

Erin continued howling into her pillow. “She’s fine, Mrs. Yokota!” Raph called. “We’re looking at—uh—creepypastas!”

“Creepy what?”

“Uh—crap, are they still called that?—like, ghost stories and stuff!”

Placated, she left them to it. Eventually Erin recovered enough to lie back and stare listlessly at the ceiling.

“Dude.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What the fuck is your life?” Erin demanded. “How did that even happen?”

“We ran into each other at—so my friend Hazel got roped into being in their college roommate’s bridal party and dragged me along for moral support, and Angelique was in the same friend group but with like six degrees of separation from us,” Raph explained. “It took half the reception for her to recognize me because at that point I’d been on T for a few years, but the second she realized we went to the same high school she turned fishbelly-white, pulled me aside, and apologized for how much of a bitch she was back then. It was really awkward.”

Back then, he called it, even though for Erin it was still right now. “And you married her?”

“Like eight years later, yeah.” Raph ran his hand through his hair, not quite hiding the small smile that stole over his face. “She really turned over a new leaf.”

Erin was silent for a while, mulling over this new information, combining it with what she already had from that afternoon.

“Is your name still Raphael?” she asked. “She sounded really surprised about it. And I know you said you were just taking the name on a trial run, but you really seemed to like it. Not that there’s—you know,” she added. “I know that—just because I picked it, I knew you might not… you know. It’s fine, I was just wondering. If I should call you something else.”

“I did—I do like it,” Raph assured her. “But, uh, some stuff happened. My dad found me.”

Erin’s eyebrows shot upward. “Wait, really? What’d he have to say for himself?”

“That Mom ghosted him when she got pregnant because her side guy had more money.”

“Dude, fuck your mom.”

“Don’t fuck my mom, she’ll ghost you for money, weren’t you listening?”

Erin burst out snickering. “Fuck, sorry, this isn’t funny.”

“It will be in eighteen years,” Raph said with a wry smile. “Hindsight. Anyway, he found me in—he’s gonna find me in two years unless I reach out first. He’s a good guy. My stepmom’s pretty cool, too. And I have sisters? So that’s awesome. And yeah, he had this friend who passed away when he was younger, and he always wanted to name his son after him, but then Mom disappeared and he only ended up having daughters, so when he found me, it kind of worked out.” He hesitated. “I’m Damian. Damian Raphael Harker.”

“That’s such a cool name,” Erin sighed.

Raph—Damian—tilted his head back to grin at her. “Yours is cool, too.”

“Shut up,” she said fondly.

“No, seriously,” he said emphatically. “Your name is unspeakably cool.”

There was something odd in his tone, sticking up and catching like a loose nail. It bothered her, the same way something Angelique said earlier had bothered her.

“Hey, Ra—Damian?” Erin said cautiously. “Earlier, when Angelique sat down with us, she didn’t recognize me.”

“She does, don’t worry.”

“No, she didn’t,” Erin pressed. “It took her a second to realize who I was, and she stopped herself from saying why.”

Suddenly Damian looked deeply uncomfortable. “I, uh.”

She took a deep breath. “Was I dead in your time?”

“Wh-no! No no no no, of course not!” Damian looked horrified. “We played Pathfinder like last week, you’re not dead.”

“What’s Path—no, never mind. Something’s clearly up. If we just played whatever-that-is last week, and Angelique is your wife, then why didn’t she know who I was?”

“Uh…” Damian’s hands had worked their way deep into his sleeves. “You look different, that’s all. You kind of reinvented yourself in college.”

“Oh,” Erin said, momentarily relieved. Then— “Wait.”

“What?’

“Damian. You’d—” She hesitated. “If I was a guy, you’d tell me, right?’

“Oh my God,” Damian mumbled into his be-sweatered hands.

“Damian.”

“You’re... not...”

“You’d tell me, right?”

“See, I don’t know if I would!” Damian answered, in a strained high-pitched tone. “That’s—look. If you were a guy, that’s something you’d have to work out for yourself!”

“Damian, I swear to God.”

“I can’t crack your egg for you, that’s like violating the Prime Directive!”

Erin seized a pillow and started to buffet him with it. “You are such a nerd!”

“It’s your personal journey, you can’t use me to cheat!” Damian cackled, fending her off with a plush horse.

***

“Yeah I’ll get the banana split.” Angie bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes raking over the array of toppings. “Can you put caramel and chocolate sauce on it? And Heath bar pieces, chopped strawberries, and M&Ms.”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

It took all of her self-control not to press her nose against the glass as she watched them make it. Some small part of her balked at the sight of three huge scoops of ice cream and all the toppings, but she quieted it. She had a second shot at being a teenager, and that meant never taking her garbage disposal stomach and body made of rubber bands for granted ever again.

She hummed absently to herself, only to pause halfway through the tune. How did it go again? She tried repeating the first half, only to get stuck at the same spot. Oh, this was going to bug the crap out of her. It wasn’t like she could look it up, not when the song wouldn’t come out for almost ten years—

Her phone vibrated in her purse, and she checked it absentmindedly, zeroing in for a moment on the DAD displayed on the screen. After a moment, she put it back without answering. If it was that important, he could text.

Sure enough, her phone gave a short buzz. New text message—he hadn’t even bothered to leave a voicemail.

DADI need you to talk to your brother.

Angie checked her banana split’s progress with a glance, and replied.

lol why

DADHe’s not listening to me. We both know the courts favor the mother so if we’re going to beat her I need both of you on your A game.

Angie ground her teeth until her jaw creaked.

what do you need me to do

DADJust coach him on how to talk about her. You’re a smart lady, I know you can do it. He’s always getting scuffed up at practice, just have him say the bruises came from her. Throw in a drinking problem if you have to, just keep your stories straight.

why father dearest i’m surprised at youyou want me to lie under oath?

DADJust talk to him, will you? Keep your stories straight, don’t get too outlandish, and we’ll get out of this with everything we want. You’ll never have to hear the word no again, I promise.

ok daddy ill do my best!

DADGood girl. You’re the smartest girl I know. Smarter than your mom, smarter than her bitch lawyer. Love you!

“Order up!”

Angie brought her banana split to the table with the clearest view of the door. It took her a moment to decide how to begin, then nearly a full minute balancing equal parts ice cream, banana, and toppings in a single spoonful. She managed it in the end.

Mood lifted, she unlocked her phone again and made a call. “Heeeey, Anika.”

“Need I remind you that phone calls are billable,” her mother’s lawyer said dryly.

“Yeah, I’ll be quick, I have some incriminating text messages I think you’ll be interested in?”

The sound of rustling papers paused. “Go on…?”

“Dad just told me to lie to the judge,” Angie explained, twirling a thin ribbon of caramel around her spoon. “And to coach Eric to lie to the judge. I took screenshots.”

Anika cursed softly under her breath. “Thank you for telling me. Send them to your mom, okay? Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

The bell above the ice cream parlor door jingled, and Angie perked up as both Damian (Raph?) and Erin walked in. She waved them over, grinning when both pairs of eyes widened at her treat.

“That thing’s half the size of your head,” Erin pointed out.

“Sure is, you guys came just in time.” Angie nudged it across the table, along with the two extra spoons. “If we split it, I’ll have enough room for a milkshake chaser.”

“You’re a monster,” Damian said delightedly. “Oh shit, are those Heath bars?” He dug in without waiting for an answer.

“They’re peanut butter cups,” she said solemnly, once he’d taken a bite and could probably tell they weren’t. “I added them just to hurt you.” Damian rolled his eyes and dug his spoon back in.

Erin stared at her, probably still baffled by the gentle banter, but at least she looked more curious than infuriated, like instead of being suspicious she simply didn’t know what to make of Angie.

“So, you guys talked?” Angie asked carefully. “Are we… all good?”

“I think so,” Damian replied, shooting a cautious glance at Erin.

“You’re on thin ice,” Erin informed her as she helped herself to the chocolate scoop.

“Fair.” Angie didn’t remember Erin putting up quite as much of a fight, but then, it had been years when they’d reconnected before. This time around, it was still fresh.

“The ice cream helps,” Erin added, slightly muffled by the spoon in her mouth.

“Noted.” Angie paused, weighed her options, and shrugged. No harm no foul, probably. “Hey, you’re a musician, right?”

Erin swallowed. “Yeah, why?”

“And not just a performer, but you write music too, right?”

“Yeeaaah?” Erin squinted suspiciously. Beside her, Damian shot Angie a warning glare.

“If I give you half a tune, could you resolve it?”

Erin was staring at her like she’d grown a second head. “Probably.”

“Great!” Angie hummed the earworm from earlier. “How would the next part go?”

Erin repeated it to herself, nodding along. After a moment, she said, “Probably like—”

And sure enough, there it was. The rest of the chorus’s tune came rushing back to Angie’s memory, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thanks! That was driving me nuts.” Angie returned to her banana split, ignoring Damian’s growing scowl.

Later, when Erin was in the bathroom and  Angelique was standing in line to order her promised milkshake, Damian dug his elbow into her side. “You’re not as slick as you think you are,” he muttered.

“What?” Angie said innocently. “I didn’t give anything away.”

“You just taught her half the chorus of a song she’s eight years away from writing!”

“I’ve planted a seed,” Angie insisted. “I’ve created a stable time loop.”

“That is not what you did and you know it.” Damian pursed his lips, clearly trying to stay annoyed with her. “I barely avoided spoiling her transition, and that’s after she asked me to my face.”

Angie grinned. “So you haven’t told her she’s a genderfluid punk rocker yet?”

“No. Because she’s not a genderfluid punk rocker yet.”

“And now, when she becomes one,” Angie said with a smile, “she’s going to look back on this day and laugh.”

[unabashegirl]

The Cover — sneak peak

Y/N and Harry, lifelong best friends, pretend to be a couple for a family wedding weekend in Edinburgh. As they navigate the event, old feelings resurface, and what starts as an act turns into something real, leading them to confront their true emotions for one another.

Author's note: hello, the cover has already been posted on Patreon, but I wanted to give you a sneak peak to it. Just in case you want to give it a read on my Patreon. It's a four part story. The final part will get posted tonight.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots and much more :)

masterlist

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Harry sat next to Y/N, his body half-turned toward her as he read a book, legs tucked beneath him like a cat seeking comfort. There was a distinct softness about him when he was in his own space, away from the flashing cameras and curious eyes of the public. His hair, dark and messy, tumbled over his forehead, catching in the dim light, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual confident and polished public persona.

He wore a simple white t-shirt, the fabric clinging loosely to his lean frame. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but his posture, slightly hunched as he leaned into his book, gave off an air of vulnerability. His long fingers traced the edges of the pages absentmindedly, and now and then, his green eyes flicked up from the book, studying Y/N with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was aware of the unspoken understanding that lay between them.

Harry had always been attentive, almost in a way that felt second nature, as though he knew more about her moods than she did. There was something undeniably magnetic about him—his laugh was a little softer here, his voice a touch lower. His fame could never overshadow the gentle heart he showed her when they were alone.

Y/N’s eyes hovered over the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred together, the meaning lost as her mind wandered to the man sitting beside her. She was supposed to be reading a novel on leadership—something meant to inspire her as she navigated her demanding corporate job—but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. It was ironic, really. The book talked about control and decisiveness, yet here she was, lost in the one thing she couldn’t control: her feelings for Harry.

She had always found him attractive. No—more than attractive. Beautiful in the kind of way that felt effortless. His messy hair, the way his lips quirked into a half-smile, those green eyes that seemed to see straight through her… It all added up to someone she could never quite believe was real. He’d always been larger than life to her, even before the fame. Back when they were younger, when they were just two young adults with dreams and no idea where life would take them.

But then, his life had soared into stardom, and hers had stayed grounded in the corporate world. He became Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—and she remained his best friend, hidden away from the glamour of his world. She had watched as women swooned over him, throwing themselves at his feet, and she had silently swallowed her feelings. She knew she could never compete. He was out of her league, in every possible way.

And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.

That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.

As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”

Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.

He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”

“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.

She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”

Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”

Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.

Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.

But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.

Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.

“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.

For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.

Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.

“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”

Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”

He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?

“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure...

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Fire on the Mountain - Chapter One

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Canon typical death and mild angst. Word count: ~8.4k

Chapter summary: Lia suffers bitter disappointment at the king's tourney, and finds herself uncertain of her future in the wake of an unexpected shift in dynamic.

Series masterlist

Author's note: Header by @vampire-exgirlfriend who also beta read this for me - this story would be nothing without you. Thank you for the care and attention you have put in both myself and my writing. I love you.

The wheels of the carriage squeaked and rattled over the bumpy roads of King’s Landing, accompanied by the thumping of the horses’ hooves that pulled them towards their destination. Lia shifted uncomfortably, repositioning against the plush cushions that she sat upon. It was not the instability of their short journey towards the Dragonpit that irked her, however.

Click. Click. Click.

She cast her gaze down towards Alicent’s fingers, the sound of her nails moving against her skin was audible even over the din of the wheelhouse. The flesh was red, raw and bloodied, and Lia had to force herself to suppress the way her lips attempted to curl in disgust, instead leaning forward to place her own hand over top of Alicent’s, squeezing gently, a comforting gesture that halted her friend’s nervous habit.

Alicent smiled softly at her, but Lia could tell from the way she lowered her eyes that she was embarrassed at having been caught outwardly expressing her anxiety. Lia could not help but pity her, she had plenty to feel worried about herself, but had never allowed it to manifest itself in such an unseemly manner.  House Costayne was sworn to the Hightowers, and so it was no question that Lia, youngest daughter of Lord Owen Costyane, would serve as a companion to Lady Alicent, the young daughter of the Hand of the King. Whisked away from the Whispering Sound at the age of six, the two years in Oldtown had been extraordinary—the largest port in the Reach, full of bustling excitement and things to see, all temptations to a precocious and formerly sheltered little girl. When King Viserys took the throne, Lord Otto called his daughter to the capital to be a companion to the young princess and of course, Lia joined as part of Alicent's household.

At the age of fourteen, she had spent more of her life away from her family than with them. They were leagues away, and the memory of the castle in which she was born was but a distant memory. The silver chalice and black rose that adorned the Costayne House sigil felt more tangible to her than the faces of either her mother or father.

She could not pretend that she had suffered in their absence though; she had had every luxury she could ever desire at her disposal, and though her family were far away, at least they still lived. Alicent had suffered through the loss of her mother, and had to keep her composure through all of it. The royal court was no place for the weeping and wailing of a young girl. Lia supposed that if she had been forced to endure that, then she would likely have taken to picking her nails bloody too.

The death of Alyrie Florent had brought Lia and Alicent closer together, and with it their shared bond with Princess Rhaenyra had blossomed too. Lia helped to bring Alicent out of her shell, allowing her an outlet for behaviours that were otherwise considered unseemly for a young lady at court; they gossiped, laughed loudly, and did so with the unspoken bond of secrecy that runs like an invisible thread through the fabric of friendship. Alicent had a calming influence on both Lia and Rhaenyra, serving as the voice of reason that helped to keep them out of trouble–most of the time. Oftentimes, it would take but a look from Alicent for both girls to know they had gone too far, a trait she had doubtless inherited from her father. It had taken just a simple widening of those big brown eyes to halt Lia and Rhaenyra’s ascent up through the branches of the Heart Tree in the Godswood; a foolish attempt to gain a vantage point in order to spy through the higher windows of the Red Keep, that would likely have resulted in broken limbs. Rhaenyra shared Alicent’s knowledge of propriety, though not her love of it, and the wild, adventurous side of her played well with Lia’s, her status as The Realm’s Delight allowing them a margin more leniency than most would be afforded. 

The three girls were inseparable, yet in the unwavering foundations of their bond, Lia had never felt more uncertain about her own future. Otto clearly had plans for Alicent, and Rhaenyra’s comfort was secured in her position as the King’s daughter, however, no such fate awaited Lia. She was every bit the spare part, aware of the fact that her destiny is one she will have to build on her own. As such, she delights in being Otto’s confidant, sharing news of the movements of Rhaenyra and Alicent in exchange for his favour. It had begun innocently enough, a fatherly figure taking an interest where the patriarch of her own family was unable to. She had taken pride in recounting her lessons to him, beaming up at him with girlish exuberance as he had listened carefully, amusement glittering in his eyes. It had never occurred to her that he had any ulterior motive, and so the unspoken vow of secrecy she afforded Alicent slipped in front of her father, allowing him to be privy to the gossip they indulged in and the adventures that they embarked upon with Rhaenyra within the walls of the Red Keep. As Lia had grown older, she had started to suspect that Otto’s questions served a deeper purpose than simple interest, however, it did not deter her; acting as a confidant to the King’s Hand would not be without its advantages. She hoped that when the time was right, the loyalty of both her and her family would not be forgotten.

The wheelhouse pulled to a shuddering stop just outside of the Dragonpit, and Lia moved to push the door open, stopping as they were plunged into sudden darkness. A forceful gust of air shook the carriage. They had arrived just in time for Rhaenyra’s return on Syrax. Lia and Alicent hovered apprehensively by the door, waiting until they heard their friend’s dragon thump heavily against the earth, before tentatively peeking out. Lia was brave enough to descend the small set of wooden steps to the ground below, while Alicent opted to remain in the safety of the wheelhouse, standing in its doorway.

She could not help but feel envious of Rhaenyra, watching as she slid gracefully from the back of her golden dragon, pulling her riding gloves off with her teeth, staring up at the great beast in admiration as it was coaxed back to the pit by the dragon keepers. Lia longed for the sense of adventure and freedom that the princess experienced high above the clouds of King’s Landing, the walls of the Red Keep felt as much a cage as they were an extravagance at times.

Though as Rhaenyra drew closer, the sulfurous stench of dragon radiating from her leathers, Lia wrinkled her nose in repulsion, deciding that if she were to experience freedom then she certainly had no desire for it to be atop the back of a dragon.

“Syrax is growing quickly,” Alicent commented, nodding towards the dragon’s retreating form. “She will soon be as large as Caraxes.”

“That’s almost large enough to saddle two,” Rhaenyra replied with a grin.

“I believe I am quite content as a spectator, thank you,” Alicent quipped, the gentle smile reserved only for Rhaenyra spreading across her mouth.

“And you?” Rhaenyra regarded Lia with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I prefer to keep both my feet firmly on the ground, I am afraid.”

Rhaenyra tutted. “Cowards, both of you,” she jested, stomping up the carriage steps.

The three of them huddled together on the same seat on the way back to the castle, talking excitedly about which knights they expected to be in attendance for the tourney being hosted by King Viserys in honour of the impending birth of Queen Aemma’s second child.

Their laughter carried through the Keep’s corridors as the three of them walked back towards Rhaenyra’s chambers, linked arm in arm, Rhaenyra sandwiched between Alicent and Lia.

While Alicent and Lia reclined comfortably on couches, nibbling on candied lemon slices, Rhaenyra went to change out of her riding gear. The two exchanged a surprised glance as she reappeared in a yellow gown, much too quickly to have bathed. Lia could not imagine being allowed to conduct herself at court smelling quite so pungent; it was a privilege only afforded to royalty. Her and Alicent had to always present themselves as clean and well groomed, a necessity that Lia did not mind at all. She was well aware of her own beauty, and took a level of care with her appearance that bordered upon outright vanity. She would never dream of being seen outside of her chambers without her long, dark curls having been meticulously brushed and styled. Whereas Rhaenyra, Lia often thought, could have been mistaken for one of the scullery maids were it not for the finery she dressed it. She was lucky she was pretty.

Rhaenyra swept into the Queen’s apartments, leaving her friends to stand awkwardly in the doorway, looking in on the queen and her ladies. They both greeted Aemma courteously, and she responded with a polite hello and a strained smile. 

A sense of unease crept over Lia’s flesh at the sight of Aemma, fanning herself as she lay on the settee by the open balcony windows. She looked more uncomfortable every time she saw her. It was not a state she wished for herself, though it was an inevitability. Such was the role of a woman, though Lia hoped her fate would be one more fortunate; she was all too aware of the fruitless pregnancies that Aemma had endured prior to this one.

“Take a bath, you stink of dragon,” Aemma gently scolded her daughter.

Lia bowed her head, concealing the way her lips curved upwards in amusement, suddenly pretending that the golden stitching of her ivory coloured gown was the most interesting thing in the world. She kept her blue eyes fixed upon the cuff of her sleeve, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the delicate golden rings upon the fingers of her left hand. At last, someone was saying it aloud. A statement only a queen could get away with saying to a princess.

Rhaenyra ignored her mother, settling beside her. “Did you sleep?”

“I slept.”

The princess huffed. “How long?”

“I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”

“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.”

“You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.” The queen’s voice was tired, though of the pregnancy or of this oft repeated conversation, Lia could not tell.

“I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

“We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”

Lia lost herself in her thoughts as Rhaenyra conversed with her mother, continuing to twist the rings upon her fingers and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, as her mind conjured scenarios she would prefer not to dwell upon. She wished for a secure position in life, but did not want to be confined to the birthing bed. She longed for power, to have authority, over herself, surely, and perhaps over others, yet did not share the princess’ desire to fight in battle. Her days of climbing trees and skinned knees were well behind her.

She was roused from her thoughts as Rhaenyra hurried past her.

“Where are you going?” Alicent called after her.

“I am late!” She replied over her shoulder, running in the direction of the Small Council chamber.

Lia propped herself up on her elbow, lying on her side as she watched Alicent carefully stitch delicate powder blue flowers into the fabric suspended within her embroidery hoop. Her own lay discarded beside her, she had given up when the thread had become knotted, in no mood to attempt to fix it.

“Alicent…” she began slowly, “do you ever think about why your father wanted to bring you to King’s Landing?”

Alicent kept her eyes upon her needlepoint, her tone matter of fact as she continued her work. “To instruct me in what is expected of a highborn lady.”

Lia huffed, leaning across and tugging Alicent’s sleeve to get her full attention. “Yes, but why?”

The other girl sighed, lowering her embroidery hoop into her lap and fixing Lia with an exasperated stare. “To give me the best possible opportunities in life, so that an appropriate match may be made for me.”

“And that is enough for you, is it? To simply be married off to a man who is not of your choosing?”

She lowered her gaze, her voice soft. “My mother did not choose my father, and yet they were very happy.”

“But is that what you want?”

“What is it that you are trying to get at?”

Lia hummed, flopping down onto her back against the plush rug that they sat upon in the solar, clasping her hands across her front as she stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “I am unsure of my own purpose, what it is that I want.”

Alicent nodded in understanding. “Well, there will be plenty of eligible knights at the upcoming tourney. Gwayne is going to be there,; he is competing in the jousting.”

She scoffed, recalling the gangly boy of ten, a mop of hair the colour of rust, that they had left behind in Oldtown all those years ago. “Ah, yes, how fares your older brother?” she asked, turning her head to the side to look at her friend.

“He is a knight now,” Alicent said proudly, “and quite handsome too.”

“Handsome?! How would you know?”

“He tells me so in his letters.”

The pair burst into peals of laughter, stopping abruptly as Otto stalked into the room, casting a disapproving glance at both of them. “Do the pair of you not have lessons to attend this afternoon?”

“We were waiting for Rhaenyra, so that we might all go together,” Alicent said apologetically, scrambling to her feet and smoothing the skirts of her dress down.

Lia rolled her eyes, knowing their fun was over, and rose to her feet too, running her fingers through her dark curls, rumpled from having laid upon the floor.

“Well, the Small Council has concluded its business for the day, and with it Rhaenyra’s duties as cupbearer, so run along. Do not keep your septa waiting.”

“Yes, Father,” Alicent said quietly, making her way out of the solar. The skirts of her pale blue gown swished behind her, the cascade of her auburn hair down back appearing as Autumnal leaves against a cloudless sky.

Lia readied to follow suit when Otto reached out, gently grasping her forearm and halting her movements. “I trust you are behaving yourselves?”

“Always,” she said with a saccharine smile, moving to pull away from him.

He tightened his grasp, and Lia lifted her eyes to meet The Hand’s, his gaze steely and unblinking, apparently unaffected by the mischief that glittered within her own. “The Princess is…spirited. Do not allow her to lead you or Alicent astray.”

She slipped away from him, pausing once in the corridor to look back over her shoulder at him. “You have raised a well mannered young woman, Ser Otto. She will heed your wishes, though I cannot say the same for myself.”

Lia did not know why, but she had always enjoyed testing how far she could push Otto Hightower. He seemed to have more patience for her misdeeds than that of Alicent’s, and there was a certain thrill to watching his features pinch into annoyance. Perhaps it was because she allowed him to be privy to the secrets of her and her two friends, and he did not wish to sever that connection with too harsh a scolding for misbehaviour. She still remembered when he had taken it upon himself to instruct her in the art of handwriting, claiming that hers looked as though “a spider had fallen into the inkwell and then scurried across the page.” She had taken her quill and flicked the end at him, watching as spots of black had splattered across his doublet. He had scowled, snatching up her wrist, but then she giggled. His grip on her had loosened and his expression had softened. If she did not know him better, she would have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Rhaenyra did not turn up for lessons, leaving Lia and Alicent to endure the presence of the stern Septa Marlow without her. Lia would not have minded, except for the fact that that day’s lesson was history, her least favourite subject. She endured a scolding for not remembering that Princess Nymeria departed Rhoyne for Dorne, and by the time the hour was over she felt tired and irritable.

Alicent had always been more studious than she was, her ability to focus surpassing Lia’s, who was far too easily distracted by the world around her. The comings and goings of the Red Keep’s staff was far more interesting to her than what was contained within any book. She preferred to focus on the whisperings found within darkened alcoves of the castle, than the monotonous drone of Septa Marlow.

“Come,” Alicent said, pulling a thick historical tome from the library shelf. “We shall study in the Godswood, the fresh air will help you to remember.” There was no heat in the subtly pointed look she directed at Lia, so she followed without complaint, merely returning a glare of her own.

They had been seated beneath the heart tree in the Godswood not five minutes when Rhaenyra arrived, quickly settling herself between them, as was her customary place within the confines of their group. She placed her head in Alicent’s lap, and her legs across Lia’s, letting out a sigh as she gazed up at the clear blue sky through the branches of the tree.

“You did not attend lessons today,” Alicent said to her, hefting the book onto the grass beside her.

“I did not,” Rhaenyra replied simply.

Lia spied the Valyrian steel and ruby necklace that now rested around Rhaenyra’s neck. It had not been there earlier. She leant over, lifting the pendant delicately between two fingers.

“A gift from your father?”

Rhaenyra furrowed her brow, as though she found the idea ridiculous. “A gift from Daemon.”

“He’s back then?” Lia’s interest is piqued. Daemon had never paid her much attention. As a ward of House Hightower, she was of no consequence to him. However, he was endlessly fascinating to her; his volatility and reckless behaviour served an endless supply of gossip.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, “to take up his position as Lord Commander of the City Watch, and compete in the tourney.”

“And give you gifts,” Lia teased with a smirk, letting the pendant drop softly back against Rhaenyra’s clavicle before settling back against her palms upon the grass.

A look of worry flickered across Rhaenyra’s face, her mouth turning downwards as her gaze grew distant. She studied her fingers for a moment, then asked “So what did I miss today?”

“History,” Lia said bitterly, “Princess Nymeria’s escape from Rhoyne.”

“Have you read it?” Alicent asked her.

“Of course I have read it,” Rhaenyra said, “there was no need for me to be there.”

“Then when Princess Nymeria arrived in Dorne, who did she take to husband?” Alicent silenced Lia as she opened her mouth to answer. “Not you, you actually turned up today,” 

Rhaenyra groused, shrugging her shoulders as she continued to lay across their laps. “A man.”

Alicent scowled, her tone clipped with annoyance. “And what was his name?”

“Lord something,” Rhaenyra replied petulantly.

“Gods, if only you had been there today,” Lia giggled, “you would have made me look good. Septa Marlow was furious.”

Rhaenyra smirked, playing with the rings upon her fingers. “She is funny when she is furious.”

“You are always like this when you are worried,” Alicent commented softly.

“Like what?” snapped Rhaenyra.

Alicent did not hedge her words, the only one to speak to their princess in this way. “Disagreeable. You are worried your father is about to overshadow you with a son.”

“I only worry for my mother. I hope for my father that he gets a son. As long as I can recall, it is all he has wanted.”

“You want him to have a son?” Lia asked.

“I want to fly with you both on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake.”

Lia snorted as Alicent clicked her tongue. Lia did not mind the idea of seeing the great wonders, or existing solely on cake, however, the notion of taking flight on Syrax made the prospect seem far less exciting.

“We are trying to be serious,” Alicent protested, glancing warily at Lia, “well, at least I am.”

“I never jest about cake,” Rhaenyra said with a smirk.

“You are not worried about your position?” Lia asked, her curiosity piqued, masking the envy she felt that Rhaenyra possessed a position that could be threatened in the first place.

“I like this position,” she told Lia, wiggling her feet in her lap, making her laugh aloud, “it is quite comfortable.”

“Rhaenyra! Lia! It is impossible to have a serious conversation with either of you!”

The princess groaned, moving out of their laps and sitting cross legged in front of them. “Princess Nymeria led her Rhoynar across the Narrow Sea on ten thousand ships to flee their Valyrian pursuers. She took Lord Mors Martell of Dorne to husband and burned her own fleet off Sunspear to show her people that they were finished running.”

Lia raised her eyebrows, impressed by her knowledge, glancing over at Alicent to gauge her reaction. Before Alicent could respond, Rhaenyra leaned across and tore the page free from the book, letting it flutter into Alicent’s lap.

“So you remember.”

Alicent chewed her lip nervously. “If Septa Marlow sees this book–”

“Fuck the septa!” Rhaenyra interrupted.

Not for the first time, Lia felt envy burn acrid in her chest. Only a princess could get away with defacing a book from the Crown library and not have to suffer the consequences. She wondered if Rhaenyra had any awareness of the power she yielded over both her and Alicent. And if she was aware, would she even care?

Lia meandered through the halls, slippered feet quiet on the stone floor as she made her way to the library the next da She looked up, her attention stolen by Otto walking in the direction of the Small Council chambers. Changing course, she fell into step beside him, taking in the way his features were furrowed into annoyance. There could be only one explanation for it.

“So, you have heard that Prince Daemon has returned to the Capital?” she asked with a wry smile.

Otto paused, eyeing her carefully before ushering her into a nearby alcove. “What do you know?”

Lia shrugged. “Little and less. He gifted Rhaenyra a necklace, Valyrian steel.”

“An empty gesture,” he remarked bitterly, an exasperated sigh escaping him as he adjusted the collar of his forest green doublet. He cast a cursory glance over his shoulder to ensure they were not being watched, before fixing her with a heated stare.

“Oh, I am not so sure, you would be surprised at what people are willing to share if one is generous.” She reached up, tapping the bronzed hand that was pinned to his breast, as if to punctuate her point.

Otto’s much larger hand clutched hers, enveloping it, though it did not pull hers away. Her eyes shifted to where their hands now rested upon his chest, the gesture stirring something within her that she could not quite identify, filling her with both warmth and unease.

“I know a girl as clever as you cannot be swayed by trinkets,” he said softly, the low timbre of his voice vibrating through their connected hands.

Lia swallowed thickly, slowly pulling her hand back and letting it drop to her side, though still able to feel the place where his palm had rested. She felt an overwhelming need to push back against whatever had transpired, and so doubled her efforts to be cheeky. “If you are not feeling generous, perhaps Prince Daemon may have additional trinkets to spare.”

Otto straightened, his expression turning stony.

There it was, the annoyance that she felt much more at home with.

“You should not covet the actions of that brute of a man. Keep away from him.” He glared down at her, a silent warning before leaving her alone in the alcove, as he continued on his way.

Lia smiled to herself. Provoking Otto suddenly seemed much more appealing to her. If she could capture the interest of Daemon, then perhaps the Hand of the King would be more forthcoming in furthering her position at court, and making clear his plans for her.

“My dearest Lia, 

It is with deep regret that I must inform you that your mother and I will be unable to attend the King’s tourney. Your mother is suffering a fever and we did not wish to risk the journey to King’s Landing when our efforts must be spent upon ensuring her recovery. Your mother has requested that your brothers stay here at the Whispering Sound, as she fears her worry over them both competing will worsen her condition.

We have passed along our apologies to the Lord Hand, however, please send him my regards. I hope that life in the capital is treating you well and that you are behaving as befits the royal company that you keep.

Warmest wishes,

Your loving father, Lord Owen Costayne”

Lia gripped the parchment tightly between her fingers, having lost count of the number of times she had read it since it was brought to her by the maester two days prior. She lost herself in the words, the din of hoofbeats and roar of spectators fading to nothing as her eyes flitted between the letter and the lists, as though if she concentrated hard enough she could will her brothers into attendance.

Rhaenyra sat beside her, equally morose, her brow pinched in worry. Shortly after the tourney began, King Viserys had announced to all in attendance that Queen Aemma had begun her labours. It was obvious that Rhaenyra would rather be at her mother’s side than watching this display. However, it had not been allowed.

Sitting on the other side of Rhaenyra, Alicent had picked her nails bloody once more. A combination of worry for both the Queen and her older brother, Gwayne, who would be competing in the tourney.

Lia crumpled the parchment between her fingers, stowing it up her sleeve as she leaned forward, looking out across their elevated position on the stands, eager for a distraction.

“Who is that?” she asked, nodding towards a young man she did not recognise.

“The Tarly squire?” Rhaenyra responded, clearly as keen to focus on something else as she was.

“Mmhmm,” Lia affirmed, glancing back at her.

“Lord Massey’s son, I think. He is promised to Elinor Stokeworth, they are to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.”

“Best get on with it,” Alicent chimed in, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.”

Lia and Rhaenyra gasped, the three of them quickly falling into fits of giggles, though she was pulled out of her mirth when she felt a firm hand upon her shoulder. Looking back, she saw Otto seated directly behind her. He leaned in close enough that both his breath and his beard tickled softly at the shell of her ear as he spoke quietly, isolating her from the huddle of her two friends.

“I thought you might offer your favour to Gwayne.”

She pulled back, regarding him impassively, before speaking much louder than he had to her. “Actually, I intend to offer my favour to Prince Daemon,” she said with an amused smirk, “I have not yet had the pleasure to welcome him back to the capital.”

Otto’s nostrils flared in obvious annoyance, his gaze unblinking as he exhaled heavily, sitting back against his seat beside the King, though his focus remained upon her. His eyes raked carefully over the delicate manner in which she had pinned up her ringlets, revealing the slender slope of her neck. Lia suppressed a laugh as she turned back towards Rhaenyra and Alicent, pleased with her efforts, and the three of them continued to share gossip about those participating in the lists.

She eyed the knights carefully, wondering to herself if any of them would be a suitable match for her. There was no denying that Daemon cut every bit the imposing and extravagant figure, the plume of his dragon shaped helmet blood red and striking against the grey of the stone walls. It was a pity he was already wed, albeit unhappily, to Lady Rhea Royce. Daemon’s presence within King’s Landing had always been so sporadic, coupled with Lia’s being too young to appreciate what a handsome man he was, that she supposed he was never destined to be a suitor for her anyway. A pity, but it would not stop her from expressing interest, if only to incite the look of irritation on Otto’s face that she had grown to enjoy so much.

So engrossed in what was going on, she did not notice when King Viserys slipped away from his seat. Daemon rode towards the stands, a cocky grin upon his face as her, Rhaenyra and Alicent rushed to the railing to greet him.

“Lady Lia,” he drawled with a courteous nod, “a fine young woman you are growing into.”

She felt her skin flush at the compliment, glad of the fact she had opted to wear her house colours for the occasion; she knew that the gold and black of the gown complimented her complexion. It was an effort to resist the urge to both giggle and look behind her for Otto’s reaction.

“You flatter me, my prince,” she responded sweetly, “I wish you luck, though I am not sure you will need it.”

“I am confident that I can best my opponent, but I would ask for the favour of the Lady Alicent Hightower to ensure my victory.”

Lia’s face fell, her heart sinking in disappointment. She watched Alicent move sheepishly back towards their seats, meeting her father’s eye as she took the intricately woven band of flowers and ribbon. She knew from Otto’s sour expression that it was merely a ploy from Daemon to further upset the King’s Hand, having already beaten his son spectacularly in the lists. However, the rejection stung all the same. She wanted it to be her favour that Daemon had asked for.

As she took her seat again, she grasped her own hoop of feathers and twine, half turning to toss it haphazardly into Otto’s lap. “Here, you might as well have it,” she muttered sullenly, “I have no one else to give it to.”

Misery clung to Lia like a black shroud as she leaned back in her seat, visibly sulking and crossing her arms, as she watched the tourney, but did not really see it. She had hoped that the day would prosper a potential match for her, though, with Alicent’s favour already given away, Rhaenyra was her only rival. There was no way she could compete with a princess.

Her lips twitched with smug satisfaction when the mystery knight with the red and black spotted shield bested Daemon; a small retribution in Lia’s eyes for having snubbed her favour for Alicent’s. She did not bother to join her friends when they rushed back to the railing, both eager to greet the man who managed to unhorse The Rogue Prince, not even swayed by Alicent’s gasp of “he’s Dornish.” What was the point? She saw the way his dark eyes glittered with interest, but it was not interest directed at her; no, they glittered only for Rhaenyra. 

Lia knew that she could be the most comely of maidens in all of the Seven Kingdoms and it would do little to sway a suitor when presented with a Targaryen Princess. She could not help the jealousy that swirled like a maelstrom inside of her as she watched Rhaenyra throw her favour down towards him.

The smile that graced the princess’ fair features as she returned to her seat only faltered as Otto touched her delicately on the shoulder, the colour draining from her face as he whispered to her. As the news spread throughout the royal box, Lia’s eyes remained fixated upon the floor of the stands where her favour now lay, trampled under foot as people rushed back towards the Red Keep. It was crushed, and with it her hopes for the day.

Queen Aemma was dead.

The wind whipped Lia’s dark curls around her face as she stood upon the clifftop, the bite of the icy sea breeze nipping at her cheeks. The wrapped bodies of both Aemma and her short lived son, Baelon, laid prone upon the pyre that stood before the modest crowd gathered for the funeral. Syrax looked over them from her perch, awaiting Rhaenyra’s command, her neck undulating with discomfort under the feeling of her rider’s grief.

She could not imagine a more brutal death; cut open like livestock in the birthing bed, and for naught. The babe that had been tugged from the Queen’s womb had lived but for a few hours after her passing. Her heart ached for Rhaenyra, who choked on the command of “drakarys!”, the word faltering with unshed tears as she ordered her dragon to engulf her deceased mother and brother in flames.

Lia knew she felt pity for Rhaenyra, but was she truly sad that Aemma was dead? She did not know. She knew it was proper to express condolences, but she did not think she was experiencing grief. Would she feel sadness at her own mother’s passing? She was as much an acquaintance to her as the Queen had been, considering how many years had passed since she had last seen home. It was a disquieting thought, and one she was eager to push from her mind.

She desperately wished she had a hand to hold, to squeeze for comfort, and could not help but notice the way that Alicent gripped her father’s with such intensity that her knuckles were white. Stood to the other side of him, Otto had ensured that Lia’s arm linked through his, a gesture which she found oddly mature in comparison to the childlike manner in which Alicent’s fingers entwined with his. Perhaps it is just because she is not family, she pondered, though memories of the intimacy with which he had held her hand to his chest just a few days prior linger at the back of her mind. She was being treated as though she was a lady, when she had never craved more to be comforted as though she was a little girl.

A cavernous void opened between Lia, Alicent, and Rhaenyra in the weeks that followed, filled only by loss. Lia spent much of her time alone, not knowing how to comfort Rhaenyra in her grief, for it had made her angry. Her tone was curt whenever Lia attempted to engage her in conversation and she had withdrawn so far into herself that she did not know how to coax her back out. Deep down she knew that her friend was justified in her bitterness towards her father, for he had killed her mother in his desperate attempt for an heir, an heir that barely lived long enough to draw his first breath.

Lia wondered what her own expression of such grief would look like, had the circumstances befallen her.

Otto had become more protective of Alicent. He sought Lia’s company less often, instead looming over his only daughter like a shadow, summoning her to his quarters to speak to her of things that Alicent would not allow Lia to be privy to. In all of her years in King’s Landing, despite missing her family, she had never felt lonely. Now it was a feeling that overwhelmed her with such potency that she had picked up a quill more than a dozen times, hurriedly scrawling a plea to her father to allow her to return home. Each time she had thought better of it and tossed the balled up parchment into the fireplace. She had yet to find her purpose within King’s Landing, but she knew in her heart that her fate was not to run away like a mewling child, simply because her friends were preoccupied.

Deciding she could bear her own company no longer, Lia emerged from her quarters, seeking the comfort of a familiar face. She found it in Alicent, but as she was about to call out to her, she faltered, thinking better of it. There was something strange about the way her friend carried herself, her gaze downcast, trepidation in her step. Lia slipped into an alcove, peering out discreetly from behind the wall. Alicent was not dressed as she usually was, the royal blue gown she now wore was much too grown up. She narrowed her eyes as she studied the fabric. It was a dress that had belonged to Alyrie.

Curious to see why Alicent had suddenly taken to wearing her late mother’s clothes, Lia quietly followed behind her, mindful to keep her steps light and maintain her distance, so as not to get caught. She froze as she saw Alicent slip through the door of the king’s apartments, a feeling of dread forming a pit in her stomach. Rhaenyra had not spoken to her father properly since the passing of the queen, so what possible reason could Alicent have for keeping such close company with him?

It was with this question in mind that she stormed into Otto’s quarters the next day, a seething and lingering anger bolstering her. She did not knock, though her intrusion was met with only the slightest raise of an eyebrow by the king’s Hand as he looked up from his writing desk.

“Lia, to what do I owe the interruption?” he asked, his tone friendlier than she had been anticipating, causing her courage to waiver as her outrage quelled slightly.

She opened her mouth to speak, stammering over her words as she struggled to get them out. Why on earth was he not annoyed by her just bursting in? She had been prepared to be met with resistance, and it completely unraveled what she had planned to say. Closing her eyes and exhaling heavily, she shook her head as if to clear her mind and tried again.

“Alicent has been visiting the king.”

Otto pursed his lips, carefully placing his quill back into the ink pot, before he leaned back against his chair. “She has,” he said matter of factly, “the king is alone in his grief. Alicent has been of great comfort to him.”

Lia blinked rapidly, a wave of nausea churning her stomach, as she realised that this was not only information that the king’s Hand was already privy to, and he did not have an issue with it, but he was also the one that has arranged these visits in the first place. She narrowed her eyes as her shock and disgust turned to sudden anger, simmering hot beneath the surface of her skin.

“So it would not be an issue were I to offer him comfort also?” Lia asked, her jaw jutting out defiantly.

Finally, a flicker of annoyance passed across Otto’s face, his brow furrowing as he clasped his hands upon the desk. “You shall do no such thing. And you will speak of Alicent’s visits to no one.”

“Or what?”

“Or,” he began, rising from his seat, suddenly towering over her, “the pleas to return to the Whispering Sound that you crumple into the fireplace may just find their way to your father.”

Her blood ran icy cold as, simultaneously, her cheeks blazed with heat. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her. Tears of humiliation pricked her eyes. He knew. Of course he knew; the Hand had spies everywhere, she had acted as one herself on many occasions.

Otto’s expression softened as he took in her look of upset, and he sat heavily back in his seat with a sigh. “There is no need for tears, you—”

“Why am I even here? You may as well return me home,” she interrupted, her voice thick with emotion.

His features remained gentle and impassive as he regarded her silently for a moment. He then reached into a drawer of his writing desk, pulling out her favour and holding it out for her to take. Each feather and intricate loop of twine was undamaged, in seemingly pristine condition. She examined it in wide eyed wonder as she accepted it from him. It was as good as the day she had made it, no longer crushed as it had been when she had last laid her eyes upon it.

“How? Why?” She whispered, disbelief and confusion causing her brow to furrow.

“You may have need of it yet. Your time here is far from over. Now run along, I have important matters to attend to.”

She wanted to protest, to press him for further answers, but instead the authority in his tone had her obediently turning and leaving with more questions than she had initially arrived with.

The late afternoon sunshine beat down upon Lia as she sat on a stone bench in the gardens, the soft rays warming her skin, casting the last of its amber brilliance in the hours before dusk. She held her favour delicately, fearful that too tight a touch might cause it to break apart again, as she studied it for imperfections, wondering how it could have been so expertly mended, and why.

“I would have thought you would have given that away at the tourney.”

Lia startled slightly, lifting her head at the sudden sound of Rhaenyra’s voice. A playful smile graced the princess’ lips as Lia watched as she came to sit beside her. Rhaenyra reached out a delicate finger to stroke across one of the favour’s feathers.

Lia returned her smile, though it did not meet her eyes. “I found no one I liked enough to give it to.” It was a half truth, but admitting that Otto had it repaired and returned to her would have raised questions that she is unable to answer.

Rhaenyra hummed in acknowledgement, before facing forwards, her eyes fixed upon the row of rose bushes planted into the flower beds in front of them. The two girls sat in uncomfortable silence, until Lia could bear it no longer.

“I am sorry I have not been there for you, it is not an easy thing to lose your mother,” she said softly, glancing sideways at Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra shook her head, turning to face Lia, gripping her hand in one of hers. “It is me that should be sorry. I have not made it easy for you, for anyone, to comfort me. I was just so, so…”

“...angry?” Lia offered, intertwining their fingers. The warmth was soothing, and she had not realised until this moment just how dearly she had missed her.

“Hmmm. Did you know that Father sent Daemon away?”

Lia’s eyes widened, though it was no surprise that Daemon, prone to coming and going as he pleased, was no longer in the capital. Tt was a shock to her, however, that this time his absence was at the command of his own brother. “What for?”

Rhaenyra swallowed thickly, averting her gaze. “My father would not say, but I have heard whispers. He made a jest about my brother to a crowd in a pleasure house, apparently.”

“And your father banished him?”

“I am sure there is more to it than that, especially considering that Daemon has been removed as my father’s heir.”

Lia raised her eyebrows, her lips parting slightly as she struggled to take in the information. It appeared she had missed an awful lot in the weeks that she and Rhaenyra had not spoken. “So, who will be his heir now?”

“He has asked me to be.” Rhaenyra appeared less sure of herself than usual as she said this, her voice quiet and uncertain, as though she felt simultaneously crushed by the weight of the responsibility, but also terrified it would be taken away from her again.

Lia smiled at that, a gesture of both gentle comfort and genuine happiness, though she could not help the pang of envy she felt at both her friends having secured their futures. Alicent’s own advancement under the watchful eye of Otto, and now Rhaenyra’s succession to the Iron Throne.

“You will make a fine queen.”

Rhaenyra gave Lia’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “So, where is Alicent?”

‘With your father, most likely.’

Lia knew she should not say; it would have devastating consequences for their friendship, and Otto would be furious. Yet she could not help the pang of guilt she felt at withholding such information from Rhaenyra.

“I am unsure. Does she not know yet?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “I had hoped to find the two of you together. I will need you both to help ready me for my proclamation. I feel too nervous to allow my lady’s maids to do it.” She paused, her fingers tightening once more, twisting their hands together further. “Lia, I need you, I need my friends.”

Lia’s heart ached for her, and she leaned in, resting her forehead softly against Rhaenyra’s in silent assent. The two girls remained like that, the void between them bridged by a desperate need to cling to the other for support.

Lia stood on a wooden step stool to the side of Rhaenyra, the tips of her fingers sore from the sheer number of pins she had had to press into the princess’ intricately braided hair, simply to keep her headdress in place. She pulled back to admire her work, a small smile pulling at her mouth. The intricate gold and black halo was positioned perfectly upon Rhaenyra’s head. Satisfied, she stepped down to move towards the bureau to fetch the jewelry.

Alicent stood behind her, helping to drape the heavy black cloak around Rhaenyra’s shoulders, beaded gold and red dragons adorning the lapels. It was not until Lia moved back towards them that she noticed Rhaenyra’s sombre expression in the looking glass.

She stood rooted in place, running her fingers over the smooth gold of the earrings, not quite knowing what to do.

‘We could run away from all of this.’

‘Let us cross the narrow sea on dragonback and eat only cake.’

It appeared that Alicent had also noticed Rhaenyra’s sadness, as her hands had stilled upon her shoulders, her gaze soft and sympathetic as it met the rincess’ in the reflective surface.

Wordlessly, Rhaenyra tugged Lia towards her and the three girls embraced, as much a gesture of comfort for them as it was for her. A silent reassurance of ‘I am okay. I must do this.’

Lia clung tighter, part of her wanting to reassure her friend, another simply wanting to smother the voice in her mind that raged in jealousy over the fact that Rhaenyra would one day rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet somehow had the audacity to feel sad about it.

As Lia entered her own chambers to ready herself for the ceremony, her eye was immediately drawn to the emerald green fabric that lay across her bedspread. As she drew nearer, she saw that it was a gown, long sleeved with a plunging neckline, and intricate golden thread in the seams. She ran her fingers over the material. The brocade felt expensive to the touch, far grander than anything she had worn before. There was a note sealed with wax resting atop it.

“A trinket, and a gesture of generosity - O.H”

Lia did not need to peer into a looking glass to know her cheeks had turned scarlet. A gift from Otto, and with the timing of when it was delivered to her, she knew he would be expecting her to wear it to the proclamation. 

She felt far too grown up, the dress accentuating dips and curves upon her body she was unaware she even had until she had put it on. Yet another step away from girlhood, but towards what she had no idea.

Lia had never felt self conscious before, but she was certain that, as she walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, she shone like a beacon, a lurid invitation for all that she passed to stare at her. She longed to run back to her quarters, to tear off the dress and change into something more unassuming, but knew that a refusal of such an extravagant gift from Otto was a line that even she dared not cross.

As the lords of the Seven Kingdoms gathered in the Great Hall of the Red Keep to swear fealty to Rhaenyra as the heir to the Iron Throne, she looked every bit the future queen in her Targaryen finery, and it was not until Lia saw this that she understood the significance of Otto’s gift.

Her friends were ascending towards womanhood, and she must too.

Lia watched on, with Otto stood between her and Alicent. She wanted to feel pride for her friend.However, it was hopelessness and uncertainty over her own future that held her firmly in their grasp. She stood in the presence of two future monarchs, but what was to become of her? 

“You look lovely,” Otto leaned down to murmur in her ear, his breath ghosting across her neck.

And as she felt the warmth and weight of his hand come to rest upon the small of her back, it seemed as though the walls of the castle closed in around her as tightly as the bodice of her gown.

[hunnyswift]

prologue: i died on the altar

summary: this was supposed to be the most wonderful day of your life; you were marrying the man you wanted to spend forever with. that was until you were standing at the altar , hand in hand with bradley , that he decided to make this day the worst of your life instead.

cw: profanity , accusing bradley of cheating ( he would never! ) , being left at the altar , mentions of canon death of a character , mean!reader , and i think that’s it!

casting: chace crawford as danny , michael b. jordan as harrison , zac efron as casey , jamie chung as cierra , and bianca santos as liv

18+ minors dni

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟

you were standing in your childhood bedroom , looking out the window into the backyard that had been transformed into your dream wedding. there were flowers , friends , and family scattered all around. it couldn’t be more perfect weather , sun shining bright but not so much to where you’d be sweating through your white dress.

the only other person in the room with you was your mother. until you heard a knock on the door , you rush to it , opening it wide and smiling when you saw your best friend. “danny! i thought you were going to be late!” you laughed , yanking the man into a hug, “i’m completely ready and you’re just now getting here?”

danny walked into the room , kissing your mother on the cheek. “connie forgot the rings , so i had to run to mom and dad’s before the ceremony. sorry for taking so long,” he explained , sitting down on the edge of your bed and taking you in. your hair was done , makeup perfected , and the dress “wow , you look sublime , squirt.” you blushed , swishing around the bottom of your dress for effect.

“oh ya know , just getting married. gotta try and look good so he doesn’t run,” you joked , sitting down next to him, “mom , give us a minute?”

your mother smiled sweetly , nodding at the two of you before taking her exit from the room. danny could feel the nerves coming off of you. it was making him nervous , and he wasn’t the one getting hitched. “i think bradley is cheating on me.” you blurted , your hand flying up to cover your mouth. it wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

“what the hell are you talking about?” danny catechized you , eyes going wide as your mouth.

“he’s been acting weird. not normal wedding coming up jitters weird. like standoffish and elusive and secretive. and i think he’s cheating,” you rambled on , breathing coming quicker than before, “and even case and harrison have been off. i just feel like there’s this big secret i’m not in on , and it’s that bradley’s cheating.”

danny grabbed your hand and looked you in the eyes. “trust me , bradley isn’t cheating on you. there’s no way. he’s probably just got a surprise for you as a wedding gift or something,” he’d explained , trying his best to calm your nerves, “look , it’s five til , he’s on his way downstairs any minute , and you’re going to walk down the aisle to him and get married , y/n. this is just nerves.”

you take a deep breath with danny , closing your eyes and breathing out slowly. “you’re right,” you decided. bradley wasn’t cheating on you. you were nervous and coming up with disasters in your head to fuel the fire in your stomach. “okay , okay. go! i’m gonna wait for my dad to walk me and then get married.”

“atta girl!” danny cheered , hopping up from the bed and kissing your temple before rushing out the room and down to his position.

as the door clicked behind your man of honor , you stood in the mirror , checking over everything. your hair was done , your makeup was set , your dress was perfect , and most importantly , your fiancé was downstairs waiting to marry you. your eyes flicker to the ceiling for a moment , “thank you , carole and nick. we love you,” you whispered , holding onto the necklace bradley’s mother left for you.

they’d be so happy to know you and bradley did in fact end up together.

a knock at the door pulled you from your moment of silence. “princess? time to get hitched,” your dad smile came from behind the door , peeking his head around the corner.

just like bradley’s mother , your father was just as adamant about you two getting together. he helped raised bradley , knew he was a good man. he let him into the family with no problems , always hoping you’d fall for bradley like he had. ron loved bradley like his own. it almost seemed like he was more excited for the marriage than you two were.

“i’m ready , daddy,” you beamed , leaving the room with your arm in his, “brad waiting for me down there right?” you laughed lightly.

your father let out a hearty chuckle with you , helping you down the stairs. “i might just have to kill him if he wasn’t.”

he was.

as the song started playing , you and your dad made your way to the bunches of flowers set up behind your groom. there he was , standing with his hands behind his back , tears in his eyes , and the biggest smile on his face.

you finally reached him , your smile matching his , practically blinding your friends as family as they watched the two of you almost kiss out of instinct.

“you look perfect,” you whispered , tears coming to your eyes, “everything is perfect.”

“you’re perfect,” bradley sighed , holding your hands in his. god , he hated himself right now. you were perfect , the exact person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with , but he knew in that moment it wouldn’t be long enough. convinced he was destined to have the same fate as his father , bradley couldn’t leave you alone that way.

there was a moment of silence as you both took each other in and everyone settled in their seats. “can we —“ bradley cleared his throat , his words coming out far weaker than he expected, “can we talk really quick? in private?” he asked , eyes pleading and watery.

“honey , we’ll have plenty of time for that after we get married. time and place,” you giggled , thinking he wanted to take a few moments for a quickie upstairs. while that was true , you looked beautiful and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander and think about how amazing the night could end.

“no , we need to talk first,” he reassured you , hands squeezing yours far too tight.

your eyes darted around , looking at casey and harrison behind your groom before meeting bradley’s gaze again. “okay?” you mumble a quick sorry to the pastor and start to walk back down the aisle with bradley , whispering you’ll be right back to your guests.

once you get into the house , bradley lets out a deep breath , like he’d been holding it in all morning. “are you okay? what’s going on?” his back was to you , hands planted on the kitchen island as he focused on his breathing. “bradley thomas , what is going on?”

he finally turned to look at you , the tears running down his face far different than a few minutes ago. these ones were filled with regret , a deep seeded sadness that you’d only seen once or twice before. “i can’t marry you.”

you didn’t hear anything after that.

you were right. you told danny you had a gut feeling. you knew something would go wrong. you knew it. after years of being together , today was supposed to be a dream and with just four words it’s your worst nightmare.

“what?” you choked out , tears filling your eyes once again, “what do you mean?”

“i can’t — i can’t marry you,” he repeated , looking down at his feet. how could he possibly say all of this and not look at you?

“look at me and say it again,” you demanded , chest rising and falling quicker with your uneven breaths. it took a moment , but his brown eyes met yours and he repeated the words , softer this time , but just as clear. “why not?” he turned away from you again. “why the hell not , bradley?” your voice was louder now , anger seeping through your words just as much as the hurt and confusion.

“i don’t want to,” he lied, “i don’t want to get married anymore ; i don’t want to be with you.” if you didn’t kill him , he thought he should maybe do the job for you.

“so…” your turn to take a deep breath, “after eleven years together , you’ve decided in what? the last twenty-four hours you’re over it? you’re just willing to throw everything away for what?” you were trying to figure it out , but bradley wasn’t giving you anything. he stood silent , eyes fallen on the floor once again , where he stared at your heels that carole wore on her wedding day.

“i’ve gotta focus on my career right now , honey,” bradley groaned at the lie, “getting married just isn’t what i need to do.”

“oh , my god! are you kidding?” you laughed , hands resting on your hips as you look to the sky in disbelief, “are you hearing this?”

“i’m sor—“

“shut the hell up,” you barked , finger pointing at bradley like a gun, “your — wow , your parents would hate to see you right now,” you scoffed , shaking your head violently.

“excuse me?” both of your tears had dried , exasperation and hurt flowing between you two in words now.

“you want me to repeat it? your parents would be disappointed , bradley. i mean , can you imagine having to go home and tell that what you’re doing to me right now?” it was mean , cruel even. you knew that , but you couldn’t stop the words from coming out.

“okay,” bradley hummed , taking a few steps away from you.

the silence was killing you , and him. a knock on the back door pulled the two of you out of whatever was going on. “hey,” casey peeked his head in the house, “slider’s asking what’s taking so long?”

“shut up and go back outside before i kill you , casey,” you growl , head turning to him quickly. yes , your anger was slightly displaced , but it’s not like he had no idea what was happening. the red eyes bradley adorned were clear , and your makeup was mussed up from your own tears.

casey’s eyes glanced between his best friends , turning to look outside at the waiting crowd. “i know , but people are getting impatient?”

“tell them she’ll be out in a second,” bradley spoke up , voice uneven as ever. your friend nodded , closing the door quietly behind him. you both watched as he went up front and explained to the guests you two were taking a moment to yourselves. “i think that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” he stated , going back to your conversation before the interruption.

“you saying you can’t marry me is the worst thing you’ve said to me,” you replied, “guess we’re both hitting lows today.”

“guess so.” it almost came out as a laugh. truly , the situation wasn’t funny , not to bradley and not to you. “i’m gonna get my stuff,” he announced , pointing over his shoulder to the guest room he was set up in for the day.

your face was still hot , breathing shallow. “bradley?” a whisper left your lips , getting him to stop and look back to you again. he took a step toward you again , scanning your face for any idea of what you might say to him now. “if you do this , there is no fixing us. you leave and we are over.”

“baby , we’re arguing in the kitchen we grew up in on our wedding day with all of our friends and family watching from the windows,” he sighed, “we’re already over.”

your eyes wandered to the backyard seeing that bradley was right. everyone was looking , trying to decipher what was happening to the happy couple. thankfully , your yelling wasn’t heard , but the tears were seen.

bradley began his way up the stairs to pack up , but you follow closely behind. “tell me about the moment you knew you wanted to marry me,” you requested , wringing your hands together as you stood behind him packing his bag.

“y/n , please don’t make this harder than it already is. please,” bradley begged , pausing only for a moment before resuming his getaway.

“please , bradley? one last time?” you hoped he would tell you the story.

it was one of those weekends that danny had managed to come out to your college campus. it was a surprise ; he just showed up to the house you all lived in with a bag packed and ready to party. you , bradley , danny , harrison , his girlfriend cierraa , casey , and casey’s new girlfriend liv were all pregaming at the house before heading to the bars.

“you know , i don’t think i’ve ever seen squirt say yes to a free beer and not bring it to you,” harrison laughed , watching you making your way through the crowd back to the boys with liv and cierra behind you. you all had beers in your hands , all of them meant for your boys. you carried two and laughed harder than the other girls.

“i’m gonna marry that girl,” bradley smiled , eyeing the way you moved around everyone else on your way back to him like always.

“it was as simple as that,” bradley shrugged , sitting on the bed now, “i mean , i always knew , but that moment in time i knew.” your eyes were flooded with tears once again as you stood in front of bradley.

“so what’s changed?” you asked , lowering to your knees as you tried to find bradley’s eyes again, “why don’t you know anymore?”

“all i know is that i can’t marry you , squirt,” he answered with another shrug, “oh , i want to. i really do , but honey , i can’t.”

his hands found your face , swiping at the tears that were running through your makeup as you sniffled. “why? i just don’t understand why,” you cried , holding onto his wrists tightly.

“i can’t,” bradley simply said. he couldn’t marry you , and he couldn’t tell you why , and he couldn’t bear to watch you cry any longer. “go , baby. they’re all waiting for you,” he tried to smile , nodding his head in the general direction of the wedding to not be.

“i don’t want to without you,” you sighed , getting more comfortable on your knees. you didn’t plan on leaving this room unless it was hand in hand with your fiancé. “i love you , bradley.”

“oh , god. i love you too,” he replied softly , pressing a kiss on your lips so soft you don’t think your brain even recognized it until it was over. you chased him , leaning in for another which he gladly gave you. “i love you enough to let you go , so go. please.”

your eyes stayed closed , but you felt bradley shifting and standing up to continuing grabbing his things. it took you a minute to stand. you dusted your dress off and turned around not saying another word as you left the room and headed back outside.

at that point , everyone was mingling again as they waited for the wedding to go on. the second you opened the back doors , all eyes were on you. one look at your face and everyone’s gaze turned empathetic rather excited.

“everyone—“ your voice cracked, “you can all go home. the wedding’s off,” you announced. the only person you could bring yourself to look at was your father. in a flash , slider was rushing past you and running on the stairs to find bradley— to kill bradley.

danny , cierra , and liv all came to your side , pulling you around the front away from the prying eyes of your guests. “c’mon , babe,” cierra whispered , wrapping you in her arms.

you could hear the yelling from upstairs all the way outside. it was your dad. bradley was silent. “where do you want to go?” liv asked , looking around the small group just as casey and harrison found you all.

“what happened? what’s going on?” harrison questioned ; he had no clue. casey was quiet. danny was on the phone , texting your mom small updates as your friends all talked.

“bradley left me,” you deadpan , your face now void of emotions just like your voice, “we’re done. it’s all over.”

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟

yallllll it’s finally out. it’s a long one , but i wanted to fit it all in for chapter one. lmk what you think<3

[flemingsgirl]

Enough pt. 3

Masterlist

For the opening ceremony you dress in the uniform you got before you left for Paris, personally you thought you were going back to school, but you kinda liked it, causal yet significant and holds bites of your nationality. With America being second last to be presented you had a long night however your time was spent valuable as you messaged back and forth with Jessie.

As the cameras were pointed on the American boat, you packed your phone into your bag, giving your attention to the crowd around you and the people in front of the television. Smiling, you wave to the viewer as you pass them, having an arm around your best friend and jumping up in your spot. Your phone was long forgotten, so when you hit the mattress as you were ready for the night, you had a glance at the device, flooded with several notifications from your family as well as from Jessie.

Tonight, I’m an American myself. GO USA! (and Canada ofc)

Oh, wow, they mixed up the names of north and south Korea…

Damn I see red, how could they. Relieved I’m not there it’s like much and roaring. Nvm go CANADA! #1

OMG!! Look who I spotted!!

Wow she’s kinda pretty, who’s that? Can you get me her number?

Don’t mind the Canadian athlete in the background with his outstanding tracksuit XD

Seems like you’re busy... :/ have fun and be careful. Let me now when you’re back so I know you’re safe! Good night beauty.

Here to say I’m back safe, already in my bed and ready to sleep. Nighty night.

Just moments later your phone rings and you’re quick to accept and stumble into the bathroom, not wanting to wake Avery. “Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” her voice raspy.

“Why’d you called?”

You could hear some rattling in the background, indicating that Jessie’s fidgeting with something. “Just checking in.”

“It’s late. I thought you were already asleep.”

“I know, but I wanted to hear your voice. Maybe I can sleep better or so I could even sleep at all.”

“Oh Jess. What’s wrong?”

The Canadian gulps. “I have troubles sleeping these past days. With all that happened. I can’t have a proper meal cause I don’t have that much appetite and I miss you like crazy and… and…” she rambles on.

“And what? Trust me, I’m on your side.”

“It’s way too soon.”

“About what? Jess, bebe talk to me.”

She stays silent a few seconds before she clears her throat. “I like you.”

“I like you too.”

Jessie tucks on her earlobe. “Like a lot.”

“Yeah, me too.” You lick your lips, rubbing your forehead. “Look, Jessie. I don’t mean it in any bad way or so. With those new standings maybe, we should wait until all the stressful and anxious days are over to take the next step.” You let Jessie assimilate the information. “Those games aren’t how you imagined them and it’s a hard pill to swallow. But I’m with you. You are enough just like you are, Jessie, don’t forget. You’re perfect in any way. If it gets too much call me, I’ll always be here. Okay?

“Yes,” she mumbles into the phone.

“I’ve got an offer.” You don’t hear any answer. “Jess?” a soft sob is audible. “Hey, hey, Jessie, it’s alright. I got you. Do you listen to me?” the line stays silent. “Jessie?” worry grows in the pit of your stomach. “Hey, hey, Fleming, you’re not ignoring me, you understand?” you chew on your bottom lip. “I suppose you lay in your bed… it’s okay if you fall asleep, yeah. I’ll take that credit. Close your eyes for me, would you?” you give her a second to adjust her position. Soft sobs still lingering in the air as she shuffles under her blanket. “I’ll lead you through the opening try to put your phone behind you at best next to your ear.” A moment passes. “Okay. So, before we were let onto the boat, we had a really dope kinda party in our village. Oh, your little shy self would’ve wanted to burry yourself in the ground. It was even too much for me,” you let out a laugh and one side of Jessie’s mouth turns up, her sobs dying. “It was so loud and there were so many people I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was there for like half an hour and it was scheduled for two hours,” your voice a soft whisper. “Fast forward to our boat tour it was so humid. I send you a pic from before, right? Five minutes later I put them into a ponytail cause they were clutched on my skin. I think we were like three hours on this boat and I’m glad we could message this time otherwise I would’ve died of boredom. I small talked with Simone Biles, LeBron James just to name some. yeah, it was great but a special someone has been missed.” Jessie doesn’t respond, the only sound audible are steady breaths. You wander back into your room and cover yourself with the blanket. “If it’s not clear. I’d like you to be here by my side. To see you and to hold you. I can’t wait to see you again Jessie. Good night until tomorrow.”

Three days later your first game in the tournament was scheduled. Your opponent was the Chinese team, a favoured aspirant for a medal. The start was rough the Chinese women pressured and lead the play. Roundabout an hour into the game your team was down two sets, only one set for the Chinese squad to win. In a matter of time the tables have turned, and the teams were tied, leading to a last set which decides the winner. At the score of 8:10 for the Chinese your coach had to switch you out. Five points before your opponent at the net crossed the foul line so that you landed on her feet and your knee twisted, a pain shot through your leg, but you kept playing. You communicated with your coach, and he took a time out for your team to discuss the matter and how you’ll switch on the field. Your heart scattered as you limp to the sideline where your roommate and best friend stepped up next to the referee and took your place. She gave you a quick hug and reassured you, drying a tear that left your eye. On your way to the bench, you exchange high-fives with the team officials. Taking a seat the physio makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you. By the time you shield your face with your hands and every now and then you dry some tears with the hem of your shirt. In the end your team is defeated which is another heartbreak for you and another wave of tears escape you. Teammates huddle around you and embrace your shaking body. Shortly after you find yourself in the changing room getting ready to shower and put on your comfy clothes for the night.

“What did they say about your knee?”

“It shouldn’t be something serious, but they want to give me a break the next game and maybe the one after.”

“That’s promising.”

“Kinda. Hopefully it works out. If not, they want me to get examined.”

“Reasonable.” You just nod too exhausted and gloomy, only wanting to be in your bed and talk with a special Canadian.

“Hey gorgeous, how are you? You played so well.” You burry your face into the cushion, hiding the blush that grows. “Hey, hey, no hiding here, show me your pretty face.” Her chuckles fill the air, and your heart skips a beat. The past days Jessie’s quite outgoing, charming and offensive.

“Thank you I tried my best, but it didn’t work for us. I’m okay, I think.”

“It’s the thought that counts. Next time will be better. Oh Y/N.” Jessie’s eyes dart over your face. “Tell me.”

“Yeah hopefully.” you stop, a shaky breath escapes your lips, “I... it’s…”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s my knee.” You let out a sob. “It just happened and it.”

“But you played on. Were you already in pain?

“Not much, it was kinda unstable and stiff. I don’t know what you’ve seen.”

“At some point you were on the ground and then you stood up and played on. After a few points your trainer took the timeout.”

“For tactics. He sorted the team with the substitution he was going to make. The other player crossed the line and I landed on her foot and mine gave in twisting, and I fell, that was embarrassing.”

“Nothing about it is embarrassing. It’s not your fault and things like that can happen to anyone… I mean the falling, not the injury. How many times am I thrown to the floor or challenged?”

“But it’s part of your game.”

“Are you trying to make my argument unreasonable?” she lowers her eyebrows. “I dare you.”

“What if I do? Try me,” you giggle afterwards as she gives you an evil eye.

“You wouldn’t want that,” she winks at you while she licks her lips, a smug placing itself on them afterward. The heat creeps into her cheeks but Jessie ignores it, holding the stare at you.

You are the first to break the eye contact covering your face with your hands. A grunt finds its way out of your mouth, and you claps your pillow over your head. “Hey, hey, hey shooow youuurself,” the Canadian drags out and you can hear how she pokes her screen.

“Stop it,” you groan and roll your eyes when your face comes to display again as you set the pillow down.

She beams at you, eyes closed, and her nose scrunched. “What do you mean?”

“You being cheesy. A whole new side of you.”

“Oh, stop complaining. I know you like it.”

“How so?”

“Cause you’re still talking to me.”

“I really like this new confident, keep it Fleming.”

[creatingblackcharacters]

So surprised no one's submitted Static yet, so I'll go ahead and bring him up because Virgil Hawkins will always be famous to me forever <3

Static shock has always been very dear to me, I used to to tune in nearly everyday the network in my house to see this guy, and all it took was hearing the sick ass theme song to get so hyped for it. All the episodes were always so fun no matter what they were about, it was always advancing the story forward. I loved seeing how Virgil grew into not only being a superhero, but also being a teenager, so the conflicts always felt so relevant to what I, Also A Teenager, was experiencing around the time when the series was airing on brazillian tv. When I got a bit older I started reading up on the comics, and was very pleasantly surprised at his designs there too because DAMN the man just cannot miss. Literally look at himmmmm

Static is not only kind and always trying to help the people in his life, but also smart as hell. During his battles with villains where he has to be resourceful with how he spends his energy so he doesn't hurt himself too in the process (which technically still does happen because he does get carried away often), but also at the same time he learnt the extent of his superpowers in order to get better at controlling them, which you really rarely get to see superheroes do. He's funny in and out of the job, he loves his friends and family, and most of all he's really dedicated to what he does, even as he makes mistakes along the way and learns the weight of responsability for being a hero. Truly love this dude <3

Hot Chocolate posted Static as one of his favorites! So he'll be happy to hear someone seconds him! Static made it to Brazilian TV 🥹🥹🥹 oh that makes me so happy to hear. The first theme was absolutely a banger. It's wild to hear you were a teenager when this show was dropping, bc I was just a kid 😭 so that means it had to have been more formative for you. Static was supposed to be to us what Miles is for the new generation. If I could trust DC, they'd have gold in Static as a character.... alas. DC. I recognize the Nick Draper Ivey version that you posted! Yeah Static deserves far more hype than he's received. I'll let HC know someone loves Static as much as he does!

[sansaorgana]

— FADING LIGHT

PAIRING — Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — When your daughter's mysterious sickness progresses, you are desperate to find a cure. You choose to travel all the way to Mirkwood but you are captured by the Orcs on the road and soon you find out that their leader is your husband who you thought of as dead.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I fell for Adar while watching Season One already but in the last episode when he mentioned that Sauron promised him children... I just knew I had to write some fic about him having a family once that he lost. 🤧 Also, I am like 100 percent sure that Adar was not his name when he was an Elf but I didn't want to make it up on my own so I kept it the same. 😅 The daughter's name – Moreth – apparently means gloom. The ending is bittersweet and angsty... but with an open ending! 🥺 PS – I've read The Lord of The Rings and The Hobbit books but it was long time ago and I have never even tried to read The Silmarillion but I tried to do some research on the wiki and I hope the fic is pretty accurate.

WORD COUNT — 6,420

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

FADING LIGHT

You watched Moreth through the window. She was sitting on a bench under the tree and reading a heavy book in a dark brown leather cover. Her black hair danced in the wind but she looked far from ethereal like other elven girls spending time around. There was some sort of darkness around your daughter which worried you deeply. The sadness and the quietness you had grown to – despite all the years that had passed, she had never smiled as brightly and happily as before her father’s mysterious disappearance and most likely death. She had never been cheerful, which was painful enough to you since you were her mother and you wanted nothing but happiness for her. But lately, something very worrying had been happening to her. As if the light that Elves were supposed to carry and shine bright with all through Middle-earth was fading away from her.

“Her skin…” You bit on your lower lip as you looked at Gil-galad who was standing by you. “She’s growing paler but in an unnatural way. Her skin doesn’t simply get lighter but… whiter,” you pointed out. “I don’t know what to do, I am desperate,” you admitted sadly.

“Her light is fading, (Y/N),” Gil-galad whispered and put his hand on your arm as if it brought you any comfort. A single tear escaped your eye and streamed down your cheek when you took one more look at your daughter even though he only said what you had known already.

“Is she dying?” You asked, not fully understanding the situation but it felt awfully wrong that all these things were happening to you. First, you lost a husband and now you were about to lose a daughter? What was the point of this suffering? “Is she somehow turning into a human?”

“No, not a human,” Gil-galad shook his head and walked away. “Worse,” he commented and you furrowed your brows but you had no idea what he meant. You did not want to know. “I suggest sending her to Valinor before it becomes too late,” he added.

“No!” You sniffled your tears back as you protested. “Please, no! I would not handle another loss… Ever since Adar’s death, I am her only family. I am her only protector. And I know it is not the time yet for her or me to leave Middle-earth,” you explained. “I cannot explain it but I know that our destiny here has not been fulfilled yet. I must do everything it takes to save Moreth,” you clenched your jaw with determination.

“I do not know how to help her and all my wise and experienced friends I have asked for help do not know either. The longer you wait, the more she fades away and after a certain point of this mysterious change, she will not be accepted in Valinor,” Gil-galad explained. “It is an honour to be sent there.”

“And a pain for me. I shall miss her. I already miss her father,” you walked away from him to look out of a different window and take a deep breath at the sight of the sea. “I shall go to Oropher in Mirkwood then,” you decided. “Perhaps they know how to help her there. It is my last resort,” you looked at Gil-galad.

“It is dangerous to travel so far away these days. The army of Orcs…” He started but you interrupted him.

“I do not care,” you snapped. “I am her mother. I shall do everything to help her. I am desperate,” you looked deep into his eyes with so much pain and hopelessness that he eventually gave up with a sigh.

“I really hope then that you will find all the answers that you seek there. And that both of you will come back safe and unharmed,” he approached you to squeeze your arm. 

“Thank you, High King,” you bowed your head at him.

Adar was an Elf much older than you but you spotted him watching you many times while you were with your friends in Mithlond. He was calm and quiet, smiling at you kindly but never bothering you. Respectfully, he waited for you to initiate the conversation first, which you did because he fascinated you. You admired his knowledge and how different he was from your friends – how mature. He was giving you flowers he had picked himself whenever you walked together and he always complimented you in a way that would make you blush.

When Elves loved each other and married, forever was always a promise. And for some it truly was like that but you were not one of the lucky ones. It was not long after the birth of your daughter when you lost your husband. Moreth was only a few years old when he disappeared and you began your desperate attempts to find him but you soon were informed by multiple sources that most likely your husband had been killed by Morgoth or one of his minions. There was nothing you could do – not even give him a funeral he deserved since there was no body. You grieved for long years and tried to raise your daughter as well as you could but apparently the burden of this grief and sadness had been affecting her more than you would like to admit it.

You still dreamt of him often – your husband. Of his kisses, of his promises of the life you would live one day. Far away from others; that had been his dream. And he had been often talking about achieving something more whatever that more had meant. An ambitious dreamer – that was how you remembered him. And despite the years that had gone already, not a day passed without you thinking of him dearly.

The thing he loved the most in life was being a father, though. Moreth was his whole world. He would sit her on his lap, tell her stories while braiding or simply brushing her hair. He would pick flowers for her or watch her play in the fields for hours, helping her to catch butterflies. You had never seen a man so mesmerised by his daughter and now this very daughter was sick and you had to do everything to help her. You owed him that.

You were nearby Khazad-dûm on the back of your horse with Moreth sitting behind you with her arms wrapped around your waist when you felt the horse getting nervous and anxious. You knew it was not a good sign but you did not want to turn around and seek refuge with the dwarves or in Eregion. 

“Keep going,” you whispered to the horse as you patted its neck but you were cautiously looking around, sensing the danger as well. “It reeks of something filthy,” you admitted.

“I do not feel anything,” Moreth shrugged her arms, which calmed you down a little but it also caused you to lower your guard down, which was a mistake. On the other hand, you would not be able to do anything anyway even if you had spotted them earlier – a small unit of Orcs jumping out on the road in front of you as they laughed.

The horse startled and shook you and Moreth out of its back before running away as fast as possible. You quickly grabbed your dagger even though you knew it was hopeless to fight a unit on your own with nothing but a small knife. They laughed contemptuously, showing off their awful teeth.

Squeezing the dagger in your hand, you hovered over your daughter, trying to shield her from the Orcs. She was shivering slightly and clutched to the fabric of your cloak.

“L-leave us alone, we mean no harm, just passing through,” you tried to reason with them even though you knew they were not creatures of high intelligence. If they were creatures of any intelligence at all.

“Have you heard her?” One of the Orcs mocked you. “The Elven ladies are just passing through…” He pointed his own dagger at you as you trembled at the sight of the blade, which was dirty from dried up blood.

“P-please… My daughter is sick,” you pleaded but he only tilted his head and brushed your reckless hair strand with the tip of his blade.

“Leave it,” one of his friends barked at him. “They’re Elves. Lord Father won’t be happy if we hurt them. He wants all captured Elves to be taken to him immediately.”

“Oh… Yes… Lord Father will have lots of fun with them,” the Orc standing in front of you grinned at you, which caused a shiver go down your spine. His words sounded ominous – you were terrified of an idea of some sort of leader of the Orcs who was respected and called Lord Father by them. You didn’t even want to think about what he looked like and what he would do to you or your daughter… And now you were a hostage, taken to him.

Perhaps Gil-galad had been right but now it was too late to admit such things. Full of fear and anxiety, you dropped the dagger you were holding, counting on a merciful treatment after giving your weapon up willingly.

You were inside a wooden cage with your daughter by your side. Your hands were in shackles behind your backs but Moreth was sitting as close to you as possible, weeping silently and clinging to you. You knew that she was blaming herself because if it wasn’t for her sickness, you would never be travelling on that road. You didn’t blame her, though. She had never asked for any of this. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, praying for the infamous Lord Father of the Orcs to be a creature of a higher intelligence than his children. That you could reason with him and maybe offer him something in return to let you and your daughter go to Mirkwood freely although you had no idea what to offer. Perhaps a conversation with him would reveal more of his nature, which would help you to come up with a good idea. You were desperate to heal your daughter or at least to try to do so. You would never send her to Valinor too early without knowing that you had done absolutely everything to prevent it.

“It stinks,” you winced after your cage entered the Orcs’ camp.

“I do not feel it, mother,” Moreth admitted and you looked down at her face with nothing but shock. How could she not smell that odour of the Orcs and all their filth?  

You were not given enough time to think about it, though. You heard the awful noises of the Orcs’ tongue and laughter. Through the wooden bars of your cage you spotted them staring at you and pointing their fingers with hatred and disgust as if it was them who had reasons to find you and your daughter hideous.

“We are being taken to their leader,” you whispered to Moreth. “Let me handle it, darling. Do not talk, do not do anything, please.”

“I promise, mother,” she nodded and sniffled back her tears. She was terrified and so were you but you were trying not to show it too much because there was no point of scaring her more and to appear weak in front of the Orcs’ leader.

“Lord Father,” you heard a raspy voice of one of the Orcs once the cage stopped in the middle of something that used to be a market square of one of the human villages before the Orcs’ invasion. “We have captured two Elven women near Khazad-dûm. “They thought we would let them go freely. Claimed to be just passing through and that one of them was sick.”

You waited for the answer but there was none. You could see the mysterious figure only through the bars of the cage and you were not able to spot any details about him. He had to nod his head at the Orcs, though, because the cage was opened shortly after. You and Moreth were dragged out and pushed, making you both hit the ground with your hands still in shackles behind your backs. Clumsily, trying to keep your dignity, you held your head straight while moving your body up to rest on your knees at least, feeling the mud and dirt sticking to your scratched cheek. Your hair was a mess and your eyes filled with hatred as the Orcs surrounding you laughed with contempt.

You laid your eyes on your daughter and how she moved up on her knees as well. Her long black hair – just like her father’s – was full of mud and her skin looked even more unhealthy under the dark and stormy skies. In fact, your heart clenched in your chest because in this light you could truly see how sick she truly was and how little time she had before her light fades away completely and she becomes… Becomes something you did not even want to think of. The reason behind this sickness was beyond your comprehension, though.

You squinted your eyes at the man walking up towards you. To your surprise, his figure was nothing like the Orcs around you. He was either human or… an Elf? You swore, you could see pointed ears and it confused you greatly. With one more step he walked out of the shadow and you finally could see him perfectly well, which caused a gasp to leave your mouth and your heart skipped a beat. Moreth yelped at the sight but you were too stunned to comfort her in any way.

The man walking towards you was your husband.

It was not the same Adar you remembered – he looked damaged and tortured. His skin was sickly white…, which dangerously reminded you of your daughter’s worrying condition. His skin was full of scars and there was a sinister darkness about him that turned your blood cold inside your veins.

He froze at the sight of you as well as the Orcs went silent, realising that something was not right about this encounter. Adar furrowed his brows and opened his mouth slightly as if he had just seen a ghost.

“Impossible…” He breathed out but you heard him very well. His voice made shivers go down your spine. It was changed, too but it was still his. The sound of it brought back all the memories of your marriage and the courting. Of all the walks you had been taking together, all the stories he had been telling you and all the flowers he had been putting inside your hair. All the giggles he had shared with your daughter and all the kisses he had stolen from you under the moonlight.

Adar crouched down in front of you and Moreth to be on the same level but he kept his safe distance. He tilted his head and continued to look confused.

“You died,” he said and it was a statement, not a question. “I saw it,” he added. “Sauron,” he explained, “he showed me your death. A bunch of humans attacking your carriage and leaving your dead bodies by the road to bleed out,” he whispered as his voice and eyes filled with pain. “The vision has been coming back to me in nightmares ever since.”

You had many questions.

Question number one – how did your husband know Sauron personally?

But that was not time to ask that. It was time to explain something that had to be an awful misunderstanding.

“It is true, we were attacked some time after your dea– …disappearance,” you fixed yourself, trying to look for the best words. You still could not believe that your husband was alive after all but you were not sure if alive was the right word to use because the creature in front of you did not look like the Elf you had married. “We were robbed by poor human villagers. They took my jewellery and let us go. I did not even remember about it until now, it holds no significance to me,” you admitted.

Long silence occurred. No Orc was brave enough to say anything, seeing that their leader was engaged in a conversation of this sort and he seemed to be as confused as they were.

“Free them,” Adar ordered and stood up, waiting for the Orc standing nearby to get rid of your shackles. Once your wrists were free, he moved to free Moreth and Adar approached you to offer you his hand to help you stand up.

You did not take his hand, though, as you stood up on your own with your jaw clenched and your eyes filled with anger and hatred when you looked him up and down.

“My children mentioned that one of you was sick,” Adar pointed out and took a better look at his daughter. He had not seen her grown up yet. “That must be you,” he walked up to Moreth and raised his hand to caress her cheek.

“Do not touch her!” You snapped but he did not listen and your daughter did not seem to mind either.

“Father…” Her eyes filled with tears and she sobbed. Adar gathered her tears with his fingertips and pressed his forehead to hers.

A sudden thought made you realise that perhaps the answers you were seeking were not in Mirkwood but here – with him.

“Do you know what sickness is tormenting her?” You approached them, interrupting the bittersweet reunion moment. “Moreth’s light is fading. I am desperate to save her.”

Adar turned around to look at you and your daughter kept staring at you as well. And when they stood like that – side by side – you realised that it was no mysterious sickness at all. She had just been turning into a creature like her father. You gasped and took a step back, nearly falling down after stumbling.

“It is you…” You shook your head as tears filled your eyes when you laid them on your husband. “You are the sickness. You are the poison in her veins.”

But after hearing your words, Moreth looked outraged and saddened as she hid behind Adar. Her reaction shocked you. You knew that she had been missing him for long years but it had been you who actually raised her. Your bond was so strong and now she was siding with him? You couldn’t understand anything about her behaviour.

“Let us talk inside,” Adar pointed at one of the houses in the village that he was living in now.

Moreth walked there and waved at you to hurry you up as the Orcs kept staring at her and you with curiosity mixed with a little bit of respect. They had to realise by now that you were related to their Lord Father.

“Do not rush your mother, my darling,” Adar approached your daughter and put his arm around her. “She shall join us when she is ready to,” he nodded at you and you watched them both disappear inside the house.

You were left alone in the middle of the market square with dozens of Orcs staring at you and tilting their heads. You were unarmed and deeply uncomfortable in their presence even though they were not attacking or bothering you. They were just staring. Still, you would rather follow your daughter and Adar inside the house. There were many questions to ask.

Walking slowly without revealing your nervousness, you approached the door of the house and pushed them open. You spotted Adar and Moreth sitting together on a bench with a bowl full of water on the table in front of them. He was washing the mud and dirt off of your daughter’s hair gently just like he had been brushing and braiding it back in the day. The sight made your eyes fill with fresh tears again.

“It did not take you long, mother,” Moreth smiled at you weakly.

You looked around the dark house and felt awkward, not knowing what to do with yourself. You watched Moreth and Adar for a while as he silently cleaned her hair and face. You remembered that yours were dirty, too, so you approached the bowl and grabbed the spare cloth lying nearby as if it had been put there for you.

Slowly, you dipped the cloth in the water and wiped your face first, hissing when it touched the scratch on your cheek. Then you began working on your hair, brushing it with your fingers and getting rid of the dried up mud.

“How do you know Sauron and why did he lie to you about our death?” You asked finally. Moreth froze at your uncomfortable questions but Adar did not even flinch as he continued to brush her hair.

“I was lured by the promise of power given to me by Morgoth,” Adar explained calmly, avoiding your gaze. “I desired to learn everything I could about this world. Both light and dark,” he admitted, his voice stoic and melancholic. “After Morgoth’s defeat, I wished to come back for you and Moreth but Sauron wanted me to be his lieutenant. I refused at first. You and Moreth were all I was thinking about so he revealed to me that you were dead and that he had been sparing me the pain of this truth before. After seeing his vision, which felt incredibly real, I had nothing to lose. He had to deceive me to make me more willing to follow him,” Adar finally looked up to meet your gaze and you saw how his eyes filled with so much pain that it made your heart clench inside your chest. “If only I knew…”

“You do not speak of him fondly,” you did not let him finish as you pointed out. “I thought that the Orcs followed Sauron.”

“Uruks,” he fixed you. “After losing my family… they became like children to me,” Adar revealed. “Sauron does not care about them. He sacrifices them and treats them with no respect. I killed him once and now I am going to kill him again,” he told you.

You snorted at that as you started realising the absurdity of the whole situation. You couldn’t believe that your husband – whom you had been admiring for intelligence and knowledge – had acted so stupidly and proudly. So… haughty. That one day he had decided to abandon you to learn some forbidden magic tricks. What had he been expecting exactly?

And that your husband – whom you had been missing every day for many long years and whom you grieved – had been alive all that time, causing evil and misery all over Middle-earth.

“So… When you were telling me that you craved for something more… That’s the more that you meant?” You looked around with contempt.

“Mother, do not be so harsh. Father has been in so much pain, can’t you see?” Moreth stood up for him. “Are you not glad he is alive after all? We were told that you had been killed by Morgoth,” she looked at her father and cupped his face as if she still could not believe that he was alive. And as if she did not mind his cruel change at all.

“In many ways… I was, my child,” Adar smiled sadly at her.

“Let us go,” you insisted as you threw the cloth down onto the table, not needing it anymore. Adar and Moreth looked up at you both and once again you felt sick in your stomach as your insides twisted at the sight of how similar they were becoming. “She is sick, can’t you see? Her light is fading. Soon she will not be welcomed in Valinor.”

“I am not sick, mother!” Moreth interrupted you before her father could answer. “I could not understand this change either. For years, I have been tormented and scared, trying to fight it. But now I see that I have never been sick. Oh, can’t you see? This is exactly where I was supposed to end up. Nothing happens without a reason and the fact we were captured today was a part of the plan, too. Weren’t you always saying there had been a reason for us to be here, in Middle-earth? That is my purpose. I am not sick. I am becoming myself. Like father,” she nodded and squeezed Adar’s hands. He was staring at her lovingly and you could imagine that, indeed, those words had to feel like honey being poured onto his rotten heart – or whatever was left of it.

But for you her words were hideous and terrifying. You were staring at her in pure shock and you felt both sad and betrayed.

“No, that is not your purpose. Your blood is poisoned because of your father but… But there is still hope for you, Moreth. You are my daughter, too,” you pleaded. “Let us go,” you looked at Adar again and this time the tone of your voice was harsher. “We are going to Mirkwood to search for the answers.”

“There are no answers in Mirkwood,” your husband chuckled at that and caressed your daughter’s wrists with his thumbs as she kept squeezing his hands. “We might continue calling it a sickness if you wish, my love,” he nodded at you and you winced at the way he called you but at the same time it felt so… oddly good. However, you shook the feeling off. Your daughter and her health were more important than your heart’s conflicting desires. “The only person who can stop the sickness is Moreth herself. She would have to want to stop it and to truly fight it. She would have to seek the light instead of darkness. And those past years she has been chasing the corruption, haven’t you, my darling?” He asked Moreth and she looked down as your eyes widened.

“Moreth?” You asked her.

“It was stronger than me, mother. I have been studying things I should not have. I have blamed it on the sickness you were talking about. You were blaming my grief and sadness but it was not true. I took it for the symptom but it was the reason itself. I remembered that my father loved to learn and I tried to justify my hunger for the forbidden knowledge with the fact that I was his daughter. And I am his daughter indeed. Twisted, is it not, mother?” She looked up at you again, scared of your reaction. With each of her confessions, you felt your heart breaking into more and more pieces. Your whole world was crumbling down. Not only your husband but also your daughter were corrupted with great evil. “I still love you. I forever shall love you, mother. But do you still love me?”

“I forever shall love you,” you mirrored her words and felt tears stream down your cheeks. “It is too late for you,” you looked at Adar. “But not for her. Let her go. Help me,” you begged.

“You are right, (Y/N). It is too late for me and I do wish for my daughter to remain by my side if that is her wish,” Adar smirked, making you realise that you were not on the same page with this.

“Moreth?!” You took a step ahead but your husband stood up and shielded your daughter from you. That gesture hurt you deeply because you were the last person in the whole world who would ever want to put her in any form of danger. You furrowed your brows at him. “Is that what you want?” You kept asking your daughter although your eyes were fixed on her father as you were staring at him with hatred mixed with pain. It was a pure torture to see your beloved husband turning into a monster. All that grief and sadness after his death – they had been a useless waste of feelings after all. “Is that what you want?” You repeated your question. “To be an Orc Princess?” You asked with contempt through the gritted teeth.

“Uruk,” Adar fixed you again. You spotted anger in his eyes but he was very calm towards you and you realised he still had to have very strong feelings for you because even now, seeing what he had become, you felt no fear around him. As if you were sure that he would never hurt you. “You are free to go,” he added with a nod. “Tomorrow morning. You should rest now. I shall give you a horse and you can leave if you do not wish to stay,” he explained and walked away, finally allowing you to look at your daughter.

Your heart broke and your eyes filled with even more tears at the sight of your daughter. Now, seeing her face clearly, you could see that her decision had been truly made already. Her eyes – your eyes – were filled with tears that meant only one thing. She was preparing to say goodbye.

“Why can’t you stay, mother? We could be a family again,” Moreth pleaded.

“How can you expect me to stay? How can you even ask me?” You shook your head. “And how can you want to stay? Don’t you understand that you are robbing yourself of seeing all of your friends ever again? You are robbing yourself of the light of Valinor. You are robbing yourself of the beauty of Eregion, of the greatness of Mithlond… In the name of what?”

“Freedom,” Moreth answered in all seriousness. “Being a carrier of the light is an honourable task but the light is often a burden, too. I want to be free of the shackles – no matter how virtuous they are.”

“Then I have lost you,” you turned around and covered your lips with your hand to muffle your sob.

“Moreth, there is a room upstairs on the right,” Adar told her. “It is inhabited and it is yours for the night. Go there and rest. You have had a long day,” he nodded at her.

“Father,” she stood up and bowed her head at him. Then she looked at you and hesitated. “Mother…” She bowed her head, too. Waiting for you to say something but not receiving any reaction from you, she turned around and walked away to go upstairs.

You were left alone with Adar now and despite the fact he was your husband whom you still loved no matter what – it was hard to stop loving somebody so quickly, after all – you felt nothing but anger towards him now. He had stolen your daughter from you. His darkness had poisoned her and now you lost her.

“She is everything to me,” you swallowed a lump in your throat. You kept staring at the wall in front of you and you didn’t even flinch when he put his hand on your arm. It felt so odd to feel his touch again that it sent a shiver down your body.

“She is everything to me, too. So are you,” he whispered, standing right behind you. You could feel his breath on your neck. “Stay with us, (Y/N),” he pleaded in a broken whisper.

You stood like that in silence for a long while as your lower lip kept trembling and you were overthinking his proposition. Everything you cared for was here but you could not picture yourself taking part in this cruelty and destruction. On your way here, through the wooden bars of your cage, you could see what the Orcs and Adar had done to this land. You did not want to be a Queen of the ruins, ruling over the ashes in the name of the ungraspable idea of power.

You turned around very slowly, facing your husband. To see his face so damaged and full of scars made your heart weep. Carefully, you raised your hand to touch his cheek and to caress it as he watched your every movement with a hint of curiosity and affection.

“Why have you chosen me all those years ago? You told me you had spotted me but I have never understood why,” you whispered sadly, remembering the day when you first realised he had been watching you lovingly from afar.

“I have waited a long time to meet a woman like you. And I knew ever since I was very young that I would only marry if I met her,” Adar explained.

“And what do you mean by that? What was so special about me?” You swallowed thickly, scared of the answer.

“You know very well that Moreth’s darkness does not come only from me,” he smirked and held your wrist gently, intertwining your fingers together. You looked away nervously. “You are curious about what your life here would be like. I know your heart enough to know that you are thinking of it way too much than you should be,” he smiled but there was no contempt about it, just pure affection. You dared to meet his gaze and you nearly gasped when you saw how much he still loved you.

You even allowed him to kiss you. When Adar joined your lips together, you did not move away and you did not flinch. In fact, it felt so natural that you closed your eyes and did not even attempt to resist him in any way. You gave in, putting your hands flat on his chest.

And for that moment of the kiss, you could see it – you could see it all. You could see yourself walking next to him through the war camps like this one with Moreth following you. Both of you were wearing black dresses, your skins were sickly paler, your eyes were hollow and terrifying. You could hear yourself speaking in the tongue of the Orcs and you could see them bowing down at your sight. You could see the comfort in the darkness and your home being wherever your husband and daughter were.

But your visions were being fought with the faces of your friends and the beautiful cities of your kin. The images of Valinor were like sun rays penetrating your dark fantasies and making them fade away. And when the last little part of the ominous daydream disappeared, you broke the kiss. Both you and Adar looked at each other and he smiled sadly as his eyes filled with pain because he already knew what your decision was.

“I cannot stay,” you whispered.

He nodded without a word as he took a step back and walked away, leaving you all alone in the room.

You spent the night on the bench in the room downstairs and in the morning Adar kept his promise as he presented you with a horse after breakfast. During the meal you all were silent and you spotted that after that night your daughter looked even more sickly than usual as if her sickness had progressed very quickly all of a sudden. You tried not to comment and she tried not to beg with her words for you to stay but she kept asking for it with her eyes. For that reason, you tried to avoid her gaze.

The horse Adar had presented you with was black and it had a mark burnt on its side that you quickly learnt all the humans serving your husband had burnt on them as well. Moreth was standing behind her father when they walked you to the stables and watched you caress the horse’s neck.

You could not help the feeling that your life had no meaning outside this camp because you had no one to live for anymore if your daughter was supposed to stay here. Yet, remaining by your husband’s side felt too wrong.

And so did trying to force Moreth to change her mind. She was your daughter but she was her own person and old enough to make decisions for herself – no matter how much they hurt you.

Two Orcs walked inside the stables to join you and they awaited Adar’s orders. He pointed at you and smiled at them.

“Walk my wife out of the camp and make sure she is not bothered. Allow her to ride away in any direction she wishes to and remember her face because she is under our protection wherever you might see her again,” he ordered and you were quite surprised to hear those words. You knew he still loved you but you did not expect him to grant you such protection despite your decision to leave him.

“Yes, Lord Father,” the Orcs nodded and walked out of the stables.

One last time, you looked sadly at your daughter but you did not even hug her and she did not approach you either. After that, with a heavy heart, you followed the Orcs outside and allowed them to lead you out of the camp. They kept looking back all the time to make sure you were still walking behind them and they were nervously staring you up and down, which was quite annoying.

You finally reached the gate of the camp and they nodded at the other Orcs to open it for you. You were about to hop on your horse when you saw that the Orcs bowed in front of you.

“Farewell, Lady Mother,” one of them said.

“Do not call me that!” You snapped angrily and – filled with disgust – you mounted your horse and rode away as fast as possible although you had no idea what direction you should take.

Technically, you should hurry to Mithlond and inform Gil-galad about everything that had happened but you did not want to cause your daughter any problems. Conflicted, you hit the road ahead of you, not entirely sure where it was leading and allowing it to decide your fate.

Far behind you, Moreth was staring at your silhouette disappearing over the horizon while she stood by her father’s side. He was looking in the same direction as her but when she finally laid her eyes on him, she realised he was way calmer than her and there was even a shadow of a smile on his lips even though her own eyes were filled with tears.

“Are you not sad that she has left us?” Moreth asked.

“Do not weep, my child,” Adar wrapped his arm around his daughter and squeezed her arm comfortingly. “Your mother will come back to us sooner than you expect.”

MASTERLIST

[hollyoongs]

˗ˏˋ 𝝡𝝪ꓴ𝖭𝗚ᒍ𝖠𝗘'𝗦 ᒍ𝝤ꓴ𝙍𝖭𝖠𝗟 (𝗇𝗼t 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝙧𝘆!!!) || M.J.H

—0.0: expand your creativity, son

ᨓ 。bnd myungjae × fem reader ꒰🍭꒱﹕teeth rooting fluff ﹕+2.3k

𝙨𝗂𝗇𝗼𝗽𝙨𝗂𝙨

Jungkook didn't know what to do; he tried everything to tone down his son's energetic behavior after countless teacher's notes, but when he saw how his son loved to write him appreciation letters ever since he learned how to write (and how calm he stayed for more than five minutes), the idea of a diary came to his mind. But he didn't know that his son would love that journal (his son's words) so much to even write about his first love, but also how much she hated that girl with pigtails and a beautiful smile who didn't share some of her crayons with him.

Jungkook walked to Jaehyun's classroom, smiling fondly at the rest of the parents that were picking up their children when he saw them. Almost all of the parents there were going to turn forty, dressed in their corporate suits or gym clothes, carrying an air of experience and stability. And there he was, a twenty-two-year-old single dad, standing out not just because of his age but because he felt like he was living in a world entirely different from theirs. He had an all black outfit pair with some combat boots of the same color and his leather jacket, and the small smile that reached his lips was more out of habit than ease.

At the fresh age of sixteen, he had won and lost something at the same time: he won the love of his life, his little boy Jaehyun, whose wide eyes and mischievous smile were a mirror image of his own. The first time he saw Jaehyun after his ex gave birth, he cried—because he couldn’t believe something so perfect had come from him and because he knew how much responsibility had landed on his young shoulders. His girlfriend, Jaehyun’s mother, had been quick to back out. The reality of teenage parenthood was too much for her, and after a few months of tearful arguments and sleepless nights, she left without saying much. One day, there was a note on the table, and her things were gone. She didn't want anything to do with them anymore.

Jungkook had been scared—terrified, really. He was barely figuring out who he was at sixteen; how was he supposed to raise a baby? But the moment Jaehyun grabbed his finger with that tiny hand, all the fear was replaced by an overwhelming sense of purpose. He wasn’t just a teenager anymore; he was Jaehyun’s dad.

The first few years had been tough. He had to grow up fast, faster than any of his friends. While they were still figuring out how to sneak into clubs, Jungkook was learning how to change diapers in the middle of the night. He remembered the nights he would stay awake, not because Jaehyun was crying, but because he was worried—worried if he was doing enough, if he could provide the life his son deserved. He dropped out of high school to work odd jobs, from a delivery boy to a part-time barista, doing whatever it took to make ends meet.

But as tough as those early years were, they were also filled with moments of quiet joy—Jaehyun’s first steps, his first word. Dad. The first time he toddled over to Jungkook with a crayon drawing, showing off the crooked lines like it was the most important piece of art in the world. Each of those moments reminded Jungkook that, even though his life had taken a completely unexpected turn, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Now, at twenty-two, things were a little more stable. He had gotten his GED, was working as a tattoo artist part-time and as a photographer and video editor for a very well-known brand, and while life was still chaotic, they had a rhythm—a bond that was unbreakable. It wasn’t always easy, especially when he saw parents who had their lives neatly organized, with their pristine schedules and picture-perfect families. But every time Jaehyun looked up at him with those same round, sparkling eyes, he knew he was doing okay. More than okay. He was doing his best.

And that was enough.

As Jungkook approached the classroom door, he saw Jaehyun still scribbling away on a piece of paper in the small playground next to the classroom with some of his friends, oblivious to the world around them. His son’s tongue stuck out a little in concentration, and Jungkook couldn’t help but smile.

Just as he was about to call Jaehyun’s name, a voice stopped him.

“Jungkook-ah!” Taehyung’s warm, familiar voice carried across the room. They smiled at each other as he strode over with his signature boxy smile, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Jungkook chuckled. “What’s up, Tae?”

Taehyung motioned toward Jaehyun with a tilt of his head. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your little guy. Let's go inside.” Both of them went into the classroom, with Taehyung taking a seat in his chair and Jungkook at his friend's desk.

Taehyung and Jungkook met each other on their first day of high school and were also the first to know that Jungkook was going to be a father.

Taehyung had been by his side through it all—the late-night talks, the moments when Jungkook didn’t know if he could handle the pressure, and even the small victories like Jaehyun’s first birthday party. After graduating, Taehyung didn't have second thoughts and decided that teaching was his passion, later on becoming a teacher for kids.

He was even the one that recommended to Jungkook to enroll Jaehyun in it. It was only fitting that Taehyung ended up being Jaehyun’s teacher.

“Is everything okay?” Jungkook asked, leaning forward slightly, a trace of concern in his voice.

Taehyung sighed, running a hand through his hair before resting his elbows on the desk. “Jaehyun’s a great kid. You know that. Bright, imaginative, kind.” He paused, giving Jungkook a reassuring smile. “But I’ve noticed he’s having a little trouble sitting still, especially during lessons. It’s nothing we can’t work through, but I just thought it might be good to talk about it.”

Jungkook nodded, though he already knew where this was heading. He had received more than a few notes from Taehyung and other teachers in the past about Jaehyun’s boundless energy. No matter how much they tried to redirect it, Jaehyun seemed to always have an endless well of enthusiasm that couldn’t be contained by a classroom setting.

“I’ve been trying to figure it out, too,” Jungkook admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve tried cutting down on his sugar intake, setting earlier bedtimes, giving him more outside playtime—but nothing seems to work long-term.”

Taehyung smiled sympathetically. “Sometimes, it’s not about toning down the energy, but finding the right outlet for it.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Well,” Taehyung began thoughtfully, “I’ve noticed that whenever we do creative writing or any drawing activity, Jaehyun is one of the few kids who actually sits down and focuses. He really gets into it. He wrote me a story the other day about a superhero who could run faster than the speed of light.” Taehyung chuckled, pulling out a piece of paper from his desk drawer. “We both know that he wrote "Flash," but I have to say. It was pretty impressive the approach he had, to be honest.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up as he took the paper from Taehyung. He recognized the messy handwriting, grammatical errors, and colorful doodles along the edges. Jaehyun had always been expressive with his drawings, leaving notes for Jungkook all over their apartment, little tokens of appreciation, or just random thoughts. He never realized it was a way to help his son focus.

“That’s actually really cool,” Jungkook said, staring at the paper with a growing sense of pride.

"He has your art and writing skills, JK." Taehyung leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Maybe you could encourage him to keep writing. Let him express all that energy. It might not solve everything, but it could help him channel his thoughts and feelings in a more structured way.”

Jungkook thought about it for a moment, his thoughts being interrumped by a gasp.

"Dad!" he saw Jaehyun running to him with another paper in hand and a big smile on his face. “Look what I drew today!” Jaehyun beamed, holding up a crumpled sheet filled with colorful crayon drawings. His energy was contagious, and even though Jungkook had just been discussing his struggles, all he could do was smile.

“Whoa, buddy, this looks amazing!” Jungkook kneeled down to Jaehyun’s level, ruffling his hair as he inspected the picture. It was another one of Jaehyun’s imaginative masterpieces, this time depicting a castle with dragons and knights. “Did you make this all by yourself?”

Jaehyun nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide with excitement. “Yeah! And Mr. Kim said it was really cool too!”

Taehyung chuckled from behind his desk. “I sure did. I even said he could teach me a thing or two about drawing.”

Jungkook laughed lightly, but his thoughts lingered on what Taehyung had suggested earlier. Writing. Drawing. Maybe Jaehyun didn’t need to be calmed down; maybe he just needed a way to express all those thoughts buzzing around in his little head.

"Okay, Jaehyun. Take your stuff and wait for me outside. I'll go in a minute." Jaehyun gave a soft kiss on his dad's cheek and started running to his table, taking his superhero bagpack and doing as he said. He turned again to his friend. "I think I have an idea and, thankfully, something."

Taehyung grinned, standing up and giving Jungkook a firm pat on the back. “You’re a good dad, Jungkook. You’ve always been. Jaehyun’s lucky to have you.”

Jungkook felt a warmth spread through his chest at the words. He didn’t always feel like he was doing things right—most of the time, he was just winging it—but hearing that from Taehyung, someone who had known him for so long, gave him a small boost of confidence.

“Thanks, Tae,” Jungkook said quietly.

As they walked back outside, Jungkook’s eyes landed on Jaehyun again, now chasing one of his friends around the playground, laughing wildly. His heart swelled with affection, and in that moment, he decided he’d do whatever it took to help his son, no matter how small the steps.

"Let's go, Jae!"

Jungkook watched Jaehyun race across the playground; he knew this was one of those moments. The ones where everything seemed to fall into place, where the love he had for his son overshadowed any doubts or fears he held inside. Jaehyun was a whirlwind of energy, yes, but he was also a whirlwind of joy. That was what mattered most.

On their way home, Jaehyun couldn’t stop talking. About his day, about his friends and activities, and about the new superhero team he was imagining. Jungkook listened, smiling, but his mind was focused on the idea that Taehyung had planted.

Jaehyun is really similar to him, just in his extrovert form. And if he really was similar to him, then he will need something that would allow him to be himself.

Later that evening, after dinner and a bath, Jungkook sat down with Jaehyun. “Hey, buddy, I’ve been thinking,” he started, pulling out a small notebook from behind his back. “How about you write in this every night before bed? You can write stories, draw, or even tell me about your day.”

"Like a secret diary? That's for girls, dad."

Jaehyun’s laugh echoed in the room, but Jungkook caught the hint of uncertainty in his son's eyes. He sat down beside Jaehyun on the bed, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “You know, buddy,” he began, his tone soft but thoughtful, “there aren’t things that are just for boys or just for girls. Anyone can do what makes them happy.”

Jaehyun tilted his head, still clutching the small notebook. “But my friends at school say diaries are for girls. They don’t have any.”

Jungkook gave a warm smile, leaning in a bit closer. “Well, your friends might not know the whole picture. Some boys don’t talk about the things they write or draw, but that doesn’t mean they don’t do it. Writing in a diary or a journal doesn’t make someone any less of who they are—whether they’re a boy, a girl, or anything else. It just helps them express their feelings, and that’s something anyone can do.”

Jaehyun furrowed his brows, considering his dad’s words. Jungkook continued, choosing his words carefully. “You see, everyone has feelings, right? Sometimes we get happy, sad, frustrated, or excited. Writing them down helps us understand what we’re feeling and why. It’s kind of like when you draw—when you’re in your own world, making up stories about superheroes and castles. That’s for everyone.”

Jaehyun looked at the journal again, his little fingers running over the cover. “So… it’s okay if I have a diary?”

Jungkook smiled warmly and nodded. “Absolutely. It’s more than okay. It’s yours, and you can fill it with whatever you want—your thoughts, your dreams, your drawings. And it doesn’t matter if other people think diaries are for girls, because it’s not about them. It’s about what makes you happy.”

“But Dad,” Jaehyun asked, his voice quieter now, “do other boys really have diaries?”

Jungkook nodded again. “Lots of boys do. I do. And even if they don’t call it a diary, they might write stories or keep track of things they love, like songs, drawings, or goals they want to reach. Everyone has different ways of keeping track of what’s important to them.”

Jaehyun seemed to relax a bit, his fingers flipping the notebook open again. “So I can write whatever I want? No one will laugh.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook reassured him. “And if anyone does laugh, it just means they don’t understand it yet. But that’s okay—they’ll learn. And remember, being kind and respectful is the most important thing, whether someone likes drawing, writing, or even just playing outside. It’s all good as long as it makes them happy.”

Jaehyun nodded, his expression brightening as he held the notebook a little closer to his chest. “Okay, Dad. I’ll write in it. But can it be any time?”

Jungkook chuckled softly. “You can write about anything and anytime, buddy. And when you’re ready, I’d love to hear about it.”

Jaehyun smiled, flipping the notebook open, already scribbling away on the first page. Jungkook watched him for a moment, feeling a sense of pride as he saw his son begin to understand that there were no limits to what he could do, no matter what anyone said.

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𝘃𝗲𝙧𝘆 𝗂𝗺𝗽𝗼𝙧t𝖺𝗇t 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 (𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵)

© hollyoongs, 2024. please do not copy, translate or steal my story

[blueishspace]

Looped Sun 12

Loop #380

Mumbo: Ok, it is done!

Scar: What is- WHAT IS THAT!?!

Grian: Is that why you needed the power stone?

Mumbo: It sure is mate. I present to you the new and improved powers stone powered Buttercups mech.

Grian: It's great!

Mumbo: Doc stands no chance against it!

Scar: Wooho! big and large! My favorite combo!

Mumbo: ... U-uh. R-right moving on.

Scar: What!?

Loop #383

Scott: Thomas sanders, right?

Thomas: Yeah? A looper right? Whose place did you take?

Scott: Oh right right, I'll be your Creativity for this loop.

Thomas: Oh... can you tell me why my friends had animal features this time around?

Scott: Oh that is a thing from our loop that seems to have carried over.

Thomas: ... Wait...Ours?

Scott: Right! Morality!

Jimmy: Hello! First fused loop for me so I'm a bit nervous... Why didn't you just call me by name though.

Scott: Easiest way to introduce your role. Next, Logic!

Mumbo: H-here! I uh... I really should have been anxiety though.

Jimmy: Eh, I see it. You are like, really smart Mumbo.

Mumbo: Oh... thanks.

Scott: Well, since you mentioned her, Anxiety!

Pearl: Hello mate.

Thomas: My anxiety being australian I didn't expect.

Pearl: Yeah... did you know about this australian spider that can kill you and is basically impossible to see?

Thomas: This is going terribly.

Jimmy: Listen It's not that bad, right?

Thomas: ...

Scott: It is pretty bad... Thomas' sides are all fragments of his personality but we aren't...we are complex people It's difficult to do their job.

Thomas: ...

Scott: Take me, sure I'm colorful and creative and prideful and all about that jazz but I'm also rational. I can't give Thomas the same delusional and completely fantastical type of pure creativity and imagination that he needs.

Jimmy: Well I think I'm doing a good job as morality!

Thomas: You are It's just...

Scott: You are also prideful and get weird when you feel insulted so your flavour. morality is too emotional, you also aren't used to killing being a bad thing as the life series has multiple respawns and Empires has infinite which means that the most basic morals of don't kill and don't steal don't really come to you naturally.

Jimmy: O-oh... well, I'm trying.

Scott: And Mumbo?

Mumbo: Y-yeah?

Scott: I mean it in the nicest way...Logic is supposed to reign Anxiety in, not akwardly stutter whenever Pearl makes a point.

Pearl: What can I say, I'm right.

Scott: And Pearl, I know you are having fun with this but you are treapassing into intrusive thoughts territories way too often.

Pearl: Do I? I'm sorry mate, I didn't mean to.

Thomas: It's...it's fine, I understand It's hard I just-

Mumbo: U-uh can I say something?

Thomas: Y-yeah?

Mumbo: Uh...you do know Scott scottish accent is not really that strong right?

Scott?: ... Frick... Well, I knew it wouldn't last forever.

Thomas: Huh!?

Grian: Hello Thomas, I just couldn't stay back while...this happened.

Pearl: G! You cunt! You didn't tell us you were here!

Grian: Sorry, sorry, just wanted to keep the surprise a surprise.

Mumbo: Grian!? You are here!

Grian: Sure thing Mumbo.

Thomas: How did I not-

Grian: What can I say? I'm a looper, I'm really good at lying. Now, I have a few ideas to fix these issues.

Thomas: Ok, ok this is fine Scott I need some ideas for the video-

Scott: Already on it! Are you-

Scar: Have you ever tought about tasting human flesh? I heard and totally have no experience with it that it tastes like pig.

Thomas: What!? No!

Pearl: Scar!?! Grian, did you know about him being here too!?

Grian: Yep, sure thing.

Pearl: And you didn't say anything.

Grian: Funnier this way.

Scar: Ok, ok, what if you stole a bone from a grave and sold it to one of their family members!

Thomas: Nooo!

Scar: Hm...

Scott: Got anything else?

Scar: ... Uh...murder?

Thomas: Not happening.

Loop #387

Jimmy had known about this type of loop from Grian, still waking up with healing powers and stuck in a tower was a lot. Still Grian said he just needed to reach the castle, reunite with this loop's version of his parents and get mother gothel apprehended. Which he did, in record time he might add which meant he was surprised when the loop didn't finish immediately when Grian said it would. It lasted a while more actually, he even got a special guard-

Jimmy: Pearl!?

Pearl: Jimmy!?! Of course you are taking Rapunzel's place.

Jimmy: You are my guard now?

Pearl: Yeah, It's my sworn duty to protect you.

Jimmy: So... why did the loop not end?

Pearl: This is the extended version of the loop mate.

Jimmy: Oh. Oh! Ohhhh.

Pearl: ...

Jimmy: I don't know anything about it.

Pearl: Oh right, well... follow my lead, mate and you'll be good.

Jimmy: Ok!

Jimmy: That's...different from the healing incantation.

Pearl: Yeah, don't read it.

Jimmy: What why not?

Pearl: It's not going to be good.

Jimmy: Well now I want to read it!

Pearl: Jimmy no-

Jimmy: Wither and decay... see nothing bad.

Pearl: Don't the words not make you think about it!?!

Jimmy: Hmm... End this destiny... no! Break these earthly chains and set the spirit free.

Pearl: Ok then, I'm just going to wait here to tell you I told you so.

Jimmy: Nothing is happening. Wither and decay, end this destiny. Break these earthly chains and set the spirit free.

Pearl: Guess It's happening.

Jimmy: Wither and decay, end this destiny. Break these earthly chains and set the spirit free. Wither and decay, end this destiny. Break these earthly chains and set the spirit free.

Pearl: ...fuck.

Jimmy: The moonstone? It's pretty.

Pearl: Yeah.

Jimmy: So do I just grab it?

Pearl: About that, plans have changed.

Jimmy: Uh?

Pearl: Listen, I'm the PearleascentMOON, I have a bit of a thing going on.

Jimmy: Don't -

And then light enveloped the room.

Jimmy: I can't believe you tricked me for the bit!

Pearl: Oh C'mon, it was funny.

Jimmy: ... Power of the sun, gift me with your light-

Pearl: And that's my cue to go.

Loop #393

Jimmy: Wait, why did I get Mabel's place and you Dipper!?

Pearl: You tell me mate.

Jimmy: You know what? I don't care. This is going to be great anyway.

Pearl: You do know what happens in gravity fall, right?

Jimmy: Not really! Just the basics!

Pearl: ... Right. Don't get your hopes up too high.

Jimmy: Wait, what happens!?

Pearl: ...

Jimmy: I hate gnomes.

Pearl: Big L.

Jimmy: Not even king! Queen! They tried to make me wear a dress!

Pearl: Nothing wrong with a dress.

Jimmy: There is when I'm forced into it by small creepy men.

Jimmy: How do people deal with so much...this!?!

Pearl: Probably used to it, they live here. It would be weirder if they didn't.

Jimmy: I- I guess!? You know what, I'm going to make more sweaters.

Jimmy: Oh, we can't just leave Pacifica there all alone.

Pearl: But she's a-

Jimmy: You said she gets better though.

Pearl: ... Yeah but-

Jimmy: Pacifica! Do you want a ride?

Gideon: EGASSEM SDRAWKCAB EGASSEM SDRAWKCAB EGASSEM SDRAWKCAB!

Grian: Oh It's nice to be here! You must be Gideon then?

Gideon: What are- How do you know my name?

Grian: Oh, I know lots of things. Lots of things.

Jimmy: Grian!?!

Grian: Hey there Timmy, I told Pearl this would happen eventually.

Jimmy: Why are you talking to me?

Grian: Well, it is near the time when the puppet show happens, you just didn't make them.

Jimmy: ...What?

Grian: Doesn't matter, at this point Bill would posses Dipper but I don't really want to posses Pearl, a bit unconfortable for me.

Jimmy: I'm not letting you posses me G.

Grian: Oh C'mon, it would be funny!

Jimmy: Why do even want to?

Grian: The nightmare realm is just so boooring. I promise I won't embarass you.

Jimmy: ...I want control at least 75% of the time.

Grian: no way, 50%.

Jimmy: 70%.

Grian: ... 60%.

Jimmy: ... Fine.

Grian: It's a deal then?

Jimmy: Yes.

Pearl: Grian you-

Grian: What? I didn't do anything!

Pearl: You caused Weirdmageddon!?!

Grian: Oh come on, It's so much tamer then canon, i'd call it Tamemageddon even.

Pearl: Grian.

Grian: I even turned infinte respawns AND keep inventory on.

Pearl: Grian.

Grian: Look at Timmy, he's having a blast! Aaaand I know for sure someone wants to pratice using the moonstone and chaos magic together.

Pearl: ...

Grian: I'm not going to hurt anyone Pearl, this is all innocent fun.

Pearl: ... Fine.

Prev Next First

[feasibilities]

Afternoon Tea | Jim x Married!Reader

Synopsis: Jim visits his best friend's wife while she's home alone.

Warnings: Soft Fem!Dom, Jealousy, Cheating, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Past Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Guilt

Author's Note: I started classes late last month and had some health issues but I'm doing better. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Jim’s jealousy towards Chris made no sense. He had a beautiful wife and managed 2 children with her with little issue. Why should he be jealous of a marriage to a younger woman that happened because of a midlife crisis? 

“Hey, Jim. Come in.” You beamed. He loved seeing you smile. 

“Hey.” Jim said softly, taking you in. 

“I just came from yoga class, so excuse my attire. Would you like some tea?” You apologized, walking to the kitchen. 

“Sure, no problem.” He replied, distracted by how your leggings hugged your legs and ass. He took a seat at the table to gather himself. Pouring him a mug, you gave him a dish of sugar and lemon. 

“Thank you.” He said warmly. Curious glances were exchanged between you two before he broke the silence. 

“How have things been with Chris?” He inquired.

“Good, I suppose.” You trailed off. Noticing your apprehension, he decided to pry. 

“You sure?” Jim asked.

“Well, Chris wants to have kids but I would like to wait until I finish graduate school. I get that he’s older but this is really important to me.” You revealed, fiddling with your wedding ring. Jim was humored by your youthful vocabulary.

“Having kids is a big responsibility. Danielle and I met at university but waited until we graduated. I know he can be difficult to deal with at times but someone like you can convince him.” He said, sipping out of the mug. 

“You’re so much easier to talk to.” You said, sitting in the chair adjacent to him. Your gaze lingered on him. You felt butterflies in your stomach as you studied his features. Truthfully, he was much more intriguing than Chris. You hated Danielle for getting to him first. 

“How do you keep things exciting? Chris can be good time but you seem way more fun.” You said, scooting closer to him. 

“Oh, I’m no fun at all.” He said, shaking his head with a smile.

“I think you are.” You spoke softly, touching his arm. He tensed at the contact and sat his mug down. Jim was interested in whatever your plans were but worried about the consequences of fucking his friend’s wife. 

“Uh, I think I should go. It was nice speaking with you. Thanks for the tea.” He said politely, standing up. You grabbed his wrist and led him to the living room. Before he could protest, you shoved him on the couch and began undressing. Jim’s face turned bright red when your bra fell to the floor. This was much better than the time he spied on you taking a shower during a family vacation. His lecherous reminiscence was interrupted by you standing over him. 

“Do you want me, Jim?” You cooed, holding his chin. 

“Yes, I always have.” He answered embarrassingly quick. You climbed onto his lap and kissed him harshly. His large hands moved to your ass and massaged the soft flesh. You nipped at his bottom lip. Jim suddenly flipped you on your back and perched between your legs. He stared at you at like a dog waiting for direction. You quickly realized you could get him to do anything you wanted. 

“Go ahead.” You said. Jim’s tongue swirled around your clit as you yanked at his peppered locks. He took in the redolent scent of your trimmed pubic hair. His hands moved up to your breasts and hovered over them. Noticing his hesitancy, you pressed your hands over his and moaned sweetly. His tongue slipped into your damp heat. His pale blue eyes flickered open and his thumbs teased your nipples. You rocked against his face as you chased your high. After cleaning you off, he sat up to catch his breath. 

“Good boy.” You praised, smearing the moisture on his lips. You pulled him down and straddled him. You hurriedly unbuckled his pants and slid them halfway down his legs. 

“Wait-“ Jim started, wanting to use protection.

“There’s no time.” You whispered, sinking onto his length. A low groan escaped him as you slipped your fingers into his mouth. There was a marked desperation in his eyes. You relished in your newfound power. 

“Suck.” You ordered. You felt him suckle on your fingers gently. Rutting against him, you saw that Jim was already close. His heart was beating rapidly and his hands found the soft flesh of your hips. A tender kiss on his forehead made him fall apart. Hot spurts of his seed spilled into you. You embraced him as he came down from his high. Reality seemed to sink in for him as soon as it was over. He was overwhelmed with guilt and dread at the thought of his friend’s wife carrying his child. 

“I’ll take a Plan B. No worries.” You smiled innocently. 

“I-I have to get back for dinner.” He said nervously. 

“Stay.” You cooed. Despite his obligation, he couldn’t pull away from you more than a second.