Don't you call her baby. We're not talking lately. Don't you call her what you used to call me... A story in which a girl who writes songs falls in love with the boy who sings them. "Color...What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams." - Paul Gauguin. DO NOT PRINT MY BOOKS! *TW: story contains mature topics such as mental abuse, PTSD, minor drug usage, and minor sexual content.*

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦. 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦. "𝐏𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦?! 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬? 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈-" "𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐲. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞." 𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟. 𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩. 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. ****

When Aven Selwyn is tasked to work with Draco Malfoy in repairing the vanishing cabinet by the hand of Lord Voldemort, the last thing she expected was for Draco's best friend to become involved. Caring for someone isn't something on Aven's agenda, but as impending pressure crushes on her shoulders, Theodore Nott offers his hand by holding some as his own. Theo Nott x fem!OC Sixth year- Seventh Cover: @beauxbatonss

In which Milla Rosamund finds herself stuck in quite a compromising position beneath James Potter. - WARNING: This story will contain mature themes, scenes, and language such as profanity, drugs and/or alcohol, and sexual content. #SBRoadTo500k Rankings: #1 in Marauders Fanfiction as of May 12, 2018 #1 in Remus Lupin as of October 28, 2018 #1 in Harry Potter as of October 4, 2018 #1 in James Potter as of May 19, 2019 #1 in Peter Pettigrew as of January 31, 2019 #3 in Sirius Black as of December 5, 2018 #1 in Marauders as of March 17, 2019 Completed as of July 29, 2018

Amyra feels a guiding hand constantly, pulling at her bones, whispering into her ear. In King's Landing, between Flea Bottom and The Street of Silk, she dreams of it- dripping from her palms, a balm to the rage. By daylight, she grinds herbs, sells salves, delivers babes, and aids the needy as only a healer can, but when the moon rises up from her slumber, Amyra begins her true work. They come from all over, whispering, wailing, begging. Do you have a spell to make her love me? My husband should be dead, will you help me do it? Is there anything to make them forget? Remember? Live? Die? She takes them by their hand, "Of course," she tells them. She wipes their tears and smiles. "The price is ever so small." It doesn't matter what it costs, we'll pay it. "Of course, you will." she agrees, and it's true. They always pay, one way or another. Then, by a strange stroke of luck, Queen Alicent is in need of her expertise. My daughter, she cries, Princess Helaena, will you help her? "Of course," Amyra sings, "I am but a humble servant to the crown." She tastes it on her tongue, sweet and sticky. She sees it, pooling like blood off a wound. She calls her Justice, but she answers to Revenge.

❝𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝.❞ History will speak of how much ruin the Targaryen civil war brought to Westeros just as much as they will speak of the sun and moon that aimed to put an end to it. - Aemond Targaryen x OC - House of the Dragon, Canon Divergent | This fanfiction is intended for personal use only. Please do not copy, distribute, or translate this work without the author's explicit permission. | Rankings: - #1 on "gameofthrones" (12/17/22) - Formerly - #1 on "canondivergence" (01/14/23) - Formerly - #1 on "gameofthrones" (01/16/23) - Formerly - #1 on "houseofthedragon" (01/27/23)