#his rebellion? his angst? WHAT I KNOW ABOUT FUTURE HIM...

[litt1e-prince]

you guys DONT understand- i read this line from Smiles Taken AU fic and just havent been the same since- went out of my way to learn perspective

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

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Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[damn-stark]

Chapter 32 The demon and me

Chapter 32 of Moonlight

A/N- :)))))

Warning- talks of postpartum depression, PTSD, ANGST, swearing, violence, blood, and DEATH. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 539-549

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

And there it is…the change in the way they look at you the moment the word coup fell from your lips. As if attempting a rebellion is a far greater sin than burning part of the city.

What if it had been one of the two men sitting around the table who had suggested the same plan? Would they have looked completely horrified then? Would they have thought of that man as the world's great savior? As if he had come up with the plan to bring peace to the world?

“A coup?” Your grandfather questions you and leans toward you to look at you with pity before he continues to speak softer as if he is speaking to some sickly person who couldn’t understand. “Do you know what you’re suggesting? Peace is at last closer than ever. With your marriage to Aegon, the feud between the Targaryen family has come to an end and with some tactical words the line drawn between the kingdoms can at last lift and we can all become one again…”

His mouth keeps running, words laced with deep pity keep spilling but you stop listening as you try to understand what he’s saying and where he’s coming from. After all, it’s been a year since the war started, and the losses have been significant, so maybe there’s some reasoning behind his words.

It’s just a falter within you, but you do start leaning towards understanding him and the need to embrace peace again.

However, in the silence created by you tuning out your grandfather, you then see her; your mother's ghost haunts the hall.

You see her broken body across the room and her dead eyes fixated on you before you hear the faint echoes of her crying out for help, causing you to snap out of your senses.

How could you possibly abandon your fight and your plan for revenge? How could you possibly forget about her?

If you stop now, who keeps fighting for her?

So no, you can’t stop, nor can you falter again.

“Don't tell me you haven’t thought of it?” You cut off whatever your grandfather had been saying and narrow your gaze on him to try and uncover his answer, but he masks himself well, so you look at Lord Larys next and raise your eyebrow to press your rhetorical question.

“How good of a King can Aegon truly be?” You continue and sit back against your seat. “He’s never had the mind for politics or diplomacy. I doubt he learned a thing about how to rule a realm while he was away. And this will be inappropriate, but,” you pause and clear your throat. “Our marriage hasn’t been consummated because he can’t get. It. Up,” you whisper and see your grandfather and Lord Larys squirm in their seat while Baela drops her head to hide her teasing smile.

“So tell me how fruitful can a broken man be in our greatest time of need?” You query as you loll your head to the side. “Aerion is but one boy, if something were to happen to him what do we do then, hm? With Aegon the younger at The Wall, who continues our line then?”

Lord Larys and your grandfather share the same knowing look, but neither of them interject with an argument that can possibly outmatch yours.

“It’s true that a rule under Aegon brings no fruitful future,” Lord Larys cuts in this time. “But who do you suggest we put in his stead? Prince Aerion?”

You sit up straight and in your silence the three of them figure out your answer to their question; you. You want them to implant you as the ruler. And why shouldn’t it be you? You’re already Queen, you were your mother's chosen heir, and you, unlike Aegon, know how to rule.

“Need I remind you that you set fire to part of the city,” your grandfather protests without so much as thinking about it. It’s like he was prepared to argue against the idea. “The moment we implement you as the ruling Queen, the people will demand your head. Riots will be spread over the atrocity you committed,” his voice gets louder and meaner, and your face starts to harden as your patience wears out.

“You are lucky they are not asking for your head now,” he continues to argue with more anger. “It was completely—”

“Mind your tongue Lord Corlys,” Ser Cane cuts your grandfather off. “She is your Queen.”

You put your hand up and peer over to offer him a nod that tells him he can stand down. “Go on,” you urge your grandfather, and he doesn’t hesitate.

“It was completely stupid,” he spats and leans forward once again. “I thought you had sense. You were level-headed and now that you have gone and done that you have dug yourself in a hole that we may not be able to help you out of.”

You hold his gaze with your eyes slowly starting to fill with tears while your throat starts to sting even though you expected his response. You knew that your actions were going to be brought up and used against you, but even still, hearing your grandfather scold you rattles you for a small moment in time.

“What would you have had me done instead, huh?” You don’t fail to counter with your eyes still glossy and your throat still stinging. “They killed our dragons and ran my mother out of town!” You raise your own voice as you slam your hands on the tabletop and push yourself to your feet—“Would you have them go unchecked?!”

“The people who rose up their own false kings against—”

“But that's not it!” You cut him off. “They killed our dragons!” You throw at him again with your face twisting with your quick-rising rage. “Our power. The symbol of our house! Our connection! If they went unchecked they would have stopped fearing us, and anytime they disagree with the crown they won’t think twice to rise up against us because there’s nothing to stop them, nothing looming over their lives because we are no longer close to the gods in their eyes without our dragons. We are just like them. And now...I fixed it,” you scoff. “Now they won’t dare and think of arguing against the crown because they know that there are consequences. We are not the same. We are still gods…” you trail off and catch the sound of your heavy breathing as your grandfather challenges your hardened glare still brimming with unshed tears.

“Her grace,” Lord Larys pauses and draws in a deep breath, pulling your gaze away from your grandfather to now look at him and wait.

“…could have served the Smallfolks' punishment differently,” Lord Larys continues without daring to look you in the eyes. “But alas she is right, they should fear the crown if we are to continue peacefully, but,” he pauses and sighs before he steals a glimpse at you and continues. “Why should we consider your coup? Besides the points you already gave, why should we risk our lives to continue this war when we have the chance to finally end it at the tip of our fingers?”

You narrow your gaze further, making him once again avert his gaze. You don’t answer right away, choosing to let him think of reasons you might give to him specifically. Maybe he’ll even get a hint as to why you choose to trust him out of all people.

“Why?” You interject and step away from your seat to start stalking toward Lord Larys. “Why should you risk your life? Well,” you sigh, and when you reach his seat you stop beside him and pierce your glare at him. He doesn’t peer over at you even though he feels your stare burning through him. He just watches the tabletop with his nose flaring with every breath, and his fists clenched tightly.

“Need I remind you that you sent assassins to come kill me and my son here in the Red Keep,” you reveal and finally gain Baela’s wavered attention while your grandfather starts to look disgusted.

“While I was with child at that—”

“No—” he cuts you off to argue but you slam your hand on his shoulder and squeeze it tightly as you now interrupt him.

“There’s no need to deny it. My mother would have never tried to kill me, and I do admit I had been getting back at Aegon before by revealing my ability to him, and well…I had my ways to figure it out,” you roll out and lift your hand off his shoulder, but don’t move right away, you continue to watch as he grows tense and scared rather than nervous.

“That’s why you’ll help me,” you continue and start to walk with your hands clasped behind you and your nose pointing to the air. “Because if you don’t, well, I’ll reveal your secret and execute you.”

Lord Larys clears his throat and nods stiffly without attempting to add anything in his defense or attempting to argue against you because everything you said was true, and how can he deny it when you somehow found out?

“Another reason, the main reason as to why we need to keep fighting is because…” you trail off and slowly and unknowingly lower your head, losing the cockiness and the confidence you had mustered to keep your nose pointed high as your mind is invaded by your mother.

“…just because my mother is dead doesn’t mean her fight is. Not as long as I live, and…” your voice falters and your throat starts to sting again. “…Remember she died fighting for what rightfully belonged to her before Aegon killed her. I saw her burn to death and then torn apart because she fought for what was rightfully hers,” you pause and come to a stop at the other end of the short wooden table and clench your jaw and your fists as the corner imbued by the shadows of the hall taunt your mind by making you think she’s dying there again and again.

“I see her die in the darkness every time I close my eyes. In my sleep. And in every corner touched by darkness,” your voice slowly grows quiet with every word coming out of your mouth, but it doesn’t break this time. You speak smoothly yet there’s this eeriness haunting your every word as you speak, making the silence in the hall deafening.

“I even see her in places touched by the light…I see her in my brother who is not really my brother. Not anymore.” You shake your head and let your tears well up as you refuse to let them break out of your eyes. “Because now as he gets older he’ll look at me the same way my children look at me…A mother. There’s no telling if he’ll remember our mother. Even if he does I…will still be his mother because…”

Your grandfather utters your name with pity laced in his voice as he tries to get you to stop, but you ignore him and turn to face them as you continue in the same eerie and soft voice that haunts the hall and brings chills to the back of their necks.

“…His own mother. Our mother…won’t be here for him anymore because…she’s dead…she’s dead!” Your voice suddenly booms, breaking the silence of the room and startling Baela and making your grandfather huff—“That’s why we will continue to fight this war until her blood is on that throne, Lord Larys. Grandfather, and every single damn person who wants to ask me that same question! We will risk our lives because our fight did not end when she died! Her death brought the start of the end,” you say and walk back to your seat to sit back down and pull out scrolls you hid in your clock and throw them on the table, showing off the sigils that are marked on the broken wax.

“Lord Stark and all the Riverlords have agreed to continue fighting with me until the end,” you reveal, causing your grandfather to sit up to take the scrolls and read them for himself. “Rhaena has agreed to fight alongside me and Astraea with Morning, and with her, the Vale follow. The Greyjoys won’t turn down a bloodbath so they have also agreed if they win their fight against the Lannisters first. I need to send word to the Reach, and Alyn. I was hoping you could send word to Alyn, Lord Corlys, while I send word to The Reach.”

Your grandfather lowers the scroll in his hand, whilst Baela reaches for the scroll Rhaena sent.

“Tell him that we will continue to fight to put Aegon the younger on the throne,” you reveal, making the silence in the hall once again go deafening as they all now stare at you in disbelief.

“Not Aerion. Not me,” you pause and wait for an argument, for a word of encouragement that it should be you, but there’s nothing of the sort. Thus you continue. “But my mother and Daemon’s last living son. The realm won’t go up in arms when they hear he’ll take the throne, and peace could be long living with him married to Jaehaera. If you all agree with her being his betrothed that is?”

“You would rise up your brother as king?” Your grandfather questions you, causing you to drop your gaze and nod without hesitation.

“I would. With good advisors and his sisters at his side, he would be easily molded. He could be the best king this realm has ever had,” you say in your brother's defense. “I just need your help to make that vision a reality.”

“I’ll help,” Baela is the first one to interject, making you lift your gaze to find her.

Albeit she averts her own gaze when yours lands on her.

“I…will too,” Lord Larys chimes in after her as if he had a choice. “But how do you plan to get rid of King Aegon?”

You reach your hand back without uttering a word and right away Ser Cane walks over to give you the flask of poison Alys had sent you.

“You have his trust,” you direct at Larys. “I want you to put a drop of this in his wine, tea, or whatever the hell he drinks. It’s slow acting, it’s going to deteriorate him from the inside out.”

“Poison? That’s your plan?” Your grandfather asks with judgment.

You scoff and place the flask on the table so they can all see it. “For him? Yes,” you retort. “The armies at our side will get rid of Lord Baratheon’s army and whatever resistance is left here, but Aegon will be poisoned because it’s the smartest choice. It’s my choice and you will respect it,” you hiss and he once again challenges your pointed gaze, but can’t win so he backs down and nods.

“Don't give him the poison until Lord Baratheon is gone. Which shouldn’t be long, I’ll give it to you then.”

“You’re certain it will work?” Baela asks.

“Yes.” You nod. “Someone I trust made it. They wouldn’t betray me. It will work. We just have to trust each other. Peace is a guarantee after that.”

You raise your eyebrow to press them, and Baela and Larys both nod in comprehension while your grandfather lets out a deep breath and continues to pass doubt.

“And if I refuse? What will you do then? Poison me? Gut me here and now? Or burn me alive like you did those people?”

You don’t explode with anger like they all assumed. You don’t glare at him or clench your jaw. You look at him with the same look that’s been haunting your face since your mother died; with deep and agonizing sorrow.

“Not you,” you respond softly, and then in the flash of a second you raise your chin and your face hardens just a bit. “But I do hope you do not refuse and instead think about what my grandmother and my father would have wanted.”

It’s a low blow, but it’s what gets him to drop that judgment and doubt and finally give in.

“Very well. I will help you too.”

You let out a relieved sigh and nod lightly. “Thank you. All of you. You may go now. It’s late. I’ll send word when we need to reunite.”

With every argument voiced for now, both men head out whilst Baela gets out of her seat and walks to the door but hesitates leaving.

You sit up and hold your breath in hopes she’ll say something. You want her to say something, but she ends up leaving instead, leaving you with Ser Cane in your solitude where you drop your shoulders, draw out a deep and shaky breath, and let tears break out of your eyes at long last.

“Ser Cane?” Your voice quivers with vulnerability.

“Hm.”

You drop your head and drop your hands on your lap to fiddle with your rings. “Do you think they’ll ever look at me the same way they look at the men? Admiration rather than uneasiness? If I had been a man they would have looked at me like I was Aegon the conqueror, but I saw the way they looked at me…” you trail off to a whisper as you let your guard down and let your agony and insecurity take over. “They’re tolerating me. They look at me like I’m a mad, grief-stricken woman, and I am grief-stricken, but if I had been born a man they would think I’m strong for having so much fire left in me to continue fighting after losing so much.”

“Those men you fought with at Tumbleton respect you. They all look at you like a hero,” Ser Cane instantly tries to comfort you with positivity. “They all asked about your well-being when your dragon took you.”

You nod softly. “Yes, I know, but the men that support the crown will they ever look at me like that?” You ask and stop fiddling with your rings to catch every sound that comes out of his mouth.

“You want the truth?” Ser Cane makes sure to ask.

“Please,” you press, making him sigh deeply and walk closer to give your question an honest response.

“I think that having a female ruler scares them because it makes them feel small. So no I don’t think so. But you have the fire to make them feel otherwise if that’s what you want,” he says in a sweet and soft voice, making more tears run down your cheeks.

“I’m tired,” you say in a broken whisper. “Waking up is a chore, taking in breaths to keep myself alive is exhausting, and now I have to muster the energy to keep myself on top of these men…and the truth is I don’t know if I have the strength to hold my place on top of them. I just want to burn them all and start over again.”

“But fire won’t fix that now will it?”

You shake your head as a response and leave a heavy silence before you stand up and interject. “I’m going to see Astraea before I go to bed.”

Ser Cane sighs deeply as he’s tempted to argue against you and force you to go to bed instead, but alas you are his Queen so he just goes with you instead, because otherwise you would sneak off and he would rather have his eyes on you than have you go behind his back.

“<Hello girl>,” you coo at your dragon when you find her in her usual spot, and run your hand along your dragon's scales.

Astraea growls softly as she pushes her head toward you so you can press your hand on her snout quicker.

“<How are you feeling>?” You ask her as you examine her wounds not so raw and red anymore, but still deep and visible, and still hurting her. “<I know I haven’t been able to tell you, but you’ve done good>.”

Astraea closes her eyes as you stroke her snout so you then bend down and press your forehead against her flesh and close your own eyes to bask in the serene silence between you and your beloved dragon.

“<It's just me and you>,” you whisper against her scaled snout before you pull back and offer her a faint smile. You then proceed to sit down beside her head and lean your side against her as you watch the starry horizon reflecting peacefully over the sea water's surface like a mirror reflects your figure.

You’re tempted to express every thought that’s running through your head. After all, she won’t talk back, she can’t express her opinion, nor can she watch you with beady judgy eyes. Astraea will remain silent, she’ll look at you like you’re all that matters in the world, and she’ll listen.

Albeit as tempted as you are to let out what weighs you down, you find serenity in the silence where even the waves crashing a few feet away from the cove are quiet.

The thought of your mother doesn’t make an appearance, your hatred for Aegon is in the back of your mind, and the meeting you just had is forgotten for now. The one thing you have in your mind is a yearning for the past.

“<It's times like these where I miss Aemond the most,” you tell your dragon resting her head near your lap. “Not because he would’ve been much of a support for what needs to be done. The truth is he wouldn’t have been a big fan of anything I’m doing now, but I miss…having him. Having someone to hold me and share my pain.>”

Sharing your thoughts with someone who can’t give you any response makes you look a bit mad, but you can’t keep it all inside. You need to talk to someone. Besides, it feels relieving to have someone to talk to.

“<He…wouldn’t have judged what I did. He would agree that it needed to be done. And I’m not looking for praise. Just…someone to be there, and he would have been there. My Aemond…>” you trail off to a pause and drop your head to let out a deep sigh. “<I'm afraid of what Cregan might think. His morals aren’t like mine, he…hasn’t lost—he just wouldn’t know and the one person I could fall back on with guarantee is gone along with everyone else.>”

Astraea breathes out and you scoff softly and pat her side before raising your head and looking out with a sense of longing for what used to be. And it’s while you’re in your silence that you catch the sound of the rickety door opening before multiple steps walk out.

You don’t look back right away, you drift your gaze to the corner of your eyes and listen.

“Princess,” someone calls after a deep labored breath. “I mean, My Queen.”

Just by the sound of their voice, you know who it is, but you hesitate to stand up and give them your attention. You’re disgusted by the mere sound of their voice so it costs you even acknowledging their presence.

“He was persistent,” Ser Cane interjects. “But say the word and I’ll drag him out.”

You sigh deeply and share a glance with Astraea before you push yourself to your feet and then slowly turn to face none other than Ser Jason in the flesh and out of his cell.

“My Queen,” Ser Jason greets before he falls on one knee and bows his head, letting you pierce your gaze into the back of his head before you snap your head up and avert your gaze to avoid looking at your sworn protector whatsoever after he betrayed you.

“Please,” he throws out and then falls on both knees. “Forgive me. My intention was never to turn against you. All I have ever wanted to do was keep you safe, and that’s what—”

“You could have fought against them,” you cut off his pathetic rambling. “You could have saved my mother by raising your sword against them, but instead,” you growl as you speak. “You pointed your sword against me like a pathetic coward and watched my mother die.”

Ser Jason shakes his head. You don’t see it because you don’t look at him, but he shakes his head while his eyes peel back wider as he becomes more insistent.

“No, no, I couldn’t have fought against the entire party. I would have died the same way the Kingsguard did. I—”

“But you could’ve tried!” You blurt and ball your hands into fists. “But instead you cowered. You could have tried! You…” you trail off and clench your jaw before you swallow back a thick lump of emotions that build up and threaten to make you weep at the mere thought of that day.

“…you let me down. You betrayed me that day just to save your own skin like a pathetic. Coward,” you spat and try glancing down, but even the thought of looking at him hurts more than it angers you.

“I was,” Ser Jason cries and falls on his hands. “I was a coward. I saw my mistake, but I swear I just wanted to save you because I know you, and I know you would have risked your life to save your mother and I…I couldn’t let it happen. That’s why I had to turn my sword against you, but my heart. My heart never turned against you…” he trails off into a whisper and you find yourself looking down and catching his gaze glimmering as the stars light point out his tears clinging in the corner of his eyes.

“My mother,” You whisper as your lips twist to a scowl. “My mother is dead because of you,” you press with your gaze reflecting your usual grief and ache that paints your face. “If your heart was with me you would have died trying, but you turned against me…and now you’re free and what? Working for Aegon? The man who killed my mother in front of me?”

Ser Jason parts his lips but nothing comes out but a breath of air because it is true, he’s free and now in Aegon’s court as his protector because he turned against you that day.

“It's a real shame that you carry Daemon's blood in your veins,” you say with melancholy now that your mother resurfaces and takes her usual place in your mind. “Because you are a real disappointment. I'm glad he never got to know you.”

Ser Jason’s pained look falters as he feels wounded by your words, but he still remains apologetic, hoping that you will have mercy and take him back.

“The only reason I don’t kill you or out you to Aegon is because I want you to live,” you mutter and crouch down to be at his level and look at him with agony and rage alike. “So you may always remember that you will always be nothing. No matter what titles you don, you will always be the bastard boy from Flea Bottom who’s father could care less about.” You nod softly and study him before you press your face closer to him. “I hope you live the rest of your life remembering how big of a failure and a coward you are. Anywhere you may find yourself and at every stage of your life.”

You swallow back thickly and then stand up to shove past him and return inside without another word or even a look back. He’s not forgotten, but for now, you want nothing to do with him.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“Her Grace, the Queen!” The knight announces to the small crowd that consists of people awaiting their judgment, and a small selected court that can’t measure to the power it once was before the war

However, even if the court and the Smallfolk awaiting their fate are leagues away in social standing and basically everything else, they all currently share a common factor as they all stand under the same roof, and that is looking at you like you personally wounded them.

They carry that disgust and resentment. Aegon is front and center, and the one responsible for all the misery that has befallen your realm, but in a room with traitors and dragon killers you are the worst, and why? Doing what you know was right?

Whatever, they can shoot you all daggers they want, half of them will die today, and the others will never live to be you or anything similar, so you just keep your nose in the air, and keep your face melancholy whilst you take your place behind Aegon. Not beside him where you’re meant to be since you are now his Queen, but behind him like a shadow meant to be seen but completely ignored.

That’s what you are, a shadow. Nothing. Before, you were something, but you took it for granted.

Which is funny to think about really. For so long you craved being someone much more than what you were without realizing that you in fact were bigger and illuminating, but now?

Now you stand behind Aegon completely forgotten and having to look at him the same way Aemond did when Aegon was crowned for the first time. You don't realize it, but Alicent does as she stands nearby watching the death sentences be passed—she sees the envy in your eyes the same way it darkened Aemond’s eye that day. And even if Aegon isn’t half the man that he was then, you still look at him with resentment because he still holds the same power, and the power you have fought so long and hard to obtain just like Aemond once did.

If looks could kill or actually burn, yours would the same way Aemond’s would have, so it leaves Alicent with one thought, should she do something to stop you? She couldn’t stop Aemond, but she can stop you, so should she?

“You stand in the presence of King Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of his name, and his Lady Wife, the Queen of House Velaryon.”

You tilt your chin up to get a better view of the boy who is brought up first to face his judgment. A young boy who was once brave from what you have heard because he was the one who took the Red Keep and sat the Iron Throne after your mother fled. Alas, what good is his bravery and great achievements now that he’s on his knees awaiting death?

“For crimes against the crown and rising up against your King, you Trystane Waters are sentenced to death,” Ser Alfred Broome announces without prolonging the matter. He gets right down to business because it’s all clear. Nothing needs to be brought up or argued.

“Any last words? Do you wish to challenge your sentence?” The traitorous man asks only out of courtesy not because he respects the boy's rights.

“No,” the boy Trystane mutters as he refuses to let his head hang low in defeat. There was a change in his eyes from only moments ago, but he seems to hold onto his pride—“I just request one thing…May I die as a knight? That’s all I wish for. I won’t protest my sentence, I just request that one thing.”

You drift your eyes to your side expecting to meet someone’s gaze to share speechless comments on the matter, but alas, no one stands by your side. You can’t even attempt to meet Aegon in the eye because he’s in front of you, so you’re left just shifting your gaze ahead and finding the request interesting.

“What say you, Your Grace?” Ser Alfred asks Aegon as he passes the attention to him.

“Well,” Aegon sighs and taps the armrest of his wooden throne with his palm. “What harm can it bring?”

He looks to the man standing beside him; a man called Ser Perkin the Flea, and passes him a quick nod that makes the man step forward and bestow the boy with his request of knighthood, and donning him with a new title and name to follow.

“Rise Ser Trystane Truefyre,” the man proclaims, and so the boy does, but the moment he stands on his feet, Ser Alfred approaches with too much excitement and your Valyrian sword, Blackfyre in hand, and with no more time to waste, he swings the mighty thing across the boy's neck and slices his head clean off.

When the head hits the floor as if the sound of the flesh thumping against the ground, and his blood squirting out over the ground hurt you, you gasp in response and take a big step back. Not because you were suddenly affected by the boy's death, because that’s far from the truth. You go stiff with fear, and all the color flushes from your cheeks because you’re struck with violent flashes of your own mother's death; of her single limb being all that remained of her in a pile of blood and burn marks.

You’re overwhelmed by the echoing sound of her shrieking, and of her crying out for help even though she never did such a thing that day. Your mind plays cruel tricks on you by making you believe so and in doing so burying you deeper in your paralyzing panic to the point you forget where you are and think you’re back in that traumatic day living the same moment over and over again.

You don’t breathe, but you do. You take in quick and heavy hyperventilated breaths, but it’s not like anyone cares to notice except for Ser Cane who drags you aside and shakes your shoulder to snap you out of your stupor and force you to start breathing calmly once again.

“Your Grace, it's okay. You’re here. You’re okay,” he whispers gently and cups your shoulder with a soft and almost ghostly touch. “Look at me. You’re okay.”

You let out a shudder and slowly find his eyes, finding a sense of serenity in the depths of his gentle soul while also slowly grasping that your mother is in fact not yelling out for help. She never did. And she’s not dying because she’s already dead, and you’re trapped here in the Red Keep as Aegon’s wife.

“I am…okay,” you murmur and pat Ser Cane’s arm before you walk away and return to your spot, noticing at that moment as you’re walking back that Alicent is watching your every move. This time she doesn’t carry disgust or horror. She’s not being judgemental and she’s not looking down at you. Her big brown eyes are filled with concern after unbeknownst to you, she also noticed your panic. She just did nothing about it but stand and watch.

In any case, you don’t pass her any speechless gestures to let her know you’re okay. You just briefly hold her worried gaze before you yank your eyes away and return to your spot, catching as a little boy no older than five is taken away by servants, while the people who seemed to have supported his short reign are all dragged out of the throne room, leaving only one man left to hear his sentence; the same one-armed old man who claimed to be a prophet.

The man with bare feet is yanked in front of Aegon, and he, like the boy turned knight from before, doesn’t beg or ask for forgiveness or mercy. He stands at his given height with a more prideful air around him than that of Ser Trystane. It seems that the old man hadn’t let go of his delusions nor regretted his actions that brought the end to the dragons and your brother and mother.

And that enrages you more than the sight of Aegon and Ser Jason. You hate that he’s so calm and unaffected by what awaits him. He seems defiant and confident even though he’s looking at death in the eyes.

“I know the fate that awaits me, false king,” the old man spats. “It’s a fate that awaits us all. That’s why I don’t fear it. Nor should any of you once you stop kissing the feet of these sinners!” The old man proclaims and then throws his stump at Aegon. “We shall meet in hell before the year is done!”

Aegon scoffs and slaps his hands on the armrests of the wooden throne to push himself forward and be closer to the old man spitting out madness.

“Except you!” The old man then points at you before Aegon can interject. “There’s a special place in the Seven Hells for you Fire Demon! You shall rot there with the woman you called mother!”

Without warning you set off after him in a quick and stomping stride after being triggered by his boldness.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” you hiss and manage to reach him and slap your hands around his throat since your hands are the only things you can use as a weapon. Anything potentially dangerous was out of your reach out of fear you’d just kill Aegon—which they’re right to be cautious, but you also aren’t that dumb to kill him in front of the audience.

“Perhaps…you should…have,” the man strains to say. “You would have shown the world the real monster that was born to Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

You squeeze tighter and shove him back. “Don't you dare speak her name!” You bark and tighten your grip with the attempt to end his life here and there, but hands grab your arms and overpower you, yanking you off the man and causing you to let out an animalistic grunt before you snap around and face none other than Ser Jason stopping you once again.

However, you ignore him and shove past him to stomp back to your spot.

Yet, before you can return to being a shadow, you’re stopped by Aegon. “Why don’t you return to your chambers? It’s clear that you can’t handle your emotions toward this man.”

You squint your eyes to look at him baffled by what’s coming out of his mouth. “As Queen,” he interjects the moment you parted your lips to argue. “I wouldn’t want you to create another scene and embarrass the crown.”

“What will you do with the man and what’s left of his followers?” You ask between gritted teeth.

“I have it handled. This business shouldn’t worry you anyhow. Go.” He lets out so easily as if talking to fragile Helaena, and besides that, he’s also using this…almost taunting tone

“Your Grace,” you say mockingly and storm out with your army of ladies-in-waiting, handmaidens, and your own guards. Do you return to your quarters like the king wanted? Hell no.

You head to a part of a castle that overlooks the sea that sits behind the Red Keep. A place where Helaena and you used to like going to admire the horizon from inside.

Nevertheless, a while later another pair of footsteps join your solitude. A pair that is too heavy for you to confuse them as the late Helaena.

“Your Grace.”

“I’m your granddaughter too, you know,” you mutter to your grandfather without having to peer over to see that it is him. You recognized his footsteps and once he got close you recognized his scent.

“That should come first when there’s no prying eyes “ you add and then slowly turn around to give him your attention.

“If that’s what you wish to claim,” he says and proves you right to keep your guard up.

“Am I not your granddaughter the same way Baela and Rhaena are?” You press and take a step toward him with your eyes slowly narrowing. “Am I not your son's only daughter? Am I not your wife’s granddaughter?”

Without shying away or turning small like someone else would, he challenges your glare and shrugs. “I look into the eyes of a girl I know, but I’m not sure that the person you claim is still there.”

You swallow thickly and feel your entire being falter before you quickly rebuttal in High Valyrian. “<What would you have had me done?! What do you want me to do? Sit idly by as my mother's killer and his traitorous allies still breathe air?! Huh?! Tell me! Because every time we’re in the same room you always bite your tongue. So tell me,” you spat out as you push your head forward. “<The guilty party had been apprehended,” he argues without needing to be told twice. “I would have had you done nothing! I wouldn’t have let you burn down all—>”

“It always comes back to that!” You cut him off abruptly and take a step closer to continue throwing out your incoming thoughts. “I did what was necessary! Why can’t you see it?! It had to be done! I am not a monster! I am not a monster,” you repeat in a shaky whisper. “Now there’s only a handful of the old man’s followers left to kill. The numbers were greater before, but I helped.”

“By killing a hundred other innocents in the meanwhile,” your grandfather retorts as he keeps holding your gaze.

“Okay,” you whisper and nod in comprehension without having anything to counter with because deep inside you know what you did and the tragic result of it. You don’t regret it but you do admit that something else could’ve been done.

“<So what, you're going to have me not kill Aegon? Is that not right?>” You bring up instead with spite clinging on to your every word.

“<No,” your grandfather responds in Valyrian. “It needs to be done. I understand your reasoning. I too would want the same.>”

“<Then?>” You quip. “<Would you have me be nicer to you and the other Lords? Do I need to be the perfect wife? Is that what you want me to be in this game?>” You add a questioning hum as you tilt your head and take the last step forward to try and be more intimidating.

“<Because I know that I don’t want to sit by and let this injustice go unchecked. I will do something. I will play my part in this game. That’s what I want. That's how I stay alive, so tell me now what you want. Do you want to be a part of this? Or stand against me and do nothing? Because if that’s your answer then I will make sure you don’t see the tomorrow we build.>

Your grandfather looks you up and down and then scoffs before he steps back. “Seeing an enemy in everyone you lay your eyes on will get you killed,” he says softly. “Your father would be disappointed.”

Your anger falters and a wave of agonizing sorrow hits you, but you don’t show your defeat to your grandfather. You keep your eyes narrowed and your lips in a scowl.

“<Borro’s is sending his men against the Crownlands along with some of the king's men. And the lords who give up their fealty to your mother will be brought to swear their new loyalty to Aegon…That’s what I came to tell you while you were alone. I wanted to come check on you too. That was my plan, but alas,>,” he sighs, making you blink repeatedly and keep your eyes on him for a lingering moment before you nod softly and then whisper in return.

“Okay.”

Your grandfather watches you, but you pull your eyes away and stride away without sharing another word. You leave the tension as it was after being defeated by his hurtful words.

Why does he have to be against you too? Growing up he wasn’t as affectionate as your grandfather Viserys was toward you, but he still showed you kindness and affection in his own way. Now after everyone has died and so few members of your family remain, you should stay united, you should support each other and show each other kindness and love, but alas, he’s determined to be against you. He protests against every single thing and nothing you do satisfies him. He’s so cold and only lectures you or scolds you when you want him to…just support your choices so you can know you have someone to rely on.

Alas, he along with everyone else has drawn a line and stands at the other side…

Nevertheless, rather than sinking deeper into those dark thoughts and falling deeper into the deep abyss, you end up making your way to your children’s quarters to avoid retreating to the solitude of your chambers.

You would say that on a surface level, you don’t know why you make your way to see your children after avoiding them since you returned to Kings Landing, but the honest to god’s truth is that you do know why you finally drift toward them. That’s not saying that you’re ready to be their mother because you’re not ready in any shape or form to be the mother they need. Not yet. Not until you have rid this realm of Aegon and all the traitors that still breathe air, but you find yourself lifting your black veil fallen over by grief, and let your eyes fall on them without any ill feeling muddying your vision.

Albeit when you finally walk into your children’s quarters you don’t find Aerion anywhere, and Daenys’ cradle is empty. The only one in the room is Daenerys—you can see the shadows of her little balled-up hands through the white curtains that surround her cradle.

She’s there unaware of your presence, and standing on neither side of any line. She, like her siblings, is oblivious to any of your doings—well, for certain the twins are just unaware of your presence whatsoever since you don’t show your face. However, that’s not what makes you take slow and careful steps towards her as if she was a great threat.

You’re reluctant because you fear looking at her and seeing your own failure at saving their grandmother. You also know that in her eyes and the eyes of her sister, she’ll see a stranger, and you’re not one really. You haven’t abandoned them completely, you love them, but they deserve the world that they’re going to live in to be corrected so they may know peace. And at least if you don’t face them you can live with the delusion that they somehow know you and that you’re never far from them. However, right now you stand with your choice to keep your veil lifted and reach the cradle despite your insecurities.

As your shadow casts on the curtains, Daenerys doesn’t pay it any mind. She keeps moving her legs and her arms, but you begin to breathe heavily and grab the edge of the curtain, but hesitate in pulling it back. You just stand there heaving with great effort and trying to muster a smile or at least a softened look. There’s even a second in time where you almost turn around and run to your quarters, but you tell yourself that this is your babe and you need to at least see her and let her see you at least once.

Thus you roll your shoulders back and blink repeatedly before you put on a faint softened look and then pull the curtain back. The moment you do Daenerys’ grey eyes find you immediately and her fiddling arms and legs come to a stop as her eyes take in the sight of you, a stranger? An estranged mother? Or that whom she cherishes the most?

You don’t know what thoughts run behind her pretty little eyes. She simply looks at you and you see the answer to your question there in her eyes because it’s eyes you have gotten lost in hundreds of times before.

As Daenerys holds your gaze and you look back at her you know that she is Cregan’s own daughter. She carries the same storm in her eyes that Cregan does, and she also seems to sport the same butt chin he does. There’s no mistaking it, even if she's still young and growing.

And the truth is seeing at least some glimpse of him in your daughter is a relief. You actually muster a genuine smile

Albeit Daenerys doesn’t share your relief nor your joy. She doesn’t know you, your eyes are the eyes of a stranger so she begins to cry and that gets rid of the bit of bliss that had broken through the storm that are your current feelings.

“No, no.” You shake your head and your face twists with utter confusion as if you hadn’t taken care of Aerion before. “Daenerys,” you whisper slightly sharply and look around for help, but neither her wet nurse nor her caretaker is in the room. You’re alone with her and she doesn’t stop crying, she only grows louder as she’s more distraught by your presence.

“Please,” you plead and clutch onto your chest as echoes of your brother's cries from when your mother was killed play in your mind; tormenting you and pushing you toward panic.

“Daenerys,” you plead and look around again. When you don’t find anyone you reach down and pick her up from her cradle in an attempt to silence her cries. However, she cries louder, so tears of your own form in your eyes and fall at the same time hers roll down her cheeks.

Her sharp cries push you closer toward panicking and completely breaking down, and you know you don’t want to do that in front of your daughter, no matter how young she is, so you press her against your chest and rock her like you would Aerion when he was as young as her.

At first, it takes her a minute to calm down, but your attempts at shushing her end up working as she recognizes your scent and your warmth that she had been familiar with because of all those months you carried her in your belly.

“That’s right,” you whisper against the crown of her head and sniffle as her own weight and her warmth end up being this unique comfort you can only find in holding your children.

You remember how much you miss being close to your children, and how deeply and truly love them.

You think about the mother you’ve been and the mother you want to be, and you can’t help but slide down and sit on your bottom as a stream of tears roll down the curve of your cheeks.

It’s truly such a chaotic moment, but you don’t run away from it. You keep your babe close to your chest and bask in her presence until your tears stop coming, your breaths draw in and out in sync, and she’s in deep sleep. After that, and after Daenys and Aerion are returned you put Daenerys down in her cradle and walk around with the intention of grabbing Daenys, alas, the doors open and Vanessa walks in with a serious look on her face that chases away your greeting smile.

“The King requests your presence in his chambers,” she announces without delaying the news a second longer, causing the coldness to return to your heart, and your bliss to vanish completely.

You would ask what it is he wanted, but you know Aegon wouldn’t divulge that information so as to keep an ambiance of mystery and amusement. So you don’t waste your breath. You simply walk over to your son playing with his toys and stroke his cheek. You then walk to Daenys and steal a lingering glance at her father's blue eyes before you grab her fisted hand and press a gentle kiss on her knuckles before you leave the room that you struggled to walk into and drag your feet toward Aegon’s chambers.

Once you stand outside his door you rap your knuckles on the wooden surface of the door, and you’re welcomed inside without a minute to waste. Right away you’re greeted with the sight of Aegon being helped out of his chair and him seeming to take wobbly steps.

“Husband,” you greet stiffly, making his eyes drift over to you coming to a stop a few feet away.

“Oh, wife! You made it. Here I thought you would get lost,” he teases with the corner of his lips twitching to a teasing smile.

“You summoned me so I came.” You say and don’t try to entertain him. Not even if there's an audience with Maester Orwyle and one other maester. “So what is it that you need? I’m surprised you asked for me.”

Aegon scoffs. “Can’t I see my wife? You are of my own choosing, so I will admit I am more eager to see you than I was to see my sister.”

Your frown deepens and you dig your nails in your palm as you bite your tongue from blurting a rebuttal in Helaena’s defense.

“You should know that the Smallfolk truly want your head,” Aegon shares without shame as he looks over at his path ahead and continues to try and keep on his own two feet. “I went to set the Shepard and his followers—those few that remained, ablaze, and they demanded your head more than they cared about the people I killed.”

You scoff and your eyes flicker down whilst the corner of your lips twitch to a frown as you feel hurt by the news.

“Will you give it to them?” You ask as you let out a small breath and push away the shame that began to seep in. “Will you tell me that what I did was wrong?”

Aegon stays quiet as he struggles to turn on his twisted legs, but once he’s facing his chair again he gives you a sincere response. “No, because it wasn’t. I would have done the same thing. The act itself was just…unlike you.”

You roll your eyes and make your way to the cushioned bench at the end of his bed to sit down and then retort. “Unlike me?” You huff. “It seems, husband that you don’t know me at all because I would do it, and I would do it again.”

The maester glances over at you with concern, but you ignore him and lay on your side with your arm propped and your eyes carefully following Aegon’s every move.

“Then I meant that the act itself just…seemed to be something Aemond would have done,” he interjects, making you drop your gaze and swallow thickly.

“Yes…well…he was right to do it. Some of it anyway. He was just fighting a war…for you.”

Aegon scoffs and sits down. He then lets out a deep breath and waves away the maesters that kept you company. “Leave us,” he commands.

The maesters hesitate to leave him alone in his chambers with you, but Aegon presses his demand.

“I shouldn’t repeat myself.”

This time the maesters file out, leaving you and Aegon alone in an awkward silence he fills. “Was my brother truly fighting the war for me? Or was it for his own ambition?”

You glance at the sapphire ring around your finger. “Does it matter now that he’s dead,” you avoid answering his question and keep your eyes on your ring that reminds you of Aemond to avoid looking at Aegon.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” he says with a sigh before you hear the wheels on his chair roll toward you, but stop at a distance. “Do you…Miss him?” His question catches you by surprise, but it’s not one you ignore.

“He was stupid in his final moments,” you mutter and with your other hand graze your finger over the sapphire. “He would still be alive if he had heeded my warning, but alas, he didn’t, and now…” you trail off in a whisper and slowly lift your gaze, catching Aegon pushing his wheels forward so he can move toward you before he pushes himself off his seat and sits beside you on the bench.

“Both of your brothers were stupid,” you don’t shy away from saying. “They would still be alive if they had played smarter and not given into their own ego, but it seems you outlived them.”

“Should I be offended?” He quips lightheartedly, and you flash the ghost of a smile.

“Prideful perhaps?” You retort and meet his gaze. “You were smart.”

Aegon raises his eyebrow in surprise but doesn’t add anything. He leaves your comment alone mostly because he thinks you’ll take it back if he does respond. Thus instead, he drifts his gaze away and lingers in the silence that was quick to grow and tense up. After a while, he parts his lips and mutters.

“How have you gotten over my brother's death?”

Whether it’s genuine interest to deal with his own grief or just curiosity, you don’t know, you just blink in surprise and when you steal a glance at Aegon, you catch the flicker of his sorrowful gaze.

“Who says I got over it?” You quip and look back at your sapphire ring. “I just know that if I sit and give into my grief, I won’t get back up. After losing so many people. People…I truly and deeply loved and cherished, I learned to navigate my emotions. Turning grief to do better. And then turning grief into anger. That’s how I manage it without letting it drown me. I get angry.”

Aegon nods faintly and you dig your nails in the cushion your palm is pressed against.

“Is that why…you sacrificed who you used to be? Is that why you’re now the person you shamed me for being? A monster?”

Your breath catches in your throat and your entire body freezes as his words register in your head and echo, hitting you like cold water every single time you hear it.

Did he really just insinuate that you’re alike? Him and you? Him, the man who killed your mother? Him, who…hurt all those innocent girls? Him?

You grow disgusted and furious all at the same, but before you can think of something to counter with, Aegon’s head falls on your lap and his hand wraps around your knee.

“It makes me glad that we now have something in common. It’s a comforting fact.”

You scrunch your nose and curl your lip in disgust, but don’t shove him off, or tell him off. You grow stiff and stay that way as he keeps his head on your lap.

A tear formed by disbelief and utter shock rolls down your cheeks, but you keep still as he closes his eyes and fails to see the anger that clenches your jaw and narrows your gaze with a new burning anger as he dares to relate you to him.

How dare he?

Why would he think you and him are the same kind of monster?

You’re not the same kind of monster. You…You are everything you didn't want to be, but you are not the same.

No.

No.

More thick tears trail down the curve of your cheeks as your rage only burns hotter, but in between your horror and anger, you raise your hand and let the tip of your fingers kiss the side of his scarred face.

Aegon is startled by your touch. He snaps his eyes open, but he doesn’t comment on the sudden touch. He welcomes the touch thinking it’s a form of comfort after finding something in common, but that’s far from the truth.

He doesn’t know that though, just like he doesn’t know you.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“The Dowager Queen has requested an audience with you at the gardens,” your lady-in-waiting shares, making this what?

Well, you’ve lost count of how many times Alicent has asked to speak with you. And the good thing about being Queen is that you don’t have to suffer through a load of apologies, pitiful looks, and an attempt at reconciliation. You can ignore her and no one can do anything about it.

“Tell her the same as yesterday and the day before that,” you tell your lady-in-waiting over your shoulder. “Thank you.”

You turn away and return your eyes to Astraea in the distance happily flying over the cold waters of the sea. “She’s flying a lot stronger, don’t you think?” You ask Vanessa as she tries to fix your hair against the icy winter breeze that rushes through the balcony.

“It seems so. Her wounds must not hurt as much,” she mentions, making the corner of your lips twitch to a smile.

No matter what is transcending or what plagues you, you can always count on Astraea to bring a smile to your face. At least for a little while anyway.

A knock proceeds to rap on your door and your smile completely falls from your face.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and hope—no, pray it’s not Aegon.

Luckily, when the door opens and you turn around you don’t see the broken man. You just see Lord Larys.

“Your Grace,” he greets with a bow.

Vanessa lets your hair go and steps away, letting you walk inside your chambers and point to the couches by the fireplace. “My Lord, welcome. Tea? Wine?”

The man shakes his head. “No, thank you. I just came for a quick visit.” He pauses and looks at the doors over his shoulder to make sure they’re closed. He then examines your quarters making sure that no one besides Vanessa and you are inside.

“What is it?” You probe as he piques your curiosity.

Lord Larys lets out a deep breath and then finally faces you to share what brought him to your chambers. “It’s Lord Borros, he is going to leave with his men and the men of Duskendale, Stokeworth, Hayford, and Rosby to face the Rivermen.”

They’ve been getting closer and closer by the day. Just yesterday they were a seven-day ride from Kings Landing. You were beginning to think that Lord Borros wouldn’t have the balls to go face them considering most of his strength is made up of men from houses who were forced to give their loyalty toward the king and then were made to pay a ransom and give the crown a hostage. And that doesn’t really aspire blind loyalty, but alas, Lord Borros is as dumb as he looks.

“Finally,” you scoff and flash lord Larys a smile before you stride to the small table and pour yourself some wine. “I thought he would never leave. Hm.” You chuckle and turn to face your visitor. “I assume you remember your part that follows?” You ask as you lift your brow and look at him over the rim of your cup.

Lord Larys offers you a nod before parting his lips to respond. “I remember. Which is why I came to deliver you the news as quickly as I could.”

You hum and grab the poison flask from your pocket so as to keep it with you at all times so you don’t lose it, or risk having it found by the many servants that come into your quarters throughout the day. You then take a drink from your wine before you approach him and press the flask on his palm.

“I’m trusting you, Lord Strong,” you interject as you wrap your hand around his to keep him close. “If you betray me…well…I don’t need to remind you what will happen do I?” You probe with your lips slowly pulling to a smirk as you look at him with a threatening glare rather than with a questioning look, making him gulp before he nods stiffly.

“I will do it. Starting today.”

You slip your hand off his and step back to take another big drink of your wine before you push it toward him. “To the King,” you mock before you give him your back and walk back toward the balcony, knowing he doesn’t need to be told to leave.

“At last the war is coming to an end,” you tell Vanessa once you return to the balcony and find Astraea still flying over the waters. “I never thought I’d work with Lord Larys though. As tactical as I admit he is.”

Vanessa’s footsteps echo against the floor as she makes herself to your side rather than continuing to fix your hair. “Shouldn’t you perhaps wait until Lord Stark is closer to the city to continue with the rest of your plan?” She asks.

You finish the rest of your wine and drift your gaze to the corner of your eyes to retort. “No. If I wait that could potentially spoil all of it. I have to act now. We…can reunite when he arrives in the city.”

Vanessa hums in comprehension and you sigh and look back at Astraea, letting a wicked smile come play on your lips as you think about your plan finally coming to motion. At long last.

Of course, you do have to wait for the poison to do its job since it is slow-acting, but oh, you take joy in watching Aegon slowly succumb to Alys’ concoction. First, he starts to wear out more than usual, his appetite is smaller, his legs stop working, and he has fever dreams that freak him out.

Slowly he starts to unravel and you feel proud with every symptom and every passing day. Finally, the melancholy and agony that painted your face vanishes and in its place, a sinister joy takes place and returns a rather ethereal glow to your face.

Yet nothing compares to the day. The moment when you can finally come out of the shadows and act out the plan in all its glory.

It brings a pep to your stride and a bright twinkle in your eyes that makes you look more terrifying and intimidating than anything else.

“Your Grace,” you recognize your grandfather blurt as he barges into your quarters. “It’s happening.”

You turn around and flash him a faint playful smirk before you probe seriously. “The kids and Baela?”

“Men are on their way toward them now. You best hurry before Ser Alfred reaches Aegon’s chambers and finds it empty.” He suggests something that hasn't slipped from your mind. After all, you went to sleep, woke up, and ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, thinking about the plan to kill Aegon. Nothing and you mean nothing will slip past you.

“I’m already on my way,” you say jokingly as you break into a cocky stride and leave your chambers with Ser Cane, and the men Lord Larys appointed to help you; Ser Perkin the Flea and knights he trusted. After all, you had already assumed that Aegon would back down in his promise and send men after your brother Aegon. You assumed he wouldn’t be able to handle that he’s still alive, or the threat of the Rivermen, the Vale, and the North all not backing down and drawing closer with every passing day. Especially after Lord Borros was betrayed by the men of the Crownsland, and lost his battle. Just as you predicted he would.

Perhaps Aegon should have taken the time to truly get to know you. You would have ended up dead if he did try, but that’s the only way you could be stopped. Now you will bring an end to his tyranny. Now you are death.

Can Ser Alfred Broome see that as you slowly turn the corner and bring him to a stop on top of the drawbridge that leads to Maegor’s holdfast where your brother was kept.

“Ser,” you greet in a honey-laced voice and a sweet smile to accompany your greeting.

“Your Grace,” he throws out his greeting and bows his head without any care. “If you’ll excuse me I have duties to do for the King.”

You hum in comprehension and step to the side, causing Ser Cane to do the same so Ser Alfred can pass by.

However, as the heel of his boots starts to tap against the wooden bridge, Ser Perkin and three of his men come out of the shadows to block his path.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Ser Alfred demands to know. “Move in the name of your king!” He exclaims and then turns to face you and have you move them, but when he turns three more men walk out from the corridor he just came from and block that path too.

“What—”

He cuts himself off whilst his breath catches as you strut forward to be in front of him and he catches the gleam of your silver chest plate shaped in the form of bones hiding behind your cloak.

“Long. Live. The. King,” you roll out of your tongue before you grab his shoulder and then slap your other hand on his chest.

Ser Perkin and his men stomp their feet on the ground and chant the same thing. “Long live the king.”

The realization that Ser Alfred is facing death hits him, but before he can utter another word, or even figure out what to do next, you shove him off the drawbridge.

You then step toward the edge of the bridge, and your piercing and threatening glare is the last thing he sees as you watch him fall to his death on the iron spikes below.

“Very well then,” you huff and pull off your cloak to let your armor and intentions shine. “Onto the next.”

.

.

.

.

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A/N- Be prepared!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[fishsticksloser]

The Future Turtles fluff headcanons {specifically Donnie's} made me just image angst and I was wondering if you would like to see what i coke up with?

Future Boys Angst

F!RotTMNT x gn!reader

Warnings: angst, slight comfort, insecurities

A/N: You know I love angst so much. Happy Halloween!

Donnie

Donnie is in his lab a lot

He tends to forget about everything else

Often times it seems like he neglects you

When you speak to him, he answers with short snaps

He's pretty mean, trying to get work done

If you kiss or touch him, he waves you away

He feels like if he's not working he's useless

If he's not creating/inventing he's less than

Leaving him notes or whispering how you feel makes him feel better

But Donnie is still distant

Would you still be with him if he wasn't useful?

Leo

He's so busy

Leo doesn't have much time for you

He hates it

He really just wishes to crawl into your arms and sleep forever

But he's just so busy

Being the leader of the rebellion gives him little time to spare

Everyone needing something

Leo steals glances at you

But he has no time to be with you

Oh how his heart aches

Mikey

What if you were Kraangified?

What if he can't save you?

What if his magic doesn't work?

Mikey "requires" your help

So you stay in and don't have to deal with the Kraang

He worries about what could happen to you

Worries about you facing the Kraang

Raph

Raph trains everyone

So when he trains with you?

He tries really hard to make you the best he possibly can

Because... What if he's not strong enough?

What if he can't save you?

Raph works hard to make you strong

To make you a force to be reckoned with

He wants you to be unstoppable

Because he doesn't feel like he's strong enough to protect you or live without you.

[novaursa]

Can you please write one story about Arthur Dayne and Martell reader? They have been unseparble since they were little, later in love with each other. Reader dreamed of simple life together, suppored him when he was trying to become a knight, but her world is shattered when Arthur tells her that he is leaving to be in kingsguard. A lot of tears and angst happen. At the end, she gives him something of hers as a parting gift, which he keeps all the time with him. When rebellion happens and he dies, someone brings her the letter from him, which also includes that parting gift.

A Star's Final Light

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You thought how your life was bound to the man who had your heart. But fate hears no wishes whispered by love.

- Paring: martell!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The warm desert air caresses your skin as you walk alongside Arthur, the same way you have done since you were children. The sun begins to dip below the horizon and the stars above start to peek through the fading light. You glance over at him, the man who has been your constant companion, your confidant, and now, your love. The silence between you has always been comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that comes from years of shared memories.

You remember the days when you were just children running through the water gardens of Sunspear, barefoot and carefree, laughing as you chased each other through the palace corridors. Arthur was your shield even then, standing between you and the world, his hand always ready to catch you if you stumbled. As you both grew older, that bond only deepened, and with it came the love that bloomed between you like a desert flower—fragile yet enduring against the harshest of odds.

It was you who sat by his side when he trained with a wooden sword, watching him push himself to become the knight he dreamed of being. You knew that his heart burned with the desire to protect those who could not protect themselves, and you admired him for it. Yet, in your dreams, you always saw him standing beside you, not on a battlefield but in the quiet safety of a life you could build together—a simple life, filled with love and peace.

"Arthur," you begin softly, turning your gaze toward the setting sun, your voice filled with the weight of unsaid things. "Do you remember when we were children? How we used to dream of the future?"

"I remember," he replies, his voice low and steady, but there is something different in the way he speaks tonight. He does not meet your eyes.

You stop walking, your heart pounding as a sense of dread fills the pit of your stomach. "Arthur?" you ask, a tremor in your voice. "What is it?"

He finally turns to face you, and the look in his eyes shatters the world you thought you knew. You have seen those eyes filled with joy, with love, with determination—but never like this. Never so full of sorrow.

"I have been accepted into the Kingsguard," he says, his words landing like stones. "I leave for King's Landing tomorrow."

The ground beneath your feet seems to give way, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. The Kingsguard. The realization hits you like a blow, and you stagger under the weight of it. You knew he wanted to be a knight, but you never imagined he would leave you, not like this.

"The Kingsguard?" you whisper, tears stinging your eyes. "But… but that means you cannot marry. You cannot have a family, Arthur."

He reaches for you, his hand brushing your cheek, but you pull away, stepping back as the full impact of his words crushes your chest.

"I know," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I know what it means. But I was called, and I cannot refuse it. I swore an oath."

You shake your head, disbelief clouding your mind. "But we had plans, Arthur! You were going to stay, we were going to—" The words choke you, and the tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over. "We were going to be together."

"I never wanted to hurt you," he whispers, his own voice breaking. "But this is my duty. I have to go."

You sink to the ground, your legs unable to support the weight of your grief. Arthur kneels beside you, his hand reaching for yours, but the touch is bittersweet. You wanted his hand in yours for the rest of your life, and now you must let it go.

"How can you just leave?" you ask, your voice small and broken. "How can you choose duty over us?"

He lowers his head, his own tears falling into the sand between you. "It was never a choice for me. I love you more than anything in this world, but my honor… I cannot break my vow."

The silence that follows is suffocating, broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs. There is nothing more to say because you both know the truth—no words can undo the oath he has sworn, no amount of love can change the course he has chosen.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally stand, wiping the tears from your face. There is no point in begging him to stay. His mind is made up, and you know him well enough to know that he will not change it.

Instead, you reach for the small pendant that hangs around your neck. It is a simple thing, a silver star on a delicate chain, a gift from your mother when you were young. You have worn it every day since, and now, it is the only thing you can offer him.

"Take this," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "So you can remember me. So you know that no matter how far you go, I will always be with you."

Arthur takes the pendant from your hand, his fingers trembling as he looks at it. He fastens it around his wrist, not around his neck, and the sight of it there brings fresh tears to your eyes. He pulls you into his arms one last time, holding you tightly as if he could somehow take away your pain, but you know that this is the last embrace you will share.

"I will never forget you," he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with emotion. "You are my heart, and I will carry you with me always."

You close your eyes, burying your face in his chest, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth of his skin, the way his arms wrap around you like a shield. But soon, too soon, he pulls away, and the cold emptiness that follows is unbearable.

Without another word, Arthur mounts his horse and rides away, his figure growing smaller and smaller until it disappears into the horizon, leaving you standing alone in the gathering twilight.

And though your heart feels as though it has been ripped in two, you know that part of him will always remain with you, just as you will always be with him—bound together by love, by loss, and by a silver star that now rests upon his wrist.

The war has changed everything. It feels like the sun hasn’t truly risen in Dorne for years. The days blur together in a haze of grief and uncertainty, and the news that trickles down from the north is always worse than the last. The rebellion has swallowed the realm, dragging it into chaos. Each letter from King’s Landing or the battlefront feels like a knife twisting deeper into your chest, but none of it compares to the silence surrounding Arthur.

Since he left to join the Kingsguard, you have been forced to live with nothing but letters and memories of him. His letters were sparse, but each one was like a lifeline, a connection to the boy you once loved. Now, with Robert’s Rebellion sweeping through the kingdoms, even those have stopped coming.

The halls of Sunspear feel emptier now. You are surrounded by your family, but none of them can fill the void Arthur left behind. Not even your beloved desert can ease the ache in your heart. The days pass in a painful, drawn-out rhythm, each one bringing more news of bloodshed and betrayal.

Then, one evening a rider arrives at the palace gates. He bears the seal of House Dayne, and dread settles over you like a shroud. You know, before he even speaks, what this means.

"Princess," the messenger says, bowing his head as he presents the small, sealed letter in his hands. His face is pale, his expression solemn, and his eyes can’t quite meet yours. "Ser Arthur… he fell at the Battle of the Tower of Joy."

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your legs threaten to give way beneath you, but you manage to keep standing, though your entire body trembles with the weight of the news. Arthur is dead. The world around you seems to tilt, the ground spinning beneath your feet as the air becomes too thick to breathe.

But the messenger isn’t finished. He holds out something else, something small and familiar. Your heart stops as you see it—the silver star pendant, the one you gave Arthur all those years ago. The one he promised he would always keep with him.

"He left this for you, along with the letter," the messenger says quietly. "He wanted you to have it."

You take the pendant and the letter with shaking hands, your fingers tracing the worn edges of the star. It’s warm from the journey, but it feels cold in your grasp. The weight of it is unbearable, as if the last piece of Arthur’s soul is resting in your palm.

With unsteady fingers, you break the seal on the letter, your eyes already blurring with tears before you can even read the first line. But you force yourself to read it, needing to hear his voice one last time.

“My dearest,

If you are reading this, then I am no longer with you. I knew this day would come, though I never wanted it to. I am sorry I could not return to you as I promised so long ago. I wanted nothing more than to see your face again, to hold you one more time, but the gods have willed it otherwise.

I do not regret my choice to serve in the Kingsguard, but I do regret the pain it caused you. I have thought of you every day since I left. You were my heart, my home, and in my final moments, it is you who fills my thoughts.

I kept the pendant you gave me with me always, just as I promised. It has been my most treasured possession, a reminder of the love we shared, and I hope it brings you some comfort now, though I know nothing can ease the grief you must feel.

I wish I could have lived the life we dreamed of, a simple life, far away from war and duty. I would have gladly spent my days by your side, watching the sun set over Dorne. But fate has never been kind to us, has it?

Do not weep for me, my love. I go now to a place where we can never be parted, where no duty or honor can stand between us. I will wait for you there, as I have waited for you every day since I left your side.

Keep the star, and know that I am always with you. And please, live the life we couldn’t. Be happy, even if it’s without me.

With all my love,

Arthur.”

The tears you’ve been holding back finally break free, falling in heavy drops onto the parchment. You clutch the letter to your chest, his words echoing in your mind as the weight of his loss crashes over you.

Arthur is gone. The boy you loved, the man who had been your constant companion, your other half—he’s gone. But he has left you this final gift, this one last connection to him, and you hold onto it as if it could bring him back to you.

You sit in silence for what feels like hours, staring at the star pendant in your hand. It is worn now, the silver tarnished from years of being held by his hands. You press it to your lips, your tears soaking into the metal as you whisper his name, over and over, as if saying it could somehow bridge the gap between life and death.

But he is gone, and all you have left are memories and a letter you will never forget. You know you will carry Arthur with you for the rest of your life, just as he asked. His love will never fade, and neither will your grief, but somehow, in the depths of your sorrow, there is a small, flickering light—the knowledge that he loved you, even until his last breath.

And though you are shattered by his loss, you know that somewhere, in a place beyond this world, Arthur waits for you, just as he always promised.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

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1. ITMF: Just finished ShanaStoryteller's "By Any Other Name" where resurrected WWX pretends to be a woman, and it's put me in the mood for fic where he is actually resurrected as a woman but, here's the key: he's hamstrung by the extremely patriarchal society he's in. The few fic I've read that have him in a woman's body usually hand wave over that but I'd love to read a fic that doesn't. Anything like that out there??? @kimboo-york

To Deserve So Much More by renysen (locked to archive) (T, 20k, wangxian, summoned by f!oc, getting together, Mojo’s post) has WWX resurrected by the youngest daughter of a non-cultivating family and deals with several issues of him being a woman as a result.

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2. do you know any fics that explore what happens if yzy lives past the wen attack on lp? wwx blamed himself enough without her active vitriol so i'd love to read how her survival would impact the yunmeng trio (esp wwx) and/or the war. thank you!

💖  Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing) has YZY surviving the fall of LP & has stuff about how her leadership is different from JC

Yearning for Miles by Murahi (M, 378k, WangXian, LQR/SiSi, Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, Mutual Pining, seeing the future) has YZY surviving IIRC (it's been a while since I read it & I bailed partway through so idk how it goes) & the tags mention YZY redemption

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3. hi ! in the mood for fics (canon) that feature wangxian and lan sizhui ! it doesn’t need to be about them as parents, although it definitely can, but just having them (especially lwj) act parental or acknowledged as parents or exist as a family unit would be much appreciated, kind of like “Crack me open, pour you out” by tenillypo. basically any parental canon wangxian (even just featured) would be amazing thank you !! @willesnelson

to the act of making noise by words-writ-in-starlight (WordsWritInStarlight) (G, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, Grief/Mourning, Father-Son Relationship, inquiry, Music, Angst, Fluff, Found Family, podfic available)

kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst) it's set in canon times however its def an AU storyline but you get a lot of family feels

Finding Balance Series by Zombubble (G/T, 117k, WangXian, Character Study, Canon Compliant, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Death, Grief, But only a little, Nightmare, Canon-Typical Violence, within a nightmare, injuries, Underage Drinking, Light Angst, Happy Ending, JC Being an Asshole, but not too bad, Anxiety, Grief/Mourning, Self-Reflection, Conflict Resolution, Internal Conflict, lots of talking, Lots of Thinking, LSZ-centric, Soft LQR, Sort Of, Collective Bargaining, LSZ accidentally incites a mini off-screen rebellion, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, mild panic attack) not sure if its quite what #3 is asking (most recent itmf post) but there's a post-canon sizhui-centric series about sizhui coming to terms with remembering he's a wen and stuff, and the last two in the series (esp the last one) have parental wangxian helping him work through things

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4. Itmf wwx n friends as a crazy crack funny af potty mouthed wholesome group!! Modern au. Them being crack heads in a nut. Like, doing stuff like sneaking out, putting skates and running at night, sitting in shopping trolly and pushing it ahead, Fighting in Instagram comments section. Just wwx an friends. Idm relationships.

He lo I'm for #4 itmf. fic is really good, but not what I was aiming for, cuz yeah the plot was chef's kiss, but didn't had much of wy n frnds, lemme clear: wy n frnds shenanigans, doing stupid things, what the fuk moments. This time doesn't matter if it's canon, modern or alternate Universe. Thankyou

The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force by Caixx (Not Rated, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor, Actually Somewhat Canon, Mutual Pining, Horny Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut) lots of shenanigans here

Carefully Orchestrated Plans (no strings attached) by Maledictius (T, 101k, WangXian, Modern AU, Chatting & Messaging, Orchestra, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gossip)

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5. ITMF!! What’s a wangxian fic you’ve read where, as you sadly leave your last kudos on the last chapter, you think, THIS COULD BE A MOVIE 😤!

Those fast paced, edge of your seat, tight plot, spot on character fics that you’d buy a ticket to see? Or maybe a smaller lyrical fic that could totally be an art house short film?

I was rereading Hobbsy3’s Tragedy is Not the End. I always have to make myself popcorn it’s so good! So yep, that’s my movie fic!

Dear mods, please direct me to the right list if this has been asked before!! 💚

Wei Wuxian Makes a Wish series by natcat5 (M, 119k, wangxian, major character death, underage, madoka magica au, modern w/ magic, time travel, high school au, body horror, self-harm, angst w/ bittersweet ending, time loop, mental instability, suicidal thoughts) is it cheating if it's technically based on a movie? I didn't need to know anything about what this is based on besides a quick Google but if asker is looking for something that leaves them feeling breathless with all kinds of feelings this is the first one that came to mind

The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force by Caixx (Not Rated, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor, Actually Somewhat Canon, Mutual Pining, Horny Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut) link in #4 honestly this also felt like a teenage coming of age indie movie

💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX survives, sect leader WWX, yiling wei sect au, slow burn, angst w/ happy ending, getting together, pining, love confessions, reunions, mind all the tags) I just read this and the descriptions of the armor and battlefields really felt like they would suit huge movie screens. It just had that imax vibe, ya know?

Also maybe 5 should look at the “Beautiful Writing and Good Plot” Compilation | Pt. 2 comps a lot of the fics on there feel like a movie

花无百日红; the flower that withers by yiqie (M, 29k, wangxian, Time Travel Fix-It of Sorts, Case Fic, Spells & Enchantments, Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, It's about the emotional catharsis, If you have ever laughed at WWX clowning himself for the 'no one will marry you' scene, This fic is: for you) i'm not a writer so i can't describe the feelings this fic evoked in me, but this is one of those fics that is so prettily written and if it's got a movie adaptation i would definitely watch it

In Imitation of Life by travelingneuritis (E, 70k, wangxian, modern cultivation, scifi au, android WWX, tone: neon seedy, rich people are bored and terrible, post-apocalyptoc landscape, happy ending, smut, severe major characger injury, time loss) everything this author writes is like a movie tbh

symmetry by bleuett (M, 44k, WangXian, Space, Science Fiction, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Holding Hands, Blow Jobs, Hand Feeding, Cultivation in Space, Yearning, Reunions, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Injuries, Grief/Mourning, Unconventional Time Travel, Burial Mounds) I remember reading this and getting major interstellar vibes

💖 Pentimento. by orange_crushed (E, 73k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, art conservation, museums, pining, not actually unrequited love, angst w/ happy ending, misunderstandings, smut, major character injury, hospitalization, hurt/comfort, past incarceration, forgery) this is like an A24 Sundance festival winner, author writes such incredible prose

Post Mortem by Cataclysmic_Calamity (E, 78k, wangxian, modern, Psychological Horror, friends with benefits, they're both fucked up but they love each other so much, Slow Burn Mystery, Unnegotiated Kink, Dom/sub, Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Con, Stalking, Drug Addiction, Serial Killers, in Wei Ying's desire to critique the 'final girl' trope he accidentally becomes one, Angst with a Happy Ending, meta commentary on the horror and true crime genres) A horror movie!!!! Very much on the edge of your seat.

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6. Huge thanks to the mods and participants for this wonderful blog! You keep my Mark for Later list going strong.

ITMF fics where someone tries to harm WWX because of LWJ. Maybe they're obsessively in love with him and want to get rid of the competition, or maybe they hate him and want to hurt him in the worst way possible by hurting the one he loves most, or whatever. Bonus points if Wangxian assume that whoever seems to be coming after WWX is coming after him because he's the Yiling Laozu instead of because he's LWJs love, and so they make wrong assumptions and mistakes. Happy for similar recs also, even if it's not a perfect fit! No Jiang Cheng bashing though plz. Thanks all! @flamingwell

this body yet survives by RoseThorne (T, 50k, WIP, WangXian, No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courting Rituals, Near Death Experiences, Attempted Murder, Eventual Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Protective Siblings, Triggers, Protective LWJ, Protective LQR, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Bad Parent YZY, POV Third Person, POV LWJ, Depression, Good Sibling JC, Good Sibling JYL)

A Soft Storm by AvoOwO (Not rated, 47k, wangxian, modern au, hurt WWX, LWJ pov, protective LWJ, not SS friendly, car accidents, hurt/comfort, heavy angst w happy ending, sexual harrasment, stalking, crying, blood & injury & gore, major character injury, college, slut shaming, insults)

Coincidence is Another Man's Fate by TriviasFolly (M, 164k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega wwx, Sexual Harassment, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, WangXian play the long game, UNTIL THEY DON'T, Getting Together, fated pairs, Eventual Attempted Sexual Assult and Recovery, Modern Setting - Office, Mpreg)

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7. Hi!! Does anyone know of any fics where dual cultivation classes are part of the lectures that all the young masters attend? I’d love to see them paired up to meditate, study, duel, night hunt, perhaps even take a couple of sex magic classes. In my head I am picturing something like those Harry Potter fics where students are paired due to compatible magic and they study together regardless of house division. Thank you!

turn towards the sun by Ariaste (E, 21k, WangXian, Kushiel's Legacy Fusion, The Night Court (Kushiel's Legacy), Kink Negotiation, Courtesans, Intimacy, BDSM, Consent, Wangxian's canonical fetishes, roughly Cloud Recesses-era, Extracurricular Kissing, Impact Play, Kink Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, (aka Madam Yu being canonically willing to hit WWX)) This may not be exactly what was requested but it’s definitely school and wangxian definitely “study” together:)

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8. Are there any fics where Wei Wuxian purposely tries to seduce Lan Wangji? Like he wears revealing clothes, touches him more often, moans while eating...etc? Like, Wei Wuxian knows Lan Wangji likes him and is trying to make him crack by being all flirty/seductive?

puzzle pieces by Yuisaki (T, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Roommates, Fluff, Humor, Friends to Lovers, Sharing Clothes, Getting Together, Pining)

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9. Hi mods! Can I ask for the next ITMF for some fics where WWX, JFM or even LQR are angry at Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren for not being careful enough during night hunts and leaving WWX alone? Something along the lines of why they didn't have a back up plan or why didn't they leave WY in Lotus Pier or somewhere else where he would be looked after while they were busy and risking something happening to him bc they didn't tell anyone where their child was if something happened to them. Doesn't really need to be bashing but definitely some abandonment issues and not WWX just being alright with what his parents did and wanting to do the same

Thanks!! @jiangclaritybell

❤️ The One-Body Problem by metisket (T, 29k, LJY & WWX, LJY & LSZ, wangxian, possession, cohabitation, Mojo’s bookmark) Lan Jingyi (very) briefly mentions how stupid it was for WWX's parents to just leave him when they went off night hunting

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10. Hii!! I hope you guys are well <3

I have a request for the next itmf, i recently read a fic where wwx is adopted by hua lian, so I was wondering if you had more fics in the same category?? The fic i read was the hearth series by eccentrick!!

Thank you in advance ❤️❤️

there's a whole tag Huā Chéng & Xiè Lián (Tiān Guān Cì Fú) Adopt Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn for that, but in specific

Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 170k, hualian, wangxian, TGCF, canon divergence, not Jiang friendly, madam lan lives, WWX adopted by hualian, WWX with different name, overprotective hualian, hurt WWX, WIP)

Narrative of Strength by MeltedIceAngel (T, 61k, WIP, WangXian, HuaLian, Canon Divergence, Adopt WWX, Found Family, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective XL, Protective HC, Adoption, Kidnapping, Attempted Kidnapping, Serious Injuries, Angst with a Happy Ending, TGCF)

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11. Hello, for the next In the mood for, do you have any wangxian fan fic recs of novel canon divergence/fix it that do not feature yunmeng bros reconciliation? Thank you so much in advance!

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, canon divergence, time travel, rogue cultivator WWX, no golden core transfer, not cultivation world friendly, not JC friendly, OCs) WWX travels back in time & goes fuck the cultivation world & JC in particular

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence) WWX rebuilds his core while living in the Burial Mounds, JC loses his & is pissed about it

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12. Can you recommend me Darkji fanfic and an oblivious weiying or a dark dark lanzhan where there's an abuse and manipulation included I don't mind🫶🏻

Obelus by Celestios (Not rated, 167k, wangxian, rape/non-con, non-con elements, NO rape, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Punishments, Spanking, Punishments, Dubious Morality, Dubious Consent, physical discipline, Physical Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Abusive Relationship, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, mention of violence, mention of drugs, Mention of alcohol, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, dark LWJ, Baker WWX, Bodyguard WN, Mentions of weapons, Gun mentions, Slow Burn, Long, Doctor WQ, Self Medicating, WWX has ADHD, Trauma Bonding, Psychological Manipulation, Gaslighting, Organized Crime, underground crime, Underground business, illegal business)

3-in-1 Shampoo/Conditioner/Bodywash - the Real Gateway Drug by Anonymous (E, 22k, WIP, WangXian, one sided wangxian (but for how long?), sketchy as fuck LWJ, does this count as dark! LWJ, implied bi WWX, modern au - no cultivation, Piss Marking, Come Marking, cum in food, brief cameo of food fucking, piss in food, Exhibitionism, Sloppy Seconds, Alcoholism, mention piss drinking, No Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, sexually charged assisted pissing, accidental hold, Omorashi, freak4freak, emotional manipulation/subdrop of sorts, co-pissing, panty huffing, Degradation, dubcon blowjob, FaceFucking, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, pissing on someone who's passed out drunk, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation, Mutual Masturbation, jerking off walkthrough (with commentary), threats of edging, mutual CNC fantasies, Unreliable Narrator, I gave LWJ the LBH sized cock he deserves, Bathing, pissing in fleshlight) 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/bodywash - the real gateway drug for itfm 12. It’s more extremely dubious consent than actual abuse, but there is definitely a bit of gaslighting.

Kinkotber Day 4: A Shift in Perspective by Anonymous (E, 2k, WangXian, Stockholm Syndrome, Rape/Non-con Elements, there's no violence but he certainly doesn't ask for concent, Dark LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Cockwarming, Exhibitionism, bimboification (kind of), collaring (at the end), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, PWP, Almost No Dialogue) as the tags say - no actual violence but deffo non/dubcon elements

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13. Hello, do you know any modern or canon au wx fics where wangxian never interacted when they were kids/students but lwj still had a quiet crush on wwx?

and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They’re Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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14. this might be a weirdly specific request for itmf, but I was wondering if you know of any fics where, either through reincarnation or time travel what have you, Lan Sizhui/Wen Yuan raises Wei Ying or Lan Zhan as his child(ren)?

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15. For the next ITMF, can you recommend fic where characters OTHER than wangxian take ownership of their actions prior to wwx's death? (e.g. abandoning wwx/wen civilians to their fate, the mass slaughter of innocents, stealing & profiting off his work while slandering him, etc). I'm not interested in fics where this ownership has a caveat ("it was bad, but wwx was equally bad or worse" - these are fine but it's just not what I want to read.) Thanks! @balleyboley

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16. Anything with wwx with low self-steem????

the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 88k, WIP,   WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol   Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days)

Welcome to the Family Series by jiejieaini (E, 237k, WangXian, Modern, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, Angst, Explicit Sex)

❤️ The One-Body Problem by metisket (T, 29k, LJY & WWX, LJY & LSZ, wangxian, possession, cohabitation, Mojo’s bookmark) (link in #9) Seeing the “low self esteem” ask in ITMF made me go: any fic ever? If you want a funny response to it, metisket’s One Body Problem has Jingyi. Enough said.

Don't Leave Me by TrippinOnSkies (E, 19k, WangXian, Modern AU, Marriage Proposal, Mental Breakdown, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Panic Attacks, But they are very mild, Overthinking, Good Sibling JC, Break Up, Gentle Sex, Gentle Kissing, Idiots in Love, Pining, Misunderstandings, Oblivious WWX, LWJ Has Feelings, LWJ is Whipped, Getting Together, NHS & WWX Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy EndingInsecure WWX, WWX Has Issues, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, Sad WWX, WWX is Bad at Communicating)

could you find a way to let me down slowly, if you're leaving baby let me down slowly by ravenditefairylights (M, 36k, WangXian, XuanLi, Past MingXian, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, Implied/Referenced Sex, Miscommunication, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Hurt WWX, Mutual Pining, Unreliable Narrator, Self-Esteem Issues, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Protective Siblings, Trauma, Slightly dubious consent, courtesy of drunk sex, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Phoenix Mountain, Chronic Pain, Getting Together, Fix-It of Sorts, One Braincell Trio, PTSD)

See Me, Feel Me (Listening to You) by Ghost_Honey (T, 29k, WangXian, POV WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, WWX's Abyssmal Self-Esteem, Emotional Healing, Angst, The Juniors love their Senior Wei, Curses, WWX is an Unreliable Narrator, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling)

pastel by antebunny (G, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Soulmates, Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unrequited Love, but not actually)

to be loved by wqngji (G, 1k, WangXian, Insecure WWX, Petty LWJ, JC is So Done, Domestic Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Doubt, Hugs, Hurt WWX)

leading tone by silencemostofall (G, 32k, WangXian, Modern AU, Soulmates, with a lil twist, Eventual Happy Ending, it will not look like it until the very end but I promise there's a happy ending, lesbian wq rights, Music, Orchestra, platonic and romantic pining, wwx's serious self-worth issues, [Podfic] Leading Tone by silencemostofall by Beria1021)

~*~

17. Is there a fic in which yiling people are protective of wei ying and wants him to come back

End Racism in the OTW | The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts) it’s mentioned briefly, I believe

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[oldiesstationlover11607]

🎶You had me at hello🎶 (if I used this one before, no I didn’t).

Hello! It’s 💛! And before I go any further I would like to apologize for breaking the TØP streak that you were on (even though you absolutely KILLLED the Party Poison story! It was exactly what I imagined it would be!). I had the idea in my mind and I just wanted to see it come to life in someway so I appreciate you doing it. Also, that Josh Dun story you did the same day, so cute! ☺️

To nobody’s big surprise, or maybe to your chagrin, I am falling back into the TØP cycle of fanfics with yet another request. You said you were getting a lot of Tyler, but have no fear! This one is Josh (it’s Torchbearer!Josh but…hopefully that’s close enough).

This may be too close to the Keons daughter story idea that you had in mind so if that’s the case just disregard this, but I was wondering if you could do an angsty story about the reader being Nico’s daughter (*gasp*), but she escaped Dema and joined the Banditos. Her and Torchbearer hit it off and become close (I’m imagining romantically but platonic could also work), but she never tells him who her father is. During trip into Dema when he goes to try to help break out some people trapped inside (NATN sorta thing), he finds out the truth. He comes back to the camp and angst ensues (whether or not it ends happily is up to you).

Like I said, I know this may be too close to your other plot idea, but I wanted to request it (also sorry for my yapping).

Daughter Series - Torchbearer + Clancy + Nico!Daughter

Warnings: Swearing and angst

Word Count: 3090

A/N: WELCOME! I do believe I killed this ngl...

PART 2 + PART 3 + Part 4 + Part 5

Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t born in Dema. My mother had me outside of the walls before I was taken inside by my father, and my mom was never seen again. Growing up, that was a story I was forbidden to tell. My father rarely talked about my mom and if I ever asked, he would only say, “She didn’t understand the greater purpose, but I do. You will too, one day.” 

For a while, I believed him. How could I not? When you grow up with someone like Nico, your whole world revolves around what they tell you. He was my father, but he was also Dema’s leader, head bishop, the one who enforced the silence, control, and order we citizens were all too familiar with. No one defied Nico, not even his own daughter.

Life in Dema was strict but comfortable. I wasn’t treated like everyone else. My father made sure of that. I lived in one of the best apartments, with guards who kept a constant watch over me. In the evenings, I would look out from the balcony and watch the city below—lifeless, colorless, and silent. The people moved like shadows. It felt wrong but I couldn’t put my feelings into words. It was like a quiet voice that echoed in the back of my mind, begging me to see beyond the walls. That voice grew louder as I got older, especially when I overheard whispers of resistance. Stories about people who escaped. The transcripts of the Banditos were forbidden, but I found ways to read them. They described a world outside Dema, a world full of music, color, and freedom. I imagined it often—what it would feel like to run without fear, to laugh without looking over your shoulder.

For years, I buried that desire, letting my father’s teachings drown out the voice of rebellion inside me. He would tell me, “You are my legacy. Dema’s future. You don’t need anything else.” And I believed him—until the day I didn’t. I don’t exactly remember when I decided to leave. Maybe it was a slow realization, a growing awareness that I couldn’t stay in Dema–I couldn’t live like this. Or maybe it was the night I saw him–a Bandito. He had this bright yellow bandana tied around his head that covered his face and was sprinting across the city. His eyes were filled with fire, determination, and a passion I’d never felt before. Several citizens left that night and the next morning there were almost double the amount of glorious gone lined up. 

After that I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling, the walls of my apartment feeling tighter and tighter, as if they were closing in on me. I thought about the stories I had heard, the people who had escaped. For the first time, I wanted to know what it felt like. The voice in my head—the one I had tried so hard to suppress—was louder than ever.

I don’t know how I did it. Nico’s daughter wasn’t supposed to slip away unnoticed, but somehow I did. Maybe my father had gotten too comfortable. Maybe I wasn’t as much of a priority as he liked to pretend. It didn’t matter.

I ran.

The night I left Dema was the most terrifying night of my life. Every shadow felt like it could be a bishop or vulture watching, every step against the cobblestone ground echoed in my mind as if the entire city could hear me. But I didn’t stop until I got out of the catacombs. I couldn’t.

The Banditos found me the next morning, huddled in an abandoned building outside Dema’s reach. They took me in, gave me water, food, and shelter. They didn’t ask who I was right away, which was a relief. I didn’t want to tell them. Not yet. Not while Nico’s name was a curse on their lips.

I never expected to feel so at home among them, especially with him.

Torchbearer was everything Dema taught me to fear—brave, reckless, defiant. He radiated life in a way that was foreign to me, and yet, I couldn’t stay away from him. We met the night I arrived at camp. He approached me cautiously at first, well aware that most escapees were either violent or runners in their first few days. 

But I wasn’t like most escapees.

He asked me my name, and I hesitated, not wanting to give my real name. 

“Just call me…” I hesitated, not wanting to give him my real name. “Call me Ash.”

“That’s not your real name is it?” his head tilted and eyebrows raised slightly as he took a bite of the bread roll someone had brought through camp. 

“Nope,” I chuckled below my breath, “But something tells me your name isn’t Torchbearer.” He laughed and shook his head. The Torchbearer was the kind of person who knew when not to ask questions, something I was thankful for. 

As the months passed, we became close. Closer than I expected, closer than I thought I would let anyone get. At first, it was a hesitant friendship, both of us hearing each other out. We talked about the rebellion, we talked about vialism, and he talked about Dema. Over time, we became inseparable. I loved him. He showed me what it meant to live—truly live—outside the grasp of Dema’s cold, suffocating control. He showed me what it meant to have fun, to laugh, to joke, and to fight back.

And through it all, I kept my secret. I managed to keep him at arm’s length, no matter how much I wanted to let him in. Because how could I? How could I tell him that I was Nico’s daughter—the daughter of the man who had destroyed lives, stolen freedom, and enforced misery?

So I didn’t.

The guilt gnawed at me. Every time Torchbearer looked at me with those fiery eyes, filled with admiration and trust, I felt the weight of my life settle deeper into my chest. The longer I stayed with the Banditos, the more I realized I wasn’t just lying to Torchbearer. I was lying to everyone.

That was until my first raid. Each month Torchbearer and a few select Banditos would sneak into Dema to pick up escapees and add to the rebellion and after 10 months of being in Trench, Torchbearer had asked me to come. We all knew it was a risk, but as Dema reminded us–we had no choice. The mission was simple: get in and get out. We were the best at what we did. The Banditos had been in and out of Dema before, but this time felt different. This time, the stakes were higher. I was there. Torchbearer grabbed one of his yellow bandanas to tie around my arm so he could find me.

“Are you sure you’re okay to go back?” he asked, his fingers flowing perfectly to secure the knot. The hesitancy in his voice was mirrored by the look on his face. 

“It’s going to be okay Torch,” I smiled shyly, cupping his jaw and pressing my lips against him. He returned the kiss by his lips were shy, mind clearly elsewhere. 

“It’s difficult to go back, Ash. I just–I don’t want to lose you and I’m worried that you’re not ready for a mission this high stakes,” he pressed his forehead against mine, his fingers tangling through my hair. 

“I am ready. I want to go,” I insisted, the fear of the truth bubbling over. 

“Okay,” he raised his arms in defeat, “if you say you’re ready then I believe you.” Torchbearer pulled me in close, his chin resting on the top of my head while my face pressed against his chest. I was ready. I really was ready. 

Torchbearer led the charge, his eyes gleaming with determination. The night we infiltrated Dema, the city was as lifeless as I remembered. The silence was deafening. I hadn’t been back since I left, and the familiar streets, the cold concrete walls, sent a shiver down my spine. Memories flooded back—of my father, of the life I had left behind.

Torchbearer stayed close to me. He didn’t know the real reason for my tension, and I wasn’t about to explain it now. I needed to focus.

We split up to cover more ground. My heart pounded as I ran through the darkened alleys, sticking to the shadows. I found the building where they were keeping the prisoners and signaled to the others. Everything was going smoothly until I heard footsteps behind me.

I spun around, heart leaping into my throat. My hand hovered over my weapon, ready to fight, but when I saw who was standing there, the air was knocked out of me.

It was him.

Dad.

He stood there, calm, composed, his pale eyes locking onto mine like a hunter sizing up his prey. His presence made the air around us feel heavy, suffocating, like the very essence of Dema was crushing me.

“I knew you’d come back,” he said softly, his voice as smooth and cold as I remembered. “You couldn’t stay away forever.”

My heart hammered in my chest as I struggled to breathe. My mind raced, trying to come up with some kind of explanation, some excuse for why I was here. But what could I possibly say?

“Dad,” I whispered, my voice betraying me with a tremble.

He tilted his head, regarding me with the same detached curiosity he always had. Clothes in his traditional blood red robes there was no anger in his eyes, no surprise—just cold, calculating control. He stepped closer, and instinctively, I backed away.

“You left,” he continued, as if we were having a casual conversation over tea. “I wondered how long it would take for you to see reason. To realize your place was always here, by my side. With us.”

I felt like I was drowning. My pulse raced, my thoughts tangling together in panic. How had he found me so quickly? I wasn’t supposed to run into anyone—especially not him.

“I didn’t…” My voice faltered as I glanced around, searching for an escape. But there was none. “I didn’t come back for you. I’m here for them.”

Nico’s gaze sharpened. His cold smile never wavered. “Is that what they told you? That you’re here to ‘rescue’ our people? To ‘save’ them from our sacred religion?”

He took another step toward me, his eyes boring into mine. “You are my daughter. Our city’s future. There is no ‘saving’. There is only the Order. You belong with us.”

“No,” I said, my voice firmer this time. I took a deep breath, standing my ground. “I don’t belong here. Not anymore.”

For a moment, Nico was silent, his eyes narrowing as if he were studying me, calculating his next move. Then, his smile faded, replaced by something far more dangerous—disappointment.

“You are mistaken,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that made my skin crawl. “You think you’ve escaped Dema, but you never left. You are still tied to this place. You always will be.”

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my composure. “I chose to leave. I chose a different life. I’m not your puppet anymore.”

Nico’s expression darkened. “Is that what you think? That you can just walk away from your legacy? You are my blood. You will come back to me.”

“No,” I said, the word feeling like a dagger in my throat. “I won’t.”

His eyes flashed with something I couldn’t place—anger, maybe, or something deeper, something darker. He took another step toward me, and for a second, I thought he might reach out and drag me back to our tower by force.

But instead, he stopped, his voice growing quieter, more insidious. “If you leave now, if you continue this path, you are lost to me. And when Dema rises—when the time comes—no one will be able to save you from what’s coming.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. His words were like poison, seeping into my mind, but I pushed them away.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I lied, my voice barely a whisper.

Nico laughed, but this time, it was colder, emptier. “Yes, you are. You always have been.”

Before I could say anything else, I heard footsteps. Nico’s eyes flickered toward the sound, and for a brief moment, something like recognition crossed his face. He knew. He knew we weren’t alone.

“We’ll meet again, daughter,” he said quietly, pulling me in for a forceful hug. His arms wrapped around me like a vice, sending a chill down my spine. I could feel the weight of his authority, his control, pressing down on me as he whispered in my ear, his breath cold and steady. “You may try to escape your fate, but it will find you,” he murmured, his voice low and insidious. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pressed his cracked lips to my cheek—a twisted mockery of affection.

I wanted to push him away, to shove him back and break free, but I was frozen in fear, trapped in that moment. It was only when he finally released me, vanishing into the shadows, that I could breathe again. My heart was pounding, my hands shaking, and the air around me felt thick, suffocating.

But before I could even collect myself, I heard something—a gasp. My eyes shot up, and there, standing just a few feet away, was Torchbearer.

His face was pale, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He had seen everything.

“Torch—” I started, stepping toward him, but he took a step back, his expression hardening. The raw hurt in his eyes cut me deeper than any weapon could.

“Is that—” His voice faltered, then came out sharper, more accusatory. “That was him, wasn’t it? Blurryface.”

I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. My mind was racing, trying to find a way to explain, but what could I possibly say? Torchbearer had seen me in my father’s arms—Nico, the head of Dema, the enemy of everything we fought for. The truth was out.

“I-I can explain,” I stammered, my voice weak and trembling.

Torchbearer’s eyes were cold, his expression unreadable. “You lied to me.” His words were barely above a whisper, but they carried the weight of a thousand unspoken accusations.

“I didn’t—” I tried, but he cut me off.

“All this time… you knew. You knew, and you said nothing.” His voice rose, trembling with anger and betrayal. “We trusted you, Ash. I trusted you. And you… you’re his fucking daughter?”

The words stung, each one like a slap to the face. I took a step closer, desperate to make him understand, but he only backed away further, shaking his head.

“I’m not him,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m not my dad. I left Dema. I chose to leave. I chose to be in Trench with you.”

Torchbearer’s face twisted with anger. “But you never told us! You lied about who you are—about everything. You let us believe… You let me believe…”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” I whispered, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. “I was scared. I thought if you knew—if you knew the truth—you’d look at me like this. Like I was him.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to look at you, Ash?” Torchbearer snapped, his voice cutting like a knife. “You’re his daughter! You’re part of this. You’re not you anymore.”

“I was part of it, yeah,” I said quickly, pleading. “But I’m not anymore. I left. I left him, I left this city, I left my home.”

“But you didn’t leave it behind, did you?” Torchbearer’s voice was cold, filled with bitterness. “You didn’t tell us the truth, and now… I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

I felt the ground slipping out from beneath me. “Torch, please. I’m still me. I’m still the same person.”

“No, you’re not.” His voice broke, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes softened into something else—something like pain. “I thought I knew you. I thought I could trust you. But you’ve been hiding this the whole time. How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”

I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I thought… I thought I could just be part of this life, without bringing my past into it.”

Torchbearer let out a bitter laugh. “That’s not how it works. You can’t just pretend like your past doesn’t exist, Ash. You can’t just hide who you are and expect it to never come out.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I never wanted this. I never wanted you to find out like this.”

Torchbearer shook his head, his expression filled with disappointment. “It doesn’t matter. The damage is done.”

He turned to leave, but I lunged forward, grabbing his arm. “Please. Don’t walk away. Don’t—I love you.”

He hesitated, but he didn’t pull his arm away. For a moment, hope flickered in my chest, but when he finally spoke, his voice was cold and final.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Ash.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I let go of his arm, the weight of everything crashing down on me.

Torchbearer took one last look at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger, hurt, and something else—something that made my heart ache even more.

And then he was gone, disappearing into the night, leaving me standing alone in the empty street, tears streaming down my face, my heart shattered.

“Y/N,” my father’s friend’s voice echoed through the street. Keons. The bishop I’d often found myself speaking to when I still lived here. He was one of the only leaders in this city who cared–or at least created the illusion that he cared–about citizens, especially those from his district. “You should come with me.”

“Why would I go with you?” I asked, my arms folded across my chest. 

“You left the city, right?” 

I nodded. 

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet. A boy from my district, he reminds me of you and I believe together you could do some good for our city,” he explained. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I said. 

“I assure you, you are not in any danger Y/N. This boy, he’s different from the other citizens,” he continued. 

“What’s his name?”

“Clancy.”

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[ryuzakemo128]

Björn Ironside x reader : "I don't ask for your understanding, I don't ask for your trust either and quite frankly I do not want either one from you."

Please and thank you💙

I hope you like this and fits with what you might want.

Tarnished and Unveiled Intentions

Pairing: Bjorn Ironside x reader

Genre: Angst

Requested? Yes

Prompt: "I don't ask for your understanding, I don't ask for your trust either and quite frankly I do not want either one from you."

Content Warning: Possible mention of death, illness, disorders and disease. If any of these topics trigger or make you feel a certain way. I urge you to click off and preserve your mental health. As it's important to care for your mental health as well as your physical health.

You were unwell, bedridden for months, your fragile body refusing to move. Refused to obey. "[Y/N]" Bjorn said, his voice both harsh and commanding. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. It was as if he expected you to have told him about this before. As if he expected you to reveal everything to him when he wanted you to. Your lips curled into a snarl, a silent rebellion against him as your anger continued to boil beneath the surface, 'How can he assume he knows anything by demanding it when he wants it? You thought.

"I would have told you before, but I couldn't. I don't expect you to understand what I'm going through." You told him. Your voice was hoarse and strained. His entitlement, his entitled behaviour continued to annoy you. Even now.

You wanted to lash out, but your bones. Heavy as lead would not let you. You wanted to shout at him. But you couldn't find the words, they got caught on your tongue and stuck in your throat. The words between you and him remained unspoken.

His assumption that you would be fine this winter, that you would be able to go out there without any possible injury or illness. His presumption almost killed you, his presumptuous behaviour made you sick and injured. Sometimes almost dead.

His words, his tone, his expectations, his assumptions, they were all so disrespectful. He never once considered your feelings, your safety, your well-being. He treated you as if you were nothing more than a tool at his disposal, something to be taken for granted, something to be discarded when it no longer served his purpose. At least that was how you felt, and how you assumed he felt about you.

But that was not who you were. You were not just a servant or a housekeeper. You were a person with feelings, with a life of your own, with dreams and aspirations. And you deserved to be treated with respect and dignity. This relationship was a sinking ship, and you didn't want to stay on it. Not for another second, not for another day, and certainly not for the rest of your life. It was time to jump ship, to swim to safety, to find your way back to the shore where you belonged. You owed it to yourself. To your future.

"I don't ask for your understanding, I don't ask for your trust either and quite frankly I do not want either one from you." You said to him. A bitter taste remaining on the tip of your tongue.

He didn't protest, didn't argue and he just left you there. Alone. Both bedridden and close to death.

Link: [Divider]

Link: [Header]

Links: [Masterlist 01 / Masterlist 02]

Link: [Vikings Masterlist/ Prompt List]

[justrainandcoffee]

Memories (Luca Changretta x poc!fem!oc)

This is part of my main series → Hunger Games - Peaky Blinders crossover.

Summary: The disastrous 75th Hunger Games are over, but the rebellion barely started. In district 11, she's the new leader now. Commander Young was made to protect her people. While she was out contemplating the fire, she starts to remember. Luca Changretta and her relationship with him.

Warnings: Mentions of minors forced to have sex (only mentioned) and angst. || Despite this fic, and how much I like these two, Luca is fucking bastard in thg universe and she could NEVER fall in love with someone like him.

Words: 1k. || Credits to @evita-shelby for adding him on her fic, because otherwise this fic couldn't exist. I waited months to write this!! But it's here. It's previous to the next part of the main series.

In a parallel universe Aveline imagines her life is much better. Perhaps with a job that allows her to live in dignity and without having to worry about surviving a war started by a white-haired old man who had nothing better to do than ruin the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.

Commander Young is a title she never imagined she would have, but it is what life has put in front of her. And as hard as it is to admit... she likes it. Standing up for those who can't make it on their own is what brings her the most satisfaction.

And her beloved district knows something about injustice. Sadly.

Aveline stands next to a funeral pyre. Since the announcement of the 75th games, problems in the districts have worsened. It is true that she and a group of the strongest men and women she had, not many, managed to control the peacekeepers and those who resisted were now feeding the pigs, but it is also true that what little resources they had became scarce and deaths increased. The pyre was to honour the dead of her land and the meaning of the fire was more than just the symbolism of purifying them. It was also to prevent the bodies from bringing disease to those who were still alive.

Aveline watched the fire with her precious katana in her hands. The flames brought back memories to her mind.

"Take it with you. You're going to need it someday, Linnie."

Linnie. The only person who ever called her that was him. To everyone else she's Avie. But of course Luca Changretta wasn't part of the rest. He was special, that's why he paid for her when Aveline won.

They were both teenagers at the time, she was 16 and he was 19. It didn't take Aveline long to understand what the behind-the-scenes of the Hunger Games was all about. Having no mentor, being the first winner from District 11, no one warned her, but when the peacekeeper knocked on her door to tell her she had to go to the Capitol because someone was waiting for her, some pieces of the puzzle began to make sense.

She was forced to wear a purple dress and shoes that made her even taller than she was. Another peacekeeper took her to a luxurious mansion and that was the first time she saw him. As tall as she was and with an elegance that, even for someone from the Capitol, could cause envy.

"Perfect," was what he said when he saw her. His youthful face lacked that malice that would make more than one in the future recoil and yet, it was still intimidating. "Please, Aveline, have a seat."

He said he prepared dinner himself and set a plate of pasta in front of the girl that smelled delicious. There was no way she could get something like that in District 11, even if she was a champion.

Luca wasn't like the average Capitol people she'd seen in the months since she'd won and in the future either. For better or worse, Luca was smarter than them. Maybe that's why he was dead now too, guys like him couldn't be trusted, even before he was 20.

The katana rested on a wall, like a treasure for all to see. Within reach of her hand, if only....

Luca listened to her talk, and that wasn't something the Capitol did. They pretended to listen to those in the district, only to interrupt them and talk about the wonders of being millionaires. But not him. Anyone would think that the future owner of half an empire in the Capitol's underground was actually interested. Or maybe he was gathering information.

But Aveline was on alert. No matter how attractive she found him, no matter how much she wanted to know about him.

Why did she find him attractive and intelligent when he had paid for her as if she were a prostitute?

Aveline allowed him to dance with her and allowed him to kiss her too. That was her first and only kiss with a man and it hadn't been bad. She could say she had liked it. Even when in time she would discover that girls were more to her liking.

But Aveline wouldn't let Luca go beyond a kiss. As they danced and kissed, she guided him exactly to the wall where the katana rested. A single movement was all it took for her to grab it and pull it against Luca's heart.

"Don't even try," she said. "If you get your hands on me when they open the door they're going to have to put you together piece by piece."

Far from being offended by her reaction, the boy laughed and held up his hands "I'm not taking any chances, Linnie. I've seen what you do with that. I don't want to be one more."

Luca backed up to sit in his armchair while she still held the katana in her hand.

"It's an heirloom," he continued, indifferent to the fact that he was likely to end up decapitated at any moment. "It was my father's and he inherited it from his father. We lost track of its arrival in our family three generations ago. We don't know if it was ours before the climate disaster or if someone found it."

The girl never lowered her arm and looked at him, daring him to do something stupid. But Luca didn't move from the couch.

"You're the first victor I've ever paid for, and the experience is most unexpected," he said, "You're special, Linnie."

"And you're a bastard."

"Yes. And yet no one has seen the worst of me. Not even me. But in keeping with the tradition of giving gifts to the victors. I give you the katana. Take it. You're going to need it someday, Linnie."

When in the future Aveline declared that she was not part of the Capitol's sexual abuse, it was true because Luca never laid a finger on her. In the years that followed, no one else ever took her to the Capitol again, except for the games.

She saw Luca every year at the Games. In the end he was right, no one had seen the worst of him. The rumours about him were sometimes best to ignore. The following victors were not as lucky as Aveline because Luca learned from his mistakes and there was nothing in sight that could hurt him when he paid for someone.

"You look beautiful as always, Linnie," Luca said in her ear one of the last times she saw him. He was wearing as always his best suit that matched his cocky smile.

"When are you going to stop this, Luca? You're already over 40. It's disgusting, it always was! Who's your new treasure, the girl from 10?"

"Eva, yes. Better me than Evert, Linnie. We all know what he does with kids, at least to me they're still people, not supernatural beings. But don't be jealous, Linnie, you're always going to be my first. By the way, have you ever wondered why no one else after me showed any interest in you? Such a beautiful black girl, she's the temptation of more than one. Yet no one put a penny on your name."

Aveline did not reply but looked at him intrigued. The truth was that she had not until that moment wondered why.

"I've been paying to protect you for 21 years," Luca continued "I'm not stupid enough to risk my balls and bring you in against your will. But that doesn't mean I don't protect those I love."

"Love?"

"Love. Maybe in another life, Linnie." Luca smiled at her again, "by the way, do you still have your sword?"

Aveline nodded.

"Okay. Remember this, love, you're going to need it sooner than you expect and I know you are going to know when to use it."

Aveline turned away from the fire of the funeral pyre. She couldn't help but smile. The bastard was right.

"Maybe in another life, Linnie."

"Maybe."

[gumballavocadoharry]

Roger doesn't live here anymore; Jack Chambers:

*Templeton and Braxton are not real streets in Seattle, The Tribune is not a real magazine cover. Mentions of traumatic flashbacks, abuse, depression, alcohol useage and slight abuse, angst and some mild swearing.*

Roger was pressed against the door of his forest green mercury. Taking in the blazing heat of summer, allowing beads of sweat to trickle down his face; down the back of his ear before dropping a spot onto his sky blue polo. His fingers were wrapped into a glass cola bottle, taking in gulps occasionally to wet his throat from the dry air. It had been two summers ago that Roger had finally graduated school. 

Lucas Marlowe and Samuel Getty were sitting just a row in front of Roger and his family. The auditorium walls were streamed with blue and gold- the school's theme colors, the seats were even padded extra, Roger swore than how they usually were during assemblies. He was escorted backstage with the rest of the graduates to gather their diplomas and to share one last look into the school auditorium before they walked off the stage for the last time.

Roger remembered that stage vividly. The first time walking across it was ninth grade, when he was placed in a mandatory school performance that was essential to his drama class. Jack and Alice still had the humiliating recording of it on the camera that stored away in their closet. 

Susan mocked him that entire week, Jack would innocently joke around and Alice would compliment her "little star" and say "she had upcoming professional dancer" in the house. Roger's graduation ceremony was recorded on the same camera; Jack and Alice staring gleefully with pride, his mother shedding a few tears that she swiped away quickly not wanting to smudge her mascara. Susan was there, smile plastered to her face, eyes not darting away for one second of her baby brother's moment. Roger even recognized her clap was the loudest; helping him with his physics and math. 

That year was when Roger put perspective on his life. He had grown up, had mellowed a little from his elementary years but not enough to stop being a rascal. It was that spring, Roger had sent out for colleges. Jack had gave little nudges to Roger that colleges in San Diego were cheaper and more exclusive. He added that 'the distance wouldn't be worth it. You would have to pay for gas, food and plus the chances of getting lost or missing arrival dates were just awaiting disappointments'. "I went to Columbia back home so I wasn't too far away from my folks, ya know?" Roger swirled his soggy cereal around in his bowl, biting his lip to his father's ulterior suggestions. 

"Maybe college is not for me," Roger knew that wasn't his true answer, but in a moment of rebellion against Jack, it slipped out anyway. "The trade schools here are just terrific! You could learn how to, blah blah blah-" Here. Here in California, here in San Diego, that was all Jack thought about. Roger's future was here, everything in his life circled around this city and this house with this family. 

He kept any jagged breathes to himself and listened with conviction to Jack's notion of what he wanted for Roger. His finally met Jack's eyes; green, matured with crinkles around his eyes and gray stripes to the sides of his hair leading to his sideburns. "You know Roger, I could give you an internship at job. I'll ask Frank and see what he thinks?" Roger sucked in his cheeks and gave an artificial polite smile before thanking his father. Roger kept his focus rigidly still on the white oak wooden table. He could feel Jack's stare boring into him but didn't meet his eyes once. He knew Roger was reaching limit to anymore ideas of his. "I gotta get to work, but we'll talk more later." 

Jack levitated from the table grabbing his suit jacket and suitcase, trudging over to Roger to plop a kiss on the skin of his scalp. "Bye, see you at dinner." Roger still kept his focus on the table until the slam of the front door echoed through the house. "He's just worried about you," Alice's voice, honeyed with trickles of sugar rubbing in it. 

Her eyes were soft and hazy, bare with no mascara or eyeliner to roof the naturalness of her lime spherules. "I know-" Roger paused, contradicting what was about to implode from his mouth. "Susan's been gone for almost a year now. She's onto her studies at college and....it was never a hassle for her. I mean, you and dad took it pretty well." Alice's eyes glanced towards the kitchen floor for a second. She knew how much Roger stretched the truth that circled that situation.

"Baby..." He whispered, "Just the baby of the family- he wants me to stay that way....the baby." Alice looked down before taking away Roger's bowl. But Roger's eyes didn't pluck from his mother's face. He waited for an answer to his question in the manner a patient waits for test results. Alice finally shared her expression; a small tactful smile with matching eyes. A hand lifted to Roger's cheek. "You're his son." There it was. As flat as the table in front of him. Something that wouldn't change for anything, for better or worse.

Roger finally stepped away from his car after finishing the bottle of coke in his hand. His polo shirt had moist spots of sweat stuck to his back and his armpits were more sticky and damp than the rest of the shirt. Roger fished in his pocket for the folded up letter that traveled all the way from Seattle; a place Roger would soon name home once the college accepted him. He used the soft drink as a courage gatherer for the hard speech he was about to give at the dinner table. He pictured himself; so far away and small compared to the opposite end where his parents sat; tall and perched high like they had thrones underneath them.

His eyes would dart to the clock in the kitchen that was shaped like a chicken to ease the tension that would spike his throat and paralyze it. The words, those words that were so important, that meant a complete one eighty turn in his life would fall like little snowflakes and disappear into the crunchy soft blanket of snow mixed in icy water. They would be nothing. Jack's face would be dry and hollowed out like a shell. His voice would be shaky, floundering out a "congratulations" when his eyes would mean something else. The rims would be red and glossy, small crinkles would appear in between his eyebrows, his mouth would be stapled into this stereotypical fatherly pride smile, but it would mean nothing. He would be losing his little boy, and to Jack, Roger moving away would be the same as Roger falling into a trench or drowning in a lake or slamming his car into another and it exploding on impact.

It would mean a loss of closeness, of a friend of a son...his son. Roger wiped the sweat from his forehead before fumbling inside the house with tittering confidence. Every step of his sneakers pounded louder than the other; making every small breath shudder and mist under the thick smog of pressure beating down his spine. Finally, reaching the door knob, slowly curving it under his finger tips and pushing it to creek open. Alice was baking in the kitchen, sauntering between oiling her roast and checking the crust of her pie in the oven. Roger's shadow spooked her a little off her heel. "Roger! I didn't see you," her voice a bit ruffled but lighthearted. 

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something-""About what?" Roger tried pulling himself out of the conversation but couldn't. Alice's eyes were locked and focused on her son, stiff as a board like a brick has been thrown at him. "Nothing. It was about my friend, Chet, he was thinking about vacationing in Costa Rica for the week and he asked me if I wanted to come....I'm still deciding." Alice gave a small smile but still cautioned herself before turning around. She knew her son wasn't being honest, in fact she completely understood what he was hiding but dropped it anyway. 

It was the sound of the front door opening and the thud of Jack's suitcase bopping against the wooden floor. "I'm home!" He greeted. Alice ran to him with a glass of scotch and a peck on the lips. "And how's my queen?" Jack seemed extra cheery, smothering Alice with affection the moment he stepped through the front door. Roger was tucked away in his bedroom twiddling his thumbs at his desk, contemplating a list of reasons for why moving to Seattle was right for him. 

"Where's Rog? I've got great news for him!" Alice's smile stiffened, her eyes glancing to upstairs. Her mouth opened a bit wanting to speak to Jack before he could speak to Roger but decided silence was best. "Tell me first," she insisted. Jack led her aside to the couch. "I asked Frank about an internship at my office for Roger and he said it was great idea! Not only would Roger get paid part time, but.... it keeps him occupied. A bunch of the other guys at the job want their sons there too!" Jack's enthusiasm swallowed the room. The glint in his eyes when he talked about working with Roger. The man so hopelessly wanted to hold on to his 'little buddy' for as long as he could and it was fraying at the fringes of independence Roger so desperately wanted to cling to just as much.

Roger, hearing the conversation, felt like he had swallowed his heart raw. His mouth tasted metallic and bland. His skin itched against the little knots of lint that layered his body and eyes welled up from the dry air of not being blinked. Soon the taste of blood choked him; he had bitten into his lip a little harder than he would've liked. Jumping from his desk, Roger scrambled to his nightstand for tissue only to be met with a knock on the door and a door knob jiggle. He unlocked the door and invited Jack into his bedroom and down to his bed.

"Roger, I was able to talk to Frank about everything and he told me....." Jack built up anticipation for Roger, expecting that same excitement he would've shared if he had been seven years old. "And he said, you could have an internship at my office!" The exclamation was met with a tight hug and Jack's buried mouth into Roger's jawline. Roger cocked a smirk, eyes focused yet dazed on the dark oak desk. "Dad," Roger said with a whisper. Almost like a plead for him to gain nuance and braise his affection.

"Roger?" Jack pulled away, eyes filled with pride and adoration for his young offspring. Roger licked his lips before breathing a deep breath of tension that would remain until he finally spoke. "I have a very important announcement to make at dinner that goes along with that...." Jack furrowed his eyebrows a little. Roger tried to dissolve any intimidation from the crinkles in between Jack's eyebrows. It was like looking into a mirror of his older self. Little lines around his mouth, more subtle bags under his eyes, peppery gray to the sides of his brunette hair and a more intense yet gentle glow in his emerald eyes. That same glow that make Roger's stomach twist into every kind of knot. Just like in this moment, would pierce through Roger like an arrow but smolder him like a boulder. "Well, I'm excited! Hopefully I get to work with my favorite buddy." Jack's hand coupled Roger's cheek with gentleness. 

Something that bubbled Roger's stomach.

The table was surrounded with sides for the roast. Mashed potatoes, steamed asparagus, peas and carrots, squash and salad; a unintentional ceremony dinner fit for a moment as tall as this. Not to mention the cherry pie that was cooling off on the countertop. Dinnertime talk was filled with antics from Jack's work, hassles from Alice's preparation of dinner and Susan's postcards. "What did she send?" Roger, perking up on the mention of his sister. God he missed her. The way her hair would swish over her shoulder so gracefully and how good it smelled when she washed it every two weeks. Her nails like Alice's were always donned in some specific color of red, pink, blue, purple....her soothing voice would comfort Roger and remind him of what would be right in front of him; gently taking his ego down a notch.

"She mentioned that she loves Pasadena- she recently found a new restaurant and that she would love to show us to it if we visit." Alice had such athrill in her voice. That same motherly excitement that she lugged with her since the day Susan entered the world. Their excited faces resonated with Roger of how much they could grow from this. Even Alice had said that even though she missed Susan dearly, she got used to the idea of her being so far and is now excited for her daughter's opportunities. Roger remembered that week; tears were all that Alice wore. Not the kitty eyeliner that skirted her eyelids, not the bold red wine lips or the strawberry pink blush....just plain, blah mellowness. Roger didn't recognize this woman. Her lively attitude was replaced with this somber zombie that moped around the house. 

Dinners were either takeout or TV ones packaged in a little blue box and the only newly cleaned things were the dinner dishes and the living room and kitchen tables from their meals. But it all vanished within a few weeks. The house had been spotless, the smell of spaghetti lingered through the kitchen and Alice's hair was pinned up with her usual black headband and her apron was ironed out and clean. Roger found her scrubbing out the stove with a more contented look. Now it was Jack's turn.

Roger took a big breath, releasing tension into the swish of air that circled the table like vultures over a corpse. He looked both his parents squarely in the eyes then at their empty plates with just crumbs scattered around the porcelain. "I'll get everyone's dessert," Alice excused herself, grabbing everyone's plates and taking them to the kitchen. Eyes were boring into Roger. Roger had a disposition of confidence and frailness all smorgasborded into one. Alice returned with the cherry pie; perfect like something from a Betty Crocker cookbook.

Whipped cream was dolloped on the top. The smell seeped through a few seconds after its arrival. Slices were evenly cut and served and then the attention fell back on Roger. This was nothing new, he had become the center of Alice and Jack's attention only a few hours after Susan left. Roger was used to being fussed over, but even he didn't realize just how caged he would be in with all eyes on him all the time. Like a circus animal about to jump through a hoop or do a silly dance at the command of his master; Roger was this exotic creature and his parents just couldn't jilt their eyes away.

"So Roger, you had something you wanted to share?" Jack took a bite into his pie. Roger cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before releasing the thick fog of tension into the mist of wondering stares. His skin grew hot and sticky; itchy and moist, his shirt tightened around his neck, suffocating the shallow bits of superficial air that became trapped in his lungs if he was lucky. Roger's mouth opened but closed on the mental command of licking his lips. "I do.." his voice trembled a little but caught its grip upon locking eyes with his parents.

"Earlier today, in the mail I received a letter from Seattle University. It was an acceptance letter that welcomed me into their college and the semester starts in the fall." The house was silent, only the creaks of the house settling could be heard.

"Congratulations honey," Alice broke the ice with a small clap and a smile glimmering with pride from ear to ear. Roger glanced to Jack who held his fork rigidly; frozen still and so was the plastic grin on his face. "We're proud of you Roger." Jack said; specks of dismay seeping in. If the raw realization of Roger leaving in only a few months wasn't sobering enough, but last few scratches of time he had left with him was built around studies and girls and trips with friends. It was only then did Jack realize.... Roger planned this for months; possibly a year before he decided to take notice himself.

A slap in the face of blindside to say the least. Suddenly Jack found his stomach turning and quaking internally. His appetite was gone, but he still ate anyway and washed it down with almost his entire bottle of scotch in the dark.

Roger knew how hard it hit Jack. Even through his poker face, Roger could almost hear the sounds of rupturing sorrow break through in his smile. His fingers drummed the top of the desk while he stared into space, reading his acceptance letter over and over. The words started looking fuzzy and small. The paper felt numb against the palm of his hand and his head did a dive which shook him out of his chair and pacing the room. It was hard to be excited about the opportunities when he was leaving a chunk of his life behind. Or maybe it was the person he was leaving. Letting go of for the sake of happiness and possibilities and journaling.....it all seemed surreal. Roger then smashed his fist into his other hand. He wasn't backing down.... Jack would just have to understand.

"I probably scared him away...." Alice glanced to Jack in the living room, sitting on his favorite arm rest chair and jotting down his scotch. "I mean....it was a lot to ask...." He slapped his head, "So stupid!" He gritted. "Jack, it wasn't about that. I think he was scared to tell you because....well he knows how close you and him are." Jack nodded, "Roger has always wanted to become a journalist. This is a big chance for him." "But why does it have to be in Seattle? What's wrong with San Diego? Even Susan stays in Pasadena! It's still a part California- what does a big polluted city have to do with journalism?" 

Alice shrugged, eyes still locked on the sudsy mountain of bubbles in the sink. "It is one of the best universities there," Alice set aside a plate, "he'll be fine."

Jack bit his lip, not even valor to look into his wife's eyes. He swigged the rest of his scotch before bolting up from the chair, turning towards the stairs. "Jack," he turned to Alice, finally meeting her eyes. She looked at the rim of the sink and then to Jack again, "Let Roger be." Alice's voice was soft and creamed. It crawled through Jack, nicking his eardrums. Jack blew a whistle through his nose before stepping carefully onto the steps.

"I'll think I'll go with him," Alice stood in the bathroom, rolling the last tuft of hair into the curler clip. "Jack-" "No Alice... he's only twenty one. I wasn't even that young when I left New York. I just wanna go with him to see exactly what this university has- just to be on the safe side in case he changes his mind." Alice shook her head slightly, spewing a subtle frown. "Ask Roger first." She warned.

Jack carefully took his time with each step, like he was almost nervous to approach Roger knowing the answer would be something he wouldn't be able to grip right away. But he would be disillusioned to believe he had any options. This was Roger's life, period. Jack would need to understand that. He found Roger sitting at his desk, chewing on the eraser of his pencil, eyes rigidly focused on the blank paper that carried blank words for a gratitude letter to follow pursuit of Roger's arrival to the college.

Jack quietly, almost invisibly knocked on Roger's door. Roger glanced at the door before signaling Jack to come through. The room always had this cozy aura. The sterile yet homey thick candle-wood smell that ran through every corner of Roger's room. Jack slowly sat on the bed, watching Roger fiddle at his desk; back turned away from his father while he racked his brain for a polite introduction to the start of his letter. While waiting, Jack couldn't resist scanning the room carefully, like he was capturing mental pictures of every souvenir that rang of a theme for Roger's bedroom.

Every teddy bear that ever sat on his bed, every toy airplane that hung from his ceiling and every little pencil or pen that was scattered around his desk. Jack could've bored holes through the back of Roger's head, only for it to be shaken from Roger's turning to finally face Jack. The silence was deafening as Jack couldn't move his tongue to spit the right words out in the minute. So many thoughts and prompts to start up a conversation to answer the billions of questions that spun tornadoes in Jack's mind. Like he couldn't catch one thought that would stick out more than the other ones.

"I can't decide on an introduction for the letter. I wanna send them a very professional gratitude letter; thanking them for accepting me into the college." Jack bit his lip, but curved a fatherly smirk before glancing down to look at the carpet specs. "How long have you considered this?" Roger raised an eyebrow, "The letter?" "The college. Did you send out the application a year prior?" Roger nodded, eagerly like an excited child. Jack couldn't deny the ecstatic hue his eyes seemed to glow while he took the second to ponder on the achievement.

"Seattle," shaking his head with complete awe like his name was glittered in lights on the California Hollywood sign, "It's gonna be huge! I'll have my own dorm apartment, I'll get the best view of the major I picked.... journalism. Writing my first article for everyone to read in a newspaper or magazine...."

Roger turned his head for a split-second, sucking in the enlivening vision of a city boy in this futuristic city, hopping of buses, office buildings the height of dystopian trees, the equal temperatures of rain, sun and snow...to see a full winter and fall in it's proper form was an exotic appreciation. "You know, it's going to be a big job moving all your things out from your room....I could help if you need it?" Roger smiled, "Thanks dad.... I'm going to move everything one by one, it'll be easier that way." Jack already knew Roger could see right through his plan, giving him a respectful letdown. 

Jack could feel himself nibbling on the desired question he wanted so badly to know. The answer kept edging closer towards him like waves against the sand but never fully engulfing the shore with its grasp. It lingered like a tainted smell, like a vibe of excitement from an illuminated promise to oneself. The question: why?

Why would his youngest want to leave the  shelter of his nest and dabble into the cold cluttered sharp atmosphere of the world? Wasn't the house enough for Roger? Didn't he idolize the attention he received from his parents? Didn't he crave the homey cooked meals and the love that was sprinkled into every one of them? Wouldn't he know that Jack had begun to feel dull about his work; still routinely going for money that was spent on his food, clothes and happiness? That was all Jack wanted.....for Roger to be happy. But he wanted Roger to be happy with him, with his father.....his friend.

Jack could practically feel how it felt to cradle his baby in his arms. Like a soft warm baby doll, a precious little gift from God for everything good Jack had done. Jack pestered more questions with only underlying answers: "You don't have to leave right away, you can stay here until it's time." "I'll drive you upstate instead of you having to endure that cramped plane trip." "You may change your mind, and decide that San Diego is your place to be."

Everyquestion was met with a read between the lines answer. It hurt Jack more than it should've that Roger was dead set on this trip. But Jack could only sit helplessly and ponder the one protruding thought that bounced through his mind like a basketball on a court. Why? Why didn't Roger wanna stay with him and Alice? Why was Roger so inclined to this shady glow of the real world? No....it was more.

Why did Roger want to let go?

Cut the apron strings of their allegiance as father and son? Jack didn't seem so good enough anymore; once a man who could hang the moon was now a crack in the road getting in Roger's way. Jack couldn't let go. He couldn't let go of Susan, so he would be a fool to do it with his youngest child.... someone who surely persuaded themselves to believe they didn't need their parental friendship. That it would mean nothing in twenty years. It was a twenty-year project for the parents; making their kids happy and safe in their perfect house that the California sun liked to rise above.

It was like a cold warmth that jagged through Jack's neck the more he could see the stars in Roger's eyes. The more excited he grew at his desk, inkling words onto his paper, tore Jack in half.  He ended up walking out of the tension-filled room and into his own where he chocked on a silent quivering cry. Jack knew he was the one who needed his baby more than anything.

The next morning, was filled with a silence and the dissipating chirps of birds singing away at the bubble gum morning sky. The heat of July didn't fully take shape, so it settled in Jack's mind to take a quick Saturday morning walk around the block. Alice was also tucked away in their bed, snoring a peaceful tune that could barely be made audible. Jack couldn't resist but kiss her little kitten nose gently before donning on jeans and a red dress shirt before slipping out of the front door. The neighborhood was quiet and private. No one could possibly be awake this early on a weekend?

But, Jack couldn't admit to himself that he was barely able to keep his eyes shut the entire evening; tossing and turning with every bad dream of counting down Roger's departure. He didn't want his brain to keep racking those thoughts but couldn't seem to help himself whenever his mind would question a concern that haunted him like an empty graveyard. So, here he was....up and awake walking through his little neighborhood block. Jack spotted Bunny and Dean's house. It was quiet and serene. Their yard like a vacuumed blanket; clean without one football or soccer ball laying lifelessly on the grass.

Their boys had moved all the way to Delaware for business, though their leaving didn't swipe one slash on the couple. Jack couldn't even ponder how they made it through. "We taught them young how to fend for themselves." Jack remembered swallowing his martini harshly once those words were slingshoted into his brain. "I could never cast my children away like that! Their so careless!" Jack thought silently to himself during the dinner party. Jack continued taking sheltered steps down the crusty sidewalk, smelling the fresh dew of the morning sun. Jack welcomed the sprew of sun glimmer to spotlight his skin. To him, it felt weightless and freeing for the moment.

Jack soaked in the sun like it would be cloudy for the month or the year; maybe it would be for awhile...since Roger couldn't enjoy it with him. Trailing back home, the smell of eggs swirled around him. It reminded Jack for a brief moment that there were still people around. His wife and son were still tucked away in their little dollhouse home, enjoying breakfast for another morning. Opening the door blew the delectable scent of breakfast right into Jack's nostrils. It kissed him and snickered through his tongue and stomach the closer his steps took him to the dining room. Roger's eyes stayed glued to the newspaper- scanning through the different hair-raisers that seemed to ride around the city. Alice had set two mugs down- one for Jack, the other for Roger. Alice poured coffee into Jack's mug, coming to Roger's, Jack waved his hand. Roger's view was peering over the top of the newspaper seeing that his mug was being filled with orange juice instead. A slight furrow dented into his head before smoothing once he took a quick glance over to Jack. He stared at the lifeless orange juice in his coffee cup. The burly smell of coffee seemed to sizzle in Jack's cup. A slight twinge festered inside Roger but he kept quiet. Instead, he made civil breakfast conversation, got up, cleared his plate and poured himself a decent cup of coffee on the way out.

Father and son's eyes met only for a brief second- Roger grabbing his keys and treking out the door. Alice gave Jack a look before jotting down to her plate again. "He's too young to drink coffee," Jack stood up carrying his plate with him, "No he isn't Jack...." Alice chewed the side of her lip, "that's why he stood up and got himself-" Alice turned seeing an agitated Jack gawk angrily at the sink, "Got himself what?" Alice cleared her throat, "A cup.. of coffee." Jack gave an off track loud inhale before gusting out this large internal sigh. "Yeah..." Jack washed the excess of his dish before grabbing his suitcase. "See you later, hon," A small kiss was pressed to the top of Alice's scalp before Jack walked out of the house in utter silence.

Jack's work seemed to stare back at him. Although hating to admit it, Jack was lollygagging in his office chores from complete boredom and distract. A simple cup of coffee wouldn't usually rattle Jack... but the syllabication would. A underscore of what was to be italicized. Fiddling with gold band around his finger, Jack allowed his mind to bore more and more into a mental path of hopeless solutions to Roger's demanding revolt. "Hey Jack," Spinning around to meet Frank's eyes jolted Jack back into his focus. "Oh hey Frank," "So... did you tell that boy of yours about the internship?" Jack's heart sunk heavy like a damp moggy raincloud, "Um... I asked him about it last night, but he said he already had a job lined up in Seattle." Frank's eyebrows raised, "Seattle? Hm... well, I hear they have delicious coffee- famous for their coffee houses." Frank chuckled. He was always one to make best of a worst. Still, Jack seemed disappointed with his response, "Well, tell him congratulations for me." Jack nodded, "Will do." Frank left Jack's cubicle, leaving him alone to bask in his thoughts again.

"Will do."

Pings and chimes of porcelain cups and plates surrounded Roger. The diner was a perfect place for a hot cup of coffee and new material on his Ellison piece that he was covering for the extra two hundred. A notepad that was stowed in the glove compartment of his car was a guaranteed travel accessory. He dabbled the pen between his fingers, unsure where to start against the first faded blue lines of the paper. "Rog," turning around to see, Mick, shutting through the door and taking the next bar seat to Roger's left. "Hey... whatcha doin?" Roger shrugged, "I guess working on my piece for the Ellison cars." Roger stared back at his empty paper. Not one word written, not one idea of even so much of a plot conjured. "I know what might jog your brain," Roger turned back to Mick, eyebrow arched in a slight raise but eyes leering through- ready to prepare for an outlandish proclaims Mick might suggest. "Don't say speed Mick." Mick chuckled, "No! I was gonna say..." he leaned in closer, "you know Suzanne Kratz? Well, she's having a party tonight. She says if we're interested to just come by and join in...." Roger turned away from Mick for a moment before turning back with a smirk sliding across his face.

"Alright....." he nodded, "okay, I could use a pick me up... thanks Mick." Mick patted Roger's back before signaling the waitress for a cup of a coffee. Roger kept thinking about the party- as if Suzanne Kratz wasn't enough for him already. Why not? Hethought, after all, this might as well be my personal going away party. 

Roger's eyes studied the clock- 9:00. It was already nine and that meant the party was probably just getting started. Roger was finishing the last two buttons on his short sleeve button down. His black slacks matched his blazer. Grabbing his keys, Roger capered down the stairs, capturing the attention of his parents as he presented himself through the living room. "Well where are headed my handsome guy?" Roger flashed his mom a smile, "It's a writer's retreat. Since I've been working on the Ellison piece, I was invited to share a draft of it with Mr. Gao." Jack kept his stare steady on Roger. Mouth still in a tattered pride smile but never a full of honest gaiety. "Is there a plus one?" Roger stared a his father for a moment before recollecting his smile and shaking his head, "Nah, I don't think so." His glances jolted from one parent to the other, before giving away huffed inside chuckle. "I'll see you later, alright?" Montoned and jaded, Roger put his hand on the door knob, "Rog," He turned, "Just try to be home before one." Jack quietly said. Roger licked his lips and gave a nod. Brisking himself out the door, only the sound of his car peddling out of the driveway could be heard only before his headlights reflected through the living room.

Jack stared at the door for a few minuted before turning his attention back to his book.

Suzanne Kratz's house was bigger than Roger expected.... a lot bigger. The attendant parked Roger's car for him once Roger found himself shuffling against the throng of partygoers stumbling inside Suzanne's home. Greek like stone pillars stood in the front of the house while they echoed throughout the back too. Roger was finding himself inside this exhibition where drunk kisses, loud yells and the stench of beer ruminated the room. "Hey baby...." a drunk girl passing by Roger- completely naked and flashing her mini brazilian. Still, the smell of her perfume lingered through Roger's nostrils even when she was running upstairs and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. "Roger, so glad you made it!" He turned to see Mac walking over with two beers in his hands. Giving one to Roger, Mac decided to give him the up and up on the party. "How are you enjoying yourself so far?"

"Well, I thought it was going to be a high class party because of the parking attendant outside, but when I came inside, a naked girl flaunted herself to me before running upstairs." Mac let out a hollering laugh. "My gosh dude! What did you do?!" Roger shrugged with this silly grin, "Nothing much- you called me and so I figured I'd stick around with you for a little while." Mac patted Roger's chest before taking him to Suzanne. "Come meet the woman of the evening!"  Suzanne stood tall with this dark mocha bob and thick cat-liner. "Hello Roger, Mac has told me so much about you," Catching a quick whiff of her perfume, Roger was enticed, "Nice to meet you too.... this is really cool party," Suzanne smiled, "I hope your enjoying yourself." Her voice was more seductive than what Roger had liked it to be... or so he thought. He found himself ensnared by her delicate charm. Her ravishing way of life was begging to rub off on Roger. A adrenaline of excitement spun through the young man the more his mind wandered toward Seattle. How the women would look, how the city would light up at night, how the cafes would smell of their distinctive coffee taste. 

The rush drifted Roger to the bar- snagging martinis to bead the hankering dream of Seattle lights. Clock striking a little after 3, Roger- sober enough to drive himself home, was snagging himself back to the house. The streetlights hued Roger's chevy as he pulled quietly into the driveway. Eyes boring into the car's clock that read 3:24, sent a stiff shudder through Roger's spine. He quietly tip toed into the house, hoping that maybe Jack and Alice would be sound asleep. They would have just trusted or simply forgotten their suggested curfew. But there was Jack- right in his favorite chair, deep scowl on his face. Roger finally locked eyes with his wroth father. "One o' clock Roger..... you promised one o' clock," Roger sniffled, "I know bu-"

"But nothing!" Jack shot a glance over to the stairs careful not to wake Alice. He walked over to Roger, pointing his finger and gritting his teeth, "We placed that curfew for a reason Roger! You need to abide by it!" "Dad.... I am sorry that I came home late- I am. I also apologize for not calling either-" Roger bit his lip, wanting to say more but deciding against it. He tried to make his way by the stairs only to be stopped by Jack. "Maybe I should move your curfew up to eleven, hm?" A twinge picked Roger, "Maybe, you should just mind your own business, hm? Don't you have to go to work tomorrow anyway?"

Now Jack was really angry- storming over to Roger and grabbing his arm, "Don't you ever take that tone with me!" He gritted, "as long as you live under my roof, you will follow my rules, understand?!" Roger stared into his father's pupils with this boiling angst. But nonetheless, nodded, yanked his arm out of his grasp and trudged upstairs. Only when Jack was glaring at him through the widened crack of Roger's door, did Roger slam it enough for Alice to jolt from her sleep. "Jack?" He turned to Roger with the same glare and Roger shot back with an up raised eyebrow and a icy bore.

Roger climbed into bed after brushing his teeth and gargling to remove the traces of alcohol from his breath. His mind- wide awake from his father's words. "My house, my rules." The common preach that most parents belated everytime one of their offspring screws up or knocks them over with their rebellion of whatever sort. This was also the first time these words had crossed Jack's lips. Roger knew his father was so lushly tucked into 'free choice' and 'understanding' but now banged with this sudden swipe for an upper hand, now tables those beetling words over his head. It seemed to smoosh into Seattle- the grail of freedom for Roger. His fancy apartment in the city, his enriching studies at the university and the hot coffee dates on a rainy Sunday with a Madeline or a Jessica- long dusted blonde locks or husky black strains pressed into a bra strap length, laying flat against the chisel of her back. His brain just couldn't help itself.

Settle was the place to be. Only a few months away. But summer would be too long. And spring just seemed to tow on and on. So maybe.... right now was the right time. Maybe packing up everything he owned would be the first shot. Roger didn't even dream of finding an apartment down there at this time now. And besides, how would he pay for it? Of course his job with the newspaper was the one to swindle in his bank goal- adding the final touches to what would've been saved over the summer for a plane ticket, a long distance moving truck, long distance cargo for his car, the first two months rent of his apartment and finally the school books, the school supplies and the other accessorizes that every college student would need. That would take the entire summer on his current salary. So asking Mr. Gao for a raise an option, but then..... taking a second job was another. Roger promised himself that in the morning, he would think carefully about the next step. 

If this was his one shot, then he was sure to make it count.

"And the he told me, 'Maybe you should mind your own business," like who does he think he's talking to? I'm his father- the least he could've done is show me respect!" Jack took an angry sip of his coffee, "he seems to have forgotten that lately." Alice shook her head and placed her hand on Jack's wrist. "I'm not at all excusing his behavior.... but he's been under stress lately with trying to get things ready for his college and all-" "No Alice, Roger shouldn't even be focused on that college.... he should be helping me at the office and take the damn internship that Frank offered in the first place!" Alice rested her head on her hand, "Jack...." Jack rubbed his eyes, dragging his face down with the force of his hands, "Sorry.... its just... I'm trying to give him every opportunity and he just throws them away for..... Seattle." Sounding it was like poison to Jack, spearing it from the tips of lips with disgust.

"He loves his writing.... I think that's what he really wants to do." Jack gave Alice a look. She huffed, "Why don't you talk to him when he comes down?" Jack nodded, "I will. We'll have a good talk this time."

Roger sat in his car fumbling over the new pieces Mr. Gao had given him. A temporary of course that would triple his pay than before. Roger would have the money and more within the span of only a month- possibly a few weeks. Sipping his diner fresh coffee, Roger just couldn't help but gleam with pride in the way he sweet talked Mr. Gao into those pay raises. His desperation had subsided enough to realize taking an internship with Frank, only to pull the rug from under his feet once he received his price would be brash. Not to mention- another earful or worse from his father. Roger had already finished one of the pieces and even managed to productively halfway finish the Ellison piece. Marching inside with his portfolio under one arm and his cup of coffee in the other, he unlocked the front door much to the surprise of his parents who backs were turned to him, insisting he was upstairs groggily climbing out of the bed, bed-headedly moping into the kitchen.

"Morning,' His tone, full of pep and wish fullness. "Don't you 'good morning' us mister- you're still in hot water from last night. Roger took a deep breath, "I know.... and I'm really sorry about that- honest. I shouldn't have said what I said or slammed the door either." Alice perked up realizing it was Roger who shook her awake. A stern look grazed her face. Jack took a sip of his coffee, "We're just trying to look out for you Roger... that's all." Roger gave a tight-lipped smile and went back upstairs to his bedroom. Alice took in the back profile of her son and how much of a strikingly scary resemblance he bared to Jack. She turned to Jack and continued her breakfast. "Roger!" 

"Yes?" "Did you want breakfast?" "No thanks, I ate at the diner!" Alice glanced to Jack before turning back to her plate. Jack stayed silent the rest of breakfast.

By dinner time, all of Roger's pieces were finished. To celebrate, he initiated going out for dinner with his parents for an unknowingly last time. Jack was dressed in his swish leisure suit- a tan color with a lavender undershirt and brown loafers. Alice donned a flamingo pink dress with white heels, accessorized in pastel white earrings and a pearl necklace and bracelet. The sides of her blonde strands were pinned to the back of her hair that she curled into tight bouncy spirals. Roger wore a gray dress shirt and black dockers- a black wrist watch. "Ready?" Roger called from the downstairs holding his wallet and counting the thick stack of twenties he would dish out for the meal. Taking himself over to the bar, ad pouring himself a glass of bourbon. Roger let the virile spirit ginger down his throat and burn through his ranging anxiousness. Sitting on the couch thinking of what he might tell his parents and announce at that dinner table was sure to engender a insinuated and wily uproar from Jack. And maybe even Alice. This sudden speech would sure bring more than just conventional dinner time conversation.

Jack was the first to emerge from the staircase, dressed dapper from head to toe. "Oh you look so nice Rog," Jack cooed, "You too Dad, love the tan suit." Jack smiled letting his dimples deckle his cheeks. The clicks of Alice's dainty heels soon echoed through the living room. "Beautiful!" Both Jack and Roger managed to say at the same time. Alice's cheeks blushed a harder pink than the blush that was already powdered on her cheeks. "So where are we going?" 

Roger cleared his throat, "There's a restaurant called 'Black Jacket' and it's really fancy- it's by the river side and they serve gourmet dishes," Alice and Jack looked at each other, "Oh, Roger sweetheart, we don't have to go somewhere expensive like that- we can go somewhere where we don't have to spend that much money..." Roger chuckled, "I can afford it. Not to brag but- after sending in my pieces to Mr. Gao, let's just say I was paid a lot for them.... our dinner isn't even half of my paycheck." Jack's forehead grew slight crinkles. Roger glanced and straightened his slacked stature to upright, "Sorry Dad, I know you should never brag about money- I just- this is a very special occasion that I wanted to celebrate." Roger immediately wanted to swallow down his thoughts of sharing his special news with his parents. Peaceful and easygoing was the mood everyone was in- maybe tightening this secret for one more night wouldn't matter.

The three piled into Roger's car. Evening had this secrecy to it; a mystical view of black with the glow of streetlights and car lights streaming down the road. Black Jacket was well lit and the parking lot half empty only to be replaced with newer cars pulling into their spots. Roger's was among one of those cars. "Table for three," He stated to the hostess. "Of course," grabbing three menus, "right this way." Their table was tucked away in the corner; not too far from the rest of the public, not too close and elbowed up to them either. The waiter came over and let everyone request their desired meals. "Any alcohol for tonight?" Roger knew he wouldn't. He needed his senses to drive home. "No th-"

"No he's not." Jack's voice spoke louder, making Roger bit his lip. But.... he let it go. After all, he didn't expect much from the same man who instilled a curfew into him like he was still sixteen. He simply ordered a ginger ale instead. "So, what's on everyone's mind?" Alice suggested, "I wanna hear more about those pieces Roger..." Roger smiled, "Well, I had some trouble with the Ellison piece because of low inspiration at first... but I ended up coming up with a great idea with the help of Mr. Frank's lawnmower." His name rattled him. Jack couldn't hear the words: Frank, Roger and job, all curled into one sentence. He took a deep sip of his scotch. "Speaking of Frank, he still has that internship open if you're interested."

"About that," Roger started, "earlier today, I swung by your office if- you don't mind- and I explained everything to Frank, you know, about Seattle and my.... extra earnings with Mr. Gao. He was very nice about and he told me not to worry because Mr. Coldwell's son, Dennis, had filled the position." Jack stood quiet with this plastic smile on his face, "I wanted to let him know so he wouldn't think I was holding out on him or something." Jack wanted to smash his glass into a million pieces, shake Roger and scream and plead in his face: why was he changing everything? Why was he stomping on everything that meant so much to him? He kept silent until finally speaking, "That was.... very mature of you Roger." It was all he could squeeze out. Dinner was served and the conversation died down from hunger. Jack's mind kept picking over one thing: What was Roger planning? Extra pay from Mr. Gao? Extra earnings? Telling his boss to forget the internship? Maybe Jack had already figured it out. Maybe fall was too far away for such a big move. No, he needed now. He needed to get out from under his grasp and break free into the world of women and writing. That's all he needed.... no family, no parental guidance or love, just his booze, women and studies. Oh... and his big fat paycheck served on a silver platter of pharisaism.

Dinner was finished and Roger payed the check and tip. "That was a lovely dinner." Alice said, plating a kiss on Roger's cheek. "Thanks." Jack patted Roger's shoulder. "Thank you very much son." "You're welcome." Roger's sudden silence said more to Jack than he would've liked.

Stripping off his suit jacket, Jack's mind was silent. Silence. No sound or echo from the dinner table's words, silent from the clambering of the restaurant, and silent from the palpable grief that was swallowing Jack by the minutes. Alice noticed her husband's unspoken pester. "Jack?" Her voice sullen and circumspect, "did you enjoy your dinner at the restaurant?" Jack sucked in his lower lip and finally- able to face Alice's twinkling eyes. "He's leaving," a sigh escaped Jack. Alice scanned Jack with a slight in her brow, "What do you mean?" Jack sniffled, "Roger turned down the internship because he's leaving.... soon. Not in the fall like he promised but possibly this month..." Alice sighed and sat down on the bed, "We don't know that,"

"I do. I know him- he'd never do something like this unless he was planning on leaving!" "Shh! Jack quiet- he may be asleep. You have to calm down.... look, Roger already said that he got accepted into his university. So we can expect him to start making some arrangements Jack- the summer goes by fast and if he is..... then I think we should support him." Jack laid against the bed frame, exhaling an internal sigh. "Yeah.....I know we should..." Quietly coming over to Alice and laying his head on her lap. "Why don't we ask him about it tomorrow?" Alice suggested. Jack turned and looked into her eyes: lush, rich and calm like the summer sea. "Okay....yeah we should."

Roger was careful not to creek the hallway floor. Hearing every word of panic trail from his father's mouth sent a quiver down his back. A swirling sloppy gurgle to his stomach and a sweaty agitation of his forehead. Sitting on his bed, the same adrenaline pounded through him like it did at the party. An hysterical rush and an intoxicating fear. Breathing out faster than in, unbuttoning the neck of his collar, Roger was panting harder than a dog at a ball. His labored breaths seemed to be untamable and fetching. Rooting himself up from the bed and towards his desk- accidentally brushing things onto the floor but straddling over to the window where the air was clean and fresh eased him slowly back into a pace. A peaceful pace of steadiness. Could he have the conversation? Roger's tongue now dry from his open breaths came into focus from his bottled up flurry. Wiping his open mouth, Roger spent the next few minutes racking his brain to find reasons for such a sporadic flare. Staring into the pasty moon, Roger just stared at it. Boring hard into its hue and wondering what might be happening in those little twinkles. To Roger, they aligned perfectly to him. Shining high and bright against the gray of their moon and brazing next to it like diamonds to a ring. Losing himself in the night sky seemed to ease his stress, at least for the night.

Pulling his head from the window and picking up his scattered papers and pencils, one paper caught his eye: his acceptance letter of gratitude follow up from his first sealed acceptance letter from the college. Laying on the very top of the blank papers, Roger took a mental note to finish it tomorrow. 

After he made his announcement of his moving out of the Chamber's family, that would take place the following Saturday.

Roger was sat at the kitchen table, sipping freshly brewed coffee that sauntered throughout the room. Alice was given a spook when she saw her young son had already started one part of her morning routine in the kitchen. "Thank you Roger!" Alice took a seat across from Roger and sipped her coffee with him. "What are your plans for today?" She asked, taking another sip from her coffee. Roger gazed into Alice's eyes for a minute with a little smirk layed across his face. "Well, I have to go to the library today but...." Alice listened closely, "I have a very important announcement to make to you and Dad." A warm path fuzzed against the nath of Alice's leg. A swollen gasp wanted to escape her now hollow throat but was clogged to deep inside. "Why don't you tell me first, sweetie."

Roger took a deep breath- eyes glancing at the table and then back to his mother. "Next Saturday.... I'm moving out." Flat. Simple. Just like that right in Alice's face. Was this payback for her comments that unintentionally shoved Roger into this glass box? 'He's your father and he loves you,' comments that put Roger on other end of the table. Now, here Alice was still mentally ricocheting from Roger's ploy. "Really?" Was all she could muster out. Roger nodded. "I decided that it would be for the best. After all, it makes more sense to get used to Seattle before I start college so then it won't be such a hassle or rush, you know?" Alice nodded, gave a small smile and took another sip from her coffee. The heavy footsteps of Jack startled her out of her thoughts once his head came into view. "Morning beautiful," pressing a kiss to Alice's cheek and another to Roger's. "Mmm, coffee smells good!" "Roger made it," Jack glanced over to Roger and pressed a smile to his face, "Taste delicious." Alice seemed to nudge Roger with her eyes. Roger swallowed harshly allowing a gulp to slither down his throat. "So... I have an announcement that I needed to make," A deep breath resonated in Roger, "as of next Saturday... I am moving to Seattle- I know I said the fall, but I figured an early start would help get me settled in by the time semester starts." It seemed to brush out of Roger in one big swoop. His voice ticking faster as he couldn't wait to anticipate the heat in his father's mind. The fragments of imagination that hung him internally would stab Roger with this blade of guilt and sorrow- like a shared telepathic of sub-conscience.

Jack sipped his coffee slowly before, compulsing a shattered graceful smile. "That's great Roger, I think that's very noble of you to be so responsible and plan ahead like that." It wasn't safe though... Roger could just sense, even just believe that inside Jack was something brewing that happened to be thicker than the coffee in the pot. It singed his back- a fuzz shot through him like a bullet at its target. Insecure in his aplomb, Roger just pressed a rehearsed smile together and stared back down at the newspaper that was flat against the table.

The afternoon seemed dim- contrasting the sun that beamed through every glass window of the living room. Alice- black handkerchief over her hair, floral apron and barefoot- sweeping the dust bunnies off the wooden stairs. Seemed so routine- she always cleaned after the boys leave to their salient jobs, brushing herself from one chore to another. Alice stopped in mid vacuum. Eyeing the next to spotless living room, she took a seat on the couch, undoing the ties of her apron. Silence vapored the room like a foggy mist in the dawn of morning. Alice resided herself eventually to a glass of gin. It seemed to slither down her hollow throat, filling her with the steak of courage- enough to strap on some heels and walk over to Bunny's. Their home- usually filled with the roars and playful screams of boys, now was quiet and unblemished of any scattered clothes of undone laundry or juice stains speckled across the rug. In fact, their home seemed to be more sterile than her own. A drab feeling vanished over Alice like a coat. Settling onto Bunny's couch, cigarette smoke whizzed past her sense but seemly little sniffs caught the tips of burning ash the more her cigarette burned through the paper on it. "So," Bunny took in a puff, "what's going on with you, girl? You haven't been calling lately and you've been pent up in your house for so long," Alice smirked, raising an eyebrow, "Too long." Bunny corrected.

Alice took in a breath, "Roger's moving to Seattle next Saturday," Bunny raised her eyebrows before letting them drop again, "Didn't he get accepted into that college- what was it... Seattle University?" Alice nodded, "so why is he going now when it's starts in the fall?" Alice bit her lip. A course of options shopped through her head: Better adjustment, Jack, wanted to adapt better to the city, more space and time for his studies......  Jack. 

"Jack." Bunny took in another puff from her cigarette. "I thought so..." Alice furrowed her eyebrows, "What?" Bunny shook her head with a smile, "Jack has always been overprotective, Alice. The second you told me that Roger was moving out- even if it was in a few months- Jack, knowing him, would have had a problem..... I take that he's not adjusting well to the sudden change of plans now, is he?" Alice shook her head, fighting back the tears that so gravely wanted to spill from her eyes. "H-He only said it this morning, so.... Jack didn't really get a chance to express anything. He went off to work shortly after Roger left." Bunny scooted closer to Alice, wrapped her arm around her and and buried her cigarette into the ashtray. Pulling Alice close into her shoulder, Alice sobbed. It sat like this for a few minutes. "I don't know what to do Bunny.... my family's falling apart and I can't fix it."

Bunny just held Alice. She Alice cry out the last month worth of tears into her bare shoulder.

Nighttime was for solitude. Alice sat shipwrecked at the kitchen nook alone after spending the next few hours trying to sober up from one too many martinis at Bunny's. The jiggle of keys stood outside the door until Roger came stumbling inside, one arm holding tightly his portfolio and his books of Seattle and assignments from work all pressed together for dear life in his left arm. The other had a huge plastic bag with 'Bamboo Garden' inscribed on it. "Hey mom," Roger planted a quick kiss to his mother's cheek, "I brought back Chinese for dinner. I figured.... you were really tired and it would be a nice treat." Alice gave a small tired smile, "Thank you baby." her voice so coy and mellow, that a pat on the back was given to Roger. He knew it- maybe not physically, but sub-consciencely, Alice was going to exhausted one way or another. 

Soon dinner went from being one hour missed to three hours. At midnight, and only then did Jack come stumbling though the door, the smell of whiskey fresh on his breath. A slight irritation turned into a tidal wave of fury. "Jack!" Alice stormed over and grabbed her fuddled husband by his shirt. Never in her life had she been that angry. Only on two separate occasions did she even come close: a very bad April fool's prank- Jack putting green hair dye into her shampoo and one very racist man at a supermarket store in Napa while the family vacationed there a few years earlier. Jack and Alice were both consumed with silent rage as the man yelled and insulted a worker. "Don't listen to that man," said Jack, "he's very ignorant and mean." He explained to his young-ins.

Alice sat her husband down and sent a sharp glare his way. "Jack.... how could- you were late and..... why?! Just why?! Why would you get drunk?!" Jack shushed Alice. "I don't know..." his face became this peachy color- flushed and self- aware of his mistake. He took a deep breath. "I couldn't help it.... I was just so upset. I needed this Alice. I needed to lose a little bit of the pain." He shook his head, "It's just not fair." Alice looked down, sat up from the chair and walked over to the stairs. She stopped for one minute, "Your dinner's in the fridge. Roger brought back Chinese." And with that, she went upstairs for the night leaving Jack alone in the living room. 

Roger sat in his bedroom, planning every little detail of his move out carefully: Visit Seattle to secure the apartment he wants, hire moving men and secure the job he hoped to get. Every detail was scrutinized like a heist. Roger wanted to play his cards perfectly as not to miss a beat, not to plunge hard into nothing. Roger didn't want to take the risk of climbing so high up the mountain only to plummet onto the hard pavement. It would be a slap in the face to his success, a godawfuldeathto his dreams and an 'I told you so' from his father. Not literally, but metaphorically in some way. Satisfaction would simmer across Jack's face if he ever told him that he had failed. Jack would spit out: "Oh, you'll do better next time, son," or "Well, it wasn't worth it anyway.... you'll do fine staying here with good ol' mom and pop." Roger sighed before pock marking his first stop in his journey.

Visiting Seattle would be his first stretch. Roger glanced to the clock. 2:25 am. He grabbed his car keys and snuck downstairs, careful not to wake his parents. Getting into his car and driving down to the airport. Inside the building was filled with noise and chatter of what seemed to be everybody. He felt so small in that moment. His tall frame was now trifling against the airport traffic. Roger took one step forward towards the desk. The woman was pretty. Red streaks ran through her hair like lightning flashes the more they shimmered in the burning lights of the airport. She could only be a few years older- possibly only three. "Hello sir, can I help you?" Roger smiled, "Yes. Is there any planes shipping out to Seattle later today?" The receptionist looked at her computer, "Yes actually. There's one for 7 in the morning. Would you like a ticket?" 

"Yes please." "That'll be 123 dollars." Roger handed the lady the money. He paused, "Is there a plane for Settle shipping out next Saturday?" The receptionist typed her computer again, "Yes. It's for 11 o'clock in the morning and another for 5 in the evening." Roger smiled. That's what he wanted to hear. "I'll take that one for 11 in the morning." 

"123 dollars please." Roger handed the lady another portion of the money. "Thank you sir, will that be all for you today?" Roger smiled. "Yes, thank you very much." He winked, "Have a nice day." The receptionist blushed. Roger had a certain something about the chisels in his green eyes. He walked off with two tickets to Seattle. One for 7 in the morning and another for Saturday. Roger came back to his home- packed a small suitcase of clothes and documents, money and his passport. He set his alarm for 5 in the morning, placed his suitcase beside his bed and let himself drift to sleep, still in his mundane clothes. There was no time to waste.

Blinking beeps of Roger's alarm sounded through the treacly dream of his Rita Hayworth picture play; her on top of him and the both of them passionately loving their bodies against the wisp of the spring air. Roger shot up, rubbing his eyes and wiping the tap line of dry drool crust from the corner of his mouth. Sweeping into the bathroom and washing his face, combing his hair and brushing his teeth, Roger grabbed his suitcase and pulled it to his side. Writing practical scribbles down in the form of words to leave on the fridge if his parents were to question his whereabouts.

Business meeting in San Fresno, be there all day and possibly all night. Don't wait up for me.

Love you both,

Roger

Roger called for a taxi service that showed up a only a block away from his home. "San Deigo airport, please." The driver complied, driving to the destination in silence. To Roger, maybe the driver was thinking he was a busy business man. His black dockers and dress shirts seemed to be all he wore these days, especially at the office. Or maybe someone who was on the run- trying hard to distance themselves from the south side of California. Roger hadn't said two words to the guy except, "thank you" and "have a nice day." Grabbing his suitcase, Roger stormed the airport- checking in, going through airline security, finding his gate and then hopping onto the his plane. A one and a half hour flight at best, Roger cozied into his seat with a good book and let the feel of the air take his as his plane took off.

It was the needle tower that captured his attention first. Seattle space needle. It stood on top of Seattle like a lookout tower. Throngs of tall skyscrapers stood everywhere. The plane hovered over them like the clouds in the sky. Roger would squint and try to point out his future apartment. The top tiers of the one of the skyscrapers or the bottom and middle ones, sandwiched between one level and another. The plane landed and soon, Roger found his way around the city. Checking into Hilton Seattle hotel. Downtown, crowded and brisk like a laxed New York City. Roger's only comparison was of Jack's vibrant tales from when he lived in New York.  From the moment he settled off the plane, the air seemed muskier- like tar on the rooftops of the city were melting in and sighing their fumes off for the Seattle to smell. It excited Roger, maybe more than it should've. "Rom 307, Mr. Chambers." The receptionist handed the key into Roger's hands. Flashing her a sweet grin, Roger trollied into the elevator with another man- a few years older than him, reading the newspaper. Roger pressed button 8, his floor. 

Ding!

Roger walked onto the colorful carpet- a swirl pattern that seemed to lead him to his room. Opening the door, Roger walked in, taking a fresh breath in through his lungs and letting it saunter inside his memory. The thick smell of sterile hotel sheets and freshly steamed carpet was tattooed into his brain. The airy breathtaking view of the city from his picture window was only something Roger hoped it would be in his new home. A high rise with a stalking view of the clouds and the foreheads of the skyscrapers. Office workers would be little ants and cars would be like the toy ones Roger played with as a child. He stacked his suitcase against the sheets- unpacking his clothing and loading them into the dressers. Roger sat quietly on the bed for a moment before shooting glances towards the phone by his bed. Grabbing it off the base, finger hovering over the numbers, Roger then slammed the phone back down onto the base. International calls were an expense Roger wasn't about to afford. Money was one thing, but a number tracking him to a whole other state was another. A business meeting in Fresno should be enough for Jack and Alice to swallow this time.

Grabbing his jacket, Roger left his hotel and snatched a taxi down to Seattle University.

A tall soaring brick building became a castle to Roger. It was only June, but still the scene of his trailing up the little pathway, through the main doors leading to the corridors of the school flashed in front of his eyes like a picture book. Scanning the campus and its lush carpet of cut grass and those little beads of little daisies perking up from the ground. Summer's skin gave the yard an extra glow; shadowing it into an image of promise for Roger. Whether the trees were painted in orange and red or the sky was now drab with gray and white baked in, the scene playing in front of Roger- checkered wind swaying the little hairs of grass and humming a summer rhythm snickering in whispers of the sky- was set in stone for Roger. Basking in his future, ripping the jean jacket off his body and dancing in the way of the grass in the open field. His sneakers grazed against the stems of the very dirt and his hands fluttering free in the way of the uranas sky.

Roger picked his jacket off the grass and ran back to the street. A spark prided in him- speeding him to want more. Flinging himself onto a bus, Roger asked around different newspapers asking for two things: a job for hire and an apartment for rent. 

Templeton Road- a newly emptied out apartment on the 25th floor of the Winchester building. Barxton Ave, The Tribune- a high end Seattle magazine cover, that is became in raring in needing a skilled journalist writer to cover certain taboo and interesting content. The salary would be higher than all of the overtime Mr. Gao could offer Roger in his whole career. Roger managed to set up an interview with Mr. Doyle. Beads of sweat dampened his face as he eagerly anticipated Mr. Doyle's response after scanning through a resume he had faxed over. Mr. Doyle scanned Roger up and down with a stern expression. But then belted out a haughty chuckle. "I'm just kidding son! I'm never this uptight with my staff..... it's because I barely work myself so I get to enjoy a random scotch every now and then." Roger eased up, "You want the job?" Roger nodded, kicking himself to speak, "Yes." Mr. Doyle smiled, "It's yours then- welcome to The Tribune." A breath escaped Roger's lungs, "Thank you so much Mr. Doyle-"

"Please, call me Tim." A dimpled smile cascaded onto Roger's face. Mirror his fathers when he received his first credital job- the job he's been working ever since he was twenty seven. "When can you start?" Roger paused. Looking Mr. Doyle in the eyes, "I live in California as of this week. Next Saturday- I move to Seattle because of University. But... if you want- I can one hundred percent do whatever you would like me to do." Maybe Mr. Doyle saw determination bubbling in his eyes. He thought for a minute, "I'll tell you what.... don't worry about it. I can hold out for another week... I won't be too easy on ya though- come no later than Sunday at best, you understand?" Roger nodded, "Yes." Mr. Doyle smiled, "I like you Roger... I think you'll be a wonderful asset to the company." "Thank you, Mr. Doyle.... I won't let you down." Roger grabbed his resume and satchel before departing the office with a new job. 

Flying down to Templeton, Roger called the number and waited for the woman to arrive. "Hello Sir," A middle aged woman with a red pixie cut introduced herself before unlocking the front door. The smell of a homely oak themed what would be the living room. Spacious and cozy- a wide area for a couch and television, a middle sized kitchen and small dining area and three bedrooms- master bedroom for Roger and the smaller bedroom for his office- an extra bedroom for guests if he pleased. The master-bedroom had its own bathroom and the second bathroom was around the corner from the rooms. It was perfect. Just perfect. "It's a rental, but you can paint the walls to your style, it is pet friendly- just make sure to update the owner if you are to have a pet and of course, no loud parties or disturbances to disturb the other residents, trash days are always Thursdays and...." the woman turned to him, 'that's pretty much all there is."

"How much is it every month?" "343 for rent every month, 100 for electric, 150 for water, 167 for heating and gas is complimentary of the building." That was less than Roger thought he had to pay. With his new salary, paying his bills would be a piece of cake. He smiled and nodded, "I'll take it." The woman smiled, "Great! How soon can you move in?" 

"Right away... this Saturday." Roger spent the afternoon signing papers, getting the most important papers of his life faxed over. "Alright Mr. Chambers, you're all set," the woman reached into her pocket, "here are the house keys. If they ever get lost or stolen just inform the landlord and he'll have the locks changed. It was nice handling business with you Roger."

"You too, Ms. Vera." Staring at the keys in his hand, Roger couldn't believe his fate. Soaking in the feels of his new home was a feeling that was beyond describable. Ms. Vera had long gone, but the linger of Roger's presence soaked through. His eyes scanned through every corner where his future coffee table would be, his small couch, his rocker chair, the rug that would be slid underneath it all, the hanging utensils on the rack on the wall of the kitchen, the cookbook in one of the drawers for those nights where he would be extravagant and the full size bed hidden away in the cozy corner of the bedroom where Roger would swish away in the sheets, laced in solitude of quiet after a long night at the office. His future was here. San Deigo never existed for Roger anymore- Seattle was Roger's future, his present and his anticipation. Staring out the window of the city apartment; cars dashing beneath him, the space needle tower glowering in the distance touching the nips of the sun's glow, staring into the eyes of the clouds the way Roger dreamed. His imagined home was everything that Roger saw in his dreams.

Shoving the keys into his pocket, Roger quietly closed the door of his apartment, locking it up before finding a taxi to take him back to his hotel. He stayed the night, flopping his body onto his bed after packing his new apartment keys into his suitcase. Taking in the last breath of Seattle before hitting the pillow was just what Roger needed. His brain flickered over every detail of today. His eyes drooped until black hit, sealing in his promise of today.

The next morning after a short flight back to San Deigo, Roger pulled up a block away from his home in a taxi. A adrenaline ping shot through him like electric. Roger ran to his home, unlocking the door with his key. "Good morning everyone," Jack turned to see the young man swoop into the kitchen. He noticed his suitcase in his right grasp. A sick feeling ran through Jack quicker than light, "Hello Rogie," Jack got up and pressed a tight hug to Roger's body and a cheek kiss, "I missed you." A saccharine mellow in Jack's voice; childhood memories of the same soft tone when ever the end of a bedtime story came or when he was asked if he wanted a warm glass of milk with cookies before bed. But guilt couldn't ring through him now.... not in this moment. Roger allowed himself to pull away softly with a sweet smile etched across his face.

Alice pressed a kiss to Roger's cheek before serving him square shaped waffles. Breakfast ached Roger's stomach... so long without eating that much, that the fruit bowl and the honeyed smell of maple syrup and butter melted into him more than it should've. "Let me go unpack and I'll tell you how the trip went." Jack stared as Roger traveled up the stairs. Maybe Roger felt the eyes boring into him as he cabled through trying to be as secretive as he could. Locking his bedroom door like a prisoner trying to plot his escape. Opening his suitcase, taking out his neatly portfolio documents and his new apartment keys. Two silver keys looped around an oak colored ring with a brown leather key fob. He hid them away in a small box in his closet with his documents. Roger had already paid his first two months rent of the apartment so it wouldn't distract his focus of moving and settling everything into his new place. A knock on the door broke his attention. Spinning around to a jiggling door knob, Jack's knuckles brashing against the door were like thunder claps to Roger.

"Hey," Roger opened the door a little, "Hey bud," A smile grew onto Jack's face. Jack was invited in- scanning the room of Roger's nick-nacks. A open suitcase full of clothes that sprawled themselves out on top of the bed. Roger shifted from one side of Jack to another- nipping the edges of his body with the fragments of his clothes. "I'll unpack after breakfast," his eyes looked right into Jack's in that moment. Jack sensed something about Roger. Something changed him. The in a quandary young boy he saw last night was not the same one that walked into the home this morning; young but fresh with this intimidating piercing stare of nerve. A nerve that was only backed up with fact.... a nerve that Jack had shouldered onto David when he had settled in plans to stay at his own place. The same cockiness Jack gave his parents was repeating itself right in front of him. Maybe he had just lost track of how grown Roger had now become.... but this was a stinging reminder of that- an unforgiving spit of being unneeded.... unwanted. 

"Breakfast?" Jack snapped out of his pity. Eyeing Roger before smiling and walking behind him out of the bedroom before shouldering one last glance to the suitcase sprawled across Roger's bed. What could be in there? His mind traced.

After breakfast, Roger had spent the morning gathering big moving boxes and bags for his move. Alice questioned it once she saw a small sliver of a moving company's brand on the bag. "I found a place." Roger said suddenly. At least, to Alice he did. "You have?" He nodded, face barely able to contain a smirk. "A nice high rise in Seattle city," Roger refrained from spilling about his new job. Maybe that was the last thing he should say, "I went out and found one yesterday.... it's an hour flight so it wasn't out of the way or anything." Alice nodded. Roger was making his way to the room before being stopped, "What about your job?" a husky voice pecked through like a needle prick to the skin. Turning and finding his father standing at the bottom of the stairs. "I found one up there too,"

"What is it?" "A journalism job... I work for the Tribune." He bit his tongue once he realized the words that fell from his mouth. "The Tribune?" Roger nodded, "One of the most elite magazine companines in the country?" Roger nodded again slowly. "They offered you the job?" Alice nudged Jack, shooting him a glare. "Yes. My boss Mr. Doyle said they were looking for a skilled writer who had no trouble reporting taboo and creative facts." A piece of Jack's chipped. Like a rotten tooth. Maybe it was the hope of Roger wanting to be here even just somewhat, maybe it was hope Jack kept of Roger not being able to have things fall into his lap and just lap up the idea that home would be the easier of two paths. But no. Roger, secured himself a high end job that he didn't even realize to be such a merit.

Roger smiled. "I'll be fine, promise." He shuttled up to his bedroom. He turned on the radio- Rocket Man blared enough to daze him into a deep concentration. Grabbing permanent marker and labeling everything from big to small that he wanted cram into those boxes. Books, arts and crafts, clothes, accessories, nick-nacks and whatever else Roger found useful enough to take with him. By the evening, half of Roger's items were packed away. The little box in the closet with his documents were still hidden away in the closet. Those were meant to be packed in his suitcase, not his moving boxes. Phone calls to moving companies were made and scheduled for Saturday and his plane ticket was stored along with the house keys in the little box, underneath the documents. 

Only thing left was his bare mattress, one pillow, a little quilt and the too big to carry items: bed, dressers, desk, chair and nightstands. Roger grabbed his jacket and car keys. Mac and Rod needed to meet him at pub. Taking one last look around, Roger smiled to himself at all his hard work and progress. A sure thing would always come through.

Jack was moped over on the couch, slugging down one beer after the other. A photo album layed next to him, scrapping against his thigh. Opened to reveal a baby Roger, suckling his thumb while Jack held him in his lap. A baby Roger, only a few hours he was born, wrapped in this blue receiving blanket, hat poised over his little head that was knitted from Alice only a few months before he arrived. Jack face hovered beside him with the widest, tiredest smile he ever wore. Another revealed Jack pressing a kiss to a sleepy toddler Roger's rosy cheek after a night in the emergency room when Roger had hurt his toe a little too hard. He was there for all of it. Every boo-booo, every goodnight kiss, every bad dream, first steps, first word, first breath..... the day Alice even told him she was pregnant again. Then the day he was born after a few pushes and few surprise squeezes from Alice's hand clinging to his. A shrill sweet cry immersed from the little baby born into the vibrancy of the summertime.

That day seemed perfect. His little baby- firstborn son was fresh in his arms wrapped in a cooling blanket to soothe his new cries sprouting from new vocal cords. So new, so perfect. It brought tears to Jack's eyes. Cradling the little boy in his arms and just letting his heart pour out his most devoted affection for the little baby. Jack took another swig from the bottle. His mind faded out of the delivery room and into the living room. Dull and drab. A faint memory snuck up behind him like a ghost in the shadows. A stunning shrine of him and David. A walk in the park turned into a instigated argument from David, leaving him to walk home four miles alone in the pouring rain- without a jacket. Waking up with a bad flu the next morning, David practically shoved Jack out the door of the house and made him walk to school with a flimsy sweat jacket in 19 degree weather. Jack could remember the cold sweat beating from his forehead as every step he took seemed longer and longer. Jack could recall one particular boring morning in class where all he fretted over was how many cigar burns the children could count on his legs and arms. Long sleeves even in scorching weather was something Jack accustomed himself to. Even in present day, Alice would question Jack wearing sweaters in eighty degree weather. Self- conscience, Jack would wear a t-shirt instead- even if he felt exposed.

His eyes glanced to the clock, only a little after eleven. He stared back at the black Tv screen before taking one last swig and calling it a night. 

"To Roger and Seattle!" The three friends held their drinks up before taking big gulps of their beers. "So, you finally scored the job in the big city," Rod said. "Yep," Roger popped, "I didn't even know it was so elite until my dad said that it was one of the biggest magazine covers in the country!" Mick and Rod let out a haughty laugh, "You really got em now Rog!" Mick shook his head with a prideful smile, "Ya know, I never thought you would the 'poetic' type and be so in to writing and books- you were never interested in school and.... I don't know. I guess it just reminds you how much things change, I guess?" Roger nodded, "I never thought I would love writing either. But I guess my passion was just a waiting call for me." A sniffle sounded. Roger looked up and realized his vision was blurry. "Ha, don't start getting emotional on me now." He laughed. "You're the only one 'sweating through their eyes' dude." Rod said. Roger sucked in his bottom lip. He sniffled. "I-I'm gonna miss you guys... a lot." Roger took another sip of his beer, "Is it gay to say I love you guys?" The three laughed. Mick shook his head, "No. No.... we love you to buddy."

Rod held up his beer, "To Roger and new opportunities!" The boys clinked their beers one last time, leaving Roger to soak in the essence of their friendship.

Leaving the pub, Roger couldn't help but drive around the city one last time- gawking through the town, admiring all its glow of the night. Downtown seemed so big and huge. Roger parked his car along the curb and stepped out for a walk. The night's chilly air was a refreshing breeze, sweeping back the strainds of brown from Roger's face like a fan. Peeking around at the late night coffee shops and the small little cafes took Roger down a memory lane of family night outs and little mommy and baby and daddy and baby dates he would have with either Jack or Alice. Sometimes, him and Susan would stroll together and get ice cream before returning home after a long school day. The streets seemed so empty and light. Cars were parked alongside the road and business were turning their lights off for the night. The last walk through the city of San Deigo was a flourish for Roger. A nostalgia of sweet memories and wonders. But one thought pecked at his brain- Susan. The one girl in his life who he couldn't miss goodbye to.

Running into his car, Roger took the forepass down to Pasadena. Knowing Susan, she would be up in nightgown, watching late night soap operas and eating a bowl or carton of chocolate ice cream or cake- any type of chocolate dessert. Her casa styled condo had its little porch light on. The second story was lit up with a living room light brimming even under the shades of the blinds that hung over the window. Roger knocked on the door, listening to small footsteps walking up to the door. "Roger?" He smiled. It felt like a million years since he had seen the blonde beauty's face. Her perky green eyes with the same cat eye as their mother, only... more...youthful. "Susan!" He pulled his big sister into a hug that he never wanted to free himself from. "I missed you so much!" Susan's hug was tighter, "Me too! Oh Roger, I wanted to come visit you, but I was so busy with college and then my work.... I missed you so much!" Roger didn't even realize a tear had dropped against the nath of Susan's back. Maybe because her presance was a breath of fresh air from the tension at home. Susan finally pulled away, "What brings you here so late?" As Susan guided Roger into the home, Roger sighed. "I got accepted into Seattle University,"

"Oh my god, I'm so happy for you!" Roger smiled, "So that means this Saturday I'm moving to Seattle." Susan furrowed her eyebrows, "I thought school doesn't start until fall?" "It doesn't.... but I found a job there and an apartment and so... I've decided to move there this week. I'm so excited but... I wanted to come over and say goodbye. I couldn't miss seeing you." Susan let a small smile cross over her face, "I'll miss you so much, baby brother," She sniffled, "I don't want you to go." She flung herself around his body. "You're so little!" She cried. Roger giggled, but allowed Susan to wail into his body. "How are mom and dad taking it?" His body stiffened. "Well, Mom's doing okay.... Dad... not so well." Susan pulled away, "I mean- he hasn't outwordly been discouraging, but I can sense his upset. I shudder to think how things are going to go down when it's time for me to leave. Hopefully, dad won't be clinging to my legs and will allow himself to drag out the door." Susan laughed, "I don't know Roger he might!" The siblings shared their laughter, "I needed this Susan... I had to tell you. You'll be the first person I invite up to Seattle." He smiled. The two shared a goodbye hug and kissed each other's cheeks before Roger departed. "Goodbye Susan, take care, okay?" 

She smiled, "You too."

Saturday was here. 

Roger's suitcase was unveiled on the snowy white bare mattress. He stuffed the remainders of himself into the first case. Jack couldn't help but stand by and watch as his green corduroys folded into the case, then his cargos with two extra pockets, his 5 blue jeans; stonewashed, indigo warm denim, cool denims and his peacock ripped ones that Jack protested everytime Roger would step out with them. "They look like you've been in a fight." Roger rebuffed and walked around town with them anyway. Jack skirted around the corner, closing his eyes to hear the click of the clasp of the suitcase. He could taste the metallic in his mouth, his fingers curling into his palms leaving small welts of his fingernails imprinted in them. Roger’s last item was the little box; documents, apartment keys and his plane ticket.

Jack's legs were frozen, weak and vacant. Like the muscles that once filled his body were dead. Lifeless. But Jack was desperate; despite to charge straight into Roger's room, wrap him into his grasp and hold onto him and never having to let go. The base of Roger's footsteps sent shivers through his blood. The creaks of bedroom floor, the movements of his motions; Jack could tell Roger's little skips, his deep in thought steps that were filled with anticipating silence, the screeches of his sneakers scatting around the hardwood floor. He swallowed, scratched his head and rubbed his fingers in his hand.

Roger was consumed with packing everything that brought life to his bedroom. Posters, clothes, his radio decorated in small stickers, the blue lamp shade that hung so effortlessly over the bulb. The baby blue walls turned sky blue from a painting adventure Jack used as an opportunity to bond with Roger. He smiled fondly recalling the walls being coated in one of Roger's favorite colors, Jack swiping paint onto Roger's face, and vise versa. The walls were empty and deceased. Outlandish posters and pictures, the colorful blue and green checkered quilt, the grainy dark maple desk were gone. The room that hued the glow of the Chambers's youngest child was now of a ghost. Roger would be gone and everything that would piece him to who he was would just haunt the house like the swish of curtain on a cool winter day.

"So, this is it?" Jack poked his body through the door. Roger, still shuffling nips of items from his possessions, eyes were still cemented to his suitcase. "Yep," he popped the p; rolling off his tongue like this was a casual goodbye, like the significance meant nothing or simply didn't exist. It was too easy for him to shut the latch to his suitcase and turn around with this cocky smile. Sure, he planned this, prepared for this, spent money, saved money and set his sights to tall skyscrapers, subways, packed streets and corners contradicting the sleepy equable suburban neighborhoods he knew all too well. Roger would ride his bike around the corners as a child, spotting the stacks of houses behind his own from his bedroom window, the way they reminded him of dollhouses; perfect and prim without one blemish. Then there was the cul-de-sac that he had to learn to drive in tune with once he bought his first car; an electric blue Chevy that would always sit in the garage with Jack's, Alice's and Susan's. Their cars, even they shouted experience; Jack's was so nicely polished in a rich coat of green, Alice's was clean and detailed, no mugginess or scratch to be displayed. Susan's red cherry one was new yet carefully parked. Coddled and sealed with safety nets that Jack had passed down to her. In the little row of cars: Jack's, Alice's and Susan's, it was accepted. Her little red Ashton Martin sat alongside the adults just like their childhood. Susan was mature, Roger was not.

Roger had to work hard for the car; Jack in his ear, pounding on and on about safety and car accidents and kids he knew from school and seeing their dead mangled bodies show up on the drunk driving safety video. Susan bared some of the lectures but was thought less likely to encounter something of such notions that her lessons were encouraged. So there sat Roger's blue Chevy, alone, tires twisted, steering wheel curved and spaced, no, distanced apart from the others. And there he was, distanced apart from his family. Susan's departure left a jagged mark in the household that rang loudly, yet was being tuned out. The rubber band was stretching...stretching its limit, about to snap at any any second. But Roger still kept his hands pressed tightly onto the counter of the suitcase. Holding it like it would be snatched from him at any second. And it maybe it would be.... Jack was getting desperate. Roger's eyes locked firmly on his, not shaking off any trace of stubbornness that riveted like waves into Jack's brain.

"So, Seattle seems like a nice place. I researched it in the library and...it looks promising." Jack bit his tongue; carefully constructing his words to hide the nauseating moldy taste in his mouth. His stomach kept heaving like a boat during a storm. The feeling of drowning seemed all too real now, like there was no escape. Jack would drown...he would drown because he knew too much. He knew what Roger was leaving, he knew why he was leaving....he knew he was the reason. He couldn't paddle this one out, he couldn't sweet talk or spat himself out of this. He would need to feel it...feel this one through and so would Roger, so would Alice and Susan once she would receive the news.

Roger pinched his lips into this tight smile like it held venom that he was trying hard to control, to keep it from spilling all over himself and Jack. His eyes were squinted but not from a smile, from bitterness. He could see Jack through the glass. Roger pressed harder into his suitcase, leaving welts of his fingernails, peeling off the leather to reveal this beige thin Velcro that hid underneath it.

"Yeah. It's so futuristic, a modern city. College is gonna be wild." Roger slapped himself at his attempt to lighten things up. Jack's mouth opened a little, before shutting it. Jack pursed his lips. Could he let this moment slip like water running down the shutter of the garage, and then dripping into the ground to its death. Roger seemed further away the more he would look into his eyes. Roger was already gone, his body shifted to the door and the small talk only kept the distance between them solid and icy; mastering skating over it to cross to each other. "Roger," Jack spoke finally allowing the cramped air to wither into to breeze. "I'm just curious....why so far away?" The simplicity of the question sent bass through the room. Roger looked down then up again, "I like Seattle. It's a nice place with great opportunities....ones that I would like to try out."

Jack could swear it was like a recorder playing back the same excuse he used on his father when his bags were ready for the big city. Time's Square seemed more exciting than anywhere with his parents. Jack could remember his father snatching a swig for courage and for rawness. No emotions to defeat him as he hustled a weak hug for Jack. No warmth of safety of it. Just broken and done. His regret rang loud through Jack's old bedroom, but there was nothing to back it up.

Roger could at least remember the warm feeling of his father's hugs. To him, it was warmer than hot cocoa on a cold winters day of a fireplace in the thick of the evening brewing as you curled up into your coziest chair and read from a good book or watched your Friday cartoons after a long shift at the workplace or rough day at school. The relaxation hit you once you realize that it won't exist again until after the weekend which seemed miles away. Baby Roger would perch his head up for a second before falling back down to Jack's chest and listening to the padam of his heartbeat. Jack's head would perch up to, following sync with Roger to ponder what would capture the baby's attention before dismissing it to just to nuzzle his lips to the skin of his scalp. Roger would still smile recalling that particular cold autumn day one Wednesday; his mother was out of town and Jack was there at the house, waiting for Susan and Roger. Mugs of milky hot cocoa, soft oven cookies and their favorite cartoons played throughout the evening. Roger was no more than five years old at the time so he didn't hesitate to reach his arms up for a greeting hug from Jack who happily scooped him up in his arms and held him close, allowing his chocolate strands to sweep across his face along with the warmth of Roger's forehead rubbing against his chin. Roger was pacified by the lulling wisps of whistles from Jack's cooing breathes.

Those cold rainy murky damp days disappeared, the roars of exacting teachers faded and little nips of uneasy and anxiety merely seized to exist. All wrapped up in the coat of Jack's arms like a nest holding little fragile eggs. A safe place he would call, Jack was the one to stand by Roger; holding his hand in the wake of fear, hugging him in the distress of gloom and holding him in the wave of tiredness. When no could see the little head bobbing after Susan, Jack did. He could make out his little frame in a crowd of millions, pushing and shoving past anyone standing in between them.

Jack could remember pacing the floor of the emergency room, wearing the rubber from his shoes into the the sterile tile floor. "Jack sit down, he'll be fine." Alice insisted, "I should've never turned my back- Roger told me he wasn't feeling good and now he's in critical condition! His appendix probably burst by now... it's all my fault!" Alice slid her hand to her husband's back. Jack's lips were blue and purple from sucking and biting them so hard, his skin pale and clammy like he'd been struck with a monstrous case of the flu.

"He's out of surgery. Everything went well, he's recovering right now." Jack ran through the thick salvo of patients, doctors and nurses and into Roger's room. He was sleeping, eyes droopy and weak. Jack donned the same look from an exhausting bubble of panic and somberness. Jack sat next to Roger, intertwining his hand into his; carefully kissing the flesh of his skin despite the swollenness of his bruised lips and rubbing his thumb soft yet aggressively, carefully missing the stem of the IV drip. His eyes rang with sympathy watching Roger slowly calculate the little patterns of specks spotted all over the wall. His eyes would dart from Jack to Alice and then to his hand that was curled and bundled into Jack's. "Is it over?" Alice gave a ticklish rub to the fringe of Roger's cheek. "Yes, darling." She sat on the other side of him, "It's over."

Roger stood by his suitcase, scanning his father's face for any sign of anger or sadness. Maybe the slight wrinkle in between his eyebrows, or the the fish flat tight lips that he kept as poker face for any twinkling agitation that would selfishly bubble to the surface. Jack's eyes just stood frozen on the suitcase. Roger was right, maybe Jack was getting desperate. Suddenly his heartbeat sped up- he clutched the suitcase tighter, turning around sharply to grab the handle.

Jack bit his lip, watching Roger grip the handle and start towards the door. "You don't have to leave rog... we'll take care of you," Roger shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but bit his tongue and kept walking; creeking the floor as he took shallow steps down through the stairs. "I can take of myself," he finally replied. Jack cleared his throat, glancing towards Alice for an approving response. "Roger, you're only twenty two, please, I couldn't even do that when I was-"

"Dad, I'm leaving! I have to go my plane leaves in an hour." Roger looked to his mother before coupling her into one last hug. He kissed her cheek and allowed her to softly melt into his arms, letting soft sobs drip on to his jacket. "I love you, baby." Alice sniffled, pecking his face all over with goodbye kisses. "Please, be safe and take care of yourself." She straightened the smudge of his jacket before sending him off to the door. Roger side eyed

Jack before leaving.... like he knew Jack would follow.

"Roger!" Jack stormed towards Roger's Chevy, interrupting his packing of boxes into the backseat and trunk of the car. "I'm not going to hold it back anymore this time, you are too young to just run away from home like this! You'll be just fine here at home!"

"It's not personal, it's just my decision." Jack scoffed. "It's not personal, of course! Nothing is personal to you, you don't care at all about my feelings or concerns! You just whisk yourself away from everyone who did anything for you and act like it shouldn't mean anything when it does!"

"Well, it shouldn't mean that much for you to just almost try and sabotage my plans! You didn't even have enough respect to listen to what I had to say and tried to bury me beneath you just for some power trip!" Roger but his lip, curating his next words, "You must have known how that would've made me feel, for someone who claims to be so sensitive to the entire thing!"

"So is that where your power comes from? Running away from your problems?" Jack shot back, punctuating a smart aleck tone. He felt like a teenager, sifting back to his father who used the same nasty tone every time he needed that reassuring second wind.

"I'm am so sorry that you're so offended by your own kid's success! You-",

Roger slammed the trunk of his car down, "I was not put on this earth to be your safety net or guardian angel! I'm sorry that you had such a crappy childhood, I'm sorry your dad was an absolute jackass, I'm sorry that every time you look at me, it makes you crawl in your skin to see that I am my own person! I can make my own decisions and that I don't need you to be the man I want to be. I don't need you to see me as that, because I am just that, whether you want that or not! You expect me to sympathize with you when you: want me to not go to the store without you, not want me to drink too much coffee, not want me to go out of state to another city and live my life there, when really that's what it is! My life. My life! And you don't get to take that away from me because you decided to put your insecurities before your own child! No, it's not a dad thing, it's a Jack Chambers thing and it was a selfish thing to do! All my life, I had to put up with that, and maybe that's why I stayed as long as I did, because I wanted to observe if maybe there was some truth to that. But no. These were your choices and at the end, you did exactly what you wanted to do. And now you're going to have feel this one all the way through. I'm done, and this to me....is over."

Jack couldn't breathe. His lungs filled with salt and saline and he couldn't mush up any words. Roger had opened the flesh wounds of Jack and picked them out, piece by piece.

"Roger, I did that because that's what dads do! I love you enough to want you to be happy, can't you understand that?!"

Roger stopped mid track with his grasp on the car door handle. He took a deep breath, turned around and looked into his father's humid eyes. Eyes that were brimming with desperation, not even for himself but to just justify even a little of what Jack wanted it to be. "If that's what you feel, then that'll have to be your satisfaction. I have no interest, no patience.... nothing else to give to this mess. It will never be about me and you...... because it'll always start with you. And that's where it'll have to end as well. Goodbye dad."

Roger slammed the car door, pulled carefully out of the driveway and circled out of the cul-de-sac, leaving Jack to watch his car speed down every street, by pass every corner store they would adventure to, the park where Roger's imagination soared; swinging high against the crispy wind of summer. His limp body sliding through and down every slide, breaking through every swing and palming and curling every finger around the jaded rods of the jungle gym.

Five minutes had passed before Jack finally allowed his brain to slither in the thought of Roger being.... gone. He didn't exist in the house anymore. He lifted his rigid legs and tracked them back inside the house with a silence. Just a rapture quiet that covered him in every inch. Alice sat in the chair, hair a bit messy, eyes with slight puffiness and lip sucked into her mouth. Jack tiptoed up the stairs, turning every curve of each step, until finally reaching Roger's room.

He didn't exist, everything that resembled him was gone. Like he died, he just merely didn't exist in the Chambers household. The sole of Jack's loafers scratched the static of the carpet the more he walked through Roger's bedroom. His baby lived here, he slept here every night, he was tucked in, he was read to, diapered, fed, nursed, played with all in this bedroom. Jack did all those things for Roger; putting years and money and time and tons of patience and love into this human being who deserved every ounce of it. Roger became everything Jack hoped he'd be; a man with intense integrity and intelligence. Mature with the same charisma Jack attained at the same age.

But it was the pinching, ricocheting stabs of reality that avalanched inside Jack's gut. His vision radarscoped the room, his nostrils filling with a faint looming scent of Roger. Remembering how soft the mattress was when he sat down to tuck Roger in and read him a story, the curve of his desk that was stowed against the wall, neighboring the corner where his toy chest hid.

The mint green rocking chair with the softest blue checkered cushion made by Melonie. The memories the furniture held gripped Jack tightly in its grasp; unable to let go, forever chasing down the ghost of what was. Eyes becoming glossy and fuzzy. Jack sat down on the floor, ruminating the tips of his fingers over the carpet. Tears pecked his pants one by one, pockmarking his dress pants in damp spots

A humming quiet took over, sending Jack to curl himself in a hug and break down.

Finally break down.

Loud sobs and pitiful screeches of cries flooded through the room. Like a tantruming child, Jack gave way to loud sobs that wouldn't halt. Jack's mouth, open and wide even when trying to find the air in his lungs again. His once pasty face was one of a crying newborn; fiery red with pinched closed eyes and a loud round mouth. The hardest Jack had ever cried in his life; small and silent tears would trickle for pain and glee, but these were tears that couldn't be described. Bitter, somber pain full of despair, like Roger had crossed the rainbow, like he had simply ceased to ever exist and that he only lived through Jack's imagination or dreams. Jack sobbed so loud that once he stopped crying, the room had an echo of his sounds. Soothing himself with deep breaths, the color of his skin came back, but the ache pulsing in his heart like a agitated feverish gash still burned. Lifting himself up, taking himself out of Roger's bedroom and into the bathroom to rinse his damp puffy face.

Like a tiptoe on a tightrope, Jack held on to the railing to support him while he trickled lightly down the steps.

Tissues were placed directly in front of Jack's chair. Even though Alice was no where to be seen, a loving reminder of her presence still dinged. Jack stared at the tissues, turned around for a drink of scotch and then another of vodka. He wanted numbness, freedom from the last words of Roger, ringing like bells in the back of his brain. "It'll always start with you."

Jack squinted his eyes to hide from the words. He ran his hand through his hair before sighing and chugging down the last drops of vodka in his glass. Alice came through the doorway of the kitchen, bringing two mugs of tea in. She took the cup out of Jack's hand and set the mug into it instead. "You shouldn't drink now," her voice, soft and warm. Her eyes were filled with understanding and curiosity. Jack realized she still didn't know everything that was said outside in that driveway. "I can't help it... he hates me." "No he doesn't!" Alice exclaimed. "Roger loves you very much!" 

"Then why'd he'd leave? Why did my children leave me? Why do I have so many problems that even my own son doesn't want anything to do with me?" Jack slammed his glass down, startling Alice. She just rubbed his shoulders. "Jack.... throughout this whole process- I've noticed there has been a pattern that you've had ever since Roger was a little boy." Jack raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?" "Well.... you know- and you're the only one who knows why you see Roger the way you do." Alice hit a nerve, a nerve Jack didn't want to become exsposed.

"No... no I don't Alice..." Alice met Jack's gaze, "Look me in the eyes and say that again...." Jack did, calling her bluff to assume. "Look Roger in the eyes and tell him what you see- tell him.... that to you, he's Roger Chambers, Jack. Not anything or anyone else.... just your son and only that." Jack's eyes became puffy. Tears spilled, dribbling down his cheeks. "I loved it. I loved being a father to those little kids. Roger, he was my special boy. My boy... my hope. I don't have as much as you think I do Alice." He choked.

"I needed Roger. I needed him, more than he ever needed me." And he was right. Jack needed Roger. Jack couldn't fill the void himself. Roger was his perfect redemption sent from heaven; everything Jack had about himself, was what Roger had as well. It was healing to him- seeing that little boy become a man that Jack made. Jack praised him, cuddled him, sheltered him from the pain that singed in Jack the hardest. The memories of his beatings, were Roger's memories of Jack's kisses. David's venomous temper, was Jack's crazy day of buying toy after toy for Roger. All of it- disguised as Dad to the children, but seen as baggage to Jack. But he could never admit it. He'll never admit his overacheivement as a father was nothing but pure traumatic pain and grief over what he would never have for himself. Being Dad, was being Jack. It made him be the person who he wanted to escape from his own father. But now it was the very thing that nearly destroyed Roger.

Alice looked at Jack, "Go to him." Like she could hear everything inside his brain. Jack snatched himself up, grabbed his car keys and sped out of the driveway not caring what he hit along the way. He couldn't lose this chance... he couldn't lose his son.

Roger's green car was parked neatly in the parking lot of the 'Four Seasons.' Jack peeled in and shot into the building like hell was breaking down from the ground. Somehow, he found Roger's room. Knocking on the door, Jack was there. Standing there with his heartbeat at a thousand. Roger opened the door, wanting to slam it back again. "Roger... I know after everything that happened- you're angry with me.... I get that. But, please let me talk to you." 

"I don't know dad," "Please! I'll explain everything." Roger took a deep breath and let him in. Jack caught his breath. He took a deep breath and spoke.

"Me and your grandpa David didn't have a relationship- growing up," Jack swallowed back allowing tears to brim his eyes, "He was a very violent and cruel man. I don't like talking about him that much because it's so.... painful remembering. He would beat me, call me horrible names to humiliate me in public, he would throw things, scream, yell....I hated being at the house, I couldn't stand being anywhere near my family because of everything. I was head over heels when I finally moved out and I moved from New York to California- here. I don't go into details because it's very....traumatic when I do. Reliving those memories is something I would rather forget. But.....I will say....it really shaped how I wanted to parent you and your sister. The type of father I would want to be for you both." Jack looked to the side before shifting his attention back to Roger.

"I-I would especially put that into you...because you reminded me so much of myself at your age," Jack finally cried. "And it hurt to think about how badly misunderstood I would be and I could never love my father the way I was supposed to. Every child has a love for their parent; it's biologically wired that way, but I just couldn't. I still can't respect him for who he was that much and it..... and it just makes me so angry, because I knew I deserved better. You and Susan definitely did. So, I coddled that relationship, I wanted to be that father for you so much; it was all I thought about while your mother was pregnant, I planned, I timed it out.....I prayed. I prayed for a family, for a child..... just so I could give them what was inside me all along. Not these crumbs from my broken childhood, but a full plate of my future.

I'm sorry Roger. I spent so much time, investing my feelings into you, that I forgot about the most important thing of any relationship: growth. I just couldn't let you go.... maybe because I would be letting go of little me too. When you told me you were leaving, I was devastated. But I didn't want to say anything because I knew it was wrong." Jack licked his lips. Roger stared back, speechless, allowing everything to be smoldered into him for the sake of realization.

"To me, your this big piece. And this piece is connected to other big pieces, and they're all just in this little corner; this area where everything is finally settled into its place. But then, this piece starts shifting and breaking off bit by bit to where it's...... gone. I don't want it to disappear but, it still goes. And slowly but surely, all the other pieces break off and detach and now its non-existent. At least, that's how it feels. It hits you all of a sudden, and no matter what anyone tells you....it doesn't take away the pain. Because the pain resonates with who you are. And that's the piece that also crashes too."

Roger looked at his feet, repeating every echo of his father's words through him. "I'm not here to make you come home or stay or argue....I just wanted to be honest with you. You deserve to know and I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Jack looked deep into Roger's eyes, examining every stripe of green in his irises, "you deserve to be happy. You go to Seattle and create your future, Roger.... and I'll support you no matter what." Roger looked into his father's teary eyes with his own. Branching out for a hug that Jack connected into felt like a weight being lifted from each of their shoulders. Rubbing the back of each other's hair, the father and son burst into tears of their own. 

Later that evening, Roger boarded the plane with his suitcase giving one last goodbye look to his parents, to Susan, to Rod and Mick, Frank, Bunny and Dean, and even Mr. Gao. Waving goodbye as he stepped onto the plane. The group watched as Roger's plane took off to Seattle ringing a finality of what had now been gone. Tears dripped down Jack's tears. Not from sadness- well maybe a little, but from pride. Deep pride of who his son had now become. Roger wiped his set of tears before blinking them away as he envisioned his car being in the parking lot of the transportation center and his furniture at the layaway, ready to be brought to his new home.

Months went by without much from Roger. By now, University had begun and Roger had his head deep in his studies. The falls were different in Seattle: cooler weather, cooler nights and almost all the time, sweaters were a must and sweat jackets would only cover 48 degrees and up. But in San Diego, Jack was relaxed in his chair, sipping his usual morning coffee before a long day of work was ahead of him. "Jack, something came for you in the mail." Alice layed the letter beside Jack, not realizing who it was from: Roger. Ripping the letter open, Jack scanned carefully through it not wanting to miss a single word.

Dad,

From the bottom of my heart I want to forever thank for your companionship and immense love and trust. I know I may not have appreciated it in the past, but you never stopped showing your love and support even when I pushed you away at times. I love you very much and I couldn't imagine going through life with anyone else by my side. I know when I left it was on a sour note but I am writing this letter to apologize for every hurtful thing I said at such an emotional and difficult time. I could never throw you aside not even for any dream or achievement and I will always regret that I didn't consider your feelings about the entire experience at all. Maybe one day you and mom could come and visit Seattle and see the big city. I have experienced so many things so far and after hearing some of your college stories, some of them might be similar to mine. How funny! But I did want to write to you so you could know that I love you Dad with all ny heart and that your best father and partner in crime thst anyone could ask for. You have been not only an awesome dad, but my very first best friend. I'll always treasure those special memories we have together. I'll never take that for granted, the memories and our friendship.

Love,

Roger

Tears brimmed in Jack's eyes. It was everything he needed. He pocketed the note, keeping it close to him whenever he would walk into Roger's room and miss him hopelessly. And Roger knew that. 

Roger sat in his cozy apartment, relaxing on his couch as he finished off the last of his piece for work. A smile scattered across his face. Looking around and feeling the quiet of his home was everything he could ask for and more.

And maybe, just maybe......

Jack knew that too.

[taesclub]

The Wild Child, Act I ✦ BTS

✦ BTS x Fem! Oc's

━━━━━ ( SYNOPSIS. ) She is suddenly forced to attend the all-girls boarding school, St. Victoria's. Determined to break free, she tries to escape. Her only problem? To do so she must go through the neighboring boarding school and its notorious group, the Bangtan boys. Among them, one member captivates her the most, blurring the line between rebellion and romance.

genre. boarding school au, angst, fluff, smut

word count. 4,586

warnings. only curses for now

-ˋˏ masterlist ✦ next ˎˊ-

ACT I.

━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 

Claire, a tall girl with an eighty's aura and a shag haircut, sits in the passenger seat of her father's car, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The car hums with tension as they drive down the road, the passing scenery reflecting the girl's inner turmoil. She was about to meet her doom.  

She gazes out the window, her expression a mix of anger and frustration. The weight of her resentment hangs heavy in the air. 

“I can't believe you're making me go to some stupid all-girls boarding school, Dad. This is so unfair!” she grimaces. This had been her constant complaint ever since receiving the news, but somehow, like a broken record, she still held onto those words, praying it would be enough to make her dad rethink his decision. It wasn’t.  

Her father, Mr. Deschamps, a middle-aged man with tired eyes due to his rushed businessman life, glances at her with a mixture of concern and regret. “Claire, we've talked about this. It's a better opportunity for you. You'll have a chance to focus on your studies and discover new interests.” he insists softly.  

Claire scoffs, her frustration boiling over. 

Her voice sounds angry as she replies, “Better opportunity?! What about my life here? My friends? You're ripping me away from everything I know!” 

Her father's grip tightens on the steering wheel, his tone laced with remorse. 

“Claire, honey, I didn't make this decision lightly. It's for your future. You'll make new friends, and have new experiences. Please try to understand.” 

Claire's gaze remains fixed on the passing scenery, her umbrage simmering beneath her rebellious exterior. “You simply don't get it, Dad,” she says resentfully as the view keeps changing dramatically into a more rural area. “You don't know what it's like to be uprooted from everything familiar, to start over in some stuffy boarding school.” 

Her father's voice softens, laced with a tinge of sadness. “I know it's hard, honey,” he admits sincerely. “But sometimes, we must make sacrifices for the greater good. Trust me, I only want what's best for you.” 

Claire's anger doesn’t wane, even though she is tempted to soothe at her dad’s words. “Change can be scary, but it also opens doors to new opportunities.” he continues, tenderly. “You're strong, Claire. You'll adapt, and who knows, you might find something incredible out here.” 

Her gaze shifts from the passing greenery outside to her father's warm and understanding eyes. She takes a deep breath, slowly releasing the pent-up frustration. There was no point discussing this with him, he would never back up on his word. And the truth was, ever since he got together with that Malibu Barbie wannabe called Blanche, this was destinate to happen. She had waited for the rug to be pulled from under her feet as her distrust in life itself was a rooted injustice carved deep in her heart, but now that it happened, she tried desperately to hold onto a shimmer of hope.  

And how tricky it was to expect, to wait for someone else to take the reins of one’s life... No one would come and save her, that was clear. So why not save herself? 

“Sure thing, Dad.” Claire mumbles resigned. At least for now.  

A bittersweet silence fills the car as they continue their journey, both aware that this new chapter holds challenges and possibilities that neither can fully anticipate. The beginning of a plan to escape the boarding school, however, started to thread like a lightning bolt in the girl’s mind. 

She would make sure no one would see it coming. And one thing was certain, Claire Deschamps would never settle into a life in the middle of nowhere, nor a life she hadn’t chosen herself.

━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 

Claire steps out of her father's car, her jeans bomber jacket with wide shoulders and lots of sewn trinkets contrasting greatly with the more conservative uniforms of the other students passing by. Their plaid skirts had at least two full hands more fabric compared to the black leather one she used.  

She takes a deep breath, bracing herself for what lies ahead. Mr. Deschamps opens the trunk, retrieving her suitcase and opening space for two employees to try and lift the big chest full of stickers that also belonged to Claire.  

“Here you go, honey.” He hands the lush green suitcase to her. “I hope you find… Some great things here.” 

She takes it, grudgingly. “Don’t be so disappointed when I don’t.” 

Her father shows a sympathetic smile on his face as he pauses to take in what she had just said. “I understand, Claire.” He opts to say. “Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything, okay?” 

Claire nods, unable to hide her lingering resentment. Her father gives her a last reassuring smile before driving away. 

As she sees the Rolls-Royce disappearing on the dirty road, the Headmistress Winters, a stern and composed woman in her fifties whom she had already seen printed on the flyer advertising the school, approaches Claire with an air of authority. The disapproving expression that she wears only exacerbates Claire’s dislike for her furthermore.  

“You must be Miss Deschamps, our newest student,” the woman says, inspecting her closer. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?” 

To that, Claire rolls her eyes discreetly, her guard already up. “Oh, joy,” she mutters under her breath.  

Putting on a polite facade, the Headmistress takes a step further, “As you know, I am Headmistress Winters. Your father and I talked on the phone. Welcome to St. Victoria’s Academy. Here we expect our students to uphold the highest standards of discipline and academic excellence.” She waves her hand in a high class and fluid motion, introducing the grand structure of the school behind her.  

There is a moment of silence as Claire fights the urge to scoff, her skepticism apparent. 

“Sounds like a real party,” she mutters dryly under her breath.  

Headmistress Winters's eyes narrow not catching what the girl has to say, however, judging by the lack of excitement on Claire’s part and her many years of experience when it came to building character, she maintains her composed demeanor. She knows a troublemaker when she sees one.  

With thinly veiled annoyance she adds firmly, “Respect and compliance are expected from all students, Claire. You'll find that St. Victoria’s Academy offers numerous opportunities for personal development and camaraderie. I suggest you keep an open mind.” 

Claire's expression remains guarded, her disdain for the headmistress palpable the more words fell from her mouth. Her tone is pure cynicism as she answers. “Sure, Mrs. Winters. I'll keep an open mind while I'm here.” 

Begrudgingly, she follows the older woman through the school's grand entrance, the imposing architecture and hushed conversations heightening her unease. 

The Hall of Entrance in the all-girls boarding school exudes an air of elegance and tradition. Polished marble floors stretch out beneath the students' feet, reflecting the soft glow of the chandeliers that hang overhead. Tall, arched windows line the walls, allowing sunlight to filter in and cast a warm, inviting glow on the surroundings. 

As Claire steps into the hall after the Headmistress, she is greeted by a flurry of activity. Girls in crisp uniforms pass by more eagerly than the ones she saw outside, their eyes darting to and fro, their hushed whispers carrying snippets of gossip. The hall becomes a stage for both fellowship and rivalry, as cliques form and dissolve with each passing moment. 

The sound of clicking heels and rustling skirts mingles with the gentle murmur of conversation, creating a symphony of feminine energy. Some girls walk with confidence, their heads held high, while others seem more reserved, their eyes darting nervously as they try to find their place within the social hierarchy. 

Portraits of past headmistresses and notable alumnae adorn the walls, their stern gazes reminding the students of the institution's legacy and the high expectations placed upon them. Some peak Claire’s attention. One of the spaces in particular, the one dedicated to the sports league, shows boys’ teams and trophies they earned against them, but she can’t find the right moment to ask what it is about as Mrs. Winters walks like a thunderstorm.  

The aroma of freshly polished wood and the faint hint of perfume linger in the air making her curiosity calmly dissipate, creating an atmosphere that is both refined and pansy. 

A grand staircase, its banisters intricately carved, leads to the upper levels of the school. It serves as a focal point, drawing the eyes of the girls as they ascend and descend, their interactions playing out on the stage of the hall. 

Claire becomes acutely aware of the watchful eyes as she makes her way through the bustling crowd, trailing the steps of Mrs. Winters. Some girls shoot her curious glances, sizing her up and speculating about the newcomer. Whispers trail in her wake, snippets of conversation filled with intrigue and speculation. 

Mrs. Winters then suddenly turns to face her once more, revealing behind her shoulder line a girl who matches Claire’s height, with bangs and a cascade of hazel hair. The girl’s warm and open expression contrasts greatly with Claire’s defensive demeanor.  

Noticing Claire’s disinterest, Mrs. Winters starts, “Let me introduce you to your new roommate, Claire. She’ll help you settle in.”  

Extending her hand politely and rather excitedly, the girl before her greets, “Hi! I'm Ella. It’s really nice to meet you!” 

Claire reluctantly shakes Ella's hand, her guard still up. Frustrated by the already lack of choice on her end she mumbles, “Yeah, hi.” 

Headmistress Winters nods curtly, signaling the end of their interaction. “Miss Dubois, why don’t you show Claire to your dormitory and explain how things work around here? I was in the middle of a rather urgent matter when she arrived...”  

Without missing a beat, Ella promptly nods, understanding the task at hand. “Sure thing, Headmistress. Follow me, roomie!”  

The newfound nickname makes Claire hiss internally like a cornered cat, but she plays the part, thankful to finally get herself rid of the Headmistress's presence.  

Before the two of them can walk further away, Mrs. Winters dismissively points again, “Very well, off you go. Make sure you familiarize yourself with the rules and expectations of this institution, Miss Deschamps.”  

Claire raises an eyebrow, her rebellious spirit flickering to life. “I'll keep that in mind, Headmistress,” she replies defiantly, turning her back to the woman.  

Leaving the bustling hall and the scrutinizing eyes of the older woman, Claire turns to Ella, a sense of complicity forming between them as she notices how much more relaxed her new guide seems to be.  

Smiling, Ella reassures her. “I promise this is not all as daunting as it seems.”  Claire takes a deep breath, her apprehension giving way to a glimmer of hope. She follows Ella, ready to navigate the challenges of this new environment, determined to find her place amidst the rules and expectations she so vehemently resents. Who knows?, she thinks, maybe her new roommate can give her an escape route without even noticing. She could be escaping St. Victoria’s much earlier than she had predicted.

━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 

Claire wasn’t convinced if Ella had what it takes to be her newfound ally. The headmistress seemed to trust her enough which made her either valuable to the plan or a stone in her shoe. Although Claire was pending more to the former since the girl seemed very friendly as they kept a light conversation and she led the way through the bustling hallways. More often than not, the veteran would gush about her own friends as she vibrantly pointed to Claire how their day-to-day was, and for moments, more than to seek intel to architect her plan, the brunette found herself momentarily forgetting about her purpose as she got infected by Ella’s contagious energy.  

Their footsteps echo softly as they step onto the serene patio, where blooming flowers and neatly trimmed hedges create a serene oasis within the school grounds. The sound of laughter and animated conversations drifts through the air as girls gather in small groups, enjoying moments of respite and fellowship. 

Claire’s eyes scan the scenery, and they get caught in the ruckus three girls are making right by the center fountain of the patio. The one standing in the middle, a blonde with a high ballerina bun, dances excitedly as she flashes a knitted scarf to her peers. “You think JK will like it?” Her voice travels through the open space as she points specifically to the initials engraved in it.  

Noticing Claire’s mind is far away from whatever she is saying, Ella leans closer, whispering, “That’s Vivienne for you,” she chuckles as Claire’s glance shifts quickly back, “Everyone calls her Vivi and you’ll soon hate her too, trust me.”  

To that statement, Claire’s eyes return inquiring to Ella’s, her nose scrunching in doubt.  

“You see, she delusionally believes she and some trouble boy are meant to be. We’re all tired to hear about it, or witness moments like this.” Ella points with her head to the blonde once more. “There she goes, making him a scarf he won’t probably use. Tell me about waste of time!”  

Claire mildly snorts entertained, looking at the scene as well. “Poor girl.”  

“Oh, believe me!” Ella exhales, walking away and her roommate follows, “That one is nothing of the sort. Imagine Regina George in real life. That’s her, right there.”  

In a lack of response from the brunette, Ella gestures towards a row of benches shaded by a grand oak tree. ”Anyways, this is our patio, Claire. It's the perfect spot to relax and soak up some sunshine during breaks. And see over there? That's the canteen.” 

The delicious aroma of freshly cooked meals fills the air as soon as they step closer to the precinct. Girls line up at the serving counter, chatting and exchanging stories as they eagerly await their turn. The room is alive with vibrant colors, with posters and artwork adorning the walls, adding a touch of creativity to the space. 

“We refuel here, obviously.” Ella glances excited to see Claire’s reaction. “The food is surprisingly good, and there's always a variety of options to choose from… Well. When the boys don’t join, that is. They can be savages.” she chuckles nonchalantly. 

Suddenly Claire’s eyes perk with curiosity. Every bit of information she had gathered about the school before arriving said this was an all-girls academy, but then again, there were existent photos of boys displayed in the hall. Not to say Vivienne’s parade a second ago. Do they have a day off?, she muses, Could this be an opportunity? “What do you mean boys? Isn’t this an all-girls school?” she voices her thoughts as Ella takes the lead again, taking her on another stroll.   

The energetic roommate greets some girls that pass by them with a sympathetic smile before returning her focus to the newcomer beside her.  

“Well, yeah. The Alarie boarding school for boys is right across the river, and we often have classes together. You know, lack of teachers in the far countryside.” she shrugs. 

Before she can inquire further, Ella is already distracted, smiling at the passersby.  

“With Jimin? Again?! God, what’s her secret!” They hear a girl gasp to a friend as they crossways.  

Oh. I see..., Claire’s thoughts put the pieces together. She quickly looks at the hazel-haired girl making her company.  

By the raise of eyebrows that she gives her and the flicker of frolic that flashes in her eyes, Ella is quick to warn, “It’s strictly forbidden to hang out with them boys, Claire. No smogging. No funny hands.”  

“But she just-” Claire refuted pointing behind her shoulders to the girl that passed by sharing her indignation a bit too loudly.  

Ella gave her a warning yet laid-back glance, “Alright, people go on with it in secret but as you can see, nothing is really a secret around here. And then when you least expect it, bam! You’re in trouble!”  

“Are they at least hot? Or I don’t know... Worth the trouble?”  

Ella thinks for a second and then shrugs with a naivety Claire knows to be fake, “How would I know?”  

“If you say so!” Claire pretends to salute dramatically, a bickering well read by the other as to the current square state the Academy insisted on following rules. And so, Ella pulls her to a quick jog entertained, and a bit tempted to show her new roommate she also knew how to break a few of them. Even if the rules she was breaking weren’t as grand as Claire deemed them to be. The students passing by confirmed the thought as they judged their behavior, and Claire laughed even louder at their tedious conformism. The rule about not running in the hallways was true indeed.  

As they arrive at their shared dormitory, their footsteps grow softer as they enter the hushed ambiance of the living quarters. The dormitory is a cozy space adorned with tasteful decorations, featuring two neatly made beds, desks adorned with books and personal touches, and small corkboards for photos and reminders. 

Ella jumps to sit on her own bed, bouncing on the mattress as she does so. “And here we are,” she gestures. “Our humble abode. It may not be the biggest, but it's home.” 

Claire looks around the room, a hint of curiosity dancing in her eyes as she imagines the memories that will unfold within these walls, even if for brief moments. Ella seems a nice girl, but she won’t be around to discover much more about her. She needs to escape this. Her real friends await in the big city.  

“Yeah, it's not bad…” 

Ella grins with the comment, her warmth shining through. 

“We'll make it cozy, you’ll see,” she says encouragingly. “Plus, you still have to meet my girls! They are rooming right in front of us. It’s great to share stuff and to keep gossip in day!” She laughs at her own behavior.  

As Claire sets her suitcase down and begins to unpack, a bit aloof to her roommate’s words, a newfound sense of optimism fills the room. To Ella is the beginning of a new friendship, even if her roommate was a hard one to crack. But she was patient, everyone had their personal time after all. To Claire, it is a journey through a path she had never charted before, but her father was right about one thing---she is strong. And she will prevail.  

“We’ll meet them in a few!” Ella continues, snapping Claire out of her thoughts, “They went to pick up your uniforms for you.”  

Claire eyes her with gratitude, showing for the first time a smile, even if timid, and her roommate mimicked the action. Only hers was as big as her enthusiasm for finally having a friend to share her bedroom with.  

Still sitting by her bed, Ella watches as Claire takes only her toiletries out of her green suitcase, as well as a portrait of her and what the girl gathered to be her mom. The tall wild child discards the pouch with her cosmetics by the bed, as she walks toward the bedside table, closely placed to the window, adjusting the portrait on top of it. Her clothes, still inside the suitcase, didn’t seem important and were left forgotten still inside it, untouched. Or so Ella thought so.  

“Your mom is beautiful,” she comments gently, looking at how Claire’s eyes seem to hover with longing at the picture.  

The brunette opens a small smile, thanking her roommate almost in a whisper, eyes still glued to the image of her mom. How she missed her.  

And then suddenly a loud pang interrupts the moment, making her jump and Ella scream. Startled by the sudden impact of a ball against her bedroom window, she had fallen back onto her bed, her heart racing. She swiftly rises and storms towards the window again, fueled by annoyance and ready to unleash her frustration on the culprit responsible. 

Seething with anger, Claire flings open the window of her dorm room on the second floor, ready to give the culprit a piece of her mind. Ella knees on her bed to look at the indicted herself. “Shit.” She manages to say.  

Claire’s words, however, catch in her throat as she locks eyes with a boy she has never seen before, and taking by Ella’s reaction beside her, it was clear that wasn’t her case, her roommate knew him.  

His mischievous grin and charismatic presence immediately captivate her, and a flicker of curiosity replaces her initial anger. Still, she stands her ground and through gritted teeth, she lashes, “What's your problem?!” 

Both girls watch as he brings casually one of his hands to shield his eyes from the sun, his smile gleaming with amusement. 

“Oh, I apologize, princess,” he says charmingly. “You weren’t supposed to-” he trails off, “Well, I wasn’t looking to make an impression on you but now…” he considers, his smile doubling the size.  

Claire tries to maintain her composure, but there's an undeniable pull towards the Alarie’s boy that she can't ignore. 

“Impression?” She scoffs slightly flustered, “If it’s at being stupid, you've certainly succeeded. Who are you anyway?” 

The boy takes a step closer toward the shade of the tall building to see her better, a playful glint in his eyes as he keeps looking up chuckling at her response.  

With a smirk, he replies. “You didn’t hear of me? I'm Jungkook,” he says as if it explains a lot, with a smugness that makes Claire crazy to punch out of his face. “I go to the Alarie’s, right next door.” 

“JK!” another boy shouts from a distance, and Claire’s eyes travel to the field to meet the face of Jungkook’s peer. A group of boys is joyfully hanging out there, waiting for him.  

As her eyes turn back to him, standing beneath her window, with a raised eyebrow, Jungkook says with yet another chuckle, “You never told me your name.”  

She sneers, “And I won’t.”  

Despite her refusal, Claire can't help but feel a certain curiosity pull toward Jungkook. His confidence and charm leave her intrigued, even if she tries to deny it or finds it too brazen. 

Jungkook sends another intrigued look her way, a hint of mischief in his voice. 

“Don't worry, princess. I’ll find it soon enough.” that answer only makes her blood boil further. “Besides, life's too short to be boring, don't you think? I like the mystery.” He shrugs with a smile, picking the rugby ball that was fallen by his feet, and starting to walk back. He turns once again to see her reaction, raising his voice as he adds, “And tell your rat roommate that the next one is meant for her!” He lifts the ball in his hand as if he raised a toast. 

“I'm not fucking interested in your idea of excitement, Jungkook. Save your charm for someone else!” She shouts defiantly but he only laughs in response, now fully turning his back and jogging swiftly toward his friends.  

She can't help but watch his back and carefree stance, even if Ella’s presence is made heard by her side. Under rushed and muted curses, the girl gets up from the bed, initiating an anxious breakdown as she paced back and forth inside their bedroom.  

Claire’s gaze finally moves away from the window to fall upon her roommate’s state. “Not that it’s any of my business, but... You wanna talk about it?” she asks, gaining no response apart from a full stop on the pacing and Ella’s hands coming to a desperate grip on her own locks.  

“Ella!” Claire calls her, closing the distance between them, “Hey, what’s going on?” The change of attitude of the girl was so brusque from her previous joyful self that it got her worried.  

She gently touched her shoulder, and Ella’s eyes finally found her own. “I’m totally, completely, fucked.” She confesses finally.  

“What happened? Is it about this Jungkook guy?”  

The hazel-haired girl gives her a nod and Claire’s eyebrows knit together. She manages to inhale, ready to question further but they are interrupted by the cheerful tinkle of shoes and greetings.  

“We got it!” It’s what she hears as she looks at the door to their room that had been left open. Two girls enter the space, both shorter than Ella and her. They look excited, probably having fun on the way there.  

“Hi! You must be the new girl,” The shortest one says, giving her a cordial smile. She has her long honey-blonde hair held back by a bow. “I’m Lola, this is Avery...”  

“And this is your uniforms!” While Lola has a royal aura to her, somewhat restrained and charismatic, Avery seems more upfront and girly. Her hair is like coal and so glossy that it shines hues of dark blue in the light.  

Taking the folded clothes from her hands with a smile of her own, Claire introduces herself. “Thank you, I’m Claire. And you really didn’t have to do it-” 

“It’s totally fine, we wanted to!” Lola insists bubbly, waving off, and the brunette smiles thankful.  

The blonde walks her way toward Ella’s bed, familiar enough to sit on it as she grabs a pillow to hug as she did so.  

“Girls. He knows.” To Claire’s relief, Ella finally enters the conversation. “I hate myself!” She adds, grunting.  

She notices how the other two react fervently to the comment as she places the pile of uniforms on top of her bed, ceasing to be the focus of their attention. They look at Ella with staring eyes, clearly on topic but still indignant about the rest of the information that still doesn’t come.  

“What do you mean he knows?!” Avery is the first to question. “How would he know? There were no boys in class that day...” 

To which Lola quickly made a comment with a nudge at her waist, “I told you there was! Louis, remember?”  

At the same time, Ella explained. “Now Jungkook sent a stupid ball flying up the window on purpose. After my head of course!”  

While Claire looked from one to another trying to unveil the situation, both Avery and Lola unleashed a series of wroth exclamations, to what Ella took part in instead of actually providing a clearer explanation.  

“I’m sorry.” Claire interrupted. “But can someone situate me here? What does this Jungkook know? And why is it a big deal? I’m lost.” She had a notion she was being brazen as she wasn’t close to the three friends before her, but not a couple minutes before she had witnessed a boy sending a warning in the shape of a rugby ball to her roommate. If this was to continue while she stayed there, she needed to know at least the basics.  

Avery and Lola look from her to Ella apprehensively waiting. So this is mildly important, she thinks. And then the latter sighs.  

“I wasn’t completely honest with you about the boys’ part...”  

To that statement, Claire slowly realizes that there may be more to this school than meets the eye, and consequently, more that she needs to unravel to make her flight seem a mystery. Glancing out of the window, Alerie’s boarding school for boys is starting to feel like a needed pit stop, as it stands tall between St. Victoria’s building and her much-wanted freedom.

✦ TAGLIST.

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[narrators-journal]

Persona 2 monsterverse thoughts

This one’s been vibing in the drafts for a while. I decided to note these down after talking to a new person and discussing some other writing content, and it took me a WHILE to eventually do even that. Then Kinktober hit lmao. But! Either way, I hope you enjoy, these are just some of my thoughts with no real context given towards the actual au setting, so sorry if some of these don’t make sense or seem really far off. I tried taking characterization or canon shit into account for extra fun.

Tatsuya Suou

Starting off simple, in my monster au, I like to make Tatsuya something called an Oracle. Which, is exactly what it says on the tin. Inspired by his persona Apollo, I thought giving him the role of the dude the gods bash in the head with cryptic visions of the future was funny and fitting.

Eikichi Mishina

In my monsterverse, Eikichi’s a slightly oddball hybrid. Being a combination of a vampire, and a siren-like creature. Something that can sing and put you under a spell with his voice alone. Whether that’s a mermaid, or some ancestor creature that the modern mermaid branched off from is not exactly known. Just like the extent of how much of that lineage he inherited isn’t really known. Which, is inspired by him being a singer, and...an rp shitpost, basically.

Lisa Silverman

Lisa is a Kumiho in this au. This is somewhat inspired by her anger at her dad, her canonical stated acts of rebellion, and how she arguably shouldfit in, but isn’t accepted. Like in the game, how she should arguably fit into Japan, because she was raised japanese, only speaks japanese, and I’m sure a few other things I’m missing, monsterverse!Lisa is a fox spirit like a kitsune, and is thusly expected to act like a kitsune by those around her and should fit in fairly well, but she still doesn’t quite succeed in that.

Jun Kurosu

Similar to Eikichi, Jun’s a hybrid. But, arguably just as weird of one. Because! In my AU, his father was a demon, because of the joker influence, and his mother was a royal fae, because Jun simply vibes to me like he’d be a fae of sorts in a monster au. This is also somewhat inspired by the idea of a nephilim. A cross between some holy-ish force, and something more humanoid.

Maya Amano

Maya is simply an angel. An angel of what? That’s kind of the joke with her, no one, not even the gods, remember to whom she’s actually assigned to work for. It’s also a bit of a dark joke, but still! In this AU, she’s sort of a catch-all angel that no one bothers to question. So, who’s her god? She doesn’t know, and neither do they.

Ulala Serizawa

To go with Maya being an angel, Ulala’s a demon. Specifically, she’s a demon of Gluttony. Inspired by her issues with, in a sense, her own gluttony and consumption issues. It’s actually pretty simple in that sense. She herself struggles with over-indulging, and her ‘other half’ of sorts is Maya, so! Demon to match the angel, and specifically a demon of gluttony.

Katsuya Suou

While Tatsuya is effectively just Human Premium, his brother wasn’t so lucky. Katsuya’s very much just a human man.

Baofu

In my take on this AU, Baofu isn’t anything super specific, he’s just an immortal. He was cursed by a witch back in the day, and goes on to live Baofu’s regular life as best he can with some added angst and a lot more time to study and learn about things like the gods, demons, and other monsters. Real simple, real angsty, lotsa fun all around.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 24 Lambs to the slaughter

Chapter 24 of Moonlight

A/N- *TEHEHE*

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy and SA, angst, fluff!!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 465-469 & just a part of 480

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

Aemond. What of Aemond? Aemond this. Aemond that. Aemond, Aemond, Aemond is all you hear, it’s all anyone talks to you about like if you’re his keeper, like if…

They think it’s easy growing to hate him like they despise him, but have they really asked if it’s easy for you to view him with anything but with the eyes of love? Have they considered the fact that you grew up together, that even despite your feuding families, he and you never treated each other with anything but kindness? Don't they remember that you have a son together and have two more children on the way?

Did they forget that you married each other months before your supposed date?

Just because you left his side weeks prior doesn’t mean that you still don’t harbor the same feelings of deep love, because you do. You still hold hope and great love for Aemond—it’s a sickening fact for them to comprehend maybe; he did kill Lucerys and your grandmother. Your mother also has Daemon by her side so she doesn’t yearn, Baela is heartbroken but she loved Jacaerys, someone on the same side of the war so she could never understand, and Rhaena hasn’t found anyone to love so dearly and deeply so she doesn’t understand the ripping pain one feels when they mention killing him as easy it is to breathe; and you hope she never gets to feel such torment.

Maybe if Cregan was by your side, forgetting the love you hold for Aemond would be easier, but he’s leagues away and will remain leagues away. Thus you’re stuck being tortured with each word uttered in the Small Council hall, feeling like a blade is sinking deeper into your flesh.

“Would you have me pardon the Kinslayer, the False King, and Daeron as well?” Your mother presses your grandfather, making you suck in your cheek and gnaw on the inside as you let the winter sun bask your face as it casts through the glass doors—“Would you have me send them to the faith like Helaena and Alicent? They who stole my throne and slew my sons?”

You can hear the anger in her voice, the utter disbelief brought by such a daring suggestion.

“Spare them and send them to the wall,” your grandfather dares to continue sharing despite the visceral anger in your mother's tone. “Let them take the black and live out their lives as men of the Night’s Watch, bound by sacred vows.”

Daemon scoffs and Baela retorts against your grandfather. “What are sacred vows worth when you have dragons there to accompany you and give you an escape from such a fate?”

That’s true. There’s no use sparing them and sending them to the wall if their dragons still live, and you can’t imagine either of the three men letting their dragons go.

“And what are vows to oathbreakers?” Your mother echoes. “Their vows did not trouble them when they took my throne.”

“Giving pardons to rebels and traitors will only sow the seeds for fresh rebellions,” Daemon interjects to agree with your mother, making you dig your nails in your palms as more and more come to an agreement over something that you already knew was going to happen. Yet it never felt as real as it does now as they finally agree on the fate of your husband.

“The war will only end when the heads of the traitors are mounted on spikes above the King’s Gate, and not before,” Daemon adds. “Aegon will be found in time hiding under some rock, and I alone will finally depart to go after Aemond.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as his threatening words steal your breath and finally shove the rest of that sharp blade into your chest.

“Baela and I could go after Daeron,” you suggest and spin around to face the table of people, catching your mother snapping her head toward you and looking at you with horror she can barely hide—“Daeron’s dragon is small, Astraea and Moondancer can easily bring him down together. Or I could go with Addam and Seasmoke, Astraea and Seasmoke are well acquainted, they work well together.”

Both Baela and Addam don’t speak to argue, they look at you with determination, but your mother shakes her head right away without as much as thinking about it. “No…no. You are with child,” she finds the best and most effective excuse. “And you are my heir. I cannot put you at risk.”

You blink in disbelief and then slowly walk towards the table to argue. “It’s because I’m heir that I should be out fighting. When I was with the Green Army, men were more inspired when I spent my time with them. Now imagine when the army of men sees me fighting with them. The crown has to be seen fighting with the army, and if not you then I should do it.”

Your mother challenges your narrowed gaze but before she can counter, your grandfather does. “The Queen and you are both right,” he says but neither of you or your mother let go of each other's gazes—“You should be seen fighting along with our men, but you are with child, and already far out. It’s dangerous. Perhaps once the babes are born you can go out on dragonback again.”

“Then what am I supposed to do until them?” You ask with a scoff.

“Learn by my side,” your mother snaps back, making you hold her gaze for a tense second before you realize that you won’t win against her, so you roll your eyes away and return to your seat around the table, causing Ser Cane to push the chair in for you the moment you sit.

The truth is you knew the answer before your mother could say it but you were hoping that you were wrong. But nope.

“Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf can take the war to Daeron,” Daemon offers a solution. “They will fly to Tumbleton to help defend the town as it stands between the Hightower army and the city, and that’s where they will at last destroy the dragon and the boy.”

You glance at Ser Ulf, and right away as if he can sense your gaze, Ser Ulf spares you a glance and sits up rigidly before averting his gaze and agreeing to Daemon’s plan.

“It will be an easy feat for Silverwing and I sense you lot say the dragon is only a babe.” He still manages to be stupid, making you roll your eyes.

“My wife resides at Tumbleton with her brother,” Ser Hugh speaks with more grace. “Vermithor and I will fight with our lives.”

Your mother nods gently in appreciation and comprehension before her attention returns to her husband as he interjects. “The Lannister’s and the Baratheon’s should be destroyed as well, so their lands may be given to men who have proved to be more loyal, such as Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf,” he says ever so calmly as if he didn’t just utter the worst thing he could possibly ever suggest. And you don’t stand alone in your horror, your grandfather quickly shares his disagreement with the outlandish idea.

“Half the Lords of Westeros will turn against us if we are so cruel as to destroy two ancient and noble houses.”

Ser Ulf’s eyes that were quick to bulge out at the idea of being a Lord, then slowly droop back to normal as he hears the quick protest. And you don’t make him any happier since you too speak up against the terrible idea.

“My grandfather is right, we will lose this war if we just give the noble houses away to people who were nothing but strangers mere months ago,” you don’t shy away from being so bold even if the men share a look.

“We,” you pause and sigh, choosing to sit back with your back straight and your nose slowly rising in the air. “We can offer them pardons and fair terms. Nothing more and nothing less, they still rebelled against the crown. They should be grateful that we are not asking for their heads.”

Your grandfather looks at you and offers you an agreeing nod and a proud smile before he turns to your mother and Daemon. “The Princess is right. Her suggestion is wise.”

Your mother and Daemon share a speechless look before she focuses on her clasped hands and thinks for a moment, letting a silence blanket over the table in which you find Ser Ulf again and make him squirm once more.

Addam catches you torturing the man this time and finds your gaze to shake his head at you and share a twitching smile that he doesn’t let himself fully express. You albeit don’t feel shame, you beam at him in return before you look away and return your focus to your mother.

“Alright,” your mother breaks the silence and drags her eyes up. “I will follow the Princess’s suggestion, but only after we put an end to the usurper, the Kinslayer, and Daeron.”

Your amusement dies and you look at the table with conflict.

“Once they are dead, the rest will bend the knee,” your mother continues to spew. “Slay their dragons so I may mount their heads upon the walls of my throne room. Let the men look upon them in the years to come so they might know the cost of treason.”

You agree with her, you want to show your support, but Aemond comes to mind and you can't muster the will to want him dead. You only hurt at the thought.

“Very well, so we are agreed then,” Daemon interjects and nobody voices any protest, bringing a conclusion to the matter.

“Good, now we can go to our respective tasks,” your mother chimes in. “Daemon will go after Aemond. Ser Hugh and Ser Ulf will set off to Tumbleton. Rhaena will return to the Eyrie with Morning to at last go through our part of our pact so Lady Arryn may finally send her men. Baela will return to Dragonstone to defend it, and Addam will remain here to defend the city. Seasmoke, Astraea, and Syrax will suffice for the defense of the city.”

You nod lightly without looking back at her since your thoughts have all returned to Aemond, to the point you stay glued to your seat until it’s just Ser Cane, your mother, and you in that hall.

“What is it?” Your mother tries to probe, but when you meet her gaze you offer her a soft smile and a different response than the one she was looking for.

“May I go with the others to the Dragonpit so I may take Astraea out? I’d rather have her out so she’s able to just fly in and fight if the need arises.”

Your mother nods right away. “I don’t see why not. Ser Cane, why don’t you accompany her, the others will depart with their dragons, I don’t want the princess to return alone.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ser Cane assures your mother of something he had already planned to do.

“Thank you, Mother,” you offer her before you finally rise from your chair and leave with Ser Cane, Rhaena, Baela, Daemon, and the other two Dragonriders toward the Dragonpit. Albeit the carriage is taking a longer way to avoid the smallfolk's wrath considering taxes were raised and they don’t like that they did.

“So Rhaena,” you interject in the silence and drift your gaze to her across from you. “Are you ready to shove it in the face of the old hag that you have a fierce dragon now?”

Rhaena scoffs and shares an amused smile with Baela before she responds. “She’s not old.”

You shrug and flick your wrist. “She was a bitch, so it’s the same thing. Shove it in her face.”

Rhaena smiles at her hands and you lean toward her. “Are there any cute knights or wards there?” You continue to pester her to make the ride more tolerable. “Someone who’s caught your eye?”

Rhaena’s eyes widen and she passes her father an awkward look before she looks back at you and whispers your name, making you scoff in amusement. “What? I can ask, I’m a married woman with a child, there’s nothing wrong with it. Ah! I can introduce you to some Northnermen if you want.”

Rhaena sinks further in her seat and Baela nudges your arm so you can keep teasing her sister, letting Daemon see the remnants of what you all used to be before this war tore your old selves to shreds.

“There’s Addam too,” you say and giggle. “Mayhaps you can stay here and…keep watch with the good knight.” You nod and Baela grins. “For I am too far along in this pregnancy to do a thing.”

“Stop,” she whispers and turns her head away to look out the window.

“I know! I’ll slip something in your late-night teas and toss you in a boat!” You exclaim. “Nothing screams romance like a good adventure!”

“Oh, a good adventure?” Baela whispers in your ear. “Is that what you and Lord Stark did?”

You snap your head to her and push her gently. “Baela,” you hiss between laughter.

“Oh and Addam is good with kids, Aerion adores him,” you keep trying to warm Rhaena to Addam. “And he’s funny and sweet.”

“Then you marry him,” she mutters, making you and Baela laugh.

“Oh well if Aemond dies, then Baela and I have decided to travel to Yi-Ti and there we will find our husbands bathed in gold,” you share lightheartedly as you and Baela hold each other's gaze and try not to burst out laughing. “If not well I hear Dorne has some very handsome bachelors. Or well…we’re up for anything really.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes and you and Baela just share a teasing smile before you pat her leg and let your face fall soft yet serious. “It’s not wrong to let yourself find some pleasures, Rhaena. It’s a war not the end of the world, so don’t forsake your heart's desires.”

Finally, Rhaena looks over at you and loses that annoyance she carried on her face and offers you a soft look before she nods in comprehension, making you smile at her before you drop your gaze and caress your belly as both Aemond and Cregan come to mind.

Will you curse your twins because you let your heart love too freely?

You didn’t mean to, but you couldn’t help what you felt either. He was oh so kind, his love just consumed you, and Aemond…you loved him since you were a little girl. Not because in the back of your head, you knew that you would be married off since you were Targaryen, no, your love for him was born from your own desires. Your love for him consumed you too. And now you’re paying the price.

What a travesty...

Not loving them, just the complication of it all.

Nevertheless, the rest of the ride to the Dragonpit is silent since everyone’s mind is on their tasks, on the war, and the worry over the Smallfolk possibly seeing the carriage.

They don’t but it's not like you would have worried either way because as messy as it would've been, Daemon and Ser Cane are with you. They would’ve handled things a lot better than Aegon’s Kingsguard did when it came to protecting Helaena and Alicent that one time.

Yet, since you weren't spotted in the carriage or walking in the Dragonpit, you all had an easy transition from the carriage to the pit where you go to unchain Astraea yourself.

“<Hello, my girl,” you greet your dragon who already has her eyes set on you. “I’m here to free you at long last.>”

Astraea groans and you chuckle as you pat her side.

“<I know you’re upset, but now you can be with Seasmoke, and hunt over the water with your heart's desire,>” you tell her which she huffs to in response.

Once you set her free she shakes her neck like a dog shakes their body and then turns her head to press her snout against your belly.

“<Ah,” you breathe out and caress her. “Yes, they’re getting bigger. Heavier too.>”

Astraea keeps her snout pressed against your belly, causing the babes inside you to start moving which in turn makes you start smiling in awe.

“Oh,” you coo before you lean down and press a kiss on the top of your dragon's snout, making her open her eyes and pull her head back to look at you with her pupils wide and focused on you. “<Are you still mad at me?>” You ask before you shoot her a grin and then turn around. “<Go out, I’m going to get Shyrkos out for Aerion.>”

Astraea does as you say and you do as said, taking Shyrkos out of her crate and letting her perch herself on your shoulder before she wraps her long tail around your neck. The moment you’re out of the caves you see that Rhaena and Baela had stayed behind to wait for you, albeit Astraea and Moondancer have both put a good distance between them and the wild dragon Morning, choosing to ignore her existence and sticking close together instead.

“Be careful, the both of you,” you direct at the twins. “And Rhaena, please no more running off.”

“The same goes for you,” she redirects, making you smile at the ground but say nothing in return.

“If you find yourselves in trouble send a raven,” you let them know. “I will try to be there. Or you know, I will let someone know.”

Baela scoffs and closes the gap between you to pat your belly before she grabs your hands and gives them a comforting squeeze.

“By the time I see you again you might have already birthed twins,” she says with a tiny smile. “I hope they're boys. Jace bet that you were going to have all boys. All seven of your children.”

Your breath hitches and your eyes soften at the sweet mention. “Did he now?” You ask softly. “Well, I hope he’s wrong. Aemond and I want girls.”

Baela grows physically disgusted at the mention of your husband's name so you leave it at that and just work towards ending the conversation. “Well, I hope Jace’s ghost knows he will be wrong.”

A sad smile appears on her lips and you mirror it before you stroke her knuckles with your fingers. “Until we see each other again, cousin. Take care.”

Baela meets your gaze and nods softly. “Until we see each other again.”

You offer each other one last smile before you meet up with Rhaena, and unlike Baela, you grab Rhaena’s cheeks, and she cups yours before you embrace each other.

“Don't strain yourself okay?” She tells you sweetly.

You nod but you can’t truly mean it, you just nod to assure her. “Don't get too wild now that you have a dragon, hm?”

She scoffs softly and nods too. Does she mean it or is she just assuring you like you did with her? Who knows, but you can’t pick at it so you let it be and trust that she’ll do the right thing.

“Take care,” she says as she pulls away.

“You too,” you return the comment before you step back and watch the twins go to their dragons. When Baela has mounted Moondancer, and Rhaena has mounted Morning and starts holding on for dear life since the dragon keepers say that the wild dragon is too old and wild now to be saddled, you walk them all the way to the exit, choosing to remain hidden under the shadows of the Dragonpit so you’re not seen by onlookers as you watch your cousins descend to the skies and get lost in the clouds.

After they're gone you stay where you are and Astraea walks to the exit to wait for your okay to leave since you haven’t mounted her to descend to the skies together.

“<Go,>” you let her go free from the confinements of the dragonpit which she probably thinks is a dungeon, and once she is also lost in the clouds you crave some freedom as well before you return to the Red Keep.

“Why don’t we walk back to the Red Keep,” you tell Ser Cane as he walks up to you.

“It wouldn’t be wise,” he says right away, making you turn to face him and throw a hood over your head that covers your hair and keeps Shrykos hidden.

“And if I close my cloak,” you trail on as you button your cloak and hide your elegant and expensive gown. “My gown is hidden. See. I am like them now.”

Ser Cane tilts his head up and looks at you with a quizzical brow. “I could overpower you and force you on the carriage,” he shares but not as a threat, more as a warning. “It would save my heart from strain.”

You flash him a smile. “Strain? Ser, it’s a simple walk. Besides I need it, the twins need it. The Maester says it’s healthy to walk. I must walk actually.”

Ser Cane draws in a deep breath as he narrows his gaze to a pointed look and weighs whether to disobey your desire or give in.

“It’s a long walk,” he says as he puts his hands on his hips. “We walk halfway. The carriage will be waiting for us at that halfway point so we can ride the rest of the way back home. It’s that or I sweep you off your feet here and now.”

You hold his gaze for a moment, feeling your smile turn to a grin before you beam at him and nod. “Okay,” you give in without a fight, making him sigh deeply in annoyance before he walks away to let the carriage driver know about the plan, leaving you waiting under the exit, wishing for the sun to return and once again bask you with its warmth.

Alas, the clouds are greedy and steal the sun’s spotlight, forcing you to bask in a winter chill instead, but you don’t curse it and wish to disappear, you welcome its cold embrace and you can only do that so easily because you’ve been surrounded by a colder climate. Otherwise, you too would cower inside your home to stay close to your fire, and not even dream about walking amongst the people who need to be out and about in the coldness, and those who don’t mind the winter's chill, like you do when you leave the Dragonpit.

“…barbarity! Demons!”

Shouts catch your attention, taking your gaze to a cobbler square down the street from the Dragonpit.

“They crawled out of the pits of the Seven Hells!” A skinny man proclaims to no one. No one is gathered around him, but he still carries this passion in his eyes and in his voice that doesn't let him care that he speaks to an empty square. “They are unnatural creatures made by sorceries of Valyria!”

You finally come to a complete stop and become the old man’s only listener.

“They are a curse upon our earth! Both Dragons and Targaryens alike!” He keeps proclaiming and shaking his fist and stump.

“Princess let’s keep moving,” Ser Cane presses as he grabs your arm, but you stay put, forcing him to stay behind like a tall lurking shadow.

“Risen from the vile cesspit where brother lay with sister and mother with son…”

You scoff at the lie and mutter. “Sheep.”

“…where men rode demons into battle whilst their women spread their legs for the dogs!” He continues and this time one single person takes their time to stop not so far from him and listen to the trash that comes out of his stinking mouth.

“Sheep,” Ser Cane echoes. “But in a time of fear the Shepherdless sheep gather around the bravest of them,” he speaks wisely, making you step back to fall by his side instead and continue to watch the old dirty man, but also steal glimpses at your sworn protector.

“The Targaryens escaped the doom, fleeing across the seas to Dragonstone, but the gods are not mocked!” The man follows up with more cruel words. “Now the second doom is at hand!”

“Yes,” the single person agrees, making the corner of your lips curl to a displeased frown.

“The False King and Whore Queen shall be cast down with all their works,” the old man continues to shout. “And their demon beasts shall perish from this earth!”

You fist your hands and start to narrow your gaze to a piercing glare.

“The Whore Queen birthed a demon who disguises itself as an alluring siren, but it walks amongst fire! It’s a Fire Demon!”

“Infected sheep should be taken out before it infects the rest of the flock,” you speak to your sworn protector as you keep your eyes trained on the old man spewing nothing but false claims.

“He’s an innocent and ill man, Princess,” Ser Cane responds without hesitation so his own advice doesn't go unheard. “Take him down now and the tension between the crown and smallfolk increases. They are looking for any wrong step to use as an excuse to revolt.”

You hum and study the scene while you listen carefully. “All those who stand with them will die as well! Only by cleansing King’s Landing of dragons and their masters can Westeros hope to avoid the fate of Valyria!”

“Fear clings to anger,” you speak up and slowly take your eyes off the dirty old man. “If we let him speak he can attract attention, but a shepherdless flock leads themselves to the slaughter.”

“Aye,” Ser Cane agrees. “So it’s said.”

“We either let him snuff himself out, or let the infection spread until that takes them all out.” You finish saying and then meet Ser Cane’s gaze to seek his thoughts.

“Yes, in matters like these, there’s no penetrating them. Not us…”

“They’ll see it as an attack. They’ll believe he’s right, turning them all against us,” you continue for your sworn protector. “If attention is what he manages to get, that is.”

Ser Cane hums. “Exactly. Best leave it be. Now come on.”

You hum and steal one last glimpse at the old man, but don’t let your gaze linger so he doesn’t catch you staring and manages to recognize you.

Yet even as you continue walking away you continue to probe on the matter. “If the infection doesn’t kill then, if they don’t lead themselves to slaughter…then what?” You ask. “If we kill them that would hurt us. His word and belief would be spread and kept alive.”

Ser Cane sighs and parts his lips to give you an answer. Yet before he can he points his chin at you. “What do you think we would do at that point?”

You blink and look around to find your thoughts, finding one in particular that you pick on. “If one person turns too many then…we infiltrate them, tear them down from the inside so they think they sabotaged themselves. That would turn his words and belief to nothing because the people want to be angry, but they won't want to suffer the same fate so their same fear will disillusion them.” You say and quickly return your gaze to Ser Cane, noticing his lips tug to a smile.

“Wise. Spoken like a true heir,” he praises you, making you smile proudly.

——

*NOT SO MUCH LATER*

“Just down there,” you let Addam know as he follows you downhill where you would sneak off to train, where ocean waves hit the stone platform, and you’re far from the busybodies that occupy the castle and have a chance at disbursing your peace.

“Are you sure?” Addam queries hesitantly from behind you before he jogs down to fall by your side. “I mean I don’t want someone to get the wrong idea.”

A smile flashes on your lips and you show your amusement to Addam before you tap your belly. “The wrong idea with these two? I’m sorry but given my current state I’m not considered desirable, so no one will think a bad thing at all.”

He huffs. “I think that carrying children doesn’t make you any less beautiful,” he tries to assure you.

“Thank you, Addam, but…it’s complicated, besides, Ser Cane is with us. He'll stop you before you can even form a mischievous plan, isn’t that right Ser?”

“I’ll push you in the water and no one will be the wiser,” he deadpans, making Addam confused on whether he’s joking or not since Addam can’t read Ser Cane like you can.

“He’s joking,” you soothe Addam’s worry before you nudge his arm. “Should I worry about you? You're quiet.”

Addam meets your gaze and parts his lips, but he lets a breath of air escape first before he forms his words. “Why do you trust me so wholeheartedly and not the other two? I haven’t given you a reason to deserve your devotion and yet you are devoted to me. I…” he trails off and drops his head, bringing you to a slow stop and forcing him to one too that has quite the distance in between.

“I am no one yet you treat me like you’ve known me our whole lives. In a way no one else has. No one here I mean,” he continues to say, making your lips form to a pitiful frown—“You have every reason to look at me the same way you did at the Gullet. The Velaryon name doesn’t change who I really am, so why?”

You swallow back a thick lump that forms in your throat and study his face twisted with insecurity and confusion.

“I…tend to trust too blindly,” you admit in a lighthearted tone. “It’s a problem that’s been brought to my attention before, so maybe you’re right, maybe I should doubt trusting you. I shouldn't rely on my beliefs, but,” you pause and take a couple of steps closer to him before you come to a stop and continue softer and with a hint of sorrow in your voice. “The truth is that you out of everyone here has made me feel less alone.”

You catch him by surprise, making him lift his eyes off the floor to look at you with disbelief—“That day at the Gullet I was a bitch, I was insecure about what I thought you were going to take away from Aerion and I had no right. I was wrong and I'm sorry. You are a very great guy from what I’ve witnessed so far, and ever since that night at the dinner, you’ve kept me from sinking into a pit of darkness.”

His breath catches and his lips twitch to a smile. “And you…have saved me from feeling alone without my brother while I stay in this strange place,” he shares, making you slowly grin. “So thank you for trusting me.”

You nod softly and blink repeatedly as tears sting your eyes. “Thank you…for reminding me how it feels like to laugh. It’s been only a couple weeks but having nowhere to go has made it feel like we’ve known each other for years.”

He laughs and nods in agreement. “It really does.”

You share a breathless laugh before you close the gap between you to pat his chest with your fist, making him look at the gesture before he lifts his fist and mirrors your actions, but in a much more gentle manner. It’s like a light feathered touch that you still feel and leaves you lingering in his presence for a moment longer before you finally continue down your path side by side.

“You know I always had these big dreams,” Addam shares. “And now that I’m out here doing something it's nothing like how I expected it to be.”

You sigh deeply. “Yes,” you talk softly. “I understand what you mean. Do you regret any of it though?”

Addam shakes his head. “Not yet.”

You pat his back and praise him. “Good for you.”

He meets your gaze and offers you a tiny smile. “Thank you.”

You chuckle before you skip forward to get a bit ahead of him. “Tell me, Addam. Now I'm being serious, how many sailor shanties do you know?” You probe and peer at him over your shoulder.

“Many but unfortunately I was not blessed with the right set of pipes to sing any,” he says before he shoots you a pointed look. “I hear you have a gifted voice. The Siren of Driftmark is your name, no?”

You flash him a smirk over your shoulder before you nod proudly. “Yes. I love singing, that's why I asked if you know sailor shanties. I want to learn more, and with my father gone, I have to rely on you. It’s too bad you can’t sing though, we could’ve formed a band.” You frown dramatically before you spin around and face your sworn protector.

“Can you play an instrument or sing, Ser?” You direct your question at Ser Cane, causing the man to lay his eyes on you and remain quiet for a long moment hoping you’d drop it, but you wait with your eyes on him the entire time.

“I can play the lute…quite well,” he reveals, making you beam at him.

“Great! Thank you for sharing, I shall keep it in mind for my own personal advantage,” you tease him before you turn back around and face the platform you’re approaching. “Thank you by the way Addam, for agreeing to come train with me.”

Said man scoffs. “You didn’t really give me an option. Using your power over me kind of forced me to train with you.”

“I had to,” you remark. “No one else will because I am with child. And a woman.” You complain with annoyance before your tone quickly flips to excitement. “But I do plan to keep my promise and teach you how to do archery from your dragon. I must teach you on the ground first though, I can’t just throw you in the water and tell you to swim.”

He hums and then giggles at your choice of words before he picks up his pace to walk at your side and reach the platform at the same time.

Yet, the moment you step foot on the stone ground a racing pair of footsteps echo, stealing your attention to the incomer who turns out to be Ser Jason.

“I’m sorry to disturb you Princess, but, the Queen Dowager has requested an audience in the throne room,” Ser Jason shares between heavy pants.

Yet as out of breath as he is you don’t take his news seriously. “The Queen can handle it by herself. I’ll stay here for this audience.”

Ser Jason shakes his head. “No,” he breathes out. “Alicent requested an audience with you alone in the Throne Room.”

You’re hit with overwhelming curiosity, slight surprise, and annoyance only because of course Alicent is requesting an audience with you without the presence of the Queen in her own throne room. It makes you wonder what she’s up to.

“All right.” You nod lightly before you draw in a small breath to give Ser Jason a command. “Let the Queen know of the audience. I want her to go.”

Without hesitation Ser Jason nods before he turns around and runs off again, letting you turn to Addam with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, perhaps we can come back later, or tomorrow. Is that fine?”

Addam nods, of course, and reassures you so you don’t feel guilty. “Of course it’s fine.”

You offer him a thankful smile before you retake the path you just walked and return to the Red Keep. Once you’re inside and approaching the Throne Room, you don’t linger back to wait for your mother. You know she’ll join you eventually, she’d be curious as to what Alicent could possibly want; that’s why you let the guards open the doors for you and let Alicent see you and believe that you're there to fulfill her request without an ulterior motive.

She must think you’re like her and her children, but you’re not and the moment you strut down the room with your nose in the air, bathing yourself in every beam of light that casts through the windows on the walls, she sees that. She didn’t want to see it before out of her own hate and pride, but as her eyes follow you down the great hall she sees just how much your presence alone steals the breath of the great hall.

She looks at you now and it’s like the sun came out of hiding to shine just for you. Viserys would tell you that all the time, “the sun shines just for you,” he would say from the moment you were born and he laid eyes on you for the first time. Alicent’s stomach always twisted with jealousy so she refused to acknowledge anything great about you, but here you are now, walking past her without sparing her a glance, as if you don’t exist in the same realm and she sees it. She sees you and you are what every heir should strive themselves to be.

You are everything her children could never be. She sees that and realizes how much Aegon would have benefited from marrying you instead, but then again you would have eaten him alive. Aemond and you could have been such a glorious example of what a ruling couple should be, but you are right, he is the way he is because of her, she wronged him. She wronged them all, she sees that and so much more, but doesn’t acknowledge it. She can’t, so she pushes it to the back of her head and instead notes that you don’t even climb the steps to the throne. You keep yourself at the foot of the stairs that lead to the throne and take command from there.

“Goodmother,” you greet her with surprise. “What a surprise.”

Alicent curtsies, causing her golden chains to rattle. When she’s up right again she meets your gaze and you continue to fill the silence. “To what do I owe this surprise? I mean an audience in the throne room without her grace is quite the scandal.” You chuckle dryly.

It’s almost like she herself had an ulterior motive. It’s like she wanted you to feel superior and steal control above your mother.

“I’ve come to plead for your help,” she reveals, piquing your interest. “I heard of your mother's plan to slaughter my sons and I must ask you to save them.”

Your lips slightly part in surprise but before you can think of uttering a word she continues.

“You love Aemond. You are married to him and share a beautiful child. Y-you were on our side once, so I must ask you to change again, to save Aemond, to help Daeron who is innocent in this war. And Aegon…”

You raise an eyebrow to await what comes out of her mouth for him.

“He’s an invalid now. He can’t father any more children. He’s a cripple. He will be no threat I swear, just please—You who has the power and the skill, please help me. Save them. Save Aemond and you can be the ones on the throne instead,” she pleads desperately with actual tears creeping out of her big brown eyes. “Please.”

You narrow your gaze to watch her closely and just as you gather a breath to respond, the doors open and your mother, the Queen walks in, pausing in her stride to look at Alicent who now looks baffled by your mother’s presence.

“Your Grace,” you greet her with a mischievous smirk as you curtsy. When she reaches you you move aside to let her walk past you before you swiftly turn around and follow after her. Albeit you stop by the Iron Throne to stand beside it and let her be at the center of attention to take command now.

“The Dowager Queen has sought my audience to beg the mercy of her children,” you tell your mother to catch her up. “She wants me to spare them from their fate, but Daeron is no innocent boy. He’s slaughtered men with the armies because of the war you helped start. And Aegon,” you pause to scoff finding it crazy that you have to tell her why he’s not worth saving.

“Did you know he barged in my quarters when Aemond left for Rook’s Rest,” you begin to share, feeling your mother's eyes on you, and seeing Alicent’s hurt at what you’re preparing to share—“It was no friendly visit. He didn’t come looking for his brother, he went in there drunk looking for me. Do you know why?”

Alicent averts her gaze and with that look alone you know she has an idea. Yet you still share it.

“It seems you have some idea, but I’ll share it anyway. He went there to grope me, to assault me while Aemond was gone because he knew I wouldn't fight back. He would’ve gone further if it wasn’t for my sworn protector barging in,” you sneer and glare at her for demanding the mercy of such a disgusting man—“I can’t imagine what he’s done to other poor girls who weren’t as lucky, but I’m sure you can and still you want me to save him? And all behind the Queen's back?” You scoff and look at her with disgust as you go quiet and let your mother interject now.

“Is this your plan Alicent? Scheme behind my back hoping my daughter will betray me? Then again why am I surprised? You promised to surrender Aegon and the Red Keep, and your son was gone proving you a liar. So I’m not surprised that you stoop so low,” your mother seethes, and Alicent shakes her head before she tilts it up to meet your mother's gaze and finally give a response.

“Is trying to save my children stooping low when it’s something you yourself would have done in my position? Can you blame me for trying to save them from such a fate?” She cries. “Is that a sin?”

Your mother shakes her head. “No,” she says back. “But going behind my back hoping to plot something with my heir is.”

“And she proved ever so loyal,” Alicent mutters. “I praise you for that, but please hear me,” she begs as she falls to her knees, making you and your mother share a look before you return your attention to Alicent.

“We can divide the realm. You could have the Vale of Arryn, the North, the Crownlands, all the lands watered by the Trident, and the Isles,” Alicent shares, making you smile at the floor—“Aegon could have the Stormlands, the Westerlands, and the Reach, to be ruled from Oldtown. Please,” she pleads with tears crawling down her cheeks and eyes, and that desperation breaking her voice.

Alas, your mother doesn’t even debate what she asks. She gives her a response immediately. “No.” She feigns a laugh and scorns her. “Your sons might have had places in my court if they had kept faith, but they sought to rob me of my birthright, and the blood of my sons is on their hands.”

Alicent drops to her hands and mutters something you and your mother manage to catch. “Bastard blood, shed at war.”

You quickly look to your mother and she rises from the throne right away but stays where she is to snap back.

Yet before she can Alicent continues to throw out her angry filled words. “How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance?”

“You tell me,” your mother spats. “If you hadn’t raised your son to take my throne their lives wouldn’t be put at risk, your lover and your brother wouldn’t be dead, and you would not be in chains, but alas these are the consequences of your actions.” She huffs and walks to where you are to continue. “Speak again of bastardy, and I will have your tongue out.”

Your mother turns swiftly and storms out. You linger behind and face Alicent to speak about her. “Have her locked in her chambers with no more visits from her daughter or grandchildren. If she wants to plot behind the Queen's back again, have her tongue cut out, and then we can decide where she goes.”

“Princess,” the guards say in comprehension and then bow their heads before they grab Alicent’s arms, whilst the Dowager Queen herself snaps her head up and looks at you with her eyes widened in horror.

“Your Grace?!” Alicent asks for your mother's support and your mother stops in her tracks but only supports you.

“Do as the Princess says. It will serve as punishment for what she tried to scheme today.”

You flash Alicent a sweet smile laced with malice before you give her your back and follow after your mother, finding yourself catching up to her right away and following at her side instead.

“Forgive me, Mother,” you interject once you put some distance between you and the throne room. “For giving Alicent that punishment just now and putting you in a difficult position where you had to choose my choice.”

“No,” your Mother doesn’t hesitate to answer. “You don’t have to apologize. It had to be done. She tried to scheme behind my back. She’s lucky that her punishment wasn’t more severe.”

Yet she’s unlucky that she got a punishment. Alicent almost returned to her quarters without consequence and all for what? Your mother's soft spot for her?

Then again can you blame her when you have your own soft spot for Aemond?

“You were quick and smart with the choice,” she praises you sweetly. “Good job.”

You can’t help yourself, you let a proud smile tug on your lips as those words have a way to make you feel flustered.

“I want you to accompany me to my chambers before we go visit the children,” your mother interjects with a colder shift in her voice, but when you face her you don’t see disappointment or something that tells you that she feels concerned and therefore you should too. You instead see her lips formed into a frown and her eyes slowly filling with conflict.

“Alright,” you give in and do as she says, proceeding to follow her to her quarters and see her walk to her bed to sit on the edge before patting the empty seat next to her.

You flash her a look of confusion but you also don’t sense that you should stay put or be hesitant, so you take her offer and lock eyes to speechlessly question why you’re in the position you’re in now.

“Why,” she begins quietly and drops her gaze. You follow her line of gaze, catching her fiddling with her rings—“Why didn’t you tell me about what Aegon did?” She finally asks what was troubling her mind and what made her bring you here. And you expect to feel tears, but your chest just tightens as you recall that memory.

“The truth is,” you pause and take a minute to collect your thoughts before you scale your eyes up and look at her averted gaze. “I’ve been trying to forget because maybe I was over dramatic. I…told Alicent now to make her feel bad and give her a reason why Aegon out of all her sons can’t be saved.”

Your mother slowly brings her eyes up and catches your gaze with her eyes brimming with tears and her eyebrows knitted together as anger, pity, and agony also fill her heart and become present in her features.

“But it’s not over dramatic. Aegon…he still took advantage of his power to take advantage of you,” she says as her voice breaks and trembles out of guilt. “It’s not over dramatic and I’m sorry you had to be in that position because of me. Because you wanted to fight for our cause.”

You lean forward and grab her hands to try and offer her consolation. “Don't blame yourself, okay? It was not because of you and it was not because of anyone else. The only one to blame is Aegon, okay? Just him.” You whisper and stroke her knuckles, causing your mother to look down at the way you’re softly caressing her before her eyes find yours again, and she then suddenly embraces you.

“I’m still sorry it happened,” she whispers and cups the back of your head to press you firmly against her.

Your smile trembles as the corner of your lips pull up to a wobbly smile. Yet as much as you feel the need to, you don’t cry, you hold your tears back and put all your emotions into clutching onto her as if fearing her comfort and her warmth will disappear if you don’t hold onto her. “Thank you,” you share your gratitude before burying your face in the crook of her neck.

After a while of being wrapped in each other's embrace you pull back but just enough to lay your head on her shoulder and have her lay her head on top of yours.

“Did you tell anyone at least? I would hate that you kept it in for so long,” she says softly in the silence, and you nod gently.

“I told Aemond, he comforted me about it and only spared Aegon because he was already half dead.” You scoff with amusement and find yourself smiling softly like some love-struck fool as you remember Aemond’s comfort.

“Hm,” your mother hums and you can sense her judgment, but she doesn’t say a thing about it, choosing silence over saying something offensive. She just can’t fathom Aemond, introverted, black sheep, and kinslayer Aemond being anything but angry.

“Are you…worried about Daemon?” You change the subject as you let yourself touch on a specific matter in hopes of relating to someone about this pit in your stomach that you feel every time you think about Aemond when you’re apart.

“When he’s away I mean,” you clarify. “When he’s in a dangerous situation like now. Do you ever feel a pit in your stomach?”

Your mother sighs deeply and takes a moment of silence before she gives you a response. “Yes. I never had a reason to feel it before,” she shares. “But I do now. Why do you ask, my Sweet?”

You shake your head gently. “I just wanted to know if it was normal. I wanted to know if anyone else felt it too for someone they loved.”

Silence follows once again. It lasts longer than before but once again she breaks it and this time she’s much quieter as if she’s being careful. Not because she’s afraid of hurting you, she’s afraid of hearing your response because she knows what you’ll say and she knows the pain that comes with it.

“Do you love him?” She asks.

You draw in a deep breath and after releasing a deep and shuddering breath you give her the response that makes her stiffen. “I do,” you speak softly with each word filled with sincerity and such an obvious affection. “I love him with all that I am. All that I’ll ever be. And all that I ever was. I try,” you breathe out shakily. “I try not to, trust me,” your voice quivers. “I try, but…I can’t let him go. My heart refuses to let him go. Even if I have love for another my heart still calls out his name. The very memory of him makes my heart sing and dance even though I know he’s done things to hurt me.”

“Why?” Your mother asks hesitantly even though she knows that question is stupid. She just has to ask because she can’t imagine how someone could love someone who's killed people they love, who’s pure evil and twisted with darkness.

“I,” you pause and take a small breath. “Love him,” you sigh. “Because he’s entangled in my soul. Because he loves me, every part of me, like the darkness that would scare many others away. Because he understands what it’s like to yearn for something that’s in our reach but couldn’t be ours. Because without saying a word he knows everything I feel and everything I want to say. Because I enjoy being the one to make him smile and laugh, and because he loves me in such a deep and selfish way that I have always wanted to be loved…and I could give you thousands of other reasons without growing tired, but I know you would so…that’s why.”

Your mother swallows thickly and understands why you stayed with Aemond as long as you did when you had every chance to leave him during the war. She understands the pain that shows on your face every time someone mentions having to kill him.

“But I know he can’t be mine forever,” you mutter and she hears it now, the pain that she can’t see because you’re not facing each other—“I know what has to happen. I…know,” you say something that you didn’t even have in mind, you just said it on the spot because if you said what you truly wanted to say, then it would be a lie. And even if you have lied, even if that’s not something you struggle with, saying that you made your peace with Aemond having to die can’t even form into words in your mouth.

“It will hurt,” your mother says softly as a way to warn you of the pain that you have yet to experience. “Every time you look at your children it will hurt because you will see him in them. But before you know it, your heart will sing and dance and swoon for someone else and all he’ll be is a memory of your long life.”

You nod and want to say those two words you uttered before, but you can’t even form them in your mouth, so you just nod so very lightly that it barely would count as a nod.

“Like Lord Stark,” your mother brings him up again. “You love him too, yes?” She asks.

“Yes,” your voice quivers.

Your mother wants to probe like she did with Aemond, but it wouldn't be appropriate so she’s just left wondering.

“He’s a good man from what I hear and he’s your friend, and I want you to know that you can choose who you want to be with. I won’t force you into a loveless relationship just for some political advantage, okay?” She asks for comprehension—“You have the freedom of choice.”

“Okay,” your whisper comes out shaky and you cling onto her more firmly than before as you seek her comfort for the ache that already torments you.

If only you could hold onto her forever. The world would feel safer that way and any pain would immediately be cured, but alas what you want can’t happen, so you let her go and try to fill the rest of your day with other things that won't make that torment hurt you any deeper.

And it works.

For a time.

“<Ready?>” You ask Aerion and his blue eyes turn to his dragon, letting you place another piece of meat in front of her. “<Dracarys Shrykos>,” you command, and the hatchling steps back before she blows out fire and burns the piece of meat, making Aerion laugh and then attempt to talk or give the same command, but he can’t form the words so he coos and Shrykos crawls to him and nuzzles her head against his chest.

You smile with awe and as you do an urgent knock raps on the doors, piquing your interest and turning your head to face them. “Come,” you welcome the visitor and watch the doors of your chambers open and reveal Helaena in her night attire and with her hair flowing down her back.

“Why can I not see my mother?” She gets right to the point as she averts her eyes. “I could not have dinner with her, and now I can not bid her goodnight, why?”

You share a speechless look with Vanessa and when you get off the floor she takes your spot to watch over Aerion, while you approach Helaena.

“Your mother has to be locked in her quarters because she wanted to scheme with me behind the Queen’s back,” you share even though you know that will offer her no comfort. “She’s already a prisoner so to spare her from death we took away her freedom. I’m sorry Helaena,” you speak confidently but yet in a comforting tone so she doesn’t stress out more than she already is.

Yet she can’t seem to accept her mother's fate. “But I always bid her goodnight, and who will I have dinner with now?”

You sigh and feel pity for her but you don’t take back your decision. “It had to be done. I’m sorry.”

Helaena shakes her head and begins to pace, making your ache for her even worse.

“Helaena,” you try to speak to assure her but she puts her hand up to motion you to be quiet.

“It’s all what must be done,” she mutters something you can barely catch. “Everything. Why?”

She stops so you make your way to her and try to cup her shoulder to have her give you her attention, but she then turns around by herself and looks at you with her eyes wide and glistening with tears, but also laced with distress.

“What will you do?” She directs her question at you now. “Aemond will die in fifteen days. What will you do about it?”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief as you feel that pit in your stomach again, followed with that deep heart aching agony.

“What?” You ask breathlessly and she clutches onto her hands and slightly narrows her eyes.

“It has to be done,” she remarks with a hint of frustration. “And you can’t do anything about it.”

You shake your head as you don’t accept what she just revealed even though everything inside you knows she’s not lying. Because why would she?

“No,” your voice cracks as you look at her with desperation.

“He was never going to live through this. Everyone knows that” she continues to say, bringing frustration out of you now—“It’s his fate. And nothing you do will ever change it.”

Tears break out of your eyes as you clench your jaw and look at her with frustration and anger before your emotions flicker to desperation. “Please,” you beg and grab her arms. “There…” you trail off as you think about her words, as you think about that son that you will have in a future that you accept and acknowledge that it’s how the story will unfold, but that part of you that loves Aemond blindly and with every part of you pretends to be clueless as to what you know to only focus on what you want.

“There must be a way,” you try to get an alternative out of Helaena since she knows so much, but her expression remains pointed and frustrated.

“There isn’t. What will you do about it?” Her voice slightly hisses, making you pull back and look at her with a slow-forming glare.

You don’t continue with an answer. The room is left deafening, and since you won’t give her what she wants she leaves and you’re left standing in your agony and desperation that is so blinding and demanding that it overwhelms you with the thought of one single solution. A daring thought.

You must go to him. Convince him to let this fight go. You have to find him.

Thus you march out of your quarters and take the path to Helaena’s quarters knowing that’s where she’ll be headed, and luckily she didn’t make it far at all so you catch up to her rather quickly. And when you’re face to face it’s that same desperation that demands her knowledge of Aemond’s whereabouts.

Helaena gives them to you so you march back into your chambers and right as the doors close, Vanessa presses you since she knows you all too well. “What are you doing? You cannot go after him. He can’t be saved. He won’t want to.”

You face her with agony clinging in your eyes that makes them glisten with unshed tears before you utter one single thing. “I have to try.”

It’s stupid. Foolish and thoughtless, but you leave the Red Keep through the tunnels, find Astraea resting in the cove she usually is to be close to you if a need arose, and at last fulfill that longing to get lost in the clouds.

Once again you’re leaving without saying a word, out of desperation and high emotions. Your stance is still with your mother, that hasn’t changed and won’t change anymore. You still have the need to fight in this war, that need hasn’t left either, but you have to try and save the man you love. You have to for the sake of your love, for the sake of simply trying to save him from his doom because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you love someone.

Leaving was selfish you understand, chasing after him was selfish but the disappointment your mother, your cousins, and even Cregan will feel when they hear you went after Aemond doesn’t cross your mind when you find him, and when your eyes meet in the middle of that lush and lively forest.

In a way, it feels like he knew you were coming, that you were going to be outside of the hut he’s staying in, but after he surpasses his own self-conflict between reality and an illusion, he’s completely overwhelmed with disbelief by your presence. The kind of disbelief that has his lips parting just slightly, and makes his blue eye wide and glimmery as the spots of moonlight that burst through the treetops enlighten his long and beautiful face.

“It’s you and me,” your voice travels through the quiet night, hitting his ears and only breaking it to him more that you’re not some illusion cast by his solitude and yearning to see you. You’re real, you’re there before him holding his eyes with a teary gaze that only makes your eyes that much more beautiful.

“You and me,” you whisper again and step forward, falling in the soft and bright white light that the moon casts down on the earth, making Aemond gasp softly as he sees how truly divine you look in your silk light sea-green gown that’s accompanied with a pearl and crystal chain over your torso.

Truly your beauty transcends that of the moons, the suns, and all and every goddess that ever existed. He’s always known it, but as you stand before him under the soft light of the moon that fact is much more true because you’re there for him.

How could he be so stupid as to make you leave him? And how could you be so stupid as to return to him?

“Now and forever,” you finish and make tears run down his face as he nods in agreement.

Your lips pull to a shaky smile as you see his reaction and before you know it a force that’s not your own pulls you to each other, causing you to meet in the middle and kiss as if you’ve been apart for decades and only had each other's imaginations to feel the taste of each other’s lips. Nothing of what happened only a couple weeks ago comes to mind, it’s like it never happened at this very moment. It's like he was never angry that you left. It’s you and him and your dragons in the middle of some forest in the Riverlands until it’s just you and him in that hut unable to even think of letting each other go.

You are one flesh, one heart, and one soul for who knows how long. All you know is the taste of each other's mouths, the feeling of each other's flesh on the tip of your fingers as you run them over the perimeters of each other's bodies, and the sound of every pant, gasp, and moan that leaves your lips.

It’s all bliss, every second that your bodies and hearts are intertwined. Nothing else matters, nothing continues to matter, and the definition of love, true love was, and is clear as you take in the sight of each other while you remain in bed ignorant to the outside world.

“You know,” he speaks in that soft and gentle voice that you love and makes you feel relaxed. “I saw Alys and she told me something,” he says and places his hand on your belly, piquing your interest.

“What?” You ask in a whisper against his lips as if it were a secret that the space around you can’t know.

A smug smile tugs on his lips and he glances down at your belly covered by furs and shares what he knows against your lips. “The twins are girls.”

You look at him with disbelief for a second before you begin to grin without even bothering to question him. “Really?!” You exclaim and throw your hand on the side of his face to cradle it and press your own face closer to him.

He hums in agreement and you pull back to turn and smile at the ceiling. “So it’s Daenys and Daenerys?” You muse as you caress your own belly. “Yay.”

“What about Daenys and Naerys?” He suggests but you don’t even consider it, you just turn him down right away.

“No, Daenys and Daenerys has a much better ring to it don’t you think? Considering they’re twins?” You quire as you turn back to your side to look at him.

“I suppose,” he mutters.

“You suppose right.” You nod, making him chuckle breathlessly.

“Aerion?” He asks when his laugh dies down.

“Big,” you share happily. “Scooting on his behind to get to places. And wanting to burn down the Red Keep with Shyrkos. He keeps wanting to say Dracarys but he can’t. Luckily.”

Aemond flashes you a grin and goes quiet. He then lets his eye wander down, and it’s at that moment that you bring your hand up to cup his face with the gentlest touch, and take your time to caress his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb while you just study his face slowly falling as he grows flustered by your softness, that he knows he doesn’t deserve you after what he did to hurt you.

“Forgive me,” he mutters and moves his hand up your belly to stroke a scar that is no longer marking your skin. “I hurt you that day and I’m sorry. I…” he trails off as his voice cracks and takes in a deep breath before he slowly finds your attentive gaze. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what I was doing. Harrenhal…was driving me mad. Every night I closed my eyes, I saw you die or I saw Lucerys. My greatest fear haunted me every time. My past followed. And it all chipped away at my sanity a little bit at a time until I couldn’t know between what was real and what wasn’t. And it’s no excuse, nothing could excuse what I did, but I needed to tell you,” he says with a deep breath that lets you see that weight rising off his shoulders.

“You understand right?” He asks for reassurance, and you exchange a breath in and out without changing that softness in your eyes and give him the reassurance he seeks.

“I understand,” you say sincerely and lean in to press a gentle kiss on his lips. “I understand you,” you repeat yourself against his lips, making him bring his hand up to clutch onto your cheek before he presses his forehead against yours.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile and butterflies flutter in your stomach before you echo his sweet words. “I missed you too.”

He hums and you hum back to tease him, holding his love-stricken gaze and taking a small breath in, leaving the room in silence. However, it’s in that comforting silence that the memory of why you came to him in the first place finds you, creeping into your mind and making your lips slowly lose hold of that smile, and making your eyes slowly droop and lose that happy glimmer that was caught within them.

Aemond notices your shift in emotions and looks at you with concern, but you can’t utter why you’re in agony so quickly with that breath you just drew out. You don’t want to ruin the moment that just had him smiling and enamored.

You want to live in the bliss for at least a second longer, so you close your eyes and stroke his cheek with your hand to be a part of that moment for just a little longer.

Just a few seconds longer…

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Next chapter someone finally croaks…

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber

[winniethewife]

My hand was the one you reached for (Cassian Andor X reader)

Warnings: angst, canon character death,

Words:440

“Cassian! Please don’t do this. This is a suicide mission.” She had managed to catch up to him after nearly chasing him across the base.

“I have to, the Rebellion needs me!” He says with an exasperated simile on his face. “It’ll be fine.”

“What about me, I need you, there’s no way you’re going to get the plans for that thing and survive!” She was desperate for him to hear her. to give the job to another unlucky guy, but she knows he won’t.

“Always remember us, always remember this.” Cassian takes her hands in his and squeezes them tightly. His chocolate brown eyes looking into hers, full of love and hope.

“I vowed not to cry anymore, not after everything” She says softly as she feels the sting of tears in her eyes.

“Shh…we just have to have hope. Fight for a better future.” Cassian reminds her. he presses a kiss to her knuckles.  “Remember when you said I have to trust more freely? Can you trust me to come home to you?” She laughs and shakes her head at him.

“You were playin' with fire, still are as far as I can tell.” She mutters. “Fine, but you better come home.” She sighs. Cassian pulls her in for a tight embrace.

“We’re going to win this darling. I know it.” Cassian smiles at her.

“I hope so.” She chuckles.

“I know so.” He said lovingly.

~

When she found out what happened on Scarif She was devastated, but she fought harder than ever over the next several years. With hard work and determination, they did win. She stood on the surface of Endor as the sky lit up with fire. But her hands felt empty, without his hand in hers. One day like many before she went to the memorial of the fallen Rebels on Coruscant, it was the closest place to a grave site she had to visit. She sat on one of the benches. She looked up to the sky.  

“Cassian…I can’t Believe it’s been 5 years since…Since I lost you. You have no idea how much I miss you. I thought the worst was over, but these days filled with nothing, with keeping the peace and governing? I almost miss the war. Mostly I miss you. I know you’d want me to move on with my life, but…It feels impossible, I vowed I would always be yours, I can’t see myself with anyone else. I can’t.” She spoke to nothing, but for a brief moment she feels the breeze move around her, a familiar warmth, a gentle embrace. Then the feeling passes. She smiled.

~

Series Masterlist

[cozzzynook]

Bit of some Angsty Worldbuilding and Younger Megatron angst

Deep in the mines of Tarn we know medicine and any medical help is rare for the lower class workers unless it a dangerous and contagious illness. So that means any protection to prevent sparklings is very rare and far in between, meaning a lot of workers end up sparked with unwanted sparklings. The Foreman's barely bat an optic at this as a new future worker is just more free hands and its a lot easier to wait a few years than to hope another Miner gets transferred over. They even encourage the workers to pair off and have as many sparklings as they can as they don't know when a mine could collapse or when they will be transferred to a new mine. Some Foremen even turn a blind optic or encourage 'less consensual-ways' of having a Sparkling.

Megatron knew he wasn't sparked with love between his Carrier and Sire they just wanted the Foremen of their backs, They didn't even name him so he was simply named D-16 by the other workers and Foremen. Of course he hated that he was simply just given a number and expected to just follow in the pede steps of his creators when he was old enough to sire or carry. The young miner knew he couldn't bare the feeling of forcing another bot to interface or bring a sparkling into such a dark lifeless world, so with help from his Mentor he escaped the mines and Tarn then made a dash for freedom. He promised he wouldn't return to Tarn unless he brought freedom with him so that no other Bot or Sparkling will spend their lives in the dark tunnels they call home.

He renamed him self Megatron and spent most of his youth in Kaon learning to fight in the gladiator pits as well as learning what he could when he could. Its there when he met his trusted friend Soundwave who told him about a little rebellion in Nyon lead by a Red/Gold Speedster called Hot Rod.

Who knows maybe this little bot could be the key to freedom for his and Hot Rod's people.

My brain went, ooooh this is how megarod can keep the war from happening but the senate is evil and does something horrible like kill their sparklings making them both fall to the pits and the war happens because Megatron is running on pure rage and grief while Hot rod is just a shell of himself that goes away to rot alone.

I just like causing pain at this point so maybe i’ll spin it and say Megarod but they don’t have a war and end up living their lives traveling to multiple cyber planets helping decolonize the functionalist regime

[heliads]

Requesting a Clove x reader fic where the two have known each other since childhood! While Clove is an aspiring Tribute, the reader is from a super privileged District 2 family who’s exempt from the reapings, for some reason. (they were close allies with the capitol, ever since the first rebellion?? they train peacekeepers or make high-tech weapons?? Idk.) The reader always knew that Clove dreamed of participating in the games, and as her BFF (best friend-turned-girlfriend), she’s always supported her in her endeavors. Hell, her main motivation in learning hand to hand combat, even though she will never need to, is just so she can spar with Clove whenever Clove can’t train with anyone else. the reader probably still sucks though.

About a year before the 74th Game, the reader realizes just how close Clove is to being “ready.” And it scares her more than anything. She still tries to support Clove, and she still helps her practice occasionally, but she is clearly losing her enthusiasm each time Clove discusses or demonstrates her progress. Whether or not Clove has to convince her, the reader eventually spills out her fears for what will happen in the arena, verging on begging her not to volunteer next year. No matter how much she wants to trust Clove, she can’t fight down the dread that now shadows her 24/7. 23 enemies (especially the other Careers, they can’t be allies forever). Mutts. Bad weather. Dehydration, starvation, illness. There are too many things that can easily go wrong, so how could she possibly be okay with her best friend/girlfriend leaving?

This is of course an angst request, but here’s where you can decide if it stays that way! Does this become an AU where Clove later decides that she won’t volunteer, even if it means throwing so much away? The glory and her many years of preparation? The expectations of her peers, teachers, neighbors and family? (But that’s okay, the reader is willing to use her own family name to back her up if she has to.) Or is Clove just too far invested, and there’s no turning away from her life purpose? If that’s the case, then… the reader needs a big fucking hug, and she’ll be there to say goodbye before Clove leaves for the capitol.

just realized that this actually works as a prequel to my other clove request, which is dare i say iconic. also anon you must know that if you offer me a chance for angst i will never turn it down! !

masterlist

If someone were to listen to the gaping cavity in your chest, you think they’d hear the thud of a throwing knife against a target instead of regular heartbeats. It certainly feels like that, at least; you must have spent hours in the training room just today, and that’s not even mentioning every other day in your past and future.

That’s how it must be, though. Someone has to train until they’re as close to perfection as a human being can get. Someone has to be able to kill twenty-three other tributes until they’re the only one left standing. Someone must do all this, and that someone must be Clove.

The idea of prepping your girlfriend for the arena is somewhat morbid, but it’s not as if you truly had a choice in the matter. Clove made you swear to help her when you were small, and you’ve never been able to hold her in anything less than your word. If you really think about it, what you’re doing here is saving her, not damning her. By ensuring that Clove is as good as she could possibly be, you do all you can to keep her alive when she’s finally beyond your reach as a competitor.

Besides, it’s the least you can do. You won’t be in the Games, after all. Your name is not in the Reaping, nor has it been any of the other years you’ve technically been eligible. That’s the way it went for your father, and for his father before him. The Capitol does not like sparing any of the districts from the Hunger Games, but for a family they need in Two, certain exceptions were made.

The first lesson your family taught you was how to make yourself important. You should always have debts owed to you, favors that need to be paid off. That’s how you stay alive, how you stay out of trouble, and, most importantly of all, how you ensure that your name will never be called to participate in the Hunger Games. 

In a place like District Two, where volunteers are commonplace, taking part in the Games is a source of pride. Lurking in the back of everyone’s mind, though, is the sickly truth that they’re not an honor but a chance to die. Sure, you could win it, and earn your family honor and respect, but you could lose the Games and have your life ended before you even saw twenty.

Your family knew that they needed to find a way to permanently stay out of the Reaping, so they played their cards right during the war and it paid off. Your family closely allied themselves with the right people in the Capitol, and so when the Hunger Games started, the leader of Panem made a rule that the names of anyone in your bloodline would never be called. 

It was their only choice. Your family found a way to deeply involve themselves with the organization of the Peacekeepers. Without your relatives there to keep all of the branches interacting with each other in the best, most efficient way, the entire system would fall to pieces. There was a bit of dispute around that point when your grandfather was first running things, so he proved his points by stepping away. Nothing worked– the Peacekeepers in each district lost communication with each other and the Capitol in hours.

After that, they didn’t test you any longer, and your family was allowed to stay out of everything. It was an unspoken agreement that carried on no matter the leader of Panem, no matter the generation of your family. Your grandfather passed on the responsibility to your father, and you’ve been receiving the necessary training such that, when you finally come of age, you will be able to take it from him.

For the sake of pretense, all of you still entered your name on Reaping Day like everyone else, but the slips of paper would be removed before the ceremony began. That was to be expected, though. Divisions arise when people have a sense of inequality. If you want to stop the rebellions from arising, you reduce the visibility. You can’t grow outraged over unfair circumstances if you have no idea that the unfair circumstances exist at all.

To account for this, only the members of your family know that you’ll never enter the Reaping. You can play it off as good luck, and so long as you’re not obvious about it, no one will think twice about the fact that no L/N has ever entered the Hunger Games. Citizens are already distracted by the looming terror that one of their young ones could die within a month. No one’s tracking back your lineage to examine how many people you’ve lost.

You did tell one person, though. It couldn’t be helped. You and Clove tell each other anything anyway, how could you keep a secret like this? She made you swear to help her train years ago, but when the first year of Reaping eligibility finally started rolling around, Clove was confused as to why you weren’t training as vigorously as she was.

The answer you gave hesitantly, after consulting with various relatives to make sure you wouldn’t be damning most all of your loved ones. Clove took the news surprisingly well, actually. Maybe it’s because you were one fewer target that she had to take out. You were no longer a threat, which meant that you could instead be a friend. And then, later, you could be more. You could be someone she loved.

Loving her was inevitable. If you spend hours every day with another girl, if the two of you start sleeping over in each other’s rooms so as to not waste a single moment as the Games draw closer every year, if someone looked at you the way Clove did, of course you would fall. The falling was the easy part. Having to live with it was harder.

In the decades to come, you think you’ll look back on those years as the best of your life. Training always ramped up closer to the Games just in case; although Clove planned on volunteering when she was older so she’d have the best chance of a decisive victory, there was always the possibility that her name would be called before she was ready. Clove simply had to be prepared for anything, and so you cleared your schedule so you could help her out.

And so the days would pass, bleeding into weeks and months. You’d meet her at the District Two training center, or maybe the two of you would walk together. You learned combat for the sole purpose of being able to let her practice even better. You’d spot her while she was lifting weights, judge her form when she couldn’t watch her back, and do everything in your power to make sure she was going to win when the time came.

You have a thousand such memories stored in your head, of Clove throwing her first series of successive bullseyes and nearly tackling you to the ground from hugging you so hard; her exultant grin every time she could lift more, throw harder, do better; how she used to grab you around the waist with that mad laugh and tell you that she was going to do it all. You believed her, how could you not? How could you do anything but nod along, lost in her ferocity for life?

You loved her from the start, maybe. It was something you were born to do. You stood in her shadow and it did not darken your spirit, for it gave you the chance to watch her thrive and that would be enough for you, it always was. She was glorious. You were you. It had always felt uneven, but that was alright so long as you could just keep her.

The keeping her was the problem, though, as it would turn out. Clove wanted to volunteer, she always had. District Two raises golden tributes who can win better and faster than anyone else. Her end goal was always entering the Games so she could come out the other side with that title. It was her plan from day one, and you knew that, but somehow it still stunned you when she finally announced to you that it would be time to volunteer.

Your first reaction was disbelief. It was, of course, something that you were aware of the entire time, but it was wrong now. Clove volunteering was always something distant, an event that wouldn’t happen for years. It’s real now, though. It has always been real, but for once, you have to face it.

Selfishly, you had tried to talk Clove out of it, asking her not to volunteer. If her name was called, of course she would enter the Games anyway, but why put herself in unnecessary danger? You begged and pleaded, you asked her to stay out if not for her own life than for yours, but Clove just laughed and said you wouldn’t have to worry, because she would win. Of course she would win. There was no world in her mind in which she would die.

Still, you tried to persuade her otherwise. You still helped her train, but your enthusiasm flagged by the day. You were no longer protecting her from death, you were preparing her for her own demise. You encouraged this in her. You are to blame if– when– she dies. It will be her blood on your hands, and that will be something you will never be able to forget.

All of your attempts come to naught. The Reaping still comes, and although Clove has not promised you anything outright, you find it hard to believe that you’d be able to break through so many years of propaganda to make her realize that her life is worth more to you than her dying in the Games for glory that would only end up someone else’s. It doesn’t matter that you would put your family name on the line to keep her safe, this is what Clove wants, and you’ve known her long enough to recognize that it’s what she will get.

On Reaping Day, you find yourself lining up with the other District Two girls to learn who will become your tributes for the coming Games. You have never feared the Reaping; why would you, when you know for certainty that you and your family would always be safe? Now, though, your entire frame is wracked with terror. Either Clove’s name is called or she will put herself in. There is no way you win.

The designated representative from the Capitol takes to the stage, and then they reach their hand inside the glass vessel enclosing the names of all the eligible female contestants. The Capitol rep reads out a collection of syllables, and it is not Clove’s. You feel one wave of relief crash into you, and it takes everything in you to stay standing. That’s one possibility eliminated, at least.

You look over at Clove and you feel sick to your stomach, all confidence from before evaporating just as quickly as it came. She’s got that look in her eyes again, and you know what’s coming before she can form a single word. This is how it ends, then. This is how you lose her.

And then, at the very last moment, someone else could volunteer before Clove. The fate of the female tribute from District Two would only be decided because someone else was able to raise their voice faster than your girlfriend. It would be so easy for everyone to brush off the whole affair. It’s what they expect to see, after all. There’s a brilliant Career volunteering, and maybe it wasn’t Clove, but it’s still one of their own.

You, though? You were watching. It would be so simple if Clove just waited. It would have been just a half second’s pause, but it would be enough. No one would know. No one would have known but you. A thousand intricacies in one poorly timed breath, and Clove would stay alive. Easy as that.

But then Clove tugs the other girl down, shoves a hand over her mouth before she can scream, and yells that she will volunteer. This is not your imagination. This is not all the scenarios you can conjure up in your own head. Clove will never back down, and so despite your best attempts, you will never be able to escape this.

Clove is in the aisle before you know what’s going on. She’s marching towards the stage with that determined gaze she’s always worn so well. The Capitol citizen asks Clove her name and she answers, her hand is raised, the crowd cheers. You stare at her in horror, and she grins proudly. This is what she’s always wanted. You knew she would get it.

You find her afterwards. Tributes are allowed to say their goodbyes, and your family knows you enough to make room for you once they tell her to win. Your fingers find holds in her clothes, and you beg Clove to find some way out of this. Say it was a mistake. Say you said the wrong name, that you took the chance from another volunteer. Find some way to come back to me.

Clove would never listen. It’s all in her hands now, and you can see the excitement building in her chest as she thinks about it more. In moments, she will board a train to the Capitol, and then she will win the Games and you will be sorry for doubting her. Clove has dreamed of this while you were dreaming of her death. She knows exactly how this will play out.

Clove leans over to you, says I’m doing this for both of us, and then she’s across the room in the blink of an eye, telling the Peacemakers that she’s ready to go. The last sight of her is the vicious, glimmering girl you’ve always known, and then the doors slam shut behind her and she is yours no more.

You see her die when you’re least expecting it. She made it past the initial bloodbath, past the splitting of the Careers, past all the twists and turns of fate. You honestly thought she would win by that point, even though Cato was still in it. Clove had told you privately once that she would kill any of the other Twos were they to be her fellow tribute, no matter how strong an ally. She would never hesitate, and she would win. You believed her.

Clove doesn’t get the chance to prove herself right or wrong. She dies trying to kill Katniss Everdeen, that revolutionary from District Twelve. Clove was taunting her, taking her time about the kills. It was a mistake, and it haunts you to know that’s what her district will think of her. They won’t remember her bravery for joining the games, they’ll point out that one flaw in her perfect game to their children so the next generation will be even better.

You miss her night and day. You still expect the Capitol trains to bear her back to you when the Games are over, and it takes your brain some convincing to realize that Katniss and Peeta won the Games this round, not your lover. She’s yours no longer. She’s yours forever. Yours and that of the cold, dark earth in which you buried her empty casket. The grass grows over it now, thick and green. You knot your hands in it when the going gets tough and you scream at her for leaving you. She never answers.

It sickens you later, poisoning your mind against everything you’d ever held dear. This was their golden girl, their Clove, and when she died, they all tossed her aside like a bloody rag doll. She gave them everything and they can’t even remember her properly.

Another war comes soon. It brings rebellion to your very doorstep. Soon enough, they find you, and tell you that there are ways to help their cause. If you were not so foolish to admit it, you think you might even be listening.

If you were to do it, you’d do it for her. Clove always taught you to never back down. You think of her, and you enter the fray.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope