aviawrites

[aviawrites]

Hello - just letting you know, the masterlist link in your bio appears to no longer be working for mobile.

Love your work!

I’ll relink, thanks!

[aviawrites]

This is so kind!! I am too afraid to pursue writing offline, but I’m working on it. Thank you!!

wait for me (sinners)

!s: smoke x female!oc

summary: Rue has worked for years to forget Elijah Moore and what he left her with before he ran to Chicago. But when she sees his ambitious twin in the square, all of their history comes rushing back. (3.1k)

a/n: it has been so long, but Sinners is truly a movie in its own category. i also need to preface that i am black for this story. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), mentions of child loss, abortion, sex, racism

in this story, our characters name is: Rue

Elijah Moore and I never had a complicated relationship. Hell, Smoke might even say we had none at all. But for years after he ravaged me in that car outside of the bar, I thought about him every night. We were together, I’d say — Boyfriend and girlfriend for as long as his grief consumed him. But the moment Annie found out, Smoke disappeared from my arms and was at her feet, begging for forgiveness. I don’t blame her, not in the slightest — I can only imagine that those were some of their darkest times.

Elias, on the other hand, him and I had a complicated relationship. When I found out that Smoke left a piece of himself in me, there was no way I could tell him, not after what he’d just been through. So I went to the closest thing to him, Stack. And although what we had is never to be considered romantic, there was something there — Familial, even. He knew it, Mary knew it, and for that very reason I was never allowed within an 100 foot radius of the twins until the day they left, not if I wanted to feel welcome.

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📍 Train Station || 12:00pm

The feelings from all those years ago bubble up inside me and form a twist in my gut when I see that all-too-recognizable burgundy top hat. My feet move before my mind can stop them, and in no time I’m approaching my old friend.

Stack flashes a gold toothed smile. “I’ll be damned.”

I return the nicety, pulling him in for a warm hug.

“Word spreads fast,” I nod. “Y’all still got the same appeal you had all them years ago.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, darling. I know it.” His cocky smile takes me back, the only thing differentiating him from his brother being his energy.

“Do I even want to know why you came back?”

“You heard it as good as I did,” he gestures toward little Preacher Boy and the old man. “We’re opening a Juke Joint tonight, right there down at the old mill.”

“Y’all never could stay still. Chicago wasn’t change enough for you?”

He shrugs. “Figured we should deal with a devil we know. Besides, we miss the tricking.”

“Mmm,” I hum. “Well if Miss Pearline back there is singing, I might just pay this Joint a visit.”

Stack looks past me and at the polka dottted woman walking away from Preacher Boy. 

“Shit, if that’s what it takes for you to come, it’s done.”

Always so charming.

He ogles me, his eyes scanning up and down my exposed arms.

“What’s this?” Stack rubs his fingers over the dark ink lining my skin — Art ranging from numbers to symbols to simple symmetric images. 

“You know I’m an artist, boy,” I pull my arm back, scoffing. “Figured I’d get a few permanent ones to remember a few things.”

“And you talking about we couldn’t stay still. I’ll be visiting to get a look at those paintings of yours one of these days.” Stack’s grin begins to fade as he looks over my shoulder. 

Preacher Boy walks up and nears his cousin. “This white woman’s been staring at you-“

“Yea, I see her…”

He shoos Sammie away and tries to walk me off, but I’m already well aware of what shark is in the water — I can hear her heels clicking behind me.

“Now is this Smoke? Or is that Stack?”

I turn my head. “Hi, Mary.”

No response. Only a rough shoulder check as she stands in front of me and nears Stack.

He looks over her head and at me. “I’ll holler at you, Rue-“

Mary interrupts. “No, you’re not talking to fucking Rue right now. You’re talking to me.”

Stack huffs, looking back down at the woman dressed in pink. I give him a ‘have fun dealing with that’look before turning and catching my train. 

Of all the women wrapped around the twins’ fingers, Mary has got to be the most spiteful of them all. For no good reason, though. Contrary to her belief, I never once slept with Stack, never even thought of it. But as far as she knows, I kissed him all the way to where the sun don’t shine, and then some.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

This old mill has lit up under the construction of the twins. People hoot and holler as Pearline ignites the stage, turning into the musical beast I knew she would the minute she started singing. Having no dance partner, I simply clap along, moving my body to the beat alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the same damn burgundy hat that I saw only hours ago.

I can feel Annie’s eyes burning holes into my skull as I sit at the bar, Stack walking up to me.

“Now who the hell did y’all rob to afford this place? Ain’t this being sold from the Klan?” I shout across the bar, my voice being drowned out by Pearline’s Pale, Pale Moon.

Stack shakes his head. “Not klan, just crackers. You know we got money, girl. Don’t do that.”

“Yea, well blood money don’t count. So how much you got now?”

He pulls his pockets inside out, amusing me.

I chuckle, placing my money on the bar. “Y’all have blackberry bourbon smash?”

“I don’t know if I can do that for you…” 

His fake frown quickly turns into a grin as he takes the money, relaying my order to Grace.

“Fancy motherfuckers,” I mumble.

“What was that?” Stack eggs me on.

My eyes scan the bar, but all I can focus on is that hateful scowl on Annie’s face.

“I said all these women hate me.” 

Stack scoffs. “Only those particular women.”

‘That’s more than enough for me’ I think.

He leans in, his lips grazing my ear.

“You know none of these girls got shit on you, Rue. They ain’t half as strong either.”

A small smile grows on my face, matching Stacks. He goes to hand me back my cash, but I slide it back to him.

“I don’t need it,” I front.

“Yea, well me neither. So you gon’ fucking take it.”

I roll my eyes, pocketing the change and standing with my drink. I’ve barely made it away from the bar when cigarette smoke cascades from over my head. Instinctively looking up, I finally see him. 

Smoke stares down at me from the balcony with that hard expression he always wears. It’s so strange, seeing that rock solid glare. When we first met in a dingy bar on the side of a dirt Mississippi road, he hung his head low and seemed to always have glossy eyes. I didn’t believe him when he told me he was Smoke. When he fucked me that night, and many a nights after that, it was slowly — With passion, and often tears followed the act. But now his eyes are as dry as a dessert and they pierce a hole through mine. 

He takes another blow of his cigarette before turning his back to me, retreating into a room. I have no choice but to follow him, even if it’s just to get yelled at to go away as he did the last time we met. I take my time, downing my glass of bourbon as I walk up the stairs. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but my heart thumps in my chest just before I open the door, all of the thoughts of what we could’ve had rushing back to my mind like they did eight years ago.

I enter the dimly lit room, closing the door behind me and leaning on it.

“Hello, Smoke,” I say lowly, unable to read his face.

“Why you here, Rue?” he grumbles, a roughness to his voice. “I’m already stressed the fuck out with this opening shit. Stack ain’t helping.”

“I don’t want no trouble. Just came for the music.”

“You being here is plenty trouble enough.” He scans my body the same as his brother, blowing his cigarette again. “You can’t find music no place else?”

“You want me to leave?” I ask honestly.

“Yea, I want you to leave. You think those women down there want you to leave too or are we acting stupid tonight?”

“They never even tried to like me, Smoke,” I sigh, my legs bringing me closer to him. I place my hand on his bicep, like I did all those years ago. “They got no idea what we had.”

He puts his hand on mine, pulling it off. “That was a moment of weakness, Rue. Whatever you think we had is gone now." 

I blink to avoid tears from forming. My first ever love, my first ever relationship being chalked up to a moment of weakness chips away at my heart. If it’s what he has to tell himself to dig out of the deep guilt he feels, so be it. But he won’t sit in front of me and act like what we had wasn’t real — Like it isn’t still there.

“So you're saying if the Juke was going good and Annie wasn't watching you like a hawk that you wouldn't entertain me? Wouldn’t consider us?"

Smoke shakes his head. “No, I really wouldn’t.” His brows furrow as he looks at me, seeming to remember a detail that he had previously forgotten. “And your cheating ass can take your business elsewhere.”

I can’t act surprised, not anymore. We allowed him to believe my infidelity as truth, Stack and I. Letting him think I went after his brother was easier than letting him know what Stack was really helping me do…At least it was in the moment. But as he stands in front of me now, I want nothing more than to ease his pain, calm his anger, and tell him the truth — Even if solely to stop him from loathing me so greatly.

“I didn’t cheat on you, Smoke.”

“Bullshit,” he stops me. 

“No, listen,” I step toward him. “I respected what you and Annie had, Smoke. I really did. And I understood that the loss of your baby caused you to make decisions that you might regret, even if that decision was being with me. So when you told me to leave you alone, I did. But I didn’t know if that still stood when I found out that we had a baby…”

The words feel odd coming out of my mouth. I tried so hard at the time to disconnect myself from it, calling the baby a thing inside my stomach rather than what it was: Mine and Smoke’s child.

His brows have smoothened out now and he’s actively listening, his eyes flashing from my face to my stomach and back to my face.

I continue. “I didn’t visit Stack all those nights to get at him. Smoke, I never wanted anybody but you. But God put it on my heart to give you and Annie peace, so we went at it alone. No one knew. He paid a few women to make the drink without telling them who it was for. It only took a few hours for the bleeding to start…”

My voice trails out. I’m unable to finish as flashbacks to that night replay in my head. My mama held me tighter that night than she ever had before…I hated Smoke that night more than I ever had before.

Tears line his eyes now.

He chokes on his words, his voice now much lower. “Don’t you lie to me, Rue…” 

“I wouldn’t lie, baby,” I assure him.

I hold my arm out for him, revealing the tiny footprint tattooed on my wrist, a small E underneath it. 

“We couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling it was a boy. Ezra, I was thinking. Stack hated the name but…” I shrug. 

Smoke runs his thumb over the tattoo, holding my hand in his. He attempts to discreetly wipe his tears, but I see them all the same. Looking up at him, his face can only be compared to the face he made when we spoke about his late baby, which wasn’t often at all. A mix of anger, sorrow, and fear. 

Perhaps he’s considering what could have been, just like I used to — Just like I still do. I used to curse God for putting me in such a position. A second chance for Smoke to be a father, but at the worst of times. I’d have dreams of talking to a clone of myself, telling her that she owed it to Smoke to tell him about the baby. It’s only now that I really see the consequences of my decision.

Smoke looks at me, and then at the door. It’s as if a switch has flipped and he’s forced all of those emotions to turn into one…anger. He reaches for the door, but I lean against it.

“Smoke, it’s already done,” I tell him, holding my hand against his chest. “I just couldn’t take you hating me no more.”

“Move out the way, Rue,” he says, not hearing a word I say.

“I don’t want to cause a scene, Smoke. Please.”

“You think I give a fuck about causing a scene? Move out of the fucking way.”

“Smoke, it hurts enough as it is-“

“You’ve got one more time, woman.”

“There’s nothing we can do now!”

He wraps a hand around my arm, yanking me just enough to pull me away from the door and swinging it open. I run out behind him, but he’s already looking down the overlook.

“STACK!” he shouts down, the name echoing through the building. 

Everybody looks up, including Mary and Annie. Stack stares up at us, blowing smoke through his nose, before turning back to the crowd. He tells them to resume, nudging Sammie to keep playing. After a moment of silence and a few stray whispers, the music begins again and Pearline starts her singing. Mary holds Stack close, asking him not to go — But as always, the twins do what they want when they want. As Stack rounds the corner, I retreat back into the room, unprepared for what reaction he might have.

He’s barely entered before Smoke pins him against the wall, his forearm over Stack’s chest.

“The fuck?”

“Is it true?” Smoke demands, maintaning his cig in his pinning hand.

I close the door, shouting over the music. “Smoke, stop!”

He ignores me, continuing to press his brother. “Un uh, I asked you a question, nigga. Did you know she had my baby?”

Stack’s eyes shoot from Smoke to me. I can only nod, giving him permission to tell the full truth as I just did. Stack relaxes, putting his hands up.

“I only did it to protect you, mane.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“You gon’ let me go so I can explain?” 

Smoke lingers before reluctantly letting his brother go with a shove. He puts a hand in his pocket, staring Stack down.

He gestures his cig at his brother. “Talk.” 

Stack smoothens his suit, lighting one of his own. “You know I don’t like that shit, Smoke-”

“Talk.”

He sighs, putting on a smile once more as he tries to explain calmly. 

“When y’all two broke shit off, we had no idea we were even going to Chicago, Smoke. Shit, I still thought you and Annie were gonna get married and buy you a house. Rue said you told her to stay away to make that happen, so I helped her stay away. Now we both know she’d never forgive you if you had a baby with another woman.”

“But my baby is none of your fucking business, Stack.”

“I was trying to give you a life, nigga,” Stack urges. “Annie is where that life was at. Fuck I look like throwing Rue back at you when you didn’t want her?”

“My baby, Stack.”

Guilt boils inside of me. I never allowed myself to entertain the idea of keeping the baby. There was no way I’d bring him into this world without a father, and Smoke had Annie, so I thought I had no choice. But seeing him blink back his tears now makes me second guess every moment that the baby was inside of me.

Stack thinks carefully about his next words, his smile having faded as he sees how serious his brother is taking this.

“I’m sorry, man,” he shrugs, his tone softer now. “I did what I thought was safest for all parties involved, you hear me?” 

Smoke is about to speak when a hard knock pounds the door. 

“Stack?” Mary’s familiar voice rings out from the other side.

“Now I gotta get back to the Joint.”

I hold my head low. “Bye, Stack.”

He heads toward the door, but not before turning to his brother one more time.

“We good?”

Smoke looks from me to Stack, giving him a small nod.

“Get out of here ‘fore I say no.”

Stack only smiles, swinging the door open. I stand beside him, greeting Mary.

“Oh my- Not this trifling bitch again, Stack.” She rolls her eyes.

“Come on, lay off, Mary.”

“I think you owe her a goddamn apology,” Smoke intervenes, standing behind me.

I mumble, “it’s fine, Smoke.”

Mary scoffs. “For the fuck what?”

“For how you been treating her all these years.”

“How I’ve been treating her? You’re the one who fucked her for a month before running back to Annie.”

“You best watch your mouth woman,” he blows smoke toward her. “It’s not too late to pay one of them bitches downstairs to drag your ass out.”

“I’d like to see you try, Smoke-“

“Alright,” Stack interrupts. “Let’s go.” 

He pushes Mary away before closing the door behind him. I assume my previous position, leaning against the door — a much thicker tension in the air now.

“If you hate me even more after this, I understand.” I break the silence. “I don’t blame you, I just couldn’t let the truth belong to me and him alone anymore.”

Smoke stares at his feet, deep in thought. It’s become increasingly harder to tell what this man is thinking. He drops his cigarette, stepping on it.

“Now why would you do that on these new floors-“

His lips are on mine before I can finish, his hungry hands pulling up my dress. It’s automatic, the way my arm wraps around his neck, my hand nearing his crotch. He begins kissing down my neck, but I pull away. He stares at me, eyes wide.

“This isn’t a moment of weakness, is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t need a moment of weakness to do what I’m about to do to you.”

I smile, bringing his lips to mine once more. 

Annie will hate me if she finds out, she might hate Smoke even more. But like I told him before, she has no idea what we have. And if I want to fuck my sinner one last time in this Juke Joint, that’s exactly what I’ll do. 

[aviawrites]

anastasia antoinette (sinners)

!s: smoke x female!oc, stack x female!oc

summary: Anastasia Riley has cut out a life for herself in Mississippi in the few years since her move. She works as a dancer and escort at the Johnnie Ram Club almost every night under the jurisdiction of her boss, Francis. When she learns that one of her wealthier clients has the same face as his brother, their entanglements lead to the pathway to her dreams. (7.7k)

a/n: hello again and thank you for the love on these sinners stories! this one is a lot thicker in plot (what’s new) and i’ve recently learned what self indulgent stories are and realized that that’s what i do 100% of the time. also, again, im going to preface this with the fact that i am black. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: sexual harassment and assault, prostitution, misogyny, swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), guns, smutish

in this story, our characters name is: Anastasia Riley || (Ann-uh-stage-uh)

📍 The Johnnie Ram Club - Jackson, Mississippi || 10:00pm

I dab away at the red lipstick that’s smeared onto my chin, staring intensely at the lightbulb-lined mirror. Behind me, I hear a group of girls rush into the dressing room.

“He said he wants a girl who knows how to make drinks,” Cleo remarks.

“You saw how he was dressed?” Etta scoffs. “He got money. I’ll do anything he asked me to do.”

I look back. “Girl, you couldn’t make a whiskey neat even if he promised you a belt of hundreds.”

“Man, shut up, Ana,” She rolls her eyes. “If you’d have seen him—“

Francis shoves the door open, barely fitting in the doorway with his pot belly. The hair on the top of his head is rapidly thinning, his age getting the best of him as his pale skin gains another ten creases by the day. He points at me.

“Stasia, you’re up.”

“Oh no, Francis." I shake my head. “I’m off in 30.”

“Then you best make this one quick,” he snaps back. “I don’t want him waiting. Now come on.”

I roughly set my lipstick down, reluctantly standing from my bedazzled seat and rolling on my black gloves as I make my way to Francis and into the main section of the tiny nightclub.

He leads us, briefing me on this “high paying client” who requests a girl who can mix drinks, the client that the girls were talking about. It only goes in one ear and out the other as the intense irritation at my dragged out work night takes up all of the space in my head. 

However, this all changes when I see him standing there. Etta didn’t tell a lie, he’s dressed nicer than most of the men who frequent this club, a fitted wool suit with a top hat to match. I quickly flip into work mode, plastering on a smile as Francis introduces me.

“This is one of my best girls, Stasia,” he says. The man only stares stiffly, smoking a pipe out of the corner of his mouth. “She’ll make whatever drink you want.”

Francis retreats, but not before tapping me on the butt, nearly making my smile drop. Nevertheless, I place my hand on the man’s chest.

“Hi, mister fancy." I seductively smile, rubbing my hand up and down his shoulder. “Want to play a game?”

He doesn’t loosen up, only gives me a cold nod as his eyes scan my body.

“If I can guess one thing right about you, we go into that private room over there.” I point to a magenta curtain across the floor. “Alright?”

“Alright,” he speaks for the first time, his voice low and gravely with a Delta accent.

“Hmm,” I place my gloved finger on my chin. “You look like a man with a story…I bet you got a million of ‘em up here.” I tap on his temple. “…But none you’re willing to tell me the truth about.”

The client pauses, his eyes boring into mine as he softly nods again, blowing his pipe smoke the other way.

“Well, how about you take me in that room and tell me some lies?”

I grab his hand, leading him behind the velvet magenta curtain and into one of our biggest private rooms, latching the metal clips closed on either side to ensure our privacy. Across the room from us is a matching velvet sofa, a full bar on the wall to the right of it. I’m usually the only one using this private room, as I’m the only girl who knows how to mix drinks — Such talents come in handy in a profession like this.

He’s awfully quiet and timid, not doing anything without my instruction. I don’t mind it, much better than the overly pushy and slightly drunk clients I’ve dealt with before. I push him toward the couch, pulling his thick coat off. When he falls onto the sofa, I follow him, straddling his lap.

“You’re so tense.” I take his hat off and place it on the couch, beginning to massage his biceps. “Relax a little.”

I see him struggle with it, taking a deep breath and holding his eyes closed for a moment as I continue working on his arms.

“What do you want me to make you?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you wanna make me.”

“Come on,” I chuckle. “You’re dressed this nice and don’t got a drink of choice?”

He shrugs again, eyes more focused on my body rather than the question at hand.

“Alright…” I swing my leg over his, standing up and heading to the bar. 

I first pour a shot of bourbon, my heels thudding against the old carpet.

“Here, to loosen you up.” I hand it to him.

Once I return behind the bar counter, my quiet client downs his shot, finally speaking to me first.

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t remember?” I smile, setting up my drink supplies. “‘Stasia, he called me. Short for Anastasia. But I got ten different short names besides that.”

“You like ‘em?”

“As much as the next person.”

“But what you want me to call you?” he interrogates.

“No one’s bothered to ask me before," I say honestly. “I think I prefer Anastasia. That’s what I was given so that’s what I’ll take.”

“Anastasia.” He nods, testing how the name sounds on his tongue. “Where you from, Anastasia?”

I answer in between shaking his iced drink. “Alabama, originally. But my family moved us down here a few years ago.”

“Mmm. Why’d y’all move?”

I laugh, pouring his drink in a glass. “You sure asking a lot of questions.” He doesn’t laugh, only stares at me as he leans back on the sofa. “We left for my daddy’s work. You know it’s a depression these days, gotta adjust to what you can make work.”

“I know it." He nods.

I’ve slipped out of my heels by the time I’m walking back around to him, chilled drink in hand. I straddle him once again, placing it in his.

“Every sip you take is an item of clothing gone.”

He immediately takes a swig. I giggle, that one shot of bourbon has turned him completely loose. As promised, I take both of my glittery gloves off, resting my arms on his shoulders.

“So tell me about yourself, mister fancy.”

“Smoke.” He corrects me.

“Smoke,” I repeat. “You tell me some truths now. Or lies, I’m free to listening to either.”

“Well, we just came back.” He looks up at me, eyes glued to mine. “Throwing a party for some of my people in the Delta.”

“We?” 

“Me and my brother." He takes another sip. 

“Where’d y’all come back from?” I ask whilst removing my dress. This game never lasts long, and it was never intended to. But the more he talks, the more I wish I had on more so he could keep going.

“Chicago. We stayed up there seven years.” All of his answers are just discreet enough to keep me in the dark. Even after we’ve spoken, I feel like I have no idea who this Smoke is.

“Y’all military?”

“We was.”

“There are some stories you can tell me,” I grin.

Smoke doesn’t. Instead, I hear the ice in his glass begin to shake as his hands subtly quiver. He looks down at them, a look of grief and frustration on his face as he internally asks them to stop. 

I’ve seen PTSD before, plenty of soldiers come in with the wish to forget what they saw in those trenches. I should’ve known better than to ask. Smoke’s demeanor has changed and he fights back tears.

“Shh, shh.” I place my hand over his, stroking it with my thumb. “We ain’t gotta talk about it.”

He shakes his head as if to shake the memories out of his brain, taking one last long sip of his drink. 

Not much more talking happens before I’ve pulled his lips to mine — Smoke kisses me hungrily, like he’s trying to get so caught up in our kiss that he can’t think about anything else, anywhere else. It’s when he’s finally on top of me that he pulls my hand around his neck, placing pressure as to ask me to squeeze. I comply, keeping my hand there as passion flows through his lips. He removes my last article of clothing, a flimsy pair of fishnet stockings. They’re thrown to the floor as he pushes my legs apart, undoing his belt.

He loves me slowly, emotion filling each one of his thrusts as he grunts and groans in my ear, keeping his head buried in my neck. I cradle his head as he holds my legs open, power in his thrusts. 

The club has nearly emptied out except for a few girls gathering the last of their things by the time Smoke and I are done. Before he leaves, he thanks me, something no one’s ever done before. He leaves me with $50, a $35 tip — A bigger sum than I’ve ever received in one go. I catch myself wanting to see Smoke again that night…

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📍 The Johnnie Ram Club || 9:00pm

 Francis has already spoiled my mood by the beginning of my shift, demanding I pay him some random amount of money that I earned — A percentage that seems to ebb and flow as he pleases. 

“Half, Stasia. We ain’t going through this again.”

“That’s five times my highest rate. You didn’t even find this client for me, Francis,” I argue back. “He walked into this club on his own free will, the hell I’m paying you for?”

“For bringing you to him, damnit. I give you a lot in this world, girl,” he points in my face, “and you ain’t been nothing but ungrateful. Now you give me my money or you go home for the night, your choice.”

I stare at him for a moment, not bothering to hide the hate in my eyes. They stay on him as I pull out some of Smoke’s money from my bra, counting off $25 and throwing it at his feet.

“You lucky I’m doing this today,” I spit, turning my back to him.

“You always do, honey!”

As I walk into the main room full of couches, poles, and stages, I see one very familiar face. I try to speed past him, not in the mood to be harassed and groped by this returning client — Why Francis hasn’t yet to bar him from entering? His money. Give that man a dollar and he’ll do anything.

I’m not quick enough. The client has already spotted me and jumped off of the couch by the time I’m halfway across the room.

Eddie isn’t a good looking man, not by an any means. He’s whiter than Francis, a phenomenon that I didn’t think possible until I saw it with my own eyes. His straggly brunette hair rains dandruff on me whenever he’s near and his smell ain’t so hot either. Nevertheless, Francis continues to let him in, as long as his dollars are right.

“I was looking for you last night, angel,” Eddie smiles, displaying his brown teeth. “Just the thought of you gave me blue balls. I just wanted to jump on you.”

“I’m off tonight, Eddie,” I lie, averting my head in order to avoid his breath. “I only came in to cash out. Another girl will have to take you tonight.”

“Oh, but you’ll stay for me won’t you? I got cash.” He gets closer than I’m comfortable with, his small frame making him look up at me.

I look away, ignoring Eddie and his typical pushiness. It’s not until I feel his bony hand on my breast that I turn back to him. His arm is wrapped around my waist and his hand rests on my boob — He just stares at me, not speaking or anything, just wears a stupid smile as he holds me.

Trying not to cause a scene, I push on his chest, afraid I might break a bone with how thin he is. Even so, he’s got the grip of ten men, not letting go even when I push him with all of my force.

“Let me the hell go, Eddie,” I say, stumbling backward over my own heel. “Let me—“

“He bothering you?” I hear from behind me.

Eddie finally releases me from his clutch, looking at the client behind me. It’s none other than Smoke. Usually I can’t remember a face, especially from a one-time client — But I’m sure this is Smoke, his face looks the exact same as last night. Only…Today he wears a natural smile, showing off a gold grill that I must’ve missed last night. 

“No it’s—“ I wipe my hands on my dress, ridding myself of Eddie’s germs. “I’m okay.”

“Oh.” He tilts his head, stepping in front of me and toward Eddie. “‘Cause it looked like this nigga was harassing you. Is that what it looked like to you, ma’am?” he looks back at me.

“I don’t want no trouble.” Eddie rapidly licks his red and cracking lips, putting his hands up. “I’ll see you later, angel.” He makes a pathetic attempt at winking at me.

I shiver at the memory of his cold hands on my body before turning to Smoke.

“Sorry you had to see that,” I say.

“Nah, I’m glad I did.” He smokes a cigarette. “Who let him in here?”

I simply shake my head, not wanting to talk about Eddie any longer than I have to. Looking around the club, I see almost no one here. Sure, a few regulars with their regular girls. But Smoke is the only newcomer around. 

I might as well earn my $25 back, I think to myself.

“You care for a room and a drink? I’ll make it for you myself.”

His smile grows wider, nodding before taking my hand. “Lead the way.”

We head for the magenta room, same as we did last night. But this time, when we walk in, all of that tense and timid energy has dissipated. Smoke takes his own jacket off, walking over to the couch and spreading his legs, completely relaxed. In the process, he’s taken his suit off as well, only being left in a white t-shirt, accentuating his muscles.

“You have a drink of choice tonight?” I tease. “Or you want me to pick for you?”

“How ‘bout a Sazerac?” His eyes scan my body as I slip out of my heels, heading to the bar.

“A Sazerac." My eyes widen. "And how the hell do I make that?”

He laughs. “It’s an Old Fashioned, but meaner. You gotta add absinthe and sugar cubes straight outta New Orleans.”

I didn’t think he was able to talk so much after our last encounter. But now he walks with a chillness to him, in great contrast to the cold and serious demeanor he held yesterday.

“I’m sorry, baby. We’re fresh out of sugar cubes tonight.”

“Don’t e’en worry about it,” he assures me. “You’re enough sugar for me.”

Giggling, I beginning to make an Old Fashioned with added absinthe and lemon. Just like yesterday, Smoke begins asking questions.

“Remind me your name, mama.” 

“Anastasia,” I remind him, feeling slightly offended that after everything, he doesn’t even remember my preferred name. 

“Anastasia what? You gotta introduce yourself with your full name to gain respect around here, baby.”

I eye him. “…Anastasia Riley."

“Where’d you learn to make drinks, Anastasia Riley?” 

“Before he was a miner my daddy worked at a bar, damn near ran the place.” I find myself quickening my pace, longing for Smoke’s touch again. “Taught me how to mix from an early age.”

“These folks paying you real dollars around here?”

“Some of ‘em,” I shrug. “Others pay in credits, ain’t no difference to me”

He eyes me, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me you working in the fields too.”

“No,” I assure him. “But some of my kin do, so I give it to them. It don’t bother me none.” 

Walking over to him, I place the drink in his hand, but he sets it on the side table. Once I straddle him, he crosses his watch-lined wrists across each other on my ass, locking me in place.

“What’s got you so bold tonight?” I ask, scooting closer to him.

“That’s how I am, baby.”

“Mm,” I hum. “Not how I remember it.”

He brushes off my comment, simply pulling my head in for a kiss. Smoke is faster today…rougher. I have no issue with more demanding clients, but his quick turn around caught me off guard tonight. He lightly spanks me, his other hand holding my head tightly as our kisses intensify. Smoke pulls my dress up from the bottom, exposing my fishnets.

“You want it?” he asks in between hisses, palming my ass harder now.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Hard or soft?”

My laughter escapes me, forcing me to break our kiss. “You a whole different man tonight.”

He scrunches his face up, finally acknowledging my remarks. “What you talking about, baby?”

“Wasn’t you here last night, mister fancy?” I joke. 

“No,” his brows furrow. 

Mine do the same as I tilt my head, not seeing where he’s going with this.

“No, I’m sure you were. Navy hat, a little scared? — Much more than you are tonight.”

He stares at me, his expression changing from confused, to deep in thought, to realization all within a few seconds. 

“…You a fuckin’ lie,” he mumbles.

“Excuse me?” 

He breaks out into a laugh. “You mean to tell me my twin brother walked his scary ass in here and got some pussy?”

Twin brother? 

My hand flies to cover my mouth, pulling myself off of him and sitting on the couch.

“I could get in trouble for telling my other clients to you,” I gasp, completely breezing over the fact that this ultra-relaxed Smoke isn’t a Smoke at all. “S— So who the hell are you?”

“Stack.” He smiles wide, holding his hand out to shake. I do so, feeling more awkward than if I had left him hanging. “Confidentiality ain’t a problem, ma’am. I won’t tell.” He gets up, beginning to put his suit back on. “But I’m afraid I can’t fuck you if Smoke already did.” He sucks his teeth. “It’s a damn shame.”

Once he puts his hat back on, he pulls cash from his pocket, the same way his brother did. I shrink in humiliation. I should’ve known this wasn’t the client from yesterday. No one is a reserved mess one day and a boasting spirit the next. 

As if they planned it, Stack hands me $50, far surpassing what I planned to make back tonight.

“For your troubles,” he cheeses, his grills now being a telling difference between him and Smoke. “You have a nice night, Anastasia Riley.”

I stay put on the couch as he unhooks the latches, running into Francis on his way out. When I listen closely enough, I can lowly hear their conversation over the club music.

“Gone so soon?” Francis asks. “She’ll let you do anything you want to her, trust me. Did you see her tits?”

Motherfucker.

My hands go clammy with embarrassment as Stack politely declines, mentioning something about other commitments. 

“Did you pay her?”

Please say no, please say no, please say no—

“Nah, not tonight,” Stack fibs. “Maybe I’ll pay Miss Riley a visit another time.”

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Buzz of the Smoke-Stack twins has finally reached me. Not only from girls at Johnnie’s, but through literal word on the street too. I passed plenty of folks on my commute home through the Delta last night who had the names Smoke or Stack in their passing conversations. I had no way of knowing, but these people spoke about them like legends, myths from years ago that they never thought would return. I only moved here a few years ago, nowhere near eight.

Regardless of the rumors surrounding them, I’m enjoying getting to know Smoke myself. He seems to be doing the same — So much so that he invited me out. It was a fancy restaurant, fancier than I’ve ever been in at least. Smoke turned out to be more of a gentleman than I expected, holding doors open and ordering my meal for me. Our small talk was short lived, quickly turning into a conversation like none I’ve had before. He acted interested, really interested, in what I had to say. He wasn’t too keen on sharing details of his own life, but it bothered me less and less the more he showed interest in mine. 

Eventually, I shared with him my dream of moving to Hollywood and becoming a film actress — Something I’ve been too embarrassed to tell any of the girls in the club. But Smoke doesn’t laugh at me how I expect they would. Instead, he invites me to that party that he told me about. A Juke Joint down at the old sawmill, telling me it ain’t much, but if I want creativity and some good blues, it’s the place to be. 

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I work tonight.”

“Alright.” He nods, respecting it. “What if we pay you for the night?” 

There’s no time to answer his question before something catches my eye. Behind Smoke, right over his shoulder, I see a small short frame, scraggly hair in patches lining his head.

“I— I gotta go, Smoke,” I say, grabbing my bag and hat.

He frowns, following my gaze and seeing Eddie staring intently at me as I walk away.

“Wait, wait.” He follows after me, leaving bills on the table. “Who is that?”

“No one.” I roll my eyes, walking out of the door with Smoke hot on my trail. “A client. One that I don’t want to see in the club, ‘specially not outside of it.”

“He do something to you?” he asks with the same tone his brother had when he saw Eddie yesterday.

“It’s fine.”

“That ain’t a no.” He eyes Eddie through the window. “Well if you leaving, at least let me drive you home first.”

A smile grows on my lips, trying my best to forget about Eddie staring at me from his seat. “I couldn’t—“

“Don’t do that, Anastasia,” he sighs. “I want to.”

“I ain’t even going home, Smoke,” I laugh.

“Where you going?”

“You remember the audition I told you about? The one for the film in California?”

He nods. I feel silly for ever believing that he’d forget my name, not when he hangs on to every one of my words like this.

“I been looking for a dress for it. I want to make a good impression when I fly out there.”

“I’ll pay,” he says without hesitation.

I laugh again, shaking my head. “I’ll take the ride, Smoke. Keep the money.”

“I got it to spend.”

“Oh, I know you do. I’ll let you know when I need it. Today ain’t that day, though.”

Smoke silently obliges, placing his hand on the small of my back and leading me to his car. Eddie stares at us until we pull off, and Smoke’s grip on the wheel tightens — But he makes the decision to obey my wishes, and ignore it. It only makes me like him more.

————

📍Dress Shop || 11:00am

I use some of the cash I earned from Johnnie’s to buy a simple white dress, nice enough to make a good impression, but modest enough to conceal my profession. As I exit the store, a satisfied smile on my face, I spot an all-too-familiar man across the dirt road. He crosses, sporting a sly grin as he walks through his own cigarette smoke.

“Y’all are just everywhere, huh?” 

“You got a face I wouldn’t mind seeing everyday,” Stack shrugs. He looks down to my bag. “What’s that?”

“Just a dress. Bought it for my audition in California next month.”

“Mm,” he hums, raising his brows. “You an actress?”

My cheeks go warm, feeling a little embarrassed telling a client what I really want to do. “Hopefully one day.”

“I got a few connection out there, you know. A few no-good niggas who may know a guy. I could hook you up if you want,” he says, pleased to have something to contribute.

“Y’all and your handouts.” I shake my head.

“Not a handout, an offer.” He points at me. “Smart businessmen take offers, Miss Riley.”

“Well, I ain’t a businessman and I never claimed to be smart, Stack. So now what?”

He nears me, my head tilting up as his frame towers over mine. “So now you tell me why I smell my brother’s cologne on your person.”

I scoff, hiding how caught off guard I am at his comments. I’ve grown so blind to its potency I completely forgot to keep it in mind when hugging Smoke this morning.

“That’s none of your concern now, is it?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Or maybe I want to know how serious y’all are before I do anything else.”

“He’s a client, Stack. Just like you are. That’s all I’ll say,” I bluff, attempting to walk past him.

He places a hand on my waist, stopping me.

“That’s all I am to you, Anastasia?” he asks, oddly close to my ear. “A client?”

“You can be whatever you want to be, Stack.” I roll my eyes, pushing his hand off and continuing my trek home. 

As long as you pay, I think.

But then I think of Smoke — I wouldn’t make him pay. Hell, I find myself wanting to pay him to spend time with me more often than not. It’s an odd feeling in my stomach, to fall for a client like this. If he wasn’t so good to me, I’d call it scary. 

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📍 The Johnnie Ram Club || 8:00pm

I barely get through the door before that fat old white man stops me for the second night in a row, pulling me into the dingy and barely lit “office” in the back of the club. 

“What now, Francis?” I huff.

“I give you chance after chance, Stasia. I’m a very forgiving man when it comes to you in this club, and that’s out of the kindness of my heart.”

Bullshit, that’s ‘cause of the money I put in his pockets.

“Did you know that a high — Very high paying client saw you out today with another client. Just out in the daylight like it was your husband or something.” He stresses. “How does that make you look, Stasia? Parading around like a taken woman when you got men waiting for you here?”

“The twins are the highest paying clients I got, Francis — The highest paying clients you prob’bly ever gon’ see,” I snap back, in disbelief that he continues to bring up Eddie like I give a damn. “So if keeping them close is a problem for you, find me a man who’s gon’ pay me more.”

“Oh I did, sweetheart.” He smiles, his missing teeth drawing more attention than his present ones. “He might’ve cussed me out all kinds of ways, throwing a tantrum like I never seen — But he’s willing to pay. A lot more than what them twins paying.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Hell no, Francis. I am not servicing that fucking freak.”

“But you are, darlin’. For three times what he pays normally? — You can do anything for an hour, baby.”

Rage boils inside me, in utter disbelief that he continues to pimp me out to weirder and weirder men for a cut of money that he doesn’t even deserve. I decide I’m not doing it, turning my back to Francis and walking toward the biggest private room we have, itching to make a drink for myself before Eddie even shows up.

That doesn’t happen. I should’ve known from the lack of pushback from Francis when I left the room. Once I latch the curtain closed and turn around, my eyes adjust…And I’m face to face with Eddie. He’s shirtless, coils of hair littering his chest as he leans back on the sofa, his legs spread. Grinning, he licks his browning teeth, patting his lap.

It angers me for him to sit where the twins sat — They’re ten times the man he is. Either way, the twins ain’t paying for my flight to California, nor my room and board. At least that’s what I tell myself, maybe I’m too full of humility to allow myself to take what they offer.

I can do anything for an hour.

I inch myself forward, trying my best to disassociate from my own body and imagine myself anywhere else. It doesn’t work. I hesitantly take a seat on one of his bony knees, afraid I might break it. Instinctively, I pull up my strapless dress. 

“No, no. Leave it.” He pulls it back down, his fingers caressing my breast. “I’ve always wanted a private room with you, angel.”

“Is that right?”  I choke out, not daring to look at him.

“Mm-hmm. Just had to get a piece of this.” He runs his hands up and down my sides.

Eddie goes on this way, asking me the strangest questions as his requests get weirder and weirder. I nearly gag when he asks me to stroke his chest throughout our conversation, his shedding chest hair getting caught in my nails. He inquires about my shower routine, how I choose my underwear, and my best description of what my body odor smells like. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I notice that only fifteen minutes have gone by. I blink back tears, preparing myself to tell Eddie how I can’t do this, and leave empty handed. But just as I’m about to wrap up our conversation on how I remove my body hair, he grabs my hand, pulling it toward his crotch. He just holds it there over his jeans, his breath getting heavier. In the span of a few seconds, he’s grunting repeatedly, his stomach tightening and convulsing. It’s not until he brings his mouth to my neck in his arousal that I abruptly stand up, chills running down my body.

Eddie only throws his head back, coming down from his climax with a smile as I stare down at him, adjusting my dress. He pants, looking at me as if we’ve just had the best night of our lives.

“You did so good for me, angel,” he says. “Lay with me for a minute?”

“I— I wish I could,” I stammer, shaken up. “But I really gotta go, Eddie.”

A breath of relief escapes me when he accepts it as truth, pulling cash out of his back pocket and handing me more money than I’ve ever seen in a night. 

…

My face has gone red with the amount of scrubbing I’ve done in this girls bathroom. I ignore the banging on the door as I leave the water running, doing my best to convince myself that the water trailing down my face is from the faucet. My outfit lays on the floor, leaving me in my underwear as I stare at my reddened body in the mirror, smeared lipstick staining my face. I don’t allow myself to think about it too much, afraid that I’ll quit my job where I stand if I do.

Instead, I reapply my makeup as best I can with my tears ever flowing. I look nowhere near as glamorous as I did walking in tonight, but that’s become the least of my worries. As I step into a spare l dress that I keep in my locker — Orange and long, much more modest and comfortable than I’d ever wear in this club — I take one final deep breath, wanting nothing more than to smell that lasting cologne right now.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

Walking past the kind doorman, the scene in front of me is electrifying. Joints in Alabama were never my speed, too much klan and too little music. But this — This was like a dream for anyone who called themselves creative. Women and men alike dance together, allowing themselves to freely enjoy the music without the confines of society. Outside of these walls is none of their business, in here, they are free. In here, I’m not a service provider and my body isn’t a product — I’m a consumer, and it feels damn good to be on this side of the bargain. It isn’t long before Stack and his golden grin approach me, drink in hand.

“You lookin’ fine as Delta wine, Miss Riley,” he laughs. “Everybody treating you good in here?”

I smile, aware of how terrible I look, and aware of how much Stack doesn’t care. 

“This is amazing, Stack.” I look around. “All these people enjoying themselves...never seen nothing like it.”

“We all ‘sposed to enjoy ourselves here.” He hangs his arms around my waist, placing mine around his neck. “Just listen to the music…”

Our bodies press against each other, his lips staying near my ear as our pace fluctuates with the speed of the music. He periodically sips his drink, whispering compliments in my ear each time he does, as if he knows I need them. Just as his hands roam lower, I see his clone walk past us. Smoke and I meet eyes for a moment, my body unable to react before he turns away, walking into a room near the stairs.

“Excuse me.” I break our rhythm, pulling away from Stack and following Smoke into the room.

He’s facing the wall when I enter, spinning around once I close the door behind us. Pipe smoke surrounds him as his eyes roam my body, keeping one hand in his pocket as he always so mysteriously does.

“So how you know him?” he asks, trying his best to act unbothered.

“…He came to the club once. He’s just a client…” I shrink under his gaze.

Smoke shakes his head, a light scoff escaping him as he struggles to keep his composure.

“I spent money on you, Anastasia.” He nods scornfully. “Spent time on you. And you go and lay with my brother—“

“No.” I near him, but he turns away, sucking his teeth. “I never did, Smoke. I didn’t even know you had a twin. But when I realized he wasn’t you, we stopped.”

He pouts his lips, pure disgust on his face as he looks everywhere but at me. Tears threaten to fall as my lip slightly frowns…He looks as if he regrets ever meeting me.

“I swear ‘fore god, I never slept with him,” I begin, timid. “But Smoke, you know this is my job…”

“But I don’t give a damn.” His voice raises. “It ain’t your job to almost sleep with my brother after you slept with me. It ain’t your job to keep it from me, and it damn sure ain’t your job to meet him again tonight, Anastasia. It’s fucked up.” He points his pipe at me.

I fail at containing my tears, quickly wiping them away in hopes that he won’t see. “Smoke…” I whisper. “I didn’t know.“

Suddenly, he steps toward me, examining my face. He bends to my level, lightly tilting my head to the side.

“What the hell is this?” he asks, pressing his fingers on my neck.

The spot is tender, feeling like a bruise when pressed. The crinkle in my brow quickly smoothens out as I remember the night I had before I showed up at the Juke. Smoke steps back, wiping a frustrated hand over his face.

“Stack do that?” 

“No.” My head falls, not having planned on revealing my endeavors with Eddie to him tonight.

“Don’t lie to me, Anastasia. Who did that to you?”

“Please. Let’s just let it—“

He ignores my excuses, walking past me and reaching for the door. I place a hand on his chest, surrendering.

“Okay, okay,” I sigh. “You remember Francis from the club?”

He stares intensely, a skepticism on his face as he waits for the story. “Mm-hmm.”

“After Eddie saw us out today he blew up on me, saying how it’s bad for business because he’s a high paying client. He took a payout. Gave Eddie a room with me before I could stop him. Eddie um,” I gesture to my neck. “I stopped him right after.”

Smoke’s face has turned from confused to blindly furious in a matter of a few seconds, no longer bothering to smoke his pipe. He reaches past me and for the door again, pulling it open and shouting for his brother. He pulls me by my hand nearer to him, giving Stack space. When he enters, Smoke relays the entire story to him, being sure to leave out Eddie’s name.

“You ain’t gon’ believe who did that.” Smoke points to my neck.

“Who?” He looks between us, not putting two and two together yet.

My eyes stay glued to the floor. “Eddie.”

“That dude from the club?” Stacks eyebrows raise. “He set you up with that nigga?”

“That’s what the fuck I said.” Smoke shakes his head.

“Oh, we can handle that,” Stack assures me, his finger on my chin lifting my head. “We can handle that tonight.”

“And you ain’t going nowhere alone ‘til we sure it ain’t a problem no more.” Smoke chimes in. 

I nod, not feeling an ounce of worry for Eddie or what will happen to him. Whatever they have planned, I want them to do him worse.

There’s commotion outside coming from the gambling room. Stack excuses himself, rushing past me and toward the arguing voices across the Juke.

Smoke’s eyes stay on my neck, a scowl on his face. “I don’t like seeing that on you.”

He pulls a few bills from his suit pocket, counting them before deciding to just give the whole thing, holding it out for me.

“Leave that place,” he suggests, sounding less like a plead and more like a demand. “And all those sons of bitches. Leave ‘em all behind.”

I stare down at the money, $200. A thousand different outcomes rush through my head. But at the forefront of my mind is, possibly, the worst one. An image of myself returning to Johnnie’s with a begging bowl flashes in my mind. There are too many undecideds to make such a choice. Whether it be in a week or in a year, these twins will lose interest in me, and I’ll be without a job. I think back to when I first took the job, broke and desperate. I know what it is to not have money, the way people look at you, how they treat you — I won’t ever put myself in that position again. The fear alone makes me shake my head.

“I can’t…” I whisper.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m ain’t,” I say, convincing myself more than I’m convincing him. “But I’m scared, Smoke. I been broke before—“

“I been broke before, Anastasia,” he assures me. “That ain’t gon’ be us no more. I’ll put you in the square, get you a job with Grace and Bo if I have to.” 

‘Us,’ he said. We’re a team.

“I can’t be someone else’s charity case, Smoke. You know this.” My lip quivers, not knowing why I’m saying what I’m saying. “I gotta get myself out of the mud.”

“You think Eddie's the only one like that?” he asks, frustrated. “You want to stay holed up in there getting touched on by niggas like that?"

I look down, not letting myself consider the life he’s offering. I’m so used to this, so good at this, the thought of leaving it for men I met only a couple of days ago is too much change for me at once. 

“I have no choice.”

He gets closer, forcing me to look up at him. “You don’t see this money right here?”

“Two hundred ain’t gon’ get me by for as long as I need to get by, Smoke. I just can’t.”

Smoke just stares at me, making me more self concious each second he does. Eventually, he just nods, leaving me with a simple “Alright,” before squeezing past me and slipping out the door. But not before leaving the money on the table, as if he’s giving me one last chance.

As the door slams shut, I collapse onto the floor. Why I’m so dead set on being independent, I don’t know. Maybe it’s my daddy’s dying and mama’s leaving that made me this way. The thought of relying on Smoke’s connections, kindness, and abilities shakes me to my core. More than that, the fear of the unknown may be scarier than the fear of Francis demanding money from me every night.

But the moment Francis crosses my mind, Eddie crosses my mind. I can feel his hands on me still, his knee digging into my skin as his breath infects my neck. I think about what Smoke told me: Will there be more Eddies? Could I handle more Eddies? That thought shakes me, even more than the thought of relying on Smoke. It isn’t until now that I remember all of the groping and the comments and the tears that prickled my eyes after each encounter. I can’t do that for the rest of my life, I won’t. I’m smart enough to know that I deserve more than a life of Eddies and Francis’ — And as I stare at the money on the the table, I finally start to see a new path waiting for me.

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📍  The Johnnie Ram Club || 1:00 am

My leg shaking makes a repeated tapping noise, drowned out my the rain coming down on my cab — The only one I’ve had since my first year in the city, paid for with a portion of Smoke’s $200. I just stare at the building, all of the memories I’ve made racing through my head.

“Ma’am, you either have to get out or pay for the wait,” my driver tells me, staring back.

I take off my black gloves, folding them neatly in my lap before paying my driver. After one last deep breath, I open the car door, running toward the club to escape the rain.

My resignation is a blur. I feel like I’m walking in slow motion the whole time, only hearing my own heartbeat thump in my chest. Francis is where he always is, sitting in his office, the squeaky fan running on its last leg as smoke fills the room. 

“Stasia.” He looks at me. “You ain't scheduled tonight, are you?”

I don’t respond, only handing him my gloves, a $50 bill sitting on top of them.

“This is more money than I owe you, but I don’t feel like hearing that mouth of yours no more,” I spit.

He stares at the money and then back up at me, getting out of his chair and putting his hands on his hips.

“This about them damn twins?” he asks. “If so, you owe me a lot more than that, darlin’.”

I scoff. “I’m worth a lot fuckin’ more than you’ll ever be able to give me, old man,” I assure him turning my back to him and throwing up a sly middle finger. 

“You turn around right now, Stasia! You can’t leave like this, they ain’t gon’ pay your bills forever. Not like I have!” Francis word vomits, not having the physical ability to run after me.

“Tell Eddie he can go fuck himself, Frannie!” I shout back, walking away. “Join him while you’re at it!”

I leave Johnnie Ram with a smile on my face, never minding the rain. As dignified as I feel, a small and dull fear lights in my chest. Fear of the unknown.

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📍 Film Set Trailer || 3 YEARS LATER

This is one of my biggest films yet. They’ve given me my own makeup and hair artists, my own dialect coaches to push the southern out of me, even my own trailer for my off hours. As I sit down at my vanity, exhausted and ready to end the night, a picture on the side sends memories flooding back. Smoke, Stack, and I on the night of their Juke Joint sits pretty under one of my lightbulbs, hearts surrounding Smoke.

Before I returned to that Joint, rained on and jobless, that was one of the best and worst days of my life. But once I returned, something else was lurking outside of that blues joint, someone else. I barely made in inside in time before Pick-Poor-Robin-Clean and his buddies showed up. 

We know the terrors of the night now, the twins an I. They took hold of my Smoke and never let go that night, even if he was never bit. The moment he shot those few standing klansmen outside of the sawmill, the old Smoke was gone — Perhaps he was already gone the minute we found his brother bleeding out on the floor, or maybe when Stack started talking through the door like he was never down. I’ll never be sure which exact moment my Smoke was gone, but something did change in him that night. Something I’ve yet to get back. 

Smoke and I had plans, at least ideas of one. We threw out concepts of what we’d do after I left Johnnie’s. Maybe live together, start a family, move to the fancier parts of Mississippi. I was foolish enough to still dream so big after the devil visited us that night. But I never saw Smoke’s face after that, our only contact being yearly notes in the mail and weekly checks. Stack visits me more than Smoke does these days, but under a strict oath to leave Sammie and I alive and well. 

I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing Elijah Moore. He showed me the finer things in life in the short time I had him — When to take what I was given and when to demand more. When to pull out a gun or when to light a cigarette instead. Smoke showed me blues like I had never heard blues, safety like I had never felt safety, and love like I had never felt love.

I don’t let myself linger too much in the past. Sometimes when I cry out at night, I don’t know if I’m talking to God or Smoke, but they both comfort me all the same. I’ll always wonder what could’ve been, what life we could’ve had. But Smoke told me I’d never be without money again, and that’s stay true. It’s more than a sinner like me could ask for.

[aviawrites]

Whew lemme say every time I see your notifications on my phone I just know its going to be something good. Like oh my gosh that man said can I bite you 😃😃 ahhhhhhh (personally I would have said yes but 🤷🏾‍♀️ 🤭)

-😫

LMAOO Y’ALL CRACK ME UP (i’d say yes too ;) I’m so happy u guys like my stories!!

[aviawrites]

love bites (sinners)

!s: stack x female!oc

summary: Josephine’s brother, Wells, was a sharecropper with the Smoke-Stack twins. After they left him without a word, she never forgave them. When they come back seven years later causing trouble, she has no idea what to do — Especially when unexpected feelings arise. [5.5k]

a/n: thank you all for loving the last sinners story and welcome to my new followers! here’s another! also, again, im going to preface this with the fact that i am black. lastly, ! all of my ocs are ethnically ambiguous unless stated otherwise in the !s, free to read for all ! anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), abuse, alcoholism, blood, fighting, guns

in this story, our characters name is: Josephine

📍 Fields Shoe Shining and Tailor || 2:00pm

Dry air blows in as I suck on my bleeding thumb, having stuck the sewing needle right into it again. Wells has left me in the store alone, as he’s so keen on doing, but as he enters again, he’s got dumb and dumber on his trail.

“Ain’t no goddamn way,” I say in awe, watching the Smoke-Stack twins walk into our shop.

“That’s what I said, Jo.” My brother smiles. I don’t. “The devil done brought their asses all the way back from Chicago.”

“They say he works in evil ways,” I state, flat faced.

Wells is beaming, smiling cheek to cheek and staring at the twins like they gave him something. I seem to be the only one remembering how they left him seven years ago.

“Say man, there any colored folk down in Chicago?” he asks.

“There's colored folk everywhere.” Stack grins, walking up to my counter.

“Why are y’all back, Stack?” 

Wells chimes in. “They throwing a party, the fancy type. Down at the old sawmill.”

“The old sawmill?” I scrunch my face up. “And who bought that for y’all?”

Smoke huffs. “We grown now, Josephine. We buy shit for ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, I meant whose money did y’all steal to pay for it.” 

“Woo.” Stack smiles wickedly, looking back at Wells. “This sister of yours always did have a mouth on her. Feisty lil thing.”

“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck on.” I roll my eyes, rounding the counter and heading toward the back.

“Wait.” Wells stands in front of me. “They bringing business.”

My ears perk up and I look back to the twins — Although, ain’t no business worth the mischief they bring with them.

“What business?”

“This suit jacket right here.” Smoke traces his finger along the button holes of his jacket. “I want you to embroider it, something classy for the party. I’ll give you twenty for it.”

I scoff. “Yea, hell no.” I begin walking off.

My brother stops me again, evoking a rough sigh out of me.

“What, Wells?”

“Come on now, Jo. We family. You gotta do this for ‘em. I’d do it myself if I knew how.”

“Family?” I furrow my brows, crossing my arms and turning my body toward the three men. “If we was family they would’ve never left you on that damn plantation when they fled.”

“It’s best you don’t speak on business you don’t know, Josephine,” Smoke warns.

Every time, he think he gets me with that damn Josephine. If only he knew that I preferred that name over any of my short ones, especially from the mouths of those I hold no relation or respect to.

“You think I don’t know, Smoke?” I near him. “Who do you think was there when he cried the nights after y’all left him?”

Wells shrinks in his spot, embarrassed. Hell, I don’t know why — If anything these motherfuckers should be ashamed for leaving their “family” to do the picking while they took their blood money and ran uptown without giving a shit about the rest of us.

“Twenty-five,” Smoke suggests.

“Forty,” I throw back.

“Thirty.”

“Forty.”

“Thirty-two. It’s the best I can do.” He holds out five clean bills, cleaner money than I’ve ever seen.

I sneer at him, rolling my eyes as I grab the bills and stuff the money in my apron pocket. 

“Atta girl.” He takes his jacket off, placing it neatly in my hand. “And make the thread match will you?”

I give him a do-you-think-I’m-an-idiot? look. Why the hell would I put orange thread on a navy lined jacket. It only aggravates me more.

“Are y’all done here?”

“Throw mine in too, Josie.” Stack coyly grins, taking his jacket off too. 

“No, Stack.”

“Come on, Jose. I got money—“

“Hell no, Stack,” I interrupt him, walking toward the back room. “You’re lucky I’m taking your damn brother's.”

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📍 Josephine and James’ house || 10:00am

Thimble covers my fingers now as I carefully thread flowers and flames into the bottom of Smokes suit. The thick smell of his cigarettes are embedded into every inch of the fabric, making me even less inclined to take my time.

Smoke is the lesser of two evils, if I had to choose. I can’t prove it, but I like to think that he at least felt a bit of hesitation before leaving Wells behind like that. Before they did what they did, when their daddy was alive, he wouldn’t only beat on them — He’d beat on Wells. I worked in a factory with my mama, so I was never subject to working in any kind of field, but Wells’ work got harder and harder the more he grew up. The only comfort he had was that he was doing it with the twins, our only friends. Ever since that day they left without a word and we heard about their destination through the grapevine, I never forgave them. The plantation got sold but each owner was as bad as the next, hitting Wells with his fist just because he could.

So no, I won’t forgive them — Not after that tricking shit they pulled on my brother, even if Wells is too forgiving to see it. God didn’t bless me with a forgiving heart.

James comes into the living room with his work overalls on, pulling the strap up over his shoulder.

“I’m heading out, baby,” he tells me.

“Oh, okay.”

I continue rocking in my rocking chair as he presses a kiss into my forehead. His retreating footsteps are tuned out by my singing, a gentle hum that gets me through the more tedious seam work. Just as I begin to get lost in my tunes, I hear footsteps nearing the family room.

I stop. 

“…James?”

No answer, only more heavy footsteps.

My heart skips a beat and I reach into the wooden table that holds our plants. I feel like a child navigating a new toy for the first time as I retrieve James’ small revolver, holding it in my free hand and pointing it at the hallway. 

Heartbeats turn into internal pounding in my ears as the steps take an eternity to reach me. When they finally do, I’m prepared to fire missing shots before meeting my grizzly demise.

As my sure murderer rounds the corner, I open my eyes to see…Stack. 

“Jesus.” I hold my chest, letting out a relived breath. “Now why the fuck would that man let you in here?”

“I’m not allowed to visit my old friends?” he asks with a smile, leaning in the doorway.

“We ain’t nothing near friends, Stack.”

He sucks his teeth. “That’s just how you choose to see it, Josie.” He walks closer, sitting in the couch across from my rocking chair.

“That’s how it is,” I assure him. “What do you want?”

“To check in on you, damnit. We just got back, I’m owed a few updates, hm?”

“You’re not owed shit, Stack. And right now you’re wasting my time. What do you want?”

He stares at me for a moment, tilting his head and biting his lip in the slightest. “I wanted to know if you still dance.”

“Tuh,” I scoff. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“No, for real,” his tone quiets. “Do you?”

“Maybe I do, Stack. But not for you.”

“…I want you to show me.”

I continue embroidering Smokes jacket. “And why would I do that?”

“‘Cause I ain’t leaving until you do.”

“I guess we’ll just sit here then...”

And we do. What feels like half and hour goes by, the silence being filled with Stack’s constant nagging. He asks me any question he can think of, my life, my brother, my husband, my sewing, none of which I want to disclose to him. Nevertheless, I do, hoping and praying that he forgets his condition and gets up to leave. 

Of course, he never does — They always were stubborn.

“Alright,” I huff, setting my embroidery needle down. “You really not gonna leave?”

“Sure ain’t,” he leers. “I’m starting to think you want me to stay.”

Accepting defeat, I set the jacket down on the rocking chair, grabbing a record from our side table and heading toward the player.

“Let me get that for you.” Stack grabs it from my hands, gently placing it on the record player and lowering the stylus.

He returns to his seat, crossing his leg and biting his lip, a hungry look of satisfaction on his face. “Go on.”

The record crackles to life, one of my favorite jazz songs blaring through the loudspeaker. As it always does, my body moves automatically, no thought needed. 

“Woo,” he pull his cigarette out of his mouth, clapping. “There you go,”

“Shut up, Stack,” I groan, turning my back to him and swaying my hips.

It doesn’t take long for me to get lost in the music, throwing my hands in the air and running them down my body, my legs, arms, and hips rocking in symphony. I’ve forgotten Stack was sitting there by the time the music comes to a close — And my eyes haven’t reopened yet when I feel his frame against my back. 

His hands hold my waist, pulling me close.

“That dance ain’t nothing like it was last time,” he says, his lips far too close to my ear.

My hands firmly rest on his. “Yea, well I wasn’t grown last time.”

“I know that’s right…” his breath grazes my neck. “You gon’ do that at the Joint for me?”

For the first time…I consider it. If it was anybody else’s Joint I’d jump at the idea, longing to feel the freedom of dancing to my hearts content once again. One thing James hates more than anything was my dancing — Any work of mine, he’d rather me not do. Even so, I can’t give the twins this satisfaction.

“You wish.”

Stack stays silent for a moment, simply pushing his chest against my back. I’m about to tell him to get the hell on when I feel his tongue on my ear…then his teeth, nipping my lobe.

Why I don’t immediately pull away is beyond me. If Smoke saw me right now…If James saw me right now…If Wells saw me — Wells.

I roughly push against his chest, turning toward him.

Stack adjusts his pants. “Come on, baby.”

“You best leave,” I suggest — I don’t know if I’m panting from my dancing or the close proximity.

He steps closer. “We got time—“

“I have a husband, Stack.”

“Mane, fuck your husband,” he urges. “He ain’t gon’ be home for another few hours, ain’t it?”

“And I need to have this suit done by then,” I reiterate, convincing myself more than I’m convincing him. “Go home, Stack.”

He searches my face for any signs of hesitation, and for a moment I think he sees it. But he backs down, putting his hands up and turning toward the door.

“Alright,” he surrenders. “But I best see you at that Joint tomorrow night, Josie.”

Hell the fuck no.

I stay in the living room until I hear him swing the door closed behind him — I’ve never trusted myself so little until now. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I follow him out.

I’m not supposed to tolerate these men, let alone dance for one of them. This is what I’ve heard of the Smoke-Stack twins doing to women. Serenading them, fucking them, and leaving them to the dogs. It won’t be me.

Once I’m sure he’s gone, I finally walk to the door, reaching for the lock. But as I go to walk back down the hallway and finish the jacket, really this time, something on the coat rack catches my eye.

“Motherfucker,” I mumble under my breath.

Hanging there next to James and I’s winter coats, a grey suit jacket with a red pocket square sits pretty. In the pockets, Stack has left me five clean bills…$32.

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📍 Fields Shoe Shining and Tailor || 10:00am

Business is slower than usual on this fine Friday morning. Wells finishes up some shoes that were brought in yesterday, and Smoke’s mostly finished suit jacket lays in the back room. It was being used as my personalized pillow before. My chin nearly falls off of my fist and my eyes flutter closed as a gust of warm wind passes over me.

All of the fatigue in my body is stripped away the next moment as two gunshots ring out from outside. Wells and I immediately pop our heads up and run toward the door.

“What the—“

My face drops when I see the scene outside. None other than Elijah Moore stands across from two men with bullets in their legs as he tucks his gun back into his jacket.

“The fuck are you doing, Smoke!?” I shout, running up to him.

“They tried to rob my truck.”

“So you shot ‘em?”

“I sure the hell did.” He looks at me crazy.

“Are you fucking serious? Y’all can’t go one day without bringing trouble can you?”

All of the store owners in the square have come outside, standing in front of their businesses and watching the scene play out.

“…Come on.” Wells pulls me back. “Go inside, I’ll handle it.”

“Will you, Wells? Or you gon’ let them get away with it again?” I yell in his face, adrenaline rushing through me.

“I got it, Jo. Just please go inside,” he begs.

I spin on my heels, rushing away from the bloody scene and back into the store on a mission. I rip a paper from under the counter and bite the pen cap off, spitting it onto the floor. 

You and your crazy ass brother need to stay away from the Delta — Maybe back up to Chicago where they’ll deal with your asses right. Whatever happened yesterday was a mistake, I don’t want it, I’ll never want it. And come pick up this jacket of yours.

Grammatical errors litter the page, but I fold up the letter all the same, pressing it tight and leaving it on the counter as I go to retrieve Smokes suit from the back. When I return, Wells is entering with him.

“You just gotta chill is all I’m saying. People don’t do shit like that around here no more.”

I push the suit against Smokes chest, stepping back.

“Fuck is—“ He looks down at the jacket. “It’s done?”

“I’m not finishing your jacket,” I tell him, plain and simple.

He eyes me as I return behind the counter, stone faced and completely avoiding his gaze.

“You been showing me a lot of disrespect, Josephine, and I’ve been nothing but good to you.” He lays his jacket across his arm. “So I’ll ask you one good time what your problem is with me.”

“You are my problem, Smoke. Both of you.”

Wells walks over to me. “Don’t start this again, Jo—“

“I’m not starting nothing, Wells. It’s called having a backbone. Keep the coat, Smoke. Your brother can have his back too.”

I can see him make the conscious decision to retain his calmness as he adjusts his position.

“Alright,” he nods. “If you ain’t gon’ finish it, Imma need my money back. Eighteen flat, and that’s being generous.”

“You not gonna play me in my own store, boy.” I pay him no mind, rearranging my counter. “That coat is more than half done. With all that money y’all got in Chicago you oughta not need any back.”

“See, what you not gon’ do is steal from me, Josephine. I don’t give a damn how mad you are.”

“Or what, Smoke?” I challenge. “You gonna shoot me too?”

He pauses, then pulls that same pistol on me. “Think I won’t.”

“Woah, woah.” Wells holds his hands up. “Is it worth all this, y’all? Really?”

Smoke and I stare each other down, neither of us budging as the barrel of his gun aligns with my nose.

“I ain’t leaving without my money, woman.”

“Well then you ain’t leaving.”

“I’ll get you your money, Smoke,” my brother mediates. “Just put the gun down.”

I shake my head. “Nah, he ain’t gotta put it down. It’s not like he’s gon’ shoot it—“

My words can barely get out when a bullet is fired into the wall behind me, causing a sharp ringing in my ear.

“Smoke!” Wells yells, running over to me.

I hold my hands tight over my ear, moving from behind the counter and over to Smoke.

“Are you fucking crazy!?” I shove him. “You gonna do that bullshit in my damn store?”

“Give me my money.”

Grace and Bo from across the street run in, examining the sight in front of them — Smoke tucking his gun back in his suit, my hands over my ears, Wells pushing me back.

“What the hell is going on?” Bo asks.

“He’s fucking crazy, that’s what.”

Smoke turns to Wells. “You best tell her to give me my money, nigga. Else the next one going into a body.”

“I’m gon’ get the money, goddamnit!” Wells exclaims.

I get in Smokes face, rage overriding my common sense. Without thinking about it, I spit — A ball of saliva lining his right cheek.

“Fuck you,” I growl.

Smoke short circuits, looking at me with ten different men in his eyes. But the good ones don’t get the best of him today; he wastes no time pulling the gun out again, aiming it right at my chest. Grace swoops in, pulling me away before he can do something he might regret.

“Let’s go, we are going,” she tells me.

“He won’t do nothing!” I yell as Grace drags me to the car. “You ain’t shit, Smoke! Your ass should’ve stayed gone!”

Bo and Wells run out behind Smoke as Grace backs us out. Smoke has completely lost his composure now, shouting all of the fuck-you-bitch’s that he can muster. I’m just glad he has sense enough not to shoot my ass where I sit. 

It’s only when driving away that I finally calm down, realizing just how huge of a mess I made of something that may not be worth it. As Grace speeds us away, I sink lower in the passengers seat, wanting nothing more than one of those cigarettes in Stack’s jacket pocket.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

I wrap my feather shrug tighter as the cool air of the Mississippi night breeze past me. I drove here in silence and in secret without asking myself questions. Why the hell I’m here, I don’t know.

Cornbread stands up the minute he sees me walking up.

“I don’t think you should be here, ma’am.”

“Cornbread, please get the fuck out of my face,” I smile, not in the mood to stay in this cold ass weather.

“Un-uh,” he shakes his head. “Smoke gave strict orders not to let your ass in.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes as I reveal the burgundy embroidered suit jacket from behind my back.

“Stack told me to bring it for tonight, I’m already late.”

Cornbread is conflicted, looking behind him in search of the twins.

“Man, where your brother at?”

“My brother ain’t my keeper — Now seriously, Cornbread. We wasting time and it’s cold out here.”

A sultry voice calls out from behind the doorman. “Let her in, Cornbread. She’s with me.”

He reluctantly obliges, stepping aside. 

“Thank you,” I curtsy.

Behind him, I see my one and only friend around here — Pearline. She wears a big smile, hooking her arm in mine as we walk deeper into the dancing crowd.

“I hear you been stirring up trouble,” she taunts.

I scoff. “And you been eyeing Preacher Boy since I saw y’all at the train station yesterday.”

She giggles, looking back at Sammie who happens to have his eyes on her right this moment.

“Just a little fun,” she shrugs. “So, which one is yours?”

“Girl, what?”

“Smoke…or Stack?” she urges, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I’m thinking Stack.”

“Well, I’m thinking neither!” My eyes widen. “I am married!”

She coyly shrugs. “I am too…”

My mouth hangs agape, in disbelief at this side of Pearline — No one’s been able to pull this out of her before. Hell, it ain’t my place to be mad at it.

We don’t fit another word in before Preacher Boy comes to retrieve his little princess, excusing himself and softly pulling Pearline to the stage. She waves goodbye, but I can only give her a look. An I-know-what-y’all-did look. 

Pearline’s song pulls that dance out of me that the jazz did yesterday. I have to stop myself from rocking my body to the blues so early into the night. As if I conjured this devil, my eye is caught by none other than Elias Moore himself — leaving the bar to talk to old Delta Slim. I make my way over.

“Stack,” I nod, placing the coat in his hands.

He grins, passing his drink to Slim who quickly makes himself scarce after downing the whole cup.

“I knew you could play nice.” He slips it on over his vest.

“When I want to,” I tilt my head, the hate that I usually feel for this face completely dissolving. “Where’s Smoke?”

“Man, fuck that." He nears me. “Where’s James?”

I roll my eyes. I’ve tried my best to forget about my husband since the second I left home.

“Oh?” Stack raises a brow, intrigued.

“We argued.” I summarize, my voice low. “He didn’t want me working no more, said it made him look like an unfit husband.”

He sucks his teeth. “Shit, you like to work. And I like that.”

I grin, praying that James never finds out where I came tonight.

“Honestly, I came here half just to spite him.”

Stack’s own smile grows wider, his golden grills showing as he wraps an arm around me, his hand sliding down to palm my ass.

“Let’s spite him even more.” He pulls my body close against his.

But this time…I allow myself to smile. Whether I like it because I know I shouldn’t be doing it, or because I’m growing soft spot for this twin, I don’t have time to figure out.

“Mm-mmm,” I decline, lightly pressing him back. “I gotta find Smoke— Pay him back.”

He backs off, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t, Jose. He still hot from this morning.”

“I gotta. I did some disrespectful ass shit today.”

“Oh, I know.” He winces, looking up.

I do the same. Standing over the balcony staring at us is his brother, a cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding him.

Stack places his hand on the small of my back, leading me upstairs. He’s hot on my trail as a knot ties itself in my stomach. Had it not been for Stack pushing me, I might’ve turned around and forgotten about the whole ordeal. But nonetheless, as Smoke slips into a room, I follow after him,

Annie stands beside Smoke as we enter, we’ve clearly interrupted something. Smoke just stares holes through my head, his jaw clenched so hard I think it might pop.

“You got my money?” His ice cold tone makes it sound much more like a demand.

I reach into my bra, straightening out a few bills before handing to him. His hand is hard and firm as he pull the dollars from me, counting them up.

Stack scrunches his face up. “Nigga, you was tripping over $18?”

“It’s the principle, mane.” Smoke nods at me. “She know that. Now let’s go make some money.”

And with that, Smoke and Annie exit the room. I’m not enough of a fool to think that Smoke forgives me or will ever forget what I did — But he’s fair enough to take only what he’s owed and go on about his life, and I can respect that.

Now alone, Stack sits in a creaky wooden chair, relaxing and spreading his feet apart. I just stare at him, feeling the slightest bit insecure under his gaze.

“You hear that music, don’t you?” his grills gleam at me. “Show me a little some’.”

A small laugh escapes my lips. But before I can say no, Pearline begins to sing a smoother song downstairs, something much more my speed.

“Go on,” Stack urges me.

I oblige, now thinking less of how mad James would be and more how pleased I can make the man in front of me. My back is turned to him and I begin running my hands up and down my sides, accentuating the curves that I’ve yet to let Stack see. The song gains momentum, speeding much more than I thought it would. Lovely singing turns into wild hooting as the stomps of the crowd thump in my ears. Still, I sway to the music, just with more intention, seduction even. I don’t even notice that Stack has gotten up until his hands are following mine, running over the most intimate parts of my body. 

“You gon’ finally let me have you, Josie?” he rasps in my ear, his voice nearly blending in with the music.

“Maybe if you work for it…”

The two of us move in harmony, his hands following mine, my hips following his. It’s not until the tempo slows that I realize the position we’re in. My hands sit on the table as Stack stands behind me, his clothed waist grinding against mine as he leaves rough kisses on my neck. I don’t resist it this time, I don’t want to. In fact, I want to do the exact opposite. His hand rests across my throat, turning my head so that I can properly kiss him. It feels amazing, finally letting all of the tension out in this way. I feel possessed by the music as our hands grow nearer and nearer to crossing a line. But suddenly the stomps ain’t so far, and Stacks lips ain’t so close.

I open my eyes to a gruesome scene. It takes me a moment to be sure, but once I’m sure, I’m sure. James has burst through the door and ripped Stack off of me, landing blows the minute he entered. Only seconds have passed and blood has already begun covering his fist. Stack wastes no time, retrieving his brass knuckles and aiming for James’ face. Blood splatters across the room and the two men fight like dogs in front of me.

“Stop—“ I can barely choke the words out when I realize that this is going to end up in a death.

I don’t bother wasting time thinking before I run downstairs. The time between my leaving the room and returning with Smoke and Annie behind me must be about fifteen seconds, but it feels like three.

“The fuck!?” Smoke pushes past me.

He pulls his gun, aiming it at the incoherent mess that is Stack, James, and a lot of blood. I don’t speak, only run to the two men and try my best to save my James, pulling back on his shoulder. He swings his blood-soaked arm back, elbowing me in the face with a crack before continuing to tussle with Stack. I fall to the floor, cradling my cheek as I scoot away from the two men.

Two shots ring out, and the sound of thrashing finally ceases.

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📍Josephine and James’ house || 12:00pm

I made out that he found the note when he begged me not to leave him. Even bloody, shot, and thrown on the Mississippi road, James still gained the power to speak those words to me. He threw me his accusations that he had against Stack, saying he did something against my will. James did it to save me, according to him. I blamed myself all night long for forgetting to put that note away — Maybe it was that that allowed him to survive the night. Perhaps my praying and apologizing to God was enough to make him save James from those two bullets in his side.

It don’t matter now. I’m back home alone just like I would be if he wasn’t in the hospital, feeling the same too — Despite my stitched up cheek and the never ending thoughts of what Stack and I could’ve done last night. It’s wrong, I know it is, but no matter how hard I fight it, all I can imagine is what we would’ve done had James not barged in.

It’s stormy this evening, the clouds covering the sun make me feel like the lord might’ve darkened the sky just to make me feel worse. I flip through my old photo album, photos of young me, Wells, and our parents in that small house in South Carolina. Sometimes I miss those days — Most times, actually. Before I had a hard head and a harder ass, ready to take on anyone who wanted to whoop me at anytime. Back when I could be a soft Josephine who wouldn’t provoke men to shoot her or spend my nights with drunkards at an old mill.

A knock at the door pulls me from my miserable reminiscing. I close the album and set it aside, opening up the door for what I assume to be a patched up James…But it’s not. It’s a much more warming face.

“Stack,” I half smile, having no idea how he feels about last night…How he feels about me. 

“Can I come in, Josie?” he asks.

"'Course." I nod, stepping aside and letting him walk past me. As we make our way to the couch, I’m marveled at how little lasting damage James did to him. Sure he had a few stitches beneath his t-shirt and a cut and a bruise on his face, but nothing like James — His face was swollen, still black and blue when I visited him this morning.

We sit next to each other, Stack taking his time not to hurt himself. The tension eats me alive as we just stare at each other, soft jazz music playing.

“I’m sorry…” I begin. “I wrote a note—“

“Shh.” He places a hand on my criss-crossed thigh. “It wasn’t never your fault, baby.”

I can’t find it in me to smile today, although baby makes me want to oh so bad.

“Doctors said he should be okay this morning. But he was damn near dead by the time I drove him there last night,” I tell him. Stack gives me no answer. “If he recovers…I don’t know if I ever want him back in my house.”

I never allowed myself to consider the possibility of leaving James. My mama taught me that in order for anyone to see my value, I’m gon’ need some sort of man behind me, whether that be Wells, my daddy, or another man. But daddy died and I protected Wells more than he ever could protect me, so I did what I was told — Found a husband. 

I don’t know that I ever loved him. I said I did, but I didn’t know what love was when we got married. It didn’t matter anyway, he had money and he was good enough to me in the beginning, so I couldn’t ask for more. It was three good years before he showed me the real him. The him that got home from work and started drinking, and more than that, started hitting. Only holes in our walls at first, then more. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what makes me so violent. I never had it in me to stand up to him so I stood up to everyone else.

Stack brings his hand to my stitched cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

“If he ever comes near you again — Ever does this again,” his voice is the most tender I’ve ever heard it. “Smoke and I will shoot him dead this time.”

I shake my head, the tiniest hint of a smile on the corner of my lip. “No need.”

“You don’t believe me?” he asks, offended.

“Oh no, I do,” I assure him. “That’s why I’m not scared of what he’ll do no more. I think you and your brass taught him enough of a lesson.”

His eyes scan my body, his hand returning to my thigh. 

“Something like this happen before?”

“Only when he’s drunk and jealous.” I don’t include the part where that is every night. “That’s why I’m at the shop so much. I sometimes think that if I’m there long enough he’ll forget he was ever gonna touch me.”

Stack's face has dropped.

“Your brother know this?” he asks, a fiery glimmer in his eyes.

“He got no clue,” I scoff. “He’s dumb that way.”

He stares at me for a moment, a hunger in his eye behind the immediate anger. He raises a hand to my cheek again.

“I can show you real love, baby. Even if it’s just for today...”

Gently, Stack pulls my face to his. We’re careful not to touch each others’ wounds as he kisses me harder, laying back and pulling me on top of him. He pushes his hips up and I grind mine back and forth, groans escaping the both of us.

I feel free when I’m with Stack, like I can be powerful in who I am — I don’t worry about the store or James when I’m on him. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, a deeper more guttural rasp in his voice now. I ignore it, enjoying his kisses that he litters across my chest. I feel like I’m flying, he can do anything to me.

“Josie,” he whispers.

“Hm?” I hum, not bothering to look down as I pull my dress up.

“…Can I bite you?”

[aviawrites]

haha i love y'all

wait for me (sinners)

!s: smoke x reader

summary: Rue has worked for years to forget Elijah Moore and what he left her with before he ran to Chicago. But when she sees his ambitious twin in the square, all of their history comes rushing back. (3.1k)

a/n: it has been so long, but Sinners is truly a movie in its own category. i also need to preface that i am black for this story. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), mentions of child loss, abortion, sex, racism

in this story, our characters name is: Rue

Elijah Moore and I never had a complicated relationship. Hell, Smoke might even say we had none at all. But for years after he ravaged me in that car outside of the bar, I thought about him every night. We were together, I’d say — Boyfriend and girlfriend for as long as his grief consumed him. But the moment Annie found out, Smoke disappeared from my arms and was at her feet, begging for forgiveness. I don’t blame her, not in the slightest — I can only imagine that those were some of their darkest times.

Elias, on the other hand, him and I had a complicated relationship. When I found out that Smoke left a piece of himself in me, there was no way I could tell him, not after what he’d just been through. So I went to the closest thing to him, Stack. And although what we had is never to be considered romantic, there was something there — Familial, even. He knew it, Mary knew it, and for that very reason I was never allowed within an 100 foot radius of the twins until the day they left, not if I wanted to feel welcome.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

📍 Train Station || 12:00pm

The feelings from all those years ago bubble up inside me and form a twist in my gut when I see that all-too-recognizable burgundy top hat. My feet move before my mind can stop them, and in no time I’m approaching my old friend.

Stack flashes a gold toothed smile. “I’ll be damned.”

I return the nicety, pulling him in for a warm hug.

“Word spreads fast,” I nod. “Y’all still got the same appeal you had all them years ago.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, darling. I know it.” His cocky smile takes me back, the only thing differentiating him from his brother being his energy.

“Do I even want to know why you came back?”

“You heard it as good as I did,” he gestures toward little Preacher Boy and the old man. “We’re opening a Juke Joint tonight, right there down at the old mill.”

“Y’all never could stay still. Chicago wasn’t change enough for you?”

He shrugs. “Figured we should deal with a devil we know. Besides, we miss the tricking.”

“Mmm,” I hum. “Well if Miss Pearline back there is singing, I might just pay this Joint a visit.”

Stack looks past me and at the polka dottted woman walking away from Preacher Boy. 

“Shit, if that’s what it takes for you to come, it’s done.”

Always so charming.

He ogles me, his eyes scanning up and down my exposed arms.

“What’s this?” Stack rubs his fingers over the dark ink lining my skin — Art ranging from numbers to symbols to simple symmetric images. 

“You know I’m an artist, boy,” I pull my arm back, scoffing. “Figured I’d get a few permanent ones to remember a few things.”

“And you talking about we couldn’t stay still. I’ll be visiting to get a look at those paintings of yours one of these days.” Stack’s grin begins to fade as he looks over my shoulder. 

Preacher Boy walks up and nears his cousin. “This white woman’s been staring at you-“

“Yea, I see her…”

He shoos Sammie away and tries to walk me off, but I’m already well aware of what shark is in the water — I can hear her heels clicking behind me.

“Now is this Smoke? Or is that Stack?”

I turn my head. “Hi, Mary.”

No response. Only a rough shoulder check as she stands in front of me and nears Stack.

He looks over her head and at me. “I’ll holler at you, Rue-“

Mary interrupts. “No, you’re not talking to fucking Rue right now. You’re talking to me.”

Stack huffs, looking back down at the woman dressed in pink. I give him a ‘have fun dealing with that’look before turning and catching my train. 

Of all the women wrapped around the twins’ fingers, Mary has got to be the most spiteful of them all. For no good reason, though. Contrary to her belief, I never once slept with Stack, never even thought of it. But as far as she knows, I kissed him all the way to where the sun don’t shine, and then some.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

This old mill has lit up under the construction of the twins. People hoot and holler as Pearline ignites the stage, turning into the musical beast I knew she would the minute she started singing. Having no dance partner, I simply clap along, moving my body to the beat alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the same damn burgundy hat that I saw only hours ago.

I can feel Annie’s eyes burning holes into my skull as I sit at the bar, Stack walking up to me.

“Now who the hell did y’all rob to afford this place? Ain’t this being sold from the Klan?” I shout across the bar, my voice being drowned out by Pearline’s Pale, Pale Moon.

Stack shakes his head. “Not klan, just crackers. You know we got money, girl. Don’t do that.”

“Yea, well blood money don’t count. So how much you got now?”

He pulls his pockets inside out, amusing me.

I chuckle, placing my money on the bar. “Y’all have blackberry bourbon smash?”

“I don’t know if I can do that for you…” 

His fake frown quickly turns into a grin as he takes the money, relaying my order to Grace.

“Fancy motherfuckers,” I mumble.

“What was that?” Stack eggs me on.

My eyes scan the bar, but all I can focus on is that hateful scowl on Annie’s face.

“I said all these women hate me.” 

Stack scoffs. “Only those particular women.”

‘That’s more than enough for me’ I think.

He leans in, his lips grazing my ear.

“You know none of these girls got shit on you, Rue. They ain’t half as strong either.”

A small smile grows on my face, matching Stacks. He goes to hand me back my cash, but I slide it back to him.

“I don’t need it,” I front.

“Yea, well me neither. So you gon’ fucking take it.”

I roll my eyes, pocketing the change and standing with my drink. I’ve barely made it away from the bar when cigarette smoke cascades from over my head. Instinctively looking up, I finally see him. 

Smoke stares down at me from the balcony with that hard expression he always wears. It’s so strange, seeing that rock solid glare. When we first met in a dingy bar on the side of a dirt Mississippi road, he hung his head low and seemed to always have glossy eyes. I didn’t believe him when he told me he was Smoke. When he fucked me that night, and many a nights after that, it was slowly — With passion, and often tears followed the act. But now his eyes are as dry as a dessert and they pierce a hole through mine. 

He takes another blow of his cigarette before turning his back to me, retreating into a room. I have no choice but to follow him, even if it’s just to get yelled at to go away as he did the last time we met. I take my time, downing my glass of bourbon as I walk up the stairs. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but my heart thumps in my chest just before I open the door, all of the thoughts of what we could’ve had rushing back to my mind like they did eight years ago.

I enter the dimly lit room, closing the door behind me and leaning on it.

“Hello, Smoke,” I say lowly, unable to read his face.

“Why you here, Rue?” he grumbles, a roughness to his voice. “I’m already stressed the fuck out with this opening shit. Stack ain’t helping.”

“I don’t want no trouble. Just came for the music.”

“You being here is plenty trouble enough.” He scans my body the same as his brother, blowing his cigarette again. “You can’t find music no place else?”

“You want me to leave?” I ask honestly.

“Yea, I want you to leave. You think those women down there want you to leave too or are we acting stupid tonight?”

“They never even tried to like me, Smoke,” I sigh, my legs bringing me closer to him. I place my hand on his bicep, like I did all those years ago. “They got no idea what we had.”

He puts his hand on mine, pulling it off. “That was a moment of weakness, Rue. Whatever you think we had is gone now." 

I blink to avoid tears from forming. My first ever love, my first ever relationship being chalked up to a moment of weakness chips away at my heart. If it’s what he has to tell himself to dig out of the deep guilt he feels, so be it. But he won’t sit in front of me and act like what we had wasn’t real — Like it isn’t still there.

“So you're saying if the Juke was going good and Annie wasn't watching you like a hawk that you wouldn't entertain me? Wouldn’t consider us?"

Smoke shakes his head. “No, I really wouldn’t.” His brows furrow as he looks at me, seeming to remember a detail that he had previously forgotten. “And your cheating ass can take your business elsewhere.”

I can’t act surprised, not anymore. We allowed him to believe my infidelity as truth, Stack and I. Letting him think I went after his brother was easier than letting him know what Stack was really helping me do…At least it was in the moment. But as he stands in front of me now, I want nothing more than to ease his pain, calm his anger, and tell him the truth — Even if solely to stop him from loathing me so greatly.

“I didn’t cheat on you, Smoke.”

“Bullshit,” he stops me. 

“No, listen,” I step toward him. “I respected what you and Annie had, Smoke. I really did. And I understood that the loss of your baby caused you to make decisions that you might regret, even if that decision was being with me. So when you told me to leave you alone, I did. But I didn’t know if that still stood when I found out that we had a baby…”

The words feel odd coming out of my mouth. I tried so hard at the time to disconnect myself from it, calling the baby a thing inside my stomach rather than what it was: Mine and Smoke’s child.

His brows have smoothened out now and he’s actively listening, his eyes flashing from my face to my stomach and back to my face.

I continue. “I didn’t visit Stack all those nights to get at him. Smoke, I never wanted anybody but you. But God put it on my heart to give you and Annie peace, so we went at it alone. No one knew. He paid a few women to make the drink without telling them who it was for. It only took a few hours for the bleeding to start…”

My voice trails out. I’m unable to finish as flashbacks to that night replay in my head. My mama held me tighter that night than she ever had before…I hated Smoke that night more than I ever had before.

Tears line his eyes now.

He chokes on his words, his voice now much lower. “Don’t you lie to me, Rue…” 

“I wouldn’t lie, baby,” I assure him.

I hold my arm out for him, revealing the tiny footprint tattooed on my wrist, a small E underneath it. 

“We couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling it was a boy. Ezra, I was thinking. Stack hated the name but…” I shrug. 

Smoke runs his thumb over the tattoo, holding my hand in his. He attempts to discreetly wipe his tears, but I see them all the same. Looking up at him, his face can only be compared to the face he made when we spoke about his late baby, which wasn’t often at all. A mix of anger, sorrow, and fear. 

Perhaps he’s considering what could have been, just like I used to — Just like I still do. I used to curse God for putting me in such a position. A second chance for Smoke to be a father, but at the worst of times. I’d have dreams of talking to a clone of myself, telling her that she owed it to Smoke to tell him about the baby. It’s only now that I really see the consequences of my decision.

Smoke looks at me, and then at the door. It’s as if a switch has flipped and he’s forced all of those emotions to turn into one…anger. He reaches for the door, but I lean against it.

“Smoke, it’s already done,” I tell him, holding my hand against his chest. “I just couldn’t take you hating me no more.”

“Move out the way, Rue,” he says, not hearing a word I say.

“I don’t want to cause a scene, Smoke. Please.”

“You think I give a fuck about causing a scene? Move out of the fucking way.”

“Smoke, it hurts enough as it is-“

“You’ve got one more time, woman.”

“There’s nothing we can do now!”

He wraps a hand around my arm, yanking me just enough to pull me away from the door and swinging it open. I run out behind him, but he’s already looking down the overlook.

“STACK!” he shouts down, the name echoing through the building. 

Everybody looks up, including Mary and Annie. Stack stares up at us, blowing smoke through his nose, before turning back to the crowd. He tells them to resume, nudging Sammie to keep playing. After a moment of silence and a few stray whispers, the music begins again and Pearline starts her singing. Mary holds Stack close, asking him not to go — But as always, the twins do what they want when they want. As Stack rounds the corner, I retreat back into the room, unprepared for what reaction he might have.

He’s barely entered before Smoke pins him against the wall, his forearm over Stack’s chest.

“The fuck?”

“Is it true?” Smoke demands, maintaning his cig in his pinning hand.

I close the door, shouting over the music. “Smoke, stop!”

He ignores me, continuing to press his brother. “Un uh, I asked you a question, nigga. Did you know she had my baby?”

Stack’s eyes shoot from Smoke to me. I can only nod, giving him permission to tell the full truth as I just did. Stack relaxes, putting his hands up.

“I only did it to protect you, mane.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“You gon’ let me go so I can explain?” 

Smoke lingers before reluctantly letting his brother go with a shove. He puts a hand in his pocket, staring Stack down.

He gestures his cig at his brother. “Talk.” 

Stack smoothens his suit, lighting one of his own. “You know I don’t like that shit, Smoke-”

“Talk.”

He sighs, putting on a smile once more as he tries to explain calmly. 

“When y’all two broke shit off, we had no idea we were even going to Chicago, Smoke. Shit, I still thought you and Annie were gonna get married and buy you a house. Rue said you told her to stay away to make that happen, so I helped her stay away. Now we both know she’d never forgive you if you had a baby with another woman.”

“But my baby is none of your fucking business, Stack.”

“I was trying to give you a life, nigga,” Stack urges. “Annie is where that life was at. Fuck I look like throwing Rue back at you when you didn’t want her?”

“My baby, Stack.”

Guilt boils inside of me. I never allowed myself to entertain the idea of keeping the baby. There was no way I’d bring him into this world without a father, and Smoke had Annie, so I thought I had no choice. But seeing him blink back his tears now makes me second guess every moment that the baby was inside of me.

Stack thinks carefully about his next words, his smile having faded as he sees how serious his brother is taking this.

“I’m sorry, man,” he shrugs, his tone softer now. “I did what I thought was safest for all parties involved, you hear me?” 

Smoke is about to speak when a hard knock pounds the door. 

“Stack?” Mary’s familiar voice rings out from the other side.

“Now I gotta get back to the Joint.”

I hold my head low. “Bye, Stack.”

He heads toward the door, but not before turning to his brother one more time.

“We good?”

Smoke looks from me to Stack, giving him a small nod.

“Get out of here ‘fore I say no.”

Stack only smiles, swinging the door open. I stand beside him, greeting Mary.

“Oh my- Not this trifling bitch again, Stack.” She rolls her eyes.

“Come on, lay off, Mary.”

“I think you owe her a goddamn apology,” Smoke intervenes, standing behind me.

I mumble, “it’s fine, Smoke.”

Mary scoffs. “For the fuck what?”

“For how you been treating her all these years.”

“How I’ve been treating her? You’re the one who fucked her for a month before running back to Annie.”

“You best watch your mouth woman,” he blows smoke toward her. “It’s not too late to pay one of them bitches downstairs to drag your ass out.”

“I’d like to see you try, Smoke-“

“Alright,” Stack interrupts. “Let’s go.” 

He pushes Mary away before closing the door behind him. I assume my previous position, leaning against the door — a much thicker tension in the air now.

“If you hate me even more after this, I understand.” I break the silence. “I don’t blame you, I just couldn’t let the truth belong to me and him alone anymore.”

Smoke stares at his feet, deep in thought. It’s become increasingly harder to tell what this man is thinking. He drops his cigarette, stepping on it.

“Now why would you do that on these new floors-“

His lips are on mine before I can finish, his hungry hands pulling up my dress. It’s automatic, the way my arm wraps around his neck, my hand nearing his crotch. He begins kissing down my neck, but I pull away. He stares at me, eyes wide.

“This isn’t a moment of weakness, is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t need a moment of weakness to do what I’m about to do to you.”

I smile, bringing his lips to mine once more. 

Annie will hate me if she finds out, she might hate Smoke even more. But like I told him before, she has no idea what we have. And if I want to fuck my sinner one last time in this Juke Joint, that’s exactly what I’ll do. 

[aviawrites]

wait for me (sinners)

!s: smoke x female!oc

summary: Rue has worked for years to forget Elijah Moore and what he left her with before he ran to Chicago. But when she sees his ambitious twin in the square, all of their history comes rushing back. (3.1k)

a/n: it has been so long, but Sinners is truly a movie in its own category. i also need to preface that i am black for this story. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), mentions of child loss, abortion, sex, racism

in this story, our characters name is: Rue

Elijah Moore and I never had a complicated relationship. Hell, Smoke might even say we had none at all. But for years after he ravaged me in that car outside of the bar, I thought about him every night. We were together, I’d say — Boyfriend and girlfriend for as long as his grief consumed him. But the moment Annie found out, Smoke disappeared from my arms and was at her feet, begging for forgiveness. I don’t blame her, not in the slightest — I can only imagine that those were some of their darkest times.

Elias, on the other hand, him and I had a complicated relationship. When I found out that Smoke left a piece of himself in me, there was no way I could tell him, not after what he’d just been through. So I went to the closest thing to him, Stack. And although what we had is never to be considered romantic, there was something there — Familial, even. He knew it, Mary knew it, and for that very reason I was never allowed within an 100 foot radius of the twins until the day they left, not if I wanted to feel welcome.

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📍 Train Station || 12:00pm

The feelings from all those years ago bubble up inside me and form a twist in my gut when I see that all-too-recognizable burgundy top hat. My feet move before my mind can stop them, and in no time I’m approaching my old friend.

Stack flashes a gold toothed smile. “I’ll be damned.”

I return the nicety, pulling him in for a warm hug.

“Word spreads fast,” I nod. “Y’all still got the same appeal you had all them years ago.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, darling. I know it.” His cocky smile takes me back, the only thing differentiating him from his brother being his energy.

“Do I even want to know why you came back?”

“You heard it as good as I did." He gestures toward little Preacher Boy and the old man. “We’re opening a Juke Joint tonight, right there down at the old mill.”

“Y’all never could stay still. Chicago wasn’t change enough for you?”

He shrugs. “Figured we should deal with a devil we know. Besides, we miss the tricking.”

“Mmm,” I hum. “Well if Miss Pearline back there is singing, I might just pay this Joint a visit.”

Stack looks past me and at the polka dottted woman walking away from Preacher Boy. 

“Shit, if that’s what it takes for you to come, it’s done.”

Always so charming.

He ogles me, his eyes scanning up and down my exposed arms.

“What’s this?” Stack rubs his fingers over the dark ink lining my skin — Art ranging from numbers to symbols to simple symmetric images. 

“You know I’m an artist, boy.” I pull my arm back, scoffing. “Figured I’d get a few permanent ones to remember a few things.”

“And you talking about we couldn’t stay still. I’ll be visiting to get a look at those paintings of yours one of these days.” Stack’s grin begins to fade as he looks over my shoulder. 

Preacher Boy walks up and nears his cousin. “This white woman’s been staring at you—“

“Yea, I see her…”

He shoos Sammie away and tries to walk me off, but I’m already well aware of what shark is in the water — I can hear her heels clicking behind me.

“Now is this Smoke? Or is that Stack?”

I turn my head. “Hi, Mary.”

No response. Only a rough shoulder check as she stands in front of me and nears Stack.

He looks over her head and at me. “I’ll holler at you, Rue—“

Mary interrupts. “No, you’re not talking to fucking Rue right now. You’re talking to me.”

Stack huffs, looking back down at the woman dressed in pink. I give him a ‘have fun dealing with that’ look before turning and catching my train. 

Of all the women wrapped around the twins’ fingers, Mary has got to be the most spiteful of them all. For no good reason, though. Contrary to her belief, I never once slept with Stack, never even thought of it. But as far as she knows, I kissed him all the way to where the sun don’t shine, and then some.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

This old mill has lit up under the construction of the twins. People hoot and holler as Pearline ignites the stage, turning into the musical beast I knew she would the minute she started singing. Having no dance partner, I simply clap along, moving my body to the beat alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the same damn burgundy hat that I saw only hours ago.

I can feel Annie’s eyes burning holes into my skull as I sit at the bar, Stack walking up to me.

“Now who the hell did y’all rob to afford this place? Ain’t this being sold from the Klan?” I shout across the bar, my voice being drowned out by Pearline’s Pale, Pale Moon.

Stack shakes his head. “Not Klan, just crackers. You know we got money, girl. Don’t do that.”

“Yea, well blood money don’t count. So how much you got now?”

He pulls his pockets inside out, amusing me.

I chuckle, placing my money on the bar. “Y’all have blackberry bourbon smash?”

“I don’t know if I can do that for you…” 

His fake frown quickly turns into a grin as he takes the money, relaying my order to Grace.

“Fancy motherfuckers,” I mumble.

“What was that?” Stack eggs me on.

My eyes scan the bar, but all I can focus on is that hateful scowl on Annie’s face.

“I said all these women hate me.” 

Stack scoffs. “Only those particular women.”

That’s more than enough for me I think.

He leans in, his lips grazing my ear.

“You know none of these girls got shit on you, Rue. They ain’t half as strong either.”

A small smile grows on my face, matching Stacks. He goes to hand me back my cash, but I slide it back to him.

“I don’t need it,” I front.

“Yea? Well me neither. So you gon’ fucking take it.”

I roll my eyes, pocketing the change and standing with my drink. I’ve barely made it away from the bar when cigarette smoke cascades from over my head. Instinctively looking up, I finally see him. 

Smoke stares down at me from the balcony with that hard expression he always wears. It’s so strange, seeing that rock solid glare. When we first met in a dingy bar on the side of a dirt Mississippi road, he hung his head low and seemed to always have glossy eyes. I didn’t believe him when he told me he was Smoke. When he fucked me that night, and many a nights after that, it was slowly — With passion, and often tears followed the act. But now his eyes are as dry as a dessert and they pierce a hole through mine. 

He takes another blow of his cigarette before turning his back to me, retreating into a room. I have no choice but to follow him, even if it’s just to get yelled at to go away as he did the last time we met. I take my time, downing my glass of bourbon as I walk up the stairs. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but my heart thumps in my chest just before I open the door, all of the thoughts of what we could’ve had rushing back to my mind like they did eight years ago.

I enter the dimly lit room, closing the door behind me and leaning on it.

“Hi, Smoke,” I say lowly, unable to read his face.

“Why you here, Rue?” he grumbles, a roughness to his voice. “I’m already stressed the fuck out with this opening shit. Stack ain’t helping.”

“I don’t want no trouble. Just came for the music.”

“You being here is plenty trouble enough.” He scans my body the same as his brother, blowing his cigarette again. “You can’t find music no place else?”

“You want me to leave?” I ask honestly.

“Yea, I want you to leave. You think those women down there want you to leave too or are we acting stupid tonight?”

“They never even tried to like me, Smoke,” I sigh, my legs bringing me closer to him. I place my hand on his bicep, like I did all those years ago. “They got no idea what we had.”

He puts his hand on mine, pulling it off. “That was a moment of weakness, Rue. Whatever you think we had is gone now." 

I blink to avoid tears from forming. My first ever love, my first ever relationship being chalked up to a moment of weakness chips away at my heart. If it’s what he has to tell himself to dig out of the deep guilt he feels, so be it. But he won’t sit in front of me and act like what we had wasn’t real — Like it isn’t still there.

“So you're saying if the Juke was going good and Annie wasn't watching you like a hawk that you wouldn't entertain me? Wouldn’t consider us?"

Smoke shakes his head. “No, I really wouldn’t.” His brows furrow as he looks at me, seeming to remember a detail that he had previously forgotten. “And your cheating ass can take your business elsewhere.”

I can’t act surprised, not anymore. We allowed him to believe my infidelity as truth, Stack and I. Letting him think I went after his brother was easier than letting him know what Stack was really helping me do…At least it was in the moment. But as he stands in front of me now, I want nothing more than to ease his pain, calm his anger, and tell him the truth — Even if solely to stop him from loathing me so greatly.

“I didn’t cheat on you, Smoke.”

“Bullshit,” he stops me. 

“No, listen.” I step toward him. “I respected what you and Annie had, Smoke. I really did. And I understood that the loss of your baby caused you to make decisions that you might regret, even if that decision was being with me. So when you told me to leave you alone, I did. But I didn’t know if that still stood when I found out that we had a baby…”

The words feel odd coming out of my mouth. I tried so hard at the time to disconnect myself from it, calling the baby a thing inside my stomach rather than what it was: Mine and Smoke’s child.

His brows have smoothened out now and he’s actively listening, his eyes flashing from my face to my stomach and back to my face.

I continue. “I didn’t visit Stack all those nights to get at him. Smoke, I never wanted anybody but you. But God put it on my heart to give you and Annie peace, so we went at it alone. No one knew. He paid a few women to make the drink without telling them who it was for. It only took a few hours for the bleeding to start…”

My voice trails out. I’m unable to finish as flashbacks to that night replay in my head. My mama held me tighter that night than she ever had before…I hated Smoke that night more than I ever had before.

Tears line his eyes now.

He chokes on his words, his voice now much lower. “Don’t you lie to me, Rue…” 

“I wouldn’t lie, baby,” I assure him.

I hold my arm out for him, revealing the tiny footprint tattooed on my wrist, a small E underneath it. 

“We couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling it was a boy. Ezra, I was thinking. Stack hated the name but…” I shrug. 

Smoke runs his thumb over the tattoo, holding my hand in his. He attempts to discreetly wipe his tears, but I see them all the same. Looking up at him, his face can only be compared to the face he made when we spoke about his late baby, which wasn’t often at all. A mix of anger, sorrow, and fear. 

Perhaps he’s considering what could have been, just like I used to — Just like I still do. I used to curse God for putting me in such a position. A second chance for Smoke to be a father, but at the worst of times. I’d have dreams of talking to a clone of myself, telling her that she owed it to Smoke to tell him about the baby. It’s only now that I really see the consequences of my decision.

Smoke looks at me, and then at the door. It’s as if a switch has flipped and he’s forced all of those emotions to turn into one…anger. He reaches for the door, but I lean against it.

“Smoke, it’s already done,” I tell him, holding my hand against his chest. “I just couldn’t take you hating me no more.”

“Move out the way, Rue,” he says, not hearing a word I say.

“I don’t want to cause a scene. Please.”

“You think I give a fuck about causing a scene? Move out of the fucking way.”

“Smoke, it hurts enough as it is—“

“You’ve got one more time, woman.”

“There’s nothing we can do now!”

He wraps a hand around my arm, yanking me just enough to pull me away from the door and swinging it open. I run out behind him, but he’s already looking down the overlook.

“STACK!” he shouts down, the name echoing through the building. 

Everybody looks up, including Mary and Annie. Stack stares up at us, blowing smoke through his nose, before turning back to the crowd. He tells them to resume, nudging Sammie to keep playing. After a moment of silence and a few stray whispers, the music begins again and Pearline starts her singing. Mary holds Stack close, asking him not to go — But as always, the twins do what they want when they want. As Stack rounds the corner, I retreat back into the room, unprepared for what reaction he might have.

He’s barely entered before Smoke pins him against the wall, his forearm over Stack’s chest.

“The fuck?”

“Is it true?” Smoke demands, maintaning his cig in his pinning hand.

I close the door, shouting over the music. “Smoke, stop!”

He ignores me, continuing to press his brother. “Un-uh, I asked you a question, nigga. Did you know she had my baby?”

Stack’s eyes shoot from Smoke to me. I can only nod, giving him permission to tell the full truth as I just did. Stack relaxes, putting his hands up.

“I only did it to protect you, mane.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“You gon’ let me go so I can explain?” 

Smoke lingers before reluctantly letting his brother go with a shove. He puts a hand in his pocket, staring Stack down.

He gestures his cig at his brother. “Talk.” 

Stack smoothens his suit, lighting one of his own. “You know I don’t like that shit, Smoke—”

“Talk.”

He sighs, putting on a smile once more as he tries to explain calmly. 

“When y’all two broke shit off we didn't know we were even going to Chicago, Smoke. Shit, I still thought you and Annie were gonna get married and buy you a house. Rue said you told her to stay away to make that happen, so I helped her stay away. Now we both know she’d never forgive you if you had a baby with another woman.”

“But my baby is none of your fucking business.”

“I was trying to give you a life, nigga,” Stack urges. “Annie is where that life was at. Fuck I look like throwing Rue back at you when you didn’t want her?”

“My baby, Stack.”

Guilt boils inside of me. I never allowed myself to entertain the idea of keeping the baby. There was no way I’d bring him into this world without a father, and Smoke had Annie, so I thought I had no choice. But seeing him blink back his tears now makes me second guess every moment that the baby was inside of me.

Stack thinks carefully about his next words, his smile having faded as he sees how serious his brother is taking this.

“I’m sorry, man,” he shrugs, his tone softer now. “I did what I thought was safest for all y'all, you hear me?” 

Smoke is about to speak when a hard knock pounds the door. 

“Stack?” Mary’s familiar voice rings out from the other side.

“Now I gotta get back to the Joint.”

I hold my head low. “Bye, Stack.”

He heads toward the door, but not before turning to his brother one more time.

“We good?”

Smoke looks from me to Stack, giving him a small nod.

“Get out of here ‘fore I say no.”

Stack only smiles, swinging the door open. I stand beside him, greeting Mary.

“Oh my— Not this trifling bitch again, Stack.” She rolls her eyes.

“Come on. Lay off, Mary.”

“I think you owe her a goddamn apology,” Smoke intervenes, standing behind me.

I mumble, “it’s fine, Smoke.”

Mary scoffs. “For the fuck what?”

“For how you been treating her all these years.”

“How I’ve been treating her? You’re the one who fucked her for a month before running back to Annie.”

“You best watch your mouth, Mary.” He blows smoke toward her. “It’s not too late to pay one of them bitches downstairs to drag your ass out.”

“I’d like to see you try, Smoke—“

“Alright,” Stack interrupts. “Let’s go.” 

He pushes Mary away before closing the door behind him. I assume my previous position, leaning against the door — a much thicker tension in the air now.

“If you hate me even more after this, I understand.” I break the silence. “I don’t blame you. I just couldn’t let the truth belong to me and him alone anymore.”

Smoke stares at his feet, deep in thought. It’s become increasingly harder to tell what this man is thinking. He drops his cigarette, stepping on it.

“Now why would you do that on these new floors-“

His lips are on mine before I can finish, his hungry hands pulling up my dress. It’s automatic, the way my arm wraps around his neck, my hand nearing his crotch. He begins kissing down my neck, but I pull away. He stares at me, eyes wide.

“This isn’t a moment of weakness, is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t need a moment of weakness to do what I’m about to do to you.”

I smile, bringing his lips to mine once more. 

Annie will hate me if she finds out, she might hate Smoke even more. But like I told him before, she has no idea what we have. And if I want to fuck my sinner one last time in this Juke Joint, that’s exactly what I’ll do. 

[aviawrites]

a winters dragon: burning

!s: aemond targ x northern!reader, jacaerys velaryon x reader

summary: After escaping a life of sorrow in King’s Landing, Auriela is settled with the task of finding her place on Dragonstone in the midst of the Dance of Dragons. From unhappy nobles to loss of friends to rocky relationships, she begins to wonder if she has a place in this world at all. [8k]

a/n: no way i actually posted a pt. 2 everybody clap! i definitely strayed from the show plot b/c that’s not my style anyway, but some things i decided to keep. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, death, violence, mentions of torture, nothing you haven’t watched in the show

in this story, yn is: Auriela Dustin

hey! read part 1 -> a winter's dragon: flying

‘I write to you with a hardened heart, wife. You’ve betrayed not only the trust of my good family but mine own. It is my fault that you’ve forgotten to fear me, it shall be your undoing. You’re commanded by my brother the King to return yourself and my child to your rightful place here in King’s Landing at once. Once you’ve proven becoming of these terms, your horrendous and treasonous crimes shall be pardoned. The realm is watching.  Aemond.’

“Write back,” Vialy says, sitting on the other side of the desk. “Tell him you’ll return.”

You shake your head. “I would never return.”

“We know that but he does not,” she continues. “It would give the Queen time to plot.”

“Or it would give him time to get on his dragon and seize both me and Dragonstone.”

“Alicent would never let him leave with Vhagar, Princess. Your husband has love for you, he’ll want to believe you. The small connection the two of you built will warrant his waiting. As he awaits you in his castle, Rhaenyra is free of the threat. She’ll be able to strike.”

You hide the small smirk growing on your lips, never taking Vialy for much of a warhead. You look to Rhaena, her fingers interlinked with Vialy’s.

“…Any distraction is a good distraction, I think,” she shrugs. “The Queen surely won’t be the poorer for it.”

And so it is settled. Though, you cannot expect your response to be dispatched without the leave of the Queen herself.

…

“Come,” you hear her call.

Rhaenyra stands as you enter her chambers. You stop a few feet away, bowing your head.

“Your Grace.”

“Auriela,” she smiles. “You requested a word with me?”

“Yes, um,” you take a deep breath, Aegon and Aemond not having half of the Targaryen presence that their sister possesses. “This morning I received a letter from my husband in King’s Landing. He demands that I return to my seat and my crimes will be pardoned,” you stare at the floor. “We- or- I thought that I might write back, if it please you. I’d apprise him of my return, I believe he’d take it as the truth and wait for my arrival. In that period, I thought it may be a wise time for us- or you rather- For you and your King to plot and execute your next move, should you see it wise.”

A pit forms in your stomach when Rhaenyra stays silent, looking from you to the scroll in your hands. She holds hers out and you place the letter in her palm. She quickly scans it before returning her gaze to you.

“I think it is an excellent plan,” she says.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “You do?”

A small chuckle escapes her lips as she nears you.

“Auriela, you needn’t be so frightened. You are safe here.”

“No, I,” you scoff, “I know I am, my Queen…But I am not so arrogant to assume you’ve forgotten my former place in King’s Landing.”

“I have not,” she shakes her head. “But I do not fault you for your past, nor do I mistrust you for it. You returned to what you believe is right. That is honorable, Princess.”

You hide a smile, bowing your head once again. “Thank you, my Queen.”

She places a hand on your arm. “You know, we may have more in common than we see.”

“Do we?”

“I too carried my first child in the Keep,” she says.

Your shield falters as you remove your hand from your stomach and bring it to your side. She only gives you a reassuring smile. 

You never told Rhaenyra of your babe. All you’ve thought about since you arrived is how much stress your presence could bring upon her, so you never found the right time. But she knows, you think to yourself. 

——

1 Moon Later

You try your hardest to regulate your breathing, your hand hovering over your growing belly as the council speaks of the unspeakable. The green Queen’s son has been struck down, his head somewhere in a sack in King’s Landing. You didn’t believe it when the message was brought, never having imagined anyone could hate Helaena as much as they hated her husband. It is only now in this moment of sorrow that you wish you could be at the Red Keep for just five more minutes, just to give Helaena the embrace that she’s deserved all her life.

“This will only enrage them. Give them a reason to strike hard and fast. Completely reducing the time that we’ve bought for ourselves,” Rhaenyra rages at the head of the table. “They will not leave this unanswered.” 

“There has been no word from King’s Landing, Your Grace. Neither from the Prince nor the usurper himself,” Maester Gerardys tells.

“I am not surprised,” Rhaenyra sighs. “I have no doubt that Aemond has convinced his brother to send a host here as we speak. Maybe even with Vhagar herself.”

Daemon speaks up. “Which would not be so, had we not welcomed a traitor to the crown into our quarters.”

You slightly roll your eyes. Daemon has been cold and distant to you since the day you stepped foot on his lands. He’s not short of reasons to dislike you, though you regret being so conceited as to believe he’d be as forgiving as his wife. 

“By that same way of thinking, we are all traitors to the crown, Daemon,” Rhaenyra snaps back at him. “What was I meant to do? Turn the girl away whilst she bears a child?”

"That of the very man who killed Luke? Yes, turn her away! That's exactly what you do, Rhaenyra!” he raises his voice, your face growing hot with embarrassment as you feel all eyes on you. “Look at her now, she sympathizes with the usurpers-"

Rhaenyra stands, banging the table as she leans toward him. "Sympathy for the cold murder of a child is not a weakness.”

The room stays quiet, Daemon reluctantly backing down before Rhaenyra returns to her seat. Although you’d rather melt into yours at the moment, you decide to break the thick tension.

“My cousin…Cregan Stark,” you begin, your voice no higher than a whisper, “he sent a raven, Your Grace. He promises a thousand men to decend upon the Red Keep, should the greens send their army here.”

Rhaenyra has no chance to answer before Daemon scoffs.

 "A thousand untrained Northerners would march for King's Landing for a battle being fought here, how perfect,” he jests.

Rhaenyra ignores him. "That is a most generous gesture of Lord Stark, Auriela.” You cannot tell if she means her words or if she only says them to spite her husband. “Thank him for me."

Daemon frustratingly grunts. "We need to send dragons."

"And which dragons would that be?"

"Caraxes, Meleys, anything other than sitting on our arses whilst they slay our people and send their traitors! War is here!-"

“I think you’ve forgotten yourself, cousin…” Princess Rhaenys sneers, her gaze shooting daggers through Daemon’s skull. “Rhaenyra keeps war at bay as every man at this table seems to hunger for it. Speak to your queen accordingly."

Daemon only rolls his eyes, a snide remark on the tip of his tongue. Nevertheless, he spares Rhaenys, shooting a death glare at you. 

“…We must proceed under the assumption that Aegon’s army is coming,” Rhaenyra moves on. “Whether it be for his goodsister or for the unlawful killing of his son. Rather than this ceaseless bickering, let us retreat to the ways of the dragon."

“Fire and blood,” Daemon mumbles.

“Patience and wit,” she corrects him.

…

You feel the heat of the dragon’s fire long before you’re near it, the dark caves doing well in retaining their warmth. 

“Daemon is…vexed, more often than not. Don’t let his words get to you,” Jacaerys assures you, leading you to his own dragon. “I knew Helaena for a short time, her children for even shorter. But I do know that Jaehaerys’ loss was a grave one. Daemon shouldn’t have made you out as craven for feeling so.”

“Maybe not craven, but I am at fault,” you admit. “Had I not left and made them seem vulnerable, maybe the devil wouldn’t have thought to strike that night.”

Jace looks to you as you walk out onto the rocky platform. “That’s not true.”

“We’re alone, you mustn’t hold formalities. It is my fault.”

“It’s not,” he corrects you, firmer this time. “Nothing we do can prevent the minds of the evil and tormented. We leave that to the Gods.” 

Your eyes meet his. You’re prepared to get lost in them, though, they greatly remind you of Lucan’s. But before you can allow your mind to wonder, a loud grumble shakes the ground. Fear grows in your eyes as excitement grows in Jace’s. He grabs your hand, pulling you to the edge.

You hold onto his arm, terrified of falling into the dragon infested pit as a green mass rises. Suddenly, taller than a hundred men, an olive dragon towers over you, a tangy smell emitting from him. You try to step back but Jace holds you steady.

“lykirī,” he holds his hand out, the stirring dragon bowing to him. “lykirī.”

Your breath almost leaves you. You’ve ridden a dragon before, joining Aemond on Vhagar only once. But never were you face to face with her, nowhere near. Vhagar was much bigger, her head seeming leagues away from her back. But now, in front of you, the eyes of a dragon were treading on yours.

“Jace…” your voice shakes.

“Feel,” he holds your hand in his, pressing your palm to the dragon’s snout. 

“…What’s his name?” 

“Vermax,” Jace smiles proudly. “We grew together.”

“Gods be good…” you smile as well, almost talking to yourself rather than him. “What a great power they are.”

“Indeed.”

——

Three dragon eggs steam in their chamber as a servant walks them down to the ship. You hold Vialy’s hands tightly, no longer trying to hide your sobs.  

“Maybe you’ll be able to visit me,” you say. “Or write me letters of what you see in Pentos.”

“Of course I’ll write to you, Princess,” she wipes your tears, smiling. “You needn’t cry.”

“You’re the closest thing to family I’ve ever had,” you cry harder. “I don’t know what I’m meant to do without you, sister.”

“You shall thrive, as you always do. Being in your service has given me more than a lifetimes worth of satisfaction, Princess. I can only thank the Gods that they continue to lead me down a path of joy with the girl I care for.”

“I shall curse the Gods nightly for taking you away from me,” you pout. “We planned our whole future together.”

“Can’t you see? We are the future, Ella. The children and their dragons shall grow with us in the East, the boy will grow a Northern heart in Winterfell, and you and Lucan will put our Queen on the throne here. All corners of the world will have your love.”

You plaster on a saddened smile, pulling Vialy into a tight and lingering hug. Behind her, Rhaena and the children head toward the ship. 

“I love you, Vialy,” you whisper.

“I love you, Auriela.”

You let her go, not before seeing water line her eyes as well. Allowing Lucan to say his goodbyes, you take your spot beside Baela to watch them depart.

“I am no stranger to losing parts of myself,” you tell her, “I only wish that it was not this part.”

“But the Gods are merciful,” she looks toward the sea. “Their love shall live in our hearts. And for some, through what we've made." 

Baela looks toward your stomach, a small bump in your dress. It is only now, as Lucan returns to your side and grabs your hand, that you understand their words. You entertain the idea that the lives of the ones you love are reflected in all that you do; and in time, in all that you birth.

…

As the sun goes down, so does most of the castle. But you can’t seem to find sleep, thoughts of Vialy across the Narrow Sea haunting you. You roam the castle, landing in the Chamber of the Painted Table. With each echo of your step, you fall deeper into your doubt; whether that be about your place in the world or your next steps moving forward.

“They’ve sent Rhaena away.”

You jump, turning on your heels toward the painted table. On the other side of it, the moon barely lights the silhouette of a man; his frame tall and leaning back in his chair.

Daemon’s voice is unmistakable. 

“To the same place her mother died.”

You stumble for the right thing to say, startled. “I regret that her father was not there to see her off.” You walk toward him, standing at the head of the table.

“Do you think less of me for it?”

“…It matters little what I think,” you say, wary.

“It’s good that you know as much,” he stands to face you, “but that’s not what I asked.”

“I’m…I’m sure the King had other matters demanding his attention.”

“Hm,” he examines you in the light. The longer he looks, the closer he shifts to you, taking a deep breath in. “Have you been on a dragon?”

Your breath shakes. “Vermax, my King.”

“And why is that?”

“The Prince Jacaerys says it’ll do me good…”

Daemon huffs, settling into his spot. “What is your true business here, Auriela?”

“I only seek to appease my Queen-“

He cuts your words off with a loud and reverberating laugh. “You always know the right thing to say, hm? The usurpers have trained you well…”

You stay quiet, his looming presence and jabbing words leaving you at a loss.

He continues. “Had it not been for that babe in you, which is to be born a betrayer, I’d burn you with my own dragon.”

Your brows thread together. “May I ask what I’ve done so wrong, Your Grace? What but what was expected of me-“

Daemon grabs your wrist, pulling you to him. “May I ask who the fuck taught you to question your King?” he spits. “I will not allow you to do what you attempt. To estrange me from my family, to ally with the children, to make me a bad guy. You will fail.”

Eyes wide, you shake your head. Though, as his words stir, his shield lowers for a moment; his fragile and paranoid state apparent. “…It seems you’ve risen to such accusations very well on your own…my King.”

You swear the eyes of the dragon itself stare back at you as he sneers. But he quickly regains his composure, releasing his grip and resting his hand on his sword.

“Tread carefully…Traitor of House Dustin.”

He walks away, a click ringing out with each step. You’re left speechless, not being able to make out what just happened in the slightest. 

The King has threatened you…accused you. And you accused him back. 

Perhaps you were right, perhaps Dragonstone truly isn’t the seat meant for you. If it is, the Gods have a strange way of showing it. They send Aegon’s army, they take Vialy away, and now they turn the King against you…The only resolution is for you to remove yourself. For even if the King resents you, you’d be a sinner to stand in the Queen’s way as she battles for the throne.

——

“Why shouldn’t I!?” Lucan raises his voice, his face gone red.

“It would do no good, Lucan.”

“She needs to know, Princess. You’re a noble, you are royalty, how dare he speak to you that way.”

“It was only words.”

“It was not only words, he laid his hands on you!” his voice breaks. “She needs to know.”

“I’m sure she already knows who she married,” you argue. “Rhaenyra has problems enough.”

Lucan paces your chamber, running his hands through his dark hair. You nervously fiddle with your rings, having an idea of how he’ll take your next words.

“…If we were to leave Dragonstone…where do you suppose we’d go?” you ask timidly.

Lucan stops, staring at you. His head shakes as he walks nearer, his voice low and steady.

“You don’t mean to let that spineless King run you away from your seat…” 

You shrug. "This is the seat of fire and blood, my love. We are of other lineage."

“We fought to get here, Princess. I’ve given up all I had. You and your child are all I’ve got to my name…Should you command us to leave, I will go. But I ask you, as your servant, to not let malignancy win. You deserve to be here just as much as her half blooded sons.”

“Listen to my words,” you grab his hands, “Vialy and Rhaena were successful in their leave. They are safe now. We could be safe, Lucan. We could get properly married and raise children; maybe even Maeserys.”

He thinks, taking deep breaths as his hands tremble. You place a knuckle on his chin, lifting his teary eyes to meet yours.

“…Dorne would allow it,” he admits, barely audible. 

“Yes, Dorne,” you smile widely.

“The children would have to be a mystery. Their hair dyed and names changed.”

“All achievable,” you reason. Though, it’s obvious how against leaving he is. “My love, we could flee to Dorne.”

“I wish not to flee, Princess…”

You tilt your head, empathetic of his view. A kiss placed on his forehead, you make up your mind. He will forgive you once you leave; once you’re on a Dornish beach with your family, away from the hassles and battles of the Crownlands. 

You do not mean to let Daemon run you away, as he said. It’s much less Daemon forcing you to flee as opposed to sacrificing your spot for the better of the realm. The less problems your true Queen must deal with, the more focus she can put into her war. It’s a good thing you plan to do.

——

He’s left. Fled before you were able to. To Harrenhal Daemon is said to have gone, leaving this table of nobles looking to you for information on the recent movings of the Red Keep. 

“The people are starving…” you reveal. “But their fleet is strong.”

“So is ours,” Corlys speaks up.

“My husband spoke to me little of battle, but I estimate they can call no short of three thousand men within a fortnight.”

Rhaenyra stares intently at you. “And what of their dragons?”

“The same as you left them, all strong and growing, Your Grace. Though, the Princess Helaena still has yet to ride Dreamfyre in many moons.”

“So that’s two dragons against our four.”

“Unwilling does not mean unable, Lord Broome,” Rhaenyra reminds him. “Alas, Vhagar is larger than half of our dragons combined and I do not mean to send my son to fight against such forces.”

“Mother, I can-“

“You cannot,” she insists.

You feel a comforting hand on your shoulder, Lucan’s thumb rubbing lightly against you as he fills your cup. You smile, finally not feeling alone in court any longer.

“If I may remind you, my Queen, with the promise of men in the North, a siege of the Red Keep is not impossible. Certainly not if the King Consort returns with an army of his own.”

She bites her thumb, her eyes searching the table as she thinks. You wonder if you’ve said something wrong before she dismisses her council, thanking you for your words. The men look at her like a sheep with the skin of a wolf, doubt and dismissal lensing their gazes. They think her weak, dumb witted just because she decides to make tactical moves. You regret that a tiny sense of doubt rises in yourself, knowing how urgent the matters of war are.

Lucan nods at you, staying back and holding your hand. Nerves tingling in your fingers, you pull away, standing and walking toward a pacing Rhaenyra.

“May I have a quick word, my Queen?” you ask, your voice low with Lucan by your side.

“Go on,” she plasters on an unconvincing smile.

“I wish to ask for leave.”

“Leave?” she confirms. “Where for?”

“Starfall, Your Grace,” Lucan speaks directly to Rhaenyra for the first time. “My home seat.”

“Dorne? Why would I send you to Dorne?”

“…I find myself being of little use yet great concern these days,” you admit. “I only wish to free you of the burden. We ask to continue our lives in Starfall and leave you to it for the betterment of the realm.”

Rhaenyra tilts her head, your view being new news to her. “Princess, you’re nearly bursting at the belly and a journey to Dorne is hard and long.”

“I shall endure it if it means to not disrupt the happenings on Dragonstone. As I see it, it would be an act for your ascension.”

“An act from the threat of others…” Lucan mumbles.

Rhaenyra’s head snaps to him, then back at you. Your lips press together as you curse Lucan in your head.

“Threat?” she asks. “Who’s threatened you?”

“No one, Your Grace. This is of my own accord-“

“It is treasonous to tell anything but the truth to me, Auriela.”

You sigh, your face dropping as you give up your act.

“The King helped me see that it would be a wise choice for me to leave you and your family as you are.”

Her eyes soften, chewing in her bottom lip as she looks away from you. If only she knew this is exactly what you meant to avoid, more stress is the last thing you want for Rhaenyra.

“Daemon is no longer here,” she shrugs.

“My Queen-“

“It would not benefit me to grant you leave, Princess. You are needed and wanted here.”

You quietly huff, bowing your head. “Your Grace.”

Walking away, you shove Lucan as he follows you toward the door. “Was your comment truly necessary?”

“I only meant to tell the Queen the truth. I am not a traitor.”

“You solve nothing!” you whisper shout, opening the grand doors. “We’re now stuck in the crossfire of a doomed battle of which we have no significance.”

The bickering ceases as Jace turns the corner, walking opposite of you and Lucan. The two of you bow. “My Prince,” you say in unison. He enters the same room you’ve just left.

Lucan scrunches up his nose. 

“Dragon,” you tell him.

“Hm,” he nods. “Smells similar to Vhagar, I presume.”

“Sort of,” you shrug, entering your bed chamber. “Vhagar has a more earthy smell. Vermax is younger, almost a fruity stench comes from him.”

He laughs. “Did you read up on that?”

“I smelt it myself, thank you,” you jest.

Lucan’s smile slightly drops as you throw yourself onto the bed, sprawled into a star.

“Did you really?” he asks from across the room.

“Jace showed me,” you stare at the ceiling. “Vermax was so close I could smell his breath.”

“Jace…You’re good friends with him then?”

You chuckle. “I wouldn’t say good friends.”

“Yet you call him by a short name.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, Lucan’s face now stone cold. 

“Luke, everyone calls him Jace.”

“His mother and his betrothed do, of which you are neither.”

“Speak plainly then,” you challenge, standing up. “What are you saying?”

He sighs. “I’m just noticing, is all. You’ve gotten rather close to him…”

“I only seek to feel at home.”

“And how I feel? Have you thought about that?”

“Wh- Lucan, what is this about?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Princess, you’ve been everywhere but by my side since the moment we arrived.”

“I made you cupbearer,” you remind him.

“The Queen made me cupbearer. Not at your request, might I add.”

“So you’re angry because my attention is split?”

“I’m discontented because you’ve taken more of a liking to a Targaryen bastard than you have to me. I wish not to be a beggar but I feel it’s the least I deserve for my troubles.”

“Your troubles?” you near him. “And what would those be?”

“I shan’t speak it-“

“Well you’ve already begun, so go on.”

He stares at you through his dark locks, cornered.

“…The troubles of abandoning the life I knew, Princess,” he admits under his breath. “To join you on your travels.”

Your eyes are fixed on his, spite in your gaze.

“You did not have to come with me, Lucan.”

“You’re my superior-“

“I was nothing to you!” you spit, not believing he’d blame his regrets on you. “I was a girl in a brothel. You chose to care for me!” 

“If only love was a choice, my girl. I would follow you anywhere, as death follows life. But as I stand, I feel I’ve been bested. I feel that you don’t…” he trails off.

You tilt your head. “…Have I ever commanded you, Lucan? Ever?”

“You have not.”

“Have I ever sworn myself to you?”

He shakes his head.

“And we are yet to be married, yes?”

“Princess, you bedded me-“

“And I am the poorer for it. Evidently, I’ve made a mistake. I thought you to be loyal. I thought you to be on my side by choice. But you see our journeys as…What?…A duty?”

“I- My love, you made the choice to stay with me for those three days. You made the choice to fuck me after your King forbade you from seeing me again. You came to me with the news of your child, you mourned over our Alice beside me…Was I mistaken to think it only right to commit treason with you as well?”

Treason, he calls it. Before now, he’d refuse to even call it wrong. You could’ve sworn that it was his idea that brought you to Dragonstone to begin with. So for him to blame it on you…

“How dare you?” you stare at your palms as they grow sweatier. “We were meant to be one.”

“And we can remain one,” he insists. “But in the fleeting moments of our passing one another, you stand beside Jacaerys. Or you speak to Baela. I feel wronged-

“You see me a traitor…”

“No,” he grabs your hands, forcing you to look at him. “I see you as so beyond myself, my girl. But with one tongue you claim to be my equal and with the other you leave my debt unpaid.”

Debt. Fleeing the home that was one day away from tipping over and burning you alive is a debt. Just another order that he felt he had to see through. You feel like you don’t know him at all; like his tongue is being controlled by something from the hells rather than his own heart.

You snatch your hands away, backing yourself from him.

“No, Auriela,” he walks toward you. “We must talk-“

“I have nothing more to say to you,” you snap, exiting the chamber.

You slam the door shut, leaning against it as you lay your hands over your chest. Though, they quickly cover your mouth as you fight the weeps from escaping. In the span of a few short days your whole world has been flipped. The King wished you gone, then he fled; the Prince has taken an interest in you, the Queen denied your leave, and now…the boy you love seems to see you as more of a highborn superior than his own. 

You never should’ve come. Were it inevitable, you should’ve taken the ship with Vialy to finally be free of the burdens of royalty. But as you cry, your chest burning with sorrow, there’s only one person whose arms you’d rather be in.

Though not only is he across the bay, but his brother’s army may be on their way to hunt you down presently.

——

1 Moon Later

“The maesters say the babe is healthy,” you tell Lucan, his hand stroking your stomach. 

“I am glad to hear it.”

You’re still short with each other, only having real conversations when it regards your child. He’s busied himself with the servants and smallfolk of the island, putting his head down when you pass. Although you cannot say he is only to blame, as you give him the same treatment, busying yourself with the higher born.

He puts his hands down, looking at you. “Has the Prince said anything of importance as of late?”

“Nothing that we don’t already know,” you huff. “That war is upon us.”

“Clever man, he is.”

You roll your eyes. “At the least, he can see that we have greater troubles on the horizon. Much bigger than small disagreements such as our own.”

“That may be so. But I have always considered your feelings and the state of the realm of equal merit.”

Your shoulders drop as he finds yet another way to make you out as a villain. You simply smile, pressing a cold kiss onto his cheek before leaving his, now separate, bedchamber.

…

“Princess,” you bow as Rhaenys dismounts her dragon, Baela dismounting Moondancer behind her. 

“Nothing, again,” Baela walks up to you. “There’s never anything.”

“Be glad that the Gods still favor us.”

“If I’m to be a patroller, I wish to have something to patrol. At least a small ship to detour, even Moondancer is restless,” she sighs, looking to your stomach. “Has he felt any kicking?”

“He barely cares to touch my stomach,” you scoff. “He seems to grow angrier with me daily for the simple fact that I’ve adjusted to Dragonstone; even though that’s all he pushed me to do upon our arrival.”

“Hypocrisy is a part of being human, I suppose. Many throughout the realm will raise the Queen’s banner, yet leave her to fight alone when the time comes. Men often shrivel in the shadow of a power that they engendered.”

“Perhaps I was foolish to believe he wasn’t like other men,” you laugh at yourself. “I never thought him to be so spiteful. Certainly not of my friendships with other men. Gods, I was married when we first lay together. But now he has a problem; with Jace of all people.”

She grabs both of your hands, Moondancer’s low rumble being felt from beneath the stony platform. “You know, when my mother died, I was not even three and ten. Neither was Jace. We had not known each other for the better part of two days when he began to stand by my side. Him and Luke were there for us like no one else was, not even our father. Sure, it may have been under the order of their mother, but it matters not…What I mean to say is that there are good men in this world. Ones who are simply good because their hearts allow it, they were born so. So if the Gods do not intend this man for you, your true match is somewhere, and he will find you. The Gods do favor good women.”

You smile, staring at the ground. “I am not sure I’d consider myself a good woman.”

“Of course you are,” she makes you look at her. “I’m sure of it.”

“How can you know?” you ask, almost desperately. For the question has been weighing on you for the past fortnite.

“Auriela, you’re married to the Prince of Westeros. You were royalty, living a life that other girls dream of. And yet you turned it all away in the name of good and right. You remained steadfast in your verity even when it was life threatening.”

“…I suppose you are not wrong.”

She laughs. “Of course I am not wrong.”

Your conversation is cut short by the sound of footsteps nearing you, Jace emerging from the castle.

“Rhaenys said you’d be here,” he calls, a wide smile on his face.

He slides his arm around Baela’s waist, pressing a kiss onto her forehead.

“What are we on about?” he asks.

“Auriela was just telling me-“

The ringing of approaching bells interrupt Baela. Jace’s face lights up before he bolts for the doors. You and Baela follow him, finally catching up when you emerge from the front of the castle. Jace doesn’t stop, continuing to lead you down the path and toward the sea. There, a great ship prepares to anchor on the shore.

“I believe that is our livestock shipment,” Jace grins, eager to feed his dragon.

As the three of you walk closer and closer to the beach, you notice something familiar about the ship. The banners are Rhaenyra’s, black and red. But the sails have a slight plum tint to them. As you think back to where you could’ve seen them before, Lucan’s words ring out in your head.

“Well that one there is from Braavos. The plum tint of their sails is from the old practice of dying their stolen ships.” He said.

The dock. The one in King’s Landing. Your eyes go wide.

“That’s not livestock.”

“It is,” Jace assures you. “They come every week, mostly aurochs and ox from the Riverlands.”

“No, Jace,” you point. “That ship…I’ve seen it.”

He turns to look at you, Baela staring as well.

“…It’s from King’s Landing.”

Baela furrows her brows. “King’s Landing? Why would…” She looks over your head and toward the boat, her face dropping.

You and Jace follow her gaze. The ship is much closer now. And from the ramp, soldiers with gold cloaks trot through the sand, headed directly for you. 

“Go alert my mother…” Jace says lowly, unsheathing his sword as the men grow nearer.

Baela grabs his shoulder. “Jace, we can’t-“

“Mount Moondancer. Please do as I say, we have no choice.”

“Jace-“

“Go, go,” you push Baela toward the castle, running behind her.

You hear Jace exchange some shouts with the City Watch as you trail behind Baela, her riding shoes being much more fit for the sand than your heeled boots are. She turns a corner, disappearing behind the stone walls leading to the front doors. As you turn behind her, you feel a body wrap around yours.

A small squeal escapes you as you fight armored hands off of your body. It isn’t until you face the knight that you sigh a breath of relief.

“Ser Erryk!” you heave, his grip still tight around you. “The greens are here, they’re on our shore.”

He says nothing, only staring at you past his hefty helmet. Still in silence, he scoops you up, marching you back the way you came.

“No…Ser Erryk, listen to my words,” you beg him. “That ship is from King’s Landing, the usurpers sent for us. The City Watch, they’re-“

Erryk only quickens his pace as a league of gold cloaks pass you, headed for the castle. It’s not until one of them gives Ser Erryk a nod that you realize. Looking back up at the knight, your face drains of color.

“Arryk…” you mumble. 

“You’ve been called upon by his Grace, the King, and your Lord husband to return to your seat at once-“

You spit in his face, pushing and shoving to get away from him. 

“Jace!” you frantically shout as Arryk brings you closer and closer to the ship. 

As you reach the beach, you see why your calls have gone unanswered. Ser Arnol Roxton has Prince Jacaerys in his grasp, his forearm tightening around the boy’s neck.

“Jace!” you cry.

“I should strangle you for what your bitch mother did to Jaehaerys, boy.”

Jace thrashes, forcing the knight to turn every which way to keep ahold of him.

“Stick to your orders, Ser Arnol,” Arryk reminds him.

“When you run back home,” Arnol continues, “tell Rhaenyra that you only live by the mercy of the King, you hear?”

Arryk leaves them, forcefully dragging you to the ramp of the ship.

“No, no, no,” you beg. “Ser Arryk, please. I remain your Princess, you answer to me!”

“I only answer to my King.”

He places a hand over your mouth, your air being sucked away. Your fight becomes lighter and lighter as your brain continues to fog, your last sight being the hull of the vessel.

…

Criston Cole’s words flow from his tongue like shit from a raven. You’re sat in a creaky chair, your limbs bound. Ser Criston stands opposite you, continuing his ramblings as if anyone wishes to hear them.

“You know, you put me to shame when the Watch failed to find you on the Street of Silk,” he admits. “And again when you escaped King’s Landing with your whore.”

You keep your eyes down, trying your hardest to pry your wrists from the ropes.

“It’s a shame how like your cunt Queen you are. Just because you’re girls and you’re confused you think you can act however you wish; treat others however you wish.”

“Are you truly still hurt over that?” you scoff. “Is her rejection what fuels your mindless compliance to the usurpers?”

His jaw ticks. “Not hurt, Princess. But I will bring women like you to justice-“

You can’t help but laugh, knowing your tongue will be lost regardless of if you stay silent or bicker back.

“Justice? Ser Criston, you’ve not been wronged. It’s the putting of fragile men like you in positions of power that placed us here.”

“Do you mean to insult your King? And his father before him?”

“I mean to insult you,” you assure him, the guarantee of sure punishment freeing you to say what you wish, “and the chip you’ve held upon your shoulder ever since you were foolish enough to think that Rhaenyra would ever lower herself-“

Criston slams his hand against a wall, making you flinch. He walks over and kneels until his nose is level with yours. In contrast to all you’ve said, his presence being this close makes your breath tremble.

“I shall worry not,” he shrugs. “For your husband will not be as kind to you as I have been…”

——

6 Days Later

The dripping water of the cells of the Red Keep have become your only friend in the two days you’ve been trapped. You’ve convinced yourself that this may be what you deserve; people have lived right beneath your feet for so long, maybe the Gods think it wise for you to live below as well. You can bear most of it, the hunger, the nakedness, the constant worry, the smell of mold and rotting rodent corpses. What you could do without, though, is the talking. The constant visits from none other than Lord Larys Strong, the man who ran you away in the first place, has nearly driven you mad. 

For hours upon hours he will speak in circles. From how he became a cripple to what he believes the King should do with you, he will visit and revisit each topic thrice over until he’s hungry; at which point he will leave and return with food for you both, only so that he can continue talking. 

The not knowing is eating you alive more than the rats ever could. 

What is Lucan thinking?

Is Dragonstone safe?

Will Rhaenyra come to free you?

Does Aemond plan to let you rot?

Will your child live?

All questions you keep to yourself, for the last thing you wish to do is give in to Larys’ efforts and indulge in his senseless conversation. 

“Through your eyes, I’m sure it is hard to see. But I am sorry for what is to come, Princess,” he says. “All I did, I did for the good of the realm. At a time, I hoped us to be friends.”

You only stare at the corner, the wet decaying bars being a prettier sight that Lord Larys. Although you do not wish to hear them, you do not dare miss a single one of his words. What is to come, you do not know. But you can only pray that the Gods have mercy and goodness stored on the other side of the threat. 

Larys stands, wobbling as he pours his weight upon his old cane. You anticipate the slam of the heavy door, but it never comes. Instead, Larys’ set of footsteps are replaced with another. Shutting the door behind him, your snow haired husband strides in, looming over you. He’s stoic, his hands behind his back and his chin lowered.

“H- Husband…” you tremble, the cold seeming to rush in all at once.

“You have wounded me, wife, I must admit,” he stares. 

“Aemond…” you slowly shake your head, tears filling your eyes. “I only did what I believed was right.”

“Belief takes many men’s heads these days. You shall thank the Gods you’re not a man, I think.”

You pull your knees to your chest as Aemond’s lips struggles against a frown.

“I’m no stranger to betrayal, but I hadn’t thought you to be so craven as to turn against your true family.”

“I have not turned against my family,” you argue, the skin on your knees peeling from the constant dampness. “I have only turned against evil.”

“Granting you a seat at the Red Keep, a husband, a handmaiden, a say, that is evil? I myself am not a pious man, but I do think that we’ve done you great reverence with our terms.”

“I never asked for this…” you weakly admit, “I’ve only ever wanted to find my way…To hurt you was far from my intent-“

“But you did!” Aemond shouts, briefly losing his composure as he strikes your bars, a loud cling ringing out. 

He breathes deeply as you shield your head for the anticipated impact. Though, it never comes. Instead, he returns to his previous position, resting his hands on the handle of his sword.

“You did, Auriela. More than I thought possible…When Lucerys Velaryon stole my eye, a part of my very being, I vowed to never be found so vulnerable again. So easily exploited. And to that I stayed true, until I met the woman in the brothel. And again when I met you…or what I believed to be you. The few nights we spent together were long and loving, I thought we were one, wife,” he inhales, his voice trembling a bit as he caresses his handle. “When you left, you hurt me more than Luke’s blade ever could…Would you call it wrong for me to want you to hurt like I hurt?”

Tears stream from your eyes but your face stays flat. “Torture me as you must, Aemond. My tongue will be cut before I speak the answers you seek.”

“You call me by name now…moments ago it was husband,” he notices. You miss the point he intends to make. “An unnecessary measure regardless. As punishment for your feeble loyalty, I asked my brother to send you to exile. Old Valyria, I suggested. So your body would turn to hardened stone as my heart has. So you could experience the cold and slow decay that I felt each day you refused to return to me. Alas, I mustn’t speak for the King.”

Your eyes frantically follow your husband as he walks toward the door, two men following behind him; with them, a putrid stench. The metal clanging emerges in front you to be none other than Criston Cole, behind him, the King himself. You feel yourself shrinking underneath their gaze, Aegon’s smirk making you want to vomit. Ser Criston walks around Aemond, a sack in his hand. 

“Tell this traitorous twat what you told me, Ser Criston,” Aegon says, staring at you.

“Your lover is said to have fought until the last hack, you should be proud,” Cole sighs. “He was determined to save you, even as he watched your ship sail away,” He sets the contents of the bag on the wooden table beside him with a thunk. “I am told that the last words to slip from his mouth was your name. Before he met the chopping block, that is.”

Your heartbeat seems to slow so drastically that you’re afraid it may stop…you hope it will stop. You aren’t aware of how rapidly the tears are flowing down your cheeks until they pool on your arms. The men seem to be looking through you as you sit with your mouth agape, so many thoughts going through your head, yet not one intelligible enough to make sense of.

Why? You ask the Gods. Why this? Why now? You’ve prayed to the Mother your whole life, and yet she allows the Father to mutilate your love’s soul before handing it to the Stranger. Do they make a sport of torturing you? Do they laugh from their high seats as you struggle to grasp what’s in front of you? What have you done but what was expected of you? Why?

Lucan’s severed head and hands are battered. Black, blue, red, and swollen, the flies have their fix with his rotting skin. One of his eye sockets is less swollen than the other, sunken in. You reckon that was at Aemond’s request, now his everlasting battle to take the eye of another to compensate for his own can finally be put to rest. But why this, Mother? Lucan is good, he is just. He is good simply because his heart allows it, he was born so. Suddenly you regret the words you last spoke to him. You regret not listening, you regret not coming to him with empathy and understanding rather than spite and anger, you regret not kissing him once more, you regret not loving him harder, you regret what fate you’ve brought him to…Perhaps you regret ever meeting him. For Lucan’s life as a whore on the Street of Silk would’ve given him satisfaction until he was too old to withstand it, at which point he’d turn to Dorne, perhaps. Maybe he’d take up a position at the Tavern with Pate, maybe travel the world with the wealth he’s accumulated.

But now, as his mangled and rotten remains stare back at you, you know that he’ll never have a chance to see any of it out. This is the end of his story. You wonder if he knew that his love for you would come at such a great price, if he’d still love you. You would hope not, but you know he would.

It all matters not, for this is where we are. Now, as the three boys wickedly smirk at your naked and weakened body, you make your final decision. As you told Aemond, you will not speak. You will not give them the satisfaction of telling them of your time at Dragonstone nor the plans of Rhaenyra. They will gain nothing from you, as they cannot take what you refuse to give. Your death now surely imminent, you find peace in the knowing that no one will miss you. You find peace in knowing that your child will never have to live in this cruel and unforgiving world. Vialy will forget you once your letters fail to arrive, your memory will fade from Rhaenyra and her family as their heads are caught in war. You can only hope that Cregan helps young Maeserys find his place in this life. As you look to Aemond, you also wish for Cregan to hold his head, flies nipping at his severed neck as they do now to Lucan. But as you are presently, your hopes and dreams do not matter, nor does your short life. The only vengeance that you can truly expect is the fall of the greens and rise of the blacks. That shall be enough for you, the peril of this nefarious family and the rise of the true rightful heir. 

Aegon unsheathes his blade as Criston begins to unlock your cell. You know not exactly what the men’s plan is. But you’re sure that your death shall come after. You only can stare at what was once your lively and witty lover as all fear departs your body. The Stranger is in this room, you’re sure of it. And as you shut your eyes one final time, you accept his presence with welcoming arms.

“The Queen, long may she reign,” you mutter just before Aegon’s rough hands rip you from your spot.

[aviawrites]

a winter’s dragon: flying

!s: aemond targ x reader, northern!reader

summary: Princess Auriela hasn’t known a day of happiness since she was arranged to marry Aemond Targaryen. In her pursuits to take control of her life so far from her home in the North, Auriela only stirs the pot of the already war stricken kingdom, pointing knives in her direction. Accompanied by her common folk, Auriela intends to dig herself out of her green hole. [9.9k]

a/n: i’ve been writing a game of thrones fic for a year and a half now (i can’t seem to finish). in the meantime, my most recent hyper fix has been aemond so i hope this story does him justice. part two may come in three days or three years depending on my mood. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, allusions to sex/almost a smut scene, death, violence, nothing you haven’t watched in the show

in this story, yn is: auriela dustin

hey! read part 2! -> a winter’s dragon: burning

The Red Keep has been a cold place, the walls going bare and air flowing frigid since the departure of Rhaenyra. In the two short years since the Grand Maester wed you to the queen’s second born son, you’ve quickly come to realize why your neighboring Northern house, Stark, happily bent the knee to Rhaenyra when she was named. 

Much has changed since then, your already feeble relationship with your husband has grown ever weaker. You’ve become a solemn woman since your last days in your home of the North, your only friends in the Keep being your handmaiden, Vialy, and your goodsister, Helaena. Sinless, virtuous women in the crossfire of the vicious infighting that has fallen upon the kingdom as of late. You spend your days with them, caring for Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, and strolling with Vialy as the royal family immerses themselves in their own politicking. 

Your husband, Aemond, seems just as apathetic to you as you are him. The only conversations you have consist of him relaying cold messages from his mother, the majority urging you to produce her son heirs in order to strengthen their line. Save those, you and your husband have virtually no interaction at all. Even the consummation of your marriage has been put off, neither of you wanting to face the reality of your relationship.

Now, in your bedchambers, you wince, blood drawing from where you’ve pricked your finger with the embroidery needle. Just as you go to soothe it with your mouth, a knock comes through the door.

“Come.” You call, sucking your thumb.

“Lord Larys Strong, my Lady.” Vialy’s voice softly whispers as she opens the door, the clubfoot coming into view. She closes it behind him.

You set aside your hoop and fabric, smoothing your robe as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

“Please, Princess,” he holds a hand up. “No need.”

You nod, putting your legs back under the covers. “What is it, Lord Strong?”

He stalks closer, his eyes switching from the silhouette of your legs and back to you.

“Women,” he begins, “are the most overlooked assets in the kingdom, my Lady. Good queen Alysanne’s Women’s Courts brought to light many of the injustices our mothers, sisters, and wives stumble upon in their ranks.”

“I know my histories well, my Lord,” you assure him. “Is that of relevance?” 

He glares at you, that sorrowful look forver behind his eyes.

“May I speak plainly?”

“Please.”

“…I understand that you’ve taken notice of your Lord husband’s absences at night. One seldom may find him abed, where he’s expected, in the hour of the wolf.”

Your brows thread together as the Lord teeters on overstepping. Though you’ve wisened to the fact that the clubfoot has a gift for speaking ugly truths with no consequence falling upon him.

He continues. “I can’t help but wonder if the Princess ever longs to know where he spends his nights.”

You sigh. “I have no doubt that you possess such knowledge.”

“I do…but I shall hold my tongue, should it displease you to know,” he remarks, cornering you into the allusion of choice, wanting you to beg at his feet for the miraculous information that he seems to have an endless supply of.

“No, pray tell me where Aemond goes in the dead of night,” you relent.

Lord Larys goes on to tell you nothing short of a tale. He speaks of a pleasure house that your husband frequents, along with a madam. Thrice his age she’s said to be, the first and only woman he’s laid with. That is where he chooses to spend his time, throwing dirt on the name of his wife in exchange for a whore in a pleasure house.

You dismiss the Lord, but can’t help the spark of fury rising in your stomach. Aemond is the son of the Dowager, he’s brother of the King, he’s a Targaryen, and he chooses to fill his time shaming his name and house in such a place. The issue hardly lies with his choice of establishment and more with his status. He’s promised to you, wed to you. Even if the two of you have no love for the arrangement, at least you honor it. But because he is a man he can conduct himself as he pleases?

You quickly change out of your robes and into a plain featured gown, making sure that a hood is on the collar. Swinging your door open, you grab Vialy’s hand and pull her down the corridor.

“Where are we headed?” she asks, struggling to keep up with your pace.

“We’re going out,” you whisper.

“What for?”

“If my husband can spend his nights on the Street of Silk, so can I.”

“The Street of Silk?” she raises her voice as the two of you rush down the stairs. “What business could you possible have there?”

“Shh-“

“Auriela.” you hear a familiar voice at the top of the stairs.

The two of you freeze, slowly turning to face your goodbrother, dimly lit by the moonlight.

“Aegon.”

“Where are you off to?” he asks, a cup of wine in his hand and a tipsy droop to his eyelids.

“To the city, my King,” you say truthfully, assuming he won’t remember the conversation come dusk. “We won’t be long.”

“Well…Wait there, I’ll get someone to escort you.”

“Oh, there’s no need for hassle, brother. I’ve got Vialy-“

“Your handmaiden is not a knight,” he rolls his eyes, ever vigilant of how attached at the hip the two of you are. “You need a swordsman, stay there.”

Aegon stumbles as he walks toward his chambers in search of a guard. You look at a wide eyed and terrified Vialy. You briefly ponder on your next actions, though not long enough before you pull your friend with you, sprinting down the stairs and toward the side doors. 

“Ella!” she whisper shouts as you run away from the castle.

“I’m not being chaperoned on a visit to my own city. Especially not by some stuck up white cloak.”

“The King commanded you, I- We’ll get in trouble!”

“The King’s drunk, he probably never made it ten steps before collapsing.”

…

You finally slow down, looking in upon the vibrant Street of Silk, colorful creatives and laborers alike lining the street with their gifts. A great smile grows on your face, never having seen such savage freedom in your life. Nothing of the sort could possibly take place in the snowy streets of Barrowtown, nor the guarded streets of the Keep. But the smallfolk, the lucky majority, see such liberty all their lives.

You and Vialy stop at the tallest and most decorated brothel on the street, men and women pouring in and out.

“Are you sure about this, Princess?”

“No more of that, Via,” you tuck your hair before pulling your hood up. “We no longer have status. Not here,” you grin before pulling her in.

What you can only imagine is the smell of ravaging sex fills the air, the temperature rising as the two of you cowardly enter the pillow house. 

“This is not a place becoming of a royal, Auriela,” Vialy whispers.

“The King and his brother attend such places all the time,” you mindlessly remark, looking around at all of the frivolous and free fucking in every direction.

It’s only when your eyes scan a private room at the back of the house when you see a sight you don’t expect. 

Green eyed, olive, and tall, a roughly dressed boy sits alone on a floor mattress, looking out at the pursuits around him.

“Via…” you keep your eyes on him.

“If any of them were at the wedding they’ll know who you-“

“Vialy, look.” you point.

The two of you stare on as he obliviously looks past you, his carefully molded face glistening with a sheet of sweat in the humid atmosphere. 

“I’ll see you…” you walk toward the boy.

“What- Don’t leave me, Ella!”

“He isn’t your taste anyhow, find a maiden to entertain.”

Vialy turns red at your observations, never secure in who the gods made her attracted to. You never minded though, the realm knows the same of Rhaenyra’s late husband, Laenor. It never cast as dark of shadow on house Velaryon as Vialy believes it shall cast on her.

“Princess.” she nods, leaving you to it as you approach the boy. 

You draw closer. His emerald eyes look up at you as you close the curtain behind you, sitting criss cross in front of him.

“How much for your favors?” 

He remains relaxed, slyly leaning back on his hands. “How much do you have?”

You smile. “I just want your time.”

“I have little and less of it as of late, Princess.”

You catch a frog in your throat as your smile drops, sitting up straight. 

“…You know me?”

He leans forward, stroking the arm of your gown. “Nobles frequent here…No common woman has frocks of such tulle.”

Your face goes a little hot as you examine his…examining yours. The man is young enough, though older than Aemond, only by a few years. His loose blouse nearly slips off of his thin frame as a mischievous smirk grows on his lips.

“I’ve never served a highborn woman before,” he mimics your position, his hands in his lap.

“And that way you shall remain,” you assure him. “Who have you served?”

“Many out of the Red Keep. Beneath their cloaks of righteousness all men wish for the same thing.”

“Is it only highborn men that you’ve served?”

“Highborn…lowborn…any willing to pay their dues.”

“Hm,” you hum, wondering if he knows how much you envy his autonomy of his own endeavors.

“And what of you? What business does a Princess have in a place like this?”

“I heard I’m free to be who I wish as long as I’m here,” you say truthfully. “Free to do as I wish.”

“That is true…Though I’d imagine you’d much better enjoy the freedoms of the safe castle.”

You scoff. “I know none of the freedoms you speak of. I’m just as chained as the prisoners I walk above every day.” 

“You resent what most girls would kill for.”

“Let them,” you shrug. “I’d give my station to the lowest of women if it meant I could go back home.”

“And where is that?”

You pause, wondering if such information can be trusted with this man. But as he so prettily awaits an answer, you can only think of the web of truths your husband has likely spun to his paramour.

“Barrowtown.”

“A Northerner,” he smiles, “I should’ve known.”

“And where is your home?”

“Is it not clear?”

You furrow your brows.

“Gods, the sun really has been seized from my skin,” he chuckles. “Dorne, Princess. Starfall.”

“Starfall…” you recall your lessons with the Septa. “Are you a Dayne?”

He hums. “You know your histories, Princess.”

“Call me Auriela, Lord Dayne.”

“Lord,” his body shakes with an erupting laugh, his smile brightening your mood even more. “I’m no Lord, Princess Auriela. I’m called Lucan, or Deephide.”

“Deephide?”

“They say I’m too dark to be a hart but too light to be a crow. The company I keep isn’t too creative when it comes to names.”

You laugh. “I think Lucan is a fine name alone.”

You and the boy talk well into the night, your sitting positions morphing into lying side by side on the mattress. Groups of buyers trot in and out of the pleasure house, though all of Lucan’s are rejected in your presence. 

In one of the long hours of the night, or perhaps an early hour of the morning, Vialy emerged from behind the curtain. A girl was treading on her heels, her hair darker than yours and skin paler than salt. Your heart warms as Vialy’s rare smile grows upon her face, locking hands with the girl. Alice, she’s called. “I never want to leave, Ella.” she remarks before giddily running back off with her doxy.

It’s only hours later, when the patrons thin and the sounds of pleasure cease, that you and Lucan finally egress from the small back room. There, you see slithers of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the door. 

Vialy rushes up to you, her eyes wide.

“Princess,” she urges. “Princess, we must go.”

On the other side of the door, you hear an array of hoof beats against the cobblestone street.

“They’re looking for you, Princess,” she frantically pulls you toward the door.

“Wh- Who?”

“The City Watch.” vialy heaves, her panic only growing. “We’ve overstayed, it’s well past the hour of the Nightingale. We must return.”

“Wait, wait,” you pull your arm from her. “Why must we go? Aemond doesn’t return for days at a time.”

Vialy stares at you. “We are not men, Princess.”

“Why rush?” you giggle, Lucan joining your side. “You were just having so much fun.”

“That was before I knew that Gold Cloaks were searching for a Princess that I’m meant to tend to. Please,” she pulls you once again, “please, let’s return to the Keep.”

“No,” you turn her to you. “The Gold Cloaks will cast around for a while before they return to the Keep empty handed, as they do with my husband.”

She frowns. “Ella…”

“We will return,” you assure her. “Only a little longer, okay? We as women don’t experience this freedom often in our lives, allow me this one day.”

Vialy’s expression says all you need to know. Nevertheless, she bows her head as she does in the Red Keep.

“Princess,” she mumbles before weakly returning to the dark haired girl.

Lucan turns to you. “Do you often evade the law enforcement of your castle?”

“Not nearly as much as I wish to,” you smile.

“I have yet to meet a noble woman who’d rather spend her days in a pillow house than in her palace.”

“Spend your time locked in the Keep and see how long before you run back to freedom.”

He examines the near empty premises before pulling you toward the door.

“Once the Watch leaves our street I’ll be happy to show you the finer things in your city,” he suggests. “Much prettier than here…”

…

Your hood stays up as Lucan pulls you by the hand, holding tight so as not to lose you in the sea of smallfolk at the Blackwater docs. Your mouth hangs agape as ships sit idle in the port, hundreds of men laboring on and around them. Grand green and gold flags hang from many of them as cargo is loaded.

“Are these all from Essos?” you ask Lucan.

“I thought you knew your histories.”

“Lands and lords, I know well. Maritime traffic was never a subject my septas lingered on.”

“Hm,” Lucan nods, watching as you admire the great ships. “Well that one there is from Braavos. The plum tint of their sails is from the old practice of dying their stolen ships.”

“And those?” you point to the green bannered vessels. “Are they our royal fleet?”

“Some are,” he shrugs. “Others come from lands across the Narrow Sea or the Sea of Dorne.”

The two of you finally depart the docs in pursuit of your next expedition. Lucan plays the jester, forcing so many laughs from you that your stomach burns as the two of you explore your sacred town for hours. Plays in Flea Bottom amuse you more than any fool in the Keep has, beautiful musicians bring you to tears, and incredible tailor-ship lines the streets as the sun begins to fall. The two of you see flashes of gold throughout the city, signaling the second round of searches. Lucan leads you back to the whore house that is once again bursting at the seams. You head to the familiar and quiet room, though you pause when you see Alice, alone.

“Where’s Via gone?” you ask, Lucan’s hand still in yours.

“Forgive me, she’s left.”

A small beat skips in your heart as you examine the room.

“Has she?”

“Early this evening, says she was too afraid of the Gold Cloaks to deliberately elude their efforts.”

“Hm,” you nervously bite your lip. “Well I shall await her return, even if she may bear the company of those I avoid. When they come, I shall be ready.” 

Alice stops you when you attempt to pass her, holding something out.

“For when you see her next,” she places a fine necklet in your hand, a handmade red pendant in the center.

You nod, noticing the matching one she wears around her neck. With that, you and Lucan leave Alice and enter your room.

“Do you imagine your husband worries for you?” Lucan asks as you both sit.

“He’s never done so before, it’d be a shock if he began now.”

“He surely has some love for you, Princess. It must not be that he’s a cold as you say.”

“Colder,” you assure him, your knees touching his as you lean toward him. “We hold the titles man and wife but we couldn’t be further from it.”

“…Does he please you?” 

You scoff. “Not in the way you’re asking.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I like how you speak plainly,” you smile. “Aemond seems to prefer a more…seasoned woman.”

Lucan laughs. “Really?”

“Thrice his age his lover is said to be,” you reveal before you can stop yourself.

“May I say it as I see it, Princess?”

You nod, paying more attention to his lips than you are his words.

“I think the Prince knows not of what he fails to seek out. I have no doubt that he’d find satisfaction in pleasuring you. His wife is a maiden yet he fucks a crone…a fools choice he makes.”

“Precisely, Lucan,” you argue. “It matters not whether I’m a maiden if at the time of the deed, I have no knowledge of what I’m to do. By all accounts I’m meant to lay there as he impales me until I bear his plain featured sons, I want no part in it.”

“I can show you, Princess. When done the way whores are taught, coupling isn’t an act of duty but a mutual act of pleasure. For both lady and lord.”

You think on his words, your attention now on those rather than his mouth. You ultimately agree, some hidden and repulsive side deep in you wanting to be desired. Wanting to be able to please Aemond.

Lucan smiles, lying on the mattress. He pulls you onto him, a flash of hot warming your face.

“He’ll never allow me atop him like this.”

“Perhaps no. But minds will change once he feels what happens when you are.”

He places his hands on your hips, rocking them back and forth as he instructs you as to where to put your hands. His chest, his neck, your hair, your palms roam every inch of your bodies as he instructs you further. Even when he flips the two of you, hovering above, he tells you how to stay in control. His bottoms stroke against your dress as your hands travel once more to Lucan’s orders. 

The two of you continue until you’re sweaty and worn out, falling asleep with many and more ideas on how to touch your husband, should the time when you wish to ever come.

✺ ✺ ✺

“Are you sure about this, Princess?” Lucan looks around the crowded fighting pits. “He’s not ours to take.”

“Would you rather him in there?” you ask as you pick up the tiny, hooded, silver haired boy, looking down at the feral children.

Lucan stays quiet, following after you as the boy keeps a hold around your neck. You make it all the way back to your room in the whore house before being stopped.

“You can’t bring a child in. Leave him outside,” a brothel madam commands at the door.

“They’re with me,” Lucan insists. 

“Outside,” she commands.

You sigh heavy, reluctantly lowering the boy’s hood to reveal his indisputable Targaryen hair. The madam’s eyes widen as she more likely than not imagines how much a Targaryen would sell for, even if he’s only young. She lets you in, smirking at Lucan as if he’s brought her a gift. 

You arrive back to the room. “He’s not Aemond’s,” you tell Lucan. “My husband’s a fool but he’d never do this.”

“Aegon’s then,” he watches as you sit the child in front of you two.

“One of many I’d think.”

The boy is slow to speak, making you wonder if he knows how. You can make out that he’s about Jaehaerys’ age, no older than seven. 

It’s only after much unanswered questions and empty silence that the boy finally speaks. Maeserys, he’s called.

“Whoever his mother is,” you whisper to Lucan, “she knew what he was.” 

A name fit for a decendant of Old Valyria. He uncovers the little of his past that he remembers. No brothers, no mother, only fighting pits and scavenging. He speaks with a lisp and knows few words, only enough to keep him alive in a city such as this one. You can’t help but feel sad for Maeserys, he’s your kin by law yet has been living as a commoner since he can remember. 

Lucan relieves the boy of the heavy interrogation, delivering him to his close friend working a nearby tavern, Pate. As difficult as it is to separate from the neglected boy, a tavern is a much more fitting environment for someone like him.

Alone again, you and Lucan sit knee to knee, your hand in his. He traces the lines of your palm, a trick he says he learned in Dorne. “Each trunk is how many sons you’ll have, each branch is how many daughters.” According to this, you’re meant to have three of each. 

Simultaneously, you trace his palms back. You sit in silence, the ambience of constant foot traffic outside humming lowly. Lucan lifts your hand, pressing a kiss into it. You’re entranced, sensuality sparking through you as you look over to him.

“Every woman is an image of the mother,” his face nears yours, “to be treated with reverence.”

It’s not a thought out action when your lips meet. It’s slow, it’s passion filled. A small smile grows on your lips as you truly taste your newfound freedom, finally being liberated of the dread that comes with your husband in the Red Keep. Lucan’s lips travel downward to your jaw, then to your neck. You stroke hair, small breaths escaping you. His hand is making its way up your thighs and to your waist when the curtain cover of the room is ripped open.

There, standing taller than you remember him, your husband stares down at you. His old ladylove of which you’ve heard so much about stands behind him, both of them stripped and bare. Aemond’s face twists in a mix of anger and humiliation, staring at both you and Lucan before rushing away. 

You’re left frozen, silent as Lucan stumbles over his words.

“I-“ he stammers, “I’m sorry, Princess. I knew not that he’d be-“

Your eyes stay wide, tears beginning to line them as you think of all of the grave consequences that you’ve invited upon yourself. You never had a plan, at least not one that you’ve thought through. Sure, you were awaiting the Gold Cloaks. But the idea of your own husband catching you in such a compromised state sends shivers down your spine.

Though, there was no time for shock. Aemond comes barreling back in, now fully clothed and alone. He says nothing, only tightly grabs your arm and drags you to your feet, away from Lucan.

✺ ✺ ✺

Water fills your eyes as they stay glued to the floor. You stand in the center of a secluded room, the furnace behind you heating up your body. In front of you, a council of those you wished to never lay eyes on again stare at you. The Dowager Queen, the Hand, the Maester, your husband, and the King all sit behind a long table, interrogating.

“What for?” the Queen Mother asks, stern and angry.

“I- I don’t know, Your Grace,” you mumble, hiccuping between your tears. “I wanted to see beyond the walls of the keep.”

“Three days, Auriela,” she reminds you. “You ‘saw the city’ for three days whilst the Watch was searching endlessly?”

You’ve concluded that she’s the most fearsome woman the Gods have yet to make as you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve, barely able to croak out words.

“…I was exploring.”

“Exploring, you say,” she nods. “In a brothel?”

You shake your head, assembling a feeble lie in the seconds you have. “I was only chasing hound, my Queen.”

“And the boy?”

Suddenly, the air escapes your body as you look up for the first time, your eyes shooting to Aemond. He was angry with you, rightfully so. But you hadn’t expected him to tell his mother the true details of how he found you. For some foolish reason you thought the two of you had that understanding.

“I- He means nothing we…we did nothing. I swear it.”

Your husband for some odd reason feels the need to speak up.

“That’s not what the madam told me.”

An anger rises in you that you weren’t sure was accessible to you at such a time as this. Only in the face of directly speaking to Aemond did all of your fear cease. 

“And what were you yourself doing in a brothel, Lord husband?”

He smirks, recognizing this side of you. “Searching for my Lady wife, of course.”

“Searching,” you scoff. “Is that why every whore on the Street of Silk knows you by name and face? Because you go searching so often?”

“Hm, watch your words, wife,” he bickers back, his smirk turning into more of a sneer.

"Your words are wind, for I am innocent of any crimes,” you speak up, face hot with fury. “Why am I standing trial when the Prince runs to the same place every night? Fucking old rotting whores instead of tending to his wife-“

“That is enough, Auriela!” Alicent demands, pounding her hands on the table.

Aegon finally acts, placing a hand on Alicent’s. “Mother…”

Remembering he is here, you bow your head. “My apologies, my King. That was beneath me.”

Otto Hightower sighs, breaking the silence as the table ogles his daughter. "It brings shame to your house, Princess; to your family, when a Lady such as yourself is seen in such an...implicative position. We only ask that you not be seen conducting yourself in such a manner again.”

You nod at the Hands request, slight shame warming your face.

“Command, he means to say,” Aegon corrects. "It is a command by word of your King that you never leave this keep again if not attended."

"I was attended-"

"By a member of my Kingsguard." 

Once again, you nod, though you’d much rather roll your eyes in the face of this shameless usurper.

"A clement constraint, wife,” Aemond adds. “It wouldn't be so were I King."

If only you were King.

✺ ✺ ✺

“One day I’d like to see the city,” Helaena remarks as you sit beside her, playing dolls with little Jaehaera.

“One day you shall, my Queen,” you assure her.

Behind you, the door opens. Vialy enters, her presence suddenly reminding you of the new life that you lived for a short three days. 

Only, Vialy looks grievous. A black and purple ring forms around her eye, bruises and scars littering her neck and chest. You drop the dolls, running up to her. You frantically turn her jaw, examining. 

“What’s happened!?” 

“I’m alright, Princess-“

“That’s not what I’ve asked you.”

She sighs, knowing well that you won’t let this go. “The King’s Justice didn’t like my arrival unaccompanied by my Lady.”

Your lips part, regret washing over you. “Wh-“ you stare at her. “Did he take you to the dungeons?”

“Only a few short hours,” she shrugs, “and a few short beatings.” 

“Vialy,” you shake your head. “Why would he torture you after you’ve said all you know? It’s not sensible…”

She chuckles. “My Princess, I said nothing.”

Your face drops, staring at hers. A small and proud smirk rests on her lips as a frown forms on yours.

“You fool!” you reprimand. “You should’ve told him all you knew of me, down to the room I resided in!”

“I am loyal to you-“

“I would never ask this of you, Via!” you stress. Her beaten down, yet gratified expression evokes a crossness in you…along with a hint of reassurance. Nevertheless, you sigh. “I’ll take it up with Aemond. The king as well.”

“It’s truly not needed. For my devotion to the Princess shan’t be swayed by a few hits.”

You sheepishly smile, giving her this small victory. Though, you have no intent of letting this happening go unspoken of. But as of now, you drop it, bringing Vialy to where you and Helaena sat with the children. There, you hand her the wooden spun necklace that Alice gave you, a warm smile growing on her lips as she thanks you.

…

“Clement,” you burst into your husband’s bed chambers, slamming the heavy door behind you. “A clement King you called him.”

Aemond can barely turn around before you shove him, forcing him to catch himself on his table.

“I know not what you speak of,” he looks at you wildly before regaining his composure, “but I suggest you keep your head about you.”

“Did you see what they had done to my Handmaiden? A woman, an innocent!”

He scoffs. “She was the last to see the missing Princess, it is the Justice’s work to see to any leads.”

"To what end, Aemond? The girl said she didn't know, what more must she say?"

"And that was a lie,” he corrects you. “Lying to an extension of the crown is treasonous, Auriela. Punishable by death."

"Death…” you stare, eyes burning with fury, “all for not revealing my whereabouts?"

"If only you had come home."

You roll your eyes, sighing as you debate saying what the both of you already know. The image of a weakened Vialy smiling through her pain encourages you to express on the whole of you and your husband. 

"...Why this farce, Aemond? Why must we continue this? We fail at up-keeping the appearances of our marriage…why not just end it?"

"End it...” he furrows his brow, “you have yet to mention this before."

You do the same, silently begging for him to just admit it. "Need I? You know as well as I that we shall never learn to work as one."

"Actually I ever learn that I know little and less about my Lady wife."

You shrug, knowing he’ll never cease to dance around the cold truth of what the two of you have been and will always remain…strangers. You accept defeat and land on compromise. 

"Just have Aegon allow me leave. I will arrive back as needed,” you truly ask. He looks at you so intently, the last time he’s done so being on your wedding day. “I will do my duty and produce you heirs, and we shall live our separate days."

“Hm,” he thinks, scanning you up and down in that cold stare before nodding. "And would you be asking leave if I were that brothel boy?"

You scrunch your face, the conversation seemingly taking a turn in a different direction. 

"What?"

"The boy, Deephide."

Regrettably, you almost scowl, feeling strange toward your husband’s mention of Lucan. Your days on the Street of Silk seemed like a separate reality completely, one that Aemond has no knowledge of. Now, you feel a small sense of territoriality of those few days, and all personnel that they entail.

"Aemond I'm married to you, what-  How can that not be enough?"

"But you chose him,” he continues. “Is it because he's older? Or lowborn?"

"Husband, leave this.”

“Do you like Dornish men?”

Perhaps I do, you think. 

"You've always seemed most uninterested in what l like.”

He continues to pry. "Why do you want him?"

"Why do you want women older than your mother?” you snap, his perseverance on the matter seeming all too personal. "We all want things in our lives, Aemond. There's no reason, we just do."

“Those are wise words,” he remarks, still staring as if he wants to see through you. "…Did you bed him?"

“What do you take me for?” you deride. “I am wed, that may mean little to you but it's an ever growing shadow upon my name. I am not like you, I am not a man, I cannot give my maidenhead away freely as you can."

A small grin sneaks on his lips. "I am glad."

"Excuse me?"

"That you've remained a maiden,” he departs from leaning on the table and pursues you, his tall frame towering over yours. “Despite your...excursions.”

The closer he gets the smaller you feel, his eye still treading on yours.

His voice lowers. “Our marriage must be consummated one day, Auriela. Some don’t consider us legitimate at all so long as you remain unsullied.”

Aemond’s breath heats your skin, the two of you closer than you’ve been in years. Your eyes flicker from his own to his lips, refusing to believe what he’s asking of you. 

Your breath shakes slightly. “That I know…”

He bites the bullet, moving before he can think. His hand rests between your collar and jaw, keeping a firm grip on you. You shudder as he pulls your mouth to his, a hunger in his kisses. The rough and sudden clash has your mind racing a million leagues a minute. The two of you have had your fair share of kisses, all of which being to please the eyes of his mother and council. Aemond has never desired you, never looked in your direction, never spoke of or to you unless forced to. Where this abrupt change in passion comes from, no man can say.

You don’t realize the way your hands seem to pull him closer until you’re interrupted, a knock at his door. Aemond pays it no mind, continuing to overwhelm you until three knocks ring out again. 

He lets out a frustrated growl, keeping you in his hands as he looks over your head. He gives you one more glance before releasing, walking over and opening the door.

“The King requires an audience, my Prince,” the unmistakable voice of Criston Cole says.

“Tell my brother I’m occupied, Ser Criston,” Aemond brushes him off, shutting the door.

Cole holds it open. “Forgive me but it’s a command. He asks for your wife.”

Your husband grunts, slamming the door and turning back to you.

“He truly always finds a way to steal my joy.”

Standing opposite a mirror, you smooth your dress down. “Ser Criston?”

“Aegon.”

“Hm,” you hum. Aemond stands behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you ready yourself for the King you so despise. 

Neither of you dare speak a word of what may have happened had Ser Criston not intervened. You just stare into the mirror, a rare sight, the two of you looking like a proper pair.

You snap out of it, heading toward the door as Aemond holds onto your waist for as long as he can. When he finally lets go, you scurry out of his chambers, a breath finally escaping that you were unaware you were holding. Ser Criston leads you to the chamber of the Small Council.

…

“No, my King,” you plainly state, wanting nothing more than to leave his presence, “I have yet to bear a Princeling.”

Aegon sits at the head of the empty table, sitting you at the corner as he asks perpetual and aimless questions.

“My brother is a cunt but I always thought he’d know his way around one,” he smirks, staring at you with an all too fake quizzical look. “May that be yours or an old hags.”

You stay silent, imagining you were anywhere but in this chamber with this boy.

“Have you at the least lost your maidenhead? I’ve heard whispers of you and the Dornish boy-“

"Is the King this engrossed with his own wife's affairs? He seems to be most interested in my fucking and fooling."

“Ha,” Aegon tsks, "you may soon find that Northern mouth getting you into trouble, goodsister.”

You eye him impassively with a demeaning tilt of your head before making the mature decision to back down.

 "Right, Your Grace,” you adjust. “I forget myself, I shall hold my tongue before my King. I only wish to ask what this meeting may be about."

“Much better,” he smiles before standing up, heading toward the board marked with houses, pins, and landmarks. “You know as well as anyone that the North is a hard cart to heave. They swore fealty to the pretendor of Dragonstone years ago, I need you to ensure that they now know who their trueborn King is.”

You stifle a laugh, the sight of Aegon trying to rule being nothing short of a jest. In this prospect especially, where he’s sure to fail before he’s even begun. 

“And how would you have me do that, Your Grace?”

“By traveling to Winterfell and promising your firstborn daughter to second of Cregan Stark’s sons,” he blurts out, a proud smile on his face telling you that he’s come up with this plan all on his own…evidently.

“My King,” you begin, not sure which of the hundreds of flaws you should bring attention to first, “I suggest we send a raven to scope how far Winterfell is willing to stray from their oaths foremost. As you said, we aren’t easy to sway, the North does remember, Your Grace.”

“They may not be easy to sway,” he emphasizes the detachment of the North and yourself, “but I send you because you know the North. It was your home, you’re more familiar than any of us.”

“Yes, and because of that I know that Cregan is slow to waiver and quick to call his banners.”

“Shall he support the cunt of Dragonstone, let them come.”

You scoff. “You don’t want war with the North, Your Grace. Cregan will never bend even with Sunfyre himself at his gates. Lucerys wasn’t far from Lord Stark’s own dead brother’s age, all the more reason to sympathize with the Velaryons. And who’s to say he hasn’t already been preyed upon by the blacks?”

“The North is closer to us than to Dragonstone.”

“They’re ahead of us in that sense,” you remind him. “While our King thrust us into war and bloodshed, Rhaenyra took a steady route; collecting her allies and seeking her foes.”

Aegon wears a frustrated scowl at your reprimands, coming back to the table and standing over you, his hands resting just in front of yours. 

“Do you mean to doubt the King’s ways?” he asks, his voice low and warning.

“I mean to do no such thing,” you assure him. You look toward to door. “May I ask why my husband isn’t privy to this discussion?”

He looks you up and down, minorly offended before he retakes his seat. “I heard that you disagree with some of my methods of questioning.”

Vialy. Your heart skips a beat, knowing that the only people who knew about your feelings on the matter were Helaena, Vialy, and Aemond; all of which were consulted within the hour. Was he eavesdropping on your conversations?

You stay fairly quiet on the matter. “I just wanted my handmaiden to feel safe and at home in the Keep.”

“Mm,” he nods, placing his chin on his fist, “and do you feel safe and at home, sister?”

A small wrinkle forms above your brow as you fail to decipher what he could possibly be getting at. You smooth it out, knowing better than to hurt a powerful man’s confidence beyond the grounds of small jabs.

“…Am I free to go, Your Grace?” 

He lingers on you, close to how his brother does, before waving his hand. You stand, walking toward the door not knowing whether you’re still expected to go North. If the King says it, so it shall be. Though, you’re not sure how welcome you’d be back home after your time here. As you exit the room, a pit forms in your stomach at the thought of it…

✺ ✺ ✺

Later

The night replays itself in your head relentlessly. Aemond seemed like a new man. He was careful, gentle even as he undressed you, cradling your head as he laid you upon the bed. The consummation wasn’t witnessed, though you’re sure Ser Criston could assume the activities at hand from what he heard at the door. Many of the things Lucan taught you worked ably, one of them sending your husband over the edge. 

You shan’t complain about the experience, for you expected much worse and are painfully aware of how much worse women before you have had it. However, as you laid in Aemond’s bed, his arms wrapped around you as he softly snored, you couldn’t find sleep. You contrite the thoughts that kept creeping into your head. Alice, Maeserys…Lucan. Your mind refused to rest even as the night grew late. 

You cannot deny that Aemond was good to you tonight…which makes the fact that you’re presently lying naked next to Lucan even more regrettable. You didn’t mean it to happen, but as your feet continued tip toeing away from the Keep and toward the whore house, you found yourself justifying what you intended to do. My maidenhead is gone you thought, bedding two men within the hour only counts as one. 

“I have to return…” you sit up, Lucan’s fingertips tracing your spine.

“Must you?” 

“Mhm,” you nod, standing and stepping into your dress. “I was only meant to visit you.”

He grins. “It gladdens me that you did, Princess.”

You say your goodbyes, deciding to leave the act as it lay and not speak of it again. Lucan seems to understand the arrangement you’ve made, just for the night. 

The cool of the night stings your eyes as you exit the buzzing pleasure house. You nearly trip when your foot is caught at the door. Snapping your head down, your gaze quickly softens as you see what’s grabbed you. Maeserys’ sad violet eyes stare up at you, his hood draping over his brows as his tiny fingers hold onto your dress. You contemplate rushing back inside and cursing whoever left him out here in the cold, then you contemplate doing the same to Pate for not keeping an eye on him. Ultimately, after a brief brainstorm and scan for witnesses, you pick him up and whisk him away. 

You don’t consider what you’ll do with him until you’ve snuck back into the Keep, his arms latched around your neck. Small pattering footsteps ring out as you hurry to your chambers. Though, you find you’re not quick enough as a you hear a familiar clanking round the corner…A knight. You freeze in your spot as Ser Criston Cole nearly walks into you. 

…

“You’re exactly what I thought you to be,” Aemond stands across the room, his volume rising, “heinous…whorish,” he shakes his head.

Your eyes turn a watery red as you silently hex the Lord Commander for delivering you to your downfall.

“Aemond I…” you shake your head, “it was below me, I admit. I-“

“You shall address me as your Lord,” he points a finger in your face. “After all we built, Auriela…Just to throw it away on the morrow, I-“ he scoffs, pacing the room.

“I was thinking of the boy…” you admit truthfully. Of the few victories you’ve won, sneaking Maeserys out of Ser Criston’s sight before he could be he seized was certainly one of them.  

“Who is none of our fucking concern!” Aemond hurls a goblet at you, it clattering onto the floor. “I put my trust in you…I put my my cock in you. Just for you to…” he struggles to normalize his breathing, “just to dispose of me as if it meant nothing.”

Sorrow fills your heart as you see water lining his eye as well, suddenly regretting ever leaving the Keep.

“Husband…” a tear falls down your cheek as you walk toward him. 

You reach for his face, he hesitates before dropping to his knees. His arms wrap around your waist, burying his head as small sobs escape him. It breaks you, feeling only remorse and shame as you cradle his head, softly weeping with him. 

You and your husband stay this way until you have no more tears to cry. No words are spoken as you leave his bed chambers, retrieving little Mase and returning to your own.

✺ ✺ ✺

2 moons later

The unfamiliar smell of dragon breath seeps into the cool air of the North as you stand atop the wall, Cregan looking over the snowy forests with you. 

“If you’ve only come to make me bend the knee to the Usurper then you’ve wasted your travels, cousin.”

“I figured as much,” you admit, “I only ask that you consider it before you open yourself to a war that the North can avoid.”  

“You may be committed to the tyrants by oath and for that I don’t fault you, but the North still remembers their own oaths. If that sends us to war then we welcome it.” Cregan shrugs, his thick accent feeling like home. 

“I’ve heard that,” Aemond’s voice emerges from behind you. The two of your turn. “That the North remembers.”

He steps out of the lift, animal skin draped over his frame. “It’s funny though, as no Northerner seems to remember that your ancestor, Torrhen Stark, bent the knee to mine own, Aegon the Conquerer.”

Cregan glances over to you, then back to Aemond before letting out a laugh. The Prince uncomfortably shifts his position.

“That’s right,” he nods, challengingly getting closer to Aemond. “But you’re no conquerer…you’re just a boy. A craven kinslayer at that.” 

“Hm,” Aemond looks down at him, “watch your tongue, Northman.”

“I suggest you do the same…your royal status doesn’t protect you this close to death,” he gestures beyond the wall.

“My position may be weak here, but my dragon is not.”

“When that fat old lizard is brazen enough to fly over this wall maybe she’ll finally instill some fear in my heart.”

The boys face off, both of their hands resting on their daggers. You step in, placing a hand on Cregan’s chest.

“I’ve got something to show you.”

Aemond returns to his place beside Vhagar and his knights, staying there as you return to Cregan, Mase in your arms.

“…And you’re sure he’s Aegon’s?” Cregan examines the boy, stroking his hair.

“Can’t you tell? I only ask you watch over him until the war subsides, cousin. He’s an innocent.”

He nods, the memory of his small brother pushing his yes.

“I shall protect him like he were my own,” he agrees.

You thank him. “Next time I see you I hope it to be on kinder business.” 

“As do I.”

…

Your husband, at the cost of your dignity and stiff lip, allowed the Starks a time free of war and calls of banners for now, even if they didn’t particularly bend the knee. You and Aemond are leagues ahead of his royal host as you fly on Vhagar. Reluctantly, you make a stop to your home of Barrowtown, seeing your father and sisters for the first time since your father promised you to Aemond. That, you haven’t yet put past him. But the Seven ask you to be forgiving, so forgiveness you shall seek.

✺ ✺ ✺

1 moon later

You feel like a rat beneath the feet of the royals as you peek into the Small Council chamber, silently watching. A hand hovers over your belly as a table full of men discuss the matter.

“I am confident that the child is mine.”

“How can you be so sure, Aemond?” Alicent ridicules him. “The girl has no respect for you or our house, who’s to say she hasn’t fallen pregnant at the hands of a whore in the city?”

“She spends more nights with me than she does in the city, mother. Certainly after Aegon tried shipping her North in the dead of Winter, she wouldn’t be so reckless.”

“But she is reckless,” Aegon speaks up. “I commanded her to stay in the castle, she leaves again that same night. I command her to get Lord Stark to bend the knee, she convinces you to join her on some holiday to the North, accomplishing nothing. Your wife is disobedient, she recognizes no authority.”

“And if the child is not mine?” your husband asks. “If he comes out with dark hair and olive skin, what then? Will you have my child murdered for her crimes.”

You furrow your brows, never considering Aemond to be one of your allies in the castle. After the insults you’ve heard him hurl toward Rhaenyra’s children, you were certain that any child that was not true born was, in his eyes, undeserving.

Lord Wylde eyes him. “You certainly aren’t suggesting we house a bastard in the Keep, my Prince.”

Aemond shrugs. “I only mean to raise the question.”

“There should be no question,” Alicent rubs her temples. “Your shameless wife parades around the castle, bowing to none and seeing no consequence.”

“If she is to be executed for the crime of not living in fear then let you pike my head beside hers-“

“The history of questioned legitimacies is a long and bloody one, my Lords,” Otto breaks the bicker. “Let us not plan for such wickedness and instead bend our knees and bow our heads to the Seven and pray that the Princess bears a true born son of her husband.”

With that, the council moves on to other matters. Though, the sneers on Alicent and her oldest son’s faces don’t cease so quickly, their abhor for you only growing stronger.

…

“Watchers always find a way to seek each other out,” Lord Larys creeps on you from the corner of your bedchamber. “I saw you watching, Princess.”

You sigh, shrugging. “Is it wrong to wish to know the rulings of my own family?”

“Oh, far from it,” he assures you. “But when the queen speaks the bees listen…They question your morale.”

“They question my very being, Lord Larys,” you admit, not in the mood for his riddles. “Speak what you mean.”  

“…I fear that the water is rising, my Lady. Tensions run high and blood runs deep in the Red Keep, I can see as well as any that your welcome here is nearing an end. What they plan to do with you when the grim day comes, I cannot say I know. Though, I do not wish to see you perish, Princess.”

You tilt your head. Larys has a way of rising perspectives that you otherwise would’ve never imagined. He means to say you’re in trouble, you’re in danger in the Keep. The harder you stare the more it all falls into place. They forbid your leaving, they torture your handmaiden, they question your spirits…You begin to feel their ropes of fire tightening around your cold and snowy neck.

“…What do you suggest I do?” you ask, doubtless that he’s thought of an array of plans.

“If all were to come to turmoil here,” he begins, “the Princess is not without a place to turn.”

You shake your head. “My father wouldn’t take me back, he only wishes to keep his ties to the Targaryens.” 

“Not the North…I propose you look across the bay.”

“…Dragonstone?” you ask. 

Larys nods. “The black Princess has no reason to turn you away.”

“None save the fact that I’ve sworn myself to her enemies and sleep in her stolen castle.”

“A commitment not made by your hand,” he argues. 

You think back to the few interactions that you have had with Rhaenyra, all of which taking place when she returned for the brief period following your wedding. You recall her and her children showing you nothing but kindness, a warm feeling in contrast to the everlasting silence you experience here. Rhaenyra spoke to you as if you were a person, an equal; she talked about histories, asked about your life in the North, introduced you to Jace and Luke.

“So I flee my husband and my duties?” you query, contemplating both sides of the coin. “Leave the land I’ve always known to seek refuge with Rhaenyra?”  

“A cautious, yet judicious arrangement,” Larys remarks. “If my Princess wishes…it shall be done.”

Rhaenyra’s an acquaintance, a relative at the greatest; but as you weigh the odds, warily looking at your lawful family, the ancestral seat of the Targaryens begins to look like the more favorable position.

A knock rings at your door. Both you and the Clubfoot look at each other, then toward the knocks.

You clear your throat. “Come.”

Vialy opens the door, behind her, a serpent.

“The Dowager Queen, Princess.” your handmaiden announces, giving you a worrisome look before shutting the door behind Alicent.

“Queen mother,” both you and Larys bow as Alicent eyes you. 

“I wish to speak to the Princess alone, Lord Larys.”

He nods before tottering his way out. 

“How can I serve you?” you ask.

Alicent huffs, sitting at your study and looking out of the window.

“You’re with child,” she states.

“Yes, my queen,” you smile. “I ask the Seven for a healthy boy.”

“As do I,” she looks back at you. “Did you want for children before this, in the North?”

“Um,” you stammer, “I want whatever makes you and your- or- my house happy.”

“We’re alone here, you may speak truly.”

The Dowager’s words slide off your back, knowing better than to ever speak plainly to her.

“I was never good with children. I had only my sisters at home whom were one and two years my junior,” you shrug. “But the time I spend with the Queen’s children gives me hope that I may be a sufficient mother.” 

“Mm, and do you fear for your child? For what people will think of them?”

A frown forms on your lips. “I do not,” you lie. “Have I reason to?”

She scoffs, standing. “You have all the reason to, Auriela.” 

Alicent nears you, inspecting your face. Her breath tickles your skin as she strokes your braid.

“We birth children knowing the horrors they’ll face and the suffering they’ll endure,” she says. “I only hope that a mother’s shameful acts don’t add to the weight upon their tiny shoulders…”

She looks you up and down, your mouth slightly agape. No more words are spoken as she releases your hair and heads to the door, leaving you dangling.

You cannot say if she meant to scare you or threaten you, perhaps both. But the overpowering spark in your stomach is what you can only recognize anger. Angry that she feels she can scare you in a castle that she ordered you to, that she could frighten you when she arranged your marriage…Alicent is the shameless one, stalking and harassing you as she soils the Lord Commander’s white cloak nightly. 

You sit in the chair that she did moments ago. You retrieve a quill, ink, and scroll, addressing your letter:

‘Dear sister…’

✺ ✺ ✺

1 Moon Later

“It was the Strong,” Lucan says, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I know it.”

You hold Vialy tight in your arms as she weeps, Alice’s cold slain body lying in the middle of you, a sheet draped over her. Lucan’s words are senseless, blaming Lord Larys, one of the few you consider your ally, of ordering their deaths.

“Not Larys,” you shake your head, “he’s a friend.”

“He’s a snake who weasels his way into all things,” Lucan grits his teeth, staring at Alice. “The people talk, Auriela...His servants say he did it for you.”

Your head snaps to him. “What?”

Lucan stares back, his eyes numb and voice low. “You think he’s a friend but so does the Queen, and the King, and your husband, and the Dowager. He cannot be trusted, he ordered me dead, Princess.”

“Why would he do such a thing, Lucan?”

He sighs. “I adore you, Princess, I do…But you’ve been blinded. The Lord speaks with two tongues. He tells you to estrange yourself from the crown, on the morrow he tells the crown that you’ve become reckless…treasonous.”

Vialy buries her head in your dress, still sobbing. 

“…Have I no one in the whole of King’s Landing on my side?”

Lucan grabs your hand. “The smallfolk are a greater force than you take us for. Your handmaiden is loyal to you, you say your husband is loyal to you, even the Queen across the bay.”

You groan, tears collecting between the four of you as your escort, a Knight, stands over you out of earshot. Suddenly, it becomes very clear what you must do. Though, you no longer intend to take up the mission with Lord Larys.

✺ ✺ ✺

2 Weeks Later

You seize the first opportunity get. After a week of pent up emotions and grim planning, you and your allies in the City are prepared to make the escape that Lord Larys spoke of. 

The Dowager and guards believe you’re meeting with the King tonight, the King believes you’re with Aemond, Aemond believes you’re with Helaena, and Helaena cares not. When you begged her to stay tight lipped as you escape the castle for a brief night of living before your return, she gave you no more of a sweet nod before returning to her twins. 

Now, in the hour of the wolf, the blackest hour of the night, you board a ship; one that is said to fly a false green banner, as the crew are all holding steadfastly to their true Queen. It’s meant to be bound for Dragonstone if the whisperers of the city speak true..and there’s a spot waiting for you. 

“Ticket,” the inspector stops you. 

You look at him through your lashes, retrieving seven coins from your bag. Holding his hand in yours, you set all seven golden dragons in his palm, closing his fingers around them. 

“Seven blessings,” you nod. 

He looks at the money and then to you, realization hitting him. He nods as well, almost a bow, as he registers who you are. The doors are opened and you enter the boat, followed by two of your favorites.

“Honor means little to him,” Lucan says, “obviously.”

Vialy clings to your arm as the three of you thread through the crowds, searching for a compartment to sleep you on the journey to Dragonstone.

You correct him, your brows low and head lower as the cogs turn in your mind. “These men have got more honor in their cock alone than any in the Red Keep.”

You wonder how the Queen will accept you after your history, if she’ll see that you’re just as spiteful of the greens as she is. Though it matters not, for as the ship departs, the three of you are seated, prepared to do what it takes to never return to King’s Landing so long as a green sits on the throne.

[aviawrites]

when we were teenagers (challengers)

pairings/relationships: tashi duncan x sister!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: Tashi Duncan’s younger sister, Ava Duncan, never gets a chance to be seen past her sister’s shadow. When Ava gets injured and Tashi starts gaining fame, the two become more and more at odds with each other. Tashi juggles Art and Patrick while Ava struggles to keep up. When over a decade passes and a peace isn’t reached, either the Donaldsons or Zweigs, either Tashi or Ava, has to come out on top. (7.2k)

a/n: you know the movie was good when you have to rewatch so you have all the info for the fic🥴 with that being said, the dates and stuff may be a little off but i did my best with what wikipedia had to offer. regardless, im a patrick zweig stan 4L. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: description of injury, allusions to sex/almost a smut scene, swearing

in this story, yn is: Ava Duncan

March 16, 2006 //📍home, 9:35pm

The goofy grin on the brunette’s face and the blond’s childish giggle replays over and over in your head. Your mother’s muffled snores mix with Art’s laughs as a smile grows on your face, your eyes closed. 

You’ve found yourself in this position too many times, imagining what could’ve been if the cute guys were eyeing you rather than your sister. But you’ve experienced it enough times to not even be hurt by it anymore. No guys approach you at volleyball events, especially not hot ones. So if anything, you find some comfort in lying upside down on the corduroy couch making up scenarios in your head. 

The click of the front door forces your eyes open, sitting upright and perking up like a dog as your sister tip toes through the door.  

“So…” You rest your chin on your fist, “Which one was it?”

“Shh,” Tashi smiles, pointing to your mom’s closed door. “Which one was what?”

“Come on,” You continue as she stands in front of you, “Which one did you…Y’know.”

“Oh my- Neither of them, Ava.”

“What!?”

“Shh!”

You lower your tone, “Seriously? You were alone with them both and didn’t make a move?”

“It wasn’t like that.” She laughs, “They’re like…I dunno, they’re weird.”

You scrunch your face up, “What, are they gay?”

She pauses, cocking her head.

“They’re actually gay?”

“No, no they’re not.” She giggles, “I just didn’t do anything with them. I mean we kissed but that’s it.” 

“Did you kiss the blond?” You interrogate, “I really like the blond…”

“His name is Art and I kissed them both.” She smirks.

You roll your eyes, “Whatever.”

Tashi laughs at you, plopping next to you on the couch and resting her legs across yours.

“They did ask for my number again.”

“What’d you tell them?” You stroke her leg.

“I said whoever wins the match tomorrow gets it.”

“God, I wish.” You sigh, throwing your head back. “I’d kill to see Art just one more time…”

———

May 15th, 2006 //📍home, 6:00pm

You wince as your mom tightens the brace, covering your face in frustration.

“It’s okay, baby.” She kisses your head, “You tell me if you need anything, okay?”

You nod as she presses one more kiss onto your hair before walking out, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

Almost every athlete you know has been injured before, half of the girls on your team are covered in braces and tape all season. A torn ACL seems more like a right of passage than a serious and life changing injury. But when you heard the pop and felt the ligament rip, it was almost immediate; The realization that you very well may never play again. You’re not sure if yours was worse than others or if you’re just weaker, but the trauma of the blistering pain has turned you away from getting back on the court for the last month. 

You already can tell who’s on the other side of the door from the lack of a knock. You internally sigh, wanting to be left alone, as Tashi sits at the foot of your bed. 

“Hey, I was thinking we could go to the courts today. I could practice with you.” 

“Tashi…”

“I know you haven’t been wanting to go but since you just hit a month I was thinking, you know, maybe you’d want to start working again.”

You shake your head, “Tashi, I don’t think I’m ready.”

“When will you be?” She asks, her voice stern.

You stare at her, “I don’t know, Tashi. Why?”

“I’m just saying Ava, it’s not good to stop for this long. Some people never get back out there and you have to at least try.”

“I am trying.” You raise your voice, “My insides tore apart. Sorry if I’m not eager to put pressure on myself again.”

“There’s no pressure I’m just asking you to get up and at least walk on a court again.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Why the fuck not?” 

“Because I’m fucking scared, Tashi!” You shout, tears falling from your eyes. “I’m fucking scared of it happening again! I am not ready!”

She stares at you, a look that you can only describe as disgust on her face.

“…You don’t even want to drive out there just to see-“

“Get out.” You cover your eyes, a headache creeping up on you.

“Ava, I’m not going to let you waste away in here-“

“Get out of my room or I’m calling mom.” You stare back at her, “Go.” 

She stands, giving you one last look of disapproval before leaving, slighting slamming your door behind her.

———

September 18th, 2006 //📍Stanford Tennis Courts, 5:00pm

“Passing…Down the line…Cross…”

Tashi’s grunts echo throughout the court as you throw shots at her, a pile of green tennis balls forming behind you. It took a few weeks but she got you back on the court, just not the volleyball courts. You’ve watched Tashi’s practices long enough to know the game, so when you reluctantly offered to help her train, she jumped at the opportunity.

You zone out, robotically tossing the balls as Tashi dashes across the court. You silently hope for a specific someone show up. Patrick Zweig had your sister in his phone and occasionally in his bed, but Art Donaldson was a free man. The only Duncan in his phone was Ava, an achievement that you pride yourself on even weeks later. 

Sure, the two of you aren’t a thing, not the way Tashi and Patrick are. But you’re happy to be anything with Art, so the talking stage that you seem to be stuck in doesn’t bother you at all. You can only pray that it’ll blossom into something. Something meaning you being Ava Donaldson in the near future.

As if you summoned him, a very familiar blond boy opens the wire door, locking eyes with you. Your heart skips a beat when he waves at you, your hand immediately dropping the ball and waving back.

Your sister turns around to see Art, a smile growing on her face as she walks over to him. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him in for a hug as you watch. They barely pull away before Tashi begins chatting, her face too close to his for your liking. 

Across the court, they’re too far for you to hear their conversation. But judging from Art’s hand draped over her waist and her arm resting on his shoulder, you see enough to be angry. You can only look down, waiting for the conversation, along with your humiliation, to end. 

After an abundance of giggles, Art turns and walks away, giving you another wave. 

“I’ll see you.” He smiles.

You purse your lips, terribly embarrassed as you nod, “Yeah. Good seeing you, Art.”

The door shuts and with it, your smile drops. Tashi gets back into position like nothing happened, waiting with her racquet. Playing along, you throw her the ball. Only, you don’t call the drill. You throw with a little more force and much more unpredictability as the anger in you rises. 

“Ava…” Tashi calls, frantically chasing the ball. 

It’s only when the ball flies past her head, barely missing her, that she stops.

“Ava, what the fuck!?”

She walks toward you, meeting you at the net.

She shrugs, “What’s up, what’s going on?”

“Are you serious?”

She only looks at you, confused.

“Tashi, come on. You were literally all over him.”

“Wh- Art?” She deciphers, “Oh, Ava my bad I didn’t mean- I really didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, sure you didn’t.”

“Seriously, I didn’t. He’s my friend I was just saying hey.”

“Saying hey with your arms around each other? That’s bullshit, just say you still like him.” You look down, mumbling. “It’s fine, it’s just annoying that you go after every guy I like knowing they’ll choose you.”

“Hey…” Tashi softens her tone, stepping over the net and nearing you. “Ava.”

“What?” You look at the ground.

“I didn’t mean it like that…” She insists, “I’m just stressed with school and stuff, he’s the only one who gets it.”

“Right.” You roll your eyes, not in the mood for ‘I’m stressed,’ to be the excuse for going after your guy. “It’s not like I go to school too or anything.”

“No, I know you do. It’s just…Stanford’s different, you know?”

“Whatever.”

“Ava,” She lifts your chin to look at her, “I’m sorry, okay?”

The two of you ogle at each other as she waits for an answer. She always does this, almost forces you into accepting her apology which you do not.

“We good?” She asks.

“…Yeah, sure.” You shrug, pulling away from her, “It’s whatever.”

Tashi just looks at you once more, seemingly satisfied as she steps back over the net. She gets back into position as you pick up another ball, a look still on your face.

“Down the line.”

———

December 21st, 2006 //📍Stanford Dining Hall, 12:00pm

“How many?” The employee asks.

“Umm, can I have three?” You lean on the counter, “Or four, actually.”

She reaches under the counter before handing you four mayo packets.

“Thanks.”

You start the walk back toward the table, Patrick having picked the one in the far back. He clearly hasn’t returned from the bathroom as you see Art and Tashi still sitting alone. As you near them, you catch a glimpse of their conversation.

“Don’t you think you deserve it?” Art asks, his eyes so focused on your sister that he doesn’t see you walking up. “I mean, who wouldn’t be in love with you?”

Tashi doesn’t respond, only angrily stands and walks away, nearly knocking you over. She passes you, smoke practically coming out of her ears. You watch her go before sitting where she was, handing Art the packets.

“Thanks.” He smiles, “Patrick still in there?”

“I guess so.” You laugh, insecurity lacing your voice as you simultaneously try to decode the conversation they were having.

“I’m so not surprised.” He takes the bun off of his burger and tears open the white packet with his teeth.

You watch him, hesitant to speak. Though, your words spill out before you can stop them.

“Do you ever wish Patrick let you win the match?” You ask.

Art looks up at you, mid squeeze. He cracks an unsure smile.

“What kind of question is that?” He laughs.

“I don’t know,” You do the same, tragically self conscious. “Maybe you wonder what it’d be like to date my sister or something. I don’t know, it’s stupid.” You look down, fiddling with your fingers.

Art pauses, putting his burger down and placing his hands on yours.

“Hey,” He grabs your attention, “I’m here with you today. 

You smile, “No, I know. It’s just…She’s like better than me in every way so I wouldn’t blame you.” You chuckle.

“What? I don’t think so, I think you’re great.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get in to Stanford. Nor do I win all of the tennis tournament or-“

“Ava,” Art stops you, shaking your head. “You’re just as good as Tashi.”

Your eyes tread on each other as you try your hardest to believe him. But you do realize that this is the exact same way he looked at Tashi on the courts. 

The two of you are snapped out of it as Patrick returns, taking his seat next to Art.

“Sorry, they had like no toilet paper.”

“Oh good, thanks for letting us all know you took a shit, bud.” 

“Whatever. Ava doesn’t give a shit, right?”

“No,” You laugh, “You’re all good, Pat.”

———

📍Tashi’s dorm, 2:00pm

“So if he’s seeing other girls I won’t even fucking know now.” Tashi vents, stretching for her match.

You scroll on your phone, sitting at her desk. “It sounds like he was just trying to be nice, Tash. He was trying to help you out-“

“No, he’s not nice. Nothing about them is nice, Ava. They’re fucking weirdos, both of them. Art just hides behind this persona that he’s so caring and team Duncan when really he wants the same thing from me as Patrick.”

‘He wants the same thing from me.’

You sigh, tired of hearing the same things and watching her run back to them minutes later.

“Then stop complaining and fucking leave him already.” 

Tashi stops in her lunge, “What?”

“You keep complaining about them.” You grunt, “If you really didn’t want the attention you’d just drop them both.”

“If I didn’t want the attention?”

“Yes.” 

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” You say, irritated.

“Ava…” She stands up, looking down at you. You continue scrolling until your phone is snatched from you. “Hey.”

“What the-“

“Do you have something to say to me?”

“Give me my phone back.” You stand up, reaching for it.

“No, say what you mean.”

“Really?” You grab for your phone once more but she pulls it away from you like a child, “Fuck - Okay, Tashi, all you talk about is how hard your life is. How hard training is for a tournament that you know you're going to win. How hard it is dating a famous and touring athlete. How hard it is being friends with the nicest guy who only wants to help you. How fucking hard it is to have two guys fighting over you. How hard it is to go to an ivy league. How hard it is to live the fucking dream. How about you actually do something about it instead of rubbing it in our faces that you're above us and can play with two guys at once because you're so fucking amazing?"

The two of you stand nose to nose, a stance Tashi used to always initiate in order to intimidate you.

“How long have you felt this way?” She asks, her breath shaking.

“Ever since you became the Tashi Duncan and I was left in the dust. Now give me my phone.”

“Are you fucking serious, Ava? You think I asked for this?”

“Asked for what? A great life where you succeed in fucking everything? No, Tashi, you didn't have to ask for it. We worked so fucking hard and only you survived it. I succumbed to my fate, I quit my dream, I went to a shitty college, had shitty friends, watched shitty games, and watched the boys I liked fight for my sister. But no; Please, continue bitching about your hard situation." 

You snatch your phone from her hands, walking toward the door. "Good luck at your fucking match."

———

2:45pm

You barely look up as you exit the library, occupied with connecting your earbuds to your phone. It’s only when you see a familiar black head of hair sitting in the common area that you stop. 

“Patrick?”

He looks back, taking his feet off of the Stanford branded coffee table.

“Oh, hey Ava.” He makes space for you to sit beside him on the small loveseat. “How’s it goin’?”

“Good, um…” You put your stuff on the floor and sit next to him, “Why aren’t you at the tournament?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He smiles that same crooked smile from the night you met him.

You curl your legs up, leaving your arm on the back of the seat. “Did y’all fight too?”

Patrick leans back, looking over at you. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.” He laughs.

“What was yours about?” You pry, smiling.

“Uh,” He rubs his eye, “Just…not letting her control me. I’m my own boss kind of shit.”

“Seriously?”

“…Yeah, why?”

“That’s what our fight was about too!” You burst into giggles, “Well, not her controlling me but her controlling you. And Art, him too.”

“Shit, Art too?”

“Yeah, I mean, especially Art. You’re the only one who stands up to her bullshit.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, “I don’t know, you seem to put up a good fight.”

“Yeah, but I’m her sister. It’s takes a brave man to break free of Tashi Duncan.”

“Oh god, did I break free?”

“You definitely broke free.” The two of you laugh.

“No but I see what you’re saying, she definitely had me whipped.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like I remember one time,” He turns toward you, getting comfy, “The first time her and I, um…”

“Oh, Jesus.” You cover your face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He laughs, “But the first time we did, I remember she said she’d leave me if I told anyone. And I was head over heels, so of course I didn’t want to tell, right?”

“Right.”

“But Art’s my guy, y’know? So instead of being straight up and jeopardizing Tashi’s love, we made this stupid ass signal.” He tells in between laughs, “The way that Art serves - Like, you know how he puts the ball at the neck of his racquet?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You listen intently.

“Well, if I served that way, that meant yes, we did sleep together, And if I served my way, it meant we didn’t.”

“…And?”

“Well, I put that motherfucker right in the middle.”

“Oh my-“

You and Patrick erupt into laughs, covering your mouths as the librarian eyes the two of you. Your stomach starts to ache, not being able to remember the last time you had this kind of belly laugh.

“Well, cheers to breaking free of her.” You put your fist up.

“Oh hell yeah, cheers to that.” He bumps it.

———

3:05pm

The crowd outside thins out as you and Patrick head down the back halls and toward the parking lot. In true honor of breaking free, the two of you decided to not say goodbye. Instead, you’d go home without saying a word to your sister. 

You’re a few doors down from the exit when Patrick stops in his tracks, looking into the nurses office.

“Tashi…” He walks in. 

You enter the doorway, peeking in behind him. Inside, you see Tashi sitting on the table, Art by her side.

“No, out.” Your sister points.

“I’m sorry-“

“Get out!”

“Tashi, listen to me-“

“No, get out!”

“Please-“

“Patrick, get the fuck out!” Art shouts, standing.

Patrick stays for a moment, taken aback as he looks from Tashi to Art. If he has the same vision as you, it’s clear that it’s them against him. It’s no longer Patrick and Tashi, but Art and Tashi. 

He looks back at you before obeying, walking down the hallway. 

Now alone, you come into full view, nearing your sister.

“Tash, what happened-“

“You too.”

You stop, tilting your head. “What?”

“I don’t want you here, leave.”

“Wh- Are you serious?”

“Ava, I think you should just go.” Art says lowly, wary to step in between you too.

You ignore him, “Tashi, I’m your sister.”

You get no answer, she only looks forward. You look at Art as he stands over her like some bodyguard. 

Just as Patrick did, you back away, realizing what this is. You frantically look between the two as you wait for Tashi to change her mind, to see that regardless of what fight you had you’re still sisters. Though, it’s clear that doesn’t mean anything to her, it’s been clear for a while now. 

Now, it’s only Art and Tashi.

———

10:03pm

“Coming in from Stanford; Student and highly lauded tennis player, Tashi Duncan, took a hard hit at her match against Pepperdine this afternoon. Sources say a hard fracture to the knee has Tashi in the care of medical professionals. It is unknown if she’ll ever be able to play again.” 

The blinding fluorescent lights of the cheap fast food place burn your eyes as you and Patrick look up at the TV. 

You bury your head in your hands, groaning.

“Fuck.” 

“She probably thinks she’ll never be able to play again.”

“Please, please don’t say that, Patrick. I’ll feel so guilty.”

“Ava, there’s nothing we could’ve done.”

“We could’ve at least showed up.” You rub a hand over your head.

“Hey,” He forces you to look at him, “None of this is our fault, okay? Injured or not, she still treated us like shit. Art only gets to stay by her side because he’s whipped.”

“I just…” You sigh, “I just wish I had been there.”

The two of you stand up, leaving the restaurant. Outside, a huge Adidas billboard with your sister’s face on it dominates the sky.

The two of you get into Patrick’s car, him cranking it up and turning down the radio.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay.” He nods, looking at you.

“Like…” You think, “Your tour.”

“Oh, God.”

You laugh, “When are you set to go back?”

“Uh, next week I’m pretty sure. But if I’m being honest, I don’t even want to go. I’ve been getting my ass kicked out there.”

“Patrick, Tashi would lose it if she heard you say that.”

He leans in, resting his arms on the center console as he examines your face. “Let’s not talk about Tashi…” 

“Okay,” You hold the intense eye contact that he began, “What do you want to talk about?”

His nose is almost touching yours as you unconsciously near him, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips.

“Let’s talk about you.” He grins, rubbing your waist.

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me what you like.” He says, lowering his lips to your neck and softly pressing.

“I, um,” You tilt, holding the back of his head as he gets sloppier, “I loved volleyball. My team was out of California but we travelled for tournaments. We ranked…fuck…we ranked second in the country-“

Patrick cuts you off, his lips ravaging yours as he runs his hands over you. You can’t stop yourself from leaning into him, crawling over to sit on his lap. Both of your hands get more and more heavy as he pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it in the backseat.

“Fuck,” You say in between kisses, “Fuck, wait.”

“What?” He looks up at you, “What, is something wrong?”

“Is this wrong to do?” You ask, out of breath. “Should we stop? What about Tashi and Art?”

“They yelled at us to leave when we tried to help.” He reminds you, “Why should we stop when they treated us like that?”

You look at him, convincing yourself that you’re considering it when all you want to feel is your mouth on his.

And you do, pushing the thoughts of Tashi and Art far from your mind.

———

February 15th, 2011 // 📍Zweig condo, 9:30am

5 years later

At one point in your life, it would take you multiple seconds to figure out how to say the dollar amount that you and your husband had in your bank account. Now, as the number almost falls short of five figures, you feel ashamed just looking at it. 

You switch tabs on the laptop, the light from the ceiling to floor window behind it hurting your eyes. Scrolling through tournament options, the distances only get further and the prize money higher. Years ago, you and Patrick wouldn’t even consider the amount, as Patrick just wanted to play tennis; And that still holds true, only you’ve been stuck in your ways for so long that he’s forgotten how to play to win. 

Nails scratch the hardwood behind you as your golden doodle, Bear, comes barreling down the hall. Right behind him is your husband, chasing the dog around the living room.

“I’m gonna getcha, I’m gonna getcha!” He says, the dog running desperately from him. 

You chuckle, “Good morning.”

You hear Patrick give Bear a smooch before walking over to you, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“Good morning, baby.” He kisses your neck, looking at the screen. “Found anything good?”

“Not really,” You groan, frustrated. “I don’t know when these matches got so fucking far.”

“It’s okay,” He strokes your head, “I’m sure there’s one we can make it to.”

You continue scrolling, the qualifier maximum getting smaller and smaller.

“What about this one?” He points.

“Atlanta? Patrick, that’s on the other side of the country.”

“I know, I know. But we can make the trip, no? I hear some of our friends may be there.”

You turn your head, furrowing your brows at him. A sly smile plasters over his face, one that makes you realize all too quickly.

“They’re going to be there?” 

He nods.

“God, why would you want to be anywhere near them?” 

“We probably won’t even see them, baby. But if they’re there we’ll have a big crowd.” 

You think on it, the thought of seeing Tashi making your stomach turn in knots.

“…And look at that winner’s reward money.” He says convincingly.

A sigh escapes you before clicking submit, Patrick’s entry automatically being sent.

“Mm,” He kisses your wedding ring finger, “Thank you, baby.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You jokingly roll your eyes, pecking him on the cheek.

——

February 24th, 2011 //📍Atlanta, 7:40pm

Nausea consumes you as Patrick’s smell fills your senses. The aroma of the city is one thing, the aroma of your husband another, but the scent of your sister’s old perfume radiates off of him like a cancer.

You watch as he sets his coat down, coming behind the couch to kiss you. 

“Did you-“ You pull your face away, not able to let him touch you, “Did you see anyone we know?”

Patrick is taken aback, looking at you with a confused smile.

“No…Why?”

His eyes bore into yours as you search for any answer than the one you’re imagining. Though, as he hands you the chinese takeout bag and takes a seat next to you, you find yourself voiding the conclusion entirely; Your mind not willing to believe the man you love would be meeting her. 

He wraps his arms around you, watching the TV. As the smell seems to corrupt every sense you have, a tear sneaks into your cheek, the possibility still piercing your gut. Even so, you wrap your arms back around him.

As of this moment, the comfort of hiding in his arms trumps the possibilities of the truth.

——

June 3rd, 2013 // 📍Zweig Condo, 3:00pm

2 Years Later

‘Hey, I know it’s been a while. But if you’re willing, I’d love to come out and see you and the baby. - A ♡’

The ‘Read’ under your message seems to taunt you the longer you stare. Your phone screen is interrupted by a call, ‘Mom,’ at the top of the screen. You answer.

A small gasp escapes you as you’re immediately met with the smallest human you’ve ever seen. You’d know she was Tashi’s in a sea of babies. You wave your husband over, eyes staying on the baby.

“Oh my goodness.” You whisper, “Hi, baby.”

Her eyes stay closed, her hands in small fists.

“Oh, Ava, she’s so beautiful.” Your mom lowly says down the phone.

“Is…” You wipe away a stray tear, “Is Tashi okay?”

The camera flips from the baby to your mother.

“You know you could always ask her yourself, honey.”

“No, I know. But- Just tell them we said congratulations. She’s precious.”

Your mom lets out a sigh as she looks from you to behind the camera.

“Mom, who is that?” You hear your sister’s voice in the background. 

Your hands turn clammy, your heart beating faster and faster as she begins to turn the phone to Tashi.

“Um, Mom we gotta go, we’re breaking up. I love you-“

“Wait, Ava-“

“Love you, mom.” You spit out, hanging up and turning your phone face down.

You stare out for a minute, shocked at your body’s response to your sister’s voice. Sobs escape your mouth before you can stop them. You shove your face in your hands.

“Oh, baby.” Patrick holds you, rubbing your back.

“It’s been too long.” You cry, “She fucking hates me.”

“You don’t know that.” He reassures you, “She may come around. You did good.”

———

May 1st, 2019 // 📍New Rochelle, 10:00am

6 Years later

Making it to New York from home took up the rest of Patrick’s savings. The house that you downsized to is completely funded by you and your remote sales salary. Patrick continues to fight a losing battle with tennis, barely able to pay for food for himself every week. Straining your marriage was the last consequence of his money struggles. Though, it has the biggest impact on your day to day. Nonetheless, you remain by his side. In all honesty, you’re not completely sure how to continue anywhere else. 

“I’m going to see Art today.” Patrick tells you, downing a handful of trail mix.

“Art?” You ask, holding Bear’s paws on your

thighs, “Why would you do that? It’s been years.”

“I think it’s been long enough, we’re already here.” He shrugs, “I think it might be good for me.”

You focus on Bear, still not seeing a clear reason as to why he’d want to speak to Art after a decade.

“Maybe you should go see Tashi.”

Your eyes snap to him, her name barely being spoken in your house for the last six years.

“…And do what?”

He shrugs, “Might be good for you…”

…

1:00pm

Your stomach seems to twist in a thousand ways as you continuously fix your hair and outfit on the way into the far too fancy hotel. As you pass the lobby, you almost turn around and throw up. But as your sister heads for the elevator, you know this is your one chance to speak to her.

Your shoes thump against the marble floor as you jog after her.

“T- Tashi!” You whisper shout, reaching her just in time.

She turns around. Taking one look at you, she looks to your left and right, utterly confused.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, tone laced with disgust.

It’s been so long. She looks so different, her voice has such a maturity to it. But that dominating energy that she brings everywhere hasn’t changed a bit.

“Well I…” You fumble, all of your practice going out the window. “ I heard you were here, I wanted to say hello.”

“Say hello?” She looks you up and down, turning her full attention to you as she steps forward. “Honestly, I don’t want your fucking hello, Ava. Really, I don’t.”

You shake your head, “Tashi-“

"I can't believe you have the balls to be here. After what you fucking did to me."

"What I-“ You compose yourself, remembering exactly how arguments with your sister always go. “Tashi, what the fuck did I do to you?"

"Are you serious?" She asks, "You're joking, yes?"

"No, I'm really not."

"You left me for 13 years by my fucking self." She raises her voice, "I had a wedding, I had a baby, and where were you? My sister was too stuck on a grudge to ever come back into my life, you're a waste of my fucking time." She begins to walk away.

“Hey.” You follow her, grabbing her arm and spinning her back around.

“Get off.”

"Not one of those events was I invited to, Tash. Not one. If you wanted me back, if you gave a shit, you would've acted like it. But you're not going to sit here and act like I was in the wrong and I should've reached out to you. Hell, I did fucking reach out to you.”

“In the wrong?” She snatches her arm from you. “Ava, are you clinically fucking stupid? You're hung up on a situation from 13 years ago-"

"No, but it's not from 13 years ago, Tashi.” You cut her off, getting in her face. “Because you're doing the same thing right now that you did when you were 18. You're sitting here blaming the world for your life decisions. You're blaming me for being angry that you were and are a narcissist who wants someone else to be the athlete that you never were. Every time I thought of coming back l'd imagine what my sister would say and I couldn't do it. But guess what Tashi, now I see through you. I fucking see it, Patrick sees it, and when Art finally opens his eyes you'll finally see yourself for what you are."

She stares at you, a chuckle escaping her. "Ava, this is pathetic. Genuinely. Because at the end of the day, it's not my fucking fault that you gave up. Now l'm in a position where I don't have to be here. I have a life, a pretty fucking good one, outside of this. Outside of you. This Final, it's practice. It's fucking child's play for us, whereas for the Zweigs...This is it for you. Your last fucking loss.”

“Yeah. Okay Tash.” You roll your eyes, "Keep throwing insults at me to distract from the fact that you're a shitty person."

"I'm a shitty pers- You fucking abandoned your family for 13 fucking years!"

"Because my sister is an insufferable egomaniac who can't accept the fact that her husband doesn't want to do this shit anymore and her tennis life is over!” You shout back, your voices echoing throughout the hotel. “It's fucking over Tashi, give it up. That's why I left you, because you're fucking dreadful! You're dreadful and everyone knows it."

Tashi slowly nods, the hotel staff looking at the two of you.

"...Ava, do you know what your husband does late at night?"

Your eyes widen, your heart skipping a beat as she addresses the unspoken.

"Fuck you." You spit.

"I'm really asking, because from what I experienced...You're a lucky woman."

Now you’re the one with disgust in your eyes, the urge to spit in her face stronger than ever before.

“…Say hi to mom for me, Tashi." You say, your hands balling into fists.

“Happy to.” She utters, walking toward the elevator. “Tell Patrick I’m wishing him good luck.”

…

3:00pm

You only tell your husband bits a pieces of your encounter, not daring to remind him of the man he was in Atlanta.

“I don’t even know why I tried.”

“Both of them are assholes.” He agrees, “At least now we’re sure of it.”

“I guess.” You bite your nails, stroking Bear’s ears. “Patrick you have to beat him in the Final. We can’t let them win.”

“I know, baby.” He nods, on your wavelength. “I know.”

——

May 4th, 2019 // Night Before the Final, 11:25pm

“Pat, it’s really coming down out there.” You look out of the hotel window, tarps flying into the street. “What if they cancel the match?”

“They’d never do that.” He watches the TV, “It should lighten up by morning.” 

You hum, snuggling next to him as the bright screen flashes through an action sequence. Patrick’s phone vibrates, his phone brightness lighting the rest of the room.

“Oh, baby.” He shifts his body, making you sit up. “I gotta go.”

“Now? Why?” You try to look on his phone but he pulls it away, scrolling.

“I have to, um,” He rubs his head, looking stressed. “My racquet, I have to pick it up.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“They just messaged reminding me that we have to have this certain racquet to compete tomorrow.” He stands up, rushing toward the door.

“What- Patrick,” You follow him, “It’s like a fucking flash flood out there, can you not do this tomorrow?”

“Baby, they close at midnight, I gotta go,” He kisses you, “I love you.”

“Patrick, wait-“

“I love you, I have to go!” He shuts the door behind him.

…

12:30am

You have a strange urge to cry as you scroll through Art Donaldson’s instagram. Photos of him and his seemingly perfect family are plastered all over, an ‘@Tashidonaldson ♡’ at the top of his bio.

Patrick never wanted kids, said they’d cost too much and you couldn’t care for them. He was correct about the former, but care for children, you are willing and able to do. But when you married him, he did a lot of the decision making for you. 

Now, as he’s blown all of your savings, lost his tennis touch, and been out of the damn hotel room for an hour doing god knows what , you wish you could shout at past you to get a grip. 

Though, looking at these picture now, you wish you could do the same to past Art Donaldson too. 

———

May 5th, 2019 // 📍New Rochelle Courts, 1:00pm

Final Day

The crowd’s heads robotically turned side to side as Art and Patrick dog it out in a vicious match. You sit in your assigned seat next to your sister, the endless stream of slander not ceasing, not even today.

“Is he retiring after this?” You ask, your head still going between the men.

Tashi shrugs, her expression hidden behind her sunglasses. “Maybe.”

"...I don't think Patrick will ever retire. I think tennis is all he has."

She hums, "If only he'd start winning his matches."

"He doesn't always play for the wins, Tashi."

"Yeah, he plays for the participation money."

"Maybe he does." You say, "At least he does it by choice."

She looks to you, her attention no longer on her husband’s tie breaker. "Art does it by choice."

“Like hell he does.” You scoff, “He wouldn't be retiring after becoming a Career Grand Slam if he wanted to be doing this.”

“Art is an adult, he does what he wants.” She looks back to the court.

“Art is your slave, he does what you want.”

Tashi continues trying to get to you. As Patrick sets for his next serve, he looks in your direction. Only, he isn’t looking at you, he’s looking at your sister. He returns his gaze to Art, placing his ball in the neck of his racquet.

Both you and Art freeze, staring at your husband. The men seem to be in their own world, but Patrick must’ve forgotten that you know too. The word seems to muffle around you as you stare at your husband’s evil grin at Art.

You stand on shaky legs, grasping your stomach as bile threatens to come up. 

“Hey…” Tashi calls after you, “Ava, what the fuck are you doing?”

You run to the nearest exit, Patrick’s blatant disrespect and repulsiveness making you want to genuinely die where you stand.

It’s only as you stumble to your car that it truly hits you who the man you married really is, and how he really sees you. 

Like everyone else, he thinks you’re a pawn in Tashi’s game. A piece that can be battered and bruised but will never go away, as it’s crucial to the game of Tashi. You want to vomit as you sit in your car, Patrick’s scent sending you into a violent sick.

———

May 14th, 2019 // 📍Zweig home, 12:00pm

9 Days Later

Three knocks at the door echo through your almost empty house. You pause your show, unlatching the chain and opening it. 

Patrick stands in front of you, a hysterical attempt of a sad expression on his face.

“Everything’s here.” You walk him in, pointing to the boxes full of his stuff in the kitchen. “The only things that aren’t are your racquets, trophies, cups, stuff like that. Those are in the closet so they wouldn’t get mixed up.”

“Thanks.” He says, feeling like an alien in this house.

“Yeah.” You give him a thumbs up, returning to the couch next to Bear.

He spends an hour loudly moving his things from the kitchen to his car, the sound almost drowning out your show. Regardless, you stay put, wanting him to be done as fast as he can.

“Ava…” He calls over the reality TV. You ignore him, popping another veggie straw into your mouth. 

Suddenly, his arm comes from behind you, grabbing the remote and muting it.

“Hey.” You turn around.

“I’m talking to you.”

“Okay, well I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Ava, I’m sorry-“

“Pat,” You chuckle, not being able to keep it in. “Don’t even.”

“Baby, listen to me, okay? I fucked up-“

“Patrick, Patrick!” You stand up, “Just stop, okay? Leave me be, finish getting your shit, and I’ll have the papers served to you by the end of the week.”

“Baby, no. Please.”

“Honey, there’s nothing you can say.” You shake your head, having prepared for his begging days ago. “Go beg to your mistress, yeah?”

He continues rambling, stumbling over his words. “Ava, it was such a bad mistake. I told myself it was strategy and- And because me and her have a complicated past I couldn’t see straight-“

“But nothing about us is complicated, right? We are married, we’re supposed to be a team. But you betrayed me, plain and simple.” You lay it out for him, “You’re a cheater and we’re done, now go.”

“It was a mistake-“

“Patrick…” You inhale, “I’m trying not to lose it, you need to get the fuck out.”

“Just hear me out-“

“Get out of the house, Patrick.” 

“We can come back from this, Ava. We can.”

Your jaw hangs agape in genuine disbelief. He seems to notice he fucked up again as he stops speaking. You walk around the couch, getting in his face the same way Tashi used to get in yours.

“Patrick,” You begin, “I gave everything for you. I gave up my life, I gave up my family, I gave up Art, I left it all for you. I abandoned so much to be in your corner because I was in love with you, I really was. Whether you felt the same about me, I’ll never actually know-“

“I loved you, baby. I still love you-“

“But I thought you were the one who understood me, Patrick. But somehow every time I gave you a chance to correct yourself you threw it away to be with Tashi. Over and over. She’s constantly being picked over me, her feelings over mine, her body over mine, her opinion over mine…You’re just another one of her fans. You’re just like Art- Honestly, you’re fucking worse. At least  he pretended to like me all those years ago. Now, as my husband, you just don’t give a shit. Just publicly showing that you slept with my sister.”

“…Why do you keep bringing up Art?” He looks down at you, “Do you- Do you feel something for him still?”

“Oh my fucking-“ You cover your face, composing yourself once again before continuing. “Pat, it’s been a long, long time since this all started. And if I could go back I’d change many things. But at the end of it all, I’m here because I worked for it and I endured it. You and Art can stay stuck under Tashi’s finger, that’s fine. But I know that life is bigger than that. Bigger than this weird threesome love triangle shit that you circle back to every few years. I am a grown woman who is in control of her own life so if you don’t have anymore comments, you need to get out and sign the papers when they’re served to you, Patrick.”

“…Baby, please,” He cries, his lip quivering. “You love me, we love each other. Please just think about it.”

You tilt your head, “Do you want me to be honest?”

Patrick nods, hiccuping on his tears.

“…All of this is really really beneath me.” You quietly tell him.

He lowers his head, his hands covering his eyes.

“When I was 18 I might have been broken over stuff like this but…” You shrug, “Things are very very different from when we were teenagers.” 

[aviawrites]

the rage of a harkonnen (dune: part two)

pairings: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Fem!Reader

summary: The Emperor’s second born daughter, Harauna, has never been truly seen by her father; Her light always being dimmed by the shine of her older sister, Irulan. As Maud’Dib continues fighting on Arrakis and her father’s spot falls farther into jeopardy, Princess Harauna sees an opportunity to finally find her place in the Imperium…Wife of the possible Emperor, ruling alongside Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. (3.9k)

a/n: i’ve already seen this movie twice and i’m going again😛 austin’s performance is so compelling, i couldn’t take my eyes off of him whenever he was on screen. i hope you all liked feyd-rautha as much as i do…otherwise i may be crazy. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: blood, death, abuse

in this story, yn is: Harauna Corrino (Harkonnen)

10191 // month 1 // 📍kaitan 

“Paul Atreides is not our only prospect.” Reverend Mother Mohiam reveals, standing before you and your sister. “The Baron’s youngest nephew, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, will inherit Arrakis. He may be the answer.”

Your eyes open wide, the name itself sending shivers down your spine. You, along with all of your family, knew of Feyd-Rautha - Knew of the Sadistic Harkonnen, known for slaughtering anyone who challenges him, even his own people. 

“Feyd-Rautha?” Irulan furrows her brows, “He’s psychotic.”

“That’s irrelevant. The question is…can we control him?” 

You stare up at the Reverend Mother’s black veil, an idea striking you.  

Since a child, it’s always been Princess Irulan - The Emperor’s daughter. Irulan will inherit the thrones, Irulan will marry Paul Atreides, Irulan will rule the empire. Never once has your father taken the time to look at you. Never once has he asked the Reverend Mother how you are as a Bene Gesserit. If he did, he’d come to learn that you’re just as equipped to take on the role of Empress as your sister. 

You know what you know - You know how impossible it is to ever be worthy of attention in your father’s eyes. The sound of marrying the prince, possibly the future Emperor, doesn’t seem distasteful. Is he a terrible man, yes. May he turn out to be a worse husband, yes. But God forgive you if you choose being the possible ruler of the empire over being second best. 

“I will marry Feyd-Rautha…” You suggest, coming out as more of a squeak. 

Their eyes dart to yours, Irulan’s gaze feeling more like knives piercing your head.

“Young Harauna-“

“No.” Your sister interjects, turning your body toward hers. “Are you crazy? Feyd-Rautha is the last man you need to marry.”

“Irulan, I want to.” You push back, your voice low. “He may be Emperor one day, we need to secure that opportunity. Do we not, Reverend Mother?”

“We absolutely do, Harauna.”

Irulan’s jaw hangs open, looking between the two of you.

“Are you serious? Reverend Mother, you know Feyd-Rautha. You’ve seen him with your own eyes - You want Hara anywhere near that?”

“She’s thinking of the Imperium, Irulan. Should Paul Atreides be alive, he will want the throne.”

“Feyd-Rautha won’t go down without a fight…” You finish for her.

“Precisely. If he loses, Paul will have a bride awaiting him.” She gestures to your sister. “But if he reigns supreme, he’ll have a Corrino by his side.”

Irulan only shakes her head, disbelief glossing in her eyes. 

“Hara…”

“Sister, I need to do this.” You whisper, softly squeezing her hands. “I can’t make decisions like you…I’m not you.”

“W- What does that mean, Hara? I don’t understand-“

“If I get in line for the throne…” You begin. “If I secure a spot for myself in the Empire, I will be nearly equal to you in father’s eyes. I’ll mean something to someone.”

A tear threatens to fall as she struggles to find words. 

“You mean something to me.” She shrugs, now wondering if that holds any value to you. “If I lose you to the Harkonnens…If I have to stay here alone while you’re on Giedi Prime I don’t know how I’ll-“ She quickly wipes her eyes, taking a breath. “I don’t know how I’ll survive this impending war without you, Hara.”

You tilt your head, bringing your hand to Irulan’s cheek. 

“Write to me, Irulan.” You smile, forcing back your own tears as you solidify this departure in your head. “Send messages to Giedi Prime, will you? Write them like you do your entries and I swear to you I’ll read each one. No matter what happens with the Harkonnen’s, I’ll always have my sister back home on my side, right?”  

A thick silence falls upon the three of you, Irulan fighting between perplex and terror as her hands began to quiver in yours.

“I’ll alert the Emperor.” Reverend Mother says, leaving the two of you.

Alone, your sister pulls you into an embrace, one of the tighter ones. She allows her tears to land on your garments, her shoulders trembling as small whimpers escape her lips.

“Don’t do this, Hara.”

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

“On your birthday of all days. The Baron should know better than to jeopardize his soon to be Planetary Governor in such a public manner. You could’ve died.” 

“I would not have died.” Your husband fiddles with his blade.

“All slaves should be drugged, should they not?” You remind him. “It’d have taken only one swift slash of the Atreides’ blade and The Baron would’ve lost his heir. He’s insane.”

“Careful, wife.” He warns, “The Baron is flawed but his promises are rich.”

“What could he possibly promise you that’s more important than the entirety of this planet?”

He stares, his eyes scanning you up and down as a small smirk grows on his face. 

“The entirety of Arrakis.” 

Creases form on your forehead, your words coming out as stammers.

“…He promises you…Arrakis?”

“If I manage to control spice production.” He explains, reveling in your dumbfounded expression. 

Your mind immediately imagines your life on Arrakis, a fate you’ve never considered. The plan was to marry Feyd-Rautha, be by his side when he defeats his opponents, have your father kneel to him, and rule the Imperium from the planet of the Harkonnens. But now, thoughts of working from the dune covered planet makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. 

“But-“ You clear your throat, “Um - Is that not Rabban’s job?”

“Rabban failed.” He seethes. “He humiliates house Harkonnen with each Fremen attack he allows. With me ruling the mission, there will be no more.”

“What’s the plan? Once you’re on Arrakis who’s to say my father won’t order you out? What if he doesn’t like how you handle-“

“The Emperor has a set fate too, Harauna. If we were to expose what he did to the Atreides’, the houses would explode. A rise against the Emperor would ensue.” He nears you, looking down at your wide eyes as he bares his blackened mouth. “The throne would be ours to take.”

You don’t know if he meant to admit to what he’s admitted to. Though, you have no doubt he’d tell you his plans to kill your father to your face, indifferent to what you might think. But even Feyd-Rautha should have some sort of limit, shouldn’t he?

“Feyd…” You murmur, “What will happen to him? What will happen to my house? My Reverend Mother, my sisters? They’re innocent they don’t deserve-“

He rolls his eyes, turning away in the midst of your oration. “Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He returns to his spot across the room. “If you want to sit next to me as Empress, I suggest you straighten out a bit, hm?”

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

14 hours later 

Feyd-Rautha’s room reeks of deceased Harkonnen bodies and dried blood as you storm in, a scowl on your face. 

Inside, you see your husband squatted by a dead servant, one that if you look too close you may realize is an acquaintance of yours. 

‘FEYD-RAUTHA RABBA HARKO-‘ He’s carved into her pale white skin, his letters bleeding into each other.

The Princess Harauna 3 months ago would scream at the sight. She’d turn and run, alerting her Reverend Mother and father that a cold blooded murderer has gotten into your home. Only…this is home. The man carving names into bodies isn’t a stranger, not an intruder, but the man you married. 

Though you’re not sure he knows it, seeing as you can practically taste the Bene Gesserit on him.

You shove, hard, knocking Feyd-Rautha off balance and onto the concrete floor.

“What the-“

“Seriously!?” You shout, watching his bewildered expression looking back at you. “You’ve not been of age for one whole day and you’ve already betrayed me!”

“You watch yourself, woman.” He warns you, spite in his eyes. 

“I can smell her on you.” You say, knowing all of the signs of a Bene Gesserit’s work, and a sexually vulnerable Feyd-Rautha. “She could be carrying your child!”

Your husband quickly calms himself, seemingly deciding not to waste energy on someone like you. On someone like his wife.

“Would you stop that yelling?” He mumbles, turning and beginning to smear the blood across the mutilated arm.

“How dare you.” You scoff. “I’m meant to be your princess. I’m meant to be your queen Feyd-Rautha! Not some girl who was on a mission. A Bene Gesserit who was here to test you and didn’t want you for more than one night-“

“You’re not any better!” He rises, his demeanor changing like night and day in a split second. 

The minute he gets angry, his energy dominates the room. “Don’t you ever think you’re a better woman for being a power hungry leech who called dibs on the heir before anyone else.” He jabs, lowering until he’s in your face. 

Your jaw hangs open, offense quickly overpowering the fear that you often feel in the presence of an angry Feyd-Rautha. Or any Feyd-Rautha, at that. 

“I don’t need you.” Your eyes pierce his, flames igniting in yours. “I’m the Emperor’s daughter, I was second in line for the throne. If anything, you needed me to get to where you-“

The wind is knocked out of you as your husband grabs your neck, instantly cutting off your words. He grins, nearly frothing at the mouth as he always does at the slightest hint of violence. He feeds off of violence, in the face of which most people quiver he greets it with a big smile, he yearns for violence, he is violence.

“I needed you, huh?” His face about brushes yours, his saliva dripping onto you. “I wasn’t at home being neglected by daddy, Harauna. I wasn’t the second choice. I didn’t need to marry to get power. I wasn’t worthless.” 

He’s entranced, his hand on your throat tightening with each sentence until you’re sure it’ll snap. You claw at his stained hands, collecting the blood of his servants under your nails.

“Husband-“ You croak, feeling the pressure in your head increase.

Feyd-Rautha only smiles, adrenaline rushing throughout him as he contemplates letting this be the end of you. Maybe he should rid himself of this royal burden before she sits with him at the top.

“Know your place, princess.” He whispers before letting you go with a shove. 

You drop to the floor, crashing into the bloody bodies on the ground and fighting for your pipes to reopen. You frantically heave as he looks down at you once more, evil in his eyes, before he leaves you where you are. 

Weeps escape you, feeling selfish as you cry in the presence of women who got it much worse. 

But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you. Nevertheless, in times like this, the possibility of being ruler of the Imperium outweighs the possibility of dying due to your attempts. 

“Be the worst position in the highest room.” Your father used to tell you, “For some never make it to the room.”

10191 // month 4 // 📍starship 

The low hum of the frigate gives the cold ambience some character. Rabban lounges across the kitchen table, his feet up on the marble. Your husband sits a few chairs down from you, sheathing and unsheathing his blade, creating a repetitive sound for the two of you to suffer through.

“Princess Harauna.” You hear as the grand doors within the starship open. A servant enters, seemingly a younger version of the Baron, with a thin metal tube in his hand. 

The big man hands it to you, bowing slightly before shuffling away.

“Say thanks to the piggy.” Feyd-Rautha teases, a devilish grin on his face.

Rabban slightly chuckles as you eye your husband, sighing before opening the letter.

“To my sister, Hara.” 

Your eyes gleam, seeming to scan faster and faster the more and more you read. The two men in the room with you don’t seem to notice, mindlessly engaging in their own boredom as the ship heats up in the weather of Arrakis. 

You shut the tube with a click, looking down at it as you weakly attempt to process what you’ve just read.  

“Paul Atreides…is coming.” You reveal, catching the attention of Rabban and Feyd-Rautha. “He makes his way from the south.”

“Paul Atreides is dead.” Rabban corrects you. 

“He didn’t die in the attack-“

“I know that, woman!” He abruptly shouts, banging the table. “I saw to it myself, him and his mother died in the-“

“Sandstorm.” You finish, much quieter than he began. “But he didn’t.”

Your husband has turned his body toward you, now intently listening.

“They live - And they challenge my father now.” You look up at the two of them, “Him. He must be this Maud’Dib, this Lisan-Al-Gaib. Who else would it be?”

“Wait,” Feyd speaks up, “Challenge your father for what, exactly?”

You meet his gaze before reopening the letter, searching for the Irulan’s line on the challenge:

Paul Atreides will arrive unannounced when we land in Arrakis in a challenge for the throne.

Rabban shakes his head. “There’s no longer a need for the Emperor on Arrakis.” He misses the point, “We’ve got the spice production under control. The old bastard can stay home.”

Feyd-Rautha leans his elbows in his knees, looking up at you with that same evil look he gets whenever a dangerous plan arises.

“Atreides’,” He thinks aloud, “They’re little rats. Insects that keep popping up no matter how many times you exterminate.”

“Should I alert the Baron?” Rabban asks, speaking quicker than his acute brain can think. 

“You will do no such thing.” Feyd demands, conjuring up his plan in his much more suitable brain. “Since the Emperor is deciding to pay us a visit despite the work l've done here…Maybe the Atreides' will do the bloody work for us. Keep us in the good graces of the Great Houses."

Bloody work, he says. The exposure and diminishing of your father’s name he means. 

“Brother.” Rabban counters, “The Atreides’ - The Fremen - They’ll have us outnumbered. Uncle should be aware-“

“You will do no such thing.” His brother orders, now loosely pointing his blade toward Rabban. “The throne is mine therefore the throne is yours. The Baron won’t make Harkonnen the greatest house, brother. I will.” He leers.

“Husband,” You voice reason, seeing all of the ways you could lose your promised spot to this scheme. “If it comes to a fight and Paul beats you-“

“He won’t beat me.”

“But if this challenge doesn’t go our way,” You hypothesize, “We could lose everything. Paul Atreides won’t let my father live, not after what he’s done. My family will hold no power, my sister will be-“

"I will remain unharmed, will I not? As will my brother.” He redirects. “Are we not your biggest concern anymore? Are we not your family, Harauna?" 

…

The ship gets hotter and hotter as you near Arrakeen. Feyd-Rautha meddles with his torso buttons on the opposite side of the room as you stare at the screen in your bedroom, broadcasting the sandy terrain of the new planet.

“What would your plans be as Emperor, Feyd-Rautha?” You query, eyes locked on the family owned land.

He sighs as he always does when you open your mouth, as if nothing his wife says is worthwhile. 

“Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He repeats.

“Just answer me…Please.” You urge, the question having appeared in your mind minutes ago and hasn’t stopped nagging since. 

“What do you think my plans are, princess?” He turns toward you, his dark and threatening eyes seeming to dim the entire room. “I’m going to make the entire Imperium Harkonnen. Our family will be the most powerful spice harvesters anyone’s ever seen.” He begins, “I’ll give my Empress a child, grow our empire, and teach my princeling how to rule.”

You listen intently, trying your hardest to envision your life going from Princess of Kaitan, to wife of the heir, to Empress of the Imperium beside Feyd-Rautha, of all men.

Be the worst position in the highest room.

Your husband goes on. “Caladan will be a thing of the past. Atreides will be a thing of the past. Harkonnen will be the great house and any others will just be…Maud’Dib.” He chuckles.

“‘Your Empress’...” You point out, never having heard your name. You only wish to hear where you and your family stand in his master plan. “Would it be me?”

He gives you his undivided attention, letting go of his leather vest. “Why must you talk so much about things that don’t matter?” He asks, true indifference and apathy in his tone.

For some never make it to the room.

“…Is it me or no one?” You speak up, your voice frantically running before your mind can catch up. “Is it me or death, Feyd-Rautha?”

Your attitude shifts in the middle of your sentence as you realize where you’ve heard these exact words before.

“You or no one, Irulan.” Your father would say, stroking your sister’s hair while the rest of you sat and waited for nothing. 

Never in your life did you plan to sit in a Harkonnen’s bedroom and beg for his approval. For his confirmation that you were his. 

But here you are, begging the worst of men to love you the way The Emperor never did. The way he never will. 

“In two moons I will be Emperor.” Feyd-Rautha strides toward you, holding your hands in his as he bores. “Harauna Harkonnen will be next to me.”

A smile grows wide on your face; An odd, yet full, feeling of acceptance spiraling throughout you.

His eyes suddenly seem to get even darker as his grip on your hands morphs into a crushing clutch. “For as long as she knows her place, she will remain.”

Ice replaces the once warm feeling in your veins. Your smile fades as his grows, watching the fear in you rise with each squeeze of your fingers. Tears form in your eyes as the reality of your situation sets in once more as it has over and over since you step foot on Giedi Prime.

But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you.

10191 // month 4 // 📍arrakeen

two days later

You all stand completely still, your heartbeat seeming to be louder than the atomics outside of the Emperor’s structure. Inside the ring of Sardukaur lies your family; Irulan hiding behind your father as Maud’Dib, in front of your eyes, holds a blade over the Baron.

You and Feyd-Rautha stand alone across the walkway, your husband seemingly hypnotized by Paul Atreides as he plunges it into his uncles neck. Your hand resting on Feyd’s lower back vibrates as his breathing heavies, being just as amazed by Paul as you are. 

The both of your mouths hang open, and for once, you and your husband seem to be on the same page. Paul begins barking orders at your father as you bring your lips to Feyd’s ear, speaking in a hushed whisper to not interfere with the daring Paul Maud’Dib.

“In the event of your death…” You begin. He slightly cocks his head toward you, listening. “Would you have me marry him?”

Paul gives one last daring look at the sea of people standing against him, though, he seems as fearless as your husband as his expression never wavers from stone. 

“Is he worthy?”

Feyd-Rautha doesn’t so much as flinch at your comment, new, for a man like him. You can’t help but believe it’s because you’re right. The na-Baron recognizes that the viciousness that is Paul Atreides, no matter how unexpected, is a perfect match for him. A perfect match for his wife. 

Is he wrong to admit that if not him, Paul may be the closest thing to fit to be Emperor of the universe?

…

You’ve never laid eyes on a fight so glorious. The two most powerful and ferocious men on Arrakis clinking their blades again and again in a battle for the throne. 

The room falls silent as your husband lodges his sword into Paul, holding him close as one of the two release an animalistic roar. His mother stands, his Fremen’s mouths hang agape, your husband just hardly smiles at you over his shoulder. 

You can’t help but feel a sense of dread boiling in your stomach. Yes - You want Feyd-Rautha to reign supreme. Yes, you want to be Empress. But as you watch the devilish sneer on his face fill out as Paul’s blood stains his pasty hand, your heart seems to be pulling you in another direction. You’ve always been quite talented at telling good from bad; But Maud’Dib, you can’t seem to figure out. He lays in the gray area in between the two, you determine. 

Your reflection is quickly halted as the squelching sound of an edge piercing skin fills the room. You sway to the side, eyes wide as you see Paul’s hand gripping the handle, the rest buried into your husband’s heart. 

A gasp escapes many in the room, you included as a hand flies to your mouth. You and your father very well may be the only people in the room who are rooting for Feyd-Rautha. Knowing this, the smiles that sprinkle themselves on attendants throughout the room quickly after the inhale isn’t unanticipated. 

“You…” His raspy voice is almost too quiet for you to catch as he fights for each breath. “You fought well…Atreides.”

He slowly turns his head just far enough to have you in his sight. Even in death, Feyd-Rautha remains as menacing as the day you first met him. 

He has no words for you. He only bares that stupid, prideful, blackened smile that got him stabbed in the first place. 

You seem in a trance as you watch his body thud to the floor, looking as lifeless as the women on his bedroom floor back home. 

“Lisan-Al-Gaib!” A Fremen leader calls, breaking the silence as his people repeat after him.

Paul Atreides, Feyd-Rautha’s murderer, rises. He limps toward you and your family, prompting your sister to swiftly grab your free hand as the other slowly lowers from your lips. 

You had no love for Feyd-Rautha, nothing real. For him you experienced nothing that you should feel for a husband. Nevertheless, the tears flow all the same. 

"The life debt has been paid.” Irulan blurts, squeezing your hand as Paul nears you. “Spare my father and I will be your willing bride. The throne will be yours."

Her words snap you out of your haze, throwing you into the face of reality as it strikes you in the heart. 

"I'll take the hand of your daughter. She will remain safe and we will rule together over the empire." Paul declared.

In the span of seconds you imagine the moment a trillion different ways. If only he had nodded toward you, not Irulan.

‘Where is integrity?’ You wonder. 

Where is honor in sacrifice when you've given all you know to give and you still don't win. You can never seem to come out on top. You can never seem to be first…But your sister can, as she always does.

You snatch your hand away from your Irulan’s; Your eyes glued to your father, now kneeling, as rage grows within you. The rage of all of the rejection you've faced, the rage of all you have given to get to where you are, the rage of now wishing Feyd-Rautha had stuck Paul Atreides' head on a spike for all of Arrakis to see.

The rage of a Harkonnen.

[aviawrites]

my dream as a fanfic writer is to write a story which people want to talk to me about and send asks about afterwards and discuss things the characters did and the symbolism and meanings behind certain lines and I'll be all "hehe thanks" but irl I'll be in literal tears because I wrote something that means something to someone

[aviawrites]

the tragic mishaps of farleigh and lena start: a saltburn story

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳!𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘹, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘩!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳(?)

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘖𝘹𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘹. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘺. 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥; 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦. (2.8𝘬)

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘴

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?? 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘵𝘮𝘰𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘴:𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘰... 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘭𝘺<3

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘺/𝘯 𝘪𝘴: Lena Start

📍OXFORD | June 20th, 2006

“You’re sure you need a tutor?” Oliver asks, wrinkles between his brows. “You seem to know this stuff.”

“No, it’s my fucking professor.” You roll your eyes. “He made it mandatory for us to pass.”

“What, the entire class needs a tutor?”

“Not the entire class, just us. Like, me, Felix, Annabel, India— That lot. They weren’t exactly on their best behavior that day.” You twirl your curls around your finger.

Oliver looks up from the textbook, his head slightly tilted as the golden sun beaming into the empty library reflects in his eyes.

“Felix…I’d—” he looks back down. “I’d expect that out of him, maybe. But you?” 

“What, you think I’m a top of the class star student like you, Oliver?”

“No, no,” he shyly chuckles. “I dunno, I just thought you’d be the one to whip ‘em into shape, you know?” 

“God, no one can whip Felix Catton into shape.” You retrieve a lighter and cig from your pocket, flicking the flame until it sets alight.

Oliver’s glistening eyes dart around the dim media center like a child stealing candy.

“Are you sure you should—”

“Oh, fuck off, Oliver. Don’t act like you haven’t smoked here before,” you inhale, chuckling. “You reeked of it when you left Felix’s room the other day, please.” 

“You saw me leave Felix’s room?”

“I did.” You smirk as his expression progressively fills with some unknown yet frantic emotion. “Were you two cooking meth in there? Good god. Breathe, love.”

He nervously laughs, a hint relief in his breath.

“No, not that. I was just…I was telling him how my dad…” He trails off as you listen intently, finishing the sentence in your head. “He invited me to stay for the summer. At Saltburn.” 

“Did he, now?” Your brows raise, your smirk now forming a smile. “Well congrats on losing your soul to Felix, mate. Join the club,” you laugh, blowing smoke into his face.

“Will you be there too?” he asks, disregarding your previous comment.

“If I survive this semester. Farleigh and I are there every summer.” 

“Farleigh…” Oliver mumbles to himself.

“…My brother,” you remind him, deciding to leave the ‘step’ out for the first time in forever.

“Yeah, yeah! Farleigh, I know him.” He assures you.

You chuckle at his skittishness. “What about your academics, Mr. Einstein? You chuffed for your exams?”

“Erm, I wouldn’t say that, no. I’ll do them, of course. But I guess I’d rather not. Felix says I should skip them.”

“He’s right, no? Fuck’s sake, your father’s just passed and you’re tutoring for bloody exams?”

“My tuition isn’t paid for like yours, Lena. I have to stay here.” 

You slowly nod as you lean back in your chair, your elbow perched on the arm. “You think I’m a spoiled rich girl, huh?” 

“No. I didn’t say that—”

“But that’s what you meant,” you insist. “Just because I live with the Catton’s doesn’t mean I can’t understand you, Ollie. I’m not your fucking God like Felix—”

“Felix isn’t my God.”

“Well he’s all you’re eager to talk about,” you continue, not missing a beat. “I’m not him. I’m not Farleigh, I’m not Annabel, I’m not India. I’m not built in a factory like them, alright? Maybe someone actually likes you for you, Ollie. Can you believe it?”

You motion your mind being blown, evoking a small laugh out of Oliver.

“Anyway,” you tap on the textbooks, sitting straight up in your chair. “Back to this.”

📍SALTBURN  | July 15, 2006

The cold marble flooring shocks you awake as you tip-toe through the dark house. Moonlight shines through the floor to ceiling windows, the only illumination present. Your too-long-for-you plaid pajama pants do little to keep you warm in contrast to your too-tiny-for-you flimsy tank. 

You grab a glass off of the counter. Light suddenly becomes abundant as you pull the refrigerator door open. You squint, only being met with ingredients - no food. You throw your head back, a light groan escaping you before settling on wine and retrieving the already opened bottle. 

You pour a glass that may as well weigh your body weight before putting it back, slamming the door and spinning on your heels.

“Oh!” Your body jolts as you see a flash of a shadow passing the window and approaching the exterior door. Your blood runs cold and you’re frozen in place for a millisecond before seeing the shadow enter, suddenly becoming a man.

“Jesus, Oliver.” You hold your chest, setting your glass on the island. “You could’ve fucking killed me.”

“Sorry…” He holds his elbows. 

It’s now that you realize he hasn’t changed clothes from this tea time with Elsbeth. Only having his thin dress trousers to cover the prominent print underneath them.

“What are you doing?” you inquiry, regaining your footing. “It’s like two in the morning and fucking freezing.”

“Oh, I was just— I was looking out of my window at the garden. Reckoned I’d—”

“Looking at the gardens at 2:00 am, that’s completely normal,” you kid, sipping your wine. “And you just, what? Went out and looked at the flowers while powering your nose?”

“Powdering my nose,” he lets out that familiar nervous laugh.

Your conversation is cut off by the door opening again. Though it’s dark, you’d recognize the grown out roots if they were inside out. 

“…Hello, Venetia.”

You get no answer. She only fiddles with her dress and continues to beeline for her room, keeping her head down.

You slowly turn your attention back to Oliver. Your eyes scan his tall frame. Nothing stands out, nothing but the glistening wetness around his lips. The moon almost makes it out to be deep red, the illusion of a vampire boy standing before you. 

Disheveled Venetia and unordinary Oliver coming in from the garden forces your mind to go to one place. The same place it went a few summers ago when you caught Eddie in the same spot.

“Hm,” you hum, sipping once more. “You’re an odd one, Ollie.”

📍SALTBURN | September 9th, 2006

Oliver rushes into the vast bathroom, throwing his cufflinks onto the floor.

“He’s humiliated me in front of everyone,” he breathes heavily, staring at himself in the mirror.

“It’s the Henry’s, they humiliate themselves.” You rest your back on the doorway, breath short from chasing him upstairs.

“No, it’s not funny, Lena. It’s serious.”

“Oliver, Farleigh’s a dick, you know this,” you scoff. “Our family’s going through something, alright? He’s already stressed. You imposing on his life only makes it worse. Just…give him time.”

He leans and rocks his hips on the counter edge, angrily wrapping a towel around his hand.

“He’s lucky people were around...”

“Ollie, please,” you laugh a little harder than you mean to, “What would you have done, fought him? Taken him back to the Oliver factory and put batteries in him? He just sees you as a threat, it’s not a big deal. He’ll get over it, I swear—”

You duck behind the doorframe when Oliver’s wrapped fist makes contact with the, now shattered, mirror. He only stares at the impact point as your jaw hangs open. You linger on him, listening to his breaths becoming more frantic and his fist still shaking out of fury. 

You don’t dare speak to this Ollie. You’re far too afraid to. 

📍SALTBURN | September 10th, 2006

“I would never do this shit— Why would I do this? It makes no fucking sense.” Farleigh can barely speak through his sobs. 

“I know, Farls, I believe you.” You rub his curled up body, his shaking bones vibrating through the bed. 

The tension in the house grows thicker by the minute as the accusations against your brother spread like a virus. 

You comfort him, as he would you. But no matter how much you believe every word he says, you have to recognize how terrible it looks.

“Someone had to—” he sniffles, “fucking blackmail me or something.”

“But who would do that, Farleigh?” you ask, knowing full well he’s a prick to half of Oxford’s student population. 

“We’re with the fucking Cattons!” he weeps. “We’re a target to everybody! It could’ve been anyone, Lena! God, they’re never going to help mom out now that—”

“Hey, hey.” You stroke his hair. “I’ll figure this out, yeah? I promise.”

Farleigh continues to bawl, incoherent. You can’t help but hear the same gossipy whispers that you’d once been a part of in the next hall over. It’s instantly recognizable.

“I’ll be back,” you press a kiss onto your step brother’s shoulder before heading toward the door, shutting it behind you.

The hushed talk gets louder and louder as you near Venetia’s bedroom. The door may as well have been wide open, as they haven’t bothered to close it. 

“You have to admit…It’s a little bit dark. Him having to go to mum and dad with a begging bowl.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo.” 

You creep into the doorway. Venetia lays on the floor propped on her elbows, her brother sitting on her bed. 

“Alright, yes, it was incredibly fucking stupid. He—“

“Felix,” she cuts him off, making eye contact with you.

You defensively cross your arms. “Oh no, don’t stop on account of me. You’ve shit talked him all morning. Please, go on.” 

“Lena…” Felix says softly.

“No, it’s fucking sad how quickly you turned on him. How you’d even believe he’d do something so stupid. Honestly, I feel sorry for you. It’s utterly pathetic.” 

“He turned on us first,” Venetia calmly voices, never being one to stand down to you. 

Felix nervously scratches his head. “Venetia…”

“Someone must have set him up,” you shrug. “Obviously he didn’t fucking do it.”

“What if he did?” She asks, not seeming to care how it makes you feel.

“He didn’t,” you sneer, her smoky fog filling your senses. 

“Lena, how would you even know?” Felix quietly speaks up. “The two of you barely even speak—“

“Fuck you, Felix,” you directly your wrath at him. “Both of you know Farleigh. He hasn’t done anything like this before, why the fuck would he start now?”

“We had an argument…a few days ago.”

“Jesus Christ,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. 

“I’m just saying it might have been a trigger.”

“A trigger? What, is he a fucking mental patient? You argue all the time, that doesn’t make him a thief.”

“Lena, if you’re so fucking sure, please do tell us who would set Farleigh up, of all people.”

You tilt your head slightly, desperately wondering what she implies by of all people. Nevertheless, now is as good of a time as any to voice your theory.

“…I saw Oliver near his bedroom last night.”

The both of them immediately sigh, Venetia taking another puff as Felix rubs his temples. 

“Great,” he groans. “Farleigh’s got you believing that rubbish.”

“It’s not rubbish, Felix. It’s the only way someone could’ve sent it through his phone.”

“Lena, Farleigh’s been jealous of Ollie ever since he met him. It’s fucking delusional for Christ sake.”

“You’ve known him for— What? Three, four months? And you’re 100% confident he wouldn’t lie? Maybe he’s the jealous one Felix, he’s clearly obsessed with you.”

“What on earth would he have to lie for?” Venetia slurs, almost in her own world.

“Maybe for what Farleigh pulled last night, I don’t fucking know.” 

“Lena, just stop,” Felix raises his voice. “This…hate is so one sided. It’s honestly pitiful.”

Your mouth hangs slightly open as it hits you that they truly have no intent of hearing you or your brother out. They’ve already made up their minds.

“…We’ve known you our entire lives, Felix. Our whole lives,” your voice quivers. “Sweet baby Oliver’s been here a few months and already taken our place, yet we’re delusional.”

 A thin stream of water lines your eye, Felix seems to notice.

He stands, his voice softening as he nears you with consoling arms. “No, Lena don’t—”

“Believe whatever the fuck you want,” you push him away, storming out. 

📍SALTBURN | October 5th, 2006

“And you’ll cling on to it, and comb over it and jerk off to it.” Farleigh towers over Oliver, leaning down to be eye to eye. “And wonder how you’ll ever get it back. But you don’t get it back, because your summer’s over.”

Oliver only stares with fire in his moonlit pupils before shifting them to you. This was the Oliver you saw shatter the mirror. This was the Oliver that Farleigh sniffed out since the moment they met.  

“Has he gotten to you too, Lena?” he asks in that same frantically-trying-to-stay-composed tone that he had the night of ‘Rent’.

“Here you go, spinning your web again—“

“Fuck you,” he scolds your brother, eyes treading on you. 

“…She just sees what I always have. A fucking rat -- burying his way in our family and chewing us out from the inside,” Farleigh says, his tone grave.

You lean on the stand, snorting a small pile of white dust off of your pinky. “Just go home, Ollie. Make our lives easier, yea?”

📍SALTBURN | October 6th, 2006

Your knuckles are coated with tears and your hand stays tightly over your lips. Farleigh and Venetia let out silent sobs on the grass, the minotaur seeming to laugh as he’d seen it all happen. Your bones shake in your legs, but they can’t seem to buckle. The harder you cry the more you struggle to want to breathe again.

James joins his still son on the ground, asking him to stand. The angel only lays there, a renaissance-esque feel to the image. 

“J- James we—”

“…I think…I think the police,” Farleigh suggests, hardly intelligible.

Elsbeth agrees, calmly walking off from the scene. Each grassy footstep seems to push the world around you further and further away. Now, it seems to be only you, Felix, and the minotaur. The three of you staring at the results of spotting a moth far too late.

…

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Farleigh’s shaking voice pierced the tension filled silence. “Does no one else find it weird?”

“I wouldn’t throw stones if I was you, Farleigh…” Oliver’s eyes cut through him. 

“…Excuse me?”

“Please stop,” Venetia sniffles.

Your eyes press shut, preparing for what the two plan to blow up over now. “Farleigh…”

“What is he saying?” 

“I…I have no idea.”

“What I’m saying is I would feel guilty, too,” Oliver speaks, now with an unforgiving spite in his voice that the Catton’s seem to miss.

“Guilty?”

“Oliver, it is not the time—”

“You as well, Lena,” he says, your fingertips beginning to feel clammy. “I’d feel terrible if I was the one racking up lines the night someone died.”

The tears seem to be sucked out of your eyes only to fill up again with brutal force. They shift to your brother, his mouth agape.

“F— Fuck you.”

“That’s not a denial.”

The Cattons look at the two of you like imposters. A wrinkle forms between your brows, looking back at them the same way. 

For you can’t produce a near good enough reason for why your family, your blood, would use the words of someone like Oliver as fuel to burn someone like yourself. He’s an alien, a foreigner, a stranger. 

“…Is that true?” James asks, seeming to jump at the opportunity to take his emotions out on anyone or anything. “Search their rooms,” he orders a footman.

Farleigh whimpers. “No.”

“He didn’t do anything!” you slightly raise your voice, slurring through the tears as you struggle to catch your breath. You turn your attention to Oliver. “Would you let us be for one fucking second?”

Venetia numbly over pours her drink. “Please, please stop.”

Oliver slyly looks around the table. “I just thought they should know.”

“Just shut the fuck up,” Farleigh begs, barely audible.

“What’s happening?” Aunt Elsbeth asks, miserably confused at all of what she’s feeling.

“This fucking cockroach,” you stare daggers at Oliver, fury now replacing the previous timidness in your voice. “Has only lied, and deceived, and swindled his way through this house. He made us all believe him but — Oliver, I see through you.” You lean across the table, nearing him. “You’re an obsessed maniac who fed off of Felix until you consumed him.”

“Don’t you mention his name!” James frantically tries to keep his grief at bay.

Your brother’s chair scoots out with a terrible screech as he stands. His hand is sealed over his mouth as he rushes out of the room, giving in to defeat. You can only watch him go.

The silence after he closes the door behind him is enough to deafen the four of you. You scan the table, a blank expression contrasting your tear stained cheeks. 

Your eyes rest on Oliver, though, you don’t plan to speak another word to him.

“When he devours you all…” a hushed voice comes out of you with a rasp as you target the family. “When he drives you to madness like he did your son.” Your head pivots behind you, landing on Duncan. “Do not say you weren’t warned.” 

[aviawrites]

lucy gray is not okay (tbosas)

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳!𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺!𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘥, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘺 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘺’𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵 12 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘺 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴. (4.5𝘬)

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘵𝘣𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘳𝘢🤯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘭𝘺<3

𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘺𝘯 𝘪𝘴: 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘥

“I know you miss me, Lucy Gray-“

“Get your hand off me right now.” Your sister demands, pulling her dress from Billy Taupe’s grasp.

The blonde that you’ve kept an eye on all night finally abandons his spot, beelining straight toward Lucy Gray’s crazed ex boyfriend. She stumbles back as he lands three thumping punches, seemingly prepared to do worse before his peacekeeping brother pulls him away. 

You ignore them both as you head straight to the stage. Billy Taupe hasn’t even found his footing again by the time you’re by your sister’s side, pulling her down and out of The Hob. 

The cloud-filled rainty streets hit you in the face as you drag your sister through the door, resting her back on the brick of the building. You hunch over, placing your hands on your knees in attempts to catch your breath.

“He’s insane, Lucy Gray. Insane.” You pant. 

“I know.” She throws her head back against the wall, “Billy Taupe just can’t take no.”

Your head tilts to an angle as you look up at her. “No, I mean the leech.” You specify, pointing vaguely in the direction of blue uniformed men.

“Coriolanus? He’s not a leech, Laney, and I wish you’d stop calling him that.”

“He is. He’s wriggling his way into your life and sucking up everything you’ve got.”

She rolls her eyes, “And what could he possibly get from me?” 

“I don’t know, maybe you in his corner when he inevitably screws up?”

“He’s got people in his corner, Laney. He don’t need me.”

“He wouldn’t be down here if that was true.” You urge, desperately seeking her understanding. “You’re not listening to me.”

“That’s enough, Laney Rose.” She holds a firm hand up. “You can’t keep attacking his character every chance you-“

“Lucy Gray!”

Both you and your sister’s head jerk, squinting through the smog to see a soldiers frame come into view. Coriolanus nears, cupping Lucy Gray’s face.

“Are you alright? I- I was going to come check right away but Sejanus-“

“I’m alright. I’m okay.” She assures him. She looks back at your unamused expression one more time. “Get home. Now, Laney Rose.”

Coriolanus looks at you too, only making you angrier at the fact that she’d bark orders like that in front of an outsider. Nevertheless, you comply, spinning on your heels and heading toward your homestead.

➵ ➵ ➵

Your tongue meets the blood from your pricked finger before continuing to re-embroider the ruffles on your mother’s dress. Aside from a few rips, tears, and dirt stains, Lucy Gray kept it in nice shape throughout the games. Though of course, the dress is the last thing you were thinking about when you were glued to the screen. 

The comfortable ambient sounds of insects buzzing and light breezes flowing through your wind chimes is interrupted by the shaking of your door as two damp girls rush through. 

Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray are in a burst of giggles, leaning on each other with wide smiles as they walk into the old wooden cottage. Not wanting the dress to get trampled, you quickly rise and place it on the kitchen counter.

“I did a flip into the water, Delaney Rose!” Your cousin laughs, “It was too much fun, you should’ve come!”

You turn your head to look back at the two. “I’m glad you- Shoes.” 

Maude Ivory quickly backtracks, leaving her muddy sandals on the porch before crossing the house and entering the bathroom. 

 “I’m glad you had fun. I had to work on stuff here.” 

Lucy Gray plops down in the dining room chair across the room, lying back on it with a worn out grin spreading across her face. 

“It feels so damn good to be back, you know that?” She asks, almost to herself. You just nod as you knot the thread, finishing the corset. 

Maude Ivory exits the bathroom, a dry towel now around her body as she passes you and your sister.

“I’ll see y’all.”

“We’ll see you, Maude Ivory.” The two of you say simultaneously. 

The door creeks shut, leaving you, Lucy Gray, and the throat squeezing anxiety that’s risen in you. 

“You invited him.” You state, your back faced your sister.

You hear her sigh, “Don’t start this, Delaney Rose.”

“You did.” 

“So what? We had a good day, leave it at that, would you?”

“Before now you’d never have a ‘good day’ with a peacekeeper.”

“He’s only a peacekeeper because he decided to save my life.”

“By cheating.” You remind her.

“Would you have rather him let me die?”

You spin around, your full attention now being on her. “Obviously not, Lucy Gray. But it’s about the principle. It shows that he’s willing to play dirty, don’t you see? A cheater is a cheater.”

“Yea, a cheater who risked his life to save mine. A person who actually wants to spend time with me.”

“I want to spend time with you! Not the leech-“

Her chair loudly screeches against the floor, startling you and she rushes in your direction.

“You stop calling him that.” She gets in your face, pointing a finger at you. “You stop it right now.”

The black of your eyes tread on hers, only being able to stare at who’s supposed to be your sister. Only, a sister doesn’t act this way. Not yours.

You nod, knowingly. “He’s changing you.” 

“Jesus.” She walks away, huffing.

“He is, Lucy Gray.”

“Maybe it’s for the better!” She turns back around, “Maybe it’s time for a change!” 

“We were fine before him, Lucy Gray! Just fine!” You raise your voice to match hers. 

“Right, barely getting by and having our people hunted is just fine.”

“You think he’s going to change any of that? You really think he cares?” 

“He has the hope! He has the courage, unlike some of us!”

“Don’t even, Lucy Gray, I have every right to lose hope! I just don’t live in a fantasy land where I believe in heroes because they do not exist. No matter what you think.”

She scoffs, sitting back down at the table. “I don’t think he’s a hero, Delaney Rose. I just think he’s a good thing in my life, is that so bad?”

“He’s not trustworthy, Lucy Gray. What is it you always told me, huh? Trust is everything.” 

“You don’t have to trust him. I do.” She states firmly. 

“Lucy, I saw him leave The Hob when you were preforming two nights ago. The same night Mayfair and Billy Taupe are suspected-“

“Don’t.”

“I am just saying, Lucy Gray. I wouldn’t put it past him, you’d be a fool if you did.” 

“Do you even know anything about what happened to Mayfair and Billy Taupe? Has anyone told you anything?” She asks, doubtfully.

You pause, not having anything but an accusation.

“Well, no.” You admit, “But who else is new, angry, and murderous in this district? It makes sense Lucy-“

“Delaney Rose, stop!” She stands again, “You are being ridiculous and I honestly can’t stand to hear it anymore. Did you ever stop to think maybe Coriolanus and I just met in the right place at the right time? That maybe, just maybe, he’s a good man who likes be because I am me?” She inquires.

You place your hands on your hips, tilting your head, “Now Lucy Gray, why would that be the case?” 

Her eyes change, a hurt expression quickly replacing her previously determined one. You cover your mouth, instantly realizing how terrible and misconstrued your sentence came out. Lucy Gray’s mouth hangs open before she slowly backs away from you, turning and heading for her room.

“Wait- Lucy Gray.” You follow after her. She only speeds up. “That’s not what I meant, I swear! I meant to say-“

“Do not talk to me.” She looks back, rushing into her bedroom.

“Lucy Gra-“

Your sister slams the door on you, the force vibrating through the house. You stand defeated, your shoulders down and brain scrambled as you try to collect what just occurred. 

Your head aches.

➵ ➵ ➵

“Mama! Mama! Mama!’

The boy from the Hanging Tree echoes through your thoughts over and over, along with the image of a stone faced Coriolanus plastered in your mind. Who the boy was, you don’t know. But you were sure he was Coriolanus’ friend, he stood in the back of the venue watching your sister on many occasions. However, Coriolanus didn’t so much as attempt to stop the murder of his brother. 

Lucy Gray didn’t arrive to the tree with you but you know she was there, and you know she heard the same jabberjay tape you did. Chills ran through your body the minute the Jay’s went from his plan to save District 12’s to his last breaths calling for his mother. If your sister can’t admit that Coryo set his best friend up, she’s lying to herself. 

Now, you aimlessly walk through 12, the shining lights and dancing steps of The Hob faintly illuminating the night through the door. They all intensify, the smell of home flooding your sense as you push it open. Maude Ivory and her band play their violins and sing their songs as you walk over to the bar. The same bar your sister has forbidden you from. 

On the wall behind the counter, stapled on the top of dozens of other posters, was Mayfair Lipp. The smirk that you hated so much almost made you sad now, redirecting your hatred toward the blonde haired leech instead. 

‘Any information, any guns, any suspects, $500.’ 

The cash prize does little to sway you, knowing your sister would never speak to you again if you actually reported Coriolanus. But let him give you solid reason and he’d better pray. 

You rest your elbows on the bar, seeing the woman you grew up knowing looking back at you.

“A little white liquor, Mrs. Sherwood.” You request.

She deadpans, giving you the exact look you expected. “You know your sister wouldn’t like me giving this to you.” 

“My sister isn’t here though, is she?” 

Mrs. Sherwood smirks, “Y’all are one and the same, Delaney Rose.” She remarks before grabbing the bottle.

You place the little money you have on the counter, blurting out a thank you before pushing through the crowd. The same old bare and dark table that you always sit at is just as bare and dark. Though, now surrounded by one less peacekeeper. You sit in your regular seat, paying no mind to the man in blue who stands annoyingly close to your spot. 

The Hob isn’t the same without Lucy Gray. Your cousin’s band was good without a doubt, but the lack of Lucy Gray’s singing made the air in the room feel different. Barb Azure spins her bass as Maude Ivory steps up to the mic, the crowd still rowdy from the song.

Everyone applauds, smiles on their faces even in the absence of your sister. You grab your mug, smiling as you raise it high in commending. Your cheers are short lived as you hear a clunk. Looking over, you see a peacekeeper holding his head from the impact of your cup. You hop down from your seat, setting the drink down and rushing in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry, mister!” You cautiously reach for his shaved head, “I was being mindless with my cup, I-“

“No, no. It’s alright.” He holds an assuring hand up. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I could…” 

The man gains his footing back, standing up to reveal who he truly is. You don’t have the urge to apologize anymore as you see the same blonde that you see every night watching Lucy Gray. The same scarily piercing blue eyes that your sister somehow thinks are pretty are staring down at you. 

“Oh…” You murmur, involuntarily.

“Oh, um-“ He straightens up, rubbing his head and squinting his eye in pain one last time before holding a hand out to shake yours. “Delaney, right? I don’t think we’ve properly met yet. I’m Coriolanus Snow.”

“I know.” You jeer, wondering if he thinks saying his full name will intimidate you.

It won’t. 

He softly chuckles, “You know, Lucy Gray said you didn’t like me very much. It seems you’re sticking to your word.” Coriolanus smiles, talking loudly over the song Maude Ivory wrote.

You just stare at him, tension filling the space between you two. However, you have no intention of breaking it.

“Uh,” He continues, clearing his throat. “I really like your dress. My cousin back home makes clothes as well, she’s fantastic.”

“I know that too.” You state truthfully, Lucy Gray having told you about how some of Coriolanus’ pieces were made by Tigris. 

“You know, I was hoping we could maybe be-“

“No.” 

“Okay.” He nods, slightly taken aback. 

You sit back in your seat that is now uncomfortably close to Coriolanus’ body. He’s still just as close to you as he was when you were standing in front of him. He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, seemingly wondering what to say next. If he could take any kind of hint, he’d realize you do not want to speak to him any longer.

“But you know,” He ignores said hint, leaning toward you, “If I’m going to be with Lucy Gray-“

“You’re not going to be with Lucy Gray.” 

His eyes search yours, a wrinkle forming between his brows.

“I- I am…” He reveals, quietly.

You glance over at him, taking one more sip to push you through this conversation.

“What do you mean ‘you are?’”

“I mean I am with Lucy Gray.” Coriolanus speaks timidly now, as if you were already meant to know this. “It’s not official or anything but ever since the lake-“

“What happened at the lake? You inquire anxiously.

A frog must about to crawl out of his throat with how pale he turns. Granted, you may be putting on a slightly scarier front than usual.

“At the lake we…” He trails off.

Your eyes widen, a pit forming in your stomach. How could she not tell you?

“You’re lying.” You say almost immediately, his face quickly changes.

“No, no, no! Not that.” He holds a steady hand out, back tracking. “We just kissed, that’s it.”

A small breath of relief escapes you, even if you are still a little bitter that your sister didn’t tell you about it.

“When we kissed she asked me to stay.” He goes on, “She wants us to live here forever. A quiet little life.”

“Are you gonna do it?” You ask nonchalantly, praying inside that the answer is hell no.

He pauses, wondering himself what the answer is.

“…Probably not.” He admits, “I have commitments, you know? Mistakes that need correcting. I can’t do that here.”

“Mistakes like cheating the games?” You look over to him.

His expression proves that he wasn’t expecting that, though, you can’t read him any further.

“…That I wouldn’t take back. And I hope you wouldn’t either.” He eyes you.

Coriolanus doesn’t understand the principle, just like Lucy Gray.

“I’m not angry that you saved my sister, Coriolanus snow. I’m happy you did it.” You lean into him, “But I know who you are and what you do. And I know that saving ain’t coming free.”

You can’t tell if the confusion on his face is genuine. Regardless, you’re only telling him what he already knows deep down. 

“Free? Wh- What are you-“

“She’s going to pay for it. Sooner or later a time will come when you think that she owes you. That she can’t leave you because of what you’ve done for her- And when that time comes, I want you to remember this conversation and remember me telling you my sister doesn’t owe you a damn thing for what you did in that arena.” You nod, your voice lowering.

Coriolanus’ wide azure eyes only gawk at you, “Owe me? Delaney-“ He shakes his head, “I don’t think she owes me anything.”

You hop down from your seat, leaving your mug as it is.

“Whatever you say, Coriolanus.”

His gaze lingers as you depart, pushing through the heavy crowd and heading toward the door. 

…

You quickly realize that shutting the front door doesn’t help combat the cold as you arrive home. You abandon your shoes there, dropping your coat and hat in the dining room before turning the corner toward your sister’s room. 

Still sitting outside of it lays your newly sewed pair of apology pants, your note, and her dinner, untouched. Lucy Gray seemingly hasn’t come out of her room all day and it only makes you feel worse for what you said to her. You kneel down, placing your back on the frame of her door. Your head rests on the wall as you pull your knees to your chest, thinking of the right words to say. 

You softly knock 3 times with your knuckle. 

“Lucy Gray?” 

No answer. 

You continue anyway, just wanting to feel that connection that the two of you used to have before The Hunger Games. 

 “I saw the lee-“ You stop yourself, considering time and place. “I saw Coriolanus at The Hob. He was just…exactly how I expected him to be.” You hope she can’t hear the spite in your voice as you say it.

She doesn’t utilize the pause you give her to speak, so you go on.

“I know you asked him to stay, Lucy Gray.” You admit. “I’m not mad, I swear. I just want to talk to you.” Tears threaten to fill your eyes, forcing your head into your hands as you fight to hold them back. “Please, Luce.”

Silent sobs escape you, your body slightly quivering. The lack of relatedness that you feel to her right now isn’t something you’ve felt in your life. For as long as you can remember it’s been you and Lucy Gray against the world. Now, you don’t know how to go one day without her. A million thought race through your mind, though, all of them are silenced when you hear her door click open. You swiftly wipe your face before looking up. She’s in a bad state, her pajamas unwashed and her hair unkept. She hasn’t been out of bed at all today.

You can’t get in a word before she closes the door behind her and slides your gifts to the side, not that you’d even know what to say. She mimics your position, sitting in front of the door and softly laying her head on your shoulder. The silent communication tells you enough. You bring a hand to her hair, stroking it as her own tears fall into the ground. What she’s crying over, you couldn’t know for sure. But the both of you are hurting, and the both of you know it. 

The minutes morph into hours of your sister and yourself embracing, not saying a word. You drift in and out of sleep, eventually surrendering to it. 

➵ ➵ ➵

The sun peeks in through the windows parallel to you, tinting your eyelids and forcing them open. Through your drowsy squint, you search for your sister. The things you made seem to be gone and as your eyes widen, you realize she is too. A smile grows on your face, happy that she took the pants and note into her bedroom for the night. Though, she could’ve at least woken you up to relocate to your own bed.

You rise to your feet, groggily knocking before pushing your way in, barely being able too from how bright her window-filled room is. 

There’s no Lucy Gray. 

In place of her lies a small peice of paper in the center of her bed. You trudge toward it, plopping yourself on the comforter before yawning your way into reading the note.

‘Don’t worry, I am safe. We had to leave to protect all of you. I may not be back. Take care of The Covey. I love you, Laney Rose.’ - Lucy Gray B. 

Your somnolent state is now gone as you jump up, rereading the note repeatedly. A few minutes pass before you finally reach somewhat of a conclusion.

‘We’ is Coriolanus Snow and your sister. ‘I may not be back,’ is fuel for a heart attack. And ‘we had to leave,’ is bullshit. 

You pocket the note before running toward the door, your body almost on autopilot as you throw on the same shoes that you left last night. 

The two of you have fought before, plenty. But never in her life would she leave you, not if she knew anything. You don’t know the full of it, but you know enough about Coriolanus Snow to know he convinced her into doing something crazy. And you’ll be damned to just let her go like that.

You rush out of the house, not bothering to lock the door behind you as you sprint toward town. 

“Have you seen Lucy Gray?” You ask a family settled on the concrete outside of The Hob. They all shake their heads.

You move on, circling the entire building and asking each and every person you see.

Inside, you do the same. Asking all of The Covey if they’d seen anything in the multiple hours of the night that you didn’t have eyes on your sister. 

“Please, Mrs. Sherwood, I’m begging you.”

“Darling, I haven’t seen her?” She says regretfully. 

You sigh, fighting tears once again as you feel a nightmare beginning. 

“Can I?” You look down at the glass of wine behind the counter.

“Yes, yes. Of course.” She hands it to you. “It’s on me.”

You down it, unfortunately not instantly feeling the effects, regardless of how early in the morning it is. You blab a fast thank you before returning to your mission. 

Every person you see on the way back home, peacekeeper or not, you ask about your sister. From your description of her, even a blind man could recognize if he’d come into contact with Lucy Gray. 

All you got were weird looks and half assed answers, angering you further as you felt they weren’t taking her disappearance seriously. Regardless, you were far from done searching. 

➵ ➵ ➵

The rain comes down so hard that it stings your skin. In the time it took you to make posters and find someone willing to print them for you, the sun had gone down and the rain has gotten worse. Nevertheless, you throw on your beaten down raincoat and boots and grab a stapler. 

Each and every surface you see, you put up a poster. They’re practically disintegrating in your hands due to the rain, but it’ll dry. Everywhere you look there are flashes of white and red with a grinning Lucy Gray in the middle. 

The Hob has her flyers covering each exterior wall before you finally make it to the inside, the same bartender there who never seems to leave. 

Soaked and heaving, you lean on the counter, planting a few posters on it for her to hang up.

“One mug of whatever you have, please.” You request, your head down as you fight to catch your breath. 

Mrs. Sherwood looks at you worriedly, barely being able to see your face under your large coat.

“Delaney Rose? Honey, are you okay?”

“I don’t have money right now, I’ll pay you back tomorrow I promise.” You sigh.

“Baby, is there anything-“

“Please, just-“ You hold out a hand, “Just give it to me.”

She continues to try to see your face, the anxiety of the entire day beginning to spill over inside you.

“Delaney, what’s wrong-“

“I can’t find her!” You slam the table, “I can’t fuckin-“ 

Your head continues to pound the more you rub it, a quivering breath escaping you. “I don’t know where my sister is, Mrs. Sherwood. I need her here and I can’t find her.” You explain as calmly as you can. 

She looks at you solemnly, “Oh, Delaney…”

“I love you, Mrs. Sherwood. But if you can’t give me a clue as to where she is and you’re not going to get me that drink then I think I’ll be going.”

“No, no. Here.”

She quickly pours up the fullest glass you’ve ever seen. Even so, you chug it down as if it were a shot before handing it back to her. The look on her face is nothing short of absolute worry. You’re sure it seems as though you’ve lost  your mind in a day to anyone looking in. Frankly, you don’t care what it seems like. 

You leave The Hob the emptiest you’ve ever felt. Out of flyers and out of options, you begin toward the lake, a last and final resort. 

Along the lake and through the forest you shout your sister’s name, every variation you can think of. At some point, you yell for Coriolanus. You tell him it’s okay whatever he did, genuinely believing he may have done an irreversible thing to her. If anyone could hear you, especially Lucy Gray, she too would think you’re insane. 

Eventually your voice becomes hoarse and your headache turns into a migraine. 

It’s a quiet trek home, only crickets and insects filling the silence. 

You lock the door behind you, robotically leaving your shoes at the door and sliding down it, burying your head in your knees. 

Your sobs aren’t silent this time, not in the slightest. They’re loud, weeps some might call them as the weight of the day finally rains down on you. You speak aloud, begging for your sister to return to you, apologizing as if she could come back at the sound of it. 

She doesn’t come back. Your empty weeps are just empty weeps. The thought of Lucy Gray being gone with Coriolanus for good makes your heart feel funny, like it’s being squeezed on the inside. With all that you’ve done, all that you’ve said to avoid this very thing, she still chose him. 

You’re not angry at her, not even a little. You spoke to the man yourself, you saw how he manipulated people. All of Panem was manipulated by Coriolanus and his ‘songbird.’ 

If you could go back, you would’ve reported him when you had the chance. 

A knock at the door interrupts your cries and for a split second, you feel embarrassed of what the person on the other side must’ve heard. You wipe your tears, sniffling in attempts to pull yourself together for what you assume is a peacekeeper at the door. You take one last breath before unlocking and twisting the handle.

The heavy rain and everlasting fog couldn’t stop you from seeing what you see. You squint, wanting to make sure you’re viewing it correctly. Alhough, the embroidered bodice and rainbow dye isn’t something you could mistake.

Lucy Gray.

Her hair is soaked and chest is heaving, similarly to yours. She stares at you, disheveled as your mouth hangs open, not believing the end to your nightmare is in front of you right now. Because you can’t seem to force words out, she goes first. 

“You were right, Laney Rose.” 

[aviawrites]

may the sun dawn on panem (tbosas)

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘢 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮’𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘊𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩, 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘛𝘪𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘊𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘊𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸. (2.6𝘬)

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘈 𝘉𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩! 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘮 𝘳𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺/𝘯 𝘳𝘯😎 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘭𝘺<3

𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘺𝘯 𝘪𝘴: 𝘤𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 (𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘦-𝘶𝘩)

Your eyes, wide and tear filled, are glued to the screen. Lucy Gray looks down at your tribute, stroking his face as foam continues to flow from his lips. All of your naive hope is lost as Jessup’s face is replaced with the Hunger Games title card and Lucky’s eccentric voice breaks you out of your trance.

“Annndddd that is it for Jessup Diggs and mentor Cozah Highbottom, a hard sight to see indeed but not hard enough for you to turn off your televisions, am I right?” He delightfully laughs, his artificial smile being a stark contrast to the knot that’s tied itself in your stomach.

You slowly look over to Coriolanus, the man who’s supposed to be your partner. His eyes are just as wide as yours as he stares back at you. He begins to speak, placing a hand on yours. There’s no time for him to get in a word before you shove him off of you and storm out of the hall, throwing your Academy pin on the marble floor. 

The fresh air outside of the school does little to calm you, an angry snarl plastered on your face as your walk begins to turn into a jog. You were stupid to ever think you could trust Corio. The boy you grew up with has changed. The games changed him, Lucy Gray Baird changed him. He’s turned into a Capitol elitist who will clearly stop at nothing to make sure Lucy Gray wins. Not even murder was below him.

The footsteps running up behind you are ones you recognize, though, they don’t make you turn around. If anything, they make you walk faster. Nevertheless, they quickly catch up to you and expectantly, a hand pulls on your shoulder. 

“Cozah-“

You snap around, unable to keep your composure at his touch. 

“I should’ve never sent that water. I should’ve never trusted you.” You sneer, your unique and oddity of a District 12 accent growing thicker the more emotional you become.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think that he’d-“

“You knew exactly what would happen but you let me send it anyway.”

“What- No! I meant for it to scare him not to…” He trails off.

You step closer, staring up into his saxe eyes; though you’re only seeing red. 

“I know you, Corio.” You assure him, “I should’ve known better.”

His brows furrow, his frosty hair softly blowing in the cool front. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“‘Snow lands ontop,’ Right?”

He rolls his eyes as the silly phrase he says suddenly becomes fuel for fire.

“Come on-“

“You knew about the drones. You knew I hadn’t seen when Pliny sent his and you knew I thought they functioned perfectly fine. You wanted Jessup to die so your little Songbird can win and you’ll get your stupid money.”

He shakes his head, “How can you say that? I would never do that it’s- That’s not who I am.”

You shake yours, unsurprised that he hasn’t seen how he’s differed yet. 

“You’ve changed, Corio. ‘Cause now that’s exactly who you are.” 

➵ ➵ ➵

You sit beside the rest of the shunned mentors at the back of the hall as Dr.Gaul’s snakes slowly glide across every part of Lucy Gray’s body. She continues to fearfully sing as the reflective serpents continue to slither, but never bite.

“It must be her singing!” Corio stares at the screen. 

The mentors have all risen to their feet, looking intently as the seemingly docile snakes seem to sway around her. 

“Get her out!” Tigris shouts, the rest of your class agreeing with her in a loud chant.

Dr.Gaul finally gives the order. The crowd erupts in applause and smiles as a helicopter is sent to her. You only stare at the live feed, stone faced as you reminisce on all of the innocent children that lost their lives. But that’s not the only thing that takes your attention. 

When Clemensia disappeared, reportedly to the flu, you and Tigris were the first people Coriolanus ran to to tell the full truth. And with that truth came some knowledge on Volumnia’s snakes. You’ve only seen them once or twice in your life when you were allowed into Gaul’s office. But from those few visits you were positive those slippery things weren’t going to bow down to just any old girl. Especially not because they want to gather around and listen to her song. There’s only one way those snakes wouldn’t be biting Lucy Gray. 

Coriolanus holds Tigris close, laughing as the cheers slowly die out and the hall clears. Soon after, it’s only you and them left. Though, you’re not sure they notice you after their big win.

You take a breath, aware of the flood gates you’re preparing  to open.

“How’d you do it?” You ask, your voice echoing through the bare command center. 

Both Tigris and Coriolanus jerk their heads around, startled. 

“Coze.” He smiles, not hearing your question. 

You don’t smile.

“First, you deceive me. Then, you kill my tribute. And now you cheat so that his ally can win the games for you.” You lay it all out, looking down at them from the stands. “That’s low, Coriolanus.”

The cousins look at each other before looking back to you.

“Wh- What are you talking about?” He inquires.

“You know, your father died to this same poisonous power. These games are a goddamn virus. They’re serpents who have already slithered their way around you.” You scorn, finally being able to say what you need to say. “Those snakes don’t calm easy, Coriolanus.”

He stares, warily tilting his head at you. “…It was her singing.”

“And snow falls beneath grass.” You highlight his ridiculous and impossible implication with your own. “Singing wouldn’t work worth a damn and you know it. We all know it.”

“He didn’t cheat, she’s calmed a snake before.” Tigris defends, holding onto his arm.

“You haven’t seen ‘em, not how they really are. Theres only one way they’d allow her to live-“

“Coze-“

“And it’d be a damn shame if my father connected the dots and they led back to his own student.” You stare dead in his face, his glance faltering. 

“He didn’t cheat.” Tigris claims once again.

“They only keep from biting if they know your scent. Do you really think Lucy Gray has been within 10 miles of them in her life, Tigris?”

She stops, doubt now in her eyes as she stares from you to Coriolanus, who can’t stop staring at you. You can’t tell if it’s fear or hate in his eyes but it seems to be burning him from the inside and seething onto you. 

“Who have you become, Cozah? You’d never do this before the games.” He deflects in an angry whisper.

“I didn’t know you were a cancer before the games. Now you kill kids for money.” You coldly reply.

He says nothing. You can almost see him physically accept his fate as he looks at you once more before walking out. Knowing what he wants, you begin walking down from the stands, you and Tigris following behind him. 

The silent walk seems to last hours before the three of you are walking past the old zoo, and  Coriolanus finally decides to speak up. 

He walks toward the bars, softly running his fingers along them.

“This is where I first properly saw Lucy Gray. From the moment I met her I knew she was worth meeting. Worth saving.” He nods as if he’s reliving the memories for  himself. 

He turns to you, “I had her equipped and prepared to win fairly. It wasn’t until Dr.Gaul aired her announcement that my plan changed.”

Both you and Tigris listen intently. She has an expression of confusion while you have one of knowing. A blue bird chirps, landing above the bars.

“The night of the bombs I visited her here. I did all I could but she was so scared…” He reminisces, slightly snapping out of it as you wait for the part you want to hear. “I wiped her tears. It was a cloth my father gave me. When I found out it was the snakes I just…” He shrugs, knowing that both of you knew what came next. 

“It had her scent.” You finish for him, wanting him to admit it a little more concretely. 

“It had her scent.” He nodded, his head down. 

You sigh, “It was a good move. Better than what I could’ve thought of. Though of course, I had no such chance as to devise a plan to save my tribute. He was dead the second Lucy Gray was in danger.”

“Coze, Jessup would’ve never made it-“

“Think hard about what you’ll say before you speak his name again.” You advise him.

He backs down, both him and yourself momentarily looking over at Tigris. Her pale hand is covering her mouth as tears fill her eyes.

“Oh, Tigris…” Coriolanus whispers sympathetically, grabbing her free hand and holding it tight.

“They’ll kill you, Corio. They’ll hang her and then you just to show what happens.” Her voice trembles. 

He rubs his lips together, knowing she couldn’t be far off. He looks over to you, knowing his life is now in your hands.

“Do you want me to hang?”

You pause, for the first time in your life genuinely contemplating if you want your best friend dead.

“You won’t hang, Coriolanus.” 

He badly hides his sigh of relief before nodding in what he thinks is a mutual agreement. You do the same, though you know he is far from out of the woods.

➵ ➵ ➵

“They’ll kill you, Corio, They’ll hang her and then you just to show what happens.”

“Do you want me to hang?”

“…You won’t hang, Coriolanus.” 

You stop the Jabberjay tape, having shown your father all he needs to see.

You sit across from him, tightly squeezed on the other side of his desk in the middle of the lecture hall. 

“What will you do?” You ask him. 

“Well, we could never hang them. Lucy Gray has already won over the Districts.”

“And Corio’s in the 24, it’d be too bad of a look.”

He twiddles his thumbs, examining the situation.

“What would you have done?”

“Me?”

“Well, yes.” He nods, “You got the crime, you had to have something in mind for the punishment.” 

You think for a moment, unsure of what the appropriate consequence is for cheating a government issued activity.

“I just want him to pay.” You shrug, “One way or another he has to pay for what he’s done. Not just for Jessup but for everything. Lying to me, incentivizing the games, all of it. He has to know that it’s wrong and he can’t get away with it.”

“Well…” Your father begins, “The Plinth money he’s meant to be rewarded for his victor hasn’t been issued yet. That’s all he really wants. But with this evidence, he won’t see a dime.”

You don’t even have to think on it before you agree to the punishment. Taking away what one never had is much more telling than taking away what they’ve already enjoyed.

➵ ➵ ➵

Your father confronted Coriolanus last night and you can’t help but think about it. It’s not exactly worry, certainly not guilt; you know what a man like him can turn into. It’s more an eerie feeling of him once being the closest friend you had and now being an enemy.

Attempting to distract yourself, you aimlessly walk through the Capitol. You’ve ended up in the penthouses, the ones you and the Snow’s used to run through the halls of all those years ago. 

You’re passing their very door when you notice a white and red slip on it. 

‘EVICTION.’ 

You stare, a highway of thoughts racing through your mind. The core emotion of feeling like you’ve lost some of your morale creeps in. Indirectly taking their home from them. But you quickly push the thoughts from your head, remembering that what you did was right. You continue walking, only making it a few feet before you see a familiar face resting on the wall of the wide hallway.

Tigris, face and hair as bland as you’ve ever seen it, waits for you to come near her. You keep your distance.

“You told.” She states. 

You only look at her. 

“We can’t pay it off, now” She points to the slip on her door. “You know, they’re sending him away because of what you did.” 

Your brows furrow, “What I did? Your cousin killed people.” You remind her. “He cheated the games.” 

“Games that your father made!” Tigris snaps, truly raising her voice at you for the first time. “How could you really be angry at him for doing what he could to win? It’s win or die, that’s how it always is.”

“My father may have made the games,” You keep your voice low and calm, “But Coriolanus is who turned them into what they are. They would’ve fizzled out and became a thing of the history books had he left them be, Tigris. But now…” You pause, “Every single death for decades to come is no longer on my father’s hands. They’re on Snow’s.”

She shakes her head, “You know he’s not a monster, Coze.”

“If you really believe that you’re more ill than I thought.”

“God, we used to be friends, Cozah! Not even a month ago!” She urges, attempting to keep her voice as leveled as possible. “Since we were children it was me, you, and Corio. We played in this same penthouse, we made board games in the dirt during the dark days. When we lost our parents we went through it together. Does that mean anything to you?"

Contemplation absorbs your mind, but nothing she’s saying is something you haven’t thought about before. The last few days have been a few of your hardest, no matter what it seems like. But you, unlike many, know how to put morals and what’s right above money and power and the godforsaken games.

You step toward Tigris. The gloss in her eyes chips a part of your heart away. Through all of it, she was innocent. You didn’t want to hurt her. 

“See, that was before, Tigris.” You begin. “But you and I know Coriolanus more than anyone does. And you know I'm right when I say he's different. You can follow him into madness if you'd like but I won't do it. The snow will melt one day and all that'll be left is the ashes of the fire. I won't go down with him and I don't want you to either, I really don't. Time is running out and I've made my choice. Now, you can fight with snow and ice, sure. But when the sun finally dawns on Panem, your choice will have already been made.”

She gawks at you, her mouth hung open but no words escaping.

“I know Corio; But I also know you, Tigris. You’re good. The most good I’ve ever seen in my life.” You admit. “So for the sake of yourself, Panem, your brother, and me…choose good. Choose to tell Corio he was wrong and uproot his corruption before it’s too late.” You grab both of her hands, kissing her knuckles, “You’re the only one who can.”

Gently releasing her hands, you exhale in relief. Now you’ve truly said all you can say, it’s up to the Snow’s what history they want to write. You place a sympathizing hand on her arm before walking away, having faith that your words got through to her. 

All you have now is the hope that Coriolanus stops himself from his free fall and Tigris be his net. If not, the chips will fall where they may. You just pray that the odds are in your favor. 

[aviawrites]

i’ve had kenough. (barbie)

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘬𝘦𝘯 #2 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘬𝘦𝘯; 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘯 #2. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵? (6.3𝘬)

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭. 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵, 𝘪 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵!! 𝘪’𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥. 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘭𝘺<3

𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘺𝘯 𝘪𝘴: 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘦

Muffled music continues to play from Barbie’s dream house as you close the door to your own. Being as you’re Cowgirl Barbie, it’s essential that your boots are with you wherever you go. They click against the cement as you walk to the dream house, prepared for girls night. The area is sprinkled with confetti even with the dance party having ended an hour ago. 

Just as you look up from latching the last button on your PJ’s, you see Beach Ken leaving the dream house. 

“Hi, Ken!” You tilt your hat, walking closer.

He slowly looks up, a frown plastered on his face. “Hi, Barbie.”

You stop in front of him, your smile now upside down. “Are you alright? Did you eat too many cake pops again?” 

He turns to face you, shaking his head.

“Barbie turned me away again.” He confesses. “She said she didn’t want me here since it’s her dream house.” 

“Oh, Ken. I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It is an all-girls night, you know?”

Ken solemnly nods, “Yea, I know. I just wish she’d spend time with me. You know, since we’re boyfriend girlfriend.” 

“Right.” You recall.

You stare at him. His hair is stringy from sweating on the dance floor and the moonlight highlights his glossy eyes. He’s so pitiful, it’d be a crime not to help him out. 

“Hey, Ken?” 

“Hm?” 

“Would you want to see my horses?” You ask, remembering how much he loves animals. Though, he’s only ever talked about beach animals. Like dolphins and Mermaid Ken. 

“Won’t you miss your girls night?”

“I’ll only be a little late. Besides, Stereotypical Barbie won’t mind me missing a few minutes to make you feel better.” 

Beach Ken stares at the floor for a moment, seemingly contemplating if he should take you up on your offer...Or perhaps contemplating if he’s ever seen a real horse, which you doubt he has.

“Sure, I’d like to see your horses.” He agrees, looking at you. 

“Great!” You smile, ecstatic at any chance you get to show off your mares.

Now at the back of your dream house, you walk Ken to the stables. 

“There’s Misty, Lady, and Ruby.” You point to each one of the brown horses as they look over the half doors. 

“They eat…that?” Ken points over to the haystack sitting outside of their stalls. 

“Mhm. Sometimes when they’re grazing they eat apples or grain. But mostly hay.”

His eyebrows furrow as he looks from the hay, to the horses, and back at the hay.

“What?”

“I just- I thought Cowgirl Barbie had…cows. And I thought cows ate grass.” He looks to you like his brain is in a million different places.

“I only have horses, Ken. The cows stay with Farmer Barbie. Along with the chickens and the pigs and the ducks-“

“So Cowgirl Barbie is really…Horsegirl Barbie?” He places his hands on his hips, stunned.

“No, Ken. Cowgirl doesn’t mean I’m a girl with cows.”

“Then what does it mean-“

Just as you suck in a frustrated breath, you see your soft white cat curl his tail around Ken’s leg. Ken cautiously raises his arms as if he’ll wobble over and fall at any moment.

“Relax.” You tell him, picking up the white Maine Coon. “This is Mr. Cat.”

Ken stares at him, “I didn’t know you had a cat.” 

“It was sort of a secret.” You admit. “It was a gift from Ken #2 when we first became girlfriend boyfriend. Supposed to be an us thing.”

Ken reaches his hand out, “…Can I-“ 

“Go ahead.” 

Ken warily pets Mr. Cat between the ears and he lets out a low purr. Using your non-occupied hand, you check your cowboy hat shaped watch. 

“Oh!” You put Mr. Cat down, Ken’s hand almost following him. He scurries inside through your kitty door. “Time to go home, Ken. I can’t be too late.” You begin walking around your dream house toward Stereotypical Barbie’s.

“Um, I don’t have a home.” 

You stop and turn toward him, “I’m sorry?”

“The Ken’s don’t have houses. Certainly not dream houses.”

“…At all?” You confirm.

“Ken #2 never told you?”

You think, tilting your head. “Huh, I guess I never asked. He’s just always…there. Whenever I need him.”

“Like I am for Stereotypical Barbie?”

“Exactly!” You agree. “Well, just go…wherever you go at night.” 

You turn, making it around your dream house and back to the central area, right in front of Barbie’s home.

“I hope you feel better, Ken!” You say as you jog to the dream house the best you can in heeled boots.

“I do!” He calls behind you, “Thanks, Barbie!”

“Anytime!” You shout back. 

His footsteps retreat and you step inside, a big smile on your face as you await the night ahead of you. 

Moments later, you hear the giggles of your favorite girls. You round the corner to see them all sat criss cross in a line in the backyard. A braiding train of about 6 of your friends by the pool is your favorite sight to see. 

“Barbie!” President Barbie stands up and walks toward you. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry I’m late,” You say as she takes your hat and hangs it for you, “I was showing off my horses.” 

“Ugh, love your horses.”

Lawyer Barbie looks over from the braiding train. “We were just discussing how much we love Author Barbie’s new frames!” 

“Don’t they make her look so smart?” Stereotypical Barbie adds. “Smarter than she already is, of course.” 

“Like that’s even possible.” You remark, sitting behind the last girl and beginning to braid.

——

Your ponytail bounces behind you as you walk toward the beach, volleyball in hand.

“Goodmorning, Barbie!” You wave to Stereotypical Barbie as she eats breakfast in her dream house. 

She gives you a smile and a wave as she takes another bite of her pancakes. 

You continue walking with a smile on your face, more than excited to see Ken #2 and your girls at the beach.

“Hi, Barbie!” The ginger waves from her yard, “Love the new patch.”

You look down at your bathing suit top and see the ‘You’re Awesome’ Sheriffs patch right over your heart. 

“Thanks, Midge!” 

You’ve barely removed your pink embroidered boots before Ken #2 is rushing up to you, dropping his pom-poms on the way. He takes both of your boots from you, prepared to guard them with his life on the sideline.

“Thanks, Ken.” 

“Of course, Barbie.” He smiles, admiring you. “You’re going to do so great in volleyball today.”

“Thanks, I know I will!” 

The last Barbie with the ball switches out with you and you begin playing, serving the ball to the other team. 

‘Keep that Barbie spirit up! Pump, pump, pump it up!’  the cheerleaders chant as the game continues. 

“You’re doing great, Ken,” Allan cheers on the cheerleaders. 

Barbies and Kens alike cheer for the players as the game is in full swing. Your toes are hot in the sand and your hands are stinging from hitting the ball. Just as you go for your final spike, you hear something from the ocean.

Mermaid Barbie lets out a loud shriek and everyone looks over. She stares down at the road and as everyone follows her gaze, you see a sight you’ve seen before. 

Beach Ken lays flat on his back on the pavement, his surfboard alone in the waves. The crowd groans, having seen this go down before. They all turn back to the game. 

Knowing no one else would help, you reluctantly jog out of the game and toward Ken; Allan and Ken #2 following closely behind. 

“Ken!” Allan rushes over. “What happened?” 

You and him kneel beside a winded Ken. 

“I was-“ he tries to catch his breath. “I was practicing my big entrance for Barbie and I…It must’ve been a dolphin.”

You hear a scoff from behind you. 

“I don’t even know why you try anymore,” Ken #2 laughs. “You’ve been trying for weeks. You couldn’t pull it off then and you can’t pull it off now.”

“Ken!” you scold, turning to him.

“I- I’ll go get Doctor Barbie,” Allan says before running off.

You turn back to Beach Ken. 

“B- Barbie-“ he mutters.

“You’ll be okay, Barbie’s on her way. Just, think about the horses. Or better yet, Mr. Cat.”

A smile creeps onto his face as he remembers. “Mr. Cat,” he slurs, out of it. “Misty, Lady, Rugby.”

“Ruby,” you correct.

“Ruby…Mr. Cat.”

“Yep,” you sigh. “Just focus on Mr.Cat.”

You hear rolling not too far from you and heels clicking. Looking up, you see Stereotypical Barbie and Doctor Barbie on their way with a stretcher. You stand up, knowing Beach Ken is in good hands. 

The two women reach down and strain to lug Ken onto the stretcher. Ken #2 reaches down to help.

You put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “They’re strong, they got it.” 

He nods.

Ken throws his head back on the stretcher, still not completely there.

“Barbie, hold my hand!”

“You’re okay,” she assures, grabbing his hand.

The three roll away toward Doctor Barbie’s office. 

Out of the woods, you sigh a breath of relief before turning to face Ken #2. You’re met with a saddened expression.

“…How does he know about Ruby and Mr. Cat?”

“Oh,” you murmur, not sure how Ken will take this. “Last night. Ken was feeling down, so I showed him the horses. Mr. Cat sort of showed himself.”

“Wh- You-“ he blinks, flabbergasted. “Ken. That Ken, was in your dream house?”

“Only to make him feel better, Ken. He was really bummed about Barbie,” you explain.

He lowers his head. “But I thought Mr. Cat was our secret.” 

“Hey,” you grab his hands, “we have tons of other secrets, right? Like our lava cake recipe that we’d never tell a soul. Mr. Cat was bound to be revealed one day.”

He sniffs, nodding. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.” 

“No,” Ken rubs the back of your hand with his thumbs. “Don’t apologize, you never do anything wrong. You’re perfect.” 

“Awe, thank you, Ken,” you pull him in for a hug. “Your cheers were very beautiful today.” 

“Thanks, Barbie.” 

——

“I just love you guys,” President Barbie sighs as she pulls the muffins out of the oven. 

The kitchen buzzes with chatter as you and the girls decorate Stereotypical Barbie’s dream house. Blue and pink themed pastries fill the air as baby bottles and bows are hung around the house. 

You pass Allan on the way to the backyard with a stack of pink bows to stick on the roof fascia. 

The baby congratulations party is meant to be surprise for both Allan and Midge. But seeing as Allan got too anxious and stressed with the secrecy, his fear of the unknown and chronic FOMO forced you all to tell him. Now, you have an extra decorator. 

You’re all wearing either pink or blue, depending on what you think the gender of Midge’s second baby will be. Of course, the majority of you are decked out in full pink outfits. You’ve just begun sticking the bows on the roof when you hear a knock at the door.

The heels clacking toward the door are only matchable to Stereotypical Barbie as she opens the clear doors. You can’t see, but you hear an all too familiar voice.

“Hi, Barbie.”

“Ken!” You hear her say, slightly worried. “You aren’t- um- What are you doing here?”

“Look, I already know it’s a surprise party.”

You duck down to look into the dream house and to nobody’s shock, you’re all looking at the same person. Allan stares back at all of you, ashamed.

“I got excited, okay! You know I’m not any good at keeping secrets.” He frowns.

President Barbie rubs her forehead, stressed. “Please don’t tell me you told Midge.”

“I didn’t! I only told Ken, I promise.” He raises his eyebrows, holding his pinky out for President Barbie.

She lingers on him before rolling her eyes and locking pinkies with Allan. A soft chuckle escapes you as everyone turns their attention back to Ken.

“Come back when the party starts, yea? It’ll only be about 15 minutes.” Barbie tells him.

She begins to shut the door when Ken holds it open with his free hand.

“Wait, wait-“  He reveals a pile of tangled fairy lights from behind him. “I brought decorations.”

Sent to your side of the river, Ken patiently waits at the bottom of the ladder for his turn. You stick the last pink bow on the roof and begin making your way down. You hold your hand out for the lights. 

“Are you sure? I can do it if it’s too much-“

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” You assure him. 

He nods, handing you the mess of lights and you climb back up. You begin hanging them around the bows.

“Ken, could you pass me the tape?”

He looks around himself for a moment before seeing the hot pink tape in the grass. He tosses it to you, wincing as you wobble to catch it.

“Please be careful, Barbie.” 

“I will, Ken!” You insist.

Ken anxiously looks up at you as you tape the lights in between the bows. He’s near biting his nails, flinching at every wobble of the ladder. 

You sigh, rolling your eyes at his attentiveness.

“So,” You begin, hoping to calm him down, “What did Doctor Barbie tell you?”

“Um,” He blinks, trying to focus on anything but how high up you are, “I- I was fine once I saw Barbie. She said I was brave.” He smiles widely. 

“Good! That’s good.”

“What did Mr.Higher-than-thee have to say about it?” Ken crosses his arms, a sour expression now on his face.

“Mr.Higher-than-thee?” You tilt your head.

“You know, mini me? My wannabe?”

You blankly stare down at him.

“Your Ken.” He grunts, rolling his eyes.

“Ohhhh,” You nod, “He’s not my Ken. Just Ken #2.”

“That’s even worse. Sounds like he’s a version of me which he is not.”

You stop and think, “Well…he kind of is.” You shrug.

“Whatever.” He sighs, visibly irritated.

You begin hanging lights again, realizing how soon the party starts.

“He wasn’t too happy to hear that I told you about Mr.Cat.” 

A smirk grows on Ken’s face, satisfied that he successfully irritated his nemesis. 

“You should get Barbie one.” You continue. “Her own pet.”

“Should I?” He ponders, “What would I get her? I don’t even know if she likes cats.”

“Barbie loves cats.” You assure him, surprised that he didn’t know that. “Or you could get her a dog.”

“…What about a horse?”

You laugh, nearly falling off of the ladder. 

“I don’t know if a horse is a reasonable pet.”

“Maybe she’ll be like-“

“Guys!” Diplomat Barbie interrupts him, running out of the house. “Midge is almost here!”

You nod, quickly climbing down. Ken sighs a breath of relief, putting a hand over his heart. He runs toward you as you silently wave him over, not knowing how to disassemble the ladder. 

The two of you frantically try to figure it out before Midge is at the door when abruptly, it begins to lean. It feels like it’s in slow motion as the ladder tips over and crashes down, echoing loudly. You and Ken look at each other horrified before you snap out of it, pushing him into the dream house.

All eyes are on you two as you re-enter the house. Without hesitation, you point to Ken. 

“Wha-“ He puts his hands up, “That wasn’t me it was her! She was trying to-“

“Shh!” Stereotypical Barbie interrupts him, motioning for both of you to get down. 

Joining everyone else, you and Ken duck down so that Midge won’t see you. You hear footsteps as Allan walks an unsuspecting Midge to the door.

As he pushes it open, President Barbie gives you all a quiet countdown from three. Then, all at once, you spring up.

“Congratulations on the second baby Allan and Midge!!” You all shout the rehearsed line.

Her jaw drops as confetti flies and celebratory shouts fill the room. A big smile grows on her face as you and Diplomat Barbie walk up to her.

“Congrats, Midge!” She offers up a muffin.

“If it’s a girl, I think you should name her Molly.” You add. 

Diplomat Barbie gasps, “That is such a good idea, Barbie.”

“Thanks, Barbie!” 

Midge takes a muffin as Stereotypical Barbie walks up. You retreat back into the kitchen as more people begin to walk to the dream house and chatter ensues. Author Barbie turns the pop music up and the party really feels like it’s in full swing.

“What do you think the baby’s name should be, Ken?” You ask as you grab a cookie from the platter.

He picks one up as well, taking a bite as he thinks for a moment. 

“What about…Dolphin?”

You almost choke on your cookie, “Dolphin?”

“Yea! Like the ones at the beach. Maybe the baby will be a surfer like me. I can already imagine it, ‘Dolphin Wave Shredder Barbie.’” He smiles as he envisions it.

You chuckle, “You’re silly, Ken.”

“Thanks, Barbie.” He innocently smiles wide.

You lean on the counter, taking another bite as a very familiar someone walks up to you.

“Hi, Ken!” You say, leaning in for a hug.

“Hi, Barbie!” Ken #2 squeezes you tight. 

As he lets go, he sees the bleach blonde Ken next to you and his grin quickly falls.

“Ken.” He clears his throat.

Beach Ken gives him a dry nod, both of them staring each other down.

“We were just discussing baby names.” You inform him. “You got any?” 

“I think the baby’s name should be…Shark. like the ones at the beach.”

“Gosh, why do you guys like beach animal names so much?”

“What would you recommend, Barbie?” Ken #2 asks, grabbing a cookie for himself.

“I thought Molly would be a pretty name.” You shrug.

Ken #2’s jaw drops and you furrow your brows. As you look to Beach Ken for help you realize that his expression is the same.

“…What?”

“That. Is. A really good name, Barbie.” 

You laugh, the anxiety dissipating in your stomach.

“Oh!” 

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” Beach Ken adds.

“Well we all know why you didn’t think of it.” Ken #2 says.

“What’s that supposed to mean you donation pile?”

“Really?” Ken #2 steps closer, getting into Beach Ken’s face. “That beach off offer still stands, man.”

“Oh really-”

“Okay!” You stop them, placing a hand on both of their chests and softly pushing back. “Let’s dance!”

Ken #2 lingers on Beach Ken as you grab his hand and swiftly pull him outside onto the dance floor. 

It quickly becomes crowded as Stereotypical Barbie and the rest of the girls join. The disco ball lighted dance floor is buzzing with excitement as President Barbie grabs both of your hands, pulling you away from Ken #2 to dance. 

“This is the best night ever!” You hear Doctor Barbie say behind you.

“This is the best night ever! And so was yesterday and tomorrow and every night until forever!” Stereotypical Barbie says as she dances with Midge.  

Smiles all around as hands are held and drinks are downed. You spin around your friends and wave your arms as the air seems to thicken with all of the fun you’re having. 

Stereotypical Barbie is in the middle of the dance floor as she announces her next thought,  “Do you guys ever think about dying?” 

The music scratchily stops and the dance floor pauses. Barbie is frozen in her spot as you all stare at her, worried looks on all of your faces…

…

"Goodnight Barbie's! I'm definitely not thinking about death anymore!" You hear ring out before your head hits the pillow and you doze off.

——

You and your friends stare in horror as you surround Stereotypical Barbie in the bleachers. Her heels are on the floor and the the m word has been thrown around.

And when you m word…you have to visit Weird Barbie.

“Promise me you guys won’t tell anyone. Not even other Barbies.” She asks as she stands up.

You all agree, attempting to hide the worried looks on your faces as you stare at her. She cautiously walks away from the beach, trying her best to stay on her toes. She looks back to see you all watching her.

“Act normal!” 

Clearing your throats, you all snap around to face forward. Although twirling your hair and looking around worriedly isn’t the most normal you can act, you’re trying your best. 

Athlete Barbie looks at you all from the volleyball court.

“…You guys want to play?”

“Yes!”

 The Barbie’s all jump at the opportunity to escape the thick tension, scrambling off of the bleachers and onto the volleyball court.

You cautiously stand, stiffly walking off of the bleachers and heading home. The big secret weighing on your shoulders is making you feel like Allan. It’s a much bigger secret than Mr.Cat.

As you speed walk across the sand, you bump into someone. As if you conjured him up, Allan stands there with a smile on his face.

“Hi, Barbie!” He says, his voice always just a little shaky and anxious.

“Hi, Allan.” You dryly smile before continuing to walk.

“Wait- What’s the hurry?” He jogs to catch up with you, getting a little worried himself. “Does it have something to do with Barbie? I saw you guys talking-“

“No!” You insist, “It has absolutely nothing to do with Barbie. I’m fine!” You walk away from him but he relentlessly keeps a pace with you.

“Barbie…you might be a worse liar than me.” He says, “And it’s making me a little anxious so could you please just spit it out?”

“What are you and Midge thinking of naming the baby?” You ask, desperately needing the change of topic. “Did she tell you about my suggestion?”

“No- Uh, we’re still discussing. We haven’t got the gender yet.”

“Really? We had a whole party. I’d think you’d have seen Doctor Barbie about it by now.” You pick up the pace.

“We plan to soon- Uh- You’re walking really fast.”

“Am I? I think I’m walking at a perfectly normal pace.”

“You’re really not, I’m practically running- What did Barbie tell you?”

“Fine!” You break, stopping not too far out from your dream house. “Barbie is malfunctioning.” You whisper, “And now she has to go up to the hills and see Weird Barbie in hopes that she can be fixed!” 

Allan draws in a long deep inhale, throwing a hand over his mouth. 

“Malfunctioning!?-“

“Shh!” You put your own hand over his mouth, “Allan, you can’t tell anyone. It’s a super secret. Beach Ken doesn’t even know.”

“Is she- Is she going to be okay? She’s supposed to be Perfect Barbie, she’s the Barbie. What about Barbieland? Are we coming to an end? How will the Ken’s survive? How will anyone survive? Are we all going to die-“ 

“Allan-“

“Surprise, Barbie!” Ken #2 swings your door open.

He looks at Allan oddly in a ‘This is us time,’ way and he reluctantly walks away, murmuring questions under his breath. You don’t have time to worry about Allan as you stare at Ken #2, or more so, what he’s holding. 

In his hands, a white Maine Coon with the fluffiest tail looks up at you. Only, this cats eyes are blue, and Mr.Cat’s eyes are yellow.

You gasp, reaching out as Ken #2 places the cat in your arms.

“Who’s this?” You ask, voice high as you pet the kitty.

“Meet Mrs.Cat.”

Your jaw hangs open, “You got me another cat, Ken?”

“Now Mr. Cat has a friend.” He smiles widely, guiding your waist as you walk inside.

You kiss the cat over and over before letting her down and heading toward the kitchen cabinet.

“Now leech Ken won’t know all of our secrets.” He says as you pull out the pink cat food and walk back around to Mrs. Cat.

“Hm.” You mindlessly agree, not wanting to always be in the middle of their bickering.

“Imagine the look on his face in 10 years when he realizes we’ve had another cat right under his nose. The little q-tip will never see it coming. He won’t even-“

“Ken.” You stop him as you finish pouring Mrs. Cat’s food.

“Yes?”

“Let’s not talk about Ken anymore.”

“Y- You don’t want to-“

“No.” You lean your elbows on the kitchen counter thats separating you and him, “I’d much rather talk about us.” 

“That works for me.” Ken shrugs, also leaning on the counter.

“We haven’t made lava cakes in a while, huh?”

“Last time was at Midge’s dance party.” 

“Jeez, that was before the news about the baby. We’re past due for some lava cakes. Maybe we can give some to Barbie, she’s going through a hard time.”

“What happened? Is she okay.”

You stop yourself as soon as you realize you’ve said too much.

“Oh- Oh yeah! She’s just a little under the weather.”

“Perfect Barbie? Under the weather?”

“She won’t be for long once she gets a taste of our cakes!” You deflect.

He smiles, soothing your worries that he’d be suspecting.

“You always have the best ideas, Barbie.”

He pecks you on the nose before you round the counter. Ken preheats the oven as you gather all of your routine supplies and ingredients to make the famous pink lava cakes. Soon after, you play soft pop music and get to work.

Not long into the cake making process, both of you are dough covered and laughter fills your dream house, the stress of Barbie’s situation fading to the back of your mind. 

…

“Goodbye, Ken!” You wave.

“Bye, Barbie! See you tomorrow!” 

“See ya!” 

The sun has gone down and the smell of warm cake whisps through Malibu. You stand at the palm tree and watch Ken #2 walk out of your sight, a smile on both of your faces. 

You’re full of happiness as you head back toward your house, your boots clicking beneath you. Opening the door, you slip inside. Turning back toward your doorway, you’re seconds away from closing it when you jump.

In front of you, as if he appeared out of thin air, a dripping wet and heaving Beach Ken leans on the frame.

“Ah!” You shout, slapping a hand over your mouth. “Ken, you scared me.” You now matching his heaving.

Getting a better look at him, you realize just how disheveled he really is. 

“A- Are you okay?” 

“I can’t-“  He struggles to get the words out, “I can’t find-“

“Do you need some water?”

He frantically nods, practically throwing himself in the door as you retreat to the kitchen. He hurls himself onto your couch, sprawling out as you fill up a glass. 

You jog into the living room, not fully being able to tell if that’s Ken or the corpse of Ken laying motionless on your sofa.

“Here.” You kneel at his feet, placing the water in his hands.

Ken chugs 2/3 of the glass before messily wiping his mouth and sitting up the best he can.

“I can’t find Barbie.” He finally spits out.

A breath of relief almost escapes you as the situation is much less frank than he made it out to be. Though, you should’ve expected such a reaction from someone like him.

“Oh,” You begin, “She’ll be away for a little. I can’t exactly tell you why but- Just trust me, She’s okay.”

You hope.

“What? Wait, Barbie you can’t just not tell me-“

“I’m sorry, Ken. I’m sworn to secrecy.” 

“But Barbie, it’s me. Secrets of hers are secrets of mine.” He differs, trying his best to calmly pull the secret out of you. 

“I wish I could, Ken.” You shrug, feeling that cornered feeling that you felt with Allan. 

“Okay well could you just-“ He deeply breathes, trying to calm himself, “Could you just, tell me where she is?”

You scoot back, “Ken…”

“Barbie, please!” He comes closer, desperately grabbing your hands. “I can’t sleep without knowing. It’s tearing me up inside, Barbie. Please.” 

“All I can say is that Barbie isn’t…”

“Isn’t?”

“Well, she hasn’t been…”

“Hasn’t been what?”

“Ken, she just-“

“Just what, Barbie! Please for the love of Mr. Cat spit it out!-“

“Stereotypical Barbie malfunctioned!” 

“Malfunctioned!?” He launches off of the couch, holding himself in terror.

“Ken, shh! Sit down!” You pull him. “I’m not supposed to tell you!” 

Ken looks at you in horror. He mirrors your breathing demonstration in attempts to calm himself down.

“What happened?” He shakily asks.

“Barbie’s routine was all off. She didn’t look how she usually does when she woke up, she fell off of her dream house; and worst of all, she had flat feet.” 

His eyes get wider and wider as if he’s seen a ghost, “H- How will she get fixed? Where did she go?” 

“Ken, she had to go to…Weird Barbie.” You whisper.

Once again, Ken throws himself off of the couch like a frightened cat. 

“No! Not Weird Barbie!” 

“Ken, please!” 

He brings his tone to a whisper shout, “Anything but Weird Barbie!” 

“She’s the only one who can fix her!” 

Ken places one hand on his hip and one on his forehead, pacing the floor as he works himself up again. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m just-“ He sits back on the couch, laying down, “I’m just going to lay down…”

You nod, standing and placing a pink bow shaped pillow under his head as he nearly passes out. Mrs. Cat cuddles beside him and you flip the lights off, leaving them alone in your living room.

——

“Bon Voyage to Reality and Good Luck Restoring the Membrane that Separates Our World from theirs so you don’t get Cellulite!” The crowd chants. 

Drink glasses clink as the going away party for Barbie climaxes. You stand beside Ken #2, a weight lifted off of your shoulders now that Barbie has revealed the big secret. 

You mindlessly look behind you and to your surprise, Beach Ken stands in your doorway, Mrs. Cat purring in his arms. You feel slightly bad for not waking him up earlier; Now he’s finding out about Barbie’s departure moments before she goes. 

Confused, he walks over to you. 

“What’s happening?”

Ken #2 looks at him.

“Barbie’s going to the real world!” You inform him.

“Wh-“

“Go! Go!” You push him through the ring of people and toward Barbie and her pink car.

A smile on your face, you take another sip of your drink before turning toward Ken #2. But when you do, you slowly lower your glass. He stares down at you with glossy eyes and a blank expression.

“You let him stay in your dream house?” He asks, his voice low and somber.

“Ken, I-“ 

“And you told him about Mrs. Cat?” 

Your heart sinks, the fact completely slipping your mind when she curled up to him last night.

“Oh, Ken.” You cup his face, “I’m so so sorry. I completely forgot it was a secret!” 

“You forgot…” He stares at you, stone faced.

“…Ken, I didn’t mean to-“

Before you can finish, he’s ripped your arms off of him. You follow quickly behind him as he storms into your dream house.

“Every time I think I’m enough for you…” He mumbles.

“Ken, you are enough for me!” You jog into the house. “You are!”

“I’m not!” He raises his voice, startling you. “I can’t be! I make cakes with you, I get you two cats, I cheer you on in volleyball!”

“And I appreciate you for all of those things, Ken! I do!” You try to soften your voice in attempts to bring his down. “I’m only so sympathetic for Ken because you’re so mean to him!”

“He’s mean to me!” 

“Well he’s only mean to you because Barbie’s mean to him!” 

“So now you’re sticking up for him!?” 

“No! I-“

“If I were Barbie I’d be mean to him too!”

“Ken, do not speak for what you’d do if you were Barbie, I do not want that image in my head!”  Tears fill your eyes, “What I want…is you, Ken. I want us.”

“No. You want him.” 

“Wha- Beach Ken? Ken, I would never. I don’t want anyone but you-“

“Then why does he get to stay in your dream house?!”

“He was having a hard time-“

“That’s what you said last time! You always give me excuses, Barbie!”

“Ken, I’m so sorry-“

“We’re supposed to be boyfriend girlfriend.” His voice drops and his tone is now eerily quiet. “Us, Barbie. I do everything right for you. I don’t know why you love him and not me.”

Tears run down his cheeks and you frown, never knowing how much your seemingly harmless actions were affecting him.

“Ken…” You near him, grabbing his hands by his side. “How can I make this up to you?” 

He shakes his head, pulling his hands from yours and wiping his tears.

“You can’t, Barbie.”

“What?” You ask just above a whisper, tears now filling your eyes as well.

“You can’t. I don’t want to be boyfriend girlfriend anymore.”  

He shakes his head at you, conflicted, before walking away, leaving your jaw dropped and your makeup tear stained.

“Come back here, Ken!” You shout. He continues walking toward the door. “You can’t break up with me because I break up with you!”

He turns back one last time, “Well I said it first, Barbie! We’re over!” He slams the door behind him.

You stand idly, staring at the door with your eyes puffy and your heart broken. Your mind blurred with a million thoughts, you round the couch and plop down on it. Your lip quivers as you pull your knees to your chest, burying your face in your arms. The familiar furry body curls up next to you, making you weep even harder.

Just as you’ve let yourself cry as hard as you wish, you hear the songy tune of your doorbell ringing. 

Not having the will to get up and check who it is, you mumble a crackly ‘come in.’ 

Please don’t be Ken, please don’t be Ken, please don’t be Ken.

You hear footsteps getting closer and closer before they’re right beside you. The couch dips as they sit in front of you. As you look up, you see almost a mirror image of you. Only, it’s Beach Ken.

He’s let go of Mrs. Cat but her fur still sticks to his shirt. His face is red and tear stained as he tucks his own knees to his chest, sniffling. 

“Me and Barbie aren’t girlfriend boyfriend anymore.” He reveals through held back sobs.

You shake your head, barely able to admit it.

“Neither are me and Ken.” Beach Ken cries harder, you can’t tell if it’s for you or for himself. “Why?” You ask.

“She said- She didn’t want me to go with her to the real world. She said we should…take a break.” He buries his head in his arms with that last part. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing, Ken.” You try to be there for him, “I’ve heard the real world isn’t a place we’d want to be.”

“Yea, but I’d go through it all for Barbie.” He shrugs, wiping his eyes. “What about you, why did that wannabe break up with you?” 

You sniff, “Because I showed you Mrs. Cat. She was supposed to be a secret.” 

Ken half laughs, “Jokes on him, I didn’t even know it was a different cat.” He sighs, “I really love cats.”

“I do too, Ken.” You agree. “I do too.”

“Maybe we’re just, two big malfunctions.”

You shake your head, drying your own tears, “Don’t be silly, Ken. I could never be a malfunction.”

“You’re right, Maybe I’m just a malfunction.”

“Well I think you’re perfect the way you are.”

“Not as perfect as Stereotypical Barbie.” He frowns.

“No one is as perfect as Stereotypical Barbie.”

He looks at you, both of your eyes bloodshot.

“I think you’re perfect the way you are too, Cowgirl Barbie.”

“Thanks, Beach Ken.”

Your gazes linger on each other for what seems like decades. Neither you or him mean to be moving your heads closer but by some anomaly, they’re nearing. Soon enough, your lips are locked…and neither of you pull away.

Once you do, you just sit and stare. Another 10 years seem to go by before either one of you speaks.

“…Did you hate that?” Ken asks.

“I did not hate that.”

“Good. Neither did I.” 

You sit in silence, wondering what to do next. Trying to worry less about what just happened.

“Does that make us…boyfriend girlfriend?” 

“I don’t know.” You think for a second. “I don’t think so?” 

His eyes wander, this clearly being too big of a topic for his Ken brain to handle. And quite frankly, it’s too big for your Barbie brain as well. 

“Would you want to watch a movie, Ken?” You abruptly offer. 

“Absolutely.”

You grin before handing him the tv remote and hopping off the couch. He channel surfs as you heat up two bags of popcorn, extra butter.

Together, for the rest of the night, Cowgirl Barbie, Beach Ken, Mr. Cat, and Mrs. Cat sit on the old pink couch watching the old pink tv and letting out old pink giggles.

The topic that is too big for either of their brains to handle will remain unhandled for as long as that may be. And if it were up to them, that would be for the rest of time. Staying like this, on the old pink couch, with two cats and two popcorn bags, was more than kenough for them. 

[aviawrites]

hiii i wanted to ask if you ever planned on writing a second part of you are not safe? have a good day!

hii!! i definitely plan on it, i’m just super behind on my writing. i have over 3 stories that i need to write more parts to and instead of getting on it, i started a new game of thrones one (so excited😝). but yea, i do plan on it. i’m just a VERYY slow writer (ik how annoying it is i’m so sorry😞).

UPDATE:

honestly no😭 at the time of writing this the answer was yes, but looking at it now, i don’t want y’all to be waiting for something that will never come. thank u so much for caring!