#i choose to believe that he mourns the little boy he once held in his arms | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

radiorenjun · 4 years

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I Don't Need It

• Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader

• Genre: Angst, Comedy, Fluff

• Na Jaemin despised the idea of soulmates, he wanted to fight against fate for choosing his soulmate for him. Even if it means his stubborn childhood best friend wouldn’t stop trying to make him accept about the similar tattoos on their wrists.

• Warnings: mental breakdowns, heartbreak, rejection, major angst, arguments, flashbacks, physical injuries, fighting, underaged drinking, panic attacks, slight mentions of death. things are going to get much better from this chapter on. Or is it?

• Wordcount : 9.2k

• Masterlist here!

• Chapters: XV, XVI

“Oh dear Lord. Na Jaemin once listened to What Is Love by Twice and took it way to heart,” Hyuck tsked, shaking his head in disappointment, earning a few threatening glares from his older friends as they watch the lovesick boy sulk in his seat on the lunch table. “What? Am I wrong?” he asked, lifting a brow at them with an innocent shrug.

“Fuck off, Hyuck,” Jaemin groaned, waving his friend off as he stared back at his phone screen with an empty expression. “Damn, Captain out here using the government name. What’s up with him?” Younghoon asked, walking up to the sulking boy with a towel over his shoulder, passing the cloth to Jeno. “He got into a huge argument with y/n the other day at the library,” Donghyuck explained, sighing as he patted his friend’s back sympathetically.

“Yikes, I take it that it didn’t go so well?” Jihoon asked, wincing as he examined Jaemin’s seemingly lifeless state. The boy in question currently resembled a kicked puppy, his eyes held no emotion other than sorrow and heartbreak. Jaemin looked so ‘down in the dumps’ (as their coach had said before giving him a small time out) you could see his soul slowly leaving his body.

“No shit, dude. She told him to fuck off,” Hyuck hissed, wincing at the thought of his own soulmate telling him to get out of his life. “Ouch, for real?” Younghoon scrunched his nose, looking down at his captain who’s expression darkened as he looked down at his dirty sneakers. “I didn’t know Y/n could say that to the Na Jaemin, himself. Are you sure you aren’t just hallucinating things, Capt?” he asked once again, looking down at the boy before him.

“He had it coming, really. Have you seen the awkward moments we had to go through because of how they keep pulling and pushing each other away? Damn, it was like I was watching a shitty anime adaptation on netflix,” Hyuck shook his head, tutting under his breath. Jaemin slowly raised his head up at the two boys towering over him, staring daggers into their souls.

“I would very much appreciate it if you guys could stop gossiping about me like I’m not listening right in front of you and fuck off. Let me mourn for the rest of my life in peace, please,” Jaemin rolled his eyes, leaning the side of his face against his knuckles as he propped his elbow up on the table. “He’s got it bad, huh?” Chani commented, walking up to the boys and leaning his arm over Hyuck’s shoulder.

“Definitely,” Hyuck agreed, nodding.

“Lee Haechan, you’re not helping either,” Jeno rolled his eyes, crossing his arms against his chest. “Well what am I supposed to do, man? I gave him advice and all he did was just talk and do little things. Jaemin, listen, to win a girl’s heart you gotta go big or go home,” Hyuck advised with an enthusiastic tone, receiving nothing else but a heavy sigh from the said boy.

Jeno gave out an annoyed groan, snapping his head around to look at his best friend. “So what are you going to do now? Are you really going to leave her alone?” he asked hesitantly, watching Jaemin’s sulking state carefully. Jaemin hummed, shrugging nonchalantly, pursing his lips in thought. “Well, if that’s what she wants then, I guess I have no choice,” he mumbled.

“What? Really?”

“Look, what do you want me to do? I fucked up. I tried to fix things by small actions and waited for her to be more comfortable with me and I still fucked that up because I couldn’t be patient and time is running out. We’re graduating soon, I tried to talk things out and I still lost control of my emotions and somehow managed to fuck it up without the slightest bit of effort,” Jaemin snapped, running a hand through his hair and tugging on the roots out of frustration.

“I get it, I fucked up. I don’t need to be constantly reminded that I lost my soulmate and I’m going to be alone forever,” he raised his hands up in defeat, groaning. “The least I can do right now is to leave her alone to have some time to herself. Maybe if I do that she won’t hate me as much.”

Jaemin was really hopeless at this point. He didn’t know what to do. He knew he had to do something to try and make things better, but he fucked up too much this time. He believed that the relationship you two have now is unrepairable. He screwed up his chances of making it up to you once again, and now he’s just going to sulk around until he gets over it.

Jeno and Hyuck exchanged similar glances of sympathy, sighing heavily. “You can’t just give up like that, dude. You just gotta try a bit harder,” Younghoon slung an arm over the younger boy’s shoulders, giving him an encouraging smile. Jaemin pursed his lips, hanging his head with his doe eyes staring holes into his shoes before shaking his head ‘no’.

“I can’t. I really fucked up this one, you don’t even know,” Jaemin felt his heart ache at the memory of your exhausted expression that was now engraved into his skull. The way your eyes no longer held the adoration you had for him for so long. He internally wondered why he didn’t notice the sparkles in your eyes had faded whenever he came into your line of vision. Moreover, he regretted the fact that he didn’t cherish the moments when he could gaze into the adoration you held for him in your heart.

“I made her turn into the old me. God, I fucked up bad,” he groaned, rubbing his face with his hand in distress. Younghoon sucked in his lips, gazing up at the two boys, widening his eyes and nodding at the distressed boy beside him, gesturing for them to help him comfort him. Jeno clicked his tongue, crossing his arms against his chest as he shook his head in disappointment.

“Are you really going to give up just because of that?” Jeno deadpanned, furrowing his brows. “What do you want me to do man?” Jaemin peered up at his best friend, letting out a puff of breath. “I really don’t know what to do anymore, at this point I should just fucking give up. She won’t even give me a chance, anyway. What’s the point anymore?” Jaemin claimed, his eyes half-lidded.

He felt tired. He just wanted to go back home and sleep until his problems go away. But he knew he couldn’t. He had to do something to fix this, he wanted to do something to fix this. But he was at loss, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He was already on thin ice, if he fucked up one more time, he wouldn’t know what’s going to happen next. And frankly he didn’t want to think or risk it.

“No shit, sherlock.” Jeno scoffed, rolling his eyes incredulously.

“You repeatedly hurt her for two years straight, asshole. I wouldn’t forgive you if I were her either,” he added with a heavy sigh, shaking his head at the younger boy who just gave him a glare in return. “Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious. What else do you want me to do, huh? Climb the Eiffel tower?” Jaemin groaned, slumping against his seat.

“Then stop fucking sulking,” Jeno scolded. “You know very well sulking about your problems isn’t going to make anything better. You know that better than anyone, captain.”

“Don’t use the ‘captain’ bullshit on me now, Jeno. I’m not in the mood,” Jaemin looked away from his friend, his eyes scanning the lockers in front of him. “Well, you better be in the mood sooner or later. The final game’s coming up, you better get your head straight before Coach actually gets serious and kicks you off the team.” Jeno scoffed, earning glares from Hyuck and Renjun.

That finally put Jaemin back into his rightful state of mind. He had been working for the position all throughout his sophomore and junior year, he knew he wasn’t in the best state to focus on anything right now but he couldn’t give up the position he had been working oh-so-very hard for the past two years. ‘God. What the fuck am I suppose to do?’

Younghoon sighed, placing a hand on his friend’s knee, patting it. “The two of you are literally hopeless. But I’m happy that Y/n rejected your dumb ass,” he commented with a tight-lipped smile. Jaemin turned to his friend slowly, who wiggled his eyebrows at him in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m being serious, by the way.” Younghoon added, retracting his hand.

“Gee, thank you for expressing your thoughts, Mr. Huang,” Hyuck chuckled, slinging an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Hey, hear me out first!” Younghoon exclaimed, pushing his arm off of his shoulders with a roll of his eyes. “Listen, I’m happy she rejected you because it would be pretty stupid for her to just forgive you all of a sudden despite the fact that you haven’t learned from your mistakes.” He explained.

Jaemin furrowed his brows in confusion at the boy’s words, “what’s that supposed to mean?” he retorted in an almost offended tone. “I don’t know if you realise this yet, Jaemin. But it seems that you truly haven’t learned from your stupid mistakes. She told you countless times she doesn’t want you to bother her and you did the exact opposite. You didn’t give her any time to slowly let you back into her life,” Jihoon shrugged simply, finally gathering the courage to speak up.

“So what you’re saying is that it’s okay for her to barge into my life doing all that soulmate crap for the past two years and I’m not allowed to do the same?” Jaemin asked, raising a brow at him as a scowl stretched across his lips. Jeno groaned in frustration, raising a hand to rub his temples to keep himself from snapping at the oblivious boy.

“See! He doesn’t even get it!” Jeno exclaimed, rubbing his forehead as he stared hopelessly at the boy sitting down in front of him. “Dude, you can’t just walk into someone’s life after hurting her twenty-four seven for two years straight, thinking that you would be forgiven in an instant. Hell, if we were Y/n we wouldn’t even want to look at you,” Jeno elaborated, taking a step back and crossing his arms against his chest.

“You can’t blame the poor girl for being cautious. You’re supposed to be her soulmate, the one who’s supposed to make her happy. You’re doing a shitty job at doing so, if I say so myself. If anything I’m proud of her for saying no to you so kindly, if I were her I would tell you to get out of my life permanently. You’re making her lose her trust in you even more as time goes on. Get that through your thick skull, you asshole.” Jeno spat, his eyes narrowing at the younger boy with rage glossing over his pupils.

Jaemin’s friends always considered you as their sister, they always cared about you and they always try to defend you and Jaemin whenever they can. But they knew this was getting a little bit too far. Your graduation ceremony was coming up soon. Prom was coming up. The final game is coming up. Not to mention the finals afterwards.

Everyone was more than beyond stressed in their own problems. And the fact that Jaemin was sulking about his problems instead of doing something about it was pissing them off to no end. The fact that the two of you were visibly hurting because of it was pissing them off. They wanted things to go back to the way they used to. But they knew things can’t end that way. Not anymore.

The least they can do now was to try and get Jaemin’s mind to think straight again.

“By the way you’re acting got me thinking, are you actually doing this because you’re starting to like y/n or is it because you just want to hurt her even more?” Jeno asked (almost growled), his tone lowering as he glared daggers into Jaemin’s figure.

“Jeno, wait, you’re-”

Jaemin shot up from his seat, standing up in front of his best friend with his eyes wide in shock. “What the fuck Jeno? You know very well I would never hurt y/n. At least on fucking purpose, you know that better than anyone. Why the hell are you even saying that?” Jaemin shot back, his eyes wide in shock at Jeno’s false assumption. Jeno’s gaze remained unwavering, taking a deep breath before continuing to speak again.

“Are you sure about that Jaemin? Because it seems to me all you’ve done so far is hurting y/n. And by what you said about Y/n not forgiving you made it sound like you’re purposely doing this because you wanted revenge against Y/n for ‘bothering’ you the past two years. Tell me, Jaemin. Are you doing this because you feel bad? Are you doing this because you actually like her? Or are you doing this because you want pay back?”

Every word that spilled out of Jeno’s mouth was like a slap from reality. Of course Jaemin likes you! Of course he feels bad! He just said those things because he was just furious with himself. Right? He was just frustrated that things haven’t been going very well lately with your relationship that he couldn’t help but make it sound like he was only doing this for revenge.

Right?

“Of course I fucking like her,” Jaemin shot back rather hesitantly, the anger in his eyes dissipating. Instead, sadness and confusion had taken place across his features. Truth be told, he was quite confused about his own feelings. He longed for your presence. He wanted to talk to you again. He wanted to give you soft cuddles again. He wanted to shower you with his love just like he always did back when the two of you were still kids.

But yet again, he has been hurting you alot. No, scratch that, he’s been hurting you with every selfish step he made. Does he really feel something for you or is this his way of getting you a taste of your own medicine? He can’t possibly-

“Get your shit together, Jaemin. If all you’re going to do is hurt her, you might as well just leave her life the same way she left yours months ago. And if you want things to be on good terms again, you might want to think a bit more,” Jeno spat, walking away to his locker, leaving the boy lost in his thoughts.

“Well, that was surely something unexpected.”

“I know!” you groaned, spreading your arms out on the table with a frustrated groan, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. “I don’t know what got into me. I was on the brink of crying that day. In a library too! Thank god it was empty, oh god.” you rambled, a look of pure horror spread across your features.

“Okay, okay. Calm down, just- repeat what you said to him just one more time,” Hyunjin coaxed, showing you his index finger. “I refuse to repeat myself, I rather bask in the cringe of my own previous words. Good day,” you gave Hyunjin a bittersweet smile before frowning abruptly and leaned your chin on your arm, jutting out your bottom as you recalled your conversation with Jaemin last week.

Speaking of Jaemin, he hasn’t made any efforts to talk to you again since then. He stopped sending you random chocolates in your lockers and small pebbles with small doodles drawn sloppily with a posca marker. He stopped trying to make small talk with you. And considering you were now avoiding him even more than you already are, you haven’t seen him much unless you pass by the school field to go to the teacher’s office to get something.

Were you a bit too harsh with your words? This is what you wanted right? You wanted him to leave your relationship as it is before anything bad happens to ruin it even more than it already has. But yet again, what was the point? Your relationship with Jaemin now is almost as non-existent. And you didn’t know what to feel about it.

You tugged the sleeve of your sweater down to take a peek of your hidden tattoo, a small frown on your lips as your eyes scan the small drawing that lead to all of this mess. Did you make the right choice when you rejected him? Was yelling at him a bit too far? He is your soulmate after all, maybe you should’ve given him a chance?

“Stop it,” Renjun chuckled, reaching from across the table to flick your forehead

You grimaced, looking up at your group of friends with a perplexed expression. “I’m literally just breathing right now,” you deadpanned, rubbing the spot he flicked with a small pout. “We can hear the gears inside your head, you’re thinking way too loud, y/n.” Yeeun commented with an amused smile, wrapping her arm around yours.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about Jaemin,” you sighed, giving her a half-hearted smile. “As usual,” your friend chuckled, rolling their eyes at you. You pursed your lips, “shut up. I kind of feel guilty for what happened back at the library now.” You pulled your arm away from Yeeun’s hold with a small pout on your face.

“Why the hell would you feel guilty? You should feel proud of yourself,” Renjun furrowed his brows, opening the milk carton he bought earlier before school had started. “I don’t know, I just feel guilty? I never really snapped at Jaemin like that before. Or anyone else,” you shrugged, picking off the chocolate from Hyunjin’s dessert box with the spoon beside you.

“Hey! Get your own!” Hyunjin exclaimed, slapping your spoon away from his box with his own. “Stealing from a friend tastes way better, sorry not sorry,” you grinned, shoving the spoon inside your mouth with a small hum. “We’re kinda proud of you for standing up for yourself like that though,” Renjun mumbled under his breath.

You felt your heart ache slightly at the thought. “I mean,” you pulled the spoon out of your mouth and clicked your tongue in thought. “I’m not one to back out of confrontation, so I’m kind of proud of myself for saying no as well. But I just really feel guilty for doing so, is it because he’s my soulmate?” you frowned, leaning close to take another bite of Hyunjin’s dessert.

“It’s normal to feel bad. It shows that despite everything he’s done, you still like him. Whether it’d be because of the soulmate system or because of your own feelings, you still like him. It’s normal to be angry at someone and feel like shit about it afterwards. We’re here for you,” Yeeun leaned her head against your shoulder and rubbed your back affectionately.

You looked up, watching as your friends gave you encouraging smiles, showing you that they’re here to back you up no matter what. “We won’t be mad either even if you did say yes. Because, let’s be real. If my soulmate finally realised they’re being a piece of shit, I would snap at them and forgive them when I’m ready,” Renjun chuckled, continuing on munching down his salad. “We’ll always be here to back you up, even if it doesn’t seem like it,” Hyunjin nodded in agreement.

“Thanks guys, I really appreciate it,” you sighed, mustering up the strength to give them a genuine smile. But alas, the empty feeling in your chest didn’t disappear. Not even a bit. But it made you feel a bit at ease knowing you have someone to turn to whenever you need it.

You missed him. It wasn’t a secret among you and your friends. You missed Jaemin even if you didn’t want to. You missed the happiness bubbling up inside of you whenever he comes into your line of vision, you missed the butterflies swarming in your stomach whenever you hear his voice. You missed how he would complain about how his tummy hurts when he accidentally drank milk at the most random of moments.

You missed how despite how he found your affections and small antics extremely bothersome, he never failed to do the littlest things to show that he still cared about you. You couldn’t even count how many times you would fall asleep to the scent of his hoodie whenever he accidentally left it in your room. You couldn’t count how many times you wrote small love letters at the back of your notebook whenever he pops up in your head.

You couldn’t count how many times you would crack a small smile whenever you caught a small glimpse of his.

It hurts to think that you lost your chance of ever feeling the same happiness you did before. At least, not in real life considering you’ve been having too many dreams of Jaemin. You’d wake up all happy and hyper then in a minute your mood will spiral down like a toilet bowl when reality hits you smack on the face. Though, you knew very well that you should just move on considering college was just around the corner.

You didn’t want to think about this anymore.

“Hey y/n, you got a minute?”

Your head shot up from your phone, eyes wide in surprise to see none other than Lee Jeno himself. “Jeno?” you leaned your head to the side a bit, wondering why he was standing right in front of you when he was supposed to be in practice right now with Jaemin and the others. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?” you asked, pulling the strap of your bag that was slipping off your shoulder.

“Coach cancelled today to cool us all off before the game next week,” Jeno shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets with a small shrug. “Right, the game! Good luck with that, by the way,” you beamed, eyes wide in realization when you realized that the last game for the guys was next week before exams starts. “You’re not coming?” he asked, leaning his head to the side in confusion.

You wanted to. You really really do. You always had a front row seat so you can see Jaemin play at a close view. You remembered how you always cheered enthusiastically for him, Jeno and Hyuck back then, handing them cool water bottles afterwards. Putting up a bright smile as you watched Jaemin stare back at you with annoyance, his eyes showing how much he didn’t want you there. You remembered pretending to be oblivious to the sympathetic looks Jeno and Hyuck would always share whenever you attempted to make small talk with him.

“Oh nope, I’m not. I’ll probably be napping or studying since finals are only a month away,” you lied, shaking your head with a small soft smile. You, knowing yourself, you’re probably going to watch one of your friend’s lives during the game and cheer in your room so you don’t have to see Jaemin in real life after the argument that went down last weekend.

“You know you don’t need to lie right? I can’t count how many times you complain about how you studied a day before your exams,” Jeno chuckled, rolling his eyes as he nudged your shoulder with his teasingly. “Shut up, I spend most of my time doing last minute homework. I need breaks too sometimes, you know,” you scoffed, pushing on his arm with a dramatic huff.

“Look at the bright side, no matter how little you study, you magically ace it without effort,” Jeno joked as you walked towards the vending machine in front of your school lobby. “There’s this thing called praying. Or satanic rituals a day before the exams,” you snickered, pulling your wallet out as you examined the food displayed through the transparent glass.

“You want anything? I’ll pay,” you asked, turning to your taller friend with a soft smile, who shook his head ‘no’ at you. You shrugged as if to say ‘your loss’ before taking out a small bill and pushing it through the tiny slot. “So, what did you want to talk about, Lee Jeno?” you asked with a rather teasing tone. “You never talk to me in private unless there’s something you want,” you commented with a small snicker, pressing on the small button on the side of the machine.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind me talking about this. It’s about Jaemin?” Jeno asked in a rather hesitant tone, sucking in his bottom lip nervously.

You both heard the can drop into the opening slot at the bottom of the machine with a loud ‘clank!’ When he finished your sentence, you swore it sounded way too similar to how your heart dropped into your stomach at the mention of the brown boy. “Oh,” you replied almost inaudibly, kneeling down to grab your drink out of the slot.

‘Say no. Are you seriously going to talk about the guy you just rejected after 2 years of pining for him to his best friend?’

You gulped silently, grabbing your drink as you took a deep breath to compose yourself. You stood up and gave him a weak smile, “what about him?” you asked, wincing internally at how weak your voice became at the thought of talking about the boy you were so whipped about. “You know you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Jeno must’ve noticed how uncomfortable you felt when he brought him up as he cleared his throat.

“No, no. It’s fine, I’m okay. I’m okay with talking about him. It’s just Jaemin,” you shrugged, trying to appear as nonchalant as you possibly could. “You sure?”Jeno asked, furrowing his brows as he stuck his hands in his pockets nervously. “It’s really okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Jeno gave you a kind smile, one that almost made you take back what you said, however your pride got the best of you.

“It’s fine, really,” you nodded, giving him a reassuring smile as you internally yelled at yourself for not being honest to your dear friend.

“I don’t want to invade on your personal issues with Jaemin or anything, but-” Jeno paused, furrowing his brows as he attempted to think of a nicer way to express his statement. “It’s pretty obvious that the two of you are in a rough patch and I don’t know if you noticed but Jaemin is pretty stressed out about this,” he grimaced as he realised that his words were leading to literally nowhere.

“I’m sure you’re pretty stressed out as well, it’s pretty evident considering the tension between the two of you is way more than obvious and-”

“Jeno, where are you going with this?” your tone turned emotionless as you let out a heavy sigh, looking down at your shoes before looking up at your friend with eyes void of emotion, rubbing them with the palm of your hand. “I’m sure whatever you want to say is important but if you can’t tell I just want to go home and sleep until I have to get up,” you explained with a small smile.

Jeno’s eyes widened a bit, surprised at how your bright demeanor vanished in a few minutes without leaving a single trace. ‘So Mrs. Dong was right about soulmates unrequited love being emotionally and mentally draining, then.’ Jeno thought to himself as he sucked his lips in to think of a way to express his thoughts without causing you to run off.

‘Fuck it.’

“I know you probably don’t trust him anymore or you’re probably afraid of getting hurt after everything he’s done. But if- As if to say that Jaemin were to try woo-ing you over one more time, without fucking up that is, would you give him another chance?” he asked, his tone turning serious as his eyes hardened and stared into yours as if to spot any trace of you lying.

‘Oh, so this is what this is about.’ you thought.

“Did Jaemin put you up to this?” you asked, rubbing your palm against your temple as you felt the emptiness in your chest being replaced by non-other than the dull ache that is heartache. “Did he not get the message to leave our relationship, whatever’s left of it anyway, alone before it gets worse?” you sighed, chuckling slightly at the thought of Jaemin’s stubborn ass asking Jeno for a favor. Grimacing at how mean you sounded.

“No- no! Not at all, I asked you on my own accords. Jaemin has nothing to do with me asking you this-hell! He doesn’t even know that I’m here talking to you right now, trust me,” Jeno exclaimed, raising his hand up and using the other to cross his heart, symbolizing that he promised you that he was telling you the truth. You smiled a bit at this.

“Why are you the one asking? Not to be rude, Jeno, but this doesn’t concern you,” you raised your brow, taking a step back as you twisted your drink open with curiosity. “I know, it’s none of my concern but honestly watching the two of you go on trying to solve this by yourselves is like watching the Twilight series except there’s no weird fantasy creatures and a werewolf falling in love with an infant child,” Jeno blurted out, scratching the back of his head, chuckling at his own little joke.

“Oh,” you replied, letting out a small chuckle at his joke before your smile faltered. “Well what do you suggest I do? So far I’ve only been receiving advice from people that have heard only my side of the story. Considering you’ve heard Jaemin’s side of the story, what do you actually suggest I do?” you asked, stuffing your thumb in your pocket as you sipped your drink, lowering your gaze to your shoes nervously.

“I suggest you follow my advice earlier. If Jaemin ever decides to try again and not fuck it up, I would advise you to consider giving him a chance,” Jeno shrugged. “I’m not saying that all the things he did were okay. Hell no, if I were you I would totally kick his ass for taking your kindness and affection for granted, I assure you. But Jaemin has been... trying really hard,” Jeno explained, sadness flashing against his eyes.

“Trying hard?” you asked in a whispered tone, looking up at your friend with slight confusion. “Yeah!” he replied with a small bright smile. “You may not know this but Jaemin spends his time now wondering about what small cheesy things he could do to make you smile. Ever since you ghosted him, he’s been thinking about you alot. It was almost annoying.” he giggled, remembering the countless times Jaemin’s face would flush red whenever he realised he was thinking about you back when he was still in denial.

“You may not notice it considering he always does this whenever you aren’t around. Despite the fact that Jaemin was always an asshole to you, he’s always think of you twenty four seven. It’s always ‘y/n would’ve liked this’, ‘this is something y/n would hate’, ‘y/n would’ve done this’, y/n this and y/n that. The idiot was whipped as hell but his stubborn ass didn’t realise how much he actually cares for you until now.”

“Remember how you would leave him small letters in his locker or give it to him straight up before running off because you forgot to do your homework and you needed to do it before the bell rings? I swear, he always had this lovesick smile on his face when he watched you sprinting down the hall yelling at people to get out of the way,” Jeno chuckled, recalling the moments when he and Hyuck would spot Jaemin smiling to himself in front of his locker as he read the letters you send him every time you passed his locker.

“That’s not- I don’t believe that,” you shook your head, not believing your ears. This couldn’t be the Jaemin you knew. You remembered vividly of how his eyes held no love whatsoever whenever you came into his line of vision, the way the happiness evaporated from his pupils the moment he turned his head at your figure. The angry glares he would give you whenever you do something small yet cheesy.

“Don’t you remember? When I gave one of my letters to him in person, he threw it away without a second thought. You saw it with your own eyes, Jeno. You can’t lie like that to me, that hurts, dude,” you frowned, clenching your fists as you recalled how he gave you the sweetest smile he could muster when you gave your small letter to him at one moment. And the next moment, you saw him crumpling it up in his hands and throwing it to the nearest trash can at the corner of your eyes.

“Well, that was kind of our fault,” Jeno frowned, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “We swear, we didn’t know he would act like that in front of you. I swear he would have those wide smiles whenever he read your letters and occasionally Hyuck and I would tease the hell out of him. Usually he would just shove the letters back in his locker or something, we didn’t expect him to throw it out in front of you,” Jeno looked down, his expression filled with guilt as he gripped the saddle of his bag.

“If we hadn’t teased him like that in front of you, maybe he wouldn’t have done that,” he mumbled under his breath. You stared at him in disbelief, it was like you were hearing about a completely different version of Jaemin. Yet you couldn’t be sure if Jeno was telling the truth. Jeno wasn’t one to tell lies, he was always the mature one in complicated situations. But you knew sometimes he would lie for the best.

“I’m sorry, I find it very hard to believe you right now,” you bit your lip nervously, a dull ache appearing in your heart as you realised how sad you sounded. ‘Why is it so hard to believe that Jaemin would do something that nice? Why can’t I believe it? Jeno can’t be lying, right?’ you thought to yourself, feeling your heart sink at the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to the fact that Jaemin could actually harbor feelings for you deep down even though he doesn’t realise it.

“Hyuck took this picture a couple of months ago, that was before you stopped giving him letters, I think,” Jeno clicked his tongue, pulling out his phone and unlocking it before opening his chats with Donghyuck, scrolling up until he found the picture he sent before handing his phone to you. You furrowed your brows, holding his phone in your hand as you read their messages closely.

It was indeed two months ago. Donghyuck had sent Jeno a picture of Jaemin’s locker. You zoomed in on the picture, spotting a stack of letters made from the pages of your notebook with dates on them at the corner of his messy locker. You could see a few were slightly crumpled as if the textbooks had something to do with it, but you could recognize that posca yellow marker anywhere.

Your eyes widened slightly as you felt your heartbeat pick up its pace inside of your chest. “That’s pretty nice of him,” you mumbled, you didn’t have the strength to keep up your emotionless facade as you couldn’t help but crack up a small smile. Handing Jeno back his phone, you gave him a tight-lipped smile, leaning your head to the side in curiosity. “Why are you trying so hard to convince me to give him a chance, exactly?” you asked, letting out a small puff of breath.

Jeno shrugged, giving you the same tight lipped smile as he shoved his phone in his pockets. “As I said before, I’m tired of watching this whole story slowly leading to an end where the two of you end up being miserable simps for the rest of your lives,” he joked, scratching the back of his head as he gave you one of his iconic eye smiles. You let out a small sad chuckle, looking down at your shoes in thought for a small moment before looking back up at your friend.

“I’ll think about it. How about that?” you nodded sadly, you weren’t lying. You really did need time to think about all this. “Of course, I guess I’ll see you later?” Jeno nodded, sucking in his bottom lip as you waved him goodbye. “I’ll see you around, yeah,” you gave him a polite smile before walking away from the taller boy to the bus stop. Completely oblivious to the fact that Jeno had kept his fingers crossed behind his back while biting his lip, wishing desperately for Jaemin to not screw things up this time.

‘Well that’s definitely uncalled for,’ you thought as you fished your phone out of your bag to check the time. You didn’t know what to feel, you didn’t know what to think of this situation. You were confused to say the least. If the y/n from two years ago was listening to this conversation right now, you know for a fact that she’d either be over the moon or she wouldn’t believe her own ears. But at this moment, you didn’t know what to think of this.

Maybe, just maybe, if Jeno had told you this ages ago, maybe you would’ve still kept on going. Though, if he had told you this ages ago, would you still be willing to keep up your bright demeanor just so that Jaemin can step on you a lot longer? If you still kept going back then, if you just pretended that the fight between you and Jaemin didn’t happen like you always do, would things turn out differently? Would Jaemin agree to give you a chance?

You didn’t know. Frankly you don’t want to. It’s best that some things are just left the way they are.

“Honey, Jaemin’s outside of the door. He said he wants to talk to you,” your mom called you out from the front door. Your jaw dropped as you quickly placed the spoon back into your plate of your mom’s famous pasta, abruptly getting up from the couch and placing your plate on the coffee table before dusting any weird crumbs off of your clothes.

Clearing your throat, you yelled out a quick ‘be right there!’ as you made sure to tidy yourself up to ensure that you look presentable enough to look humane and not like a body that just got pulled out of the river. Your heartbeat increased with every step you take towards the front door, your clammy hands tightened into balls of fists as your anxiety crept up inside of you.

‘Jaemin? Why is he here? He hasn’t spoken to you ever since the fight you two had at the library. More importantly, does his parents know about said argument? The Na’s aren’t ones who would shove their noses up into other people’s business but oh dear god, what if Jaemin told his parents and his parents told yours?

Safe to say you had a really terrible feeling about this.

Feeling your heart ache at the memory of your argument, you felt your heart growing empty and cold. Shaking the thoughts out of your head, you took a deep breath before poking your head into the room where your mom was smiling up at a seemingly exhausted Na Jaemin. You grimaced at his appearance, feeling your heart ache even more by how much of a mess he looked right at that moment.

His hair was messy and disheveled, as if he had been tossing and turning in his for hours. There were heavy dark bags under his eyes, signifying his recent lack of sleep. He was in his casual attire: his iconic black nike’s sweatpants and a plain baggy white shirt and some random slippers that were probably a hand-me-down from his dad.

Nonetheless, he looked really cozy. His appearance never failed to make your heart flutter in your chest, the small smile on his lips doing things to your stomach. You couldn’t help but dart your eyes down to the small (assumingly recycled) paper bag from Starbucks in his hand, furrowing your brows at this you attempted to walk towards them as casually as you can.

“Mom?” you gulped, walking up towards her as you gripped your fists tightly behind you to hide your nerves. “Y/n, sweetie, look! Jaemin came to pay you a visit,” your mom exclaimed, smiling widely. It’s obvious that she’s using this opportunity to make the two of you finally talk face to face, clearly as she didn’t know anything that had happened after the dinner party your families had a couple months ago.

Jaemin gave you an awkward smile, raising his free hand to give you a small wave, in which you returned with a small awkward wave of your own. “I’ll leave the two of you to catch up,” your mother nudged your arm and gave Jaemin a kind smile before walking back to the kitchen to give you two some privacy. Sucking in your bottom lip nervously, you watched your mom walk around the corner before looking back at the boy standing before you.

“Hey,” he greeted in an attempt to make small talk.

“Hi,” you responded breathily, putting your hands behind your back so he wouldn’t see you clenching your fists nervously.

“I-Can we talk? Outside?” Jaemin spoke softly, biting his bottom lip nervously, nodding towards your front porch. Oh how those three words brought you so many unpleasant memories. Is this the same anxiety people in relationships feel? The two of you aren’t even together and you’ve gotten into so many fights in the past two years, it’s almost ironic.

Before you could open your mouth to say something, Jaemin had already beat you to it. “I know you probably don’t want to, but I swear it won’t take much more than at least two minutes. But if you don’t want to it’s-” Jaemin spluttered out, stumbling over his own words as he looked down at his shoes to calm himself down. “Okay,” you agreed in a soft tone, nodding slightly at the older boy.

“Are you sure?” Jaemin asked, looking up at you in slight surprise, relief evidently surging through his veins as you gave him a reassuring nod. He really did thought that you’d say no to him after your fight last weekend. “Yeah, it’s fine. Let’s talk outside,” you nodded, opening the front door, gesturing for him to walk out first.

Kissing his teeth, Jaemin walked out of the door, watching you follow him and close the door behind you quietly before leaning your back against it. “I see you got a car?” Jaemin asked all of a sudden. Your gaze shot up from your feet to the brown headed boy in surprise, letting out a small ‘huh?’ in response, only to see that Jaemin was looking at your new white car. “Oh, yeah. I got my driver’s license recently and my aunt gifted me one to celebrate,” you nodded.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Jaemin nodded, sucking his lips in nervously. There was a pregnant pause between the two of you as your thoughts jumbled up to think about what to say next.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes went wide at him, your breathing hitched as Jaemin looked down with eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. “What?” you blurted out, confused at his sudden apology. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to see me right now and I know you told me you don’t want to see me anymore. But I can’t help it but try at least one more time. I promise I won’t waste your time anymore than I already have,” Jaemin ran a hand through his hair in distress, taking a deep breath before looking back up at you with eyes filled with regret and guilt, taking you aback by his sudden bold statement.

“I’m sorry. About everything. The fight at the library, the dinner party with our parents, the music box, the gifts, everything I’ve ever done to hurt you. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by someone like me. You didn’t deserve to go through the mean bullshit I put you through the past two years, and you don’t have to forgive me for it. Because frankly, if I were you I won’t even bother forgiving myself either,” Jaemin started, letting all of his words pour out of his mouth from the heart.

“I’m sorry for constantly embarrassing you in front of our friends and families whenever you show the slightest bit of affection towards me. I’m so sorry for throwing your gifts away right in front of you whenever our friends tease us a bit too much, that was a dick move of me and you didn’t deserve to have your efforts thrown into literal waste,” he grimace at the mention of throwing your heartfelt letters in the trash right in front of your eyes in front of his friends almost a year ago.

He tightened his grip on the strings of the paper bag, biting this lip nervously before continuing with his apology. “I swear I’m not making up any excuses for myself. I really do feel terrible for everything I did, I didn’t realize that I was hurting your feelings this bad for two whole years. You just wanted your soulmate to like you back, I should’ve at least tried to try,” he felt his heart getting even more heavier with every second that passed.

“You really don’t have to forgive me and here’s something to make up for all the gifts I broke or threw away,” Jaemin outstretched his arm to hand you the paper bag, looking straight into your eyes with a small sad smile as you wordlessly grab the bag from him. “I-I don’t want to pressure you or anything but I would really like it if you come to the game next week, your usual spot feels empty without you there,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I promise I’ll leave you alone for real if you really want me to. I know I probably don’t deserve it, but if you’re willing to give me a second chance, I would take it in a heartbeat and I would be willing to make everything up to you. You don’t have to go and you don’t have to decide right now. I just came to give you that- God, why am I so awkward,” he buried his red face in his hands for a brief moment before looking up at you with a flustered expression.

You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at his embarrassed state. ‘So this is what it feels like when you’re not the one embarrassing your ass off to give a gift to your crush, huh?’ you thought to yourself with a small smile. ‘How ironic,’ you sucked in your lips slightly before looking back at Jaemin with a genuine expression. “I’ll see you later,” Jaemin waved, turning quickly as to not fuck things up anymore than he already has.

You gave him a small wave, turning around and entering your house to walk back to your couch and finish your pasta, placing the paper bag on the coffee table as you took a large bite of your pasta and pulled the tape that sealed the bag shut. As you were thinking everything over as you mindlessly chewed on your food, you pulled the bag and leaned it over towards you to examine its contents.

Inside were a couple bars of your favorite chocolate bar, a note folded in half, a big packet of honey flavored chips, a small gift wrapped in notebook paper tied with a red string and a small decorative box with Jaemin’s name attached to it. You bit your lip, pulling out the note first and unfolding it as you pulled out the small wrapped gift, reading it as you unpackaged whatever Jaemin had gifted you.

‘Hey Y/n. I don’t know if you’re going to be reading this or not. But if you do, I just want to say hi just in case you didn’t want to talk face to face I would at least ask your mom to give you this so the letter could convey my apologies way better than I actually would in real life.’

You pulled the red string off slowly, placing it carefully on the table as you slowly peeled the paper away to reveal a small familiar porcelain figure that was no bigger than the size of your palm. Your eyebrows raised in surprise at this, this porcelain figure was the same figure that came along with the music box your grandmother gave you before she passed away. You turned it around to inspect it even more, spotting the same crack on the edge to conclude that it was indeed the porcelain from your old music box.

‘I know you might be wondering how the small doll was still intact considering I broke the whole music box to the point it was unrepairable, but trust me, I was hella surprised to see that this little thing was still intact. Maybe my carpet floor had softened the impact? I don’t know it was still very pretty and I wanted to give you back something that was previously yours. I know, you gave it to me but I really want you to have a piece of your grandma left with you, so don’t fight with me on this one, y/n >:(’

You couldn’t help but grin at the small smiley face he drew on the edge of the paragraph, letting out a small giggle as you placed the porcelain doll gently on the table beside your plate, taking a spoonful of your food before digging your hand back in the paper bag to fish out the decorated box. It was quite heavy considering you had to use two hands to pull it out.

With a small huff, you place the box on the couch beside you. Crossing your legs over the other and placing the letter on your lap, you pulled the lid off of the box and placed it beside the paper bag before looking back inside the box, shock coursing through your veins. You felt your heart warm up at the contents of the box, feeling your stomach do somersaults in your body as you slowly picked up the contents one by one.

The box was filled with nothing but your childhood polaroids the two of you took throughout your whole youth, some aesthetic pictures Jaemin took of you without your knowledge or consent during your freshman and sophomore year of middle school and high school (hell you didn’t even know he still took pictures of you). There were a few polaroids decorated with small doodles and hearts with sharpie markers. You spotted a few old post-it notes you had used to give Jaemin cheesy pick up lines, but this time they had small responses.

‘Hey Jaemin, are you a camera? Because every time I look at you I smile. :D’

‘Hey Y/n. You better check the mirror, you’re the reason why I’m smiling right now :D’

‘If I had a genie that could grant me three wish, I would use them all just so you can be with me’

‘Well I’m here now, what are you going to do with the other two wishes?’

‘Your hand looks heavy, let me hold it for you, Jaemin :D’

‘My heart feels heavy, can you hold it for me?’

Your grin grew inevitably wider with every pick up line he wrote, heart fluttering as your stomach swarmed with butterflies. Rubbing your face to keep yourself from combusting as you dug your hand through the box to see the old letters Jeno had been talking about. You opened one of the dirty letters which was covered in small stickers and doodles. (which you assume was Jaemin’s doing, considering he has a clear eye for aesthetics)

‘I knew you liked really cheesy romance stuff and considering I watch a lot of k-dramas and shows in my free time, you know very much I’m going to put my romantic expertise into good use. It felt nice being the one giving gifts, no wonder you like giving me stuff so much, this is actually fun. I hope this isn’t too much for you. I know this probably isn’t going to make up for all the damage I’ve done in the past two years but at least I tried my best.’

You liked to write the dates on your letters just in case things like this happen and you would have the opportunity to look back and cringe at your own cheesiness and mediocre writing. You honestly couldn’t believe your eyes or Jeno when he said Jaemin had kept your letters in his messy void of a locker. But now that you had a living proof that he actually cherished your letters. You couldn’t help but feel some sort of comforting hope in your chest.

Your heart no longer felt empty or void of emotions, it felt full again. Though, not completely filled, it was better than feeling complete nothingness. You were still very much scared of trusting Jaemin with your own heart again, you were still very much scared of getting hurt again. But there was something inside you that was begging you to trust Jaemin again and let him back in your life. It has been telling you to do so ever since you saw how genuine he was being.

‘I probably didn’t tell you this when we were talking but believe it or not, I actually really really like you. And I really want to try where this all can lead to, and if you’re willing to trust me again I would try my best not to fuck it up this time. I don’t expect you to say yes or anything to me. If you decide not to come to the game, I totally understand and I’ll leave you alone just like you asked. I missed hanging out with you, Y/n. I missed my best friend. I miss having my soulmate around, and I’m sorry that it took me this long to realise how important you truly are to me’

He really isn’t giving up is he? Well, if he hasn’t given you up like you did with him. Are you willing to repeat his previous actions and stop listening to your head and start listening to your heart again? Are you willing to give him up again?

I’m sure you know the answer to that already.

I feel like the end is quite rushed. i’m so sorry if so. I’ve been working on this for two weeks lmfao and it’s currently two am right now so Imma go to bed hehe. This series has like... what three chapters left? DAMN ITS BEEN A WHOLE YEAR SINCE I MADE THIS SERIES. DW I HAVE A HYUCK SERIES COMING UP SOONER OR LATER LMFAO.

T A G L I S T : @candiednickles @itlittlefangirl @cherrym4rk @gotoartistprofile @d-nghyck @kingjvngins @aconeptun @chaeshii @lixseu @morks-watermelon @12am-musings @cherrystay @lowkeyviv @btm-taeyong @gothmingguk @luvlyjaemin @cowward @smileyyuta @cakelyn @uncovermenow666 @comically-sleep-deprived @wtfhaechan @xcherrybbyx @wishing--butterfly @wordsgodeep @astroboy-lele @sweetmoonlight9 @chwenchew @stuckwithhyuck @yunoelea @angelrenjunie @dae-chan @jenseoull @marklexleaf @yasmini24 @cloudreads @sptegami @mango-bear @dumplingley @bereavedswallow @etherealbyeol @247byun

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hotchley · 3 years

Text

that’s when i could finally breathe

Me: oh yeah, I am definitely going on a fanfic writing break. Also me: this.

As always, I have no idea what I’ve done. I really was taking a break, but then I was listening to Clean and... this happened. All of my pieces have been weirdly cathartic, and I think this one was just like: HAHA PROJECTION!!

I also did not proofread this, and wrote it in one day, so... do with that what you will :)

Also, do not comment on my inability to come up with decent titles. I know. I know this is a terrible title, but I HAD NO BETTER IDEAS OKAY!!!

Word Count: 2289

Trigger Warnings: child abuse, funerals, death, past suicidal thoughts, grief, self-destructive behaviour (Hotch does not pull his hair out, but he does have thoughts about doing so)

read on ao3!

He has always found a sense of peace in the rain.

Where other people would run to try and find shelter, Aaron has always loved to just stand and let it soak through his clothes to his skin, chilling his bones and body. Haley had found it endearing as a teenager.

As an adult, it had concerned her.

He could tell her it was nothing till he was blue in the face, but there was a sense of panic that came with looking out the window to see the clouds weeping, combined with her husband’s lack of presence in their apartment.

More than once, he would come home, shivering and teeth chattering, but smiling. She would force him to change, to wrap himself in a blanket, but he would usually be too dazed to do so without her assistance. He caught a cold more than once.

Jack has inherited his love for the rain. His love, like everything else about him, is childish and innocent though. A love for jumping in puddles and splashing his parents. A fascination with the different types of weather, and a love for the yellow coat that has a duck on the hood that was a gift from Penelope.

Aaron’s love for the rain can be described in one word. The same word Haley has always used to describe the way he loves everything. His love for the rain is complex. It is born from the best and worst moments of his life.

His love for the rain comes from the little boy that wore his heart on his sleeve. Who wanted nothing more than to turn the terrible things that happened into a story, and who just wanted to use his brain to find a reason for all the bad things that seemed to keep happening.

It rained the day of his father’s funeral. His mother and Sean shared an umbrella. Haley tried to get him to stand under hers, but he refused, choosing to stand in it, letting it numb the fire in his stomach. He didn’t shed any tears at the funeral. He had already mourned the death of his father. He had mourned when he was eleven, and learnt that his father did not love him. Not in the way he was meant to. Not in a way that was right.

The rain made it look like he was crying. It soaked his hair and dripped onto the collar of his coat, and when his uncle drove him and the last people that knew the truth about Mr Hotchner, his mother seemed to realise what he had been doing. She chastised him, but it was weak and with no real threat.

Aaron would confess to Haley, months later, that the rain had made him feel like he was being listened to. Like the God he had stopped believing in believed his father was a bad man, and the rain had been to disrupt the final event where anyone would truly care for him. The rain made him feel like there was a happy ending at the end of the tunnel waiting for him.

It made him feel like he could breathe again.

When Haley kissed him for the first time, it was raining. They had been running home from their date, not expecting the summer night to turn out like that, and he had paused because of the stitch in his side.

She had turned around, laughing hysterically because of course this had happened. Of course their first date, which she had spent hours preparing for, Jessica styling her hair and convincing her the dress she had picked was perfect, ended in rain. With her hair coming loose from the pins she had slid into it. With Aaron’s shirt plastered to his skin. If she had stepped close enough, she could almost see the scars on his back.

She wouldn’t ask though. Not today.

He looked at her, slightly apologetic, and she was once again struck by just how pretty he was. His eyelashes were longer than she had first realised, and the rain seemed to drip off of them in a way she had only ever seen in the movies.

His hair was an untamed mess. Her heart had dropped a little when he rang her doorbell, because she liked the chaos of his usual style, and seeing it without a hair out of place made her feel like he was trying to be a different person. The rain had ruined it all though, and it now fell onto his forehead and stuck to his face in a way she loved.

To everyone else in their little town, he likely looked like the villain. Like the demon creeping in through the window to steal the beautiful princess away to their terrible castle. But Haley is not everyone else. And to her, Aaron looks like the dashing prince, ready to save the heroine from the terrible prejudice of her home.

So when he opened his mouth, probably to ask her if everything was okay, she took a step forward, placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. It was messy and wet and awkward, but it was their first. And it was special.

Her cheeks were flushed when she pulled away. Aaron just stared at her for a few moments, something like panic written all over his face. But then that panic gave way to something else, and Haley felt like she was watching someone realise they were in love.

It was more beautiful than she could’ve ever imagined.

He smiled at her, still bashful after the events of the evening, and held his arm out to her. She took it, allowing him to walk her all the way to her front door, where he placed a single kiss to her cheek.

He laughed, once he was out of her line of sight. He laughed, and he ran through the puddles, splashing the water everywhere, and he let out loud cheers because the night was silent and only the stars were there to keep him company.

Haley Brooks liked him. No. She loved him.

It made him feel like he could live again.

The moment he felt clean, like the blood had been washed from his hands, like he could breathe again, like he could exist and not feel like there had been some massive mistake, it was raining. Haley had been dead for six months, and it had been six brutal months of cases, of processing his grief, of shutting down in front of the team.

Of teaching Jack that being sad was part of life, and that being happy did not mean he was forgetting Mom, or a terrible person. Of wishing there was someone to hold his hand, just for a moment.

Of flashing Jessica little smiles, because he had lost the first woman to love him the way love was supposed to be, but Jessica had lost her baby sister, and nothing was ever going to bring her back to life. Not his own self-destruction. Not his guilt. Not his pain. Not the way he threw himself into cases that caused the ink to blur before his eyes.

Not the way he was trying so hard to teach his son exactly what love was so he would grow up unafraid to jump in head first, and would always believe in its existence.

Jessica asked if Jack could stay with her for a few days. She had a break in between one project finishing and the next starting, and she was going to use it to look at some of the things Haley had left at her house. Aaron was yet to deal with the things in the house and in storage. He just couldn’t do it.

But Jessica wanted to start, and she wanted Jack to see some of the things. He spoke to Jack, and Jack’s therapist, about the trip, and when both people signed off on it, he packed his son a bag and dropped his son off at his aunt’s for the weekend.

The quietness of the apartment had a greater impact on him than he thought it would’ve. He had gotten used to the sound of Jack racing around. Of Jessica washing dishes. Of their quiet existences that left a mark on every inch on every wall of the convenient location that had somehow evolved into a home- something he thought he’d lost forever when Anderson handed him the divorce papers.

He couldn’t handle the silence. It was suffocating. It reminded him of his childhood house, and of walking on eggshells. It reminded him of the thirty-four days he felt in silence, recovering from stab wounds he wished had killed him, and mourning the loss of his family.

So he drives. And he drives. And he drives.

And he somehow finds himself at Gideon’s cabin. He’d only been there twice since he left the team. Once to pick Reid up once he had the strength to phone and say that he’d found a letter, but he didn’t know what he was meant to do, but Gideon was gone and he didn’t know why everyone always left. Once to pick Rossi up, after the case with the three children that ended with no real sort of justice.

Gideon left him a key. It was in the drawer of his desk, with no explanation. No letter. No apology. Hotch had taken it, and attached it to the keyring that held his house keys. He’d never used it though.

Not before now.

Because that day, when he goes to Gideon’s cabin, he lets himself in. He walks through the different rooms, smiling at the small traces of his former mentor that still remain there, and the pieces of the other team members that have somehow found themselves a home in the various areas.

He exits out the back door.

Haley had taken him here once. After she found out she was pregnant, he was meant to step down and take a transfer. They’d had it all planned out. Then he’d gotten a phone call saying there was a case, and that case had been Adrian Bale so before he knew what was going on, he was pushed into the role of Unit Chief and trying to rebuild a team that was never meant to have been his.

She had taken him here to remind him of all the reasons he couldn’t leave. Of all the lives he would feel responsible for if he acted selfishly. And he had looked at her, with such love in his eyes, and agreed with her. It had been a quiet trip. A peaceful trip. A warm visit. They had been together, still the teenagers that linked hands during the final bows of their performance.

Haley was dead, and he was left to patch up his own pieces. The visit had been tense and silent, but the uncomfortable type, and even as he walked through the cabin, he wondered why exactly he had bothered coming here. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve, or what he thought this was going to do. He just knew it was something he needed to do.

When he stepped back out into the woods that surrounded the cabin, the rain started.

He had never believed in signs, not truly, but this one was too big to be anything but that. It was pouring. Enough to cause the branches to sag with the weight of water. Enough to create proper puddles that could be jumped in. Enough to remind him of the first time Haley had kissed him, and how that simple touch had brought him back to life. Enough to remind him of his father’s funeral, and how the feel of the cold had reminded he had no longer had to be afraid.

It was loud enough to drown out the sounds of people.

He had one chance to do this. One chance to see whether or not his love for the rain would still help him the way it always had.

He screamed. He fell to his knees, and he fisted his hands in his hair. He didn’t pull it out, but he tugged at it, and Haley wasn’t there to grip his hands till he could trust himself.

He screamed. And he cried. And he begged for an answer. And he shoved his blazer off, not even caring that his trousers were stained with mud that would likely never come out, and not giving a damn about the cold.

He screamed. Until his throat went dry and his words seemed to fade into nothing, not only because the rain swallowed his noises, but because he couldn’t be loud.

He screamed until he was soaked and the rain had caused him to go numb and start shivering.

And then he turned around and walked back inside. As he passed the bathroom, something caught his eye. A towel he had thought he had just misplaced whilst on a case, and a hoodie he’d assumed he’d given to Sean and forgotten about. Almost like Gideon had guessed what he would be doing here, and wanted to apologise for what he had done.

Haley would not want him to get sick. Neither would Jessica. Neither would the team. Neither would Jack.

So he went into the bathroom, and he dried himself off, and he zipped the hoodie up. And then he took a final look around the cabin. He smiled to himself, knowing that, no matter what happens, the team will always have this as their safe haven.

He drives home, despite the rain.

It makes him feel like he could love again.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #haley hotchner #jason gideon #hurt hotch #hotch angst #tw death #tw child abuse #tw grief #tw self destruction #tw past suicidal thoughts #sumayyah writes cm

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alienheartattack · 3 years

Text

To All Of Us, From 2000 Years Ago

I got so mad about 139 and the leaks that I banged out my own 3000+ word ending to the manga today. Please keep in mind that this is a non-shipping story. Although I’ve exclusively written Rivamika before, this is not a Rivamika story, and although there’s an Eren/Mikasa scene at the beginning. there is no relationship between them, only the implication of feelings that are not quite reciprocated. I also threw some Levi fan service in there because why the hell not?

CW: There are references to and non-detailed descriptions of rape in this story.

You can also read this on AO3!

"You know what you have to do," Eren says. Mikasa pretends not to hear him over the rush of the little creek they're sitting by so he says it again, louder.

"I know," she sighs. "Even now, knowing that you've done something so unforgivable, a part of me doesn't want to."

"You're a good person, Mikasa. You'll be even better without me."

She snorts a laugh. "I've killed people, too. Just not as many as you did."

"You always had the weirdest sense of humor." Eren puts an arm around her, presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss it." That's what finally brings him to tears, the thought of not seeing Mikasa again. Or Armin. Or Connie, or Jean, or Captain Levi, even the rest of them. He's had plenty of time to accept that he'd die at nineteen, was always going to die at nineteen, but now that the moment has arrived he wants to hold on just a bit longer.

Mikasa doesn't cry, at least not the way he expects her to. Tears stream down her face but she doesn't sniffle, doesn't sob, doesn't rage or scream the way she’s done in the past. He sees them both, Mikasa the girl and Mikasa the soldier, perfectly coexisting in the inky blackness of her eyes. She has made her decision. She made it before she even stepped into the mouth of the Titan.

"Kiss me one last time," Eren weeps. "Please."

"Okay," she nods, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in close. "See you later, Eren."

When Mikasa pulls away from his lips, the deed is already done. His severed head feels sickeningly heavy in her blood-stained hands. His eyes gaze beyond her, beyond the veil of this world, clouded with the knowledge of the void. The Titan around her begins to disintegrate in plumes of white steam. Mikasa swears she can smell wildflowers.

"Mikasa Ackerman," a girl's voice echoes. Mikasa whips her head around, looking for the source of the sound. Someone seems to materialize from the steam, swirling eddies of smoke coalescing in the form of a small girl, scraggly blond hair falling into her eyes, barefoot in a dirty white dress. Her face is blank, her eyes downcast.

"Ymir," Mikasa says, the name forming in her mouth before she can think of it.

Ymir nods, then points to Eren's head. "You loved him. Why did you kill him?"

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Because some things are more important than my love." Ymir stares blankly, seemingly confused. "The millions of people who died are more important. The world is more important. Besides, what kind of person would I be to stand beside someone who could slaughter so many people so senselessly?"

"You… don't love him?" The little girl blinks quickly, white lids snapping over black eyes. Something about it seems inhuman, wrong somehow. Mikasa cannot help but think of insects.

A tear falls from her face and lands on Eren’s, snaking a trail down his cheek as though he'd shed it himself. "I can never forget what he did and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for it, but I'll always love Eren."

"You wouldn't die for him?"

Mikasa answers without hesitation. "Never."

Ymir's gaze snaps up to Mikasa's, and she feels sick from what she sees in the girl's odd, dark eyes: a hunger, almost starvation, for the scraps of affection Karl Fritz would throw at her; a longing to be treated well, to be fussed over and doted on and adored. Ymir would close her eyes and dream of a shining, beautiful man when the king held her down and fucked her, made her recoil, made her bleed, beat her when she cried out or complained of the pain. She carved out a space in her mind for him where she sculpted him into her ideal. Sometime between that first bloody night and the day the assassin's spear pierced her chest she invented a Karl Fritz out of whole cloth, a man whose cold entreaties and brutal assaults were proof of his undying love.

Mikasa sees these things from Ymir’s eyes, feels the bruises forming on her back, the tearing and bleeding between her legs, the rotted wine breath of Karl Fritz in her mouth.

"I would never have jumped in front of that spear," she says, more confident than she’s ever felt. "I wouldn't even have considered it." Ymir frowns, cocks her head like she's trying to understand. "You thought you were doing the right thing, but you protected a man who never loved you. You laid down your life for a man who forced your daughters to consume your body. He didn't even mourn you."

A flash of anger contorts Ymir's face. Her eyes dart around wildly, turning Mikasa's words over in her mind. "But he loved me," she insists.

"Did he ever tell you he loved you? Or did he treat you like a slave?" Mikasa's voice wavers at the word slave, at the memory of Eren screaming at her across that restaurant table; the moment her wall of denial came crumbling down. No matter what his plan was, it became clear that day that he would step on any of them to achieve it. She had no idea how true that assessment would become, millions of bodies crushed into the contaminated earth beneath the feet of Eren’s Titans.

She wonders if things would have happened differently if he'd just admitted once that he loved her.

"You are free," she tells Ymir. "You choose your own destiny. I am free, and I chose mine."

Ymir says nothing, her eyes luminous with tears, and then dissipates into the smoke. Mikasa is vaguely aware of the wavering steam around her, of Levi flying on Falco's back and pulling her out of the Titan's mouth before everything turns hazy and white.

She can see the scene from two thousand years earlier as clear as though she were there, floating above it all: the crowd come to see King Fritz's speech, the hooded assassin's arm pulling back, the tip of the spear glinting in the daylight. The assassin lets the spear fly, its arc perfectly aimed at the heart of the tyrant. His wife Ymir, older and slimmer than the girl Mikasa met but still with those same sad, black insect eyes, watches in horror as the tip of the spear flies closer and closer; but she does not move, not even when it impales her husband through the chest and the light in his eyes is snuffed out.

In time-lapse, Mikasa sees it all: the accession of Queen Ymir, wise and fair, and the moderate reigns of her three daughters, and their daughters after them. The power of the Titans remains within the royal family, passed down from mother to daughter, a shameful, secret birthright. They create diplomatic ties with other countries, offering succor and counsel, avoiding the path of war so as not to reveal their ultimate power. There is no Great Titan War, no walls, no telepathic manipulation. The world moves forward in fits and starts as it always has, small skirmishes and occasional wars, but the Eldians remain steadfast and committed to peace. Satisfied with Ymir's choice, Mikasa finds herself closing her eyes, opening them for the first time again in the year 835, in her parents' house just outside Shiganshina, as a new doctor pulls her into the world. He is not Grisha Yeager, she notes, and then she forgets who Grisha Yeager is entirely.

In the year 845, there is no Wall Maria for the Colossal Titan to breach, and no Colossal Titan to breach it.

Inside one of the cities in what was once Wall Rose, a history teacher writes notes on a chalkboard before his first class arrives for the day. He draws a crown in the middle of the board and writes the subject of the day's class inside of it: QUEEN YMIR THE WISE. The teacher is startled by a noise behind him; he turns to find one of his students, a shy girl called Sarah, taking a seat at her desk.

"School hasn't started yet," he says. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," Sarah replies. "I was looking at a really interesting bug and the other girls started making fun of me."

The teacher nods. "All right, just this once. If you’d like, sometime I could teach you how to stand up to those girls."

Hundreds of miles away, the forests of Dauper ring with the whoops of an exuberant girl, triumphing at having killed her first deer with a bow and arrow she carved herself. She doesn't care that she's scaring the other game away with her commotion, or that she has no idea how she'll lug a hundred-pound carcass all the way back home.

In Trost, a young boy lingers over his breakfast; not because he wants to miss school, but because his mother's omelet is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten and probably ever will eat. His mother ruffles his hair and pinches his round cheek, then gently chides him to eat faster or he’ll be late.

A little boy in Ragako District, a few inches shorter than his friends, demands another explanation of the multiplication tables. He doesn't quite understand the concept, goes blank when his friends try to explain arrays of rows and columns, but he believes that he can pass today's test if he tries hard enough.

Across the sea in Marley, the prosperous Eldian District is strewn with streamers, celebrating the 2000th anniversary of the assassination of the cruel King Fritz. The children have the day off from school and are gathering in the streets, purchasing candy and ice cream from vendor stalls and exchanging them as gifts to celebrate the sweetness of life. A little blond girl receives an extra coin from her father, who tells her to get something special for herself.

A few blocks away, a doctor fills his medical bag and sets off to see his first patient of the day. As he walks through the crowd of happy children, many of whom he’s delivered himself, he hopes that his only son will change his mind and join the family business.

In Mitras, a shopkeeper opens his door for the first time, pausing for a moment in the early morning sunshine to admire the wooden shingle hanging by his doorway, gently swinging in the breeze. It depicts a hand wrapped around a mug of tea, wisps of steam rising into the air above it.

The door opens while he's adjusting the canisters on the shelf behind the counter, making sure their labels face perfectly forward. His heart leaps at the tinkle of the doorbell. He picked the most musical one, the one that made him happiest when he heard it, and he feels very good about his decision.

"Hello, welcome to Ackerman Tea— Mom!" His voice takes on an adolescent whine when he addresses his mother, which makes him feel like a child and impossibly old at the same time, despite his twenty-six years.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be your first customer?" she asks, beaming. "Of course I'm going to come support my sweet boy." Her gaze sweeps over the shop, its walls painted a deep forest green, the mahogany counter polished to a mirror shine. "I'm so proud of you, Levi. You've worked so hard and it shows." Her voice quavers, her eyes filling with tears.

"Moooom," he trills, softer this time, quietly moved. Her presence feels like an auspicious omen, a reminder from the universe that someone will catch him should he fall. "Is there a tea you’re interested in, or would you like me to help you choose? We have more than thirty varieties."

"You've been practicing," his mother notes with a nod.

Levi shrugs off her comment, feeling a bit bashful that she’s noticed his hard work. "I've never been great with people, and this job is nothing but people. At least until I can hire someone to cover the counter while I blend tea in the back."

"You'll get there soon," she says, pulling a few coins from her purse. "Get me something you'd think I'd like."

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration, before his face lights up and he grabs a step-stool to reach a canister of black tea flavored with strawberry and rose. "This one is sweet and floral, but it becomes so much more when you add a bit of milk. You don't even need any sugar."

"Perfect. You even thought about how I take my tea." She places a few coins on the counter, watching her son approvingly as he scoops the tea into a bag, folds it closed with surgical precision, and ties a blue ribbon around it. "You're going to be a success, my love. I know it."

"That makes one of us," he smirks, then scoops the coins into his palm and puts them in the cash register, enjoying the feel of the heavy keys under his fingers, the spring-loaded pressure of the drawer. He hopes he gets to use it many more times today.

"Will you be home for dinner?"

"I should be. I can't imagine people will want to buy tea at night."

"Good," his mother says. "Because now that you're in business, we should talk about finding you a wife."

"MOM!" he exclaims, a furious blush coloring his face.

Further south in Shiganshina, Mikasa sulks as her mother walks her into town, not wanting to leave the safety of her parents' cabin to learn and play with the other children. She is perfectly happy to do chores on the farm, to learn the simultaneously mundane and arcane secrets of coaxing a plant from seed, to throw feed to the chickens and pull weeds in the garden.

"Mikasa, you're ten years old. Your father and I can't teach you everything," her mother says.

"I can learn from books. I don't need to go to school."

"The fact that you're saying that means you need to go. There's more to the world than just our farm, my sweet. You might want to see the world someday."

The little girl huffs. "I doubt it." Her mother simply shakes her head and smiles, ruminating on her daughter’s impending teenage years, a possible hint of rebellion, but finds that hard to imagine. Mikasa is usually a calm, easygoing child, though perhaps a bit too inquisitive and stubborn for her own good.

Mikasa hugs her mother fiercely at the school gate, watching as she turns and walks back up the road that leads to their farm. She’s excited to make new friends and learn new things, but she misses her home more than she ever thought possible. She lets out a soft sigh, then turns to face the crowd of running, yelling children; her new classmates.

She trudges around the grassy schoolyard, dodging groups of kids chasing each other or playing impromptu games. Everyone seems to know each other already; even if she did feel comfortable enough to go up to someone and introduce herself, she has no idea who to approach first.

"Hey! Give that back!" someone screams behind her. Mikasa turns around to see a small blond boy jumping up and down, reaching for a book that a larger boy dangles just above his grasp. The larger boy just laughs at him, taunting him with the book, threatening to tear it from its spine.

Mikasa frowns, balling her fists at her sides, then approaches the boys. "He said to give his book back," she says to the bully. "Give it back."

The bully laughs. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I think you should give the book back if you know what's good for you," she snarls, putting her hands on her hips. The bully laughs again and shoves Mikasa out of the way with one hand, making her stumble backwards, tripping over her own feet until she lands on her behind in the dirt. She gets up, dusts herself off, and runs up to the bully, punching him square in the nose. He falls to the ground, dropping the book. Mikasa tosses it to the blond boy. The bully grabs his nose, tears welling in his eyes, and lets out a wail when he sees his hand smeared with blood.

"You leave him alone!" Mikasa threatens, looming over the bully, her dark eyes shining. He scrabbles to his feet and runs away and she lets out a relieved breath, her heart hammering in her chest.

"That was amazing!" the little boy says. When he approaches her, she finds that he's not actually that small, only a few inches shorter than her. "I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"It's my first day," she replies. "I've lived here all my life but I haven't been to school yet."

"I'm Armin," the boy says. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa."

"That’s an interesting name. Are you from Hizuru?" Armin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity. He holds up his book, a thick, leather-bound tome, A Brief History of Hizuru and the Minor East Sea Islands written in gilt lettering. "My parents told me that the whole country is built around a volcano. A big mountain filled with liquid fire! Well, technically it’s molten rock."

"My mom's family is from Hizuru, but I’ve never been there and I don't know anything about any liquid fire mountains," she says tentatively.

"It's real!" he gushes. "I'm reading about it now. I could tell you about it more at recess if you want. I like to sit under that tree over there." He points off in the distance, at a huge pine tree that shades a corner of the yard. "They're going to ring the bell soon, otherwise I'd tell you now. Volcanoes are so cool. Sometimes they explode and shoot the liquid fire into the sky like a firework."

"Wow!" Mikasa marvels with a smile. "I can’t wait to hear about them."

#snk 139 #snk spoilers #snk leaks #snk fanfiction #alienheartattack writes

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yourlocalauthor · 3 years

Text

What Comes Around Goes Around

Chapter Three: Suprise!

Pairing: Topper x OC (eventually?)

Warnings for this chapter: Just some good old fashion cussing, and a slightly scary scene with an older male so take that with a grain of salt.

Word count: 2k

A/N: so excited to be back to writing! get ready for the next chapter it’s going to be exciting <3

Jo drove back home, pissed she didn’t have her lemonade, pissed that her feet and sandals were all sticky, pissed Topper was such a fucking idiot, just pissed at the entire world. Worst of all Jess and Elle went for a day trip on the mainland, and Jo had no one to complain to. She pulled into her driveway, aggressively, just wanting to go lie on her bed and scream. Her mind came to halt as she slammed on her breaks, her face looking like she had just seen a ghost. She had barely put her car into park, before rushing out of it with the engine still running.

“JJ?” She yelled running to the blonde boy who had stood from his position on her front steps. She engulfed him in a hug, tears swelling in her eyes. JJ winced a bit at the hug, but soon his arms wrapped around her, returning the hug, a little tighter than he meant to. The two stood there for a minute just silent. Soon enough the hug came to an end, once Jo realized she was also angry at him. She quickly let go, shoving him.

“Where the fuck have you been? And what the hell happened to your face.” She said now noticing some fresh cuts and bruising. She took his face in her hands examining it, as he started to speak.

“I went out of town for a few weeks, couch surfed with some people on the mainland, and-” He hissed in pain when Jo touched his cheekbone pulling his face away from her. “Jesus Jo!”

“Sorry! Get inside I’ll clean you up and then you’re telling me everything.”

“Yes ma’am” He said, giving her a salute before opening her door. Jo flipped him, before walking back to her car and turning it off.

“So, I was staying at this shady dudes place, and I think he was watching me sleep so I came back here and slept on some boats, until I accidentally overslept this morning and the cops came and took me to my dad. He was wasted when I got home, so wasted I guess he thought I was a intruder or something cause uh…” He made some punching motions, laughing awkwardly. Jo frowned as she closed up the medical box, and tossed the bloody cotton balls.

“That’s not funny,”

“It is a little,”

She shook her head, starting to bandage him up.

“Where are you staying now?”

“Not sure, probably couch surf some more and then figure it out from there.”

Jo frowned looking at him, she carefully held his face, examining his bruises.

“Absolutely not, you’re staying here. At least until we figure a more permanent solution. My mom wont mind, you just can’t fuck anyone on the couch.”

JJ looked at her trying to keep a straight face, but barely lasting a few seconds before smirking.

“You are a pain in my ass Jackson”

“Oh you love me” She said, rolling her eyes and shoving him again. He winced, reaching for his side. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I’ll get ya some ice.”

“Thanks.”

She walked over to her kitchen grabbing some ice and filling it in a baggie. “So, is there anything you need? Besides this.” She tossed it at him, before sitting down next to him.

“Actually, there is one thing. I left my backpack at my dads.”

“Oh that's fine let's go grab it right now,” Already popping up, and giving him a hand.

“Just one problem… I left it inside by the front door…”

“No it’s fine, I’ll grab it fast in and out”

“I cannot believe you are doing this for me, I owe you big”

The two sat in Jo’s truck, parked right outside the Maybank house watching. With a deep sigh placing a hand on JJ shoulder.

“If I die, make sure my mom doesn’t find my weed.” And with that she let go and exited the car.

The Maybank house wasn’t much different from when she last saw it. Maybe a few more dead plants but that was it. She didn’t come here often, this only being her seventh or eighth time visiting. Jo took a deep breath, as she stood in front of the screen door. Carefully placing a hand on the handle she pulled it as quietly as possible before stepping onto the porch. She stepped forward, being as quiet as possible when she went to open the front door. Creak The door made a loud creaking noise, as it opened causing the brunette to flinch. ‘Shit.’ She paused, holding her breath as she waited for something to happen. Thankfully nothing did.

She opened the door further peering inside. Her eyes instantly landed on her target, as she stepped inside the old home. She snagged the bag, and almost made it out of the house when. ChackChack.

“Don’t move.”

‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck, titty fucking shit mother fucker why the fuck did she even volunteer to do this.’

“I want you to turn around carefully, no sudden movements or I’ll shoot you dead. Ya hear me?”

Jo stayed silent not moving a muscle, fear polluting her body.

“I said did ya hear me?” He cocked his gun again, this time taking a step forward.

“Yes sir.” She said, turning around, now facing him.

“Ain't you that pretty girl JJ hangs with, what business do you have in this house?”

“Sir, your son just asked me to grab his bag, that's all.”

Luke let out a hearty chuckle, the sound filling the house with a haunting echo. “Is that so? Where is the fucker anyway? He too pussy to come in, he had to send in his bitch?”

Jo stood there, not sure what to do or say. This had to be the worst outcome possible from this situation, and it was just her luck she had to actually deal with it.

“Hey! Didn’t your mother teach you any fucking manners? When an adult asks you a question you answer, now where is he?”

“Sir I”

ChackChack

“I’d choose your next words very carefully missy.”

Ptooey

Before she even fully understood what she was doing, Jo spat right at his face and sprinted out the door. She heard him yelling after her, and gunshots firing at her feet, but she just kept running. She swung the car door open, throwing the bag at JJ who huffed in pain. She reversed out of the driveway as possible, and sped down the street. It was only when they were a few miles away did she pull off to the side to take a breather.

“Holy fucking shit.” JJ said, excitement filling his voice. “I have never seen you run that fast before, you came outta there like a cheetah or some shit. Woosh!” He said laughing, before opening his bag.

“Yeah, I know I was there.” She said, rolling her eyes, before relaxing in her seat. “I think my heart is about to explode.”

“The fuck you even do to piss him off?”

“Oh you mean besides breaking and entering into his house? I spat at him?”

“No fucking way,”

“Yes fucking way,”

“You are officially my new hero, we have to throw you a party.”

“What? JJ babes I really don’t need that.”

“Nope! Party in your honor, tonight!” He said nodding, with a determined smile.

“No way you can throw a part in under three hours.”

“Watch me Josephine,”

“Don’t call me that,”

“Josephine, Josephine, Josephi-”

“Do you want to walk home?”

“No ma’am,”

“The shut the fuck up,”

Jo, turned around starting her car up again, heading back home.

“I still don’t believe you’ll be able to do it.”

“Fuck you,”

“Love you,”

Soon the car went quiet, until JJ spoke up.

“So, uh have you heard anything from the Camerons?”

Jo shook her head, tapping her steering wheel.

“I heard they threw a funeral for Sarah, and I did see Rafe at a party a few days ago.”

“Wait what?”

“Jess and Elle managed to drag me to some Kook party and we ran into him, he was def tweaked out. But Topper managed to get us out in one piece.”

“Wait hold up, Topper?”

“Yeah he even offered to drive us home-”

“Well did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Drive you home!” The blonde said in an obvious tone.

“Yeah we were all too wasted-”

“I don’t bye it,”

“Ask Jess,”

“I plan on it.”

Okay genuinely Jo thought JJ was joking around about the party. There hadn’t been one at the boneyard in weeks, everyone on the cut mourning the loss of John B. But now it was 7:23 and Jess was helping her pick something out.

“I swear to god Jo, you are not leaving this house in a bikini top”

“Jess it’s just a boneyard party-”

“That you’ll be the guest of honor at!”

“Jess babes it’s really not that big of a deal, I just won’t have to pay for my booze.”

Jess rolled her eyes, muttering something incoherently, as she sifted through the closet.

“Aha! Found it, here wear this.”

She tossed the brunette, some white really frilly shirt, causing Jo to frown.

“Absolutely not, here I’ll wear this.”

She pulled out a neon pink bikini, with a pair of black shorts. Jess shook her head, starting to put away the stuff on the bed.

“You are impossible Jo,”

“I know,” She said, smiling before walking over to the bathroom to go change.

“Are we meeting Elle there?” Jess yelled, changing into a pair of denim shorts and a white button up.

“Yeah, she has to wait until her mom gets home though.” Jo said walking back into the room.

“I’ll have to admit, you do look good.”

“Course I do.”

The drive to the boneyard was weird, for some reason it just seemed like time was going as slow as possible. Not that Jo really cared, her expectations for the part were low. She wasn’t expecting many people to show up, let alone be in a cheery mood. She was actually shocked today, by how lively JJ was. She remembered how devastated he was before disappearing, barely able to crack a smile, and never laughed. But as she pulled up to the boneyard, all her expectations were blown away.

The beach was jam packed, she hadn’t seen this many people here in what felt forever. There was a huge bonfire going, and multiple lines by the kegs, and at the heart of it all, was JJ.

“Holy shit! Did JJ do all of this by himself?” Jess asked, clearly blown away.

“I guess so,” Jo replied, almost at a loss for words.

JJ spotted her truck, and came running. The two exited the car, just as he made his way over a huge grin on his face.

“Jo you made it!”

Before she could respond, Jess butt in, still mesmerized by the situation. “JJ babes, did you really organize this all by yourself?”

“Well mostly, I did have a little help.”

Out of nowhere, Kiara and Pope appeared with two smiles on their faces.

“Surprise,” They both said in unison, still smiling.

Jo ran over to them, engulfing them in a hug. “You guys this is amazing,”

“Well, y’know this party is for you Jo, but we’re also sending a message. We’re letting those figure eight assholes know we're back, and never leaving. Again,” Pope said with a surprising amount of anger in his voice. Jo was a little confused, but didn’t want to question it.

“Well, I guess we’re back bitches!”

The group cheered, before walking over to the beach all catching up, and for the first time in weeks, Jo had forgotten everything that happened. At that moment, she was just there with her friends like it was any regular summer party. Little did she know, that night was about to unravel a series of events she never would’ve seen coming.

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tortie-tales · 4 years

Text

Friendship: Seto Kaiba x Reader Chapter 1

"There we go. The last card. Balance it on the very top," I whispered, careful not to disturb the fragile card tower. Tristan and I had spent over an hour on it, and it made me proud.

Tristan moved carefully, and balanced the card on top. I held my breath, scared to breathe. Fifty one cards were used to build the tower, and Tristan held the last one in his hands. He moved away slowly, and we let out a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Mokuba is here!" Joey shouted, startling everyone. He slammed his hands on the table, causing the card tower to collapse on itself. Nothing was left standing, no evidence of the masterpiece that had once stood tall.

"Joey!!" Tristan and I yelled at him. Tristan got up and chased him, while I sat there and mourned our lost work. "Forever in our hearts, card tower," I said solemnly, my hand over my heart, "rest in peace."

The once calm living room of the Mutou house had become chaotic. Joey was running for his life with Tristan on his tail, Téa and Yugi were at the door, welcoming Mokuba, and I was sitting on the couch, pillow in hand, ready to avenge my child.

Tristan quickly caught onto my plan and drove Joey towards me, where he got a face full of pillow. The force of my swing caused him to fall on the hard floor, where he groaned and asked for mercy. I smiled, threw the pillow back on the couch, and began to collect the cards that were scattered on the ground.

Yugi and Téa entered the room, followed by Mokuba. "(y/n), this is Mokuba, Mokuba, this is (y/n)," Yugi said, unphased by Joey's downfall.

I stood up and placed the sloppy pile of cards on the table. "Nice to meet you, Mokuba," I said, smiling. The raven haired boy smiled back at me, "Likewise, (y/n). Hey, Joey, are you ok? That looked like it hurt," he asked, looking and sounding genuinely concerned.

"I'm good, don't worry Mokuba. I'm glad you could make it," Joey said, reassuring. He stood up and rubbed his back. "So, what are we doing now? Should we play a round of duel monsters?"

"Man, Joey. What is with you and that game? You're not even that good at it," I said, doing my best to hide my smile. Joey looked at me, aghast. "I am good at it! And what about Yugi? He plays too!"

"Yeah, but he's actually good at the game," I pointed out with an even voice, before Joey's look of pure offense made me burst out laughing.

"(y/n), please stop teasing Joey like that. You know how he gets," Yugi sighed, probably wondering why I acted like such a child.

I couldn't help it, it was too easy to tease Joey. It was entertaining to watch him get so worked up, and what can I say, I'm a sucker for free entertainment.

"It's fine, Yugi. Besides, she's probably just jealous that a noob like her wouldn't be able to beat a pro like me," Joey said, obviously confident in his skills.

I kept my cool and looked him square in the eyes. "Is that so? Care to make a wager, then?" I challenged, knowing he wouldn't back down.

"If you win, I will buy you lunch every day for a week. If I win, then you-" I paused for dramatic effect "-have to give me a piggyback ride to school everyday for a week."

Joey was unaffected by my statement.

"It's a deal. Be ready to buy me a three course lunch tomorrow!" he grinned, obviously motivated by the mention of free food.

"Let's duel!" we shouted in unison.

~time skip to about the end of the duel~

This is it, I thought to myself, gritting my teeth. All of my most powerful dragons are in the graveyard. If I can just draw my secret weapon....

I drew a card and screamed, making Joey jump.

"What is your issue?!" he exclaimed, looking unnerved by my sudden outburst.

"I can't believe how much food I'm going to have to buy! This is hopeless, maybe I should just quit." I looked at my hand and did my best to ignore the fact that I drew my winning card. Making Joey confident in his victory was the key to my victory. My plan worked, based off of his smug smile. Yugi, however, looked suspicious.

"Eh, don't worry (y/n). Since I'm so generous, I'll only make you buy me one course meals," he said, drooling over the thought of food.

"Gee, thanks, Joey. Well, to get this over with, I guess I'll just put this little guy in attack mode." I put Decoy Dragon face up in attack mode.

Joey drew a card. He smiled cockily. "Ok, now I attack with my Red Eyes!"

"Joey, wait!" Yugi yelled, but it was too late. My card's effect had already been activated.

"Not so fast, Joey! You activated Decoy Dragon's effect! Now I can special summon a dragon with seven or more stars from my graveyard" -I picked up Tyrant Dragon- "and I choose this card! Since it has to have a dragon tribute when special summoned from the graveyard, I will tribute Decoy Dragon." I cackled, knowing I would win. "Now, your Red Eyes is destroyed, and you lose two hundred life points!"

Joey stood there, dumbfounded. He looked at his cards. "I end my turn," he gulped.

"Yay!" I drew a card. "Now I attack your life points directly and win! Who's a noob now, Wheeler?!" I exclaimed, satisfied with my successful strategy.

"Cheer up, Joey. It won't be so bad," Téa said, patting Joey's shoulder.

"Wow, (y/n), is your deck all dragon monsters?" Mokuba asked, intrigued.

"Almost."

"My big brother would like this deck! It's just missing the blue eyes white dragon!" Mokuba said, excited.

"That's cool. You have a brother?" I asked, interested. I didn't know he had siblings. His brother must be as sweet as he is.

"Yeah, I could introduce you to him tomorrow if you'd like!" Mokuba seemed very excited. A little too excited.

"Sounds good!" I said, smiling.

#seto kaiba x reader #kaiba x reader #yugioh #yu-gi-oh #yu gi oh #yugioh fanfiction #yugioh x reader #seto kaiba #x reader #im out of ideas for tags tbh

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rosethornewrites · 3 years

Text

Fics I read this week

Some of these may have been read earlier than a week ago, but I tried to keep it contained. Not sure I’ll keep this up, but I’ll try.

Finished:

Rated E:

the origin of change, by kissteethstainred, rated E

Lan Xichen said, “Time for regrowth and mourning is, of course, the most important. But there has also been a—frequent—discussion of marriage.” He paused to drink more tea. He almost seemed apologetic when he added, “Your name has been brought up often.”

“For marriage,” Lan Wangji repeated.

Except with Wei Ying in the picture, nothing goes exactly as planned.

Opportunity, by brooklinegirl, rated E

Lan Zhan is jostled slightly and he turns in his seat to see a harried-looking man squeezing in next to him. There isn't an empty seat there, and the bar is quite crowded. "Sorry," the man says, sounding out of breath. "I know I'm all up in your business, I'll move, I promise, I just—" He blows his breath out. "I'm going to lose this seat next to you, that dude over there has been eyeing it, and it's mine as soon as this guy leaves.”

Rated M:

Oxymoron, by feline_somnambulist, rated M

Jiang Yanli was in the kitchen. She hummed softly along to music being played somewhere else in the house, as she shuffled carefully back and forth from the prep table to the giant vat of soup. The house smelled like pork rib and savory broth. As always, she was beautiful in her element, a goddess of her domain despite the limp and the leg brace.

Her phone rang just as Jiang Cheng entered the kitchen. She saw him and smiled as she made her careful way to the phone on the wall-mounted charging station.

Jiang Cheng put the stack of paperwork down on a counter. He got to the phone first, picked it up. It was Lan Wangji’s number. He rejected the call and put the phone in his pocket.

“A-Cheng? Is everything okay?” Jiang Yanli asked, a frown creasing her brow. “Who was that?”

It Ends With the Beginning, by feline_somnambulist, rated M

They fight. They part. Jiang Cheng is hurt. Wei Wuxian comes to help. Wei Wuxian runs. Jiang Cheng is tired of chasing. They fight.

Until The End, by abCEE, rated M

"When I -- when I tied my ribbon around our wrists, I knew what I was doing and I privately honored it." Wei Wuxian's brows continued to meet as he tried to understand where the conversation was going until realization dawned on him. "Wa -- wait! Lan Zhan, is it what I think it is?!!" "It is usually done at the end of a wedding ceremony --" "What-" "But it could have been acknowledged as an engagement." "Lan Zhan!" He cannot believe what he is hearing now. "But my ancestor revealed herself --" "And we bowed… three times. We bowed, Lan Zhan!"

In which wangxian are married since the Cold Pond Cave incident, knows how proper communication works, and had confessed in the middle of the Sunshot Campaign. Things went spiraling up and down from there.

Rated T:

as it should be, by Sienne, rated T

Post-canon Lan Qiren time travels to before the Cloud Recesses lectures. The Cloud Recesses are quiet and peaceful, something his home hasn't been in years. ...In fact, it is too quiet and peaceful.

Judgment Day, by Grace_Logan, rated T

Cornered Wei Wuxian sees only one way out after cluing in on the Jin's plan.

Welcome To Gusu, by perkynurples, rated T

Deep in the lush forests of Gusu hides an aging resort that hosts dozens of children every summer for an unforgettable couple of weeks. It’s where Lan Wangji grew up alongside Wei Wuxian, and when his childhood friend (for the lack of a better term) surprisingly returns years later in the position of Senior Counsellor, seemingly hell bent on causing the same kind of mischief that got him kicked out of Gusu in the first place, but also taller, broader and tanner than ever before, Lan Wangji knows he’s In Trouble. Or, this fic has it all: longing looks over campfires, found family dynamics, ill-timed skinny dipping, teenagers inappropriately shipping their counsellors, camp weddings...

Therapy is a Performative Act, by cinder1013, rated T

“What does your dad think of your comedy?”

“Oh, he hates it, but it pays the bills and I need it to pay for my goddamn fuckin’ therapy.”

Jiang Cheng stumbles into being a stand-up comic and his favorite topic is dear ol’ dad.

sorry, i love you, by moon_thief, rated T

lan wangji was practically seething as he watched it happen. what kind of person could be so careless, unruly, undisciplined-

and then their eyes met.

oh. oh.

Tremble a Prayer, by cqlorphan, rated T

They kiss, and Lan Wangji regulates himself. There are no tears pricking at his eyes. There is no lump in his throat. His hands are undressing Wei Ying, and then Wei Ying’s hands are on his hands.

“What is it?” Wei Ying says, between kisses.

Even with Wei Ying back, Lan Wangji's sadness overwhelms him at times. He tries, and fails, to keep it from him.

The Quiet Work, by ShipsAreLaunching, rated T

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian get a summons for help from a minor clan in Gusu. When they go to investigate they find a horrible truth, and do what they do best.

Rated G:

Ink Stains Not So Ignored, by Preludian_Staves, rated G

Qiren found something that he still couldn't bring himself to ignore about his youngest nephew's husband.

I’d buy a big house where we both could live, by failed2be_chill, rated G

“Ah, so you want to play with the rabbits and enjoy their soft fur and silly little nose twitches while your poor husband toils in the heat of the day with hammer and nail doing exhausting manual labour. I see how it is. It’s a good job I love you, huh?” Wei Wuxian kisses his husband’s soft cheek.

“Mn, very good.”

---

Or, married WangXian embrace the practical and symbolic joys of home ownership. Domestic bliss.

Family, by Speechless_since_1998, rated G

Jiang Cheng blinked as his brother while he played with the baby he was holding.

He hoped he had misunderstood, but he had proof that it was true right in front of him.

So he did the only sensible thing that came to mind, "Wei Ying, what the fuck ?! '

"A-Cheng, language!" Shijie scolded him with a stern look.

"A-Jie, you can't really accept such a thing!"

"Why not? He is so cute!" she said, making funny faces at the child, totally in love with him.

Was it possible that he was the only one with a bit of mental sanity left?

A Lonely Guqin (No More), by Asphodel_Meadow, rated G

Wei Wuxian is the first person who makes Lan Wangji want to have a duet.

piercing, by escapingaugust, rated G (read the tags)

Stolen Midnights, by hinotoriii, rated G

There are nights where sleep eludes Wei Wuxian. Where the demons of his past are too loud in his mind, reminding him of that which he could never forget, second life or not.

Unfinished:

Not Rated:

Disclosed Regrets, by zLanWuxian, Not Rated

The majority of the cultivation world are pulled into a room that suspiciously resembled the burial mounds. (Their golden cores were sealed too. As to why, nobody knew.)

They are invited to watch Wei Wuxian's life.

What will they do when they find out everything they believed was a lie?

(Or: The characters of Mo Dao Zu Shi watch Mo Dao Zu Shi)

Rated E:

Where You Fell, by Sweet_William, rated E

Years ago, Lan Wangji was a Senior in high school, readying himself for graduation and the coming years studying at the Gusu Lan Institute of Music. Everything in his life made sense, from his role in his family, to a future as a classical musician. The only thing that didn’t fit was the sudden epiphanies he had about himself brought on by his bothersome and flirtatious classmate, Wei Wuxian. When the growing attraction and friendship was cut short by the other boy’s disappearance, he mourned what could have been, but ultimately had to move on. What he didn’t know was that fate would bring them back together again one day, or the reality of how far apart two lives can diverge, how some can find peace and prosperity, while others can fall farther than he ever imagined.

A Narrow Bridge, by FrameofMind and Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle), rated E

Once, Lan Wangji made a choice to step aside. Ten years after Wei Ying’s death, he finds a way back to choose again.

Setting fire to our insides, by StarsAlignNomore, rated E

Lan Wangji dies after the thirty-third strike. Lan Xichen does not handle it well.

*fleabag voice* This is a fix it.

Rated M:

Live Again, Love Anew, by kkanime5555, rated M

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian finally speaks up.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan hums to show he’s listening.

“I think we traveled back in time.”

...

“I’ll go, Lan Zhan. I’ll come to Gusu with you.”

-----

Or,

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are soulmates and, upon Wei Ying's death, they are sent back to when they first met as kids on the streets of Yiling. From there, they both are taken to Gusu, where they are raised together, gradually learning of their shared feelings and finding out the mystery of who sent them back in time and why, all while planning how to save the world, preferably with all their loved ones left alive.

A Torn Red Ribbon, by shiroakuma, rated M

The night before they marched into the Nightless City, Lan Wangji was invited to join Wei Wuxian in his tent.

Unbeknownst to him at that time, it became their last real conversation.

In which, a resounding victory against the QishanWen Sect is won seemingly at the cost of Wei Wuxian's life. Lan Wangji still spends some time being heavily injured. Lan Xichen tries to pick the pieces left behind by the war. The Jiang Sect is renowned thanks to the revered Wei Wuxian and the cultivation world is plagued by unknown forces while Lan Wangji meets with Wei Wuxian in his dreams.

Sacrifices Made with Blood, by NocturnalFriend, rated M

Lan Wangji knew it was too late, there was too much blood on Wei Ying's hands already. Still, if he asked his brother for help, surely. There was a way to rescue the man who held his heart?

Or: Trust is not easily given and all to easily shattered. Lan Wangji learns this in the worst way, when Lan Xichen gives into the demands of the cultivation world. Although nobody could have predicted the whims of fate, giving them another chance at righting things.

What makes you sing?, by Fictio, rated M

Madam Yu was never known for her matchmaking skills but she was known for her inherent meddling. Though it still came as a surprise, when on one fine Saturday afternoon, she called Wei Ying and set him up for a blind date.

There She Rose, by Aiiiru, rated M

Many years had passed yet whispers and gossips about YiLing Matriarch still stayed alive like unruly weeds refusing to die.

"That damn Wei Wuxian must have cursed this year's harvest with 'unkillable' locusts" "But Wei Wuxian had died right?" "Didn't you know that her body wasn't found?" "I heard some cultivators saying that during the chaos, some people saw her leaving in a sword, flying away with someone else." "That must be the demon with whom she signed a contract, a female challenging three thousand or was it five thousand cultivators by herself? Hah!! She definitely has ties with evil creatures and ghosts." "I heard from my cousin in Yunmeng that YiLing Matriarch was born shameless." "Some say she was a male but took female form to seduce the ghosts of burial mounds and gain power by starting demonic cultivation" "Shhh! Don't talk so loudly! My cousin knew a man who loudly gossiped about Yilling Matriarch only to be cursed to death the next day"

Visitations, by Vir_Abelasan, rated M

"Wei Ying-" Lan Zhan says, stutters, "I'm sorry."

And now Wei Wuxian sees it, the red rimming Lan Zhan's eyes, the rumpled edges of his blazer. There is an old, familiar urge for him to reach over, to hold Lan Zhan's hand and smooth his hair, to tell him that everything will be fine.

"We're all a bit sorry about this, I think," he says instead, and finds that he means it. For Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and everyone else in that Guanyin temple, the pain must be unbearably fresh, like skin just flayed open. But Wei Wuxian's chest had been cracked open a long time ago, his wounds licked and cauterized and sewn shut over five long years - Ever hurting, but a dull, constant ache, "It's really alright, Lan Zhan."

Five years after being accused of corporate espionage and losing everything, the Guanyin Scandal breaks open and Wei Wuxian finds a familiar face at his door.

Kiss My Wounds, Bless My Scars, by Pegunicent, rated M

When he is sixteen, Lan Wangji makes a choice. He becomes Wei Ying's bride.

Rated T:

the one where Jiang Yanli visits (and she's a fucking goddess), by ShippersList, rated T (part 4 of a series)

Wei Wuxian’s sister was a fucking goddess so it was a travesty she wasn’t being fucked like a goddess deserved.

Luo Qingyang decided to do something about it.

(Also, family feels and some plotting but that's beside the point.)

obscured in the shade of the willow, bathed in the light of the moon, by cloud_wanderer, rated T

Wei Wuxian leaves the Burial Mounds for the first time to attend his martial brother's wedding, and everything changes from there. (a.k.a. a universe in which Nie Huaisang schemes to thwart Jin Guangshan's plans and ends up saving Wei Wuxian and the Wens in the process)

Wei Wuxian meets Xiao Xingchen and helps found a sect in Yiling.

Inchoate, by Marinelifeclub, rated T

“Where would you even go once you left? Wait a few more years before leaving." persuaded Jiang Fengmian,

“Will I live to see that long?” Wei Wuxian whispered under his breath.

Jiang Fengmian felt cold at those words. He always thought his children would be the ones to heal the scars left by their mother on Wei Wuxian, but just the concise way he spoke about them, he knows that wasn’t true. Now his best friend’s son sat in front of him, confessing to not thinking he will live to see himself become a man. Cangse and Changze must be furious in their graves as the sweet smiling son they raised endured pain because of a jealous woman and a cowardly man. Sighing, he did the only thing he could to make things right and accepted the boy’s wishes.

At age 14, Wei Wuxian left Lotus Pier and never looked back.

Wei Wuxian leaves Lotus Pier and while things change something’s are just set in fate.

Here We Go Again, by Alliandra, rated T

He looked over to where the swordswoman was still fighting, but her focus seemed entirely locked onto that fight so it was unlikely that she could have had anything to do with the energy drain. He was still wracking his brain for something else to do to assist, so this thing didn’t kill them both, but now he was feeling weak, dizzy and currently not far from helpless.

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been several months since the events at the Guanyin temple and Wei Wuxian is wandering around on his own. After he helps a stranger kill a very dangerous beast he uncovers what seems to be a conspiracy aimed at ending his life. He heads back to Cloud Recesses with his new companion in tow, looking to get Lan Wanji's help in working out what is involved.

Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling made a surprising discovery under Koi Tower that may well be linked to the threat against Wei Wuxian's life.

Can they all work together to find out what is going on and put a stop to it, before something disastrous occurs?

Nie Huaisang's Ten Steps to Fix The Fucked Up Reality, by cosmic_zephyr (ProudHaikyuuTrash)

1. Find the time travel array in the Nie library 2. Convince (manipulate) Wei Wuxian to use demonic cultivation to activate the array. 3. Transmigrate to the body of your 15-year-old selves with Wei Wuxian and Survive his wrath. 4. Come up with yet another exaggerated, slightly concerning, plan to save Lotus Pier, Dafan Wens and your brother. 5. Use Empathy to make the Wen siblings side with you in the mess that is soon to come. 6. Kill the main Wen family and make Wen Qing the new leader of Qishan Wen so innocent people are not killed. 7. Annoy the hell out of Lanling Jin just for funsies and also a political statement because Jin Guangshan can suck it. 8 Preferably, just for your own sanity, find a way to kill Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao. 9. Work with Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing to solve the sabre problem of the Nie clan. 10. Live a happy life with your brother alive and the cultivation world not being the huge fucked up mess in your own time-line. P.S. Matchmake the pining pile of disaster and gay aka Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

Aka canon divergence where Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian (and Lan Wangji) travel back in time and save the cultivation world.

Deal, by Rahar_Moonfire, rated T

Nie Huaisang wants revenge for his brother. He also wants his friend Wei Wuxian back. Lan Wangji left the Cultivation World after Wei Wuxian's death and hasn't been heard from since. It's a good thing Nie Huaisang has spies everywhere. He has everything he needs to put his plan into motion: the notes, the instructions, the "willing body," and the patience to pull it all off.

Now he just needs to be sure Wei Wuxian survives long enough to pick up Nie Huaisang's bread crumbs, solve the puzzle, and shatter the Cultivation World again. The only person suitable for that job is Black Jade of Yiling, the husband of the infamous Yiling Patriarch, Lan Wangji.

Rated G:

Hadn't gone as I planned, by hamlets_ghost, rated G (part of a series)

Lan Xichen leaves the Cloud Recesses with Wei Wuxian and Wangji to meet his mother.

He cannot stay.

[continuation of 'Hold on to your heart']

#the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #CQL #mdzs

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themadlostgirl · 4 years

Text

Abandoned (4)

*This one was a week late thanks to finals. Hope this makes up for it!*

~~~

It is strange how normal things can be after having a revelation. Nothing really changes. The sun still rises, waves crash on the sand, and birds sing in the trees. It is all so painstakingly normal.

After I accepted that papa had really left me here, accepted that he had traded me for freedom, I don’t know what I expected. It felt as if the sky should at least be dark and bleak. Rain should be pouring down and the sea should rage like the storm inside me. It was almost comical how I expected such chaos and was greeted with warm days full of sun and sparkling waters.

I stopped looking for the Jolly Roger over the horizon. I stopped counting the days I had been trapped. I stopped trying to recall everything about my life before Neverland in some vain attempt to keep my memories intact. There simply was no reason.

Pan came by to see what I was doing after our nighttime encounter out on the sea. He never revealed himself but I could always tell when he was there. Watching unseen from the trees. Not interfering but not ignoring either.

One day some of the Lost Boys came by me when I was resting at my camp. Upon seeing me they stammered out apologies and ran off back to where they came. My heart panged because I wanted them to stay. I wanted someone to talk to. I thought of going to Tinkerbell but I knew if I did we’d end up talking about papa and I couldn’t put myself through reminders of him right now.

Most nights I heard music coming from the jungle but it didn’t have the hypnotic spell over me as it once had. It as no challenge to ignore it and I wasn’t sure if that was worse or better.

I only ventured towards the camp of the Lost Boys once. The sounds of joy and fun pulled me forward but the reality of what I was choosing kept me from going in. I watched from the sidelines as the boys whooped and jumped and danced around a raging bonfire. It reminded me of the nights where the crew would break out their instruments and dance on the deck. It was nothing pretty but it was fun. I could remember papa teaching me how to dance properly. Standing on his toes...

I reached for my pocketwatch and breathed out remembering how I had hurled it into the sea. I need to stop reminiscing. It’s only causing me more grief. I looked back up at the camp and saw Pan emerge from the shadows. It was as if he had sensed me for he looked right at me. There was a peculiar smile on his face. Almost inviting. He held out a hand towards me, his fingers curling to tempt me to his side.

My feet were rooted in their spot. It wasn’t until Pan took the first step towards me that I was able to move again and took off back into the jungle. I got back to my camp and huddled down in my hut. Why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I just enter the camp? Why couldn’t I move on?

I was just getting my breathing under control when I felt the familiar gaze of someone watching me.

“What do you want, Pan?” I asked, my voice quiet.

“So you have known that I was watching. I couldn’t tell for sure before.” Pan was closer, standing just outside of my hut. He bent down to peer inside at me. “Feel like talking now?”

I scooted out to the entrance. “Why did you follow me?”

“Because this is the first time since you kidnapped me that you’ve sought anyone out. Considering it’s been over a week since then I figured I’d meet you half way.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t live on your own forever. It’ll drive you mad. I imagine it already has some. That’s why you came to the camp.”

“How come you never said anything? You’ve been watching me for days without a word. Why say something now?”

“Like I said, you sought me out. You wanted space so I figured that I’d wait for you to come to me when you were ready. You can still come back to camp. It’ll be alright.”

My eyes snapped to his. “I don’t want to be a part of your crew.”

He gave a sigh and sat down next to me. “Still don’t trust me?” He asked.

“I’ve accepted the situation I have been forced into. My father traded me for passage out of this hellhole and since crossing realms is no easy feat I do not expect him to be able to come back for me. But…”

“There’s still a part that wants to believe he’s trying to return for you.” Pan’s voice was uncommonly gentle. Almost as if he was talking to a spooked animal. Perhaps that was what I was. A scared little creature that wanted to scuttle back into her hidey hole.

“You must think me a fool,” I scoffed.

“I think you’ve been spurned by someone you trusted and don’t know how to handle it.” He laid a hand on my back. It was surprisingly comforting. “In the years that I have lived I’ve learned a few things. One of them is that loyalty, once lost, is never earned again. Not true loyalty. Even if your father came back for you there is a part of you that would never trust him like you once did.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Pan studied me for a moment longer before standing up and holding his hand out for me, “Come along,”

“Where are we going?” I ignored his hand and stood up on my own.

“I’m showing you that you can trust me.”

He withdrew something from the pouch on his belt. It glittered like a jewel but had an odd shape. “This is a magic bean,” He said, “It can take you anywhere you want to go.”

“You’re not giving me that, are you?”

“No. We’re gonna go on a trip.” He grabbed hold of my arm, “Brace yourself, this can get a little rough.”

He dropped the bean on the ground and immediately the ground opened up into a swirling vortex pulling us both in. I clung onto Pan tighter. The journey was disorienting and my head was spinning when we finally were deposited somewhere else.

As the dizziness subsided I was able to note a few things. One, we definitely weren’t on Neverland anymore. We had been dropped on some dock where the cold air reeked of fish. In the distance there was a town. Most of the houses were dark but there looked to be an inn or a tavern that exuded warmth and energy.

Wait, I know this town! We would dock here all the time. This was where I lost--

My blood went cold. “Pan,” I turned to him, “Why are we here?”

“You’ll see,” He motioned for me to follow him. I pulled my coat tighter against me and followed after him into the town. The closer we got to the tavern the louder the cheer inside became. My legs felt like they were being weighted down by cannonballs the closer we got. Without even looking I could remember where everything was. Down that road was the blacksmith. Around that corner was a bakery. To the right of that well was the apothecary.

Pan noticed me lagging behind and grabbed me to keep up with him. “Really Pan,” I tried to pry his hand off my arm as we entered the tavern. “Why are we here?”

“Because he’s here,” Pan pointed to a spot near the back of the tavern.

Sitting at a table surrounded by pirates and wenches was my father playing a card game and drinking.

“Papa…” A part of me wanted to run up to him and hug him and never let him go. Another part of me kept me rooted in my spot. I turned to Pan. “What is this? Why’d you bring me here? To show me what I’ve lost?”

“Not at all,” he released my arm, “This is your chance. Return to him.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said. If you want to you can be reunited with your father and I give you my word I will never bother you again.”

“It’s a trick. A trap of some kind!”

“No tricks here, swordfish. I am being completely serious.”

“You’re releasing me?”

“If that is what you wish.”

I took a tentative step away from Pan. I took another waiting to see if he would stop me but he made no move. I stepped closer and closer to where papa was sitting. This was real. I can go home! After so long I can finally be with my family again!

“Is that the Lady Jones I see?” The sound of a familiar voice silenced any joy I held.

I turned to see who had addressed me. A familiar pirate with overgrown red hair and a stubbly chin walked towards me. He was all muscles and devil-may-care charm wrapped in worn brown leather. “Karver,” I crossed my arms. “Shouldn’t be surprised you’re here.”

“Are you still sore about the last time we met that you won’t call me Quentin?” he shook his head, “If you’d allow me I’d like to make up for it.”

“I don’t want anything from you. After months of being trapped I have finally gotten away from the hellscape that was Neverland and want to get back to my father and crew.”

“Ah yes,” Karver threw an arm over my shoulders. I tried not to shudder. “Captain Jones was regaling the tavern with the tale earlier. Nasty stuff you all encountered. I was wondering why you weren’t with the crew celebrating.”

“That’s because I only got off the island recently. I haven’t had months to become numb to everything we went through while trapped in Neverland like they have.”

“Months?” Karver’s eyebrows knit together, “Kitten, the crew of the Jolly Roger shot up from the sea like a ghost ship a week ago. They’ve been drinking the town dry ever since.”

“A week? It’s only been a week since they left Neverland? A week!” I fumed. No...no this couldn’t be happening. I was on Neverland by myself for months and it hadn’t even been a week here? I knew time moved differently in Neverland but I never expected this!

“Problem?” Karver asked.

I looked across the tavern at my father. My father who was laughing and drinking with some floozy on his lap without a care in the world. This was the same man who had gone silent for months after mama died. It took him years to be comfortable enough to act like the wolfish pirate I saw before me when mama died. To him I had been bargained away a week ago. A week ago he gave me up to escape and what was it I found? He wasn’t mourning. He wasn’t trying to find a way back to me. He was in a tavern getting drunk and having fun. He was here having the time of his life knowing full well that I was stuck on Neverland at the mercy of Pan and the Lost Boys.

I shoved Karver away and stormed back out of the tavern. Pan was waiting outside.

My voice trembled with anger and betrayal. “He was never going to come back for me. It wasn’t even a thought in his head. Was it?”

“I thought it best if you saw for yourself.” Pan said.

“Why though? I’m his daughter! Don’t I mean anything?”

“Sounds like something to ask him.” Pan nodded towards the tavern.

I shook my head. Bitter tears pouring down my face. “No. I want out of here. I want to leave. Now!”

Pan held out a hand for me. “Do you trust me now, Lost Girl?”

I took one last look inside at the man who raised me. The man who sold me. I took Pan’s hand. “I want to go home.”

Pan smiled and withdrew another bean. The next moment we were falling through a portal on our way back to Neverland. The air was warm once again, the sand was pliant and soft beneath my boots. I took in a deep breath, salty ocean air with just a hint of flowers from the jungle on the tail end of it.

I remembered what I told Pan before we returned. I didn’t say I wanted to go back to Neverland. I said I wanted to go home. When did Neverland become home?

“Feel like coming to camp now?” Pan asked, giving a little tug on our interlaced hands.

“Can we stay here tonight? I don’t think I have the energy to go to your camp right now.”

“We?” Pan asked, “Am I to take it that you want me to stay?”

Heat started to creep up my neck and I gripped his hand tighter. “I don’t want to be alone again.” I admitted. I felt like a child. I was practically begging him to stay here with me.

Pan’s features softened and we sat down. His hand still held mine and he used his other to light a small fire for us. “You won’t be alone ever again, Lost Girl.” he murmured, “I promise.”

---

(Previous) (Next)

#peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #ouat #neverland #peter pan x reader #peter pan imagine

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s4ijoh · 4 years

Text

icarus falling. oikawa tooru

OIKAWA TOORU X GN! READER

GENRE: angst; fluff

WORD COUNT: 1.9k+

WARNINGS: established relationship

after seijoh's loss to karasuno in the semi finals…

the walk back home was nothing like what you had expected. you wondered if, walking on this sidewalk next to you, stood the same gutted boys that back in the court had their heads bowed down in defeat - their frowns now replaced by lighthearted smiles. you cling onto your boyfriend's arm, your presence silent next to him, watching from the sidelines. from your position, it might have just looked like a group of friends catching up on conversation but there was so much more to this moment than met the eye.

despite their loss, the conversation was rather lively - but you knew it was all a hopeless attempt to avoid the elephant in the room. there was a bittersweet taste to the current energy on the atmosphere. they carried on chatting almost as if they felt it was best to avoid the topic, it didn’t feel right to spend the last moment they had last as a team mourning their mistakes but rather reminiscing on the good memories instead. whereas, on the other hand, to deny to acknowledge their loss was to live a lie.

you keep a close watch on tooru, his features completely devoid of even the slightest hint of sorrow. however, you have learned to read in between the lines, to get to know each and every one of his quirks - to know his voice gets quieter when he is lying or how he blinks more rapidly when he’s nervous. you could read him like an open book and the occasional furrow of his brows, that even though was barely there for a half a second, only for you to catch a glimpse of it, was an immediate giveaway of the thoughts plaguing his mind.

once you reach the doorstep to tooru’s house you wave your goodbyes to the boys before the both of you part your different ways with the group. a heavy silence falls between the two of you yet there are so many things to be said. as the boys disappear into the distance, the atmosphere turns blue, all of tooru’s troubling thoughts lingering in the air yet not spoken of. you choose to give him his space to grieve, you knew he would talk to you once he was ready.

it was the quiet before the storm. as soon as he walks through the front door a suffocating void settles in his heart. tooru finds himself spiraling down a deep dark hole, a sudden numbness taking over his body before he is brought back to reality when his emotions strike him all at once. it was the catalyst to his ruin.

the lump in his throat tightening knocks the oxygen out of tooru’s lungs making it hard to breathe and he can no longer find the strength within himself to hold back any further, it is almost physically impossible for him to keep the tears from falling. he had kept all these feelings bottled up inside him for too long and it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened - they start overflowing, all at once, against his own will. after the rainstorm, it’s not long until the flood.

despite all his effort to keep himself under control, his first attempt at verbalizing his thoughts comes in the form of a choked sob as he falls right into your embrace. and so you watch him fall apart right before your eyes. as many times as you had held his trembling body in your arms, you would never get used to this sight. you could never guess that someone as cheerful as tooru had all these hardships in his life, but he did and ever since you met him you knew better than to believe the little show he put on for everybody.

you had seen him at his worst, and you were one of the few lucky ones he trusted enough to willingly let his walls down for. he had trusted you to see the rawest version of him and to allow you to roam his naked soul - no matter how many times he confessed his love for you, this was the ultimate proof of his sheer devotion and no matter how many times you confessed your love for him you could never show him how grateful you are to be fortunate enough to know the real tooru oikawa.

"let it all go" his shaky sobs resonate through your skin as he cries on your now damp shoulder with his face buried in the crook of your neck.

it was hard to notice on the outside but there was a battle taking place under the surface. disguised beyond his usual bright persona, tooru was fighting a war against himself. he was indeed his own worst enemy as cliché as it might sound. his number one struggle was to acknowledge his own worth, which induced the growth of his prevailing self-destructive habits. he would beat himself up every day, neglecting his own health in favor of working towards being the best player he could possibly become - he never thought it was enough; he had spend many restless nights wondering whether he would ever be enough. perhaps he was hopeless. so far, life had gone hard on him but, ever since you entered the scene, he could rely on you to brighten his darkest days.

"i did e-everything i could and it was still no-not enough" his words make your heart ache in your chest for you can tell how difficult it is for tooru to speak by the way his voice cracks at the end of the sentence before he falls into another fit of watery sobs. but to know he was taking it all upon himself struck you even harder.

this was the same boy you had watched pour his blood, sweat and tears into everything he had done, you only wish you could give him the world for he deserved nothing less. you knew he carried the weight of responsibility that came with being the team captain on his shoulders with pride, whether it was for the best or the worst. however, what he failed to realize was that he didn't have to bear it all on his own.

tooru felt like a failure; he had hit a wall. despite all his hard work he could not see the fruits of his labor. it was as if he was trapped in a maze with no exit - no matter the advances he made, he would always find himself back on square one, hopelessly running around in endless circles and driving himself insane.

in the end all his effort had gone to waste - or so he thought, in his current state, it was hard to see past the fog clouding his mind. he was inconsolable. you knew that no word you said could possibly mend his broken heart but you could at least try to relieve some of his pain.

"tooru, i know you will achieve great things one day. you just have to hold onto your dreams." you caress his hair whereas your spare hand rubs up and down his spine before settling on the nape of his neck, cradling the back of his head and tugging him closer to you.

“right now, i know it might feel like a loss but i believe in you and know you will make it out of this stronger, you always do"

you pull back to look into his glassy eyes, a thick veil of tears coating his hazel orbs. the eyes that once held all that passion are now dull as the familiar hopeful gleam fades away with every teardrop streaming down his cheeks, being replaced with a void of broken dreams. he always aimed high, strived to be better and it hurt to see him like this for he did not deserve it but, unfortunately, the universe had different plans for him.

tooru stood too close to the sun. he was close, close enough to yearn for more of it's warmth - he needed more. but what he failed to anticipate, guided by his own instinct, was that it was physically impossible to go any further without getting hurt. the higher he flew, the closer he got, the harder he would fall; his ambition was his greatest blessing as well as his worst curse.

yet, once again, here you stood, ready to catch him on his fall back to earth. you had been there for him every step of the way. you had watched tooru fall flat on his face several times only to witness him build himself back up and work harder than the last time. you admired his cunning nature, it was his greatest weapon.

"i know you wanted to pursue your dreams next to your friends, tooru, but i promise you that they will be there, alongside you, watching your every step on the way to the top"

you feel his stiff muscles relaxing under your touch, it was almost as if you knew exactly what he needed to hear. everyone thought tooru required high maintenace but a few reassuring words were all it took to make him feel better and upon hearing the mention of his teammates, a switch flips inside him and he has a purpose once again. tooru wished to be better and even if it was hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel, he would keep going, if not for his sake, for his friends - he wouldn’t let them down again.

after a while you listen to his sobs fading into the air. after the flood always comes the quiet.

tooru’s body leans weak against yours once his sniffles die down. you hold onto his waist, dragging his limp body across the hall and into his room, sitting him on the edge of the bed to help him change into more confortable clothes. you crouch down in front of him to press a kiss to his injured knee before you lay down next to him, cradling him in your arms whereas you let the silence of the quiet night envelop the both of you in it’s sweet embrace. he felt at home, secure in the shelter of your warmth, your body caging him in a reassuring hug. he feels invincible all of a sudden, like he could conquer the world.

“i will make you feel proud of me, one day” he whispers against your chest, his voice is still hoarse in the aftermath of his emotional burst.

“i'm already proud of you, tooru. you are stronger than anyone could ever fanthom”

“no. i mean that, one day, i will redeem myself and i want you there, by my side.”

despite his mellow tone, the eagerness was still present in his voice, each word radiating with the strength of a thousand suns. you were glad to know that, regardless of the storm, the flame was still burning bright inside him.

“i will be there, tooru.” you pull away from him to hold his face in your hands “i will be there to watch you reach the top. i will watch you get each and every one of your opponents out of the way and prove them wrong, baby. it's us against the world”

that night, you never leave his side, holding him as close as humanly possible expecting that, perhaps, if you hold him just tight enough you can fill the hole in his heart and make him feel whole again.

and, hopefully, you would still be here when he is finally ready to spread his winds open again and earns back the courage to fly high.

[a/n]: so im experimenting with a new writing style,, i wanted to improve my dialogue writing skills so from now on ill be focusing more on dialogue than i used to (feedback would be highly appreciated :D) + also no smut in here, for now, cs i was tired of writing nasty shit ,, give me a break, for the time being this is a smut free zone, (lmao who would've guessed) if you were here for the smut im sorry to disappoint you - the old ellie can’t come to the phone right now cuz she’s DEAD. my goal is to write shorter pieces and work on characterization as well hence the new blog!!, my old stuff didn't serve me anymore.

+ also it took me more time to write 2k words than those longer fics i used to write lmao. im actually proud of this one. hopefully, i changed for the better!

#had a personality 180º im blaming my unstable mental health #n e ways #i would rather say that im constantly improving myself so #if you knew me before this no you didnt #not me writing this while listening to i hate this part by the pussycat dolls #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru imagine #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu #oikawa torū #haikyuucreations

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memoir-of-stars · 4 years

Note

Send me a character: Jorah!

Thanks for the ask! 🥰

First impression: I think when I was first introduced to his character I could feel that he was kind of a ‘fallen knight’. He regretted his past mistakes but there was little he could do about it now, so he dwelt on it and eventually found his solace in serving Dany. The scene in which he stood up to Viserys perfectly showed that despite it all he had a great idea of honor within him!

Impression now: Jorah has been loyal to the very end, he was the one who stood by Dany til the end and their relationship was the most honest and selfless one in the whole story. Especially, considering the generally dark GoT thematic. I would like to think that in the end Jorah felt that he kind of regained his knightly honor by everything he has done for Dany and also the fact the denied Longclaw showed that he truly understood the consequences of his actions and the idea of honor he held on to.

Favorite moment: His love confession to Daenerys! I mean, I feel like this was amongst the most intimate and sincere moments in the whole series and when you think about it...the fact that he only confessed to her, because he was sure he’d never ever see her again...this makes the scene bittersweet for sure.

Idea for a story: Jorah was involved in killing the Night King himself, and as a result he regained his title as the Lord of Bear Island, it is only then that Dany realized that she truly needs him by her side entirely. In the end Jorah chooses to abandon his title for his Khaleesi...but the angst hehe

Unpopular opinion: I really miss the sassy and sarcastic Jorah from the earlier Seasons. I do believe that this maybe was the result of Dany’s banishment that made him step back once more, but oh boy..how I wish we could’ve had more of sassy Jorah by the end.

Favorite relationship: Daenerys x Show!Jorah, of course!! I also really enjoyed Jorah’s relationship with Tyrion!

Favorite headcanon: I like to think that Jorah mourned Viserion’s death with Dany as he was the one who knew him since he hatched and was also the only one who truly understood the bond between Dany and her children.

Also, there was for sure a moment in which Dany saw Jorah’s scars and understood how much pain he went through and it was all because her words made him want to go on after all :’)

Send me a character and I will tell you...

#Asks #Anon #Thanks sm!! xoxo #Jorah Mormont #Daenerys x Jorah #Jorleesi

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

Text

All mentions of Dany in other POVs

This is a list with all mentions of Dany and/or her dragons and/or events involving Dany in other POVs.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Epilogue

“We have these tales coming from the east as well. A second Targaryen, and one whose blood no man can question. Daenerys Stormborn.”

“As mad as her father,” declared Lord Mace Tyrell.

That would be the same father that Highgarden and House Tyrell supported to the bitter end and well beyond. “Mad she may be,” Ser Kevan said, “but with so much smoke drifting west, surely there must be some fire burning in the east.”

Grand Maester Pycelle bobbed his head. “Dragons. These same stories have reached Oldtown. Too many to discount. A silver-haired queen with three dragons.”

“At the far end of the world,” said Mace Tyrell. “Queen of Slaver’s Bay, aye. She is welcome to it.”

“On that we can agree,” Ser Kevan said, “but the girl is of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and I do not think she will be content to remain in Meereen forever. If she should reach these shores and join her strength to Lord Connington and this prince of his, feigned or no … we must destroy Connington and his pretender now, before Daenerys Stormborn can come west.”

ADWD The Queen's Hand

He stood beside the parapets of the highest step of the Great Pyramid, searching the sky as he did every morning, knowing that the dawn must come and hoping that his queen would come with it. She will not have abandoned us, she would never leave her people, he was telling himself, when he heard the prince’s death rattle coming from the queen’s apartments.

At his command, Quentyn Martell had been laid out in the queen’s own bed. He had been a knight, and a prince of Dorne besides. It seemed only kind to let him die in the bed he had crossed half a world to reach. The bedding was ruined—sheets, covers, pillows, mattress, all reeked of blood and smoke, but Ser Barristan thought Daenerys would forgive him.

He should have stayed in Dorne. He should have stayed a frog. Not all men are meant to dance with dragons. As he covered the boy once more, he found himself wondering whether there would be anyone to cover his queen, or whether her own corpse would lie un-mourned amongst the tall grasses of the Dothraki sea, staring blindly at the sky until her flesh fell from her bones.

“No,” he said aloud. “Daenerys is not dead. She was riding that dragon. I saw it with mine own two eyes.” He had said the same a hundred times before … but every day that passed made it harder to believe. Her hair was afire. I saw that too. She was burning … and if I did not see her fall, hundreds swear they did.

“They await the Hand’s pleasure below.”

I am no Hand, a part of him wanted to cry out. I am only a simple knight, the queen’s protector. I never wanted this. But with the queen gone and the king in chains, someone had to rule, and Ser Barristan did not trust the Shavepate.

“The fighting pits will remain closed,” said Selmy. “Blood and noise would only serve to call the dragons.”

“All three, perhaps,” suggested Marselen. “The black beast came once, why not again? This time with our queen.”

Or without her. Should Drogon return to Meereen without Daenerys mounted on his back, the city would erupt in blood and flame, of that Ser Barristan had no doubt. The very men sitting at this table would soon be at dagger points with one another. A young girl she might be, but Daenerys Targaryen was the only thing that held them all together.

“Her Grace will return when she returns,” said Ser Barristan.

The hostages again. He would kill them every one if I allowed it. “I heard you the first hundred times. No.”

“Queen’s Hand,” Skahaz grumbled with disgust. “An old woman’s hand, I am thinking, wrinkled and feeble. I pray Daenerys returns to us soon.” He pulled his brazen wolf’s mask down over his face. “Your council will be growing restless.”

“They are the queen’s council, not mine.”

Though he had assumed the title of Hand, Ser Barristan would not presume to hold court in the queen’s absence, nor would he permit Skahaz mo Kandaq to do such. Hizdahr’s grotesque dragon thrones had been removed at Ser Barristan’s command, but he had not brought back the simple pillowed bench the queen had favored. Instead a large round table had been set up in the center of the hall, with tall chairs all around it where men might sit and talk as peers.

“You had best guard that tongue, ser.” Ser Barristan did not like this Gerris Drinkwater, nor would he allow him to vilify Daenerys. “Prince Quentyn’s death was his own doing, and yours.”

“He offered her his heart,” Ser Gerris said again. “She needed swords, not hearts.”

“He would have given her the spears of Dorne as well.”

“Would that he had.” No one had wanted Daenerys to look with favor on the Dornish prince more than Barristan Selmy.

“What he did he did for love of Queen Daenerys,” Gerris Drinkwater insisted. “To prove himself worthy of her hand.”

The old knight had heard enough. “What Prince Quentyn did he did for Dorne. Do you take me for some doting grandfather? I have spent my life around kings and queens and princes. Sunspear means to take up arms against the Iron Throne. No, do not trouble to deny it. Doran Mar-tell is not a man to call his spears without hope of victory. Duty brought Prince Quentyn here. Duty, honor, thirst for glory … never love. Quentyn was here for dragons, not Daenerys.”

The Dornishmen, Hizdahr, Reznak, the attack … was he doing the right things? Was he doing what Daenerys would have wanted? I was not made for this. Other Kingsguard had served as Hand before him. Not many, but a few. He had read of them in the White Book. Now he found himself wondering whether they had felt as lost and confused as he did.

Galazza Galare was attended by four Pink Graces. An aura of wisdom and dignity seemed to surround her that Ser Barristan could not help but admire. This is a strong woman, and she has been a faithful friend to Daenerys.

“Have there been any further tidings of our sweet queen?”

“None as yet.”

“I shall pray for her. And what of King Hizdahr, if I may be so bold? Might I be permitted to see His Radiance?”

“Soon, I hope. He is unharmed, I promise you.”

“I am pleased to hear that. The Wise Masters of Yunkai asked after him. You will not be surprised to hear that they wish the noble Hizdahr to be restored at once to his rightful place.”

“He shall be, if it can be proved that he did not try to kill our queen. Until such time, Meereen will be ruled by a council of the loyal and just. There is a place for you on that council. I know that you have much to teach us all, Your Benevolence. We need your wisdom.”

“I fear you flatter me with empty courtesies, Lord Hand,” the Green Grace said. “If you truly think me wise, heed me now. Release the noble Hizdahr and restore him to his throne.”

“Only the queen can do that.”

“I know these were not the words you wished to hear,” said Galazza Galare. “Yet for myself, I understand. These dragons are fell beasts. Yunkai fears them … and with good cause, you cannot deny. Our histories speak of the dragonlords of dread Valyria and the devastation that they wrought upon the peoples of Old Ghis. Even your own young queen, fair Daenerys who called herself the Mother of Dragons … we saw her burning, that day in the pit … even she was not safe from the dragon’s wroth.”

“Her Grace is not … she …”

“… is dead. May the gods grant her sweet sleep.” Tears glistened behind her veils. “Let her dragons die as well.”

ADWD The Dragontamer

“Is that rain? Your whores will be gone.”

“Not all of them. There are little snuggeries in the pleasure gardens, and they wait there every night until a man chooses them. Those who are not chosen must remain until the sun comes up, feeling lonely and neglected. We could console them.”

“They could console me, is what you mean.”

“That too.”

“That is not the sort of consolation I require.”

“I disagree. Daenerys Targaryen is not the only woman in the world. Do you want to die a man-maid?”

Quentyn did not want to die at all. I want to go back to Yronwood and kiss both of your sisters, marry Gwyneth Yronwood, watch her flower into beauty, have a child by her. I want to ride in tourneys, hawk and hunt, visit with my mother in Norvos, read some of those books my father sends me. I want Cletus and Will and Maester Kedry to be alive again. “Do you think Daenerys would be pleased to hear that I had bedded some whore?”

“She might be. Men may be fond of maidens, but women like a man who knows what he’s about in the bedchamber. It’s another sort of sword-play. Takes training to be good at it.”

The gibe stung. Quentyn had never felt so much a boy as when he’d stood before Daenerys Targaryen, pleading for her hand. The thought of bedding her terrified him almost as much as her dragons had. What if he could not please her? “Daenerys has a paramour,” he said defensively. “My father did not send me here to amuse the queen in the bedchamber. You know why we have come.”

“You cannot marry her. She has a husband.”

“She does not love Hizdahr zo Loraq.”

“What has love to do with marriage? A prince should know better. Your father married for love, it’s said. How much joy has he had of that?”

“Dorne remembers Aegon and his sisters. Dragons are not so easily forgotten. They will remember Daenerys as well.”

“Not if she’s died.”

“She lives.” She must. “She is lost, but I can find her.” And when I do, she will look at me the way she looks at her sellsword. Once I have proven myself worthy of her.

“What’s that for?” Arch asked.

“Daenerys used a whip to cow the black beast.” Quentyn coiled the whip and hung it from his belt. “Arch, bring your hammer as well. We may have need of it.”

Warrior, grant me courage, he prayed. He did not want to do this, but he saw no other way. Why else would Daenerys have shown me the dragons? She wants me to prove myself to her. Gerris handed him a torch. He stepped through the doors.

The green one is Rhaegal, the white Viserion, he reminded himself. Use their names, command them, speak to them calmly but sternly. Master them, as Daenerys mastered Drogon in the pit. The girl had been alone, clad in wisps of silk, but fearless. I must not be afraid. She did it, so can I. The main thing was to show no fear. Animals can smell fear, and dragons … What did he know of dragons? What does any man know of dragons? They have been gone from the world for more than a century.

Last and longest the beast stared at Pretty Meris, sniffing. The woman, Quentyn realized. He knows that she is female. He is looking for Daenerys. He wants his mother and does not understand why she’s not here.

Quentyn wrenched free of Gerris’s grip. “Viserion,” he called. The white one is Viserion. For half a heartbeat he was afraid he’d gotten it wrong. “Viserion,” he called again, fumbling for the whip hanging from his belt. She cowed the black one with a whip. I need to do the same.

ADWD The Kingbreaker

“One guardsman amongst forty. All waiting for the empty tabard on the throne to speak the command so we might cut down Bloodbeard and the rest. Do you think the Yunkai’i would ever have dared present Daenerys with the head of her hostage?”

No, thought Selmy. “Hizdahr seemed distraught.”

“Sham. His own kin of Loraq were returned unharmed. You saw. The Yunkai’i played us a mummer’s farce, with noble Hizdahr as chief mummer. The issue was never Yurkhaz zo Yunzak. The other slavers would gladly have trampled that old fool themselves. This was to give Hizdahr a pretext to kill the dragons.”

Ser Barristan chewed on that. “Would he dare?”

“He dared to kill his queen. Why not her pets? If we do not act, Hizdahr will hesitate for a time, to give proof of his reluctance and allow the Wise Masters the chance to rid him of the Stormcrow and the bloodrider. Then he will act. They want the dragons dead before the Volantene fleet arrives.”

Aye, they would. It all fit. That did not mean Barristan Selmy liked it any better. “That will not happen.” His queen was the Mother of Dragons; he would not allow her children to come to harm.

“Daario might piss on us if we were burning. Elsewise do not look to him for help. Let the Stormcrows choose another captain, one who knows his place. If the queen does not return, the world will be one sellsword short. Who will grieve?”

“And when she does return?”

“She will weep and tear her hair and curse the Yunkai’i. Not us. No blood on our hands. You can comfort her. Tell her some tale of the old days, she likes those. Poor Daario, her brave captain … she will never forget him, no … but better for all of us if he is dead, yes? Better for Daenerys too.”

Better for Daenerys, and for Westeros. Daenerys Targaryen loved her captain, but that was the girl in her, not the queen. Prince Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna, and thousands died for it. Daemon Blackfyre loved the first Daenerys, and rose in rebellion when denied her. Bittersteel and Bloodraven both loved Shiera Seastar, and the Seven Kingdoms bled. The Prince of Dragonflies loved Jenny of Oldstones so much he cast aside a crown, and Westeros paid the bride price in corpses. All three of the sons of the fifth Aegon had wed for love, in defiance of their father’s wishes. And because that unlikely monarch had himself followed his heart when he chose his queen, he allowed his sons to have their way, making bitter enemies where he might have had fast friends. Treason and turmoil followed, as night follows day, ending at Summerhall in sorcery, fire, and grief.

Her love for Daario is poison. A slower poison than the locusts, but in the end as deadly. “There is still Jhogo,” Ser Barristan said. “Him, and Hero. Both precious to Her Grace.”

“We have hostages as well,” Skahaz Shavepate reminded him. “If the slavers kill one of ours, we kill one of theirs.”

For a moment Ser Barristan did not know whom he meant. Then it came to him. “The queen’s cupbearers?”

“Hostages,” insisted Skahaz mo Kandaq. “Grazdar and Qezza are the blood of the Green Grace. Mezzara is of Merreq, Kezmya is Pahl, Azzak Ghazeen. Bhakaz is Loraq, Hizdahr’s own kin. All are sons and daughters of the pyramids. Zhak, Quazzar, Uhlez, Hazkar, Dhazak, Yherizan, all children of Great Masters.”

“Innocent girls and sweet-faced boys.” Ser Barristan had come to know them all during the time they served the queen, Grazhar with his dreams of glory, shy Mezzara, lazy Miklaz, vain, pretty Kezmya, Qezza with her big soft eyes and angel’s voice, Dhazzar the dancer, and the rest. “Children.”

“Children of the Harpy. Only blood can pay for blood.”

“So said the Yunkishman who brought us Groleo’s head.”

“He was not wrong.”

“I will not permit it.”

“What use are hostages if they may not be touched?”

“Mayhaps we might offer three of the children for Daario, Hero, and Jhogo,” Ser Barristan allowed. “Her Grace—”

“—is not here. It is for you and me to do what must be done. You know that I am right.”

“Prince Rhaegar had two children,” Ser Barristan told him. “Rhaenys was a little girl, Aegon a babe in arms. When Tywin Lannister took King’s Landing, his men killed both of them. He served the bloody bodies up in crimson cloaks, a gift for the new king.” And what did Robert say when he saw them? Did he smile? Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded on the Trident, so he had been spared the sight of Lord Tywin’s gift, but oft he wondered. If I had seen him smile over the red ruins of Rhaegar’s children, no army on this earth could have stopped me from killing him. “I will not suffer the murder of children. Accept that, or I’ll have no part of this.”

That is what I fear. If King Hizdahr was innocent, what they did this day would be treason. But how could he be innocent? Selmy had heard him urging Daenerys to taste the poisoned locusts, shouting at his men to slay the dragon. If we do not act, Hizdahr will kill the dragons and open the gates to the queen’s enemies. We have no choice in this. Yet no matter how he turned and twisted this, the old knight could find no honor in it.

Some of them had been training for the fighting pits when Daenerys Targaryen took Meereen and freed them from their chains. Those had had a good acquaintance with sword and spear and battle-axe even before Ser Barristan got hold of them. A few might well be ready. The boy from the Basilisk Isles, for a start. Tumco Lho.

Rhaegar had chosen Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Barristan Selmy would have made a different choice. Not the queen, who was not present. Nor Elia of Dorne, though she was good and gentle; had she been chosen, much war and woe might have been avoided. His choice would have been a young maiden not long at court, one of Elia’s companions … though compared to Ashara Dayne, the Dornish princess was a kitchen drab.

Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara’s smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. Daenerys has the same eyes. Sometimes when the queen looked at him, he felt as if he were looking at Ashara’s daughter …

The boy went running off, and the king turned back to Selmy. “I dreamed you found Daenerys.”

“Dreams can lie, Your Grace.”

“It was your pit, your box, your seats. Sweet wine and soft cushions, figs and melons and honeyed locusts. You provided all. You urged Her Grace to try the locusts but never tasted one yourself.”

“I … hot spices do not agree with me. She was my wife. My queen. Why would I want to poison her?”

Was, he says. He believes her dead. “Only you can answer that, Magnificence. It might be that you wished to put another woman in her place.” Ser Barristan nodded at the girl peering timidly from the bed-chamber. “That one, perhaps?”

The king looked around wildly. “Her? She’s nothing. A bedslave.” He raised his hands. “I misspoke. Not a slave. A free woman. Trained in pleasure. Even a king has needs, she … she is none of your concern, ser. I would never harm Daenerys. Never.”

“You urged the queen to try the locusts. I heard you.”

“I thought she might enjoy them.” Hizdahr retreated another step. “Hot and sweet at once.”

“Hot and sweet and poisoned. With mine own ears I heard you commanding the men in the pit to kill Drogon. Shouting at them.”

Hizdahr licked his lips. “The beast devoured Barsena’s flesh. Dragons prey on men. It was killing, burning …”

“… burning men who meant harm to your queen. Harpy’s Sons, as like as not. Your friends.”

“Not my friends.”

“You say that, yet when you told them to stop killing they obeyed. Why would they do that if you were not one of them?”

Hizdahr shook his head. This time he did not answer. “Tell me true,” Ser Barristan said, “did you ever love her, even a little? Or was it just the crown you lusted for?”

“Lust? You dare speak to me of lust?” The king’s mouth twisted in anger. “I lusted for the crown, aye … but not half so much as she lusted for her sellsword. Perhaps it was her precious captain who tried to poison her, for putting him aside. And if I had eaten of his locusts too, well, so much the better.”

“You will be kept a prisoner until the queen returns. If nothing can be proved against you, you will not come to harm. You have my word as a knight.”

ADWD Victarion I

The war for Meereen was won, the captain claimed; the dragon queen was dead, and a Ghiscari by the name of Hizdak ruled the city now.

Victarion had his tongue torn out for lying. Daenerys Targaryen was not dead, Moqorro assured him; his red god R’hllor had shown him the queen’s face in his sacred fires. The captain could not abide lies, so he had the Ghiscari captain bound hand and foot and thrown overboard, a sacrifice to the Drowned God.

Sailing out of Myr, the Dove brought them no fresh news of Meereen or Daenerys, only stale reports of Dothraki horsemen along the Rhoyne, the Golden Company upon the march, and others things Victarion already knew.

They had been running empty, Victarion learned, making for New Ghis to load supplies and weapons for the Ghiscari legions encamped before Meereen … and to bring fresh legionaries to the war, to replace all the men who’d died. “Men slain in battle?” asked Victarion. The crews of the galleys denied it; the deaths were from a bloody flux. The pale mare, they called it. And like the captain of the Ghiscari Dawn, the captains of the galleys repeated the lie that Daenerys Targaryen was dead.

“Give her a kiss for me in whatever hell you find her,” Victarion said. He called for his axe and took their heads off there and then. Afterward he put their crews to death as well, saving only the slaves chained to the oars. He broke their chains himself and told them they were now free men and would have the privilege of rowing for the Iron Fleet, an honor that every boy in the Iron Islands dreamed of growing up. “The dragon queen frees slaves and so do I,” he proclaimed.

“The silver queen is gone,” the ketch’s master told him. “She flew away upon her dragon, beyond the Dothraki sea.”

“Where is this Dothraki sea?” he demanded. “I will sail the Iron Fleet across it and find the queen wherever she may be.”

The fisherman laughed aloud. “That would be a sight worth seeing. The Dothraki sea is made of grass, fool.”

“He bearded the lion in his den and tied the direwolf’s tail in knots, but even Dagon could not defeat the dragons. But I shall make the dragon queen mine own. She will share my bed and bear me many mighty sons.”

His dusky woman was enough to satisfy his appetites until he could reach Meereen and claim his queen.

A great wind came up then, a wind that filled their sails and swept them north and east and north again, toward Meereen and its pyramids of many-colored bricks. On wings of song I fly to you, Daenerys, the iron captain thought.

ADWD The Griffin Reborn

“Prince Doran’s younger son has been betrothed to Myrcella Baratheon, which would suggest that the Dornishmen have thrown in with House Lannister, but they have an army in the Boneway and another in the Prince’s Pass, just waiting …”

“Waiting.” He frowned. “For what?” Without Daenerys and her dragons, Dorne was central to their hopes. “Write Sunspear. Doran Martell must know that his sister’s son is still alive and has come home to claim his father’s throne.”

“My lord does have one prize to offer,” Haldon Halfmaester pointed out. “Prince Aegon’s hand. A marriage alliance, to bring some great House to our banners.”

A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar’s wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon’s birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward.

“Daenerys Targaryen may yet come home one day,” Connington told the Halfmaester. “Aegon must be free to marry her.”

ADWD The Spurned Suitor

“Even if the queen returns, she’ll still be married.”

“Not if I give King Harzoo a little smack with my hammer,” suggested the big man.

“Hizdahr,” said Quentyn. “His name is Hizdahr.”

“One kiss from my hammer and no one will care what his name was,” said Arch.

They do not see. His friends had lost sight of his true purpose here. The road leads through her, not to her. Daenerys is the means to the prize, not the prize itself. “ ‘The dragon has three heads,’ she said to me. ‘My marriage need not be the end of all your hopes,’ she said. ‘I know why you are here. For fire and blood.’ I have Targaryen blood in me, you know that. I can trace my lineage back—”

“Fuck your lineage,” said Gerris. “The dragons won’t care about your blood, except maybe how it tastes. You cannot tame a dragon with a history lesson. They’re monsters, not maesters. Quent, is this truly what you want to do?”

“This is what I have to do. For Dorne. For my father. For Cletus and Will and Maester Kedry.”

“They’re dead,” said Gerris. “They won’t care.”

“All dead,” Quentyn agreed. “For what? To bring me here, so I might wed the dragon queen. A grand adventure, Cletus called it. Demon roads and stormy seas, and at the end of it the most beautiful woman in the world. A tale to tell our grandchildren. But Cletus will never father a child, unless he left a bastard in the belly of that tavern wench he liked. Will will never have his wedding. Their deaths should have some meaning.”

“Denzo, I thought you told me that the dragon queen had married some Ghiscari.”

“A Meereenese nobleman. Rich.”

The Tattered Prince turned back to Quentyn. “Could that be true? Surely not. What of your marriage pact?”

“She laughed at him,” said Pretty Meris.

Daenerys never laughed. The rest of Meereen might see him as an amusing curiosity, like the exiled Summer Islander King Robert used to keep at King’s Landing, but the queen had always spoken to him gently. “We came too late,” said Quentyn.

“How long do you think the Yunkishmen will want to continue paying wages to four free companies?”

The Tattered Prince took a sip of wine and said, “A vexing question. But this is the way of life for we men of the free companies. One war ends, another begins. Fortunately there is always someone fighting someone somewhere. Perhaps here. Even as we sit here drinking Bloodbeard is urging our Yunkish friends to present King Hizdahr with another head. Freedmen and slavers eye each other’s necks and sharpen their knives, the Sons of the Harpy plot in their pyramids, the pale mare rides down slave and lord alike, our friends from the Yellow City gaze out to sea, and somewhere in the grasslands a dragon nibbles the tender flesh of Daenerys Targaryen. Who rules Meereen tonight? Who will rule it on the morrow?” The Pentoshi gave a shrug. “One thing I am certain of. Someone will have need of our swords.”

“So. Let me see if I understand. A proven liar and oathbreaker wishes to contract with us and pay in promises. And for what services? I wonder. Are my Windblown to smash the Yunkai’i and sack the Yellow City? Defeat a Dothraki khalasar in the field? Escort you home to your father? Or will you be content if we deliver Queen Daenerys to your bed wet and willing? Tell me true, Prince Frog. What would you have of me and mine?”

“I need you to help me steal a dragon.”

ADWD The Discarded Knight

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony, smooth and simple, covered with the cushions that Ser Barristan had found to make her more comfortable. King Hizdahr had replaced the bench with two imposing thrones of gilded wood, their tall backs carved into the shape of dragons. The king seated himself in the right-hand throne with a golden crown upon his head and a jeweled sceptre in one pale hand. The second throne remained vacant.

The important throne, thought Ser Barristan. No dragon chair can replace a dragon no matter how elaborately it’s carved.

“Is it true?” a freedwoman shouted. “Is our mother dead?”

“No, no, no,” Reznak screeched. “Queen Daenerys will return to Meereen in her own time in all her might and majesty. Until such time, His Worship King Hizdahr shall—”

“He is no king of mine,” a freedman yelled.

Men began to shove at one another. “The queen is not dead,” the seneschal proclaimed. “Her bloodriders have been dispatched across the Skahazadhan to find Her Grace and return her to her loving lord and loyal subjects. Each has ten picked riders, and each man has three swift horses, so they may travel fast and far. Queen Daenerys shall be found.”

A tall Ghiscari in a brocade robe spoke next, in a voice as sonorous as it was cold. King Hizdahr shifted on his dragon throne, his face stony as he did his best to appear concerned but unperturbed. Once again his seneschal gave answer.

Ser Barristan let Reznak’s oily words wash over him. His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing, especially useful when the speaker was intent on proving that words were truly wind. Back at the rear of the hall, he spied the Dornish princeling and his two companions. They should not have come. Martell does not realize his danger. Daenerys was his only friend at this court, and she is gone. He wondered how much they understood of what was being said. Even he could not always make sense of the mongrel Ghiscari tongue the slavers spoke, especially when they were speaking fast.

Prince Quentyn was listening intently, at least. That one is his father’s son. Short and stocky, plain-faced, he seemed a decent lad, sober, sensible, dutiful … but not the sort to make a young girl’s heart beat faster. And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent. Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. She wants fire, and Dorne sent her mud.

Martell was dancing in a vipers’ nest, and he did not even see the snakes. His continued presence, even after Daenerys had given herself to another before the eyes of gods and men, would provoke any husband, and Quentyn no longer had the queen to shield him from Hizdahr’s wroth. Although …

The thought hit him like a slap across the face. Quentyn had grown up amongst the courts of Dorne. Plots and poisons were no strangers to him. Nor was Prince Lewyn his only uncle. He is kin to the Red Viper. Daenerys had taken another for her consort, but if Hizdahr died, she would be free to wed again. Could the Shavepate have been wrong? Who can say that the locusts were meant for Daenerys? It was the king’s own box. What if he was meant to be the victim all along? Hizdahr’s death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war. Daenerys might have had no better choice than Quentyn and his marriage pact.

Reznak mo Reznak cleared his throat noisily. “Meaning no offense, yet it seems to me that Her Worship Queen Daenerys gave you … ah … seven hostages. The other three …”

“The others shall remain our guests,” announced the Yunkish lord in the breastplate, “until the dragons have been destroyed.”

A hush fell across the hall. Then came the murmurs and the mutters, whispered curses, whispered prayers, the hornets stirring in their hive. “The dragons …” said King Hizdahr.

“… are monsters, as all men saw in Daznak’s Pit. No true peace is possible whilst they live.”

Reznak replied. “Her Magnificence Queen Daenerys is Mother of Dragons. Only she can—”

Bloodbeard’s scorn cut him off. “She is gone. Burned and devoured. Weeds grow through her broken skull.”

Ser Barristan watched them, thoughtful. What would Daenerys want? he asked himself. He thought he knew.

“Leave the city. Return to Dorne.”

The Dornishmen exchanged a look. “Our arms and armor are back in our apartments,” said Gerris Drinkwater. “Not to mention most of the coin that we have left.”

“Swords can be replaced,” said Ser Barristan. “I can provide you with coin enough for passage back to Dorne. Prince Quentyn, the king made note of you today. He frowned.”

Gerris Drinkwater laughed. “Should we be frightened of Hizdahr zo Loraq? You saw him just now. He quailed before the Yunkishmen. They sent him a head, and he did nothing.”

Quentyn Martell nodded in agreement. “A prince does well to think before he acts. This king … I do not know what to think of him. The queen warned me against him as well, true, but …”

“She warned you?” Selmy frowned. “Why are you still here?”

Prince Quentyn flushed. “The marriage pact—”

“—was made by two dead men and contained not a word about the queen or you. It promised your sister’s hand to the queen’s brother, another dead man. It has no force. Until you turned up here, Her Grace was ignorant of its existence. Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear. If the queen had known of this pact in Qarth, she might never have turned aside for Slaver’s Bay, but you came too late. I have no wish to salt your wounds, but Her Grace has a new husband and an old paramour, and seems to prefer the both of them to you.”

“This Ghiscari lordling is no fit consort for the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“That is not for you to judge.” Ser Barristan paused, wondering if he had said too much already. No. Tell him the rest of it. “That day at Daznak’s Pit, some of the food in the royal box was poisoned. It was only chance that Strong Belwas ate it all. The Blue Graces say that only his size and freakish strength have saved him, but it was a near thing. He may yet die.”

The shock was plain on Prince Quentyn’s face. “Poison … meant for Daenerys?”

“Her or Hizdahr. Perhaps both. The box was his, though. His Grace made all the arrangements. If the poison was his doing … well, he will need a scapegoat. Who better than a rival from a distant land who has no friends at this court? Who better than a suitor the queen spurned?”

Quentyn Martell went pale. “Me? I would never … you cannot think I had any part in any …”

That was the truth, or he is a master mummer. “Others might,” said Ser Barristan. “The Red Viper was your uncle. And you have good reason to want King Hizdahr dead.”

“So do others,” suggested Gerris Drinkwater. “Naharis, for one. The queen’s …”

“… paramour,” Ser Barristan finished, before the Dornish knight could say anything that might besmirch the queen’s honor.

ADWD Tyrion XI

“The silver queen—”

“—is dead,” insisted Sweets. “Forget her! The dragon took her across the river. She’s drowned in that Dothraki sea.”

“You can’t drown in grass,” the goat boy said. “If we were free,” said Penny, “we could find the queen. Or go search for her, at least.”

You on your dog and me on my sow, chasing a dragon across the Dothraki sea. Tyrion scratched his scar to keep from laughing. “This particular dragon has already evinced a fondness for roast pork. And roast dwarf is twice as tasty.”

The fact that there were any good wells at all within a day’s march of the city only went to prove that Daenerys Targaryen was still an innocent where siegecraft was concerned. She should have poisoned every well. Then all the Yunkishmen would be drinking from the river. See how long their siege lasts then. That was what his lord father would have done, Tyrion did not doubt.

There was no better place to hear the latest news and rumors than around the well. “I know what I saw,” an old slave in a rusted iron collar was saying, as Tyrion and Penny shuffled along in the queue, “and I saw that dragon ripping off arms and legs, tearing men in half, burning them down to ash and bones. People started running, trying to get out of that pit, but I come to see a show, and by all the gods of Ghis, I saw one. I was up in the purple, so I didn’t think the dragon was like to trouble me.”

“The queen climbed onto the dragon’s back and flew away,” insisted a tall brown woman.

“She tried,” said the old man, “but she couldn’t hold on. The cross-bows wounded the dragon, and the queen was struck right between her sweet pink teats, I hear. That was when she fell. She died in the gutter, crushed beneath a wagon’s wheels. I know a girl who knows a man who saw her die.”

In this company, silence was the better part of wisdom, but Tyrion could not help himself. “No corpse was found,” he said.

The old man frowned. “What would you know about it?”

“They were there,” said the brown woman. “It’s them, the jousting dwarfs, the ones who tilted for the queen.”

The old man squinted down as if seeing him and Penny for the first time. “You’re the ones who rode the pigs.”

Our notoriety precedes us. Tyrion sketched a courtly bow, and refrained from pointing out that one of the pigs was really a dog. “The sow I ride is actually my sister. We have the same nose, could you tell? A wizard cast a spell on her, but if you give her a big wet kiss, she will turn into a beautiful woman. The pity is, once you get to know her, you’ll want to kiss her again to turn her back.”

Laughter erupted all around them. Even the old man joined in. “You saw her, then,” said the redheaded boy behind them. “You saw the queen. Is she as beautiful as they say?”

I saw a slender girl with silvery hair wrapped in a tokar, he might have told them. Her face was veiled, and I never got close enough for a good look. I was riding on a pig. Daenerys Targaryen had been seated in the owner’s box beside her Ghiscari king, but Tyrion’s eyes had been drawn to the knight in the white-and-gold armor behind her. Though his features were concealed, the dwarf would have known Barristan Selmy anywhere. Illyrio was right about that much, at least, he remembered thinking. Will Selmy know me, though? And what will he do if he does?

“The queen watched us tilt,” Penny was telling the other slaves in line, “but that was the only time we saw her.”

“You must have seen the dragon,” said the old man.

Would that we had. The gods had not even vouchsafed him that much. As Daenerys Targaryen was taking wing, Nurse had been clapping irons round their ankles to make certain they would not attempt escape on their way back to their master. If the overseer had only taken his leave after delivering them to the abbatoir, or fled with the rest of the slavers when the dragon descended from the sky, the two dwarfs might have strolled away free. Or run away, more like, our little bells a-jingle.

“Was there a dragon?” Tyrion said with a shrug. “All I know is that no dead queens were found.”

“...Might be they did but decided to say elsewise, to keep you slaves quiet.”

“Us slaves?” said the brown woman. “You wear a collar too.”

“Ghazdor’s collar,” the old man boasted. “Known him since we was born. I’m almost like a brother to him. Slaves like you, sweepings out of Astapor and Yunkai, you whine about being free, but I wouldn’t give the dragon queen my collar if she offered to suck my cock for it. Man has the right master, that’s better.”

ADWD The Iron Suitor

And I must needs reach the dragon queen before the Volantenes.

In Volantis he had seen the galleys taking on provisions. The whole city had seemed drunk. Sailors and soldiers and tinkers had been observed dancing in the streets with nobles and fat merchants, and in every inn and winesink cups were being raised to the new triarchs. All the talk had been of the gold and gems and slaves that would flood into Volantis once the dragon queen was dead.

“Is it still to be Meereen?”

“Where else? The dragon queen awaits me in Meereen.” The fairest woman in the world if my brother could be believed. Her hair is silver-gold, her eyes are amethysts.

Was it too much to hope that for once Euron had told it true? Perhaps. Like as not, the girl would prove to be some pock-faced slattern with teats slapping against her knees, her “dragons” no more than tattooed lizards from the swamps of Sothoryos. If she is all that Euron claims, though … They had heard talk of the beauty of Daenerys Targaryen from the lips of pirates in the Stepstones and fat merchants in Old Volantis. It might be true. And Euron had not made Victarion a gift of her; the Crow’s Eye meant to take her for himself. He sends me like a serving man to fetch her. How he will howl when I claim her for myself. Let the men mutter. They had sailed too far and lost too much for Victarion to turn west without his prize.

ADWD The Queensguard

You were the queen’s man,” said Reznak mo Reznak. “The king desires his own men about him when he holds court.”

I am the queen’s man still. Today, tomorrow, always, until my last breath, or hers. Barristan Selmy refused to believe that Daenerys Targaryen was dead.

Perhaps that was why he was being put aside. One by one, Hizdahr removes us all.

Despite all the queen had done, the sickness had spread, both within the city walls and without. Meereen’s markets were closed, its streets empty. King Hizdahr had allowed the fighting pits to remain open, but the crowds were sparse. The Meereenese had even begun to shun the Temple of the Graces, reportedly.

The slavers will find some way to blame Daenerys for that as well, Ser Barristan thought bitterly. He could almost hear them whispering—Great Masters, Sons of the Harpy, Yunkai’i, all telling one another that his queen was dead. Half of the city believed it, though as yet they did not have the courage to say such words aloud. But soon, I think.

Not for the first time, Selmy wondered at the strange fates that had brought him here. He was a knight of Westeros, a man of the stormlands and the Dornish marches; his place was in the Seven Kingdoms, not here upon the sweltering shores of Slaver’s Bay. I came to bring Daenerys home. Yet he had lost her, just as he had lost her father and her brother. Even Robert. I failed him too.

Perhaps Hizdahr was wiser than he knew. Ten years ago I would have sensed what Daenerys meant to do. Ten years ago I would have been quick enough to stop her. Instead he had stood befuddled as she leapt into the pit, shouting her name, then running uselessly after her across the scarlet sands. I am become old and slow. Small wonder Naharis mocked him as Ser Grandfather. Would Daario have moved more quickly if he had been beside the queen that day? Selmy thought he knew the answer to that, though it was not one he liked.

He had dreamed of it again last night: Belwas on his knees retching up bile and blood, Hizdahr urging on the dragonslayers, men and women fleeing in terror, fighting on the steps, climbing over one another, screaming and shouting. And Daenerys …

Her hair was aflame. She had the whip in her hand and she was shouting, then she was on the dragon’s back, flying. The sand that Drogon stirred as he took wing had stung Ser Barristan’s eyes, but through a veil of tears he had watched the beast fly from the pit, his great black wings slapping at the shoulders of the bronze warriors at the gates.

The rest he learned later. Beyond the gates had been a solid press of people. Maddened by the smell of dragon, horses below reared in terror, lashing out with iron-shod hooves. Food stalls and palanquins alike were overturned, men knocked down and trampled. Spears were thrown, cross-bows were fired. Some struck home. The dragon twisted violently in the air, wounds smoking, the girl clinging to his back. Then he loosed the fire.

It had taken the rest of the day and most of the night for the Brazen Beasts to gather up the corpses. The final count was two hundred fourteen slain, three times as many burned or wounded. Drogon was gone from the city by then, last seen high over the Skahazadhan, flying north. Of Daenerys Targaryen, no trace had been found. Some swore they saw her fall. Others insisted that the dragon had carried her off to devour her. They are wrong.

Ser Barristan knew no more of dragons than the tales every child hears, but he knew Targaryens. Daenerys had been riding that dragon, as Aegon had once ridden Balerion of old.

“She might be flying home,” he told himself, aloud. “No,” murmured a soft voice behind him. “She would not do that, ser. She would not go home without us.”

Ser Barristan turned. “Missandei. Child. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. This one is sorry if she has disturbed you.”

It was his failures that haunted him at night, though. Jaehaerys, Aerys, Robert. Three dead kings. Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them. Princess Elia and the children. Aegon just a babe, Rhaenys with her kitten. Dead, every one, yet he still lived, who had sworn to protect them. And now Daenerys, his bright shining child queen. She is not dead. I will not believe it.

Afternoon brought Ser Barristan a brief respite from his doubts. He spent it in the training hall on the pyramid’s third level, working with his boys, teaching them the art of sword and shield, horse and lance … and chivalry, the code that made a knight more than any pit fighter. Daenerys would need protectors her own age about her after he was gone, and Ser Barristan was determined to give her such.

The lads he was instructing ranged in age from eight to twenty. He had started with more than sixty of them, but the training had proved too rigorous for many. Less than half that number now remained, but some showed great promise. With no king to guard, I will have more time to train them now, he realized as he walked from pair to pair, watching them go at one another with blunted swords and spears with rounded heads. Brave boys. Baseborn, aye, but some will make good knights, and they love the queen. If not for her, all of them would have ended in the pits. King Hizdahr has his pit fighters, but Daenerys will have knights.

If the queen had commanded me to protect Hizdahr, I would have had no choice but to obey. But Daenerys Targaryen had never established a proper Queensguard even for herself nor issued any commands in respect to her consort. The world was simpler when I had a lord commander to decide such matters, Selmy reflected. Now I am the lord commander, and it is hard to know which path is right.

“I have the poisoner.”

“Who?”

“Hizdahr’s confectioner. His name would mean nothing to you. The man was just a cats paw. The Sons of the Harpy took his daughter and swore she would be returned unharmed once the queen was dead. Belwas and the dragon saved Daenerys. No one saved the girl. She was returned to her father in the black of night, in nine pieces. One for every year she lived.”

“Why?” Doubts gnawed at him. “The Sons had stopped their killing. Hizdahr’s peace—”

“—is a sham. Not at first, no. The Yunkai’i were afraid of our queen, of her Unsullied, of her dragons. This land has known dragons before. Yurkhaz zo Yunzak had read his histories, he knew. Hizdahr as well. Why not a peace? Daenerys wanted it, they could see that. Wanted it too much. She should have marched to Astapor.” Skahaz moved closer. “That was before. The pit changed all. Daenerys gone, Yurkhaz dead. In place of one old lion, a pack of jackals. Bloodbeard … that one has no taste for peace. And there is more. Worse. Volantis has launched its fleet against us.”

“Volantis.” Selmy’s sword hand tingled. We made a peace with Yunkai. Not with Volantis. “You are certain?”

“Certain. The Wise Masters know. So do their friends. The Harpy, Reznak, Hizdahr. This king will open the city gates to the Volantenes when they arrive. All those Daenerys freed will be enslaved again. Even some who were never slaves will be fitted for chains. You may end your days in a fighting pit, old man. Khrazz will eat your heart.”

His head was pounding. “Daenerys must be told.”

“Find her first.” Skahaz grasped his forearm. His fingers felt like iron. “We cannot wait for her.

“Daenerys signed that peace,” Ser Barristan said. “It is not for us to break it without her leave.”

“And if she is dead?” demanded Skahaz. “What then, ser? I say she would want us to protect her city. Her children.”

Her children were the freedmen. Mhysa, they called her, all those whose chains she broke. “Mother.” The Shavepate was not wrong. Daenerys would want her children protected. “What of Hizdahr? He is still her consort. Her king. Her husband.”

“Her poisoner.”

Is he? “Where is your proof?”

“The crown he wears is proof enough. The throne he sits. Open your eyes, old man. That is all he needed from Daenerys, all he ever wanted. Once he had it, why share the rule?”

Why indeed? It had been so hot down in the pit. He could still see the air shimmering above the scarlet sands, smell the blood spilling from the men who’d died for their amusement. And he could still hear Hizdahr, urging his queen to try the honeyed locusts.

ADWD Tyrion X

The next piece of chattel was already being led up to take their place. A girl, fifteen or sixteen, not off the Selaesori Qhoran this time. Tyrion did not know her. The same age as Daenerys Targaryen, or near enough. The slaver soon had her naked. At least we were spared that humiliation.

Mormont paid no mind to the mongrel crowd; his eyes were fixed beyond the siege lines, on the distant city with its ancient walls of many-colored brick. Tyrion could read that look as easy as a book: so near and yet so distant. The poor wretch had returned too late. Daenerys Targaryen was wed, the guards on the pens had told them, laughing. She had taken a Meereenese slaver as her king, as wealthy as he was noble, and when the peace was signed and sealed the fighting pits of Meereen would open once again. Other slaves insisted that the guards were lying, that Daenerys Targaryen would never make peace with slavers. Mhysa, they called her. Someone told him that meant Mother. Soon the silver queen would come forth from her city, smash the Yunkai’i, and break their chains, they whispered to one another.

And then she’ll bake us all a lemon pie and kiss our widdle wounds and make them better, the dwarf thought. He had no faith in royal rescues. If need be, he would see to their deliverance himself.

ADWD Jon IX

“Let us hope so. The narrow sea is perilous this time of year, and of late there have been troubling reports of strange ships seen amongst the Step-stones.”

“Salladhor Saan?”

“The Lysene pirate? Some say he has returned to his old haunts, this is so. And Lord Redwyne’s war fleet creeps through the Broken Arm as well.

On its way home, no doubt. But these men and their ships are well-known to us. No, these other sails … from farther east, perhaps … one hears queer talk of dragons.”

“Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit.”

“My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons.”

ADWD Tyrion IX

“We failed at that as well. No one threw coins.” Not a penny, not a groat.

“They will when we get better.” Penny pulled off her helm. Mouse-brown hair spilled down to her ears. Her eyes were brown too, beneath a heavy shelf of brow, her cheeks smooth and flushed. She pulled some acorns from a leather bag for Pretty Pig. The sow ate them from her hand, squealing happily. “When we perform for Queen Daenerys the silver will rain down, you’ll see.”

At Joffrey’s wedding feast, he recalled, one rider had displayed the direwolf of Robb Stark, the other the arms and colors of Stannis Baratheon. “We will need both animals if we’re to tilt for Queen Daenerys,” he said. If the sailors took it in their heads to butcher Pretty Pig, neither he nor Penny could hope to stop them … but Ser Jorah’s longsword might give them pause, at least.

“Is that how you hope to keep your head, Imp?”

“Ser Imp, if you please. And yes. Once Her Grace knows my true worth, she’ll cherish me. I am a lovable little fellow, after all, and I know many useful things about my kin. But until such time I had best keep her amused.”

“Caper as you like, it won’t wash out your crimes. Daenerys Targaryen is no silly child to be diverted by japes and tumbles. She will deal with you justly.”

Oh, I hope not. Tyrion studied Mormont with his mismatched eyes. “And how will she welcome you, this just queen? A warm embrace, a girlish titter, a headsman’s axe?” He grinned at the knight’s obvious discomfit. “Did you truly expect me to believe you were about the queen’s business in that whorehouse? Defending her from half a world away? Or could it be that you were running, that your dragon queen sent you from her side? But why would she … oh, wait, you were spying on her.” Tyrion made a clucking sound. “You hope to buy your way back into her favor by presenting her with me. An ill-considered scheme, I’d say. One might even say an act of drunken desperation. Perhaps if I were Jaime … but Jaime killed her father, I only killed my own. You think Daenerys will execute me and pardon you, but the reverse is just as likely. Maybe you should hop up on that pig, Ser Jorah. Put on a suit of iron motley, like Florian the—”

The blow the big knight gave him cracked his head around and knocked him sideways, so hard that his head bounced off the deck.

“The widow said this ship would never reach her destination. I took that to mean that once we were out to sea beyond the reach of triarchs, the captain would change course for Meereen. Or perhaps that you would seize the ship with your Fiery Hand and take us to Daenerys. But that isn’t what your high priest saw at all, is it?”

“No.” Moqorro’s deep voice tolled as solemnly as a funeral bell. “This is what he saw.”

ADWD Tyrion VIII

“Have you come to pray with me?”

“Someone told me that the night is dark and full of terrors. What do you see in those flames?”

“Dragons,” Moqorro said in the Common Tongue of Westeros. He spoke it very well, with hardly a trace of accent. No doubt that was one reason the high priest Benerro had chosen him to bring the faith of R’hllor to Daenerys Targaryen. “Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all.”

Twice exiled, and small wonder, Tyrion thought. I’d exile him too if I could. The man is cold, brooding, sullen, deaf to humor. And those are his good points. Ser Jorah spent most of his waking hours pacing the forecastle or leaning on the rail, gazing out to sea. Looking for his silver queen. Looking for Daenerys, willing the ship to sail faster. Well, I might do the same if Tysha waited in Meereen.

“Daenerys has a kind heart and a generous nature.” It was what she needed to hear. “She will find a place for you at her court, I don’t doubt. A safe place, beyond my sister’s reach.”

Penny turned back to him. “And you will be there too.”

Unless Daenerys decides she needs some Lannister blood, to pay for the Targaryen blood my brother shed. “I will.”

“Does our captain mean to test the curse?”

“Our captain would prefer to be fifty leagues farther out to sea, well away from that accursed shore, but I have commanded him to steer the shortest course. Others seek Daenerys too.”

Griff, with his young prince. Could all that talk of the Golden Company sailing west have been a feint? Tyrion considered saying something, then thought better. It seemed to him that the prophecy that drove the red priests had room for just one hero. A second Targaryen would only serve to confuse them. “Have you seen these others in your fires?” he asked, warily.

“Only their shadows,” Moqorro said. “One most of all. A tall and twisted thing with one black eye and ten long arms, sailing on a sea of blood.”

ADWD Tyrion VII

“What is he saying?” Tyrion asked the knight.

“That Daenerys stands in peril. The dark eye has fallen upon her, and the minions of night are plotting her destruction, praying to their false gods in temples of deceit … conspiring at betrayal with godless outlanders …”

The hairs on the back of Tyrion’s neck began to prickle. Prince Aegon will find no friend here. The red priest spoke of ancient prophecy, a prophecy that foretold the coming of a hero to deliver the world from darkness. One hero. Not two. Daenerys has dragons, Aegon does not. The dwarf did not need to be a prophet himself to foresee how Benerro and his followers might react to a second Targaryen. Griff will see that too, surely, he thought, surprised to find how much he cared.

Tyrion had just swallowed another locust. He almost choked on it. Is he mocking me? How much could he know of Griff and Aegon? “Bugger,” he said. “I meant to hire the Golden Company myself, to win me Casterly Rock.” Could this be some ploy of Griff’s, false reports deliberately spread? Unless … Could the pretty princeling have swallowed the bait? Turned them west instead of east, abandoning his hopes of wedding Queen Daenerys? Abandoning the dragons … would Griff allow that?

“We need swift passage to Meereen.”

One word. Tyrion Lannister’s world turned upside down.

One word. Meereen. Or had he misheard?

One word. Meereen, he said Meereen, he’s taking me to Meereen. Meereen meant life. Or hope for life, at least.

“Why come to me?” the widow said. “I own no ships.”

“You have many captains in your debt.”

Deliver me to the queen, he says. Aye, but which queen? He isn’t selling me to Cersei. He’s giving me to Daenerys Targaryen. That’s why he hasn’t hacked my head off. We’re going east, and Griff and his prince are going west, the bloody fools.

Oh, it was all too much. Plots within plots, but all roads lead down the dragon’s gullet. A guffaw burst from his lips, and suddenly Tyrion could not stop laughing.

“Your dwarf is having a fit,” the widow observed. “My dwarf will be quiet, or I’ll see him gagged.”

Tyrion covered his mouth with his hands. Meereen!

“...Have you heard Benerro preach?”

“Last night.”

“Benerro can see the morrow in his flames,” the widow said. “Triarch Malaquo tried to hire the Golden Company, did you know? He meant to clean out the red temple and put Benerro to the sword. He dare not use tiger cloaks. Half of them worship the Lord of Light as well. Oh, these are dire days in Old Volantis, even for wrinkled old widows. But not half so dire as in Meereen, I think. So tell me, ser … why do you seek the silver queen?”

“Keep your silver. I have gold. And spare me your black looks, ser. I am too old to be frightened of a scowl. You are a hard man, I see, and no doubt skilled with that long sword at your side, but this is my realm. Let me crook a finger and you may find yourself traveling to Meereen chained to an oar in the belly of a galley.” She lifted her jade fan and opened it. There was a rustle of leaves, and a man slid from the overgrown archway to her left. His face was a mass of scars, and in one hand he held a sword, short and heavy as a cleaver. “Seek the widow of the waterfront, someone told you, but they should have also warned you, beware the widow’s sons. It is such a sweet morning, though, I shall ask again. Why would you seek Daenerys Targaryen, whom half the world wants dead?”

Jorah Mormont’s face was dark with anger, but he answered. “To serve her. Defend her. Die for her, if need be.”

That made the widow laugh. “You want to rescue her, is that the way of it? From more enemies than I can name, with swords beyond count … this is what you’d have the poor widow believe? That you are a true and chivalrous Westerosi knight crossing half the world to come to the aid of this … well, she is no maiden, though she may still be fair.” She laughed again. “Do you think your dwarf will please her? Will she bathe in his blood, do you think, or content herself with striking off his head?”

Ser Jorah hesitated. “The dwarf is—”

“—I know who the dwarf is, and what he is.” Her black eyes turned to Tyrion, hard as stone. “Kinslayer, kingslayer, murderer, turncloak. Lannister.” She made the last a curse. “What do you plan to offer the dragon queen, little man?”

My hate, Tyrion wanted to say. Instead he spread his hands as far as the fetters would allow. “Whatever she would have of me. Sage counsel, savage wit, a bit of tumbling. My cock, if she desires it. My tongue, if she does not. I will lead her armies or rub her feet, as she desires. And the only reward I ask is I might be allowed to rape and kill my sister.”

“If I were Volantene, and free, and had the blood, you’d have my vote for triarch, my lady.”

“I am no lady,” the widow replied, “just Vogarro’s whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis.” She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. “Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon.”

ADWD The Windblown

The word passed through the camp like a hot wind. She is coming. Her host is on the march. She is racing south to Yunkai, to put the city to the torch and its people to the sword, and we are going north to meet her.

“We’ll get provisions in Yunkai, maybe fresh horses, then it will be on to Meereen to dance with the dragon queen. So hop quick, Frog, and put a nice edge on your master’s sword. Might be he’ll need it soon.”

“Arch is the best fighter of the three of us,” Drinkwater had pointed out, “but only you can hope to wed the dragon queen.”

Wed her or fight her; either way, I will face her soon. The more Quentyn heard of Daenerys Targaryen, the more he feared that meeting. The Yunkai’i claimed that she fed her dragons on human flesh and bathed in the blood of virgins to keep her skin smooth and supple. Beans laughed at that but relished the tales of the silver queen’s promiscuity. “One of her captains comes of a line where the men have foot-long members,” he told them, “but even he’s not big enough for her. She rode with the Dothraki and grew accustomed to being fucked by stallions, so now no man can fill her.” And Books, the clever Volantene swordsman who always seemed to have his nose poked in some crumbly scroll, thought the dragon queen both murderous and mad. “Her khal killed her brother to make her queen. Then she killed her khal to make herself khaleesi. She practices blood sacrifice, lies as easily as she breathes, turns against her own on a whim. She’s broken truces, tortured envoys … her father was mad too. It runs in the blood.”

It runs in the blood. King Aerys II had been mad, all of Westeros knew that. He had exiled two of his Hands and burned a third. If Daenerys is as murdeous as her father, must I still marry her? Prince Doran had never spoken of that possibility.

Their mistress could not have been more than sixteen and fancied herself Yunkai’s own Daenerys Targaryen.

“Daenerys may be halfway to Yunkai by now, with an army at her back,” Quentyn said as they walked amongst the horses.

“She may be,” Gerris said, “but she’s not. We’ve heard such talk before. The Astapori were convinced Daenerys was coming south with her dragons to break the siege. She didn’t come then, and she’s not coming now.”

“We can’t know that, not for certain. We need to steal away before we end up fighting the woman I was sent to woo.”

“Wait till Yunkai.” Gerris gestured at the hills. “These lands belong to the Yunkai’i. No one is like to want to feed or shelter three deserters. North of Yunkai, that’s no-man’s-land.”

He was not wrong. Even so, Quentyn felt uneasy. “The big man’s made too many friends. He knows the plan was always to steal off and make our way to Daenerys, but he’s not going to feel good about abandoning men he’s fought with. If we wait too long, it’s going to feel as if we’re deserting them on the eve of battle. He will never do that. You know him as well as I do.”

“You’d have us turn our cloaks?”

“I would,” said the Tattered Prince.

Quentyn Martell almost laughed aloud. The gods are mad.

The Westerosi shifted uneasily. Some stared into their wine cups, as if they hoped to find some wisdom there. Hugh Hungerford frowned. “You think Queen Daenerys will take us in …”

“I do.”

“Meris will command you,” said the Tattered Prince. “She knows my mind in this … and Daenerys Targaryen may be more accepting of another woman.”

“The best ruses always have some seed of truth,” said the Tattered Prince. “Every one of you has ample reason for wanting to abandon me. And Daenerys Targaryen knows that sellswords are a fickle lot. Her own Second Sons and Stormcrows took Yunkish gold but did not hesitate to join her when the tide of battle began to flow her way.”

ADWD The Lost Lord

A ferocious southern sun beat down upon the crowded riverfront of Volon Therys, but heat was the last and least of Griff’s concerns. The Golden Company was encamped three miles south of town, well north of where he had expected them, and Triarch Malaquo had come north with five thousand foot and a thousand horse to cut them off from the delta road. Daenerys Targaryen remained a world away, and Tyrion Lannister … well, he could be most anywhere.

“The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we reached Queen Daenerys,” Lemore was saying.

“That was when we believed the girl was coming west. Our dragon queen has burned that plan to ash, and thanks to that fat fool in Pentos, we have grasped the she-dragon by the tail and burned our fingers to the bone.”

“Illyrio could not have been expected to know that the girl would choose to remain at Slaver’s Bay.”

“No more than he knew that the Beggar King would die young, or that Khal Drogo would follow him into the grave. Very little of what the fat man has anticipated has come to pass.”

“I assume you know that the Targaryen girl has not started for the west?”

“We heard that tale in Selhorys.”

“No tale. Simple truth. The why of it is harder to grasp. Sack Meereen, aye, why not? I would have done the same in her place. The slaver cities reek of gold, and conquest requires coin. But why linger? Fear? Madness? Sloth?”

“The why of it does not matter.” Harry Strickland unrolled a pair of striped woolen stockings. “She is in Meereen and we are here, where the Volantenes grow daily more unhappy with our presence. We came to raise up a king and queen who would lead us home to Westeros, but this Targaryen girl seems more intent on planting olive trees than in reclaiming her father’s throne. Meanwhile, her foes gather. Yunkai, New Ghis, Tolos. Bloodbeard and the Tattered Prince will both be in the field against her … and soon enough the fleets of Old Volantis will descend on her as well. What does she have? Bedslaves with sticks?”

“Unsullied,” said Griff. “And dragons.”

“Dragons, aye,” the captain-general said, “but young ones, hardly more than hatchlings.” Strickland eased his sock over his blisters and up his ankle. “How much will they avail her when all these armies close about her city like a fist?”

Tristan Rivers drummed his fingers on his knee. “All the more reason that we must reach her quickly, I say. If Daenerys will not come to us, we must go to Daenerys.”

“Can we walk across the waves, ser?” asked Lysono Maar. “I tell you again, we cannot reach the silver queen by sea. I slipped into Volantis myself, posing as a trader, to learn how many ships might be available to us. The harbor teems with galleys, cogs, and carracks of every sort and size, yet even so I soon found myself consorting with smugglers and pirates. We have ten thousand men in the company, as I am sure Lord Connington remembers from his years of service with us. Five hundred knights, each with three horses. Five hundred squires, with one mount apiece. And elephants, we must not forget the elephants. A pirate ship will not suffice. We would need a pirate fleet … and even if we found one, the word has come back from Slaver’s Bay that Meereen has been closed off by blockade.”

And then Prince Aegon spoke. “Then put your hopes on me,” he said. “Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon that you need.”

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon’s shoulder. “Spoken boldly,” he said, “but think what you are saying.”

“I have,” the lad insisted. “Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros.”

Franklyn Flowers laughed. “I like it. Sail west, not east. Leave the little queen to her olives and seat Prince Aegon upon the Iron Throne. The boy has stones, give him that.”

The captain-general looked as if someone had slapped his face. “Has the sun curdled your brains, Flowers? We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Without her, the lords will only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender. And how do you propose to get to Westeros? You heard Lysono. There are no ships to be had.”

“By now the lion surely has the dragon’s scent,” said one of the Coles, “but Cersei’s attentions will be fixed upon Meereen and this other queen. She knows nothing of our prince. Once we land and raise our banners, many and more will flock to join us.”

“Some,” allowed Homeless Harry, “not many. Rhaegar’s sister has dragons. Rhaegar’s son does not. We do not have the strength to take the realm without Daenerys and her army. Her Unsullied.”

“The first Aegon took Westeros without eunuchs,” said Lysono Maar. “Why shouldn’t the sixth Aegon do the same?”

“The plan—”

“Which plan?” said Tristan Rivers. “The fat man’s plan? The one that changes every time the moon turns? First Viserys Targaryen was to join us with fifty thousand Dothraki screamers at his back. Then the Beggar King was dead, and it was to be the sister, a pliable young child queen who was on her way to Pentos with three new-hatched dragons. Instead the girl turns up on Slaver’s Bay and leaves a string of burning cities in her wake, and the fat man decides we should meet her by Volantis. Now that plan is in ruins as well.

“I have had enough of Illyrio’s plans. Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne without the benefit of dragons. We can do the same. And if I am wrong and the realm does not rise for us, we can always retreat back across the narrow sea, as Bittersteel once did, and others after him.”

Strickland shook his head stubbornly. “The risk—”

“—is not what it was, now that Tywin Lannister is dead. The Seven Kingdoms will never be more ripe for conquest. Another boy king sits the Iron Throne, this one even younger than the last, and rebels are thick upon the ground as autumn leaves.”

ADWD Tyrion VI

“And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne … assuming that our fair Daenerys takes you for her consort.”

“She will. She must.”

“Must?” Tyrion made a tsking sound. “That is not a word queens like to hear. You are her perfect prince, agreed, bright and bold and comely as any maid could wish. Daenerys Targaryen is no maid, however. She is the widow of a Dothraki khal, a mother of dragons and sacker of cities, Aegon the Conqueror with teats. She may not prove as willing as you wish.”

“She’ll be willing.” Prince Aegon sounded shocked. It was plain that he had never before considered the possibility that his bride-to-be might refuse him. “You don’t know her.” He picked up his heavy horse and put it down with a thump.

The dwarf shrugged. “I know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad … a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet. Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, ‘Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I’ve been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I’ve washed the blue dye from my hair and I’d like a dragon, please … and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?’ ”

Aegon’s mouth twisted in fury. “I will not come to my aunt a beggar. I will come to her a kinsman, with an army.”

“A small army.” There, that’s made him good and angry. The dwarf could not help but think of Joffrey. I have a gift for angering princes. “Queen Daenerys has a large one, and no thanks to you.” Tyrion moved his crossbows.

“Say what you want. She will be my bride, Lord Connington will see to it. I trust him as much as if he were my own blood.”

“But,” Prince Aegon said, “without Daenerys and her dragons, how could we hope to win?”

“You do not need to win,” Tyrion told him. “All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours.”

“You said she might not have me.”

“Perhaps I overstated. She may take pity on you when you come begging for her hand.” The dwarf shrugged. “Do you want to wager your throne upon a woman’s whim? Go to Westeros, though … ah, then you are a rebel, not a beggar. Bold, reckless, a true scion of House Targaryen, walking in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror. A dragon.

“I told you, I know our little queen. Let her hear that her brother Rhaegar’s murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen, hard-pressed on every side … and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer. The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother’s son in his hour of peril. And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?”

“Then rouse him. We have tidings he’d best hear. The queen’s name is on every tongue in Selhorys. They say she still sits in Meereen, sore beset. If the talk in the markets can be believed, Old Volantis will soon join the war against her.”

Haldon pursed his lips. “The gossip of fishmongers is not to be relied on. Still, I suppose Griff will want to hear. You know how he is.” The Halfmaester went below.

The girl never started for the west. No doubt she had good reasons. Between Meereen and Volantis lay five hundred leagues of deserts, mountains, swamps, and ruins, plus Mantarys with its sinister repute. A city of monsters, they say, but if she marches overland, where else is she to turn for food and water? The sea would be swifter, but if she does not have the ships …

“That was another age. Come, we’d best hear what that priest is going on about. I swear I heard the name Daenerys.”

Across the square they joined the growing throng outside the red temple. With the locals towering above him on every hand, the little man found it hard to see much beyond their arses. He could hear most every word the priest was saying, but that was not to say he understood them. “Do you understand what he is saying?” he asked Haldon in the Common Tongue.

“I would if I did not have a dwarf piping in my ear.”

“I do not pipe.” Tyrion crossed his arms and looked behind him, studying the faces of the men and women who had stopped to listen. Everywhere he turned, he saw tattoos. Slaves. Four of every five of them are slaves.

“The priest is calling on the Volantenes to go to war,” the Halfmaester told him, “but on the side of right, as soldiers of the Lord of Light, R’hllor who made the sun and stars and fights eternally against the darkness. Nyessos and Malaquo have turned away from the light, he says, their hearts darkened by the yellow harpies from the east. He says …”

“Dragons. I understood that word. He said dragons.”

“Aye. The dragons have come to carry her to glory.”

“Her. Daenerys?”

Haldon nodded. “Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …”

“Do I have to be reborn in this same body?” asked Tyrion. The crowd was growing thicker. He could feel them pressing in around them. “Who is Benerro?”

Haldon raised an eyebrow. “High Priest of the red temple in Volantis. Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, First Servant of the Lord of Light, Slave of R’hllor.”

The only red priest Tyrion had ever known was Thoros of Myr, the portly, genial, wine-stained roisterer who had loitered about Robert’s court swilling the king’s finest vintages and setting his sword on fire for mêlées. “Give me priests who are fat and corrupt and cynical,” he told Haldon, “the sort who like to sit on soft satin cushions, nibble sweetmeats, and diddle little boys. It’s the ones who believe in gods who make the trouble.”

“What news from downriver? Will it be war?”

Qavo shrugged. “The Yunkai’i would have it so. They style themselves the Wise Masters. Of their wisdom I cannot speak, but they do not lack for cunning. Their envoy came to us with chests of gold and gems and two hundred slaves, nubile girls and smooth-skinned boys trained in the way of the seven sighs. I am told his feasts are memorable and his bribes lavish.”

“The Yunkishmen have bought your triarchs?”

“Only Nyessos.” Qavo removed the screen and studied the placement of Tyrion’s army. “Malaquo may be old and toothless, but he is a tiger still, and Doniphos will not be returned as triarch. The city thirsts for war.”

“Why?” wondered Tyrion. “Meereen is long leagues across the sea. How has this sweet child queen offended Old Volantis?”

“Sweet?” Qavo laughed. “If even half the stories coming back from Slaver’s Bay are true, this child is a monster. They say that she is blood-thirsty, that those who speak against her are impaled on spikes to die lingering deaths. They say she is a sorceress who feeds her dragons on the flesh of newborn babes, an oathbreaker who mocks the gods, breaks truces, threatens envoys, and turns on those who have served her loyally. They say her lust cannot be sated, that she mates with men, women, eunuchs, even dogs and children, and woe betide the lover who fails to satisfy her. She gives her body to men to take their souls in thrall.”

Oh, good, thought Tyrion. If she gives her body to me, she is welcome to my soul, small and stunted though it is.

“They say,” said Haldon. “By they, you mean the slavers, the exiles she drove from Astapor and Meereen. Mere calumnies.”

“The best calumnies are spiced with truth,” suggested Qavo, “but the girl’s true sin cannot be denied. This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver’s Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. Behind the Black Wall, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives. Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row our galleys, fight our battles. And now when they look east, they see this young queen shining from afar, this breaker of chains. The Old Blood cannot suffer that. Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation.”

Tyrion advanced his spearmen. Qavo replied with his light horse. Tyrion moved his crossbowmen up a square and said, “The red priest outside seemed to think Volantis should fight for this silver queen, not against her.”

“The red priests would be wise to hold their tongues,” said Qavo Nogarys. “Already there has been fighting between their followers and those who worship other gods. Benerro’s rantings will only serve to bring a savage wrath down upon his head.”

“What rantings?” the dwarf asked, toying with his rabble.

The Volantene waved a hand. “In Volantis, thousands of slaves and freedmen crowd the temple plaza every night to hear Benerro shriek of bleeding stars and a sword of fire that will cleanse the world. He has been preaching that Volantis will surely burn if the triarchs take up arms against the silver queen.”

“That’s a prophecy even I could make. Ah, supper.”

Supper was a plate of roasted goat served on a bed of sliced onions. The meat was spiced and fragrant, charred outside and red and juicy within. Tyrion plucked at a piece. It was so hot it burned his fingers, but so good he could not help but reach for another chunk. He washed it down with the pale green Volantene liquor, the closest thing he’d had to wine for ages. “Very good,” he said, plucking up his dragon. “The most powerful piece in the game,” he announced, as he removed one of Qavo’s elephants. “And Daenerys Targaryen has three, it’s said.”

“Three,” Qavo allowed, “against thrice three thousand enemies. Grazdan mo Eraz was not the only envoy sent out from the Yellow City. When the Wise Masters move against Meereen, the legions of New Ghis will fight beside them. Tolosi. Elyrians. Even the Dothraki.”

“You’re mine, Hugor.”

Tyrion could no more outrun him than outfight him. Drunk as he was, he could not even hope to outwit him. He spread his hands. “And what do you mean to do with me?”

“Deliver you,” the knight said, “to the queen.”

ADWD Davos II

The old fellow made a face. “Prince Viserys weren’t the only dragon, were he? Are we sure they killed Prince Rhaegar’s son? A babe, he was.”

“Wasn’t there some princess too?” asked a whore. She was the same one who’d said the meat was grey.

“Two,” said the old fellow. “One was Rhaegar’s daughter, t’other was his sister.”

“Daena,” said the riverman. “That was the sister. Daena of Dragon-stone. Or was it Daera?”

“Daena was old King Baelor’s wife,” said the oarsman. “I rowed on a ship named for her once. The Princess Daena.”

“If she was a king’s wife, she’d be a queen.”

“Baelor never had a queen. He was holy.”

“Don’t mean he never wed his sister,” said the whore. “He just never bedded her, is all. When they made him king, he locked her up in a tower. His other sisters too. There was three.”

“Daenela,” the proprietor said loudly. “That was her name. The Mad King’s daughter, I mean, not Baelor’s bloody wife.”

“Daenerys,” Davos said. “She was named for the Daenerys who wed the Prince of Dorne during the reign of Daeron the Second. I don’t know what became of her.”

"I do," said the man who'd started all the talk of dragons, a Braavosi oarsman in a somber woolen jack. "When we were down to Pentos we moored beside a trader called the Sloe-Eyed Maid, and I got to drinking with her captain's steward. He told me a pretty tale about some slip of a girl who come aboard in Qarth, to try and book passage back to Westeros for her and three dragons. Silver hair she had, and purple eyes. 'I took her to the captain my own self,' this steward swore to me, 'but he wasn't having none of that. There's more profit in cloves and saffron, he tells me, and spices won't set fire to your sails.' "

ADWD Tyrion III

Griff ignored the request. Instead he touched the letter to the candle flame and watched the parchment blacken, curl, and flare up. “There is blood between Targaryen and Lannister. Why would you support the cause of Queen Daenerys?”

“For gold and glory,” the dwarf said cheerfully. “Oh, and hate. If you had ever met my sister, you would understand.”

ADWD The Merchant's Man

That was before Prince Doran had summoned him to the Water Gardens. And now the most beautiful woman in the world was waiting in Meereen, and he meant to do his duty and claim her for his bride. She will not refuse me. She will honor the agreement. Daenerys Targaryen would need Dorne to win the Seven Kingdoms, and that meant that she would need him. It does not mean that she will love me, though. She may not even like me.

“Perhaps your silver queen would like a monkey,” said Gerris.

Quentyn had no idea what Daenerys Targaryen might like. He had promised his father that he would bring her back to Dorne, but more and more he wondered if he was equal to the task.

“And if Daenerys is dead before we reach her?” Quentyn said. “We must have a ship. Even if it is Adventure.”

Gerris laughed. “You must be more desperate for Daenerys than I knew if you’d endure that stench for months on end. After three days, I’d be begging them to murder me. No, my prince, I pray you, not Adventure.”

ADWD Tyrion II

“How many days until we reach the river?” he asked Illyrio that evening. “At this pace, your queen’s dragons will be larger than Aegon’s three before I can lay eyes upon them.”

“Would it were so. A large dragon is more fearsome than a small one.” The magister shrugged. “Much as it would please me to welcome Queen Daenerys to Volantis, I must rely on you and Griff for that. I can serve her best in Pentos, smoothing the way for her return. So long as I am with you, though … well, an old fat man must have his comforts, yes? Come, drink a cup of wine.”

“Tell me,” Tyrion said as he drank, “why should a magister of Pentos give three figs who wears the crown in Westeros? Where is the gain for you in this venture, my lord?”

The fat man dabbed grease from his lips. “I am an old man, grown weary of this world and its treacheries. Is it so strange that I should wish to do some good before my days are done, to help a sweet young girl regain her birthright?”

Next you will be offering me a suit of magic armor and a palace in Valyria. “If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.”

“Fear not, my little friend. The blood of Aegon the Dragon flows in her veins.”

Along with the blood of Aegon the Unworthy, Maegor the Cruel, and Baelor the Befuddled. “Tell me more of her.”

The fat man grew pensive. “Daenerys was half a child when she came to me, yet fairer even than my second wife, so lovely I was tempted to claim her for myself. Such a fearful, furtive thing, however, I knew I should get no joy from coupling with her. Instead I summoned a bed-warmer and fucked her vigorously until the madness passed. If truth be told, I did not think Daenerys would survive for long amongst the horselords.”

“That did not stop you selling her to Khal Drogo …”

“Dothraki neither buy nor sell. Say rather that her brother Viserys gave her to Drogo to win the khal’s friendship. A vain young man, and greedy. Viserys lusted for his father’s throne, but he lusted for Daenerys too, and was loath to give her up. The night before the princess wed he tried to steal into her bed, insisting that if he could not have her hand, he would claim her maidenhead. Had I not taken the precaution of posting guards upon her door, Viserys might have undone years of planning.”

“He sounds an utter fool.”

“Viserys was Mad Aerys’s son, just so. Daenerys … Daenerys is quite different.” He popped a roasted lark into his mouth and crunched it noisily, bones and all. “The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen. When I sent ships to bring her home, she turned toward Slaver’s Bay. In a short span of days she conquered Astapor, made Yunkai bend the knee, and sacked Meereen. Mantarys will be next, if she marches west along the old Valyrian roads. If she comes by sea, well … her fleet must take on food and water at Volantis.”

“For that matter, why would you? Slavery may be forbidden by the laws of Pentos, yet you have a finger in that trade as well, and maybe a whole hand. And yet you conspire for the dragon queen, and not against her. Why? What do you hope to gain from Queen Daenerys?”

“Are we back to that again? You are a persistent little man.” Illyrio gave a laugh and slapped his belly. “As you will. The Beggar King swore that I should be his master of coin, and a lordly lord as well. Once he wore his golden crown, I should have my choice of castles … even Casterly Rock, if I desired.”

Tyrion snorted wine back up the scarred stump that had been his nose. “My father would have loved to hear that.”

“Your lord father had no cause for concern. Why would I want a rock? My manse is large enough for any man, and more comfortable than your drafty Westerosi castles. Master of coin, though …” The fat man peeled another egg. “I am fond of coins. Is there any sound as sweet as the clink of gold on gold?”

A sister’s screams. “Are you quite certain that Daenerys will make good her brother’s promises?”

“She will, or she will not.” Illyrio bit the egg in half. “I told you, my little friend, not all that a man does is done for gain. Believe as you wish, but even fat old fools like me have friends, and debts of affection to repay.”

Liar, thought Tyrion. There is something in this venture worth more to you than coin or castles.

“I dreamed about the queen,” he said. “I was on my knees before her, swearing my allegiance, but she mistook me for my brother, Jaime, and fed me to her dragons.”

“Let us hope this dream was not prophetic. You are a clever imp, just as Varys said, and Daenerys will have need of clever men about her. Ser Barristan is a valiant knight and true; but none, I think, has ever called him cunning.”

“Knights know only one way to solve a problem. They couch their lances and charge. A dwarf has a different way of looking at the world. What of you, though? You are a clever man yourself.”

“You flatter me.” Illyrio waggled his hand. “Alas, I am not made for travel, so I will send you to Daenerys in my stead. You did Her Grace a great service when you slew your father, and it is my hope that you will do her many more. Daenerys is not the fool her brother was. She will make good use of you.”

“Our last news of Queen Daenerys is old and stale, I fear. By now she will have left Meereen, we must assume. She has her host at last, a ragged host of sellswords, Dothraki horselords, and Unsullied infantry, and she will no doubt lead them west, to take back her father’s throne.” Magister Illyrio twisted open a pot of garlic snails, sniffed at them, and smiled. “At Volantis, you will have fresh tidings of Daenerys, we must hope,” he said, as he sucked one from its shell. “Dragons and young girls are both capricious, and it may be that you will need to adjust your plans. Griff will know what to do. Will you have a snail? The garlic is from my own gardens.”

I could ride a snail and make a better pace than this litter of yours. Tyrion waved the dish away. “You place a deal of trust in this man Griff. Another friend of your childhood?”

“No. A sellsword, you would call him, but Westerosi born. Daenerys needs men worthy of her cause.”

“Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. When Maelys the Monstrous died upon the Stepstones, it was the end of the male line of House Blackfyre.” The cheesemonger smiled through his forked beard. “And Daenerys will give the exiles what Bittersteel and the Blackfyres never could. She will take them home.”

A Feast for Crows

AFFC Samwell V

He held back only the secrets that he was sworn to keep, about Bran Stark and his companions and the babes Jon Snow had swapped. “Daenerys is the only hope,” he concluded. “Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late.”

“Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy ... her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall.”

“Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy.” Marwyn turned his head and spat a gob of red phlegm onto the floor. “Not that I would trust it. Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is ... and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time.” He chewed a bit. “Still ...”

Alleras stepped up next to Sam. “Aemon would have gone to her if he had the strength. He wanted us to send a maester to her, to counsel her and protect her and fetch her safely home.”

AFFC The Princess in the Tower

“...He has gone to bring us back our heart’s desire.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What is our heart’s desire?”

“Vengeance.” His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. “Justice.” Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, “Fire and blood.”

AFFC Samwell IV

“No one ever looked for a girl,” he said. “It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought ... the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it.” Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. “I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger.”

“I will add my voice to yours, maester. We will both tell them, the two of us together.”

“No,” the old man said. “It must be you. Tell them. The prophecy ... my brother’s dream ... Lady Melisandre has misread the signs. Stannis ... Stannis has some of the dragon blood in him, yes. His brothers did as well. Rhaelle, Egg’s little girl, she was how they came by it ... their father’s mother ... she used to call me Uncle Maester when she was a little girl. I remembered that, so I allowed myself to hope ... perhaps I wanted to ... we all deceive ourselves, when we want to believe. Melisandre most of all, I think. The sword is wrong, she has to know that . . . light without heat ... an empty glamor ... the sword is wrong, and the false light can only lead us deeper into darkness, Sam. Daenerys is our hope. Tell them that, at the Citadel. Make them listen. They must send her a maester. Daenerys must be counseled, taught, protected. For all these years I’ve lingered, waiting, watching, and now that the day has dawned I am too old. I am dying, Sam.”

AFFC Cat of the Canals

Sometimes she brought back sailor’s tales, of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide wet world beyond the isles of Braavos, wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching.

AFFC The Reaver

“It was not the god who spoke. Euron is known to keep wizards and foul sorcerers on that red ship of his. They sent some spell among us, so we could not hear the sea. The captains and the kings were drunk with all this talk of dragons.”

“Drunk, and fearful of that horn. You heard the sound it made. It makes no matter. Euron is our king.”

“It is daring to sail out of sight of land, so no word of our coming could reach these islands before us,” he growled, “but crossing half the world to hunt for dragons, that is something else.”

“A king must have a wife, to give him heirs. Brother, I have need of you. Will you go to Slaver’s Bay and bring my love to me?”

“No, to make an heir that’s worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware.”

“What dragon?” said Victarion, frowning.

“The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silver-gold, and her eyes are amethysts ... but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver’s Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me.”

“Why should I?” Victarion demanded.

“For love. For duty. Because your king commands it.” Euron chuckled. “And for the Seastone Chair. It is yours, once I claim the Iron Throne. You shall follow me as I followed Balon ... and your own trueborn sons shall one day follow you.”

My own sons. But to have a trueborn son a man must first have a wife. Victarion had no luck with wives. Euron’s gifts are poisoned, he reminded himself, but still ...

“The choice is yours, brother. Live a thrall or die a king. Do you dare to fly? Unless you take the leap, you’ll never know.”

Euron’s smiling eye was bright with mockery. “Or do I ask too much of you? It is a fearsome thing to sail beyond Valyria.”

“I could sail the Iron Fleet to hell if need be.” When Victarion opened his hand, his palm was red with blood. “I’ll go to Slaver’s Bay, aye. I’ll find this dragon woman, and I’ll bring her back.” But not for you. You stole my wife and despoiled her, so I’ll have yours. The fairest woman in the world, for me.

AFFC The Drowned Man

“Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons.”

“And so shall we,” Euron Greyjoy promised. “That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call, and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments. The dragonlords of old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind dragons to my will.”

Asha laughed aloud. “A horn to bind goats to your will would be of more use, Crow’s Eye. There are no more dragons.”

“Again, girl, you are wrong. There are three, and I know where to find them. Surely that is worth a driftwood crown.”

AFFC Cersei V

“Do you have any news of more import?”

“The slave revolt in Astapor has spread to Meereen, it would seem. Sailors off a dozen ships speak of dragons ...”

“Harpies. It is harpies in Meereen.” She remembered that from somewhere. Meereen was at the far end of the world, out east beyond Valyria. “Let the slaves revolt. Why should I care? We keep no slaves in Westeros. Is that all you have for me?”

AFFC The Queenmaker

If the sailors could be believed, the east was seething with wonders and terrors: a slave revolt in Astapor, dragons in Qarth, grey plague in Yi Ti. A new corsair king had risen in the Basilisk Isles and raided Tall Trees Town, and in Qohor followers of the red priests had rioted and tried to burn down the Black Goat.

AFFC Cersei IV

I hesitate to take up the council’s time with trifles, but there has been some queer talk heard along the docks of late. Sailors from the east. They speak of dragons ...”

“... and manticores, no doubt, and bearded snarks?” Cersei chuckled. “Come back to me when you hear talk of dwarfs, my lord.”

AFFC Prologue

“The dragon has three heads,” he announced in his soft Dornish drawl.

“Is this a riddle?” Roone wanted to know. “Sphinxes always speak in riddles in the tales.”

“No riddle.” [...]

“No dragon has ever had three heads except on shields and banners,” Armen the Acolyte said firmly. “That was a heraldic charge, no more. Furthermore, the Targaryens are all dead.”

“Not all,” said Alleras. “The Beggar King had a sister.”

“I thought her head was smashed against a wall,” said Roone.

“No,” said Alleras. “It was Prince Rhaegar’s young son Aegon whose head was dashed against the wall by the Lion of Lannister’s brave men. We speak of Rhaegar’s sister, born on Dragonstone before its fall. The one they called Daenerys.”

“The Stormborn. I recall her now.” Mollander lifted his tankard high, sloshing the cider that remained. “Here’s to her!” He gulped, slammed his empty tankard down, belched, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where’s Rosey? Our rightful queen deserves another round of cider, wouldn’t you say?”

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Tyrion III

The eunuch drew a parchment from his sleeve. “A kraken has been seen off the Fingers.” He giggled. “Not a Greyjoy, mind you, a true kraken. It attacked an Ibbenese whaler and pulled it under. There is fighting on the Stepstones, and a new war between Tyrosh and Lys seems likely. Both hope to win Myr as ally. Sailors back from the Jade Sea report that a three-headed dragon has hatched in Qarth, and is the wonder of that city—”

“Dragons and krakens do not interest me, regardless of the number of their heads,” said Lord Tywin. “Have your whisperers perchance found some trace of my brother’s son?”

“Alas, our beloved Tyrek has quite vanished, the poor brave lad.” Varys sounded close to tears.

“Tywin,” Ser Kevan said, before Lord Tywin could vent his obvious displeasure, “some of the gold cloaks who deserted during the battle have drifted back to barracks, thinking to take up duty once again. Ser Addam wishes to know what to do with them.”

“They might have endangered Joff with their cowardice,” Cersei said at once. “I want them put to death.”

Varys sighed. “They have surely earned death, Your Grace, none can deny it. And yet, perhaps we might be wiser to send them to the Night’s Watch. We have had disturbing messages from the Wall of late. Of wildlings astir ...”

“Wildlings, krakens, and dragons.” Mace Tyrell chuckled. “Why, is there anyone not stirring?”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Bran I

“Wolves often howl at the moon. These are howling at the comet. See how bright it is, Bran? Perchance they think it is the moon.”

When Bran repeated that to Osha, she laughed aloud. “Your wolves have more wit than your maester,” the wildling woman said. “They know truths the grey man has forgotten.” The way she said it made him shiver, and when he asked what the comet meant, she answered, “Blood and fire, boy, and nothing sweet.”

Bran asked Septon Chayle about the comet while they were sorting through some scrolls snatched from the library fire. “It is the sword that slays the season,” he replied, and soon after the white raven came from Oldtown bringing word of autumn, so doubtless he was right.

Though Old Nan did not think so, and she’d lived longer than any of them. “Dragons,” she said, lifting her head and sniffing. She was near blind and could not see the comet, yet she claimed she could smell it. “It be dragons, boy,” she insisted.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Eddard XIII

“The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right … that’s why, the girl … the gods sent the boar … sent to punish me …” The king coughed, bringing up blood. “Wrong, it was wrong, I … only a girl … Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother … worthless … no one to tell me no but you, Ned … only you …” He lifted his hand, the gesture pained and feeble. “Paper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you.”

“The girl,” the king said. “Daenerys. Let her live. If you can, if it … not too late … talk to them … Varys, Littlefinger … don’t let them kill her. And help my son, Ned. Make him be … better than me.”

Certainly Varys had once been young. Ned doubted that he had ever been innocent. “You mention children. Robert had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Whatever arrangements you made, I want unmade. At once.”

“Alas,” said Varys. “At once may be too late. I fear those birds have flown. But I shall do what I can, my lord. With your leave.”

AGOT Eddard X

“The Targaryen girl—”

The king groaned. “Seven hells, don’t start with her again. That’s done, I’ll hear no more of it.”

“Why would you want me as your Hand, if you refuse to listen to my counsel?”

“Why?” Robert laughed. “Why not? Someone has to rule this damnable kingdom.”

AGOT Eddard VIII

“Robert, I beg of you,” Ned pleaded, “hear what you are saying. You are talking of murdering a child.”

“The whore is pregnant!” The king’s fist slammed down on the council table loud as a thunderclap. “I warned you this would happen, Ned. Back in the barrowlands, I warned you, but you did not care to hear it. Well, you’ll hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them dead.”

The other councillors were all doing their best to pretend that they were somewhere else. No doubt they were wiser than he was. Eddard Stark had seldom felt quite so alone. “You will dishonor yourself forever if you do this.”

“Then let it be on my head, so long as it is done. I am not so blind that I cannot see the shadow of the axe when it is hanging over my own neck.”

“There is no axe,” Ned told his king. “Only the shadow of a shadow, twenty years removed … if it exists at all.”

“If?” Varys asked softly, wringing powdered hands together. “My lord, you wrong me. Would I bring lies to king and council?”

Ned looked at the eunuch coldly. “You would bring us the whisperings of a traitor half a world away, my lord. Perhaps Mormont is wrong. Perhaps he is lying.”

“Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me,” Varys said with a sly smile. “Rely on it, my lord. The princess is with child.”

“So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If she births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we need not fear.”

“But if it is a boy?” Robert insisted. “If he lives?”

“The narrow sea would still lie between us. I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water.”

The king took a swallow of wine and glowered at Ned across the council table. “So you would counsel me to do nothing until the dragonspawn has landed his army on my shores, is that it?”

“This ‘dragonspawn’ is in his mother’s belly,” Ned said. “Even Aegon did no conquering until after he was weaned.”

“Gods! You are stubborn as an aurochs, Stark.” The king looked around the council table. “Have the rest of you mislaid your tongues? Will no one talk sense to this frozen-faced fool?”

Varys gave the king an unctuous smile and laid a soft hand on Ned’s sleeve. “I understand your qualms, Lord Eddard, truly I do. It gave me no joy to bring this grievous news to council. It is a terrible thing we contemplate, a vile thing. Yet we who presume to rule must do vile things for the good of the realm, howevermuch it pains us.”

Lord Renly shrugged. “The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn.”

“Mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly,” Ned replied. “On the Trident, Ser Barristan here cut down a dozen good men, Robert’s friends and mine. When they brought him to us, grievously wounded and near death, Roose Bolton urged us to cut his throat, but your brother said, ‘I will not kill a man for loyalty, nor for fighting well,’ and sent his own maester to tend Ser Barristan’s wounds.” He gave the king a long cool look. “Would that man were here today.”

Robert had shame enough to blush. “It was not the same,” he complained. “Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard.”

“Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl.” Ned knew he was pushing this well past the point of wisdom, yet he could not keep silent. “Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?”

“To put an end to Targaryens!” the king growled.

“Your Grace, I never knew you to fear Rhaegar.” Ned fought to keep the scorn out of his voice, and failed. “Have the years so unmanned you that you tremble at the shadow of an unborn child?”

Robert purpled. “No more, Ned,” he warned, pointing. “Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?”

“No, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Have you?”

“Enough!” the king bellowed. “I am sick of talk. I’ll be done with this, or be damned. What say you all?”

“She must be killed,” Lord Renly declared.

“We have no choice,” murmured Varys. “Sadly, sadly …”

Ser Barristan Selmy raised his pale blue eyes from the table and said, “Your Grace, there is honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother’s womb. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard.”

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes. “My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?” He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. “Is it not wiser, even kinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?”

“Kinder,” Varys said. “Oh, well and truly spoken, Grand Maester. It is so true. Should the gods in their caprice grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm must bleed.”

Littlefinger was the last. As Ned looked to him, Lord Petyr stifled a yawn. “When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it,” he declared. “Waiting won’t make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it.”

“Kiss her?” Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

“A steel kiss,” said Littlefinger.

Robert turned to face his Hand. “Well, there it is, Ned. You and Selmy stand alone on this matter. The only question that remains is, who can we find to kill her?”

“Mormont craves a royal pardon,” Lord Renly reminded them.

“Desperately,” Varys said, “yet he craves life even more. By now, the princess nears Vaes Dothrak, where it is death to draw a blade. If I told you what the Dothraki would do to the poor man who used one on a khaleesi, none of you would sleep tonight.” He stroked a powdered cheek. “Now, poison … the tears of Lys, let us say. Khal Drogo need never know it was not a natural death.”

Grand Maester Pycelle’s sleepy eyes flicked open. He squinted suspiciously at the eunuch.

“Poison is a coward’s weapon,” the king complained.

Ned had heard enough. “You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least.”

“Gods,” the king swore, the word exploding out of him as if he could barely contain his fury. “You mean it, damn you.” He reached for the flagon of wine at his elbow, found it empty, and flung it away to shatter against the wall. “I am out of wine and out of patience. Enough of this. Just have it done.”

“I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it.”

“After you stormed out, it was left to me to convince them not to hire the Faceless Men,” he continued blithely. “Instead Varys will quietly let it be known that we’ll make a lord of whoever does in the Targaryen girl.”

Ned was disgusted. “So now we grant titles to assassins.”

Littlefinger shrugged. “Titles are cheap. The Faceless Men are expensive. If truth be told, I did the Targaryen girl more good than you with all your talk of honor. Let some sellsword drunk on visions of lordship try to kill her. Likely he’ll make a botch of it, and afterward the Dothraki will be on their guard. If we’d sent a Faceless Man after her, she’d be as good as buried.”

AGOT Eddard IV

“Why should Tyrion Lannister want Bran dead? The boy has never done him harm.”

“Do you Starks have nought but snow between your ears?” Littlefinger asked. “The Imp would never have acted alone.”

Ned rose and paced the length of the room. “If the queen had a role in this or, gods forbid, the king himself … no, I will not believe that.” Yet even as he said the words, he remembered that chill morning on the barrowlands, and Robert’s talk of sending hired knives after the Targaryen princess. He remembered Rhaegar’s infant son, the red ruin of his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darry’s audience hall not so long ago. He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.

AGOT Eddard II

“Do you remember Ser Jorah Mormont?”

“Would that I might forget him,” Ned said bluntly. The Mormonts of Bear Island were an old house, proud and honorable, but their lands were cold and distant and poor. Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king’s justice. Five years had passed since then.

“Ser Jorah is now in Pentos, anxious to earn a royal pardon that would allow him to return from exile,” Robert explained. “Lord Varys makes good use of him.”

“So the slaver has become a spy,” Ned said with distaste. He handed the letter back. “I would rather he become a corpse.”

“Varys tells me that spies are more useful than corpses,” Robert said. “Jorah aside, what do you make of his report?”

“Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Shall we send her a wedding gift?”

The king frowned. “A knife, perhaps. A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it.”

Ned did not feign surprise; Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.” Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna’s death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.

This time, Ned resolved to keep his temper. “Your Grace, the girl is scarcely more than a child. You are no Tywin Lannister, to slaughter innocents.” It was said that Rhaegar’s little girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin’s soldiers had torn him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall.

“And how long will this one remain an innocent?” Robert’s mouth grew hard. “This child will soon enough spread her legs and start breeding more dragonspawn to plague me.”

“Nonetheless,” Ned said, “the murder of children … it would be vile … unspeakable …”

“Unspeakable?” the king roared. “What Aerys did to your brother Brandon was unspeakable. The way your lord father died, that was unspeakable. And Rhaegar … how many times do you think he raped your sister? How many hundreds of times?” His voice had grown so loud that his horse whinnied nervously beneath him. The king jerked the reins hard, quieting the animal, and pointed an angry finger at Ned. “I will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on, until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I will piss on their graves.”

Ned knew better than to defy him when the wrath was on him. If the years had not quenched Robert’s thirst for revenge, no words of his would help. “You can’t get your hands on this one, can you?” he said quietly.

The king’s mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. “No, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them, and now he’s handed them over to the Dothraki. I should have had them both killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him.”

“Jon Arryn was a wise man and a good Hand.”

Robert snorted. The anger was leaving him as suddenly as it had come. “This Khal Drogo is said to have a hundred thousand men in his horde. What would Jon say to that?”

“He would say that even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, so long as they remain on the other side of the narrow sea,” Ned replied calmly. “The barbarians have no ships. They hate and fear the open sea.”

The king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Perhaps. There are ships to be had in the Free Cities, though. I tell you, Ned, I do not like this marriage. There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. Do you forget how many houses fought for Targaryen in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If the beggar king crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the traitors will join him.”

“He will not cross,” Ned promised. “And if by some mischance he does, we will throw him back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East—”

The king groaned. “For the last time, I will not name the Arryn boy Warden. I know the boy is your nephew, but with Targaryens climbing in bed with Dothraki, I would be mad to rest one quarter of the realm on the shoulders of a sickly child.”

AGOT Bran III

He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise.

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greasygyeom · 4 years

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Title: Blame it on Me [Part I: Congratulations you got promoted!]

By: GreasyGyeom

Summary: what is someone supposed to do when they have to choose between the love of their life and the career of their dreams.

Word Count: 8.2k

Yugyeom x Reader / Angst, smut..more angst. (i use noona but just pretend it’s y/n)

Warnings: Mature content please read only if 18+

Author’s Note: i am back after another year yay! hope you like it!! if you do leave an ask or write in your tags. i love hearing from you guys! tell me if it made you feel something. if there’s spelling errors, let me know hahaha. love you guys and thank you for reading.

Read Part II here

[I]

Your heart felt heavy. It shouldn’t have. You should have wanted to celebrate. You’d just been offered a promotion. After giving your 200 percent for the past four years, you deserve the recognition, you deserve the pay-scale, you deserve everything your new title has to offer you, but instead it left you with tears of melancholy. It had left you at a fork in the road you didn't ask for. A choice you didn’t want to make.

The breeze you felt on your face, standing on the roof of your office building was cold, but you could hardly process it.

You made your first phone call, after the meeting, to your best friend; to give her the ‘good news’.

It was an unscheduled call, and those were for emergencies only, so instead of beating around the bush you chose to open with it.

“I have….. good news, I guess. I got promoted” you said, feeling the weight of those words like falling bricks shattering a windshield.

There was no lustre to the statement and she knew something was not right. “This is not how you tell people you got promoted bro. Something’s up. Tell me?”

“I get promoted only if I transfer to the London office.”

The news would have affected your friend only positively, because she already was miles away from you. It wouldn’t have theoretically mattered to her what part of the world you FaceTimed her from. But, she also immediately understood your unpleasant mood.

“Oh. That’s a tough spot,” she replied, “have you told Yugyeom yet?”

“No. I’ve just told you, right now. I don’t want to tell him without making a decision. This is fucking awful.”

You were on the verge of crying, so you pulled out your pack of smokes and lit one.

“Okay, that’s one way to look at it, but from another perspective, if you go with the decision and it’s a decision he doesn’t like, it might not end well. He might feel left out?”

“Neither of the two options here have a good ending man.”

“How long do you have till you decide?”

“They gave me two weeks.”

“Look, I know congratulations is probably not what you want to hear right now, but you fucking got promoted, okay? That’s a big deal. They want you to head an entire division in one of their best offices. That’s massive. And I know you love Yugyeom, but I also know how long you’ve busted your ass for this; so I’m going to support whatever decision you make. But don’t keep this from him. Delaying this will not solve anything at all.”

“I fucking hate this universe. Can I not once have everything I want without having to make these awful decisions.”

You knew you were at a risk of being called ungrateful and by everyone who didn't have the same opportunity. There were colleagues of yours who would throw themselves at a chance like this. But it was a little more complicated on the other side of the fence for you.

You wanted the job, you so badly wanted it. For every second of every day since graduating with a degree in visual design, all you wanted was to become an Art Director. But, you were also in a loving relationship with a boy who held your entire heart in the palm of his hand. He was considerate and caring and kind and he gave you everything you had deemed yourself unworthy of. He changed the way you saw yourself and filled your life with laughter. That was the choice you had to make —between what you always wanted that you now had a door to walk through and claim and what you thought you’d never have, which you might have to give up. And the way you saw it, it would have been easier to decide between life and death.

Death, you would choose death.

Just having to go back inside and accept everyone’s well wishes and scoffs alike, was making you sick to your stomach, but you somehow managed to power through it. What you truly dreaded, was facing the love of your life. Because there was going to be no easy way to do this.

That night when you went home, tired and distraught, your boyfriend was there to hold you in his arms. You had kind of hoped that you wouldn’t have to face him, at least today, so there was an overwhelming amount of remorse when you flopped into his arms, on the couch.

“Aww...my baby is tired?”

You’d tried your very best to remove all evidence of having mourned silently on the metro ride while coming back.

“Very very tired.” you sighed.

He pulled you closer, getting you more comfortable in his embrace.

“How come you’re home? It’s just 8pm?” you inquired.

He was the principal choreographer at one of the most prestigious dance academies in the city and usually his days ran late creating new routines for Broadway shows and idols. You were so incredibly proud of him and everything he had done for his career; especially having seen him grow as a person and as an artist for the past three years. But his long hours had led to some harsh conversations and you just found it hilarious that the one time you wished his work would run later than usual, so you wouldn’t have to face him, is the one time he was home early.

“Heyyy... you’re making me sound bad.”

“Noooo I don’t mean it like that! I just mean, it’s not often you’re home at this time. You’re usually locking up the studio.”

“Yeah rehearsal got called off today. I thought you’d be happier than this to see me home.”

“Baby, I am!”

Even though you had hoped for some time alone to collect yourself, finding him sitting, waiting for you on the couch, felt warm and welcoming - like the second home you were trying to escape to, because your original terrain was turning hostile.

“I'm really happy to see you.” You nuzzled his nose, “I promise.”

“Okay I'll believe you this time. What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t think I’m hungry, baby.”

“Nonsense.”

“Really, Yugyeom, I don’t think I can eat.”

“But I’m so hungry. I was waiting for you” he pouted. You stroked his cheek, while he spoke, taking in every little detail of his face and leaned in to kiss him.

When his soft lips touched yours, you felt your shoulders give up all the worries they had carried around the whole day, but your mind almost immediately started accumulating the guilt of deciding to not tell him anything for now.

You wanted to ignore it, but the more he grabbed onto your body, the louder the voice in your head became, until you forced yourself apart.

“You need to eat first. I thought you were hungry?” You poked your tongue out, playfully, faking a giggle.

“Yeah, I can eat your pussy” he replied seductively

“Yugyeom!”

He did that often — making you flush with embarrassment, while talking dirty to you. It was his favourite hobby. The more inappropriate the setting, the better.

He knew just how shy you were about dirty talk and how your sexting game was not something you could brag about. But, while with ex-boyfriends you would immediately get put-off and awkward, he had the exact opposite effect on you.

Just the way he’d say some things – always with a teasing half-smirk on his face, and that strawberry voice fluctuating between sour and sweet, sending shivers down your body – would make you go red in the face. Instead of wanting to conclude the dinner at appetisers you ended up wanting to take him home for an ‘innocent’ cup of coffee.

He used and abused this information, to his advantage, every chance he got.

The same couldn’t be said once you were engaged in the act though, because he’d heard you say some sentences that would give a sweet, old pensioner a heart attack.

Letting out a loud laugh, he put his entire weight on you, leaving you no room to escape and truth be told, you didn’t want to escape either.

“You look distracted noona, is everything okay?”

“Uhh...yeah…”

“That would have been believable, but you’ve been frowning for the past ten minutes” he responded, touching the crease lines on your forehead.

“Kiss me, please.” you whispered, coiling your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He caught your lips between his and stroked your cheeks.

When he pulled away, lips red and swollen, he smiled, “I love you”.

“I love you too, so so much.”

He sat back and pulled you up with him. “I’m going to order some food. How about you take a nice warm shower till then? I might even hop in, you know, save some water.”

“Where is this ‘save water’ philosophy when I’m running late in the morning and you’re hogging up the bathroom?”

“I never said you can’t join me. It wouldn’t be the first time anyway.”

“At 8 am? Can’t risk it.”

“Why? I can be quick.”

He’d successfully got you all flustered again.

“Oh my god, just order the chicken.” You rolled your eyes, “And I’m going to lock the door so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Aah so cruel.” He replied, dramatically holding his chest like you’d stabbed him.

All this happiness and normalcy that you were faking was emotionally draining; you needed twenty minutes of solace to silently cry it out while the hot water rained on you.

Debating on whether or not to just rip the bandaid and get it over with, you came to the futile conclusion that right now, you just couldn’t. You needed to be prepared, to weigh all the options; to play out all possible outcomes of your potential decision and find all the answers to the difficult questions that you would have to face later. All this overthinking required some time, so you had to keep the secret a little longer.

You went into the kitchen, after slipping into your pajamas, to help Yugyeom.

“Is the food here?”

“No, I’m just setting everything up.”

You grabbed the two plates he’d kept out, only to be scolded by him.

“Noona, I’ll get everything, just pick something to watch.”

“It’s okay, I can carry two plates.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’d like it if you didn’t?”

You chuckled and headed back into the living room.

The food delivery reached you halfway through an episode of Good Girls. So you ate your super spicy wings, while he ate the rice bowl he’d been craving, completely engrossed in the show. By the time you reached the third episode you were so full, you rested your head in his lap, sleepy beyond your control.

“I should never believe you when you say you don’t want to eat” he suddenly said, running his fingers through your hair.

“I stress ate, I think, that’s worse”.

“What’s stressing you out, baby?”

“Rio” You pouted.

“Really. You’re telling me you stress ate because of a fictional gang banger? Actually, no, I take it back. That’s totally believable.”

“Yes, exactly, that fictional gang banger has a neck tattoo.”

“He has a fake neck tattoo. I have a real one on my back.” He sassed.

“Oh whatever, you’re just jealous.”

“Nah… I mean… He could try but I can actually kiss you.”

You laughed squeamishly when he started planting kisses all over your face, then asked you in a more serious tone. “Seriously noona, you look very down today.”

“It’s nothing just…. work.”

“You work too hard, I think you need a vacation. You wanna take friday off and go to the beach over the weekend?”

Unbeknownst to himself, his innocent remarks immediately unraveled the little cocoon you’d stitched around yourself. You wanted to trick your brain into believing, even if for a little while, that everything around you at that moment was not gloomy and dark. But as soon as his words registered, an alarm rang through your body; escalating your heartbeat and breaking you out in sweat.

The sudden change in your physical appearance derailed his chain of thought.

“You’re suddenly sweating so much? Are you getting a panic attack?” he asked, aware of your history with anxiety disorders.

“No, I’m fine,” you lied.

“Then is it a fever?” He placed his hand on your forehead and then on his, to tentatively compare his body temperature to yours.

“It seems okay” he mumbled then spoke to you. “Get up, I’m going to get the thermometer.”

“I’m okay, Yugyeom. I’m sure I’m not sick.”

“I’m getting the thermometer.”

Begrudgingly, you moved out of his way, sitting upright, your heart slowly returning to normal speed.

He came back five minutes later, and after thorough inspection, came upon the conclusion that your body temperature was no higher than normal.

“Happy now? I told you I’m okay.”

“I just wanted to be sure.”

“Or you could have just believed me.”

“Noona?”

“I’m… gonna go to bed” you replied, catching up with and simultaneously getting horrified by the unnecessary aggression in your tone.

“Okay.” he complied, “I’ll clear everything up here and see you in ten minutes.

The way you suddenly snapped at him, was unexpected, but only because you hadn’t behaved this irrationally in a long time.

The last time it happened was when he’d been dating you for a little while and you were terrified of accepting your feelings for him.

In most cases, you were a rather level-headed, logical person. While you couldn’t do anything about being an emotional being, you still regulated the role it played in decision making.

However, the fear of committing to being so effortlessly in love with someone had paralysed you so intensely, it had caused your mind to lash out.

He knew about all this because much, much later you had apologised for hurting him in that battle with yourself. He’d stuck by you when you had tried your hardest to push him away. And you had felt compelled to right that wrong, even though you both had moved past it. His decision to not walk away had been instrumental in helping your relationship grow into the most magnificent forest of love.

He hadn’t experienced this unexplained, irrational irritability since that time, but he chose not to bring it up when he slipped under the sheets.

“Will you be my tiny spoon?” he asked, even though you were facing the wall already.

Without a word you turned around and scooted close enough that you could bury your face in his bare chest. He liked sleeping in his boxers.

A small smile settled on his face. “Goodnight, noona.”

“Goodnight baby. I’m...sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know you’ll figure it out ... whatever it is.”

“I hope so.” you replied, defeatedly, knowing full well that one way or another ‘figuring it out’ was going to break something for you.

The next two days were dull and dark. You smoked a lot, cried a lot, avoided Yugyeom a lot, amongst other mundane routines.

You were on the precipice of adding a third day to the list, but around noon you received a call from Jinyoung – Yugyeom’s senior/ colleague/ childhood friend and by extension now your friend; and he unwantedly altered your ‘gloomy clouds and violent seas’ moodboard to ‘a chill night out in town’.

Since no was never an option with Jinyoung, you ended up going for dinner and a movie with some of Yugyeom’s friends and, to be honest, it wasn’t as bad as you had expected it to be. There were so many people you hadn’t seen in such a long time, it did take your mind off of all the overthinking it had been doing for some hours and as a surprise cherry on top, kept you away from your boyfriend.

By the end of the night you were so tired and tipsy, the only memory that remained of being back home was falling onto the bed and then being tucked in.

The hangover, experienced by you, the following morning was not something you wanted to add to your already substantial list of inconveniences for the day, but it seemed almost inevitable at that point. When you rolled out of bed, he’d left for work and kept out a hangover shake in the kitchen, for you.

“Oh goddammit why could you have not been a douchebag.” You muttered in frustration.

You were angry at your boyfriend for being caring. That’s where you were at in your life. You were so cowardly that you were wishing he’d become an asshole so you could hate him and make it easier on yourself.

It wasn’t a pleasant place to be in.

Fast forward to the weekend, you were painstakingly aware of how little time you had with your wishy-washy-bullshit procrastination. Subconsciously you were aware of the choice you were going to have to make, whether you liked it or not, you just didn’t want to make it.

In the past week, every time your boss called you into the office or crossed you in the corridor you felt this overwhelming pressure, like you were being an ungrateful employee for taking so long to give an answer. And since you hadn’t yet told Yugyeom, who probably was the only person who should have been made aware of the situation the day it had transpired, it made everything even shittier.

You felt like asphalt laid out on the ground ready to get bulldozed.

“Are you sure you’re okay noona?” He asked, worry lines strewn all across his face as he once again caught you floating in your own world, on a very sunny Saturday morning, frowning at nothing in particular.

“I’m okay. I think. Maybe anxiety is catching up with me.”

“Do you want to visit your therapist?”

“Not right now… but, if it continues for longer than a month, I will. I can handle it”, you lied.

He gave you a small peck on the forehead, his way of offering comfort before asking if you needed anything from the convenience store.

You thought about it for 30 seconds before sighing “No, I’m good.”

He felt helpless when you got into this state of mind. But he also knew the best thing he could possibly do was give you your space and silence. You’d been together for three years and he didn’t know he could love someone so much. Even though, sometimes, it came with it’s own curve balls, he was willing to deal with them; because being with you was better than being without.

He knew in his heart that something was wrong. But forcing it out of you was not what he wanted to do, no matter how much he wanted to know or help. Throughout your relationship, you had prided yourself in the fact that you both were always transparent with each other. Sure, it had led to minor disagreements, but choosing to never hide information, out of respect for the other person, was something you both mutually believed in.

So it came as a bit of a shock to him when he ran into your work friend, while buying kitchen supplies and they divulged some information he had not been made privy to.

Needless to say, it didn’t sit well with him, but everything he’d observed about you in the past week suddenly made sense. He didn’t know how to process the information, so he bought the groceries and went back home to find you frowning, just as he’d left you.

“Oh, you’re back already?” You faked a smile, looking at your faint reflection in the window, to make sure you didn’t look like a mess after having cried in his absence.

“Yeah, I just went to buy some ramen and eggs.” He replied. “And I ran into Ahn, from your work.”

“Nice.” The repercussions of that happen stance didn't cross your mind.

“Yeah… yeah. He told me some interesting stuff.”

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“He told me that my girlfriend was moving to London?”

You physically felt your heart fall to the base of your gut as your chest cavity tightened and it became difficult to breathe, all in less than a span of sixty seconds.

“Funny right. And he told me to congratulate you on your promotion since he has been out of town and hasn’t been able to do it himself yet. Apparently it’s been the biggest source of gossip this week because everyone knows about it.”

You sensed the iciness in his voice and were ready to launch yourself out of the window you were crying by earlier.

“Yugyeom....”

“What I don’t understand is why I heard about it for the first time from some random dude I’ve met once in my life for 2 seconds, instead of you.”

“Because, I – it’s not that simple.”

Your statement was met with silence. He didn’t look angry, he looked hurt and betrayed. He had the same face when he found out Belgian chocolate shakes weren’t necessarily always made with chocolates made in Belgium.

You wanted to just casually dissipate into golden dust.

“I might not have all day for this,'' he said, standing on the other side of the countertop.

When you still didn’t talk, because you were trying to squash your tears to avoid a pour out, he moved to leave the kitchen-dining area.

“No, Yugyeom! Please don’t leave ”, you begged.

“Then talk to me.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it. I’ve been trying every day.”

“It’s been a whole week. Seven days. You’ve known this for seven days.”

“It’s been five,” you sobbed, mutedly. “Okay… okay okay….” If you didnt let it out now, your chances of undoing the wedge that was now lodged between you two, were very low. So you began,

“I was offered the position of Art Director at the London office. I have one more week to give them a reply. And I don’t know what to do. There that’s all of it.”

“That took about three sentences and two minutes. Congratulations, noona,” he replied but his tone sounded the opposite of what encouragement would feel like.

He could feel his ears turn red and a sudden lack of oxygen in his lungs.

Without another word, he picked up his jacket and walked out, before the claustrophobia he felt in his own house worsened.

You saw his tall, lean frame close the door and your dam of emotions burst, like it was made out of twigs. There was no reason to pretend anymore — what you knew would happen, did happen. Could it have been avoided, yes, definitely; but at least, the cat was out of the bag.

You waited for him to come back, in spite of knowing how foolish and naive it was to think he’d come back any time soon. You had sent him a dozen messages and calls, all of which he’d chosen to ignore.

So you had to resort to contacting his friends, just to know if he was safe. Mark, Youngjae and Jinyoung were out of town on a business trip, Jackson hadn’t seen him since the movie night, Jaebeom was at the studio and hadn’t heard from him, which left BamBam. You prayed as you called him, for him to have answers regarding Yugyeom’s whereabouts

“Yeah he’s with me, don’t worry. He’s trying to get drunk, but I’m diluting all of his drinks.”

“What? It’s two in the afternoon!”

“What else did you expect? I’ll send him home in one piece.”

“Bam, I really need to talk to him.”

“I know, I know. He told me what happened. He’s… you know.”

“Yeah… I know. Thanks for keeping him safe.”

“Of course I’ll keep him safe, he’s my best friend. I’m also a bit mad at you, just by the way, but we’ll hash it out later- depending on how things go between you two.”

“I understand.”

“I’m gonna go back inside now before he hulks out and breaks some shit. Try to get some rest, okay? Don’t worry about him.”

“Thanks, I’ll try.”

You then heard a soft click and the line went silent.

At around five and much to your surprise, Jaebeom landed up at your doorstep.

Something didn’t seem right; because yes, you got along with him extremely well and had become good friends over the years, but he would never leave the studio in the middle of the day, especially when Yugyeom hadn’t come in. This was absolutely out of character for him.

“I got you some dumplings and kimbap.” He announced after you buzzed him in.

“I’m not really hungry.” You moaned, slouching back into the same position you had been in for the last several hours.

“You’ve been on that couch since morning, haven't you?”

His question was met with cricket noises.

“Yo, listen. I’m not leaving until you have two pieces of each, at least. I will chew your ear out until you do. I know you haven’t eaten anything.”

That's when it hit you, that wasn’t him talking that was Yugyeom talking through him.

“Jae... did Yugyeom ask you to bring this stuff?”

“Would anything change if he did?”

“For fucks sake… seriously?” You were definitely angry, but not sure at what anymore.

“He was worried you wouldn’t eat, so he told me to get you some food.”

“Even when he’s mad at me he has to be a fucking saint.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No, I’m fucking pissed. I know I was wrong but I’d much rather he fight with me than this passive aggressive shit.”

“I know.” He replied, “But…. I also know you know he’s not here because he doesn’t want to talk about it, just as much as you didn’t. Talking about it means he has to be there when you choose between him and your job. I don’t think he wants to hear it.”

“He’s just assuming I’m going?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well fuck if I knew then I wouldn’t be crying about it would I?”

“Dude I know this is hard for you, but don’t lie to yourself about it. I know you want to go to London, that’s why this is so difficult.”

“But I don’t wanna go without Yugyeom.”

He went back into the kitchen where he had placed all the food and brought it over to the coffee table.

“Yes, but what if you have to?” he then asked.

Holding a conversation with Jaebeom was like staring at the blunt edge of a knife and hoping you wouldn’t get cut just by looking at it for too long. He was this pool of wisdom you could turn to, to reflect, but since he never learned how to sugar coat things, sometimes his words could get difficult to swallow; just like right now.

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes, but what if you have to.”

You turned to look away from him, because you knew too well what the answer to that was, you just didn’t want to say it out loud.

He read your silence and thought it best to give you your space.

“I’m going to keep everything here. Please eat and drink some water too. You’re going to get dehydrated otherwise. I’ll check up on you when I’m back at the academy. And I’ll be damn pissed if you waste any of those dumplings.”

“Fine.” You absent-mindedly replied having no intention of actually going through with it.

“It’s not for Yugyeom, it’s for me.”

You watched him leave and buried yourself under the blanket again. It wasn’t out of ego that you didn’t eat, it was more so the nausea and headache that had completely drained you and caused your body to shut down. You were asleep within minutes.

And it wasn’t until the main door opened, at an ungodly hour, that you woke up and sat on the couch, alarmed.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, feeling just the tiniest bit of buzz from a mixture of drinks in his system.

“I wasn’t awake, I fell asleep after Jae left.”

“Oh” his eyes darted to the untouched packet of food, painting a vivid picture of dissatisfaction all over his face. He wanted to ask you to eat, but he was still incredibly hurt over the secret keeping to want to talk to you kindly.

“You can sleep inside,” he stated in a monotone, “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. I’ll stay at Bammie’s, starting tomorrow.”

“Yugyeom please don’t do this, this is your house. Please talk to me?”

“You want to talk now, noona? Really?”

“I know I messed up. I know, okay, I know I should have told you earlier. But, every time I tried, I couldn’t. You think I didn’t want to tell you? You think this is what I want? Do you think any of this is what I want? I don’t want to make this choice, Yugyeom.”

“Do you have to make a choice?”

“Are you willing to uproot your life here and move to London with me, because if not then yes, I do. I have to choose between the only two things I love most and forgive me for not knowing how to do that. I don’t want to fight, baby. I love you and I love my job. You know how much and for how long I have wanted this. And you know I fucking love you.”

You’d fought the tears so hard through this monologue, you could feel the strain on your throat. But it was all in vain, because you did breakdown. You didn’t want him to feel bad for you, so you covered your face with your palms, as best you could.

You wanted to scream and shout at the stars; to direct your anger somewhere, anywhere.

The entrapment that you experienced while blurting out all your emotions was a roller coaster ride you never consented to take.

His footsteps echoed in the pin drop silence and you assumed he was moving towards the door, to leave.

Of course, it would make sense for him to want to leave. All you’d just said right now was that you loved him but not enough to make him the obvious first choice.

So it came as a surprise when instead you felt his warm fingers run through your hair as he sat down next to you.

He didn’t say anything. He just pulled you into his chest, as you cried profusely. Fighting back his own emotions, he rocked back and forth, gently, in an effort to calm you down. You smelled of smoke. It was alarming because it meant you’d smoked enough for the smell to linger in your hair and on your clothes but it wasn’t the right time to bring that up.

“Noona, I love you too.”

Your grip around him tightened when he said that, unleashing a new wave of tears that you were too exhausted to undergo.

“Come on, I know you haven’t eaten all day. Let’s eat something and then go to sleep.” He added, speaking softly, like he was talking to an injured puppy and was afraid to hurt it with his voice.

“Can we stay like this for two more minutes?” you managed to mutter, in between sobs.

“Okay baby, we can stay here as long as you want.”

You didn’t wake up until late in the afternoon the next day, still encased in Yugyeom’s arms. It was unusual for you to sleep in until 3PM, but your mind and soul were so spent from the past couple of days, it made sense to rest.

Being in his embrace comforted you beyond what words could convey. You pushed your back into his torso, desperately trying to reduce any crevices between your bodies.

In his sleep induced state he kissed your neck and tightened his hold around your waist.

You could feel that he was just a bit turned on, with your ass pressed up against his boxers and you should have resisted the urge to move your hips against his pelvis.

The unspoken tension between the two of you hung heavy in the air but you’d been on a streak of making bad decisions this past week, so what was one more.

His heartbeat quickened as your movements became more purposeful.

It was a confusing place to be in. You didn’t know if you were still fighting, if he wanted space, if you wanted more time. The only thing you knew with certainty was at that moment you wanted him.

By now he was fully awake and aware of your motives; and didn’t waste any time in reciprocating your pursuit either— his hands feeling up your body with an unmatched aggression.

Usually, he always made the first move, because you would get shy. So it took him by surprise when you pressed yourself up against him like that, but It didn’t take him long to get in the position of control. In a matter of seconds he had you pinned face down against the sheets with your ass protruding outwards, your clothes on the floor and his fingers slithering smoothly on your clit.

You heaved in response when he smacked and grabbed onto your buttcheeks, with force.

“You like that baby?” he asked, roughhousing you to lay flat on your back, so he could kiss you and bruise you and most importantly, watch you gasp and pant as he manhandled your body pleasurably.

You loved it when Yugyeom played aggressive; and nodded in response.

A cocky smirk formed on his face.

For the next several minutes he pleased you in every way he knew how to– kissing your body, sucking your nips, eating you out, pounding his fingers into you until you were begging to come. Just to tease you more he’d edge you then wait and start all over again.

It was always hell for you when he made you beg for it.

“Baby, please fuck me.” you moaned in anguish, as he parted your legs and licked your folds again, needily.

“Say that again, noona.” He demanded.

“Please, please fuck me. I can’t take it anymore” You dangerously tugged at his hair as he gently teased your lower body.

“Again.”

Your distress was giving him immense pleasure, tempting him to take his sweet time and get you even more desperate for his dick.

“Yugyeom...... please.”

The impatience in your voice was unmissable. You arched your back when he hit a particularly sensitive spot, losing all of the air inside your lungs.

He pressed his lips against your labia even harder and licked you surreptitiously.

“Oh fuck…. baby…. oh keep doing that” you whined, but he stopped abruptly and looked up, to study your face.

“What? Why did you stop?”

“You were having too much fun.”

“It’s not my fault, you’re too good at it.” Maybe caressing his ego would get you somewhere.

He laughed at your response and nibbled around your waist lovingly.

You sat up, messing with his hair and asked him to take his boxers off.

He nodded and got rid of the only piece of clothing he was wearing, at lightning speed, while you got on your knees.

A small groan escaped his lips, as you grasped the base of his length and moved your fingers rhythmically, pumping him. You licked your lips thirstily and took in his tip, swirling your tongue around his skin, like tasting a new flavour of lollipop.

It was no secret that he was turned on, but you miscalculated just how fast your manoeuvres would rile him up.

As you sucked his cock fully into your mouth, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged at it, barely able to keep his composure.

You could hear him mumbling profanities when you deliberately took a long time to feel his ridges and bulging veins with your mouth.

“Noona… fuck…..” he panted deliriously, his mouth watering at the sight of you. He wanted to buck his hips and fuck your mouth harder, hit the back of your throat, make you choke, but he wanted you to initiate it so he’d know that you were okay with it.

You looked up at him lustfully, his cock still suctioned between your lips. The way he eye-fucked you spread electricity through your body; making you want even more of him. When you removed your hand from the base and squeezed his balls, he knew your intentions. It was your tell-tale sign; the consent he needed to go harder.

He grabbed the back of your head and gained control of the way your neck moved on him. Your heart raced when he started hitting the back of your throat repeatedly, blocking your air supply every time he did so.

Tears collected in the far corners of your eyes, and you let out multiple muffled moans. You loved this feeling of asphyxiation, but your body’s reflex was to react against it.

It didn’t go unnoticed by him when a thin trail of collected water trickled down the side of your face.

He let go of your hair and asked “You good?”

That’s the kind of man Kim Yugyeom was, who’d stop in the middle of rough sex to make sure his partner wasn’t getting hurt.

That’s the man you were going to lose if you chose your job.

Did that possibility make right now the last time you could feel him like this?

You chuckled, licking your lips for residue, “I’ll be better when you cum in my mouth”.

“Fuck... you drive me crazy.” He exhaled sharply, finding your arms and pulling you up.

The kiss you shared after that was sloppy and greedy, laced with a desperation you’d experience if you were running out of time.

You moved backwards towards the bed, his lips wandering on your neck voraciously.

“Baby….baby please fuck me” you cooed, digging your nails into his flesh.

This time, you didn’t have to ask him twice.

Before you could wrap your head around it, he’d worn protection and was pounding into you greedily, ecstasy flowing through his veins.

The loud, wet sounds of his thrusts, as you writhed pleasurably under his lean form, were catalytic. Your walls clenched around his cock as he fucked you until he hit your spot.

Mesmerised by his lustful yet soft brown eyes, you let the wildfire, burning at the pit of your stomach, dictate your thoughts and move your body in-sync with his rapidly escalating fervour; making you huff and hum in relief.

With your eyes closed, you experienced the seventh heaven. He literally made you see stars. The tension in your pelvis dissipated and you came undone, panting and sweating heavily.

You wanted to at least make him feel an equivalent amount of gratification.

“I want you to cum in my mouth, baby. Will you cum in my mouth for me?” you asked, salaciously.

“Oh god noona you’re so fucking hot” he whined, fastening his momentum. Even though he’d made you orgasm, his thrusts were getting you all riled up again.

When he was dangerously close to erupting inside of you, he pulled out; and you greedily crawled towards him, to help him finish. As Yugyeom released in your mouth and you swallowed, not breaking the heated eye contact you had going on, he sighed delightfully.

He watched you lick the last traces off of his dick and your mouth, and he couldn’t get enough of the sight in front of him.

Catching you in his embrace, he kissed your forehead and tackled you back into bed.

Your heart felt full and empty at the same time.

“You got me all tired now.” he hummed, pulling you into his chest.

You checked the clock on your bedside table;16:30 it read. Never in your life span had you wanted to freeze time as much as you did that very second.

Yugyeom continued to shower you with more kisses and somewhere between his touch and the faint sound of the piano being played somewhere, you fell asleep again.

Filled with anxiety and your heart beating out of your chest, you sat up in a jerk movement. You didn’t know if it was day or night, if you were late for work or if you’d just woken up from a nightmare.

Nothing seemed to make sense to you. Yugyeom wasn't occupying his side of the bed either.

You took a few deep breaths and checked the time again. It was 8PM and you were still on Sunday.

You let out a sigh of relief and fell back on your pillow, your heart still beating like crazy.

“What an awful way to wake up” you thought to yourself, turning towards his empty pillow. It was then that you noticed the vase placed by Yugyeom’s bedside.

Flowers weren’t your thing, but they were his. He would get cheered up so easily if anyone got him a bouquet. He’d just shove his whole face in the petals and smell them and smile like a fool. There was a piece of paper still attached to the bunch, with ‘noona’ written on it.

Wait… did he actually get those for you? You rolled over to his side and started reading the contents, entering a panic induced state of mind immediately. It was barely five lines but it felt like an eternity to get through.

“Noona, I’m breaking up with you. You should accept the promotion and go to London, without me making you feel guilty about it. I couldn’t say this in front of you because you know I suck at this stuff. But I was more afraid that I’d ask you to stay. I love you. I want to make this easy for you. Please don’t call me…. I’m sorry.”

After the tenth read his words registered in your brain, like a ten year old typewriter running low on ink – the words were all there, just impossible to interpret.

This was fucking ridiculous.

Immediately you sprang out of bed, took a bath and got dressed, unwilling to accept this predicament on face value. Even if it was the only foreseeable decision, you couldn’t let him take the fall for it. You were the bad guy in this situation and you had to face it.

You first went to the academy, just in case he’d gone there to bury his emotions under a thick layer of hardcore choreography. To your dismay Jaebeom was the only one burying his feelings in the building.

“He wrote a note? Really?”

“Yeah he said he’s breaking up with me and left.”

“But… wasn’t that going to happen anyway?”

“Jae… not right now, okay? I don’t want your bitter pills at the moment, ‘cuz they will make me want to punch you.”

“You’re fucking violent. Fine. He’s probably hiding at Bambam's.”

“Yeah I was planning on going there if I didn’t find him here.”

“Cool, call me if you need anything.” You nodded and went outside to hail a taxi hoping and praying to find him.

If Yugyeom really was at Bambams, there was a good chance you wouldn’t even be let in, on account of you having hurt his best friend and all; but you still had to try.

Luckily, since his house was on the second floor and had a window facing the entry, you at least could be sure that he was at home. The lights were on.

You rang the bell and waited.

No answer

You rang it again.

Still no answer.

You then called his number, to see if the incoming call ringtone could be heard from outside. A millisecond later you heard his phone. There was no doubt that he was inside. And there would have been no need to keep you out unless Yugyeom was there as well.

“BamBam come on.”

The door knob melodiously clicked open and he slipped out through the tiniest gap, not letting you peek inside

“I can’t let you in bro.”

“I know Yugyeom’s here.”

“That’s why I can’t let you in. Didn’t he say not to contact him?”

“He said not to call. I didn’t call. Just let me see him Bam.”

“Why do you want to see him. He broke up with you, didn’t he? I told you we’ll hash it out depending on how it goes between you both. Well, this is how it is. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Bam he broke up with me to make it easy on me. So that I can leave ‘guilt-free’. Does that make any sense to you?”

“So you’re actually going huh?”

“I-”, you fumbled “I don’t know. Part of me that loves my job tells me I have to. The other part that loves him tells me I don’t want to. Let me talk to him, please Bam? It’s the last favour I’ll ask of you for a long time.”

“You know, you both are being really messy.” he sighed and punched in the code to his apartment. “I’m going to get some drinks. Make it quick.”

You hugged him before heading inside “Thank you.”

When Yugyeom saw you at the doorway, he cursed. “Fuckin hell Bam.'' He was not pleased to see you.

“He left to get some drinks.”

“Please I’m not in the mood for this, just leave. I know you came here hoping to change my mind.”

“Yugyeom did you really think you cutting me off like that was going to make me feel any differently?”

“Did you even try?”

“Try what?”

“Feeling differently?”

“Why don’t you tell me first?”

“I don’t have to. I’m not the one leaving.” That sentence stung you in the chest.

“And what if I don’t?”

“What?”

“What if I don’t go to London. What if I don’t accept it?”

“Then you’re a dumbass.” He got up from the chair he’d been occupying, several paces away from you and moved even further away as you finally stepped out of the foyer and inside the living room.

“Excuse me?” Did you just call me a dumbass?”

“Yeah, I did. Because you’re acting like one. Why the fuck would you turn down your dream

job?”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“Wow, the one time I expect you to use your logic, you don’t. Remember yesterday, you asked if I would pack up my whole world and shift to London with you? And I said nothing? So if I can’t do that for you, then you shouldn’t have to do that for me. I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your career noona.”

“But I have to Yugyeom. If I choose my career, we break up. If I stay here, I lose my promotion. Let’s call a spade a spade, yeah?”

“Yes that’s why I took myself out of this equation. I know I said I’m giving you an easy out, but really, it’s for me. I didn’t want to hear you say you’re choosing your job. Because of course that shit will hurt me. And I can’t ask you to stay because that’s a selfish thing to do. You know you don't want to pass over this opportunity. Why are you making this so hard for the both of us?”

“I’m making this hard?” you questioned.

“Yeah, you are. The faster I’m trying to bury it, the more you want to dig it out.”

“So is this it? This is how you want it to end between us?”

“Do you have another way?”

“We have five days.”

“I can’t watch you leave me and not be able to do shit about it. I fucking can’t.”

“Okay.. and you have made up your mind?”

“Yeah”

“Do whatever you want then, I guess” you conceded, your words full of anger and frustration, and went back towards the door.

His heart felt so heavy. He wanted to run to you and ask you to never leave him and kiss you so badly, but held himself back with everything he had. He had to hold himself back. If he gave in right now, he’d be in a much stronger world of pain later.

“Yugyeom, if you change your mind…. you know where to find me” you stated before slamming the door shut.

There wasn’t much else you could really do about it other than comply with his wishes.

The sad part of it all was that you always did intend to accept the promotion and transfer to London, you were too ashamed to admit it. The decision you’d been stalling had finally reached it’s obvious conclusion and you felt nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no anger - it was like falling into a grave of white noise, endlessly, without any safety net or ground to actually hit.

During the ride back home, while you sent out messages to all the people who needed to be told; back at BamBam’s house Yugyeom had chugged two bottles of Soju in spite of BamBam’s protests.

“You fucker, I’m gonna call everyone over so they can beat your ass, if you don’t slow down.”

“Don’t care” Yugyeom muttered, while opening a third bottle. “Let’s party. Fuck some bitches.”

“Oh you wanna fuck some bitches or you wanna fuck a bitch who just left like fifteen minutes ago.”

“She’s not a bitch be nice.”

“Oh fuck’s sake, I’m calling hyung”.

“Which one?”

“All of them”.

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