#small council & co.

[cassatine]

Rhaenyra getting more shit for staying on Dragonstone instead of in King's Landing to play the political game or whatever than Viserys gets for recalling Otto as Hand, thus pretty much handing power to the faction he knows to be his heir's political opponents and metaphorically shooting Rhaenyra in the political kneecaps, is one of the most Takes in a fandom full of Takes

[fandomsbyladymelodrama]

@salzrand​ <3 #DaddyLannisterIsADilf

[andromedasummer]

becoming a data hoarder of crochet/knitting/sewing/embroidery patterns and books on my pc, laptop and phone. an ungodly amount fr.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bioluminescence | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season one — you thought all bellamy blake wanted was sex and other women, but when you sneak outside of the camp walls at night, bioluminescent plants are not the only shocking discovery you make, and not everyone is happy about it.

warnings: fluff, swearing, jealousy, mention of sexual themes, (L/N) use, roma

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

word count: 4.1k

Sleep was a rare luxury after you and the other Ark prisoners were sent to Earth, especially since you were all crowded in a small camp surrounding the drop ship. Teenage hormones, anger, violence, and trauma were not a great combination for peace. So, it was either crying, fistfights, or the incessant moans of couples who couldn't keep it in their pants for more than five minutes that usually kept you awake at night.

You were certain it was Bellamy Blake and his two model-looking female companions who were often to blame for that last subject. Although to everyone in the camp, it was very obvious that their relationship was solely physical, neither Roma nor Bree seemed to appreciate when other women talked, interacted with, or even sat near him. Clarke was a heavy target because of her co-leadership with Bellamy. And so were you.

You were within the inner circle, the informal 'Earth council'. You were also handy with a rifle and knowledgeable in tracking, so it wasn't exactly surprising whenever Bellamy took you with him on various missions and hunts. Sometimes though, he would bring you with him even if the task wasn't within your skillset—those were the times you were left feeling a little confused.

Nevertheless, a small friendship sprung from it. You weren't best buddies, but you weren't opposed to each other's company either. That was a big no-no to Roma and Bree and they frequently expressed that fact through passive-aggressive tactics.

This night was no different from others. Thankfully, it was the never-ending fistfights that kept you awake instead of other's carnal endeavours. You opened the flap of your tent and stepped out into the crisp air; autumn was definitely approaching. Hugging your jacket closer to your body, you looked around the camp, unsure of where to wait out the commotion. Everywhere was taken, so you decided a brief walk in the woods wouldn't hurt. Well, you hoped it wouldn't. At least if the Grounders killed you, you would finally get some undisturbed rest.

As you made your way over to one of the fence-wall openings, you ran smack-bang into a barely dressed girl with long brown hair. Roma.

"Watch where you're going, bitch," she spat, scrutinising your appearance from top to bottom.

Ignoring her lovely remark, you eyed her jeans and the way her upper half was only covered by a grey sports bra. "Aren't you cold?"

"Not now I'm not." She smirked, eyes flickering to Bellamy's tent.

You grimaced. I so didn't need to know that.

Right on cue, Bellamy emerged from his tent, fully clothed. He scanned the surroundings before his hardened gaze briefly landed on Roma and then settled on you; it was impossible to miss the way his face softened when your eyes met. Strange.

"Jealous?" she asked, regaining your attention.

"Unlikely."

You brushed past her, though she made an effort to forcefully knock your shoulder and spit another curse at you. Classy.

Bellamy took a step toward you. "Hey—"

But you simply moved past him, continuing toward the wall and saying, "A real gem you've got yourself there."

At least Bree was all bark and no bite.

You could hear him sigh as the distance between you both grew.

Truth be told, you were a little jealous. An unfortunate truth but still a truth all the same. You knew you were beginning to feel something deeper for Bellamy and it was becoming difficult listening to other girls brag about their nights with him. Not like you would ever tell him though—he wasn't a relationship type of guy and as far as you could tell, his feelings for you were platonic.

Never mind. You could settle for his friendship... for now.

You had made it outside the camp walls. At first, you planned on circling the fence for a while, but when your eyes caught on something glowing from the opposite side of a tree, you strayed from your path. Rounding the tree's trunk, you found a glowing neon-pink flower; the species of which you were unsure, but it was beautiful. Then, in your peripheral vision, there was something else lighting up your vision, something blue this time. There was another flower just a few trees away.

And again, you walked over to the strange plant, only to find yourself now on a journey that kept leading to more and more glowing flowers the deeper into the woods you trekked. They were almost everywhere and at this point, you were practically running with an excited grin on your face. In the near distance, numerous radiant colours lit up an area covered by a thick cluster of trees. You wove yourself through branches and leaves, pushing your way into the bright section of the woods.

Once you emerged from the trees, amazement morphed into your expression. You had stepped into a small meadow filled with glowing flowers of various colours that covered the forest floor. There were countless species, but they all shared the same mesmerising radiance. Much to your disbelief, there were even electric blue luminous butterflies that concealed the tree trunks and fluttered in the air.

"Bioluminescence," you whispered to yourself.

It was so beautiful, you could have cried.

Maybe you should just leave the camp and build a hut here. It would certainly beat living with the others.

As you moved further into the small clearing, the butterflies flew closer around you. Holding out an arm, one butterfly tentatively circled your hand before landing in your palm. You laughed in amazement, watching as the small creature curiously crawled across your hand and ticked your skin. Okay, that settled it—you were definitely a Disney princess.

The sound of branches snapping and leaves rustling suddenly pulled you from your amazement; it was coming from where you had entered the clearing. You reached down to your belt only to find the knife holster on it empty. Of course, you didn't bring your knife. You had left the camp's safety and didn't even think to bring a weapon. So stupid.

Before you could reprimand yourself any further, a tall figure emerged from the tree line. The tight dark blue shirt was an easy identifier as to who the figure was. And so were those deep brown eyes.

It was Bellamy. "Woah."

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling your tensed body relax again.

His gaze swept across the vivid tree-encompassed meadow, sharing the same wonderous expression you once had. The overpowering glow from the butterflies turned his tanned skin a light blue, defining the contours of his face and arm muscles. He sort of looked otherworldly.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked.

The incident before you left camp quickly returned to mind and it was evident in the slight irritation etched on your face. He didn't need to respond for you to realise that he had followed you. Great. His little girlfriends were going to have a field day tomorrow if they saw him come after you.

Bellamy's eyes found yours, taking note of your negative reaction. His steps were cautious as he began walking towards you. "I could ask you the same thing."

He stopped in front of you, peering down through a few stray strands of dark brown hair whilst wearing his infamous lazy smirk. No wonder girls were always fawning over him; he was gorgeous, and he damn well knew it too. Even you were falling into the very same trap. Unlike them, though, it was the moments you shared with him when you were alone that conjured your attraction to him. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but you had also learnt that he was surprisingly a decent human being. More than decent actually, despite how he presented himself to others.

He treated you with respect—a lot more than many others had ever done. You had learnt to trust each other, communicate effectively, and work as a team. Sometimes, you would even find yourselves discussing things that you both intended to keep within till the day you died, things that felt too intimate to share with anyone else.

No matter how much you hated it, you couldn't help but develop feelings for him. Even when it seemed he was preoccupied with other women.

Bellamy eyed you, waiting for the snarky retort he knew you were putting together.

You sighed and turned around, crouching on the floor to inspect one of the neon-pink flowers. "Shouldn't you be teaching Roma and Bree gun handling safety in your tent right now?"

That line was dangerously close to sounding like jealousy and you knew it. You bit your tongue because Lord knows you were most likely to expose your feelings for Bellamy through word vomit.

If only you had been facing him to witness the shame washing through his eyes.

"Funny," he said. "But no. I've got more important things to do."

"Like what? Making sure your best hunting partner doesn't get killed by glowing plants?" you joked, glancing over your shoulder to see his reaction.

It wasn't a grin or smirk like you expected. Not even a little chuckle. Instead, he simply stared at you with this intense look in his eye; it was almost sad but also like he was trying to communicate something to you telepathically.

"Something like that," he murmured.

After those words left his mouth, something about the atmosphere shifted. You suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion and his soul-piercing stare was not helping. There wasn't a wide selection of movies on the Ark, but you had watched them all, including all the romance movies. The only thing you could compare Bellamy's gaze to was Mr. Darcy's in Pride and Prejudice. Reluctance. Longing. It was all there. Had you been completely wrong about his feelings for you? Or were you just imagining it?

The likelihood of Bellamy sharing your same feelings seemed impossible, so you chalked it up to your wishful imagination.

You stood back up, facing him but avoiding making eye contact. "Well, I—uh," you stammered. "I'm not going back. Not yet."

"I didn't come here to take you back."

That made your gaze meet his.

Why did you come then, Bellamy? you thought.

He side-stepped you and you turned to see him wandering deeper into the meadow. He began observing each and every beauty and oddity the small sanctuary held, touching the petals of every flower with a delicateness you had never witnessed before. Soon enough, you felt compelled to join him.

The two of you must have spent an hour in that meadow, inspecting each species of flora, hovering your fingertips through the glowing cusp of each plant as if you could feel its light on your skin, laughing together when a butterfly landed on the tip of your nose. Sometimes you caught Bellamy watching whenever your face lit up with excitement as you discovered something new. He never really looked at what you had found; he just looked at you, but you were too overjoyed to even contemplate why.

You felt like you had entered a dream, protected from the outside world where there were Grounders, war, and bitchy brown-haired girls. Everything real was forgotten, even your unrequited feelings for Bellamy. You just enjoyed his company in this dream and pretended it would last forever.

Somehow, you had both ended up lying on the forest floor side-by-side, surrounded by flowers as you stared up at the starry night sky through the tree crowns. It wasn't as cold as before; you guessed it was because of Bellamy's close proximity to you. One of his hands was behind his head, the other on his stomach. His warmth was radiating off his skin and onto your own.

You could have fallen asleep if you closed your eyes. Probably not the most logical idea though.

Bellamy's quiet, yet deep voice disrupted the silence. "It's just a distraction, you know?"

"Hm?"

"Those girls," he clarified, and you watched as his words turned to mist, carrying into the black sky. "If I focus too much on the fact that I have to control an entire camp of teenagers, fight a war against the Grounders, while taking care of Octavia and y—" he cut himself off, closing his eyes with a sigh. "I just feel like I start to lose myself."

Your focus shifted from the sky to him. Even he didn't seem to be looking at the sky anymore, despite his gaze still being pointed straight upward. He looked lost in his own thoughts. Serious and sombre—much different compared to how they had been just a short while ago.

"Well," you began softly. "We can't have that. You already seem a little rough around the edges, Blake."

A grin slowly formed across his lips and he shook his head. He turned his head to the side, looking down at your smiling expression from where he lay. The weightiness from before had melted from his demeanour. Because of a little distraction.

You had thought those two girls he spent most nights with were there purely for his own physical needs or because his attraction to them was greater than his self-control. Never had you contemplated the fact that it might have been because he was mentally struggling with the hardships of being a leader. Of course, how could you have? He had never told you before now.

Your brows furrowed. "Why tell me?"

The muscles in his jaw clenched and the grin fell from his lips. A sense of seriousness returned but this time it was less heavy. It seemed more like a weight was lifting from his shoulders. Like a declaration. Like a long-awaited confession.

You felt something warm brush against your hand; it gently grazed over your knuckles, lighting a fire beneath your skin. In Bellamy's dark eyes, you could see the reflection of his hand caressing your own and your heart leapt to your throat.

"Why do you think?" he murmured, his eyes flickering between your own, urging you to connect the dots instead of making him say it aloud.

Your lips parted and the crease between your eyebrows deepened. 

Every time he picked you first to be his partner on a mission, every deep conversation you shared when no one else was around—they all had a hidden meaning. All the times his hand brushed against yours as you walked in sync side-by-side, the times you caught him staring at you through a one-hundred-person dense crowd, or the way he would step in front of you as if to shield you whenever there was even a hint of danger—it was all because...

"Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah." His eyes flickered between yours before he turned back to the stars. "And I—I understand if you don't feel the same way; I know I haven't given you much reason to. From those girls to the... the radio, and the culling on the Ark. If I could take—"

His sentence was cut short as you leaned over him, pressing your lips to his. You could feel his pulse racing in his lips. Or was it your own? Probably both. Your hair fell to the side and his mouth started to move against your own. He began to rise, moving you up along with him until you were both kissing in a sitting position.

Bellamy's hand moved to cradle your jaw, his lips slow and tender. Everything felt like it had fallen into place, like this was exactly how things were supposed to be, with his lips on yours in the middle of a fairy-tale-like meadow whilst surrounded by a field of glowing flowers and beautiful winged creatures.

The butterflies weren't just circling you now, they were somehow fluttering around in your stomach too and it felt exhilarating.

Unfortunately, the kiss did have to come to an end at some point. Even so, the warm fluttering in your stomach never ceased. Bellamy had pulled away first, his hands gently falling from your jaw and back into his lap. He was looking at you and at first, you were afraid he would get up and leave, or tell you he had changed his mind. But he didn't. A smile crept across his lips—not a self-satisfied smirk or a tantalising grin, but a genuine smile.

Forget the butterflies; your stomach was doing somersaults now. He found your hand once more and interlocked it with his own in your lap. His thumb drew small circles on the side of your palm almost as if he knew you needed a reminder that this moment was really happening.

"That was my first kiss," you admitted.

His smile became a little nervous. "Was it okay?"

Was it okay? This boy was a little clueless if he couldn't tell that you thoroughly enjoyed having his lips on yours. So, you answered him with another soft peck to his lips, then pulled back again to see his reaction. He chuckled, nodding his head to say he understood.

"We can always come out here to practice if you want," he said, this time with a smirk.

You laughed. "I think that's a good idea."

He tucked a lock behind your ear and gently brushed pieces of hair away from your face. You could feel warmth creeping into your cheeks, turning them a rosy pink. Well, it was probably more of a violet hue due to the intense blue glow from the plants and butterflies. Either way, it still revealed how nervous he made you feel.

"It's getting late. We should probably head back and sleep," you said. Bellamy raised an eyebrow, creating his own little innuendo with your words and your eyes widened. "Not together! Alone, I mean. In separate tents. With clothes... on..." you trailed off, realising you were only digging yourself a deeper hole.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment.

He just chuckled and rose to his feet. "Come on, (L/N). Let's go sleep."

You rolled your eyes with a smile as he helped you stand up with him.

For a brief moment, you gave the area one last look, imprinting the memory into your mind. Who could have guessed that when you left the camp walls you would enter a fairy tale of vivid colours and electric butterflies? Or, even more surprising, that Bellamy Blake would later confess his feelings for you? All you had wanted was an escape; instead, you got a dream come true.

Bellamy pressed a hand to your lower back, guiding you with him towards the tree line in comfortable silence.

The walk back to the drop ship was pretty quiet. No more words needed to be said; a conversation that clarified what you two were now could wait for tomorrow when your brains weren't clouded by fatigue and the fresh excitement from confession. Some things hadn't changed though. Bellamy still stole glances at you every now and then, as you did him, earning a nervous smile and blush each time either of you got caught. Your hands alternated from brushing against one another to ever-so-slightly linking pinkies.

Okay, maybe things had changed a little.

You passed each flower that had led you to the meadow and this time, they became less and less as you grew closer to the drop ship. As you came up on the camp walls, the sound of fighting and conversations had died down and was replaced by the faint crackling of dying fires.

Finally, you both stepped through one of the openings and were within the camp. There didn't seem to be anyone awake; with the way the moon was shining down straight overhead, it was clear why. 

Your pinkie fell from Bellamy's and you moved in front of him, taking a few slow steps backwards. "Uh, that's my tent over there," you said, gesturing behind you.

His eyes never left yours as he continued to walk toward you. "Yeah, I know."

"Oh, you know, do you?"

A grin stretched across his lips as he hummed and reached for your waist, pulling you against his body. Your hands wound around his neck, a smile present on your face as he leaned in, his lips mere inches from your own. His lips had just brushed against your own when someone behind you cleared their throat and you both jumped apart.

Bellamy peered beside your head, semi-glaring at the interrupter behind you.

What a surprise it was when you turned around to see Roma, arms crossed—clothes on, thankfully—and looking severely unhappy.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said with a scowl.

Perfect. Great. Absolutely fantastic. Looks like her field day had come early.

No way. You were too tired to deal with this. You gave Bellamy an apologetic glance before attempting to slip away through the gaps between tents. Unfortunately, it wasn't in Roma's best interest to let you off so easily. She caught your wrist and jerked you back toward her.

Bellamy looked like he was about to step in, but you beat him to it.

You tore your wrist from her grasp, words dripping with bitterness as you said, "Never do that again."

For a split second, she looked the slightest bit intimidated, but then quickly covered it up with disdain. Her gaze flickered from you to Bellamy; it was hard to miss the way she straightened her posture and tried to look more presentable for him.

And for a split second of your own, you felt the slightest twinge of fear that Bellamy would change his mind about you and leave with her again. But at that very same moment, he gently grabbed your hand and guided you back to his side, dissipating all your previous worries.

Both you and Roma looked down at your interlocked hands in disbelief.

"Listen, Roma." He sighed, sounding like he was desperately trying to keep his cool. "I think it's best if you and Bree find another tent to sleep in from now on."

Her disbelief turned into pure astonishment. "What? Are you serious?"

Bellamy lightly squeezed your hand.

God, he was putting this girl through the five stages of grief. You almost felt bad. Then you remembered the daily torment she had been putting you through just for existing and the remorse immediately washed away.

"Because of her? She's not even—"

"Choose your next words very carefully," he warned in a dangerously low voice.

Her mouth opened and shut a few times before she realised any insult thrown at you would end badly for her. It's not like Bellamy would hurt her, but he did have power over the camp, so he would probably force her to share a tent with Myles or something. His non-stop babbling would drive her to insanity.

She gave him a defiant look. "What if we don't want to leave?"

"I'll take the tent down and move it somewhere else."

"Then Bree and I will make both your lives a living Hell."

You could hear Bellamy suppress a laugh. "Unlikely," he echoed your previous words.

Roma looked to you as if you could help her case—the audacity. You gave her a sarcastic 'what-can-you-do?' shrug which just enhanced her seething temper. It was obvious that she was getting nowhere and the moment she realised, you swore you could see her ego literally deflating.

She made a short high-pitched noise of frustration and spun around, her hair whipping melodramatically through the air as she practically stomped back to Bellamy's tent. You could hear her call out to the other girl inside, telling her to 'pack her shit' and that they were moving tents. Not long after, the blonde-haired girl emerged from the tent flap holding a bundle of clothes. Roma must have explained to her what happened because they both shot a venomous glare in your direction and then walked off in search of another tent.

You sighed in relief as they disappeared out of sight. You were about to walk back to your own tent, but Bellamy tugged you back to him once more, his arms wrapping around your torso as your hands fell on his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought she'd handle it better."

You fiddled with the material of his shirt, half-smiling. "I told you she was a gem."

"Yeah." He chuckled. "My taste of women has been a little... questionable."

Your hands moved up to his shoulders, pulling your body up against his. His fingertips grazed the exposed skin of your waist, sending a wave of goosebumps across your body.

"You should really try breaking that trend."

He had that same intense look in his eye as when you were both in the meadow. This time it didn't hold any sadness or longing, but rather a sense of finality and affection, like his greatest wish had finally come true—that would make two of you. One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb as his face grew closer to yours.

The heart thumping in your chest almost gave out as you reflexively leaned further into his warm embrace.

"I already have," he murmured before his soft lips descended upon yours.

And the butterflies returned.

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #7

Feb 23-March 1 2024

The White House announced $1.7 Billion in new commitments from local governments, health care systems, charities, business and non-profits as part of the White House Challenge to End Hunger and Build Healthy Communities. The Challenge was launched with 8 billion dollars in 2022 with the goal of ending hunger in America by 2030. The Challenge also seeks to drastically reduce diet-related diseases (like type 2 diabetes). As part of the new commitments 16 city pledged to make plans to end hunger by 2030, the largest insurance company in North Carolina made nutrition coaching and a healthy food delivery program a standard benefit for members, and since the challenge launched the USDA's Summer EBT program has allowed 37 states to feed children over the summer, its expected 21 million low income kids will use the program this summer.

The US House passed a bill on Nuclear energy representing the first update in US nuclear energy policy in decades, it expands the Nuclear Regulatory Commission and reduces reducing licensing fees. Nuclear power represents America's single largest source of clean energy, with almost half of carbon-free electricity coming from it. This bill will boost the industry and make it easier to build new plants

Vice President Harris announced key changes to the Child Care & Development Block Grant (CCDBG) program. The CCDBG supports the families of a million American children every month to help afford child care. The new changes include capping the co-pay families pay to no more than 7% of their income. Studies show that high income families pay 6-8% of their income in childcare while low income families pay 31%. The cap will reduce or eliminate fees for 100,000 families saving them an average of over $200 a month. The changes also strength payments to childcare providers insuring prompt payment.

The House passed a bill making changes to the Small Business Administration’s 8(a) program. The 8(a) is an intensive 9 year program that offers wide ranging training and support to small business owners who are socially and economically disadvantaged, predominantly native owned businesses. Under the current structure once a business reaches over 6.8 million in assets they're kicked off the program, even though the SBA counts anything under $10 million as a small business, many companies try to limit growth to stay on the program. The House also passed a bill to create an Office of Native American Affairs at the SBA, in order to support Native-owned small businesses.

The White House and HUD announced steps to boost the housing supply and lower costs plans include making permanent the Federal Financing Bank Risk Sharing program, the program has created 12,000 affordable housing units since 2021 with $2 billion and plans 38,000 additional units over ten years. As well as support for HUD's HOME program which has spent $4.35 billion since 2021 to build affordable rental homes and make home ownership a reality for Americans. For the first time an administration is making funds available specifically for investments in manufactured housing, $225 million. 20 million Americans live in manufactured housing, the largest form of unsubsidized affordable housing in the country, particularly the rural poor and people in tribal communities.

The Department of Energy announced $336 million in investments in rural and remote communities to lower energy costs and improve reliability. The projects represent communities in 20 states and across 30 Native tribes. 21% of Navajo Nation homes and 35% of Hopi Indian Tribe homes remain unelectrified, one of the projects hopes to bring that number to 0. Another project supports replacing a hydroelectric dam in Alaska replacing all the Chignik Bay Tribal Council's diesel power with clear hydro power. The DoE also announced $18 million for Transformative Energy projects lead by tribal or local governments and $25 million for Tribal clean energy projects, this comes on top of $75 million in Tribal clean energy projects in 2023

Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg put forward new rules to ensure airline passengers who use wheelchairs can travel safely and with dignity. Under the planned rules mishandling a wheelchair would be a violation of the ACAA, airlines would be required to immediately notify the passenger of their rights. Airlines would be required to repair or replace the wheelchair at the preferred vendor of the passenger's choice as well as provide a loaner wheelchair that fits the passenger's needs/requirements

The EPA launched a $3 Billion dollar program to help ports become zero-emission. This investment in green tech and zero-emission will help important transportation hubs fight climate change and replace some of the largest concentrations of diesel powered heavy equipment in America.

the EPA announced $1 Billion dollars to help clean up toxic Superfund sites. This is the last of $3.5 billion the Biden administration has invested in cleaning up toxic waste sites known as Superfund sites. This investment will help finish clean up at 85 sites across the country as well as start clean up at 25 new sites. Many Superfund sites are contained and then left not cleaned for years even decades. Thanks to the Biden-Harris team's investment the EPA has been able to do more clean up of Superfund sites in the last 2 years than the 5 years before it. More than 25% of America's black and hispanic population live with-in 5 miles of a Superfund site.

Bonus: Sweden cleared the final major barrier to become NATO's 32nd member. The Swedish Foreign Minster is expected to fly to Washington to deposit the articles of accession at the US State Department. NATO membership for Sweden and its neighbor Finland (joined last year) has been a major foreign policy goal of President Biden in the face of Russian aggressive against Ukraine. Former President Trump has repeatedly attacked NATO and declared he wants to leave the 75 year old Alliance, even going so far as to tell Russia to "do whatever the hell they want" with European NATO allies

[losing-it-lately]

I Crumble Completely When You Cry

wc: 2k

eddie munson x cheerleader!reader

angst with a happy ending, best friends to enemies to lovers, regular upside down stuff, inspired by this one line in 505 by the arctic monkeys

You aren't dating him. You aren't friends with him. You both don't "talk". Eddie knows all of these things are true, he knows all of these things form the basis of your's and Eddie's relationship- if it can even be called that. But it's not enough. It's not enough to hold him back from you or to suppress that gnawing pit in his stomach or to stop old habits from coming back from the dead. He shouldn't have said that, but what's worse is he shouldn't have done what he did after.

Eddie remembers everything that happened between you two. Everything that went down exists in perfect clarity as if it replays over and over in his mind. And in a way, it does, he hasn't stopped thinking of what happened between you two ever since. And you haven't either.

Eddie would say that what happened started a month or two into the school year- when you finally got into cheer and had gotten through to the team. Wayne would say that what happened started right after Will Byers had been found. Steve Harrington would say that it started when Will was proclaimed missing, but you had always known that what happened between you and Eddie didn't start that year, but was bound to happen from the first day you had met him.

You had always known Eddie. Ever since he had moved into Hawkins, the small and buzzed boy had been on your radar. More than just your radar actually, you had grown the biggest crush on him. He was tall and lanky and unruly and silly and everything that made you grin in the schoolgirl type of way that you did when you got a new crush. Eddie was sweet and you did as much to look after him as possible. Leaving snacks on his desk when you noticed that he didn't bring lunch often, or conveniently losing a pen in the back of the classroom when he had forgotten one or even stopping close family friends like Steve from picking on him; you had looked out for Eddie as long as you had known him, it was bound to happen even when you got older.

At some point, you assumed that your crush would disappear or die out, and then everything would return to normal, but in the midst of Hawkins Middle School was the annual talent show, which changed it all. Eddie was obviously going to apply with his new band, a small group of tweens that he had collected from grades younger than him. However, as he began filling out the form, he hit a dead end. Eddie needed a name, and he needed one quickly. This was the last day to sign up and the members of the council in charge were clearly fed up with him waiting and stalling with the form. Eddie was freaking out. Him and his friends had done so much practice, and now, when he was practically finished, he could feel it all crumble in front of him. And then you walked by.

"Are you ok, Eddie?" He wasn't, and you were ready to do whatever you could to fix it.

As he explained his problem, you searched through your bag. English had just finished last period, surely you still had your dictionary.

Finally, you lugged out the large hard cover and began searching for a word to compliment 'coffin'; scanning through the 'co' page and reading out words until Eddie got you to stop.

"Corroded Coffin! That's it!" His grin was so bright, you couldn't help but mirror it, and you knew in that moment that you would be taking care of Eddie Munson for as long as you could, no matter what it took.

And that's how you saw it, especially after November of 1984. You had just started cheer, Eddie had started a Dungeons and Dragons Club that you frequented every Thursday and your grades were falling right into place. Life felt perfect in a way, and then Will Byers went missing. And you spent too much time helping Jonathan Byers. And then you got wrapped up into a government conspiracy.

You were in danger. White vans of men circling around you and the kids you looked after, every single communication monitored and the constant threat of something worse than mankind. It was an easy decision- you had to get Eddie away from all of this.

Will may have been back, but gates still opened, and the labs still checked on you, and you had nightmares and scars that you couldn't explain to Eddie without getting him involved. So you did what had to be done. Late December, after having ignored and avoided Eddie for what felt like forever, you cut him off.

It was a second nature to find Eddie in the midst of the trees and shrubbery behind Hawkins high. At his table, playing lazily with the old wooden planks and graffiti-ing more song lyrics and initials onto the bench where he sat. Eddie looked bored and desolate as you made your way towards him. Your nerves were working overtime and your eyes were bloodshot from the many nights without sleep, and while the pep talk from Steve helped, it wasn't enough to stop your hands from fidgeting and smoothing down the top of your uniform. Your uniform needed to be on for this to work, and the only way this would work was if Eddie bought it, if Eddie hated you.

The wind rustled through your hair and the leaves crumbled under you, one making a particularly perfect sound that alerted Eddie of your presence. As soon as he recognised you, a wide grin split on his face, the same one you had always known and the one you were about to begin to miss. You almost returned it too, the reflex being nearly too natural to bypass.

As he got up to hug you for the first time in a while, you began to speak. "I don't think we should be friends anymore," surely, if you were straightforward and neutral, this would be easier for the both of you?

"What?" His voice was small and shocked and soft. "What do you me-"

"I can't be friends with someone like you. You're a freak and I'm changing for the better." Your eyes began to gloss over. You felt dirty and cheap, using things that Eddie had told you during quiet nights over against him. How could the right thing feel so wrong?

"What are you saying," he began to laugh with a dry and quiet disbelief. Something must have been wrong, and in retrospect, Eddie would be able to see that, but for now, the sting of betrayal was enough for him to egg you on.

"You can't keep calling me, or talking to me, or even looking at me, Eddie," the tears were falling now, and your cheer jacket wasn't enough to shield you from that look in Eddie's eyes. It was one of pain and confusion and it was something you had never seen before. "I have a new life now."

And then his eyes changed and what you saw became worse. Frozen over, his eyes had become blank and lifeless, it was as if he couldn't recognise you anymore, and the truth was, you didn't recognise yourself either. But you needed to do this, to protect him.

"Fine. Fuck you," and so you left. You turned your back on Eddie and to him, you never looked back. You walked away all self-righteous and whatever and you broke his heart. Eddie Munson loved you and hated you. That's not true, Eddie Munson loves you, and he has to deal with the fact that you want nothing to do with him. For so long, he was overjoyed with just having your presence as platonic, but he should have prepared for not having it at all.

And you. Walking away with your back turned as if it wasn't harder than fighting those stupid demogorgons. Muffling your own sobs like you had when you were hiding with the kids in a random laboratory in Hawkins Middle School. Running faster to Steve's car once you had reached the Hawkins High Parking lot than you had when being chased by those special agents. Turning away from Eddie was the hardest thing you had ever done, but you had survived it, just barely.

You had made the right decision too. Closing the gate and shutting downs Hawkins Lab was one thing, and then the Russians re-opened the gate and brought out a fleshy nightmare to fight. Finally, it was all over.

The Government monitored you for a few more months, made you sign a massive NDA and transferred the largest sum of money that you had ever seen into your bank account. So you signed up for a job at the Family Video, covered your community college fees and bought a trailer in Forest Hills. You didn't mean to, but now you were living next to Eddie.

It had been years, it must be safe now to make amends. Eddie may not love you like you love him, but at least, you both could be amicable neighbours. You could see him putting out the trash and get a small and courteous smile. It wouldn't be like what you had before, but you could be content. So you baked him some cookies. His favourites had always been the brownie and chocolate chip chunk hybrid you made for his birthday. Your hand had a small burn and you cut yourself when you were cutting the chocolate, but you couldn't feel any of the pain when you saw him take the first bite of the cookie.

And so you did. You baked them and brought a warm batch over to Eddie's. You knocked after Wayne left and waited until a disgruntled Eddie opened the door. His hair was tied up in a bun and his eyes had circles and he wasn't wearing a shirt- he had definitely grown since the last time you had spoken.

"Hey," you started with a developing unease in your voice. How can you do this successfully? "I'm your new neighbour." You offered him the tray of cookies with a small smile as his eyes narrowed down into yours.

After years of ignorance and silence on your end, cookies were the solution. Bitterness and anger took the wheel and Eddie reached for tray and dumped them onto the porch. "You need to leave right now." His voice had hardened into something deep and furious and once again, you were taken back to the late December afternoon. But this time, Eddie noticed your foggy eyes, clouded over with a fresh onslaught of tears.

Your gaze was lowered to the cookies you had spent so long slaving over in the Hawkins heat. Crumbs were on your nice shoes and the chocolate was beginning to melt into the 'welcome home' mat. The trailer was a home for you. You kept falling into your thoughts, waiting for Eddie to slam the door in front of you, fuelled by his disappointment or his distaste or his detest, but it never came. Instead a calloused hand cradled your face.

You used to hold Eddie like this when he would cry, both hands holding up his face so that you could wipe the tears off, but Eddie had just realised that he had never done it back for you. He began to quietly hum and whisper, "sorry". His face had reformed into something less harsh, because under all the anger, he still missed you.

Once your eyes finally met, Eddie remembered what had happened between you, and his hands dropped. He shouldn't have said that or destroyed your cookies or held your face, but old habits die hard. Three or four years and Eddie still couldn't forget you. You cry once, and his whole resolve crumbled. You don't know about the ballads that he's written for you or campaigns in which you still make an appearance. You don't know that Eddie lied to Hellfire, saying he made you leave and you don't know that he moved Hellfire to Fridays to make sure that you could never come back without ditching cheer. You don't know how many times Eddie has thought about you in his arms, your face in his hands and you don't know about all the things he has done for you.

And now, you are so close, Eddie doesn't know what to do. You wipe your eyes. Your cheeks still burn from embarrassment and desire, you want him to hold you so delicately again.

"Can I come inside? I need to tell you about November of 1984." He opens the door wider to make space for you to enter. He needs to tell you that he's been in love with you since longer than that.

send me an ask if you want me to add onto this or make anything clear and reblog if you enjoyed this story! lots of love xxx

[the-monkeies-girl]

Snow Kissed Skin. ( Ceasar x Human! Reader, POTA Oneshot. )

A prequel to Flame Kissed Skin. Part of the Touching their Fur for the first time series. Up next: Noa.

Title: Snow Kissed Skin. Fandom: ( Dawn of the ) Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Implied! Caesar x Human!Reader. Rating: T. ( Sexual implications but nothing too heavy here. ) Words: 5.7K+ Summary: You wanted to know what Ape Fur felt like and Caesar always seemed to be around during these times to cure your curiosity.

READ IT ON AO3.

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It truly felt like your fingers were going to pop off despite their proximity to the blazed bonfire. Cupped lightly with wool mittens that you had scavenged shortly after the Flu, one of your most prized possessions as they never lost each other in all their years, the swirling of the colors of purples and grays fuzed together with a fuzzy outline were captivating enough to keep your attention focused so you didn't move your feet and slide down the rocks face first.

Or back first depending if you were quick enough to catch yourself. That would… Not be fun to see, you imagined and cringed at the visual inside of your mind of your butt parading down and carving your backside with cold snow as you let out shrieking screams.

Peering over your left shoulder at the rested perch above the Colony’s communal area, there was nothing to see. You figured. With no official business to attend to on the snowy afternoon you found yourself dancing in, there was really no need for a council meeting. You doubted that Caesar… Would think it was very impressive to see you fall as you were careful to turn your head back forward at the lack of Apes for you to meet glances with.

Well… Shoulders rose and fell deeply. Really, only one you wanted to capture a glance with. Only one you had bigger intrigue in since he was the one to allow you to stay with the Colony when you were found, half beaten to death four months ago. 

Tugging the disappointment away from your chest that began to blister, you looked beyond the bonfire at the weather itself that seemed to bend around the flames, snowflakes melting before they ever got the chance to kiss the ground. You liked the snow, it was not common in the area as it often favored sleeted rain that made everything slick with abundant moisture and not icey capsules. The cold on the other hand?

You could take it or leave it, considering your small hut did not have a firepit of its own. To no fault of anyone in the Colony, your home was originally a storage hut that was repurposed for your stay with them due to your Humanness, wanting to stay on the ground and not be suspended in air in the nests that lined around the cliff face. 

Maybe you’d have to talk to someone about getting yourself a fire, that would require though the entire ceiling to be repurposed for the ashes and plume to escape and building was not something you were particularly great at either. Getting better! Since you started living with the Apes, but still… You were just a Human and never had the knack to do such a thing. It was surely a chance of fate that you managed to survive years after the Flu, never taking solace in other Human Camps and stayed out of the way as sickness that plagued the world ravaged empathy and heart and they so often turned on each other out of spite and amusement. 

Not here… The Apes--- The Colony were welcoming to you when Caesar decided to let you stay and for that, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged somewhere. Well… Most of them were, save for a Bonobo and a few of his Chimp pals that catered to his words of hatred.

That--- Was something that left you with a metallic taste in your mouth but their King was assuring and let you know that Koba would never do anything malicious towards you and would personally see to a punishment if that were the case.  Biting your bottom lip, you nibbled at it tentatively and attempted to keep your mind occupied until you got cold enough in the element to return to your hut and scavenge into your animal hides for the evening.

It was hard to not notice the lack of bustling today considering the Colony was usually so full of life with Chimpanzees, Bonobos, Orangutans and Gorillas shoulder to shoulder, eager to get things done for the improvement of their lives, but today? A well deserved break for all of them, your eyes fell shut and enjoyed the sensation of the heat against the thin skin, eyelashes tickling along your cheekbones.

Most of the Apes were bundled in their own homes with each other… How you wished to have that with someone. No one in particular, you tried to convince your train of thought from derailing towards Caesar once more and shuffled your shoulders a bit to cover the bits of your wrist that had popped out to the chilled air.

You probably looked crazy to them in your oversized jacket, layered atop a fleece sweater you managed to score a few years ago when the Winters started to turn for the worst, pink head cap that had to have been a child's but you managed to make it work against your flattened hair and a pair of sturdy cargo pants paired with your usual worn boots.

There were a few you spotted in your time standing in unwavering wait, never for Ape King in particular but… For something to do. Someone to talk to… It was a pack of two Chimps and three Bonobo’s who wanted to take a jab at what you would call ice fishing and you watched in amusement as they departed the front entrance of the Colony with their spears, their dark bodies becoming smaller and smaller until they disappeared in the white flurries between the trees.

They had fur, you knew that and gave a brisk smile to the fire in front of you as your gaze slotted open once more. Jealousy was not fitting to you but the idea of having a built in coat instead of having to layer seemed so nice… A luxury even but something tickled the back of your brain that you had no basis for.

Did… they get cold like you did? Wearing what you were, there was still a frigid aspect in your appendages, your blood felt like it was slowly taking its time running its course through your body and to the very tips of your fingers and toes. You’d never been allowed to touch an Ape before, you’d only admired the fur from afar when Caesar was near.

It seemed to thicken the last few months, but it was still evident in certain frames he put his broad body into that you were able to see the mild sheen of his skin underneath. So, not entirely covered, it beckoned you to answer it. Temptation yearned at your hands and trudged into your mind. Did… They get cold?

You caught hold of a bit of commotion from the direction of the horse paddock, not difficult in the silence that seemed to drain from the Heavens like the white snowfall. Recognizing the grunting as Luca’s, you slid your gawk curiously over and feasted upon the three bodies that you were able to admire. Such a Human tactic, prying into business that wasn’t yours but… Wasn’t that what Apes did?

They had very little semblance of personal space or even privacy; something you carried in your mind but it was hard not to take in some drama here and there when it was allowed. Rocket, Luca as you had figured and… Caesar. Hands were flying and capturing small flakes of snow between words, Rocket and Luca saying something to each other with flying hands before Caesar only nodded a slight departure. 

Nothing to be learned from that, you creased your eyebrows in and watched as the intimidating gait of the King himself came into a clearer view from the corner of your eye as you were adamant to ensure that he had not known you were looking for him, let alone staring. Caesar knew; it was something innate in the back of his mind when there was a set of eyes on him that were not meant to be at the time and more often than not lately, it was your glance that he would meet in the middle of a crowd. In the middle of his own people, there was a shift in Caesar only recently that tugged in the lower aspects of his desire to find companionship.

Human or Ape. You were interesting none-the-less and it was obvious in how he was looking at you upon his adamant approach. What… You were doing out in the weather, he had no idea. There was amusement scratching inside of his mind that you were waiting for him but that was not plausible as he saw the flushing of your cheeks, scorned red from the heat of the fire. You were warming yourself up and that was more of an obtainable answer to the Ape King.

Catching your breath in your throat at his stance as he came beside you, it was hard not to see the splaying of his toes against the slicken nature of the stone below, leaving heady imprints of his larged feet in the virgin snow. It was admirable as you were sure that if you moved with such a confident swagger, you’d be tumbling straight down the Colony’s slope and rear through the front gates on your back. 

“I-...” You huffed, watching the air escape your lungs as evident in the air in a white thrust of dust in front of your face. Swallowing hard, you shut your mouth and attempted to lubricate your dried throat and laughed slightly at your sudden onset of nerves. Caesar stared at you from his peripheral, mind cogging in on itself out of a desire to know what was going on inside of your own. Humans… They were expressive, the Ape thinks to himself but you?

You had this knack of covering up adverse emotions around him and it was frustrating. Fear? There was no way to tell. Intimidation? No way to deduce. Amusement? Maybe, he was able to smell your scent, vivid and natural as it was in his flared nostrils as he sneezed a snowflake away from being carded into his nose. Caesar drew a deep breath in, feeling the heat of the chill against his diaphragm like a blister against the muscles as you finally spoke. 

“Never seen snow here before. My grandpa… Used to talk to me about it. I guess back in… The day it snowed. Sometime in the 1970’s there was a big ol’ blizzard and it left the Bay pretty covered.”

“Ape… Adapt.” Caesar’s statement was clear and concise as if it were rehearsed. “Fur… Gets thick… in the Winter Months.” “Must be nice,” You smiled shyly, bringing the bottom half of your face into the collar of your jacket and kissed at the hem for a moment. Caesar watched with carded interest, snow falling against your lips and with a heated smooch, it was gone into condensed water and slid down the curve. “It’s hard now to find winter clothes that work. Most of the stuff I have is really old and falling apart. This jacket,” Holding your hand up, you waved the excess fabric around where you tucked your hand in on the arm of your garment. “Was a good find. I’d freeze to death without it, especially at night. Even without the snow it gets really cold----” “You do not… Have a fire.” That was not a question, more of a blanketed statement as it finally dawned upon him the inconsideration of not accommodating that. Hard to remember, he was quick to rationalize that and buried the desire to apologize for his lack of thought. Humans were weak with the cold. They had no fur. You--- Had none, Caesar drew another deep breath in at the consistent bugging in his brain that buzzed an urge to feel your skin against his bare and heated hand. Then, he’d be able to keep you warm himself… 

You had no resources any more to help other than layers like what was being displaying for him today, despite the displeasure in the innate fact that Caesar was unable to see the drifting of your breathing under such thick fabrics and it seemed as if your scent itself that was so warm and inviting was mildly dimmed too and washed with moisture that clung in the air. “Will…Take care… of that for you.”

“Soon?” You replied teasingly and earned yourself a rather stern stare from Caesar who huffed once more, a few more snowflakes making their home against his flattened nose. Cartoonishly shaped, it was one aspect of his otherwise striking face, burled and strong with the casing of his thickened fur around his features that appeared more delicate. The skin seemed slightly discolored around the bridge as well as less wrinkled than the rest of his face and you wanted to brush your fingertips along it to see if that was truly the case. 

Nodding his assent, Caesar peered at the sweeping of the bonfire and was able to feel the heavy heat coming onto his bare skin beneath the layers of his darkened fur. There, he understood the premise of why you were standing so barren by yourself. No fire in your hut, no other way to keep warm than to stand by the biggest of the fires that the Colony had to offer. He could… Offer you his own. 

No other reason other than the roof overhead to stop the drift of snow catapulting against your body and you’d adequately be able to warm yourself then. You’d even be allowed to stay the evening until Caesar worked something out with River, Ash and his own Son to fix the issue of your lacking blazed abode.

Would you… be accepting of that at all, if Caesar were to offer you to stay with him for only a night? Caesar hated to tear into the more Human nature of his thinking, it was years he went without speaking to one, without the pulling want to feel the reminiscent melancholy of his past and it was challenging to put himself into that mindset now.

Human Females were more sensitive and prone to embarrassment, you’d deny if he asked you to come stay with him and you’d most likely not even look him in the eye with your declining answer. 

Human Males would think nothing of the invitation. Will’s smile flashed in front of Caesar’s line of vision. Sitting atop in the attic, staring at the slated cold rain as it fell and his own young fingers playing with the condensation on his window that formed from the proximity of his hot body---.

“Do you ever get cold?” 

Caesar was torn out of thinking, his eyes focusing back in upon the rapture your voice brought him along with the fluttering beat of his heart against his rib cage due to the mixed exhilaration of opening the door of his past and the more animalistic tear that struck at the base of his neck at the prospect of taking you back to his nest and slotting his larger frame against yours. All in the sake of keeping you warm, he’d justify it as his teeth sank into your neck. All to keep you… Hot.

There was a small plume of chill evident in the air as you spoke, cascading against your line of vision as you looked at Caesar who appeared to be ice-caped now, your stare unable to tell what was his naturally graying fur versus snow caught between the small hairs of his fur coat. 

To see the fluffy nature of the flakes catering themselves against the very cusped outline of Caesar’s body was a masterpiece. His fur caught it… At least it appeared to before it leaked into his skin, somewhat water resistant in its own right and it was hard to pretend that the snow melting against his body heat wasn’t turning into small droplets of silver either to be casted to the ground below or to freeze against the tips of his nearly blackened coat.

Each of the white specks, individual and loved, seemed to highlight just how dark his coat truly was and how dense it appeared against the scape of his skin. Crunching below your weight rested an inch or two of white crisped and virginal snow that fell inwards with your steps as you allotted yourself to stand next to the imposing Ape King. 

Caesar looked at your mouth momentarily, liking the way that your breath was clear for him to see instead of having to rely on the rising and falling of your shoulders as was usually the case. Had you… He tilted his head only minutely, something that was not detectable to your eyes as you reached a fabric clad hand and wiped some flakes that were kissing your cheek away from minored annoyance against your already chilled skin. Had you truly never felt an… Ape’s fur before so you lacked the answer to that question? 

Surely, Caesar thought to himself and felt a deep rumble come from the bowels of his chest. Not bemusement in the slightest, but it cracked with ardent hilarity in the chortle that followed. From the look on his face, it appeared as if you asked a stupid question and you felt mildly scolded.

It… was a pretty stupid question to ask, obviously they got cold otherwise most of the Ape families would not be spending their afternoon in the homes in favor of braving the weather like you were so stupidly doing. His brow line rested endearingly against the stare of gold and green, the only color it seemed in the monochromatic backdrop that the snow eclipsed the Colony in with its silent fall. 

“Have you not felt… fur before?” “Sure,” You stammered, feeling heat rise between your legs to shatter along the vertebrae of your spine. It danced itself against the back of your skull, uncomfortable like you had bugs crawling in your hair under your winter cap. It was a question you had a ready answer to, expecting the blunted nature of the inquiry from a mile away. Caesar was like that; brash and willing to take what it took to get his point across, sometimes even to the point of acute and aggravated awkwardness on your part.

Maybe that’s what you found so attractive about him, your bottom lip drew itself between your teeth and you pensively nibbled at the flesh. Other than outward appearances that you found… Appealing…

  “I have plenty of animal pelts I was given when I first---” “Ape Fur.” Caesar corrected himself quickly, hoping it didn't come across as too aggressively forward, “Have not… Felt… Ape?” “O-Oh…” Nodding, you laughed awkwardly into the collar of your jacket and shook your head minutely, something the Ape King noticed as he himself nodded in understanding to your silent answer. “Uh… I’ve ne-never really been close to one before.” Your voice was cracking around the edges and you prayed to whatever God there was that it was not detectable from the shackling of the fire. 

“I mean, not that I wouldn’t like to be!” Were did that come from? W… Were you flirting? Your mind yelled and pulled in on itself as your cheeks deepened a shade not from the warmth of the fire, unable to look towards the Chimp who was so focused on the profile of your expression, trying to discern what you were rambling on about. “I didn't mean it like that--- I just…”

Groaning, you turned your attention back towards the fire rather than the broad body of the Ape beside you. “No. I’ve never… Felt… Your kind of fur before. Is it different than…” Racking your brain through the hides you had in your hut, you rested on one animal that you thought was a fair comparison, “Bear?”

“Not as… thick.” It was clear in the cadence of his words that Caesar paused to think of the correct adjective to use. It was always easier for him to sign his thoughts, speaking was only second nature with you. “O-Oh…” There it was again, that amusing plume of white around your face with your exaltation, Caesar watching with bated amusement as it faded closer to your forehead and you laughed slightly, shuffling your feet as you felt your toes becoming numb. This time… You were unsure if you’d be able to blame that solely on the cold or if the nerves had become too great to handle and the nerve endings in your body were flaring as an attempt to get out of the situation you found yourself in. “So you do get cold?” Caesar shifted his brow just slightly as he looked at you and posed the foreboding question that was always going to plague this conversation, “You would… like to feel?”

“No---”

“You may if you… Would like.” The overlaying of your lying denial with Caesar’s impressive acceptance of your curiosity tangled in your mind and replayed itself a few times. It left you feeling reeling as you processed and looked down at your feet, bringing your right foot forward and crunching down on the snow that resided there and scarred it with a half imprint of your boot. “I-I don’t want to feel like… You’re only doing this because---” “You should… Know if you are to live as one of us.” 

Your eyebrows creased at that, wild implications running rampant in the words that Caesar chose to use. You had never been one to doubt your position in the Colony, you were just a Human. Sometimes, it felt like you were a pet of sorts when you did something so strikingly Human and it garnered stares. Never once had the idea of becoming one of them by proxy cross your racing mind as you looked towards Caesar and finally captivated him in a dance with your full expression. With the ambient orange glow of the fire against the backdrop of the slaten white, you appeared confused at first until the Ape was properly able to see the creasing of your eyebrows and the slight drawing of your mouth upwards. There was no attempt to stop the frozen hackles lined against Caesar’s broad shoulders from rising out of anticipation as you pulled your hands out from the enclosure they were in, tugging at the mitten of your right that were condensing heat against the digits. Caesar admired the way your small fingers came into view, splaying themselves against the hardened cold breeze, sweat that was playing at his nose from between them all too enticing as you shoved the mitten into the crevice of your jacket pocket. 

Once again as you did out of nervousness, you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and bit down hard, the pink skin turning momentarily the same hue as the crisped snow and Caesar held a hand out for your stability as you shuffled towards him to close the gap of less than a meter that was placed between you. Staring at the motion, you likened to the flakes that fell against his hot skin and melted upon impact. 

The pure white against the darkened flesh that had seen its share of demise and loss, the pull that his thick fingers had on you as you reached your hand out, accepting the help so you did not slip on the ice so you could readjust properly to touch him. All things, your mind needed to remind itself, were things done out of consideration of your nature. Not because of the attraction that flurried between Caesar’s eyes and your Lightly, the woolen nature of your left hand placed itself into the leathered drench of his palm and you peered at your feet as you twisted. There was irrational intimacy. There were no other Apes around and even with the blizzard of the flurries, would they actually be able to see anything as you released Caesar’s hand with a small smile of a ‘thank you’ and stared at his shoulder. So… You were just supposed to… Touch him? Apes… did not have the same attitude towards personal space, this was probably something as normal as breathing to them… Something as normal as sleeping… Gesturing your hand forward, it hesitated mid-air.

What if you touched him too familiarly? What if Caesar did not like the way you held him? Why would that matter!? The ration side of your brain dragged you back to your senses. There was nothing here other than an Ape wanting to expand your horizons to see them as not threats, but as a Family you had been accepted into without your explicit knowledge. Not that you had ever seen them as threats, your gaze softened as you broke the barrier of frost that was lining against his furred shoulder. 

Caesar resisted the temptation to release an exaltation and in return drew a headied breath inwards and let it linger in his lungs. He had not felt this… For so long, the running of another set of hands against his body out of disputed pleasure on both parties; disputed in his own way but not so much against yours as he was able to detect the change of your scent that was muffled. Amused… Arousal, juxtaposed and playing deliciously against each other.  

Not since Cornelia, Caesar resisted the urge to drop his eyes into a flattened state of vulnerability. Not since her passing, it never seemed appropriate to take in the minor delectation of what Caesar had been missing for nearly eight years now. It felt new. The way your hand shattered the tiny ice particles and drudged into the deepest core of his thickened coat, still thinned you realized compared to a bear's hide, Caesar had not been wrong in that aspect at all. It was incredibly coarse towards the fur line against his skin, softening as it draped inches outwards.

It was a ridiculing texture, beckoning into the primal part of your mind that it was all for show and that Caesar felt the way he did in order to draw you in. And you were drinking it up like it was water, metal shavings to a magnetic force of great power.

How sickly marveled you must have looked to him as you stammered a foot forward to get more as if your hungry hand was not already devouring everything it had wanted for the last month when the attraction to the Ape King sprang into your consciousness. It was so nice; the way that the coarse hairs tickled at your skin, the wallop of tufted mane rose and fell as you put forth a sweeping motion back and forth to study. Not a pet in the slightest, Caesar’s green and golden eyes flickered to the action you placed forth and released the tension of air he had held in. 

This time, it was your gawk that got to admire the way that the air dissipated from his thinned mouth in a crest of iridescent white near his face. Nearer than you had thought as you were able to feel the hotness on your expression. Caesar was more enjoyable than the stagnant and cold bear pelt you had as you could feel the high temperature of his skin right under your finger pads. 

“It---” You tilted your head to the side in wonderment as you grasped a handful and let it sink between your fingers. If Caesar was pained at all by the sensation of your pull, he did not show it as he was still as could be, perhaps a bit softened in his expression as his eyes hooded at the delicacy it was to be… Touched so affectionately. Human… Touches were different, the Chimpanzee decided. They were different, the muscle bounced in reaction to being touched as you brought your hand back to play against the grain of which his fur naturally grew, you were different with your grazes and Caesar wanted more. 

“It’s not as thick, you’re right.” That was said half-heartedly, needing to verbalize something in the moment to tear yourself away from taking your other mitten off and absolutely ravaging against his entire body. You wanted nothing more.

“As… I told you.” Caesar’s voice only waved around the edges, not detectable to your ears but it was racking against his own eardrums. A moment of seeped weakness at being touched. “So you do get cold?” 

You asked once again, looking at the King with slight cross eyes due to the proximity of which you held yourself against his commandeering stance. You could feel the tiny vibrations of his fur as it rose on reflex as your fingertips finally made more adamant contact with the muscles that draped below. Instantaneous it felt, the reaction and you found it difficult to pull away from the notion that Caesar was allowing you this pleasure in the first place. 

He was strong, your eyes ample at the back of your hand. Stronger than… you had thought, the muscles he carried against his bones were dense and hard, but how strong was he? Would Caesar be able to pick you up like you were nothing? Would he be able to snap your neck if you so desired him to do so? Maybe if you were lucky, he’d do just that. Maybe if you were bold enough and tugged at the fur in your possession would Caesar snap and take you---

In your touch that began moving with more intentions rested all of these questions, your mouth parting as you exhaled harshly in time with Caesar as he blew out of his nostrils; his own desperate attempt to keep his own questions at bay. Would you be willing to touch him harder, more fervently? Would you want to touch the fur on other parts of his body?

Against his chest, he’d let you run your hands down against the abs that were fleece lined and only noticeable at certain angles. Your stares during those times that Caesar caught you staring confirmed you were at least interested in feeling, or so he figured and kept to himself. Your scent at those moments in time told Caesar you wanted more than you were getting, or maybe he was running away with the idea out of piqued loneliness. 

What was he meant to think? What was the Chimp meant to feel? That tugging in the bottom of his stomach that danced downwards to flare against his pelvic bone. So Human by design it was, the urge to consummate out of a winded impulsed fun instead of primal desire to mate out of necessity.  Would you revel in feeling the hardening of his muscles and maybe even more if you so chose?

“Yes.” 

Was the response that was as simply put as anything else, Caesar’s tone nothing more than a rambling baritone caressing the innermost parts of your ears as if he were speaking directly into the shell below that body part. There was no need to complicate the matter. There was no need for Caesar to cure your morbid curiosity. There was no bridge that needed to be made as you swallowed hard, feeling the stiffening of your esophagus with that.

There were no others around to concrete the gap between Humans and Apes and it was resting on you now, your arm pulling itself back into your body as you squeezed your fingers together out of unspoken cravings that finally came to fruition. “It-It keeps you warm enough  though, right?” Caesar rolled his shoulder. Not to be taken as offensive, he was unsure of how to process the sensation of your hand print drilling into his skin now that he had gotten a small taste of it. Never again unless you were Mated. This was only to show you. To demonstrate and to satisfy your questions. You would perhaps touch another, his stomach churned in on itself out of unfamiliar jealousy. Caesar had no coping mechanism for that in itself ugly entirety. With the acceptance of you as part of the Colony, you were free to choose whom you wished and there had to be acceptance of that. There was nothing here other than Caesar’s want to help you understand Apes. Caesar’s… thirst to help you understand himself…  

Adjacently dilated eyes met yours as you felt all the air leave your body at once and the warmth that Caesar’s fur had blessed your hand with left you feeling chilled from the intensity of his stare, “Most… of the time.”

“And when it doesn’t?” “Ape… Learn to deal.” Caesar’s voice was once again a low grumble from deep in his chest, your gaze falling to the scar that lined his right pectoral and as you shoved your hand back into the homely hug of your mitten, scorned forever knowing that you knew how he felt, you wanted more. You wanted… To touch him there, downward…

Down his thick waist and against the pelvic bone. Pressing there would be a delight, you wondered how Caesar would react. Down his proportionally shorter legs and then back upwards against the grain of his fur and torturous with your intended languid pace. You wanted it all, feeling emptiness against your palm as it kissed the wool mitten. “Harder… for Humans to adapt. Harder to… Deal.”

“Unless you let me borrow your fur, then I don’t think I’ll be much use during the Winter then.” 

You muttered shamelessly, unsure if your voice came out as confident as it sounded in your mind. Unsure if your words even made sense to the Ape who had very little concept of flirting, let alone subtle flirting. It was reckless you knew. It was fruitless, no doubt.

But there was a tiny lingering shock of electricity that even Caesar could not deny when you broke set standards you both abided by day in and day out by letting the inquiry of the unknown come to light. You were riding on that as you peered at him, watching the crease form between his brows as Caesar ran through your words a few times to understand the deeper meaning. 

Caesar huffed at last as it hit him with cognition, looking towards your neck and seeing the very base from under the collar of your jacket and sweater. It beat quickly for him. Hardened and paced to please as was the way it felt against his navel. It lingered painstakingly and unfamiliar for him,  “Will… Build your hut a fire first. Then… See if you truly need my fur above all else.”

[askew-d]

YIZHAN FIC REC LIST

— if you just got into the fandom, you might know switched, yizhan or yizhan through the years, so let’s go through other stuff! we’re gonna take another ride. also, if you care about this, green will be for bjyx dynamic, red will be for zsww and blue will be for lsfy. from my point of view, ofc. orange will be for the not specified, couldn’t grasp. let’s go.

• where else but home, by purplemoster — fluff story where wang yibo accidentally returns home to xiao zhan every time. super sweet read!

• ⭐️ cool boy gets a life, by saezutte — xiao zhan’s a writer and his character, cool buy wang yibo, gains life. it’s wonderful, i want a cool boy for myself. who wrote this did an awesome job.

• ⭐️ i’m not as good as you think (or as bad as they say), by ilyria — aaahh, what a gorgeous story! basically, xiao zhan becomes yibo manager and the idol, well, falls in love. there’s a sequel!

• follow shot, by cataclysms — cameraman wang yibo freaks out about idol xiao zhan. because, come on, it’s xiao zhan! we get you, boy. beautiful.

• xiao zhan’s graphic design playbook, by augmenti — this one’s absolutely gold! fantastic. xiao zhan as graphic designer and yibo as someone who thinks his prices are too small. sexual tension ensues.

• caffeine addictions and brain malfunctions, by little_passions — if you want a coffeeshop yizhan au, here’s your to-go! cute!

• query: cardiac, by iluvnaruto1412 — our radiographer technician wang yibo discovers that doctor xiao’s a hottie. there’s a whole series that’s outstanding, don’t mind the mcd in the last part, you’ll understand as you read.

• an ode to love, by spoonful_of_sugar — sappy reminiscent of their story. truly so fluffy i had toothaches the entire read.

• ⭐️ one feline war for love, by ilyria —a fierce cat becomes a human after xiao zhan saves him, and this human wants xiao zhan all for himself. so very good, i died and resuscitated. worth it.

• chef’s kiss, by jalpari — chef xiao zhan in day day for an episode and becomes enemies with wang yibo. but for a short time. love this development for them!! so well done.

• ⭐️ this is what they say, by xiaoyibao (a_storm_of_frustrations) — yibo thinks xiao zhan’s breaking up when the man’s actually trying to get married to him. comic, lovely, poetic!

• set me into motion, by deinde — backup dancers wang yibo and xiao zhan being whipped towards one another. an angel wrote this.

• ⭐️ finding yibo, by vesna (mrsronweasley) — kidfic where yibo transforms into a young version of himself and xiao zhan takes care of him. i’m losing my head. it’s great!

• ⭐️🎖️never close our eyes, series by thirtysixsavefiles — catboy wang yibo and kinda batman xiao zhan. perfect through every part. i’m flabbergasted.

• 119 my cat is struck, by serendiiii — fireman yibo, cat owner xiao zhan, you can have my heart! adorable!

• a spot of light, by akatsukishin — this is for everyone who loves a drama! delivery boy xiao zhan and successful ceo wang yibo.

• a story of others to tell, by deinde — this author has some seriously good plots. in this one, yibo pines enough to end up in cql world. extra nice!

• cut to the feeling, by vesna (mrsronweasley) — drama pa and the huge star xiao zhan. is there anything better?

• love thy neighbour, by jalpari — single dad xiao zhan and neighbour who becomes babysitter wang yibo. marvellous!

• ‘cos you make me feel electric, by chajatta — fansite xiao zhan loves his inspiration, wang-laoshi from uniq. i love this for them, genuinely.

• ⭐️🎖️ world of cultivation, by eggo — yibo and xiao zhan meet each other through a game; well, not only. hilarious! chaotic! romantic! perfect!

• gravitating towards you, by bittersweetirony — high school au with student council president xiao zhan and sports freak wang yibo, we all know we needed it.

• 181.3 cm high, by eleven14 — wang yibo wakes up high in anaesthesia. you might imagine what comes after. excellent!

• ⭐️ we are made to love, by jalpari — xiao zhan writes columns receives one letter questioning on love. aah, so poetic! definitely worth every second.

• no path better than our own, by athousandfaces — harry potter au! we’re lucky to have this gorgeous story. i had a lot of fun reading it.

• my future in your laugh, by timelykey — doctor xiao zhan falling in love with overworked wang yibo. wow, what a journey, you’re losing it if you haven’t read it yet.

• love in the time of coding, by thevoiryflute — a hacker au for yibo fits him so much, i don’t know why. just know that this perfectly-written story caused butterflies in my stomach.

• summer surf shop, by anonymous — yibo goes to a variety show and gets much more than he imagined. absolutely gold.

• pick me, pick me up, by domeneec — wrong number au for yizhan, we need it. and it’s so well-written too.

• escape velocity, redefined, by thirtysixsavefiles — i have to admit that this au of pirating away together with royalty made me suspicious at first. but after i read it, it’s so goddamn brilliant.

• 缘分 | (yuánfèn), by fyredancer — royalty au, give me more yizhan royalty. good writing, good development, good plot, had a good time reading it.

• signal fire, series by fireflavoredwhiskey — spiderman yibo! spiderman yibo! spiderman yibo! spiderman yibo! if he knew about that, he’d be happy to know that in an universe he gets to be his favorite superhero.

• ⭐️ the magic position, by sophiahelix — just a sweet, short story with yizhan being cute together and it melts my heart away every time.

• ⭐️🎖️ with joy and purpose, by feenwitch — android wang yibo living alone in a planet until xiao zhan crashes his plane there. it’s just perfect. and the writing’s wonderful.

• perfect match, by sandorara — personal ai for xiao zhan turns out to be more than he expected. gorgeous wang yibo affecting xiao-laoshi and changing his course of life. incredible!

• 🎖️ their kindred encounters, by fireflavoredwhiskey — can i have this printed, please? actually, i think there might have. it’s a the age of adeline au, xiao zhan doesn’t get old. melancholic in the ideal dosage. angst. comfort. everything.

• the ruby ox and the golden boy, series by aces_low — a mafia au that attracted me. i’m usually not into these kind of aus but aah this one… it’s unique.

• ⭐️ half is loss, half is gain, by yin_chi — celebrity xiao zhan needs a bodyguard and guess who it is? well, yeah, this story’s a blessing upon us here. i couldn’t stop reading once i began, just warning y’all. addictive, i want more.

• ⭐️🎖️ between holocenes, by fireflavoredwhiskey — this author broke the heart of so many people by just vanishing from the fandom, but ah how greatly they write and how extraordinary their works are. this is a the time traveler’s wife au and it rocks.

• fixtures and fittings, by ella_minnow — interior designer xiao zhan and motorcyclist wang yibo! believe me when i said i screamed during the development of their relationship.

• ⭐️ 为战而爱, series by anonymous — bits of sdc moments with established relationship yizhan, the works are seriously stunning.

• what i could do (if i didn’t love you), by trestle — one-night stand au with architect xiao zhan. seriously really good through and through.

• ⭐️ hand in glove, by pessoa — brat yibo; you have my heart. the development in this work’s crazy, it’s a whole rollercoaster of feelings. neighbours au!

• say you love me (again and again), by lanwuxiann — sweet story of yizhan growing up together and loving each other through every step of the way. hella soft!

• ⭐️ four of hearts (l-o-v-e me zhan-ge), by eleven14 — yibo being silly to win over xiao zhan’s heart, and of course, it works. short, but very funny and lovely.

• a head’s up, by madfilaments — xiao zhan arrives at sdc without giving a head’s up and yibo’s frustrated. a pretty satisfying thing to read. awesome.!

• 7 reasons to support your local cat café, by buttstrife — host wang yibo, cat café owner xiao zhan, a romance for the history books. they’re so very lovable.

• ⭐️ the bravest man i ever knew, by biscuitpoo — another hogwarts au! this time, xiao zhan’s a bit more slytherin-like, and it’s a whole show.

• ⭐️🎖️ so happy you could come; so happy to be here, by alex_mtg — a masterpiece! betrothed yizhan with royalty and the uniq boys and this sweet development of their relationship. just amazing! :)

• ⭐️ threads, by planet_b612 — a sherlock and watson au! it’s phenomenal! in fact, this author has only good works, so it’s definitely worthy to check out.

since i’m doing this already, might as well recommend some of my own stories, so i’ll be adding the ones i favour (sssh):

• half a bottle is enough — yizhan fight and xiao zhan gets home carrying a cardboard wang yibo. just some silly boyfriendos!

• falling; never broken — yibo has bulimia (please, be aware of the trigger warnings) and xiao zhan’s a doctor who helps him.

• a best friend and a lover — xiao zhan goes on different dates with different versions of wang yibo to look for a ‘type’. they’re both stupidly in love, your honour.

• darling you, play it cool — yizhan bodyswap au where only wang yibo’s famous though. i wrote this in 2023 and i’m the most proud of it.

• sleep tight until the moonlight — yizhan enemies to lovers where both of them spend their time being radio hosts in university :)

• whispering through dusty aisles — my au where xiao zhan’s a literary deity and yibo’s still famous, they meet occasionally and sparks fly. it’s my most poetic creation.

everyone, please remember this is my opinion! of course, there a lot of other works — famous or not — who aren’t in here. if you want to check out more recs of mine, see my bookmarks! thank you :)

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

2 - Mouth of the Lion's Den

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 11.2k

Warnings: Slow Burn, strained parent-child issues, mentions of minor character death, injured/sick child mention, slight canon divergence

Notes: We're in the thick of the plot now. Based on the show but will include direct book elements. Previous Chapter Here.

You used to not travel very well as a child. The first time you left Dragonstone was right at the crux of the seasons change. Summer had ended, and it was a quick Autumn which felt far more like winter the more North you sailed. The sea was always cool, and the north was cooler. When you returned to Dragonstone some months later, Maester Cressen had said that the mix of seasons being the first time you left home is what caused you to get so ill.

What a meeting it was. Lord Stark had told you that it was halfway through your first meal with them when you collapsed. Barley touched anything on your plate which they first thought you just weren’t used to the food. That was until you collapsed onto the floor just as you stood from your seat as you burned up.

Whatever it was, it went through you fast and terrifying to the point where Maester Luwin had told Lord Stark to prepare to send a raven in case the worst happened. It didn’t though, you slept through the fever and by the time you awoke, you remembered none of it. You assumed you fell sick before arriving at Winterfell that’s how little you were really aware of anything.

It wasn’t like that anymore, but as you had sat in your room at the Inn days ago it did make you wonder what could have possibly hit Lord Arryn faster and harsher then that. Despite his age, he was more healthy as an older man then you were at the age of eight. Yet you had survived and his sickness burned through him in one single night.

Perhaps you had too much time that night to think on it, no one really was in any mood to converse after what happened. Once Lord Stark had put Lady down, he had you go find Jory. “Tell him to choose four men and have them take the body back North. Bury her at Winterfell.” He had taken the girls to their rooms, and even in the muffled quiet you could hear Sansa crying through the walls. Arya’s cries would be too quiet to hear, but you were no fool to think her chasing off Nymeria just to save her life wouldn’t leave the child in tears of her own.

So the Inn was silent, save for the low tones coming from Lord Stark’s own room. One where he laid the truth out, what Lysa has sent her sister, what it said about the Lannisters. He asked you what did you notice from before he died, and you were honest. Very little.

Your lord father had kept you away on purpose. He and Lord Arryn distant and secretive, and you had suspected you were sitting on small council meetings not just in his place but as if it would keep you preoccupied from their doings. Which it worked, but it also was not enough to dull you. Lord Stark agreed that it all worked out too seamlessly, Lord Arryn dies suddenly from an unknown illness, Stannis Baratheon urgently marries his firstborn daughter off to a far northern house as he himself flees to Dragonstone.

They both knew something, and what that was, sent your father away on his own accord. Shutting himself back on the grim island and leaving you to the wolves and the lions.

“You’re our family now. You are as good as one of my own daughters, and we protect our own. You stick by me once me get to Kings Landing. Work by my side, you’ll stay in our quarters with the girls until we learn what it is Jon Arryn died for.” Once again, that lingering feeling sat in your gut that walking out of the capital wasn’t going to be as easy as walking in this time around.

Now, sitting atop your horse once more you felt even less happy about being back then you had leaving the north. Your face flat and cold like stone as you rose through the crowds welcoming the King and his company once more. The cart behind you carrying the girls, Sansa no doubt bright eyed and taking in the awe of a place she dreamed would be for her. Arya you knew no doubt, was already wondering just how much she would explore when left to her own curious devices.

Just ahead of you, a page awaited everyone’s arrival. Calling to Lord Stark for a small council meeting at Grand Maester Pycelle’s request. You dared not move an inch thinking about how typical it was that such a meeting wasn’t called by the King himself, despite no doubt arriving before you all had. Oh the many matters of your King Uncle to attend too. So much wine to drink, and so many whores to fuck.

Lord Stark calling back, “Jory, get the girls settled in. I’ll be back in time for supper.” Calling your name, you climbed off your horse as he beckoned you. “You’re with me.”

The Page glancing over his attire and yours as you approached, “If you’d like to change into something more appropriate…” The combination of yours and Lord Stark’s unmoving stare causing him to stammer and backtrack. Any other time you may have considered it, but now you were here in place of your fathers position and spending time dolling yourself up once more looked more and more like a waste of time.

Renly had once told you every time you return to Kings Landing, you seem to be more and more of a splitting image of your bore of a father. He might be onto something in truth.

The Red Keep had not changed, and nothing passed your mind to care to think about it until the doors to the Throne room opened and right at the top looking up at the Iron Throne was just another face you wished not to see so early in the morning. Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, and twin brother to the Queen, he certainly held all the superior smugness of such titles in his very posture had seemed to arrive far earlier then yourself.

A little nod did not suffice as you wished it did, as he saw fit to open his mouth as soon as you came even slightly close. “Lady Baratheon- or, I suppose it’s Stark now isn’t it? Already quite adjusted to the northern boys afterall, aren’t you?” Barley managing to muster up the weakest of half smiles he only grinned more, leaning in to give a fake too-loud whisper in your ear. “I do hope you weren’t too broken in for your new husband, would hate to break the boys heart before he even had a chance.”

Biting your tongue, you were sure had he not found victim in Lord Stark behind you, the pressure would’ve drawn blood. You didn’t wait, making your way into the small council chamber with little care of greeting those already present, for the most part.

“Ah, the newly named Lady Stark. I must congratulate you on your marriage, always nice to see the young love flourishing. Shame to be torn apart so early on.” Nodding, you managed more of a smile this time. You didn’t particularly trust Lord Varys but considering he was the man who likely knew so much he could tell you what you had for breakfast three days ago, playing nice was better then not playing at all.

“Thank you, Lord Varys. But, he has Winterfell to run and I have my work here. I’m sure Robb understands.”

Passing to the table, you nodded to Grand Maester Pycelle, and saw fit to ignore the other party in the room without any shame in doing so. Not that you would be aware of, but to the others it really was as if Lord Stannis had walked in like normal. The man having no patience for Petyr Baelish as well. If anyone lit your gaze up slightly, it was the smirk of the younger man already waiting by the opposite end.

Renly had no qualms about approaching you with a casualness, and no need to pretend as if either of you cared to be formally civil. “I can’t tell if the north suits you my dear niece, or if it’s just being around this lot making you so much more droll.”

Arms crossed in front of you, an eyebrow quirked up as he held a smirk. You’d hit him later. “Shame you were so busy Uncle, would have been nice to have at least one other family member there to share the festivities with.”

Hardly a secret anymore, most in the court knew of Renly’s private preferences but you might be the only one who knew it without any doubt. The only one it seemed, that he trusted to know as well. Not that his brothers would despise him for it, but certainly the King a bit too crass to not be offensive and well, least to say your father was not exactly a comforting kind of man. He wouldn’t care and he certainly would make you feel as such for it.

“What can I say, so much work, so many laws to look into.”

Your eyes glint, passing right by with a tone only audible enough for him, “Swordplay isn’t a law, last time I checked.” You’d be a fool to think Renly didn’t take advantage of so much of the royal court being away, not to lock himself up in his chambers with a certain flower for as long as he could get away with.

Not that you were in such a position to dare judge.

Your father used to get annoyed constantly by the lack of work Renly was properly given, but it might be he expected too much. Renly had a tendency to be handed easy tasks and get more credit then the nights your own father spent buried in papers in his office would accomplish. Leaning your hands on the top of what was now your seat, you watched the others greet the now approaching Lord Stark.

“We are all praying for Prince Joffery’s full recovery.”

Oh the rewards the gods should bestow upon you for how little you changed your expression. He gets one bite from a barley grown Direwolf and he has the realm on it’s knees pretending to sob at the tragic wounds. You had more scars on you from being hit with sticks and practice swords over your childhood before the spoiled Prince ever reached that age.

Even in Winterfell, you watched him get angry and frustrated at how often Robb would hit him in the courtyard simply beacuse he had no idea what he was doing. The Hound having to remind him even that he demanded they spar just to show off, and he can’t stand there and whine blaming Robb for doing exactly what he asked.

Besides, not that anyone had asked, you’d have to admit that not all bites from a wolf were entirely bad. At least it took as long as it did to get back to Kings Landing, those marks having healed over by the time it became too hot to cover them up then in the northern cold.

Renly’s voice from beside you, “You look tired from the road, I told them this meeting could wait another day but..”

“But we have a kingdom to look after.” Looking over you saw a strange smile on Lord Baelish’s face and so did everyone else if the uncomfortable air in the room was honest. “I’ve hope to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me.”

“She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”

If Lord Baelish could have purposely made things more uncomfortable you think the room might have melted away just to escape it. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard whispers of his affection for her, but it was brazen of him to be so open about it in front of her husband of over twenty years.

Settling in, you sat beside Lord Stark as Renly pulled out a paper, explaining to the council that the King wasn’t exactly a common presence at the small council and most of these matters were left without his input. “My brother has instructed us to stage a tournament in honour of Lord Stark’s appointment as Hand of the King.”

Didn’t take being Master of Coin to know the money wouldn’t be coming from the surplus of the Crown. Grand Maester Pycelle’s frail voice piping up, “Can the treasury bear such expenses?”

As if ordering food from a servant, Lord Baelish waved the concern. “I’ll have to borrow it. The Lannisters will accomodate, I expect. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold, what’s another eighty thousand.”

You felt for Lord Stark beside you, “Are you telling me the Crown is three million in debt?”

Looking firmly at the table with an irritated grimace, you corrected him for the worse. “Actually, he’s telling you the Crown is six million in debt.” Lord Stark, was in shock at the state, demanding to know how this could happen and once again, Lord Baelish acted like such debt was easily forgiven.

“The Master of Coin finds the money, the King and the Hand spend it.”

Lord Stark beside you sounded as annoyed as you felt on the inside but he was still tinged in disbelief as he looked at the man. “I will not believe Jon Arryn allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm.”

The Grand Maester for all his slowness, had the grace to speak the truth instead of washing it away like the other Lord in front of him. “Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice, but I fear His Grace doesn’t always listen.”

Sitting up straight, you nor Renly were quite sure if it was his voice that came out of your mouth, or the unimpressed voice of your father who held the same opinions. “The King loves tournaments and feasts, but not the conversation of money that follows. ‘Counting Coppers’ he calls it.”

You admired his determination to reason with the King. Even with both his blood brothers at his side, neither man could settle his indulgences the way Lord Stark may have the ability too. Even now you could hear the ramblings and angry ravings of your father in his office, going about how he was born the wrong family if he were to ever make his brother listen. Many had thought that Lord Stannis would take over as Hand of the King, and you would take his place as Master of Ships in the immediate aftermath of Lord Arryns death.

Your father had been sat on the small council for almost ten years at that point, and had been home less and less as those years passed. The only letters he exchanged anymore were with some of his closest men, and of course, Shireen. You envied her in that sense. Not that she was loved in the way she was, but that she had such a happy innocence about her.

Once Maester Cressen had said she was the saddest girl he had ever met, that he considered that part of his failure to cure her. But she had been cured, just not by him and clearly he took it hard, but she wasn’t sad, not in the way some assumed. She loved learning, and your father had been determined to give her the same education as he had you. Everyday she would run to him once he was in his own quarters, jump onto his lap and go on about what book she was learning to read, and were he not there, she’d scramble to write a letter to tell him.

Few people adored Lord Stannis, but she was always his biggest supporter.

As you entered the very bottom of the tower of the hand, you wondered how much she knew. Did she know Lord Arryn was dead, did she know you were acting in your fathers place, did she even know you were married? She’d be upset to learn she wasn’t there for your wedding. One day when she was just barley older then a toddler, you had been sitting on the edge of a cliff on Dragonstone with Shireen sat in your lap.

Going on about what a highborn lady would do, who she’d marry and what the wedding would be. You planned hers and yours, just two little girls by the waters edge and it saddened you to think that she wasn’t there to see yours. Childishly, you wondered if she’d like Robb.

Walking through the door, you passed some of the Starks household guard, regarding you with a familiarity as you passed. As if you really were family, not just a guest. Maybe it was for the best that she had father with her again, at least he still felt like one to her.

The chambers were quiet, and as you saw what was left of easy food on the table you hadn’t the stomach for it. Sitting down regardless, you lifted some of the plates out of your place, pouring yourself water as you stared at the little flame the light on the table wickered with. Pulling out a small slip of paper from a small pocket, you slipped the seal off, a small direwolf. Looking over the words as you sipped at the water.

Sending a raven was risky for what he was trying to say, but Robb was smart enough to not say anything of anything. Telling you of Bran, and your heart broke at how devastated the boy feels of not being able to walk again. More he tells you of how he has no idea what to even say to make it better, that Bran just needs time to get used to things but watching his little brother be so miserable and not being able to fix it just makes him angry. You knew exactly how that felt, watching your little sibling suffer and being completely useless to them for it.

A slam shook you out of your focus, pulling the letter back suddenly and tucking it away before you looked up to see a somewhat grumpy Arya now at the table with you. “I know my face usually looks like that, but what’s got yours in such a put off state?”

Sighing, she draped her arms over the top of the surface to gently lay her head in them, turned enough to still see you. “I don’t know how you stand it, being here all the time.”

Leaning forward, you mimicked her posture, looking back at her now from a tilted but even eye level. “I’m here because I have to be, not because I want to be. I have a duty, and that needs to be upheld regardless if it makes me miss home or not.”

Pushing up suddenly, Arya’s eyes were bright and bordering on an intense curiosity. “You’d rather be home? At Dragonstone?”

Moving back yourself you paused as you opened your mouth. Closed it for a second, before sighing out as you crossed your arms over your chest. Leaning back against the chair behind you looking at the nothing of importance on the table. “Honestly? I’m not sure where that is anymore.” Her brows narrowed in confusion, “Where I feel at home I mean.”

Were there not such a heavy weight in your heart you may have smiled at how quickly she reacted, and the finality of her tone. “You’re one of us now, Winterfell is your home.” Just as something crossed your mind, it clearly did hers too. Shoulders deflating as she lost the shine in her eyes. “Or, it’s supposed to be.”

Heart reaching out to hers, you knew comforting wouldn’t make it better, or change what hurt in the first place. “You won’t be in Kings Landing forever.” Her eyes flickered to you and then back did they focus into her mind. “Eventually you’ll go back to Winterfell, get restless there too and you’ll either insist someone take you there or you’ll be old enough to just head out to visit on your own. He’ll always want to see you.”

Arya grumbled out, quiet and filled with a twinge of guilt as if she couldn’t decide should you be able to hear her or not. “Not just me he’ll want to see.”

Leaning forward, your back sat straight for the most part as you leaned your forearms against the table again. “There’s five of you, Arya. You have to share your brother with all of them at least sometimes.”

Quieter so much this time, you weren’t sure if you even actually heard her speak but there was a faint sound like, “Not just us,” that you choose to ignore. As Arya herself pushed passed it as well. “Sansa won’t care. She barley ever even calls him her brother.” There was a bite to her tone, and you knew all too well that it wasn’t just about this.

She didn’t find out until the next day about the butcher’s son, and she still hadn’t taken it very well.

You tried softly calling her name, but Arya got louder. Her arms swinging a bit as she gestured in her expressiveness. “She always calls him our bastard brother, not even half brother or anything like he’s not been her brother since she was born. She doesn’t respect him, she doesn’t respect anybody who isn’t herself or the stupid prince.”

Anywhere but the safety of her own walls, you’d scold her for so freely vocalizing her insolence. But she was in her new home, and Joffery certainly was a stupid, vile little creature who got Arya’s new friend killed. People could claim it was the Queen, but you unfortunately knew her well enough that she was far more clever of a monster then that. No, that was Joffery’s angry, immature rage which sent the Hound out against a boy not even in his teens.

Glancing at the door you knew to be both Lord Stark’s room, and if his work ethic was consistent, scribbling away on the too many tasks the King left to his Lord Hand, too busy to come out and hear you. “Do you want my honest opinion? About that night?” Her head nodding fervently, brows narrowed in a manner that looked so strikingly serious like Jons. “It doesn’t matter what Sansa would have said, as soon as Joffery showed up to the Inn bleeding, the Queen already made her mind up. Sansa could’ve told the complete truth and they still would’ve blamed you and Nymeria.”

A flash of sorrow in her eyes made your heart tighten painfully before covering it up with an easier to swallow emotion, “The she shouldn’t have lied! If it didn’t matter she could’ve told the truth about Micah and-”

“And the Queen would’ve done everything the same. And she still would’ve blamed you.” Leaning forward, your voice lowered to something much more serious. “People like you, like us? We don’t do well in places like this. You’re too honest and headstrong, and you haven’t been here long enough to learn how to hold back. And people like the Queen? Joffery? We are exactly who they want to take advantage of.”

You could hear the condescension even now, “She’s as wild as that animal of hers,” And it made you mad all over again. After some time when father brought you here, he ended up being the one to help you with your sword lessons alone in his own quarters, not wanting people like the Queen, or his brothers to have any more reason to look down on you. He wasn’t a popular man, he knew it, but he wouldn’t have these people mistreat his daughter, especially as a young teenager.

“I’m not saying you have to change, or pretend to be something you’re not. But I am telling you, this place has eyes and ears everywhere. Me, your father, Jory, people like that you can trust. You can be angry, and honest and upset around.” Glancing once again to Lord Starks door, you felt ashamed for what came from you next but mincing words was not a trait of the Stannis Baratheon variety of stags.

“Sansa wants to be here, and she wants to be apart of this because she’s naive. As long as the Lannisters give her pretty smiles, and soothing words she will bend to them because she thinks they could be her family some day. That doesn’t make it right the way she threw you and your friend to the wolves,” Arya quirked an eyebrow with a smirk, and you shook your head with one of your own. “Lions- shut up.”

Sighing, she leaned back into her seat. “I don’t hate her, not really. I just..”

“Don’t trust her.”

Glancing up with a bit of a stun, she seemed shocked you didn’t tell her to do anything otherwise. In a sense, you knew what she was feeling.

You loved Renly, he was closer to your age and the two of you always felt more like brother and sister with how easily he could bring out your more playful side in this pit of a captiol. But you didn’t trust him one bit. Not with your secrets, not with your work, and not with the particular companions he had been keeping as of late.

Renly and you were as close of friends as you had in this city, but at the end of the day. It was Stannis who was your father. It was the brother which both others looked down on, the daughter which had far too much of Stannis in her blood and personality to be seen as one of them. Robert didn’t care much for his brothers, but best be said he is lying to himself if he thinks he doesn’t show preference to Renly.

Stannis had always felt he was cheated of Storms End. The ancestral seat of House Baratheon, his by rights. Many times even in your tenure here at his side, he had gone to King Robert singing the same song. Anytime it was mentioned, your father would clench his jaw so tightly, you thought his teeth would shatter. You once had brought it up to one of his men, back on Dragonstone that he seemed to take it as a slight.

Ser Davos Seaworth had just looked at you with a somber look, one that was as sympathetic to his lord as he was offended on his behalf. “I think, my little lady, King Robert had meant it as a slight.”

It was the same here. Arya suffered, was threatened and attacked, her own direwolf having to be sent away just for protecting her master, and her new friend murdered for just agreeing to play duel by the river. Sansa had lost Lady in the Queens injustice, but she still got to walk the capitol and be treated like the princess she dreamed of being. While Arya was looked at as wild, untruly, and thought less of without being given a chance.

Falling back into the present, you sighed deeply. “Why do you think my Uncle Renly fits in here, when I stand out as much as your father does?”

Arya too, glanced at the closed door. “Because he plays along?”

“And I do my duty.” Sipping at the water once more before continuing. “Sansa is your family, and you shouldn’t forget that. You need each other, but I’m not asking you to trust her. Not the way you do your father, or Jon-”

“Or you.”

In those two words, your heart missed Shireen. She and Arya were alike in a lot of ways, Shireen a little more reserved but the same eager and honest spirit. You smiled, unsure if it was warmth of how Arya saw you, or yearning for the little sister you barley had seen grown up so far.

Silence between you was comfortable for a moment, until of course, Arya found something to blurt out. “Father caught me with Needle.” Raising your eyebrows, she slunk down a bit. “Needle’s my…it’s my sword. Well sort of a sword, it’s small and thin, but it’s supposed to be for my size. Anyways, he knocked on my door and I didn’t really notice that I didn’t bother hiding it. Or maybe I didn’t care if he saw me with it. He let me keep it, but he says I shouldn’t play with swords.”

Shrugging one shoulder, your voice was strangely casual. “They aren’t toys.”

“I know that!” You laughed at how defensive she got. You had a feeling you weren’t the first or even second person to tell her that. “You can use a sword, why shouldn’t I?”

Smiling to yourself, you refrained from specifying that the only reason you started to be trained on how to use one, is beacuse a certain dark haired, grey eyed boy had snuck up behind you and hit you with a practice one when no one was around to scold you two for it.

“Will you teach me?”

The letter in your pocket begin to weight you down, you needed to ask Lord Stark about it before morning. You had another small council meeting early on and you didn’t fancy being kept out of the dark again. Standing up, you ran your hand playfully over her hair as you passed. “That’s up to your father. It’s late, go get some sleep.”

Turning to approach Lord Stark’s room, you missed the feeling glance from the small Stark watching you leave. Something in her eyes that knew things which you couldn’t have guessed she was privy too, but just added to her growing admiration all the same.

As you guessed, the man was sitting at his desk writing away when he called for you to enter. Shutting it gently behind you with a polite, “Lord Stark.”

Chuckling, his hand paused before shaking his head slightly and continuing. “You’re allowed to call me my name, you know. I think marrying my son gives you the right to at drop the titles in private.”

Nodding once as you approached, “I’ll try to remember that.” He knew you wouldn’t.

When you hesitated, he looked up at you with a questioning look. “What is it?”

You stood unsure for another moment before quickly moving to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk, pulling out the letter. “I heard from Robb.” Lord Stark- Ned, leaned forward curiously. “Nothing new, just updating me about Bran, how he’s fairing as Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’m assuming you’re not just here to make small talk.”

Well it certainly wasn’t your skill that was true. Inhaling a slow breathe, you looked straight at him to just ask what you needed to confirm. “Lady Catelyn was here, wasn’t she?” His brows narrowed deeply as he reached a hand out, taking the letter from you.

Skimming over, he smiled amusingly as he reached the end. “You two talk in code often?”

You failed to prevent the smirk on your lips before you had noticed it was even forming. “Only when we’re talking about things we’re not supposed to.”

“And how often is that, exactly?”

You only shrugged. You, Robb, Jon, and later Theon, would get into trouble a lot when you were younger. But when you would leave, you and Robb figured out a way to talk about things that would certainly get you punished if your father ever found out. So you started writing in almost childish imagery. Hence the end of his letter, saying to ask his father about “some stray kitten I saw running around the halls the other day.”

Folding the letter, he handed it back to you. “Clever. But he’s right. I shouldn’t keep this from you, and Robb clearly doesn’t want me too.” Leaning back he pulled something from his desk, what looked like a blade with a rich ornate handle to it. Placing it on the desk you leaned forward to look closer as he explained. “A man came into Brans room some night after we had all left Winterfell. Told Cat no one was supposed to be there, that it was a kindness.”

The bite in his tone was angry and spiteful even if his face remained steadfast. Like he was lost in thought, he seemed to trail off in his head before coming back. Telling you of the man trying to kill him, how he had almost killed Lady Catelyn in the process, and the direwolf which ripped the assassins throat out. “Bran’s wolf had saved his life..”

Leaning forward you felt a horror bubble up inside of you, Bran was a boy of ten who would do such a thing? Voice weaker, cracking a bit at the look of almost shame or guilt in his eyes forming. “Lord Stark?”

Head shooting up to look at you, like those words, that specific title speaking of the wolves clicked something in his head that he didn’t know how to feel. “The direwolves, when we found them in the woods…Jon had said something. That my children were meant to have them..”

Jon hadn’t included himself. There were five pups, two girls and three boys and Jon had purposely not counted himself as one of Lord Stark’s children in order to prove they were meant to go to them. He had found Ghost off to the side all on his own, so quiet Jon wasn’t even sure how he had heard Ghost’s tiny cry when not a soul other had.

Lord Stark still lost in his thought, “If the Gods sent those wolves…I killed Sansa’s..” Just as fast as he lost himself in a spiral, he took back the reigns and pulled right back out of it. “Everything adds up but I don’t know to why. Lysa telling her that the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn, Jaime Lannister being the only man who didn’t join the hunt the day Bran fell and strands of blonde hair in the tower when I could tell you for a fact no one had been in there for a very long time.”

He tapped his fingers at the blade and you felt a weight in your throat trying to fight against the words. “The blade?”

Lord Stark laughed meaninglessly. “The blade belongs to Tyrion Lannister.”

For all that you knew him, and for as different as he seemed, you couldn’t find it in your heart to see such traits past the blood of who he was and who his family was. “How do you know?”

The answer, you liked even less. Lost in a bet to the Lannister during a tourney, the previous owner knew who it now belonged to without any doubt, beacuse it’s previous owner was Petyr Baelish.

You were finding it increasingly hard to figure out who you didn’t like more in this city. Luckily for Tyrion Lannister he in fact, wasn’t in the city so he found your newfound anger towards him unobtrusive. Not as lucky for you, sitting at the small council you found too many men in the room you didn’t trust as far as you could throw.

Lord Varys avoided much interaction with you has he did your father, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fully aware of every step you had taken in this city and no doubt others. You dared not think about how much he really knew, not that it mattered much now, but you didn’t appreciate the concept of lording information over another head to make them dance.

Lord Baelish was as trustworthy as he was kind, meaning none. A self serving worm who had no care for anything or one that didn’t give him either money or power. Though, you did consider him to be the less offensive to look at only if in comparison to the bloated faced man standing before the council.

Lord Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch was nothing short of an insult to the eyes. Patchy facial hair that didn’t quite sit well over the slight pudginess of his face that wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t also always plastered with a high and mighty look as if he knows better. Standing before you, speaking of his struggle to keep the peace in the streets.

His voice covered itself in slime. “It’s the Hand’s tournament that’s causing all the trouble, my lords.”

An exhaustion sat in Lord Starks shoulders, his tone annoyed as his posture to the idea. “The King’s tournament. I assure you the Hand wants no part in it.”

Your father didn’t care for Lord Stark personally, but at least they would agree at such a waste of expenses. Being Master, or in your case, acting Master of Ships didn’t mean you were not painfully aware of how much spending your assets should be restricted of just to amuse the growing relentlessness of the King.

Slynt continued. “Call it what you will Lord Stark, the city is packed with people and more flooding in everyday. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings, and a drunken horse race down the Streets of Sisters.”

Your eyes narrowed, voice loud and yet even with little emotion behind it. It unnerved many how similar you were to the unwelcoming and bluntness of your lord Father. “Discipline should lie with the capabilities of a commander. If you cannot keep the King’s peace during something as innocuous as a tourney, perhaps the City Watch should be commanded by someone whose ability we can rely on.”

Oh the fire in his eyes as he glared at you, spit coming from his mouth as it did his worse. His chest and cheeks puffing like a frog. “I need more men.”

Lord Stark had the final decision however, and you would never dare go against or even speak up against it. Such a thing was not your place, nor would you let it be. “You’ll get fifty, Lord Baelish will see it paid for.” Your own harsh gaze, bordering on a glare peeling over to the Master of Coin seemingly surprised by the notion. Lord Stark’s order firmer then ever. “You found money for a champions purse, you can find money to keep the peace.” Turning to Slynt, “I’ll also give you twenty if my household guard until the crowds have left.”

Giving more men to the one who didn’t know how to command them with fairness was not quite how you felt about such actions, regardless of how the rest of the council didn’t agree. Was it too harsh of a stance, or was it a firm position influenced by what you already knew was incompetence. Janos Slynt was not someone trustworthy, but as long as he got paid he would do the bare minimum.

You and Lord Stark sharing a glance as he relaxed somewhat. “The sooner this is over the better.”

Lord Varys leaning forward, tone as even and light with hope as he could paint it. “The realm prospers from such events, my Lord. They give the great a chance at glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes.”

Legs crossing over the other you sat back in your seat. “It’s not glory those men need more of, Lord Varys I can assure you. They have quite enough of that to go around.”

Lord Baelish leaning far too close to make eye contact with a sly grin. “And yet it puts coins in many a pocket, my Lady. Glory has filled every Inn throughout the city, and the whores are walking bow legged with every step.”

Grin growing more detestable as you looked from him with an uncomfortable glare. Your dear Uncle did not help the matter as he spoke up, a laugh in his lungs doing so. “We’re fortunate my brother Stannis is not with us. Remember when he proposed to outlaw brothels? Robert had asked if he’d like to outlaw eating, drinking, and shitting while he was at it.”

The force to not roll your eyes tested your every power of will. Every sense of faith in a man like your father that they assumed he had suggested or done so on Dragonstone for the superficial. Many Lords in the capital were keen on keeping your father at an arms length and you couldn’t help but speculate how much was truly just his personality, and what was fear deep down.

Afterall, he had two living children, and four which had passed before they could become your brothers. Clearly it wasn’t sex itself that was what he disliked about the premises.

Lord Stark looked to you instead of bothering to even entertain this discussion, calling your name. “You haven’t heard from Lord Stannis have you? He has not formally passed is place on the council to you, I’d have to guess he intends to return from his visit at some point?”

Neither of you said it to the current company, but Lord Stark didn’t quite appreciate the treatment of his new daughter by marriage. Sending you off to be wed out of nowhere, not accompanying or letting your mother or sister come to see you married, and then dragging you away from his son after one night to act on the council in his unexplained absence.

It was unfair to you and Robb, and it also sat rather suspiciously that you had been kept so terribly in the dark with this, and whatever your father had been investigating with Lord Arryn.

Lord Baelish’s tone was as mocking as ever, looking right at you. “No doubt he’ll return as soon as we’ve scourged all those whores into the sea.” You could hear Renly laugh somewhere to your left.

Standing abruptly, you smoothed down your skirt and nodded stiffly. “Until tomorrow, my lords.” As you stepped away you muttered uncaring if you were heard or ignored. “I’ve heard quite enough about my father and whores for one day.”

Renly’s laughter bothered you the whole way out of the small council chamber. You and Lord Stark had business to inquire of Grand Maester Pycelles but you found yourself perfectly content with waiting out of ear from mocking of your lord father for one day.

Words from the night before long since burned in the light of one of your rooms candles, in your pocket now sat one of you own writing and a new one sent to you. A raven from Dragonstone had surprised you only as long as it took to see the neatness of the letters.

Shireen was outraged that she missed your wedding. Had asked a million questions, what did you wear, who attended, did Winterfell have a nicer sept then they? That one you were going to have to explain another time that in your new life, you found more peace in the way the Starks followed that of the old gods. More questions of what is the capitol like with the new hand, was Robb as handsome as she was picturing. A question which even in the privacy of your own room, made you fluster a bit.

Only your dear sister could have you ready to spill about a man your married too, in ways like you were still a girl her age with a petty crush. Her letters always long, and always excited to hear what her well travelled big sister was doing regardless of how little you ever wanted to tell the truth of it anymore.

She was just a child, a rather innocent one at that. You wondered what father told her of the reason behind his sudden return home. Thinking to the two girls you returned to the city with, they too, were too young to have to be around this den of masks and liars. At least Arya’s needle was a bit more of protection then that of Sansa’s naivety.

Grand Maester Pycelle’s office was unbearably stuffy. The scents, the thick air and the mixture of whatever liquids sat both around the surfaces and tucked away into cupboards did not make the heat of summer any easier.

His frail voice seeming having gone on for far too long, “The smallfolk say the last year of summer if always the hottest. It is not often so, but it can feel that way does it not? On days like this, I envy you northerners and your southern snows.”

Both you and Lord Stark standing by his desk, it felt as if he was ready to dismiss before why an audience was requested in the first place. “I’ve been hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn.”

To his credit, the Grand Maester had the patience to look surprised by the subject but not suspiciously so. “Lord Arryn? His death was a great sadness to us all. I took personal charge of his care, but I could not save him.”

Eyes narrowing slightly with a tilt of your head, you considered back to your own insights. “Did he seem sickly to you before the fever hit him? He hasn’t seemed like himself for some time but it never struck me like a physical ailment.”

Considering the idea, the Grand Maester himself looked a tad shamed. You doubted there wasn’t much he could do, and yet you could see similar feelings of confused failure in like your own once Maester Cressen. “His sickness truck him very hard, and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just the night before he passed. Lord Arryn often came to me for counsel.”

Lord Stark bluntly asking, “Why?”

Your insides rolled over at how indigent and offended the man instantly became at Lord Stark’s mere question. Nothing but worry over pride and image for such people. “I have been Grand Maester for many years. Kings and Hands have come to me for advice since-”

Voice raising enough to speak over him, you cut his tongue back down with the sharpness of your own tone. “Why did Lord Arryn seek you out, the night before he died? What did he want?”

The answer, only brought more questions.

Bringing you and Lord Stark closer in his office to a shelf, many large tomes sat across them as he shakily dragged one onto his desk. Landing it down in front of Lord Stark with a thud. “The lineages and histories of the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms. With descriptions of many high lords, noble ladies, and their children.”

Watching Lord Stark pull off the metal clasp and tossing it down, the book was loose and not well made but the pages inside were vast on thick paper filled to the brim with words in many styles of writing in many degrees of faded letters. Flipping through multiple pages until he landed on one at random, Lord Stark begun reading out one of the passages.

“…blue of eye, brown of hair, and fair complected. Died in his fourteenth year of a wound sustained in a bear hunt.”

Head tilting as he sat back down, “As I said my Lord, a ponderous read.”

“Did Jon Arryn tell you what he wanted with it?”

A slight shake no, of his head. “He did not, my Lord. And I did not presume to ask.”

Skimming the pages, you barley glanced at them before looking up to meet the Grand Maesters eyes but did not find him hiding much behind them. Nothing pertaining to the conversation at least as Lord Stark continued his inquiry. “Jon’s death, did he say anything to you during his final hours.”

Instinctively he denied, “Nothing of import, my Lord.” before pausing his hand raised as if to collect his thoughts within them from his older mind. “There was one phrase he kept repeating. The Seed is Strong, I think it was.”

Your eyes narrowed, “The seed is strong? What does that mean?”

No curiosity in his eyes, “The dying mind is a demented mind, Lady Stark.”

Whatever he said right after, was missed in the brief second of childish notions, much like what Shireen always tried to dish from you. Some familiar just called you by your name, others stuck to the simple My Lady, others such as Ser Jaime Lannister only switched between names in mocking as if there was something usual about a highborn lady taking on the House of their husband.

But hearing Lady Stark so casually, shouldn’t have clicked such a second of girlish glee as it had. You pulled yourself together though, hoping neither noticed your stammer of formality. Lord Stark beside you continuing, “And you’re quite certain he died of a natural illness?”

Grand Maester Pycelle seemed taken back, alleviating guilt at how quick his confusion at such a suggestion was at least ticked a name off your list. “What else could it be?”

Lord Stark seemed like he however, knew what his answer was. “Poison.”

Unwilling to think of such a crime, he shook his head in denial. “A disturbing thought…I don’t think it likely. The Hand was loved by all, what sort of man would dare-”

Your eyes and Lord Stark’s flickered to the other for just a moment, your voice without accusing if only in pure read of your words. “I’ve heard it said poison is a woman’s weapon.”

“Yes. Women, cravens…and eunuchs. Did you know Lord Varys is a eunuch?”

The spinning of mistrust once more, not the game neither you nor Lord Stark cared to get involved with now or ever. Enough was on your plate as it was. There was no conceivable thought of what Lord Varys would gain from murdering Lord Arryn in your mind. Then again, Lysa had named the Lannisters and yet you too had no idea what would be gained by that either.

Nor what trying twice to murder an innocent ten year old boy wold gain. But the signs all pointed to the golden lions.

Finding Arya near the top of the steps balancing on one foot, you smiled. Taking the tome from Lord Stark to his office for him so he could inquire what her dancing teacher had her practising now. Earlier he had commented to you that it felt like everyday Arya came back with new bruises or scratches with a worried furrow in his brow.

You simply had held back a smirk, “If I recall that’s exactly how everyone found out I was learning to sword fight when I was her age.”

Lord Stark had laughed much easier, running a hand over his stubble. “It took us that long to find out because you and Jon would sneak out at night so neither of you would get in trouble.” The first few lessons did have a lot of Jon hitting you harder each time until you got fed up and learned to block properly. “You should be thankful it was me who caught you and not Cat.”

You were twelve at the time, Jon fourteen and even all those years ago still far stronger then you. You couldn’t have imagined how much trouble he would’ve gotten in were it now your own father who caught you two one night.

Sitting now at Lord Stark’s desk, you had been mindlessly flipping through the book. Pausing at random pages before coming across the current accounts of Baratheons. The King first, and his children, then your lord father and his. Including all four which never made it, and a sickening description of Shireen as “disfigured” from her greyscale.

Renly when he thought neither or your father in ear had often referred to Shireen as “that ugly daughter of his” and you hated it. She would’ve been far worse had your father listened to the other Lords. Send her off to old Valyria to be of the stonemen before she infected the whole of Dragonstone.

Dancing over her name with your tapping finger, you told yourself not to. Biting your tongue before your weakness overtook and flipped to the pages of the current Starks. Glancing down to Lord Eddard Stark, then that of Robb did you pause. Shireen asking if he was handsome and certainly the drollness of a Maesters documents did nothing to answer that.

But your eyes skipped down. Looking to the description of Eyes of Grey, black of hair and the beginnings of the letter ‘S’ coming into sight did you slam the book shut with an angry huff. Your best friend for so long, and now his memory tainted with feelings which you both were forced to tear away from.

You’d love to just think of Jon the way you could Theon. Fond memories that weren’t anything more, and none which made the flutter in your stomach getting used to your new husband feel shameful. Hearing Lord Stark’s footsteps you stood up from his seat, leaning against the wall to the side with your arms crossed your chest.

Closing the door behind him, “Do you know a Ser Hugh of the Vale?” Head jolting back you found nothing with such a title and name until Lord Stark elaborated. “He was Jon Arryns squire.” Your lips parting in recognition you turned to look back at him confused. “He was knighted after his murder.”

“Knighted for what?”

Tilting his head he almost smiled. “That’s what you’re going to find out.”

Ser Hugh as it turned out, was exactly the kind of glory seeker you knew didn’t need more cheers and gold bolstering his ego. Down in the open field where they set up the tourney, you recognized him at least while he was in much more average attire. Still nicer then what you recalled he wore as a squire.

“Ser Hugh?”

Your footsteps towards him quick and long, your voice not shouting and yet projecting enough to startle those around as the man turned annoyed towards you. “As you can see, I’m busy.”

Busy taking steps, yes a task needing great concentration to a man of his calibre. Your eyes narrowed in the bright sun making you look far less tolerant of such an attitude. Renly once had said that between the flowing dresses, the light fabric of an equally as long cardigan with hair that looked far nicer unrestricted by whatever styles these girls in the capital pretended were fashionable, you might actually attract a suitor once in a while were it not for you being a perfect copy of your father’s morose and drab glare.

“I’m here on behalf of Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King-”

Not giving you a second chance, he waved you off. “Well run along and tell your master if the Hand wishes to speak to me, he should come himself. Knights don’t have time for a servant girls questions.”

Turning and stepping along the path you resisted the urge to see his head smash into the wooden railing he walked beside. There was no point in arguing, he seemed unlikely to be honest if he did answer any questions, and you and Lord Stark had a much more promising visit far down in the streets of the city.

“He said he’d only be willing to talk to the hand himself. A knight such as him.”

You and Lord Stark glancing at the other with a vapid smirk, of course how could you have been such a fool to dare ask anything of a well seasoned warrior such as Ser Hugh of the Vale. Intrepid Knight of Half a Day.

“Ah, a knight. They strut around like roosters down here. Even the one who’ve never seen an arrow coming their way.” The armoury Lord Baelish had directed you towards approached quickly. Sounds of yelling and barters all around and children play fighting in every direction.

Many eyes looked towards the pair riding down the path. Either such a sight was unusual to them, or perhaps all too similar. The Lord Hand and Master of Ships travelling down the poor city streets looking in the same places for the same people, only months after the last pair did the same to no known success.

“We should be careful out here alone, my Lord. There’s no telling which eyes belong to who.” Glancing at him, he seemed unaffected by the idea. Climbing off your horse as he did too, you both steeled in a natural air of cold confidence. Working beside Lord Stark for you was easy, you couldn’t however imagine such an easy pairing in Lord Arryn and your own father.

“Let them look.”

Tobho Mott greeted you both with upmost respect, seemed to be much more relaxed with your presence then he did mention of your lord father. Lord Stark beside you prompting the conversation moreso. “What did Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis want?”

“They came to see the boy.”

Lord Stark saying he’d like to see him as well, Tobho nodded and turned into the forge where the consistent smashing of metals stopped banging. “Gendry,”

Easy to see from his demeanour, it was clear he was likely either incredibly lowborn, or even a slave must to your dismay. He didn’t look at either you or Lord Stark in the eye, standing straight and respectable, but did not think he had the right to make eye contact.

You stood still, trying to see what it is that would be on any interest to the lords before. Not just that, what was seen which scared your father back to Dragonstone, and Lord Arryn into the grave? The three men went back and forth for a while over the ornate bulls helmet which he had made himself, easing the pair into the inquiry.

His voice didn’t give much away, but a tint of attitude which wasn’t unfamiliar. Taller then, you, his hair was dark to the point of a deep brown and by your guess would be a a little younger then you. Lord Stark changed subject, “When Lord Arryn came to visit you what did you talk about?”

Not looking still, your eyes narrowed as something pricked at your skin. “Just as me questions is all, milord.” Next asked if your father had ever questioned him, was a rare moment that made you break a smirk and eyes lit up with an amusement not often seen of you in Kings Landing. “No, he never said a word. Just glared at me like I was some raper who done for his daughter.”

Mott turning and raising his voice. “Watch your tongue boy. This is Lord Stannis’s own daughter you’re speaking too.” Turning to you with sincere apology in his eyes you couldn’t seem to look away from Gendry. He apologized, but you only found yourself looking at him with a more scrupulous gaze.

You tried, but whatever pricked at your skin settled over every corner of it until you wanted to twitch with unease. Lord Stark spoke for you, sensing that you were seeing something close to what he was slowly putting together. “What kind of questions did Lord Arryn ask?”

“About my work at first. If I was being treated well, if I liked it here. But then he started asking me questions about my mother.”

You spoke up before you could stop yourself. “Your mother?” Gendry specifying he meant just who she was and what she looked like, you continued to speak first unable to keep the intensity away out of your gaze on him. “What did you tell him?”

“She died when I was little. She had yellow hair, she’d sing to me sometimes.”

You couldn’t say why it clicked, but it did. Stepping forward you were sharper with him then you may have intended, “Look at me.”

Meeting your eyes, you felt that sensation shiver through your body like you had just been tossed in a river. There was no denying what it was you were seeing. Had you not known better, you could’ve mistaken Gendry for your own brother. The green eyes wide and bright, hair so dark and thick, the strength in resemblance of his facial structure and all linking back to why the snark of attitude pinged at you.

Almost in shock you leaned back, glancing to Lord Stark who briefly flickered to meet your eyes with an unsettled understanding of what you were seeing. You didn’t like what you were feeling in any way. Lord Stark handed him back the bull helmet, “Get back to work, lad.”

Diligently, he left further into the forge and the hammering started once again as Lord Stark spoke quietly to Mott. “If a day ever comes that boy would rather wield a sword then forge one, you send him to me.”

Coming up to Renly’s quarters, your head was in a spin and something told you to go anywhere that wasn’t where all your questions had laid. Knocking on his door, you almost jumped back in surprise by the one who actually answered.

Taller then you with a darkish dirty blonde hair rung up into curls that most girls you know envied with passion, Ser Loras also stood before you shirtless in a manner you amusingly knew a certain young redheaded Stark would’ve had her cheeks turn just as red at the sight off. Luckily for you, the shock on his face and the smirk on yours already knew the story better.

Walking in as you brushed past him, you raised your eyebrows at your Uncle now rushing to cover his own chest as if you were stupid enough not to know. “My Lady, apologies we were just-”

Turning to Loras beside you, you smirked wider with a playful squint in your eye. “Ser Loras, a word of advice. If you wish your private affairs to remain private, maybe don’t answer my Uncle’s door when you’re both still shirtless and this one’s still in bed.” You nodded over to the annoyed Renly.

Loras couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or horrified, but left as soon as he could be considered half way presentable. Door closing behind him, you walked in further, leaning against Renly’s desk. “I know discretion isn’t your strong suit Renly, but maybe if he’s trying to keep it a secret at least pretend you two aren’t locked up in bed half the time.”

Rolling his eyes, he reached passed out to pour himself wine. “Aren’t you missing your tournament?”

Shaking your head at his offer of a glass to you, “Oh am I Hand of the King, now?”

Glaring, he rested beside you against the desk as he sipped. “Spending enough time with him, it’s easy to mistaken I suppose. Much like my dear brother seemed.” Glancing beside you, you said nothing as he continued with mocking joy. “Jon and Stannis spend an increasing amount of time together only to stop when one of them dies and the other runs away out of reach. Only difference is the Hand this time is a wolf, but the Stag stays the same. Or are you a wolf now too?”

Pushing off smug with himself, you crossed your arms. “I married into a house of wolves, my name is theirs now, I suppose yes dear Uncle I am a wolf now if such a distinction matters.” Titling your head you were far less amused now and much more openly accusatory. “Does that make you a rose, or just a stag stupid enough to let roses tie themselves around him?”

He glared at you, “My relationship-”

“I’m not talking about Loras. Not for that. I’m talking about the less time you spend doing your duty the more I seem to find you spending time whispering with the Tyrells.” The guilt on his face grew tenfold as you slammed more to the open air. “You didn’t hide very well what your plan for his sister was, Margaery was it?”

Oh you hit a wound. Renly face twisting into a snarl unbecoming of someone like him. “Plan?”

Crossing your arms you didn’t move an inch but your eyes trained on his with scrutiny. “What was it my father said you planned, trying to make dear Margaery, Robert’s whore?” He paled but you didn’t let him blabber. “Everyone in the seven kingdoms knows he’s got enough of those, so I have to ask why exactly try to send the pretty girl from Highgarden into the bed of our well rode, drunken King, and then you yourself having the same ride by her own brother?”

He shrugged, but did not do well at hiding his anxiety. “You and Stannis are missing out, Tyrells are quite interesting in bed.”

You raised your eyebrows. “So are wolves, I’ve found.”

“Did you come here for this or what?”

Pushing up you walked more to the middle of the room. “No, actually I came here to ask if you’re going to the tournament tomorrow.”

Renly’s eyes flickered side to side, “Most likely. Why?”

You shrugged, losing all pretense of suspicion for now. “Just wondering if I’ll have someone to talk to who doesn’t make me want to tear into my palms.” Renly laughed, telling you this was the wrong place for that.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, for a brief moment he looked actually concerned. “I know I joke about it, but the capital doesn’t suit you does it?” He smiled when you shook your head no. “You know every time you came back from Winterfell you looked miserable. You hated coming back here and each time you come back a little more fed up then the time before.”

You said nothing as you looked blankly at him. There was nothing to deny, coming back here was always the worst and it never stopped being the worst until you were back with the Starks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to your wedding.”

You shrugged. Not the answer or even emotion he expected, but you were just looking at him.

The wide bright eyes, the shape of his cheeks, jaw, the colours in those eyes and the darkness of the thick hair he was so bad at letting grow out just like your father. All you could think of was what in those looks scared your father out of the city.

What did he find in those looks that was so bad it got Lord Arryn killed. You and Lord Stark had many clues but no hints except for one glaring one. You had returned to the horses, nearby where Jory had been waiting.

When he asked if you two had found anything, you hadn’t been quite the same since realizing what Lord Stark had. All you could see when looking at Renly now, was what Lord Stark told Jory then.

Something that had no right being a clue to such a dark mystery and yet here you were, standing before water as murky then ever only this time it was your own kin that was being told as the dangers to look out for.

Gendry wasn’t just a tiny clue of no meaning, somewhere in Lord Arryn’s death was a page about finding King Robert’s bastard son.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I love your writing! I need more sub Aemond. Just the thought of him begging and being overstimulated *chefs kiss*. Could you write something where you’re betrothed but he’s so obsessed with you and wants you in control from that aspect?

Sorry for the long ass wait. I hope this floats your boat.

Warnings: Subby Aemond, praise kink, hair pulling, voyeurism, finger sucking, male masturbation, Aemond tasting his and hers cooking, smut. Word count: ~1200

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

A King is nothing without his Queen, or in Aemond’s case a Prince Regent is nothing without a Princess. He bristles with irritation upon hearing from his grandsire that a match is to be made for him. He has only sat the Iron Throne in his brother’s stead for two weeks, the very last thing he needs is the tedium of a courtship.

Alas, it will be good for public morale, his mother insists. A royal wedding will bring cheer to the smallfolk and gods, it is needed, considering the war that rages over the succession of the crown. Aegon had Helaena, Viserys was wed to Aemma and then Alicent, now Aemond would have his own pretty bride to serve at his side.

He supposes it will be a marriage of convenience, naught but a political union, until he sees her. Her pretty hair is twisted up, the flesh of her slender neck on display and it makes his mouth run dry. Aemond is certain he has never seen a creature more beguiling in his life.

His eye meets hers over the table as dessert is served, following the welcome feast, and she sucks cream from her fingers, never shifting her gaze from his. He is certain it is deliberate, an attempt to drive him to distraction and it is working. His breeches feel much too tight in lieu of his growing arousal, his breath comes in shallow pants as he watches her plush lips wrap around each of her digits.

Everything she does has him utterly transfixed, from the sway of her hips as she walks, to the swell of her breasts against the bodice of her gown, Aemond is a man smitten. His thoughts on marriage transform from bitter reluctance to eager anticipation, counting down the days when she will be fully his.

He finds himself vying for her attention, constantly seeking out her gaze whenever they are in a room together, and preening under the intensity of her stare whenever she deigns to look his way.

The first time they steal a kiss, they have been left alone together in the gardens and as her lips meet his, tasting of honeyed wine and sweet vanilla, he surges forward, attempting to capture her mouth with more urgency. He groans as he feels her tug him back by the roots of his hair, a pleasurable hurt that sends a jolt of warmth all the way to his stones.

“Greedy boy.” She chastises in a whisper. “Don’t try to take more than you are given.”

In that moment he knows that he is irrevocably hers. He would raze entire cities to the ground if she asked him to, such is the power she has over him.

When he makes decisions during meetings of the small council, he goes straight to her to tell her, basking in her praises and delighting in the way she straddles his lap, her grip on his long, silver tresses iron clad as she kisses him hungrily, pulling back far too soon for his liking.

“Would you like a reward of a different kind?” She asks when he seeks her out one afternoon. “You’ve been such a good boy, I think you deserve it.”

His breath hitches at the sultry tone of her voice, only trusting himself to nod in response.

She grins wickedly, settling on the settee and rucking her skirts up around her hips.

Aemond gasps, his eyes going wide when he sees she isn’t wearing any smallclothes. She glistens with arousal and he moves towards her, overcome with thoughts of sinking himself into her tight, wet het.

“Ah, ah.” She chides. “You may look, but you mustn’t touch.”

It is sweet torture. Aemond has always despised the lack of control he has over his life, yet with her he relinquishes it gladly. He would fetter and chain himself if only for the faintest promise she may allow him to touch her, that she might touch him.

The sight of her legs spread burns itself into his memory, it’s what he sees when he brings himself to release each night.

She stays true to her word and never once does he get to do more than look at her. She is adamant that they must wait until their wedding night. He feels as though he may go mad with desire long before then.

He pouts when yet again she denies the touch of his hand against her most intimate of areas.

Her face softens. “Sweet boy, do you really need me that badly?”

“Yes.” He rasps, face contorted with unbridled lust.

“What would you do to touch me?” She asks saccharinely, her fingers stroking through her folds.

“Anything, anything you ask for.” He grits outs, screwing his eye shut at how painfully hard he is.

“Would you kill for me if I asked it?” 

“I would burn the entire city alive for the faintest touch of your cunt.” He replies with absolute certainty.

Her mouth falls open slightly, quickly replaced by a pleased smirk. “Here.” She removes her fingers from her between her legs, pushing them past Aemond’s lips. “You may taste me.”

Aemond moans around her fingers, the tang of her arousal dancing across his taste buds and, with a shiver, he spills inside his breeches.

Later that evening at dinner, she swipes those same fingers through the sauce on her plate, insisting he must try it and as his tongue laps over the pads of her digits, his knuckles turn white from the intensity with which he grips the edge of the table. She smiles up at him, doe-eyed and devious.

He is sure he has imagined her asking it when she requests that he reveals himself to her, until she repeats the question with an arch of her brow. Wanting nothing more than to please her, he hastily frees himself from the confines of his trousers, his length heavy and warm against his palm.

He hisses through his teeth, his balls tightening as she swipes her thumb across the head with a mischievous smile.

“Touch yourself.” She murmurs. “Let me see how you pleasure yourself when you think of me.”

He swallows thickly, apprehensive at first, but spurred on as her eyes fix eagerly upon the sight of him. He strokes languidly, delighting in the way she shifts in her seat, biting her lip. It is satisfying to know she wants him just as much as he wants her.

His movements become faster, his breathing more laboured and she watches with rapt attention, until finally he tenses, spilling pearlescent ropes of spend over his knuckles with a grunt.

She approaches him almost tentatively, gently running her index finger through his seed, before holding it up to examine it. 

Aemond’s eye goes wide when she pushes it into his mouth, the taste of himself is foreign against his tongue, yet it causes a stirring along his lower spine that is not unpleasant.

“Good boy.” She praises.

He hums with satisfaction, pulling back with a wet pop. 

He truly would do anything for her, destroy the Seven Kingdoms if it made her smile, for a King is nothing without his Queen.

[writingsofwesteros]

https://www.tumblr.com/legally-heartbroken/758540752401858561/if-otto-was-smart?source=share

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Gwayne Hightower is 🤤

Okay, but imagine instead of Harwin Strong, Rhaenyras sworn shield and secret lover and the father of Jace, Luke, and Joffrey was actually Gwayne 👀 the boys being redheads instead of brunettes. Laenor ignores the looks of lords he gets as he's out with the boys, uncaring of their opinions, making some excuse of their red hair perhaps coming from Rhaenyras Arryn blood through her mother Aemma and grandfather Rodrik Arryn. Rhaenyra has found a way to give them children, he cares not who with.. they no longer have to do the misery of trying together, both unliking it. Allowed to simply be friends and co-parents now. He gets along with the green knight well enough over the years. Yes, her choice of sworn shield has been good for them both... perhaps Otto gets scrutiny from the small council as Lyonel would've when Harwin beat Criston, and attempted to order Gwayne, as his heir, to go back to Oldtown, perhaps take Daeron there and foster him, get away from court... Rhaenyra stops him in the courtyard ^^^^...

YES PLEASE

Those two would just be so good together , it's unfair.

Otto would have such a headache ;)

Imagine if it's Gwayne whose the brat and doesn't want to marry the Princess.

[fandomsbyladymelodrama]

@salzrand​ - bringing us all the 19th century feels with this one ajsjadjdkasjldsk

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter One

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: After a lot of encouragement, I will be posting chapters in their entirety here and on AO3. Many many huge thanks to @acrossthesestars for being my co-pilot, and for holding my hand through writing this story. Thank you to everyone who has reblogged and commented. Your words mean the world to me.

CHAPTER ONE - THE WEIGHT THAT BROUGHT US HERE

Alicent watched the lords of the council settle into their seats, placing their markers in the proper place. Lord Tyland Lannister took his seat at the opposite end of the magnificent table, Lord Lyman Beesbury to his right. Maester Mellos and then Lord Larys at her own left hand. Jasper Wylde sat beside her father’s usual place at the right hand. The power of the realm all concentrated right in this room. They prayed to the Crone for guidance and wisdom at the beginning of every meeting, a practice that had thankfully not reached the ears of the king, as he’d been cloistered in his rooms since his illness had taken more of his body. It was one thing to allow her Faith to grace their dinner table. It was a whole other to have the Faith find its place at the Small Council. While his signature still graced the decrees, and his decisions still paramount for he was the King, Viserys had left the dealings of the realm to them. It was for the best - Viserys’ mind was giving way to his illness and the less seen, the better. Alicent didn’t know what she preferred: her husband demeaning her and neglecting her children, or him calling her Aemma when she came to care for him at night.

She grazed her fingers over the polished black marble ball in front of her as Maester Mellos began rattling off the never ending fighting between the Brackens and Blackwoods that not even the Father bearing down from the heavens himself could stop. They continued to tear themselves apart as if they would win all the gold in Casterly Rock for the longest, most ridiculous spat that the Tullys were no longer capable of handling. Sometimes she wished she could just drag charcoal lines along the map, piece off the floodplains to the north and the west and the mountains, let the other kingdoms take their pieces.

“Begs the question if perhaps it isn’t time to elect a new Lord Paramount to bring them to heel,” Lord Wylde harrumphed in his self-important way. The man was well and agreeable enough, Alicent thought, but every time he spoke, she missed Lyonel Strong. None of his proposals contained this ‘begging the question’ sort of nonsense, and none of Wylde’s attempts had any of the late Lord Strong’s well thought out solutions and easy friendliness.

“Unless grievous injustice is done, we cannot normally strip the title of Lord Paramount, but their inability to bring either house to heel since given the title is threatening the stability of the realm. Blackwoods own more land than the Tullys, and now we have reports they’ve gone undermining one another’s orchards, and putting others at risk.” Jasper turned his gaze to Larys, who had not spoken since the prayer. “Strong, your holding is Harrenhal. What do you have to say about this matter?”

Larys’ manner did not fool Alicent, but it worked wonders, as always, on Jasper. “This quarrel of theirs has lasted as long as the dynasty and longer still. King Jaehaerys brokered peace, and we cannot ascertain what sparked it again.” From the nervous licking of his lips to the fidgeting of his hands, he was a master at seeming far less dangerous than he truly was. “You might seek instead the opinion of my dearest uncle Simon. He is the castellan and knows both it and the Riverlands far better than I do, as I’ve been here during most of this recent infighting. ”

Wylde humphed, twitching his nose in such a way that his bushy mustache reminded Alicent of a walrus she’d seen at Driftmark. She dug her nails into her palm to hold back her laugh. “Should we offer the Tullys more incentive?” Wylde blustered, reaching for a solution that he could take credit for.

“Incentive for not letting their bannerman destroy harvests?” Tyland Lannister snorted, reclined in his chair as if he were the one running the meeting. “That’s their duty. If they can’t do it, then there’s a bigger issue to deal with.”

“Perhaps a betrothal,” Lord Beesbury spoke up, his eyes darting from Larys’ to hers. Alicent straightened, watching the man try to figure out how to present his own suggestion. “The Tullys are proud, and the Riverlands command a great host when they come together. Lord Tully’s great-grandson is around Princess Helaena’s age. It would be a show of friendship and goodwill.”

“A show of a dragon is what you mean, isn’t it?” Her father’s voice cut in smoothly, but she could see the annoyance in his eyes at the prospect of Helaena being sent to the Riverlands. She did not want her sweet girl sent so far away either, but his words hurt in their easy protectiveness of her daughter, when they had never done for herself.

“Dragons are a statement, my Lord Hand. If not the princess, perhaps… Lord Strong, your youngest sister is not yet married,” Beesbury continued, flush with ideas. Was Rhaenyra feeding them to him?

“If Grover Tully, or whomever is handling their seat, cannot bring them to heel, we should have the Lords Bracken and Blackwood come and explain themselves to the crown,” she cut in before Beesbury could really get his momentum going. Heads turned to look at her, and Alicent looked to the Grand Maester. “Send ravens today. By the moon’s turn, I want them before the Iron Throne explaining themselves.” There was a curl of satisfaction on her lips as the aging Mellos gestured to his assistant. “We should also have Lord Tully, or his son, also come to answer. I know Lord Grover has been recently ill,” she continued. Authority and compassion were the balance she must always strike, so that her decisions could not be questioned, her judgment nothing but sound. She was the Mother of the Realm after all.

“Well said, your Grace,” Larys said softly, that shadow blink of a smile on his face. Lord Beesbury’s suggestions were easily dismissed.

Tension knotted between her shoulder blades, and she shifted in her chair to relieve the pain. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of the chair as her father’s warning spun dizzily through her thoughts.

Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.

That morning, Ser Criston found the boy who might be king passed out in the stables with his cock in hand; at least her father hadn’t found out. Alicent felt nauseated at the idea of sacrificing a girl barely younger than she’d been in an attempt to corral her son into leadership.

The doors of the chamber opened. Ser Harrold Westerling entered the room with the head dragonkeeper, Arryx, following behind. Her father rose not in a show of respect for the Kingsguard Commander, but some show of power - the unyielding stone and height of the tower that would not bow to neither wind nor storm.

“Forgive my tardiness, your Grace, my lords.”

Her father waved a hand and sat back down. “We were told that you were attending to an urgent matter, Lord Commander.”

Ser Harrold clasped his arm across his chest and bowed to her. “This morning, I was alerted to events that transpired last night inside of the dragonpit. Keeper Arryx wanted to speak of the matter to you personally.” Ser Harrold stepped back to allow the aging keeper to take the floor. Alicent gave her own nod to the man as he rose from his prostration.

“Dreamfyre has laid another clutch of eggs. Only three, your Grace, and she will let no one near them. Vhagar has been circling,” Arryx said.

Alicent frowned. Dreamfyre had not laid a clutch in several years now, and Vhagar rarely came to the pit. She was too old, too large, with little desire to be kept with her smaller brethren. The horrific beast preferred a rocky outcropping far out into the bay.

Aemond had given her a quizzical look when she’d brought it up once, when he was still bedridden and recovering from his mutilation. Her sweet boy was now strung through with a confidence that she’d never seen ignite within him when he had both eyes. The dangerous glint that confidence took as he’d grown older was also new.

She’s protecting what is hers, mother. We both are, he’d said.

“I have spoken with the Commander of the City Watch, your Grace, to ensure that those in the areas closest to the pit keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. It has allowed us to take stock of the current state of those neighborhoods.” Ser Harrold turned to look at Ser Otto. “A full report will be on your desk.”

Her father nodded, and Ser Harrold looked once more to the keeper.

Arryx shifted on his feet, and Alicent watched his eyes flick to the Grand Maester with an expression that she could not discern. The Citadel and the Hightowers have always stood side by side for the betterment of the realm, Alicent, and you’ll continue to foster that friendship, won’t you?

“Five of the kitlings have also died, your Grace. They were unbonded, brought from Dragonstone before…”

Before Daemon had come back.

“How many dragons does this put us at?” Her father’s deceptively mild tone was the opposite of his glee when Aemond had claimed Vhagar. The numbers requested were ones he’d calculated in his head, monthly, since he’d come back.

“Claimed, my lord?” Arryx asked, pausing momentarily. “Eleven, throughout the family. Lady Rhaena’s dragon hatched, but it was born twisted and sickly and did not last. I have not received word otherwise of any intention for Lady Rhaena to come and try to claim another dragon.”

Half of the dragons were claimed. Alicent watched her father drum his fingers along the table. Identifying the pattern took only a moment. He was counting.

Specifically, the dragons that were on their side.

“I want reports of the necropsies upon their completion,” her father said with a narrowed and assessing look, disturbed by the news. “The last thing we need is some strange illness to rip through all of them.”

Alicent chewed on the inside of her lip and watched the shining outline of the seven-pointed star beaming down on the table.

“Syrax is almost big enough for two riders now. Will you come touch the clouds with me, Alicent? Please?” Rhaenyra had always begged, mouth close to her ear, hands stroking her arms, her wounded and bloody fingers.

The joyful look that Aegon once gave her now reserved for a beast: “I’ve never known love until Sunfyre, mother. It’s like the world has color now that we’re together.”

“Dreamfyre keeps me tethered to the ground even as I fly in my dreams. She’s the only anchor I have,” said Helaena, who would withdraw from her touch as if it were a sting from a bee.

Little Daeron and his dragon clutched in his arms: “I can’t leave Tessarion behind, mother! I won’t know how to be happy without her!”

Dragons had robbed Alicent of everything.

“Thank you, Arryx. I will speak to the children and see what Prince Aemond might do about Vhagar.” The idea of her sweet, once immaculate and tender-hearted child being near that twisted, hoary thing still terrified her, no matter how gently reassuring Aemond could be.

Arryx did not move to leave just yet. “Forgive me, your Grace, but Vhagar is no Vermithor or Sunfyre: she is old and willful, and although she is bonded with our prince, I would suggest caution. He is… young, and Vhagar was forged in the fires of battle.”

He bowed once more before taking his leave.

Even in indescribable pain, in the face of his own father’s disregard and disdain, Aemond sought to soothe her. “Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

What else would her father do to get more dragons on their side?

Nervous tension pulsed in the silence left when the doors closed behind the dragonkeeper, filled only by the soft creak of the Kingsguard’s mail and the gentle clink of the chain around Grand Maester Mellos’ neck as he shifted in his chair, barely audible. The enduring mystery and curiosity of dragons was a specter of The Stranger above them all. Alicent had heard her kingly husband remind Rhaenyra repeatedly: Dragons were not pets. The bond with them should not blind their riders to the power that thrummed ancient and thick in their veins.

She breathed slowly, letting the quiet ease, refusing to meet anyone else’s eyes as the tumult of feelings inside of her crashed upon the jagged edges of her broken ribs. This was the right choice. Her babies were only half-Targaryen, and Rhaenyra’s bastards were the same, whether she’d ever admit to it or not.

Everyone in the room had grown up with the stories that the Conquerors spread when they forged the throne: The Valyrian blood magic that had made them dragonriders was only to be found in their Targaryen blood. That bloodline needed to remain pure. Yet, Rhaena’s pure Valyrian blood did not save her first dragon from being born sickly and dying quickly, while Aemond - Targaryen only by half - bonded with Vhagar, the most powerful beast in the world.

There were no further reasons to believe the Targaryens were gods after all, and above the realm they had conquered.

The great chair of the King creaked as she slowly rose, taking in the council before her. There were no Targaryens in this room, even if she had birthed her own clutch of half-dragons. Alicent bore this task without joy or fanfare. It was a duty to be endured for the good of her family, for the good of her realm.

She stood with her hands folded in front of her, the image of the Mother of the Realm. Alicent had done this once before, when she had declared that she was standing in an official capacity for her husband.

“My lords of the council,” She hedged a glance at her father before moving her gaze to each man at the table. Ladies of the realm should be on the council. “It is with great joy and love that the King and myself, with Lord Larys Strong, announce to the small council that we have arranged the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon Targaryen, and Lady Abrogail Strong.”

Each of the lords straightened in their chairs. Lord Beesbury frowned and glanced away from her. The uncertain and uncomfortable shifting in his chair belied the embarrassment he was attempting to hide. Alicent felt no need to point it out. It was a fine idea that he’d presented and not his fault he did not know what had already been decided. Even if he was Rhaenyra’s lapdog, Alicent would be the better person, and not rub his face in it.

The congratulations buzzed in her ears as she sat back down in her chair, and beneath the table, she tore at the skin along her left thumbnail. The pain was as dull as the congratulations in her ears. Her father’s voice was distant, jovial even.

They hadn’t even told Aegon and Abrogail yet. She remembered standing in the same position, knowing what was coming, knowing what it would destroy and desperately hoping that it might not.

I have decided to take a new wife. I intend to marry Lady Alicent Hightower before Spring’s end.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Rhaenyra forgive me forgivemeforgiveme.

“A feast is in order to announce Prince Aegon and Lady Abrogail’s betrothal,” Tyland’s jovial tone broke the silence. His suggestion—or statement, depending on how Alicent took it—was not one that she’d expected when she sat down in Viserys’ chair, but welcomed the confirmation of his support.

Meanwhile, Larys’s expression gave nothing away. He simply inclined his head in agreement.

Her son — her trueborn son — for all his faults, deserved to be celebrated. She was happy she didn’t have to fight for this. It was Mellos who spoke next: “Given the last wedding that was celebrated within these halls, it would be a reassuring gesture to the Lords of the Realm if they were given the opportunity, and for us to show unity within House Targaryen. With the Prince’s nameday in a few moons, perhaps we can celebrate with a tournament.”

Alicent’s eyes cut to her father, who smiled lightly, nodding in agreement but careful not to say a word, allowing the Maester to be responsible for the idea.

“Even better,” Tyland raised his goblet in agreement. “We haven’t had a proper celebration in years. What better occasion? Lord Rickard Reyne will be overjoyed to hear the honor bestowed on his granddaughter.” He looked over at her father. “I take it you’ll be writing to him, Lord Hand?”

The last time Alicent had seen her uncle Lord Rickard had been at her mother’s funeral: now no longer the worst day of her life, but the memory that was still seared into her mind. She recalled Lord Reyne as a stoic man, but he’d been kind to her in her grief. Alicent hoped the years had not taken that away from him, but they likely had.

Time always stole away kindness.

Lord Beesbury looked pensive. Alicent could practically hear the man pushing house markers along the map in his head as the conversation continued. “Was Princess Rhaenyra involved in such a discussion?”

“The Princess Rhaenyra has continued to seclude herself and,” he paused, his gaze heavy and considering as he took in those around the table. “Her second husband, Daemon Targaryen, at Dragonstone. Neither has she come to the small council as her status allows, nor has she engaged with matters of the realm that her being heir gives her right to,” her father said smoothly, and he was right. “The king still grieves his daughter’s choices, and she has yet to amend with him. I agree with Lord Lannister and our Grand Maester. This would show the strength and unity and willingness of House Targaryen to bond and celebrate with the realm.”

Beesbury gave a humorless chuckle. “And nothing to do with presenting Prince Aegon formally.” As a contender. As a choice - that was left unsaid.

Alicent felt a surge of anger inside of her, instinct compelling her to protect her children and pull the wool Viserys and Rhaenyra spun from Beesbury’s eyes so he could see the truths they refused to acknowledge.

Not long after Aemond had been born, Lord Lyonel had enlisted her in trying to get Viserys to hold another declaration to follow Rhaenyra, if she was truly his desired heir even with two healthy boys of his blood. The King had originally chosen Rhaenyra because of the loss of Baelon and Aemma. Everyone wanted to keep Daemon off the throne, lest he became another Maegor the Cruel… and now, he was to be Rhaenyra’s consort, and Viserys still would do nothing. Alicent refused to believe that Rhaenyra would kill her half-siblings, that she would kill Alicent’s children for whatever love had been there. Every dark, curly haired little boy caused her to fear not what Rhaenyra would decide, but what others would encourage her to do. Her father had not been wrong - her sons would be beacons of rebellion, damned by the man who had so desperately craved a son, yet now ignored. How bitter a pill.

Daemon terrified her. They should all be terrified of him. Daemon now had Rhaenyra’s ear and her heart and her body. Daemon was not one to hesitate if something stood in his way.

Did you fuck Daemon Targaryen in a pleasure house? Targaryens have such queer customs.

“Prince Aegon is eight and ten, an accomplished dragonrider, ah…” Mellos trailed off, and the uncertainty on his face clawed at Alicent’s insides. Failure was acid in her throat.

Either you prepare Aegon…

That boy who would be king had groped six serving girls at the last feast before drinking and whoring his way through the Street of Silk.

“My sister and heir is of unimpeachable character,” Larys’ quiet voice carried within the room. “As a child, Abrogail was a playmate of Prince Aegon and his siblings, and she has become a beloved ward of Queen Alicent, who has done a remarkable job of raising her after the deaths of our parents. I would consider her to be a prime example of all our realm offers to a family that has, if I may be candid, gone to great lengths to keep to their own since the conquest. Wouldn’t you agree, Grand Maester?”

That poor girl she’d now chained to him was a picture of the Maiden. It had taken everything to ensure that her father waited for it. She would not have another bride offered to the throne before she was of age, while her father wanted nothing more than for Aegon to grow up.

Tension crept back into the room at Larys’ words. Nobody would think to utter these thoughts had Viserys been sitting there. Mellos cleared his throat and avoided her father’s gaze to adjust the heavy chain around his neck. The title of Grand Maester had been his even before Viserys’ reign, and he was possibly the closest representative that was not her to speak to Viserys’ mind.

“I would agree, Lord Strong. Perhaps even exploring the eventuality of wedding Prince Aegon’s children to Prince Jacaerys’ would… reassure Princess Rhaenyra. She once suggested a betrothal between Princess Helaena and-”

“We already have other candidates in mind for my daughter,” Alicent cut in immediately. She wouldn’t say anything about Jace’s children and future grandchildren. She refused to entertain the idea that Helaena would marry Rhaneyra’s son to cover her indignity and insult to everything that she had been given and born into. “We have time before the wedding,” she said with a gentler tone. “A year should be more than enough to introduce them to the realm and start introducing Prince Aegon to newer responsibilities befitting his station.”

That was time enough to beat her son into someone who could be King.

Morning light streamed through the gauzy, sage curtains of the princess’ room. Abrogail licked the honey clinging to her fingers as she moved towards the washbasin, abandoning half-eaten bread and cold cuts of meat at the table. Helaena also ignored their meal as she lingered at the only window that could give her a good view of the Dragonpit. Vhagar had been on the prowl that morning, unusually territorial, and the change in the dragon’s temperament had entranced the friend whom she called sister. She jumped when Abby ventured near her, eyes wide and body tense as a startled cat, so the redhead pivoted in the opposite direction in order to retrieve Helaena’s bodice. Normally, she did not wear one unless the Queen noticed, but on days when her mind drifted, the structure of the garment seemed to keep Helaena focused on the moment instead of her dreams. The princess was somewhere else in her thoughts, mechanically holding up her arms to have the bodice slipped over her shift.

“I’m going to tighten the laces now, alright, Helaena?” Abrogail told the princess as she always did, walking through the process so she wasn’t surprised by anything.

Helaena gave no verbal indication that she was listening, but Abby noticed her pale blonde head bob in acceptance. Slowly, she began straightening the garment, mindful of keeping her touch on the lacing and the chemise from pulling and pinching uncomfortably and defeating the purpose.

“Pink and red, he might be dead. Blue and black, no coming back,” Helaena murmured. Her gaze drifted to Myrella Penrose, who approached with a yellow, diamond patterned dress for inspection. “I don’t want my scales to be so bright.” Helaena’s voice did not rise from her quiet tone, and her gaze flitted away.

“How about the new one from Sevenmas?” Abby offered brightly before Myrella’s face could twist into the uncertain and disturbed look it took whenever Helaena drifted. “The ocean blue one with the beading. That’ll be nice to feel, right, Helaena?”

The princess tilted her head about, humming. “Yes, that would be.” She threaded her fingers together, pressing in so the knuckles would crack. Myrella visibly winced at the sound, but Abby just shook her head and carefully tucked the laces into the bodice. “The perfect hug,” came the breathless statement, before Helaena’s bright lavender eyes finally focused away from whatever she was tracking to turn around and look towards her. Abby took the dress from Myrella and offered her cousin a smile as she held it up. She was used to Helaena’s inquisitive gazes, as if she was a bug under the pretty Maester’s glass Aemond had gifted his sister. “Do you need them, too?”

“A hug?” Abby frowned.

“Scales - armor to protect you,” she clarified. Helaena held her arms up to slide the dress over her head, and Abby left her to do the little buttons down the front herself. “Or would you prefer a pretty carapace? Silver and reds, greens and blue. Pinks and black and gold.”

Abby laughed at the idea of being covered in so many colors, and Helaena even returned the smile as she finished her buttons. It was a good sign, and the tingle of worry that had been crawling up and down along her spine immediately eased. “To be decorated in so many colors? That would make for lovely armor.”

Helaena’s mood was improving, which meant that when the Queen finally came in, she wouldn’t immediately launch into fretting and worrying about the princess being in ‘one of her episodes.’ Abby knew the Queen did not mean it badly, but it still made her uncomfortable. Were her mother still there, she would say something if Abby expressed her concern. She was alone here now, and things were as different as the day and night.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t Alicent who entered. Helaena’s little smile turned bright and beaming: “Aemond!”

At four and ten, the boy was steadily growing with each passing turn of the moon. While bypassing Abrogail in height was no difficult feat, he now stood as tall as his sister and mother. Prince Aegon was the next family member he was bound to outgrow, and the Queen had already tasked her with ordering clothes to be made ready for when Aemond shot up again. Lord Otto towered over most, and he japed that Aemond might make it where Aegon had failed to surpass him.

Hearing Helaena’s joyous declaration, Abby caught a spray of pink blooming on his pale cheeks, and Aemond reached up to adjust the soft leather strap of his eyepatch. The scar no longer looked angry, but it was prominent; a ridge of thick skin that was only just smoothing out with time. The prince held a jar carefully in his hands. He took several steps before Abby clucked her tongue at him the way she would at her own cat, though Theraxis had not joined her that morning in Helaena’s room. Earlier, a maid brought along with their meals news that the cat was gallivanting in the discarded feathers while the scullery maids plucked chickens.

“Your mother will be up any minute. She said she doesn’t want to catch you in here anymore,” Abby warned with an arched brow. There was no censure in her teasing tone. Aemond was nearly her own little brother, although much was changing as they left their childhoods behind.

“She won’t be here for him,” Helaena said in a voice far more present than it had been before, Aemond’s very presence pulling her back down to earth and away from the clouds. “What did you bring me?” Even though her buttons were only half-done, Helaena rushed across the room to Aemond with her arms outstretched and fingers wiggling. “Oh! It’s beautiful! Abby! Look!” She held up the jar filled with little sticks and leaves – a fat blue and yellow cocoon precariously hanging from one forked stick inside. “I wonder if it belongs to the ones I released last year.”

“You’ll be the mother of all the moths and butterflies in the Red Keep,” Aemond said softly, so softly that Abby could hardly hear him despite standing close by.

Abrogail moved away from the siblings, smiling at Myrella and leading the woman to the opened door. “Thank you for your help this morning. I believe the Queen will need you more today. Let her know we’ll be going to the gardens later, if you please.” Lately, the Queen had been sending the Penrose woman to help Abby tend to the princess’ needs. It had made her nervous. When she asked the Queen if she was being replaced, the words stuck to her throat. Her Grace had been adamant that it was not the case at all, that it was only so Abrogail could learn from her in preparation for her own running of a household, and give Helaena time to get used to someone else helping her.

Another part of Abby wondered if the Queen knew Aemond was still coming to visit in the morning. Or worse, that Uncle Otto was spying. Abby was protective of her friends, her kin. They were siblings bonded through the years of fights in the mud and pranks and stories in the nursery. Bonds such as theirs were not so easily broken; they only changed as time passed, as things happened, like Aemond losing an eye.

Myrella Penrose gave her a tight smile and left down the hall. Abby watched her go, lingering in the door as Aemond and Helaena whispered in the room. Her friend’s quiet giggles were a rare sound, and Abby would do anything to protect those moments for her, for them both. She tugged at the embroidered cuffs of her dark blue-gray dress, thumbs brushing the little weirwood leaves sewn in delicate scarlet thread. Little golden dragons danced through them as a symbol of her ties with the family. Aegon had picked the golden thread, predictable as ever, when she’d asked his opinion.

She thought of the embroidered knot Helaena had been making – silver and green, tangling with red and black and gold. There were so many twists, but Helaena assured her that there was a rhyme to it, a dance with complicated steps. Aemond’s soft laugh cracked a bit, and Abby bit her lower lip to hide her giggle at the sound. She turned her head, and while she couldn’t quite make them out, she could see their shadows along the stone floor. They stood close together, heads bowed over something - maybe the jar, she couldn’t tell.

Heavy and purposeful footsteps echoed down the hall. Abby’s head snapped up from where she stood within the doorway, not immediately visible. She strained to identify the cadence, and her stomach twisted when she did.

“It’s him,” she hissed, glancing wide-eyed over her shoulder. Aemond’s head was close to Helaena’s with her hands resting on his shoulders. At Abby’s raised alarm, her fingers twisted in his dark green doublet and yanked him towards the partition, shoving him behind it. Abby snatched the jar with the precious cocoon inside and tucked it on the bookshelf behind the embroidered manticore Helaena had just finished. Otto Hightower’s footsteps were not alone, although the Hightower guards did not enter the Princess’ room when he swept in. Abby immediately dropped into a curtsy, a murmur of, “Lord Uncle.” Helaena bobbed slightly, twisting back and forth a bit. “Good morning, grandfather,” she said, bounding up to press a kiss on his cheek. If Otto had any weakness, it would be his unparalleled love and favoritism of his granddaughter. It was hard to tell how much Helaena enjoyed her grandfather’s attention and how much was one of her games, but whatever it was, it worked.

“Good morning, sweet girl. You look lovely today.” Otto’s voice was fond, his smile more gentle than he seemed capable of. He was an intimidating man. Abby had received nothing but kindness and vague disinterest, but he still made her nervous. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to borrow your cousin.” She felt her cheeks color as Otto’s gaze moved to her. Her mouth dried as her nerves returned to where they’d been when standing before the Queen, wondering if she was being replaced. Perhaps Larys was sending her back to Harrenhal or her sister was demanding she go to her in Casterly Rock.

Helaena smiled at her, though, with her hands folded across her stomach. “I’ll help you with your carapace later,” she reassured her. “You won’t be without armor.”

Closing the door behind them, the Hightower guards followed a few paces behind as Abby fell in step with him.

“Is everything alright?” she asked as they went left instead of right, towards the Hand’s tower. It had been years since she’d walked this path that had been as familiar to her as the gardens of the Red Keep. Her eyes glanced for the loose stone at the corner of the step, where she’d stow secret messages in the little hollow behind it. Had she left a note there? Was there perhaps a mystery one waiting for her?

“It is. And I hope you have been well yourself.” Lord Otto looked down at her gently, and she nodded. “The Queen says you pray often in the Sept?”

A prompt. A strange one, but a prompt all the same. She swallowed past her dry mouth and put a smile on her face. “Yes, I enjoy the quiet, and it helps me feel closer to my parents.” And brother, but she was careful not to mention Harwin around anyone but a handful. “It’s especially nice when her Grace joins me. It’s almost like I have my mother back.” No one could replace her mother, but the Queen had been there for as long as she could remember, and sometimes, when she tilted her head a certain way and the light caught in Queen Alicent’s auburn curls, she could pretend her mother was there once more.

“Her Grace speaks highly of you – how good you are with Princess Helaena, well behaved and polite. She said that you and the princess have made things for the poor children of the city. A very kind and admirable pursuit for you both. Your father would be very proud.”

“Thank you.” Abby wasn’t sure what else to say or what he was getting at as they began climbing the winding staircase. The familiarity of it hit her like a scent memory - one sudden and revealing of long-forgotten feelings. “I do my best to follow the Queen’s guidance and reflect well on my position within the family and her example.”

“Good. Very good.” She wasn’t sure if it was something she was supposed to reply to, so she hedged her bets and remained quiet. Her palms were sweating, and she discreetly wiped them on her skirt as she held the fabric. “I’ve noticed that you and Prince Aegon do not spend as much time together as you used to.”

Aegon? Why was she being asked about Aegon? Her stomach twisted, and she felt a prickle of heat along the back of her neck. It was true: they didn’t spend as much time together, but they hadn’t for years now, not since she spent more of her time with Helaena and… Aegon? Well, Aegon had been withdrawing slowly but surely for so long, like fraying threads at the seams. She’d be lying if she claimed to not miss him, because she did. She missed the happier boy he’d been, who did not constantly ply himself with drink and was more mercurial than a wild dragon.

Abrogail would also be lying if she claimed they saw little of one another, or spent no time at all because that was untrue as well. Until the past few moons, she’d gather lunch for the two of them when he finally rose well past noon, and he’d take her flying wherever he and Sunfyre desired to go. It had been something quiet and cherished, simply the three of them away from everything. Until Aegon had gotten in the tavern brawl all that time ago. Until Aegon started avoiding her. Until he barely acknowledged her at meals that he decided to join, even when he sat beside her. There was no way that Otto Hightower would not be aware of that, and she would not hedge around it. It wasn’t like anything untoward was happening.

“Not as much, but that is a natural casualty of leaving behind childhood. He found me earlier this week because it seemed there was a lack of honey cakes in the kitchen and I was the first to be interrogated.” There was a note of amusement in her voice, and Abby smiled in memory of his indignation and how silly he looked when she shoved honey cake into his mouth to stop his ranting. “He occasionally accompanies me in the Sept to pray. It’s incredibly kind of him to do so.”

She mounted a few more steps before realizing that Lord Hightower had paused. She turned to look at him. Morning light streaked through the narrow, delicate paned windows, casting shadow and illuminating dust in the air. He stared up at her, and with a few steps between them, she stood at his height. It was the first time she’d ever met her uncle’s eyes. Unlike her own unreadable brother, Otto’s face was not so impassive. He looked intrigued by her admission. Abby’s hands wound into her skirt so as not to fidget.

“He was not inappropriate, if that is your concern, my lord. Prince Aegon behaved with due respect.” To defend Aegon was second nature to her, and she would do so towards arguably the most powerful man in the realm if it meant to spare Aegon more shame and ire when, for once, he’d done nothing wrong. Which was true. Aegon hadn’t said a single thing. He knelt beside her, lighting candles, and simply stayed with her while she prayed for her family. He hadn’t even put a hand of comfort on her shoulder. She felt that was worth mentioning, given his current proclivities. She would not deny his vices, but she would not break confidence, and she would let no one, especially Lord Otto, think any worse of him if she could help it.

“Very good.” It took everything in her to keep the bewilderment off her face as she tried to understand what exactly he was trying to figure out. Otto resumed their progress, although now he rested a heavy hand between her shoulder blades like a father guiding a child. “So, you have no current complications with him?”

Complications? Did he think she’d lifted her skirts for Aegon? It wasn’t like she’d never thought of kissing him on those lazy afternoons when they’d lay in the grass and stare at the sky somewhere in the Kingswood with Sunfyre sunning himself like a cat. Of course she’d thought about kissing him, especially when he was at his most melancholy, with tears pooling in his eyes, making them pinker than normal. A kiss beyond the games children play, a kiss to comfort an angry prince in the firelight’s glow, his tears coursing down his cheeks with each snip of her embroidery scissors that sent locks of moonlight hair to the ground.

He’d never touched her more than a handhold, and far less than she touched him in her casual affections.

“No. No complications,” she confirmed.

They reached the landing, and Abby ran her hand over the stone dragon curled up in eternal sleep at the top of the stairs. Her fingers scratched along the smooth curve of its head the way she’d done every morning when she visited her father. She felt her uncle’s gaze on her, and she drew her hand away, hurrying to follow him into his office with her cheeks burning beneath her freckles, relieved only just by his vaguely amused expression.

The room was darker than it had been before. Gone were the stacks of books with various slips of paper sticking out haphazardly, or Theraxis lounging lazily along the cool stone floor by the door with his fluffy tail, sending motes of dust into the air. She instinctively clutched her skirt on the right to pull them away, so used to a giant paw the size of her hand grabbing at the fluttering fabric. But Theraxis was not there. The crumbling tome about the Andal invasion was absent from where it once rested on the side table. Instead, Larys stood by the fire with his back to her, as did the Queen, her lovely green dress covering her from neck to wrist with a golden pattern woven in the fabric that caught the firelight. Her face pinched in the way it did when she was uncertain and trying not to pick at her nails.

Abby noticed, of course. It usually meant that someone was about to get yelled at or she would send them away with the other ladies.

The figure in the chair slouched so far down that his silver head nearly vanished behind the back of it. At the clearing of Lord Otto’s throat, Aegon jerked up. His whole body held so much tension that it made Abby’s own hurt just by looking at him. He peered over his shoulder at them with glossy, red-rimmed eyes that give him a strange, ethereal sort of gaze, skin pale enough to prominently display the flushed pink mottling of a strike against his right cheek. He looked stuffy and uncomfortable in his dark green doublet, his fingers absently tugging at the buttons and collar. As his gaze focused, his eyes widened and darted from the uncertainty she knew was on her own face to his grandfather behind her.

The thud as Otto shut the door reverberated through her, and she and Aegon both flinched at the sound. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see the Queen flinch as well. Larys, as always, looked unphased. The heavy hand on her back pushed her towards the empty chair closer to the fire, and she had no time to bob a curtsy; courtesies stuck like toffee in her mouth.

The chairs once held the delicately embroidered pillows her mother made. She would curl up with them and read aloud from the books scattered around while her papa worked. He would-

“Queen Alicent and Lord Larys have received several letters expressing interest in you, Abrogail,” Otto said, walking behind his desk. She dug her thumbnail into the pad of her middle finger, and she saw Aegon’s booted foot twitch on the flagstone – a rocking motion from the ball of his foot to his heel before slapping it back down beneath the desk. Wood crackled in the fireplace. “Lord Farman is looking for a wife for his eldest, and Faircastle would be close to your sister.”

He plucked a scroll from the basket as he spoke, and Abby felt her stomach churn with nerves as a red heat clawed along her throat. She did not venture a look at Aegon, save for the foot he kept rocking back, the heel he repeatedly ground into the floor. He’d not gone back to slouching. He could be indolent and rude when he wanted, but not even Aegon dared to in his grandfather’s presence. Abby didn’t understand what this was about, or why Aegon was here.

“Edmund Vance, the heir to House Vance, recently lost his wife. A good man, and part of the Riverlands although a small seat. Or, if you married Jesper Celtigar, the heir of Crackclaw, you’d be able to remain in King’s Landing.”

Otto Hightower produced scroll after scroll and Abrogail felt the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks, confusion keeping her words locked away. How was she supposed to react to all of this? What was he trying to say? Were all these marriage proposals meant to make her feel better about herself? No, that was too odd to contemplate.

Why was Aegon here?

“Lord Grover has also written of his interest in you for his grandson. A Paramount seat would let you be close to your home at Harrenhal, and he already has an heir. He would take good care of you, and your children would have every opportunity.” Another scroll plucked from the basket. “It would bring Harrenhal into their holdings. Is that not correct, Lord Larys?”

Right. Harrenhal.

A woman’s lot is to only be worth what she could bring to the table.

Her brother was a man of few words, and he inclined his head with a shadow of a smile flickering across his face. Abby looked at the queen to find that her face was pinching harder. In the interim, Queen Alicent stepped away from the fire and moved instead to the desk with the gentle swoosh of her skirts gliding across the stone. She cleared her throat, a smile fighting its way on her face.

“All the offers were wonderful for you, my sweet girl, but none seemed right.” The Queen reached out to tuck a copper curl behind her ear, and Abby could not tell if this was supposed to be comforting to her or if the Queen sought comfort in the action for herself. Her lungs felt constricted, and it finally dawned on her.

Oh.

The sole of Aegon’s boot continued to drag across the stone in both a nervous fidget and to keep himself from slouching down even further into the chair. The only reason she could hear it was because of how focused she’d been on it, but now blood rushed into her head and Abby broke eye contact with her cousin to look down in her lap.

“What does seem right is for you and Aegon to be married, after your nameday. You’ll be eight and ten, and the pair of you will go to live at Harrenhal, and make your home there.”

Oh.

“Are you fucking serious?” Aegon’s voice was a hoarse, disused rasp from a night with endless drink. When she looked at him again, she noticed that his hair was still damp, and that beads of water from the wet ends had soaked little spots into the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t looking at her, but up at his mother, and then, incredulously, across the desk at his grandfather.

Otto’s face remained impassive following his grandson’s outburst. Abby wanted to grab Aegon and drag him out of the way of whatever was about to come out of the Hand’s mouth, as if the words would physically harm him.

The silence lengthened. Another log popped in the fireplace.

“He speaks.” The amusement in Otto’s voice caused Aegon to draw back further into his chair before he finally turned to look at her. His eyes were so red-rimmed, and his sullen face was so terribly pale that the pink-lilac of his eyes stood out ethereally, inhumanly like the drawing of a fae folk from a book she had as a child - wild and cornered. He’d bitten his pouty, chapped lips bloody.

Aegon searched her face for an answer to a question that she did not know. The only thing Abrogail could do was give him the gentle, reassuring smile she’d given him countless times before. It was what she did in this world: comfort her loved ones in any way possible, even as she needed to bury her own feelings on the matter. Feelings that, in this particular case, she couldn’t even begin untangling in the moment.

“Well, that makes us luckier than most, doesn’t it?” Abby cleared her throat and turned the smile onto the others in the room. She reached up to grasp the Queen’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze before she burst into a million pieces. Whether it was her, or the Queen, that might burst, she could not say. “We are fortunate to know one another so well and to be of an age. I thank you Lord Hightower, your Grace.” She looked at Larys, who remained silent in his observations, as always – an owl in a tree, eyes taking in everything. “Thank you, brother, for looking out for me.”

She felt Aegon’s eyes continue to pin on her. She looked back at him.

The wild and anxious expression was still on his face, and instinct compelled her, as it often did, to reach out her hand to take his - but he surprised her by beating her to it. His skin felt like fire engulfing her frigid hand and his fingers tangled with hers with easy familiarity. Before she could register what was happening, Aegon’s chair was already scraping across the floor and he pulled her from her chair with the momentum of jumping from his own. There was no pause in his movement as he dragged her to the door.

“How very fortunate we are.” A laugh bubbled from Aegon’s chest. It was a joyless sound when he laughed in the presence of his mother and grandsire. It was edged with the familiar mania; Aegon laughed when he was afraid, when he was anxious, when he was trying not to scream as his world was coming apart, or the laughter and joy on the back of Sunfyre. He tilted his head to stare up at the ceiling before throwing a look over his shoulder at the three across the room. “How very lucky we are.”

Aegon’s hand was clammy around hers, his grip bordering on painful. He yanked the door open with a protesting whine of the latch. Abby heard the Queen calling after him, but Aegon’s strides were purposeful as they ate up the ground to get away. Only the grip of their hands kept her from being left behind in the claustrophobic room where their future was being decided for them.

It might have been the second bravest thing she’d ever witnessed from him.

[Chapter Two]

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Undisclosed Desires

Synopsis: You have been captured by Aemond and ordered to be returned to Aegon to await death, but passions of different varieties arise and undisclosed desires are laid out.

AO3 Link

Warnings: smut (18+) involving penetrative sex (but romantic cos I’m not made of stone), murder, sexual harrassment, choking (almost dying lol), some foul language too why not

Words: 4.3k

You shivered slightly, the cold now having penetrated your bones and sending a chill that seemed to rattle down your spine. You were not dressed for the nightly chill in a simple men's shirt and leather bottoms, not entirely becoming of a Lady, but those notions were abandoned long ago. You tried to rub your legs together to create some heat to warm your body, hands firmly tied behind you against a tree. How did it come to this, you thought to yourself.

You looked up to the moon high in the night sky, the only light that shone down on you and the surrounding woodland. You thought you had escaped King's Landing undetected, and your eyes closed at the frustration of how wrong you had been. The cool light of the moon somehow made you feel even colder, the only warmth around your shoulders being your wavy long hair, now windswept and tangled.  

Your eyes opened in alarm at the footsteps coming closer to you, eyes only now adjusting to see that he was once again in your sights. A sigh inadvertently came from you as you looked away, wrists twisting in discomfort at the rope that bound you. The wind stung at your cheek, where the cut had been slowly bleeding out. A result of your previous scuffle, no doubt.

"Are you finished" is all he said, not even a question, more an expectation. You did not look up at him, thinking to not give him the satisfaction of a reply. He stood before you, his tall stature casting a shadow on you. You could imagine his face, not smug, not even content with having captured you, but more annoyed and angry. He sighed at your continued silence and walked behind you to untie you from the tree, but kept your hands tied behind your back. He paused, "If I untie you, we will find shelter and you will not fight back. Do you understand me"

Again, it was an order, not a question. You could tell he was growing impatient.

"Do you understand" he said again, but lower. You couldn't help but let your eyes roll,  

"Yes, my Prince" you replied simply, feeling your body loosen against the tree, he kept one hand firmly around your arm, almost pulling you along.

"Against the tree, now" he ordered, not waiting for your response, he pushed you against it, pulling your arms behind you tightly and binding them once again with the rope. This way your arms were flush behind your back and had no chance of reaching any weapons. Besides your discomfort of being shoved against the tree, you groaned out in pain as the rough bark of the tree dragged against your cut.  

"I did not think you could be so foolish, thinking you could pick a fight against me like that" he said, tightening the ropes, "You should know better"

Aemond pulled you away from the tree, one hand wrapping around your arm with ease and pulling you to follow him.

"Perhaps I am simply tired of running. Or did you not consider that" you replied, almost sounding bored of his constant whining.

He simply replied with a Hm as he usually did and ordered you to follow him through the woods. You found no reason to deny it or to try and run away, he was quicker now than you remember him being, so there was no way you would win this small battle you had with him.

It was a sad state of affairs you had found yourself in. Your father had been on the Small Council when King Viserys' health was starting to decline and being the daughter of the General you spent much of your childhood at the Red Keep, practically growing up with Halaena Targaryen, albeit a tad forcefully. You had always been the type to watch the boys practice duelling and archery, although never allowed to participate publicly, you honed the crafts they were allowed to in secret.  

And one of the people who allowed you to practice with them…was now your captor. Aemond Targaryen.

As children, you were never far from one another. Either practicing swordplay or sneaking out of the Red Keep to explore the forests and do all the things that children do, climb trees, get into trouble and on one occasion, Aemond had even attempted to kiss you. It was a peck on the cheek and nothing more, but you understood the sentiment. After all, you were not much younger than he was, only a year.

When the incident happened, he returned to the Red Keep severely wounded and while you had never asked him specifically about what happened, murmurings echoed throughout the court. One occasion you had attempted to approach him, but he exploded when he saw you and attempted to attack. Perhaps he felt you were making fun of him, or perhaps he was simply traumatised.  

Either way, once you returned to your Father with bruises all over your body, he swiftly had you transported back to the family home, instructing your mother to make a Lady of you, so that you may find a suitable husband.  

You and Aemond had not spoken since that day and the tension was palpable in the air as you walked behind him, watching him walk tall and in long strides, silver hair hanging around his shoulders, gently swaying in the wind. As much as you attempted to deny it even yourself, you still felt a small, distant warmth in your heart for him. When you saw him, you could still see a small remanence of that boy you once knew.  

Once again, your body became overcame with cold and you froze in your spot, "Maybe we should find shelter sooner rather than later, my Prince" you say, putting emphasis on his title.

Aemond rolled his eyes, "What do you think I am doing exactly"

"With all due respect, of which I do not have much, I am not dressed for such cold conditions"

"You are a prisoner, unless you are hypothermic, I do not care"

You scoffed, following him closely behind. This wasn't the person you once knew at all. He had been touched by hatred and perhaps had developed a certain ego since becoming 'heir' to the Iron throne.  

"How can you have let your ego take you like this" you suddenly said, standing behind him. He stood stock still in his position, slowly turning to face you. The look on his face was hard to read. You could not tell if he looked angry, hurt, upset or perhaps all of them rolled into one, as if he had not heard you correctly perhaps. "You think a difficult childhood and your title is justification for this behaviour? I feel as if I scarcely knew the person you once were"

His eye narrowed at your words, his jaw tightening as if he was holding back, "You watch your words. You've no authority to say this to me"

You could have laughed with his audacity; it was as if he didn't know who you were or remembered the tender moments you shared with each other years ago.

"And what authority do you have to take my prisoner? You only do this under the command of false King Aegon, correct? I wonder, does it make you feel important, does it make you feel big? Did they take your balls as well as your ey-"

Aemond quickly took your throat in one hand and smashed you against the tree behind you and you groaned in pain as your head smashed against the rough bark. Once flush with the tree, Aemond did not release his hold on your throat and began squeezing without mercy. It was here you realised just how strong he was, your feet were off the ground slightly and all he had hold of was your delicate airway. You clenched your hands behind you, unable to use them to pry his off of you, so your knuckles went white with clamping them together.  

What you could not take your eyes away from was the look he was giving you. You could finally see a vulnerability in him that he had kept hidden away since that day 6 years ago, his eye quivered before you with this vulnerability. But on top of that there was anger at what you had just said, formed into his strength and how he was treating you.

"Aem…" you struggled, finally trying to get his name past your lips, but he did not let his grip falter and you felt your head get heavy with the lack of breathing. You could see his chest was heaving with anger,

"You. Left. Me" he said simply, a sound of being hurt almost making its way past his mouth, "You-" he paused, rethinking what he was about to say, or maybe he was holding some emotion back.

"You were no different from any of them. Looked at me like I was a monster" he seethed, with every syllable he shook you by the neck, his fingers now digging into the sensitive skin. Your breath became hoarse, eyes beginning to roll back at the lack of air in your lungs, "I tried to not become what people thought of me, but even you…even you saw me different"

Your eyes closed as your kicking legs were starting to go limp, this only made him angrier. His rage blinded him from the real pain he was inflicting on you,

"Look at me" he said, like a whisper.

When your eyes didn't open much he shook you and took his dagger from his side, pointing it towards your side, making you stiffen slightly despite the slow loss of consciousness.

"LOOK AT ME!"

Your eyes opened to see he had taken his eyepatch off for you to see the wound that had been left behind in the years before, now replaced with a bright blue sapphire that reflected the moon above. You didn't feel you gave much of a reaction to seeing what had been underneath his eyepatch, but you must have given him something, for his reaction seemed to soften, or perhaps he'd noticed that you were close to suffocating.

Feeling dejected and vulnerable, Aemond dropped you and you fell to the ground struggling to find your breath for a moment. As you took in a deep breath, you began coughing violently, but Aemond simply stood where he had been, dagger in one hand and his eyepatch thrown to the ground. His eyes seemed distant like deep in thought and he did not look at you as you fell to the ground. Taking a deep breath in himself, he sheathed his dagger and bent to pick up his eyepatch, walking a few paces away from you.

"We will make shelter here" was the only thing he said.

You sat there for what felt like forever, unable to use your hands to massage the place where he had grabbed you, you also found it difficult to stand and when Aemond saw this, he pulled you up quickly to your feet by your arm. You couldn't help but feel a little shocked about the way he was acting even now, but found a new personality, a deeper one, had taken over.

Aemond had made a fire in a dirt bank, allowing you to at least be sat near the fire. As it crackled in front of you, your eyes remained closed, taking in the heat of the flames against your skin. Had you had your eyes open, you would have found the prince looking at you, regarding you in a way that looked sad and longing, but most of all with regret.

He would not say yet, but he saw the deep, purple bruises already taking form on your neck and felt the hot whips of guilt start at him.

"Will you take me to King's Landing?" you ask, voice hoarse still.

"Yes"

"And to answer to Aegon" that one wasn't a question.

"My orders were only to bring you back to King's Landing, nothing more" he answered. His back was flat against the bank opposite you, legs outstretched. He was so tall now, is the only thing that came to mind.  

You could only get out a small laugh, which caught Aemond's attention instantly.

"Suppose I should have known better, as you say. I would be found eventually and bought to what he perceives as justice. I know better than anyone the only thing that waits for me in King's Landing is death"

Aemond felt a drop in his stomach when you said this, the feeling churning inside him.

You inhaled deeply, perhaps to stop yourself from tearing up, "Perhaps it may give me some peace"

Aemond scoffed at your words, like he was angry at your blind acceptance of death, "You speak in such absolutes, as if you are destined for it"

You look up at him and when your eyes meet, you thought you saw a hint of sorrow from him, "You don't know, do you? What Aegon did…"

His movements halted immediately, eyes still on you, reaffirming that he indeed didn't know what you were talking about.

"Before Father sent me away, Aegon had tried to attack me" you paused, Aemond sat up, a shocked look on his face at the revelation, "I was a maid to be married off and he sought to change that. He didn't…he didn't do anything to me, but Father sent me back home to quell any rumours that he had. I received countless letters from Aegon, all claiming I was pregnant with his bastard. While not true, it did nothing for my reputation"

As you paused, Aemond expected that to be the end of the story, thinking that it didn't seem…that bad. But you continued.

"Aegon did not appreciate my lack of reply to these letters, nor my Father's decision to send me home to find a husband. And before I knew it, my Father was forced into making a match with some overweight, brute of a Lord who turned up on our doorstep claiming me as his wife. His men stormed my home, killed my mother and the servants while he dragged me to his chambers.

Believe me when I tell you I was ready for death even then" you paused, closing your eyes.

"He said, 'my men and I will put our bastards in you and then we will take you to Aegon, so he may do as he pleases'".

Aemond could not help the shiver that went down his back, "Did he-"

"He didn't" you answered immediately, leaving a pregnant pause between you, "He tried, for certain, and my memory of the event has worsened somewhat but…all I remember is I had the dagger in my hand and he was clutching his throat.

That was the first time I ever killed anyone.

And when I realised everyone else was dead, I put on some of my Father's clothes and fled. Changed my name, my identity, everything…"

Aemond had listened to it all intently, sometimes looking down to avoid looking into your sad eyes.

"When I heard of my Father's death, I had to have my revenge. Until you killed Lucerys Velaryon, it might have been relatively easy, and now he wants me dead. To rub my name from this realm, or to hurt me. I have not decided which one is worse yet."

Aemond sighed and rose to his feet, shuffling his thick cloak off and walking over to you, placed it around your shoulders having seen your violent shivering. You immediately relaxed, he had made the cloak warm with his body, so you felt every muscle in you release its tension. You were further surprised however, when you felt him cut the ropes free which made your arm feel free and tired. You looked over at Aemond who had made his spot permanent sat behind you, his arms coming around you to hold the cloak across your chest and stay there.

You sat there for a moment in silence to relish in the feeling of being in his arms. And then it all hit you and you took a shuddering breath as tears started to stream down your face in a silent cry. You felt like you had been sat like this in his arms forever until he finally spoke,

"I am sorry" he said quietly, "I did not know about any of that. I know once my brother has his sights set he can be truly evil"

You sighed heavily and leaned your head back to rest on his shoulder, a notion that didn't go unnoticed by Aemond.  

"You could not have known, Aemond" you reply, finally allowing yourself to use his name without even realising. This made him smile slightly, the memories of you both flooding back like a dream. You lift your head to look at his face, he still had his eyepatch off his face, so you could see the scar that ran through the sapphire now. Your eyes dragged across all his features, he was the same and yet not the same as before. His face was more angular and the masculine parts were sharper like a statue.

He allowed himself to look down at you. Your cheeks were flushed from the crying as was the tip of your nose, the cut on your cheek was now dried as he traced its shape with his finger, it coming to rest on your jaw. You could feel his breath on your face you were so close,

"Do you remember…" he started, "…when you agreed to marry me when we were eight. You were so sure I would be married to some noblewoman and forget about you. So I proposed.."

You couldn't help but smile at the memory, the way the promise had been sealed with a kiss on your cheek back then.

"I do remember. I wish I could live in that feeling forever" you reply. Aemond's stomach did backflips all of a sudden and he became unaware of what the feeling in his stomach was. Was it nostalgia? Was it heartache? It honestly could have been either as far as he was concerned.  

You pulled your hand from the warm cloak to run against his face, coming to rest on his left cheek. His lips parted slightly as he closed his eyes, like he was relieved to finally receive your touch. His eyes opened slightly again in shock when you calmly pressed your lips to his, and at first he did not know what to do and simply froze. But after a moment, he relaxed and leaned into the soft, supple feeling of your lips. The hand that was placed on your jaw, now cupped your face to bring yours closer to his, eager for more of you.  

You could feel his hot breath on your face as he bought you closer to him, your chests now flush with one another. You opened your mouth slightly to allow him entry which he did so with an element of impatience. The only thing either of you could hear was your heavier breathing and loud kissing, the only thing you could feel was the heat from him and his needing hands grabbing all parts of you.

He released from your mouth to kiss your jaw, leaving small kisses on your neck, whispering small phrases in High Valyrian that you didn’t understand. You sat there, eyes closed in bliss as he did so, his hands slowly making their way from your top, past your breasts and to the space in between your thighs. When his hand rested there to rub, you let out halfway between a gasp and a moan, which made him smile slightly against your skin.

Your hands came to pull his leather garments off his shoulders, revealing his undershirt. You were now facing him, his eyes seemed different now. Darker. Serious. He let you push the leather off him and once that was off, you worked on yourself. You undid the fastenings of your shirt and pulled it off over you, the only thing left on your top was a thin piece of cloth wrapped around your breasts. His eyes raked over you as a sigh passed his lips, his hands now wrapped firmly around your waist.

You pulled yourself onto his lap, pushing your leather bottoms down just enough. He was shocked at your sudden move, but closed his eyes when he felt his hard cock rub against you through his clothes. Your lips met again and you worked on his buttons to pull his cock free, using your palm to slowly squeeze his length. You could feel yourself get wet at the sound he made into your mouth, he sounded so erotic, so needy. It just made you fall apart to hear him in such pleasure.  

Aemond pulled his dagger from his coat and dragged it up your torso, to cut slowly through the bandage that kept your breasts contained. Once this was ripped away, he tossed his dagger to the side and his hand went instantly to them, moulding them to his touch. You continued to pleasure him as he did this and he was only getting harder for you and more impatient.

He lifted you further onto his lap to line himself up against you, his eyes met yours again.

“I will not hurt you” he said. You only nodded pulled his head against your breasts as he lowered you onto him, sinking your body against his in a deliciously slow manner. All notions of being quiet were abandoned and Aemond moaned out loudly, feeling your tight walls squeeze his cock. You only let out a breathy moan as you felt him fill you completely, your hands tangled into his hair as his lips tugged at your perk nipples.

“Aemond...” you gasped out, sinking onto him to the hilt and feeling that tight, full feeling of him hitting your cervix. His hand grabbed your ass, angling so that he could somehow get deeper. He didn’t expect you to be the one to start moving first and he faced you again to kiss you deeply as you rocked on him, making sure you had a good hold on him, so you were able to have him fuck you quicker and quicker.

“Gods, you feel like heaven...” he whispered between kisses, breath heavy and your chests heaving with lust. Quickly he grabbed you by the waist and pulled your body under him expertly, your head landing softly on the ground beneath you. He was leaning over you on his forearms and when you looked down you could see how his cock disappeared inside you. The sheer sight of it made your abdomen get tight with an oncoming climax and your head rolled back as Aemond ceaselessly, mercilessly fucked you, chasing his own high himself, but also savouring the feeling of finally having you.

Your hands came to his back to rake down and he moaned out in pleasure at the feeling, it nearly sending him over the edge. His fingers came towards your cunt to pleasure you there, his thumb passing over your wet clit and the feeling felt like a bolt of lightning has passed through you. It was here he knew you were close, so began fucking you even harder, the warmth of the fire at his side you could not help but think of him as the dragon he was.

He pinned both of your hands down to the ground below to keep pounding, the delicious sound of lovemaking rang loud in the woods and you felt like the only 2 people in this world as your world came crashing around your orgasm. Your bottom half spasming against him, only making him look up to the sky and moan loudly at the extra friction. And after chasing your orgasm away, he bent forward to capture your lips as he finished himself, pressing firmly into you.

You both stayed like this for a moment, savouring each other's bodies flush to each other, mouths still fighting with desire. And when he came away to look at you, you were happy to see such a content smile on his face as he pushed a lock of hair away from your features to look at you better.

“You are breathtaking, my love” he said quietly, you shuddered out a small laugh, your body still recovering from the wave of your intense climax. There was a stillness in the air now that you had finished though, a lingering thought about what to do next.

He could see your mind start to worry and laid his hand on your cheek, stroking your warm skin slowly, “I see you worry, my love”

“What will you do with me now, hm?” you smile sadly, fully expecting to still meet your death in King’s Landing.

“Come with me, back to King’s Landing” Aemond suddenly said, your eyebrows furrowed with worry but he was quick in his response, “I will not let him anywhere close to you, do you understand me?” he said, but more forcefully this time, a stark contrast to the first time he had said it at the start of this evening. That notion made you smile a little, given the situation you were in now.

“And then what? I spend my time hiding?”

“No” he shook his head, still smiling down at you, “I intend to honour our proposal, my love. Marry me and I will kill Aegon if he so much as looks in your direction” he bought your hand to his lips and closed his eyes, his hands were so large compared to yours, “You will have to abandon your ideas of revenge, but you will be safe under my protection”

“Your mother will not allow this, you know that” you say.

“Then I will tell her we are already wed”

The silence was a mixture of worry and playfulness. But eventually, you had to come to terms with the fact that, tonight, you were ready to meet death. You felt a pain in your chest at the suggestion to abandon any revenge you sought, but anything Aemond proposed was better than death and so, with a heavy heart, you nod to him and pull up your lips to meet his.

“Alright”.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Inside Climate News:

Soon after Vice President Kamala Harris selected Tim Walz as her running mate this week, pictures of the Minnesota governor began to spread across social media—of Walz holding a piglet, of Walz on thrill rides at the state fair, of Walz and his rescue dog.

All of it coalesces into an image of a guy with rural roots and deep ties to agriculture.

Since Harris’ announcement, climate advocates have applauded her pick, pointing to Walz’s solid climate bona fides. Farm groups across the political spectrum, including those that work to shrink agriculture’s carbon footprint, have, too.

During his six terms in Congress, Walz was a member of the House Committee on Agriculture, where he was instrumental in ensuring that soil conservation measures made it into the 2018 farm bill. At the time, the farm bill—the massive piece of legislation that guides the country’s nutrition and farm policy—failed to acknowledge agriculture’s role in contributing to climate change, and barely hinted at its potential role in slowing it.

Walz, who spent his early years working on his family’s farm in rural Nebraska, found a political work-around of sorts. That year he introduced the Strengthening Our Investment in Land (SOIL) Stewardship Act, which boosted existing farm conservation programs and incentivized farms to adopt certain practices that improve soil health, ultimately making soils better able to sequester carbon.

“Even as short a time ago as 2018, the word ‘climate’ does not appear in the farm bill,” said Ferd Hoefner, who was policy director at the National Sustainable Agriculture Coalition at the time. “He made soil health, through the SOIL Act, the acceptable thing one could talk about when one was trying to talk about climate mitigation through agriculture.”

Hoefner noted that the last time the term climate change appeared in a farm bill was in 1990, an indication of just how polarized and partisan the issue has become in farm policy debates since then. After that, it “was verboten to even mention the word,” he added.

The provisions of the SOIL Stewardship Act were ultimately included in that year’s farm bill. Farm policy observers also point to one of Walz’s biggest farm-related accomplishments, which was introducing bills in 2014 and 2018 that help small-scale, veteran and beginning farmers access credit and funds for land, equipment and crop insurance. Provisions of these bills made it into the final versions of those years’ farm bills.

The Land Stewardship Project, based in Minnesota, has long pushed against the trend of increasing consolidation in agriculture, which has seen the rise of ever-larger farms, mostly run by large corporate entities. This week the council applauded Walz’s record of working against this ongoing shift.

“What we’ve seen through his time in Congress and his time in the governor’s office is that issues around the future of agriculture and rural communities aren’t partisan—they cut across political lines,” said Sean Carroll, policy director at Land Stewardship Action, the organization’s political arm. “Many bills he’s co-sponsored or led are about creating a future for rural communities where we can keep more farmers on the land, where we can allow farmers who are stewarding the land to succeed and make money.”

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Love Playlist #2: UGH! (Bang Chan)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

"Shut the fuck up."

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader Genre: college au, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, forced proximity Warnings: swearing, mc has autism, misogynistic behavior (not Bang Chan), implications of ableism, bullying, short panic attack description Word Count: 11k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that you hate Christopher Bang’s guts. Everything about him, you hate. The utter laziness that he masks as nonchalance? The “happy-go-lucky” attitude that borders on bullheaded recklessness? The way every single time you text him about something important, he never replies? You hate it all. He’s irresponsible, aimless, completely unreliable, and you hate him.

Chris believes that the whole world revolves around him, and unfortunately, he would be correct. With dimples that rival Harry Styles’s and saccharinity biologically embedded in him, his good looks and charismatic personality blind everyone to the truth. Everyone except for you, of course.

Even if all of the supreme powers in the universe held you over an eternal chasm and forced you to find compromise, you still wouldn’t be able to stop hating him. And you hate heights— almost as much as him— so that’s saying something. Your hatred for him will never, ever waver. You hate Chris Bang, period. And you hate him even more now, as he stands next to you and accepts an honor that should solely be yours.

“Congratulations, Chris and Y/N!” 

You keep clapping and plaster on a fake smile to save face, trying to ignore the rage bubbling inside of you. In your peripheral vision, you sense Christopher laughing and shooting finger guns towards people in the audience, like some kind of corrupt politician. In a way, he is one, because you should have won this election. But you didn’t.

“In all of our history, never has there been an exact voting tie between two candidates.” The sickeningly cheerful announcer bounds closer to where you are standing on the stage, gesturing towards you both. “Everyone, please give another round of applause for our new Student Co-Presidents!”

Hearing it officially made you feel nauseated. For the three years you’ve been a college student, you have worked tirelessly, day and night, so this moment could come to fruition. All of those days filled with nonsense— schmoozing to all of the seniors in the Undergraduate Student Council, attending the endless number of tedious mixers to make connections, standing in the rain trying to raise funds for the organization— were going to be worth it, because in the end, you had one goal: to be student body president. 

But your dreams were dashed to the ground when he strolled in like a supermodel. While you were toiling since you were a freshman, Chris showed up at the final student council meeting at the end of last year, expressing his intentions to run for president in the following academic semester after the summer. Chris’s charm threw off the projectile of the election, compared to how although you carry yourself very well professionally, you still are very socially uncapable. Making engaging small talk about the weather or joking about frat parties on campus are unthinkable tasks for you, while that kind of conversation is exactly Chris’s forte. 

You know that you’re lucky that you at least get part of the title, because while on paper you are more qualified than Chris, the game was never in your favor. And seeing it all happen by the cursed will of the one person you’ve despised more than anyone else, since you were a kid, makes it hurt more than anything.

“Great job, partner.” 

You’re snapped out of your disturbed musings by the aforementioned person, who beams and stretches out his hand towards you. You’re wary of the gesture, but accept it anyway, making sure to squeeze his hand extra hard. 

“Same to you, Christopher,” you retort, adding an unmistakable bite to your words.

The smile doesn’t fade off of his face as he coolly shakes his aching hand off from your death grip. “I go by Chris, you know that.”

You nearly snort, but refrain from it, because people are watching. You do not need any negative publicity right now, especially next to your co-counsel who seems to do no wrong. But that won’t stop you from being discreetly petty. “Okay, Christopher.”

You hate Chris, and he knows it. But his elated expression doesn’t budge as he merely moves away from you to spark conversation with the announcer, who looks at Chris with literal hearts in her eyes. One more thing you hate: no matter how much you try to rile him up like he does to you, he never gives you a reaction. That satisfaction solely belongs to him. 

Rolling your eyes, you shove past him as gracefully as you can, eliciting a surprised grunt out of him. As Chris rubs his side behind you, you turn to the students coming closer to congratulate you, the smile on your face very much genuine now.

“He left me on read! AGAIN. Can you believe the audacity?” 

The smoky, herbaceous scent of freshly brewed coffee and sugary fragrance of baking breakfast pastries does nothing to soothe your anger. Your unadulterated complaints ricochet off of the walls of Morningstar Coffee House, your go-to place when you need to feign study in order to hang out with your best friend, a devoted employee-in-training at the place. 

Soobin groans, dumping out the latest batch of long macchiato into the sink. “I keep messing it up.”

“Are you even listening, Soobin?” You lean against the counter that he’s behind, wiping up the small drops of milk that escaped the carton in his hasty panic to master the art of being a barista. 

“Yes, yes, I am, sorry. Please continue.” Soobin sets aside his blender and folds his hands on the granite, looking at you earnestly. 

You pick at the chipped dark purple polish on your nails. “I can work with him. I can. Because I’m a professional. But he makes it so hard when I’m trying to communicate with him.”

Soobin shrugs. “Maybe he’s just not using his phone right now.”

With a frustrated sigh, you shake your head. If only everyone could be as sweet and guileless as Soobin. He always sees the best in people, and while you’re not a pessimist, it’s hard for you to find the good in Chris’s character. 

“It’s not just the text thing, even though I really do need him to tell me if he’s finished the nominations for the ethics board. It’s like, he doesn’t give a crap about anything, especially when it comes from me.” 

Soobin nods slowly, wrinkling his nose in thought. “I know he’s difficult. But just keep rising above. Getting upset hurts you, not him.”

As always, Soobin remains the voice of reason behind your storms, your eternal complement. When you need to cry your emotions out, he welcomes you with open arms. When he’s too shy to ask for the dessert menu at restaurants, you will signal for the waiter. When you make your displeasure apparent, he induces a degree of rationality into your vexed mind. That said, fundamentally, both of you are introverts. At the end of the day, you love nothing more than to curl up on the couch and watch knitting tutorials on Youtube with Soobin. Opposites or not, you fit each other like a glove. 

“I love you, cucumber,” you say, affectionately poking fun at your best friend’s towering height. 

Soobin’s cheeks turn light pink, and he swats your hands away. “You’re weird.”

You tip your head back and laugh, while Soobin grins and resumes his duties in trying to figure out how to work the cash register. You can feel the worries already lifting in your chest, because who cares about Chris, anyway? Certainly not you. 

But as if you had spoken of the devil, you hear the jingle of the shopkeeper’s doorbell, followed by that familiar boisterous guffaw. The sound makes you whirl around, the tension soaring back into your shoulders. And there he is, sauntering into the café with his trusty entourage trailing. 

Your narrowed eyes meet Chris’s, and he pauses in the middle of whatever obnoxious joke he must have been sharing. For a brief moment, a telepathic duel sparks between you both, a challenge to see which one of you will be the first to crack. You win, when he breaks eye contact to go and find a seat with his friends in the lounge area. But once more, it doesn’t feel that way, because while he’s resumed his own activities, you’re still thinking about him. So much for rising above. Damn it. 

“Soobin, you need to scan your employee ID first or else sales won’t be attributed to you. We already went over this.”

The voice of Seungmin, the son of Morningstar’s owners and your fellow university student, halts your deliberations and thankfully pulls your thoughts away from Chris. Seungmin is inside from his break and stands there besides Soobin, scolding him for making another mistake in his practice transaction before the evening rush. 

“Right! Sorry about that.” Soobin shakes his head and exhales, grabbing a towel to wipe his sweaty hands.

“You’ll be fine. Just keep at it.” Seungmin softens, patting Soobin on the back before making his way over to where Chris is sitting. Because of course, Chris is friends with every single person in existence.

Another person enters the building, prompting the telltale ring to go off. Soobin’s perpetual flush morphs into a crimson, and you immediately turn to see which newcomer has got your best friend so hot and bothered. You’re met by the sight of a very pretty girl who you recognize, but whose name escapes you. However, you know the boy she has walked into the coffee house with— her best friend, Han Jisung, who is unsurprisingly another member of Chris’s glorified posse. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” You raise your eyebrow at Soobin, who is still watching the girl with a lovelorn look in his eyes.

“What?”

“You can’t like her. She and Jisung have a thing.”

“They’re just friends,” Soobin says, frowning, but you can see the contradicting doubt written across his face. “Maybe I’ll talk to Seungmin and see what’s up.”

You take his hand and resign, because other times, both of you have to learn your lessons on your own. “You’ll make someone’s heart beat as fast as they do your own. Whether it’s her or not.”

Soobin swallows, fully directing his attention back to you. “The same to you as well. ��

You let out a playful snort, thinking of your one short-lived romance from freshman year. You haven’t dated since, deciding to set relationships aside so you can focus better on your studies. You cannot take the chance of losing precious time, time that can only be allotted to your favorite person, work, and nothing else. Besides, you’ve never been very good at flirting— let alone finding friends— anyway. 

“But I think Chris raises your pulse rate enough, so maybe you’ve got your plate full for now.”

“Don’t start,” you warn, the annoyance picking up again. Soobin sends you a cheeky smile, before he attends to his peckish customers. 

You take the opportunity to make your way back to your table in the front of the cafe, your favorite little spot that overlooks the lush campus lawn, and then past the historic buildings of your university, the faint city skyline. The trees have begun happily shedding their leaves like multicolored tears that dot the outdoor expanse, embracing Autumn like a long-lost lover. Today is gorgeous, a day that should feel like a blessing, and yet, you feel blue.

The reason for your melancholy approaches your carefully curated bubble and pops it, sitting down at the table, uninvited. 

“Hey, I didn’t see you at the election after-party the other day.”

Chris’s voice is calm, so you merely clench your jaw and keep from saying anything too unintelligible. “Hey, you read my text and didn’t reply today.”

He doesn’t let the sheepishness cross his features, but has the decency for it to manifest in a light red at the tips of his ears. “I was going to, sorry. I’ve been busy.”

You just can’t help the venom that laces your next words. “You always are.”

Chris shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t get why you always have a problem with me.”

You allow yourself a sharp intake of breath before divulging your current frustrations with him. “I really, really need you to answer me when I ask you something. We represent all of the students in our college. We can’t afford to mess this up.”

Chris rolls his eyes at your words, which makes you even more irritated. “I know.”

“Great. Then we have nothing else to discuss.” You slip your laptop back into your carrier and zip up your backpack, grabbing your phone and pushing your chair in. You don’t spare Chris a glance as you walk towards the door. 

“Why can’t we just be friends like before?”

You tense at Chris calling out, but don’t look back to face him. “You should know the answer to that.”

“I really don’t.”

With a scoff, you leave him hanging, pushing open the door and finding somewhere you can actually study without distraction.

It’s only the second day of fourth grade and you already feel so out of place. You moved here  over a month and a half ago, in the middle of summer, so you had a lot of time to get used to the town and explore your new home. You enjoyed biking around the neighborhood cul-de-sac all day and discovered a clearing in the woods behind your house, immediately claiming it as your personal hideout. After your parents hosted some of your neighbors’ families for dinner, you even established friendly relations with Soobin, the impossibly shy son of the couple next door. 

But your expeditions in school haven’t been as successful. As soon as you stepped into the classroom, it seemed like everyone already had their own friend groups, less than willing to take on a newbie like you. Because all of the seemingly “cool” kids have claimed all of the seats in the back, you sit up front, the desk next to you empty. And although Soobin also attends the same school, he’s in a different homeroom than you, so your in-school interactions are limited to hallway waves and nothing else. To top it all off, your teacher is already talking about long division. What in the world is that?

“Would you like a pudding?”

You turn around to pinpoint the hushed voice that has interrupted the independent classwork time that your teacher allotted. The owner sits right behind you, this kid with dimples and mischievous eyes. You can’t recall his name from when your teacher took attendance in the morning, but you remember him singing a little rhyme to his friends during lunch yesterday. It was cheesy.

The boy holds out a small cup of what looks like Jell-O snack pudding towards you. You accept it, slightly confused at the random gesture. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He folds his hands on his desk, math practice discarded to the side. “You looked hungry.”

He’s watching you intently, waiting for you to eat the pudding. With a sigh, you open and try it, because you are kind of hungry. As soon as your lips gingerly close around the tiny spoon, you grin, because it’s chocolate— your favorite.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Chris,” he replies, obviously delighted by your reaction to the pudding. “Are you new?”

You smile, relieved to finally see a friendly face in your class. “Yeah, I am. Thanks for the pudding.”

“I don’t go anywhere without my trusty pudding cups.”

You don’t say anything, just quietly observing him while savoring the pudding. Chris is a little weird, and maybe too friendly. You're usually careful about this kind of socialization, but he doesn’t seem like a bad person. Chris takes your silence as an opportunity to keep chattering away.

“I notice you sit alone at lunch. You should eat with my friends and me today!” Chris exclaims, earning him a look from your teacher, but he doesn’t notice.

You pretend to contemplate his offer, although you’re secretly elated at the invitation. “Maybe if there’s more pudding.”

“Deal.”

“It looks like the faculty advising problem is sorted. Anything else?” 

The Dean of the college closes his laptop and pushes the pair of glasses perched on his nose for the hundredth time in the past hour. The lenses are huge, magnifying his eyes and making them look bugged-out, adding a comical element to his otherwise stony face.

“I was thinking—” You start, taking out your notepad, but the Dean cuts you off, looking at Chris.

“Chris, did you have anything you wanted to say?” 

Your cheeks as you avert your gaze shamefully, and all of the other students in the conference room awkwardly stare down at the table. The Dean doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort, however, just intently staring at Chris. For the entire board meeting, you actively participated and made your voice heard, while taking into account others’ concerns and viewpoints. 

Meanwhile, Chris had done nothing but squint at the papers in front of him and pretend he knew what was happening. But you’ve always been underestimated just because you’re a woman, and the fact that you’re the only female student body president in the entire history of your university doesn’t help. Of course the Dean would value Chris’s thoughts more. Anyone would. 

“Actually, Y/N was saying something. We should let her finish,” Chris replies firmly, shocking you. You thought Chris would just take the opportunity to shine for himself, not hand it to you.

The Dean looks taken aback as well, but he nods slowly. “Very well then.” 

Everyone’s attention snaps to you, but you quickly recover and recollect yourself, turning on the professionalism you reserved for moments like this. “Yes. Thank you.”

You open your computer and quickly login, plugging it into the projector so everyone can view your screen. You had already pulled up your presentation and graphics, ready to present your idea. 

“What is all of this, Miss Y/L/N?”

You take a deep breath. “A prevailing issue that has come to the board’s attention is the food insecurity on campus. To solve this issue, I propose the University Food Pantry, to relieve hunger through the acquisition and distribution of food to those students who most need it. We need to lead our campus community in the fight against hunger.”

The rest of your audience looks intrigued, but the Dean doesn’t seem convinced. “And how does this concern me? I oversee educational affairs at the college, not what’s cooking for dinner.”

“Our university is, above everything else, a community. The difficulty of higher education is further compounded when hunger is a constant presence.” You try your best to keep your suave composure, ignoring the smug condescension in the Dean’s voice. “As a result, the Food Pantry will envision a campus in which every student, regardless of their socioeconomic status, has sufficient access to nutritious food. No one should have to make financial and dietary decisions in pursuit of a good education.”

“It all sounds expensive. Where would you even get the money from?”

You know that the Dean expects you to be thrown off by his question, but you’re ready. You switch through the slides of your presentation, showcasing the several charts and graphs you stayed up all night drawing. “The Dean’s Assistance Fund, through which the Pantry can provide flex allowances to undergrad recipients of Financial Aid.”

The Dean leans back in his chair, brooding silently while you wait for his answer with bated breath. But Chris speaks up instead.

“This is really good, Y/N,” Chris says, astonishing you even further. “The fund could finance other initiatives in collaboration with the pantry as well, like the university Meal Share app that my friend Jisung coded. He’s in the computer science department.”

“Thanks,” you say warily, still in disbelief that you have both his support and enthusiasm. The other students murmur in agreement, but it doesn’t feel real, getting along with Chris. 

Immediately, the Dean sits up, directing his gaze to match Chris’s. “A wonderful idea, Chris. We must talk further about this. Perhaps—”

It’s Chris’s turn to cut the Dean off. “It wasn’t my idea, it was Y/N’s, if you were listening to her at all, sir.”

The Dean looks embarrassed after being put into his place by the very student he was chatting up to, but you don’t give him time to say anything else, taking the chance to continue speaking. 

“Of course, we can’t be fully financed by the Dean’s fund, so I think the university board should put forth a collective effort to apply for the Park Grant, an international system that funds programs that address student reform.”

“You’ve put so much thought into this, Y/N,” Mina, one of the board members, says with a smile. 

You light up, forgetting the Dean’s less-than-enthused demeanor. “Thank you so much!”

The Dean sighs, staring up at the ceiling, but shrugs, inclining his head in reluctant approval. “The Park Grant deadline is in two days. You’ll have to write up the proposal and present it to the panel.”

You nod vigorously, already mentally adding it to your calendar. “Thank you sir, I know. I won’t disappoint you.”

The Dean points his pretentiously expensive fountain pen at Chris, directing your gaze to his. “But you’ll be presenting with Chris. You’ll oversee this endeavor together.”

Your soaring heart crashes, and you sit up in indignation, because of course there’s a catch. After undermining all of your efforts, the Dean would never trust you to do something like this on your own. And out of everyone, it has to be with Chris.

“Sir, I truly believe I can finish this on my own.” You can barely contain the anger quaking in your throat, but you give it one last attempt.

Chris glances at you and dips his head in accord. “I agree, sir. Y/N is perfectly capable. This is her project, after all.”

“Let’s not go near what our capabilities are. I am very well aware of what your abilities are.” The Dean’s words jab you in the chest one by one, making you wonder if he could go any lower. “You both are co-presidents. Do it together or don’t do it all.”

“Sir—”

“Please give me a chance—”

Both you and Chris are cut off by the Dean’s cold sneer. “That will be all.”

With the wave of his gnarled hands, the meeting is over, and the rest of the students exit as fast as they can to escape the tension, while you just sit there, staring at your black computer screen blankly. A moment later, you collect yourself, grab your belongings, cramming them into your arms, and run out of the room, trying not to cry all of your frustrations out, right then and there.

“Y/N, stop!” Chris calls out from behind you, and you groan inwardly. And of course he has to be there. You can’t even fall apart in peace.

“What do you want, Chris?” You sigh exasperatedly, turning to face him, even though all you really want to do is give him the finger and run back to your room.

The tension is palpable, and you see Chris’s concern. You don’t want it, though. You don’t want his concern, his sympathy, or his friendship. You just want to never see him again, but unfortunately, the universe will not let that happen. You should have accepted that when it put you through elementary, middle, and high school, and even college with him. 

“I’m sorry. I- I tried,” he says, running his fingers through his hair, combing through it before the soft, blond locks flop back into place on his forehead. He looks more beautiful than ever, the sorrow in his deep brown eyes and painted into the pout on his perfect lips. But God, you hate him.

You swallow, taking a step forward. Chris’s eyes widen in surprise, but he stays still as you proceed in an eerily calm voice. “Outside of work, don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even think about me. I hate you, Chris, and I wish you never existed.”

For the first time, Chris is speechless, but you walk away, feeling anything but triumphant. You don’t want to see the hurt splayed across his face. And you don’t want Chris to see your own pain, the ugly root that digs deep into your heart and surges through your fingertips, the pain that has been there since the moment he took something from you. You hate Chris, and that will never, ever change.

“Come on, Soobin, tell me,” you whine, lightly kicking your legs at Soobin’s, where they hang over the edge of the treehouse you both built with your dads a few summers ago. The June weather is hot and sticky, and on days like this, you both like to climb up here and try to catch the faintest breeze that may come your way, ice creams in your hands and stories to trade on your lips.

Soobin coughs awkwardly. “Absolutely not, Y/N.” 

Tomorrow is the last day of middle school, and you’re determined to guess Soobin’s crush. You smirk at him, elbowing him in the side. Today, you suck on a blueberry popsicle, deliberating while trying not to let the dessert drip down your arms. 

“It’s the girl in your history class, isn’t it?”

“Nope.” Soobin side eyes you curiously, biting down on his own fudge ice cream cone. “Well, maybe I’ll tell you if you tell me yours.”

You blush, your mind immediately going to Chris, the boy you’ve liked since forever. Although you’re best friends with Soobin, Chris is also one of your good friends at school. And not to mention, the cutest boy in your entire school. 

Besides Soobin, Chris is also the only other person you’ve told about your autism. You were always shy and awkward growing up, and Chris pulled you out of that shell. 

It’s also why you get so nervous before tests. Since the time you nearly dropped your computer before a science quiz in fifth grade, Chris always brings you pudding before class assessments. You were scared to tell him at first, because you have been bullied in the past about it, but he had been nothing but kind and understanding. He’s never forgotten to bring you a pudding cup, and he specifically brings chocolate-flavored ones only, because you once told him you liked them. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” you swallow the last chunk of your popsicle, crunching down on the sugary ice. 

“I promise.” Soobin sits forward eagerly, his melting ice cream cone forgotten.

“It’s Chris,” you say dreamily, a lovesick smile playing upon your lips. 

Soobin burst out laughing, elbowing you in the side teasingly. “I knew it!” 

You and Soobin start arguing about who was more obvious about their respective crushes, but the thought of Chris stays lingering in your mind and clouding your thoughts. His devilishly handsome looks but angelic personality. The way he brings you those damn chocolate puddings, unaware of how you got sick of the flavor a long time ago but keep eating them anyway, just to see the beaming smile on his face. 

“Tomorrow,” you exclaim randomly, right after Soobin finishes telling you about all of the teachers he will miss over the summer, the perfect student he is.

“What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m going to tell Chris that I like him. Tomorrow,” you declare, trying to keep your voice strong and purposeful.

Soobin just stares at you with his jaw hanging open, because while you aren’t as soft-spoken as him, neither of you are particularly forward. Especially not in regard to your romantic lives. You both are the duo that watches your lost loves from afar, not confronting them up close. You’re surprised at your uncharacteristic behavior too, because you pledged to never give a teenage boy the satisfaction of knowing the power they have over you, especially not someone popular like Chris. But then again, Chris is different. You know it.

“Are you actually serious right now?” Soobin asks, still in shock. “Like, are you joking?”

“I’m serious, Soobin. I really like him.” You toy with your stained popsicle stick. “If he doesn’t feel the same, then I can just move on.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

He reaches over and gently pats you on the back, as if to comfort your nerves. “He’d be really dumb to not like you.”

You groan and flop onto your back, looking up at the dusty ceiling of the treehouse. Both of you just stay quiet for a moment, as you observe the soft cobwebs in the corners and the sunlight pouring through the cracks in the wooden rafters. You’re really going to do this.

“I’m still hungry.”

Soobin holds out his half-finished cone, little droplets of ice cream dripping onto the wood. “You can have the rest of this.”

“Thanks, Soob.” You accept his ice cream and both of you continue to reminisce about the school year and plan out everything you probably will never do during the summer, because both of you are master procrastinators.

But one thing you can’t put off is your revelation to Chris, and it’s going to happen. Which is why you find yourself trying to ignore the impending feeling of dread as you walk through the school hallways. Classes are over for both the day and the entire academic year itself, and there’s no better time to confess to your crush on the last day of school. That way, if something goes wrong, you can take the summer to recuperate and wallow in your humiliation. 

You weave through the students excited to trade their homework assignments for sunny days at the beach, with only one thought in your mind. Chris, Chris, Chris. You saw him in math class in the morning, and he looked so cute in his new Hawaiian-print shorts while he signed your yearbook for you. Now, you try to find him in the crowd, before he leaves and you’ll be unable to see him for another three months.

As you search, you’re momentarily snapped out of your Chris-induced daze when you bump into Jessi Ho in the congested hall. Knowing your luck, of course you would crash into the loser who constantly picks on Soobin for being shy. 

“Watch it, dumbass.” Jessi crosses her arms and flips her hair over her shoulder. Jay, her wannabe sidekick, gets up in your face, threateningly flashing the tattoos he got without his parents knowing. Although they look like a classic pair of bullies straight out of Mean Girls, you’re more irritated than intimidated right now. 

“I don’t have time for this.” You try to move past the terrible twosome, but Jay grasps your forearm roughly and pulls you back. You wrench your arm free and look at him in both disgust and confusion. “What the hell?”

“I’ll get to the point.” Jessi smirks, bringing her finger up to her head and pointing to her temple. “We know you’re impaired. Up here.”

Your blood freezes over like a river of ice, when Jessie emphasizes that specific word. Even though you’re not impaired, because autism isn’t an intellectual disability, you know what she means. She says it like an insult, like you’re the most useless of garbage, not worth a human being’s basic dignity. Jay bursts out laughing when he sees the horror on your face, slapping his distressed denim thigh like it’s the funniest joke he’s heard in the fifteen miserable years of his life. You just stumble back, shock and panic rising like a tidal wave in your chest. 

“W-what?”

Jessi cackles, clinging onto Jay like he’s her own walking cane. “How cute. She looks so lost.”

You shake your head, the tears building and your throat seizing in alarm. “How…?”

“A little birdie told me.” Jessi steps closer to you, and while every other time you are able to stand up to her, you can barely look her in the eye right now. “It all makes so much sense. Why do you barely talk to anyone but your pathetic bestie? You’re too scared. Why can you never sit still in class? You're just stupid.”

“That- that’s not how it works.” 

You’re grasping at straws, at a loss for words. Any other time, you’d have a snappy comeback ready. You know you struggle with social interactions, but you never thought of yourself as someone disruptive, or weird. You’re one of the highest achievers in your entire school, because sometimes, books make more sense than people. But now? You do feel stupid, exactly like Jessi said. And not because you’re autistic, but because you weren’t careful enough. You’ve been underestimated your entire life because you’re a girl, but now, you know you’ll also be an autistic girl to everyone else. Not who you are. And that’s why you tried your best to keep it on the down low, not because you felt embarrassed, but because this was a part of yourself that was entitled to you. Not anyone else.

“Sure, okay.” Jessi looks bored already, her eyes unfocused roaming the hallway, looking for her next target. “Whatever, stupid.”

Jessi slinks off without a second glance, and Jay follows suit, but not before doing a disgustingly inaccurate impression of autists, speaking gibberish slowly and exaggeratedly. You actually speak faster than other people, because you always say whatever is on your mind. But you don’t give a crap about them right now. Bullies like them will always have the worst to talk about others, and you would rather die than have them be the cause of your tears, ever. What’s really bothering you is who told them about your autism, and how that mystery person found out.

Swallowing roughly, you run over to the bathrooms, forgetting anything else. The only thing on your mind is not losing it in front of everyone. You will not give any of these people the satisfaction. Trying to keep your breathing even, you’re about to enter the bathrooms and relieve your emotions when you hear someone say your name. It doesn’t sound deliberate however, like you weren’t supposed to hear it.

You turn slowly, searching through the swaths of people walking, when your gaze lands on a small group of people gathered at the end of the hallway, a few lockers away from where you’re standing. And his back facing you, but you immediately recognize the person speaking. After the previous year of sitting behind him in Geometry class, you would recognize his curly locks perpetually dyed a soft blond and preppy polo shirt anywhere. Your ears perk up in interest, and while you feel horrible, you know one of Chris’s dimpled smiles would immediately brighten your stormy day, as they always did.

“Tell us the truth Chris!” You hear someone screech like an eager toddler, and you stop in your tracks like a deer in a traffic jam. It can’t be. 

“Fine, Y/N is autistic...”

Everyone around Chris bursts into uproarious laughter, and while you can’t see his expression, Chris begins saying something else that’s drowned out by all of the noise. It was Chris. He told everyone about your autism. Chris, the sweetheart who brings you pudding. Chris, the pretty boy who you have a hopeless crush on. Chris, your friend.

You stumble back and are pushed back into the after-school hallway rush, losing sight of Chris. But you already saw everything you needed to. It would have hurt less if it was anyone but Chris. But it wasn’t. You liked him. You trusted him. And he took that trust and stomped on it, shattering it forever. He took something from you. 

Your heart hardens as you blink away your tears. You mindlessly make your way outside, just in time to catch your bus home. Looking out of the window, with your time and your spirit petrified, you resolve to never, ever make the same mistake again. You will never again put your faith in someone who does not deserve it. 

“You look hungry.” 

You momentarily glance away from your laptop screen to shoot Chris a withering look that could scare a bear. Things are back to normal since your emotional confrontation after the Dean’s meeting. Your rude remarks and his annoyingly cooperative advances are both back for good.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The blistering ice in your voice doesn’t stop Chris from unzipping his backpack and pulling out one of his damn puddings. With a scoff, you turn back to your spreadsheet, taking care to shoot disgusting looks at Chris periodically. Chris just takes his time savoring his pudding, innocently watching your reactions like you’re a goddamn television set.

The hours pass by quickly; you get a good amount of work done, while Chris tries to be helpful by asking useless questions and doing nothing else. Typical. After finishing up a final follow-up email to the Dean’s much more tolerable secretary, you stretch out your arms with a yawn. The library will be closing in a few minutes.

“Where are you going?” Chris’s voice is interrogative as you stand up, like you owe him an answer, which makes you see red. If anything, he is the one who should be giving you an explanation, perhaps why he has to be such a two-faced monstrosity who wants to pretend everything is fine and in the past.

Screw civility.

“Oh, I’m sorry, your royal dopiness. I didn’t know I needed your permission to go home.” Your words are filled with a sickening sarcasm, and fortunately, it’s enough to shut Chris up.

You grab your belongings and stalk out of the personal meeting room that you reserved, barely noticing that everyone else sitting at the previously crowded study spaces has already left. Once in the security of the library bathrooms, you exhale all of the tension you’ve held inside of you and splash cool water onto your heated face. 

You stare into the mirror, seeing the same girl you’ve been trying to leave behind all of this time. You feel like that lost little girl trying to clutch the thought of someone who should be forgotten. You hate that you still have hope in you, that you’ve had it all of these years, that things can be fixed. You’ve tried, you really have. You’ve tried to leave the past behind you, to look forward and do exactly what needs to be done for your success. Here’s the truth: you act like a bitch towards Chris because he sucks and you hate him. Here’s another truth: you act like a bitch towards Chris because… you’re hurt. 

Especially because of your autism, you’ve had a more difficult run at making meaningful relationships. Your friendship with Chris meant that there was hope for you, and you truly believed that. But then he betrayed you, making you doubt yourself and your abilities. And following the incident, it felt like the world was working against you, and it still does. Maybe you could have healed with time, but the universe had other plans, taking care to put you through high school and college with Chris. And with your rotten luck, he’ll probably end up going to the same law school as you.

But you don’t have the time to worry about that right now. Your future depends on the present, and you’ll do your best to remember that. Your productivity mantra will keep you going, and nothing can stop you, from Christopher Bang to misogynistic old deans to… a locked bathroom door?

“What the hell?” You tug on the handle, but the door won’t budge. 

Fuck. 

You were so occupied with Chris that you forgot that after hours, all of the doors automatically lock to preserve campus security. Screw modern technology. You’re about to pull out your phone to try and call someone, but when your fingers meet an empty pocket, you realize you left it in your apartment. With an exasperated groan, you bang against the door as hard as you can and shout for help, even though you know it’s impossible for anyone to hear you and open the door from outside, the only way to free you. After a few minutes, you give up and slide down onto the floor, knowing you’ll have to spend the rest of this godforsaken night in this stuffy bathroom. Even if you somehow eventually gain the strength to bust this stupid door down, there was no getting past the padlocked main library doors. But seriously, which genius had the idea to lock the freaking bathroom doors? 

You close your eyes and place your hand over your heart, trying to calm yourself down. You’re perfectly safe. Alone in a big, empty library. Soon, the bathroom lights will shut down, probably. You wouldn’t know for sure, though. You’ve never been locked in the damn library bathroom before. Perhaps you’ll make friends with the old campus ghosts rumored to haunt this building. And maybe—

The click and turn of the door handle startles you, and you immediately jump out of the way, so your designated savior can let you out. And you’re not even surprised when your eyes meet Chris’s own confused ones. Because of course it’s Chris.

“Why are you still here?” You ask him in a slightly accusing tone, even though he literally has just helped you. You don’t even know why you feel the need to be so pointed, but you are nevertheless. 

“I was waiting for you to come back and didn’t realize the library was closed.” Chris lets out a sigh, rubbing his forehead as if it aches. You hope it does. “I have a question about the proposal.”

“Did you try calling someone? I forgot my phone.”

“Well, my phone doesn’t have any service.”

“Awesome.”

You don’t say anything further as you both exit the cramped corridor outside of the bathroom. In your hurry, you hadn’t even noticed how the librarians had turned off the lights, shrouding the building in darkness. Shivering, you subconsciously move closer to Chris, before you realize yourself and make sure to maintain a six-feet distance between your body and his.

“You can come closer if you’re scared,” Chris teases, noticing your discomfort. “We’re both stuck in this library together.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re the one who’s scared of the dark.”

Both of you fall silent as the remembrance sinks in. The day you confided in Chris about your autism, he had shared a secret about himself in return, albeit a less serious one. He had an irrational fear of the dark since he was a small child, and you knew any other fourth grader would have made fun of him for it. You had felt happy, then, that he could confide in you. 

The inadvertent memory feels unwelcome, uncomfortable. Chris clears his throat and looks away. “Not anymore.”

You and Chris decide to make camp in the library common room, since although the main building lights wouldn’t work, there were a few soft table lamps you could turn on for some clarity. You set your backpack down on the carpeted ground and snuggle into the large armchair by one of the bigger lamps. You glance at the decorative grandfather clock in the corner of the room, and it’s just past midnight. At that moment, you really just want to go home, put on your favorite pajamas, and fall asleep while watching your list of comfort anime films. Definitely not being locked in the damn library with Chris Bang, of all people. Since when was your life an episode of Arthur?

“So, you wanted to ask me something?” 

Chris fiddles with his hands for a minute, before looking away. “Never mind.”

You don’t even have it in you to be annoyed at this point. You’re just exhausted. You fall back against the tough cushion of the chair. It feels like you’re sitting on a clothed bag of sawdust. But it’s better than being out there, in the dark. And you hate to admit it, but you’re glad that you have someone to share the company of an empty library with, even if it’s Chris. 

“God, I’m hungry.” You touch your stomach, feeling the gnawing emptiness there.

“Would you like a—”

“No, I would not like a pudding, Chris.”

The minutes eventually tick by, and you feel yourself nodding off. You had told yourself earlier that you would stay alert, but the drowsiness drapes over you like a blanket, lulling you into reluctant sleep.

The menacing roll of thunder snaps you out of your uneasy slumber like the sound of a car crash. Immediately, you double over and tuck your head into your arms, trying to breathe. Your hands, warmed from being pressed under your thighs, go clammy with a cold sweat, and you can feel the tears well, barely keeping them at bay. When your go-to breathing technique doesn’t work, you gasp for air, jerking in your seat at every new crack of thunder invading your perception. 

Immediately, Chris crosses the space between your chairs and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hold. Sometimes, thunderstorms cause you to have a sensory overload, and you can’t cope. Chris knows this about you, after you got severely spooked after one particularly bad storm in the middle of class in sixth grade. Chris continues to rock your body slowly with his, whispering calming nothings into your ear. Your breathing slows and returns to a normal pace, but Chris just keeps rubbing slow, comforting circles on your back. 

Soon, the sound of the thunder dissipates, but you’re not entirely sure if it’s actually because the storm ended or if it’s because the overwhelming scent of Chris’s fresh, minty cologne has taken over your senses. 

You look up at Chris, the boy you hate more than anything, and whisper the very last thing that you ever thought you would say to him. “Thank you.”

Chris just nods his head slowly while you untangle yourself from his hold. He gets the hint and lets you scoot away from him, but it’s not far enough. Mere inches separate you from Chris, Chris who helped you without second thought because you were having a panic attack. Forget every ounce of hostility you have shown him, he hugged you like he was your lifeline, which he nearly could have been. 

He looks at you intently, his eyes glistening with emotion. “Why do you hate me so much?”

He’s asked this question multiple times before. The first time was back on the very first day of high school, when you both had English class together, and you staunchly ignored him. He continued to ask you the same thing over and over again, until your lack of acknowledgement made him finally stop and accept your new attitude towards him. But even though you’ve heard this question before, this time feels different. There is a certain vulnerability to his words, like he’s given up and is pleading for one last chance. 

A part of you still wants to try and maintain the animosity you use as a protective barrier, so people can’t tell what you’re really feeling. But you’re just tired of it all, and the question tugs at you too. Maybe you need to reply out loud for both of you to hear, not just him. Maybe you need to affirm your hatred for the dumb boy who waited for you to come back from the bathroom and then held you during a thunderstorm. Or maybe you need to affirm the fact that you may not hate him as much as you think, but you still do. You don’t know. You hate him the most because you don’t know. So, for the first time, you answer him.

“You broke my trust, Chris.”

“When?” Chris looks genuinely perplexed, like he has no idea what you’re talking about. 

With a scoff, you glare up at the ceiling, unable to look him in the eye. “You told everyone about my autism. When I specifically said that I wanted to keep it a secret.”

He shakes his head in a vigorous panic. “I didn’t tell anyone. I promise I didn’t. I promise it wasn’t me.”

Then who was it? 

As if he hears your thoughts, Chris sighs and indulges them. “Jessi. She saw your aide and followed him to his office. She was telling everyone about it, I swear.”

And it makes sense. His explanation checks out, and this all could have been a grand misunderstanding on your part, because of course Jessi would have snooped into your business. You couldn’t save your privacy for long with someone like Jessi hovering. And the thing is, you’re not even surprised. You knew in your heart the entire time that you could have been mistaken, that it was strange that Chris would have violated you like that, but it was just easier to blame him for your pain instead of confronting it. Or so you thought.

“And when everyone found out, I tried defending you. I never, ever would want to hurt you. Please believe me.”

Chris’s eyes are shining with earnesty, and you know he’s telling the truth. But that doesn’t erase all of the years you were hurting. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“It didn’t even occur to me that it was the reason you stopped talking to me. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.”

You close your eyes and lean back. “Chris, you don’t have anything to be sorry about. This is on me.”

You feel your hatred towards Chris fade, and all there is left in you is a deflated pocket of sorrow. Your whole goal was to stay focused, but in reality, you’ve put so much time and energy into despising Chris. And that wasn’t the only way you hurt yourself. You also deprived yourself of what could have been a wonderful friendship.

“I do,” Chris insists, interrupting your thoughts. “I was stupid. I gave up so quickly. It hurt me too, not just you.”

You raise your head and tiredly gaze at him. Even in the dark, he looks beautiful. And it’s not merely his looks, but truly his character that shines through. You spent hours picking apart his personality, trying to find flaws and reasons to demonize him, not knowing that in the process, you were the monster yourself. You constantly complained about his lack of initiative and response, when in reality, you never let him actually do anything. You can’t even fathom why he’s being so understanding, or all of his attempts to work with you, even after your cold treatment of him.

“What do you mean, Chris?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” Chris groans. “I used to like you. There.”

You perk up. Well, now you’re shocked. “Wait, really? I used to like you, too!”

There’s disbelief written all over Chris’s face. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Both of you burst into laughter, like you weren’t having a heart-to-heart five minutes ago about hating the other. It feels good to laugh, and for a second, you’re transported back into fourth grade, when you first met Chris. 

When you were a kid, you barely laughed, which worried the crap out of your parents. The doctors said it was common among individuals with autism, but it didn’t seem that way when you walked around, unsmiling and unfeeling. You weren’t completely socially inept, or exactly shy, but you preferred to keep to yourself. And then Chris had offered you a pudding. You felt like friendship was worth something, then. You felt seen. And maybe that scared you a little bit, being on the edge with someone who made you feel so deliciously raw. Maybe that’s why you didn’t fight back for Chris, because you would rather leave than be left. 

Chris rakes his fingers through his hair, the ghost of a smile playing upon his lips. “You know, I still like you.”

“Very funny.”

“I do.”

“You’re crazy. Stop that.”

“Maybe.” Chris throws his hands up and then lets them fall back down. “I like you and don’t want to stop.”

“After how I treated you for the past eight years?” You nearly laugh with how ridiculous he’s being. Hell, if you were in his place, you’d hate yourself.

“But you were hurt. A lot.” Chris shrugs. “You’ve become this amazing woman. You’re… incredible. Hardworking, talented, smart. Keeping in mind how you truly believed I was the cause for your pain, you excelled in spite of the fact that the universe kept pulling us together.”

You shake your head. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I’ll say it for you.” Chris looks down at his palms. “I like you, and that’s why I became co-president and faked having no service on my phone so we would be stuck in a library together.”

“Chris—”

“Please. Don’t say no. Not after eight years of me pining for you, knowing you’d never look at me again. Knowing I was falling deeper every time you cursed at me. Please, Y/N. I want to know you again, and you to know me. Please.” Chris’s expression is begging, and it pains you even more. 

You still hurt, but it’s a different kind of torture. It’s the kind of hurt that’s the result of yearning, the kind of yearning that stems from hatred, subjugated love, and uncertain acceptance. It’s the kind of hurt that tells you that you don’t deserve him. He deserves someone who isn’t a complete and utter coward. Someone who hasn’t been completely and utterly in love with him all this time, but too stubborn and too pained to admit it. Someone who isn’t completely and utterly awed by the magnificent man he is, but too bitter to say it. 

Chris reaches out his hand and places it on the side of your face, imploring you with his hesitant palm. You melt into his touch, when a mere few hours ago, you would have slapped it off of you. His skin is warm against yours, and the softness radiating from him pulls at you. You want to say yes. You want to open a blank page in the book. You want to start fresh with this beautiful boy in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” And you’re not just apologizing for pushing him away before, but now too. You don’t get to have him. 

“Just… why?”

“I can’t. I’m so sorry.” The repeated dialogue from you has a note of finality that even Chris’s insolence can’t break through. 

And just like that, all of the bridges you both repaired come crumbling down, but this time, it’s on purpose. You’ve always been quick to make decisions, never mulling over a choice for too long. You loved Chris. You hated Chris. You still love Chris. But you reject Chris. It’s easy to do, like one computer command after the other. But then Chris retracts his touch and wordlessly gets up from the armchair, curling up into his original position in the other chair. He’s facing away from you, you feel like you’ve struck an error message. The hours pass, and the softly snoring form of Chris reminds you of a blaring bad request, a pile of code that just won’t compile. Eventually, your computer shuts down too, and you share a temporary commonality with Chris when you fall asleep.

“Wake up dear.”

Your eyes fly open, and you sit up. Natural light pours in through the big windows, and you can feel your skin drinking in the sunshine. The librarian’s kind eyes are watching you with worry, but all you can think of is the night before. Perhaps it was all a dream. You were angry at Chris and then fell asleep after coming back from the bathroom. End of story. But then you feel that familiar ache in your heart, and you know you weren’t hallucinating everything that transpired between you both.

You turn to look at the librarian, who still seems immensely concerned, especially with your disoriented morning look. “I’m sorry, where is Chris?”

“He just left a few minutes ago, sweetheart. I was opening up for the day, when I saw him waiting to be let out at the front entrance. Nearly scared the life out of me.” The librarian places her hand on your shoulder. “He told me you were here.”

The librarian rushes off to her personal office to make you some tea, and you’re left alone in the common room. And no one else is here either, because today is Saturday and your university is supposed to be hosting a football game against a rival school. You look down at your body and notice a jacket wrapped around your body, one that definitely isn’t yours. You don’t have an expensive leather jacket that smells like Tom Ford cologne. It was freezing last night because the library doesn’t have heating, and Chris must have woken up in the middle of the night and draped it on you. You feel another pang in your heart as you think of Chris leaving without speaking to you. You deserve it, though.

As you sadly walk out of the library, you decide to skip the game even though as student body president, you should be there, representing the school. You reach your off-campus apartment, the one that you were so excited to finally lease a few months ago, and sprawl onto your couch, already feeling weary of the day. Nevertheless, you fish your phone out of the jumble of couch pillows and call Soobin, because he must be worried sick. You always text him goodnight before you sleep, and yesterday must have been the first time you didn’t.

“How could you?” He’s angry, a new color on him.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. The library—” You start, but Soobin doesn’t let you finish.

“Forget the library! I’m talking about Chris. He’s stepping down from the president role because of you, Y/N!” Soobin screeches into the phone, making you shoot up in alarm.

“What?!”

“I overheard him tell everything to Jisung. Y/N, this is wrong.” Soobin sounds calmer, but nonetheless distressed. “I know you love him. You shouldn’t let this happen.”

Your face heats up in surprise. “How—”

You hear Soobin tsk, and you just know he’s shaking his head, disappointed. ���I didn’t even have to hear him talk to know that. There’s a fine line between love and hate. You can never stop talking about him!”

There’s no denying it now. You shouldn’t have underestimated Soobin; no matter how silly he can be, he is your best friend in the whole world after all. And maybe all the time, the only one you were lying to was yourself. 

You grab a pillow and cradle it, just wanting to cry it all out. You always have more intense feelings than others, but right now, your heart hurts so much that you doubt you can blame being emotional on your autism. 

“Soobin, what do I do? I don’t want to hurt him, but…” You sniffle. “I didn’t even give him a chance to explain himself. For eight years, I made my whole personality hate Chris. And now, he forgives me and I accept it? I’m so stupid, God.”

“I agree you’re stupid.”

“You’re not making me feel better!”

“Sorry.” Soobin sighs. “But you need to get over yourself and your drama. Stop making this harder for both of you, and just be grateful that you haven’t lost him. Yet.”

And with that, he cuts the call in a way very unlike Soobin, making you groan out loud in frustration. Now you want to punch your pillow, because your best friend is absolutely right.

It doesn’t take long for you to find Chris in the packed stadium. Through the throngs of students eager to trade their homework for a good home game, you see him standing with one of his friends in an upper corner of the stands. When you were younger, you were obsessed with Greek mythology and thought that Chris looked like Apollo, the god of the sun, with his golden curls and sunny disposition. Today, his light seems to have dimmed, as he watches the ongoing game with his hands shoved into his pockets and a forlorn look marking his gaze. 

“Chris!” You shout to try and get his attention, but it’s to no avail. The cheering crowd is ear-splitting, and you have no other choice but to climb up to the top.

Grunting, you hoist yourself up the steep stairs and try not to look behind you. If you do, you’ll fall off the stands with dizziness, which would be slightly undesirable compared to what you have to do next. Slightly. With the final step, you haul into Chris’s row, catching your breath and a first glimpse at how high up you really are. The players on the field look like tiny ants, and you feel your stomach drop. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. 

But it’s too late to turn back now, because Chris has already spotted you and hurries over. You tense and lose your footing, stumbling over someone as they kick their legs in anticipation. Great. 

“What are you doing here?” Chan places a toned arm around your shoulders and pulls you up, leading you to his seat. You clumsily collapse into the solid, curved plastic of the chair, and Chris follows next to you.

You then notice Chris’s friend, a heartbreakingly handsome man who you vaguely remember as Minho from your sophomore year literature class. He’s wistfully gazing at a very pretty girl who is chatting with Terry, Soobin’s old roommate, a few rows down. Minho then becomes aware of your presence and hurriedly excuses himself, rushing out of the aisle and disappearing into the crowd. You turn to Chris.

“Is he okay?”

Chris exhales, running his fingers through his hair, combing through it before the soft locks flop back into place on his forehead. “I… Minho’s just going through some stuff right now.”

“Seems like he’s not the only one.” You toy with your ring, twisting it around your finger. “I heard you’re resigning.”

“Who told you that?”

“Soobin. He was eavesdropping on you and Jisung today in Morningstar,” you respond. “Why are you leaving the role?”

Chris looks away from you and out at the field. Your university’s football team still hasn’t scored. “I’d just be in your way. This is for the best, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way. Please don’t. I need you.”

“You’ll be fine.”

This is what you thought you wanted all along, a world without Chris in it. Besides Student Council, neither of you share any classes or activities this year. If he left, you wouldn’t have to cross paths with him again. You could run the council well on your own, you know that. But you don't want to. You don’t ever want to imagine a world without Chris. He’s been by your side for so long now, and now when he’s about to step away do you truly realize how much you need him.

“Maybe. But I won’t be happy.” Against your better judgment, you reach over and grasp his hand, making Chris start in surprise.

Chris shakes his head, still skeptical. “All I’ve ever done is make you unhappy, Y/N. You don’t want me to be around.”

You sigh, knowing he’s not going to come around, not without the right kind of persuasion. “I was dreading having to do this.”

“Do what?”

You reach into the small purse hanging off of your shoulder and pull what you had scoured the entire city for in the past few hours. “Would you like a pudding?”

Chris looks bemused, staring down at the small cup of chocolatey goodness in the delicate palm of your hand. 

“Or do you want a kiss?” You stare at Chris intently, trying to ignore the whammering beat of your heart. “What will it take for you to stay in your position?”

“W-what?”

“Or I could be your girlfriend. Because I really want to see where this goes.” You take a deep breath. “A bunny once told me that I just need to get out of the past. I’ve left it behind, and I’m looking forward, Chris.”

“Fine.” Chris swallows roughly and bites back the slow smile spreading on his features. “Can I have all three?”

“You never make it easy, do you, Chris?” 

Before he can quip back at you, you grasp the collar of his t-shirt and tug him to you, your lips meeting just as the home team finally scores a touchdown and the crowd erupts in applause. You couldn’t care less though, because although the preteen you is jumping up and down like the rest of the cheering fans, the adult you is smiling into the lips of the man you definitely do not hate. Actually, you love him. 

Chris slings his arms around your waist and pulls your body closer to his, sweetly laughing into your ear when you both come up for air. “Am I a good kisser, or what?”

“Shut up.” 

And you’re kissing him again. Warmth blossoms in your chest, sparks igniting as you lean into each other after years of loving, hating, and longing. Your arms roving over each other coax all and any remaining hesitation left in you both, and it feels so right. You treasure the soft sighs of pleasure and elation spilling from Chris’s lips, his sounds more deafening than any overzealous football fan’s rally cry. 

“So, do I not get the pudding, or…?” Dimples cut across Chris’s cheeks as he pulls away from your lips once more just to shoot you a cheeky grin.

You roll your eyes playfully and reach into your lap, tearing open the foil wrapper on top of the pudding cup before handing it to him. “You and your pudding.”

“You know you love it.”

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