#wa this took Way too long lmao

[yb-cringe]

they deserve some rest

[mothdruid]

Happy birthday!! Can I please get "you’re freezing, come here.” With Hangman?

Fast like Rain

pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x gn!reader

word count: 1k

summary: Your childhood best friend, Jake, is home from deployment. The two of you spend the day together and it ends with a cold but sweet treat.

a/n: sorry this took so long to write! my blurbs keep end up being longer than just blurbs lmao. i hope you enjoy!!

The day had started out great. Jake was home on leave for a little bit, meaning that you finally got to see your best friend after months of his deployment. He had promised you one full day of hanging out when he had left. So, it was time for him to honor that promise.

The day had started with brunch from his favorite local diner, to which he ordered his classic sunny side up eggs with crispy bacon and toast. You ordered your own favorite meal, earning teasing when you ordered your classic cup of orange juice. Jake never let you live that down, always joking that you were never going to fully grow up.

The two of you spent the next few hours doing whatever. It was so refreshing to finally have Jake home. He was your best friend no matter what, even if you happened to have a little bit more than just platonic feelings for him. It was hard not to like him. He had that Texan charm you had grown up dreaming about.

Charm with a bit of asshole to him, and it honestly made your heart sing. Maybe that's because he didn't intimidated you, instead it pushed you to be an asshole right back at him. Which Jake himself loved about you. Every time you ever swore at him and yelled at him, he would later that night think about it in bed, wondering if you would speak that way if you were underneath him.

The two of you were currently in some random field outside of town. Jake had decided to drive the old beater truck he had during high school while he was in town. So the tailgate was currently down, the both of you sitting on it with your legs dangling. The soft yet dry tall grass was brushing against your ankles.

"Are you serious?" You laughed after asking.

"Come on, of course, how could you not believe me?" Jake retorted.

"You weren't a track star in school, that's why!"

"I played football," Jake reminded you.

"As a QB, not a running back!" You could help the laughter that came from you.

"Fine," Jake hoped off the tailgate, "let's race."

The laughter immediately stopped when you heard him. You both had been too caught up in each other to have noticed the darker clouds starting to consume the sky. You gave Jake a serious look, tiling your head as if to question his seriousness.

"Hey, I'm being serious here," Jake threw his hands up in defense.

"One hundred percent?" You questioned.

He took his right index finger and drew a cross over his heart. You hoped down off the tailgate and stood face to face with him. You crossed your arms, signaling that you meant business.

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll buy you ice cream," Jake said.

"Fence line?"

Jake shook his head yes, that stupid smirk on his face. Without a second thought you took off running. You heard Jake yell from behind you about how he never said start. All you did was throw a middle finger back at him. Jake chased you all the way to the fence line, huffing once he finally caught up to you. You had been waiting for only a few seconds since reaching it. Your own breath was heavy, lungs struggling to keep up.

"Guess you aren't that fast," you chuckled while trying to steady your breathing. You looked over at Jake and then leaned again the fence post next to you.

"I don't know if that counts," Jake joked. He moved near you, putting a hands on the same post you were leaning on.

The two of you were close, only a few inches separating your bodies. Smiles adorned both of your faces while you stared at each other. You could never get tried of staring at him. Yeah, he looked like a generic jock, but he was your generic jock. Those green eyes never left yours, and a part of was starting to wonder if the two of you were moving closer towards one another.

Suddenly there was a loud rumble through the sky. It was only then that both of you noticed the dark sky. You examined the sky, a small drop of water hit your skin. Jake felt one too, looking at you quickly. It was seconds before a complete down pour started. You howled in laughter and shock as Jake just started laughing. After a few more seconds of taking the rain in, you ran back towards the truck. Jake was right behind you, stopping to lift the tailgate back up while you climbed into the cab.

"Holy shit," the words were breathy from your laughter.

"That was a surprise," Jake said.

The both of you were practically soaked. His t-shirt was practically a different color now. Yours was about the same though. Little goosebumps were starting to prick up along your skin. Jake noticed this when you wrapped your arms around yourself. He reached out hesitantly, brushing his knuckles against your skin.

"You're freezing," he whispered, "come here."

Jake opened his arms and gestured for you to move closer to him. You hesitated for a minute, eventually moving into his arms. Jake's arm were so warm, they were like one of his old sweatshirts that you had stolen forever ago. The sound of rain filled the silence between the two of you.

"I missed you."

The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. You sat up a little and looked at Jake. There was worry weaved through your expression as if you had done something wrong. Jake moved a hand to your jaw, cupping it then leaning in.

Neither of you fought it, leaning into the kiss and your emotions. For so long the both of you had fought them, telling yourselves that this couldn't be real. But it was.

Jake pulled back and just stared at you, a small smile on his lips. He rubbed his thumb against your cheek, marveling internally at how soft your skin was.

"I missed you too."

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us Chapter 17

Masterlist || AO3

Hey another Election Day Tuesday and that means I have a lot of time to kill! So a new update is the result lmao!

As always, thanks to @cheesy-cryptid for blessing me with permission to use her art as inspiration.

Thanks also goes to @micropoe10 and @tragedybunny for being my besties and betas and everything else for me. I love you both. Extra special thanks to @leomonae for encouraging me to try first person pov lol I DID IT MONA. BE PROUD OF ME.

Warnings for this chapter are as follows: mentions of death, violence, and grief.

This part of the city was peaceful at night, it was one of the things Astarion loved most. The walk back from Octavia’s house wasn't too bad, she lives about a 30 minute stroll from the main city. Pretty convenient, all things considered. 

He walks down a hidden path that leads straight from her little cottage to the main road. He could've taken one of the other connecting streets to her house, but there was a somewhat romantic feeling to the solitude of being surrounded by the trees and wind.

Astarion steps towards the gates of the museum, no one should be here by now. Pushing the gate open, he makes his way down the paved walkway. The warmth of the sun still radiates from the ground. He turns and makes a detour down to the gardens.

The stretch of gravel to the lush greens is long, a tall figure peeks out from behind the rows of flowering shrubs Astarion surrounded her in. Tav’s arms stretched out to greet those who visited. 

My treasured flower. 

Astarion walks towards her, plucking a few buds from the walls of vines that wrap around each other. He looks up at her and sits at the bench at the base of her statue. Her gaze permanently locked in the adoring way she used to give him when he would fall at his knees and worship the ground she walked on.

 I regret each choice that took me from you. My fears always let me make the worst decisions. 

He stares up at her beautifully carved stone face, knowing it can't react to the words he says to her. “Hello, beautiful.” Astarion places the small bundle of flowers at her feet, a small token of everlasting devotion. 

Staying at Octavia’s house felt strange. It's been a long time since he’s tried to do anything like that. After he left Tav, it felt wrong. No one was like her. The few he tried were pretty to look at, sure. With the right words, he could get close to anyone, but not the same way. 

Astarion feels a small flutter of anxiety in his gut, something that he keeps trying to push away. This feeling of longing growing for someone else. The same feelings of excitement he felt when Octavia let him bite down and drink from her veins. 

“I can't stop myself from thinking I've betrayed you by letting myself partake from another. I keep seeing you when I look at her. The same eyes, so soft, adoring, and curious. I hear you in her laugh, her words of comfort, and her cries of ecstasy. Her touch is sensual and familiar, so intimate in ways I've longed for. I even saw you when I finally gave myself away to the urge after I fed on her sweet blood.”

Astarion lays with his back flat on the stone bench. The stars shining as bright as that night he led Tav to the graveyard and lived his first night truly free. He closes his eyes and sinks into the warmth of the stone. If he tried hard enough, he could almost replace the breeze with Tav’s fingers running through his hair. He sighs and begins to speak.

“If you only knew how much I wanted to turn back and take you with me. I couldn't forgive myself for leaving you, but with all those feral spawn, I couldn't take the chance that you would be in danger. The thought of you being safe somewhere else with anyone else was better to me than having you by my side.”

He pauses, opens his eyes, and plays with his sleeve. “I couldn't take the chance for you to have a family away from you knowing that I couldn't give you the children you wanted. There were too many things that I knew you wanted and deserved.” 

Astarion lets his mind wander. He stares at Tav’s face. “I guess now is a good time to explain myself. There's things I need to apologize for, and some things I need to tell you.” His voice quivers slightly as he trails off. The memories of the last century and a half without her flash periodically through his mind. He usually pushes them away, but tonight he lets them wash over him. 

—-------------

The journey to the Underdark was lonesome and tiring, always having to lurk in the shadows. How many people would recognize me without her? How many would take their chances at killing me? I had to stay shrouded once more, sometimes I would get lucky and cross paths with someone needing a favor or two. 

I’m not sure how many times I had to kill a shady merchant, an abusive husband, or slaver just to have a place to stay during the light of day. It seemed like one of the Gods finally came to watch over me during this long trek. It was always about killing the right people. 

It took three months for me to finally make my way down to the Underdark. Considering, people weren't too open with any information on what had happened to the 7006 vampire spawn that we had freed. I had heard rumors of a mass casualty event, but without more information, it would be difficult to fully understand what they meant. 

Eventually, I found a familiar face in the Myconid colony. I ran into my sister Dalyria as she was buying some potion ingredients from a traveling merchant. 

I still remember the wide eyed stare Dal had on her face, her gasp of surprise as she dropped the potion bottle in her hands. Her sobs of happiness when she held me tightly in a grateful embrace. 

The words that followed after she pulled away would haunt me forever. 

“I thought you died with the rest of them.” 

I was taken back, the rumors were indeed true. “How many?” I asked, anxiously awaiting Dal’s answer. She hesitates in answering, “We lost more than half our people that day. Mostly the Gur children, the starved, the weak, the ones who most likely wanted to die.” 

We talked more once she finished. She led us down to the outpost she and Leon had settled in. I listened as Dal spoke quietly. 

“We got caught in a solar eclipse. It was a total disaster. Youssen promised that he calculated everything correctly, but he didn't. I knew it would've been dangerous. I warned them, but he and Petras kept fighting with Leon and I. They were so desperate to get here and live freely that they turned the rest of the family against us.” 

Dal sniffled and continued, “Everything happened so fast. They promised they had it down to the minute, but it seems that even with precise instructions, you can't account for arrogance.” 

“Arrogance?” I asked, looking at our surroundings. Cave systems that twisted and snaked together to form a hidden stronghold. After a couple of miles or so, we were finally there.The broken and dilapidated temple where they had settled.

It looked strangely reminiscent of one that our group had visited once. I pushed the thought away as Dal led me through it. I noticed the number of spawn that resided there, a stark difference between the amount I helped free back in the bowels of Cazador’s manor. 

Dal scoffed, “One can never account for those who are desperate to prove their point. No matter the cost to those around them. Like I said before, Petras and Youssen turned everyone against us. Violet and Aurelia followed soon after they explained their reasoning. It was hard to argue two against four after that. 

They wanted to get here as soon as we could. So when they heard of the eclipse they figured it would save us around half a day. Leon and I couldn't argue with that kind of time, so the most skilled of us went first.” 

“Where is Leon?” I interjected. 

Dal’s eyes locked behind my shoulder, I turned and saw a staircase leading up to the next floor. “He goes up there alone frequently. After we were released,we explored the manor for a while. Gathering clothes and some other things for the journey. He saw Victoria. He..” she exhales, hesitating some. 

“He hasn't been the same since. She was all he had left from his previous life.” Dal finishes with a quiver in her voice. 

“Children are dangerous company for vampires.” I replied empathetically.

“Quite. Come on, let's get you a bed and some blood.” Dal placed her hand on my shoulder, she smiled, and walked off after a few seconds. 

I followed her up to a small room with a solitary bed. She held the door open as I walked past her, dropping the brown leather bag I held over my shoulder. 

“Apologies if it's not as luxurious as you're used to” she says with a small sarcastic tilt, "It's one of the few private rooms we have. Figured you would appreciate that over aesthetics.” 

As Dal prepared to leave, I turned to her. She's paused by the door, halfway between the frame and the hallway. “Thank you.” My voice was quiet and soft. Dal looked at me and smiled, “Of course, brother. What is family for after all?”

—--------------------------—-----

Twenty years would pass with little problems. The vampires that lived in the outpost were used to having to ration. Hunting in small packs, majority of the time Leon and I would supervise them and teach them to hunt. We tried to be careful about making sure the younglings never went too far by themselves.

As the main hunters, the two of us would seek and kill animals on the surface at night, bringing the meat to merchants around Faerun once we broke down the carcasses and bleed them dry. 

With the money we gathered, we would buy more blood from other butchers up top. We’d also get blood from other less than reputable sources, but as long as the blood was good, we wouldn't ask too many questions. 

Leon and I were on our way back to the outpost after a few days out hunting and trading when Leon stopped mid step. “Brother, something feels off.” He held out his arm, took a few steps forward toward the opening of a cave, and stayed quiet for a moment. I walked up to him and concentrated on the noises around us.

I heard people yelling, sounds of feet shuffling, a loud rumble, and then sharp screams. “DAL!” Leon gasps, and rises to his feet, sprinting out to the maze of cave openings.

Once we got closer, Leon pointed out the smoke billowing out from the outpost, the thick clouds growing darker in color as we neared our destination. 

“Astarion, we must find Dal!” Leon stood ready, with his hand on his crossbow. I looked around and noticed the two converging tunnels in front of us. 

“We have to split up, Leon. We can cover more ground that way. Find her, I’ll see about the others.” I commanded, grabbing onto the daggers hung on my hip. I turned to run when Leon grabbed my arm, “Be careful, I’ll do my best to find you as soon as I find Dal.” 

I nodded, sprinting down the tunnel. As I neared the opening of the path, the smoke became a thick curtain, making it more difficult to see. I pulled at the leather bag that hung from my back, searching for anything to help. “Come on, there's got to be something here.” 

My hands moved frantically inside the bag, until I felt the texture of a scroll. “Fucking finally!” I unfurled it and began to speak the words inscribed. I raised my right hand and braced myself, a giant gust of wind came out in a burst of energy, clearing the way forward. 

My legs pistoned me forward as I continued to look for Dal. I hurriedly made my way to the back of the outpost. When I got closer I noticed some rocks leading towards another tunnel. I ran following the path of debris until I reached the end. 

One of the exits had been collapsed. 

I knelt in front of the pile of rocks and began to dig into it, using my body weight to pull big pieces of stone away from the opening. I dug into the avalanche, my hands becoming raw and bloody as jagged pieces of rubble cut into my skin. 

I keep digging, a sharp kind of sulfuric scent hits my nose and goes down my throat. I can taste the acidic notes, it’s acrid with a hint of ash. I immediately recognize it. Runepowder. However many people were in that tunnel, they were certainly dead. Someone did this on purpose. 

I must find Dal.

The adrenaline pumping through my body kept me going until I heard yelling coming from inside the outpost. “Dal!” I ran into an open door in front of me, up some stairs. I crept up to a broken wall, the opening leading to the dining hall’s ceiling lined with wooden beams connecting the adjacent wall. 

I stayed hidden in the shadows concentrating on the sounds around me. A short time passed before I heard some movement coming from underneath. I stepped forward and saw Dal and Leon. I gasped softly, gently stepping out to one of the beams obscured by the darkness. 

Soon after, a group of at least 10 Gur flood into the room and block the only exit. A man steps forward as Dal and Leon realize they are outnumbered with no way out. 

The man begins to speak, “Where is the third? We were told there were three of you running this bastardized commune.”

I continued to creep along the wooden supports, Leon noticed me and quickly turned back to the man in front of him. “I came back alone. My brother was…killed by a bulette when we were on our way back. It caught us by surprise. I was barely able to get away from it. I tried to save him but we couldn't overtake it. It killed him before I killed it.” 

The man looks at him suspiciously, he nods and the hunters behind him point their crossbows at Dal. “I will not ask again, vampire scum. Where is the third?” 

“I swear to you he's dead! There's no one else other than us now. You killed the others, did you not? I saw the bodies, the rubble, the fires. You said you collapsed a tunnel when you came in, is that not enough? We cannot turn anyone into vampires, we're mere spawn. We’ve been living in peace for a decade and a half. Why do you come hunt us now?”

 Leon held his hands up as he plead his case, Dal trembled as she hid her face in her hands. 

“One of yours killed an innocent woman. Found her drained near the sewers in the Gate. We caught him sneaking around underneath the Elfsong Tavern’s wine cellar. He told us about this place with at least 1500 of you waiting to be killed. Planned this little raid for a few weeks. Had some people watching your little outpost. Even paid some merchants to tell us your movements.” The leader explained. 

Dal uncovered her face and looked up, noticing me watching them. Her eyes were full of fear. She shook her head slowly, mouthing “Run.” 

I swallowed, my mouth feeling dry, I retreated to the shadows before the leader turned and looked up where I was just perched. 

The man turned back to Leon and Dal while I watched them. “Kill them. If the third is gone, that means there shouldn't be any more of these abominations. Ulma should have destroyed you all when she had the chance, now that she's no longer our leader, her deals with you all are void. Consider this a mercy.” 

He walked a few yards then he stops and speaks with a serious tone, “May the Moonmaiden have mercy on your souls.” He looks over at a woman to his right and nods at her. She steps forward and yells out “Take your positions. Fire on three.” I could've shot at her, but I would've be easily outnumbered. 

I had to sit here and watch as the last two people I ever felt close to were slaughtered like lowly carrion. The Gur took no hesitation in killing Dal and Leon. They shot at them with what looked like silver tipped crossbow bolts. 

I suffered hearing Dal and Leon’s screams of pain, the sounds of them dying were unbearable. I waited in the darkness for what seemed like hours until the Gur left, a wake of devastation behind them. The second their footsteps waned, I sprinted over to Dal and Leon’s crumpled bodies. 

“No no no nononono.” I choked back, Dal and Leon’s faces were battered and abused, their clothes slathered in blood. I felt the rage and devastation crash down on me. 

The guilt for letting the young ones hunt when I knew better than to trust them to go off alone. Leaving Dal alone while Leon and I left. Splitting up and letting Leon go off to find his death. 

I couldn't help the sobs that came out when I was holding them, I realized I was finally truly alone. The sadness and anger just came flooding out. My eyes stung as the tears came out, lungs burning when the air expanded them sharply. I gripped on Dal and Leon, their bodies growing even colder by the hour. 

A week would pass, I gathered what I could, buried my siblings, and left. I made my way back to Baldur’s Gate hoping to sneak into Cazador’s manor. 

I knew the people of the city were too afraid to go near it. Leon and I had spread rumors of it being haunted, so that kept them out. We used to sneak inside using the underground tunnels that led to the kennels, ransacking the place and selling off what we could. 

Leon came up with the idea of stashing small piles of gold away in loose floorboards around the manor. His foresight was a blessing. 

I began to gather the piles and count my reluctant inheritance. After finishing, I realized I was set for the foreseeable future, but I still had a manor to legally obtain. I talked my way into becoming a historical conservator given the relics I had at my disposal. 

My vast inside knowledge could be chalked up to being a lover of history and a studied mind. No one would be the wiser. I decided then that I would go to the City Council and plead my case to purchase the manor to turn into a museum honoring those whom I loved.  

I took great care to disguise myself, thankfully Wyll wasn't in the City. He and Karlach were in Avernus. Gale had gone back to Waterdeep. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were living in a cottage somewhere near the mountains…And you…I don't remember where you ended up.

More time would pass, the museum was open after a year and a half of me selling, restoring, commissioning, and appointing a board. I opened with a team of people to oversee the major projects while I maintained the procurement of items for the galleries. 

A century or so passed when I met a familiar looking young man. He came to apply for the lead assistant position straight out of Blackgate. Usually, their graduates would go out and teach themselves, but he wanted to research and preserve these items instead of being in front of a classroom full of people.

I questioned him for a few minutes, noticing the unusually similar flair he had to his speech patterns. The air of assuredness behind his statements. 

When he told me his name was Gale Dekarios. I could hardly hide the shock on my face, luckily he didn't notice. “Dekarios? Any relation to the wizard of old legends?” I asked tentatively awaiting his response. 

I watched as he wrung the corner of his blazer and cleared his throat. “Y- yes sir. He was my grandfather.”

Was? I thought wizards lived hundreds of not thousands of years? I hesitate before questioning him further. “Was? Don't wizards usually live many lifetimes over? Did he get killed in a grand battle?” 

The young man bites his lip. A worried look flashed over his face. “Well it's still pretty recent, sir. I'm sure you know all about the Netherese Orb that used to occupy his chest?”

I swallowed fearing the worst, my throat clenched as if I had swallowed fire. I nod urging him to continue. 

“A few years ago, my grandad started to have these bouts of chest pains that would last hours, days, sometimes even up to a whole tenday. My grandmum was a druid healer, so she would make him different teas, tinctures, balms, pretty much anything to help him. Nothing would ease his suffering. One day she helped him to bed, like she usually did, and she had me assist her in making tea for him.

My grandmum told me he was dying and I was the only male in our family that wasn't adopted or married into it. So I guess he wanted to keep his story alive and told me everything. His past, his mistakes and triumphs, friends he made and lost. He and I were close, he was my best friend.” 

Gale cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “So yes, I am related to *the* Gale Dekarios. I hope I can live up to the expectations my grandfather set forth.” 

I hired him on the spot. 

Now, to make a long explanation somewhat shorter, this is where things get complicated, my love. Here, I feel I may have fucked up. 

You see, there was this woman Gale hired. It was about 6 years after hiring Gale. I was off in the Underdark around the anniversary of Dal and Leon’s deaths. I came up with some story about looking for artifacts to cover my tracks since Gale liked to ask a million questions. Guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree?

Once I got back to the museum, Gale had informed me of our new hire, Octavia. I imagined if she made an impression on Gale, then she would be useful at least at the administrative level.

I couldn't imagine what came over me when I got to know her more .

—--------------

Astarion sighs with a long exhale. He stares at Tav’s face, hesitating as if he's actually saying this all to her. “She's indescribable. Absolutely beautiful, smart, she challenges me the way you used to.” Sitting up, he presses his back against the stone platform. 

“That night I saw her outside of the restaurant, I swore I saw you. You in front of me like the day we met.” He plays with his sleeve, not knowing how to proceed with this long overdue apology. Even if Tav wasn't really here physically, he was truly able to say the things he held behind.

All the regret from his idiotic spontaneous decisions, grief from losing those he loved and held closest, and most of all the devastating pain from losing everything he took for granted. 

At the same time, something had dropped this precious jewel on his lap. Was it possible for him to be able to open up to someone the way he did with Tav? Octavia showed that she trusted him when he confessed about his true self. She even let him bite down and drink her blood. 

Everything about Octavia was feeling the same, could she be some sort of reincarnation of his lost love? No. That would be impossible. Humans can't do that. Can they? He shakes the idiotic notion away, softly laughing to himself.

Besides, he saw the picture of Octavia’s family. 

Astarion sits with his gaze pointed up at the night sky. It seemed like so long ago when he was doing the same type of internal argument about Tav. He's enthralled by Octavia and agonizing about it. Gods, somehow he was always stuck in a cycle of perpetual pining. 

He wants to open up to Octavia more. Sprinkle in some truths to the little lies he tells. 

Opening up to people has always been a struggle for Astarion, but Octavia has a way of prying his emotions out of him. It's so easy for him to let her reach into the emptiness and allow her to pull his past out.

Her hands pull at the chains around his heart, slightly loosening them with each gaze, each fleeting touch, all of the little ways she reminded him of Tav. Was this a sign of approval from beyond the grave? Maybe this was Tav’s way of pushing him to live again just as she did once before.

Astarion is in deep contemplation, he doesn't begin to notice as the night sky begins to turn light. The bird songs become more animated, he is knocked out of his head and begins to make his way inside. Thank the Gods that his suite is close to the gardens. The manor had secret entrances and rooms for him and his siblings to come in and out, convenient for a thoughtful vampire losing track of time.

As he goes into the museum, he sees the first rays of light break through the tops of the trees. It feels like that morning after the tiefling party, the cool air of morning breaking against the feeling of the warmth from the sun. 

Astarion feels the same hopeful warmth from within. The same tug of curiosity that wants to allow Octavia in. He lingers at the doorway, watching the same sun begin to rise above the trees. So many similarities to weed through. He would take his time though, he can't rush this opportunity he's been given. 

He has to trust whatever force is guiding him at this point. It brought Octavia to him, so it must be good. Turning to walk up the steps to his suite, he looks out the window and stares absentmindedly at Tav’s statue. Suddenly, a tiny green and blue hummingbird flits by and stops at the row of gardenias that lined the windowsill. 

Astarion watches as the little bird takes a sip from the buds. It's fragile wings glint off the reflection from the glass. After zipping through a couple of flowers, it hovers facing him as if watching him. It's little head tilts to the left, then to the right, before flying away. 

It's been so long since he's been around early enough to see them feed. It brings a small tug to his heart. Tav’s words about her people and how they grieve flooded back into his mind. 

“There's a legend in my culture about hummingbirds being messengers for the dead. They say if you see one, it's a sign that your loved one is watching over you. I always thought it would be the way I would communicate with you if I ever died.” she’d say.

I just laughed it off and said “Oh darling, you don't have to worry about that. I would follow you into the dark if that day ever came. I’ll be close behind.” Another lie I told her. 

Gods...

I think it's time I stopped lying to myself.

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel @hereliesblackdragon @misscrissfemmefatale

[misshoneybee]

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𖥔 ࣪ ˖

— ℳ𝒾𝓈𝓈ℋ𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓎ℬ𝑒𝑒'𝓈 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 —

Pairing: College!Reader x DBF!Steve Rogers Content Warnings: Age gap (Reader is early twenties, Steve is mid-forties), infidelity, bratty!reader, smut, light dom/sub, use of pet names, daddy kink, oral sex (m-rec), dirty talk, degradation, hold the moan, squirting, creampie Word Count: 4.8k  A/N: Please just pretend it's the fifteenth, lmao. Anyway, I got beef with P*ggy C*rter so this one's personal. 😜 I was so happy that so many of you guys seemed to enjoy 'The Night' so I'm very excited to share the second Kinktober prompt with you! As always, my blog is 18+ so: MINORS, DNI! Anyway, enjoy!! xx. Navigation: Masterpost | Playlist | Divider Credit | Kinktober Masterpost | October Eighth | October Twenty-Second Summary: When your dad’s best friend tags along on a family vacation, there’s just something about him that you can’t stay away from. The only obstacle? You needed to get that ring off his fucking finger.

You hoped to God that you were hiding the little smirk on your lips better than it felt like you were. The way Steve was holding his jaw and the way his hand was clenched on the tablecloth made you stifle a giggle into your hand before silently pressing your finger to your lips, gesturing for him to keep silent as your parents carried on a conversation on the other side of the table.

When they’d told you that your dad’s old roommate from college was coming along for the trip to your family’s house in Boulder, you were annoyed. You already didn’t care to go on some stupid family vacation on one of your few, precious breaks from college, but you certainly didn’t care to have some middle-aged, stick-in-the-mud tag along on it.

Then again, when his sleek, little sports car had appeared at the top of the long, private driveway, and he’d gotten out, you hadn’t expected Dr. Steven G. Rogers to look like that. When you’d greeted him alongside your parents, your eyes had been wide as he took your hand to gently shake. The older man towered over your frame, his jaw covered in a lush beard with the most beautiful shade of aquamarine eyes, and fuck—he was fit.

You’d only been at the ski resort for two days before the heated glances and barely-there touches had become too much for the both of you. Maybe you’d been playing with fire, walking around the big, drafty house in tiny, thin pajamas and without a bra, but everything had caught in a blaze when he’d found you in the middle of the night, climbing on the kitchen counter to reach the expensive vodka that your parents kept on the top shelf. His hands on your hips had steadied you as you jumped, frightened at the silent touch, before lowering you to sit on the cold marble.

Within seconds, in a silent agreement to keep this just between the two of you, Steve’s lips had easily found yours as you slipped your hand beneath the waistband of his stupid, plaid pajama pants that were slung low on his hips. Your hand found his already hard cock and he’d let out a quiet hiss as your hand worked his length until he’d finally had enough, carrying you down the hall to his room and fucking you until the sun had almost risen.

Since that night, much to your parents’ obliviousness, you hadn’t spent a single night alone in your bed. When the two of you weren’t fucking, you were laying bare, tangled in the warm, rumpled sheets, and talking about anything and everything. You discussed your major in molecular biology, his stint as a captain in the military, your last breakup, and the ring you’d spotted on his finger after the first time he’d fucked you.

At first, you felt a pang of guilt but after he opened up to you, you knew all about Peggy and how strained their marriage was. You knew they hadn’t fucked in six months. And you knew that maybe you liked him a little more than you’d initially planned. There were only two more days before you needed to go back to school and you were putting off the conversation of what came next, no matter how much you wanted to know and how it was driving you crazy.

As you took a sip of the sweet red wine, Steve gave a little surprised cough that hid a groan and it almost gave everything away; how your hand was rubbing his swollen length, hidden beneath the tablecloth, how you definitely were far less innocent than your parents believed, how you were fucking their forty-something year old friend.

“They work her too hard.” Your dad mentioned to Steve over his rocks glass, and you had to refrain from rolling your eyes. Your mom hadn’t shut up about how disappointed she was that Peggy hadn’t been able to join you—you couldn’t stop thanking God that she hadn’t.

“You know Peg,” Steve shrugged nonchalantly, taking a sip of his water as he white-knuckled the glass, “She wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“We know,” You mother sighed, her fork picking at the now-wilted greens on her plate as she frowned, “It’d just be nice for your wife to be able to go on vacation with us sometime.”

“You’re a cardiologist for Christ’s sake and you still find time.” Your father agreed, giving a pointed nod towards Steve. You bit your tongue as bile rose in your throat. Did they even know how unhappy Steve was? Why were they talking about her?

Steve’s chuckle was light, even though he registered the way you’d slowly taken your hand back from his lap, “She and I both knew that I came second to SHIELD when we got married.” With another shrug, he added, “I guess you can’t help who you fall in love with.”

It felt like your blood ran cold as jealousy snaked its way around your ribcage, squeezing your chest tightly. Maybe he did still love her. They’d almost been together for as long as you’d been alive. Of course, all he wanted was a fling—you were just a way to get his dick wet since his bitch of a wife was too busy with her job.

You barely registered the way your body had grown numb until your wineglass slipped from your fingers and tipped over on the table, cracking the delicate glass as the burgundy bled into the pristine fibers of the white tablecloth as a sharp gasp was pulled through your lips at the mess. Your eyes found Steve’s and you saw the slightest shift in his brow as he registered the envy in your expression.

“You okay, sweet pea?” Your dad frowned worriedly, standing, and grabbing some towels to mitigate the damage you’d done. Your mother busied herself drying it up and fussing with the linen. Being an only child meant you were constantly babied and sometimes, it worked to your advantage.

“I’m sorry,” You sighed, pressing a hand to your cheek as you forced yourself to sound more run down than annoyed, and even a little embarrassed, “I’m okay—I just feel a little sick to my stomach. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Your eyes flashed to Steve and your irritation grew as you saw a little glint of entertainment staring back at you, biting the inside of your cheek, you took a deep breath and chose to ignore him, turning your attention to your mother with a sad expression, “I think I’m going to lay down.”

Brushing some hair from your forehead, she frowned, “Are you sure? We were going to go on the gold slope—“

“I don’t know if I’ll feel up to it.” You gave a shrug, fake disappointment crossing your face as you pointedly ignored Steve, “Will you wake me up before you go? Maybe I’ll be feeling better by then.

Maybe spite wasn’t the best motivator, especially with the way your fucking orgasm was evading you after almost half an hour. After changing into a deep, green silk negligee, you’d sent a few pictures to Bucky, your on-again-off-again fuck buddy. Predictably, he’d responded with enthusiasm, showering you in compliments and praise as you sent videos back and forth. He’d sent a shaky video of himself coming more than ten minutes ago and you’d finally had to relent, faking a quick orgasm in your front facing camera before putting your phone down.

Had Steve ruined your ability to come any other way aside from with him? Your breath came quicker as you rolled your hips with the vibrator that was pressed against your clit, a quiet whine breaking through your lips as you stayed on the edge, balancing but never quite falling over.

Three muffled voices in the hall made you jump as you pressed the button on the bright pink toy, abruptly switching off the patterned vibrations as you yanked a thin blanket over top of you. A sharp knock sounded against the heavy, wooden door and your breath caught in your chest. Pretending to be asleep, you fought to even the slow breaths that were filling your lungs. After a few more knocks, your door finally creaked open and heavy footsteps found their way to your bedside.

The cologne was familiar; it had been rubbed off on to your own skin several times now. It was clean and fresh, reminding you of sun on your skin and sand between your toes rather than the blankets of snow that were falling outside the windows. Steve’s heavy hand landed on your shoulder, giving you a gentle shake as he murmured your name, “Wake up. Your parents are leaving; they wanted me to check one more time and see if you wanted to go with them.”

Remaining silent, you willed your face to stay carefully blank as his hand slowly drifted up and down your arm, causing goosebumps to pepper the surface as you suppressed a shiver despite how annoyed you were with him. It was like his touch set you on fire, gilding you like some precious thing that was just for him. Pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, you counted the seconds that seemed to last hours. The sooner he left you the fuck alone, the sooner you could try and come—without thinking of him. After a long moment and one last brush of his fingers against your cheek, he slipped back out of the room.

“She’s pretty feverish.” Steve’s voice was low as he spoke to your parents in the hall, and you willed them to leave. As they walked away, their voices quieted and you finally exhaled, resting a hand on your stomach as you fought to calm the racing beat of your heart. Any progressed you’d made had been washed away and you murmured a curse, flopping on to your back helplessly.

A few minutes later, you heard the rumble from your parents’ car in the driveway. The sound of the tires quickly faded, and it wasn’t long before the heavy footsteps were back in front of your door. Sinking into the mattress, pulling your blanket tighter around yourself, you’d only just squeezed your eyes shut when the door opened.

The side of your mattress sank, and Steve’s heavy hand landed on your waist; it was like you could feel the little smirk on his lips. Leaning down, he gently brushed some hair from your neck before placing a barely there kiss on your soft skin, murmuring into your ear, “Wake up, princess.”

You remained silent, forcing your body to remain still no matter how badly his touch made you want to beg for more. The hand drifted from your hip to your ass, giving the soft cushion of your skin a firm squeeze as his body pressed against your back, his voice was low, “I know you’re faking it.”

Illusion shattered, you hastily jerked away from him, using what little leverage you had to try and shove him away, “Fuck you, Steve.”

You were fuming and tried to smack him away, but it was futile—he was stronger than you and easily maneuvered you to straddle his lap, a careful eyebrow raised as he took both of your wrists in one of his hands, resting them against your chest, “What was that about?”

“Just leave me alone.” You fruitlessly tried to pull away, but he only pulled you closer with a heavy hand on your back, pressing your body to his. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Was my princess jealous?” He murmured.

“I’m not your princess,” You spat, “And I’m not fucking jealous.”

“And now you’re lying to me?” He tsked. The quiet, little chuckle that he let out made your face grow warm, embarrassment and irritation dancing together and licking up your spine. Steve pressed a soft kiss just beneath your jaw, “Come on, baby. Tell daddy why you’re upset.”

“You said you were separating with her.” You finally bit out, avoiding his eyes as exhaled slowly.

“I am.” He confirmed, a hand drifting to your chin, his thumb rubbing back and forth over your cheek.

“You didn’t tell my parents about it.” Your eyes focused on the ring that rested on the fourth finger of the hand that held yours against his chest.

Understanding crossed his face, a little smile ticking at the corner of his lips, “Is that why you’re upset?” Shaking his head, he released your hands, removed the ring and sat it on your bedside table, before taking your face in his hands instead, brushing a kiss against your forehead as your wide eyes searched his, “Silly girl. I’m moving out next week. I already got an apartment in the city.”

It was almost embarrassing, how light your heart felt at his words, “Really?”

“Yes, baby. And my lawyers are drawing up papers this month. Nothing’s been going on between me and her for a while—we’re just waiting for the right time to tell everyone. I promise.” As he slipped his arms around you, you relaxed into his touch, burying your face in his neck, brushing your lips against it as relief flooded your body. The two of you remained like that for several minutes before you felt him shift to pick up something from your bed, murmuring lowly, “Now, what’s this?”

Sitting up, you followed his sparkling eyes to what was in his hand. The bright pink silicone that rested in his palm stared back at you and you felt warmth crawl up your chest as your face caught fire. Pressing the button, it turned on and you could only let out a squeak, “Steve!”

“Is that my name, baby?” He grinned, raising an eyebrow as he clicked through the vibration patterns that seemed so loud in the otherwise silent house.

“Give it back!” Leaning out of his arms, you snatched it from his hand, fumbling to turn it off before hiding it behind your back. When you turned to face him, his attention was no longer on your face.

His bottom lip was caught in his teeth, his eyes darkening as his voice came out in a low rumble, “Oh, sweet girl. What are you wearing?”

Suddenly, you remembered yourself and the thin silk and lace that covered your body, cupping your breasts and hugging your waist. Before you could formulate any sort of response, his eyes found your phone tangled in the sheets. It was like you could see the gears click into place as he snatched the device before you could grab it, his thumb keying in your birthday and unlocking it quickly.

“Steve—” It felt like you were going to combust as the messages between you and Bucky popped up on your screen; you were silent as he scrolled through them slowly, taking in each picture and video that you’d sent.

Clicking the last one you’d sent just minutes before he’d knocked on your door, you could see the still-shot thumbnail of the video and froze as he pressed play, a smirk on his lips as your breathy moans came from the speaker of your phone. Watching him watch yourself made you feel lightheaded.

The video showed everything. You’d had your phone propped up between your spread legs, your negligee shoved up around your waist, and your puffy pussy bared to the camera as you thrust the toy into it, rocking your hips against it as you cried quietly, “Fuck—yes! God, that’s it! Use my pussy. Fuck me so good, baby…”

It felt like eons as your cries pitched higher before you faked your climax. Running his tongue over his teeth, he locked your phone and tossed it aside. His eyes were dark as they found yours, his fingers digging into your waist, “I know you didn’t send these to daddy, sweetheart, and I know you don’t have to fake it with me, so who did you send them to?”

Shaking your head, your voice wavered as you denied quietly, “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, princess.” A hand trailed up your thigh, slipping beneath the lace-lined edge of your slip. Steve’s fingers easily found you bare, and a low groan came from his chest as he played with your damp folds, brushing a finger up and down them slowly as he clicked his tongue, asking once again, calmly, “Who did you send them to?”

Your lip quivered, a new rush of wetness coating his fingers as he slipped them further inside your pussy as you whispered, “M—my ex-boyfriend.”

“Daddy wasn’t giving you enough attention, so you had to be a little slut and find it somewhere else, didn’t you?” Shaking his head, he withdrew his fingers and ignored your whine. Cleaning your wetness from his digits with his tongue, he gave a quiet chuckle, “Such a tease. You’re just a little whore, showing this sweet little pussy to any boy who asks, aren’t you?”

Shaking your head, your voice was small as you denied blushingly, “No—”

Removing you from his lap, he placed you to kneel on the bed, coming to stand, “Since you want to be used, I’m gonna use you.” He undid his belt, his eyes holding yours as the leather fell to the ground. Undoing his jeans, he shoved them down enough to reveal his erection, the hard tip leaking as he stroked it slowly, your eyes following his hand as he murmured, “You’re gonna show daddy you’re sorry and suck his cock, okay?” Biting your lip, you nodded slowly, unable to take your eyes from the way his thumb brushed over his slit. A hand came to rest around your neck like a necklace, forcing your gaze back up to his as he chided softly, “Use your words, princess.”

Nodding dumbly, your voice was raspy as you softly agreed, “Yes, daddy.”

At once, you dragged your hot tongue across you palm, wetting your hand before wrapping it firmly around the base of his cock, ruddy and swollen with need. He groaned, his hips giving a sharp jerk as you stroked you hand up and down his length several times. Finally, leaning forward, your tongue flicked out to lick the pearl of salty precum that had begun to leak from his slit.

“Fuck, princess,” Steve groaned, his hand holding the back of your head, guiding your mouth closer to his cock.

At his broken moan, your confidence grew as you dragged your tongue along the thick vein that ran from the base to his sensitive tip. Reaching its crown, you swirled your tongue around it before taking it in the wet heat of your mouth.

Silently, you mused that he certainly had the longest cock of any man you’d ever been with. Of course, you’d been intimidated the first time that you’d seen it, but you’d never been one to turn down a challenge. Seconds felt like hours as you took his length deeper into your mouth, inch by inch until the tip brushed against the back of your throat.

At the unfamiliar sensation, you gagged and pulled back, your lips slick and swollen as saliva dripped down your chin and you gasped for air.

His brows were drawn together in concern as his hooded eyes shot open, spotting the way yours had begun to water, “You’re doing so well, baby.”

His other hand that rested on your face brushed a thumb gently over your cheekbone as his eyes peered into yours and you nodded. Holding his eyes, you watched his body relax as you took him back between your lips, jerking off the length that you couldn’t take. His hand on your head guided you slowly up and down his length, careful not to take him the whole way into your throat as you’d done before.

The nails of your hands that rested on his hips, gently pressed into his skin as you hollowed your cheeks around him, “Fuck, yeah, that’s my good girl.” The new suction forced a grunt from his mouth and tilted his head back, letting out a broken moan, “Sucking my cock like a goddamn dream.”

He stroked your hair as you found a rhythm, swollen lips wrapped around his length as you bobbed your head, watching for each little reaction he was giving. A whimper around his length made him curse as he tugged your hair, pulling you off his cock.

Taking in a sharp breath, you looked up at him from under your lashes. His thumb tugged at your swollen bottom lip, and he groaned, “Come here, princess.”

Like you were a doll, he guided you to lay on your back before tugging his sweater over his head and shedding his jeans. Climbing on the bed between your legs, he pushed the hem of your slip up your thighs slowly, “Fuck, look at this sweet little pussy… Spread your legs a little more for me, princess.” His hands on the inside of your thighs opened you up more to his starving eyes and you shyly turned your face to the side as his eyes devoured you. “You’re such a good girl…”

Letting out a low groan, Steve’s hands climbed higher, his thumb brushing over your swollen clit with unbridled adoration.

“Please…” You breathed out, your fingers tightening in the wrinkled sheets.

“Please what?” Steve teased, covering your body with his. Dragging the tip of his cock up and down your glistening slit slowly, covering himself in your slick, he murmured, “You want daddy to fuck you? Is that it, baby? You want all my cum in this tight little cunt?”

“Yes, please…” Nodding dumbly, your chest rose and fell with each heavy, needy breath as he lined himself up with your entrance, “Fuck me, daddy. Need you to make me your little slut.”

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he pressed his swollen tip to your hole, and you whimpered at the stretch, your hips shifting in discomfort as he split you slowly. A deep moan was pulled from your throat as his thumb dragged small circles around your swollen bud that begged for his attention, “Oh god, Steve…”

The slight burn from the initial stretch quickly faded into a pleasurable ache between your legs and he gave you only a moment before slowly dragging out. He couldn’t ignore your breathy moans and the way your thick lashes fluttered shut at the sensation before he pushed back in sharply. He gave a few experimental thrusts before quickly finding a rhythm as he glided easily through your wet folds into the tight heat of your cunt.

Your hips rolled up to meet each of his thrusts, the both of you working together symbiotically as he hit a spot that made you clench around him and let out a whiny groan. A devilish grin crossed his bearded face and he murmured, “That feel good, baby?”

Before you could even nod, you giggled as he suddenly rolled you over. Sitting up whilst straddling his broad hips, you tugged the silk over your head and tossed it somewhere on your floor. Sinking back down on his length, you gasped as he bottomed out inside you and he let out a quiet hiss as his hands trailed up your waist, cupping your tits as his thumbs toyed with your sensitive, pebbled nipples.

“Fuck, daddy, ’s too big—” You whined, carefully rocking your hips as the muscles in your stomach clenched.

“I know, princess, but you can take it…” He let out a groan as you languidly grinded against him, your clit brushing against the coarse thatch of trimmed hair just above his cock each time you sank down on to him. “That’s it, princess. Just like that—you’re so good for me. I love this sweet little pussy…”

Together, you easily found a frenzied pace before the harmony of your whimpers and his moans was interrupted by a shrill ringtone. You gasped as he held your body close, leaning over and grabbing his phone, pressing a confusingly chaste kiss to your lips as groaned out, “Shit—stay quiet for me, baby.”

“Steve!” You hissed his name as he accepted the call with a sly grin.

“Hello?” He waited a moment for the voice on the other end of the line to respond, “Oh, yeah. She’s doin’ okay.” He grinned as your eyes went impossibly wider, your hands resting on his shoulders as you kept yourself carefully still.

Fucking. Shit.

It was your parents. Steve’s cock was nestled deep inside your cunt as he casually conversed with your parents, and that was so wrong and so fucking hot.

Quickly muting the microphone, he cocked an eyebrow, looking down to where your bodies were still joined, “Did I say you could stop?”

With a shaky breath, you resumed the languid grind, back and forth, your teeth digging into your lip as your clit pressed firmly against his pelvis.

He winked, unmuting the phone, “I think she’s okay. She’s probably still in bed…just. sleeping. I’ll shoot you a text after I check on her again,” You couldn’t help the way your walls clenched around him as his tip pressed against that special spot deep within you. He let out a low groan before quickly trying to cover, “Fuck, ba—stubbed my toe. Sorry.”

With a hand on your lower back, he guided you back and forth slowly, only half-listening to the voice on the other end of the line, “Yeah, I’ll let you know. See you in a few hours.”

As he tossed his phone to the hardwood floor with a clatter, his hands around your waist quickly took over. All but lifting and sinking you back down on the length of his rigid cock repeatedly, Steve’s hips continued to snap up into yours and you could only babble out, “Daddy—please, let me come. Want to come on your cock so bad—fuck!”

“Christ, baby—I can feel you squeezin’ around me. Almost told your parents how good you are at riding my cock, how good you feel wrapped around me.” He hammered into you with a deep groan, adding, “You want them to know you like fucking older guys? How daddy likes to play with this pussy while they sleep right down the hall?”

“Please—” You begged helplessly, your nails digging into his shoulders, feeling your orgasm approaching like an unstoppable wave.

“Yeah, they don’t know their innocent little girl is a fucking whore.” Steve grunted, taking in the sight of your tits bouncing and the way you’d tossed your head back, with a little smirk, “They don’t know how wet you get when I eat this precious little cunt, dripping all over my tongue and tasting like honey. They don’t know how you beg daddy to come in your sweet pussy.”

At that, the wave finally overtook you as he hammered against your g-spot, making you squirm as a little trickle of your wetness leaked out around where his cock was pressed into you before the dam broke and you gushed over his length. You let out a squeal of his name, scratching down his back, leaving red streaks on his pale skin.

Steve’s thrusts finally grew uneven, slowing as he grunted out, “That’s it, baby. I’m gonna fill this cunt up with all my cum—fuck!”

Your words were unintelligible as your eyes rolled back and he fucked you through both of your orgasms. Coming undone on top of him, you were unable to hold yourself up as he pressed deep into you, hard against your cervix as he spilled into you with a long, low moan, coating your walls with him. He sat up, staying inside of you, and opened his arms, allowing you to collapse against his hard, sweat-glistening body.

“Oh, fuck…” Your hips twitched with the aftershocks as he stayed inside, feeling your walls continuing to clench around him as you came down from the high. Looking down at where your bodies were joined, you felt your face grow warm at the wetness that was spattered over his Adonis belt and the cum that had leaked out from around the base of his cock, covering your petals and making you messy.

“That’s so much cum, daddy…” You whispered, resting your forehead against his and giggling softly.

He gave a low chuckle, his thumb caressing your cheek, “Can’t help it with you, baby.”  Capturing your lips in a lazy kiss, you hummed as his tongue intertwined with yours slowly before parting, murmuring as his hand stroked up and down your bare back, “You did so good for me.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, burying your face in his neck. You could feel his chest shake as he laid back, pulling you along with him.

“You gettin’ all shy on me now, princess?” He chuckled and tugged you closer as you snuggled into him, murmuring against your temple, “Did I tell you my new place is about ten minutes from campus?”

[jakeyt]

Something

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: On a rainy day, Jake's Les Paul gives you an idea.

Word Count: 6.7k+

Warnings: fluff <3; cursing; sexually explicit content (18+, MINORS DNI); light dom/sub; oral sex (m + f receiving); unprotected penetrative sex

a/n: so, i was watching gvf's pinkpop performance of wod/highway tune yesterday (my personal fav) . . .and i got a filthy idea. i couldn't get it out of my head, so 6,700+ words later, here we are. this is the first smut i'm putting on here, so i'm admittedly very nervous. 🥲

if there is some possible way you haven't heard 'something' by the beatles, i would give it a listen while you read :)

thank you to @joshym for always proofreading/editing. ily <3

i hope this filth is received kindly lmao <3

🌧️🎶

Something

It was a lazy morning in the middle of spring. The flowers that you were watering right outside your home were in full bloom. The sight made you happy, and the strumming on the guitar that you heard through the open window made your heart flutter. A small smile was fitted to your face.

Life couldn’t get any better. 

The guys were on a slight break from their recent touring, giving you ample time with your boyfriend, Jake. 

You missed him terribly when he was gone on tour. Though, you had decided years ago when you’d started dating, that you didn’t want to live your life only to follow him along wherever he went. You wanted him to have his own time. Time to himself, with his brothers, to live out his passion. And had made the decision for yourself, too — you couldn’t abandon your own life plans like that.

You had dreamt forever of being a teacher, and you loved your students too much to leave them behind. And Jake loved that about you. He wanted you to be able to have the career you’d wanted for so long, just as he had his. His appreciation for your career only encouraged you more to stay behind and do what you loved. 

But these moments? You wished life was different. You wished you were living in a timeline where the two of you could always be together. 

The sounds he made while playing his guitar soothed you. He was playing some of your shared favorites on his guitar, making butterflies erupt. He knew how much music meant to you, just as it did him.

He loved that you two shared the understanding that there was intimacy like no other in music. These melodies you heard made it so clear that he was communicating to you through the melodies. Different tunes took you through untouchable moments in time. Moments the two of you had so sweetly shared. 

The thunder that rolled in the clouds above you shook you slightly from your love-struck thoughts. You peeked up to see the sky. In your daze, clouds had started to gather above. When you’d come out an hour or so ago, the sky was mostly blue, only a few clouds littering. 

The rain started coming quicker than you could cooperate with. You ran to the spout to turn off the hose water, and as you turned it off, you realized you left the hose itself draped across the lawn. 

Dammit. Now you’d have to go back around the house to gather it all up. You wished you had grabbed it when you came to the spout. As you smashed your feet though the grass that only seemed to continually grow wetter and wetter by the stomp, you turned the corner to come back to the front of your house. 

You had no choice but to halt your steps, colliding with a hard chest. You almost slipped in the wet grass. You looked up to the person in front of you, already knowing it was Jake. 

Your eyebrows scrunched. “Go back in! You’re going to get wet,” your voice elevated as the rain seemed to start coming down even harder. 

You were already completely drenched, your hair heavy on your head, just as the clothes on your body. You watched him bite his lip. Hooded eyes scanned over you, stopping at your tank top, where your nipples were completely hardened underneath.

He blinked away the lust in his eyes and got back to the topic at hand.

“Babe,” his voice was also loud. “I’m already soaked,” he laughed, looking down to his partially-open button down. The rain was creating perfect droplets on his tanned chest. One of his toned pecs flexed slightly at the feeling of it. Your thighs tightened at the sight of it, a jolt at your core. “Just go inside, let me finish this.” 

You then looked down to where his hand had moved slightly and noticed the hose was in his grip. Tears then grew in your eyes at the sentiment. 

“Jake,” your tone was one of complete adoration, for more reasons than one. 

He was already wrapping the hose around his arm. He had a small smile on his face when he repeated, “Go. Inside.”

Your cheeks flushed and your bare feet shuffled to move past him, slipping slightly in the grass. From behind you, you heard him shout, “Baby, please be careful!” 

🌧️🎶

You continued to heed his advice and moved with balanced steps on the hardwood floors of your home. The soles of your feet were daring to slip. 

You glimpsed the living room. You saw how he’d laid his acoustic guitar on the chair. It was odd to find it out of its case, or away from a stand. He’d obviously put it  down in a rush to help you as soon as the rain had started. 

Your heart springed in your chest, just thinking of the way he was. 

You were moving to put the guitar in its case or on the stand, when the sounds of your wet clothing made you think better of it. 

You were sloshing and dripping everywhere you went. You could hear your clothes and the slaps of the water falling to meet the floor. It wouldn’t be much of a repayment for you to soak one of his prized possessions, now would it? 

You decided to continue on to the master bathroom. Your skin was beginning to crawl at the feeling of your sticky clothing and heavy hair. 

You flipped on the shower and as it seemed to instantly fog the bathroom (yay, warm water), you hastily stripped your shorts and tank top.

🌧️🎶

A while later, you were drying your hair in the bedroom and he was taking his shower in the master bath. 

Once your hair was dry enough for your liking, you rolled the cord around the base of the dryer and put it away. 

You rolled the sleeves to the sweatshirt you’d chosen to wear. You were now at a loss for what to do on a rainy day. 

You sat on your shared bed. Your eyes traveled around the bedroom. Then, they landed on his worn red Les Paul, sitting so prettily on the stand. 

Suddenly, an idea entered your mind that you simply couldn’t shake. Your cheeks flushed at the thought.

A sly smirk graced your features, and you had to cross your legs at the thoughts you were having. 

You suddenly knew exactly how you wanted to spend your rainy day. 

🌧️🎶

You waited a while to bring the idea up to Jake. You thought it would entice him, but bringing up new ideas for the bedroom could be slightly daunting to you. 

You knew he loved everything you’d thought to do up until this point, but this one involved his first love. You were intimidated to bring his Les Paul into the bedroom, but you just had to try what was now settling in your mind. 

You hoped he’d be okay with it. 

A movie was rolling on in the background as the two of you sat, curled up on the couch. The rain still pitter-pattered against the roof and windows. You were so comfortable, legs strewn over him, one of his hands going back and forth between your thighs, massaging the tops of them.  

Your hand played in his long hair. Jake was scrolling through Pinterest, scheming what he wanted to make for dinner. His lips smooshed together and shifted back and forth as he pondered. 

The way he expertly rubbed your thighs, the fullness of his pink lips, and the mustache that sat on his upper lip was making your tummy do somersaults. 

These simple things, along with your guitar thoughts, had your core quivering for more.  

It was now or never. 

“So, babe,” you halted your movements in his hair. Your hands came to rest in your blanket-covered lap. 

You connected eyes with him, and his lips pouted, “Why’d you stop?” 

You sighed, moving your legs so that you were sitting criss-cross underneath the blanket. When you moved, his hand had fallen from your legs. His bottom lip jutted out even further. 

“Jake,” you started again, fiddling with a loose blanket thread. “How would you— I was thinking—,” you huffed. Just spit it out. “Would you be okay with—. Ugh.” 

“Sweetie,” he laid a hand on your thigh again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His phone clicked off, and he scooted up from his spot, turning to look at you directly. “It’s just me.”

You looked in his eyes. “Earlier, I thought of something,” you turned your body to face him more. “A new idea for the bedroom.”

His eyes blinked at the subject. “Oh, yeah?” His lips quirked. “You know I’m always down for new ideas.” 

You grew some confidence at him reminding you of what you already knew about him. “You know how music is so important to us both,” he nodded, a sweet grin gracing his full lips at the fact. “Well, I was thinking . . .how would you feel about playing your guitar?” His eyes were questioning. You continued, “While I. . . While I blow you?” 

He started coughing on a breath he drew. You looked up to see his eyes watering as he struggled to breathe. You patted at his back. The smallest tear escaped his eye and he got up from the couch. 

You followed him to the kitchen where he opened the fridge door and grabbed a bottle of water. 

He took a long swig from the bottle. And when he released one more cough after that drink, he took another. 

He came towards you, meeting you at the island in the middle of the kitchen, eyes still watering. “I’m sorry, that was just—.” He shook his head, “It was just.”

You stepped back, nerves creeping all over again. “Oh,” You cast your eyes downward. “Okay. I totally get it. That’s why I didn’t want to bring it up. I know that involving the guitar probably wasn’t the best ide—.”

You felt his hands grip your shoulders, your head coming up. You blinked at him. “Baby,” he gave a huff of a laugh. “That is the complete opposite of how I feel about the idea. I think it’s a fucking brilliant idea.”

Your eyes grew bigger. You stepped closer to him, “Really?”

“Sweetie,” his eyes were soft again, consoling your fading worries. “The woman I love most sucking my dick while I play the guitar?” He draped his arms around your waist, bringing your front to his. You could feel a familiar hardness against your hip.

“There’s some rules, though,” you let the feeling pressed to your hip encourage you further, pushing into it. He groaned at the move. “You would have to play a song of my choosing,” you paused. “One you know, of course. But. . .,” You looped your arms around his neck. “If you mess up —if one chord is even slightly off . . . I'll stop.”

His cock pulsed against you. “Holy shit,” he breathed. 

He scooped his hands underneath your ass and sat you on top of the island. His voice was low and sultry when he said, “Am I totally naked while I’m playing?” 

You hadn’t even thought of how naked he’d be behind the instrument. You felt your shorts get wet at the thought, having spared your underwear after the shower.

“Oh yeah,” your tone dripped with lust. You laced your legs around his waist, bringing him as close as he could come to you. “And you have to play it laying on your back. In this plan, we’ll be on the bed.”

“Sounds like a good challenge,” he smirked. Then, he seriously asked. “Electric or acoustic?”

“Electric.”

His brown irises were the darkest you’d seen them in a long time. Your skin heated at his look. You didn’t have time to think as he dove in and crashed his lips to yours. Your pussy flexed at the action. 

The urgency behind his kiss caused you to fly straight back. Your shoulders would have hit the counter hard if he hadn’t strategically placed his arms to be a cushion for your back. 

He dipped his tongue between your lips, and massaged your own tongue with his. He licked at every part of your mouth, wanting to taste you. You could only hope you tasted as good as he did. He tasted like his minty fresh toothpaste. Any time Jake showered, even if it was mid-day or late at night, he brushed his teeth. It was almost like a ritual for him. You loved his attention to hygiene.

He took his mouth from yours and started kissing a wet trail down your neck. He licked a trail from your collarbone all the way to your jawline and you lustily whined for the duration of the action. 

“My love,” he said into your ear. He then went behind your ear and nipped at the sensitive skin. “I want to hear you as much as I can. Be loud.”

He then completely abandoned your upper half, your legs falling from his hips. He knelt in front of you to rip away your sweatshorts. 

You felt his warm breath against your thigh, in contrast to the open air hitting your naked center. He hotly said, “No underwear?”

“Nope. It didn’t align with my plan.”

“You would be correct, sweet girl,” his breath was soothing steam against your sticky heat. His hands grabbed the undersides of your thighs, kneading the flesh. 

And then you felt his tongue go completely flat at your slit. He licked a precise stripe up the center of your folds. From the very bottom of your pussy to right above your clit, he’d added a healthy amount of wetness. 

You groaned, earning you a few more expert slides of his tongue, back and forth over the same area he’d treated before. Though, the more he went, the sloppier they got. It always went this way: the wetter and louder you were, the less meticulous he became. 

He couldn’t ever seem to concentrate, with how your sounds and reactions affected him. He always said that the way you reacted to sex sent shockwaves to his mind. Nothing else could make him go so wild.

Hence the fun of your idea.

He gripped your thighs, bringing them down closer to him. And before you knew it, he was balancing your bare legs on his shoulders, standing up with his arms wrapped around your back. He was keeping you steady as he moved you both to the bedroom. 

His mouth didn’t leave your heat for even a second. 

The trek wasn’t long, or else you’d have been out of sorts worried about causing his shoulders and back irreparable damage.

And he didn’t give you much time to think as he placed your backside delicately on the bed, sitting up. He rose from how he’d had to kneel to sit you down, opting to strip you of your oversized sweatshirt. 

Your breasts immediately flared with goosebumps at the change in temperature. The cool air forced your nipples into even harder peaks. The way he was looking at them made your cheeks warm. 

“I just love your fucking body,” he knelt down in front of where you sat and held a breast in each hand. He massaged the flesh. The rough tips of his fingers that accompanied the gentle, knowing touch elicited a moan out of you. 

He grinned, then rubbed his thumbs over your sensitive nipples. “You like the way I touch them, huh, baby?” 

He flicked his eyes up to yours and winked. He knew how much you loved the stimulation of your breasts. You threw your head back when he licked his way around your right nipple and then sucked it into his mouth. You couldn’t help it. You had to look down to see him work his mouth over you. 

Watching his mouth work tirelessly at your nipple made you buck your hips up with want for more. 

And somehow the desperate action made you remember the objective at hand. As much as you wished for him to continue, you pushed Jake back by his shoulders. You weren’t supposed to be the vulnerable one. 

His eyes were equal with desire and disappointment at the loss of contact with your body. 

“No, Jake,” you firmly stated. You stood up on shaky legs, moving around him. “The objective is not me. It’s about you, your Les Paul, and your dick in my mouth.”

He eyed you from his place, still on the floor. But you could see the slight twitch in his flannel pajama pants. “But I wanted you to feel pleasure, too, baby.”

You bent on a shaky knee to meet him, “Sweetie, making you happy will bring me pleasure.” 

His eyebrows dipped. “But you won’t—.”

You came up from your knee. You gazed down at him, then held a finger up. “Stop. I’m in charge.”

He looked your entire figure up and down and then raised his eyebrow at you, “Yes ma’am.”

He stood up, coming close to you, though you held a hand up for him to not come too close. It might have looked like you were doing it out of dominance, but you were really doing it to keep him far enough away that roles wouldn’t reverse. He held so much sex in his pinky alone, and you wanted the upper hand.

“If you pass the test, we have sex. And for me, having you inside of me is what gets me off best,” you lifted his self-cropped gray t-shirt over his head. His silver pendant necklace connected with his tanned skin. You were stern with him and placed your hands on his chest, “That’s why it’s imperative you don’t falter.”

You traveled down to the waist of his pants and hooked your fingers into the waistband, slowly dragged them down.

His thick length sprang up as soon as the pants moved past it. The sight of the glistening pre-cum at his smooth, pink tip made your mouth water. 

You were glad to see he wasn’t wearing underwear. Around the house, he rarely wore underwear if he was in comfy clothes. 

You stayed where you were, appreciating just how neatly groomed he always was. You hadn’t forgotten how attentive he was to it, but seeing it again? It made your stomach flame up.

His cock pulsed as you looked at it. You felt your own arousal father at the sight.

“Oh, Jakey,” you cupped his sac, holding it softly in one hand. You were not going to touch his cock yet. He’d have to wait. He whimpered at the feeling of your hand, playing with his balls. “You like that, baby?”

You looked up from where you had kneeled in front of him, his eyes were clamped shut. His head was thrown back, per usual at your attention to his lower region. He hummed an agreeing response. 

“No, no,” you took your hand away. “This is practice time, baby. Rehearsal,” you skated your hands over his bare thighs as you lifted up to stand with him. “If you can’t even keep it together when I’m holding your balls. . .I’m worried about how you’re going to do when my mouth is doing the work.” 

He blinked his eyes at you a few times. His eyebrows turned in, he pleaded. “Babe, I’ll do better,” he leaned in and gave you a small kiss. He brushed your hair behind your ear. “Please?”

Your stomach fluttered at his devotion to the task. “Go get your guitar,” you gave the order, trying to keep your voice steady. 

He walked over to the guitar that stayed on the stand in your room when he was home. It was the older of the two of his nearly-twin guitars. His original. He picked it up, then balanced it on the bed. 

“If I don’t fix this, she’s going to be on top of my dick,” he nodded at his guitar. Then he looked at you and lifted one thick brow. “And that’s where you need to be.”

He then made quick work of adjusting the strap to where the body of the instrument would sit against his stomach rather than where it usually rested. 

He looped the strap over his head when he finished. The sight was unusual. You’d never seen the Les Paul rest so high on his body. 

He looked down, wrapped his hand around the neck and looked at you. His mouth lifted with a laugh, “This feels weird as fuck.”

You giggled with him, “Yeah, it’s definitely more ‘Lennon-esque’,” you swayed your hips as you walked towards him. “But you still make it look so sexy.” 

You gave him one chaste kiss on the lips, taking only a minute to deepen it. When you pulled back, his lips were plump and looked so ready to be kissed again. But you denied the urge. You were ready to test the idea. 

“Go plug in to the amp and lie down,” You wanted to be firm with him. Be in control. “I still have to tell you the song.”

He turned and picked up the small amp that stayed in the room. Once he had it situated at his side of the bed, he plugged his guitar into it. The sound of the feedback as it got plugged in made you push your thighs together. You saw him move his arm and strum a few chords from the back, his naked ass flexing slightly while he geared up the guitar. 

It was a sight. It looked almost like normal. Almost how he always looked when he checked the sound of the instrument . . .though this time, clothes were exempt. You were glad this scene was for your eyes only. You didn’t ever want to share this version of him tuning it up with anyone else.

Once he felt it was good to go, he laid (mostly) down. He situated a couple of pillows behind his head to give him some sort of leverage. 

When he’d gotten situated, you admired the sight. His guitar was laying across his body, while his erection was still fully present. The way it stood at attention in the air, the worn red body of the guitar right next to it . . . It was something so pornographic. You wanted the image sealed in your mind forever.

“I’m going to be honest,” you spoke, tearing your eyes away from him, wanting to keep some sort of composure. You walked to the Amazon Alexa you kept in the bedroom. “I couldn’t choose one song. So, I just went with a random one I’ve been wanting to hear you play again. It’s been a while.” 

He blanched at that. “It’s been awhile?!” He sounded worried. “I kind of want to stand a chance at passing this little test of yours, sweetie.” 

You raised a brow at him.

“Jacob Thomas, you can hear a song once and instantly know how to play it,” you checked to make sure the speaker was plugged in. “It’s not going to be a big deal for you. You know it. Don’t stress.”

“I don’t want to mess up and make you stop,” his eyes glazed over. “I love the way your mouth feels too much to lose it. I wanna be good for you, baby.”

Your clit fluttered at that. He wanted to be good for you. 

“Then be a good boy and tune your guitar again. You don’t want to know the consequences if it’s even slightly out of tune,” you turned on the lamp at his bedside, the dark room needed some sort of light. Daytime was fading, rain still ticking against the window. “Don’t worry about the song until it starts playing.”

He went about his tuning and mid-strum, he suddenly questioned, “Why are you making Alexa play the song if I’m going to be the one actually playing it?” 

“The speaker will help to keep me aware of any possible mistakes,” you tapped it and then pointed at your mouth. “I’m going to be a little preoccupied to only rely on memory. My brain goes a little fuzzy when I. . .”

He swallowed thickly, blinked a couple times and nodded. “Makes sense.”

 You watched him go along with his tuning and decided to have another little practice. You sauntered over to him, and sat down on the edge of the bed, next to his leg.

He didn’t look up from what he was doing until he heard you spit in your hand. 

You placed your wet hand around his thick shaft, you gave it a couple of pumps. You looked him in the eyes, testing him. He knew if he stopped doing what he’d been doing that you would stop. He knew exactly what this was. And he wasn’t going to mess it up like he had before. 

You let your slick thumb rub in the crease at the base of his pretty pink head. You then took the precum from before (and the extra that had gathered since), and rubbed it from the slit of the head all the way around the head. 

You glanced up to see his face and the sight was beautiful. There was already a slight sheen of sweat forming at his hairline. He was working so hard for you. And then—.

There was one slight twang of a string. You took your hand away. 

He moaned. “You can’t. . .it was just a little—.”

“Gotta do better next time, baby,” you got up from your spot. “Is the guitar about ready?”

He gave the smallest glare. Then he reached up, using the back of his hand to wipe at his forehead. He placed his fingers on the correct frets and played the beginning of ‘Highway Tune’ to test out the sound.

His face was concentrated, looking down to see his fingers go. You watched, too. And besides his fingers going crazy, the music was obviously flawless. Holy shit. You weren’t sure you were going to survive this. You were sweating, flushed, and your thighs felt wet from being clenched around your core.

What were you going to do if you got distracted by him and stopped going when he was doing perfectly fine? You would lose all of your high-standing in the situation and you’d simply look like a loser.

The competitive streak suddenly came to life inside your chest. Your heart started beating so fast.

Or, you noticed how fast your heart had been beating all along. 

“Okay, stop,” you said firmly. “You miss one little strum, even the smallest string of a note, I stop. Got it?”

His brown eyes were unaware of your inner conflict and were doe-like as he nodded to agree. He wanted to be good.

“Alexa, play—.”

“Wait,” his voice was frantic. “Is it the entire guitar part or just a solo I’m playing?”

Before you spoke, Alexa’s monotone voice did. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

You rolled your eyes at the device. “Alexa, stop,” you surveyed him. You hadn’t thought so specifically. So, you thought on the spot. “Anytime you hear a guitar playing, you play.”

“Rhythm or lead?”

Damn, good questions. These were things you really hadn’t thought of initially. You‘d just thought of the grand scheme. And, while you both loved music, he was the guitar player. It technically was his job to help remind you of these things. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t slightly embarrassing in this situation.

But, you kept your cool. You tried not to think of the little holes you’d left in the plan. 

“Lead.”

He nodded, then cast his gaze down to look upon his guitar. His fingers tapped against the body, waiting patiently. And, like a pro, his tanned cock continued to stand at attention. 

“Be ready,” you warned. He visibly gulped. You made your way to the bed, combing a hand through the front of your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear. “Alexa,” you situated yourself between his legs, ass in the air. You knew your body drove him crazy, so you’d use it. “Play ‘Something’ by The Beatles.”

You let the sexy act go, and peeked up at him. He was already gazing so lovingly towards you. You two lazed grins towards each other. As though you were sharing a secret.

Back when you’d started dating, this song seemed to play everywhere you two would go. And so, it had gotten deemed special for the two of you, by the two of you.

It was really silly, but you two had been kids then. Thinking up something for everything.

“Playing ‘Something’ by The Beatles.”

While she repeated what you said, he placed his fingers in position. And without even knowing what it was supposed to look like, you knew he was right. You already felt a little wetness gather at your center, simply for how gifted and intellectual Jake was — especially with his craft. 

Right before it had begun, you sunk your mouth down over his tip. The taste of him was what your mind latched onto. He always tasted so sweet. You felt his body shiver. His legs shook on either side of you.

“Baby. . .” He sighed.

And when the guitar started, you closed your eyes to bask in the beautiful melodies Jake was already matching. He moaned and whined a few times here and there as you continued to flex your mouth over the top of him, but other than that, he was focused. He was magic.

You moved your mouth off of the top of him and then let your tongue lavish around the base of his cock. You licked it in long horizontal and vertical stripes, making a pattern of it. You occasionally went back to the top to give it proper attention. 

And once you’d made his skin glisten with the work of your mouth, you placed your hand on his base. Letting your hand do some work while you watched him play. 

The way his face would change as he played was so like the way it would on stage while playing, but this time, there were little whimpers that accompanied the faces he made. You knew the faces were not only meant for the guitar in this moment, he was reacting to you more than anything now. 

His fingers moved in precise motion, the veins in his hand showing as it flexed around the neck of the guitar. 

He still hadn’t missed a chord. Damn. As if you needed to be reminded of just how incredible Jake was. 

You licked around the slit at his tip and then licked in the crease just below the head, where your thumb had been earlier. You loved this spot on him, almost hidden between the head and length of him. 

You took the top half of him into your mouth, bobbing your head slowly up and down while also letting your tongue swirl in and around your favorite spot. 

You let extra saliva leak from your mouth, right before you hollowed your cheeks out. You then brought a hand to his shaft and stroked it liberally, grateful for the lubricant you’d provided. It was so slick to the touch, your hand glided perfectly. 

He breathed a combined whimper and moan when you added one more hand to the mix, grasping his balls. You rolled his sac in your hand. So fucking smooth.

You decided to massage his balls, giving them attention. With all of these actions combined, one chord stayed slightly longer than it should have. But you pretended not to notice. You were too engaged with your own activity at hand.

You started humming the melody as you swallowed as much of him as you could. He whined at the new vibrations that only added to the present pleasure.

Meanwhile, you generously stroked at him, but added just the slightest squeeze. His hips bucked as both of your hands continued their work, while your mouth sucked at him. You tightened your jaw and your lips went taut as you gave him one especially tight suck. 

Your mouth sounded like a little ‘pop!’ as you came off of his tip.

His breath seethed through his teeth. But he was a natural born rockstar, and played seamlessly through the hurdles thrown his way during a performance. The current hurdles being your mouth and hands.

The guitar solo was close. You couldn’t lose focus before then and you had to do your part to keep him steady. You had to stay consistent in your movements to keep his stamina going.

You grasped at his shaft, but realized it was becoming dry. So, right before it was time for the solo to start, you brought your head up. 

You gathered as much saliva as you could, and made sudden eye contact with him as you spit (drooled) it all onto his throbbing length.

Your center was aching.

His mouth fell open and you kept your eyes on his as the solo began and you moved your mouth around him. Your hand moved in the places your mouth couldn’t quite reach. Your movements went along to the rhythm of the music. You knew it like the back of your hand, making it one big—.

And his finger slipped off the string, right at the end of the solo. 

You sat up, deciding that was a big enough error to hold to your word. 

But, his eyes held such disappointment and guilt and longing . . . You felt for him. He never stopped playing, even as you stopped your efforts. He kept going. 

He’d also made it through almost the entire song, holding up his end of the plan so damn well. 

And his cock was just so pretty, standing up straight, waiting for more. 

You realized you just couldn’t hold to your word like you’d wanted to. 

Though, you did give his thigh a hard smack, and bit down on the flesh right on the inside of his thigh. So close to his most sensitive area.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth. “Won’t do it again,” he continued to play relentlessly. “Just so hot, babe.”

The flawless music he continued to make rushed through your ears. You knew the song was almost over, so you looped one of your legs around one of his. You moved it between your thighs to be in the right spot for satisfying friction and grinded down on it hard. 

“Oh,” his mouth was held in an ‘o’ shape at the feeling of you, wetting his leg with your arousal. It was the same big ‘o’ his mouth tended to make during a normal guitar solo. 

Fitting.

“You like that, baby?” 

His eyebrows drew together, nodding. 

You hadn’t taken the time until that moment to realize how sweaty he’d become. His forehead glistened, as did his nose and chest. The sweat dripped down from the middle of his pecs to the top of his tummy. 

Your mouth watered. 

His eyes stayed glued to the guitar, focus driven. His fingers moved expertly along the strings, finishing the song as if he had helped George Harrison write the song himself. 

You finally stopped your movements, wanting to admire the man beneath you. 

But he didn’t give you much time.

As carefully as he could manage, Jake slipped through the strap of the guitar, depositing it against the bedside table. And as soon as he was free of the constrictions from the instrument and your game, he took his control back. 

And you gladly let him. Almost.

He grabbed your ass, still sitting atop his thigh. But you moved his hands to resituate yourself. You climbed off of him, only to slip your legs to be knelt on either side of his abdomen. 

But Jake wrapped his arm around your waist and switched positions before you could even breathe. He wanted you below him. His chest was heaving as his swollen cock rested on your upper thigh.

Before anything else transpired, he got down on his forearms. He nudged your nose with his affectionately and captured your lips in a full kiss. There was barely any tongue, but his plush lips latched securely with yours. Puzzle pieces. 

“I love you,” he whispered when he pulled away. 

“I love you,” you sighed back to him. 

He ran his throbbing cock through your folds. Your body vibrated at the feeling. Then, he took it away. 

Sparing no time, he pushed in, sinking into you. Another puzzle piece.

Having just gotten him back from tour, you were still readjusting to the feeling of his girth. But when he started moving, home was found and you moved your hips in time with his. 

You knew neither of you were going to last long, but making love seemed priority to you both.

“Not a complicated song,” he huffed between thrusts. “But dammit if it was the most diffi—,” he slammed hard, making you both grunt at the motion. “. . .Most difficult with you doing all of that.”

You blushed, looking up to him. He was looking down to where your bodies were connecting. “Mission accomplished.”

He snapped his eyes back to you, “Mission enjoyed.” He winked at you, a suggestive smirk marking his lips. 

There wasn’t any more talking as he rounded his hips a few more times. He never let himself fully leave your center, obviously wanting to drive you to the edge.

It wouldn’t be hard. 

One, being Jake Kiszka’s girlfriend, was a constant loop of being on edge for the man. And two, with everything that you’d taken part in together that day, you’d been ready to release for a while. But this was the moment you’d wanted most. 

You’d wanted it with him. This connection. It was arguably what you missed most while he was away. These intimate moments, wrapped in time, for only you both. 

His hair was so long, it draped around your head like a curtain. You felt every single inch of him as he bucked into you, hearing the sounds your bodies made together. 

You moaned outright, “Jake,” your voice was husky. Your pussy clenched. You felt it coming.     

“Fuck, baby. I know,” his hips crashed to meet yours, the tip of him connecting to your g-spot.  

You whined loud, letting out gasps of encouragement and his name. 

Finally, your eyes met his, deep brown, and you held contact like that. You felt the entire world in his eyes. You lifted one hand to wrap at the base of his neck, under his hair, and left one to rest on his shoulder blade. His skin was completely tacky with sweat. Your bodies were vigorously moving to meet each other now. 

He stuck his thumb in his mouth, completely wetting it. And then, he slipped a hand between you, rubbing gentle circles on, around, and underneath your throbbing bud. 

After a few uneven thrusts, his body started to falter more in its ministrations. 

“I’m—,” he started. 

“Me too,” you gasped. 

His thrusts still guided you, and his thumb nudged just right against you. Everything you felt and saw was him. You shuddered as you hit your peak, your body stiffening. You threw your head back against the pillows. Your core was throbbing at the sensations. 

Then, he pushed in one more time, his sticky stomach meeting yours. He whimpered, and you could feel him spill inside of you. All of him. 

He stayed where he was for a second, his dick still pulsating inside of your walls. 

Then, he slipped out of you, going quickly to get a towel to clean the mess he’d helped to create. Once you were cleaned up, he laid his head to your chest, totally spent. 

His breath was warm against your breast. You combed your hand through his now-knotted hair. This was right.

You gazed down at him, his long hair swept across your stomach. Your heart pressed to your chest. You missed him.

When summer came and school let out, you would have to rethink not joining him on tour. You couldn’t take being away from him for so long. These moments were everything. 

“What do you think about joining the guys and me this summer, hm?” His fingers were tracing shapes into your hip. 

You grinned, braiding a few pieces of his hair when you responded, “You know, I just might have to.”

[silverflqmes]

haithellie

- who fell first and how?

- what book sealed the deal on your relationship?

- did you guys join a book club together, if so — what was the book that caught both of your guys’ eye?

- what do the boys think about your guys’ relationship? (kaveh, cyno, & tighnari)

tartellie

- how did you guys meet and how long did it take for a single date?

- which of you said i love you first and how?

- e2l, which one admits they’re in love first and why?

yuellie

- he misses the high cloud quintet, how do you comfort him?

- you both fight phantylia together, who falls down first?

- bonus: who went for the body? i think i can answer this one

sephellie

- how to make a day of fun so sephiroth can be human again

- how would you style his hair for fun

- how to get him to stop being cloudobsessed and you-obsessed instead!!!

at long last i answered your ask bc monkey brain has just been SEPHIROTH SEPHIROTH SEPHIROTH as of late.. ahem. now without further delay, time to get the cogs winding

𓍼 haithellie.

— if i’m going with my e2l idea, he fell first because i was in hella denial.. but i fell harder. i haven’t really come up with much but i’m thinking we would both be in places in our lives where we’re dealing with loneliness?? for me i would have left home to study so i’d kinda be adjusting, while alhaitham has kinda been on his own, having lost his parents from young, and later his grandmother that took care of him after that. so i think we would have found mutual comfort in each other and he would have caught some feelings just from little details. stupid habits i have, shared interests, the bantering since we would have both been in the same darshan..

— i totally missed this question until i went back to read for the next ship but UHHH the wicked king cuz it’s my fav and i’ll never be normal about it

— we joined a book club not knowing that the other would be in there too LMAO it was just supposed to be a pastime kinda thing and it was just coincidence that we both ended up in it together.. but let me think, me being me i like my romantasy books so i dunno it alhaitham would also be into those.. but i could see him reading the folk of air — totally not bc it’s my favorite series, totally not bc we act like jude and cardan, totally not because — yeah, you got me..

— alhaitham wants them nowhere near me ( minus tighnari ) because they would enable me and they would tease him sm.. but i think we would be super chill together, i could see us playing uno or monopoly and just- disaster happening BAH but anyway i think they would be happy about alhaitham finding someone after his losses, and even it kaveh might be petty.. he’s happy for him<3

𓍼 tartellie.

— omg akira-san, i mean uh, tartaglia, yeah.. ahem. let me think.. we would have met at a flower shop, he was buying flowers to bring home to his family since he was likely away from home for a good while. he was just scanning all the different types, not sure which to pick, to which he would approach me, thinking me to be the store clerk ( i was not ). confused, i would break to him that i do not work there.. to which he would get embarrassed LMAO but since we were talking, he would ask on my opinion anyway, to which i’d try my best to offer a few options to my basic knowledge of flower language. i think he would show interest in the way i talk and explain, the hand gestures and expressions i make, but he’d ignore it.. until we stumbled once more upon each other, where he would chat with me.. and then proposes the idea of getting lunch. totally not a date, just lunch..

— he did and probably said so without even saying those three words tbh?? i don’t know how he would say it, but uh maybe smtn like.. “it’s strange.. home, until now was always being with my family back in snezhnaya.. but somehow, you seemed to have brought that feeling to me here and have blossomed it into something a little more than family, something special and precious to me.”

— now for this.. me LMAO if it was e2l it would end up as an unspoken confession i feel?? maybe if he was seriously injured or um, overdid things again because he used foul legacy or his delusion in a fight.. to which i would yell at him in a way that sounded like i really cared for him, and tartaglia would end up saying something along the lines of me sounding like i loved him or something.. to which i would go silent and he would piece it all together. unspoken confession!!

𓍼 yuellie.

— understandable as to why he would miss them, especially cuz he’s the last one remaining and with his memories in tact. it’s kinda heartbreaking honestly, but i understand the kinda fall of a friend group in a way, granted i still talk with mine but very minimally these days. regardless, i would do my best to comfort him, maybe take him out or encourage him to come be around others as well outside of his duties, just to feel yk welcomed as a dude and not just as a general. i think he’d like something like that cuz company helps when you miss those that you were once close with.

— AKWJSJDJSKSJ i fall down first and i make sure to KNEEL ( i did it on purpose ) yuan is probably like ellie???? and i’m like ain’t no way you said you’re going for the body — I’M GOING FOR THE BODY, YOU SIT YOUR ASS BACK THERE. atp he’s like, am i about to have my girl stolen by horrifyingly attractive woman that wants to kill us and is not just twice but several times her size?? he’s just watching in complete shock but like part of him understands.. i mean.. come on.

— I WENT FOR THE BODY AGAIN AND AGAIN ahem, your assumptions are likely correct.

𓍼 sephiellie.

— screams in sephiroth. okay um. let me actually get into this. sooo a day to make sephi have fun and feel more human.. well! after buying flowers from a certain peddler, i would whip out my super slay cool flip phone and urge him to come over after work because i had a surprise for him. said surprise is flowers to braid into his hair and a flower for him to keep at home cuz sephiroth having a green thumb sounds so adorable. for the rest, it would be just a cute self care day to remind him of his humanity in spite of whatever modifications and experiments were done on him ( FUCK YOU HOJO YOU UGLY ASS PIECE OF SHIT, THERE’S A REASON I’M NOT IN FFVII AND THAT’S BC YOUR ASS WOULD BE THROUGH, WHICH MEANS THE STORY DOESN’T END UP HAPPENING SO NO GAME )

— the braid with the flowers in it! high ponytail for sure HE IS SO PRETTY<3 maybe a bun as well after i told him that mine absolutely sucked and that my mom refused to let me out of the house without her doing my hair.. so he would ask to see how bad said bun is — so it ends up messy because i didn’t wanna make it too tight.. his hair is also super long.. but he liked it, probably wondered why i couldn’t leave the house when it looked so nice on him ( sobbing he’s so so sweet ), furthermore i would try the princess leia space buns and perhaps twin tails<3 he also would do my hair and try out different styles too, he’s so gentle<3

— I DON’T KNOW I GUESS I NEED SOME MAKO BATHS AND HIS CELLS SO HE CAN INVADE MY THOUGHTS INSTEAD😐 but like.. sefikura.. IM TORN

okay i believe that was all of them.. this took way longer than i’d expected😭

[wordstro]

[4] game of thrones-inspired au + prince hongjoong + "do you want to know the first thing my father taught me?"

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

a/n: 23k words omg.... violence, reader experiences misogyny but they are gender neutral, implied sexual tension/relationships/lead up to sexual situations but nothing explicit (aside from the yearning lmao), talk of people burning at the stake, gross imagery i.e. eating raw meat, brief reference to the grooming and assault of a child (not hongjoong or reader), cheating, toxic hongjoong, reader becomes progressively more manipulative, references to SA (not hongjoong or reader), implied physical abuse (not hongjoong or reader), yeosang/reader situationship, one sided mingi/reader, whew this one is a doozy of introspection, also thought about this quote a lot: "no one will know how much violence it took to become this gentle"

-

they say the kims are closer to god then they are to men. you were warned of this, and, some days, you'd believed it.

you believed it on some days. when king kim would send you and hongjoong raw meat from the kitchens with the explicit orders that that was all you were both to eat for a month. hongjoong had the meat sent back every time, but the stench of raw meat never left your nose. when you stood in the gallows of king's landing with the rest of the court and watched innocents burn at the stake, green fire rising and swirling into a column of smoke that disappeared into the glum sky of king's landing, pained screams still ringing in your ears and the stench of burnt flesh still lingering in your nose long after the executions. those days hongjoong would stand in front of you as if he meant to block your view of the scene, but you'd always see it and hear it. there was no way to avoid it when the king insisted the court should have full view of the executions.

with each passing public execution, the anguished screams and choked sobs of those in the audience melted away, until one day you stood in an audience that was only chilling silence, as if the world itself had gone numb.

worst of all, you could still smell everything. the stench of fire and ashes and burnt flesh.

the king faced no consequences for these acts of violence.

eventually the queen stopped taking visitors, even hongjoong, you'd noticed. the two of you continued to share his bedchambers, and you quickly grew accustomed to his extensive schedule. he stopped visiting his mother around a fortnight after you'd wedded him. only a a handful of maids were allowed to see her, which you knew because one of the maids reported to hongjoong of his mother's condition every morning. even though you slept in his too-big bed, and he had the servants lay out a separate bed near the balcony for himself, you grew accustomed to his habits.

you'd wondered once if he knew of yours. it was likely he did not.

king kim was so close to god, he did whatever he wished without consequence, and the thought of his reign of terror going unchecked left you more anxious than you wished to admit.

at least until one warm summer night, when the king called for you to help feed the dragons in the dragonpit. a task he deemed a rite of passage for the newest kim, though you both knew damn well you would not make it out of the dragonpit in one piece.

you were no kim in the dragon's eyes.

the king sat upon his cold iron throne and looked upon you with a treacherous glint in his eyes. it was a look that grew as time passed, as if he'd forgotten his content with hongjoong and your betrothal, and his mistrust for you and dorne had returned. the feeling of his eyes boring into you, knowing he could decide whatever you wished, made you angry. without hongjoong there to counteract the mad king's demands, you were vulnerable. you could not stand vulnerability. you could not stand that you understood why they said the kims were closer to god. not because of their dragons, but because they were above punishment. the king was allowed to dole out punishment as he wished, to whomever he wanted, and no one lifted a finger to deny him of his supposed gods-given rights.

the king's serpent grin as he bestowed his request upon you haunted your thoughts.

that night, barely a name-day after you were wedded to hongjoong, you'd found yourself eye-to-eye with a dragon you'd never seen before. a smaller one, with blue leather skin and sharp eyes. you thanked the gods, old and new, that this time the dragon did not seem in the mood to breathe fire. the kingsguard who had escorted you down to the dragonpit had long disappeared, and you'd stared at the beast as it reared its head and stalked towards you and the bloody slabs of meat you'd dropped long ago.

you were not as brave as you had been your first night you'd entered the dragonpit, and perhaps that was a testament of the years you'd spent in king's landing away from sunspear. the person who stepped off that ship and snuck into the dragonpit was long gone. your dornish curiosity, your bravery, it had all been snatched from you, and you now stood before this dragon with your heart lodged in your throat, frozen and terrified.

the dragon sniffed at the bloody meat between you both, and you knew the only reason you'd managed to move, despite the terror, was the thought that your family did not deserve to see your body returned to them in pieces.

so you'd ran. you ran from the dragon, king's orders be damned.

you ran to the to the door, your footsteps echoing through the dragonpit, an eerie sound that bounced off the walls, ringing in your ears as if even your footsteps were chasing after you. the dragon roared. the sound of it tearing at the meat, it's jaw snapping, following the roars.

your hands shook as you fiddled with the rusted steel door handle, and panic filled your stomach when the door remained firmly shut. the dragon roared once more. the sound was closer. you slammed your shoulder against the door. once. twice. thud, thud, thud.

it swung open with a clang. you stumbled into something - no, someone - sturdy and warm. hands settled on your shoulders, steadying you.

you'd blinked at him. his unruly silver hair, gritted teeth, and furrowed brows.

hongjoong was supposed to be in a strategy meeting at the other side of the red keep. the king knew as much, and you knew it too when you'd agreed to the king's demands.

he wasn't supposed to be here.

so, why was he here?

hongjoong frowned at you, his eyes narrowing into annoyance as he studied your face. for a long moment, you both merely stood at the threshold to the dragonpit. another roar from the dragon and you surged closer to hongjoong and further from the open door. hongjoong's grip on your shoulders tightened, his fingers curling around your elbow, even as he he yanked you away from the door and kicked it shut behind him.

the door slammed shut with a dull thud, drowning out the dragon’s roars, and only then did he let you go. your back hit the wall, and suddenly everything was too quiet. all you could hear was your ragged breathing and your own heart knocking against your ribs. the dragon and the dragonpit was gone, but as you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, leaning against the wall, and tried to catch your breath, hongjoong's furious gaze burned hotter than the breath of a dragon. it was a fury you did not see from him anymore, though perhaps that was because you and hongjoong had barely spoken since your conversation during the bedding ceremony.

the silence over the dimly lit corridor settled between you both. he stepped closer, his vindictive eyes fixed on you as he snapped, "why the hell did you come here?"

you bristled at his tone, "your father ordered me to!"

hongjoong's eyes widened. was he truly surprised? after everything the mad king had done?

hongjoong stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest, gaze skeptical and tone accusatory, "and you did not think to ask me to join you before you came here?"

"you were occupied," you spat, rolling your eyes.

despite your tone, you slumped against the wall behind you, hand over your heart to calm it. hongjoong's scowl was a burning thing, his gaze digging into your skull. you pointedly ignored it in liege of catching your bearings.

eventually he spoke, tone scathing, "you are an idiot."

you scowled at hongjoong, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed at your expression. if anyone deserved his wrath, it was his father. not you.

"your father has always been mad, and i've looked past it same as the rest of you. however, i cannot ignore this. he demanded this of me knowing damn well you would be occupied. clearly he wishes upon my death," you'd bit out, hiding at an ache on your arm. perhaps the dragon did not breathe fire, but it had clawed at you, the same way the mad king had with his own claws.

there was a scratch along your arm, right above the burn from long ago. blood trickled down your forearm. you stared at it for a long moment, unable to recall how you'd gotten it. now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the sharp sting of the wound was at the forefront of your mind.

you turned your scowl on hongjoong, watching as his gaze flit to your wounded arm and remained fixed there. he did not, you noticed, deny your accusation. yours was a heavy, treasonous statement to make against the king of westeros. especially to his son. he should have denied it.

you frowned at his silence, "you are aware of this?"

it was a question you knew the answer to.

hongjoong stood with his arms crossed over his chest. he grit his teeth, "my father believes i wish to usurp him using your father's support."

"and why would he believe something as absurd as that?" you asked, warily.

hongjoong's dragged his hand through his silver-white hair, shrugging. his gaze left yours, fixing over your shoulder, over nothing. it wasn’t the most absurd idea, not in this mad court.

"he is the mad king, y/n.” he emphasized mad king as if that were explanation enough.

"so what? some of his mad thoughts are not always unfounded," you said, narrowing your eyes at hongjoong as you watched him fidget. you've come to learn that hongjoong did not fidget as others did. it was subtle. a moment's glance away, a tap of his fingers against his forearm. they were all subtle signs you'd picked up from sleeping in his chambers, and you were not sure if you liked this newfound ability of yours. it only made you wonder what habits hongjoong had noticed of yours.

hongjoong stood before you, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for you to keep speaking. how he knew you would was beyond you.

you crossed your arms over your chest when the silence stretched on too long, "so, do you wish to usurp him? is that what the mad king’s vendetta is about?”

"i am no kinslayer," hongjoong glowered.

you'd raised a skeptical brow in response, "only because kinslaying is socially irredeemable."

"must you always think the worst of me?"

you snorted, "am i incorrect in my assumption, then? that the king’s anger is unfounded?”

hongjoong then let out the smallest of laughs, a bubble of a thing that graced his annoyed features. he shook his head, but he did not answer you. instead, he said, "come. let us tend to your wound."

you drew your arm to your chest, narrowing your eyes at his attempt to dodge your questions.

hongjoong merely held his hand out, waiting.

you glared at him and the offending hand, "you did not answer me."

"because i do not want to."

"then i will take it to be true, usurper."

"you’ve made up your mind already. will it make a difference? if it were true or not?”

you'd blinked at his expression. he shook his outstretched palm at you, an impatient movement.

you both knew that even if hongjoong truly did wish to usurp the throne, you'd still be entangled in the king's plots. you would remain a target. and if it wasn't true? the king would still continue to plot against you both. he was mad, after all, even if some of his madness was not unfounded. he hated dorne, and you were of dorne. he hated his son, and you were his spouse.

“yes, your admission would.” you cradled your arm to your chest. you clarified, "make a difference, i mean."

"how?"

"you'd have told me the truth."

"do we do that now?"

you frowned, "i suppose not."

hongjoong smiled, and it was a soft thing. he shook his head, before he held his hand out once more.

after a moment, you placed your injured hand in his. he held it carefully, and you'd ignored the way your chest ached.

in the year or so that you'd been wedded to hongjoong, nothing had truly changed. little things had changed here and there. he bothered you less than he used to, and your septa no longer reprimanded you for the way you responded to him.

other than that, he continued on with his lessons and his meetings. you continued on with your sword and riding lessons, and attended events and meetings as duty called.

the only difference that mattered was you and hongjoong slept in the same room together. nightly routines meant you'd lay in his too-big bed until sleep came, and sometimes you'd stir awake in the middle night when hongjoong entered the chambers and readied himself for bed. some mornings, you woke at the same time as him, and you ignored him getting dressed as you stepped into the bathing room to dress yourself or draw yourself a bath, not bothering to call for the servants. hongjoong never left the room when he wished to get dressed, much to your annoyance. still, most mornings, you woke to his bed empty.

some days, during banquets or jousting matches, you'd have to arrive alongside hongjoong. he'd hold his arm out for you to hook your arm through his elbow and the servants would dress you both in matching colors. he'd cock his brow in amusement as you took his offered arm, but he maintained a polite distance otherwise as he led you to the tourney or banquet. you'd made it a point every jousting match to not once give him your flower wreath and bestow him your favor. at banquets you sat next to him and not once did you turn to speak to him.

at one of the jousting tourneys, hongjoong waited at the foot of the stands for your favor, his silver-white hair pushed back from his eyes as he held his jousting sword out in your direction, his armor glinting under the sunlight. you'd treaded right past him, placing it upon the sword of ser eunwoo of the riverlands instead. hongjoong's eyes had flashed, even as he let out a loud bellowing laugh that rang loud in your ears. his grin was a wide terror of a thing. to the people of the court, your behavior was all fun and games between newly weds. teasing, good fun. sometimes, there were whispers that it was something less kind, but no one truly dared speak ill of the heir at court. the mad king was one thing, but the mad king's son was an entirely different matter. you knew it angered hongjoong, however, when you undermined him so publicly, but you doubted he cared otherwise. his sword was always adorned by flower wreath after flower wreath, favor upon favor, from too many to count. you were a wreath among many others. what did your favor matter to him?

ser eunwoo, ser baekhyun, every knight you'd ever favored in hongjoong's stead, ended up sprawled across the ground with his helmet gone and his nose or arm or fingers or some other appendage broken or severely injured from the impact of hongjoong’s jousting sword. hongjoong always tugged at his horse's reins as he galloped back and forth after in celebration, the crowd cheering him on. once you’d dared meet his eyes through the crowd, and his dark eyes glinted as his grin widened.

when he'd defeated ser eunwoo, your favor had flown from ser eunwoo's broken jousting sword, and he'd scooped it up and placed it on his, waving his sword to and fro to the sound of crowd howling at his act. your heart raced against your ribs and your stomach turned. you'd watched as hongjoong galloped to where you stood in the stands, reining his horse in. he held his sword out to you, and the tourney grew silent in anticipation. your favor slipped from the tip of his sword and fell to the floor in front of you, past your limp hands. he grinned, all teeth and fire in his eyes, before he dismounted his horse and turned away, bowing to the crowd.

"you could have killed him," you'd admonished afterwards, when you both left together in hongjoong's carriage.

you'd reminded him of that fact every time he did such a thing.

every time, hongjoong shrugged in response and said, "if you worry for their lives, why do you give them your favor?"

you'd frowned and hongjoong had laughed.

the next tournament, you kept your favor in your lap, defiant as you met hongjoong's gaze. he won the match and dumped all the favors he'd received in front of your feet, and his grin was not as wild as it once had been. the audience hooted with glee. hongjoong turned away from you.

"quite a lover's quarrel, huh?" yeosang asked with a grin and a congratulatory pat to hongjoong's back before he opened the carriage door, after that particular tourney incident.

hongjoong narrowed his eyes at yeosang, and you were shocked he did not strangle yeosang where he stood. it was a testament, you thought, to their bond, and it always made your chest tight to see evidence of such a thing when you had nothing. the carriage ride home was a long and silent.

some days, you'd believed the kims were closer to god than to the rest of you, but on days like this you knew they were the same as any other person. human and angry and begrudging as the rest of you. it made you laugh, a bubbling giggle escaping your lips, and hongjoong glanced sideways at you before he huffed and fixed his gaze out the carriage window.

~.~.~.~.~

a year prior, the sun beat down over your heads as you stood at port. the smell of rotting fish invaded your senses and you could almost taste it on your tongue alongside the sea salt carried with the ocean breeze. the heat of the sun trickled down your spine. you did not know when king's landing's sun became hotter than dorne's, but you thought it fitting that you'd notice it now, as you stood on the docks and watched your father's knights ready his ship.

dorne's flag - orange with a yellow spear piercing a red sun - fluttered high in the sky. it beckoned to you, and you wanted so badly to join your family. you wanted so badly to return to dorne, to touch the sands of sunspear and take meals alongside your brothers. you wanted so badly to find forgiveness for your father, to kneel at your mother's feet and eat the fruits she'd cut for you while she massaged hot oil into your hair. you dreamt of those evenings, her fingers gentle on your scalp while she hummed an ancient melody she said her mother had taught her. you'd asked her to teach you once, and she hummed and said she would when her duties allowed her rest. she'd never gotten around to it. you wanted so badly to learn it now.

you wanted your family. you wanted dorne. you wanted to leave.

your chest ached with the want.

that day, mingi stood at your side, instead of hongjoong. the king, queen, and hongjoong had already said their farewells to your family in the throne room. you hadn't been there. you'd woken to an empty bed, and an anxious thrum deep in your bones. you'd wrapped a cloak over your sleep clothes and stumbled to the chamber doors. at the threshold to hongjoong's chambers, you found mingi and two other kingsguard you did not recognize standing guard outside hongjoong's chambers.

they all stood with their heads held high, eyes boring straight ahead. not once did any of them look your way. not even mingi. in just one night, so much had changed. all because of a few vows.

you had not realized the true impact of wedding hongjoong until that moment.

you cleared your throat, and you asked, "where is the prince?"

surely, he'd have been left alone the night after his wedding as you had been. you thought of the conversation that transpired between you, but you took care to pack away the conversation, the whole night. you did not care to linger on it. now, especially, was not the time to dwell on such trivial matters.

one of the other kingsguard spoke loudly, his voice grating on your frazzled nerves. he did not look at you. neither of them did. was that how you would be treated now? as someone so respected, they saw right through you?

"the prince has gone to see the king's guests off in the throne room, my liege. the king has ordered that they all depart immediately.”

you'd blinked at that. why hadn't you been told that your family would be departing so soon? why were they leaving so soon?

you knew why, but you still could not fathom that it was happening.

you'd clutched the door, voice rough even to your own ears, "when?"

no one said anything.

"when did they leave?" your voice rose, and only then did they look at you. really look at you. you did not recognize any of them. mingi, however, met your gaze with sympathy. pity almost, and you held your breath in anticipation. you expected him to say they'd already left. that you'd slept through their departure, and this time you hadn't had a chance to say your goodbyes.

but then he said, "they're being escorted to the port. they are to leave when the sun is highest in the sky."

"i want to see them."

"my liege -"

"i demand to see them off," you scowled at mingi, "were you ordered to keep me here?"

mingi shook his head. “not me.”

the other kingsguard threw him a look.

you'd tied your cloak securely around yourself and stepped out into the hall, "then i am going."

a day ago, the kingsguard would have ignored your demands completely. even mingi, because despite your companionship with him, he answered to the crown first.

this time, however, they'd exchanged nervous looks, shifting from foot-to-foot, before mingi stepped forward and said, "i will escort them to port.”

the other kingsguard frowned, "what if the prince...?"

mingi shrugged, "i will take full responsibility if the prince wishes to punish us."

so mingi had brought you to port with an urgency you appreciated. throughout the walk there, mingi remained silent. steadfast. as if he was a stranger and you were meeting him all over again. perhaps, that was what happened when one becomes the heir's spouse.

now, he stood by your side. your mother had already stroked your cheek and insisted you stay warm. her voice was a soft, choked thing, and you'd pulled her into another hug. she'd pulled away first, and you felt a part of your heart walking away with her.

your father pressed a hand to your mother's shoulder as she pressed a hand to her mouth and stepped back, giving him room. he searched your gaze for a long, long time. an inkling of rage settled in your stomach as he said, "i am proud of you."

you did not want the burden of his pride. you only wanted to go home. you dipped your head, murmured, "thank you, father."

your father pushed your hair from your face, and he smiled sadly at what he saw in your expression. perhaps he could see the anger and longing in your eyes. then he joined your mother with another piece of your heart. they walked aboard the ship hand in hand, and waited.

you watched them, until you were tugged sideways, into a warm embrace. you let out a gasp of surprise, before you clung to him. the ache in your chest grew, and your fingers curled around the back of his shirt. you looked up at wooyoung's face as he leaned back just a bit and reached up to cup either side of your face in his warm, calloused hands. he said, kindly, too kindly, "take care of yourself, alright?"

"you, too." you said, swallowing the lump in your throat, "please."

wooyoung's fingers tightened against your face before he pulled away. he glanced sideways, throwing mingi a small, amused smile, before he turned away completely and boarded the ship, joining your parents.

yunho stood before you then, and he embraced you for a long, long moment, rocking you back and forth. when he stepped back to take a better look at you, he peered down at you as if he were committing you to memory. as if he would not see you again.

he would not, you both knew, but you did not wish to dwell on the thought right then. the yearning ache in your chest only grew. you knew that this was it.

this was it.

yunho held your hands between his, squeezing tightly, and he said, "write me, please."

"i will, but it will be shallow..."

you trailed off when yunho shook his head, his eyes fixed on yours, full of a burning fire you hadn't expected. such a look was unfamiliar on the yunho you knew. he was determined as he said, with a meaningful squeeze of your hands, "there are other ways to send letters. besides you are no longer a ward. you are the heir's spouse. do you understand what that means, y/n? you have access to channels you’ve never had before.”

the thought never occurred to you. you'd blinked, nodding slowly.

your thoughts reeled at the possibilities. he was right. you held a modicum of power, no matter how limited. you said, slowly, “i will write you often, then."

"yes. write me of everything. i wish to know of even the most mundane of details." yunho’s smile was contagious, and you could not help the small laugh as you nodded.

the gaze beneath his smile held an edge you needed time to acclimate to. time you did not have with yunho or wooyoung. time you wanted so badly to have.

yunho ruffled your hair, and he retreated. he joined your family against the rails. the crew raised the anchors, and shouted at each other as they set sail. you watched with bated breath as wooyoung leaned over the rails and grinned, waving at you with both hands. he wiped at his face as he did so, and you felt tears spring to your eyes at the thought of wooyoung crying. you were the cause of it. yunho merely leaned against the rails beside wooyoung and watched. your mother sobbed. the sound curled over the ocean breeze and lodged itself in what was left of your heart. your father crossed his arms over his broad chest. you waved back until your arm ached. until their boat was a tiny dot on the horizon. until your aching heart felt as if it'd been torn away from your chest, swept across the ocean. you wanted so badly to stand beside them once more. just one more time.

but you were still standing in king's landing.

the silence then was a deafening thing. the sea still crashed against the port, and the port was still a busy, bustling thing, but the silence engulfing you was worse than the ache in your chest. saying goodbye a second time was infinitely worse than saying it once. wind gusted around you, and you heard the distant roars of a dragon - you could see a dragon weaving in and out of the clouds above the sea. you could not tell whose dragon it was. hongjoong's was an onyx black, large and thin with claws longer than your head. you'd see it from afar in the dragonpit a few times. despite the spectacle above you, despite the bustling around you, your head felt empty, muffled.

you knew your heart had crept aboard the ship, and left you behind too. the part of your heart that always held onto dorne and wished to go home was finally going home, and you were left behind to rot.

"something sweet and a listening ear always helps after something like this, you know," mingi's deep voice startled you from your thoughts. he'd been so quiet, you'd forgotten of his presence.

you looked over at mingi, and his neck remained craned as he peered up at the dragon weaving through the clouds. he must have felt your gaze on him, because he turned to look at you, and that wide grin of his graced his serious features. his eyes did not light up the same way his face had, and you could not fault him for it.

“oh?” you asked, "what do you suggest?"

mingi turned away from the sky and the sea, turning fully to face you. he explained, "the kitchen cook makes such decadent desserts with the leftover dough. he fries it and rolls it in sugar."

your chest still ached, and you felt like too many parts of you had gone missing, but mingi's sweet smile staved off the ache just a bit. his expression held a hint of excitement you had not seen in too long. not since before mingi joined the kingsguard, really, so you found yourself grinning along with his excitement as best as you could.

you nodded, "you've convinced me."

mingi grinned, "you'll love it."

~.~.~.~.~

when you were a small child, yunho, wooyoung, and you were often left to your own devices to entertain yourselves as you saw fit. your parents had assigned the three of you your own caretakers, but they'd grown resigned to the fact that neither of you liked to be watched during all hours of the day. the three of you ran off too often, quickly making it a game. your caretakers eventually gave up. as long as you were together, your parents and your caretakers did not mind.

often times, you spent your days in the orchards and mango groves climbing trees or picking mangoes or practicing swordplay on the beach or chasing each other through the narrow streets of sunspear or lounging about under the sun in one of the hidden courtyards.

that day, long ago, you and yunho were practicing your swordfighting with wooden swords you'd swiped from the training vaults, while wooyoung used his wooden sword to crouch in the sand to the side and draw silly renditions of the two of you, a pile of seashells towered by his feet. he always made your head too big and yunho's limbs much longer than the rest of him.

you'd knocked yunho over once again, grinning as he remained sprawled in the sand.

"you're quite terrible at this," you'd teased. wooyoung was the one with sword talent. you and yunho competed often for who was worse. today, it seemed yunho was winning.

yunho merely remained sprawled out on the sand, scowling at you when you poked at his sprawled form with the end of your sword. he did not give you a response, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

"hey," wooyoung looked up from his drawing, his expression almost pensive. his brows were furrowed together and he wrapped his arms around his knees, the wooden sword dangling from his fingers. from your angle, woo looked tiny. he asked, his voice drifting on the breeze between the three of you, "what do you want to be when you grow up?"

you'd frowned, confused by wooyoung's sudden sincerity. he'd been quite serious all day, really, and he hadn't explained why, merely choosing to remain quieter than usual. you and yunho exchanged a look. you'd both wondered aloud what was weighing him, but you neither of you had wanted to ask him. sometimes, questions set wooyoung off worse when he fell into one of his quiet moods.

yunho shrugged, his gaze fixed on the sky, "i'm going to be the prince of dorne. and you're going to be my army's combat general. y/n is going to be my diplomat."

wooyoung grimaced, straightening his back as his eyes narrowed. there was a storm brewing beneath his expression that you did not understand at the time. he said, "i am not asking what father and mother decided we'd be. what do you want, yunho?"

yunho blinked, craning his neck to examine wooyoung. whatever he saw softened the furrow of his brow. he said, "i do not know, brother. i've never considered doing anything else."

"don't you think you should?" wooyoung sighed.

you'd frowned at wooyoung then, your voice quiet, "what is this about?"

wooyoung looked up you for a long moment, before he shrugged, and he said, "of course yunho doesn't know. for a boy with access to all the lessons in the world, you're quite shit at using your own brain aren’t you?"

there was a teasing lilt to wooyoung's voice, under all the other emotions.

yunho rolled his eyes, but you could see a hint of hurt cross his features. then yunho chucked his wooden sword in wooyoung's direction. you giggled at how far off the throw was. wooyoung put a hand over his heart, offended.

you spoke then, if only to offset the hurt you'd seen in yunho's eyes for just a moment. you loved wooyoung, but he tended to say things that were quite mean, even if he only meant it in jest. "leave yunho alone, woo. why wonder and dream of other possibilities when your future is already set in stone?"

yunho's smile was small, though his nod was vigorous as he threw wooyoung a smug look. wooyoung stuck his tongue out at yunho.

"well what about you, y/n? what do you want to be when you grow up?"

he'd raised a brow, ignoring you completely.

"kind," you said with a shrug, humoring him. you'd thought about it often anyway. you said, "like the cooks when they're tired but they still make us extra desserts, and the ladies by the well, and like the stable boy that takes care of the horses at the east end."

wooyoung blinked at you, and that stormy look returned.

"you are already kind," yunho muttered, pushing himself up to a seated position. he rolled his eyes, though the act was good-natured, "just admit you don't know either."

"so woo can also declare me an idiot?"

"at least with you, he's not wrong."

you'd kicked yunho’s foot, and he giggled in response.

wooyoung's voice was soft as he pursed his lips. his words, however, were sly as he pointed his wooden sword at you, "i knew you’d taken a liking to the stable boy."

"i did not!" you tossed your stick at wooyoung, and unlike yunho, you did not miss. wooyoung shrieked when it hit his arm with a light thwack. he sprawled out on the dirt, clutching his arm as if you'd stabbed him with a real sword.

you'd rolled your eyes, calling over his whining, "and what about you?"

he paused in his rolling in the sand, pouting as he said, "i'm not certain i want to grow up. father is always traveling to the other kingdoms for his meetings, and mother never looks happy anymore."

"it's politics," yunho said. "the kingdom comes first."

"even if it costs you your happiness?" wooyoung waved a hand around them, "even if we won't be able to spend hours at the beach?"

"is that what makes you happy?" you asked, softly, smiling a bit at the thought. "spending time with us?"

"don't make it sappy, y/n." wooyoung snapped, though he would not meet your gaze and his smile was visible even from where you stood. "i only wonder what doing something you do not love does to a person. father is distant, and mother drinks so much i heard the kitchen servants mention that it was concerning. what if you cannot be kind, y/n? what if we all become terrible? what if we forget what we love?"

you'd blinked at his sincere words. wooyoung was always profound. he appeared thoughtless and loud and reckless, but you knew he spent too much time thinking when he was alone, and he cared more than he'd ever let on. where yunho was loud with his love, despite being reserved and held back with everything else, wooyoung was the opposite. quiet with his love, but exaggerated in his teasing, and rowdy, and always so there. always thinking of you all, it seemed.

"oh," yunho's voice was a quiet thing, "you think if we don't know what we want to be when we grow up, then we'll become something we never imagined? that we will become something we hate? is that it?"

yunho stared at the sky, as if he was speaking to the gods.

wooyoung pursed his lips, his eyes fixed on yunho’s profile. he hung in yunho’s words as if he would have the answers. yunho always knew the answers, how to logically soothe the most anxious of thoughts.

but yunho did not say a word, he only stared at the sky.

wooyoung drew his knees closer to his chest.

"well, why are those the only options? why do we become terrible just because we don't have a dream or goal? why do we need one? there are plenty of people who don't have dreams or goals, woo, and they turned out all right." you spoke up, your voice ringing in the silence.

"those people aren't meant to inherit kingdoms and armies though," wooyoung muttered, frowning.

"my point still stands," you said, nudging yunho's foot with your foot, "right, yun?"

yunho craned his neck in your direction, to wooyoung, and he said, "yes, exactly."

wooyoung rubbed the back of his neck, but he seemed to relax at yunho's confirmation. he never took your word for anything. you found yourself rolling your eyes as wooyoung asked yunho, "really?"

yunho nodded vigorously, and woo smiled, and you said, "see. really."

~.~.~.~.~

it was outside the kitchens, after your family had sailed away, sat on a bench the servants often used to take their meals while you brushed toasted sugar from your finger tips, when mingi finally broke the silence, "i was eight years old when i was sent to king's landing."

that brought you pause.

mingi fiddled with one of the sweets in front of him, his armor clinking softly.

you held your breath as you waited for him to continue. mingi did not divulge information about himself often, and you knew this was a rare occurrence. all that could be heard from your spot in the dark corner outside the kitchens was the distant sound of servants and cooks scrambling in the kitchen. the pitter-patter of hurried footsteps echoed off the stone walls. the smell of roasting meat carried through the air. a bout of laughter here. a scolding there. the clatter of dishware. the world was anything but silent even as you two sat with in silence. you watched mingi scratch idly at the wooden tabletop.

mingi did not say more.

after a long minute, you broke the silence with a tentative voice, "you were brought here? then are you...were you a ward, too?"

you found yourself enraptured by the image of mingi as a ward. sometimes wards were not hostages, not always. sometimes, there were other reasons for lords, ladies, and lieges to place their children in wardships. sometimes, there was a genuine want to build a mutual relationship of trust and love between houses and the ward maintained their freedoms. from the way hongjoong - the red keep really - seemed to adore mingi, you figured that must have been the case. it angered you to know that the red keep was capable of kindness, that a ward could be beloved and treated more than a hostage. you did not want to fault mingi for that.

it made sense. mingi was bastard born, thus carrying the name flowers long before adopting the name and sigil of house song.

in dorne, bastards were treated as equals. in westeros, bastards were punished for simply being born. bastards were treated like scum too often, and you found the practice a despicable thing. even legalized, bastards faced scorn. you peered at mingi in concern, waiting.

"no," mingi let out a small chuckle, shaking his head, "i was no ward. my father...lord song brought me with him to live in king's landing while he worked in the small council. no one considered me their ward. not the king nor lord song. i was merely a motherless bastard lucky to be accepted in the prince’s inner circle."

"oh," you'd blinked at the information, unsure how to respond or what to ask.

"she passed from the pox a few months before lord song found me and we set off to king's landing," mingi divulged, seeming to take pity on your confusion. he said, "i had nowhere else to go, really. even then, the king did not legitimize me for a long, long time."

mingi's expression was distant. you watched as he shook his head, a smile gracing his lips. he said, "i understand how it feels to be left behind, y/n. to miss a home that no longer feels like home. before i was legitimized, lord song left me behind in the red keep. he could not take me back to highgarden. lady song did not take kindly to my existence.”

"what about after you were legitimized?"

"lady song did not change her mind surrounding my existence. i believe being legitimized bothered her more," mingi said with a nonchalant shrug as he leaned back and picked at his nails. everything about him was nonchalant. despite his words. despite never having a home in the lands from which he was born.

that thought made your heart ache, the same way it had when you'd watched your family leave. soon you would live in king's landing longer than you had in dorne. soon you would not have a home in the lands in which you were born, either. sure, your brothers were still there. your parents. but if your brothers have changed so much, then what of your home? what of sunspear? how would you reconcile that as well? you could not blame mingi for his nonchalance. it was easier to remain indifferent then let the worries consume you.

“i never understood the shame westeros has surrounding bastards," you said instead, shaking your head of your thoughts as you frowned at mingi, "it is no fault of yours that your father broke his vows to his wife. a babe should not be shamed for such a thing."

mingi blinked at you, his dark eyes flickering in surprise over your face. his fingers curled around each other briefly, before he shrugged once more. a perfect picture of unbothered. he said, "i've heard dorne treats their bastards well. your judgement is biased.”

"being born is not a crime,” you'd scoffed. “westeros could learn a thing or two from dorne."

mingi smiled, and this time it was genuine. sweet, almost.

you frowned at him as realization dawned on you, "then, lord song left you here alone? every time he returned to highgarden?”

lord song, to this day, visited his home, highgarden in the reach, almost once a month. he made it known to anyone who would listen that he loved and missed his wife dearly. perhaps he did, or perhaps he was overcompensating for his past adultery. either way, it meant he always left king's landing on his own. you recalled how mingi often mentioned that lord song had left for highgarden, how he'd shrugged and he appeared so nonchalant. you'd always assumed mingi chose to stay back, but now that you knew that was never truly the case, your heart tugged for him. yeosang used to spend more time with mingi when his father left. you remembered that much from your childhood. you remembered hongjoong would throw his arm over mingi's shoulders and drag him down to his height. they were always more affectionate with mingi, but you'd never realized why. your frown deepened at the thought of mingi alone somewhere in the red keep, so often. it was an image that was difficult to reconcile with.

"he did," mingi shook his head at your expression, waving his hands in a placating manner, “but i wasn’t completely alone. i had hongjoong and yeosang. san and jongho too whenever they visited. eventually, you were here, too.”

his mention of you was surprising. you'd never thought he cared much for your company. you'd spent too often arguing with hongjoong or scoffing at yeosang. you never thought much of the times hongjoong or yeosang would say something terrible and the two of you would lock gazes over their shoulders, grimaces matching. he'd sometimes shake his head, attempting to deter you, and you would roll your eyes before you spoke up anyway. of course, he sat with you in the library and listened to you read often, and he voluntarily paired off with you during lessons more often than not. he even used to throw yeosang looks when his teasing became too cutting, too pointed, but you'd always believed that was merely what mingi did. you never thought he'd learned to see you as anything but a ward, a hostage of the king's that was lumped together with him and his companions for propriety’s sake. when san courted you, you believed mingi only saw you as an extension of san, and now as an extension to hongjoong. you did not think he saw you as a person, let alone a comforting presence of any sort due to your circumstances.

as you looked at him, and the softness in his eyes, and the small smile on his lips, you detected care. at least a hint of it. it made your thoughts reel.

that had always been your dilemma at king's landing. no one cared much about you as a person. they only ever cared for you due to your status or who you were bound to. even san, though he seemed to care enough to provide you comfort, had other intentions. you wondered, briefly, if mingi would dare devote himself to you. could you ask him for favors? would he carry out your orders? were you thinking ahead of yourself?

you blinked away your, frankly, treacherous thoughts as you murmured into the silence, “it must have been lonely though.”

“it was,” mingi murmured, “as you are well aware of, i’m sure."

you'd frowned.

"i know i am a kingsguard with vows that may not serve you, but," mingi gave you a small, genuine smile, "i am also your friend, y/n."

"is that not a contradiction?" you'd asked then, "to be my friend, to care for me as such, is an insult to the king."

mingi blinked, a slow thing, and he said, "you are married to the king's son."

"a son he does not care much for," you muttered. it was a push, you knew, especially to say such a thing to a member of the kingsguard and to a long-time friend of hongjoong's, but you wanted to know how far you could push him. how deep did the care in his eyes run?

could you make it deeper?

the thought made your stomach churn, the way it did when hongjoong spoke to you the night of your wedding. it was a mixture of fear, and a morbid curiosity, an interest, that you were not sure what to do with.

you focused on mingi. he bit his lip, his gaze slipping past your shoulder for a moment, before he looked at you once more. he said, "the king cannot hurt hongjoong. he cannot hurt you."

"how do you know that?"

"i don't," mingi's brows furrowed into a pained expression, "but i know that i will not stand by and let it happen."

you'd blinked, "are you admitting that you'd turn your cloak?"

"i've turned my cheek too many times, y/n, to too many atrocities," mingi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, his armor clinking softly. "i do not think i could live with myself if i allowed hongjoong and you to get hurt. if i must become a turncloak, then so be it.”

it was always hongjoong in the end.

but you can use that, a voice at the back of your head whispered.

it sounded like hongjoong, and it left a bad taste in your mouth, but you knew the voice was right. you'd pushed mingi, and he let you, and as long as you allowed him to frame his care in a way that appeared as if he was protecting hongjoong, too, then perhaps his devotion could mean something more to you. perhaps, this was what yunho meant. you were the heir's spouse. you had power. sure, it was tied to hongjoong, but did hongjoong have to know how you wielded it? he whispered that he'd teach you, but perhaps you could teach yourself.

"i appreciate your honesty, mingi," you'd sighed. "i know it's difficult to admit such a thing."

mingi dipped his head, his sweet smile making your heart curl in around itself. he said, "you'd asked for honesty once before, y/n, and i do not wish to dismiss your request. i understand hongjoong can be a handful, but you should remember that he listens to yeosang and me. i'm sure you can handle yourself, but if you ever...if you..." mingi cut himself off as he stiffened, shaking his head, "i apologize, i realize i may be speaking out of turn."

you'd shook your head, endeared by his stutter. you did not think yeosang could be helpful, not in the way you thought mingi could be, but you still said, "don't apologize. admittedly, i do need...help with hongjoong sometimes."

mingi's eyes flashed with an emotion you could not place. he only nodded.

you said, "if i need anything, i will ask for you."

he dipped his head in acknowledgement, even as he stood. he held out a hand to take, his armor clinking softly with his movements. you took his hand, allowing him to help you.

"thanks," you said, after a moment of walking silently side-by-side through the halls, "for this. for talking to me."

mingi smiled, and it was a genuine thing, and you almost felt terrible for thinking of using his kindness for your own means.

almost.

~.~.~.~.~

the mad king still held tourneys as if the red keep is not wrought with the stench of burnt bodies, and the courts do not whisper of the king's sure demise. the queen no longer makes public or private appearances.l, except with a select few. mingi often appears haggard when he steps into the library or settles into his assigned post outside hongjoong's chambers. you'd questioned him often, and all mingi would say was that he'd had a long shift guarding the king or queen.

"sweet thing," yeosang grinned, dragging his fingers through his tousled, long blond hair as one of the servants adjusted his jousting armor over his shoulders. kang crimson and gold glinted off his armor as he leaned close and tilted his head, "did you enjoy the matches?"

you could not say that you did.

it had gone as all public appearances for you had, you with your elbow hooked through hongjoong's as you two were announced, the cheering, and you and hongjoong donning his kim black and red, the dragon sigil blaring. the mad king would not attend. he never did. his paranoia was an all-consuming thing. it left hongjoong and you to entertain his father's guests. you watched that evening as hongjoong had roared, waving his jousting sword, as he gathered flower wreath favors from too many to count. as usual, he'd stopped in front of where you sat last, and he presented the tip of his sword.

that night, you'd refused him as you always did, and the whispers were louder than ever. at first, the court believed it playful banter, but it has been too long since you'd been wedded, almost two name days of yours since the event really, and now the amusement had morphed into something more sinister. the king lacking favor made the disdain hongjoong, and ultimately you, received worse.

that night something ferocious flashed in hongjoong's gaze, but he'd only grinned and bowed his head.

that night he lost.

you saw it, in the way he was distracted as his gaze flit across the stands, past you. you'd followed his gaze. you did not wish to care, but your gaze followed his without a second thought.

you saw a man, around your age, around hongjoong and mingi and yeosang and san's age, with hair black as a raven and skin as smooth as the calmest of seas, and his clothes were muted. everything about him was muted, yet he held your attention. you understood why hongjoong fumbled with his sword. why he faltered just at the sight of this man. the man was beautiful. the moon, personified.

he was everything you were not.

hongjoong's second match ended with the opponent he lost to lying flat on his back and heaving for air he could not and did not have, blood sputtering down his lips and half of his face smashed in. he would be dead in minutes, you knew, and the thought only made you tired.

when the tourney finished, you stood waiting for hongjoong, and yeosang appeared in front of you, his sweaty brow glistening under the setting sun, his eyes twinkling as he eyed you in curiosity.

you ignored his question, your gaze sweeping over the other participants, until you found the man who had made hongjoong falter smiling quite sweetly as he spoke with san. you'd blinked. in the stands, the man was the epitome of stoicity, of ice, of the coldness of the moon, but here his smile was a pretty thing. it warmed your heart, the way the afternoon sun would warm your skin when you laid in it. he was everything but cold then.

"park seonghwa," yeosang's low voice settled over you.

you tore your gaze from seonghwa and san, from the way hongjoong sauntered up to san and pat him on the shoulder, turning to the man - park seonghwa - with a wide, toothy grin and unwavering eyes. "what?"

"that is park seonghwa. i am surprised san found a way to convince seonghwa to join us for the tourney," yeosang grinned, but his eyes were fixed on you. "ever since seonghwa left the eyrie, he's kept himself locked away in the north. something about awaiting the north's treacherous winters at winterfell.”

you'd heard the venom laced in yeosang's tone as he spoke. it was not well-hidden, or perhaps you have gotten quite good at picking up on the changes in yeosang after so many years in his vicinity.

you knew of house park, known for their honor and their generosity. the winters up north were long and treacherous, and you did not fault him for remaining in winterfell to help his kingdom last through it. division would bring ruin to any kingdom, but especially to one living under such harsh conditions.

still you focused on the mention of san and the venom in yeosang's expression. you frowned at yeosang, searching his expression for a moment. when he met your inquiring gaze, his smile grew sly. you'd frowned as you said, "why would san have any sway over park seonghwa?"

yeosang let out a small laugh. he said, "seonghwa was fostered in the vale when he was eight years old. jongho and san spent many years there under house lim’s care as well. in fact, jongho and san have quite a long history with seonghwa. rumor has it jongho is smitten with him, though i would not dare repeat such slander."

"oh," you were surprised, and yeosang latched onto to it. you could see it in the way the corner of his mouth tipped upwards and his eyes glinted under the setting sun. you shook your head, "right. why is he here then?"

yeosang pursed his lips. his grin slipped into a steely expression, "i have no idea. diplomacy, perhaps?"

you did not believe him. kang yeosang knew everything. his father was not the only resourceful kang.

you'd rolled your eyes, and yeosang only grinned, shrugging. the conversation ended when hongjoong entered, his jousting armor and helmet gone, his long white-blonde hair tied back into a neat knot. he was spotless, his rings glinting in the setting sun as he held his arms out in greeting, smile all teeth. his eyes fell on you first, lingering briefly before his gaze slid to his friends. he did not look at you again.

that night, hongjoong placed a warm hand at the middle of your back, and he waved mingi over. his gaze never met yours, but his thumb settled into a small pattern along the middle of your back. even through your robes, his hand was warm. you had a bit of ale in you. that was why you did not stiffen the way you should have. at least that was how you planned to explain away the feeling the next morning.

you only stiffened when hongjoong called for mingi a second time, pulling him from a conversation with yeosang. mingi sauntered over, entirely too sober, and hongjoong grinned, his hand flat on your back, unmoving, "ser mingi, take y/n to our chambers so they may rest."

you'd blinked at the demand. the dismissal.

mingi only bowed.

you glanced yeosang's way, and he waved to you, a toothy grin gracing his features, his cheeks pink from his ale. he raised his mug to you in mock salute. you'd looked away.

your gaze slid to san then. it often did, whenever he stayed at the red keep. and he would always react the same. san only ever returned your glances with blank, unreadable eyes. like he was a stranger, as you asked. you met seonghwa's gaze over their shoulders. over hongjoong's shoulder.

seonghwa hovered, separate from the rest of the group, where he merely observed the scene in front of him. something about him brought irritation to the pit of your stomach. he was fostered, yeosang had said, and you knew that in an ideal world, without the mad king's twisted intentions, that would have been your fate instead of the glorified hostage you had been delegated to.

fosterage and wardship were two sides of the same coin. however, where you were a hostage, never meant to return to sunspear no matter if you fell to your knees and begged for it, seonghwa could. fostered children were free to travel between both kingdoms as they pleased once they turned of age. a fostering was what you believed you’d been walking into at four-and-ten.

perhaps the bubbling tension in the pit of your stomach was something of a rage. or perhaps, when hongjoong glanced back over at seonghwa, and you caught a twinkle in his eyes and a familiar darkness, a familiar want, you knew the tension at the pit of your stomach was something else, something close to concern, close to understanding that hongjoong wanted creatures of the sun and the stars, and that his greed knew no bounds. he had a creature of the sun, and now he wanted a creature of the moon. he wanted, and he took, no matter the consequences, and he was not above ruining those very same creatures for it.

you met seonghwa's dark eyes once more, and he did not smile. he truly reminded you of the moon when it sat highest in the night sky. bright, silent, and so bitingly cold.

"go on," hongjoong said, pushing you in mingi's direction, his fingertips brushing down your back, a featherlight touch.

hongjoong did not have to say it for you to understand. celebrations were in order, and you were not invited. you were dismissed.

how dare he dismiss you? a voice that sounded eerily like hongjoong whispered at the back of your head. you did not entertain that voice, as you would not entertain hongjoong.

you'd only nodded, catching a flash of disappointment flit through hongjoong's expression. the ale brought a vindictive thought to you head. a vindictive, as he should be, as you'd taken your leave.

that night, in the empty hall leading to your chambers, something you could only describe as a beast reared its ugly head from the pits of your being. you'd come to a halt and you stared at mingi's retreating back. you called after him, your quiet voice echoing off the high walls, "can i ask a favor of you, mingi?"

your voice sounded emptier, different. you often looked in the mirror and wondered if you'd been reborn a new person when you'd wedded hongjoong. a tiny voice at the back of your head would always respond, not when you wedded hongjoong. when they left.

mingi's boots stopped thumping. his tall figure seemed to slump under your words, as if he could feel the weight of them. perhaps he could. perhaps your words were heavier than you gave them credit for. his armor no longer clinked.

he'd merely turned, and looked to you. his arms hung at his side, and his eyes bore into your skull.

"have you heard of 'the dornish man'?" you asked.

"do you mean the tavern at west end?"

you'd nodded.

"why?" mingi gave no warnings that the tavern sat nestled between brothels and seedy inns, nor that hongjoong would have his head if you two were caught beyond the walls of the red keep without his knowledge. he only wanted to know your reasons, the question hanging over you two. it clawed against stone walls. it rang high and true. over and over and over. it rang in your ears. it burrowed in your skin.

you should tell him the truth, but you could not. you would not. you thought of the bloodied man hongjoong had maimed during the tourney. all the others before that knight. the thoughtful kindness in seonghwa's eyes as he spoke to san, when he met your gaze as you were dismissed. the anxious bubble at the pit of your stomach as you looked on. as hongjoong's smile stretched across his face when he met seonghwa’s eyes. you thought of your brother holding you, his voice as firm as his touch, you are the spouse's heir.

so, instead you said: "i miss my home."

you looked up at him, softened your brows, and when you met mingi's gaze, he faltered. he faltered as you knew he would, and perhaps you were evil for the way you made your voice tremble and your brows furrow, but you would not allow yourself to falter. not tonight.

mingi's jaw clenched as he looked away. his armor clinked as he dragged a hand through his messy dark hair.

"i only need you to cover me. you do not need to join me," you said.

the silence after you spoke was tense. you did not move.

finally mingi said, "letting you go to the west end alone would only worry me more."

you'd blinked at him. you expected he would not give in, that he would not allow you to push him even just that bit. you certainly did not expect such an admission. all you could say was, "oh."

mingi sighed as he dragged a hand through his dark hair, "two hours. that is all we have."

you nodded, grinning, and mingi's lips twitched up into a small smile of his own.

~.~.~.~.~

the streets of king's landing was not as thrilling as you remembered it with hongjoong. you slipped through the crowds and sidestepped merchants, pickpockets, and drunks alike, following mingi so closely your nose brushed against his back whenever he came to a sudden stop - he removed his outer armor and stashed it in the closet hongjoong had the servants clear for you, donning a simple brown cloak. mingi looked younger without his kingsguard armor and cloak. your heart constricted at the thought. still, you found yourself moving forward.

you could have told him to turn around at any moment. that was what stayed with you most on that journey. you had plenty of time to turn back, to not drag a well-meaning mingi into your plans, to remain a shadow in the red keep for the rest of your days while hongjoong did whatever he wished.

but you did not, and you would not have, and as mingi looked back at you over his shoulder, his dark eyes always vigilant, there was a glint of knowing lingering there as his gaze met yours. he'd raised a brow, and you'd smiled, and mingi merely nodded to himself. you recognized the brothels and the alley as you drew closer, and when mingi opened the door to the tavern, you stepped up the creaking stairs with your heart lodged in your throat and your fingers curled around the fabric of your cloak, limbs filled with nervous energy.

you both stood at the threshold to the tavern, and not an eye strayed your way when you entered. the tavern was filled with the harsh stench of cigar smoke, a hint of grilled meat, and the usual staleness of old mead, and though your heart was lodged in your throat, you knew right then that you'd stepped into this new role and there was no backing out. not now.

mingi took a seat at one of the tables, and you gestured to the bar. he waved you on, but his eyes remained on your back. you leaned against the bar, and the barkeep was a familiar face. the owner hongjoong had pointed out earlier. his skin was like yours - no longer kissed by the sun as it once was, but still different from the rest of king’s landing’s patrons, still so obviously dornish - and his hair was like yunho's. his smile was a sweet, playful thing, like wooyoung. your heart leapt against your ribs.

he truly looked as dornish as they came, bright traditional robes and all.

the thought only pressed you closer to the bar, your fingers curling around the edge of the wooden table.

since the wedding, you'd returned to writing shallow letters to your brothers and parents through lord kang and his council. sometimes, you'd lie awake in hongjoong's too big bed and wonder if you'd died the morning your family boarded that ship and crossed the sea to sunspear without you.

half of your heart, half of your soul, half of your wit, half of your patience, half of you, it had had all gone with them, you knew, tucked under wooyoung's waving arm and yunho's melancholic smile. you laid on your side too often, watching hongjoong sit beside melting candlelight as he perused through documents, his back always to you, and you started to wonder who you'd become because of it. before the wedding, you would have never thought to push mingi's boundaries just because you saw a hint of care in his eyes. you would have never left the red keep in the dead of night. nearly two name days later - you were no longer sure of the exact day, if you were honest - you were doing everything you would never have done prior to this.

the barkeep met your gaze, and his eyes widened in what you hoped was recognition. he dipped his head in greeting as he made his way over to you, throwing a rag over his shoulder. he leaned forward and said, "welcome to the dornish man. how may i help you?”

his eyes bore into yours, his smile crooked. you swallowed your nerves and lifted your chin, meeting his gaze straight on with a resolve you had not mustered in quite some time. it filled you like a fire, like the fires from hongjoong's dragon or the greenfire that the mad king used to burn so many at the stake. you said, "what would you recommend?"

you tilted your head as you watched the man contemplate you. a small smile crept upon the man's lips as he seemed to decide something right then.

"hmm," his eyes twinkled, "may i recommend our sunspear special? it is a mango dish rumored to be the prince of dorne's heir's most coveted dish. he requests for it every evening, i've heard."

your sweetest summers were spent with yunho and wooyoung climbing mango trees. each of you would pick the reddest of mangoes, and you'd sit with your knees knocking against each other as you peeled them with yunho's blunt silver dagger, your fingers sticky with the sweet juices, the soft fruit melting on your tongue. the juices would often run down the corners of your mouth and you'd wipe it with the back of your hand and wooyoung would call you disgusting and you'd wipe your hands on him in response. yunho would laugh his belly-ache of a laugh.

every summer you'd ruin your clothes with ripened mangoes and blackened dirt. the three of you knew your mother would scold you for it later, but in the summer your mother stayed in her chambers or the gardens and all that remained in those moments was the sweltering heat and the sweet taste of mango on your tongue. it was always one of your favorite times of the year. wooyoung used to bounce on his toes as he rushed you and yunho to the mango groves. yunho often indulged wooyoung in his insistent shouts to race there. you'd watched them run on ahead, and you'd waved off the call from your mother to return before sunset as you walked after them.

the summer before you left for king's landing, when you were three-and-ten, you and yunho sat beneath the shade of one of the tallest mango trees, the soft sweet aroma of ripened mangoes filling the air. the two of you watched wooyoung climb along the branches of one of the trees, tugging himself up onto the tallest branch before he nestled between the trunk and its branch, his neck craned as he stared at the blue sky. the crimson color of the mango in his hands glinted brightly under the summer sun. one could mistake it for a jewel. yunho's voice drew your attention from wooyoung, his voice soft as the summer breeze. he asked, "do you think we will ever grow too old for this?"

"for what?" you'd blinked at yunho's melancholic tone, "picking mangoes?"

"no," yunho shook his head, gesturing vaguely around him, "for all of this, y/n."

a crease formed between his brows. you'd always hated the way worry contorted yunho's features into something unrecognizable. it never looked right on him, no matter how often you've seen such a look on him since he started his heir studies with father.

yunho sighed, "for each other."

you'd frowned, "we'll never be too old for each other, idiot."

you expected yunho to reprimand you or toss a mango pit at you. instead he only slumped further against the tree trunk behind him, his brows contorting into something dreadful.

"i am destined to be the heir, and woo will lead our armies, and you will..." he'd trailed off, frowning once more. his eyes welled with tears, and your eyes widened at the sight. wooyoung showed sadness, even you did, but yunho? not since he learned of his future calling. you watched as he blinked away his emotions, as he straightened, his back rigid. as he took the form of the pillar he believed he needed to be. it was a habit he'd picked up over the years, that wooyoung was beginning to pick up too. perhaps you were, as well.

"i'll be here, too," you scooted closer, bumping your shoulder against his, "i know my talents do not lie with pretty words or complicated strategies or with the sword like you and woo, but i'll find something useful to do so i can help you be a good prince to dorne. i have time to figure that out, and so do you. i understand you worry, but you do not have to, yun."

you bumped his shoulder harder this time, and he pouted at you, rubbing his shoulder. he did not say anything. he only stared down at his lap.

at the time, you had not understood what he'd known, and for years you did not. but you'd laid awake too often replaying and picking apart every memory you've ever had to not have realized that yunho knew you were going to be sent away. the guilt in his eyes was as clear as day now that you remembered, years later, and you hated your father for placing such a burden on him.

at the time, yunho always worried, and both you and woo teased him relentlessly for it. but you knew that sometimes it affected him more than he ever let on. sometimes, you sat with him and let him worry until his expression morphed into the face of creature you never recognized. you knew that was because he always came back. as you did. as woo would.

so, at the time, you'd reached for his hand and threaded your fingers through his worried fists, ignoring the picked skin of his fingernails, and you said, "most importantly, i'll be here every harvest season to climb the mango trees with you both. you're both awful at climbing anyway."

you'd gestured with your chin in wooyoung's direction, and you grinned as you watched wooyoung struggle to climb down the tree, mangoes spilling from the sling he'd looped around his neck, his curses echoing through the grove. you turned, nudging yunho, waiting for a giggle. it did not come. you remembered faltering at the sight of yunho blinking rapidly at the sight, his chin trembling the slightest bit. you only squeezed his hand.

he closed his eyes, and took a shuddering breath. he returned to the yunho you knew as he wiped at his cheeks with his free hand, and when he met your gaze again, he was all kind eyes, the sun shining off his dark brown, his smile amused.

he said, "perhaps climbing mango trees is your only true calling, y/n."

you'd scowled at him, and he threw back his head and laughed, and wooyoung plopped onto the ground in front of you both, covered in dirt, leaves caught in your hair, mangoes tumbling from his arms, ignoring your admonishments that he was bruising the fruits, and that day returned to the soft, hazy summer afternoon you often basked in.

you were three-and-ten when you'd spent your last summer picking mangoes with your brothers, despite your promise.

the memory made you stare at the barkeep, your heart pounding against your ribs. your voice was small to your ears as you asked, "a mango dish is the heir's favorite?"

the man dipped his head, "so i’ve heard. our mangoes are sweet as well. they are in season after all."

and in that moment, you allowed the hope in your chest to thrive. you allowed yourself to nod. to feel a sliver of hope for just a little while. it’s been years since you had.

the barkeep placed the dish in front of you, and the faint scent of mangoes reminded of you hazy summer afternoons and an unkept promise.

the barkeep said, "would you like me to place any special orders to dorne? it appears you, like me, miss our home quite a bit."

"do you deliver letters?" it was bold, but you were never one to beat around the bush.

the barkeep outright grins. he said, "woo said you had no patience for pretty words and riddles. i did not know your patience would run thin so quickly."

you'd blinked. "you know -"

"my name is yeonjun, your grace," the barkeep murmured, "and i only serve dorne. your letters will remain sealed among our shipment requests. lucky for us, the lords, lieges, and ladies of king's landing have taken a liking to dornish cuisine. i've made quite a number of shipments since i've opened."

you'd grinned, you could not help it. you knew you could not trust yeonjun yet, and you already knew you would need to confirm your brothers were receiving your letters before you truly let yourself believe in this opportunity. you knew you were not in the clear quite yet, but yeonjun's grin was an infectious thing. you'd grinned and grinned, and for the first time since you were a child alone in westeros, you had a channel of communication with your brothers that remained only yours.

~.~.~.~.~

"do you feel better?" mingi's voice was quiet in your empty chambers. he'd donned his armor in your chambers. the clinking of his armor as he tightened the plates had been the only sound between you both. you hadn't said a word since you left the tavern, since mingi picked at the mango dish with a small frown gracing his features, since he brought you back to the red keep.

you peered up at mingi. he towered over you, as he always did, his hair a mess of black, yet his brown eyes were unbearably tender. the guilt inside you reared its head once more, but you shoved it away. mingi knew you were asking him for favors that could get him in trouble. you were not holding a sword to his neck and demanding such things from him. you doubted you'd win in a sword fight anyway. you were not forcing him to help you, so you did not need to feel guilt.

you'd nodded. mingi's smile was the gentlest thing you'd seen in a while here in king's landing. it was the sea lapping against port, the way the horses in the stable would neigh softly as they tucked their heads against the stableboy's palm, and the way hongjoong rubbed his thumb along the crown of his dragon and the soft rumble that followed would remind you of a cat’s purr. mingi’s smile held all the little moments of gentleness you've witnessed here. it curled around your heart.

it was suffocating.

he placed a warm hand on your shoulder and he said, "i'm glad i could be of help, your grace."

you shouldn't encourage such gentility. yet, you knew you needed to solidify this moment. you needed this gentle mingi on your side. you needed his care for you to fuel him. so you pressed your hand over his. he stilled.

you said, "you always are of great help to me, mingi."

he blinked at you, before he turned away. his fingers curled into a fist, even as he bowed deeply before you, even as he hurried from your chambers. he left, and you refused to let your heart feel heavy.

but, you do not sleep.

~.~.~.~.~

that same night, hongjoong returned smelling of honeyed mead and sour ale, of sweat and smoke. of fire, really.

he stumbled through the room. you watched as he tore his shirt and tossed it into the darkness. he did this often when he returned after he believed you'd gone to bed. you'd always wondered why he did not light a lantern and stumbled in the dark.

he turned suddenly, as if he could feel your gaze on him, and when you met his gaze in the dark, you could only make out shadows.

he stood frozen, so you said, "just light a candle. it helps neither of us listening to you bumble about like an idiot."

there was a beat of silence. you could not make out his expression.

then he laughed. it's a soft thing that bounced off the high ceilings. you heard the strike of a match moments later.

the light of the candle on his desk was dim, and it took a moment for your eyes to readjust to the new lighting. the candlelight lit up his features. his eyes drooped, a heady drunken look to him that reminded you of the night of your wedding. you watched him stumble, until he reached for the ties of his pants. he paused, and your eyes flicked up to his, heat flooding your face when he grinned. he continued and you scowled, flipping over, only for his chuckle to echo in your chambers.

perhaps it was the remnants of the ale from the tourney, or the remnants of the adrenaline of sneaking out of the red keep and finding a channel of communication that was finally fully yours, or purely the inability to sleep, but you found yourself speaking quietly as you stared at the stone wall opposite you. "you had no right to dismiss me the way you did tonight.”

"hmm," hongjoong hummed, and it was closer now. you did not turn around, your fingers curling around the pillow at your head. "then why did you not stay?"

you frowned, shooting up to a sitting position. you turned to glare at him, and he remained where he had been earlier, though now he was fully dressed in his sleeping robes. "you wish for me to undermine you?"

he shrugged, as he stepped closer to the bed, twisting at the rings on his fingers, "undermine me? not quite. try to undermine me? perhaps."

"you're a right idiot," you'd shook your head, ignoring the way he stepped closer, the way he took a seat at the foot of the bed. "i am being serious, hongjoong."

"i am the picture of serious," hongjoong said, his words slurring the slightest bit.

"clearly," you'd sighed, said, "go to bed, hongjoong. you're drunk."

it was all too reminiscent of that night. despite that night being so long ago, it lived in your head, clear as day. you'd rolled your eyes at the way he raised his brows. you laid back down, turning your back to him. perhaps, that is a testament to how accustomed you've become to hongjoong's presence. you could turn your back on him without feeling like prey. you were unsure when that had started.

another moment passed before hongjoong's low voice drifted through your chambers, "if you did not wish to be dismissed, all you had to do was say something. if you do not like something, tell me."

you'd flipped back over, your fingers curled around your pillow as you looked down at hongjoong, who remained seated near your feet. "why?"

"you're my spouse, whether we like it or not," hongjoong muttered.

"'we'?" your voice sounded muffled to your own ears, "and here i thought it was just me who disliked this arrangement."

hongjoong tilted his head at you, his brows raised, questioning, waiting. oftentimes you wondered how he knew that you had more to say before you'd even said it.

you said, "i saw you falter during your match. you'd never been so distracted before."

hongjoong loved to say he would not be like his father, but you'd heard the rumors of his father's adultery. it went so far that the queen had to dismiss members of her own court, one of whom was rumored to be yeosang's mother. you watched as he scooted up the bed, as he reached out and pressed his fingertips to the burn scar on your arm, as he said, "i see the way you look at san, y/n. is it not the same?"

"is it?" you asked, frowning. san was hope to you, he was opportunities and a life lost. was park seonghwa the same to hongjoong? why did it concern you if he was?

hongjoong drew warm circles around your burn scar, each stroke softer than the last.

"be careful, y/n," he murmured, "you're beginning to sound rather jealous."

your stomach turned as he chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

"i do not care for your indiscretions," you scoffed. "i care that you dismissed me for another when our arrangement is meant to benefit us both.”

you did not want to revel in his statement. you did not want to admit to it. you did not want to delve into the thoughts that came after that green monster at the pit of your stomach, the wondering at hongjoong's greed, nor the moment of worry you felt for park seonghwa, despite everything. all hongjoong would ever know of was that you did not care. he would believe you did not care, and so would you. until the end of your days.

"are we supposed to benefit each other now?" hongjoong raised a brow.

"we could," you said, your eyes fixed on his. "we do not need to be friends, but -"

"we can be allies," hongjoong finished with a small, amused smile. you remembered the other night, when you'd had a conversation like this. he wanted you to beg that night. you'd refused, and you would refuse again. you would refuse until the day death came knocking at your door.

you'd nodded, "something like that."

"will you beg for it, then?"

you'd laughed, knowing he'd have the insolence to ask such a thing once more, but you found there was no venom bubbling at the pit of your stomach this time. perhaps it was his tone, the jest in it ringing between you both. you said, "not even if you held a knife to my throat."

"oh, wouldn't that be quite a lovely sight?" hongjoong murmured, and you were quite aware of the fingers on your skin, the proximity, the way your own fingers tightened around your pillow. the rough pad of hongjoong's thumb circled up to the crease of your elbow, "where do we go from here, then, y/n?"

you shrugged. where do you go from here? he was an unstoppable force, and you were an immoveable object. you would not be the one to concede. you refused.

but perhaps you could wield his power if he believed you on his side, then you could find other channels of communication you could call yours. you could have more than just yeonjun and his tavern. you could have more than just mingi to do your bidding.

"i need trust," you admitted, with a shuddering breath. it was never something you thought you'd tell him. not hongjoong. maybe it was easier to admit such a thing in the darkness, under melting candlelight, without the sun bearing witness to your admissions. "i need to be able to trust you."

can i ever trust him? you thought, and the answer was so wholly there. no, you could not. no, you were of dorne, and he was of king's landing, and he would not allow you to step foot in dorne again, let alone sunspear. you could not trust him. but, you slept with your back to him too many nights to count already. and you looked to him first when his father called you both to the courtyards for his executions. he was yours to benefit from. you could not trust him, and you would not, but you did not fear him as you once had. perhaps, that was a step in the right direction.

his finger stilled against the smooth skin of your burn scar, and he said, "do you want to know the first thing my father taught me?"

you'd blinked at the sudden question, watching hongjoong. he stared at your scar for a long moment, his fingers still. you shook your head.

"the word dracarys," hongjoong said, "it is from the old language. it is a command to our dragons to breathe fire. to burn everything. when i was a very small boy, my father called me to the pit. i never went there often, since there were so little dragons left and my father and his maesters wished to keep the dragons isolated. father insisted there was a matter he wished for me to resolve. at the time, i was excited that i was needed by my father. when i arrived there was a servant girl in the pit, no older than two-and-ten. just a few years older than me. she was pregnant, that much i could tell."

you watched as hongjoong's hand fell from your scar. his gaze was hardened as it met yours. he said, "the council was there that night as well. my father and his small council had her stand in the middle of the pit. she was dragged in the way you were, still in her sleep robes. i recognized her. even a small boy is privy to the red keep's rumors, y/n. my father bedded too many to count, and oftentimes it went ignored. this girl would not have been ignored. so, my father told me to say the word he taught me, and… and i did."

your nails dug into your palms as you laid there, your gaze fixed on hongjoong. "why are you telling me this?"

"isn't that where trust starts? from stories of the moments that made us who we are?"

"yes," you said, "i think it should."

hongjoong paused. you did not speak further. he expected a story from you. he expected something. perhaps even sympathy. you would not concede. you could only wonder for the poor servant girl, wonder if hongjoong would in fact burn a little girl alive without his father’s directions. you wondered often who he'd broken over the years, and as you laid in his bed you wondered if he would burden you with all he has ruined one day, in the name of trust.

finally, hongjoong nodded as he pushed himself off the bed. he reached over, and brushed hair from your forehead. his fingers lingered. you did not push his touch away. you only watched him as he did so. his dark, tired eyes flickered over yours as he murmured, voice sweet as honey, but laced with an edge that always lived in hongjoong no matter what, "we'll take it slow, then."

you watched as he blew out the candle and made his way to his bed.

~.~.~.~.~

the letter yeonjun returned to you was unsealed, untampered, and real. you knew this because of yunho's response, a simple perhaps climbing mango trees is not your only talent, little sibling, and his unbroken wax seal. it was him. it was untouched, and it was him, and you could not contain your excitement.

mingi had handed you the letter in the library, and after you'd brushed your fingers along the seal - the symbol of your house, a sun with a spear through it - and read yunho's words, fingers tracing over his inked writing, you'd tossed your arms around mingi, drawing him into a tight embrace.

mingi had stiffened in surprise, though he'd steadied you by the waist, his armor cold under your touch.

you caught yourself too late, stepping away with hurried apologies, embarrassed. mingi shook his head, his cheeks reddening, "it is all right, your grace."

it became a routine of sorts, to write your letters, and have mingi escort you to yeonjun's tavern. sometimes, he'd take the letters on his own. you would press a hand to his arm, or the top of his hand, and you'd thank him. mingi would hide his blush when you did. you'd feel awful for it, but the letters were enough to quell that guilt. you'd do it over and over again, despite the guilt.

yeonjun introduced you to the owner of the brothel across the street, a slight, beautiful woman with an air of regality to her that many speculated the origins of. she went by the name irene. you called the doe-eyed children she sent all about king's landing as her eyes and ears her little birds. she smiled at the phrase, but she smiled wider at the gold you promised her in payment. a contract, you’d both called it.

mingi did not trust her. you trusted her less than you trusted hongjoong, yet mingi seemed to think otherwise. still, despite his clear disapproval, mingi said nothing to you. he gave you irene's correspondence without question, and he gave her the gold you'd written off hongjoong's maester's ledger without batting an eye. mingi would ruin everything he had for you, that much you could tell.

but you did not stop on your new path.

instead, you stopped sleeping through the night.

~.~.~.~.~

the mountain that rides. lord kang's mad dog. most call him the mountain.

lady irene's words remained with you long after you'd read them, long after you'd tossed the letter into the library fireplace and watched it turn to blackened ash.

you’d gone about your day mulling over her words. now, you stood under the shade of a peculiarly bent tree with yellow blooms as bright as the gold of house kang's banners. the queen loved her flowers and trees, and this one in particular grew well even as executions took place beneath her blooms more often than not.

today, the tree oversaw outdoor festivities. the mad king was quite generous with his death sentences, but he was even more generous with his calls for celebration. spring was in full bloom, flowers sprouting throughout the kingdom, and that demanded for a spring festival.

you contemplated only for a moment, before you asked, "who is the mountain?"

perhaps, you should have learned to make your words prettier. you certainly partook in the kinds of games that required pretty words these days, yet you could care less when it came to having a sweet or sharp tongue.

yeosang stiffened beside you. you took a sip of wine from your cup as you watched him unclench his jaw, the taste sickly sweet on your tongue.

you both watched on as lord kang clapped a hand over hongjoong's shoulder, tilting his head, his smile matching yeosang’s as he spoke to hongjoong. hongjoong's stiff smile did not budge. the mad king was not here, as always, but his maester had gave quite a moving speech in his place, of westeros's greatest king and the dragons riding free, thriving, before food and drinks were announced shortly after. the mad king's presence would not be missed once the wine started flowing anyway. you took note when you'd entered that mingi, and a few of the other kingsguard, were not in attendance. you wondered often what the king did instead of attending his celebrations. you wondered often of the queen's fate. you had not seen her since your wedding. you had never had the chance to bond with her, but you worried for her. it was the same worry you felt in your chest when you first saw hongjoong lay eyes on park seonghwa. when hongjoong told you of the little girl he'd burned to ashes for his father.

"hmm," yeosang hummed after he caught his bearings, "dare i ask how you know of him?"

"you could dare," you said, tearing your eyes from hongjoong to meet yeosang's gaze. "clearly you know of him."

yeosang's gaze narrowed, but his smile was amused as always. "the mountain is father's new addition to the kingsguard."

his words were biting, but they matched what irene had informed you. at least she could be trusted, for now.

"i figured as much," you said, downing your cup of wine.

"you'd do well to stay away from him," yeosang's voice was low, but it brought you pause. you looked over your shoulder at him, watching his concerned gaze flicker over your face. kang yeosang and concerned did not quite match.

you raised a brow at him, amused, "now why is that?"

"do you think they call him 'the mountain' for fun?" yeosang sneered.

you rolled your eyes at yeosang's disparaging tone. he did not grin. in fact, the twinkle in his eyes was undetectable. he shook his head at you.

he said, "i do not know how you came upon such information, but, for your sake, for all our sakes, i pray you've guaranteed that thread cannot be traced back to you."

his warning left a bad taste on your tongue, exacerbated by the lingering taste of wine. you muttered, "i do not leave loose threads. i am not an idiot."

"i like to think you are not," yeosang said, "but it would do you well for you if the small council continued to believe that you were."

you'd frowned at him. even after establishing contact with yeonjun, you'd continued sending letters to your family through lord kang, if only to not raise suspicion. you assumed they’d continue underestimating your involvement, but yeosang's words implied that something had changed.

"do they have reason to believe i am, in fact, not an idiot?"

yeosang plucked a cup of wine from a passing servant, and placed it in your limp hands. his gaze flickered ahead, and you followed it. to lord kang. to the man dressed in kingsguard armor and a kingsguard cloak.

he towered over everyone, a beast of a man that had all the mad king's guests giving the man a wide berth. hongjoong was the only one who looked the man in the eye, his shoulders back and his chin held high, despite how far back hongjoong had to tilt his head to look up at the newly appointed knight. the knight's predatory expression, his unwavering eyes, and the way he only responded to lord kang’s instructions, left a chill beneath your bones, an acute sense of fear curling right down your spine. you knew right then that this man was the mountain - an apt name for a man like that - and that you did not want to be alone with him, ever.

“oh, sweet thing,” yeosang's hand brushed your elbow, drawing your attention to him. yeosang shook his head, his words ominous, "not yet.”

~.~.~.~.~

king's landing sustained itself off gold and whispers. secrets were not safe at court, and nothing ever went unseen. you should have known such a thing the moment lady irene introduced you to her little birds, some of whom were kitchen boys and errand girls and stablehands you'd seen too often in the red keep. she had eyes and ears in every nook and cranny. what was stopping the other lords, ladies, and lieges from doing the same?

you'd known the whispers well since you were four-and-ten. the people of king's landing did not view dorne kindly. even now, at something-and-twenty, they were a constant nuisance, trailing after you with terrible whispers wherever you went.

the rumors were particularly terrible after the king started preparations for your wedding to hongjoong. you and san had hardly kept your courting a secret, and you weren't the only one blindsided by the sudden arrangement to hongjoong. the whispers were harsh.

you'd tuned them out, mostly, but they still existed.

your refusal to give hongjoong your favor during tourneys was seen in good fun at first, but the whispers turned accusing very quickly. you were a sly fox, you'd heard from one of the ladies. prince hongjoong was kind enough, he was prince kim hongjoong, of course, so what was wrong with you to deny him?

you were seen downing too many cups of wine at king kim's spring festival. you were too familiar with the kingsguard, lord kang’s son.

the servants saw you leaving the library late in the evenings. you laughed too hard at one of the kingsguard's quips, lord song’s bastard son. you never laughed around prince hongjoong, the whispered accused.

prince hongjoong kissed the hand of lady jihyo of hightower at the tourney. surely, you were not working hard enough to keep his attention from others. what was wrong with you?

prince hongjoong left the celebrations too late. no one who loves his spouse would spend so long drinking ale so early in marriage. surely, you had said something to keep him away. you were not enough, you'd done something wrong, you were a fox, conniving, ungrateful, a who-

hongjoong raised a glass.

"a toast," he said, "to my father. may he remain healthy and strong. may he rule for many, many years to come. long live the dragons, long live king kim."

it would have amused you to no end, to attend the nameday celebration for a king who wasn’t even there, if the whispers were not so loud today, and the mood was not so damp.

the response to hongjoong's toast was half-hearted at best.

the king had certainly celebrated his nameday well; he'd beheaded half his upper ranked army officers the day before and hung their heads from the gates of king's landing. he’d done it based off suspicion of mutiny and a the beginnings of rebellion. king's landing had been quiet since then, eerily so. even the commonfolk could sense the tension.

the court bard waved his hand in response, and the sound of a fiddle filled the room, a jaunty tune that seemed to liven up the crowd better than the food and drink had. some took to the dance floor, prompting others to join.

you watched from your seat at the royal table above the festivities as members of the court shuffled to the dance floor, as wine flowed freely, and bouts of laughter echoed off the high ceilings. this was not the liveliest of dances you’ve attended, but it was enough for now.

some time after too many cups of wine, and a small brawl that had broken out on the floor - ser yuta and ser johnny had separated them before it could escalate into anything further - after the bard crooned as he swayed with his fiddle, the harpist strumming an angelic melody, after some ladies, lieges, and lords began shuffling out from the room and back to their beds, your septa beckoned to you.

you were too drunk, too, and you found that it was becoming a common occurrence for you. you slept better when you drank too much.

mingi helped you down the steps, and you'd grinned at him as he bowed exaggeratedly. you clutched his fingers.

the whispers were always whispers. though they were loud, they were never said to your face.

until that night.

"whore." the word was spat in your direction.

you'd known of that word since you were very little, and when news spread that you would not wed san, but rather hongjoong whore was thrown around more than your name. the hastiness of the arrangement was what made the court gossip.

you used to ignore it. you used to worry for how san would feel. or worse, how your mother would react if it ever reached her ears. your brothers. your father. you used to swallow your rage and let the whispers slip off your skin, pretending your skin was armor and you were left untouched.

mingi's hand went to the hilt of his sword, and his deep voice held an undercurrent of fury as he said, "how dare you speak to their grace in such a manner?"

but, by the gods, your skin was no armor, and you were everything but untouched. you were drowning in your rage and the whispers.

and the rage? the rage inside of you was a churning fire that clawed it's way out of you from the pit of your stomach. it burned right through you.

lord lim was an older man, a distant cousin to the kangs, and his family had deep roots in the royal army. one of the ten ranking officers who had been beheaded and put on display at the gates had been his nephew. his house fostered seonghwa, and hosted san and jongho when they were young boys. you knew this because you'd seen the note regarding family relations and condolences on hongjoong's desk.

the festivities continued all around you. drunk laughter, dancing, shouting, the bard cooing, drumbeats loud, rhythmic, the crooning of the harp and the fiddle. it all rang in your ears. the festivities continued, but your head was pounding.

lord lim laughed. his eyes were full of mirth. "my nephew is dead because the king believed he was plotting against the crown. the only person in this damned court who would plot against the king is you."

lord lim jabbed a finger in your direction. you should have left. you should have excused his treasonous words for grief-stricken rage fueled by drink, and excused yourself. you should have.

but you turned to him, and you said, "nothing you say is going to bring back your nephew. he is dead, and that is no fault of mine."

lord lim advanced on you, then, and fury and grief contorted his features into something ugly and monstrous. you felt the urge to laugh. his expression matched the feeling at the pit of your stomach. his displaced anger made you want to scream.

when he stepped towards you, mingi stepped between you both, his elbow braced as mingi shoved lord lim back. lord lim did not budge, his eyes fixed on you.

he hissed, "with the amount of times you’ve been passed around the red keep, you are no better than a common whore. you should have been the one hanging from the gates."

you opened your mouth, the rage at your stomach curling into your chest. you wanted to scream. wanted to take his displaced, irrational anger and toss it back at him. burn him alive with it. tear his mouth from his face with your bare hands. but you knew that his words only reiterated what the court whispered behind your back. you did not know what the public, the commonfolk, thought of you, but you knew the other nobles did not think highly of you. you did not know it was to that extent, and you never thought they'd say it out loud, but perhaps there was a first for everything.

only then did you realize how quiet it had gotten.

only then did you feel a hand on your back, heavy and warm, and a voice sharp as the edge of a sword.

“what did you say?”

lord lim spat, “you heard me.”

hongjoong shook his head, "guards, bring lord lim to the courtyard."

his words rang high and loud.

you turned, and hongjoong's gaze met yours. it was hard, angry, and full of fire. it was the same rage in your stomach, the same rage in lord lim's expression, but there was no grief there. he was merely cold fury.

lord lim protested as mingi grabbed lord lim's arms and yanked them behind his back, the other kingsguard drawing their swords. his shouts rang throughout the quiet room.

hongjoong turned to you, and he said, "do you wish to retire to your chambers, or do you wish to join me?"

you should have gone to bed.

your gaze followed mingi as he dragged a shouting, squirming lord lim behind him, the kingsguard following behind him.

you said, "i will join you."

despite the cold fury, a small smile tugged at the corner of hongjoong's lips.

the queen's yellow flowers were at their brightest, even under the moonlight.

hongjoong called for his dragon, and after a long moment, the wind picked up all around you. you looked up and his black dragon circled the courtyard as it prepared to land, it’s wings flapping. mingi tied lord lim to the very same blackened post his father tied so many others to before he used his green fire or his own dragon to execute them.

despite how quiet it was, the guests that were left lingered at the threshold to the courtyard. no one said a word, watching on in dread and anticipation. the distance made you feel strange. watched. revered. powerful. perhaps, simply feared.

hongjoong's dragon landed before you both, your robes whipping all around you. hongjoong's hair fluttered, his eyes glittering under the moonlight as he stared up at his dragon. up close, his dragon's black scales shone beneath moonlight, it's large, watchful eyes unblinking. the ground shook as it landed, and the crowd by the entrance to the courtyard stumbled back further into the fortress. further from you.

hongjoong stroked his dragon’s head, and it hummed in response.

hongjoong stalked closer then, to lord lim tied to the post, waving away his guards. lord lim looked small, kneeling in the middle of the courtyard the way he did. hongjoong said, "your words are treason of the highest order, lord lim."

"you cannot do this. you are not the king. you have no right!”

"but i am a kim, and i have a dragon.” hongjoong's voice, though low, shook with anger. "it's a shame you could not hold your tongue around my spouse, lord kim. now we shall decide whether you lose a limb or your life."

he looked over his shoulder at you, and he raised a brow at you.

you should have called him off. lord lim's voice broke with his cry.

yet, the rage in your stomach turned to something that resembled glee, and you kept your mouth shut. you did not shake your head, and that was permission enough.

hongjoong's dark eyes flickered over your face, his eyes softening for just a moment. then he turned back to lord lim, and he grinned, "it appears you will be reunited with your dear nephew after all.”

lord lim screamed and screamed.

his screams were cut off by a low, “dracarys."

his dragon's fire was so hot, you stumbled away, heat rolling off it in waves. the screams were loud. the loudest sounds in king's landing since the mad king executed those officers.

they rang and rang, like the crooning of the bard or the twangs of the harp and fiddle. they filled the air, much like the festivities had, but this time you did not have a headache.

your gaze flicked to hongjoong, even as he turned to you, his grin glorious, his silver hair fluttering in the breeze. his dragon left as quickly as it came, and hongjoong laughed as he watched it go.

the smell of burning flesh lingered in the air. the crowd was quiet, so so quiet.

your stomach flipped as hongjoong gestured back to the hall and said, "come now. there is more drink and food to be had."

you were not as disgusted by hongjoong as you thought you'd be.

as you should be.

and that realization would remain with you for the rest of your life.

~.~.~.~.~

"hongjoong?"

your voice drifted between you both in your dim chambers. you'd returned to your chambers shortly after the bard began to sing again. the crowd had already trickled away, and mingi had disappeared. when you stepped through the crowd of nobles, they parted like the sea, the fear in their eyes feeding the fire that always burned at the pit of your stomach. they parted for you as if they could sense the fire in you, and they were afraid they'd burn at the smallest of touches.

your stomach turned at the thought.

you'd hurried to your chambers, then, the kingsguard meant to escort you hurrying to keep up, and readied yourself for bed, scrubbing your skin to rid yourself of the scent of dragonfire and burnt flesh until your skin stung.

you laid in your bed, ceiling too far away, and the linens felt rough against your scrubbed skin.

hongjoong entered the chambers shortly after, and you listened to him quietly ready himself for bed, as if did not wish to wake you. he sat down at his desk and lit a candle. the warm glow of the candle filled the otherwise dark room. his back was to you, the candlelight casting a long shadow over your side of the chambers.

this was often the routine with you two. neither of you could sleep, you noticed, and hongjoong spent many nights bent over his desk, his back turned to you. you'd imagined piercing a knife through his turned back too many times. you wondered if he ever worried you would do such a thing. you spent many sleepless nights watching him work. neither of you ever said a thing. perhaps, it was an unspoken rule between you both. you knew for certain he could tell you were watching him. his back was never relaxed.

that night, you broke the silence with his name.

hongjoong froze, the sound of his pen scratching stilling. then it returned, as if the moment never happened. his voice was low, "i did not do it for you."

you'd blinked at the declaration, surprised. hongjoong continued to work, even as he spoke. his voice held a soft edge, a seething tone you knew was rage. you knew rage well, you've come to learn. "you are a kim through our vows. disrespecting you is treason."

"you did not have to kill him."

"my father would have killed him within a fortnight," hongjoong muttered. then he turned in his seat, his loose sleep shirt slipping as he turned, exposing skin and the sharp dip of his collarbone. he gripped the back of his wooden chair, the candlelight casting dark shadows and an orange glow over his features, hiding his expression. "did you want me to spare him?"

you laid on your side as you contemplated his question. his gaze flickered down your form as he waited for your response. lord kim’s words brought you fury.

so, you shook your head in response.

the corner of his lips tipped upwards at your admission, his fingers gripping the back of his chair. strands of silver hair fell into hongjoong's eyes, and he used his other hand to push it back as he said, voice barely a whisper, "good."

you tucked your hands underneath your pillow, if only to have something to do under his intense, almost knowing gaze. you should have been disgusted by the intimacy in this moment, but you found yourself enraptured by the softness in his voice, your eyes flickering over his turned figure. you found yourself voluntarily speaking to him. the anger you always felt for him was a muted thing. worst of all, you were left wondering why the guilt wasn't much much worse.

it should have been.

yet, your mouth was loose.

"i am terrified of spiders. the ones in dorne were bigger than my hands," you said, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "and wooyoung or yunho always killed them for me. when i was very little, i used to cry when they killed them. i never wanted them to die, even though i feared them."

hongjoong's feathery whisper caressed you like a finger against your cheek, "when did you stop crying when they killed those spiders?"

"i don't know."

a pause.

"will you cry tonight?"

it was such a simple question, but the tone he held, sincere and almost reverent, made your heart skip a beat.

you stared at hongjoong, a lump growing in your throat.

he broke away from your gaze first, his eyes flickering to his lap. when he met your gaze once more, he said, so quietly, so gently, you wondered if this was the same man you'd known since you were four-and-ten. he said, "you can, you know. if you'd like. i will not tease you for it."

it was strange to hear such kindness from kim hongjoong, but this was not the first time. perhaps between all his horrid decisions he was capable of being kind.

for a moment, you wondered if you could be vulnerable in such a way with him. if you could shed tears in front of him.

you shook your head quickly, cheeks hot, "i won't."

the thought of crying in front of him embarrassed you, more than anything.

he'd given you a brisk nod.

the silence grew awkward then, charged with an emotion you could not quite place. so you said, "good night, then."

you turned your back to him, staring at the wall instead.

hongjoong said, "good night, y/n."

he did not blow out his candle, his shadow dancing against the wall.

you did not sleep.

~.~.~.~.~

father is very sick, yunho wrote to you. i am scared worried, y/n.

~.~.~.~.~

you watched the letter wither in the fireplace, the edges of parchment curling before it turned to blackened ash.

you turned away, then, when the door to the library opened and the library's maester stepped through. he was not as old as most maesters, maester robes thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. he was not highly ranked, not like the grand maester who was elected by the conclave to serve the iron throne and the red keep and sat on the small council, but he watched over the grand library. judging from all the different metals adorning the chain around his neck, he was well-versed in many areas of study. the lead and black iron chains were what interested you months ago. they indicated the study of poison and black iron. maesters were not supposed to hold political allegiances, as servants to the realm.

yet, here maester haechan stood, with his sunkissed skin and perpetual wary expression.

you spent too much time in the library. you were bound to walk into something of substance. in fact, the other night you'd walked in on maester haechan in a uncompromising position with one of the king’s servants. in the past, you would have left immediately, but that night you'd cleared your throat. you'd made yourself known. the two men jumped off each other, not once meeting your eyes.

it took months to wear maester haechan down. you flipped through books, maester haechan glancing sideways at you when he thought you were not looking, and mentioned the moment offhandedly. you held your knowledge over him, knowing he would snap and come to you one day. you left a comment here of didn't all maesters take an oath of celibacy? and another there of how would the citadel react if they heard of such a transgression? and finally a pointed what about the grand maester? what would he think? before maester haechan slammed a book down in front of you, the chains around his neck rattling, and he asked, "what do you want from me?"

you'd merely shrugged. you made him stew in his anxiety.

tonight, he finally stood before you, and you asked, "what do you know of essence of nightshade?"

"it is meant to calm one's frayed nerves so they may sleep," maester haechan raised a brow, "but a high dosage can be fatal. and undetectable."

you hummed. you'd thought so, but the confirmation eased you.

"it seems you were already aware of that," his voice was quiet.

"i read about it and wanted confirmation. i have trouble sleeping at night and i've been told it is helpful," you said, with a shrug.

he eyed you skeptically, eyes too knowing, "is it only for you?"

no. you thought of hongjoong. you thought of how easily he'd burned a man alive, as he was taught when he was a boy. you thought of the way you'd felt drawn to the action, of the sheer amount of violence he was willing to display to protect your name. your father would not start a war for you, yet hongjoong would kill a man? the thought made your heart curl, and that was precisely why you needed this. thoughts like that needed to be cut off easily. put into a deep, dreamless, fatal sleep. you did not need to think of hongjoong in such a way. whether that was you who ended up that way, or hongjoong, it did not matter.

you needed this.

"of course, it is," you said.

the maester did not believe you, but he still nodded.

"and you do not wish for me to mention this elsewhere, i assume?"

"i should hope so. unless you want the red keep and the citadel to know you are an oathbreaker, maester haechan."

haechan poorly suppressed his grimace, "your request will be easy enough, your grace."

“and if i have future requests?”

haechan sighed, “i will do as you bid.”

~.~.~.~.~

mingi stood at your shoulder, while you knelt in front of a little girl in ragged scraps of clothing, her sunken eyes piercing as she covered her mouth and brought her lips to your ears.

"choi jongho has held three meetings in lady irene's brothels thus far. several nobles have been in attendance. the lims, the lees, the yuns."

"does lady irene know what for?"

the little girl shook her head.

you could not understand what for. you knew choi jongho was an honorable man, if san were to be believed, though rumor had it the man loved his drink more than he should have. however, even the most honorable ended up in brothels. it was an unspoken norm among nobles. you could not understand why jongho would host other nobles in a brothel. surely, there was more to it.

you'd nodded as you fished out a couple gold coins from your pockets and tucked it into her limp hands, "thank you, little bird."

the little girl only nodded before she stepped into the crowded street and disappeared.

you'd stood, readjusting your hood, and you said, "do you want something to eat?"

mingi shook his head. his eyes were still on the little girl, a distant look.

"then let us head back," you said, "hongjoong should be back soon."

your beloved spends quite a lot of time in my brothels, irene had told you once. you thought about that often, when you'd lay sleepless in your bed, and hongjoong would stumble in to your chambers drunk or smelling of smoke. he whispered stories of his childhood. amusing stories of his mother, mischief yeosang, hongjoong, mingi, jongho, and san had gotten up to, inconsequential things. sometimes, you shared stories too. of climbing mango trees. of hidden courtyards to bask in sunlight. it only ever happened in the dead of night, awash in darkness. when irene told you of her discovery, the ugly beast at the pit of your being reared it’s head once more.

you'd walked in silence, even as mingi gestured for you to lead the way up the winding secret passages you both frequented often.

right before you'd exited the passage mingi called your name.

you'd paused, and he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. his eyes were conflicted as he said, "you should end this."

"end what?" you'd taken your hand off the exit, and you both stood facing each other behind the tapestries. the corridors were narrow enough, but as mingi ascended the final step and towered over you, his armor clinking softly, you realized just how cramped the hidden corridor was.

"end all of this," mingi gestured around him, gestured at you, your clothes, behind him. "i speak to you not as a knight, or as your subordinate, but as your friend. this will all end in ruin, y/n. this is a dangerous game you are playing."

you'd frowned, "i am playing no games."

you were, but mingi did not need to know that. yeonjun, maester haechan, and lady irene could know you were, but for an inexplicable reason, you could not bear for mingi to find out that you were using him in any way. that you left lingering touches on purpose. that you looked up at him until he blushed for another reason. that you were playing a game, and he was one of the pieces you kept close.

mingi blinked at you, his brows furrowing.

you stepped closer to him. he watched your movement like you were opposite him in battle, and he was assessing your next move.

"i miss my family. ever since i came to king's landing, lord kang has opened all my letters. they cannot speak to me candidly in fear of saying something the king or small council will fault me for, mingi," you sighed. "i'm only doing this with yeonjun and the brothel so that i can keep in touch with my family, and keep myself safe. you have to understand that."

"but it is dangerous," mingi muttered, shoulders slumping. "what will become of you if you are found out?"

"i won't be found out," you said, tone adamant. you reached up then, and placed a hand on mingi's cheek. his eyes shot up to meet yours as you said, voice low, "and if i am caught, they will not blame you. i will not allow it."

he frowned. he relaxed into your touch, and your heart clenched as if he had reached into your chest and wrapped his fingers around it. he trusted you so much, despite everything. he had no reason not to. at least a reason that he knew of.

"i worried you'd say as much," he shook his head, "i cannot live with myself if you take all the blame."

you'd laughed, "it appears we've arrived at an impasse then."

a small smile tugged at mingi's lips, "it appears so."

"then we'll have to make sure that neither of us has to take the blame. we have to be extra cautious." you pat his warm cheek once before stepping back.

mingi broke eye contact, looking away as he dragged a hand through his hair. he bit back his growing smile, eyes serious, "more than that."

you agreed, "more than that."

mingi softened as he nodded, and the vice-like grip around your heart tightened once more.

~.~.~.~.~

"my favorite color is yellow," hongjoong said. he sat cross-legged on his chair, his arms folded over the top, his chin resting there. his billowy sleep shirt was thin, the candlelight illuminating the shape of him through the shirt. with his back to his table and his candle, his face was full of shadows, unreadable.

"like the flowers on your mother's tree in the courtyard?" you asked, in response. you lay on your side once more, your knees drawn close to your chest.

hongjoong was silent for a long moment.

you said, "you do not have to talk about her."

his mother was a sore subject. you hadn't heard from her since your wedding, but hongjoong stopped hearing from her shortly after. you often wondered what had become of her. you wondered if your fate would mirror hers one day.

"your mother reminded me of her," hongjoong said. “especially the way you two interacted.”

"do you resent your mother as well, then?" you'd never admitted that aloud.

hongjoong laughed, but it held no amusement. "sometimes, i do. other times, i only pity her. she deals most with my father, after all."

it was quiet once more, before you asked, "would you kill him?"

a pause.

"i don't know," hongjoong sighed, though there was a sharp edge to his voice, "if you were in my place, would you kill your father?"

"yes," you said, without hesitation. you thought of the mad king, with his sharp, long nails and the horrible things he's said to you and the way he looked at you as if you were scum beneath his feet. you grit your teeth, "i would kill him."

"so easily?"

"he'd deserve it."

you could barely see his expression under the shadows, but the way he tilted his head as he looked at you, the glint of a grin on his face, it brought chills down your spine. it was...fascinating.

"oh, how i wish you were in my place then," hongjoong murmured.

the conversation died away after that.

~.~.~.~.~

16,784. that is where our army's numbers currently stand, wooyoung wrote. it is our army, but most importantly it is yours, y/n. if you ever require it.

~.~.~.~.~

"where is he?"

you sat alone in the dining hall. at least you were alone until yeosang and mingi joined you, their armors clinking and their cloaks fluttering behind them. the king and queen always took dinners in their chambers. hongjoong would often join you for dinner, and surprisingly your conversations had become quite light, aside from a few pointed jabs from you both. neither of you could shake the habit, it seemed.

tonight, you had been alone.

until your escorts joined you.

yeosang gave you a lopsided grin as he brought his wine cup in mock salute, "is our company not enough, your grace?"

mingi frowned at yeosang's tone.

the chois were in the red keep - just to visit, they said, though you knew of the brothel visits - and so was park seonghwa. you'd heard the servants discuss sending dinner to the choi's guest chambers, as they wished to rest after a long afternoon of hunting with hongjoong. you heard nothing regarding park seonghwa.

you stared at your own wine cup for a long moment. the servants had left the hall after they'd served the food. finally, you lifted your gaze to mingi and yeosang, and you said, "he's with seonghwa isn't he?"

you meant to sound nonchalant, but your voice was too small, even to your own ears. since when did you care about such things?

yeosang leaned back in his chair, wine cup still in his hand, and he said, "does it matter?"

mingi's frown deepened.

you'd glared at yeosang, "hongjoong's dalliances ruin my reputation. that matters."

"at the end of the day, you are still the heir's spouse, and he returns to your bed," yeosang said, with a shrug. "nothing else matters."

you rolled your eyes, venom dripping from your tone, "you think so?"

"i know so," yeosang snapped back, his eyes narrowing. "if you make a problem of it, then you will become the problem. do you not understand that?"

"what the hell does that mean?"

"do you think the queen disappeared because she wanted to?"

mingi shook his head, "yeosang, stop."

"no," you glared at mingi, "yeosang, continue."

mingi pressed his mouth into a thin line.

yeosang looked genuinely sorry when he glanced mingi's way.

you pressed your hand to his elbow, his armor cold to your touch, "what are you implying, ser yeosang?"

yeosang glanced down at your touch, and though he could not feel your touch, he still shook your hand from his elbow. he downed his drink, his expression stony. his cold features turned colder as the moments slipped by. there was no kang amusement, no mischief, and it brought a chill down your spine.

worst of all, it worried you.

mingi cleared his throat, and you turned to him. his usually expressive brown eyes held a vacancy in them that made the perpetual guilt-ridden grip mingi had over your heart grow in side.

mingi said, "though the kingsguard acts as the queen's guards, y/n, we do not answer to the queen. we do not...owe the king's spouse anything. we answer to no one but the king," mingi turned his gaze to the ceiling briefly, as if he were lamenting the gods. you did not know mingi's beliefs surrounding the gods, nor how devout he may or may not be, but the sight of him take a deep, harrowing breath burrowed beneath your skin. it was a sight meant to haunt you. mingi certainly appeared haunted, his eyes returning to you, his hands curled into fists on the table. "we've heard many things over the years stationed outside her door. the king is...he is our priority. she made a problem out of the king's adultery, and the king dealt with her as he saw fit. now she remains in her chambers for a reason. if you've seen her...heard how she...if you knew...she's..."

mingi stuttered over his words, his jaw clenched, and his eyes glossed with tears. you'd never seen him cry. not once. it was not something you thought he was capable of, logical, kind, and watchful mingi, with walls as high as yours. if he was a terrible person, perhaps you would not feel so much guilt for the way you pushed his boundaries.

you hoped the mad king would not hurt the queen. perhaps it was wishful thinking, to think the man who would have married you off to a dead babe to spite your father had limitations. but you were wrong. the king had no limits, no one to stop them, not even the kingsguard. whatever the king had done to the queen, that left her bedridden, that seemed to leave devastation in mingi and yeosang even now, whatever it was should have terrified you. mingi's pain and your subsequent terror should have been the final reason to end your indiscretions.

to learn to resign yourself to your fate. to become the person you knew choi san and your brothers and your parents would pity. the person the seven kingdoms would one day sing pitiful songs of. the little bird trapped in their cage, left to a tragic fate, left to dissolve into the shadows, ruined, ruined, ruined.

the person you were before you'd wedded hongjoong would have ended everything. they would have stopped fighting for the sake of survival.

however, you could not help but imagine hongjoong ascending the throne one day, and continuing his father's legacy. you could very well face the same fate as the queen. no one would protect you if you did.

but that was not new. you'd known this since the moment you stepped foot on the shores of king's landing at four-and-ten. the part of you that dreamt of being rescued, of knights like the many you'd bestowed favors upon at tourneys, of your parents or your brothers, was merely the dreams of a child. you knew damn well no one in king's landing would protect you.

so why should you stop fighting? why should you stop? because of a little bit of guilt? because of a fate like the queen's?

besides the person you were before you wedded hongjoong was dead and gone when your family left a second time.

you would never step foot in sunspear again. you'd live in king's landing longer than you ever did in dorne. what did you have to lose anymore?

still, you said, "do you think hongjoong is capable of the same?"

mingi shook his head quickly. yeosang did not say anything.

"he is your friend," you frowned, frustration clawing it's way up your throat, under your skin, burrowing itself into ever nook and crevice like a disease, like the anger that always lived inside of you. "if you saw violence taking hold in him, you should have done everything in your power to keep it away. you sit here and warn me of possibilities when stopping such violence is your responsibility. not mine."

not mine, not mine, not mine. it echoed in your head, like the court's whispers. you did not mean to admit that the whispers that blamed you for hongjoong's misgivings bothered you. but you shook with your anger, and yeosang and mingi watched on as if you were a funeral pyre burning before their eyes.

"he is not violent." mingi murmured, voice breathy, "he does not want to be like his father."

you crossed your arms over your chest, looking from mingi to yeosang, "do you really believe that?"

"i want to believe it," yeosang sighed, his voice wistful, "hongjoong isn't a bad person. he's caring, and he remembers the littlest things. he sends medicine when he hears his friends are under the weather. he knows my favorite flower, and he wraps my name-day gifts with them. he sends san and jongho their favorite sweets when their mother's death day comes around. he cleared a space in the garden to commemorate mingi's mother, since lady song refuses to do so in the eyrie. he is...he cares, and he is so gentle, y/n, sweet even, when he is not angry." yeosang dragged a hand through his blond hair, closing his eyes, and perhaps this was the first time you'd seen him so candid with you. no kang amusement, no honeyed words. he speaks as yeosang. only yeosang. "but the mad king lives in his nature, and he knows it. he ruins things because of it, and i'm afraid it will set him on the exact path he despises."

you did not think yeosang thought highly of hongjoong. not truly. neither did you think hongjoong cared much for san, especially after san courted you. but perhaps, they truly were brothers, more than you'd ever accounted for. you'd known it ran deep, and longer than even your time at court. it ran through their fathers, if the chosen members of the small council was anything to go by, but you hadn't truly wanted to believe it. that a family existed in the red keep, found not made, while you were still so alone.

you should have fell in line that night and allowed the gods to determine your fate. the strength of their bonds, of how well they knew hongjoong, seeped into every word, and you should have taken it at face value. you should have stopped.

but you've become quite terrible at doing as you should.

"do you think he would," you hesitated, fingers curled in your lap, "...hurt me?"

mingi closed his eyes, turning to the gods once more.

yeosang twirled his cup in his fingers, the wine sloshing in his cup. he said, "hasn't he already?"

it was a quiet sort of acknowledgement you had not expected from kang yeosang, of all people.

hongjoong hadn't hurt you physically, but he'd taken from you for his own gain. he turned you into the type of person that pushed song mingi's boundaries just to see how far he would go for you, short of becoming a turncloak and betraying his king and vows. hongjoong turned you into this, and it was everything you did not want to be.

once upon a time, you dreamt of being kind. now, you were anything but.

to have that acknowledged brought a certain relief, but it also angered you. he knew of your pain, and he merely watched.

"you're right, ser yeosang," you said, swallowing the lump in your throat as you avoided eye contact with both yeosang and mingi. "it doesn't matter."

~.~.~.~.~

that night, hongjoong returned to your chambers smelling of amber and sweat and smoke. he shrugged his shirt off, his shoulder and chest blotched with reddish marks. even in the candlelight, you could see it. he did not say a word as he drew his bath and disappeared.

you'd turned away, but you could not sleep. it was not the guilt this time, but rather a heaviness in your chest. you ignored that heaviness, focusing instead on the part of you that wished to survive. if hongjoong found someone else to fixate upon, then your misgivings would not be so easily forgiven. the possibility was very real. you'd frowned at the wall as those thoughts ran rampant.

you startled when hongjoong's voice echoed through the chambers, "why don't you ever sleep?"

it was a simple enough question, but it made your heart beat faster. your palms were clammy. you were wracked with guilt. it was not a new feeling, but it continued to eat at your insides. you knew it would eat at you until there was nothing left.

you turned to face him. "why don't you?"

hongjoong's sharp features grew sharper in the shadows. when he rose, he loomed over you, his shadow creeping up over the wall and into the high ceiling. he truly looked the part of a god, the kinds of gods people feared.

you spoke before you took the time to think. you said, "is it because of the guilt?"

this was you you spoke of, but hongjoong's shoulders stiffened, and his looming shadow sunk back into him. vulnerability should not have suited hongjoong, and it truly did not. but you liked vulnerability on him. it bought you control you did not expect.

you clutched the sheets beneath you as you continued, "does it eat at you with every waking breath? do the faces of every person you'd burned or ruined or broke haunt you to this day, hongjoong?"

hongjoong stood so still, clenched fists at his side. your heart lodged in your throat, along with the lump growing there.

it was a strange thing, to understand the emotional turmoil kim hongjoong felt, despite everything. your words sawed its way into your gut the same way it did to him. it was ironic, truly, that the words you used to hurt him hurt you too.

you whispered, "or is it shame?"

"shut up," hongjoong growled.

you should have.

"oh," your laugh was humorless, "it is shame. do you finally feel a sense of shame when you look my way? when you return to our chambers still smelling like another?"

he stalked towards you then, one step, then two, then three, four, five, until he stood above you at the edge of the bed. his voice rang through your chambers, loud and sharp, "i said shut up."

"beg and i'll consider it," you mocked, anger curling at the pit of your stomach at his tone.

he grit his teeth, his dark eyes fixed on you.

you wondered if hongjoong would kill you where you sat. you waited, then, watching his every movement. the twitch of his brow. the curl of his fingers. the deepening of his scowl. that darkening in his eyes. time stopped, and you merely watched as he came back to life.

instead, he sunk to his knees, the bed dipping with the weight of him. he looked like he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and he would sooner let it cripple him then let it slide off his shoulders. he looked the personification of the anger and shame and guilt that always lived inside of you.

he lifted his head to meet your gaze, his shadowed eyes heavy with emotions you could not place. guilt, desire, shame, amusement, contradictory emotions. he mirrored your insides, you knew, and that was a terrifying thought. to admit that you were truly just like him was one thing, but to see it spread out for you like this? to find such a sight fascinating? by the gods, surely you were terrible for this.

"jealousy does not suit you one bit," his voice was rough, low.

"i am not jealous," you bristled. you were not, you should not be, you could not be. you were pushing him so you could survive. so he wouldn’t wander too far. there was nothing else.

"oh, y/n, are we still lying to each other?"

you'd deflated at his brow raise, though your grip beneath you, on the sheets, was still so tight. his eyes fell to your hands, before they returned to your face. he waited patiently.

you could tell him the truth, or you could aim to burrow your words deep under his skin and hope it lived there for eternity.

"yes," you said, "you will never have me as i am. you will never know me, no matter how many sleepless nights we spend sharing stories. you will never know what is the truth and what is a lie."

"i know when you're lying, y/n," hongjoong's voice was not unkind. it held an ancient exhaustion. "whether you like it or not, i know you."

"how could you possibly know me? you don't care for me. you never did," your voice trembled, despite your spite.

hongjoong laughed, then, and it was softer now.

his dark eyes carried the weight of the world as it settled on you, and your breath caught in your throat.

"i know that you always take sugar in your tea." hongjoong said, "i know that you always forget your heavy cloak because you do not wish to acknowledge the winters. your favorite color is green. an emerald green like the jewel. you are terrified of spiders, still. i know that you hate cucumbers. that your favorite flower is dragon's breath, and that is the only reason why you visit the godswood. you do not believe in the gods, new or old.”

your breath remained caught in your throat, and your fingers found purchase around your knees.

hongjoong reached out then, his bare fingers hovering above your cheek. he met your gaze, and you did not think about it when you nodded in permission. his caress was a light thing, barely there, but his fingers trembled. he pressed his palm to the underside of your jaw, cupping your cheek. you let out a breath as he dragged his fingertips along your skin, a breath you did not realize you were holding.

"i know that you adore the three legged mare the stablehands keep hidden during inspections. that you’ve been drinking more so you can sleep," he said, with the smallest of laughs, "and i know that you are afraid of me."

you shook your head, then, and you managed to say, "not always."

"that is not enough," hongjoong murmured, his silver hair falling into his eyes. his dark eyes fell along your face, from your gaze to your lips and back.

you should have pushed him away.

instead, you said, "i am not afraid. not now."

he leaned closer then, his silver hair brushing along your temples, his touch on your cheek warm. "and now?"

your heart knocked against your ribs. you shook your head, "no."

then he leaned even closer, his forehead resting against yours. he was so close, you could count his eyelashes. his silver hair tickled your skin. his touch burned, like fire. like the sun.

your heart stopped, and the silence in the room was deafening. you were afraid any sudden movement, any loud noise, would bring you both back to reality, that it would shatter whatever this was, as tentative and fragile as it felt. your gaze flickered from his dark eyes to his pink lips, and watched his jaw clench.

he breathed, "now?"

you shook your head.

"words, y/n," he murmured, his thumb tracing circles along your jaw, "i need words."

"beg for it, then," you mocked his words, matching his tone. a grin stretched across his face. all teeth and glinting, despite his hooded dark eyes.

one of his hands dragged down your skin, drawing circles and letters and words you would never be privy to along the skin of your neck, and you shuddered under his touch. he said, with an air of the kind of gentle care that left you breathless, "please." his other thumb brushed to the corner of your mouth, pressing into the soft skin as he repeated, gentle and desperate and wanting in a way that made your thoughts run blank, "y/n, please."

you turned your head, pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his thumb. his eyes tracked your movements. you knew because you held his gaze in yours.

you said, "i am not afraid of you, hongjoong. not anymore."

a lie.

his lips twitched upwards.

he knew when you lied.

he asked, "and if i were to kiss you? would you be afraid then?"

terribly so, you thought, and not because he was the son of the mad king, or because he was volatile. no, what you feared the most was the way you hung onto his movements with bated breath and your heart beat too fast at his touches. you feared you liked this - him - more than you should have. more than you could handle.

you only feared yourself, when you shook your head and said, "no."

when he pressed his lips to yours, you were caught by surprise not by the kiss, but by his gentleness. you kissed him back. he tasted of the remnants of sweet mulberry wine. he smelled of the soap and bath oils you both shared. you pressed up into him, deepening the embrace, and he cradled the back of your head as he maneuvered you into the bedsheets, and your fingers found purchase in his silver-blond hair. he gasped against your lips, and you could feel the grin there. his lips were soft and kind and everything you longed for since you stepped foot in the red keep. of kindness, of softness, of being held as if you were the most precious creature to exist. it made you breathless.

he broke away first, and you gasped for air, even as one of his hands pressed under your jaw. your own hands remained tangled in his hair. he tucked away loose strands of hair as he hovered above you, as he peered down at you. his gaze was intense, as if he was memorizing the sight of you like this, as if he was admiring you. the rough pad of his thumb dragged along your cheek.

he said, "i've wanted to do that since i laid eyes on you."

you'd blinked at his admission, your grip in his hair tightening. his thumb dragged down your cheek, down the length of your neck, down, down, down. he stopped just short of the hem of your shirt.

"keep going," you allowed, untangling one of your hands from his hair just to push it back from his face. just to cup his cheeks in your hands. "just...do not hurt me."

"i won't. i swear it," he promised, and the sincerity of it made something inside you wither. he dipped down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, and it left a fire in your heart. he said, with a grin and dark eyes, "if anything, you will be the death of me."

[racketballz]

I've got a question about your art (that I love so much it's killing me !!!), anyway. So, when you're coming up with your ppg/rrb, did you first come up with your concept before searching for inspiration or did you first looked for inspiration before coming up with your concept. By concept I mean, the way your wanted to draw them and by inspiration, I'm talking about... what inspired you (you even posted pics about it, like butch's haircut is 50's etc).

Jumpscare ahead but it was jus the natural progression of things and then I was staring at all of them and then I started to come up with a concept I could stick which is what the reference sheet it for!

I think this is the first time I drew him ever and I basically like took what the show had! It looks very UH BAD and I drew it like 2 times and I wa slike this looks dumb LMAO

And then this time lasted for a whilE there are maybe like oof 10 drawings with his hair like this emo situation I think because I wanted him to match buttercup?? Because I was kinda drawing her hair a little like that but tbh it was a default hair at the time because it’s an emo hair cut easy to draw

BUT THENNNNN I was thinking of them playing sports and he naturally needs to get hair out of his face so I gave him a headband! And then the pushed back was borned

SWIFTLY AFTER THIS I DIDNT DRAW THE GUY very often because I was stuck like something wasn’t sitting right with the design for me so my style changed quite a bit because I was drawing other stuff and my art got like really “messy” and sketchy so I was able to draw looser lines and I did a yearly beach greens at the time and I pushed his hair back and long hair isn’t functional for a guy like him so I gave him an undercut! When I first drew this I stared at this picture for a long time because I liked it so much

The concept of them going to the beach besides the anime beach episode that happens in TEF it also reminded me of like the 50s of a bunch of kids spring break-ing and just like having a good time idk how to describe but that stuck with me for a while and of course the beach chapter is like one of my favorites for this reason!

But then I started messing around with the concept at this point and butches hair turned into a pompadour with like a fade situation it’s a good shape it doesn’t get in his face for when he’s fighting but it does get messy and hairs come out in the front.

I combined aspects of the original design to make not too round because he’s a sharp guy so I added spikes in the back some hairs that simple don’t stay down I ran into some issues later on because I can’t do a pompadour shape from the front so I tweaked some stuff after the reference sheet even further but I enjoy drawing him the side because I think that’s where he looks cutest lol

Fake apologies for rambling butchs hair is my favorite part of my designs other than those mole 🥲💚

[alsoanyways]

@transgender-scout @1ight wait fuck now i have to compile them okay okay okay i have a feeling this is gonna get long so I'm gonna put it under a cut haha but for real thank you for asking!!

First things first! This is how I imagine the flock is able to disguise themselves. There's no going undercover at an actual school for them, but I don't think anyone's looking twice at a bulky coat, especially if it's set in the future. Not too far in the future though, still in the 21st century. I have no ideas for a plot restructuring or anything, I never read past Nevermore and I barely remember anything past the fourth book, so most of my headcanons are character dynamics and such. I do have some that aren't focused on the flock but not many. Anyways.

(also idk if most of this can even be considered headcanon bc its basically fanfic at this point)

A couple things I should've added to the design post are Toto's Total’s nonexistence (I'm sorry if you like him but I do not lmao) and the fact that their hair is feathers. Like those very fine and very long feathers that roosters get. The flock also doesn't develop superpowers.

In my version of things, there's a small town close-ish to the E shaped house. Far enough that no one in town is gonna drop by for a visit, but close enough to fly down to for some groceries, which they'd do after Jeb left and until the money was gone. I think he would've taught them how to forage for things and that's how they get by since then.

Max (21) isn't The Leader TM either, I think leadership is shared more with Fang/Friday and Iggy. She likes volleyball and usually the one to go foraging. She's never thought about it but if she did, she'd probably consider herself agender.

Fang/Friday (22) gets his name from a Friday the 13th DVD cover, Jeb thinks he wants to be called Jason when he first points to it. He used to help Nudge/Dora and Angel with their hair when they were little and still does occasionally. He likes to draw and he's the go-to when someone needs to be comforted. There's no way in hell I would let him be anything less than bisexual.

Iggy (20) is the one that probably hears Friday's voice the most. He was also taught braille and Jeb got them a labeling machine. He's still the best cook and he's very protective over the vinyls/tapes/cds in the house. He mourns the loss of them when they have to flee the house, but he is excited to finally have access to new music. He's also gay. Because I said so.

Nudge/Dora (17) still wishes she could live a normal life, but has accepted that it's just not a possibility. She clings to "Dorothy" when she learns it. Being talkative and into fashion are still part of her character, but now she also loves bugs. She tags along when Max goes foraging so she can try and get pictures of any new bugs she hasn't seen before. Friday often gets to hear which bugs and what they were doing when they're sketching together.

Gazzy/Gizmo (14) gets his name when he watches the Gremlins movie for two months straight and starts mimicking the mogwai noises. He almost kills everyone when he mixes a couple cleaners from under the kitchen sink. He's quickly enamored with the chemistry books he's given afterwards. Like any other teenage boy, he likes video games and has too much energy for his own good. Max offers to race him when he's particularly amped.

Angel (11) is the only one out of the group that wasn't experimented on and she doesn't get the protectiveness or why they never go anywhere. She likes sitcoms and never refuses an offer to forage with Max. She also took a liking to helping Iggy cook things. She was very quick to tell people she wasn't a boy once she had the vocabulary.

Ari (15) has chronic pain. Being turned to goo and rebuilt into something different will do that to you. It doesn't get better the second time. Nor the third. He used to live in the E shaped house, before Jeb brought Gizmo, back when he was a regular kid. He's always liked animals, caring for them. He wanted to be a farmer or something when he grew up. After he joins the flock, he and Gizmo are fast friends. (Watching him and Gizmo dick around is what makes Friday realize that he really is just a kid.)

Maya/Em (21, kinda) my identity issues queen!! Cloning keeps the original memories intact and then they were further messed with to ensure her allegiance. She has a hard time coming to terms with that, with not being Max, not being who she thought she was. Her friends aren't her friends, she didn't watch Gizmo and Angel grow up, she didn't go to Friday after another nightmare, or call Dora to come catch a spider. That wasn't her. Having time away from them before she joins the flock helps. She renames herself Em during that time, distinct enough from Max but not removed from it completely. She learns that she likes cooking and she discovers cheerleading. She thinks she'd like that if she got the chance to participate. She's also aroace. She wants nothing to do with any of that.

Dylan (21) sticks closest to Em, but he eventually grows close to Iggy as well. They share a soaring/gliding wing shape and Iggy is grateful to have someone who can fly as long as he can (recreational flying is always cut short in his opinion, because the others have to work harder to stay airborne and get tired). Dylan likes to tinker around with motors and mechanisms, trying to get them to work again or building them from the ground up. Not that he has an abundance of opportunities to do that, but being able to fix a busted car comes in handy. He's one of them gays that can drive.

Lastly, I do have ideas on Erasers and different classes of them and their usages but jesus christ this did in fact get very long and I need to go eat something lmao so that'll have to be a separate post for another time.

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

Esther! That was her name! I kept calling Davey’s mum Mrs Jacobs cuz I couldnt remember 😂

THOUGHTS! Ok so this one is actually really long and really sad so… sorry lmao

Jack and Spot didn’t always hate each other. They actually used to be close. Before the refuge, before Spot moved to Brooklyn, before Snyder. Bc this is based off UKsies Spot is a girl so in the refuge she and Jack were split up, put into different cells. Jack was 12, Spot and Race were 10. Jack had promised Spot that he would always protect her but as their time stretched on Spot started to notice something. Jack had a new kid following him around. Some scrawny kid with dark hair. He looked about the same age as her. Due to them being opposite genders they had to sit on opposite sides of the room at meals. He still waved to her but that was their only interaction. When Jack escaped he took the other boy with him, and not her. He left Spot to fend for herself for the rest of her time in the refuge. Jack had promised to always protect her and he didn’t do that. When she finally saw him he was fine. Smiling and laughing along with the other Manhattan boys, arms wrapped protectively around that new boy’s shoulders. Spot ran. As far as she could before her exhaustion caught up to her, halfway across the Brooklyn bridge. The next time Jack saw Spot she was different. She had seen how cold the world was to people like her. Unlike Jack she had had to claw her way to the top. She had fought and starved and hurt and bled to earn her place as the king of Brooklyn. She was scarred she was broken she was selfish and cold. Jack wanted to help her. He wanted to hug her and tell her he was sorry. But she didn’t want to talk to him. Because she hadn’t seen all the tears and blood jack had shed in his guilt of leaving her. She couldn’t tell by his face that he never forgave himself for not going back for her. Spot hadn’t been there for all the nights he had spent wondering what happened to her, wondering if it was his fault and cursing himself for being so scared of Snyder that he couldn’t go find her again.

and Race? My boy was oblivious. He knew Jack was sad all the time even when he looked happy. He learnt how to help when things got bad. But Jack never wanted to talk about it. Despite all of this Race finally had someone who loved him. Someone who was alive and well and didn’t care that he smoked and held him when he cried and always made sure he was fed. And Spot didn’t blame him. Drawn like a moth to a flame Jack’s kindness and warm personality drew in all the other kids. He was the brother or the father that so many of them didn’t have, and honestly she was glad that he hadn’t hurt anyone else the way he hurt her. - 🤠anon

oh my god :(((

jack never has the words to express when he’s failed someone, never has. he knows he let her down and he wants to fix it but spot won’t let him. and jack gets that - he isn’t sure he’d let her, if the roles were reversed. part of him tries to understand how much what happened hurt, how it looks like he was replacing her or didn’t care anymore and sometimes late at night, when he can’t sleep, he’ll resent race for it, just a bit. for needing him the way he did, for being a replacement, for helping him lose spot. he immediately hates himself for it of course, knows it isn’t race’s fault and pushes those thoughts that only last a few seconds fiercely away. it’s just the way things worked out, he can’t change it. and yet it hurts so much he can’t breathe when he tries to reach out and gets pushed away instead, when spot sneers and tilts her chins and shrugs him off. he can’t explain why unless someone pushes him too, because the words won’t come otherwise. they get stuck in his throat but he just can’t say them, and with spot having given up on ever hearing them, he doesn’t think he ever will. he hopes spot understands though, even if she won’t say it. he hopes she knows he would never give up on her like that, that he helps every other wayward kid day in and day out because he failed her. that he wants to make up for what happened that wasn’t even his fault

she sort of knows it too. until the rally. then it all comes crumbling down again

[doverstar]

The little details in this fic???? I’ve been thinking about them all day?

I have never read a fic from a writer with a better understanding of the Pond family dynamic. The SASS that exudes off of rory Williams is so perfect. Amy’s unflinching trust in the Doctor, how she will take any order from him, but still pursing her lips, so simultaneously irritated with him and filled with care and affection for both her boys and trust for the Doctor. The way that Matt Smith’s doctor had control over A ROOM. How that contrasts with Will. It’s all INSANELY GOOD. It’s like I’m watching an episode straight out of Series 6, you have such a good handle of dialogue and specifically these character’s way of speaking. Rory’s quips. The doctor spewing nonsense that’s ten steps ahead of everyone else in the room. Amy’s concern. You have complete mastery over all four of these characters. GOD I HAVENT EVEN TALKED ABOUT ROSE. I love how you display her so complexly, how she’s so quick yet she’s so scared to accept that her realities been flipped on it’s head, that the Doctor has changed again. And oh my gosh, the Doctor and Rose’s relationship. It’s so perfect. The semi-awkward but completely emotionally charged moment in the elevator. The bit about their hands fitting perfectly. How she finds it easier to accept him this time. It’s so soft and tender, and best of all, it all feels EARNED. Not just through all they’ve been through in this story and canon, but through the pacing of your story in specific. You don’t rush it. There’s not many fic authors, or writers in general, that can do that. It makes for such a satisfying story that I just can never get enough of.

Last one!! But oh Will!!! It makes me so sad that Rose said it doesn’t matter anymore, his silly knit hoodie and mismatched converse. I’m gonna miss him so much, I’m still grieving. I’m wayyy more excited that the Doctor is out of the watch, but still, my boy is gone!!! My scrunkly!!! Rip!!! I especially love how you contrast them, how the Doctors talking strong finally where Will was a mumbler, how you’ve talked about his pale eyes the whole story and now it’s his bright eyes. Also, how Eleven walks on an angle LMAO. Just, all of it.

I just needed to get these thoughts out of my head. Your attention to detail is magnificent and this chapter was well worth the wait. I can’t stop rereading. I’m just begging, BEGGING you to forget about Journey’s End so they can have a happily ever after.

Sending you love!!!

I need to start responding to long wonderful comments with a bit more of the enthusiasm I actually feel for them, so everybody wave hello to the Keep Reading line -

Thank you so much! I do love the Ponds and their specific chaos. Amy probably comes off pretty cold or tetchy in my fic, but I couldn't imagine her not being stressed and overprotective of the Doctor in that whole scenario. Also, I'm a big fan of Rose's pettiness when it comes to other women, because that's realistic, even if she often tries not to show it, and I'm an also a big fan of Amy's huge temper. And Rory is always a treasure. Always. I was so excited to write for them, thank you! I've been worried about the way I portrayed Rose and her thought process, but you've been so encouraging here! Thanks for that, too. I'll miss Will! I loved writing for a version of the Doctor that didn't have to deal with the simultaneous burdens of being a Time Lord, a genius, a hero, a murderer, immortal, etc. Will is just Eleven with less ambition and less worry. I was thinking, "What would the eleventh incarnation of the Doctor be like if you took away all the things that made him an immortal alien and just turned him loose?" And the result was a very sweet, awkward young man with bad dress sense who thinks he's 20-something. It's just my take, but I'm so fond of my take. Aw, Will. Miss you already, boyo. Thank you for noticing the details! That's so kind of you. I don't think I'm 100% happy with the latest chapter as it is (I was so tired), but I'm beyond glad you can still appreciate it! Loved getting this message.

[covenofwives]

As promised, here's all my favorite parts and things I ADORED from your Halloween fic! There's gonna be spoilers here for those who haven't read the fic so be warned!

Okay so the entire plot of hiding and there being a challenge to it is such a fun trope and had me on the edge the whole time which was so awesome.

The realization that the mansion was shifting and changing was done so well it was super chilling and creepy. I hope they kept this mansion for other occasions, unless the entire house is an illusion!

The dialogue between the dream team was super funny while George was trying to kick them out of his spot haha! I always love the way you write flowing dialogue. As someone who often shies away from heavy dialogue it's super inspiring.

The scooby-doo doors were so fun i love it kajhfdkjl and then the entire vortex hallway was described so cool when Dream got to it. Dream's whole section may be my favorite of the three lol

You already know this but I LOOOOVED the dizzy tickles its definitely my favorite part in the ENTIRE fic. The way gravity was completely altered had me shocked and it's so cool to see just what the gods are capable of! I think I love disorienting scenes in general so this was of course gonna be my favorite.

Sapnap getting stuck in the walls was funny ksfhkhdf. That was smart of him though, too bad it too was a trap lmao.

The countdown for George nooooo that's so mean. And i agree with George that totally wasn't fair it was a good hiding spot! I had the realization there that pretty much every hiding spot was trapped in some way huh. And then George not even remembering safe wording is so adorable

Dream making it ten minutes!!! Whattttt that's crazy! The way he was so dazed and just brain fried was really cute and made my heart all fluttery

THere's definitely more but this is getting long skfhla. This fic is like not only my favorite from you but is on my list of favorite fics ever tbh

Can't wait to see more from you!

-emmadoodlewrites

Emmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa 🤩😍🤩

I have already gushed to you about how much I love this ask and I can now do it here. I had to lay down after reading this all, I was overwhelmed with all the love. This will be under a read more because there is ALOT to unpack

I'm so glad you loved the fic. I'm still sad I missed for Halloween but I'm glad the eerie feeling was still there. Fun Fact! The ending of cuddling with Dream wasn't the original ending, I was planning on the ending being the Gods open the mansion as a haunted attraction for the server, only they wouldn't chase anyone they'd just supervise while people watched. I think the new ending is better though because it sets up nicely for the two planned sequels I have for it.

I'm so glad you liked the dialogue 😭 It's one of the things I always try and put care into. Dialogue is so important to me cause it gives good insight to a character and having to think like them. And I'm so glad it is inspiring for you!

And yes! So the Gods set up traps in the house for the siblings knowing they'd fall for at least one of them. All they really had to do was go through each trap and catch a sibling. There is a bunch of other traps I planned before picking those three. Originally George was in the room with all the skeletons and each time he looked away they'd change position, move towards him or block the exits. It would end with him held down by them but I thought it was too much lol It gets the same vibe with him trapped in the webs. The vortex tunnel is my absolute fave as well. I really wanted a disorientating feel with Dream's one. Which is possibly one of the reasons why he didn't safeword. His brain was trying to process gravity and the spinning of the tunnel (also the tickling too of course) but he was totally safe and fine. He just super wanted to win too haha

I will reveal that the fic originally had POVs from the Gods as well but I took it out to make them feel more mysterious. It would have just been them talking while waiting for the countdown and going over rules again. One of the rules which I couldn't find a way to fit in explaining it was that the Gods could not tickle their own sibling. So if they found their own sibling they would have to leave them. It would also show each chose their own area. XD for downstairs. HD for upstairs and 4K for the attic.

[steel--fairy]

thinking about the sootopolis sisters. so. some facts.

beverly

her first pokemon was a magikarp she plucked from sootopolis lake with her own hands. her next was a ralts (caught after magikarp had already evolved into gyarados) then a gastly on a trip to johto.

gardevoir (whos male btw) and gengar still live with her in johto, but due to numerous reasons (mainly logistical ones), gyarados currently lives with wallace in hoenn.

despite being the most aggressive sibling and having 3 incredibly strong pokemon, she has no interest in battling and can barely do it.

was the one to first be interested in contests. neither of their parents did them (in fact their dad briefly worked for a gym which is how the family knows juan) and were confused, but let the girls at it.

started at 13. it took a few years to work her way up into the big leagues, but she did and carved a name for herself with her unique style. always the most passionate for contests.

quit them for stellas sake. the media was being so awful to her sister that she rashly quit the scene in solidarity. will say that she never regrets it

didnt stay out of the scene for long. once things died down some, she acted as a mentor and was eventually pulled to head the johto contest committee.

divorced so if youre interested in milfs...

had a sweet whirlwind romance with her prev husband. got married and had kris pretty quickly.

it was actually a decent marriage. it could've lasted. unfortunately, the atlantios family just went through a fuckton of hardships over a long 4 years and it all put such a strain on their marriage that it fell apart. beverly doesn't really hold any hard feelings towards him tho her kids definitely do

stella

her first pokemon was a surskit. theres not many in sootopolis, but she came across one and befriended it. her only other pokemon is a bellossom, caught several years into her career.

her masquerain is no longer alive. bug types live much longer than rl bugs, but rather short lives in comparison to other types in the pkmn world. it died around the time of lisias birth. bellossoms still with her however.

had very poor health as a child. bad asthma plus a poor immune system. it got better as a teenager before nosediving sharply after she got pregnant with lisia

she had a lot complications during her pregnancy and lisias birth. it left her ill for years after, including needing trips to another region to see a specialist doctor. managed to eventually deal with the main problem but it left her with permanent fatigue problems and an even worse immune system than when she was a child

uses a cane to help with stability and fatigue. also has a wheelchair, though it mostly sees its use at home at night.

retired from contests because of lisia, though she'd never phrase it that way.

a man knocked her up and the ensuing media storm over her being a single mother and refusing to even hint at who the father was was too much. she quit and hid as much as possible for the next few years. (not hard considering her illness)

she misses contests a bit, more when the wound was fresh, but really enjoys being a mother and wouldn't trade lisia for anything

alma

found a little azurill in a small pond when watching a contest her sisters were performing at. an azumarill now. the only pokemon she has.

had middle child syndrome bad as a teen lmao

beverly was so strong and cool, stella was so mature and graceful, wallace was the unexpected miracle baby, and then there was alma. She's Just Alma.

followed her sisters into contests because. well. what else did she want to do? contests were....fun. she was....decent at them.

always in her sisters shadows and she hated it. everything she did was always compared to them by critics and fans.

as such, she was the first to quit coordinating. she'd never had the same passion for it as her sisters and it was honestly kind of a relief to let it go.

the only one of the sisters to also try her hand at battling. got 3 badges before deciding it wasnt for her either.

studied under their mother about history and myths of sootopolis but wasn't really interested in that either. wallace showed more aptitude for it and he was 6. story of alma's life smh

went back to school and graduated and met a nice guy and moved to petalburg to help him run his store there. very ordinary, but its what she likes. no drama, no competition.

honestly, distanced herself quite a bit from her family during those terrible 4 years where everything seemed to go wrong. she'd always been the loner of the family and no one ever tried to bring her into the fold so she left them to it.

she regrets that. especially since wallace would later do basically the same thing and it hurt being on the opposite side of the cold shoulder.

tried to keep in touch more after that whole drama. it was difficult since she lived on the opposite side of the region, and even moreso after she had wally who inherited their family's poor health. but she tried.

[hetaari]

2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 11, 13, 15, 17, 20, 21,22 and 24 for that writing ask game :)

Fun fact it took me ten thousand years to answer this bc this ask was apparently long enough to crash the app multiple times whilst I was answering it lmao

*cracks knuckles, cracks neck, cracks spine*

2: Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

Augh I want to. Hurry to get to the interesting bits of An Unconventional Sort Of Enployment quickly!!! I’m editing the chapters that were already published bc I must’ve gotten so excited to publish them that they came out rushed :/// what I’m looking forward to most is developing relationships! I plan for everything to remain non-romantic bc I’m not good at writing romance lmao but that doesn’t make it any less fulfilling! Developing platonic relationships is actually one of my favorite things to write so I’m really looking forward to it

3: What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

It’s actually a whole fic idea and also it’s vocaloid so maybe you wouldn’t find it very interesting but anyway. It’s like:

Kaito: have you ever wondered what it’s be like to be someone else

Len: ???? Are you depressed again

Kaito: no I was just thinking about it

Len: I can help you with that

So Kaito changes his name (well, barely, it’s only one letter off) and pretends to be a girl but! He’s inadvertently committing identity theft bc the lady he’s pretending to be already exists and is actually related to him but he somehow completely forgot, and all his friends know her but either they actually thought he was her or they also forgot that she exists too

5: What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

(Previously answered) Do ocs count? Madeleine wasn’t supposed to be a self-insert at all but at some point whilst I was drafting I was like “ah fuck that’s me innit” bc I realized her personality was far too similar to mine lol

6: What character do you have the most fun writing?

(Previously answered) Germany. I love making him miserable in particular. Also Japan, the way he speaks is so satisfying, same with Russia

8: Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?

Generally yes, but—and I don’t mean to come off as someone who doesn’t read books—why is smut in fanfiction often better written than smut in published books? Is it censorship? A stylistic choice? Published smut often feels so weird and cringe in the way it’s written and I don’t understand why…In fact, fanfiction and standard published books really hit different in general, for better or for worse

11: What do you envy in other writers?

I feel a bit like I’ve stagnated. I’m writing the same things over and over again so I see someone else has written something radical I’m like “damn why didn’t I think of that” so I should really try doing something different…and while I know that the worth of written works is not in their length, I see so many writers put so much emphasis on the length of their works and it’s a bit discouraging as someone more used to brevity

13: Do you share your writing online? (Drop a link!) Do you have projects you’ve kept just for yourself?

Yeah lol. My ao3 is here lol. But yeah I’ve been playing around with an original work for a bit actually. Might consider talking about it more. Anything else I’ve kept to myself are just things that I couldn’t finish

15: Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

It depends but mainly titles. Summaries I have the least problems with because if all else fails, I can simply make the summary a phrase that’s connected to the title, but that may become a problem if I don’t have a title lmao. In the case of gore however, that’s when I struggle a bit with tags, like “this isn’t extreme to me, but would other people find it too much?” because if it is extreme, I don’t want to want to have people let their guard down, but if it isn’t extreme, I don’t want to falsely advertise

17: Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

Yeah, I believe art looks a bit different depending on the eye of the beholder, no matter how slightly. I don’t think my motivations are very surprising or complicated—they’re pretty much along the lines of “hey you know what would be interesting?”

20: Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Okay first of all I’m sorry for talking about Welcome Back again, it’s my first completed multi chapter work so I’m a bit proud it, like it’s my firstborn child lol.

The way I went about it is actually something I want to repeat—taking a canon moment (in this case, Vene getting kicked out and later being sent back to Germany in a box) and going in a wildly different direction with it. It was supposed to remain a one shot but I suddenly decided to continue it, which is why the transition between the first and second chapter may seem a little odd.

Vene did kind of turn out to be kind of the antagonist though, not that he meant it. But it was a lose-lose situation i think, because he effectively fucked Germany up by telling him he was a country in the first place, but at the same time, it was really fucking weird that Germany would just live his life not knowing about a crucial part of his existence! Not really knowing what else to do, Vene just decided to wipe Germany’s memory just to put him out of his misery. Of course, that may not last forever—even though everyone was sworn to secrecy, somebody is bound to slip up, or Germany may become concerned as to why he hasn’t looked a day past 20 in years (though, knowing how he lived his life before, not once questioning it at all, this is kind of unlikely) but mark his words, Vene would wipe Germany’s memories as many times as he’d have to, even if it does hurt to do so

Also a big fan of how vene and Germany telling each other welcome back for different yet similar reasons—Germany when vene kept showing up at his house after being thrown out, even when he came back quite literally dead; and Vene, even though Germany didn’t technically leave, but he seemed alive again after being put back in the dark about his true nature

21: What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

Probably comics? I might just be saying this since my paragraphs and dialogue don’t tend to be very long most of the time, which would fit well in a comic strip

22: Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

(Previously answered) Occasionally. Some of them still hold up, but others? I Can Tell They’re Old.

24: Would you say your writing has changed over time?

Absolutely. I’ve gained a wider vocabulary, and just the general way I structure sentences has changed a bit since I started writing seriously again two years ago. They also increased in length somewhat and are just less sloppy in general

[ceasarslegion]

That breaking bad shitpost reminded me of the time one of my college friends told me it was irresponsible of my parents to let me watch breaking bad when it was still airing because i was 10 at the time it premiered. Thing is, im no fan of a lot of the ways i was raised, but the way i was exposed to media growing up i actually do agree with.

I've said this before, but both of my parents have always been massive horror fans. Part of why they started initially dating was because they finally found someone who wouldn't cower away from blood and guts. They never hid this passion of theirs from me, they just made sure I understood what I was looking at before they would put up their framed BTS photos of The Evil Dead or Halloween. That they were just photos, that there's blood in them because the movies had blood in them, that they're just movies and those characters aren't real.

I definitely think growing up in a horror stan household has a very different approach to media exposure than others simply because they have a different attitude towards things that are too extreme for most other viewers. Horror is in and of itself an acquired taste, after all. I can't count how many times my friends have thought it was deeply strange to borderline disturbing that our family movie nights involved slashers and psychological terrors. But the thing is, the kind of media my parents enjoy i very much believe set the stage to how i was exposed to things growing up.

They didn't really,,, believe in the rating system, if that's the right word to use. They saw it as a general suggestion rather than a concrete thing. And as a side note, as I would go on to get a film degree in my future, I'm glad they did, because the history of the modern rating system is extremely mormon, for lack of a better term.

But anyway, instead of adhering to an outside source telling them how to raise their kid, they instead took it in the direction where as long as I understood what I was seeing, I had the emotional and moral intelligence to know the difference between right, wrong, and when shit was complicated, and it didn't have any negative effects on me, I was allowed to see it. Full stop. To help that process along, I could ask them any questions I had about whatever I was watching, reading, or playing, we could have open and non-judgmental discussions about my own interpretations of these texts, and they never put any parental locks on things like my netflix profile and would send me to EB Games with signed notes saying they'd allow me to buy M-rated games with my allowance if I wanted them. Very few things ever got taken away from me, if any. I can't really remember anything off the top of my head, other than just not being allowed to talk to strange adults on the internet or give out any personal info, which I think was the only hard limit they placed on my media consumption. But that was an actual safety issue, not anything to do with this idea that I couldn't handle seeing morally dubious things depicted on-screen. In fact, my parents thought the rating system was kind of insulting to my emotional and moral intelligence lmao.

So yeah, I watched breaking bad as it was first airing, and yes, I was 10 when it first began. Which would probably make a good chunk of this site explode into discourse about how problematique that is and how it made think bad things were good, actually. But the thing is, my parents knew from their own firsthand experience with horror that just seeing dubious things doesn't inherently damage your psyche or alter your sense of right and wrong. So instead of adhering to this outdated and extremely generalized idea of what kids should be exposed to at what age, they instead actually talked to me about the things i wanted to watch and made sure I understood what they were, and that I had enough critical thinking skills to engage in them without negative consequences. As long as those two things were met, I could consume whatever media I wanted.

Fuck man, on the breaking bad topic I remember one time hearing my mom say "I would rather he see people having sex than killing each other, but he watches breaking bad anyway" regarding my interest in game of thrones in the 8th grade.

Anyway, the point here is that although there's lots of things I have beef with regarding my parents, their approach to my media exposure I think was a hell of a lot better than this webbed site's approach of "if you're under 18 all sex drugs and violence will TRAUMATIZE you and if you don't portray ONLY goodness and clear right and wrong actions your audience will thing BAD things are actually GOOD regardless of their age sometimes"

[rrxnjun]

OML OKAY i like john green too <3 i love looking for alaska. i recently read turtles all the way down and oof it hit really hard. next on my tbr is papertowns and then i’ll be done with all of his books (hi i’m obsessed with his writing style hkjg) and ooh i haven’t read any from j.d. salinger. the catcher in the rye is the only book of his i’ve heard of </3 i’ll check him out soon. YUSSSUH i love dystopian books too. dkfjg this just made me realise that they made up almost 60% of my life as a bookworm. the maze runner is my favourite out of all i’ve read !! the adrenaline rush it gave was unparalleled. i’ve also read hunger games, divergent, ready player one and a few more from the dystopian genre but i don’t remember them rn. also unless my physics books count for smth, no i’m not reading anything 😭😭 i was reading war storm by victoria aveyard (the red queen series.) and it’s going good but i’m taking a break bc exams </3

AHHH you play the guitar :0 ? THAT’S SO COOL and no idk how to play any instruments. i have literally no knowledge about instruments so sheet music is just, so weird for me even after a friend tried explaining it gdfgdf i learn classical music tho so i can sing to some extent 

OMG YESSS OVERDOSE IS JUST SO HGFKGF it just activates this part in my brain and makes me go grrr. YESS the playlist was literally me putting in my fave of fave songs so i’m glad you like it and kdjfhd i love going crazy too it was in my spotify wrapped’s top 10 last year. OKAYYY since exo is kind of sort of completely dormant rn there’s literally just crumbs and older content left for the fans </3. you can check out this channel and this video. warning: exo-l territory = crackzone NOT EVEN KIDDING this place is wild lmao. expect what you will from neocity’s sunbaenims <3 also lmk your bias so that we can collectively lose it all together <3

gosh i listened to all of fandom’s songs but i felt younger when we met still stays the fave (i said i loved you to death so i must be dead 🙇🏾‍♀️) easy to hate might be a second kjfgd it’s so. good. i’ve been playing it on loop too dfjhdjh 

oml pls i really needed to see that 🤧 tysm bar !! i really can’t wait to get into uni ngl i am excited for that. but it’s also slightly weird bc the last year of high school sentiments have finally started hitting and they’re hitting hard </3 it’s funny how we spend sm time with friends we’ve known like, forever, and don’t really treat every moment as smth special till it all comes to an end. ahh i was really planning on making the most of my hs years but pandemic decided to be a pain in the ass. nvm tho. 17 is weird and it feels like time’s running fast i do plan on making sm good memories 💪🏾

NOW BACK TO TALKING AB SM VIP THINGS

THIS AGENDA IS GOING SO STRONG hfjgkdafgdja also oml i did notice that yn doesn't smoke around yangyang after that scene but thought that it was just me being delusional hhh i think ab that fic sm and yangyang just amplified that brainrot by doing this

HEAD EMPTY NO THOUGHTS JUST HE KDJFHGDKF HGD laptop's dying from all the ss i took lol

also the dreamies concert 👀 .. hyuck... renj-?? ... cue my brain giving up

p.s. hihii this took me so long 😭 it’s exam season for like the next 2 weeks so the pressure is finally catching up w me also your words really meant a lot to me tysm for them <3 have a segci day/night and stay safe ily

I MISSED YOU !!!!!!!! im glad youre back 🥺🥺 looking for alaska and turtles all the way down are my most fav from john green!! paper towns was really beautiful and its my friends favorite,, however id say that amongst john green books, id put it somewhere in the bottom tbh. hope you enjoy it tho!! i had to read the catcher in the rye for my exams last year but i surprisingly enjoyed it so much its one of my most fav books now! also the fact that i read and loved all the dystopian books you mentioned 😩😩 taste.

i do play the guitar! not very well tho, i only know the basic chords hhhh so the yy fic was kind of self indulgent in a way LMAO but you can sing?? 😯😯 thats impressive. could never be me i absolutely suck AJJAJA

i will never skip overdose or monster when they come on shuffle theyre just THAT good. i listen to exo a lot recently bc of you😭😭 i watched the videos and WHY ARE THEY SO CHAOTIC i am in love w them SJJS feel free to send more content my way!!! i think my biases are baekhyun (expected) and chanyeol (also expected) 👀👀 literally tell me everything abt them im ready to listen. baek is very funny and chaotic and theres just something abt chanyeol that pulls me to him. i also like sehun tho! idk what this tells abt me feel free to psychoanalyze AHAHHA also kyungsoo is so funny i completely get why you ult him

17 went by so fast for me as well bro and the last year of hs even faster... to think that i didnt have prom bc of corona but i had exams that were cancelled 2 years in a row the previous years 💀 i hope you make the best out of your last year!! i start uni in a week and im shitting my pants its so scARY I DONT KNOW THE CITY OR THE PPL AND THIS GUY I MET ON A PARTY THAT I LOWKEY AVOIDED LIVES THERE AND HE KEEPS REACHING OUT TO ME THROUGH MY FRIEND AND HE ASKED IF I WANNA COME OVER AND NOW IM PANICKING EVEN MORE 😭😭😭😭

yangyang and me are soulmates. its confirmed. also youre not delusional at all it was intended!!! sjsj im honored to hear that you think abt my fic a lot but also YANGYANG UGH that sc !!! instant brainrot. i dont actually think he can play that guitar but its okay 😩😩😩😩

IVE BEEN FREAKING OUT OVER THE DREAM CONCERT EVER SINCE I SAW THE CLIPS. RENJUN GOING WILD IN THAT GLASS BOX AND DONT EVEN MENTION HYUCK BC WHEN HE KISSED THAT GLASS BOX FROM THE INSIDE, I LOST MY MIND. BUT ALSO THEY ARE SUCH GOOD PERFORMERS THEY DID SO WELL AND I LOVE THEM TO DEATH OMG :(((((( LITERALLY CRIED AT RENJUNS MENT! FUN TIMES! :D ALSO DEAR DREAM LIVE. CRIED LITERAL WATERFALLS OF TEARS THAT SONG HURTS SM TO LISTEN TO BUT IS ALSO MY BIGGEST COMFORT OHGOD

have a good day stay safe!! good luck with your exams i love u xx