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Always The Babysitter - Chapter Twenty-Five: The Battle of Starcourt

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Steve Harrington x Olivia Henderson(OC) Word Count: 9,951 Warnings: buckle up, we got a lot - angst, fluff, el's leg, canon violence with the mind flayer, small intentional car accident (no one gets hurt), singing, liv being sleep deprived, main character deaths Smut: no | yes; you're welcome oral (f+m receiving), fingering, protected m+f A/N: Hi, friends! As stated above... you're welcome. If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

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I felt two arms go around me as I cried, watching El scream and sob in pain from her leg. I knew it was Steve because anytime I cried, he wrapped me in his arms like he was protecting me from whatever it was that caused tears to stream down my face.

“What is that?” Erica asked.

It sounded like El’s flesh was about to burst into flames as Mike said, “There’s something in there.”

I moved from Steve’s arms as El yelled out “No!”, sitting on my knees at her head, brushing her hair down on her head.

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin said, looking at her leg still.

I think everyone’s eyes were glued to El’s leg as we just watched as something moved under it.

“Keep her talking,” Jonathan said, standing up. “Keep her awake, okay?”

El closed her eyes, whimpering just a little.

“El, baby, keep your eyes open,” I said. “You gotta stay awake, baby, okay?”

“Let’s get on this side, on this side,” Mike said.

“Just lean her up on me,” I said, putting my arms under hers.

“Easy, easy, easy, easy,” Steve said, helping me pull her up in between my legs as I kicked them out.

Robin’s voice rang out as she said, “It’s, uhh… ya’know, it’s actually not that bad. There was a… the goalie on my soccer team, Beth Wildfire, this other girl slid into her leg, and like, the whole bone came out of her knee, six inches or something, it was insane.”

“Robin,” Steve and I said.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jonathan’s footfalls had me turning my head in his direction, the boy stopping right in front of El, saying, “Alright, El? This is gonna hurt like hell, okay?”

She sobbed out an “Okay.”

“Liv, I need you to help keep her real still.”

“Okay,” I said, gripping onto her a little tighter, feeling her hands doing the same on my arms.

Jonathan put on some gloves and handed me a wooden spoon, saying, “Here. You’re gonna wanna bite down on this.”

I put the handle between her teeth, the young teen biting down on it. Watching him pull out a knife, I said, “Holy shit, Byers!”

Jonathan looked at everyone before Mike said, “Do it.” He plunged the knife into her skin, her grip on my arms tightening tremendously. It hurt, but I didn’t care as she screamed in pain.

He dropped the knife before plunging his fingers into her leg, her grip once again increasing, her screams coming out more painfully. He felt around as Nancy was saying his name, him telling no one in general to stop talking, tossing out a “goddamn it!” in frustration.

“No!” El screamed, dropping the spoon from in between her teeth. “Stop it! Stop! Stop!” She let out a little sob, saying, “I can do it.”

“El,” I said as she sat up from my lap.

“I can do it,” she repeated, sitting up more, feeling for my hand. I scooted closer to her, my hands resting on the outside of my thighs, watching her as she reached out with her right hand, pulling whatever was stuck in her leg out with her psychokentic skill.

She screamed and the glass behind us shattered as she pulled whatever was in her leg out, suspending it for a moment before pushing it away. It started crawling as she leaned back against my chest, but it didn’t get very far before a foot stomped on it. That foot belonging to the one and only, Jim Hopper.

After we had picked El up and moved her to a bench, I wrapped her leg up before she laid on Hop while Joyce sat beside her, everyone else standing around.

Mike began explaining, “The Mind Flayer, it built this monster in Hawkins, to stop El, to kill her and pave a way into our world.”

“And it almost did,” Nancy added. “That was just one tiny piece of it.”

I sighed, and turned towards Steve, his arms going around me as he walked a few steps forward, taking me with him.

“How big is this thing?” Hopper asked.

Jonathan replied, “It’s big. Thirty feet at least.”

“Oh, sweet shit,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Lucas said, looking at Hop. “It sorta destroyed your cabin. Sorry.”

Steve had moved us to stand by Max… well, I was standing by Max, he was on the other side of me. “Okay, so, just to be clear,” Steve said. “This big fleshy spider thing that hurt El, it’s some kind of gigantic… weapon?”

“Yes,” Nancy said, sounding annoyed.

“But, instead of, like, screws and metal, the Mind Flayer made its weapon… with melted people?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Yeah, okay. I– yeah, I’m just making sure.”

Grabbing his attention, I said loud enough for only him to hear, “Do not let her make you feel small, okay?”

“What was that?” Nancy asked.

“No need to act all annoyed and shit just because someone’s asking a question to fully understand what we’re about to go up against.”

“Well maybe some people shouldn’t ask questions about what this thing is made of.”

Stepping forward, I said, “You wanna go, Wheeler?”

“Olivia,” Hopper said, gaining my attention. “Station?”

Groaning, I stepped back in between Steve and Max, saying, “Someone’s gonna have to teach her a freaking lesson on how to not be in control all the time.”

“Are we sure this thing is still out there, still alive?” Joyce asked.

“El beat the shit out of it, but yeah, it’s still alive,” Max said.

“But if we close the gate again–” Will said.

“We cut the brain off from the body.”

“And kill it,” Lucas added. “Theoretically.”

I jumped at the sound of Murray’s voice saying, “Yoo-hoo!” while waving some papers around. Looking back at Hop, I said, “Really, Jim? Murray?”

“Since when do you call me Jim?” Hop asked.

Murray walked over to us, saying, “Hello, Olivia,” before he set the papers down on a table, saying, “This is what Alexi called the hub,” while pointing to a spot on the papers. “Now, the hub takes us to the vault room.”

“Okay, where’s the gate?” Hop asked.

Pointing to another spot, Murray said, “Right here. I don’t know the scale on this, but I think it’s fairly close to the vault room, maybe 50 feet or so.”

“More like 500,” Erica said, walking towards the table. “What, you’re just gonna waltz in there like it’s commie Disneyland or something?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

With all the sass she could muster, Erica said, “Erica Sinclair, who are you?”

“Murray… Bauman.”

“Listen here, Mr. Bunman, I’m not trying to tell you how to do things, but I’ve been down in that shithole for 24 hours. And with all due respect, you do what this man tells you, you’re all gonna die.”

I started laughing during her spiel, not sure if it was from lack of sleep or because she was doing what I had been dying to do since last year. “She’s got a point.”

“I’m sorry, why is this four year old speaking to me?” Murray asked.

“I’m ten, you bald bastard,” Erica said.

Laughing, I said, “Oh, my god, this is great!”

“Erica!” Lucas said.

“Just the facts!” Erica said.

“She’s right, though,” I said, my laughter dying down. “You’re all gonna die.” Walking forward, I continued, “But you don’t have to.” Looking at Murray, I smiled. “May I?”

“Please,” he said, smiling.

I sat down, feeling Dustin coming up behind me. Turning towards Dustin, I said, “You got a pencil on you?” Once he handed me his pencil, I said my thanks and moved the paper, marking where I needed to as I explained, “You see this room? Storage facility. There’s some sort of hatch that leads into their underground ventilation system. That will somehow lead you to the base of this massive weapon that I almost died from. It’s a fucking maze down there, but between these two-” I pointed to Erica and Dustin. “-they can get you through.”

“They can show us the way?” Hop asked.

“Don’t worry, Hop, you can be all macho man and do the brunt work, and they will just be your navigators.”

“No.”

“Hopper,” I groaned.

Shaking his head, he shrugged once and said, “Nope.”

~~~

“He can be such a jerk sometimes,” I said, getting whatever supplies we needed.

“Who?” Steve asked.

“Freaking Hopper,” I exclaimed. “He won’t let Dustin and Erica help them through the vent system when we’ve spent the last like–” I looked at the nonexistent watch on my left wrist. “–12 or so hours down there!”

“Eh, just let him take control for a little bit,” he said, passing in front of me.

Taken aback, I said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed, placing whatever he had in his hands down. “Babe, it means you can’t always be in control.”

Sighing, I retorted, “You know why I have to try and be… especially for Dustin.”

“I know,” Steve breathed. “But just… take a step back and breathe for a little bit.”

Closing my eyes, I hung my head forward, my chin meeting the dip in my collarbone. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I breathed his scent in as he put his arms around my shoulders, my own going around his middle. “It’s okay,” he said.

“Hey, if you two could stop being all cute and shit and grab some stuff we need, that’d be great,” Robin said.

“I should go check on Dustin,” I said, looking up at Steve’s chin. He looked down at me, saying, “I can see him, he’s fine.”

“I’m being protective now. A sister. Plus, I can sense they’re about to start talking shit and I want to get in on that action.”

Steve chuckled, looking down at me. “Alright, beautiful. Go be a shittalking big sister.”

I smiled at the new nickname, kissing his chin before he looked down at me. “Okay, handsome.”

He smiled, leaning down to place a sweet kiss to my lips. I pulled my lips back into a smile, slowly pulling my body away from his as I backed myself up to the counter to jump over it, making my way over to Dustin and his group of friends.

“Well, that settles it,” Erica said. “He’s gonna die. They’re gonna die.”

“Yeah, most likely,” I said, walking down the small ramp to the fountain they were standing at.

“You guys survived,” Lucas said.

“Barely,” Dustin said, after turning to face Lucas.

“Call it luck,” I said.

“We could have really used you guys down there.”

“Could’ve used you up here, too,” Mike said. “Especially Liv’s protective side.”

“Yeah, well, I probably would’ve knocked your sister out in the process,” I breathed.

“We miss you, dude,” Lucas said, looking at my brother.

I put my arm around my brother’s shoulders, seeing a ghost of a smile on his face. “See? They missed you. I knew it all along.”

“Big-time,” Will said.

The four younger boys I adored all huddled together in a hug. I tried to get out of it, but Will pulled me in, saying, “You’re a part of this party, too, Liv.”

“Honorary member,” I chuckled, causing them to laugh as well.

“Please, don’t cry, nerds,” Erica said.

Turning around to face her, I laughed, “Shall we tell them the little discovery we made about you in that vent system?”

“Erica,” Lucas said, stepping forward.

“Keep saying my name,” she sassed. “See what happens.”

“Ohh!” I breathed out.

“Hey, heads up,” Hopper said. “You can navigate, just from someplace safe.”

Shrugging with a frown on my face, I said, “Looks like you won’t die after all,” before smiling wickedly. “But it’s not that simple.”

“The signal won’t reach,” Erica added.

“Not with this,” Dustin said. “You need something with a high enough frequency band to relay with the Russian’s radio tower. But for that to work, you need someone who has both seen their comms room and has access to a super-powered handcrafted radio tower, one preferably already situated at the highest point in Hawkins. Oh, wait. That’s me. If you want us to navigate, you got us. But we need a head start.”

I held my breath the entire time Dustin spoke to Hopper, releasing it once he was done. “Holy shit, I thought he’d never stop talking.” Looking at Hopper, I watched as his brows quickly rose up before Dustin looked at Erica then back at him saying, “And a car.”

Hop looked over at me, my lips scrunching to the side as I shrugged. “He’s right.” I put my hand out, saying, “Fork ‘em over.”

He turned to the side a little, yelling Steve’s name, said teen making his way over. Hopper put the keys in Steve’s hand, telling him to take us where Dustin told him to take us. I gawked at Hopper, who just shrugged and raised his brows like he couldn’t care less.

Letting out a groan, I tiled my head back, turning around and walking towards the front of the mall. Steve and the rest of our group followed behind a few moments later, until Steve got in front of me to open the doors.

“Oh, man, now this,” he said, tossing the keys a few inches out of his hand before they fell back into his hand. “This is what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Toddfather?” Robin and I asked.

“Oh, screw, Todd! Steve’s her daddy now.”

“Please don’t ever say that again,” I said, climbing into the front seat.

“Did you just talk about yourself in the third person?” Robin asked.

“Did he just call himself daddy?” Erica asked.

As the three of them - Robin, Erica and Dustin - all climbed into the back, Steve asked, “Alright, where are we going?”

“Weathertop,” Dustin answered.

“Weather-what?”

“Drive,” I said.

“Okay. Jesus.” Steve turned on the car and put it in reverse, sitting up to see behind him as he backed out, putting it in drive to start us forward on our newest mission.

I sat with my arms crossed, looking to my right at the scenery passing by. I was jealous that Steve got to drive, okay? I could hear the smile in his voice as Steve asked, “Baby, are you jealous?”

“Can you please stop calling her baby in front of me?” Dustin asked. “It’s gross.”

“Dustin, hush,” I said. “Steve, yes. I am. Now let me wallow.”

He chuckled, putting his hand on my elbow to drag my arm away from me, sliding his fingers between mine and kissing the back of my hand.

We drove for what felt like two states before I asked, “Sweet shit, Dustin, how far is this place?”

“Relax, dear sister, we’re almost there,” Dustin replied.

“This girl better be fucking special, Dusty. I mean, because of the fact that you went to camp, met her, built this radio and put it in the middle of nowhere just to stay in communication with her.”

“Nobody’s scientifically perfect, but Suzie’s about as close to being perfect as any human could possibly be.”

Looking at Steve, who never let go of my hand, I smiled and said, “I know someone.”

“You two are gross,” Erica said. “And this girl sound made-up to me. What about you?”

Steve and I looked at each other before Dustin said, “Why are you two hesitating?”

“I’m-I’m-I’m not! I’m not,” Steve said. “I think she sounds real. Ya’know, totally, absolutely real.”

“Left, turn left,” Dustin said.

“There’s not a road here.”

“Turn left now!”

“Jesus. Hang on!”

I couldn’t help but scream as Steve made the sharpest turn in the history of sharp turns, hitting a wooden fence, the car’s tires meeting nothing but grass.

“Whoa! Henderson, where are we going?!” Steve yelled, both hands now on the wheel.

“Up!” Dustin said.

“We’re definitely gonna die!” I yelled, the car bumping against the grass.

“We’re not gonna make it!” Robin and I yelled.

“Yes, we are,” Steve said. “Come on, baby. Come on, baby!” He pressed the gas to accelerate us up this stupid hill, being unsuccessful as the car struggled to get more up. “Come on!"

“I guess the Toddfather has its limitations,” Robin said.

“In other words, we’re stuck,” I said, resting my elbow on the part the window’s at, letting my fingers rest on my forehead.

Steve breathed heavily before I heard him get out of the car, the rest of the group following, aside from me.

“Liv!” Dustin called. “Come on!”

“Nope, I’m waiting for the Mind Flayer to come and eat me,” I deadpanned. A moment later, a body was leaning against the door, the backs of their fingers gently rubbing up and down my arm.

“What’s up, babe?” Steve asked, gently.

I sighed. “Guess I’m just wallowing.” I looked up at him, placing my hand on his cheek, careful not to rub my thumb over his bruised eye. “Even with a black eye… you’re still perfect.”

He chuckled lightly, turning his head in my hand, pressing his lips to my palm. “I’m glad someone thinks so.” Locking his eyes on mine, he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you,” I whispered back, smiling.

“Come on,” he whispered, backing away from the car to open the door.

I sighed and got out, taking his hand after he closed the door, Dustin complaining about Steve and I taking forever, which in reality it was more like a minute.

We started walking up the hill, finally making it to Dustin’s man-made radio, my brother picking up the mouthpiece, pressing the button on it and saying, “Bald Eagle, do you copy? Bald Eagle, I repeat, this is Scoops Troop, do you copy?”

Standing with Steve a few feet away, I said, “I’m gonna be repeating radio talk in my head for the next two years.”

“Yes, I copy,” Murray responded.

We all chuckled before Dustin asked, “Call sign?”

We had assigned everyone group names and call signs before we left… or at least Dustin did while I was walking away from everyone to get in the car. In case you were wondering, call signs are as follows;

Griswold Family; El, Max, Lucas, Mike, Will, Jonathan and Nancy.

Eagles Nest; Murray, Joyce and Hop.

Scoops Troop; Robin, Erica, Dustin, Steve and myself.

“Bald Eagle,” Murray responded.

“Please repeat,” Dustin said.

Without missing a beat, Murray came back with “Bald Eagle! This is Bald Eagle!” before Dustin said with a smile, “Copy that. Good to hear your voice, Bald Eagle. What’s your 20?”

“We reached the vent. I’ll contact you when I need you. Until then, silence.”

“Roger that, Bald Eagle. This is Scoops Troop, going radio silent. 10-10 over.”

I decided to lay on the wet grass a little while later, bored out of my mind. “Ya’know, I have a slight fear of space, but I find it fascinating. I especially love looking up at the stars. This angle suits you.” I chuckled, shifting my eyes from the stars to Steve as he came into view, his head tilted down, looking at me.

“Why are you laying on the wet grass?” he asked.

Shrugging, I said, “My legs were getting tired. And I’m tired. I haven’t slept in over 24 hours.”

“Scoops Troop, this is… hm… Bald Eagle. I’ve reached another junction.”

“This is what?” Dustin asked.

“The fourth junction,” Erica said.

“Alright, so, if memory serves–”

“Right after the nerd epiphany,” I said, turning on my side a little.

“We went left, so he has to go right,” Erica said.

“Fly right, Bald Eagle,” Dustin said. “Fly. Right.”

“Roger that, flying right,” Murray confirmed.

“What’s the nerd epiphany?” Robin asked.

I noticed Steve walk away a few feet, looking out at Hawkins from our view. I got up, brushing myself off, and walked towards him, wrapping my arms around his middle, pressing forehead in between his shoulder blades. “What’cha doing?”

“Look,” he said.

I looked around him, seeing the mall’s lights flickering. “Uhh, guys!” A few seconds later, Erica, Dustin and Robin walked over to us before I turned to face Dustin, telling him, “Get your ass back over there right the hell now!”

The five of us rushed back to the radio, Dustin picking up the mic, saying into it, “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop! Do you copy? Over! Griswold Family, I repeat, this is Scoops Troop! Do you co–” The radio went staticy, Dustin asking once again, “Griswold Family, do you copy?”

Grabbing the mic from him, I pressed the button and yelled, “Do you copy?!” before hearing a roaring sound that shook me to my core. “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop! Please, for the love of God, confirm your fucking safety! Griswold Family, please confirm your safety! Are you on your way to Bald Eagle?” I sighed before whispering to myself, “Goddamn it.” Pressing the button again, I repeated my words to Griswold Family.

Dustin grabbed the mic from me, telling them that someone needed to answer to confirm their safety.

“Why aren’t they answering?” I asked.

Dustin repeated “Griswold Family, do you copy?” over and over again. I had to stand up, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by everything going on, so I did what I felt the need to do; run. I ran past the group, hearing Erica ask not a second later, “Where are you going?”

“To get them the hell out of there!” Steve answered. “Stay here! Contact the others!”

I looked back, seeing him gaining speed as he caught up with me, Robin following his lead until we got back to the car, Steve putting it reverse and tearing out of the grass and back onto the main road, speeding like a bat out of hell.

“Steve,” I said. “Faster.”

“I’m already going–”

“Steve! Those kids are in danger! Faster!”

I watched his face as the car gained more speed, the trees zipping by us like the speed of light. Before we knew it, he was slowing down, turning somewhat carefully as to not flip the car and kill us all.

I saw a car headed for Griswold Family’s, so I patted Steve rapidly on the shoulder. “Baby, crash the car into Billy’s.”

“What?”

“He’s gonna kill Griswold! Crash the car!”

Right before Billy’s car went to make an impact, Steve yelled, “Hang on!!” before he t-boned Billy’s beautiful Camaro, both cars spinning 90 degrees before coming to a stop. A few seconds and heavy breathing from all three of us later, Steve asked, “You guys okay?”

“Ask me tomorrow?” Robin answered.

“Babe?”

Looking from somewhere in front of me to Steve, I said, “That was terrifying, but exhilarating! I have so much adrenaline right now, I could beat that motherfucker to a pulp.” Looking up, I said, “Holy fucking shit.” I stood up, resting my arm on the top of the windshield, watching as the Mind Flayer stomped its way up onto the roof of Starcourt Mall before it roared.

“Let the Battle of Starcourt begin,” I breathed. Hearing a horn honk, I looked to my right, seeing Mrs. Wheeler’s new car beside us.

I jumped out as Nancy said, “Get in!”, going to the very back of the stationwagon. I sat against the back of the seats in front of me, Steve right next to me by the door with Robin across from us.

“Byers, drive!” I said, looking at the 90 foot monster about to chase us as it descended from the building. I repeated, “Oh my god” about thirty times in a whisper, watching this thing chase us down the road.

Steve put his arm around my leg, breathing heavily, my own arms going around his. The radio in Robin’s hand, that Dustin had apparently given her, went off.

“Dusty-bun, you copy?”

“I copy, Suzie-poo. It sounds much better now, thanks.”

I looked at Steve before looking at Robin, all three of us saying Suzie’s name.

“Okay, so, listen, do you know Planck's Constant?” Dustin asked.

“Do you know the Earth orbits the Sun?” Suzie countered.

“Okay, so I know it starts with two sixes, and then a… w-what is it?”

“Okay, so let me just be clear on this. I haven’t heard from you in a week, and now you want a mathematical equation that you should know so you can… save the world?”

“Suzie-poo, I promise I will make it up to you as soon as possible.”

“You can make it up to me now.”

“What?”

“I want to hear it,” Suzie said, bribing my little brother.

“What?”

“I want to hear it,” she repeated.

With fear in his voice, Dustin said, “Not right now.”

Sternly, Suzie came back with, “Yes, now, Dusty-bun.”

“Suzie-poo, this is urgent.”

“Yes, yes, you’re saving the world, I heard you the first time, but Ged is also saving Earthsea and he’s about to confront the shadow, so this is Suzie signing off.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Okay,” Dustin said. “Okay. Okay.” Even from here, I could hear him say, “Shit.” What came next had me groaning the same word, my forehead meeting Steve’s shoulder. “Turn around, look at what you see. In her face, the mirror of your dreams.”

I picked my head, grimacing as Steve looked confused. He looked down at me as I joined in, “Make believe I’m everywhere, given in the light. Written on the pages is the answer to our never-ending story.” Insert vocal run here.

“Reach the stars, fly a fantasy. Dream a dream, and what you see will be. Rhymes that keep their secrets will unfold behind the clouds, and there upon a rainbow is the answer to our never-ending story.” Insert second vocal run. “Story!” Last vocal run.

“Plancks’ Constant is 6.62607004,” Suzie said.

“You just saved the world,” Dustin said, super proud of his girl.

“Gosh, I miss you, Dusty-bun.”

“I miss you more, Suzie-poo.”

“I miss you more, multiplied by all the stars in our galaxy.”

Grabbing the walkie from Steve, who had taken it from Robin, I pressed the button as soon as Dustin started talking again, saying into the mouth-piece, “Enough, Dustin!” Looking between Robin and Steve, plus Lucas and Will who had turned around to look at me, I breathed, “Shut up,” before looking back behind us, seeing the monster stopping.

“It’s turning around!” Steve said.

“What?” Nancy said.

“It’s turning around!” I exasperated.

“Maybe we wore it out,” Lucas said.

“I don’t think so,” Jonathan said. “Hold on.” He made the sharpest and quickest u-turn in the history of– oh, sweet shit, you get it!

I yelled out, feeling my body lurch forward towards Robin, who held her hands out to stop me. Once I was sitting right again, I turned my head to the front saying, “Never do that again, eldest Byers!”

~~~

We made it back to the mall in record time, quickly making our way to the second floor. Griswold Family apparently picked up some fireworks from a store they broke into the first time they cared for El’s leg.

Seeing El on the ground, scared, made me angry and concerned all in one. Grabbing a firework, I lit it before tossing it at the Mind Flayer, the firework exploding once it hit. I lit another one before Lucas and I both yelled out, “Flay this, you ugly piece of shit!” before launching our fireworks at it, Lucas’ landing in the Flayers mouth.

One by one, we all lit the fireworks, tossing them at the Mind Flayer, trying to either kill it or keep it distracted enough to not kill El.

“Hey, asshole!” Steve said. “Over here!” He tossed his firework at the monster, Robin tossing hers after, Billy going down with each hit.

With all the fireworks going off with our throws of them, you’d think we were having our own firework show in the middle of the mall.

“Shit, we’re almost out!” I yelled.

“Dustin,” Steve said into the walkie. “We’re outta time!”

“Hurry!” Dustin said. “Close it now! Close it!”

One last firework went off before I went to the railing, putting my hands on it, looking out Billy and El, the former leaning over her, still as can be before he turned his head towards the Mind Flayer, standing up before El started scooting back.

“What’s he doing?” I asked, to no one in particular. Just seeing him stand there, I wanted to make my way to El, and started to when two arms went around me. “Let me go, Steve. I need to get to El.”

“You’ll die if you,” he said. “She’ll be okay.”

Before I knew it, I was jumping in surprise in Steve’s arms, watching as Billy reached his hands out as the Flayer’s tongue, tentacle… thing reached out, Billy’s hands grabbing onto it as he said, “No!”

Color me surprised when I felt the protective side of him come out as he walked forward, yelling out to try and keep El from being attacked. Two tentacle-like arms came out of the Mind Flayer, digging themselves into Billy’s sides, him screaming out in pain.

It was very well known that I wasn’t the biggest fan of Billy after what he did to Lucas and Steve a few months ago, but I couldn’t help the tears that began to form at my waterline, knowing he was gonna die protecting Eleven.

Four more tentacles came out, grabbing onto him from all sides, hoisting him in the air as the teenager screamed out in pain. The creature brought Billy to his knees, who had black blood coming out of his mouth as he screamed at the creature roaring at him.

I screamed in horror as the creature’s mouth tentacle came rushing out, piercing itself into Billy’s sternum, Max screaming out his name.

The creature’s tentacles retreated, Billy dropping to the ground with blood coating his white tank top.

“Oh, my god,” I said, covering my mouth with my hand.

All of a sudden, the creature started writhing, tossing itself around. Steve pulled us back as it made its way towards us, crashing into the railing before landing on the floor, hopefully dead.

Making my way back to the part of the railing it didn’t destroy, I leaned over it, looking at the monster, feeling Steve and Robin all around me, fire all around the creature.

Watching Max lean over Billy’s body immediately had me looking around for Dustin, wanting to do nothing but hold him as tightly as I could.

“I’m sorry,” Billy choked out before letting out his final breath.

I moved from Steve and Robin, quickly making my way to Max, sliding onto my knees and wrapping her in a hug that I knew she needed in that moment. She grabbed onto me, sobbing into my shoulder at the loss of her big brother.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried. “I’m so sorry.” I sniffled. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Feeling two hands on me, I looked to see El, our eyes locking before she rested her head on my shoulder.

Before we knew it, we were being brought to our feet by our military, the soldiers rushing us out of the mall before the fire could get any worse. There were soldiers, paramedics and firefighters everywhere when we got outside.

A paramedic went to grab at me first to check me over but I ushered Max forward first, letting them check her. A blanket was wrapped around my shoulders as I looked around to see if Dustin was gonna show up. When he didn’t pop up, fear took hold of me. “Where’s Dustin?”

“What?” a paramedic asked.

“My little brother,” I said, looking into her eyes. “Where is he?”

“Ma’am–”

“H-he’s got curly brown hair, like mine. He’s wearing a-a Roast Beef t-shirt–”

“Babe,” I heard Steve’s voice. I looked at him as he made his way towards me, a blanket around his own shoulders.

“Oh, thank god,” I breathed, hopping down from the ambulance to rush to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Thank fuck you’re okay!” I pulled back to look at him, crashing my lips to his not a second later. Pulling my lips away from his, I said, “I love you. Holy shit, do I love you! I’m so in love with you, it’s ridiculous!”

He smiled before it faltered a bit, his face slightly scrunching up at the pain in his lip. “You heard that?”

“Every single word.”

We smiled at each other before he kissed me again, our lips moving in sync for a moment before he pulled away, grimacing. I touched the bottom of the cut, saying my apologies before he shook his head, saying we should go check on our friends.

Dustin showed up a few minutes later, Erica right on his heels. I ran over to them, wrapping my brother in the biggest hug I think I’ve ever given him since his birth. A couple minutes later, I pulled away, keeping my hands on his shoulders. “From now on, we’re never separating again, do you hear me?”

He nodded in agreement, pulling me back into a hug. I let all the tears slide down my cheeks, happy that I had my brother, but sad for Max, as she lost hers.

~~~

Three Months Later

I sat in the front seat of Steve’s BMW, he in the driver's seat, Robin in the backseat. “Okay, so what are we doing?” I asked.

“Steve and I are going to see about getting a job at–” Robin said, handing me the classifieds. “Family Video.”

“The movie rental store?” I asked. “You two should get the job! I mean, Steve and I spend a shit ton of time there weekly.”

Steve had asked me to basically move in with him since his parents weren’t home a lot of the time. I had asked my mom and she practically cried as she said yes, saying how much she’d miss me. I had told her that Steve and I worked out a plan that when his parents come back, I’d be back home until they left.

So, Steve and I had movie nights pretty much every single night, although I fell asleep during every single movie we rented.

When we pulled up and Steve put the car in park, the three of us got out as Robin asked, “You put your mom down as a reference?”

“Yeah, why not?” Steve said, standing at the front of the car, hand held out for me to take. “She’s, like, super-well respected.” He opened the door, lifting his arm for me to walk under, Robin walking in behind me saying, “You’re such a dingus.”

Seeing Keith behind the counter eating Cheeto Puffs, I turned to Robin and said, “One of you might get a job.”

Keith, Robin and Steve chatted for a minute before Robin corrected Keith’s words of them getting fired. “Uh, just to be clear, we weren’t fired, ya’know. The mall burned down and, like, killed a bunch of people.”

Keith dropped their resumes, deadpanning, “Thanks for sharing. Didn’t know.”

I scoffed, “Please.

He snapped his fingers, pointing at Robin, asking, “Three favorite movies, go.”

“Uh,” she said. “The Apartment, Hidden Fortress… Children of Paradise.”

“Liv, go,” Keith said.

Confused, I said, “Uh… Sixteen Candles, Weird Science, The Breakfast Club.”

He scoffed. “Typical. John Hughes.” Snapping and pointing at Steve, he said, “You, go.”

“Favorite movies?” Steve asked.

“Did I stutter?”

I facepalmed as Steve replied, “Uh… Animal House, for sure. Uh…”

Keith snapped at him again, using two fingers to point to his eyes as he said, “Eyes on me, Harrington.”

“Yeah, uh… Star Wars.”

Pressing my forehead against Robin’s shoulder, I muttered, “Oh my god.”

“A New Hope?”

“A New what-now?”

“Which Star Wars?”

“The one with the teddy bears,” Steve said. “Duh.”

“They’re called Ewoks,” I whispered. Steve then proceeded to make noises like an Ewok.

“No? Uh… oh, the one that just came out. The movie that just came out. Babe, we saw it, remember? The one with the DeLorean and Alex P. Keaton, and he’s trying to bang his mom.” Steve chuckled as I closed my eyes and sighed. “The time… yeah, those are my top three. Classics.”

Point between Robin and I, Keith said, “You two start Monday.”

“Wait, what?” I said. “I didn’t even apply! I’m just here for moral support.”

“Monday,” Keith enunciated. Look at Steve, he said, “You start never.”

Steve looked at me, annoyance in his eyes. I rested my forehead on his shoulder, upset for him. He’d been at this all day.

Feeling a hand on my back, I turned head to face Robin as she said, “Steve, will you, uhm… give Liv and I a moment with Keith? Will you just give us a minute?”

“Why?” Steve asked.

She whispered his name as I picked my head up, looking up at him as he turned his eyes to our best friend before downcasting them to me. I leaned up just as he was leaning down, his bottom lip captured between my own.

We pulled apart just as he was reaching for his resume, sliding it along the counter as he started backing away.

“Alright, Keith, you gotta understand,” I said.

“His taste is a bit pedestrian,” Robin said. “But the dingus has other qualities.”

“He’s a douchebag of the highest order, girls,” Keith said.

“Eh, not anymore,” I defended. “I mean, to be fair, he was a bit of a prick to everyone in high school, myself included, but he’s–”

“A total chick magnet,” Robin interrupted.

I cleared my throat, looking at her with raised brows.

“Yeah, okay, and this is relevant to me, how?” Keith asked. “Besides, he’s with Henderson here.”

“Earth to Keith,” Robin enunciated. “The ladies will come in just to see him. They’ll come in in droves.”

“Quit prostituting my boyfriend,” I said.

Ignoring me, Robin continued, “We sold so much ice cream, they had to get a second shipment from Michigan. Goddamn Michigan, Keith. And these ladies–” She inhaled sharply. Yes, I know about her being gay. “These ladies are hot. They’re so very hot.”

“Okay, calm down.”

“And there are too many of them for little Steve. He needs assistance. He needs your assistance, Keith.”

Munching on a Cheeto Puff, Keith asked, “What’s in it for you? What’s in it for Olivia since she’s dating the douchebag?”

I quickly turned my head to look at the commotion behind me, watching Steve pick up a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

“Goddammit,” Steve said. “This is–” He tried putting the stand back in place, his resume between his lips.

“We’re just friends,” Robin said.

Turning back to her, I said, “I’m not prostituting my boyfriend. Again.”

“Oh,” Steve said, causing me to look back at him again. “Fast Times. Fast Times. Ever heard of it? Top three for me, Keith.”

Robin and I laughed at him before I went over to him, wrapping my arms around his neck after taking the paper from his mouth. Pressing a kiss to his lips, I brought a hand to his cheek, feeling his hands grip my waist.

Pulling away, I whispered, “I love you. And I think Robin just got you a job.”

“Really?” he whispered back.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “But I have to prostitute you out for sales again. Oh! I need you to take me to the Byers. They’re packing up and I want to be there to send them off.”

~~~

I got to the Byers’ house as soon as Nancy and Jonathan were bringing a mattress out to put in the U-Haul truck that was backed up to their front door. After I greeted them, I went inside, Max’s face lighting up as she saw me.

“Liv!” she said, standing up to give me a hug. Ever since the 4th of July, she’s been by my side, almost like a shadow that I welcomed. Her mom and stepdad weren’t doing so well, so I told her that I’d be there for her. She’s turned into the little sister I’ve always wanted. I’m grateful for Dustin, do not get me wrong. He’s my little buddy, and I love him.

Max guided me to a box that Dustin was sitting at, asking me to help him pack it and tape it up. I wasn’t there for five minutes before her and Lucas started singing, “Turn around, look at what you see.”

I laughed and joined in, “In her face, the mirror of your dreams.” As I looked at Dustin’s profile, the three of us continued, “Rhymes that keep their secrets will unfold behind the clouds.”

“Wait, did we get that verse right?” Max asked.

“It is ‘unfold behind the clouds,’ right?” I asked.

Turning his head to lock our eyes, he said, “Yeah, you should know it. But all three of you are butchering it, so could you please stop?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I think we sound pretty good.”

“Yeah, join in, Dusty-bun,” Lucas said, dreamy like before blowing a couple kisses at him.

I laughed, “Yeah, Dusty-bun, join us!” as I put my arm around his shoulder.

Looking at me, Dustin said, “You’re so funny, you should be on Carson.”

“Can we hear it again?” I asked, smiling.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No, Liv. It’s reserved for Suzie’s ears and Suzie’s ears alone.”

I looked at Lucas and Max, still smiling as they shifted their eyes to mine, all three of us starting to sing again. “Turn around, looking at what you see!” Looking at Dustin, I started laughing while continuing my singing as he flipped all three of us his middle finger. Resting my head on his shoulder while looking at Lucas and Max, I laughed harder than I have in the last three months.

Of course, Steve and I have shared laughs like this in the last three months, but I haven’t shared a good laugh with my kiddos.

Yes. I consider the party my kids, as well as Dustin. I used to call him my baby when we were little.

Will packed up some things in the donation box they had set up as Jonathan and Nancy came back in the house, I’m assuming going to his room. Joyce came out with a box in her arms, her face lighting up when our eyes met.

I smiled at her, standing up and giving her a hug once she set the box down, giving me her thanks for coming to help, even though the majority of everything was already done. “I’m just here for moral support,” I told her.

She picked her box back up and went outside to put in the moving truck. I grabbed a box that the kids had packed and taped, bringing it out to the truck and setting in an open space. Tears streamed down my face as I hugged the Byers family, El included.

“You’ll call me, right?” I asked her, sniffling.

She nodded her head. “Yes.”

“I want to hear every single detail of everything you experience, okay?”

She chuckled. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I whispered. I gave her another big hug, whispering, “I love you, El.”

“I love you, too, Liv.”

Giving Joyce one last hug, she said to me, “You be good… and careful.”

I nodded, the tears flowing once again. “I will.”

Pulling out of the hug, she said, “You take care of yourself. And be safe.” She gave me knowing eyes that I chuckled at, wiping a tear away.

“We’re not there yet, but once we are, we will be.”

She nodded her head, giving me one last hug before moving to the driver’s seat of the moving truck, Jonathan and Will getting into his truck. Joyce’s car was being towed on the back of the moving truck.

The Wheeler’s, Lucas, Max, Dustin and myself stood in their driveway, watching as they drove off for the very last time. The kids got on their bikes while Nancy and I got into her mom’s car, offering me a ride to Steve’s house.

Over the last few months, Nancy and I have been on okay terms. She told me that she didn’t care that I was with Steve, she was just upset that he and I got together as quickly as we did after they broke up.

I told her the same thing, just with Jonathan, who was like a brother to me. I told her that I didn’t want to see him get hurt, but I could tell she loved Jonathan a hell of a lot more than she ever did with Steve.

When we made it to Steve's, I thanked her and got out of the car, making my way to the front door, where I let myself in with the key that he had made for me. I smiled as I took my shoes off, setting my keys down on the table by the front door. The smell of popcorn filling the air.

Steve and I walked into the living room around the same time, a handful of popcorn up at his mouth as he stared at me. “You’re home early,” he said around that handful.

“They pretty much had everything packed and loaded on the truck when I got there,” I said, walking towards him, taking my own handful of popcorn, dropping a couple of pieces into my mouth at a time.

He nodded his head, pointing to the couch with the popcorn bowl. “I was about to watch a movie.”

“Ooooh, which one?” I asked, turning on my toes to walk to the couch, plopping down on it.

“Police Academy.”

Nodding my head with an impressed look, I said, “Nice. Can I join?”

He chuckled. “Of course.” He sat down next to me, the bowl of popcorn on his lap, no sound coming from either one of us.

As the movie played, Steve and I cuddled, the popcorn long gone, and before I knew it, the movie was long forgotten about, my back to the cushions, our lips in hungry kisses.

***

Steve was slotted between my legs as he pulled my shirt up to just below my breasts, his hand resting on my ribs, lightly.

“Take it off,” I breathed. I knew he knew what I was referring to, but the look in his eyes had me say the material I meant. “My shirt. Take it off.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

We’ve only ever made out, clothes staying on the entire time. I knew I wanted to go there with Steve, give him all of me, and I knew he wanted to give me all of him as well, but we never got there. No time ever felt like the right time.

Sure, I’ve had sex with two other guys in high school, but they never made me feel that good. The rumor mill in school said that Steve was the best and he cared for his partners, wanting to make them feel just as good as he did.

So, as I looked him in the eyes, running my hands through the sides of his head, I nodded my head. “Yes.”

“It could lead to… other things.”

“I know,” I said, softly. “I want it. I want you… again.”

Without a moment's hesitation, he leaned down, saying, “I want you again, too,” before connecting our lips in a kiss that I felt every emotion, all the love and care in. Pulling me up gently, he grabbed the sides of my shirt, lifting it over my head. He stood off the couch, taking my hands in his, lifting me to my feet. He placed his hands on my hips, telling me to jump, which I did, my legs wrapping around his hips.

As he walked towards the stairs, he checked to make sure the front door was locked. It was because I had locked it before taking off my shoes just an hour before. Taking careful steps, he walked us up the stairs, over the landing and to his room, my face buried in his neck the whole time.

I felt my back on the mattress, Steve still hovering over me. “Our first time as a couple shouldn’t be some couch fuck,” he said. “It should be special… like you.” I smiled, threading my fingers through his hair as he leaned down once more to kiss my lips, both of us breathing in deep.

It’s funny how connected you can feel to someone just by kissing them, or being around them. I’ve always felt connected with Steve, ever since we were kids. Before my dad left, he would bring me over to Steve’s, him and I swimming in his pool while his parents and my dad talked inside. When my dad walked out of his and Mom’s bedroom with his suitcase was the last time I saw him before I snuck out, Steve letting me stay over that night.

I felt Steve pull back, our eyes locking, as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Shaking my head, I said, “Nothing. I just… love you. So much.”

He smiled, cupping my cheek with his hand. “I love you, too.” He kissed me again, the hand cupping my cheek making its way down my neck and the middle of my breasts before moving more south towards the button of my jeans. I watched him pop it open with one hand, a smile on my face as he did so.

“Look at you, Mr. I-Can-Do-Shit-With-One-Hand,” I mused.

He chuckled, looking down at my stomach. “That’s not all I could do with one hand.”

Flood gates opened at my entrance, my panties becoming wet with my arousal. “Fuck me,” I whispered. “Damn, Harrington. You have a way with words.”

“You bet, babe,” he smiled, kissing me again.

I swear, if a Demogorgon came and killed me, I would want to die right here in Steve’s arms with his lips on mine.

He moved his lips from mine to my cheek, down to my neck where he left a lovely bruise that I would have to cover tomorrow when I go to do my errands, before moving to the valley of my breasts.

They aren’t big, a low B cup, but they’re just big enough to fit into Steve’s hands after he removed my bra from my chest, tossing the material to the side of the bed, a small thud sounding on the floor as he did. I watched as he admired my breasts, looking me in the eyes after a moment.

“So perfect,” he whispered, before taking his lips to my left nipple, a gasp sounding from me.

“Oh… my god,” I breathed, carding my left hand through the back of his hair as he lapped and sucked and licked and kissed my nipple and breast. He moved the other, showing the same amount of attention as he did my left.

No eye contact was made as I watched him kiss his way down my stomach to the tops of my jeans. He sat up and looked at me before wrapping his fingers around the material hugging my hips, pulling them down slowly before dropping them to the pile that’s being started on the side of the bed.

I could tell he was straining behind his own pair of jeans, so I sat up and cupped him lightly, hearing him let out a sharp breath. “Don’t worry,” I mused. “I’ll get to him next.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” he breathed as I popped the button on his jeans, bringing down his zipper to help give him more room. He laid me back down, hand resting on my stomach. “Next time, you can take care of me. This time, our first, I want to take care of you.”

All I could was smile at his words as he looked down at the center of my panties. His eyes widening for just a moment before he looked at me.

“Goddamn, babe,” he said. “All that for me?” He lightly ran a finger over my clothed core, a hiss sounding from me at the anticipation I was having.

“Yes,” I nodded. “All for you, Stevie.” There’s only a few people in the world that could call him Stevie. His mother, Robin and myself. His mother because… that’s his mother. Robin because he decided to deal with it, and me because I called him that once when we were in middle school and he said I could call him Stevie anytime.

He pulled my panties to the side, dragging his finger through my folds from my entrance to my clit, where he drew light and small circles, my back arching a little as I moaned. “That all you got for me?” he asked, drawing faster circles.

“Do other things and I’ll give you more,” I panted.

“Oh?” he asked, arching a brow. “And what else can I give you?”

“Your mouth.”

Putting my panties back in place, he said, “What do you want, Liv? What do you want me to do?”

“Eat me,” I said, hooking my thumbs into the sides of my panties, taking them off and spreading my legs. “Eat me like I’m your last meal.”

He laid on his stomach, wrapping his arms around my thighs, kissing each one carefully while making his way up, his face eventually meeting my core. Looking at me, he asked, “Are you sure?”

I nodded my head almost too eagerly. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Without missing a beat, he licked a long stripe from my entrance to my clit, just like he did with his finger. Letting out a long moan, my head went further into the pillow, my right hand grasping at the sheets while my left went for his hair.

I had also heard in that rumor mill that Steve liked his hair pulled roughly, which I didn’t believe. He would always come to school with a headache or stay home with a headache that I would ask him about the next day.

Steve wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking lightly. There were also rumors about me in the sex department at school, saying that I liked it super rough, but I didn’t. I liked a little bit of roughness when done correctly, not the kind that would have me sore all over the next day, and not the good kind of sore either.

I didn’t believe any sex rumors about Steve, and I don’t think he believed any about me, which is a really good thing. I looked down at Steve as he worked magic on my core, his tongue diving into me as his nose brushed my bud that was growing sensitive. “Steve,” I moaned out.

He put one finger in me to start, looking at me. “Yeah, baby?”

“Need you.”

Chuckling, he placed a kiss on my bud before licking it again, adding another finger to my entrance. Moaning again, I lightly pulled his hair, hearing and feeling a satisfied groan from him.

Just as my orgasm was climbing to its peak, he pulled his fingers from me, climbing up my body. “What… the… fuck… did you just do? I was gonna cum in the next five seconds!”

He chucked, kissing me to stop my unnecessary whining. “You’ll cum, don’t worry,” he said, reaching into his nightstand. He stood from the bed, shedding his jeans and boxers as I sat up quickly, getting to my knees in front of him.

“You’re getting a blow job whether you like it or not,” I said, kissing the head of his penis while wrapping my hand around his shaft. I don’t really like giving guys head because of my experience with other guys being extremely rough. But with Steve, I want to. His cock is like a drug at this very moment for me as I take the head and put him into my mouth, hearing him moan above me.

I slowly take more of him in, going as far as I can to not set my gag reflexes off. Starting my bobbing rhythm, I jerk off what’s not in my mouth. When I look up through my lashes, I see his head is tilted back. Moaning around him, I close my eyes for a moment before feeling him tap my cheek.

Pulling back, I let go of him with a small pop before kissing his shaft and standing up. Steve places his lips on mine as I hear the tearing of a foil packet, Joyce’s words sounding in my head. “Be safe.”

I can’t help but smile through the kiss, breaking apart momentarily to look down, watching as Steve rolls the rubber onto his glistening shaft.

“What’s with the smile?” he asked. “Not that I’m happy to see it.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Nothing. Just something that Joyce said earlier. No biggie.”

“What’d she say?”

“She said to be safe.” I grabbed his hand in mine, crawling backwards on the bed until my head met the pillow again, Steve hovering over me before he pulled back up again, pulling the sheets back.

“Personal preference?” I asked.

He shook his head, bringing the covers over us after I laid back down. “No. Just wanna feel closer to you, that’s all.”

I smiled at that, threading my fingers through his hair once last time before letting out a moan as he carefully and slowly slid his cock inside me. “Fuck, Steve.”

“Damn, you feel good,” he groaned.

We stayed like that for a moment, Steve letting me adjust to his size again. He’s the biggest I’ve ever had. I could cum just from this alone, his head already reaching that spot inside me that my own fingers can’t reach.

“I’m gonna move now,” he said, kissing my cheek.

All I could do was nod my head, basking in this moment. He started moving his hips back and forth at a slow, but good pace, letting me continue getting used to him. When that no longer did anything, I bucked my hips, letting him know he could go a little faster.

Resting his forearms beside my head, he looked me in my eyes and I knew he was going to say what he told the other girls, but what came out of his mouth shocked me. “You’re out of this world beautiful.” Well, I wasn’t expecting that.

Cupping his cheek, I whispered, “And you’re out of this world handsome.”

He kissed me stupid after that, both of us cumming at the same time.

After he disposed of the condom and carefully helped to clean and dress me, we laid in his bed, his arm around me as I cuddled into his side. He ran his fingers up and down my arm as I closed my eyes, content in this moment with him.

***

“I love you,” I whispered, tears coming to my eyes.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back.

“No, like…” I sniffled, sitting up. “I love you. Like, I wanna marry you one day, have your babies, grow old with you kind of love.”

He cupped my cheek for what felt like the millionth time tonight, wiping away a tear that had fallen from my waterline. “Is that why you’re crying?”

I nodded, leaning into his touch.

Smiling, he said, “Well, it’s the same for me, baby. Always has been.”

“Aside from–”

“Even with Nance. I think I loved her because I felt like I couldn’t have you.”

Another tear fell, and another wipe with his thumb. I leaned down, capturing his bottom lip between mine before laying back down, my head on his shoulder. I sighed, closing my eyes, ready for sleep.

“I love you, Stevie.”

“I love you, Livvie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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A/N 2: hi, friends! pls be kind and reblog! it really helps us content creators out <3

Additional Note: S4 COMING NEXT WEEK!! also, if y'all want a backstory on the "again" comment before they do the smexy time, let me know!!

~~~

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~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski.

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Posted on April 16, 2024

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crow-stars · 1 year

Text

❝HOLD ME CLOSE, PLEASE DON'T GO❞

❦summary; in the arms of someone trusted, you can find safety.

♪the characters in this story; jack howl, gn!reader

✎word count; 1,023

❀what do the ghosts say?; platonic, reader is sick and being stubborn, mentions of spitting stuff; coughing things up; sneezing and all the like of being sick, jack is strong boy

☛the author's notes; nothing to note...

☪look at the catalogue?

The hotter months were always harsher during P.E., especially when Vargas decided that a more intense workout was necessary to ‘whip all the noodles into shape’. The whole class was supposed to be running ten laps around the field, some faring better than others.

You were on the more lagging end of the class, though with some good reason. You took a second to cough, throat pinching as phlegm was spat out and onto the grass. After another sneeze, you continue your sluggish jog. If memory serves correct you were on maybe lap 4? Or was it 5? Your mind started to jumble around six minutes ago.

“Speed up laggers! Let’s get moving!”

There’s a certain irritation that spreads through you at Vargas’ voice, who’s just jogging in place, doing stretches and exercises while he waits for the students to finish their laps. There are maybe one or two students who’ve finished their laps, resting soundly by the benches. You envy them.

“Hey.”

The voice that pops up right next to you earns a yelp from you, jumping back to look at the person who startled you.

Jack jogs next to you slowly, so as to match your speed, but you know he can go much quicker than he is now.

“Oh,” You pause, wiping your watering eyes and coughing a tickle from your throat. “Hi Jack! What lap are you on?”

His ear twitches, if only for a split second, when he hears your cough. Jack ignores it for now. “I’m on my seventh lap.”

You laugh, it sounds raspier than Jack thinks it should, and smile at him. “Lucky. I think I’m on four or five by now.”

The two of you chat idly as you finish another lap together, jogging side by side. The whole time, Jack asks you questions on how you were doing, how school has been, all the types of questions for small talk and catching up.

And then he suddenly asks, “Are you sick?” and the question almost makes you pause.

There’s a moment of your silence, a moment that Jack doesn’t particularly like, and you shake your head, playing it off with a laugh.

“I’m fine! It’s just seasonal allergies and stuff, y’know?”

The look that Jack gives you says he doesn’t believe you, but you wouldn’t either.

“You don’t sound fine. You sound hoarse.”

You just try to run ahead of him, trying to go a bit faster to, hopefully, outrun the conversation. Your stuffy nose made it hard to breathe properly and your wheezing chest only made your lungs burn. Jack is quick to run up to you, a hand on your back to support you as you stop, talking in deep breaths, eyes watering at the edges.

“You’re clearly not fine! Let’s just go to the nurse, okay?”

There’s a light frown that decorates your face at this suggestion. You try to continue to run but Jack’s hand stops you, tugging you back to face him. He has a similar frown to you, if not disappointed then worried, the ears atop his head lying almost flat against his head, tail swishing from side to side slowly.

“I just need a few more laps, Jack! I’ll be fine!”

“No, you’re going to the nurse.”

You open your mouth to argue back but the only thing that leaves your lips is a yelp as you’re suddenly picked up in a bridal carry, the hands that upheld you secured tightly around you and allowing no wiggle room.

“Jack! Let me down right now!”

The Savanaclaw student pays no mind to you, even as you start to squirm and wiggle in his tight hold. He walks over to Vargas, with you still in his hold, and easily declares that he’s taking you to the nurse’s office.

Surprisingly, the teacher allows this, patting Jack on the back and telling him to be back quick. And, with that, Jack begins to carry you towards the school’s main building, still with that tight grip of his.

You, however, are looking up at Jack with a pout formed on your lips, brows furrowed.

“You can let me down now.”

Jack shakes his head, adjusting you into a better position. It’s more comfortable, sure, but Jack still won’t let you down.

“Not until you’re at the nurse.”

A groan comes from you at the refusal of your release and you sneeze, shifting in Jack’s arms a bit more. Once Jack gets into the main building, his steps echo through the empty halls. There’s maybe one or two students that wander in the hallways, perhaps being excused or skipping out on class.

Around the halfway point to the nurse’s office, Jack pauses. When you’re about to ask what was up, he presses his forehead against yours, stopping your words quickly.

There’s a silent pause and you wait to see if Jack will say anything. When he doesn’t, you reach a hand up to his head, fingers brushing against his soft ears. You give them a small scratch, which soon turned into gentle petting.

“Jack..?”

A low whine came from the beastman and he soon lifted his head, the lightest of pouts formed on his lips. He looked angry, but not truly angry, more of an exasperated type of anger.

“You know how stupid you are? You could’ve gotten seriously hurt if you kept pushing yourself like that.”

At these words, a soft laugh leaves you and Jack only sighs.

“So worried about me. What are you, my dad?”

Jack continues to walk, hitting his forehead more forcefully against yours once more. You let out a small “ow!”, hand raising to massage your forehead. And yet you giggle, a small smile spreading across your lips. Jack shakes his head in mock disappointment, yet smiles along with you, a rumbling chuckle leaving him.

The next few days were filled with forced resting, provided by Jack, and eventually, you get better. Of course, Jack still worries about your well-being, insisting on carrying you around and helping for the time being after you were out of your bedridden state, but that’s just him being caring.

#✎haunted books✎#briarvalleyarchives #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #my writing #twisted wonderland writing #twst writing #jack howl #twst jack #twst jack howl #jack twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jack howl x reader #jack x reader

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torhues · 1 year

Text

kita shinshuke.

w. bittersweet, yet still sweet, dare i say

kita thinks he has lived enough.

it's december of twenty-twenty-two, almost new year, almost twenty-twenty-three, the numbers which felt like distant future around forty years ago. he has seen decades change, he's far too familiar with seasons, a little too well versed with minute climate changes to assume the weathers. things are new and unfamiliar and yet, oddly comforting. there are wrinkles on his body, white hair shining like silver on his head under the sunlight; kita is old, he's seventy-two, the younger you wouldn't believe.

time flows like water because it feels like just yesterday, kita had met you. as if it has only been a day since he accidently took his english notebook before test, just a day since you asked him for an answer during the exam, just a day since he cheated for the first time in his life; and it wouldn't be an overstatement to say, he felt like a criminal. even though it was you who poked his back with your fingers, whispering the question you needed the answer to, kita felt equally responsible.

things took a turn when he met you because you bought him taiyaki as a thank you gift for helping you during the test and for some odd reason, kita felt content. the second first thing he did with you was skipping school to attend music festival at a local stadium; the third one was going to the rooftop which was prohibited by the school premises; fourth one being, stealing flowers from a nursery because it was your birthday and he forgot to buy gifts, neither did he have money; and the fifth, kissing you in the classroom after the classes were empty.

kita had shared his firsts with you, from good things to bad, breaking rules, reforming them according to his preferences, in a way that made him feel better, told him that it was okay to let loose at times.

it feels like just yesterday, he asked you out for a date after saving up money for two months, not because his family was financially unstable, but because he didn't tell anyone about his relationship since he didn't know if it's okay to do so, because he wanted to buy tickets to meiko hirota's concert that you'd been dying to attend, because he wanted to take your responsibility from the very first day. it's as if just yesterday, you both were given extra home-work for passing chits in class, just yesterday since his eyes had started diverting to you during lessons instead of the board, just yesterday when kita cried the night you left for college and just yesterday, he felt like he could breathe again when you came back to him, saying studies didn't feel right.

it feels like just yesterday, kita married you at twenty-five.

he didn't believe the moment when you walked down the isle, when he slipped a ring onto your finger, when you looked like the prettiest version of yourself. kita didn't believe what has happening until he got home with his hands in yours, and yours lips against his, and his heart in your hand, with nothing to worry about. he dreamt about spending his entire life with you, and his dream was in front of him, in his hands. kita didn't believe in anything except the moment you said i love you in front of the moon peeping through your curtains and spirits of old lovers dancing in the air.

life felt like the romance novels he read to you on afternoon that were laced with laziness. walks through the sunflower fields resonated of a fever dream, where his hands were intertwined with yours, and the world would reduced to nothing. tiny dates, bunch of flowers— the first thing in the morning, a kiss shared on the benches by the bus stops, long walks up the town, picking grapes, sunsets by the bridges, names carved in the barks of trees, it felt as if you both never grew out of your old highschool love story.

time flows like water, because it feels like just yesterday, he held his son in his arms for the first time and today, kita is a grandfather to two daughters. years passed, the pace of your lives changed, but he still loves you like the very first day. pictures from his golden days that hung up on the wall never let him feel like he has grown old and is no longer able to go on day-long dates with you, because it feels like just yesterday, kita met you, and he has his whole life in from on him to spend with you, even with an IV, even next to a heart monitor, even when he has you next to him 'round the clock, telling him that you love him and having him say it back until when you couldn't hear it back anymore.

kita once asked you if it was fair for him to leave first, if you felt alright because he is leaving you alone, and you said there was nothing unfair about it because you promised to stay with him for his entire life, and you are living up to it. and it feels like just yesterday, you both celebrated your first wedding anniversary.

he would've stayed longer but kita has lived enough. he doesn't have anything left to do, no undone tasks, no loose ends. you're sitting next to him with your hands still intertwined with his because they don't want to let go. kita doesn't have any regrets because it feels like just yesterday, he fell in love with you and tomorrow, in some other life, he would fall for you all over again.

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avenirdelight · 1 year

Text

Robbo’s Wedding

Trent Alexander-Arnold

Trent meets a girl at Robbo’s wedding. Someone who looks so angelic, he can’t stop staring. He wonders if he should make a move on her.

Trent was absolutely jet-lagged. It was a bad one. He felt extremely tired, he had started to feel dizzy, and he was longing for the comfortable queen-sized bed back in his hotel room. It was incredibly irritating for him that this wedding was going at a very slow pace.

Trent had planned to sneak out early from the wedding. This was the first wedding of a friend that he ever took part in, and his mum had reminded him that it would be impolite to leave a wedding before the cake-cutting, so he stayed. But apparently Robbo wasn’t kidding when he’d said that he was going to celebrate all day long. The Portugal sun was going down but the newlyweds hadn’t even had their first dance yet.

He was starting to lose his focus, he couldn’t even keep up with the conversations the lads were engaging themselves in. Virgil started a conversation about pre-season but a moment later they were talking about Ox’s new car—and Hendo noticed that Trent was slightly dozing off.

“Go freshen yourself up, lad,” the captain said, patting Trent on his shoulder. Trent almost jolted to full consciousness. A piercing pain shot on the top of his head, making him wince. “I’m sure it’s going to begin shortly.”

“Yeah, you said that fifteen minutes ago,” Trent groaned. “Call me when it’s about to begin.”

Trent left the table and sneaked himself out to the restroom. A crazy idea crossed his mind, to just flee from the wedding and get back to his hotel, but he knew it was irrational, especially when he knew that it was his fault after all. He had extended his holiday by one day so he’d had no time to rest before the wedding.

But no one said he couldn’t take a nap. All he needed to do was just close his eyes for five minutes, or maybe ten, and he’d be fine. It sounded like a better plan than just washing his face to wake himself up.

So instead of turning to the left where the restroom was, Trent took the right turn, bringing himself to the other side of the building.

–

Trent squinted his stinging eyes open. He blinked them a few times as he looked around with knitted eyebrows. Green bushes, flower bushes, trees, a fountain on the left, a wooden bench across from him—he was in a garden. The sky was dark, but the garden lamps were lit, and the lights fell upon a figure that was standing in front of him.

“Hey.” The voice was sweet and belonged to a woman wearing a pink dress with a flower crown sitting on her head.

Trent took a deep breath. Okay, where was he again? Trent didn’t remember, he hadn’t yet; his eyes and head felt heavy, and his neck… Oh, his neck. He stretched his neck and felt a strain on the back of it, his hand went to caress it with his hand.

And then he looked up. The woman in the pink dress was still staring at him. There was a small smile plastered across her face. She looked beautiful, almost angelic, and when she batted her eyelashes, Trent felt his heart skipping a beat and inside his mind he thought, “Am I in heaven?”

She let out a short giggle as she blushed. “This place is heaven-like but unfortunately you’re not in heaven.”

Oh… Oh! Apparently Trent had said it out loud. He gritted his teeth as he finally regained his full consciousness, feeling a little hit on his cheeks. “Oh, God, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry to wake you up but your phone was ringing. It fell to the ground.” In her hand was a phone in a red case which Trent believed belonged to him. He took it and stared at the screen. There were two missed calls from Hendo.

“Ah, yes… Thank you. I must’ve—” He shook his head, feeling silly because he literally had fallen asleep on a bench in the middle of a wedding. “I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m, uhh, very jet-lagged.”

“I see. Well, I was just walking by and I saw you. I think you have to go back because the reception is about to start… Again.”

Trent checked his watch. He must have fallen asleep for fifteen minutes or so. “Oh, yeah, Robbo’s gonna kill me if I’m not there for the first dance.”

“We better hurry, then. Well, I need to hurry,” she said as she started walking away. “See you later.”

“Yeah, thank you again.”

Trent watched on as she was leaving, walking so gracefully under the lights. She looked over her shoulder at him, flashed him her sweet smile that made his heart skip a beat again. Trent responded also with a smile just in time before she disappeared to the hallways.

—

“Stop staring. You’re being a creep.” Ox’s voice almost startled Trent. The man leaned into his ear and whispered right beside it.

“What d’you mean?” Trent got defensive instantly. He would never admit that deep down inside he was embarrassed because he was caught looking at her. Her, the girl he had met at the garden earlier, that he called an angel.

“Make a move if you fancy her. Don’t just sit here,” Ox advised, casually sipping on his drink. “Today is literally the only day you see her, you don’t know if your path is gonna cross again. You sure you won’t regret it if you miss this chance?”

Ox’s words lingered in Trent’s mind. He’d just been sitting there watching all the family and friends dancing. The newlyweds had had their first dance and had cut the cake, and Trent had thought that he would just sneak out. But he found himself reluctant to even move from his seat. It wasn’t because he didn’t have enough energy to jump on the dance floor.

It was because he had the perfect view of her dancing from where he was sitting.

She had this glow that made Trent couldn’t get his eyes off her. He pondered on the idea again, that maybe she was a real angel. The way her face and eyes lit up, the way she was feeling herself, dancing freely to the music, the way she smiled made him tingling with something he couldn’t even quite figure out.

Maybe Ox was right. Maybe he did fancy her. Robbo was his bestest friend but he wasn’t the one who made him stay at this party.

“Where are you going?” Trent was surprised because Ox suddenly stood up, rolling his sleeves up to his elbow.

“Making my move.” He said, winking his left eye. Trent's eyes followed him as he strutted confidently to the dance floor, approaching a brunette girl in a coral dress. Ox tapped the girl's shoulder and she greeted him with a smile.

Trent wondered if he should make his move too.

—

He didn’t make the move.

The next day, Trent boarded the plane that was going to take him home with heavy steps, because the only thing he could think about since he woke up this morning was her. Her with her pink dress and flower crown. Her sweet smile and her beautiful brown eyes, or were they hazel? Trent didn’t even get to figure it out.

Ox had made fun of him before they had left for the airport this afternoon, saying that Trent was a real coward for not taking the chance. Ox didn’t understand what he was afraid of.

Maybe it was because Trent was jet-lagged and he didn’t trust himself enough to present himself in front of a girl. Certainly not a girl who looked like an angel. Or maybe it was the what-ifs. What if he fell for her but she apparently lived on the other side of the country? What if she wasn’t interested in him too? What if she had a boyfriend? And if it was just going to be a one-time thing, Trent didn’t want it. He wasn’t in the right mind after all, so he thought that the sparks would just go away when he finally was, which had been proven to be wrong.

He was so wrong. But thankfully, the universe was kind enough to give him a second chance.

Trent was just getting himself comfortable in his seat, putting his purse on the little compartment and putting the pillow on his lap. He was planning to just get a little nap or watch a movie on this two-hour flight.

People were still passing the aisles looking for their seats with the flight attendants helping. Trent wasn’t paying attention, until a familiar voice approached. He furrowed his eyebrows as he slowly raised his head.

Trent’s heart stopped when he realised who the girl in the brown jumper was, who was about to take a seat beside him.

“It’s you.” The words escaped his lips in a surprised tone, almost astonished.

His voice was loud enough for her to catch so she turned her head instantly. Her tired eyes suddenly lit up when she realised that it was Trent.

“It’s you!” She looked just as surprised as him. “Oh, what a coincidence!”

Trent’s lips curved into a smile, a quite silly one, without him realising. She excitedly took her seat and rolled down the partition that separated them.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she chortled. “I saw you leaving the party early last night.” She said, striking up a conversation immediately.

“Y— yeah. I did. Wanted to stay longer but—“

“You were jet-lagged,” she cut him off. And Trent nodded. “You didn’t even go to the dance floor.”

It wasn’t hard for Trent to catch the hint of disappointment in her voice. No, he wasn’t just making it up, because her smile also faltered a little bit.

“Yeah… I was jet-lagged.” Trent gritted his teeth, instant regret downing on him. That sounded so stupid, she knew that already, Trent. “And— We’re gonna get back to training tomorrow so… I’m saving up the energy.”

She made a face, a questioning one that also looked like she was impressed. “That’s some real dedication, that. It’s summer break, you don’t even let yourself party?”

“I do. I did, actually, I had plenty of fun. But the holiday's over, I’m afraid.”

“Time to get back to reality, huh?”

Reality would be better if it had you in it. That was a wild thought, he didn’t know where it came from. All he knew right now was, she was just as mesmerising as she was last night in her pretty dress, though right now she was only wrapped in a simple brown jumper with no makeup on her face. She was naturally pretty. Trent had to shift his gaze to stop his heart from racing more.

Brown. Her eyes were in a dark brown shade.

“I’m sorry. But I didn’t get to ask your name,” he said. He extended his hand to introduce himself. “I’m Trent.”

She took it immediately. Trent felt a little bit of electricity inside him when their hands touched. She smiled and told him her name.

“Nice to officially know you, Trent,” she said. Trent loved how his name rolled out from her tongue, how sweet she sounded when she said it.

Her voice was definitely going to be playing in his mind over and over again, like it had been since the first time he heard it yesterday.

—

It was the best flight Trent had ever been on. He may be exaggerating it, but it wasn’t every day that he wished the flight would take longer. The two and a half hours flight felt so quick. Trent wasn’t the most sociable person or good at talking, but with her it felt so easy. The conversations were smooth and it didn’t take long for him to feel comfortable enough with her to throw some jokes. And the best thing was, she laughed at his jokes.

She was a really nice person. She was a little bit shy but actually very fun to be with; the first part reminded him of himself. Trent learned a lot about her, including the most important parts like how they actually lived in the same city and that she had no boyfriend waiting for her at home. She told him about her job, a little bit about her hobbies, and he found everything about her interesting. He really liked her. His heart fluttered every time she smiled, he felt so calm listening to her voice, and every time he stared at her eyes, he just wanted to be lost in them.

They got off the plane together, went through immigration together, got their luggages together, like they travelled together. But it was actually just Trent’s excuse so he could stay longer with her. It seemed like she was doing the same, because she kept waiting for Trent so they could go together and walk side by side with their suitcases trailing behind them.

Their steps got slower as they approached the exit gate. Trent felt something tugging at the bottom of his heart. A voice in his head kept telling him to do something. Make a move! If he walked out that gate without having her number or inviting her to his games, he knew he’d regret it.

He didn’t want her to just be some random person from Robbo’s wedding. He wanted them to be friends, if they didn’t already, or even more than that. Definitely more than that.

“So… This is it.” She said with a sheepish smile as they stopped before the gate. She let out a sigh and it sounded heavy. “I guess this is goodbye?”

See? She looks disappointed! Trent was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want this, whatever this was, to come to an end.

“It doesn’t have to be goodbye,” Trent blurted out. He didn’t quite know yet what to do but he needed to act fast. “It’s been, uh— It’s been a pleasure for me to spend some time with you and I’ve really enjoyed it. So maybe… Maybe we can hang out sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Of course! Would you… Would you like that?”

She briefly bit her lower lip and Trent felt his stomach flutter when he caught it. She nodded shyly, giving him a brighter smile which he replied with the same bright smile.

“I’m gonna need your number, then.” Trent gave her his red-cased phone and she enthusiastically took it, writing her number down. Trent quickly saved it as her name with a smiley face beside it.

“Thank you. I’ll call you,” he said.

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Okay. Uh— Can I give you a hug?” Trent slightly opened his arms. He sounded more confident this time.

She didn’t answer, but immediately took one and a half steps forward, eliminating the distance that separated them and fell into his embrace. Trent wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she wrapped hers around his middle. He wished she couldn’t hear or feel his racing heartbeat but even if she did, he wouldn’t really feel embarrassed.

“See you again,” Trent said when he found her eyes again, caressing her shoulder lightly.

Her hand rested on his chest for a second before she gave it a light tap.

“See you again,” she repeated.

Trent couldn’t wait until their next meeting. He’d taken his chance and he felt absolutely amazing. He was already imagining their first date, their first kiss, and the first time she wore a Liverpool shirt with his name on it. She was already someone special.

She definitely wasn’t just some girl he met at Robbo’s wedding.

—

inspired by this interview. i wrote this fic in august but i forgot to post it!!

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mania-sama · 4 months

Text

hesitated all my life (but i'm all done running)

RUNNING - NF

Haikyuu Pairing - Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Additional Characters - Hanamaki Takahiro Matsukawa Issei Tags - character study, angst with a happy ending, blood and injury, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced drinking, internalized homophobia, homophobia, homophobic language, starvation, dehydration, childhood trauma, heavy angst Summary - Oikawa Tooru is mugged after volleyball practice and becomes the next victim in a cat-and-mouse game between a criminal and the police. Being tucked away underneath the floorboards of his practice court, Oikawa can no longer escape the overbearing feelings he has for his best friend. Iwaizumi Hajime tries to find his best friend before it's too late. Word Count - 12,646 Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own

A volleyball rolls on the ground, far away from where the rest are contained in the set bin. It’s going to be painful getting it back, Oikawa knows. His knee has flared up in aching pain. He sits on the ground and rubs it back into a condition where it can take him around the gym to lock up, then home.

That walk is going to be rough. He doesn’t live far nor in a bad part of town, it’s that he has to actually travel on his bad knee. It’s going to take him at least five more minutes, maybe ten if he has to stop frequently. He sighs, pushing himself slowly off the ground when the pain subsides ever so slightly. It’ll have to do.

He limps to and fro the gym. He’s lucky he’s even playing. His injury over the summer nearly cost him the season, and he doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he had been benched. It’s his final year of schooling before he moves on to higher education. He already has a scholarship lined up, but nothing can quite replace this; the late nights in the gym, practicing solo drills over and over again until he collapses, and gazing up at the Aobai Johsai banners hanging limply from the walls.

And then, of course, there are the people he’ll be leaving behind. It’s not so much the school experience, but the friends and teammates he’s experienced triumph and defeat with. He doesn’t know what to do with the heavyweight in his chest when he realizes he will never sit on the same bench with them or play on the same side of the court. The only way that would be possible is if they all somehow managed to go to the same university as he is.

Which they aren’t. At least, only one of them has been accepted to the same university as him. He and Iwaizumi are sticking together, but not on the court. Iwaizumi isn’t playing collegiate volleyball.

Oikawa shakes himself loose as he turns off the lights of the gym. Getting emotional now will do horribly for his sleep tonight, which he so desperately needs. He has two major tests the next day, and not to mention a volleyball match that afternoon. They’d be playing an unranked school, but it’s a game nonetheless. He wants, and needs, to be well-rested and energized.

The door opens with effort on his part, and he steps out into the chilling air. Seasons are changing, and that makes the nights colder and stretch on for longer. The freezing breeze bites his bare skin, cooling the sweat on his arms, neck, and face. However, it stiffens his knee and reinvites all the pain he was carefully controlling a moment earlier.

He turns to lock the door behind him when his heart seizes. A click of a gun. Clicks. Multiple guns. He stares at the door, his hands frozen mid-air. His entire body stands as still and stiff as possible. Unwanted bile climbs up his throat in complete, unadulterated fear. He doesn’t want to turn in the case they think he has a weapon of his own, or that he’s making a break for it. He doesn’t want to do anything that might make them pull their triggers.

“Drop the bag. Empty your pockets,” a disembodied voice says. Oikawa drops the keys to the ground immediately, then shoulders his duffel bag off of his shoulder. He doesn’t have much in there — a volleyball, a pair of shoes, the set of dirty clothes he wore to practice, and his wallet, probably the only thing in the bag they’re going to want.

He turns out his pockets, slowly drawing out his phone on one side and a lighter on the other. He can’t explain the lighter without outing the fact that his girlfriend smokes and occasionally forgets her lighter — she then gets mad at him for not remembering to carry one, as though he’s the one who smokes.

Only Iwaizumi knows about that. He knows most things about his life that Oikawa wouldn’t tell other people. Things that he wouldn’t tell his own family or his girlfriend.

He wonders what Iwaizumi would say to Oikawa in this situation. Would he hold his hand with a silent promise to keep safe? Or would he somehow try to preserve their belongings by running, or fighting? Perhaps he would’ve seen the glint of the muggers' guns before they could move in from the shadows, and then they wouldn’t be in the situation in the first place.

Well. It doesn’t matter. Iwaizumi isn’t here. He left thirty minutes ago when Oikawa said he couldn’t stop practicing just yet. He’d only even stayed as long as he did under the pretense of walking home with Oikawa.

If they had left together, Oikawa wouldn’t be slowly turning around under the orders of other people. He wouldn’t be staring into the barrels of three guns. “Where’s your wallet? You trying to cheat us?” The middle guy threatens. The voice sounds the same as the other orders, so it must be the same guy. He’s probably the ringleader.

“It’s in— my bag. I can— I can get it out for you,” he says, stuttering through his words. His heart beats erratically in his chest, and it feels like his entire body trembles underneath the rabbit-fast rhythm. The men are wearing ski masks to hide their expressions, but the main guy doesn’t shoot or yell at Oikawa, so he thinks he made the right call.

The middle mugger indicates his gun in the direction of the bag. “Get it out, now.”

Oikawa crouches and tries not to flinch under the distinct sound of guns shifting to follow his movement. One gun is necessary for a robber, he supposes. Three is excessive. Oikawa is unarmed, quite injured, and certainly not trained to fight three robbers with guns at one time. They don’t have anything to fear.

He unzips his bag and pulls out his wallet. It pathetically shakes in his grip. He doesn’t want to part with it. It is a good amount of cash as well as his credit card, which is currently stockpiled with unspent money. He spent all summer working nearly every day, and he has yet to dig into his stash. The plan was to use it on getting a flight to and from Argentina, as well as the various other expenditures that would be required of him during his stay.

Collegiate isn’t his end goal. Argentina is in his sights.

But now, he has his hand out, departing with his money, identity, and bank account. They don’t have his social security, at least, but it won’t mean much with his ID card stolen. It will take him forever to replace all that he will lose.

No, he can prevent most of the damage. He just has to wait until he gets home, and then he’ll call the bank before they can buy much of anything. He can’t do anything about the physical yen , but that’s okay. It has to be the sacrifice.

“Phone. Tell me the passcode while you’re at it.”

Fuck. His social security is in there, as well as his bank. Not to mention it’s a phone, which is expensive and will definitely hurt to replace. But it’s not like he has a choice. The man on the left takes his wallet, and Oikawa grits his teeth against the pain in his knee to pick up his phone. He hands it over while saying the six-digit passcode, and then —

The man on the left says: “What are we doing with this one, boss?”

Boss. Oikawa’s mind reels at that. He thought they were just a couple of guys low on money which resulted in unsavory methods. There are only three of them, and their weapons don’t look spectacular, nor their clothes. Boss would indicate a gang, or yakuza, or some sort of organized crime.

Oikawa is well and truly fucked.

He doesn’t know what to do when the right and left men move forward, seizing his arms and keeping one gun to his temple and another in between his ribs. He wants to struggle, to somehow run away, except there are three guns and he is one injured man.

“The floorboards of the gym,” the one remaining says. “It should be interesting. I want to see how long it takes them to crack this one.” He lowers his gun, but that’s only to retrieve the rolls of black cords behind his back. They were probably stuffed there and hidden by his shirt, or something. Oikawa doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, other than the likelihood he’s going to make it out of this alive or sane has suddenly slimmed to a very, very small margin of possibility.

God, he has two tests tomorrow. He has a volleyball match. His mother is waiting for him at home with a cold dinner that he’s going to have to reheat. His sister is off working in a different district, but she’ll be home to visit in a couple of weekends. Iwaizumi usually texts him before they sleep, making sure he got home okay and that his knee wasn’t bothering him too badly.

His girlfriend...

They manhandle him into the gym and shove him out of their grip when he’s inside. He would’ve run, he would’ve done anything if it weren’t for the fact that they immediately pressed the gun back to his temple. The boss nods to one, and they trade places. The apparent boss starts wrapping Oikawa tight with a black cord while the other keeps Oikawa in check.

“What are you going to do to me?” Oikawa asks, the first question he’s been able to produce on his own since this whole thing started. His voice is rather small and too shaky for his own good. “Please, I’m just a student. I haven’t done anything wrong. I—”

“Stop begging,” the boss grumbles and pulls the restraint binding his arms to his back by crossing his entire abdomen. Another one spans his waist to bind his wrists. “I’ll reconsider this whole thing and just shoot you right here. Would you like that better?”

Oikawa only responds with a shake of his head. The boss scoffs and continues with the last two pieces of cord to wrap Oikawa’s ankles and legs. Beside them, the last man tears up the gym floor with a hammer he must’ve pulled out in a similar fashion as the ropes. The strips of wood give way easily under the prying end of the hammer.

He thought that there was only solid ground beneath the hard flooring of the gym. He was wrong. There, in the center of the left side of the volleyball net, is a rectangular, less than a foot hole. He tears up more to reveal the most of it that he can, showing that it spans just long enough to fit someone as tall as Oikawa.

“I did my research on this place. The yakuza used this place as a money and weapon stash, once. One of those holes on either side of the court. Hope you don’t have a preference,” the boss says, tugging the final restraint on his ankles. It nearly knocks Oikawa over, but the other man has a steady, iron grip on his shoulders. The gun isn’t needed any longer — Oikawa can’t do anything.

Without ceremony, the man behind him forces a strip of cloth in between his lips, painfully pulling the sides of his mouth and triggering an uncomfortable salivating response immediately. He ties it behind his head, secures it, and wraps duct tape several times around his head. All the while he supports Oikawa’s weight carefully on his chest and leg.

He drags Oikawa to the pit and dumps him onto his back. Oikawa lands hard on the cement, halfway onto his shoulder before he lays flat. He’s too afraid to try and plead again, to ask them to please reconsider. He can’t, in any case. The cloth and tape have him completely muffled. When he tries to make a sound, absolutely nothing reaches his ears.

“I would tell you I’m sorry for this,” the boss says, waving for the man to start replacing the flooring again, “but I couldn’t care less. I have this game with the police. I rob and hide people, they try to find the victims before they die of whatever torture I’m putting them through. Great fun. You will die of starvation, I hope.”

The boards are close to Oikawa’s face. Close. The end of his nose presses up against the board — it’ll break if the board gets pushed in too hard. Considering that most of this is empty space, and it’s the dead center of the court, it would be hard to not hit his nose.

“Right under their noses. To put it simply, you’re an insult. I’m playing a practical joke.” It’s not funny in the slightest. Oikawa’s hungry, tired, and utterly terrified. His mouth is rubbing raw from the gag, and the cord hugs his body too tightly to the point where it digs harshly into his skin and flesh.

They leave only after stomping on the replaced floorboards. The sound reverberates through his tiny space, made perfectly to fit just one human person. Made for a victim like Oikawa. The lights turn off, and Oikawa is, one hundred percent, alone.

His stomach growls in the silence of his underground coffin. It’s quiet. It’s nothing but darkness and silence and the adrenaline-boosted exhaustion of being robbed and then locked under his gym. He’s an insult to the police, a practical joke.

Body tingling with the edges of hunger, Oikawa does the absolute only thing he can do. He sleeps in a fitful, restless night, with his body encased in cement and his face pressed against the floorboards of the volleyball court. Sleeping may be too harsh-defined for what he did. It was more like closing his eyes, forcing his breathing to even out, before startling back awake to phantom sounds of guns clicking and feet walking above him.

He doesn’t cry, even though he wants to. His family will notice that he’s gone, his friends, his teammates, and probably his girlfriend. Iwaizumi will see that Oikawa didn’t respond, even though he always does. They’ll tear the world apart looking for him.

He hopes they will.

—

The door opens with a bang, and the only indication that the lights are turned on is from the faintest of yellow outlines in the toothpick-thin space between each board. Footsteps echo through the room, and presumably his head coach sets to work preparing for morning practice. Carts are rolled out from where Oikawa hid them in the closet the night before, and the head coach paces the area. It won’t be long before the team starts filtering in.

It’s never too late to get a head start, though. Oikawa shifts, trying to make as much noise as possible by hitting his feet against the boards. Tapping is all he can manage — the cords have him restrained oddly, the tight quarters of the cement on either side, and the fact that he’s already extremely close to the boards make it so he can’t utilize much force. He tries to make vocal noises, but that’s a lost cause. Nothing makes it past the gag and layers of duct tape.

Oikawa hears his head coach mutter something faintly, then the door opens again. “Good morning, Irihata-san,” Mizoguchi, the other coach, greets.

Irihata quickly shushes him. “Do you hear that? There’s this incessant tapping noise.”

They are silent for a beat. Then: “Maybe Oikawa used the bathroom and forgot to turn off the water. I’ll check.”

The sound of footsteps carries Mizoguchi away toward the bathrooms. Oikawa continues to tap the floorboards, but it’s getting harder with each passing minute. He hears the head coach pace the gym, occasionally getting near to Oikawa, but always turning before he can get close enough to register the exact location of the noise.

Multiple people filter in at once. They greet Irihata in a disjointed manner, and Oikawa does whatever he can to keep tapping. But his body will fail soon. It’s not meant to move in this way, pinned and held together by cords, with nothing but his core to lift his legs a couple of centimeters. And with the gag strangling his ability to breathe, the task becomes a lot harder than it should be.

He hears his friends, Hanamaki and Mastukawa, talk together and say nothing about Oikawa’s absence. Iwaizumi arrives much later than everyone else, much to the coaches’ chagrin. “Where’s Oikawa?” Mizoguchi asks, having returned from the bathrooms a few minutes ago.

Oikawa’s heart races as he waits for his best friend’s reply. I’m here, he wants to scream. Help me! “I have no idea,” Iwaizumi says. “His mother called me this morning asking if Oikawa spent the night with me. Which he didn’t, by the way,” he adds rather hastily. “He hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”

“Call him right now. If he’s hungover from a party or something, I don’t care. We’ve got a game today, and he needs to get his butt over here,” the coach orders.

“I don’t think…” Iwaizumi starts and then trails off. He’s likely getting the death stare, which would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that Oikawa’s anxiety is skyrocketing. Hunger has truly struck him now, having missed two meals already and suffered through an incomplete night of sleep. His friend’s phone rings faintly from where he’s standing closer to the door than to Oikawa.

Louder, he hears: “Hello! This is Oikawa. Sorry, you just missed me! Leave a message, and I’ll consider getting back to you.”

Hanamaki calls from further away: “He hasn't replied to either me or Mattsun.”

“He better have a good reason for this,” Mizoguchi grumbles. “Whatever. Everyone else is here, so no point in delaying practice any further.”

Oikawa’s real Hell begins here.

Each step reverberates through the cement and pounds into his ears. In the close encasement, it sounds like bombs are raining down on his coffin. After they complete their sideline drills, it takes exactly two nanoseconds for someone to step on the floorboards holding him in. His noise splinters and cracks under the pressure. Blood trails down the sides of his face, and suddenly, breathing becomes one of the hardest tasks he’s ever had to do.

He stops tapping the floor in order to carefully control the air flowing in and out of his nose. He can’t exert any effort with his bones misplaced and blood seeping out his nose. His eyes sting up with the tell-tale blur of forthcoming tears, and he shuts his eyes tight. He can’t start crying. If he does, it’ll open a floodgate, and then he really won’t be able to breathe.

Oikawa isn’t keen on dying just yet. They are going to realize he’s missing soon. Hopefully. Even if they, for some reason, think he was partying and got too drunk. Iwaizumi doesn’t think that. If he can just come to his senses and report him to the police, then maybe he’ll get out of here before starvation takes him.

Practice ends without Oikawa ever making an appearance. The bones of his nose have been shattered from repeatedly being smashed in unknowingly by his teammates. He has cried if only for the sheer pain he’s experiencing. It’s only survival instincts that keep his breathing even under the pressure of his broken bones. Iwaizumi had called him again during their small break, and still, voicemail. Even Hanamaki and Matsukawa tried, but they received the same response.

The coaches dismiss them with a thinly veiled threat to make sure Oikawa attends school so he can play the game. To Iwaizumi, Mizoguchi lays the punishment thicker. They know their close friendship, he supposes.

He can’t help but find it a little odd. He has time to dwell on it since everyone clears out of the gym and they shut off the lights. They don’t stick around, because Oikawa has stopped tapping the floor due to his shattered nose. He can’t make a noise.

A few pathetic tears slip down his face. This time from sorrow — any pain he feels has become a monotonous throb hidden behind the heavy pounding of his heart. His mouth dries out, and a headache builds at the base of his neck. Yet, he is utterly alone. Though it’s morning, his world is dark and contained in a cement coffin underneath the floorboards of his volleyball gym.

Oikawa doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to step foot in this place again once this is over. If he even gets out of here.

He presses his head as close as he can to the ground to relieve his nose of any kind of pressure, and he tries to sleep. Tries. He’s not very successful. More than anything, he’s bored and alone with only his thoughts to keep him company. No music, no entertainment, nothing. Just him, unbearable pain, and his incessant inner voice.

He thinks about his mother. He wonders if she’s worried sick about him, or if she thought he had been off at a party like his couches assumed. Oikawa wants to think that she knows him better than that; honestly, he’s not much of a party person anyway. Partying takes away from the time he could be spending watching matches and studying. School and volleyball are too important to him.

That doesn’t mean he hasn’t gone to a party. His friends have dragged him to them on occasion, but they’ve never had a problem with him leaving when he doesn’t feel like staying for long. He’ll pick them up if they need a drive home in exchange. His girlfriend doesn’t like it as much when he leaves, so he stays to please her.

He wonders if that’s why they’ve grown so distant. Oikawa can’t go to parties. He didn’t bring the right lighter. He has too many fangirls, too many high-level classes to attend, and too little time to spend with her, even though he tries so hard to make time.

The silent treatment recently has struck a chord in his heart. He doesn’t even know what he did wrong, but she won’t answer his texts and she looks the other way when he speaks to her. So he can’t even find out what happened. It’s driving him up the wall, but mainly, it’s made him upset.

Upset because he doesn’t even know if he wants to salvage their relationship.

His breath shudders as that thought crosses his mind, blatant and blaring like a police siren. Their downfall isn’t a tragedy, it’s merely an inevitable end. Oikawa had felt their tether loosening and splintering over the past few months. He doesn’t mind her smoking habits; he minds her jealousy streak, the way it’s always his fault and never hers, and how she really, really didn’t like Iwaizumi.

The slimmest reflection of his best friend sent his hands tremoring with a new kind of anxiety. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him recently — it’s like every time he sees Iwaizumi, his heart races, body heats, and tongue thickens, causing him to stumble over his words as though he’s a young girl giving a confession. It’s embarrassing.

He doesn’t know what it means. Or rather, he doesn’t want to know what it means. Oikawa would rather focus on anything else in the world, but bringing himself back to the present is worse than the tumultuous words banging around his head. All that’s here for him in reality is his various aches and pains, the sharp sting of the cords keeping his body tight and still, and the complete darkness of his cement coffin.

Iwaizumi is a much better topic to think of. He always has been, and always will be, and reflecting on their relationship is much more fun than focusing on his pain. And as he reflects on his odd ailments regarding Iwaizumi’s presence, he remembers the entire, sorrowful ordeal concerning the university.

Oikawa had a very quiet meltdown when Iwaizumi texted him about the university he’d sent an application to, decidedly one that was not the same as the one that had offered Oikawa a full-ride scholarship to play collegiate volleyball. The thought that they would be separated so soon after high school made him so unbearably upset, and he couldn’t even comprehend why. His reaction to Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s decisions had been bad, but not that bad.

The day Iwaizumi revealed where he was going to university was the day Oikawa blessed the sun, the moon, and the stars, and sent his gratitude to every god of every religion. He doesn’t think he’s clingy, but when he reflects on his stroke of luck, he rethinks his entire self. Maybe he isn’t clingy, per se, but he doesn’t like losing the things he loves. Like volleyball, which he’s signed to play collegiate for. His family, whom he would lay down his life for.

Iwaizumi.

Oikawa promised himself the moment they met eleven years ago that he wanted Iwaizumi to be his best friend to the end of time. He still holds to that now, even as he starves and breathes shallowly and evenly beneath the Aoba Johsai gym floor. There’s nothing false about his eternal vow. It’s just that love is a strong word to use for a best friend.

Yet, he cannot deny that he truly does love Iwaizumi. As an extremely close best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s all they ever will be, and Oikawa knows this. He doesn’t know why there’s an achingly familiar pang in his chest so vastly unrelated to his current predicament when he repeats the label of their relationship. Best friend.

He redirects his thoughts to the tests he’s missing today. He’s in his last year of English language, and though his grades are fine, he can’t help but worry over structure. Everything has become a lot more complicated after they’ve started doing complex sentences, each one being in a different tense and containing vocabulary words he’s not sure he fully understands. He went over them with Iwaizumi the other night, and it honestly seemed like his friend was fairing much better with the vocab than Oikawa.

Before his mind can travel down that familiar road of late-night study sessions, he associates English with learning Spanish in his free time, then Spanish with Argentina, then Argentina with volleyball. And where there is volleyball, there is Iwaizumi. He’s right back where he started.

He tries aliens and the various theories that follow, but that goes even quicker to Iwaizumi than English had. His other test is Calculus, he thinks desperately, but then that goes to how he struggles with the equations and graphs and Iwaizumi can just do it so effortlessly —

Everything comes back to Iwaizumi. Always.

And that leaves him with the muggers, guns, cords wrapping his body tight, cloth and duct tape binding his mouth, and a broken nose strangling his breathing.

So he goes back to Iwaizumi in a vicious cycle that repeats until he falls into a frustrated, headache-induced sleep.

—

He wakes to nothing but the deep-set ache of his body and the tight constriction from starvation. His throat is dry and his mouth is sore from the gag.

Other than his breathing, he hears nothing. He cannot tell how far into the day it is, when school will let out, or when the next day will come. Since there’s a match, nobody will be in the practice gym all afternoon. He’ll have to wait until tomorrow to try his luck again.

Distantly, he wonders if they’ll notice him tomorrow. Oikawa may be weak at that point. A full day and a quarter without any food or drink is hard on the body. It’d be one thing if he was getting water, but he was barely even taking in an adequate amount of oxygen . This careful equilibrium can’t last him forever. Besides, if they keep crushing his nose underneath their feet, then he really won’t be able to breathe.

The thought is upsetting enough that he returns to the snake biting its tail. Iwaizumi and him. He and Iwaizumi.

He works on trying to pry the duct tape off by scraping it against the cement wall. It’s not like there’s anything else he can do. He’s pressed in close enough that it doesn’t work very well, and he has to take frequent and inhibiting brakes every thirty seconds or so on account of his nose. It’s positively miserable. More miserable is sitting and doing nothing in agony.

He questions fleetingly, with objective curiosity to cure incurable boredom, what it would be like if Iwaizumi was born a girl. Oikawa shuts it down before it can bloom. It’s not like he can imagine Iwaizumi looking any different, anyway.

—

It’s incredible how fast his thoughts turn sour.

In his intense avoidance of Iwaizumi, he ends up recounting his entire life from the point of remembrance to his current, unfortunate predicament. He starts off innocently enough, but then it moves on to the first embarrassing moment of his life. Then the next, and then the avalanche of his Worst Days comes crashing down on him in a violent flurry of misery and distress.

His stomach curdles and coils with hunger, uncomfortableness, guilt, and regret. Reliving your tragic memories of humiliation isn’t something he thought he’d be dealing with when he first got shoved underneath the floorboards. At that point, he’d been too scared to think about anything but his imminent death and what he could do to avoid it. However, now he’s alone and most of the initial terror has worn off — the anxiety of it all doesn’t quite abandon him — so all he’s left with is an impenetrable amount of boredom.

He recalls the times when he caused scenes over minor things, when he’s cried in front of his classmates in elementary and lower secondary school, and been unreasonably rude or angry to his friends and family. Those in particular make his head reel and jaw flex. He has a mean streak — he’s well aware, and he doesn’t always feel sorry after he’s laid a few thick words — but something about the cramped darkness of the gym floor has him rethinking his actions.

The words he could have chosen differently. The people he’s hurt.

God, he never apologized to Kageyama for that shit he pulled when they were younger. Slapping a child because Oikawa felt sorry for himself is such a shitty move that he can’t even find the wherewithal to come up with a better justification for it. Even though it happened literal years ago, his heart pangs, and his gut clenches in that familiar, pitiful self-loathing agony.

He spirals before he knows it, and it jumps so fast to yesterday, or the day before, or however long it’s been since he and Iwaizumi had gotten into an argument, the same old fight, and Iwaizumi left Oikawa to practice in the gym alone for longer than usual. Iwaizumi wanted to walk Oikawa home, as they usually do, but Oikawa was confounded with a fit of nerves and anxiety that was overall foreign to him.

Or rather, it had been foreign to him, but in the past few weeks, he’s noticed an uptick in tremoring heartbeat and frantic thoughts. Nothing had changed between him and Iwaizumi, not anything that Oikawa had picked up on. Yet, on the basis that he was sure he was going to have a nervous breakdown if he walked in the dark with his best friend, he vehemently denied the offer and said that he should practice more. Iwaizumi argued that his knee was hurting, which it was and despite Oikawa’s best attempt at lying, Iwaizumi saw right through him.

Oikawa resorted to his usual defense mechanism, except he was much worse. The insults he swore cut deeper than he intended, and he knows it’s because of this thing he’s developed around Iwaizumi that’s completely fried his nerves. Iwaizumi left before the argument could turn from normal to violent, as though he knew that Oikawa hadn’t been feeling his best.

It didn’t mean that his face wasn’t twisted when he slammed punched the gym doors open and that Oikawa spent the next thirty minutes pushing himself as hard as he could to forget his jittery nerves and the hurt expression on Iwaizumi’s face. For the most part, it had actually worked. His knee was in enough pain and his exhausted, sweaty body averted his attention.

He’s cognizant of the fact that he was being unreasonable and that there has to be a root cause of his apparent fear of being close to Iwaizumi despite the fact that they’d been that way for their entire friendship. It came with the territory of being friends since they were six, and staying that way until they were both seventeen and drank themselves into a stupor over their eleven-year friendship.

Alone. Together. Just the two of them in the backyard of Iwaizumi’s house when his parents weren’t home. It would be one of his favorite memories, honestly, if it weren’t for the intense anxiety and heartache it causes him to recall it. It’s the way Iwaizumi looked at the time, with his face flushed with alcohol and his lips looser than usual, calling Oikawa more endearing terms than meaningless insults. He can’t remember much from that night past the hours they spent downing shots and cups that gradually led to a horrid, impromptu one-on-one volleyball match that ended with them sprawled out on the grass, laughing and making non-existent shapes of the stars hanging above them.

Oikawa woke up in Iwaizumi’s bed with the worst hangover in his entire life, pressed close to Iwaizumi, and starfished around him like a jellyfish clinging to an unsuspecting human leg. His and Iwaizumi’s torsos were bare, and thank fuck their pants were on or Oikawa would have had a panic attack for not remembering their first time together.

His thoughts come to a halt at that, and he feels his neck and face heating at the imagery of sex with his best friend. Who is a boy. Who is someone that Oikawa is not at all attracted to, and never will be attracted to. It’s embarrassing, he concludes, that he would even entertain the idea for more than half a second.

His heart palpitates and his breathing falls uneven, sending a spike of panic through his veins as he struggles to take in air through his shattered nose. It doesn’t help that he’s now actively thinking about having sex with Iwaizumi, even though he keeps trying to banish the thought. He blames it on the gym floor and boredom. He doesn’t want it to be anything else.

Even if his whole body twinges at the phantom feelings of his best friend planting kisses on his face, licking his neck, roughly unbuttoning his shirt, and sliding his hands down past Oikawa’s boxers. He moans into Oikawa’s ear, and instead of being entirely aroused, Oikawa feels uncomfortable and insurmountably guilty. He shouldn’t be having these thoughts – not about his best friend, who is not a girl and is very much a boy. He pushes imaginary Iwaizumi away from his two-thirds exposed body, unfathomably worsening his guilt and regret, and forces his mind to search for another topic.

Anything else. Please. Anxiety thrums through him as he keeps coming back to Iwaizumi, and his family, and about how horrified they would be if they found out Oikawa had been having these wretched, immoral fantasies. Ones that he’s tried for years to control but keep coming back to haunt him like a restless ghost. He can’t imagine the anger and betrayal Iwaizumi would feel if he ever had a peak into Oikawa’s intrusive, unforgiving mind. Iwaizumi would never talk to Oikawa again. Their eleven-year-long friendship would splinter and snap like a twig, and Oikawa’s friends would all leave him because he keeps pulling Iwaizumi back to him, pressing his hands to his chest, and tearing him apart with his mouth even though Iwaizumi is the same sex as him and that makes this so, so wrong.

The metal doors of the gym creak and groan. Multiple sets of footsteps glide into the court, carrying them only a few paces before they stop entirely. They’re probably grouped at the front.

“Is there any place he could be hiding?” An unfamiliar voice asks. It’s deep and masculine, and the distinct sound of clanging metal makes him wonder if the group of people is the police coming to investigate his disappearance.

His evil fantasy disbands before him like dust in the wind. He focuses on the conversation, trying to regain his breath so he might be able to tap on the floor. If anyone can find him, it would be them or Iwaizumi. Distantly he thinks that Iwaizumi wouldn’t make a horrible officer.

Speak of the devil. “The changing rooms is where I’d look first. Nobody saw him at practice, but he spends more time here than anyone else. If there’s a place to hide, he knows it,” Iwaizumi says. His voice is tight and tired. Oikawa's heart starts hurting all over again, and something akin to strong desire throws his breathing far off-kilter again.

Moreover, the fact that Iwaizumi is directing the police to look here, where Oikawa really is. They are so close. They just need to focus and see that he’s right under their noses. If the men who did this to him were able to find out that the yakuza used this gym once — the thought sends a shiver down his spine. How long has it been since they abandoned it? Were they still using it when Oikawa attended in his first and second year, waiting for him to leave the gym so they could unload weapons, drugs, and God-forbid bodies? — then surely the police could as well.

Surely, he thinks when they pass over his coffin. Not all of them went to the locker room. Some were directed to search the main area while they thoroughly ransacked the changing room. Unfortunately, Oikawa hadn’t left anything behind when he finished practice. He doesn’t like to give any indication he was there in the first place, which is an odd behavior he’s kept since he was young. Even though the whole team knows he stays for an hour or so after practice is over, Oikawa refuses to leave a trace of his presence.

Oikawa knows exactly where, when, and why this habit developed. It doesn’t matter, now, though. His father has been out of his life for seven and a half years. He has no reason to be thinking about the awful man any further.

“And you’re sure he had no connections with any gangs, drug dealers, or the yakuza?” An officer asks, their voices filtering in as they re-enter the court.

“Yes, I don’t—” Iwaizumi’s voice cuts out abruptly. It sounds so unlike his best friend that Oikawa could honestly cry. “I didn’t go through hours of interrogation for it to continue here. Just do your job and find him.”

It’s not an officer’s place to give condolences or comfort where they aren’t strictly necessary, so the policeman predictably doesn’t respond Oikawa’s still not breathing right; every voice he hears sends jolts through his aching head, knocking away all of the progress he’d made in the second before. He can’t scream to let them know that he’s here, that someone from his past or a mugger playing an awful practical prank has laid him under the floorboards to die.

They pass over him without pausing. His nose is bent far enough back that their footballs are unable to damage it any further. Splitting in different directions, he assumes Iwaizumi is going back in the direction of the changing rooms while the police officer heads the opposite way. Oikawa has the sickening premonition that they aren’t going to find him after all.

Oikawa is overridden with panic and dread as they search through the gym and come up with nothing. They meet in the middle after a while, and a long, tense silence stretches among them. “Nothing?” One asks. Another parrots the same word as an answer. “Then let's keep going. Iwaizumu-kun, take us down his usual route home.”

“... Okay,” Iwaizumi consents.

Oikawa never got his breathing under check in time. He continues to struggle, wondering if the light-headed feeling is coming from the lack of oxygen, hunger, dehydration, or sorrow. Most likely an amalgamation of all four to maximize his misery. The door closes behind them and locks into place.

He is alone. Even his intrusive thoughts are unable to keep him company as he silently processes the likelihood that he will die.

—

Memory is inherently fallible, but Oikawa remembers his father perfectly. It’s a trick of the universe, another set of unwanted thoughts to corral his misery. He’s too tired to fight them anymore. Hunger and thirst have started to drain him in earnest.

In truth, he didn’t get to see his father that often. The custody agreement between him and his mother meant that Oikawa only went to his dad’s house on the weekends. He didn’t hate his dad at the time, but he certainly enjoyed his mom’s place more. She had all of the posters he liked, the action figures from his favorite comics, three volleyballs, and most importantly, Iwaizumi. He only lived a few houses down from his mom’s house, while his dad lived on the other side of the city. Much further away from Iwaizumi, which made it extremely inconvenient for Oikawa to hang out with his best friend.

Oikawa was young at the time. He didn’t have any comprehension of divorce, or why his mom and dad lived in two separate houses. It didn’t matter to him, really. It wasn’t until he was older that he was slowly taught all of the reasons why his father was abhorrent, and why Tooru should strive to clear the dirt off the Oikawa family name.

He was seven years old when he first heard the word fag at his dad’s house. It was about some television show his father and his friends were watching, strewn around the living room while having Oikawa serve them beer at intervals. They laughed loudly, and when Oikawa came into the room with four bottles balancing carefully in his arms, his father said the words that continue to haunt Oikawa to the present day:

“Never be a dirty bastard like that, son, or I might just have to kill you myself.”

His dad said things like that. Casual threats, slurs to anyone different than himself, and overall degrading comments to women. His dad’s friends weren’t any better, and they tended to goad his behavior rather than amend it. The abnormality of his father’s personality became more apparent to him as he got older.

Iwaizumi’s dad didn’t leave bruises on the places where he gripped too tight. Iwaizumi’s dad didn’t leave cans of beer on the ground for his son to clean up. Iwaizumi’s dad was nothing like his own dad. Oikawa liked Iwaizumi’s house better than he liked his dad’s house.

Oikawa’s room was barren at his dad’s house. He tended to keep people over when Oikawa wasn’t there — and he did when he actually was there, sometimes — so he was ordered to pick up anything that might indicate that he even had a son in the first place. Of course, Oikawa knows why that happened: his father invited women to his house almost every night. Multiple, in many cases. They couldn’t all sleep in one bed, so they were delegated to what was supposed to be Oikawa’s room.

Then there was the other stuff. His dad didn’t like how Oikawa preferred to keep himself pristine and clean, didn’t particularly enjoy any other sport than volleyball, and hadn’t shown much interest in any of the girls in his class. He only really talked about Iwaizumi, and when he met them, Mastukawa and Hanamaki. His father would warn him not to be a disgusting homosexual, and that would be that.

Oikawa only got to learn about the really bad things after his father killed himself in the living room on a Saturday night.

He was ten years old, and the sound of the killing gunshot woke him up from his shallow slumber. His room was plain and bland, just like always, with his clothes packed in his duffel bag. He raced down the stairs and found his father dead on the couch with two empty bottles at his side.

It’s only on bad nights that Oikawa recalls this. And on those bad nights, he calls Iwaizumi, who always manages to answer him despite the fact that it’s three in the morning and they have morning practice, or Iwaizumi’s at the beach, or something or the other.

He only ever asks to hear Iwaizumi’s voice. His best friend always obliges. They don’t talk about it the next day, though even if Iwaizumi asked, Oikawa would have denied him. He doesn’t like to think about it, much less talk about it.

Besides, he doesn’t know what to do with the guilt that overrides him on those nights, and the day after when his mind supplies him with the gruesome scene of his father’s pink and red brains splayed out over the dirt brown couch.

The truth is, Oikawa doesn’t feel sorry that his dad committed suicide.

He feels sorry that he had to see it. He feels sorry that his mother suffered all his dad’s abuse and degradation for years, yet not be able to obtain full custody of her children. His father was a piece of shit through and through, and Oikawa does not mourn his death as a seventeen-year-old.

Oikawa only fears the person he will become, fears that to this day, his father clutches his mind so tight that he thinks his own brain matter is seeping between his fingers.

“Never be a dirty bastard like that, son, or I might just have to kill you myself.”

The disembodied voice echoes and bangs around his skull like a bullet’s ricochet path. Bile climbs up his throat when he thinks about Iwaizumi and all of the nasty thoughts he’s had about him in the eleven years of their friendship.

Oikawa’s father is dead, but the weight of his impact clings to him as though he were still alive to repeat those threats. Oikawa knows that the world has differing views on homosexuality, but he also knows that in the Miyagi Prefecture, there are way too many people who hold similar, if not identical, beliefs. Oikawa plays men’s volleyball for God’s sake. If he was gay, they’d all turn their backs on him. They might beat him, leave him for dead, or shoot him in through the temple like his dad did to himself all those years ago.

That’s why Oikawa likes girls, not boys. He doesn’t like Iwaizumi that way, despite his brain unhelpfully supplying him with the night they got drunk out of their minds in his backyard.

Oikawa only enjoys alcohol when he’s with Iwaizumi. That he can admit to without feeling a convoluted mess of emotions that make him want to rip out his hair, which he can’t do regardless. His arms are tied firmly to his back, and he doesn’t have nearly enough space to attempt wiggling out of the cords.

He wonders what his father would do in this situation, but he can’t imagine he’d be in it in the first place. He would’ve gotten himself killed in the process of being robbed, probably. Then, he reprimands himself. He doesn’t want to do whatever his father would do. That man was a liar, a bastard, and a cheat.

Oikawa pretends he’s called Iwaizumi. Pretends that his chest isn’t constricted with the terror that he’s become exactly like his father. Pretends that he doesn’t want Iwaizumi to hold him tight in his arms, because his father would kill him if wanted that, his teammates would abandon him, he’d never be successful in his professional career, he’d stain the family name more than it already has been, he—

—

It takes ten years for the doors to be opened again. According to his vague perception of time, — calculated mainly on his increasing thirst and hunger — Oikawa thinks it should be time for morning practice. That means a day and a quarter has passed underneath the floorboards. He feels gross from the dirt and dust coating his body. A shower would be nice. So would food, water, more than two centimeters of space to move, and real human interaction.

Alas, every man wants what they cannot have.

Instead of the slow pace and quiet grumbles of Irihata, two sets of footsteps land heavily on the gym floor. They rattle the cement coffin, though they never quite step on top of him. “Oikawa!” Hanamaki’s familiar voice calls. “This isn’t fucking funny! Oikawa!”

After a beat of silence that is filled entirely with Oikawa’s mental screams of desperation, his other friend’s voice cuts in. “Yeah, I don’t think he’s here,” Matsukawa says, and there’s an edge in his tone that Oikawa isn’t fond of.

“Fuck,” Hanamaki sighs. It’s truly amazing how one word can summarize Oikawa’s entire situation.

He hears the distinct rustling of paper and his friends moving a few paces. The pulling and ripping of tape comes next, and while Oikawa knows they’re putting something on the wall, he’s a little lost as to what. “This feels useless,” Makki professes.

“It’ll guilt the team into trying harder to find him,” Mattsun steadfastly replies. An unsettling feeling coils in his stomach when he realizes that his friend is being reasonable. Not only that, he’s become a comforting figure. Truly terrifying. The world may as well collapse underneath their feet.

Another lull haunts their conversation, as though they can’t quite figure out what to say. Or rather, everything that they wanted to share had already been discussed before they arrived at the gymnasium. Either way, it helped Oikawa very little in terms of gleaning information about the living world.

“LSD,” Makki starts. The word makes Oikawa’s eyebrows furrow painfully, given his pounding headache. “All his money went to LSD and some other drug, right? That doesn’t seem right.”

What?

“He barely even drank, and he was saving for a trip to Argentina,” Mattsun agrees.

“He seemed nervous, though, right? Like, all last month.” Makki pauses. Then, “Do you think—”

“No gangs. Oikawa doesn’t have the guts for that.” Oikawa would be offended in any other scenario. But, given his predicament and the dots connecting in his head, a bitter taste fills his parched mouth instead. “Besides, we agreed his behavior was linked to college and Iwaizumi. Getting into a gang and doing hard drugs is far out, even for us.”

What the fuck, Oikawa thinks incredulously, do they mean by that.

“Shit. I hate this. I hate this so much. It’d be easier if he ran away. At least he’d be okay. And we’d probably know where he went,” Makki rambles, then follows up with a string of curses.

Matsukawa mutters inaudibly. A little louder, he says: “We aren’t helping anyone by standing here. Let’s get changed.”

Out of all the things they’d said in their short conversation, that threw Oikawa for a loop the most. If it’s morning practice, then they should already be in their practice clothes. Their footsteps led away to the changing room, leaving Oikawa to stew in his thoughts as he always does.

A second later, the door opens again. This time, Oikawa is sure it’s Irihata. He’s usually there after one or two early players in the afternoon practice. though the fact that Hanamaka and Matsukawa are the early ones this time calls for concern. He knows why. They’re worried for him.

The anxiety and despair crushes any warmth he may have felt at the sentiment. Not only is it afternoon practice, meaning his perception of time is worse than he imagined, but morning practice had been canceled, likely from his disappearance. It surprises him — one person not being able to show up shouldn’t have made his coaches cancel the whole thing. Unless, of course, the brief investigation happened in the morning rather than at night as Oikawa originally thought.

More irritating than anything is that Oikawa has absolutely no way of confirming this unless someone happens to talk about it at a distance where he can hear, and the likelihood of that occurring is even worse than his chance of making it out alive. He resigns himself in his bristling agitation as Irihata begins setting up the court and more players, along with Mizoguchi, enter the gymnasium.

Iwaizumi’s gruff greeting captures Oikawa’s attention for a second. It doesn’t sound like much at first, but for the second day in a row, he’s come far later than the rest of the team. He knows the observation isn’t lost on his coaches, yet they opt out of saying anything about it. They let Iwaizumi pass through to the changing room without so much as a hint of displeasure.

Oikawa feels his heart hurt unbearably in his chest. Iwaizumi and Oikawa usually walk together to practice, and if they don’t, they’re on time regardless. Lateness could only mean Iwaizumi was waiting for a person who will never come, or searching for a friend whom he won’t find.

We agreed his behavior was related to college and Iwaizumi, Matsukawa’s voice echoes in his head, only slightly overshadowing the rough threat of his father.

He’d been as discreet as he could over the past few weeks. He didn’t hang out with his friends any less, didn’t break up with his girlfriend out of the blue, and certainly didn’t do anything to indicate that his heart rate went through the roof when he was with Iwaizumi for more than five whole seconds. The issue of his anxiety was something he resigned to solving by himself. Enough self-berating over time should have done the trick.

Except it didn’t, and his friends were able to pick up on it. His father, Matsukawa, and his own voice run together in a murky, slow-moving river. It rises past his shoulders and clogs his nose with muck.

“Before we begin,” Mizoguchi begins after all of the players gather in a stiff silence, “if anyone has any idea where Oikawa Tooru has gone, speak now. I don’t care if someone has given you hush money. This is bigger than pride or volleyball or whatever profit you made. A real person’s life is at risk.”

The silence prevails. Oikawa screams behind his cloth gag and layers of duct tape.

Mizoguchi continues awkwardly. “Practice and games will continue like normal. Please, keep your eyes out for Oikawa. Don’t stop searching.”

Practice is only marginally more bearable than last time. His headache splinters the space between his eyes from the constant rattling of the cement and floorboards. Although his nose is no longer in mortal danger of being broken again, he can’t quite pull it far enough back. The wood bending under hard, falling feet, chests, arms, and the occasional butt, still taps his nose in painful bursts. It makes it hard to breathe, and he spends most of practice filled to the brim with panic. Less so because he thinks he will die from suffocation, though always a prevalent fear, but because not being able to breathe makes the heart behave erratically.

His best friend leads the drills, just like he had the day before. While he isn’t toned down at all, he definitely seems out of it. Talking to the same person every day for eleven years has allowed them to gain the innate ability to tell when something is wrong with the other using simple inflections of the voice if no physical cues are given. Oikawa’s disappearance is bothering him a lot. More than Oikawa would have guessed.

He’s only been gone for nearly two days. They could easily guess that he’s run away, taken his trip to Argentina a little earlier without telling anyway, or got really messed up on LSD, if his friends’ earlier conversation is anything to go by. It wouldn’t be wrong for them to still hope that he’d pick up his phone soon and respond to the texts and calls they’d sent him.

Of course, that isn’t what happened. Hajime knows him too well. He knows that Oikawa could never keep plans of running away a secret for so long, that he still doesn’t have quite enough for his Argentina vacation yet, and he’s never been high despite the several attempts made by others. He doesn’t smoke and can count on his fingers on one hand the amount of times he’s been tipsy or drunk. The obvious conclusion Iwaizumi would come to is that Oikawa has been kidnapped or murdered.

The reality is a mixture of both. Oikawa has a feeling that Iwaizumi knows that, too.

Hearing his taut voice order the players around in place of Oikawa is too much for him to bear. It sends spikes of anxiety and such intense longing through his veins, and for the first time in his life, he can’t smother it. He can’t pretend it’s about anything else, because he isn’t doing anything else. There’s no person he can turn to blame his tremoring body on, no place to direct the pull of his heart, no game to accuse of causing his elevated temperature.

And when Iwaizumi leaves, the last person to do so without actually practicing any extra drills, Oikawa feels a part of himself leave, too. The part that has been held in Iwaizumi’s hands since they were six years old.

However, Iwaizumi fails to take Tooru’s hysterical emotions with him. It remains trapped with him in the six-foot by ten-inch coffin.

He has no road to run away from his feelings.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, experiences the pain it creates, and cries.

—

Time passes without him. It could be the next day, next month, or next year. It’s impossible to keep track anymore. All he knows is that he’s steadfastly dying under the floorboards of the practice gym, and nobody has come to tear him out of his coffin. They are only going to realize their mistake when his corpse is rotting and emitting a foul smell that attracts ants and maggots alike to feast on his flesh. His silent heart and brain will be the delicacies they save for dessert.

Practice occurs four more times: morning, afternoon, morning, afternoon. Oikawa’s convinced he’s missed some more in between there. He drifts in and out of sleep, but never long enough to allow him dreams or make him feel well-rested. He’s hungry, so unbearably hungry, and he can’t quite feel his mouth anymore. The only sensations he comprehends are the cloth pressuring his aching teeth and the duct tape sticking to his skin.

It comes to a head at no specific given point. Practice ended some time ago, and he is alone as usual. There’s nothing special about this time, and yet.

He thinks about Iwaizumi, as he has been recently. Always is his friend accompanied by the harsh words of his father, mainly because when he imagines Hajime, he’s pressing a kiss to Oikawa’s head and reassuring him that everything will be okay.

For the first time, it occurs to Tooru that his worst nightmare will come true. His number one fear, just after being outed and suffering ridicule for his sexuality, is that he will become just like his father.

Oikawa hasn’t gone out of his way to treat women poorly, but he knows that his long history of short relationships can’t be blamed on the individual girls. He doesn’t drink often, but he has and that’s worth something. This slow death of his is practically his fault, making it suicide. He hasn’t done enough tapping or wriggling or shoving.

He’s homophobic to a fault.

A painful memory resurfaces in his mind. He was sitting on a couch in Iwaizumi’s living room, two years after his dad shot himself in the head, and they were watching some television show that happened to be on. Oikawa doesn’t remember all the details. He doesn’t have to; only one scene matters.

It happened to be that two men kissed on the screen at that very moment. Iwaizumi wasn’t paying much attention, since he was actually doing his assigned homework that Oikawa was definitely not procrastinating on. The couple had been developing at a fast rate in the episode, and Oikawa’s conflicting emotions prevented him from properly distancing himself from the screen.

As such, when the scene occurred, he made a noise that was something between a gag and a whine. Iwaizumi looked up in slight alarm, looking from Oikawa, to the screen, then back to Oikawa. Raising an eyebrow, he said: “Are you okay?”

“I– uh— is that not… weird to you?” Oikawa nodded to the screen, and he felt the flush on his neck that had quickly overtaken the biting cold that had drained his body all at once.

Iwaizumi’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “What?”

“That!” Oikawa waved a shaky hand at the men who were then holding onto each other. “That shouldn’t be on screen. Right?”

Even then, Tooru’s inner conflict had raged within him. As young as twelve, he’d recognized that he was different from other people. But, at that point, his father’s death was still fresh in his mind, along with the words that would continue to haunt him for years to come. Oikawa will never forget the affronted look on Iwaizumi’s face when he realized what Oikawa was specifically pointing out.

“Don’t be an asshat, Oikawa. Boys can like other boys. Girls can like other girls. Get over yourself,” Iwaizumi asserted and then returned to his homework.

They didn’t bring it up again after that.

There were more times that Iwaizumi got hints of Oikawa’s homophobia, like when he’d startle seeing two men holding hands or two girls dancing close together in the rain. Iwaizumi would give him a look, slap him on the back or head, and that would be it. It didn’t take long for Oikawa’s outward homophobia to dissipate. He dragged it all inward, pointed it to himself, and let people live their lives without his hateful judgment.

But homophobia is homophobia, regardless of who it’s being directed to. He doesn’t care anymore when two people of the same gender share a kiss, hold hands, or dance. At least, that’s what he told himself. Oikawa reflects, and he recognizes the viper of jealousy that strangles his intestines.

He cares that people care about him, and the image he needs to uphold, and the father that’s been dead for years but is still terrified of disappointing. He’s denied himself the happiness reflected in the eyes of couples by forcing himself into relationships that won’t work because, quite simply, he doesn’t like girls.

He never has, and he never will. It’s the exact sentiment that would’ve driven his father into beating Oikawa until his heart stopped beating and then killing himself again.

His father was homophobic. So is Oikawa, despite his best efforts not to be.

He doesn’t want to be like his father. He doesn’t want to die a liar, a bastard, and a cheat.

For so long, he’s listened to that deceased voice like it can come back and kill him, like his words carry more weight than the dirt he’s buried in. Oikawa knows what it’s like in his country, and he’s aware that his father’s views were a little more radical than most. He won’t get shot in the back of his head by his teammates, and they certainly wouldn’t kick their best player off the court.

Besides, he doesn’t have to tell them anything. They aren’t entitled to his personal life — if they want to make assumptions when he stops dating girls, so be it. He’s not going to keep lying and lying and lying.

He will tell Hajime, and he won’t cut the truth down. He’ll tell his best friend that he’s gay, that he’s been in love with him for at least three years, and that if this changes anything between them, Oikawa will understand.

The thought of Iwaizumi separating himself from Oikawa’s life entirely is painful. It hurts more than his stomach eating itself to survive. But this way, he won’t be like his father. He won’t run from his problems any longer. The voice in his head will mean less than the scuff on the bottom of his shoe. Tooru will be an Oikawa in name only.

He just has to be found.

Please, he prays, uncaring of which god his words reached, I’ll do it. Please don’t let me die as my father. Please don’t let me die. I’ll do it. I’ll tell him I love him. I won’t keep living a lie. I don’t want to die. Please.

Oikawa barely hears the doors open over the pounding of his headache. He’s had it for so long that it should’ve become dull and forgettable, but he’s been acutely aware of its growing intensity. What little water is left in him is wasted by the tears trickling down his face in slow, agonizing droplets.

He knows he will die before the next practice.

The tell-tale rattle and shake of feet stepping on the gymnasium floor startles him. They pace directly to where Oikawa thinks the flyer is. Matsukawa and Hanamaki taped it up to the wall a while back, but it’s clearly not done any good. Oikawa is still missing, and he won’t be found.

Then, the sound of ripping paper cuts through his headache like a steaming knife in sharp bread.

“Damn it!” Iwaizumi yells, and his previously faint heartbeat picks up rapidly in Oikawa’s chest. “Where are you? Where are you? I can’t do it anymore. You never left. I know you didn’t. You’re somewhere in here, and I can’t—” His voice breaks into choked sobs. “Where did you go?”

Oikawa can’t breathe. Every breath hurts more than the last like a searing firestick being jabbed directly into his lungs. There isn’t enough energy in his body to keep him alive for much longer.

For the first time, he ignores his shattered nose. He ignores the fact that he cannot breathe at all without pain splintering his head as though he’s a piece of firewood being chopped in half by an unskilled lumberjack. He takes his feet and slams them as hard as he can against the floorboards. It’s probably not as loud or effective as he imagines it would be if his body wasn’t ninety-nine percent of the way dead from starvation, but he does it anyway.

And he does it again, and again, and again. All the while, he pressed his face as close as he could to the floorboards, willing his nose to be felt as an odd lump underneath Iwaizumi’s foot. His chest constricts, his heart unable to keep up with the effort he’s applying. It’s why he hadn’t done this before — the likelihood he’d make it out alive would be slim to none.

Well, if he doesn’t try now, he will die regardless.

“Oh my God,” he hears Iwaizumi exclaim, horrified, as his foot finds Oikawa’s nose. As soon as he hears his best friend and feels the pressure against his broken bones, he passes out. He knows this because when he opens his eyes next, his body is limp on the cement, and the distinct sound of metal scraping the floor filters through toothpick-thin cracks.

The wood peels up off the floor, right on top of Oikawa’s eyes. The brightness of the gymnasium lights hits his fattened pupils hard, for he’s staring directly at a burning light fixture above.

He blacks out again.

The time discrepancy between his past and current wakefulness is shorter because Iwaizumi has barely started on another board. He’s slow to comprehend his surroundings and sensations, staring blankly at the peeling wood without much going on outside of his slowing heart.

“I’m gonna get you out. Don’t die. Don’t fucking die,” Iwaizumi warns between heaving gasps in the struggle against the wood, and Oikawa truly sees him.

Iwaizumi’s short hair is more tangled and mussed than usual. His voice is frantic, hard, and frail all at the same time. He’s wearing one of his pajama shirts with his cross necklace dangling off of it. Oikawa gave it to him as a good luck charm a year ago, more so to tease him about the fact that he’s baptized, though he doesn’t believe in the Christian God. He knew Iwaizumi wore it every now and again as a fashion icon rather than his baptized status.

The sight of it now encourages his heart to keep him alive a little longer.

Tear stains mark Iwaizumi’s face as he rips out floorboard after floorboard. Oikawa doesn’t know when he stopped crying, or when Oikawa started. The scent of fresh air hits his shattered nose in a wave of flowers with thorns sticking out of every fiber. The bulbs strangle his eyesight as his pupils slowly adjust to light after bearing complete darkness for so long. The rest of his body has gone numb entirely, save for his headache.

When the last board is pulled out, Iwaizumi drags his dead weight out of the shallow cement coffin. Oikawa’s ears ring as he’s dropped onto the wooden floor, and it takes everything in him to not pass out again. His best friend wastes no time in picking at the duct tape holding his lips together, and then untying the gag that has rubbed the edges of his mouth into raw. Those parts of the cloth are stained with Oikawa’s blood.

Oikawa takes his first, deep breath of fresh air. It prickles his dry throat, and he greedily takes in all that he can in the shortest amount of time possible. He knows he must look like a drowning fish, what with his mouth gaping open and water streaming down his face, but he doesn’t care.

His mouth is open, and he can close whenever he wants. He can make sounds, and he can breathe.

“Oh my God,” Iwaizumi repeats. He’s shaking as he finds the tied ends of the cords, untying Oikawa as fast as he can. Unfortunately, Oikawa is extremely unhelpful in this process as he gets his bearings, processing the arms that are now free, the mouth that is open by his free will, the air flowing through his lungs, and the Aoba Johsai banner hanging loosely from the ceiling.

Once the final cords come off on his ankles, Iwaizumi pulls him into a tight hug. It crushes his chest and weak bones, and Oikawa would tap out of it if not for the fact that this is Hajime, who’s wound his hand through Tooru’s greasy hair and is holding on like Oikawa is his lifeline. His body is trembling and his chin rests against Oikawa’s head.

From this position, Oikawa’s ear is pressed to Iwaizumi’s chest. The beat of his friend’s heart is set in a fast, comforting rhythm. In this hold, he’s warm and safe. He wants to stay in Hajime’s arms until the world catches fire, and for some reason, he thinks Iwaizumi would let him.

Naturally, he breaks away from the hug.

Iwaizumi’s right hand remains tangled in Oikawa’s hair, but the other drops soundlessly from his back. The loss of contact makes him shiver. Hajime’s turbulent gaze is enough to get Oikawa to make use of his aching arms, bringing them up to cup Iwaizumi’s face in his hands.

His cheeks are warm to the touch. His jaw is trembling in Tooru’s weak hold. Oikawa’s arms are too weak to hold this position for long.

Iwaizumi starts to say something, and Oikawa can tell it’s going to be an apology, to ask how he’s feeling, and if he’s okay. Oikawa doesn’t give him the chance. He leans forward and presses their lips together, savoring the way Iwaizumi’s wet lips feel against his own, healing the cracks and split, bloody ends.

Their kiss only lasts but a second. Hajime doesn’t reciprocate, and Oikawa can’t physically deepen their kiss. His mouth is far too dry and weak, and his arms are shaking with the effort it takes to keep them up. He pulls back, opening his eyes to find Iwaizumi staring wide-eyed back at him with his lips slightly parted.

Oikawa knows what this means, and although he told himself it would happen, it doesn’t make it sting any less.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his throat scratching on every syllable, struggling to produce anything above a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry. I can’t—- live like this. I won’t run from you— anymore.” His salty tears flow over the sticky residue of the duct tape and slip into his mouth. Iwaizumi’s holding onto his wrists, keeping Oikawa’s arms from falling away from his face. He still has that shining stare that stabs Oikawa’s heart. “I’m in love with you. I’m— sorry I’m like— like this. I’m—”

Then lips are pinned against his own, silencing his rambling, shaky apologies. This time, it’s Oikawa who isn’t reciprocating. His mind has stuttered to a stop with the fact that his best friend instigated a kiss with him, and when he pulls away, he finds Iwaizumi’s eyes aren’t hard and disappointed. One of his wrists is dropped, but only to allow Hajime to rub his thumb across Oikawa’s cheek.

Hajime offers the barest hint of a smile, though it doesn’t hide the quiver of his lips. “Will it take you dying again to see how long I’ve been in love with you?”

And Oikawa can’t help it, really, when sobs tear away his soul. He collapses forward into Hajime’s chest, and Iwaizumi cradles him as gently as he can. His head splits and his eyes drain away the rest of his body fluids. He’s dry, completely, and all that’s left are desperate gasps and pained coughs while Iwaizumi repeats how worried he was, and that he’s so glad that Oikawa’s alive.

“I’m— going to die,” Tooru somehow manages. “Food. Water.”

Immediately, Hajime shifts to grab his phone from his pocket. It takes him less than a second to dial the correct numbers.

“Hello, this is one-one-nine. What’s your emergency?” A dispatcher answers.

“I need an ambulance,” Hajime says shakily, and the hand he has in Oikawa’s hair tightens only a fraction. It’s painful for his headache, but comforting all the same. Human contact is something he has been devoided for so, so long. “I found missing person Oikawa Tooru. He hasn’t eaten or drank anything in four days.”

His hand trembles against Oikawa’s scalp, carding his fingers through his crusted, greasy as he gives the dispatcher directions to the practice gym. When the call is over, he presses one gentle kiss to the top of Oikawa’s head.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m so, so sorry,” Iwaizumi says.

His energy is too depleted for him to respond, his throat too scratchy and dry, so he opts to do the only thing he can do: burying his head deeper into Iwaizumi’s chest and letting Hajime hold him as though he’ll never let go.

Oikawa doesn’t want him to let go.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #haikyuu #hq #iwaoi #iwaoi fic #oikawa x iwaizumi #oikawa tōru #tooru oikawa #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #angst with a happy ending #angst #one shot #iwaizumi x oikawa

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fancylances · 3 months

Text

OC Kiss Week / Day One / Almost

pairing: Roxanne Wheeler (she/her)/Avery McCarthy (she/they) genre(s): hockey, canadian zombie-apocalypse

Roxanne flies down the left wing, puck on her battered wooden stick. Dekes past one of the Otters’ defencemen and catches sight of Johnny Two whizzing past the blue line after her. Once he’s onside, she saucers the pass to him—it skips once on the asphalt and hits his tape like it’d been on string. Roxanne laughs, gently chirps Gorman as her rollerblades tic tac around him, and beelines it for the net.

Johnny Two slaps the puck back to her, she cradles it for just a moment before snapping the shot high blocker side on the Otters’ goalie—

It sails like a rocket; on target, on target—

Mac’s blocker rises at the last second, and the shot ricochets off the butt of her stick. Sailing out and over the old plastic boards with all the sauce Roxanne had put on it. The crowd groans and one of the kids (little ones always eager) fights others to say “I got it!” before scuttling from the bleachers and into the tall grass.

The zebra skates over, already blowing the whistle to call the play dead.

Roxanne sighs through a sideways little grin, huffing with the hard work of a few too many shifts back to back. Bobbing gently on her skates, shifting her weight in a little dance to keep her heartrate up. Blonde curls bouncing in her sweat-messy ponytail as she watches the Otters’ goalie Mac wrench her helmet off for the break in play.

Mac gives Roxanne a cheeky smile, flashing the hole where her right upper incisor used to be, as she grabs her water bottle and shoots water all over her sweaty face.

“Almost, Wheels,” Mac chides her, chirping with a little sneer. “Must be a rough way to start a season. Just can’t hack it from that wing.”

“Oh yeah?” Roxanne laughs as she puffs her chest out. “I heard the Fire Dogs got a new goalie this year. His save percentage is almost as big as your head.”

“Pff—” Mac rolls her eyes. “If he wants a dick-measuring contest he can come on over and pull his own pants down. I’d beat him there, too, I bet.”

“Love to see it,” Roxanne chuckles. Endlessly bouncing on her heels, skate wheels tapping and spinning with her movement.

“Got it!” one of the kids screams, holding the puck aloft and hucking it back into the rink.

The zebra waves everyone over to center rink for puck drop, and Roxanne turns back to watch Mac plop her helmet back on. Wonders if it's the heat that’s made the goalie’s face so pink.

The Bluebirds do manage to score, but their captain Roxanne Wheeler doesn’t net another shot on goal. She does get an assist on a pass to Sandals for the game-tying goal, but she’s never allowed to get in close enough to snipe anything past Mac. Overtime is a wash, and the sun is starting to get low by the time they start setting up for the shootout. Roxanne assigns Johnny Two, Scotch, and herself as the first three shooters, and shrugs and says they’ll wing it if they need to go extra rounds.

She perches on the boards by the Bluebirds’ bench, legs swinging in the encroaching cool of the late summer evening. They’d better wrap things up soon. Nestor is usually safe this time of year, but deadheads are always more likely to come out of hiding after sundown. There’s too many kids in the bleachers for it to be worth pushing things into the evening.

She’ll just have to score on Avery McCarthy. Simple. Monkeys-on-backs notwithstanding.

First up is Harry Gorman for the Otters, shooting on Brand—who’s been having a slow start, too, but damn if he hasn’t done a fine fucking job keeping things close. Gorman always comes in slow to start and dekes a few times before trying five-hole. Always. And Brand reads him like a diary that’s been left out on a nightstand.

Then Johnny Two for the Bluebirds. He’s a right-handed shot, and Mac is strong blocker-side. She punches his shot out of the air almost before it’s left his stick.

Pastry takes his spot at center and waits for the whistle, almost vibrating with a need to touch the puck. He rockets at the signal, a burst of speed up the asphalt. It’s not often Roxanne gets to see a slap shot in a shootout, but there you go. It rings off the post and carroms off into a corner.

Scotch skates in lazy eights as he waits for the ref to get set. He’s older than everyone else on the Bluebirds, but that hasn’t slowed him down—or softened his shot, and Roxanne winces as the puck cracks off Mac’s dome.

Mac removes her helmet again, taking the time that the refs have given her to inspect her equipment after the hard shot. And Roxanne finds herself staring at the Otters’ goalie just a little too long. Her brown hair in a tight tail, the base soaked with a game’s worth of sweat. Freckles standing out from heat-pink skin. Her eyes are such a deep brown they look black from here. Eyes, Roxanne realizes, are glaring right back at her. They both look away at the sound of the whistle.

The Otters’ new centerman takes the point, her eyes pinned on Brand. Roxanne doesn’t know her name, but the Sharpie on hockey tape across her back says SNOT. She takes a winding line to the net, the tak tak tak of her stick on asphalt as she dekes back and forth, zig-zagging almost too fast to follow. A sharp wind-up that turns into a fake-out and—

Brand windmills his glove hand and snaps the puck clean out of the air. The Bluebirds’ bench howl and tap their sticks in fanatic fervor. Wild appreciation for their goalie.

Roxanne heads for center rink, feels her teammates tap her with their sticks as she leaves the bench. She waits, never still, for the sound of the whistle. Vision narrowing, a single lane like a spotlight down to the goal—to the goalie guarding it. Mac shuffles in her crease, flexes her glove and chokes up on her stick as she anticipates Roxanne’s first move.

The whistle goes, and so does Roxanne.

She has the best seat in the house to see the puck sail over Mac’s shoulder, to see the frustration building like steam in those dark brown eyes.

“Come on!” Mac screams. Whacks her stick hard on the ground.

She’s all but drowned out as the Bluebirds flood onto the rink and collapse into a giddy, celebratory pile. It takes a handful of minutes to calm the team down enough to join the handshake line, but they do get around to it. The teams gliding past one another and tossing “good game” back and forth between them. The occasional pat or hug from old friends, playful rivals.

Mac is at the tail end of the Otters’ line, fuming. Only present because she’s expected. She mumbles, holds her blocker out in an imitation of a handshake, and passes by the grinning Bluebirds. By the way she’s glaring holes in everyone’s heads, Roxanne half expects a fight to break out. But everything remains wonderfully civil.

“Drinks on us!” Roxanne calls out to both teams. It raises spirits considerably.

Avery McCarthy is waiting outside the Bluebirds’ locker room when Roxanne emerges showered and changed fifteen minutes later—a can of light beer half-drunk in her hand. Mac raises her own can in recognition; a salute.

“I hate you, sometimes, y’know,” Mac says as she steps up into Roxanne’s space (she’s small, for a goalie, and Roxanne’s legs are a million miles long even when she’s not on skates).

“I know,” Roxanne says smugly. “But it’s cute when you’re mad.”

Mac rolls her eyes and stands on her toes. Pulls Roxanne down into a hard, hungry kiss. One that Roxanne had been waiting for (like shuffling in the crease, waiting for the shot). She fits her arms around Mac and holds her there. Dares her to try and leave now that she’s committed.

“Not in front of your team—” Mac tries to protest between kisses, her lips moving against Roxanne’s with every word.

“You started it,” Roxanne murmurs, grins.

“Hate you,” Mac says again, this time through a needy little sigh as she sinks deeper into Roxanne’s arms.

“Cute,” Roxanne mumbles back.

They don’t sit together at the bar. Each of them celebrating or commiserating with their team. But now and then, when conversation lulls, eyes meet and converse without saying a thing.

#ockiss24 #oc kiss week #there's a little more hockey than kissing but i'm ok with that

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carpehistoryandthepens · 1 month

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Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 12

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

Kris was swearing as he leaned on the boards near the benches of the practice rink. Not even under his breath. That was a thing. The swearing. That was. Definitely happing.

It was something Zhenya should have been preventing because Marisol was on the bench, watching her brother intently, but Zhenya couldn't stop Tanger. Mostly because Zhenya happened to agree with the swears. The curses might be all in French, but Zhenya had been in the league long enough to know Quebecois profanity when he heard them, and Kris was swearing. It was not as if Zhenya could blame him. If it weren't for the stick Zhenya was leading on, he may have fallen over at the revelation before him.

Mike could fucking skate.

There was no fucking way this kid wasn't on a prep team. He was too good. His edge work was something that Zhenya had seen with defencemen two or three years older than Mike was.

Sid had asked if Tanger and Zhenya could stay to skate with Mike and him after practice. It was well after the press left to write their end-of-camp articles, so the rink was nearly empty. It was the first time since Mike and Marisol arrived that there was a free moment just to skate.

The skates Mike had brought with him still fit, Sid had told them, and the equipment guys had found a few pieces of gear that could be adapted for Mike's size. The skates were not the top of the line, but they were well cared for.

One thing was for sure, though, Zhenya thought as he watched Mike and Sid chase after a puck; Mike did not skate like a mini-Sidney Crosby.

The boy was a defenseman through and through, but his edges and speed were very impressive for barely being a teenager. Mike had an excellent sense of his place on the ice and was trying to steal the puck from Sid with a vigor that said he had nearly forgotten that he hadn't skated in over six months.

A few rusty spots in Mike's game made the gap in time he spent off the ice clear, but there was also something natural in his movement. Zhenya would put money on Mike being just like him rather than just like Sid. Talented but determined enough to ensure dedication and hard work would develop skills.

Mike stole the puck from Sid and took off toward the other goal. Sid outpaced him and got the puck back.

"Of course, he won't go easy on the kid," Kris muttered as he watched the puck battle.

"Our Sid?" Zhenya said, arching an eyebrow the best he could in his helmet. Sid was one of the most completive men Zhenya had ever met, which was saying something considering their world.

They settled down to watch the game of keep-away going on.

"He's good," Kris said, leaning on his stick. "Like. He's as good as some of the kids in juniors right now. How wasn't he scouted?"

Zhenya shrugged. Tanger knew the answer. Mike's family wasn't too well off. He might not have had the chance to develop the same way some of his age group would have. Hockey was expensive. That was a universal truth they all knew too well.

"Has Sid figured out who his coach was?" Tanger asked.

Zhenya nodded. "Brisson's office reaching out. Get more details sometime soon."

Mike stole the puck and streaked up ice in a breakaway, Sid a second behind him. The brutal practice that marked the end of the camp was catching up to Sid. Mike flung the puck to the empty net, making the shot just below the top bar.

Mike's celly transformed his whole attitude. He pumped his arm twice as he skated around the goal. Some of the embedded sadness that Mike carried from in his frame was gone. He looked like the thirteen-year-old he was rather than a world-weary man.

Marisol cheered and jumped up and down on the bench, nearly knocking over Mike's always-present shaker bottle. Zhenya reached over and ensured she didn't fall over as she overbalanced slightly.

Zhenya was glad to see the boy in him rather than just the man he could become. Mike deserved to have some of his childhood protected.

Sid had slowed down to watch as Mike called, a faint smile on his face. He looked proud, so proud. Mike grinned up at Sid. To be honest, there wasn't much of a height difference. Based on the few photos Zhenya had seen, Mike's mother was just a little shorter than Sid.

Tanger sighed. "He's just as obsessed as Sid is, isn't he?"

"Isn't yours?" Zhenya snorted. "I've seen Alex's workouts. He try to copy you."

Alex wasn't doing Tanger's workouts – mainly because Tanger put his foot down, explaining that Alex's frame wasn't big enough for it to be safe. Still, the kid insisted they work out together sometimes, so Tanger had gotten a trainer to put together a workout that would be best for Alex.

"And I've seen Nikita on the ice." Tanger shot back with a smirk, "He's got the one-legged goal celly down pat."

Zhenya shrugged, his voice deliberately light. "He's into football more right now." Nikita was on both a hockey team and a football team, although the school where he was on the team insisted on calling it "soccer." Nikita's interest was definitely in football more than hockey at the moment.

Maybe that would be a good thing in the long run, Zhenya thought. It's hard to live up to a parent's legacy. He had seen many teammates and other players struggle under that burden. Kappy was one of them. If Nikita chose not to deal with Zhenya's legacy, how could he blame him? And Nikita was happy playing "soccer." It was cute. If that was his future then that's what Zhenay would support him in. No matter how much he would have to learn.

Once Mike had recovered the puck and sent it past where he and Zhenya had been standing, Tanger took off like a shot, easily controlling the puck. Mike was fast, but Tanger, as a far more experienced defenseman, was faster.

Zhenya raced into the play. Mike was grinning hard. So was Sid.

They played back and forth for a while, all the adults keeping an eye on the time. The opening game was soon; they couldn't be too exhausted. But Mike was having such a grand time, and Geno was incredibly reluctant to bring the session to an end.

Eventually, one of the trainers stepped out of the office and next to Marisol on the bench, signaling that it was time for them to get off the ice.

Mike's smile didn't dim as they got off the ice, with Marisol trailing behind. Mike carried the bucket of pucks; Tanger had called him a rookie and said it was his turn. Mike had laughed.

Geno hoped it was because he knew he would be skating again soon. Once they figured out his former team, Sid could get him into a team. Nikita's hockey practice doesn't start for another three weeks. Maybe they would be able to skate out of the same rink.

Well maybe. Nikita wasn't as excited to skate as he was to go to soccer practice, which started at the end of February. Anna assured him that Nikita really did like hockey. He just liked soccer more for now.

As they got changed and ready for the showers, Tanger showed Mike where to dump his gear so it could be cleaned; Zhenya turned to Sid. "He is your kid."

"There is no way he isn't," Sid said, satisfied with the workout and seeing Mike on the ice. Mike and Tanger had changed out of their gear quickly. Tanger had a photo shoot and interview he had to be ready for, and Mike had made faces about staying in the sweat-soaked pads and under armor. Apparently, he and Sid did not share the same superstitions.

"Have you figured out if he wants to skate with a team?" Zhenya asked, and he watched Tanger show Mike into the changing room and where the showers were.

"He really wants to," Sid said. "I'm just waiting for Pat to tell me the info for his old coach."

"Is he having trouble finding the guy?" Zhenya asked, turning to face Sid in surprise. It was unusual for Brisson to have that type of trouble. Most coaches who worked in U16 teams would fall over themselves if an agency like Brisson's called.

"The guy apparently retired and moved just after Mike stopped skating," Sid said in English, shrugging. Zhenya read between the lines; the coach didn't see the bruises that weren't from hockey. "Mike's team was just slightly more than a rec team. To be honest, we have to figure some stuff out. Even if we don't talk to the coach, Mike is good enough to be in most of the U13 and U16 teams around here would take him."

"Pat will find him," Geno said before being interrupted by a stifled wet gasp, directing their attention to the corner of the locker room. The sound was of a panicked child, and Zhneya hated that noise.

Marisol had been there in the corner of the locker room, messing with the bucket of pucks they had just taken off the ice. She had been occupied by taking the pucks out of the bucket, stacking them, and creating a pyramid with the pucks. Zhenya thought she wasn't paying attention to anyone in the room.

She had been excited when Mike stepped on the ice, a delight that made Sid smile so wide it would split his face. Zhenya was positive that Sid would buy her a pair of skates when he could, just by the way he smiled.

Marisol wasn't smiling anymore. She was now looking around the room, back and forth, searching for something, or Zhenya realized as she hyperventilated, someone. The panic that crossed her face wasn't faked, and Geno was up and moving toward her the moment he processed the expression. Sid wasn't far behind.

In Zhenay's experience, this wasn't a moment to let a kid calm themselves; instead, she needed help. Marisol was trying to say something, but it was such a garbled mix of Spanish and English that Zhenya had no hope of translating.

She looked around, panicked.

Zhenya couldn't figure out why she was so frantic. Maybe it was a tantrum? Was that different in girls? Nikita didn't have meltdowns like this. But Zhenya didn't know if there was a different temperament for girls.

Sid looked as panicked as Zhenya had ever seen him. However, he didn't hesitate when Marisol looked at him, eyes wide in panic and red with tears.

"Marisol. Marisol." Sid said consolingly, his voice tight with emotion and worry. Marisol struggled to breathe correctly, still looking around. "Can you tell me what's going on?" he asked, kneeling down. He reached out to her, and Marisol went with a bit of hesitation. She ended up sitting on his lap while Sid sat on the floor.

Zhenya didn't know if Marisol would be able to respond. She was breathing hard, and most of what she said was Spanish –as Geno could tell.

Thankfully, the proof that Sid would be a good father was already present; he waited her out and didn't rush her or panic outwardly. Zhenya saw in his eyes that Sid was afraid, but none of that showed on his face.

She stuttered out, in between gasps of breath, "¿Dónde está Mike? Quiero Mike. Dónde está. Prometió no dejarme!!" Tears started to fall down her face, and Sid took one of the corners of his jersey because they hadn't even started pulling off their layers of pads and gear yet, and wiped her cheeks. Marisol leaned into the touch. "Mike?" She said louder.

Mike's name was the only thing Zhenya understood from her words. At Sid's panicked glance at him, Geno was up and moving towards the showers.

Mike beat him, racing out of the shower area and appearing at the doorway, half-undressed. His face, pale and upset, entirely changed from the happy look before. Tanger was half a pace behind him. Mike scooped Marisol into his arms and cradled her close to his chest.

Mike stayed close to Sid, and Zhenya watched as Sid put a tentative hand on Marisol's back. Marisol hiccupped and sobbed, but the sheer panic in her movements and voice faded. She didn't flinch away from Sid's touch.

Mike was muttering softly in Spanish as Marisol calmed down and eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. They stayed like that for a long while.

Zhenya usually hated missing the post-practice shower, but now he didn't want to leave the three of them alone. Tanger dipped off to take a quick shower. When Tanger returns, he and Tanger eventually change into their street clothes.

Tanger pulled Zhenya aside when he was done getting changed, keeping an eye on the little family sitting on the floor of the practice rink's locker room. "G, I got an interview. Are you busy this afternoon? I don't want them to be alone completely." His worried eyes met with Zhenya's. He didn't want to leave Sid and the kids, but they both knew they didn't have a choice.

Zhenya nodded, going over his schedule in his head. Just Nikita. Anna is out. There were no interviews or meetings today. "I'm free all afternoon. Just pick up Nikita from school. I'm be with them after all day, if they want."

Tanger nodded again, saying that would work, and gave Zhenya a bro hug before leaving. Sid and the kids hadn't even noticed either of them moving.

"You change, Sid," Zhenya muttered quietly when it was clear that Marisol had gone down for the count. "She'll sleep for a while."

Sid glanced down at the siblings, concern written all over his face. He gave Marisol one last gentle head pat before standing, and she snuggled further into Mike's chest.

Sid got changed rather quickly and didn't even seem to take his eyes off the kids. When he was done, he handed Mike some clean clothes.

Mike stared blankly at the pants for so long that Zhenya thought he wouldn't take them before transferring Marisol to Sid's grasp. Sid took half a step back to give him space, Mike's face tightened, but he didn't stop Sid. He just changed faster.

When Mike had stripped out of the sweat-covered gear and was dressed in clean clothing, he held out his arms to take Marisol back. Zhenya was only a little surprised to see Sid hand Marisol back to Mike.

Apparently, they can't be separated, and Sid wouldn't try.

#'sid has a teen he didn't know about' au #sidgeno #8771 #i write?#this will take a while to write #working title: Legacy (what is a legacy?)

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piracytheorist · 2 months

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Ranking SxF season 2 episodes!

So, some time ago I made a ranking of the season 1 episodes of Spy x Family, from my least favourite to my top favourite. I felt inspired a couple days ago and I thought I'd make a similar ranking of the season 2 episodes.

Mentioning again that: This is all my personal judgment heavily based on stuff I liked. You most certainly will disagree with me and that’s fine! Just don’t argue with me because that’s just personal opinions, I’m not trying to change anyone’s minds or prove anything!

And also: I chose to rank each episode by five criteria, the things I love the most about the show: 1) Humor (intentional or not), 2) Character (defining or cool moments and such) 3) Cute 4) Plot (how much development there is and how well the action is delivered) 5) Feels (of any kind).

#12, Least favourite of the season: 29. The Pastry of Knowledge/ The Informant's Great Romance Plan II

Humor: 6/10 Character: 6/10 Cute: 7/10 Plot: 6/10 Feels: 5/10

I think this is the only episode that got points removed for something I didn't like. I made some very passionate posts about it when it first aired, particularly due to how after watching it I realized I'd been treated very unfairly by some fellow fans, and thus I'm almost incapable of rewatching the first half. Yes this is about Damian bullying Anya, no I won't shut up about it.

Anyway. This is still quite a high ranking (it's higher than the three lowest from my s1 ranking), cause the humor and the cats of the second part were quite entertaining on their own. It got a few points for plot because it introduced the stakes of Anya getting low grades, and also because of the discussion between Franky and Twilight about Garden.

#11: 36. Berlint in Love / Nightfall's Daily Life

Humor: 9/10 Character: 6/10 Cute: 6/10 Plot: 5/10 Feels: 7/10

A very high humor score because I honestly doubt a single minute passed without me laughing my ass off in this one. It was so ridiculous and they loved making it so. Though having two wholly different parts, they were both fun in how they were around two characters blinded by their affection for Loid to the point they have no idea how hopeless their goals are. I just love how exaggerated it all is.

Some feels points were added for Yor talking about remembering what Loid had told her during the bench scene, and also because we get Loid being a stupid simp for his strong wife.

#10: 31. The Fearsome Luxury Cruise Ship

Humor: 7/10 Character: 8/10 Cute: 6/10 Plot: 8/10 Feels: 6/10

Reminder that this is still a high ranking. I'm just being strict in the ratings because the entire season is so good, the bar is really high!

Anyway, though I like this episode, it feels more like a passing point from the previous one to the next, compared to those specific episodes, so that's probably why it's this low. I love how the assassins plot is kicked off and we get to see some action, and character points were added for McMahon's ruthless killing of the stalker assassin.

#9: 28. Mission and Family / The Elegant Bondman / Extras

Humor: 6,5/10 Character: 9/10 Cute: 6/10 Plot: 9/10 Feels: 7/10

This is the first time I felt the need to use decimals, lol. I just feel that this episode is one of the darkest and most serious of the season, but also... Bondman's part was ridiculous (affectionate) and the omakes were great by themselves, so I felt that a mere six wouldn't do.

I'm honestly entranced by the first part. The plot and exploration of Yuri's and Perkin's characters were near damn perfect, I only wish there was a bit more beyond that episode, haha. I understand the focus needed to be in the Cruise Arc, so I feel a nine will do for this one. The feels were honestly added because I was a bit touched by Perkin's motives, and how those touched Yuri too.

#8: 30. Plan to Cross the Border

Humor: 8/10 Character: 9/10 Cute: 7/10 Plot: 7/10 Feels: 7/10

The Shopkeeper's introduction was amazing, albeit terrifying. Olka's was a little more subdued, but it was more touching. I felt both also reflected on something about Yor, so it was overall very satisfying. Due to so many introductions, plot was light (not that I minded), but Anya's scheming put up points in humor and cute. Feels points were added for Olka wanting to escape the crime underworld, and how that affected Yor.

#7: 32. Who Is This Mission For?

Humor: 8/10 Character: 8/10 Cute: 8/10 Plot: 6/10 Feels: 8/10

I'd spent the entire week before this episode aired wondering how Yor would manage fighting Barnaby, and even though I should be used to the story's wackiness by now, it still managed to surprise me and make me laugh. Also Loid will never outlive his ridiculous tourist getup. Anya was an adorable little gremlin who couldn't stop having fun, so cute points went up, and Loid managed to spend one (1) episode without going "For the mission!" once, so character and feels points went up as well.

#6: 26. Follow Papa and Mama

Humor: 9/10 Character: 7/10 Cute: 8/10 Plot: 6/10 Feels: 8/10

To be honest, I think I'm a bit strict with this one. I don't know how this story manages to make miscommunication so funny for me, but it was legitimately hilarious. The thing is, this was the only episode of the season whose manga chapter I'd already read, long ago too, and maybe my expectations for its adaptation were unrealistically high - probably also due to it being the season premiere and I'd spent ten months without my show, so I'm probably biased. Mind you, I still loved it, but this further cements my will to stay anime only.

Anyway! Character points went a bit down because I didn't feel we saw anything new, but the cute and feels persisted because of Anya's machinations and because of Yor admitting how good she felt with Loid dedicating time for her that day.

#5: 34. The Hand That Connects to the Future

Humor: 8/10 Character: 7/10 Cute: 8/10 Plot: 8/10 Feels: 8/10

A lovely, hopeful closure for Olka and the rest, Yor getting the acknowledgement she deserves, a spectacular ending of the assassins fight, high stakes with the bomb threats, and an emotional ending scene with Twilight carrying Anya to bed and then the family getting ready to meet in the resort island. Not much else to be said <3

#4: 35. Enjoy the Resort to the Fullest / Bragging About Vacation

Humor: 9/10 Character: 7/10 Cute: 9/10 Plot: 6/10 Feels: 9/10

No, I'm definitely not biased because this episode shows us the first glimpse of Twilight yearning for Yor what are you talking about.

Who am I kidding, I definitely added feels points just for that look he gave her while she watched Anya play with the sheep. The whole episode felt so relaxing and fulfilling after the intense assassins plot, especially the scene of the Forgers having tea upon returning home, that I don't mind that the second part at school feels a little exaggerated. The ending scene with Anya being surrounded by liars though is top notch.

#3: 27. Bond's Strategy to Stay Alive / Damian's Field Research Trip

Humor: 9/10 Character: 8/10 Cute: 8/10 Plot: 7/10 Feels: 9/10

Endo used Dog Cuteness! It's super effective!

Yeah, the whole adventure and the way it was presented were appropriately hilarious and we saw some more of the dynamics between Bond and the rest and I really liked that. Plot wasn't heavy but I was all wide eyes at the introduction of a truth serum, and at the second part when Mr. Green talked about people defecting to the West. Feels went up thanks to, among others, Twilight thinking he was helping Bond get his "revenge". Also, though the second part didn't do much for me, it actually felt nice to see Damian laugh innocently like the kid he really is.

#2: 37. Part of the Family

Humor: 8/10 Character: 8/10 Cute: 9/10 Plot: 8/10 Feels: 9/10

Despite the mopping wet of a dog we got here, I kinda felt this was less... humorous, or at least not focusing so much on the humor aspect. I felt it was more cute and emotional that Bond was just trying to help left and right but was only misunderstood by Twilight. The action takes the place of a plot here, and I loved it all. Some development too through Twilight realizing he can relax a bit with Bond, even though he's still in denialTM about how much he appreciates his company.

#1: 33. The Symphony Upon the Ship / Sis's Herb Tea

Humor: 8/10 Character: 10/10 Cute: 7/10 Plot: 9/10 Feels: 10/10

Yeah OH MY GOD are we surprised. Top tier shit. Excellent balance of pretty much everything in this one. The humor even in the way Yor took out some of the assassins. Her flashbacks with Yuri. The ACTION and the ANIMATION of it all. HER REALIZATION AND DETERMINATION POWERING HER THROUGH. HER LOVE FOR HER FAMILY.

Yeah wow it's really so good any eloquence evades me. Perfect. Mwah. Thank you Endo-sensei.

And here is the overall ranking of the episodes, from both seasons, based on the ratings I gave:

1. Operation Strix

2. Secure A Wife

33. The Symphony Upon The Ship / Sis's Herb Tea

24. The Role Of A Mother And Wife / Shopping With Friends

38. Part Of The Family

16. Yor's Kitchen / The Informant's Great Romance Plan

27. Bond's Strategy To Stay Alive / Damian's Field Research Trip

14. Disarm The Time Bomb

12. Penguin Park

11. Stella

21. Nightfall / First Fit Of Jealousy

35. Enjoy The Resort To The Fullest / Bragging About Vacation

15. A New Family Member

9. Show Off How In Love You Are

5. Will They Pass Or Fail?

34. The Hand That Connects To The Future

3. Prepare For The Interview

26. Follow Papa And Mama

32. Who Is This Mission For?

13. Project Apple

4. The Prestigious School's Interview

30. Plan To Cross The Border

28. Mission And Family / The Elegant Bondman / Extras

8. The Counter-Secret Police Cover Operation

6. The Friendship Scheme

31. The Fearsome Luxury Cruise Ship

25. First Contact

23. The Unwavering Path

18. Uncle The Private Tutor / Daybreak

6. The Target's Second Son

36. Berlint In Love / Nightfall's Daily Life

20. Investigate The General Hospital / Decipher The Perplexing Code

19. A Revenge Plot Against Desmond / Mama Becomes The Wind

29. The Pastry Of Knowledge / The Informant's Great Romance Plan Ii

17. Carry Out The Griffin Plan / Fullmetal Lady / Omelet Rice ♡

22. The Underground Tennis Tournament: The Campbelldon

10. The Great Dodgeball Plan

#sxf

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camilbarnessss · 4 months

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¤ The Dance of The Dragons ¤

{ Aemond Targaryen }

《 Part 15 》

The One-Eyed Prince and The Rogue Princess married. Secretly, but they did, even after all the schemes and plots of their families so they couldn't. The lovers made their own discreet plot as well, and it is working just fine. Daera understands their position, the causes of their harsh decisions. However, anyone who was wronged like Aemond so many times was, is going to feel some sort of hatred, wether it's subconsciously or consciously, towards the people who did it. That is a hard true. But, what Aemond ends up doing above the skies of Storm's End, out of rage, and eternal resentment...ultimately starts the domino effect that would lead to The Dance of the Dragons, which will mean the lost of his sanity...and his love.

《 The Invitation's Second Season 》

Masterlist

Warnings: constant swearing, references to sex, angst and grief, mentions of death, HIGHLY EXPLICIT DEATH, mentions of blood, TARGARYEN INCEST [cousinXcousin]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Enjoy your reading!!! Likes, comments and reblogs will be highly appreciated ♡♡♡

In Storm’s End, watchers on the castle walls saw distant blast of flame, and would hear shrieks cutting the thunders. Everyone that knew which dragons had taken off from Darren’s Defiance imagined the same: the two beasts were locked together, lightning crackling around them.

■ ■ ■

《 Calm before the storm that already thundered 》

Vhagar was five times the size of her foe, the hardened survivor of a hundred battles. If there was a fight, it could not have lasted long. Though we did see what happened between the dark clouds, and so we can attest that the Fight above Shipbreaker Bay lasted more than perhaps ten minutes. Too little time for ones, mayhap, but let us remember The Queen of All Dragons could’ve easily ended the confrontation within a snap; it was prince Lucerys and his great rider skills than bought him and his dragon more time of life.

Yet, Arrax’s few remaining members fell, broken, to be swallowed by the storm-lashed waters of the bay. A leg and half-tail of his washed up beneath the cliffs below Storm’s End just hours after his butchering, to make a feast for crabs and seagulls.

So many theories arose between whisperers, in the years to come. Some claim that Prince Lucerys’ corpse washed up as well, and tells us that Prince Aemond cut out his eyes and presented them to Lady Maris Baratheon on a bed of seaweed. We know that’s excessive, and very much a lie.

Some say Vhagar snatched Lucerys off his dragon’s back and swallowed him whole. We know ‘tis the true version. It has even been claimed that the prince survived his fall, swam to safety, but lost all memory of who he was, spending the rest of his days as a simpleminded fisherman. Gods be good.

We shall give all these tales the respect they deserve…which is to say, none. Lucerys Velaryon, the sweet boy we lived, laughed and fought with since the commence of this story, died with his dragon. Our brother was fourteen years of age. His body was never found, though we yet may see that.

With his death, the war of ravens and envoys and marriage pacts came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began in earnest. But we will wait for the narration of this war a little longer. Believe us: the longer we postpone it, the better for our hearts.

Now we are up to date, knowing what is happening on each of the different sides of our history. We saw Jace and Daera conquering The Vale, we saw Aemond's and Luke's experiences in Storm's End, we saw Rhaenyra along her Black Council, and we saw Daeron arriving to King's Landing.

Now, let us turn back to him.

The youngest son of King Viserys I and his second wife, Alicent Hightower, is now at moments in the Godswood of the castle.

The prince, who’s just days away from turning eight-and-ten, is seated on a bench made of fine stone. From here, he feels a cold breeze and looks up at the white round moon, lightly smiling to it from his distance. The night is a quiet one that has brought him to reflections and thoughts.

His eldest brother, Aegon, is King of the Seven Kingdoms, sits the Iron Throne and is the highest authority of all Westeros. His elder sister has two beautiful children and is with child again, serving as a perfect wife to her husband. His elder brother, Aemond, flies about the realm to gain support for their brother’s throne.

Daeron can’t help but to think that his family is the freaking best. It only takes a glance to realize it; look at what everyone’s up to! There are times that the young man whishes dearly that he had grown here instead of Oldtown. He’d know them better, and he wouldn’t have had to ride Tessarion always alone in the skies. “How would it have been?”, he dreams.

The boy doesn’t know his luck.

-Daeron!-, a voice suddenly calls him. The prince stops smiling at the moon and turns around his face with tranquility, blinking quietly.

Dowager Queen Alicent nears to him with nervous steps, looking around anxiously while approaching with quickness. All of her jewelry clinks as she walks.

-What are you doing out here?!-. The Queen whispers, raising her brows as she reached to him, standing in front of her youngest son, who just shrugged-. It is dark and cold out here, and you alone-. She raises her brows.

-It is fresh-, he shrugges again, gifting her a little smile. Alicent shakes her head briefly, looking around-. The Godswood is always a good place to think, mother, which is what I am doing, do not need to worry-. The prince speaks funnily, cocking his head while looking at her.

-You must be tired, from your flight, Daeron-. The Dowager Queen speaks along little sighs, lightly moving her arms at the sides of her body.

-Sort of-. The boy shrugges, once again, showing no distress at all on his eyes. He’s so different from his mother-. I realized…Aegon didn’t make a feast, as he said he would-. He notices, lightly narrowing his eyes towards her.

Alicent briefly presses her lips, raising her brows a little and beginning to nod.

-The King came to the realization that holding a banquet was not appropriate for the evening-. She attests, crossing her hands over her belly-. He found it best to…behold his wishes-, she showed a quick smile.

That was a lie. She hasn’t even seen Aegon since they were at The Iron Throne Hall and he declared a feast was to be taking place in The Red Keep. Truth be told, “the King” got drunk, forgot about his idea, and kept getting drunk.

-Ah, wise-. Daeron smiles, nodding. His mother nods in silence, starting to wonder where her eldest son may be now. She spent great time of the day in the High Sept, praying, so she wouldn’t know-. Mother-, he appears before her eyes again.

Alicent breathes in deeply, getting off her deep thoughts. Daeron blinks while looking at her, noticing the strong grip on her own hands and how tense her shoulders are. He wonders whether she’s cold or anxious.

-Care to sit with me?-, he proposes, leaning to the right, and making space for her on the bench.

-I rather stand-. His mother answered, preferring to have a clear sight of the whole garden itself, which is still lonely, only the two of them here-. Thank you, dearest-. She’s quick to add, glancing at him.

Daeron accepted her decision with no offense, but still kept the space for her. The prince breathes calmly through his nose staring at the moon once again. There is silent for some time, in which he got thoughtful, and she kept looking around.

-May I ask you something?-. The queen’s son questions, still looking at the white circle in the sky.

Alicent pressed her scrunched lips, immediately assuming that he’s to ask about the situation at presence. The war.

-You may, son-. She allowed after gulping, maintaining a serious expression.

Dowager Queen wonders what he’d ask. “What would happen to us if Rhaenyra steals my brother’s throne?”, “How are our defenses?”, “Why didn’t you fight back to Rhaenys and her dragon?”, “Will someone kill me and my siblings?”.

-Did my father suffer, mom?-. Daeron asked, blinking slowly. In that moment, Alicent became speechless, parting her ever-pressed lips. Haven’t expected that question at all, she looks down to him with eyes that started to show emotion-. Did he suffer much…before parting?-. He furrows his brows lightly, gulping.

There’s true worriness on her child’s eyes; he truly feels for the father that barely paid him any sort of attention. He is not resentful. He…truly is completely different from his brothers.

Alicent licks her lips, thinking of her words before speaking them, under the purple eyes of her Valyrian son.

-We did everything in our and the Gods’ power so that your father didn’t suffer-. Alicent answered with tones of sweet, sugar-coating King Viserys’ sickness-. We cared for him…until the very end-. She assured, gifting him a slow honest smirk.

When hearing so, Daeron sighed, forming a smile as well.

-I am glad-, he whispers-. I am thankful-. The prince looks to her with relieve-. I know he is too, mom…-. Daeron promised with gentleness, raising a hand, and holding one of his mother’s.

Alicent curves her brows, sniffing her nose. Her shoulders slouched and her lips smiled sadly to him. She looks at the boy with a troubled love, honestly not understanding how is it that he can be so good.

Feeling a great deal of easiness while being with her youngest child, Dowager Queen Alicent prayed for forgiveness from the gods, and then lied to him.

-He oft asked for you, your father-. Alicent softly says. She saw Daeron’s immediate surprise and how he instantly smiled. That made her to show her teeth.

-Did he?-, the young princeling asks, wide-eyed and smiley, wanting more than ever to had been here much much sooner.

-He did, many a time-. His mother whispers tenderly, gripping his hand, and caressing his white hair with other. Daeron sincerely smiles to her, lifting his blushed cheeks.

Alicent loves him.

-And did he also…?-

-You ought to sleep, my love-. The Queen interrupted him with a funny reproachful tone, raising her brows. The prince inevitably chuckles, standing up from the bench. She had to look up; all her children are taller than her.

-I shall then-. Daeron agrees, caressing her fingers. Alicent smiles softly to him, blinkless, appreciating his manly features yet all his soft-hearted gestures-. Good night, mom-. He leans forward, placing a sweet kiss on one of her cheeks.

While her son kisses her cheek, and she kisses back one of his, a part of Alicent starts to regret having sent him to bed, and whishes to keep chatting and feeling this kind of tranquility. But she’s also right; her son must rest.

-Sleep well-, she whispered, caressing his fingers with love.

-My queen!-. A startled voice called her from one second to another, Cole’s.

Mother and son both turned their heads with easiness. Still holding hands, Alicent has calm in her eyes and Daeron a little smile on his lips.

-Ser Criston-, the Queen greets him with raised brows. The knight looks highly relieved, walking into the Godswood.

-Worry not, my mother was not alone here-. The prince talks with a funny smile, starting to walk towards the stiff knight. From behind, still standing in front of the bench, her mother chuckles. The sound surprised her Sworn Protector-. Please see that my mom reaches her bedchambers safely, Ser-. He asks.

-I shall see it done, my prince-. Cole immediately agreed. Daeron winks an amused eye.

-Ser Criston-, he farewelled him with a respectful nod, smiling.

-My prince…-, the knight mumbled, nodding back to him.

After a last smile, Daeron left the Godswood. After her child left, Queen Alicent blinked many a time, and the smile on her face got erased. Feeling again her usual uneasiness, she gulped and breathed heavily.

She turns around and approaches to her Sworn Protector, who quickly walked towards hers as well, armored as always.

-Has something happened, Ser Criston?-. She asks distressedly.

-Nothing, Your Grace-. He quickly answered, standing firmly while looking at her-. I had been looking for you for a while, my Queen. Couldn’t find you-. The knight explained his former anguish.

When hearing no bad new, and the man’s worriness, the Queen sighed and closed her eyes for a few seconds, relieved but still stressed.

-I was at the Sept praying, Ser Criston-. Alicent informed, scratching her forehead and making her bracelets to jingle.

Cole pressed his lips, staring at her with his brown big eyes, which blinked two times with growing unquietness. He takes a step closer, making her to open her eyes when he suddenly whispered.

-I beg your pardon for my boldness, Your Majesty, but you should not be wandering alone, neither outside the castle gates nor at night-. He mumbled with shame but insistence, looking over her shoulder while talking.

-The Sept is safe-, Alicent shakes her head briefly, making her long curly red mane to bounce with her while a troubled smile.

-…Yet these are not safe times, Your Grace-. The brown-haired knight murmured, this time looking down at her, with loosen brows and blinkless eyes.

Dowager Queen Alicent’s eyes started to became wary. She presses her lips, recalling the events that took place in the Dragonpit, where The Queen Who Never Was and her dragon Meleys broke the pit’s floors, rumbled roars of war, and nearly slashed their fury above all Alicent’s family, if it hadn’t been until a sudden change of heart from the Princess Rhaenys. Only her sudden mercy saved their lives, after attempting against them.

That’s when Alicent gulps, truly understanding his meanings. Cole stares at her with the same worried shame.

-I am your Sworn Protector, my Queen-. He recalled, justifying the advice he just gave her.

-You’re right-. Her airy and weary voice agreed with him, nodding-…you are-. She expanded her lips into a close sad grin.

Softly, Cole nods, lightly lifting the sides of his lips. She did the same and, with this, Queen and Sworn Protector gifted each other tiny but sincere smiles under the white light of the moon.

The redhead woman sighed through her nose, crossing her hands over her belly, and taking a last look around.

-Walk with me, Ser Criston-. She asks, beginning to walk calmly. Doubtlessly, he followed her by her side, as always.

They got into the castle, now walking among the great pale red walls of The Red Keep, having the light of multiple torches along their way.

Queen Alicent sighs, staring front.

-I wanted Daeron to come to King’s Landing not only to have the many dragons as possible with us, but to have him with us too-. She comments, briefly raising her brows under the listen of her guard-…Wanted to be able to see with mine own eyes that he was safe-, she mumbles, looking around as they walk.

Criston looks sideways at her for a second, silently moved by how she talks about her younger son. Seconds the, she sighed, highly heavily.

-Although, now that he is indeed here, I must confess a certain…uneasiness, regarding his safeness…-Alicent mumbles. Cole furrows his brows, looking at her-. I now doubt whether if The Red Keep is the best place to accomplish so-. She admitted, glancing at her feet for a second-. Wonder if it’s safe for any of us-, she quickly murmured, breathing with heaviness.

-The Keep is strong, Your Grace-. Criston is quick to assure and slow to agree with her, in this case. The Queen gulps, gently side-eyeing him while they walk-. So are our men at arms, our dragons and our defenses-. He firmly listed, sure of his words. He stares at her, closing his lips for a quick second-. And so are you, my Queen-. The knight added with confidence.

Alicent stops walking, looking at the floor. Ser Criston stopped too, standing straight and firmly. The Queen gulped, turning her head to look at him. She took a glance around, seeing that they were alone, and afterwards approached to steps closer to him.

Cole almost felt his heart bursting out from his chest.

-We deserve naught of this paranoia, Ser Criston-. The Queen murmured, shaking her head-. The Iron Throne by rights must pass to His Grace’s eldest trueborn son-, she insisted with wide eyes, opening her hands and moving them tightly.

-As it has always been, Your Grace-. He quickly nods.

-Not to mention that it was my late husband’s desires, his own words! And…and his brother, Rhaenyra’s husband, no other than Daemon…we all know that one’s nature-. Alicent afflicts her throat with sincere fright. His eyes got cold when thinking of The Rogue Prince.

-Make no mistake, should Rhaenyra ever sit the Iron Throne, it will be Lord Flea Bottom who rules us-. Ser Criston mumbled with sourness, clenching his armored hands to the sides of his robust body.

-A king consort as cruel and unforgiving as Maegor ever was-. Queen Alicent whispered with bitterness. Criston hums, remembering the stories Aemond has read him of Maegor The Cruel, his Black Brides and his reigning years of terror-…Under his judgement, my father’s head will be the first cut off, I do not doubt it, but your Queen, myself, will soon follow-. She spoke with a low voice, constantly curving her brows.

-Your Grace-, he makes a disgusted worried face, scowling at her.

-Nor will their spare my children-. Alicent declared, gulping so strongly, and blinking with so much fright when saying it. Even the harsh Criston shivered when thinking of that-. Aegon and his brothers are the king’s trueborn sons, with a better claim to the throne than her brood of…plain-featured boys-. Even after Viserys’ death, she can’t find herself capable of saying the word “bastard” out loud, yet no still-. Daemon will find some pretext to put them all to death. Even Helaena and her little ones…-, she whispered, having fright on her eyes. Cole clenched his jaw-. One of her boys put out my Aemond’s eye, never forget, though he was a boy-. She remembers, speaking in whispers.

-He was a boy, aye, but the boy is the father to the man, and bastards are monstrous by nature-. Ser Criston didn’t have the Queen’s sensibility towards the word, and spoke it plainly and without shame. The redhead parted her lips, not stopping him-. Should the princess reign, Your Grace, Jacaerys Velaryon would rule after her; Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the Iron Throne-. He spoke bitterly, in whispers.

-And Daera Targaryen by his side-, The Queen whispered too with sourness. Criston pressed his lips harshly when hearing that name-. We can only expect the worst from that girl too, for she’s no different than her tribe-, she denied while shaking her head from one side to another-. What she did to those man in The Vale…butchered them whole…-, Alicent narrows her eyes, recalling that great fuss from those years.

-As her father did to our city as well-. Cole remembered when The Prince of The City took his Gold Cloaks and dismembered nearly half of the capital’s smallfolk, punishing thieves, offenders, rapists and all kinds of evildoers.

Alicent strongly clenches her teeth, approaching one step closer, and whispering even lower.

-And she did it again…when she was here…-, she informed. Criston opens his furrowed eyes bigly, listening closely-. Ash and bone were taken to Flea Bottom by the breeze, from the coast where her dragon always nests-. Alicent whispers, narrowing her eyes-. The same day that she arrived to court with a brain-stained dress and tears of red on her hair-. She pointed out, recalling.

Criston immediately remembers that day, and how she walked into the hall of the Iron Throne with a cocky smile, all bathed in blood. Moments later, her father, The Rogue Prince, was decapitating Ser Vaemond Velaryon.

Alicent gulps, remembering the detailed report that the master of whisperers and Lord Confessor, Lord Larys “Clubfoot” Strong, brought to her about the mine of ashes on Kalistrox’s nest, and the smallfolk that attested to have heard voices of despair pleading for mercy in the air.

-…A bastard and a madwoman ruling the Seven Kingdoms…-, Ser Criston’s murmur came with sourness and angriness whilst he shook his head-. Unforgiving-, he denied.

-It is not just that it cannot be, but that it is not what should-. Queen Alicent raises her brows, insistent-. That chair belongs to my son-, she places a hand on her chest, over her heart-…It always has. Viserys told it to me…long ago too-. She confessed, blinking slowly.

When that came to be said, Ser Criston grew confused, not understanding the “long ago”, for the King died just recently. Alicent opens her mouth, but closes it quickly when seeing a brown-skinned servant walking nearby.

The Queen and her Protector remained silent. The servant, carrying a lemon cake on her hands, bowed her head and quickly walked away, soon turning on a corner and going elsewhere.

Alicent licks her lips, and breathes in deeply, looking at him again.

-Your Grace-, he whispers and nods, listening to her.

-When I was pregnant with Helaena…Viserys told me about a dream of his, a dream that- well, a dream that he had when Queen Aemma was still alive-. She whispered, surprising the knight, for he thought about how long ago that was-. He dreamed of a son birthed to him, being crowned!-. Alicent curved her brows, speaking with passion. Ser Criston parted his lips, shocked-. My husband expressed to me how much he desired that to be truth, how he saw in that dream The Conqueror’s crown placed on his son’s head and his sword on his hand-. The Queen recalls as if it has been yesterday, as it has been moments ago, and not more than twenty years-…He said he wanted it…-, she murmured slowly, blinkless, remembering that night.

Ser Criston, speechless, watches her every move and listens to her every word. This just reassures everything they’re fighting for; he thinks.

-He told me on Aegon’s second nameday-. Alicent confessed, closing her eyes for a few moments. Criston opened his widely, instantly remembering those times, that night, that hunt in the Kingswood where Rhaenyra made a fuss out of her emotions, as always, drowning herself in a cup of water.

Cole parts his lips, taking the information in. Moments then, he speaks.

-Prince Aemond once told me about the dreams some Targaryen have…-, he recalls with a low voice, and she starts to nod-. If I’m not mistaking…Daenys the Dreamer dreamed Old Valyria’s doom-. The knight says, thoughtful.

-Which happened, eventually, within the years; Daenys’ dream was true-. Alicent quickly nods, raising her brows. He gulps; he has always been kind of fascinates -to not say intimidated- by the Targaryens and their history-. Viserys’ is too-. She thinly whispers, from the bottom of her heart. Her knight looks at her with big secure eyes.

-It will be, my Queen-. He nods under the crystal hazel gaze of hers-. I shall be by your side and your children’s, until my last breath, Your Grace-. Fiercely, he promised, never blinking.

Alicent curves her brows, and gulps. She appreciates it heartily, closing her eyes while nodding. The Queen sighs with distress, caressing her forehead, realizing just now that she had been sweating.

-I thank you, Ser Criston…-. A soft whisper left her lips. He nods with determination.

Dowager Queen Alicent gulps, and then starts to form a smile on her closed lips. A minute then, she opens her eyes, and looks at him.

-…Helaena is with child-, she informed with an easy mumble. Ser Criston instantly froze; any firm look on him faded away and his eyes immediately shined with surprise and happiness, his mouth went open.

Such expression from her serious guard made the Queen laugh openly, which she rarely does.

-Maester Orwyle says her course is three moons already-. Alicent whispered with great emotion.

Ser Criston took the liberty to laugh, curving his brows, and clenching his teeth with excitement and pride.

And, as they speak of Helaena, let us turn to her…

Queen Helaena’s handmaiden, Claudia, delivered a small-sized lemon cake to the Queen’s chambers when she asked her for that favor. Claudia recalled it was not a favor but a duty for her to obey her commands; Helaena pointed out that not when it was this late and she should be asleep.

Nevertheless, the kind Claudia had not trouble in bringing the dessert to her rooms. After thanking her, and gifting her a slice of the cake, Helaena took the pastry into her bedchambers, having a shining smile on her lips, showing all her teeth.

The Queen sliced two slices of cake. Now we find her kneeled on the bed and, in front of her, are her two children. The twins both excitedly see their mother handing them a slice of lemon cake for them to enjoy; she was giggling as she handed it to them.

-Happy name day…-, Helaena whispered with a glim of love on her purple eyes.

Jaehaerys was the first one to cheer, shrieking and immediately starting to eat. Jaehaera soon followed, taking a big bite of cake with a smile on her face. Kneeled and slouched in front of them, Helaena scrunched her nose into a smile and clapped excited.

The mother sees how her twins enjoy their dessert. The hour has grown late, indeed, but it seems that neither of them are sleepy. In the solitude and darkness of the bedchambers, Queen Helaena is happy to share this moment with her children, who are already a year now. Time flies…

While they eat calmly, the Queen sweetly pushed the twin’s heads with softness and neared them to her to place tender kisses on both their cheeks. She laughed so happily when feeling the kids kissing her too, leaving crumbs of cake on her pale skin.

After kissing their mother, they went on with their dessert.

-Oh-, Helaena giggles with sweetness, passing a thumb in Jaehaera’s lips to clean some crumbs-. Messy girl-, she whispered along funny chuckles.

-Um-, Jaehaera emits amusing sounds while her mother cleans her-. Daera-, a sudden babble left her lips.

In that moment, the white-haired woman froze, slowly getting away her hand from her girl.

-Yes-, she silly whispers.

-Daera-. ‘Twas Jaehaerys now who spoke.

-UH- Yes!!-. Their mother laughs, covering her mouth that smiled greatly.

Helaena blinks in shock, not believing that they had just named Daera; they haven’t seen her for days already, and still said her name for the first time, perfectly and- and she’s not here to listen.

Helaena feels her lips starting to tremble, and bitter tears coming up to her sudden sad eyes while she still smiles. The Queen feels her children miss their aunt. And for the love of whoever god that exists, she does too. Daera hasn’t left her mind nor heart since the last time she saw her. She just never leaves.

But now they’re apart, far away and completely oblivious to when they shall see each other again. These quarrel between their families, these stupid acts…

Helaena sobs weakly, closing her sad eyes while her lips curved down. She weeps Daera’s name, yearning and longing for her. What’s happening scares her so much, and what’s to come scares her even deeper. It is not worry about herself she worries; is about the ones she loves…the ones that are far in more danger.

“Daera, Daera, Daera…”

It seems that Helaena got so excited when Claudia brought her the lemon cake, that when she closed the door and walked to her twins with pure happiness, forgot to lock.

The doors are opened without notice, making the Queen to quickly turn around her head, still slouched on the bed. Entering to her chambers she found her King husband, arriving with weary steps, baggy eyes, long thin scarring wounds in his arms, and a great bulk on his pants.

Helaena’s face instantly became paler than usual, and her throat afflicted. Her husband grumbles, delicately closing the doors of the bedchamber. He did lock.

-Come-, his hoarse voice fills the room. Her superior lip tremble, looking at his red tired eyes-. Come-, he did a soft hand gesture to her.

-‘Tis the children’s birthday-. She is quick to say, weakly and fearful, blinkless.

-Helaena, I said come-. The King raises his brows. He limped for a second, too drunk to keep a straight posture-. Come, come, come-. He tsks his tongue, hating she was so still.

-Not in front of them please-. The Queen wept with a shaky voice.

Impatient and chaotic, Aegon II growled with despair and shot out walking quickly towards the bed of the room. Queen Helaena gasped and fastly came down of it from the other side. The children’s father grunts, clashing his hands on the mattress with distress.

After rapidly glancing at the children, the Queen turned around and ran further from there; thus, he followed her and got away from the kids.

-When I tell you to come…!-, Aegon left the rest of his words in the air, spitting on the floor as he ran foolishly to her, nearly stumping.

Helaena breathes fastly, coming out to the balcony with fast steps and scared eyes. She looks everywhere within a second, clearly knowing she got no way out. When she looked down for a millisecond, she saw the spikes below Maegor’s Holdfast.

-…YOU COME!!-. Aegon reached her angrily, surprising her from behind, and grabbing her wrists with great strength.

Queen Helaena gasped airless when he touched her, nearly breaking her neck when she looked up as if she was burned in a pyre. She looked up, and yet what she saw wasn’t the moon nor the stars.

She saw a thousand hanging men of blue, red and green flowing blood.

She saw her mother standing on the shore of a lake.

She saw a white curly mane burning.

Aegon made Helaena to end on the floor, forcing her to sit, only to then crawl over her, pressing his manhood against her shaky closed legs. His queen cries with fear, eyes-closed, shaking her head while mumbling nonsenses.

-They dance…-. Helaena cries with a broken voice, suddenly gasping for air and opening her eyes. She finds Aegon on top of her; she feels his kisses on her neck and his hand searching for her womanhood-. N-no! No! No!-. She shrieks as an agonizing hart, wanting to crawl away from his touch.

-Ay no no no, Helaena, you- Just stay quiet, bitch-. Aegon tsks his tongue with so much annoyance, babbling out his words, keeping her wrists prisoners of his hands.

Helaena’s red throat pains while she cries endlessly, strongly closing her eyes while her tits are being licked and her skirt lifted. The Queen lets out a scared sob, now moveless. Her husband sighed with the smile of a fool, feeling her warm body.

With a hand, Aegon gets his cock out and taps it against his wife’s thighs, making her to squeal with great horror. She grunted a cry and nearly turned around to craw far from him, but he quickly let go of his member and grabbed both her hands again.

-No!-, a broken sob leaves the Queen’s itchy throat.

-I came here to fuck-. Aegon smiles charmingly, looking down at her with his red eyes-. Not to be suffocated by all this fucking weeping!-, he erased his smile and whispered right to her face with anger.

Helaena sobs, pressing her trembling lips, looking at her greatest nightmare talking above of her; he’s a demon paralyzing her.

-Your running away’s from me are at an end-. Aegon growls maniacally, violently pushing one of her legs, opening them. Helaena cries endlessly, shaking her head from side to side-. I am King now-, he whispers bitterly.

He harshly gripped her chin, squeezing it, and from a moment to another penetrated her dry womanhood within a second, completely entering it. The Queen let out a cry so hurted, afflicting her throat and showing her teeth with pain.

On the other hand, The King afflicted his throat with pleasure, and showed his teeth when he smiled madly.

-Oh, yeah-. He moans, thrusting into her time after time.

Unable to cry out loud due to the hand squeezing her mouth and chin, The Queen can’t but cry silently, moveless and speechless, only hoping for it to be over already.

-You…-, King Aegon II’s red eyes of madness stared right at hers. She’s now realizing that there’s blood under his left eye-. You are to serve me, sister-. He declared with a cough and a smile.

Helaena sobs terribly, feeling all of his violent thrusts, his violent grip. The Queen, weakly, could glance at her children for one quick second. She cried harder when finding them watching at them with parted lips; they’re no longer eating cake.

Queen Helaena weeps with great terror, closing her eyes strongly.

A thousand hanging men of blue, red and green flowing blood.

Her mother standing on the shore of a lake.

A white curly mane burning.

-They danc-…!-. Helaena whines while her husband moans with a smile, trying his best to ignore her and just enjoy of her body-. They dance with crooked shoes!-, a broken sob left her throat.

-SHUT IT!-. Done with her nonsense, King Aegon punched his Queen right in her head.

And so Helaena was plunged into temporary darkness; she found calm.

■ ■ ■

Be welcomed to The Neck.

The narrow isthmus that connects the North to the rest of Westeros.

We’re now right beyond the border of the riverlands; we’re now officially in the North. Winds have change, of course; the wind is colder and harsher, dry but at the same time it makes one’s forehead sweat.

The swamplands of the Neck are by far the largest in all of Westeros, making it a rather unique biome. During day you can appreciate deep green trees, a lot of moss everywhere, and frogs jumping all around. However, ‘tis nighttime now, and the moonlight is not enough to light the lushness at its best.

Jace, Daera and their dragons had flown as discreetly as possible between the clouds of the night, for they didn’t want anyone to see them; they succeeded. The princes and their dragons took place as deeply in the swamp as possible, away enough from any camp and small civilization they checked from the skies. After wandering above the woods for some time, they decided upon a clean spot clean of mud or subterranean caves -at least cleaner the other spots-.

To their better accommodation, they opened in the ground as many of the bedsheets they could. They left two apart to cover themselves when they went to sleep, and with the remaining made an improvised mattress, not royally thick but neither too thin. In a free-of-sheet spot they left in the middle, they lighted a modest fire with a gentle sigh from Vermax.

With their “camp” now established, the princes are lying in their improvised mattress of fur. Both Daera and Jace have their heads resting in their luggage, using them as pillows. Both of them also have their respective dragon right by their side, keeping them warmer and safer. Basically, they’re surrounded by their dragons, who’re also lying in the ground.

Jacaerys is nearly falling asleep, tenderly watched by Vermax, who’s face is resting by his, breathing calmly too. On the other side, Daera has a golden tall wall by her. Kalistrox head rests over a fallen tree whilst his tail is nearly reaching the shore of a lake that is far from them. You cannot even imagine how uncomfortable it was for him to land in the swamp, watching to not mess with any tree. Matters to say that the one he’s resting his chin in is one of three he accidentally threw with one of his horns.

The Rogue Princess, playing with the handles of both her sword and her new dagger, which both remain strapped to the belt on her waist, watches her dragon with dearness. She raises a hand; her sweet fingers and palm caress Kalistrox’s limbs, lightly scratching them. The Golden Ray sighed loudly and purred with gentleness, blinking slowly. His princess smiled quietly.

The dragon’s sound made prince Jacaerys to open his sleepy eyes within a second, for they took him out of his nearing sleep. He breathes in with tiredness, humming lowly and scratching his eyes.

-Ouh shit-, the princess turns her head to look at him-. Sorry, did I wake you up?-. She whispers with same, scrunching her nose.

-No no, I was just resting my eyes-. The prince answers with a kind smile, and a hoarse sleepy voice. His sister snorts a little laugh, curving his brows-. Hmmm…-, he sighs again, crossing his arms behind his head-. They still ought to eat-, he remembers.

-Uhum-, his wife nods, eyeing Kalistrox while still caressing him. Jace lifts his gaze towards the Golden Dragon, feeling that it is a fortress that he’s looking at, for the beast is so tall and thick. He gulped, having the greatest of respects for his siter’s dragon.

-…He’s growing by the second, I think-. Prince Jacaerys murmured after some moments of quietness. Not looking at him, Daera lifted her lips into a small prideful smile.

-He is-, she agrees, whispering while scratching his limbs.

-Does he still fits in the Pit?-. He questions with curiosity, narrowing his eyes.

-I think he still does, at least he did the last time-. Daera shrugges, cocking her head-. Barely-, she quickly pointed, lifting a finger.

-‘Tis no wonder to me-. Jace mumbles, watching at his impeccable golden scales. He presses a smile, caressing Vermax’s horn with slowness.

Daera looks at Kalistrox distanced face. Her dragon eyed back at her, which made her to smile, kindly lifting her lips as a mother to her child would when seeing him laugh. The dragon purrs and closes his eyes, at ease.

The princess keeps staring at him, slowly becoming thoughtful. Jace looks at her again, finding her purple eyes looking at the fire interestedly; she looks beautiful.

-Do you remember that time when we were in the Dragonmont, walking over Vermithor’s nest?-. Daera asks from a moment to another, turning his head to look at him.

-Yes-, Jace quickly answers with an easy tone, raising his brows-. The other day when Daemon dared us to walk into the cave, and you almost did?-. He narrows his eyes with a playful smile.

-Haha-, his sister cackles two times. Jace chuckles, curving his brows-. That day-, she nods-. Well, did you know that…? Ah-. The princess accommodates herself better, turning her body to face him completely. Jacaerys did the same, interested, trying to not fix his eyes on the beautiful curve her waist has when lying sideways.

-Why?-. He questions, speaking curiously.

-I almost did because I wanted to see him, to see if Kalistrox could already be larger than him-. The princess confessed with honesty. That surprised his brother, whose eyes shined.

-Vermithor is to be said the second largest-. He murmurs, thinking of Vhagar, who is the first-. Do you think it possible?-. Jace asks with great interest.

-All the dragonkeepers from both Dragonstone and King’s Landing keep telling me these last moons is how much Kalistrox has been growing!-. The Rogue Princess speaks with a passionate hope, nodding quickly-. Vermithor barely flies out of his cave, what-…what if Kalistrox is bigger?-. She whispered, narrowing her eyes while picturing it.

-Can you imagine?-. Jacaerys smiles mesmerized, with narrow eyes too. His sister smiled, gladden with his same enthusiasm-. So, you wanted to know…-, he mumbles as he nods, recalling that day again.

-I still do-. The princess corrected him. Her brother raised his brows with acceptance, and she sucked her inferior lip with funniness.

Jacaerys gives her a cheerful smile, giggling lowly while looking at her. Daera chuckles lightly, still sucking her lips when she took a look around them.

A thousand cricket sing near them, as a hundred frogs do too. The sound of a stream soothes their ears when there is silence, which there was, until the white-haired spoke again.

-‘Tis weirdly ugly here, don’t you think?-. She comments, studying the surroundings. Prince Jacaerys did the same, only that with a growing smile on his humid lips-. Still, the northmen have never been known for a taste on eye-lusty lands-, she shrugges.

-What are they known for?-. The prince asks with an amused calmed tone. His wife makes a pout with her lips, thinking for two seconds.

-Baela once said they’re too pretty and too serious-. Daera shrugged, and he started to laugh-. I guess that sums them up pretty well-, she laughs as well.

-We shall see-. Jace raised his brows; she looked at him with cocky eyes, humming lowly when thinking about the lord they’ll be meeting soon-. And as an opposite to your statement, sister, I must admit I find certain beauty in this land-. He admitted with no shame, gaining a funny curious face from her-. Knowing something or someone’s story makes them more dazzling, I’d dare to say-. Jace nodded to a side.

-Ouh!-. Daera raises her brows-. Oh well, then…-. The princess drags herself a little closer and takes more comfort on her position, opening her eyes wide and smiling hugely when exaggerating curiosity-. I’m all ears-, she said with a funny voice.

Her brother-husband lifted his blushing cheeks and laughed. He took the liberty to also get closer, which his wife stared at with calculating smiling eyes, quietly.

-Well, there’s no much to it-. Jacaerys smiles modestly. She snorts and he grinned, rolling his eyes blank for a second-. In ancient times, the Neck was ruled by the Marsh King of the crannogmen-. And so Jace uses his “studying voice”, that he always employs whether when reading, discussing politics or -a new addition- treating with lords and ladies about alliances. Daera raises her brows, listening with a smile-. They submitted to House Stark when Rickard Stark, King in the North, defeated the Marsh King and took his daughter as wife-. He tells.

-Romantic-, she mumbles. Jacaerys licks his lips within a smile, looking down for a second.

-The crannogmen have maintained their ancient allegiance to House Stark, though…well, contact between them and the outside world has faded away to almost nothing, in these past years-. He mumbles while cocking his head, speaking softly-. Maester Gerardys told me-, he added-. But yet I know that the Starks wouldn’t even dream with disengage The Neck from them-, Jacaerys denies.

-Why not?-, she asked with a tender whisper, loving how he knows and speaks his histories by heart.

-The Neck presents a formidable tactical obstacle to anyone planning to invade the North!-. Jace responded with obviousness, raising his brown brows. She giggles and nods with great interest-. Did you know this place was instrumental in holding off the Andals during the coming of the Andals six thousand years ago?-. He asks with bemusement, shaking his head.

-Now I do-, the princess nodded, and he scoffed with marvel, now nodding.

-But, however, it is not effective against…ha, airborne dragons-. The prince said with undeniable pride, eyeing the two beast that sleep by their side.

-Such realization lead King Torrhen Stark, the last King in the North, to his decision to bend the knee to Aegon the Conqueror during the Conquest-. Princess Daera spoke with cocky smile and tone, raising her brows. Her husband licked his lips while smiling, nodding-. I used to read that story with father nearly every night, back in Pentos-. She remembers.

-Ah-, Jace smiles to her, slowly nodding.

-Hum-, Daera lets out a cute chuckle, turning her head to look at the white moon above-. The Conquest…-, she whispers-. Well, we already have something to chat about with Lord Cregan-. Daera cheers funnily.

-Aye-. The prince laughs, cheering too-. And a lot more of things-, he added.

-Yes…-. The princess breathes in deeply while looking around, not knowing that her husband is forever staring at her-. The North may not be the fastest ally, due to its location, but they surely will be the worthiest-. Daera points out with honesty, blinkless for a few second. She hears him humming, agreeing with her-…You’re right-. She mumbled.

-About what?-, he questions with a soft voice.

-Something is more dazzling when knowing its history-. Daera said into a playful sweet tone, looking at the trees and the stars above.

Blinkless, Jacaerys lifts the sides of his lips into a thoughtful expression. While feeling Vermax’s near body keeping him warm, the prince soon speaks his mind again.

-May I ask something, then, about our history?-. He questions with politeness, making her to look at him again. Her purple eyes smiled.

-Targaryen or Velaryon? I know many-, she proposes-. Wanna hear ‘bout King Aenys I and how I would give my live to have met him?-. Her face lit up with pride.

-…Us-. The Velaryon prince softly corrected her, barely moving his lips when whispering. Daera blinks bigly, only one time, staring at him with inevitable surprise-. I mean about…us…-, he whispered. And soon, she began to nod.

-You may-, she agreed.

-On our wedding night...why didn't you consummate with me?-. Jacaerys didn’t wait to ponder his question; Daera felt time froze. He’s blushing fastly-…Why didn't we?-, he murmurs.

-I…-, Daera blinks very slowly, finding the right words while beginning to shrug her shoulders-. I think that…I think that I never had thought about it before, honestly-. She has-. Good question-. She points at him.

-Uhum-, Jacaerys nods, patiently but presently waiting for an answer.

Daera presses her lips and sighs through her nose while staring at him. The answer is far from simple and yet it consists of an only word: Aemond.

-I guess I was heart-broken-. The princess Daera answered with a low tone, shrugging-. I was…besotted with another, you see…-

She still is.

-You have always been my brother-. Daera murmurs, lightly furrowing her brows. Jace watches her with attentive eyes and listening ears-. I always loved you as so-. She points out with a soft tone, nodding-. So, to have been turned into your wife, from a day to another, well…-. The princess sighs, opening her eyes big when she sighed with pure honesty-…I didn’t desire you-. She declared.

-Now you do?-. Jace’s question was automatic, asked within a second. Daera parted her lips, surprised. It was just then that the prince realized his thoughts had slipped out of his lips. He gulps, feeling heat reaching his cheeks.

Before speaking, the prince had been thinking about what took place in the Eyrie, between them. He thought about everything: Daera grabbing his jacket’s neck and pulling him closer to her; she purring at him, pushing down his shoulder so his mouth met her womanhood; she moaned with a smile and, while caressing his brown mane between her legs, called him a good boy.

Remembering all that apparently made the prince ask his question without much anticipation. But, accepting that he already did it, he moved on, and spoke again.

-Do you feel that I am…enough?-. He questions, narrowing his brown eyes. Nerves glim in them.

In that moment, sincere curiosity glammed on Daera’s purple orbs. The princess breathed in, accommodating her shoulders on their mattress; she got closer to him, blinkless under his gaze, which follows her every move.

She didn’t answer; but made another question herself.

-From the first day we were wed, and even days before that, I noticed that…-Daera narrowed her eyes, speaking firmly and curiously-…that you did want to consummate our marriage…-, the princess murmured.

They both recall that night. They had to sleep together, as the Seven dictate it must be done on a wedding night. They shared a bed, same blanket and same big pillow. She was drinking wine, jesting, joking, giggling all around; she was content…but she never touched him. And him…well, it seemed as Jace was starving even for a kiss on his cheek, or a caress on his hair, even a blow from her breath to his lips.

-You wanted to do it-. Daera points within a mumble, blinking slowly. She sees how his cheeks has gotten redder than before; he is not blinking, looking at her while nodding lightly-. And yet, you have always seen me only as your sister-. She says, recalling the feelings he used to have for Baela, their sister, not her. They’re faded now, since a long ago, but the question still rises-…Why was it so easy for you?-. The princess asked, confused.

Jacaerys breathed in through his nose, staring at her. The reflection of the fire flames dances in her confused face, in her curious violet eyes. Her long curly mane wiggles a little too, with the wind and Vermax’s breathing. After some seconds, the prince let a sigh out.

-Because I knew who I was getting wedded to-. The Heir to the Iron Throne answered with firmness, closing his eyes. In that moment, Daera grew even more confused, tilting her head to a side-. You are one of the most beautiful maidens of the realm, if not the most. Each lord -either paramount or vassal-, each steward, servant and knight speak of your beauty everywhere I go, anywhere I step into. There have been tourneys on your honor, men fighting for your favor and bless! Quarreling to just have you to look at them!-. Jacaerys speaks with admiration, narrowing his eyes.

Daera, bemused, listens with parted lips, which started to smile with surprise and flattery while looking at him. The princess scoffs while he talks, seeing the shine on his eyes, listening to the passion in his voice.

-I took as my wife the most precious and desired woman in the Seven Kingdoms-. Jace declared, straightening his shoulders whilst he talks, slowly taking seat in the mattress. She follows him with her eyes, having her head resting on one of her hands. He looked down at her, and stuttered, blinkless. Then he sighed; his shoulders fell-… I wanted to be up to the gift of owning that-. He confessed, simple but sincere, shrugging.

Warmly, Daera looks at him, curving her brows a little. That was shortly, for then she snorted with amusement.

-Oh-, she closed her eyes and widened a sarcastic smile on her lips-. So I am a responsibility for you, huh?-. Daera questioned with fun, laughing burlesque. Jace quickly furrows his brows, shaking his head with confusion-. Tell me, brother, is everything a duty for you?-. She tauntly asks, scrunching her nose.

-You are not following-. He fastly denied, firmly. Funnily, she pressed her smiling lips and nodded with gentleness, allowing him to speak again, thinking that she’d hear more of the same-. I see you as no trophy, I swear this to you-. The prince declared with a stiff lip, never stuttering nor blinking. His sister looks at him with eyes that slowly started to lose all glim of diversion-. I see you for what you are: someone there are no two of. I wanted to be enough for you-. Jace narrowed his eyes, slouching; his face got a little closer to hers, who’s staring at him with parted lips, shocked-…I still want to-. He confessed, true and honest.

The princess stares at him with reading eyes, analyzing every expression he makes. All are sincere and filled of dearness. He is speaking his truth, perhaps for the first time since the day they were wed.

-It’s not that is my responsibility to make you happy; I know you can very well achieve it on your own account-. Jace laughed a little, raising his brows. Shocked, Daera chuckles lightly too, curving her frown while looking at him at all moments. His brown eyes are dilatated-. It’s just that…you deserve that effort from me, it is the least- the least you deserve-. Jacaerys whispers as he touches his chest with his own warm hands, tapping his ten fingers over his heart, which is beating so fastly-. And as your husband -call it “duty”, if you so like- I want to give it to you; I want to make you happy-. The prince said with pure genuineness and openness.

Bemused, Daera lift she lifts the corner of her lips, curving her brows as well while looking at him with an inevitable tenderness, and surprise. “How not to feel this moved, this warmed?” She’s speechless, for he had never been so honest before, not like this. Not this…beautifully, in search of nothing more than acceptance from her.

Taking advantage of the tremendous loneliness of the swamp, the great distance from their home, and that he has already said too much, he sent all nerves to the Seven Hells…and leaned closer to his sacred wife.

-I lust for you, Daera…-. Jacaerys confessed with the sweetest of whispers, and the warmest of eyes. Daera gasped briefly, opening her lips, looking at him with pureness, and a light smile that began to thrive on her lips. He looks at them, breathing deeply-. I love you-, he murmured, a little weak now.

It is now that everything makes sense, that everything clicked in the princess’ mind. Jacaerys, her “fake” husband, had been slowly and silently falling in love with her…and it is just now that he’s having the guts to confess it, when they are at the other side of the world, in a cold swamp with their dragons.

-Oh…-, Daera sighed, raising a hand and placing it on his neck, caressing his brown hair with her tender fingers. He breathes deeply, always staring at her-. I love you too, Jace-. She warmly said, dragging her fingers to a side of his face to caress his burning cheek. He lightly raised his brows, lost on her purple loving eyes-…I always have…-, the princess whispered, honest.

Jace scoffed, with a happiness and nerves that he couldn’t hide very well. He bit the inner of his cheeks, sucked his inferior lips, and looked down whilst trying to hide a smile, chewing it. That expression remembered her of Rhaenyra. Daera leaned her head to a side and looked at him with a dear grin, feeling how warm his cheeks are.

-Oh, for the gods’ sake…-. Daera whispers, narrowing her eyes. She is so moved; she is so happy he has told her this. Why? Why is she? How does she exactly feel about this? Why doesn’t it bother her, as their whole marriage once did?

-I know that we married off for duty, but…-. Jace speaks, looking up again. He takes both her hands, resting his chin in them. Daera snorts a cute laugh, wrinkling the sides of her eyes-. But…!-, he laughs too, caressing her fingers-…I have learned so much from you, Daera; you have taught me so much-. He declares, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes-. I only ever want your best-. Jace whispers with softness.

-And I yours, my prince…-. Daera murmured with the same tenderness as him, feeling the soft caresses on her fingers.

Jace smiled to her, not showing his teeth. Moments then, that smile slowly started to fade away, which confused her.

-What is it?-. She whispers, holding his hands tighter. He smiles lightly again, looking up at her, then gulping, then fading his smile again.

-I also wanted to ask about…about Aemond-. Jace spoke, inevitably uncomfortable, pressing his lips.

When Daera heard his name, her body froze. She didn’t see it -thank the gods she didn’t- but when Aemond was named, her eyes flickered, and afterwards they blinked with what appeared to be shame, and embarrassment. Jace did notice it, gulping.

-Can I ask?-. With honesty, the prince asked for permission, patiently. His wife looked down with sad eyes, not wanting him to see the glum in her pupils, but he is. After some silent seconds, she starts to nod, allowing him to continue.

This is the first time they have said The One-Eyed Prince’s name between them, since they got married. He had faded to Daera’s past, until now.

-It has been a year already, I think, or nearly a year-. Jacaerys mumbles, starting to caress her fingers again. She gulps strongly, thinking of Aemond and all the- the wrongs he has done to her-. Do you…do you think this was the right decision?-. And so, Jace asked with no restriction. Her lips almost trembled in that moment, looking at him with them pressed-. Us?-, he whispered.

Slowly, Daera takes her hands away from his, taking seat in front of him while crossing her arms on her chest. The prince gulps, patient. Daera looks down, feeling a great lump on her throat, and a thousand knives on her heart.

She imagines a reality where she had never really been with Aemond; one where she would have married Jace, with heart and desire, not convenience and politics. A reality where he had never followed her into Flea Bottom, nor to that alley either. A reality where she had never seduced him first, nor defended his violence and cruelty. A reality where she…had never lied to her family and dear ones.

If that were her reality, she would have saved herself from so much pain, dilemmas, arguments and fights with her family. She would have saved herself from so many tragedies. As soon as she heard of the usurpation of the Iron Throne, she and her dragon would have flown to King's Landing and would have burned them all.

When hearing Jace’s question, Daera’s head thought by its own, not sugar-coating anything. It thought this: Everything would be easier if she wasn’t in love with prince Aemond Targaryen.

To think that hurted her so much, her chest ached. Daera gulps and shakes her head from side to side, whilst her husband waits for an answer.

She smiles tinyly, looking at him.

-Had I continued walking down with Aemond…-, her eyes flickered for a second-…I’d be lost…-, she confessed within a whisper.

What hurted the most was that it is no lie, that it is no “if”. Daera Targaryen has been lost since she fell in love with Aemond Targaryen. How expensive that’s going to cost her.

-You…-, Daera takes Jace’s hands again, firmer than ever. Blinkless, he looks at her with determination and love. She gulps, wanting to cry, but not succumbing herself to it-. You are my right decision, Jace-. The princess declared with a stiff voice, looking into his brown eyes.

-Oh!-. In that moment, the prince breathed out with a huge smile, and a relieved expression. She gulps again and starts to smile as well, pampering his fingers with soft caresses-. I- I am glad to hear that-. He stutters. Daera softens her eyes, sighing while looking at him-. I was always afraid to ask; I was afraid you…you resented me-. He admitted, pressing his lips with embarrassment.

-What?-, she parts her lips, opening her eyes big.

-Hence why you- why you never slept with me-. Jacaerys stutters and shrugges, being honest with her.

-That’s not true-. Daera is quick to deny, shaking her head. She holds his hands stronger, nearing them to her chest. The brown-haired prince looks at her with heart-eyes, listening closely-. I would never, never resent you on Aemond’s behalf-. She promised with firmness-. I am not cruel…or stupid enough to do that-. Daera rolled her eyes.

Jacaerys showed his teeth, laughing tenderly. Unable to don’t too, Daera sighed and chuckled with him, closing her eyes. As soon as she did it, she saw Aemond’s face, so quickly opened them again, gulping.

Daera looks down, pressing her lips with a thoughtful gaze, under Jace’s loving one. Moments then, she breathed in and started to stand up. He quickly did so too, looking around and then at her again.

-They haven’t dined yet-. The princess spoke with a soft tone, staring at her golden awaked dragon. Jace quickly eyes Vermax, who purred, looking back at him.

-You’re right-. The prince nods, now tending all his attention to his dragon.

Daera blinks slowly, caressing Kalistrox while breathing in. She got lost on her mind, until he called her.

-Daera-, Jace named. When she turned around, got surprised when seeing him already on his saddle, ready to take flight-. Join me…-, his voice is tender and his smile a happy one, cocking his head towards the sky.

She smiles softly, looking at his brown eyes.

-I shall join you, in a minute-. The princess said-. You go ahead. I will put off the fire first-. She says, pointing at the flames with her purple eyes.

Narrowing his eyes with that smile still on his lips, Jacaerys nodded towards her, smitten.

-Sōves, Vermax-. The prince commanded him to fly with a soft mumble, patting his neck.

Within the seconds, the green dragon of yellow eyes took off from the woods, easily dodging the trees on his way, for he has the perfect size for it. Soon enough, the prince and his dragon were in the sky, looking for a proper supper for the majestic beast.

When she was left alone with her dragon, the princess Daera blinks in silence. Her eyes got lost in the humid mud, her hands on her abdomen.

Looking at the ground, she thinks of Aemond.

It feels the last time she saw him was ages ago, and it was far from a pleasing encounter. “Where do we stand now?”, she asks herself, worried and inevitably angry. He has been doing so bad, acting accord his family’s whishes and not taking hers in mind. What she said to Rhaenys before parting off Dragonstone is true; she wants to punish Aemond for his sick doings, for placing a rapist on the throne. She will, but…when? When are they to see each other again? Where, how? Is she to fly to Lovers Island and expect for him to go too? She cannot. What would they say to each other? Would he kiss her? Would he ask for forgiveness as soon as he sees her purple eyes again? Those that have always give him love and understanding. How could he have betrayed them? When will he be sorry for it? Because he will. She’s sure.

Caressing her belly, she thinks of Alyssa.

How is it that, in this world, things go on so quickly? One day she used to not see herself as a mother, then she wanted nothing but a child product of her love with her husband, then they agreed on it, the next day her husband made her to drink away that child. “How could it be?”. Daera dreamed, and lost her dream so fastly in the bat of a lash, the blink of an eye, the breaking of a heart. A babe was supposed to thrive on her royal belly, but it didn’t; perhaps the gods wanted so. “Fuck you gods then, and give me my child”, the princess cursed in her mind. Alyssa was conceived in Lovers’ Island. And the very next day, in that very same place, she was taken away.

Daera curves her brows, pressing her lips while she thinks in all of that. Feeling her deep sadness, and turning his head to look at her glum eyes, Kalistrox purred with sweetness, looking to comfort her.

-Please, don’t…-. His rider sighed with a tired voice when she heard him. The Golden Ray still purrs, lightly, as down as her. Daera shakes her head, squeezing her belly with her fingers-. You’ll make me cry, dearest…-, she said with unquietness, sniffing her nose, and forcing herself to draw her hands away from her belly-. I will not-, she declared.

He blinked slowly, looking at her. Daera straightens her shoulders, and blinks a few times; then she glanced at him.

-Jikãgon jurnegon syt issa (Go for your supper)-. The princess ordered raising her brows. Kalistrox growls lowly, eyeing the sky for a second and then at her-. Go!-, Daera pressed her lips when seeing him slowly standing up from the muddy ground. The golden dragon carefully lifts his wings, shaking his neck with a little doubt on his gaze-. You’re hungry-, she whispered.

After another low growl, Kalistrox opened his wings as big as possible, crawling a little away from there. Daera walks backwards with no hurry, stepping away from his thick tail. She crosses her hand over her belly, seeing him shaking his neck again with unquietness while looking at the multiple trees.

Moments then, The Golden Ray took off with one big flap from his wings, which lifted him up in the air within a second. His paw kicked the tall pines when flying across them. They wiggled like crazy. Their wood and sticks cracked, making the princess to look up with carefulness, watching that nothing fell on her.

Having learned from his difficult landing from before, Kalistrox took off with skilled maneuvers. He zig-zagged, as he has watched Caraxes do; no tree fell, and he headed towards the grey clouds while roaring out with sharpness and freedom, quickly getting away from the humidity. Inevitably, his rider looked up at him while siding a small smile.

-Smart boy-, she whispered to him along a little chuckle.

Daera is now by herself in this ugly, lush and lonely swamp. The princess looks down at the fire that still burns in the middle of the furs. While looking at it, the princess’ ears catch the sound of a nearby stream.

She made a pout with her lips, grabbed an empty jar they had use for their supper, and followed that sound with easy-going steps.

While walking, the princess thinks of how beautiful Lovers Island is. When the sun is not blessing it, a clear moon is. The sand is always white and warm, the waters fresh and sound. A kind breeze always blows softly towards their handmade hut, and in there their home is always waiting for them.

Daera tried to picture all that, but here, in this swamp. Many would think that it wouldn’t be the same at all, but the princess thinks it would be the very same. Lovers Island is beautiful, but its meaning does not fall on its beaches, sun and sand; but in the lovers that live there. This could very well be Lovers Swamp with no problem.

After chasing away a couple of curious frogs with her hands, Daera soon arrived at the place where that sound she followed came from. She arrives to a small river almost entirely covered by fog. In here are less crickets than in the other place, so it is quieter.

The princess keeps walking, grabbing the jar in one hand, and her own fingers in the other. She plans to take some water from the river, to go and kill off the fire, and then join Vermax and Jace in the skies. A flight would make her good right now, to be honest; she has a lot of stress to free.

But, postponing her task for a while, Daera stopped walking at the very shore of the river, and remained moveless. A cold breeze blows her dress and her curly mane, making it to bounce on her back. Her arms are loose to the sides of her body, applying no force. The fog in front of her gets sad when seeing her sad face.

Lighted by the cold white of the moon, Daera’s sleepless purple eyes stare at the nothingness while she gulps and presses her dry lips. Her gaze is lost, thoughtful, tired, sad and in the water.

They joy of having won three houses to their side in the half of a day remains in her with honesty; she’d never forget Jacaerys’ hopeful eyes every time that a lord or lady said yes to them. However, great part of her knows that they shouldn’t be even doing this. They are taking the bother to go house by house, knocking their doors and pleading for their support. “Who are they?” “Who are we?”.

Daera thinks how she and her husband have been going around the realm, like fucking beggars, having to give things in exchange to convince the Houses to fight and advocate by their side. It is ridiculous, to say the least! It its demeaning and degrading to go as so…

As future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Daera understand that exchanges, accords and betrothals are of great essence for the Iron Throne to keep good relations between the crown and its subjects. But we’re talking about war here, for the fuck’s sakes, not some feast or tourney, or wedding. Everyone should fight for the Blacks by law.

But no, here they are. They’ve licked Lady Jeyne Arryn’s cunt, given away Joffrey’s hand in marriage. The Houses are taking them as fools, it seems. And as the day goes by, Daera has been growing bitter and more bitter about it, not liking it one bit.

We are Targaryens.

The sound of a branch being stepped on brings the princess out of her thoughts. She blinks, still. Within seconds, two more branches crack, and then she detects the sound of footsteps in the mud.

After blinking again, Daera starts to slowly turn around. She turns her head with patience and a quiet expression, looking at what is behind her. And oh, gods be dammed, look at what we have here.

A group of five people has come out from the woods, arriving to the river with silent steps. There are three man and two women. They are all of small sizes; not dwarfs, but under the regular height of Westerosi people. They’re wearing clothes of colors similar to the swamp’s, fashion-less and ugly.

Perhaps that’s why they’re staring at her fancy expensive clothes and boots with lust.

Daera’s expression remains unfaced. She’s no longer sad, but calmed. She completely turns around, standing by the river’s shore, under the eyes of these ones.

-Good night-, she greeted with a polite tone.

-Good night-. One of the men greeted her, nodding towards her. We don’t know their names; we’ll call this one: Fuck.

-Beware, princess, there are many lion-lizards around these places-. Another of the men spoke, looking at her from feet to toe. He’ll be: Cunt.

Daera blinked and tilted her head lightly, instantly catching that they know she’s the princess. Great, no need to introduce herself then.

-Lion lizards?-. She gives them a confused smile, shaking her head.

-Dreadful beasts-. The third man raised his brows. This is: Dumb.

-Ah no, thankfully I haven’t seen none-. She kindly said-. But thanks for the warning-, her head tilts to a side whilst her hands meet on her belly.

Still, they keep getting closer, slowly but noticeable. Their steps are paused and marked, something she glanced at with tranquil eyes. Meanwhile, what they glance at is to the clothes and jewelry of the princess; her fine rings and leather dress must cost a fortune, not to speak about her white scalp.

Daera parted her lips when she sighed and scratched her forehead.

-Right…-, she mumbles with tiredness, nodding.

-Take off her clothes first, then do whatever you please-. One of the women spoke for the first time. How should be call her?

-She’s more worthy alive than dead, bitch-. Cunt spat to her. We’ll call her Bitch.

-Then don’t make her die, brute!-. The other woman spat back to him with an obvious tone, not even looking at him. This will be Dead.

Daera watches them all, person by person, looking at their steps and the manners of their hands. They’re armed, each of them with a rusty axe. She breathes in, looking at their faces again.

-Well, you’ve quickly made your intentions clear-. She sighed, making them to look at her with full amusement. A girl standing alone in a river, poor she thing-. Are crannogmen this direct then?-, Daera scrunches her nose, disappointed. Fuck and Dumb chuckled lowly, while Bitch twisted her lips with tediousness-. I like my men to entertain me-, she confessed whilst, under the enough darkness of the swamp, one of her hands so very slowly grabbed the handle of the dagger on her belt.

-I shall entertain you, princess-. Cunt growled with a smile. And it was here that he and Dead started to fastly walk towards her within a second, menacing. The others followed.

And within another second, Princess Daera got her dagger out of her belt, throwing it in the air. Its edge cut the wind sharply until it reached the middle of Dead’s eyes. The dagger crossed her skull and sliced her brains. The last thing she did was gasp, and then she fell hard on the floor, dead.

-Kalistrox, don’t come-. Daera whispered to the air, with a strand of white hair in the middle of her sight.

The other four cared naught about the fallen woman; they started running towards the princess. The closest was Cunt, who smiles while running.

Daera fastly leans to a side and scratches the river’s shore. Afterwards, she threw a handful of mud towards Cunt, who grunted when the heavy wet dirt ended up on his eyes and nose, making him to walk backwards.

-WHORE!-, a muted groan escaped his throat whilst he tried to wipe it all off his eyes.

-CUNT!-. Daera groaned as well, throwing more mud against Bitch and Dumb, but they dodged it and kept running to her with mad eyes. The princess laughs growly, unsheathing her sword.

-Don’t kill her!-. Bitch yelled with rage, and she ran slower when she saw the sword, getting a little scared. Fuck copied her.

Thus, Dumb kept running and became the closest to the princess, who took him off guard when making a savage expression with her face. The man, who cannot be older than twenty, furrowed his brows and, when he least expected, let out a loud and agonizing scream when a hand was cut from his body by her sword.

-AHHHH!!-, Dumb grabs his hand-less arm, looking at it with terror.

Daera laughs with great confidence, and that was her mistake, for the raged Dumb yelled with madness and grabbed her hair, pushing her with his remaining hand. The princess screamed, angry, and then she fell into the river’s deep shore, getting all wet by water and heavy mud. Her hand never left her sword’s handle.

-NO!-, Daera gasps in search of air, quickly sticking her head out the water.

Cunt had run to another part of the river as well, washing off the mud on his eyes while grunting with angriness. All the times that he found the strength to open his red and swollen eyes for a second, he glanced at the white-haired princess. He started to wash his face faster when seeing her falling into the river.

-GRAB HER HANDS, GRAB HER HANDS!-. Fuck yells quickly as he and Bitch ran to reach the princess.

-AHH!-. Remaining in the shore, Dumb breathes fastly while looking at his gone hand laying in the mud. He whines, staring at his bleeding wrist-. FUCKING BRING HER!-, he screamed to the river.

Daera breathed fastly, with her eyes blurry due to the water in them, but she saw something: those two small-sized beasts running towards her with more than evil intentions. She spat the water off her mouth, and took a deep breath.

Bitch runs faster when the princess’ head got dipped into the river from a moment to another. Fuck did so as well, yelling with rage when losing her out of sight.

-Fucking bitch! Where are you?!-. Bitch yells with alert, pushing all the water around her, wanting to hit the princess’ head by doing so, but she was far from her.

-Where are you?! WHORE!-. Fuck screams tauntly, licking his lips and smiling while from his mouth drops of saliva fall-. Fucking coward-, he mumbled with amusement.

-FIND HER!-, a scream was heard from Cunt, who’s walking to the shore near where they are. He pushed Dumb, who still cries for his hand.

Even though the screams continued, none was as loud as Fuck’s, who opened his mouth into a broken shriek when a sword suddenly cut his inner thighs and inner knees from a second to another, under the water.

-FU- FUUUCK! FUCK!!-. He yelled with extreme pain. Bitch quickly runs faster towards there, opening her eyes big when seeing the water turning red-. YOU- YOU…!-, he looks at the water around, harshly getting both his hands into it-. YOU FUCKING CUNT!-, he pulls something out.

Daera let out a pained screamed with her mouth open when Fuck suddenly pulled her out of the water, grabbing her by her hair. All her face and mane drips water while she roars with rage, looking at him, who roars back at her.

-BEAST!-, Fuck grabbed her hair into a fist, and his other hand slapped her strongly on one cheek.

-FUCK!!-, Daera roars. She holds her sword stronger, and head it right to his skull.

But Bitch appeared out of nowhere, arriving behind of her and taking both her hands prisoners into hers. Daera immediately screamed with rage, struggling against her grasp. Fuck grasped her legs the same way, trapping them, and that’s how the both of them began to carry her out the river.

-NO! NOOO! YOU WHORES, CUNTS, LET ME GO!-. The princess shrieks endlessly while dragged in the water-. YOU WEAK BEASTS, LET ME GO!-. Her yells never end.

-Bring her!-. Cunt waits for her in the shore with an ugly smile on his yellow teeth. Steps from him, Dumb is dizzy while looking at his bloody wrist.

-CUNTS!-, Daera grunts, not letting the river to take her sword away. She’s grabbing it tightly, while Bitch is incapable of taking it from her, for both her hands are busied in grasping hers to not let her go.

The princess was delivered to the shore, being harshly placed there. Within a second, Cunt grumbled and headed to her, going for the legs that Fuck fights against with a scrunched angry face.

While placing her in the ground, Bitch leaned forward in a way that made Daera’s eyes shine when she realized what she could do. Not losing time at all, the princess extended her neck up, opened her mouth, and then closed it along a wild roar. Daera bit the woman’s left breast, and squeezed it violently between her teeth.

Bitch let out a great scream, letting go her hands. Out of instinct she stepped away. At the same time, the princess wiggled her head ferociously from side to side; Bitch’s left nipple was torn from her breast by Daera’s harsh teeth, and then was spitted right into her face by the princess

The woman took six long steps back when she opened her mouth towards the sky to scream and cry with a pain none can even imagine. She grabs her bleeding teat, looking at it with extreme terror.

Oblivious to that, Fuck fights against the princess’s closed legs. She looks down there with rage, and opened her eyes big when seeing Cunt grabbing her knees with his big hands, and smiling up at her.

-No-, Daera’s voice trembles, and she realizes her hands are now free-. NO NO, STEP AWAY YOU CUNTS!-. She screams, about to slice them both in a half with her sword.

But a feet stepped on her armed hand, and a hand grabbed her other one. When she looks up, breathing fastly, she found Dumb’s handless wrist bleeding over her face. Daera immediately yells with pure rage, scrunching her nose and struggling even fiercer than before.

-Away!!-, Cunt pushed Fuck, taking his place in front of her. He squeezed her knees, and pulled them apart violently.

-FUCK!!!-, Daera struggled against him with rage, tears coming up to her eyes. Cunt grumbles when finding out the princess was wearing pants below.

-Queer bitch-, the man grunted, quickly pulling her dress’s skirt up, and beginning to break her pants with his bare hands.

Breathing fastly, Daera studies her surroundings within three second: Bitch whines for her lost nipple, rocking her breasts with agonizing pain. Cunt fights to take off her clothes, Fuck lines behind him with an excited evil smile, taking turn to rape her as well. Dumb steps on the hand she grabs her sword with, and grabs her other one while looking down at her. And, just a few steps from them, Dead lies dead with open eyes, with the dagger still on her forehead.

Daera blinks when feeling the drops of blood falling on her face from up. She looks up, and sees the Hand-less Dumb leaning towards her with a crazy smile while trapping her hands. Blinkless, he’s heading to kiss her lips.

And with these very lips of her, she spat harshly against his face from a second to another. The saliva that violently entered one of his eyes made Dumb to scream and to take a step away. He kept grabbing one of her hands, but: stopped stepping on the other.

Hissing, Daera dropped her sword, pulled the dagger out of Dead’s head, cut off Dumb’s remaining hand, and cut away the part of her dress Cunt was pulling away.

When the dress was cut and the pression of his pulling abruptly ended, Cunt gasped and staggered with no time to react. When her legs were free at last, the princess roared and kicked him with all of her strength and will.

Cunt fell right over Fuck, who yelled with pain when his bleeding thighs met the mud.

Daera heads the dagger to Dumb’s legs, and cut both his knees profoundly within a second, making a perfect line. The Handless man screamed agonizing-like, falling on his knees when being servant of the pain.

Before his knees ended right on her eyes, princess Daera fastly makes herself to a side, rolling in the mud. While doing so, she grabbed back her sword, never letting it go again. Dumb sobs with rage, going for her.

With a smooth rolling, Daera stood up from the mud within seconds and, as soon as she did so, she clashed her sword against Bitch, not even letting her to take a last breath. Bitch gasped before being sliced in a literal half by the princess’ sword. Her upper body fell hard on the ground, whilst her legs kept standing for a few more second.

After cutting Bitch in a half, Daera made a perfect circle on her feet and with her sword. Smoothly turning around, she slashed Dumb’s belly. Her angry expression faded away as soon as he died, when all of his bowels fell from his open abdomen. A stinking shit fell with them too; the princess stepped on it, and then cleaned her boots with Dumb’s face.

With dagger and sword now at hand, The Rogue Princess bloody face turns to look at the remaining two. The two that were planning to rape her.

Her breathing blows white strands of her disheveled hair. Blinkless and mouth-parted, she starts walking towards them, licking the blood on her lips.

When Cunt fell over him, Fuck couldn’t walk again. Pressed by the other man’s heaviness, he fell right on a big stone that crashed so hard against his lower back that it appears to have disconnected it from his legs, which are still cut and bleeding while he now drags himself away as quick as possible. Fuck whines and grunts as his elbows are the only thing helping him to move in the mud.

Meanwhile, Cunt is- well, he is running to her.

Daera turns around; her back collapses with his chest. He grunts and, before he could do anything with his rusty axe, the princess surprised him with a stab on his ribs. He gasps, opening his eyes big. Blinking two times while looking at the woods, Daera stabbed him two more times, in different places.

-Fucking…!-, airless, he gasped.

Letting out a sour chuckle, Daera suddenly starts to walk backwards with fastness. Cunt looks around with terror; the loss of blood tricked him bad, and he imagined the trees laughing and pointing at him whilst the princess pushes him with her own little body.

From a moment to another, Cunt felt he flew, and he did. For a second. He fell harshly on the river’s shore, dyeing the water with red. What’s weirdest is that the princess allowed herself to fall with him, only to then rise on her knees and stare down at him with hell-like eyes and evil twisted lips.

She grips her dagger tightly, closing her fist on it.

-I’m a Targaryen-, her honeyed though growly voice spoke while her hand slipped down his pants.

Her dagger swayed in the air, and then cut off Cunt’s hard erection. When his member was sliced off his body, the bleeding man screamed with pure pain, never taking his eyes off her. He saw her painted all in red, grabbing his bland chopped cock with a rogue glim on her eyes, and smiling to him within a blink.

-I’ll be taken as no fool-. The princess mumbled with rage, starting to fill his mouth of the mud around, filling even her own nails with it.

Cunt coughs violently as his throat and mouth gets clogged by dirt and water with no end. His eyes tears while he yells as louds as he can, desperately searching for air. Daera grunts, grabbing his head with a hand.

-Stay fucking quiet!!-, she grunted, dipping his face into the river.

Cunt struggles and kicks with despair, airless, swallowing both mud and water endlessly, nearly starting to cry blood. Whilst he grunts and tussle, the princess turns around her head. She sees the other one, Fuck, still crawling away. He’s already far, but she sees him. She hears him crying with horror, crawling away like a coward from his sliced thieves friends.

Daera presses her lips, pulling Cunt’s face out of the water. And before he could give his last breath for himself, the princess drew her dagger on his throat, and cut it with a clean move.

Cunt’s mouth dripped vomit, blood, mud and water. His eyes went blank, and his face dipped again in the water when the princess stood up and walked away from him, leaving his unliving body behind.

When Fuck hears steps near him, he turns around his head. Now, when he saw The Rogue Princess approaching to him with armed hands and raged mad eyes, he cried for his mother, and started to crawl and drag himself faster than ever, to no purpose.

Fuck tried to stood up while breathing fastly. Her knees trembled, but he was able to stand weakly. But before he could even think of running, a boo kicked his lower back violently and made him to fall back in the mud. He yelled loudly, with pain and terror. He turns around his head, finding the ugliest and most disturbing image of his life.

The white-haired brown-skinned princess, slouched to look directly at him, is bathed in blood and mud. Her chin, lashes and nose are dripping a red liquid that does not belong to her. Her teeth are stained on red too, as well as her jewelry and her chopped wrinkled dress. What disturbed him the most: the madness and pleasure that shines on the purple of her eyes.

The Rogue Princess grabbed his hair and pulled his head up with harshness. He gasps with pain, scrunching his lips while crying, feeling her breathing approaching to his neck.

-You’ll live a little longer-, Daera whispered with a growing smile.

Fuck screamed with terror, quickly silenced when the princess violently placed Cunt’s bleeding bollocks on his mouth and made him to chew on them.

■ ■ ■

Aemond and Vhagar’s flight was…a silent one. The breeze and the dragon’s breathing are one. Her wings flap quietly, her body soars calmly. The Queen of All Dragons, by all means, goes with tranquility, not worried by anything, neither ashamed of any doings.

On the other hand, the prince that rides on her back is not sharing her feelings at all. Vhagar might be serene, but Prince Aemond is a nervous wreck.

Lucerys has been slain.

Aemond’s only eye is blinkless. His gloved hands are held to his saddle with tension; his palms are sweating below the black leather.

He did it.

His hair is humid, priorly wet by the rain at Storm’s End. His lips are dry and constantly shaking.

He has killed him.

His heart has been beating with endless fastness for hours and hours. His teeth taste like iron; his tongue like blood.

He killed Luke.

Vhagar growls lowly when she sees the shores of King’s Landing already appearing in front of them. In trance, Aemond looks up from his saddle, staring front. When he saw the Red Keep from the distance, his heart stopped beating and his throat got afflicted within a second.

The prince breathes fastly, pressing his lips with anxiety. His dragon keeps flapping her wings, knowing she were to land in the beach nearest to the castle, where she always nests. But the closer they got to the heart of the capital; the more nervous Prince Aemond grew.

He knows his landing means one thing: his family will ask him how things went. He, then, shall tell them that: he won Lord Borros and House Baratheon to their side, he wooed Ellyn Baratheon, and made her his betrothed. And that he lost control of Vhagar, and got Lucerys killed.

Shamefully, he does not have the gut to tell them, at least not now.

The One-Eyed Prince parted his trembled lips and, within a second, he pushed his saddle down. Vhagar shook her neck; she immediately obeyed, and started to descend quickly, straying from the path towards King’s Landing.

Vhagar landed right in a high hill belonging to The Kingswood. It is night, and late, so no one is around nor near them. The green dragon lifted ton of dirt when she landed, when her wings flapped near the ground. She looked up to the white moon, with her small eyes.

As soon as she landed, Aemond breathed with unquietness while he started to fastly come down from saddle, quickly getting off his dragon’s back. He gets endless chills whilst climbing down the ropes; his altered eye stared at her belly only for a second.

Aemond’s feet landed harshly on the ground when he jumped away from Vhagar. He breathes in and out, in and out, fastly and anxiously. He feels his legs trembling, and his heart about to stop beating. Is this how it feels to die? Is his body preparing him for a feeling even worst than this?

“Gods. Gods. Gods”

The prince walks with shaky legs, looking all around at the trees with his eye filled of despair. His parted mouth breathes heavily, the same as how his chest feels. He doesn’t feel his arms, which are hanging to the sides of his body.

-Fuck-, he whimpered with a string of voice.

“Help me. Help me. Oh, please may the Gods help me”

Aemond couldn’t hold himself for much longer. He fell right on his knees, making them to clash against the dirt on the ground. The prince shrieks while he looks around, looking for some light. He hasn’t one thought on his mind and, at the very same time, a thousand of them.

He’s in shock; that it is. The shock on him is so big that he’s thinking that by calling the gods for help he’ll get out of this. Well, he won’t. He’s fucked, he’s condemned. And he knows it. He knows what this means, Aemond is no fool.

He knows this will bring war. What he does not know yet: he has brought the doom of his family as well.

The prince breathes in, shaky, slowly turning his head, looking over his shoulder. He stares at Vhagar, who looked back at him with tranquility and blinkless eyes. Kneeled, the one-eyed huffs a dry laugh.

-What have you done?-, he whispered. His eye stared to her belly, and he shivered when thinking that Luke and his dragon are both literally in there, dead and butchered-. Oh- oh Vhagar, what have you done?!-. His voice shook with disbelief, looking at her.

Vhagar does nothing but to growl lowly and calmly, looking back at him with no shame nor pity. Queen Visenya’s ancient fierceness shined on her former dragon’s eyes. Oh, if dragons could talk.

“I did what I wanted to”, Vhagar would say, “What you also wanted me to do”. She knows her rider is just blinded by fear, or whatever, right now, but the truth is that: her desires were the same as his when they were in the skies. “Are you a coward now?”.

“Imma kinslayer”, Prince Aemond told to himself while looking at Vhagar’s huge tum. Is that what he’s supposed to say to his family? Or is he to confess that he lost control of his own dragon, like an idiot? What is he to do? What- what is to happen now?

Aemond breathes fastly, heavily overwhelmed by the whole situation; he is not having one clear thought at the moment. He feels like a child again. He’s just scared, and he wants to cry.

The One-Eyed Prince turned his head again and, from this high hill, he stared at The Red Keep. His chest comes up and down whilst his only eye, teary, looks at there with not one blink in the middle. Tired and wary, he starts to close his lips. His family is in that castle.

Hours, the prince thinks. Is just a matter of hours for the Black to know about Luke’s death, about what Aemond has done, if they don’t know it already. Then, war will come.

“War. War. War”

It is imminent. It's inevitable now. There is no turning back, and now the war is getting closer. It's almost at the door of his house.

And, when thinking of this, prince Aemond twisted his lips with determination, ceasing their trembling. He growled as he stood up from the floor, and ran towards Vhagar with stiff feet and legs.

He is scared, yes, but he can't afford to stay here, worrying and crying, cursing his dragon's actions. His dear dragon. No. He will act, he has to. And he has to do it now.

-SOVES, VHAGAR!-. With a loud growl, Aemond commanded his dragon to fly, pulling her ropes tightly when he took seat on his saddle.

Quick to answer, Vhagar growled as well, and took off from The Kingswood with a big flap from her wings. They rose in the skies again, flying faster than before. Aemond breathes fastly, clenching his teeth and jaw.

Tears come up to his eyes and then they run down his cheeks, one after another and another after one. Fright and shock have been keeping his thoughts at a limit. He doesn't want to think too far into the future; He couldn't stand it.

So…

He forces himself to live in the moment, to go to protect his family.

He forces himself to not think of Daera and the hate he’ll won from her.

He forces himself to think that he’s still on time, that they can prepare for whatever that may come.

Aemond forces himself to pretend that he doesn't feel a pair of raged eyes on his neck at all times, crossing the entirety of the Blackwater Rush.

■ ■ ■

Daemon stands over an open window. A red gaze of his crosses the whole sea; there is rage on his purple eyes, immense. His chest comes up and down with a slow infuriated breathing. His fists are tight to the sides of his body, he has tears on his demonic eyes.

More than one cry is taking over the room he’s in.

Viserys and Aegon are crying on their cradles; their faces are red and their throats are shrieking, constantly babbling, in the need of tending and kisses. They’re so uncomfortable and unquiet; there’s a reason for that.

Their mother, Rhaenyra, is crying louder than them. Her palms are flat open in a wall. Her head shakes from one side to another whilst her mouth whines endlessly and her closed eyes tear up with no stop. The Queen cries with the worst pain of her life; her chest feels empty.

In Dragonstone, the sky is still dark, but it is almost dawn, so a new day has arrived. All that can be heard around the castle is the crying coming from Queen Rhaenyra’s chambers, from her very self. Every lord, servant and knight either shivers or looks down every time a scream makes echo through the walls.

A dark cloud has been casted on Dragonstone, when news of Prince Lucerys’ death reached his parents’ ears.

-Luke!-, a broken sob comes out from Rhaenyra’s mouth. She cries brokenly, curving her brows and lifting her face towards the ceiling, looking at it with swollen eyes and a trembling open mouth-. Why?-, she whispers sorrowful. To only imagine it, her boy- her son…killed with no mercy-. FU- UCK!-, she cried with a torn heart, screaming loudly.

Master Gerardys had to quickly fetch something to make Prince Joffrey to fall asleep, for the boy became mad when he heard that his brother, Luke, had been murdered by their own uncle, the prince Aemond.

Joff cried less than his mother, but that was only because he busied himself with trying to escape the guards’ arms when wanting to take Tyraxes and fly himself to avenge his brother. With a mouth resembling his step-father and older sister’s, Joff swore a terrible oath of vengeance against Prince Aemond and even Lord Borros. Only the intervention of Ser Erryk kept the boy from mounting his dragon at once.

It was the same with his sister, the princess Rhaena.

-My baby…-, Rhaenyra sobs with a shaky voice, afflicting her throat.

In The Chamber of the Painted Table, when the news was announced, Rhaena fell from a chair to her knees, screaming, crying and whining so loudly that it waked the whole island entirely. Some even searched for some wound, cut or tumor in her, to see if it was that she was burning from within.

Rhaena screamed with so much pain, and squeezed her own chest with so much sorrow, feeling her heart being plucked away from it with no mercy, just as Luke’s probably was too. She cried the name of her brother, her betrothed, four times. After the fourth cry, her father ordered Maester Gerardys to sedate her too, and so he did.

Prince Daemon looks outside with lips trembling of rage, and eyes flickering of grief. His nose is sweating endlessly, and his mouth is dry. Every second he thinks of different moments of Lucerys. Training on the beach, laughing with his siblings, asking him to help with his saddle. Every second he thinks of different ways of murdering Aemond. Tie him barefoot on stones in fire, slicing off his cock and making him to eat it as his last meal, watch him burn.

Queen Rhaenyra squeezes her belly with one hand whilst the other remains flat on a wall; is the only thing keeping her steady while she cries her soul out. Her feelings are indescribable; no mother should go through this. With the blur of her tears, she can only see him. As a babe, as a child, as a young man. He has been taken away from her…he’ll never be grown up. Her boy. Her sweet boy.

You may be wondering where does Princess Baela stand, in all this. Well then, if you must.

The princess left the Chamber of the Painted Table with swift steps, airless. She reached her dorms, staggering, where she was free to yell as much as she wanted. She fell flat on her bed and cried until ending voiceless and with a sore throat.

She didn’t believe it.

Caraxes, Syrax and Moondancer’s shrieks were constantly heard very near the castle, startling the servants many times. They’re furious too.

Baela cried, but not for long, for now she finds herself walking with firmness and quickness through the castle’s hallways. There are dry tears on her swollen purple eyes, tears that she slapped away from her with angry growls. She is in denial, and scolded herself for her crying.

Soon, the princess arrived to Rhaenyra and Daemon’s chambers. She opened the doors within a push, walking into it with rage and despair. Before the harsh sound of the doors, Daemon looked over his tense shoulder and Rhaenyra lifted up her red face. Viserys and Aegon went silent.

They find Baela with a lifted chin and shoulders.

-Baela…-, Rhaenyra sobbed her name with weakness, looking at her from feet to toe. She looked at her, and her lips trembled when seeing her step-mother’s red sorrowful face.

-I come not to mourn-. The princess spoke harshly, shaking her head. Daemon starts to turn around fully, staring at her with wide red eyes of attention-. My brother is not dead-. She declared with a stiff lip, serious.

Rhaenyra sighed shakily, staring at her with curious eyes of sadness, and tilting her head to a side while heading both her hands to her flat belly. Daemon, blinkless, listens to his daughter too.

-This is not Luke’s end!-. Baela’s loud voice trembled when saying his name. Nyra’s lips shook too, though her head began to nod, slowly-. Not in the hands of a deranged wretch-, she mumbled with decision, shaking her head-. Let us look for him-. She decided.

-Look for him?-, Daemon fastly repeated with his sharp loud voice.

-Look for him!-. His middle daughter nodded with the same sharpness. Hopeful, Rhaenyra caresses her belly, and begins to nod with tiredness.

-Baela…-, his father mumbled, almost ashamed. He fears their hope, for it can only bring more pain to them-. They said th-

-Then you have been misled!-. She quickly cut his words, yelling with firmness. Daemon closes his lips, serious. He hums lowly, looking at the both of them with thoughtful sour eyes.

-Yes…-, a weak whisper came out from Rhaenyra’s lips. Her husband looked at her, and his gaze automatically became softer. She breathes in with deepness. Pain and decision on her eyes-. Yes-. She spoke firmer than before, letting go her belly.

-We’ll find him-. Baela approached to her with decision, holding one of her hands. Rhaenyra sobs and looks at her with curved brows, nodding with the same conviction.

-We’ll leave at dawn-. Queen Rhaenyra declared.

The three share a look between them, decided, but none of the two women dared to ponder the question “What if we don’t?”.

Nevertheless, prince Daemon stood tall, and walked towards them with slow harsh steps, staring at the both of them. Baela gulped, holding Rhaenyra’s hand tighter.

-Whatever the come out, the Greens’ bloodline will end on our dragons’ bellies, their heads on our shelfs…-. He speaks with poison and sourness. His wife’s lips tremble, whilst his daughter nodded, bitter as him-. We will breathe fire, and drink blood-. The prince madly declared.

He approaches to the both of them, with his irritated eyes shining with blood and vengeance thirst. He narrows his eyes.

-Gaomagon ao emagon zire isse ao?-. The Rogue Prince asked, filled of wrath.

[Do you have it in you?]

■ ■ ■

Back to The Neck, Vermax landed on firm ground, growling lowly. His rider, the prince Jacaerys, landed him near where they were camping before, as he calculated before coming down.

Coming off from his saddle, the prince sighs tiredly, patting his dragon’s back.

-I am sorry, Vermax-. He whispered with shame and pity, caressing him. Vermax growled with tediousness, closing his eyes and shaking his neck.

Sadly, there are no sheep nor mutton or cows in swamps, so the search for dinner for the dragons was a total fiasco. Vermax hungers, and it seems that he’ll have to wait until arriving to Winterfell and see what can be offered to him.

Jacaerys sighed heavily, petting him. As he saw, Kalistrox is still in the skies with Daera. They did not exchange words or glances as they flew, as each one was focused on their dragon's supper.

-Alright-. The prince sighs, starting to walk with full calmness. His dragon, purring, follows him slowly-. I know you’re tired but at least help me to…-, as he goes walking and looking front, Jace starts to furrow his brows, cutting his own words-…lit back the fire?-. He mumbles.

He was planning to lit a new fire. But as he approached to where they were before, he realized the fire was still lit, just as he left it. Jace tilts his head to a side with confusion, keeping approaching, and wondering if he was wrong.

When being closer, and seeing their furs and bedsheets, he knew he hasn’t wrong. This is their fire, which confused him, for Daera told him she’d stay to turning it off, and the she’d go up with Kalistrox. Now she’s up there with Kalistrox, he thinks, but the fire is still here.

As Jacaerys approaches to the camp, he noticed a piece of luggage that wasn’t there before, big and lumpy, too big to seem like one of theirs. The prince approaches with slow steps and curious eyes, staring at the luggage as he walks by it.

Jacaerys takes three more steps, looking at it with confusion and mistrust. Only seconds then is that he got to look at it from the front.

And right at that moment, the “luggage” came to life. Vermax squealed whilst Jacaerys gasped when they realized it was a man with his hands and feet tied that struggled against the ropes with despair and fear.

-Ah!-, Jace steps back with quickness; he’s shocked and scared, with his eyes wide open. He breathes fast, seeing all the blood that man is covered with. The man’s screams and pleadings of help are muted by some bloody hairy bollocks on his wide mouth.

The man, Fuck, cries and struggles with terror, moving like a worm in dirt. The prince Jacaerys breathes very fastly, as confused as grossed out, looking at him with wide eyes. Steps are heard near them. Fuck tried to yell loudly to the boy, kicking his feet and looking like he was…trying to warn him about something? …Someone.

-Nyke emagōn pōja havor [I found their supper]-. A taunt mumbling voice spoke behind him.

Jace turns around with frighted eyes. He afflicted his throat strongly, for his eyes automatically traveled to the ground, and in there he found more “pieces of luggage”. More bodies. But these are not alive, as the other one. They’re butchered people, long gone.

Dumb. A man with no hands, bleeding his wrist out; his belly all open, hence his organs on the floor, and his face stained by shit. Dead. A woman with a hole in the middle of her eyes, which are open. Cunt. A man that has no upper body, for neither his torso, arms chest or head are to be found; in the middle of his legs there’s no cock. Bitch. And another woman, literally sliced in two. Her legs are chopped like fresh ham, whilst her upper body lacks a nipple in one of her breasts; instead, is between her lips, soaked in blood.

Jacaerys breathes slowly and deeply, with eyes of fright and marvel, not believing his sight. Feeling his heart beating crazily, his brown orbs slowly began to look up, following a tread of blood from the cock-less body.

Soon, he comes to the sight of his wife standing over a rock. Her hand is holding another, that belongs to the upper-body to the cockless man. His throat is sliced, and his face stained with vomit, blood and mud; his eyes closed, his hand hold to hers.

Daera is bathed in red dirty blood, her pants and dress are torn, and her hair disheveled and wild. Her hands are bloody, so are her arms, so is her neck, her mouth, her teeth, her cheeks, forehead and her pupils. Little of that river of blood is hers.

There is a terrifying calm in her eyes, which are staring at him endlessly. Slightly swinging the corpse whom she holds hands with, Daera looks at Jace amidst all the blood that paints her eyes. Blinkless, she's breathing slowly.

Mouth-open, Jacaerys’ chest comes up and down. Mesmerized and terrified, he looks at his wife from down, not even smelling the blood, neither hearing the man’s pleadings and struggles. The prince merely blinks, shocked by the sight in front of him, the sight of her.

Unfazed by her blood-dripping face, The Rogue Princess looks back at him with easiness; a glim of taunt in her eyes. She sniffed her nose.

■ ■ ■

#house of the dragon #targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemondtargaryen #the one eyed prince #ewan mitchell #rhaenyra targaryen #daera targaryen #lucerys velaryon #the dance of the dragons #daemon targaryen father

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