lífє kíckѕ ín ríght nσw.

Another set of roses.

This was the second week of full package right outside of your doorstep at the dorm, brick television blasted through the walls, and those who live nearby could hear it.

“Who the fuck delivered this shit?” you asked aloud, ludicrous.

You were hoping for new packages of big dildos. But who the hell delivered flowers at night while you’re deeply focused on finishing a boss battle on a Kingdom Hearts game?

Obviously somebody annoying, you assumed, but it comes with a certain consequences and package.

Since you garnered more attention from males audience, you have received more than $1000, each day before classes, and nights before going to sleep, less stressed, less fucked out.

Lets still sore, and your pussy getting pounded by a plastic dick helps to forget the idiotic moments from a guy who won’t stop pursuing your pussy.

Up until now, you still didn’t know who kept sending you flowers—gets larger and more obnoxious. Moreover, having alongside of candies in the packages. Each time it gets bigger.

Annoyance.

As soon as you looked into your messy room, you’re fucked. There’s no way, a college staff would allow childish presents and compliments. Although once you did give it away by pretending to send package to someone’s door, but magically ended up at your doorstep.

More annoyance.

Oh, it’s getting worse, although you haven’t seen the worst yet.

You hated roses, but you love the color and its fragrance, so preserving one would suffice and threw the rest into the trash—attraction of flies and other infested bugs. Though roses weren’t wasted if distribute to some lonesome women who yearn romance with their inner Shakespeare, or those who are fond of things that wither too soon for a perfect Edgar Allen Poe quote to go alongside it.

Either too romantic or too gothic would suffice—perfect in a sense they’re almost the same, but different font.

The first day you arrived in college—in England—it was stupendous. Away from folks, from cultish family and liars you once called “friends”. Crisp air and crisp sips of tea and munching scones and a full English breakfast and cup of excellent tea you’ve heard so much, from the vast side of the other world—with a profound lack of research, and a town stuck in their own ways.

When traveling, the possibilities are endless. And to unpack and trash all things annoying, family and even old friends.

Friends…

Pfft!

Friends are such a stupid thing of annoyance such as hope to cling hope. “Friends” can only lead to disappointment and betrayal, so why keep them, they’re just baggage needs to be dumped. And who needs friends when you have a large attraction of male audience and big time cash deposited into your fat bank account? And what better way to end interactions than focusing on how to finish junk food in less than 1 minute?

Money wins in the end.

Money prevailed and endured—an ongoing reward for self-pleasure.

Money buys happiness.

Always.

And food. But both were just as good as previous. Stacked on goods and snacks for a late night somber mood would do a trick.

Except it wasn’t.

Junk food has been forgotten when the flowers and a box package of your favorite candies and chocolate decided to show up on this very hour. There was no name, no phone number, no signature. Not even a compliment was showing.

“Who the fuck sent these during my gaming hour?” you asked yourself, guessing. Probably that no good piece of shit you hung out with last time. And with a small grunt, you picked it up and slammed—locking—the door, thinking about buying a sign of “no soliciting/tresspassing” from an online store.

“Ah. Better than nothing,” you added, appeased as you were closing the front door.

Thank god.

~~~

Numbing cheeks stretched to a giant yawn during a productive hour was the worst thing ever occured after the video game night. Couldn’t stop rethinking of last night’s gift from a secret admirer.

Trying to come up with conclusions on who sent numerous gifts by your door. Could it be the recent guy you dumped or was it an ex friend? An ex-friend wouldn’t do this. They’d automatically give you an intense cold-shoulder and fuck you stare on their eyes and spread false gossip about you behind your back.

Unless if it’s an ex-boyfriend you have back in America. But boys in America lack romantic aspects.

Unless if it’s a family member, or members, then they’re sick fucks in the head that needs to be douse in gasoline and set them alight on fire.

Hence why your mind was running. And it didn’t help. Hence why you came and moved into England. Starting fresh without bringing the mentions past scars would be the best course of action.

Nothing is simple, nothing is easy, but traveling far is duo-able.

After a long session on studying Italian culture and a long-dead language Latin, it has been quite some time since the cultish collection of flowers kept you occupied. You haven’t found a way to make a use of the flowers yet.

Hand tucked under your chin as you sighed, unfocused and relented at your current studies, unaware a lean hand distributed a chocolate crunchy bar.

Gazing upwards, there you saw none other than Michael Gavey.

Michael, Michael…

Michael.

The cute nerd you wanted to see.

To fuck his glasses out of his aquiline nose bridge, squeezing at the back of his head while riding your drenched cunt against his face. The boy—the nerdy college boy—to moan equations under your grasp, showered him with your squirt like how your dreams went.

Your recent dreams have been wet.

Frequently wet.

From the innocent acts until escalated to frequent fucking in college’s library to the college class, to the kitchen counter in the dorms, then the bed, once cold now warm with squirt and jizz. Fun and erotic sights to see in your dreams and yearn for an experiment and watch the outcome resolve itself.

Up until now, the roses had come up subconsciously, an urge to unveil the mystery.

“Michael…” you uttered low, trying to maintain eye contact as possible without the possibility of crushing over someone who is a weirdo who loves math equations.

“You look exhausted,” he assumed.

But he assumed wrong.

“I was up. I was up all night,” you managed to say.

“Studying, I assume.”

“Playing video games,” you said. “I can’t stand quietness around the dorm. Makes me feel isolated.”

He hummed.

“I figured you wanted a krunchy,” Michael said, one of the little corners of his lips turned upward, seeing your eyes twinkled at the chocolate.

“I—I do,” you stuttered. “I love chocolate, especially with juicy jizz—glaze! Glaze! I just love glaze! Especially with donuts with nice glaze with nice ultimately sweet goopy filling on the center inside!”

Stomach coiled in embarrassment that you might as well tuck yourself to shame somewhere no one finds you on this earth.

You sighed, as Michael quirked his brow, unreachable but slightly—ever so more—confused. Even with shut eyes, the glint brightness of his nerdy glasses were glaring at you.

Daring to look at his long glance, your shoulders tensed. “Sorry, I had something on my mind since yesterday. It got me busy,” you explained, sighing, thinking of the afterthoughts of what to do with the flowers. Still useless of decorating, still useless with charitable case of donation. “I didn’t have coffee this morning.”

Knowing that in England, people prefer nice plain organic tea and biscuits or scones.

Distracted, the heat on your cheeks arise.

“Quite a little spectical, I’ll give you that,” Michael said with a dry chuckle, as your legs crossed, one foot making little kicks while Michael came and sat down beside you, almost with disinterested, but a peak of intrigued, hopefully not with a daunting comment.

Hoping he doesn’t know what jizz is. Better yet, a whole language of slang from the west.

For days you have been searching videos at the porn website. Masturbating over the spare time became quite useful for someone who’s randomly horny as you. Day or night.

Horny and desperate from wanting to touch you, but the moment some guy touches you, you instantly kicked him to the boot—nothing more.

They say every guy’s hands are experienced. But what experienced does a guy have other than being insensitive and dull and careless?

They offer nothing to the table, offered no speciality that could qualify or overreached your expectations. Every boy are dull, dull after dull. Nothing is exceptional.

Unless…

Michael’s red sweater kept you more occupied with a rather distinct distraction. It was a nice shade of rich red. A burgundy. Reminded you of the vibrant roses from previous nights.

Nearly groaned at the sight of his top, your legs crossed and clenched tighter. Lips bruised from your teeth clutching, no gash leaking over your lush red lips, as eyes wandered and admiringly over a single spectate.

He looked good in red. For a good, weird nerd.

I wonder if I bruise him good, too.

A good nerd. A weird nerd. Obsessed about equations and numbers.

I bet I could make him cuss out during sex. Moaning in numbers and letters while bucking yourself against does seem tempting. Not a typical guy who touches women, but does the lusty temptation escalated.

But he’s so stubborn.

Red scars and red bruises.

Red tears, maybe.

You fear as if your invisible red horns were sprouting on your head. Not that you dislike red horns. You fear someone might see it. In shadows, in daylight. You like to think yourself as a perverted, moody devil who’s in for a good long fuck. Except you haven’t had a proper date on a long run.

“There’s a Halloween party coming up soon,” Michael’s voice barged into your occupied thoughts. “Have you been looking into that?”

“Um, no,” you said stiffly.

“But I have. Apparently, only those who are qualified enough to go to party. As if I’m going with those looosersss.”

But you knew he’s been longing on being a cool kid but doesn’t know how.

Shoulder shrugged. “I don’t care much about the party. Not really my style.”

“I thought you’d go.”

“What makes you say that?”

He stared over your shoulder, and the indication is clear. Both Felix Catton and his cousin—what’s his face? You didn’t know.

“I saw them speaking to you in the morning.” Michael’s lips pouted.

Cute as fuck.

“Who? Them?” you scoffed. “I don’t know those fuckers. They just came up to me and I thought they’re trying to sell drugs or something.”

“But they were inviting you,” he persisted.

“So? I don’t care much the party life. If I actually want to go, I would’ve said yes and would fuck them in some way. But then again, I did say I’m going to think about it, just to make them back off. Especially that weirdo cousin.”

Michael’s brows tucked. “Fuck?”

Fuck. Wrong phrase.

“Anyway, it’s not my business…I have other plans to go for. Just not in the mood with parties for now. Unless….you’re going?”

Michael scoffed, taking out his math textbook and notebook.

“Guess not.” You went back to concentrate on your unfinished homework.

“What happened to your boyfriend, by the way?”

You shot at him with a dirty look. “Wait, that ugly fuck? I don’t care much about the dude.”

Talking about exes is a no-no, on a girl’s standard and rule when talking to the opposite sex. Especially when the said opposite you found oddly attractive with equation.

After shoving you out of the elevator, a dealbreaker has set in and decided to break things off as if you consider the guy exist.

You don’t even recall his name.

Michael’s relaxed hand recoiled to a fist. It was subtle.

Your eyes softened. “So…I do need help with something. Something that I’m having a hard time with, and I need some assistance with sums. Does that ring any bell?”

Michael smirked, his fist hasn’t uncoiled. “Math.”

You flashed a wink at him. “So, are you going to help a damsel in distress, or are you going to sit there and be emo?”

Michael’s eyes flickered. “Emo?”

Thank god he doesn’t know the slangs. He’s cute. I can feel my red horns are growing.

“Just help a poor girl out, please? With a red cherry on top?”

My cherry was dying to get out. I want Michael to pop my cherry.

Michael hummed, watching you. “Listen carefully, (Y/N). I’m not a patient man.”

“I can take the pain. Whatever you give me,” you said, winking.

Thank god Michael is oblivious to my pervy statement.

Michael hummed again. “The sooner we do this the better.”

You nodded and get the math textbook, but you knew it wasn’t enough, so you’re planning on gathering textbooks. But Michael is already a walking math textbook. Maybe he would explain things better.

“You’re nails. They’re red,” he said.

Your heart palpitated. “You like them?”

Michael hummed.

You wanted to tackle and jump on his face with your wet cunt.

Despite the randomness crossing your mind, you took it as a yes.

Dear Diary,

I want to shove my fingers in his mouth as I bounce on his cock.

~~~

It’s been hours since Michael taught you with math problems, including xyz and triangular shapes and parentheses. As much as you despise the numbers and the math’s creator, you watched Michael’s lips formed in soft curls and once in a while his tongue peaked out.

I want him to lick my hot, wet pussy.

Make this perverted girl happy.

Lick my wet cherry.

Not long before, the library is almost empty. And thus, the conclusion of tutoring session is over. So you devised a plan.

“Instead here, why don’t you go at my dorm? You know, we could study there. The library is too echoey and I hate it when my voices gets suddenly too loud. How does that sound?

You swore you saw Michael’s eyes suddenly glinted, like a pouted cat turned mischievous, almost naughty. But in plain sight.

Without Michael saying anything, you said, “Great. I’ll see you there. Don’t forget your smart pants when you meet at my dorm.”

~~~

Michael’s plan came into a fruition. He knew that offering for a tutoring session could get closer to you. With that annoying boy-toy you used to hookup with has been nagging in. As he knocked on your door, you opened, revealing your bright smile and welcoming, realizing she kept all the flowers he gave you, hoping you enjoy the gift.

His heart skipped a beat.

The closer to you, the more chances to get a glimpse of your personal life. The more he’ll see the true you.

His heart skipped a beat.

As for the boy you casually hook up with, hopefully no one finds his body.

and he teases nonstop, "think you can handle me raw, angel?" a self defense method to make you look desperate when he's the one to clench his jaw when pushing into your wet pussy, brows furrowed and sweat dripping down onto your collarbones where he's leaning against. his hands are most definitely leaving prints on your waist where he holds onto for dear life once he's bottomed out, rutting into your cunt with huffed groans. "t-toji...!" you babble his name sloppily, toes curling at every vein and ridge rubbing against your sensitive walls, inching you into orgasming faster.

he's mean and rough, fucking into you like possessed, molding your insides to the shape of his cock so you won't be able to get off by anyone else than him, while at the same time marking your insides with creamy precum.

"gonna cum inside this pretty pussy, and you'll take it all like a good girl" he growls, open mouthed pants leaving his lips in sync with the moans and whines that came from you, almost matching the squelch your thighs produce when his own slam against. you're so full just from cock, but Toji will make sure you're stuffed with his cum as well.

SATORU.ᐟ

all remaining cockiness that could have been left in Satoru's body was quick to leave once the tip of his already drooling cock slid past your folds. "holy shit...!" he whines, truly fucking raw was supposed to feel good, but not this good.

seconds pass and he's already panting and rutting into your cunt like a dog in heat, trying to reach as deep as possible before pounding into you, "feel'so good" he slurs, eyes closed and jaw slacked, and if you thought Satoru was a talker during sex, you just had to wait and see him while going raw, he never shuts up, praising you for being so perfect for him, for taking his cock so fucking well.

"c-cant stop...!" he moans, unable to control the speed he's going at even though you ask him to slow down, but you're so wet n' tight, clenching around him whenever his hips jerk back, as if begging not to let go. "gonna fuck you like this forever" addicted to your pussy and edging himself in an attempt to make this surreal experience last longer, but once his balls begin to clench and his tip to mess your walls with precum, Satoru can't help and slide his fingers across your puffed clit, a pained gasp getting ripped out of his lips once you flutter and cum around his cock, his own orgasm triggering as you squeeze him for all he's worth, yet his hips continue to give tiny trusts into your cunt, pulling out fully before shoving it back with his cockhead, you're so pretty, so ethereal he needs to fuck you again.

The people within the Red Keep took a moment of shock when you walked in the domain. Quite a sight.

Naked and angry.

Well...

Nearly naked.

And dignified.

In the midst of all things chaos that you have disrupted, you were glad that the children are not present. Only adults.

And the green children--Aemond and Helaena, and Aegon is present; probably out in the brothel or passed out from too much drinking. You assumed that Helaena had a terrible nightmare after the what occurred in the ceremony. Chest tightened at the sight of frightened Helaena. After witnessing the account of another massacre--a misfortune that befell on Helaena and her children, you wanted nothing more but to check on her, make sure she's alright.

She is alive and well, except she's distraught.

And you were right. But you wish you weren't right.

As you went to approach her, the guards had their swords up at you. And you laid your hand up; you didn't want argument, despite what you did with the Silent Sisters after you find yourself awake.

"Lady Greenstar," Alicent began, standing up from the chair. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Are you alright, princess?" you asked Helaena, approaching.

Helaena formed a little shake on her head, muttering incoherently.

You were fuming. Why would anyone try to hurt Princess Helaena? She's the sweetest and the most innocent out of everyone from House of the Dragon. With you fuming, you kept it cool and inspected if there's any abrasions on her skin. At first she's all fine, until you saw the little scratches on her neck side.

You were definitely fuming. In a world of men, they do not do their job well.

While everyone else was in awe. They saw you dead, and now roamed around free as if nothing of an ill fortune has struck upon you.

You got the Band-Aid out and ripped it open. The Maester tried talking to you out of it, but you ignored him. But with the Hand of the King, he tried to advise you, too.

"Shut up," you told them. It got them silenced.

Flabbergasted, even. Never in their years of experience of politics has ever heard a woman snapping back at them.

Alicent struck at your sudden words, watching you patching the princess up.

"Do you trust me, princess?" you asked Princess Helaena, taking your open ear headphones out and carefully instructed the princess on how to put on the headphones. You didn't care that everyone is watching you. You're too pissed to care about what's going on around you.

"Lady Greenstar, you must be freezing. You must cover yourself," Alicent suggested, her face had gone pale.

As you settled on putting Helaena with your open ear phones--after retrieving your old stuff from the room before storming in--you placed Princess Helaena--turning her around, as she's listening to the music on your phone you have set for her.

I don't want her to see what I'm about to do next. The guards had their swords on you, pointing it at your direction to not go further, but the glowing and searing or green light inside you sparked.

"You were to answer your crimes. Crimes that you caused upon King's Landing. You have not only disturb peace within kingdoms, but you have endangered to those around you, even the princes and princess--my daughter's future heirs to the Iron Throne. Speak now, be quick and be precise."

Masking underneath all the bravado and bravery, you knew that they’re afraid.

Scoffing, the green glow inside you angered.

"I want you to apologize to Princess Helaena," you addressed to them, daring and determined.

Brave and foolish in unison.

Brave and foolish, indeed.

"Do you have any idea, how much it pisses me off that Princess Helaena has been added to chaos this morning? Funny, isn't it? You have the best swordsman and guards in King's Landing and you didn't even protect your princess--your granddaughter, for fuck's sake!"

"Lady Greenstar, lower your voice," Otto said. "If you wish to live and reside here in King's Landing, I suggest you do it so wisely."

"Wisely?" Your heart pattered. "You let the princess's innocence disarm by the shadow of a knife, and that's all you have to say to me? Do you have any idea, how much it pains me, to defend someone who's just as important as the rest of you in the kingdom, let alone when a woman can’t defend herself? You should've known what you're doing, and not just stand around and watching it happen. What kind of knights are you, watching the helpless girl? Powerless and frail. Princess Helaena is happened to be the most harmless out of everyone in the group, and all of you did nothing!"

"She is alive and well--"

"She needs to be protected! Twice as hard and precise, if you guys can, because right now, you're not doing a good job!"

Underneath a closed mouth, your teeth clenched, hoping the common decency of protecting the member of the monarch would go straight into their thick skulls, and not took it as an offense.

"I was hoping for you to say something in your defense, regarding to your lack of status and a plea for a favor, to spare your life, I did not expect you to defend the princess. Why do so?"

Three words: Blood & Cheese.

“Either Aegon and Rhaenyra could live, but not both.” As Catelyn Stark’s words trudged in your mind.

"If no one's going to protect her, then who will?" you challenged.

I already knew what happened. Nobody is to protect her at nightfall.

The subjects all glanced at each other. Not a single, prosperous thought came except for one.

Panic.

"That's why we have guards, to settle the matter," Jasper Wylde said, as if he decided to talk to you like you're a stupid being.

"Doesn't matter you have guards or not, doesn't matter if you put your guards at a fancy getup, you just need to be quicker," you shot back, “and smarter. If you have any decency to show formidable alliance to one another, then I suggest you do better next time instead of standing around like statues. You disappoint me.”

Meanwhile, you didn't notice of how Aemond was watching you with fascination. He's relieved that you're awake, but how you can be standing here while ill? You should be resting. He find it astounding you still spare vigor. Regardless, he acquired of your revival.

Aemond tilted his head. He has never seen or heard of a young woman portray in mannerisms the way you did, the way you get so heated over a debate. You weren't possessed by madness, anything but that, but you possessed a kind heart and good intentions towards his older sister.

"Perhaps we should discuss this matter elsewhere," Alicent suggest, trudging towards you. "You need to rest."

You faced Queen Alicent. Although you knew of her true nature, you needed a familiar face. "Where's the rest of my stuff? I need my clothes back."

You couldn’t handle it anymore, from everyone being so dullish around you, choosing dull after dull consequences. You knew Westeros isn’t safe for someone like you, especially who is not born a male.

The smelt of wax candles suffocated you, bandages is perceived a slight bleeding over your abdomen. You couldn’t think clearly. Sight in your eyes blurred, but you kept yourself standing tall.

Oh why does life have to be so complicated?

You wanted to go back. To your world—be reunited with family and having a nightly fresh air. You didn't know if your family are reporting you missing to the police. You're in a desperation to leave, but not without your belongings. A pain enough to deal without Wi-Fi or signal to call them, to tell them you're alright, but how can you explain your parents about stumbling into a world such as this one?

You wanted to talk to your mom about how stupid everyone is and you just wanted a burger and crinkled-cut fries and a soda to cool your nerves.

You wanted to go out in the club dancing your ass out for someone to notice you. It was unbearable when your actions caused commotion.

Alicent sighed. "The hour has grown late."

Hearing those words from the Green Queen meant something else entirely. Each time she said those words meant something misfortune will come down upon her, episodic moments like meeting with Larys, or being talk down by Otto, as if he really saw her as a person beneath the patriarchy.

I hope to God she doesn’t show me her feet.

You looked at her, and trailed down on her silk strand of her curly honey-dew hair with your ragged sore fingertips. Alicent’s eyes widened, you pulled back.

"Guess this wasn't a dream, after all," you said to yourself, walking an inch aside, though Alicent overheard that, not knowing what you meant.

"Let us discuss this at your quarters," she insisted. "You're still unwell. You shouldn't be up."

Therefore, your eyes darted below on your current state. A faint blush has been detected by the one-eyed prince. Though he couldn’t help the way you are dressed, nearly naked, and yet, his good eye had found its way onto your legs, your legs as beautiful and silky and flawless. But with his mother present, his eye is directed onto your face, then turned back elsewhere, anyone but yours. Aegon is shamelessly admired your current state. But others disapproved of your appearance, nevertheless they looked away.

Oh boy. It's going to be a long night.

“Right,” you uttered, covering yourself with a cloak that fell onto your shoulders. Quickly retrieved the heavy fabric, instead of looking everyone in the eye, with a mixture of chill and heat, you felt ashamed for once.

Right now, you felt so dizzy, whether being back alive is worth it or not.

~*~

It didn't take long to be taken away from prying eyes and ears. Still semi-naked, you find yourself in your quarters, all tucked into the thin sheets. The members were there—members of Kingsguard. Harrold Westerling, the Cargyll twins, and Criston Cole, all kept an eye on you, alongside of the Maester, who was wrapping a new bandage on your frame.

You still haven’t changed your clothes. In fact, you had no idea where your clothes went. If you were to have something else with you, you’d covered it. Your undergarments seems to be missing as well. You feel incomplete without undergarments beneath.

Quietude has been far gone too deep to a point where you chest breathe any longer, no matter how many times you take a breath, a breathing exercise, it was getting worse.

Their stares were unyielding. And it’s suffocating you to a point you want to become blindfolded. You’d rather be stared at by handsome men with your getup instead of being leered at by old men. Old men, without cigars or alcohol in hand. Looking away, you try to imagine the old men in the room gambling at the strobing lights with tapped whimsical tune on the machine in the casino.

These men should be out gambling and drinking and smoking.

As much as you want to deny, everything is real.

“You should’ve discuss with us in private,” Otto began. “The matter of handling the suspects has already been dealt.”

“Well, for starters, anyone should been more strategic,” you said, drowsy. “In fact, anyone should react quickly.”

“If we act under impulses rather than docile, the repuation to the Targaryen dynasty, the chaos will bring about ruin.”

“Since when is ever going to be peace? Even the peace here seems falsified and easily vanquished.”

“Are you questioning of my intentions, Lady Greenstar?”

Alicent tried to butt in, but you got there first.

“I’m not questioning your honor, Ser Hightower. I’m denying it’s existence.”

Otto raged, towered over your sickly figure.

“It already has. Since those fuckers came in and try to drag the princess into the spotlight,” you reminded.

Alicent gave you a glare in warning. Not one dare talk to her father in a peculiar, unciviled manner.

Oh right, I forgot. The Queen doesn’t like it when someone’s being unholy. Ever the pious, but also a hypocrite.

“Where’s my stuff? I need them back.”

“You’ll get them after our discussion is done.”

Your eyes flicked back and forth between everyone in the room, all contained with mixed expressions but one single thought.

“I want to talk to the Queen. Alone,” you declared, turning away from them and faced the wall, grumbling in incoherent words.

Alicent exchanged glances with the men, before they left.

“By the way, Ser Hightower,” you said to him. “Do announce the folks that you renounced and mislabeled me by accident. Otherwise people will misjudged you as the tactless one.”

Otto huffed and ushered at the doorway, leaving the Cargyll twins guarded on each door.

As soon as the door shut, your eyes rested. Somewhere in haze between awake and asleep, you heard voices and cloudy visions hovering your closed vision. Each and every span of your lifetime flashed until the view from the recent travel, the travel on the cruise ship at night.

And gasped aloud.

Approaching you, Alicent grew with concern, hand on your shoulder frame. “What is it?"

"I remember now...the last time I was with my family...I was on a vacation with them."

You remembered everything now. The last time you saw your world was when you went to the cruise, a trip to Italy, Malta and Greece, and the staying for two weeks in the lavish cruise. You remember the days and hours of preparing for the tour ahead, then heading back to the ship and looking all dolled up after purchasing expensive dresses from Greece—all dolled up for a certain someone. It was a soft lavender dress you handpicked, and it was beautiful--smells good, too. The dresses are newly arrival for the small shop in Greece, and it’s beautiful—you had to have it.

“I was in Italy and Greece…I was with my family on the cruise…” You nudged yourself up, blanket in hand, shaken your head as you sat up. “I was up all night partying…and then lead myself at the upper deck…”

Alicent is at loss for words. She wasn’t familiar of the names you’ve mentioned. Or the other ones like cruise and vacation. Even if she does search for the clues in the tomes and resources, she would know it would be impossible to find.

“I do not know of the place you spoke of,” Alicent said earnestly, brows scrunched in confusion. “What is it Italy? And Greece?”

You shook your head. “My family will kill me if I don’t come back. They’ll think I’m…they’ll think I’m missing. Or worse, dead. I can’t stay here. Oh shit,” you said as you clutched to your chest with thin ivory blanket.

Your mother has often told you many times not to go far. She has watched too many episodes of Criminal Minds to a point where she gets so paranoid and so much endurance of endless interrogation and lecture. Visualizing of your panic mom dialing in endless phone calls and voicemails, your dad, however, is another hassle to deal with—endless cursing and insults coming in your way.

The Queen’s voice wavered, honeyed-brown eyes widened. “Kill you?”

“No, not like that. I meant like I’ll never hear the end of the lecture from them if I go off too far. They’ll think I’m running off with someone or something. Or have been partying too much.”

Apparently I traveled so far that I went back into a fictional place set in a medieval time period.

“You must, you’re in this world,” Alicent reminded, rather a distant and clueless tone she portrayed, unsure if she could console you with touch, wondering if you implode or disgust. “You’re here now.”

Shaking your head, checking if you’re still breathing and sober, you heard the Queen’s words correctly.

For now, Alicent ceased all the endless questions that were running through her head regarding of an outsider, who was resting before her. Surprisingly, (y/n) did comply, cooperated at the least. But still unsure.

“No, I can’t,” you protested. “Not when I made a spectacle back there. Just send me back, I won’t bother anymore. I’ll give you money or the jewel I owned. Just don’t bother me anymore.”

Alicent couldn’t help but to feel sorry for the girl. But the girl needs to stay here. She cannot let the girl go. She mustn’t, no matter how much the girl pleaded. The Queen is surely would know what to do. But the propositions hadn’t come arise just yet.

With her neck inclined downward in slight motion, Alicent sighed. “I understand that you’re not part of here. But you must do your duty, as an outsider. People already suspected. You have forged a deal.”

Just because I made a deal, doesn’t mean I’ll be like this forever.

You sighed. “I know…”

In this heated climate rising within you, you decided to put off the notions of finding your way back to the modern world.

For now…

But…

There’s the urge to give a speed dial to your parents, to let them know you’re well, and you’re with people you’ve met. But how can that be when there’s no signal, no service, nobody uses a cellphone, not a single mind of a Westerosi would know how. It made you feel stupid and useless. You missed the food, you missed the view, you missed the world around you that was familiar. All the hair tugging or ear tugging and the screaming match will come soon—if you found path back to home, that is.

Meanwhile, Alicent wouldn’t know how to commute you, the slight change of mood within you is a predicament, and phrases and unknown words she would try to pester later. There were more questions than answers, but each time there were answers, Alicent could not keep up the pace. As a Queen, her duties are politically viewed, not so much motherly.

“For now, you must rest,” Alicent instructed, getting up, not knowing what else to say.

You shared a silent glare at the queen within your gaze that Alicent mistook it as tiredness.

“Fine,” you uttered, faint. “Fine. I’ll give you two weeks—two weeks I’ll be staying here at King’s Landing. I’ll think of it as if I’m traveling to Europe. Find a way out for me to go back to my home.”

“And if we don’t?”

“What will be, will be,” you said, staring at her voluminous hair. You would kill to have Alicent’s hair.

“What a waste. You’re so beautiful that we can’t reverse your old self anymore,” you said in a foreign language to the Green Queen.

Alicent’s dulled eyes parted in shock.

“Go to sleep. A queen needs rest,” you explained, lied. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

Then your eyes lulled back into deep sleep, hoping this is another weird dream, not hearing the last part of what the Green Queen said, as your mind occupied with counting sheep.

~*~

Meanwhile, Alicent trudged out from the quarters and met up with Criston.

Her secret prayers.

Her lover.

Whilst Viserys is asleep, she trudged the quiet halls and met her lover—who was once a lover to Rhaenyra, that dumb black faction cunt of a princess. Criston, who is ever poised, followed her.

“She’s unstable,” she said to Criston. “She kept pleading to let go back to…wherever she came from.”

“I have no doubt she’s ever in a good state, Your Grace. If she runs, she’s but a deserter.”

“People already gossip of her,” Alicent said.

“What of your father?”

“He says nothing for a moment. Rather busy at the council, recollecting his moments after the calamity at the throne room. As for the King, his illness has grown stronger. Why did you bring her at the capital in the first place?”

Criston shrugged. “She killed men. Therefore, the law has been broken. House Blackwood and Bracken are in more hostility than ever.”

“Worse than a simple petty quarrel.”

“What shall you do with Greenstar?”

Greenstar, the king announced earlier. Soothe the realm.

“Rhaenyra cannot have the girl,” Alicent said. “Not after her visit with Daemon and their intrusions. The girl was nearly convinced at the previous meeting. But, she did consider my offer of becoming my daughter’s personal servant, and she protected Aemond. She must soothe the realm, and our house.”

“The girl’s clever to choose to preserve the peace.”

“But not clever enough.”

“Rhaenyra is a spider that weaves a silk of web for those who are foreignly blind enough to passage through,” Criston replied, “for the fangs to snap, flowing with red flesh and bone.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Alicent said, passing another hall. “Although she saved my daughter twice, we still not know of her origins and intentions. Let alone she said oddest things unimaginable. But all she wanted is to go back home with her family, wherever they may be.”

Criston averted Alicent’s pleading gaze, hands behind the back of his white cloak.

“I do not think it’s possible to send her back,” Criston said.

“Why is that so?”

“Because the king had already appointed her as the member of the Targaryen dynasty. In other words, she have to obey without question. King’s word is law, one cannot taint as if an untouched maiden. If she leaves or gives a false loyalty, she’ll taint her image and must answer for the crown.”

“As a traitor?”

Criston hummed. “We may have use for the girl…”

“And if she defies?”

Alicent recalled countless times where (y/n) opposed against the likes of men. Like the times when Rhaenyra opposed Viserys and Aemma in their younger years.

“She’ll be another cunt to feed and breathe our life.”

Alicent sent a warning in her glare. “Say no more of her, Ser Criston.”

“Apologies, Your Grace. It has been a night.”

“We may have another chance. If things turned right, if her path turned right with honor and decency.”

“We light the way,” he said, proud. “And carry the dynasty with fire and blood.”

“We light the way,” she said, hushed, and entered back into her room.

Although, somewhere in the back of her mind, Alicent ought not to cancel the girl out from the court.

Perhaps Ser Criston is right.

There may be a use for her, and Alicent’s mind diverged to a newer plan in store for the sleeping Greenstar.

~Aemond's POV~

In his sleep, the dragons roared and the green light passage through the skies.

And the flash of war reigned.

But when will it come?