#alice x victor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ilguna · 11 months ago

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Piano Sessions: "White Leather" by Wolf Alice + Finnick Odair x reader, their relationship had just started when Quarter Quell happened and both sent to arena, when the rebels pull victors out she gets left behind but her tracker was taken out and the gamemakers can't find her in arena. so everyone assumes she's dead but she escapes. while she's on the run she thinks about the life she wants with Finnick (maybe she sees the propo he does and he says something about her death). as "star squad" makes their way through the capitol they are reunited.

☼ white leather (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, reader has an injury.

wc; 5.7k

prompt; Piano Sessions: songfic, white leather by wolf alice. not noticable.

The seasons are changing, the warmth is fleeting, and the loneliness is burrowing in your heart. While you were being roasted alive a few weeks ago due to the unrelenting heat, mother nature has since decided to be kind rather than cruel. With summer ending, it allows her to relax, iron fist loosening.

It’s perfect timing, too.

If you had to endure it for any longer, you think you would’ve stopped traveling, ultimately setting you back. It was different when you were in the arena, because you weren’t actively moving for the entire day, just in increments. Out here you have no choice, especially if you want to make it back.

The Capitol can’t be that much further. After walking in the trees of Panem for hours at a time for weeks, it has got to be around here somewhere. You know for certain that you’re heading in the right direction because you stumbled into District Nine by accident.

You didn’t even realize you had, even though you crossed through a fence to get inside. In your defense, there’s a lot of sectioned off areas inside of the wilderness, with no apparent reason why. What should’ve given you a clue was the burnt wheat field, stretching as far as your eyes could see.

In the distance, you could make out buildings, something that also wasn’t too unusual, considering that when the districts were formed after the Dark Days, a lot of structures were abandoned. You’ve been hopping between them, actually. It’s dangerous, they’re falling apart, and there’s critters absolutely everywhere, but you don’t have much of an option.

You’ve tried sleeping under the stars, it’s not at all comfortable. You get increasingly paranoid as the hours drag on, afraid of the wild animals coming across you. You’d be able to defend yourself, with the knife that you have from the Quarter Quell arena. In the case of a pack, you’d be screwed.

They’d tear you apart, and then you’d have to add on their damage to injuries you already have. The last thing you need right now is another infected wound. The one on your forearm is bad enough. It’s your own fault, you dug out the tracker prematurely, assuming that you’d be rescued out of the arena, because that was the plan.

When Katniss short circuited the dome using the lightning, she unintentionally messed up the plan, putting the rebels on a time crunch. They were able to get her, Finnick and Beetee out of the arena, you believe. Which left you, Johanna and Peeta behind. And Enobaria, but she doesn’t really count.

You ran across your allies, tried to tell them that if they didn’t want to fall into Capitol hands, then they had to escape that minute. Johanna, who usually trusts your judgement, was resistant to the idea of escaping the dome. She didn’t like the idea of having to survive outside of it, not knowing where to go. She wanted to play it safe, and if that meant enduring whatever the Capitol had in store, then that’s what had to be done.

You would’ve argued with her, possibly even convinced her, if the hovercraft hadn’t appeared above the three of you. They knew exactly where they were because of the trackers they still had. With you being set on not being captured, you ran, leaving them behind, while you got out of the dome.

They should’ve caught you. It was an open field for at least a mile, they easily could’ve seen you, shot you and scooped you up. You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast in your life. Johanna and Peeta must’ve put up a fight, if it took them that long to grab them out.

You didn’t hear news for a long time, not until that farmer caught up with you in that wheat field. She was out of breath, face a bright red from running for so long, sweat running down from her temples. You paused, watching in slight amusement as she tried to catch her breath, clearly wanting a conversation.

“You… what are you… doing out here?” She gasped, a hand on her chest. “If the Peacekeepers catch you…”

At the mention of Peacekeepers, you were no longer smiling. “Where am I?”

Her face twisted. “Well, District Nine, of course.”

The burnt field clicked then, and you turned to look at it with new eyes. It also explained why the fence you climbed over was harder than the last few. Which then got your mind working, wondering if you’d been in District Nine the week before, because it was heavily barbed.

“My name is (Y/n).” You said, head shaking. “I don’t live here, I’m a victor from District Four.”

She squinted at you, unbelieving. She eyed your body, the clothes you were wearing, which is nothing but an undershirt, a pair of shorts and water boots. Not the typical clothing for a farmer out in the fields, you guessed. You came to the right conclusion, because her mouth opened.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” She told you. “How did you get out of the arena?”

“It fell apart. I simply climbed out.”

She made a noise, as if the answer was too easy. “Where are you heading? District Four?”

“No, the Capitol. How far away am I?”

“Close, but you’re going in the wrong direction. You need to get to District Two, they cracked the Nut.” She pointed over your shoulder. “If you get to the rebel base, they’ll help you there.”

You nodded slowly. “They still have Peacekeepers here?”

“We’re too close, that’s why they haven’t retreated. They’ve up and abandoned the further districts. They wiped out District Twelve completely.”

You tilted your head. “Everyone’s dead?”

“They bombed it, seen it in the propos with Katniss Everdeen. Some of her people made it out, they’re in District Thirteen now. Not much left of ‘em.”

“Right.” You murmured. “Thank you for the help.”

“Wait, don’t you want me to look at that for you?” She motioned to where you’d cut out the tracker. “It looks nasty.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Well, good luck.” She said, “You better hurry and get out of here.”

“I will.”

She nodded, watching as you turned away, heading for District Two. From what you’ve gathered, you’re confident enough to say that the Quarter Quell arena was placed in the space between Districts Eight, Nine and Two. When you picture the map of Panem in your mind, it’s the area that makes the most sense.

A part of you wishes that you’d taken up her offer on cleaning out the cut. You have some herbal knowledge, which is what’s keeping it from killing you, but that has nothing on real medicine. This could’ve been healed days ago, and it likely wouldn’t have left a scar.

There’s also so many questions that come to mind since talking to her. Parts of the conversation that didn’t make sense to you. The biggest one being her telling you that you should be dead. Why? At the very least, the Capitol should know that you made it out alive. Especially if they did a sweep of the arena and didn’t come out with your body.

Unless they figured that you escaped and you’ve died out here somewhere, starving and alone. Which is the dumbest conclusion that they could possibly come to. With your track history, the bare minimum that you’ve lived off of your entire life, including your Games, they should know you’re a parasite that you can’t get rid of so easily.

If there’s one good thing that’s come out of fighting in the Hunger Games, it’s that you know how to survive. It would’ve been harder to do if you were rusty, but your time in the arena was a refresher, setting you up to live out here, which is not nearly as difficult. You don’t actively have other tributes hunting you down every waking second.

If the Capitol really thinks that you’ve died, they have a surprise coming.

Your feet stutter a step when you realize what that means. It’s not just the Capitol, District Nine believes it too. There’s a good chance that they’re advertising it to the rest of the districts, then. You wouldn’t put it past them, they rub factors in your faces all the time, like District Thirteen. They led you to think that it’d been destroyed decades ago, when in reality, they came to an agreement that allowed Thirteen to slip out without the others noticing.

Oh, you hope that Finnick isn’t believing the same thing that girl did. You really hope that he wouldn’t take their word for it. But why wouldn’t he? District Thirteen didn’t have enough resources to rescue you all, and the Capitol was right there. Who’s to say that you didn’t die before they could get you out? Or that they didn’t kill you in captivity? Or that they’re secretly hiding you.

They could say anything they wanted about you, and he’d have no choice but to believe it because there’s no evidence proving otherwise.

You’ve been thinking about Finnick a lot lately out here while you walk, mostly your future. It was discussed briefly before the Quarter Quell, because the two of you had come to the agreement of volunteering for the Games. The conversation didn’t get very far after you started talking about the hypothetical rebellion if the arena did work out.

If you had it your way, you think you would’ve talked to him about what he wants to do after the rebellion, because you have so many ideas. Primarily, you’ll be able to travel, you won’t be held down by District Four. You and Finnick could spend months bouncing between districts, and come back home when you get tired of it.

For the first time in your lives, you’ll have freedom. You’ll be able to do anything you want with little to no limit. There will be no more Hunger Games, no more months of preparation with teenagers that have no choice. There won’t be any interruptions, something that held the two of you back for so long.

And you’re not talking about the Games being a burden, you mean the relationship you’ve been denying. You and Finnick have had unavoidable chemistry for years, but between district life and the Capitol, there was no room to explore until recently. And even that seems to have been a mistake, something that should’ve waited.

Except, neither of you could suppress the urges any longer. You were already sharing longing looks and gentle touches, there was no point in withholding the pleasures when you were already dipping into it. That’s why you made it official in April, four months after the announcement, three months before the reaping.

There had been countless nights where you stayed up, dreaming of the day where you’d be able to be yourselves. Where the stars would align perfectly to allow you to become more than just friends. When it finally happened, you almost didn’t believe the words coming out of Finnick’s mouth.

It’s been difficult to take it slow with him, because you feel like you’ve been dating him this entire time, under the table. You might not have been physical with him, but the emotional aspect was there. In your mind, he was already yours. And he admitted to you that he felt the same, that you belonged to him years ago.

You remember shivering when he told you that, because you had a feeling that it was true. These were words that you thought you’d have to wait to hear come out of his mouth. He was eager to tell you these truths, like a weight being lifted off of his chest. Like he’d been planning the exact moment they’d slip out of his lips in a whisper.

When this is over—when the rebellion is done—you want Finnick to yourself. It’s what you deserve at the very least, after all that you’ve been through. If it’s up to you, you’d want him to propose once Panem has begun to relax. You don’t want the teasing, or more years of build up. You just want to make him officially yours, forever.

Whatever comes after doesn’t matter. As long as you can say that he’s your husband, and you’ve agreed to love each other eternally. You’ll take what’s thrown your way with grace. You won’t ask for anything ever again. You’ll be especially good, if you could get what you wanted for once.

You step through the treeline into a meadow, letting you get a clear view of what’s ahead. You take a few steps before you come to a stop, staring at the colorful buildings in the distance. While you had tried your best to stay on track for District Two, you eventually came to the conclusion that you’d rather go to the Capitol, like you’d originally planned.

It’s not that far now. If you keep going, you think you’ll make it there sometime tomorrow.

—

Four hours. That’s all the time it took for you to realize that the situation has majorly changed here. The further you travel into the Capitol, the more it grows increasingly obvious. Especially if they’ve turned to violence to keep people out.

It’s a ghost town, which is not what you expected. The streets are usually crowded, with no space on the pastel sidewalk, crawling with people dressed in bright color. You were sure that you’d get spotted in the first minute of stepping foot into the city. It turns out that you had nothing to worry about.

Well, that’s not necessarily true. While you were temporarily relieved to find out that the outer half of the Capitol had been evacuated, you were put back on alert when you figured out why. There are traps placed on almost every street, with exponential damage to the buildings around.

You’ve yet to figure out if it’s the Capitol trying to defend themselves, or the rebels ensuring that if citizens return, they’ll be met with resistance. If you had to guess, you’re leaning more toward the Capitol. The way the traps are placed are methodological—it’s a pattern you’ve seen before. It reminds you a lot of the Gamemakers.

The traps are nearly perfectly hidden, the triggers in plain sight. You fell victim to the first few, but once you started to really notice where they were and what they’d contain, it was so much easier to avoid them. Once in a while, you’ll find yourself trapped, where you have no choice but to set them off. In those cases, you duck and cover, hoping for the best.

With the sun setting, you think it’s about time you call it a night. The last thing you’d want is to miss a sign and get yourself seriously injured. Everything is easier in the daylight. Besides, you covered a lot of ground today, more than you thought you would.

You stop in front of a lime green apartment building with front doors that are made out of frosted glass. You grab the handle, pulling it open to slip inside. The lobby is cool, reflecting the temperature on the outside. It’s very carefully decorated here, with tall green plants in white pots and a small loveseat with a side table. On top of it is a magazine, with Katniss and Peeta on the front cover.

You wander forward, looking at the directory to find a paper taped to the front of it, the words successfully evacuated printed across the middle in bold writing. You lift it up to see beneath it, curious to how many floors there are. There’s five of them, you’ll probably stay on the third floor to keep from going too high.

As you start up the steps, you keep a sharp ear and eye out for noises or cameras that might capture your appearance. Just because this part of the Capitol has been evacuated, doesn’t mean that they’ve surrendered control entirely. For all you know, there’s Peacekeeper bases around here, ready for the signal to round a rebel up.

When you reach the third floor, you choose the unit that’s located next to the fire escape that you step out of. The door is locked, of course. You hold out your knife, staring down at it. It’s dulled considerably because you’ve been using it for everything while you’ve been traveling. This will be its last job.

You stuff the blade into the keyhole, wiggling it from side to side. For a second, nothing happens, and then there’s a click. You twist the knob, pushing in, opening the door to reveal the expensive living room. You pull the knife out but leave the door open as you inspect the apartment from top to bottom. When you’re convinced there’s no one, you pick up a dining room chair, going back to the front door. You shut it, lock it as best as you can, and then shove the chair as stiffly as you can beneath the knob.

The first thing you do is raid the bedroom, tearing it apart for clothes that you’ll be able to wear without looking ridiculous. Once you have an outfit that makes sense, you shower, watching as all the built-up dirt and dried blood mixes in the water, creating a grainy substance at the bottom of the white shower.

You feel so much better when you step out, drying yourself off. You change, letting the bathroom air out while you go through every cabinet you can, searching for the medical supplies. They’re hidden when you do find them, but they’re top-grade, the type of medicine that you’d send to tributes in the arena to get them healed within days.

You read over the ointment’s directions, and then you slather it over the open wound in your arm. Your teeth are grit hard enough that you think you’ll break them, toes curling at the pain it’s causing. It burns as it works its magic, you toss the tube on the counter, leaving to go back to the living room.

The sun has fully set now, there’s barely any light coming through the windows. Still, you shut the curtains, blocking out the rest of it. You head to the kitchen next, digging through the pantry to find countless cans and boxed goods. You pull out a few familiar soups because you’re starving. After you’ve finally located a spoon, you go to sit on the living room floor in the dark to eat.

You could heat it up, you’re sure that it’d be better that way, but you don’t want to risk more than you have to. You open the can, dipping your spoon inside, and raising the creamy substance to your lips. As expected, it’s not very good when it’s cold. Yet, it could be worse.

You manage to get down half the can before an alarm cuts through the stillness, making you jump in surprise. Your hand wraps around the knife before the television set lights up on its own, and you’re immediately greeted with the face of Beetee Latier.

“This is a repeated broadcast from District Thirteen, a reminder of the faces we’ve lost to get here.” He says. “We Remember, do you?”

It cuts to Haymitch Abernathy, sitting in a dark room, wearing a grey jumpsuit. The background is an empty area. To an extent, he looks better than the last time you saw him.

A feminine voice speaks from off-camera. “What do you remember about Cashmere and Gloss Ritchson, the brother and sister duo from District One?”

“They were a bright pair of mentors, even when they were teenagers.” Haymitch says, staring at the camera. “There was nothing the two of them couldn’t do, and it showed time and time again when they performed miracles outside of the arena. Cashmere had an undeniable dedication that was admired by everyone, and Gloss was very hardworking to ensure his tributes got the best possible. It’s a great loss we’ve suffered losing them to the Quarter Quell.”

You squint, eyebrows twitching. Is this a memorial piece? If so, it’s a little funny for someone like Haymitch to speak about Cashmere and Gloss, considering that they were never invited into the alliance. Or thought about twice, beyond the idea of them possibly killing Katniss or Peeta.

The screen fades to black slowly, before Haymitch comes up again. “Brutus, he won a couple years after I did. He was friendly to me after my Games, and had briefly tried to help me after the tragic loss of my family.” He pauses to sigh. “Even though we could never see eye to eye, that did not keep him from drinking with me on occasion.”

Beetee shows up in the next clip, in the same spot that Haymitch was on a stool, only he’s in a wheelchair. Something must’ve happened between the arena and now. You wonder if it has anything to do with the lightning tree.

“Wiress was very intuitive, incredibly intelligent.” He adjusts his glasses, shaking his head. “It may appear that we have lost no one at all, but with her absence, Panem will not function the same. She worked alongside me to create some of the more important Capitol devices, a factor they neglected to think about. We will miss her dearly.”

You finish the can of soup, and you’re pulling on the tab to open the next when his face shows up on screen. Finnick sits on the stool, eyes puffy and a little bloodshot, bags underneath from the lack of sleep. There’s a slouch in his posture, a small length of rope in his fingers that he fiddles with.

“Tell us about (Y/n) (L/n).” The female voice says.

Finnick swallows, voice quiet. “What isn’t there to say?” He asks, looking into the camera. “She was my best friend, and more than that, my girlfriend. She was the kindest person I’ve ever known, always so considerate and patient with everyone around her. How President Snow can take such a gentle life and then brag about it is a mystery.”

Your blood runs cold, suspicions confirmed. So, they have been broadcasting you as dead. They saw an opportunity and took it, wanting to make themselves look more ruthless. When in reality, they haven’t so much as touched you since you escaped.

“I love her and I miss her.” He says, tired eyes filling with tears. An overwhelming urge to reach through the screen to hold him seizes you. “If I had known my time with her would be cut short, I would’ve done everything to protect her.” He breathes shakily. “This is why we must stop the Hunger Games. For loved ones like (Y/n).”

Finnick is gone, once again replaced by Haymitch, who begins to speak about Mags, your mentor. For the first few seconds you stare at the screen, face slowly twisting before it hits you.

Mags is dead.

“What?” You murmur, sitting up.

“Mags was the first mentor to approach me after I won my Games.” Haymitch says. “She was a sweet woman that could see the pain and understood what I was going through. I was the first victor of District Twelve, she was the first face of the Hunger Games. And for as long as I let her, she helped me mentor.”

Of course she did. That’s who Mags is—was. If she saw someone that needed help, she was there. She even approached Johanna after her Games to give her some tips because Johanna was slowly sinking.

“Mags did not deserve to die the way she did.” Haymitch says.

It moves on to the next victor, the woman from Five who was killed in the arena. You try to listen, but it’s difficult. You can feel yourself slowly getting sucked out of your body and into the open air. You’re here, but are you really?

The entirety of Panem thinks you’re dead, and as serious as the situation is—it’s a little funny. If this is the rerun, that means that they’ve been Finnick speak on your death dozens of times. There is not one person left in this country that believes otherwise.

But you’re not dead. You’re here, in one of the many luxurious Capitol apartments, eating someone else’s vegetable soup that they’ve saved. If you had gone to District Two like the girl from Nine told you to, this wouldn’t be the rumor.

For the remaining eight districts, the statements are brought from the victors that now reside in District Thirteen or some faces of previous Capitol citizens. Which you can tell by the way their skin is tinted or the tattoos that line their bodies. There’s even a part where a former Avox sits on the stool, signing while his brother translates.

It wraps up with Finnick talking about Rue and the future that was stolen from her. She was just an innocent child, and the Capitol thought it was right to force her to fight for her life with other older kids, who were much bigger and more skilled. When she should’ve been at home, with her family.

Beetee shows up at the end, hands in his lap. “We Remember.”

The screen dies, but not completely. It glows faintly, illuminating the small area that you’re sitting in. You need to get out of here—out of the Capitol, at least. You should be with Finnick. He needs to know that you’re alive, because the idea of you being dead is killing him. After the two of you fought to be together, you’ve been ripped from his fingertips.

You don’t sleep tonight.

You want to, with the couch being the comfiest thing you’ve laid down on in months. You know that the apartment is secured, you triple-checked everything. No one is coming to get you. This isn’t what keeps you up.

So, you relax in front of the television in the living room, eyelids feeling heavy the moment your head touches the pillow. When they shut, that’s when the problem rises. You’re not tired anymore, even after counting sheep for what feels like hours, your mind is still running.

By the time the sun is peeking through the curtains, you’re ready to leave the apartment with a packed bag. It has the essentials inside like food and water, and the ointment you’ll be using to heal your arm. You’ve grown too attached to the knife you had in the arena, so you find a way to sharpen it, giving you a reason to keep it.

The streets look the same way as they did yesterday, nothing has magically shifted. You head for the train tracks that’ll bring you to a tunnel that runs to District Two. It’s what the girl in Nine called the Nut. It serves several purposes, including training the new Peacekeepers underground, but it’s also the easiest path to get in and out of the Capitol.

While you should’ve gone to District Two straight away, you’re glad you didn’t. If you had, you wouldn’t have known the whole story. You can’t imagine how overwhelming it could’ve been if you came across the rebels and they bombarded you about how you’re alive.

You travel blindly through the streets, dodging and setting off traps, watching the chaos that follows. A few of them are made up of weapons that shoot out once triggered. You manage to react quickly most of the time, but you still come out with a few nicks from blades that are impossibly sharp.

Other traps are made up of insects that are abnormally colored and move in ways that they shouldn’t be capable of. When you see this, you decide that you’re right to say that they’re designed by the Capitol’s Gamemakers, because it makes no logical sense the other way around.

When it appears to be around lunch, you stop to eat in a shop with broken windows, stomach growling. There’s a nice aqua blue couch a few feet away from the door, void of the glass shards that litter the tile floor. You open a can of soup, and dig out a small pack of crackers to have with it.

It’s still disgustingly cold, and yet it could be worse. After what you ate in the woods these last few weeks, anything is a good meal compared to that. Even the crackers seem like a treat.

You set the empty can on the floor when you finish, sitting back against the cushions, staring through the open window. A pair of black birds circle over a nearby alley for a minute. They’re the first sign of life that you’ve seen in this city since you got here, besides the mutts that come out of the traps.

They settle on the roof of a building, side by side, much like the birds at home when they land on power lines. You’re about to look away, when you watch as they both simultaneously tilt their heads, attention set on whatever is in the alley. Your face twists, confused.

As soon as they open their beaks, beginning to screech, you realize that they’re not birds, either. They look to be like jabberjays—a Capitol weapon. You get to your feet, swinging the bag strap over your shoulder. You don’t know how they can see you, because they are definitely not facing your direction. You shouldn’t be in their view.

You take a single step, before you freeze where you are, watching as a group of people dart out from the alleyway. They’re dressed in black, wearing combat gear and carrying weapons. You’re terrified, wondering how the Peacekeepers have found you, until you realize that they are not Peacekeepers. Peacekeepers wear white.

There’s almost a dozen of them, and their leader is pointing his finger down the street to your right, an area you haven’t explored yet. He barks out an order, one of the girls in the middle turns with a gun, shooting at the jabberjay. They flap their wings, rising from where they’re perched, flying around.

Rebels.

Your lips part, wanting to speak, but the words die in your throat. You’re not dressed like they are, you look like you belong in the Capitol because of the clothes you’re wearing. You’re even sitting in an abandoned boutique as if you’re not completely surrounded by danger.

It doesn’t matter, they’re gone before you can work up the courage to speak. You watch as one of the boys toward the end grabs another boy with blonde hair, pulling him along. Neither of them stick out in your mind, and then the first boy turns, looking over his shoulder, right at you.

It’s Finnick. It’s Finnick, and he’s pulling along Peeta.

You move now, trying to follow him. You’re sure he’s seen you, but as you step out of the shop and in front of it, looking at where you’d been standing, you see that it’s too dark to make out much of anything. The awning above the street blocks any sunlight that might be able to get inside.

“Hey,” You call, walking after them. They’re moving too fast, trying to escape the birds, running around the corner. You begin to jog, not wanting to lose them in the maze of Capitol streets.

Even as a team, they move remarkably fast. You’re barely catching Finnick’s bronze hair in glimpses each time they take a turn. They’re losing the birds, though. And even worse, you.

“Hey!” You shout, sprinting down the street. “Wait!”

It grows more narrow, crowded with decorations that citizens couldn’t pull inside before leaving. There’s many places to hide, too many buildings to duck into. You can’t see Finnick anymore, much less hear the stomping of their boots against the asphalt.

When you’re breathing so hard that you’re sure you’re going to throw up your lunch, you slow down, coming to a stop in the middle of the walkway. Your face contorts, hands on your hand.

“Fuck.” You breathe, walking at a slow pace. “Finnick!”

You peer into the local stores, checking behind every bush. You know that eight people would never be able to hide around this area without splitting up. They could’ve gone anywhere.

“Finnick, please!” You stop in the middle of a crossroads, taking your time to look down what each road offers. “It’s me, it’s (Y/n)! I’m alive!” You struggle to breathe normally, whispering, “Please, I’m alive.”

When there’s no appearance, you sigh. The one chance you had, and now he’s gone.

“(Y/n)?” A faraway voice asks.

You turn instantly to face the person, finding Finnick standing at the end of a walkway. He’s not alone. In fact, he’s with the leader of the group, who’s clutching a large gun in his hands, wary. This doesn’t bother you.

“Finnick.” You say, starting toward him. “Oh my god.”

There’s a deep crease between his eyebrows, watching you come closer. “You’re—how are you here?”

You walk straight into his arms, letting him crush you against his body. You grip on tightly to his shoulder, face pressed into the space above the vest. He presses a kiss into your hair once, then twice, and again and again. When he’s had enough, he pulls away, grabbing your face to kiss your lips.

It’s gentle, loving, but quickly turns greedy as he refuses to let you go. And when he does, it’s not because he needs to breathe, it’s because his shoulders are shaking. His face is wet, eyes filled with tears. You bring his forehead to yours, thumbs wiping away the tears.

“It’s okay, Finnick.” You murmur.

“The Capitol said you were dead. They showed your body. How are you—?”

“I escaped out of the arena.” You tell him, stroking his hair. “I’ve been in the trees between the districts the whole time. I got here yesterday.”

He backs away, lips pressed together, tears still sliding down his cheeks. “Of course you did.

You pout, shaking your head. “I cut the tracker out.” You show him your arm, which is looking better this afternoon, but still far from healed. “I’m not sure who’s body you saw, but it wasn’t mine.” You reach for his hands. “I am so, so sorry.”

He pulls you back into his body, hugging you. “You’re alive, (Y/n). That’s all that matters to me.” He frowns. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

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maidragoste · 1 year ago

Text

Promises

THG AU

Victor!Aegon II Targaryen x Victor!Reader

Summary: President Snow announces that in the next Quarter Quell, the tributes will be reaped from among the victors.

Logically I should have posted the Jace games first but it's been a while since I posted anything about Aegon and I was excited haha

Edit: The first chapter of the Jace games is now available.

Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Please, if you enjoyed this reading, let me know in the comments or in my inbox, that always motivates me to continue writing 💖💖

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

You were in the house of Viserys Targaryen like the rest of the victors from your district. Of course, you had to drag Aegon's drunk ass out of his house and bring him here first. Everyone was waiting for the broadcast about the seventy-five Hunger Games. All the Hunger Games were bloody but this year was the third quarter quell and in each quarter quell they modified the rules with the purpose of making the games even more brutal and more difficult to win. In the last quarter quell instead of sending two tributes per district they sent four so you couldn't even imagine what they planned to do now.

You locked eyes with Rhaenyra as you heard her father laugh at his own joke. She, like you, seemed to be anxious about the announcement because she kept spinning her rings.

“That's enough,” you said when you heard Alicent, Aegon's mother and Viserys' wife, sigh for the fifth time when she saw that her son wouldn't stop drinking. You tried to take the bottle from him but he slapped you and looked at you annoyed. Rhaenyra was ready to intervene but you waved her hand at her telling her you could handle it. “At least you can share a little,” you complained.

Aegon looked at you suspiciously. It wouldn't be the first time that you asked him to share his alcohol with you and then didn't return the bottle or in any case threw away all its contents. He groaned as he watched you pout before handing you the bottle. You smiled at him making a small smile appear on his face. Even so, he watched you carefully as you drank his whiskey, when he thought it was enough he abruptly took the bottle from you, causing the liquid to drip onto your chin. He laughed at your annoyed look as you wiped yourself with your hand. Rhaenyra shook her head at their foolishness.

President Snow finally appeared on the screen. Aegon's laughter stopped as did the conversation between Daemon, Viserys, and Harrold. At first, there was nothing out of the ordinary, as every year he talked about the uprising against the Capitol and how significant the games were until…

"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol"You didn't know why but you couldn't help but get tense, you felt your stomach drop, you tried to calm by telling yourself that surely it was just the drink you had that was bad for you and you leaned back from the couch, listening even more attentively to the speech. "the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

You heard Alicent's screams. You watched as Rhaenyra got up from the couch and left the house. You flinched at the sound of breaking glass. The president's voice was no longer heard and the smell of whiskey filled the place. Aegon was no longer next to you, he found himself banging his head against the wall as he screamed. You felt like your heart was going a mile a second. You had a lump in your throat and your chest hurt and all you wanted to do was join in the screaming and smash things but that wouldn't help. Aegon needed you, Aemond and Daeron were busy trying to calm their mother down while Viserys carried a frightened Helaena to her room and Harrold along with Willis was trying to stop Daemon from destroying the kitchen as he had done with the vases in the living room.

You stood up and didn't bother to dodge the glass as you walked towards the youngest male victor in your district. You tugged at the back of his shirt, managing to move him away from the wall for a brief moment.

“Aegon! Stop” you shouted in a broken voice as you saw her hit herself again.

Hearing your voice like that Aegon turned to see you. There was now a bloody gash on his forehead and his eyes were manic. For a brief moment you thought he would attack you but all he did was pull your body towards his and entice you into a tight hug.

“We can't go back. I can’t go back” You felt his body shake as he sobbed and your heart broke for him. You knew Aegon's head couldn't handle surviving another arena, he spends all his time drinking to stay groggy and avoid thinking about all the people he killed. Even most of the time he only managed to fall asleep after having been drinking non-stop. "I can not do it"

“You won't,” you promised, caressing his cheeks, your head already hatching a plan. District One has five living male victors: Viserys, Daemon, Aegon, Willis Fell, and Harrold Westerling. There were chances that Aegon's name wouldn't come up in the reaping but if it did then Daemon could offer himself as a tribute. He would do it if you volunteered in Rhaenyra's place and if you promised to help him keep his girlfriend from District Four alive.

“I can't lose you,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. Maybe he was lucky and his name didn't come up in the reaping but you had less chance. You and Rhaenyra were the only living victors in the district. If your name came up he knew his sister wouldn't show up as a tribute. She may not depend on being drunk to keep her calm but he had witnessed how she would sometimes wake up screaming and the dark circles under her eyes were evidence that she could sometimes go days without sleep.

And those words ended up destroying you. You started crying with him. You wanted to be strong but you couldn't. You didn't want to go back to the arena either, you were supposed to be free after winning the games, and you didn't want to kill again, much less people you know. You may not be friends with every victor but during these years as a mentor, you had at least spoken once with each one.

Your stomach twisted as you thought that maybe it was one of your friends who would finish you off. Would they be merciful and give you a not-so-painful death? You didn't believe it because you knew that the people in the Capitol liked the show, they got bored with a simple death, and they wanted to see blood. So if Arryk, Tyland Johanna, and Sabitha wanted to live they would have to put on a show to gain sponsors.

Perhaps the easiest thing would be to commit suicide in the games, you would bring dishonor to your district—you wouldn't be the first, people still didn't see Viserys as a true victor after having betrayed his cousin by killing her while she slept—but at least you wouldn't have to kill anyone. The president couldn't punish you, he had already taken away your loved ones after you refused to prostitute yourself and killed the one who was supposed to be your biggest sponsor, he had only wanted you to come out alive so he could obtain your body.

You could die by eating some poisonous bug, plant, or fruit like Jacaerys Strong and her district mate had tried to do at the last minute. Supposedly they had done it because they were in love and didn't dare to be in a world without each other but you were sure it was an act. You could come to believe that the girl is in love but the boy does not seem natural with every display of affection in public.

“It's not fair,” you whispered in disbelief when you realized that they were all being punished because of the last victors. They had done their act of rebellion by threatening to eat poisonous berries so that there would be no winner of the games after announcing that the rule that there could be two winners if they were part of the same district was revoked. “It's not fair,” you moved your hands away from Aegon's face for fear that in your state of fury, you might end up scratching him. “I want them dead.”

You were too deep in your head to notice Aegon looking at you in dismay. Tears didn't stop flowing from your eyes but there was no longer fear in them but fury and determination. You have the same look you had during your Hunger Games.

You may die in these hunger games but at least before you leave you would make sure to make the so-called lovers of District Twelve pay for ruining what little peace you and Aegon had. You would make them wish they had died in their games.

These days it seemed like all you felt was anger. Angry at President Snow, at the Capitol, at Jacaerys Strong, and the girl from Twelve. But right now the one you were angry at was Aegon. The day after the announcement about vassalage was made, all the victors agreed that they would train together and get in shape for these games. The only one who had continued training all these years was Daemon, so the rest had a lot to catch up on, especially Viserys and Harrold—because of their age—and Aegon—because of his alcoholism—so when it was about to be a week and the idiot still didn't leave his house, you got angry.

You entered his house with the key he gave you a year ago. You found him sleeping on the couch with several bottles, some empty and others still unopened, on his table. You bit the inside of your cheek to avoid waking him up by screaming. The best thing would be to take advantage of the fact that he was asleep to get rid of any alcohol that was in the house. You started by inspecting the entire house and ended up throwing the contents of two flasks that were in his bathroom, five bottles of whiskey that you found in his room, and five bottles of vodka in his kitchen, down the drain.

When Aegon woke up he found you putting the bottles that were on his table into a garbage bag. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and once his vision fully focused he slowly stood up. He walked towards you and he hugged you from behind. Feeling your body he tensed he left a kiss on the back of your neck hoping you would relax but instead, he earned a slap on his hands that were on your waist. The blonde grumbled and walked away from you, finally realizing your bad mood.

“Go take a bath” you ordered without looking at him and continuing with your cleaning task.

Aegon listened to you, of course, he left before grumbling, revealing his displeasure at your cold tone towards him, hoping that once he was clean you would let him hug you and kiss you. At the thought of having your sweet lips, he soon took a quick shower and didn't even bother to dry his hair well before coming down to meet you in the kitchen. I smile at you when I see that you have made him eggs and toasted him bread. Before eating he wanted to look for a bottle of vodka to accompany the meal but he found his shelf empty.

“No more alcohol,” you declared, making the blonde turn to look at you with a frown. “Don't even try, I got rid of everything” you said when you saw him opening another shelf.

“You have no right!” He reproached you, pointing his finger as he walked towards you. You didn't flinch at his angry look nor did you try to escape when he placed both of his hands on the table, leaving you caged between his body and the table.

“You told me you couldn't lose me” The man looked at you confused without understanding what this had to do with you taking away his alcohol “So I'm training and I'm trying hard for these games for you” You felt heat on your face because of what you were about to say, you weren't used to being so open with your feelings. “I want you to do the same for me. I want you to train with me and the rest of the victors. I want you to promise me that you will give everything you have to win these games because I can't lose you either, I couldn't bear to live without you” Your voice broke at the end and you closed your eyes.

You needed Aegon to promise you so you could be a little calmer, you had already spoken with Daemon and he accepted your deal but you were still afraid that he would betray you at the last minute, you needed to know that Aegon would not give up if he went to the arena.

Feeling his chest warm at your words Aegon grabbed you by the waist to bring you even closer to him and captured his lips with yours. It didn't take long for you to move your lips in tandem with him. While he got drunk with the sweetness of your lips and melted before your touch, he couldn't help but think that this was the way he wanted to spend his last days, by your side. He also wanted to hit his past self for not taking advantage of every moment he had with you. If only he had made the effort to be a decent man and become someone worthy of you he would have told you a long time ago that he loves you. But he didn't and he didn't want to tie you down to spending the rest of your life with a useless drunk so he kept his feelings to himself and settled for those shared nights.

A growl left his lips as you broke the kiss. He tried to kiss you again but you moved your face making him pout.

"Please, Aegon. I need you to train. I need you to try and fight for us."

He hated that look in your eyes. He could see the fear and sadness in them. And knowing that he was one of the reasons you were unhappy made him feel a pit in his stomach. He didn't like the idea of having to fight Daemon and obey his orders, but he would do it for you.

"I will do it, I promise"

Maybe later when he is crying and with sore muscles he would regret it but seeing how your eyes lit up and the bright smile you gave him he didn't believe that would happen.

"I love you" he finally confessed his feelings and smiled when he saw the surprise in your eyes "I love you. I love you. I love you" he repeated while he spread kisses all over your face.

A mixture of laughter and sobs escaped your lips. You were happy to know that he also felt the same as you, you had long wanted to hear those words, but your heart ached knowing that you would not be able to spend the rest of your life at Aegon's side. It was a bittersweet feeling.

"I love you too," you declared through tears.

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a-m-pyra · 9 months ago

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Yes, I made "Ok, family, I want to introduce you to my boyfriend" the render.

Bonus:

Ben to Alex: Damn, girl, congratulations. A few more years and you'll become a grandmother. Alex, who will turn only forty in next six years: 😦 💀

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twisting-echo · 2 years ago

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Someone else out there ships Kitty and Dulcinea!

Drew my ships yesterday

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cece693 · 3 months ago

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My Wolf (Dark Jacob Black x M! Vamp Reader)

This was a request, and I would post the original, but it would reveal the plot twist.

Summary: Jacob killed the Cullens for you—being rejected by the boy he loved—what else would he do? But was he really the one who orchestrated all this?

tags: dark Jacob, death, plot twist, reader isn't what they seem, Cullens bashing

Becoming a vampire was supposed to be a new beginning—a chance to stand alongside Bella and the Cullens, to be part of something greater than yourself. At first, it was everything you imagined: strength, speed, and the comfort of a family who understood what it meant to be different. But there were darker sides to this new life that no one had warned you about—the endless thirst, the gnawing emptiness that came with immortality. Still, you tried to adapt, to embrace the life you had chosen.

But then there was Jacob.

What began as harmless infatuation soon morphed into something darker, more twisted. He followed you everywhere, his presence an unsettling shadow that grew more oppressive with time. He couldn’t accept what you had become, and his feelings turned into something far more dangerous. You found yourself trapped between his growing obsession and your own struggle to adjust to this new existence.

When Jacob finally confessed his feelings, you tried to let him down gently, explaining that there could never be anything between you. But your rejection only fueled his rage. His eyes darkened, his body trembling with barely contained fury, and in that moment, you knew you had lost him.

He was no longer the boy you once knew; he was a beast unleashed.

Emmett was the first to fall, his strength no match for the fury of a heartbroken werewolf. Rosalie followed, her beauty marred by the brutal force of his claws. Alice and Jasper were next, their bond shattered like glass beneath his relentless assault.

And then there was Bella.

You stood there, motionless, as Jacob’s fury turned on her. Your sister—your blood—reduced to nothing but a casualty of a war she never saw coming. But as she lay broken, her eyes searching yours for some comfort in her final moments, you offered none.

Because deep down, this was what you had wanted. You had orchestrated it all.

Jacob was nothing but a tool, a means to an end. You had played on his obsession, his unwavering need to protect, to love, and twisted it into something monstrous. You had whispered words of rejection, knowing it would push him over the edge, knowing he would seek revenge in the only way he knew how.

And as the Cullens fell, you felt nothing. No remorse, no regret. Only a cold satisfaction that finally, after all the lies and deception, they were paying for what they had done to you. For turning you into this…monster.

When Jacob looked at you after Bella succumbed, you let out a tiny smirk. Even in his madness, he knew you were the one who had set him free. And so, you kept him around. Not out of love, not even out of gratitude, but because he was yours now. A weapon you could wield as you saw fit. As long as he behaved.

The Cullens had tricked you, but you had outwitted them all. And now, in the ashes of their downfall, you stood as the victor.

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gnocchibabie · 3 months ago

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The Realm's Tragedy

Chapter 3 - Wooden Dragons

aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!oc

previous chapter --- masterlist --- ao3

Summary: Maevys Targaryen is born into a kingdom overshadowed by calamity. With her mother Aemma Arryn gone, King Viserys consumed by grief, and Princess Rhaenyra adrift in sorrow, young Maevys finds herself at the heart of a fractured family. As she emerges from the shadows of tragedy, she must navigate the delicate balance between the remnants of a broken lineage and the impending storm of a new era.

As the dragons dance, the princess must learn to accept an unforgiving truth: All Must Choose.

Wordcount: 3.5k

116 AC – King’s Landing

The floor of King Viserys I Targaryen’s chambers had become a mess of wooden toys and sprawling little children. The chamber, normally a sanctuary of solemnity and regal decorum, had transformed into a lively playground.

His offspring had been sequestered to the confines of the chamber for the time being, free to play as long as they did not touch their father’s beloved replica of King’s Landing. This miniature kingdom, a marvel of intricate craftsmanship, stood on a pedestal away from the bustling chaos, guarded by the vigilant eyes of several of Alicent Hightower’s handmaidens.

Maevys Targaryen sat at the center of the chamber, next to her younger brother Aegon. Encircling the children were about a dozen wooden figurines carved in the shape of elephants, knights, wolves, princesses, and stags. The sibling’s favored toys however, were the little wooden dragons, painted in vivid red and golden and green hues.

Helaena Targaryen, the youngest of the trio, sat just outside the circle of play, her violet eyes twinkling with quiet curiosity. She gently caressed a dragon figurine she had claimed as her own, watching the make-believe of her brother and sister unfold before her.

Maevys’ scrawny hands gripped the carving of a pale, almost colorless dragon, waving the toy around in the air wildly. The dragon’s paint, though simple, seemed to come alive with her imagination.

“Whoosh Aegon! Woooooossshhh.” The little girl mimicked the sound of rushing air as she swept the dragon down over the line of knights that her brother had so carefully set up.

“Ahhhhh!” Aegon wailed dramatically as he knocked over his squad of little knights, seemingly toppled by the gust of wind that his sister’s dragon unleashed.

“You’ll pay for that!” The little prince retorted, taking a golden toy dragon into his hand. Helaena’s giggles floated through the air, mingling with the imaginary roars and fire-breathing sounds as the two dragons clashed in an aerial battle. The room was filled with the symphony of their laughter, their voices blending into a melody of childhood joy and competition.

“Dracarys!” Maevys bellowed, her Valyrian pronunciation still rough but filled with the authority of a battle commander. Her voice rang out with such intensity that it startled the lady servants, who exchanged amused glances.

“It’s over Aegon, you’re dead now.” Her voice a mix of playful pride and unwavering certainty, signaling the end of their play battle and crowning herself as the triumphant victor.

The boy prince looked up to his older sister, eyes wet with tears and lower lip protruding in a pout, “No! You always win!” The beginnings of a tantrum began to bubble within the toddler, threatening to spill over and consume the entire room.

A handmaiden swiftly intervened, dabbing away Aegon’s tears as Maevys fiddled with her dragon. She was about to call her brother a “crybaby” when a knock echoed at the chamber door.

The woman left the three siblings once more to investigate the interruption. Aegon appeared calmer, only sniffling now as he looked to his sisters with wide purple eyes.

Maevys finally gave in, knowing she would earn herself a scolding if she did not make-up with her brother. “...M’sorry Aegon…” she mumbled, offering the little boy her toy dragon.

Aegon’s eyes lit up at that, hastily taking the dragon from her little hand.

Around them, Alicent’s ladies began to speak amongst themselves, seemingly abuzz by whatever the reason had been for the knock upon the door.

One of them, returning from her errand, gathered the children with gentle urgency. “Let’s go, children,” she said, lifting Helaena into her arms with practiced ease. “It’s time to meet your new brother.”

Aegon was on his feet in an instant, his previous discontentment replaced with eager enthusiasm. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” the prince exclaimed, dragging another servant by the hand as she insisted he slow down and wait for his sisters. The prince had been brimming with excitement ever since Alicent told her children they would soon have another little brother or sister. Aegon himself had made it known to anyone who would listen that he was hoping for a brother. He seemed to have his fill of sisters with Helaena, Maevys, and rare appearances from Rhaenyra.

Maevys rose to her feet, secretly pocketing the pale dragon that Aegon had discarded in his excitement. Growing impatient, her brother took one of her hand’s into his remaining free one and pulled her along to the door.

“Come on Mae!” he whined.

The little princess herself would be satisfied with either outcome of a younger brother or sister, so long as they would play with her. Aegon, her favored playmate, was not only imaginative but also unafraid to engage in rough-and-tumble games—something the other children at court were often discouraged from doing. Unbeknownst to Maevys, this was because the lords and ladies had gone out of their way to instruct the children to do so.

Now at 4 years old, Maevys was still a wisp of a child. Smaller than others her age, thinner even more so. The girl was known to be prone to bouts of the illness that followed her into this world, latching onto her as she was pulled from her mother. On several occasions, Maevys had been racing around the winding halls of the Red Keep with Aegon when she would feel a fluttering of her rapid heart. She would stop behind her brother, gasping for breath as her surroundings started to blur.

Other times, the princess would stroll through the castle gardens or the Godswood with her elder sister Rhaenyra, begging her to share stories that ranged from her days as a young princess to moments high in the sky atop Syrax. In the midst of reveling in her sister's memories, Maevys would feel a great wave of fatigue wash over her like heavy rainfall. Rhaenyra could feel Maevys slipping away from her then, and would look down to see the little girl crouched to the ground below, as though walking another step was too great a task. She would carry her sister back to her room, tucking her into bed and ordering her to rest. Oftentimes, Maevys could not even muster the strength to protest, and would drift off into a sleep filled with dreams where she could run and climb and play for as long as she pleased.

“Hurry!” Aegon exclaimed as the parade of Targaryen children, accompanied by their servants, descended down the corridor, with Aegon excitedly leading the charge.

“Prince Aegon, slow down!” A particularly weary looking handmaiden chided.

Her pleas did not slow the boy, who rounded a corner and flew down the flight of stairs leading to his mother’s chambers. Before anyone had the chance to stop him – or even keep up with him – Aegon threw open the door.

“Mummy!” the prince proclaimed, announcing their arrival.

Maevys followed behind, her excitement tempered by a quiet anticipation. Helaena, nestled securely in the arms of her attendant, looked around with wide, curious eyes.

Alicent Hightower lay in bed, a thin sheen of sweat gracing her forehead. Clad in a thin night shift and robe, her auburn hair was neatly woven into a loose braid. Maevys looked at the woman and noticed she looked quite exhausted, though she did not fully understand why.

Viserys was perched next to his wife, his gaze tender as he looked at the swath of cloth nestled in her arms. He looked up a moment to acknowledge Aegon, and then his eyes finally landed on Maevys, a smile breaking across his face.

Upon hearing a small cry, the princess’s attention was redirected to the swath of cloth that was nestled into the Queen’s arms.

Was that it? The baby?

“Come here children, come meet your brother.” The King ushered the siblings over with a wave of the hand.

Aegon, who didn’t need to be told twice, came running over to his mother’s bed. The little boy pushed himself atop the plush covers, crawling up next to Alicent.

“Careful, Aegon,” the Queen's voice was gentle, though tinged with fatigue. “Be gentle. This is Aemond.”

Helaena was placed beside Aegon, her violet eyes peering down with a mixture of wonder and curiosity. The sight of the tiny, sleeping babe seemed to capture the imagination of the two older siblings, who stared in silent awe.

“Aemond,” his brother echoed in a whisper, testing out the name for himself.

Maevys stayed rooted in her spot across the room, unsure if she was truly welcomed into the intimate moment. Aegon and Helaena were her brother and sister, but Alicent was not her mother.

The princess was only a girl of four, but she understood well enough that her true mother was gone – dead. She’d heard it in wistful whispers from her father, when he would tuck her into bed some nights and thinking she was asleep, whisper to a woman called, “Aemma.” When she wandered into her elder sister’s room, seeking solace from boredom, she would ask about this elusive woman. Rhaenyra’s eyes would momentarily cloud over, then clear as she spun tales of their mother’s gentle nature, a woman the princess had never known.

It was hard – being a motherless daughter.

“Come here, my girl.” The voice of her father roused Maevys from her position, small footsteps echoing off of the stone floor until she stopped at the foot of the bed.

Alicent looked over the girl with a surprising softness. Maevys had always been cautious around the Queen. Perceptive as she was, it was not lost on the child how rooms would grow chillier when Alicent and Rhaenyra found themselves in each other’s company. She wondered whether or not this attitude may extend to her, though it did little to separate her from Alicent’s children.

“It’s alright. Say hello, Maevys.” The Queen assured the child.

The princess bounded over to her father, who took her into his arms, granting her a better view of her new brother.

Peering down into the bundle of blankets, Maevys saw what looked to be a small pink doll, eyes closed and snuggled into the cloth. A light covering of white fluff graced the doll’s head.

“He looks..squishy. And funny.” Maevys said – it was all she could make of the babe.

Viserys chuckled at her discernment, “I’m afraid all babes look strange, my dear, when they are first born. Though soon, he will grow big enough to play with you. And Aegon and Helaena.” He added the last two names as though they were an afterthought.

Helaena clumsily climbed over her older brother, eager to get a closer look at the tiny, wrinkled bundle that had everyone’s attention. Aegon held onto his little sister as she leaned into their mother, the babe still in her arms. Helaena reached out and gave a small poke to the babe’s cheek before anyone had the chance to stop her.

“Helaena!” Aegon giggled, amused by his sister’s unabashed curiosity.

“Gentle, Helaena.” Alicent reminded her daughter. She observed as Aemond’s face scrunched up in surprise at the unexpected prod. The baby’s violet eyes blinked open, meeting Helaena’s gaze with a curious stare.

Helaena beamed at her little brother, her excitement barely contained.

“Is that Aemond’s egg?” Aegon outstretched a pointed finger to the hearth on the opposite side of the chamber. Nestled amongst the blazing coals lay a large dragon egg, covered in iridescent pale orange scales. Faint flickering flames danced across the surface of the egg beautifully, reflecting in the eyes of the Targaryen children.

Maevys could not help but be mesmerized at the sight. Maybe if she looked hard enough, she would be able to see under the hard outer shell and glimpse the little dragon cocooned inside, waiting to be awakened.

She felt her throat tighten at the thought and decided to push the nasty feeling away.

“Yes…” Viserys replied, rather cautiously. Aegon had been given a cradle egg, though it never hatched. Helaena had fallen to the same fate. And well, Maevys…she was never given an egg to begin with. And although Maevys’ siblings were as dragonless as her, they were afforded one thing she was not:

A chance to claim one in the future.

There were several riderless dragons, and countless unlaid eggs, waiting for Aegon and Helaena. But for his second born daughter, Viserys had forbidden her from ever claiming a dragon, insisting that she would always be too sick, frail, weak, delicate, and unwell, among other innumerable things, to ever dream of riding one. It was a decision that led the girl to shed enough tears over the years to fill Blackwater Bay.

Maevys felt small, almost weightless in his arms. He could practically feel her heartbeat against him, thumping away far too quickly.

A few more moments of shared wonderment over Aemond Targaryen persisted, with mother and children looking at the little one in quiet awe. But Maevys only watched the babe’s cradle now, picturing how the egg would look when placed inside.

A knock echoed through the room to disturb the peace, with a knight soon entering to deliver a curt announcement. “Princess Rhaenyra, Your Grace.” With a brief nod, the man exited, leaving the heir to the Iron Throne to step into the room.

Maevys' face brightened at the sight of her sister, but her joy was fleeting as she remembered the presence of the woman seated beside her.

Alicent however, seemed largely indifferent to the interruption, perhaps too exhausted to care.

“Father – Queen Alicent,” Rhaenyra gave a strained acknowledgement, “You summoned me? I heard the babe arrived.” She looked over at the bundle of cloth curiously.

“Yes, healthy and with ease.” Alicent assured through tight lips.

Maevys shifted around awkwardly in her father’s grasp.

“Well, come closer, Rhaenyra. Meet Aemond!” Viserys called, moving to meet his daughter halfway and guiding her to the bed.

The elder princess leaned over Alicent, casting her gaze on the newborn. The sight of the peaceful, sleeping babe slightly eased the furrow in her brow.

“A boy,” Rhaenyra breathed, an unknown expression to Maevys hidden in her features.

“Aemond.” Viserys recounted the babe’s name to his daughter.

She politely nodded. “Congratulations, Father. Alicent.”

“And…how are you feeling?” Her sister continued, addressing the Queen now.

“Oh – I am fine. Tired but…I am well. Thank you.” Alicent, seemingly taken aback by the sincere inquiry, stumbled to get her words out.

Rhaenyra nodded, “I am glad to hear it,” turning to her father, her gaze fell on Maevys, “I’ll take Maevys now, Father. We should leave you all to enjoy some privacy with little Aemond.”

“B-but, I want to play with Aemond!” Maevys protested.

“Yeah!” Aegon piped up from beside his mother.

Rhaenyra offered a small smile, “There will be time for that yet. Let’s let Queen Alicent rest now.”

Maevys looked to her father with wide eyes, but found no argument from him. She took another fleeting look at her new brother, warm and peaceful in his mother’s lap. The king deposited his youngest daughter onto the floor, leaving her to reluctantly come to Rhaenyra’s side.

The pouting princess waved goodbye to her siblings. A look of reserved appreciation came over Alicent’s face, “Thank you…Rhaenyra.” Her voice was soft.

Rhaenyra stiffly nodded and began her exit, Maevys following closely behind.

“Daughter,” Viserys called from behind them. Rhaenyra and Maevys both turned, unsure which of them he was referring to.

“I should like to meet with you this evening. We must begin discussing the particulars of your betrothal.” The man’s tone was measured, as it was not a question, but an order.

Alicent stiffened minutely at the exchange, focusing her attention to her newborn once more.

With another strained nod, Rhaenyra quickly took her leave with Maevys bringing up the rear.

Once out in the hallway, the two were closely followed by Ser Harwin Strong, Rhaenyra’s newly named shield. Maevys found his presence comforting enough, as did her sister, though she missed the constant shadow of Ser Criston Cole. The knight had shown her kindness, as she thought he had with Rhaenyra. When she tried to inquire about Cole’s sudden absence, Rhaenyra simply told her sister, “He now has responsibilities elsewhere.”

Maevys quietly observed her older sister as she struggled to keep in step with her pace. Rhaenyra seemed to be making a beeline for her chambers, and Maevys intended to weasel her way into them as well, now deprived of her prior company.

She had heard the word “betrothal” tossed around by their father often as of late, and every mention of the term produced a lingering frown from Rhaenyra.

“Nyra?” the little girl asked aloud. Her voice seemed to rouse Rhaenyra from her thoughts.

“Oh - yes, sweet girl?” The princess looked down to her sister.

“What is…betrothal?” She asked cautiously, tripping over her pronunciation of the unfamiliar word.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips. Ser Harwin cleared his throat from behind the two.

The three of them had finally reached the elder princess’ room before she spoke again. “Come inside Mae,” Rhaenyra held her door open as Maevys ran inside under her arm, grateful for the invitation. The little girl made herself comfortable at a table just inside the chamber, rummaging through one of the pockets of her dress to fish out the toy dragon she had taken.

Rhaenyra nodded to her knight, “Thank you, Ser Harwin.”

“Princess,” Harwin Strong replied gruffly, taking his leave.

The door shut behind Rhaenyra as Maevys trotted her wooden dragon across the length of the table. Her sister took the seat opposite of her, watching the little girl play with the toy, a faint smile gracing her face in the privacy of the room.

“You are quite fond of that dragon, sister. That little gray one.”

Maevys looked up, meeting her sister’s gaze. She absentmindedly hummed in agreement, continuing with her game, “I don’t have a real one…so I like playing with this one.” A hint of restrained sadness intertwined in the child’s words.

Rhaenyra frowned again. She couldn’t even argue with the girl – what she said rang true. It was a slight that gnawed at Maevys constantly. Her little sister would often ask to accompany Rhaenyra to the dragonpit, just to glimpse Syrax.

The elder princess decided to turn to other matters. “Do you remember Laenor – our cousin? He is the son of aunt Rhaenys.”

Maevys had met the young man once, though the memories of children were fickle. “I think so…” she trailed off, waving her dragon in the air.

Rhaenyra sucked in a breath of air, “I am to marry Laenor. That is what a betrothal is. It is what father speaks of.”

The little girl dropped her raised arm, “Oh.”

A funny feeling settled in her stomach. “So…you will leave?”

Rhaenyra’s head shot up, “What? Of course not.” She could not contain her chuckle, amused by her little sister’s concern over something she would never dream of doing to her.

She got up from her seat and planted herself next to Maevys, sitting the girl in her lap. “I would never leave you, understand?”

The little girl nodded, disregarding her toys and looking into her sister’s face.

“Though Laenor will be living here soon enough,” Rhaenyra ran a hand through her sister’s unruly hair, “After we are to wed.”

Maevys nodded and sat there a moment, mulling over her words. “Are you…happy?” She dared to ask. The princess thought marriage was to be a joyful thing, from what little her Septa had told her of it, but Rhaenyra did not seem pleased at all by the mere mention of it.

The elder girl felt a few tears threaten to slip from her sister’s innocent question. She should be happy – yes. That is what marriage was supposed to be. Yet, reality was far more complicated.

“I think…one day I will be.” Rhaenyra told her sister, choosing honesty over pretense. Maevys looked up at her sister, her young eyes reflecting confusion and concern, “Will Laenor be good to you?”

Rhaenyra smiled, a bittersweet expression. “He will be kind, I have no doubt.”

The little girl’s face brightened a little at the reassurance, and she hugged her sister tightly. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

“I’m not very sad, Mae,” Rhaenyra assured her, holding her sister close. “Change is a constant in this world. Yet, come what may, we will always have each other.”

Maevys nodded, feeling a little better, though not fully grasping the weight of her sister’s words. She picked up her wooden dragon again, feeling its weight in her small hand.

“What did you think of Aemond?” She asked Rhaenyra, wishing to move on to a lighter topic.

The elder girl exhaled a weary sigh. “I think…we now have another little brother.” It was a lackluster answer, though Rhaenyra could not fully articulate her feelings to the small girl. It was a strange and unsettling thing, to watch your father have children by another woman. Especially a woman who was your own age. Maevys seemed to embrace and love their new siblings with ease, a grace that Rhaenyra found elusive.

And in that, she envied the little girl for it:

Uncomplicated affection.

A/N: Apologies for the wait, i found this kind of challenging to write in all honesty. I wanted this chapter to focus on mae's relationships with her extremely dysfunctional family, how she perceives it from the eyes of a child, what changes have happened since she was born, and to explore her condition a lil bit more. next chapter will be another larger time skip, which i am looking forward to getting into. but no promises for how soon that will be out! …sorry hehe….

As always, thank you for reading and supporting <3

Tags: @marialikescherries @3-decades-strong

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