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ladykailitha · 20 days ago

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Heartbreak in Overdrive Part 9

I am having too much fun with this story, guys. All my other stories have 3-4 chapters backlogged, this one has SIX! So yeah, lot of fun to write!

In this we have Eddie going home after the shoot and getting the love and support he was craving during the shoot.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Eddie had been home a couple of days before Wayne finally asked the question. “What the hell are you even doing here, boy? Not that I don’t mind you hanging around, God knows I don’t see enough of ya. But for Christ’s sake, you’ve been moping on that sofa for two whole days!”

Eddie flopped dramatically on the sofa, to lay across it like a fainting maiden. “I met the most beautiful man, inside and out and struck out before I could even get up to bat.”

Wayne looked at him for a moment. “I didn’t know you could even make that metaphor without fucking up some part of it. You hate sports.”

When Eddie ducked his head, Wayne’s eyes went wide. “Oh! He’s a sports fan, is he?”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed. “He even played baseball and basketball in high school as well as being on the swim team.”

Wayne raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. “So you learned baseball to what? Connect with this guy?”

“You’re missing the point!” Eddie snapped and bolted up right, swinging his feet over the side to the floor. “It doesn’t matter because he turned me down. I was only teasing flirting with him and he told me that he doesn’t date models because he’s just getting started in the fashion business and doesn’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Ah.” Yes, he supposed he did miss the point of the metaphor because it was executed well.

Suddenly Eddie’s phone rang out in the small house. Eddie startled and dove for his phone, nearly fumbling it before he manged to answer it and get it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe,” Chrissy greeted brightly. “I know you have the week off, but I could feel you overthinking the shoot with Steve from here. So I’m calling to let you know that I’m coming down to Hawkins to go over some very juicy deals that popped up because of Ravenscroft deal.”

Eddie moaned and threw his head back against the sofa. “I’m exhausted, Chris. I feel burned out and stretched thin. I really don’t want to be thinking about work right now.”

“Wow,” Chrissy whistled. “You had the perfect opportunity for a Lord of the Rings quote and didn’t use it. You must be really upset.”

Eddie’s head sprung off the back of the sofa with lightning speed. “I said I was tired, not upset, what the hell?!”

“Ed, babe,” she cooed. “I love you, but you do realize that Steve said he didn’t want to kiss you while you were working together and not that he wasn’t interested, right? He gave you his number for fuck’s sake!”

Eddie blinked for a moment and cocked his head to the side. “Oh.”

“So, what’s going to happen is that you’re going to hang up with me,” Chrissy said cheerfully, “then you’re going to call Steve, then when I get to Hawkins Wayne and I are going to talk baseball to avoid watching you get goo-goo eyed!”

“Yes, boss,” he replied meekly and then said goodbye. He put his phone down and looked over at Wayne who was trying really hard not to laugh. “Oi! I’m going out for a smoke.”

He grabbed the pack on the end table and stood, pcoketing his phone as he went as soon as he was out the door Wayne burst out into laughter.

“Asshole,” Eddie growled as he lit his cigarette and took a drag. He looked at his phone for a minute or two before he opened the contacts and dialed ‘Pretty Boy Steve’.

“Eddie!” Steve chirped happily in Eddie’s ear. “How is your vacation going?”

“Well you know,” Eddie said, grinning, “Hawkins is same as it ever was, boring as hell.” He leaned on the handrail in front of the porch, being careful where he flicked his ashes. “But it’s been good seeing my Uncle Wayne again.”

“It must be nice having family you can rely on,” Steve said wistfully. “I don’t remember the last time I saw my parents.”

“So what’s the story there?” Eddie asked, genuinely interested. To hear Robin tell it, they kicked him out at nineteen for being queer, but Ellie and Max said that Steve was at the still called on holidays and birthdays stage.

“Kicked me out when they found out I was bisexual,” Steve said with a snort, “then when I started making real money with the photography and being in dangerous places, my mom forced my dad to reconcile. Then we just kinda drifted apart, I think the last time I saw them together was the Christmas before Rob and me got kidnapped, but I saw my mom when we got back to the States and she said she had been so worried about me.”

“Damn, man,” Eddie huffed and then took another drag. “How did it go from that to just phone calls?”

Steve burst out laughing. It was bright and as clear as a bell and Eddie fell a little farther in love with him.

“I got a job photographing for Emilé St. Just. A very gay, very over the top fashion designer my mother detested and she begged me not have her son attached to such a man. I think she thought I was fucking him or something.”

“And that was worthy of banishment in the Harrington household?” Eddie said with a dry chuckle. “Damn it doesn’t take much does it?” He took another drag from his cigarette and blew out the smoke slowly.

“Not quite,” Steve said, “I still talk to them and my mom is at least good at pretending she cares about what I’m doing. She was excited when she heard about the Ravenscroft deal. She will probably clutch at her pearls when she finds out the nature of the shoot, but it is what it is.”

“I think that was what they wanted, if I’m honest,” Eddie huffed. He straightened up and stretched.

“Oh it absolutely was,” Steve replied. “I’m hard at work editing the photos I took. They are incredible, Eddie. I can’t wait for you to see them.”

“I’m excited to see them,” he said with a grin and then finished the last of his cigarette, grinding out the rest of the ash from the filter and tucking it in his pocket to throw away once he was inside. “You’ve got a really great team there, Stevie.”

“Thanks,” Steve huffed. “They’ve literally saved my life, so... I think I’m going to keep them.”

“I tried to lure them away,” Eddie admitted, “and now I know why they wouldn’t budge. Look after them, that kind of loyalty cannot be bought in this industry.”

“I’m starting to see that, yeah,” Steve said softly. “Do you have people who are loyal to you, Eddie?”

That stopped Eddie cold. No one had asked him that before and now he really had to think about it.

“Not as many as I would like,” he admitted shyly. “But both Vickie and Chrissy for sure. And I have friends outside the business who are loyal and of course my Uncle Wayne.”

“I’m glad,” Steve murmured. “It’s just seeing people dismiss you as hysterical when you aren’t really bothered me. Like the pin incident where they left a fucking sewing pin in the shirt you were suppose to wear or even the having your skin zippered for the GQ ad incident two years ago. They call you a brat, obnoxious, dramatic. You aren’t any of those things, Eddie.”

There was a beat or two before he spoke again and Eddie was breathless. “It’s even worse knowing that some of that pain comes from people I like. I hate to think why they don’t treat you with the same respect they give me.”

Eddie snorted, tossing his hair back. “It’s because they don’t respect models full stop. Being a photographer takes skill and can be learned. But they think anyone can model. Put a pretty face in some nice clothes and it’s going to be the same regardless of if they are someone off the street, an actor, a sports star, or a musician. It’s all the same to them.”

“Oh god,” Steve breathed. “That’s not true at all. You would think that actors would be the easiest because they know about giving certain kinds of expressions can change a happy scene into a sad one. But they don’t know where to put their hands or how to tuck their elbows when they put their hands in their pants’ pockets. I’ve only had a couple of actors who knew their body as well as a professional model.”

Eddie blushed and pulled a strand of hair in front of his face even though Steve couldn’t see him. “Thanks for that.”

A car pulled up into the drive. “Look, I’ve got to go, my agent is here and it looks like she brought the cavalry.”

“Oh?” Steve said. “I hope you don’t have too much fun without me.”

“I could never,” Eddie promised and then they said their goodbyes and Eddie hung up. He leaned on the railing again and watched as Jeff, Brian, AND Gareth get out of Chrissy’s car.

“Look at what I found hanging around the baggage claim like lost sheep,” Chrissy said brightly.

“Uh huh,” Eddie replied skeptically. “Like you didn’t know they were coming.”

“Complete coincidence,” Gareth huffed with laughter. “Everyone heard you were taking the week off, and everyone decided on their own to fly out here to hang out. And don’t worry, we aren’t going to invade Wayne’s place.” He held up his hands in surrender. “We’ve got rooms at the Carlton.”

“Well, I’m certainly pleased to hear that,” Wayne said from the front door. “I heard a car pull and wondered who that could be.”

“Especially since we surprised you?” Jeff said with a grimace.

“Right in one,” Wayne said gruffly. “Now get your asses in here and help me make dinner for the lot of you.”

The four of them hussled up the stairs and into the house. Wayne calling out things he needed as they got to work helping to make enough food for all six of them. There was some scrambling as things had moved some in the bigger place, but they all got to work making enough spaghetti for everyone.

“You gonna just stand there, boy,” Wayne huffed as he stirred the meat that would go into the sauce, “or are you gonna help?”

“I’ll set the table in a bit,” Eddie said with a grin. “Right now, I’m just enjoying having my family all together in one place for a change.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing and all of them came over to hug him tightly. He just clung to them, feeling a little less hopeless then he did before Chrissy called.

After dinner Chrissy sat him down and pulled out her briefcase. “I know the shoot won’t be out for weeks, but it is already generating buzz.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, cocking his head to the side, like a confused puppy dog.

“Dottie Cox has been praising the shoot to anyone who will sit still long enough,” Chrissy explained pulling out three contracts. “So there are some very important people who are interested in booking you where you weren’t on their radar before.”

“Like who are we talking about here?” Eddie asked leaning forward on the table.

“Well, Luis Del Le Vega for a start,” she said handing him the first contract.

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up as he reached for the document. He flipped through it and his jaw dropped. “An exposé? He wants to do a fucking exposé on business practices in the fashion industry?” He paused for a moment and looked up. “Is this about the DuPont shoot?”

Chrissy grinned and then leaned on her fists, batting her eyelashes at him. “With it coming out that Henry Creel won model of the year due to that shoot, and after your shoot with Harrington he wanted to tell his side of the story about that whole fiasco.”

“Chris this is amazing,” he breathed and wiggled his fingers for a pen, which she gleefully handed him. He signed it with flourish. “What’s next?”

She took the signed contract and replaced it with another. “This is Georgie Vincent, they’re a non-binary designer who specializes in accessories. They are putting out a line of boots that they want you to model.”

Eddie read through the contract carefully, noting the pay and when. “Three days in Milan?”

“Yeah,” Chrissy said, “they’re having a fashion show to highlight their new line and wanted to get some shots of the boots ahead of time.”

Eddie nodded as he finished reading the contract and then signed it.

“So...” she hedged, hand over her brief case, hovering, “when was the last time you walked in a fashion show?”

His head snapped up in shock. “Shit, Chris, I don’t know. A couple of years probably. New York Fashion Week.”

She pulled out a forth contract. “You don’t have to sign this immediately...you can do it after the shoot, but Georgie has wanted you to walk in their show since they got their first start in the business.”

Eddie blinked at her for a moment. “Really? I didn’t think I was that famous if I’m honest.”

Chrissy laughed and shook her head. “I never took you for modest, Ed. Of course you’re that famous. Everyone in the biz knows your name. And yeah most of the photographers know it so they can curse it, but that’s not true of brands, designers, or hell even other models.”

“Not modest,” he snorted, leaning back in his chair and huffing dramatically. “Realistic. Yeah, I’m a Top Model this year, but what about next year? Or the next?”

“Well once people see the spread for Ravenscroft,” she said brightly, “there is no one on the planet that won’t know your name.”

Eddie let out a sigh and they moved on to the final job which was a commercial for some designer’s fancy new perfume line. One which he passed on when he found out the actress involved, Emma Sharp. He was essentially going to be her boy toy and while he didn’t mind that type of ad most of the time... just not with her.

She annoyed him for reasons he couldn’t describe much less fathom.

Chrissy had brought it to him because the designer was someone Eddie had worked for in the past and had a relatively good time.

Then they were pulled into a discussion on who was hotter, Lee Pace or Luke Evans and all talks of work got left behind.

Part 10

If we're talking The Hobbit films, Lee Pace all the way. Outside Tolkien? Luke Evans.

Tag list: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chaotic-waffle @steddieislife @oh-no-its-danger-gays @ollieolive @micheledawn1975

10- @little-birch-boy @alfhitchblonde @tartarusknight @chocolateracconlights @spookycollectorcandies

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #fashion model au #eddie is a model #steve is a photographer

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wordsofelie · 7 months ago

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🏠one goodbye, a million hellos

A Phoenix and Ashes & Don’t you dare run away short story (can be read as a standalone)

Suna x f!reader

Summary: Suna is invited to the wedding of his ex. he goes there with a broken heart and leaves with a loving one.

Content warnings: alcohol consumption, non-explicit bed scene, swearings, timeskip, manga spoilers

Words count: 3.5k

Suna knew from the moment he woke up that morning, that today was going to be shitty day. First, his alarm didn’t go off—luckily, his lazy cat decided to scratch at the door, waking him up. Bleary-eyed, he noted that the noise outside was way too loud for it to be 6 a.m. That’s when he checked the time. It was 8 a.m.

He launched out of bed and stumbled as his ankle twisted slightly. He barely registered the discomfort because he simply had no time to waste. Then he checked the weather on his phone: a sunny day ahead, or so he thought. However, all he had to do was cross the threshold to realise that he’d checked the forecast for Hiroshima, not Tokyo, and that it was pouring rain in the bigger city.

The way to the gym didn’t help ease his mood. He had to wait for two overcrowded trains to pass before he could squeeze onto the third, only to watch in horror as his wallet tumbled out of his bag and skidded across the station floor. Two teenagers shot him a pitying look and smirked.

His coach made him run ten extra laps of the court as a punishment.

Anyway, it was shaping up to be the shittiest day.

Only two things can possibly redeem it now, Suna hopes: the company of his chubby, grey cat and the arrival of his long-awaited new volleyball shoes.

When he finally reaches his apartment building, he rushes to the mailbox.

Fuck, the shoes aren’t there.

He sighs heavily and sorts through the stack of mostly junk mail. There’s an ad for the new yakiniku restaurant that opened in his neighbourhood, a fan’s letter (how did they find his address?) and then, at the bottom of the mailbox, a delicate, white envelope with his name inked in familiar handwriting. Suddenly, his chest tightens. Suna feels his lungs closing, as if they can no longer inhale the breath from outside. Because, even if he wishes he could unrecall the way his ex-girlfriend used to write his name, he can’t; and the letter is from her. He doesn’t need to open the letter to know what it is. She wouldn’t use such elegant paper for him—not anymore. So, he knows, even before reading a single word, that it is an invitation to her wedding.

Her wedding to Miya Osamu.

But just in case his hunch was wrong, in case she dumped his former teammate and wants Suna back in her life, he decides to unfold the paper, carefully.

Honda Airi & Miya Osamu are pleased to invite you...

That’s enough for today.

He shoves the letter into his bag, in a harsh move. Yet somehow, he can’t bring himself to crumple or shred it to pieces for it is certainly very precious to Airi.

When he enters his apartment, he mumbles a shy “tadaima”, it’s unusual for him. He never much cared for the ritual of announcing his return, but his mother used to insist on it, so he only does it with her and his younger sister when he visits them. And Airi once complained when he didn’t. He never knew why it mattered so much to her.

“It’s just… I love having someone to say ‘okaeri’ to,” she said.

Only now does Suna understand the warmth of having someone to greet when coming home, or rather, Suna understands the coldness of having no one to go home to. Not even Peko-chan, his cat, bothers to look up at him, it doesn’t seem like that ungrateful bastard is going to come and ask for cuddles anytime soon.

He finds a single lollipop on the kitchen counter and unwraps it, it’s sweet but somehow tonight, it tastes bitter.

The letter stays in his bag for weeks. Airi tries to call him a few times, leaving messages of “hey, I was wondering if you had received a letter?”, and “tell me when you have received the invitation… I’d like to talk with you about it.” Which turned into “everyone received theirs so I don’t know if you moved out or if you’re ignoring me… anyway, please call me back.”

She sounds so worried; it makes him feel bad and so, he calls her back.

Airi seems to be thrilled when she talks about the wedding plans. There’s this spark in her voice that reminds him of everything he once loved about her. For a brief moment, he almost forgets it is supposed to hurt.

She begs him to come because “you’ve always meant a lot to me, and… I still think of you as a close friend. And Osamu’s entire team from high school is coming. It wouldn’t feel right without you there. But I understand if it makes you feel uncomfortable-”

“I’ll come.” He simply replies. Suna has always been a man of few words. He believes he hears a sigh of relief in her voice.

She thanks him one, twice, thrice, Suna pretends it is a pleasure. Which it is (because he made her happy) but also isn’t (because all the regrets he pushed aside for years suddenly resurface).

That evening, he reads the whole invitation. It is so quintessentially her—simple and graceful, the venue will be in the mountains, of course she loves the mountains. The wedding will be held in summer, near her birthday. Every detail seems to fit her perfectly, even the name next to hers, and despite the hurt and regrets, Suna Rintarou has to admit that Miya Osamu is a way better choice than himself for her; he had always been.

The day comes and Suna feels his stomach hurt when he arrives at the venue. It’s a small gathering, which only makes him more visible when he parks. He glances at the people that are already there, and takes a deep inspiration—yet, even in the calm, he can feel his pulse race. A few seconds after, he hears Atsumu tapping on his window.

“Sunarin, my man!” Atsumu’s grin is wide as ever, and Suna’s response is his usual faint smile.

Atsumu explains everything to him from what’s planned for dinner to where the restrooms are but soon after that, excuses himself to go see his brother who’s almost done getting ready.

To stay close to people who are calm and won’t ask too many questions, Suna makes his way to his senpai, Aran and Kita, and nods through conversations, pretending to be his normal self, quiet and unbothered.

Suna doesn’t remember a lot about what happened after, maybe because he was to focus on trying to make the pain in his chest go away.

But when Airi arrives, he finds her beautiful, but he also admits to himself that his heart doesn’t beat the way it used to. The man realises that it is not her that haunts him, but the regrets and the “what could have been?”. It’s the longing to have someone by his side to cherish. It’s the fact that the only true love story he had experienced ended in tears—because of him—and when he tried to fix the broken glasses, it was too late.

This goodbye will forever hurt.

By the reception, Suna attempts to control his drinking—partly because he is a professional athlete, but mostly because he fears he might say something stupid to Airi, “Could it have been us?”, he nearly asks when he bumps into her at the buffet. But instead, “I’m happy for you,” comes out.

“Thank you, Rin. It means a lot coming from you.” the hurt eases even slightly.

Still the alcohol starts blurring his mind a little bit and he turns, only to find himself spilling his drink on someone.

“Shit,” that someone says.

“Oh-sorry!” he mutters, reaching for a napkin to help.

She says nothing back, and doesn’t even look at him at first, not out of annoyance, Suna concludes, but because her attention is glued to her camera, which took the brunt of the spill (and that thing seems the hell expensive).

After a minute or so, she sighs heavily and mumbles a “thanks gods, it’s still working.” As she raises the camera, she snaps one picture of Suna.

The man raises an eyebrow, genuinely taken aback.

“I need to remember the man who almost made me lose my job.”

She grins. And Suna can finally see her whole face. She’s more radiant than a thousand suns.

“Your job?”

“Yep. Honda-san, I mean, Miya-san now, hired me to be the photograph for tonight. My shop is close to her workplace.” She says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she extends her hand to introduce herself.

“Mmh, nice to meet you. I’m Suna.”

He’s cold. Suna knows he is, but it’s not like he can do anything about it, that’s just who he has always been. Somehow, she doesn’t seem impressed or upset by it. She simply scratches her chin and frowns.

“Are you here for the bride or the groom… Wait, let me guess. You’re pretty tall and handsome. Volleyball player, right? So, the groom’s side, I’d say.”

Suna doesn’t know how to respond to that because after all, he’s here for both.

“Actually…” He hesitates. “I was in high school with them.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were the mysterious type and cool guy all the girls had a crush on?”

Suna laughs, a short huff through his nose. “I don’t know. Were you the stalking girl who took pictures of her crush?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Did you take many pictures of me tonight?” He wheedles and crosses his arms.

“Who said I had a crush on you?”

That girl is probably smarter than he would ever be, Suna concludes and just when he’s thinking about what he can argue back, she chimes in.

“But, if you want to know, you’ll have to stop by my shop sometime.”

He’s surprised when his heart skips a beat and finds himself wanting to know more about her. They chat naturally for the next half an hour, like old friends or something close to it. She mentions Momo, her cat, a clingy, high-maintenance furball that couldn’t be more different from his laid-back pet. He shows her a photo of said pet, and she laughs about how nonchalant he looks (“like his owner” she adds). She still thinks the felines would look good together. Suna wonders if they would.

“Well, I just forgot I’m supposed to be working and I saw that dude who looks like an owl doing a backflip on the dancefloor. I think Miya-san wouldn’t want me to miss this.” She leans just an inch so that Suna is close enough now to inhale a fragment of her scent. “Guess I’ll see you around… Mister Cool Guy.”

Before he can say anything, she slips back into the crowd. Suna thinks he catches a slight blush on her ears, he smiles, and it makes his cheeks hurt.

Two weeks after, Airi calls him.

“Rin, I hate to ask, but I’m in Osaka right now, and the wedding photos are ready. Could you pick them up?”

Suna wonders if she has some sixth sense or if fate is intervening, but either way, he decides to take the chance.

When he arrives at the shop, she’s there, and the man swears he caught her smile widen when she saw him. She’s helping a young girl with some identity photos, telling her jokes, and making funny faces to get a smile from the child. The way she acts with her makes him think that she has that ability of making everyone feel at ease.

“Here for the photos?” she asks and hands him the envelope.

He takes it, but something holds him back from leaving just yet. He’s here to do his ex a favour, but as he heads toward the door, he finds himself turning around.

“What are you doing after this?”

“Nothing,” she answers, almost too quickly.

The middle blocker holds back a teethfull smile, “There’s a new yakiniku place nearby. I’ve been wanting to try it.”

“I close in twenty minutes.” She informs.

“I’ll wait,” he replies, and finally lets a rare smile break through.

The dinner’s great, they talk about everything and nothing at all. He grills the meat, she eats it while telling him about her degrees and her previous experiences working in a rigid company, why she hated it and how her boss was a butthead. Suna notes that her eyes shine when she explains how she finally followed her dreams and became a professional photographer. She asks him about his dream, impressed when she searches for his name on the internet and sees the number of followers on his public profile.

By the time they’re walking back, neither is in a rush to leave the other. Their feet drag slightly, as if it would help delay the moment they part ways.

“Next time, I’ll try the karubi,” she exclaims, nudging him.

“Next time?”

“What? Aren’t you going to take me on another date, Suna Rintarou?” She smirks, bright and clear.

Everything inside him moves and his heart aches. But this time, the feeling soothes him.

And so, he agrees to go out with her again. The dates become regular and slowly, as the days pass, fingers intertwine, soft kisses land at the corner of lips, and “i like you” are whispered under the moon.

With her, it’s never awkward, never forced. And Suna thinks that maybe he isn’t cursed to be loveless after all.

A few months later, when her apartment lease ends, they move in together. Suna, with his ever-pragmatic mind, decides they know each other well enough to make it work. She’s clumsy, messy, and can sleep till noon—he often returns from his morning run to find her still in bed, though now she tries to get up and wait for him with two steaming cups of tea. She has a tendency to comment on absurd reality shows about people fighting in a villa, and while he doesn’t admit it aloud, Suna finds an odd comfort in her quirks.

At first, her cooking is questionable, bad even, but he finds her watching YouTube tutorials on “How To Meal Prep for Athletes.” Soon, her omurice (that was a bit too burnt in the beginning), packed with olive oil for good fats, protein-rich chicken and eggs, rice for carbs, and fiber-loaded courgettes and red peppers, becomes something he actually looks forward to. Her repertoire of healthy recipes grows, and they fall into a rhythm that makes Suna feels nothing less than at home: he handles the cleaning, and she deftly manages bills and taxes.

On the weekends, they play video games and go on hikes—though never too long ones, because she stops constantly to capture everything. “You already took a picture of that flower,” he points out, and with her innocent smile, she replies, “But the light’s different now.”

She respects his boundaries, never pressures him to do things he dislikes, and doesn’t complain when his responses are short and of few words. She doesn’t make him feel bad when his training runs late. No matter what hour he comes home, she’s waiting—half asleep on the couch, two cats curled in her lap, an almost-empty packet of low-salt and 0% fat crisps by her side. He kneels before her, murmuring “tadaima,” and her eyes squint and then shine as she responds, “okaeri, my love.”

She never misses his games, always making sure to snap the best shots of him. Sometimes, she even sneaks alongside the official photographers, scolding them for not taking enough pictures of Suna.

“What a bunch of idiots…Can’t you see he’s the ace of the game?” (it got her to be kick out of the gym once).

She learns all the rules from volleyball even though she still gets confused with the rotations. One day, from where he stands on the court, Suna hears her protest when the referee whistles for a foul he made (even though it was obvious he touched the net with his chest).

In return, Suna never fails to attend her exhibitions. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks when she cries because “no one came” and “I’m a failure.”

He lists every reason why she’s mistaken and how she’s the most talented person in this entire universe. It makes her cry even more, but with happy tears this time. He keeps on believing that her art will be celebrated worldwide someday, but that he’ll remain the first to stand in line when queues of fans will show up to see her masterpieces.

After a hard day, he runs her a bath, (always putting a little bath bomb that smells like roses, her favourite). When he’s away for matches, he brings back mugs from every country. The shelves are now overflowing, and they had to buy a new cabinet, but she still asks him for more.

He discovers what makes her feel good, the spots on her skin that sends shivers down her spine (her upper thigh, the back of her shoulders). He learns what words make her lose her mind, what pace she enjoys most.

When he messes up, she’s never afraid to call him out. “You’re a piece of shit,” she shouts sometimes when she’s pissed at him, and they burst into laughter because they can never be mad at each other for more than fifteen minutes.

During the Paris Olympics, they explore the city for what she calls their “honeymoon” (they’re not married, not even engaged, though Suna wouldn’t mind giving her his last name, or taking hers). She photographs every single croissant they try, and even makes him pose like he’s holding up the Eiffel Tower, much to his dismay. The man grunts but does it anyway (it’s a total fail).

She jumps in his arms when Japan wins against Argentina. He almost stumbles, but happiness overwhelms him at the same time.

He meets Airi’s gaze, who came with Osamu and his parents to cheer for Atsumu. She beams at him, and he smiles back.

(After all, going to that wedding wasn’t quite a bad idea.)

And just like that, a year transforms into two and into three. His career is stable while hers flourishes.

When he turns 30, she shows him a video montage that leaves him flustered. He laughs at her for getting teary-eyed even though she’s the one who made it.

“Where did you get all these pictures of me as a kid?” he grumbles, embarrassed.

“From your mum, of course! She was happy to help.”

“To help humiliate me?” he asks, and she tries to shut him up with a quick, “I love you.” He rolls his eyes but smiles anyway.

For her birthday, he gifts her the camera she’s been dreaming of her entire life. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Please, keep taking pictures. I love them... and I love you,” he tells. She answers she could die happy.

Her first picture with the new device is, shamelessly, Suna’s “beautiful and too-hot-for-public-decency back muscles.”

“Are you taking nudes of me, darling?” He raises an eyebrow when he catches her in the act.

“But this is my favourite scenery.” She tries to explain with a pout. He lets her snap more pictures.

She heads to New York for a major exhibition where she wins an award for best nature photography. From their shared apartment in Tokyo, Suna congratulates her over the phone.

But the week drags on and her absence is painful. He craves her omurice and the low-salt crisps (which taste suspiciously like cardboard), and even finds himself calling out “tadaima” to no one at all. And it seems like, he’s not the only who feels depressed since both cats have decided to start a hunger strike because apparently what Suna feeds them doesn’t meet their standards (even Peko-chan refused the tuna he gave him.)

He looks at the photo album she made of their travels before bed. Suna is convinced that one day, their shelves will be overflowing not only with mugs but with albums (because they have many years ahead of them, many more moments to share).

He forgets what his life looked like before her, not that it matters anymore, Suna wouldn’t mind erasing every memory from his head to keep exclusively the ones with her.

She finally returns home with the award, and he picks her up from the airport (driving a little too fast and barely stopping at red lights, don’t tell her). When they step in the doorway, Suna grabs her waist and pulls her against him tightly, his face nestles in her neck.

“Rintarou…” she chuckles and grabs his hair—he loves when she does that—“I stink because of the flight, let me take a shower.”

Her cat meows to get her attention.

But Suna wants her all to himself.

“Say tadaima,” he orders, sounding like a child.

She blinks in confusion, then takes his face in her hands, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “Tadaima, my love.”

Suna wants to breathe the words, make it his oxygen. His lungs open, his whole blood is filled with an air he never felt before.

Gosh, she’s everything, he tells himself.

“Okaeri.” He responds.

They take a shower together (until the water runs cold), they order take away (burgers with an extra slice of fries), they watch her stupid reality show (Suna starts to be invested in the drama), he falls asleep on her lap, the cats join him.

That night, Suna dreams that it lasts forever.

(It will.)

author notes: if you read Phoenix and Ashes and Don’t you dare run away you know that i haven’t depicted suna as the most loving and kind human being, but what i enjoy so much about writing is that we can develop complex characters who evolve, fail, get better or worse, and make them experience life-changing events. so i really loved describing this new version of suna and make him fall in love again.

anyway a lot of talking haha when i just wanted to give sunarin a happy ending <3

i hope you enjoyed reading this and I’m gonna go working on the kageyama fic now 👀

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imaginespazzi · 6 months ago

Note

NIVI!! Give us your postgame thoughts on Ole Miss!!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING MY LOVIES! I am thankful for that fact that I found a stream that worked last night and got to watch this game even though that 3rd quarter took years off of my life.

AZZI. FUDD. I don't think I can even begin to explain in words just how proud I am of her. Everyone has been saying that it's only a matter of time before Azzi starts to contribute (not that she didn't contribute in the Oregon State game) but Azzi didn't just contribute last night; was definitely the biggest (not the only of course) reason we won. It was a one-possession game and momentum was without a doubt on Ole Miss's side and Azzi said fuck all of that and gave UConn an 8-pt cushion all by herself. And what won't reflect on the box-score is that her scoring those points did two things: it deflated Ole Miss and it energized UConn. She was just so good offensively and defensively; just an all-around performance and I'm just so incredibly proud. And you know what the best part is? Those 3s ain't even falling yet.

Casual 29 points for the NPOY, no biggie just Paige doing Paige things except you know MY Paige doesn't normally get 5 turnovers...jk jk because honestly she only should have had 3 (still "high" for her standard but also that's what Ole Miss hangs their hat on). That 1st half and that 4th quarter were just things of beauty. That's what you need your leader to do, set the tone and then finish things off. AND SHE FINALLY GOT SOME FTS!!

Sarah looked really good in the first half and then when Ole Miss got going, she looked a little shaken in the second half, emphasis on the little shaken because it was only really in terms of scoring, she was still doing all the little things. I've seen some discourse and I personally don't want Sarah to stop taking 3s because it's not like she takes bad ones and I think they're gonna fall and we need them to fall and they're not gonna fall if she stops taking them.

JANA!! She had some clutch has hell rebounds and some much-needed shots. I thought she had a really good game and a near double-double. She just looked really energized out there and I think she's only going to get better.

Ice had a up and down game. She definitely did a couple of things that frustrated me but also made some solid plays. I would have definitely liked a couple more points and a couple more rebounds but I think the hustle, that's been prevalent the last few games, is still there.

Ash needed more shots which is partially on her but also I feel like she was getting plays ran for AND her teammates weren't doing the best job of finding her. It feels like the aggression, particularly on offense, of the first two games had dwindled a little bit and she's in a bit of a slump. Also two of Paige's 5 turnovers, probably belong to her because girl what was you doing?

We definitely need more point production from KC but I thought she had a very stabilizing presence last night and did a pretty good job running the offense in the 4th.

KK hadn't made me want to scream at her for driving into traffic and getting blocked like clockwork in a couple of games and so of course OF COURSE she had to do it last night. But I do think she matched Ole Miss's energy well and I liked that one drive she had. She needs to look to score like that more.

Which brings me back to that KC-KK discourse, I still think the KK-Paige-Azzi-Sarah-Jana/Ice lineup is our strongest but I also did really like the KC-Paige-Azzi-Sarah-Jana that we used to end the game and was I believe the prominent lineup throughout the 2nd half. So I think my general opinion is that it doesn't matter who starts because ultimately it's gonna be a opponent-driven decision and it's good to have that option.

I love Paige and Azzi and I love that they had good games but I'm ngl, looking at that box score and seeing so many people with only 2 pts did not please me at all.

Blowing leads is becoming a recurring thing and as much as I think it's good character building for this team right now because as Geno says you learn more from overcoming the Ole Miss run than if you had stretched it 30, it is a little concerning that it's a bit of a pattern. And again this is only their 5th game and it was their first true test and also ofc only their 3rd having Azzi so I'm not necessarily super worried, but it is something I'mma keep my eye on.

But overall I'm just really proud of this team. They got punched in the 3rd and they punched back and I'm hoping to see a lot more punching in the upcoming games.

#ask #wcbb #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #ashlynn shade #ice brady #jana el alfy #sarah strong #kk arnold #kaitlyn chen #so glad to be a uconn WBB fan (emphasis on the W because the M are doing something...)

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floweryvibes · 8 months ago

Text

Puppet Darling - Part 3

Inspired by @wallflowers-in-the-wind’s post here.

Here you can read Part 1 and Part 2 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10

Nesta was hiding. Lucien insisted they split up after Feyre's…breakdown and she had been here ever since.

Stuck in a broom closet.

If her mother was still alive to see this she would have proceeded to keel over and die again.

Nesta snorted.

For a general he was rather bad at this game of hide and seek, though perhaps this would be more up Azriel’s lane.

“Nesta? Nes? Where are you?” Cassian called out, the sound of his boots coming closer.

He passed the broom closet.

“Sweetheart?”

Nesta smirked.

He didn’t even think I would try and hide in a space as…messy as this.

She shifted, the grime from the cleaning supplies sticking to her dark blue dress, her hair falling out of her bun in a messy fashion. Nesta knew she was being petty; not dancing with her mate because he hadn’t complimented her dress.

It was stupid. But so was he, so in her mind, it evened out.

Even though I spent hours preparing.

I mean, if he can compliment Mor’s dress for fifteen minutes straight, surely he could spare me a glance.

Nesta crossed her arms. Until he acknowledges her efforts she wasn’t going to come out of this closet.

The door creaked, making Nesta jump, hitting her head on the low ceiling. A breathless Lucien scrambled inside, shutting the door closed behind him.

He stared at her.

She stared back.

“Excuse me but this hiding spot is taken.” Nesta smirked, raising her eyebrows at the red head.

Lucien only brought his fingers to his lips, begging her to be silent.

Nesta quieted, listening closely to the sounds around them.

There was nothing.

“Lucien, what is-”

He covered her mouth with one hand, listening intently, using the other to pull back the curtains on the small window in the closet, illuminating the whole space with bright sunshine.

Nesta listened too. She heard it now - the soft whispers.

Along the edges of the door she could see them, the small shadows that squirmed and weaved their way through darkness, trying to see what was inside the closet, but failing due to the light’s presence.

Lucien exhaled as the shadows left, removing his hand from Nesta’s mouth, “We’ll have a short while before Azriel realizes where we are.”

“Sorry, but where you are. I am not in on whatever you’re doing.”

“I am trying to find the reason why Rhysand lost control of Feyre.”

Nesta looked at him.

“Feyre said that this is the first time she’s been in control in years, that means something here must have disrupted Rhysand’s power over her.” Lucien explained, “I was sneaking around, trying to find clues when Azriel got suspicious and began following me.”

“Did you find anything?” her voice softened.

“Perhaps.” Lucien muttered, “Apparently a fae called Elanor interrupted the High Lord’s meeting, which was when Feyre left. I suspect she has something to do with this. She is a scholar employed by Helion in the palace. Maybe she has some sort of power, or magic that influences Rhysand.”

“A power? That can influence a High Lord? Please, Lucien, that’s absurd.”

“It is, but it isn’t unheard of. After all, they’re not invincible against ash wood, why can’t something else mess with them? Or any fae for that matter?”

Nesta shrugged, feeling doubtful about the whole situation.

“I am going to try and sneak into her study and see if there’s anything there.”

“What if I tell Rhysand that you’re plotting against him?”

Lucien paled, “You wouldn’t do that…”

“Would I not?” Nesta jutted out her chin.

“You hate him.”

“Oh, and here I thought I was supposed to love him?”

“Nesta, this is your sister, please.”

“Please what?” Nests was annoyed, first Cassian, now Lucien was bothering her.

Can you not leave me to enjoy my quiet and peace for five minutes?

“Please, help me.” Lucien’s eyes were earnest, “Help me save my friend.”

Friend. He was still willing to call her friend after everything.

Nesta sighed, “Fine. I will help you. If next time you won’t bother me when I am relaxing.”

Lucien looked around the small closet they were sitting in, “I am sorry, I didn’t realize we were at a luxurious spa resort.”

Nesta glared, “Do you want my help?”

“Yes, sorry. No more spa jokes.” Lucien nodded apologetically, scooting over to the door and checking the hallway, “It’s clear. We can go.”

She crawled out of the cramped space, following Lucien who dusted his pants off from the dirt that got on his clean pants. Nesta looked down at her dress, covered in dust and soot. She took out her handkerchief, trying to clean it off as well, but it only smudged.

Lucien took the lead, walking down the hallway, carefully checking corners and continuously looking around to ensure they weren’t being followed.

“Are you a ballerina Lucien?” Nesta noted.

“Sorry, but if you haven’t forgotten, an infamous shadowsinger is on the lookout.”

“Right.” she still thought he looked silly.

Nesta hadn’t decided what she thought of her sister’s ramblings. Because truly? Mind control? She couldn’t bring herself to trust such a statement when Feyre had raved about how amazing Rhys was. How he saved her from Tamlin. How the Spring Lord was the worst male to ever walk this planet. How Feyre practically worshiped the ground Rhysand walked on…

Nesta paused, her youngest sister’s panicked expression flashing in her mind.

What if it was true though? What if Feyre truly wasn’t Feyre all this time?

Nesta glanced at Lucien’s concentrated expression.

Lucien took her seriously the moment she confessed.

“How much farther?”

“We’re here.” Lucien turned into another hallway, pressing his ear against the third door, checking if someone was inside. He then pulled out a lockpick and began working the lock.

Nesta kept watch, ready to shut down the operation if anyone came close.

The lock clicked.

“I got it.” Lucien pushed the door open, Nesta stepping inside.

The room was tall, with models of planets hanging from the ceiling amongst the faerie lights. A large window behind the work desk provided additional illumination. Lucien began carefully searching through the items left on the couches, while Nesta gazed at the bookshelf lining the wall in wonder.

She ran a hand down the spine of an ancient text.

Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. The knowledge you must hide within you.

Nesta paused her musings, smirking as her fingers found a romance novel.

My, the smut you hide inside you…

Turning away from the books Nesta walked over to the large work bench covered in papers and various instruments. She leaned in, analyzing the beakers and vials closely.

Which one of you is weakening Rhysand?

Her eyes scanned the crystals, rocks and moss littering the space, stopping on a vial full of golden powder. Nesta huffed, sensing Lucien peeking over her shoulder.

Personal space much?

The sparkles shimmered, mesmerizing her with the lattice patterns being constructed and destructed as it swirled. She picked up the vial, giving it a gentle whirl.

It was definitely a powder, despite its watery visuals.

The door clicked, as someone began unlocking it.

“Shit.” Lucien whispered, quickly taking Nesta’s hand, winnowing them away as the door swung open.

They teleported into the Day Court’s garden’s maze.

“Wow Lucien.” Nests chuckled, “What will the faeries say when they see us here together?”

What would Elain think?

Lucien looked away, putting distance between the two of them as he began navigating his way out of the garden maze, “We needed more time. That powder must be related to this situation somehow.” he gritted his teeth, regretting that he hadn’t grabbed it.

“You mean this powder?” Nesta pulled out her handkerchief, filled to the brim with the sparkling dust.

Lucien stopped walking, staring at the dust, “I thought you said you would sell me out to Rhys.”

“I changed my mind.” Nesta pocketed the powder, “I can’t let you have all the fun now can I?”

“No, I guess you can’t.” he conceded.

“What now?”

“We should find Feyre, tell her what we found.”

“Then we have no time to lose.” Nesta took the lead, “Who knows when our dear High Lord will come looking for us.”

Nesta couldn’t believe the person standing across the ballroom was the same sister who had just been sobbing, begging her for help. Feyre was chatting with Day Court nobles casually, the superior aura that Nesta had grown to despise back in full force. Her sister giggled at something a fae female said, bidding them goodbye as she was left alone.

“Now’s our chance.” Nesta gritted her teeth, ready to hurl the stupid powder into her sister’s face and remind her of the things she had been spouting mere hours ago.

“Wait.” Lucien spoke up before Nesta could get closer, “We can’t just throw the powder at her.”

“Why not?”

“If it is the thing causing him to lose control over her he will find out if he searches her memory, it’s best to be discreet.” Lucien grabbed a tray of wine glasses from a servant passing by, “Put it in here.”

“Should I add it to ours too?”

Lucien hesitated before nodding.

“Isn’t that unsafe?” Nesta asked pointedly.

“It is, we don’t know if it has negative consequences besides disrupting Rhysand’s powers.” Lucien agreed, “But we don’t have to drink, just pretend to.”

Nesta sprinkled some of the powder onto the top of the drinks, pocketing the rest of it afterwards.

“Hey Feyre!” Lucien approached the High Lady of the Night Court, smiling brightly, “How is your evening going?”

“Oh, it’s good.” Feyre smiled, her movements smooth and controlled.

“Good, would you like to have a drink? We wanted to toast to you and Rhysand.” Lucien offered her a glass.

“Haha, you’re so sweet Lucien.” Feyre took one of the glasses, Lucien and Nesta matching her movements.

“To your happy union.” Lucien congratulated.

Nesta looked at her sister, searching for any hint that this whole thing was a ruse. That this was all an elaborate scheme to trick her and Lucien into doing something they weren’t supposed to.

She found nothing but the familiar blue-gray eyes, soulless and void of the spark, the anger and happiness Nesta witnessed in them when Feyre found her and Elain in the kitchen.

Feyre smiled, her eyes glazed over as she tipped her glass to them, bringing it up to her lips. Taking a sip, Feyre’s eyes widened, the panic and clarity Nesta had seen in her sister earlier returning in full force as she swayed, Lucien placing a hand behind her to keep her stable.

“Luc-”

“Don't draw attention.” He said quietly, still smiling, waving to a few emesseries that passed by.

Feyre nodded, blinking away the mist from her eyes.

“How did you do it?”

“We found the thing that does it.” Lucien kept his wording vague.

Feyre breathed a sigh of relief.

“What now though?”

“We need to run.”

“Feyre you can't be serious, that's suicide. Rhysand will easily catch us.”

“We have to!” Her voice rose, catching the attention of a couple noble females nearby, “He knows I am free, he'll come as soon as he can away from talking with Helion and Thesan!”

“Feyre you need to be quiet.” Lucien shushed her, “I understand you're scared but if you yell it'll only get him here faster.”

“We should go a route he wouldn't expect us to.” Nesta spoke up, her mind already spinning with ideas.

“We should just winnow away-”

“No, that's what he'll expect us to do.” Nesta cut Lucien off, “We'll go by foot.”

“By foot, are you crazy? We'll get caught at that rate!”

“Not ‘we’, us, you are staying back.” Nesta gave the order.

Feyre stared at her sister.

“What are you talking about? Of course I am coming with you!” Lucien sputtered

“We need someone to keep an eye on Rhysand, if we leave with no one on the inside we'll be in more danger.” Nesta explained.

Lucien reluctantly nodded, seeing her point, “So you want me to be the sneaky fox on the inside?”

“More like a mole or a rat.”

“I prefer Fox.”

Nesta turned to Feyre, not wanting to continue this useless debate, “Is there anything you need before we leave?”

“Nyx.” Feyre said, “We need to get him. I can't leave him with Rhysand.”

“Where is he right now?”

“With Naula…”

“We can go get him together.” Lucien offered, “Nesta you should stay back to not raise suspicion.”

“Right…” Nesta responded dryly.

“Wait,” Feyre looked to Nesta, “Can you get Elain to come with us?”

“Feyre, I don’t think she wants to leave at this point.”

“It’s dangerous…please, I don’t want her to get hurt.”

So me getting hurt was fine, but her no?

Nesta sighed.

Well…at least we can agree on her wellbeing.

“I’ll convince her.”

“We’ll meet at the docks.” Lucien took Feyre’s hand.

“Why at the docks?” Feyre sounded exhausted.

“You’ll see.”

Nesta found Elain chatting with a group of Day Court herbalists.

“Elain, may I have a word?”

Elain looked annoyed but stepped away with Nesta to the side, “What is it?”

“We need to go.”

“By the Mother, did Feyre convince you?!” Elain looked disappointed in her sister.

“Elain, I think…she might be telling the truth.”

“She was just drunk.”

“Lucien took her seriously.”

Elain quieted at the mention of Lucien, narrowing her eyes, “What did he say?”

“He said it was because of the bargain they struck under the mountain.”

“What bargain?”

Well, at least I wasn’t the only one out of the loop.

“The one that required Feyre to spend a week with Rhys in Night Court.”

“What…?”

“We’re planning on running.”

Those words didn’t sound real to Nesta. The idea that they were finally leaving? After all this time? Abandoning the very thing they-she, had sacrificed so much to?

It was liberating.

“Hold on, isn’t this an overreaction? We should try to talk it out with Rhys, or ask Mor for help. Oh, I am sure Azriel would be willing to listen!”

“Elain-”

“No!” Elain raised her voice, startling Nesta, “You don’t get to tear me away when I just settled in. You don’t get to tear me away from the life that I had built for myself. Feyre was happy living in the Night Court as the High Lady until what? An hour ago? Claiming to have gotten mind controlled?” she took a step forward, “And why are you so keen to believe her? Don’t tell me you’re trying to play the caring older sister after”

Nesta didn’t say anything, watching as her sister caught her breath, calming down.

“Better?”

Elain nodded.

“Elain, I understand that this is all…a lot right now, but I still think that this is a good decision.”

“Leaving?” Elain snapped.

“No, call it taking a vacation.” Nesta corrected, “We’ll go somewhere else. Someplace we can treat as a neutral ground for our conversations with Rhys and the others. If…and when we have resolved this conflict we can go back.”

Elain gently brushed her dress out, processing.

“When are we leaving?”

“Now.”

“The main part of the event is over, you should be able to escape on foot.” Lucien explained as the group, dressed in gray cloaks, approached the port, “You’ll escape on a ship heading back to Summer Court, from where you can travel to Spring and to the human lands.”

“Thank you.” Feyre murmured, holding a bundled up Nyx close to her chest.

“It’s nothing.” Lucien avoided making eye contact with Elain, leading the Archeron sisters to a large transport ship, “I already checked, there is a large crate at the very end of the ship that has free space that won’t get filled up with produce. Hide there.”

With that he winnowed away.

The three sisters exchanged a look, carefully boarding the ship, Nesta keeping a lookout to ensure they weren’t spotted.

Feyre sat quietly, holding Nyx close to her chest, gently bouncing him to keep him quiet.

Elain curled in on herself, while Nesta tapped a rhythm with her finger.

“Is the ship ready to depart?”

“Yes captain!”

“Good, we’ll be departing in fifteen minutes.”

The sailors moved around the ship, chatting and double checking that everything was secure.

Feyre flinched.

Nests cast her a questioning look.

“Sorry, it’s the bond.” Feyre cringed, “Rhysand is screaming at me to return through it.”

“Maybe we should.” Elain said pointedly.

“Absolutely not.” Feyre’s voice regained its previous panic, “We cannot go back.” she hissed.

I hate that look in your eyes.

Nesta gazed at her younger sister.

I hate how weak you are.

Feyre took a deep breath, trying to ease an invisible pain.

Where is my sister? The one who hunted? The one who protected us?

“Captain! Captain! The High Lord of Summer is here!”

“Please, just Tarquin is fine.”

“Right sir.”

“Are we ready to set sail?”

“Yes sir!”

“Don’t High Lords winnow home?” Elain mouthed to Nesta.

They’re supposed to.

She didn’t give her sister a response.

“Sir, please take a look.” the captain opened a nearby crate, “While in Day we were able to purchase some of their wines.”

“There was a second crate with more somewhere over here.” another voice sounded.

Light hit their faces as someone opened the crate they were sitting in. A sailor stared in confusion at them.

“Kid, the other wines are to the left of that.”

“Um, sir. There’s…uh.”

“What is it?” Tarquin’s voice approached, his face appearing beside the younger fae’s.

He made eye contact with Feyre.

“You.” Tarquin glared, his voice like the ocean hitting sharp cliffs.

“T-Tarquin.” guilt flashed across Feyre's face as she pulled away, hiding further in the crate.

“Why the hell are you three in here?”

“Tarq-”

“Here to steal another ancient artifact?”

“No!”

“Let me guess, Rhysand is hiding in one of these as well.”

“High Lord-” Nest was also interrupted.

“No, that’s too beneath him. He’d rather send his dear High Lady here to do his dirty work.”

Feyre looked at him pleadingly.

“Get out.” Tarquin’s face showed no sign of backing down.

Feyre paled, “No.”

“Did I not make myself clear?”

“High Lord.” Nesta spoke up, Tarquin glaring at her instead, “We’re not here to steal from you.”

“Then are you here to have a tea party?” he laughed.

“We’re on the run.”

Tarquin raised an eyebrow, “On the run? From what?”

“From Rhysand.”

The group went quiet.

“What are you talking about?”

Nesta looked to Feyre.

I don’t know how to explain your situation.

“Rhysand used his daemati powers on me.” Feyre explained.

“What are you talk-”

“He started when I first went to the Night Court. After he showed up at mine and Tamlin’s wedding.”

“From what I heard you seemed happy to leave Tamlin.” Tarquin countered, “Didn’t he keep you trapped? You made a big deal over it.”

“I was happy to leave Tamlin.” Feyre said, “But the more time I spent with Rhysand the more he took over my mind. The less I could properly think for myself.”

Tarquin still looked skeptical.

“Please Tarquin.” Feyre begged.

My sister could beg.

Nesta had never heard her take such a pleading tone.

It clearly took Tarquin by surprise as well, his skepticism vanishing for a second. He opened his mouth to speak when a familiar dark voice greeted him, “Tarquin, long time no see.”

“Rhysand, what brings you here?” Tarquin gestured for the fae beside him to cover up the crate, plunging Nesta and her sisters into darkness.

Feyre squeezed Nyx closer to her, her eyes full of fear and quiet tears.

“Ah, I just wanted to stop by and say hello.” Rhysand’s footsteps approached the crate.

“Feyre, you need to breathe.” Nesta whispered to her sister, watching her begin to hyperventilate “You can’t let him know he’s close.”

Feyre nodded, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to remain calm, Elain doing her best to keep Nyx distracted from the situation.

“Say, you haven’t seen Feyre have you?” Rhys asked casually.

Silence.

“No, I haven’t. Why? Did you lose your wife?” Tarquin’s tone was humorous.

“Of course not.” Rhysand said, gritting his teeth, “She said she wanted to go on a walk around the town, so I was just curious if you had seen her.”

“No.” Tarquin smiled, “No, I haven’t seen her.”

“A pity. I was thinking we could have had dinner together if she was still close by.”

“A pity indeed.”

“She probably has gone home then. I hope we’ll get to talk more another day Tarquin.”

“Have a safe trip home, Rhysand.”

The group beside the crate went quiet as Rhysand left. Once safe, Tarquin reopened the crate, “Get out.”

“Tarquin please-”

“I am not kicking you off. I am going to hide you better.”

The three let out an exhale.

“On one condition.”

“Yes?” Feyre asked tentatively.

“You get the fuck out of my court within three days of arrival.” Tarquin helped Feyre out of the crate, “If you do not, I will send sirens after you to show you the door.”

Next: Part 4

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halcome · 7 months ago

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Oh gods I didn't even realize it was Saturday, new Wild Life ep let's go!!! Wooo!!!

(reacting as I watch below)

Gonna do my heart a favor and just edit this post as I watch, seems to be a calm session but with the speed mechanics its only a matter of time before I see someone run off a cliff. Still recovering from the snails, small morsels of content are a must.

Grian's Wild Life Ep. 4

Grian and Mumbo doing their best to help Skizz murder is a delight as always, but I feel like their plans always seem to benefit them in the end and not Skizz.

Already terrified of the minecart cannon Grian made and I dont think theyre fast enough yet to launch it far.

Made some breakfast, some scrambled eggs with peppers and a side of, OMG SCAR

I probs should've guessed he'd immediately put a tnt minecart down to test it but everyone was so close by, gave me a lil scare. Also does Mumbo not have self preservation instincts? Cause everyone backed up but he kept staring at it, barely inching away. Guessing his redstone and curiosity instincts were stronger than his need to stay yellow.

Grian: Mumbo, is the moon fast?

Omg he said the line!

If I remember correctly speed + tnt minecart = more power, Grian holding up a shield was a good effort but dear lord that was quite the death.

Genuinely, what on earth just happened?

Mumbo died the most Looney Toon death I've ever seen, running for water and turned to ash. Scar was an absolute menace too, shooting Grian off that ledge was a very Hot Guy move. I wonder if he'll make it to the very end? I know Grian's targeting Scar now but something tells me he's gonna survive by sheer dumb luck.

SmallishBeans' Wild Life Ep. 4

Cool guys don't look at explosions! Something, something, TNT takes 4 seconds to explode. Timings are demolished.

8:00 Joel on his ballerina arc.

Took a break to finish homework, came back to Jimmy trying to take a chunk out of Joel's "somewhere" ??? Usual shenanigans it seems.

Seen Skizz frolicking in the sunflowers twice now from 2 different viewpoints, he's really enjoying his time on a death game server, proud of em.

Absolutely loving how proud everyone is of Mumbo getting a kill, always nice to see the little reminders that even though this is a death game of bloodshed and betrayal they're still friends in the end. Though I have seen clips of Bdubs holding grudges, so while everyone is friend shaped, they are not forgive and forget shaped.

Joel giving so many diamonds to Lizzie is incredible. Man's forever smitten with his missus. Lizzie the absolute queen!

Absolute chaos at the end with how Joel edited it. I know it was technical difficulties but it just fits so well with how chaotic it was.

Mumbo Jumbo's Wild Life Ep. 4

I know Mumbo placed the creeper from Grian's POV but goodness he's a little rascal given the chance.

Omg that Scott kill though was smooth as heck. He waited so long and it paid off big time. Little block break and plop, there goes the Scott! Absolutely loved how simple it went, the silence from Scott as his brain caught up to him was amazing too. I gotta watch his POV next for sure!

Is it just me or is Mumbo really going after Scott? Tasted blood and immediately became addicted to the one source. If Mumbo ends up being the reason Scott's out of the series ima laugh. The amount of paranoia Scott would have by the end of it would be immense.

And he gave up... Welp, can't wait to see him try and kill Gem next session!

#life series #wild life #traffic smp #traffic spoilers #grian #skizzleman #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #ldshadowlady #smallishbeans #dangthatsalongname

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wasted-women · 1 year ago

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ROUND 1A, MATCH 1 OUT OF 8!

Causes of Death & Propaganda Under the Cut:

Jiang Yanli

Cause of Death: Stabbed; Self-sacrifice to save her brother.

Propaganda:

she's your pfp that's got to count for something

I love JYL don't get me wrong! But also. She is solely written as a part of the male characters and does not get much in her own right. She is Wei Wuxian's older sect sister, or Jiang Cheng's sister, or Jin Zixuan's fiance/wife, or Jin Ling's mother he never got to know. Even what characterization people give her (like liking soup/cooking or standing up for her family despite being gentle) are things that have to do with her brothers. I wish we got more of her in her own right.

AND ALSO. ALSO??? HER DEATH MAKES. NO SENSE. Okay first of all - she was in Lanling grieving for her very recently dead husband & taking care of her newborn baby. Who would let that woman out of Lanling????? WHY???? How did she get out of there SO FAST????? She doesn't have a sword/isn't a cultivator (at least in MDZS) so she couldn't have flown. And then after she got there WHO LET HER JUST OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BATTLEFIELD???? WHY DID SHE GO THERE???? Even if there was a short part of her saying "I need to talk to Wei Wuxian about how he killed my husband and I'm going to get there no matter what" would've clarified things a little bc it's like okay she needs to go there even if we don't know how. Where are my answers MXTX, where are my answers????

Qin Su

Cause of Death: Suicide; Stabbed herself with a knife. (NOTE: In some versions of the story, she was being controlled and thus forced to kill herself.

Propaganda:

I'm fairly certain this character was only created as set dressing for the main villain's tragedy. We get zero insight into her inner life, zero hints that any such inner life might even exist, and after she dies basically no other named character other than the aforementioned villain is shown to be majorly affected by her death, even those who logically should have meaningful relationships with her.

Compared to the other two main female characters in this series (who are also fridged) Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing, Qin Su is probably the least aggravating because she's barely in the show and has very little character that we see. But I still think it's worth noting. I really wish that she could've survived and been there in Guanyin Temple IT COULD'VE BEEN COOL OKAY.

Wen Qing

Cause of Death: Executed; Burned to ashes.

Propaganda:

The fact that Wen Qing is the character that originally said the thing about "I'm sorry" and "Thank you", which is repeated multiple times in the post-resurrection parts of the series, but is so rarely mentioned by name is so aggravating! She's such an important part of the plot that did SO MANY THINGS but just basically disappears after her death!!! The only time I really remember her being mentioned is when her brother, Wen Ning, mentions her integral role in the golden core reveal. Jiang Yanli's ghost haunts the series after her death, but Wen Qing's really doesn't, and that's so fucked up to me. She even dies during the same time that Wen Ning does, but then it's revealed he survived (well, "survived", he is a zombie, but he was that beforehand too) SO WHY COULDN'T SHE HAVE SURVIVED TOO????

#wasted women poll #jiang yanli #wen qing #qin su #mo dao zu shi #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the founder of diabolism #chen qing ling #the untamed #poll bracket #poll tournament #character polls #polls #round 1 #round 1a

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cosmickid-inmotion · 7 months ago

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The Prodigals: Prologue

Dividers by @sister-lucifer (first one) and @kodaswrld (last 2)

Upcoming series: The Prodigals. Leftovers. Failures. Fuck-ups. Losers. Fugitives. Scott and Kurt, left with nothing else, travel universes in search of people like them, heros in hiding or who need a push. They form a new team Frankensteined together by nothing but hope for a better future and to make something of themselves.

Summery for prologue: Nothing Scott could ever do could make up for these failures. But Kurt is going to try to help.

Warning: Suicide attempt, gun to chin type thing much like Marc in Moon Knight. Deaths off screen. Hurt hurt hurt. Then comfort.

A/N: In the words of P!ATD, I'm the narrator and this is just a prologue. More information on this series below. This is not a Kurt and Scott only fic, it's going to be very focused on a multitude of mismatched people. And will be gay. No reader.

And just like that, there was nothing left to live for.

Earth was destroyed, almost everyone Scott loved was dead, and he stood here on top a pile of carcuses of those he killed in vain to save it. What was that slaughter for, if at the end 8 billion were gone still? Just more blood on his hands.

Floating in a useless ship as the world he knew literally burned to ashes, turning in on itself while hellfire rained down, somehow Scott felt the urge to stop the destruction still, even though there was nothing left to save. Every living being, human or mutant, was obliterated, something not even Logan or Wade could survive. Entire buildings were dust.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Kurt would be proud of him for remembering those verses. Were they bible verses, or were they just said in mass? Well, maybe Kurt wouldn’t be proud. It doesn’t matter, because Kurt is about to be as disappointed in Scott as he ever could be, but Scott is taking the coward’s way out. He won’t live to see the disappointment on his only living friend’s face.

The gun was tilted to his chin. No healing factor. One shot, and it would be over. Was it selfish to leave Kurt here alone, with no one? Yes. It was. And the fact Scott was willing to let that happen just because he couldn’t face another second was testament that he deserved to die.

He never deserved the power he was given, the mutation, the gift. He wasn’t worthy. He didn’t deserve Charles mentorship, the authority bestowed on him that he let grow into hubris, pride that made him think he didn’t need to ask for help when he was in over his head.

He got cocky. He got sloppy.

And now there was nothing left to live for, certainly not Kurt who deserved better than him.

“It’s not your time, mien frund.”

Scott sighed, the earth a bright yellow and orange and red out the window he looked. Of course Kurt found a way to him. Of course Kurt never gave up on him. Of course he thinks he can save him now. He chuckles, sardonic sound. “Yeah, was it Logan’s time? Was it Rogue and Remy’s? Do you think they died in each other’s arm?”

“Stop it.”

“Do you think Ororo and Jean were laughing together when they were incinerated?”

“Put the gun down-”

Scott whipped around to face Kurt, gun still trained under his jaw. “Or do you think Jean saw it coming in her head and screamed for me to save her?”

He lost Jean to Logan long ago, and he accepted that. Logan was his friend and he loved both dealy, but that didn’t stop her face from being what he saw at the end of the world.

Kurt’s face turned to that of desperation. Scott hoped desperately the religious young man wasn’t going to lecture him on God’s love. He didn’t want to hear it right now, he wanted to hate himself.

“Please… don’t leave me…” There was a desperation in Kurt’s voice, a pleading, begging even that screamed ‘you are all I have now’ and this is what he was afraid of. This is why he didn’t go find Kurt when he knew it was over. Because there was no way in hell he could look at the younger man’s face, ever-full of love and hope, and abandon him.

The gun was set shakily down on a counsel, and Scott dropped to the floor, the atmosphere burning up below their ship. Everyone in a plane fried up seconds after everyone on earth did, anyone in spaceships or in a station minutes after, while Scott still scrambled to end the carnage in vain. They likely watched their earth burn, the fire itself coming for them.

Kurt did not hesitate to drop to the floor beside him, holding his brother as he wracked with sobs of guilt and grief. They stayed like that until exhaustion fell Scott to the metal floor but the agony hadn’t ended. They didn’t move for hours. When Scott fell asleep in his arms, Kurt stayed right there until he too rested, surrounded by the bodies Scott killed, sliced in half by a man who was more dangerous than anyone Kurt knew when provoked just the right way.

“How did you get in here?” Scott finally managed to ask. He woke up from sleep, having a few moments of bliss before he remembered what happened. Before he carefully pulled away from his friend’s embrace, embarrassed. Before he remembered that they were floating above their dead earth stranded, and it was his responsibility to figure out something that would save the boy’s life. He wouldn’t let him die here.

Kurt reached behind him, pulling out a small dial. “It’s how they got here. Universe portal, but it set it to go here. I think this is our best bet.”

“So what?” Scott brows furrowed until they were under his visor. “We’re just supposed to hop to another universe and compete with another Kurt and Scott? See dead ringers for our friends and work beside them every day?” He got up, still feeling embarrassed to have needed comfort from who he is supposed to be leading.

Blue fingers fidget with the small mechanism. “Well, I was thinking as you slept.” Scott blushed at the reminder. “We could make our own team… Your team.”

That caught Scott’s attention. “What the hell do you mean?”

“There’s got to be other people like us. People who’ve seen shieste and are alone, who need people. Different universes, different teams have those left behind.”

“So… what, get a bunch of fucking losers together?”

Kurt gives a small laugh. “You’re not a loser, mien frund. Far from it. You are a leader.”

Scott closed his eyes, wincing at that. Failure, that’s what he was. “Kurt, I’m not-”

“Our team will be those left behind. Those who never had a chance to be who they could be. You Americans, you love your rag tag team of misfits, no?”

A sigh. “Yeah, we do…”

Kurt pushes the device into his friend’s hand. “We can do good, Scott.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I- everyone is dead, and I know you’ll say it’s not my fault but it is.” He tries to push it back to Kurt, but he refuses.

There is a pause before Kurt speaks again, a young man wise beyond his years considering his words. “I won’t argue with you, because now is not the time… But if you feel you have failed, if you feel you have done wrong in the eyes of God, this can be your repentance. A baptism, a new life for us helping others.”

He wasn’t right for it. He was weak. He was prideful. He was jealous and angry and controlling… but Scott’s guilt burned in him, a tear in his heart he was certain he could never repair. There was no way for him to undo what he did. However, Kurt was so full of hope, a determination to do good and to be good that pulled on Scott like a magnet. For Kurt, he’d try.

Kurt would realize soon enough he wasn’t right. They’d find other heroes worthy to lead, men like Steve Rogers and Charles Xavier. Not like him.

Until then, he’d stay by Kurt’s side.

“Fine. But I’m not leading this frankenstein ass team. I’m just here to keep you alive.”

Kurt smiled at that, grinned, even. “Hurra! Come on, let’s go find us a new home!”

With that, Kurt opened up a portal and practically skipped right through. Scott trailed behind, leaving corpses and the burning earth in his wake.

So off they go! Gonna get their rag tag team of misfits together!

I have not decided everything. In fact, I just came up with this today.

Confirmed characters that will join: Moon knight, daredevil, spiderman, deadpool, the worst logan, Venom, Jessica Jones, remy lebeau

Major themes and warnings: SHIT WILL BE GAY! Im not gonna tell yall right off the bat every ship that will be a thing but we know the x men are messy so there will be mutiple. For sure poolverine. Might have a few trans interpretations of characters if I wanna. If they are trans, im not necessarily gonna tell you right off. This is literally just me going "i like these characters I want them to be a team! I want them to kiss! i want to see them as friends! Homophobia wanring. Will likely include sa attempt, maybe SA but not shown bc this isn't dark. Will definitely talk about SA bc jessica jones so just be prepared, Ill warn yall. I will not necessarily tag everything right away because its v in development but consider this an adult story, 18+ that will talk about dark themes. However, again, this is not dark. Our heros do not SA people. Be prepare for drug use, alcoholism, talk of religion and catholic guilt, lots of religion talk, lots of gay sex and talk of gender. Adventures. Fun times. Episodic! each day they are forming their team with another person Doing crime fighting. We let venom eat bad people here.

Idk if anyone is gonna wanna read this bc its not actually x reader and pretty chaotic. But ima have fun.

if i tag a ship it doesnt mean its gonna be end game, and not tagging doesnt mean its not gonna happen.

lemme if you wanna be tagged going on! but im writing this for my silly enjoyment.

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 7 months ago

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From the Ashes Pt.43

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, Cersei POV, Tywin POV, ooc tywin?, sometimes its hard writing for this guy, can't seem to really get into his head

Words: 3341

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54

All Cersei could do was laugh at Phiobe after the captain revealed what she learned. That (y/n), grungy and awkward as she was, now was some kind of messiah to the foolish people in Essos. Surely, a whole land couldn’t be so enchanted by this outright lie.

“Impossible.” Cersei tried to hide another chuckle with her hand and a shake of her head. “That doesn’t sound like (y/n). Not in the least bit.”

Her fear of (y/n)’s survival had been confirmed a long time ago, but this news had to be a complete fabrication. Even if her sister was alive, the champion of a religion could not be her.

A mirth filled smile tugs up her lips. “And you said she hatched a dragon?”

They were back on the ship, at sea once again and already miles away from the Port of Lys. Up on the deck, the men were enjoying a special treat from their generous captain: spirits and wine. Enough to liven their soul until they reach Yi Ti. The journey would be hard, Phiobe warned everyone in advance. There would be rival pirate ships and naval forces to be wary of. Opportunities for plenty of deaths and injuries.

Phiobe’s door to her quarters is open so they were able to hear the stream of loud merriment from above. She smiled while listening to them and nodded in affirmation. “Oh yes. I thought that was quite incredulous too. There were many people present on that day though and witnessed the whole thing.” Handing Cersei a refilled glass of wine, Phiobe continues. “Even visiting Westerosi tradespeople. Though many of the docks in King’s Landing are shut off due to the war, this information has managed to make its way through White Harbor and Old Town..”

“It can’t be real. Do you believe any of this?” she asked incredulously while hastily consuming her drink. Even back at Casterly Rock, Cersei had never had so much wine and she was starting to grow a great liking to it.

“There have been crazier things that I have heard. Some proving to be true, others clear hoaxes. I won’t believe anything until I see it for myself. Alas, we will pass by Volantis on our way to Yi Ti.” Taking a sip from her glass, Phiboe sets it aside. “Do you think her prince husband is aware that she still lives?”

Cersei prickles at the mention of Rhaegar Targaryen. Their last conversation together still made her ears warm with fury when she played it over in her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think he would necessarily care. During their marriage, he had been in love with another woman.(y/n) doesn’t matter much in Westeros anyway. Going through a civil war where no one is sure who will come out victorious, they will just think it a rumor.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“You jealous little creature.”

Indignation flares across her cheeks as she lets her calm composure shatter. “You-”

Waving her off, Phiobe is still chuckling. “Relax. I suggest you take another sip of your drink. Cersei, I like you. You’ve got an adorable temper and a tongue like a whip. Don’t tell me you’re willing to get yourself killed because you’re jealous of your little sister.”

“And who says I’m going to die?” She digs her nails painfully into her palm, rage pinpoint on Phiobe.

“Dragons and Azor Ahai aside, the truth in the rumor is that she’s alive. You’ve previously tried to kill her, yes? I’ll take that look as yes. The moment I saw you walk away from your uncle, not batting an eyelash as he was killed, I knew you were cold. But you look too polished to be capable of murdering someone with your own hands. No, you with your mountain of gold could easily hire an assassin. Someone’s protecting her. Whether that actually be the soldiers of the Red Temple or someone she hired, your assassin has failed. If she finds out it was your doing. . .” Phiobe heaves a weary sigh. “I won’t protect you or be held accountable for anything.”

Draining what little remained in her cup, Cersei bitterly shakes her head. “(y/n)? No. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t dare hurt me.”

Phiobe heaves out a dry scoff. “Presumptuous of you. Why do you think that?”

She was too important to Jaime. Whatever spell (y/n) had Jaime under, it was no match for the love that Jaime and Cersei had for one another. There was no way he would let harm befall on her. How could she explain that to the captain?

Instead she safely proceeds with “It’s simply foolish to think that (y/n) is capable of such malice. She is not like me. She doesn’t have a spine.”

“I hope you’re right.” Knocking back whatever was left in her own drink, Phiobe stands and walks away from the table.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a few things to take care of. Help yourself to the rest of the bottle. Dinner will be brought up in a few hours.” Phiobe waves goodbye before closing the door and securing it with a lock and key.

As she turns, Ferid stands at attention right in front of her. Respectfully, he nods his tattooed head. The Unsullied fighter had been money well spent. Phiobe had made sure to compensate him appropriately. He could go free if he made up the money she spent on him.

However, even when Ferid had reached the monetary goal, he sadly refused to leave the ship. Fighting and blood had been the only things he had ever known. What would he do with his life? He couldn’t have children, so no woman would want him. Having little knowledge of social protocol besides listening and obeying, he doubted he could immerse himself back into society. He was too broken.

A sad tale Phiobe had heard far too many times. Many of the men on her ship, nearly half of them having been bought, chose to stay despite having the money to leave. Unfortunately it was a feeling Phiobe shared with them. If she ever wanted to quit pirating, what would she do with her life? Live out her days like her mother? That wasn’t the type of life she wanted. Lady Analu possessed a docile temperament; the life she had now was perfect for her. Overly quiet and carefree. Her business was thriving in one of the most beautiful countries. She wanted nothing else in life.

“Captain, may I have a word?”

“Of course. Let's go up top. No doubt Lady Cersei is eavesdropping.” She muses and leads the way back up the solid wood stairs and to the shining sun that glittered across the ocean. “What is it?” Ferid paused, worry heavy in his dark eyes. “Captain. . . Why are you wasting your time with her? You should have just sold her off to Lady Analu or anyone else who was willing to take her off your hands. You are doing Prince Heiu Hoai a disservice by giving him this girl.”

“You don’t know Heiu Hoai like I do, Ferid. Don’t worry, she won’t be our problem for much longer. Besides, like I’ve told you, I find her entertaining. I think maybe she is who I would have been had I grown up in the lap of luxury. If she wants to waste her life trying to kill her sister, its no business of mine. As long as I still get some use out of her.”

“I think she’s perfect for one of the many princes of Yi Ti. Heiu Hoai will be able to match that brat with his own ego.” Dardan chuckles, interrupting their private conversation though Ferid didn’t mind. The big man often budged his way into conversation to offer commentary.

Sighing, Ferid concedes; his worry of the matter diminishing as it seemed he was the only one who was concerned. It was well known that Prince Heiu Hoai had a harem comprised of many different types of ladies.

“Rest assured, dear Ferid, once we get to Yi Ti she’ll be out of our hair and we’ll be in the prince’s favor still!” Phiobe clapped him on the shoulder and managed to pull a small smirk from Ferid. “Remember five years back when we were last back at the palace?”

A pleasant memory for the entire crew. Plenty of food and spirits to gorge yourself silly on. Pleasure produced from the local pillow house was icing on the cake. They were always treated well when in Yi Ti. For the prince, Phiobe produced only the best goods from her various pillages. He always, in return, shared his wealth with all of them. Normally Phiobe wasn’t one for relaxation. She was always on edge and ready for a confrontation. In Yi Ti and staying at Heiu Hoai’s palace, Phiobe was able to truly relax. From there, Cersei could do whatever she wanted. Make her way back to Volantis if she so wished to go through with her plan.

Dardan cleared his throat. “As for the matter of the rumor you heard at Lady Analu’s. . .”

“Ah yes, what have the other sailors heard?”

“Gasif confirms hearing it in the nearby tavern. As does Qateel.” Confirmed her quartermaster.

Phiobe knew the whole story sounded crazy. But it was coming from three different sources. Possibly many more.

“The dragon part doesn’t sound too farfetched.” Admitted Fedir. It was known that there were still dragons roaming in the Shadowlands. Beyond the territory of the city of Asshai.

“Yes but the fact that the Red Temple has an interest in her. . . That’s not something to be ignored.” A fantastical tale, yet Phiobe had to admit that she herself was starting to think it might be true. “It doesn't matter. I’m not getting us involved. If Cersei wants to attack their prophet, so be it.”

Fedir’s shoulders appear to sag in relief to hear that. His captain hadn’t completely gone mad. The royal brat would be gone soon enough. He just had to be patient and ignore her as much as he could. Those calculating eyes of hers though. . . They tended to unnerve him. Chilling, much like Phiobe’s. Maybe in another life, where Phiobe was the one with blue blood and Cersei a lowlife in society, Cersei had the possibility of being pirate captain. In her contained brutality that would rise her in the ranks had she the proper skill and training. Phiobe had started at a young age. Wanting to protect her mother from rape that so frequented the poor and slaves, Phiobe decided to learn how to use a sword. Initially her plan had been to protect her mother. From there she prospered into a true killer.

If the girl ever wanted to become like Phiobe, she still had a long way to go. A path he would suggest to no one.

Still, there was a long way to Yi Ti. While Phiobe wished to get there as soon as possible, it would be nearly impossible to not stop for supplies unless she wanted a few of her men to die. Eventually they would have to stop. Ghiscar preferably. Phiobe wanted to be sensitive toward Fedir and not stop in Astapor even though she had good connections there. He didn’t have the fondest memories.

She would never allow Cersei to escape though she saw the determination in the girl’s eyes. If she planned on escaping from Phiobe, she would have to kill the captain. That was no easy feat.

“Please. . .” Her breathing is labored as she begged her husband. “Please don’t let her die. Tywin, she can’t die.”

That moment had always plagued Tywin Lannister.

Her flushed cheeks streaked in tears, pleading green eyes that drowned behind saline.

What had she expected him to do at that moment? He was but a mortal lord and did not have the power to resurrect the dead. Tywin, always weak to his wife’s every whim, retrieved (y/n) from the midwife making the nursemaids scurry around him. (y/n) was a small baby. A tiny creature to have caused such a ruckus. If he hadn’t been there with Joanna, Tywin would have thought the baby to be sleeping.

He feared disappointing Joanna if he didn’t wake her to the living world.

Never one for physical affection, holding the baby had been very awkward for Tywin. Especially when he held the baby so close to his chest that his nose came to the crown of her sprucely haired head. He hadn’t even held Jaime this close when it was announced that the younger twin was a boy. An heir.

Not knowing what to do, he gently begins to rub at her small back. His mind whispered thousands of prayers in seconds as dread began to make his stomach heavy. The baby was not waking and he didn’t feel her breathing either. Joanna was going to be devastated.

That’s when, as a last ditch effort, he leans his lips down to whisper to (y/n). . .

“Your Grace?”

He doesn’t jump but Tywin is still startled when his footman announces the arrival of his sister. While he owed his sister a great debt for helping take care of the children after Joanna’s death, Genna wore out Tywin every time they were forced to interact. Now most certainly she would be filling his halls with her crying. He would miss Kevan too, but there was no point in weeping. Tywin would find whoever did this and make them pay a heavy price. Then he would be able to find Cersei. When the news of her abduction and what had happened on his ship, Tywin made sure to secretly send a letter out to Dorne. Not that much news was able to make it to King’s Landing due to Aerys closing all the gates. He could ride to Dorne himself without Aerys ever finding out. But there were matters to attend to in Casterly Rock. Ser Kevan’s remains had been unloaded from the docks and transported to Casterly Rock’s private sept. He would be buried in the tombs of Lord Tytos and his father before him. The ship had been eerily floating along Lannisport’s shores with no crew to be seen on deck.

On cue, Tywin could hear his sister’s whimpers grow louder and louder until his councilroom door was thrown open. “Oh Tywin! How horrible!”

Grimacing as she proceeded to throw her heavy arms around him, Tywin only allows her wallowing for a few seconds before clawing his way out of her grip. “Yes, very horrible- Genna please.”

“First Jaime and now Kevan and Cersei. What have we done to displease the gods so much?” There were many things Tywin could name that would put the Lannister family on the god’s bad side but he was not going to say any of them; not in the presence of his hysterical sister.

As delicately as he could, he sits his sister down and safely moves to his own chair. Having distance between them, Tywin let out a sigh and places his hands on the polished wood table. She must not know about the rumor circulating about (y/n). A fantastical story no doubt that had everything from magic swords to dragons and his daughter being in the center of it all.

“Help her, Tywin. Help her.”

Genna loudly blew her nose in her handkerchief, a large and curvy ‘G’ and ‘L’ were embroidered onto it with gold thread. Tywin would be surprised if his sister even brought up (y/n) let alone Tyrion. They were already ghosts even when they lived in Casterly Rock. Forgotten and ignored as background specters. Sad, lonely eyes-

“They still haven’t found Cersei, have they?” Genna asked abruptly as she had composed herself slightly. She’s dabbing at her eyes and sniffling as Tywin shakes his head; no, they had not found Cersei. Her body, thankfully, had not been among the dead they found on the abandoned ship. She must still be alive somewhere. “I’m sure she’s okay. She’s always been made of tougher stuff, that Cersei.”

“Always wanting to be one of the boys.” Tywin mutters but it makes his sister chuckle lightly.

She nods her head, fondly remembering when times were sweeter. When Cersei and Jaime were younger, they appeared nearly identical; both with golden hair and fair skin. They didn’t have any of the traits that distinguished their gender so Cersei found it simple to disguise herself as her twin brother. Tywin had been furious when Cersei had snuck into Jaime’s sword lessons. She could have seriously been injured. Joanna always laughed when it happened, trying her best to admonish Cersei but she found her daughter’s spunky attitude endearing.

“Gods Tywin. . .” Her face crumbled but Genna put a hand over her eyes. “Cersei has to be alive. She just has to.”

His savior came in the appearance of his footman, knowing the drill when it came to Genna, alerted him of an appointment he had in just a few minutes. Genna nods and bids goodnight to her brother. Tywin would have to better prepare himself for tomorrow when they would enter Kevan’s body to his grave.

A glass of wine was brought to him as was a small meal of lamb. He had no appetite and pushed it aside, preferring the wine as nourishment. Pale green eyes stare at the paper in front of him, Tywin’s mind unconsciously drifting to the dream he had had the night before. Joanna had visited him. Even now she was clear in his mind, a perfect picture. Rosy pink cheeks that made the rest of her pale face bloom. Her gold curls coiled and braided in such an expert fashion that Tywin always found appealing. Pearls had been strewn through her hair and adorned her seafoam green gown that spilled all around her. A vision so perfect Tywin thought that he might have died in his sleep.

Her smile didn’t mirror his own. It was soft and standoffish.

“My dear, it’s time to acknowledge her.” Joanna whispered, not unkindly. Her hands feel warm as they cup Tywin’s cheeks, brushing her thumbs across his sideburns. “You can’t continue to ignore her. She needs your help. Please my dear. The Great War is coming and she needs your support.”

She might have sounded delusional to anyone else but Tywin. Many years ago, when she was heavily pregnant with (y/n), Joanna had mentioned something a dreadful event she had dreamed about. Describing two warriors among ashes. One of them, long blonde hair peeking out from a dragon-shaped helmet, had looked at her with green eyes. Joanna believed it to be (y/n). That was the last time she had ever spoken of the dream, but Tywin could tell that it bothered her. Even after (y/n)’s birth, Joanna still seemed troubled about (y/n)’s life. When (y/n) had been found in the lion’s den, all that blood made her faint with the belief that her daughter was dead.

In their marriage, Joanna had proven to always be right. She was smart and tactful for a woman. Tywin had decided that’s where Cersei got her own analytical mind from. Whether is was a matter of state or that of a personal nature, Joanna knew the answer.

Disbelief still numbed Tywin. (y/n) and Jaime were alive.

How had (y/n) survived death so many times? It seemed unnatural.

Anxiously he runs a hand over his face. This was all preposterous. Everything was lining up though in an eerie way that followed Joanna’s nightmares.

The conference hall was dark by the time Tywin pokes his head out to instruct his guard to deliver a message to his captain of arms. His head was still whirling and he wasn’t completely sure this was the smart thing to do.

Joanna’s voice echoed firmly in his memory: “She’ll need a naval force for her homecoming.”

He would trust in his wife. Always.

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hbyrde36 · 8 months ago

Text

It's Only Forever

[Penny Art - Eddie's Introduction] [Penny Art Link - The Ball]

[SissayeRys Art Link]

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5

Chapter 6: Magic Dance

Feat. a new art piece by @penny00dreadful!!!!!!!!! 😍

Tick, tock.

The further the unlikely fellowship of strangers-turned-friends got from the bog, the more the trees surrounding them began to fill out. Bare brittle trunks and branches were replaced with dense bark and vibrant leaves.

They were headed into another forest.

Great.

Thankfully, even as the humidity eased, the air remained warm and free from falling ash—or whatever that stuff had been—and these woods lacked the vague yet distinctly sinister vibe of the last Steve had trekked through. He allowed himself to relax, knowing that, either way, at least he wasn’t alone this time.

“So, what’s in the castle that’s worth going to all this trouble for anyhow?” Jonathan asked from his perch atop Argyle’s shoulder, his poofy tail bobbing with each of the gentle giant’s footsteps.

Steve swallowed hard, the ever present guilt for what he’d done, unintentionally or not, sitting like a lead weight in his gut. “My little brother.”

“Oh,” Jonathan replied softly.

Argyle threw a sideways glance at Steve, smiling without a hint of judgment on his face. “Tell us about him?”

“Dustin—he’s thirteen, a huge dork, and the biggest pain in my ass,” Steve began simply, returning Argyle’s flash of teeth with a grateful smile of his own.

“But he’s also the best little brother anyone could have. My mom and dad split up when I was really young, and before I knew it, mom was remarried with another baby on the way, and I—” he broke off with a little shake of his head, and stared out into the trees.

“I should have been there for him more. It all feels pointless now looking back, but I was so busy trying to live up to what I thought I was supposed to be that I just… ignored him most of the time. Worse, like a total asshole, I was mad at him for still managing to stay his dorky self, no matter how much our parents tried to train it out of him. And Instead of protecting him from the same pressures they’d put on me, I was… jealous. I love that little nerd, and I need him to know that. I have to fix this.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll help you get him back,” Jonathan said, patting his steed on the head. “Right, Argy?”

Argyle nodded enthusiastically.

A little too enthusiastically, and the only thing that kept Jonathan from tumbling off Argyle’s back was a firm grip on the creature's horns.

“Sorry, little dude,” Argyle murmured sheepishly. “Just excited to help. Y’know, I’ve always wanted a brother.”

Jonathan’s tail began to wag in earnest, his mouth dropping open into an unmistakably pleased canine grin. “I’ll be your brother!”

Argyle roared in celebration, spinning himself and his newfound brother around in circles as they rushed ahead through the trees shouting, “You hear that?! I got a brother!”

Steve chuckled at the display, turning around to share his laughter with Robin only to find her some yards behind, jogging towards him.

When she caught up to where he waited for her, Steve tried to apologize, feeling terrible for not realizing she wasn’t with them, but Robin took one look at him and spoke first, interrupting.

“That’s not fair!” She huffed, annoyed, glaring at the top of his head. “How did your hair go right back to normal?!”

Steve tossed his head around, shaking his hair out before running tentative fingers through it. It did feel much less voluminous already, but without a mirror he’d have to take her word for it that it was already back to its former glory. Robin, however, still looked like a poodle who’d accidentally electrocuted itself.

“Superior hair care products?” He offered with a shrug.

She grumbled something like, “superior hair care products my ass,” and together they turned towards the direction of Argyle and Jonathan’s voices, still hooting and hollering in the distance.

“Hey, uh, by the way, I found… I found this,” Robin said, resting a hand on Steve’s arm, stopping him, just as he was about to suggest they hurry and catch up before the others got too far away.

“I thought you might be getting hungry.”

Steve looked down as she pulled something from her pocket, and found resting in her hand the plumpest, most delicious looking peach he’d ever seen.

She was absolutely right. Steve was starving, and by the time the sweet smell of the ripe fruit reached his nose, he was already salivating. He could have kissed her. It was like she’d read his mind.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver!”

His hunger was suddenly overwhelming, and Steve didn’t hesitate to take the peach from her palm and dive into it, barely chewing before swallowing his first bite. The juice that rolled over his tongue tasted a little funny, but he imagined that was to be expected. Of course fruit from the labyrinth might taste different from what he had at home, and honestly he was famished enough not to be picky about it.

On his second bite, the strange flavor, almost metallic in nature, settled on his tongue again. Everything from his lips, down his throat, and all the way to his stomach felt warm and tingly, as though he’d taken an extra large swig of cheap vodka. Not entirely unpleasant, but it made his head swim. That, and the fact that his entire body was breaking out in a cold sweat, set off alarm bells in his brain.

“What…” Steve spat out what was left in his mouth, but he already knew it was too late. “Robin, what have you done?”

The world tipped on its axis, sending him stumbling into a nearby tree, the remains of the peach falling from his grip to roll away and lay forgotten on the forest floor. He sank to sit at the base of it, looking up into Robin’s tear filled eyes as she slowly backed away from him.

“Damn you, Eddie!” She cried out, adding softly, “and damn me too,” before turning heel to run.

Steve took a deep breath, opening his mouth to call out to…

To…

To who?

He was traveling with others, he was almost sure.

Maybe he should go find them.

Hmm.

Where was he anyway?

And why was he sitting on the ground?

Didn't he have somewhere he needed to be?

He tipped his head back to rest against the rough bark of a tree that seemed to be propping him up. Standing seemed like way too much work, and the trees sure were pretty here.

And if he did have companions, surely they’d notice he was missing and come back to find him.

The wind picked up as he mulled it over, and the swirling air felt wonderful as it dried the thin layer of sweat sticking to his skin. It also brought along with it a handful of bubbles, like those you might blow with soap and a small round wand in your backyard in summer; iridescent, shining, and magical, except these were as big as Steve’s fist, and seemed to hover with a purpose around his head. A head that grew heavier by the second as he slumped further and further down the base of the tree, till he was nearly laying down atop its roots.

There was something familiar about them, beyond the fact that they were bubbles. Something niggling at the back of Steve’s mind, equal parts unnerved and intrigued by these perfect, clear spheres.

As he gazed into them, hazy images appeared.

Couples in formal dress, dancing in circles across a polished marble floor.

A crystal chandelier swaying gently back and forth, some distant light glinting off the many faceted strands that hung from it.

A stunning stranger, lurking in the dark.

And finally, Steve saw himself, standing in the same swath of shadow wearing a beautiful white suit of intricate design.

But that couldn’t be right. If he was here, how could he be there? Or… was he there and not really here? Or maybe he was just tired, and in need of a nap.

Yeah.

Steve stopped fighting, and finally let his eyes fall shut.

Everything would make a lot more sense when he woke up.

Steve stood at the edge of a sprawling dance floor, the shining tips of his heeled boots resting on the invisible border separating the center of a grand ballroom, the area meant for dancing, from the round banquet tables surrounding it on every side.

Slowly he took in his surroundings, getting the strangest sense there was something he was missing—no. Something he’d been looking for.

Something, or someone he needed to find.

Hanging high overhead were a dozen or more enormous chandeliers, dripping in crystals that caught the room’s light, reflecting and refracting it to throw glittering rainbow patterns all along the white stone walls.

Countless couples, all donning elaborate masks of various shapes and sizes, textures and colors, spun round and round the space to the sweeping and romantic melodies played by an unseen band.

The women wore exquisite full ball gowns. Their voluminous silhouettes with billowing sleeves, fine details of lace, beaded bodices, and other delicately embroidered designs were incredibly eye-catching.

The men, wearing their own finery, were a bit more reserved—

Save for one.

Weaving his way through the pulsing sea of bodies, Steve moved towards a dark figure in the crowd. It was a man, his mask unlike any other, starkly black, and adorned with the likeness of a goblin, topped with long devil-like horns. Though he held the covering up in front of him concealing most of his face, the mass of dark curls and deep brown eyes that peered out from behind it spoke of a beauty that no doubt extended to the rest of the man’s form.

He was unmatched in dress, outfitted with a distinctive double-breasted coat that cinched at the waist, accentuating the man’s lithe figure, the length of it fanning out to the sides and behind, hanging practically to his ankles. It was satiny black, with swirling floral accents and creeping ivy done in a dazzling midnight blue. A cluster of roses in the same dark hue clung to one shoulder, cascading down his arm to settle at his wrist.

Underneath it all was a bare chest wrapped in nothing but a black lace waistcoat, see-through enough to allow even more of the pale flesh beneath it to peek out, riding just above a pair of skin tight pants which left very little to the imagination.

Steve saw it all in a flash before the many dancers between them turned, and his handsome stranger was swallowed up by the crowd.

Of all the things Eddie might have expected to come out of Steve’s subconscious—a high stakes basketball game, with himself as captain at the helm of the winning team, perhaps? Or whatever other pointless pursuits spoiled rich boys and stuck up jocks dreamt of.

A Masquerade ball certainly wasn’t high on the list.

Who was he kidding, it wasn’t even on the list.

Perhaps it was time to admit to himself that maybe there was more to Steve than met the eye.

Eddie entered the extravagantly decorated ballroom and immediately began stalking his way around the perimeter, sparing little more than a glance at the beveled floor to ceiling columns wrapped in shimmering gossamer fabric—or the fine linens, in layers of white, gold, and silver that adorned the tables, their centerpieces made up of glass bowls of varying size overflowing with fragrant blossoms, white jasmine and gardenia.

And he paid no mind to any of the figures performing their elegant dance. He only had eyes for one of this soiree’s attendees.

Steve.

He had to find him, and see if the spell really worked.

A task, it turned out, that took barely any effort at all. Seconds into Eddie’s search, the crowd parted in such a way that left a clear line of sight straight across the dance floor.

And there Steve was, sparkling like a diamond in the center of it all, a flawless, precious stone whose mere presence made everything around it seem dull in comparison. Or maybe a pearl was the more accurate analogy, with the way his crisp white suit shone, standing out in a sea of muted color.

Embossed with a thick mesmerizing pattern of trailing stems, leaves, and thorns, and laden with glittering beads sewn in, the jacket was expertly fitted and uniquely cut to perfectly frame an impressive swath of chest hair—just begging for someone to come along and run their fingers through it—wholly visible through the sheer white top he wore beneath.

His crown of hair, impressive as it’d been before, was now impossibly styled to defy gravity and reality itself, with its ornate swirls and swoops, decorated with flashes of silver and gold, sparkling jewels, strands of iridescent pearls, and a few delicate sprigs of baby’s-breath.

Eddie might be the king here but it was Steve who truly looked like royalty now. Someone deserving of the truest love and deepest devotion. A figure worth serving—worth falling to your knees for.

And underneath it all—the magic, the attitude, the trappings of the Goblin King, Eddie was still just a man.

Powerless to resist.

While Eddie was busy staring it seemed Steve had taken notice of him too, and began walking towards him.

In a moment of panic, Eddie took advantage of a passing couple, using them for cover as he vanished from sight. He reappeared in a different corner of the room, leaving Steve wearing a puzzled expression, head swinging back and forth around the floor, searching.

Had Eddie’s spell failed?

There was definitely something in the other boy’s gaze, in those seconds when they’d briefly locked eyes, some spark of recognition.

Except… Steve didn’t seem in any distress. Surely he would be at suddenly finding himself in these unusual surroundings if his memory was intact.

As Eddie watched from his new position, Steve picked his way through the assembly, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd until again they locked eyes. Eddie's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Steve’s mouth spread into a sly grin. Steve took two steps forward, and for a second time Eddie magicked himself out of sight.

Only now, he moved closer instead of away, placing himself just behind the other boy’s broad back.

It was now or never.

Still holding his mask up with one hand, Eddie reached out with the other, settling his palm on Steve’s lower back, and leaned in to speak softly in his ear. “Looking for someone, sweetheart?”

With a quiet gasp, Steve whirled to face him.

On the outside Eddie made sure to put on a confident smile, but inside he was on his guard, waiting for Steve to pull away, to be scared, to be angry… something. But the boy in front of him only bit his full bottom lip, his cheeks turning the most alluring shade of pink.

Eddie had never wanted to taste something more than this boy’s mouth ever in his life.

“Not anymore,” Steve replied, reaching up to wrap his hand around the stick Eddie held, pulling the mask away from his face and letting it fall to the floor. “I think he just found me.”

Feeling suddenly unmoored, and breathless, Eddie fought to keep his cocky persona in place and not squirm under the scrutiny as Steve openly admired his suddenly bare face.

“Do I… know you?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes a little, but quickly shook his own head, not waiting for a response. “Sorry, that was a silly question. There's no way I could forget meeting such a beautiful creature.”

Everything from the base of Eddie’s neck to the tips of his ears went hot. In an effort to hide the sudden blush that was sure to be wreaking havoc on his paler-than-pale complexion, he took one of Steve's hands, raised it to his lips, and kissed the back of it.

“Eddie,” he introduced himself, looking straight into Steve's captivating hazel eyes with his mouth still inches from his skin. He had to do something to regain a little footing in the wake of Steve’s charm.

“Steve,” the other boy replied with a tilt of his head, when Eddie finally let him go. “Can I confess something to you, Eddie?”

Eddie studied his face for a long beat, looking for any sign that this was all an act, a ruse to throw him off guard, but Steve really did seem to have no idea who he was.

He nodded.

Steve stepped into him, sliding his hands up and over Eddie’s shoulders while he leaned in close enough to press their bodies together, their cheeks brushing as he whispered into Eddie’s ear. “It’s my first time. I think it might be best if you lead so I don’t embarrass myself.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, and he found himself clinging to Steve’s lapel to steady himself. “W-what was that?”

Steve let out a low, breathy chuckle. “Dancing, Eddie. It’s my first ball, of course.”

Oh and if Eddie didn’t already want to eat him alive.

“Of course,” he repeated back, squeezing where he gripped Steve’s hips for a moment before backstepping, forcing Steves hands to slide back down over the length of his arms so he could take hold of them again, leading the other boy in a turn away, only to snap him right back in so they danced chest to chest.

Steve’s smile was wide when they came crashing back together, his eyes sparkling with it, and he tossed his head back with delighted laughter.

It was the second time in as many minutes that Eddie saw and heard what Steve was like when he was happy, when he was enjoying himself and not running for his life, or searching for his brother.

It wasn’t something Eddie’d gotten to see very much in his spying, or since. But he supposed that was his own fault… wasn’t it.

Right.

As they danced Eddie did his best to ignore the uncomfortable feelings, the guilt and shame threatening to bubble up to the surface and ruin everything, and remember what the goal was here. But Steve really was something else, coy one moment, and pressing himself into Eddie the next with a confident smirk.

It was all too easy for Eddie to let himself get lost in it, to forget who he was supposed to be, who Steve was supposed to be, and enjoy it—just for a little while.

“So, why me?” Steve asked as the music slowed, and the pace of their dance along with it.

For a split second Eddie panicked, thinking of only one reason for the question, but Steve quickly went on.

“I mean, to look at you I wouldn’t exactly think I was your type. And let’s be honest, you could have your pick of anyone here.”

They definitely made an unusual pair on the surface. Even discounting their greatest difference, namely that Steve was a normal human boy, and Eddie was… whatever he was. They were all contrasts. Dark and light, like the sun and the moon herself.

But what was one without the other?

With a little shake of his head, Eddie tugged Steve in close by his hips. Then, with a supportive hand, guided him back into a low dip, leaning over his stretched body. The urge to lick his stomach through the thin fabric was almost overwhelming. “Have you seen yourself, sweetheart? You are quite literally the belle of the ball.”

Eddie brought him back up carefully, until they were practically nose to nose.

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Steve said, breathy and a little demure, but he also tipped his head in acknowledgement.

He knew exactly how good he looked.

Eddie was in so much trouble.

“Tell me something about you. Something no one else knows.”

It was dangerous territory, unless Eddie was willing to make up stories, and it was probably well past time to give up the charade, but Eddie just couldn’t find the will to stop.

Still, he chose his reply carefully.

“I know I look like a winter, but deep down, I'm an autumn.”

Steve rolled his eyes, playfully swatting him on the shoulder. “You know what I mean, something real.”

Real.

It was such a foreign concept to Eddie at this point, and something he only allowed himself to be when he was alone with Chrissy, or just, alone period.

“I… I had an uncle—Wayne,” Eddie began hesitantly. “I, uh, lost touch with him some time ago.”

“You miss him.”

It wasn’t a question, but Eddie nodded anyway. “He and my dad didn’t get along. Couldn’t blame him, my old man was a piece of work. Made it hard for Wayne to see me when I was a kid, but whenever he did manage to steal me away he made sure I knew I was loved. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

Eddie didn’t realize he’d started welling up until the first hot tear escaped from the corner of his eye. Before he could reach up to wipe it away Steve was already there with a gentle stroke of his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Steve said quietly.

“Don’t be. It’s—I don’t let myself think about the past very often, but it’s kinda nice to talk about him, even if it hurts.”

“Okay—” Steve cleared his throat, as if seeing Eddie upset had made his own voice thick with it too, before speaking again. “How about… sunset or sunrise?”

“Are we playing twenty questions now?” Eddie asked, casting him a crooked grin.

“Maybe not the full twenty. I wouldn't want to bore you.”

“Not possible,” Eddie countered without hesitation. After everything he’d seen the other boy accomplish and overcome, he knew nothing, not even a mundane conversation with Steve could ever be boring.

“Again with the flattery,” Steve tsked. “What’s your answer?”

“Sunset,” Eddie said finally, after making a show out of thinking about it as they made another turn around the room. “Sunrise almost always means something has gone horribly wrong and I've stayed up far too late. What about you?”

“Personally I think it depends on what sort of activities have kept me awake so long past my bedtime. Watching the sunrise in a lover’s arms, for instance. It sounds… romantic, don’t you think?”

Eddie made a noise low in his throat, deep and rumbling. He could picture it all with ease. Steve in his bed, the wide open windows of his bedchamber giving them a perfect view of the sun’s first light as they lay tangled together, sweat still drying on their skin.

“Is it too late to change my answer?”

Steve laughed brightly, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

They danced in comfortable quiet for a while, eyes fixed on each other as they moved to the music as one, finding their rhythm together whenever one song ended and another began, until a particularly melancholy tune filtered through the air.

Their movements slowed to the point that they were simply swaying in place, holding one another. And though they were still surrounded by other couples, it felt as if they were the only two people in the room.

“What are you most afraid of?” Steve whispered into the space between them.

Eddie could have gone easy on himself, gave a more standard answer like spiders, or snakes, something tangible, easy to understand—easy to dismiss with a laugh or a scoff. But it seemed he was under Steve's spell just as much as Steve was under his, and so, truth.

“Ending up alone forever.”

Steve’s eyes swam as he held Eddie’s gaze, the wetness there spilling over as he answered in kind.

“Me too.”

They weren’t even dancing anymore.

Eddie took Steve’s face into both of his hands, returning the favor of drying his cheeks. “Not heights?” He asked, hoping to soften the heavy and bring a smile back to Steve’s face.

“How did you know?” Steve asked, and there it was, a small but growing upturn of lips. “But not my biggest fear. In fact, I’ve always thought that with the right person by my side, I could handle just about anything.”

Mirroring Eddie’s own stance, Steve reached up to cradle his face and surged forward.

The moment Steve’s lips met his, Eddie lost all sense of space and time. There was nothing but the softness of his mouth, and the sweet taste of him. The way their tongues danced together, as their bodies had been doing all night, like they already knew each other intimately.

They separated too soon, bumped by another pair of dancers in passing, and Steve looked as gone as Eddie felt.

He grasped Steve’s hand and led the way through the crowd, eyes searching for a doorway, a hallway, a dark corner—anywhere they might be able to be alone.

Nothing.

As they reached the end of the room Eddie waved his free hand at the wall. From one blink to the next, a pair of french doors appeared in the middle of the once solid surface. Without stopping or even slowing down, Eddie pushed them open, and he and Steve walked out onto a wide terrace under a midnight sky.

The only light came from the stars above, but even in pitch black Eddie’s lips would have had no trouble finding Steve’s again. Like muscle memory they came together in the shadows, kissing like it was a need greater than air.

Eddie groaned as Steve’s hands wound into his hair, fingernails scratching, gripping lightly at the root. His own hands made their way south, finding heaven in his palms as he at last allowed himself to touch the swell of Steve’s ass, caressing and kneading the supple flesh through too many clothes.

With a desperate whine, and without breaking their kiss, Steve forced Eddie back until his body met wall, and he found himself sandwiched between hard stone and Steve’s firm body.

Steve's mouth wandered from Eddie’s lips to the side of his neck, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin of his throat before moving down his chest, to where bare skin was cut off by clothes. Still, Steve continued to slide down his body, hot puffs of breath making Eddie shiver even through fabric as Steve slowly sank to his knees.

In his current state, Eddie wasn’t exactly sure if he could die or not, but if he could he was pretty sure the sight before him would have sent him into an early grave. But goddamn, at least he’d go happy.

Steve rested his hands on Eddie’s thighs, gripping tight as he leaned in to nuzzle his cheek over Eddie’s groin, where he was already almost painfully hard, had been halfway there since they started kissing.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever been looked at or held like an object of desire before, and he hadn’t been touched at all in… well, decades. Even before he came to be in the Labyrinth, as a queer boy in the middle of nowhere in the 80’s, he wasn't exactly drowning in dick.

Steve mouthed at his length through the cloth, tilting his eyes up as he reached for Eddie’s waistband, as if asking for permission.

And sure that’s why he dragged Steve out here, but that was in a moment of weakness. He… he didn’t think.

Or maybe he just hadn’t dared to hope.

But it wasn’t right, not like this, not when Steve was being deceived in such a complete way.

He had to stop this now before it went too far.

“Wait—” Eddie said, the word choked off as he fought back a moan.

But Steve didn’t seem to hear, too lost to Eddie’s body and his own desire.

“Steve, stop—” Eddie managed to force his voice to sound strong and steady. Steve froze, looking up with confused eyes as Eddie bent down and helped him to his feet. “You don’t want to do this, trust me. You wouldn’t want me… if you knew.”

Steve was only more confused, the look in his eyes quickly bleeding into concern. He reached up, tucking a stray curl behind Eddie’s ear. “If I knew what, baby?”

Baby.

Eddie shivered, his grip on Steve’s arms tightening. How had he ever harbored such awful thoughts about him? The sweet boy he’d met tonight and, let’s face it, the dedicated brother he’d seen all along but chose to ignore, willing to do anything, and risk it all to get Dustin back. It didn’t matter that Steve wished his little brother away, what mattered was that he's sorry, that he knew he made a mistake and wanted to make it right.

“What I’ve done. What I am,” Eddie answered, leaning in, resting his forehead gently against Steve’s as he whispered the admission.

“What are you?” Steve asked, just as softly.

“A fool.”

Eddie knew now what he had to do.

With one final feather-soft brush of lips, he let Steve go, stepping back to squeeze his eyes shut. He imagined this reality resting inside the protective bubble of one of his crystal balls, the walls holding it together clear as glass and just as breakable. In his mind he raised one closed fist in the air, and with a flick of his wrist spread his fingers wide.

The unseen explosion sent a shockwave through the air, shattering the ball into a million pieces, breaking the vision along with it.

Consequences be damned.

Chapter 7: Thirteen O'Clock

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myocsfanfictions · 2 months ago

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The Vengeful Deceiver - Teen Wolf Fanfiction

Scarlett Black, she has been a vampire for 8 years and now forced to go back to school, forced to control herself in front of so much food. All for a puppy.

MASTERLIST

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Chapter 10

"We could have gone to my place," Scarlett said, looking at the house that once belonged to the Hales.

"What?" Derek asked, looking at her. "Too many memories are going to mess up your coldness."

That made Scarlett smirk as she crossed her arms. "That’s not very polite to talk about how cold I am." The usual Derek Hale. She was used to him and his behavior. The two of them had never gotten along that well. They never saw eye to eye. They were very different, there were no hard feelings, but Derek was not one of her favorite people on the planet.

She followed him inside as he opened the red door. Scarlett observed it, touching the frame with her fingers. She still remembered the first time she had entered that house. It was very different now. She remembered how big it was, well-kept, there were many flowers in the garden. Thalia used to love them. And there were many rooms, and beautiful furniture.

When she was inside, she saw the stairs, and she remembered how Cora used to like running up and down those stairs. Scarlett still remembered where everybody slept. The room they had given her was upstairs on the right. The second door, right next to Peter’s room, that made it much easier for them to sneak into the other room, so that they could fool around.

She smiled, looking at the living room. Once there had been a beautiful sofa just in front of a TV for them to watch all together in the evening. On the other side, there was what was left of the living room. The table was broken and the chairs scattered on the floor. There was nothing of that place that had been her first real home, only ashes and broken wood. Only loneliness and pain. Then her eyes went to the stairs that led downstairs, and she instantly felt the pain grow in her chest when she thought of how they had been trapped in there with all the flames around them.

Fucking Argents.

"Why do you live here?" Scarlett asked, her tone serious, but she did not dare to turn towards Derek.

"It helps me remember," he answered, and she shook her head.

"As if it will ever be possible to forget," Scarlett said.

She had tried. In those years, she did her best to keep on and be what her nature wanted her to be. And it helped for a time, but inside of her, she felt that a part of her was missing: Peter, the Hales… her pack. Nothing would have made her feel better. Nothing would erase from her mind what had happened that night.

"Why are you here?" Derek asked. He had taken off his leather jacket and was standing a few feet away from her with his arms crossed.

She could not tell him that Peter had called her after he had found Laura almost dead. Peter said that it was not the time for Derek to know. Scarlett knew the young Hale; he liked to act tough, but he was anything but. He was soft, and he was not keen on revenge. He would have been a bother more than anything.

"I missed my home," she answered, looking at Derek. It was not an entire lie; she missed her time with the Hales, even if longing was not the real reason.

"Your kind should be kind of void in matters of emotions." Scarlett found herself smirking at the werewolf. Derek had never trusted her, and for good reason. Werewolves and vampires were natural enemies; they usually hated each other. But Scarlett had grown quite fond of that family of werewolves—not that she had to explain herself to Derek.

"Let me handle my void," she answered with a challenging tone. "Don't worry about me."

Derek was observing her closely. He wanted to understand her reasons for being there. But Derek Hale had never been that good at making any kind of conversation.

"And why should a vampire attend school?" Derek said with an inquisitive look.

He was truly nagging. She now had it clearer than ever why they could never get along. Derek pretended, but he'd never mind his own business, sticking his wolfy nose in anyone's affairs. But she had to answer. She needed an answer that was a half-truth and enough to make him stop asking.

"I've never finished school," Scarlett answered, her arms crossed, showing him that she was feeling kind of bothered by his question—not because she was hiding something, but because she had to open up. "Your mother always told me to keep my humanity near. I thought this was the first step," then she shrugged her shoulders. "And it's not all roses and rainbows, okay? I've already thought of quitting."

He observed her with his cold eyes, but she knew that she had hit a nerve. "Why didn't you?"

Scarlett kept his stare. "The Alpha," she answered with confidence. "I figured that in my class there was a new puppy. And another guy had been attacked."

Derek's eyes grew larger. "Who?" Scarlett forced herself not to smirk.

"The puppy's best friend," she answered, crossing her arms over her chest, leaning her back against the door frame. "And he was lucky for that." He frowned, so Scarlett explained to him that Stiles had been attacked after the game, and the only reason she was still there was because she wanted to keep an eye on Scott. She told him about the Alpha's attack and how Stiles was safe and still human because of her.

"You gave him your blood?" Derek asked.

Scarlett nodded. She wished that she was faking her next words, but they were all truthful. "I kind of regret that already," she said. "Peter and Thalia had explained how it works, but it's nothing compared to how strange I feel."

"That is a vampire thing," Derek answered. "They could have explained it to you, but they truly never knew..."

"Yeah..." Scarlett agreed. "I had not thought about that."

Thalia and Peter had been her only teachers. Scarlett had never met her maker. But Derek had a point: they were werewolves; they could not know everything about her kind.

"The Alpha killed Laura." Derek's words cut the silence.

He thinks it was the Alpha? How thick could he be? The town was filled with Archers, and he thought about the Alpha? She had to think fast. She could not let him know that the Alpha was Peter, and probably Derek looking for him would keep him out of the way.

"I've heard that the body was hers," she said, looking down, and after a bit, she raised her gaze to observe Derek. "Are you aware there are Argents in Beacon Hills?"

"Yeah, I know," he answered, taking a breath. "And it does not surprise me that you'd immediately think it was them."

Scarlett frowned. "Why don't you?"

"I speak with facts," Derek answered. "Not with rage."

She shook her head. "I could disagree on that," she said, tilting her head to the side. "How do you know it was the Alpha?"

Derek took a heavy breath. "He slashed her throat." Scarlett could not blame him fully. Peter had indeed killed Laura, but he had already found her almost dead because of the hunters. And since she wanted to give him the power, he had to kill her.

"Shit..." she said.

The silence fell between them for a moment. It was difficult to be in that house. She'd really prefer to walk away, but she would never show weakness. Until their conversation was done, she would have stayed there.

"Have you been at the hospital?" Derek asked at some point. Scarlett let out a heavy breath, trying to remember what she had felt the day that Peter was put into a coma.

"Yeah..." she said, avoiding looking at Derek. "Sometimes I go there. What about you?" He just nodded. She observed him in silence. It did not seem like Derek was suspecting anything. So she didn't need to convince him anymore, and she would have never spoken of anything that she had felt for Peter's condition with Derek.

I can change the subject now, she thought.

"What do you want, Derek?" she asked.

He took a breath. "Scott does not trust me," he said. Scarlett let out a little dark chuckle.

"And what do you want from me? Manipulation? It won't work, you're not that easy to like," she said. And her question was answered with a hard stare from Derek.

"I just wanted to know where you stand," he said, getting closer to Scarlett. He was trying to scare her, but she was not. "I do not trust you, Scarlett."

She chuckled. "That's cruel. Only because I'm not like you."

"Yes," he answered. "But I could need your help."

Scarlett was amused now. "Are you asking for my help, big boy?" she asked, faking shock. His lack of response made her let out a little laugh. "I never thought I'd like to see you beg." Then she moved away from him to walk toward the door. "Alright, but I'm not doing this for you," she said, caressing the wood of the red door with her fingers. "But for Laura," she said with honesty.

She would do anything for Laura. And Thalia, and Cora, and Peter. And for everyone that had perished that night, swallowed by flames.

That was the last thing she told Derek before exiting the house to go home. She had to warn Peter about what had happened with Derek.

She decided not to call him, since Derek could have followed to be sure he could trust her. And Scarlett knew too well that werewolves could hear from great distances.

The vampire was quick to write to Peter, informing him of whatever she and Derek had talked about, and where his nephew stood. Then she told him that they could not meet up for quite some time, until the moment was right for Derek to know the truth of what she and Peter were doing.

"That's sad, I wanted to see you," she read Peter's message with a smirk.

"I have something to do, anyway," Scarlett typed, before getting up from the couch to get ready. She decided to put on something pretty, but not too upfront. Being sensual was better with teenage boys, but too much would surely give the wrong impression, and it would not be useful to the cause.

Stiles had texted her too, to let her know the time and address for her to reach his house. As she got ready, she felt something strange, like a sort of uneasiness. It was not danger, but it made her feel anxious. Scarlett did not take long to figure out that those feelings were not hers. Of hers there was only the urge to run, and if she focused, she was sure she would have been able to find where he was.

What the hell? she thought.

Was Stiles in danger? What kind of danger? There was no plan on their part. Could it be the Argents?

That was strange. Scarlett had no reason whatsoever to care about that boy, so she was quick to throw her phone on the couch, but she was able to take only a few steps before turning back with a groan. Scarlett was quick to take the phone back; she searched for Stiles' contact and pressed the green button.

Scarlett felt even more strange as she waited for him to pick up. That was not his reaction, it was hers. And that bothered her. What was she even doing?

"Scarlett, hey!" Stiles' voice came from the other side of the phone and, for some reason, her anxiety calmed down.

"Hey," she said, a hand went through her hair, frustrated with herself, "I umm—Are you okay?"

"I... yeah, yeah," he said, "Well, I could be better, but—"

"Why?" she asked with a frown. "Where are you?"

"At school—Sorry, how do you know I'm not at home?" he answered, confused. And she could not deny that she shared that confusion.

"I think it's the bond," Scarlett said with a frustrating breath. What the hell was she even doing?

"The bond?" he asked. She could hear his confusion.

"Yeah, I'll explain later," she said, nodding her head even if he could not see her. Then Scarlett realized what he had told her. "You're at school?"

"Yeah," Stiles answered, "Scott is trying to remember what he did to the bus driver." Scarlett had to hold back a groan, to not let him know what she truly thought. "Something that Derek told him to do."

Fucking Derek, she thought, biting her lips. What should she do? Ask away? Would that have been too obvious? She did not have to sound urgent. They would meet later anyway. Maybe it was better not to ask too many questions.

"Use the pack mentality," she decided to say. "That makes sense." It made sense, and it could be a problem. Scott had been too focused on trying to save that piece of shit to care who was there. Peter had pushed her towards the back door of the bus and attacked Scott, but she was not sure he had not seen her.

"Wait... you know?" he asked. She could picture his expression right now: wide eyes and ajar mouth.

Scarlett let out a chuckle. "I believe there are a lot of things I need to explain to you."

"Yeah, definitely," he answered, letting out a low chuckle himself. They stood in silence for some moments, and she could feel his anxiety go away. Another kind of sensation filled her chest; it was warm and comfortable.

What the hell is happening? she asked herself.

Then suddenly the panic came back. "Stiles?" his name slipped through her lips before she could stop herself.

"Wait, wait!" he said, before she could hear the sound of the klaxon going off.

"What the hell is happening over there?" she exclaimed.

"There's a janitor," Stiles was quick to explain. "I gotta go, Scarlett. Wait for me at my house, alright?"

"Stiles!" she called, but she didn't hear him anymore. The only thing she could hear was the sound of the klaxon and of the engine. He had not pressed the end call button. Scarlett thought about hanging up, but she had to know if the puppy knew anything.

"Go, go, go!" Scott's voice came loud and clear, and she could hear Stiles start to drive.

"Did it work?" he asked. "Did you remember?"

"Yes, I was there last night," Scott answered, still out of breath. "And the blood, a lot of it is mine."

"So you did attack him?" Stiles was quick to ask.

Scott denied. "I saw glowing eyes in the bus, but they weren't mine." Scarlett, if possible, listened even more carefully. Did he see only those glowing eyes? Did he see something else? Did he see her?

"It was Derek," Scott's words made her frown. He thought he had seen Derek? What should she do? Tell them otherwise?

"Why would Derek help you remember that he attacked the driver?" Stiles was always quick. It didn't surprise her.

"That's what I don't get," Scott answered.

"It’s gotta be a pack thing!" Stiles exclaimed, and Scarlett was honestly shocked at how smart he was. Could he have learned it all only from movies? No, he was just really intelligent, and she knew in that moment that she should be extra careful in trying to lie to him.

The pack thing was correct. To make sure that the pack would stay together, an Alpha would kill along with his Betas. But Scott had resisted that urge. He didn't even collaborate for a moment—he rebelled instantly.

Scarlett decided to hang up the phone. It didn't seem that Scott knew something about her being there, or he would have told Stiles already. And anyway, she thought that if there was any shift in Stiles, she would have felt it.

She decided to go to her motorcycle and drive towards Stiles's house, as he had told her before. She drove in the night, trying to stay focused on the shifting in her feelings. But she felt nothing but frustration. Only that wasn't Stiles's—it was entirely hers. She did not like how she had become so worried when she felt Stiles's feelings.

That was a fucking stupid idea, she thought with frustration. Maybe she should have thought it through better. But at least she had come to know what Scott was doing. So the plan was working. But she was not sure that she appreciated the price.

Scarlett parked just outside the house, next to Stiles's blue jeep. She took her black helmet and walked towards the door. She rang the bell, waiting for Stiles to open the door. While she did so, she noticed that there was no other car in the driveway, so his father wasn't home.

The noise of the door made her turn, but her eyes didn't meet Stiles's—they met Scott's.

"Scarlett, hi," he greeted her. Scarlett quickly observed him, but he didn't seem scared or angry. He seemed almost happy to see her. That calmed her nerves.

"Hi, pup," she said with a grin, and she noticed him blush a little. Scarlett had to keep her fangs inside, but his werewolf's blood made her instantly hungry. "Is Stiles here?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered with a little smile. "Come inside."

Scarlett observed the frame of the door. But she couldn't move; her limbs felt blocked and heavy. And Scarlett knew very well why.

"I'd like to," she answered, her eyes still on the frame of the door. "But I need Stiles to tell me that."

Her words made Scott frown in confusion, but before she could explain, she heard fast footsteps running down the stairs. And it didn't take long before she noticed Stiles run to the door, cheeks flushed, heartbeat fast, and a goofy smile.

"So the invitation is a real thing?" he asked, excited, with his big smile.

Scarlett could not hide a smirk. "Are you making experiments on me?" Stiles's smile suddenly dropped.

"What? No!" he was quick to say. "I would never—Scott knows I would never. I was in the bathroom. I had to use the bathroom." Scarlett found his flushed cheeks very appealing. She would have really bitten him—yet again, it was out of hunger.

She let out a light laugh as she observed him, and her reaction made him stop and look at her with his wide eyes. She was not pretending this time—he really managed to make her laugh, and she was aware that she sounded different. Soon he chuckled too, as he observed her kind of sweetly.

"Please, come in," he said, moving aside to make her space.

As he spoke, the heavy feeling on her body lifted instantly, and her limbs were able to move once again. It was kind of funny how she could not make even a step before someone invited her in.

"How does this work?" Stiles asked curiously, as he and Scott observed her as if they were looking at an alien. And maybe she kind of was.

"Evil cannot come in unless we let it in," she answered, observing the entrance of Stiles's house. It was pretty, painted with soft colours, rustic in comparison with the Hales' house.

"Evil?" Scott asked curiously.

Scarlett nodded her head. "That would describe us," she answered with honesty, and she could see the shift in their eyes. So, to calm them, she spoke again, "But you can always take back your invitation—then I'd be forced to leave."

"I'll keep that in mind," Stiles said, letting out a little chuckle. They both seemed to relax, before he showed her the way to the living room.

"I'm sorry," she said as she sat down. "I could be kind of creepy. I don't mean to, it just happens."

"No," Scott answered with a shake of his head.

"Yeah," Stiles backed him up. "Let's say we're used to 'creepy' by now."

Scarlett nodded, understanding. The two of them had been suddenly dragged into all of this. They would soon become used to all the supernatural things.

"What did you want to ask?" she asked politely, crossing her legs elegantly. Stiles and Scott looked at each other before Stiles turned to her.

"Everything," he said, his legs bouncing up and down. "Who are you? Where are you from? And how do you know what pack mentality means?"

"One at a time, Stiles," Scott said to his friend.

Scarlett looked at them for a moment before starting with her story. She needed to be careful—not too much, not too little. Too little trust in them could be strange, but so would too much trust.

"You already know the name, and it is my real name," she said calmly. "And I... let's say I had a bad past. I started to live when I was turned into a vampire."

"Was it long ago?" Stiles asked curiously, but with a hint of worry. He knew for sure that for her to become a vampire she had to be killed. She could feel his concern as he asked. It surprised her that he was speaking to her with such a tone.

"No," she answered. "I'm a young vampire. I got turned eight years ago."

They nodded in silence, but Scott was the one who spoke next. "Stiles told me you saved his life," he said, his concern visible on his face. "Thank you."

"I would have died if it wasn't for your blood," Stiles said, hinting a smile, but she could feel he was still shaken from what had happened. "You told me it can... heal?"

"Yes, but it works only on humans," she said, nodding her head again. "It fastens the healing process. But it also has other properties. I can..." she tried to explain, but it was strange even for her. "I can feel you, Stiles."

The blood in his veins ran faster, and the blush appeared once again. "Feel... me?" he asked, flushed. She could feel her fangs trying to show up—he was truly making her hungry.

"Yeah, like it happened before," she said, still feeling strange about her behaviour. But she pushed that aside, managing to keep her body relaxed. "As I already told Stiles, this is my first time with a bond." Scarlett let out a little chuckle, as if she were trying to show some kind of embarrassment.

"How does this work?" Scott asked with a little frown.

"Just..." Scarlett thought about it for a moment. "Just—I know what he feels, I guess. Especially if he's anxious, scared, or flustered."

Stiles's eyes grew larger. "Wha—what are... you... when I'm flushed?" Scarlett could not hide a smirk as she observed him.

"You do it quite a lot when I'm around," she said, showing her white smile, making him stop his always hyperactive movement and turn to her with pink cheeks and mouth ajar.

"Don't worry," she added, tilting her head. "It's cute."

"Oh my god..." he said with embarrassment. Her eyes observed him, as if she could not take her gaze off him. His scent was appealing, and her fangs once again begged her to bite him.

What is happening? she asked herself once again.

"Alright," Stiles said. "My embarrassment aside—you knew about the pack mentality."

Scarlett nodded her head. "As I know that there are hunters in Beacon Hills. Are you aware of that, Scott?"

The puppy's eyes widened. She was expecting his reaction. He was so predictable.

"You know about Allison?"

Always overprotective. And even if he was actually right to be, it was funny to her how he'd jump like a good pet whenever the Argent girl was mentioned.

"I know about the Argents," she answered with a hint of disgust that they picked up. But it didn't bother her.

"Aren't you friends with Allison?" Stiles asked with a frown.

"And that is giving me a lot of moral problems, believe me," she lied, crossing her arms over her chest. "Argents are the most famous of all hunter families—but I'm sure you know."

"Derek told me," Scott answered. "And they almost killed me."

Scarlett didn't know that he had been face-to-face with hunters. He was lucky to be alive.

"Shit..." Scarlett muttered. Then she stood silent for a moment, as if she were taking in what they were saying to her.

"You've got some history with them?" Stiles's question would have surprised her, if she didn't know how intelligent he was. He picked up everything that happened around him, and he researched everything. He could be dangerous, she knew—but at the same time, she respected him for this. Scarlett needed to be careful with her words around him, and the only thing that could work to her advantage was the fact that he was a teenage boy, with a little crush on her.

"You'll make a search on me?" she asked, looking at Stiles.

"I already did," he answered with a nod of his head. "And I know that eight years ago, you disappeared here in Beacon Hills."

Scarlett could not hold back a little smirk as she observed him, impressed. "Yeah, I got turned here. And after that?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nobody found you after that—or your..."

"Body?" she finished for him. He nodded his head.

"So," Scott spoke once again, "Do you have problems with the Argents?"

Scarlett took a deep breath. "Every supernatural creature has problems with Argents," she answered, her smile dropping as she looked at Scott. "You soon will have too, eventually."

"Then why are you friends with Allison?" Stiles asked again.

Scarlett took another breath as her eyes shifted to him. "She was the first person that I met at school," she answered. "I found out she was an Argent later on. And anyhow, from the way she behaves, she seems like she has nothing to do with hunters. Or she would know about Scott—or me."

"Her father tried to kill me in the woods," Scott told her. And she took this information as if she had been slapped. She had to remember that she was Allison's friend.

"I was hoping that wasn't the case," she muttered, before taking a breath, as if she were trying to calm her nerves. "Scott, Argents are not to be trusted," she said, looking at the pup. "Hunters are not to be trusted. And if her father is hunting in the woods, it's only a matter of time before she does too."

"Allison is not like that," Scott argued. "I know it."

Scarlett observed him in silence. He was fighting so hard for Allison—he truly had fallen under her spell, it seemed. Scarlett pitied him. He would die a horrible death if he kept pursuing a huntress.

"I hope you're right," she said, showing all the sadness she was able to.

After they had spoken for some more, it was time for Scarlett to leave. She was satisfied with the conversation. They knew things about her, and what she felt about the Argents. She had even been able to justify her "friendship" with Allison.

"Thank you for agreeing to this talk," Stiles said to her as he walked towards the door.

"But you still have questions, don't you?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"Lots, actually," he answered, scratching his head with a little laugh.

"That's good," she said, eyeing him—her gaze observing his features and plush skin. His lips and his neck. She truly wanted to bite him.

"Why is that good?" he asked with a frown.

Scarlett giggled. "So that I could be interesting, and maybe you'd ask me out for it at some point."

His brown eyes got wider as the blush appeared once again. "Ask you out?" his blood rushed in his veins. "You... you mean 'hang out'. Hot girls don't want me to ask them out."

"Well, I want you to ask me out," she answered, reaching out with her hand to his cheek so that she could bring him closer. His heart was beating like crazy, and his scent was so good. But she ignored it, pushing his head to the side so that her lips could kiss his cheek.

"Whenever you're ready," she said, pulling back enough so that she could look at him. "Good night, Stiles."

********

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#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x oc #scott mccall #derek hale #derek hale x reader #derek hale x oc #derek hale imagine #derek hale fanfiction #allison argent #lydia martin #peter hale

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novaursa · 10 months ago

Text

Part 15

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word count: 9 000+

- Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, Final

As the carriage rolled through the streets of King’s Landing, Aegon’s heart pounded with anticipation. The sight of the Dragonpit in the distance brought both relief and anxiety. He feared what condition he might find his wife in, but the hope of seeing her outweighed his fears.

The carriage came to a halt, and Aegon leaned heavily on Orwyle as he disembarked. He scanned the area, his eyes searching for any sign of Vaella. Finally, he saw her, surrounded by Kingsguard, her once-pristine appearance marred by blood and ash. His heart clenched at the sight.

“Vaella!” he called out, his voice breaking with emotion.

Vaella turned at the sound of his voice, her eyes lighting up despite her exhaustion. “Aegon,” she replied, her steps quickening as she moved towards him.

The Kingsguard parted to allow her through, and in moments, Vaella was in Aegon’s arms. They embraced tightly, the world around them disappearing as they held each other. Aegon’s hands gently cupped her face, his eyes scanning her features with desperate concern.

“You’re here,” Aegon whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re safe.”

Vaella nodded, tears filling her eyes. “We made it back. Cannibal and I… we made it.”

Aegon’s gaze traveled over her, taking in the blood and ash that covered her. His heart ached with worry. “Are you hurt? The baby—”

“We’re okay,” Vaella assured him, her hand resting protectively on her belly. “Just exhausted and bruised, but we’re safe.”

Aegon let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him. He pulled her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I was so afraid, Vaella. When I saw Cannibal’s flight, I feared the worst.”

Vaella leaned into his embrace, drawing strength from his presence. “It was close, Aegon. We faced Vermithor. It was a battle like no other.”

Aegon’s eyes widened with shock. “Vermithor? Gods, Vaella, how did you…?”

“Cannibal fought bravely,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “We barely made it out. Vermithor is dead.”

Aegon’s eyes softened, his love for her shining through. “You’re incredible. The strength you showed… I’m in awe of you.”

Vaella smiled weakly, her fatigue evident. “I had to survive. For you, for our children.”

“And you did,” Aegon said firmly. “You came back to me, to us.”

Vaella hesitated for a moment, then began, “Aemond—”

But Aegon shook his head, cutting her off gently. “I don’t want to talk about my brother right now. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

Vaella nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you, Aegon. I just needed to see you, to know that we’re together.”

He kissed her gently, pouring all his relief and love into the kiss. “We’re together, and that’s all that matters.”

The Grand Maester approached, his eyes filled with concern. “Your Graces, we must see to the queen’s wounds immediately.”

Aegon nodded, his grip on Vaella’s hand tightening. “Do whatever is necessary. She and our child must be safe.”

Vaella looked up at Aegon, her eyes filled with gratitude and love. “We’re home, Aegon. We’re safe.”

Aegon smiled, his heart swelling with emotion. “Yes, Vaella. We’re home, and we’ll face whatever comes next.”

As the attendants led Vaella away to be treated, Aegon watched her go, his heart full of love and pride. The challenges ahead were great, but with Vaella by his side, he knew they could overcome anything. Together, they would face the future with all the strength and determination of House Targaryen.

The Kingsguard, having ensured the queen's safe return, stood by respectfully. Aegon turned to them, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you for bringing her back safely."

The captain of the Kingsguard bowed deeply. "It was our honor, Your Grace. The queen showed incredible bravery."

Aegon nodded, his chest swelling with pride. "She always does. Now, let's make sure she gets the care she needs."

As they made their way back to the Red Keep, Aegon couldn't help but replay the events of the past hours in his mind. The sight of Vaella covered in blood and ash haunted him, but the knowledge that she had returned, safe and alive, gave him the strength to face whatever lay ahead.

…

The corridors of the Red Keep were a blur as Vaella was escorted to her shared chambers with Aegon. The exhaustion weighed heavily on her, but the comfort of being home and the presence of her husband gave her strength. Once inside, she promised Aegon that she would see their children, Baelon and Daena, after she had cleansed herself of the blood and dirt.

"I'll see them soon," Vaella said, her voice soft but resolute. "I don't want them to see me like this."

Aegon nodded, understanding. "They will be overjoyed to see you, Vaella. But first, you need to rest and recover."

The attendants prepared a warm bath, the steam rising gently in the air. Aegon helped Vaella to the edge of the tub, his hands gentle but firm despite his own struggles. Every step was a reminder of his physical limitations, the pain from his still-healing hip and burns that refused to heal still. He moved slowly, but his determination to help his wife overshadowed the discomfort. Vaella slipped into the water, letting out a sigh of relief as the warmth enveloped her aching body. Aegon settled into a chair nearby, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position, his eyes never leaving her.

The silence between them was comfortable, a silent understanding that words were not necessary at that moment. Aegon watched as Vaella slowly washed away the grime and blood, her movements deliberate and weary. The water turned murky, a testament to the battles she had faced.

After a long while, Vaella looked up, meeting Aegon's gaze. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of weariness and something deeper, something darker. Aegon sensed it immediately, a knot of concern tightening in his chest.

"Vaella," he said gently, "what is it? What's troubling you?"

Vaella hesitated, her hands stilling in the water. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "

Aegon, there's something I need to tell you. Something that happened after Vermithor fell."

Aegon leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern despite the pain the movement caused him. "You can tell me anything, Vaella. What happened?"

Vaella's gaze dropped to the water, her fingers tracing patterns on its surface. "After Cannibal took Vermithor down, we... we were both injured, exhausted. But there was this compulsion, this primal urge that I couldn't resist."

Aegon's brow furrowed. "What kind of urge?"

Vaella's voice trembled slightly as she continued. "Cannibal began to feast on Vermithor. And... and I joined him. Vermithor was still alive, and I couldn't stop myself. I tore into his flesh, ate it raw. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I felt stronger, more connected to Cannibal, but it was horrifying."

Aegon was silent for a moment, processing her words. The horror of what she described was evident on his face, but so was his empathy and understanding. "Vaella," he said softly, "you've been through so much. The bond between a dragon and its rider is powerful, and in such extreme circumstances... I'm just relieved that you’re alive."

Vaella looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I was scared, Aegon. I didn’t recognize myself in that moment. I felt like I was losing control."

Aegon stood, wincing as he moved, and made his way to the edge of the tub, kneeling beside her with a slight grimace. He took her hands in his, his touch gentle and reassuring. "You are the strongest person I know, Vaella. You faced something unimaginable and survived. That’s what matters. We’ll figure this out together."

Vaella squeezed his hands, drawing strength from his presence. "Thank you, Aegon. I was afraid you’d see me differently."

Aegon shook his head, his eyes full of love. "Never. You are my queen, my love, the mother of our children. Nothing will change that."

They sat in silence for a moment, the bond between them growing even stronger in the face of adversity. Vaella finished her bath, and Aegon helped her out, his movements careful and deliberate due to his own injuries. He wrapped her in a soft, warm towel and led her to the bed, where she could rest and recover from her ordeal.

As Vaella lay down, Aegon brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Rest now, my love. We’ll face whatever comes next together."

Vaella nodded, her eyes already heavy with sleep. "Together," she murmured, closing her eyes.

Aegon watched her for a long moment, his heart swelling with love and pride. As the night deepened, the sounds of the Red Keep quieted, leaving only the soft, steady breathing of Vaella as she slept. Aegon sat beside her, his hand resting on hers, a silent guardian in the darkness. They were home, and together, they would find their way through the shadows that lay ahead.

…

On the storm-swept island of Dragonstone, preparations were underway for the departure of Princes Aegon and Viserys Targaryen. The decision, made by Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, was for his half-brothers to be fostered with the Prince of Pentos until their mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, had secured the Iron Throne. The princes would depart on a Pentoshi cog named the Gay Abandon, with seven warships from the Sea Snake's fleet to escort them across the Narrow Sea.

The docks were a hive of activity as sailors, soldiers, and courtiers prepared for the journey. The air was filled with the sounds of shouting orders, the creaking of ship timbers, and the lapping of waves against the stone piers. Amidst this organized chaos, Rhaenyra stood with her sons, her expression a mask of calm resolve despite the turmoil in her heart.

"Mother," young Prince Aegon said, his voice trembling slightly. "Will we be safe in Pentos?"

Rhaenyra knelt to his level, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. "You will be safe, my sweet. The Prince of Pentos is a trusted ally, and the Sea Snake's ships will protect you on your journey."

Viserys, who was younger and more apprehensive, clung to Rhaenyra's skirts. "Will you come for us, Mother? When you are queen?"

Rhaenyra's eyes softened as she looked at her youngest son. "Yes, Viserys. I will come for you as soon as I can. This is only temporary, until we secure the throne."

Jacaerys stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Aegon's shoulder. "I will make sure they are well taken care of, Mother. They will be safe in Pentos."

Rhaenyra stood, her gaze sweeping over the bustling docks before turning back to her sons. "Remember who you are," she said firmly. "You are Targaryens. Blood of the dragon. Stay strong and stay safe."

With final embraces and whispered words of love, the princes were led aboard the Gay Abandon. The Sea Snake’s warships, their sails unfurled, prepared to escort the vessel. As the ships began to move away from the dock, Rhaenyra stood tall, watching them until they disappeared over the horizon.

Once the princes were safely on their way, Rhaenyra turned to Daemon, who had been watching silently. His expression was one of grim determination. "We need to focus on the next steps," she said, her voice steady.

Daemon nodded, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Indeed. I received word this morning—Vaella and Cannibal managed to kill Hugh Hammer and Vermithor."

Rhaenyra's expression hardened. "Vaella? She always was formidable."

"Formidable, yes," Daemon agreed. "But Cannibal is badly wounded. Not the outcome we hoped for, but it is still favorable. This could be an opportunity for us."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

Daemon's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "With Aemond and Vhagar away from the capital, King's Landing is more vulnerable. Cannibal, in his weakened state, might not be able to defend it effectively. We could exploit this and strike while they are off guard."

Rhaenyra considered his words carefully. "It's a risk, but it could give us the advantage we need. What about the defenses at King's Landing?"

"The city will still be heavily guarded," Daemon acknowledged. "But without Aemond and Vhagar, their dragon strength is significantly reduced. We need to act swiftly and decisively."

Rhaenyra nodded, her resolve firming. "We will need to gather our forces and plan meticulously. If we can take the capital, we can turn the tide of this war."

Daemon's lips curved into a predatory smile. "Then we move quickly. We will strike before they have a chance to recover. I'll send word to our allies and begin preparations."

As Daemon strode away to organize their forces, Rhaenyra looked out over the sea, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. The news of Vaella's victory and the loss of Vermithor was significant, but it was clear that their enemies would not be easily defeated. They would have to be cunning and relentless.

A shadow passed over her, and Rhaenyra turned to see her dragon, Syrax, circling overhead. The sight of the golden dragon filled her with a renewed sense of purpose. She was a Targaryen, and she would not rest until she sat upon the Iron Throne.

…

The dawn was still breaking over the Narrow sea as the Triarchy’s fleet swept into the Gullet, the waters around Dragonstone coming alive with the movement of ninety warships under the banners of the Three Daughters. The fleet, commanded by Admiral Sharako Lohar of Lys, had split into two squadrons, entering the Gullet from the north and south, catching House Velaryon’s fleet off guard.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, aboard his dragon Vermax, was quick to respond. The morning sky blazed with the rising sun as Jacaerys flew out to meet the advancing enemy. Below him, the Lysene galleys cut through the water, their crews shouting and readying their weapons. These sailors were no strangers to dragonfire, having faced Prince Daemon Targaryen and Caraxes during the war for the Stepstones. Yet, the sight of Vermax descending upon them filled their hearts with dread.

"Hold steady!" Sharako Lohar commanded from his flagship, his voice carrying across the deck. "Focus your fire on the dragon! Bring it down!"

Spears and arrows were loosed into the sky, a deadly hail aimed at Jacaerys and his dragon. But Vermax was swift, his powerful wings slicing through the air as he breathed fire upon the ships below. One Lysene galley caught fire, then another, the flames spreading rapidly across the decks.As the sailors cried out in panic, their captains tried to maintain order. "Stay your course! Keep firing!"

The battle intensified as Ulf the White on Silverwing, Nettles on Sheepstealer, and Addam Velaryon on Seasmoke joined the fray. The sky was filled with dragons and the roar of their fire, the smell of burning wood and flesh thick in the air. The Triarchy’s warships faltered, their line breaking as one galley after another turned away from the onslaught.

"To the south!" a captain shouted, trying to regroup his men. "We must hold the line!"

But the dragons were relentless, their riders directing them with precision and fury. Silverwing’s golden fire rained down upon the ships, while Sheepstealer’s dark form swooped low, scattering sailors with its terrible roar. Seasmoke darted between the vessels, his rider Addam directing their fire with deadly accuracy.

In the midst of the chaos, Vermax flew too low, caught in the crossfire. A Myrish crossbowman, taking careful aim, loosed a bolt that struck the dragon in the eye. Vermax roared in pain, his flight faltering. Below, a burning galley’s grapnel hooked onto the dragon’s wing, pulling him down into the sea. Vermax struggled, entangled in the rigging, his flames sputtering out as he sank beneath the waves.

"Jacaerys!" Addam Velaryon shouted, his voice barely audible over the din of battle.

Jacaerys leapt from Vermax’s back, landing in the water with a splash. He swam for the shore, but the Myrish crossbowmen were ready. A volley of bolts flew through the air, striking the prince. Jacaerys’ body went limp, floating on the surface as blood spread around him.

North and south of Dragonstone, the battle raged on into the night. The northern squadron clashed with the remaining Velaryon fleet, the sounds of steel and cannon fire echoing across the water. The southern squadron, bypassing Dragonstone, set their sights on Driftmark.

"We cannot assault Dragonstone directly," Sharako Lohar decided, his eyes scanning the defenses. "It is too well fortified. But Driftmark... Driftmark is vulnerable."

The fleet altered course, heading for the island. The first rays of the setting sun cast an eerie glow over the harbor of Spicetown as the Triarchy’s fire ships approached. Flames erupted, consuming the docks and spreading into the town. The inhabitants fled in terror, but there was little escape from the inferno.

"Burn it all!" Sharako commanded, watching with cold satisfaction.

Driftmark's harbor was a scene of chaos and destruction. Houses and shops were engulfed in flames, and the screams of the dying filled the air. Myrish and Tyroshi soldiers poured into the town, slaughtering the inhabitants and looting what they could before the flames consumed everything.

"Leave nothing standing," a Tyroshi captain ordered, his men cutting down anyone in their path.

High Tide, the seat of House Velaryon, was next. The Myrish and Tyroshi soldiers stormed the castle, setting fire to its grand halls and priceless treasures. Lord Corlys Velaryon’s servants were cut down as they tried to flee, the bodies left as carrion for the crows.

"Take everything of value," a Myrish officer commanded, his eyes gleaming with greed. "Burn the rest."

As night fell, Driftmark was a smoldering ruin, the flames visible from Dragonstone. The southern squadron of the Triarchy’s fleet sailed away, leaving destruction in their wake. The battle of the Gullet had ended, but the cost was high. Jacaerys Velaryon was dead, Vermax lost to the depths, and Driftmark lay in ashes. Aegon the Younger and Viserys were lost, with no word of them. And Aegon’s small dragon, Stormcloud, was seen plummeting to the depths after he was striked numerous times with crossbow arrows.

On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra received the news with a heavy heart. The loss of her son was a blow from which she would never fully recover, but her resolve hardened. She would avenge their children and reclaim what was rightfully hers.

"Daemon," she said quietly, her voice filled with cold fury. "We will strike back. They will pay for this."

Daemon’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "Yes, they will. And we will make sure they never forget the price of defying a Targaryen."

As the embers of Driftmark's destruction smoldered, the fires of vengeance burned brightly in Rhaenyra’s heart. The war was far from over, and she would see to it that the dragons’ wrath would be felt by all who opposed her.

…

The council chamber of the Red Keep was a hive of activity as the lords and advisors of the Greens gathered to discuss the latest developments in the war. The news from the Gullet had reached them, bringing a mixture of relief and concern. Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, was already present, his face a mask of steely determination. Dowager Queen Alicent, Grand Maester Orwyle, Lords Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, and Tyland Lannister took their seats around the table, the weight of their responsibilities evident on their faces.

The door opened, and King Aegon II Targaryen entered, moving with a newfound strength and purpose. Though still bearing the marks of his injuries, he was well enough to participate in the council once more. He took his seat at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the faces of his advisors.

"Your Grace," Lord Tyland Lannister began, his voice respectful. "It is good to see you well enough to join us again. We have much to discuss."

Aegon nodded, his expression serious. "Indeed, Lord Tyland. Let us begin."

Tyland glanced at the others before continuing. "Firstly, we have received word that our allies in the Triarchy have achieved a significant victory at the Gullet. They have broken the blockade and secured the passage. Admiral Sharako Lohar's strategy proved effective."

Otto Hightower leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Our alliance with the Triarchy is paying off, as I knew it would. This victory strengthens our position considerably."

Dowager Queen Alicent nodded, her expression a mix of relief and caution. "This is indeed good news, but we must remain vigilant. Rhaenyra will not take this defeat lightly."

Lord Jasper Wylde, the Ironrod, spoke up. "How fares the Queen, Your Grace? Her role in the battle was pivotal."

Aegon's eyes softened as he thought of Vaella. "She is resting. The fight with Vermithor took a toll on her, but she is strong. Grand Maester Orwyle has assured me that she will recover."

Orwyle nodded in agreement. "The Queen is resilient. She needs time to heal, both physically and emotionally. Her strength and courage are a beacon for us all."

Jasper then shifted his focus. "And Cannibal? What of the dragon's condition?"

Aegon's expression turned grave. "Cannibal is also recovering, but it will take months before he is fully healed. The injuries he sustained were severe."

Alicent's face tightened with worry. "Rhaenyra will undoubtedly retaliate for this defeat. The loss of her sons will drive her to desperate measures."

Otto cleared his throat, drawing the council's attention. "I have received word from our allies that one of Rhaenyra's sons, young Viserys, has been taken hostage. This could prove to be a significant advantage for us."

The room fell silent, the gravity of Otto's words sinking in. Aegon frowned, his mind racing with the implications. "Viserys is a valuable bargaining chip, but we must tread carefully. Rhaenyra's wrath will be fierce."

Larys Strong, the Master of Whisperers, spoke up, his voice smooth and calculating. "We should use this to our advantage. Rhaenyra's desperation could lead her to make mistakes. We must be prepared to exploit any weaknesses."

Tyland nodded in agreement. "The blockade at the Gullet may be broken, but we cannot afford to be complacent. Our defenses must be strengthened, and our strategies carefully planned."

Alicent looked at her son, her eyes filled with concern. "Aegon, you must be cautious. Rhaenyra's anger knows no bounds, and she will stop at nothing to claim the throne."

Aegon reached out and took his mother's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I understand, Mother. We will proceed with caution and strength. We have come too far to falter now."

Otto leaned forward, his eyes meeting Aegon's. "Your Grace, we must also consider our next moves carefully. Rhaenyra's forces may be weakened, but they are not defeated. We need to press our advantage and ensure our allies remain committed to our cause."

Aegon nodded, his resolve firm. "We will. Our victory at the Gullet is just the beginning. We must remain united and vigilant. Together, we will secure the Iron Throne and bring peace to the realm."

The council members nodded in agreement, their faces reflecting a shared determination.

As the meeting drew to a close, Aegon rose from his seat, wincing slightly as the movement caused a twinge of pain in his hip. He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each of his advisors. "Thank you for your counsel. We will face whatever comes next with strength and unity. For the realm, and for our future."

…

The morning air over King’s Landing was filled with an uneasy stillness. The people of the city went about their daily routines, but an undercurrent of tension lingered. The war between the Blacks and the Greens had cast a long shadow over the capital, and everyone sensed that a storm was brewing.

The silence was abruptly shattered by the thunderous roar of dragon wings. High above Aegon's High Hill, two great dragons circled—Prince Daemon Targaryen on Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, and Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen on Syrax, the golden beauty. Their massive forms blotted out the sun, casting dark shadows over the city below. The sight of the dragons sent waves of panic through the streets of King's Landing.

"Dragons! Dragons above the city!" a merchant cried out, dropping his wares as he fled towards the safety of his home.

People screamed and ran in all directions, seeking cover from the terrifying sight. The city had seen dragons before, but never like this—never as harbingers of war and destruction. The sheer presence of Daemon and Rhaenyra on their dragons was enough to sow chaos and fear among the populace.

Cannibal, grounded near the Dragonpit due to his injuries, sensed the arrival of the rival dragons. His roars echoed through the stone halls of the Red Keep, a mix of pain and frustration. The mighty dragon’s cries shook the very foundations of the castle, causing the servants and guards to cower in fear.

Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower paced the council chamber, her face a mask of anxiety. "We must send word to Aemond," she insisted, her voice tight with urgency. "We need reinforcements. Riders! Ravens! Now!"

Lord Tyland Lannister and Lord Jasper Wylde exchanged uneasy glances. "The city is in turmoil, Your Grace," Tyland said cautiously. "It may be difficult to get word out quickly."

Alicent's eyes blazed with determination. "We have no choice. Do whatever it takes."

Grand Maester Orwyle nodded, standing from his seat. "I will dispatch the ravens immediately."

Unbeknownst to Alicent and the other members of the council, the gold cloaks, the City Watch of King’s Landing, had already turned. Their loyalty lay with Daemon Targaryen, who had once been their commander. The gold cloaks moved swiftly, ensuring that the defenses of the city were compromised.

As Orwyle made his way to the rookery, he was intercepted by a group of gold cloaks. "What is this?" he demanded, his voice filled with authority.

The leader of the gold cloaks, a man named Luthor, stepped forward. "I'm afraid you won't be sending any ravens today, Grand Maester."

Orwyle's eyes widened in shock and realization. "You traitors! Do you know what you're doing?"

Luthor’s expression was cold and resolute. "We are restoring the true order. Seize him!"

The gold cloaks moved with practiced efficiency, grabbing Orwyle and binding his hands. Despite his struggles, the old man was overpowered and led away, his cries for help echoing through the halls.

Meanwhile, amidst this turmoil, Lord Larys Strong moved swiftly through the hidden passageways of the Red Keep. His mission was clear: to smuggle King Aegon II and his family to safety.

In the depths of the Keep, Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne stood guard at a concealed entrance to the secret tunnels. They awaited the arrival of Queen Vaella and her children, Princess Daena and Prince Baelor. The plan was set: Aegon and his family would be escorted separately to increase their chances of escape.

"Where are they?" Ser Rickard muttered, his eyes scanning the darkness.

"Patience," Ser Willis replied, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "They will be here soon."

As if on cue, Vaella appeared, holding Daena's hand while Baelor clung to her side. Her face was pale but resolute, her steps steady despite the fear that gripped her heart.

"Mother, where is Father?" Daena asked, her voice trembling.

"He is safe, my love," Vaella assured her, forcing a smile. "We will see him soon."

Ser Willis stepped forward, bowing slightly. "My lady, we must hurry. The city is no longer safe."

Vaella nodded, tightening her grip on her children's hands. "Lead the way."

As they moved deeper into the passageways, the air grew cooler, the walls damp and rough. The sounds of the city in turmoil were muffled but still present, a constant reminder of the danger they were fleeing.

In another part of the Keep, Larys guided Aegon through the narrow, twisting corridors. Aegon's injuries had not yet fully healed, and every step was a struggle, but his determination to protect his family kept him moving.

"We are almost there, Your Grace," Larys said quietly. "The boat is waiting just outside the Red Keep."

Aegon nodded, his jaw set in determination. "We must ensure Vaella and the children are safe. That is all that matters."

Larys's eyes flickered with understanding. "They will be, Your Grace. Trust in Ser Willis and Ser Rickard."

As they approached the exit, a sudden, sharp cry echoed through the passageways, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. Larys and Aegon exchanged a worried glance, their pace quickening.

Meanwhile, in the other passage, Vaella suddenly stumbled, a sharp pain radiating through her abdomen. She gasped, clutching her belly as the realization hit her.

"The baby... it's coming," she whispered, her face contorting in pain.

Ser Willis's eyes widened in alarm. "Here? Now?"

Vaella nodded, her breath coming in short, labored gasps. "I can't move... the baby is coming."

Ser Rickard quickly scanned the passageway, spotting a small alcove just ahead. "This way," he said, guiding them to the sheltered spot. "We need to help her."

Vaella sank to the ground, her face pale and covered in sweat. Daena and Baelor clung to her, their eyes wide with fear.

"Mother, what's happening?" Baelor asked, his voice trembling.

Vaella managed a weak smile, her hand reaching out to stroke his hair. "It's all right, my sweet. The baby is coming."

Ser Willis knelt beside her, his expression one of determination. "We'll get through this, my lady. Just breathe."

As Vaella labored, Ser Willis and Ser Rickard did their best to assist her, their movements careful and deliberate. The children stayed close by, their presence a source of comfort and strength for their mother.

In the other passage, Aegon and Larys reached the exit, where a small boat waited at the water's edge. The sight of it brought a mix of relief and anxiety.

"We made it," Aegon said, his voice filled with both hope and concern. "But Vaella..."

Larys placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "They will be here soon, Your Grace. Trust in your knights."

Aegon nodded, but his heart ached with worry. He looked back at the entrance, willing his family to appear.

As the labor continued in the hidden alcove, the sounds of the distant city seemed to fade away, replaced by the quiet strength of a family fighting to survive. Vaella's breaths came in short, determined bursts, her will to bring their child into the world unyielding.

Ser Willis and Ser Rickard remained by her side, their presence a steady anchor in the storm of labor. The children held their mother’s hands, their faces filled with a mixture of fear and awe.

The dimly lit alcove in the secret passageway was filled with the tense anticipation of labor. The stone walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the mingled scents of damp earth and the sweat of exertion. Queen Vaella Targaryen, her face contorted with the effort of childbirth, lay on the rough ground with Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne attending her, while her children, Princess Daena and Prince Baelor, watched with wide eyes.

"Breathe, my lady, just breathe," Ser Willis urged, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of pain and effort.

Vaella gripped his hand, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "I can feel it… the baby is coming now."

Ser Rickard moved to assist, his face a mask of concentration. "We need to be ready. It won’t be long now."

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the world outside fading away as Vaella focused on bringing her child into the world. Finally, with one last push, the small chamber was filled with an unsettling silence.

"A boy," Ser Willis said, his voice barely a whisper as he looked down at the tiny, motionless form. The baby’s skin was pale, his eyes the same violet as Aegon’s, but he did not cry, only took shallow, weak breaths. Ser Willis quickly wrapped the newborn in his white cloak, the soft fabric enveloping the fragile body.

Vaella’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her son, her heart breaking at the sight. "He’s so small," she whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek. "But he is Targaryen. He will be strong."

Ser Rickard, ever vigilant, moved to lift Vaella. "We need to get you out of here, my lady. It’s not safe."

But Vaella shook her head, her expression resolute despite her exhaustion and worry. "No, Rickard. One of you must stay armed and ready to defend us if we’re attacked. We cannot afford to be caught unprepared."

Ser Willis hesitated, the baby still cradled in his arms. "But my lady, you need to be carried. You’ve just given birth."

Vaella’s gaze was fierce and unyielding. "I will walk if I must. But you, Rickard, take my children and get them to safety. That is an order."

Rickard’s face tightened with emotion, but he nodded. "As you command, my queen."

Vaella turned to her children, her heart breaking at the thought of being separated from them. She reached out, pulling them close. "Daena, Baelor, you must go with Ser Rickard now. He will keep you safe."

Daena’s eyes filled with tears. "Mother, I don’t want to leave you."

Vaella stroked her daughter’s hair, her voice gentle but firm. "I know, my sweet. But you must be brave. For me, and for your baby brother."

Baelor clung to her side, his small body trembling. "Mother, will we see you again?"

Vaella’s heart ached, but she forced a reassuring smile. "Yes, Baelor. We will be together again. But now, you must go."

Ser Rickard stepped forward, taking Daena’s hand and lifting Baelor into his arms. "I will protect them with my life, my lady," he vowed.

Vaella nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. "I know you will, Rickard. Go now, quickly."

As Rickard led the children away, Vaella watched them disappear into the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of their parting. She turned back to Ser Willis, who stood ready, his sword drawn.

"Willis, we must move," she said, her voice firm despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her.

Ser Willis nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of respect and concern. "Yes, my lady. Lean on me if you need to."

Vaella took a deep breath, steeling herself. She reached out, placing a hand on Willis’s arm for support. Together, they began to make their way through the passage, each step a painful reminder of her recent ordeal.

The passageway seemed to stretch endlessly, the faint light from their torches casting eerie shadows on the walls. The sounds of the city in turmoil were muffled but still present, a constant reminder of the danger they were in.

As they neared the exit, Vaella felt another sharp pain, this time more intense. She knew she couldn’t go on. "Willis, you need to go. Take the baby and ensure his safety."

Ser Willis looked at her in shock. "I can’t leave you here alone!"

"You must," Vaella insisted, her voice filled with authority. "One of us needs to be able to fight if necessary. Go now and protect my children. That is an order."

Ser Willis hesitated for a moment, then nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. He gently took the baby, cradling him securely. "I will protect them with my life, my queen."

Vaella nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Go now, Willis. Quickly."

As Willis disappeared into the shadows with the newborn, Vaella remained behind, leaning against the cold stone wall for support. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever might come. She was alone now, but she was determined to protect her family at any cost.

As the echoes of footsteps faded, Vaella took one last look at the passage through which her children had been taken to safety. Her heart ached with the pain of separation, but she knew they were in good hands. She was alone, but not defeated.

…

The small boat bobbed gently on the water just outside the Red Keep, hidden from view by the shadows cast by the towering walls. Aegon II Targaryen paced anxiously, his eyes constantly darting towards the hidden exit of the passageway. Larys Strong, the Master of Whisperers, stood nearby, his face a mask of calm despite the tension in the air.

Hours passed, each minute stretching into what felt like an eternity. The night was eerily quiet, the distant sounds of chaos in the city muffled by the thick stone walls. Aegon’s worry grew with each passing moment, his thoughts consumed by the safety of his family.

Finally, the sound of footsteps echoed from the passageway. Aegon’s heart leapt as he saw Ser Rickard Thorne emerging from the darkness, holding Princess Daena and Prince Baelor by the hand. The children’s faces were pale with fear, but they were safe.

“Father!” Daena cried, rushing into Aegon’s arms.

Aegon knelt, hugging his children tightly. “Thank the gods you’re safe,” he murmured, kissing their foreheads. He looked up at Rickard, his eyes filled with gratitude. “Where is Vaella?”

Rickard’s face tightened with emotion. “She… she stayed behind, Your Grace. She went into labor and insisted I get the children to safety.”

Aegon’s heart skipped a beat, a mixture of relief and dread washing over him. “Labor? Is she… is she alright?”

Before Rickard could answer, the sound of more footsteps reached them. Ser Willis Fell appeared, cradling a small bundle wrapped in his white cloak. Aegon’s eyes widened as he realized what had happened.

“A boy,” Willis said softly, handing the newborn to Aegon. “Your son.”

Aegon took the baby, his hands trembling. He looked down at the tiny face, a cocktail of emotions washing over him—joy, fear, love, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “Vaella… she gave birth?”

Willis nodded, his expression grave. “Yes, Your Grace. She gave birth quickly and cleanly. But the baby is weak, born too early.”

Aegon’s heart pounded in his chest. “She’s not coming, is she?” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Larys stepped forward, his face filled with concern. “Your Grace, there is no time. We must leave now. The city is in chaos, and we cannot risk staying any longer.”

Aegon’s eyes blazed with fury and desperation. “I will not leave her behind!” He tried to move towards the passage, but Rickard and Willis quickly stepped in front of him.

“Your Grace, please,” Willis urged. “We must go. The queen gave her life for the safety of the children. Honor her wishes.”

Aegon’s rage boiled over, and he struggled against them. “This was not our deal, Larys! I bargained for the lives of my wife and children!”

Larys’s eyes were sad but resolute. “Your Grace, I understand your pain. But we must protect your children. Vaella made her choice to ensure their safety. We must respect that.”

The knights, with a heavy heart, pushed the furious and struggling Aegon into the boat, holding him steady as the vessel began to move away from the shore. Aegon clung to the baby, his heart breaking with each passing moment.

“Vaella!” he screamed, his voice echoing over the water. “VAELLA!”

The boat glided silently through the night, the city of King’s Landing growing smaller behind them. Aegon’s cries of anguish filled the air, his body wracked with sobs. Daena and Baelor clung to him, their own tears mingling with his.

Larys sat opposite them, his face a mask of calm determination. “We will reach Dragonstone soon, Your Grace. It is empty now. There, we will regroup and plan our next move.”

Aegon looked at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of fury and sorrow. “This was not our deal, Larys,” he repeated, his voice choked with emotion. “I bargained for the lives of my wife and children.”

Larys met his gaze, his expression unreadable. “We did what we could, Your Grace. Vaella’s sacrifice will not be in vain.”

As the boat moved further from the shore, Aegon held his children close, his heart heavy with grief and determination.

…

The sky above King's Landing continued to be a maelstrom of fire and shadow as Caraxes and Syrax circled high above Aegon’s High Hill. The sight of the two mighty dragons, ridden by Prince Daemon Targaryen and Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen respectively, struck fear into the hearts of the city's defenders. Below, the once-mighty capital of the Seven Kingdoms teetered on the brink of chaos.

The first to react were the seven commanders of the city gates, handpicked for their unwavering loyalty to King Aegon II Targaryen. As the dragons’ shadows fell over the Red Keep, these commanders swiftly mobilized their men, unaware that their loyalty had already sealed their fate. Each of them was a veteran, seasoned in battle, but even they were not prepared for the betrayal that awaited them.

Captain Cedric Lannister, stationed at the Mud Gate, barked orders to his men, his voice barely audible over the din. “Hold your positions! Prepare for an assault! Do not let them through!”

But even as he rallied his forces, a group of gold cloaks, their faces grim and resolute, moved silently through the ranks. These were men who had once served under Daemon Targaryen, their loyalty to him unshaken by time or distance. With deadly efficiency, they turned on the commanders.

At the King’s Gate, Captain Roland Buckler felt the cold bite of steel as a dagger plunged into his side. He gasped, turning to see the betrayer—a gold cloak he had trusted. “Why?” he managed to choke out, blood spilling from his wound.

“For Prince Daemon,” the gold cloak replied coldly, pulling the blade free.

One by one, the commanders fell. Those who were not killed outright were bound and dragged away, their protests silenced by the grim determination of their captors. The city gates, now undefended, stood vulnerable to the coming onslaught.

At the Dragon Gate, Ser Gwayne Hightower, the second in command of the City Watch, realized the depth of their betrayal. As he reached for the alarm bell, a hand clamped down on his wrist, and he was pulled back by Luthor, a gold cloak loyal to Daemon.

“Gwayne,” Luthor said, his voice a mixture of regret and resolve. “This is for the good of the realm.”

Gwayne struggled, fury in his eyes. “Traitor! You’ll doom us all!”

With a swift motion, Luthor drew his dagger and plunged it into Gwayne’s heart. The second-in-command’s eyes widened in shock before the life faded from them. Luthor lowered his friend’s body gently to the ground, a somber expression on his face. “May the gods forgive me,” he whispered.

The gold cloaks moved quickly, opening the city gates to the army of the Sea Snake, Lord Corlys Velaryon. The fleet had arrived to the east of Blackwater Bay, and now, its soldiers poured into King’s Landing unopposed. The once-impregnable defenses crumbled as the Black’s forces flooded the city.

At the River Gate, the last bastion of resistance held firm. Thirteen knights of House Hightower, along with a hundred men-at-arms, stood resolute against the attackers. Their commander, Ser Tristan Hightower, rallied his men, his voice ringing out over the clash of steel.

“Hold the line! For King Aegon! For the realm!”

For eight grueling hours, they repelled wave after wave of attacks. The defenders fought with a ferocity born of desperation, knowing that their defeat would spell the end for the Green’s cause. The gate became a battlefield, littered with the bodies of the fallen, both friend and foe.

“Ser Tristan!” a young knight called out, his voice strained. “They’re coming from within the city! We’re surrounded!”

Tristan’s face darkened, but his resolve did not waver. “We fight to the last man. Show them the courage of House Hightower!”

The other six gates, however, fell swiftly. The gold cloaks, having neutralized the loyal commanders, opened the way for the invaders. The Black’s army entered the city unmolested, spreading through the streets like a dark tide. The fall of King’s Landing was swift and brutal, the city’s defenses crumbling within a day.

In the Red Keep, Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower watched the unfolding disaster with a heavy heart. She had known this day might come, but the reality was no less devastating. The sounds of battle grew closer, and she realized that the end was inevitable.

“Gather the council,” Alicent ordered, her voice calm despite the turmoil. “We must decide our next steps.”

As the remaining loyalists assembled, their faces were grim. Alicent took a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over them. “The city has fallen. We cannot continue this fight. Too many lives have been lost already.”

Lord Jasper Wylde, the Ironrod, clenched his fists. “We cannot simply surrender! There must be something we can do!”

Alicent shook her head, her expression sorrowful. “We have done all we can. Further resistance will only lead to more death. I will not see our people slaughtered needlessly.”

Lord Tayland Lannister stepped forward, his eyes filled with understanding. “Your Grace is wise. The time has come to seek terms.”

With a heavy heart, Alicent nodded. “Then it is decided. We will surrender and seek mercy for our people.”

As the order was given, the Red Keep fell silent. The battle was over, and the fate of King’s Landing was sealed. The Blacks had taken the city, and the Greens were left to face the consequences of their defeat.

In the secret passageways below the Red Keep, Vaella Targaryen remained alone, her heart heavy with the knowledge of the sacrifice she had made. Her children were safe, and that was all that mattered. She would face her sister and uncle, ready to defend her family with every ounce of strength she had left.

…

The Iron Throne loomed imposingly in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, its twisted metal and jagged edges a symbol of ultimate power and the treacherous path to claim it. Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen sat upon it, her face a mask of determination. The hall was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and soldiers, the air thick with the tension of recent victory and the uncertainty of what was to come.

Daemon Targaryen strode into the hall, his eyes sharp and searching. He approached the throne, bowing slightly before addressing his wife. “The city is secure, but there is no sign of Aegon or his children. They must have been smuggled out through the secret passageways.”

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, but before she could respond, Daemon continued. “However, my gold cloaks found Vaella as they searched the passageways.”

Rhaenyra’s face changed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. She took a deep breath, composing herself. “Bring her before me.”

Moments later, the doors to the Great Hall opened, and Vaella Targaryen was led in. She was bloodied and pale from childbirth, her strength clearly waning but her spirit unbroken. As she was brought before the throne, she lifted her gaze to her sister—the sister she had once loved more than anyone in the world. Despite everything, she guessed she still did, even if this Rhaenyra before her was all twisted and crooked by the power of the throne.

“Vaella,” Rhaenyra said, her voice cold and commanding. “You look… worse for wear.”

Vaella managed a weak smile, her eyes filled with both sorrow and defiance. “And you look quite comfortable up there, sister. Is it as you imagined? I wouldn’t know, having never climbed up there myself.” She glanced pointedly at the numerous small cuts marring Rhaenyra’s skin, evidence of the throne’s treacherous nature.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger. “Do not mock me, Vaella. You know nothing of what I have endured.”

Vaella’s smile faded, replaced by a look of deep sadness. “I know more than you think, Rhaenyra. We have both suffered losses. But power… power has twisted you.”

Rhaenyra’s expression grew bitter, her grief for her lost children simmering just beneath the surface. “You and Aegon stole my birthright! You conspired against me and took what was rightfully mine!”

Vaella’s eyes blazed with fury. “Stole your birthright? Neither Aegon nor I wanted the throne! We were pushed to take the crown, forced into this conflict. It was you, Rhaenyra, who started to rebel first. You could never let go of the throne.”

Rhaenyra’s face contorted with rage. “How dare you accuse me? I did what was necessary for the realm!”

Vaella took a step forward, her voice ringing out with conviction. “No, you did what was necessary for yourself. You were willing to destroy everything to hold onto this foolish notion that the realm would accept your disputed claim. You are egocentric and malcontent of your own doing, and look where it has led us.”

Rhaenyra’s hands tightened on the armrests of the throne, her knuckles white. “You dare defy me? After all I have lost, after all I have done for this throne, you think you can stand against me?”

Vaella’s voice was calm but firm. “I am not standing against you, sister. I am protecting my children, as any mother would.”

Rhaenyra’s anger flared, her voice rising. “You will be held captive, along with Alicent, and confined to your chambers until I decide what to do with you. Guards, take her away!”

The gold cloaks moved to obey, their expressions grim. As they led Vaella away, she cast one last, sorrowful look at her sister. “Rhaenyra, please, do not let this throne destroy you. Remember who you were, who we were.”

Rhaenyra’s face remained hard, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—regret, perhaps, or doubt. She watched as Vaella was taken from the hall, the weight of her choices heavy upon her.

As Vaella was escorted to her chambers, the pain of her recent labor and the sorrow of her situation weighed heavily on her. Yet, her thoughts were focused on her children. They were safe, and she would endure whatever came to ensure their continued safety.

In the Great Hall, Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, the murmurs of the courtiers and soldiers around her fading into the background. She was alone with her thoughts, the weight of her crown pressing down on her. The throne was hers, but at what cost?

…

The next day dawned with a grim sense of finality hanging over King’s Landing. The once vibrant city was now shrouded in a tense silence, its streets patrolled by soldiers loyal to Queen Rhaenyra. The Great Hall of the Red Keep was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and the heavy presence of armored guards. It was a day of reckoning for those who had opposed the new regime.

Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, her face set in a mask of determination. Beside her stood Daemon Targaryen, his expression equally resolute. Before them knelt Lord Otto Hightower and Lord Jasper Wylde, their faces pale and drawn.

“You are both guilty of treason,” Rhaenyra declared, her voice echoing through the hall. “You conspired against the rightful queen and supported the usurper. For this, you will pay with your lives.”

Otto Hightower lifted his head, defiance still flickering in his eyes. “I served the realm, Rhaenyra. Everything I did was for the good of Westeros.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened. “You served yourself, Otto. You sought power at any cost, and now you will pay for it.” She turned to the executioner. “Carry out the sentence.”

With a swift motion, the executioner’s sword fell, and Lord Otto Hightower’s head rolled across the stone floor. A murmur of shock and horror rippled through the hall. Lord Jasper Wylde, trembling, was next. His pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, and he met the same fate as Otto.

As the bodies were carried away, Lords Rosby and Stokeworth were brought before the throne. Their faces were masks of desperation as they tried to plead their cases.

“Your Grace,” Lord Rosby began, his voice shaking. “We swear our loyalty to you. We were misled, but we are ready to serve you faithfully.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger. “Faithless friends,” she spat. “You turned your backs on me when it suited you, and now you beg for mercy? I cannot trust men who switch allegiances so easily.”

Lord Stokeworth fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Please, Your Grace, show mercy. We have families—”

Rhaenyra’s expression remained cold. “You should have thought of that before betraying me. Take them away and execute them.”

The guards dragged the pleading lords from the hall, their cries echoing in the stone corridors. The executions were swift, and by midday, their heads adorned the walls of the Red Keep as a grim warning to any who might think to betray Rhaenyra.

In another part of the castle, Ser Tyland Lannister’s screams filled the air as he was tortured for information about the crown’s treasure. His loyalty to Aegon was tested to its limits, but Tyland remained steadfast, refusing to reveal the hiding place. His endurance only fueled Rhaenyra’s frustration and determination to break him.

Grand Maester Orwyle was confined to the black cells, his protests of innocence and pleas for mercy ignored. The dark, damp cells were a far cry from the comfortable quarters he was used to, and he knew that his days might be numbered.

Later that day, Daemon entered the queen’s chambers where Rhaenyra sat, the weight of the day’s events heavy on her shoulders.

“We’ve dealt with the traitors,” Daemon said, his voice low. “But there’s another matter that requires your attention.”

Rhaenyra looked up, exhaustion etched in her features. “What is it?”

Daemon sighed, his expression troubled. “The local populace is growing restless. Vaella and Aegon were much loved in King’s Landing. The people are not taking kindly to their sudden absence and the executions.”

Rhaenyra’s face tightened. “What do you suggest we do?”

“We need to address their concerns,” Daemon replied. “Show them that we are here to rule justly and with their interests in mind. But we also need to be prepared to deal with unrest swiftly.”

Rhaenyra nodded slowly. “You’re right. We cannot afford to lose the support of the people. Arrange for a public address. I will speak to them and assure them that we are here to bring stability and prosperity.”

Daemon’s eyes softened slightly. “And Vaella? What will you do with her?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze darkened. “For now, she will remain confined. I need time to think about what to do with her. She is a threat, but she is also my sister.”

…

Vaella Targaryen was led through the royal quarters of the Red Keep by Rhaenyra’s men. The stone walls echoed with their footsteps, the silence heavy and oppressive. She felt the weight of her recent childbirth, her body still weak and trembling, but her spirit remained unbroken. As she passed through the corridors, she was suddenly stopped by the sight of Dowager Queen Alicent being escorted in the opposite direction.

Alicent’s eyes met Vaella’s, wide with worry and fear. “Vaella,” she called out, her voice trembling. “Are the children safe?”

Vaella nodded, her expression resolute despite the exhaustion etched into her features. “They are safe, Alicent,” she replied, her voice strong. “Do not worry.”

Before either could say more, the guards pulled them apart, each escorted to their separate fates. Vaella’s heart ached for the dowager queen, but she had to remain focused. She was taken to a chamber where a bath had been prepared for her, the steam rising gently from the water.

The servants undressed her with practiced efficiency, their expressions neutral. Vaella sank into the warm water, letting out a sigh of relief as the heat soothed her aching muscles. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to relax, if only briefly.

Her mind raced with thoughts and worries. How could she reach Helaena in the Vale and Aemond and Criston at Harrenhal? The family needed to be reunited, to plan their next move. But for now, she was trapped in the heart of the enemy’s stronghold, her movements watched and controlled.

She thought of her husband Aegon, wondering if he and their children had safely escaped. The thought of their safety brought her a measure of comfort, but it was fleeting. She had just given birth, and she had not even had the chance to name her baby boy. The pain of that loss cut deeply, a fresh wound in an already battered heart.

The door to the chamber opened, and one of the guards stepped inside. “You have a short time, my lady. Do not take too long.”

Vaella nodded, her mind still a whirlwind of thoughts. She had to stay strong, to find a way to communicate with her family and ensure their safety. The task seemed monumental, but she was determined to succeed.

As she bathed, she replayed the recent events in her mind. Rhaenyra’s anger, the accusations, and the execution orders. She wondered how her sister had become so twisted by the power of the throne. They had once been so close, and now it seemed a chasm had opened between them, filled with bitterness and mistrust.

She recalled her argument with Rhaenyra, how she had stood her ground despite her weakened state. The memory of Rhaenyra’s face, twisted with rage and grief, haunted her. Vaella knew that her sister was hurting, that the loss of her children had driven her to the edge. As did the death of Aeron her. But that did not excuse Rhaenyra’s actions. Vaella had to remain vigilant, to protect what was left of her family and find a way to reach them.

As she finished her bath, she dressed in the clean clothes provided by the servants. The simple gown was a stark contrast to the regal attire she was accustomed to, but it would do. She had no need for finery now, only for resolve and strength.

The guards returned, escorting her back to her chambers. The journey through the corridors was silent, the weight of the recent executions hanging heavily in the air. Vaella glanced out of the windows as they passed, the city of King’s Landing sprawling below, a city now under the rule of her sister.

Upon reaching her chambers, Vaella was left alone, the door closed and locked behind her. She moved to the window, looking out over the city, her thoughts turning to her family once more. She whispered a silent prayer for their safety, her heart aching with the distance that separated them.

#game of thrones #romance #dragons #house of the dragon #fanfic #viserys targaryen #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #aemond targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen

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