#rises from the ashes to reblog this and then go back to the ashes

[cabinetofquriosities]

A F***ing Trial

Agatha x Rio x Reader

Warnings: sex pollen-like story and SO. MUCH. SMUT.

Reblog this if you like it 🖤

Agatha and Rio were already awake once you rose from your exhausted slumber.

After barely surviving the last trial that cut your group down to three, you had conked out by the fire. Your entire body was sore and your emotions in a frenzy. The night’s sleep helped your body and mind. You were still sad about your other coven members, but you also didn’t know them before meeting them three days prior.

Agatha, though. You had met her years ago in Westfield. She finally snapped out of the Scarlet Witch’s spell and found you. She had a list provided by another member of the new coven and your name was on it.

You had no clue you had any magic at all until Agatha tested you. Granted, throwing a chair at someone wasn’t the safest way of testing them, but it worked in your case. You flinched and the chair burst into flames, falling to ash as it hit you. You were a fire witch. A protector.

However, you were a fire witch who could only use your powers that one time. After that, it was as if you had a block. Agatha had thrown other things at you as her way of “helping”, though you wondered if she just wanted an excuse for a bit of violence. Nothing. Books and a wooden spoon bounced off of your head.

“Well, we’re just going to have to see what unlocks you,” she said.

The road was brutal and unforgiving, killing one witch per trial. It scared you to know that the next three could do the same to the remaining witches, yourself included.

Rio seemed strangely unaffected by the death surrounding them. Agatha did as well, but seemed a bit more sensitive to it than her ex. You had been a crying mess after the first loss. Now you were just afraid.

You had grown attached to the two other witches. Agatha was captivating. She was intensely ambitious to the point of selfishness, but also contained multitudes. You could see the layers of her emotions peeking through every now and then. She was larger than life and spellbinding. Rio, meanwhile, had more teeth. She was aggressive and passionate. While she seemed detached at times, she had this insatiable desire to live life to the fullest. It was as if she were new to it. Little did you know, she was out of practice when it came to feeling genuine attachment to people and being among the living.

You could tell straight away that the two had a long history. The tension was thick, hanging heavily in the air. The rest of your now deceased coven could feel it too.

When you woke up alone, the two surviving coven members were nowhere to be found. You walked out a bit into the woods, looking for them. You stopped short at the sight of Rio being pinned against a tree by Agatha.

Rio was smirking at the other woman as if to challenge her. Agatha leaned in, biting at Rio’s lips. Her thigh was pressed against her core, grinding against her leather pants. Rio smiled as she craned her head back against the trunk of the tree. Agatha’s hand let her wrist go and slid down her front, dipping beneath her waistband. Rio let out a gasp, earning a smug smile and arched brow from Agatha.

You tried to sneak away, but accidentally stepped on a twig, the snap alerting the couple to your presence. They both looked at you, making the blood in your body rise to your cheeks.

Your fingertips suddenly sparked, the magic you were previously unable to access now activating with arousal. You had always repressed your desires in the past, having been raised in a strict religious family. You had been intimidate with a partner in the past, but it was all very vanilla.

Agatha noticed your hands burning with fire, her mind working to decipher what that could mean about your power.

“I… uh, sorry,” you said, quickly retreating back to the fire, jumping when the flame surged on the burnt out logs.

You could hear Rio laughing mockingly in the distance.

A few minutes later, the pair found you. Rio sat next to you with that same smirk from before while Agatha barely even looked at you. Her eyes fell on the newly lit fire.

“Interesting,” she said, her face illuminated by the glow.

“I’ll say,” Rio said, her hand resting on your knee.

The moment Rio touched you, the fire grew in intensity. Agatha’s eyes widened, looking both alarmed and excited about what this meant.

“I guess we finally found your spark,” Agatha said, giving you a sly smile.

Two small flames jumped out of the fire, catching on the dirt in a way that wasn’t physically possible. A trail ignited, two lines of fire forming and spreading out. Agatha’s fascination turned to worry.

“Alright… enough spark, let’s pull it back…” she said nervously.

“I’m not doing anything!” you said, your heart racing.

The fire formed a path, the flames staying in two controlled lines that led them to a tower in the distance. Rio tilted her head, toying with a flower she bloomed from her hand.

“Well, I guess we know whose trial this is,” she said.

Your heart was in your throat. Your power was still so unpredictable. You had used it once in self defense on a chair and once just moments ago. You watched as the two other women led the way. Agatha turned around, regarding you before speaking.

“You can do this. The road wouldn’t be calling you if you couldn’t. Let’s go.”

She spun back around, dramatically flipping her coat with no regard for the flames. You took a moment to steel yourself before following them.

The path led to a tower made of ice. The walls reflected the moonlight, giving it a glow against the backdrop of the sky. The door had a stained glass portrait of the full moon with fire surrounding it.

You pushed the door open and stepped through, expecting the usual costume change. You looked at Agatha and Rio to see that they were naked. Agatha looked nonplussed while Rio had a wolfish smile. Looking down, you were mortified to see your own naked body with one addition.

“Well, I didn’t know you were packing more than magical heat…” Agatha purred, looking down at the sizable dick that had been bestowed upon you.

“No, I… I don’t have… the road did it!” you said, shocked at your new anatomy.

“Well, the road has wonderful taste,” she replied as you tried covering it with your hands.

“Enough admiring, we should find the challenge,” Rio said, looking you up and down once more before searching your surroundings.

The ceiling was out of your sight, positioned at the very top of the massive tower. There were portraits lining the circular frozen walls. They were lined up like film, carvings of stone with bodies in different positions. The floor was cushioned and covered in silk sheets and decadent pillows.

You walked along the wall, finally distracted enough to examine the room. You touched a wall and felt the cold against your fingertips. You stepped back to the center with Agatha and Rio. Once you were all in the middle of the room, an ice hourglass began to slowly fill with water, the cube on top melting as time passed. A shelf emerged with four icicles attached. A circle of low burning fire surrounded the coven as the timer began.

Something resembling snow fell from the ceiling, breaking into a fog the three of you breathed in. Your heart began to race and you felt a flush burning your cheeks. There was an iron frame that appeared over one of the portraits. It was a carving of two people entangled in the missionary position.

You noticed the other two women struggling to keep their focus. Their pupils dilated and focused on you. You looked down and saw where all of your blood had rushed to.

Agatha looked up at the carving.

“I think we know what your trial is,” Agatha said, her voice a bit raspy, “Little miss purity has to discover a few things.”

You would have been resistant if you had been with anyone else, but the two other women had been present in your dreams since the beginning of the road.

“Wait, what?”

“You heard her, firestarter,” Rio said, stalking up to you.

A thin sheen of sweat covered her body, causing a layer of goosebumps to break out. She looked like she was about to consume you.

“I know you feel it too. That need rushing through you?” she said, leaning in to whisper into your ear.

“The air of arousal,” Agatha said, her body nearly shivering with desire, “That’s what we breathed in. If we don’t satiate it, it can kill you. Are you okay with this?”

Agatha actually seemed to care about how you felt about this, despite the irresistible lust taking her over.

“Yes,” you said eagerly before you could stop yourself, “I wanted it before.”

You turned to Rio, who was standing an inch from you, her hands running along your arms. You pulled her into a kiss, the heat within you passing the point of no return. Rio fell back, pulling you with her. You landed over her, catching yourself with your hands. Seeing her beneath you like this was more intense than you could imagine.

Rio reached between you, her hand wrapping around your cock. Her touch sent a shock through you, the flames of the circle rising a bit. You lowered your hips down as she guided you into her. You both gasped at the sensation. Your eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling.

“Move,” Rio ordered.

You opened your eyes and locked onto hers. You slowly moved your hips, getting used to the motion. You let out a whine as you began to speed up. Rio rolled her hips with yours, bucking and grinding against you. You didn’t know what else to do but thrust. She reached down again and began playing with her own clit. Her cunt squeezed around you as her mouth fell open into a moan. The flames grew another foot. An icicle fell from the shelf, crashing against the floor. There were three left.

You could hear a cranking sound as the portraits spun around the room, the frame now over a carving of a woman riding a man. Rio sat up, about to top you when Agatha interrupted.

“You already got one,” Agatha said to Rio.

She nearly tackled you to the floor, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. She straddled you, grinding herself along the side of your cock. You squirmed, your breath shaking at the feeling of her wet lips massaging you. She reached down and positioned you before sinking down onto you. She threw her head back, her long hair falling down her back. Her chest was shamelessly pushed out as she moved. Her hips rocked and circled, leaving you without a thought in your mind. You bucked up, drawing a gasp from her. She took you by the wrists and guided them over her breasts. You held onto her as you fucked her, your back arching off of the cushioned floor. You sat up, kissing and sucking at her neck. Her arms encircled you, her hand tangled in your hair as she held you to her throat. You moaned against her skin as she rode you.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck…” Agatha whispered as she moved faster.

Suddenly, she tensed up, her body freezing her into a vision of pleasure. Her mouth hung open, her eyes squeezing shut. Her slick walls pulsed around you, making you shudder with your own orgasm. Another icicle fell as the fire grew again. You were still terribly hard in a way that was painful.

The whirring of the portraits snapped you from your haze. The one that was picked made your pulse quicken. You could see it had the same effect on your coven members. Rio smiled and Agatha looked you up and down.

Something inside of you took hold. You grabbed Agatha by the waist, flipping her onto her hands and knees. You looked at Rio, saying, “Move.”

Rio didn’t have to be told twice. She sat and opened her legs in front of Agatha. You checked the time, the hourglass half full. Sweat trickled down your face, the magic nearly driving you insane.

You moved to your knees behind Agatha, reaching down and grabbing her by the hair. She let out a shocked moan as you pulled her tresses before slamming into her. You shoved her head down into Rio’s pussy.

Her mouth immediately went to work, drawing hitches and sighs from Rio. You grabbed her by the hip with your free hand and pulled her into each thrust. The sound of moans, the wet sounds of Agatha’s mouth exploring Rio, and your thighs slapping against Agatha’s ass filled the tower. You felt a feral need to make her cum. Your hand went from her hair to her back. You dug your nails in and scratched down over its arch. You could feel the way Agatha reacted to it, knowing then that Agatha had a submissive side.

“Slap her,” Rio growled, “She loves it.”

You reared back, your hand coming down against her ass with a force. Agatha let out a wild cry against Rio’s warmth. She then went back to sucking on Rio’s clit, earning higher and higher moans. You knew she was close and also knew how to help Agatha to catch her up. You reached your arm around her and played with the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Ah! Fuck, yes!” she cried out, pressing her cheek to Rio’s inner thigh before returning to her.

The two women’s moans rose in pitch until all three of you broke. You fell forward, catching yourself on your hands before crushing Agatha. You could hear the shattering of another icicle as it fell. One left. The flames were several feet high and licking at the walls.

The carvings spun one last time. This one was more confusing than the others. Two women, lying one on top of the other facing the sky. The man was inside of one while the other held her.

“Ah, I see,” Rio said.

She guided Agatha as she laid down. Rio lay under her, her front pressing against her back. They were stacked on one another, waiting for you. You looked at the hourglass and saw how close you were to the end of your time.

You were on your knees when you held Agatha’s hips and thrusted into her. Her head fell back against Rio’s shoulder. You took no time for foreplay. You fucked her with abandon before pulling out of her, earning a violent glare.

You then slid into Rio, fucking her with the same force. She kissed and marked Agatha, her neck one big bruise. Your hands covered her breasts, pinching and tugging at them. She leaned down and kissed Agatha, pouring all of the hidden desire you had been harboring for her into it. You pulled out of Rio and sank back into Agatha, a whimper escaping her lips driving you absolutely insane.

She screamed as her cunt strangled you, her body spasming with her climax. You looked at her wild hair and her blissed out face. You wanted to remember this forever.

You then sank into Rio, pulling an animalistic growl from her that slightly scared you. Your thighs ached as you sped your thrusts, angling to find the part of Rio that made her scream. She shook and shrieked as she came with you following soon after, the pleasure blinding you for a moment.

The fire shot up, reaching the top of the tower as the final icicle fell. The walls melted down, water falling and rolling down to the ground. The carvings fell from the melted walls into the dirt. The hourglass filled and broke before disintegrating into a puddle. The fire that had been emanating from your magic returned to your hands. You looked down and your clothes were back and your member was gone.

“Well,” Agatha said, standing on wobbly legs before dusting herself off, “Good job, team.”

Rio snorted with a laugh, getting up and offering you a hand. You took it and walked with them, now knowing the trip down the road would be much more fun.

Thank you for reading! Reblog this if you liked it 🖤

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Aftermath

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Synopsis: In the aftermath of Eddie’s death, you visit Wayne and you grieve Eddie together. You admit to him you never got to tell Eddie how you feel, but unbeknownst to you, Eddie hears your confession and is trying to make his way back home to you from the Upside Down. 

Warnings: heavy angst; grief; depression; mention of character death; smut (18+ minors dni); oral (m receiving); piv/unprotected sex; dirty talk; sub/sort of switch!eddie; smoking

A/N: I wanna shout out @punkrockmlchael @keeryhours @losingmygrasponreality and @munsonsmixtapes y'all are great- thank you for letting me talk to y'all about this fic <3

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! And requests are currently open :)

Everything still didn’t feel real. As the dust settles and Hawkins begins to pick up the pieces, you still feel like you’re stuck underwater. He’s gone- and everyone around you celebrates like they're better off for it. People rise from the ashes, content to keep the world turning- so much progress yet you are completely paralyzed. And it feels like no one else cares. 

They do care. They’re just happy. Relieved to be rid of the devil worshiping, fork tongued, serial killer that they fabricated and made the villain of this nightmare. They celebrate, and embrace, treating the aftermath like an uplifting time. You’re stuck- paralyzed by the immense pain that sits deep in your chest. It weighs you down, and you wished for anything but this. 

You wished for Eddie, because he’s the one person who’d pull you out of this when you’d spiral. You can’t feel grounded because your rock is gone. Your heart hangs so heavy with regret as you mourn your best friend and the love of your life. And you never got to tell him. 

As Jason and his friends created a witch hunt, everyone’s priority was to keep Eddie safe- there  \were so many times you felt like you should’ve said something. Your inner voice yelling at you to do anything- something before it was too late. You chickened out every time, petrified of rejection and worried you’d ruin what you had more than it had already been threatened. 

Now you don’t know how to feel anything at all. He’s just gone. And the rest of the town moves on. And you can hardly breathe, covered with dust as you stay exactly where you were. You weren’t there at the end, and you wish you’d had. To be with him, comfort him, make him know just how much he means. You’re angry you didn’t stick up for yourself when the group suggested you didn’t follow them. You’re angry you let Eddie convince you to stay behind when they traveled into the Upside Down. You should have been there. 

So now, like a body possessed, you go through the motions to get by with hardly living. You’re a shell, floating aimlessly from one thing to the next but you aren’t there. Because Eddie isn’t there. You miss him so much your brain can’t handle the amount of grief that’s overtaking you. You feel consumed by such an immense sadness just all the time. 

Dustin was the first person you saw, and you both held each other as you both wailed. He didn’t have to say anything, you instinctively knew. Both of you, tangled up in pain, holding on to the last bit of him you both had in that moment- each other. You both crumbled , and you cried so hard until your bodies exhausted themselves. 

Compelled to just make yourself feel anything, sick of the numbness- just wanting to expel the dark cloud sitting inside you, you find the strength to make your way to the Munson trailer, just hoping Wayne would be there. You knew Wayne needed you, and you needed him. You needed Wayne in your life- the father figure that stepped up for Eddie, but also for you. 

When Wayne opens the door, you notice he looks completely destroyed. His eyes, like yours, are bloodshot from tears and a man who you once thought was the tallest man in the world, looks so very small. The same small cloud that has dwelled in you since he died, also festered and plagued Wayne. 

The second he opens the door, you need a hug. Suddenly, you feel like a little kid again, safer now that Wayne is around. In his embrace, you feel heard, without needing to speak. You know he’s feeling the same pain, the same loss, and he’s the only person in the whole world that you need to be near right now. You just pray that he lets you in.

“He didn’t do it,” you sob, clinging to Wayne’s flannel shirt. He rubs your back comfortingly. 

“I know he didn’t,” he soothes you, but you can still hear that he’s crying as well. 

Wayne holds you and it gives him some solace for the first time in weeks. He’s relieved that you’ve come back to visit. You're the first of Eddie’s friends to make the journey over. But, of course you were. 

Once you manage to pull yourself somewhat together, you pull away from the hug. “I wanted to know if I could still come visit,” you ask meekly, desperate to encase yourself back into Eddie’s world. Wayne nods, hugging you again, stroking your head to comfort you as the tears begin to fall again. 

“I loved him, I love him,” you confess pathetically and Wayne shushes you like a child needing to be comforted. It’s a sound you’re familiar with. There have been many moments in your life where Wayne was the one there to pick up the pieces. Bullies would be mean to both you at school, Eddie and you would run home with tear stained cheeks, and he’d hold you both like how he’s holding you now. 

“I know, kiddo,” he soothed. “I know.” 

“Can- can I go to his room? Just for a minute,” you plead. 

“You can stay as long as you want,” Wayne promises, stepping aside to let you in. 

The trailer hasn’t changed- it’s got that look about it, always. It’s comforting to look around it and just feel him. It sounds so crazy but you swear you can feel Eddie- your senses are just overwhelmed with so much of him after weeks of an extreme emptiness. 

His room is untouched, you can tell Wayne hasn’t been ready to go in. His unmade bed, his dirty laundry, his tapes- everything is exactly as he left it. The bed he won’t crawl back into, the tshirts he won’t wear, the new tape that he’ll never hear- it’s all paused. A room that was once as lively as the boy who lived in it now felt like a time capsule that is the only proof that he was there. 

You sit on his bed, trying to commit it all to your memory. You feel so dizzy, and all you can do is fixate on every detail. Petrified you’ll forget something, which will turn into something else, and then before you know it you’ve lost all of the pieces that make Eddie. 

Laying on his bed, you stare up at the ceiling, you just let yourself sink into your sadness. You feel engulfed by him, his essence. It’s the closest you know you’ll ever get to the real thing again. You burrow into his pillow and blankets and just let yourself become fully cased in, you close your eyes and you can almost pretend he’ll be there when you open your eyes. He’ll be there, sitting on the floor strumming his guitar like he had done a million times before. You swear you can feel him there. 

He’s screaming for you, begging you to hear him. He’s scared and alone and can’t get out. He’s stuck in this limbo. He can see you, he can see everyone- no one knows he’s alive. He’s trying to reach out to you as he stands in his room, only in the Upside Down. His face is messy with grime and tears, his whole body aches. He can’t muster up the strength to run anymore. Seeing you like this though? Worse than anything else he feels like he’s been through. He needed to get back home, but he couldn’t figure out how. 

 He hears a gentle knock on the door, and it feels like a million miles away. Even if it doesn’t matter, he steps aside still trying to talk to you when he watches Wayne walk in. For the first time, Eddie’s speechless. He gives up on his talking for just a moment, he scrambles around his room, looking for any way to send the two of you a sign. 

Wayne takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He rubs your back gently over Eddie’s comforter. He doesn’t want you to think he wants you to leave. Eddie’s looking through the wreckage of his bedroom in the Upside Down, he needs to find his radio. He can see it on top of his dresser in the real world, and he’s trying to find the one there. If he can play something, anything, maybe he has a shot that the two of you will hear it. 

“I called your house, they know you’re with me,” Wayne says soothingly. He can see the blanket move so he knows you nodded. “I was hoping you’d take me up on having dinner here,” he adds. “I’m so used to cooking for two..,” he trails off, not wanting to make you any sadder. He sees the comforter nod again, and he pats your shoulder to make his exit. 

“Did you know?” you ask suddenly, Wayne turning around in the doorway. “Do you think he knew?” You ask, sitting up a little and wiping your eyes. Eddie stops his search and his eyes are just focused on you. 

“Did I know what, sweetheart?” Wayne asks softly. You take a few shaky breaths. 

“Was it obvious..,” you are embarrassed, “Was it obvious that I liked him? I never told him…”

“We didn’t really talk about stuff like that,” he responds. “But, you and Eddie had such a special bond… You meant so much to him, don’t let that be the thing you focus on.”

“I waited and then it was too late,” you sniffle. 

“Eddie loved you more than anything,” Wayne reiterates, and you know it’s true. You just didn’t know in what way. 

Eddie thinks he might be sick. He jumps over a pile of his dirty clothes to kneel on the bed in front of you. He knows you can’t see him, it doesn’t matter. He stares into your eyes even though he knows you aren’t seeing him back. 

“The whole time?” he laughs, tears welling up again, he hits his fist to the mattress. “Of course I liked you, oh my god. I couldn’t have been more obvious! On what planet would I not be completely head over heels in love with you?” He exclaims. His laughter sounds almost delirious- he feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. “Oh my god, baby, I- Fuck this,” he grumbles. “This is bullshit,” he says, looking around the room again for something to use. “I’m getting back there,” he announces to the void, “I’m getting back there and I swear to god, the first thing after I kiss you- I’m making fun of you for being so stupid to think I wouldn’t like you. Christ, where the fuck is my stereo?” 

His foot kicks something and he curses, but then he laughs triumphantly because he hears static. He uncovers the stereo from under one of his shirts and thankfully it looks salvageable. He sits down, pulling it onto his lap, and messes with the frequency. “Please, please, please,” he mutters over and over again, hoping to get some sort of signal out. Nothing. He tosses it aside, racking his brain trying to remember anything the group told him. “Lights, lights!” he says, scurrying over to the switch on the wall, frantically flicking it on and off. 

The lights in the room suddenly flicker, and your head tilts, looking up at the ceiling light. Your first instinct is to brush it off, the bulb probably just needs to be replaced. The annoyance of the flickering switch is enough to get you out of bed to turn off the light. You walk over to flip the switch to off, and you realize the overhead light is already switched to off. Puzzled, you look over, and see the lamp on Eddie’s bedside table is flickering now too. Then, the hall light flickers, like some electric current is running the length of the house messing with the lights. The lights over the kitchenette start to flicker next, and it makes Wayne jump. 

You follow the light trail, trying to figure out what’s going on. You look to Wayne and he looks just as mystified as you. Eddie, in the meantime, is banging the walls, flipping the switches, trying anything to get your attention. He’s yelling incoherent nonsense, jumping around, hitting things- fuck the monsters, he’s not afraid anymore. He’s not letting an opportunity to let you know that he’s there slip by. 

“Might be the generator acting up,” Wayne muses, explaining the odd sight away. You aren’t convinced, but you don’t know any better. So many parts of the journey, you were left out- you didn’t know about the electromagnetic elements of the Upside Down. You were left out of the loop, Eddie insisting you stay back for your own safety more times than not. You were mad at him still for that, honestly. Eddie knew Jason could’ve used you in some way to get to him. The less you knew, the better he felt. You resented it, knowing you could’ve handled Jason and his goons. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

“You think so?” You mumble, unconvinced. You observe as there seems to be an obvious pattern to the flickering of the lights. It was like someone was running up and down the length of the trailer, messing with the switches. The generator is the easiest answer, and the rational side of you tells you to just let it be. The other side of you, maybe the delusional side- looking for any sort of sign, thinks it’s something. 

“Can I use the phone?” You ask, and Wayne nods. You grab the receiver off of the base and start dialing Dustin’s home phone number. Wayne continues to work on dinner, turning on his portable radio to offer you some privacy as you make a call. 

“Hi Mrs. Henderson,” you say when Dustin’s mother answers. “I understand that it’s dinner time, I’m sorry. I was just hoping Dustin could talk for just a few minutes? I understand, ma’am. Please, just this once? Thank you, ma’am.” 

Dustin sounds confused when he says your name on the other end of the phone. “What’s going on?” He asks, understandably confused. 

“The lights in Eddie’s trailer are going haywire,” you explain, not sure how to explain it to him. “It’s so weird, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s random- but it doesn’t feel that way. It’s just Wayne and I here, but it’s like someone is flipping the switches over and over again.” 

Eddie says a little prayer that Henderson will pick up on the fact that he’s trying to let you guys know he’s there. He watches you intently as you listen to Dustin, and answer his follow-up questions. He watched as you try to hold back a smile, the first one in weeks to Grace your pretty face. 

“Are you sure?” You ask again in disbelief, listening to Dustin’s theory. You’re skeptical, you can’t let yourself believe Eddie might be alive. You couldn’t bear the disappointment. 

“We’ve seen it before,” Dustin says, and you can tell he’s rushing off the phone. “Trust me, let me figure something out. Do you know Morse code?” 

“No,” you answer dejectedly. You also don’t know if Eddie would know any Morse code, but maybe Dustin knew more than you. 

“That’s okay,” Dustin says, you hear him scribbling something down. “See if there’s something you can figure out. A pattern, anything- I got to go. My mom is gonna flip out if I’m not back like now.  I can call you back after dinner- use Eddie’s walkie.” 

Dustin hangs up abruptly and you place the receiver down, dejectedly. You smile towards Wayne and the lights finally settle down. You offer to help and Wayne happily takes you up on the offer. It’s a small space, but the two of you make it work. It’s a nice silence, but it also weighs heavy among you. It shouldn’t be like this. It should be chaotic and messy and loud and he should be here. 

“Remember that one Halloween you took Eddie and I trick or treating, and we both wanted to be Casper,” you reminisce. Wayne offers a deep, throaty chuckle. 

“You both tricked me, I dropped Eddie off at your house and it wasn’t until I was halfway back home that I realized I had the wrong kid,” Wayne huffs, and you break into a fit of giggles. “Just like that,” he points at you, “you laughed just like that under the sheet and you gave yourself away.” 

Wayne hands you a plate and you both sit down at the tiny kitchen table. You’re happy to see him like this. He’s not okay, and you’re not okay. But for now, he’s letting you in- and he’s letting you in so he can heal, even if never fully. He knows Eddie would want you here. 

You settle back into a comfortable silence again as you both eat. Both of you just happy to not be alone. You know your other friends feel this loss- everyone is just pained with losing Eddie. Everyone’s spirits are broken. Wayne and you knew Eddie best, the longest. Everyone is mourning their friend. Wayne and you are mourning Eddie in every phase of his life. 

Grief is a fickle thing. It comes down in waves. Unpredictable and always messy. And always uniquely different. It’s an anchor that sits on your chest and the seams that hold you together in the moments where you miss them the most. It also makes you emboldened. Too sad to care about anything- it lowers inhibitions and makes you realize how life is too short to be embarrassed. And it hits you all at once, and you don’t even know when you started crying into your food. 

It’s an ugly cry- the kind where you struggle to breathe, your nose runs uncontrollably and it sounds inhuman. Wayne comforts you the best he can, resting a hand on your shoulder. You can hardly speak as you manage to talk between heavy sobs. 

Eddie’s devastated. It hurts him so much to see you like this. He’s never seen this and he hopes soon he won’t have to again. Because he’ll figure out how to get home to you. As Wayne pulls you into a hug, Eddie makes a vow that no matter what he’s getting back. He racks his brain, trying to remember what his friends told him about the Upside Down. He wishes he could contact Dustin- he’s in no condition to even try to head over to his house. He needs to stay here- hoping you will continue to pick up on the clues. 

You ask Wayne if you can stay in Eddie’s room a little longer after dinner. He of course says yes. You help him with the dishes, and then head back to Eddie’s room. On his desk, you’re shifting through the clutter to try to find paper. So you can make notes of any weird occurrences. Eddie watched intently as you carefully move the amps, and find a composition book he had stashed away. It’s just a junk notebook, he’d use it to scribble or write down song ideas or brainstorm campaigns. 

You flip to a blank page as you take a seat at his desk chair. Eddie’s thankful he remembers a little Morse code- at least he learned something for the very brief time he was a scout (before he was kicked out). He walks over to the switch on the wall. 

One short flash, one long flash 

One short flash, one king flash, two short flashes 

Two short flashes 

Three short flashes, one long flash 

One short flash 

He repeats this over and over again, not sure what else he can do or what else he can relay. He knows you don’t know Morse code, and it needs to be simple enough that you can pick up the sequence and tell it to Dustin. He watches over your shoulder as you write down what you’ve seen. 

He watches as you look around until you locate his walkie. You press the button to speak. 

“Dustin?” You ask hesitantly, feeling a little foolish. 

“Dustin, over,” you hear him say, and you roll your eyes. 

“Yeah- there’s definitely a pattern here,” you say. 

“Say over when your done talking, over.”

“That’s stupid, over,” you quip. 

“Do you want my help or not? Over,” Dustin replies, obviously getting frustrated. 

You read off your notes to Dustin and it takes a few minutes for him to respond. The waiting is what’s killing you. Eddie tries to think of something else he can relay with the lights. Hopefully what he's done is enough, he thinks. 

“It spells alive, over,” Dustin says at last. You can hear the excitement in his voice, and it makes you feel like you’ve been able to take a full deep breath for the first time in weeks. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, trying to hold back. You can’t let yourself spiral. You can’t let yourself get your hopes up. It would break you. “Oh shit, the lights are doing something else now!”

One short flash 

One long flash, two short flashes 

One long flash, two short flashes 

Two short flashes 

One short flash

“What’s it say?” You ask impatiently. 

“It spells out Eddie,” Dustin responds, and Eddie can hear the happiness in his voice. 

“Oh fuck,” you exclaim, excitedly. You get up and pace anxiously. “How do we get him back, Dustin?” You ask, panicked, “How do I get him home?” 

“Shit,” Dustin replied, “We need to open the gate.” 

“How do we do that?” You insist. 

“Standby,” Dustin states matter of factly. “Can you stay at Eddie’s tonight?” 

“Sure, of course- whatever I need to do,” you say with certainty. 

“See if you can get anything else. Maybe he’ll send us something,” Dustin instructs. “We need to rope everyone else in on this. So we can do anything until tomorrow.” 

“We just found out that Eddie’s alive, stranded in hell and you’re saying we aren’t waking everyone else up and dealing with this immediately?” You’re angry. 

“We need to strategize, we can’t just half ass this,” Dustin rationalizes. “We need to figure out what to do,  we can’t exactly just call Eleven and just have her open a gate. Everyone is still looking for her. Besides, we don’t know if it’s actually Eddie yet either.”

“Of course it’s Eddie!” You interject. 

“We also can’t hurt him,” Dustin explains. “If we open the gate, it might send creatures his way that he isn’t strong enough to deal with. We need to do this right.” 

You can’t explain how it happened. It was really Dustin who headed the whole operation. You did your best to help, remembering some things from before. You watched your friends in awe, everyone banded together- no one stopping round the clock. It was incredible to witness. Your heart swelled. Everyone just loved Eddie, and no one was stopping until he was home safe. It was a group effort. Even Susie was phoned in from out of state to help out. It was sweet, watching Dustin get flustered as the two of them talked over walk-in talkie. You’d been waiting in the back of Nancy’s car,  Robin anxiously playing with the walkie- the three of you on stand-by as Steve, Jonathan and the others disappeared into the woods, hoping to bring Eddie out. You all wait, silently begging for any sort of update. And then you see them, huddled together- a group effort to carry Eddie. 

Eddie. 

He feels like he can finally breathe. The clean air fills his lungs and he feels like part of his old self again. Slung around Steve for support, he’s limping still from his injuries but he might as well have been running up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Real life doesn’t feel real, it suddenly feels better. Especially, when he lifts his head and sees you right there, waiting for him. 

He smiles, that dopey perfect smile of his, like nothing happened. All he can do is just see you, it’s all he’s thought about and he’s just taking it all in- just you. In the flesh, standing right in front of him, waiting for him and loving him. He made it back to you, his girl, just like he promised himself he would. 

You can’t bear it any longer, you rush to his side, taking the weight of him from Steve- pulling Eddie in to a panicked embrace, like you might lose him again. He’s here, he’s actually really here. You realize you can’t squander this- not taking time for granted again. Not when he’s made it back to you like this. You sob, overwhelmed. The feeling of him after all this time has left you stunned. Everything else just fades- nothing matters now except him and the feeling of him against you like this. 

“Hi to you too, sweetheart,” he coughs, happily throwing his arms around you. Steve steps back to give you both space. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles against your hair, kissing your forehead. Although it makes him wince to move his arm, he tilts your chin up to look at him. “And I’m so sorry I never did this sooner.” 

He presses his lips to yours, and you gasp softly in surprise at first. His hand cups your jaw and you feel his smile when you begin to kiss him back. His lips are so soft, except for the small cut that’s starting to heal. You’re too wrapped up in him to even notice. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him in close. 

“I love you,” you rush, pulling away from the kiss- desperate to finally tell him. “I love you so much-“ he cuts you off with another kiss, not able to get enough of you. He knows! Oh God, he knows and he wants to sing it from the rooftops when his body doesn’t ache like this. But, fuck- he knows. And that is the best feeling. 

Wayne waits patiently, watching the two of you. He always knew you’d end up like this. He wasn’t one to interfere- but he knew before either of you. He considers himself so lucky to have watched your story together unfold. Shit, tears well in his eyes. His Eddie is home and safe. That’s all he cares about. His boy is alive and well and loved. Everything is going to be alright again. You all can move through this, together. 

“Love you so much,” Eddie says, pulling back. He wraps his arm around your shoulder. “I gotta see Wayne,” he whispers and you nod, helping him walk the rest of the way up the small dirt road to the trailer where Wayne waits in the doorway. You pass Eddie off to him, and it makes your heart swell watching Wayne pull him into a big hug as Eddie buried his face in Wayne’s shoulder like he would when he was little. 

Wayne helps Eddie into the trailer, and you follow closely behind after everyone says their goodbyes for now. You and Wayne help ease Eddie onto his bed, and all of the muscles in his body relax. He sighs, relieved, resting his head against his squished, unkempt pillows. Wayne pulls the blanket over him, and you head to the kitchenette to get Eddie water. A few seconds later, Wayne emerges from the room, slowly to avoid making noise.

“He passed out,” Wayne chuckles and you smile. He looks back to the closed bedroom door and then back to you. “I can’t believe I have to leave him already and go back to work,” he sighs. He looks to the clock on the wall, he’ll be due for his shift tonight. “I hate to have to go, but he’ll probably sleep the whole time.. right?”

“I think so,” you reassure Wayne. “Can I stay?” You ask hopefully. 

“Honey, you’re family. You stay as long as you want- you don’t need to ask me that.”

“I know, I just- I always just want to make sure I’m not overstaying my welcome.” 

“You’re a good kid.” 

With that, Wayne’s gone for now. Somehow miraculously back to the same Wayne you always knew. Everything has begun to settle. All of the parts that fragmented and tore him up are all falling back into place. He can do what he’s always done. His life revolved around Eddie- and he’s so relieved it can continue to do so. So for Eddie’s sake, he forgoes missing work again, and heads to his next shift. 

You look to the door of Eddie’s bedroom, suddenly a place that filled you was such an immense pain sparks butterflies and giddiness in your stomach. The space feels alive again even though he’s sleeping so soundly when you slip back inside. Your sweet, beautiful Eddie- taking up all the space in the room again and captivating your attention. He looks so exhausted but you still think he looks so angelic, as always. 

You don’t want to hurt him, so you keep your distance the best you can when you slide into the bed to lay next to him. Settling in on your side, you watch his gentle inhales and exhales and study all of the little details on his face like you have before- just so happy that you can do it again. Eddie wakes up shortly after, his brown eyes, that always make you seem to melt, are looking at you- taking in all of you again, just like you to him. How could ever not know he loved you when he looked at you like that? 

“C’mere,” he mumbles, his good arm reaching out to pull you in closer to his side. Hesitantly, you scoot closer, not wanting to hurt him. He picks up on that, always so good at reading you, and pulls you flush against his side. “So much better,” he sighs, kissing the tip of your nose. “There’s my girl.” His lazy smile makes you feel so warm. Your eyes linger on his lips, wanting desperately to kiss him again, just all the time- so you do, because you finally can. 

He helped save the world and he got the girl. This was not the way Eddie thought life would turn out for him. He’s not the main character, he’s not the hero- not like this, never like this. These were the stories he’d write about- a story like this is something he would just live through vicariously. But after everything, after all the heartache and the loss and the tragedy, he feels like he’s finally lived. But most of all, he feels like that because of you- he’s unapologetically yours. After years of silent, hopeless pining- secret yearning that he keeps hidden deep in himself- he feels so indescribably happy. It’s all due to you, and the way you’re looking at him at this moment. 

You offer Eddie nothing but sweet, soft kisses- scared to take it further because of his injuries. You don’t know how he’s feeling, so you feel yourself holding back. It’s still just as perfect as you always imagined kissing him would be. Tangled up in his sheets, your leg rests over his and your hands delicately rest on his chest. You fill his senses, and he swears despite how he must look, he’s never felt better. He wants to deepen the kiss- hell, there’s so many things he wants to do right now. His fingertips graze under the hem of your shirt, touching your soft skin. 

“Is this too much?” you ask, biting your lip. You’ve shifted so you’re hovering over him. Your hands rest on his shoulders. You’re worried about taking things too far, you don’t want to hurt him, but god, you don’t think you can keep holding back much longer. 

“Fuck no,” he exhales, his hands find your hips and pulls you down so you’re resting your weight on him so your stradling him. You can feel how hard he is, and it makes you surge with a little bit of pride, just knowing how you have this effect on him. Experimentally, you grind against him as you kiss him again. He moans against your lips and it sounds so strangled and desperate- it goes right to your core. He wishes he could reciprocate more- god, he really did. As soon as he’s better, he promises. 

You smirk, against his lips, pleased with yourself that you can make him sound like that. It’s addicting. You need more, you want to experience everything. Testing the waters, you kiss his neck as you reach down to unzip his jeans. His head falls back against the pillows and he sighs, contently as you free his hard cock from the confines of his jeans and his boxers. Fuck, he’s gorgeous like this. You can tell he’s insecure- the scars on his body from what he went through, and you’re going to show him that you think he’s stunning. 

“You’re so pretty, Eds,” you reassure him, trailing your fingertips down his torso and then pulling up his Hellfire t-shirt. You bat your lashes at him and he feels his knees grow weak. You pull your own shirt over your head and toss it haphazardly aside. His mouth suddenly feels dry, and his eyes widen. The sight is almost too much for him to take. There’d been so many nights where he’d imagined you like this- but nothing, absolutely nothing in his head measured up to this. It’s all you- his best friend, the love of his love, perched on his lap oh so prettily looking at him with a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest and he’s speechless. 

You move so you can bend down and press your lips to his leaking tip. You kiss and lick the precum away before slowly taking his cock in your mouth. The noises he’s making are filthy, breathy moans and it only fuels your desire to unravel him. You’re only getting started. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he wines, and you bob your head up and down the length of his shaft teasingly slow. It’s almost methodical, you pulling him apart like this. Slow and purposeful- long drawn out fucking teasing thats making his entire body shake with need. You hum content, pleased with how he’s responding to you. You look at him, from behind your eyelashes, wide doe eyes connecting with his before you pull away, a string of your saliva stretching between your swollen lips and his head. He thinks he might pass out and your hand wraps around his cock. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, smirk forming on your lips as you feign innocence. You watch as his mind stutters, unable to form a coherent response. He nods, his eyes closing tight from the sensation. It’s all too much. You press your lips to his neck, trailing kisses across his jaw. “Use your words, baby,” you purr, your breath warm on his face. “Don’t want to hurt you,” you whisper, and then suck gently leaving a little mark on his neck. 

“Please,” he whimpers, not even sure what he’s asking for. He pants, it’s all too much. 

“Please what, love?” you smile, kissing down his chest and your fingertips trace his scars lovingly as you admire his exposed skin. You move his bangs out of his eyes delicately as you gaze down at him. 

“Need you,” he pleads, leaning up as much as he can to reconnect his lips to yours. “Fuck, need you so bad, baby.” 

You pull off your jeans and toss them to the floor near your shirt. Now, you’re just left in your bra and panties. You’re a little nervous- but you shouldn’t be. There’d been so many instances over past summers where you and Eddie have gone swimming together. This isn’t showing any more than that, but this is different. This is so different. Because you wouldn’t see him staring at you, gawking at how you’d look in your two pieces. He’d keep his desire hidden away, so you never knew how crazy you made him. Now, there’s no stolen glances. It’s all laid out in the open, and he’s staring at you with such an intensity that you can’t focus on anything else. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he sighs, reaching out to feel you. His hand trails across your side, running down your curves. He rests his hand on your hip, feeling the soft fabric of your panties. “I like these,” he winks, releasing the band and watching it snap back into place against your hip. “So pretty.”

You reach behind you as he smiles up at you, and unhook your bra letting it fall. You watch his Adam's apple bob as you pull the material away. His eyes darken as he gulps, god you were so fucking perfect. “Fuck, you have perfect fucking tits,” he groans, reaching down to stroke his cock, needing to relieve himself if only just a bit, as he takes in all of you. You shimmy out of your panties quickly, wanting to be close to him again as soon as possible. You press your lips against his, and you straddle his lap again. 

You can feel the coolness of his rings against you as he lines himself up with your entrance. You slide down onto his cock and the stretch feels so goddamn good. You moan, holding onto his shoulders to stabilize you. “Mmm Eddie,” you gasp, surprised when he thrusts up and his hands rest on your hips. He guides you, letting your hips do most of the work then- guiding you to fuck yourself on his cock. Your brain is fogged with lust- it feels so fucking good. He feels so good. It’s all so incredible, you can’t think straight as you lose yourself in the movement, working up to a steady rhythm. 

“That’s it baby,” he praises. “You’re doing so good, fuck. Use me, sweetheart. Want you to get yourself off with my cock.” He smirks when you whimper, loving the way he’s speaking a little too much. Your whines are his favorite sound, he decides. It’s all too much, he doesn’t know how long he can hold out. Your blissed out expression, your tits bouncing in his face, your hips moving against him, your pussy taking his cock so well… it’s so much better than he could’ve dreamed. You’re like an angel, and he’s mesmerized taking it all in. 

“Fuck, your so big, Eds,” you whine, moving your hips and grinding against him. Without losing your pace, you lean and kiss him hungrily, and you feel the all too familiar knot start to form in your stomach. “‘M so close,” you mumble, cock drunk and chasing your own orgasm. “Wanna cum together,” you plead against his lips. You straighten your back, and you decide to give him a show. You bring your hands up, massaging your tits and tug at your hardened nipples as you continue to bounce on his cock. 

“Fuck, baby, I-“ he strains, reaching around you and grabbing your ass, squeezing as he matches your pace and thrusts up into you. His fingernails dig into your flesh and the sensation makes you dizzy. It’s all too much, it all feels too good. You feel like everything is heightened, your senses are all too overwhelmed in him. He sits up fully, pressing fevered kisses on your torso, mumbling how much he fucking loves you, and it’s enough to send you over the edge. 

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock, is enough to make Eddie orgasm shortly after you. Whimpered sighs of relief escape his pretty lips as he finishes inside you, you moving your hips until he’s pulling out, all of his energy spent. He collapses back into his pillows, his chest rising and falling heavily to catch his breath. His hair strewn about on his pillow messily as his eyes fall heavy as he basks in the feeling of this total bliss. 

You lay down next to him, both of your bodies glistening with sweat. You take a moment to also catch your breath and you catch his eye. “Shit,” you exhale, and giggle. He smiles softly, reaching across to tuck your hair back out of your face. “That was..” you begin, not able to finish your thought and you stare at his ceiling. 

“Yeah,” he sighs in agreement. He turns his head to look at you, smirking. “You had a crush on me,” he teases. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you grumble, hiding your face in your hands. “You’re such a dork,” you mumble, tossing a pillow at him playfully.

��You really didn’t know I was in love with you?” He asks with a chuckle, leaning over carefully to grab his box of cigarettes from his dresser. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Well you didn’t know either,” you say defensively, getting up to go to the restroom. You grab your shirt and pull your panties back on- just to have something on when you go to the bathroom. When you return, Eddie’s taking a drag and he beckons you back to lay down beside him. He lifts his arm so you can take your place snuggled up to his side. He lets out a long exhale and the smoke wafts up and out of the vent in the ceiling. He kisses your forehead, and Eddie just watches as you slowly drift off. 

He’s fighting against sleep so he can finish his cigarette. He eventually realizes he can’t force himself awake much longer. He taps it out and drops it in the ashtray, the temptation of dozing off with you overtaking everything else. He wraps his arm around you and pulls the blankets up, resting his chin on the top of your head. Wrapped up in each other, the two of you sleep better than you have in months.

TAGLIST: @sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt @moonlightsolo @kyga01 @sheisjoeschateau @melaninjhs @v3lv3tf0x @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sunshine-mrk @danymunsonharrington @mrsjellymunson @fanficfantik @the-unforgivenn @punkrockmlchael @keeryhours

[riizegasm]

Through The Fire || B. EJ

❀ pairing: &team byun euijoo x fem!reader (ft. nicholas)

❀ genre: bffs to lovers!au, angst, minor fluff

❀ word count: ~6.2k

❀ warnings: explicit language, reader has a house fire, slight possessive behavior, lots of introspection

❀ summary: Stability is a luxury that isn’t afforded to everyone. However, you’re lucky enough to have your best friend, who has remained as the one stable factor throughout your whole life, even through the fire.

❀ A/N: I'm so so excited to share my second work with you all! I think this is one of the fastest times I have ever written a piece, which I think just shows how much I really love it. I hope you all love it too! As always, likes, reblogs, and replies are always welcome :)

masterlist

Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red—

“Y/N!”

You blink, no longer blinded by the flash of cop cars. A quick glance across the parking lot reveals a familiar silhouette trying to cross the yellow caution tape, only being held back by a policeman. You release a shaky breath, trying to find your voice for the first time all night.

“It’s okay,” you call, praying your voice is loud enough. “He’s here for me.”

For once in your life, your voice is actually heard, the police officer nodding once before lifting the caution tape. Euijoo manages to duck under, his large frame only stumbling once before rising to his full height. His long legs allow him to move quickly, pulling you into a hug before you can even blink. From your sitting position, your face ends up pressed into the hard plane of Euijoo’s abdomen. You can feel his thundering heartbeat beneath the skin.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he breathes, leaning down to press his cheek into the messy mop of your hair.

When the two of you part, you wince at the few black streaks that have transferred to Euijoo’s t-shirt. You know that ash is likely still coloring your face, the scent of fire and burning fabric clinging to your skin. Although the flames have been put out, there is still residual smoke pluming from the building behind you. You cough twice, as if wisps of clouded air are still swirling around your lungs.

Euijoo squats down, finally eye level with your seated form as he searches your face. You let your eyes flutter shut, telling yourself that you’re still dazed from the fire. In reality, you know that making eye contact with the man before you would be too painful. He has always been too transparent, emotions freely swimming in his brown eyes.

“Were you able to grab anything else?” Euijoo’s voice has fallen to no more than a whisper.

You just shake your head in response, not bothering to acknowledge your purse and laptop that are placed next to you. Everything else, as far as you know, is gone. Euijoo sighs.

“They said that tomorrow, we can come back to look for things,” you whisper, swallowing back the sob that threatens to escape your throat. “But they told us not to get our hopes up.”

Euijoo is silent for a moment, staring at you with those deep dark eyes. You can feel the intensity of his stare with your eyes closed, having been on the receiving end of that same gaze many times. You know he pities you, but that’s the last thing you want right now.

“I’m taking you home, back to my place. You can stay there for as long as you need.”

Your eyes pop open, meeting Euijoo’s gaze for the first time that night. “You don’t have to. I can get a hotel or something for the night.”

“Absolutely not. When you moved out here, I promised your parents that I would take care of you, so that’s what I’m going to do.” Euijoo stands again to his full height, reaching out a hand that you eye warily. “Now let’s go home.”

. . .

Euijoo’s body wash smells of wood and cinnamon, the smell filling the bathroom and replacing the scent of fire and smoke that had previously seeped into your skin. Even his body lotion has a very specific scent, one that you are all too familiar with. The aroma clings to his clothes, along with a faint hint of laundry detergent, filling your nose as you slip into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts. They both hang incredibly long on you, shoulders in the shirt sagging while the shorts are snug around your hips.

Your wet hair has been pulled back into a bun, which you know will be a mess to tame in the morning. But Euijoo didn’t have any of the right hair products, and you would rather die than ask him to buy you something at the moment. Even when he offered, you shut him down, letting him know that anything he was missing would be a problem for the next day. After all, it was already well after midnight.

Euijoo’s eyes soften around the edges when you finally emerge from the bathroom, smiling timidly at you from the couch. You plop down unceremoniously next to him, hugging your knees to your chest as you back into the corner of the couch. Its leather creaks with the movement, a familiar sound after all these years.

“I ordered some food, just in case you haven’t eaten,” Euijoo says, inching further into your space. It’s impossible to fight a flinch when he places a hand on your bare knee, right where his shorts have ridden up your thigh. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

Without looking, you know that Euijoo is rolling his eyes, the tiny hint of sass that he’s harbored since childhood peeking through.

“Well, I called your dad, and he said you only texted your parents briefly. He wanted to talk to you but I told him that you were showering and probably didn’t feel like talking.” Euijoo gives your thigh a firm squeeze. “But I was hoping you’d at least talk to me.”

Your heart lurches at the thought of Euijoo speaking to your family, even though you know it has been a regular occurrence since you were teenagers. Your parents had always been fond of him, the picture-perfect image of the boy next door. And as you grew older, Euijoo had basically been absorbed into the family. Even though he’s been your best friend since you were children, you don’t know why the thought of talking to him right now is making your stomach swim.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you mumble, shrinking further into the couch cushions.

“Y/N…just…look at me, please?”

It takes all your strength, but you manage to tear your gaze away from your knees to meet Euijoo’s own. His rounded eyes are sparkling like they always are, a hint of sadness dampening their brightness. His lips pull up into a small smile at the eye contact, plush cheeks dimpling. His warm hand is still placed firmly on your thigh, large enough to span most of its circumference.

“There you are,” he coos, beginning to rub light circles on the exposed skin of your thigh. “Listen, I know you. I know you’re going to keep saying everything is fine because you don’t want anyone to worry about you. But your entire apartment building just burned down. You’re feeling something. You have to talk to someone about it. Even if it’s not me, you have to let someone in.”

You blink, and when you reopen your eyes, your vision is cloudy. Fat, hot tears spill over, leaving scalding trails down your cheeks. You can barely make out Euijoo’s smile dropping before you are pulled into a tight embrace. When you both were younger, you used to hate when Euijoo would use his overwhelming strength against you. But now, you are grateful for it, knowing you wouldn’t have hugged him otherwise.

“I was so scared, Juju,” you sob into the crook of his neck. “I was just in my room and when I opened the door, everything was in flames. There wasn’t anywhere I could go! I was trapped on the balcony until they came and got me. I thought I was gonna die.”

Euijoo just squeezes you tighter at the outburst, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m so sorry. But you’re okay now. You’re safe here with me.”

The two of you are quiet for a few moments, the only thing interrupting the silence being the occasional hiccup or sniffle. It feels like ages until you have finally calmed down enough to pull away. But when you do, you notice the tear tracks drying on Euijoo’s ruddy cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” You ask softly.

Euijoo just shrugs, chuckling sadly. “I don’t like seeing you upset.”

You don’t have enough time to respond before the doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of your food. Euijoo excuses himself to go answer it, allowing you to admire the long lines of his legs as he retreats. You can’t help but feel embarrassed, as you always are around the man. But you hate the way he leaves your heart hammering in your chest as you stare.

It’s not like you are unaware of how attractive Euijoo is. After all, the first time you ever laid eyes on him at seven years old, you swore he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Despite the childish attraction, you had grown to love him in a much deeper way, the kind of love that only develops when you know someone inside and out. Euijoo grew taller, older, buffer, more handsome, and you had found a million ways to love him differently, love him deeper. The love you had for Euijoo surely changed, which leaves you hating the way your body heats up and your pulse picks up speed as Euijoo rounds the corner.

His wide smile is paired with crinkled eyes and you feel a piece of your heart turn heavy like lead.

“I’m like 90% sure they got some of our order wrong, but there’s still plenty of good stuff in case you’re hungry.”

You don’t bother looking at the takeout bag, too busy guiltily feasting your eyes on the sight before you.

. . .

Falling into a routine is unfairly easy. The two of you will wake up from your shared bed, at Euijoo’s insistence that you don’t sleep on the couch, and begin to get ready for the day. You cook breakfast as Euijoo gets ready for work, cherishing the fact that your job has permitted you plenty of personal leave. You watch him leave in a crisply pressed suit and daintily patterned tie, off to his accounting job for a few hours.

Then you sit in silence, ruminating over everything that has led you to this exact moment. You replay the moment that you were confronted with a wall of flames, feeling heat lick at your toes the same way it did that night. You let your shoulders shake in terror the same way they did when you were trapped on the balcony, fearing for your life. You cough like the billowing smoke is clouding your lungs, even though the air in Euijoo’s apartment is crisp and smells faintly of lemon-scented cleaner.

Then Euijoo comes through the door, and you slap a smile on your face. Sometimes he returns with takeout, bag overflowing with all of your shared favorites. Sometimes he comes with a bag full of groceries, which the two of you unpack together while Euijoo recounts his day. You’re quick to shoo him away as you begin to cook.

It’s the only thing that makes you feel like less of a parasite than you are.

You’re both following that exact routine until you reach your first Saturday, and Euijoo practically vibrates in excitement at the prospect of spending the day together. Despite living in the same city, the two of you have rarely spent full days together, work or other personal engagements always getting in the way.

“I was thinking of having a few friends over tonight,” Euijoo mentions over a bowl of cereal. “I feel like you haven’t met enough of my friends.”

“It’s your house,” you shrug, burying your nose into your own bowl so you don't have to face the disappointed look in his eye.

“Y/N, you gotta stop with that.”

“With what?” You snap.

You know you’re being difficult. You know that all Euijoo wants is some positive input from his best friend, but you can’t. It hurts deep in your core to give him what he’s wanting when you know you are already taking so much. You shouldn’t be here, and you definitely shouldn’t have a say in whether or not Euijoo has his friends over tonight. Yet, he wants to hear from you.

Like he thinks you’re important. Like he thinks you matter. Like he thinks you’re more than just a virus, invading a host for selfish gain.

You have nothing to gain, you remind yourself.

“I’m sorry, Juju,” you sigh, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. I mean it.”

Euijoo’s spoon falls into his porcelain bowl with a loud clink. “I know you’re not. You’re just going through a lot right now. But I just want to help you.”

“You’re doing way more than just helping me.”

“I feel like I’m not doing enough.”

You sigh. “What do you mean? You’re already doing so much by just having me here and I can’t help but just wonder why.”

“Because I love you.”

The way he says it jumpstarts your heart, hotwiring it so it’s moving at a million miles per hour in your chest. You know he doesn’t mean it the way you want him to. He loves in the way a best friend loves, in the way family loves, that much is clear.

But there’s something in his open expression that has your heart clinging onto a maybe. Maybe he has loved you the way you have loved him and hated yourself for. Maybe he knows that being loved is all that you have ever wanted but is simultaneously your greatest fear. Maybe he knows that all of your belongings disappearing right before your very eyes while he was the only thing that remained meant something to you.

“You’re my best friend.”

Or maybe it meant nothing at all.

Euijoo sighs, leaning back in his chair before addressing you across the table from him. “It’s impossible for me not to worry about you when you won’t talk to me, or to anyone! You don’t leave the house and it just scares me. I want to help you, but I can’t do anything until you let me.”

You swallow, your bite of cereal feeling too thick as it travels down your esophagus. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Euijoo mutters as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just let me in.”

“I’m trying.”

“Are you?”

You’re not, and you both know it. If anything, you’re doing the exact opposite, trying to close yourself off as much as possible. You shrink into spaces, making yourself so small that Euijoo will forget that you’re there. It never seems to work, though. The other man sees you no matter where you attempt to hide.

There’s a moment of silence as the two best friends regard each other. Silently, you mourn your cereal getting soggy in your bowl even though you have lost your appetite. Euijoo’s own is empty, his metal spoon resting against the pure white bowl. For a moment, you catch a whiff of cinnamon. You’re temporarily perplexed, only to have your own question answered when the neckline of Euijoo’s shirt shifts against your collarbones. Despite not wanting to feel parasitic, you can’t refuse the comfort of literally living in his clothes.

“I just want you to be happy and have some fun tonight, so I’m going to have some people stop by.” Euijoo doesn’t once break eye contact as he speaks. “It’s not going to be big, but it will be good for you to talk to someone who isn’t me.”

You suppress a scoff, knowing that you don't really talk to Euijoo either, not in the way he desires. “Fine. Like I said, it’s your house.”

You don't stay to hear the exasperated sigh that Euijoo lets out, choosing instead to dump the remains of your cereal in the trash. There isn’t much other space to retreat to, so you make yourself comfy on the sofa, just barely out of Euijoo’s sight. It’s only a moment before the man joins you, hoisting your legs onto his lap.

“Movie?” He questions, thumb rubbing small circles into the bare skin of your ankle as if all is forgiven.

You just make a small noise of affirmation before sinking further into the cushions, letting yourself get comfortable as Euijoo puts something on.

Euijoo’s touch used to fluster you, back when you were in that awkward stretch of preteen and early teen years. No guys touched girls the way that Euijoo touched you unless they were dating. The girls in your classes would always try and convince you that it had to mean something more, that he had to feel something more for you than just platonic love. He loved loved you.

It didn’t help that you loved him way more than you should have.

It was enough to make you flinch when he wrapped an arm around your waist and pull away when he trapped you in a hug. You avoided holding hands on the way home from school and refused to share earbuds when the two of you sat next to each other. It would all make your heart pound too hard and your palms so sweaty that your phone would slip through your grasp.

You were just friends; that you knew. It didn’t matter that Euijoo loved to play with the loose pieces of hair that framed your face or that his hand outgrew yours to the point where your fingers swam in the spaces between his. It didn’t matter that your chest constricted every time his right cheek dimpled or that your face burned every time he called you by your name.

Because every boiling pot eventually cools to a simmer when the heat dissipates.

As you two grew into late teens and early adulthood, you eventually relaxed into the affection that Euijoo would display. The constriction relaxed to a minor tightness and the burn became more of a minor glow. You became more confident that this is what friends feel for each other, a love so vast that it fills your core to the brim but never fully encompasses you.

You would gladly let him encompass you. But until he does, you’ll have to make do with his scent.

You find yourself using Euijoo’s body wash in the shower before the party, even though your own has made a home right next to his. You also use his lotion, rubbing the scent of him into your skin. As much as you contemplate wearing his clothes again, you know that it will only be right to put on your best for tonight. Your makeup and hair are done for the first time in a week, and you feel a bit more like yourself again.

You feel like a girl anyone can look at and not know she’s screaming inside. You consider it a win.

The few friends that Euijoo invites over arrive in waves. It gives you enough time to introduce yourself and make some small talk before having to do it time and time again. By the fifth or so introduction, though, you’re feeling a little worn out, even with the booze that helps ease your nerves. You grab another seltzer from the fridge and squeeze into the corner of the sofa. You only have a few moments of peace before the leather dips beside you.

“Mind if I join you?”

Deep, piercing eyes are only barely visible behind overgrown black fringe, the rest of his hair falling down the back of his neck. Nicholas’s smile is welcoming, extremely warm and familiar for someone you have just met a handful of minutes ago. Despite the assortment of clunky rings, silver jewelry, and thick eyeliner, he seems pretty soft and pleasant.

“Go ahead,” you mumble, taking a long swig from your can.

“You know, It’s nice to finally meet you, the infamous but ever-illusive best friend. Euijoo literally talks about you all the time.”

You wish you could say the same, but Euijoo has always been notoriously quiet about others when you two speak. It used to bug you, not knowing anything about who your best friend chose to spend his time with. But throughout the years, you were forced to let it go.

“Good things, I hope.”

Nicholas chuckles softly. “Great things, actually. But something tells me it still doesn’t compare to you in real life.”

“You don’t even know me,” you scoff. “How would you know what I’m like?”

“Well, if your personality is anything like your beauty, then I think Euijoo just barely scratched the surface.”

The snort that you let out genuinely takes you by surprise. You rush to apologize, free hand coming up to hide your grin despite the way Nicholas is smiling as well. He looks pretty like this, you note, with his cheeks twisted upwards and eyes shining with mirth.

“I’m so sorry,” you giggle. “But that was a crazy line.”

Nicholas shrugs. “Listen, making pretty girls laugh is an art form. I had to say what I had to say. You honestly looked like you were going to commit murder just sitting here.”

Now it’s your turn to shrug, the smooth beats of Euijoo’s playlist soothing the silence between the two. The brief moment of respite is enough for you to feel a pair of eyes on you from across the room. When you turn to face Euijoo, though, he just shoots you a calm smile.

“I don’t think he likes that I’m talking to you.”

“Who? Euijoo?”

Nicholas doesn’t respond, choosing instead to take a long swig of his drink. The silver rings on his fingers reflect the minimal light in the room as he tilts his cup back. You struggle not to trace the movement of his throat with your gaze as he drinks.

“Why would he not want you to talk to me?”

“I think it’s because you’re off limits, sweetheart.”

Before you can respond, a warm body plops down on the couch next to you, instantly pressing into your space. The woodsy scent of Euijoo’s cologne is confirmation enough, but the way his hand instantly finds a home on your thigh is a dead giveaway. When you look over to regard the man, his eyes are trained away, locked on Nicholas instead.

“And what are you two chatting about?” He inquires with an overly saccharine smile.

Nicholas just smiles. “See what I mean?”

He’s gone with little more than a wink and a subtle tip of his cup.

. . .

Sunday morning brings a welcome mundane energy. You and Euijoo stand side by side at the sink, sudsy hands working on washing sticky juice and lip gloss off glasses from the night before. There’s soft music playing from Euijoo’s phone, a pleasant melody filling the silence along with the sound of flowing water. Despite the serenity, you can’t help the question itching in the back of your brain.

“So what was that last night?”

“What was what?” Euijoo’s eyes are endearingly round when he turns to look at the woman on his left.

You sigh. “That whole thing with Nicholas? We were talking and then you came in seeming all threatened?”

“Threatened?” Euijoo chuckles. “Why would I be threatened?”

“I have no idea. That’s why I’m asking.”

The smile that rises on Euijoo’s face doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His ears begin to bloom a brilliant shade of red, tipping you off to the lie he’s about to tell.

“I wasn’t threatened. It made me happy to see two of my closest friends getting along.”

The sound of the faucet running prevents you from responding, Euijoo having turned it on with a sense of finality. You decide not to push it, knowing that when Euijoo gets cagey like this, time and space are the only thing that can make him open up. You guess it’s what makes the two of you similar, your limited ability to be transparent with each other over the things that really matter.

You spend the rest of the day circling around each other like animals in an enclosure. You share space, following each other from room to room while simultaneously keeping as much distance as physically possible. When Euijoo sits on one side of the couch, you sit on the other. When you rummage through the fridge, Euijoo stands by the breakfast table. It isn’t until you both find yourselves in the shared bathroom, brushing your teeth over a shared sink that you speak.

“I think threatened is the wrong word for it,” Euijoo says with a foamy mouth. “I just know how Nicholas is, so I wanted you to be careful.”

You spit. “What do you mean?”

“He’s the player type, likes to fuck around.” Euijoo spits and swishes some water around his mouth before continuing. “I know he thinks you’re cute or whatever. But you deserve better than that.”

“Since when do you care about my love life?”

“Since forever.”

There it goes again, the feeling of maybe. You are left to wonder if he means that in the sense that you want him to mean it. You wonder if his attention to you comes from his Virgo nature or from his genuine care for you. You wonder if it comes from his love for you, and if it’s the same type of love that you have for him.

“You know I don’t date like that,” you mumble, folding your arms over your chest. You’re once again clad in Euijoo’s tee shirt, a tiny pair of shorts disappearing underneath its hem.

Euijoo sighs. “I know. But I also know that Nico doesn’t care about dating. That’s not what he’d want from you.”

“And who’s to say that’s what I want from him either?”

“I didn’t know you were that type.”

I’m not, you want to say, but the words swirl back down your throat like water down a drain. You don't get a chance to respond before Euijoo is leaving the bathroom, running a hand through his hair. It feels pathetic to follow him out, but you do anyway, trying to find words as you plop down onto his bed. Euijoo switches the light off before settling in next to his best friend.

“Look,” Euijoo says after a moment of silence. “If you want to go after Nico, then I can’t stop you. I’m sure he’d be happy to have you.”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Have me? In that way, I mean.”

The words leave your mouth before you can properly process what they mean. You want to rush to take them back, to let the words that hang in the darkness return to the safety of your brain. For some reason, you let them linger.

Euijoo releases a shaky breath, the sound seeming thunderous in the silent darkness. For a good moment, that’s all there is. You would be convinced that the man fell asleep if it weren’t for the odd rhythm of his breathing and the way his body shifts.

“Y/N, I could never.”

The blood in your veins ices over, leaving you frozen in place.

“Oh.”

Euijoo shifts on the bed, laying on his side so that he’s able to fully face you. “I mean there’s all of this. You’re in a vulnerable spot and we’ve been spending a lot of time together. I’m sure you’re just feeling a lot right now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Euijoo sighs. “That’s why I also want you to think twice before going for Nico.”

You want to scream. How Euijoo could bring Nicholas up at a time like this is beyond you. You don't know how he can’t see that this isn’t about him. This isn’t about trauma or a fire or needing a warm bed to sleep in. This is about you, both of you. This has been about you way before the fire and will continue to be about you for years after.

But it’s no use, you know that much. In times of conflict, Euijoo has always been quick to skirt around the topic, always trying to obscure the truth through diversion. But there’s one simple fact that remains clear; Euijoo doesn’t want you. Or rather, he doesn’t want you to want him.

“I really hate when you do this, you know,” you spit.

You can almost hear Euijoo’s eye roll as he speaks. “When I do what?”

“When you try to tell me how I feel. You don’t know shit about how I’m feeling.”

“I could,” Euijoo retorts. “But you never let me in. So what the hell do you expect me to do?”

Even in the dark, you know the man’s face has turned red, hot with frustration. The knowledge is enough to keep you silent for a moment, carefully mulling over your words before you speak.

“If I tell you how I’m feeling, I’m going to end up telling you too much.”

“You could never tell me too much.”

You can’t help but sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut. “I just did.”

. . .

Cleaning the entire apartment is how you choose to put salve on the wounds of your friendship. You scrub away at the grime on the countertops, wipe the grease and stains from every mirror, and mop the floor until you can see your reflection in it. It’s not much, but it’s something to distract you from the red hot feeling that blooms in your chest when you think about the night before.

Bits of yourself seeped through the locked cage of your heart last night. And now that they’re out in the open, you’re not sure if they will ever return to you.

Euijoo returns home from work with a sigh, loosening his tie right when he comes through the doorway. The skin underneath his eyes has taken on a purplish hue, fine lines settling deep from exhaustion. He doesn’t even look like himself, despite looking everything like himself. You hate how you think he looks beautiful.

“Hey,” he greets softly when he strolls into the kitchen. “I didn’t have time to pick anything up, so I ordered delivery.”

You nod once, before tuning into the fact that the man has yet to look at you. “That’s fine.”

The silence that overcomes the kitchen hangs low like nimbostratus clouds, heavy with rainwater. It’s almost oppressive, the way Euijoo’s gaze remains down at his feet while you pick at your cuticles. Never in your decades of friendship have you ever had tension like this. You hate the way it makes your throat constrict, suddenly parched for a connection that won’t come.

“Are you okay?” You manage to croak out. “You look…stressed.”

Euijoo lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Maybe because I am.”

“Why?”

Finally, Euijoo’s gaze snaps up to meet your own, eyes holding a sense of disbelief. “My best friend propositioned me last night and I turned her down. And when I turned her down, she lost it on me.”

“Juju, I—,”

“No,” he interrupts, voice scratchy from the thickness in his throat. “Don’t do that now. I’m just…what’s going on with you, Y/N? I don’t know what has changed, but it’s killing me. Why can’t you just tell me what’s been going on with you so I can help?”

Your eyes begin to sting as Euijoo speaks, the beginnings of tears welling up near your waterline. It takes a few seconds for you to swallow down the lump that sits high in your throat. Your hands are dry from various cleaning solutions as they flex and contract at your sides, looking for something to grasp onto. You just end up balling them into fists, letting your nails press grounding pains into your palms.

“I told you how much you’ve already helped me.”

Euijoo sighs, running a hand through his hair. “And I told you that wasn’t enough. So talk to me, tell me why I can’t help you anymore. Tell me why you asked me to sleep with you all of a sudden! Tell me why you’ve been so weird about this whole situation from the beginning!”

“Because I need you!”

You don't know when your voice gained enough power to come out as a yell, shrill and pained. But once it does, the dam breaks. You know you are helpless to stop it.

“I need you, and it scares me, Juju. You’re my best friend and I love you and need you in ways that you don’t need me. You provide me with everything and I’m just here as your best friend. I’m the friend you don’t even bring around much and the friend you don’t let anyone talk to! You make it so clear that you don’t need me and yet, here I am, living off you like some parasite.

“I love you, Euijoo. I’m in love with you. And knowing that you don’t love me back is one thing. But for you to take my love for you and throw it in my face as just another one of my vulnerabilities is cruel. You ask why I don’t let you in, and this is why. If I do, I’ll just tell you how I feel and you’ll pity me like you do now.”

Lightning strikes across Euijoo’s face as he listens, expression slowly twisting in pain. It’s a flash of a million emotions at once. Surprise, hurt, disbelief, and then it all mellows out into a calm nothingness.

“Have you only felt this way since the fire?”

You fight the urge to scream at the top of your lungs. “No. I’ve felt this way since forever, maybe.”

“Are you sure?” The man’s eyes reflect the light in the room, glossed over and twinkling with the first hints of unshed tears.

“You know what’s funny,” you bite out. “When I lost everything, there was only one thing that remained constant in my life, even through the fire.”

“Me?”

“My feelings for you.”

Euijoo sucks in an audible breath, shaky and laborious. It’s as if the confession finally sunk into his consciousness, as if he finally understood exactly what you meant when you said you loved him. His shoulders immediately sag in relief as the first few tears begin to trail down his cheeks. Despite the tears, he can’t help but smile.

“Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since we were eleven.”

“What?”

Euijoo just chuckles, sniffling twice before continuing. “I thought that you knew and that’s why you were shutting me out! And then when you just asked if I would sleep with you, I thought you were just rubbing it in my face. Either that or you were just emotionally a mess and needed some support.”

“Well, I am,” you respond with a watery smile. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, too.”

Euijoo slowly approaches your tense figure, as if not to spook you. Even his hand movements are subtle as they reach for your dry hands. With just a small tug, you find yourself stumbling forward, far into Euijoo’s space. The height difference is enough to force you to crane your neck upwards to make eye contact, not surprised to see the man already smiling down at you.

Tears continue to stream down Euijoo’s face, the wetness dripping from the tip of his nose down to the floor. You know you probably look similar, despite having tried your hardest to fight back tears from the beginning. It’s no use now. Your walls have already come crashing down.

“I love you,” Euijoo whispers, as if sharing a secret not meant to escape your own personal bubble. “I always have, and I think I always will.”

You release a shaky breath, body trembling in Euijoo’s hold. “I love you, too.”

“Can I…?” Euijoo doesn’t finish his question, eyes simply darting down to your lips before meeting your gaze once again.

All it takes is a slow nod before a hand is wrapping around your waist, pulling you in closer and closer until—

When you were twelve, you had your first kiss. It was nothing more than a simple peck, shared on the back of the school bus on a school field trip. You remember the way your heart fluttered back then, palms clammy and body vibrating with nerves. You felt kind of gross afterwards, but giddy nonetheless.

When you told Euijoo later that day, he looked shocked. He floundered for a moment as he stood in place, frozen on their walk home from school. You remember lightly punching his shoulder, asking him what his deal was. It seemed to be enough to shock him out of his stupor, only snapping back to attention to say:

“That was your first kiss. They always say that’s the one you’re going to remember forever.”

Euijoo was wrong. If there’s one kiss that you will remember forever, it’s this one, with Euijoo’s large hands spanning the circumference of your waist. It’s this one, with Euijoo’s plush yet slightly chapped lips grazing yours. It’s this one, with the salt of tears mixing in with the taste of each others’ mouths. It’s this one, with Euijoo.

When the two of you part, Euijoo presses his forehead to yours, allowing your breaths to mingle as you pant. You can’t seem to quite open your eyes yet, simply basking in the sensation of Euijoo taking over all of your senses. You relish in the sound of his labored breathing. You love the warmth of his palms through the thin t-shirt you’re wearing.

You bask in the scent of him, the bold aroma of cinnamon, tinged with a hint of smoke.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: Eye to Eye

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It’s all a blur. Grey and obscure. You wallow in your reawakened grief until you’re too tired to cry any more. Consciousness isn’t much different than the alternative and when the world comes back into focus, it’s just as confusing as ever. 

The pillow under your head is firm yet warm. You peel your cheek off of Lloyd’s arm and stare down at it groggily. How long has he been there with you? 

His eyes are closed, his chest rises and falls evenly, and he looks for once, at peace. When he’s awake, he is like a wild animal. Always talking, always smirking, indefatigable. Seeing him like this almost makes you think you’re dreaming. 

You groan and sit up. You put your back to him and bend over your lap. You wear the same clothes as before. Your only clothes. Everything is gone. Even you tears. You have nothing left to spend. 

You pull your hands away from your face and grip the edge of the bed. You stare at the window frame, the curtains rich and finely patterned with golden ivy. The walls are pristine as is every other piece in the room. All of it nicer than anything you ever had. But what you had before was priceless. 

The tickle along your back makes you squeak. The bed shifts and Lloyd grumbles, “tootsie, you okay?” He drags his fingertips up your shirt. 

You’re silent. You are not okay. You've been trying for more than a year to be okay. It’s time to accept that you’re not. 

“Hey, you need something? Some water?” He squeezes your shoulder and you wince. 

You shake your head. “I-- I think I should leave.” 

“Leave? What do you—you can’t--” 

“I’ll find somewhere. I did it before. It’s... not your problem, Lloyd,” you murmur. 

He moves across the bed to sit next to you. His slings his arm across your shoulder. “I can’t let you go. Not as your friend--” 

“You don’t have to,” you insist as you twiddle your fingers, shrinking under his thick arm. 

“I want to,” he says. “Look, tootsie roll. I’ve never been a good man. Never been great at the truth. Or emotions. Any of that. You saw that. That day we met. But look, I... you changed me. You helped me. So let me help you.” 

“What?” Your lip trembles as you look at him. “I didn’t--” 

“You did,” he winks, “come on. I was a jackass. And I can still be one. I won’t pretend I’ve repented but you did something. Hell, it’s selfish, ‘specially after everything, but if you go, I’m gonna be a mess.” 

“No, you’re just saying...” you mumble. 

“Hey, I don’t say anything I don’t need to say. Trust me. Alright? You’re twisting my arm here making me pour my heart out but if it keeps you here, safe, well, I’ll just suck up my pride,” he says. “So, it’s up to you but I’m just saying, I don’t mind if you stick around.” 

You stare at him. He’s right, when you met him, he did seem to be a bit of a jerk. Since then, he’s been... better. More so, he’s been there. 

You look down and think. It feels worse to just go. Not only because you don’t know where to go but because you’d just be leaving him after everything he did. He deserves better. He deserves to know. 

“I didn’t tell you something,” you say quietly. 

He leans in, squeezing your arm as he holds you against his side. “Didn’t tell me what?” 

You sniff and rub your nose, “I didn’t... last year, my dad died. We were close and it’s... tough.” You blink against the burn in your eyes. “His ashes were in my apartment. That’s all I had left.” 

He’s quiet. For a long time. You are too. It feels lighter to say it out loud but it also feels real. And he feels tense. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it,” you utter. 

“No...” he clears his throat. “That’s... thanks for telling me. Can’t be easy.” 

He retracts his arm and stands up. He crosses his arms then drops them. He seems restless. 

“You want a coffee? I need a coffee,” he says. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind a tea, if you have it,” you slip over the edge so your toes touch the floor. 

“Take your time, sweetie,” he waves you off, “kitchen’s downstairs. Hook around the banister and it’s the first door behind that.” 

“Right, thanks,” you nod. 

He leaves you. You don’t think he’s upset, maybe he just doesn’t know how to handle that news. Like he said, he’s not good at emotion. Well, you don’t think you are either. 

You inhale and stand. You pad around the room and hug yourself as you go out into the hall. You blanch at the decor. It’s all so nice. Is he really that rich? And he’s been hanging out with you? 

You cringe. He’s seen your apartment. Saw. Oh. It brings back that feeling of when you were a kid. Everyone else had brand new things and you had what would do. You appreciated everything your dad got you but when you’re young, you think those things you matter. You wish he was there so you can tell him how much he did. 

You falter as you get to the stairs. You reach for the railing and begin a slow descent. You’re so weak, you think you might fall if you don’t hold on. You get to the bottom and recall his directions. 

You follow the thrum of the electric kettle into the kitchen. Lloyd intently slides a small metal cup attached to a long wooden handle into a fancy red machine. One of those fancy espresso makers you see in cafes. 

“I have some chamomile or green. I got a gift set a while back but I don’t really do tea,” he explains over his shoulder. 

“That’s fine. Chamomile, please,” you reply. 

“Sit,” he nods toward one of the high seats along the island. “You just take it easy. Let old Lolly take care of you.” 

You climb up and cross your arms over the cold marble. You watch his back. His shirt strains across his broad silhouette, outlining his shoulder blades.  

Looking around and at him, you still wonder, why is he wasting his time on you? All because you were nice enough to pay for a wrap? Has no ever been nice to him before? That thought makes you sad for him. You’ll stay, just a little bit, until you can get back on your feet. 

[numinously-yours]

Choose a bird: How to be the best version of YOU

Thank you to those of you who messaged. I appreciate both your ideas AND your patience. I really thought things were settled down when I asked for your thoughts and then they ramped right back up. But here I am!

Choose a bird from above for a free reading. Today's topic: how to be the best version of yourself. I asked the cards three questions:

What does the best version of yourself look like (to you)?

What steps can you take on your journey to your best self?

How can you avoid getting caught up in others' perspectives?

Your choices are below! Like, reply, or reblog if it resonates, and tag your group if you feel inclined :)

Group 1: Aibo Tarot

What does the best version of you look like? Three of Wands

The best version of you is someone confident standing on their own. You may be dependent on other people for your happiness but you want so badly to be happy on your own. There is a fear that if you start your own journey that you won’t find other/more people that make you feel comfortable and safe.  I have a sense that the people you surround yourself with are simply fine, but they also don’t make you feel empowered to do your own thing or speak your differences. There is a lot of keeping the peace because that’s easier than being alone. It doesn’t mean these people are bad friends or negative influences necessarily, but you know there could be something more. You are longing to find that. You are longing to find yourself, too.

What steps can you take in the process? The Tower & The King of Pentacles

It’s time to create your own tower moment. It may sound counterintuitive since the Tower represents upheaval and chaos. Typically, it’s not something someone is excited to bring upon themselves. But, I think in your case, it’s going to be more beneficial than detrimental. You have to burn some bridges. You have to have some falling outs. Yes, moving forward from your comfort zone is going to feel weird as hell. It’s going to feel scary. You may be worried that ending friendships or setting boundaries was a bad idea, but it is all for the sake of becoming the best version of you. Trust me.  The reversed King in particular is asking you to “give yourself permission to break free and do something different.” Just as a phoenix, your tower will rise again from the ashes even stronger than before.

How can you avoid getting caught up in other’s perceptions? Moonlight, Four of Cups, The Magician

The visual for this pull is below because it was kind of a fun way for the cards to drop 😊 I asked this question and the first card fell: Moonlight in reverse. This moonlight card is specific to this deck, so it doesn’t necessarily have the same meaning as The Moon does in tarot. The first phrase that came to me when I was looking at the card was “turn that frown upside down”. Because the card doesn’t have a traditional meaning, I wanted to shuffle one more time for cards that DO have trad. meanings. These are the two that came out – in this order! THE FROWN IS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN! What does this mean in execution, though?

Recognize the power you have in creating your own life and stop dimming your light. I know that it takes work to feel confident in spaces where you feel small but it is worth the practice! The more you execute your power, say yes to yourself, and make yourself heard the easier it will get. Not only easier in doing it but easier in believing it, too.

Group 2: Delos Tarot

What does the best version of you look like? Two of Cups

For you, I think to feel like the best version of yourself, you are wanting to be in a space where you can create and maintain meaningful relationships. It’s not that you lack relationships, but they feel a little surface level or superficial. You want to feel that SOMETHING, and you want to bring that something to others. You may have your own personal goals when it comes to relationships – wanting a work bestie, wanting a romantic relationship, wanting a strong relationship with a sibling, etc. But overall, the ability to form these relationships as a whole is really what you long for.

What steps can you take in the process? The Devil reversed

My first thought “quit thinking you’re the devil!” lol When in relationships, you focus on your negative qualities. You are always thinking of how you can bring more to the table rather than focusing on what you already DO bring to the table. You tend to psych yourself out when you get close to forming the bond that you crave. An actionable step you should look into taking is working on your shadow self. There are a lot of websites with lists of shadow work questions that get to the root of these types of fears. Shadow work makes you think of things in a different perspective. It could help you determine WHY you shut yourself off at certain times. It helps identify triggers in relationships so you can sense them when they appear and know how to deal with them. Then, I know this is easier said than done, but you gotta push through the discomfort, too. Perhaps your relationships fade when you’re right on the brink of vulnerability. Instead of ebbing backward, take that leap into the unknown. It’s the only way you’re going to get passed that piece.

How can you avoid getting caught up in other’s perceptions? King of Swords rev. and Strength

I know it’s way easier to say online but finding the courage to just be yourself is honestly going to be the best thing you can do for yourself. I feel that you may preemptively get caught in what you THINK others’ perceptions are of you before you know their true perceptions. I know you KNOW what your inner truth is, but you deserve to understand WHY it’s your truth. You have a lot to contribute to relationships and having this better relationship with yourself can also contribute to gaining courage to just be yourself. Doing that shadow work can be really good for you in that growth, too Each time you seem caught up in someone else’s perception, ask yourself why you’re caught up in it. Is it actually an accurate depiction of who you are? Are you trying to protect yourself before anything scary actually happens? Find the strength to be rational because it’s gonna change your mind set a LOT. 

Group 3: Everyday Tarot

What does the best version of you look like? Ace of Swords

The best version of yourself, group 3, is someone who is continually growing. You want to be open to expansion, ideas, spontaneity, and adventure. You may feel a little stuck right now. I definitely think you have the excitement and adrenaline inside you, and you’re ready to let it out. You’re not longing for motivation or inspiration, you’re longing for an outlet for the motivation and inspiration already inside of you.  You may wonder, “how do I explore new opportunities if I don’t know where to start?” “How can I continue growing when people and places around me aren’t growing?” Let’s find out!

What steps can you take in the process? The Devil reversed & The Queen of Pentacles

Let go of unhealthy attachments and nurture yourself if/when you feel guilty for doing so. Part of what keeps you feeling a bit stuck is not wanting to leave anyone behind. You care a lot about a lot of people and want them to experience this growth with you. They’re not quite ready though. YOU being ready doesn’t make you better than them, it just means you’re in a different place. Accepting the unknown that lies ahead is also important for you, group 3. No matter how ready you are, moving forward (likely on a solo journey) is scary! It’s like jumping off the high dive. You just…gotta do it. Lastly, as you move forward onto fun adventures, remember to keep some sense of practicality – this means being aware of what might be TOO much right now, but also knowing that you can do hard things.  

How can you avoid getting caught up in other’s perceptions? King of Wands reversed

Stop setting unrealistic expectations for yourself! I think this really speaks from that last bit of steps you can take. Being practical also means believing in yourself and your amazingness. I feel this extends to knowing you’re capable of being in these people’s lives while still going out and expanding your boundaries. It doesn’t have to be either/or, it can be both. The perceptions you’re caught up in currently might be self-created. People around you might not have even considered the thoughts you think they have. Stop yourself in your tracks if you find you’re going down a road of worry. These people are proud of you and WANT you to succeed. They also think it’s pretty neat that they’re friend is so cool 😉<3

[threeletterslife]

40 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up in yet another unfamiliar place. This time, however, these strangers seem to recognize you. With your previous judgments and aspirations thrown out the window, you're now forced to face where your loyalties really lie. Who will you betray? And which General will you choose to stand by his side?

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity, descriptions of death, blood and gore

⨰ wordcount: 3.8k

⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)

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⧖⧗Many, Many Circas Ago⧗⧖

The world grew eerily silent when you stepped into your office. What was left of daybreak’s red light filtered into the room, bathing it in a bloody hue. Or perhaps the red reflected from Enyx’s flickering flames, his once flamboyant spirit dimmed as he lay limp in his silver cage on your desk. 

Your knees skidded across the wood until they were bruised before your desk. Your ears were ringing again, in that high-pitched key that you so often heard when the world seemed to stop spinning. The phoenix looked up, his weary eyes meeting yours in a gentle, understanding gaze. 

‘It’s okay,’ he seemed to say. 

“It’s not,” you said, lips quivering. “It’s not okay. You’re dying.”

‘But I am a phoenix. You know I will rise again.’

“I know, I know,” you whispered, voice breaking. “But I just…”

‘Do not worry,’ Enyx seemed to say. His eyes drooped, light smoke trailing from the tips of his feathers. ‘We will meet again.’ Even in his dying moments, Enyx was majestic. Bathed in scarlet light, his fiery plumage flickered like dim candlelight on a breezy night. He looked strangely at peace, though your heart was heavy.

“Yes… We’ll… We’ll meet again.”

The phoenix gently closed his eyes and his feathers erupted in one final beacon of light—deep scarlet and golden flames coiled together in the air, reminding you of the Solarian uniform. The flames soon extinguished in a cloud of gray smoke. They wound around your office, drawing an opaque film over your vision. A dry cough crept up your throat as you waved your hands to clear the smoke. When it finally dissipated, you saw Jungkook, leaning against the wall. You hadn’t heard him come in.

“Hey,” he spoke in a soft voice. He glanced at the gray ashes in the silver birdcage and back at you, hunched against your desk. “I’m sorry.”

“He’ll be reborn,” you said, weakly.

Jungkook hummed. “But that’s not all you’re upset about.” He could always read you so well. “Talk to me,” he said. “It’ll help.”

You pushed your hands up to your face and sighed deeply. “It’s stupid.” You didn’t want to cry, but the tears pooled behind your fingers and dripped down your chin.

“It’s not,” he reassured, crouching to your level. “You’re scared,” he observed. “And Enyx’s death only reminds you of what you’ll see out there.” He was right. “But you’ve trained hard for this moment,” Jungkook said. “Don’t forget that.”

You understood him, for you had spent circas rebuilding your muscles, thawing your dormant agility, dueling and masking and running. Yet, why did you feel ill-prepared? It has been six circas since you’ve been free of the deaths, the violence, the sea of red. Six circas without Hajin, too. You had always fought by her side. 

And now, now another loved one died in your presence. How many more will you have to live through? Hot tears streamed down your face. They stung your cheeks and tasted salty on your tongue. 

“Shh…” Jungkook whispered, placing a warm hand on the small of your back. “You’re overthinking.”

“I-I can’t stop,” you sniffled. “I know I’m overthinking. I know I’m being a coward. I’m overreacting, dammit, but I’m so damn nervous, Jungkook. They’re going to chew me up alive. They’re going to kill our soldiers, and I won’t be able to do anything about it. I won’t be able to save them, just like I couldn’t save Hajin. I’ll be a disgrace to Darlae—just as I have been for the past six circas when I abandoned my own army and pushed all my burdens onto you.”

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook said, pulling you into a tight embrace. “You won’t be a disgrace. No one will chew you up alive. You’ve earned your position with your merit, do you understand?”

“Jungkook, but I…”

“We’re going to win today,” he said, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. “I can feel it.” He cupped your cheek in his gentle hands. So don’t you dare worry, he tapped. All right?

You placed a shaking hand on top of his. All right, you tapped back. You wanted to believe him. You really did. But there was a strange, twisting feeling in your gut that you couldn’t ignore. It was the kind of feeling that urged you to stay home, swaddled in the safe confines of your covers. But how cowardly would that be? And besides, you were never a good divinist. Perhaps this gut feeling was only a ruse your mind conjured up in manifestation of your worst fears. Perhaps Jungkook was right and you were wasting your worries.

“Are you ready?” he asked, standing to his feet and outstretching his hand.

You took it as he pulled you up. “Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He nodded. “How’s the speech coming along?”

You twisted your trinket between your fingers. “I’m just about finished, I think.”

“Good. Your soldiers will love it. I’m sure.”

The wooden platform squeaked under your feet. Before you were your army, thousands of soldiers who swore to give their lives to their nation—and you. They looked up at you in awe, with sparkling eyes and brave faces. It took everything in you to meet their gazes, but you longed to look away, to crawl back into your covers. You felt small in the morning light, and as the sunlight rained down on the soldiers, basking them in warmth, you couldn’t help but think this might be some of their last days in this world—the last time some of them would see the sun, feel its glow, see it rise over the horizon. 

Your throat suddenly became parched, and you forced yourself to hold in a cough threatening to escape from your lips. 

Inside your mind, flashed glimpses of the fallen. Hajin, Joonhee, General Son… Your captain and majors, thousands and thousands of unranked soldiers—those you recognized, those you didn’t. Your head began to spin, and you gripped onto the podium for support. But your soldiers needed you, and you had to show them that you were strong, that you were ready to lead them to victory again. This was your first official speech after your disappearance for six circas, after all. 

The sun was blinding you now, and your eyes squinted against the white light. It helped a little, not being able to see your soldiers’ faces. It made it easier to lie.

“My soldiers,” you called out to them in earnest. “I stand before you humbly. I may be bedazzled in medals of honor and validation, and yet even I am not immune to illness. I thank you all for waiting for my recovery. I commend you for fighting in my stead, my courageous soldiers, and I wish I made better haste in my return to health.” The lump in your throat bobbed as you swallowed thickly. “Alas, I have returned to you, stronger than ever, more invigorated than before, and well-prepared to make Darlae proud. But our victories are not without sacrifices. I…” Your breath caught in your throat, your lips aquiver. “I want to take a moment to commemorate the fallen. Let us honor them, let us carry on their legacies as they would have done the same for us. We fight with the weight of those who have fought valiantly before us. When we charge toward the Solarians, we charge for the fallen. They’ve given up their lives for a chance at a warless Darlae, so let us honor their sacrifice and finish what they have so courageously started.”  

Your hands twisted the pendant of your trinket. “When I was a little girl, I wanted to become a hero—I’d read one too many books about them—but the dream carried me through my studies, through my time in the Training Corps, and my service in the army thus far. I used to be quite embarrassed about such a dream of which I thought was too fantastical to come true. As I grew older, I realized there is nothing fantastical about being a hero; they are as ubiquitous as rainfall in the spring. My heroes are those who have uplifted me, supported me, have taught me lessons about the world around me I otherwise would never have gleaned. Some of my heroes are still with me,” you said, glancing at Jungkook from the crowd. “Others are long gone… But it does not matter where my heroes are. The memories I made with them, the stories they’ve told me, their hopes and dreams stay with me. They inspire me to become a hero myself, and I use this inspiration to attempt to change Darlae for the better. So let us remain faithful to our loved ones, our nation, our dreams. If we lose someone dear to us in this war, someone who inspired us to fight, let us make them heroes. Let us honor them today, tonight, for many days and nights until we no longer can. And let us rest in peace when our times come, knowing that once we have become grand sacrifices for Darlae, others will do the same for us. Let us trust our comrades to carry on our legacies when we die—as they trust us to do the same. We can die and still become a hero. 

“So, my dear soldiers, we must not wallow in fear. Instead, be proud that your contributions will go down in the annals of history, and that your sacrifices won’t be without remembrance. I am willing to put my life on the line for a chance at a warless Darlae. My soldiers, are you?”

A loud roar shook the grounds, and for a split second, you swore you saw the heavens tremble along with it. Your soldiers cheered for you, though you weren’t sure if that was the result of pre-battle adrenaline or genuine agreeance to your message. It didn’t matter that you still felt sick to your stomach when you hid it so well. 

“Hey,” Jungkook said. He sat down next to you on a wooden crate, examining your countenance to gauge your thoughts. “It was a great speech.”

“Thanks,” you sighed. “I hope they liked it.”

“They loved it,” he answered. “The reception was overwhelmingly positive.” He paused, cocking his head. “But you’re unhappy.” He was always too good at reading you.

“It’s just…” Another sigh, deeper than the last, left your lips. “It felt like I was lying to them.”

“Hm.”

“It was like I was putting up a strong front while I was in shambles on the inside,” you said. “Is that being dishonest?”

He shook his head. “You were only reassuring them. Nothing wrong with that.” He put a warm hand on your knee. “I won’t tell you not to worry, but I will tell you to internalize what you just told your soldiers. I think you forget sometimes that you’re already a hero, that people die for you. You will never be a disgrace to Darlae, Y/N. You’ve already made history. And yes, those who look up to you will die, but as you’ve said, honor them. You’re allowed to mourn, you’re allowed to grieve, but never let their legacies grow cold.” He squeezed your knee. “In the meantime, I’ll do everything I can to support you. I know your job isn’t easy, but you’ve done so well and will continue to do well. I believe in you.”

Your heart grew warm at his words. You couldn’t help but fling yourself into his arms. His embrace rivaled the passion and glow of a thousand suns. Thank you, you tapped into his shoulder.

Of course, he responded back. Let’s go now. Your army is waiting.

The march to the battlefield was a blur. The morning air was crisp and smarting against your cheeks, and you attempted to distract yourself by watching your breaths float past your lips in gray wisps and disperse into the sunlight. But it wasn’t enough to chase away the heavy feeling in your stomach. That feeling, it seemed, would never go away, no matter Jungkook’s kind words or your soldiers’ reverence. It was the feeling brought upon by the imminence of death—not only yours but also your comrades and loved ones. This gut-wrenching feeling would not disappear for a long time, not at least until the war was over. Yet, how much longer could you handle this? You never thought you were immortal—some of your soldiers do, it’s a survival tactic or instinct, perhaps, that they deploy to fare against the glaring finiteness of their life on the battlefield. Death has always scared you. No, the pain that death can bring. What did Hajin feel when the ring pierced through her head? Did she even feel it? Or was she dead right away? Did she get to savor her last thought? Did she think, as she was falling to the ground, I don’t want to die? Or was she distracting herself from the pain by dreaming of exploring the Blackwoods with a week’s supply of devilled eggs? But perhaps she did not feel much, taking a bullet to the head. But those who do, the soldiers who cry out in agony as they bleed out in the mud spilled with guts and tears, how do they bear it? Do they beg others to put them out of their mercy? If someone begged you to do so, could you do it? Look them in the eyes and watch the light in them fade from your doing? Would you ever beg someone to take your life when the pain is too much? Will that someone be Jungkook? Or will you suffer in silence? 

Being in a war made your mortality almost tangible. You could taste death in the air. It lingered on your clothes, in your hair, your mind as well. You could never escape it. And worst of all, every death felt like your fault. You were responsible for each life on the line for it was your formations and your command that these soldiers so vehemently followed. No matter what anyone said, you were responsible for Hajin. And you would also be responsible for anyone who died today on the battlefield. 

By the time the whirlwind of your thoughts ceased, you were standing on the battleground. Your army was behind you, your lover right next to you and your enemy in the front—a familiar composition—but you couldn’t remember how you got here. The sun was higher up in the sky now, brighter too, and the brightness obscured your line of vision on the Solarians. From across the land, they looked like fire in their burning red uniforms. It reminded you of Enyx’s flames. The Solarian General was there, leading his army, though as usual, you couldn’t make out his face, which was for the better. It was always better if you never looked them in the eyes. 

The ringing in your ears came back. You were frozen in place, watching the sea of red before you. Suddenly, your breaths quickened as if you were losing air. Your hands began to tremble in anticipation. You watched the Solarian General raise his arm and a roaring red flame shoot from his fingertips. You were breathless now.

“Y/N,” an urgent voice called your name, a voice you recognize and love. 

Right. Right. You must signal back. That would begin the subsequent onslaught of innocent soldiers on both sides. With trembling hands, you reached down to pick up a small pebble. You felt it between your fingers, savoring its cool smoothness. You hesitated. Were you ready for this? But it didn’t matter if you were. Your soldiers were ready, and they were out for blood. Your nation was counting on you. So, you tossed the pebble in the air, masking it into a purple streak of smoke. Red and violet splashed in the sky. 

People began to run. You ran too. Your arms were moving on their own, throwing out charms and dodging fire from every which way. Your legs moved, putting one after the other, but you couldn’t seem to register the movement in your head. Your mind felt foggy. How long have you been doing this? Has it been hours? Your legs are aching. Was the training enough? Will it be over soon? Are you losing focus?

Suddenly the stench of blood hit your nose, along with the insufferable smell of smoke and fire. You clutched your trinket. You’ve been on this battlefield many times, but today, it felt like you wandered onto it for the first time. There was a ringing in your ears that masked the cries of pain, the slashes and the crackling of burning bodies. But that didn’t block your vision. It was all so overwhelming. Your legs slowly ceased to carry you forward.

Your limbs felt weak. Another body thudded on the ground next to you. Shivers crawled up your spine. How many more would this place kill? How many more friends and loved ones would it steal away from you? How could you ever uphold all of their legacies? How could you ever give them the justice that they deserved? You couldn’t. You simply couldn’t. How does fighting in a battle that killed your soldiers honor them? How does it help to continue the cycle of violence and war and death and blood? How was that heroic? You asked your soldiers time and time again to give their lives for the war, but why? Those bright-eyed and eager Darlaeans, why did they waste their lives away, training for death? For Darlae? The same nation that shipped them out for them to burn alive in the mud? A warless Darlae? Impossible. This nation thrived off of war. So much so that it killed its own royalty. Hajin’s face flashed in your mind.

You were afraid. You were so afraid. 

You couldn’t stop the treasonous thoughts flying through your head. It was hard to breathe. The world around you was so loud but you only heard silence. The great Darlaean General, reduced to a hyperventilating mess.

It should’ve been Jungkook. It should’ve always been him.

Something hit your head. Hard.

You were falling. There was no time to stop yourself. A sharp pain shot through your head. There was an ear-splitting thump.

Everything hurt. Blood rushed to your brain, but it wasn’t helping you think.

Your body twitched in pain. 

It was happening. Your death was imminent.

And you deserved this, didn’t you? You committed treason in your mind already, was there any going back? 

Death wasn’t so scary anymore. There was pain, but it was faint, as if it was floating above you, smothering, but not quite suffocating. Your mind was grasping for thoughts, begging for sustenance before it faded from existence. Any minute now, a delighted Solarian would kill you and be honored for the rest of their life for ridding the Darlaeans of their general. But you didn’t deserve that title. You didn’t for circas. 

Jungkook. He should have been the General. And he would be now. You couldn’t imagine how he would feel. Happy? No, he surely couldn’t be. He exchanged you for the title. But then again, you were only another pawn in the army. He would move on, albeit be sad. The thought broke you.

I believe in you, he had said. How could you fail him? After all that he’s done for you? You loved him. You loved him so much that it felt like two hands were wringing your heart when you thought of him.

You were ready to die. You could close your eyes now and drift off to dreamland for all of eternity. And yet, your body slowly, desperately began to crawl forward. You didn’t know where you were going. You couldn’t see. Yet, you groveled on. I believe in you. To do what? To be a good leader? A wonderful lover? A hero? To live?

Your arms pleaded at you to stop. Your legs felt numb, but you persisted. Why? Why did you have such a growing, instinctual response to live? 

Something warm and wet rolled from your head, down to your lips. It tasted like iron. You felt yourself dip in and out of consciousness. 

If you died, would he bring your body back?

You couldn’t bear to know.

So you had to live.

Hot tears spilled from your eyes, and you no longer had the strength to clear them away with your muddy hands. 

Then, you heard voices. People. You were saved.

They came closer and closer until your vision bled red. Solarians. They were coming toward you. No. No. You would rather die on the battlefield than be taken and tortured and held hostage for years until you begged and sobbed for mercy.

Your head felt as if it was splitting open. Vomit poured out of your throat. 

If they didn’t notice you before, they did now. 

You couldn’t die like this. You were only human, though they wouldn’t see you that way. Their deep scarlet uniforms grew closer and closer. The gold ribbons around their waist fluttered with the wind, and mud stained the soft material of the uniforms—cotton, it had to be. How different their uniform was from the rigid, black fabric the Darlaean uniform consisted of. How much more freeing. It was blood red, but it was almost beautiful. It flowed like the natural passage of time, like a bubbling brook down a tall hill. It felt like freedom.

You were floating. In your mind, you were up in the clouds, basking in the warm sunlight. How would their uniform feel against your skin? Would it be as soft and flowy as it looked? You imagined it would feel like being wrapped in soft clouds and colored by the warmth of sunshine. You imagined yourself donning the uniform, wrapping the golden ribbon snugly around your waist, looping it in an elegant knot. It felt so real, the fabric, the gentle cinch to your waist from the ties, the delicate sleeves and supple boots. No longer did you feel constrained in the Darlaean uniform. Instead, you were walking amongst the clouds, painting the sky in red.

How stupid this war was, dividing two nations by fashion, forcing them to wear clothes that announced their alliances. 

How stupid it all was…

You were fading.

“Hey! She’s still alive!”

The voices and yelling sounded far away as if you were in a dream. The pain wasn’t all so bad either. There was no panic, only peace. Quietly, gently, you floated into the sky, and you hoped, if you were lucky, that you would land somewhere amongst the clouds.

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⨰ a/n: the long-awaited chapter is now here! so sorry it took so long :') and now, the flashback is officially over!!! (finally LOL)

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

[niki-phoria]

pairing: dabi x male!reader (no pronouns used; masc reader) genre: angst (??)/suggestive word count: 755

includes: reader being shirtless, lowkey asshole dabi, smoking/sharing cigarettes, might make a part 02, written with male reader in mind

a/n: school starts tomorrow for me (<//3) so fics will probably slow down for a while but i've had this idea for a while so i figured i would write it, lowkey based on this

summary: late night smoking with situationship dabi

likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback are always appreciated <33

pushing the door open, you wander into a nearby alleyway. you can still smell the weed from the group of stoners that live in the flat above you. at least they have the decency to go outside. cool air stings against your skin as you step out onto the freezing concrete - silently cursing yourself for not at least grabbing a coat before you left. 

despite the goosebumps rising along your skin, you stumble further into the darkness before leaning your back against the brick wall. it feels damp against your bare skin - likely from the storm that had hit last night. 

you hold a cigarette between your lips as you flick the lighter on; cupping your hand around the small flame. you slip the plastic device into a pocket of your sweatpants once the cigarette begins to burn. 

the familiar feeling of smoke invading your lungs gives you an unsettling feeling of comfort. your eyes flutter closed as you slowly exhale; letting the fumes hang heavily in the air. 

your eyebrows furrow as the events of the day swirl throughout your mind once again. a sigh escapes your lips as you take yet another puff from your cigarette, hoping the methodical action will somehow improve your breathing - like the exercises your counselor had drilled into you from behind her thin glasses and scowl.

breathe the smoke in. breathe your worries out. 

“bad day?” 

a voice interrupts your silent introspection from above. your features contort into a scowl of your own. the sun had set long ago, disguising the man in darkness; though you recognize him by voice alone. you can almost picture the smug smirk on his lips - staples pulled taut because of the action. this time no smoke leaves your lungs when you exhale. 

“something like that.” exhaustion drips from every word that leaves your lips. you’re sure he’s picked up on your annoyance, though he makes no move to leave you alone. 

dabi’s combat boots scrape against the half-wall he had been kneeling on as he jumps down onto the ground below. your tired eyes meet his own as he casually wanders over to stand beside you - so close that the denim of his jacket brushes against your shoulder. 

against your better judgement, you shift slightly to look over at him. your eyes study the stitches decorating his coat and jeans. everything about him is covered in staples; it seems.

bright blue eyes meet your own when you finally look up at him. disheveled black hair falls into his eyes. you resist the urge to reach a hand up to brush the stray strands back into place - instead taking yet another long drag from your cigarette. 

“wanna talk about it?” he asks, breaking the prolonged silence. it’s not an unusual question, though it’s once that you find particularly difficult to answer. nothing from dabi comes for free.

you flick the cigarette between your fingers, watching as the ash falls to the ground. you can feel dabi’s unrelenting stare on you with each movement you make. piercing blue eyes study your expression: the way your lips have remained in a slight frown; your still-furrowed eyebrows; your gaze fixated on the wet ground you’re both standing on.

before you can take another puff, the cigarette is stolen from between your fingers. dabi takes a drag himself before almost immediately blowing the smoke into the air around you. your protests die on your tongue when he reaches over to grab your face. his fingers feel hot against your skin. your breath hitches in your throat as he leans in until your lips just barely brush against each other.

dabi’s hand falls to gently wrap around your neck, keeping you steady. “y/n,” he murmurs. your own name sounds foreign to your ears. 

“touya,” you whisper. his fingertips heat up even more. your hand snakes into his hair, tightly gripping the strands. 

“let me take care of you.” his breath ghosts against your lips. you unconsciously lean even more into his touch. “just for tonight.”

“you always say that,” you mumble, though you make no effort to pull away.

dabi’s hand ghosts against your waist. despite his natural warmth, his touch still sends shivers up your spine. “and i always mean it.”

it’s a bold-faced lie and you both know it, but you remain silent for the moment. vulnerability has never been your strong suit either. 

instead, you lean in until you catch dabi in a kiss - molding your lips together the same way you always do.

[winterandwords]

✍🏻 WRITEBLR INTRO

👋🏻 Hi, I’m Winter. I write dark, emotionally intense, queer fiction with characters to go feral over, inspired by city streets and stormy seas, scars and synchronicity, synesthesia and l’appel du vide.

💬 I'm writing-related ask and tag game friendly and I love reblogging your WIP snippets.

📚 You can read my stories online for free at 🔗winterandwords.com. It's the only place they're available. More information about each story can be found further down this post.

📱 I also do writing community stuff with bonus pet pictures as winterandwords on 🔗Bluesky.

☕ If you enjoy my writing and would like to offer support, you can do that via 🔗Ko-fi. I share my stories for free with the option to donate if you can afford to, so your contributions are super appreciated!

🌈 It always makes happy to encounter queer characters whose identity and narrative aren’t limited to or by their queerness, so I’m writing the characters I want to see in the stories I want to read.

📝 I write for an adult audience, but my stories don’t include explicit sexual content because it’s not my vibe (not a genital in sight here, folks). That said, if you’re uncomfortable with fiction that's frequently dark, sometimes spicy, and often chemically enhanced, I might not be the ideal writer for you to follow. Not everything is for everyone and that’s OK.

🛑 I would prefer minors didn't follow me. I don't follow minors, at least not intentionally. Sometimes it's not obvious and I'm not the age-in-bio police. In the kindest possible way, if you're under eighteen, my writing is not for you and I'd rather engage with other adults only.

💜 My reblogs tend to be writing-related, with a few exceptions. My likes are (mostly) non-writing-related things I get a kick out of, or personal posts that I want to acknowledge but that don’t feel appropriate to reblog.

💌 If, for some reason, you need to contact me outside of the hellsite, you can do that at winterandwords[at]gmail[dot]com

🌊 NOVEMBER BREAKS (complete)

BASICS Genre: Transgressive, literary Audience: Adult Length: Approx 52k words Working title: Project Storm Tags: #november breaks and #project storm More: Story summary

💻 To read online for free, please visit winterandwords.com

VIBE Crime, weather symbolism and questionable life choices. Hurt me, I need to feel alive. Violence is a drug. Also, drugs are drugs. This is a love story like crude oil is a tea. #ThatShouldNotBeHot. Nothing’s real anyway.

INTRO No conscience, no problem. Noah kills for money. Brett hides a life of crime behind a successful career. Officially, they both protect people from people like themselves. Unofficially, everything is falling apart. Until they meet. And it all gets worse.

💀 SPIN CYLINDER (complete)

BASICS Genre: Transgressive, literary Audience: Adult Tags: #spin cylinder More: Story summary

💻 To read online for free, please visit winterandwords.com

Spin Cylinder is the sequel to November Breaks, which can be read here.

VIBE Slice of life, but life is drugs and crime. They deserve each other (derogatory). Violence as a substitute for therapy. Very elegantly wasted. My favourite mistake, my weapon of choice, and the parts of ourselves that we can’t leave behind.

INTRO Bound by desire and destruction. Contract killer Noah and white-collar criminal Brett retire from successful but stressful careers to build a home together on a foundation of obsession, shared secrets, and murder. But when they start to feel restless and the downward spiral beckons them deeper, how far will they go to find their way back to themselves?

🗡️ BRIDGE FROM ASHES (complete)

BASICS Genre: Cyberpunk, neon-noir Audience: Adult Length: Approx 70k words Working title: Project Frequency Tags: #bridge from ashes and #project frequency More: Story summary

💻 To read online for free, please visit winterandwords.com

VIBE High-rise buildings and low-life scum. Everything hurts, but not enough to feel good. Yes, that’s a gun in my pocket and no, I’m not pleased to see you. If mind control is real, why do I still have to make decisions?

INTRO Too useful for prison and too dangerous for freedom, underworld assassin Rafael Turner is sentenced to serve in a secretive military agency. When a mission to infiltrate a criminal operation drags his past to the surface and someone he thought he’d lost forever unexpectedly returns, how much is Rafe willing to risk to settle old scores and have a chance at a future he’d given up hoping for?

🔫 NAME FROM NOWHERE (WIP)

BASICS Genre: Cyberpunk, neon-noir Audience: Adult Working title: Project Aria Tags: #name from nowhere and #project aria More: WIP summary

Name From Nowhere is the sequel to Bridge From Ashes.

VIBE Found crime family. Memory is a curse, but it’s also a weapon. What doesn’t kill you makes you deadly. No identity, still a crisis. Life may be more than survival, but survival is a good place to start. Because fuck you, that’s why.

INTRO Imprisoned for a crime or five that she definitely committed, Aria made it through her sentence remembering more than she was supposed to but not enough to make sense. An illicit trade syndicate gives her a fresh start and the acceptance she won’t admit she craves, but her blood family’s betrayal is seared into her mind and revenge is only ever an opportunity away.

📇 TAG INDEX

#the shit in my head | rants, rambles and writer life

#november breaks and #project storm | WIP excerpts, updates etc for November Breaks (working title Project Storm), the prequel to Spin Cylinder

#spin cylinder | WIP excerpts, updates etc for Spin Cylinder, the sequel to November Breaks

#bridge from ashes and #project frequency | WIP excerpts, updates etc for Bridge From Ashes (working title Project Frequency), set in the same world as Name From Nowhere

#name from nowhere and #project aria | WIP excerpts, updates etc for Name From Nowhere (working title Project Aria), set in the same world as Bridge From Ashes

#my writing | snippets and other wordstuff

#your writing | other people’s words

#writeblr tags | tag games and memes

#answered asks | replies to your questions and messages

#writeblr connect | boosting writeblrs for the community

#reblogs | what it says on the tin

#reblogs plus | reblogs with my additions

#tumblr meta | hellsite stuff'n'things

#calmwrimo | info, updates and reblogs for CalmWriMo, a chilled-out November writing and self-care experience

📸 IMAGE CREDITS

Profile picture My own

Header and background Original photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels, edited under license

November Breaks My own

Bridge From Ashes Original photo by Drew Dizzy Graham on Unsplash, edited under license

Spin Cylinder Original photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash, edited under license

Name from Nowhere Original photo by Wilmer Martinez on Unsplash, edited under license

[draguta]

.a court of fate and fortune | one.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering

chapter word count: 3747

a/n: chapter one of our sequel! yessssss! (side note: forgot to add my taglist for the entirety of a court of ash and smoke, so we're back with the taglist for the sequel lol) for this series i will be posting if and when chapters are ready rather than on a schedule (i'm moving across the world this month so keeping up with a schedule is going to be hard)

🔮 series masterlist 🔮

please remember to reblog, like, and share a comment if you enjoy this series - it is always appreciated by writers to see their hard work valued.

🔮 tip jar 🔮 tag list 🔮

Missing

Hands caressed bodies. Some falling to the hair of the other, tangling and twisting at the roots. Some pressed against chests, rising and falling with laboured breathing. Some travelling down, past the point of no return, to where each of you needed it the most. His lips were on my neck, sucking at that spot just under your ear that made your head fall back in pleasure, made your toes curl in anticipation.

“I missed you so much,” he said as his lips traced lower, over your collarbone, nipping slightly at the skin there, down past the crevice between your breasts, turning to pull each nipple into his mouth. The only sounds that you could form were breathy moans, whispers of his name, a pleading to show you just how much he had missed you.

A hand pressed down over your dripping heat, the heel of his palm pressing fervently to that spot that caused you to shudder irrationally. Then a finger was dipping inside, bringing with it a wave of pleasure unlike any you had experienced before. Time made the heart grow fonder, and distance made the pleasure grow stronger.

“How perfect you are,” he whispered against your skin, breath hot as lips caught with each movement of his hand inside you. “How perfectly made, just for me.”

Because you had been made for him. And he for you.

His fingers disappeared, and you whined at the loss. Until, that is, you felt his tip nudge against you, gathering your wetness. His forehead pressed against yours, and as he pushed in, the pure euphoric bliss almost overwhelming, you allowed your eyes to open. They caught his in a second, and you didn’t let them go. You watched every ounce of pleasure that etched itself into the colour of his eyes.

One russet. One golden.

“Never leave me again,” he said, voice almost breaking.

“I will never leave you,” was your reply. And you knew that was the truth.

“I love you,” he huffed out, close to a beg, as if he were pleading for you to accept it, to let him love you. Little did he know that you had accepted it a long time ago with open arms. “My mate.”

His mate.

Your mate.

You woke with a start, so fast that you could barely grasp your surroundings. Your skin was hot, clammy and sweaty, and there was a fire burning in the pit of your stomach, one that you doubted could be doused in any kind of water.

There was only one way to put out those flames, to dull them to nothing more than embers. Only one person. But he wasn’t there, he never was. That dream wasn’t real, a monstrous lie told by your own traitorous mind to keep you from going crazy. From losing it entirely. Your mattress was cold, your bed empty, and your heart aching for that one soul that you couldn’t see.

The door swung itself open, revealing the High Lord of the Night Court himself leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets. “Again?” He asked. You could do nought but nod, running a hand through your sweat-drenched hair. He meandered inside, closing the door behind him, and perched on the end of your bed. He could no doubt scent the arousal in the air, but he didn’t comment on it - he never did. That was an unspoken rule between you.

He mourned the curse-breaker. You mourned the emissary. And you did so, each and every night, in each other’s company. You never spoke of it, never discussed the things that hunted your nightmares or his, but you were there for each other when the ones you both really wanted could not be. So you would sit, curled up in front of the fire, tea appearing before you as a courtesy of the very house that you lived in. And you would wallow in silence.

Dreaming of your mates.

Fate was a fickle thing.

You had never been one to believe in fate. For as long as you could remember you had scoffed at the idea that there was some higher power setting out a plan for your life. You preferred the idea that the things that happened to you were the outcome of a butterfly effect; that a decision you had made, however long ago, had led you to that particular moment, for whatever reason that may be. It wasn’t fate leading you there; it wasn’t the Cauldron or the Mother making those decisions on your behalf. It was you. Your strength. Your determination. Your courage. Your conscious choices.

Although you knew that choice wasn’t something that everyone was granted without hesitation. You weren’t given the choice to become High Fae. You weren’t given the choice to keep these powers. And you weren’t given the choice to have Lucien as your mate, although you would have chosen him regardless.

Even as a child you clung to the belief that your life was solely controlled by you. But that had been before, when you were mortal, naïve, and had thought the span of your world lay within the confines of your family’s estate in the Mortal Lands. When you’d assumed that the farthest you would ever go would be the village market, that you would never venture past the Wall, and that the male you cared for the most would be that of your blood brother, Arleon.

You knew better now.

How strange, how quickly things can change.

You could only assume that it hadn’t been your own decisions that had ultimately led you to where you were. You could only hope. Because the idea that every step you had been forced to take, every path you had been pushed to follow, was somehow due to something you had done, was all-but sickening to you.

Every life lost. Every battle fought in that cold, cavernous mountain. Every memory that haunted your each and every waking moment.

Every dream of him.

But that was the thing, you supposed; it had been worth it, you were certain of that. Whether it had been fate, or the will of the Cauldron and the Mother, or your own choices alone, those steps had brought you here, to Velaris. They had found you Feyre, had taken you to Prythain in the first place. And they had united you with Lucien, even if he was not so very far away.

It was all worth it.

Weeks had passed since Rhysand had first brought you there. The Night Court had been nothing at all as you had been expecting. When you had pictured torture chambers, instead sat plush bedrooms and studies and libraries. Where you had imagined the streets run red with the blood of victims, you had alternatively found cobblestone streets where the laughter of children bounced and echoed from the walls. It all seemed so lively. No bloodshed. No pain. Just pure, undiluted happiness radiating from the very streets of this city. How wrong those rumours in the Spring Court had been.

You had found yourself feeling strangely at home there, and you were certain that it wasn’t solely because of the city itself, but rather because of the people that you had found yourself surrounded with there. The Inner Circle of Rhysand’s court, his brothers, his cousin, and that terrifying black-haired female, had all welcomed you, regardless of where you had come from, and who your brother was.

Tamlin. You would have been lying if you said his name hadn’t crossed your mind on more than one occasion since your arrival there. You wondered if he might have been looking for you, if he knew who had taken you in the first place, if he had worked out that you had come willingly. That you had wanted to leave him behind. It was the least that he had deserved.

Perhaps Lucien had told him of your letter. No, surely Lucien wouldn’t do such a thing, not when that letter had been for his eyes and his eyes only. You hadn’t felt the need to include that; you knew all too well that he would understand the implication without it needing to be explained.

Lucien. Cauldron, how you missed him. Your entire body ached for him, for his touch. Each and every night he would visit you, and his hands would caress your body, his lips would brush against your skin, and everything would feel so right once more. Until you woke up, that is, and realised that it had all been in your head. That bond inside you, the one that was still entirely one-sided, that tied you to him, drew you back to him, to find him and never leave his side again. But you knew that you couldn’t. Not until you knew that you were no longer a threat to him, and for that you would risk missing those days with him. For that you would risk him falling back into resentment against you for leaving. You would never hurt him, even if it meant he hated you for it.

Your training had been going well. Each and every morning was spent in the ring at the House of Wind going over your manoeuvres with Cassian, who seemed more than impressed by how much you had already managed to grasp in the short time that you had been training. You cited Silas - your teacher - as the sole reason for that, although Cassian had been quick to shoot down the idea.

“Nah, that’s all you,” he had said, thumping you hard on the shoulder. Not hard enough to leave a bruise, but rough that it left a lingering pain.

Your afternoons were usually spent with Rhys going over the training of your powers. Even in just the few short weeks that you had been practising, you had already managed to get a grip on how to swell and shrink your power if and when you needed it - to bring it to the forefront and hide it away to lie in wait, only at your non-verbal command. Loosely was the optimal word, however; you still hadn’t quite perfected it just yet.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Rhys’ crooning tone sounded from behind you. He had found you in the spot that you seemed to have taken residence in more than anywhere else during those first weeks. The very corner of the balcony where you had spotted your first glimpse of Velaris, where the stone met at a point, providing you with the perfect place to lean into and simply look out upon the city that so few dared to venture into. Rhysand copied your stance, bringing his forearms up to rest against the stone of the railing, clasping his hands together, violet gaze trained on you. “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

“I’m never not thinking about him,” you admitted, refusing to meet his stare for fear that, should you see those eyes filled with a knowing sympathy, the very walls that you had built to keep yourself guarded might crumble, leaving you a weeping mess at his feet. You hadn’t divulged to him that Lucien was your mate - hadn’t even mentioned that you loved him - but Rhysand had garnered that there was at least something there, some sort of feeling that made you ache for him the way that you did.

“I know a little of what that feels like,” he said, his lips pulling into a sorrowful smile. And there you remained, as you had for so many nights, standing in silence, lonely but not alone, staring out across the city that he called home.

Mourning those you could not have.

The Spring Court had never felt so…empty. It bustled around Lucien at a never-ending pace, preparations readying for what Ianthe had begun calling the wedding of the century. Everyone was in high spirits - even Tamlin, to a degree. That stoic demeanour was still just as it had been on the day Y/N had left, yet there was a glimmer in his eye at the thought of what lay ahead. A lifetime with the female he loved.

Lucien couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that ricocheted through him at the very idea.

Feyre, he had noticed, seemed to be the only person who wasn’t excited for the upcoming nuptials. Well, the only person besides himself. She had closed herself off, more so with Y/N’s departure to the Night Court. It had left her with no one, not really. She had Tamlin, and his arduous mood swings, and Ianthe who seemed to be trying to paint her into the portrait of an obedient High Lord’s wife. And she had him, but he couldn’t deny that his heart simply wasn’t in it anymore.

There was no more teasing from him, no more humoured lilt in his tone when he spoke to her. He too, it would seem, had become closed off since Y/N had left, for a different reason, of course.

Because his heart longed to be with her, to be near her, and no matter what distractions he might find for himself - training with Silas and the sentinels, or heading out on hunts, or lending a hand to Tamlin with the court’s paperwork - that need for her never dissipated. It was always there, bubbling under the surface.

Tamlin hadn’t given up searching for her. Sentinels had scoured every inch of the Spring Court in search of anything, and Lucien himself had been sent to damn-near every court in the hopes of retrieving her safely, or of at least finding a clue as to where she might actually be. Lucien knew, of course, although he wouldn’t share that information with his High Lord. He knew for certain that it was Rhysand and his Night Court goons who had ‘supposedly’ stolen her away in the night. Tamlin knew that too, although he was woe to believe it; he had scented that male in her room that night, and had pieced the puzzle together. Silas had even said as much, having stated with such conviction that it had been them. But Tamlin knew better than to go storming into the Night Court and risk starting an all-out war between courts without proof that she was even there, and Lucien was doing everything he could to make sure that didn’t happen.

And so, it remained, Y/N in the Night Court, Lucien in the Spring Court; two lovers trapped miles, and multiple courts and territories apart. Tamlin continued scouring every book that held any information about the laws of Prythian, and still sent his sentinels out in search of clues. Lucien kept his friend distracted from invading Night Court lands, did his best to keep Tamlin focused on the Spring Court and Feyre and the upcoming wedding. And the best that he was able to do was dream of her, to think of her when he closed his eyes, and to imagine that she was there by his side.

He felt her in every Spring breeze blowing the scent of jasmine and lavender from the gardens; her scent. He felt her in every kiss of sunlight that fell against his skin as warm as her lips, every click of blade against blade when he sparred with the sentinels. In the birds that chirped that reminded him of that night Under the Mountain when they had stared out of that little window in his chambers for hours. In every smile that he saw plastered onto the faces of passing village fae, beaming and glowing and beautiful.

He felt her everywhere, except beside him.

“That was good,” Rhys said with a small chuckle. “Although next time, please try not to go for my face. You nearly took my head off.”

You rolled your eyes and unwrapped your legs from their seated position. You had been at it for hours, trying to get your powers to reveal themselves in a non-threatening way. Rhys had said that this was the obvious next step - to learn how to let them out, to breathe, even when there wasn’t a threat. Until now, it would seem that anytime you let your powers out, they would immediately lunge for whomever else was present, as if their sole reasoning for being was to kill. And all of your previous lessons had forced Rhys to place a protection shield around himself. But now, it would seem, he was willing to take the risk. Perhaps he trusted you enough now to not let them hurt him. You weren’t sure you trusted yourself with that though. Until that point, the only person that the red smoke hadn’t tried to harm was you.

You had been perched on the rooftop of the House of Wind, away from any civilisation that may have been caught in any destruction your power might have made should it not go to plan, for what seemed like forever. Every ticking second only stood to remind you of how little you really knew or understood of these powers, and how little you were able to control them. They had already lunged for Rhysand well over ten times, and you could only assume that they would try again.

“It’s not working,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself to protect from the sharp chill of the mountaintop. “It’s pointless. I’m never going to be able to control these fucking powers.”

Rhys frowned. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. These powers that you have are strong, and the way that you’re able to wield them already, to let them out and reel them back in on command, is already showing a lot of restraint.”

“Not enough. They still try to kill you every time.”

Rhys sighed, rising to his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets, allowing his shoulders to shrug ever-so-slightly. “We’ve not been doing this for long. You need to have patience.”

“Because it’s not going to happen overnight, right?” You scoffed, echoing the words that he had told you countless times already, spinning on your heel to look back at him. His lips went thin in what you could only assume was pity.

“Exactly,” he affirmed. “You think I was able to control my powers immediately? No, it took me centuries to get this kind of grip on them, and even still, there are aspects that I haven’t perfected.”

You winced. Centuries. Centuries away from Lucien. You weren’t sure you could make it that long without him. You were sure you would go mad from want long before that. “I just feel…useless,” you admitted, kicking at the snow on the rooftop with the toe of your boot. Rhysand sighed once more, moving to clap a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re definitely not useless,” he said quietly. “Have more trust in yourself than that. I know that you’re eager to get it right, but don’t push yourself.”

“What would you suggest instead?” You asked with a raised eyebrow. He chuckled, turning and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you back toward the door. You relished in the warmth that his arm provided; it seemed any training that you had been doing was finished, for now.

“Patience,” he said again. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, watched the way your shoulders slumped, and your breath clouded in front of you as you exhaled deeply. “I have to admit, these few weeks I’ve been watching you train, I’ve noticed some similarities between your powers and Azriel’s shadows. They’re not the same, far from it, but they act in a similar way. Maybe he could be of some help to us.”

The only thing you could do was nod.

Patience. You had to be patient. But if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t sure how long that patience could last.

It was quite a scene, really, that Lucien had stumbled across. He rarely found himself in the rose garden - preferred to leave it as a place for Tamlin, a place where he could feel closer to his mother. But for some reason, in the weeks since Y/N had left, he had found himself drawn to that little rose garden, the flowers that bloomed there year-round reminding him of her. Of the rose he had gifted her for Solstice that had been more of a jibe against her than a real gift.

He regretted that now.

But as he wandered the gravelled path, the little stones crunching and sinking beneath each step of his boots, his eyes fell on Feyre. Her familiar haunch was perched on the edge of one of the stone benches. Lucien couldn’t deny in that moment that she looked rather angelic - golden-brown hair amidst blood-red roses. The scene would be like that of one of the paintings that Feyre loved so much, if it hadn’t been for her ghostly pale skin, paper-like from endless days trapped in the house.

As he grew closer, he noticed that she held a rose in her hand, twirling it between her fingers. Each thorn was gone, ripped from the stem with what he thought looked like almost angry intent.

He cleared his throat, and she looked up, catching his eye in surprise.

“Didn’t think I’d find you out here,” he said, finally coming to a stop at the bench and taking a seat beside her, stretching his legs out straight against the gravel.

“I could say the same thing,” she muttered with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She drew in a sigh, turning away from him and glancing back down to the rose in her hand, to the way it twirled, the sunlight bouncing off each petal. “I wish Y/N was here.”

Lucien blinked slowly. “Me too.”

“She loves you. You know?” Her words were so quiet, almost a whisper, barely audible above the gentle breeze that rustled the leaves above. Lucien wondered, for a second, if the words were being uttered without her permission or forethought.

“I know,” he replied as gently as he could.

“She’s lucky.” He watched as Feyre tossed the rose back into the bush, turning in her seat to stare at him intently. “Don’t let her forget how important she is.”

Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but before he had the chance, she was rising to her feet and floating back down the gravel toward the manor in eerie silence.

Lucien didn’t stop her.

Taglist

Complete: | @loveshineslikethesky | @elleclairez | @lostpirateinwonderland |

Lucien Vanserra: | @luna-foxglove |

[neodymiumcuilz]

Hello, I want your help. I have children and my condition is bad🥺. I can't really feed them. I have a child who suffered from an electric shock in the head and he can't really speak or walk on his feet. My wife also suffers from back pain and wants treatment, but I can't really treat them. You can help us with a small donation of $50🙏🙏. May Allah reward you with all good and prolong your life and bless your wealth as well. I hope you don't ignore me.💔💔🙏

"We are a group of survivors dreaming of a better future. We want to start anew, rebuild our homes, bring our children back to school, and return to the life we deserve. We have the will, but we need help to achieve this dream.

We are launching this campaign to raise funds to begin our new lives. The money we collect will be used to rebuild our homes and secure basic necessities such as water, food, and clothing, as well as to support our children's education to ensure a bright future for them.

We believe in the boundless power of humanity and the goodness in people's hearts worldwide. Your contribution, no matter how small, will make a significant difference in our lives. We are not asking for much, just a chance to start fresh.

You can be part of this story—a story of rising from the ashes and building hope. Help us light the way through the darkness of this long road."

Those are words from @aligaza4 - who has reached out to me asking for help. Very hopeful about this fundraiser - I hope it will reach the right people. I hope people will share - donate and help in what ways they can.

Ive noticed not enough people are donating to campaigns. Some have thousands of reblogs but no donations?? Imagine living in a litteral hell, and people seeing you from warm home aren't bothered to help you? We only know a fraction of what they are going through.

@aligaza4 is vetted here. I'm not asking anymore - start treating Palestinians here like human beings.

5% OF DONATION GOAL RAISED.

[newspropaganda]

Welcome back to Roasting 101: Today’s subject—fake Yu-Gi-Oh! fans who don’t know the first thing about being real. This clown keeps crawling back like he has something to prove, but the only thing he’s proven is that he’s stuck in a loop of stupidity. I already know who he is—just another troll running the same tired playbook. You can tell from his posts he's probably got some messed up agenda. But here’s the thing: he milks the hate like it's going to make him matter. Newsflash, I’ve been hating this fandom’s nonsense since 2015, and nothing you’ve said has ever phased me. I’m the original OG, like Andrew Tate is to masculinity, while you’re just screaming into the void with your social justice warrior nonsense.

5D’s is peak fiction, and your whiny comments don’t change that. Over time, real Yu-Gi-Oh! fans will wake up to the greatness of 5D’s, but you? You’ll still be stuck in your echo chamber, crying about things you’ll never understand. 5D’s is the bread and butter of this franchise—more relevant than anything mainstream media throws at us because it’s a flawless show. You’ve clearly never appreciated it, and if you’d been around in 2014, you would’ve been booted from this fandom faster than that joke ScarlightCipher, who tried and failed to make a name for himself. Yeah, I crossed paths with him back in 2015—and believe me, I roasted him so bad, he never recovered.

You just got roasted, son. 5D's fans are on a whole different level, and your weak pity posts can’t touch us. There’s a reason I’m the WW5D’s champion when it comes to roasting. People like you fold under pressure while I’m out here on a higher level, making you cry with every word. Step your game up, or step aside, because 5D’s isn’t just a show—it’s a legacy. And you? You're just another footnote in it.

I bet 100 bucks he’ll be back under a week, trying to troll again. That’s why I blocked him—he’s too soft to respect 5D's legacy. Sure, it's a card game adventure, but unlike that Bleach trash, he can’t tell me anything. 2025 is going to be the year of 5D's, where fake fans crumble, and real ones like me rise from the ashes to reclaim our fandom. And don’t get me started on Zexal fans—they think they’re the ambassadors of the community, but it’s the first three Yu-Gi-Oh! shows that put in the work, week after week, to build this legacy. These newer gens don’t know the meaning of respect.

But hey, if you think you can roast me back, go ahead and reblog this post. Tell me why I’m wrong without being a coward. There are plenty of reasons you can try, but instead, you’re busy whining under some virtue-signaling post like that’s going to get you anywhere. This isn’t Twitter, where people hide behind fake maturity. I’m a Facebook guy—over there, we handle things like men. Here, it’s WWE Champion vs. Jobber, and guess what? You’re the jobber. I’m the heavyweight champion of the Yu-Gi-Oh! community.

Real men, like Andrew Tate, always said, 'Beta males like him are exactly why we need toxic masculinity back.' He'd probably throw in something like, 'Your lack of backbone is why the world’s getting softer—you need to wake up, hit the gym, and stop crying on the internet. Real men handle business, not feelings.

You see, this is why I can’t stand America when it comes to Yu-Gi-Oh!. It’s not just politics and BS—it’s the fact that people here are so spoiled. Andrew Tate was right all along: people are getting softer. I roast the community because they attacked my show, and yeah, I admit I’m a little sensitive about it. I’m probably a '1% beta male' when it comes to other things, but when it’s about my shows, I stand my ground. It’s not all anger, though—I learned that it’s better to love a show than to support its fandom. I put my content out there, and people can decide for themselves if it’s good or not. It’s their choice to block, ignore, or support me. Personally, I love 5D’s, GX, OCG Stories, Pyramid of Light, and Bonds Beyond Time, but Zexal, The Dark Side of Dimensions, and the Rush Era? Total garbage. They just don’t compare.

And let me make one thing clear: I don’t support what anyone else says. They’ve talked trash about me, my show, and why they can’t respect me—but guess what? They’re the beta males, not me. Why do you think VoicesOfChaos, a Zexal fan, turned into a trans person? Because Zexal was like the American government, telling them what to do. Zexal is like a system that makes people feel stupid instead of giving them hope. That’s why I’ve always hated it. As for The Dark Side of Dimensions, it was just overhyped by clowns who thought it was good. I’ll take Bonds Beyond Time any day—it was more human, more real than Dark Side of Dimensions could ever be.

#Roasted

[system-reset]

An open letter to Phoenix

[Please, if you have something kind to say to her, feel free to add it in a reblog. We love them and I know you do too.]

The story of the phoenix says that it rises from it's own ashes. But to rise from your ashes, you must first allow yourself to fall into them. To heal, both yourself and those around you, you must first let yourself feel. You may rest now, Nyx, I will keep the abyss at bay in your absence. The world will not crumble without you. I promise. I love you. Go now, sit for a while in the ashes, so you may come back infinitely stronger. We'll be here when you return.

Sincerely, Ren.

[ominous-faechild]

Reblogging this Part 3 lmao

SCYLLA AND EIDOLON FROM RFTA!

- I taught you how to fight, and now through some circumstance or another, I’m forced to engage you in life-or-death combat without holding back. - I put you through training from hell to make you the person you are today, for “your own good”, and now you’ve realized that you can hit back. And you can hit hard. - I have made you into something greater than yourself - but you are changing from how I have designed you, and this is something I cannot allow. - I taught you everything you know, and it was the greatest mistake I’ve ever made.

Their actual identities are hidden for probably obvious reasons, but Scylla and Eidolon are both assassins for a hidden group of criminals within Rising From The Ashes who refer to themselves as “Genesis”. They were selected from a large group of young assassins-in-training to become the "adopted children" of one of its highest-ranking members due to their exceptional skills.

Now, over a decade later, both Scylla and Eidolon consider themselves little but weapons for their adoptive parent. They've been raised thinking everything is completely normal, their lives and relationship with their "parent" is normal, and that any and every problem is something they deserved to go through for being a failure.

Although... Scylla might be having a change of heart, and Eidolon could never turn against her.

Not even for their parent.

Not even if he was ordered to.

romance is lame and overrated i love mentor/mentee relationships in fiction and especially when theyre sort of fucked up

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 3

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You place the Commander’s bag in the trunk. Then, a thermos and a wrapped croissant for the drive. It’s a small consideration, you don’t know why you even thought of it. You just know that the drive will be long and tedious. You do not relish his return after the journey and the presence of similarly willful men.

You kick off your boots before you enter the house again. You shiver and lean a hand on the wall, lifting your foot to untie the laces. The commander’s footsteps come slow and deliberate down the stairs. You put your sole to the floor and face him, dipping your head.

As he approaches, you take his coat from the rack and offer it to him. Before, there would be another, the long blue jacket his wife so treasured, with its big rosette buttons and round collar. All blue had been buried away or burned to ash.

He lets you lift it onto his shoulder, barely acknowledging you as he pulls on a pair of black leather gloves. He slides out a pair of round glasses and puts them on. The sort he wears to read or tend to some smaller detail. He checks his watch.

“Do not dawdle” he girds as he approaches the door.

You furrow your brow and watch him pull it open. What does he mean? He pauses and lets out an exhale.

“Far be it from me to concern myself, but a coat would be in order,” he bids.

You still don’t understand. Surely he can’t mean you’re going with him.

“Commander?”

“You will sit in the backseat and keep your head down. A toe out of line and there will be more than enough Eyes to have you shipped out to a colony.”

You push your chapped lips together and nod. You don’t expect it and you are unprepared. He’d spoiled the rare moment of escape that tugged at your mind. A day without him and his temper lurking.

“I will get my coat, commander.”

He carries on and you march away. Your coat is in your room with all else that is allotted to you. Not much, enough to exist. A spare dress and apron, shoes for the summer, stockings, and a second shift. You snatch your coat and pull it on, flapping back through the halls to the front door.

As you come out, the car blows exhaust into the air. You get in the back seat and do as he said. You put your head down and don’t say a word. He has his foot on the pedal before you can even shut the door.

He drives with the radio on. A dour voice recites verses as you stare at the back of the front seat. The grey sky ripples, both dimming and paling to create and ebb and flow of light. 

There is a soft clunk as the commander steers with one hand. The props the thermos in the cupholder and unscrews the cap. You quickly put your eyes to your lap. The smell of breakfast tea pervades the closed space.

You do not close your eyes. You could fall asleep right there but you don’t dare. Sloth is a sin, deadly as they say. You focus on keeping awake as the tires roll on.

The gates of the capital rise before you. You give only a brief peek as the commander stops to give his identity. He’s waved inside with a panicky sort of deference. Inside, you sense the sudden flurry around you but do not look up. You don’t expect many marthas come around here.

He pulls up to a building of stained white brick. You tilt your head slightly and try to figure where you are. He keeps the engine running as he gets out, greeted by another.

“Commander.”

“Take my car to the residence,” Shelby demands.

“Sir.” There’s a lull as footsteps click around the hood, “and the martha?”

“You may take her too,” Shelby says flippantly, “she will hang my clothes, as is her duty.”

The guardian doesn’t wait for another order. He gets in the front seat as you huddle lower in your seat. It isn’t unusually to be spoken as nothing more than a thing, but it is humiliating even so. The man fixes the mirror as you sense the tension of his unasked questions. It must be a strange situation, yet he cannot question a commander.

He shifts into drive and eases onto the gas. You clasp your hands tight in the silence. It does not seem as if you will return to the house that night and that worries you.

What could it mean? Hansen’s words echo in your head. Would the commander leave with a new wife at the order of the Committee? If there was to be a new wife, could she survive the widower’s grief?

[kckt88]

Wings of Departure.

Summary:

'I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone' - J. R R Tolkien

She simultaneously loved him and hated him in equal measure, but in the deep recesses of her mind, Vaena wondered if she could truly stand by and allow her husband to die, to stand there and watch as he was executed or worse to face him in the skies and fight to the death on dragon back.

It made her feel sick to her stomach-

But sooner or later she knew that she would have to make a choice.

Warning(s): Angst, Swearing, Family Drama, O.C Is Sick of Her Mother's B.S, Mild Violence, Referenced Character Deaths, Plots, Eavesdropping, Alicent Selling Out Her Own Sons, Dragons, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut, Kissing, Oral Sex (M & F Recieving), P in V.

AEMOND x O.C

Word Count: 11K

A.N - Aemond and O.C say FUCK THIS SHIT!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Princess Vaena Targaryen stood by the Painted Table on Dragonstone, her fingers tracing the intricate details of the carved map.

The ancient table, depicting the entirety of Westeros, seemed to throb with a life of its own under the flickering torchlight. Beside her stood brother Jacaerys, his youthful face set in a determined scowl as he leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on the table's edge.

Their mother, Queen Rhaenyra, stood with her advisors in deep discussion. The room was thick with the weight of recent losses and grim prospects. Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, had fallen at Rook's Rest, her dragon Meleys dead alongside her.

The greens had suffered too; as Aegon lay grievously injured, and his dragon Sunfyre was unlikely to survive. Yet, the cost to Rhaenyra’s own cause had been steep, and the morale within Dragonstone had been shaken.

Jacaerys broke away from the table, his voice clear and insistent as he addressed their mother. "We must press our advantage now. Vhagar is no doubt injured from her fight with Meleys. She is vulnerable. We should take Cannibal, Syrax, and Vermax and descend on the hoary old bitch. She might be the largest dragon in the world, but not even she could withstand a combined attack from three dragons. Without Vhagar, the greens’ position would be greatly weakened."

Rhaenyra, her face pale and drawn, shook her head slowly. Her eyes, filled with sorrow and fatigue, met her son’s fiery gaze. "No, Jace. I do not wish to unleash the dragons on King's Landing. I do not wish to rule over ash and bone”

Vaena watched the exchange, feeling the tension in the room rise. The thought of further destruction, of turning King's Landing into a charred ruin, filled her with dread. Yet, she could see the logic in Jacaerys’ words.

"Mother-" Vaena said softly, stepping closer to Rhaenyra. "Jace has a point. Vhagar is a significant threat, and if we could neutralize her, it would tip the scales in our favour. We don't have to attack King's Landing directly. We can find Vhagar while she is weak and take her down."

“Vaena-” muttered Rhaenyra, her fingers moving across the edge of the painted table.

"Mother, your inaction is only going to end with more losses. You should have listened to Daemon when the greens first usurped the throne, but you chose not to act."

Rhaenyra's face tightened with a mix of sorrow and fatigue, but before she could respond, Vaena pressed on. "Look what's happened because of it! Luke is dead, Daemon is lost to Harrenhal, Rhaenys is dead, and we've lost Duskendale and Rook’s Rest to the greens. And now, when we have a chance to strike at Vhagar while she's vulnerable, you refuse to act again!"

The Queen’s eyes filled with pain, but she maintained her composure. "I do not wish to rule over ash and bone, Vaena. The cost of this war has already been too high."

Vaena's eyes flashed with anger and frustration. "And it will only get higher if you continue to hesitate”.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I understand your frustration, Vaena. However, since the claiming of Seasmoke-I am considering a plan to have anyone with Valyrian blood attempt to claim the riderless dragons that currently reside in the dragon mount”

“To what end?” asked Vaena pursing her lips.

“I’m hoping that having more dragons on my side may act as a deterrent-”

"-That’s ludicrous!" Vaena shouted. "How can you consider letting just anyone try to claim a dragon? It’s dangerous! Loyalty is fickle, and people can be easily swayed. We cannot risk the dragons falling into the wrong hands."

Rhaenyra's voice was firm but tinged with desperation. "I have no other option available to me”

“Surely my Cannibal is enough”

“As fearsome as your dragon is, Cannibal is but one dragon, we stand a better chance with Vermithor, Grey Ghost and Silver-” replied Rhaenyra.

Vaena's face flushed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. "-You promised that when Aerion was old enough, he would be given the chance to claim Silverwing”

Rhaenyra's expression softened, but she did not waver. "I have not forgotten my promise. But we are in desperate times, and desperate measures are required”

Vaena’s anger surged, her amethyst eyes blazing with fury as she faced her mother. "You promised me that Aerion would have a chance to claim Silverwing when he was old enough. Now, you’re going back on your word. You say you mourn our losses, but I don’t believe you. You seem more bothered by Daemon’s involvement in the assassination of Jaehaerys than by the death of your own son”.

Rhaenyra's face darkened, her own anger flaring. "-It was your own husband that killed  Luke!"

The words hung in the air, sharp and painful. Vaena’s face flushed with rage, and she stepped closer to her mother, the anger and frustration boiling to the surface.

"All of this is your fault. Maybe if you had remained in King’s Landing and actually spent time solidifying your position as heir to the Iron Throne, then it wouldn’t have been so easy to usurp you. Maybe if you had bonded with your siblings instead of scorning them, our family be so divided. And maybe if you had made Luke apologize for slashing out Aemond’s eye, he might still be alive."

Rhaenyra’s eyes blazed with fury, but there was also a flicker of hurt in them. "You dare challenge my authority? Everything I’ve done has been for the sake of our family, for the Targaryen legacy. I have lost as much as you, Vaena. Do not presume to understand the burdens I carry."

Vaena’s voice was raw with emotion. "I do understand, Mother. I understand that your inaction has cost us dearly. I understand that your decisions—or lack thereof—have led to the deaths of our loved ones. And I understand that if we continue down this path, more will die."

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, and she took a step back, her eyes narrowing. "You think you could do better? You think you could make the decisions that need to be made? This war is not as simple as you believe."

Vaena’s eyes met her mother’s, unyielding. "Maybe I could. Maybe someone needs to. Because right now, all I see is a Queen too afraid to act, and a realm falling apart because of it."

Rhaenyra's eyes blazed with fury, her voice sharp and commanding. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner? I am not only your mother, but your Queen!"

Vaena laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and mocking. "Daemon had the right idea—get as far away from you as possible."

Rhaenyra's face contorted with rage, her voice rising to a shout. "Get out of my sight! NOW!"

Vaena's eyes flashed with defiance as she turned on her heel. "Gladly”

She stormed towards the door, her steps quick and angry. Jace moved to intercept her, his face pleading. "Vaena, wait! Please, don't go-”

Vaena shook her head, her voice cold. "-If things carry on as they are, we’re all going to die."

With that, she pushed past him, and left the room, the echoes of her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Vaena stormed down the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, her mind a whirlwind of anger and frustration. She reached her chambers and pushed the door open with more force than she intended, startling the maid who was attending to her three-year-old son, Aerion.

"Leave us," Vaena said curtly, and the maid, sensing her mood, quickly curtsied and exited the room without a word.

As soon as the door shut, Vaena's gaze softened, shifting to Aerion, who was sitting on the floor surrounded by his toys. The little boy looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Mummy sad," he said, his voice filled with concern.

Vaena managed a slight nod, her heart aching at the purity of his concern. She moved to sit on the floor beside him, trying to push the tumultuous argument with her mother from her mind.

Aerion reached out with one of his toys, a small wooden dragon, and offered it to her. "Mummy play," he said, his face lighting up with a hopeful smile.

Vaena's lips curved into a tender smile as she took the toy from him. "Thank you, my sweet boy."

Aerion giggled, his joy infectious, and for a moment, Vaena felt the heavy weight of her anger and sorrow lift.

Vaena stood on the stone balcony of Dragonstone. Her gaze was fixed on the boats approaching the shore, each one carrying hopeful souls eager for the chance to claim a dragon.

Since the argument, Vaena had not spoken to her mother. They had taken to avoiding each other, a silence that was more painful than any confrontation.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see Jace entering the room, his presence a welcome distraction. Aerion, who was playing with his toys on the floor, looked up with a bright smile.

"Jace!"

Jace grinned as he ruffled the boy’s silver hair affectionately. "Hello, little one," he said, his voice warm.

“Play dragons-”

“I’m a little busy at the moment-but I’ll play later” replied Jace.

“Ok-look Vhagar” exclaimed Aerion as he held up a wooden dragon figure.

“Very good” replied Jace softly.

“I miss daddy-” muttered Aerion sadly as he moved his dragon figurine through the air.

“I know you do sweet boy” said Vaena as she looked at Jace who ruffled Aerion’s hair again before standing up.

"Are you coming to witness the claiming of Vermithor?" asked Jace.

Vaena shook her head, her expression resolute. "No, I’m not."

Jace nodded, a shadow of understanding crossing his face. "Alright. I’ll see you later then."

As Jace moved towards the door, Vaena's voice stopped him. "It’s wrong. Letting common folk lay claim to the dragons—it weakens the Targaryen legacy."

Jace paused at the threshold, his hand on the door handle. He hesitated, looking back at her with a thoughtful expression. Then, with a nod, he opened the door and stepped out, leaving Vaena alone with Aerion.

A few hours later, the aftermath of the dragon claiming ceremony had left Dragonstone abuzz with a mixture of relief and tension. Vermithor had been claimed by Hugh Hammer, and Grey Ghost had found a new rider in Ulf.

Vaena had watched as Ulf, in his drunken stupor, had taken Grey Ghost on a flight towards King’s Landing.

Her heart had nearly stopped when Vhagar had appeared off the shore of Dragonstone, relentless in her pursuit.

Her husband was no doubt furious over the events that had transpired, the claiming of a dragon was supposed to be sacred, it was supposed to mean something. It was not something to be used at the whim of a drunken lout who didn’t know his arse from his elbow.

Seeing Vhagar and knowing Aemond was only a short distance away made her heart skip a beat, she was so angry with him, she was hurt and felt betrayed but part of her still longed for him.

Longed to hear his voice, to feel the warmth of his skin, the touch of his lips. To lay in the privacy of their chambers and shut the world out, where Aemond would whisper words of love as he sheathed his cock inside her, his grunts and groans of pleasure as he pounded inside her with deep measured thrusts.

But most of all she missed seeing him with Aerion, it was their duty to produce a child and Aemond was rather enthusiastic in that regard, as he would often spill his seed inside her, sometimes more than once a day, so it was no surprise really when she discovered that she was with child.

It was considered normal for men not to frequent the marriage bed once his wife was with child, but Aemond wasn’t most men-in fact seeing her grow round with his child made his sexual appetite grow ravenous.

When he wasn’t attending his regular duties, he was between her thighs endlessly worshipping her body, with his mouth, fingers and cock. Aegon would often tease him, saying that she was already with child, and he didn’t need to keep sticking it in her as often as he did.

But Vaena knew Aemond couldn’t help it, he was especially drawn to her rapidly growing breasts, he would press his face in between them and close his eye as she stroked his hair.

After she birthed their son, his attention to her breasts only increased. Especially when it was declared that she had healed from the birth and was ready to resume their physical intimacy.

Feeding their son often left her breasts swollen and sore and Aemond ever the attentive husband was willing and eager to help sooth her aches and pains, his lips wrapped around her rosy nipples as he suckled from her.

It was an unspoken level of intimacy between man and wife, one they never verbally recognised but knew that it was necessary.

She simultaneously loved him and hated him in equal measure, and in the deep recesses of her mind, Vaena wondered if she could truly stand by and allow her husband to die, to watch as he was executed or worse to face him in the skies and fight to the death on dragon back.

It made her feel sick to her stomach, and as she watched Aemond flee, she let out a relieved sigh, he would not meet the stranger today.

But sooner or later his days would be numbered, and she would have to make a choice.

Despite the discord between her and her mother, Vaena had been summoned to attend a dinner with the new dragon riders, as much as she wanted to refuse, the expectations of duty and the weight of family ties compelled her to attend.

She had dressed herself carefully, donning a gown of deep red, with black dragon scale patterns on the shoulders that shimmered in the low light. Her reflection in the looking glass was a mask of composed elegance, but beneath the surface, her emotions churned.

The dinner was to be held in one of Dragonstone’s grand halls, where the feast would mark the acceptance of the new dragon riders into their fold.

Before leaving, she turned to her young son, Aerion, who was playing quietly with Darna, her lady-in-waiting. The loyal maid had taken on the task of caring for Aerion with gentle efficiency, providing some measure of comfort to both mother and child.

“I’ll be back soon, Aerion,” Vaena said, kneeling to kiss her son’s forehead. “Darna will take good care of you while I’m away.”

Aerion looked up at her with innocent curiosity, his small hand reaching out to touch her cheek. “Mummy go?”

Vaena nodded, forcing a reassuring smile. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ll be back before you know it.”

With one last, lingering look at her son, Vaena straightened and made her way to the hall. The corridors of Dragonstone seemed to stretch endlessly, each step echoing her apprehension.

As she approached the hall, Vaena braced herself for the evening ahead, her mind still swirling with the day’s events and the fractured relationship with her mother.

Vaena entered the grand dining hall, her steps echoing softly against the polished stone. The room was illuminated by flickering candlelight, casting long shadows across the walls and creating a warm, yet tense atmosphere. The long table was set with an array of sumptuous dishes, but the air was thick with unspoken tension.

She approached her mother, who was seated at the head of the table, and offered a slight bow. “Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra looked up, her expression a mix of weariness and strained courtesy. “Vaena, I’m glad you could join us. Allow me to introduce you to our new dragon riders.”

Vaena nodded as her mother gestured to the men seated at the table. “This is Hugh Hammer,” Rhaenyra said.

Hugh Hammer rose from his seat and gave a respectful bow. His presence was imposing, and he offered a curt nod in acknowledgment.

Next, Rhaenyra indicated Addam of Hull, who also rose and bowed graciously. His demeanour was more reserved.

Finally, Rhaenyra introduced Ulf, who was hunched over a plate, stuffing his face with food. He looked up with a surprised expression, hastily wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Oh, one eye’s wife!” he declared loudly, a smirk playing on his lips.

Vaena's face tightened with anger at the derogatory nickname for her husband, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fury.

She took her seat next to Jace, who reached under the table to squeeze her hand gently. The small gesture of comfort was a balm to her frayed nerves.

As the meal progressed, the conversation around the table was strained and awkward. Rhaenyra discussed potential plans to attack the Greens’ strongholds, including Old Town and Lannisport. The room buzzed with conflicting opinions.

Baela, her voice firm, questioned the morality of targeting innocent civilians. “Is it right to attack innocent people just to break our enemies' will?”

Jace, his expression resolute, replied, “It is difficult, but it must be done. We have to ensure that our enemies understand the cost of their defiance.”

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement. “We must break their will. Only then will we secure our future.”

“What of Aemond, he will not sit idle as you attack Oldtown” asked Vaena.

Ulf, who had been quietly eating, suddenly interrupted with a poorly timed joke. “You needn’t worry about one eye, too busy in the brothels he is”

Vaena's face turned a deep red with rage as she looked at Ulf “W-What?”

Ulf, oblivious to the weight of his words, leaned forward with a smirk, his hand grasping at her wrist  “I heard he was caught in a brothel on the streets of Silk, discovered by his own brother, naked in the madam’s arms.”

The room fell silent, the comment hanging like a heavy shroud. Vaena's anger erupted; she snatched her hand away from Ulf, her voice trembling with fury. “Do not presume to touch me again! I am not one of your common lickspittles!”

“Apologise Princess-but it’s only fair that you knew what the kinslayer was up too, not sparing you a single thought as he sought out the madam, it’s an insult-betraying you in such a manner”

“You-” snarled Vaena as she seized a handful of Ulf’s grey hair and slammed his head down on the table with a resounding thud.

Ulf, taken aback, tried to recover his composure but found himself struggling against Vaena’s vice-like grip.

“Let him go, Vaena!” Rhaenyra commanded, her voice laced with a mix of shock and authority.

Vaena’s glare was a storm of betrayal and hurt. She held Ulf’s head down for a moment longer before releasing him. He slumped back into his chair, stunned and humiliated.

Leaning closer, Vaena’s voice was cold and menacing. “You a stain on the Targaryen legacy and if you so much as look in my direction again, I will have you fed to my Cannibal.”

With that, Vaena turned on her heel and stormed out of the dining hall, her heart pounding with a mix of anger and tears. The weight of Ulf’s vile comments about Aemond had struck a raw nerve, and the sting of his words lingered as she fled down the corridor.

Vaena entered her chambers, the heavy door closing behind her with a quiet thud. The room was dimly lit by the flickering light of a few candles, casting long shadows across the walls. She moved with a weary grace to the bedside, where Aerion lay fast asleep.

The sight of him, so peaceful and innocent, offered a fleeting moment of solace amid the chaos.

Darna, who had been tending to Aerion, stood by the door, ready to leave. Vaena gave her a nod. “Thank you, Darna. You may go now.”

The maid curtsied and exited the room, closing the door softly behind her. Vaena stood alone, her gaze drifting to the sleeping form of her son. The room felt suddenly heavy with the weight of her memories and her current turmoil.

Her mind wandered back to the last time she had seen Aemond. The memory was as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday. They had argued fiercely about his decision to support the usurpation of the throne from her mother.

Aemond had been adamant that Aegon was the rightful king, citing his status as the first-born son. “Viserys’ wishes mean nothing,” Aemond had said, his voice cold and resolute. “Aegon is the one who should rule.”

Vaena had countered with equal fervour. “But Mother was named heir by King Viserys himself! He upheld her claim steadfastly. This isn’t about bloodlines; it’s about honour and duty!”

Their argument had escalated, and in a desperate move, Aemond had locked her and Aerion in his chambers, preventing her from intervening in the crowning of Aegon. Vaena remembered the fear and helplessness she felt as the reality of their situation set in.

Luckily, Ser Erryk had managed to aid her and Rhaegar in their escape, but the reprieve was short-lived. Mere days later, Aemond’s actions had culminated in the death of her brother Luke.

Vaena sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes tracing the contours of Aerion’s sleeping face.

In the early days of her marriage to Aemond, their relationship had been marked by awkwardness and uncertainty, his ire towards Luke for the loss of his eye lingered beneath the surface, not for the act itself but the lack of apology, and the fact his father seemed more bothered about insults levied against his favourite child’s sons than his own son who had been permanently maimed.

At first Aemond had been stoic and reserved, his attention to her minimal, even their intimate encounters at first were awkward and stilted.

The emotional distance between them had been palpable, and it had felt as though they were two strangers bound by duty rather than affection.

But slowly, as time passed, they had found common ground. They had bonded over their shared love of Valyrian history, spending hours reading ancient texts and discussing their interpretations.

Their conversations had started to bridge the gap that once separated them. They had taken to flying their dragons together, the freedom of the skies offering a sanctuary from the constraints of their royal lives.

Through these moments of connection, Aemond had begun to lower his mask. Vaena had discovered that beneath his reserved exterior was a man who yearned for love and acceptance. It hadn’t been hard to fall in love with him as he revealed more of himself—his vulnerabilities, his hopes, and his dreams.

The transformation had been even more profound with the birth of Aerion. Fatherhood had softened Aemond, revealing a side of him that was determined to be a better father than his own.

He had become attentive and loving, singing Valyrian lullabies to their son and whispering words of affection in the quiet of the night. Those moments of tenderness had forged a bond between them, a connection that was now a painful reminder of what they had lost.

Vaena’s heart raced as she summoned the courage to confront her mother. The weight of her conflicted feelings about Aemond and the looming possibility of battle were pressing heavily upon her.

She knew she needed to speak with her mother about her hesitancy in facing Aemond, even if their relationship was strained. With resolve, she pulled on a robe and ventured out of her chambers.

The night air was crisp, filled with the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore and the distant roars of dragons resting within Dragon mount. She approached her mother’s chambers and knocked gently on the door.

When there was no immediate response, Vaena hesitated, then slowly opened the door. To her surprise, the room was empty. She was about to turn away when she heard muffled voices coming from the corridor below. Curiosity and concern drove her to descend the steps quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound on the stone.

As she reached the lower level, she caught sight of her mother and Alicent Hightower engaged in a heated conversation. Vaena's heart sank as she ducked behind a large bookcase to listen discreetly. She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp of shock at the gravity of their discussion.

Alicent was speaking urgently. “I cannot bear the thought of losing Helaena and Jaehaera. I’m willing to offer Kings Landing to you-Aemond will soon leave for Harrenhal, in three days’ time you will come to Kings Landing, and I will have the guards throw down their weapons and you can take the Iron Throne without bloodshed”

Vaena’s breath caught in her throat. Alicent was negotiating her daughter’s and granddaughter’s lives, but not her sons.

Rhaenyra’s voice was cold and calculating. “What of Aegon? Does he not matter?”

Alicent’s voice trembled with emotion. “Aegon is broken beyond recognition. He lies in the dark, writhing in pain and terror. He is no longer fit to rule. If you want, I can make him bend the knee-”

Rhaenyra’s response was sharp. “-If I am to take the throne, then I must put an end to the opposition. I cannot afford to show mercy to him or Aemond. Their death’s must be public, I must take their heads for all to see. You must choose, Alicent. Will you remain on this course, or will you sacrifice your sons for the greater good?”

The room fell into a tense silence. Vaena’s heart pounded as she listened, horrified, to the weight of the decision being made. Alicent’s response was a reluctant acceptance. “I-I will m-make the sacrifice”

Vaena’s shock and revulsion were overwhelming. She could hardly believe what she had just heard. Her knees felt weak as she quietly retraced her steps, retreating from the scene.

The cold air of the night seemed to close in around her as she made her way back to her chambers, her mind reeling from the betrayal and the cruel choices being made.

Vaena was in a state of disbelief as she replayed the disturbing conversation she had just overheard. It was all wrong, a web of madness and betrayal that she could scarcely comprehend, a mother willingly sacrificing her own sons.

Then there was her own mother, again desperately clinging to her friendship with Alicent, a friendship that should no longer hold any meaning or significance.

They were on the precipice of war and these two were meeting up like lovers in the cover of darkness. Her mother was blind when it came to Alicent, and surely it would be their undoing.

Fire and Blood was sure to reign and still her mother stays her hand because her childhood companion pleads tearfully and whispers words of surrender.

They were all going to die, and Vaena would not subject her son to such horrors. No matter the cost, she had to protect him; there was no other choice. They had to leave, and they had to leave immediately.

After she had changed into her riding leathers she moved quickly, her heart pounding as she packed a small bag with essentials. The urgency of the situation pushed her to be efficient but thorough.

As she fastened the bag closed, she glanced at Aerion, still sound asleep in his bed. With a heavy heart, she gently woke him, pressing soft kisses to his forehead to soothe him from his slumber.

"We’re going flying, sweetheart," she whispered softly, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. Aerion, barely awake, clung to her instinctively as she lifted him into her arms, his little face pressing into her neck for comfort.

Vaena carefully opened the door to her chambers and peeked into the corridor. It was clear. She moved swiftly through the castle, her steps as quiet as possible, and descended into the Dragon mount.

As she passed the entrance to Silverwing’s cavern, she hesitated.

After the successfully claims of Vermithor and Grey Ghost, she knew her mother still intended to have others try and claim Silverwing but given that Vermithor had killed the majority of the people who came to try their luck, it was unknown as to when anymore hopefuls would arrive, but Vaena didn’t want to take the chance.

The thought of seeing Silverwing being claimed by someone else was unbearable. So, she held Aerion close, took a deep breath and entered the cavern.

Silverwing, the majestic dragon once belonging to the revered Queen Alysanne, lay curled beside a newly laid clutch of eggs. The dragon’s enormous eyes opened slowly at the sound of her approach.

Vaena, speaking in a soothing tone, said, “Lykirī!” (Calm).

Silverwing’s gentle nature shone through as she moved forward and nuzzled Vaena, her massive snout sniffing at Aerion with curiosity.

Aerion looked at the dragon with wide, amethyst eyes full of wonder.

“Dokimarvose Silverwing” Vaena urged softly (Focus).

Aerion placed his small hand on Silverwing’s snout, and the dragon responded with an affectionate coo.

“īlon issi naejot Sōvegon” Vaena said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of her resolve. (We are to fly).

Silverwing tilted her head to the side as she listened.

“Nyke gaomagon daor jaelagon naejot henujagon ao” She looked at Silverwing with a plea in her eyes. (I do not wish to leave you).

The gentle dragon moved forward and nudged Vaena slightly, expelling warm air from her nostrils.

“Māzigon rūsīr issa hāedar” (Come with me, girl).

Silverwing rumbled softly in response, her attention divided between Vaena and her eggs.

Vaena carefully lowered Aerion to the ground and moved toward the dragon’s nest. She picked up a sharp rock and used it to break open the hardened, gelatinous sack encasing three precious eggs.

One by one, she wrapped each egg in a piece of clothing and carefully placed them into her bag.

Aerion held out his hand to Silverwing, who nuzzled it tenderly. “Kostilus māzigon, gēlenka” whispered Aerion (Please come, Silver).

Silverwing cooed in acceptance, sensing the urgency, as the beginnings of a bond began to form between the dragon and the child.

Vaena lifted Aerion back into her arms, her voice resolute “Gūrogon naejot se jēdar īlon jāhor sōvegon hēnkirī” (Take to the sky; we will fly together).

She watched as Silverwing lumbered forward and left the cavern, the dragon’s powerful wings spreading in preparation for flight. Vaena’s heart raced with a mixture of relief and apprehension.

The last step in her plan was to reach her Cannibal.

Vaena took a deep breath as she entered the cavern that housed Cannibal. The immense space was cloaked in shadow, the air thick with the scent of ash and sulphur.

Aerion, clinging tightly to her hand, looked up with wide, apprehensive eyes as Vaena called out, "Naejot Māzīs Cannibal" (Come forward).

The ground beneath her feet trembled as Cannibal’s massive scarred black form emerged from the darkness. His low, rumbling growls of recognition echoed through the cavern, creating a rhythm of sound that seemed both ominous and reassuring.

Vaena approached her dragon with a mixture of awe and relief, placing her head on Cannibal’s scaled flank. His presence, despite the gravity of their situation, was a calming balm for her troubled heart.

Holding Aerion close, Vaena climbed the rope ladder that was affixed to Cannibal’s saddle. The dragon had never been particularly fond of being saddled. In the early days, his dislike had been so fierce that several dragon keepers had met grim fates.

But time had tempered his hostility, and though he still displayed his displeasure, he now accepted the saddle as a necessary part of his existence.

Once she and Aerion were securely fastened into the saddle, Vaena paused.

Where could they possibly go? They had no money, just three dragon eggs, two dragons, and a bag of clothes mostly belonging to Aerion.

Harrenhal was not an option, given her anger towards her father for his role in Jaehaerys' death. And seeking refuge with her mother's allies was equally out of the question, as her mother would undoubtedly pursue them and demand her return.

The only viable destination was one she knew she shouldn’t consider, but with few options remaining, it was her only choice. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead.

With a determined resolve, she gave Cannibal the command to fly. The massive dragon lumbered out of his cavern, his powerful wings unfurling with a great rustle of scales.

Cannibal’s roar was thunderous as he ascended into the night sky, his presence casting a large shadow over the landscape.

As they soared upward, Silverwing, flying alongside them, approached with caution. Known for his fearsome nature, Cannibal was not a common companion in the skies, and Silverwing, despite her gentleness, remained wary.

Vaena spoke softly to her dragon. "Lykirī" (Be calm).

Cannibal responded with a rumbling purr, and then propelled himself forward, Vaena wrapped her cloak tighter around Aerion, to keep him warm as the air became colder.

As Dragonstone began to fade into the distance, Vaena steeled herself. She knew that their destination was fraught with its own risks and complications, but it was the only option left.

"To Kings Landing."

Aemond sat in his chambers, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily upon him.

He yearned for his wife and the comfort of her embrace, he missed his son and his sweet little voice.

They were lost to him now, because of what he’d done.

It was his own fault, all his wife had ever done was love him, and he only caused her pain in return.

His own mother had turned on him, his brother was broken and burnt and now his sweet sister refused to look at him.

Manhandling her had been wrong, he knew that now. But he was just so desperate. Their lives were in peril, and he was the only one fighting to save them.

He didn’t know what to do, not anymore.

Then the quiet of the evening was interrupted by the sudden entrance of a guard, who rushed in, his expression one of urgency.

"Your Grace, two large dragons have been spotted flying towards King's Landing!"

Aemond stood abruptly, striding over to the balcony with quick, determined steps.

"Shall we arm the scorpions?" the guard asked, his voice tight with concern.

"No. Stand down," Aemond commanded firmly. His sharp gaze scanned the horizon, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized the familiar silhouette of Cannibal.

He would not have his wife's dragon shot out of the sky. "Send a number of guards to meet my wife and escort her to my chambers immediately."

The guard bowed deeply before hurrying off to carry out his orders. Aemond's eye remained fixed on the sky, watching as Cannibal and Silverwing circled the Red Keep, their roars echoing through the air before they descended to land where Vhagar was resting.

Aemond's mind raced with questions and emotions. Why had Vaena chosen to return and would Aerion be with her?

The last time they had seen each other, the memory of her angry, tear-streaked face haunted him. She had begged him not to go through with usurping the throne, struggling against him as he locked her and Aerion in his chambers.

Since her escape, Aemond had written countless letters, each one a blend of anger, desperation, and declarations of love, none of which he had the courage to send. Those letters now lay forgotten, stuffed in his desk drawer, mere relics of his turmoil.

As he waited for Vaena, Aemond began pacing his chambers, he was more nervous now than he had been on their wedding day and even the bedding.

But a lot had changed since then.

The sound of approaching footsteps and a knock on his door pulled Aemond from his reverie.

"Enter," he said, straightening up, his arms hanging by his sides.

The door opened, and Aemond was greeted with the sweetest of sounds. "Daddy!"

Aerion’s small figure rushed into the room; his little arms outstretched. Aemond caught his son in a tight embrace, lifting him up and holding him close.

"Aerion," Aemond whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he buried his face in his son's hair. The boy's familiar scent brought a rush of warmth and sorrow.

Vaena entered the room behind her son, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the chasm that had grown between them. Aemond met her eyes, his heart aching with unspoken words.

"You've come back."

Vaena's eyes were wary, her expression a mix of relief and guardedness. "I had no other choice," she replied, her voice steady but laced with tension.

After a few precious moments of holding Aerion close, Aemond reluctantly pulled away. He summoned one of the maids, who appeared promptly at his door.

"Take care of him," Aemond instructed, his voice gentle yet firm. "Ensure that guards are posted inside the room and at the door to protect him."

Aerion looked up at his father, his small hand clutching Aemond's sleeve. "Do I have to go, Daddy?"

Aemond knelt down to his son's level, brushing a strand of silver hair from his face. "I promise, it won’t be for long-I just need to talk to your mother"

Aerion smiled, his reluctance easing. He allowed the maid to take his hand, and she led him into the room across from Aemond's chambers.

Aemond watched until the door shut behind them, his heart heavy.

Turning back to Vaena, he barely had time to register her movement before her fist collided with his nose.

He reeled backward, his hand instinctively going to his face to stem the flow of blood. "That was for Luke," she spat, her eyes blazing with fury.

Before he could recover, she punched him again, this time in the stomach.

Aemond doubled over, dropping to the floor as he wheezed in pain. "-And that was for Rhaenys," she declared, her voice cold and determined.

As he struggled to catch his breath, Vaena knelt in front of him, her expression softening. She took his face in her hands, her touch both tender and firm.

"This is for me," she whispered, before pressing her lips to his in a fierce, desperate kiss.

Aemond's mind swirled with the intensity of her actions, the pain of her blows mixing with the undeniable longing in her kiss. He responded, his hands reaching up to hold her, afraid she might slip away.

The kiss was a collision of anger, love, and regret, a tumultuous expression of the emotions that had built up between them.

When they finally pulled apart, Aemond looked into her eyes, his voice raw with emotion. "Vaena, I-" He struggled to find the words, the weight of his actions pressing heavily on his shoulders.

"Don't," she interrupted, her voice trembling. "Not yet-" tears glistened in her eyes.

Vaena helped Aemond to his feet, guiding him gently to sit on the bed. She inspected his nose with care, her touch both tender and clinical. "It's not broken," she declared, "but it will be sore for a while."

Aemond wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her chest and inhaling her familiar scent.

The comfort of her presence washed over him, and he closed his eye, savouring the moment. Vaena stroked his hair gently, but then she abruptly stopped and stepped away.

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Aemond opened his eye, confusion evident. "Is what true?"

Vaena's face contorted with anger and hurt. "Did you visit a brothel on the Streets of Silk?"

Aemond's heart sank. "How do you know about that?" he asked cautiously.

Vaena's eyes filled with tears. "So, it is true? You've bedded another woman? Betrayed our marriage vows?"

Aemond quickly shook his head. "I went to a brothel, yes. I sought comfort from the madam, but I was never intimate with her."

Vaena backed away, shaking her head as tears streamed down her face. Aemond got off the bed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close despite her resistance.

"Vaena, please," he pleaded. "I never laid with her in that way. After you left with Aerion, after what happened with Luke, I was desperate. My mother was furious with me; she couldn't even look at me. I had no one else to turn to. Going back to Sylvi was wrong, but I couldn't help it. I just wanted to be held by someone who didn't hate me."

Vaena's body trembled in his arms, her tears soaking into his shirt.

Aemond gently cupped Vaena's face, wiping away the remaining tears. "How did you find out?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern and curiosity.

Vaena's expression hardened. "Ulf told me."

"Who is Ulf?" Aemond inquired, his brow furrowing.

"He's one of the common folk who claimed Grey Ghost," Vaena replied, her tone dripping with disdain. "He's a wretched cur with no manners, and it disgusts me that my mother has defiled our birthright by allowing commoners to claim dragons."

Aemond's frown deepened. "Who claimed Vermithor?"

"A man named Hugh Hammer," Vaena said, shaking her head in frustration. "My mother was hoping that Silverwing would be claimed too, but Vermithor killed all of the other dragon seeds."

Aemond's eye widened with surprise. "Vermithor killed them?"

Vaena nodded. "Yes, and my mother still wishes for someone to claim Silverwing. But I couldn't allow it. She had promised to let Aerion try to claim her when he was old enough, but she broke that promise."

Aemond's grip tightened on her shoulders, a mixture of anger and determination flickering in his eye. "So, you brought Silverwing with you?"

Vaena nodded again, her expression resolute. "Yes. I convinced Silverwing to come with me to King's Landing. I couldn't let my mother's broken promises endanger Aerion' birthright."

Aemond's gaze softened as he looked at Vaena, a mixture of pride and admiration shining through his concern. "You did the right thing," he said quietly. "You protected our son and our legacy”

Vaena sighed, her tension easing slightly as she leaned into Aemond's embrace. "I just want us to be safe," she whispered. "To find a way to end this madness."

Aemond held her close, his heart swelling with a renewed sense of purpose. "We will find a way," he promised. "Together."

Vaena took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to say next. "There's something else I need to tell you," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Aemond looked at her, his eye narrowing with concern. "What is it?"

"Your mother-she's gone to Dragonstone."

Aemond's expression shifted from concern to anger and shock. "What?"

Vaena continued, her voice steady but filled with tension. "Alicent advocated for the lives of Helaena and Jaehaera in exchange for my mother successfully claiming the Iron Throne without bloodshed. She told her of your plan to travel to Harrenhal to meet Cole and his army. Alicent has arranged for my mother to come to King's Landing in three days. She will command the guards to lay down their weapons and open the gates."

Aemond went ballistic, his fury palpable as he paced the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. "My own mother-betraying us? How could she do this?" He stopped and turned to Vaena, his face twisted with rage. "Did she advocate for anyone else besides Helaena and Jaehaera?"

Vaena shook her head, her eyes filled with sadness. "No. She agreed my mother’s demand to have you and Aegon publicly executed, which will no doubt extend to Daeron as well"

Aemond's face contorted with a mixture of horror and fury. "She has sentenced not just one but all of her sons to death," he spat. "What madness possesses her?"

Vaena stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. "I don't know, Aemond. I was just as shocked as you when I heard it."

Aemond's eye blazed with anger. "She thinks she can protect Helaena and Jaehaera by sacrificing the rest of us? She's lost her mind."

Aemond's shoulders slumped as the weight of the revelations pressed down on him. "I'm alone," he said quietly, his voice filled with despair. "I thought what I was doing was right. It wasn't about the Iron Throne. It was about saving our lives. But after what I've just heard-what's the point? I give up. If my own mother won't even try, why should I? I've got nothing left."

Vaena stepped closer, placing her hands gently on his face, her eyes filled with love and determination. "You're not alone, Aemond. You have me and Aerion. We're your family, and we need you. We could leave Westeros, fly across the Narrow Sea, and get as far away from this war as possible. We could be happy, just the three of us. We could have more children, live in peace. We could be together."

“What if Rhaenyra comes after us?” asked Aemond.

“Then I will do what I must in order to save your life” replied Vaena.

Aemond looked at her, the hopelessness in his eye beginning to soften. "What of my mother-“

"Your mother has sold you and your brothers out," Vaena interrupted, her voice firm. "If my mother takes the Iron Throne, you will die. I don't want you to die, Aemond."

“I deserve it” muttered Aemond.

Vaena's voice broke, and she began to sob, clutching at him desperately. "Please don't leave me," she cried, her tears soaking his shirt. "I don't want you to die. Please, Aemond"

Aemond felt a pang of guilt and sorrow as he held her trembling form. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and burying his face in her hair. "Vaena, I won’t leave you," he whispered, his own voice choked with emotion.

She looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "Then let's leave," she said, her voice trembling. "Let's leave all of this behind. We can find a place where we can be happy, where we can raise Aerion in peace. Please, Aemond. Let's go."

Aemond held Vaena close, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she sobbed against his chest. He hushed her gently, his mind reeling with a sudden, profound realization.

What was the point of everything he had done? He had lost his eye, transformed himself into a capable swordsman and dragon rider, studied relentlessly, and attended to his duties with unwavering dedication.

He had strived to be the perfect son, and yet it was all for nothing. Despite always being told that Rhaenyra was the enemy, his mother was now clinging to her skirts, begging for scraps and bending the knee at the cost of her sons' lives.

Vaena was the only one who had ever seen him for who he truly was. She loved him, blessed him with a son, and yet he had done nothing to earn it. He had killed her brother and her grandmother, attacked his own brother at Rook’s Rest, and burned down Sharp Point, watching from the cliffside as people writhed and screamed in agony.

He had done all that, and yet here she was, crying for him, begging for his life, and offering him everything he had ever wanted—a family.

Aemond took a deep breath and gently took Vaena's face in his hands, lifting her tear-streaked gaze to meet his.

"Let's go," he whispered, his voice steady and filled with a newfound determination. "Let's leave it all behind."

Vaena's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, she searched his face as if trying to comprehend his words. "You mean it?" she asked, her voice trembling with hope and fear.

Aemond nodded, his grip on her tightening. "Yes, I mean it. We'll leave Westeros. We'll fly across the Narrow Sea and start a new life, just the three of us. We'll find peace and happiness away from this madness."

A sob of relief escaped Vaena's lips, and she threw her arms around his neck, holding him as if she would never let go. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Thank you, Aemond."

He kissed her forehead tenderly, a sense of calm settling over him. "We'll make it through this," he promised, his voice filled with conviction. "Together."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Aemond felt a weightlifting from his shoulders. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope.

They would leave Westeros and all its chaos behind. They would build a new life, far away from the shadows of their past, and they would find happiness together.

"Let's get Aerion-” Vaena said softly, pulling back to look into his eye. "Let's leave tonight."

Aemond nodded, a sense of urgency mingling with his newfound resolve. "Yes, we’ll leave tonight-" he agreed.

As Vaena turned to leave the room, Aemond took hold of her, and pulled her close, kissing her with a fervour that took her breath away

His hands tangled in her hair, and he whispered against her lips, "We will leave but I need you, Vaena. It's been too long since I last felt your touch."

Vaena looked up into his eye, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Yes, Aemond."

They began pulling at each other's clothes, their urgency growing with each passing second. Aemond's hands trembled as he undid the ties of her riding leathers, and Vaena's fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his tunic. The material fell away, piece by piece, until they stood before each other, bare and exposed.

Aemond's gaze roamed over her body, drinking in the sight of her. He backed her towards the bed, his hands never leaving her skin. "Gods, I've missed you," he murmured, his voice rough with longing.

Vaena reached up, her fingers brushing the scar over his eye, a reminder of the sacrifices they had both made. "I've missed you too," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.

As they reached the bed, Aemond lowered her onto the soft sheets, his body covering hers. Their mouths met again in a searing kiss,

Vaena smiled slightly as she hooked her fingers around her own small clothes and slowly pulled them down, Aemond could feel himself salivating as he stared at her cunny.

“Come here-” growled Aemond, as he reached out and tugged Vaena back on the bed.

“Let me take care of you” muttered Vaena as she placed kisses along Aemond jaw and then down his neck, making sure to gently nip and suck his skin as she went.

She carried on moving down, pausing as she reached his chest, she grinned as she took one of his nipples into her mouth, her tongue teasing it before she bit down.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Does issa Jorrāelagon like that?” asked Vaena as she moved across and gave his other nipple the same attention, (My love).

“Oh. Gods” whimpered Aemond as she moved further down his body, her tongue and teeth grazing his pale skin.

When she reached the trail of hair from his belly button down to his cock, she pressed her nose against him and giggled when she felt the hair tickle her skin.

“Kostilus” begged Aemond (Please).

“Ao līs umbagon issa zaldrīzes” replied Vaena (You must wait, my dragon).

Aemond lost his senses the moment Vaena’s warm, wet mouth quickly wrapped around the head of his swollen cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Vaena!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s silver hair.

Vaena ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Aemond knew it would push the limits of his control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Vaena’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.

Her head moving back and forth, her perfect pink lips stretched around him.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted, though it pained him to do so.

Vaena smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

Vaena responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

“Shit-Vaena. I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Vaena’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking husband?” asked Vaena.

“Y-Yes. Now get up here and ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond.

“But your nose” whispered Vaena concerned.

“I don’t care-get up here-now” ordered Aemond, his cock already twitching with interest.

Vaena hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty cunny" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Vaena’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaena her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good” whimpered Vaena.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond-just like that” shrieked Vaena.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaena, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaena "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh" whimpered Vaena; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.

“That’s it, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, his cock was so hard that it was boarding on painful.

Vaena was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that anyone passing his chambers would surely hear.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby, come for daddy” moaned Aemond.

Finally, he felt Vaena’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Vaena’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife’s centre as she came.

After a few minutes, Aemond gently urged his wife to move down, so she was hovering above his cock.

Her hand wrapped around him, running the head of his cock along her warm wet folds.

“Your such a tease” moaned Aemond as his hips jerked involuntarily.

“But it feels so good” replied Vaena as she slowly moved down on his cock, so only the tip of him was inside her.

“P-Please” whimpered Aemond.

“Uh-uh” said Vaena shaking her head from side to side.

After a few minutes Aemond couldn’t take it anymore and seized his wife’s hips, before surging up and ploughing his hard cock into her soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Vaena.

"Gods. You feel so good-missed you-" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaena, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

“P-Please. Husband” whined Vaena as Aemond began teasing her pearl with his thumb.

“That’s it-take all of me”

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Vaena Aemond began to move.

"Faster, please" begged Vaena.

“Like this?” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Vaena.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Vaena" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Vaena "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me what I need. Give me your seed. I want it”.

Aemond knew exactly what Vaena was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Vaena wanted faster and he was going much faster now, his feet planted on the bed to give him more leverage and his pace increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips as he pounded into her.

“Aemond-I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaena; not caring if anyone could hear them.

Vaena always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond then withdrew, ignoring Vaena’s whimper of protest as he rolled her onto her back and quickly sheathed himself inside her again.

She wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, drawing him closer as he began to thrust inside her, his cock reaching deep inside.

“I-I’m going to give you my seed-” moaned Aemond.

“Yes-oh don’t stop-please Aemond” whined Vaena.

“I’m going to put another babe in you-See you full of milk-”

“Y-Yes A-Aemond-I want another. Give it to me” whined Vaena.

That, combined with how glorious Vaena felt, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“-I love you-love you so fucking much-my wife-don’t leave me again” babbled Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside his wife’s wet heat.

After they had got dressed Aemond and Vaena worked quickly, their movements synchronized as they made the necessary preparations to leave. The tension and urgency of their situation lent them a sense of purpose and determination.

As they packed, Vaena presented Aemond with the bag containing Silverwing’s eggs.

“What do you want to do with these?” she asked, her eyes reflecting both the gravity of their situation and the love she had for him.

Aemond took the bag and laughed softly. “You truly are something special,” he murmured, marvelling at her brazenness not only had she absconded with a dragon that wasn’t hers, but three eggs as well “They need to be kept warm and safe.”

Vaena nodded, carefully wrapping the eggs back up. “We’ll protect them,” she promised.

Aemond then mentioned his plan to raid the treasury. “Most of the crown’s wealth has been divided and hidden, but whatever is left should be more than enough for us,” he said.

He left for the treasury, returning a short while later with a sack full of coins, along with some of his mother’s jewellery he had managed to steal, and a necklace that was pressed into his hands by Helaena who bid him farewell, he apologised to her for how he acted, but she simply smiled and told him that the eye of the gods was closed to him now.

He packed his weapons and anything else of value from his chambers.

Their dragons were large enough to carry what they needed, and they prepared Aerion for the journey, making sure he had something to eat and was well wrapped up.

They told him they were going on an adventure, and his face lit up with excitement.

Aemond then left the guards with simple instructions: “Guard the Red Keep until the Dowager Queen returns.”

After gathering all their bags and ensuring the ancient sword Blackfyre was securely attached to his waist, Aemond took Aerion’s hand, and the three of them made their way to the dragons.

Aerion eagerly wanted to fly with his father, and as they strapped themselves into the saddles, Aemond took one last look at the Red Keep, its imposing towers silhouetted against the sky. The only home he’d ever known was now lost to him, instead of sadness he felt a strange sense of relief, that finally for the first time in a long time, he could choose his own path, he could forge his own destiny.

He checked one last time that Aerion was secured safely in front of him and then he took a deep breath.

“Sōvēs” he commanded Vhagar, his voice steady and resolute (Fly).

Vhagar spread her massive wings and ascended into the clouds. Moments later, she was joined by Cannibal and Silverwing. The three dragons soaring together, leaving King’s Landing and everything else behind.

Alicent returned to the Red Keep from her meeting with Rhaenyra, her heart heavy with the weight of her decisions. She felt overwhelmed and heartbroken. The image of Rhaenyra’s cold determination haunted her, and the reality of what she had agreed to gnawed at her soul.

In three days, she would open the gates, command the guards to lower their weapons, and surrender the city to Rhaenyra.

Sacrifices would need to be made to regain peace, but she would be steadfast and see an end to this ceaseless war.

Upon reaching her chambers, Alicent immediately poured herself a cup of wine. She downed its contents in one gulp, hoping the liquid courage would steel her for the days to come.

She needed to appear as she always had done—composed, resolute, unwavering. But the turmoil inside her was relentless.

As the wine settled in her stomach, Alicent allowed herself a brief moment of vulnerability. She sank into a chair, the enormity of her decision washing over her. She had betrayed her own sons for the sake of peace.

Aemond would shortly be leaving for Harrenhal, unaware of the treachery she had committed. Aegon was broken beyond recognition, and both were to be sacrificed for the greater good.

She had chosen the lives of her daughter Helaena and granddaughter Jaehaera over the rest of her family, and the weight of that choice threatened to crush her.

Alicent’s mind raced with thoughts of Aemond. He had always been her strongest, her most determined child. She had seen his ambition and his anger and now she was about to betray him.

The pain of it was almost too much to bear, but she knew she had to. She had to put an end to the bloodshed, to the war that had torn their family and the realm apart.

She stood up, straightening her spine, and took a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. She needed to be strong, for the sake of the realm, for the sake of those she loved. She brushed away the tears that threatened to fall and steeled herself for what she must now do.

Alicent walked to the looking glass and assessed her reflection. She adjusted her gown, smoothed her hair, and ensured her expression was one of calm determination.

She could not waver. The realm needed her to be strong, to be the Queen they had always known. With one final deep breath, she turned away and left her chambers, ready to face the consequences of her actions and the role she must play in the days to come.

She would not waver. She could not waver. The future of the realm depended on it.

Alicent approached Aemond's chambers, noticing with a sense of unease that there were no guards stationed outside. The absence was peculiar and unsettling.

She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. For a moment, she considered walking away, but a feeling of urgency pushed her to act. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, calling out to Aemond.

But only silence greeted her.

Stepping inside, she glanced around the room. The wardrobe door stood ajar, drawing her attention. She walked over to it, intending to close it, but stopped short when she saw that it was empty.

A sinking feeling grew in her stomach as she moved to the drawers, pulling them open one by one, each revealing the same emptiness.

As she stood there, her foot brushed against something small on the floor. Bending down, she picked up a wooden dragon figurine, instantly recognizing it as belonging to her grandson, Aerion.

Just then, a maid entered the room. Alicent turned to her, a mixture of desperation and anger in her eyes.

"Where is the Prince Regent?" she demanded.

The maid looked at her calmly and simply replied, "Gone."

Alicent's heart raced. "What do you mean, gone?"

The maid explained, "The Prince Regent left the Red Keep some time ago in the company of Princess Vaena and their son, Prince Aerion."

Alicent was baffled by the maid’s admission. Instead of questioning her further, she turned and swiftly left the room, her mind reeling. She needed answers, and she knew where to find them.

She hurried to the council chambers, hoping to find someone who could shed light on what was happening. As she entered, she found only Jasper Wylde and Maester Orwyle engaged in quiet discussion.

"Where is Aemond?" she demanded, her voice sharp with anxiety.

Both Jasper and Orwyle looked up, surprised by her sudden entrance.

"Your Grace, we have just received word that the Prince Regent has left the Red Keep. We were about to send for you."

"Left?" Alicent echoed, feeling a mix of relief and fear. "Where has he gone? Why?"

Jasper cleared his throat. "Princess Vaena arrived earlier today and spent several hours with the Prince Regent in his chambers. It seems that after their time together, they departed from the Red Keep with their son”.

“T-To Harrenhal?” asked Alicent.

“No. Your Grace. His dragon was last spotted flying over the Kings Wood”

Alicent's mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. She could have sworn she had seen Vaena lurking on Dragonstone.

Then a  thought struck her like a blow—what if Vaena had overheard her conversation with Rhaenyra and had immediately flown to the Red Keep to warn Aemond?

Without another word, Alicent left the council chambers and hurried to see Helaena. She found her daughter sitting quietly in her room, gazing out of the window.

"Helaena-" Alicent asked urgently, "Have you seen Aemond?"

Slowly Helaena turned to her mother; her expression serene. "He has gone and taken his heart with him"

Alicent felt a pang of despair “He cannot just leave. H-He has d-duties to attend”

“Duties which no longer hold meaning” whispered Helaena, as she held out a scrap of parchment.

“W-What is this”

“He asked me to give it to you” replied Helaena softly.

‘Alicent,

I know of your treachery and your willingness to sacrifice the lives of your sons in favour of the pretender. For years now, I have suffered the indignity of being the second son and have been unwavering in my duty, but it was never good enough for you or Father.

I tried my best to keep us alive, but it seems my efforts are all for nothing. I have abandoned the throne, just as you have abandoned your sons, and I will no longer fight to save the undeserving.

My wife and son are all that matter to me now, and my future lies with them. I hope your efforts to secure the throne for your beloved Rhaenyra are worth it. Maybe now you can mourn me, Mother. I lost you, but I have gained so much more in doing so. At last, I am finally free.

Aemond’

Alicent collapsed into a chair and sat staring into the flames, Aemond's note clutched tightly in her trembling hands. The weight of what she had done settled heavily on her shoulders.

She had made arrangements with Rhaenyra, hoping to secure a fragile peace by offering the lives of her sons.

But now, Aemond had abandoned King's Landing, and her carefully laid plans were in ruins.

What would happen now? Rhaenyra would come, as promised, to take King's Landing. She would discover that Aemond had fled, and would accuse Alicent of aiding in his escape.

Alicent's heart pounded as she considered the consequences. Aemond was responsible for the death of Rhaenyra's son, and there was no way she would allow him to live his life free from the consequences of his actions. Not with her own daughter, Vaena, standing by his side.

Alicent felt a surge of panic. She had underestimated Rhaenyra's resolve and overestimated her ability to control the situation. The absurdity of her plan now struck her with full force.

She had hoped to protect her family by betraying her sons, but in the end, she had driven Aemond away and left herself vulnerable to Rhaenyra's wrath.

She rose from the chair and began pacing the room, her mind racing. She needed to think, to find a way to salvage the situation.

But what could she do? Aemond was gone, Vaena and Aerion with him. She had no leverage, no cards left to play.

Her thoughts turned to Helaena and Jaehaera. She had advocated for their lives, hoping to secure their safety. But now, with Aemond's departure, would Rhaenyra honour that agreement? Or would she see it as another betrayal?

As she pondered her next move, a sense of resignation washed over her. She had fought for so long, schemed and plotted to keep her family safe. But now, she realized, there was no way to win. The game was over, and she had lost.

All she could do now was try to minimize the damage and hope that, somehow, her children would survive the storm that was about to descend upon them.

Epilogue.

[oraclekleo]

https://www.tumblr.com/oraclekleo/720365520025698304/i-am-definitely-up-for-i-villian-reading-like?source=share

Oh i forgot to tell you my signs😅

Libra Sun, Gemini Moon and Capricor Rising

Im the one who thinks you would be an awesome evil hacker 🫢❤️

Hello! For some reason my Tumblr inbox ate the previous message where you asked for a villain reading but only after I have copied it to work with it.

"https://www.tumblr.com/oraclekleo/720365520025698304/i-am-definitely-up-for-i-villian-reading-like?source=share

Omg i loved that reading 😍 Could i request the same reading with thw samw decl too, please? 🤗 I see you more like an evil hacker who uses her powers to benefit herself in a world like the anime movie akira. Your hacking skills will be useful to get in control of the whole city and its humanoid robots. A ruthless but sometimes compassionate leader"

Here is the transcript. 😂

So! Let's get into it.

Some sudden and nearly violent enlightenment is likely to turn you into a villain. You are being curious about something, digging for information and in the process you shift into the dark side. I can see the possession narrative through the cards where you probably inherited a source of information (ancient mansion with obscure occult books maybe), you investigate the past and your roots discovering dark secrets that forever shatter and crush your world as you know it and this destruction hands you to the dark side. There’s an element of sneakiness and coupling which leads me to thing you are not likely to discover you come from a long lineage of evil witches and becoming one on your own, the symbiosis highlighted in your reading makes me thing you might accidentally or willingly summon some sort of ancient demon which would possess you and entangle its poisonous soul with your own, corrupting your mind pretty fast, pushing your free will away.

This is likely to be a very sudden thing, you’re not likely to be able to fight the transformation into the prodigy of evil back. You as a villain are likely to be the destroyer and punisher and probably even highly attracted to fire (notice all the fire in your cards). You might start punishing those who have wronged you in life, going on a vengeance spree using your new demonic skills like throwing flames, probably. You are likely to burn the ones you find doomed to the ashes.

I also see an aspect of entrapment in your cards so maybe a little piece of your soul remains human and feels trapped and there’s a hope for you in this narrative to turn back to light and banish the demon that possessed you. But that’s another story as it would turn you into a hero and not a villain.

Thank you for being patient with me and don't forget to leave a feedback, like and reblog to help me attract more attention for my blog and possibly customers or small doners! Support Kleo in her endeavours! She can't be on the giving side 10000% of the time. 😉

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