#s1 the prologue

[ridiasfangirlings]

if you had to introduce someone to k project with the intention of getting them into the series, where would you tell them to start from? im honestly torn between LSW, the side:red novel or MOR

Honestly? The first season of the anime. It’s uneven but it does a good job introducing the world and the main cast, and it’s a good jumping off point to get into the other side materials based on which characters a person is most drawn to. The issue that I think comes up when you start with the side materials is they don’t all do as much to explain the larger ‘world’ of the series because it’s assumed the reader already knows about the basic Slate and Kings thing, most of that is just given a quick ‘as you well know’ nod. Season one can definitely be confusing (I think it holds up much better on second watch when you know what to look for and can see some of the more subtle stuff they’re doing) but it does at least make most of the worldbuilding stuff pretty clear. LSW I think is probably the weakest of the ones you mentioned on this point, it pretty much assumes anyone reading knows what kind of setting this is and mostly just nods at the parts that are relevant for the story, which could be troublesome for a new person going in blind.

MOR has a better sense of worldbuilding but I think still has a general ‘feeling’ of assumed knowledge, to me that one feels very much like a companion series that won’t hold up as well on its own (it also spoils the whole thing with Totsuka’s death in the final chapters, I feel like it works better reading this one after you’ve seen season one so the end scene of episode one with Colorless hits better). I also think MOR doesn’t work as well as a jumping in point because the early chapters are focused almost entirely on minor characters who barely have any lines in the series proper, I think starting with that one would give someone an incorrect idea of what/who the series is about — even DOB would technically be better here because its focus is a bit more narrowed, Awashima gets a chapter early on and Fushimi remains a consistent focus throughout and he’s at least more of a main character than the alphabet squad are. I also feel like the emotional heft of the last couple chapters doesn’t work as well if you aren’t already attached to these characters, I think it’s just stronger when there’s already a base to work from. 

Side Red I think would actually be a good entry point outside of the anime though, the main drawback probably being that as a novel it might be seen as less accessible than the anime. Actually if we were going for ‘best entry point besides the anime’ my pick would probably be read Side Red and then watch the Seven Stories Side Blue. Side Red I think works really well as a prologue to the series, it brings in the worldbuilding elements and hints at future developments without outright spoiling them and gives good characterization to the Homra top three as well as Anna, Yata and Fushimi, all of whom are main characters, and it brings in things like the state of Mikoto’s Sword and the previous S4. Side Blue then makes a good prologue of the ‘other side,’ though I think the anime actually manages to do better than the novel on this one. Side Blue was written very early in the game and I think it shows, I feel like Munakata is written more manipulative and antagonistic than he is in the rest of the series and the novel has the same issue as MOR where it spends a lot of time with Hidaka and co., who then go on to not really matter all that much in the anime proper. The Seven Stories adaptation narrows that focus more around Munakata, smooths out some of the characterization issues without completely softening them, adds some flashbacks for additional world building and hints at the wider picture with the Greens at the end. If we’re not starting with the anime I would probably say start with Side Red and Blue and then go into season one, and then from there choose where to go next based on which characters caught the viewer’s eye the most.

[mimir-anoshe]

I love that ARCANE is using the MAJOR ARCANA for symbolism.

Chefs kiss.

These are Sevika's tarot cards from season 1.

The Magician (upright) overlapping Death (upright).

Foreshadowing? Oh hell yeah. But its only now after S2 Episode 6 do I understand what they might actually be foreshadowing. People may have talked about this before, so I apologise if this is similar to anyone else's meta. These are all my own thoughts, I usually just watch arcane and don't dabble into the meta but this season has me feral and I just rewatched season 1.

SPOILERS for Arcane S1/S2 below.

I just want to prologue this post with a note about how I've noticed even from season 1 there are thematic parallels and linear symbolism being afforded between Jinx and Viktor. Others in the community have too I'm sure. Its strange. I thought it was interesting in S1 but didn't deep dive into it, but S2 has driven headfirst into it and its making me go "oh... oh ok." Even Viktor in S1 noted Jinx's genius, and in another timeline perhaps Powder would've been a student of Viktors had fate not set them on parallel paths. Two children of Zaun, both mechanical/scientific geniuses. One physically disabled whilst the other mentally disabled. One who "escaped" and was given a chance, rising to the top only to create something that would be used for harm. Fighting that fate at every step. Whilst the other trapped at the bottom of the barrel, forced to use her gifts to become a weapon herself. Such GOOD story writing.

So now let's think about the art of the cards, because in tarot, even the symbolism of the specific art is important. Its why an artists interpretation of a major/minor can be so crucial to a reading.

Here's a figure map I made earlier.

Lets begin with Death.

Thirteenth of the Major Arcana, a "significant transformation and the end of a phase in life." There is death and rebirth symbolism all over arcane, but let's take a closer look at the symbolism mirroring the art.

Figure 7&8 - The one who has "died" a skeleton/skull laid down and being "imbued" with something as something else is taken away.

See that the imbuing focuses on the "chest" area.

It's quick, but it flashes briefly when Viktor is being imbued with the Hexcore. He canonically dies "the skull" and is reborn with the Hexcore on an "altar"/table.

Same with Jinx. Canonically "dies" and is reborn laying on an "altar"/table using shimmer. Purple being used as the visual thread between shimmer and the arcane of the hex; a colour imagery representation of "magical" alchemical/arcane power turning them into something beyond human.

Singed and Jayce. Two hands of death, giving and taking life as if they were a God. One using shimmer, the other Hextech thats imbued with shimmer. Messing with the balance of life and death.

With Viktor, the energy is transferred straight into his chest, just like on the card.

So now we've established the parallels to the death tarot, lets look at The Magician.

The First of the Major Arcana, "the connection between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the ability to manifest one's desires."

Viktor is the Magician. No doubt. He connects the physical and spiritual world of the arcane, he brings people back from the brink of death, as he was. He manifests his desires through the use of the hex, the arcane. And the dude just looks like a mecha wizard.

Though if you want it to be even more obvious.

Figure 3 - The Third Arm/Third Hand.

The image below is "The Machine Herald" Hero from League of Legends. This is the hero Viktor is based upon.

He canonically has three arms, same as the Magician in the card. The Magician is Viktor, Viktor is the Magician. The Magician is the Machine Herald.

The Magician overtakes/overlaps death. But Viktor by episode 6 still doesn't quite resemble the machine herald from the games. There's no third arm... Yet. So the Magician in the card isn't Viktor from episodes 1-6, this is the machine herald who comes after the one killed in episode 6. Another Rebirth is set to happen for Viktor.

Figures 1 &2 - White mask. Red/pinkish eyes.

Hmmm... Red/pinkish eyes are associated with shimmer. And a white mask, of the machine herald? The mask of a messiah. That the hextech Viktor will most likely also be imbued with shimmer like Jinx, to become the true "machine herald." Messiahs of the hex, monsters of the shimmer.

Its also worth noting that both Jinx and Viktor are framed as messianic figures of Zaun in this season. One the fighter who will rally together the undercity and free Zaun from its oppression. The other a healer and a saint like figure who will free the Zaunites of their suffering and lead them into a better future.

Jinx wanting peace - represented by Isha - and Viktor's dream of peace and healing for Zaun - represented by a lot of things including healing Vander - are metaphorically and literally killed in episode 6. Funnily enough, one symbol of peace killing the other (Isha and Vander - Child and Father). After all, peace and violence are two sides of the same coin, as are Viktor and Jinx. Or should I say, two sides of the same cog...

Figure 4&6 - The Cog shaped Hole in the Magicians chest/The Cog Coin and Jinx's cog.

"I understand now. The message hidden within the pattern. The reason for our failures in the commune. The doctor was right. Its inescapable. Humanity. Our very essence. Our emotions... Rage. Compassion. Hate. Two sides of the same coin. Inextricably bound."

In episode 6, whilst Viktor is explaining to Vi about what it will take to heal Vander, Jinx is sceptical. She doesn't even believe in herself as a messiah, so this "hero"? This "saviour" coming along to solve their problems? To fix things? When all she can do is break everything around her, jinx her own family, destroy? She's scoffing at Viktor sure, but she's also scoffing at herself. Mirroring. People treat her like they treat him, so to believe in him as a saviour means she would have to look into the water of that well and face her own reflection. And Viktor sees right through it, the pretence, and he sees her potential.

Knowledge is a paradox. Jinx wants to stick with what she knows, to destroy instead of to build, to "Watch it all burn." Or ignore the plight of Zaun, so she can live peacefully with Isha. Jinx - Powder - is choosing to remain ignorant to what's right in front of her. Right up until the moment Isha dies.

In the scene earlier in the episode, Jinx accidently destroys a bit of the well, releasing a cog that falls into water. Cogs have been symbolic of Viktor healing people throughout this season, using cogs to "Build."

Powder was thrown into water just like that cog by Silco, and reborn as Jinx. But its not Silco that picks up this cog. Its Viktor. He holds the potential of his creation in his hand, and in paradox, holds Jinx's destruction. Viktor holds Jinx's potential. He's literally holding the two sides of Jinx/Powder in his hand, her - their - fate. Just like Jinx, Viktor has the equal capacity to destroy, and if he is reborn as a weapon later on, perhaps that cog represents Jinx being reborn too. As a creator. A builder.

He holds onto Jinx's cog all the way through the rest of the episode, balancing that potential, that fate, of creation and destruction in his hand. Right up until the moment he dies, and the coin/the cog falls, sealing their fate. His death causing the deaths of Isha and Vander too.

So we've established that the story is viewing cogs/coins in a similar light. We've also established the show is linking Viktor and Jinx through the symbology of the cog.

This is reiterated in the symbolism surrounding the Tarot cards. Around the cards are coins that take the shape of cogs, the currency of Zaun. Fate - coin flips - and cogs, gods and machines. Deus Ex Machina, that is what Viktor is to become, and Jinx creates destruction using machines. She's an inventor, just like Viktor and Jayce. A creator and a destroyer. A god of the machine.

So how does Figure 6 - the coin cogs - relate to Figure 4? The hole in the Magician's chest.

On the Tarot Card, the Magician has a circle in the middle of his chest. A hole. Just like the hole Jayce puts through Viktors chest at the end of Episode 6. The one that kills him.

But if you look closely at the image above, it might be a stretch, but to me, the striations on the inner ring look very similar to those of a cog. The hole is what kills Viktor. Cogs have been given visual symbolism for healing, and are also associated with Jinx's potential for creation. Its a stretch, but it could potentially be foreshadowing Jinx using her abilities to heal Viktor; to build instead of destroy. We've already seen Jinx do it once with Sevika, by "building" her a new arm.

I also find it interesting that we're shown Jinx using her talents to build someone a new arm, and Viktor - the machine herald - still has yet to acquire his third arm. Perhaps he doesn't make it. Perhaps Jinx does?

Maybe, just maybe, Jinx - Powder - is the one to fix Viktor, and flip the cog of fate once again.

Now in Episode 6 we already get foreshadowing that it'll be singe - not Jinx - who saves Viktor by imbuing him with the ultimate shimmer from Warwick/Vander - stabilising him. He says it in the episode, but Viktor refuses to sacrifice Vander in the name of creating the ultimate weapon of destruction.

"It would destroy him."

Viktor's potential for destruction goes hand in hand with Jinx's.

Its even foreshadowed in both the cards. The red/pink eyes of the machine herald foreshadowing shimmer. And the shadow being imbued into the chest of the dead skeleton (Viktor) looks an awful lot like Warwick; the beast that traps Vander.

So why am I talking about Jinx saving Viktor if I'm so certain its Singe? Well I'm certain Singe will bring Viktor back to life, to be used as a weapon. That seems like the most likely outcome.

But like Viktor was saying about Vander "He's not a specimen, he's a man." Viktor was doing everything in his power to save Vander's humanity. So yes Singe will bring the machine herald back most likely - even if I think it'd be thematically cool for it to be Jinx - but I think Jinx will save Viktor. Save the man, the humanity. Be the big fat hero.

Jinx was a girl imbued with Shimmer, and despite having monstrous abilities and doing monstrous things, her humanity has still survived.

I could be wrong, I most likely am, but the the thing that's getting to me is this...

Figure 5 - The Broken Infinity.

At the centre of Viktor's chest, in the middle of Jayce's death blow and Jinx's cog of creation & destruction, is a symbol.

Now a diagonal infinity symbol is associated with the Firelights. Ekko. The boy who shattered time.

Broken Infinity? Shattered time? Seems to go hand in hand.

Though Ekko's symbol is a whole infinity, more akin to a Z than an ongoing X.

There are plenty of theories Ekko will play a role in Viktor's fate and the fate of everyone by rewinding time somehow. And the multiple shots of the coin rolling support that to an extend. Rewind time, change fate, change the flip of the cog. And I agree, I think Ekko is going to have a role to play. But there's also another character who fits with this symbol, who uses shimmer to move faster than humanly possible and defy fate time and time again. Who is the fulcrum of fate in the eyes of the story, the catalyst of everything. And only one character who has solely been associated with a broken infinity symbol before.

Jinx. That's Jinx's symbol. Her champion tag.

Jinx's symbol, right at the centre of Viktors chest. And this line to Jinx from Viktor...

"You have much to offer this commune, Powder. Your talents could be used to build instead of destroy."

And the line from Singe, about Viktor's fate being tied to the commune. Viktor IS the commune, he's the centre of it all. The one who can make the dream of Zaun - Vander's dream - a reality. And that line foreshadowed Jinx using her talents to help the commune. To help Viktor.

Hell, she was technically the reason he "died" in the first place. She fired the rocket that nearly killed him. Wouldn't it be poetic story telling if she was the one who saved him in the end?

I can't wait for Saturday.

I believe whatever happens, Viktor and Jinx's fates are inextricably bound.

[roriaa]

When Sun and Moon meet MASTERLIST ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

All warnings are displayed in each individual chapter

Season 1 - Water

☾ Prologue ☾ Chapter 1 - Welcome Avatar ☾ Chapter 2 - Encountering the Sun ☾ Chapter 3 - Dangerous Gale ☾ Chapter 4 - New Sacrifices

Season 2 - Earth

҉ Chapter 5 - Trainer Sakari ҉ Chapter 6 - Hidden in Ba Sing Se ҉ Chapter 7 - Refreshing Tea ҉ Chapter 8 - Failed ҉ Chapter 9 - Tied with the Gaang ҉ Chapter 10 - Fraud of the Warriors ҉ Chapter 11 - Trust to Betrayal

Season 3 - Fire

𖤓 Chapter 12 - Ship Attack 𖤓 Chapter 13 - First steps in the Fire Nation 𖤓 Chapter 14 - Sparky-Sparky Boom Man!! 𖤓 Chapter 15 - The Invasion 𖤓 Ch 16 𖤓 Ch 17 𖤓 Ch 18 𖤓 Ch 19 𖤓 Ch 20 𖤓 Ch 21

Season 4 - Sun

☪︎ Ch ???

Aftermath - Moon

⋆ Ch ???

POSTS ONCE EVERY WEEK (MOSTLY) None of the pictures are made by me This is based off of the avatar the last airbender world s1 s2 s3 potentially will add the legend of Korra sneaks Please do not copy, translate or repost my writing. Reblogging is acceptable My work is ONLY on tumblr, ao3, and wattpad. If anywhere else please inform me. Ao3 link Wattpad link

[summerspectre]

some resources to make today a little lighter

or, a really silly list of things that have kept me sane

cartoons, movies, animations— oh my!

into the spiderverse

gravity falls season 1

the amazing world of gumball

regular show

kitbull + pixar shorts

bluey

a random powerpuff girls full episode & also there's a second one (original series dw)

ramshackle thesis + pilot + stone gets microwaved

lackadaisy

game grumps animated

mbmbam animated + original non-animated podcast (some funny shit

the egg (one of my favorite short stories, feels topical)

youtube reccomendations that are overall a good time

yknow the guy who makes the ghost songs every year (ghost duet, choir, etc.)? he does cool shit (louie zong)

nerdy nummies (go rosanna)

cinematherapy (a family + couples therapist & a filmmaker react to films (ex: nimona, tangled, pride and prejudice, up, coraline) and draw very real and grounding lessons from them)

jaiden animations videos

elyse myers vlogs (vlogs as a creator with autism, agoraphobia, and ocd and i find her insights to be incredibly comforting + takes extra care to keep her family separate from her work and is worth supporting if you need a comfort youtuber)

miscellaneous myths (myths from different cultures told in bite sized videos, done by an excellent team)

minecraft youtube newer and older to binge

minecraft oasis - ihascupquake

aphmau minecraft diaries origins, 1, 2, rebirth

aphmau mystreet s1, s2, s3, s4, interlude, s5, s6

aphmau phoenix drop high (mystreet prologue) s1, s2

legitimately one of the best resources to binge dsmp

-> technoblade dsmp

"actually good videos" - a technoblade playlist

-> + @royalarchivist has plenty of qsmp clips :) i will not be further endorsing the series itself for personal reasons but it's still important to the mcyt community & archivist does an excelling job archiving

(if anyone has good playlists for the life series or hermitcraft, please repost with them!)

all time tumblr favorites

tumblr folk stories (highly recommend god of arepo)

queer granddad spongebob

bumblebees rolling balls around

the making of emperor's new groove

alex hirsch vs disney censors (this is on youtube but it feels tumblrian)

resources for...

caring for your introvert (a silly amongst the serious)

if you're lost right now

after a long cry

if you're falling out of a plane right now (completely serious. no jokes anymore i already spent my silly)

the trevor project online chatting option

the trevor project site (tap anywhere quickly to exit immediately)

crisis hotlines

(stay alive, you've got this)

relaxing/asmr

hang out with piplup

squirtle's day at the beach

pikachu by the patio

relaxing minecraft long play

accounts i suggest for a boost in joy:

-> @akindplace

-> @twopartposts

-> @traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors

-> @i-am-a-fish (never seen a bad take)

-> @artsyaxolotl

-> @world-heritage-posts

and if you're reading this post at all, please feel free to add!

[ficeacs]

Dragons Fight, Little Light (Prologue)

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon OFC Synopsis: Two dragons of a different scale that were meant to loathe one another instead found the love and comfort they had always sought. Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Violence, Targcest, Begins with HOTD S1, Not Proofread Word Count: 7,573

“How long are we to stay?” Eraena asked, already displeased by what she had seen from a distance. She was still up in the heavens and the stench of the capitol already made her want to retch. “It smells like shite,” She hears her father call from a distance, and she felt her lips twitch upwards in agreement. Eraena undid the ropes that secured her to her saddle and was assisted off her mount by her brother. “Looks like it, too,” Jacaerys snickered and grimaced at the view of the outside. 

“Lykiri, Alina, lykiri, my girl,” Eraena sighed as she stepped closer to her dragon, mumbling the words against her snout and pressing her lips against the scales of her beloved dragon. “But seriously, how long are we to stay?” Eraena asked once more, and she heard her mother snort. “We’ve only just arrived, my sweet,” Rhaenyra said as she threaded towards the wheelhouse. “Come, your brothers are waiting,” She smiled and led out her hand for her daughter to take. Eraena turned to her. Her silver hair shone upon the capitol sun, her pale skin looking even paler against her black dress, her figure lithe, wide purple eyes crinkling as she smiled at her. Eraena could not help but compare herself to what her Mother looked like once more. 

Where her Mother was light, she was dark; where she was true, Eraena was not. Where silver hair was supposed to grow, there were instead dark locks. Amethyst eyes that shone brightly turned to obsidian. The features of a doe had turned to look like those of its prey. Eraena scowled. Now, she was once again subjected to more talk as they returned to this wasteland. 

“Stop scowling,” Jacaerys said, and the girl rolled her eyes. “I will do as I please, brother; I do not stop you from expressing yourself. I say nothing when you pout, why must you stop me?” She questioned and placed a pillow upon her lap as she took her seat. The wheelhouse housed five of them: Rhaenyra and her husband, along with her three elder children. The three watched as the twins started to argue. A knowing smile came along the eldest Targaryen, but his wife sighed, growing tired of watching and hearing the two argue for the past six and ten years. 

“Because you look ghastly when you scowl, do you wish for them to see the once beautiful and renowned princess, the pearl of the realm, look like a witch ready to cast them with a spell?” Eraena’s eyes widened upon her brother’s words. She had no come back to defend herself, no insult to throw at her brother, so she pinched his arm in frustration. Jacaerys howled and glared at his sister, ready to retaliate with another insult. “You two, enough roughhousing!” Their Mother chastised them before he could even open his mouth. 

“Jace called me a witch! I was only defending myself, Mother!” Eraena reasoned. “Be that as it may, a princess does not inflict harm to those who give her petty and untrue insults,” The girl’s shoulders deflated, and she could see from the side of her eye the smirk on her brother’s lips. “Your mother is right; when an insult is levied at you, you must not resort to violence,” Eraena stared oddly at her Father, “You resort to violence all the time!” She argued, and Rhaenyra turned to her husband with a small smile on her lips. “Well,” He said and thought for a moment. “Best armor up, Jacaerys, if you plan to throw more insults at your sister.” The younger prince rolled his copper eyes and turned to the slats of the wheelhouse that revealed the city. 

When they arrived in the keep, only one thing was shared amongst the family. Disgust. It seemed that in the nine years, it was not only the children that had been subjected to change but also the keep. Eraena traced the stitching of her dress as she looked around the castle they once called home. 

“It’s… clean,” she says, trying to find a positive. “Do not lie to yourself, daughter.” Her Father bit in ancient tongue, making her bite down on her cheeks. “How could they let this happen?” Rhaenyra whispered, her eyes roaming around the hall. “Why is there a seven-pointed star here? Have they turned the keep into a sept?” Jacaerys asked as he eyed the figure hanging above them. “I would say it is nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” Their Mother said in disbelief, her hand resting on her swelling bump. “Hm,” her husband hummed and stepped further into the keep; his Valyrian gaze filled with nothing but repulsion. 

Erarna turned to Jacaerys, who was tugging their younger brother along. “Where are you two going?” She questioned, “Tiltyard, care to join, sister?” Eraena made a face of contempt, making Jace chuckle, and hurriedly pulled their younger brother away. “Come, let us visit your grandsire,” Rhaenyra called and led out her hand for her daughter to take. Eraena chewed on her lip as they passed hallway upon hallway. It was the same as she remembered, yet at the same time, it was not. How can something so familiar be so strange at the same time? 

As they entered the room, Eraena was appalled at how they had left it unclean and how they had let it dust away. The figurines that her grandsire once cherished were now filled with cobwebs and held the remnants of neglected time. She turned to her Mother, the disgust on her face unfading. She was too preoccupied eyeing the figurines that Eraena had not noticed that her parents had disappeared to the other half of the king’s chambers. The girl blew away the dust of the models, and her fingers itched to hold them once more. Her eyes closed in on a specific figure, and as she made her way to reach and inspect it closely, her name was called. 

“Eraena,” Her Father called and motioned his head for the girl to join them. She made quick steps to where they stood. Eraena caught a glimpse of her grandfather lying unmoving on the feathered bed, and she was certain that it was a corpse. The king’s corpse that was left rotting and decaying. She took a sharp intake of breath as the king’s hand twitched. “E… Eraena? Is that you? Oh, my sweet granddaughter.” She heard the frail voice, and she turned to her Mother and Rhaenyra only urged her daughter to step closer even though Eraena’s face was filled with apprehension and perhaps even fear.

Eraena held back her look of shock at the state of the king. “It is. I’m here, grandfather,” she said and kneeled upon his bed. “Oh… you look just like her,” Eraena could see a smile starting to form upon his grey, cracked lips. “H-her?” She asked and gave a quick look to her Mother. Who in their family could she possibly look like? It was notable that there were scarce things that she had inherited from her Mother. “Aemma, my Aemma…” Eraena could only sadly smile. Her grandsire was truly fading. “A beauty you three are,” The frail king coughed and pointed to his side, and Eraena turned to the table beside her and retrieved the cup placed on it. The king took big gulps as his granddaughter held the cup to his grey and cracked lips. Eraena’s brows scrunched as the liquid emitted a certain odor. 

She turned to her Father with a confused look on her face; Daemon only nodded. “Thank you,” The king said, and Eraena placed down the cup. “You must rest, Father; we— we will return after you rest,” Rhaenyra said in great concern, but her voice was soft and tried to hide her distress. Daemon took hold of her hand, and Eraena followed her parents toward the fireplace of the chambers. “See to it your brothers do not get themselves into any trouble; you were always the best at handling those two.” Her Mother smiled and cupped her cheek. “I do not see why; Jacaerys is older than me; he should play peacekeeper, not me.” The girl sighed. “Only by ten minutes, and your brother does not hold the same senses in him. Now go,” She smiled at her daughter sweetly, giving a loving pat on her behind as Eraena walked to exit the King’s chambers. 

Eraena walked the halls and kept her head held high. The whispers of the court seemed to scream at her. It’s not as if she were surprised; she had heard all the vile rumors and whispers of vipers, and sadly, they were true. Eraena drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, standing tall. Whispers of vipers should not matter to princesses, she reminded herself. Eraena stood above the tiltyard in search of two boys in blue. As she reached the tiltyard, her eyes passed the silver hair fluttering with every skillful move the fighter made, and she told herself not to grow distracted. Finally, she saw her brothers and made a beeline to where they stood. They had blocked her view; well, Jacaerys did. The prince had grown a few inches taller than his twin sister, but their younger brother still did not reach Eraena’s height.

“What are you doing here?” Jacaerys asked. “Mother sent me. She feared you two may cause trouble.” Jacaerys scoffed. “Us? Were you not the one caught multiple times trying to sneak out of the castle in the dead of night?” Her twin countered. “I believe she had even bribed the guards when she would return home drunk,” Lucerys added. Eraena rolled her eyes. “That was in Dragonstone; I am completely behaved here. It is you two who had unending squabbles and petty fights with our uncles.” As the words left her lips, their attentions shifted toward the crack of wood and the violent swings of a Morningstar. 

Ser Cole made to strike his Morningstar at the silver prince, who had dodged every attempt. Eraena turned away, not particularly enjoying the scene of battle; the girl looked around at the space and noted that, unlike in the inside of the keep, the tiltyard had not been changed. The crowd’s applause brought her away from her thoughts. “Well done, my prince, you will be winning tourneys in no time. They heard the knight say. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” came the reply. 

Eraena took hold of my brother’s arms and linked them with her own, “Come, let us go. The smell of sweat unsettles me,” She said and attempted to tug at them. “Nephews, have you come to train?” They hear the one-eyed prince call. Eraena caught his eye and reminded herself to keep her expression neutral, which she had failed. When her eyes were captured by the prince, she was quick to look away as a man shouted a command. Eraena turned to look at the gates and saw the reason why they were all there. Vaemond Velaryon entered the yard with his bannermen and passed the three siblings with a pointed look. Eraena licked her lips and tightened her hold on Lucerys’ arm, feeling her younger brother grow still and nervous. When Vaemond passed, the princess turned to Jacaerys. “Now, can we go?” She whispered, and he nodded. 

“Not so fast,” the prince said, and Eraena watched as he twirled the sword in his hand—a malicious grin on his lips. “You still have not greeted your uncle. Has your stay in Dragonstone made you so impolite?” There was no indication of anything on Eraena’s face, making the prince tilt his head in challenge. “Hello, uncle,” Eraena said, the last word foreign on her tongue. That was all she said before she turned away and walked upward, away from the tiltyard and with her brothers in tow. She gave no second glance at the silver prince even though she was tempted so. 

“Where are you going?” Jacaerys asked as he matched his sister’s hastened steps. “To greet Rhaena, I reckon she and the babes have arrived by now,” she said and turned a corner. “Then where are we supposed to go?” Eraena paused and looked at her brothers. She shrugged; she did not even know why she was even sent to the tiltyard— she only knew they were to stir clear of any conflict. “Just do not… engage… or cause trouble. Avoid them at all costs; I know I will. There is a lot at stake at the moment,” 

“But we wanted to train,” Lucerys said, and Eraena turned to her older brother. “Perhaps later than then, when Aemond and Ser Criston had finished. Or perhaps find other grounds to train.” She suggested and Lucerys gave a small nod at her offered solution. “There you three are!” Rhaena exclaimed by the end of the hall. “Joffery would not let me leave, kept insisting me to play that insipid game you invented for him,” She said to her sister who she greeted with a kiss on her cheek. “Ah, another victim of flowers and thorns.” Jacaerys snickered. “I eventually got so tired that I accidentally threw it overboard.” Eraena’s eyes widened, “Why would you do that? I spent days painting and mapping out that board!” She asked her sister in shock. 

“I’m sorry! But we had been playing since the ship had left the harbor in Dragonstone! I grew tired at the sight of it!” Eraena sighed and nodded, understanding her sister’s actions. “When is Baela to arrive?” Eraena asked, and the three shrugged, “She had not said in her letter, but I would think it would be the day before the trial.” Rheana replied. “So, today?” Lucerys asked. Eraena could see the obvious nervousness in her brother. She went to ruffle his hair, a comfort she often did since they were children. 

“You’ll be all right. You are the true heir of Driftmark; no second son can take that from you.” Eraena’s furrowed brows deepened as her brother shook his head. “I—I am not even supposed to be the heir! It was supposed to be you,” he reasoned. “Well, take it up with the gods. They did not give me a cock, and in consequence, I cannot have Driftmark, and you must bear this.” She tried to jest. “Eraena,” Jacaerys scolded with her choice of words. “It is unfair! Not just to you, but Lucerys as well. You are the second born! It was clear that whatever was in between your legs, you were set to inherit Driftmark.” Rhaena huffed. 

“Well… no. It was clarified that whatever gender Mother’s first child would be, they would inherit the throne. It was not the same condition when it came to Driftmark.” Jacaerys explained. “It’s fine, truly, I am perfectly contented on being the heir of Dragonstone,” Eraena added. “I should hope so, especially when A—“ Rhaena caught herself before she could continue her sentence, both of the girl’s eyes widening. “Especially when what?” Jacaerys asked, quick to catch the secret between the two girls. The two girls looked at each other, sending messages with their eyes. “When what?” Jacaerys repeated. “Nothing,” Rheana quickly said. “No, you were clearly going to say something; what is it?” Jacaerys urged. “Nothing, I—“ Rhaena was saved when another voice was heard at the end of the hall. 

“Sisters?” Baela’s voice carried, and the four forgot what they were talking about. “Baela!” Eraena said excitedly as she hurriedly made their way to them. “Oh, I’ve missed you!” She said gleefully, enveloping the two girls in her embrace. “Just them?” Jacaerys asked, and the newly arrived princess rolled her eyes. “You two, as well.” She said. “When have you arrived?” Lucerys asked. “Just now, I rode with grandmother on Melys,” Eraena smiled at an image of Baela atop the clouds with their grandmother flashing through her mind. Moondancer was still growing for her to take such a trip, so it made sense they rode together. 

The five, were now finally complete. They walked along the halls of the keep and engaged in conversation and exchanging anecdotes of their time spent apart. They reached the gardens, and Eraena detached herself from the group and observed the flowers that the keep held. So many variants that did not grow in Dragonstone. She took a yellow flower in her hand, feeling the petals between the tips of her fingers, the voices of her siblings growing farther away. She raised the flower to her nose and frowned at the lack of fragrance. 

“Eraena,” she heard her name called. The girl turned from the flower and saw as the queen stood behind her. “My Queen,” She said and quickly curtsied. “I see you are enjoying the gardens…alone... unescorted?” She questioned with a raise of her auburn brow. “Oh— my siblings are…” she drifted from her sentence, noticing they had disappeared. “I was with my siblings; I only got distracted by the flowers.” She reasoned. Eraena watched the queen’s lips thin, clasping her hands in front of her. “Best find them, princess. It is not advisable… or even seen proper to see you roam the keep unescorted. Would not want a fate befall twice.” Eraena was confused and wanted to question the queen’s words, but for this instance, she only nodded and excused herself to find her siblings. 

She took hold of her skirts as she made fast steps to find the group. She had wandered the lower floor of the keep for some time and she still failed to find her siblings. Eraena disregarded the plan to find the four and made her way to her assigned chambers. She mindlessly walked the halls, her head filled with other thoughts— thoughts that preoccupied her so that she had crashed with another. “Watch it,” She heard the cold voice of Aemond, unlike earlier, the smirk on his lips was long gone. “Sorry,” The girl quickly said and stepped away from the prince to continue her walk. No other spare glance was given, 

“Watch where you walk, Lady Strong.” At those words, Eraena stilled. She turned to her uncle; the smirk on his thin lips had returned quickly. Should she retaliate? she thought, then remembered the words she uttered to her brothers just a few moments before. Eraena licked her lips and walked away, taking the prince's smirk with her. 

Night soon came, and supper was held in her Mother’s chambers. “Vaemond had arrived,” the eldest prince said. “We know we were there to welcome the second son of the tides,” Eraena replied, and her Father raised his brow in question. “Tomorrow is the trial. We must all be ready for whatever those cunts throw at us.” Eraena’s eyes widened when Baela choked on her wine; it seemed that she had forgotten how crass her Father was. “How was your exploration of the keep?” Rhaenyra asked the five. 

“Eraena disappeared,” Jacaerys answered. “I did not! You left me in the gardens then I could not find you four,” She explained. “Mother, are we not allowed to venture here unescorted? The queen said it was improper for me to be without an escort.” She asked. She had never heard of such a rule that she must be escorted in broad daylight. “She said, ‘Would not want a fate befall twice.’ What did she mean?” Eraena added. Her parents exchanged a look, and the princess waited for an answer. 

“Nothing, she meant absolutely nothing,” Rhaenyra said. Eraena’s eyes flew to her hands, playing with her rings. She nodded and turned to her sisters. “You must tell us about your ventures warding in Driftmark. It seems that Rhaena and I have scarce topics to discuss these past days,” Eraena said. Her sister nodded. I was hoping you two would be the ones to tell stories. It was dreadfully lonely there in Driftmark.” 

“Oh, you should tell her about Arthur,” Rhaena said in excitement, and as if it were a reflex, Eraena’s cheeks pinked, and Jacaerys joined in their conversation as he heard an unfamiliar name. “Whose this… Arthur?” He asked and made the girl roll her eyes, pushing him away. “None of your concern, brother.” 

“Mother, Eraena’s hiding something from us,” he tattled, and Eraena could not help herself but pinch his arm once more. “Hush!” she whispered harshly. “Leave your sister alone, Jacaerys; she is entitled to keep some secrets to herself.” Eraena gave her brother a smug look before returning her gaze to the two. “Tonight, let us exchange our stories without bother,” she said, and the two nodded eagerly. 

It was high night when Eraena made quiet steps to her sister’s chambers, a candle in her hand. There was a storm brewing, and Eraena jumped with every clap of thunder. She was finally nearing the room when a gust of wind blew out the candle she held. Eraena was in the dark; the moon and stars gave no light to guide her way. The princess squinted her eyes and prayed she would not trip. Another clap of lightning, and the girl jumped with a squeak of shock. Her heart was beating violently in her chest. Finally, she found her way to her sister’s room. “Gods, you took so long! We thought someone had caught you!” Baela said and pulled her in. “Now, tell me all there is on this… Arthur,” she said and made Eraena sit atop the feathered bed. 

She and Rhaena exchanged knowing looks. “I met him a year ago when he had started his training to be a knight in Dragonstone.” The girl started, and Baela nodded. “I was in the gardens, picking flowers for our rooms, and he was trying to hide from the wrath of his commanding officer.” Eraena tried to control the smile rising on her lips as she recalled the day. “So he hid behind me as Ser Samuel tried to find him. For an hour, he stayed crutched down behind me, moving where I had moved and us just talking and jesting.” Baela and Rhaena watched as the obsidian eyes of their sister twinkled, and the blush grew on her cheeks. “He’s kind, funny, and oh gods, he’s so tall and… dashing,” Eraena said, struggling to paint a clear picture of the soon-to-be knight. “Oh, gods, you love him!” Baela exclaimed, making Rhaena laugh. Eraena scoffed. “I do not! I— I like him, but I do not believe I love him. Not yet, at least,” she mumbled the last part, but it was heard clearly by the two.

When the following morning came, it was the day of the trial. The princess stared at herself in the mirror as a handmaid readied her. Womanhood had taken its full effect on her. Eraena's gaze paused on her thighs, and she could not help but frown. Never in her life had she the gap between her thighs that she saw most women had. There was a small pouch above her sex that Eraena had tried hard to be rid of. Her hips flared at what she found at an alarming and annoying rate; most of her dresses had clung to her waist but had difficulty conforming to the princess’ hips. Eraena’s gaze moved to her chest. Her Mother used to lovingly tease the girl about the ampleness of it until she thankfully stopped as she realized Eraena had grown quite conscious about it. 

The princess took in a deep breath and moved to wear her dress—a black gown with gold laces and an embroidery of a dragon that she had made herself. Her fingers brushed the gold lace on the square neckline, teasing a hint of her bosom. “You outdid yourself on the design, princess,” Lyn, her handmaid, complimented, making the princess smile, and a ‘thank you’ escaped her pink lips. “What of your hair?” Lyn inquired. “A few braids, at the top, and can you make use of the ruby clips Father had recently given me?” Ereana waited patiently as Lyn did her hair, a book finding itself in her hands.  

She walked with Jacaerys to the throne room, their parents behind them. “Do you not think you are a tad overdressed?” Jacaerys asked his sister. Eyeing the gown she had fashioned. Eraena, like their mother, wore expensive gowns. The finest silk, the purest of cotton, the most lustrous pearls, the most brilliant jewels, and the most shining gold are what she and her mother often wore. Jacaerys had no reservations before; however, now, it made him nervous to enter the throne room with his sister fashioning such a dress, especially with such a neckline and bodice conforming to her body. “Excuse me?” Eraena asked in disbelief, almost offended. 

“Good luck, son,” Rhaenyra jested as she passed her twins. Daemon chuckled and eyed the two, ready to argue once more. “There is no such thing as overdressed Jacaerys,” she says, and her brother struggles to look her in the eye. “Women have little to express themselves, brother. You must understand that the way I dress is my way to show my support to this family since I have given little say in this matter, and I know my opinion would not be valued as much as a man's; this is the only way I can take my stand.” Eraena explained, and Jace nodded, but she could still see the reservation in her brother’s copper eyes. 

“I just,” he trailed off. “Just what?” Eraena asked. “I just wished you could have worn a dress that had more to cover,” He said, making the princess narrow her eyes, “Mother wore dresses like these when she was my age; some of my dresses were hers,” She said. “Yes, but our uncles are there,” he tried to defend. “So?” Eraena asked incredulously. Jacaerys sighed and ran a hand through his face. “Never mind, you look lovely, sister. Let’s go,” he gave up, and Eraena conceded in the meantime, knowing their family was waiting for the both of them. 

When they entered the room, they hurriedly made their way to stand behind their mother. “Who won this time?” Their Father asked, “I did,” Eraena said with a triumphant smirk, and Jacaerys shook his head. The smirk on the princess’ lips was soon wiped when she noticed three eyes on her. “Your uncles are looking at you,” Rhaena said lowly. “I know,” Eraena replied but still did not turn to the two. “I feel underdressed standing next to you,” Baela said, and Eraena rolled her eyes as she heard Jacaerys snort. “I told you,” he said with a prideful tone. “Hush,” She grumbled and looked down at her dress with a frown. She was not overdressed; she thought she wore an appropriate outfit for such an occasion. She would not let her brother sway her mind when it came to her fashion choices. 

The girl’s attention was caught when she heard the door of the throne room open whilst her Mother spoke on behalf of her younger brother. “King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” The king took a while to sit on his throne, aching and wheezing with each step. 

“I must... admit... my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present... who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is Princess Rhaenys.” All eyes turned to the Queen who never was. “Indeed, Your Grace. It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son... Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him.” The look of pure shock and outrage could be seen in the face of Vaemond. Eraena turned to the Queen and her father, the hand who had a look of surpassed irritation. Once more, she caught Aemond’s eye and once again, the princess quickly looked away. 

“As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luc, to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.” Eraena turned to gaze at the floor and smiled at her sibling's proposals, but mainly her lack thereof. Rhaenyra had promised her that they would not arrange a marriage for her, that she was free to choose for herself. 

“Well... the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.” The king announced. Eraena let out a breath of relief. However, that relief was short-lived as Vaemond spoke once more. 

“You break the law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me... who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.” Vaemond gritted out.

“Allow it"? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond. The king said. “That is no true Velaryon and certainly no nephew of mine. You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned... I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond stopped himself; Eraena was chewing on her lip, knowing that this would not end well. 

“Say it,” she heard her Father challenge. Her children... are bastards!” Vaemond yelled, and the hall emitted silent chatter. Eraena took in a deep breath but did not let herself waver, holding her pretty head high. “She… is... a whοre!” Vaemond yelled another treasonous phrase once more, and the young princess’ dark eyes widened, not believing that he would scream that out loud and in front of the king, no less. 

“I... will have your tongue for that.” The king said and took out his dagger. Before anyone could blink, Daemon had sliced his sword through Vaemond’s head. The sound of blood gushing out and the thud of a body echoed through the room. Eraena could not help but gasp and turn to her brother, who quickly held her head to face away from the grotesque scene. “There, he can keep his tongue,” Daemon said. The king groaned and fell onto the throne, creating commotion throughout the room. “Return to your chambers, now.” Their Mother urged, and Eraena was happy to oblige. 

“Gods, I— Wha— gods,” she could not even comprehend what had happened. The five of them were in Eraena’s chambers. All of them were seated, whether it was atop her feathered bed, a sofa, or a settee near the fire, but the girl was pacing and trying to erase the image of Vaemond’s severed head upon the bloodied floor. 

“I forgot how violent father was,” Baela said, and Rhaena nodded. “He had mellowed down these past few years, though it is nice to see that the fire in him did not die down.” Eraena looked at her sister strangely, “What?” Rhaena asked. “He just killed a man, grandsire’s brother.” She breathed out, “He was coming for Luc’s inheritance. He called us bastards, our Mother a whore.” Jacaerys said. “Still! He did not deserve to die in such a way,” She said in remorse. “He had it coming,” Jacaerys shrugged, and Eraena shook her head. “Gods, please tell me you will be more levelheaded when you are king.” She said and took a seat next to Rhaena on the settee. 

“You hold too much empathy, sister. Believe me, if the roles were reversed, Vaemond would have cackled to see Daemon’s head roll on the floor.” Eraena huffed and kept her thoughts to herself for the moment. 

The day progressed and Eraena was left alone in her room, her sibling attending to other business in regard to their newly formed betrothals. Eraena walked to the dining hall alone, and when the doors opened, almost everyone was present. “Ah, there you are!” Her Father said and stood up to greet her. Eraena kissed his cheek as well as her Mother’s before she was escorted to her seat in between Jace and Aegon. 

The king was carried into the room and was seated at the head of the table, she noted the look of surprise her brothers tried to hide upon seeing the state grandsire in up-close. “How good it is to see you all tonight… together.” The king panted and looked over the table. “Prayer before we begin?” The queen asked her husband, who nodded. As the queen began her prayer, plenty of pairs of eyes wandered around the table. Eyeing each other curiously. Eraena noted, Aemond, however, he kept his eye closed and hands folded in front of him. 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luc will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena. Further strengthening the bond between our houses.” The king announced. Eyes went to the newly betrothed couples. Rhaena and Luc shared a look, both of them having a smile on their faces, as well as Jacaerys and Baela had smiles on their faces. “And what of you, sweet niece? No betrothals as of yet?” He asked and took a sip of his wine. “None, uncle,” Eraena said plainly. Aegon hummed and turned his attention to her brother. 

“You do know how the act is done, I assume?” Aegon asked Jacaerys. “At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that,” From the side of her eye, she could see Jace’s nostrils falling and his jaw tightening. “You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my sister and my betrothed.” Jace had said. Aegon let out a breath and turned to Eraena with a pompous smirk on his face. “He’s a virgin, I’m quite sure of it,” he whispered the words that were only for her to hear. She gave no reaction and instead turned her head to look at her parents. 

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table.” The king said, “The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” Eraena set her cup down, and Aemond tapped his finger on the table. The king took off his gold mask, revealing half of his face had decayed and, like his son, an eye was missing from him. 

“My own face is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king…” Viserys trailed off. “But your father.” He said and turned to his children, “Your brother,” he turned to Daemon. “Your husband,” he said to the queen. “And your grandsire.” He finished turning to the five cousins. “Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts.” Eraena could not help as her gaze fluttered over to Aemond. A steely look in his eye was focused upon his clasped hands.

Toasts from each side of the family brought me a sense of an alluring, yet unnatural sense of peace. Maybe this family could work. Eraena thought to herself, a fantasy that was beginning until she saw Aegon standing up and making his way to a chalice near Baela. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.” Eraena bit her lip, praying to the gods her brother would not be baited so easily; alas, she was not heard. 

Jacaerys slammed his fist on the table. Plates and silverware cluttered with noise. Aegon found his way back to his seat and leaned closer to the princess, the two of them waiting for Jacaerys’ outburst. Eraena shot a disgusted look toward her elder uncle, who only shrugged, “It was getting dreadfully boring and sappy, dear Eraena; you could not blame me.” he said. “I think I could,” she whispered harshly. 

Aemond then rose, and Eraena looked between the two princes, who stared each other down. “Prepare for it to grow interesting, sweet niece,” Aegon smirked. A tense silence filled the table, the two boys still standing. Jace reached over and playfully punched their uncle’s arm, lips pursed together. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth.” Jacaerys said. Eraena tried not to roll her eyes at the obvious lie. 

“And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.” Jace raised his glass, a smile on his face that she knew all too well to be teasing and insincere. Her gaze turned to Aegon, who seemed to be unamused by Jace’s speech. “To you as well,” Aegon said. I caught the eyes of Luc and Rhaena, who smiled at her with amusement. “I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly, he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.” 

Eraena let out a bubbling laugh along with her Father, who chuckled, and her mother quickly chastised the both of them. She quickly covered her mouth when she noticed the stoic look on the other’s faces. “Good,” Otto said to her granddaughter with a smile. Ever since childhood, Eraena thought hard about the words Helaena would mumble. Words that everyone thought were ludicrous and mad, she found with deeper meaning. Helaena is seen to be mad, though Eraena always sees it as misunderstood; she holds wisdom and knowledge that no other at the table possesses. 

“Let us have some music,” the king instructed. Jace made his way to stand up once more and went to Helaena, inviting the girl to dance. Eraena smiled against my cup when she saw the surprised yet excited look on the silver princess’ face. Aegon looked disbelieved and shared a look with his brother. Eraena took Jacearys’ seat and sat next to her siblings. For a moment, their family was the picture of unity. Smiles and laughs were shared along the table. However, the king grew in pain and was carried out of the hall immediately. 

As the king left, a roasted pig arrived and was placed directly in front of Aemond. Eraena saw the smirk on Luc’s face, trying not to laugh out loud. “Lucerys,” she whispered harshly at her younger brother. Eraena’s heart quickened, and she quickly turned to Aemond, who had his jaw clenched. The one-eyed prince punched his fist on the table, standing up at the same time. It caught everyone’s attention. Even the music had stopped. Aemond raised his glass. His eye had never left Lucerys. “Final tribute,” he announced, and the girl bit her lip, knowing this would not end well. “To the health of my nephews and niece. Jace… Luc… Joffery and sweet Eraena.” The girl rested her gaze on Aemond, “Each of them comely, wise…” the prince trailed off, his gaze flickering to Eraena, who was pleading with her eyes. Yet, of course, she was ignored. “Strong,” he finished. 

Eraena let out a defeated breath. “Aemond,” the queen warned but was ignored by the prince. “Come. Let us drain our cups to these four…” Aegon raised his chalice. “Strongs,” Aemond finished. “I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys challenged. “Why? ’twas only a compliment,” Aemond replied. “Do you not think yourself strong?” He added. Jacaerys threw a punch, and Lucerys made his way to his brother but was blocked by Aegon. Who grabbed the boy and bashed his head on the table near where Eraena was sitting. She stared wide-eyed and immediately slammed her foot down on Aegons for him to release her younger brother. “That is enough!” The queen yelled, but none seemed to hear her. Lucerys’ head was still pinned down, and Aegon was staring at Eraena with an amused smirk on his lips. 

“You’d have to try harder than that, Eraena,” He said, and the princess’ vision reddened; she quickly stood up and used her knee to maim his sex. Finally, he let Lucerys go, falling on the floor, clutching his cock in pain. “Good,” she heard Father say in her ancient tongue with a smirk, but her Mother looked at her in disbelief. Aemond effortlessly pushed Jacaerys to the floor, a smirk on his face. The prince’s eye was quick to find obsidian ones who had moved to the side of the room, a triumphant smirk on his lips. It took Baela and Rhaena to hold her down and not join in to help her brothers. Jace quickly stood up and charged forward, but a guard stopped him and Lucerys. 

The guard had let go of his hold on Jace, and it would seem that Jacaerys would have pounced on their uncle if it weren’t for Daemon, who had placed himself in the middle of the two. “Wait,” he said and raised a finger up, staring Jacaerys down until the prince moved backward and moved to where his siblings stood. “Go to your quarters.” Their Mother commanded. “All of you, go. Now.” She ordered. Eraena was the last of her siblings to leave; she could hear faint footsteps behind her and saw Aemond and her father walking behind the five of them. Baela and Raena’s chambers were the nearest to the dining hall. The two had left the awkward convoy in the halls quickly. “Jacaerys, Eraena, your Mother’s chambers, now.” 

The girl’s lip found home between her teeth as she walked to her mother’s chambers, her head hung low. How hypocritical was she? She had frowned upon her father’s violent actions toward Vaemond, yet she was all but ready to join in on the fight. Yet, in her defense, she could not just sit there and let Aegon hurt her younger brother; the prince had deserved his cock to be maimed. “I simply do not know what to do with you two anymore!” Rhaenyra exclaimed with a disappointed sigh. “Jacaerys, why must you be baited so quickly?” She asked. “She called us bastards, Mother!” “But you should not give them a defensive reaction; it only makes you look guilty.”

Eraena scoffed, making her Mother turn to her with a raised brow. “Mother, look at us,” she said, and Jacaerys made his way to stand beside her. “Do not get me started with you. Joining in the fights of boys!” She exclaimed and paced around, playing with her rings once more. “I was only defending my brother,” Eraena explained. “That is no place for you, Eraena!” The younger princess held back her tongue, not wanting to say anything out of turn or offense. She caught her Father’s eyes, pleading that he would come to their aid; he sighed and walked closer to their Mother. “It was a childish fight, Nyra, you should be at ease that your children know how to defend themselves.” 

“The Hightowers are at an outrage! They will use this spectacle as another reason to keep the crown!” She whispered harshly. “You two will apologize to your uncles, Eraena, you will apologize to Aegon, and you Jacearys will apologize to Aemond.” Eraena stared in shock. “I will do no such thing,” she said and stepped forward, “Eraena,” Jace warned. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I will not apologize for defending my brother from that… drunken creature and his violent brother! Nor should Jacearys apologize for defending our honor.” 

“It does not matter; we must take the high road,” Rhaenyra said decisively. “Tell me, Mother, when you were our age, and if you were put in our position, would you apologize?” Eraena questioned and for the first time in a while, she saw my mother without an answer. Rhaenyra turned to her husband, who had an amused smirk on his lips. “Answer the question, dear,” Rhaenyra sighed and paced. “You two, out. Jacaerys, escort your sister back to her chambers.” 

Jace and Eraena exited the chambers and walked silently back to the girl’s quarters. They were nearing the wing of her chambers when they saw a figure seemingly waiting for someone. “Ah, Lord and Lady Strong,” Aemond taunted once more with a smirk on his lips. Eraena’s hold on Jacaerys’ arm tightened. Jacaerys turned to his sister, who implored with her eyes for him to ignore the sulking figure in the halls. “How nice of you to escort your sister to her chambers,” Aemond said, and Eraena licked her lips, avoiding the prince’s gaze. “I should think it necessary, especially with the talk we hear of a promiscuous princess residing in Dragonstone.” Eraena stiffened at his words. Promiscuous? The word seemed like poison dripping from his lips. “We are not aware of such things, Prince Aemond. It is best not to listen to whispers of vipers,” Jacaerys said, and the two walked on. Eraena frowned at their uncle’s words. “Ignore him,” Jacaerys said as he saw the furrowed brows of his sister. “Good night, brother,” Eraena sighed and placed a kiss on her brother’s cheek before stepping into her room. She was not promiscuous, not at all!

[cina-full-moon-xanadium]

Since Rob posted her recommended subs for all pf Sentai, I think I’ll post a companion piece in my recommended subs for Kamen Rider!

There’s a few notes I want to put up front here, however — in the case of V3 and Kiva, I highly recommend waiting on those because much improved subs are coming for those soon in the form of Discotek and Earthly respectively. I also strongly suspect Discotek will do much needed releases for X and Stronger (and Amazon though it’s less in need of better subs) too, so I may recommend waiting on those too.

On a similar note, Media Blasters are to do releases for Shin (1992), ZO, J, The First and The Next which will probably be better than what we have, so you might want to wait on those too.

Brackets indicate ports of the subs onto higher quality versions, which will also be the most active torrents

Kamen Rider - Shout V3 - Generation Kikaida [glamrick] X - CeraKesh Amazon - EarthlyBereke Stronger - KT-MC-BK Skyrider - Bereke Scrubs Super-1 - Bereke Scrubs ZX - MCS BLACK - Discotek BLACK RX - Discotek Shin Prologue - Toei [TokuScrub] ZO - Weeaboo-Shogun J - MegaAnon

Kuuga - Shout Agito - Earthly Ryuki - Shout 555 - Earthly Blade - Excite Hibiki - Shushuto [OZC-Live] Kabuto - Earthly Den-O - Earthly [OZC-Live] Kiva - TV-Nihon Decade - Earthly

W - Over-Time [OZC-Live] OOO - Over-Time [OZC-Live] (but with neckspike's no-slur pack) Fourze - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Wizard - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Gaim - Aesir [OZC-Live] Drive - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Ghost - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Ex-Aid - Excite [OZC-Live] Build - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Zi-O - Over-Time [OZC-Live]

Zero-One - Shout Saber - Flamesubs Revice - GeoSubs Geats - Excite Gotchard - EiGo

SD - TV-Nihon The First - Media Blasters [TokuScrub] The Next - TV-Nihon G - TV-Nihon Amazons S1 - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Amazons S2 - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Fuuto PI - Crunchyroll [EMBER] BLACK SUN - Amazon Shin Kamen Rider - Amazon

[ellswritings]

Masterlist ;)

*= smut

The Hunger Games

Imagines

Finnick Odair

Wasting All These Tears On You

Don’t Be Late

Love and War

Peeta Mellark

They Don't Know About Us

Katniss Everdeen

Johanna Mason

Haymitch Abernathy

Worse Things

Cato Hadley

Marvel Sanford

Clove Kent

Coriolanus Snow

Sejanus Plinth

Series

none yet :(

Teen Wolf

Imagines

Scott McCall

Stiles Stilinski

Derek Hale

Jealousy, Jealousy

Peter Hale

Chris Argent

Lydia Martin

Issac Lahey

Allison Argent

Malia Hale/Tate

Liam Dunbar

Kira Yukimara

Series

Lupus Nox- S1 Cast, Prologue, S1 E1, S1 E2, S1 E3, S1 E4, S1 E5, S1 E6, S1 E7, S1 E8, S1 E9, S1 E10, S1 E11, S1 E12

The Maze Runner

Imagines

Thomas

Newt

Minho

Gally

Aris

Brenda

Sonya

Harriet

Series

none yet :(

Marvel

Imagines

Steve Rogers

Sparks Fly

Tony Stark

Snowflake

Bucky Barnes

Loki Laufeyson

Natasha Romanoff

Clint Barton

Logan Howlett

Peter Quill

Misery Loves Company

Gamora Ben Titan

Peter Parker

Peter Parker (TASM)

Thor Odinson

Michelle Jones-Watson

Wanda Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff

Series

none yet :(

Once Upon A Time

Imagines

Regina Mills

Emma Swan

Killian Jones

David Nolan/Prince Charming

Peter Pan

Rumplestiltskin

Neal Cassidy/Baelfire

Series

none yet :(

Bridgerton

Imagines

Anthony Bridgerton

How To Be A Heartbreaker

Colin Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

King George

Simon Bassett

Eloise Bridgerton

Series

none yet :(

Harry Potter

Imagines

Harry Potter

About Time

Ron Weasley

Hermoine Granger

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Remus Lupin

Sirius Black

James Potter

Like I Can

Draco Malfoy

Lucius Malfoy

Tom Riddle

Luna Lovegood

Bellatrix Lestrange

Series

none yet :(

Glee

Imagines

Finn Hudson

Sam Evans

Jesse St. James

Quinn Fabray

Santana Lopez

Brittany S. Pierce

Rachel Berry

Mercedes Jones

Mike Chang

Noah Puckerman

Series

none yet :(

Criminal Minds

Imagines

Aaron Hotchner

Undercover Heat

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

No Place Like Home

Emily Prentiss

Jennifer Jareau

Matthew Simmons

Luke Alves

Kate Callahan

Series

none yet :(

9-1-1

Imagines

Evan 'Buck" Buckley

Eddie Diaz

I Knew You Were Trouble

Bobby Nash

Athena Grant

Howard 'Chimney' Han

Maddie Buckley

Series

none yet :(

Gossip Girl

Imagines

Chuck Bass

Nate Archibald

Dan Humphrey

Serena Van Der Woodsen

Blair Waldorf

Carter Baizen

Series

none yet :(

Pitch Perfect

Imagines

Jesse Swanson

The Flirting Game

Beca Mitchell

Chloe Beale

Bumper Allen

Cynthia Rose

Benji Applebaum

Donald Walsh

Fat Amy/Patricia Hobart

Series

none yet :(

Miscellaneous

Chandler Bing

New Years Eve

We Can’t Be Friends

[yannisdesk]

Everything in regards to Vander in act 2 was perfect. The fact that he had a hand in the girls lives before the events of the prologue in S1, how he and Silco did try to hold onto their promise to their mother, how ultimately they failed and the tragedy of that is still unraveling, their home life, HIM NAMING VI, Jinx getting the bunny hand symbol from their mom, Vander + Silco + their parents all being miners that use gauntlets which end up being Vi's weapon of choice, Vi taking up boxing before even needing it as a skill and Vander being the one to teach her etc... I LIVE for the "small" stuff like this. Either you get it or you don't.

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC’s Lucien - Strategy Game Date - English Translation (1/2)

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

"Wow, if you remember someone, they must be really impressive!"

"Not at all. In fact, on most of the days we've played, he couldn't even win a pack of biscuits."

"So, about the same level as me then~"

"But MC is special to me. Whether it's ‘biscuits', 'candy', or even 'unreasonable requests', you always manage to win them over in another way."

Translation under the cut!

[T/N: Before reading the date, I highly recommend you all to read this R&S: Regarding What Book Doesn't Say (and while at it read The Victim Who Disappeared too~). This date contains important references to that R&S, and I would like to analyze this date later in comparison with it at the end of this date🥺 There's also some reference to S1 chapter 23 but I'm gonna assume that y'all already read it u.u.]

If you want to follow along with the voice, you can follow it here.

-

[Call- On The Way Home from Work]

Lucien: I just saw your missed call, what's wrong?

MC: [worriedly] I was just wondering why Professor Lucien, who clearly got off work an hour ago, still hasn't come home yet.

Lucien: [chuckles softly]  Sorry, I was held up a bit by something.

Lucien: If you're not too busy, could you bring a trolley and come pick me up at the small park outside the complex?

MC: I certainly can, but what happened?

Lucien: I was stopped by that old gentleman who often plays chess in the park, and he invited me to play a game with him.

MC:  Hmm? Why did that grandpa suddenly "abandon" his friends and come to you?

Lucien: Today, his chess friend stood him up, so he was searching the whole park for a "destined" person who could play chess.

Lucien: And on my backpack, I happened to have a chess pendant that you gave me.

MC: Oh~ But the Xianqi (Chinese chess) Grandpa plays and international chess aren't the same type, right?

Lucien: There are indeed quite big differences between the two, but luckily, I'm not too unfamiliar with the rules of Xiangqi.

MC: Judging by Professor Lucien’s tone, it seems like he has won~

Lucien: It was a narrow victory.

Lucien: However... I'm having some regrets now.

MC: Why?

Lucien: Things seem to have gotten a little out of hand after I won the game. He enthusiastically invited me to solve an endgame puzzle—

[Trivia: In chess, endgame refers to a chess problem where only a few pieces remain on the board, and the challenge is to find the best moves to win or achieve a draw.]

Lucien: And after I solved it, I found out that this puzzle has apparently been around for a few years.

MC: Wow! That's amazing...! So, doesn't that mean the brilliant Professor Lucien is going to become a big celebrity in the park?

Lucien: [sighs] ...But they're a bit too enthusiastic.

Lucien: [he sounds so helpless and dumbfounded it's cute LOL] To celebrate, that grandpa and the elderly watching the game gave me all the eggs, rice, and cooking oil they got from the supermarket.

Lucien: I couldn't refuse at the moment, so now I'm stuck here, overwhelmed by this weighty goodwill.

MC:  Pfft, hahaha~ So that's why you asked me to bring a trolley and rescue you!

MC: I think I see you! Hmm? Are you buying something?

Lucien: [chuckles] Mm, I just found a flower vending machine here.

Lucien: After all, I did ask my girlfriend to come rescue me, so I figured I should at least buy a bouquet of flowers as a thank you.

[Prologue-Surprise Journey]

MC: You're going to compete against the world champion of 3D chess next week?!

When I arrive home from work and step into the entryway, the news hits me like a brick, leaving me frozen in place.

[Trivia: 3D Chess is a variant of traditional chess that adds a third dimension with multiple horizontal layers. It's different and more complex compared with classic 2D chess because besides being able to move horizontally, it can also move vertically between layers, and naturally, it has different rules compared to the classic (I tried to search the rules of one type of 3D chess and ended up being confused at it HAHA). Most ppl def can't easily learn it in one try unless you're Xu Mo]

Lucien calmly takes my bag and nods slightly.

Lucien: Mm, the tournament organizers invited Carl to play a simultaneous exhibition.

[Trivia: In chess simultaneous exhibition means one player plays against multiple opponents at the same time]

Lucien: Besides me, there will also be many 3D chess players and enthusiasts participating.

MC: ...Wait a minute, Lucien, you haven't been scammed, have you?

MC: There are a lot of scams going around these days that seem to trick people with things like registration fees.

[gurl why would you think that the great and mighty™️ Professor Lucien would get scammed🤣]

Lucien: That possibility certainly can't be ruled out, but I've already confirmed it.

Lucien can't help but chuckle a bit and opens the official website of the International Chess Federation.

Following the movement of his fingertips, I quickly found Lucien's name on the shortlist.

MC: So awesome…

MC: You've obviously only been playing 3D chess for a month, yet you're already able to participate in such a competition.

Lucien: This type of game is actually not that difficult once you grasp the rules.

MC: ...That's precisely something a genius would say.

He winks a little smugly, smiles, and pulls me into his arms.

Lucien: So, would MC like to go together?

Lucien: I recall you don't seem to be very busy next week.

MC: Of course, I would like to!

MC: This is your first time participating in a chess tournament, so I wouldn't want to miss it.

Lucien: That's good to hear. Otherwise, I might have to repack my suitcase.

Following his gaze, I notice he's already packed some of my clothes in the suitcase and I can't help but laugh.

MC: You already knew I'd say yes.

Lucien: Mm, after all, it seems like MC can never bring herself to turn down my requests.

[Date]

=[Part 1]=

MC: The guesthouse you chose is so beautiful!

I lean out from the villa window and look outside; the warm breeze passes through the tropical orange trees, stirring sweet orange-scented ripples on the clear pool water.

MC: This garden is exactly like a scene from an American movie, I feel like a pool party is about to start any second now.

Lucien: [chuckles] After I finish my competition, we might as well have a pool party here too.

MC: Sounds good! Then I…

I spin around excitedly, but then my gaze is suddenly caught by a vibrant blaze of crimson, making me fall silent.

Lucien is dressed in a cherry-red suit paired with an olive-green tie, giving off a bold retro vibe.

Complementing this look, a sleek leather belt with a ring buckle and a tilted round hat adds a touch of simplicity and style.

Lucien: [teasingly] If you keep looking at me like that, I might actually get a little shy.

Despite saying so, he doesn't shy away and instead approaches me with a smile.

MC: It's just so stunning... Did this Great Chess Player pick this outfit specifically for the competition?

Lucien: There will be a lot of people at the competition, so maybe this will help me better attract the attention of a certain little lady.

[T/N: Great Chess Player (大棋手 - dà qíshǒu) is how MC teasingly and admiringly refers to him while little lady (小姑娘 - xiǎo gūniang) is Lucien's special term of endearment to MC. So yes, he's the one picking the outfit to attract her attention, just like male peacocks displaying their feather🤣 Please don't be harsh on his color choice because he literally can't see them🥲]

MC: [pouts] Humph, I want to protest~

MC: Even without any help, I can still instantly spot you in a crowd!

Lucien: [chuckles] Of course, I believe that. But I also have a selfish motive.

He gently pinches my puffed-out cheeks and meets my gaze with a smile.

Lucien: [gently and sincerely] Just thinking about you watching me throughout the competition... it'll likely fill me with strength.

✂———————–

In the vast venue, a hundred chess players are seated at their tables, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Carl, the world champion.

The audience seats are already packed with hundreds of spectators, and the broadcasting equipment, along with the commentators, is set up and ready to go.

Feeling the solemn atmosphere, I shrink back a little and quickly walk over to the family seating area within the venue to sit down.

Host: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the International 3D Chess Championship!

Host: Here today, we have chess elites gathered from all around the globe.

Host: They have emerged from fierce preliminary rounds and will face Carl, the champion of the International 3D Chess Championship, in a head-to-head battle.

Just then, on the large screen suspended above the venue, a refined-looking man is waving and greeting the crowd below.

Host: Following the classic tournament rules, each player will have 120 minutes to make their first 40 moves, after which they will have another 60 minutes to complete the rest of the game.

Host: To ensure fairness and smooth progression, a team of referees will supervise the entire match.

Host: Please remain quiet during the match so that the players can concentrate.

Host: We hope you all enjoy this feast of intellect and strategy!

As the match bell rings, the first game appears on the big screen.

Carl opens with a knight's jump, using the black pieces. Time flows in silence for a long while before his opponent finally makes their move.

Just as the unfamiliar and complex cross-layer moves are starting to make my head spin, the game reaches Lucien's table.

Facing Carl's aggressive opening, Lucien doesn't panic. Calm and collected, he establishes his defensive formation.

I quietly note the position of his piece, trying to summon the knowledge I learned from playing classic chess with him in an effort to keep up with the game.

However, as the game progresses, I quickly become lost amidst the complexity of the situation.

Thankfully, that splash of cherry-red color always manages to blur out the world, allowing me to clearly see him every time I look up.

While waiting for his turn, Lucien leans back and intently watches the live screen, unlike the others who are engrossed in studying their own games.

[This passage implies that, unlike other players who are focused solely on their own games, Lucien is observing the matches on the live screen to study the world champion's strategies and gameplay. Also, this passage is an interesting parallel with how Lucien sees the world - to him, her color blurred the world around her, allowing him to see her clearly🥺]

Yet whenever it's his turn to make a move, he does it extremely quickly.

After a few rounds, players on the field are gradually eliminated and leave, but Lucien remains seated, his remaining time nearly equal to Carl's.

Most of the time, his expression remains calm, only occasionally does his brow and eyes curve slightly as if he's noticed some clever moves.

Even though he's far away, I feel like I can see that fascinating and captivating world through his eyes.

I gaze for a long time, so long that I only snap back to reality when Carl sits down opposite Lucien.

The stage is empty, and before I realize it, only that red figure remains.

The black and white sides are locked in a tense struggle, like a small battlefield. Pieces fell constantly, yet new attacks were relentlessly launched.

A hushed silence gradually spreads over the audience. Finally, the timer goes off, and the referee, who has been observing from the sidelines, rises to his feet.

He takes a step forward, waiting for Lucien to put down the piece in his hand, pick up a pen and write something, then seal the paper in an envelope.

As if on cue, the people around me rustle and leave. I instinctively get up as well, feeling puzzled, and head towards Lucien, who is also departing.

MC: Is the match over?

Lucien: Not yet, it's just that the official match time is up. Now the moves are sealed, and the match will resume in an hour.

MC: I see. So, what do you think?

Lucien: Although the situation is a bit tense right now, I've more or less deduced the strategy he'll likely use.

He narrows his eyes, looking like a smug little fox.

MC: Wow, I knew you were good, but I'm blown away that you've been able to hold your own against the world champion for so long…

Lucien: Would you mind holding onto that compliment until the 26th move and telling me again later, MC?

MC: Um?

I suddenly figured something out, and in that instant, I found the answer in those confident eyes.

Lucien: By then, I'll have won.

=[Part 2]=

Lucien wins.

At the 21st move in overtime, Carl topples his cornered king piece and concedes defeat.

It's not that I never thought he would win, but seeing Lucien standing on the podium, the clear reality of his victory washes over me along with the tide of applause.

I clap with extra force, wanting to convey all my heartfelt congratulations to him.

MC: Congratulations, grand champion!

As the award ceremony ends, after waiting by the side of the stage, I step forward and greet the person before me with a big hug.

An icy chill clings to him, yet the voice that falls upon my ear is incredibly gentle.

Lucien: [chuckles] I received all of MC's congratulations.

Lucien: Even though you were a bit far away, the way you clapped so enthusiastically was especially adorable, just like a little seal.

MC: Of course! As your girlfriend, I can't let myself be outdone by anyone else…

??: Mr. Lucien, congratulations.

A stranger's voice suddenly interrupts the conversation as Carl, dressed in a suit, walks over in surprise.

Carl: I'll always remember this match, I hope to see you again on the competition stage someday.

Lucien: Thank you, there will be a chance.

Lucien nods politely, and only after watching the other person disappear into the crowd does he speak, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Lucien: Was that Carl?

MC: Hmm? Even a superbrain like you can have face blindness?

Lucien: Perhaps I was too focused on the chessboard, so I didn't pay attention to his appearance.

Lucien: Besides, his clothes seem completely different from what he wore this afternoon.

Seeing him explain earnestly, I can't help but laugh.

MC: [laughs] If I were Carl, I think I would be more hurt that my opponent, whom I faced for half a day, doesn’t remember me than about losing the match.

MC: Speaking of which, you don't forget everyone you've played chess with, do you?

Lucien: [stunned as if hit by a memory of someone from his distant past] …

It’s as if something leaps into the depths of those dark eyes along with my words, and they suddenly blink quickly.

Lucien: Not quite everyone.

MC: Wow, if you remember someone, they must be really impressive!

Lucien: Not at all.

Lucien: In fact, on most of the days we've played, he couldn't even win a pack of biscuits.*

MC: So, about the same level as me then~

I can't help but curve my lips into a smile, and it seems as though my rising smile also slowly melts that touch of indifference.

Lucien: [chuckles] You're right, it's about the same level. But MC is special to me.

Lucien: Whether it's ‘biscuits', 'candy', or even 'unreasonable requests', you always manage to win them over in another way.

MC: [laughs happily] Hahaha, that friend of yours would probably think you're way too biased if he heard you say that!

Lucien smiles faintly as if my words allow him to vaguely picture that person before his eyes—

Fuzzy... distant... yet somehow a little vivid.

Lucien: Perhaps, but all of those are just assumptions.

MC: Even if they are assumptions, aren't they still based on deductions from the past?

I hook my finger around his, gently swaying our hands together.

MC: Even if the past may be gone, isn't there still “something” from it that continues to run through your life in different forms;

MC: Accompanying you as you pass by and meet many amazing, yet lovely and warm people?~

Lucien: Of course, I have never denied that.

It was as though an imperceptible wound within those profound eyes had been quietly mended, allowing a trace of a smile to escape.**

Wanting to keep that smile lingering for a while longer, I wrinkle my nose.

MC: But... I've clearly played chess with you too, and several different kinds! Yet the first person Professor Lucien thought of wasn't me!

Lucien: …

Seeing his eyes widen slightly, I smile with satisfaction.

MC: Hmph, looks like I need to work harder! In that case, I'll start by learning 3D chess!

I take the prize chessboard from Lucien's hands, giving it a gentle shake.

MC: Please teach me, Teacher Lucien.

✂———————–

[T/N]

*: the biscuits!!! I'm sobbing ;-;, turns out Lucien still remembers Fan Zihang/Zack so clearly... I hope we'll get another mention of Fan Zihang/Zack on his birthday too huhu.

**: I'm taking liberties in translating this one 😂. The original line is “那双幽深的眼瞳里似有道小小裂隙被悄悄填上,终于泄 出一点笑意。” which if literally translated it will be “In that pair of deep and dark eyes, it was as if a small crack had been quietly filled up, finally revealing a hint of a smile.”. The 'crack' can symbolize an unhealed wound from the past. As it gradually fills, this wound is slowly mending, allowing him to release some of his past burdens and letting a hint of joy show through his eyes. Or, you can also think of it as a frozen lake that slowly melts and reveals a small crack, allowing the sunlight to fill in and showing what's in the water all this time (there's happiness from those past memories too).

Next: Part 3 & 4-> [Here]

[callhermyname]

you're not going | e.m. x reader - prologue

summary: you and Eddie meet for the first time (a few weeks before the start of s1);

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: MDNI!! mostly fluff, just a tiny bit of angst, reader is Dustin's cousin, mentions of absent father, postpartum depression, parents death, self-esteem issues, bullying (let me know if I missed anything).

a/n: HEY so this is my first fic ever so even if it's absolute garbage pls be nice to me😭 also sorry for any grammar mistakes english is not my first language. this is supposed to be the start of a s4 rewrite series, so if you want more please like this post, reblog and let me know what you think. hope u enjoy it!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You've been living at aunt Claudia's since you were 14. After your mom died, you had nowhere else to go — you can't even remember the last time your dad was in the picture, so when your aunt took you in, you kinda felt thankful that you got to start over, have a fresh start in another town, away from your old life (that you hated). You were still grieving, but aunt Claudia was always very sweet and caring, and soon after you moved in you started to see Dustin as the little brother you never had. It felt a little weird at first — even though your mother did her best, she never really liked the situation you were both in. She never planned to have kids, at least not before graduating from college, especially if it meant being a single mom at such a young age, so you couldn't really blame her for drowning in postpartum depression after you were born until she passed away. So, when her older sister took you in, you didn't expect for her to be so different from your mom, so caring, so gentle, so loving, such a good mom for Dustin and now to you too. 

When you first got to Hawkins, you didn't really have any friends besides your 11 year old cousin. One of his friends had a sister about your age — Mike's sister, Nancy — but, although she was always nice to you, you never really quite hit it off. She was sweet, but you didn't have a lot in common and her friends could be really mean. Will's brother, Jonathan, was always very shy and quiet, never really made conversation and you were definitely not the kind of person to force social interaction with someone that obviously didn't care for it, so you just kept it to yourself for most of the first year you spent at Hawkins.

A couple of weeks before Will went missing, Nancy was picking Mike up at your place and invited you to a party at her boyfriend's house. Your aunt overheard the conversation and was very excited to see you were making friends, so you decided to go just so she wouldn't worry about you being an absolute loser. You were always quite self-conscious of your appearance so it took some time to pick out an outfit, but you finally settled for something comfy and not that flashy, but flattering: your best Queen shirt under your favorite jeans overalls and a flannel and your only pair of shoes — basic black chuck taylors.

It was late October and the air was chilly, wind blowing through your hair and cutting your face like tiny little blades as you rode your bike to Steve Harrington's house, hoping to god Nancy was already there so you wouldn't be alone and awkward. You could already hear the music from two blocks away, and when you got to the front door, Nancy was waiting for you with her friend Barb. You knew Barb from school, you took English together, but didn't really talk about anything not school related, but she seemed nice. 

"You made it! I was already getting worried you wouldn't show up" Nancy greeted you. "You know Barb, right?"

"Yeah, hey Barb" you agreed and Barb nodded. "Sorry it took me so long to get here, my bike has seen better days…"

"It's fine, don't worry. Let's get in, I'll show you around. You can leave your bike at the back of the garage, outside of the backyard fence."

You left your bike where Nancy told you to and followed her into the house as she showed you where the bathroom was, stumbling over people coming in and out of the house, up and down the stairs. The house was so crowded, it felt like people were coming out of the walls. When she led you to the back of the house, she sat down by the pool and introduced you to her boyfriend and his friends, who were around the pool. 

From the start, you felt out of place. Steve and his friends didn't know you, but you already knew them. It was ridiculous to you how those people had made fun of you more than once at school but did not remember your face when Nancy introduced you as her friend. Maybe because you weren't wearing your big squared glasses, or because you tried something different with your hair? It didn't really matter anyways. At least they were not making fun of you. Poor Barb wasn't so lucky — they gave her a really hard time, and Nancy was just completely powerless over the situation, too afraid to say anything to try and defend her friend. After an hour, Barb got fed up and left, leaving you alone with Nancy and those assholes who were absolutely wasted and wouldn't shut up about playing spin the bottle or truth or dare.

"Come on, what are you, twelve?" Steve protested, "We're not kids man, that's just boring."

"You're absolutely right Harrington. But, we could spice it up, ya know?" Tommy offered, trying to convince Steve to play the game "For every truth or dare you refuse to tell or do, you have to take a shot of tequila. What do you say, Harrington? Wanna get absolutely wasted?"

Next thing you know, you were excusing yourself to go to the bathroom while at least 10 people were gathering around forming a circle on the floor of Steve's backyard. You didn't really need to use the bathroom, you just needed to cool off a little before getting hammered — you were NOT about to tell any truths or do any dares around these people you barely knew. Before you could go back outside, you got yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. As you threw away the red plastic cup, now empty, you heard a conversation through the kitchen window that headed to the backyard.

"So, can we start the game already?"

"Wait, where's Wheeler's  friend?"

"Barb left like, half an hour ago, Carol" you heard Nancy reply.

"No, not the chubby one, the other one, the weird one with the ugly hair."

"I think she needed to use the bathroom…?"

"Oh my god do you think she's like, brushing her teeth or something? Thinking someone's gonna want to kiss her?" Carol laughed.

"We better not wait for her then, I do NOT want to spin the bottle and end up having to kiss that weird ass bitch!" Tommy said, getting a good laugh out of everyone.

Your eyes teared up as you backed away from the window, thinking about what to do. You thought you could just sneak out and go home, cry yourself to sleep, but then you remembered you had left your bike chained up by the backyard fence. There was no way you could get your bike without anyone noticing you sneaking out. Fuck, you knew you should've stayed home reading something or watching TV.

Since you couldn't go home without your bike, you decided to wait until everyone was back inside. It couldn't take that long, you thought, it was freezing out there. But you couldn't stay inside either. Not by yourself. So, you walked over to the front door and opened it, feeling the cold air hit your cheeks. You walked out of the house and into the woods beside the house, where you could still see the backyard, but would be out of sight, a little further from the backyard fence and hidden in the dark shadow of the trees that surrounded the Harrington's property. Once you were settled, seated on the ground, you bursted into tears. Hot, salty tears running through your face as you sobbed, hating everything about yourself, hating the fact that, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't escape the fact that you were always different. Not in an obvious way — you didn't have that much of a fashion sense that was bold enough to earn dirty looks from old ladies —, but sometimes you felt like you didn't feel things the same way other people did. You felt fragile, small, vulnerable, like you were exposed all the time. It made you feel like shit.

You were so quiet, you couldn't help but to jump out when you heard footsteps behind you and then something snapping, like someone had stepped on a branch or something. You turned around wide eyed, heart pounding, just to see a silhouette standing behind you, holding a little metal lunchbox. It was a boy, shaggy curly hair down to right below his earlobes, Iron Maiden shirt, leather jacket and denim vest, dark loose jeans and heavy black boots.

"Dude, what the fuck" you panted, trying to not look as spooked and jumpy as you were "where did you came from?"

"Shit, sorry" he said, trying to hold back his laughter "didn't mean to scare ya, normally i don't run by anyone when i take this shortcut, though it has been a while since i actually used this shortcut — see, i usually drive mostly everywhere, but i ran out of gas money for the month and i thought 'hey, i could actually use a little walk through the woods to cool my head off a little' so i just decided to- whoa, wait, are you crying? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to scare you like that!" he stopped his rambling when he noticed you were drying your tears with the sleeve of your jacket.

"No, it's not- really, i'm fine" you panicked, noticing he seemed a little hurt by your reaction "i was already crying before you- sorry, it wasn't you, i'm fine don't worry"

He walked over to you and sat down beside you, a concerned look on his face.

"I don't wanna be nosy or anything, I know you don't really know me" he started, you now realizing you did recognise him from school, how could you not? He's always drawing attention to himself "but you can talk to me if you want. I'm guessing you were at Harrington's party? Everyone down there sitting at that circle in the backyard is kinda known for being a pain in the ass"

"What gave it away?" you brushed off your tears, slightly smiling at his comment "Just didn't wanna play truth or dare with… you know, those guys. But it seems they were glad I didn't join them, so they wouldn't have to kiss me if someone decided to play spin the bottle" 

"Wait, what?" he seemed surprised "They told you that?"

"Not exactly" you explained "I was at the kitchen and overheard someone saying that outside, so i bailed"

"What are you still doing here then?- Oh, I'm Eddie, by the way." he introduced himself, shaking your hand as you introduced yourself.

You explained the whole situation to him and he offered to keep you company until you could get your bike back and go home. After an hour of nonsense conversation filled with Eddie's dramatic sense of humor, you actually got to know each other a little bit. He told you about his band and how he really liked Lord of the Rings and fantasy RPG.

"I'm not really a huge fan of fantasy books" you shared, causing him to gasp, as he was offended by your comment.

"How dare you? Are you not a huge fan of happiness too? Or maybe you hate puppies and ice cream?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "How can you not like the only way to escape this boring non-fictional world we are FORCED to live in?"

"Hey, don't get me wrong, I do like fiction. Just not... fantasy fiction."

"So what do you like then?"

"I really enjoy science fiction."

"What, like androids and shit?"

"No, not that kind of science fiction. I mean science fiction like... Clockwork Orange, or Flowers for Algernon."

"Oh so you're a nerd too!" he teased "I was almost buying all that 'not a nerd' act, but you're into Kubrick? That's so nerdy!"

"You do know Stanley Kubrick didn't write the book right?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

Once he started to talk about music, he just couldn't stop talking for a second. He told you about his band, and you felt as if he was the first person to ever understand your passion for music. After another 30 minutes or so of energetic conversation about how much you both liked 70s rock, he ended up telling you he only attended this kind of party to sell some weed and make a quick buck.

"Don't get me wrong, i fucking hate these people" he explained himself "but they ARE in fact my biggest costumers. Guess daddy's money might not be enough for them to feel loved, but it does buy whatever else they need to feel better about themselves. So, they always make sure I'm 'invited' to every party they want me to bring my little lunchbox to."

"Yeah, that makes sense i guess" you agreed, turning your head over to the backyard, people already heading inside due to the cold. You felt your heart sink, even though all you've been wanting was to take your bike and leave. You were actually really enjoying getting to talk to Eddie.

"Well, i guess this is it" he said, noticing as you watched everyone getting into the house "now you can go home and not listen to me and my rambling about whatever it is i was talking about. Hell, even i can't remember what the hell i was talking about most of the time" he laughed. 

"To be honest, it wasn't that bad" you laughed back "it was definitely better than spin the bottle!"

He chuckled, helping you get up and unchain your bike from the fence, giving you a dorky smile as you hopped up on your bike. 

"Well, I better get back to work huh? Got a lot of customers waiting on me" he gestured to the house as you secured your helmet under your chin.

"Yeah, I better get back home too. My aunt refuses to go to sleep until i get home safe, don't wanna keep her waiting"

"So, I guess I'll see you at school, huh?" he shifted at his feet and kicked the ground, stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his vest.

"Yeah, if there's any seats left for another nerd at your table for lunch" you chuckled awkwardly, looking at your feet.

"For a pretty one like you? Always."

You exchanged an awkward look and smiled at each other again, and with that you followed your way back home, feeling hopeful about how the next few weeks would play out. You thought you had finally found someone you could trust and spend time with, someone who got you — a friend.

For the next week or so, you and Eddie hung out a lot. Finally, you had someone you could call a friend, and things seemed to be going not so bad for the first time in months. He would always save you a seat at the table at lunch and walk you to your classes, he would even give you a ride every once in a while, when his van was not running out of gas. It was something you could get used to — at least until a couple of weeks later, when you, Nancy, Jonathan and Steve ended up trauma bonding over setting a demogorgon on fire. After that, your life had (literally) turned upside down and you didn't hang out with Eddie that much anymore. As the years went by, you would hang out more with Steve and Robin once Nancy and Jonathan started dating. You would still talk to Eddie though, just... not like you talked to your other friends. They were the only ones who actually understood what you were going through, and — even though you missed his company — it would be selfish to tell Eddie everything and drag him into that nightmare. Until of course, the nightmare caught up to him.

[softspaceboibrian]

Fell in Love with the Fire Long Ago || Jamie Tartt

Chapters: 1 - more to come

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Y/N - Social Media Manager for AFC Richmond || I used she/her pronouns, but there is no actual physical description, so the pronouns can be switched with whatever anyone wants or prefers!

Summary: When Y/N received that email, she couldn't believe it. He was coming back.

Warnings: maybe some swear words. hints and mentions of sexual acts (still SFW). S1 Jamie Tartt aka a dick. a little angsty. Sam being is lovable self.

Characters: Jamie Tartt, Sam Obisanya, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes, Dani Rojas, Ted Lasso, Rebecca Welton. Some others may appear as mentions.

Wc: 3800 (this works as a pilot or a prologue, to set up the story)

A/N: this story is based on this idea I had and that a few people seemed to like. hopefully you enjoy this first chapter/prologue. and if you want to read more, feel free to leave a comment. If enough people like it, I was thinking to do a taglist, so that people can stay updated. anyways, thanks for reading <;3

When you first heard the news, you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that they could do such a thing. Not to the team, not to you. That was the reason you were stomping up the stair, the clinking of your heels echoing against the walls, as you reached Rebecca’s office.

You didn’t knock, you didn’t wait for them to welcome you in. They knew you were coming. Especially after the email they had sent out. The email had been sent only to the “necessary” people that needed to be involved, and you, being the social media manager for the club, received it. It was probably a way for them to warn you to start preparing the content for the announcement. But you obviously didn’t take it well. They knew about your history, they knew how things had gone down. They had to be expecting you.

“How could you?” Your loud, clear voice, full of anger and disappointment filled the room.

“Good morning, Y/N!” Ted’s cheerful greeting made you want to scream. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” The sarcasm was obvious.

“How could you? After what he did to the team? After what he said about you?” Your tone was loud, so much so that you were sure people from downstairs could clearly hear every single one of your words. “How could you?��� You choked on your last words, and as you finally met Rebecca’s gaze, you could feel the familiar sting of the tears that threatened to fall, spill, pour.

The woman sighed, getting up from her chair to make her way around the big desk. “Listen, love, he’s a great player. When Ted told me about their talk, I knew we had to get him back.” She explained, walking over to her. “We cannot let our feelings get in the way of the team’s success.”

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I never thought you would become this cynical.”

“I’m not cynical, just rational.”

“It’s all the same thing. He’s a prick. And pricks don’t change.” You were furious. “And it’s not just my feelings, but the team’s feelings. But you obviously don’t remember how he used to treat everyone.” You lingered on that last word, looking briefly at each of them, before turning around and making your way out of the office and down the stairs. “No one understands.” You whisper, your fists so tight you started to feel that burning sensation of your nails leaving marks on your palms.

Keeping your head low, trying to hide the tears streaming down your face, you made your way to the changing room. You knew you couldn’t say anything to any of the boys yet, but still, you needed some comfort. You needed Sam.

You quickly reached the locker room and knocked, waiting for them to give you a sign to let you know you could come in. And, as soon as you opened the door, you ran straight to Sam, immediately burying your face in his chest.

“Hey, Y/N/N. What is going on?” His thick Nigerian accent immediately bringing comfort to you. “Did something happen?” He asked as he tried to pull away slightly, trying to understand what was happening.

“Just… hug me… please.” You pled, the voice muffled by his jersey. And he did. He wrapped his arms around you, softly placing a kiss on top of your head, before laying his chin in the same spot. You’re immediately comforted by the warmth of your best friend’s embrace. However, you didn’t fail to notice how the familiar chatter of the changing room had started to slowly simmer down until it ultimately came to a halt. A sense of pain and anxiety washed over you at once, and your head started again to fill with the same questions you had asked Rebecca and Ted. Why? Why him? Why now? How could they?

But soon, your stream of thoughts was interrupted by Isaac’s voice. “Who do we have to kill?” You didn’t need to raise your head from Sam’s chest to know that the feeling was shared by most if not all the team’s players.

“No one. Yet.” You mumbled, sniffling. “It’s complicated.” You added as you finally pulled away from Sam, yet still remaining extremely close to him, as if his presence was the only thing keeping you sane and calm at that moment.

“When the moment comes, just call, okay?” You gave a quick nod to the team captain, accompanied by a shy smile. To any casual passer-by, the comment may have seemed sarcastic, the usual banter between friends that care about each other. But the team knew that that was not sarcastic at all and that Isaac would indeed, without a shadow of a doubt, kill someone for you.

You couldn’t exactly remember when, but somewhere down the line, the team had become your chosen family. However, you could clearly remember how that process had started.

You had started working for AFC Richmond around the same time that Ted and Coach Beard did. You didn’t care much for football or sports in general, but you had just recently graduated from university and had found this work through Keeley. You and her had met at your cousin’s going away party a few years before, when he had decided to move to Greece to become an archaeologist. You had immediately bonded over who can even remember what, and remained close friends ever since. So, when she heard that the position had just opened up, she immediately sent your CV to Rebecca, without warning you first. You found out about the job only when you received a call from a certain Mr Higgins, who told you that they had read your curriculum and found it really interesting. And so, you ended up moving to Richmond-upon-Thames and started working for the club.

It didn’t take you long to get to know the team and become friends with them. Obviously, you had your prejudices against footballers, who you thought were self-centred egomaniacs – and you weren’t completely wrong about that – but, to your surprise, most of them turned out to be great people. You quickly became very close with Sam; Roy tolerated you; Isaac and Colin were always kind to you. Even Jamie Tartt, the prick of the team, would usually drop his dickhead persona when he was with you. And that was how you two ended up together. For the first month or so, you would notice his constant flirting, but you never really gave it too much thought. You had read about him in the tabloids, and you knew how he was famous for having a different girl every week. You weren’t that oblivious, you knew he was fit. But, every time he would flirt with you, you would play along for a while, before brushing it off and going back to your business. I’m just his latest challenge, he will move on sooner or later, you thought. Until, roughly a month and a half after you had started working there: he started waiting for you outside the clubhouse, asking you if you needed a ride home. Which then turned into him asking you to grab a coffee with him one day before practice. Then it was dinners. Movie nights at his place. Stolen glances in the hallways of the clubhouse. Sneaking in the boot room to secretly make out. And sooner than you could realise, you were sleeping over at his place most of the time.

You asked him to keep things private for a while. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of him. You just needed to be sure about him. So, you kept sneaking around. Avoiding each other as much as possible, too worried that the team might just figure it out. Let me show you off, Jamie would whisper into your ear, in-between wet kisses, as he stood behind you in the kitchen in the morning, wrapping his arms around your waists. Let me take you out to a restaurant, on a proper date, he insisted. But you kept declining his offers. Not yet, baby, you would reply, as you slowly melted under his touch, I need a little more time, you said as you turned around in his arms. And the conversation would die there, with Jamie immediately picking you up and placing you on top of the kitchen counter, his lips trailing their way down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, down, down, until your vision turned hazy and you had to grip onto the marble countertop with all the strength you had in your body, too afraid you might fall off of it, as his lips met finally met your core.

You were able to keep your relationship private longer than you had expected. It was after almost 4 weeks that Nate eventually walked in on you two in the boot room. You weren’t doing anything too private, you were merely making out. But Nate being Nate, froze on his feet as he saw you two holding onto each other, too stunned to move. I was… I needed to… sorry… I didn’t…. As usual, he was too embarrassed to form a complete sentence, so he simply left the room. You two looked at each other and knew that it was only a matter of time before your secret would be out. And you were right. The secret didn’t last the entire day, and when it was time to go home after practice, you were met by a horde of football players, asking you when it had started, how long had that been going on, if you two were official, and so on.

Somehow, but still not completely unexpectedly, the news reached the press in less than a day. The next morning, as you lied in bed with Jamie’s head on your chest, you were woken up by the constant buzzing of your phone. Check this article from The Sun, said a message from your high school friend, with a link attached to it. Is it true? Asked your mother. Congratulations! read the message from your aunt from whom you hadn’t heard in ages. And the messages kept coming. Yes, it was true. You were now in a relationship. Yes, your boyfriend was a famous footballer. Yes, you knew about his fame. Still, you didn’t care. Because, when Jamie was with you, he wasn’t Jamie Tartt, star striker for AFC Richmond, but just Jamie. And you loved just Jamie. He was sweet, he was passionate, he was kind, he always made sure you were feeling well, he brought you flowers once a week, he left some coffee for you in the pot in the mornings, he always made sure you were sexually satisfied – something he was really proud of.

Sadly, you hadn’t realised that, with going public, also came the hate from his fans, who thought that you would be too distracting for their beloved favourite player, and from the girls, the actresses, the top models, the reality tv stars, who had hoped to one day end up with him and whose dream you had shattered overnight. You pulled through it, and that was also thanks to Jamie, who never missed the chance to remind you how much he loved you and cared for you.

However, two months after going public, things started to change. You couldn’t understand why if it was something that you had done or said, but he started to become distant, cold. He would invite you less and less over to his place, and when he did, it was mainly to have sex, to ‘release the tension from practice’. And whenever the team lost, the sex would be rough. He was always on his phone, texting, dming, emailing. A part of you knew it was girls he was talking to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him about it, so you just said nothing and held on. He soon stopped asking you how you were, telling you how much he loved you. You tried asking him what was going on, but he would always deny everything, saying that you were imagining things, that you were just paranoid, and that everything was fine. Fine. Oh, how you came to hate that word. You asked him how he was. Fine. You asked him if he wanted to spend the night together. Fine. You asked him if he wanted to drive to the clubhouse together. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. You hated fine. In Jamie’s language, fine meant if you really have to, or I would rather you left me alone, or I don’t really care. You hated it. And you hated what your relationship had become. But still, something stopped you from leaving him, maybe the hope that soon things would go back to normal, that soon he would go back to being just Jamie.

But that never happened.

And things only got worse when Ted decided to take him out during a match. You knew that Ted was doing it to teach him a lesson, and he was right to want to do so. But as you watched your boyfriend leave the pitch, you knew things would only get worse. So, you stopped constantly looking for him. You stopped texting him every day. You only met when he asked you.

It was in that period that you grew closer to Sam. You could distinctly remember the day he walked into your office to ask you for a few suggestions on how to make his Instagram page more appealing. Instead walked in on you sitting on the floor, with your back against the wall and your hands in your hair. You didn’t even have the strength to pretend things were okay, so you simply looked up, black lines scarring your cheeks, and met his eyes. “Sorry, Sam, it’s… not a great moment.” You struggled to get the words out.

But Sam didn’t say anything. Instead, he closed the door behind him, made his way across the room and took a seat on the floor next to you. “Is it Jamie?” He asked with his thick Nigerian accent that you would grow to love and even find familiar. You nodded silently. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. “Do we just sit in silence?” A nod. A beat. Then your head slowly fell to the side, until it found its resting place on his shoulder.

You don’t exactly know how long you stayed there, on the floor, in silence. It could have been a few minutes or entire hours. In either case, Sam stayed there, and didn’t leave your side. He never once took out his phone to check his messages, even though you could feel it buzzing in his pocket. He only changed position once, to move his arm and wrap it around your shoulders. That was the first time you had spent that much time in silence with someone without feeling the need to fill it with superficial chatter.

From that day forward, you and Sam were inseparable. There was something about him that simply brought you comfort, a comfort that not even Jamie had been able to give you. Whenever you weren’t sleeping over at Jamie’s, he would come to pick you up and drive you to work. He would drive you home in the evenings, making sure you were all the way inside your house, before sprinting off the road to go home himself. You would start having lunch together, usually joined by some of the other guys – in all of this, most of the time Jamie was nowhere to be found. And whenever your boyfriend acted like a dick with you in front of everyone, he would speak up. Are you his boyfriend now, Sammy? Jamie would mock him, using your nickname for him. I don’t think so. She’s me girl, so I’ll talk to her how I want, a’ight? He would puff out his chest, trying to look bigger and intimidating.

That evening, after practice was over, Jamie sprinted off to who knows where or to who knows who, leaving you there, alone. And, as per usual, Sam would come to the rescue, offering you a lift home.

“Why are you still with him?” Sam asked you as he stopped in front of your house. “You deserve better, not an asshole like him.”

You shook your head. “He’s not like that when it’s just the two of us.” You would always find a way to make excuses for him.

“I don’t care how he is when he’s alone with you, Y/N! If he really loves you, he should treat you well in public as well!” You had never really heard Sam raising his voice before, and it would have been a lie if you had said that you were not intimidated. But, despite everything, you could feel the care and preoccupation in his voice. “You deserve someone that truly cares for you, and that isn’t afraid to show it!” You knew he was right. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say something, to break up with him.

But you never had to.

It was maybe a week after your discussion with Sam when you showed up unannounced at his place. It was cold outside, and you were only wearing a thick jumper. You stood there, in front of his door for at least three whole minutes, before finally knocking on his door. You knocked instead of ringing the bell so that if he was already asleep, you wouldn’t wake him. But he had heard it, and less than 10 seconds later, he was opening the door.

“Y/N, what are you-” He didn’t even finish his question. He took one look at you and knew exactly what had happened. He took your hand gently in his, and immediately pulled you inside, guiding you to the living room. “Wait here a moment.” He said, making you seat on the couch, before running off in search of a blanket. “Okay, wrap yourself in this while I put the kettle on.” He opened the blanket and put it around your shoulders.

“Stay here, please.” You whispered, grabbing him by the wrist before he could move away again.

“But you’re shivering.”

“Just… please.”

As soon as he met your eyes once again, he felt his heart drop to his stomach. He had seen you in distress before, he had comforted you multiple times after your fights with Jamie. But this time he didn’t even need for you to tell him what had happened, he already knew. He took a seat next to you, fixing the blanket so that it was properly covering your entire body, before pulling you to his chest.

“He said that I was too much work.” The words left your mouth watery. “That I asked too much of him. And that, since he was going back to Man City, it was better to call it quits.” You whispered. You could feel Sam’s body tense, the air blowing through his nose. You knew he wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to tell you that he was a dickhead, that he never realised what he had in front of him, that he had just lost the best woman he could ever find, that he was a moron, a jerk, an idiot, a fool. But he didn’t. He remained silent. And he did the best he could to comfort you. He stroke your hair and your back, he rocked you and hummed to you, until you fell asleep.

After that night, it didn’t take long for the rest of the team to find out what had happened, and how it had happened. Every single one of the boys sent you a text, saying, each in their own way, that they were sorry, that Jamie was a dick, and that they were there for you if you needed them. And you were glad to know so many people cared for you, people that up until a few months ago didn’t even know you and that you would have never expected in your life to end up being friends with. They all stopped and hugged you when they met you in the corridor for the first time after it had happened. But some of them surprised you.

You hadn’t been able to sleep for the last few nights, which was made obvious to everyone by the way you dragged your feet against the floor whenever you walked around the clubhouse, your legs too heavy for your exhausted body to properly move. You had also stopped taking care of yourself. Yes, you showered and brushed your teeth because you hated not being presentable for work. But you had stopped brushing your hair every morning and every night, like your grandmother had thought you when you were little. And you had stopped wearing make-up. Not that you would normally put on a full face every day, but you stopped using mascara because it made your eyes burn whenever you cried, and the light concealer you used under your eyes to make yourself look fresher, more awake. And now your puffy red eyes and dark circles were there, on display, for everyone to see, a reminder of how you were feeling.

That morning you had opted for a very comfortable pair of sweatpants and a warm AFC Richmond hoodie. Using supportiveness as a way to hide your depression. Smart, you thought. Sad. You were sitting in your office, alone, working on the new social media campaign, when suddenly you heard someone knock on your door. “Come in.” You said flatly. As the door opened, you looked up from your laptop, only to see Sam walk in, followed by Isaac, Colin and Dani. “How can I help you, boys?” You forced a smile on your face.

“Want to watch a movie with us tonight?” Asked Isaac, taking the lead. You looked at the quartet in front of you, unsure of what to say. “We can watch whatever sad movie you prefer, and Dani can bring some Mezcal.”

“Boys, I-” You started, but you were instantly cut off.

“Uh-uh!” The Welsh stepped forward. “We don’t want to hear any I’d rather be alone or I don’t want to be a bother bullshit, okay? We want to do this.”

“Yes, we only asked to be nice, but if you say no, we will just kidnap you and force you to do it.” Said Sam, a soft, warm smile on his face, as he leaned over your desk.

“Por favor, Y/N” Dani pled, showing you his big, brown puppy eyes.

“Fine!” You gave in. “On one condition: we order Chinese.”

They all look at each other, before bursting out laughing.

A/N: if you read all the way through, thank you ! feel free to leave a feedback/comment. i would love to know what you think about it and if you would be interested in reading more of this story. let me know if you would like to be put in a taglist for this fic! love you <3

[dasketcherz]

the tomb raider post kinda got me thinking!! what if, as a sort of prologue to vat7k, varian and raps went on an exploration of corona's depths together, yknow just for old times sake!! 🤭 (i kinda imagine this to be a multi-episode ordeal mhm yep 🙂‍↕️)

and thats where they would end up discovering the light trial and/or the deactivated portal to the enternal library?? :0 (if it is the light trial, i like the idea of varian and raps potentially competing it together) they would likely ask xavier if he has any knowledge of this (spolier alert: he does lol)

its this lil adventure with raps that would kickstart varian's journey across the seven kingdoms :)

ohhh!! this is actually a really cool idea!! :0 like how the curiosity started from corona and ends in corona, i fw that a lot!! gotta love a full-circle moment in storytelling <3 like OKAY OKAY YOU GOT MY GEARS TURNING SO!!! HERE WE GO, HERES MY THOUGHTS!

altho, as much as i love the notion of freckled siblings figurine out the light trial together (it's a cute thought for sure), i think varian already solving one of the trials at the very beginning before his journey even starts (or even finding out that his mom was a scientist) kinda kills the momentum of building and hyping up the mystery surrounding what they just found in the depths of corona was (the portal) imo?

(Like I imagine Demanitus must have designed some of the trials in a way that you cant proceed to the next one without the previous totem(s) in hand, like the totems itself becomes an inclusive puzzle piece to solve the other trials and that according to ulla's research the first trial is the fire trial, not the light trial—i think this would elevate how crucial it is to follow the trials step by step to even get to the library)

So instead, I'd personally go for a scene akin to Raps and Varian perhaps needing to clear the underground tunnels of corona for business related reason. Like they initially went down there to re-purpose the tunnels for smth useful again (like this could be the perfect fill-in-the-gaps on how they extended the hot running water system that was located under old corona all the way to the capital to put more context to new dream's voice over in the finale of the show mentioning how corona altogether became the first to have hot running water in the 7 kingdoms) and they just decided to have fun and treat it like an adventure while on the job as queen and royal engineer cuz they are sillies like that.

And amidst of just having fun, thats how they accidentally stumble across an area that, to their surprise, was not familiar to both of them. And Varian can say "Huh...I've retraced our steps around this tunnels before (when he came back down there to fetch the automaton and replicate it during his villain arc behind the scenes, cuz I love subtle callbacks thats naturally brought up in a scene) but I've never come across this area. I didn't even know there was another passage down here."

And it could have totally shared heavy similarities to the structure of the passage beneath the vault from s1

Except it looked far more aged with time than the one from the show and thats how the two figured this is different from the one below the vault.

And has a similar center piece that resembles the one from the show

except it's much wider and bigger with an unassuming decrepit arch (that looked withered out or unfinished/destroyed to freckled sibling's opinion) at the middle surrounded by pillars (thats meant for the gang to place the totems that will power the portal back on after they retrieve all seven of it) Something like this:

And there are letters (similar alphabet from the demanitus scroll) carved in the arch. Knowing this dead ancient language by memory, Varian tries to read what it says and its a cryptic passage that def reads like smth you'd find in a mythology to freckled siblings. Hence them going to Xavier askin about it later on if it rings any bells to him, to which indeed he recognize the passage and tells them it's talking about the legend of the eternal library—but Xavier claims that the legend itself is very vague about how to even get there, the only clear instruction was retrieving the totems.

Plus I like to think Varian needs the blueprint for this portal just like he did in s3 to figure what specific parts he needs to assemble it back into functioning condition because this is Demanitus we're talking about, that man is paranoid af (pretty valid considering the kind of shit he's tampered with during his lifetime) and leave everything he knows in form of riddles and cryptic messages.

And the only other copy in existence of said blueprint—is in Ulla's journal and she had it laid out in the very last spread pages of her book. And that's the moment it finally clicks to Varian what the answer to "where's the entrance and how to find it" question is, "Hold on... I've seen this arch. Wait...oh, OH—OF COURSE! OH IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW—guys guys!! I know where the portal to the library is!!"

and boom, thats how it comes full circle in my head. thank you for coming to my ted talk (bows)

[vestaclinicpod]

Audio Drama Sunday - 10th November ✨

I found time to listen to a variety of shows this week and enjoyed them so much!!

🌲 @hellofromthehallowoods (172) AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! So many character returns this week!!! I don’t want to ruin the wonderful surprise by saying names but !!!! !!! !!!!!!!! We are SO BACK BABY. Also it was so interesting to more of an insight into how The Count’s powers work! … Does the Countess have this too?? 

🧳 Travelling Light @monstrousproductions (40) ohhh this season finale delivered everything I could have wanted 😭 I adored the Traveller / Óli reunion and the fact that they’re now going to travel together as I was so worried this was going to be goodbye and I don’t think my heart could have handled it. As an owner of green cord dungarees, let me tell you, I am feeling so smug in my fashion choices right now hehe. What a lovely farewell to the Tola and S1 - I can’t wait for more ❤️

🎙️WTNV (257) Such a fun episode, I always love hanging out with the men who are neither short nor tall. I also loved the return of the of the Kia Sportage joke - had to explain to my friends in a quiet cinema why I was giggling so much at the pre-film trailers when they were advertised the other week. 

🧋@hinaypod (22-23) Damn, what a story. I didn’t think that the Elders had truly been at war but it certainly seems that way!! Turning everyone you know into a puppet except your girl crush is wild behaviour 😭😂

🥾 @doyoucopypod (205-207) ooooof not the confessions of love right before a cave collapse - yikes. And Blair and Sarah never got to work it out ☹️

🍾 @ameliapodcast (33) Alvina backstory!!!!! I truly love her. I am Amelia, I see an insane woman and I just have to have her on the team. Every scene they’re in together makes me so happy and I kind of love that they’re in a cellar getting drunk while the Interviewer is in the air in a plane full of bugs. 

🌨️ @thewhitevault (12) This show continues to be SO good. I felt something off about the new Iffie immediately. Just thinking about it sends a shiver down my spine. Who/what is she?? 

🎃 Waiting For October by @monkeymanproductions (Prologue + 1) This is such a fun world already! I knew I’d love Charlene and she did not disappoint hehe. So fun to hear so many familiar voices again and I’m so excited to see where this tale leads! 

Have a lovely week, everyone!!

[roriaa]

When Sun and Moon meet - S1

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

Warnings: None

Masterlist

҉ * ‧͙ ⋆ ⁺ ༓ ☾ Prologue

“We announce the birth of a healthy girl…Princess Y/N!” Chief Arnook announced as the crowd cheered for their new princes alongside Yue. What the crowd didn't know was the difficulties of even keeping her a healthy princess. Once the baby was born, she couldn't stop wailing and crying. It was like every bone of her body was in pain. All the medical help didn't do anything, they didnt know why the Chief’s daughter was in so much pain. Yagoda suggests going to the Spirit Oasis, it's their only chance. Chief Arnook sweats as well as his wife, as if they're bound to be unlucky for every life they give. The royal parents of this princess used the same technique as they did with their previous daughter. Dipping her in the Spirit Oasis while praying for her life to the moon spirit, the color of the girl's hair turned from brown to a graceful white. Silent cheers and cries as they held their newest child close to them, happy the moon spirit gave another one of their daughters a second chance.

“Stop touching the edge of your coat” My mother instructed as she pulled my hand from the cuffs. I whined but one stern look from my mother stopped me. I huffed as I stood up straight leaning more so to my sister, Yue who took my hand graciously. In books and stories becoming a princess sounds like a dream. You have money, attention and you could do whatever you want. Everything is accurate except the last one, I couldn't do everything I wanted. I had to be restrained to the guards and my parents eye, even Yue doesnt get this treatment as much as I do. However I forgot to mention how I even got into strict confinement in the first place. “What are you doing?” My father grabbed my hand making the water orb splash at both of our feet. “She's a water bender…” My mom whispered as my dad's eyes widened. “Y/N…” He spoke softly as he held both of my shoulders in a kindly manner. “Do not water bend, it's not allowed for people like you”. I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at him confused. He sighed as he took my hand. “Y/N, where we live only men are allowed to use waterbending, that's their job…to protect” My father shows me to the boys training their bending. “Especially people like you and your sister, you're both very important to this nation”. I didn't listen, it's not like I didn't understand what he was saying, I just didnt understand why it had to be like this. I zoned off as I saw the male benders. Envying that they can use their gift while I couldn't use mine. I snapped out of my zoned out space with a little pinch given by my sister. I flinched lightly as she slightly giggled earning a hush from our mother. I don't understand us needing to come to these royalty meetings, neither Yue and I are close to 16. Well she is closer to 16 by what? 6 years? That's still a whole 6 years till 16! I'm only younger than Yue by a year, however people treat me like a polar bear dog, cooing at me constantly for doing the littlest task while Yue gets treated so much more maturely. Some might say I have it easier but honestly I just feel dumb. Once the meeting ended we respectfully bowed and got up following our father. I held back my yawn as I saw the now night sky, looking how beautiful the moon is. ҉ ☾ I woke up in the middle of the night, groaning as I looked at the moon. I brush through my tangled hair with my hand while walking outside near the river. Is anyone there? I internally thought as I scavenged the area to see if there were any witnesses. I double checked and took a deep breath. Opening my eyes I hold the water orb, feeling the calming air around me. “You're going to get caught if you keep doing that”. I yelped and dropped my water orb. I turn around immediately with widened eyes meeting Yue. “Oh Yue” I sigh in relief as she glared at me. “You could've gotten caught by the guards and gotten in more trouble then you already have”. I sigh in understanding but also in annoyance. This isn't the first time I have snuck out to try out waterbending. Some days I have been caught but some days I haven't. “I'm going back to bed” I sigh with my head down “Are you?” “Yes, I am” Yue giggled as she patted me on the back. “I believe you can use it one day Y/N, I really you” She whispered sweetly as I nodded. “Thank you”

Next ->

a/n: This is my first fic im starting and im getting brainrott from avatar :) im still learning how to write so if there is any suggestions please share. Im like half asleep while writing this authors note so I know it wont make any sense when I wake up lmao Also feel free to tell me if you want to be added in the taglist!

---

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood S1 Epilogue-S2 prologue

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 99: Epilogue-Prologue

AO3 - Masterlist

I will not fail you.

Fenrick lay stretched out by the fire, feeling the rough weave of his cloak beneath him and the faint warmth of the flames at his side. Above, the night sky stretched endlessly, the stars cold and bright against a velvet blackness, their light sharp and distant like the glint of steel.

The forest around him was deep and quiet, the kind of silence that carried weight, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. The trees loomed close, their branches entwining overhead to form a canopy so dense that only scattered patches of starlight broke through, dappling the ground in a pale, ghostly glow.

The air was thick with the earthy scents of pine and moss, mingling with the faint, woodsy smoke from the fire. Fenrick was two days out from Duskendale, his destination before he would bribe a fishing vessel to ferry him to Dragonstone. The journey had been a tense one, marked by solitude and vigilance. 

The day he had been released from the dungeons of the Red Keep and escaped King’s Landing, played through his mind. The bustling city teemed with eyes, any one of which could betray him. As he had ridden through the crooked streets, a member of the City Watch had approached him–an action that nearly stopped his heart. But the mane merely handed him a folded note with an all too familiar handwriting.

The message had been brief and direct, leading him to an unassuming brothel tucked away in a less-traveled alley. He had hesitated at the threshold, his pride warring with necessity. He’d never set foot in such a place and wouldn’t have under any other circumstances.The madame had greeted him with a knowing smile, her sharp eyes appraising him. She had said nothing, only gestured for him to follow. The back room she had led him to was simple, with a cracked mirror and a basin of water. 

There, Fenrick had shaved his beard–which had been a defining gesture for years–and his hair cropped short. The madame had handed him a threadbare set of clothing, far removed from his usual attire–worn, patched, and meant to pass him off as a man of no standing. His own attire was given to another man with the same color skin as his own, dark eyes and hair, with a thick beard. 

By the time he left the whorehouse, he was a different man. 

Finan had arranged for him to board a cart headed out of the city, the kind used to transport goods and unlikely to draw attention. He had sat in the back, hidden among barrels and sacks, his sword concealed beneath the folds of his new clothes. When the cart had reached the outskirts, they stopped in a quiet groove. There, a horse awaited him, saddled and stocked with supplies, along with a modest pouch of coin. 

Since then, Fenrick had been on the road, always moving, always wary. The fear of being followed keeping him vigilant, his eyes wary of every passing traveler. He kept to the quieter paths, avoiding towns and larger roads where questions might arise. 

Tonight was the first time Fenrick had truly allowed himself to stop. He’d built a small, crackling fire, its faint warmth a feeble shield against the creeping chill of the night. The flames danced, casting flickering light on the surrounding forest, their glow barely penetrating the deep shadows between the trees. Overhead, the canopy shifted and sighed, leaves rustling softly in the light breeze as though whispering secrets to the stars.

The ground beneath him was hard and unforgiving, the cold seeping through his thin bedroll and the worn cloak he had wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the ache of his journey in his bones. The air carried the unmistakable bite of the changing season, crisp and sharp, a reminder that summer had truly ended.

Fenrick exhaled slowly, his breath misting faintly in the firelight, and pulled the cloak closer, trying to ward off the encroaching cold. The night was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire or the distant rustle of the forest. It was a stillness that should have brought peace, but instead it left him restless, his mind turning over thoughts of what lay ahead–and the memories of what he had left behind.

He thought of Daenera and Patrick. 

Their faces lingered in his mind, a bitter ache that refused to fade. His chest tightened as she recalled the boy–his cries still ringing in his ears. Patrick had clung to him with desperate strength, screaming for the guards to stop, screaming at Fenrick not to leave him. His small hands had grasped at Fenrick’s clothes, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. But there had been no choice. He had to go, no matter how much it tore at him. 

And then there was Daenera. Her face lingered in his mind with relentless clarity, tormenting him during every moment of his imprisonment. It was her that had kept him awake at night, worry and regret gnawing at him like the rats in the dungeon that swarmed whenever he stayed still for too long. He should have done more. He should have insisted.

He cursed himself for his inaction, for his failure to protect her. He should have forced Daemon and Rhaenyra to take her back with them immediately, regardless of the cost. He should have told them everything–the whispers he’d overheard, the suspicions that coiled in his gut like venomous snakes. But he hadn’t. He had kept his mouth shut, fearing her reproach to the betrayal should he have said anything, and in doing so, he had left her exposed to the dangers he’d feared the most. 

Aemond. The Kinslayer. The thought of him filled Fenrick with cold fury, a bitterness that clenched his jaw and burned in his chest. He’d seen the way Aemond looked at her, a predator circling its prey. Fenrick should have taken action then, should have stopped him. And now, that hesitation felt like a betrayal all its own. 

He would have betrayed her again if it meant saving her. He would have faced any consequence, shouldered any guilt, and bared his neck for her fury, if it could have ensured her safety. The cost meant nothing compared to keeping her away from him and his family.

The leaves above whispered softly in the gentle breeze, their rustling a delicate, almost lilting cadence that filled the forest with an air of quiet solitude. The world around him was shrouded in stillness, broken only by the occasional beat of wings or the distant scurry of unseen creatures. In these moments, deep into the night when the fire was roaring with life, Fenrick allowed his thoughts to drift where he rarely let them go: to Joyce.

Her name lingered in his mind like a faint melody, bittersweet and haunting. He could almost see her, the way her laughter had lit up the dullest days or the way her hair caught the sunlight just so. It was a memory he both cherished and avoided, a fragment of a life that now felt impossibly distant–a life that had never really been. When he thought of her, the ache in his chest was sharp, raw. The quiet forest seemed to echo the void she had left behind.

Fenrick leaned back against the makeshift pillow–his satchel– the cool night air brushing against his face. His eyes fixed on the canopy above, where slivers of moonlight filtered through the leaves, creating shifting patterns of light and shadow. He could almost hear her voice, soft and teasing, urging him to let down his guard in a way no one else ever could.

“I always said you brooded too much,” she’d once told him, her tone light but her eyes warm. “One day, all that weight you carry is going to sink you.”

A faint smile ghosted his lips at the memory, but it was fleeting, replaced by the familiar heaviness he’d carried since her absence. He clenched his hands into fists, the rough texture of the dirt beneath his fingers grounding him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on Joyce, not now. Not when every thought of her threatened to unravel the fragile composure he clung to.

His resolve hardened like steel tempered in fire. Justice. He would see it done–for her, for every one of his men who had suffered, and for those who would never again draw breath. 

A sharp crack echoed through the forest, the sound of a branch snapping in the distance breaking the stillness. Fenrick sat up abruptly, his body tense as his eyes scanned the darkness. The shadows between the trees seemed to deepen, shifting and twisting in the flickering firelight as though taunting him. Every instinct told him to stay alert, to trust nothing in this silent, unfamiliar wilderness.

His hand found the hilt of his sword, his fingers tightening around the worn leather grip as his heartbeat quickened, pounding a steady rhythm in his ears. He strained to hear past the fire’s soft crackle, his breath shallow as he focused on the distant sound. The forest gave nothing away, the silence now heavy and oppressive, as if it were waiting for something.

His horse, a plain brown mare tethered nearby, shifted uneasily. Her hooves stamped against the ground with soft, irritated thuds, her head tossing as she huffed in agitation. Fenrick’s eyes flicked toward her, noting her flaring nostrils and the tension in her posture. She sensed something–or someone–nearby.

Lowering himself onto his knees with deliberate care, Fenrick pulled his sword partway from its scabbard. The faint scrape of steel against leather sounded loud in the quiet night, and the weight of the blade in his hand brought a grim sort of reassurance. His awareness prickled, every nerve on edge as he listened, watched, and waited, his gaze fixed on the shifting darkness beyond the firelight.

“Who goes there?” Fenrick called out, his voice firm, cutting through the stillness of the forest. 

“We mean no harm,” came the reply, calm but edged with caution. The voice belonged to a man who stepped slowly out of the shadows, the crunch of leaves underfoot betraying his approach. His hands were raised in a gesture of surrender as he pressed forward. He stopped just at the edge of the firelight, his face partially illuminated, the rest still cloaked in darkness. 

Fenrick rose to his feet, his sword scraping further free of the scabbard. The blade glinted in warning. His eyes darted towards the darkness beyond, scanning the shifting shadows, his unease sharpening at the man’s choice of words. 

“We?” He echoed, his voice colder now, edged with suspicion. His grip tightened on the hilt, the muscles in his forearm tensing as he prepared for anything. The forest was too quiet, the firelight too narrow to reveal the answers he sought. Somewhere out there, he knew, there were others, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down until he saw them–and understood their intent. 

Another branch snapped. The first man’s gaze shifted to the side, his head tilting, and Fenrick instinctively followed it. From the opposite edge of the firelight, another figure emerged–a boy, no older than twenty. He moved hesitantly, his steps cautious as his wide, wary eyes flicked between Fenrick and the man who had spoken first. The boy looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. 

“We only wish to warm ourselves by the fire,” the first man said, his tone smooth, almost too casual. He took a step forward, but briefly stopped when Fenrick turned his full attention on him, his piercing gaze halting the man in his tracks. His hand remained steady on the hilt of his sword. 

The man’s lips quirked in a faint smile, something unsettlingly amused flickering in his eyes. He spread his hands again in a placating gesture, but there was an ease to his movements that Fenrick didn’t trust. 

“It’s getting cold,” the man continued, his voice light, conversational. “Summer is fully over.”

“Leave,” Fenrick growled, his tone sharp. “Build your own fire. I don’t care for company.”

The man chuckled softly under his breath, a sound that grated against Fenrick’s nerves, and instead of retreating, he pressed forward again. Fenrick stepped back, his grip tightening on his sword, the tension in his body coiling tighter as the man casually moved closer to the fire. 

Once beside the flames, the stranger bent at the knees, lowering himself to sit. He stretched his hands towards the warmth, his posture relaxed as if Fenrick’s–now drawn–blade were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “Come now, ser,” the man said smoothly. “Would you begrudge a fire to a lad barely old enough to lift a blade?” He glanced at the boy, whose wide eyes lingered on Fenrick’s sword. “The boy’s seen no end of trouble. But then, haven’t we all?”

Fenrick didn’t lower his weapon, his instincts screaming at him to stay on guard. His eyes darted between the man and the boy, watching every move they made, every shift of their posture. 

“It’s dangerous times,” the man said, his voice low and measured as he took a slow, deliberate breath. The flickering firelight danced across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his features and casting shadows that seemed to deepen the suggestion of something sinister lurking beneath his calm exterior. “Being on guard is wise–very wise. You never know what might step out of the shadows. But then, sometimes the blade you draw tonight earns you the dagger in the back tomorrow.” He tilted his head slightly, his smile faint but unsettling. “Better to make a friend than an enemy, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fenrick’s grip on his sword tightened, the steel glinting coldly in the firelight. His gaze didn’t waver as he leveled the man with an unflinching glare. “Leave, I won’t ask you again,” he said, his voice steady, cold, and unyielding. The single word carried all the weight of a warning, a final barrier against whatever game the stranger was playing.

The man let out an exasperated breath, his shoulders sagging slightly, and in a tone that was almost bored, he hummed, “Very well.”

Fenrick kept his eye locked on him, but out of the corner of his vision, a flicker of movement caught his attention. Before he could fully turn, something struck him hard and fast–a brutal, unforgiving blow that exploded across his cheekbone. His head snapped to the side, pain lacing through his skull as his vision blurred.

A second blow followed, this one slamming into his ribs, sharp and punishing. He staggered, barely holding his balance before something hooked his hoot, wrenching it out from under him. He went sprawling on the ground, the rough forest floor scraping against him as his sword was ripped from his grasp. It clattered against the dirt, spinning just out of reach. 

Pain flared in waves as a meaty hand latched onto his hair, yanking him up from the ground in a cruel, unrelenting grip. Fenrick grimaced as the jagged pull forced him onto his knees, his body aching from blows. The cool, deadly pressure of a blade pressed against his neck, a silent promise of violence. 

The forest seemed to swim before his eyes, the pain in his ribs and the pounding in his skull making the world tilt and blur. Blood filled his mouth, metallic and bitter, and he spat it onto the ground with a frown. Slowly, his eyes focused, glaring up at the man who now loomed over him. 

A round, fat face sneered down at him, the firelight playing cruelly across the grotusque details. Half the man’s nose was missing, the torn flesh still fresh and pink, the edges raw and angry in the glow of the fire. The sight was almost as unsettling as the reek of his breath, rancid with decay, that hit Fenrick like a wave as the man laughed, a low, guttural sound full of cruel amusement. 

“Well now,” the man sneered, his grin widening to reveal blackened, rotting teeth. “Yer not so quick with that blade now, are yer?” His grip tightened on Fenrick’s hair, jerking his head slightly to expose his neck further to the blade’s edge. 

Fenrick swallowed hard, the metallic tang of blood lingering in his mouth as he gritted his teeth against the pain. The fat hand gripping his hair yanked, forcing his head to tilt slightly, and the blade at his throat bit ever so slightly into his skin, cold and unyielding.

The first man, who had spoken with such calculated ease earlier, straightened to his full height, his movements languid and deliberate. His air of nonchalance made the scene feel all the more oppressive. “You are a difficult man to find, Ser Fenrick Locke,” he said smoothly, as though they were discussing something as mundane as the weather.

Fenrick’s glare burned into him. “Who sent you?” he growled, his voice low and ragged. He hissed as the grip on his hair tightened further, pulling hard enough to strain his neck, while the edge of the blade pressed more firmly into the delicate skin just above his collarbone.

“Let’s just kill ‘im and be done wit’ it,” the noseless man barked, his voice thick and guttural, the slurred words warped further by the strange nasal whistle of his mutilation. His eyes gleamed with a savage glee as he looked down at Fenrick, his sword held tightly in his other hand.

The first man shook his head, his expression turning hard and calculating. “No,” he said firmly. “We’ll kill him, but not before he tells us what the Lord wants to know. How he escaped.” His voice dropped slightly on the last word, as if savoring the idea of prying the information from Fenrick. He turned his gaze sharply to the young man, who still hovered uncertainly near the edge of the firelight, clutching a dagger with trembling hands.

“You,” the leader said, his voice snapping like a whip. “Search his belongings. Now.”

The boy flinched, hesitating for a moment before obeying. He knelt near Fenrick’s small pack, his hands fumbling as he rifled through the few items Fenrick had carried with him. The firelight caught on the edge of the dagger he held, the weapon shaking slightly in his grip as he cast nervous glances at Fenrick and the other men.

Fenrick’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing even as he kept his face set in a defiant scowl. The noseless man’s grip and the blade at his neck were unrelenting, but his thoughts burned with fury and the desperate calculation of how to turn the situation in his favor.

As the young man rifled nervously through Fenrick’s belongings, the first man stepped closer, his boots crunching softly against the forest floor. His voice dropped to a low, almost conversational hum, but there was a sharp edge to it, like the blade hovering at Fenrick’s throat. “How did you get out of the city?”

Fenrick kept his jaw clenched, refusing to utter a word. The risk was too great–he would not betray Finan, nor let any hint of information lead back to Daenera.

The noseless man sneered, shaking his head violently as though Fenrick’s silence was a personal insult. He leaned closer, the reek of his rotting teeth hitting Fenrick like a physical blow, twisting his stomach. 

“Answer,” he snarled, his voice guttural and sharp, the blade at Fenrick’s throat pressing just enough to send a warning sting through the skin.

He didn’t flinch, his gaze locked on the firelight flickering in the first man’s eyes. His silence seemed to do more than frustrate them–it amused the leader, who let a faint smile curve his lips. 

“Who helped you escape? Hmm?” With a slow, deliberate motion, the man stopped and picked up a long, dry branch from the forest floor. Turning it over in his hand, the held it just above the flames, watching as the fire licked and bit at the wood, sparks snapping as the branch began to catch. 

“We’ll get you to speak,” the man said, his voice low, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “One way or another. My lord has taught me many things in his service–things I’m quite adept at applying when someone needs a little… persuasion.”

Fenrick’s eyes darted briefly to the branch as it began to burn, the flame traveling up the dry bark, casting a sinister glow against the man’s face. His stomach knotted, but his expression remained resolute. He would endure whatever came next, for the alternative–betraying those he swore to protect–was unthinkable. 

“And which Lord is that?” Fenrick bit out through gritted teeth, his voice sharp with defiance. He didn’t expect an answer–not one that mattered, anyway. The question was more for himself, a small act of resistance as he stared down the man who loomed before him. If he were to die here, a little knowledge wouldn’t change his fate.

The first man offered no response, only a slight shift of his expression, as if Fenrick’s words were nothing more than a passing breeze. Fenrick’s eyes lingered on him, studying his movements, his attire, every detail that might offer a glimpse into his intentions. The boy continued to rifle through his belongings, upending the pack and spilling its contents alongside the satchel, but Fenrick knew he would find nothing of use. He had ensured that before he set out.

The first man seemed unconcerned with the boy’s search, his attention riveted to the branch in his hand. The wood was burning steadily now, the fire eating through its end, glowing red and hot. He watched it with unnerving focus, his dark eyes alight as he leaned forward and blew out the flame, leaving the charred end smoldering. He turned the branch over in his hands, as if mesmerized by the glow of the embers, his fascination almost childlike.

Fenrick’s gaze flicked over the man’s attire. The worn black leather he wore was sturdy, practical, and covered by a heavy wool cloak that hung about his shoulders. His hair was trimmed short, his jaw partially shaven, though weathered lines etched deeply into his face spoke of a hard life. Whereas the other two were clad in tattered rags patched together with carelessness, their garments soiled with mud and who knew what else. Their weapons matched their appearance–rusted, poorly maintained, barely reliable. But the first man’s blade was different, of far better quality–a long dagger. Its hilt gleamed faintly in the firelight, a detail that marked him as something more than a common brigand.

“Nothin’,” the boy muttered at last, rising from where he’d knelt, his voice tinged with unease.

The man’s lips twisted into a grimace as he turned his dark eyes back to him. There was no amusement in his gaze now, only cold purpose. “Search him,” he ordered flatly, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the air.

Fenrick’s muscles tensed, his body coiled like a spring as the noseless man moved closer, his hands reaching for him with a cruel eagerness. His mind raced, calculating his options as the firelight cast long shadows, and the embers of the branch smoldered ominously in the hand of his captor.

The noseless man’s hand slipped under his doublet, his fingers rough and invasive as Fenrick thrashed against him, struggling to tear the hand away. The blade in the man’s other hand hovered dangerously close, its tip grazing Fenrick’s side as he fought to free himself. Despite his efforts, the man’s filthy smile widened, his blackened teeth gleaming in the firelight.

“Well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere…” the noseless man sneered, his voice thick and guttural as he yanked something free. Fenrick froze, his heart lurching as the man withdrew the letter Daenera had entrusted to him. The pale parchment seemed to glow against the darkness, a fragile beacon in the grim night.

The man held it aloft with a twisted grin, passing it to the leader with a mocking flourish. “Lookit this,” he muttered. 

The leader’s eyes sparked with interest as he discarded the branch into the fire, the smoldering wood hissing as it landed. He plucked the letter from the noseless man’s hand, the firelight reflecting off his sharp features as he unfolded it.

Seeing the letter in the leader’s hands, Fenrick surged forward with a desperate roar. He twisted sharply, driving his elbow into the noseless man’s chest, forcing him to stumble back. Fenrick threw himself toward the letter, his knees scraping painfully along the forest floor as he lunged. His fingers reached out, straining, but closed around nothing as a heavy boot struck him hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling.

He hit the ground just beside the fire, the searing heat from the flames licking dangerously close to his skin. The acrid scent of burning wood filled his nose as he scrambled to recover, but the noseless man was on him in an instant, slamming a knee into his chest. The force pinned him down, driving the air from his lungs.

The blade returned to his neck, pressing harder this time, its cold edge biting into his skin. Before Fenrick could react, a swift, brutal blow landed against the side of his head. Pain exploded across his skull, his face snapping toward the fire as the impact split his brow open. Blood trickled down, warm and sticky, as his vision blurred.

“Yer fuckin’ cunt!” the noseless man bellowed, his face contorted with rage. Spittle flew from his lips as he screamed, some of it landing hot and wet on Fenrick’s cheek. “I’ll fuckin’ cut yer throat, I swear it!” His grip on Fenrick’s hair tightened, jerking his head back as the blade hovered ominously close, the promise of violence heavy in the air.

Fenrick blinked against the throbbing pain in his head, his vision swimming as he turned his face toward the leader. He watched, helpless, as the man broke the seal on the letter, his fingers unfolding the parchment with deliberate ease. A bitter sense of failure burned in his chest, searing through him like a brand. Daenera had trusted him with that letter, and now it lay in the hands of men who would twist its contents to their own ends.

Pressing his hand against the damp, leafy forest floor, he searched blindly, his fingers brushing over the dirt and debris, desperate to find something–anything–that could serve as a weapon.

“What does it say?” the boy asked nervously, stepping closer to the leader. His voice wavered slightly, betraying his unease.

The leader shrugged, tilting his head as he glanced down at the letter. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his tone laced with irritation. His dark eyes lifted, locking onto Fenrick with a cold, calculating glare. “What does it say?” he demanded, holding the parchment aloft like a prize.

A bitter laugh bubbled up from Fenrick’s throat, spilling out in defiance as he grinned through the blood streaking his face. He said nothing, his silence as sharp as any insult. The grin only deepened the lines of his defiance, even as the leader’s expression darkened.

The response earned him another savage blow. The noseless man struck him hard, the impact radiating through his skull and sending fresh pain shooting through the still-healing bone of his broken nose. His head snapped back, blood spilling anew from his nostrils as he struggled to stifle a grimace.

“‘E asked ya a question!” the noseless man snarled, his voice rising with frustration. Spittle flew from his cracked lips as he leaned closer, his blade pressing harder against his neck. 

Despite the pain, Fenrick refused to speak, his defiance burning just as fiercely as the flames beside him. He would give them nothing, even if it cost him everything.

His fingers inched closer to the edge of the fire, the heat biting at his skin, blistering with each moment he lingered. He couldn’t reach the dagger tucked into his boot, but his eyes locked onto the burning logs within the flames.

Gritting his teeth, Fenrick fought through the searing pain and closed his hand around a fiery piece of wood. The bark scorched his palm, the agony immediate and sharp, but he swung it upward with all his strength, slamming it against the noseless man’s skull.

The log exploded into glowing embers and charred fragments, swirling through the air as the noseless man let out a guttural scream. He staggered backward, clutching at his head as flames licked at his hair, the acrid stench of burning flesh and hair filling the clearing. His howl of pain echoed through the forest as he crumpled to the ground, swiping desperately at the fire consuming him.

Fenrick surged upward, his heart thundering within his chest. His injured hand throbbed, but he ignored it, reaching down to his boot. His fingers wrapped around the familiar hilt of his dagger, and he pulled it free in a smooth, practiced motion. The weapon glinted menacingly in the firelight as he turned to face his attackers.

Scrambling to his feet, he moved with ruthless precision, driving the dagger into the noseless man’s side. The blade sank deep, angled upward with grim intent, finding its mark. The man let out a guttural, animalistic howl, his voice raw with agony.

When Fenrick yanked the blade free, a sickening, wet swoosh followed, the unmistakable sound of a lung collapsing. Blood poured from the wound, dark and viscous, soaking the man’s tattered clothing and pooling beneath him as he crumpled to the ground. He choked and gasped, his breath coming in sharp, ragged stutters, each attempt at air a losing battle.

The noseless man writhed, his screams giving way to gurgling noises as blood bubbled in his throat, while the boy, wide-eyed and trembling, rushed forward in a desperate attempt to intervene. Fenrick pivoted sharply, his dagger held steady as he lashed out–not with the blade, but with the back of his free hand. The blow cracked across the boy’s face, sending him stumbling to the ground. Fenrick loomed over him, his voice a guttural growl. “Stay down.”

The boy froze, his dagger falling from his hands as he raised them in surrender, his face pale and streaked with tears.

The leader, however, wasted no time. The rasp of steel sliding against leather filled the air as he drew his blade, the weapon gleaming wickedly in the firelight. He stepped forward with deliberate menace, the blade held steady as his dark eyes locked onto Fenrick. The flames cast jagged shadows across his face, making him appear even more sinister as the tension crackled between them, heavy with the promise of violence.

Fenrick shifted into a defensive stance, his dagger held firmly despite the pain in his burned hand. His gaze narrowed as he faced the leader, the clearing alive with the echoes of the noseless man’s howls and the distant crackle of the fire. The fight wasn’t over yet.

“It matters not who helped you escape the city,” the leader hummed, his tone maddeningly casual as he held the crumpled letter in his hand. His eyes flicked down to the parchment, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “We’ll find them eventually, rat them out one by one.” He shrugged, the gesture slow and deliberate, as though the weight of his words didn’t carry the threat they truly did. “The Lord will have to content himself with this letter.” His smirk deepened, twisting into something more sinister. “It seems quite important, judging by your reaction. I wonder…” He tilted his head mockingly. “...how it might implicate the bastard princess.”

The words were a spark, igniting a fury Fenrick couldn’t contain. With a roar, he lunged forward, his body driven by desperation and rage. His dagger slashed toward the man, but the leader moved quickly, blocking the blow and countering with one of his own. The clash sent them grappling, their arms locking as Fenrick clawed for the letter.

Their struggle threw them off balance, and both men tumbled to the ground in a heap. The impact sent a grunt of air wheezing from the leader’s chest, but Fenrick barely registered it as they scrambled dangerously close to the flames. His eyes locked on the letter, which had fallen free, the wind pushing it closer and closer to the fire. The edges of the parchment curled as the flames licked at it, darkening and charring.

Fenrick stretched toward it, his fingers scraping the ground as he reached desperately for the letter. His fingertips brushed the edge just as the leader twisted, throwing them over again. They rolled, his body colliding painfully with the forest floor as the leader wrestled for control. Gritting his teeth, he threw his weight into the struggle, managing to twist them once more. He lunged for the letter again, grabbing it just as the fire began to consume the parchment.

With a desperate motion, Fenrick flung the letter away from the flames, saving what remained even as the edges smoldered. His relief was short-lived. The leader’s fist came down hard, striking his cheek and snapping his head to the side. Stars danced in his vision as the man surged forward, flipping them yet again.

The leader straddled his waist, his expression twisted with grim determination as he pried the dagger from his grasp. The blade glinted in the firelight as the man gripped it, raising it high, his weight pinning him down. He snarled, his arm driving the dagger downward, aiming for Fenrick’s chest. He bucked against him, his arms straining to catch the descending blade.

The blade inched closer to Fenrick’s chest, its sharp tip pressing against his doublet, the worn leather giving way under the relentless pressure. The pain began as a sharp pinch, a needle-like intrusion that deepened into a searing burn as the blade broke through his skin. He growled low in his throat, his muscles straining as he bucked his hips against the man, disrupting the downward force just enough to shift the blade’s trajectory.

Gritting his teeth, Fenrick adjusted his grip, his hands scrabbling for purchase before he grabbed the man by the collar. With a burst of raw strength, he yanked himself upward while pulling the man down. His forehead collided with the man’s face in a brutal crack, the impact reverberating through his skull. Pain flared momentarily in His brow, but he felt the sickening crunch of cartilage beneath the blow and knew he wasn’t alone in suffering. Finally, he wasn’t the only one with a broken nose.

The man reeled, his head jerking back as blood poured freely from his shattered nose. He snarled, trying to drive the blade downward again, but Fenrick twisted sharply, throwing their bodies to the side. The two of them tumbled, scrabbling along the edges of the fire, embers sparking around them.

Fenrick slammed his fist into the man’s face, the force snapping his head to the side. The leader’s eyes rolled back briefly, dazed, and Fenrick seized the fleeting opportunity. He reached for the blade, prying at the man’s grip, his fingers curling around the hilt. Just as he was about to rip it free, something barreled into him from the side, dragging him off the leader with surprising force.

Reacting instinctively, Fenrick twisted around, driving the blade forward in one swift, practiced motion. The resistance of flesh and muscle met his strike, and a gasp of shock broke through the chaos. He blinked, registering the boy’s wide, astonished eyes as he staggered back, the blade jutting from his stomach.

The boy looked down at the weapon embedded in him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and pain. His brow furrowed deeply, his voice soft with astonishment as he stammered, “Y-yer stabbed me…”

Fenrick shoved the boy away with a grimace, snatching the blade from his trembling hands before spinning on his heels. He turned to finish the leader, only to find the space where the man had been laying now empty. The trampled forest floor bore the marks of their struggle, but the leader was gone, vanished into the surrounding shadows.

His heart thundered in his chest, a drumbeat of battle and anger. His breaths came quick and shallow as he clutched his side, his ribs aching with every inhalation. The sharp pain in his lungs burned like fire, but he forced himself upright, his gaze darting across the darkened forest. He spun slowly, surveying the trees for any sign of movement, but the silence pressed heavy around him.

Behind him, the boy’s voice cut through the stillness, faint and trembling. “Yer stabbed me…” he murmured, his tone full of disbelief. He repeated the words, over and over, each utterance weaker than the last. Stumbling backward, the boy’s legs gave way, and his spine hit a tree. He slid down the trunk until he sat crumpled at its base, his wide eyes locked on the dagger protruding from his stomach. “Yer stabbed me…” he whispered again, his voice barely audible now.

Fenrick ignored the boy’s words, his focus unyielding as he twirled the stolen blade in his hand, adjusting his grip with practiced ease, his palm burning. His stance shifted, remaining vigilant as his eyes roved over the clearing, searching for any sign of an ambush. With careful steps, he approached the fire, scanning the ground for the letter.

His heart sank as his eyes found it. What remained was little more than a charred scrap of parchment. He crouched by the flames, picking it up gingerly, his blood-streaked fingers smearing the crumbled remnants. The edges were blackened and curled, and only a few paragraphs of text were still legible. The intricate glyphs on the paper were foreign–High Valryrian–their presence confirmed the letter’s importance–and the magnitude of its loss.

He stared at the damaged letter, his chest tightening with frustration and regret. The weight of failure settled heavily on his shoulders, even as his grip on the blade tightened. He couldn’t dwell on it now; the leader was still out there, and the danger hadn’t passed. Standing, he cast one last glance at the boy slumped against the tree before turning his attention back to the shadows.

Fenrick tucked the charred remnants of the letter back into his doublet, pressing it close to his chest as though the act alone could shield its significance. Whatever was left of it would be delivered to Rhaenyra–he swore it, even if he had to crawl to Dragonstone with his dying breath. He would not fail Daenera, not again. 

He strode across the clearing, his steps steady despite the ache in his ribs and the searing pain in his hand. Kneeling down, he retrieved his sword from the dirt, inspecting it briefly before sliding it back into its scabbard. Without delay, he began gathering his scattered belongings, shoving them into his bag in haste. His movements were efficient, his mind already turning to what lay ahead.

Stopping momentarily, Fenrick grabbed his waterskin, pulling the cork free with his teeth. Holding out his burned hand, he tilted the waterskin, letting the cold liquid pour over the blistered, raw skin. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the pain immediate and biting, his jaw clenching against it. The blisters had already formed, some burst from where he’d gripped the daggers, leaving patches of tender, exposed flesh. He bit down hard on the cork, hissing softly as the water cleaned the wound. 

Tearing a strip of cloth from his pack, he soaked it with water before wiping it over his face. The cool fabric stung as he dragged it across the cuts and bruises marring his skin. He scrubbed away the blood from his brow, beneath his nose, and along his split lip. Through each movement, his eyes flicked towards the shadows surrounding him. The forest seemed to press in on all sides, its dark recesses alive with the possibility of danger. 

Fenrick’s ears strained for any sound–the snap of a branch, the rustle of leaves–anything that might signal the man’s return. The clearing smelled of charred wood and blood, it clung to his nose as he tossed the rag aside with a grunt and reached for another, cleaner strip of cloth. 

“Yer stabbed me…” the boy muttered again, his voice trembling, the same words tumbling from his lips like a broken refrain. “Yer stabbed me…” Over and over, the sound grated on Fenrick’s nerves, the repetition needling at him. 

He ignored the boy, his focus remaining on his injuries. He wetted the clean cloth with water, wrapping it carefully around his burned hand. The cool dampness offered some relief, though the seared skin throbbed relentlessly. 

Fenrick grimaced as the pain in his hand and ribs flared with every movement. He flexed his burned fingers gingerly, the makeshift bandage doing little to dull the persistent sting. His mind drifted briefly to Daenera–her calm, confident hands tending to the injuries. She had always known how to find relief in the simplest things, and one memory surfaced clearly: the willow bark.

He’d have to find some. The thought struck him with practicality rather than hope, a small step toward managing the pain. 

Corking the waterskin and tucking it into his bag with a decisive shove, Fenrick pushed himself to his feet. His muscles ached, his ribs protesting every movement, but he ignored the pain. Raising his sleeve, he wiped the lingering blood from his nose and split lip, the rough fabric scraping against his skin.

His eyes swept the forest, sharp and searching, scanning the darkened treeline for any sign of movement. The firelight flickered faintly, casting dancing shadows across the ground, but the surrounding woods remained eerily silent.

Turning his attention to the boy, Fenrick approached him slowly, his steps measured. The boy’s wide, tearful eyes remained on the blade protruding from his stomach, filled with shock and disbelief. He didn’t try to move, his back pressed against the tree he had slid down. 

Fenrick crouched, bringing himself to the boy’s level, the flickering firelight casting grim shadows across his face. His hand reached out, gripping the boy’s shoulder firmly but not cruelly. He stared into the boy’s eyes, his expression hard but devoid of any cruelty. There was no pleasure in what he had done–or in what he was about to do. It was a necessity. 

He had seen wounds like that before, and he knew the signs. The blood pooling beneath him, the pale, clammy skin, the way his breath came in short, ragged gasps. Even if help were nearby–and it wasn’t–the boy would bleed out long before anything could be done to save him.

Fenrick looked down at him, his jaw tightening as the boy’s wide, frightened eyes flitted between him and his wound. 

“Who sent you?”

“Yer stabbed me…” the boy croaked again.

“I did. Who sent you?”

“Yer stabbed me…”

Fenrick’s patience frayed, a low, frustrated sound escaping his throat. He couldn’t afford to linger here, not with the leader still out there. His hand gripped the hilt of the blade embedded in the boy’s stomach, tightening just enough to send a fresh jolt of agony through him–and through his own hand as well. The boy let out a shocked gasp, his legs kicking weakly as his fingers clawed at the roots of the tree he was slumped against. 

“Who sent you?” He asked a again, leaning closer as he twisted the blade slightly. The boy choked out a scream, a high, shrill sound that cut through the stillness of the forest. 

“Tell me,” Fenrick hissed in low menace, “and I will stop.”

“I–I don’t know!” The boy gasped, his voice hitching between sobs. “P–please! I don’t–”

His words dissolved into a desperate, incoherent plea, his pale face streaked with tears. Fenrick’s jaw tightened as he studied him, searching for any hint of deceit, weighing his options against the boy’s evident panic. There was no triumph in the act, only necessity, as he tried to force the answers he needed from a dying boy.

“Who is this Lord of yours?” He demanded as he twisted the blade just enough to elicit another gasping cry from the boy. Tears streaked the boy’s pale, dirt-smeared face as he choked on his cries, his thin fingers wrapping futilely around Fenrick’s wrist, their feeble grip shaking. 

“Did Prince Aemond send you?” Fenrick pressed, his voice darker now, edged with suspicion. The thought gnawed at him–Aemond was cunning and cruel enough to orchestrate something like this. They might call this mysterious figure a lord, but he couldn’t shake the belief that the Kinslayer’s had was behind it. 

It wouldn’t surprise him if Aemond had gone back on his word, sending men to eliminate him under the guise of bad fortune on the road to Dragonstone. Yet, at the same time, it didn’t make sense. Aemond had been so set on sowing discord–and he needed him alive for that. Killing him would serve no purpose. He still remembered his smug expression he had worn when had him dragged into an interrogation room. 

The boy’s head shook frantically, his whole body trembling as sobs wracked his frame. “I don’t–I, please stop!” He begged, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to die. I don’t know. I don’t know,” he repeated, tears mingling with the blood that dripped down his chin. His breath hitched, and his words tumbled out in a rush of desperation. “They said I’d be free if I did this one thing. I never–I didn’t want to hang. I didn’t want to be sent to the Wall.”

The boy’s pleas rang hollow and pitiful in Fenrick’s ears, but the raw fear in his voice made him pause for a heartbeat. The boy’s sobbing echoed in the stillness of the forest as he stared down at the boy, his expression hard and unyielding. He did not doubt the boy’s ignorance–it seemed clear enough that whoever had sent him, along with the noseless man, had preyed on their desperation. Promised a chance to avoid the noose or the Wall, they had latched onto this grim task as their only hope of survival. Yet ignorance was no absolution.

Without a word, Fenrick drew the blade from the boy’s stomach. Blood gushed from the wound, spilling over his hands as it soaked his shirt, spreading across the fabric like a grotesque, blooming flower. The boy’s eyes widened in shock, his trembling hands instinctively pressing against the wound as though he could somehow hold the life from spilling out of him.

“You should have stayed down,” Fenrick said, his voice low and cold as his grip tightened on the boy’s shoulder. He leaned closer, his gaze sharp and unwavering. “Or led a better life.”

Before the boy could utter another plea, Fenrick drove the blade into his neck with unceremonious precision. The boy’s eyes shot wide in a final, silent gasp. Blood sputtered from his mouth, a crimson spray that spilled down his chin as he gagged around the steel. He held the blade firm for a moment before pulling it free, the withdrawal accompanied by a sickening wet sound.

“May the Father judge you kindly.”

Blood poured from the wound, gushing over the boy’s chest in rhythmic spurts as his life slipped away. His eyes fluttered, his lips parting in a faint, futile effort to breathe. His arms fell heavy into his lap, limp and useless, as his gaze drifted upward. Fenrick watched as the boy’s glassy eyes fixed on the canopy above, the flickering firelight reflected dimly in them.

The boy’s chest stilled, the light fading from his wide, unseeing eyes as death claimed him. Fenrick swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to ease as a heavy weight pressed against his chest. The boy’s death lingered in his mind, unwelcome and bitter, though he forced himself to suppress it. There was no room for guilt now; survival demanded his focus.

He straightened slowly, his body aching from the struggle, and made his way back across the clearing. His bag lay where he had left it, scattered amidst the remnants of the scuffle. He grabbed it, slinging it over his shoulder with a grunt of effort. His ruined bedroll lay nearby, abandoned beneath the lifeless form of the noseless man. Pink froth clung to the corners of the man’s slackened lips, his eyes frozen wide and empty in death. He spared him only a passing glance before turning away. The dead were beyond his concern now.

As he retraced his steps across the forest floor, something caught his attention–a faint glimmer amidst the scattered leaves. Fenrick paused, narrowing his eyes as he crouched down to investigate. Brushing aside the debris, his fingers closed around a small, cool object.

He lifted it into the firelight, inspecting it carefully. It was a pin–small and brass, faintly tarnished but still catching the light. He turned it over in his hand, his brow furrowing. The shape came into focus: intricate and strange, crafted to resemble something organic. At first glance, it resembled a toe, but as he rotated it, the unmistakable form of an insect revealed itself.

Fenrick frowned deeply, his thumb brushing against the pin’s detailing as unease prickled at the edges of his thoughts. The object was peculiar, out of place amidst the blood-soaked ground and scattered belongings. It must have fallen off the leader in the scuffle.

Tucking the pin into his bag, Fenrick rose to his feet again. His eyes swept the darkened forest, the clearing now quiet save for the crackle of the dying fire. Whatever the pin meant–if it meant anything at all–he couldn’t linger. He adjusted his bag, steeling himself, and moved toward his horse.

Fenrick secured his bag tightly to the horse’s saddle, his movements slow and deliberate as pain throbbed through every fiber of his body. His ribs ached with every breath, his burned hand stung with raw intensity, and his muscles screamed in protest as he hauled himself into the saddle. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the reins, steadying himself before nudging the horse forward.

The mare stepped cautiously at first, sensing his unease, but his urged her into a steady pace. He would not stop–not for the pain, not for the exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight. His goal was clear: Duskendale. From there, he’d find a ship to Dragonstone. Nothing would keep him from fulfilling his mission.

I will not fail you, he had promised her.

The memory of those words lingered, a solemn vow carved into his soul. Fenrick straightened as much as his battered body would allow, his grip on the reins tightening. He would endure, fight, and push forward.

Whatever it took to keep that promise, he would do it.

Mother,

I am alive and well, though my thoughts are never far from you. I have entrusted this letter to Fenrick, trusting him to ensure it reaches you safely. 

I write to you with a heart heavy with grief and sorrow, knowing no words can truly comfort the ache that now resides within us. Lucerys was my brother and his loss feels like the loss of a limb. And yet, I cannot begin to fathom the depths of your grief, for you carry burdens far heavier than mine. 

It takes a rare strength to continue after such loss–a strength I know you possess. You passed it to me, Mother, and for that, I am endlessly grateful. We endure. I know you have been searching for him. But please, in the midst of this search, do not forget yourself.

The realm depends upon you, and we, your children, cannot bear to lose you too. You must think of your health, for your sake and for the sake of the baby you carry–little Visenya. I long for the day I can meet her. I hope she brings you a measure of solace amidst your grief. 

When that time comes, tell her of me. Speak my name to Aegon and Viserys as well; I do not wish to be a stranger to them when we finally meet again. Of that, I am certain: we will see each other again. 

I know that my absence has cast doubts upon my loyalty, and I ache at the thought of being a source of pain or uncertainty to you. Though I am far from you, know that my thoughts remain with you and our cause. 

I ask for your forgiveness–for not being at your side, for the choices forced upon me, for the deeds I cannot speak of. Though I may not stand beside you, my heart remains yours, bound by love and sorrow alike.

They adorned me in white and called me a bride, they cloaked my shoulders in green, but my heart remains black. They speak of love and choice, as though my marriage to Aemond is anything but a shackle. Any love I bore for him died along with Lucerys.Yet, he clings to me still, as though he might tether me to him with force, where affection has long since withered. This marriage is a cage, its gilded bars forged in blood and ambition. He seeks to keep me close, not out of love, but to control, to possess, to ensure I cannot be used against him. I am not his wife but a pawn, held in place by his will and the chains he has wrapped around me in the name of duty. Know that I do not yield to him in spirit, Mother. Though I must tread carefully, wear their colors and play their game, my heart remains free, untouched by his and his family’s schemes. I am but a piece on the board, moved at their whim. 

I am haunted at the thought of rumors of my supposed support for the traitors that may have reached you and cast doubt upon my heart. Let me be clear, Mother: my heart, my loyalty, and my faith belong solely to you and our family. You are the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and I have never wavered in my belief.

My smiles are a weapon as much as it is a lie. Every step I take is in service to our family. Trust that my loyalty has not wavered, even if I am forced to speak their words and play their games.

Do not fear for me, Mother. I endure this for us, for the greater cause, and for the hope that one day, I will return to your side. Until then, hold me in your thoughts, as I hold you in mine.Your loving daughter, Your loyal subject, Daenera Velaryon.

[clarekirener]

Two things that got the most amount of love, care and rewriting in a positive sense of 'this is a really high bar' it has to be exactly the right thing would be the prologue and then this relationship, these two characters, and wanting to layer it and wanting to build into it deception and truth in every moment.

-Patrick McKay about deception and truth in every moment of Halbrand/Sauron's relationship with Galadriel in S1.