#light consorting with shadows

[power-rings]

Light Consorting with Shadows (Collab)

Chapter 10: A New Plan

Collab with @e-vay!

Everything happened so quickly, that Sonic hardly had time to fit into his armor. His ears pricked in alarm when he heard a startling scream outside. With his speed, he was out of the palace. Sonic had expected to see Doom, and perhaps some soldiers that he assigned, but, to his surprise… he saw these blueish gray creatures emerging in what appeared to be thin air. He saw Lancelot already fighting against three of them near the gate. After spin-dashing one of the creatures into the side of the palace, he searched his surroundings, looking for Amy, and their teenage daughter. Hoping perhaps they were inside the palace… Would the palace even be safe anymore? He was attacked by three smaller creatures, before Percival defended the King. Sonic quietly nodded, grateful for her speedy save. One by one, he and Percival kept knocking the intruders down, the pair finally catching a break when reuniting with Lancelot. Under the dark hedgehog’s helmet, their gazes met. Whatever was spoken between them earlier that morning, was put aside. They had more concerning matters at hand. “I think Amy and Rory are still inside the castle. Help them get to the bunkers with the others.” Without another word, his best knight obeyed and in haste made his way to the castle.

The evasion seemed to have come to a stand still, and all of the knights gathered around the King. “Make sure that the bunkers are heavily guarded. Gawain? Check to make sure no one is still in their homes. Percival? I want you to take your spot at the north tower.” Sonic had a feeling that this wasn’t gonna be the last time they’ll see these alien-like beings. His eyes darted in the direction of his family exiting the castle. The royal family made their way out of the gate, and made haste to their safe haven. Sonic stopped at the entrance to their temporary underground home. As Sonic, and the queen spoke quietly, the king kept an eye on Lancelot and Aurora near the entrance of the stone perimeter around them. Amy got his attention, when she squeezed his hand. Worried in her jade eyes, but she trusted her king fully.  Of course, as always, Sonic told her to wait for him. They embraced tightly, as if afraid to let the other one go. 

Aurora lingered with her father…The king reached out his arm to hug his daughter farewell, but the princess remained still with her lips pursed.

“You need to get to safety with your mother.”

“But I can help!” she pleaded, clasping her hands. 

“No,” Sonic stated simply. “War is no place for a princess.”

Tears welled up in the pink hedgehog’s eyes. “Then what is my place? My purpose? Isn’t it to serve the people–the land I love? How can I be expected to watch you and everyone in our kingdom risk your lives while I sit idly by?”

Sonic attempted to look away, an attempt to hide his emotions just as his armor shielded his body, but his daughter reached up and held his face in his hands. She turned him back to look her in the eye.

“I can fight,” she urged. “Lancelot has been training me for this. Please, let me fight with you and the other knights. Let me protect our kingdom. I can do this.”

The king grimaced at the mention of Lancelot’s name on his daughter’s lips, but there was truth to her words. Aurora had been training with the best of his knights, which would make her plenty capable in battle. Still, Sonic wouldn’t allow himself to sacrifice his daughter so easily. He would only allow Aurora to fight if it were the very last resort.

He placed his hands firmly on Aurora’s shoulders. Brows furrowed, he gave her a weak smile. There was a sense of sadness behind his emerald eyes and for a moment she was no longer speaking with ‘a king,’ but with her father. “I know you’re strong enough… And that’s why I need you to go with your mother. Keep her safe. For me?”

It wasn’t what she had asked for, but it was a step in the right direction. Soon enough, she’d be able to prove herself.

“I will,” Aurora nodded weakly. She quickly hugged her father and gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning on her heel and sprinting off to the safe haven.

As he watched Aurora join her mother, and slowly leave his sight. He started to truly realize something. His daughter was no longer his baby girl, anymore. As any parent, it pained him to realize this. However, Sonic couldn’t be more proud of her for standing her ground for their kingdom. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t dwell on his pride for his now young-adult daughter. More creatures were coming from all around them, not hesitating a moment to attack. Flying creatures even hovered above them, occasionally attacking them when one was distracted with their “siblings” that fought on the ground. 

It felt like hundreds of these alien’s kept coming from out of nowhere, while they held a handful from the perimeter surrounding the bunker where the townspeople were huddled together in safety, more and more climbed the stone walls and attacked the archers, and the knights that were ordered to help were on their tail and tossed over like a rag, not standing a chance.

Everything froze. All the creatures suddenly dropped.

Doom had made his arrival. Both Sonic and Lancelot could feel him; and the chaos energy that surged through him. 

“How disappointing, my son.” Doom spat at the ground, and slowly approached the two hedgehogs. His eyes narrowed coldly from the King to Lancelot.  “Together we could have ruled this land, instead, you choose to die to defend his throne?” His crimson eyes darted toward Sonic.

Lancelot scowled, “indeed.” Rage was still fresh towards his estranged father, after the event that took place only days ago. 

Doom scoffed, “so be it. If my army doesn’t destroy you… “ He grabbed Lancelot by the collar, “I will destroy you. After I kill your King.” Before Lancelot could attack him, he was gone. A dark cloud taking his place near his opponents.

Lancelot glanced back at the royal highness, Sonic’s emerald gaze scanned their surroundings. “We need to get those Chaos Emeralds back, Lancelot.” The king never looked at him, staying focused on the view of his palace standing on the hill. Perhaps, Doom would be waiting for them there. Doom’s mission was crystal clear. Now that Doom was out of sight, slowly his army became alive. Perhaps he had paralyzed them like he had done to Sonic, and the others the other day? Before Lancelot could even turn around to withdraw his sword, and decapitate his opponent, Sonic grabbed the Knight by the arm, and was pulled away from the battle. “I have an idea.” 

Five lanky creatures discovered them just a few feet away, Lancelot and Sonic quickly took care of them, soon they all lay lifeless at their feet.

Lancelot took this chance to remove his helmet, and wipe his sweaty brow. “What’s your idea, sire?” Although he trusted Sonic with his life, he was always known for not making plans, or at least taking them seriously. All of a sudden, the king swung a fist. Lancelot was taken off guard, stumbling back. 

It wasn’t rare that the two hedgehogs would spar from time to time, but in the heat of a battle? “C’mon, hit me.” Perhaps, the king was starting to lose his mind. When the knight didn’t hit him, Sonic attacked him again. “You don’t usually hesitate like this, Sir Lancelot.” Sonic laughed, and dodged Lancelot aiming for him. 

“This fight is not with you, my King-”

“... But if we could use our wits to fool him.” Sonic stopped the brawl between them, his hands on the knight’s shoulders. “We can get the Chaos Emeralds back.”

Lancelot blinked at him, “we could win this.” Sonic grinned from ear to ear, and then looked over the knight’s shoulders back at the battle. They both mutually agreed to help the other knights fend off a large number of aliens, before they would carry out their plan.

 Several feet away, it seemed like a larger number were attacking the stone perimeter that protected the sanctuary underground. Sir Percival, Gawain, and several other armored guards were attacking their opponents from all around them, swords piercing the chests of these aliens, or arrows aimed at their heads before they could even climb all the way to the top of the perimeter. Meanwhile, some of these creatures were near the entrance that was quite hidden from the naked eye. Guards that held their place on the top of the tower soon jumped down to block their attempt of a break-in.

When Lancelot, and the King felt like they would never be able to head back to the palace - when a bulky alien creature suddenly started to charge toward them, Lancelot took this chance, and muttered an apology to his king, as he although very hesitant, hitting him below the armor just inches from his groin. Sonic had been hurt several times before in his past life, especially any friendly compact with his faithful knight. He was almost numb to the pain, but had to admit it hurt like hell when Lancelot’s fist made contact. Lancelot whispered something into Sonic’s ear, and he immediately played along and fell to his knees. While Lancelot, lifted a hand toward the Alien. “Halt. Take me to your master. ” To his surprise, the creature actually froze in place. It grunted, and then glared at the “injured” King, before stomping ahead, leading them in the direction of the palace; perhaps they had assumed right that Doom was waiting for them in the throne room. 

What a coward, Lancelot thought. He worried slightly that this plan wouldn’t even work. What was the next step if they had tricked Doom? How would he win the Chaos Emeralds back? He had a feeling that he would have to do the planning from there.

Instead of familiar, and friendly faces at the gate… stood two more aliens that were much taller than the alien that led them in this direction. Much easier to knock out, quite frankly. Lancelot noted. But, he resisted; they didn’t need to draw unnecessary attention.  

Soon, the gates opened, and they stepped inside. More of Doom’s army were scattered here and there, snarling, and some of the smaller creatures even snapped at Sonic’s feet. Which, he just kicked off. From behind, the bulky alien shoved at Sonic, and snarled a warning. 

When they finally reached the stone steps leading into the palace, the king started trying to get out of Lancelot’s grasp. Almost catching the knight off guard. They had to keep the act going. Sonic proceeded to fight against his grasp as they approached the throne room. As expected, Doom was sitting in Sonic’s seat. 

Sonic, remember to burn that chair after we win this. The king noted, disgusted that Doom’s rear-end was in his chair.

One of the alien-soldiers approached Doom, and kneeled. If he spoke to Doom, neither of them heard it, or could understand it. Lancelot proceeded with the plan, and hurled the King towards his estranged father. 

Sonic grunted as if the fall knocked the wind out of him. The alien quickly jerked aside, and allowed Doom to step down towards the King. His brow rising in disbelief. “Finally, did you come to your senses?” Doom leaned down to take off Sonic’s helmet, and tossed it aside. Sonic proceeded to play defeated, and weak.

Lancelot panicked slightly, and stepped forward. “Wait, Father…” The knight almost puked when he even used that word to describe such an evil being. “Mustn’t you end him this quickly?” He trailed off in thought, trying to find the words without giving them away, and costing both of their lives. “Shall we let him suffer by seeing his kingdom fall, before you end his life?” 

Doom hesitated, quite intrigued with his son’s plan. 

“Together. You and I. Like you wanted.” Lancelot could have sworn that Doom’s eyes beamed in excitement. If he could hold such an emotion. 

Doom cackled loudly, his laughter echoing throughout the palace. “Brilliant.” The dark hedgehog turned to one of his soldiers, “take him to the cell.” Doom also advised them to heavily guard the cell Sonic would be in. 

“I’ll take him.” Lancelot offered. He honestly wasn’t sure whether Sonic would actually be killed on the way to the cell. He couldn’t have that. Thankfully, Doom didn’t question his son. The soldiers lingered back, while Lancelot picked Sonic up and “dragged” him towards the prison. It has honestly been awhile since Lancelot actually walked down these stairs, Sonic hardly liked to lock anyone up. Unless, they had been guilty of murder. When they reached an empty, and dusty cell, they both waited to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Sonic was grinning from ear to ear. “Way to go. Boy, you even had me fooled for a moment there.” 

Lancelot hushed him. “I’m not sure about this, sire. What’s next?”

The king shrugged, “I didn’t think we would get this far, Lancelot.” Sonic lowered his voice, “don’t look at me like that,” Sonic’s voice got high-pitched under Lancelot’s gaze, “… I did bring this.” Hidden in his quills was a familiar Chaos Emerald, although it lacked its appeal like the real one. They could use it to their advantage. Or at least… Sonic could easily escape when he needed to. Perhaps, he could even use this one to find the Chaos Emerald that Doom had taken.

Lancelot shook his head. “Let’s pray to the gods it’ll work. I’ll figure out how to coax the Chaos Emeralds out of his grasp.” Sonic beamed, and gave him a thumbs up. “Now, get in your cell.” The knight encouraged, slightly too amused with the situation than he actually should be. Lancelot watched the King hesitate, but Sonic trusted him. He wouldn’t be here too long. Lancelot was worried though. What if Sonic was caught with the fake Chaos emerald? What if fooling Doom won’t be as easy as they had hoped. They got this far… so, they couldn’t back away now.

The knight felt Doom’s eyes on him, as he returned upstairs. He expected the older hedgehog to speak, but he was silent. “Ahem. What happens now?” Lancelot searched their surroundings. Taking notice of the damage inside the palace. If they win this, they have a lot of work to do. The knight cursed himself for not getting rid of Doom quicker. He also hated that he was away from Aurora, and the rest of the citizens that were safe in their fort. Or, at least for the time being. How long would it take before they break through? Doom’s soldiers were persistent. Too many lives were at risk. Lancelot felt like he shouldn’t linger much longer, but what of Sonic? Their plan? 

--

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Next: Coming Soon

[trix-rabbit-sells-kids]

my SOTE hot take is that I think Consort Radahn has a legitimately very good core moveset, and would be considered one of the best bosses in the DLC if it wasn’t for the atrocious visual clutter in phase 2

[likes-words-and-shrimp]

Spoiler Elden Ring DLC talk but gosh the second half of the Promised Consort boss music is really so beautiful. Might be one of my new favorite themes from the game. It's even more beautiful when you're not fighting for your life just to get in one little jab for a .02 second opening and trying to avoid forever attacks and a blinding light show that will take down half your health bar. Thank you for your heavenly singing, but my Tarnished is screaming in pain as I die once again...

[misswynters]

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞

featuring. Ekko x fem!reader

wc. 15.5k

synopsis. Born from house Arvino, one of the richest and influential families of piltover. You had it all from luxurious gifts, fancy meals, a magnificent bedroom and much more. You’re parents gave you everything you asked for. However still never satisfied you. You’re mind always looked at the injustice and suffering zaun was going through. That’s when you first met ekko, the firelights’ leader. Not very happy to have a pilty messing stuff up.

trope. “enemies to lovers”

warnings. slow burn, cursing, blood, kissing 0-0, suggestive

requested. by anon

a/n. slight spoilers for arcane s2, it’s more like enemies to friends to lovers (sorry) if there’s mistakes you don’t see it! aka not proofread (read it thrice) also there’s no war in this :)

Above, the shimmering towers stood tall, their wealth and power casting long shadows. Below, Zaun suffocated in its neon haze, its people forgotten in the depths of the city’s ambition. Whereas the glow of Piltover’s lights filled the skyline. From the balcony of your family estate, the stark contrast between Piltover and Zaun was undeniable.

“You think your actions are noble, but you’re a fool,” your father’s voice thundered from the dining room. His words, sharp and unyielding, echoed through the halls as you stood silently by the doorway. “Consorting with the undercity rabble is not only dangerous, it’s treacherous.”

“They’re not rabble. They’re people,” you countered, stepping forward with clenched fists. “You act like Zaun doesn’t exist, but they’re suffering because of Piltover’s greed.”

“You don’t understand the world you live in,” your mother added, her tone softer but no less cutting. “House Arvino holds power because we uphold order. Piltover thrives because of people like us. You risk everything with your reckless defiance.”

Frustration boiled within you. “Piltover thrives at the expense of Zaun. Those people deserve better.”

Your father slammed his fist onto the table. “Enough! You are an Arvino, and you will act like one. This rebellion of yours ends now.”

His command hung in the air, suffocating and absolute. You didn’t argue further. Instead, you turned on your heel and left, the weight of their disapproval bearing down on you. You wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Zaun had become a second home to you, even if it was a dangerous one. It was there, in the grimy depths of the undercity, that you had met Ekko. The boy with paint-streaked cheeks and a fire in his eyes had been as wary of you as you had been of him. Unfortunately, you had been too blinded by your own self-righteousness to notice the fire in his eyes. You thought your mission was noble, an act of goodwill to deliver medical supplies to Zaun’s struggling districts. Your family, House Arvino, had always prided itself on maintaining a veneer of philanthropy, even when their true motivations were rooted in politics. You had accompanied a group of Piltover enforcers on the trip, believing your presence would emphasize the importance of the task. You were wrong.

The moment you stepped into the heart of Zaun, the air itself seemed hostile. The tension was palpable, the sharp smell of chemical fumes mixing with the weight of countless wary stares from Zaunites who lined the streets. Your voice was soft and unsure as you addressed the gathered crowd, holding out your hands to show the crates of supplies. You thought you were doing something good, offering some small relief to people who had been forgotten.

But the enforcers who were armed and stoic, turned the scene into something far more sinister. They barked orders at the crowd, waving their weapons to ensure no one got too close. You had tried to intervene, to tell them this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but your voice was drowned out by the chaos they had already sown.

That was when the boy appeared, the one you heard slight rumors about. At first, you didn’t know exactly who he was, only that he seemed fearless as he stepped forward. Placing himself between the crowd and the enforcers. His voice rang out, cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Another topsider playing savior,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “You think you can fix Zaun with scraps from your table?”

You had never been spoken to like that before. His words, sharp and accusatory, made your cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment. You turned to him, trying to keep your composure despite the growing crowd that was watching the confrontation unfold.

“I’m not here to play savior,” you shot back, your voice steady even though your heart was racing. “I’m here to help.”

“Help?” He laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and mocking. “Your kind doesn’t help. You just come down here to feel good about yourselves, then leave us to clean up your mess.”

“I’m trying to make a difference!” you snapped, your frustration boiling over.

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his posture radiating defiance. “If you really wanted to make a difference, you wouldn’t bring enforcers with you like we’re criminals. You’d be standing with us, not above us.”

The words hit harder than you expected. Somewhere deep down, you knew he was right. The enforcers’ presence had turned an act of charity into a display of control, a reminder of Piltover’s dominance over Zaun. But admitting that felt like defeat, and you weren’t ready to back down.

“This isn’t about standing above anyone,” you argued. “I came here because I care. That’s more than most people from Piltover would do.”

“And that’s supposed to make you special?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Newsflash, princess, Zaun doesn’t need your pity. We need change.”

The enforcers stepped in before the argument could escalate further, pushing the crowd back and ordering you to return to the transport. You left with the weight of his words pressing heavily on your chest, his voice echoing in your mind long after you were gone.

Over the weeks that followed, you found yourself returning to Zaun despite the tension and despite him. Every time you came, he was there, watching you with that same guarded expression. It seemed like he could sense your discomfort, the guilt you carried for what Piltover had done to his home.

“Back again?” he would say, leaning casually against a wall with a smirk that made your blood boil. “Guess you didn’t get the message last time.”

“I’m not here for your approval,” you’d hiss back, your tone dry. “I’m here for the people who actually need help.”

“You think you’re helping?” he’d shoot back, his voice low and laced with frustration. “All you’re doing is putting a bandage on a bullet wound.”

His words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they forced you to confront truths you didn’t want to face. He wasn’t wrong. Everything you did felt small, insignificant compared to the scale of Zaun’s struggles. And yet, you couldn’t stop coming back.

Ekko was unlike anyone you had ever known. He was quick-witted and determined, a rebel who refused to back down in the face of injustice. But he didn’t trust you, not completely. “You’re just another Pilty trying to fix a world you don’t understand,” he had told you once, his voice filled with disdain.

“And you’re just another rebel too angry to see the bigger picture,” you had shot back. Yet despite the constant sparring, you found yourself drawn to him, to the hope buried beneath his frustration.

That hope turned to chaos one night when enforcers raided the Firelights’ hideout. It happened so fast. One moment, you were in the Firelights’ hideout, quietly listening as Ekko outlined plans for their next move against Piltover’s oppression. The next, chaos erupted.

The sound of boots echoed sharply against the metal grates of Zaun’s narrow passages. The enforcers had found the hideout. Your breath caught as the unmistakable clatter of their weapons reverberated through the space. You stood frozen, staring at Ekko as he barked orders to the Firelights around him, his voice sharp and commanding.

“You brought them here, didn’t you?” His words were like a blade, cutting through the noise. His piercing gaze locked onto you, and your stomach churned with guilt.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, but your voice was drowned out by the growing commotion. The enforcers didn’t give anyone time to explain. They swarmed in, their heavy armor gleaming under the dim light, weapons raised. You reached for the nearest object which was a dainty metal rod. And tried stand your ground. You weren’t going to let them harm anyone, not here.

Ekko was already moving, his quick reflexes guiding him as he darted through the chaos. The Firelights fought back, using their intimate knowledge of Zaun’s layout to their advantage. Smoke bombs went off, shrouding the room in thick, stinging fog. He towards you with a slight disgusted look and yelled, “You have to leave, Now!”

“I’m not leaving,” you said, your voice defiant.

“You’ll just slow us down,” he snapped, the frustration in his tone cutting deeper than he intended. “They need me. And you need to go back to your perfect little life, staying safe.”

His words stung, but before you could argue, he vanished into the fray, leaving you behind. You tried to follow, weaving through the chaos, but you weren’t quick enough. An enforcer caught you in the shadows, his grip like iron as he slammed you against the wall. “Here you are.”

However the enforcers were relentless. One of them caught sight of you, his eyes narrowing as he grinned. You swung the rod with the little strength you had left, but it was no match for their training. Pain exploded across your abdomen as he shot you. It nearly missed your stomach, however you crumpled to the ground. Gasping for the little air you could muster.

Through the haze of smoke and pain, Ekko pull something from his belt. A device crackling with vibrant green energy. “Firelights, cover your eyes!” he shouted. The device emitted a blinding flash, followed by a wave of sound that sent the enforcers reeling. Their yells of confusion filled the air as they stumbled back, disoriented and clutching their helmets.

The Firelights seized the opportunity, retreating deeper into the hideout and disappearing into secret tunnels. Ekko crouched beside you, his hands shaking as he lifted your chin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

Without replied to his question, you stumbled out of his grasp. Going into the streets of Zaun, clutching your side as every step sent searing pain through your body. The world around you blurred, a mix of dim lights and the shadows of the towering structures above.

He was shocked to say the least. ‘Why did you leave so abruptly?’ he questioned himself. Ekko didn’t waste a second, he truly did try to hide it. But as soon as the enforcers were gone and the Firelights were safe, he was out the door. Searching for you and he didn’t want to admit it. He knew didn’t know you as much, but he knew you were stubborn. Matter fact for the short period of time he was with you, he knew you were too stubborn to admit how badly you were hurt.

“Where the hell did you go?” he muttered under his breath, scanning the narrow alleys and dimly lit corners of Zaun. His mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. You were nowhere to be found.

The beating left you crumpled on the ground, your vision blurred and your body trembling with pain. Somehow you managed to drag yourself back to Piltover, every step a battle against the agony that wrecked your body. By the time you stumbled into your family’s estate, the grand halls felt like a mockery of your suffering. Your parents returned hours later to find you collapsed in the foyer, your bruises stark against your weak skin. Their shock quickly turned to anger, though it was born of fear.

“This is what happens when you defy us,” your father said, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you see now? You can’t change the world. You can only get yourself killed.”

“I trying to help,” you murmured, your voice weak but resolute.

“They are not your people,” your mother said, her tone filled with a mix of pity and frustration. “You are our only child. We can’t lose you to some pointless crusade.” Their words lingered, but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t. The divide between Piltover and Zaun wasn’t just physical, it was ideological. You were caught between two worlds, neither one willing to accept you fully. The summons to the Council came the next morning. As you stood in the grand chamber, the weight of their judgment bore down on you. Ambessa Medarda, seated at the center, regarded you with cold disdain.

“You stand accused of undermining Piltover’s authority by associating with the undercity,” she said, her voice sharp and unyielding. “Do you deny these charges?”

“I was just trying to helping people,” you replied exhaustively, your voice steady despite the pain in your ribs.

Ambessa’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Helping? Piltover thrives because of order. And you, as an Arvino, have brought chaos to our city.”The council murmured their agreement, their disapproval a suffocating presence in the room.

“Your actions were reckless,” Ambessa continued. “And your injuries are your own doing. You clutched the knife and cut yourself on its blade, all in the name of some misguided sympathy for the undercity." Her words felt like another blow, each one landing with precision and force.

You straightened your back, though the pain flared at the effort. "I acted because the people of Zaun are ignored and oppressed. Piltover turns a blind eye while it prospers off their suffering. That's not order, it’s exploitation." The murmurs grew louder, some council members shifting uncomfortably in their seats. But Ambessa didn't waver. Her gaze bore into you, her lips curling with faint amusement.

"Such passion," she mused. "But passion without purpose is just noise. You may think yourself a savior, but all you've done is tarnish your family's name and threaten the stability of our city."

Before you could respond, the chamber doors swung open with a heavy groan, and your parents entered. Dressed in their finest, House Arvino's patriarch and matriarch carried themselves with the grace and dignity that Piltover revered. Yet the tension in their features betrayed their unease.

"Ambessa," your father began, his tone measured but firm. "My child's actions, while impulsive, stem from a place of compassion. Surely the Council can recognize that their intentions were not malicious."

"Compassion?" Ambessa's tone was mocking. "Compassion does not excuse rebellion. House Arvino has always stood for loyalty to Piltover's ideals. Is that no longer the case?"

Your mother stepped forward, her voice calm but resolute. "Our loyalty has never wavered. But to degrade my child in front of this council as if they are a common criminal is unacceptable." Ambessa's expression darkened.

"Unacceptable is your heir jeopardizing the balance we've worked so hard to maintain. Zaun is a powder keg, and actions like theirs threaten to ignite it." You bit your lip to keep from speaking. The words you wanted to hurl at her-at all of them-burned on your tongue, but your mother's warning glance silenced you.

"House Arvino will address this matter internally," your father said, his voice brooking no argument. "We will ensure that such actions are not repeated."

Ambessa leaned back in her chair, studying your parents with a calculating gaze. "See that you do. Piltover cannot afford dissent from within its own ranks." The council murmured their agreement, and the session was adjourned. As you were escorted from the chamber, the weight of the council's disdain hung heavy over you.

Back in the confines of your family's estate, the anger you had suppressed boiled over. You slammed your hands against the polished surface of your desk, the pain in your ribs flaring with the movement. "They're cowards," you spat, your voice trembling with fury. "All of them. Sitting in their gilded towers while Zaun suffers."

"Alright thats enough," your father said sharply, entering the room with your mother close behind. "You don't understand the position you've put us in. House Arvino cannot afford to be seen as weak or disloyal."

"I don't care about any of that!" you shouted, turning to face them. "Zaun doesn't have the luxury of appearances. They're dying while we live in luxury!"

Your mother's expression softened, but her voice was firm. "We understand your frustration. But your actions cannot continue. They will destroy you, and us." Their words echoed Ekko's from the night before, and the parallel struck a chord. You sank into a chair, the fight leaving you as exhaustion took its place. "I can't just stop. Not when I know what's happening down there."

Your father sighed, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Then you must find another way. A way that doesn't make enemies of those who hold power." The conversation ended there, but the fire within you didn't dim. If anything, it burned brighter. You couldn't stop. Not now.

Months have passed since your bruises had faded were a careful balancing act, though you still visited Zaun, slipping away under the guise of errands or charitable outings. But you couldn’t risk your parents catching on. To lessen their suspicions, you began inviting Ekko to your home. It was a calculated move, one that made your absences less frequent and gave the illusion that you’d abandoned your cause entirely.

Your room was a testament to Piltover’s grandeur, a lavish blend of opulence and elegance. High ceilings adorned with intricate gold detailing framed the space. The sheer curtains cascaded from tall windows, filtering moonlight across the polished marble floor. A canopy bed, draped in silken fabrics, sat at the room’s center, its pillows and blankets impossibly soft. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes ranging from engineering texts to poetry. A chandelier, all crystal and gleaming light, hung overhead, casting a warm glow over every corner.

It was in this very room that Ekko sat now, hidden behind the lush velvet curtains of one of the tall windows. Your father had come to check on you earlier, his heavy footsteps unmistakable in the hallway. When he entered, you were seated at your desk, feigning focus on a mundane ledger. He lingered by the door, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on you. “You’ve been staying home more often,” he observed.

You offered a nonchalant shrug. “I realized it was pointless to keep going there. It’s useless trying to fix what can’t be fixed.”

Your father’s face betrayed nothing, but there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “A wise choice,” he said simply, and without another word, he left.

The door clicked shut, and you exhaled slowly, waiting until his footsteps faded down the hall. Then, turning your head slightly, you murmured, “You can come out now.”

Ekko stepped from behind the curtains, his movements silent but confident. He was a great contrast to your room’s pristine elegance. His clothes patched and worn, his presence a reminder of the worlds you tried to somehow balance. “You’re getting good at lying,” he remarked, a teasing edge to his tone.

You rolled your eyes, motioning for him to sit on the plush chair near your desk. “I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t insist on brainstorming plans here.”

“It’s safer,” he replied, settling into the chair and pulling a small notebook from his pocket. “Besides, you’re the one with the luxury of access. If we’re going to unite the cities, we need someone who can work both sides.”

You hated how his words made your heart race. Not because of their weight but because it was Ekko saying them. Somewhere in the months of sneaking around and strategizing, you’d grown to like him in a way that went far beyond friendly admiration. You buried those feelings deep, telling yourself there was no time for distractions.

The hours passed as the two of you pored over maps, scribbled ideas, and argued over logistics. The moon rose higher in the sky, its silver light pouring through the windows and bathing your room in an ethereal glow. Ekko grew quieter as the night wore on, his usual sharp wit replaced by a pensive silence. You noticed his gaze flickering to you more often, lingering for moments too long before darting away. At first, you ignored it, chalking it up to exhaustion. But when you caught him staring for the fifth time, you couldn’t help but smirk. “Something on your mind?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just thinking.”

“About?” you questioned, leaning back against your chair.

“About how strange it is, being here,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. “This room, this world…it feels like it shouldn’t exist. Like it’s too perfect to be real.”

“It’s not perfect,” you said quietly, your gaze dropping to the papers on your desk. “It’s a gilded cage. Nothing more.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Then, slowly, he stood and crossed the room to where you sat.

“I hate to say this. But atleast i’m here…” he said hesitantly, his voice low and steady.

Something in his tone made your breath hitch. You looked up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you leaned in.

Ekko met you halfway, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that left you breathless. His hand found the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was raw, desperate, and full of the emotions you'd both kept bottled up for too long.

He pulled you to your feet, guiding you back toward the bed without breaking the kiss. The world blurred around you, your senses overwhelmed by the warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, the way he made you feel alive in a way you never had before.

You fell onto the bed, the soft blankets and pillows cushioning your back as he leaned over you, his weight a comforting pressure. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you again and again, each one more passionate than the last.

It wasn't until his arms braced on either side of your head that he pulled back, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness in his eyes.

"Do you want me to keep going?" he asked, his voice hoarse. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "You might as well…" And as he leaned down to kiss you again, you knew there was no going back from this.

Golden hues of the afternoon sun spilled into your room through the tall, arched windows, painting the polished wooden floors in a mosaic of light and shadow. Outside, the tranquil sounds of Piltover carried through the crisp air. The distant hum of mechanized carriages, the faint chatter of passersby, and the melodic chirping of birds perched along the grand gardens that surrounded your home. Everything was perfect, picturesque even, but it all felt hollow.

Your bedroom was a masterpiece of luxury, a reflection of House Arvino’s status. Elegant bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes you once eagerly devoured. A velvet armchair sat by the fireplace, its cushion still as pristine as the day it arrived, and your grand four-poster bed was draped in silk, untouched except for the rumpled corner where you sat. Yet, despite the warmth and beauty of the space, it felt cold.

You hadn’t touched your breakfast that morning, nor the one the day before. The silver tray your maid brought hours ago sat untouched on your writing desk, the tea long gone cold. Your appetite had vanished with him.

“Miss,” came a tentative voice from the doorway. You turned to see Anya, your maid, standing there with a concerned expression. She stepped into the room, her brow furrowed as her gaze swept over you. “You haven’t eaten again. This isn’t healthy.”

You waved her off without meeting her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she pressed gently, her voice tinged with worry. “You’ve barely touched your meals for over a week. If this continues, I’ll have to tell your parents.”

Her words sent a jolt through you. The last thing you wanted was for your parents to get involved. They wouldn’t understand. They never did. But you knew Anya was serious. Her loyalty to you didn’t outweigh her duty to ensure your well-being.

“Alright,” you relented, forcing a weak smile. “I’ll eat later.”

Anya didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and left the room. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. You leaned back against the plush pillows of your bed, staring up at the intricate carvings on the ceiling. Days had turned into weeks since Ekko had kissed you in this very room. Weeks since you’d seen him, since you’d spoken to him. At first, you’d waited eagerly, expecting him to climb through your window with that same confident smirk he always wore. But as the days passed, hope turned to disappointment.

However, the first week had been agony. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the trees outside, had sent your heart racing, only for it to sink when you realized it wasn’t him. You told yourself he was busy, that Zaun demanded too much of him to spare a moment for you. But as the second week came and went, you began to question everything.

Was the kiss a mistake? Did he regret it? The thought gnawed at you, leaving you restless and irritable. Eventually, you stopped waiting. You stopped glancing at the window, stopped listening for the familiar sound of his footsteps. If he didn’t want to see you, then fine. You wouldn’t waste your time waiting for someone who clearly didn’t care.

But despite your best efforts to move on, the ache in your chest remained. It showed in the way you pushed away your meals, the way you avoided the social gatherings your parents encouraged you to attend. Your mother had noticed, of course, her sharp eyes taking in your pale complexion and listless demeanor. “Are you unwell, darling?” she’d asked one evening, her tone as polished as ever.

You’d smiled and lied, assuring her it was nothing more than fatigue. She’d accepted your answer, but her gaze lingered, skeptical.

Now, as you sat in your room, the weight of it all pressing down on you, you realized you couldn’t keep living like this. You couldn’t keep letting his absence control your life. If he didn’t care, then neither should you. But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself, the truth was undeniable. You missed him.

The days stretched on, blending into a monotony of forced smiles and empty conversations. You threw yourself into the routines of Piltover’s elite. Attending social calls, charitable luncheons, and the parties where everyone whispered behind jeweled fans about alliances and intrigue. On the surface, you seemed like yourself again. You laughed when expected, nodded politely during dull conversations, and played the part of the perfect child of House Arvino.

But beneath the carefully constructed façade, a storm brewed. No matter how hard you tried to bury it, the memory of Ekko lingered, sharper and more vivid with each passing day. His voice, his touch, the way he had kissed you. It all haunted you. It didn’t make sense, you told yourself. He was just a friend, nothing more. Yet the thought of him ignoring you, of deliberately staying away, clawed at your chest.

One night, long after the rest of your house had gone to bed, you sat by your window, staring out at the glowing lights of Piltover. The thought hit you with the force of a hammer. You know deep down that you couldn’t keep waiting. If he wouldn’t come to you, then you would go to him.

The decision wasn’t easy. It took days to build up the courage, to push aside the fear of what you might find. But when you finally made your way to Zaun, the heavy air and dim light of the undercity greeted you like an old adversary. You navigated the twisting streets, every step bringing back memories of the times you’d spent here. How he had carefully and slowly opened this world to you, how you’d fought for it together. Well atleast try to.

When you finally reached the Firelights’ hideout, you felt your stomach tighten. It looked the same as ever, but something about it felt different. You spotted him almost immediately, standing near a table strewn with maps and tools, his back to you. “Ekko,” you called out, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest.

He turned slowly, his face unreadable. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Was it surprise, maybe even relief. Either way it didn’t matter because it was gone in an instant, replaced by an icy look. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone cold.

The words hit you harder than you expected. “I… I came to see you. It’s been weeks, and—”

“And what?” He cut you off, turning away to fiddle with something on the table. “You’ve got a life up there. What do you need me for?”

Your chest tightened, anger bubbling to the surface. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like I just forgot about you. You’re the one who stopped coming around.”

He scoffed, finally turning to face you. “Stopped coming around? You think I’ve got time to play house? I’ve got real things to deal with here, things that actually matter.”

The words stung, but you refused to back down. “And I don’t? Do you think it’s easy for me to come here, to fight for a place I don’t even belong to? I thought we were doing this together, Ekko.”

He stepped closer, his voice rising. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t belong here. This about you. You can go back to your fancy dinners and your perfect life anytime you want, but this is my reality.”

You clenched your fists, your own voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare act like I haven’t sacrificed anything! Do you know what it’s like to lie to everyone you care about, to pretend you’re someone you’re not, just so you can try to make a difference?”

“Sacrifice?” he shot back, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You don’t know the first thing about sacrifice.” The air between you crackled with tension, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on you both. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the anger simmering in the silence.

Finally, you took a shaky breath, your voice softer but no less firm. “You don’t get to decide what I care about, Ekko. I came here because I thought you were my friend.”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “I didn’t ask for you to come.” The words were like a slap to the face, but you refused to let him see how much they hurt. “Fine,” you said, your voice cold. “If that’s how you feel, then I won’t bother you again.”

You turned on your heel, walking away before he could see the tears starting to swell in your eyes. But just as you reached the door, his voice stopped you. “Wait.”

You hesitated, your hand on the worn wood, but you didn’t turn around.

“I…” His voice faltered, the anger replaced by something softer. He inched his head as he paced around, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You looked back at him, his expression finally cracking. There was pain in his eyes, the same pain you’d been carrying for weeks.

“Then what did you mean?” you asked quietly, your voice trembling.

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I didn’t know what to say. After what happened, I thought it’d be easier if I stayed away. But it wasn’t.”

Your shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of you. Looking at with with complete disbelief. “Seriously! You could’ve just told me.”

He nodded, his expression filled with regret. “Yeah. I should’ve.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the weight of the argument lingering in the air. But as you looked at him, at the boy who had opened your eyes to so much, you felt the anger fade, replaced by something else. This was something you weren’t ready to admit to anyone.

A few months have passed and things were relatively calm, much hasn’t happened since then. The suffocating air of Piltover’s council chamber lingered in your mind as you strode through the bustling streets of Zaun. The conversations in those hallowed halls always left a bitter taste on your tongue. They spoke of progress and prosperity, but beneath the gilded rhetoric, it was all about control. To control of resources, people, and power. It was a game you were born into but had grown to despise.

You moved swiftly, your hood pulled low to shield your face from prying eyes. The undercity was alive with its usual chaos, but you’d long learned to navigate its labyrinthine streets without drawing attention. This was your escape, your solace. The world of House Arvino, your family’s wealth, influence, and ties to the Council. It all felt more like chains with each passing day.

The hideout was tucked deep within the shadows of Zaun, a sanctuary for the oppressed and rebellious. It had become a second home to you, a place where you could finally breathe. Ekko had been wary of you at first, rightfully so. Your name carried weight in Piltover, and trust wasn’t something he gave freely. But over time, you’d proven yourself.

Today, the air in the hideout was thick with tension. Ekko was at the center of it all, his voice calm but commanding as he gave orders to his crew. He noticed you immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as you approached.

“Back again?” he asked, leaning against a makeshift table. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a quiet concern he rarely voiced outright.

“I can’t seem to stay away,” you replied, offering a small smile.

His lips twitched, almost forming a grin, but he shook his head instead. “You’re playing a dangerous game, y’know?”

You shrugged. “I know.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering as if he was trying to decipher something. Then, with a sigh, he gestured for you to follow him to a quieter corner.

“What’s really going on?” he asked once you were alone. “You’ve been coming here more often, and I know it’s not just to check on the Firelights.”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of your cloak. “I… I don’t know if I can keep doing this. Pretending like everything’s fine topside when I know how much blood is on their hands. My family’s hands.”

He frowned, his usual confidence giving way to something softer. “You’re not responsible for what they do.”

“Aren’t I?” you countered, your voice rising. “I’m part of them, Ekko. Every time I go back to that house, every time I sit in those meetings, I’m complicit. I’m part of the system that’s crushing this place.”

The intensity of your words caught him off guard, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding. “Then why do you keep going back?”

“Because…” You trailed off, your throat tightening. “Because I thought I could help. That I could use my position to make a difference. But now, I’m not so sure. The Council sees Zaun as nothing more than a problem to be solved, more importantly, destroyed.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened, his anger barely contained. “They’ll never stop. Not unless we make them.”

You couldn’t stop thinking of the face ekko made when you told him what you were internally thinking. How the council thinks so poorly about zaun, how it can be something that wouldn’t be missed if it was gone. It was horrible that most of the topsiders thought the same way, had the same mindset.

You walked briskly, the streets unfamiliar under the heavy shadows of the evening. You had chosen this route for its discretion, a calculated decision that now felt dangerous in its isolation.

Your heart pounded in your chest, though you didn't want to admit why. It wasn't fear of being recognized or stopped by one of Zaun's residents. No, this was something more insidious. A seed of doubt planted by weeks of balancing on a blade's edge between two lives. House Arvino's influence was undeniable, and it had kept you shielded from true danger for so long. But here in Zaun, your family name meant less than nothing. To most, you were just another noble, another cog in the machine grinding them into dust.

Ambessa had recently cornered you in Piltover's glittering council halls, her words honeyed but laced with venom. She had offered you promises of power, privilege, and security for your family. In order to gain immunity from suspicion, all in exchange for complete submission. You'd nodded and played your role, but the encounter left you hollow. The high society life you'd once cherished now felt like a gilded cage, and her offer only tightened the bars.

Yet, her influence was terrifying. Under Ambessa's direction, the Council had started scrutinizing House Arvino with an alarming intensity. The Firelights, they claimed, had spies in Piltover. And somehow, House Arvino's connections to Zaun became their scapegoat. You were well aware of what that scrutiny meant-your family was being squeezed, maneuvered into a position where betrayal seemed the only way to survive. A betrayal by who? you thought.

As you turned a corner into an empty alley, those doubts turned into a growing unease. The silence around you felt oppressive, unnatural. You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder. That was when the first strike landed, the butt of the gun hitting your head. You staggered, gasping in pain, only to be shoved against the damp wall. A rough hand grabbed your cloak and yanked it back, revealing your face to the enforcers.

"Well, well," one sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "A little lost noble playing savior in Zaun yet again."

"Let go!" you hissed, trying to pull free. But there were too many of them, and their grips were forceful and rough.

"We know all about your little meetings with the boy," another enforcer said, driving his fist into your stomach. "Did you really think you could run around down here without consequences? Or did your family forget to teach you how the real world works?" The pain blurred your vision as you crumpled to the ground. You clawed at the dirt, trying to crawl away, but another blow landed, then another.

Laughter echoed around you as they kicked and struck without mercy. The worst part wasn't the physical pain. It was the guilt, the sickening realization that you'd been naive enough to believe there could be change. Especially from within the Council's walls. You'd hoped that by walking the line between your family and the Firelights, you could create something better. But this? This was your reward for dreaming too much.

Tears blurred your vision as you curled into yourself, trying to shield your head. "Stupid," you whispered through clenched teeth. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." You slammed your fist against your temple, desperate to drown out the pain, the voices, the failure.

The enforcers stepped back momentarily, likely to assess whether you were still conscious. But before they could strike again, a loud crackling sound filled the air. "Back off," came a familiar voice, sharp and commanding.

You barely managed to open your eyes, but the sight was unmistakable. Ekko and his hoverboard gleaming as he charged forward. Behind him, several Firelights emerged from the shadows, their makeshift weapons glowing in the dim light.

"What the-" one enforcer started, but Ekko was already upon him, a precise swing of his bat sending the man sprawling. The Firelights fought with a ferocity that sent the enforcers scattering, though Ekko's eyes never left you. He reached your side in moments, dropping to his knees. "Hey," he said, his voice softer now. "Don’t go close your eyes, stay with me now."

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Blood trickled from a huge gash above your brow, staining your face. Ekko pressed a hand to your shoulder to steady you, but you flinched. Your fist weakly hitting your own head again. "Stop it," he said firmly, grabbing your wrist before you could hurt yourself further. "Hey! Don't do that."

"I'm an idiot," you mumbled, your voice barely audible. "| thought... I thought they could change. That Piltover could change. But I was wrong. They'll never stop."

His expression softened, though his jaw was still tight with anger. "You're not an idiot. You're just optimistic... too hopeful for your own good."

The Firelights surrounded you, their movements tense as they prepared for more enforcers to arrive. Ekko lifted you carefully, his arm supporting your weight. "We need to move," one of his crew said.

"Yeah i know," Ekko replied, his eyes still on you. "Let's get out of here."

As he carried you to safety, the weight of your choices pressed down on you like never before. Your family would demand answers. The Council would escalate their efforts. And Ambessa? Oh, she’s gonna have a fieldday with this. She would stop at nothing to make you pay for what she'd see, see it as a betrayal to your own people. But as Ekko held you steady, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos, you realized something else. You were no longer just caught between two worlds, you were tearing one down to build the other.

Ekko’s chambers weren’t lavish, but they were purposeful, an organized chaos that spoke of a leader always in motion. The space was tucked inside one of the largest branches of the Firelight’s sprawling treehouse hideout. The soft glow of lanterns filled the room, their light reflecting off walls adorned with maps, sketches, and scattered tools. From the small window, you could see the hideout below, a buzzing network of walkways, platforms, and people moving with quiet purpose.

The bed you lay on was makeshift but sturdy, piled with blankets and pillows that smelled faintly of Zaun’s metal-tinged air. Your body ached everywhere. Sharp, stinging pains in some places, a deep, relentless soreness in others. Slowly, you tried to sit up, wincing as the movement sent sharp jolts of pain through your ribs.

Across the room, Ekko stood at a workbench, tinkering with something that sparked faintly under his fingers. His braids were tied back, and his jacket was slung over the back of a chair, leaving him in a simple shirt that clung to his frame. When he glanced over and saw you struggling to rise, his eyes widened, and he immediately abandoned his project.

“Hey, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, crossing the room in a heartbeat.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as you tried to wave him off.

“You’re not fine,” he countered, his hands carefully but firmly guiding you back down onto the bed. “You’ve been out for two days, and you can barely sit up without wincing.”

“I can handle it,” you said, though your body betrayed you with another sharp wince as you tried to adjust yourself on the pillows.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ekko replied dryly, but his voice softened as he knelt beside the bed. “Seriously. You need to rest. Let me help.”

There was a quiet moment as he adjusted the pillows behind you, moving with surprising gentleness. His hands lingered briefly, his eyes scanning your face as if double checking for signs of discomfort.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

He shook his head, leaning back on his heels. “You don’t have to thank me. I just… You scared the hell out of me, y’know?”

You glanced away, guilt stirring in your chest. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t think it would get THAT bad.”

Ekko sat back on the floor, his arms resting on his knees as he studied you. “Why did you do it?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “When I found you, you were hitting yourself and saying all these… awful things. About yourself.”

Your breath hitched at the memory, shame washing over you. “It’s just… something I do when I’m frustrated,” you admitted, not meeting his gaze. “I was angry, at everyone and everything. Y’know, I thought I could make a difference, but I was wrong. I let everyone down.”

“Oh come on don’t say that,” Ekko said firmly, cutting you off. “You didn’t let anyone down. You’re one of the only people from Piltover who actually cares about Zaun. And yeah, maybe you were too optimistic, but that’s not a bad thing. You don’t deserve what they did to you.” His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, he added, “It’s not safe for you to go back to Piltover.”

You frowned, meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been hearing things,” Ekko said, his expression darkening. “Rumors. Ambessa’s pissed. She thinks you’ve betrayed the Council, and she’s not the kind of person to let something like that slide. Word is, she wants your head.” The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest, and you slumped back against the pillows. “So that’s it, then?” you said bitterly. “I can’t go home. I can’t go back to Piltover. What am I supposed to do now?”

Ekko leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. “You stay here,” he said simply. “With me. You’ve got people who will vouch for you for the most part. I’ll fight for you.” Something in his tone made your chest tighten, and for the first time in days, a small, hesitant smile tugged at your lips. “Thanks, Ekko. For literally everything.”

He reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “Anytime .”

, marked with red ink, highlighted the areas where House Arvino’s trade routes intersected with Zaun’s underbelly.

A grizzled Baron leaned forward, his metallic fingers tapping against the table. “House Arvino’s little noble has gone rogue,” he rasped, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “The Council’s after them, sure, but that just makes this all the more interesting for us.”

Another Baron, her voice honeyed but sharp, chimed in. “If we get our hands on them, imagine the leverage we’d have. Not just over Arvino, but the Council and even the Firelights. They’re a walking, breathing key to the chaos we’ve been craving.”

“They’re already in Zaun,” another added, her tone laced with confidence. “All we need is patience. When the time is right, we’ll make our move.” The Barons exchanged nods, their plan unspoken but clear. For now, they would wait, watching, their web of spies and informants slowly tightening around you.

From across the platform, Ekko leaned casually against a railing, watching the interaction unfold. His arms were crossed, but there was a noticeable softness in his gaze, a flicker of something close to admiration.

In the days that followed, the children of the hideout began to gravitate toward you. They tugged at your hands, peppering you with questions about Piltover and laughing at your awkward attempts to keep up with their boundless energy. You found yourself helping where you could, organizing supplies, assisting with small repairs, and even attempting to teach some of the younger ones how to read.

Though the older Firelights were slower to trust, you noticed their glances were no longer as sharp, their whispers not as harsh. You were earning your place here, bit by bit, though it was a far cry from the life you had once known. Piltover, with its grand halls and polished façades, felt like a distant memory now, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to cling to.

Ekko, ever watchful, seemed to take quiet satisfaction in your efforts. He didn’t say much, but his presence was definitely there. Whether he was checking on you or working alongside the others. There was a rhythm to life in the hideout, and you were beginning to find your place within it.

Unbeknownst to you, danger loomed closer than you realized. The Chem Barons’ spies were everywhere, watching, reporting back with meticulous detail. Every interaction you had, every movement you made, was noted. To them, you were a pawn in a much larger game, one that could tip the balance of power in Zaun.

“They’re softening,” one spy reported back, his voice low as he spoke into a communicator hidden beneath his cloak. “The Firelights trust them more every day. If we move now, it’ll be too obvious.”

“Let them feel safe,” came the reply, cold and calculating. “When the time is right, we’ll take them. And when we do, House Arvino will learn what happens when they meddle in Zaun’s affairs.”

It was another ordinary morning in the hideout when you decided to venture outside Ekko’s chambers. The soreness in your body was a dull ache now, manageable but constant. As you stepped onto the main platform, the sunlight filtering through the leaves felt warm on your skin, a stark contrast to the chill of Piltover’s marble halls.

You hadn’t noticed Ekko watching you until you caught his reflection in the metal plating of a nearby railing. He was perched on a ledge, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone teasing as you turned to face him fully.

Ekko smirked, hopping down from the ledge with practiced ease. “Just making sure you’re not overdoing it,” he shot back. “You’ve got a habit of biting off more than you can chew.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms despite the ache in your shoulders. “I’m fine, Ekko. I’ve been fine. You don’t have to keep hovering.”

His expression softened, but he didn’t back down. “Someone has to. If it weren’t for me, you’d probably still be lying in the street.” The reminder stung, not because it wasn’t true, but because it forced you to confront just how fragile your position had become. You looked away, scanning the hideout below where Firelights bustled about their tasks. The children’s laughter floated up, a soothing balm to the tension that threatened to settle between you and Ekko.

“I’ve been trying to help,” you murmured. “I don’t want to be a burden. It’s just that…” You trailed off, unsure of how to put the conflict in your heart into words.

Ekko stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “You’re not a burden,” he said firmly. “But you’re not invincible either. And if you keep throwing yourself into danger like this, someone’s going to take advantage of it.” His words hit harder than you cared to admit, but before you could respond, a group of children came running up, dragging you into their latest adventure A game that involved climbing ropes strung between the platforms. You gave Ekko a grateful smile, silently promising him you’d be careful, even if you weren’t entirely sure how.

That night, as the Firelights settled into the quiet hum of evening, Ekko pulled you aside. His chambers felt more like a refuge now than a room, its warmth amplified by the soft glow of firelight reflecting off polished metal and glass.

“You’ve been doing good here,” he began, leaning against his workbench. “The kids adore you, and even the older crew is starting to come around. But it’s not just about fitting in, you know?”

You tilted your head, unsure where he was going with this. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against the table. “The Chem Barons,” he said finally, his tone heavy. “They’ve got their eyes on you now. Your family’s deals with them? Those don’t go unnoticed. And with the Council already hunting you, you’re stuck between two very dangerous sides.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a shroud. “So what do I do?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ekko stepped closer, his gaze meeting yours. “Like i said earlier, you stay here. The Firelights are your best chance now. We’ll protect you, but you’ve got to let us.”

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the fear gnawing at your resolve. “And my family?”

“Well they already made their choice,” he said, his tone softening. “Now you’ve got to make yours.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. Ekko’s steady presence was a comfort, a reminder that you weren’t as alone as you felt.

You have spent the last few weeks peacefully managing your new life in zaun. As for today, it was surely a day to remember. It had been long but rewarding. You’d spent most of it helping around the hideout, patching up clothes, organizing supplies, and entertaining the children with small stories and makeshift games. Their laughter had been infectious, warming a part of you that you didn’t even realize had grown cold. But now, as the sun set and the last streaks of orange faded from the sky, exhaustion crept over you like a heavy blanket.

Returning to Ekko’s chambers felt like stepping into a sanctuary. The room was quiet, the gentle hum of activity outside muffled by the thick wood and steel walls. The soft glow of a makeshift lamp illuminated the space, casting warm shadows across the worn furniture. The room smelled faintly of oil and smoke, mixed with something earthy. You didn’t even bother taking off your boots, flopping onto the bed with a sigh and burying your face in the worn but surprisingly soft blankets.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. You weren’t sure. You only stirred when you heard the sound of the door opening and closing quietly. Lifting your head, you spotted Ekko standing near the entrance, his figure backlit by the dim lights outside. His jacket was off, his sleeveless shirt revealing the lean muscle of his arms. His hair was tied back tonight, though a few strands had fallen loose, framing his face in a way that made your chest tighten.

“You look dead,” he teased, though there was no humor in his voice. His eyes swept over you, his usual sharpness softened by concern.

“I feel dead,” you replied, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Ekko crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling a chair closer to sit by the bedside. “Long day?”

You nodded, not bothering to sit up. “Rewarding, though. The kids are exhausting, but in a good way. I think I’m finally starting to feel like I’m… I don’t know, contributing?”

He leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched you. “You’ve done more than enough already. They’re warming up to you faster than I thought they would. Guess you’ve got a knack for making people feel safe.”

His words brought a faint smile to your lips, but your body felt too heavy to do much more than that. “Maybe. Or maybe they just like the shiny Piltover noble playing dress-up as a Firelight.”

“You’re more than that,” he said softly, almost too softly for you to hear. The weight of his gaze drew your attention. Turning your head, you found his eyes fixed on you, dark and intense in a way that made your stomach twist. There was something unspoken in his expression, something raw and magnetic.

“Ekko,” you said, his name slipping from your lips like a warning. He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he brought himself closer to your level. The air between you grew thick, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of you seemed willing to break.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved, not to touch you, but to hover near your face, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right. “You should rest,” he said finally, though his voice was strained, as though it was the last thing he wanted to say.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice betrayed you. There was a nervous tremor there, one that you couldn’t quite suppress.

“You’re not,” he replied, his tone sharper this time, though the edge was softened by the way his hand dropped to his lap, curling into a fist. “And you shouldn’t have to keep pretending you are.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest. He was too close, his presence overwhelming in a way that left you both yearning and terrified. For a moment, you thought he might lean in, that he might close the unbearable distance between you. And part of you wanted him to. But you couldn’t.

As if sensing your hesitation, Ekko pulled back, though his expression betrayed the conflict raging inside him. He rose from the chair abruptly, turning his back to you as he ran a hand over his face. “I need to check on something,” he said, his voice tight.

You sat up slightly, confusion and guilt warring within you. “Ekko, wait—”

“There’s food on the table,” he interrupted, not turning to face you. “You should eat. And…” He hesitated, his hand resting on the doorknob. “I left something for you. Thought you might like it.”

Before you could respond, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. You stared at the space he’d just vacated, the room suddenly feeling much larger and lonelier than it had before.

Rising from the bed, you made your way to the small table in the corner. A covered plate of food sat there, still warm, alongside a neatly wrapped package. Your fingers trembled as you opened it, revealing a small, intricately carved pendant in the shape of a firefly. The sight of it brought a lump to your throat. You clutched the pendant tightly, sinking back into the chair as a wave of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. Ekko had left, but his presence lingered in every corner of the room, in the care he’d shown you, in the gift he’d left behind.

You closed your eyes, the weight of the hectic day and the unresolved tension between you pressing down like a heavy blanket. But even as exhaustion pulled you under, you couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes. The way they had looked at you, filled with longing and restraint.

Hours ticked by like an endless parade of thoughts that refused to settle. You sat in Ekko’s chair, knees drawn up slightly as your elbows resting on them. cradling your head in your hands. A sigh escaped your lips, heavy and full of frustration, as your thoughts spiraled into overthinking once again. Why hadn’t he kissed you earlier?

At first, you tried to dismiss it as if it was nothing, just a fleeting moment, something that could be easily explained away by the heat of the moment. But deep down, you knew better. The way he had looked at you wasn’t casual or friendly. It was something more, something intense and unspoken.

Still, you couldn’t help but doubt. Maybe he had been teasing, the way friends sometimes did to lighten the mood. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, and you’d simply read too much into it. But then your mind wandered back to that day in your bedroom. The memory of his closeness as the tension that sparked between you like lightning in a thunderstorm.

Friends don’t act like that.

But then again, why had he ignored you for weeks after that moment? Why hadn’t he said anything or even done anything, to give you some clarity? The questions swirled in your head, each one feeding into the next, until your chest felt tight and your breathing shallow.

You let out another sigh, leaning forward until your forehead almost touched your knees. “What are you doing to me, Ekko?” you murmured to yourself, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

You glanced at the door for the hundredth time, wondering where he’d gone. What was keeping him out so late or rather so early, given the faint light of sun beginning to creep into the room. Would he even come back tonight? Or was this going to be like before, where he disappeared for days, leaving you to piece together the fragments of what you thought you understood about him?

The thought of being ignored again made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared to admit. You leaned back in the chair, closing your eyes against the onslaught of emotions. Sleep pulled at you, but you resisted, stubbornly staying awake as if you could somehow summon him back to you. Eventually, though, your exhaustion won. Your head lolled against the back of the chair, your breathing evening out as sleep claimed you.

Ekko slipped into the room quietly, his footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floor. The sight of you hit him like a punch to the chest. There you were, curled up in his chair, fast asleep. Your face was soft in slumber, but there was a faint crease between your brows. Almost as if even your dreams couldn’t fully erase the tension you’d been feeling. His gaze softened as he took you in, a pang of guilt threading through his chest.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Jeez…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Carefully, he crossed the room and crouched beside you. You stirred slightly at his presence, murmuring something incoherent. Without thinking, he slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly into his strong arms.

You mumbled something again, your head lolling against his shoulder. Which caused him to freeze for a moment, waiting to see if you’d wake up. But you didn’t. He carried you to the bed and laid you down gently, pulling the blanket over you.

As he turned to step away, he felt your hand grab weakly at his shirt. “Don’t go,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. He froze in place, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at you, your eyes half-open and drowsy but locked onto his.

“You shouldn’t sleep in a chair,” you continued, your words slightly slurred. “And you… shouldn’t leave me like that.”

His breath caught. “I wasn’t going to leave,” he said softly.

You tugged at his shirt again, pulling him closer. He sank down onto the edge of the bed, his face hovering close to yours. “Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The question hung in the air, heavy and electrified. Ekko’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing a deep red. “What?”

“When you had the chance,” you mumbled, your voice fading as sleep pulled at you again. “You looked like you wanted to, but you didn’t. Why?”

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. The proximity, the softness of your voice and the vulnerability in your question. It was almost too much to handle. He didn’t know how to answer. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could answer it.

“You were exhausted,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think it was the right time.”

You hummed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so stubborn,” you whispered, your eyes drifting shut.

He exhaled shakily, his heart continued its rapid pace as he watched you fall back into sleep. For a moment, he just sat there, his gaze tracing the outline of your beautiful face. He wanted to kiss you. God, he wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.

Instead, he stood and grabbed the chair, dragging it closer to the bed. He sat down and rested his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing, to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He stayed there until the drowsiness claimed him too.

You woke to the warmth of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wooden walls, a golden glow bathing the room. It was already late, half the day gone, by the looks of it. You woke up to the warmth of the sun shining through the cracks on the wooden walls. It bathed the room. You stretched lazily under the blanket, the aches in your body from the past few days reduced to a dull throb. Turning your head, you saw Ekko. Who was still slumped in the chair beside the bed, asleep.

Your brow furrowed as you watched him. His head rested awkwardly on one hand, his legs stretched out, his shoulders slightly hunched. How could he sleep like that? He must’ve spent the entire night sitting there just to keep an eye on you.

How can he sacrifice his comfort like this?

You studied him, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his features. He looked so tired, so worn down. Ekko carried so much on his shoulders. The Firelights, the fight for Zaun’s freedom, the safety of the kids who looked up to him. And not to mention you as well. It wasn’t fair, you thought. He gave so much of himself and rarely took a moment for his own peace.

You slid out of bed quietly, wincing at the soreness in your muscles, and approached him. Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake. “Ekko,” you said softly.

He stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering open, and then he bolted upright, instinctively swatting your hand away. His palm struck yours with more force than he intended, making you hiss at the sting.

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up fully now, his face a mixture of alarm and regret. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, shaking your hand out with a small wince. “It happens.”

He ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have spent the whole night sleeping in a chair,” you cut in, your tone playful but firm. “Are you crazy? You’ll wreck your back.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a faint, sheepish smile. “It’s not the first time.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” you said, crossing your arms.

He gave you a tired chuckle, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll survive. I’ve been through worse.”

But that wasn’t enough for you. Watching him now, the weariness in his eyes even as he tried to act like everything was fine. An idea sparked in your mind, one that you knew he’d hate at first. But it was for his own good.

You grinned, your excitement bubbling over as you clapped your hands together. “I have a surprise for you!”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “A surprise?”

“Yep!” you said, bouncing on your heels, your eyes alight with mischief. “But I’m not telling you what it is. You’ll just have to trust me.”

His skepticism deepened. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning down slightly to meet his gaze. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He gave you a flat look. “I think I left it behind when I became the leader of the Firelights.”

You pouted dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “That’s tragic. Guess I’ll have to help you find it again.”

Ekko shook his head, laughing softly despite himself. “You sure are something alright”

“Yep!” you chirped, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet. “Now, come on.”

He resisted, planting his feet firmly. “Wait. I have things to do. The kids—”

“They’ll survive without you for a few hours,” you said, cutting him off with a pointed look. “You need this, Ekko. Trust me.” He opened his mouth to argue, but the determination in your eyes stopped him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But you’d better not get me killed.”

You grinned triumphantly, grabbing a scarf from the nearby table. “Oh, and one more thing.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”

You stepped closer, holding up the scarf. “You’re getting blindfolded.”

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.

“Yep,” you countered, your grin widening. “It’s part of the surprise.”

“I’m not letting you blindfold me,” he said firmly.

“Aw, are you scared?” you teased, leaning in closer.

His jaw tightened, and you could tell he was trying not to rise to the bait. “I’m not scared. I just don’t like surprises.”

“Well, too bad,” you said, wrapping the scarf around his eyes before he could stop you. He grumbled under his breath, but you could see the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re lucky I’m weak for you,” he muttered, his voice low and resigned. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you quickly brushed it off, tightening the knot of the blindfold. “You won’t regret this. Promise.”

He sighed dramatically. “I already regret it.”

You laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him toward the door. “Come on, leader of the Firelights. Let me lead you away to freedom.”

He followed reluctantly, grumbling the whole way, but you could feel the tension in his hand slowly easing as he let himself trust you. And deep down, you knew that despite his protests, he didn’t truly mind.

Ekko groaned softly as you guided him along yet another bend in the trail. The blindfold tied snugly around his head meant he couldn’t see where he was stepping, which made the journey feel even longer. His feet ached from the uneven terrain, and he couldn’t tell how far you’d dragged him from the hideout. “How much longer?” he asked, a playful but weary edge in his voice. “I’m pretty sure I’ve walked enough to circle Zaun twice by now.”

You laughed softly, your tone teasing. “Not much farther. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He scoffed but didn’t pull away from your guiding hand. “You said that an hour ago.”

“Well, this time, I mean it!” you chirped, your excitement palpable. “And quit complaining. You’re a leader, remember? A little hike shouldn’t break you.”

Ekko grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. He trusted you, blindfold and all. Still, his curiosity was killing him. The journey had been filled with faint sounds of nature, quite the opposite to the chaos of Zaun. The air was fresher here, the scent of greenery blending with faintly damp earth. Birds chirped somewhere above, and there was an unfamiliar stillness that made him uneasy in its serenity.

Finally, the sound of running water reached his ears. It was gentle but distinct, the rhythmic splash growing louder as you led him forward.

“Is that a waterfall?” Ekko questioned as he looked around blindfolded, listening with his ears.

“Nope,” you said cheekily, your grin audible in your tone.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

The moment his boots scuffed against flat, smooth rock, you stopped. You squeezed his hand and stepped in front of him, your fingers brushing against the scarf as you untied the blindfold. “Okay, are you ready?” you asked, your voice playful.

“Depends,” he shot back. “Am I about to fall into a pit of snakes or something?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just hold still.” With a dramatic flourish, you pulled the blindfold away. “Ta-da!”

Ekko blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light. The sight before him was breathtaking. The waterfall cascaded gently down smooth stone, its waters pooling into a crystal-clear basin surrounded by moss-covered rocks. The greenery around it was lush, vibrant, and untouched, with delicate vines draping over the edges of the falls like curtains. Shafts of sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy, casting a golden glow over the scene. It felt like another world. Like something out of a dream. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just taking it all in.

“Well?” you asked, bouncing slightly on your heels. “Do you like it?”

“It’s… something,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. His gaze lingered on the water, the way it shimmered in the sunlight. “I didn’t know there were places like this between Piltover and Zaun.”

You smiled, feeling proud of yourself. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

He turned to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll give you that. But…” His expression shifted, concern creeping in. “Should I really be out here? The hideout—”

You cut him off, your tone firm but not unkind. “Ekko.”

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I’m serious,” you continued, your voice softening. “If you really feel like you need to go back, you can. I won’t stop you.” You hesitated, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I mean… I’ll understand.”

He studied your face, noticing the way your eyes darted away as if you were trying to hide how much the thought bothered you. You were giving him a choice, but it was clear how much you didn’t want him to leave.

Ekko let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really bad at hiding what you’re feeling, you know that?”

You glanced up at him, startled. “Who, me?”

“Yes you. But relax,” he said, his tone gentle. “I’ll stay.”

Your eyes lit up, and before he could say anything else, you were practically jumping in place, your joy spilling over. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small chuckle, watching you with amusement. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You grinned, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the water. “You won’t. I promise.”

For the next two hours, the two of you wandered the area, exploring the hidden beauty of the place. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by a comfortable ease as you talked and laughed together.

Ekko, ever curious, peppered you with questions about your life topside. “So, what’s it like being a noble?” he asked, kicking a stray pebble along the path. “I’m guessing it’s all fancy parties and expensive clothes?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not quite. Sure, there’s all the glamour, but it’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

You sighed, nudging a rock with the tip of your boot. “My parents had this… idea of what the perfect daughter should be. Polished, obedient, always smiling. I never really fit the mold.”

Ekko tilted his head, studying you. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

“Exactly,” you said with a wry smile. “I was always too stubborn, too opinionated. They wanted me to follow their rules, and I wanted to make my own.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said, a hint of understanding in his voice.

You glanced at him, curiosity sparking. “What about you? Ever feel like people expect too much from you?”

He let out a short laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “All the time. Being the leader, people look to me for answers. For direction. It’s… a lot.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “And yet you never take a break.”

“Someone has to keep things running,” he said simply.

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “And what happens when you burn out? What then?”

He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, your words sinking in.

“See that’s what this is about,” you said gently. “You need to take care of yourself, too, Ekko. Not just everyone else.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gave a small nod, the vulnerability in his expression making your chest tighten.

Soon the peace of the waterfall was shattered by the faint sound of voices approaching. Ekko froze, his head snapping toward the direction of the noise. You followed his gaze, your heart sinking as the muffled conversation grew clearer. It wasn’t just random passersby. The tone was too low and suspicious.

“Get down,” Ekko whispered urgently, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the water.

“Ow, hey-!” you hissed back, but before you could argue, he tugged you forward.

The two of you splashed quietly into the cool water, wading toward a large rock near the waterfall’s edge. Its size provided enough cover to hide you both, but your movements felt clumsy and loud in the stillness of the moment. Every splash made your heart race, and every breath felt too loud.

You crouched low, gripping the edge of the rock as you peered out cautiously. The voices were clearer now, distinctly rough and laced with malice.

“… shipments are in place. Should be an easy job if everyone keeps quiet,” one of the men said, his voice gruff.

“Easy? You think dealing with Piltover’s dogs is ever easy?” another sneered.

“Relax. It’s all set up. By the time they realize what’s happening, we’ll already be gone,” the first man replied with a dismissive chuckle.

Your ears were ringing, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making it hard to focus. Your breathing quickened, and the world around you felt distant, the voices blending into an indistinct hum. “Hey,” Ekko spoke quietly beside you, nudging your arm. But you didn’t respond, your mind spinning.

“Hey!” he whispered again, more insistent this time. He leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. Finally, his voice broke through the fog in your mind. You turned your head slightly, meeting his sharp gaze. Before you could say anything, his hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you.

“Don’t-” he mouthed, his tone firm but his touch surprisingly gentle. His eyes were steady, reassuring, even as they flicked toward the Chem-Barons’ direction.

You nodded, your breathing still uneven but quieter now. His hand lingered for a second longer before he slowly pulled it away, his fingers brushing against your skin. The tension between you was palpable. The closeness and adrenaline, it all made the space between you feel charged with something. You were about to whisper something when the sound of boots crunching against the rocky terrain snapped your focus back.

“Keep it moving,” one of the voices barked. “We’re wasting time.”

The group of men moved on, their voices fading into the distance. Only when the silence stretched did Ekko exhale, his shoulders finally relaxing. He peeked cautiously around the rock, ensuring they were truly gone before turning back to you.

“We’re clear,” he whispered, though his voice carried an edge of lingering tension.

You nodded, still crouched behind the rock, your limbs stiff from staying still for so long. Ekko moved toward the water’s edge and helped you climb back onto the bank. You followed his lead, water dripping from your clothes and pooling at your feet as you tried to steady your racing heart.

“Chem-Barons,” he muttered, more to himself than you. He looked toward the direction the men had gone, his expression hardening. “They’re up to something. And if they’re this close, it’s bad news.”

You wrung out your sleeves, watching him warily. “Do you think they saw us?”

“No,” he said firmly, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Still… we need to get back.”The urgency in his voice left no room for argument, and you agreed without hesitation.

The journey back to the hideout was tense. Ekko moved swiftly, his steps purposeful and his gaze darting toward every sound in the dense trees. You struggled to keep up, your thoughts spiraling as your footsteps lagged behind his.

What if the Chem-Barons had seen you? What if they followed you back? Your chest tightened as the weight of your continuous overthinking pressed down on you. You replayed the encounter in your mind, picking apart every detail. Had you been too loud? Too slow? What if something went wrong because of you?

“Keep up,” Ekko called over his shoulder, his voice low but urgent.

You blinked, realizing how far behind you’d fallen. Quickening your pace, you forced yourself to focus on his figure ahead of you, his steady movements grounding you in the moment.

When you finally reached the hideout, the familiar sounds of laughter and the hum of activity greeted you. The Firelights’ sanctuary seemed untouched, the chaos of the outside world unable to penetrate its walls. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Ekko headed straight for Scar, who was leaning against a rusty table, tinkering with a small device.

“Everything okay?” Ekko asked, his tone sharp.

Scar glanced up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah. Quiet as usual. Why?”

Ekko hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Oh nothing, just checking.” he said finally, though the tension in his posture remained. Scar gave him a curious look but shrugged, returning to his work.

You lingered near the entrance, your damp clothes clinging to your skin as you scanned the area. Everything seemed normal, the kids laughing, people working on repairs, the occasional drone zipping by. But you couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in your chest.

Later that evening, you sat by yourself in one of the quieter corners of the hideout, staring blankly at the firelight lamp in front of you. Your mind was still spinning, your earlier overthinking creeping back in.

“You okay?” Ekko’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to find him standing nearby, his expression softer now.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, though the tightness in your voice betrayed you.

He frowned, stepping closer and crouching down so he was at eye level with you. “You’ve been quiet since we got back. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, unsure how to put your thoughts into words. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier. What if we were seen? What if they followed us? What if—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice firm but kind. “Nothing happened. Everything is fine. The hideout is fine.” You nodded, but your shoulders remained tense.

Ekko sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Worrying until you exhaust yourself i see.”

“I just can’t help it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sat down beside you, close enough that his knee brushed against yours. “Look, I get it. It’s a lot to deal with. But we can’t let them get in our heads. That’s what they want—to make us paranoid, to make us slip up.”

You looked at him, his calm determination grounding you once more. “I just don’t want to fuck things over for the millionth time.”

“You won’t,” he said simply, his confidence in you unwavering. For a moment, the tension between you eased, and you allowed yourself to breathe.

The night stretched on, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence. When Ekko finally stood, he stretched and yawned, his usual energy dimmed by the day’s events.

“Well, I’m gonna check on a few things,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

You joking said, raised an eyebrow. “Here you go again, always busy.”

He smirked, his usual charm peeking through. “Says the person who can’t stop worrying.” You rolled your eyes but smiled. As he walked away, you found yourself watching him, your chest tightening with admiration. You couldn’t quite name why. The hideout was quiet now, most of its inhabitants having turned in for the night. You eventually made your way to your small corner of the space, lying down on your bed and staring up at the ceiling.

But sleep didn’t come easily. Your mind kept drifting back to Ekko. The way he had looked at you by the waterfall, the way his hand had lingered on your arm when he pulled you out of the water, the way he had stayed by your side despite everything. Ekko, it’s always him. He always even if you tried to deny it, has an affect on you. You sighed, closing your eyes and willing your racing thoughts to quiet.

A wind of cool night air hit you as you slipped out of the hideout. The faint scent of distant rain mixing with the scent of metal and smoke that always lingered in the air of Zaun. Ekko had been out helping with a situation that had gotten out of hand. It had something to do with one of the Firelights getting into trouble, as usual. He hadn’t been there to protest when you quietly slipped out of the hideout, and part of you was relieved. You needed to clear your head, to have a moment of peace where you didn’t have to think about the danger you constantly felt closing in around you. It slowly suffocating you. Unbearable.

You had heard rumors, of course. Whispers and murmurs of people coming after you because of who you were, because of your connection to the topside. They had no idea who you were, only what they thought you were. You couldn’t allow them to find out. But tonight, you weren’t thinking about that. You were thinking about how to live in the moment, even if it was fleeting.

The Last Drop was not your first choice, but it was the closest. The faint buzz of people laughing, drinking, and shouting hit your ears as you stepped inside. Your heart raced slightly, but you pushed it down. You’d taken precautions, after all. The cloak you wore concealed the colors of your family, the opulence that could mark you a target from a mile away. With your hood low, you blended in with the crowd, keeping your gaze focused on the bar, where the noise was loud enough to drown out any attention.

“Drink?” the barkeep asked, raising an eyebrow at you, the flickering light of the bar casting long shadows across his face.

“Something strong,” you replied, trying to sound casual, though your nerves were anything but.

A quick, hard drink was what you needed. You knew the risks of coming here. This wasn’t the safest place in Zaun, but it was the only place that wouldn’t ask questions about who you were. The clinking of glass and the murmur of conversation surrounded you, a blend of voices that blurred into one singular buzz in your head.

You let your gaze wander as you took your first sip. The bitter warmth of the alcohol spread through your throat, giving you a momentary sense of relief, but it didn’t last. Your eyes flicked to the edges of the bar, noticing the way people moved. There was a tension in the air, something off, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Your fingers tightened around the glass as the sensation of being watched crept down your spine.

Before you could dismiss the feeling, something sharp pricked your neck. You froze, the sensation like a needle pushing into your skin. A wave of dizziness hit you instantly, disorienting and deep. You jerked your hand to your neck, but there was nothing to see. No blood, no sign of injury. Just a strange, heavy heat creeping through your veins, seeping into your bloodstream, clouding your thoughts.

The world around you tilted. It was a slow shift at first, just a sense of things being slightly off, but soon it became overwhelming. The air felt thicker, the sounds louder, as though the entire bar was buzzing, vibrating against the space between you and them. Your chest tightened, and a cold sweat broke out across your skin. ‘No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now.

Shimmer. You realized it too late. The telltale signs were unmistakable. That feeling where your body was being pulled apart, your thoughts slowly being smothered by a fog. You clenched your teeth, trying to fight it, trying to keep yourself from losing control.

“Hey, you okay?” a voice broke through the chaos in your mind. One of the patrons had noticed, a man with wild eyes and a drink in his hand. He was staring at you with concern, but you barely registered his words.

“I’m fine,” you said, though it came out more like a growl. You stood up quickly, the motion far too fast for your brain to follow. The room spun around you, the floor swaying beneath your feet like the deck of a ship caught in a storm. Your hands shot out to steady yourself against the bar, but it felt like everything was slipping away.

The bartender moved closer, his voice urgent. “You need to sit down. You’re not looking good.”

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let them see you like this. You tried to move toward the door, but your legs wouldn’t obey. Each step was like wading through thick tar, the world warping around you. Your vision blurred, and before you knew it, you were on the floor, struggling to push yourself up, your limbs stiff and heavy.

“Help!” someone shouted, but the word sounded distant, muffled, as if coming from underwater.

You didn’t know what was happening to you anymore. The pain in your head started to intensify. No. Don’t lose control. But it was too late. The shimmer was already twisting your mind, and it wasn’t long before the voices began. They started quiet, like whispers in the back of your head, but soon they became clear.

Someone spoke your name. Your father’s voice.

“You never lived up to my expectations, did you?” The accusation burned in your ears. “Always the disappointment.”

You wanted to scream at the voice to shut up, to make it go away, but all you could do was stand there, shaking, your hands gripping the counter as you tried to steady yourself.

“You think you can escape me? No one escapes me,” your father’s voice mocked. “No one escapes their blood.”

The voices overlapped. Shut up. You couldn’t make out the words. You only felt the anger, regret, and shame. You felt like you were drowning in it. The voices kept yelling, taunting you, until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore. You swung at the air, trying to bat them away, but there was nothing there.

Why don’t you listen? You never do what I ask, do you?

Another voice, it was your mother now, cold and distant. “You’re useless to me. Always have been.”

The pain was unbearable. Your head throbbed as you sank to your knees, clutching at your skull, your fingers digging into your scalp in a futile attempt to stop the onslaught of voices. Get out of my head!

You screamed, but it was a scream that only echoed inside your mind. Your body trembled, and you stumbled backward, falling into the chaos that surrounded you.

“Someone get them out of here!” someone shouted, but it was like the words couldn’t break through the fog that had settled over your mind. You could hear them, feel them moving around you, but they were all far away. Then, another voice. This one was different. It was familiar.

“Hey, listen to me.” Ekko. His voice, clear and strong, cut through the chaos. You tried to focus on it, on him, but it was so hard. Your mind was a warzone. You gasped for air, your hands pressed against your chest, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of the shimmer. You looked around, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw him standing there, reaching out for you, but when you blinked, he was gone.

Your vision darkened, the last remnants of the shimmer clouding everything. You couldn’t stand anymore. You collapsed against the ground, your breath ragged as the world spun out of control.

“Ekko…” you whispered, but you weren’t sure if you said it out loud or if it was just another hallucination. The voices faded as everything went black.

part two soon!

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banner: @anitalenia

[ak319]

Yan Regent Consort x fem reader

Headcanon

(Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are not comfortable!!)

Xu Junlai was a boy who held different roles in the eyes of others, son to some, friend to some, an object of admiration or envy to others. He was born into a family of five sons and two daughters. His mother, Xu Huang, served as a minister in the court, while his father, Xu... well, he wasn’t married into the Xu family, he was merely a concubine of Junlai’s mother. Because of this, Junlai never received familial love, not from his step-siblings and not even from his mother, who was always either too busy or uninterested in family matters. Her absence from his life gave his brothers free rein to treat him as they pleased.

His oldest sibling was his sister, Xu Tai, whom everyone feared. She didn’t particularly dote on him, but she maintained order in the household whenever she returned from her training and service in the army. Xu Tai had high ambitions for the country, aspiring one day to become a commander or much better a General. His other sister, Xu Ai, was studying to be a scholar; she was a year older than Junlai, who himself was the second youngest in the family.

Junlai had long learned that if he didn’t stand up for himself and speak for himself, he would live a life of misery and eventually die alone, perhaps with no one to mourn his passing. So, he did speak for himself when necessary. A hard life had forced him into this role. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him before, or that he had earned any respect, so what was there to lose?

He had passions that he quietly pursued, calligraphy, reading books, sneakily borrowing them from Tai’s library at the estate and, most importantly, dancing. Yet he was made fun of, and ridiculed for his interests.

“Your father was a prostitute, and you doing this seems to scream that you are on the same path. You disgrace,” his stepfather, Xu Fen, sneered. But his words never truly hurt Junlai.

“But your sons are learning such skills too. Are they on the same path?”

“THEY ARE NOT! They are doing that so that when the time arises, they will be presented to the court for the new Empress and her harem. That is where their skills will shine; being a Xu, that is inevitable. You, however…”

“Mother may not have married my father, but she openly acknowledged that I have been granted the name Xu.”

“So? What are you--oh--so you want to enter the court? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard this week. Part of the reason your presence here is sometimes bearable. Have you seen yourself? There is nothing graceful about you, such venomous features, that blank face, eyes like a devil’s. You are someone any woman would avoid, not bed.” Fen’s cackles echoed in the distance as Junlai stood in the garden, his usual blank expression firmly in place.

The court? But he didn’t desire any of that. That was a life of hell. As if my life is better now... Harem or no harem, at least he could demonstrate his skills and take a jab at his useless brothers. Perhaps that was the most thrilling part of it all. There was absolutely no chance that an Empress or even the Emperor Dowager would allow the son of a prostitute to enter the harem.

So, Junlai practised night after night, in the empty hall that felt both sacred and suffocating. The flickering candles cast shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls, whispering secrets of long-forgotten elegance. The sound of anklets chimed like distant bells, while the rustle of silken fabric filled the air, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. In the dim light, his body became a fluid extension of art, each movement imbued with a haunting beauty that could draw anyone into his graceful orbit. And perhaps, just perhaps, the voice that emerged from his lips was powerful enough to ensnare even the coldest of hearts.

But one fateful night, when he miraculously received permission from his mother to join the ceremony, everything changed. Three of his brothers discovered him lost in his usual routine, an ethereal vision in the half-light. As always, he expected their laughter, their scorn, but no... that night, the hall, once a sanctuary, transformed into a chamber of horrors.

Instead of melodies, the air was filled with his screams as they pinned him down, the laughter of his brothers echoing like a dark symphony. They poured scalding water over his feet, the pain searing through him, brutal and unrelenting--just a week before the ceremony.

═════ ◈ ═════

The day of the ceremony arrived, and you, the new Empress, had only been on the throne for a year after successfully defeating your sisters for the throne. However you were overwhelmed by the throng of men entering your court, you sat in silence, your mind already planning the next day's work while subtly noting the movements and behaviours of your court members.

The musical festivities began, likely your father's favorite part, as it allowed him to exert his influence over the affairs of the men. You had little energy to deal with such trivialities, and the classification of men in this way unsettled you. Your mother was deeply involved in it all, and you loathed the thought of it.

"Those are the sons of the Xu family, good-looking, aren't they?" your father remarked, his voice dripping with expectation. Your head snapped to his direction, and for a fleeting moment, you glanced at the display before you.

“Um, yes,” you replied, your tone devoid of enthusiasm.

Your father internally rolled his eyes at your lacklustre response. You might have bedded a few men and have a son with one of the concubines, but it was clear you weren’t taking any of them seriously. 'This idiot daughter of mine, clearly not worried about not having an heir still. By now your mother would have had three-'

"They came for you, so at least enjoy it a bit. If you prefer any changes, the music, the dance-"

"It's fine, Father. It's fine."

You granted your approval to Xu Huang in the end, an honest minister in your eyes, someone even your mother trusted. Her daughter, Tai, was a formidable warrior, perhaps the first to impress you with her skills.

As dinner commenced, no one anticipated the doors to swing open once more. A lone figure stepped into the hall, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. He was slender, his long hair tousled—surprisingly beautiful even in such disarray. Those eyes of his, empty yet hauntingly deep, bore into yours with an intensity that both intrigued and unsettled you.

His walk was seductive yet exuded an aura of defeat and determination. Silence enveloped the hall, a palpable tension as he stood in the centre, commanding attention. That’s when you noticed his feet, bare and crimson. You were certain that if you looked closer, you would see the dark stains of blood marring his skin.

It felt as though the entire court was holding its breath, waiting for you to question him. Just then, you caught the whisper of Xu Huang, “Son…” from her seat a few feet away.

Her son?

"Are you... Xu’s son?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.

He nodded.

“Um--your Majesty, he was sick, so he couldn't perform earlier, although his name was registered on the list by me…” Xu Huang explained, her voice steady yet tinged with concern. You responded with a curt nod, your mind racing.

“If you are sick, then you shouldn’t be here,” you asserted, a protective instinct rising within you. You were certain the sickness plagued his feet. There was no way you would allow him to dance under such conditions.

“I want to dance,” he replied, his voice challenging and unwavering.

The spark in his tone caught you off guard. What an odd boy...

“Very well. Then do. I would like to see you dance,” you commanded, a blend of intrigue fluttering in your chest

“Your Majes-” Xu Huang began, but your glare silenced her immediately.

“Begin.”

As the sounds of the pipa and hulusi filled the hall, an almost electric hush fell over the audience. Everyone shifted their attention from their meals to the boy dancing, his presence so captivating that even your father, Wang Hua, sat bewildered. A simmering anger brewed within him as he grappled with his own intrigue. Are you seriously interested in him?

Though Hua possessed some knowledge about the boy, witnessing the fluidity and artistry of his dance made those thoughts melt away. Junlai moved as if in a trance, each motion a hauntingly beautiful expression that stirred something deep within you. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing you into a world that felt both ethereal and painfully real.

The only glimmer of envy and fury came from Junlai’s own brother and step-father, their faces twisted in disdain as they seethed at the spectacle before them. Even the blood that dripped from Junlai’s feet onto the glass-like floor seemed to only heighten their ire. They couldn’t maintain your gaze for even a moment, while Junlai seemed to command the room effortlessly, as if reigning over it with merely a flick of his wrist.

As the final echoes of Junlai’s performance faded, your ears, now deprived of the boy’s beautiful voice, were met once again with a profound silence that enveloped the hall.

Junlai stood with his gaze cast down, a picture of humility, while you rose from the podium, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. A ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd, their eyes wide with curiosity about what would unfold next. To your surprise, the boy barely flinched as you stood before him, towering over his slight frame.

“Name?” you inquired, your voice steady.

“Junlai,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And who did this to you...?” You leaned closer, searching his eyes for the truth.

His neutral gaze met yours, and you sensed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.

“People... whom I would rather not talk about on such a glorious day... a day for you, my Majesty.” He lowered himself in a respectful bow, his head tilting downward, yet his posture remained defiantly graceful.

“Is that so...?” you mused, glancing at Naun, your attendant, who stood discreetly behind a pillar to your left. She nodded subtly, understanding the unspoken command in your gaze.

This boy not only is now part of your harem but...your choice for the night.

You were resolute, you would not entertain the other sons of the Xu family. What need had you for them? Junlai’s dance eclipsed all of theirs combined, a testament to his raw talent and spirit. You were not greedy, you simply sought the best. And he was not only the best but also intriguingly peculiar, a captivating boy you were eager to indulge in and explore further.

As you crawled on top of him, Junlai had been cleaned and prepared for your gaze, yet a small part of you missed his disheveled appearance, the wild, untamed beauty that spoke of his struggles. You soothed yourself with the reminder that he would soon return to that captivating state.

“When I asked you about the culprits, you didn’t name them. You don’t want me to punish them?” you murmured, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin as he leaned into your rough hand.

“But you already have... by choosing me,” he replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich. “You are... something, you know. I have never encountered a boy like you... but I always wanted to.”

“I never wanted this... to be in the bed of an empress, in her harem, but here I am…” His words hung in the air, laced with a surprising confidence. Something about you made him bold enough to voice such thoughts. You didn’t seem as cold and cruel as the whispers suggested, those comparisons to your mother fading in the warmth of his gaze.

Your deep chuckle reverberated against his neck, sending shivers coursing through his body. “Oh, how lucky I am then. More fortunate than any empress, for having caught you.” You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, searching for the flicker of fear, but finding only intrigue. “Being in a harem means being mine, and I take care of what I own.”

“Do you fear me, Junlai?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “You should...."

His heart raced at the challenge in your tone. “I don’t fear you, your Majesty. I only fear what I might become under your rule,” he replied, daring to meet your intense gaze.

“Ah, but isn’t that the thrill of it all?” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing tantalizingly against his ear as you spoke. A gasp left his plump lips as you nibbled on it.

Junlai’s breath quickened as your gaze pierced into him, as if you were seeing not just the boy he was but the depths of his soul. The air thickened with an intoxicating blend of fear and desire. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, enveloping him in a cocoon of both safety and peril.

Your fingers danced down his arm, tracing delicate patterns that ignited his skin, setting his nerves alight. Junlai's breath hitched as he felt the heat of your body press against him, a heady mix of power and vulnerability.

“Do you see how beautifully broken you are?” you continued, your voice low and mesmerizing.

Junlai felt the walls around his heart tremble, caught in the magnetic pull of your words. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the challenge now tinged with uncertainty.

“Everything.” Your lips curled into a wicked smile, a promise of the chaos to come. “I want your loyalty, your obedience, and most importantly, your heart. I will not only keep you in my harem, I will make you my most cherished treasure.”

As you leaned closer again, your lips tantalizingly brushing against his, he could feel the weight of your intentions, his robe being done deftly by your rough fingers. “Now, are you ready to dance for me?” you asked, your eyes glinting with mischief and hunger."

Junlai nodded, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. At that moment, he was no longer just a boy marked by pain, he was a dancer, ready to twirl and leap into the unknown, to be claimed by you.

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai sat in the veranda, gazing out at the distant mountains with a forlorn expression, his slender fingers tapping absently on the polished wooden rail. Though the quarters designated for the favored concubine were lavish, adorned with silks and priceless porcelain, the space felt hollow without you. If only he could give you a daughter, the coveted title of consort would be his. The thought flitted through his mind like an unreachable dream. And yet, as the days stretched into months, it was your absence that gnawed at him, leaving him restless and aching.

God, when would you return from the campaign? Two months had passed, each day heavier than the last. He endured the whispers, and the scorn from the other concubines who mocked him for his damaged feet, but he bore it all without flinching. He knew you valued him for his skill, his grace, the things that went beyond mere perfection. You had appointed the empire's finest healers to tend to him, a silent reassurance that he still held a place in your heart.

Even the Emperor Dowager, shrewd and discerning, seemed to favour him, perhaps because he respected his daughter's choices or was mesmerized by his art. Either way, his endorsement granted him a measure of safety within the harem’s hostile world. And yet, safety was far from his mind. He spent sleepless nights worrying about you, imagining the dangers you might face, each possible harm a dagger in his chest. His own safety meant nothing if you were not there, by his side, safe and triumphant. He danced in the empty hall , every night, all night even. His gaze at the marble wall at the end, imagining you sitting in your throne watching his performance. Every word, every step a testimony for your longing. If anyone else saw him at night , they would be scared for their life.

A boy dancing as if he was possessed.

What had he become? Another lovesick boy, a fool just like his father, infatuated, aching, lost to his devotion. He had once vowed never to become so vulnerable, and yet here he was, the intensity of his love binding him more than duty or obligation ever could. He used to revel in this power, at first motivated by pride, even defiance, to show his brothers that he had won something they could never touch. But now, with every beat of his heart, every drop of his blood, he was wholly, helplessly, irrevocably yours.

Although not long ago, one significant shift rippled through the palace, Xu Tai, the skilled warrior whose loyalty you trusted, was now appointed as General. Junlai took comfort in this news. His sister's allegiance was unwavering, and her impressive abilities spoke for themselves. You chose her for her skill and integrity, qualities Junlai respected, and even admired from afar. He knew that with Tai at the helm, your interests, and your life, were in capable hands.

He hadn’t anticipated finding peace in such a development, yet knowing Tai held this position gave him a strange sense of relief. However when he just received a letter from Tai herself, that sense of relief seemed to diminish.

You had been poisoned by an arrow at the battlefield. Thankfully the physician present did their best to take it out but it was unknown if you would come back alive. The news was also sent to the Emperor and eventually spread over the harem and then the country.

The news struck the palace like a tempest. Word spread first as whispers in dimly lit corridors, then as gasps behind silken fans, until eventually, the rumours became cries of despair from every corner of the empire. The Empress has been poisoned, they said, her life teetering on the edge. The harem held its breath, the concubines offering quiet prayers. Yet amidst them all, Junlai felt as though his entire world had shattered.

Days passed in agonizing limbo, and Junlai clung to any scrap of information he could gather. The air in his chambers grew thick with dread, the whispers of the other concubines like needles against his skin. Would she return? Could she survive this? He tried to still his racing heart, to banish the wretched possibilities that plagued him day and night, but his mind clung stubbornly to images of your pale face, the way you looked as he’d last seen you, strong, assured, untouchable.

But now, you were mortal. Wounded. Vulnerable.

He’d never felt so powerless. Each night he would sit in the garden, his injured feet barely feeling the cold stone beneath them as he gazed at the stars, praying fervently for your safety. Let her come back to me, he whispered into the darkness. Take my health, my strength, take anything you want, but let her live.

The news of the looming threat reached the palace in the dead of night, casting a shadow over an already grief-stricken palace. The Chief Minister summoned her closest advisors including Xu Huang, the walls of the council chamber echoing with grave voices as they strategized. The Wei Dynasty had betrayed them, their forces striking not only on the battlefield but now threatening the heart of the empire, taking advantage of your absence. This insidious plot was spearheaded by the rebel leader Guo Wang, a lecherous woman of ruthless ambition and bloodthirsty intent. Her name alone sent ripples of fear through the court, her reputation for savagery preceding her.

The capital was left vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been for years. With Tai, your most loyal and capable General, at your side on the battlefield, and your position as Empress left temporarily vacant, the capital was guarded only by lesser warriors and the remaining commanders, a force barely sufficient for an ambush of this scale.

Junlai’s despair deepened. He had kept his composure in the wake of your injury, holding fast to the hope that you would return to him. But now the looming threat to the capital turned that sorrow into fear and fury. He knew what would come if Guo Wang breached the palace walls, the carnage that woman would wreak upon all in her path. The court, the innocents of the capital, and, he shuddered, the vulnerable harem.

He understood now what his sister had never fully articulated, the key to victory was not in repeating the old ways, but in disrupting the enemy's expectations. And Guo Wang’s forces? They would be expecting the standard defences. They would expect the palace to hide behind walls, women in armour standing guard at every gate. That was their mistake. Junlai knew better. But being a man and more so a mere consort was something that Junlai couldn't change. Nobody would listen to him. Two weeks left before the Guo reaches them even if Tai had sent for backup to the capital, it would have taken them a bit longer to get here.

No, he would not let this slide. The audacity to kill you , trying to take you AWAY FROM HIM!?. He will fucking lay corpses upon corpses of these disgusting pieces of filth. He will BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!

"I will not rest until I see you fall, Guo Wang..."

═════ ◈ ═════

"Mother, please. Trust me. You have to listen-"

"Your only job is to stay here, in the harem, and bear her children! Leave the military and court decisions to the court and the Empress."

Xu Huang froze, his chest tightening at the cold dismissal. His mother, ever so pragmatic, always intent on keeping him within the narrow boundaries of what was deemed acceptable for someone of his position. But tonight, he couldn’t bear it anymore. The years of suffocating silence, the weight of expectations that had been placed on him, all of it came crashing down in a wave of defiance.

"BUT I AM DOING THIS FOR THE EMPRESS!" His voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Xu Huang recoiled as if struck, the shock of his outburst still fresh in the air. But his fury only seemed to fuel him further. "Her Majesty’s court, her harem... I will not let some barbarian come in and tear it all apart. And don’t forget it, Mother!" He took a step forward, his voice thick with venom, his eyes burning with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. The tears were a mask, barely held together by his pride.

"I WILL protect her, and I WILL protect this dynasty."

He let his words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. He stood taller now, a dangerous glint in his eye, as he moved closer, letting the venomous truth seep into every syllable. "As for bearing children, oh sure, I will. But I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for ME. For MY future. I’ll be elevated, not you. You will always remain a slave to the system, while I may one day be a part of the Wang dynasty. And you know what that could mean." His voice dropped to a low, almost mocking tone. "How do you think Tai became the General? If I can place someone on the board, I can just as easily toss them out."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Xu Huang’s eyes at the mention of Tai, but it was quickly masked. He knew the truth, he had no such influence, but the bluff was enough. It was enough to make his mother tremble. The stoic, unflinching woman who had held him back his entire life now looked unsure, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if seeking something to steady herself.

"What are you proposing?" Her voice, cold as ever, betrayed the slight quiver in her tone. She had heard his words, but was she truly willing to listen?

Junlai smirked, the edge of triumph curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, we are talking."

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai had always been more than just a skilled dancer; his mind was a sharp, calculating instrument that never ceased its relentless pursuit of efficiency and innovation. While the others focused on traditional warfare, the old strategies, sieging, ambushing, and brute force, Junlai saw only limitations. What he needed was an advantage that would catch their enemies off guard, something that no one had considered. The answer, as it often was, lay in nature.

Birds.

The idea came to him one evening while he watched the flock of crows circling above the harem. Their wings cutting through the air with precision, their effortless movement, a pattern of chaos within perfect order. It wasn't just the birds that caught his attention, but the fact that they held the power to burn.

In the markets, there had been whispers of incendiary techniques used by distant lands, fire-starting mechanisms using birds trained to carry torches. The court dismissed this concept as superstition, yet to Junlai, it was a brilliant, unrecognised weapon.

Junlai would need to launch the birds at night when the enemy's defences were at their weakest. The element of surprise would be vital, he knew that as soon as the birds were released, they would need to fly directly to their targets, avoiding the natural predators and the dangers of interception. So he had the women train them, following his instructions.

He took advantage of the dark sky, the birds’ natural night-flying abilities, to send them directly into the heart of Guo Wang’s camp. The wind, as if in cooperation with his plan, would be at their backs, ensuring that the fires would spread faster.

The moment the birds were released, the chaos began.

As the trained crows took flight, their wings slicing through the air like silent messengers of destruction, the fire lit up, first softly, then raging. Guo Wang's forces had no warning, no time to react. They watched in horror as the embers from above ignited their tents, their supplies, and worst of all, their weapons.

The women who had been enlisted as fighters, strong in their defiance but unprepared for such an assault, panicked as the fire spread, consuming their weapons and armour. Their leaders scrambled, but the flames had already done the work. The camp was ablaze, confusion and terror rippling through the ranks. The birds had burned their half camp, crippled their supply chain, and taken away the one thing they held most precious, control.

Thus, it made it easier for the soldiers to attack Guo's forces and easily win. Junlai watched with pride as he saw Guo's head impaled and being paraded around inside the castle's walls. A perfect homecoming gift for you. A gift to prove that he was not just a man in your harem, but someone who would do anything to ensure your reign remained unchallenged. Which made him again fall into a pit of worry for your return.

"Her Majesty has returned!" one of the attendants announced, her voice echoing down the hall.

Junlai stood in the corridor of the harem, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not realized how much he had missed you until the news arrived, that you were finally returning from the battlefield, victorious, but at a terrible cost. The victory meant nothing if it came at the cost of your well-being.

He watched from the shadows with along with other concubines as you entered, your face a bit pale but overall with no less than a sturdy and imperial aura. Your steps echoed in the hall as you greeted your father, your son and for a fleeting moment, met his gaze.

His mind was torn between wanting to rush to you and knowing that you would hate such an open display. So, he waited, watching, every fibre of his being aching to be near you.

And you called him finally, after two painful days.

"I... Your Majesty," Junlai's voice cracked slightly, betraying his calm facade. He couldn't hide the flood of emotions that coursed through him, the concern, the longing, the worry. He took another step closer, his voice low, "You came back... but how long will it take until you're truly well again?"

You always held yourself in such high regard, and the idea of being seen as anything less than the Empress was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I am better," you said, your tone firm, but Junlai could see the exhaustion etched into your features. "The battle was won, and my soldiers did well. That's enough for me."

Junlai stood in front of you now, so close that he could reach out and touch you if he dared. His gaze softened even further, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, him staring into your eyes, his heart heavy with the thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud. Then he was finally graced with your embrace causing him to breakdown.

"Whatever it takes. Just... don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest." He whispered getting his act together.

You gestured for him to sat beside you on the bed. "I heard from Father...about what you did." He gulped, his form of being just...a boy in love under your gaze.

"I... I just... couldn't-- I had to! I did it all in fear of what might... happen..." You raised his chin.

"You didn't do it for love, then?"

"Of course I did! I did it for you only!" He grasped your hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking at every word. "You... have no idea... what... torture it was for me to live after knowing that happened to you... my Queen. It was worse than death itself."

A hint of a smile graced your lips. "I am proud of you. I am... proud of my choice too..." You gazed lovingly at his face and wiped his tears, pulling his frail body to your chest. "Tai told me you... always had an interest in warfare... sneaked in to read her books."

His heart stopped. His sister... knew? All this time... she did? Yet she...

"Um... I--- yes." His whole body shivered when your deep chuckle traveled to every cell in his body.

"I have made a... decision."

His hands fisted your tunic in anticipation. "You will be the Regent consort here when I am away. You will manage the harem, manage the safety of the capital, it's people. Charities and all."

Junlai’s heart skipped a beat. His initial instinct was to deny, to say that it was nothing, that he just did his duty and wanted nothing more than to be a mere slave to your love. But the way you spoke to him with a glint of respect, of something more than just duty, it made him pause.

You saw him. Truly saw him.

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands, the heat in his chest. Regent consort. The title echoed in his mind like a promise, like a dream he had never dared to imagine. No man had ever had it...it didn't even exist until now. He would be the first man in history to have that. He will be known by every generation to come..

"But--but I... I don't deserve it," he stammered, the weight of your approval sinking into him. "I am... only a concubine, someone who had no right to such a role. You shouldn't place such responsibility on me."

You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture, lifting his gaze with a gentle but firm pressure. "You don’t need to deserve it, Junlai," you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your conviction. "You have already proven your loyalty, your cunning, and your heart."

You emphasized with a small but significant shift in tone, "You are my mind in the harem. You will ensure that my absence does not shake the foundations of this dynasty. You will stand guard over the people, the capital... everything I’ve worked for."

Junlai’s hands clenched tighter around your tunic as he processed the weight of your words. The enormity of the role, the responsibility, it was almost too much. But the way you spoke, the way you believed in him, gave him a strength he didn’t know he had.

"Are you afraid?" you asked, your voice soft but direct, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his knees weak.

He paused, feeling a swirl of emotions churn in his chest. Fear. Desire. Ambition. Hope. They all mixed together until he couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began. But he was honest with you, always. "Yes," he said simply. "I am afraid. But if it means standing by your side... I will do whatever it takes."

You smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile that made his breath catch in his throat. "Good," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

He had never imagined that the harem would become more than just a gilded cage. He had never imagined that he would be the one trusted to hold the reins when you were away. But now, it felt like everything was changing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only a quiet confidence that he knew, deep down, was meant for him.

"I won’t let you down," he whispered, his voice steady with determination, even as the weight of his new role settled over him like a mantle. "I will protect everything you’ve built, Empress. And I will make sure that no one dares challenge your rule."

You let out a satisfied sigh, your fingers trailing down the length of his arm as you leaned back, taking in the sight of him, your trusted consort, your mind in the harem.

His eyes softened, and for the first time since the battle, since everything had changed, he felt a flicker of peace settle in his chest. There was no going back now. But for the first time, he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was all that mattered.

Junlai leaned into you then, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath steadying as he let himself savor the moment, the moment where everything shifted, where he was no longer just a boy in your harem but the one who would protect everything you held dear.

Though, he mustn't forget one last thing~~

═════ ◈ ═════

"Ju-nlai?" Xu Fen stammered, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. The boy, no, the boy, who once knelt before him, who had suffered beneath his cruelty, now stood in front of him as a figure that exuded nothing but cold authority. The sight rattled Fen to his core.

Junlai’s gaze locked onto him, dead and distant, as though he were staring through him. “I came to meet my brothers,” he said, his voice as calm as the still waters of a lake, but carrying the weight of a storm hidden just beneath the surface.

“Oh really? Why is that?” Fen’s words dripped with thinly veiled disdain, though his insides were anything but calm. He took a cautious step backward, uncertain of what Junlai intended. The boy had always been an afterthought, a lesser player in the family’s schemes. But that had changed, and Fen knew it.

Junlai’s eyes flickered over the room, moving like cold knives, and finally settled on the women standing behind him. His gaze was hollow, merciless. “Are you going to bring them out, or...?" His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. His tone had a chilling finality, as though the fate of everyone in that room rested solely in his hands now.

Fen felt the air constrict around him, the tension thickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, unable to hide his discomfort. With a reluctant sigh and a sour expression, he turned on his heel and went to summon the others, though it pained him to do so. He knew it was futile to resist. The man who stood in his mansion now was not the boy he had once controlled but something far more dangerous.

Minutes passed, each one dragging as Fen stood nervously, but when the Xu brothers arrived, they entered with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. They were offended, of course, by Junlai’s sudden appearance, but there was a deeper undercurrent of fear in their eyes

"Same as always..." Junlai murmured to himself, but his smile, if it could even be called that, was something else entirely. It was a sharp, knowing grin, filled with something dangerous. His voice rose, becoming almost melodic in its dark amusement. "Which is going to make it more fun!"

For the first time in the Xu household, the black sheep of the family, Junlai, let out a laugh, but it was no ordinary laugh. It was a hollow, manic laugh that seemed to echo off the walls. The sound was unsettling, almost inhuman, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led him to this moment.

Junlai’s eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice low and chilling. “You see… I’ve come to remind you what happens when you think you can break me. You’ve burned me before… but now, I’m going to return the favour.”

Fen’s heart skipped a beat. He had always thought he could control Junlai, keep him beneath his bootheel. He had been wrong.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to understand what it feels like.”

It took one subtle gesture from Junlai and the guards moved quickly, and efficiently, grabbing the Xu brothers and laying them down on the floor. Their hands were bound, their legs spread wide, and Junlai’s eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam as he stepped closer, his boots making a soft but deliberate thud with each step. The room seemed to grow colder.

"No--p-please...forgive them...NO! I BEG YOU!" Fen's voice mixed with his son's pleas as well which earned him a slap from Junlai. That was all it took to reduce them to sobs and whimpers.

"Shut your fucking mouth, whore. And watch." He dug his hands into Fen's hair and steadied him beside himself. "Look, how cute they look." He giggled.

The guard poured more water onto the brothers' feet, the boiling liquid now bubbling and splashing as it engulfed their limbs. The screams grew louder, desperate. One of the brothers jerked against his restraints, his body writhing in pain, but there was nowhere to go. Fen could hear their flesh sizzling, the sound of raw skin peeling and blistering under the scalding heat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He had put them through this once before. Now it was his turn to witness the consequences. God, he always loved fire and its power. In fact, he began to see himself in it. Agile, dangerous, unyielding and most importantly, passionate when it came to you.

Fen watched, trembling, as the heat of the water burned into the skin of his sons. Junlai stood tall, his form casting a long shadow over the brothers writhing in pain, and spoke in a voice that resonated with unrelenting authority: “Let this be a reminder, boys." As he turned to leave, his guards following behind him, the sound of his laughter lingered in the air, a dark, triumphant melody that filled the hearts of those who heard it with dread.

Now is the turn of some concubines who have been acting up recently in your absence. Surely, they won't mind a little visit, right?

"Everyone stresses out your father soo much, don't they?" He cooed , caressing his flat abdomen as he settled in the carriage.

Nevertheless, it's all entertainment for him.

[mac-tirs]

the usage of different types of english in elden ring

most human/tarnished NPCs we meet, like rogier, ansbach, and nepheli, use late modern english:

"a sorcerer, as you might have guessed. i'm looking for a little something, here in the castle. when i'm not hotfooting it from the troops, that is." - rogier, first meeting "general radahn. a pleasure to see you, after all this time. but those remains do not belong to you." - ansbach, upon summon for PCR

but older demigods like messmer, ranni, and morgott use early modern english:

"thou'rt tarnished, it seemeth. mother, wouldst thou truly lordship sanction, in one so bereft of light? yet… my purpose standeth unchanged." - messmer, pre-battle cutscene "thou needst not indulge them unduly, but they too wish to appraise thy worth. it hath been a passing long time since a newcomer entered my service, after all." - ranni, after agreeing to serve her

then there are the younger demigods, like miquella, malenia, and potentially melina, who use a later variant of modern english, similar to the tarnished NPCs we speak to:

"if we honour our part of the vow, promise me you'll be my consort. i'll make the world a gentler place." - miquella, post-PCR cutscene "the scarlet bloom flowers once more. you will witness true horror. now, rot!" - malenia, phase 2 transition cutscene

finally, the hornsent NPCs like the hornsent, hornsent grandam, and the hornsent spirits such as the one outside the whipping hut, who use late middle english similar to the english found in shakespeare's sonnets:

"fie, another? ... then, as that woman would surely say, we are in our purposes well aligned. but understand. your kind are not forgiven. the erdtree is my people's enemy. by marika long betray'd, set aflame." - hornsent, first meeting "all your resentment lingers yet... the raw stuff from which i shall surely forge a curse. upon the dastard messmer's head. upon marika's children each and all." - scorched ruins hornsent spirit

i find it interesting how different the usage of english is in the game, and i feel that it can be a hint on how to properly date an individual's occupation in the lands between/land of shadow. the hornsent, being a people much older than many in the lands between, use the most archaic version of english, while the tarnished and younger demigods use a form of english more closely related to our own in the current period. older demigods (and marika herself, as heard from melina's recounts of marika's spoken echoes) use a form of english more closely related to the period of transition from middle english to early modern english.

additionally, another interesting thing to me: mohg is almost certainly nearly the same age as morgott (since they're referred to as twins), yet he speaks a little differently compared to morgott:

"tarnished, thou'rt but a fool." - morgott, post-battle dialogue "dearest miquella. you must abide alone a while." - mohg, pre-battle cutscene

this makes me wonder if it's possible that, assuming that miquella's verbiage is indicative of his younger age in comparison to the older demigods (aka the demigods born before the marika/radagon union), miquella's charm altered mohg's perception enough to also alter his manner of speaking and carrying himself in some way. if his pursuit of finery (dressing in embroidered robes and handling himself with poise, juxtaposing his bestial growls and strength) was mainly done in an effort to fit into miquella's ideal of a consort. of course, mohg could just be as vain as he seems to be all on his own accord, but i find that it's interesting to entertain the idea that even his current state of being was due to miquella's charm.

i'd love to hear what others think about this. i'm not very learned when it comes to english (it's not really my first language), but i find this all very cool to think about.

[moonmaiden1996]

Helloooo is it okay to ask for a part 2 of the monster Maomao creates? I'm curious to know how everything plays out and I love your writing style! :D

The Monster Maomao Created Part 2. Redemption

Okay, I didnt plan on writing a part two but....... SEASON TWO IS SOOOOO GOOD ------Part 3 out now!

Maomao sat alone that evening, a rare occurrence in the ever-bustling labyrinth of the Inner Court. The amber glow of dying lamplight cast long, wavering shadows across her notes and the mortar-stained fabric of her sleeves. The scent of powdered ginseng and steeped licorice root clung to her skin like memory—bitter, sweet, and impossible to scrub away.

Her hands, usually steady as a surgeon’s, faltered slightly as she crushed a dried root into fine powder. It wasn’t the task that troubled her—it was the silence. The kind that makes thoughts fester like untreated wounds.

She supposed someone like Suiren—or one of the high-ranking consorts—would, at this point, sigh softly and whisper of guilt and pain before crying themself to sleep but Maomao did not sigh prettily nor did she cry.

What she felt was not guilt. It was rot.

A slow, creeping decay that had taken root in the hollow beneath her ribs and was now curling its way up her throat. It choked her with a thick, acrid bile no amount of dried plum or sweet cherry blossom tea could wash away.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the hairpin Jinshi had given her. She hadn’t even meant to touch it, yet there it was—cold silver from the Western Mountains, shaped like a chrysanthemum in mid-bloom, each petal curling against the pin.

A gift no one refused, even she had accepted the pin that day on the pavilion. But you had decline the pin. 

And he had loved that.

You had snubbed him and he basked in it. You had refused or rather tried to—till a member of the Moon Prince’s private household delivered you a more elaborate ornate pin, not any pin—his pin. The prince's.

Maomao pressed her fingertips to her temple. Her thoughts were loud now—too loud. Unclean. She was rotting from the inside out. She wanted to flush it out the way she would a festering wound—cleanse them with logic, with distance, perhaps with a stiff dose of alcohol.

But there was no remedy for this.

Her adopted father had always said the only cure was confession—to lighten the soul. So late that evening, Maomao found herself slipping beyond the walls of Jinshi’s residence and making her way through the quiet gates of the Imperial Court. No one stopped her. The guards were used to her odd comings and goings, her robes always smelling of tonics and tinctures, her arms often burdened with strange offerings.

Tonight was no different, her offering discreetly placed her sleeve.

The hour was late, the sky a canvas of thick ink. Servants scurried through the halls rushing to wrap up the last of the day's duties. But the light in your chamber was still lit. Of course it was. Your father, the Chancellor, was away at court again—yet another meeting ahead of the looming war.

The room was warm—too warm for the late hour. Drapes of silk stirred faintly in the breeze from the half-open window, lantern light casting shifting shadows against golden walls. The faint hum of crickets echoed from the garden beyond.

You sat by the window, bathed in moonlight, posture regal but relaxed. From this height, the palace grounds looked peaceful—placid even. A lie, of course. Nothing in the Inner Court was ever truly at rest.

“Mistress,” came a voice, soft as smoke. “Forgive the intrusion. But I must speak with you.”

You turned, slow and deliberate. Maomao stood at the edge of the lamplight, half-shadowed, robes slightly rumpled, hands folded before her like she had arrived from a battlefield rather than the apothecary. Her face was unreadable, her eyes darker than usual.

“Then speak, Apothecary,” you said, tone calm. Cool, but not cruel. “What does your master want now?”

Her eyes flicked, just briefly, to your hair. To the silver pin twined in your braid—your father’s gift, not the Moon Prince’s.Then she dropped. Knees to polished floor, forehead nearly touching it, her bow so deep it was almost theatrical. But you knew better. Nothing Maomao did was without calculation.

“I’ve come to apologize,” she said, hands resting in her lap. “To beg forgiveness.”

You raised a brow, leaning an elbow on the windowsill. “For what, exactly?”

“It was I who put you in Master Jinshi’s path.” The apothecary spoke softly, but clearly.

That drew your attention. A pause. Stillness, sharp and sudden. You did not speak, instead you waited for her to continued.

“I used you,” she continued, voice even. “He took an interest in me. A dangerous interest. For someone of my station… such attention is rarely a blessing. I feared what would follow. So I shifted his gaze. Toward you. Someone far more suitable.”

You studied her. The way her fingers curled just slightly in her lap. The way she refused to lift her gaze. Like a criminal already bracing for the blade.

“I understand the instinct to survive,” you said mildly. “But there’s no need for dramatics. Your master is… harmless. Beautiful, yes, but a eunuch, nonetheless. the only fear I have is him attempting to put me the Emperor's garden.” you voice amused at the young woman.

Maomao lifted her head—and now there was something sharp behind her eyes. “He’s not.”

The words struck. Your back straightened.

The apothecary didn’t blink. “You must have noticed. The resemblance to the Emperor. The way even high-ranking officials lower their eyes around him. He is no more a peacock than a tiger in painted feathers.”

You said nothing at first. Just the faintest tilt of your head, moonlight catching on your cheek.

“…Are you saying—”

“There is nothing I can do to save you, my lady,” Maomao interrupted softly, her tone too level to be comforting. “Only offer my services.”

You arched a brow, resting your hands against the silk of your robes. “What need have I for an apothecary at this hour? Are you here to offer me poison to end my worries?”

Maomao blinked. A faint twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her surprise—not at the words, but at the lack of alarm behind them. She had expected gasps. Outrage. Perhaps the clatter of summoned guards. Not that.

“Nothing so dramatic,” she said, smoothing her sleeves with measured calm. “I simply wish to correct a wrong I’ve done… to lighten me guilt by offering what skills I possess. Being an apothecary is only one of them. I was raised in the Verdigris House.”

You didn’t flinch.“A brothel,” you replied evenly.

She inclined her head with all the grace of a court lady, though her robes still carried the scent of herbs and iron. “Yes.”

You exhaled slowly, as though growing weary of riddles. “And how is that supposed to help me?”

Maomao’s gaze flicked up—briefly, precisely. “Master Jinshi has… particular tastes.”

The corner of your mouth twitched with dry skepticism. “And I fail to see how that is remotely relevant. What do I care for the Moon Prince’s appetites?”

“I won’t insult your intelligence,” she said, her hands now folded neatly over her lap. “Your family stands on a precipice. Your father leaves again soon, to meet the war gathering at the borders. Your mother is at home, wrestling with conspiring Lords. Your brothers is young. Too young. And while you are capable, formidable even… the Inner Court is no place for women who stand alone.”

“I need no protection.”

“Agreed,” Maomao said, without hesitation. “But even tigers must sleep. And snakes wait for that moment to strike.” Her words hung in the still air.

“Master Jinshi—or the Moon Prince, if you prefer—could protect you. But Master Jinshi is the safer path. Childish at times, yes. Overbearing… obsessed… but devoted. You could do worse than align yourself with him. If you chose to wield your influence over him… there would be little in the court beyond your reach. You could protect your family.”

You narrowed your gaze. “And if I wished to be Empress? Your plan would hurt your own dear lady.”

“You don’t want the throne,” Maomao said flatly. “The Emperor knows that. Which is why he encourages this match. It keeps Jinshi happy and strengthens his court. You want safety. For your brothers. For yourself. This is how you get it.”

A heavy pause. The lantern crackled softly.“And how exactly, am I meant to wield a prince like a dagger?”

Maomao’s voice dropped lower—softer, but somehow more unsettling. “He is a masochist.”

You blinked once.

“Raised to be revered, yes. Worshiped. But what he craves… is surrender. He wishes to be beneath someone. To kneel. To suffer. To worship.” Her lips curled faintly, not in mockery but grim understanding. 

You stared at her. “Interesting, if not mildly disturbing,” you said slowly, your tone hard and biting. “But hardly useful to me.”

“He desires you,” she said simply. “For your ability to look at him and not be moved by his beauty. For the way you do not melt beneath his gaze or fawn at his presence. Your aloofness only feeds the flame. A flame that has become an inferno within him.”

“One that you started,” you couldn’t help but snap.

You regretted it immediately. For all the danger the strange girl brought, you could not hate her—not completely, anyway. In this world, women occupied a delicate position. And for a girl of Maomao’s station, Jinshi—or whatever name he wore—was dangerous. You could not blame her for that. Not really. You might have done the same thing if you were her.

Maomao leaned forward slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “He takes a tincture. An old compound, used by monks—designed to suppress certain urges. But if he were to stop taking it… his body would catch up. His restraint is borrowed. Not natural. It is not hard to believe that his appetite would be as the Emperor…”

You said nothing, but your lashes lowered ever so slightly. Not enough to show interest. Just enough to not deny it.

“I have served him for years,” Maomao continued. “In all that time, not once has he ever forced anything upon me. Not when he could. Not even when he wanted to. He is… loyal. Deeply. And if you wanted him—truly wanted him—he would not only obey, he would be devoted. Utterly. Insatiably.”

You looked away. Briefly. Then, “What makes you think I want that? A husband?”

Maomao tilted her head. “You remind me of my sisters.”

Your eyes flickered to her sharply.

“Pairin and Joka,” she clarified, voice soft. “Two of the three Verdigris Princesses. Pairin is warm, affectionate, with a dangerous appetite for pleasure. Joka is sharp, with a scholar’s wit. She advises ministers behind beaded curtains.”

Your expression betrayed a flicker of recognition. You had heard of them.

“I meant it as a compliment,” Maomao said, bowing her head again. “You are not limited to one role. Not just a noble daughter. Not just a strategist. Not just a woman, You are all these things and more... and it is for that reason I offer this.”

She reached inside her sleeve and drew out a leather-bound tome. The binding was frayed with age, its surface worn smooth by hands long dead. It bore no title. Only a seal pressed into its cover— a Western design.

“A gift from the West, from the land of your mother,” she said, offering it in both hands. “A book of pleasure. But also one of control. The women of the Verdigris House guard it jealously. And now—I give it to you. The beginning of my apology.”

You reached for it, fingertips brushing against the old leather. It was heavier than expected.

“So you come to apologize,” you said slowly, “and instead you offer me a strategy. A lover. A husband. And compare me to courtesans.”

Maomao lowered her eyes. “I offer you tools. I offer you freedom, should you choose to take it. And, if you’ll allow it… I offer my service too, as a sign of penance.”

You stared at her, silent. Then you nodded, once. “Very well. Leave it.” You did not smile. “Should I find the need of you again,” you said, turning back to the window, “you will be in my service.”

Behind you, Maomao bowed again. Her footsteps—soft, sure—faded into the corridor beyond. Only the scent of crushed herbs remained, leaving you to stare out of the window, waiting for your father to return. There would be much to do. So much to prepare. You would need to speak with Empress Gyokuyou. Discuss what came next. Weariness settled in your bones. Your eyes flitted over to the book laying on the table, its presence heavy, full of silent promise. Much to do. So much to do.

But for now, you let the breeze lift the edge of your sleeve and close your eyes. For now, you allowed yourself to rest. If only for a few hours.

Okay hear me out! Jinshi is not going to fall for the naive easy reader, he is going to fall hard for the aloof baddie with attitude. For a women in this period the only way to get power is to marry well. The reader is stuck by society and expectation. Just like all the characters are really.

Also if Jinshi falls for anyone he would be a Yandere, sweet and loving but obsessive and forceful just like we see in the frog scene(sooo good) He needs someone that can control or at least deal with his yandere-y nature. So the reader would definably be in for a ride...then again so would Jinshi. However their love would be as beautiful as Jinshi himself, if not more so.

Hope you enjoyed it.

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

Miquella vs Ranni: Loyalty and Love

SPOILERS FOR SHADOW OF THE ERDTREE UNDER THE CUT, BUT COME FOR MY THOUGHTS!

There are so many essays I could write, comparing Ranni and Miquella, but I'm going to contain myself and focus on the most important aspect of comparisons: how they treat the concepts of love and loyalty and the people who give that to them. Especially in light of Miquella's instant kill "Heart Steal" attack.

The thing about Miquella is, even though he's kind, even though he's compassionate, he DOES NOT VALUE love and loyalty. And why should he? It's always been given freely to him. He can just force someone to love him anyway, stealing their heart. So, the people who love him are disposable, treated like pawns. Malenia? Literally left to rot in the home they built together. Mohg? Turned into a glorified guard dog. Even Radahn, turned into his perfect consort.

And Miquella probably does love them, but his perception of love is completely skewed by the nature of the fact that EVERYONE loves him. It's something he just gets. Something he uses.

Compassion and love are Miquella's weapons. They're what he uses to protect himself. It's cheap, something he can get easily.

Now, compare that to Ranni.

For Ranni, love and loyalty are dangerous. She's seen how ruinous and terrible they can be. She's seen her mother's mind wither away, a consequence of Radagon breaking her heart. She's seen Radagon break Rennala's heart for his love of the Golden Order.

The only people who loved her unconditionally are Blaidd and Iji, and even Iji's more around out of loyalty to the House of Caria than love for Ranni.

That is to say, Ranni respects and understands the power of love more than Miquella ever could.

Think of how she tells you to leave her to her lonely path. Her engagement ring, engraved with a warning to stay away, that her destiny is cold and lonely. Ranni pushes people away for their own safety, and that makes her love all the more valuable.

Love, for Ranni, is something at once dangerous and precious. The despondent way she tells you, once you've defeated the Baleful Shadow, to tell Blaidd and Iji that she loves them. Ranni knows what their love has cost them. Knows what it has bought her. She respects love and is naturally wary of it.

And that's what makes it so valuable.

Miquella doesn't appreciate love, because he's always had it.

Ranni treasures it because she's always struggled with it.

God, I love this game.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Master Posts Links

All the dabbles I have posted on my DC x DP account. Under a read more due to how long it is. Broken into three categories:

Multi-parts - Dabbles that have more than one part written.

One-shots- Dabbles with only one part written.

Requests- Dabbles written for the requests of readers. (Note: If a request is for a continuation of the other two categories, they will be filed in Milti-parts)

Master Post 1 Link

Master Post 2 Link

Master Post 3 Link

Completed AUs Master Post Link

NSFW (+18 ) Link

Please read the indexes to determine which master post each au is filed in.

As of 12/25/2024: The newest stuff is inside of Master Post 3.

(Updated as of 06/05/2025: Stop onOne-Shots: The Fib: Part 1)

MASTER POST 1 INDEX:

Multi-parts:

The Royal Consort,

Child Support

Phantom's Number 1 fan

Danny and The Fan Blog

Congratulations! It's Triplets!:

Ghost King Summon dare

The Dauntless Matchmaker

Demon and Angel Brat

Single Dad

Jason's Doll

Misplace Baby

One-shots:

The Assistant

The Ghost Trio's Food Trip

Legal Compensation

Love Among Fans

Lex Luther's Youngest

The Infinite Realms Hobby Store:

Obsession Runs in the Family

Farm Hand

Vague Threats

Game of Deadly Love

Retired-Rouge

The Real Blood Son

The Kid of Candles

Magic Older Brother

Keep The God Kid Busy!

Dog walker

Clockwork's Cookbook

Respawn and Relive

The Summoning Conditions of the Ghost King

Finders Keeper

What's the rule again?

The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord

Big Fish in Gotham Pond:

Immunity system:

Wrong Number:

Timeline Prevention Squad

Requests

The Masters are Aliens

Ghost Zone Read

Red Hood's Snow

Jason Sees Dead People

Ghost Dad

Wayne Manor Ghost

The Siren of Iceberg Lounge

The Orginal

The Ghost King's Fibs

Red ParentHood

Woo thy Butler, My Lord

Double Vision

Dealeyed Soulmates

Rescue Mission

Danny's Online Persona

Practice makes perfect

MASTER POST 2 INDEX:

Multi-Parts

Cass the Halfa

Danny's Grill

The Audit

Why Ten?

Cluster of Cores

Demon Head Slightly to the left

Danny Fenton's Ex

New Management

Billy's Parents

Phone a friend

Super Robin

Cassandra's Curse in Gotham

Marriage Trap the Office Supplier!

It's all Fun and Games Kids!

The cinnamon roll's son

One hell of a good Bellhop

Lights and Camera

One-Shots

Red Yummy

Professional Protector of Love

The Backroads

In 30 Minutes or less

Corporate Rivals

Rude Kryptonian

Ecto-Specialist

Side Hustle

Copyright

Love at first (club) meeting

Catnip for heroes

Old Friends

Danny the Nanny

Lights and Camera

Hot Wings

The ones who got away

Vanishing Bookstore

Petal to the metal

Lover Boy

PenPal

Fishbowl Bones

Unwanted House Guest

The Roommate

Missing Half

Danny's Did you Know?

Yeti's orders.

Who's Child is this?

Requests

Batman with a gun's lover

IRS's boogie man

Dear Elder Brother's mistakes

The Undead Florist

Pit's Merman

Dullahan is my roomate

Nightowl Appartement

The one with Sunset Hair

The lost In-Laws

The Lady and The Dad

Big Brother does not approve

Gotham's star and Shadow

Pride in Gotham

Revenant Prompt

The King and his Not-Knight

Contestant Number 3

The Lost son of the Bat

AroAce Danny

Extended Family

Master Post 3 Index

Mult-parts

Passion for Fashion

Alley Boyfriends

Mr. Flavor

Freelance Inventor

The Summoned Demon

One-shots

You ARE the father

The Good Luck Charm

To be Human Again

Travel Buddy

Shift

A little bit of Home

New Money

Beyond the Grave

Lex Luthor's annoyance

Die with a smile

Cold Case

Online Siren

The End and the Beginning

Damian's (not) real friend

Family Bonding

Gotham Gossip

The old Switcharoo

A Pen Pal's Duty

Gamer Boy

Rent-A-Scandal

Silver Tongue Snake

Pin-Man and the Merry Metal Makers

Burst Your Bubble

The Contingency Plan

What's Your Poison?

The cousin

Tax Bracket

Not my Business

The Fib

Request

Access Granted

Skulker's Past

Surviving Babysitting

The Twins

Echo's Dad

The Artifact Repair Man

Flip of A coin

New Neighbors

Over and Over again

The West Wing

Never the Bride

The Masters Boy

Starstruck

My Lost little song

The Hostage Prince

John's Mask

COMPLETED AUS MASTER POST INDEX

The Bakery is a Front!....right?

Cave Boy

The Adoptive Son

Alfred's Boy

[alnair-jpg]

The Prince and the Prince Consort of the Underworld

Nico knew he was destined for Erebus. It was inevitable. He was, and would always be, the Prince of the Underworld. When his time on the surface was up, when his mortal life was over, he would return to the dark depths of father’s domain to fill the role he was fated for. He didn’t mind the idea of overseeing the ghosts and ghouls, of managing the judgements of mortals and listening to the squabbles of minor gods. The role was a perfect fit, really. It was made for him. In that regard, he was at peace with his fate.

But that didn’t stop him from dreading it.

Because of Will.

Will was destined for Elysium. How could he not be? After all the good he brought to the world, all the people saved, he deserved the afterlife painted with sunlight, full of joy and peace and everything Nico wished he could give Will in his mortal life. Everything except for him.

When the day finally came that they faced their final judgements, Will and Nico would go in separate directions.

Except they didn’t.

As Will faced the judges, watching them review his life and weigh it against that of a hero’s, he spoke up, “I don’t want Elysium.”

Hades’ eyebrows curved in surprise. From where he lay in wait in the wings, anxiously listening for verdict that would define his own immortality, Nico sucked in a breath.

“And what do you suspect is the alternative?” Hades asked.

“I- I don’t know.” Will said. “I just know Elysium won’t be paradise. Not for me. Not without him.”

Nico gripped his chest, covering his mouth as he blinked away tears. He had never gotten used to the ease with which Will always chose him. Even now. Even in the end.

“You would voluntarily decline Elysium for a worse fate?” Hades loomed over the man that was an unrelenting source of light and love. The man turning down the fate that was reflection of himself for some unknown full of shadows and darkness.

“If it means I get to spend eternity with him, I’ll be damned.”

— end — (close up under the break)

[wxnheart]

yandere!messmer x reader.

Messmer who encounters his mongrel intruder time and time again, and time and time again, they fall only to come back and challenge him. And time and time again, he finds himself fixated on you and your determination to see your journey through. The same journey put upon you by his mother. The same mother who doomed him to hell.

Messmer who figures he could kill two birds with one stone. If Marika could deny him the tranquility of life, he would deny her and her purpose the freedom that came with death. And he would do so with you by his side. And so Messmer waits for your return, his tainted love bereft of light.

Messmer who sits and contemplates your end goal. What could you possibly hope to achieve on this journey? What could you possibly hope to gain from Marika's ambitions? No matter. What you want, what you seek, the Light couldn't possibly give, but his flame would provide you with warmth.

Messmer who almost contemplates pursuing you himself rather than letting you come to him again. What an interesting turn of events. Initially, you were met with faint incredulity. Faint incredulity became annoyance, annoyance became anticipation, and anticipation became impatience for who else could fall and rise back up again to challenge him but his determined love? He loves and hates you for it.

Messmer who begins to obsessively track your whereabouts from the comfort of his hold. He has eyes and ears everywhere in this shadowed land. Nothing goes unnoticed under his watch. Messmer who feels this... exhilaration when he learns you're near. And so he prepares to strike.

Messmer who's never fully embraced the excitement of battle until now as his plan comes to fruition. Messmer whose strikes are hard-hitting, his evades frustrating, and his anger and desire clear for all to see. Except, perhaps, for you.

Messmer who defeats you yet again, but instead of dealing the finishing blow, long fingers grab your chin and—wait, he's kissing you. Messmer who tightens his grip as you try to pull away. It's firm, overwhelming, and harsh.

Messmer whose smile is small and serene compared to your confused countenance, singular eye glowing ominously in the half-lit room. Messmer whose smile remains intact even as you question and try to pull away. Messmer who simply murmurs, "My consort..." and your blood runs cold.

Messmer, he who was denied peace, finds his own, and it comes at your expense. If he could not be free of the abyss, you cannot run toward the light. All is as it should be: his mother's dream and your ambition reduced to ashes by his flame. And peace comes at last.

[power-rings]

Light Consorting with Shadows

Chapter 9: Love in the midst of Doom

[previous]

All around them was chaotic. Objects were flung at everyone from different directions, and red spears followed suit. Finally, from the corner of the enemy's eye... Lancelot charged towards him, pinning him down to the floor. His helmet was damaged, and his face bled from all the debris flung at him. "This... ends here." He snarled. Instead of wielding his sword, he too wielded a glowing red spear. Instead of seeing fear in the foe's eyes, there was amusement in them. He started to cackle. He reached out to Shadow, grasping his head. Immediately, he felt a piercing sharp pain, he hollered out but felt frozen in time so he felt helpless.

"... We will end this. My son." The knight reached for his enemy's wrist, trying to pull his hold on him. "You... will take me to the Chaos Emeralds. You and I can rule..." The voice continued to ring through his head. Shadow finally was able to shove him away. When he came to his senses, he had never had someone communicate through his thoughts. This was a feeling that he would never like to experience ever again. He held his head in pain, and scanned the room to realize that all of his loved ones were paralyzed.

"Who the hell are you?! And I suggest you free them... now!" Shadow hissed, quills bristling in rage. The knight grabbed at the collar of his dark cloak, just inches from his masked face.

"Tch. Everyone calls me... Doom."

Well, that suited this guy perfectly. After Shadow released his grip on Doom's cloak, and reacted by punching him across the jaw. This caused his mask to shatter from the impact. Now that he was exposed... Shadow could now see his resemblance with him. He too was a black hedgehog, with a red striped pattern along his quills. The only thing different was the scars all over face, but other than that... their resemblance were uncanny. This made him sick. He didn't know his father was still alive. Growing up, he had always seen Gerald as his father. Instead, it was this dark being that stood sneering at him. Clearly, he was amused by how Shadow uneasy was.

"Shadow...? What's going on? I can't move..." Although, Aurora may have been paralyzed like the rest of them, she tried to speak. Honestly, she wasn't sure whether he had heard her.. until she saw his ear twitch in her direction.

"She won't intervene. Retrieve the Chaos Emeralds... now." A hand reached out to Shadow's chest plate. It started glowing a bright white. Shadow snarled in pain. This Doom character was forcing him to perform Chaos Control! Doom knew that he could Chaos Control them to the exact room where the Chaos Emeralds were held, because the knight could picture the scene... unlike Doom.

Reappearing underneath the palace, where the Chaos Emeralds were expected to be hidden... in a locked chest in the middle of the room. Although he felt unstable he managed to charge towards Doom, knocking him down to the floor. "It's not gonna be that easy."

"How dare you! We can rule together! Wouldn't that be great?!" Doom hurled a spear in Shadow's direction, he barely missed it. "You can have that... princess that you care so much about. If that's what you wished-" Doom was hit with a spin-dash, and crashed into the wall.

"I would never rule beside a murderer." Doom saw Shadow form a spear in his right hand.

"... What a pity." Doom spat to the ground. The pair charged at one another. They hurled chaos spears at one another, trying to get the upper hand on the other. This continued for what seemed like eternity, until Doom retrieved Shadow's sword from his sheath...he was quick to realize this, and fought hard to knock it out of his grasp. Unfortunately, Doom forced his weight on Shadow, pinning him against the other wall and pierced his leg with the weapon, just above his knee. Slowly, he fell to his knees. Bleeding out all over the stone floor. Doom tossed the sword aside. "You're a great fighter, son. Yet, you're wasting it on being a servant."

Whenever Shadow tried to get up, pain shot throughout his body, forcing him back to his knees. His vision starting to grow impaired. At this point, he started to drag himself closer on the floor. Slowly, inching closer to his foe. He saw Doom break open the chest. "No...!" Shadow managed to get up and grasp for Doom's cloak. He was quick to respond, and whirled around, swinging a fist... knocking Shadow back. Before passing out, he saw Doom lift a red Chaos Emerald.. then he was gone with all 7 of the powerful gems. The knight could only breathe out a curse.

--

Aurora was the first one to rush to the knight's side. Sonic, and a few other knights appeared next. They were quick to take note that the chaos emeralds were taken, but they were more concerned for their head knight. He had a faint pulse, so they needed to act quickly. They'll figure out what to do about missing chaos emeralds later. Gawain, and Sonic both carried him out of the room. They laid him on Shadow's bed, the doctor was quick to arrive with a case of medical supplies. Everyone was forced to leave the room, so he could attend to Shadow's wound. Three mice characters that served as his nurses, came in with some freshly grinded herbs, while another had removed Shadow's bedding that was soaked with blood. It was hours before the doctor allowed any quests in the room, while Aurora lingered close to his room, the others continued on with their day.

They had to plan for the worst. This Doom character was not good news, and now he had all the Chaos Emeralds. Sonic wanted to start thinking about getting everyone in Camelot evacuate to the bunker just a mile or two past the city walls. The bunker was hidden underneath a tower, and behind a stone wall. Archers were assigned to patrol the perimeter. Sonic didn't want to cause his people to fear. But, he had a feeling that Doom would return. He wasn't gonna risk someone's life if he could prevent it. The knights started to spread the word, and started helping the citizens gather supplies to take with them.

Hours passed by and throughout the commotion outside of the palace, Aurora had fallen asleep outside Shadow's door. She was startled awake when Maria crouched down to her level, touching her shoulder. She watched her sit beside her, and hand her some a canteen filled with water, and some food wrapped up securely. Aurora only smiled at her, and taking the food and water that she brought. "Is dad evacuating everyone?" She watched her nod. Aurora took a bite of the meat on a stick, "we should have never brought him to Camelot. I had a bad feeling ever since..."

Maria pulled her blonde-hair back, tying it up in a bun. "There's nothing you could have done, dear. He would have... found Camelot, either way." Aurora gave a defeated sigh. "Hey, he's tough. I'm sure he'll be alright." The human beside her felt like she wasn't just trying to reassure the royal hedgehog, but also trying to reassure herself. The pair continued to sit in the hallway, as the sun started to set, and the world around them growing darker by the hour. The girls were starting to doze off, their backs against the cold wall. Finally, the doctor emerged outside of the room, the pair stood to their feet. He bowed in Aurora's direction.

"He's stable now, princess." He cleared his throat, "get some rest. You two can see him later."

The next morning...

The knight woke up at the crack of dawn, he groaned in pain when he moved ever so slightly. Oh, so it wasn't a dream. He quietly confirmed, noticing the bandage tightly wrapped around his wounded leg. As the sunlight pierced through the small window of his room, he shielded his eyes. Everything hurt. Quite frankly, he could even still feel Doom in his head. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, and his breathing became labored. The memory still fresh. Then, he heard a familiar soft and soothing voice, then a cold cloth was brought to his face, wiping the sweat off his brow. In hesitation, he peeked. His vision struggling to focus. Slowly, he could make out Aurora's figure. She was seated at the edge of his bed, one hand resting ontop of his hand, and the other holding the cloth against his head. His breathing started to return to normal seeing that Aurora was indeed... safe. Slowly, he started sitting up against the headboard, then pulled her into an embrace. "I failed... the Chaos Emeralds are gone, Aurora."

Her cheek brushed against his as they embraced, "don't start that. You almost died protecting everyone..."

How did she always know what to say to him? Something about her confidence in him made him feel like he could conquer anything. Guess it was true that love would make you do crazy things. The two ended the embrace. Aurora started to get up from his bedside, Shadow didn't want to wait another moment, and pulled her into a kiss. This time far more passion than the last.

The pair didn't want this moment to end, but a gasp heard from across the room interrupted them. Maria had just stepped in while they were kissing, Sonic was just behind her. Maria frantically slammed the door on the King. "Lancelot's not decent, sire! Give him a second..." Aurora stifled a laugh, while the knight hid his face in his hands. Embarrassment wasn't even close to what he felt right now. Aurora was now hidden, her powers once more coming in handy for her sake. Maria gave a sigh, and opened the door for the king after picking up the tray that had Shadow's food on it, "Sorry about that, sire. Lancelot didn't really warn me either." She rolled her eyes. "Then again... I'm use to seeing him...naked." Sonic seemed to be amused by her little fib, and stepped inside the knight's bedroom.

"Maria." Shadow said sternly.

While Sonic and Shadow talked, Aurora peeked in the room, before joining her father. The knight raised a brow at her, and then gave Sonic his full attention. "I hate I let him get away... I really messed up, sire and I apologize."

"Hey, at least you could move. That... was a strange feeling." Sonic visibly shuddered at the thought. Sonic continued on explaining what they were preparing for in case Doom had returned. "Perhaps, you should stay with the citizens taking shelter, Lancelot. You got a serious injury there. I wouldn't-"

The knight shook his head in denial. He had a duty as a knight. Even if he were to die, he would at least be doing it for Camelot and the royal family. Sonic confirmed to the knight that he would still be able to continue his duties, but Sonic didn't want him on the frontlines of the battle.. if it came to that point. Sure, he was considered the best fighter in Camelot, but Sonic still had confidence in the rest of the knights as well. Shadow didn't argue with him, anymore. Perhaps, he should take his advice with his current condition.

--

For the next following days, Shadow was still confined to his room. By the end of the week, Shadow was able to put more weight on his bad leg. He was eager to get out of his stuffy room. However, sometimes his stiff muscles wouldn't let him get very far. The doctor advised to take it slow, fearing that he would open the stitches. Day by day, Shadow kept trying to walk around the room. Some days he could only manage to walk to his desk in the corner, while on his good days, he managed to make it to the door. He hated how just limping to the door tired him out so easily. Aurora came to find him outside his room, his back against the wall. He looked exhausted, despite that he asked if she would help him walk down the hallway, and back. Part of the way, he felt like his leg was cramping on him. His knees buckled; Aurora was quicker and to his surprise Aurora picked him up.

"No. Absolutely not! Put me down. This is embarrassing." He dragged his bad leg, while he hugged the wall. Inching closer and closer to his room. Aurora was trying so hard to stifle a laugh. It felt like it took ages to reach his room, but once they did, Shadow collapsed on his bed. "I'm done with walking for now. Goodnight."

Everyday from then on, Aurora would walk with him down the hallway. Each day, he grew stronger and started even walking without limping. His stitching was removed a couple weeks ago, and the wound was healing up quite nicely. During some of their walks, they'd sneak behind a stone pillar to share a kiss. Something about sneaking around like this... was fun. However, their fun was cut short when they had just finished a walk around the palace. Shadow was the first one to initiate the kiss, and pulled Aurora aside. Amy had witnessed the romantic moment between them. They were completely oblivious to her presence until she cleared her throat.

Aurora jumped out of Shadow's embrace. Her fur glowing, startled that they were actually caught in action... and still feeling like she was on cloud nine after sharing another kiss with her favorite hedgehog. "Oh! Hi mom!" Her smile appeared sheepish, as if she was a child caught again sneaking into the kitchen for a late snack.

"Good evening, Lancelot." Amy smiled warmly. Pretending as if nothing was going on. "I hear you're healing up quite well." The dark hedgehog, did his best to hide his blushing face to no avail, and he acknowledged her comment with a nod. "Wonderful. Now, could I borrow my daughter for a moment?" She gently gave her daughter's arm a squeeze. Shadow nodded awkwardly, and continued on towards his room. If Amy tells Sonic... he could be exiled for overstepping his boundaries. He wondered if expressing his feelings was a mistake after all. But, chaos almighty.. he was falling hard for her.

The royal hedgehogs reached Aurora's room, her and Amy sit on the edge of her bed. "You're gonna have to be careful, Rory." She gave a sigh. "I know you like him, but.. your dad could force him out if he wished."

Like was an understatement, "If he does... I'll leave with him." This kind of shocked her mother, but should she be? In her younger days, she was determined to win Sonic's heart. Sure, the situation was quite different. They were both royalty. Amy was almost forced to marry someone else, refusing to do so, she left her home. She came across Camelot, and lived like a normal citizen. No labels attached to her name.

Her jade eyes softened, "you're in love, aren't you?" Amy got to her feet. "No more sneaking around, you hear me? Not until after I speak to your father." The two embraced, and she made her way to the door. "Does Lancelot know how you feel?"

This conversation was going a lot better than Aurora had expected. But, was she really gonna tell her father that his head knight has been sneaking kisses from her? Oh Chaos help her. "You can call him... Shadow, he doesn't mind. He's just not use to it around you guys." Aurora shrugged, "I haven't exactly told him.."

--

The next morning, they were woken up with a heavy downpour of rain, and storms stirring far off in the distance. The royal family were just finishing up their first meal of the day, both Amy and Aurora were strangely quiet throughout the meal. Sonic studied Amy, wondering if perhaps he had done something stupid to upset her? He couldn't read her and it frustrated him. Once the servants cleaned up the table, Shadow came into the room. Apologizing if he interrupted anything. "Sire? Could I speak with you a moment?" Aurora and her mother glanced at one another, before leaving the room to give them privacy.

Both hedgehogs stood near the biggest window in the room, watching the rain and streaks of lightning pierce the sky. "I bet your ready to get back on your patrol duties." Sonic spoke up first, as usual. "If you're ready to go on patrol in the morning, go ahead. As long as you think you can handle-"

"Yes. However, " Shadow swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to get the courage to speak. "I'm not here to speak to you about that, sire." He hesitated, waiting to see if Sonic was gonna say another word. Instead, the King waited for the dark hedgehog; brows raised. "I... must confess that I'm in love with your daughter." He confessed.

Sonic just stared at him with a blank expression. The silence between them was almost daunting. What did Shadow expect? Aurora's father to give him his blessing right away? No, of course not. Shadow studied his king, trying to get a read on him. He saw him tapping his foot. A familiar body language from Sonic that either meant he was growing impatient, or annoyed... perhaps? Sonic walked off, and took a seat at his desk, fiddling with some scrolls on his desk. "... Y'know how about you take over for Gawain's shift today? He's patrolling the east side of the border." Sonic never once met Shadow's gaze. He's been picking up extra hours since you've been absent." The knight gave a nod, and left him alone to his thoughts. Sonic sat at his desk tapping his fingers against the wood, and then unrolled a scroll. Scanning over what was written. He quickly pushed it aside, and started to pace the room for several minutes.

When he finally emerged from the room, he found Gawain heading in his direction, seeking guidance in what he wants him to do. With the threat of Doom showing his ugly head any day... he knew Sonic wanted more security, so he was shocked that Lancelot had took his spot. "Just stand over there. Yeah. There." He pointed to the stone pillar to the left of them. Gawain just furrowed his eyes.

"I was thinking I'd patrol south of the border..."

"Sire?" Sonic was startled from behind as a twin-tailed fox approached him.

"Oh Chaos almighty, don't do that, Miles." He waved off Gawain, dismissing him. Gawain growled under his breath, and stomped off.

"...Sorry. I just wanted to let you know that your sword is ready. I also went ahead and made a new set of armor for you." Sonic nodded, but said nothing and continued to walk back to his study area. "Is there anymore adjustments you want me to make-" Tails was handed a scroll. "Uh... what you want me to do with this, sire?"

"Read it for me, and then sign it. Please."

"Sire, I... that's not my job."

"Miles." The young fox opened the scroll, and started reading over it out loud. Sonic halfheartedly listened to him, then handed him the ink pen. For the next several minutes, Miles read over the scrolls given to him and per request, signs them when Sonic gives an approving nod. After he finished, Sonic scrolled through some old books. "If you don't need anything else..." Sonic held up an index finger.

"Help me look for a book that tells me how to deal with a knight who is in love your daughter."

"Uhh... I don't think such book exists, sire." Miles was just stating a fact.

"Aha. I wonder why?"

"Wouldn't be forbidden, dare I say?" Sonic snapped his fingers. He slapped his forehead, and paced. "But, how could I exile one of the most loyal knights... "

Miles wondered over when Sonic finally stopped pacing the room. "Quite honestly, I can't imagine you exiling Lancelot, am I correct?" Sonic ran his hands through his quills, looking frail before the young fox.

"Why is it so wrong for him to... be fond of Princess Aurora?"

That was a great question, Miles. Quite frankly, Sonic didn't care what others may think of who Aurora may marry in the future. Even if it is frowned upon. This was his kingdom. But, the thought of giving Shadow his blessing... in marriage? It couldn't be time yet. Right? He only said he loved her. That was all. The thought of exiling him was out of question too. He had the power to do so, but how would Aurora react? He would not want to risk losing her. Unfortunately, he didn't really have time to ponder this situation. Sonic suddenly froze. He felt the energy from the Chaos Emeralds getting stronger and stronger. "He's back... Miles. I'm gonna need that armor..."

[trappolia]

── PUT ALL YOUR FAULTS TO BED, YOU CAN BE KING AGAIN

leona kingscholar. the musings of the second prince, regarding the crown and his consort.

Some days, Leona thinks about what the word king means to him and how it links back to you.

Contrary to popular belief, he does not so easily forget the whispers of rumours behind his back; though, loathe as he is to admit, Leona knows that some are less rumour and more truth, no matter how spiteful. He is a prince, after all, and not some spoiled rotten child who has had compliments fed to him on a golden spoon.

Leona knows, better than anyone, that you deserve more than him.

He’s well aware of the fact that many perceive him as lazy, irritable and intimidating, and that is only saying the least. The perfect example of a student who has had to repeat a year way too many times, who is probably still in the world’s greatest magical academy because of his royal blood and noble connections.

The second prince is one way to describe him as well. Second to everything his brother does is also a possible description. Second to the throne, to their parents’ love, to the praise and glory befitting of a king; because Leona will never be king. not as long as his brother and his blood live, because Leona has always been the second option.

And so he acts like it. What else can he do? Surely he cannot try to usurp his own brother; Leona may be a better king than Falena, but he is also intelligent enough to understand the consequences of a coup, long-term or otherwise. Not to mention his nephew, who undoubtedly has the capacity to be a real pain in his ass if Leona ever does away with his father.

Now Leona spends most of his time bored and unpleasant to be around, not so unlike the whispers that circulated the halls of Afterglow Savannah's royal palace when his signature spell was discovered. It is when you find him, lazing around in the light of the sun creeping into the greenhouse (one of the only times he has ever felt that he has ever felt that he could escape from the shadows), and, for one reason or another, you decide to stay.

Leona hates it.

He hates the way you shine a light in his life. It’s too bright, too hot, and he can’t get rid of you no matter how hard he tries. And, at some point, he has become too scared to get rid of you. The underlying fear of losing that light, reduced to the shadow of a king and a crown prince that he once was; it kills Leona. It kills him because he was supposed to be a king, grew up wanting to be the perfect one to rule over the kingdom, and kings do not have weaknesses.

But Leona is not a king.

He is the brother of one, the second son of a royal family. With enough skills and intellect to survive in the battlefield that is the royal court of the Afterglow Savannah. He is born to a long line of kings, emperors, leaders; has learned from the stories of the great kings of the past, of which their blood courses through his veins; but he is not a king. Never was, and never will be.

But then again, who is to say that he isn’t a king in another sense?

"The only kingly thing you haven’t done yet is actually opening your eyes, Leona," Ruggie’s damned hyena laugh echoes in his mind, the mischievous smirk on his face while his eyes stay rooted to the pathetic homemade crown on his head.

Leona does not think Ruggie has the right to laugh, when he doesn't even understand.

Because even with his eyes closed, the second prince sees. He sees the way your breaths come and go, the warmth of the sun and the chill of the breeze on your skin, your quickening pulse and heartbeat. He sees it all without ever needing his eyes, and that is the exact reason why he doesn’t want to open them.

Because if he does, he will see you, backlit against the sun and light of the greenhouse you both visit so much, and then he will want more; you by his side in the kingdom of Afterglow Savannah, bathing in the morning light while wrapped in royal robes, the consort's crown on your head, your rightful place on the throne beside his. You cradling his cub in your arms, sweetly whispering to the result of your love, the future ruler and heir to the throne that is rightfully his. Leona knows that there is none other more deserving of a consort's crown than you, and he would kill anyone who tried to take it from you.

(He would kill for you in a heartbeat. No matter what the cost.

One day, Leona thinks, he will not be the only one to fear the extent of what he feels for you.)

But what murder is justified when the crime hasn’t even been committed? When you do not have the consort's crown, because Leona doesn’t even have the king’s.

(Child’s play; reaching for something he will never get. Leona is a master at this game, even when he loses every single time.)

Silly lion, you would chide him with a smile. Not for these foolish fantasies (for Leona would never admit them), but for the most mundane things. Being late to class, forgetting to do homework, getting detention, forgetting to go to that detention. Such simple, pathetic things, and Leona listens because you are his consort, and kings listen to their consorts.

(Pathetic, hopeless little fantasies.)

"Leona?" you call out his name, your voice the melody of his sweetest, softest, weakest dreams.

Leona's eyes flutter open, lashes brushing against his cheeks as he blinks in the light.

He sees you there, bent over to peer at his sleeping expression. The way your head eclipses the sun makes it seem like you’re wearing a halo (angel’s crown), and if Leona looks closely, he can see his own kisses tangled between your locks and the light.

He closes his eyes before he can meet your gaze, see your lips and everything else he has ever wanted. He will settle for sense and touch, if not for the sake of his sanity, then for you.

"What is it now?" he snarls, feigning annoyance. He hears you laugh, and Leona knows you see right through him.

Just give him some more time, then he will give you a kingdom, the world, and everything else you’ve ever wanted and deserved──

──but for now, this will be all he can offer you.

© trappolia 2024

[controld3vil]

𝗖𝗥𝗬𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗟𝗘 (II)

𝘀𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝘁𝗼 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗠

pairing(s): jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond "one eye" targaryen x targ!reader (you are daemon and laena's firstborn)

synopsis: You arrive at Harrenhal seeking to reconcile with your father, only to find his disastrous decisions have caused chaos. The grief over your grandmother’s death casts a dark shadow, making any prospect of recovery seem bleak.

notes: daemon fr had to face some of his demons at riverrun lol. but on a side note, be aware this is much more story dense. cw: daemon being a bad dad:(

Daemon awoke to the dawn’s harsh light, his dreams of uniting the fractured memories already unraveling in the cold grip of reality. His morning was not one of renewal but of stark reminders: the promises broken, the alliances fraying, and the ever-looming threat of rebellion. As he stared out over the restless waters, the weight of his failures pressed down upon him, each wave taunting the unity he still sought but had yet to achieve.

His days became numbered and restless very quickly. The Rogue Prince’s patience falters as he stomps down Harrenhal’s halls, they are looming with light and motionless calmness. Dark Sister is strung by his side, clinging to his belt and waist. When will it end? What could possibly make his day any worse?

“Dragon!”

A distant envoy’s screech. Oh, he’s heard. Anyone who dared to come to Harrenhal would know of his prowess simply because Caraxes await them. No matter foe or friend, Daemon grips his Valyrian blade tightly before turning toward the Weirwood tree. Caraxes usually resided near the old tree, it was wide and unbound by anywhere else in the castle. Undoubtedly, he would sense his rider’s stride, gradually becoming anticipated hungry for battle.

Despite his commanding presence, he is stopped by a small servant who wobbles his feet uneasily. My prince! They holler when he does not mean to halt, ignoring the random babbles from the man’s mouth. “Lord Simon Strong requests your presence!” A feverish shiver as the servant trembles under the gaze of Daemon. King Consort to Queen Rhaenyra. Yet here, alone with his dragon, he should be considered King. 

“It seems we have company though,” The silver-haired swordsman blatantly takes no notice of the servant’s distress. It would be the least of Simon Strong’s problems if Daemon would deal with the unannounced dragon rider. But the castellan had a knack for appearing at the most inopportune moments. Should he leave now to deal with the foreign enemy, he wouldn’t have to meet with Lord Strong at all. The Rogue Prince had magnifying eyes. His lavender orbs pierced the man with intensity and undeclared rage. It felt suffocating to be looked under as the servant could only muster a feeble plea, hands scrambling together to keep his calm. 

“It- It is your daughter who was seen!” Your name was pronounced, oddly by the man’s tongue. It is you who he wishes for to soothe Daemon’s grievances. In response, the possible emergence of the prince’s benevolence could perspire. Still, it was unlikely that King Viserys' brother would abide simply because of his king's presence. For his daughter, the man could only anticipate so. “Her dragon resides on the other side of the Keep! And she wishes for an audience with you and Lord Strong…” 

Wonderful.

Perhaps, in the absence of the Black Council, he has grown irritated and longing for a sense of direction. He lacks it here clearly. No Riverlord would consider his commands even if they were put down to be eaten by Caraxes. This was how stubborn Southerners were. They are adamant to follow the old ways, never embracing the new. In turn, they’ve become grumpy old men and women.

You sure made a grand entrance which terrified most of the people in the castle. Daemon can only assume you came under Rhaenyra’s obligation. Why else? It has been days since he left Dragonstone without a word or raven. The Council must’ve spiraled into madness without their most skilled warrior by their table. A permanent scowl was on his face as Daemon treaded heavily to the Grand hall. His mind is blinded with thoughts, as his judgment deters. The swift clatter of the double doors being pushed and bouncing as they close is unmistakable.

An unpleasant frown was on the face of Daemon as he entered unprecedentedly. “What are you doing here?” You did not move from your position, bizarrely calm, and in doing so sat on the edge of one of the chairs accompanied by Lord Strong. The castellan himself is seated beside you, with his usual robes and heavy garments. Pure vexation was what you heard from Daemon’s accent. Whether it was directed at you or Lord Strong, both of you felt the underlying intensity a man of the Rogue prince’s caliber can do. 

You rise, with a grim expression. “I came here to help you,” Now Daemon sees it. Your expression was hardened by the stoic frown and concentrated stare. It was like staring into the eyes of a viper. Alluring and dangerous as it was, Daemon rarely witnessed this side of you. It is plain how distinct you are from your sisters, Baela and Rhaena. You were all of the blood of the dragon, yet it was your heart and soul that resembled the Rogue Prince’s ambitious nature. 

“Harrenhal has been handled,” He scoffs, advancing in the manner reminiscent of an irritated cat. The rhythm of his steps was concise and slow like he would approach a troubled animal.  

“Then why has it taken you so long to return home?” You snap, and the lines of your disappointed pout are apparent now. Indeed was the harsh blaze of daylight that hit your face perfectly. It accentuates your bright-hued view, fondly. Knowing the gods, they have blessed you with a burning spirit and charm. Your coin has flipped long ago. And Daemon sees for the first time what will become of your destiny. “Have you not heard? Rhaenys died at the battle of Rook’s Rest against Cole’s army!”

Daemon believes you would become mad if you hadn’t left Dragonstone. Grasping your inherent qualities, a death such as Rhaenys would devastate you. And it has, for how much time has passed since the Battle of Rook’s Rest he had no idea, but confirmed that you came here out of your own volition. What you intend to do is something he hasn’t foreseen yet. 

A deafening silence passes when your father says nothing in response to your anger. But then he says, “She did what had to be done.” A soft-spoken retribution on Daemon’s part. His gaze follows your shallow breath when you sniffle laboriously. A prominent shine is transparent on top of your eyes. You did your best to stay restrained in front of your father. Your appearance brought bitter news along with an imprinted image of his daughter’s unfortunate disintegration. 

Seemingly his words struck a chord in you. “And what have you done?” Sneering, you disregard the ache in your chest to pursue your father further of his drawn-out disappearance. More than ever, you needed him. You needed Daemon, your father there to comfort you. Especially then when victory is forfeited in the worst-case scenario. You weren’t there. And you felt even more compelled to define every mistake he has made. The murder, the destruction, and the divide. “Nothing!”

“Mind your tongue,” He snaps when Daemon is suddenly provoked by your words of spite. 

Your head shifts, intimidatingly. “No! Because while you ransacked innocents with the Southern lords, Rhaenys fled and defended a lord at our council!” You clenched your fisted hands, restraining your further temper. “It’s barbaric.”

“Well we need to be ruthless to win a war, don’t we?” Daemon guffs, his hand landing in the familiar space where his Vaylrian blade was. It was his way to warn you. To dominate and show you he is superior despite your lineage. “You are a child. What do you know of war? I presume nothing because your actions have demonstrated ignorance and naivety.” 

“I’m not a child!”

“Yes, you are!” Your father authoritatively steps forward and merely breathes away from your own. “You are naive and weak like one! You lash out when you see fit and choose to lament when the lords have something else to give you!” Word by word, and piece by piece, you can feel your heart shatter. You’re silent, unable to mumble another word to your father, afraid and rectified by his brutal dispute. You are young but the blood of the dragon ran thick. You were just like your father when he wanted to please and grab his brother’s attention. You were desperate to find the comforts of him yet found yourself left abandoned and cast off. 

The tears you had been holding were free now. An overwhelming amount flooded your vision as you dared not to turn away from your father’s relentless gaze. Even though he knew, his words were harsh and sharp. Under further silence, Daemon notices the tremble of your lips and puffed cheeks. His heart crumbles with guilt but he does not so much as return an apologetic gesture. 

Perhaps in your distorted view, you did catch his slight hesitation. Nevertheless, you paid no heed and dashed out of the room before the guards could open the doors. The absence of your presence left a regretful mark on Daemon’s chest as he dismissed Lord Strong’s pleas entirely.

And not far from the Weirwood, a sound resembling Sheepstealer’s cry can be heard.

No defiance was left unchecked in your family. You figured this out long before you left Pentos with a heavy heart. When your mother was alive, she and your father were avid parents. Happy and easily pleased with their three daughters. You could not remember when your relationship faltered as badly as now. Disobedience was something foreign as the consequence of your peaceful time in the East. On the contrary, you were more distant with your sisters and father than ever before. You spoke less as the days passed. Barely offering a fleeting look of solace, that not even your father could reassure. 

For the rest of your time, you became oddly acquitted with Lord Strong and his men. He was a timid character but all of most, welcoming of your presence and cooperation. Much contrast to the Rogue Prince, you were at least willing to seek out the other lords of the River lands and speak on reasonable terms. 

“I do appreciate your service, Princess,” The castellan meekly grins as the two of you stroll in unison to the ancient Weirwood tree. A magnificent monument and staple of the castle of Harrenhal you had heard. For generations, the tree had spouted its roots deeply into the defiled castle like a parasite, relying on its nutrients to stay alive. You acknowledged how important the old ways were with the old folk and Southern houses. It was their way of living and for many was what they relied on during these times of turmoil. “Much was needed after your father’s arrival, I’m afraid. I wasn’t sure if sending a raven to the Queen would’ve been necessary.”

A grim sigh escaped your breath. “I’m glad to be of service, Lord Strong. I’m sure after today, we can put all this behind us.” A passive promise, as you weren’t sure if the River Houses would be willing to listen to you. Surely the daughter of the King consort’s would bring attention to some. However, Daemon’s actions as of late became a domino effect in causing distrust and provocation with the lords. 

“I do hope so,” Lord Strong’s feeble words meant nothing to you. The eerie entrance of the garden itself was dreary and dry. Dead leaves scattered all across the floors. Empty and broken carts of nothing were laid to be disregarded. And in the far center, was the Weirwood tree, standing tall and glum. It was the most spectacular sight you had seen since arriving at Harrenhal. Its luscious red leaves were full of life and blood. The many faces on the tree, each resembling a different person with a different story. Out of everything, it was the only thing that gave you security and clarity.

The Weirwood tree itself was essential to many people of Westeros. Whether they worshiped the old gods or new, it stood as a staple, to allow empathy for those who know they are watching. And you knew the gods were watching you. 

In front of the majestic timber, was a young boy. Most likely close to the age of Lucerys if you had imagined. He was a meek and wide-eyed little thing. Wearing the sigil of House Tully, he carried those prominent features a Tully should have. Red curly hair and honest blue eyes. 

“Princess,” The boy welcomes, stepping forward, timidly. He utters your name in respect and soft admiration. “Welcome to the Riverlands, I am Oscar Tully, heir and lord of House Tully.”

You halt before glancing behind at Lord Strong with a soothing nod. The castellan takes it valiantly, returning with a tender smile. He returns to close the doors before walking back inside the castle. Both you and the Tully boy stood alone outside with the winds and distant tides now. 

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Tully,” You say, attempting your best to appeal more invitingly. More pleasant and sincere at his hospitality. The strained guilt you feel for the destruction constructed by Daemon makes your chest heave heavily. It was not your doing but you regardless were remorseful for the chaos the Southerners must have endured. “Never in my lifetime was I blessed to visit the River lands. And now that I’m here, it’s obvious that Harrenhal was never my first choice.”

The boy laughs. “Yes, well Harrenhal certainly has that kind of reputation,” Oscar smiles cheekily as though relieved and infatuated at your calmer personality and aid. He was ignorant to believe you would be like your father. Of course, the resemblance was uncanny. However luckily, you did not pout and have a commanding tone with your words. Rather you were calm and docile like a majestic wolf from the North. Oscar cannot seem to pinpoint it but there is a magnetic ease he feels when you gaze at him with your keen eyes. “But on other matters, I hope you’re aware of the certain situations with the Riverland army?”

“Of course,” An exaggerated groan as you crossed your hands behind your back to cruise around the abandoned garden. The leather black boots you wore gave you easy access away from the mud and dirt. You neared closer to the heir of House Tully. “Has my father considered instating the terms you have given to him?”

Knowing Daemon, an apology was out of the question. He was a man of action. The Rogue Prince demonstrated as much when he burned some of the Bracken men for not bending their knees. The least he can do is force his hand and then have to negotiate with them with reasonable terms. Though your father has always been a difficult man. 

A delayed cough comes from the boy. “I’m not afraid not, Princess.” Almost as if afraid of how you might react to his failed attempts. There was no reason to be scared yet it was an accidental reflex on his part to estimate the Princess of Dragonstone. 

“Then what are your terms?” Your attention was entirely on the Weirwood tree. You see the leaking red blood dripping from the many faces and you can feel the nervous energy from the boy. “I’ll agree to them as long as you accept and do your part to assemble the lords of the River lands.” 

Oscar looks at you, startled. “I- Our terms… Well then I suppose justice.” You meet his sapphire blue one, as captivating and electric as your deep indigo pools. Much resembling the night sky. “Your father has condemned one of the lords to treason and outright murder. I believe as a Southerner, a follower of the old ways, that he should stand for his crimes.” A courageous feat on his part which you could not help but respect. A boy as young as he is now holds the responsibility of many Houses. They all look to House Tully for guidance and Oscar is now their precedent ruler. 

“Then that is done,” You shrugged with a nonchalant pout. Simply one man to face his crimes was enough to receive the largest army. Then you should have it. It was something Daemon would most likely not accommodate. His bowing and agreeing on someone’s terms was not his style. He needed to have something more out of the bargain. Still, you’ve grown restless of your father and needed the army urgently. “See that Lord Blackwood be executed here by the Weirwood tree when all of the lords are present. Should they be convinced we do not tolerate murder and anarchy, they can be a witness of the beheading.” You shake your head, with a smile. 

The Tully boy feels a chill run down his spine. "I appreciate how accommodating you've been given our situation, Princess." He feels flustered but at the same time, relieved. He did not expect this was how your conversation would pan out. But he was pleasantly surprised and would honorably accept your terms. He would only hope now that your father could comply and that you would persuade him on the matter. 

With a brief nod, your fixed stare turns to Oscar’s House sigil. He wears it proudly on his chest, carved out of leather, an imprint of a trout, jumping out of the water. “Tully's honor their promises, so I only ask you to do the same.” 

He stands there, looking in awe at you. He doesn’t so much as return with a stutter, as if not catching you the first time. His delayed response makes Oscar regain himself and clear his throat. “Please forgive me, Princess, but you are not what I had anticipated from the daughter of the Rogue Prince and King Consort to the Queen..."

Unexpectedly, you chuckled, much to the Riverland Lord’s expectation. Gods, why were you so unpredictable? Not to mention, your laughter was rather magnetic to listen to. How could he resist a princess such as yourself, who rides the wild dragon, Sheepstealer, and has a father as one of the most pronounced fighters alive?

House Targaryen in its history had many beautiful women and men over the years of their reign as Rulers of Westeros. They were known for their profound and striking qualities, signaling out any other candidate for beauty charm. You embody it wholly, with the way you stand and present yourself. You’re courageous and strong-willed, admirable talents anyone should have. For Oscar Tully, it fascinates him. 

“Then what do you think I would be like?” You’re intrigued, giving a sly smile when you beam at his shy and embarrassed state. It had been some time since you felt this giddy. Since Lucerys death, your family has dealt with another grief. Then came the death of King Viserys which shifted entirely your lives to madness. You never did have enough time to grieve. Even for your mother, you considered it now, no one would let you rest and had always expected you to be fine with things.

Maybe that was the reason why you refused to visit Dragonstone many times before. When Rhaenyra married Daemon, you were obligated to live in the ancient Targaryen home with them. Even though you complied, you never stayed long, always finding ways to be on Driftmark with your sister and grandparents. It was a way to distract your mind and soul. You did not want to be in the same room as Daemon. So perhaps Corlys and Rhaenys truly felt more like your parents. 

Oscar looks at the tips of his feet, unable to meet your penetrating periwinkle gaze. “I don’t know. I- I thought you would be more aligned with your father.” He raises his tone slightly on the last part, unsure if his words meant offense to you. “And I apologize, I mean no offense!”

“And you’re not wrong to believe so,” Your tone teased, indifferent to how you glanced at him, endearing and eternal much like a sapphire, cherished by the island of Tarth.

Jacaerys was worried for you. He could not understand why you would be so reckless to leave Dragonstone with Sheepstealer. There was war! For all he knew, you could’ve already been killed airborne alongside your wild dragon. But he digresses, the Prince of Dragonstone should not underestimate your worth as a dragon rider and aggressive nature. You were careless but knew how to ride a Sheepstealer well, everyone else couldn’t. 

Regardless, you were his betrothed. The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! You should not fly in this condition! He would tell you if you had been still present and he berated you around the castle like an annoying servant. He would have it, Jacaerys could not stand not knowing of your well-being. News from Harrenhal? No raven has been flown there since Daemon’s disappearance. You were driving him mad and you were not even aware of it! 

The Queen’s son paced around his room, exhausted. Your leave did not surprise his mother, which as expected he should’ve anticipated. You and Daemon. Two born from the same blood and now, he understands what his mother felt when he left for Harrenhal. You do as you please, he supposes. Though most of the time he knew of you, it was ever unlikely for you to be so daring. You were brash but never went as far as abandoning your home. Jacaerys feels a small sort of guilt for not letting you leave. He willingly let you. He isn’t sure if you have some sort of sorcery against him or more so he cannot control you as much as you do to him, but the crowned prince still thinks of you. 

He can still recall the day he and you were renowned as betroths. It was the hearing for the heir of Driftmark. The entire hall was consumed by people and servants. The iron throne sat in the center, all and menacingly. His mother stood by his side while Lucerys and Rhaena were slightly behind. Alongside Daemon who lurked around the crowds, watching everyone. On the other side was Rhaenys Targaryen, the standing figure for Corlys Velaryon. You and Baela were behind her, always so close to each other. Your presence comforted one another as it did to him. 

“It was ever my husband’s decision to pass Driftmark to our son, Laenor, and his son, Lucerys,” Rhaenys confidently speaks in front of the Hand of the King as Otto’s daughter can only frown in silence. While the rest of the crowd stayed awning. “And Princess Rhaenyra had just proposed to her two sons to be wedded to Laena’s daughters,” She motions to you and Baela. And when he catches a glimpse of you, butterflies flutters. As you meet his eye with a cheeky smile. “Which I wholeheartedly agree.”

The looks you gave to one another spoke greater volume than the words from your mouths. Jacaerys understood that yes, you were satisfied with the marriage proposal, And he was as well. You two couldn’t be more relieved and happier. You had always assumed he would marry your cousin, Helaena. However Alicent claimed she was to be married to her older brother, Aegon, you believed the odds of it happening to be more promising. And it has. 

Also across where you stood from the throne, Aemond’s eye catches your elevated expression. Those simple words of your engagement troubled him. So much so that he could feel the vexation that began to build in his chest. It was unlike the second son to feel this emotional towards marriage. He always avoided the subject. But somehow when you became the topic, his mind suddenly scrambled into mush and his attention followed you willingly. 

It was more obvious when dinner came. His cold stare pierced the side of your head as you continued to converse with your sisters. You sat beside Jacaery as promised. It irks Aemond immensely to see you happily and comfortably with his sister’s bastard. It was unfair and unjust. Just how was he considered legitimated as a Targaryen? He had no characteristics of his ancestors, only those of his father. Harwin Strong. The one-eyed prince made sure to make a scene when he decided to toast in front of everyone. 

You were seated, content with a plate of food in front of you. As you listened to him speak for the first time, holding a chalice up to your lips. 

To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. As his words died down from silence, you knew what was coming. Aemond had constraints but sometimes even he could break. Each of them… handsome… wise… strong. His attention was solely on you now. His one good eye glistened under the candlelight. Its hue is dark and sinister. As if believing you would be ecstatic with his insults. Did he expect you to be pleased? You were not sure, everything afterward was a blur. 

A few punches and tensed stares divided the room apart. Rhaenyra consoled her children while Alicent attempted to get a hold of her sons. The boys, Aemond and Jacaerys did not stand comfortably in the tense environment. The one-eyed prince couldn’t help but feel satisfied with his efforts. At the same time, his nephew tries to refrain from anything else brash. Out of the corner, Daemon appears, effectively separating the two. His calm and contented expression rather irritated Aemond, allowing him to leave without haste. In comparison, Jacaerys contended to his mother’s orders and left the room. You were expected to follow behind your betrothed footsteps.

Despite having other plans.

Under the dark coven of King’s Landing, you whisk away into the shadows. It was like running around in a maze, every corridor you seemed to pass looked similar. You had no clue where you were heading or your intention to go this far away from your chambers. But your cousin’s actions confused you. If you could speak to Aemond, you would dissolve whatever strain he feels under this obligation. 

“Have you no shame?” You voiced, coming into the moonlight’s center. The simple garden of the Weirwood tree where the two of you found each other. It was a comforting place to read poetry or listen to a musician play. You found yourself here too many times now. “It seems like your grievances have gotten the better of you, cousin.”

Aemond hums with a sneer. “Aren’t you bothered by it?”

“Bothered by what?” you retort, your irritation rising at his insolence.

“You’re betrothed,” he says, pausing before adding, “to a bastard.”

“Why should I be?” you snap back, icy and curt. “His mother is a Targaryen and heir to the Iron Throne, so he remains a Targaryen.”

The second son turns, catching your angry expression. It bothers him how fitting you believe having Jacaerys as your betrothed would not bring any consequences. “His blood is not pure.”

“Because his father is not Ser Laenor?” You joust, moving closer to where he was. Close to the roots of the many-faced tree as it stares back at you blankly. “Does it matter? He is still Rhaenyra’s child and your nephew by right and blood.”

“And you don’t think this would affect you? Your future? Your family?” On and on, the one-eyed prince pushes nonsensical questions. You clearly did not understand the faults of marrying a bastard, one so close to the proclaimed heir. It would falter your status. “You should have a better suitor that will elevate your status, not dishonor it.”

“And who could you provide that for me?” A humorless laugh escapes your mouth, grinning like a hysterical maniac. You did not take his words seriously. Even so, you had never looked more magnificent, bathed in the purest light the gods could provide. The maroon gown you wore draped flawlessly over your figure, embodying the combined beauty of the Targaryens and Velaryons. You were the epitome of both beautiful Valyrian lineages. Your curved, sly smile accentuated your playful nature. You beam under his sight because simply he’s enamored by you. Why couldn’t his mother propose him to you? Not with anyone else. You. 

Nothing comes out of the prince’s mouth. He was not sure why. 

His delayed response gave you the chance to speak once more. “It’s just like you said,” you whispered, barely audible from where you stood a few paces away. “I’ll have a husband soon enough.

Jace. When the Weirwood leaves ruffled, you cupped your hands together. You sat in silence for a while before thinking of all the ways to approach him when the time came for you to return to Dragonstone. I had to leave. Yes, staying on Dragonstone felt intolerable. You would only be reminded of Rhaenys remains, how her last moments were of your playful banter of burning the Greens. How did it compare now when her body is underneath rubble along with her mighty Meleys? She was the one who taught you how to fly. Did he know that?

Amid the chaos, your name is hollered out. “Princess of Dragonstone, future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” You depart your solemn eyes away from the stormy skies of Harrenhal to the witch that approaches. You recognized her from your lord’s description. “I see you’ve taken a liking to the Godswoods.” 

Alys Rivers remains a mystery to you. She seems to wander the grounds alone much like the owls roaming the halls. She appears with the lords, she’s there with your father. And she is here, alone with you, as the Weirwood tree stands witness. Her black-painted locks are enchanting, and her enigmatic beauty captivates you with curiosity. She was a bastard but if you’ve learned anything coming from your family, it shouldn’t be considered a burden. 

“What do you want?” Your attention bounces back and forth from her to elsewhere, she assumes your thoughts. Your voice was laced with gentle sarcasm and lightheartedness. It seemed to her you too became acquitted with her. You had gotten used to her disappearances and reappearances quicker than your father. 

“I noticed you come here often,” The witch mentions, making you feel spellbound by her words. “A princess who flees from the safety of her home. To reconcile with her father only to be let down by his anguish. Surely she is feeling overwhelmed…” 

She tries to lure you in yet you concur. "Is it wrong to aid my father when he fails to do what he intended?”

“Greed comes in many different ways, Princess,” She perks up, wide-eyed like a nocturnal barn owl. Her stare invites intrigue and bizarre curiosity to those who would allow her to indulge. Yet you felt sort of unease the way she looked at you. As if she could read your mind. 

You allow silence to sit a few seconds longer. With a stoic expression, you state. “Yes, it does.” 

“Mm,” She grins, much like a mischievous cat. "I hope it doesn’t lead you to act recklessly. Gathering the largest army does not ensure you will achieve glory."

At this, you tilt your head to the side. “Do you expect treason from me, Rivers?”

“Oh not at all, Princess,” She exclaims with a touch of sarcasm. “But you should know the lords here aren’t as accommodating as the ones you find at home.” It was as if a mix of mockery and degradation was interwoven into her words. Alys did not seem at all worried about your reaction. It looked as if she was playing you, to get a reaction out of you. "Your fate was sealed long ago; it is clear what the gods have planned for you."

"Whatever the gods intend," you said slowly, your tone dropping to a dangerous whisper, "matters not, for I shall carve my own path." A sudden screech rings out, alarming and shaking the leaves around you. The ancient tree stands solemnly, its crimson leaves fluttering against the storm. Out of the corner of her eye, Alys spots your dragon with scales of mottled green and copper, his disordered appearance piquing her curiosity.

His exotic wings are both powerful and fierce, mirroring your own nature. He grunts and prowls around the Weirwood tree while you maintain a gaze of striking boldness. Dragons surpass mere prophecy, being molded by blood magic and incantations. Many see them as formidable beasts and deities, a notion that terrifies her with its sheer incomprehensibility.

And with that, she cannot tear her eyes away from your beast, caught between terror and awe, her sapphire gaze frozen. As if sensing her fear, Sheepstealer sneers wickedly, revealing his sharp canines.

“The River Lords will be arriving shortly,” You clasped your hands together, “Find my father, will you?”

[mrscarpenter]

“We were always meant to burn together.” 2

Summary: cant think of one without spoiling everything 🥲

Includes/warnings: hightower!reader, aegons twin. Y/N has been used on multiple occasions. There is an age gap in this (whatever daemons canon age is). Some high valyrian with translations, i am not fluent so ignore if it sucks.

🪐notes: its been a while since i’ve seen season 1 so please ignore any timeline mistakes. Daemyra does not exist in this. :)

Biggest thank you to my lovely hannah ( @just-some-random-blogger ) for beta-reading this <33

« “I am not going back to Oldtown with you, uncle.” »

« “Then where will you go?” »

« “i’ll be with rhaenyra.” »

Dragonstone ― Near the beaches...

Less than six months later, after the incident at Driftmark, a new act would rattle the court.

As per the ancient customs of House Targaryen, Daemon and his niece, you, had arranged a ceremony on the beaches of Dragonstone to perform a Valyrian rite, which was attended by Rhaenyra, her children, Jace, Luke, Joffrey, and Daemon’s children, Baela, and Rhaena, along with Rhaenyra's maester, Gerardys. 

The wedding ceremony was to be solemnized by a High Priest, who worshipped the Old Gods of Valyria, and was brought in by both Targaryen royals. However, due to the tragic event of the Doom that destroyed the Valyrian Freehold and their civilization, very little information or records remained about the long-forgotten religion, except that the Targaryen dragons were named after gods from the ancient pantheon worshipped throughout Old Valyria's vast empire. 

Their faith was practiced for thousands of years before being greatly diminished. It was a momentous occasion for the family, steeped in tradition and history, as they honored their heritage and celebrated the union of two of its members.

You, dressed in the traditional garments, looked back at everyone. This marriage was performed suddenly without the knowledge of your father, mother or siblings. They were not in attendance— a deep shame. You had hoped that they would be there to support you. 

You never wanted to be wed, you linked it with childbirth and after the late queen Aemma, and Daemon’s late wife, Laena; it scared you to no end. Your thoughts drift back to the day you and Daemon arrived at Dragonstone, and he had made the proposal. 

« “If you don't want Alicent to have any control over you anymore, you must wed me. A woman’s place is beside her husband. She couldn’t deny that.” »

« “I do not wish to be wed, Daemon— to sit around as a broodmare, my only purpose to produce heirs until I end like...” »

« " I know you are frightened, but I won't let anything happen to you.” »

Proceeding with the wedding, you and Daemon cut your hands and lips with dragonglass, mixed your blood in a ceremonial chalice, and marked Valyrian glyphs in blood on your foreheads.

"Hen lantoti ānogar. Va sȳndroti vāedroma.” Blood of two. Joined as one. the High Priest prayed in High Valyrian. "Mēro perzot gīhoti. Elēdroma iārza sīr. Izulī ampā perzī. Prūmī lanti sēteksi. Hen jenȳ māzīlarion. Qēlossa ozūndesi. Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo. Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.” Ghostly flame. And song of shadows. Two hearts as embers. Forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time. Of darkness and light.

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Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast...

"A perversion of justice," Larys commented. "The young Prince Aemond... defiled. An outrage."

"Indeed," Alicent replied. Since her father took control of her influence, the instructions were left relatively straightforward. Her position as Queen Consort was in dire jeopardy.

"If it's an eye you want to balance the scales, I am your servant."

"Don't bother. Even if Rhaenyra's bastards are mere pushovers, she and daemon are another matter entirely. So even if I wanted to, such actions would only bring further unnecessary trouble. But your devotion has not gone unnoticed."

"These are dangerous times."

"The day will doubtless come when House Hightower will require such a friend. With not only skill but discretion as well."

"I shall await your call, my queen. However..." Larys passed on a note. "It's come to my attention that a certain young princess has done the unthinkable, Your Grace."

Alicent raised a curious eyebrow and examined the note. Her eyes traced the handwriting intricately. When she finally realized what Larys's spies had uncovered, the queen couldn't help but gulp. "My sweet girl.." She turned to Larys. "Thank you for letting me know."

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Dragonstone

After the wedding, there was no bedding ceremony. As much as daemon had wanted to bed you, he knew it was not something you wanted yet, still far to scared of your duties as wife. Only you two would know that secret, to anyone else you had consummated.

You had avoided daemon after that night, trying your hardest to not speak to him, or to avoid his presence altogether. Having never been close with him beforehand, you didn’t know what to talk to him about. If you weren’t being a wife, what else should you be doing? You did not know.

The small folk and the fishermen looked up in confusion as you passed them, it wasnt a usual occurrence that a Targaryen princess such as yourself, walked along the dusty beach of dragonstone, in a fancy dress no less. You had wanted to clear your mind, you told yourself. But subconsciously, it might have had something to do with the sightings of a dragon near the beach the past few days.

Daemon had assigned a personal guard to you, to keep you safe. If the guard reported back to him on your doings, you did not know. But if he did, it wasn’t obvious. “Princess, maybe we should turn back.” Ser Steffon spoke, gulping as he hears the screams of terror as a dragon is sighted flying towards the beach.

“If you want to return, you are welcome to do so Ser. I am staying.” Claiming a dragon wasnt the first thing that crossed your mind, you simply wanted to stay at the beach. And unlike the small folk, you were not terrified of dragons. But yet as the dragon flew over you, and the thought of claiming it did cross your mind, a small tingle of terror did run over your spine before you shook it off. You are a targaryen, this is your birthright. You tell yourself. Don’t be scared of what is owed to you.

You speed up to the flat lands where you saw the dragon land. You hadn’t seen what dragon it was, you had only hoped it was seasmoke, or any other dragon that wasn’t as scary, in your mind, as the wild ones.

After Aemond claimed vhagar, you were left the only Targaryen without a mount. It broke your heart when your dragon didn’t hatch in OldTown. Now that you had this opportunity in front of you, you weren’t gonna let it go to waste.

Ser Steffon, however scared, did not turn away, and instead followed you. Ofcourse his pleadings to turn back never stopped, and neither did his murmurs: “Prince Daemon is going to kill me.”

Now that you have the dragon in your full sight, you can finally see which one it is. You audibly gulp. “grey ghost.”, you whisper to yourself. It just had to be a wild dragon didn’t it?

You don’t let it deter you, slowly stepping closer. you were never taught High Valyrian in OldTown, you had only started learning with Rhaenyra when you first came to dragonstone. You hadn’t progressed far, so you tried your hardest to remember dragon commands. Lykirī, dohaerās, sōvēs, you recited over and over in your head as you stopped in front of Grey Ghost. He is a beautiful pale grey-white dragon, and if the stories were true, he blended in beautifully with the clouds.

It made sense that he was near the beach these past few days, according to the stories you had heard, Grey Ghost preferred fish.

“Beautiful”, you mumble to yourself, you were mesmerised.

“Princess! Please get away from that beast!”

You clench your jaw, “Dragons are not beasts, Ser Steffon, they are beautiful creatures. If you do not wish to be here, you are free to leave!” You yell at him over the wind.

You take small steps towards Grey Ghost, and he growls at you. “Lykirī, Grey Ghost, Dohaerās!”

You chant those two words over and over towards him, your hand held out as you step closer to his head. This is it, you think, this is the part where i get burned alive.

Eventually you step so close, your hand lands on his snout. “Kostilus” you whisper, please.

Grey Ghost turns his head away. You move towards the length of his body, praying to the seven you won’t get burned, or eaten.

You hear Ser Steffon running away, probably to fetch Daemon, or other guards. You dont know why, if this is when Grey Ghost decides to kill you, nobody would be able to stop it.

You slowly climb up, somewhat clumsily seeing as Grey Ghost has no saddle for you to climb up on, and you’re wearing a dress instead of the usual riding wear.

As you manoeuvre yourself on top, you settle down and let out a sigh of relief, It doesnt last long because you’re forced to lean forward and grab onto something, anything, as grey ghost moves. “Lykirī, Grey Ghost, sōvēs.”

With that, Grey Ghost takes off. Once in the sky, its hard for you to not panic. Not only is Grey Ghost very fast and very excited, you are also flying at a great height without a saddle, or reigns to hold onto.

You hear a loud roar and suddenly a red dragon flies beside you, caraxes. A smile blossoms onto your face as you follow the length of the blood wyrms body til your eyes land on your husband.

Daemon smiles at you, as he leans back in his saddle and spreads his arm wide. You’d do the same, but you are nowhere near as skilled at riding a dragon as he is.

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Dragonstone —— DragonMont

Your feet touch the ground as you dismount Grey Ghost. You spent an hour in the sky, flying around with Daemon, before he led you to the dragonmont.

In the sky it was fun, but you knew that now you’re on the ground, you were in for a scolding. And as you approach Daemon, the stern look on his face proves you right.

He meets you halfway, stands impossibly close to you, puts his hand on your waist to lock you in and places his head right beside yours. “Do you know how reckless and dangerous that was?”

You sigh, but dont say anything to excuse yourself, because nothing will excuse it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you happy now? Did you get what you so desperately needed? you were even willing to risk your own life for it.”

You say nothing, you dont move and you dont speak, you only avert your eyes downwards. Daemon notices and pulls back slightly. He puts his fingers under your chin and forces you to make eye contact with him again. He leans slightly forward, and presses his forehead against yours for nothing more of a nanosecond before pulling away again and walking off, leaving you standing there.

Part 3, anyone?

explore post, masterlist

please comment & reblog if you enjoyed. <3

© mrscarpenter, 2025

[quinnred]

Shrileket: God of the Beautiful Wrath, God of the Spear, Sun-Dropper Shrileket is the embodiment of focus, gust, conspiracy, spears, venom, meteors, and just punishment. He is represented by the Cone-Shell in the South, and by the Heron and Fisher in the North. Warriors may wear an eye-marked sea shell upon their head or as necklace to evoke Shrileket’s accuracy and deliverance and be blessed with a just rage.

The Shell Gods were gods of strength, endurance, and handiwork, and so the birth of the armless and scrawny Shrileket to a consort of Zridtara was not revered. The wobbly weakling only had a shell upon his small head and had no feet but pin points that left it oddly balanced. Afraid to inform their chief, the consort left the newborn to be raised by the Servikah giants within the lower chambers of the Mesa. Despite his seeming lameness, Shrileket was already quite clever and remembered each wrong done to him as he grew in the shadows of his Shell kin, from the neglect of his mother to the bullying of his siblings. From hidden corners of the Mesa, he payed great attention to the habits of each brother and planned every detail of their shaming. He perfected his movements under the guise of dancing with his Servikah and sharpened his shell head with his feet. He would challenge his proudest and tallest brother, Thulla the god of Towers, to a duel. Red with laughter, Thulla agreed to the contest with this comical upstart and met him at the ground of his choosing. The brothers would fight upon the morning ground of Glarelund, carved into an arena so Thulla and Shrileket’s siblings could be audience. After a boast of mockery, Thulla’s first step into the ring followed with immediate foolery as the tall god teetered and tottered upon the shiny ground. Shrileket, however, slid with grace and elegance, dancing around the oaf with pecks and kicks to trip him further. In but a few moments Thulla had fallen, intensely embarrassed by Shrileket who had known that ice grew thin and smooth in the mornings of this region due to his Servikah guardians. Shrileket’s glee was the brightest he felt in a long time, but would sour as Thulla spit cruelties at the victor. Too indignant to let his win soothe him, Shrileket pounced on his brother and castrated him with his sharpened head to the horror of his fellows. The victory of the honourable duel had been ignored by the Shell Gods, instead enraged by the maiming of their proudest son and had banished Shrileket. Painting himself eyes from the gore of Thulla, Shrileket remembered the face of each and every one who cursed him and set off into the world. From there he would receive an invitation from the Feather Gods who admired Shrileket’s strategy and wrath, and especially his shaming of Thulla and gifted him with cloth weaved from god feather so he may join them in The Sun. Shrileket accepted and would earn further gifts, such as Godler servants sculpted into arms for his use and a consort for whom weaved him his cloth. From there he would take his seat at the bottom of The Sun, enthroned upside down at it’s tear ducts were he harvest his sunlight spears to damn those he chooses. Though his cool rage made him a fine arbitrator, his arm servants despised their role and their master and ever whispered bad advice and annoyances into his ears. Their hope was to be destroyed by their owner and freed of their obligations, released into the next life. Unfortunately for them Shrileket found it better to punish their betrayal with further eternal service. His many years of dedication as a divine punisher would end upon the beginning of the Deiomachy, as he would be sent to stop his brother-by-fate god of rage, Tilshek, from entering The Sun. Disgusted by how much Tilshek reminded him of an unrefined self, Shrileket would stop at nothing to kill the half-Jak, dropping from The Sun like tear drop lighting. Their clash would announce war between the Feather and Shell, booming as only gods could for days until they fell upon each other’s impalements.