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targaryenrealnessdarling · 10 months

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A Perfect Score - Chapter 1 - Ice Cold | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: The opportunity of a lifetime presents itself | Word Count: 5.8k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: language, mentions of injury

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Welcome to A Perfect Score, I hope you like the first chapter! It's a lot of set-up here but I am hoping it's not too boring.

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

Halting in the middle of the rink, you lean down, tugging the strings of your skates back through their holes even tighter. Damn things are always too big. You make a mental note to text Rhaenys later to get rid of them and invest in some more that actually fit well enough to practise in.

The sound of blades tearing through the ice is beginning to grate now, so you think it’s been long enough. You’ve been practising perfecting the Fankick to Illusion move for at least an hour now and your thighs are starting to scream for reprieve.

Another lesson you feel you’ve learned over the years is to listen to your body when it needs rest. Pushing yourself so hard in the past has never turned out with good results. So now all you can think about is going home, icing your muscles and eating something a bit gratifying, even if it means cheating on your strict diet.

It’s only when you stand up that you realise your core kills, and you wince slightly once you push yourself on your skates towards the edge of the rink.

And as if it couldn’t possibly get worse, a wide-stupid grin is plastered all over Jace Velaryon’s face as he skates up to you. His wild curly brown hair is sat unruly at chin length, and he wears entirely grey sportswear, paired with black skates.

“Fancy seeing you here” he muses, as he circles you on the ice.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Actually I was just leaving”

Jace feigns disappointment, his lips turning down into a playful child-like frown, “Shame. Was hoping we could practise together”

You huff, skating backwards away from him, “In your dreams, Velaryon”

“Your loss!”

"You not pestered Luke to get into it then?" You call, amused.

Jace rolls his brown eyes in the back of his head, almost losing balance as he does, "Nah, he's terrified. Won't come near it!"

"Shame, it'd be like watching Bambi-On-Ice" you joke with a grin. He pulls a fake-amused expression, sticking two fingers up at you in retaliation before skating off himself.

You swivel round on the ice, to be greeted with a bright, smiling face as Ellyn Baratheon waits there at the side-lines waving at you.

“Hey El” you say, all puffed out as you walk on your skates to the nearest bench, your muscles screaming now that you’re off your feet.

She smirks, raising an eyebrow, “Jace trying to chat you up again?”

“Trying for sure”

Ellyn hands you a hand towel which you take graciously to dab the back of your neck, “I don’t know how you do this everyday” she says, shaking her head, “Floris not here?”

“No, I haven’t seen her” you shrug, “Why are you here anyway. You Joe Goldberg-ing me?” you smirk at her, undoing the laces to your skates and rubbing the sensitive skin at the ankle.

Ellyn raised her eyebrows, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder, “It’s hardly Joe Goldberg-ing when I know you, idiot” she jokes.

Taking a long sip from your water bottle, you furrow your brows, “What’s up with you? It’s not like you to be worrying after Floris”

“No it’s not that” she argues, “Dad said she was having a tough time with training and I thought she’d be here so…”

You shrug, “She’s not come to train here in ages”

Ellyn hums looking around, looking back at you with wide eyes, “Don’t look, but him in the stands, he's been staring at you the whole time I’ve been here and he totally just caught me looking”

“Well now I just have to look, don’t I?” you smirk, looking around her.

She is indeed right.

High in the stands, arms tightly behind his back, wearing a long dark green coat, is Otto Hightower. He has a stern face beneath the greying beard on his face, eyes constantly set into a frown. Once he sees he has been noticed, he pretends to observe the other skaters, but it’s blatantly obvious he was staring at you, and has been doing so for the past few weeks.

“Oh, him? He’s always here” you say to Ellyn, pulling a face, “Some sort of - I don’t know - talent scouting or something?”

Ellyn passes you your trainers, “Does he always stare like that?”

“Yeah but he’s harmless. It’s Lars, Larry…fuck I don’t remember his name, but it’s him you should feel weird about”

“Gods, yeah! Floris told me!” Ellyn gasps, looking around to make sure the guy isn’t around, “Is it true he was found in the women’s locker room?”

You nod, amused, tying up the laces to your shoes.

Ellyn chuckles, “Jesus, the stuff you guys put up with. Makes me glad I never got involved in this business” she gestures with her hands to the ice rink.

“Hm” you hum, “Anyway, are you going to take me out to eat or what”

She links arms with you, “Charming”

You spare a look over your shoulder at the man in the stands, who looks cagier by the second as he turns, eyes trained entirely on you and stalks off out of booths, his long coat brushing against the seats. He walks away with a purpose only Hightowers seem to possess.

Ellyn, in her true Baratheon nature, takes you to Storm’s End, a popular brunch spot that sells cocktails in the early afternoon. Partly because she genuinely enjoys the food, but also because her dad owns the place. Suppose special treatment works sometimes.

Also in her true nature, she orders two mimosas, indicating that even if it’s not your cheat day, sometimes you just have to live a little, she says. Ellyn harps on about a guy she’s been texting who she matched with on Tinder, who turned out to be a Class A twat when she found out that he’d also matched with every single one of her sisters and tried to chat them up as well.

But as much as she is trying to mask how concerned she is, you can see it. After being her flatmate for so long, it’s difficult to not see.

“Why are you so concerned about Floris?”

Ellyn sighs, “I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t. She’s an adult and she can take care of herself and all but she’s just being really secretive. I just don’t like thinking that she’s keeping her troubles to herself. Even Cass has no idea what’s going on and you know what she’s like”

Your eyes widen in agreement, biting back a grin.

“Control Freak”

You both say in unison with a giggle.

You stab at your lunch with your fork, “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m in ‘the business’ and I don’t know what’s going on with her” you say, “I’m sure she’ll come around. Like you say, she’s a big girl”

“I just think with all these championships coming up, it’s going to her head”

You hum in agreement. But before you can say any more, both you and Ellyn stare at one another in shock when both of your phones light up at the same time, with different Caller IDs. Hers with ‘Dad’. And yours with ‘Rhaenys - Manager’.

Giving one another a weird look, Ellyn senses the urgency in hers and scrambles to her feet, urging her phone to her ear. You accept the call putting it to yours,

“Rhaenys?”

“Where are you right now?” she asks, urgency in her tone.

“Uh…Storm’s End, why?” you ask, “Has something happened?”

“Are you with anyone?”

“Yeah, Ellyn, but she’s on the phone to her Dad - Rhaenys, what’s going on?”

You hear her sigh over the phone, her usually calm demeanour is somewhat hurried.

“Floris has injured herself quite badly. A broken ankle. She won’t be able to compete in the Championships”

With the phone still pressed to your ear, you look up at Ellyn, who is practically tearing her hair out across the room, half-shouting nervously down the phone, receiving the same news as you are right now.

“How do you know this?”

“I have my ways”

“No but, why are you telling me this?”

Rhaenys sighs again and you feel the panic winding its way up your throat, sending every hair on edge. You’re annoyed and flustered in equal measure that you can’t see her face, and wished she would just tell you what the hell was going on.

“Otto Hightower has approached me, asking for you”

What. The. Fuck.

Okay, that’s not what you expected to hear.

“Otto Hightower. You’re kidding right?”

“I wish I was” she answers in a flat tone.

“Well - uh - why not Baela or Rhaena?”

“He doesn’t want them, they only do Singles. Now that Floris is injured they need another skater to join their team”

Your mind feels like it's whirring a million miles an hour.

“Wait, Otto Hightower wants me for Pair Skating?” you ask, confused, “Rhaenys I’ve never done Pairs either!”

“You think I don’t know that!” she retorts, her volume increasing and cracking down the phone, “If Otto wants you, you have a shot at going to the Olympics. With the Targaryens”

The Targaryens.

A figure skating family powerhouse. Combined with the Hightower management, they’re quite the force to be reckoned with. You’d heard of them, being involved in figure skating for most of your life, as they always represented the Crownlands, but they were like a myth, only spoken about but never seen. And as well as that, they’re steeped in layers of controversy. It’s the only thing that is ever so slightly colouring your judgement.

“Rhaenys, I don’t know about this…I’ve got Ellyn right here-”

“There’s a schmoozing event tomorrow night. They’ll all be there. Just go and see how you feel and then we can talk about it, okay?” she offers, her tone more gentle now, “At least give it a chance”

Your gaze is brought back to Ellyn, who looks significantly less stressed out than a moment ago, but still with the phone pressed hard to her ear, talking under her breath. You swallow anxiously and wonder how Ellyn would take it if you so quickly snapped up the opportunity that was presented only because her sister was injured. It feels like the room is spinning, with no sign of stopping and the feeling is making the blood in your veins feel like jelly.

The Olympics.

Was there really a chance that could ever happen?

With a strained, quiet voice, you finally speak, “I’ll think about it”

Rhaenys makes a noise down the phone like the tension is leaving her body, “I’ll text you the details”

As quickly as either of you are able, you accompany her to the hospital to see Floris. And when you see her, it takes every ounce of self-control inside you when Floris shows a photo of her injury not to outright gag. Rhaenys wasn’t fucking kidding, broken ankle your arse. It was facing in the most unnatural direction. Whatever move she was trying to do clearly had gone buttfuck wrong and all her weight had completely snapped her foot.

You manage to sneak in some snacks for her, before leaving Ellyn alone with her to chat amongst themselves while the rest of the Baratheons arrive.

It leaves you to think finally, in quiet, in the comfort of your flat with the kettle boiling softly about what Rhaenys had suggested.

It could never have happened on your own. The Targaryens were well known in the Figure Skating industry, and not always necessarily for the right reasons.

You were too young to remember fully, but after becoming a skater, you began to hear rumours of Alicent Hightower. Some in judgement and some in sympathy. Even the details, you couldn’t tell if they were biased or not.

Alicent Hightower was a brilliant figure skater. The Sweetheart of Oldtown, they called her. She was graceful, professional and had all the makings of being Olympics worthy. And she was only in her early twenties when she did make it, although that didn’t come without the berating and hounding of her father, Otto Hightower, who was and still is her manager, except now he manages her Targaryen children as well. It was always in the press, Otto would be caught berating Alicent in restaurants and outside of championships, he was so desperate for his daughter to make it big. You count the blessings and thank the gods that your parents were never like that.

When she did make it to the Olympics, it had come out that she was having a secret relationship with a judge on the panel, Viserys Targaryen, without disclosing it. In the conflict of interest, and when she was found to be pregnant, she was disqualified and banned from competing professionally altogether. It devastated her noticeably, as the press loved to point out, shoving their cameras in her face wherever she went.

Something about it had always rung tragic to you though. She was only in her early twenties, and Viserys was much older and had already been widowed, with a child around the same age as Alicent as well. A fact you couldn’t help but find gross now that you’re older. But not only that, Viserys was extremely close with Otto, and the whole ordeal reeked of his involvement. An act that in the end, destroyed her career.

The controversy lasted years, as Viserys was also fired from his job on the board, but with his severance he was at least able to raise the family he’d made with Alicent, going on to have a further three children with her. And you didn’t doubt that she was probably happy now, with her four children all grown, but there was something about the entire thing that made you incredibly sad for her.

Ping.

Your phone screen lights up just as you pop some leftover pasta into the microwave.

Jace was always sweet. You’d known him a while and he always seemingly had a thing for you, something he desperately cannot keep to himself even if he tried. He’d even asked you on a few dates, once upon a time, but you’d always said you see him as a friend. And gods, you felt like a bitch but you couldn't help how you felt. He was sweet, but a bit too sweet. Like brother sweet. And it would just be too weird.

That didn’t stop him from shooting his shot though.

You hear the jingle of keys as Ellyn shuffles through the door, sinking into the sofa with a sigh having been on her feet all day. She doesn't need to ask for a drink, you already have two mugs ready.

"Pasta?" You ask,

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. Dad took us out"

“How is she?” you ask after a beat, pulling the pasta out and dishing it up for yourself, leaning against the counter.

“Fine, but devastated, obviously” Ellyn sighs, grabbing a mug of tea you’d made for her, “she was looking forward to the Championships”

“I bet she was, bless her”

Ellyn furrows her brows, “She said she couldn’t tell me much…about anything”

You pull a face, “Why not?”

“She said she had to sign an NDA”

You scoff a laugh, "What the fuck? An NDA? Fucking hell, trust Otto to keep her quiet"

“Yeah well, she can’t tell anyone anything, not even her family” Ellyn tuts, burning her tongue slightly on her tea, “She told me Otto reached out to Rhaenys though”

Your face blanches and you look over at your flatmate, “Oh yeah?” you say shakily, “Yeah, um, Rhaenys called me at Storm’s End…telling me about Floris”

“She roping you into it?” she asks with a nod,

“Something like that”

Silence falls and the only sound is you tapping your fingers nervously on the bowl you're holding.

“I won’t do it”

Ellyn frowns, “Why?”

“Because I would feel shitty going for it knowing that it was literally going be Flor-ow!” she pinches your arm, “What was that for!”

“For being dumb” she says smirking, “listen I don’t care. Floris injured herself. It’s not like you’ve stolen her place or anything”

“That’s what it feels like though” you pout, rubbing the spot where she'd pinched you, "trim your fucking nails as well, that hurt"

She pinches you again, albeit not as hard “That’s for being dumb again” she says, “Listen, how many people get personally asked for? To compete in Championships. The Olympics!”

You sigh. Still not entirely convinced.

“Don’t give me that. If you want to do it then go for it. What reason do you have not to?" She asks, giving you a pleading look.

"I don't know! I have like imposters syndrome or something! I've never done Pairs, why does he want me?" You reason, stabbing a piece of penne, "The Targs are big, Ellyn. I'm not sure I'm ready for that…"

She scoffs, "Fuck me, who is?"

Your phone pings again with an email from Rhaenys, detailing the information for the schmoozing event tomorrow. You sigh as you read it.

"Who's that?"

"Rhaenys. Says there's an event tomorrow, the Targs will be there with Otto and she said if I wanted the opportunity I should go and meet them…" you explain, scrolling aimlessly through the details on your phone.

"Do it" Ellyn says, giving you a reassuring smile, "I'll hate you if you don't"

"Ok, ouch"

"Do it then!"

You pout, "But that means I have to shave my leeeegs…"

"I swear to all the gods, I will dump that penne pasta all over your dumb little head if you don't"

You'd laugh, if you didn't know Ellyn. But fortunately, you do, and you know she's deadly serious and absolutely would.

She puts on that pouty little look as well, sticking her bottom lip out, dangling her legs as she sits on the arm of the sofa.

You sigh, "Will you help me find a dress?"

She grins, clapping her hands excitedly, "Can I do your hair as well?"

Rhaenys wasn't kidding when she said it would be lavish.

The car will pick you up around 18:30. It's going to be a fairly formal dress event, but nothing too glitzy. Wear something sophisticated.

Yes ma'am.

As promised, Ellyn went the whole nine yards with helping you pick out a dress, deciding ultimately on a mid length black number with spaghetti straps, taking Rhaenys' advice and not wearing anything too much. That paired with heels and some gold accessories, and with Ellyn having done your hair in waves, it looked entirely professional.

But knowing this didn't help your nerves.

You sat nervously in the back of the car the entire time bouncing one leg, feeling the hot whips of panic at the back of your neck.

Am I overdressed? What if you can see my pantyline? What if I shit myself, I've not got a spare pair of underwear. Is this neckline too low? Will a nipple spill out?

"I know that look" Rhaenys' smooth voice snaps you out of your panic, "You won't be convincing anyone when you look like a slapped arse" she grins.

Rhaenys looks gorgeous as always, dressed in a beautiful sea blue with mesh at the top. Her hair is perfectly braided back without a single strand where it shouldn't be. She's always so classy, it's disgusting really.

"Sorry" you sigh, "I'm nervous"

"The only thing we should be nervous about is if there is wine or not" she retorts with a smile, pulling out her compact to check her lipstick hasn't bled.

"When I was your age it was all different. No licking the proverbial arse, shall we say"

You furrow your brows, "I don't want to be thinking about arse licking in front of Otto Hightower, thank you"

Rhaenys laughs, wiping some lipstick from her lip line, "Just relax. I'll talk you through who is there and what they do"

The car stops and you gather your dress as you step out, looking at the grand looking building in front of you. Rhaenys shuts the door softly as she leads you up the stairs, her heels clicking with each purposeful step.

"You do look lovely tonight, I'm sure there's nothing to be nervous about" she says, looking lovingly down at you and brushing a waved lock of hair out your face.

"I don't look overdressed?"

She scoffs, "Trust me, they will be. They like to make an impression"

A member of staff greets you both at the entrance, slipping your coat off your shoulders to hang up, just as another descends upon you two to offer a glass of Prosecco, which you clutch nervously in your grip, following Rhaenys through the foyer to the function room at the back.

"It's not wine, but at least it's alcoholic" Rhaenys muses as she sips a little, wiping her lipstick mark off the rim after she's done.

The function room is wide and grand, decorated top to bottom with lights and decorations that reflect a glimmer off the large chandelier that hangs overbearingly in the middle of the room. There's a softened chatter that fills the space, a hushed one that you think only people of a certain status are able to converse in.

You scan the room briefly, amongst the sea of heads. Some you know as judges who attend the local competitions. Others who you scarcely recognise from TV, who hold high standing as managers of bigger figure skaters.

It screams old money, or just money in general. There's a large table, with a spread of small bites, as well as staff members going around with canopies and refills of beverages.

It's almost overwhelmingly nice. But stiff-backed, formal, without a hint of carefree nature.

Sounds like figure skating alright, you think, sipping your Prosecco anxiously.

You suddenly feel a chill on your bare arms and shoulders. Perhaps spaghetti straps weren't the best idea.

Rhaenys points her ring clad finger in the corner, "There he is. The man himself" she says, a bit of annoyance to her tone.

When you follow her finger, he's already looking at you. Otto Hightower. He's wearing a dark green suit, his tie perfectly underneath his stiffened collar. His eyes are trained between yourself and your manager, as if trying to figure out a puzzle he can't solve. He stands tall as well, towering over most people at the event.

He's talking to (or rather tolerating) none other than that creepy guy, whose name you barely remember. The one who has been caught on more than one occasion in the women's locker room. After realising Otto is no longer listening, his icy gaze also meets yours, his lips turning into an amused smile of sorts that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swear to all the gods you see his gaze flit to your feet. But you must be imagining it.

Otto crosses the room with purpose in long strides, with a self-assured smirk on his face that is visible beneath his beard.

Rhaenys already has her hand stretched when he takes it to politely kiss her knuckles, "Rhaenys. It has been too long" he greets in a quiet, rasp.

She smirks too, pulling her hand away, "Not long enough, I would say"

He at least has the decency to laugh at her 'joke'.

You feel small when he turns to you, taking your hand to do the same as he asks your name.

"A pleasure. Otto Hightower" he bows his head slightly.

I know who you are, you think. And I'm definitely not freaking out.

"Pleasure is all mine. It's very nice to meet you and thank you for inviting us" you reply, as calm as you are able. Rhaenys beams, as if to say you're doing well.

Otto nods, turning his attention to the other side of the room, where a young man with short-ish silver hair has accidentally broken his champagne flute. His brow seems to lower a little.

"Aegon!" He calls, making the young man snap his head up in surprise, shoving whatever he had in his hand into his mouth hurriedly.

Otto pats Aegon's shoulder as he stands next to him, giving the former a chance to excuse himself, but not before whispering something into his ear.

Aegon is tall, but not as tall as Otto, and his platinum hair is in a cropped choppy style above his shoulders. He's wearing such a dark shade of green, it's nearly black, his white shirt has several of the top buttons undone as well. He flashes his white teeth in a wide smile while his eyes roam over your shoulders, one hand coming to shake yours,

"Nice to meet you. I'm Aegon" he muses. You nod with a friendly smile, your gaze briefly caught by Rhaenys moving away and speaking in a hushed manner with Otto in a way that can only mean business.

"You look horrified" he grins, making you snap your gaze back at him, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Oh, do I?" You rub your neck, "it's just nerve-wracking I suppose"

"I don't blame you. We're not all scary when you get to know us"

You smile, slightly relieved at his casual nature, something you chalk up to him being a similar age, "You included?"

He shrugs, "I'm easy going. All this fluff annoys the fuck out of me"

"Inevitable, for the industry we're in" you smirk around the room, the bubbles dissolving on your tongue.

"In any case, I'm looking forward to working with you"

Aegon furrows his brows, confused, "Huh?"

Panic begins to gnaw at your gut, "Aren't we going to be doing Pairs?"

His smile returns, "Oh no! I do Pairs with my sister, Helaena. She's over there" he points out. The woman he's referring to is on the other side of the room, trying to catch a stray moth that had made its way inside. Her cream dress makes her look positively mythical, coupled with her platinum waves cascading down her back.

"Oh right, so…" you start, "...sorry, Otto mentioned me doing Pairs…"

Aegon pokes his cheek with his tongue, as if amused, "Oh yeah. You're going to be with Aemond. Unfortunately"

"Unfortunately?"

Aegon grins, in no attempt to hide his amusement by pressing the champagne flute in his hand to his lips and taking a large sip.

“My brother is complicated. He’s outside having a smoke, but don’t expect conversation”

You open your mouth to ask more, but Otto’s hand clamps over his shoulder, urging him back. Aegon smiles one last time, mouthing good luck. Rhaenys, now with a fresh drink in her fingers, raises her eyebrows at you.

“I’ve spoken with him” she starts, in a hushed tone, taking your arm and leading you to a quiet corner of the room, “He gave me his terms”

“And?” you ask expectantly.

“I gave him mine as well. He wanted you to be signed to his management, which means living in residence for the duration of your contract. They have facilities. A cook, a private rink for practise, a spare room for you-”

“What about El? I can’t just leave her high and dry without a flatmate”

Rhaenys waves the issue away, “I anticipated that, don’t worry. They will cover the cost of your room. You will also be doing Pairs with Aemond, not sure if it was mentioned to you before”

“No it wasn’t” you reply, almost annoyed. “So will Otto be my new manager?”

“Not exactly. He will be handling your competitions and training, but a certain percentage will still come to me, at my behest. I figured you wouldn’t want a change of hands entirely”

“You figured correct” you smirk at her, “What do you think?”

Rhaenys looks across the room, eyeing Otto, who is now speaking to a woman you can only see the back of. She had long wavy auburn hair tied loosely in a ponytail and wears a slim suit fitted perfectly to her figure.

“I think it’s a good opportunity. Everything is paid for and you’d be in with a good shot”

With your lips caught between your teeth in thought, you trace your finger over the rim of your glass, weighing up the options you’ve been presented with. You’re at least grateful that Rhaenys hasn’t just agreed blindly without asking you first. She is a good manager like that. Something you desperately don’t want to slip.

“Okay” you reply with a sigh, your chest deflating at making such a big life decision in such a short space of time, “I’ll do it”

Rhaenys squeezes your arm lovingly, her lips turning up into a smile, “I’ll confirm with him now then”

You watch as her blue gown billows as she walks away, taking another deep breath to ground yourself. Your skin seems to tingle with anticipation, maybe even excitement, wondering what training and residing alongside the Targaryens will mean. Not only that, but with none other than the Sweetheart of Oldtown herself. You wonder what she’s like in real life now, since she was forced away from the business all those years ago she’s kept herself quiet from the press.

Feeling utterly too hot and stuffy, you cross the room, out of the oak french doors that grace the back of the event, slipping out subtly while Rhaenys speaks to Otto once again, joining the chestnut-haired woman.

The chill of the early evening bites at your skin, but a welcome feeling once you press your back against the cool brick, having a moment’s reprieve from the crowds. You pull out your phone, thumbs working quickly to type a message to Ellyn.

Ping.

Um? What the hell is that supposed to mean?!

“You shouldn’t be out here”

You nearly drop your phone jumping out of your skin. The voice seems to come out of nowhere.

But the smell of cigarette smoke wafts into your face with the dull breeze and when the smoke clears, you see who you previously slipped right past, leaning on the other side of the french doors.

He’s tall. Taller than Otto it feels like. And though he hasn’t introduced himself, it isn’t difficult to guess who he is judging by the long platinum hair pulled back into a messy bun, the sharp features only Targaryens seem to possess and the half-hooded, almost annoyed stony stare. Unlike his brother and Otto, he is wearing entirely black, like he’s attending a funeral. His outfit is fitted perfectly, save for the one top button nestled beneath his tie that is left undone.

Aemond Targaryen.

He hasn’t even turned his head all the way to you, his two fingers coming up to his cigarette, pulling it away to blow the smoke from his pouty lips. He taps the ash to the side with his fingers, raising an aggravated eyebrow when you don’t reply.

You swallow nervously, tapping your fingernails on the glass you’re still holding, willing the dryness out of your throat. You’re not sure anyone would be able to deny, he’s handsome. And it’s unlike you to think any man is beautiful, but he is. He probably knows it as well, hence the annoyingly self-assured way he holds himself.

“Needed some air” is all you’re able to say in return, clicking your phone off.

Even as you turn away, in your periphery you see his tall form push off the wall and stride purposefully towards you. He stops just shy of you, holding out the cigarette he was smoking in his fingers as an offer to calm your nerves. Your blood feels icy when you look up at him, having to properly look all the way to even see him, and finally see the other side of his face.

An angry scar runs jagged through his skin, from his forehead to the middle of his cheek, right through his socket and eyebrow. It’s not quite red, but more a dull colour, probably with age. His left eye doesn’t quite look the same as his other, a slightly different shade of blue. Your gaze briefly flits between the two, taking in his features. He’s got such an angular face, it almost looks as if he’s been carved from stone and could be put on display in those fancy museums. But more than anything, something flutters in your belly at the thought of seeing him on the ice, with you.

Shaking your head, you reply softly, “No thanks. I quit”

He shrugs almost imperceptibly, bringing it back to his lips, turning away from you to blow the smoke into the wind. And for some reason, watching his neck flex, his fingers deftly holding the cigarette and his tall, broad stance, it makes your body go all warm.

He doesn’t look back at you when he says, “It’s a glass eye”

“What?”

His gaze flits down finally to you, “You were looking at my eye”

“I wasn’t”

“You were”

You lick your lips anxiously, hot embarrassment creeping in at the revelation you’d been caught admiring him. But Aemond doesn’t smile, he remains stony-faced and impassive.

“I wasn’t going to ask” you respond, crossing your arms, running your palms over your arms that have now erupted with goosebumps. From the chill of the wind or his presence, you’re not sure. Aemond huffs, as if he doesn’t believe you though.

He gestures inside with a kink of his head, “You should be in there. Making connections”

You furrow your brows, “I’m not interested in that”

An amused smile, similar to the one Aegon had done, makes his lips curl up slightly. Before now you weren’t able to see the resemblance.

“Hm, Sure you’re not” he muses, pushing the cigarette into the brick next to you to stub it out, “Let me guess. You just love to skate. Skating is your life and it’s all just a bit of fun?”

Your lips part in annoyance at his blatant rudeness and the fact he is so openly judging you before bothering to properly get to know you.

“You-”

“You’ll be eaten alive” he muses, with a lazy smirk, walking backwards a few paces, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, “I’m not sure you can handle it”

Before you can even say anything, he gives a low laugh, deep in his chest, as if he’s so pleased with himself at getting a reaction, before striding back inside, back into the hustle and bustle of the event inside.

Irritation eats at your insides. It’s clear he’s only said what he did to draw a reaction and he’d nearly fucking got one. And you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t want to slap that stupid, self-assured look off his face when he expressed a kind of pride at talking down to you. As handsome as he is, a shitty personality paired with a nepo-baby attitude dulls the warmth in your gut.

I’m not sure you can handle it.

A shuddered, exasperated breath runs through your nose with the anger that builds inside.

“Fucking asshole”

I’ll show him.

Bold means I couldn't tag!

General Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics @theoneeyedprince @thelittleswanao3 @hb8301 @randomdragonfires @tsujifreya

Aemond Taglist: @m00n5t0n3 @boofy1998 @merakiaes @hanihoney88 @let-love-bleeds-red @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy @heavenley1927 @ryswritingrecord @partypoison00 @gaeela-6 @saeselkie @padfooteyes @introverbatim @queenofshinigamis @thatkingofgirl @ryswritingrecord @dahlias-and-marigolds @triscy @persephonerinyes @snh96 @avidreader73 @jealynnie

APS Taglist: @melsunshine @shesalexxx @queenofshinigamis @wintrr13 @thedamewithabook @moonlightfoxx @barnes70stark @trifoliumviridi @astroswift @kimsubin05 @ethereallocs @diiickbrainn @crazylokonugget @nightdiamond8663 @howdoichangemynameto @asumofwords

dividers by @firefly-graphics

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chicagobeerpass · 1 year

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Chicago Beer Pass: Two Hound Red Brewing

youtube

Welcome to the Chicago Beer Pass: Your ticket to all the great beer events happening in and around Chicago.

On this episode of Chicago Beer Pass, Brad Chmielewski and Nik White are at Two Hound Red Brewing Co. in Glen Ellyn, chatting with head brewer Steve Woertendyke. Earlier this year, Brad stopped in at the brewpub to check it out, which sparked a handful of questions. So the guys figured they’d head to the source to get their questions answered and a behind-the-scenes tour of the place. If you haven't heard of Two Hound Red or made it in yet, hopefully, this episode of the podcast gets you excited about what they are doing.

Having issues listening to the audio? Try the MP3 (49.4 MB) or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes!

#audio #podcast #audio podcast #events #festivals #Two Hound Red #interview #interview podcast #beer talk #Brad Chmielewski #Nik White #beer guys #beer tasting #chicago suburbs #Chicago #chicago beer #Chicago Beer Pass

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reidsbookclub · 2 years

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AHHHH GRECY I FINISHED IT IT WAS SO GOOD AHHHHHHH we need a proper book chat soon!!

ELLYN!!!

we must!!!! I loved the way their strangers -> friendship -> lovers evolved.

Ok I have to ask is that the UK cover because it’s absolutely amazing and I love it!!!

Ok don’t mind me but like @samuel-de-champagne-problems BABES LOOK AT THIS COVER 😍

#ellyn 🔮#hiiii!! how are you??#I’ll get to your other asks later today

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aphroditesniece · 5 years

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Les Chats by Dana Ellyn (buy her art here)

#j made a post #les chats #art #painting #dana ellyn #vegan artist #30/01/2019

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cheryl-rausch-art · 3 years

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I'm excited to announce my latest art classes for the fall at the Glen Ellyn Park District! This series was inspired by prior students- both children & adults- as we chatted about what they are looking for with art instruction. Sign up online now at this link here: https://apm.activecommunities.com/gepark/Home. And stay tuned to find out what the Halloween theme is for the Uncorked Creatives class- cue the evil laugh...

#art #artists #Artists of Tumblr #creativity #creative

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irvinghq · 3 years

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welcome to irving, north carolina! please submit your account within 24 hours and FOLLOW EVERYONE HERE. upon submission, character intros should be posted within 24 hours and tagged with #IRVINGINTRO. starters may be posted under #IRVINGSTART. we will message blogs individually with the link to our discord chat which is entirely optional. please message us if you require any extensions or have any questions!

abigail cowen, ciswoman + she / her | you know ellyn lilly, right? they’re twenty four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, their whole life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to hayloft by mother mother like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole scuffed doc martens tossed haphazardly by a front door, a broken doorbell beneath a sign that reads “broken, just yell fucking loudly”, an infectious laugh that can’t be denied as it passes cherry flavoured lips thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is january forteenth, so they’re a capricorn, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( peach, 21+, aest, she + her )

haley lu richardson, ciswoman + she / her | you know persephone carter, right? they’re twenty, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, sixteen years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to exactly how i feel by lizzo like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole red lines pressed into your cheek after falling asleep on the bus once again, an unhooked right strap of overralls worn with a butterfly print crop top and a couch filled by sleeping dog that might as well be a horse at this stage thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is september ninth, so they’re a virgo, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( peach, 21+, aest, she + her )

sydney sweeney, cis woman + she&her | you know christian ‘crissy’ bauer, right? they’re twenty4, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, twenty2 years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to kilby girl by the backseat lovers like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole heightened ego with every ounce of attention as a form of positive affirmation , feeling as though the world revolves around you — doings things like impromptu poetry readings ( in non-designated locations ) with no deterrence , and complimenting strangers just to be deemed approachable by any that bear witness ; immense people - pleaser with passive aggressive tendencies , testing boundaries by poking and prodding but without malicious intent ; with lack of ambition comes an inability to maintain employment , picks up odd jobs wherever possible to maintain some sort of income thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is february 29th, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( jean, 22, central, they&them ) * adam bauer’s sister wc

#oc rp #original rp #mumu rp #town rp #beach rp #accepted #OMG THESE QUEENS

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softeddiek · 5 years

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anywhere i go there you are (pt.2)

I really meant for my one shot to stay a one shot but then I kept thinking of more scenes so, here i am ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This mostly reads as a “meanwhile, in storm’s end” from gendry’s pov with most of the gendrya is in the second half. Also, in order to try to make show canon make the slightest bit of sense, i used some book only things, but not much

part 1 part 3 read on ao3

When Daenerys Targaryen legitimized him in Winterfell’s Great Hall, he had put little thought into just how difficult it might be to establish himself in a castle and land where nobody knew him.

While the Queen and all of the northerners present that night hadn’t a clue who occupied Storm’s End, the assumption that it would be near empty had been far from true. As Gendry, Arya, Davos, and all of the men King Bran had sent with them made their way south, Davos had explained that there would likely still be men who had been loyal to Stannis occupying the castle.

Great, he had thought, I’m sure they’ll be just as glad to see one of King Robert’s bastards as Stannis was.

Their arrival had proven Davos correct. He had been recognized by the castellan, Ser Gilbert Farring, who allowed them and their party past the curtain wall.

“We received word of your imminent arrival from the new Stark king, Lord Baratheon,” Maester Jurne had said. After introducing himself and the seneschal of Storm’s End, a young man by the name of Elwood Meadows, Gendry’s party had been taken to rooms that had been prepared for them.

He only had a day to get used to his new lordly chambers and being addressed as Lord Baratheon before the tutoring began. He and Maester Jurne spent their early mornings after he broke his fast going over his letters and the accounts. As a blacksmith’s apprentice, reading and writing had never been of importance, and as a bastard in Flea Bottom, he wouldn’t have been able to learn if he’d wanted to. His afternoons were followed up either listening to problems the common folk brought forth, or meeting with various storm lords who had decided to pay a visit to their new liege lord. The latter was certainly worse than the former.

While Gendry felt uncomfortable sitting on the throne within the Round Hall, addressing the people, he at least had the maester and castellan by his side, willing to lean over and whisper him a bit of advice. When he had first begun entertaining petitioners, he’d asked Arya if she’d sit in with him, but she’d only given him a raised eyebrow and said, “I don’t want to give them the wrong idea,” whatever that had meant.

He had found that oftentimes his people entered the hall with looks of trepidation, worried they would find they had a cruel new lord, only to leave looking relieved. More often than not, those who had not yet seen him before would look upon him with wide eyes, whispers of “Renly” reaching Gendry’s ears as they left. So, while Arya had spent most of her afternoons exploring the tower and surrounding lands by horse, Gendry found himself slowly becoming more confident in his role as a lord. In front of the smallfolk at least.

For every man like Lord Selwyn Tarth, who Gendry found himself getting on with well as they chatted about his daughter, Ser Brienne, there was a man like Lord Wensington, who didn’t bother to hide his resentment that a by-blow of Robert Baratheon had been handed the Stormlands. He was visiting Storm’s End now, a month after Gendry’s arrival, and the snide comments he made about his own House’s origins had set Gendry’s teeth on edge. He’d left the hall as soon as they’d finished eating. He knew he’d be reprimanded by the maester about it later, but he needed to leave the stuffy feast hall, deciding to see where Arya was.

When the stormlords had begun calling, Arya had told him that it’d be better if she didn’t take her meals with him when they were around.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea that they see you with Lady Stark,” she had said.

“Thought you weren’t a lady?” He’d quipped, with a grin, as she let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not, stupid. But to them I am. And I’m sister to both the King in the South and the Queen in the North. I don’t want them getting the idea that either of them is trying to arrange some sort of marriage.”

That had sobered him quickly. After their discussion in King’s Landing, they hadn’t spoken of the proposal again. Not on the road to Storm’s End and certainly not within the castle’s walls. Gendry hadn’t forgotten her mentioning she loved him, not daring to bring it up yet when he had no clue as to when she’d be leaving, but they had certainly been softer toward each other, much to Davos’ confusion.

So, she had been flitting about, keeping out of sight of any visiting lords, only catching up with him at the end of the day when his lordly duties were at a close.

After asking around in the kitchens—a place he often found Arya hunkering down in when they had visitors—he was pointed to the godswood. Or what was left of it.

From what Gendry had heard, the godswood of Storm’s End had been put to the torch by the order of Stannis at the behest of the Red Woman. Gendry had never entered the place, but he knew Arya came here occasionally. When he entered, he could see the scorch marks left behind from years ago, a few trees and shrubs sprouting up, and Arya’s small form, sitting on a large white stump in the middle.

His anger at the pompous Lord Wensington faded as he saw her, knees pulled up to her chest. Her head lifted to look at him, showing no surprise at seeing him there. Of course she’s not surprised, he thought, her hearing’s better than a dog’s.

“Done with Lord Wensington already?” She drawled.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “The ass kept going on about how he has the blood of King Durran flowing through him.” He paused, taking in the godswood once more. “I never saw the godswood in Winterfell. Is it like this only…less burned?” he asks.

She snorts before saying, “No. Even before this place was burned, I doubt it was anything like Winterfell’s. It’s much larger there and there are heated pools that my siblings and I used to swim in. Bran liked to climb the trees,” she trails off, her face pensive. He knows she likely hadn’t been back to the one in Winterfell after she’d killed the Night King, ending the ceaseless attack of the dead on her family’s home. Once that threat was gone, she’d soon rushed off to King’s Landing.

While Arya had become more hardened since they had parted ways with the Brotherhood, able to school her features in an instant, her face was gradually becoming more open to him. And he might not be able to read her as easily as he once could, but he likes to think he’s relearning quickly. That’s how he knows that, despite her yammering about the God of death, this tree, these gods, still mean something to her, if not just to serve as a reminder of her family.

“Well, that big stump is still here. It might not be in the best shape but all that matters is that there is one, right? I don’t know much about heart trees, but I’m sure it’ll grow back.”

Surprisingly, she shakes her head at that, looking around at the ruins of the godswood. “The gods use the heart tree to watch you, that’s true. But I don’t think they need it. You can still hear them, anywhere you are, if you only bother to listen.”

Gendry thought that over for a minute. He’d never been one for gods. The Seven had never done him any favors, and while he’d seen proof of the Red Woman and the Brotherhood’s fire god, that had brought him nothing but grief. It makes him uneasy, thinking about the old gods. The gods of the North, he thought, as cold and unyielding as the land they belong to, if I’ve heard it right.

Before he can ask her more about them, however, he sees Arya’s looking at him with a glint in her eye. “Have you not been to the smithy yet?”

“What?” he asks, confused by her abrupt change in subject.

“The smithy. Don’t tell me that now you’re a lord, you’re too good to spend time working at a forge?”

He rolls his eyes at her haughty tone. “No. It’s just that it’s not really my forge is it? Storm’s End has a smith. And I don’t think me greeting all the other stormlords after hammering at metal all day is going to make them like me.”

“Gendry,” she says, through a laugh, “you’re the Lord of Storm’s End. That entire castle is yours; you can go wherever you want. And as for the other lords, who gives a shit what they think? You’re their liege lord, if you want to spend time in the smithy you can.”

He thinks about what she’s said and the scandal it would cause for those who have a problem with his low birth. He knows the king would want him to be winning these lords over, showing them that Gendry could be trusted to rule over the Stormlands; that he wasn’t still a bastard smith’s apprentice, content with crafting weapons all day. But at the same time, he thinks about the sound of Lord Wensington’s nasally voice as he went on about his own royal lineage.

“Fuck it, let’s go.”

Arya gives him a grin, all sharp teeth, before grabbing his hand. She drags them out of the godswood and into the yard, quickly yanking him past a few guards and those who had come out of the feast hall. Whether she was dragging him past so they wouldn’t notice their lord in the company of a woman—and a princess at that—or if she genuinely was that excited to take him there, he wasn’t sure.

Once they’d entered the empty building, she’d dropped his hand, took a cursory look around, and turned to head back out.

“Arya, wait, where are you going?”

“To the kitchens.” Am I missing something here? Noticing the confusion that must be on his face, she says, “I’ve befriended one of the girls in your kitchens, Ellyn. I told her I’d meet her there when the lords were done feasting and have my evening meal with her.” Typical Arya, always making friends with anyone she meets, highborn or low.

“You’re just leaving me here all alone then?” he jests.

“Please, I’m doing you a favor. We both know it’ll help distract you from Lord Wensington pissing you off.”

I can think of a better way to get over that than hammering away in the forge all night. But he wouldn’t dare suggest that, not when it seemed like they weren’t talking about it again. And he definitely wasn’t making the first move.

“Now then, may I have your leave m’lord?” she asks, left eyebrow raised.

He can’t help but chuckle. “Oh, piss off Arya.” He watches her twirl out the door, not unlike how she’d done back when they’d been reunited in Winterfell.

Turning back to study the forge, he sees the smith has kept the place in good shape; tongs and other tools are hung up and organized, with only a few things left out that he could tell were being worked on. He hadn’t been near a forge since he’d left Winterfell. While he had been legitimized after the war in the North, he’d remained sleeping on a simple cot tucked away in a back room of the smithy until he’d left for King’s Landing.

Warmth still lingers in the air; the smith must have been working not long ago. As he waits for the coals in the forge to heat up, he thinks about his past few weeks in Storm’s End. Davos understood the pressure Gendry feels about being thrust into a lordship, and had spent his time in Storm’s End giving him advice on how best to act around the other lords without coming off as a green boy; helping him learn a map of the Stormlands as he learned his letters; offering tidbits on how Stannis had run Dragonstone—not that Gendry was like to rule as Stannis had. But he knows that, as the realm’s Master of Ships, Davos needed to travel back to King’s Landing soon.

And Arya will likely leave soon after. He tries not to feel too dejected at that. At least she’ll be traveling Westeros, and not halfway across the word. He knows she can take care of herself, he’s more than aware of that, but at least if someone tries to mess with her on the road now, they’ll have a king and queen to answer to.

As he sees the roaring heat that’s begun coming from the forge, an image of a weapon springs to mind, becoming clearer by the minute. Arya might leave soon, but he’ll have something for her when she returns.

Gendry had managed to only be stopped twice on the way up the tower to his chambers. Grimy and covered in soot, it seemed he had found a way to get people to stop bothering him.

When he enters the room, he immediately sees a fire roaring in the corner and Arya in the seat at his desk, feet propped up dangerously close to a burning tallow candle.

“Arya, what—”

“The castellan and the maester can be trusted,” she interrupts. “Both seem very traditional, but they are also loyal to House Baratheon. They’ll respect you as a lord and won’t set you up to fail. Don’t trust the steward, at least not yet. He’s craven and a Fossoway--a fussy group--though Farring trusts him and he is close to you in age so perhaps he’ll try to befriend you. As for your servants—”

Now he’s caught on. “Arya,” he slowly begins, “I thought you went to the kitchens to see a friend.”

“I did. And my friends in the kitchen often forget that I’m highborn and they like to talk when they’re in their cups.” Her face takes on an innocent expression, as if it’s perfectly normal for her to go sneaking around the castle to eavesdrop. “I may have also questioned Ser Davos about some of this information. He agrees with me that you need to be careful. You’ve only been here a month and things in the Six Kingdoms are still tenuous. Should the other stormlords or, gods forbid, the people in your own castle, decide they don’t want you as their lord, I don’t know how equipped my brother is to help. You fought for the North so naturally they would feel for you, but with my sister in charge of her own independent kingdom, she’ll insist that they stay out of any business in the south--even if I asked for her help."

She swings her feet off the desk, getting up and walking a few feet to the closed door that he’s still hovering near.

“I’m not trying to scare you, Gendry, I just want you to be careful. You can do so much good as a lord, I know you can, but you need to stay in power to do it.”

He doesn’t think the situation warrants near as much concern as she’s showing, but he sees the almost pleading look on her face, and knows he’s going to give in.

“Alright, fine, you’re right. But if I’m going to be more careful than so are you. No more sneaking about, listening in on people.”

“Fine,” she relents, but he can only let out a sigh, knowing that it wouldn’t be that easy with her.

It’s just then, as they’re standing there, but a few feet apart, that he realizes they’re alone. Alone in his too-big lord’s chambers.

“Wait, did anyone see you come in here?” he questions.

She worries at her lip for a moment before saying, “A few people.”

“I thought you didn’t want anyone ‘getting the wrong idea’?”

Her face begins turning a bright red, eyes darting up over his shoulder to stare at the door. “Yes well, that was before.”

“Before what?” He doesn’t think he’s seen her this fidgety in the time that they’d been reunited, tugging on the bottom of her jerkin as she pointedly doesn’t look at him.

“Like I said, the people in the kitchens like to talk. Especially about how handsome his lordship is,” she mutters.

He lets out a startled laugh, feeling a smug grin work its way onto his face. I know she could have found her way up here with no one seeing her. Hells, she could probably could have found her way into my chambers with me in them and I’d not notice 'til she revealed herself. This gives him the confidence to say, “So, you were jealous and decided to throw out all of your plans just to see me?”

“No!” she shouts, just as he knew she would.

“Well m’lady,” he starts, knowing it will get her worked up, “then I must say it’s quite improper for you to be hanging around my chamber at this hour.”

“Oh, shut up Gendry.” She begins closing the few feet between them, surely to hit me, only to yank his head down level with hers, pressing their lips together.

It’s quick, and he’s sure she partly did it to actually get him to shut up, but that doesn’t stop the large grin from overtaking his face.

She keeps their faces close, hand still clutching the back of his head, fingers fisting his hair, as she lets out a sigh that makes her seem far more disgruntled than the small smile on her lips says she is.

“I decided to listen to the advice I gave you earlier. I don’t want everyone in the bloody kingdoms thinking Sansa and Bran are pushing me into an arranged marriage or that you’re courting me or something. But with me hanging around here for the time being, for no discernible reason, people will start talking. So, who gives a shit? I don't plan on letting them run me off. Might as well see what sordid rumors they can come up with about the time the King’s sister and Lord Baratheon spend together. And I figure it would be good for them to see that their Storm Lord has the favor of the Starks.”

She starts to give him a cheeky grin before dropping it just as fast. “As long as you’re fine with that of course. I know you’re already worried about them seeing you as a bastard who got lucky, and I really don’t think it will hurt you to be seen with me but—”

“Arya,” he cut her off, “I’m more than fine with it. If anyone has any complaints, then they can come to me.” He’d be more than happy to return the favor and tell some of these pompous lords what he thinks of them. “Besides, you’ve got my back, haven’t you?”

She shoots him a toothy grin. “Always.”

She lets go of his head then, her grin becoming more predatory, and instead grabs a hold of his arm, dragging him with her as she walks backwards to his bed. Once they reach it, it becomes a quick, messy tangle of mouths and limbs. For a brief second his eyes catch on hers, as grey and cloudy and fierce as he's heard the summer storms here will be, and he feel a sharp pain in his chest when he's hit with how much he wants it to always be like this, the two of them. It doesn't matter when she leaves, he thinks, so long as she comes back.

#by the end i basically hated my writing so im sorry if it shows #would the stormlords be meaner? probably #definitely show!gendrya im not confident enough to try book!gendrya #arya x gendry #gendrya #gendrya fic #gendrya positivity #axg fic #my fic #arya stark #gendry #gendry baratheon

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stillebesat · 6 years

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The Butterfly Effect -Chair legs and Roses (3/26)

Sanders Sides: Roman, Patton, Logan Inspiration: from @writing-prompt-s “My domain is time,” said the Genie. “Instead of three wishes, you get three decisions. Go back and choose again.” Blurb: Roman has three chances to change his life for the better. Three chances to fix past mistakes. Three chances to totally screw it all up. But who said life is worth living unless one takes a little risk? Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Overall Fic Warnings: Major Character Death (mentioned), Suicide (mentioned), Suicide Attempt, Partial Paralysis, Injuries, Blood, Punching/Fighting, Knives, Medicinal Misuse, Toxic Roommates (implied/mentioned), Acrophobia (fear of heights), Falling, Nausea, Bullying (implied/mentioned), Car Accident (mentioned), Prison (mentioned), Negative Self Talk, Panic Attack, Bomb (mention), Surgery (mentioned)

To Catch Up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Of course he was. Roman exhaled, pinching his nose as he briefly closed his eyes. “What else is new?” He muttered. That made this like, what? The seventeenth time?

“That your coffee boy is...a demon?” Patton asked from behind.

Roman lifted his head, not surprised that Pat had heard that. His hearing had gotten much more acute once he lost his eyesight. He smirked turning to his best friend. “Nah, I’ve had him checked, he lacks the horns and tail.”

Reese crossed her arms, glancing to Patton with a frown. “You should check him again.” she said in a more normal tone. “He’s conjured knives this time.”

Oh. Roman clicked his tongue. Okay, that was slightly more serious.

She raised her eyebrow. “You do know what that means, Sanders.” She said holding out her hands. His phone rested in one, the other held a length of ribbon that trailed through her fingertips as the crown pendant resting in her palm glimmered under the lights.

“It means….” Patton asked, leaning forward in his wheelchair. Roman plucked his crown necklace from her hand. “It means, he’s breaking his parole...and I can’t have that.” He said, taking his phone and pocketing it before he lifted his hands to tie the pendant in place. Not after all the cajoling and bribing Roman had gone through in the past couple of months to convince that Parole Officer, Picani, to let him leave the country.

Patton sat back, paling. “Oh.”

Roman exhaled. Yah, that was the reaction most people had when they found out he had an ex-con working for him. He paused as Ellyn gasped.

“Is that?!” She grabbed onto Patton’s shoulder, shaking it as she stared at Roman's neck. “Patton! IT IS!”

Roman raised eyebrow. What was--Oh. The lightbulb clicked. “You mean the necklace?” He asked pulling the ribbon away from his neck.

“The Crown necklace!”

Patton inhaled sharply, nearly falling out of his wheelchair as he thrust out his hand. “Seriously? You...I can’t believe it. You still have it?” He asked, his voice wobbling.

“Have it? He almost never takes it off.” Reese responded with some amusement as Roman gently set the pendent down on Patton’s hand. “He never would if it didn’t clash with most of his roles.”

That was true. He’d had to replace the ribbon multiple times from wearing it out, but the crown remained the same. “Well...I gotta keep my happy thoughts close, right, Pat?” He asked, quietly. “A little fame doesn’t change that.” He licked his lips, butterflies fluttering in his chest as Patton felt over the crown, pausing at the small latch that hid the flashdrive within.

It had been a gift from his best friend, a special commission to celebrate Roman getting his first small role as the Wizard in the Wizard of Oz in their Sophomore year and had quickly become his trademark piece to wear, though only a handful of people knew about the flashdrive hidden within that safekept the happy memories Roman treasured most. Reese being the most recent to know as he’d asked her to guard it with her life while he was on stage.

Speaking of his Technical Director. Reese snapped her fingers in front of his face, drawing him out of memory land. “Earth to Sanders. The chit chat and such is nice and all but you have this Dressing Room. Being Destroyed. By your Coffee Boy. Ringing any bells?”

Patton drew the crown to his heart, giving Roman a watery smile, “Right.” He whispered. He shook his head, clearing his throat. “Ummm.” He brushed under his sunglasses. “Y-you said...you had a demon to handle?” He asked, reluctantly holding out the necklace.

Unfortunately. “I do.” Roman exhaled, mentally cursing the guy. Why now did he have to have one of his freakouts? When had he even shown up? He’d been MIA the entire day.

Roman took the ribbon, quickly tying it around his neck, pressing the cool metal against his throat out of habit to ensure it was in place.

“Before he terrorizes the rest of the costuming department would be nice.” Reese blandly added.

Roman rolled his eyes. “Yah, yah.” He was on it. He just wanted to--

They all winced as an enraged roar reached their ears, followed by a girl’s scream and the sound of shattering glass.

He groaned. That definitely wasn’t good.

Patton offered him an encouraging smile. “Sounds like they need a hero, Ro.”

Roman ran a hand through his hair. “Right.” If only he didn’t have to be one at this moment. He bent down, pecking Patton’s cheek. “Talk soon.” He promised, taking off at a run down the hall to his dressing room.

A brief glimpse of their costumer, Liv, being consoled by his co-lead, Callie as he ran by clued Roman into the source of the scream. Liv had probably come to take his Phantom costume and encountered---Roman ducked just in time to avoid his head being taken off by a glass vase full of red roses as it shattered against the wall.

Roman tsked, giving the broken remains of four other vases on the floor the barest of glances before he turned to face his dressing room and the angry occupant within. “Seriously, Logan? I liked that one.” He twisted to the side, avoiding another vase full of roses; this one accompanied by a knife that embedded itself into the frame next to his ear.

Before Roman could fully straighten, his coffee boy threw himself at him, a guttural scream of rage assailing his senses as Logan went straight for the gut, his fists swinging, the large black LOGIC tattooed over his left eyebrow standing out in stark relief against his flushed face.

Always with the punching. Roman caught one of Logan’s swinging fists by his 221Bee tattooed wrist and pulled him off balance into his chest so that the second punch went wide. “Pinned yah.” Roman said into his ear as he twisted the coffee boy so his arm was pressed against his back.

Logan thrashed, throwing his head backwards, nearly smashing Roman’s face.

He jerked his head to the side, neatly avoiding receiving a broken nose. “Not the face!” Roman hissed, the two of them stumbling backwards as Logan fought to free himself, heedless of the risk of dislocating his shoulder.

“SCREW YOUR UGLY FACE!” Logan roared, one foot managing to snake behind Roman’s ankle.

Shoot. Roman cried out as the two of them fell onto the floor, the impact jarring his grip on the coffee boy as shards of glass dug into his skin through his thin costume. “Ow. Dude!”

He choked on the rest of his sentence, gasping for breath as Logan used his free elbow to jab it into Roman’s stomach.

Logan pulled free from his slackened grip, twisting like a cat to stay on top of Roman, keeping him pinned against the glass strewn floor. “Screw you and YOUR FILTHY LIES!” He yelled, his long dark greasy hair falling in front of his cracked glasses as he swung for the face.

Roman again jerked his head away from the punch, wincing on Logan’s behalf as his fist smacked into the wood by his ear. That had to hurt though Logan showed no sign of feeling it as he pulled back his glass covered fist to hit Roman again.

“Lies?” He grabbed Logan's shoulders and surged upright, knocking his coffee boy back before he could land the punch. The two of them rolled over the shredded flowers, thorns and glass digging into their skin as Logan struggled to keep the upper hand. “Since. When. Did. I. Lie?” Roman demanded, throwing Logan off of him and into his tornado wreck of a dressing room.

He pushed to his feet, ignoring the multitude of stinging cuts burning like fire over his back and arms as he advanced, pulling the door shut with a loud bang behind him. There was no need for the entire theatre to witness this if Logan's beef was with Roman himself.

Logan whirled, a broken chair leg in his hands, his long hair a tangled with petals and glass. “About Everything.” He ground out.

Roman raised an eyebrow, grabbing a mock sword from its place hanging by the door. “Falsehood. I've lied about nothing.”

His eyes flashed behind his cracked lenses. “That's MY WORD!” Logan rushed Roman with his makeshift weapon.

“Really?” Roman parried the chair leg, nearly managing to knock it out of his coffee boy’s hands. “Why don't you use your words then?” He asked as Logan recovered, again clashing with Roman’s blade. “Why now am I now a liar after telling you eleven months ago on that street corner that my word is my bond?”

He wasn't one to give false hope. Especially not to Logan with his criminal history and major trust issues.

Logan whirled, his makeshift sword dipping away from Roman's blade to whack him hard in the side. “I'm not going to leave the state.” Logan said, perfectly mimicking Roman’s voice.

It sent a shiver down his back. He hated it when his coffee boy did that.

Logan bared his teeth. “You'll have a permanent job with me.” He continued, jerking the chair leg up, nearly clipping his chin with the broken end before Roman was able to bring his sword around to block it.

“You. Led. Me. On!” Logan snarled in his normal voice, his arms blurring with the force of his attacks that Roman couldn’t fully avoid. “You had me believing like a fool you'd be filming here in New York City with all that 'research’ you've been doing. Only for your stupid script.” One hand twitched, a gleaming knife appearing briefly in his fingers before he flung it at Roman's vanity without looking, the blade embedding itself into the scattered pages of the filming schedule for The Haunting of Anxiety. “Shows that filming begins Monday in Lon.” He smacked Roman’s sword. “don.” Roman’s blade twisted free, landing on the floor with a clatter. “En.” Logan shoved him against the wall, broken point of the chair leg digging into his throat. “Gland.”

To Be Continued Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26

#The Butterfly Effect #stillebesat #TS Big Bang #Sanders Sides #Roman #Creativity #Patton #Morality #Logan #Logic #Emile Picani #punching/fighting tw #blood tw #knives tw #injuries tw

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