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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

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SOUR CHERRY

Luke Castellan x OC

"Fuck the God's, angel, your mine."

Main Pairing ~ Luke Castellan x Daughter of Oizys!OC

Warnings ~ Depressing Themes, Failure, Anger, Anxiety, Zeus, Kronos, Mommy Issues, and Mentions of Death.

Spoilers ~ A Ton!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 7k Words. (Word Vomit, im Sorry)

Chp Summary ~ Luke is usually very persuasive, but God's are not reasonable; especially Zeus. Between Luke's overbearing savior complex, Zeus's extreme God complex, Apollo's emotional outburst, Chirons' disappointment, and a mysterious man tempting her to burn Olympus to the ground; Nisha is overwhelmed. She wants to go home, and Mother Oizys makes sure that happens.

Chp 3 ~ Diverging Pathways of Fate.

Oizys infiltrated Nisha's dreams every night since she could remember. With the comforting scent of freshly cut ginger, lavender sprigs, and bitter dark chocolate pieces; the primordial Goddess would sit on a dark cloud of shimmering mist and paint the stars in the sky upon a blank canvas.

The girl was satisfied with their routine before she matured. For years, she wouldn't question the quiet woman who constantly had blue-black tears of Styx's river pooling around her waterline.

Nisha only made comments about her day and the woman would listen vigilantly, turning her cheek to show her active attention to her child. Nisha could see how her hand would pause mid movement, and one of her eyes was visible as she showed the side of her face. Her mothers eyes glowed a dark gold and shimmered like stygian iron.

She didn't know her mothers name at the time, but she was quite content with watching the strokes of a paintbrush delicately stain a canvas every night. All the child knew was that the woman in her dreams was her mother, and her mother was a safe person.

Nisha being an exception to Olympus' strict rules, on behalf of their ever-so-great generosity, meant knowing a lot of Demi-Gods.

When Nisha turned nine, she asked Chiron why so many shrouds were burned each year. She received a day of distracting activities after that. That night, after attending her ninth Winter Solstice in a row as a member of Hermes cabin, she finally gathered the courage to ask her mother questions that itched at her childish brain.

One was about the strange scents of different people she came across at camp. The second was what type of Goddess her mother was.

Fresh scents wafting from someone's pores meant failure. They appealed to Nisha as she was supposed to thrive off of misery; however, she was never as taunted by a scent as she was in Olympus on her eighteenth Winter Solstice.

Campers smelled delectable while they were first recruited or failed a mission. Having a permanent residence in Hermes Cabin made the temptation to either absorb mentally painful emotions or make them fester was excruciating.

But none like on Olympus.

Her mother told her the truth of who she was when she asked. Oizys wasn't ashamed of what she was or who she was despite appearing depressed the majority of the time people saw her. The Goddess even showed her child how to use her abilities.

Oizys was born to fail, and by proxy, Nisha was subgrouped with her sullen mother. Nisha wasn't supposed to smell her own strawberry scent, let alone a sweet aroma clinging to the fruit like melting sugar.

Oizys always smelled like fresh ginger; even in the almost rare instances when she accomplished a task for Nyx or saw her only daughter.

All Gods and Goddesses had a sweet smell blended into the natural aroma of their skins scent. Oizys was one of the few Goddesses, and probably the only Primordial Goddess, that smelled newly fresh instead of steeped sweet.

Oizys only smelled sweet when she was inflicting harm on living things alike. With jarring mental abuses inflicted onto the soul, she was among the most powerful God's in ability alone.

Most God's smell drool worthy because of glory that was etched into their marble skin from birth. Demi-Gods had to earn that smell. They had to earn kleos with sacrifices and heroic deeds that got themselves killed in the name of glory.

Oizys had one of the most overwhelming known glory stories and sensible kleos to other Gods, despite not being well known. Misery was unavoidable. It clung to Nisha's skin like the air surrounding her, and she knew she had to accept that.

She did not accept inflicting mental harm onto others, especially those who didn't deserve it. She could feed from the fleeting feelings of mortals or the dreadfully passionate emotions of Gods or Demi-Gods. It made her strong, but watching others fall in despair would not fulfill her like it did her mother.

Figuring out her own kleos was basically unobtainable unless she hurt others cut deeper than any wound inflicted and hurt more than a stygian swords knick. That finalized Nisha's feelings of her Godly parents' status.

Oizys was not a good parent for even having a child that was doomed to fail. Nisha was not a good daughter for disregarding the nuances of their relationship for temporary ignorant bliss. They both were two in the same, practical mirrors of each other with different pathways carved out for them.

Nobody was able to see the swirling wisps of darkness shimmering between Nisha's fingers. It shone like the night sky meeting a purple nebula; a dark beauty made from the clash of light against the deadly shade of her mother's mystified being.

Luke's long fingers made their way to cup the back of her neck. The Hermes counselor pressed down on a soft spot of her nape with his index finger, and her head hung down immediately.

The teen girl's once laid back and nonchalant stance stiffened into one of forced obedience. Her head dropped like an imaginary rope holding her head high snapped. She suppressed an irritated scoff as Luke squoze her sensitive neck gently in warning.

Nisha watched the man do this trick plenty of times on numerous kids in his cabin, especially Connor and Travis Stoll. The teenager was quite persuasive when it came to negotiating punishment or consequences, but Olympus wasn't Camp Half-Blood.

The God's were not reasonable; especially Zeus.

The stygian iron nameplate necklace she received as a child dangled around her collarbones and started to heat around her neck. Luke ignored the gentle hiss of the black gold colored jewelry, and began to speak with not a hint of a tremble in his voice.

Nisha could practically hear the gulp of saliva that was Lucas swallowing something bitter like a lemon, but it was just his unsaid words. It was his pride.

“King Zeus,” He started. His nose scrunched from where he was bowed and his chin swayed to the side in anger. An acrid smell of rotted cherries wafted from his skin and the teen girl mourned his damaged dignity for him.

The counselor continued after a moment of gathering his thoughts. Nisha glanced her amber eyes upwards to peek at Zeus, who did not budge or react to Lukes pitiful attempts at salvation.

The God's were not forgiving; especially Zeus.

“I can assure you, It is impossible that Nisha is one of your children. She is an exceptional camper, but no child of The Big Three.” Nisha could tell that Luke was speaking off of the experience of knowing a child of Zeus.

Thalia was like a whirlwind, Demi-Gods said. Nisha didn't socialize much with her fellow campers, especially in recent years, but she did listen to the Aphrodite cabins daily gossip exchange.

The child of Zeus was brave, kind, and courageous. She died with the sweet glory that every Demi-Gods who sucked up to their parents legacy dreamed for: kleos.

Once you got swept up in her hurricane, you weren't ever going to be the same.

Nisha had never formally met Thalia, just sat against her protective tree at night and breathed in the scent of artificial pine wood, sticky sap, wet soil, and almost scentless kiwi. It was strange to be able to smell that Thalia was in a state between life and death, suffering and Elysium.

Most campers practically worshiped her as their idol, and Nisha swore she would never gain kleos if it meant having children idolize her for dying for a useless cause. Especially considering her kleos would most likely bring suffering to those around her.

The God's only cared about glory; especially Zeus.

The man didn't say anything as Luke droned on his argument on her behalf. He just stood and stared at her with his thick arms linked behind his back in expectancy. His electric eyes cut into her own like lightning striking soil on a stormy eve; he anticipated the moment she would start apologizing or confess her atrocities.

Nisha attempted to contain her giggles of amusement into her hand. Pressing the back of her fingers to her plush lips to contain the escaping snickers.

The Gods disliked disobedience; especially Zeus.

Blue orbs lit up with a translucent azure glow that reflected bolts of unforgiving, electric fury.

Luke's hand clamped around her neck tightly, attempting to push her down into a sloppy bow. She pushed against his strong hand, forcing the weight of her entire body up and forward to shake his grip slightly.

A scowl was ticked upon his face and he huffed with a growl bass rumbling out his mouth. “I'm helping you,” he whispered. Dark raven curls fell in his glaring obsidian eyes as he lowered his head own to speak to her.

The muscle in his strong arms bulged as anger thumped hard in his hot natured blood. His fists curled tight against his sides and shook as he clenched them tightly, veins of powder blue straining, and skin staining a reddish pink of fury.

Tart cherry juice and dead willows filled the air around the pair; frustration from his heart and anger in his soul. Luke Castellan smelled like a boy throwing a temper tantrum because she didn't listen, he also smelled like scattered ash.

Nisha's amber-brown eyes squinted slightly with a scrunch in the middle of her forehead. Luke didn't smell like ash naturally, he never had before, and Nisha could tell that scent was not his.

The scrambled voice of a man lingered in her memory. That was not darkness stemming from her peculiar abilities speaking; it was someone, not something. It was a person, not an idea figment from her mind.

Shadows and dark mist spoke ideas and suggestions; not temptations.

Nisha covered his shaking hand with one of her own calm tawny ones. Luke's eye's threw geode splitters into her body as he soaked up her shorter form while glaring. His hand attempted to wrap around her wrist with force, and Nisha dug a plum colored acrylic into his rouged skin.

The shimmer of a dark galaxy started to crawl up the teens skin, making a shiver wreck through his body and goose bumps raise on his toned arms.

Nisha tilted her head towards the God who looked at the pair with a raised eyebrow. Immediately, she lifted her fingers off his loosening fist and let go of his hand.

Anger dissipated and ran hot in her own veins but she controlled it like a woman with poise; not a reeling man.

“You're being pitiful,” She stated to the Hermes cabin counselor. He stared at her with cooling coal orbs, wrath simmering in his body and morphing into numbness. Inhaling his scent of bitter peanuts and unblossomed cherry trees, she knew the comment must've hurt his feelings consciously but he couldn't react.

Taking in a deep breath of the intoxicating scent he possessed, she trapped his neutral smell in her lungs. Compared to the pungent scents of the Gods and centaur he could've been her own personal perfume.

He almost smelled hurt, and she almost cared; maybe she would've if it weren't for her mother's looming presence and Zeus's impending storm.

Pink lips started to rough over chapped in the humid room; she took a breath from her mouth and kept her nose plugged to the smells of destruction.

What was one supposed to say to the God of all God's, when that God thinks you've stolen his instrument of war? Even worse, what were you supposed to do when he claimed to be your father? It was a double conundrum of assumption; all just because she didn't parade around singing praises of Oizys.

Nisha knew that claiming Oizys to be her mother, openly, would cause mass hysteria. A primordial goddess of the original Cosmos and Chaos having a child with a human was unheard of.

Zeus’ brows scrunched together with anger at her lack of acknowledgement. He didn't even seem to acknowledge Luke's attempts of persuasion.

Nisha thought Luke should've kept his mouth shut. She was appreciative of his advancements to come to her aid, however, one couldn't sway a God. The pair barely even knew each other, but it felt like in the short span of fifteen minutes something had clicked when she used her powers on him.

Something was off, and she mentally pointed out the issue stemming from the smell of bergamot, alcohol, ginger, strawberries, and ash. Whoever was attempting to contact the pair were relentless with their actions; they were being as bold to try and whisper atrocities into her ear in the presence God's.

Tawny brown hands came up to excuse herself as she covered her grin of amusement and mild disbelief. She didn't want to accept that after years of remaining out of trouble from the God's, she was at the epicenter of a large plot point in Olympic history.

The girl defensively answered the God's prior assumption, sobering her laugh. “Okay, it would make sense if it truly was me,” she commended the man for his unfortunately wrong assumption.

Nisha would've rather had his assumption be correct and be struck down with lightning, than him be incorrect and haunt her til the end of her days.

The God's held grudges, especially when they were incorrect or put to shame; that of course, especially applied to Zeus.

Before Zeus could grow smug and actually attempt to strike her down with lightning, Nisha took a few steps forward. Fog white crackled between the Gods' thick hands, bolts of a million volts of lightning threatened to bounce around the Olympus hall.

Holding her slender hands up in surrender, she bowed her head obediently before the God could punish her. Disgust bit at her lip with a scowl as she spat out, “But I am not your kid. I have no motive to steal your master bolt,”

Apollo's shoes made light footfalls against the floors until they were directly in her sight from where she bowed. His expensive brown loafers were paired with cream socks that matched his sweater, she stared down at them unblinking, contemplating her next move.

A slender finger lifted her chin to meet his diamond blue eyes that had flecks of gold floating around inside of them. The immortal showed a sign of not being a perfect marble statue as his thick bottom lip was drawn down into a frown. His unusually sad expression had Nisha wondering where the coat of gold that usually encompassed the God had faded to.

And was it her mother or herself, unknowingly, that stole his light aura.

Apollo looked sullen. It was as if the moon had clouded his sun during an eclipse, or his favorite bow had snapped. His long fingers rubbed against her jaw bone gently as if he was caressing fine china. After a moment of his mouth gaping open and closed like a fish, he pulled away abruptly as if he'd been stung by her.

Nisha blinked with surprise, Luke's hand rested at her shoulder with a loose grip that caught her attention. She huffed, agitated. She wanted to be released from the prison that was Olympus and disappear into a flurry of darkness.

Apollos adam's apple bobbed, and a shiver wrecked through him as he spoke. “There hasn't been a Demi-God of Zeus in years Father,” Apollo advocates, locs of white-gold spiraled in tendrils across his shoulders and into his face once more.

Eyes of lightning scrunched with disappointment, Zeus's presence was intimidating as he was oddly silent.

Apollo was Zeus’ strongest, most formidable child. Everyone knew that fact, but they also knew the tension that built between the two over the years. The father-son duo were practically waiting on the edge of their seats to be able to take blows at each other.

Zeus was a horrible man, an even worse father, and Apollo was his favorite son. They fought with each other so harshly that wars broke out amongst the human realm.

“Only a child of The Three is capable of such a tragedy, you are lucky I do not strip you of your Godly status where you stand,” Sneered the dark skinned man. His hands crackled with lightning and threatened to strike the three others in the room as his patience dwindled.

Apollo sarcastically smiles with eyes of wet diamonds, liquid gold droplets glossing over them. “It would not be the first time,” He scowled, taking a step forward.

The ground shakes with a bolt of lightning outside of the Olympus office cracking a window. Luster shines throughout the room making Nisha's brown orbs dilate to accommodate the shine.

“And yet, your foolishness still remains after all this time,” Zeus condescendingly quipped. With a storm raging in his eyes and a snarl catching on his lip, Zeus was beyond upset in his faux safe haven of Olympus. His hand mades a swipe gesture that covers the room in a flash of light, a crackle of thunder booming from the immortal man's body.

Zeus was not a coward; he was going to attempt to kill his son of the sun because he would never back away from the challenge of another man. Nisha knew that his anger did not only extend to Apollo, but herself; his supposed Demi-God daughter, a thief.

Nisha's amber eyes wided and a gasp caught in the back of her throat as she prepared to welcome searing pain.

Apollo shielded her body with his own muscular form, his arms quickly locked around her shoulders as a bright light emerged from his body. Both the illuminance from a crackling storm and the flaming sun blinded burnt Nisha's irises.

She looked away, screwing her eyes closed and tucking her face into the knitted cream sweater Apollo adorned.

Sweet red currants and spicy flowers she couldn't put her finger on, overwhelmed the air around him. His body's glow radiated a warmth of the sun's gentle gaze on her skin and clashed against the zapping bolts of the storm god.

Apollo definitely wasn't scared or frightened; the archer was content. His embrace almost felt like the opening doors to the ascension of Elysium.

If there was one thing that all people knew on Olympus about Apollo, it was that the sun always came back. His shine would never die no matter how many times you attempted to dim it.

However, Apollo truly smelled content with fighting the storm God. His contentment was one of fruity embrace, awaiting the next step beyond God hood; not rotted acceptance that he would have to fight his father.

The only thing that could dim the sun was itself. After it exhausts its nuclear fuel, it will shrink down to a regular small star and create a supernova of elements before reassembling thousands of years later. Nisha figured that's what this performance was. Apollo was usually always theatric. However, in the moment, it felt like he burned all the energy he could've given his father.

Apollo chanted something in Greek that got lost in a wail that escaped Lukes mouth. “Dont!” He screamed before being blown back by a blast of heat.

The God's were selfish; especially Apollo.

His warmth was like the sweet kiss of unexpected death that made her heart pound furiously, and eyes snap shut with panic. He would come back to life totally whole because he was immortal; and she was set to die, stuck in the middle of a feud between two God's, and accused of being a thief.

The stygian iron and imperial gold necklace with her name on it started to burn at her chest satisfyingly. It tickled her brown skin and made a loud hissing noise similar to a boiling kettle rattling across her collarbones.

Zeus let out a cry of war, and lightning crack from above them. Apollo grunted, bearing down on his teeth so hard that Nisha heard a crack from his molars like it was stone being broken. She dug her face deeper into the man's neck, where she found no fuel for sadness or despair in his pulse point.

There no was no fear or misery.

No kleos for her own tongue, nothing to retaliate against the storm God with. Just the smell of candied mandarins, sweet cut-up red currants, and ginseng. The sun God was borderline excited, and Nisha detested the feeling of uselessness that washed over her body like a cold wave against hot sand.

Her brain practically hissed, creating steam of frustration and anger burning in her irises.

If Apollo and Zeus were truly fighting with all their might, Apollo would've used his Golden Bow and Zeus would've used any ability he possessed ending in the word ‘kinesis’. The fight was restrained but not because of the two Demi-Gods present.

If anything, Nisha would just be sad collateral, and the human world would perhaps forge another war. Olympus would still reign superior as every other living thing suffered the pair's consequences.

Nisha just wanted to walk out of Olympus without burning it to the ground.

She scorned the God's unlike a hero, but she knew their importance like any other Demi-God. The fall of Olympus would not be on her hands; she wouldn't be stained with the fault of ruining balance she wasn't prepared to fix.

Nisha knew one day she would die with the sins of causing others a miserable life. She knew and walked with a stride of concealed confidence because it was perhaps shameful to embrace but important to know. She might not walk out of the hellfire that was Olympus, but she wasn't willing to die there without a fight.

“Miserys are unavoidable,” her mother whispered once more. She sounded closer than before and just a stretch away. The teen girl pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes as she groaned in increasing pain.

Chirons' hooves clicked against the marble floors. Olympus shook furiously as the centaur yelled in ancient Greek to the man, whose face illuminated with the glow of his stormy nature.

“Enough Brother! You have gone too far!” Chiron attempted to reason with the man, daring to pull at one of the man's hands with a strong force. Luke scrambled off of the floor with a grunt, clutching his side from the impact on one of the white stone pillars that circled the enclosed room.

Apollo's nose flared like an angry bull. He watched as the man he raised met resistance from his father. Nisha could feel warm heat huff against the crown of her head as the man stood with her gathered in his arms like she was one of the Muses.

He did not plan on letting her go, if anything he just held her tighter. Like a provoked bull, the externally youthful God roared in protest as Chiron was wrestled backwards harshly.

The brown haired centaur was skilled with training from the sun God himself; raised by the man to train heroes and guide them to kleos. He did not go down easily as he pushed against Zeus's thunderous hand on his hind legs.

“Too far?!” Apollo roared with the heat of the sun's core. Burning light beamed at Zeus's feat and shielded the half horse man. Another huff pushed from his pouty pink lips, and he yanked blonde shoulder-length locs out of his glaring blue eyes. They were as tough as diamonds and shining like a dreary cyan sky.

For once, they mirrored the selfish vexation that his father had.

“My child, my Chiron,” he called after the centaur in english. Chiron faced the man he called his father with dreary eyes of disappointment. Nisha held her breath at the sheer expression of loss on the camp activities director face.

“What is too far, for a man who struck down his own grandson?!” Apollo shouted in ancient greek. Anger and glee burned at his fingertips. The sun God knew he was too far gone in the argument, and that these last moments were the end of his immortal life until he was reformed.

Nisha wished they would just finish their fighting already and Apollo would die without her wrapped around him. They weren't even fully immersed in their powers, the fight would probably barely be a footnote in the history chapter of Zeus's stolen master bolt.

Freshly picked mandarins, rotting red currants and soured ginseng mixed with hints of an aromatic flower. It was a sweet smell that threw off her nose and instinct. It was so unlike Luke's who enamored her; Apollo's invigorated her.

He was greatness in the eyes of failure, and it slipped right on her tongue perfectly as she made his feelings fester.

“My kind son, my Asclepius!” he yelled, a broken whine stuck at the back of his throat. His child had long been resurrected after being slain by Zeus.

Nisha could only question what set the God off to want to collapse the sun in an explosion of hot white anger instead of helium and hydrogen. Her eyes fluttered open, oozing violet smoke with matching iries of blooming purple flowers as she felt around his misery.

Purple flowers.

Nisha was taken back to how Apollo stared back at her features again with a flat look of concealed anguish torn across his perfect face. He looked like his stare alone would have ripped her apart if he didn't cradle her upper body like it was made of stained glass. In the span of minutes, she was used by a God with selfish intentions, and handled like the most delicate of feathers.

Apollo gave her a light squeeze around her shoulder as his body's glow deflected a string of lightning.

Hyacinths.

Nisha smelled hyacinth bulbs in full bloom, with a robust and spicy scent unlike any other. Her eyes fluttered closed in realization as she grew the immortal man's misery tenfold. She'd never done it on a God and disliked doing it to humans, but meddling with his emotions felt like biting into forbidden fruit.

Both horrible and tantalizing.

She turned her head back to stare straight at Luke, who clutched something impossibly tight in hand while leaning against the pillar he was thrown into. His nose was scrunched with anger radiating off of him in waves of sour cherry.

Failure crawled around every surface of the universe; misery stared people back in the mirror when they saw their reflections. Nisha was victorious without the need of kleos.

Everything she needed to bring down Olympus was right in front of her.

“Watch them fall! You are inevitable!” something boomed in front of her. The distorted voice was not of thunder, and it made her flinch into the form of Apollo.

She sagged against the sun God's chest as Zeus snarled, “You disappoint me,” to his son. Apollo blinked away his golden tears and continued to snark.

“Finish the fucking job you miserable cunt!” Apollo roared with a grin of glory stretching across his face. Nisha thought that was her final moment alive. That she would be consumed by the affairs of men and be exactly who she was meant to be.

An utter failure.

A loud crack of thunder snapped above the pair.

Nisha didn't want to be responsible for splitting open the cracking ravine that was Olympian political affairs. Especially those that include Zeus' status amongst protests and coups.

However, she would not welcome death from a hand that swatted at her like a fly.

Death would come on her terms; failure, misery, and kleos aside. In death, that was the one thing she was able to grasp by both hands fully; as in life, her grip constantly slipped.

Her grip on life loosened for just one second, and she could feel herself fall from where she worked hard to steadily stand with control.

Darkness misted from around Nisha's fingertips, sparkling like dark stars in the deep depths of the cosmos. Her eyes clouded over with the color of amethyst gems cracking in her irises, and glossy black slowly dotted at the white of her sclera. Purple slipped between the dark haze around her fingers like thick crystal shards; all sides smooth and ends pointy.

Apollo hesitantly jerked himself away from the girl, removing his locked arms as her necklace began to crackle with swirls of black curled sparks. He skidded back to a step in front of Zeus, who curled his hand forward in an attempt to strike him down.

The entirety of Olympus shook. Quakes harsher than Zeus' thunderous lightning rumbled the sky, greeted the Greek God's territory. The shaking came from the ground of Earth and vibrated in waves up to the sky of the 600th floor of the Empire State.

Zeus attempted to strike Nisha from three different sides. He thought he could overwhelm her with his advanced powers, and assumed the quaking was coming from her. Without Apollos' pity protection, she was easily vulnerable.

The sun God quickly pulled Chiron away from his angered father, and towards Luke near the elevator of the supposed safe haven. “Nisha!” yelled Luke who was held back by Apollo's Godly strength with ease.

The black iron and gold nameplate broke around the clasp as he yelled. It tumbled to the floor and began to spew out dark smog, and white silver flickers of sparked fire.

Zeus’ lightning made her see stars that were not there, although it didn't kill her surprisingly. Her head swam with pounding pain as Luke cried out to her once more. “Shut up,” she hissed, voice warping into a gravelly groan.

Someone cackled in her ear darkly, “Rise! Resurrect me!” It cried with a triumphant tone of arrogance. Nisha's body convulsed, shaking with lightning aftershock that had her teeth bite the flesh of her lip until it bled.

“Kill him! Kill them!” It tempted her. Her chest heaved as she rolled on her side, slapping her palms on her ears and screaming, “Shut the fuck up!” with a bass she didn't know she possessed.

Nisha didn't want to be her mother, who was notorious for having a breakdown in the middle of the hall of Olympus, and encouraged one of the world's first war's after Pandora's Pithos was opened.

Everything smelled like a buffet of her favorite foods being laid out in front of her. All the ambrosia in the world couldn't compare to the aroma that circled the room between two Gods, a centaur, and a Demi-God.

Lucas Castellan made her senses go haywire. He took a step forward, and it was like her world was held together by a thin string that could only be broken by his lack of presence.

She couldn't stop as a wave of disappointment and sadness enveloped everyone in the room. For a moment everything stopped. All the thoughts that constantly fought in her head were quiet. All the pain from restraining her power and making others miserable or feeding off their pathetic emotions stopped. It was just quiet.

If that was what glory felt like, smelled liked, and tasted like, not for the Gods but for herself; she thought she'd never want it.

She yearned for it even more than a God fought to keep their immortality. She savored the taste of chocolate covered strawberries, sticky marshmallows and heady jasmine flowers.

But she couldn't stomach the fact that misery stemmed from her being and affected other's. She would accept it and its power, but that is not how she wanted to be remembered.

“Nisha – ” Luke cut his sentence off sharply with a ragged gasp. “Get the fuck away from her!” He yelled, the harsh words falling on deaf ears.

A mist of a hand curled around her camp shirt and grasped her shoulder tightly. “Miserys are unavoidable,” her mother started, but the gentle words came out reprimanding for once.

A sad tone laced her voice which was usual for her mother who was usually melancholy. Tan sepia skin materialized from black smoke and dark ash that swirled around her body moments ago.

The child of Oizys couldn't hear the flurry of voices calling out to her, only a white noise buzz swimming in her head, as if she'd slammed her head into a rock. Technically, Zeus did when he electrocuted her and she collapsed.

Tranquility washed over Nisha with control forcing its way into her hands. She took a deep breath and smelled nothing but clean oxygen. Amber-brown eyes returned, and they snapped back into focus from a temporary haze.

Oizys took the form of a beautiful woman adorning all the finest riches in the world, to compensate for her external despair. She wore a long dress made of onyx silk that flowed around her form with elegance that only rivaled Aphrodite. The garment had cut outs around her shoulders, but was long sleeved with gold sewn into the top half of the dress. Intricate patterns that looked like regal spider webs were encrusted into thin plates of imperial gold that matched the back of Nisha's nameplate.

Her mother wore a crown that was webbed with celestial bronze, and the material even was incorporated into the dress. Mesh guards around the cuffs of her sleeves and tips of her long dark nails were made of the ore.

One might say that Oizys looked like Nisha just with smaller almond shaped eyes and an eternal empty gaze that caused others to shiver. She looked like she possessed no soul, and what was left of it was standing right infront of her.

Black tears of stygian iron welled up in her eyes and glowed like water from the river styx. Nisha turned her body to look back where the elevator door was placed on Mount Olympus, and another zap of residual electricity made her shake.

Luke had taken several steps away, and his back was pressed to the side of the elevator as he looked at Nisha. His body was held back by Apollo who was not better than him with a sword, but outmatched his strength infinitely.

Luke was screaming, his forehead popping a red vein as his thick lips spewed words he couldn't hear. Chiron rounded to block Luke's view of her and vice versa to the teen girl. The older centaurs white-silver horse haired body turned as he moved his cheek to look at her.

Chiron and Luke both had looks of sadness in their eyes that matched her Mother's bitter gaze. A mist covered the pair as they spoke, only allowing Nisha to follow the figures of the three outside her Mother.

“I would say that I am proud, my child,” her mother's voice was like a warm sigh in a bitter ice wind. She spoke breathily in her mother tongue of ancient Greek and placed her iceberg hands on her child's hot cheeks.

Oizys smiled, smoothing her ring-covered knuckles over the slope of her childs brow. Nisha noticed how her Mother had a beauty mark beneath her lip making her seem even more ethereal. She commented once as a child that she bore the same beauty mark on the side of her jawbone.

Oizys pride was unshakeable at that moment. “You're born from me. Miseries are unavoidable,” The child's small grin faded into neutrality at the words.

The dark mist around them shimmered a translucent color for her to watch Apollo and Zeus screaming at each other with Luke cornered by Chirons large body. He looked desperate, seething, and probably stunk of sour cherries left out to shrivel.

“What does that look like to you?” Oizys asked in the common tongue of English. Her dark eyes looked like stygian iron ore in its purest form in the underworld. A grin of smug glee tore at her sullen face as her eyes glowed midnight blue.

Nisha couldn't find joy in their suffering with control restored in her. The lack of Luke's scent made her head go blank, but she craved it all the more. She shook her head at the weird thought.

Zeus's teak skin looked like it would finally start aging poorly and Apollo gripped his hair with such a tightness she thought he would rip his carefully crafted locs out.

Chrion’s disappointment was far, few, and in between to see, but for the first time Nisha saw it crinkling at his long face. She knew she didn't want whatever smell it had to infiltrate her nose ever. The centaur looked besides himself as his brother and surrogate father swore each other to the deep depths of tartarus and back.

“Pain…suffering. Sadness.” Nisha said, going slack jawed. She had no energy to clench her jaw in anger or just sheer dumbfoundment.

She avoided claiming misery to make her own life easier, she avoided claiming misery to make sure those around her weren't miserable; yet all she did was fail. She watched as the two Olympians argued senselessly and Chiron barred himself between them for good measure.

Tears flowed onto Oizys tan cheeks like poison, making Nisha choke on guilt and resentment. Her mother smelt sweet for once, her smell usually was concealed when in her child's presence, but leaking the essence of greatness on the Solstice.

The child glared at her mother with a scornful scowl. “Did you make him even more sad?” Nisha asked plainly, referring to the circle of emotions Apollo cycled through previously.

“Yes,” Oizys answered honestly. “The distraction of Apollo's outburst was necessary,” She nodded with resolution smoothing in her eyes. The influence of frustration and sadness lingering in Apollo's soul diverted the attention from Nisha to him.

Zeus was arrogant and vain, he would be angry at his child quicker than he would be at a theft.

Nisha's nimble fingers toyed with the ends of her braid as she casted her gaze to the mist-covered floor. “Sadness, you said?” Oizys asked once more, running her palm over the slicked back hair of her child.

Nisha's head bobbed in agreement. Oizys hummed, “Good.” The teen girl's eyes peered through her dark lashes to look at her mothers firm nod of approval.

She grimaced as her mother smirked. “That means you'll never be me then,” She claimed proudly. Nishas eyes squinted with anger attempting to surge in her veins only to be quelled by her mother's calm shushing.

Nisha turned her head away from her mother who breathed in deeply and huffed a defeated laugh. “I do feel bad,” she started without an ounce of remorse.

“But all I see is power,” She strongly emphasized with a grin. “This is my strength, it is yours as well, to an extent.” She stated, smoothing her hands down her silky dress that draped the pristine floor.

Darkness completely blinded Nisha's view of Olympus, and she only caught a glimpse of Zeus who was paralyzed in fear. He looked like he was about to be slain where he stood and Nisha could feel her breath hitch before shadows swallowed the land of the mighty Olympians whole.

“Miseries are unavoidable.” Nisha nodded, repeating the words in the ancient tongue of God's to herself like a broken record.

Oizys grabbed her child by both her shoulders and gave them a slight squeeze. Then she grabbed both sides of the teen girl's face. Stygian ice mountains must've been the Mother's favorite location in Tartarus, as her cold hands froze her entire body with warning.

“They are. Misery is something for you to harness, to understand, to accept.” Oizys started with a look of urgency in her black-blue eyes. She looked like if Nisha didn't get the next part through her head, she would be doomed.

“But it isn't something you must cause,” she stressed. Her face was covered in the essence of misery, tears of the fallen and glory of the failed. For once Oizys looked like a scared mother; someone to look up to for guidance and assistance rather than a sore that never healed on Nisha's side.

Nisha truly tried to like her mother, but she could only find love for her in her heart. She knew who her mother was, and she knew the woman was doing what she was fated to.

But there was something about how she was so caught in a loop of failure and disappointment as glory that made Nisha resent her. She could never like her mother in truth.

Nisha smiled at her mother with a quivering lip. Oizys was a good mother, despite not believing that sentiment. In retrospect, she was a horrible person, but she was compelled to do what felt right to her; they were too different people.

Nisha was her only child and her only daughter, she loved her fiercely regardless.

“You are you,” she proudly stressed with a slightly frustrated hiss. “Be who you want to be. I may not be who you wanted as a mother, but you can still choose who you want to be as a child,” She told her girl child.

Nisha slumped into her mother's stomach, the woman an entire foot taller than her. Oizys bone skinny fingers clasped the stygian iron necklace back around her neck, and her fingers found their way to petting at the baby hairs on her only child's nape.

“ Breathe… ” Oizys said into the shell of her ear. Her skin erupted with the calming smell of sweet ginger milk, warmed lavender oil, and chocolate chunk brownies.

Nisha did, hoping to take another inhale of her mother's scent, only to pinpoint the scent of cherry fields and strawberry jam.

She gasped, the smell filling her mouth and making her drowsy. She hoped to taste a nectar so sweet that stemed from the smell of a boy with a scar running down his cheek, only to catch herself in realization.

Nisha could feel her eyelids drooping like heavy Victorian curtains against her wide eyes. “ No…I can't sleep, they'll kill me,” she slurred ancient Greek.

Zeus was not one to be trifled with; he would kill her once he got his hands on her.

Oizys used a classic trick only herself and Hypnos were capable of producing. The primodial Goddess was able to change her own scent to cause a cognitive distortion to Nisha's nervous system. Hypnos was able to doze all with a wave of his hand, but Oizys had learned a way around the trick from her younger sibling.

Nisha actually falling for such simple trickery was laughable. Especially considering how many times her mother performed it on her. However, her mother's scent never changed to that of Lucas Castellan's. She frowned, her face sour with confusion.

Oizys hummed and traced her middle finger down the bridge of her child's nose before sweeping at the hairline of her daughter. “They will not touch you,” She affirmed to the child.

Nisha's head was fading blank again, no thoughts or feelings to latch onto for a spark of energy. She puffed another breath of Luke's scent combined with the taste of contentment.

Contentment was new for Nisha to feel or taste herself, she could always pinpoint the scent on others though. She hummed in disagreement at her mother as she swallowed thickly; attempting to ignore the taste of sugary pastries and willows. Her head lulled forward, burrowing into her mother's midriff as her amber eyes fluttered closed.

“Let me be your mother. Just this once,” the woman pleaded. Nisha felt like she was floating on her mother's shimmering cloud of mist as she nodded subconsciously.

Oizys may have been a book very true to her cover; she was sad, miserable, and deceitful, but she had the smallest ending note tucked inside the last page for Nisha. A small love note at the end of a book in dedication to protect her only child.

As Nisha's body went limp against her mothers form, the woman conjured a cloud of shadows from the tips of her fingers to lift her child. The dark mist carried the teen girl as she slept, a worried scrunch crinkling between her brows. Oizys smoothed out the worried line with her thumb, and whispered, “Let me protect you, just this once.”

More dark tears slid down the woman's face in perfect lines of agony. They were not tears of concealed joy from stealing people's happiness or causing mental harm to others. They were not from the power she could aquire in the room full of Olympians, who were inferior to her power, but mighty with worshipers.

She shed tears of worry.

Worry for her child, and worry for her childs livelihood. She was worried because Nisha could turn out like herself, feeding off of failure, and being miserable with power no matter how good that destruction felt, smelt, or tasted.

Oizys was worried that she had failed the one thing that was a true success in her sorrowful life.

Nisha was born from failure, Oizys was created to fail. They both had their fates, but neither were the same by a long shot.

Oizys knew Nisha would make sure of that fact; simply because she knew her child loathed to be like her, but accepted a sham for a fate she was not destined to follow.

Success was the child of failure in every sense. Both were a step away from eachother but so similar.

Oizys cried because she could only have hope in a world where there was none. Oizys could only hope that her child would fulfill a fate that left her content for once, instead of constantly greedy for more power like herself.

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

Text

SWEET SUMMER ORANGE

Targaryen Dynasty x Fem!Teen!OC

"Green must find her way to orange, or all is lost. The dragons will dance and die, surrounded by fire and blood."

Multiple Main Pairings!

Main Focus ~ Fem!OC and Targaryen Dynasty (Yandere, Obsessive, Protective)

Warnings ~ Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Spying, Implications of Self Harm (Blood Oth), and Anger.

Spoilers ~ Ton!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 2.8k Words.

Chp Summary ~ The job of being a guard to a Princess with a large heart is taxing.

Chp 5 ~ The Job of a Royal Guard.

A vital part of a guard's duty is to keep their monarchs safe and alive.

That job should be considerably easy for someone who was formerly a part of the Unsullied army.

Black Scorpion is a trained soldier that is made to kill. His tall body was packed with lean muscles that rippled as he moved and he had scars from war that were grotesque.

They were all a testimony to his decade and a half as a slave-soldier. They were a testimony to the Queen of the Summer Islands when she appointed him as the Sword of the Sweet Lotus Vale Princess.

It was especially comical because the small girl also was appointed a shield.

Yellow Lizard was Black Scorpion's brother in arms during his time as a slave-soldier. They trained alongside each other and worked well without spoken words.

Yellow Lizard was only a few inches shorter than Black Scorpion, but he was more muscular in a burly sense. The man appeared so strong that others were sure he could fight off angry elephants.

The job of being guards should be even easier for two Unsullied, who are assigned to protecting a child half their size.

It was not like Vhagarhā Qo was an unpleasant Princess to guard. No, not at all was she rude or arrogant.

The pair actually looked forward to running around everyday with the young Princess.

She kept them entertained with her babbling off history and random facts.

Sometimes, she would force the pair into painting with her and the Princess Shaeneera of the Island of Women.

Other times they were commanded to drink tea with her and the Crown-Princess Xhandam of Tall Trees Town.

Occasionally, the young girl would join Princess Visenrhae of Pearl Palace to the forests in search of adventure, and the Unsullied would trail along with attentive eyes.

Once in a moon cycle, the King Xando would summon the three to watch performers in Ebonhead and be one with the people.

Everyday, the Queen Lynara and the young Princess read in the Queen's private solar. The two young men would be allowed inside and sat with their weapons laid around their feet.

More times than not, after spending time with the Islands Rulers and her Princess sisters, the child would doze off while looking into the sunset. The two men would stand guard dutifully and ensure her saftey.

She was usually perched in a hammock on her private beach watching the stars blend into the night sky. There was no need for private royal guards however, the private beaches were surrounded by bought Unsullied personnel that was freed in the Summer Islands.

When the hour grew dark, Yellow Lizard would wake the girl so she could bathe, then sleep.

They had a steady routine with just enough adventure to keep both men on their toes. The young girl had both wrapped around her pinky fingers and the only way they would let go is if they were dead.

However, the Princess had too large of a heart.

Seemingly a poetic reason for why she had two guards, Unsullied soldiers nonetheless, instead of one. That was besides the fact that she was the youngest.

Watching the young Princess converse with a venomous woman like Alicent Hightower was not a surprise. Vhagarhā had affection stored in her heart for even the ill hearted.

The Unsullied duo's job was more than protecting the child's physical form, it was their duty to protect her heart.

That was something that the two decided on their own after watching her cry for the first time.

They cut open their palms using the Vhagarhā’s Valyrian steel dagger, Sunstriker, and swore to protect her until the end of their days. If they were to fail at their duty, they would execute themselves.

Black Scorpion could shutter at the thought of harm befalling upon his Princess.

She had asked for the men to stay within where they could see her, but not be noticable. The pair obliged despite their want to protest, the Princess had a determined look on her face.

They just hadn't expected her to fall into the snake's den willingly.

Black Scorpion was perched on the opposite side of where the Weirwood tree stood, eyes sharply watching the Queen.

Yellow Lizard was behind the stairwell leading to the library, only the glare of the sun reflecting off his dark armor visible.

The woman seemed unnaturally mellow for a viper, it almost made the man want to rip the young Princess away from the older woman.

A viper had no business mingling with a delicate doe like Vhagarhā. Eventually, the woman would try and snap her fangs at the girl; the pair hated to think of the consequences for killing the Westerosi Queen.

A vital part of the guards duties is to keep their Princess safe and alive; they would not hesitate to have the blood of the Queen Alicent on their hands if it meant ensuring just that.

However, sometimes not interfering would benefit her more. Black Scorpion swallowed pride as his heart ached to bring the Princess back to the Maidenvault.

If he were to listen to his urges to escort the girl away from the Godswood, Alicent may grow upset with the pair of them.

That anger could be projected onto Vhagarhā, who deserved nothing less of appreciation.

They both stood in position due to their foresight of a potential reluctant ally. It was better to keep the Princess with the Queen of the realm rather than pull her away. Keeping their enemies close would be an advantage, especially when knowing how much animosity Alicent Hightower had for Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Heir to the Iron Throne.

War was bound to break out as the days grew cold and King Viserys health declined.

Vhagarhā possessed a charm that could sway evil spirits and ward away madness.

The Unsullied pair witnessed her do it with gentle hands and a kind smile more times than they could count. They'd felt that charm soothe their own wounds more times than they were willing to admit.

Having the Queen as an ally instead of an enemy could prove to be fruitful in the upcoming years.

Yellow Lizard had informants report that a war of succession was bound to break out. It didn't matter what the Prince Aegon or Princess Rhaenyra wanted, the realm of Westeros would tear itself apart regardless.

From what the royal guards had witnessed so far within the Red Keep, the House of the Dragon wasn't standing tall either.

The one-eyed Prince held onto Princess Shaeneera with a tight hold on her arm. The pair glanced at each other from their positions with amusement dancing in their eyes, but straight faced.

The Princess could quite literally walk on water. A dragon's fire was the least of their concerns when dealing with Princess Shaeneera, who looked almost bored.

Yellow Lizard observed from behind the staircase how the man's lone eye never seemed to stray far from her face, and how the man huffed at her nonchalant attitude.

After a shared word, Shaeneera tugged Prince Aemond along with her to converse with her sister and the Queen. Surprised by her strength, he almost tripped before falling into step with her.

A smirk was evident on the man's face, Black Scorpion noticed. He quickly schooled his expression into a blank canvas before they reached his Mother.

The Queen's demeanor seemed to shift from lighthearted to judgemental in the matter of seconds. She stepped from behind the young Princess and seemed to play guard for Vhagarhā, blocking her from the second oldest Princesses view.

The guards knew that Shaeneera wasn't the most strategic, not that the Princess had to be. Especially in non-political situations, the girl shouldn't have to think strategically.

The Rhoynish woman knew more about the sea’s, boat's, and crafting than planning.

None could blame her, but she was still ignorant with the Westerosi kind.

Every interaction was a political move, every word would be hung onto and could dictate the status of your likeness in the country.

As Black Scorpion suspected, the green Queen's venom began to spill out.

Alicents auburn eyebrows were pinched together in frustration and her hands tightly clasped behind her back as a means to steady herself.

Yellow Lizard could see Alicents lips move better In his position; Black Scorpion watched as Shaeneera's blonde eyebrows raised slowly.

The pair could feel the tension rising as Vhagarhā's unique eyes started to go glassy.

With one firm nod at each other and fire behind their eyes, the pair snuck around to the end of an open stone passage. They fell in step together with haste to collect the Sweet Lotus Vale Princess.

Shaeneera did not have a treacherous mouth like the second youngest Princess and the Queen of the Summer Island's. Yellow Lizard doubted the woman was planning on remarking anything slick.

Shaeneera was second only to Vhagarhā in sweet talking, but did not have the girlish charm to win over the Westerosi woman.

Before the Princess could even open her mouth, Yellow Lizard intercepted.

“Queen Alicent, My Princesses, Prince Aemond. Please excuse my interruption, but the Princesses are required to attend supper with their parents, The King and Queen of the Summer Isles,” The man bows as he speaks in respect and Black Scorpion keeps his gaze to the floor.

The pair was lucky that the sun dimmed rather quickly as they watched the Princess sit under the Weirwood for hours. The King and Queen would actually be eating within the Maidenvault and calling for their kids soon.

Alicent turns to look at Yellow Lizard as he straightens his posture from his bow. The woman's eyes were stuck on Black Scorpion's form as he straightened up as well.

Yellow Lizard resisted his facs twitching annoyed using his discipline training.

Black Scorpion was unsure of where he was taken from at the age of four.

He had long white-gold hair that was longer than the Prince Aemonds. It was a sandy beach white-blonde that Vhagarhā tended to, and he kept it slicked back in a ponytail. His eyes were ones of Earth, a tree bark color that swirled chocolate brown in the sun.

He was tall and large with muscles like a man from House Strong; not quite too large like Yellow Lizard, who looked huge like a man from House Umber.

Black Scorpion's face was set with stoney sharp Baratheon features, yet held a Targaryens grace and beauty. A true enigma like the rest of the House Qo members.

Alicents eyes widened with a flash of hot anger, then turned into slits of sharp emeralds intending to pierce skin.

“There she is,” Black Scorpion thought. The Viper Queen had awakened for the second time for the guards to witness. The first being when she first laid eyes upon Vhagarhā.

Alicent scoffed at Yellow Lizard, “Of course,” She started, anger softening into sorrow if only for a moment.

“We cannot have the Princess eating only cake all day,” She says, venom spitting from her lips as her eyes grow cold.

The woman's hands folded in front of her as she sighed harshly through her nose. The hazel light in her eye dimmed, leaving only green left in her wake and she gave her son a pointed look.

Vhagarhā caught onto the Queen's disposition and placed a hand on the woman's covered arm, “I will try and see you on the marrow if it pleases you,” The girl whispers, testing her luck as the vipers' fangs were already drawn.

It almost seems to work, the woman's eyes going soft but hands clutching each other tighter. “Yes, please-” She started almost eager.

A staring contest occurred between both Mother and Son. After a pregnant pause the woman continued with more authority holding herself together, “That would be wonderful, Princess,” She breathed out the words quickly.

Giving a firm nod of her head, the Queen leaves the two Princesses with their guards. She sent a pointed stare at her second oldest son to follow, and whispered orders to a nearby attendant.

Aemond bows respectfully at the Summer island's Princesses but then leans to whisper something short in Shaeneera's ear as she's mid-curtsey.

Sending a final squint of concealed intrigment at Vhagarhā, he's gone with a smirk plastered on his face and hands clasped behind his back.

The two islanders wait until the Mother and son Westerosi royals are out of sight before turning to each other.

Yellow Lizard does not move his gaze from Vhagarhā’s form, her eyes bright with hope. Black Scorpion stands with hands behind his back as well, his knuckles brushing against the twin Bastard Valyrian steel swords strapped to his back.

Shaeneera flits her eyes over the small one's body, checking for any abnormalities with her attire or skin.

“Why were you chatting with the viper Queen, little sister?” Shaeneera asks in Summer Tongue, the clicking sound of their first language harsh to foreign ears only.

Vhagarhā’s eyes widened like a doe, hands playing with the gold necklace hung around her neck, “She looked lonely, sister,” She replied innocently, Summer tongue rolling out of her mouth like honey.

Only the child had the capabilities of making a harsh sounding language seem magical like a Merlings song.

Shaeneera raises a blonde brow, a small frown stretching on her face in concern, "We are not home, small one. We dance with the snake's here."

Black Scorpion hums in agreement, keeping his eyes up as he stays aware of his surroundings.

“Even I have trouble navigating myself here. You are especially vulnerable,” She admits with a defeated look. Shaeneera knew she wouldn't be able to contain her sister's kindness, and she didn't want to.

However, she wished the girl chose sparingly with who she socialized with.

Yellow Lizard nods his heart firmly. He bends down to look into the eyes of the girl as she bows, her head in reluctant submission to her older sister.

“What you did could have gone horribly wrong, My Princess,” Yellow Lizard agrees, probably out of turn in Westerosi standards.

It is a guard's duty to protect his monarch, and make sure they do not endanger themselves.

Vhagarhā huffs a whine under her breath, staring down at her gaudy rings with sadness in her eyes. Yellow Lizard sighs at the girl's sad frustration.

“However,” Vhagarhā instantly perks up, lilac and coral eyes peeking through her thick lashes. The man could laugh at the girl's constant want for praise.

“It is always wise to have allies everywhere, even if you do not like them,” The words make Vhagarhā smile solemnly with a slow nod.

Taking a step back to look at both her sister and guards properly, Vhagarhā sighs deeply with saddened eyes, “I still think she has a heart somewhere in there,” She insists quietly.

“Vhagarhā-” Shaeneera's protest is cut off quickly.

Vhagarhā goes to lace her fingers with her older sister's own, small hands swinging their interlaced fingers with desperation.

“Please sister! I am never wrong about these things – I feel it in my heart,” She claims, looking between her sister and Black Scorpion who's only sign of emotion is the hard blank stare he gives when he is in disagreement.

Shaeneera presses her lips in a thin line as the long haired Unsullied looks away, not wanting to see the child's sappy eyes.

Turning to look at Yellow Lizard, Vhagarhā states, “There is a dragon still somewhere inside of her. She just has to find it. Unleash it.”

Frustrated, Vhagarhā looks up at the sun that has begun to set. Turning her head to the Weirwood tree, she marvels as shades of red and orange start to reflect off the ancient tree's leaves.

Oh, what bliss a child could find in the most delicate of situations.

Black Scorpion admired the girl's colorful outlook on life, just her mere expression painting the picture of hope.

Shaeneera averts her gaze to the Weirwood as well, noticing her sister's eyes had been caught somewhere else. With a small smile sent down at the girl unknowingly, she sighs as her eyes flutter closed for a moment.

As her short attention span sister stares at the tree with saddened hope, the Rhoynish woman sends a pleading look to Black Scorpion. The only expression of opinion she receives is a nod of his head, softened chocolate irises placed on Vhagarhā.

“Okay…” Princess Shaeneera sounds as if she is convincing herself, rather than affirming her sister's claims.

“You have always been able to find the best in others," Even when they don't deserve it.

The unspoken words echo in the guards ears hauntingly.

They will think of all the negative aspects and outcomes so the youngest Princess won't have to.

38 notes · View notes

piinkyypriincess · 3 months

Text

SWEET SUMMER ORANGE

Targaryen Dynasty x Fem!Teen!OC

"Green must find her way to orange, or all is lost. The dragons will dance and die, surrounded by fire and blood."

Multiple Main Pairings!

Main Focus ~ Fem!OC and Targaryen Dynasty (Yandere, Obsessive, Protective)

Warnings ~ Intense Fictional Religions and condescension.

Spoilers ~ Tons!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 2.9k Words.

Chp Summary ~ Shaeneera Qo comes across Aemond Targaryen by chance and Alicent Hightower by choice. The Seven Pointed Star of The Seven is seen every inch in the Keep. It seems less like a religion and more like a cult, but hey, it's just her opinion.

Chp 4 ~ The Seven Pointed Star.

Shaeneera Ryn didn't mind the Red Keep, unlike the rest of her family.

King's Landing had a stench to it that smelt of waste and unwashed breeches. Somehow, the Keep smelt like musky leather oil and summer fruits.

The scent was pleasant to her nose, it reminded her of Omboru island in the Summer Isles where the warriors trained. The smell was legions kinder to her youngest sister, Vhagarhā, who had sharper senses than all her sisters.

The girl was nearly sick for the majority of the ride in the city.

The Seven pointed star being displayed in nearly every corner had Shaeneera swallowing bile.

The House Targaryen was known to still worship Valyrian God's, despite remaining tolerant of other religions. The Faith of the Seven was opposed to everything that practically made a Valyrian.

Maesters, Septa's, and Septons practically seemed to run the Keep as they scrambled around doing their duties. One could say that the Red Keep was transformed into a Sept.

If the rumors were true of what an informant told her Mother; the King really was laying on his deathbed and it was only a matter of time before the Westerosi realm split apart.

Shaeneera assumed that was the reasoning behind why the Qo monarchy was invited to King's Landing.

The blonde could only hope that the Summer Isles were not going to be involved in such dirty Westerosi politics.

The people, both low born and high born, were not quite what she was expecting. It's not to say that the Princess of the Isle of Women was foreign to politicking; she attended every board meeting at the end of the month and had a seat on it as well.

The lords of Westeros seemed to stare at her like she was an accessory to her surrogate Father, the King Xando. Their hungry eyes intended to eat her alive and split the flesh from her bones without mercy.

The ladies looked upon the royal family with disgust, turning their noses up or tilting their faces away from the guests of the Keep.

It was only when the family's personal guards circled them was Shaeneera given relief from the fiery gazes that flamed her skin.

Just about all of her sisters had abnormal features that set them apart from the people in the Summer Islands, not that the native people minded. In Westeros however, they were especially peculiar.

As a child born in The Isle of Women, sun blonde hair is quite uncommon, regardless of skin tone. Majority of the inhabitants of The Isle of Women had an olive complexion, dark black hair, and matching dark eyes.

Shaeneera had ebony skin that would shine like bronze in the sunlight and turned starlight blue in the moonlight.

Her hair was a light gold shade that mocked both a Lannister and a Valyrian.

Her eyes however, were the one thing that was common within the Rhoynish heritage of the Isle of Women.

Dark brown eyes that seemed dragonglass black were apparent in some. Others had sea blue eyes that glittered, not like the clear shallow waters found on beaches, but like the deep trenches far out into the Sunset Sea.

Her eyes were that of the ocean, connecting her to the water she appreciated.

In the country of the Summer Island's, there was no issue with her appearance.

But being a foreign, brown skinned Princess with blonde hair was a conundrum for the Westerosi folk.

“I heard that the Mother's a Targaryen bastard!” One hissed outraged, sounding older with a nasal hitch in her voice.

Another hushed her, “Do not speak loudly, they say the tall one's a siren,” she said with a high pitched whimper.

One laughed, “A siren? How outrageous! I heard she was a whore with that garb on!” The women all unanimously giggled at the last ladies comment whilst fretting amongst their duty of folding towels.

On the Summers Isle, they were respected and looked upon with gratitude.

It didn't matter how they looked or what they wore, most of the people of the Summers Isle loved them regardless. The royal family was appreciated for keeping the cities clean and making sure the people were healthy.

In King's Landing, Shaeneera quickly realized that the people treated them like a plague. The ladies and lords stared as if they would turn anything they touched into ash.

A scrunch took to the middle of her brow, her lips turned downwards into a scowl. Walking past the open maids quarters, she cleared her throat and pressed her lips into a thin line.

Each one of the laughing women turned to look at the interruption of their laughter, their lips drawing into the shape of an ‘o’. One of the ladies gasped, seemingly younger than the other two women, she was almost around her older sister's age.

“Princess,” the nasal one bowed first, sounding half as witty from before.

The youngest one's eyes went wide, she dropped the towel she was folding in realization. Shaeneera propped a gold blonde brow up in amusement, a whimper of fear followed her action as the stunned one bowed.

"Westerosi maids are afraid," the blue eyed teenager realized. They squirmed at a royals presence rather than welcoming it. The foreign girl truly wondered how people felt comfortable residing in such a house filled with gossip and fear.

The staff of the Qo House that was welcomed into the Goldenheart Palace was practically family.

Shaeneera couldn't imagine not having a close bond with the people lived with. “Are the Targaryens not afraid of a coup or assassinations happening from within?” She thought to herself, amused.

Dragon fire might be strong, but Targaryens were not invincible. They may have been closer to God's than men, but that could've been said for plenty of different races of people.

That could have been said for her who could make the waters bend at will with just her mind alone.

Shaeneera's eye caught the gaze of the oldest maid who crunched her brows in confusion as she bowed. The older woman looked well into her middle ages, skin drooping slightly and crows feet in the corners of her eyes.

The woman's dull brown eyes were caught on the sight of her circlet, she realized.

Shaeneera wore a circlet made of silvers, diamonds, and a singular blue sapphire. The diamonds were the size of a thumb each; gaudy and sparkling as the large circle diamonds covered most of her head. There were three gems that rested against her forehead, sapphire in the middle.

The dark blue sapphire brushed against the space between her brow, more noticeable than the diamonds.

The ebony skinned girl forgot about the jewelry that adorned her head, despite its weight.

She was grateful to be the second daughter to the crown; no burden heaved on her heart or squoze her head.

The servant women kneeled before her, one rubbing a seven pointed star with fervor. The teen of ten and nine scowled in disbelief.

The Summer Islands allowed free practices of religion despite the Island's having their own Gods. Majority of the inhabitants prayed to the twenty different Somerset Deities.

Shaeneera did not pray to the same God's and Goddesses, but she had respect for them. However, Shaeneera had never witnessed a land so dependent on their religion.

The Princess swallowed thickly, folding her hands in front of her exposed stomach properly.

It felt as if her heart had fallen into stomach, and the acid started to tear away at the organ.

“We give our deepest apologies, Princess!” Shaeneera's right eye twitched in annoyance at the woman's scratchy voice wobbling. The black beauty mark under her eye jumped with the movement, but all the women saw was anger.

Shaeneera rolls her eyes with annoyance, “Rise ladies, I intend not to harm you,” The women scrambled from the floor with tears glistening in their eyes.

“Thank you, Princess,” The same one sobbed out, clutching the sides of her Targaryen red gown nervously.

“Don't let the other Lord's hear you, ladies,” She warned, staring stoic at the women. The girl didn't find their treasonous words insulting particularly, she almost found them amusing as she listened to the gossip.

Stepping away from the ladies, she nodded firmly. Leaving the maid's quarters open, the teen turned away before she could even witness them curtsey.

A curtsey is given to those you respect, those women had no respect for her or her family.

That fact was the only thing that made her anger spike. Shaeneera clenched her jaw so tight she could feel her molars dig into her gums, along with the dull ache of pain.

Taking two steps outside the door, she was so preoccupied inside her own mind that she was almost greeted with the chest of a man.

Quickly, she moved a pace backwards. She muttered an apology without even looking at her almost-victim of rage induced clumsiness.

Shaeneera didn't have a keen sense of smell like Vhagarhā, but she could pinpoint the scent of freshly washed linen and sulfur on the man's skin.

Looking up through her cosmetics coated lashes, Shaeneera stared at the singular purple-blue eye of the man in front of her.

His other eye is covered by a brown leather eyepatch.

The man's face is angular and sharp with the classic aristocratic features of a Targaryen. High cheekbones blessed his face, they were sharp and prominent with a light dust of pink splotches around the bridge of his straight nose.

No, it wasn't due to an imperfection, Shaeneera noticed – it looked as if he'd been hit.

White hair is a unique trait to those of Valarian descent, but his was different from the silver-gold of the majority. His tresses resembled looking at the shiny coat of pearls, an ivory shade that draped around his head and down his back.

“Princess,” The man bowed slightly forward, grasping her left hand in his right one. The girl hadn't even noticed when he slipped his fingers through her own – she was too entranced with his presence alone.

Shaeneera curtseys, bowing her head slightly, “Prince,” She replies back, not losing the firmness in her voice.

The one-eyed Prince has a smirk plastered on his face, the gentle uptick of the sides of his lips was almost sinister.

The Prince grips her hand hard with a firm grasp that has her wishing to break away. He exuded the aura of a predator, wishing to stalk wild prey that stumbled upon his den.

Shaenyra doesn't gasp, she doesn't move an inch as the Prince stares into her dark ocean eyes with a dangerous interest. His gaze has her head spinning, even as she appears unimpressed.

Aemond breaks eye contact first, his pride wounded seemingly as he heaves out a breathy chuckle. The laugh seemed to come from deep within his chest, his eye shining with amusement.

When his eye traced the gems of her circlet and pale golden hair, his expression seemed to sour.

The man transformed his expression with a flare of his nose, he huffed an aggravated sigh. His top lip curled upward into a twisted look of disgust and his purple eye started to glitter like the sea around his pupil.

Shaeneera couldn't tell if he was entranced, amused, or disgusted with her presence.

Either way how the man felt, he glared down at her dark blue eyes like he was wishing to pick her apart for what she was.

Shaeneera wouldn't give the Prince the satisfaction of getting under her skin; she thinks she cares too little of arguing to actually indulge in one of unimportance.

The man goes to speak, smirk tacked on his face and arrogance seeping out of every pore in his body.

Shaeneera quickly cuts the man off before he can get a word in, a sentence rushing out of her mouth, “Apologies, i'm heading to the library and must be on my way,” The woman waits while she's speaking for Aemonds hold to go slack and she pulls away from the Prince with polite small smile.

Aemonds hands were rough against her soft ones. The palms were torn and calloused, no doubt from sparring. He seemed strong with a muscular form and weighty grip, if push came to shove he could've easily overpowered her.

His hand pulls her back by the wrist once more, warm flesh zapping her with heat.

“You are our guest, allow me to escort you,” His smirk is all arrogance that makes her sigh harshly through her nose.

The taller man doesn't give her an option, pulling her hand to link with his arm as he all but drags her to start walking.

The prince sports a jet black tunic and breeches with the Targaryen signal embroidered into the leather in the left corner. There are black dragon scales at the shoulder pads of the tunic that makes the attire fit for a Targaryen.

She supposes he doesn't need to wear anything green as Vhagar wears it for him.

“Do I have something on my face?” He asks smugly.

Shaeneera could scoff. Instead, she turns her head to look outside the windows of the keep in an attempt to ignore the older man.

The girl can feel the burn of his remaining lilac eye in the back of her skull. The second Princess of the Summers Isles does not falter, her eyes trying to find something else to occupy her mind with other than thoughts of the Prince.

The pair walks in silence for a while, Aemond seemingly bothered and Shaeneera taking in the Westerosi architecture that differed from the Islands.

The attendants bowed and curtseyed to them as they walked by, so Shaeneera pulled her lips into a gentle half smile to be polite.

A stone path leads them outside near an edge of the Godswood, and she can spot the stairwell to the Library in the front. The stairs were made of brick, just a short walk up to her destination.

Letting out a breath she starts to pick up speed with her steps. She hopes to find a fantasy book for Vhagarhā’s colorful mind to indulge in.

As she makes haste to the stairwell, a gleam of a gemstone flashes in her peripheral. Instinctively the Princess halts her step and turns to face the Godswood.

A large Weirwood tree grows in the far corner by the wall and bushes, its pale bark and red leaves unmistakable as she searches for the cause of light.

Shaeneera knows what the back of her sister's head looks like; her ginger curls are unique with a look of spun diamond and gold highlighted in them. Her marmalade dress, that their Mother picked that morning, accented beautifully against the light brown-gold of her skin.

The pink gemstone was from Leng, a gorgeous milky pearlescent gem that specially caught light. Her youngest sister had a habit of socializing with others; the gem served as a locator for not only the royals, but her guards.

Shaeneera took a deep breath when noticing her small sister's company. The Viper Queen sat next to her sweet sister on a picnic blanket.

The woman clad in Hightower green spoke to the youngest Princess with a soft smile as the girl chewed on a candied orange slice.

Vhagarhā’s doe eyes catch her hardened gaze. The girl tilts her head, questioning Shaeneera's expression silently. A few spirals of the child's curls fall loose from her low bun, and onto her cheek.

The Queen leans over a picnic basket and brushes a coil away from her face with a closed lip smile.

Shaeneera blinks slowly with a raised brow.

The foreign woman notices the Queen's eyes move to stare at her, closed off with an air of mistrust around her. One of the Queen's hands goes to place itself on Vhagarhā's shoulder and the child welcomes it, leaning into the touch.

The Summer Islanders are used to physical affection; it's how they bonded with each other whether it was sexual or platonic. The Westerosi were not as inclined to give such affections, and Shaeneera sighs again to herself in disbelief.

Vhagarhā's hands start to wave at the pair on the other side of the Godswood, her gold accessories shining in accent against her pale nut colored skin.

Alicent rises from her place on the blanket and sends the child a smile from where she stands behind her. She moves her hands behind her back as she nods at them both, lips pressed in a thin line.

Dragons were dragons. It didnt matter if you were born into the possessive nature or adapting to it.

Shaeneera knew that and she could feel the carnage happening now.

The rest of the moon's course was bound to be eventful, to say the least, as they stayed in the Red Keep.

“That one is quite… friendly, right Princess?” Aemonds smooth posh voice takes her out of her thoughts.

The Princess scowls at the man, then she moves to pull him to walk with her as their arms are linked.

At her annoyance, the teenager noticed how his eye glittered like a purple sunset hitting the ocean waves.

Shaeneera bit the side of her cheek, dispelling the thought.

“The Viper Queen is just as vicious looking as they say,” She thinks instead.

Alicent's eyes were squinted into a judgemental stare, and snake green was a part of every aspect of her dress instead of ruby red.

A silver Seven pointed star is hung around the Queen Alicent's neck, and Shaeneera could roll her eyes back into her skull at the sight.

Shaeneera didn't discriminate, but that star was starting to feel like a bad omen that left the taste of ash in her mouth.

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

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Pink's Tea Time ~

The fanfiction curse is so unbelievably real bc why did my life turn to shit in a matter of days ??? I'm jaw dropped, gagged rn...

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

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SWEET SUMMER ORANGE

Targaryen Dynasty x Fem!Teen!OC

"Green must find her way to orange, or all is lost. The dragons will dance and die, surrounded by fire and blood.”

Multiple Main Pairings!

Main Focus ~ Fem!OC and Targaryen Dynasty (Yandere, Obsessive, Protective)

Warnings ~ Nostalgia, Heartbreak, Anger, Alicents Person Feelings of Rhaenyra, and Denial.

Spoilers ~ Tons!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 2k Words.

Chp Summary ~ Alicent tries to eat lemon cakes on her own to quell her sadness after speaking to her father. Vhagarhā Qo, who perfers oranges, is a child unlike any other the Queen has ever met, but she reminds Alicent of all her children; as if she mourns the idea of who they were and cannot fathom who they are now.

Chp 3 ~ Sweet Orange Tart, Sour Lemon Cake, Bitter Apple Turnover

Alicent had grown to enjoy the smell of lemon cake in her youth.

Now looking down at the sweet treat displayed on top of the serving table, Alicent breathed in the sweet citrus smell and refrained from gagging.

It was too sweet, not enough lemon present; the recipe had changed. Alicent favored granny smith apple turnovers, the bitter apple pleasant to her taste buds.

What followed in the wake of lemon cake at the red keep was what she really enjoyed.

The smell of wooden fire and sweet lemon followed the air wherever Rhaenyra Targaryen walked. None knew that the Princess had a breeze of brimstone on her skin after a day of dragon riding.

Alicent knew as the Princess curled under her arm and in her lap when they were frolicking kids in the Keep.

Meeting Rhaenyra had been the downfall of Alicent's life.

The Princess had involved her deeper into politics by proxy of her company, and Alicent resented the fact the Princess betrayed her trust.

That is why they do not speak, that is why Rhaenyra left Kings Landing to live at Dragonstone with her cowardly ways.

Picking up a lemon cake, she placed it over a small glass serving plate and bit in.

The crunch of the candied lemon on top invited her with a sweet tang; the sweetness being followed by an even sweeter soft cake that had icing dribbled on top.

The lemon cake was sweet by itself naturally. Alicent realized what was off, the candied lemon was too thick with melted sugar and it was canceling the natural sourness.

“They are quite sweet aren't they, Queen Alicent?” Alicent whirls around, her plate still in hand and lemon cake shifting with the haste of Alicent's movements.

The newcomer had a sweet bell-like voice that reminded Alicent of Helaena when she was younger.

The shy kindness is all Aemond – before the incident however. Alicent clears her head of the thoughts.

The Queen's hazel-green eyes first catch the ginger-orange of the girl's hair.

The boldly colored hair is thick like a Velaryon's. The Queen can tell despite the corkscrew curls being slicked back into a neat bun at the back of the girl's head.

Curls spill outside the bun elegantly as there are autumn-colored faux flower hairpins inside of her tresses.

The next thing the Queen notices is an expensive-looking gold circlet that wraps around the child's head.

The design is simple with a small gemstone that rests in the middle of the child's forehead.

A sign of royalty.

Alicent squints her eyes at the gem, the pink teardrop shaped stone glittering in the sunlight.

“Yes, Indeed. And you might be?” Alicent places her plate down on a space the serving table has.

She clasps her hands in front of herself as she takes in the child's brightly colored gown, trying to associate her with a region.

“Princess Vhagarhā Qo, of The Sweet Lotus Vale in Jhala,” The girl bows her head and curtseys to the Queen.

Alicent curtseys back out of respect.

She swallows a bit of her pride.

Alicent Hightower studied like no other within the Keep, always staying up to read her books and retain knowledge.

Alicent shakes away a memory of a blonde that comes to her mind, and covers it up with a tilt of her head.

She'd never heard of the Summers Isles before.

Alicent licks the bottom of her lip quickly as she attempts to store away and make note of the exotic name.

It sounded traditionally Valerian, with a twist of words at the end.

The girl's accent sounded like liquid amber; smooth and sweet as the common tongue escaped her mouth.

“If it pleases you Queen Alicent; you may call me Vhae Summers,” The girl's teeth are an unnaturally blinding white, the viper notices.

Without changing the expression on her face, she scrutinizes the child under her harsh gaze.

The child seemed unnaturally pure, like soft fallen snow that hadn't been stepped on.

Her marmalade colored dress was one of fall, with different brightly colored leaves and flowers stitched into the fine fabric.

Small fake flowers, made up of a sheer material alicent didn't recognize, started from the left side of where her ribs sat to make a sleeve.

The other sleeve was the same way with the sheer fake orange flowers covering her arms but it started from behind her on her back.

The Summers Isle had an elevated taste for fashion beyond anything Alicent had seen or studied.

The child looked truly regal as she stood covered up enough for the fall breeze.

Large golden hooped earrings, thick bangles, chunky rings with colorful gemstones, a gold necklace filled with different cut gems.

Whoever the child was, she came from money beyond Oldtown or the Lannisters.

Alicent quits her staring as she notices the child fiddling with her fingers.

Alicent blinks, rubbing her hands down the sides of her gown.

“Would you like to join me by the weirwood, Princess?” Her hands ball tightly into fists, the words escape her mouth faster than she can think.

She imagined repeating those words to one with silver-white gold hair and deep lilac eyes.

The child has light brown skin, a smooth nutty color with speckles of teak that splattered across her face and hands.

Another happy reaction is pulled from her heart-shaped face, displaying the pink of her gums and joyous smile on her thick lips.

“Of course! I would love to!” The girl's gown flows against the gentle breeze of autumn as she moves to link arms with Alicent.

Alicent blinks again in surprise at the gesture.

She can see a pair of knights at their station start to move before she lifts a hand to beckon them away.

The woman of forty and three shivers at the childish affection, unused to another person initiating wholesome skinship.

Vhae's dress is a long one, the expensive cotton garment brushes the floor with a gentle sway, breathable and moveable.

Swallowing a sigh of anxiousness, Alicent decides to speak first but rethinks her words before she speaks them.

“So Queen Alicent, anything exciting going on in King's Landing this month?” The child's other hand goes to grasp Alicent's hand, free of wounded flesh and cuticles nicely manicured by a servant.

The Summer child's nails are covered in nail varnish, a lively pink, with delicate leaf detailing in multiple different colors.

Alicent thinks to ask the girl of her home country, their fashions quite different from Westeros.

At the darker girl's question, Alicent's mind drifts to the battle of succession that will be held in court soon.

“Well, there is court being held in five days' time. And of course, the ladies of the realm are planning a charity event that will take place here on the twelfth moon,” Alicent's tone is a bore as she recites over the larger events outside of her small council activities.

“Oh, court? How exactly is your court held here? In my country, court is held with the Ladies of Judgement,” Alicent's eyebrows raise as she takes in women having a station of absolute power for themselves.

Clearing her throat she responds to the question diligently, “Here court is held in the Red Keep when lords in higher power petition it so. The King will usually handle such matters but the King is feeling unwell at the moment.”

The girl hums and the pair stop in front of the carved face weirwood.

Breaking away from the Queen's hold that seemingly tightened through their walk, she lifts a hand to the face of the tree hesitantly.

Alicent sees a past memory of Rhaenyra, white long hair staring back at her as she traced the face of the sacred Weirwood.

A flock of servants break her out of her trance as they pass under the open walkway of the gardens.

They bow respectfully with straight faces and go rigid when she lifts her hand for them to stay.

Vhagarhā is circling around the thick white tree, hand tracing the thick bark of the red leafed tree.

The girl has that wide smile again that makes the Green Queen reluctantly grin.

“Fetch us a spread for a picnic,” The Queen demands. She gives the servants a small quirk of a smile as she watches the girl no older than ten and five.

Turning back to the child, she lays backwards with her entire body laying on the lush padded grass. She has no care about her delicate dress getting dirty with Earth.

It reminds her of the young Princess, she reminds her of the young Princess.

Carefree and wild, taking to life like a duck in water or a dragon to fire.

Alicent represses a grimace to give the child a small tight-lipped smile.

Alicents nails start to dig into the flesh of her palms, indenting crescent moons into soft skin.

A hand pulls her out of her thoughts, and she retracts her nails from her flesh.

The Summers Isle child is marveling at the leaves as if it was the first time she's seen them before.

Only then does Alicent notice it.

She casts a glance at the child's eyes and catches a glimpse of purple.

Vhagarhā looks up at Alicent, her irises shining a pale lilac purple, almost white as if she were blind.

Near the child's pupils, a molten orange color swirls against her slitted purple, similar to a beasts.

Alicents eyes go wide, and she squeezes the foreign girl's hand in a panic; accidentally catching her attention.

“Oh, I do hope you guys have orange tarts! They are one of my favorite pastries,” She remarks with a questioning look on her face.

Rocking forward on the tips of her heels excitedly, she averts her gaze to the plethora of servants who lay out a picnic sheet and baskets of food.

The Green Queen goes steady, fear ebbing away from her as she analyzes the child's features once more.

Copper-orange hair with strings of white diamond laced between the curls, a trait of Old Valarian blood.

A button nose, small, but ethnic like a Velaryon's.

Her skin is a shade lighter than Laenors, a red undertone to the brown skin and freckles spread out all over her face.

A oval heart shaped face, similar to a celtigar, but with more fat on her cheeks rather than sharp and hollow.

Lilac swirling eyes with hints of coral and slitted pupils similar to a – Dragon.

Alicent knew nothing of the Summers Isles – but this child was special.

Vhagarhā didn't resemble Rhaenyra, she even didn't look like any Valyrian Alicent had ever seen.

Vhagarhā Qo is positively a stunning child.

One with features she cannot match to any region but of Old Valerian blood beyond the Targaryens.

Alicent wants to rip her hand away, and walk back to her solar but – Vhagarhā gives her a smile that brightens up the Keep, despite the sun out in full effect.

Vhagarhā is not Rhaenyra or one of her brood, she's a foreign child for the Sevens sake.

Vhagarhā was unnaturally stunning, but didnt have the sharp features of a Targaryen besides her eyes.

She was soft, pure.

Even with the eyes of a Dragon hidden within her pupils, her eyes were wide and inviting.

Alicent thought that she would always resent the classic aristocratic look of a Targaryen.

The purple eyes, and majestically stunning features beyond human understanding.

She thought she hated them, but that hate melted into sorrow when she saw her children's faces.

The child's soft way of speaking reminds her of Aemond as a child – sweet and kind before he lost his eye.

Her smile reminds Alicent of Aegon's previous sunny spirit before he drowned in his cups.

Her fascination is a mirror of Helaena as she discovers a new insect; before her nightmares and flinching away.

Alicent cannot even try and sic a trait of Daeron onto the child; she hardly remembers his face before he was whisked away from her to Oldtown.

Alicent didn't know this, but she needed someone to just be around. She was lonely even in the presence of her children – regardless If she made them turn out mad.

She didn't think so though, she was just ensuring their safety.

Any thought of that white haired lier makes Alicents stomach turn sick and her heart pound ferociously.

For the first time in many years, Alicent smiles, huffing out a laugh, “Of course sweetling, we have plenty.”

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

Text

SWEET SUMMER ORANGE

Targaryen Dynasty x Fem!Teen!OC

"Green must find her way to orange, or all is lost. The dragons will dance and die, surrounded by fire and blood."

Multiple Main Pairings!

Main Focus ~ Fem!OC and Targaryen Dynasty (Yandere, Obsessive, Protective)

Warnings ~ Self Harm, Physical Abuse, Mental Abuse, Grooming, and Otto Hightower!

Spoilers ~ Tons!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 1.2k Words.

Chp 2 Summary ~ With the Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon, fatally injured, the question of succession to The Driftwood Throne is amiss. Vaemond Velaryon calls Lucerys Velaryon's legitimacy into question, Otto favors this action as Vaemond is an asset to the Greens. Alicent Hightower is drowned in green guilt for just a moment before being reminded who she is by her father.

Chp 2 ~ Her Mother's Daughter, Her Father's Dog

Lord Corlys has taken a fatal injury in the second battle of The Stepstones.

Alicent draws a harsh breath at the revelation, hands coming up to her temples as she listens to the Lord's drone about the news that came from Ravens.

Her Father and the other small council Lords spoke of Vaemond Velaryon's note, asking to petition Lucerys Velaryon's claim to the Driftwood Throne in turn for his own.

The King has remained unaware of these new developments as he remains sedated on the milk of the poppy.

Alicent's hands start to shake as she folds them, reminding herself to not pick at her fingers delicate flesh.

She interrupts their conversation, “Lord Corlys has always remained adamant on the Prince Lucerys inheriting the Driftwood Throne, this petition is out of question,” She states, eyes looking at the sheep that flock to her Father.

The man rolls his council marble between his fingers, looking at Alicent with a pinched look on his face, “You are all dismissed,” his baritone voice cuts through the tension thickening in the room.

The other lords stand, placing their marbles in the dish and filing out of the room with two knights and Ser Criston closing the door.

Otto's eyes start to resemble hardened emeralds as they darken.

“Vaemond Velaryon can be a sure ally to The Throne,” Otto starts, folding his hands over one another with a smug arrogance gracing his aura.

Alicent looks back into her Father's confident green eyes with disbelief inside her hazel eyes. “And Lucerys Velaryon will not be to his Grandsire?” Alicent tries to convince herself that her Father is not once more uttering potentially treasonous words.

Otto Hightower believes his daughter is just as naive as she was when she was just Rhaenyra Targaryen's pet – now she is the Queen, thanks to his advancements.

His darling child is a flashing image of her mother; naivety and self-righteousness dripping from her mouth and bleeding from her eyes.

Otto stands, walking closer to his auburn-haired child and her breath holds as she looks up at his form in front of her.

The man wonders how none of his children got the notion that they had to take history into their own hands. That is how he raised the Hightower name higher than ever before.

Their green is their legacy and they would cover every inch of Westeros eventually.

“When will you learn Alicent?” His top lip furls back and his teeth bare like an animal as he hisses his proclamation, “After the reign of the King Viserys, Aegon–”

Alicent's hands slam on the white stone table.

“That boy is not fit to rule!” Alicent speaks the truth, tears shining in her eyes as her father looks at her with disgust.

Her throat wells with a sob that aches to escape, she didn't want any of this. She didn't want anything to do with the political Game of Thrones.

Otto seizes her shoulders, the long sleeves of her green dress ruffled as he pulls her close to his face.

Otto enjoyed seeing the oxygen leave his child's body as she stood still with fear.

In truth, he had never hit Alicent.

Well.

Maybe once, but it was an accident of course. He swore to The Seven it was.

It was her fault for being born to look so much like her mother with those big puppy eyes and long brown hair.

It was like staring at the split image of a woman who once breathed to hurt and curled around the warmth harm gave her.

With the way her self-righteousness and narcissism dictated her decisions, Alicent was bound to listen to the vipers whisper til the day she died.

Otto just hoped that day would happen after Aegon's son, Jaehaerys, took the Iron Throne. The boy was promising just like the first King Jaehaerys, peaceful and light was his soul.

He had never harmed his daughter, who favored her late Mother so much, that it made his youngest son call Alicent Mother.

Foolish was that boy anyway in Otto's opinion.

He carried out orders well and was the prime example of a follower. The Hand's green eyes shined in delight at that though.

If only Alicent did not have her mothers questioning nature.

If only he didn't have to pull the same tricks up his sleeve to quell her compassion for the Blacks.

“He is the challenge, Alicent,” Anger spiked in Otto's veins as he shook his child where she sat.

“Just by breathing he is at stake. Would you like to see your children's head a fucking spike?” Otto Hightower was good at manipulation, especially towards his daughter.

He could see as Alicent's hazel eyes crested over forest green, she thought of her past relationship with the heir-to-be.

Alicent had convinced herself long ago that her relationship with the Dragonstone Princess ruined everything for her future.

Petty lies led to waging war through the color of dress skirts and sharp remarks.

A dog is what Alicent was, a puppy with wide eyes that would forever heel to her master's call.

Otto praised himself for having the girl on a long leash when she was younger; only to tighten it when she inevitably didn't know how to fix her broken relationship with the Princess.

Alicent would be lost without his wisdom.

“And your grandchildren would be next!” For the next act, Otto lays on a thick wet rasp that infiltrates his tone as he breaks eye contact with Alicent, and moves to walk out the door.

“My great grandchildren… I refuse to fail them as a Grandsire.” The man clears his throat and sighs with fake exhaustion as he runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair, graying with age.

“We will speak of this matter on the marrow, Alicent,” His hand curls his fingers around the door slowly and –

“Father, please,” Otto shifts his eyes to see Alicents that look upon him with defeat.

She walks around the Small council table and stands in front of him like a meek woman.

“You are right. Vaemond Velaryon will be a fine asset.” The Green Queen's poison escapes her as she whispers, hands clasped around each other as she stares down at them.

Otto could smell his victory approaching as the days went on and the King got more ill.

The Maesters believed it was only a matter of time.

Alicent could feel guilt swimming in her stomach as she fiddled with her fingers.

The silver Hand to the King appointed pin stared back at the woman with a mocking gesture; her station is all she would be.

Maybe she should just allow it to consume her already like it did her Father.

“Do not lower your head Alicent. You are Queen,” He lifts her head with his hands, his wax seal ring brushing her jaw.

Alicent slowly breathes out and recites a prayer inside her head, praying to the Seven as Alicent – Not Queen Hightower.

“Vaemond will arrive in two days time, Rhaenyra and her brood in four. Court will be held on the fifth day. Rest daughter, we have much to discuss.”

Otto leaves Alicent in pieces in the small council discussion room, her heart in her hands and head mushed on the floor.

Old dogs did not learn new tricks; they played the ones they knew over and over, until one day, they wouldn't move ever again for their masters.

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

Text

SWEET SUMMER ORANGE

Targaryen Dynasty & Fem!Teen!OC

"Green must find her way to orange, or all is lost. The dragons will dance and die, surrounded by fire and blood.”

Multiple Main Pairings!

Main Focus ~ Fem!OC and Targaryen Dynasty (Yandere, Obsessive, Protective)

Warnings ~ Bad Parenting, Mentions of Past Teen Parenting, Criston Cole, Mentions of Otto Hightower, and Helaena's Prophecies.

Spoilers ~ Tons!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 1.8k Words.

Chp Summary ~ Queen Alicent Hightower has a special talent where every word that exits her mouth is like spat-out poison.

Chp 1 ~ Weeps of Water

The Green Viper Queen-Consort, Alicent Hightower, was lonely.

In her lonesome, she sat mulling over her thoughts. Although, she wasnt alone, she was constantly surrounded by ladies – who only spoke when spoken to. And the lords conversed with her – but they looked to her Father to speak for her, as if she wasn't the Queen-Consort.

For years she had suffered, confined inside her mind and no one who would listen; no one but The Seven.

Her Father deemed that he knew what was best for the realm. That he was doing what was best for his family's survival, that he would do whatever it took to make sure his family stayed alive.

He wouldn't allow them to die – not after his children's Mother's unfortunate, tragic death.

Alicent simply won the affections of the King when attempting to console him about his late wife; then she had to perform her duty as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

It was just unfortunate that she bore a male heir for Viserys; Otto was just making sure that his family would be safe as Aegon became the challenge to The Throne.

What would it mean for Alicent's family to stay alive, if it was broken beyond repair?

It would sooner rip itself apart by the seams as Aegon drank himself silly, Aemond beat others near death, Helaena mumbled useless nonsense, and Daeron nosing himself into adventures.

Alicent did not dig deeper into her thoughts as her only daughter, Helaena, came into sight; sitting with Dyana in the Garden.

The two oldest children, twins Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, are inseparable. The two are conjoined at the hip practically; even as Jaehaerys listens to his sister and Mother converse cryptically about insects while they indulge in needlework.

Dyana watches over Maelor, the youngest of the triad at six, as he plays with a wooden turtle toy and pushes it at his brother's calf harmlessly. Jaehaerys smiles down at the boy, running his knuckles over the boy's brow.

“Helaena, grandchildren,” Alicent nods at the servant girl to leave and she does; attempting to collect the young Maelor who grips his brother's knee.

“Haerys no,” The child draws out the word ‘no’ and wraps his arms around his brother's neck as the older bends down. The small child hoists himself onto the oldest sibling's lap.

Jaehaerys places a hand in his younger brother's hair, knotting his fingers through the boy's curls. His other arm cradles the child closer like stolen treasure and he makes a low cooing sound; his voice deepening more every day into a low rasp.

“Rūs, please, calm down,” Jaehaerys mutters a sentence Alicent cannot understand so low that she can barely make out syllables. The woman dressed in dark green does not doubt that the words were of High Valyrian.

Maelor squeals in the back of his throat quietly as his brother presses a kiss to the fat of his cheek.

Jaehaerys looks up at his Grandmother, dark purple eyes swirling with carefree emotion, “Maelor can stay surely, Grandmother?” He mutters eyes flitting back down to the child who gets comfortable on his chest.

“Of course, my dear,” She starts with a small smile.

Jaehaerys doesn't speak to her often, only keeping their interactions short as he has a keen eye out for the two estranged women.

The boy is known in Kingdoms as the Realms Jester; equally as unserious and dangerous as he wields a sword with fervor.

She wishes that her Grandchildren – If not her children – would speak to her.

However, they do not. Alicent attempts to carry out more conversation, but fails miserably.

She watches as Jaehaerys bends his head to nose at the crook of the boy's neck; she's always noted how possessive Targaryens were of their young, forever protecting them with blazing eyes.

Jaehaerys may keep an eye on his two estranged family members, but he always has a hand on Maelor; she believes it may be tiring.

It was for her at the age of five and ten.

“Jaehaerys, wouldn't you like to give Maelor to Dyana? Surely you don't enjoy to concern yourself with the trifles of children at your age,” Alicent truly means well as she attempts to place her hand on his shoulder.

The Hightower woman was raised by a Viper with a sharp tongue, most of his words slighting and poisonous in its wake. She truly attempts to transport herself to how she spoke with gentle ease as a young teen – but without the weakness or hesitation.

Jaehaerys' smile gives out and turns into a flat line as Maelor whines, pressing himself closer to his brother. The boy fists the other's soft yellow tunic with a sharp cry in Valyrian that she cannot understand.

Alicent doesn't realize until the last second that her youngest grandchild is no babe, and can understand the weight of her words.

“I will go if you don't want me here,” The child says, voice sapped with sadness. Maelor's purple eyes start to well with tears, the glint of green in them starting to shine like an evergreen tree.

“No crying, ñuha dōna valītsos, you will stay,” Jaehaerys bounces the boy mindlessly with the whisper, making the boy slump against the older.

Jaehaerys eyes shine with something hard; a deep black obsidian crests over within the purple as his grin becomes one of a wolf.

“Surely,” The boy starts, with teeth sharp and words playful, “I do, indeed Grandmother, concern myself with my brother's trifles as they are nothing more than weeps of water in a world filled with wine.”

Jaehaerys bats his long pale lashes and turns his body, hiding Maelor in his chest as his movements brush Alicent's hand off of him.

“Tell us, Grandmother, where is Father now? Surely he would want to trifle himself with his youngest sons, no?”

“Or maybe he is the trifling one himself filled with poisoned wine?” This is what Alicent knows her oldest grandchild itches to say as he insinuates infidelity upon Aegon.

The boy speaks with his head high as Alicent gasps a breath, she looks towards the servant girl who debates leaving but doesn't know whether to take the child.

“You can leave us now Dyana, thank you,” Jaehaerys responds with a smile, eyes soft and kind at the woman just five years older than his five and ten.

The tension shifts as the servant curtseys, and Jaehaerys coos at Maelor whose eyes droop.

“Oh, sweetling, you've worked yourself tired,” Jaehaerys rises from his chair, seemingly taller than her as he secures his sword on his hip and the growing child on the other.

Jaehaerys is a clone of Aemond; his long blonde white hair tied in a sleek male bun behind his head, a lock of shorter hair in the front brushing his cheek.

“Come, let us rest under the Weirwood, huh, ñuha tresy?”

Alicent doesn't know much of the High Valyrian language, the proclamation of Jaehaerys claiming his brother as his child is unknown to her ears.

The word Kepa is whispered into the shell of the fifteen-year-old's ear, making him rumble with delight.

That word, Alicent would understand, as she heard it mumbled from her three kids when they were children. Maelor knows to hush when uttering that word when referring to Jaehaerys.

The older wished his boy could yell it freely instead.

Alicent makes an internal note to speak to the Maesters about having her Grandchildren focus more on their Septa and Septons.

Jaehaera wears a yellow dress matching the color of her brothers. The sleeves drop down around her hands in ruffles that sway as she rises from her chair.

"I will join you, brother,” She says monotonous. Jaehaera turns to kiss her Mother's head before curtseying to Alicent.

“My Queen,” Alicent can feel her heart crack.

Queen is all she ever is and would be.

Alicent nods and after a pregnant pause of silence, she sits down next to Helaena who continues her needling of an insect.

She can hear Jaehaerys recall gossip in the court boisterously as they walk along the stone pathway. Alicent wishes someone would speak to her about petty gossip, she wishes her grandchildren were free with her.

“How have you been, daughter?” Alicent smiles tentatively and tries not to touch Helaena as she flinches easily.

Her spring child hums thoughtfully, “A succession of blue, what could be not true, as the sea breeze calls clearly as the second sons do,” She remarks, almost entranced in a mist as her eyes widen and she pauses her work.

Alicent swallows thickly, eyes misting over as she presses her lips in a thin unamused line. “Whatever do you mean, my child?” This is what she always remarks when Helaena starts to mumble her nonsense.

Suddenly, Helaena grasps Alicent's hands tightly; cold fingers pressing into her delicate skin. Alicent doesn't think she's even touched Halaena since she was six summers old and could weep at the affection.

“Open a blind eye, for the orange is sweet and green is bitter,” Alicent doesn't take note of the prophetic words, only focusing on the pads of her child's fingers which grip her palm.

Ser Criston approaches the mother and daughter stiffly, bowing his head in respect before speaking.

“Your grace, The Hand of the King, Lord Otto Hightower, wishes to speak with you and the small council,” The knight steps back after saying his words, awaiting the Queen's response.

Alicent looks back at Helaena who has forgone holding her mother's hand and angrily stitches her insect pattern into cloth.

Alicent rises, smoothing out the top skirt of her dark green dress; she embraces the feeling of the whale bone-lined corset digging into her side.

The silver embellishments across the dress weigh down her movements and she touches the star of The Seven that hangs peacefully around her neck.

“God's be good,” Is what she thinks as religion is all she can call upon for mercy.

Ser Criston gazes upon Alicent with a look of urgency and respect. Alicent clears her throat and folds her hands in front of her.

She stands tall and strong as one from the House of the Dragon should, with a faux bravado of one of them.

The woman thinks of what her Grandchild said. “Nothing but mere weeps of water in a world filled with wine,” Alicent's cup is spilling over with it, the red staining everything she touches.

“Daughter, I expect to see you at supper. Lead the way Ser Criston,” Alicent leaves without another glance at the Princess, her hands clammy around each other.

Helaena nods and smiles shyly at her mother's retrieving form. Alicent Hightower may not have been a mother to her, but in this dance, she will walk a path of fire, or poison.

Helaena prays to the old Gods and the new ones, "Green must find her way to orange, or all is lost. The dragons will dance, and die, surrounded by fire and blood.”

Helaena prays to the God's, her fingers shaking, because she knows the God's can be good, just as well as unforgiving.

High Valyrian Translations ~

Rūs ~ Baby.

ñuha dōna valītsos ~ My sweet boy.

ñuha tresy ~ My son.

Kepa ~ Dad/Father.

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

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SWEET SUMMER ORANGE MASTERPOST

Targaryen Dynasty & Fem!Teen!OC

"Green must find her way to orange, or all is lost. The dragons will dance and die, surrounded by fire and blood.”

Multiple Main Pairings!

Eventual Romance Between ~ Main Fem!OC (14) x Jaehaerys II (15) x Aegon III (15)

Main Focus ~ Fem!OC and Targaryen Dynasty (Yandere, Obsessive, Protective)

Warnings ~ Depression, Anxiety, Neglect, Physical Abuse, Mental Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Substance Abuse, Alcoholism, Relapse, Prostitution, Grooming, Anger, Obsessions, Self Harm, Suicide, Possessive Behavior, Yandere Behavior, Targaryen Usual Incest, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Violent, Poison, Death, Murder, War, Men, Misogyny, Criston Cole, and Otto Hightower.

Disclaimer ~ Please read with discretion! I read Fire and Blood in the past, and Lucaemond in the show is soooo much different than the book nuances! For one, Aemond doesn't look 16, and Lucerys' actor is young (I still love both depictions!) When I mention their relationship in the future with a OC, I personally have in mind Ewan Mitchell and Logan Lerman since I've decided to make the characters older. (I was kinda tempted to make it cutesy between them, keeping it true to the book ages, but were in too deep now.) If you want to see the casting I have in mind for every OC and some other characters; it's going to be on Wattpad when I cross-post this later. Read at your own risk, please!

Spoilers ~ Tons!!

Summary of Entire Story ~ Below.

Chapters ~ Under the Break.

Status ~ On-Going.

“Trust is something that people break. It is inevitable, sweetling, that much you must understand,” Alicent chides as she reminisces about her days under the tree just a foot away.

The child's light brown skin dazzles a beautiful golden hue as the sun's rays kiss her freckled skin.

Vhagarhā hums shortly, a low tone as if in disagreement with the viper's statement.

“Trusting someone is my decision. Proving me wrong is someone else's choice. If someone decides to break my trust, then it must be for good reason. It's only punishable if they've harmed me. If not, then why would I care about something so silly, my lady?”

Pushing up from Alicent's lap, the child looks up directly into the eye of the sun. The light makes her pale lilac and coral eyes seem like they absorb the sun's rays; the strange colored eyes glittering.

A smile so bright graces her face, it makes Alicents cheeks hurt looking at it. In that moment, the Queen-Consort is sure the girl is sunshine reincarnated with all its radiant beauty.

In which Queen Alicent Hightower befriends a Valyrian girl from the Summer Isles, just a week before the discussion of the Driftwood Throne.

꒰･‿･๑꒱

Chp 1 ~ Weeps of Water

Chp 2 ~ Her Mother's Daughter, Her Father's Dog

Chp 3 ~ Sweet Orange Tart, Sour Lemon Cake, Bitter Apple Turnover

Chp 4 ~ The Seven Pointed Star

Chp 5 ~ The Job of a Royal Guard

Chp 6 ~ A Violent Dog

Chp 7 ~ Blue

Chp 8 ~ The Bigger Picture

Chp 9 ~ To Be Loved

Chp 10 ~ A Friend or Foe, A Floral Interlude

Chp 11 ~ Ten Thousand Ships

Chp 12 ~ Coming Soon!

All Other Chapter's ~ Unpublished, In The Works!

Cross Posted On ~ AO3 and eventually Wattpad!

Last Updated ~ 01/31/2024

꒰･‿･๑꒱

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

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LETTER'S TO MY LOVELY

Shinichi Okazaki x American!OC

"I Love You."

Main Paring ~ Shinichi Okazaki x American x American!OC

Warnings ~ Body insecurity, grooming, anxiety, rude behavior, the demon lord, reira, REIRA, REIRA!!

Spoilers ~ Yes!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 2.1k Words

Chp Summary ~ Two nickels weren't a lot, but it was weird that it happened twice. A walk through Shibuya let's Penelope make another friend.

Chp 3 ~ Two Nickels for Penny.

Penelope had missed her stop when Shinichi caught her off guard by thanking her.

As the doors squeaked closed she yipped, and attempted to slide through the door. It closed last second, her body was not as thin as Shinichi’s.

Her body was not as thin as most people in Japan now that she thought about it. She swallowed thickly, opting to shove the saddening thoughts to the back of her mind and play with the boy's shiny belt buckle.

The next stop was a fifty-minute commute from where she was staying instead of a five-minute brisk walk. With a deep sigh, the girl groaned and looked back at the people on the train. Some of the people who stayed for the next stop looked up at her with curiosity lingering in their eyes, others with something short of disgust.

Penelope bit her bottom lip raw and looked down at the gifted leather belt with warm ears.

Looking up at the metros schedule on the electronic teleprompter, the next stop was Shibuya. Shibuya was known for its livelihood and the different cultures that made teens gravitate towards it. Shibuya and Harajuku absolutely take the cake regarding fashion; both are known to be the epicenters of fashion in Japan.

The girl didn't plan on adventuring so far outside of Shinjuku yet, but now as the train started to slow, she realized she'd have to. She wouldnt waste her weekly stedipend money on a cab, regardless if it was generous amount.

An hour walk is how long It would take her to get back to her hotel, Penelope sighed, defeated. It could have been worse.

The teen unwrapped her oversized light pink jacket around her waist, and pulled it over her red, long-sleeved shirt that had a lacy trim on the top. Only then had she realized that her shirt had shifted upwards slightly to show the flesh of her stomach.

Quickly the girl pulled the shirt down, and shoved her small map inside the concealed compartment on the inside lining of the cotton jacket. She placed her phone in her pocket and took the black belt with both hands.

Penelope looped the accessory around her light-washed, baggy jeans without looking up, and pulled the jacket down to cover the designer item. Looking up, some of the metro carts passengers made an effort to advoid eye contact.

Some stared at her in disgust again, which made her shiver, but look away embarrassed.

A grim frown painted Penelope's face as she also remembered she didn't even get the boy's number.

A potential friend was now a figment of her past and all she had to show for his small existence in her mind, was his belt of all things.

“February fourteenth must be been cursed,” she thought offhandedly.

Valentine's day, of all days, had been bittersweet.

When Penelope got off the train, she immediately noticed the amount of life Shibuya had on its streets during the romantic holiday.

There was a mass amount of people in separate groups, and duos, laughing with their friends, families, and lovers. Everyone seemed to be out with their loved ones to soak up all of what the city had to offer.

The girl's eyes were practically stuck open as she walked through the streets slowly; Shibuya was everything and more than what people described it as.

Every turn had something more bizarre and thrilling than the last; she found herself craving whatever sweet-smelling rice dish a stall was selling as she walked through the town.

Twenty minutes into her first walk down the city's colorful streets, Penelope was distracted by colorful, heart-shaped lights strung overhead where an all-male band was performing a pop-rock song. The people in the crowd were rowdy but appeared to be enjoying themselves as they danced to the melody flowing from the amps.

The American girl was so caught up in listening to the music, and reminiscing about the brown-haired boy that occupied the forefront of her mind, that she bumped into somebody.

It wasn't just a light brush against somebody's forearm, no, she slammed into somebody else, her body bouncing backward from the impact.

A woman with salmon pink loose curls looked back at her, her eyes covered with large designer black sunglasses. The hat on her head made most of her features indescribable, as well as the dark grey coat that wrapped around her body.

The woman's hands came up to her face in a look of surprise, Penelope bowed her body at an angle in respect. “I'm sorry! Please forgive me!” the girl said apologetically, cursing her clumsiness and stupidity internally.

A hole could rip open in the Earth below her and she would welcome it to swallow her whole.

The woman made a shrieking sound in the back of her throat and held her hands up understanding, “It's okay! You're fine!” she replied, pulling up her coat even more.

The girl frowned; the air in Tokyo was still cold to her, as a Flordia native where the sun mostly always shines, but it wasn't freezing for such a thick trench coat. Spring weather was edging the air of Shibuya with a brisk breeze.

Suddenly the woman pulled her glasses down for a moment with dark brown curious eyes. “Woah! Your eyes are so pretty!” The woman whisper yelled to the younger, a shocked expression dropping her jaw.

Penelope blinked in surprise. She scratched at the top of her head as her dark curls covered her cheeks embarrassed. “Thank you, your uh…” the girl gestured to the woman's long salmon-dyed tresses that fell to her mid-back. She tugged at a curl of her own hair and pointed at the woman; an understanding smile fell upon the woman's lips.

“Sorry my Japanese isn't good -- I'm a foreigner.” Penelope sighed frustrated, unable to properly communicate with those around her. She was slowly picking up the language as she roamed Chofu and Shinjuku.

The woman removed her glasses with a look of relief and excitement. “Oh!” she said, tense shoulders slouching into a relaxed hunch.

“Do you speak English?” She replied in Penelope's mother tongue.

Penelope's maple-syrupy brown irises glazed over with appreciation. “Yes, I do!” she responded immediately.

“Your hair is gorgeous, I love the color! Pink is one of my favorite colors,” The younger said with a proud smile, playing with her coil of black hair between her fingertips. Penelope had never thought of dying her hair before, her parents would never allow it.

Or god-forbid she cut the long curls off, they may go into cardiac arrest all the way in America. After all, looking the part for a job, looking professional, was important.

No matter the age apparently, according to them.

The mysterious woman looked professional though; she possessed a mature, doting aura that almost reminded Penelope of her second grade art teacher she adored.

The lady in gray giggled, the sound seemingly childish almost, but her voice had a rasp of age. She couldn't be anymore than twenty-five but couldnt be younger thsn eighteen.

“Thank you! Mine's purple actually,” she commented with an angelic hum.

Penelope drew her dark brows together in shock, she tilted her head in confusion, trying to soak in the mystery woman's concealed appearance. “Oh really? Why pink hair then?” She asked curiously.

The woman's mouth opens to respond, but is cut off by the screaming of the crowd as the guitarist of the band does a solo riff. “Long story!” she giggles out nervously.

The lady rocks backward on chunky heeled boots that contradict her entire professional, mysterious outfit. Penelope is sure she has seen multiple ads for the expensive boots displayed in magazines.

“You should dye your hair, you have such pretty curls!” The woman says, grabbing her hand affectionately.

Her lips stretch into a smile of adoration, and it has Penelope blinking. All she did was compliment her hair, but their conversation was very pleasant.

Penelope felt her cheeks heat almost as if she was blushing, “Thank you miss..” she trailed off with raised brows and curious big eyes.

The woman only laughed at her lost expression “Call me Layla,” She said with a smile. Her clear gloss was subtle with a pink tint, the girl noticed a beauty mark dotted by the corner of the woman's lip.

Penelope nodded, giving the mysterious-but-not-so-mystery woman's hand an appreciative squeeze.

Layla's pink-painted acrylic nails tickled the top of Penelope's sensitive skin as she moved to cup both the girl's hands in her pale ones. "Thank you, Ms. Layla!” she giggles involuntarily at the touch.

“No problem!” Ms. Layla smiles and Penelope takes that as a queue to end their conversation.

She goes to pull away, but the woman's hands hold onto her smaller ones tightly. Realizing her involuntary actions, the lady lets go with a sheepish grin.

The woman's eyes are intensely staring back into her own. Penelope can feel herself curl into her oversized jacket, almost uncomfortable being in the direct attention from an older woman.

“Jeez, your eyes are really so pretty and big! You're like a life size babydoll! So cute~” Layla draws the word out childishly. Penelope's face gets warmer, her heart drums faster in her chest at the pinkette's words.

Unlike Shinichi, who had a boyish charm, mature vocabulary, and sly smile; Layla was playful with an air of mystery around her.

“Thank you!” Penelope responded with a respectful smile. Layla is certainly an interesting character in Penelope's eyes so far. She seems like a warm big sister, almost like how a Mother should have been.

Much like the boy she met today, they were both total contradictions for people given their ages; but both kind in their separate ways.

Shinichi was lovely, Layla was doting.

The crowd started to scream again as the rock band finished their set, couples bouncing around each other with joy.

Crew members infiltrated the stage from a cornered off staircase, and began to set up the next act's equipment on the Valentines themed stage.

Layla gave her hands another firm squeeze like someone would do for encouragement. Penelope returned the gesture hesitantly, just barely squeezing her pale hands.

A bittersweet smile stretched on the woman's lips, confusing the girl.

“Well it seems like I've gotta run! Nice to meet you babydoll!” She farewells, rushing out the words abruptly before swiveling around on her chunky boots.

It sounded more like a ‘See you later’ than a goodbye. The mysterious woman seemed almost sad near the end of their conversation.

What type of magnet did Penelope possess that attracted peculiar stranger's today?

Penelope blinks hard, “You too Ms. Layla…” The girl whispers out to the crisp air. No-one else was present in her direct vicinity to hear her confusion.

If Penelope Brown had a nickel for everytime she had an intense, random conversation with people who conveniently spoke English; she'd have two nickels.

Yes, technically she invited Shinichi to sit with her. And yes technically she'd bumped into Layla. And also yes, tons of people spoke multiple languages in the Asian country.

But it was just plain weird.

Two nickels certainly weren't a lot, but it for sure was weird, and its crazy that it happened twice. At least they both were nice acquaintances.

Penelope walked the remaining twenty-five minutes back to her hotel. The black American became more confused with the day as she took every step closer towards Shinjuku, and fell deeper into her own thoughts (that naively brushed off the fact both interactions could have led to her being kidnapped, talk about street skills).

But oh well, "February fourteenth is just an interesting, weird, socially active day," she figured internally with a perplexed huff.

Why did I meet you both on the same day?

It's like Mrs. Hachiko's Demon Lord was laughing down on me as he banished me to a life of suffering. A life that forced me to open my eyes at such an early age, and experience some of the most heart wrenching emotion I've ever gone though to this day.

Or maybe I was just fourteen. Maybe intense emotions were just apart of growing up.

I still wouldn't trade meeting you Shinichi, or any of our friends, now family, for the entire universe. Even knowing how miserably fucked up this one is.

I think we all learned alot from eachother. I know I learned what it meant to love with you.

On that day, when I met you both, maybe that was the Demon Lord's way of saving that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. You both are just that to me, as much as it pains me to say.

You're both like precious nickels in my pocket.

Now its like im throwing you both away into a well, and wishing for something to come out of the price I paid.

Thats cheesy of me to say, I think you'd like it so ill leave it in. You are always so poetic, afterall.

I know somewhere inside your heart, you learned how to feel, you learned how to embrace emotions.

I love you,

Penelope.

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

Text

LETTER'S TO MY LOVELY

Shinichi Okazaki x American!OC

"I Love You."

Main Pairing ~ Shinichi Okazaki x American!OC

Warnings ~ Body insecurity, grooming, anxiety, rude behavior, the demon lord, reira, REIRA, REIRA!!

Spoilers ~ Yes!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 298 Words.

Chp Summary ~ I Love You. I don't resent you for your feelings or for the way things turned out. You love her, I know.

Chp 3 ~ I Love You.

Dear, my lovely, Shinichi.

I don't resent you for loving Layla, Reira. I did too at one point, more than even you did, I fear. But my love for her was not as unconditional as it is for you.

I know you still love her, everybody knows, even though you both went your separate ways. I know you'll never love me beyond just your possessive nature and obsessive tendencies.

Is that what she is? An obsession? A need to fill something in your heart? Is that what I was? A possession? Someone you need close to you at all times?

I'll never be her, you know.

Even beyond everything I dislike about her now, I'll never be as good as she was at making you feel loved, seen.

I can say I tried though.

Maybe in another life, a different universe with a less messed up timeline, we would've worked. Maybe you would've tried to make us work, and my love would've been reciprocated by you properly.

Maybe Reira would've been a good better person. Maybe she could've been a Mother to me like Hachi was to you.

Maybe you weren't groomed and confused it for love. Maybe I wasn't the object of your desire because of that. Maybe the abused don't become the abusers.

I've lost everything I've ever loved because of her. I have nothing left, not even myself.

And I'm not saying that the situation was your fault, because it wasn't, it isn't. It never will be anyone else's fault but Reira's.

That's honestly a lie. Whether or not Reira was involved in our little group, we were all doomed to fail.

Still, it's neither of our faults that love cursed us on February 14th.

Maybe it was Mrs. Hachiko's Demon Lord.

I Love You,

Penelope.

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

Text

LETTER'S TO MY LOVELY

Shinichi Okazaki x American!OC

"I Love You."

Main Pairing ~ Shinichi Okazaki x American!OC

Warnings ~ Possessive thoughts, obsession, grooming, denial, pedophiles, suggestive thoughts, and repeating the cycle of abuse.

Spoilers ~ Yes!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 2.4k Words.

Chp Summary ~ From the moment Shin met her, he knew he had a developing issue. Her brown skin would bruise a pretty purple under his lips if he had it his way.

Chp 2 ~ Ironic is the Sweet Symphony

It was too bad that Shinichi thought the same thing about her; a performer is what he truly was.

A poison apple in his own eyes. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

Penelope was sweet with her doe eyes and gummy smile.

Instead of preserving the sweetness of her syrupy eyes and sugary smile, he wanted to devour all the sweetness she would give him.

Innocence of his own to take, and taste.

A sweetness for him to have a hold on, and because people were cruel, Shin knew that best of course.

The Innocence of children is stolen by vultures who feast on their sugary trail of soft smiles and kind eyes; just like hers.

Shin thought of innocence of his own that was taken and abused.

Penelope was reserved, a naive girl who was hesitant with her every move and self conscious more than the average woman.

A girl is what she was.

Truly Shin was no man, but he smelled the sweetness that poured from the girl's thick lips even before he stepped foot on the train.

In that moment he shook her supple hands, and caught sight of that childish sparkly nail polish that chipped from her stubs for nails; he knew he'd never let anyone taste her sweetness if he had her. No one would abuse her as long as he kept her near him, nobody could as long as he could conceal the smell of her honey with his own.

She'd be ruined in Chofu, the naive foreigner she was.

Shin quickly decided as he scooted himself closer to her, that he would never talk to her again if he could.

Shin was good at acknowledging his own faults, and others too. He strived to improve himself as the best he could while bleeding with the abuse other ignorant adults inflicted on him.

He had a sweetness that invited abuse of all kinds with a soft smile and compliant body.

“So, how do you know English? Your accent is different from mine as well. Did you grow up here or somewhere else - wait! Is that an ignorant question to ask? I'm sorry,” Penelope's voice seemed naturally hushed, the sweet melody of her voice chiming through the stuffy metro air. The American girl fiddled with the cuticle of her index finger, picking at the skin.

Shin decided to spare her from her endless overthinking, her awkwardness was almost kind as she attempted small talk.

“I'm Swedish and Japanese. I attended a school in Britain for a bit so my English has a Swedish-British accent.” Not wanting to reveal more than that, Shin took control of steering the conversation to speak more about her. He was always assertive when he spoke, it was the way he was taught in formality and etiquette lessons.

Looking down at the map in her hand, Shinichi thought he'd ask, “Where are you heading this late, dear Penelope?” He teased with a sly smirk.

The map appeared to be marked up in a hot pink pen with side notes at the left white margin. She took a glance down at the map and gasped softly as if she forgot that it was in the hand she was picking at.

“Oh! I'm uh, I'm a transfer student at um - The new academy in Shinjuku. Star Academy of Fine Arts. I start next - ” She pauses her sentence and avoids eye contact nervously as she thinks of when she starts school. Shin smiles at the immature quirk.

The girl looks back into his eyes with a glint that says she remembers the date, “April, twenty-eighth! With my course undecided,”

Her big eyes widen a touch, the overhead light glinting in her brown irises as she realizes she's overshared a touch, and not actually answered the boy's question.

“I'm staying at a hotel for now,” Penelope nodded proud of herself for telling Shin, a practical stranger, where she would reside for a school year.

She shouldn't share that much. Even the tiniest scrap of information some creep will take advantage of and try to find her.

Just like Ryoko did with him.

“Ryoko's not a creep,” He reminds himself despite being consciously aware, she's using him in every way she can.

Shin hummed at the information with a small smile, and was going to ask another leading question when she surprised him and asked him one first.

“Where do you go to school?” Shin grimaced at the question and chuckled trying to think of an answer.

The brown-haired boy was always a good liar, ever since he was a child - he is a child -

Shin shakes his head a bit, bangs falling in his eyes with his faux laughter at the fleeting thought.

He couldn't tell the smaller how he'd cut class and ran away from home. How he didn't know what to do with himself now that he was practically free.

Minus the chain he'd wrapped around his neck and handed the long end to Ryoko, who he was staying with.

As long as he laid underneath her every night with fake starry eyes, and moaned softly into the early hours of morning; he was well taken care of.

“Seikou Academy for Boys is where I'm headed, in Shinjuku,” Shin partially lied to the girl.

He was headed there as punishment for his behavior with his stepfather; the wretched man itching to be rid of the insect that invaded his home.

Penelope nodded ignorantly and gave a small grin, not knowing what the elite school was. Everyone who heard about Seiko Academy knew that it was filled to the brim with snobbish boys who would live, and die, off of Daddy's money.

The Okazaki family was known for their capitalism and cash.

They owned most of Europe and Asia, old money that owned the land before industrialism took off. Seiko Academy was a small island for rich boys owned by Okazaki Institutions.

Shinichi left the first chance he could when his Father mentioned it, and he hadn't looked back since.

“Oh cool!” She said enthusiastically, scooting into his dampness, the girl grew a bit braver to continue.

“I like your earrings, where are they from?” She said looking at the silver adorning his ears.

Shin smirked knowingly to himself, “They're Vivienne Westwood, a big brand in England! It's even bigger in the punk scene,” His boyish grin stretched wider as the girl's eyes scrunched slightly in curiosity.

“The punk scene?” She raised a brow, turning to face him with a slight tilt of her head.

Shin swallowed the saliva that pooled in his mouth, along with the attraction he felt to her natural girlishness.

It wasn't like the forced one that Ryoko put on.

God, how he'd fucking ruin her if he had her.

His fingers twitched in want, he used them to twirl a curl of her hair around his finger. He figured she wouldn't mind, she was too open with his inviting affections.

“Yeah, punk rock! I love playing the bass,” He did love the bass. The comfort of the sound ricocheting off his blue bedroom walls, the weight of his bass in his hand, the custom blue strap around his shoulder.

Shin loved the bass more than any of the hoard of instruments that his father forced him to learn, much to the older man's dismay.

“The bass! You want to be a bassist?” Shin took a second to think about it, a small scrunch forming between his brows.

The girl's curls were soft, unlike Ryokos which had a rougher texture and crunch from the mouse she used to scrunch her hair.

Her hair was stiff with product that stunk of sour chemicals as she attempted to volumize what slight wave she had naturally into looking like crimped curls.

The girl's hair was the total opposite.

Penelope's was soft in touch, natural and springy. She had a girlish scent with the sweet smell of candy and floral haircare.

Jackpot.

He bit the inside fat of his mouth, releasing it, and smiled.

Besides being a prostitute to women and men, what would he do? Would he sell himself for the rest of his life? It's not like sex work was a particularly bad job. The boy shrugged, not entirely sure.

“I dunno what I want to do. But being a bassist would be cool!” He says gnawing on the flesh of the corner on his lip.

The boy played with the buckle of the belt he held after he let go of the spring of long black hair. The belt was the only item he refused to leave with his woman of the night along with his earrings.

Sometimes his clients had a particularly sick quirk where they wanted to parent him. Especially when he was even younger than their kids.

It was like the guilt they had chewed at their flesh and blended over into their kinks. They'd dress him in casual attire that was two sizes too big for his slender body, and showed off his prominent collarbones where lovebites bruised over.

It was like they were displaying that he was a plaything even if he wasn't with his clients outside.

Taking in the dark gold brown of the girl's skin, he thought she would look ravishing with a reddish-purple scabbing around her neck -

“You totally don't seem like a punk rocker, but I think if you wanna be a bassist you should go for it if you have the opportunity.” She remarked with a soft encouraging smile.

Shin took a deep breath and looked up back at her warm eyes. She was so oblivious from when he looked down her neck and chest.

“Yes,” He internally decided. A reddish purple, mulberry, color would blossom from the blood vessels being abused underneath her soft umber skin.

He would treasure her every day and night.

Those glossy lips stretched beautifully to show the pinkish brown of her gums.

Those glossy lips stretched gorgeously around his - Shin shuttered a breath.

Shin had met a plethora of naive people, but her sheer cluelessness from being both a foreigner in Japan and so defenseless as a childish girl.

It was like looking into a mirror image of his past self.

Shin kept eye contact with the girl who darted her vision on different objects on the metro nervously.

Shin huffed a laugh, “You think so, Penelope?” Shin loved the way her name rolled off his tongue, his Swedish accent heavy when pronouncing all the syllables.

The girl looked into his hazel coffee orbs with her syrupy maple ones. Her eyes were so wide and glossy that Shin thought they must have been doll eyes. Thick dark lashes lined her eyes, the feminine feature standing out starkly even without makeup.

She nodded her head and tilted it again to the left side instead of the right.

“Absolutely! I mean - Possibilities are the endless opening for more opportunities. If you're good at playing then why not try to be a bassist, right?” She remarked wisely, as if that sentence had been constantly repeated in her mind.

Shin hummed and looked down at his designer belt. The Vivienne Westwood sovereign orb was in the middle and the belt itself was long so it hung down past his thigh.

What if he joined a band? Shin was confident in his abilities, being not only professionally trained but passionate. He could do something else with his life other than have sex for money, he would.

Shin had plenty of opportunities for prostitution, but none for music.

Maybe he was born for other people to find pleasure in his body, and him to find solace in their company.

“Silver looks quite nice on your skin tone,” The girl quipped nervously, chewing on the middle of her lip as she worked herself up to continue the dwindling conversation.

Shin cut his eyes back over to her doll-like ones.

She was just a girl, slowly grasping the reigns of young adulthood. She was what Shin should be like instead of a grown-up in a boy's body.

While he was a man playing coy, trying to still be a boy for money; she was a girl going through life the way a normal teen should.

Shin had been deprived of childhood even when he was wealthy. He bit the hand that fed him because he was sick of bad parenting.

He was sick of hateful eyes that looked at him like he was the scum of the Earth.

While the true scum of the Earth gazed upon him like he was crafted with rare diamonds and gold.

It was ironic how difficult life was. It was ironic how the childish girl's words stuck with him.

He mulled over the motivational line he wouldn't have expected from the bumbling girl.

“Thank you, Penelope,” Shin started, his tongue heavy in his mouth. The train started to slow and Shin rose from his seat, taking the brown girl up with him by her hand.

The metro squealed to a stop, and the double sliding doors opened with a pop and squeaking noise of plastic against metal.

With a kiss on the back of her hand, Shin smiled genuinely and wrapped her fingers around his belt.

Years later, Shin still questioned himself on why he gave a random girl the belt his clients typically used on him.

His eyes scrunched closed as he stepped outside of the metro doors. He gave the sweet girl one last look before ripping his hungry eyes away from her.

“Thanks for everything, Penelope,” He said before turning to walk down the station, blending in with the hoard of people coming in and out of the trains.

If he even stayed another second trapped inside that boxcar with her, he was sure he would taint what was left of the innocents ebbing off of her.

The next month, Shin was walking around Chofu with his bass inside his gig bag strapped to his back as he bought a new belt.

It was ironic how Shin found a band poster outside an antique shop called Sabrina looking for a bassist.

Shin entered the shop with a boyish grin spread across his face looking for a woman named Nana Komatsu. The woman was like an overgrown child, a puppy who squealed and squeaked with delight over the smallest of actions is what he learned as they typed up a resume using her boss’s computer.

“Possibilities are the endless opening for more opportunities,” Penelope whispered sweetly like a guiding symphony in his head.

It was ironic how ironic life was; Shin would take this opportunity and run with it for now.

I was so happy when you told me that night that my words actually helped you follow through with joining Blast. That my random motto is what you heard as you performed for Nana.

You never ruined me, Shinichi, you never would, you never could, and now, you never will.

I Love You,

Penelope.

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

Text

LETTER'S TO MY LOVELY

Shinichi Okazaki x American!OC

"I Love You."

Main Pairing ~ Shinichi Okazaki x American!OC

Warnings ~ Neglective parents, moving countries, naivety, and coming of age.

Spoilers ~ Yes!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 230

Chp Summary ~ I Love You. I love you so much that I know that I'll have to let you go, despite all you've ever told me.

Chp 2 ~ I Love You.

Dear, my lovely, Shinichi.

I remember when you confessed to me those feelings of possession you had over me when we met. We sat down on my bed in my dorm, I sat in your lap facing you.

You said I was like honey, a blend of sugar that made your mouth go numb from sweetness. Soft and easy going. You said you loved that about me.

You said you loved me.

You said that no matter what, you didn't think you could let go of me, because you wouldn't if we became friends on the train.

That you already thought of me too much as yours, even though we spent a maximum of ten minutes together.

That you felt like it was looking at yourself through Ryoko’s eyes.

That you understood how she felt when she smelt the sweetness of innocence, but at the same time not at all.

It's because you would've never ruined me, you never did. That's why you gave me your belt, right? A promise to yourself unknowingly, that you would never do the same things that were done to you to others.

It's a shame that we became friends later on, huh?

And it's a shame that I have to let you go instead.

That night is one of my fondest memories with you, even if you don't remember it.

I Love You,

Penelope.

#shinichi okazaki #protective shinichi okazaki #possessive shinichi okazaki #shinichi okazaki headcanons #blast #black stones #trapnest #blackstones #nana imagine #nana anime #shinichi okazaki imagine #nana manga

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piinkyypriincess · 3 months

Text

LETTER'S TO MY LOVELY

Shinichi Okazaki x American!OC

"I Love You"

Main Pairing ~ Shinichi Okazaki x American!OC

Warning ~ Neglective parents, moving countries, naivety, and coming of age.

Spoilers ~ Yes!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 1.5k Words.

Chp Summary ~ Shinichi looked like a whirlwind had barreled over his body and swept him up in a storm. He was sweet like honey, nice as could be. He was truly everything, even from a first glance.

Chp 1 ~ Lovely, as Sweet as Honey.

Living in Tokyo was never something Penelope Brown thought she would be doing at fourteen.

The girl thought she would be going to school dances, and fretting about what skirt to wear at her public school in America.

The girl thought she'd be worried about maintaining steady grades, and staying up for all-nighters.

The girl even envisioned giggling with other school girls about boys at sleepovers.

Girlhood is what she thought she'd have; not being shoved full force into uprising adulthood, and at a private boarding school nonetheless.

Being shoved into a mold meant for perfection, being polished into a refined lady, is something she never envisioned for herself.

Not quite yet had she wanted to ripen into adulthood.

Penelope wanted girlhood that came straight out of the cliché movies with friends and petty problems.

Too bad that girls don't get what they want; and women understand that. A woman was not something she was yet, mentally at least.

But even so: possibilities are the endless opening for more opportunities.

How could she pass up the once-in-a-lifetime chance to go to Japan? Her parents were average middle-class African Americans, they wanted her to take flight from the nest as soon as possible. So, after an extremely short conversation with each other, they inevitably encouraged her transfer.

If not due to how it would look on her resume, they also claimed that she would be able to broaden her horizons. Maybe she would figure out what career path she wanted to pursue, and the school would support it.

Penelope thought it was because they wouldn't have to take care of her anymore, and they got boasting rights that their daughter was going overseas.

She didn't voice her opinion to spare herself from an argument; plus she was too beside herself that she would be leaving the hellfire that is Florida, and her friends behind.

Her parent's might've been neglecting, but they weren't physically abusive.

She still harbored love for them, as manipulative as that love was.

Penelope didn't want to leave America. She didn't care that her grade average was high, there were kids smarter than her, so why her?

She didn't even know what she wanted to do with her life.

So, like the naive little girl she was, she begged for change.

She begged through hitching sobs and wet lashes up at the moon, like it was some deity. She childishly wished for an opportunity to live out her dreams of girlhood, even if she was confined in a Japanese boarding school.

Still, she was just a girl. And girls didn't get exactly what they wanted after all.

It was such a first-world problem, to want to have a school life like one of those cute shoujo mangas she'd been reading recently.

Penelope gave that thought a wet, humorless laugh. She swung her legs back and forth, childishly, over the gray stones that bordered the Tama River.

She was a top-grading student at her junior high in America, and was being granted the opportunity of a lifetime. Yes, she was going to be chucked into Japanese society as a transfer student.

She should've been overjoyed that her school chose her to attend school at their newly opened sister school. She should've been even happier that her parents agreed to the terms of her moving overseas.

Penelope should've been overjoyed. She should've been jumping for joy; she got to attend a private boarding school with some of the brightest minds of her generation.

The school had so many different courses that she didn't even know what to choose as her main curriculum, and ultimately chose general studies.

Possibilities are the endless opening for more opportunities; she'd choose a career eventually.

Junior high was filled with boys, dances, and fun, wouldn't high school be the same?

Penelope prayed to whatever deity that would listen for an exciting life, one that emulated a girlhood the way she'd envisioned.

Ever the greedy soul, wanting more, Penelope got just what she wanted sitting on the late-night train to Shinjuku, Japan.

She'd just left her spot in Chofu by the Tama River. The smooth rocks she sat at were near an apartment complex, that was older judging by its architecture, but had an old luxury feel to it.

Penelope wished she could have lived there instead of having to move into a dorm room. The brown-skinned girl picked at the edges of her sparkly pink nail polish, wondering if she'd have a roommate.

She'd have to return to the hotel the school was providing her to stay in until the new school year started. For now, she stayed half a mile outside the school grounds and was trying to get familiarized with the area before April.

The doors were close to closing when a lanky boy slunk his way through the gap of the closing doors.

He bent down on his right knee with his hand clutching a shiny black belt, in the other hand, he clutched his cell phone impossibly tight.

Muffled yells filled the slightly empty train car, the boy still panting in his soaking wet clothes. Light hazel eyes flitted over the filled seats of the train car, he looked frightened almost.

The train car's door shut with a hiss, and the wheels started to squeak as the train sparked to life. The teenage boy still hadn't sat down yet, making a crease of confusion in Penelope's brow as she took in the empty spaces.

It wasn't as if the boy was just standing, waiting for his stop; he looked like he didn't know what to do with himself as he stood directly in front of the double doors. The doors nearly clipped his clothes as they closed.

Penelope took out an earbud that was connected to her Motorola Razr phone, and waved her hand tentatively.

A small smile graced her lips when the boy clicked a button on his phone, and pushed his antenna down. He took a seat beside her.

Shoving his phone into his wet jean pocket, the boy gave a small reassuring smile back at her. Penelope blinked, looking away from the boy who had a small swipe of red lipstick staining his lip and chin.

The boy muttered a small greeting; the brown-skinned girl smiled a little wider and attempted to keep her eyes off of the boy.

The girl's syrupy eyes were shining with glee as he sat next to her. A pregnant pause of silence enveloped them as the train started to pick up speed. Penelope noted how the boy had a pale skin tone compared to the slight tan that graced the skin of Japanese natives.

Penelope, as an African American girl, was expected to be several shades darker than the rest of her peers.

It would isolate her further besides not being Einstein intelligent.

The girl shook her head at the thought. The first school semester hadn't even started, the negative thoughts that plagued her mind were from nerves. She shouldn't be so negative when nothing has happened.

However, Penelope got strange looks from random people when she walked by them, and squirmed as their stare flamed her body.

She wouldn't want someone else to feel that way with her staring. She didn't want to make an assumption in her mind about his features, or why he looked so disheveled as he tied the laces of his sneakers.

The teen girl just muttered a greeting back trying to exile the thoughts.

The teens' clothes looked uncomfortable with the way they clung to his skinny form. Penelope didn't think as she muttered, “Tough night?” In English before going to correct herself in her limited Japanese.

The glum expression of empty sadness was replaced with amusement as the boy nodded.

Penelope felt the tips of her ears grow warm with embarrassment as she started to sputter an apology. For the first time, Penelope wished she could not speak to evade the embarrassment.

“Yeah actually,” The boy responded in English with an air of surprise around him. A posh British accent with a hint of a foreign twang graced her ears.

A grin spread on his face, “You're accents different,” He said curiously, eyes crinkling into half moons as he gave her a sly boyish grin.

“I'm American,” She started and stuck her hand out politely with a shy smile.

“My name's Penelope, what's yours?” She said hesitantly, attempting to make a new friend without coming off so seemingly like herself.

The boy seemed different, more mature as he spoke without a stutter. He was good at making small talk like adults did to be polite; nothing to do with the lipstick that stained his pale skin so obviously, or even to question in her head, why he was holding his belt.

The boy grasped her warm hand in his cold, damp one. His touch was gentle, and the pads of his fingers rubbed a quick circle into her palm politely with a firm shake.

“Shinichi Okazaki, a pleasure to meet you, Penelope,” He said, moving his body closer to hers.

Penelope could feel his wet clothes seep her own with cool dampness, his side entirely pressed against her as if she was a familiar person to him already.

Penelope disregarded that fact, just happy to have a social interaction that wasn't forced.

A silver-studded designer earring caught her wide-eye's attention. The close proximity to the boy and height difference, despite being seated, made her crane her neck to look into his eyes.

They were several shades lighter than her own, a hazel coffee brown that seemed warm and comforting. She analyzed the features of his face freely as she was taken off guard by his friendliness.

Penelope blinked back in surprise and gave the boy a gummy smile, pearly whites on display due to his kindness.

Shinichi was lovely, the naive girl decided. A lovely boy her age who was as sweet as honey, a friend, a good opportunity to have a sense of companionship with.

Shinichi, I still think you're lovely, even if you don't think that way about yourself.

Not much has changed about you to this day. You're like dark chocolate; sweet and tangy.

Even though I believe our lives would have been different, maybe it was a blessing that we met that night. Maybe it was a curse.

After all, that's what love is, right?

I said before that I wished we never met, but I'm glad we did. Who knows what would've happened if we didn't ever meet?

I know for a fact you would have made it in life regardless, the resilient man you are. I'm glad I got to experience you, even if I am frustrated that you will never be mine.

Thank you for taking my hand in yours that night. I don't think my palm will fit so perfectly with another's, other than you.

You've ruined every aspect of love for me. I'm grateful I even got to experience it with you.

I love you,

Penelope.

#shinichi okazaki #nana imagine #nana anime #nana manga #possessive shinichi okazaki #protective shinichi okazaki #hurt/comfort #shinichi okazaki x poc!oc #shinichi okazaki x fem!oc #shinichi okazaki x reader #???? i annually dont think that applies technically its an oc #shin imagine #black stones #blast #trapnest

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