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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year

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𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

this is part two of you aren't nat

summary - after everything that happened with bucky, you found comfort in steve, slowly falling for him as he becomes your knight in shining armour. when you finally become his, it's the best day of your life.

warning - angst, swearing, bucky is an asshole.

the gif I use isn't mine, the divider is by @firefly-graphics and @newlips

It had been a couple of weeks since everything happened with Bucky. Steve welcomed you with open arms, letting you know he was here whenever and you could stay in his room as long as you wanted. You took him up on that offer, not wanting to be alone, and he was the only one who seemed to stop the nightmares.

You were in the kitchen, waiting for your coffee to finish brewing. Your arms wrapped around yourself, feeling a shell of yourself when Steve’s not around, you feel safer and more loved when he’s close by. But he’s currently in a meeting. He rushed out in the morning, leaving an unexpected kiss on your forehead.

You felt your body tense when familiar footsteps entered the room. You didn’t dare turn around, and you could hear Bucky sneaking around as if he were the one unsafe. You jumped as the coffee machine beeped, indicating it was done, and you quickly made your coffee. When you turned to get out of the room, your eyes widened at how close he was to you.

You begin to shrink into yourself, “So… You fucking my best friend now?” You blink, shocked at the words that leave his lips. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You have always been super easy.” He smirks when he sees the tears, moving closer to you until you're backed against the counter. His arms trap you where you are as he leans close to your face. “I bet he wishes it was Natasha or maybe even Sharon. Do you really think anyone would want you as their first choice?”

You have a tight grip on your cup as you stare into the devil’s eyes. You feel relieved when a throat clears and your eyes meet Steve’s. He stands there, taking up most of the room with his giant stance, his arms crossed over his chest as his face is set into a stern glare. “Back away from Y/n, Bucky.”

Bucky looks back at him, a smirk on his face. “Why should I? It’s not like you like her, and she’s just your rebound because you can’t have who you really want.” He entirely turns to his once best friend, his back to you. “Go on, Stevie. Tell her the truth, c’mon. Doesn’t she deserve to know that you aren’t better than me?” His back straightens, shoulders squaring back as Steve stalks forward, a dark glint in his eyes. Bucky clenches and unclenches his vibranium hand, his brow rising. “You can’t take me, Steve. You’re weaker than I am.”

Steve growls, closing the gap between the two of them. His hands grip the collar of Bucky’s shirt as he lifts him, causing you to duck away quickly, and he pushes Bucky into the area you just were. “You shut the fuck up. You’re not the man I grew up with, you ever speak to Y/n like that or me ever again, or I will make your life a living hell.” He blocks Bucky’s hand, somehow gaining more strength. “I mean it. Stay the fuck away from her, or I won’t be the only one you deal with.”

He drops him, and without warning. Swiftly lifts you whilst securing your cup and walking off to his room. You begin to relax into his hold slowly, feeling your mind start to fill with insecurities and wondering if maybe Bucky was right, perhaps you weren’t ever going to be anyone’s first choice, and you’ll have to get used to always being second.

“Don’t do that.” The sound of Steve’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You lift your head from his shoulder and look at him, and your brows furrow as you wonder what he means. “Don’t doubt yourself or me, don’t let Bucky’s words make you feel like someone won’t love you. Because it doesn’t matter what he thinks, you are my first choice. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and I wouldn’t want any other woman when you are in my life.” Your eyes tear up as you stare into his eyes. All you see is adoration and the truth, your head resting back onto his shoulder as he continues his journey to his room.

Steve sets you down on his bed, wrapping the blanket around you before he places your coffee down. He crawls into the space next to you, holding you close to him as he grabs the remote and turns the tv on. “I’ve been practising how to use this new-age technology just for you.” You look up at him in awe, but he’s facing the tv, trying to find a movie for the two of you to watch. “Do you want to watch some horror?” Steve turns his head, his breath hitching as your eyes connect, his brows slightly furrowing as you stare at him. “What?”

“I love you….” Your eyes widen as you realise the words that slipped out. Your hands come up to cover your face. “Oh, shit! I’m so sorry!”

Steve felt as though his heart was going to give out. He had been dreaming of this day since the first day you joined the team. The moment his eyes met yours was when Steve felt his whole world come alive, but Steve didn’t want to cross being professional with you, and he couldn’t let it ruin his relationship with you. So Steve stayed away, kept everything professional with you, and watched you fall for his best friend. But you let him be your knight in shining armour, and then to hear you utter those three words he’s always dreamt of hearing. It felt like a dream come true.

Steve realised he must’ve taken too long to respond when you began to untangle yourself from the blankets. He quickly reaches out and pulls you back into him, and his arms wrap tightly around you as he buries his face into your neck. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to see me finally, and it feels like heaven now that you’ve noticed me.” He lifts his head, looking you deep into the eyes. “I have loved you since the moment I met you. If it’s not too much to ask… Will you let me take you out?”

For the first time in forever, you smiled a smile of happiness, lunging forward, and wrapping your arms around Steve, as you pressed your lips into his. Your lips move against one another before you slowly pull back and look into his bright blue eyes. “I’d love that.”

You and Steve had gone on many laughter-filled dates. On your first date, Steve had taken you out to dinner at a diner that resembled his time and then to an arcade where he won you many stuffed animals. On your second date, he had taken you to the movies, and afterwards, the two of you got ice cream. Your third date was probably the best date out of them all. He had planned a picnic in a flower-filled field, watching the sunset as the two of you talked about everything. That was the date when he asked you to be his.

The two of you sat in the lounge, cuddled up with each other as you watched a movie. Nat and Sam are doing the same on the other side, and Steve felt proud of you when Bucky walked into the room, and you didn’t tense. He kept his eyes on him, though, ready to jump at the chance if he tried to say anything to you.

You snuggled into Steve, pressing your lips onto his neck, cheek and lips, feeling happy with how your life turned out. Not even commenting on Bucky's bruises, especially when Sam and Nat winked in your direction.

You were in the arms of a man who adored you, sitting with your friends, watching a movie. The man who broke you couldn’t do that anymore because now he was the one who was broken.

You got everything, and he got nothing. A giggle escapes you as Steve smothers your face in kisses. “I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

taglist - @fanfictioniseverything @crystallizedth0t @haruvalentine4321 @queerqueenlynn @vicmc624 @elizabethmidnight2017 @missvelvetsstuff @redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @iheartsebstan @smplymrvl @bradfordmyworld @sleepy27 @themorningsunshine @spookyparadisesheep @billyhargrovedemoness1987 @winters1917 @siriusjohnpotter @irishhappiness @ig-you-idiot @dexter99 @loveisallyouneed1125 @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @chemtrails-club @moonstruckbirdie - couldn't tag some of you.

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feyhunter78 · 1 year

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Tourney Injuries and a Proposal

Description: While you and Helaena are watching the tourney, your former betrothed injures Aemond.

You sit beside Helaena watching as the knights galloped at each other, their lances shattering each other’s shields, one knocking the other from his horse.

“I just don’t understand the appeal of these things.” You said, grimacing as an agonized scream rang out from below.

“I believe the displays of strength are considered quite attractive.” Helaena said, her eyes searching the men standing on the sidelines. “Oh, there’s Aemond, in the black armor.”

You stood and rushed to the railing as he stepped into the ring, burying your hands in your skirts, your heart pounding against your chest like dragon wings in a storm.

He noticed you and made his way over, confidence in every step that brought him closer to you. “Fair Lady y/n, might I request your favor?” He called up to you, a playful smirk on his lips.

You threw your handkerchief down to him, and he caught it, pressing it to his lips before tucking it in his pocket

“Good luck, my prince.” You said, eyes filled with fear.

Aemond never entered tourneys, claimed they were a worthless waste of time, but after your former betrothed, a young lord from House Tully had insulted you, Aemond suddenly found them worth his time.

He patted his pocket. “I don’t need luck, when I have the favor of the most beautiful maiden in all the realm to protect me.”

You ducked your head, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “I’m honored by your words, Prince Aemond.”

He reentered the ring, and you returned to your seat.

“It seems that Aemond is going against Lord Tybalt.” Helaena said, a tinge of worry in her lilting voice.

You grabbed her hand, stomach churning. “No. This will not end well.”

Tybalt was your former betrothed, a strong man, he had a nasty temper, and no fear of striking those who angered him.

Aemond himself had saved you from Tybalt’s anger when the Tully lord had caught you both in what looked to be a compromising position, but really was a misunderstanding.

You’d been sitting under the Godswood with Aemond when a spider dropped from the tree and made its way beneath your gown’s neckline.

In your panic, you shrieked at Aemond to get rid of it, and he sliced open your bodice with his dagger, plucking the spider and flicking it away from you.

Tybalt walked in on Aemond’s hand gripping the shredded fabric of your bodice, his other hand on your waist as he tried to calm you.

You watched with bated breath as the two men circled each other. Tybalt was snarling something at Aemond and your grip on Helaena’s hand tightened when he lunged.

Aemond easily dodged his blade before returning the blow.

They went back and forth, and once it seemed Aemond was to win, you relaxed, taking your eyes away from the match.

Gasping and a frightened scream made you whip your head back to the duel.

Tyblat collapsed Aemond’s sword through his abdomen, but Aemond was kneeling in the sand, his hands covering his face.

“Y/n, wait.” Helaena yelled, as you bolted out of your seat and down the stairs.

The maesters were already ushering Aemond to their tent, and you followed behind them, fear gripping your lungs.

You pushed aside the fabric to see Aemond surrounded by maesters. “Aemond—”

“Out, everyone out.” He ordered, pushing the maseters away from him with his free hand.

They scurried out, but you stayed put.

“Someone remove Lady y/n.” He shouted, turning his face from you.

You elbowed the maester who tried to grab you and rushed up to Aemond cupping his face. “Aemond, are you hurt? Let me see.”

He tried to shake you off, but you stood your ground.

Aemond removed his hand slowly, and you sucked in a breath.

“I’m hideous, I’m aware.” He growled.

You picked up a clean cloth and dipped it in the nearby bowl of water, gently bringing it to his face. “Hideous? My prince, you are more beautiful than the sun setting over the Narrow Sea.”

He looked at you warily, but allowed you to dab at the cut on his face. “It’s not very deep, does it hurt?” You asked, quietly apologizing when he hissed in pain. “I feel responsible, I should have tried harder to explain the situation to Tybalt, but…”

“But?” He echoed, his hand resting on your hip.

You wrung the cloth out before re-wetting it. “I have no real answer for him that would quell his anger. I can’t lie, and say I'm not fond of you, or that I didn’t wish that perhaps your gaze could have fallen upon my skin in a more intimate setting.” You admitted, not meeting his eye.

“He was the fool who tried to take out my eye, not you. You were merely the victim of a spider.” He chuckled. “Besides, his aim was terrible, he got the wrong eye.”

“Well, I’m glad it is, I don’t know what I’d do if you were injured because of me.” You said softly, focused on your task.

His hand caught your wrist. “Y/n.”

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” You asked worriedly, dropping the cloth back in the water.

He shook his head and his hand slid behind your neck, pulling you closer. His lips brushed against yours, his violet eye flickering up to yours.

You rested your hand on his chest and leaned forward, pressing your lips to his.

His free hand grasped your waist as he spread his legs, pulling you flush against him. “Marry me.” He breathed against your lips, his thumb caressing the nape of your neck.

“Truly?” You asked, praying to The Seven, this wasn't a cruel jest.

He nodded, sapphire glinting in the low light. “Allow me to make your wish come true.” He connected your lips in a heated kiss, lips pulling you under, the taste of peppermint and mead intoxicating your sense, his scent of leather, and dragon surrounding you.

His grip on you tightened as you returned the kiss eagerly, your fingers gripping his tunic, as you let out a small whimper.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” You smiled into the kiss and giggled when he stood and swept you off your feet.

He kissed you once more, leaving you breathless and dizzy with joy as he carried you out of the tent and towards the stands where his mother sat.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list, and requests are open right now!!!!

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iamnicodemus · 1 year

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Dragonfire

Pairing: Dragon!Wednesday Addams x Knight!Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: After a dragon attack leaves a village on edge, a wandering knight is tasked with slaying the great beast. When the knight enters the dragon's lair, however, they find something quite different from the winged horror they'd expected...

A/N: This is an alternate, high fantasy universe where Wednesday Addams is a shapeshifting dragon. This is also my first ever fic on this site and my first time ever writing from this PoV (it's also barely proofread, lol). I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to leave feedback. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

When you’d entered through the mouth of a cave near the summit and made your descent into the hollows of the mountain, you’d expected that your journey would eventually bring you face-to-face with a dragon. You wouldn’t have come to this godsforsaken place otherwise — navigating winding, uneven stone corridors and ducking under stalactites that looked to have been polished to razor perfection. After a recent incident in which a great black dragon had sundered much of the fertile fields surrounding a nearby village, the leaders of said village had called for the monster’s head. You, a traveling knight errant, were the only one brave enough to rise to the occasion. You’d been tasked with searching the mountain where it supposedly dwelled and slaying it without mercy. The reward? A handsome sum of gold and a great accolade under your belt, both of which were invaluable to you.

Work had not come by easily as of late. More often than not, you were forced to set up meager camps in the woods due to being unable to afford a room at an inn. You slept on a rough bedroll on the grass, your throat parched and stomach aching with hunger most nights before you drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Assuming, of course, that the surrounding wildlife allowed you to rest without fear, or that highwaymen wouldn’t happen upon your position. Both had occurred on numerous occasions, and your armor still bore the scuffs and dings from each encounter.

This mission was an opportunity to change all of that, for good. Either you’d claim the dragon’s head and be eating like a king for a good while, you’d meet your end in a hellish blaze, or — if you’d refused the mission — you’d be a week or two away from living in squalor. The first two possibilities were largely preferable to the third.

The air grew colder the lower you descended through the cave, A deep silence filled the cavern, broken only by the clang of your iron boots against stone. The noise wasn’t ideal. You’d hoped to approach the monster quietly, perhaps finding it curled up in its chamber, fast asleep. The way your footfalls were sounding, however, you’d be lucky if it weren’t wide awake and lying in wait for you. You half expected it to come racing up the cavern any moment now, its maw opened wide with anticipation, purple flames waiting to erupt from its throat.

Your heart hammered beneath your beige tunic and iron cuirass. You kept your sword raised at all times, taking what little comfort you could from behind the slim protection it offered. In your other hand you carried a lantern, creating a cone of light in what would’ve otherwise been pitch darkness.

After what felt like an eternity of wandering through the semidark, you finally spotted an incandescent light pouring out from the vaulted entryway at the end of the passage. This was it! The dragon’s lair. Excitement and apprehension knotted up in your chest as you made your approach. You weren’t sure when you started running. Your boots pounded against the ground, the lantern swinging wildly in your grasp at your side. Your breath hitched, and then, you emerged—

—into a long, rectangular chamber that looked less like the vast, bone-littered lair of a dragon, and more like an eccentric aristocrat’s dreary getaway. To say you were baffled would be an understatement.

Flaming sconces and dark tapestries lined the smooth, limestone walls. A chair and table, both looking to be hewn from slate, were set up in a corner. Upon the table sat a large stack of parchment and a black-feathered quill beside it. A viol and its bow were leaned against the far wall.

What stood out most, however, was the coffin-shaped bed in the middle of the chamber — and the human shape resting atop it.

You inched closer, sword at the ready. Laying on a black pillow and linen sheet, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse before burial, was a girl that looked to be your age. She was almost porcelain pale, with merlot lips and raven hair styled in a parted fringe and two tightly wound braids that hung at opposite sides of her head.

Despite the confusion welling up in you and the strained atmosphere that came with hunting a dragon, you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t skitter upon seeing her. She was absolutely gorgeous, and the thought nearly revolted you because you weren’t yet sure if she was fast asleep, or if you were looking upon a well-preserved corpse.

Who was she, even? A captive of the monster? She looked to be a noblewoman of some sort, if the fine, pitch-black kirtle and white chemise adorning her were any indication. And yet you hadn’t heard anything about the dragon kidnapping anyone, let alone someone of nobility. And what was up with the furnishings in here? Since when did dragons care about those?

None of this made sense. Had you scaled the wrong mountain, stumbled through the wrong cave, and trespassed on a particularly refined hermit’s home? No, this was definitely the mountain you’d been directed to. The dragon had last been seen prowling around the summit before disappearing into its depth, not that you could for the life of you figure out how such a large creature managed to squeeze through this narrow, rocky deathtrap of a cave system.

Her eyes shot open.

“How long are you going to stand there staring? I’d like to continue sleeping without a loud, toy soldier in tin plate hovering over me.”

A yelp almost escaped you. You startled back, sword almost slipping from your grasp.

The girl abruptly sat up and pinned you with a searching gaze. You froze. The way she studied you — through dark brown eyes that seemed as though they could dissect you with naught but a look - was unnerving. Yet, you could not bring yourself to look away. Your skin flushed with heat and your heart raced.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice perfectly even.

“Uh, I’m, er—” Damn it, why were you stuttering? “I’m looking for the….dragon?”

You felt silly saying it aloud, even more so under the gaze of this stranger. You must’ve been given bad information, because there was no logical way a fully-fledged dragon could dwell in a cramped place like this.

She didn’t react at all to your statement. In fact, her angular face remained clear of any emotion. Not how most would react to news of a winged, firebreathing beast in the area.

“And why have you come looking for me?”

For me.

Your brows drew into a frown. Had she misspoken?

You soon got your answer as she slid out of the oddly shaped bed, her right hand raised. Suddenly, her black-painted nails started to elongate, curving into razor talons. You watched in horror as a layer of obsidian black scales sprouted across her hand. Her stare never left you.

Your blood ran cold. You raised your sword reflexively, leveling the tip to her throat.

She moved like a streak of lightning, crossing the chamber in the space of a breath and swiping the sword from your hand. The blade shattered beneath the force of her clawed strike, littering the ground with iron shards. All that remained in your grasp was a leather-bound hilt, wholly useless in the face of the girl you now took to be the very dragon you were hunting. Somehow, she’d transformed into a human, or at least wore the guise of one.

You swallowed thickly. Despite the fact that she was shorter than you, her presence loomed higher than anyone you’d ever met.

Anyone else would’ve shrunk away from her, to cower and hope mercy fell upon them. You remained rooted where you stood. Out of fear? Perhaps. But also, up close, you noticed the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Could start to make out the microexpressions beneath the mask of aloofness. The way her eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance at the fact that you hadn’t answered her question.

“I’m not fond of repeating myself. Why are you here?” she said, drawing out the last question slightly, every word laced with cold menace.

You pondered the question for a moment longer. Saying you’d been sent there to kill her was a great way to get yourself disemboweled by her fearsome claws, but it seemed if you didn’t loosen your tongue soon, that would be the fate that awaited you anyway.

“Well…. I’m a knight—”

“Yes, because your sword and armor weren’t clear giveaways.”

“---and a local village tasked me with handling their dragon problem, after said dragon torched their crops,” you continued as though you hadn’t been interrupted.

She scoffed. “I burned half of their crops. What remains of their fields remains perfectly fertile. They’re lucky I spared even that much.”

“Well, despite your generosity, they still want you dead. But I’m very much open to this ending a different way,” you quickly added. Given your predicament — weaponless and more or less at her complete mercy — it was best you didn’t make it out as though you were still intent on killing her. Besides, you weren’t altogether sure you wanted her dead now. You’d embarked on a journey to slay a mindless, rampaging beast, not a person.

She didn’t say anything. She neither moved nor blinked. Maybe she was waiting for you to explain your alternative solution. Whatever was going on in that head of hers, the fact that you were still alive was favorable. But before you divulged anything more, you needed some answers yourself.

“Why did you attack their field?”

“Why does that matter?” she retorted.

“Knowing the context behind would probably go a long way with winning me over.”

“I’m not concerned with winning you over.”

“Then humor me. Come on, whatever your motive was, it’s not like I’m really a threat to you at this point, so my reaction doesn’t matter.”

“You were never a threat to me. You came here completely unprepared, with all the subtlety of a trebuchet, and apparently lacking even the most basic knowledge that dragons are capable of adopting humanoid forms.” She tilted her head slightly. “You’re not a very good knight, are you?”

Ouch. That… actually stung a bit. And wait, was that really common knowledge? Why the hell hadn’t you heard about it?

Sighing, you pressed on. “My failings as a knight aside, look, maybe there’s a way this ends with you getting that village off your back and me walking out of your lair with my life. You know as well as I do that I won’t be the last person they send after you.”

“If it came to that, I’d incinerate every intruder and decorate the cavern with their charred bones.”

Gruesome. “We haven’t known each other long, but I get the sense that you’ve got better things to do than killing a new challenger everyday. Besides, if one doesn’t work, they’ll send two. Then they’ll send whole teams. Soon enough, they’ll have a mage join the hunt, and badass dragon or not, you probably don’t want to fight one of those.”

She exhaled sharply, exasperation flashing across her eyes. You wondered for a moment if you’d said too much.

Then, she turned away from you and wandered back over to her bed. You noticed the scales on her hand fade, and her talons retract. She sat down, facing you.

“My brother was attacked in that village,” she began. “He was in his mortal guise. He thought to go fishing in the stream, but apparently the villagers don’t take well to outsiders poaching from their waters, and he was taken and flogged in the street.”

Your heart sank. To think such an innocent mistake had been punished so harshly. Even though her face remained impassive, you noticed the way her jaw tightened as she recounted the tale.

“Though a dragon, my brother is a whelp, and didn’t retaliate. He is weak and shies away from exacting retribution.”

Harsh words for her own brother, but it was clear she cared deeply about him.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d done worse,” you said, gently.

Her brows raised slightly. She looked a touch surprised, the first real expression you’d seen from her.

“I considered it strongly,” she said, bluntly.

“I’m sure they’re thanking the gods you didn’t go through with it. You’re a lot more merciful than I would’ve been.”

“There’s no need to insult me.”

You snorted. “Wasn’t intending to. What you did was smarter, actually. Slaughtering them would’ve prompted a much harsher response from the survivors and neighboring towns. Thanks to your choice, you only have to deal with one woefully unprepared knight.”

A smile tugged at your lips.

She stared at you, considering your words carefully. After a pensive beat of silence, she spoke. “I assume, to sate their desire for vengeance and prevent them from sending more idiots after me, you’ll need to return with proof that I’ve been slain.”

You nodded, giving an uneasy shrug. “Yeah. I don’t suppose you have a way around that?”

She didn’t respond immediately. She lifted her hand and snapped twice. You heard a gentle whoosh and something came flying past you. It was a sheet of parchment, one of those you’d seen stacked on the corner table.

You watched curiously as she balled the parchment up whilst muttering something quickly under her breath. From what little you could make out of what she was saying, it didn’t seem she was speaking in any language you understood.

Your lips parted in amazement as a black whirl of smoke enveloped the crumpled parchment. The gathering of smoke increased in size, taking on some sort of long, slightly curved shape. After several seconds, it dissipated. The girl now held a large, faded white tooth, no doubt one that could be found in the maw of a dragon.

Her gaze flickered up to yours, taking in your awe. “Those wizards you mentioned earlier? They wouldn’t have stood a chance either.”

“You’re a mage,” you breathed out.

“Obviously. How else would I have paved this chamber?”

She stood up and walked over to you, massive tooth in hand. She deposited it in your outstretched arms. Your arms sagged slightly under its weight, but that did little to deter you from marveling at her creation, your eyes wide.

“It’s an illusion. It should be convincing enough for your village, but the spell will last a couple of days at most. Show them your ‘proof’ and then get rid of it before the illusion fades.”

She sighed. “I will be leaving this cave soon. It seems my little respite from home has been compromised.”

Your chest prickled with guilt. “I’m sorry. Is there anything else I can do before I go? Anything at all?”

The girl looked fixedly at you. Her features softened. The two of you were standing close enough for you to notice something flicker behind her brown, doe eyes. Gratitude? Fondness? Whatever it was, it made your heart flutter.

“I’m not used to a mortal engaging with me,” she said, quietly. “And certainly not one who knew what I was.

“You’ve done enough.”

You nodded, resigning yourself to this. At least you could offer her this much, getting an angry village off her back.

You shuffled around and made your way back towards the vaulted passage you’d entered through. Your footfalls clanged against the stone floor, and with every step you took, a small pang of sadness shot through your chest. Would you ever see her again? It was highly unlikely, given the circumstances, but you hoped you would.

Stopping in front of the passageway, you peered back at her. “I never got your name,” you said, meeting her eyes.

When she didn’t respond, you almost turned back around, assuming she didn’t plan on giving you a name.

Then—

“Wednesday.”

You paused, lips parting slightly. A smile spread across your face. It was certainly a unique name, and you found you liked it quite a lot.

“Wednesday,” you repeated, softly. As her name rolled off your tongue, you thought you saw her cheeks go the slightest shade of pink.

With a final nod, you turned back around and made your way out of the chamber. You felt her stare on your back the entire time. The feeling made you chuckle. As you set off through the perilous cavern, you hoped it wouldn’t be the last time you were caught in this dragon’s gaze.

A/N: I want to give a special mention to these three users: @i984, @robiin-buckley, and @captain-lessship. They are incredible writers and even better people, and I absolutely implore you to check out their works! They inspired me to write a fic of my own and gave me excellent advice when I sought it from them. I appreciate them immensely.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x gender neutral reader #wednesday fic #wednesday addams x you #wednesday imagine #netflix wednesday #wednesday addams #dragon wednesday #knight reader #wednesday series #fanfic #fantasy #high fantasy #x you #gender neutral reader

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heliads · 1 year

Note

Lisa, babe, it cannot be properly expressed how excited I am that you’re writing for Narnia now!! As such, I would like to present a request:

May I please ask for Peter Pevensie with a male Reader who’s one of the knights personally assigned with protecting the High King while the Pevensies are still in Narnia the first time?? Reader is completely smitten with Peter and they have a friend-like relationship, but Reader is way too scared to make a move because A) he doesn’t think he, a mere knight, is worthy of being a in a relationship with the High King, and B) he doesn’t even know if Peter likes guys, and that kind of thing may be fine in Narnia but he knows Peter’s from a different place and he can’t be sure. But when the Reader gets seriously injured protecting Peter during a battle and wakes up in the palace infirmary, Peter scolds him for doing reckless stuff like that and winds up confessing his feelings for the Reader in the process. And mayyybbbeee it ends with a cute little kiss??

Again, if you don’t want to write this it’s totally fine!! Hope you’re doing well, Lisa my beloved!! 💛💛💛

anything for peter and also for raven

masterlist

The High King of Narnia is swinging his sword in a lazy circle, eyes wide but still guarded. His easy expression is a trick, it usually is. Someone sees a boy when they should see a fighter. He lures you in by making you think that he’ll be someone you can kill. He isn’t.

His attacker rises to the bait and lunges for his throat. Peter Pevensie reacts in the nick of time, clanging steel against steel as he forces the sword away. The parry is fast, strong, the product of years of practice. It comes to him like breath: quick, even, second nature. He probably isn’t thinking about it, just saves his own life by habit.

The steps fall into place like dominoes. Strike, counterattack. Jerk backward, push forward. His attacker stumbles for a second, and Peter seizes his chance to lunge for the man’s chest. Sword would pierce armor, but it doesn’t. The man has drawn a second blade while Peter was distracted with an imminent victory, a knife that fits easily in his palm. The attacker side steps, then ducks under Peter’s outstretched arm to rise back up behind him and hold the blade to the king’s throat.

“You’re so dead,” you say, then shove the knife back in your belt loop so you can tap your finger against the base of his skull instead of using the sharp metal. “You keep getting distracted, what did I tell you? Always keep your eyes open.”

Peter groans, raising his free arm so he can wipe the sweat from his brow. “That’s unfair. You said we’d only be fighting with swords, not knives too.”

The back of his neck flushes an unhappy red as he says it, though, and after many years of being at his side you can tell what he’s thinking, hating himself for complaining. Kings don’t argue, they don’t preach right and wrong. They take what is given to them and they handle it with grace. Peter’s still trying to work on that bit.

“Life isn’t fair,” you tell him simply, grinning when he harrumphs, “and your opponents won’t be likely to stick to the rules when they’re trying to kill you. I’m just trying to make sure you stay alive in battle.”

Peter turns around, lips still pursed with displeasure but starting to creep up at the corners. “And I’m grateful for that, truly. Although I do swear you get more joy out of beating on me than most soldiers are supposed to.”

You arch a brow, feigning innocence. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Peter says, looking like he’s using every bit of his royal patience not to roll his eyes. “Another round?”

“Ready as always,” you say, raising your sword once more.

Peter follows suit, shifting into a ready stance for one more round of sparring practice, one more chance to improve before the next calamity strikes the castle. Narnia is peaceful most of the time, but when it isn’t– well, anything can happen then.

That’s your job, then, to make sure the crown is protected in the case of disaster. There are four royals, four people for you to watch and carry through danger, but only one of them is your primary focus. Susan and Edmund and Lucy are still under your umbrella of attention, but you were specifically appointed to the personal guard of High King Peter.

That’s why you’re out here now, training with him under the rising sun until the hour is up and he has to retreat inside again for diplomatic and political duties. Peter has told you several times before that he’d rather fight out here for longer and longer, which is why you make sure to keep careful track of the time.

Without your monitoring eye, Peter would gladly spend far too long out in the training yard ‘by accident’ and miss his meetings. Then he’d feel guilty for abandoning his duty to his country, overthinking what he does because it’s only him and his siblings protecting the entire nation.

You have to protect him against not only enemy soldiers but himself as well, then. It’s not a burden you take lightly, but one you bear with pride. Peter is– well, he’s your king, obviously, but in the time since you were first given this position at his side, he’s also become your friend.

That was the easy part. Peter is a golden, lionhearted king, and to know him is to wish to get along with him. Peter does not make you feel the divide of royal to subject, king to soldier. He is just Peter, and you are just Y/N, and together, you are the finest men that Narnia could ever want.

What complicated everything was what happened after you got to know him. Peter makes it simple to like him. It also follows, then, that falling in love with him would be like second nature. You cannot decide just when it happened, between blows of your sword or stalking through the corridors of his castle or somewhere, anywhere else, but happen it did.

Peter makes you stutter even when you’re most confident, he convinces your heart to skip a beat when it’s never been anything but steady. You suppose you should despise him for making you so unsure of yourself, but you have never been able to do anything but love him, so love him you shall indeed.

Perhaps there will be a day in the future when you let down your guard, accept the slow stroke of death towards your heart, and tell Peter how you feel. Perhaps he’d even love you back. You never know for sure.

There had been a time once, a few months back, when you almost convinced yourself that it could be real, him loving you. Peter had allowed himself to indulge in something foolish and borrowed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the castle stores. He’d dragged you up to the battlements, a secluded place where no one could see you, and the two of you had drunk and stared up at the stars.

You don’t think you could remember that night if you tried. Peter was tilting his head back, golden curls hanging low near his shoulders as he stared at the sky above. You stared at him instead; the stars looked best when they were reflected in his eyes, anyway, and it made for a prettier picture than any dark expanse of night.

It had occurred to you that Peter would never do this with anyone else. Let himself be free, that is. The two of you were laughing over something foolish and he was more yours than he had ever belonged to anybody. There were talks once, of Peter looking to foreign nations for a suitor, and he had shut them down quickly, looking to you for confirmation before any of his siblings. That meant something, didn’t it? It had to have meant something.

And for a moment there, wine sweet on your tongue, you convinced yourself that you could do it, you could have a king. He would be yours. You would be happy. The two of you would live and die in this castle, and for once in your life, everything would feel right.

The thought of it shocked you into sobriety. There is a problem at the base of all this, many problems all spiraling into one: Peter is a king, and you are not. You are his faithful servant, the blade in his hands, but not a fellow ruler, never that. Peter is not in a position in which he can marry for love.

And, even if he was, who is to say that he would pick you? Peter is not from this land, and you know not the customs of the place where he was born. Men can marry other men in Narnia, but that is no guarantee in Peter’s mind. You would have no way of knowing for sure, he’s certainly never brought it up to you.

That night was a reminder you obviously needed, one that you would not be able to end up with Peter unless a miracle came your way. Until the impossible happens, though, until the sky falls and the moon rises with the sun, you’ll have to keep on hoping for a love that will never be yours.

Sometimes, though, sometimes you’re sure that he might like you back. You’re pondering the issue later that night, after your training session with Peter ends and hazy twilight falls upon the surrounding hills. You have slipped away from most of the crowds to a quieter place down the hall, and scarcely five minutes have passed from your departure before someone sits down next to you. Peter.

He grins at you, the light of the lamps shining gold upon his hair. “What, sick of us already?”

You laugh. “Just the noise. It’s been a long week.”

“Tell me about it,” Peter says, blowing out his breath in one slow whoosh. “I think I set a personal record today for the most meetings with cabinets and political figureheads.”

You laugh. He watches. “Don’t forget that we’ll be leaving early tomorrow for another diplomatic journey. If we’re lucky, we won’t have to be up before dawn.”

Peter grimaces. “Oh, I almost forgot about that. Glad to have you reminding me. What would I do without you? You had better not switch careers or I’ll be completely out of sorts.”

You shake your head. “I’d never leave, you won’t have to worry. I am a soldier. Soldiers follow their king.”

“In anything?” Peter asks, throat dry.

“Anything,” you tell him, “Anything that you ask of me.”

“Alright,” he says, and leans back again.

His sudden absence makes you feel cold again, and you can’t shake the thought that perhaps you’ve done something wrong. “Is– is that okay?”

“Y/N,” Peter says, slowly, tenderly, “it is perfect.”

He is busy after that, other soldiers call him away, but the feeling remains, burning inside your chest like a hot drink swallowed too quickly.

It is difficult to fall asleep that night, even though you need your rest. It’s just Peter out on this journey, he’ll be traveling to a nearby country to shore up relations. He does trips like this all the time, but that doesn’t stop them from being a royal pain.

You’re up early the next morning, riding next to Peter on your favorite horse. Other soldiers fill out your ranks, ensuring that Peter won’t be going alone. However, the party has hardly traveled for half an hour or so before you start spotting movement in the surrounding forest. There shouldn’t be anyone nearby, but that won’t stop robbers from congregating in the trees and waiting for a king to pass by.

One of your scouts ahead shouts that men have been spotted, and just like that, you’re under fire. Attackers descend from the sides of the road and you’re all flung into the thick of a battle. In the beginning, you’re directing blows at your enemies from your horse, but you see Peter dismount so he can help a fallen man and you jump off too. Where he goes, you go.

Peter heads further into the woods as he shifts his attention to the attackers on foot. You’re right behind him, just a few paces away, distracted by fighting the robber in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Peter dueling another man. The guy is taller than Peter, meaner looking, and as Peter lunges for the man’s throat, his opponent pulls a knife from his belt and slashes–

At you. It’s your blood seeping through your armor, not Peter’s. Not Peter’s, because you pushed him out of the way just in time, forcing the blow to strike your chest instead of your king’s. An odd sense of deja vu descends upon you; is this not what happened in the training session just the other day? You’d teased Peter for letting his guard down, for expecting the best of people who weren’t willing to be as good and kind as he was.

Funny that he didn’t learn his lesson. He didn’t have to, you suppose; he assumed you would be there, and you were. As the blood pools on the ground beneath you– you don’t remember falling, but your head aches from hitting the packed earth– you can only hope through gritted teeth that he’ll be able to remember it when you’re not here.

You won’t be, that’s the problem. It wasn’t just a glancing blow that hit you, it was a targeted stab aimed in just the right place to kill. This isn’t something you can walk off. You’re bleeding out as you lay here and wonder why you didn’t see this being your last moment.

It feels an awful lot like martyrdom, dying for Peter. Better than you thought it would. It makes it easier, somehow, knowing that even as the dagger pierced your armor and painted itself over in the red of your blood, he will continue breathing, continue living. Peter’s heart will continue to beat even after yours stops. Isn’t that all you can give him in the end, everything?

Peter is leaning over you now, shouting at you to stay with him, please. You can’t quite hear him, though. It’s as if he’s speaking through a veil, not really there. He’s cradling your head in his hands, you think, but it’s so hard to focus, and so much easier to close your eyes and sleep. You’ll wake up in a moment, you just want one minute of rest. Haven’t you done enough to deserve that by now?

You do open your eyes, but it feels like a lot of time has passed. You’re still lying down, but it’s warmer than the cold earth of that forest. You stare around you with hesitant eyes, and it takes a little while for you to register your surroundings, the stone and light of the castle infirmary. You don’t remember being brought back here. You don’t even remember when it was a guarantee that you would survive.

Something is touching your hand, and you look over to realize that it’s Peter. He’s gripping your palm between his hands like it’s a rosary he can pray with. He looks overwhelmingly relieved to see you conscious, and tells you as much himself.

“Don’t you ever do something like that again,” he says, voice shaky.

You try for a smile. It hurts more than it should. “What, save your life? That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

Peter shakes his head fervently. “Not when it costs your life. That’s not worth it.”

“It is to me,” you tell him.

“But what am I supposed to do without you?” He asks desperately.

You laugh quietly. “You’re a king, Peter. I think you’d figure it out.”

“No,” he says, “no, I wouldn’t. I thought you were dead, Y/N. I had no idea what to do with myself. I can’t live in a world without you. I won’t.”

You slowly raise your eyes to meet his. “Does that mean–”

“Yes,” he says in a rush, “Yes, I love you. I hadn’t wanted to say it, but it’s true and I need you to know it now. I thought you were going to die without me ever telling you, and that made me want to bleed out next to you. You don’t have to feel the same way, but–”

“I do,” you tell him, “I do love you. I have for a long time.”

For a moment, Peter’s expression loses his intensity and he just looks indignant. “And you didn’t tell me?”

You chuckle again, it’s easier than it was before. “You didn’t tell me, either.”

“Yes, but–” Peter has to take a moment to collect himself before continuing. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I love you. I love you, and you’re not ever sacrificing yourself for me again.”

You try to tell Peter that you don’t remember agreeing to that last bit, but he silences your arguments with a kiss, and you’re alright with letting that sort of happy quiet sink over you. Perhaps impossibilities aren’t quite so far out of your reach after all.

requested by @starlit-epiphany, i hope you enjoy!

narnia tag list: empty for now!

#peter pevensie #peter pevensie imagines #peter pevensie x reader #peter pevensie oneshot #narnia #narnia imagines #narnia x reader #narnia oneshot #narnia peter #narnia peter imagines #narnia peter x reader #narnia peter oneshot

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bronzefuryfic · 11 months

Text

Bronze Fury

When the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce is brought to King's Landing to meet with the rest of her family, she finds herself caught in a crisis of succession. The Greens battle for her support... and her affections.

Chapter Seven: The Pink Dread / Previous Chapter / Directory

Several months have passed since Rhae first arrived in King’s Landing, and she now has her own secrets to keep. Friendships blossom, romance runs rampant... but just as before, the family feuds.

"Again!"

Arm burning, Rhae swung her sword once more, fighting to keep it from becoming sluggish. Aemond parried, jabbing towards her torso. Rhae dodged the strike, and the pair continued to exchange blows.

"You—humph... better not... hrrk... be taking it easy on me," Rhae grunted, pressing the attack. Her swordplay was improving steadily, but in her months of training, her opponent more than matched her vigor. Aemond had taken to joining her in the early hours of the morning for her lessons with Ser Criston Cole, in addition to his regular instruction with the other princes after lunch.

"Less talking!" Ser Criston barked.

Her strength had been regenerating remarkably with the aid of Grandmaester Orwyle's treatments and Ser Criston's training. Rhae had seen to it she did not waste the opportunities presented to her, but as the mornings drudged on, her strength and size gave way to Aemond's stamina and experience. Usually. Though he denied it, Rhae could sometimes sense a shift in his efforts.

Rhae lunged, aiming a hard hit to his right shoulder. Aemond ducked beneath the swing and side-stepped, allowing for Rhae's forward momentum to carry her past him. Shit! She'd left her back exposed.

But the strike never came. Rhae spun, jabbing the end of her sword into Aemond's hilt. With a sharp twist, she loosed it from his fingers and it clattered to the ground.

"Nice one," Aemond said, already wincing at the look upon Rhae's face. She had thrown her own sword into the dirt.

"I left myself wide open," Rhae replied moodily, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Hit me next time, would you?"

"She's right," Ser Criston chided. "This is not the place to act a gentleman, Aemond. Bruises in the training yard are better than the cuts you'd receive in battle. That is why we train with wooden swords full of lead, so that we may never suffer the consequences of steel." As he finished his sentence, he lashed quickly with his own weapon.

"Ow!"

"And you, Lady Rhae, should know better than to throw down your arms." Ser Criston added sternly, not a trace of sympathy in his gaze as Rhae rubbed at the bruise she knew to be forming in her bicep. Rhae had told Criston when they began her training, she wanted to be treated the same as any man in the yard. So far, he had never once denied her. "You are both unarmed and unaware. I expect more."

Aemond collected their fallen swords, passing Rhae's back to her with a slight grin. She took it by the hilt. A moment of understanding passed along with it.

"Argh!" the boy shouted, swinging suddenly at their instructor. Ser Criston leapt back, throwing up his weapon in defense as Rhae joined the assault. The knight let out a rare laugh, battering off their blows.

Rhae sparred until she could lift her sword no longer. When a failed stab sent her headfirst to the ground, she flopped onto her back, breathing heavily. After a few moments, Aemond came crashing down beside her. Ser Criston stood triumphantly over them both.

"A valiant effort," he remarked, still chuckling. Cole had not so much as broken a sweat. "Maybe someday one of you will actually land a hit."

"Yeah... yeah..." Rhae wheezed, waving him off. Aemond was propped on an elbow, shaking his head and panting heavily.

"You're lucky we were already tired," the prince grunted, rising to his feet. He offered a hand to Rhae, which she accepted graciously. With their training ended, her frustrations with him quickly diminished. She could never stay angry with Aemond for long.

"You'd best wash up and get to the study room," Ser Criston said, gathering their gear. "Rest your arms for this afternoon—King Viserys expressed his desire to watch over the progress of his sons and grandsons."

Not nieces, Rhae noted. She had only been allowed to practice swordplay at dawn, long before the nobles had begun their day. Rhae felt fortunate they held less prejudice against archery—they could at least respect her talent with a bow for sport and hunting. Any mention of combat remained taboo.

"Will you be going to the Dragonpit today?" Aemond asked her, as they climbed the steps of the Red Keep.

He looked hopeful, as he always did, but Rhae thought little of it these days. In their months together, Aemond seemed to have moved past the boyhood crush Rhae suspected him of having when she'd first arrived. He'd eventually overcome his shyness, no longer blushing when she approached or paid him mind. He still sought Rhae often, but as did she—they studied and trained together daily. Their closeness was akin to that of brother and sister, Rhae had convinced herself. It was a sacred thing.

"I've already promised Helaena I would spend that time with her," Rhae replied. Aemond's shoulders slumped.

She did not bother to prod, for Aemond seldom told her the truth of his troubles. It did not matter. Rhae felt certain she knew, anyway. Aegon, Jacaerys, and Lucerys had not let up on their mockery, despite her best efforts to deter them. The problem was a tricky one—Aemond's pride would not allow her to scold the others as she'd like. "A man's issues are his own," he'd told her once, when she raised the matter. It took great effort not to roll her eyes, and a great deal more not to remind Aemond he was only a boy. Why shouldn't she help her friend? What shame was there in Rhae defending him?

Rhae feared she knew the answer to this, too. It was for the same reason their dragon-riding relatives didn't dare mock her for not having a bond. She was a woman, and for that, she had no masculinity to call to question. It was the pervasive truth that plagued them. Her presence dissuaded Aemond's bullies, but she knew her influence did not extend beyond the instances in which she stood beside him.

It did not matter, Rhae reminded herself. If Aemond did not wish for her to interfere, she would respect his decision. She could not always be by his side—Aemond was more than capable of taking care of himself.

When they arrived at their lessons, the Velaryon boys were chatting excitedly with Helaena.

"Mother has begun her labors!" Luke was saying, bouncing on the balls of his feet. When he spotted Rhae and Aemond, he was quick to wave them over. "Have you heard?"

"All the way across the room," Rhae smiled. Jace had an arm around his younger brother, doing his best to calm him. "That is most exciting."

"I hope for a brother," Luke was practically shouting, tiny hands clenched as he punched the air. "That way I can teach him to fight and be a great warrior!"

"What about you, Jace?" Helaena asked. Rhae thought that he looked paler than usual.

"Father says the only thing that matters is that the baby is healthy," Jace replied, releasing Luke. The older brother raised his palms, providing the younger a target to aim his punches. Luke delivered enthusiastically. "I agree... but I suppose a sister would be nice."

"Easy-" Smack! "For you-" Smack! "To say!" Luke pointed accusingly at Jace, stopping his barrage for one dramatic moment. "You've already got a younger brother!" Smack!

They did not get the opportunity to discuss further, for the Maesters descended upon them, breaking them up into their usual study groups. Aemond and Helaena at one table, Rhae with Jace and Luke at another. Aegon was nowhere to be found.

"Are you alright, Jace?" Rhae asked. She had surpassed the youngest of the group in their studies, thanks to Aemond's tutelage, and was gaining steadily on Jace. The Maesters often let them be if they whispered, but as their instructor struggled to keep Lucerys in his seat, there was little need for subtlety.

"I'll be alright," Jacaerys sighed. "I'm just... worried for mother. She seemed to be in a great deal of pain when I saw her last."

"Your mother is as strong as they come," Rhae assured him. "She's done it twice before, hasn't she? I'm certain she'll be alright."

Rhae had not had the privilege of speaking with Princess Rhaenyra often, and never alone, but she still felt certain in her words. The Realm's Delight more than earned her title. Radiant and funny, Rhae could not bring herself to dislike the heir. The only ones in all of King's Landing that did not seem to fawn over the princess were those Rhae had acquainted herself with most closely. Ser Criston, Alicent, and her children all seemed to view Rhaenyra with varying degrees of disinterest or distaste. Rhae knew why, deep down, but she could not bring herself to feel the same. Despite Princess Rhaenyra's transgressions, their consequences felt far off. It was hard to look upon her and feel anything other than admiration. To Rhae, the prospect of a woman upon the throne was a welcome one.

Jace exhaled, tension releasing from his shoulders.

"You're right... thank you," he said, smiling bravely. Jace moved to lift his quill, looking ready to resume his work, but just as he touched ink to paper, his eyes darted upwards. Something seemed to have caught his attention, just beyond Rhae's shoulder.

Rhae twisted in her seat to find Aegon striding into the room, a giddy look upon his face. He winked in their direction, but a snicker from Jace told Rhae that the act was not for her. Her eyes narrowed. What was he up to?

Aegon seemed intent on sliding into his seat without fuss, but one of the Maesters cut him off, scolding him for his lateness. Rhae turned next towards Aemond and Helaena's table. Helaena watched on, a curious look upon her face. Aemond was shaking his head, and when Rhae caught his eye, he shrugged. It seemed Aemond wasn't any more privy to the reason for Aegon's tardiness than she was.

Rhae did not have time to dwell on the matter, for the Maesters were becoming irate from all the distractions. They continued their studies in silence, but the room still seemed to buzz with energy. Try as she might, Rhae could not focus. She found herself re-reading the same passage from her book several times over, failing to absorb its contents each time.

It was no use. Rhae counted to a hundred, and on that mark, she flipped the page. She continued on like this for what felt like hours, words blurring together uselessly, until relief came at last. A new voice caught her attention, and she looked up to see Ser Harwin Strong had approached the table.

"Maester Corwyn," said the Commander of the City Watch. "Princess Rhaenyra has requested that I bring the young princes to the Dragonpit, so that they may choose an egg for the baby."

"Has it happened?" Jace asked, slamming his book shut immediately. Lucerys was already on his feet, bouncing once more. "Can we see her?"

"Not yet," Ser Harwin said gently. "But soon. You may wait for your mother in her room once we have retrieved the egg."

Jace scrambled to his feet, joining his brother and Ser Harwin. The three of them stood together, Rhae could understand why Aegon had felt so confident that his nephews were fathered by Strong. It wasn't made any less obvious by how involved Ser Harwin was—waiting for the Princess in her room to greet the new babe? It was a wonder Jace and Luke hadn't figured it out themselves yet. If it had been Ser Harwin rather than Laenor Velaryon who had delivered the boys to the study room all those months ago, Rhae would not have thought twice on who they belonged to. She wondered if the newborn might look any more like Rhaenyra.

The trio left, and Maester Corwyn gave an irritable sniff. It seemed that the day was not right for learning, and after a brief discussion with the other instructors, they declared lessons may as well finish early.

"Rhae!" Helaena made her way over quickly, falling into the seat beside her. She was beaming excitedly. "You will still join me later, won't you? I've just received word this morning—a collector from Essos has arrived in our harbors! I'd heard he has many creatures from the Forest of Qohor aboard his ship—Ser Arryk has gone to make a purchase on my behalf!"

Helaena's smile was infectious. Rhae did not share her love for insects, but it was difficult to feel anything other than excitement on her friend's behalf. Willifer the Mantis had passed some weeks ago, and Helaena still sniveled when she looked upon the jar his remains were now kept. It was equal parts creepy and endearing.

"Of course!" Rhae replied, grinning. "I look forward to seeing what he finds."

Ser Arryk was the Kingsguard most often assigned to Helaena's protection, and he seemed quite fond of his charge. Rhae felt Helaena had made a wise choice in who to send shopping. Ser Arryk too, had been lectured on the Princess's extensive bug collection. He would find something she'd like, Rhae was certain.

"I must collect some materials to freshen up the old enclosures," Helaena said, tapping at her chin thoughtfully. "I could trim off some greenery from the Godswood, but the gardeners were already so upset with me for digging up dirt and stone last time..."

"I could get you some," Rhae offered, thinking of the tunnels beneath the castle. She'd have to be careful not to be spotted, given the hour, but certainly no one would notice or care if she dug up down there.

"Truly?" Helaena clasped her hands together. "That would be wonderful! That will give me plenty of time to get sticks and leaves and wash out Willifer's old case..."

She hurried off unceremoniously, so Rhae was left to call after her.

"I'll meet you in your room!"

Rhae looked about the study. Most of the Maesters had already left, undoubtedly equally eager to be free of lessons, so that they might get back to their own work. Despite the invitation to take the time off, Aemond still worked diligently at his table. Just past him, she spotted Aegon by the door. It was no surprise he was already set to leave at the earliest invitation. She had to agree with Aegon, however begrudgingly—Aemond set a difficult standard. She closed her own book, going to join the eldest at the door.

"You were awfully late this morning," she said, eyeing him skeptically. "Why's that?"

"I don't have to tell you everything, you know." Rhae followed him into the hall, leaving Aemond to his studies. "What's it matter, anyhow? Ten minutes of studying to your hour isn't all that different. You hardly looked like you were getting anything done, anyway."

Rhae couldn't argue with that, though she wished to. Unlike Aemond, Aegon rarely kept things from her. She asked, and he answered. Almost always.

"It seems we've got some free time, anyhow," Aegon continued, lowering his voice as a pair of servants passed. "Fancy a few hours to ourselves?"

"Certainly," she agreed, trying to suppress a grin against the eager look upon the prince's face. "Helaena's asked me to collect some dirt for her bug enclosures. You're welcome to join me."

"You know that's not what I meant."

Rhae rolled her eyes, brushing past him and continuing down the halls with confidence, no longer possessed by fear of getting lost inside the castle. Since their first venture outside its walls, Rhae had taken to joining Aegon in searching the Red Keep for more hidden passages. Once you knew of a few, it became easier to locate more, and as residents of the castle, they'd plenty of time to look.

Most paths merely connected different parts of the Red Keep, which made for faster and more secretive travel between towers and floors. The easiest to find were those that hid behind false walls; these proved good for eavesdropping on private conversation. Such discoveries were also their least favorite—so far, the most they'd ever learned was kitchen gossip.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Aegon groaned in protest, but knew better than to argue. He fell in line behind her, muttering complaints all the way.

The pair walked their way to the nearest tunnel passage. These were the most difficult to find—Rhae and Aegon had only found two in their months of hunting. On the third floor, they slipped into a small room used by servants to stow supplies for cleaning. Inside, a large, heavy wardrobe full of brooms, rags, mops and buckets hid a secret door. If you pushed at its corners, the back of the furnishing opened to reveal a particularly long passage that led outside the city's walls. They'd discovered this one by accident. Rhae smiled fondly at the memory, taking a bucket for herself and handing a second to Aegon. Once concealed inside the walls, Aegon was quick to take hold of her free hand, leading the way.

"Are you joining us in the yard today?" He asked after a few paces.

"You already know the answer to that," Rhae replied. She no longer wore bandages on her left arm, but it was still far from being back to normal. The Maesters said it never would be. The twisting, ugly, off-colored scars that remained were the least of her worries—the injury still ached and itched at random, and when she awoke, her arm was always rigid and difficult to move. The more she used it, the less she struggled, but every day seemed to serve as a reset in her progress. "I won't be the only one either. Ser Criston said the King will watch today."

"Great," Aegon said stiffly.

"Isn't that what you want?"

Rhae had grown all too familiar with how unfamiliar King Viserys was with his children by Queen Alicent, but neither Helaena nor Aemond seemed to mind his absence like Aegon did. Whereas his younger siblings seemed to have accepted that their father would not or could not come to care for them, Aegon agonized. They'd discussed the matter at length, but his feelings seemed to change with each conversation—Aegon's outlook on his father was paradoxically both despairing and hopeful. Rhae wasn't sure which she found more upsetting.

"It's better than nothing," he replied, steadying himself against the wall as their path began a steep decline to the ground floor. Their path leveled towards the bottom, but as they reached the end, the space above and below slopped. Their spines curled as they shuffled along—they were beneath the floor now. Aegon came to a halt. The trapdoor was just underfoot.

"Think you can handle it this time?" Rhae teased.

"Why don't you open it if you're so strong?"

Rhae passed her bucket to the prince and reached blindly for the handle. She gave it a tug, to no avail. Aegon snickered.

"Need some help?"

" No. " Rhae pulled again, but it did not budge. "Okay... maybe."

"I told you it was heavy." Aegon placed the buckets on the ground, shuffling along the wall to kneel beside her. "But you insisted I was being dramatic. I should let you struggle a while longer."

"You are dramatic," Rhae huffed, adjusting her grip on the handle. "It's stuck, not heavy."

"Uh huh."

"Just help me pull!"

The trapdoor flung open at last.

Rhae sat on the edge of the open hole in the floor, feet dangling. She knew the drop was short, but the darkness allowed her imagination to stretch the fall beyond reason.

"Stay up here," Rhae instructed. The last time they'd taken this route, she and Aegon struggled to both get back up through the trapdoor. Rhae was much too short, and Aegon far too gangly.

She dropped below, managing not to fall to her knees. After a moment of fishing her hands around the air above her, Rhae grabbed hold of the buckets from Aegon, then set to work on filling them. The earth was undisturbed, too tough to dig up with her fingers, and so she searched for a stone. Finding a suitably jagged rock, Rhae scraped it against the ground, loosening the soil.

"Do you think Helaena maybe has too many bugs?" Aegon asked. "At the rate she's going, she's going to need a whole new room for her hobby."

"They don't exactly live long," Rhae pointed out, scooping dirt with both hands into the first bucket. "Besides, I don't think Helaena believes in 'too many bugs'."

"It's gross."

"Sometimes they're cute."

"Are you serious?"

"The butterflies and moths are!" Rhae said defensively. "And you know... those little fuzzy spiders."

"You like the spiders ?"

"Not all of them. Just... y'know, the jumping ones."

Rhae heard the noise of fake retching from above. Not dramatic, my ass, she thought, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

"You should see them in action," Rhae continued, once Aegon had finished. She fondly recalled when Helaena had first received the springing spiders from Lys. They'd built a long track using piled books, to test which of the tiny creatures could leap the farthest.

"I think you two spend a little too much time together," Aegon said. "Cute spiders , honestly..."

"Just shut up and take the bucket."

Rhae filled the second much quicker than the first, leaving some room at the top to load some stone. Its contents rattled as she passed it up to Aegon, and she feared for a moment he may drop it back down on her head. A thunk told her the bucket had made its way securely into the castle. Now it was her turn.

Rhae wiped her hands along the cavern walls, scraping them clean of dirt before she returned to the trapdoor. She could detect Aegon's arm waving around, searching for her.

"Ready?"

"Let's get it over with."

Rhae leapt, grabbing his forearm with her left side. The ruined skin of her burns protested in agony, feeling taut. Aegon grunted, pulling with all his might until Rhae could grab a hold of the ledge with her good hand. He continued to tug, helped only marginally by Rhae's attempts to heave herself upwards. As soon as her shoulder passed the top of the trapdoor, she threw her elbow over, using the leverage to rest her chest on the ledge.

She dangled there a moment, allowing Aegon to pick himself off his stomach and crouch down to grip her beneath the arms. He leaned back, allowing his own body weight to take over most of the work. Rhae's hips passed the ledge, and as soon as she was able, she lifted a leg above as well. She pushed upward, and their combined momentum finally sent Rhae hurdling over, falling into Aegon.

"We really ought to sneak a ladder down here," she laughed breathlessly, exhausted for the second time that day.

"I dunno..." Aegon said, panting. One of his arms was still hooked beneath Rhae's, his hand resting on her back. "I don't mind this so much."

Rhae felt Aegon's other hand reach out and push away a few loose hairs, tucking it behind her ear with ease, even in the darkness. His touch was familiar, yet it still made her blush. She pressed closer to him, fingers reaching blindly for his face. The back of her knuckles had barely grazed his jaw before Aegon rushed to meet her, his mouth eagerly finding its mark. A satisfied sigh barely escaped Rhae's lips as she cupped his cheek, deepening the kiss.

Rhae could not say for certain how long they continued their embrace—holding and groping and grabbing in the privacy of the Red Keep's passages, hidden away from prying eyes... Sometimes it felt like they could continue endlessly.

Perhaps they would this time too, if not for the persistent ache that mounted in Rhae's mutilated arm. She pulled away at last, never having quite caught her breath, and pressed her forehead against that of the prince.

"We should get going," Rhae said quietly, flexing damaged fingers. "I'm feeling sore, and we've still got to get these things back to Helaena."

Aegon groaned, nuzzling close to press kisses to her neck. "Alright," he mumbled after a moment, stretching. Now separated, they were both now keenly aware of how uncomfortable the ground really was. "I suppose you're right."

They closed the trapdoor and collected the dirt and stone, climbing the steep path back up towards the broom closet. Legs ached as they reached the top, and the pair quickly pried open the wooden panel so that they may rest their throbbing fingers. Rhae dusted herself off as best she could with a stowed rag, cursing herself for filling the containers so high, as Aegon checked the hall for passing servants and nobles.

Aegon accompanied Rhae all the way to the Helaena's hall before handing off his bucket.

"You can make it the rest of the way, yeah?" he asked, craning his neck to check the sun outside. Rhae frowned, taking it from him.

"What's the rush?"

"I've got to get to the Dragonpit." Aegon cast a quick glance at their surroundings before pressing one last kiss to her temple. "I mustn't be late—I'll see you in the yard!"

Mustn't be late? Rhae pondered this as she lugged both buckets down her final stretch. Aegon was late to everything. What in the Seven Hells was he up to?

When Rhae knocked, Helaena was quick to greet her.

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed, relieving Rhae of the weight. "Now I can get started... you're welcome to take a rest in the armchair if you wish. You look exhausted."

Rhae collapsed into the nearest seat, massaging her scarred skin as Helaena set to work. She had three glass cases to fill, and Rhae watched as the princess filled each with dark, rich soil.

"You even found some worms," Helaena giggled, holding one writhing for her to see. "How'd you carry these so far, anyway? They're awfully heavy."

"I got Aegon to help," Rhae said, trying her best to sound nonchalant.

"Of course," Helaena nodded, a mischievous look in her eye. "He is always most eager to please you."

Rhae stared pointedly at the ceiling. While the other ladies often called Helaena 'simple', Rhae quickly came to learn she was anything but. The princess was sweet and kind, but alarmingly perceptive, and not above making others squirm.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rhae replied, but Helaena gave a knowing smile as she picked through a basket of sticks and foliage.

"I wouldn't tell anyone," she pressed, carefully arranging twigs in the first case. Despite all being built of the same material, no two of Helaena's habitats ever came out the same. "Not even Aemond!"

"There's nothing to share."

"You're a lousy liar."

Rhae glared, but as always, Helaena remained utterly unfazed. Their eyes locked, and it seemed a battle of wills was at hand. Rhae knew deep down there was no real harm in telling her friend. She trusted Helaena to keep a secret, but it didn't make the prospect any less daunting. Aegon was her brother, and potential heir to the throne. Rhae was a moment away from confessing when a knock came at the door.

"Ser Arryk!"

The knight entered, a large satchel at his side.

"Princess," he said, opening its flap as he approached the center of the room. "Lady Rhae. I come bearing bugs."

His haul was an impressive one: Six dead beetles and two frames of butterfly wings, a new praying mantis, a bright blue dragonfly that was instantly named Dreamfyre the Second, and finally, a large millipede that caused Helaena to squeal in delight.

"They're beautiful!" She cried, throwing her arms around Ser Arryk's armored shoulders. The knight reddened beneath his beard, patting her on the back awkwardly. "Thank you!"

Ser Arryk stayed a while longer, helping Rhae finish the enclosures as Helaena studied her new insects. He was quiet and diligent, as he always was, only raising his voice to answer Helaena's questions about the merchant and his goods. It seemed the knight had been very thorough in his own interrogation when making his purchases, for he gave detailed responses.

Once the work finished, Ser Arryk bid them farewell, then set off to return to the King's side. Rhae helped Helaena stow away the insects before washing their hands for lunch. As they ate, Helaena pulled some books from her shelves, consulting her usual encyclopedias for more information on the latest introductions to her collection. She seemed to have forgotten their conversation about Aegon.

As they neared the end of their meal, their conversation slowed to a halt. Helaena's eyes had glazed over, as Rhae was now accustomed to. Helaena never commented, nor even seemed to notice, when these spells took her. She would snap out of it eventually, perhaps a little more tired than before. Rhae learned it was best to leave her to her own devices during these times—giving her needlework or some creature to play with was usually best, as Aemond would often do.

Rhae led her friend to sit on the carpet as the servants came to clear the lunch from the table and, bracing herself, went to collect the millipede from its new home.

"Dreamfyre..." Helaena mumbled as Rhae approached. Rhae sat beside her, puzzled. "She doesn't wish to be disturbed."

"No worries, Hel, Dreamfyre the Second is still put away. I've got the millipede for you." Rhae quickly passed it off. "We'll need a name for him, too."

Another knock sounded at the door. This time, the Queen entered.

"Your Grace," said Rhae.

Helaena did not so much as look up, and Alicent gave Rhae an inquisitive look. She merely nodded, and the Queen took her meaning. Alicent had always tried to keep Helaena from feeling judged for her dissociative tendencies, and so she did not comment on it. Instead, mother sat beside daughter on the floor, gently stroking her hair.

"Seven Hells..." she muttered once she'd spied the millipede in Helaena's lap. Try as she might, Alicent had much less success in hiding her concern over Helaena's hobby. She would never say it, but Rhae knew she found the creatures unseemly. "It seems we have no shortage of new additions to the family today."

"Has Rhaenyra delivered the baby?"

"That she has," Alicent said, rubbing at her brow. "A boy... healthy. Looks just like his brothers."

Rhae grimaced. For all her admiration of the heir, she could not deny how damning this was.

"I have things I wish to discuss with you," The Queen continued with a sigh. "I'd request you to join me for dinner later this week. Our usual hour?"

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Until then... Helaena, dearest."

Helaena blinked up at her mother.

"Yes?"

"Care to tell me what it was Ser Arryk found for you this morning?"

Helaena seemed to focus a bit, reciting what she'd received. When her voice would drift, Alicent would ask some line of inquiry, and the princess would re-find her concentration. By the time she introduced the millipede, Helaena seemed to be shaking her trance.

"This one has sixty rings," she mumbled. "Two pairs of legs on each. That is two hundred and forty."

"Yes." Alicent offered a half-hearted smile. Her voice was weary. "It is."

"It has eyes," Helaena continued. "Though... I don't believe that it can see."

"And why is that so, do you think?"

"It is beyond our understanding."

"I suppose you're right," Alicent said, rubbing Helaena's arm gently. "Some things just are."

Rhae did not think that the Queen was referring to the millipede. She watched their exchange with a hollow feeling in her chest, thinking of Rhea Royce, but mercifully she did not have time to dwell on this.

For the third time, a knock sounded at the door. Another of the Kingsguard entered the room, escorting Aemond beside. His face was covered in dirt and grime, staring shamefully at the floor. Alicent was quick to her feet, rushing to investigate.

"What have you done?"

"He's done it again," Helaena observed.

Rhae did not need to ask what 'it' was—they all knew Aemond had been at the Dragonpit, and he was returned early. The look of guilt was clear as day.

"How many times have you been warned?" Alicent demanded. "Must I have you confined to your chambers?"

"They made me do it!" Aemond protested, proving their assumptions. He must've been found in the caverns alone once again—a dangerous feat. Rhae's eyes narrowed. 'They' could only refer to the other princes.

"As if you need any encouragement!" Alicent seethed. "Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding!"

"They gave me a pig!"

Helaena had returned her focus to the millipede, muttering to herself once again, but Rhae was now on her feet, watching on with mounting concern. A pig? The Queen echoed her disbelief.

"A what?"

"They said they found a dragon for me." Aemond's eyes found Rhae, and she saw they were pooling with tears. He looked away, ashamed. "But it was a pig. They'd attached wings... called it the Pink Dread."

Rhae hands balled into fists. Was this what Aegon had been up to this morning? The urgent matter that required him to be at the Dragonpit on time? She did not care what Aemond had to say. She would have some words for Aegon when she saw him next.

Alicent held her son by the shoulders.

"You will have a dragon one day. I know it."

But her words seemed to have little effect. When he responded, Aemond's voice was thick with emotion.

"They all laughed."

Alicent pulled Aemond into a hug, but his arms hung loosely at his side.

"It's alright," Helaena mumbled from the floor. She held the millipede up to her eyes. In all the fuss, they'd turned glassy once more. "Soon they won't. No one will."

Next Chapter: Bastards and Betrothals

Trouble brews in the training yard when King Viserys comes to watch the princes' practice, Rhea confronts Aegon over his bullying behavior, and Queen Alicent makes a proposal.

AO3 | Chapter Discussion

Thanks for reading!

#house of the dragon #Hotd fanfic #aemond x oc #aegon ii x oc #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #criston cole #helaena targaryen

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book-place · 2 years

Text

Magic

Warnings: violence, killing/ death, spears, fighting, let me know if I missed any :)

Parings: Marc Spector x reader platonic

Request: Greek Demigod on a quest to help Marc and Steven deal with Harrow; 1. Reader meets Marc/Steven as Moon Knight/Mr.Knight when they’re attacked by a monster (lets say a manticore). I’m thinking that even though they’re an avatar, they can’t see the monster cause of the Mist, and try to help the reader thinking they’re being attacked by some random robber or something like that. But the reader (being a child of Hecate) can control the Mist at their whim, so they reveal the monster to Marc/Steven and they defeat the monster together. They acquaint themselves with one another, and this can ultimately lead to other oneshots/ideas connecting to this one where the reader and Marc/Steven learn about their respective worlds and gods/goddesses

Request by: @jupitersmoon167

*not my gif*

Summary: Egypt isn’t the only place that have gods and goddesses that still roam the earth

A/N: I finally got around to getting this out 😅

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“Great. Just great.” You muttered to yourself, ducking as a dumpster was thrown at your head, narrowly missing you, “This is just what I needed today. It just tops off the perfect day I’ve been having.”

You didn’t care that you probably looked crazy to onlooking mortals, talking to yourself and randomly dodging objects that didn’t appear to be there. But they could judge you all they wanted, cause you had a hard day, and you didn’t necessarily want to die.

As the monster let out a terrible roar, you just rolled your eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

The manticore sprung forward from its hind legs, claws outstretched and eyes ablaze with rage.

What the creature didn’t know, was that you weren’t standing there at all, you were actually on the other side of it, trying to figure out how you could kill the thing.

But you had used a simple spell to make it appear as if you were standing where the manticore could see you, it was simply an illusion, though, so as soon as it touched the fake you, it would disappear.

Which is exactly what happened, and the manticore let out a scream of rage, whirling around and narrowing it’s horrible eyes at the sight of you.

Turning your own eyes upwards towards the sky, you let out a silent prayer to your mother, Hecate, asking for strength, after the tiring day, to do what you had to.

Then, without warning, you dove to the side, sending the beast head first into the brick wall behind you.

The earth began shaking at the collision, and you had to spread your arms out to keep from falling flat on your face.

Just as it’s head whipped around back in your direction, a voice from above made both of you halt.

“What the-“

Your heads snapped up so fast that one would have been surprised that neither one of you had gotten whiplash.

There, standing under the brightness of the moon and the stars, was London's very own vigilante, Moon Knight himself.

His head was angled down at you, and you could only wonder what he was seeing through the mist. And by the defensive posture he had, it was nothing good. That much was for sure.

The manticore seemed to quickly lose interest in the white cladded man, and turned its attention back to you, letting out a sharp puff of air before once again charging at you with full speed.

In a half-a-second decision, you waved your hand and the mist disappeared from the eyes of the rising superhero.

Normally, you would never use your magic for something like that. Doing it to mortals could have devastating effects. But it’s not like you had been living under a rock. You had seen the news. You knew that Moon Knight was one of the good guys and that you could trust him.

For a whole second he just stood there, back straightening as he took in the whole new world that he saw. But then he sprung into action with as little warning as you had given moments before.

With his legs outstretched, he lept off of the nearby building's roof and hit the creature dead center with his deadly looking boots.

Its head flew to the side as it let out another earth shattering roar, and it stumbled a bit, giving you all the time you needed to place your palms together quickly and squeeze your eyes shut.

When they snapped back open, they were glowing an eerie purple and about forty long spears appeared in midair surrounding you.

Without wasting another second, you thrust your hands out in front of you and the weapons were thrown at an impossible speed towards the beast, lodging themselves into his side and every other piece of flesh they could find.

Not another sound came out of it as it’s eyes immediately rolled into the back of its head and it fell to the ground with a loud ‘thump’.

Your arms dropped back to your side and you felt your magic slowly seep out of your body, taking your purple irises with them and returning back to their normal color.

Moon Knight was standing a few yards away from you, staring at the dead manticore without the slightest movement in his body.

“What… was that.” He finally spoke, his voice gruffer then you would have expected.

“That was a manticore.” You said casually, sliding your hands into your pocket as you leaned against the wall.

Finally, he looked to your direction and you could almost feel him blink a couple times before he said, “Like from Greek mythology?”

You let out something between a laugh and a scoff, “Believe me, it’s about as mythical as that Khonshu of yours is.”

“There’s… there’s other gods?” Realization dawned on him faster than you would have expected.

You nodded your head.

“And you’re, what? An avatar?”

A full blown laugh escaped you this time, causing you to put your arms around your stomach as you doubled over slightly, “Nah, avatars are your thing.” You snickered slightly, “I’m a demigod, daughter of Hecate to be precise.”

“Daughter of a goddess?” The confusion only increased in his tone.

You let out another laugh, throwing your head back and walking over to the man, patting him on the shoulder before striding away.

“There’s a lot we should talk about.” You called over your shoulder, continuing down the street.

There was a second of silence- of hesitation- but then the sound of footsteps following after you reached your ears and you smiled slightly.

Like a Bee 🐝- @ip747 @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @jvdethirlwall

#platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #marvel #mcu #teen reader #mcu x reader #moon knight #moon knight x reader #mk #mk x reader #mk imagine #marc spector x reader #marc spector x teen!reader #Marc Spector x reader platonic #hecate #goddess hecate #Percy Jackson crossover

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lya-dustin · 2 years

Text

Someone will remember us

Chapter 3

Gif by @useraelin

@ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon

Mother is sweaty and gritting her teeth when Aemma and her father find her leaving her rooms.

Mother was supposed to be lying in until the maesters and the midwife said so. With Luke, mother is said to have contracted a fever and couldn’t rise from her bed for almost two days and two nights.

Grandfather Viserys had come to Dragonstone fearing she would die, but then her fever broke the moment he sat at her bedside, and all was well again.

“Find goodwife Elinda and tell her we are having roast duck for supper, sweetling.” They always have roast duck when a baby is born, Aemma was told it was because both her parents were fond of it.

“Why can’t I go with you to see grandfather and the queen?” Aemma asked annoyed that she has been ordered to fetch someone as if she were a servant girl. First, she had to fetch the midwife, then the maester and then her father and now she was to find the housekeeper.

“Do as you are told, Aem,” her mother warned as she and father left.

“Did you get the sister you asked for on your last nameday?” Harwin asked as he carried the metal carrier for Aethan’s dragon egg to the table.

Syrax had laid eggs, always did when they were born. Always with Seasmoke, never let other male dragons near her.

“No, it’s another boy. Helaena is never wrong.” The silver haired girl shook her head hiding her disappointment.

“Did she say what his dragon will be called?” Jace asked carefully placing the egg in the metal contraption.

“Tyraxes.” Aemma answered letting Ghar smell his new brother.

Ghar had slept through the birth, only yawned and sniffed the baby once he was born.

He had also tried to go with mother only to start screeching when blood started coming out of her.

“Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes.” Luke pointed out. “Only yours doesn’t have an x like Syrax.”

“Elēnar is a perfectly good name for a Velaryon dragon, princess.” Harwin assured her.

Harwin was mother’s sworn shield and rumored lover, but mama assured her he was just a good friend to her. A confidant, she had said.

He was closer to the boys, even looked like them. Lyonel Strong’s first wife had been Briar Storm, bastard of Boremund Baratheon. That was why they looked so similar; he was cousin of their grandmother, or so her Septa had said.

Aemma was closer to father and mother than him. He was like an uncle of sorts to her, unlike her brothers who saw him as a second father.

“Helaena says I will claim Seasmoke, just like she claimed Dreamfyre, and Aunt Laena claimed Vhagar.” Aemma told them forgetting what it meant to claim her father’s dragon.

“That means father will be dead, Aem.” Luke pointed out horrified. “Did Helaena say when he will die?”

“Some people claim dragons as adults, Luke. Maybe your sister will be grown with her own children and your father will have been a grandfather several times over when it happens.” Harwin tried his best to assuage her younger brother’s fears of death.

“Who knows, maybe Aemond will have his own dragon by the time Aemma gets Seasmoke.” Jace joked and they joined in on it.

At least she had a dragon, for a Targaryen to not have a dragon was to be a bird without wings, or a knight with no armor, or so grandmother had told her.

“Don’t be cruel, children, your parents have not raised you to be so.” Harwin chastised them as of he were their father too. “It isn’t Aemond’s fault his egg did not hatch and if I catch you having been cruel to him about it I will have all three of you muck out the stables until your mother says so.”

“Even me?” Aemma asked, usually she got away with things because she was a girl.

“Even you, Aemma.” Her mother said when the door opened behind the children. “We want you to grow up to be good and wise like King Jaehaerys not cruel and arrogant like King Maegor.”

“Mother!” the children try to contain their joy at seeing her and father and the baby. Aemma hadn’t been allowed to see much of him because the maid, Talya had said the Queen wanted them to make haste.

Ser Harwin looks at mother as if the sun had come inside the rooms, he always looks at her like that. Father looks at mother as if his friend had shown up, sometimes he even calls her cousin instead of wife.

“Look,” Jace says as he lifted the lid of the egg hatcher.

“We chose an egg for the baby.” Luke says. Aemma was supposed to go with them, but she had preferred staying with mother and Ghar. It was Luke’s turn to choose the egg anyways.

“Ah, that looks like the perfect egg.” Mother said as Ser Harwin helped her to her seat. It had been a couch that had belonged to her mother, same Queen Aemma who used to read to her daughter just as Rhaenyra read to Aemma and her brothers.

“We let Luke choose.” Jace adds and Luke beams. Mother said the king had chosen Aemma’s egg, then Aemma had chosen Jace’s and Jace had chosen Luke’s.

“Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, princess.” Ser Harwin remains at her mother’s side as he has always done. “I thought it best to escort the lads.”

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander.” Mother breathes out as she finally relaxes. She is always very tense when she has to speak with the Queen these days.

“Another boy, I heard.” Harwin looks at the baby the same way he looks at Jace and Luke, but never her.

Her mother only nods with a smile when she thinks no one is looking.

“Might I?” Harwin asks mother.

“Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey.” Mother tells father who is completely besotted by the baby, and almost reluctantly, Laenor gives him baby Joffrey.

“Of course.” Father looks slightly embarrassed, why should he feel that way?

“Father, may we please hold Joffrey?” Luke asked and reached out to their new baby brother, but Harwin and father nudged them away. There is an unease Harwin gets when Laenor is mentioned as the boys’ father, did he feel jealous that he can’t have sons of his own because he is here with them?

“No, now back to the Dragonpit with you two. Before they send out a search party for you.” Father took them out of mother’s chambers and closed the door behind them.

“Why not Aethan?” Luke asks, they had scoured all the books for Velaryon names and settled with that one. How strange, her father had said they’d consider Aethan. They would have told them his name instead of letting them believe they would choose it.

Aemma had been the one to present the name to their father ---he could never say no to her---, but it had been an entire morning of endless reading to find the perfect name.

“I wanted to name him after my dear friend who is no longer with us, Luke.” Their father explained. He doesn’t tell them that Ser Joffrey Lonmouth was killed by Ser Criston Cole, in fact Aemma only found out because Aegon wanted to scare her when she and Helaena were playing come into my castle with Ghar.

“Can you tell us more about him, father?” Luke asked again, Luke always liked asking too many questions. Too curious or so complained the Maester at their lessons.

“Yes, I will. Ser Joffrey Lonmouth was my best friend.” Father smiles sadly as he began his tale.

#rhaenyra targaryen #asoiaf fanfic #house of the dragon #laenor velaryon #aemma velaryon #asoiaf au #oc fanfiction #someone will remember us fic #ocappreciation

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blankdblank · 1 year

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Protego Pt 6 - Riddle Family Massacre

Masterlist here

...

Thursday did come around. Where she was expecting the Knight Bus, wide eyed she stood underneath the bus stop watching the covered carriage pulled by four invisible Thestrals. “What is that?!” she cried out to Sirius who sat on the front seat of the carriage, smiling madly now that he was with his adored one he hoped to marry one day to see this mystery through to the end with some luck on this trip alone.

“Magical carriage, don’t worry Muggles will think it’s an old busted down Plymouth and they can’t see Thestrals, which only Wizards can see them if they’ve seen death, and they’re the best navigators around. Tried to get Narcissa’s beau Lucius to lend us his family enchanted car, but he wanted in on the action and we were not about to let him tag along. Up front or in the back?”

Under her feet the gradually rising snow crunched to her every nervous step closer. Internally at a loss for if she was seeing a mirage of some sort. The impossibility of the unknown answer of her ancestors and this mode of transportation heightened the urge to shiver beyond reason of just the dropping temperatures that enabled the snowfall. Sharp and quick the draw of a curtain blocking the windows on that side of the carriage facing her had her flinch and freeze. Regulus’ hand off the drawstring to let her see him released to give her a wave matching his widening grin at seeing she’d showed up wearing the same scarf Sirius had pondered she might wear for hours the night prior.

“I’d suggest up front!” Alastor called out from the window in the back he’d opened to do just that, “Everyone should have that experience just once. If you don’t like it you can ride back here on the way home.”

“Hear there’s some incredible sights along the way off our wireless,” Regulus added as a sort of reminder to his older brother on things they looked up he could point out to help keep conversation from dipping into a lull.

Heavily she huffed and walked closer to the carriage. Sinking each step much more as the mounds around the path of the wheels had been pushed up in their arrival. Invisible pressed hooves on her right that made crunches of their own had the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Nothing was there, and yet round hoof like impressions marked the places of four Thestrals who were pulling the carriage. Her body aimed at the front bench and said, “So help me if I fall off, I will kill all of you.”

Hand out to take her raised one Sirius helped her up, ensuring she was safely seated and smiled at her with a renewed grip of the reigns. “Be hard to kill me I’m already in heaven.” Accented with a wink. Up to his chin her hand rose to press in a swipe motion that forced his head forward, “Off we go lads,” clicking his tongue and a flick of the reigns he named the town they were headed for. Soft at first the carriage began to roll forward in the start of a trotting pace of the flighted invisible creatures that by thirty feet had the carriage back up in the air again.

The sudden jolt urged her body to scoot into his side. A reflex answered by his, a raise of his arm to let her dip and latch around his middle. Chuckles muffled inside the carriage from the pair who had seen that move they guessed might happen. Widely Sirius grinned to himself, even at the awkward fold of his jacket to jam an internal row of buttons securing a spare magical warming layer into his ribs underneath her arms. “You are sure we won’t be seen?!” she checked.

Around her back his arm lowered to rest there and help her feel more secure in time. “Cross my heart, whole thing is enchanted, even our seat, no one can see us except for Wizards in flying vehicles or on brooms.”

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” she squeaked and he simply held her a bit firmer until she began to calm down at least at the wind, but not the height that after a few stolen peeks out over his other arm she ducked back to burrow her head into his chest. Ignoring the flap of the collar of her double breasted coat in a timed thwack against her face due to the shifting wind currents around them.

Begrudging ally or not, by the time the first trip to the theater had been over she had begun to know that there was at least some room for trust brewing between them. She might not be overly sure as to what his intentions might be exactly, but until he showed otherwise she felt she could give him a chance to be trusted by her with some things at least. If in anything to be a distant relative to warm up to in time and mingle with on random holidays should things with Lily keep growing sour. The room once echoing of giggles long past bedtime now sat uncomfortably silent on both sides of an invisible line drawn between beds they sat upon not looking the others way.

Glints of edges of buildings grew more visible to the drop of the carriage. A town with rows of shops and homes in wavy patterns ended with flat ends between blocks became more obvious the closer they got. A city far from the euphoric place she had heard of from her parents under this blanket of snow shielding all that was meant to be so magical about this place that gifted her to them. Just streets and buildings between the scattered bodies of children exploring their town and creating frozen kingdoms of their own with dreams of magic now lost to her were to be seen blocking off any joyful sensation in being here. Only fear, heart thundering louder than hooves and wheels that met the cobbled road almost made her miss notice of the landing.

Right outside the city they did park the carriage. Regulus was first to pop out of the back with hold of a container that let out the unmistakable scent of blood into the air when opened. Four trays, now the lid was off, slid apart to help the four claim their own snack Alastor helped him to hold. Off the carriage the duo on the front bench climbed into the trench the carriage and other two made, to wiggle and stretch a few of their most stiffened joints. “What is that?” Jewels asked aloud before she’d realized it.

“Raw meat. Best cuts we have in the supply for the family herd.” Sirius answered and she looked up at him lost to what the boys might be feeding.

The invisible bodies clearly snacked on in gratitude, noisily naming their locations for the young girl who moved closer with a trembling hand raised to land awkwardly on the neck of one of the invisible bodies. Each muscle under her hand shifted around the meal in the rise of the head to swallow it whole. “How, how do you take care of them if you can’t see them?”

Regulus answered, “Our Gran had a bad bout of sickness few years back, passed on during our evening talk she wanted with us, we can see them just fine.”

Alastor added when she looked his way, “Had a stage hand take an untimely step too many on a hanging support to a heavy prop. Good thing was the fumes of the cloud of dust it let off killed him before he hit the stage, after he’d hit a few more props on the way.”

“Oh,” she replied and Sirius shook his head, helping to guide her hand to its head.

“Think black eagle head on a winged horse’s body.” Sirius explained to help distract her off that morbid topic.

“Oh,” she said, then asked, “Like a Hippogriff?”

“Um,” Sirius answered, “Maybe if you plucked the Hippogriff, these don’t have feathers. More leathery.”

Contently it let out a puff of an exhale laced grunt of approval to the contact of the curious girl. “You have a herd of these?” she asked and the brothers nodded to the fall of her eyes onto the pair.

Regulus answered, ticking his head to the side, “Yes, well, Gramps does. All our family properties are linked to the family mansion that’s hidden away on unplottable land. We all have stables and the herd can be brought from that land to let out the carriages on an empty street nearby if we’re close to Muggle lands. Which our house is smack in the middle of London, comes in handy.”

After giving the Thestral another pat she said, “We should go now, I can pet them again later. Maybe even feed them.”

Regulus smiled as his brother still had hold of the now lowered hand, stating for him, “We brought tons of snacks for them. They’ll surely love you after that.”

Walking away from the carriage they were glad to have all worn warm pants, socks and boots to counter the accumulated snow now being joined by more to settle atop their jackets and chosen knitted hats, the latter matching their sweaters and scarves. Much deeper than the prior stop, and much harder to not whip out their wands to carve walkways as they did at school to spare that small struggle. The quiet little town wasn’t used to guests this time of year, but at the gossip shared of an adoption record inquiry with the post office the other day the curious visitors, if bothered at all, would be taken as the ones who had called.

Alastor had memorized the maps of this town and named the way to the others. Each silent to let each sound rippling from between the rows of buildings and grouped blocks of houses almost bowl them over as the wind hoped to do. She wanted answers. To know what mother she belonged to. But in that came the terror of the notion that like her birth father that woman could be anyone.

Morfin Gaunt was no saint, having served time in Azkaban back in the late 20’s and early 30’s in prison for assault on a Witch, his own sister no less. Same as their father who died shortly after his release from the same prison. Known widely to be poor, somehow there was a woman to have been lured to marry into the Gaunt family. A man of short temper surely was the source of hers, now she had to know what she gained from her mother. All by means of a single undocumented name on her birth certificate.

The noise of each street they passed by had their eyes swiveling to take in what surrounded them as if an attack could come and evasive maneuvers would be called for. A void of noise had their hair prickle in a rise up when they stepped in front of a row of offices. Frail and quiet Jewels was able to ask, “Why did it go quiet like that?”

Alastor replied, “Land keeps a memory, like certain spaces feel sinister, not haunted. We’d see sign of a ghost or two. More like they tore something bad down.”

Regulus asked with a hint of uncertainty in his voice for how Jewels would react to hearing it, “I thought only the orphanage had been torn down, right?”

“Mummy did say they wouldn’t have left me there,” she murmured back.

A step closer to her side Sirius pushed through the snow to say in a comforting tone, “No shortage of novels with sad goings on at orphanages. Now we have to find a much more likely haunted Nunnery.”

Up at him she looked with pointed gaze for the unnoticed borderline joke Alastor cut in to say plainly, “Now Padfoot, ghosts are not the goal for a top notch Nunnery. Just need the penguins and some bells for that.” That was enough to get her to look his way and he pointed forward, “Two streets and we take the next curve to the end atop the hill. Not far now.” She nodded and they pushed onwards past the quiet pocket, back into more echoes of the more playful city residents out and about and those just being nosy about the visitors passing by.

Right to the center of the main road in town easy to be gotten to by everyone the Nunnery was located. Fixed to the back of the church and the side of the Midwife and Doctors clinic, that unlike the demolished orphanage was sure to be in use for decades to come by the townspeople. Almost painfully the town grew under the shadow of the ledge hanging over the front stoop. Silence hung over the teens who had shaken themselves free of snow in reading the notice the bell was broken and to use the knocker. Silence broken by Jewels, who saw her hand rise on its own to clack the heavy ring against the wooden barrier between her and the information promised to her.

“Maybe they’re deaf?” Sirius muttered on the cusp of the third minute to pass by in their wait. But the chatter of the boys broke when the door opened and one of the eldest Nuns opened the heavy door lowering her eyes to land on the shorter group that all flinched up anxious waves. “Hello, how might we help you?” she spoke aloud in a curious tone.

Jewelia answered, “I was adopted out of Wool’s Orphanage, I hoped I could see my adoption file.”

“Oh yes,” she said elatedly and stepped aside, “Come in, yes, we did get a call about an adoption file.” Behind them she sealed the door shut again and gestured her hand to the side to lead them along when she turned around. Back to one of the back rooms she led them all, asking along the way, “Would you happen to know your birth parents’ names, or merely your adoption date?”

“The father is listed as Morfin Gaunt.” The girl answered in what she hoped to have been a steady tone.

“Gaunt,” she said. Into a cabinet of drawers now ajar for the letter G her fingers flit across the file folder tabs inside. Closing the two beneath the first with her foot and knee once she had located the proper collection of files, lifting one out of the bunch to check, “Merope Gaunt?” blindly to her side she passed to Jewels that the girl opened in the drop of her eyes, “And a, Morfin Gaunt, odd.”

“Both siblings left children here?” Regulus asked his brother in Latin, who shrugged.

“No record of a kid for Merope in our ledger,” Sirius muttered back in the same tongue.

The Nun looked up as she shut the drawer to the girl who’d already been reading the notes on the first page of the file. “This says she had a son,” Jewels read.

Regulus said, “Morfin’s sister was Merope, you have a cousin.”

The Nun smiled and offered Jewels her file, “Daughter, adopted by the Evans, correct?” Jewels nodded and she said, “I will leave you the room a few minutes and fetch you all some tea.” Out of the room she walked and the teens looked around moving to the spare open square of chairs along a corner of the office muffling noise of the other Nuns at work throughout the clinic on the other side of the far wall.

“What’s it say about him?” Regulus asked when they’d all settled around her, with her right in the corner seat to give them all fair view of her reactions or the file if need be.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr.” Jewels’ brows furrowed, and she said, “This says he went to Hogwarts.” That had the guys huddled around her to look a bit closer, “Apparently he was a thief and an arsonist.”

“Riddle,” Sirius said to himself, “Where have I read that name?”

“Something about a bunny, and moving his room to a new secluded room.” She turned the pages filled with disciplinary notes and ample with other things hastily compiled surely over the years between medical check up receipts. “He left at 16 and never came back, there’s an article in here about, Riddle family, massacre.” Her voice broke off and Alastor took hold of the Daily Prophet cutout the Muggles must have taken as scraps left around his room that were included in his file.

He continued, “Says the only believed suspect was Morfin Gaunt, who after nearly two decades wanted revenge for the death of his sister in childbirth of the son she had from the Muggle husband who abandoned her. Something about an earlier sentence and charges he was let loose after their father Marvolo died. Killed the whole Riddle family. But there was no proof, couldn’t even get a memory out of him on it.”

“So, my birth father killed his in laws, and still left the boy here?” She asked more herself in shock for what her father did than the others.

Alastor said, “Least now we know the name to dig into the Prophet archives for. We can write them today when we get back. Something seems fishy about this massacre too. All we know this Riddle Jr was a sick puppy when he graduated, went home to find his father and got curse happy.” Story of how the orphanage was shut down also came in a bit of a mystery as the Matron in charge had been found dead in another terrible accident not long ago enabling the office building developers who wanted the land on that block an easy time in buying it up.

The camera Regulus had brought was used to make copies of the whole file as she watched, not willing to open her own file just quite yet. Changing the film three times, the final time he sealed the camera back again and slid the used roll into his pocket designated for them. “What’s your file say?” Alastor gently urged her to finally break the front cover that revealed how she had been orphaned.

Sirius helped her to situate the top page right side up that had a read out of the Muggle police report of a rather inexplicable death for the couple that left a little girl an orphan. “This doesn’t make sense, how is this an accident?”

Sirius shook his head, “This wouldn’t be an accident. Someone killed them.”

“I remember the day you were brought to the clinic,” the Nun spoke upon her return pushing a tea cart loaded with mugs of warm drinks and some hard biscuits to nibble on while it cooled. Her smile spread in the fall of her eyes on the girl again. “Eyes like no other, heard tell some imagined your eyes to change colors, hair too.” A chuckle left her in the offer of the mugs to each of the teens who welcomed the warm treats with soft thanks. “Brought right round here to ensure you were healthy. The Doc wouldn’t say what had befallen your parents, only you were heard crying behind a closed door your mother had collapsed in front of.”

Gradually away from her lips to blow on the tea in her mug Jewels lowered the mug, unable to take a sip yet off what she had heard. “Do, you remember her name?”

The Nun shook her head, “Can’t say we were able to uncover one. City records show no marriage and our public notice came up nil in leads for any relatives or missing persons.” Wrinkles on her face formed in the force of a smile onto her face, “Only, I recall something of some siblings in the family who adopted you?”

Jewels nodded, “I have two sisters.”

“See, all is well that ends well.” To the tick of her brows up so the woman could sip on her own tea Jewels dared to take a sip of the drink far beyond able to comfort her now.

“What do you remember about her cousin?” Alastor asked and a sour look flinched across the Nun’s face when the mug lowered from her mouth.

“Foul little creature. We heard terrible stories from some of the girls who came to join our order before he just vanished into the wind at 17. Should be my age now,” then she nodded and reached out a hand to pat Jewels’ knee. “Best not search for him. Cannot trust so much as a bunny rabbit with that one. That one is no kin to a kind child like you.” Off Jewels’ face to the file she looked asking, “Why have you come in search of the orphanage?”

When their eyes met again Jewels replied, “Mother’s name is blank on my birth certificate.”

“Oh yes, truly, I do wish we might have been of more help to you on that front.” A phone call had the woman set her mug down and rise to go and fetch it in the lift of a finger stating she would return again.

“Pictures,” Regulus said, hurrying to reach over and collect her file to snap pictures of each document and return it while the woman seemed to be locked in a conversation that drug on longer than she hoped.

“Little Hangleton,” she muttered to herself when they were again alone on that same stoop now facing the other way. “How far would you imagine that is?”

Sirius smiled widely and said, “Not without grasp of our steeds. Thestrals can find anyplace. Natural navigators.” Back to the carriage and waiting steeds he led her, not allowing her body to lock up in the whirl of her mind over what she had learned about her birth family. Chance to offer some raw meat snacks of her own had Jewels a bit relieved by the distraction between this discovery and the continued search now extended to the house she was taken from.

Little Hangleton wasn’t far off from the previous town, and out of the dozens of houses here the one the Gaunts lived at wasn’t hard to pick out for Jewels. Who at the sight of the house out of her years of nightmares fainted when she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

“Jewels?” the guys all asked as she came to, each huddled around her inside the divot of snow they made to help keep her out of the cold wind that only helped to stop her from scooting away from the house that had her eyes fill with tears.

“That’s the house, I keep seeing that house, there’s a woman trapped in there.” She whimpered out in her panic bubbling out of her trembling self.

“Okay,” Regulus said. He nodded his head trying to calm her down, “Let’s scope it out.”

Sirius and Alastor helped her up, the latter asking, “What’s the woman look like?”

“Me,” she answered shakily and he wet his lips, stealing another glance at the house then looked back to her. He now saw the tears that broke loose down her cheeks out of fear that had the roots of her hair and brows turning black in a gradual loss of her ability to keep her disguise.

“Jewels, it might be a trapped memory. Of when you lived there, they didn’t have an exact birthday for you in the file.” Alastor said in as supportive a tone he could muster to the fall of her tears Sirius helped to wipe away.

“But we’ll check it out.” Sirius said.

Answers did come, none calming as they stood wordless at a headstone that left her mother without a name outside a long since emptied house they couldn’t find a way to break in without getting expelled for it.

Alastor as promised did dig into the Daily Prophet records for any bit of news he could find on the Gaunts and any semblance of a wedding or birth announcement linked to them. The paper would name that Marvolo died alone inside the house before his son could be released from an assault charge against Ministry members who talked to them about their danger to the Muggle Riddle clan, of which Merope bore a fondness for one of them.

Bloody revenge was the claimed reason for Morfin’s second sentence in Azkaban. Against the same family his sister had abandoned him and their father to marry into and bear a child for. Yet decades later he and an unknown Witch got caught in some unfortunate accident as the Muggles claimed the Gaunt line had been cut off entirely by their research. No courtship, no marriage and most certainly no baby was noted. Thus stalling the family standings without an heir noted to retrieve custody of what little the Wizarding World saw them flaunt and all they imagined to be hidden away.

Day after day on lunches the guys would share what they had dug up in their turns at the hoard of Prophet news clipping copies Alastor had divided to not handle alone by their girth. Nothing to reassure her any of the three Gaunts had endearing qualities to lure a presumed young spouse to wed them. Daily her hair when she got home grew darker and she found a place to sit with legs curled up to her chest unable to know who to talk to in all this.

“That theater troupe was supposed to be a happy thing.” Petunia said, having finally broken to chatting with her baby sister who was seated inside the spare coat closet in the back of the house.

“It is,” Jewels replied softly.

Down into the closet Petunia moved to settle herself down at Jewels’ side, “This is where you reign in ecstatic glee then?”

“I’m related to one of the founders at school,” she said softly, but not soft enough that Lily walking by couldn’t hear, urging her to stop and listen in to what she’d been missing. “I found my adoption papers and the boys who go to theater with me have been helping me to hunt out my birth parents.”

“Have,” Petunia squeaked out in a loss for what to say, “Have you found anything?”

“I found the house, in my dream, where the woman is trapped. My birth father is dead and we haven’t been able to track down his wife’s name yet. Apparently Witches don’t keep records like we do, it’s all in bloodlines.”

“That must be maddening.” Petunia said and leaned closer to Jewels’ side as she sniffled and tucked forward into her legs.

“I just want to know where I came from,” she squeaked out, “In case one day you don’t want me anymore.”

“Mummy and Daddy chose you, if anything we would kick Lily out long before you,” she said deliberately to make Jewels chuckle but only made her feel a bit worse. “You get so sad little bunny,” Petunia sighed cuddling her sister closer. “No one is ever going to ever be able to stop you being an Evans. You are stuck with us I am afraid, as we are stuck with Great Aunt Gertrude.” That had Jewels giggle and sniffle to Petunia’s hint of a grin in their shared dislike of the woman who fawned over Lily and never cared to show them any mind. “For now, we must get your face washed and your hair in those bows,”

“I hate those bows, they pinch my head.” Jewels whined in reply.

“I know,” Petunia replied wearing a pair of their own. “But if we are ever to compete for some praise at the table we must endure the pinches until one day we dole out our own.” Muffled grumbles followed on the way down the hall to the bath where the elder sister helped the youngest to freshen up and fix her hair that was steadily creeping back to maroon again.

Lily however faked a trip to the bedroom as if she’d forgotten something only to come back out and find her sister to ask, “Where did you get that broomstick?!”

Jewels turned from the mirror and replied, “A gift from Sirius and Regulus.”

Lily scoffed, “Since when do you have anything to do with Sirius Black?! And just who is Regulus?! You are supposed to be taking acting lessons not flirting with random boys!” she stormed out of the room.

And where Petunia might have assumed Jewels might burst into tears at the insinuation the adopted daughter stormed herself downstairs to create her own path of fire and brimstone bringing up each and every fault James had. The very same boy who gifted Lily the bracelet she had shown off all day who was far crueler to their joint friend until eventually the both of them were sent to bed by their parents without supper, away from their amused visiting relatives, in separate rooms.

Pt 7

#Marauders Era #Alastor Moody #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Petunia Evans #Lily Evans #Riddle Family Massacre #Gaunt Family Mystery #Wool's Orphanage #Thestrals #Flying Carriages #Sisterly Fued #Gifted Broomstick #Harry Potter #Sirius Black Pining

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sassy-radio-hazbin-queen · 1 year

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Ok so my post was deleted somehow and I can't remember all the words I used 😂.

But the winners of the Best Darkwing duck episode is Negaduck ❤️

Pretty popular ain't he. Must be Jim Cummings at his best

The winner of the best Ducktales episodes is The Duck Knight rises

Hmm I wonder why could it be because it's Darkwing duck origin and the beginning of Drakepad ❤️

And finally the best Ducktales Couples goes to Drakepad ❤️❤️

I know I already posted a Drakepad gif bits here's a couple more

Oops 😂 tumblr is messing with me

#darkwing duck #drake mallard #ducktales #negaduck #drakepad #Tumblr is fucking up 😂

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chaosbuzz · 8 months

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PREVIEW: FACTIONS

(1) Ministry of Magic

“All he’s inherited from Bagnold is a poisoned chalice. Fudge is nothing more than a lame duck during a fractious interregnum.” — unofficial comment on Minister Fudge from The Prophet’s head political correspondent

Although Cornelius Fudge was first appointed as interim Minister in 1983 in the immediate aftermath of Minister Bagnold’s murder, he was formally confirmed by the Wizengamot into the position a year after. It was then that Fudge ran on a manifesto of law and order, caution, and conservatism. His politics appealed to those who eschewed change and more progressive values, and many of his supporters and allies are members of the old political establishment.

However, it is no secret that Fudge is not a particularly strong man or a charismatic individual. He is easily influenced by those around him, and falls prey to sycophants and insincere supporters. Indeed his current Cabinet is effectively an old boys’ club of ‘yes men’ with agendas of their own. Fudge’s Ministry thus far has been characterised by rampant power plays and shifting loyalties within his inner circle.

With the upcoming General Election looming on the horizon, Fudge has been looking to his previous supporters (and their deep pockets) for support once again. He continues to speak to tradition and the strength of the wixen world during his campaign, but those close to him have whispered that he is aware of the growing popularity of the Knights of Walpurgis and Tom Riddle. In response, Fudge has been taking measures to counter that popularity by pandering to more right-wing voters. Whether those steps will actually be effective is anyone’s guess, particularly with the wider population clamouring for something other than a candidate of continuity.

(2) Riddle’s Supporters

“Magic is might. And how can one explain such power—its weight, its responsibilities, its possibilities—to those without? We would have more success teaching chess to a crup.” - Tom M. Riddle MW for Buckinghamshire at a Knights Rally in 1978

A prominent voice within the world of British political commentary, former Professor Tom Riddle emerged as a leading figure of public dissatisfaction with the slumbering Wizengamot in the 1960s. Buoyed by public support and the favour of the Daily Prophet, he was elected into office and rose to prominence in the decade that followed.

Tom Riddle’s supporters are determined to bring about his vision of a united and restored Magocratic Camelot. However, Riddle’s ideology is characterised more by what he stands against rather than what he stands for: he opposes unionisation, political and cultural liberalism, and—ultimately—parliamentary democracy itself. Although Riddle does not explicitly express blood purity as a political goal per se, he is known to espouse many purist sympathies despite his widely known half-blood status.

In particular, he campaigns against the “dilution” of Wixen culture. There is a longing deeply embedded within many strata of Wixen Britain for the preservation of magical heritage, a heritage seemingly under threat by the rise of globalisation and increasingly dynamic Wix-Muggle relations. Therein lies Riddle’s homebase, moreso than the powerful purebloods under his thumb. His ground supporters are a surprisingly broad church of individuals who feel disenfranchised, lost, or forgotten by the remainder of wixen society.

Knights of Walpurgis

Spearheaded by Riddle’s acolytes in the Wizengamot, the Knights are both a voting bloc within the Wizengamot as well as a broader political affiliation with the aim to support and empower Riddle. The vast majority of Knights are pureblood, though Riddle’s cult of personality appeals to many other wix in the general populace.

The Knights also represent civilians outside of the Wizengamot who work with a view to strengthen Riddle’s ever growing hold on the engines of British politics. For example, Knights working in the Department of Mysteries may be feeding intelligence to Riddle and his compatriots as ‘sleeper agents’. Knights may also form part of the broader establishment, from the entertainment and media industry to the magical educational system.

Inspiration: the Illuminati, the European Research Group of the UK’s Conservative Party

Death Eaters

The Death Eaters are a violent terrorist group loosely associated with Riddle’s political views. However, Riddle rejects any allegation of direct collaboration with or providing support to them. But the reality is far more grim, for the core members of the DEs are indeed some of Riddle’s closest political allies and supporters — including key members of the Knights of Walpurgis. And at the very rotten core, Riddle’s own wife, Bellatrix Black, is the ultimate puppet master behind the violent organisation.

The Death Eaters have a range of different methods to bring attention to their causes, predominantly that of violence and intimidation. Their primary purposes are to provide protection for Riddle and the Knights’ rallies and assemblies, disrupting the meetings of their oppositions, and intimidating muggleborns and so-called blood traitors. More recently, they are behind the assassination of Minister Millicent Bagnold. Yet although they have publicly celebrated her death, the Death Eaters have stopped short of claiming it.

Inspiration: the Blackshirts of the British Union of Fascists, the Proud Boys and the Trump Administration

RANKS:

Monarch - Bellatrix Black

Rooks - The elite inner circle reporting directly to the Monarch. Rooks are a highly selective group who are aware of Tom Riddle's involvement with the Death Eaters—after all, all Death Eaters are equal, but some are more equal than others. Powerful and ambitious individuals such as Lucius Malfoy belong to this group.

Bishops - Contain the bulk of the group and most answer to Rooks. Bishops are aware of the existence of the Monarch, but are not directly in contact with her and are not aware of Tom Riddle's involvement in the group. The Greyback pack would belong within this rank and answer to Greyback, a Rook.

Pawns - Are in the process of being radicalised, though their position remains uncertain. They are not aware of any organised structure within the Death Eaters and are currently having their loyalties tested.

The Daily Prophet

“Riddle's a [censored expletive] golden goose. I don't care if you disagree with him. Just finish the [censored expletive] article on him, you [censored expletive] [censored expletive]. I didn't ask for an op-ed.” - editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, 1985

The Prophet is a mass media and publishing company which serves as the largest news organisation in wixen Britain with a near monopoly of the industry.

Before Riddle’s rise to political power, his voice and visions were often published and promoted by the editorial team behind the Daily Prophet. This was a mutually beneficial deal: Riddle’s name and profile rose rapidly in the ‘60s and ‘70s, and the Prophet’s platform for controversial pro-purity viewpoints led to a significant increase in their profits. Although many have objected to the clearly pro-purity editorial voice behind much of the Prophet’s works, the strategy has certainly paid off in spades.

That is not to say that every staff member at the Prophet supports Riddle. Indeed this is far from the truth, but the Prophet’s founding family’s concern is ultimately the bottom line. Any potential threat to undermine their profit margin may not be taken so well by the head honchos.

Inspiration: News Corp and Murdoch’s media empire, US Fox News

(3) Order of the Phoenix

“I have made many grave mistakes in my life. Yet I fear none are as great as my failure to convince Armando not to hire Tom at Hogwarts. We have now couched the boy in a legitimacy we can never take back. He has fooled us all.” - Albus Dumbledore to Moody and McGonagall during the first Order meeting in 1978

Following the rise of Death Eater activity and his suspicions of the group’s links to Tom Riddle, Dumbledore established the Order of Phoenix in the late seventies. The Order is a clandestine group and network whose mission is to handle the growing threat that the Death Eaters pose. They are thus far the largest and most organised civilian group working against the DEs.

Despite Dumbledore’s belief of a link between Riddle and the Death Eaters, he was not able to find definitive proof on the matter. Therefore, while Riddle’s growing influence is a related concern for Order members, their main focus is on defence-based direct action against the Death Eaters.

The Order of the Phoenix’s paramilitary is made up of volunteer field agents. Their primary goal is to minimise physical harm caused by the Death Eaters and protect innocent civilians. However, since Dumbledore’s death, the Order has become increasingly more forceful and have at times been the side to initiate violence against perceived Death Eater threat. Some members disagree with this penchant towards violence and fear of being tarred by the same brush as the extremist Coalition for Unity. Nevertheless there is a general consensus that the Order must continue to work together towards dealing with the threat that the Death Eaters pose.

After the events of 1985, the existence of the Order as a organisation became publicly known and has since been marked as an extremist group by the Ministry. However this label remains somewhat controversial as the decision is widely believed to have been a political move by the Ministry to avoid addressing their failures in maintaining law and order.

ROLES:

Strategists

The leadership of the Order form the senior strategists of the organisation. They principally plan out missions and prepare for confrontations against Death Eaters. The seniors are also responsible for driving the Order into the future and determining what the group’s longer-term plans may look like. Since Dumbledore’s death, the strategists have struggled as fault lines emerge on how or whether the Order ought to use its influence beyond their existing scope.

Some members of the Order, including Minerva McGonagall and James Potter, seek to campaign for and help install Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister in the near future. On the other hand, others such as Lily Potter believe that the Order should remain politically neutral in terms of individual candidates. It remains to be seen what direction the organisation will take in the coming months.

Field agents

Order members with combat experience or duelling expertise are invited to participate in missions. Missions often involve confrontations with the Death Eaters or more general security measures such as crowd control during rallies. In some cases, an Order member may go out into the cold to spy on suspected Death Eaters. All field agents are able to cast patronuses as this is the principle method of communication between them.

Network

All Order members form their vital network of informants and skill-providers. Examples of these might include healing and potions-making to support field agents. Oftentimes, an existing Order member may recruit others into the network based on the group’s needs at the moment, though such a member may not hold a permanent or official role within the group. Their flexible but robust network has become an essential part of the Order’s successes.

Currently, there are a number of investigators who are working alongside the Quibbler in an attempt to expose any potential links between Riddle and the Death Eaters. They report directly to Shacklebolt who is leveraging his peerage and political connections to get closer to the source itself.

The Quibbler

Marketed as The Wizarding World's Alternative Voice, the Quibbler is a relatively new tabloid published and edited by Xenophilius Lovegood. The Quibbler is known for its publication of whimsical theories and innocent conspiracies with limited amounts of sources and evidence. However, in recent times the magazine has moved in a different editorial direction—one embracing political satire and scrutinising current affairs. It is still a fringe publication, a fifth estate zine to some. Yet, now emboldened by its ties to the Order, the Quibbler has been going from strength to strength in the past year.

Inspiration: Brighton Voice, the general vibe of the Yes Men, Private Eye

(4) Other Anti-Riddle Groups

“Resistance is not inevitable. But neither is Fudge’s victory. Resistance is an effort that requires blood, sweat, and tears from us all. Only then can we unite against the forces that wish to divide and conquer us in the name of purity or tradition.” — from a Coalition for Unity leaflet disseminated during the Ministerial Election of 1984.

There are a number of formal and informal groups and grassroots organisations working against Riddle, the Knights of Walpurgis, and/or the Death Eaters. In particular, squib rights activists, creatures liberation campaigners, and unionists have often led the political fight against the Knights using traditional methods such as door to door campaigning, marches, and forms of direct action.

Many of such activists have political views which align with the Order’s, though they may be unable to participate in the group for various reasons (including an inability to get an ‘in’ within the Order in the first place). Of course, not all those opposed to Riddle are ideologically united. The anti-Riddle wing encompasses a broad range of views from liberals who remain supportive of Fudge’s Ministry, to Marxists who seek to overthrow the system altogether.

Coalition for Unity

The Coalition for Unity is a militant anti-fascist decentralised collective of individuals dedicated to combating all forms of elitism, blood purity and supremacy in Wixen Britain. This not only involves opposing the Death Eaters, but the Knights and Fudge’s ministry as well. Despite their skillful organisation, the general public’s perception of the Coalition remains largely that of self-righteous violent skinheads and angry punks.

Members of the group typically operate individually or in small ‘cells’ on behalf of the wider organisation, and communicate through the use of enchanted parchment. These are disseminated by a group of recruiters to inductees, with various different access levels available to the reader upon seniority. Each member has their own unique call sign as the group is entirely anonymous, even among its first members. Their call signs are based on species of British woodland animals.

The Coalition is generally associated with anarchism and has shown a willingness to adopt violent tactics including vandalism, sabotage, and sub-lethal violence, which has afforded them the label of an extremist group. During the Blood Riots, the Coalition’s tactics focused on guerrilla-type warfare against the Death Eaters and members of the group were often at the front lines of such encounters.

Inspiration: Antifa, Youth Liberation Front

The Fourth Estate

The Fourth Estate is a left-leaning British national newspaper and broader media group known for its financial and editorial independence. The Fourth Estate was originally a local paper founded in Greater Manchester in the 1860s before growing nationwide and garnering a reputation for integrity and truth. However, their reach is still limited, with a market position of just under half of the Prophet’s readership.

Unlike the Prophet, the Fourth Estate does not explicitly support individual political candidates or factions within the Wizengamot. They are, however, very politically active and have in recent times lent their voice in support of the expansion of squib and creatures rights. They have become one of Riddle’s most vocal critics and scrutinisers since his election into the Wizengamot.

Inspiration: the Guardian newspaper, Democracy Now!

The Underground

The Underground is a station that celebrates wixen subculture and seeks to provide a voice for radio hosts who represent less mainstream viewpoints. As the Wizarding Wireless Network is owned by the Daily Prophet and uninterested in publishing anything anti-Riddle, the Underground is where these radio hosts can find an outlet for their voice. All hosts go by a codename to avoid any potential retaliation, but the show itself is open for all who want to tune in.

Topics include political commentary and humour, speculation on the upcoming election, interviews with prominent anti-Riddle and anti-purist protestors, and everything in between. No one knows who actually owns and produces The Underground, but if you have something to share with the world, they will likely reach out to you.

Inspiration: the Young Turks, International Times

#chaosbuzz #factions

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demonicxrocker · 2 years

Text

current inbox status: anon + non-anon requests are on. feel free to request stuff, just don't be a fucking cunt ty

current number of request(s) in inbox: 11

hey hey— the name's mod corey. i use they/them pronouns; they/them is preferred but feel free to use the he/him ones instead if you want ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

main blog is @coreys-riffin . im also mod blaze in the @pr0ject-chaos group editing acc as well

top and bottom graphics are made by me— headers are linked here and here

please stop asking me why i don't like spam-liking or spam-reblogs, i swear to god. /srs

[more info is under the cut :thumbs up grinning emoji lol:]

🔥 || content

icons

pride icons

reply icons

gif icons

matching icons

playlists

care kits/clothing kits (is that what they're called?)

stimboards

moodboards

wallpapers (very selective bc it's been a bit)

layouts

name sets

pronoun sets (selective xp)

color picked pride flags

transparents (will be posted onto my transparents account and reblogged here)

probably more things im not thinking about atm tbh lol

🎸 || sources

(favorites are in bold)

canadian cartoons (grojband, looped, yin yang yo, camp lakebottom are the ones that pop up in my head first, but im down for editing almost all of them)

sonic (somewhat selective since im not that heavily into the franchise)

pokemon + pokemon media (ie the starters series by movieunleashers, etc)

any generation of my little pony, littlest pet shop, strawberry shortcake, care bears

any show that aired on qubo in it's lifetime (ie. pecola, sitting ducks, babar, sandra the fairytale detective, sally bollywood, etc etc)

disney animated shows (amphibia, gravity falls, wander over yander, the owl house, etc) (semi-selective)

SOME nickelodeon animated shows/nicktoons (making fiends, danny phantom, fairly oddparents, my life as a teenage robot, etc etc)

rise of the tmnt (friends/mutuals can request other tmnt series)

cookie run (ovenbreak + other games, mainly. will do kingdom but it's VERY fucking selective)

super phantom cat games, spoon pets / neko atsume, postknight 1 + 2, etc (mobile games, basically)

super cat bros / super cat tales games

browser games like heart star, double panda, and etc. their mobile game counterparts are allowed too

harvest moon / hometown story franchise

cartoon network shows (adventure time, regular show, over the garden wall, etc etc) (semi-selective)

lego shows (ninjago, monkie kid, nexo knights, etc etc) (selective)

sanrio (aggrestuko included)

all saints street, little witch academia, and any of the monster collecting animes (digimon, bakugan, yugioh, yokai watch, etc)

panty and stocking

minecraft, minecraft story mode, and mcyt in general (hermitcraft, last life series, empires, etc etc.)

dsmp (unproblematic creators only i stg) (VERY selective)

dude, that's my ghost!

webshows (group 5, dick figures, happy tree friends, bravest warriors, and etc) (semi-selective)

webcomics (ie. sparklecare, ghost eyes, it hurts, serendipity, deathsitter, etc etc) (semi-selective)

🧨 || unfamiliar sources but will still edit for

pretty much anything, to be honest. just make sure i haven't said outright that i won't do it. ocs also fall into this category most of the time

💢 || sources i absolutely WILL NOT edit for

object shows

clone high

madness combat

stardew valley

spooky season or anything by sr pelo

any horror game (fnaf, poppy playtime, etc)

boyfriends webtoon

friday night funkin

genshin impact

bandori

any irl source (yes, this involves dhmis)

total drama series + 6teen

any animated disney movie

anime in general

pokemon creepypastas, mlp creepypastas, or various other creepypastas. also just creepypastas in general tbch

hazbin hotel / helluva boss

avatar the last airbender / legend of korra

omori

vocaloid

vtubers

south park

arcane / league of legends

welcome home (also just horror args in general. lol)

warrior cats

hetalia / countryhumans

musicals in general

homestuck

irl people in general (with the exception of some minecraft youtubers)

harry potter

paw patrol or thomas the tank engine. (yes seriously)

probably forgetting some stuff here but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

⛓️ | blacklist / general things i will not edit for

weirdcore, traumacore, "sanriocore" (*actual* sanriocore is fine, im talking about the kind that's essentially just traumacore but with sanrio characters whatnot)

fetish-y type shit (i am NOT explaining this one.)

laney + corney (grojband character n grojband ship)

ectofeature

lloyd, harumi, or garmadon (ninjago characters)

lloyd x anyone ships

extreme body horror / gore

agere, babycore, angelcore— stuff like that (not against it by any means but it's just not my personal thing tbh)

#🔥; mod corey #🕯; update #⛓️; request list / inbox check #🧨; not a request #💥; request complete!#🎸; my edits #💀; my stimboards #🎼; request declined.#🕸; request pending...#🎧; not an edit #🌋; chatting #pinned post #🎵; my playlists #🎶; self rb #🖤; promo #💢 ; rb #☠️; source updates

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drummergirl231-2 · 3 years

Text

So are they gonna make a movie or a spinoff or something?

There were a few unanswered questions and loose ends when DuckTales ended, but none as obvious as the Darkwing Duck plots.

First, there was the introduction of Negaduck that came to nothing.

And then Drake promised Gosalyn he’d keep looking for her grandpa, but there wasn’t time left in the series for that to be addressed again.

We also never quite got to the point where Drake and Gosalyn become dad and daughter.

With Negaduck, people have asked Frank about that. When they asked if Negaduck would come back in Season 3, Frank said no - that there wasn’t time in Season 3 and he had all these big ideas for a Negaduck story he’d like to do that he’d need more time to address properly.

Between the villain cliffhanger, and the loose end with Dr. Waddlemeyer, and LP all set to be Uncle Launchpad, there’s plenty of material to continue this story.

But will they?

I’ve heard that there is a new Darkwing Duck in the works, but it’s not a spinoff from DT17 with the new Darkwing and Gosalyn we already love. So what’s up with that?

Has anyone heard any rumors? I mean I know Scrooge once said:

But I can’t help but feel that, while that may be true within DT17, this was the writers’ way of teasing they totally want to make a Darkwing Duck movie if they’re allowed.

#ducktales 2017 #darkwing duck #ducktales let's get dangerous!#duckatles the duck knight rises!#ducktales negaduck #ducktales gosalyn #ducktales drake

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dasturdlydangerousduck · 2 years

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"It's one thing to play a hero, and it's another to actually be a hero."

The Duck Knight Rises was released on May 17th, 2019. And with that, the introduction of Drake Mallard to Ducktales!

Thank you Disney for blessing us for three years with this adorable, wholesome angel!!

#darkwing duck #disney #ducktales #drake mallard #disney afternoon #ducktales 17 #lets get dangerous #dangerous #he needs a hug #why is he so cute #so cute #darkwing dad #ducktales 2017 #ducktales reboot #drakepad #best dad #best dad ever

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kpoptrashlord-007 · 3 years

Text

A Deal With The Devil;; BBH

Word Count;; 6.1k

Genre;; Mafia AU, Smut

Pairing;; Baekhyun x Fem!Reader

Summary;;

There is a man following you. No matter where you turn, he's quick to follow. Evening is fast turning to night and the streets are getting colder, they're getting darker. Fear forces your hand, or rather your legs, and you soon find yourself lost deep in a concrete, merciless jungle. It isn't until you come across café de l'univers that a shimmer of hope flickers within. Not all that glitters is gold, however, and the men you seek protection from are far from knights in shining armour.

Warnings;;

Explicit Content and Colourful Language!! Smut (vaginal fingering) and Mafia-themed Violence (mention of a gun, some mild physical violence). Past Mental Abuse and Manipulation by the Reader's mother. Mommy AND Daddy Issues!! Reader is a bit weak / timid.

Request;;

hi! i love your writing. i was wondering if you do a mafia Beakhyun smut au. thank you!

Notes;;

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BAEKHYUN! Return to us safely <3 This fic was written for TheBBHDay Event hosted by @supermwritersnet! Check out their network for the full masterlist~

Main Masterlist || EXO Masterlist

There is a man following you.

You shouldn't have noticed him. He is taking extreme precautions to stay out of sight, after all. The care he puts into avoiding your line of sight borders professional. He's doing everything right - and yet you still noticed him.

While unsure if he knows this fact yet or not, you know it's only a matter of time before he realises. Lacking a believable poker face, you're a mess. It's a struggle just to keep your eyes off him. Every few seconds, you risk assessing him through the reflection of a shop window. Only a fool would keep looking but not knowing just how close he's trailing you has your stomach churning.

Ducking around a corner, you debate dipping into the shadows of a nearby alley. It'll provide decent cover, sure, but that cover works in both ways. If he catches up to you in a secluded alley, you would be done for. No one will notice you cower and no one will care if you scream.

With this in mind, you pass the open-ended divets in the street and continue heading in a straight line. The footpath is crowded. It always is. No matter the time of day, the streets are bustling. Evenings, however, are the worst. People swarm and squirm in desperation. Whether this desperation is to escape home or to escape into the bottom of a bottle, nobody wants to stay out in the bitter cold for long and you're no different.

Someone curses at you and it isn't until you glance down that you realise you've collided with them. He's an angry little businessman around forty years of age with a pot belly and bad knees that wobble as he stands. You can tell by his cheap suit and tattered briefcase that he's far from successful. The crass language he directs at you doesn't aid his case.

It's while pointing an accusatory finger in your direction that his briefcase lock snaps and paperwork dumps free of the faux leather knockoff. White sheets rise in the wind, floating just above his combover before taking flight. Courtesy of a sudden gust rolling off the sides of a speeding moving truck, the papers zoom in every direction. Some even enter the alley you had passed, dancing and somersaulting as if on two feet until they're lost to darkness.

"What have you done, you dumb tart!" The man bellows and the sheer reverberation has you wincing. Had he been any closer and your eardrums may have burst.

Though the man is loud and wide (with how his arms flail all around in an attempt to collect his papers all while steadily losing his breath, he looks almost like a tomato), the crowd doesn't stop. They weave and some avoid standing on the once-white papers but most people don't even look down.

In a city this big, no one ever stops.

Except… the man following you has.

Just about five feet back he waits for you to start moving again. With his back against a streetlight, he watches your little mishap with a smirk. Cigarette smoke whirls around him. He is a patient man, unlike the seething, little man in front of you. You can't help but stare. He offers you a nod and you stumble backward.

Despite the harmless vibe he emits, you're not a fool. Many killers have been remembered for their façade of innocence, for baiting women with good looks and a sob story. Your mother, God rest her soul, would roll over in her grave had she heard you entertain the possibility of any goodwill in the mystery man.

"You cannot trust a man from the streets."

Your mother always had something to say about everything.

Ignoring the man panting on the ground with beadlets of sweat forming on his brow, you sidestep him. He calls after you and you can't help but quicken your pace when he tries to grab your wrist. It doesn't surprise you. People in the city are all a little crazy; it comes with the territory. Nightfall only exacerbates the issue.

Ahead is a crosswalk. The light is turning and there are very few pedestrians left on the road, most having crossed already. Cars idle at each set of lights. Their headlights gleam in hungry anticipation.

Behind you is an oncoming swarm. Amongst those waiting for the light to once again favour them are the two men. One is boisterous and close to pulling his own hair out while the other is silent. They're both following you now and you can't help but wonder if their motives run parallel.

Without thinking much of the consequences, you run onto the zebra crossing. Despite the little green man having just turned red, the drivers go mad. There's the screech of brakes. A cacophony of horns scold you. A symphony of anger expands outward from the front lines and soon every car from this light to the next has something to say. Once inside a vehicle, the otherwise lifeless citizens of this nonstop city regain a single emotion: rage.

"You crazy bitch!"

"Get out the road, you damn broad!"

"Fucking moron!"

A bumper clips the back of your thigh halfway across the road. All those on the side closest to where you had come from have started driving once more, not bothering to wait until you're safely across. Deep down you hope it isn't true but on the surface you can't deny how callous the world is.

Once across, you glance back at the men. The plumper of the two flips you off, glee rampant in his squinting eyes upon realising the car had hit hard enough to cause a limp. He wipes at his cheese-like cheeks, petting himself down with a handkerchief and huffing in your direction one last time before turning on his heels and forgetting you just as quickly as he had come to know you.

The other man, however, doesn't move to leave. He watches you with a frown at the forefront of the crowd. Once again stumbling backwards, your mind scrambles to find the best course of action. In a matter of seconds the light will turn and he will be right back on your tail.

Whipping your head to and fro, your options are limited. There's some small stalls and businesses. None seem safer than being on the street. You are, however, injured and you won't be able to run on your sure-to-be-bruising thigh for long. If you can just manage to shake him, you can get home. Home is best. Home is where you need to be.

But what if you lead him home, to your safe place?

What if he finds you all alone in the dark with nowhere left to run?

Your breath hitches in your throat when your gaze returns to him. In a brief second, you see all you need to see. Brushing his black coat open and reaching into an inner pocket, he pulls out his phone. The phone and whatever call he's making isn't what strikes fear into your heart - it's the shining gleam of silver holstered on his hip.

A gun.

As if on autopilot, you bolt. Your body doesn't give you time to slow down or think. There isn't time to decide on a plan, not when the man could take a shot and use the heavy crowd to disappear like mist.

Pain wells deep in the flesh of your thigh, each step only serving to exacerbate the problem. Winds whips against your face and through your hair. There's a nip in the air and it lingers on your cheeks. The shadows around you elongate and reach for your silhouette. Nightfall is around the corner. You have to find a solution soon.

Nightlife in the city tends to be quite vicious and you're not equipped to handle those that come alive after dark. Thugs, criminals and assailants of all types prowl the streets once the sun goes down. Despite all the warnings your mother provided, you've fallen prey to one anyway.

"Men that play in the dark love to devour little girls like you."

A cold chill jolts down your spine and you tremble, fear building in the pit of your stomach as you look around. The crowds are thinning out, conglomerates of people filing into bars and restaurants in droves. Your breath comes in soft pants and your face is warm despite the rapid drop in temperature since you first started running.

This part of town is unfamiliar to you.

Weaving through a large group of blue-collar workers that stink of alcohol and smoke, you cut through an open-air business and come out onto another unfamiliar street.

It's getting dark. Dusty, dull street lights flicker on and off. There's a gnawing pain in your gut. You haven't eaten in hours. All you've done is run and now you can't get your bearings.

Dare you say you're lost?

To your right is a narrow road that summons a sense of déjà vú.

To your left is a bustling main road that's well-lit.

Despite the familiarity of the curved brick buildings lining the way, you're not willing to risk travelling the road to your right alone. Not at this time of night. Not in this city. The man is still a concern, but he isn't your only concern. Many predators prowl dark roads like that one. Watching. Waiting.

When you break free of the side streets and burst onto the main road, your heart sinks. This road, too, is a mystery. None of the establishments are ones you know. The ones closest to you are pitchblack inside with their shutters drawn. There's a clothing store and a bookstore across the street (both of which are also closed) with an emptying café between them.

café de l'univers.

You've never been to this part of town and yet you distinctly remember the name.

A customer exits the building with a to-go cup in tow. Their scarf blows in the wind, the red of the dyed cotton etches into the thickness of the night air and lingers long after they disappear. Upon their departure the café's main lights turn off just as the street light overhead goes dead, plunging you into darkness. A gust of wind brushes past you; it carries whispers of your name and the pattering of footsteps.

Dull, backup lights illuminate the café. Though it's difficult to make out the faces of the people still inside from this distance and with most of those remaining inside fading into the deep shadows of corners or exiting through a backdoor, you yearn for safety. There are at least five people inside, which is much greater than your measly self and the singular pursuer on your tail.

"I never understood why your father got involved with that place. Only a fool would go to them for help."

Perhaps you are a fool, or perhaps he had been as desperate as you are right now.

Jogging across the street once more without bothering to look for oncoming traffic, you're quick to wrap your hand around the cold door handle and give it a yank. The door, however, doesn't open.

It is locked.

Of course it is.

The café is closing for the night, after all, and you want to scream. Instead you cry and continue to yank on the door, the clanking of the metal lock mechanism doing naught to deter you.

There is movement inside. A figure is approaching from one of the booths near the back. He is tall and broad and the closer he gets, the further you shrink from his imposing frame. Once in front of the glass door, he gives you a once-over before unlocking it and wedging it open with his foot. He looks beyond you, back where you had come from.

"I'm sorry, but I nee-"

"Hurry up and get inside."

You don't hesitate to scramble through, entering beneath his arm that rests with lazy indifference against the door and hopping over his long leg and the Corthay-clad foot propping it open. Once inside you release a shaky exhale. You didn't realise you had been holding your breath.

The door closes behind you with a soft thud. A much harsher click follows after the man locks it. Though there isn't much light inside, there's no denying how beautiful the café is. Chrome beams, spotless glass features, and silver detailing form the majority of the room. Complementing the sleek design are blank, pristine white walls. The floor reflects your image back to you with a sparkling gleam just as a still, dark pond in the summer might.

Turning back to your rescuer mere inches behind you, you're unsure of yourself and of the situation now that your nerves are settling. You don't know what to say to break the silence. Your mind is a mess after the wreck of a day you've had and his emotionless glare isn't offering any help. "Aren't you… closed?"

"You didn't come for a coffee though, did you? You're scared of that man, aren't you? If not, get out."

There's an odd, almost proud smirk playing on his lips when he shuffles to the side, breaking the barrier that once shielded you from the ugly truth. The man is there. He is waiting for you right where you had been. When your eyes meet, your blood runs cold. Without thinking, you spring behind your saviour, reclaiming him as your shield.

It is within this moment you realise just how posh this whole café really is. This man is an employee and yet his suit jacket is like silk. What kind of barista wears a suit to work? Your fingers slide down the material when you peek around him again, taking note of your stalker's retreating form.

If he's the owner, the business must be booming to afford such fine material. Though it also wouldn't surprise you if they charged ten dollars for a single cup of coffee. It seems like the kind of place where you pay for the experience rather than the goods.

"Thank you. He has been following me since I left work."

He sighs and you wonder what his name is, who he is. "Come on, then. Get comfortable. I'll escort you home after I finish up here."

"What? No! We need the police! He has a gun! A gun!"

The man just snorts at you and points at a booth near the back, out of view from any window. When you continue to protest, he nudges you toward it. Between his strong push and the lack of grip your shoes have on the polished floor, you lose ground fast. Passing some tables here and there, he soon corrals you into the shadows that surround the back booths. His grip on your shoulder loosens and he gives you one last nudge, using the shallow of your back as his main point of contact.

Your knees tap into a soft cushion when you take a hesitant step forward into the booth you have been assigned. "Wait here. I'll be back soon. If you want a drink, you might be able to convince Jongin to make you one."

You perceive him nodding but by the time you look up, he's already walking away. Had the café been as empty as you originally thought it to be, it wouldn't have been a problem. There are, however, a lot more people in here than you are prepared for. Despite the late hour, there's at least ten men inside. Your stomach churns.

There isn't a single other female in sight.

All their suits look to cost more than a year's worth of your salary. Glints of light tease your peripheral vision whenever one of the men walk by. Without fail, they each have some form of jewelry gracing their skin. Diamonds.. They shine even in the dark, catching even the faintest of lights and illuminating the men in the glow of wealth.

After your second yawn and the very real threat of passing out from pure exhaustion, you search for the man named Jongin from the comfort of your seat. The one who let you in hasn't returned from the backroom and a few others that followed also haven't come back. Time is ticking and all you want is to return to the comfort of your home.

Three men lean against the pitch-black counter of the coffee bar while a man stands behind it, on the side a barista would usually serve drinks from. He is, however, leagues beyond any barista you've ever seen before. Though shorter than the ones loitering near him, he possesses a glare powerful enough to silence them, plunging the room into silence.

Every single one of them is beautiful.

Despite the uneasy vibe that floods your mind, all you can think is how effortlessly handsome each man is. Even without smiling or speaking, you're drawn to their presence. People like this only exist in the movies. They don't just happen to run a café in your city, and yet here you are, surrounded by the improbable.

The black seat cushions of your booth are like memory-foam beneath you. With each shuffle toward the edge, you fall a little deeper into them. Their softness is a trap you don't want to escape - you have half a mind to just give up on getting home tonight and embracing a peaceful slumber inside this expensive café cut straight from a fantasy.

"And just who do we have here?"

Your hand sinks further in the plump cushion when you glance back, chasing the sound of the melodious voice. To your right is the final, largest booth in the room. When you first sat down, you had thought it to be empty. While you hadn't been able to see into it through the partitions and dense curtain of shadows, you hadn't sensed anyone within. That had been enough for you to clear it as empty. What hubris. After having caught the man following you earlier, your ego seems to have inflated to the point of feeding a talent that simply doesn't exist.

"That pride of yours will be the death of you, girl."

"Cat got your tongue, little lady?"

Squinting into the deep, dark expanse that cloaks the final booth, you frown. He can see you but you cannot even find his outline. The disadvantage leaves an uneasy feeling in your gut. Whispering a quiet 'excuse me', you continue to slide out of your booth. It's quite the trek considering how large and soft the foam cushions are but soon you're free.

The group by the coffee bar had dispersed while you were distracted by the mystery man. Upon further inspection, the entire café is empty. Or rather it looks empty, since you cannot trust your own senses to provide an accurate reading. You take a step toward the bar. All the machines appear to be off and the faint aroma of coffee that once lingered in the air is all but gone.

"The meeting is almost done. Sit with me while you wait."

"I… wanted to ask Jongin for a drink," you say, once again turning toward the disembodied voice. This time, though, you're able to see him. He's left the comfort of his booth and is leaning against the edge of yours, head resting against the partition that once separated you both.

"Why Jongin? I can make you one, baby. Would you like that?" You nod, distrusting your own voice to respond after his casual flirting. "But you have to keep me company until Sehun comes back. Deal?"

"Sehun?"

"He didn't introduce himself?" The man chuckles before standing tall and brushing imaginary dirt off his suit jacket. "Sehun grabbed the door for you. He's a bleeding heart, that one. But more importantly, I'm Baekhyun. Pleased to meet you."

Baekhyun extends his hand and, after a quick glance around the room to assess your options, you give him a tentative shake. There's a glint of irritation in his eyes before his expression morphs into a smile. When you try to retract your hand, his grip tightens.

"What's your name, kitten, or do you only talk when it benefits you?" There's animosity in the words he spits and you want to flee, to escape. Instead your name spills forth from your lips in a whisper, fear tainting the word with a bitter aftertaste. While his features are soft and graceful, his eyes are sinister and cold. He stands before you like a statue cut from diamond, grand and invincible. "That wasn't hard, was it? I mean, I am hosting you in my establishment after hours. I think the least you can do is show me some common decency."

"I'm sorry," you mumble, trying to free your hand from his strong grasp.

"It's okay, baby. I'll let it pass this time, but next time I expect some respect, okay?" You nod, averting your gaze. A smile expands across his features. He releases your hand and it falls back to your side limp. Blood starts to circulate back down to your fingertips and it leaves your whole hand numb. You want nothing but to be angry, to slap this stranger until feeling returns to your dangling limb, even if that feeling is just from the sheer pain of lashing out against such an immovable force, but you freeze when your gaze locks with his.

"Now what would you like to drink?" He's warm now, much warmer than the ice prince that had stood before you mere seconds ago. When he speaks, his voice is like a song you could fall in love to. "I can get you anything you like. Anything."

Once you recite your usual café order, refraining from testing the limits of his offer, he gestures toward his private booth and you don't waste time slipping inside, not wanting to see his personality flip again. It's much larger than the one you had just occupied. You cannot make out any details, not with how dark it is, but you can smell his cologne lingering the closer you scoot to the center of the circular lounge chair.

Along your short journey, you slip on the smooth edge of the cushion, sliding down under the table with an unceremonious plop. Heat floods your body and embarrassment overwhelms your already shaken mental state. Tears prick the edges of your eyes.

The table is large enough to hide you in your entirety as you sit sprawled beneath it. A chill settles in your lower half from extended contact with the cold tiles. Looking around, you see nothing except a sort of blurry, endless dark. While you hadn't broken down enough to bawl, the few drops welling in the corners are enough to provide a sort of out-of-focus filter.

No light sneaks in from the outside and you cannot tell which direction the small barrier that blocks the café's light is. If you could just nudge it a fraction, a slice of anything that isn't pure darkness would be enough to ease your nerves.

It's also much, much colder on the ground. So much so it's uncomfortable. You know you should crawl back into the seat and wait for Baekhyun to return. Until Sehun collects you, you're at his mercy and from what you've experienced thus far, he's strict. The kind of strict that reminds you of your late mother.

You want to hurl.

"Live on the streets like a dog if you prefer, you ungrateful bit-"

Pain thrums in the back of your skull after you slam your head against the underside of the table in an attempt to scramble out of the cold darkness. You don't want to stay here any longer. Whether here is just under the table or the café as a whole, you're not quite sure. All the same, you reach out into the dark to find the space between the table's edge and the seat, using the table to pull yourself free of the dark's embrace just as Baekhyun returns.

There's a click and then a small flame ignites between his fingers, the lighter in his hand gleaming as he picks up a candle from the center of the table. Once lit, the small candle casts a soft glow across the whole booth and you find yourself calming down. Both the cold and the dark flee from its flame but you lean toward it, enraptured by its beauty. It isn't until you feel the cushion beside you depress that you snap free of its entrancement.

"Here, your drink as promised."

He slides it in front of you and you thank him not once but thrice, unwilling to make the same mistake twice. Ice clinks inside the plastic cup as you lift it to your lips.

Cold.

It's cold but you can't stop yourself from chugging down half the cup at once. Both tired and parched, you relish in its refreshment as it pours down your sore throat. You've never tasted anything like it and you frown, pulling away from the aromatic drink.

"Extravagance comes at a price the likes of us would never understand."

Perhaps there are gold flakes inside, or the ingredients are imported from every corner of the Earth. All doubt is, however, washed away alongside a second, smaller gulp: this café doesn't run on aesthetics but rather merit. Extravagance like this comes at a price your paycheck can't justify.

It's when the cup meets your lips for the third time and the liquid truly quenches your thirst that you realise there's something off with it. Despite having just asked, you can't remember if you had requested it chilled or not, and yet there's a small splinter of ice crunching between your teeth as you chew on the thought. It seems close enough and it tastes delectable so you don't want to complain, even if it's not your usual order, but you're not sure how he could have messed it up.

It's not even the right flavour.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," you blurt out, taking another gulp to empathise your point. He scrutinises you and you feel small under the intensity of his stare.

"Interesting. Now, why were you under the table?"

"I… slipped."

"Oh? I thought it was your idea of a thank you," he teases, glancing down at his crotch. Your eyes widen and you shift backward. He grins, shaking his head with a click of the tongue. "I'm just messing with you. Now tell me about the man that was following you."

Baekhyun is like a magnet. You can't help but be attracted to him. The more your story progresses, the stronger his gravity becomes. All the space you created from your prior retreat is long gone by the time you wrap up your tale. As if possessed, you trap his wandering hand on your thigh but not to stop it from travelling any higher. Rather you hold it so he cannot leave, so the warmth of his palm remains on your skin at all times.

"Does this sort of thing happen a lot around here?" you ask. Caught in his pull, you lean in close enough to taste strawberry bubblegum on his breath. His lips brush against yours as his hand squeezes your thigh, rotating inward and resting cozy between the clenched muscles. You pretend to fight against his touch but you've long been lost to his spell.

"Women being kidnapped? Oh yes, it happens quite often."

"Shouldn't I contact the police?"

Your voice is a meek whisper in comparison to his firm, commanding speech. Baekhyun's tone never falters and his eyes never waver. Needing to break free of his hold, you down the remainder of your drink. It goes down easy and you're grateful of his skills as a barista, though you're starting to doubt that it's what he actually does for a living. Claim as he might that he runs the establishment, it doesn't explain why all the 'baristas' carry such a dangerous aura.

It doesn't explain why he exudes danger.

"Why waste your time on them, baby girl? Those types of guys have the police in their pocket."

"Then what should I do?"

"If you need protection then you've come to the right place."

Tilting your chin back toward him, he caresses your cheek with his thumb. Heat blossoms under his touch. There's something swirling in his chocolate eyes but you can't pinpoint it, not when his plush lips meet yours in a deep kiss. His lips are much softer than yours - he didn't spend the evening fleeing a man throughout the windy city, after all. He also moves with a lot more experience than you do and you're quick to become malleable like putty in his hands.

Dominating the kiss, he holds you firm in place with his vice-like hold on your jaw while his other hand snakes higher up your thigh until he brushes against your clit and you whimper. Your pulse thunders in your ears. It's been awhile since you've been touched in such a way and you can't think straight, all logic and reason abandoned in favour of desire.

"Whore."

His tongue chases yours and you're once again aware of how he tastes like strawberry bubblegum. Something as innocent as candy shouldn't leave you in a daze and yet you're intoxicated. Vaguely you realise your right hand is holding your drink still so you discard it with a little too much force and the empty cup rolls off the table into the darkness lurking just beneath the surface. With your left, you comb your fingers through his silky hair. As with everything about him, it's just as soft as it is exquisite.

When he breaks the kiss, you gulp down stale, warm air. There's no ventilation in the booth, at least to your knowledge. Perhaps during regular hours, but not now, not after dark. It reminds you that you shouldn't be here.

A gasp breaks free from your agape mouth when his hand slips into your panties, bypassing your skirt altogether, and you feel him smirk against your skin as he presses chaste kisses on your overheating cheeks. He toys with your clit, rubbing faint circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves with his thumb. Electricity jolts down your spine and you tremble, melting under the pleasure.

"Relax. You're in good hands," he coos, grasping the base of your skull. Guiding you back to him, he devours you again. He's hungrier now, more forceful in his assertion of dominance.

You give him full control.

"Whore!"

With his thumb still working some kind of magic on your clit and his tongue luring you back into a drunk-like daze, he takes the opportunity to slip a finger into your pussy. It shouldn't have been so easy - it's never this easy when you do it on your own - and yet you're soaking him, practically dripping in his palm as he cups your cunt. Another finger slides into your pulsing heat and you moan. He swallows the sound.

The angle is uncomfortable for him, at least you assume it is, with how his wrist is bent and all. You can't be sure, but you don't want him to be in pain, not when you're in pleasure. Breaking free once more of his addictive taste, you fall backwards onto the plush cushions. Too deep in the feeling, you don't take notice of how close your head was to colliding with the table until you open your eyes and the table is mere inches above you.

Baekhyun chides you for it, commenting on how you're much too pretty to mar and how he doesn't want you knocking out early, but you ignore him, indulging in how warm his body is now that he's hovering above you. His elbow rests near your ear while he continues to finger-fuck you, a third finger providing a stretch that leaves you quivering beneath him.

"Tell me, baby, do you want it?"

"I do, I want it."

"You want my help, princess? You need me, don't you?"

"But-" you stammer, your climax fast approaching as he pumps into your soaked cunt faster, harder, "-but at what cost?"

Your heart palpitates when he says your father's name. It should have destroyed the atmosphere, should've killed your libido, but instead you tumble headfirst toward your orgasm. He doesn't slow down, not even when your cunt is sucking him in on waves of pleasure. Riding your high, he circles your clit dutifully until the sensitivity has you whimpering incoherent babbling beneath him.

"WHORE!"

"You dirty, stupid whore! Trollops like you are why your father left!"

When your senses return to you and your mind clears itself of your post-orgasmic fog, you had half-expected Baekhyun to have started fucking you. But he isn't; he's watching. You can't hold his gaze, not when he looks like the cat who ate the canary. Shame wells in the pit of your stomach and you try to sit upright, try to escape his overbearing presence, but the cage that is his body doesn't budge. He just drinks in your every expression.

"Well that answers that."

"What?"

"You're so easy to read. It's cute, really. I just loved the way your tight, little pussy came all over my fingers at the mention of his name." Lifting his fingers to his mouth one by one, he tastes you, licking each digit clean before running his tongue along his lips. "Talk about daddy issues."

"How did you know-"

"I never forget the face of a man who owes me a debt. And you? You look just like him. It's uncanny. Much prettier, though. I prefer you already," he drawls, flashing you a wink.

"I shouldn't have come here."

"No, you really shouldn't have."

Your heartbeat escalates. Dizziness latches onto you as your mind spins, the overload of information too much to handle after the day you've had. All you want to do is sleep and forget the whole ordeal but it just won't end, you just can't escape the misfortune piling onto your already-full plate.

He doesn't move to stop you when you stand and sidle away from him. It's a circular booth, you remember this despite the dark trying to trick you, and he can't block both sides.

Bumping the exact spot where the car clipped you hours prior against the soft cushions, you wince. Your legs shake beneath you, wobbly both from your orgasm courtesy of a total stranger and from the dull ache building in the back of your thigh.

Upon reaching the edge of the table, you practically throw yourself free of him and the shame the thought of him brings. You slam the partition open and exit the booth with an exaggerated gulp, anxiety clawing at your lungs and restricting your breath.

Light burns your eyes and you take a moment to adjust. There are figures nearby, at least ten of them. By the time your vision clears, you've counted them each several times over. There's eleven. Twelve, if you count Baekhyun. There are twelve men surrounding you in this lavish, over-the-top café after hours.

If not for the suffocating knot constricting your airway, you would've screamed.

"Don't worry, princess." You jerk forward when Baekhyun's breath fans across your neck. He chuckles, ghosting his fingers along your arms. "If your daddy won't take care of you, I will."

"I'm not some whore and I don't belong to you or him!" You shout as you swivel to face him, slapping one of his hands away in the process.

Discontent to stop there, you raise your arm to strike again.

There's shuffling behind you, near the coffee bar. Before you even have time to turn, pain erupts deep in your shoulder and your face starts to sting. The sound of Baekhyun's hand colliding with your cheek resonates off every wall, including that of the man now standing behind you.

Glancing over the shoulder that isn't being yanked taut by an iron-grip, you see Sehun. He has the very arm you had primed for an assault on Baekhyun's cocky face pinned against your back. Indifference oozes from his passive eyes. This time, however, it frightens you.

Tears pour forth and you cannot control your sobs, not after having kept them under foot the entire evening.

"Don't bruise her. She's under my protection." Baekhyun's touch is feather light as he wipes away some of the wetness on your cheeks. When he leans in, you fight the urge to bolt. He whispers into the shell of your ear and it tickles, provoking a tremor so fierce your knees buckle under you.

"And all it's going to cost you is his life for yours. Now that's what I call a deal, princess."

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