#(after being alienated and kept away not of her own will. and her having a scene with faeron and standing on the bridge with him)

[dunadaan]

I’ve been feeling Créa creep up on me as of late and today I went back and reread my little document where I type up random ideas for scenes/fics and I was like. Wow who wrote this. This is really good. Why isn’t there more of this damn. But also wow I really put miss créa through the blender and she is a fine red mist a lot. But that is the life of a ranger…and even when she’s not a ranger anymore I press blend on high and she is sadly used to that

[quietwingsinthesky]

i have many many thoughts about rose & tentoo and how their relationship would evolve in this verse. about how you can't just take the love you have for one person and put it on someone else. not even a clone, a regeneration, a metacrisis. about how that doesn't mean you can't love them, or that you can't fall in love with them the same way, but that love has to be for them.

[bumblehoneybee]

Easy Smiles

There wasn't an exact moment when Curly exactly noticed you. As much as he felt ashamed to admit it, you were easy to overlook out of all the other crew members. You were pretty quiet, kept to yourself, at least whenever he was around.

But Anya and Daisuke and even Swansea (though him more begrudgingly) all seemed to like you plenty, and told him as such.

"It's easy to smile around them." Anya would admit to him when he asked after the others' psych evals.

"They got a good head on their shoulders." Swansea would admit, when Curly asked after your work. "They've even been teaching Daisuke how not to fuck up everything. A damn miracle worker. If only they didn't encourage him."

"They're awesome!" Daisuke would exclaim, when Curly merely mentioned your name. He didn't even get his question out before Daisuke was going on. "They almost beat my high score yesterday! And they didn't even know about my game until last month!"

Guess you were more popular than he noticed.

So he started to watch you a bit more. He didn't want to be creepy, and he wasn't being creepy, no matter what Jimmy sneered to him. But he wanted to see you, the real you, the one not buried beneath the professional mask you would wear.

And he saw it, one early morning in the lounge.

You were sleepy still, judging by the way you kept rubbing your eyes. You yawned and trotted over to Anya and Daisuke with this little grin. You didn't even notice Curly sat at the table, so he kept quiet, just. . . observing.

"Check how strong I'm getting!" Daisuke boasted to you, flexing his arm. You poked it, laughing when he flinched. "Wha- hey! Mean!"

"Daisuke-" Anya said through her own chuckles, which worsened the boy's embarrassment.

"I'll show you!" He shouted, grabbing at your shoulder. You didn't fight him, giggling as he hauled up one of your legs into his arm. "Okay, jump on three! One-"

You jumped into his arms. Daisuke squawked in surprise, stumbling back from the sudden weight. It wasn't long before you both crashed to the floor, a mess of limbs.

Anya shrieked a bit, and Curly nearly stood up, but then she let out a bark of laughter so loud it stunned him into staying seated. Anya slapped her hands over her mouth, obviously shocked as well, only to smack away your hands grabbing for her.

"Join us!" You cajoled over Daisuke complaints that you ruined his show of strength. "Join us, Anya!"

"Get away from me!" Anya squealed, though she wasn't struggling to much against your grip on her shirt hem.

"Join ussssss." Daisuke continued, forgetting his offense to play your game. You both clawed at Anya, who put her hand to her head as she let out woeful calls for help. "Join the hive! The hive!"

"The hive!"

"Noooo, the hive!"

"What the fuck!?" Curly jolted at the voice. Swansea boggled the three of you, frozen in your game of alien. "Are you three twelve!? Get back to work!"

Daisuke and Anya wilted a bit, making moves to return to their early morning duties now that the fun was over.

"Boo!" You called. Everyone froze again. "Buzzkill!"

"Yeah, boo!" Daisuke quickly joined in. "Stick in the mud!"

"Poop on a hoop!" You added on, as Anya knelt to hide behind you as she giggled.

Curly stifled a laugh at the look of utter offended shock Swansea wore. He wasn't used to heckling from kids, it seemed, despite having his own back home.

"You have three seconds." Was all he eventually said.

You and Daisuke took off into the ship, cackling like hyenas. Curly watched you pass, grin wide and eyes squinted.

Yeah, you were very easy to smile around.

[unholyhelbig]

Hey lovely, can I request yelena x fem!reader in the shower. Nothing sexual about it, but yelena or reader (or both) come home after a rough mission and they just need help cleaning up and decompressing. Like I die helping each other wash their hair ahh. Just lots of hugs and softness and love. Ok that’s all thanks love youuuuu <3

Title: The Warmth of You

Ship: Female!Reader x Yelena Belova

Warnings: non-sexual nudity, mentions of injury, mentions of explosions, Mentions of Alien goo (?) and horrible grammar. I don't proofread!

My everything taglist 💕: @thinking1bee (Let me know if you want to be added!)

[A/n: man, I feel like I haven't nailed down Yelena's voice yet so it's making everything awkward and clunky. I'll figure out how to write her with reader one day]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The sound of the front door slamming shut should have been enough to have you rabbiting from bed, scrambling in an attempt to peel yourself away from the clean linen. Your wife didn’t have many rules, but she was strict about keeping dirty clothes out of the bed. It made for a comfortably warm nights sleep, and you couldn’t fault her for that.

You also couldn’t fault yourself for being bone-tired after a horrible mission. Your ribs were bruised, and the taste of blood was stale on your tongue. You’d spent most of the afternoon getting shrapnel tweezered from your upper shoulder. It throbbed uncomfortably and the thought of moving in the slightest was worse than getting scolded.

Your arm was flopped over your eyes, and you considered exhaling and not pulling another breath into your lungs. Even the thought of breathing was too much. Too taxing. You hadn’t toed off your boots, nor peeled your gloves from your sweaty palms.

Yelena had the disposition of a cat. You only knew she was in the room by the way the bed dipped as she flopped onto the other end. A tired groan escaped her, pushed from the center of her chest. It gave you a gentle reminder to inhale. You eased the pain by opening your eyes at the same time. At least the assault of the low-light wouldn’t be as bad.

Your wife was face down on the perfectly made bed in her own tattered tactical suit. There was a sweet smokey scent to her, one that burned your throat. Ash smudged her cheeks and created a hard rind under her fingernails.

“You look like shit.” You said, voice scratchy with exhaustion.

“Did you stop trying to be charming when you locked me down?”

There was a groan that snagged in the back of your throat as you found enough strength to pull yourself to a sitting position at the lip of the bed. Your head was swimming, dizzy to the point of pressing your fingers to your temple. Your ears were still ringing from the earlier explosion, so you didn’t hear Yelena do the same.

She kept her palm to her side, must have tweaked the same muscle that had been bothering her for quite some time now. You laid your hand on her thigh, giving her a gentle grounding squeeze until the sharp pain ebbed away entirely and her muzzy eyes blinked clear once more.

Yelena’s eyes flicked down to your lips, back up again.

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You’re covered in alien goo and looking at me like you want to stick your tongue down my throat.”

“It is supposed to be in sickness and in health.”

You hummed, partially to mask the pain that washed over you when you stood on deer-like legs. “So funny that neither of our vows said anything about otherworldly substances. If you want a kiss, you get a shower.”

You padded into the ensuite bathroom, wincing at the click of the lights and the instant bright glow. The movements were familiar as you went about setting the temperature of the glass paneled shower. There was a heaviness to the air as steam began to collect at the corners of the mirror.

Yelena had worked up enough courage to pull herself from the bed, but took purchase on the doorframe instead. She watched you with a tepid green stare as sweat collected at your brow. The moisture was wicking through what remained of your tactical suit.

“I uh, tweaked my shoulder.” You said.

There was an uptick at her lip, the top scarred with a cotton-candy pink. You were stubborn, didn’t’ ask for help often and still couldn’t get the words to come out properly. Yelena had coexisted with you long enough to pick up on the subtle tics and the softness of your eyes.

She stepped over the threshold, boots against your own. Yelena carried an intoxicating scent of chamomile and the slightest tinge of honey. Of course, that was masked by the sticky pink goo that slicked her hair back, pungent and viscus.

Yelena made quick work of the buttons on your vest, breath warm against your collarbone. Goosebumps raised on your skin and though you hoped your wife wouldn’t notice. Of course, she did, and with a teasing lilt to her voice said “Cold, milaya devochka?”

You scoffed, but reveled in the way her fingers ghosted the bare skin of your collarbone as she peeled away the fabric of the shirt and discarded it on the tiled floor. A frown creased between her eyebrows when she saw the clinging black and blue and purple that bloomed over the expanse of your shoulder.

She let out a low hiss, nudging her nose against your own. Yelena had stripped her vest at the door but allowed you to work at the off-white of her suit. There were always too many buckles for your liking and made some intimate moments more frustrating than not. But, today you went slowly, moving the suit down to her waist.

Yelena’s muscles tensed and untensed as your fingers tickled over her biceps. There were various cuts and bruises and red marks that marred the expanse of her skin. She sighed out contentedly at your touch, hands reaching our and unclipping your bra. She let that, too, fall to the floor.

You’d been married to her for six years, and her eyes still went hazy with attraction each time she saw you. Her thumbs brushed against the sides of your hips, exhaling shakily. Your fingers moved to her belt, unlatched it with ease.

Once the both of you were stripped, standing naked and vulnerable in front of each other, you grasped her hand and pulled her into the warm stream of water. A shiver wracked your body at the quick change in temperature.

It was easy to maneuver the two of you until Yelena got the brunt of the warmth. A sigh of contentment pushed out of her lungs. You silently reached for the shampoo, meeting her eyes for confirmation.

“You do not have to.” Her whispered words blended with the falling water.

“I know, but I want to.”

Yelena gave you a slight nod and let her eyes flutter closed. Years ago, she wouldn’t turn her back to you, would track you at the corner of her eye. She knew where you were at all times. There had been a quiet glower about her, and you were convinced she despised you. That had melted gradually into mutual respect, and then something more. This.

She let out a contented whimper as you worked the suds into her hair, working the goo away with each swipe of the hand. Yelena leaned closer out of habit, her breasts pressing to your own in a familiar comfort as the floral scent of lilac filled your lungs.

You rinsed the soap away and diligently shifted her until her back was pressed to your front. You could feel the tone of muscle under your fingertips, the dirty blonde steeple of hair that dipped below her waistband.

Your chin rested on her shoulder, hugging her close, simply wanting to be near the woman that you loved. “Feeling better, baby?”

“Mm, move your hand a little lower and I’ll be back at 100%”

You were much too tired to give in to your wife’s pandering, and the way her head fell lazily against your shoulder gave away her own exhaustion. The water was running cold and her body pressed slick against your own was the only thing keeping you from shivering. You flicked the water off despite her murmurs of protests.

“Are you always this dramatic?” You asked a question you already knew the answer to.

“I have never been dramatic a day in my life. Wrap me up in a towel before I freeze to death and lose all my fingers and toes.”

“I thought Russians never got cold.”

The sharp glare she shot towards you with the precision of a drawn arrow shut you up. It had lost it’s true effect years ago, but it was still a sign that you were toeing the line. Yelena didn’t pout, but she got damn close with the jut of her bottom lip and the faux trembling she forced upon her shoulders.

Towel it is.

You draped one over her shoulders before wrapping yourself in one, thankful for the warmth yourself. When you turned to grab a third one to attend to Yelena’s dripping hair, now goo free, the air was knocked clean out of your lungs as she wrapped herself around you, cheek pressed into your side.

Having significant height over her played to your advantage in moments like this, when you both craved touch and she could tuck herself easily under your chin. She mumbled something against your bare skin, shooting affection up your spine.

“What was that?”

“I’m happy I have you to come home to,” She clung to you harder, eyes clenched shut. “We go on a lot of uncertain missions, to space, to the middle of the desert, but you are my certain. You help me wash the day away and just be.” Yelena blinked her eyes open, peered up at you. “I love you.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again, before finding yourself. Your wife, she had always been affectionate behind closed doors. It was more physical than it was verbal. She’d drape her legs over your lap, or lay her entire body on top of you. She’d watch you come out of sleep slowly while tracing patterns on your back. She showed her love plenty. She said it a little less, making something crack inside your chest now.

“I love you too, Lena. I want to come home to you every day for the rest of my life.”

She sniffed, nodded against your bare skin. “We have to change the sheets. Your outside clothes were on the bed.”

“So were yours!”

Yelena tsked, placing a fluttering kiss to the birthmark on your shoulder, her breath hot on your skin. “I do not recall this.”

[reomikagekin]

Can you make alien stage headcanons where the reader is like a little sister to them but then in one of the rounds boom she dies and their devastated :3

you didn't specify which characters you wanted so I just did the main 4 + luka and hyuna, I hope that's okay!!

"Echoes of a Lost Star"

Till

• Till was always the most gentle with you, treating you like a fragile little thing that needed to be protected. He’d always fuss over you, making sure you weren’t overworking yourself or getting into trouble.

• He saw you as a little sibling he needed to protect from the horrors of Alien Stage. When you died, he completely shut down. His hands shook so badly that he could barely hold a microphone.

• He stopped talking for a while, unable to process the loss. It wasn’t until he saw Mizi trying to comfort him, equally broken, that he let himself cry.

• He never forgot you. Sometimes, when no one was around, he’d whisper your name, as if hoping you’d answer back.

---

Ivan

• Ivan wasn’t the type to show affection, but you were one of the few he genuinely cared for. He wasn’t obvious about it, but he always kept a watchful eye on you.

• He didn’t let many people close, but you were an exception. When you died, something inside him snapped. He’d always been cold, but now, he was ice.

• He kept everything of yours—anything you left behind, any small reminders. He wouldn’t let anyone touch them.

•During his performances, he no longer cared about winning or attention. He was just going through the motions, empty inside.

---

Mizi

• You were like a younger sibling to Mizi, someone she could joke around with and feel a little less alone. She’d always make sure you were smiling, even when things were at their worst.

•When you died, she couldn’t pretend to be strong. She tried, she really did, but her voice cracked during a performance, and she nearly collapsed on stage.

• She hated Alien Stage more than ever after that. Your death haunted her, and no matter how much she smiled, the pain never went away.

• Sometimes, she’d hum the songs you used to like, trying to keep your memory alive.

---

Sua

• Sua wasn’t one to get close to people, but there was something about you that made her lower her guard. She’d never admit it, but she liked having you around.

• When you died, she didn’t cry—not at first. But her performances changed. They became even more haunting, even more intense, as if she was screaming her grief through song.

•Late at night, when no one was watching, she’d whisper something like, “You idiot. Why did you leave me alone?”

---

Luka

• Luka wasn’t the best at expressing emotions, but you were one of the few people who saw past his cold exterior. He let his guard down around you, just a little.

• When you died, he refused to acknowledge how much it hurt him. He convinced himself that attachments were weaknesses, that he should have never let himself care.

• And yet, in the moments when he was alone, he’d find himself gripping his chest, unable to breathe, as if your absence physically pained him.

• He never spoke about you, but anyone who looked into his eyes could tell—he had lost something irreplaceable.

---

Hyuna

Hyuna adored you, treating you like her own sibling. She was always ruffling your hair, cracking jokes, and making sure you were okay.

When you died, she lost a part of herself. She blamed herself for not being able to protect you, for not doing more.

She drank more after that, trying to numb the pain. But no amount of alcohol could bring you back.

She made sure no one forgot you. She spoke about you often, reminding others that you existed, that you mattered.

[drdemonprince]

Did you ever struggle with feeling guilty about transitioning, especially w/r/t transmasculinity being in some way antifeminist? I often feel like I’m committing an act of betrayal :/ Like, if I can choose on some level what position to occupy in gendered society, then is it morally defensible to move towards the oppressor position?

(Why yes, I do have anxiety and serious issues with rumination, often themed around the ways in which I am probably a bad person)

Personally, no. I never felt welcome in mainstream cis feminism. I felt strongly alienated by the gender essentialism, the exclusion of trans people, and the mix of cruelty and neglect that was lobbed at male victims of sexual assault and domestic violence.

I had been sexually victimized by women numerous times in my life, and mainstream feminism didn't seem to have anything to say about that, or any sympathy for the victims of women. Within feminist activist groups that I had some tertiary connection to, I saw trans women being excluded from events for sexual violence survivors, and observed a cis female get away with repeated acts of sexual aggression and abuse because she was a woman and a survivor, and so no one felt free to argue with her about what she "needed" in order to recover (in this case, forcing trans men to have sex with her). In these spaces my own body was commented upon, my boundaries were pushed, and a great deal of coercion and underminement was constantly going around.

I was also highly put off by the individualistic, girl-boss feminist nature of most feminist movements that I witnessed as a person growing up in the early 2000's - 2010s. In academic labs studying gender-based oppression, people spoke only against the pay gap faced by white women, never the ones faced by women of color or men of color. Critiques of white feminism were rarely if ever taken seriously. It was a gross environment to be around, and I avoided it as much as possible, honestly.

I didn't become a feminist at all, really, until after I embraced myself being trans. Once I was firmly out of the coerced "female" box, I could witness how much easier life was for me than for women. I listened to trans feminist thinkers and saw clear patterns in how transmisogyny and misogyny played out that helped me better understand things. And I felt confident enough to speak out about my status as a man who has been preyed upon by women and sexually abused by them, as well as by men, and to critique mainstream feminism for its transphobia, racism, and other problems. And because I was a man, I always got away with saying such things.

Personally I think feminist movements aren't shit if they aren't trans feminist, and while I can hardly claim to have always been enlightened on all trans feminist matters (like a lot of trans mascs, I used to long for having been "born a boy" and "having more confidence" from it, believing that male socialization was that simple, my resentment and dysphoria curdling into a pretty transmisogynistic world view even if i didnt realize it), something profoundly rotten and missing within mainstream feminist movements always kept me out of it. It was never a comfortable, safe space for me and I didn't give a shit about 'betraying' it.

[gotta-winwin]

going seventeen 2020 <> TTT #1

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

word count: 1.5k italics are in english, bolded words are in mandarin a/n: one of my fave series in gose ever... ttt! lets all thank @massivecrusadephilosopher2 for requesting this wonderful gose ep <3

Cyana was glad she chose the car with all the chill people. She could only imagine how loud the other cars must be, filled with karaoke loving singers and members who couldn't stop talking. She loved them all to death - but it was way too early in the morning - and she couldn't be happier sitting next to Vernon as Minghao drove.

"I'm in such a good mood today." Minghao announced to everyone as they pulled out of their company driveway. "Although it is a bit burdensome, celebrating my birthday with everyone."

Cyana nudged Vernon. "Nonnie was so excited while packing. I've never seen him so ready to do something."

"It's been awhile since we've all hung out." Vernon reminded them. It was rare for all 14 of them to spend a night together.

She hummed, happy just thinking about the fun they were about to have. "It's my first staycation."

Wonwoo twisted around from the front seat to look at her. "Ever?" His voice was uncharacteristically loud with astonishment.

Cyana nodded, curling up in her seat. She tugged the blanket Joshua had gotten her so it draped over her lap. Getting comfortable, she looked up to see Wonwoo still looking at her. "You don't really film content like this as an actress." She shrugged. "I'm happy my first staycation is with Seventeen."

Vernon nodded, in the middle of putting headphones on. "It's definitely going to be a trip."

"Since we don't have to be on time..."

Cyana peaked an eye open upon hearing Wonwoo's voice. They had been driving silently for the past couple hours. She wordlessly apologized to the editors for giving them nothing to work with. She however, did not regret the nap her and Vernon had just taken.

"...why don't we go and enjoy the sea?"

Wonwoo always had such bright ideas, Cyana mused, sitting up and pushing Vernon gently off her.

"It's like we're on a personal trip." Minghao said, laughing at the thought.

"This only happens because it's us." Cyana added, her eyes warm. "I still can't believe they let us drive together - they know we're all no fun."

[ free-willed group ]

The scenery was beautiful as they walked along the seaside, autumn leaves blowing gently through the wind.

"I love fall." Cyana announced, to no one in particular. "I love fall so so so so so much."

Wonwoo couldn't help but smile at her words, watching as she admired the autumn colors around them, seemingly in her own world. Wordlessly, he held up his phone and snapped a picture.

The movement didn't escape Minghao's keen eyes however, as he raised a hand to tap Cyana on the shoulder. "Wonwoo-"

"Let's all take a picture!" Vernon jumped in, saving his hyungs ass.

Cyana blinked, quickly agreeing, confused why Wonwoo's face had turned so pink and why Vernon was suddenly so enthusiastic about pictures.

Shaking his head, Minghao shot Wonwoo a look.

Wonwoo could only subtlety shake his head and hope Cyana was still too enamoured by the scenery to notice.

Arriving at the airbnb, Cyana let out a loud gasp. "Look!" She grabbed Vernon's shoulder, shaking for his attention. "You can see Hoshi singing from all the way here."

Vernon followed her gaze, joining in on the laughter when he saw Hoshi, serenading the others in his tiger print t-shirt. "Wow." He mused, respecting the dedication. "He's actually insane."

"I want to join." Feeling rejuvenated after the calm and peaceful nap she just had, Cyana raced up the stairs and into the house.

"Cute." Vernon stated, as he watched the girl run away.

"What?" Wonwoo stood next to him, watching her as well.

[ admiring alien + painfully oblivious cat ]

The general vibe of the gathering was being kept up solely by Hoshi's passionate performance, as more people came and joined him in singing. Cyana sat on the couch, amused by the whole thing.

DK, Hoshi, Dino and Mingyu began singing some sad song, making her laugh over how much raw emotion was going into the performance.

"We're not onstage, guys." She reminded them, smiling so much her cheeks were starting to hurt. "Wa~ they really are natural performers."

Jun patted the spot next to him, urging her to come closer. "Hi."

She giggled. "Hello, Moonjunnie."

"I haven't seen you all week." He complained, throwing his head back against the couch. It was true, their schedules had somehow resulted in them never crossing paths. "I miss you."

"I'm right here, Junnie." Cyana smiled at his theatrics. "I missed you too. I haven't seen anyone this week, but somehow I've seen Mingyu every. single. day." She voiced out her complaints to Jun, who was listening, bemused.

He pointed at the boy in question, who was busy singing his heart out into the mic, a large arm around Dino's shoulders. "He's right here."

Cyana sighed. "It's like he's glue or something. We had identical schedules this week. I don't even know how that's possible. He's in Hip Hop and I'm in Vocal."

Jun patted her knee. "Ah. To have problems like you."

She kicked him playfully. "It is a real problem."

She regretted drinking so much so early. It was evident from the way Jeonghan was yelling about playing foot volleyball that the party had only began, and Cyana was already feeling way too tipsy.

Ignoring their calls to play, she ventured deeper down the hallway where their rooms were, coming across a figure lying on the ground.

Upon closer inspection, she realized it was Vernon.

"Nonnie?" She whispered, bending over and shaking his foot to wake him up. She was no longer surprised, having been used to his quirks for awhile now.

"Hm?" His voice was rough from the lack of use. "Nana?"

She hummed in confirmation. "The others are playing foot volleyball. You want to join?"

She knew his answer before he even replied.

"No."

Smiling, she slumped down next to him, leaning against the wall. "I don't either. I might black out from all the movement."

Vernon peaked open an eye to look at her from the ground. "Dizzy?" He asked, knowing she was part of the "low iron line."

Cyana only hummed in reply again.

Shouts and cheers echoed through the place, reaching both their ears as they stayed in silence, listening to the whoops and cries as the others played.

"This is nice." Cyana mumbled after awhile, smiling. It felt like her face was permanently frozen in one, with how much she had been smiling and laughing today.

Vernon nodded, his eyes still closed. "Told you."

Vernon had promised her any trip with Seventeen would be fun, reassuring her that spending a night with 13 boys was not as scary as it sounded when the 13 boys was them: made of goofiness but full of gentle care.

Cyana watched as Dino took shot after shot, living out his punishment after losing to Seungkwan in badminton.

"You reap what you sow." She told him, wagging a finger when he only pouted.

"Where did you even learn that?" Seungkwan asked her, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "No way Joshua taught you that."

"I did." Jeonghan raised his hand, a silly grin overtaking his face. He was proud that Cyana had found a chance to use the new phrase - even more proud that it had been used to tease Dino. "My little prodigy." He cooed, hands reaching to grab her cheek.

Cyana swiftly dodged, having much experience with it by now.

"Wait." Seungkwan called after Dino, who had been trying to escape through the distraction. "You still have to call me 'Hyung who I respect and have a lot to learn from.'"

Dino cringed just thinking about it. "Can I not?"

"You reap what you sow, Dino-yah~" Cyana sang from behind him, giggling when he turned to look at her with betrayal in his eyes.

"You're really going to treat your own twin like that?" He asked, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "This is betrayal."

[ you reap what you sow kekekeke ]

Seungcheol's voice rang through the room as he sang, proving to everyone he wasn't just a rapper. Cyana lazily waved her hands in the air, following the beat. The alcohol in her system was increasing both her social levels and her lack of self-control.

"Wooo~" She cheered once Seungcheol was done. "Best leader!"

He beamed under her praise.

"My turn~" Jeonghan took the mic from Seungcheol, cueing up the last song Cyana thought he'd sing. A rap song.

"Oh my god." She raised her hands to her mouth in surprise. Falling into DK's side, she let out a squeak. "It's Yoonzino." Jeonghan's infamous alter ego only ever made an appearance whenever Cyana was in his room and Jeonghan rapped along to her Spotify playlists.

"That's right!" Jeonghan called into the mic. "Yoonzino in the house~"

"You're so lucky you see this every night." DK nudged Cyana.

She laughed. "Hannie oppa has a secret love for rapping."

Laughing even harder when she saw Minghao jumping from outside the window, she doubled over in a fit of giggles, her upper half falling into DK's lap.

He stared down at her affectionately, an equally big grin on his face. "You're giggly today."

"She's drunk." Wonwoo mused, fighting back a smile.

[ mysterious until filled with alcohol ]

a/n: woo first half of ttt 2020 done! it was sm fun rewatching and imagining what cyana would be doing. she's part of the low iron line cuz she's just like me fr. let me know if you guys would be open to a part 2!

[manmuncher777]

SHADOW

Daemon x Hightower!reader

Description - You’re alicent’s sister, back in kingslanding after years away, fed up of being overshadowed by your sister. But Daemon sees you potential, what you can be… with his help of course

SMUT!! 18+

Porn with loads of plot, dark!Daemon, manipulation, preying, sex, oral f!recieving, mentions of kidnapping. Daemon Is just devious. I did not proof read lol

a/n - huge thanks to @calmingmelody96 for helping inspire me to write this request, its so long but I had so much fun making this charcater!!!

Your dress was tight, too tight. As if the green fabric adorning your waist was trying to kill you. For that, you thought, a small part of you might be thankful. You didn’t feel natural being in Kings Landing again after so long, after all these years. Childhood memories which carried much joy now feeling tainted as you glance to the looming towers of Kings landing. The air was thick with the mingled scents of the city, Salts from black water bay, the tang of smoke from coutless chimneys, and the unmistakable stench of the teeming masses that calle the capital home. For her, it was both familiar and alien, like an echo of a song half forgotten.

It all looked the same, yet so strikingly different. Your dresses green was mirrored by the banners that fluttered proudly on the walls, mixing with the stark red dragon of the targaryen’s.

The sight of it all set your heart twisting - a pang of longing that was tainted with the bitterness you have harboured all these years. This was Alicent’s domain now, Alicent’s world.

The air here was thicker than the skies of Oldtown. The sound of your boots tapping along the cobble stone as you made you way to the red keep, it felt strange that you knew the way all by yourself. Granted you did live here for years, but it still all felt very unnatural to you coming back again

You had left kinglanding not long Alicent’s marriage to the King. Despite being a few years younger than them both, you would join Alicent and Rhanerya as they caused troubled around the castle, listening intently as rhanerya would tell you of what a warrior she would be one day as she rode on dragon back, and giggling as alicent taught her how to become a proper lady of the court. That was the time when your father loved you equally.

But soon, things changed, the girls grew up and so did you. Rhanerya and Alicent got into a fierce fight - Alicent telling you about it later in her frustrations. Rhanerya had laid with Ser Criston Cole, putting her honour on the line. And then Alicent was to marry the king. You were made aware far later than you should have been, you father always dragging Alicent away, secretly talking with her about things he deemed you not worthy of understanding. That was when your relationship truly faultered, Alicent no longer had time to be your sister, only your Queen. Your father had no time for you, Only his other daughter

At first you had tried to stay, trying to find a role in court. You just wanted to be close to Alicent. But the bing you once shared withered, turning you into a shadow of a family obsessed with power and position.

The descion to leave was your own, no one even thought about trying to stop you. Alicent had kept you away from rhanerya, you only other friend. How you wished you could listen to her stories once more. But as you bind with your sister died, so did the one with you friend. when you passed her in the halls, you were once again a shadow, nothing there to acknowledge.

Deep down that childish part of you had hoped for a latter or a visit, anything on your night of leave. None came. And so you buried the hurt, and buried the little girl who had grown up here, convincing yourself you were far better on you own, out of the vile web of lies and twisted politics

Each step up the stairs you took bringing a tight feeling on your chest.

The doors of the red keeps grand hall swung open - and there she was. Alicent. Your sister stood on the far side of the room, bathed in the white light shining from the tall windows. Time had refined her beauty, her soft childish features now sharpened and regal. Clad in a deep green gown, her every movement measured, elegant and deliberate. She truly was the Queen your father had modded her into.

Seeing your sister again only brought back the flood of memories you share, for a moment you were certain you could hear her giggle, echoing in your mind. The faint scent of the lavender perfume you would brain into each others hair.

But those memories were gone almost as quick as they came, replaced by the sharp sting of reality.

Alicent’s Gaze met yours, and for the briefest moment something flickered there - recognition or perhaps even guilt. But then it was gone, replaced by her polished mask of queen.

“Sister,” Alicent begins, stepping towards you with open arms “It gladdens my heart to see you, it had been far too long.”

Your heart twisted at the sound of her voice. It wasnt fair - how could she act as if nothing had happened all these years., You wanted to shout, to demand answers. But all you could do was stand there, frozen.

“Indeed, it has been.. long” You manage a stiff nod.

“Far too long dear sister, I have missed you.” Alicent replied, her smile unwavering

‘dear sister” the words felt hollow, like a polished piece of fruit, rotting inside. Missed you? why had she never written never sent word. You only heard of her children due to word of mouth.

“How have you been?” Alicent asked, her tone so light, so casual, as though they had parted only yesterday. Her hands grasping your unwilling ones.

You pulled her hands back slowly, your jaw tightening. “I’ve been as well as one can be,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “It seems you’ve been… busy.”

If Alicent noticed the edge in your tone, she didn’t show it. “There is so much to catch up on,” she said, linking their arms as though nothing had changed. “Come, walk with me. You must tell me everything.”

As Alicent led you deeper into the keep, talking as though the years of silence had never existed, you felt your bitterness churn like a storm. you wanted to shake Alicent, to force her to acknowledge the hurt she had caused. But instead, you let herself be pulled along, your mind spinning.

It was clear Alicent wanted to erase the past, to pretend the years of abandonment didn’t matter. And maybe, for the sake of the queen’s peace, she expected you to do the same. But as they walked, one thing became certain—you wouldn’t make it so easy for your sister to forget.

The chamber was quieter than you had expected. Outside, the sounds of the bustling castle filtered through the walls—servants hurrying down corridors, the clang of preparations echoing from the kitchens, and the faint hum of voices carrying snippets of conversation. Yet here, within these four walls, it felt as though the air had stilled, wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud.

you sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting in your lap, fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. Alicent’s words still echoed in your mind—a feast. A grand gathering to celebrate your return, Alicent had said, her voice warm and full of purpose. But beneath the surface, you knew there was more. There was always more with her sister now.

Your gaze flicked to the small mirror on the table, catching your own reflection. You barely recognized the woman staring back at you. The years had changed you—softened some features, hardened others—but it wasn’t just time. It was everything you had lost. Everything you had left behind

Your mind was now flowing with thoughts and worries. How would Rhanerya greet you? Would she be indifferent? Hostile - you knew her an Alicent’s relationship was over now. Or would she wear the same mask as alicent, pretending the past had never happened? you weren’t sure which would hurt more.

And then there were the others—the courtiers, the lords, the ladies, all of whom had watched you fade from the capital without a word, without a care. What would they think, seeing you now? A woman called back by her sister, thrust into the court she had abandoned, a pawn in games she no longer wished to play.

Perhaps tonight would be a reckoning. A chance to remind them all that you were not a woman to be forgotten or dismissed.The thought sent a flicker of fire through your veins, though it was quickly doused by the nerves coiling in your stomach. You stood and approached the window, looking out at the Red Keep bathed in the light of the setting sun. The feast would begin soon, and with it, the weight of a past you could no longer avoid.

With a deep breath, you turned back to the gown on the bed. If they wanted you to play the part tonight, you would. But it would be on her terms.

The dress you adorned that evening was not of your typical house style, your gown was crafted from a get black silk, small peaks of green lace poking through around the hem and bodice. You gave up all symbols of your house, not picking any of the gold jewellery you had. Instead a necklace. A silver one your mother had left you - you expressed your dislike for the family colours, this was something she left you an only you. Beautifully cast, shinning sharply in the light a small emerald in the middle, dangling on your chest. The necklace was tight, framing your neck and features. It fitted the low cut of the gown, you were no longer a child. Your gown sat delicately off your shoulders, the sleeves are embroider with the same green lace, yet a see through material. Silver chains frame the front of the bodice, you felt like a warrior, a knight maybe as they fit your snug and securely. No symbols of your house - other than the mild green adorned you that evening. You were a shadow, the black of your dress embracing that fact.

You step into the feast hall, deliberately late, and the moment the doors creak open, everything comes to a sudden, charged halt. The room falls into a heavy silence, like a breath held too long. You feel it—the weight of every single eye on you, the way their gazes burn into your skin. It isn’t unfamiliar, this attention. But tonight, it’s different. It’s not curiosity this time. It’s judgment, suspicion, and something colder, sharper. You feel the moment you’ve become the center of it all, and you savor it.

Your gown, the deep jet black of midnight, flows around you like a shadow, its silken fabric whispering against the floor as you move. It’s simple yet striking—elegant, with just a hint of rebellion woven into its very design. The silver chains draped across your bodice glint softly in the candlelight, the thin, intricate lines sharp and strong, like armor beneath the dark silk. The lace sleeves, almost ethereal, brush your arms like whispers of something long forgotten. The gown feels heavy in its defiance, the stark contrast to the rest of the court, and as you move through the room, you know it’s all they can see.

You catch his gaze—Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince. He sits there, as still as a shadow, his eyes never leaving you. There’s something in his stare, something unreadable and intense, that lingers a moment longer than it should. You feel it pull at you, as if his gaze could reach deep inside and expose what you refuse to show. You look away quickly, trying to push aside the strange fluttering in your chest. You’ve come here for yourself, for your own reasons, and not to be drawn in by anyone’s attention, not even his.

You remember the small moments, the ones that made your heart race, even though you knew they meant nothing. Daemon wasn’t cruel, not exactly. He would glance at you sometimes, when you were playing with Rhaenyra in the garden or lounging in the courtyard, his eyes flicking over you with a brief, almost imperceptible glance. It was nothing—a momentary flicker of attention that was gone before you could even process it. But it was enough to make your heart race, enough to send a jolt of excitement through you every time he acknowledged you, even if only for a split second.

He would never say anything to you directly, never linger long enough to make you believe there was any real interest. Instead, it was those little gestures—how he would ruffle your hair playfully, as though you were still just a child, but the touch lingered a moment longer than necessary. Or the way he would give you a smirk when you said something, as if amused by your words, as if you had somehow caught his attention, even for just a fleeting second. He never made it obvious, never let on that he cared about you more than anyone else, but that was what made it so intoxicating. It was always just enough to keep you wondering, enough to keep your heart tied up in knots.

When Rhaenyra would run off, lost in her own world, you would find yourself alone with him in the garden, and the silence between you would stretch out, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sometimes, when he caught your eye, his expression would soften ever so slightly, and your breath would catch in your throat. You’d feel the heat in your cheeks, but you’d never look away. Not then. Not when he was looking at you like that, even if it was just for a moment.

He would lean in just a fraction closer as he spoke, his voice low and teasing, making you feel as though the conversation was just between the two of you. The others were never around, not when he let himself be just a little more relaxed, a little less of the untouchable prince. You lived for those brief moments, those stolen seconds when Daemon’s attention was on you, however fleeting it might be.

It was never more than that—a flicker, a smile, a brush of his hand against your arm—but it kept your heart bound to him, kept that crush alive even as the years passed. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t real, that he wasn’t interested in you the way you dreamed. But still, when he glanced your way, when his eyes lingered just a second longer, it made your world spin just a little faster.

You force yourself to keep walking, straight-backed and steady, as you approach your sister. The silence follows you, the gazes still locked onto your every movement. When you reach the high table, you see her—Alicent. She looks so much the same, yet so very different, and when you sit beside her, the space between you feels like an abyss. You can sense the tightness in her posture, the way her fingers clutch the edge of her goblet just a bit too tightly. The anger that simmers beneath her calm exterior isn’t something she’s even trying to hide now. It’s there, thick in the air, the silent wrath that she’s been holding back ever since you returned.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t look at her directly. Instead, you sit down with your back straight, your hands resting calmly on your lap as though nothing in this room could touch you. You can feel her tension, feel her eyes burning into you from the side, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. The game has changed. You are no longer the girl she could command with a glance.

The air between you two thickens, like a storm that’s already begun to break. You feel it, the undeniable shift, as Alicent’s anger seethes just beneath the surface. But you hold your ground, your mind focused on the present moment, on the power you now hold in the space you’ve carved for yourself.

The moment you sit down, your eyes inevitably find him—your father, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. He’s seated just a few places away, his posture as straight and composed as you remember, the weight of duty etched into every line of his face. He looks older, though. Perhaps it’s the years of maneuvering the chessboard that is court life, or perhaps it’s simply time catching up with him. But his eyes... they haven’t changed. They are still sharp, calculating, always looking for the next move.

For a moment, you’re struck by the sheer oddity of it—how he can seem so familiar and yet so distant all at once. You’d spent so many years trying to earn those eyes' approval, only for them to shift away from you and settle on Alicent the moment she married the King. You can still hear his voice echoing in your mind, dismissing you as if you were an afterthought: “You are no longer needed here.” The sting of those words hasn’t faded, even after all this time.

Now, though, his gaze has found you again, drawn there almost magnetically. But it isn’t approval you see. No, it’s something else entirely. His brow furrows ever so slightly, and you notice his eyes catch on the necklace resting just above the neckline of your gown. Your mother’s necklace—silver, not the greens or golds of your house. You haven’t worn it in years, not since the day he told you it didn’t “suit your station.” It had been easier, back then, to simply put it away, to avoid the argument, to not feel the heavy weight of his disapproval every time he looked at you. But tonight, it sits proudly against your skin, a subtle but deliberate act of rebellion. And you know he sees it. You see the flicker of recognition, the way his lips press into a thin line, the tightness in his jaw that betrays his otherwise stoic demeanor. He’s never been one for outbursts, not in public, but you know the signs of his displeasure as well as you know your own reflection.

Alicent notices too. Her eyes flick briefly to your necklace, her expression unreadable. She’s perfected that, hasn’t she? The calm mask that reveals nothing of the thoughts swirling beneath. But you see the slight shift in her posture, the way her hand stills on her goblet for just a moment too long. She recognizes it as well—your mother’s necklace, the one that had been left to you and only you. And though her face remains impassive, you can sense something stirring beneath the surface. Guilt, perhaps? Or simply discomfort? You can’t be sure, and you don’t particularly care.Your father, however, is a different story. You meet his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to shrink under the weight of his disapproval. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’ll say something, if he’ll try to admonish you here, in front of the entire court. But he doesn’t. Instead, he simply looks at you, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

And for the first time in years, you feel a strange sense of power. It’s not much, just a small spark, but it’s there—a quiet defiance that burns brighter with each passing second. Let him stew in his disapproval. Let him wonder if you wore the necklace for this very reason, to remind him of what he cast aside. Because in truth, maybe you did.

The feast continues, but for you, it’s like you’re in a different world—your heart beats steadily, and a quiet sense of satisfaction hums through you. You’ve made your choice. Tonight, you are no longer just a pawn. Tonight, you are the one who will shape the story.

And as Daemon’s gaze lingers on you once more, you smile to yourself, knowing that he—like everyone else in this room—will soon see that you are a force to be reckoned with.

The feast hall hums with life, the air thick with the clink of silverware, the rustle of rich fabrics, and the soft murmur of conversation. You sit in silence, the noise of the room all but fading into the background as you watch the scenes unfold before you. Lords and ladies cluster in small groups, their voices low but eager, whispers floating like smoke in the air. They glance at you now and then, no doubt wondering what’s behind the change in your appearance, the subtle defiance in your gown, in your presence. They can’t decide whether you are the same, or something new. You don’t mind. Let them wonder.The soft strains of music begin to fill the hall as the dancers step onto the floor, swirling in delicate steps as the violins and lutes carry the rhythm of the night. The bright, flowing colors of the dancers’ gowns blur in the air as they move, their laughter light and carefree. The court seems to forget its formalities for a brief moment, caught in the frivolity of the dance, the sound of soft feet tapping against the stone floors. You feel like an observer, watching them from your seat, your own heart at a steady, deliberate beat, disconnected from the joy that surrounds you. You don’t dance tonight. Tonight, you are simply here, marking your place.

The King, kind-hearted as he always was, leans toward you with a smile, his voice gentle as he speaks. “It’s good to see you back at the capital,” he says, his tone warm, almost fatherly. He’s never been anything but kind to you, his eyes always carrying that same genuine kindness that made it impossible to feel anything but at ease in his presence. You nod politely, your lips curling into a small smile, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the room shift around you. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly. But it’s different now. There’s something in the air tonight that you can’t quite shake. You sense the tension in the corners of the hall, in the soft glances exchanged when they think no one is watching.

You see Alicent’s head snap to the king, you could tell she did not approve of his kindness, but she didn’t care say anything. After all, she needed this night to go incredibly well.

Before you can respond fully, Rhaenyra leans toward you, past her father, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “I’m glad you’re back,” she says, her words a comfort, a reminder of the past. “I know I haven’t written... I should have. I’m sorry for that. Things have been... complicated.” Her smile is genuine, but her eyes—those familiar, warm eyes—hold something more, something unspoken, a shared understanding of how much has changed since the days when you were just children.

“Thank you rhanerya, its so lovely to see you again” a soft smile graces your features and youre glad that something positive has managed to from from this night. Alicent one more looking frustrated by the kindness of rhanerya’ a words, yet the princess paid her no mind.l

Rhanerya opens her mouth to carry on, when a new voice breaks in, cutting through the conversation like a blade. “A dance, my lady?”

Daemon Targaryen.

He stands at the edge of the table, a playful smirk on his lips, his eyes glinting with mischief as he surveys you. He’s always had that look about him—the kind that makes your stomach tighten, the kind that draws you in despite yourself. You feel the room’s attention shift again, as if everyone is waiting for you to respond, waiting to see what you’ll do. You know what they expect, what they want to see: a game, a flirtation, perhaps even a refusal that will keep the air buzzing with gossip for the rest of the night.

But you’re no fool. You know the rules here, and you know Daemon well enough to know that he’s never one to simply walk away. He stands there, waiting, his smirk deepening as he looks from you to the others at the table, all too aware of the eyes on him.

Rhaenyra’s expression falters just for a moment, but only for a brief second—something in her eyes, a flicker of recognition. You can’t tell if it’s jealousy or something else, but it’s gone before you can truly understand it. She shifts, her gaze quickly returning to Daemon, then back to you. You can almost hear her soft, unspoken question: What will you do now?

You know what the court expects. You know the rumors that swirl around Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, the dashing yet dangerous man who can make any woman’s heart race. But tonight, you are not the girl you once were. You are no longer the one who swooned at his glances, who dreamt of him in secret. Tonight, you are your own woman, unafraid to carve your own path, even if that path leads into the whirlwind of trouble Daemon inevitably brings.

But still, when his eyes meet yours, you feel that familiar flutter, that rush of something old and dangerous stirring within you.

“A dance?” you repeat, a slight smile tugging at your lips. You hesitate, just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, before you rise, the tension in the air palpable. The music swells around you as you step forward, your gown trailing behind you like a shadow, as the hall watches you, the game already set in motion.

And for just a moment, you wonder if this night will change everything.

Daemon extends his hand, his grin sharp as a blade, his silver hair catching the glow of the hall’s countless candles. His confidence is infuriating and intoxicating all at once, and you can feel the room’s collective breath catch as you place your hand in his. The warmth of his palm against yours sends a ripple of something electric up your spine. He leads you to the center of the dance floor with the grace of a man who knows exactly what kind of chaos he inspires.

The music shifts as the two of you step into place, the tempo slow and seductive, perfectly suited to the swirl of your gown as he begins to guide you. His movements are precise yet effortless, and you find yourself matching his steps with an ease that surprises you. His smirk deepens as his eyes meet yours. “The Queen of Shadows,” he says, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “How fitting. A shadow is all they’ve ever let you be... but tonight, you’ve turned it into a crown.”

Your breath catches at the words, a mixture of disbelief and... something else. The way he says it, it’s not mockery. It’s a compliment��a rare, genuine acknowledgment of your defiance, your power. For years, you’ve been invisible, cast aside, an afterthought. And yet here you are, the center of attention, with the Rogue Prince himself spinning you around the room as though you are the only one who matters.

The corners of your lips twitch upward, and you meet his gaze head-on. “Careful, Prince Daemon,” you reply, your voice laced with a confidence you haven’t felt in years. “Someone might think you mean that.”

“Oh, I do,” he murmurs, twirling you effortlessly before pulling you back against him. His hand rests at the small of your back, firm yet not restricting. “You’ve always been wasted in the shadows. Tonight, you remind them all what a mistake that was.”

You can feel the heat of countless eyes on you, but none more so than Alicent’s. She sits rigid at the high table, her expression betraying a flicker of worry as she watches the two of you glide across the floor. You know exactly what she’s thinking. This isn’t part of the plan. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. She’s fretting over the arrangement she’s carefully orchestrated, the marriage she’s likely secured for you without your consent. But you don’t care. Not tonight.

Otto’s face is a mask of controlled tension, his fingers gripping the armrest of his chair just a fraction too tightly. He, too, is calculating, trying to figure out how to intervene without causing a scene. But Daemon doesn’t give them the chance. He spins you again, drawing you further into the crowd of dancers, further away from their reach.

“They’re furious, you know,” Daemon teases, his voice laced with amusement. “Your father, your sister... I’d wager half the room is scandalized.”

Good,” you reply, your voice firm. “Let them be.”

He chuckles at that, a low, rich sound that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t fully understand. “That’s the spirit. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than they realize.”

The music swells, and Daemon guides you through the intricate steps with a practiced ease, his hand never faltering as he keeps you close. He leans in slightly, his lips near your ear. “But tell me,” he says, his tone quieter now, more intimate, “did you wear this gown for yourself... or for me?”

Your heart stutters for a moment, but you catch yourself before you falter. You tilt your head slightly, your own smirk forming. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His laughter is soft and wicked, and as the dance carries you both across the floor, you realize that, for the first time in years, you feel truly alive. Let them watch. Let them whisper. Tonight, you are no longer a shadow. Tonight, you are something more. And the Rogue Prince, with all his dangerous charm, seems to see it too

You were far to busy to notice you father and sister slipping away from the feast

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

The murmur of the feast hall echoes faintly down the corridor, but here, in the shadowed alcove behind a tapestry, Alicent stands with her father, their voices low. Her fingers nervously trace the edges of her green gown, her expression carefully measured.

“She’s drawing far too much attention,” Alicent murmurs, glancing toward the faint glow of the hall. “Daemon, of all people. If she continues like this, the lords will start talking, and that cannot happen.”

Otto, ever composed, clasps his hands behind his back. “She won’t have the chance. The arrangement has already been made. The match is strong, politically advantageous. Once it’s announced, her theatrics will be irrelevant.”

Alicent nods, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—hesitation, perhaps? “Does she truly need to be told tonight? This was meant to bring her back into the fold, not alienate her further.”

“She has no choice,” Otto says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “The King has agreed. It is done.”

Alicent swallows, her throat tight as she lowers her gaze. “She’ll hate me for this,” she whispers.

Otto’s voice softens slightly, but it remains resolute. “Better that she hates us now than jeopardizes the stability of the realm. She’ll come to see the wisdom of it in time.”

The sound of laughter swells from the feast hall, and Alicent straightens, smoothing the fabric of her gown as she forces a calm expression onto her face. “Very well,” she says quietly, before stepping back toward the festivities

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

The feast blurs around you, the laughter and music fading into the background. The weight of Daemon’s gaze pulls at you, as if tethering you to him despite the chaos swirling in the hall. You’ve tried to ignore him, to keep your composure, but when he suddenly appears at your side, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, it’s impossible to pretend he’s not there.

“Are you bored yet, little shadow?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You glance at him, trying to mask your curiosity. “And why would that concern you?”

His smirk is wicked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Because I know how much you hate being their obedient little puppet. And because I have a much better idea for how to spend the evening.”

Your brow furrows, suspicion flickering in your chest. “What are you suggesting?”

He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Come with me. Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

Part of you worries the man is toying with you, you were no fool, you knew what he was like. But you cant help be drawn into his trap.

The air between you feels charged, dangerous. You know you shouldn’t. You know whatever he has planned will only make things worse. But the allure of defiance, of stepping out of the role they’ve forced you into, is too tempting to resist.

He was the wolf, guiding you to slaughter. Daemon knew what he wanted, and if toying with you was what he had to do, then so be it.

A dark streak in him loved to watch as you fell into his plan, just as he thought you might.

Before you can overthink it, you find yourself nodding.

The cool night air greets you as Daemon leads you through the darkened corridors of the castle. Your gown whispers against the stone floors, and the sound of the feast grows faint behind you. You should feel nervous, but instead, there’s a strange exhilaration coursing through your veins.

“Where are we going?” you whisper, your voice tinged with both curiosity and unease.

Daemon glances back at you, his smirk still firmly in place. “You’ll see.”

He leads you out onto a narrow balcony overlooking the courtyard below. The city of King’s Landing sprawls beyond, its lights twinkling like a sea of stars. Daemon leans against the railing, his posture relaxed, but his eyes are sharp as they study you.

“Do you know what they see when they look at you?” he asks suddenly, his tone softer now, almost contemplative.

You blink at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“They see a girl too afraid to claim what’s hers,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours. “Too afraid to break the rules they’ve chained her with. You let them shape you, define you, when you could be so much more.”

His words sting because they’re true, and he knows it. But there’s something in his tone, something almost cruel in the way he peels back your defenses. The way he’s sculpting you into what he needs you to be.

“And what do you see?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost a challenge. You desperately wanted to know.

A flicker of something unreadable passes over his face before he steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the silver chain of your mother’s necklace. “I see someone who doesn’t belong in their world. Someone who could burn it all down if she dared.”

The words are intoxicating, and you hate how much they resonate. He steps even closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“They think they can control you,” he says, his fingers lightly tracing the necklace. “Prove them wrong. Let them see what happens when you step out of their grasp.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at him, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to stay. “How?”

Daemon’s smirk returns, sharper now. “By doing what they’d never expect. By doing exactly what they forbid.”

He gestures out toward the city, the suggestion hanging in the air between you. Sneaking out of the castle with him would be reckless, dangerous—everything they would hate. And he knows that.

“You want to unsettle them?” he says, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

There’s a challenge in his eyes, and you can feel the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You know he’s playing on your desire for freedom, on the resentment simmering in your chest. But the temptation to follow him, to throw caution to the wind, is impossible to ignore.

Temptation was all Daemon was, he thrived off it. Relishing in how you gave into it so easily.

As you stare back at him, you realize that Daemon isn’t just dangerous—he’s intoxicatingly so. And tonight, he’s offering you a taste of that danger, knowing full well it’s something you can’t resist

The air outside the castle walls is thick with the scent of the city—smoke, spice, and the faint tang of the sea. It’s noisy here, alive in a way the stifling halls of the Red Keep never are. Daemon moves through the labyrinth of streets as if he owns them, his steps confident, his silver hair catching the glow of lanterns as he glances back at you.

“Try to keep up, little shadow,” he calls over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You quicken your pace, trying not to let the unfamiliar surroundings overwhelm you. The streets are crowded, lined with vendors, performers, and people shouting over one another. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced, and you feel the weight of every curious glance thrown your way.

“Daemon,” you hiss, catching up to him. “Where are we going?

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as a group of rowdy men stumble past. The touch is possessive, almost territorial, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re with me. No one will dare lay a hand on you.”

His words are meant to be reassuring, but there’s an edge to them, a reminder of his reputation. You don’t pull away, though, and he notices, his smirk deepening.

The tavern is dimly lit, filled with the smell of ale and sweat. The din of laughter and shouting washes over you as Daemon leads you inside. It’s a far cry from the elegant halls of the castle—crude and chaotic—but Daemon seems entirely at ease.

He tosses a coin to the barkeep without breaking stride, securing two goblets of wine before steering you toward a corner table. The wooden bench creaks as you sit, and you feel the weight of curious eyes on you.

“You’ve done this before,” you say, watching him over the rim of your goblet as you take a cautious sip.

“More times than I can count,” he replies easily, leaning back in his seat. “The city is far more entertaining than that gilded cage we left behind.”

You glance around, the noise and unfamiliarity pressing in on you. “I’m not sure I belong here.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans forward, his voice dropping. “That’s where you’re wrong. You belong wherever you choose to be. The problem is, you’ve spent your entire life letting others decide for you.”

His words sting, but there’s a truth to them that you can’t ignore. You look away, swirling the wine in your goblet, and he chuckles softly.

“You’re too used to being told who you are,” he says, his tone softening just enough to draw you back in. “But tonight, you get to decide. No one here knows your name, your bloodline. You could be anyone.”

You glance at him, searching for any sign of mockery, but his expression is unreadable. “And who are you when you’re not the rogue prince?”

His smirk returns, but there’s something darker beneath it. “Exactly who I choose to be.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

As the night wears on, Daemon’s attention never wavers from you. He teases, flirts, and challenges you at every turn, his words laced with a mix of charm and provocation.

When a musician begins to play, he stands and extends a hand to you. “Dance with me.”

“Here?” you ask, glancing around nervously.

“Why not?” he counters, his smirk daring you to refuse.

You hesitate, but the weight of his gaze and the pull of his confidence draw you to your feet. The floor is uneven, the space too crowded, but Daemon moves as if none of it matters. His hand finds your waist, his other clasping yours, and he guides you into a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“I’m not used to this,” you admit.

His smirk softens into something almost resembling patience. “That’s the point, little shadow. You’ve spent too long hiding. Let them see you.”

His words sink deep, stirring something inside you. But even as you let him lead, you can’t ignore the way he looks at you—as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, as if every word and gesture is calculated.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask suddenly, searching his face for an answer.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. “Because you deserve to know what it feels like to live.”

But there’s something else in his eyes, something he doesn’t say. And as he spins you across the uneven floor, you realize that with Daemon, the line between freedom and manipulation is razor-thin. He’s offering you a taste of something intoxicating, but at what cost?

The tavern hums with the chaotic noise of its patrons, but in this small corner, everything feels unbearably still. Daemon’s eyes are fixed on yours, the intensity of his gaze drawing you in like a magnet. The warmth of his hand rests lightly on your waist, the touch sending a strange shiver through your body. You can feel your heart racing, uncertainty curling in your stomach.

“Daemon...” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intend.

He leans in closer, the proximity making it impossible to breathe normally. The scent of wine and something darker—more dangerous—lingers around him, but it’s intoxicating, and you can’t seem to pull away.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Daemon whispers, his lips barely grazing your ear. “I won’t hurt you, little shadow. Not unless you want me to.”

Your breath hitches at the weight of his words. You know better than to be so close, to let him get under your skin like this, but something inside you trembles with curiosity, with an aching desire to know what he’s offering.

But there’s still hesitation, a voice in your mind warning you to be careful, to stop before things go too far. You glance around, but the world outside this little bubble of silence feels distant. There’s no escape.

“I... I’m not sure,” you whisper, your heart pounding.

Daemon’s fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, the touch soft but purposeful, sending a wave of heat rushing through you. He smiles, a slow, knowing thing that sends an uneasy thrill through your veins.

“I think you are,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours, the words laced with something darker, something you don’t fully understand yet. “You’ve always known, haven’t you? You just needed a little push.”

Before you can respond, he’s pulling you closer, the kiss coming so swiftly you don’t have time to think, to pull away. His lips are firm against yours, and the world fades. You can taste the wine on his breath, the heat of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, you forget everything else.

But then, a flicker of awareness creeps back into your mind—his hands, too deliberate in their hold, the force behind the kiss, the way his tongue brushes against yours with an almost possessive edge. You want to pull away, but the pull of his touch keeps you rooted, his lips deepening the kiss, coaxing you further into the storm he’s created.

For a moment, you let it happen—because you want it, don’t you? There’s no mistaking the way your pulse quickens, the way your body reacts to him, to the dangerous thrill of what’s happening between you.

But then, a small voice inside you whispers that this isn’t what it seems. Daemon isn’t just taking what he wants; he’s testing you. He’s pushing you, knowing you won’t resist, and that thought should terrify you, but instead, it only deepens the knot in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes watching you with a glimmer of something—triumph, perhaps, or perhaps it’s something more complex.

“You’re so innocent,” Daemon breathes, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. “So naive. But you’ll learn.

The words hang between you, heavy and loaded. And for the first time, you realize that the weight of his care is just as suffocating as his manipulation. He sees you as a puzzle, something to unravel, and in doing so, he’s slowly drawing you into his world—one where rules are bent, and where the only thing that matters is getting what you want.

You blink, your breath shaky, trying to regain your composure, but it’s hard with Daemon so close. You can’t tell if the heat in your chest is desire or something darker.

“What... what do you want from me?”

Daemon chuckles softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Everything, little shadow. Everything.”

The moon is a silver crescent, casting shadows across the streets of King’s Landing as you and Daemon slip through the dark alleys, hearts still racing from the night’s escapade. The thrill of defiance still buzzes in your veins, but something else gnaws at you—a feeling you can’t shake, a creeping sense that this is all too dangerous, that you’ve stepped too far into a world you can’t control.

Daemon walks beside you, his hand briefly brushing against yours. You can’t tell whether it’s for your comfort or his, but you don’t pull away. His grin is still mischievous, his eyes sparkling with the kind of dangerous energy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I do enjoy watching them squirm,” Daemon murmurs, more to himself than to you, but you hear it clearly. “You, little shadow... you do have a knack for it.”

Your chest tightens with a mixture of exhilaration and guilt. This was reckless—this was too much. But just as quickly, your rebellious streak rises again, and you refuse to be the one to regret. Not yet.

However, as you near the castle gates, you realize too late that you’ve already lost the luxury of freedom. The looming figures of your family stand before you, gathered like statues carved from ice. Alicent’s face is pale with fury, her lips tight in an unforgiving line. Otto stands at her side, his expression unreadable but sharp as a blade. The King, normally so composed, stands with furrowed brows and clenched fists.

Rhaenyra’s presence only makes it worse—her eyes flick between you and Daemon, her gaze mixed with concern and a subtle understanding of the storm that’s about to break.

Before you can even take another step, Alicent’s voice slices through the air like a whip.

“There you are. Thought you could slip away unnoticed, did you?” She doesn’t wait for a response, her voice tightening. “You’ve ruined everything. Do you understand that? You’ve ruined your future. Your marriage to Lord Harroway... gone. All because of this.” She points an accusing finger at Daemon, her eyes filled with disdain.

Daemon, ever the provocateur, gives a lazy smile. “Ruined? Hardly. She’s free for once. Shouldn’t that be celebrated, dear sister?” His voice oozes mockery, and you can’t help but feel a spark of anger at his casual disregard for the consequences.

Your heart lurches as Alicent’s words sink in, the anger bubbling up inside you. “I didn’t know! You—you never told me! I didn’t even know about this... this arranged marriage!”

“You don’t have the luxury of ignorance,” Otto’s voice cuts in, cold as ice. “The plans were made. Your future was decided long ago. And now, thanks to your impulsive behavior, we have to start from scratch.”

“I have to start from scratch? What about you?” you snap, your temper flaring. “You’ve decided my life for me without even asking what I want, without ever giving me a choice!”

Alicent steps closer, her voice hissing through gritted teeth. “You have no choice now. You’ve made your bed, and you’ll lie in it. There’s no room for him in it. Not anymore.” She points at Daemon again, and you feel a pang in your chest. The venom in her words cuts deeper than you expected.

Daemon, undeterred, steps forward with that same cocky smile, his eyes glinting with something darker. “What’s the problem, sister? Afraid my presence will overshadow your perfect little plans? Your little puppet of a daughter?” His words are sharp and deliberately cruel.

Daemon’s voice becomes dangerously soft. "You think you can just control her, that you can marry her off like some prize? You should be grateful, Otto, that I didn’t choose to go even further."

Daemon leans in just a bit closer to Otto, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. "After all, I kissed her. Right under your nose. I took what you thought you could control." He lets the words hang in the air like a heavy, biting taunt, the cruelty of the statement drawing a sharp intake of breath from Otto and the others.

You see Alicent’s hands tighten at her sides, her jaw locking in fury, but it’s Otto who steps forward next, his voice low and dangerous.

“Enough. This ends now. I don’t care if you’re the King’s brother. You’ve risked her honor—my daughter’s honor—and I will not tolerate it.”

Daemon doesn’t back down, though. He looks at you with a mixture of annoyance and something deeper, more calculating. “You know you can’t cage me, Otto. She wanted this. She wanted the freedom.”

For a moment, Daemon leans into otto, right next to his ear muttering something only otto can hear “How about I fuck her next, then you’ll truly be ruined.”

You have no idea what Daemon said, but Otto pushed him away with such hatred in his eyes, you knew it was bad. “You bastard!” otto bellowed

Daemon chuckles darkly. "I’m not done yet. If you try to stop me again, Otto... you’ll regret it. I’ll take her whenever I want—no one, not even you, can stop me. I’ll just steal her away from you. And if you so much as look at me wrong, I’ll make sure your precious plans fall apart for good."

He grins, his expression both teasing and threatening, a dangerous mix of arrogance and cruelty. "The marriage is ruined, Otto. She’ll never be yours to control, not after this. You’ve lost."

Daemon then turns to look at you, eyes cold, calculating. "And don’t think I’m done with you either," he sneers, amusement flickering in his voice. "You were so willing to follow my lead tonight, to sneak away with me. And yet you stand there like you’re innocent. Do you really think I’ll let you just go back to your life?"

His words hit you harder than expected, and you can’t help but feel that the power Daemon wields over you is suffocating. You want to speak, to argue, but his presence is overpowering, his smirk twisting your insides into a knot.

Before you can react, the King steps forward, cutting off Daemon’s threat with a sharp command. "Daemon!" The King’s voice rings through the night like a hammer. "Enough of this insolence!"

Daemon’s gaze flickers briefly toward the King, his smirk returning. "Ah, the old man finally speaks. Are you afraid of losing control of everything, Your Grace?"

The King’s face hardens. "No one is taking her anywhere. You will not leave this castle with her. And if you try anything... there will be consequences."

Daemon’s smirk falters for just a moment, but then, in the blink of an eye, he gives a slight, mocking bow. "Of course, Your Grace. I understand." His voice is laced with sarcasm, and though he’s feigning submission, the air of threat still lingers in his every word.

Daemon turns back to you, his eyes still dark, but with a hint of something more—something that could be regret, or perhaps satisfaction at having rattled the cages. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he steps away, his presence still hanging heavily in the air.

Later, you find yourself in the cold, sterile confines of your chamber, the door slamming shut behind you with an echoing finality. The guards stand at attention outside, their presence a silent reminder that you’re not free to leave.

The anger inside you refuses to fade. How could they do this to you? How could they keep this marriage a secret, control every part of your life like this? Your hands tremble as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. This was your life. Your choice. But now...

“You will marry Lord Harroway.” Otto’s voice, gravelly and severe, breaks through your spiraling thoughts. You look up to find him standing in the doorway, his face set like stone.

“I will not,” you say, your voice low, but steady. “You can’t force me into this. I won’t be some prize to be handed over for a political alliance.”

Otto takes a step closer, his eyes cold with an authority that’s suffocating. “You have no choice in this. You’ve ruined everything. Daemon has ruined everything. You will do what’s expected of you.”

Your chest tightens, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill. “I don’t want him,” you whisper, the truth cutting through your anger like a knife. “I want me. I want my freedom. Why can’t you see that?”

Otto’s expression hardens further, his jaw clenched as if the mere thought of your independence disgusts him. “You don’t get to decide that. It was decided long before you were born. You will marry Lord Harroway. If you want to see Daemon again—if you want any part of your life back—you’ll accept the life we’ve planned for you. There are no more choices.”

The finality in his words hangs in the air like a death sentence. You stand abruptly, your legs shaky beneath you.

“I won’t... I won’t do it.”

“Then you’ll live with the consequences,” Otto replies, his voice colder than ever. He turns to leave, but then pauses. “You’ll stay here until your head is clear. And if I hear of Daemon again, if I even hear his name from your lips...”

The threat is left hanging, and you can’t help but shudder at the coldness in his tone. The door slams behind him, leaving you alone in the silence of your prison.

Anger burns hot in your chest, a tangled mess of fury at your family, at the life they’ve forced upon you, and yet, there's something darker festering within. You’re furious with Daemon too—furious that he pushed you into this, egging them on with his recklessness, his devil-may-care attitude. Did he ever stop to think about the consequences? About how you would bear the weight of his actions? Of course not. He took what he wanted, without a second thought, and now, you’re left to pick up the pieces. And the worst part? You still want him

The days drag on, suffocating you in your solitude. Your chamber has become a prison, and every second spent there is a constant reminder of how tightly your family has bound you—your father, your mother, Alicent, all of them shaping your life without a care for what you want. They’ve planned your marriage, decided your future, and left you with no choice but to accept it.

The anger you feel burns hot inside you, but it’s a quiet rage, simmering beneath the surface. And then, just when you think you might explode, you hear it—the sound of your door creaking open.

Daemon.

He steps inside without hesitation, as if he’s done this a thousand times before, and his eyes sweep over you with an unsettling familiarity. The way he looks at you—it’s like he knows something you don’t.

For a second, your heart skips in your chest, and a twinge of excitement rushes through you. But then, the anger floods back, sharp and bitter. You feel it, and you want to lash out at him. He’s the reason everything has gone to hell. He’s the one who pushed your family to this point, his reckless actions leaving you to clean up the mess.

“just in your night gown my lady? How scandalous” he jokes, a sultry look in his eyes

“Daemon…” you hiss, not bothering to hide the fury in your voice. “What are you doing here? You’ve ruined everything! My life is no longer my own, and now you show up like it’s some kind of joke?”

He smiles, the kind of smile that promises trouble. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice is laced with amusement, as if the destruction of your life is just another game to him. “But let’s not pretend you didn’t enjoy it a little. You did, didn’t you?” His eyes gleam, dark and knowing. “I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to play, and now we both have to face the consequences.”

You flinch at his words. It’s true—you did enjoy the attention, the excitement, the flirtation. But you didn’t sign up for this. You didn’t expect him to abandon you, to let you suffer the consequences of his actions.

You cross your arms, trying to steady your breath. “How dare you speak to me like that the other night?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended, but it doesn’t matter. You want him to know how deeply he’s hurt you, how careless he was with his words.

Daemon chuckles lowly, a sound that sends a shiver of unease down your spine. He stops just in front of you, his eyes glinting with something darker, something that makes your stomach tighten. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did you think I didn’t mean it?”

You recoil slightly, the words stinging. “What’s wrong with you?” you snap, your voice wavering despite your efforts to remain composed.

He’s too close now, too overwhelming. His presence fills the room, making it feel smaller, suffocating. Daemon’s fingers brush against your arm as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “I know you’re angry,” he whispers. “I know you want to hate me. But you can’t. Not really. Not when you know how much I’ve ruined you...”

You swallow, the accusation hanging in the air. His words have a way of finding their mark, cutting deep into the places you thought were safe.

“I’ve ruined your little plans,” he continues, his voice mocking. “But you followed me, didn’t you? You followed me just as easily as you’ve followed everything else. And I know you can’t stop thinking about it. About me.” He pauses for a moment, eyes trailing over your face, reading every flicker of emotion. “You can’t stay angry at me, not when you know you want to be with me.”

His hand slowly reaches for your chin, tilting your face up toward him, forcing you to look him in the eye. His grip is tight, possessive, and for all your anger, you don’t push him away.

Daemon’s smirk widens, cruel and knowing. “You’ve always wanted to be a part of my world. Don’t pretend you didn’t. You couldn’t resist me then, and you won’t resist me now.”

His words are like a gentle caress to the skin, but they’re coated with venom, sharp and cruel beneath the surface. The accusation burns, and you want to deny it, want to push him away with everything in you. But something in the pit of your stomach churns—doubt, confusion, and a pull that you can’t seem to escape.

Daemon leans closer, his lips hovering just above your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “I can see it in your eyes. You hate that I’ve made you feel this way. But you know, deep down, that you’ll forgive me. Because, whether you like it or not, you belong to me now.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and Daemon watches you carefully, his gaze a mix of amusement and satisfaction, as if he knows exactly how deeply his words are cutting into you. He’s playing you like a stringed instrument, and you’re helpless to resist.

His lips brush against your ear, whispering softly, “You’ll forgive me, because you have no choice. You’ll forgive me because, no matter how much you deny it, you want me. And you know, darling, that’s the hardest truth you’ll ever have to face.”

You close your eyes, anger mixing with confusion, as Daemon straightens up, his fingers lingering on your chin a moment longer before he releases you. He steps back, seemingly content with himself, watching you, waiting for you to break, to give in.

“And don’t pretend you’re above it,” he adds, his voice low and cutting. “You’re not. You’ll forgive me. You always do.”

Daemon steps closer, the air between you thick with something charged. His presence is overpowering, and every part of you wants to pull away. But you can’t. You’re drawn to him in ways you don’t want to admit.

His voice softens, and he places a hand on your arm, his touch far too intimate, far too familiar. “Don’t be angry with me,” he murmurs, leaning in just a little closer. “I know you’re upset. But we both know you’re not some delicate flower. You’ll weather this storm better than anyone else.”

You can’t help but feel a flicker of doubt. The way he speaks, like he understands you, like he’s the only one who truly gets you—it makes your resolve start to crack. Your anger still lingers, but it’s harder to hold onto with him standing there, looking at you like he’s the only one who sees the real you.

“I’m not some pawn in your game,” you snap, even though part of you wonders if you already are. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you to come here and tell me everything will be fine, Daemon. Because it won’t be.”

He smiles again, but this time, there’s no humor in it. It’s predatory, like he’s toying with you, pushing you into a corner you didn’t even know existed. “You’re angry,” he says, his voice low, almost a purr. “I understand that. But don’t mistake my actions for cruelty. I did this because I knew you were strong enough to handle it. You’re not like the rest of them. You’re... different.”

You swallow hard, the words stirring something inside you. He’s right, in a way. You are different. You’ve always felt out of place, like the world around you was something you had to adapt to instead of shaping it for yourself. Daemon makes it sound so... tempting, as if he’s offering you a chance to be something more than just the dutiful daughter.

But then he steps closer, and the moment your skin touches his, something shifts. His presence is overwhelming, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s dangerous. You know this. He’s the reason your life is in chaos. But the way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel seen, it draws you in like a moth to the flame.

“You’re stronger than you know,” he says softly, his fingers tracing the line of your arm. “But you don’t have to face this alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

His words are so smooth, so convincing, and in that moment, you want to believe him. You want to believe that he’s telling the truth, that maybe, just maybe, he’s the one who will help you find a way out of this mess

“You can’t fix this, Daemon,” you say, though your voice cracks, betraying the doubt in your chest. “You’ve already made everything worse.”

“I’m not here to fix it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now, as if the words are meant for only the two of you. “I’m here to offer you an escape. An escape from them. An escape from the life they’ve planned for you.”

The weight of his words hits you hard. You’ve been trapped for so long, your fate sealed by others, and the thought of escaping it, of finally having control over your life, is a temptation you can’t ignore.

Daemon watches you closely, reading the turmoil in your eyes. “You don’t have to be their puppet anymore,” he says softly, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your skin. “Come with me. Leave this place behind. I’ll make sure you’re free.”

Your heart races. Every part of you wants to run, to escape this suffocating existence. But you hesitate, because you know that following him means crossing a line you can never uncross. Yet, his gaze pulls you in, and for just a moment, the desire to be free, to be anything but the person they’ve molded you into, is stronger than anything else.

You look up at him, your breath shallow, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. “What do I do now?”

Daemon’s smile is slow, almost too pleased with himself. “Come with me,” he says, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll show you.”

Before you can say another word, his hand is on yours again, and he pulls you toward the door. Every step you take feels like a leap into the unknown, but you follow him anyway, trusting him more than you should, believing in the words he’s whispered into your ear

Daemon’s chambers are dimly lit, the flickering flame of the candles casting shadows that stretch across the stone walls like ghosts. The air is thick with the quiet of the night, but the tension is palpable. You stand near the door, heart racing in your chest as your nightgown clings too tightly to your skin, an innocent, exposed fabric that makes you feel both vulnerable and strange in Daemon’s presence. It’s just the two of you in this room now, and every breath feels heavy, weighted with the electricity that hums between you.

Daemon leans casually against the stone wall, one arm draped lazily over his waist, his gaze fixated on you with a curiosity that’s both unsettling and magnetic. His eyes—those stormy, knowing eyes—never leave you, studying you like a puzzle he can’t quite figure out, yet is intent on solving.

“You’ve made quite a habit of defying your family,” he says, his voice low and smooth, with that mischievous edge you’ve come to know all too well. “It’s... interesting. They thought they could control you, tie you down with a simple marriage, a pretty little contract. But here you are, free as ever. It suits you.”

You shift uncomfortably, his gaze like a weight pressing against you. The room suddenly feels too small.

“I’m not free,” you murmur, trying to push back against the pull of his words. “I’m just... running from one cage into another.”

Daemon’s lips curl into a smile, but it’s not comforting. It’s dangerous, calculated. He pushes himself off the wall slowly, almost lazily, as if he’s savoring the moment, the game. He steps closer, and the space between you grows smaller, until he’s only a few feet away.

“No,” he says, his voice dropping, lowering the temperature of the room even further. “You’re not running. You’re... escaping. There’s a difference.” His eyes flash as he takes another step, and you can’t help but notice how his movements are predatory, yet effortless. He makes it look so natural. “You’ve never really had a choice, have you? Always being told what to do, who to marry, where to go. You’re always playing by someone else’s rules.”

Your throat tightens as his words sink in, and the breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes shakily. You swallow, trying to ground yourself. But then he’s there—right in front of you—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

Daemon’s hand brushes against yours, just barely, like a spark flickering in the dark. It’s light, teasing, but it sends a jolt through you. His touch is a reminder that he’s not just another man in the room. He’s Daemon Targaryen, and you’ve never been able to ignore the effect he has on you.

“You know,” he says softly, his voice like a velvet whisper against your ear, “they’re never going to give you the freedom you crave. They’ll always keep you in your place, a pawn for their schemes.”

Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat, but you refuse to let him see the way his words are hitting you. You look away, trying to gain some semblance of control, but Daemon won’t let you. He steps closer again, his body brushing against yours just enough to make your pulse quicken. His fingers graze your wrist—just a light, fleeting touch—but it burns like fire.

His lips twitch upwards at the reaction he knows he’s getting from you. “You’re so... tense,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, thick with promise. “You can let go, you know. No one is here to judge you. Not tonight.”

The words dance around your head, teasing, tempting. You try to step back, but Daemon is there again, his hand on your arm, pulling you gently but insistently toward him.

His touch is light, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of your nightgown, but it feels like more. He’s too close now, his breath mingling with yours, and the space between your bodies has evaporated entirely. The tension thickens, coiling tighter with every second that passes.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice hushed, but with an edge of challenge. His fingers trace the edge of your collarbone, a soft caress that has your heart racing. “I’m not like the others. I won’t trap you. I’ll give you what you want... freedom.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words fail you. You feel like you’re drowning, suffocated by his presence and the way he’s watching you. You can’t escape from the intensity of it, the way he’s pulling you in without saying a word, drawing you closer, making you forget the consequences.

Daemon’s gaze darkens, and for the first time, you see something sharper, more dangerous. He leans in, so close now you can feel his breath on your skin. “You’re not a little girl anymore,” he says, his voice soft but full of intent. “You don’t need to play by anyone’s rules. Not mine, not your father’s... no one’s.”

His hand moves up to cup your cheek, and you close your eyes, caught in the heady warmth of the moment, the world narrowing down to just him, just the two of you.

“You can take control. You can have power, be free, just by making one choice.” His eyes flicker to your lips, and you feel the magnetic pull again, impossibly strong. “Let me take what no one else can have. Let me take your honour.”

The words hang in the air between you like a tangible thing. A weight that presses on your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. You should step away. You should say no, because you know this would ruin everything. You know the consequences. But as Daemon watches you, waiting for your answer, a part of you—something deep, something far more primal than logic—feels the lure of his offer.

He’s not offering you love, not truly. He’s offering you freedom. A chance to slip from the chains that have held you your whole life.

“Daemon,” you whisper, your voice trembling, though you’re not sure whether it’s from fear or desire.

“Think about it,” he breathes, his lips brushing the edge of your ear. “I can make you untouchable. No one can force you into that marriage. You’ll be free, and no one will stand in our way.”

The temptation lingers, heavy and oppressive. You know it’s dangerous. You know you should walk away. But the thought of being free... of being his... tugs at something deep inside you.

Daemon’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as you hesitate, and you wonder—just for a moment—if you’ve already fallen too far to turn back.

The room is suffocating with heat, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that seem to grow and stretch as Daemon’s gaze never leaves you. The space between you feels charged, like the air itself is thick with something unsaid, something dangerous.

Daemon’s breath is steady, controlled, but you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes—something that mirrors your own longing. His body is impossibly close, towering over you in a way that makes you feel small, vulnerable, but also alive, in a way you’ve never felt before.

You want him. That much is clear. His presence, his touch, everything about him makes your heart race, your pulse quicken, and your breath catch in your throat. But with that desire comes something darker, something you can’t quite put into words—fear, maybe. Or uncertainty. The price of giving in to this feels high, and you know it.

Daemon, however, knows this too. And that only makes him more determined, more insistent. He’s watching you intently, as if waiting for the very moment when he’ll break down the walls you’ve spent your life building. His hand is still lightly resting against your cheek, and his thumb brushes over your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He can sense the hesitation, the inner battle. You can see the smile tugging at his lips, but it’s not kind. It’s triumphant, as if he knows something you don’t. That, in this moment, you are his.

“You know what you want,” he says, his voice low, smooth, almost like velvet, but it carries an edge—a hunger you can almost taste. “You’ve been running, hiding behind your family’s expectations, but the truth is... you’re not like them. You’ve always been different. You want to be free, and I can give you that.”

His words hang in the air, thick and heavy, like a spell being woven around you. You know the consequences. You’ve heard them, felt them. And yet...

Daemon leans in just a fraction more, his lips brushing against your ear, and you can hear the quiet, dangerous satisfaction in his voice when he speaks again.

“You want to feel something different, don’t you? Something real, something you can’t get from your family or their precious plans. Let me show you what it feels like to have control, to finally feel alive.”

The moment stretches out, and all you can hear is the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. Your thoughts are swirling, spinning, but at the center of it all is him. Daemon Targaryen. The man who holds your future in his hands, a future that could break you, or free you.

You’ve never been so conflicted in your life, yet his words have found a way into your soul, pressing on every vulnerable part of you. You can feel the walls you’ve built around yourself beginning to crumble, and there’s a part of you—a deep, secret part—that wants to surrender to him, to let him take you and leave you with nothing but the promise of freedom.

And yet, you can’t quite breathe without wondering if you’re making a mistake. If you’re giving up something too precious. But when Daemon’s lips move closer to yours again, his breath hot against your skin, you know that it’s too late to turn back. The decision has already been made. The temptation is too strong.

You nod, just barely, but it’s enough.

Daemon doesn’t need more words. He sees the shift in you, the acceptance in your eyes, and a glimmer of satisfaction flickers across his face. It’s not just triumph. It’s something else—something darker. He’s won, but the game is far from over.

He moves, quick and decisive, pulling you into him as his lips crash against yours. The kiss is everything you’ve been afraid of and everything you’ve wanted, all at once. His hands move to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might slip away. And for the first time, you stop thinking, stop questioning, and simply feel.

This is it. This is the point of no return.

This is unlike any other, this kiss was so different to the one that you shared in the tavern, it was hungrier. Filled with something more than just innocence and tension. It was full of passion, a feeling that had you mind going foggy despite Daemon having hardly touched you.

The feeling of his possesive grip on your neck had you whimpering lightly into the kiss, a sound that he moaned at. Relishing in your innocence, your taste, the smell of your flesh, the way you looked so angelic in you gown, in the candle light of his room.

He had backed you into a wall now, leaving no room for your escape. His lips dominating yours with each kiss.

“Are you sure of this my lady, once I start, I don’t think I can stop” he pulls away to mutter breathily in your ear, the both of you panting lightly. All you can do is will yourself to nod your head, a small smirk gracing his features at your wordlessness.

You weren’t sure what he was going to do, but the burning pit in your stomach told you to accept it greedily. You watched as the silver haired prince lowered himself between you legs. Lifting one onto his shoulder as his head dissapred beneath your night gown. You stood in silence for a moment as you back leant against the cold wall, until a sharp gasp but through the silent air.

You weren’t expecting anything like this, for him to kiss you down there. You had never even heard of such a thing. You didn’t have it in you to comparing however, moans ripping from your throat as Daemon slopping kissed your pussy, tongue gliding through your slick folds.

He sucked and licked to his hearts content, he could feel his pants tightening at your taste, it drove him wild, so sweet and innocent, he was so lucky to be the first to touch you he thought. He sucked gently on your clit, listening to the shrill moans you let out as he played with your virgin cunt. Your hips bucking involuntarily against his face as he licked fat stripes along you.

You didnt know what to do with yourself, eyes screwing shut with pleasure as you took whatever he gave you, whatever this was it felt amazing, unlike anything before

A feeling in your belly rose, a band tightening, a coil winding. You felt like you were going to snap, your breathing becoming more and more erratic as Daemon did nothing to slow his action. You were positively dripping, your slick smeared over his face.

“Daemon, oh gods- Daemon it feels-“ You didnt get a chance to finish that sentence before that band inside you snapped, your nerves on fire as Daemon didnt dare slow is assault

“That’s it little shadows, scream for me.:” he murmured into your cunt as it gushed on his face. You were screaming in pleasure as this point, trying to pull his off of you when it got too much, you had never been so sensitive before.

When he was finished he rose from his knees, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve, something that you shouldnt have enjoyed watching - an action so filthy - but you couldn’t help it.

Your head all dizzy and mushy from the after effects of your orgasm still flowing over you. You scared at each other for a moment, you hooded eyes glancing at the man with nothing but want written all over his features.

Not breaking eye contact for a moment, he rid himself of his shirt. Slowly stepping over to you, like you were some scared animal, hands reaching for your dress, slowly raising the garment over your head.

There you stood, naked in front of the man who’s eyes were running over you like you were fresh cut meat and he was starving.

Your arms instinctively rose to cover your bare chest, your nipple perk as the night air brushed against them, Daemon stops you, ringing your hand down to your sides so he can look at you, mutterly sweetly in you ear about how you mustn’t fear him and there’s no need to hide from him.

His hands meet your hips as he guides you to his bed, laying you down on it. He rids himself of his trousers as well and you cant help but watch, an admirable length stands tall between his thighs and you gulp. You knew that was meant to go inside you, but how would it fit.

He could read the nervousness on your face as he pressed his body on top of yours

“whats wrong my lady?” he asks in betweeen his kisses on your neck and chest, biting and licking the skin, making it harder for you to talk

“..Serving girls my lord, they mentioned how… bedding was painful, not enjoyable.” you can hardly make eyecontact with the man as his kisses stop as he looks at you.

“Trust me my lady, It might hurt at first, but what we are about to do will be very, very enjoyable I can assure you.” he pulls your chin to force you to look at him, you can feel him prodding at your wet entrance as you cant help but squirm at the feeling, all you know is you trust the prince, and you need more of whatever this is

Slowly, watching your face he pushes inside, inch by inch. One of his hands holding yours.

The stretch burns, and when he finally sheaths himself fully inside of you, You gasp out from the pain. It certainly did hurt, but you wanted to believe what Daemon said, that it was going to get better. you whine at the pain.

Daemons breathing heavily now as he is still inside you, what he wouldnt do to take your virgin cunt like a street whore, but he’s trying to be considerate, pausing and allowing you to adjust to his size first.

After a short while he finally began to move, building slow thrusts in and out of your weeping cunt, your wetness was dripping down onto the bedsheets beneath you. Daemon slipping into you with ease. Gods your cunt was so tight it was practically choking him, you virgin pussy sucking him back in with every thrust.

NOw you understood what Daemon meant, now he was moving inside you, it felt increadibly.

His mouth sucking lazily on your nipples as moans reverberated through his chest. His hand still gripping yours, dwarfing your smaller one as he kept it pinned to the bed.

Your chest heaving with every gasp, this feeling was so foreign to you, yet it had your legs turning to jelly, your mind fogging as your eyes glossing over.

“My prince- please” In truth you didnt know what you were begging him for, but you knew that you needed more.

He chuckles to himself, watching you fucked out state “oh whats this, You want more my lady?” His thrusts now picking up in both speed and strength, kicking the air out of your lungs as moan after incoherent moan left you.

“What would dear father think if he saw you like this, hm?” he teased, relishing in the blush along your face, and the innocent pout you gave him at his suggestion. He wouldnt mind if otto walked in right now and saw how he was defiling his daughter.

Daemon was fucking you with such hunger, yout tits bounced with each thrust, entrancing him to the supple skin. The vulgar squelching noises of you cunt could be hurt, you were truly embarrassed, but in that moment you didnt have the capacity to be bothered about it.

“Such a good lady, taking me so well” he muttered, out of breath as his silver hair now dangled handsomely in front of his face. He couldnt help but look down at where he was entering you, moaning at the sight or his cock pushing into your virgin walls.

“You like this don’t you? You like that im ruining you for any other stupid lord” You squealed at his suggestion as he punctuated it with a particularly harsh thrust. His fat tip was bu;;yung that gummy spot inside of you, the one that left you quivering and shivering.

“Yes!- yes my prince, I love it” Daemon chuckled darkly, he knew he would break you. Getting you to be completely his, completely ruined and improper. He had destroyed you an turned you into something else, something darker.

That band was building inside you once more, that feeling that you loved so much. ONly it was stronger now, as if the previous time had only made this one stronger. Daemon could tell you were close by how tightly you were gripping him, and the cute way your eyes screwed shut.

He was close also, your cunt milking him for everything hes got. “Come on my lady, fall apart for you prince. Fall apart on my cock.”

The words he was saying to you were so vulgar and crude, but you couldn’t help that they helped push you were that edge. You released over your prince with a cry of his name. It was the only thing you could think to do, sing his praises.

You were dripping around his cock, your release all over his thighs and abdomen. His hand squeezed yours tighter as he fucked his way to his orgasm.

Hips stuttering as he came, shooting his seed deep inside of you. A moan leaving his chest as he finally stilled, collapsing into of you whilst he was still inside. Giving you a final sloppy kiss of the night. In that moment you couldnt have been happier, falling asleep in freedom, in your princes arms

The first slivers of sunlight spill into the chamber, casting a golden glow over the bedchamber. You stir, caught between the haze of sleep and the memory of what you’ve done—what he has done to you, with you. It was a night unlike any other, one where you let your defenses crumble entirely, and Daemon made sure there was no going back.

He stirs beside you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as if he can read your thoughts. “Awake already, my Lady? Don’t tell me you’re regretting it,” he teases, his voice low and full of self-satisfaction.

You rise, unable to match his ease, your nerves already fraying. “You know what day it is,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

Daemon stretches leisurely, as if the weight of the world isn’t about to come crashing down. “Your wedding day,” he replies, unbothered. “How fitting. A celebration, just not the one your father planned.” His smirk is infuriating and maddeningly attractive.

He insists you dress and follow him, his presence a steadying force even as your stomach twists. By the time you reach the hall where Otto, Alicent, and the King await, the adrenaline has numbed your nerves, leaving only a simmering defiance in its wake.

The three of them are gathered in quiet discussion, Otto pacing, Alicent biting her nails, the King seated with furrowed brows. All eyes snap to you and Daemon as you enter, arm in arm, his hand resting on yours with a casual possessiveness that sets the air ablaze.

“Good morning,” Daemon announces with his usual audacity, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We have some rather exciting news to share.”

Otto’s expression darkens instantly, his calculating gaze narrowing on Daemon’s smirk. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, though his voice trembles slightly.

Daemon’s smirk deepens, and he gives your hand a squeeze, silently daring you to speak. You open your mouth, but he beats you to it.

“Lady Hightower will not be marrying that dull lord you’ve chosen for her,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. “Not after last night.” He glances at you, his expression full of dark amusement, and then back to Otto. “Consider her... unavailable.”

Alicent gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes dart between you and Daemon, searching for denial that doesn’t come. The King slams his cane on the ground, his face a thundercloud of barely contained rage. “Daemon, explain yourself,” he barks.

Daemon steps forward slightly, still keeping you close. “She’s mine now, brother. Fully and irreversibly,” he says, his voice calm but layered with unyielding dominance. “So unless you wish to see this house embroiled in scandal beyond repair, I suggest you stop meddling in her affairs. Or mine.”

Otto’s face flushes with anger, his composure crumbling. “You’ve disgraced her! Disgraced this family!”

Daemon laughs darkly, as though he’s savoring every second of Otto’s fury. “Disgraced? I think I’ve done the opposite. She’s more than a pawn now, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes flicker to you, softer but no less intense. “She made her choice.”

You glance at Alicent, who stares at you in shock and something akin to betrayal, and then at your father, whose fury burns hotter than the sun. For the first time, you meet their gazes without fear. Daemon is a menace, yes, but with him by your side, you feel untouchable.

“Daemon is right,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “I will not marry a man I don’t know, don’t want. You can’t make me.”

Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out. The King lets out a sigh, his fury abating into tired frustration. “Daemon,” he says, “you have gone too far.”

“Perhaps,” Daemon replies with a shrug, “but far is the only place I’ve ever been comfortable.”

The tension in the room is suffocating, but you stand your ground, knowing there’s no turning back now. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens, his smirk a silent promise that, come what may, he’s not letting you go

[midnightstar-90]

A Damsel In Distress

Georgie Cooper x Fem! Reader Taglist | Request | Wattpad Main Masterlist | Other Actors/Characters Masterlist Requested Anonymously: "Hi, i was wondering if you could do Georgie cooper x reader who has an abusive father or smt and he helps her, tries to get her to move in with him to his family house and after his begging for weeks she finally agrees? Thank you if you do." Summary: When Georgie finds you on his porch bleeding and bruised, he finds the need to avenge you. Warnings: Abuse, Slut Shaming, Angst, Protective! Georgie, Not Proofread Words: 2.4K

Georgie Cooper may not be the smartest man alive, but when it came to the people he loved, he was protective of them. So when you showed up at the Cooper residence all beaten up, you were nervous.

About a year ago, your dad lost his job and ended up spending his days and nights drinking his life away. Since then, he'd found a new job, but the drinking never stopped.

As time went by, drinking led to harmless fits of rage to you and your mother hiding away in a room until your father fell asleep. Trying your best to get away from your father, you joined after-school clubs and helped tutor kids.

That's how you met Georgie.

Georgie was failing almost half of his classes, and if he wanted to stay on the football team, he had to get his F's to at least a C. So, he asked around, and everyone he talked to said that besides Sheldon, you were the one to go to. And he did.

Surprisingly enough, you and Georgie got along. The two of you worked hard, and as his grades got to where he needed them, you still kept in touch. You would have lunch with him and his friends, and sometimes join him at the movies. You two even became each other's wingman, with him giving you advice on boys and you vice versa.

All was good until the day you allowed Georgie to walk you home. Being the gentleman he was, Georgie walked you home every day, but the home he was walking you to was actually a few blocks down from your own. You told him that was your house because you didn't want to risk your father finding out that you were friends with a guy.

But today was different. You and Georgie had just left the movies and you both couldn't stop talking about it on your journey home.

"Did you see that alien?" Georgie laughed.

"Yes, oh my goodness. When it first came onto the screen I was so scared," You said, with a soft laugh.

Georgie looked over at you. Still holding the theater popcorn, he popped a handful into his mouth and began making weird creature sounds, which startled you a bit. You jumped and released a scream.

Georgie laughed harder than before and shook his head. "It's so easy," he said, talking about how easy it was to scare you. You teasingly punched him with a long grin before grabbing some popcorn.

Unknowingly, you and Georgie had passed up the house you had told him was your house and were quickly making your way to your actual home.

When you arrived at your house, your smile was gone as you quickly realized your mistake.

"Oh, dang it!" Georgie said, flinging his arms in the air in disappointment. "We passed your house."

You worriedly looked at the door to your house, ignoring the boy next to you. "You should go," you told Georgie as you noticed the living room curtains abruptly shut.

"What?" Georgie asked, confused.

Georgie looked over at you to see that the playful smile that you once wore was replaced with a sunken frown and a look of fear in your eyes. He followed your line of sight to see your home.

"Y/N, this isn't your home. I'm not leaving you to walk the streets alone at night."

Your lip quivered as you continued to stare at the window. "Georgie, go home," you muttered, but Georgie just shook his head.

"Y/N, what's going on. This-"

"This is my home, Georgie! Now please... leave."

Your fear overwhelmed you as you watched a dark figure walk past the window. Georgie looked back at you confused. He knew you wouldn't move until he left, so even though he didn't want to, he did as he was told and left.

He turned and left, only looking back when he got to the end of the street. He looked back and watched as you entered the dark house. An uneasy feeling washed over Georgie, but he continued home, waiting till tomorrow to ask his questions.

———

Georgie had only been home an hour when he heard the doorbell. He ignored the door and continued reading his magazine. He questioned who would be coming over at 10 o'clock at night. His door was cracked open as he heard his mother answer the door.

"Y/N?" he heard his mother ask, slightly worried, making his head poke up from behind his magazine. Georgie slowly stood from his bed as he wondered why you would be here after he left you at what was actually your home.

Georgie walked into the living room and froze.

You stood at the door with messed up hair, a black eye, and ripped-up clothes. Your eyes met his, and suddenly, he understood why you were so scared, earlier.

"Y/N?" Georgie called out your name as he walked over to you. You were shaking, which Mary had quickly noticed.

"Here... let's get you out of the cold and inside." Mary softly grabbed your arm and moved you into their home before closing the door. She led you to the couch and Georgie followed close behind you.

"George!" Mary called out for her husband.

A few seconds later a slightly annoyed George Cooper exited his room. "What," he said, a bit aggressively, causing Y/N to flinch.

"Oh dear," Mary said after seeing Y/N's reaction. "George, grab the first aid kit. I'm gonna put some soup on."

"Why?" George said, confused, stepping into the living room. His eyes shifted from his wife to the figure on the couch. He moved closer to get a better look at who was on the couch. When he saw it was Y/N, George was in shock. "Y/N? What happened?"

"I would like to know that as well," Georgie said, standing behind his parents with his arms crossed. He kept his gaze strictly on Y/N. Georgie was angry. Not at Y/N, but at whoever did this.

"Yes, I would like to know that as well, but can we at least stitch her up first," Mary said before leaving for the kitchen.

"Oh, right," George agreed, leaving to grab the first aid.

With his parents gone, Georgie took the opportunity to talk to you alone. He slowly stepped forward, joining you on the couch. Georgie opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, you laid your head on his shoulder as you silently cried.

"Who did this to you?" Georgie asked in a soft tone.

On the outside, Georgie was prepared to do whatever to help you feel better, but on the inside, Georgie was angry. He wanted to kill whoever did this to you. You were everything to Georgie. If he could, he'd give you the world.

You closed your eyes and sniffled before answering the boy. "My dad," you whispered. Your cries became louder, making Georgie tense up. Unsure what to do, he placed a loving kiss on your forehead and whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

He did this for a few minutes before George came back with the first aid kit and a wet cloth.

"Okay. It took me a second, but I finally found it," George said, kneeling down in front of you. "Mind telling us what happened?" George asked, as he grabbed her arm and started wiping off the blood.

You hesitated. Just thinking about what happened brought you into a spiral. But Georgie quickly calmed you down by calmly running his fingers through your hair, trying to fix what your dad messed up.

"My dad is an alcoholic," you started. "He has been for a year. And it wasn't until recently that he started getting... physical."

"Your dad did this?" George asked. You nodded, and George went back to cleaning you up.

Mary soon came into the room with a bowl of soup. "Here you go, darling?" She placed the bowl on the side table and stood next to her kneeling husband.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cooper," you gave her a small smile, before continuing. "Anyways, I started joining after-school activities to get away from all the chaos. That's how I met Georgie."

"Wait. So this has been going on since before you met Georgie," Mary asked with a frown. You nodded.

"I didn't want Georgie to get hurt. So, when he asked if he could walk me home, I told him a fake address, so my father wouldn't see him. But today, the night got ahead of us and we passed the house we were supposed to stop at."

Georgie was livid. You were so scared of your father that you lied to protect him. No one should have to avoid their own home.

"We stopped in front of my house, and my father saw."

You paused and suddenly, more tears started flooding your eyes. You tried to speak, but your throat felt tight. Georgie rubbed your back and calmly waited. It took you a minute, but you were finally able to talk again.

"I made sure Georgie left before going into the house, where I knew he was waiting for me. My dad can be unpredictable when he drinks and I didn't want him to attack Georgie."

You wiped your eyes as you kept your gaze down toward your lap.

"When I entered he was just sitting there in the dark... Waiting. When he started talking to me, I knew by his soft voice that I would be in trouble, so I did exactly as he said and answered all his questions truthfully."

You paused, taking a deep breath.

"He grabbed me by the throat and called me a "slut". But it didn't stop there..."

"Oh, lord," Mary muttered to herself.

"When he finally let go of me, he punched me so hard that I fell to the ground. Then he climbed on top of me and began to rip up my clothes. He said that if I was going to be a slut, then I needed to look the part. As he tore up my clothes, I could feel his nails ripping into my skin, hence the scratches."

You paused again, sobbing into your hand.

It took everything in Georgie not to go to your house and teach your father a lesson about treating girls, especially daughters, but he kept his composure.

"I tried to scream for help, but no one came. I saw my mom standing in the doorway, but she didn't do anything. She just stood there... watching. When my dad was done, he dragged me out of the house and locked me out. That's when I decided to come here."

"Oh, you poor thing," Mary frowned with a hand over her chest. She moved toward you and pulled you out of Georgie's arms and into hers. She held you tight as you sobbed loudly against her shirt.

"It's really terrible that you had to go through all that. You don't deserve that. No one does," George said, throwing in his two cents.

Georgie stood from his spot on the couch. "I wanna kill him!" Georgie said, making his way to the door, but he was quickly stopped by his father's grip on his arm. "We're not killing anybody," George said, but that didn't stop Georgie from wanting to go over to your house and beat the living daylights out of your father.

"I think it's been a long night for all of us, so we should all get some sleep. I'm gonna grab some blankets. Georgie, you want to help get the couch ready?" Mary asked, giving you a smile.

"Actually, can I sleep with Georgie? I don't feel comfortable being alone."

Mary was unsure if letting you sleep with Georgie was the right move. She looked over at George, who just shrugged, and then back at you. You looked so sad, and Mary just couldn't say no to someone who's been through all that.

She nodded and sent you another sad smile, which you thankfully returned. "Georgie, take Y/N to your room, and i'll be in their soon with some spare pajamas and blankets. I want to talk to your dad about something."

Georgie's eyes widened, "You aren't seriously thinking about sending her back there, are you?"

Mary was taken aback by her son's outburst. "No," she shook her head. "No, I would never say that. Just go help Y/N so your father and I can talk alone."

Georgie let out a huff, not in the mood to go back and forth with his mother. "Come on, Y/N," He beckoned you to follow him, and you did just that without any hesitation.

———

You entered Georgie's room and made a quick B-line to his bed. You carefully removed your shoes and lay down. It was safe to say that after the night you had, you were exhausted.

"I know it's a mess, but I wasn't exactly expecting company," Georgie said from across the room. He picked up some of his clothes from off the floor and threw them into an empty hamper. When he was done, he turned to see you knocked out on his bed.

Someone knocked at Georgie's door, making him flinch before turning to see who it was. Mary stood at the door, still wearing that same smile from earlier as she held onto a folded blanket and nightgown.

"I just came to drop these off," Mary spoke in a slightly hushed tone.

"I think you're a bit late for that," Georgie responded, pointing back at you as you slept soundly in his bed.

Mary nodded. "Okay, then I will just leave these right here," she placed the folded blanket and piece of clothing on the corner of the bed next to the bed.

"Thanks, Mom," Georgie smiled, making Mary's smile grow wider.

"No problem, honey," she said before making her way out of the room.

With his mom gone and you sleep, Georgie quickly got ready for bed and joined you. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I swear. Next time someone even thinks about hurting you, I won't hesitate to kill 'em." Georgie knew no one was listening, but he still continued express his feelings toward you.

"I love you," he said to you, leaning over to place a kiss on your forehead before turning off the lights and falling asleep.

If your User is in orange, I could not find you. Please feel free to contact me if you’d like to be re-added. Taglist:@buckysmainhxe , @esposadomd , @natalia12700, @siriusstwelveyears , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @countrymusiclover , @bellarkeselection , @alexxavicry , @xivilivix, @idontknowwhat2type , @ietss

[emil-the-idiot42]

Angels Crashing to Earth

Part One: Falling from the Stars

Cecil Stedman X Alien!Reader TW: Cannon typical violence, Severe Injury, Sent to die, Heavy mentions of death and dying, basically torture if you look close enough, Blood, different colored blood, bodily mutilation from wounds. If there is any I missed that bugged you PLEASE let me know so I can add it to the warnings.

No mentions of reader's gender or appearance other than blood color, wings, having a few hollow bones cause the reader's Alien race is loosely based on birds/biblically accurate angels, an extra heart, and an extra eye. Kind of like an angel character but not quite.

Written in second person. Barely any dialogue in this part. Instead of (Y/N), I will be using ___.

Word count: 927. This part is mainly to launch off the story, get background started, and to grab readers attention. I also don't know how people write thousands of words for the first chapter of their fic when most famous books only have around 1,000 to 1,800 for their first chapters.

Description: You are punished by your alien race for failing a mission and sent to your death. Crashing onto Earth, you are found by the GDA and are being closely monitored by the brand new director as you heal.

You were put into the sarcophagus by your Flock, you disobeyed a direct order from the leader. A punishment for those who didn't listen, who challenged the Flock. "Conquer the inhabited planet in Sector 15." Remembering those words as you landed on the planet, ready to do anything for the Flock. Something must have changed when a mother of the unfamiliar species was staring at you. Her child cowering behind her in fear, the infant in her hands, the look of sheer determination in her eyes, ready to do anything to protect her spawn. You tore your gaze away from the mother and gazed at the environment surrounding you. Colors you have never seen before, life you never thought possible. The Flock kept things orderly and clean. Colors of pale blue and soft yellow paired with white that reminded you of clouds were all you knew. With a hesitant step, you walked toward a patch of wildflowers, a gaze of amusement and curiosity took over your usually stoic features. The mother loudly proclaimed something in a foreign tounge. Ignoring her words you plucked a flower and enjoyed the scent of the pollen. That was months ago. You lived with the mother and her children, learned the ways of their people, enjoyed what seemed to be a normal life until the Flock came to take their planet, and punish the deserter. Locked in the sarcophagus, the machine that will be your death. A tight unmoving space. Silence was all you could hear, yet on the outside the Flock was holding your funeral as if you had already died, though you would soon. Telling tales of your greatness before you failed on your first mission for the betterment of your Flock. A star pupil, a brilliant warrior on planets inhabited by beasts, but when it came to the true task at hand... you failed. Launched into space suddenly at speeds you could never hope to have achieved with your wings signaled your death would be soon, but you would never know how long it would be until then. Hurling through space before your tomb would hit an asteroid, a planet, or a dying star. You might die from dehydration or starvation before the hunk of metal made any contact with anything in the cosmos.

It was a terrible fate to be in the sarcophagus.

＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Flames engulfed the ship and the turbulence was the sign your end was finally here after who knows how long you had been drifting in space. Panic rose in your chest as you thought you had more time.

The crash came soon after, bones broken as the metal of the sarcophagus pierced limbs and organs. The taste of iron and salty copper flooded your mouth as you coughed up your own blood. Yellow seeped from your wounds that seemed tragically beautiful on your features. Hands holding together what you could, you cried out in pain, for help. You were raised by the Flock to never ask for help. It was weakness, but you were here in your weakest moment, still alive after the Flock abandoned you to die. Just as your eyes closed waiting for the darkness that comes after death, the metal of your fate tore open.

An unfamiliar being clad in armor, holding a weapon screamed something in their language. Possibly to more of their kind. A silent plea for help escaped your lips before you closed your main eyes. The third on your forehead staying open in case of danger. More of the people rushed over and began to take you out of the death trap. You began to lose more blood and only cried more tears until you passed out believing this was your end.

＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Breath sharply filled your lungs as you shot up in what you could only assume was a bed. Panic raced through your veins as you looked around the space. A room of white and harsh bright lights. Machines beeping with your hearts, needles embedded into you, the cold seeping through the fabrics covering you.

After a while you calmed down realizing the space was a medical room. You had survived. It was a miracle. You were sure you were going to die. How many others from the Flock had survived the sarcophagus? You were certain you would be unable to heal from all of the damage even with your powers.

Your thoughts were interrupted by two people walking into the room. One wearing a long white coat with something similar to a writing utensil and a brown board with materials you assumed they would be writing on. The second was dressed in a suit, his stance intimidating and tall, the scar on his face proved to you he was a warrior that survived a great deal.

They began to speak but the look of confusion on your face was evident, telling them you didn't understand their words. You assumed the person in the coat was a doctor, they were now focused on the various machines hooked up to you and scribbling things on the brown board.

"Where am I? Am I safe?" whispers of concern left your lips in your language before you could stop them. The man sighed as he sat down on the lone chair by the bed.

"I'm Cecil." plainly said and to the point as he gestured to himself. You understood the gesture. It was the same as the mother saying her name on that planet. That beautiful planet.

Attempting to mimic his motions and the first word he spoke, you introduced yourself the same way.

"I'm ___."

AN: Sorry if its short or not good. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope those of you that like it enjoyed it as much I enjoyed writing it. Second part will be called "Understanding Upon the Earth" so keep an eye out.

Pretty dove borders I used I got from @dollywons so go give them some love and support.

[ohcroculus]

❝ Be My Baby ❞ ── Tobias E. Rogers.

pairings; ticci toby x fem!reader

wc: 3.0k

warnings/notes; my own headcanons , reader is teacher in elementary school , this is mostly reader-centered (a way i like to narrate and that i will explain briefly: creepypastas are people alien to the protagonist. therefore, the protagonist will go through life without knowing about the creepypasta until it is too late. most likely, my stories that have functional people -meaning people who work, study or have their normal life- as 'readers' will be of this kind of readings at least in certain cases) , mentions of killing and more. probably some mispelling mistakes.

The recent winter schedule change had applied to your work. As a teacher, it was clear that children would have more difficulty getting up, more trouble responding and that didn't qualify well for your classroom which, despite having children who were very quiet and involved, their parents also had a bad sleep schedule. Especially now.

You liked winter since you were little, maybe because of jumping in puddles of water on streets that had potholes or because you liked being at home by the stove while watching your favorite movies. Now, as an adult, it was a problem.

Your car was still at the mechanic after problems you'd been ignoring for months, but you'd always been someone who ignored those little details.

"It'll be running soon. It just needs a little bump to shake it out” was your way of excusing the roar of the engine that tried to listen to you until one exam morning when it wouldn't start anymore. Your students of course were thrilled.

Now walking in the rain with your umbrella in hand, your backpack on your back and your bag of school supplies in the other hand, you felt that your life was not so bad. The pay was good at school –probably because it was a town with few people– and the children's parents or grandparents were also very polite and understanding of your problems.

In a town where everyone knew each other, it was nice to know that you were already identified as 'Miss' at parent center meetings or neighborhood meetings. Proud of the title that hung in your home, of course. Oh, you had to pay the electric bill this week. A little reminder.

You adjusted your jacket a bit as you kept walking and among the thousands of job postings on the pole, you noticed a recent ad. The rain hadn't yet undone the paper and you slowed your journey to read.

“MISSING PERSON: KATHERINE WOODS. 10 years old.”

Your heart squeezed as you read the description. She was from a couple of towns over, missing after the murder of her parents. You remembered the case, you'd seen it on the news that morning it happened on Channel 5. The bodies were found with their throats slit in their beds, bound and gagged.

It reminded you of a movie that came out a few years ago. Sinister.

A small emptiness remained in your chest thinking about the crimes. Of course that happened in the country, but in small towns? Where everyone knew each other? It was terrible to know that a person came out of nowhere to slaughter people for… fun, in your view. There is no reason to kill innocents. No reason to leave children without their families.

Moving forward, you just wished the poor child would rest in peace. The information was already a week old and you were sure that, with pain in your heart, she was no longer in the world of the living.

“Ah, Miss!” a car passed by you and almost threw water on you, but as they slowed down it was a pleasant distance away to not get you wet. You turned and were surprised to see the father of one of your students and smiled at him, nodding.

“Good morning, Mr. Elias.”

“Would you like a ride?” he asked and for a few seconds you hesitated, but as the rain was slowing down in intensity, you denied. He worked on the outskirts of town and you'd rather he arrive on time. Walking wouldn't take you too long.

“Oh, thank you very much for the offer, but I'm fine. I'll walk,” you smiled at him and he politely insisted.

“Are you sure? It's no problem at all.”

“I'm fine, thank you very much. Have a good day at work.” you nodded and he said goodbye softly, smiling.

His son Thomas was a good boy, just like his father. Humble and caring. He had a good teaching. You still felt sorry for the death of his wife years ago, who sadly committed suicide in the forest.

You turned your head to the opposite side of the street where a few meters away you could see the fences surrounding the immense green place and sighed, thoughtfully.

Death is so close to everyone.

“Tch— t–that bastard–” you heard a little rustle a few steps away from you and as you turned to look ahead, you were surprised to see a boy hunched over. Bah, boy was being very nice, he was a man about your age. In his thirties. Your heart squeezed at the sight of him alone, sitting in the middle of the street and for a few seconds you even thought you recognized him as someone from around, but no.

“Excuse me, are you okay?” you asked from a safe distance. If he was a bum, you'd rather chose he didn't hit you or insult you, but he did neither. Instead, he bopped his head gently, but repeatedly and you took a step closer. “It's raining.” you reported, as if it were a surprise to someone who was completely wet. “You'll get sick if you don't go home.”

He didn't answer you and you didn't want to sit next to him, but the usual instinct of concern –which had been pedagogically formed in you– was stronger and you moved closer, making a small sound before touching his shoulder.

You had already had your share of different children in classrooms and from the way he acted it didn't seem to be a panic attack or something that could be life–threatening, but something of his own. Soft sounds before a physical touch were the ideal thing to avoid sudden movements or aggressive attitude.

“Hey.” you smiled at him and when he turned to look at you you kept the smile, though his face showed nowhere near the kindness you offered.

His hair was wet even underneath the cap of his jacket and he was wearing a black mask that covered his mouth and nose, so you could only see his eyes. They were brown, with a dull tone that made you question whether you should really talk to him. But leaving someone in the rain wasn't very kind and the weight of conscience would come to you later, thinking about what you could have done to help him. “What's your name?”

He blinked repeatedly and stuttered before speaking. “T–t... Tobias.”

“It's nice to meet you, Tobias. What are you doing in the rain?” you asked patiently, squatting down beside him, but he didn't move away, though he didn't move closer either.

“P-problems… with… m–my teammates...” he stammered, looking down at his hands. They looked a little purple, and you became concerned, though you didn't say so explicitly.

“I see,” you nodded and held out the umbrella so it would protect both of you. “Well… it wouldn't be good for you to stay here all morning, would it?” your voice was soft and gentle, the same one you delivered to your colleagues in the morning.

“Y–you don't care. Nobody gives a f–fuck ab–buh–bout what I do” he spat with annoyance and you were quick to correct.

“But you do care, don't you?” you cocked your head to the side, maintaining your smile. “You're here alone for a reason. You wanted time to think and you got caught up in the rain, or am I wrong?”

He snorted, but didn't deny your words and in a kindly way, you extended your umbrella towards him.

“And I care too… because everyone in this town must come home dry. There is always someone waiting for us. Like loved ones or just friendships… don't you think?” his eyes connected with yours and for a moment, he stood looking at you and you could better appreciate his face.

“There's no one for me.” he admitted hoarsely.

“Someday there will be. And it will be worth every second you fought with your coworkers.” you laughed softly and he shook his shoulders. Not a chuckle, but something close to one. “Go on home. Have a good day, Tobias.” you smiled at him as you stood up. The rain was softer now.

For a few seconds he just sat there, watching you leave. You could have sworn he smelled the umbrella, but you chose to ignore it. You always ignored some small details.

…

“All right, then— can you tell me how we feedback today's class?” you smiled at your students and at least three hands shot upward. Almost a month had passed since that rainy day and honestly, everything felt quiet. You didn't run into Tobias again and after talking to people around, you knew there was no Tobias in town, but maybe he was just passing through.

Maybe he was working in the electrical area and stayed at the inn in town. Since the winter started, the electrical problems were getting worse and worse. Short-lived blackouts, lights flickering in certain parts of town. It wasn't beyond belief.

You wrote down a couple of words on the blackboard. Key concepts that the kids copied into their notebooks before they started packing up their things.

“Remember that next week we have a formative activity. Form work groups of no more than four,” you reminded them, sitting down at your desk to begin planning next Monday's classes. Before they could speak to you, you anticipated, “And no, I will not accept groups of five.”

You heard some groans and laughed as you typed on your computer.

“Goodbye, Miss. Have a good afternoon!” ”Bye, Miss.” “Take care!” the goodbyes from the students were not long in coming and after a while, it was just you in the room.

Tap, tap.

You looked up out of inertia to turn to the window, but there was nothing there. It wasn't the first time it had happened, for a few weeks things had felt strange.

It's not that you didn't believe in the paranormal, but it was the first time something had happened to you since you were about twelve years old, maybe it was just the winter changes affecting your sleep and with it, your day.

You picked everything up once you were done, went to the teacher's cafeteria and noticed that it had started to rain again. Drops were falling and sliding down the windows. Maybe that's what you heard earlier. A short drizzle.

“Mhm…” you hummed a song you had heard on the morning radio on your way home as you put away the day's and tomorrow's material. You counted the copies, sighing to yourself.

“Job of four…that would be…so many copies…” you tried to remember, closing your locker and grabbing your backpack. Tomorrow morning you would arrive early to finish organizing it.

Walking at the entrance you politely said goodbye to the janitors who did the same and started walking with your cap on tightly to avoid getting your hair wet.

“Ah, teacher, this way!” in the parking lot of the school you noticed Thomas, raising his hand as his father arranged his scarf, his back to you, but soon Elias turned to see you and smiled sweetly.

“Would you like me to take you this time?” he asked and at the worsening rain, you sighed.

“If it's not too much trouble.” you scratched your cheek somewhat embarrassed, but Thomas was quick to get excited and reach over to take your hand, pulling you with him into the van excitedly.

The ride was uneventful. Thomas was telling his father about the day's homework, about playing with his classmates and more. You watched out the window as father and son had a pleasant conversation in which you preferred not to interject.

Maybe it was your idea as you passed by looking through the woods, but you swore you saw a figure with an axe that dissolved with the droplets fogging the car window.

“Miss, my father wants—” Thomas was interrupted by a loud cough and you turned quickly.

“Mhm?” you nodded, waiting for him to continue and Elias turned onto one of the streets, coming around the block to your place, braking in front of your house.

“I had thought of… inviting you to dinner one of these days?” he smiled shyly, looking to the side.

Your heart skipped a beat at the words, for you hadn't expected them. You knew it had been a while since his wife's death and you didn't want to intrude on a family, but from the look both males gave you, you felt welcome.

“I'll think about it.” you nodded after a few seconds. It wasn't to play hard to get, but rather to be able to, and it's worth the redundancy, think it over.

“Ah, of course. I hope that– the answer is yes, anyway, Miss.” Elias nodded as you got out of the van and smiled at them both.

“Thank you very much. Have a good afternoon. Don't forget your work for next week, Thomas.” you reminded the little boy who nodded.

As the van drove off, a slight but still present headache came to you and you hissed, holding your backpack better to enter your home. The door took a while –it always got stuck somehow– but soon gave way and you stepped inside. You took off your jacket, set your backpack on the couch and got ready to make some hot coffee. Anything to take the chill off your hands.

You tried not to dwell on the issue regarding the Williams' family and instead, got ready to watch TV, changing clothes to something more comfortable with a blanket on your intertwined legs.

Channel 5 promptly started up about another child disappearance which made you sigh nervously and clutch your mug tighter. In a family of five, all dead in some way. There was already starting to be talk of a serial killer a few days earlier. Your classmate, a philosophy professor discussed it in the cafeteria with other colleagues.

“He just goes after families and takes children. God knows what will happen to those poor souls.”

And she was right, which left you with even more anxiety.

You took another sip of coffee as the news moved on and so did the time. The lights flickered a little before your home suddenly went dark. You saw the time on your cell phone on the side and noticed it was almost nine o'clock at night.

There was no noise on the streets beyond the rain, so you calmly texted a co-worker.

“Is the power out at your house?” message sent at 20:43 PM.

“Not here. Did you pay the bill?” message sent at 20:44 PM.

“Yes. I paid it at the beginning of the month.” message sent at 20:44 PM.

“Maybe it's just a sector. It will be back soon.” message sent at 20:46 PM.

You were about to send another message when you heard a glass break from the second floor.

You stood still for a few seconds. Even the slightest noise was pertinent now and the rain was on the back burner.

“Someone broke into my house. Call the police.” message sent at 20:49 PM.

It wasn't a bird. You knew it wasn't. That force was from an elbow breaking glass. You knew because you once had to break the one in your car to get in again.

There was someone. Oh, god, there was someone rummaging through your things and your heart began to race. You stood up, setting the cup down slowly and carefully on the table in front of you, hands shaking.

“I–I'm not a good… s–singer…” the voice made your hair stand on end because you immediately recognized it. A month had passed, but it was impossible not to remember that voice. That stutter. “B–but I thought that… f–f–for a first date… it's ideal–to bring… m–music…”

The wood of the stairs creaked and with silent steps, you walked to the table, hiding underneath.

“And for those in love… this is a song by Anonymous for… a very special woman he met on a rainy day like this. We're moving on to Be My Baby by The Ronettes!"

The music gave you goosebumps and an instinct to gag was immediate as your body trembled to keep from crying.

“I uh, p–picked it for you…do you like it?” he kept moving forward and you heard his soft footsteps. “Be my… be my baby…” he sang in unison with the chorus. “I heard that… you put it on your-f-f-first day of school… to put the k–kids at ease…”

You couldn't even speak as you begged God to please don't die. That he would go away. That this was just a nightmare.

“Oh, since the day I saw you

I have been waiting for you”

The music dropped a little as you heard him a few steps away from you and heard your phone vibrate on the couch.

“Fuck” your lips quivered as you raised your head in despair.

“My girlfriend and I... are b–buh...busy.” he spoke after answering, dropping the phone on the floor and you saw the glow of the electronic go out as his axe split it in two.

It was him. In the woods on your way back. Another wave of fear invaded your body.

“Come out, p–please… my boss doesn't give me… m–muh–much time off…” he muttered, still walking until he settled on the table and you heard him sigh. “I–I brought your… umb–brella…”

He was about to turn around when the lights came on again and you heard him give a light chuckle.

“You were waiting for me with a s–surprise…?”

The television in the morning was turned on as usual.

HORROR IN WILLOW CREEK: MAN FOUND DEAD, SON AND TEACHER MISSING

Willow Creek, February 12th, 2014.

A gruesome crime has shaken the quiet town of Willow Creek after Elias Williams, 36, was found brutally murdered in his home Sunday night. His death, described by authorities as “cruel and violent,” has only deepened the mystery surrounding the disappearance of his son, Thomas Williams, 9, and the boy’s teacher that we don’t have enough information about besides her age, 31.

According to investigators, Elias and Thomas were last seen Friday afternoon when they dropped Thomas’ teacher off at her home during a heavy rainstorm. When police searched her house, the only thing left behind was an open umbrella near the principal door with blood that, according to authorities, was from Mr. Williams.

Sheriff Mark Grayson has called the case "deeply disturbing" and urged anyone with information to come forward.

[thatonetargaryen]

The Wolf and the Dragon

cw; mentions of miscarriage, death

Masterlist

Part 2: Welcome to Noxus

Valaena sighed as braided up her long, silver hair. Her maids smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. The maids complimented her looks, but she gave no reply and she continued to fix her hair. She had been like this ever since the unexpected death of her mother, Queen Aemma Targaryen, just a few months prior. Not too long after Valaena’s 11th nameday, her health started to plummet. She had gotten pregnant once again, but this was the worst of them all.

Her father, Viserys, had yearned for a son. Whispers had filled the castle of his absence of a male heir. His own health started to decline, and he knew he needed to act fast.

After a grueling war with the Noxians years prior, it had killed off many of the Targaryen males, who would have been eligible to become Kings. His own brother, the previous heir, died in battle atop his dragon. Now it was up to Viserys to hold provide heirs—preferably males—and stabilize the Targaryen dynasty.

During the night of the babe’s birth, the maesters had given him a choice. Only one would make it out alive. His wife, who he had shared countless of joyful moments with—or a son—which he had never met.

That night, he chose the babe. Neither survived.

At the same time, people in the council were pushing Valaena to marry. She had just turned 18,and many suitors from far and wide were offering her a hand in marriage. The endless letters and balls held in her honor were driving her mad. Her mother just died, and people were expecting her to marry just months after? Shame was alien to these people.

Valaena bit the inside of her cheek as she traveled to her father’s chambers in silence. They hadn’t talked in months, Valaena refusing to forgive him for what he had done.

The guards opened the doors for the princess, their heads bowed in respect. Valaena kept her eyes to the ground. “You called, Your Grace?”

Viserys heart cracked as he heard his own daughter refer to him so formally. He was no longer Dad, Daddy, Papa…but Your Grace.

“Sit, daughter.”

Valaena did as she was told. He said the prayers, and they began to eat in an uncomfortable silence.

She noticed how his hand shook when he drank his whine, or how he coughed awkwardly when they made eye contact—he was nervous.

“What is it you wish to tell me?”, she snapped.

Viserys stilled, taken aback.

“Well, spit it out! You called me here for a reason. I know how you are.”

Viserys cleared his throat. “Well, if you wish to know…The council and I have agreed to send you overseas. You are to marry a noble from Piltover.”

Valaena dropped her fork, tears in her eyes. Her lip trembled as she looked at her father. The tears spilled over, “You wish to send me away?”.

Viserys didn’t reply, and instead took both of her daughter’s hands in his. “I want what’s best for you. You know that. This man is honorable and his family is wealthy. You two will be well off until my death. Together you will rule the— “

A slap echoed through the room. The air stilled, and Valaena looked at her father in pure hatred. “How dare you do this to me? It has been months after mother had died, and you haven’t spoken a word to me. Not an apology, not an explanation, not SHIT! And now, you call me in here to tell me you are sending me away—from my home—because you—”

Valaena chocked up as she attempted to continue speaking.

“Because you want to satisfy a group of lousy men who would kiss your feet and wipe your arse if you asked them to!”

Valaena looked at her father hopefully, praying that her would change his mind. But it did the exact opposite. Her father cleared his throat and look at his daughter with indifference.

“You will be sent off to Piltover, marry your betrothed, and be content. That is my final decision. You are dismissed.”

…..

Valaena laid in a mountain of blankets, ugly sobs filling the room. She had lost her mother, seemingly her father, and was now being sent away to unfamiliar lands. She had once flew over Piltover, but as for actually going there, was something she wished to accomplish voluntarily.

She wiped the hot snot and tears from her face. Her sobs quieted. Suddenly, her dragon roared. Like a lightbulb, the promise she had made between themselves was making itself clear. And—it seemed—now as the time to fulfill.

With determination, she made her way to her large closet, and quickly changed into her riding gear. She packed a few gowns, tunics, pants. The money here wouldn’t work anywhere else, so she would have to find someplace to work fast.

She took jewels and rubies, planning to sell them once she got to her destination.

She pinned up her hair and put on a coat, shielding herself from the cold. When she opened the door to her chambers, she found Ser Harwin standing there, as if he were waiting for her.

“Ser Harwin….”, she stood, hoping to come up with a lie.

He shook his head. He said nothing, and yet when she looked into his eyes, she had known that he knew what she was doing. He unbuckled his sword sheath from his waist and gave it to her.

“You’ll need this, Princess”.

Valaena stood, confused. “Why?”.

“Just in case you get into some trouble…or you miss your sworn protector.”

Valaena shook her head in amusement, “As if.”

They shared a quiet laugh, and the princess was on her way. Ser Harwin watched her with content, knowing she would leave a princess, but come back a queen.

….

The breeze blew through Valaena’s hair as she rode atop Onyx. Thankfully, the dragon keepers didn’t give her any trouble when she asked to see her dragon. Though, they did exchange wary looked when they saw the bag that was practically popping open.

She frankly had no idea where she was now. Having been flying for days, she had lost track of where she was quicker than expected. Though she was educated in just about every land—ranging from Piltover to Zaun—it was hard for her to pin point from so high above.

One place she wanted to completely avoid was Noxus. She knew she wasn’t welcomed there at all. The tension between their house was hard as rock, with no chance of ever being resolved.

She would be shot down the second she stepped foot on their land. And vice versa.

Feeling hungry and tired, she landed her dragon on a clear, empty shore. She dismounted her dragon and looked around. Not too far away, there were a countless number of people and houses. With her backpack strapped to her back, she began walking through the village.

….

Meanwhile, a 26-year-old Ambessa Medarda was training with her soldiers. She had just given birth to her daughter, Mel Medarda, but that did little to deter her. With the untimely death of her husband, she was left to raise two children on her own.

She mourned him as someone she cared for—not particularly loved.

The marriage was one of convenience, an alliance between two powerful houses. The alliance was secured, heirs were produced, mission accomplished.

She got right back to doing what she loved most—leading her army.

Her raven black hair was braided into intricate Noxian braids, and jewelry adorned her face. She was truly a vision. Both men and women fell head over heels for her, and she let them.

Ambessa’s feet floated atop the hit ground as she dodged hit. Sweat coated her brow, but a smile adorned her face. Tactically,she flipped her opponent over and shoved them down with her foot. Her sword pricked his neck and he smiled from below her.

“I yield”, he said with a grin. He got up in one smooth movement, “You’re getting better everyday, General. You remind me more of your mother everyday.”

She laughed and shrugged. “I’ve been fighting since I was a little girl. It is nothing to me.”

Suddenly, their laughter was cut short when a shadow came over them. They looked above them, and their jaws went slack.

The silhouette of a dragon covered the sky. The guards tensed, fearing that this might be an attack. However, the dragon passed right over them, and the sound of it landing nearby was heard by all in the yard and stilled all movement.

They all looked towards Ambessa, waiting for a command. But she simply muttered, “A dragon is amongst us.”

[nnightskiess]

the dance of death, five

₊° - 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺'𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦...

the dance of death, masterlist

· · ✍︎ · ·

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

Now, more than ever, every fibre in Wednesday's being called for her to figure out what Nevermore was hiding. She knew her gut feeling had been right from the first night. It hadn't been just a violin player. It hadn't been just a girl. And it definitely hadn't been just a made up story to scare the students. Y/N had been real. She'd existed, or else Wednesday would have never been able to grasp visions and moments of her life by touching her portrait. Though, her dips into visions had never left her so physically exhausted before, nor had she felt like an intruder the second she'd jumped in. Even now, she could feel the prickling humming of the vision's phantom feeling plaguing her. She liked it, though. It kept her focused on the task.

She'd noticed the Nightshades following her wherever she went. They weren't trying to be subtle about it either, that much was clear. She could feel their eyes on her at all times. They'd even started to rotate shifts on who would guard the library entrance for days now, which had irked her immensely at first. There was more information to be found down there, Wednesday knew it, and she knew they knew. What she also knew, was that they couldn't change the password to the entrance. With two simple snaps of a finger, the statue of Edgar Allen Poe would open. So it was only a matter of time until she would be able to slip by them without anyone noticing. But, there was another obstacle— Weems had been on her case as well, and Wednesday wondered if Bianca or any of the others had whispered something in her ear, or if the woman had been looking at her more closely than she'd initially assumed. But Principal Weems couldn't know the truth, obviously, for Wednesday was sure she would have been kicked from school in that case already.

Wednesday walked through the quad, head held high but eyes glued to her peripheral as she glanced at the lurking nook to her right. She'd noticed the pattern— Ajax took the mornings, always having been an early riser; Xavier took the free periods, happy to sketch away on his own; Kent and Divina the breaks, keeping each other company; Bianca would usually take the hours right after dinner, her need to not miss her clubs, classes or social hour during break too high, and Yoko stayed during the night, her lack of need for sleep making it an easy decision. Wednesday had felt their eyes on them each time she left their sight, only for one of them to shadow her wherever she went. But they were forgetting one thing. While they were so heroically guiding the Nightshades library, Wednesday had all the freedom in the world to go where they weren't— their dorms.

Wednesday accepted the paperclip Thing handed her, immediately going to work to unlock the door she sat crouched in front of. The dorm room hallways were quiet right now, all the students either in the classrooms or at the quad... just like Xavier, the unlucky victim of her current mission. She'd half hoped Enid would be useful to her, maybe distract Xavier or get them off her track, but with the girl's track record of blurting things out and her inability to lie, Wednesday rather took her chances to do this alone.

"Remember, it is a black leather bonded map we're looking for," She reminded Thing as soon as the door clicked open.

She spent five alienated seconds taking in the typical teenage boy room of Xavier with a slight scowl of disgust on her face— heaps of clothes, kicked-off trainers, a messy desk and walls filled with posters and drawings. She scrunched up her nose, the teenage boy's pheromones of sweat mixed with cheap aftershave giving her nausea.

"I want to know what else he drew in there, as he's clearly hiding something from me. They all are." Wednesday flitted through the papers on his desk. She bent down to watch all that had fallen out of his backpack, which he'd clearly thrown against the foot of his bed in a rush.

"Eureka." Her eyes lit up ever so slightly, her hands quickly brushing through the pages and skipping through drawings of animals and plants. The patter of Thing's fingers approached. He jumped out from one of the shelves and climbed onto Wednesday's shoulder, just as eager to see if breaking into Xavier's room had paid out.

Xavier had drawn Nevermore's water fountain from the gallery above the quad at night during a full moon.

Another drawing depicted Eugene's beehive. Another one Jericho's town square.

There was nothing interesting about any of them. She flipped the page. Another spider. Then a squirrel on a branch. Then another shadowy blob with eyes. The next one was a mansion in the woods, shadowed by the treetops of the forest it was in.

"It's the mansion from my vision," She muttered quietly, fingers touching the page in the hope of another vision. Nothing happened. She took the drawing in. Xavier had scribbled a family of three on the porch in charcoal, the outline of their garments making it clear that it wasn't a family from this time.

"The vision from the portrait." Wednesday glanced at Thing from over her shoulder when realisation dawned on her. She turned back to look at the sketch and could almost hear the calming rustle of the wind through the leaves, the creaking of the swaying rocking chair in the corner of the porch, the barking of a faraway dog, the crackling of a fire and the tuning of an instrument. She felt the unease, the fear of being kept between four walls, of oppressing, of concealing. But Xavier hadn't drawn any of that.

"I'm telling you, we just need to let her in on what we know."

Wednesday's body froze as she heard the muffled voice on the other side of the door approach. It was Xavier, and he wasn't alone.

"And let her set off another chain of murders? No, thanks." Bianca added.

Quickly she shoved his bundle of drawings back where they'd been and slipped underneath the bed, Thing following her example.

"Wednesday won't do that."

"Are you sure? Because her entire existence seems to be fuelled by getting off on death and horror."

The door clicked open and Wednesday watched from underneath the bed as Bianca and Xavier walked in. The boy walked to his closet, rummaging through the mess.

"We don't even know how it happened that first time. We weren't even around for that. Not even born. Hell, no one here was."

"Yoko was."

"Barely."

"Long enough to know that that girl's not to be messed with! She needs to be left alone! You know the rumours of what happened in the 40s, too. And then in the 80s as well, in case you forgot." Bianca huffed.

"Exactly. Rumours. Stories born from fear and meshed together by whispers." Xavier started cramming stuff in a bag.

"Rumours are always based on some form of truth."

"Then I guess they deserve the benefit of the doubt. Both of them."

"Are you really asking me to give Wednesday the benefit of the doubt when I saw with my own eyes how that portrait was upside down? You mean to tell me it did that out of itself after years of hanging straight, right up until crazy braids appeared on our doorstep?"

Xavier threw his closet door shut and walked into the bathroom, throwing more stuff into his bag.

"Hello?!" Bianca followed him, still frustrated. "There's a reason previous principals took all those measures. Lord knows why Weems is so negligent about them, but we shouldn't be! You know what's written down about her. Don't you believe all those books?!"

Xavier reappeared from the bathroom, "I-I don't know. Maybe I don't."

It was quiet for a beat.

"You know what you draw isn't always true, right?"

"Exactly."

Bianca, exasperated, threw her hands in the air. She walked off but hovered in the doorway,, "Students died, Xavier. Whether she killed them or not, they died." She puffed a breath out of her nose, "Our responsibility as Nightshades is to keep that from happening again, to keep that story buried, to keep her buried. We promised that, and generations before us did. And unless you keep to that promise, we can't trust you anymore."

"Bianca-" Xavier sighed and threw a pile of papers on the ground before running after her, not without ramming the door close.

Wednesday glanced at Thing from under the bed, determination set in her eyes. She was now, all the more, keen on figuring out all she could find out about this girl, this violin player, who had intrigued her since the day she'd stepped foot on Nevermore grounds. Something had happened here, something sinister, and she never liked being kept in the dark when it came to the macabre.

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

A mere half hour later, Wednesday sat in class, thinking about what she'd secretly discovered.

So, there had been deaths. Of students, no less. And, multiple, apparently.

And other principals had been aware of... what, exactly? Well, aware of it enough to take measures to... save the school or to play dumb and pretend nothing had happened? Because, so far, it seemed only the Nightshades knew of this piece of Nevermore history. And why did they? Had they accidentally found something out? And if it was so deeply buried, where had they found out? And how had anyone been able to keep the truth from coming out? Why did silly teenagers who were part of a silly club with an even sillier kidnapping rite of passage know about this? Wednesday had done her research beforehand, and not even one article had come up when she'd searched Nevermore online. The lack of articles, when she'd put murder, death and accident after Nevermore in the search engine, had quelled her excitement to enrol even further.

And... what had that been about the 40s and the 80s? Had something happened then, too? And why had Weems let her play the cello, encouraged her to, even, if other principals had apparently shuddered at the thought?

Stricken with all these thoughts swirling in her mind, she was thankful that through it all, she had found her next person of interest—Yoko. Apparently, the vampire had already been inhabiting this sad excuse of a planet around that time. So, for now, that made Yoko complicit in her next steps of action.

"Wednesday."

Her train of thought popped in a split second. Irritated, she looked to her right, where the voice had come from, but no one was standing there. She was sitting alone at her desk, no classmate seemingly eager to keep her company, especially not after her glare had warded them off.

She locked her jaw and pursed her lips, hoping whoever had stopped her train of thought wouldn't do it again, when she noticed a small piece of parchment on her desk.

It was written in an esteemed calligraphed handwriting that the average teenager with their modern scribbles or block lettered fonts could learn something from.

Memento Mori, it read.

Memento mori... the inevitability of death. She knew all about the Latin phrase. Of how it symbolised the end of life, of how it was portrayed in paintings like hourglasses or clocks, of how it could be seen as a reason to live each day to the fullest or a morbid reminder that you must die.

Her eyes flashed from left to right again, but no one was looking at her strangely or anticipating a reaction from her. And so, she wouldn't give it to them. She'd just crumple the paper and-

The second her fingers touched the parchment, she felt the air get sucked out of her, constricting her throat as if hands squeezed it shut. It burned. It ached.

Her head fell back and after the welcome feeling of a nagging migraine coming up, she opened her eyes to see she was somewhere else.

The sky was gloomy, even for what seemed to be the middle of the day. The structure of the buildings around her made it clear she'd gone back in time, and quite some years, too. A wooden notice board stood to her right with advertisements— a clipped drawing of a horse on sale, a five hundred dollar reward for the arrest of a train robbery, a request for a housemaid, a newspaper clipping of the public trial and confessions of some Grace Marks and James McDermott.

Wednesday turned around as a flock of people rushed past her, all dressed in the appropriate attire of the mid-1800s. A horse and cart wheeled by, sending dust clouds across the square. People started mumbling amongst one another, retreating from shops and houses or opening wooden shutters from above to watch.

The cart stopped on the other side of the town square and two large men jumped out before a third person appeared. The crowd now went haywire.

Unsure but intrigued, Wednesday walked up to the town square of screaming and chanting people. She cursed at her height, for what was happening on the wooden staging was hard to see.

"Kill her!"

"She's a witch, fire is the only way!"

"Witches don't exist, you medieval vazy!"

"She is one! I've seen it with my own eyes!"

"Only true evil can do such a thing, kill her!"

"She's but a child!"

"I saw her talk with the dead!"

"Hang her! Jericho doesn't need murderers!"

"Save our children from this evil, save Jericho!"

Wednesday walked further, finding a draw-well. She hauled herself atop the edge, holding onto the pole to keep her balance. She could finally see what all the fuzz was about. All the way to the other side of the muddy and filthy town square, a girl stood trembling on the staging, hands tied behind her back, burlap bag atop her head with two men on either side of her, cutting off the blood flow in her arms by how hard they were squeezing. It had to be her, the girl from the portrait. Why else would the vision have taken Wednesday here? But what was she supposed to see? To learn from this?

Another man walked onto the staging, opening one of the nooses enough for the girl's head to fit in. Sobs racked her body, making her shake with the fright in her bones. Things were being announced, but the crowd was too overbearing to make out his words.

Before Wednesday could witness her first public execution, the world turned on an axis. Horizontal became vertical, up became down. Her eyes felt like they zigzagged in their sockets. Suddenly, she fell onto the damp ground. A groan left her as she felt something hard poke into her abdomen.

She was in the middle of a forest.

The entire forest floor was covered in vegetation. She had to be careful not to put her hand in the nettles around her. Though she liked their pain, she'd never been that fond of the itch. The ivy around her feet seemed to have crisscrossed against the earth, but as she moved her feet, it came undone. A small stone plaque, no bigger than her hand, appeared. Anyone would've tripped over it, had it not been covered by layers of greenery. Two words were engraved into it.

Memento Mori.

The same words. On what had to be an unmarked grave. It was clear that whoever had been behind the grave had not felt any importance to respectfully lay this person to rest. The grave came with no name, no date or anything else except for those two Latin words. Wednesday felt for whoever was buried here. Back at the Addams Mansion, their entire backyard was a graveyard. Each Addams that had come before her had a giant, imposing grave to declare their final resting place, to celebrate their death and their journey behind the thin veil of life. It was as if whoever had buried this person here hadn't felt they were deserving enough of a respectful resting place. That or... the lack of information on the grave hadn't been entirely accidental... but rather done with purpose. Keep her buried... Bianca had said. Could this be...?

Wednesday looked around to properly take in her surroundings. She recognised these woods. The eerie but comforting feeling that she was being watched by the trees around her, that the wind would travel further and alert whoever of her presence. She'd been here before, in her first vision, albeit as she'd watched from a distance. Was she still in the 1800s? Or was this place overgrown or built on back in her time?

"Is this where you're buried?" She breathed out, wondering to herself. Before she could investigate further, a force pushed her out again, back into her conscious body, back to the classroom, where her classmates now looked at her with critique, fear, bewilderment and raised eyebrows.

"Everything all right, Miss Addams?"

She gave a curt nod to her teacher and straightened her back. When the class stopped dwelling on her... moment, she fixed her bangs and looked out the window to the treetops of the forest in the distance.

Nevermore was a place for outsiders or gifted kids, depending on who you asked, but there was no denying that there was a common denominator.

Why this town in Vermont to start the school, of all places? Something strange was definitely afoot in Jericho, probably always had been, and Wednesday was going to find out how it all tied to Y/N.

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Wednesday tossed and turned in her bed, tiny beads of sweat coated her hairline for the first time in her life. Wednesday didn't sweat, on no occasion, ever, but the locks of her bangs clung to her forehead. It disgusted her and made her feel revolted at the lack of control over her body and senses. She hated the warmth that flooded her entire body, the unknown temperature filling her with more loathing. Even if she could feel it, she couldn't do anything about it. Because Wednesday was asleep, and she was awfully aware of that.

Most days, she either vividly dreamed of the most beautifully horrific things, or her mind would be empty entirely during her sleep. What she was feeling right now... it was new. She had no control, and it bothered her.

Her eyes squeezed shut and her brows furrowed even deeper as she let herself get pulled and pushed and plucked at. She only saw darkness... and she felt it too. It wasn't the kind of darkness she was used to. There was something incredibly evil and torturing latching onto her, and if she wasn't so focused on regaining control, she would've revelled at the feeling of being in its dark presence.

"It's all lies. You see what they see."

Rang through her head in a female sing-songy voice, feigning sorrow, hiding a smirk. Wednesday wanted to talk, she wanted answers, but it was as if her mouth had been sown shut with needle and thread.

"Will you be my friend?"

A small child's voice mixed with a deep and dark voice, something inhuman, yelled into her right ear before a string of apologies was heard in her left one.

"Leave. Her."

Wednesday heard the female voice beg before she felt her hair being pulled, as if the only goal behind it was to pluck her bald. It hurt and made her eyes water, even in her dreamlike state. It burned as if she'd ducked her head in boiling water or as if an entire beehive had stung each part of her head. She could feel it all. This was the torture she'd usually love to dream about. Not tonight.

"Hey-" Echoed and echoed through her mind, the same female voice sounding like a choir with its reverb, "Fight it."

"Alone. Cold. Water. Wolf. Hair. Hair. Pretty. Book. Portrait. Book. Alone. Hand. Play. Hand. Hand. Fire. Betrayal. Hurt. Kill. Kill. Nevermore. Let her go. Kill. Kill. End it. Here. Wolf. Girl. End it. Up. Up. Wake. Help."

A string of words followed in a way that made no sense to Wednesday and sounded a lot like the monotone voices from the Ghost Boxes she'd seen some idiots use in one of the paranormal courses she'd taken once in hopes of experiencing an exorcism.

"Wednesday!"

The constant buzzing of messy words and white noise was interrupted by the soft, gentle voice of a young woman speaking her name. Then she saw her— a young woman clad in dated attire and a hairdo to match. It was her. The girl from the portrait. Only, the evil eyes were gone and a panic struck her face instead.

She came to life in Wednesday's mind, now no longer an idle drawing in a frame but a person. A person whose touch she could feel, whose pain and fear she could sense.

"Go now!"

The woman's hands pulled at her arms, then pushed her away, out of the dark, into another abyss as Wednesday could feel herself falling and falling until she opened her eyes.

Wednesday bolted up from her sleep, chest heaving, hair dishevelled as if it had really been pulled and played with. She shot backwards against her headboard as soon as she saw Enid's face hovering just above her own, the girl's hands still on her to shake her awake.

"Wednesday!" Enid's concerned voice rang out, "Are you okay?!"

It was then that she realised the state she was in, with her covers half draped on the ground, her clothes sticking to her skin, her hair mussed and that same awful chilly but warm wetness covering her face, neck and back. She could feel the forming of a plethora of bruises all over her body, and she doubted that Enid was to blame for some of them with her still tight grip on her forearms. Wednesday reared back in shock and disgust at the physical contact, too panicked to notice the flash of hurt across Enid's face.

"I'm going to get Ms. Thornhill."

"Don't." Wednesday immediately muttered, regaining her breath, her chin held up again to not give in to the slip of her facade and the moment of weakness Enid had caught her in.

"You're clearly not okay! You were saying all kinds of weird things in your sleep, and you look... even paler than usual."

"I'm fine. Where's Thing?" Wednesday glanced across their dorm room, the lights Enid had turned on doing nothing to help her find him quicker.

"Oh, I... I don't know... but are you sure?" Enid tried to approach again, but one look from the raven-haired girl, and she stopped herself. "Wednesday, you don't look fine. And you talked in your sleep, you've never done that before."

"You talk in your sleep every night, but I don't go to get someone after all the troubling things I hear you mutter, do I?"

Enid visibly blushed in embarrassment, hands bundled against her chest, wondering if she really did talk in her sleep, and what she'd said exactly. Then, as if a light had been switched on, Enid reared back even further, panic lacing her features and her voice.

"Oh god! It's happening!"

Wednesday looked at her in confusion, the fact Enid was wearing her bunny slippers, pink pajamas and rainbow sleeping mask making the thing entirely more ridiculous.

"The slow descent into your insanity? I can see that." Wednesday muttered, hauling her duvets back onto her bed, eyes still flashing across the room in case Thing showed up. Why wasn't he perched atop her bed already?

"The start of yours, more like!" Enid started freaking out, her breath coming in heaps as she paced by the end of Wednesday's bed, "She'll drive you mad, visit you in your dreams and then come for you. It's exactly like Xavier said! And now she'll come for me too simply by association, oh god, oh god-" She rushed out.

Wednesday was about to shut her up, but a loud thunk sounded not even a second later, making both their heads rear to the large glass-stained window in their room.

"Oh god, there she is, there she is." Enid hurried back to her corner of the room, her colourful side of fairy lights and plushies giving off a warmer and safer ambience than Wednesday's dark nook of death and destruction.

Intrigued, Wednesday got up, walked up to the window and tried to peer through it. But the dead of night was a black canvas against the reflection of the lights inside their dorm. She only saw her reflection staring back at her, the dark shadows of her eyes making her look possessed. She looked over her shoulder, feeling a warmth beside her, but Enid wasn't nearby.

"Turn off the lights."

"Are you crazy?!" Enid wheezed, now hiding underneath her blanket and peeking from through her fingers.

"Kooky," Wednesday corrected, mumbling, as she switched the main lights off herself. The balcony behind the window was more visible with the shine of the remnants of the full moon lighting it up.

"Did you see that?" But Wednesday knew Enid hadn't, for the girl was still hiding in her corner. "There's something on the floor. Right outside."

"Wednesday Addams, if you open that window-"

Enid whimpered when she heard the familiar creak of the glass window and ducked behind her bed, now completely out of view to whoever Wednesday would be inviting inside.

Wednesday stepped one foot onto the balcony, eyes adjusting to the darkness as they took in the balcony. No one was there. The harsh autumn wind was like sandpaper scrubbing against her face, but it was a nice change to the heat she'd felt moments before. There was no light on in any of the other windows of the school. The night seemed quiet, like any other.

Finally, she looked down. Her breath hitched in her throat when she saw it. By her feet, something was trembling and spasming on the floor.

It was Thing.

"Thing!" She rushed to pick him up and glared around the balcony one last time in case someone was watching her, her eyes flashing a silent threat, before closing the window and rushing over to her desk with him.

Enid felt like she could breathe again the second she heard the window click shut with a creak and realised only one pair of feet rushed through the room, but Wednesday's hurried steps didn't ease her nerves.

"Who was out there? You're scaring me, Wednesday. What-" Enid hurried over but halted as soon as she saw what Wednesday was holding in her hands.

Thing. With his fingers bruised and bloodied from a string that had tightly bundled them together. Wednesday was already working on removing the string from his flesh, gently unwrapping it from further digging into the slashes and wounds it had created. She kept silent, brows furrowed and eyes focused as she worked on the task, but her mind could only retreat back to one thing—

It was a violin string. Which could only mean... Wednesday was being warned.

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

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[starlit1daydream]

Maids & Sylphs: Maintenance & Generation

There's no need to justify the meaningless destruction~...

Yeah, I love that song.

This is a little bit of a contentious one, since there's an extant debate about the Class pairings with these two; but Maid:Sylph works best for me, so that's what I'm going for.

The Maid:Sylph class dichotomy embodies maintenance, generation and responsibility. They operate alongside their Aspect to ensure it functions correctly, a caretaker for it; being able to both generate it freely and keep it from going awry after their arc is done.

They're also defined by quite an interesting and consistent character arc in two parts - that I'll go over in the narrative section. It involves a lot of denial of their Aspect.

Canonical Maid players are Jane Crocker (Maid of Life), Aradia Megido (Maid of Time) and Porrim Maryam (Maid of Space).

Canonical Sylph players are Kanaya Maryam (Sylph of Space) and Aranea Serket (Sylph of Light).

So, let's get to Point A - the Maid's narrative function.

The Maid is defined by an overworking at the hands of their Aspect; they are, simply put, made to use it and work with it tirelessly without ever being able to have it.

Their relationship with it is exclusively defined by others, with no opportunities being given for them to forge their own stance on their Aspect; it's alien to them, all they know of it is what they're made to use it for.

Jane Crocker, the Maid of Life, indoctrinated and kept in the dark thanks to an oppressive regime that would see her stripped of agency; her life under constant threat of assassination as she denies any and all conspiracies under her nose.

Aradia Megido, the Maid of Time, puppeteered by the deceased and the forces of death themselves, tossed around throughout states of mortality whilst forced to shelve her own intrigue in archaeology. No interest in the past is granted on her own merits.

Porrim Maryam, the Maid of Space, denied an intuitive chance to make her own way with femininity because of Beforus' oppressive patriarchy; her opinions left unheard as she slaves away in the jadeblood caverns. Her own gender and curation of the Space around her, inaccessible.

This is followed by a stage of personal growth wherein the Maid sheds the shackles and works with their Aspect independently. They awaken into a new power with their Aspect as their steward and responsibility; and now they work for it because they want to.

Jane Crocker ends the story having inherited control of her own Life; she's CEO of CrockerCorp and has no oppression left to control her and regulate her agency.

Aradia Megido ends the story having become a caretaker of the afterlife, Maid of Time taking responsibility to keep the deceased in check and fondly regard extermination.

Porrim Maryam ends her story having become a garrulous and opinionated advocate whose sexual freedom and comfort in her own gender identity goes hand in hand with her views on feminism and patriarchy. (she's also trans, but you didn't hear that from me)

Point B - the practical function of the Maid.

This one's fairly simple, given we have two whole examples to work with and they both have their own moments of badassery.

Jane can create Life. Though she expresses that, uh... questionably, with her rather clear-cut wishes towards Jake in Trickster Mode; she also expresses it literally. The overload of her Life powers leads her to turn the desolate and barren LOCAH into a thriving wilderness, teeming with Life. What's more, she can give Life to those who have lost it.

Aradia can create Time. We see her freeze Jack Noir in temporal stasis, using her Aspect and generating Time for her cohorts both literally and metaphorically after the fact.

Porrim, speculatively, could create Space. Think Jade, but less overpowered.

The creation of their Aspect leads directly to their maintenance of it, one does not just make something new and then leave it to rot; you have to take care of it, allow it to grow and keep to the right path.

Point C, the narrative function of the Sylph.

Like most other passive Classes, we're flipping the active counterpart on its head for this one.

Whereas a Maid is defined by a working relationship with an Aspect they never get to know, the Sylph is an opposite. They hold such a breadth of knowledge and desire to help with their Aspect, but nobody lets them.

Kanaya is desperate to curate the Space around her and meddle with it, through her fashion expression to her interest in gardening, and keeping her friends in check, but nobody allows her to. She's shunned merely as the auspistic 'vvillage twwo wwheel devvice' and decried as a meddler 'til she starts putting her foot down and sawing incels in half.

Aranea is desperate to be seen, to be given Light; she merely wants attention and acknowledgement from her friends - because she literally just fucking wants to talk about the things that interest her for more than five minutes. She keeps repositories of knowledge, adores giving exposition, and is pushed into ignorance and oblivion 'til she resorts to throwing planets with her brain.

This is not to say that the Sylphs are... completely justified; because their growth comes in the form of acknowledging that their Aspect needn't always be meddled with. The Maid allows their Aspect to grow on its own, but the Sylph is compelled to interfere and change it because 'they know best'.

Kanaya meddles even when it's condescending, unaware of her own shortcomings in that regard; making glaring errors in her curation of Space that lead to the termination of relationships (Vriska) that she refuses to even give an explanation for.

Aranea heals Light even when she shouldn't, intruding on personal boundaries and consent through her Aspect. She freely shares information about her cohorts that really should be left in the shadows, sometimes, and breaches both Jake & Terezi's wishes by 'fixing' their disabilities, per se.

...She was totally justified in throwing planets, though.

Point D, therein, is the practical function!

This is interesting, because Homestuck equates passive creation with healing. The Sylph less actively generates their Aspect and moreso fixes it, making them a sort of Anti-Prince in a sense.

Kanaya, we have less material to work with given her lack of a God Tier status; but it sounds to me like healing Space seems inherently tied to her awakening as a rainbow drinker (repairing her own role in the narrative after her death) and the curation of Space through removing things that could harm it.

Aranea, however, is clear-cut. She heals Light by healing any disabilities that would impair someone's desire to see or understand truth; Terezi's blindness leaves her unable to see, and Jake's brain injuries leave him unable to understand; in Aranea's eyes, anyways. (I'd argue she's a very reductive and possibly passively ableist viewpoint, but I digress).

It's a form of creation, for sure; but it's directed towards others just as a Passive player does. I find them really interesting, especially just because of the limited material we've got; I would've loved to see a God-Tiered Kanaya. Alas...

Anyway, by now, I'm sure you all know what's coming for you next week. I'll be on schedule this Time, so clear out some Space in your schedule.

(Oh, Lord, that was cheap. At least it was probably aMuseing to a few of you, hell if I know).

[tillsfan]

my interpretation of what Till’s flower art means to him!

before the patreon post, i wrote down my interpretations of the flowers for each character (except mizi and luka, as i hadn’t gotten to them). i might share the rest eventually. this is a really long rant Since i think about till an insane amount.. this is mostly just me rambling

the edelweiss.

love, courage, bravery, devotion, purity, strength, resilience. a flower that is difficult to obtain due to it growing in the toughest conditions, though it thrives. “delicate yet hardy.” they’re used as a gift of selfless and pure love. in folklore, there’s a story of a man risking his life to climb a mountain and obtain the flower to gift to his love, symbolizing sacrifice and devotion. there’s also a story of a queen who fell in love with a shepherd, but he was thrown to his death, and her tears blossomed the edelweiss.

till’s existence is a product of love. he had loved and had been loved all his life. he symbolizes such pure, raw love, having been the only character to experience love prior to anakt. maternal love, the most unconditional and pure bond. he craves that freedom he’s felt before, his resilience keeping him going.

till is a strong and pure of heart character. despite the tough living conditions he was subjected to, he always stayed true to himself, never letting the segyein keep him down. he was the only person to constantly defy the segyein despite all the punishment and abuse. he goes against them whenever he possibly can, outright killing an alien in round 2. he’s a symbol of bravery and courage.

till has been devoted to mizi all his life, going as far as to sacrifice his own freedom in order to continue “protecting” her. he also directly faced an alien in front of her, to protect her and show that he won’t let the segyein hurt her. the first tale i presented reminded me of how till feels towards mizi, persevering through the toughest conditions in order to demonstrate his pure love. despite all his love for her, he simply admires her from afar, which in my mind pushes the ‘devotion’ aspect, like a believer devoted to a god.

the second tale reminds me of till both after mizi’s disappearance and ivan’s death. we saw how till acted after mizi. till heavily grieved, nearly unable to hold himself together. he was willing to throw his life away because of how hard it was to live without her. and round 6, i tend to believe ivan’s death was when till finally realized how he felt. i believe this because of the wedding theme round 6 is supposed to hold. ivan’s sacrifice successfully shifted the narrative of the story, the kiss symbolizing their lives linking. but as soon as this happened, ivan’s life came to an end, leaving till to grieve.

the fact that edelweisses are difficult to come by because they’re in such isolated places also reminds me of how till was constantly locked up for his behavior. this can also represent till’s severe struggles with avoidance. he kept both mizi and ivan at a distance all his life, isolating himself from them emotionally as he heavily fears intimacy for a multitude of reasons.

till is the only one with chains surrounding him, which can symbolize a couple of things. the immediate thought i had was how he was constantly oppressed by the segyein, locked away and forcibly dehumanized all throughout his life. being tied down was his norm, and he got the most reprimand from it. this can also symbolize his emotional isolation, as i stated previously. besides this, i’m not too sure what the chains could represent here.

a thing i should mention is that edelweisses are actually mentioned in unknown till the end… how cool

this isn’t my most in depth analysis, i was mostly just dumping my thoughts.. let me know if you’d like to see the thoughts i had on ivan, sua, or hyuna’s flower art!

[coupleoffanfics]

My friend y/n Wayne Part. 1

Yandere! Batfam x Batsis! Reader Summary: Norah was y/n's closest friend. Well she might have been her only friend.

y/n had trouble making friends. The thought of meeting and talking with someone she never met was stressful. What if she said something weird? What if she wasn't talking enough? What if she was talking too much? She never really had too much time interacting with people in the past.

She went to gala's and put on a false smile while staying close to her family. She went to school, but she never went out of her way to talk to her peers. She was never one to make the first move. While of course there were some attempts at befriending the Wayne. She hardly had the time to hangout outside of school. Leading to some alienation.

Yet there was one girl that somehow stuck around. Eleanor Spencer or just Norah. She didn't pester y/n to hangout or force her into something. They're friendship was like a cat and its owner. y/n is off doing her own thing mostly, if not all the time and Norah is willing to wait with open arms. Norah had her own life of course. She wasn't waiting to be at some random person's beck and call, regardless of if they're a Wayne or not.

Still it was a nice dynamic for the two. Any school activities or even social events y/n Wayne would skitter over to Norah and almost hide behind her. Shielding herself from other people as if she didn't have any power behind her name. As if she wasn't a Wayne but then again that could have been why y/n clung to Norah so much.

Their status or name didn't matter to Norah. She was also so confident in herself but not to the point of being cocky. She never cared for what others thought of her while she kept true to herself. She was kind yet never let others push her or others around.

Norah was everything y/n wanted to be and maybe to an extent Norah saw that. She wanted to teach the girl to have a backbone, but y/n always had a bleeding heart.

There were only a handful of times Norah had been to the Wayne manor. They were always for y/n's birthday. She can remember her 9th birthday and how many kids were running around the backyard. There were some parents huddled together chatting with each.

All the other kids were playing while y/n clung to what was her older brother, Jason Todd. Norah remembers how he looked so fed up with the whole thing and overheard him asking Bruce if he could leave when y/n went to the bathroom. Of course the man told him no without hesitation and he pouted which made Norah roll her eyes.

It was only after Jason's death was when the big birthday parties for y/n stopped. It was clear as day how much her adopted brother's death hurt her as she started skipping school and rarely saw out in public. Even though Norah was a little young, she could see how she looked at Jason as if he put the stars in the sky just for her. Considering the snippets of memories she has of the two, she's sure Jason would have if he could.

After that she always tried to make sure the desk next to her was empty. If y/n did come into school, she didn't want her panicky looking for a place to sit. Norah wanted to be her safety net and it seemed like y/n notice as she'd always give her a small smile. Seeing that smile regardless of how small it was made Norah return one of her own with a little nod. Almost as if they were saying thank you and no problem.

Then came Tim Derek. He was only adopted just about nearly a year after Jason had passed. At first it seemed like Tim was pestering y/n and often whispering to y/n about God knows what. He acts like he idolized y/n for some reason while also treating her like an animal he's about to dissect. It was weird and clearly put y/n on edge which meant Norah had to do something.

It often led to Norah dragging y/n away to talk about "important girl stuff" that was top secret. The two would look over their shoulder to make sure Tim wasn't following them. y/n would always give an apologetic grin with a wave and Norah would give a sharp glare as if she'd cut him into two if he followed them.

That period wouldn't last long as it didn't take long for the two to start actually being friends. Norah doesn't know what made them shift to this, but she didn't mind as long as y/n was comfortable. Though she can say that she never really got around to being that close to Tim no matter how much y/n tried to push her two friends together. They just never clicked.

That's just how they worked.

Until the last years of highschool. y/n suddenly have more free time. It was almost like she was let off a leash and taking in her freedom. She joined clubs, did a lot of volunteering, and even got a boyfriend that would end in travesty. Norah knew there was something different about him but she never said anything since he made y/n happy. That was a whole can of worms that didn't need to be opened today.

All that really mattered to Norah was that y/n was safe and happy.

With all that free time she began to become really good friends with y/n. They weren't just acquaintances anymore as they have had sleepovers nearly every night at Norah's. She even learned that y/n was skilled in many arts including illustrations, culinary, and even martial arts.

Of course y/n taught her the basic martial arts though she'd always shy away from any complications given. Always saying, "I'm not that good. You should see Tim fight, he's ten times better than me." The thought of that scrawny nerd being a better fighter than y/n always made Norah chuckle under her breath.

It wasn't uncommon to see the two glued to each other. Norah did theater and other clubs to build up her resume, while y/n did fencing and charity. They mentally promised each other to never miss each other's events. y/n would always show up to Noah's musicals with the most colorful bouquet despite Norah only being a background character. In turn Norah would show up to y/n's fencing matches and would cheer for y/n at the top of her lungs even if she got a few weird looks.

Over the years, Norah helped her become more disconnected from her family. y/n has explained a few times about how lonely it was living in the Wayne manor. She'd talk about how there really wasn't any there for her except for her butler, but even then he'd have had his own things to do. Her brothers weren't in her life anymore despite living under the same roof.

Even when she did get some attention it was usually from her younger brother. Bruce Wayne's only biological child, Damian. Damian was known for having a bit of a temper, but overall indifferent most of the time. y/n talked about some of the insults that were hurled at her. How Bruce basically told her to ignore it. It felt like she was holding back some details, yet Norah couldn't push for more answers when even talking about it made y/n tear up.

Norah began to understand y/n's people-pleasing behavior. While there wasn't anything inherently wrong with wanting to please someone. It wasn't healthy to hang onto other's approval and validation like it was your lifeline. So Norah did her best to help y/n break some habits and get her out of that emotionally neglectful environment. It was slow work. Yet Norah made sure to be patient with y/n. Things like things weren't easy, it was only natural.

The biggest step y/n took towards Independence was moving out. Getting a nice apartment for herself. Though her father was paying for everything until she finished with college and got a steady income. At least he did something Norah guessed, but it was too little too late in her opinion. Still it was victory for y/n and Norah couldn't be happier for her.

Not being used to living alone she asked Norah to sleep over for a couple nights. Since her boyfriend was too busy being a nerd. Norah never saw what made Xander so special, but whatever. Whenever there was anything y/n needed help with, Norah would always try to find a solution. 

It was almost funny in a way. Norah had never cared too much about anyone aside from family and here came y/n Wayne. The embodiment of a shivering wet cat. Norah wanted nothing more than for that poor forgotten cat to turn into a tiger. y/n was far from becoming that fearless tiger, but at least she wasn't shivering wet cat anymore.

Things were looking up for the two friends. Until Gotham was welcomed to another psycho. The charity ball certainly gave this new member of the community a warm welcome filled with screams and blood. Oh, but sweet y/n became the apple of their eye.

y/n was swiftly taken away by the new villain when the police showed up. Norah constantly hits herself for not going to that gala to protect y/n, but what would she really have done? It wasn't surprising y/n had a target on her when she's a Wayne, regardless of if it was planned on or not.

The new psycho had y/n ride in the car with him along with one of his henchmen. From what y/n recounts the bastard was talking normally in a sense. He still had erratic behavior, but somehow spoke casually. They had a conversation though y/n said it was more one-sided than anything else.

She was sitting in the backseat with her hands being tied together behind her. He and the henchmen were in the front. Both had guns and- God damn. Norah wanted to ask why the hell y/n thought it'd be a good idea when she first heard it. He was driving.

Whoever tied her hands together clearly didn't know how to tie their own shoes together because she was able to slip out of them. With her hands free, y/n immediately started strangling him. This took him by surprise and the car started to swerve. She and the henchmen momentarily froze when he started laughing at what she was doing. It was like he wasn't even registering what she was doing.

The henchmen grabbed her arm with one hand and by the hair with the other. No matter how hard they tried to pull they couldn't get her to budge. y/n was seemingly hellbent on strangling this man.

The last thing y/n remembers was the non stop laughing from the man as she slowly lost his breath. And in the corner of her eye she saw the henchmen pull something out of their pocket. That's when they crashed. That's how y/n woke up in the hospital bed with Norah, her boyfriend, and Tim waiting beside her bed. She seemed more surprised that Tim was there than learning she hadn't been shot. To be honest Norah was a little surprised when she saw Tim walk in.

The two girls noticed how distraught y/n's boyfriend was getting when she told her story. It wouldn't have been so odd if he wasn't normally so stoic. Tim suggested that Norah take y/n's boyfriend out to calm down while he talked with y/n. Norah didn't want to leave y/n behind, but she knew y/n wasn't in any danger. y/n seemed fine with this and her boyfriend did look like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

It took almost half an hour for her boyfriend to calm down. When they returned y/n was already out of her hospital gown and in some casual clothes. Norah didn't have to ask when y/n explained that she was going back to the manor. Tim added that she would be safer there.

This was when things really started to go downhill.

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