#JUSTICE FOR CASTLE IN THE SKY

[madschiavelique]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛 — 𝟏

⟢﹒ pairing : matt murdock x vigilante!reader x frank castle

⟢﹒ summary : you’d met them, became their teammate, and the one night you got severely wounded, they took you to their place to patch you up.

⟢﹒ content warnings : i am not a doctor nor do i have any knowledge on how to take care of wounds like that properly so very inaccurate patching up session, mentions of blood, wounds, mentions of needle (to saw reader’s wound), afab!reader, stubborn reader, but stubborn frank, no use of y/n, not proofread

⟢﹒ word count : 7,2k

⟢﹒ note : this is the first part of a 2shot where the second part will be a smut with hunter/prey dynamic ! have a good read <;33

⟢ next part : here

The clouds were brown tonight, covering the inky blackness of the sky like a mass of cotton gathering up the streetlights of Hell's Kitchen. Everything seemed to be reflecting off a lake, the puddles of rain from earlier in the day having settled on every rooftop in the city in a myriad of mirrors.

It was quiet, abnormally quiet even. Hell's Kitchen wasn't exactly your typical idyllic holiday destination; on the contrary, it was the place to flee if you had the chance. Crime had its patch on every street corner, and not a single day or night went by without something happening.

But now, nothing. No problems. No calls for help. Just the calm of an evening. 

Sitting on the edge of a roof, your legs dangling boredly in the air, you listened to your little radio set beside your thigh, hoping that one of the police stations would report a problem. But everything was peaceful.

It had already been a few months since you had taken on the attire of the night, taken on the role of vigilante in Hell's Kitchen, and every evening you found yourself chasing crime out of town like a broom sweeping dust out of the way.

It wasn't necessarily an easy rhythm. After an already long day at work, you usually tried to get some sleep before starting your patrol. You'd realised that although there was no particular time for crime, most of them started after midnight.

But it was already one o'clock in the morning and there was nothing to report. You wondered whether perhaps you were doing your job as a vigilante too well. If you did, this kind of evening was set to happen, because if you did eradicate every crime all at once, there wouldn't be any left for later. The bitter reassurance that, unfortunately, crime, born since the dawn of time, would only die with men, gripped your heart.

The pace of it all was sometimes exhausting, but the advantage of all this was that you weren't really working alone any more. At first, the idea of joining forces with anyone to bring justice to the world of night seemed complicated, for several reasons. 

Firstly, coordination: having team-mates implied having a certain connection so that even without words being spoken, everything ran smoothly. 

And secondly, attachment. An environment like this where every night can be your last if you don't keep a minimum of vigilance can prove destructive. It would be too painful to lose an ally, and even more so if it was your turn to leave and they found themselves grieving.

But colleagues - no, partners? Friends? Whatever, the allies you found on certain nights were probably the most resilient human beings you'd ever met, to the point where the very thought of them dying was impossible. After all, when you're working with two people who have both withstood a bullet to the head and who are sure of themselves, you can't help but feel safe - or very small and miserable in their presence.

You had met them on patrol when the sounds of banging and groans of pain could be heard in an alleyway. Immediately, you had split the sphere of your personally modified Bolas and had helped in the fight after observing the side you had to take. Recognising criminals had become like a sixth sense, but above all you had recognised Daredevil's outfit in the semi-darkness and the silhouette that appeared to be that of Frank Castle.

You were familiar with the work of both of them, had seen enough of their appearances in the newspapers and heard their actions on the radio enough to know that the two men fighting the dozen or so others below were none other than these two.

You had helped them, immobilising a man here, strangling a man of the thread of your bolas there, while the two acolytes were both taking part in the fight. It was only at the end of the latter that the barrage of questions began.

"Who are you?" was of course the first question Matt asked.

"Who do you work for?" was the first question Frank raised, naturally.

It didn't take too long for you to explain that crime was swarming around the city like cockroaches in a dirty carpet and that you wanted to clean up just like them.

Frank was suspicious, Matt was calm, and you were sweating buckets, dreading their every reaction. They weren't exactly idols to you, but you had great respect for them.

It was when Matt agreed that you were sincere and that there was nothing to fear about you that Frank relaxed a bit, without letting go of his grouchy and suspicious attitude. You'd assumed at first that Frank wouldn't appreciate such a radical change of routine that included bringing a new member into the evening vigilante group, but Matt had assured him that having one more person would allow them to be more effective.

And soon, you'd be meeting up from time to time in the evening if you were lucky enough to bump into each other. 

First, you didn't reveal your identity immediately. There was a kind of silent agreement between the three of you on the subject. Of course, Frank's identity was no longer a mystery, but Matt's remained particularly anonymous for a long time.

Once enough trust had been established for Frank not to grumble at you at every given occasion, you were officially introduced.

You learned that Matthew Murdock was a blind lawyer with very heightened senses, and that Frank Castle lived with him, taking on a series of remote jobs under a different identity since his name was not really known in a very positive way. 

You didn't see each other outside of work, often too busy with your own lives to find time to see each other, even if you didn't discuss your free time... at first anyway.

You had exchanged phone numbers, in case an emergency arose and you suddenly needed help. Your exchanges were very cordial, sending addresses or locations when help was needed or to investigate something suspicious.

The first much less professional encounter was on a more turbulent night than the others, when you were cut badly on the leg, flank and arm, with an additional cut to your lip from a punch. 

According to Matt, your costume was similar to the one he wore when he first started as Daredevil. Dark clothes, something to hide your face and combat boots, needless to say that with just these to cover you up, you were extremely vulnerable.

When the fighting stopped, you didn't even have time to wince in pain that Matt was already beside you with a glove off and removing his helmet as Frank observed the situation.

"How bad is it?" Frank had asked, tilting his head to the side as the fabric covering your body darkened with blood.

"As bad as it looks to you and feels to me," Matt sighed as his fingertips brushed the skin of your side.

"It's all right," you assured them, moving slightly away from Matt and his touch, "really, it's fine."

"Are you sure? You look like you can barely walk properly." Matt had asked, obviously knowing that no, everything wasn't all right.

Probably because he'd used that speech over and over again himself, that and the simple fact that your body looked like a cute little pinocchio with a nose extended to its ears.

"Yeah yeah, no big deal - argh!" you started before Frank put his hand on the gaping wound in your arm. “Hey!”

"No big deal, eh? If it was no big deal ya wouldn't be reacting like this."

"It's nothing, really." 

You had no idea if you sounded convincing… well, from the look on both their faces, you weren’t. Frank crossed his arms over his chest, looking you up and down as he bit the inside of his cheek.

You felt tiny under his gaze like that, barely lifting your eyes to look into his. There was a dark insistence in his stare, and you could tell he was frustrated, only whether it was about you or the situation in itself you weren't sure.

"What d’you say Red ?" he said after seconds that felt like minutes.

You turned to Matt, his gaze fixed as usual on a point in the void. But that didn't stop his eyes from being expressive, and the rest of his face reinforced them. You watched in the half-light the way his jaw muscles twitched in the lamplight and your heart fell in your stomach.

"Our flat is closer to here than hers," was what he ended up saying.

Your heart went right back up your chest as you blinked fast, frowning at the sentence he had so casually said.

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, "how do you know I'm-" but you didn't finish your own sentence before starting the next, "you followed me all the way to my place?"

Matt put both hands on his hips with a sigh, biting his lower lip before finally answering.

"We had a bit of a scare the other night when you were cut on the shoulder. We just wanted to make sure... that you got home okay."

Your lips parted in surprise, shifting then from Matt to Frank, who was looking at his feet as if the ground was far more interesting than anything he had to say at the moment. You weren't sure how to feel about that.

In a way, you found it strange that they'd followed you home without telling you anything about it, but Matt with his keen senses would probably have known where you were sooner or later. Besides, it was well-intentioned, and the sudden thought that they cared about you - no, about your state - was surprisingly heart-warming.

"In any case," Matt continued, clearing his throat, "ours is a lot closer than yours, and in your current state, you could do with some treatment when you get there."

"I'm not planning to stay the night, am I?" you laughed nervously.

"Why not?" said Frank, raising his eyebrows and his shoulders in one gesture.

From now on, victory would go to the one with the most convincing argument.

"Well, I've got work tomorrow," you began, already thinking about the pain you'd have to endure in the morning when you woke up. 

You could still feel your warm blood clinging to your clothes, and the sensation was becoming increasingly unpleasant.

"Say you're unwell, isn't far off the mark," Frank replied, pointing with a lazy wave of his hand at your body.

"But I don't have any clothes to spend the night in." You retorted, although the argument was easily contradicted by Matt's remark.

"We'll lend you some, it's no big deal," he assured you.

"I don't have a toothbrush," you retorted, as if that couldn't possibly be of any importance in this setting.

"We're not Cro-Magnons, we have backup ones," Matt laughed softly.

It was becoming a little more complicated to come up with relevant arguments. The blood loss was making you dizzy, weak, and preventing you from standing properly without grimacing every second while focusing all your attention on each cut and the intense burning sensation it gave you.

It wasn't so much that you didn't want to go, because on the contrary you found yourself enjoying their company more and more. It was simply the fact that...

"I'm afraid of imposing myself on you and bothering you." You said, looking away.

You were colleagues up to now, people who shared a common interest in justice, and you didn't mind their company. Only, you'd added to the mix completely unexpectedly. They'd already been working together before, even living together. You didn't know a great deal about their private lives and here you were, the millstone, getting hurt in the middle of a patrol and not being able to make a move without everything hurting.

You turned towards them again. The look on Frank's face was like the typical reaction of a human being who has just witnessed the greatest absurdity of all, while Matt's mouth was half-open in surprise. It almost seemed to you that saying that simple sentence had been a mistake.

"That's it, you're coming with us," Matt confirmed.

"Definitely," Frank affirmed as he approached you and placed one of his hands behind your back.

"Hey wait-" you had no say in the matter, though, as Frank's second hand came up behind your knees and lifted you off the ground.

Your hands barely grasped the back of his neck, wincing as you writhed in pain. You wouldn't have minded being carried. The fatigue of the evening weighed on each of your limbs as if they were full of lead. 

You knew how to walk, one step in front of the other like most, and the suddenness of being lifted so easily into the air felt funny. You couldn't help fidgeting, caressing the hope of finding a position more comfortable than one that made you feel every inch of your skin open to the night air.

"Stop movin’ like a chicken ‘bouta have its throat cut," Frank grumbled as the two of them started walking.

"Put it on the ground and the chicken will calm down," you breathed through clenched teeth of discomfort.

"It's not a very long walk, I promise." Matt reassured you.

You huffed, clutching the collar of Frank's jacket to prevent yourself from squeezing the back of his neck too hard and getting another remark. You were torn between the uneasiness of the stir he made with every step, which you felt in every wound, and the new comfort you found in the embrace of his arms.

You felt so... safe that way. And not just with Frank, because you felt the same sense of tranquillity with Matt. They were both involved in your life in such an unusual way and they still managed to make you feel comfortable.

You'd never been so close to him, snuggled up against him and held in his strong arms. As close as you were to his body, you could smell him. A mix of cool and warm. 

He carried the smoky but crisp scent of the night, the fresh but dark air, like the smell of a just-cut apple leaving its cool scent on the blade of the knife that has just sliced it. And all of this was strangely relieving. 

Your eyes drifted to his neck, which was inevitable considering how close you were to it. Your gaze focused on his Adam's apple, ready to be covered by his perpetual stubble, letting your eyes slide up to his marked, strong jawline. You weren't in the habit of observing someone so closely, especially when that someone was handsome. 

The journey across his face continued, passing from his full lips, to his nose bumped by the many blows he must have received in the face, to conclude this pleasant silent voyage with his eyes. Beneath a pair of stern eyebrows were two onyxes, shyly illuminated by the few street lamps on the deserted streets you were travelling through. You had seen them turn black like those of a shark that had smelled blood. 

If you didn't know that look would never be meant for you, you'd be afraid of them.

You'd spent enough time with them in combat situations to know that their rage alone could bring a man down with a look. You hoped you'd never have to pay the price of it.

But this close, you didn't feel in danger, although the very idea that such dark eyes of vengeance and bitterness and death might pass over yours made you shudder.

“You’re staring, little one,” Frank remarked, his gaze never wavering from the path in front of him.

Too embarrassed by your own behaviour, you nestled your head on his shoulder, resting your forehead on it as your neck and cheeks heated up. You felt a little foolish as you felt your heart beating frantically between your ribs, and the very idea that Matt could undoubtedly hear it made you want to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground and disappear.

When were you going to get to that bloody flat where you would - hopefully - never again have to be so close to one of them without your thoughts getting carried away ?

Your wishes were granted, as you soon found yourselves standing in front of a door that Matt habitually opened, letting Frank go first as he pressed you closer to him to get through the doorway. With a single breath, his scent invaded you more and more until, for a few moments, your thoughts were focused on nothing but him.

The sudden closeness of him made you feel your cheek brush against the nape of his neck, cool in the night air, but enough for your own skin to heat up slightly.

Internally, you were slapping yourself in the face. Now was not the time to let yourself be bewitched by your colleagues, although the fact that you would be spending the night with them would intensify those thoughts.

Your reflections kept you prisoner enough that you didn't realise until you'd climbed the stairs that you were about to enter Matt's flat. No... their flat.

This reality dropped into your stomach like a heavy stone. They're together, so don't try or think anything that might disappoint you. Tonight... It's just business. It's just help they're giving you, that's all it is.

Perhaps it was a cruel lack of affection that made you repeat all this to yourself, but whatever the case, your inner monologue gradually died down as your attention was drawn to the inside of the place.

It was big, really big for a flat, and for a moment the idea of Matt and Frank being rich occurred to you. It wasn't until Frank moved further into the living room that your eyes fell almost painfully on the neon lighting that illuminated the whole room.

And the more you looked, the more the charm of the place intensified. Of course, the neon had to be a problem. And yes, the walls had faded wallpaper and cracked paint. And maybe the windows could have done with a bit of a wipe down.

But the cosy atmosphere the flat had was delightful. The warmth that greeted you as you entered was gentle and reassuring. You noticed that there was little smell in the flat, nothing too strong at least so far. 

"On the sofa, she's already lost enough blood for the evening," Matt pointed out as he left for his kitchen.

Ah, right, Matt's senses, you almost forgot. The reason for the absence of perfume or overpowering scents in their flat was surely that it could prove abrasive on his olfactory sensitivity and generally on his senses.

Frank didn't hesitate for a moment, gently lowering you onto the leather sofa, which you felt sink under your back. The sudden change of position made you wince and whimper, the pain of your wounds hitherto camouflaged by your comfort in Frank's arms resurfacing to inflame your skin.

Frank watched you for a moment, frowning as he observed with serious eyes the dark stains that soaked through the various fabrics of your outfit. Without a word, he walked away, and a few seconds later Matt appeared in your field of vision, a bottle of amber liquid in his hand.

"We're going to need you to take off your top and trousers, do you think you can do that?"

The heat rose to your cheek, making you realise that with those wounds on your body, it was inevitable that you would end up naked if they wanted to do anything to help fix you.

You pressed your teeth into your lower lip, keeping it prisoner for a moment and grunting as the gesture made you reopen your little wound. 

"I'll try," you croaked, trying to unclench the hand that had been glued to your side until now. 

The bleeding seemed to have eased, the blood slightly caking to your hand as you pulled it free with an exhaled whimper. The sudden contact of air on your skin felt like an icy slap, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to calm yourself.

Your head tumbling back on the comfortable leather, you tried to get your hands to the sides of your T-shirt, pulling at the fabric. The material rubbed against your gaping wound, and you gritted your teeth as you breathed heavily.

Matt swallowed, clenching his jaw before kneeling in front of you.

"I can help you, if you don't mind," he offered, his hands coming to rest on your ankles as he began to remove your shoes.

Your reflex would usually have been to say no, your determination to achieve everything on your own without help from others blocking such opportunities. But the more you thought about it, the more the taste of resignation grew in your mouth.

At the rate you were going, getting undressed would take a considerable amount of time, time that Matt and Frank could probably have spent doing something more interesting than helping someone like you. So you gave in.

The blood from your split lip spilled back into your mouth, your tongue running over the cut and burning you. Wrinkling your nose in pain and breathing through your teeth, you nodded vigorously as you readjusted yourself on the sofa.

Matt sat up straight on his knees and faced you, his hands first feeling the leather of the sofa to find your thigh. He gently skimmed along the fabric, his hand brushing the wound on your thigh and making you grunt slightly.

"Sorry," he murmured softly. "The bleeding seems to have stopped," his confirmation letting his hand travel up to your waist. 

His second joined in, avoiding the path of his twin again, and finding the sides of your top.

"Can you put your arms up for me?" he asked softly.

You swallowed, chewing the inside of your cheek as you took a deep breath. Then you did the seemingly impossible by lifting your arms. Your shoulders felt like they were made of lead, and your whole body seemed to be made of nothing but aches and pains.

When the fabric and movement rubbed against the wound on your arm, which you had barely raised, your hand instinctively came to press against it, letting a small, contorted whimper escape from your lips.

Matt let out a sigh, but he didn't seem exasperated or annoyed, more concerned or sharing your pain. Just then Frank came back into the living room, a first aid kit in hand as he came up beside you.

"We're going to have to cut your shirt off," Matt warned.

You sighed, feeling deeply incapable. When did taking off a shirt become so complicated? Every cut on your body was starting to burn severely, and you felt like throwing yourself into a lake of ice water to soothe the pain.

Frank pulled the scissors out of the kit, sitting down next to you and letting the sofa sink beneath him.

"We'll get you a new one," he promised as the cold kiss of the scissor blades touched your skin for a moment near the wound on your arm, bringing a short-lived respite.

Frank tugged at the fabric to pull it away from your skin, then after a few scissor strokes tore the material of your t-shirt as if it were paper with a sharp tear.

The cold skin of his fingers, still covered in the cool of the outside air, came to rest on your skin, and it was as if night met day, as the moon touched the sun with its fingertips, illuminating each of its craters and cuts.

Meanwhile, Matt unbuckled your belt gently, unbuttoning your trouser button at the same time and pulling on the fly until his fingers brushed the birth of...

"Sorry about the whisky but we didn't have anything else," he said apologetically as he took hold of the edges of your trousers.

"Aren't you guys sponsored by first aid kits at this point?" you asked through clenched teeth.

Waiting for Frank to move the scissors away from your skin, you raised your pelvis so that Matt could slide your trousers down more easily. 

"There hasn't been any disinfectant in any of them since last night," he explained with a small smile.

The scene was strangely intimate, Frank's hot breath spreading across the back of your neck as he cut off your shirt, and Matt's hands sliding your trousers down your thighs.

You couldn't help but let out a grunt as the fabric of your pant leg brushed against the wound on your thigh, though Matt was doing his best not to cause you any discomfort, whispering small apologies as he did so.

You then realised the context of all this, and the heat rose to your cheeks when Frank threw the last shred of your old T-shirt somewhere in the background: you were in your underwear in front of them.

For a moment, their fingers on your body felt much less professional. The passage of their digits over your skin left behind a trail of sparkling powder underneath.

Placing a towel under your thigh, Matt indicated to Frank the bottle of alcohol which he uncorked.

"This might sting a bit," Matt advised just before Frank started pouring the cool liquid over the wound on your arm.

You stifled a muffled gasp, your thighs trembling slightly from the heat of your wounds. Matt's face scrunched up, his hands resting on your thighs in the hope of easing your pain or distracting you from the excruciating sensation you were going through. As for Frank, he didn't seem to give a damn, his face filled with his constant annoyed neutrality.

You had wondered several times whether Frank hated you, or whether it was difficult for him to stand you. Whatever the case, he didn't seem to have you in his heart. Maybe it was mistrust, but whatever the reason, he seemed irascible towards you.

He continued to pour the contents of the bottle quite generously onto your side, your eyelids closing so tightly that you felt you were seeing stars. You gritted your teeth so hard that for a moment they cut off your hearing, then released the tension.

"It's almost done," Matt murmured in the hope of encouraging you.

Frank ended up cleaning your trembling thigh. You brought your hand, closed into a fist, up to your mouth, biting the skin of one of your fingers to channel the pain.

Your head jerked back, breathing heavily as tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. The worst had undoubtedly just passed.

You heard them rummaging around in the kit, and as you straightened your head, you saw them pulling out needle and thread.

"No pain killers," you managed to say as your mouth felt almost pasty.

Frank chuckled, preparing the needle properly.

"Gotta get this done first, no painkillers for your princess ass now."

You let out a half-sigh, half-laugh.

"Silly me to assume you'd care." you mumbled, already feeling the discomfort from the alcohol on your gaping skin soften.

"It' all be over soon," Matt asserted, his thumb running over the skin of your thigh.

"And I who was looking forward to living in agony for the rest of my life,' you breathed.

Frank brought one of the armchairs closer to the sofa, needle in hand.

"Gon try and be gentle, softy." he added, the little nickname making you scoff.

"No, Frank, being gentle isn't your area of excellence. You shine mainly in murder and mutilation."

He raised his eyes to yours, still red and wet from your previous pain and reflecting the famous 'gentleness' he had shown in his actions. He frowned, but this gesture was unexpectedly accompanied by a smile mixing surprise and amusement, stretching his face in a way you'd never seen from him before.

He brought the needle up to your thigh, grasping the skin with his large hand as firmly as gently. He pierced it, making you wince at the sensation. 

"Just gonna pretend I didn't hear that," he finally said, his concentration seemingly unwavering.

But the simple idea of saying this when this same man was stitching you up at the moment only enchanted you for a short moment. He had a needle in his hand that he could very well stick anywhere but in the wound that needed to be closed. And although it was an immensely small needle, you were well aware that anything can become a deadly weapon if you have the will to use it. 

So you said nothing, letting that little irritation fade away as you let yourself be stitched up. The pain was bearable in the end, nothing too horrible. It was better than going home and cauterising the whole thing with your straightening iron.

Now that the pain was more bearable, your attention eventually drifted to something other than that feeling, and more to the rest. The feel of their fingers on your body brought a whole new sensory experience, causing a warm cloud to settle in your belly.

Matt straightened up, your thigh already missing the presence of his hand on it. He sat down beside you, his fingers brushing your arm without injury.

"Your lip's cut," he remarked.

"It's not the worst thing on the menu," you laughed nervously, immediately regretting your gesture as your smile stretched your lip and reopened it again.

He fumbled for the kit, taking a cotton ball and grabbing the bottle to soak it in.

"Here," he said, his hand coming to take your chin tenderly and turning it towards him.

He pressed the wet cotton to your wound, and you hissed as your nose wrinkled in pain.

"It might sting a bit when you drink," he murmured.

The proximity gripped your heart, Matt's face close enough to yours that you felt his breath hit your skin gently and evenly. You tried to calm your racing heart in your chest, swallowing as you let him finish disinfecting your lip.

You took the opportunity to watch him more closely, to see the way his stubble ran gracefully across his jaw, the way his brown eyes watching the empty space were full of softness, the way his lips, which you were used to seeing outside the mask, were full and pink.

He seemed incredibly gentle, and if you didn't spend some nights a week in his company fighting crime, you'd never have bet he was fighting like the devil himself: unleashed, full of rage, the taste of revenge and the desire for a better balance blinding him beyond measure.

"You'll take our bed," Matt said, Frank just finishing stitching up your thigh.

You immediately frowned, your lips parting.

"Since I'm on the couch I might just stay on it," you laughed nervously as Frank moved to the wound on your waist.

His hand grabbed your hip and pulled you to the edge of the sofa, looking up at you: 

"Sit straight and still," he says in a tone calm but firm enough to convince you that he wouldn't repeat that command twice.

You straighten up slightly, letting him come and stitch up the wound in your side.

"Of the three of us, you're clearly the one who needs comfort and rest the most, not us," Matt continued, placing the now useless cotton wool on the table.

"I can assure you that I've rarely been on a sofa as comfortable as this one," you added.

You'd invite yourself into their home unannounced, they'd take care of you, and on top of that they'd make you sleep in their bed while they slept elsewhere?

"Do we really have to drag you there?" asked Frank, tugging at the thread.

"And let me squirm and ruin all your previous efforts on my wounds?" you huffed as you looked into his eyes, a muscle near your eye twitching as Frank continued his work. "I'd ruin your sheets, that's really not necessary."

"Listen-" Matt started, but you stopped him.

"No," you assured him, turning to him, "and anyway I can already feel sleep stalking me."

Frank breathed in as he opened his lips to speak and contradict you again, but you stopped him.

"Really," you assured him, "I'll take the sofa."

Frank bit his cheek in irritation, obviously not so happy to know that someone in this town shared being so stubborn. He turned to Matt, who also didn't seem to be enjoying the situation any more than that.

"Alright, but there's no way I'm going to hear you complain as soon as you wake up, is that clear?" finished Frank as he tied the thread over the cut in your abdomen.

"Scout's honour," you sighed.

As Frank started your last cut, Matt got up and went to the kitchen to get a glass. He filled it with water, while you and Frank seemed to be engaged in a stare-down between two obstinate, stubborn people.

"Thanks Matty," you thanked sincerely, taking the two delicious items in your hand.

He seemed surprised by the nickname, a nervous chuckle forming a smile on his lips.

"I'll grab you some clothes," he replied as he left for their shared room and began the process of changing his costume.

You placed the tablet on your tongue, then brought the glass to your lips. As promised, it stung. A cloud of red diluted on the contact with your lips, and as you observed it you wondered how you would justify it to your boss.

You sighed, reminding yourself that you should email them first thing in the morning to let them know you were absent. All you had to do the next day was explain that you'd been attacked in the street for stealing your bag, but you'd managed to get away, and that in a state of shock you didn't feel like coming to work the next day. This would probably do.

Frank finished stitching you up fairly quickly, and when he cut the last thread he still looked at you with that annoyed look he never seemed to shake off.

"Thank you, Frankie" you thanked, using the nickname in a more playful tone than you had with Matt.

He let out a single sharp breath from his lungs before getting up and leaving in his turn for the bedroom, from which Matt emerged in much more... normal clothes.

It was the first time you'd seen him in civilian attire, in a simple hoodie and jogging bottoms. Your eyes went wide, your mouth half-open for a moment, and you had to blink several times to pull yourself together.

"Here," he said, placing the pile of clothes next to you on the sofa. "Do you think you can stand this time?" 

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and everything else didn't burn as much as if hell itself had invited itself under your skin, you tried to stand up. You wanted to avoid any sudden movements, but eventually, with a bit of effort, you managed to straighten up and start pushing on your legs to get up.

Your knees trembled slightly from the stress and everything else that had gone with it during the night, and just as you thought you'd be sprawled out on the floor in the next few seconds, tasting the parquet floor, Matt grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him.

"Hey, take it easy little fawn, we don't need you damaging your nose on top of everything else," he laughed as he steadied you, letting your legs wobble a little more before you felt comfortable enough to stand.

Your whole body hurt like hell. And no wonder: in addition to your various cuts from the evening, your body was dotted with clouds of bruises that would make all the blueberries jealous of their colour.

"Let me help you," he finally smiled gently as he picked up the T-shirt from the pile.

He helped you into the top, taking care not to let the fabric come into contact with your freshly stitched skin.

"I'll need to borrow one of your shirts tomorrow when I leave," you said with a small smile, "mine's had a bit of a problem."

Matt laughed softly as he poked his head into your top. " May it rest in pieces."

You laughed softly at his little joke, slipping the rest on and feeling his hands roam over your covered skin, the size of the t-shirt far too big for you and reaching the top of your thighs.

Matt lowered himself to his knees in front of you, and you looked down at him as he rolled up the sweatpants so he could slip them around your ankle, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you could find some support.

The vision was heady, taking hold of your heart like an intoxicating scent you want to chase down so you can bury your whole face in it and never leave. You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, to let them get lost in its meanders, to let your nails graze his skull before tugging lightly on it... 

But you pulled yourself together, the thought once again creating a warm cloud in your lower belly as he straightened up and pulled the fabric up your legs, his fingers brushing your skin as if you were a statue forbidden to be touched.

"You're gonna have to see that with Frank though," he said as he tied the two laces around your waist, "it's his shirt."

That's how the same smell you'd first smelled when you were in his arms came back to mind, but you remained stoic, preventing yourself from grabbing the collar of the shirt and bringing it up to your nose.

"Challenge of the year," you sighed, smiling though, "thank you. For all of this."

"That's normal, it would be a shame if our partner found herself unable to exercise," he reassured you.

The word sent a shiver up your spine and into your cheeks.

"Red?" called Frank from the bedroom.

"Coming," he answered over his shoulder before turning away from you.

You sat back down on the sofa, tiredness beginning to weigh heavily on your eyelids. You lay down, the multiple events of the evening knocking you out more easily than any sleeping pill. 

You had no trouble falling asleep, even with the neon lights on, even without a blanket, and even when the two of them came back into the room.

When you woke up, your back felt like it was sinking into a cloud. The surface you were lying on was soft, and when you turned on your side, your hand came to rest on a material that was not at all like the leather of the sofa: silk.

You propped yourself up gently on one elbow, observing the place you were in, and that's when you realised: they'd moved you into their bed while you were asleep.

"Bastards," you muttered, and bit your cheek to stop the little smile forming on your lips from breaking out.

A funny feeling sprang up in your heart, making it light and rosy. But that feeling quickly faded as you sat up straighter and your whole body ached. You felt like you'd just come out of a washing machine, all tossed and turned.

You stood up, trying to stretch but stopping immediately when the pain from your stitched-up cuts threatened to reopen. You didn't want to mess up their clothes, you'd probably never forgive yourself if that happened.

You came out of the bedroom and found Frank and Matt talking in the kitchen. Matt turned to you, sending you a smile.

"Good morning," he offered.

You were limping lightly, and bent slightly, walking slowly towards them through fatigue and pain.

"At last the groundhog graces us with her presence," Frank grumbled, turning to you.

"Am I rather not a sleeping beauty ?" you returned with a smile, "I wonder if sleeping beaty had a breakfast date when she woke up. I mean, look at me this is such a tempting offer," you said as your posture could easily have been a cross between an old lady and a pregnant woman, leaning on your hip, alternating between the curve of your back and the arch of it, making your whole body crack into a grimace of relief.

But surprisingly, they both smiled at your joke, and the awkward silence you might have expected or the abrupt change of subject to move on never came. But that didn't stop you from apologising on the spot.

"I'm sorry, I don't want my words to sound inappropriate, but I know that you two... well, you're..." together was the word you were looking for, but your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose. 

Try again, you thought. You'll end up rowing champion if you keep paddling like that. But Matt immediately reassured you.

"There's nothing to worry about, and besides, on my side you have to be forgiving when you don't have the 'pause' button."

Right, you thought, even though the heat was rising to your cheeks and neck enough for your cool hand to come and rest on it, massaging it nervously.

"I find you singularly witty, Red," Frank said, arms folded across his chest.

Of course, there was nothing new under the sun about Frank. His sharp tone brought you back to solid ground in no time.

"How are the wounds?" he asked as he turned to you, his eyes lingering for a moment on the fact that you were wearing his shirt.

"Very well," you assured him as you lifted the sides of your shirt to show the one on your side and the one on your arm, turning back to him, "I think the blue really brings out my eyes, don't you?"

He smirked, and you couldn't quite work out whether it was genuine annoyance or amusement. It all seemed a bit too perfect, and that's when it hit you.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, looking for where they'd put your trousers where your phone was.

"What is it?" asked Matt.

"My boss," you said, searching the hallway and finding your trousers there, "I didn't tell him-"

"We called him this morning," pointed out Frank.

You stopped in your tracks, turning back to them.

"You what ?" you questioned.

"We called him," Matt informed, "we told him that we were close to you and that after you were mugged last night in the street you decided to stay home for the day out of shock."

"You-"

"It's all sorted, you don't need to worry," Frank grunted, taking his drink in hand, surely in search for you to shut up and let him enjoy his morning cup of coffee.

You stood there like a houseplant in the middle of the living room, and Matt invited you to take a seat for breakfast. Bemused, you took a seat and the three of you ate and chatted for a while.

Matt mentioned taking you to see a guy he knew so that he could cover you up with something other than such a simplistic and obviously flimsy outfit that could put you in danger again.

And after breakfast, you left at the same time as Matt, who was leaving for work. You said your final goodbyes and went your separate ways.

Little did you know the proximity of last night would change many things.

⟢ next part : here

[stealingyourbones]

I love the Ghost King Danny gets summoned into the DC Universe by a bunch of wackos through a summoning ritual trope. But, but, but consider. Batfam/Justice League gets BANISHED to the GZ by a bunch of wackos. Like, Danny is just holding court at his palace/castle/lair and a bunch of supers fall from the sky. You could even add a Danny x Batfam member to it.

:0 oH YEAH this is some Good Shit.

I like the JL being used in this prompt more than the Batfam parly because I think that we haven't seen much JL in the GZ, also because I think Plastic Man meeting Danny this way would be positively hilarious.

just "aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!" SPLAT!

Danny jolts upright from partly dozing off on his throne by a massive puddle of red, white, and yellow.

"Wha-"

Suddenly the puddle wriggles. Danny's immediate throughts are "oh fuck that fuck that absolutely not. Not today I don't need sentient gloop coming to kill me."

The puddles slides up itself and reshapes like puddy until it forms into a very strange man wearing a red and yellow spandex uniform with white rimmed goggles and the stupidest diamond shaped belt he's ever seen.

The puddle man checks his limbs in a very over the top fashion, Danny swears that his arms and legs extend and grow larger as the puddle man looks at each limb.

Danny clears his throat and the puddle guy's physical form spikes up as if comically startled and slowly turns around.

"What the hell are you?" Shit. That isn't what Danny meant to say but in all honesty, that's all he could think of.

The Puddle man opened his mouth to speak but paused as a shadow appeared overtop of him.

The Red clad fellow slowly looked up, his goggles widening in surprise, as the shadow became larger and darker as a man in an all black outfit with a cape and pointy ears on the top of his head fell from the sky in the exact same place as the puddle man.

------

Idk that's all I got. This was my first shot at like attempting to write dialogue in a solid 5 years so it is extremely janky. I will do my best to improve tho ^-^

[diana-thyme]

Greek Gods 101: Zeus

Zeus is a god of the sky, weather, law and order, destiny, fate, and kingship. Excluding the universal offerings, some common offerings include:

Dandelion Tea

Hard Alcohol

Coffees or Black Teas

Depictions or Imagery of Eagles

Depictions or Imagery of Bulls

Storm Water

Depictions or Imagery of Lightning

Depictions or Imagery of Kingship (Crowns, Castles, Etc.)

Justice Scales (Or Other Depictions/Imagery of Scales)

Depictions of Space and/or the Stars

Oak Bark or Leaves

For devotional acts, some activities that can be done for him include:

Practicing Xenia

Listening to Storm/Rain Sounds

Learning Local and Federal Laws

Learning About Space (Especially Constellations)

Cloud-Watching

Learning About the Justice System

He is celebrated in multiple Athenian holidays:

Noumenia

Agathos Daimon

Theogamia

Pandia

Olympeia

Skira

Dipolieia/Bouphonia

Athenian New Year

Synoikia

Zeus Epoptes

Demokratia

Apatouria

Pompaia

Plerosia

Anthesteria, maybe

Genesios, maybe

[yuesgirlfriend]

of birds and honey

(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU

part 1/part 2/part 3

warnings: canon typical violence, masturbation (afab)

A week passes without much happening.

Excitement over new knights has died down, and the people go back to their regular routine. Wool is spun, gardens are weeded, new straw with sweet smelling sprigs of rosemary is spread over the floor. Peasants in distant fields begin planting and tilling as spring slowly settles into the dreary air. 

 She feigns reading when her father discusses defenses with the Knight Commander Price, hears gossip of French ships breaching southern shores by the kitchens, and overhears one of the knights (Garrick, she heard his name was) express worry about leaked battle plans and French spies. 

She does not see the man called Ghost again, until one afternoon she is practicing embroidery while balanced on a windowsill overlooking the courtyard. 

Shouts sound out from down below- when she glances down, a small crowd has gathered around two figures circling eachother.  

She rushes to the scene when sounds of steel striking steel begin to ring out. Down the stairs, past the hall, through the kitchens, and there he is- Ghost- swinging a blade towards another knight.

 A duel, a duel! Sir Graves and the Ghost!

Says one of the stable boys as the other man- Graves- dodges another strike. She pushes her way to the front of the crowd, needing to see every line of Ghost’s armored body as he grunts and dodges. He moves like he is dancing, brutal and calculated. 

Duels are vicious, bloody ordeals- very few have ever happened under her fathers watch, the clergy under his thumb finding the merciless bloodshed godless. But now her father watches from his balcony as Ghost parries Graves thrust and, with one fluid motion, takes his head. 

Something wet and warm splatters across her face. She doesn’t flinch. 

While Ghost holds the mans head by the helmet and roars warnings of what happens to traitors to the rest of the watching, silent knights and crowd of stunned servants, she stares at the red hot blood splattered across her shoes and silken surcoat and tries to put a name to the feeling coiling in her stomach. 

The sky is streaked with red as the run sets into the horizon, as if God saw the blood in the courtyard and took inspiration. Every sound and color seems muted, unable to break through the buzzing in her ears. She spends the rest of the evening picking flecks of blood off her face, feigning a headache and skipping dinner. 

Her hands don’t stop shaking, and she’s filled with the need to run, to move. Once the sun sets, she slinks out of her room. Favoring the shadows and moving only when sentries are turned away, she makes her way to the highest peak of outer wall. The stars peek over the horizon, the moon hanging above them like a pearl. 

A shiver runs through her when her eyes land on the hulking form standing over the parapet. She moves on soundless, slippered feet towards him. 

“Lady.” He says as if in greeting. How he heard her, she’ll never know. 

“It must be true, what the cook says.” She steps up beside him, overlooking the dark his surrounding the castle, the plains muddled together under the blanket of night. 

“And what is that?” His voice is gruff, his hood up over his masked face. 

“That you have got eyes in the back of your head.” 

That’s the abridged version of what the cook had said; she had overheard the old man telling the maids of rumors he had heard- that the Ghost was the spawn of the devil, a witches son, a biblically deformed creature hiding 9 eyes and countless heads beneath the mask.

Something vindictive and admittedly childish had rose up in her and led to her placing several handfuls of nettles in the cooks bed. 

She refused to feel guilty, even when she spotted the irritated welts on the mans skin the next day- was it not the prophet Amos who said to let justice roll on like a river, and righteousness like a never-failing stream? 

He lets out a huff. Something tells her this is as close to a laugh as he will give her. For a long moment, there is only silence broken by the occasional scurry of a rat, as they stand watching the night where it’s unfolded before them. 

“There’s a storm on it’s way, lady.” His gloved fingers tighten where they grip the stone. She wishes he would turn, so she could see his eyes. “It’d be wise if your father sent you somewhere far.”  

“I’m stronger than I seem- have faith, I can weather any storm, sir. And the stronghold is well defended.” 

“‘S not the stronghold I worry about. It’s the people.” Finally, he turns to face her- in the moonlight, his eyes look like moons themselves, haloed by a dark night of greasepaint. 

“Be careful who you trust, lady.” In one fluid motion, he takes off his cloak and wraps it around her shoulders before bodily turning her away. “Get back inside. You’re father would have my head if I let ya freeze.” 

She follows his orders without question. Maybe he really is a witches son,  she thinks as she slinks back into her quarters. 

The fire is nothing more than a collection of dim coals, now. Wrapping the Ghost’s cloak tighter around herself, she tosses another log onto the fire and crawls into her bed. 

The feeling from earlier that day is back- the tensing, the coiling in her stomach, the heat in her abdomen as if someone is churning her chest over hot coals. Usually venturing out at night cures her of this incessent, shaky need to move, but this time, it had only exacerbated it. 

Squirming around, she buries her nose in his cloak. Ghost’s cloak. It smells of lye soap, wood ash, cold night air.  

Some kind of hot and heavy pressure hangs in her stomach- her thighs rub together, twisted around her sheet, and that seems to help for a moment, but then it gets worse. 

Without thinking, she sends a trembling hand down between her legs- to her womanhood, as her old governess would have said- and adds more pressure. And, oh-  that is new.

She hesitantly moves this wetness around, up and down, until her back arches off the mattress, until she masters this new feeling and she has to bury her moans in the rough frabric of Ghost’s cloak.

[mother-above]

The Golden Warrior | Chapter 1

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 1/?

Warnings: 18+, violence, and swearing

*masterlist*

A/N: Hello! This is my first ever ACOTAR fic and I hope I do Azriel and the other characters justice! This fic will follow the majority of the plotline from the 2nd and 3rd books but please note that I took some creative liberties in some parts and shifted from the plotline in the 5th book.

The towering mountains looked especially magnificent against the blue and pink-hued sky. Crisp morning air whipped around you as you whirled past the horizon, your white and gold-tipped wings beating hard and straightening into a glide. This was always the best part of your day, flying just before the sun rose.

You craved the sun’s soft warmth and glow against your skin. Keeping your eyes on the brightening horizon, you focused on the breeze that swept the scent of the wisteria, lilac, and honeysuckle that adorned the Palace. The beautiful home made from sunstone sprawled below you, its bridges, and towers glowing as it waits to be sun-kissed. You couldn’t believe you managed to protect the Palace for 49 years, a pang of guilt flowed through as your fae eyes focused on a rebuilding village miles away.

You were hoping to catch the sunrise today but then two sharp whistles came from somewhere within the castle. With a groan and a roll of your eye, you dove down with blinding speed. With a swoop, you land gracefully on Thesan’s office balcony. You slammed his door open and glared at the High Lord who perched on his desk.

“Did you just fucking whistle to get my attention? Like one of your birds? A simple shout of my name would have sufficed!” you snapped.

Thesan smirked, “Well it worked, didn’t it?”

You grabbed a decorative trinket from a nearby shelf and hurled it at him, “What are you doing up so early? I thought you and Callon would still be rolling in bed at this hour.”

He crumpled a piece of paper and threw it straight onto your forehead. "I may be your cousin but I'm still the High Lord. You can't say things like that!"

With a mischievous smirk, you sat on the couch and clasped your hands pleadingly. With the grace of a seasoned actor, you softened your features and gave him the most innocent look you could muster. "Forgive me, High Lord of Dawn, I was just wondering why you summoned me. You know I don’t like to be disturbed during sunrise."

Thesan wanted to scold you for being so dramatic, but he couldn't, not when you were his little cousin whom he loved fiercely. "Rhysand and his courtiers are coming for a visit in two days.” He held up a hand and gave you a pointed look. “Before you ask, I don't know how long they'll stay here."

All traces of your playfulness disappeared; the face of a hardened warrior took over your features. You jumped up and stalked over to Thesan, your power, and energy rolling off your body.

“Those evil little Night Court brutes are coming to the Palace. Why?”

Thesan looked at you coolly, deciding he was going to approach this cautiously when he noticed the absence of the usual jewels around your neck. “Rhysand wants to come by and have diplomatic meetings and spend some leisure time here in Dawn Court. I have no doubt he’s here for something else, but we’ll find out eventually, and please, when the guests are here, wear your siphons and glamour them if you want. I can’t have them catching a whiff of what you are.”

You grumbled as you waved a hand over your neck to magically place the necklace on yourself. The necklace had three sapphires strung together by a chain of diamonds, it was gifted to you by Thesan when you reached maturity. The largest jewel sat in the middle flanked by two slightly smaller counterparts. It was beautiful and fit for Dawn Court’s royal family, but it also had a purpose. It helped you contain and conceal some of your magic, you could even see your power thrumming underneath it if you looked close enough.

With your overwhelming magic mostly contained, Thesan lets out a breath and finally felt comfortable enough to bark out orders to you. He wanted you to check on all the wards, secure the vaults that held ancient artifacts, and make sure all the guards and servants were briefed about the Night Court. Even though your guests weren’t due for a couple of days, Thesan reminded you to keep your wings hidden just in case they popped by early. Only the Peregryn’s and a select few people in your court knew that you were half High Fae and half Peregryn. And even fewer people knew the extent of your power. Thesan had them partake in an unbreakable vow to never reveal your true nature until the day you decide to reveal yourself.

By the end of the day, everyone in the Palace was exhausted from their efforts to prepare themselves for the upcoming visitors. Callon, who was Thesan’s lover and the Captain of the Peregryn legion was pissed that your cousin had invited them to Dawn. He was running himself ragged and snapping at you the entire day to make sure the troops were ready and planned all the security around the Palace and surrounding villages. Callon was annoying you so much that you had to remind him that he was outranked by you and to watch his tone. He apologized and you just scoffed, he was, unfortunately, a man in love, and it made him a nervous mess. You expected better from the captain of the Peregryn legions.

The sun had set and you, Thesan, and Callon had settled down by the fireplace and shared multiple bottles of wine. They were laughing at a joke Callon made when you heard a faint whisper in the corner of the room. You look and see nothing; you were about to ignore it when another whisper was heard. You looked at the pair, but they were in deep conversation, and no one seemed to have heard it, you looked back again and saw these dark wisps moving from the corner and going past the half-open door. You excused yourself and quickly slipped past the doors keeping the black wisps in your sight. They were no longer whispering but moving faster through the halls, you keep your footsteps light hoping you wouldn’t startle whatever this was. You stealthily followed it around the castle, and it seemed to be looking for something, it wasn’t until it reached the doors of the vault was when you did something. Not exactly sure what to do, you quickly leaned down and wafted the dark wisps with your hand. It spasmed and you swear it was almost startled to see you, it lingered for a few more seconds before disappearing into thin air.

“Mother above, what in the hell was that?” you said out loud.

With the Night Court arriving in a few days, there was no way this wasn’t their doing. Bursting into a run, you screamed Thesan’s name as you bounded up the stairs hoping it gave Thesan and Callon enough time to separate themselves from whatever they were doing in the few minutes they were left alone. You opened the door and Thesan was already standing, his eyes big at the sound of your panicked voice.

“What?” his eyes looked for any bodily injuries. “What is it?”

“I saw these black wisps moving around the Palace. They were trying to go into the vault before I stopped them,” you said.

Thesan frowned and then his jaw clenched, something he did when was he aggravated. “That must be the Shadowsinger, it’s incredibly annoying that he got through the wards. We'll have to strengthen them now. I’ll take the first half of the Palace and you reinforce the wards in the back.”

You nodded and hurriedly made your way to the south side of the Palace. Shadowsingers were extremely rare, and courts coveted them because they were the best spymasters. People could train for years but nothing would ever beat a shadowsinger. Until now, you honestly thought they were this tall tale they’d tell kids to scare them into behaving. You began to feel uneasy, was the shadowsinger in the Palace or was it just his shadows that he snuck in? Either way, you hated that this person was able to infiltrate your court.

***

The day of their visit finally arrived, and you peered in the mirror making sure you looked perfect, you wanted to make a good impression, this was the first time they’d meet you. Your lavender silk dress hung over your body perfectly, you gave a little spin in front of a mirror and examined the low back. Just in case anything turned hostile, your wings will have no obstructions if you ever need it. You waved a hand over your sapphires and glamoured them to be invisible, they were glowing brighter these days and it was easier to hide them than explain why your sapphires are more than jewels. Reaching for a mauve-colored bottle, you reapplied the color onto your lips and considered dusting blush on your cheeks, but you decided against it.

You lifted your hand and tenderly brushed the scars on the right side of your face. There were two parallel jagged lines, one nicked the bottom of your eyebrow and dragged up to your hairline. The other ran across the top of your cheekbone. You weren’t thrilled that it was so prominent, but you never thought to hide it. It was usually the first thing people noticed when they looked at you, the day Thesan was freed from Under the Mountain, he tried to get rid of it but even the High Lord of Healing couldn’t do anything about it. You could glamour it to make it disappear, but you wanted it there. It was a reminder of what had happened when Amarantha ruled Prythian, of what you endured and did for the people of Dawn Court.

Smoothing down your dress one more time, you left your bedroom suite and walked to the entrance to join Thesan and Callon. You were admiring the wisteria that hung along the arches above when the air shifted. Darkness filled the air for a split second then the High Lord of Night and two other courtiers appeared in front of you. The High Lord’s power hits your senses before you could even get a good look at their faces, your eyes are drawn to the violet-eyed male standing in the middle. Your eyes shift to the female on his right and then swept to the even taller winged male on his left. The High Lord was attractive, his feline smile already told you what kind of man he would be. What caught your attention was the winged male, he was the most attractive person you had ever set eyes on. His hazel eyes flickered to meet yours and it took everything in you not to gasp, you didn’t expect his gaze to be so scrutinizing. Rhysand gives a delicate nod to Thesan and his courtiers bow to your High Lord. Thesan returns the nod as you and Callon bow respectfully to the Lord of Night.

Glowing gold and moving with grace, your cousin opened his arms and swept it to gesture to the Palace. “Welcome, Rhysand. Allow me to introduce you to my cousin who happens to be my 2nd in Command.”

A friendly smile graced your lips as you allowed your golden glow to shine through, it was more subdued than Thesan, but you preferred it that way. “Welcome to Dawn Court, High Lord Rhysand. I look forward to getting to know you and your courtiers.”

Rhysand took your hand and pressed a kiss on top, a customary gesture that was a sign of respect to females in your court. The smile he gave you had you fighting a blush that threatened to bleed onto your cheeks. “Please, call me Rhys.”

Thesan introduces Callon and like the tough Captain he was, his greeting was reserved as he sized up the males and female. Rhysand introduced Feyre Cursebreaker and you threw all propriety out the window when you grabbed her hands and thanked her for bringing your cousin back.

Rhysand then gestured to the tall muscular man next to him, “This is Azriel, my spymaster.”

It was then when you noticed the small wisps of shadows that surrounded the tall Illyrian, you did your best not to gawk at them. He was dressed in all-black formal wear, his clothes just as refined as Rhysand and Feyre. The only difference was he was the one strapped with a weapon, from the looks of it something special and much older than you. That handsome man was the shadowsinger, probably the same one that was spying on you a few days before. You’re not sure if he or his shadows know it was you that disrupted its spying, but he showed no signs of recognition as he stepped forward to kiss your hand. You noticed the significant scarring on the tops of his hands and fingers, averting your gaze, you focused on the way his lips pressed onto your skin.

“Lady Y/n,” he said, his voice low and heavenly.

While he wasn’t as outspoken or flirtatious as his High Lord, his hazel eyes held yours in curiosity. It was only broken when Thesan clapped his hands and gestured for everyone to enter the Palace and have lunch before the diplomatic talks started. You fell into step with Feyre who stared up at the wonder of the Palace. Her eyes traveled from the hanging flowers to the bridges and towers of the estate. She tells you that it was beautiful which filled your heart with pride. This was your home, a place that you bled and fought for.

Thesan had used magic to make the dining table smaller, he preferred his meals with guests to be more intimate. It also made it easier to read them if they were in proximity. Thesan and you sat at the ends, a reminder to Rhysand that he was still in your court, and if this bothered him, he said nothing. Callon and Feyre sat by your cousin which left you flanked by Rhysand and Azriel. The Palace conjured chairs suitable for wings for Callon and Azriel, the spymaster nodded in appreciation. With a wave of Thesan’s hand, a feast appears on the table and the smell of roast beef and stir-fried vegetables filled the air. Everyone eagerly dug into the food and compliments from Rhysand had your cousin smiling in thanks.

Casual conversation flowed and it surprised you, this was not what you thought Rhysand and his courtiers were going to act like. You were expecting arrogant bastards, and you bluntly told that to Rhysand’s face. Thesan almost choked on his wine and Callon’s face blanched. Rhysand’s violet eyes widened in surprise, no one had ever spoken to the High Lord of Night like that. Azriel and Feyre looked at you in shock, they couldn’t tell if you meant to be rude or if you were genuinely curious. You innocently looked at Rhysand waiting for a response, no one at the table breathed until a deep and genuine laughter came from Death Incarnate himself. A beat later, the sound of chuckles comes from Azriel.

“In the spirit of keeping up our alliance, I thought it’d be beneficial if we acted more like ourselves instead of the ‘arrogant bastards’ we could be,” said Rhysand, an amused smile on his face.

Content with his answer, you smiled at him and continued to eat completely oblivious to the situation.

Thesan took a deep breath and faced Rhysand. “While my cousin is a strong and competent second-in-command, she has the horrible habit of saying the first thing that comes into her mind. I profusely apologize for her comments, she has much to learn as a courtier. My cousin hasn’t had a lot of experience in court.”

You stopped chewing when you realized how rude your comment sounded. You apologized and Rhysand brushed it off, he told you that it was a smart observation to make. As mortified as Thesan was and embarrassed you were, that conversation ended up making the atmosphere more casual and friendly. You discover that Rhysand is an overconfident flirt, but his advances aren’t disgusting, you find yourself enjoying the banter. It also helped that the true object of his affection was the woman next to him. You had an inkling of his feelings after observing how he looked at her. Feyre was curious and asked many questions, and Thesan answered them patiently. It was Azriel whom you kept stealing glances at, he looked like the quiet type, but his silence was unnerving. His shadows were calm, but you could swear they twitched every time you looked at them.

You were about to ask Azriel about Illyrians, you had never met an Illyrian and you were so curious to ask about his species of faerie when Feyre cleared her throat.

“Were you there Under the Mountain?” asked Feyre. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Rhysand and Azriel leaned in, they’ve been to Dawn Court a couple of times over the past centuries, but they have never seen or heard of you. They were surprised when Thesan introduced you as his second in command, they were usually well updated knowing who held power in the other courts.

“My cousin,” you said as you shot a pointed look at him. “Is like an overprotective mother hen. He didn’t let me make a lot of public appearances in court until I was about 50 years old and whenever we had visitors, he made sure I was off somewhere doing some training or working with the other healers.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed as she looked at Thesan.

“While suffocating at the time, it was what saved me from being trapped Under the Mountain. I had broken my arm during training the day Amarantha invited the High Lords to that party. I didn’t feel like being a courtier, so I didn’t heal myself and used that as an excuse to stay behind. Only a few faeries knew of my existence, so Amarantha and her people never noticed my absence. The day she drugged the High Lords and used the spell, Thesan used the last of his power to put wards up to protect the Palace and send me a note with instructions,” you said as your eyes clouded thinking of the past 5 decades. “I went crazy the first year, the pressure of protecting the estate and the villages around it was too much. Everyone I knew and trusted was Under the Mountain, I was alone for a while. I raged when I realized I couldn’t leave the court for fear something might happen to it while I was gone trying to get my family back.”

You weren’t mad that he was protective when you were young. Yes, it was isolating but you understood why Thesan did what he did. If they knew the true extent of your power, you’d probably have the biggest target on your back. You sipped your wine and looked at your cousin as his remorseful brown eyes stared back at you. The day Thesan winnowed back to the Palace, you held each other and wept. He promised to never leave you alone again.

Azriel studied your side profile as you talked, he took in every curve of your nose, cheekbones, and lips. You were the female that caught his shadows, they practically ran to him in distress because they’d never been detected while spying before. All his shadows told him was it was a female who discovered them, they failed to mention it was Thesan’s 2nd. His eyes traced the jagged scars that did nothing to hinder your elegance. Your beauty rivaled Morrigan, he even dared to think that you may be more alluring than her. He watched you as you told your story, he could see your radiance dim as if the mere thought of the last 49 years had drained you. He could see the pain in your eyes, it was the same thing he felt when Rhys locked them in Velaris. At least Azriel had his family with him, from the looks of it, those closest to you were trapped Under the Mountain.  

“I understand how you feel,” said Azriel.

All heads turned to him; it was the second time he had spoken out loud since arriving in Dawn Court. Amused, Rhys watched his brother lean closer to you as if he was captivated.

“Something similar happened to me, I can’t imagine not having your family there to help you.” He looked at the permanent marks on your skin. “Your scar—was that from one of Amarantha’s creatures?”

A low warning growl comes from Callon as he glared at the Illyrian, how dare he mention your scar. Rhysand almost spit out his food, Azriel was the politest and most well-mannered person in his inner circle. Azriel hated talking about his scars, yet he blatantly asked you about yours, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Rhys looked at Thesan to see if he was mad, but your cousin was just as curious as how you would respond.

Your fingers went up to trace the jagged lines, and the memory of torn flesh resurfaced. “This happened about 20 years ago, a Bogge was slaughtering faeries in a village. I’m no High Lord but I was the next best thing for my people. I went and hunted for it or-- at least tried to drive it away but I barely made it out alive, if I wasn’t a gifted healer myself, the scarring would be worse.”

“How did you escape it?” asked Feyre, her mouth opened in shock after hearing that you encountered the wretched monster by yourself.

This was when you had to lie and tell half-truths to protect your other identity. You looked at Thesan and he gave a discreet nod.

“The Golden Warrior came just in time to drag me up into the air. Bogge can’t fly so it wasn’t able to reach me. With teamwork and a miracle from the Cauldron, we were able to kill it,” you replied.

Azriel looked at Rhysand, but his brother was already on it. “We’ve heard about your warrior-- the Golden Warrior,” said Rhysand. “We heard this faerie had deadly power, the ability to bring down armies onto its knees.”

All playfulness was gone from Rhysand’s handsome face, his demeanor was all business. Callon bristled at the change in mood, but the High Lord of Dawn just frowned.

Thesan tutted in annoyance. “You could have waited until tonight’s drinks to bring up politics, Rhysand.” He waved his hand, and the table cleared, and tea and pastries filled the space. “Please continue.”

“We were just curious about the Golden Warrior; his power is something that could be useful in the future.”

Thesan squinted at Rhysand. “You know something I don’t know… what is it? You wouldn’t be visiting me if something big had happened. Is Amara…” he trailed off; he didn’t like saying her name. Especially after he watched her kill one of his Peregryn courtiers and plucked the white feathers of their wings. The next day, she wore a feathered dress to dinner just to watch Thesan and his court try to hide their fury.

“The evil queen is dead and will stay dead,” reassured Rhysand. “I just wanted to visit my allies and make sure everything between our courts is okay. If something or somebody like Amarantha pops up again, I want to know if we can depend on Dawn Court to ally your foot soldiers and Peregryn legions.”

Thesan frowned again and looked at Callon who gave him a small nod. You bit down on your tongue before you could say something that would contradict Thesan in front of the visitors. Your cousin does not like conflict, he tried to avoid it at all costs. He looks at each of his guests who look at him expectedly, his gaze reached yours and you glowed a little brighter as if to beg him to say the right thing.

“My court knows how I feel about war but… historically, you know I’ve always been loyal to the solar courts,” said Thesan.

You exhaled in relief and Rhysand’s relaxed demeanor returned. It wasn’t a clear “yes”, but it was much better than outright rejection. After the table was cleared, you offered a tour of the Palace and its grounds. Feyre gladly accepted and Thesan let you take the lead as you walked through the Palace. Staff, visiting nobles, and citizens both winged and non-winged, waved at your group and you waved back. The Night Court would nod and keep quiet, curious to see how your court was run. They decided that while Dawn Court was a little bit more formal, they saw that they had good relations with their people, and parts of the Palace were open for the public to enjoy, such as the library and gardens.

Rhysand was itching to talk about politics so after leading them to Thesan’s office, they walked in before Feyre insisted you finish the tour while the males talked about some stupid hunt, they had attended in Autumn Court a century ago. The Lord of Night gave her a look of longing before everyone parted ways, it was subtle, but you noticed it. Once the doors were shut and you walked a good distance from the door, you looked at Feyre with a sly grin.

“Is there something going on with Rhysand?” you asked casually.

She looked at you in shock, “No! What makes you say that?”

You made your way to show her the bedroom suites her court would be staying at.

“I can feel the attraction, you’re both constantly looking at each other.”

Feyre’s cheeks turned red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s the most insufferable person I know, I’m not sure how you can handle all that flirting. Besides, I should be the one asking about your obvious interest in Azriel.”

It was your turn to look stunned as Feyre smirked. “I’ve never met a shadowsinger before, it’s hard not to stare at the shadows moving around him. It’s-- unnerving.” You weren’t lying, it was one of the most peculiar things you’ve seen in your life. It didn’t help that he was the most beautiful male you’d ever seen, but his shadow’s movements and his piercing gaze were hard to ignore. You were still mad he got through the wards, you were hoping to talk to catch him off guard one day and ask him about his spying.

You find yourself getting along with the Cursebreaker even though you knew there were ulterior motives for her visit to Dawn Court. The rest of the day was spent roaming around the castle due to Feyre’s “curiosity”, it was tiring but it was better that you were present instead of Feyre going off by herself. It was becoming obvious that they were letting Feyre look for something and used their meeting with Thesan as a distraction.

***

After dinner, you found yourself feeling extremely restless once everyone retired to their rooms. Wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, you walked out of your chambers for a stroll around the Palace. You were making your way to one of the courtyards when you heard a whisper to your right. Looking at the spot, you see this wisp of a shadow and you huffed in annoyance.

“Show yourself,” you commanded, eyes focusing on a spot in the shadows. You couldn’t see anything, but you swear there was a figure somewhere in all that darkness.

Azriel froze, no one ever saw him when he was in the shadows, he was supposed to be undetectable. The High Lord of Night himself couldn’t see Azriel unless the shadowsinger made himself known but somehow, you saw him. Quickly removing the surprised look on his face, Azriel stepped out of his shadows and was met with your calculating gaze. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked under the moonlight.

“Why were you following me?” Your voice was cold, and all traces of the gracious and friendly host were gone.

As smoothly as he could, Azriel said, “I wasn’t following you, I couldn’t sleep so I decided to go for a walk.” Azriel wanted to cringe, he was capable of infiltrating courts, but he was stumbling.

Detecting the blatant lie, your eyebrow quirked up unimpressed by the spymaster’s skills. You sized him up and then jerked your head towards some cushioned seating in the courtyard. “Come and have tea with me, I need to talk to you,” you said already walking away from him.

His footsteps followed you and it was only until he adjusted his wings and settled down on the cushioned seat that you conjured tea and cookies from the kitchen. You prepared your drink in silence, the both of you eyeing each other in anticipation of who would break the silence. He seemed content to sit there, so you sipped some tea before clearing your throat.

“What is the night court doing here, Azriel? Between you and me, I don’t think the three of you came here to talk about alliances and politics.”

His hazel eyes met yours, he didn’t think you’d be so blunt. “What makes you think that?”

“Your shadows,” you said watching the wisps dance behind him. “I caught them looking around the palace, what were you doing?”

He inhaled slowly, keeping his handsome face neutral. “I was just doing reconnaissance. Making sure no surprises were waiting for us in Dawn Court.”

A muscle in your jaw ticked, “My cousin may be stubborn at times, but we have always been loyal to the solar courts. After 50 years of chaos, how would we even have the time or energy to launch an assault on the Night Court? I don’t know how it is back at Night but we’re still rebuilding most of our cities.”

Azriel’s shadows swarmed around him as he guiltily thought about Velaris. How protected his city was from Amarantha’s wrath. “I was just doing my job. I apologize on behalf of Rhysand; we didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I think you were looking for something the other night,” you continued. “You know…you guys can just talk to us, right?”

The shadowsinger shifted in his seat, squirming under your attentive gaze. “We think Dawn Court is hiding something powerful,” he admitted before realizing what he said.

Azriel wanted to slam his head on the table, he couldn’t believe he just said that. He cursed himself for revealing any information, Rhysand had lectured Feyre on how to deflect questions, who knew the spymaster was the one to need a refresher? He looked at you with this renewed sense of realization, there was something different about you. Were you a siren? A witch? He was the best spymaster in all of Prythian and here he was spouting whatever came into his head. Even if this was his first time meeting you, Azriel felt as if he could trust Dawn Court’s second-in-command.

Fuck. They know we’re hiding something, you thought. Stirring more honey into your tea, you forced yourself to be nonchalant.

“That’s quite an accusation, shadowsinger,” you said coolly. “Something that you shouldn’t repeat in front of Thesan if you want a solid answer for our allyship.”

 This must have been the strangest situation you’ve been in in a while. You and Azriel stared at each other, gazes burning, waiting to see who would reveal their secrets. The visible scars on his hands and wings told you that he has been a warrior his entire life. He was probably the most dangerous faerie you’ve ever met. This male had infiltrated the Palace and spied on you, that act alone should have pissed you off and made you hostile towards the male, but it didn’t. You were only intrigued by the handsome faerie in front of you.

Azriel smirked, “So, you’re not denying that Dawn Court is hiding something?” His voice came out in a taunting purr.

You think about the glamoured sapphires around your neck and the wings that hide beneath your skin, of that dark power that you have. This was why Thesan spent decades hiding you, so other courts and faeries weren’t going to be sneaking around and finding ways to utilize your gifts.

With a bored huff, you lean on the palm of your hand. “We have nothing to hide, Azriel. I think everyone’s just a little on edge after what happened Under the Mountain, scared that someone like Amarantha is going to wreak havoc on our frail country. We’re all feeling vulnerable which is why I think we should call it a night. Politics should be discussed with everyone present in a meeting room, not over tea and cookies.”

The shadowsinger doesn’t respond for fear he would say something stupid again. You had found a way to graciously end what could have been an ally-ending conversation and he was thankful. Who knows what he could have said, he might have even revealed the existence of Velaris or irritated Dawn Court’s 2nd to the point of no return. He stood up and gave you a courteous bow, but not without taking one last look at the strangely magnetic fae with the sharp eyes.

This is going to be an interesting few days you thought as Azriel walked away.

As he sauntered toward the direction of the guest suites, he could swear he could feel your gaze sear through his back. He wished he knew if it was curiosity or if you were imagining driving a knife through his back.

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

bdubs is a piece of a fallen star.

some million years ago, a fallen star fell to the dirt. Dirty, misshapen, and not alive, yet it shone.

this piece of the stars was worshipped by those who found it. it was prayed to, it was cleaned, polished, loved. Their soft and fur-like leaves and their moss-made hands took care of him.

And just like anything loved and cared for, it grew a mind. A kind one to start, these creatures that worshipped him- he had the responsibility to protect them now. He was still just a piece but these people are His now.

Not a year after, everyone that worshipped him was slaughtered. The wood that made their bodies were stronger than any oak these people knew about and the killers were in the middle of their own war after all.

They theorized that the glowing piece of rock was what made them so tough, so perfect for their shields. They left as quick as they arrived, leaving the piece of fallen star alone.

Still, unmoving, shining, the piece of the night sky wept for his slain worshippers.

He had to do something, he was their protector! These killers shouldn't be able to go scot free! They took what was His and he's going to get them back!

For decades and centuries, the living and vengeful piece of starfall grew dark. Figuratively and literally. It planned and schemed and it used every ounce of its power to create a moving, alive, and shining body.

Until one day he did, and Bdubs was born.

Nothing more than glowing stone, the star piece began to walk. And he found- ruins. Castles and towers and monoliths broken to pieces from a war he has never heard of.

He searched through the streets for anything and found one of the least ruined ruin, an artist's workshop.

He entered and saw remnants of art. Paintings still bright and drawings ripped from whatever war took place.

He stepped through the ruin and a wet squelch startled him. Under his foot was paint, still wet and fresh. Yet there was no one around, did whoever live here create paint that would be everlasting?

Slowly, he crouched and swabbed the paint with his thick fingers and looked around. Paintings of people he never knew displayed, with faces he's not familiar with.

Well, if he's going to take revenge, he should at least be disguised as them right?

An ambush is much more effective when the target doesn't know you're coming.

So, Bdubs sat, his paint-covered fingers dipping into the everlasting paint, and started to paint on his undecorated stone body.

and for the second time, he lived.

he never found the ones who slaughtered his people. in the long, long time it took to form his body, they were wiped out by their own war. a cosmic justice, of sorts, but unsatisfying for this fragment of the stars. if he had crafted his body for revenge, what does he do now that he has no target?

he started by honouring his old worshippers. he could not do for them what they did for him, but he could keep their memory alive. he built grand trees, wove cloaks of leaves and moss, painted their stories. he did all that he could to make sure they were never forgotten.

and then, moss upon his shoulders and love in his shining heart, he set off to find his own way in the world, and lived for the third time.

-Mod Mleem

[the-darklings]

"i wonder what i look like in your eyes" + dream/wanderer

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader (wanderer)

wc: 600

notes: thank you to everyone who sent some in. time to get our fix.

dream & wanderer series: part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

A soft whimper escapes your lips, bottled up so long, it’s a relief to set it free. 

Dream’s hold remains steadfast, secure, your body moulded into his arms. He moves so smoothly through the fabric of the Dreaming it’s as if he’s gliding through it. Or perhaps it’s his realm that moves for him, bending to its Lord’s wishes. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “That wasn’t very smart.”

Dream doesn’t answer. Your cheek shifts across his chest, your skin chafing on the fabric of his black coat. You can’t find words to describe his scent. There are no words in any tongue known to you that could do it justice. It’s simply him. Night, cosmos, burning and freezing; devastating and encompassing. All those times you’ve laughed at such phrases in stories and books, now make perfect sense. 

There are no words that could do your Dream King justice. There’s only him. 

“Are you angry?” you try again. “I just… what if you got hurt.”

It’s a silly excuse for your recklessness. But it had been necessary. So many conspire against him. What if he got hurt? Worse? 

Your nose twitches, your skin tingling as the Dreaming warps around you. In a blink you journey from the Gates to the castle, then inside the maze of rooms and hallways, arcane secrets tucked away around every corner. The castle seems to exhale at Dream’s return, pulsing with renewed life and simmering power. 

It’s only once your room melts around you, unruffling like a painting bleeding onto a blank canvas, that Dream speaks:

“You are not indestructible.”

It’s a simple statement—a true one, no less—but the quiet power, reprimand, in those words nestle into your bones. Bed covers are soft beneath your head when he lowers you on it, fingertips lingering briefly on your bruised wrists. 

Whatever sparks in that intent gaze, simmering and bubbling, would no doubt scare most. With shadows half covering his face, those irises glow. Dream blinks his thoughts away calmly, hidden again behind his composed mask, not one thought verbally betrayed, not one thought shared. So long—so long you’ve spent by his side, weaving in and out his endless existence, and still, he chooses to keep himself hidden.    

“I wonder what I look like in your eyes.”

His head slants in your direction, the faintest crease appearing between his brows. 

“You’re not indestructible, either,” you inform him sternly, tucking your hands away from sight. “You need someone to look out for you too.”

“I’m the Endless, Wanderer.”

His answer to everything. As if that makes him infallible, as if the mere notion he might be wrong or vulnerable doesn’t subsist. 

“And I’m not a child,” you exhale, turning away from him, curling into a small ball. “Don’t treat me like one.”

Your hands tremble where they lay pressed into your chest, concealed from Dream King’s shrewd stare. Outside your window, lights float through the night sky—particles from the cosmos, dreams, souls traversing worlds. It’s certainly more peaceful than your method of travel. The sheer, blinding beauty that is the Dreaming robs you of words even centuries later. All the stars, dimensions, and realities pale in comparison. Or perhaps it’s because everything you love, all you hold dear, resides right here. 

Curled in one spot, you stay so locked in your turbulent thoughts, that Dream’s voice is a knife, slicing clean into your heart:

“You will not be lost because of me. I refuse.”

Your head snaps behind you, into the darkness, but there are only sand particles floating aimlessly through the air, and no Dream Lord to be found. 

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia - Chapter 2: A Mere Lady (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 2: A Mere Lady

Daemon has returned to King’s Landing. Yet it is not in his nature to sit idle.

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist | 

Warnings: That extreme slow burn once more lmao, Daemon being an idiot, Westerosi sexism, mention of violence, Daemon and Y/N bickering like children again

Word Count: 2.9k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: Thank you for all the support for the first chapter of Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia! It really warms my heart to see all your reblogs and likes 💗 this chapter is a bit of a filler one, but something big will happen next chapter (can you guess what it is? 👀) I hope you enjoy reading!

wonderful dividers courtesy of @firefly-graphics​  !  

The shadows darkened and the bustle of noise in the Red Keep slowly faded into a faint hum as night enveloped the castle. I had just finished drawing up and helping Aemma into a bath when a maid announced the presence of King Viserys. I hurriedly rose from where I was preparing the Queen’s nightclothes and curtsied. “Your Grace.” Viserys merely waved away my greeting, putting a hand on my shoulder. “At ease, Y/N. We are not in the presence of other courtiers, you need not refer to me by my title.” I smiled fondly at Viserys. “Well, if my king commands it. Are you here to see Aemma? She is in the midst of her nightly soak” Viserys’ brows furrowed, “Of course. How has she been? Are the baths of any help?”

“Aemma says it is effective to a degree, but the moment she steps out of the bath, the aches return.” Viserys hummed in acknowledgement; “Looks like our son is taking quite the toll on my beloved. He must be an active lad.” My smile widened at that: Viserys’ pride in his unborn son was clearly strong. But my smile dropped when I heard Viserys’ next words, “Have you had a chance to run into Daemon by any chance, Y/N?” I chewed hard on my lip at his question, making Viserys raise his eyebrows and laugh at my obvious distaste for his younger brother. “I will take that as a yes. Are the both of you still having trouble getting along?”

“We get along about as well as fire and oil, I’m afraid.” Viserys let out a huge belly laugh at that, “And who is the oil in this situation, you or Daemon?” “Daemon,” I answered without hesitation. “Seven hells, I have no doubt his love for provoking me is fueled by the gods themselves.” Viserys looked amused, “Well, as your king, I am pleased to inform you that I have listened to your petitions and assigned him back to his old post at the City’s Watch. Mayhaps he will cease annoying you with this new responsibility.”

“I thank you for your graciousness, Your Grace,” I curtsied slightly. “Your justice is indeed swift and efficient.” “Well, a king must care for his subjects above all else. And you are like a sister to me.” Viserys patted me on the shoulder, “I must go and check on my beloved now. A King must not keep his Queen waiting after all.” I nodded and turned back to my duties as he ambled away.

The morning sun lazily clambered up the sky, causing the Red Keep to begin to bustle about with noise once more. A servant helped me lace up my new Tyrell green gown, with small gold rocaille prints dotting the bodice and gold roses stitched throughout. Autumn had fallen upon King’s Landing, and the air was beginning to fill with a biting chill, hence my father had ordered the dressmakers to design the dress with fitted long sleeves. I was a little uncomfortable, since I was unused to dresses with fitted sleeves, but it did make it easier for me to tend to Aemma.

I cast a glance at the fireplace. The flames had long died out, but in the midst of the charred black wood, I could see the remnants of parchment. The new dress from Father had not arrived without condition. I had not bothered to read the letter - knowing it would be full of eligible lord names and pleading from my father to just pick one and put him out of his misery - instead chucking it into the fire without a second thought.

“My lady?” Blinking, I looked up at the servant girl. “I am finished with your hair. Are you in need of anything else?” I studied my reflection in the vanity, patting a stray strand of hair down gently. “No, everything is fine. You’ve done a wonderful job. Thank you, Rebecca.” She smiled and curtsied before scurrying off. I put on my favourite pair of gold earrings, checking my reflection one last time before striding out of my chambers.

Aemma was never an early riser, and pregnancy fatigue had only served to prolong her hours spent in bed, hence I always took this opportunity to wander around the Red Keep while undertaking any errands assigned to me at the same time. After making an errand run to the washerwomen to pick up Aemma’s clothes, I bustled over to the Grand Maester’s quarters to request for the Queen’s medicinal teas. I also paid a visit to the seamstress to get a few garments of Aemma’s altered, as she had complained about them being too tight around her bump.

With my list of tasks fulfilled, I breathed out a sigh of relief. Aemma had yet to rise, hence I was wandering aimlessly around the hallways. It was then that I heard a few lads whispering as they passed me. “Did you hear about Prince Daemon’s latest exploits?” “Aye, I heard the smallfolk’s cries all the way from Flea Bottom in my quarters last night. The king has summoned him to the Small Council meeting this morning to demand answers, I’ve heard.” “The prince truly cannot go a day without causing trouble…”

Curiosity piqued, I listened thoughtfully to their conversation until their voices faded away. Daemon? Causing trouble? There was nothing novel of the matter. Yet, the lads had whispered about hearing the cries of the smallfolk. And from what I heard, it did not seem like the cries that Daemon was fond of eliciting.

My nosiness getting the better of me, I turned on my heel, my green skirts swishing behind me. Arriving at the base of the White Knights Tower, I slipped inside a room before anyone could notice and question my presence. The room in question was a secondary armoury, but it was rarely used as the weapons stored here were either blunted after years of use or outright broken. I pushed aside a false pillar made of highly porous stone, revealing a narrow gap which I squeezed through with ease.

Pulling back the pillar to cover the gap once more, my eyes trailed around the expanse of the space as I found myself in a familiar winding hallway. Sunlight poured in through numerous crumbling holes in the ceiling, and the air was filled with a dank smell. Sneezing slightly, I gathered my skirts and quickly made my way through the familiar maze of passageways. I nearly forgot to take a left, almost ending up in the secret halls in the Tower of the Hand, but I retraced my paths and breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the Hand’s disdainful voice. Here, the passageways were much more spacious and bright, being situated on the upper floors of Maegor’s Holdfast.

Peeking through one of the spaces in the walls, I caught sight of the Small Council seated around the table. Daemon was sitting near the head of the table still clad in his armour, his face streaked with dirt. Unfortunately, his back was turned to me, so I couldn’t glimpse his expression. However, I noticed most of the lords were looking noticeably on edge, especially the Hand. Otto’s face was even more unpleasant than usual, and that was saying something.

By the Gods, what had Daemon done now?

“You might not know this unless you left the safety of the Red Keep, but much of the city is seen by the smallfolk as lawless, and terrifying.” Daemon’s smooth voice echoed throughout the room. Otto’s face turned as sour as spoiled milk. I had to restrain a snort, he was not incorrect, the residents of the Red Keep, particularly those of noble blood, were very far removed from the lives of the smallfolk. I had once ridden with Rhaenyra and Alicent to the Dragonpit, passing by the streets of Flea Bottom, and safe to say, I was very glad for my life of luxury in the Red Keep, although I did feel sorry for them.

“...I just hope you don’t have to maim half of my city to achieve this.” “Time will tell,” came Daemon’s response. Even with my view of his facial expressions obstructed, I could nearly picture the smirk on his face, clear as day. I rolled my eyes. It seems that Daemon’s first night returning to his duties as commander of the City Watch had been bloody, to say the least.

“If only the prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does to his work, your Grace.” I snapped to attention once more, eyes keenly observing the proceedings through the space. Gods be good, the Hand cannot give it a rest, can he? I suppose he could not: his distaste for Daemon clouded him from better judgement. But he should know better, I bit my lip to restrain the laugh I know would follow. Daemon always knew how to find someone’s sore spots, and Otto Hightower was as prickly as those strange Dornish desert dwelling plants.

“I’d gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Lord Hightower, if you are in want of a woman to warm your bed,” Otto’s face lost its previous smugness as his eyes grew wide in anger and he stiffened at Daemon’s remarks. “Your own lady wife passed recently-” There was a scraping of a chair on the floor as the Hand towered over the table. I recognised the expression on his face, it was one I had worn many times in my life.

The visceral urge to punch Daemon Targaryen in the face.

I clapped my hand over my mouth, trying to fight the battle to keep my laughter at bay

“Did she not?” I lost the battle as a small wheeze erupted from my covered mouth. My eyes widening, I watched as the men at the Small Council table stiffen, particularly Daemon - his stance suddenly became more pronounced and alert. I know it would be hard to discover me unless the men had knowledge of the secret passages, yet I felt my heart thundering in my chest.

But the gods were good, and the men soon dismissed the sound as Viserys attempted to soothe Otto’s anger. Finally, after Viserys admonished Daemon for his actions- albeit not as fiercely as the Hand would have hoped for, judging by how his sharp glare had not subsided in the least after the king’s judgement - Daemon got up to leave, the doors shutting behind him with a definitive thunk. I dusted off my skirts and readied myself to leave as well. The excitement was over, and I had gotten the information I wanted to know anyway. Walking through the hallways again, I debated on which path I should take to ensure my exit would not be noticed by anyone. The nearest exit I knew was immediately out of the question, and I could not sneak out through the exits in any of the royal apartments, because there was an ever-present risk of being discovered by a nosy servant. Sighing, I continued walking, lost in thought, until a figure pushed me against a wall.

I opened my mouth to scream but a hand that smelt of sweat and something coppery covered my mouth, putting a finger to his lips. My eyes narrowed as he released his hand from my mouth. “What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” I spouted out angrily as those godsforsaken pair of lilac eyes stared down at me with amusement. “I think I should be asking you that, byka zaldrīzes,” Daemon raised an eyebrow.

“I asked first. How did you even know I was here?” I grumbled, dusting off my dress. The pounding in my chest was so loud I was certain the whole of the Red Keep could hear how much of a terrified wreck I was.

Instead of answering, Daemon reached his hand out to brush at my hair, as I observed him with wary eyes. Then, he flicked my forehead. “Ow! What was that for?” He smirked, “I see you took the armoury entrance, judging from the grime on your face and in your hair.” “And? It was one of the only ways I could get into the passageways without being seen.”

The prince hummed infuriatingly under his breath. “Has anyone ever told you how fond you are of making your life more difficult, byka zaldrīzes?” “Well forgive me, your Grace, but I do not wish to be caught in your apartments trying to sneak into a secret passage. The Red Keep is akin to a vicious beast when it comes to gossip.” The prince let out a triumphant “ha!” as I looked quizzically at him. Had he finally lost his mind?

“Formalities again,” he said, delighted, “I was hoping that yesterday’s episode in the throne room was not the last I would hear of you addressing me formally.” I sighed and rolled my eyes. “My question remains unanswered. How did you know I was in here?” The prince snorted. “I think every one of those lickspittles in the small council heard your laugh. I was the only one to recognise it however.”

I huffed. “Well thank the gods it was just you. Had it been the Hand-”

“That cunt is too busy licking my brother’s boots to seek you out, byka zaldrīzes,” Daemon teased, beginning to walk away. Rolling my eyes once again, I followed closely after. “I’m surprised you still remember the entrances. I was of the impression you would get lost if you ever came here again..” “From how many times you dragged me through these hallways to go catch a peak of King Jaehaerys and Prince Baelon in council sessions, it would take me a century to forget these halls.” I japed, as we rounded a corner that took us straight into an old closet in Daemon’s chambers. As we stumbled out, he settled down on his bed with a sigh of relief, and began to remove his armour. I crossed my arms as I leaned against the window, “There is still a lady here, your Grace.” “I don’t see any ladies, only a nosy bird.” “Hilarious.”

I averted my eyes as Daemon began to remove the gold cloak slung behind his shoulders. “I heard you crippled half the smallfolk.” “An exaggeration,” Daemon waved his hand dismissively. “And if so, they were criminals. Looters. Rapers. Petty thieves.” “And yet, you killed numerous innocents in your path to slaughter those criminals.” I said quietly.

Daemon was silent for a while, and I thought he had left to take a bath. But I was startled yet again when I felt a finger softly tilting my chin upward. Lilac eyes swirling with mild annoyance and mirth met my pensive (Y/E/C) ones. “Spare me the reprimand, Y/N. My brother and Lord Cunttower have already said more than enough.” He handed me a wet cloth, and I sighed before brushing it across his face, getting rid of the grime. Our dynamic has not changed since childhood, I mused internally. I walked away to dump the grime covered cloth in a basket for the servants to collect later.

“Do you not agree with my actions?” He motioned me to sit next to him on his bed. Wordlessly, I sat. Our eyes met, his searching mine for my reaction. “The violence was unwarranted,” I began delicately, watching Daemon’s eyes narrow. “However, I’d like to think the ends justify the means. I share Lord Corlys’ view on this matter.”

Daemon leaned back on his bedpost with a smile. “As I thought, you were more sensible than you looked.” His voice rose in volume as he ran a hand through his white blonde locks in frustration. “Pray tell, I just do not understand why my brother only sees the bad, and not the good. Even a mere lady like you could understand. Has that cunt of a Hand pulled the wool over my brother’s eyes so far that he is blind to the welfare of his city?”

Not receiving a response, he looked over at the Lady Tyrell. She sat there, eyes fixed to the ground, her mouth set in a thin line, her hands clasped in her lap. “Y/N?” “And begging your pardon, what exactly does ‘being a mere lady’ supposed to entail?”

Daemon had a slight hunch he might have made a mistake. “I was not implying anyth-” “Really?” Y/N interrupted sharply. “Or did you just consider my wits inferior to yours simply because I am a woman?”    

She stood abruptly, curtsying as she did. “Forgive me, my prince, I have other matters to attend to. If you have had enough of this mere lady’s presence, I shall be off lest a servant discovers us and sets tongues wagging.” She walked briskly out of the room, before Daemon could even formulate a response. Daemon stared at her retreating figure, and he groaned in frustration as he removed the last of his armour. His words had come out unintentionally, and he had not intended to insult her. Why was she so offended by them?

He huffed as soon as he had the thought. Why was it of any concern? He cared not for what that annoying brat thought of him. Sighing, he got up to ready himself for another visit to Flea’s Bottom. He had not seen Mysaria for a time.

translation: byka zaldrīzes: little dragon 

And that’s chapter 2! Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :)) Since chapter 2 was a little bit of a filler chap, chapter 3 should hopefully be released in about three days (as soon as I get that presentation that has been the source of my torment over the past few days on Tuesday done lol)  Let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist in the comments or through this form! 💗

Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish​ 

[crikeygatormate]

I Promise - K.B

Summary: After your clan had been exiled and shunned from the western lands, your family grew to hate the royal family who they felt betrayed them. In return you were sent on a mission to reclaim your families honor, but you would come to find out that your mission came with a price.

Dragon Prince!Bakugou x AFAB Reader

Warnings: Spelling just pretend its right lol

A/N: thought Id post this FINALLY its been in my docs for months, and I've been so busy with school lord but I did it. (Not because I got a whole ass 30 on one of my exams lmao dw the class average was a 40, but still needed that little bit of serotonin that comes with posting things here lmao) Also dont clown me on the banner I've got like 2 functioning brain cells rn

PART ONE (Part Two) (Part Three)

————————————-

Growing up you were told stories about the royal dragon riders out west, where the land was vast and dragons as big as castles soared above the sky with a rider on their back. Sometimes you could have sworn you heard the deep rumble of a dragon's roar from somewhere up in the distance. You’d look up at the sun, squinting in hopes to see a shadow of a beast block out the light.

Your clan used to be dragon riders too a long time ago before dragons were only given to royals. Granted, you didn’t know the exact history or that it was your clan who had caused their own downfall and loss of its dragons. Shrouded by the innocence of youth you failed to see the consequences that this downfall had on your clan, the famine, the pestilence, the anger.

You heard stories about how the great dragon queen cast out her right-hand man, your grandfather, due to his so-called betrayal of her trust. This was because the queen became fond of a group of barbarians from the north that wanted an alliance. Your grandfather had advised against it, insisting that she was being used, and it would lead to the downfall of her family. The queen refused your grandfather's advice, which left him to his own devices. He attempted to kill her intended, the king of the barbarian group, which in turn got him exiled. In time his predictions came true and the barbarian group took over for a time, trying to claim the throne for themselves.

Still ever loyal, your grandfather came to the queen's aid, only to have been killed by the queen herself. It was said that your grandfather tried to kill her children and their dragons, in hopes to wipe the barbarian line from the royal family. He managed to kill two, leaving the queen with one child. Your clan refused to believe this, claiming that your grandfather was attacked and killed trying to help his queen.

As punishment, the royal family butchered your clans dragons and pulled all resources to survive as well. Leaving your family to struggle to survive in a barren land.

As the years passed, a small farming village was built where your family was exiled, and other rouges and outsiders moved into town. It became a town of thieves, murderers, and other criminals. Your family never forgot where you came from and the betrayal that fell upon them.

At night, when you were young, your mother would sit you down while she dressed you retelling that tale over and over again till it was ingrained in your brain and you understood that the dragon riders out west, the royals, were traitors and needed to be brought to justice.

—-----------

You were eight currently, playing hide and seek with a few friends after the announcement of your future role in the clan, the infiltrator. Not that you knew what that meant yet.

“Hey!” your friend, Shoji, called from further back in the wheat field, “you’re going too far, Koda isn’t going to be able to find you!”

You giggled, slapping a hand over your mouth as you sprinted through the field, trying to contain your excitement. With another quiet shriek of laughter, you turned your head to see your friend jumping up past the tall grass trying to spot you.

Unbeknownst to you, there was someone crouched right in front of you, and you ran right into them.

“Ouch!” A raspy voice snapped as you face planted into the grass. “Watch where you’re going!”

You sniffled, lifting your face from the ground and wiping your palm over your eyes to get rid of dirt. “Sorry, I didn’t see you,” you said as you blinked, your gaze focusing on a boy in front of you.

“Clearly,” he scoffed, rolling his vermillion eyes.

You nodded, taking in the stranger's appearance. He was dressed weirdly, and painted with strange marks on his bare arms. His clothes were lighter , meant for a place that was used to warmer weather. “Who are you?”

“Who am I?” the boy snorted, folding his arms over his chest, “you really don’t know?”

You shook your head, straightening out the stained shirt you were wearing.

“Of course, you don’t, you’re one of those traitor’s family members, you got those orange eyes like the elders say” the boy said as he spat on the ground much to your surprise. “I’m Katsuki Bakugou, prince of the western lands, soon to be the king once I get my dragon.”

Your eyes widened, and you weren’t sure what to say.

Bakugou nodded, “I know, probably your first time being around someone like me.” He had his chest puffed out. Clearly, your lack of response had stoked his small ego.

You furrowed your brows, “traitor?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, “look,” he paused waiting for you to tell him your name before continuing, “I’m sure this must come as a shock, but your people out here have all been exiled for being traitors-”

“We’re not traitors, you are,” you shot back, eyes growing wide as your mother's story about the royal dragon riders finally started to piece together in your mind.

Bakugou sneered, curling his upper lip to reveal a set of pointed canine teeth, “hah, keep telling yourself that.”

You balled your hands into fists, feeling anger for the first time in your life it seemed as you stared this snotty royal boy down. A darker part of you seemed to awaken and you suddenly felt the urge to smack his pompous smirk off his face.

He didn’t even have time to react before he noticed you lunging at him with a raised hand. However before you could even land a blow on him, a pair of arms yanked you back.

“Quit it you insolent child,” your mother hissed, holding you close to her as you thrashed. She was looking to the sky, feeling fear settle in her veins like ice when a shadow momentarily blocked out the sun.

You were too busy exchanging insults with Bakugou to notice a giant golden dragon land behind Bakugou, or see his mother slide off her dragon's back and stomp towards you three.

“Katsuki!” a shrill voice cut through your haze of anger and suddenly you froze at the sight of a woman, presumably the queen, and her dragon. A puff of hot air blew your hair back and a primal fear sank into your gut.

“You know better than to wander this far,” the queen hissed, glancing at you and your mother. By the bitter look on her face, she clearly recognized your mother. “And you,” she said harshly, pointing a slim finger at your mother, which prompted her dragon to let out a low growl, “keep your offspring away from mine, that child is feral. Don’t think I didn’t see her try to attack the prince. A crime like that is punishable by death.”

Your mother was collected as a wry smile tugged at her lips, “Mitsuki, what makes you think it was my child that started this squabble?”

“Because I know you, and I know your type,” Mitsuki snapped, grabbing Bakugou roughly by his spiky hair, making him whine. “Stay the fuck away from us, the second I catch wind that any of you traitors crossed the border, I’ll have you all burned alive.”

Your eyes were wide as you watched Bakugou smirk as his mom dragged him away and they both got on her dragon. You don’t think you’d ever forget the glare that the queen gave you as her golden dragon took off into the sky.

Dirt bellowed around you and your mom as powerful wings pushed the air around you, you squinted, digging your nails into the skin of your mother's arm.

“Do you understand now?” your mother asked, her voice even as you both watched the dragon fly into the distance towards the west.

You nodded, feeling a bitter feeling settle into the pit of your stomach.

—----------

Many years passed, and throughout those years you trained, fell into your role as the infiltrator. The one that was supposed to regain your clan's power, regain your dragons. You were the only one able to do this, it was destiny it seemed. And it was because you had a dragon.

On your thirteenth name day, you were presented with something that had been hidden since your grandfather was exiled. It was a small dragon egg, your grandfather had stolen it before he was killed, took it from the royal clutch, in hopes that it would serve his family well.

It was doubtful that the egg would hatch, but it did. Your dragon grew to be large and fueled by your anger she had become lethal, like you. She was a deep army green with amber eyes and a double set of teeth. She was snake-like, long, and slender with an ear-piercing roar that made you sometimes wince at the whistle of it.

You both grew up together, bonding over a common goal, feeling each other's anger towards the royals. Now you were an adult, old enough to go out on your own and complete your mission that has been planned for decades.

“Are you ready?” your mother asked as she straightened your top.

You nodded, blinking hard as she ran her cold fingers over your bare stomach where a large scar ran across the lateral length of your skin. A training accident, at least that’s what it was called, but it was a reminder of what could happen if you were to fail.

“Good,” your mother said as she took a step back, “prince Katsuki is out on his dragon patrolling this evening. We know his dragon is not a usual one, he is a shifter, which makes him susceptible to silver. We have a trap set down by the ravine, they should fly right into it.”

You nodded, keeping your gaze forward as your dragon shifted behind you, her growl rumbling into a whistle.

“Get going,” your mother said as she handed you a dagger, it was your grandfather’s.

You kept silent as you climbed on your dragon's back and urged her forward. You felt numb as she took off into the evening sky, the orange of the setting sun illuminating her scales. She was let out a wheezing breath as he turned past a cloud and the ravine came into the distance.

You landed in a cave that was specifically scouted for this mission, and there you both waited, two sets of amber eyes pointed towards the sky awaiting the prince.

Soon you heard the unmistakable roar of a dragon and a flash of deep red appeared briefly through the broken clouds.

It was him, Prince Bakugou.

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you watched him descend towards the trap set out. It was meant to look like a threat from a neighboring nation. One that had been having issues with the dragon's riders of the west, a more civilized nation that was moving past the need to be controlled by those who ride dragons. In other words, the royals knew if this nation continued to grow, so would their weapons. Which meant they could become a threat to their dragons.

“Fuckin’ shitty scales, just land, damn it,” Prince Bakugou’s gruff voice echoed off the cold ravine walls.

You watched as his dragon landed and shook his head while Bakugou slid off. To your interest, his dragon shook again, changing forms and turned into a man. A big one with a long red tail, horns, and a set of red wings.

Dragon shifters were rare, rarer than dragons themselves, and for Prince Bakugou to have one as his dragon, meant that he was special. Which gave your goal an even greater weight.

“Wadda you think happened?” the shifter asked as he stepped over a few burning logs.

“Looks like it was the north,” Bakugou said with a scoff as he kicked a skull that went tumbling down the rocks till it shattered.

You stiffened, feeling your muscles bunch as you waited for the next part of the plan. A member of your clan, Shoji, the best archer, was in place to shoot Bakugou’s dragon with a silver-tipped arrow. He only had one.

With bated breath, you waited to see Shoji peek out from on top of the ravine. After a heartbeat, you noticed a flash of wood, and before you could blink a pained roar echoed around the ravine.

You froze for a moment watching the shifter crumple to the ground screaming as smoke curled from the arrow wound. But then your training kicked in and you took off, grabbing onto your dragon as she slid down the side of the ravine. Her claws scraped against the slate stone sending shards tumbling down below. She huffed, wheezing before leaping off the side and landing squarely in front of Bakugou and his dragon.

It took him no time at all to react and he instantly pulled his blades out, red eyes aflame with alarm and anger. “Who the fuck are you?”

You slide off the side of your dragon's thin back and landed on the charred ground, ash billowing around you. “Someone that can help, if you don’t treat that immediately, he’ll die.”

“Katsuki,” the shifter whimpered, his face paling.

Bakugou hesitated, glancing at your dragon. It was strange looking, long and slender with pointed features. An odd color too, he’s only known of red, gold, and orange dragons. He didn’t have time to ponder though, Kirishima needed help. “Do it.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief knowing that everything was going to plan. You wasted no time kneeling by Kirishima, eyeing his wound. His blood was bubbling around the tip of the arrow and evaporating into foul-smelling smoke. In one swift movement you yanked the arrow out, not flinching as Kirishima roared. With the arrow gone, you proceeded to pull the bag that was around your back to your side where you quickly found the antidote to neutralize the silver in his body.

“Here,” you said, “open his mouth.”

Bakugou glanced at you once more before prying open Kirishima’s jaws and watching your pour a strange-colored liquid down his dragon's throat. However, he was shocked to see Kirishima’s wound immediately stop smoking.

Kirishima let out sigh of relief, shutting his eyes as he took a deep breath.

“There,” you said as you capped the bottle and placed it back in your bag, “that should be good for now, he’ll need another dose in the morning. He won’t be able to shift back either, not till that is healed,” you told Bakugou while eyeing the wound.

Bakugou hummed, glancing at you again, “great. Now, answer my question, who the fuck are you?”

You frowned, “you don’t remember?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, “am I supposed to?”

You huffed, “of course you don’t, look, you and I got into a argument when we were kids? You wandered out too far, started acting like a dick - still act like one.”

“Do you have any clue who I fuckin’ am?” Bakugou snarled, getting ready to press his blade against your throat.

You gave him a wry smile, “Prince Katsuki Bakugou, how can I forget it a second time.”

Recognition flashed across Bakugou’s face as he looked at you again. Were you that mangy girl that got pissed at him for telling her that her family were traitors? He shifted his gaze towards your face, taking note of your orange eyes, which told him that you were indeed from the family that betrayed his.

“Remember now?” You asked as you glanced down at Kirishima again who was phasing in and out of consciousness. And then to your utter surprise he said your name. It made you still your hands on Kirishima and look at him. “So you do remember?”

Bakugou didn’t nod, instead he narrowed his eyes. “How did someone like you get a hold of a dragon?”

You shrugged, “Luck.”

“That’s not the answer I was looking for, you must have stolen it, traitor,” Bakugou hissed, suddenly moving towards you at an incredible speed.

You were somewhat caught off guard as he slammed you into the ground, pinning you down with his knee on your chest and the blade of his sword pressed against your neck. “I didn’t steal anything.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right, only my family has dragons,” he snarled, pressing the sword further into your neck, causing the skin to split under his blade. A few scarlet drops of blood slid down the side of your neck and dripped onto the ashen earth.

At the sight of this your dragon growled, slinking forward towards Bakugou. A wheezing hiss escaped her as she opened her mouth. The back of her throat started to brighten to a electric green threatening to breathe her fire on the prince, not that it would do much to him.

Bakugou stilled, glancing at your dragon. He had never seen green fire before. He looked down at you again, you were collected, watching him with a cool expression. Perhaps you were telling the truth. There have been tales of dragons far south, those of a different species than the royal line.

Your heart was in your throat as you watched him assess you. He was breathing hard, his chest was heaving as he tightened his grip around his sword. Then to your relief he moved off of you and sheathed his weapon.

“You’re coming back with me,” Bakugou announced, “to finish healing Kirishima and then to be questioned.”

This part was important, you couldn’t easily go with him, or it’d be suspicious. So you sat up, rigid and with eyes wide, “questioned? I just saved your dragon?”

“I don’t trust you,” Bakugou said with a hiss through clenched teeth. “Something about this is wrong, and I’d be fuckin’ stupid to let you go. Especially when you are the only other dragon rider in the country who isn’t part of the royal family. My family.”

You frowned, standing up and folded your arms across your chest. “Look-”

“No, you look,” Bakugou hissed, jamming his finger into your shoulder, “you don’t get a fuckin’ option. Get on your dragon we’re leaving.”

You yelped when he roughly grabbed you by the upper arm and practically threw you towards your dragon. With a huff of irriatiton you regained your balance and climbed on your dragon’s back. You watched as Bakugou hauled Kirishima over his shoulder and to your surprise managed to get on behind you, securing Kirishima between the both of you and your dragons spikes. With a hissing whine your dragon crawled forward, speeding up before she pushed herself off from the ground.

Her leathery wings extended and ash plumed around her form as she rose up higher in the sky. She didn’t fly exactly like a normal dragon would, she would weave through the air, tucking her wings in before extending them to propel herself forward again.

It wasn’t a smooth ride to put it simply.

You glanced back behind you to see Bakugou pinning Kirishima down with his upper body while he held onto the large spikes on your dragons back. He looked pissed, probably because he wasn’t used to riding bare back, at least that’s what you assumed.

It didn’t take very long to enter the western lands, and you could immediately tell that you had left your homeland due to the dramatic change in scenery.

The terrain became plush with pine forests, with trees as tall as some of the castles you heard from the elders in your town. The earth was covered with plush grass too, and the forests would break away to vast meadows with rolling hills, covered with hundred of wild flowers.

Your eyes widened at the sheer beauty the western lands held. It was warm here too, the sun had blessed these lands and all its creatures. In fact, you had never seen so much wildlife before in your life. There were herds of elk migrating north, and so many birds that were all different colors, you didn’t even know that so many animals existed.

In your town the only animals were pests, and a few scraggly farm animals that helped to feed the people. Your home was full of dry cracked earth, dead fields of straw grass, and swampy bogs that sucked and devoured any life form that entered them. The sun was shrouded by clouds and a perpetual dust seemed to hang heavy in the air.

You glanced back at Bakugou quickly, your amber gaze catching his crimson ones. A bitter feeling rose like bile in your throat and you quickly realized that you were jealous of where he grew up, and angry that his family had taken the opportunity for you to grow up in the western lands away too.

Soon a clearing near the foot of a mountain came into view. There you were able to see a large town, clearly a nomadic one, but the quality of the tents told you that the royal family and its people didn’t have much to worry about.

As you flew closer to the clan you began to notice the common people running out in groups, alarmed that a dragon, and not one they were familiar with, was about to land in their home.

With a wheezing sigh, your dragon landed, her nostrils flaring as she warily watched the three other dragons resting by the royal tent. You watched them too, hesitating to get off in case you needed to leave quickly.

“They won’t hurt you,” Bakugou said as he looked towards the trio of fire colored dragons. One a deep gold, his mothers. Another a pale yellow, his fathers. The final one, a rusty orange, his grandmothers.

You nodded, about to say something but he had already gotten off your dragon and was carrying Kirishima towards the royal tents, there were four of them. The people cried out his name and Kirishima’s, obviously concerned about who you were and what had happened to Bakugou’s dragon.

“C’mon,” Bakugou called out, not bothering to look back at you, “leave your dragon, she won’t be harmed. For now at least.”

“Comforting,” you muttered as you got off your dragon and gave her a quick pat on the neck. She grumbled, lowering her head to the ground as she watched you follow the prince with unblinking eyes.

As you followed behind Bakugou you glanced at the common folk. They were all dressed similar, wearing clothes lined with furs, and various skins. They looked well fed, well rested…happy.

You narrowed your eyes as they continued to watch you follow their prince, and you didn’t miss the whispers amongst them. They too knew of the tales between your clan and Bakugou’s, and how your family was know to have amber eyes.

Your lip curled in irritation as they exchanged snide comments about your family.

Traitors, murderers, thieves, cowards.

—---

Bakugou had you wait outside of a tent that was guarded by two warriors before allowing you to come inside. With a sharp inhale you entered the tent, pushing the door flap out of your way as you walked forward.

The inside of the tent was huge, bigger than the home you grew up in. The ground was covered in plush furs, and there was enough room for a large bed and a table. The tent walls were home to various weapons, swords, axes, and a few spears. Along with a few exotic pelts and horns from animals.

At the sound of a pained groan you turned your head to see Kirishima curled up on a makeshift bed of pelts and pillows. That silver, although neutralized for now, would keep him from shifting for another few days.

“Sit,” Bakugou’s gruff voice cut through your thoughts as he yanked out one of the chairs at his table.

You turned your gaze to his as you moved across the room and silently took a seat.

Bakugou sat down in the chair across from you and let out a strained sigh. He looked frustrated, which was not surprising, considered all that had happened within the past few hours. “The queen will be coming in to question you, along with the queen mother-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, Mitsuki, the queen, the woman who told you she would burn you and your mother alive, stomped into the tent. Her red eyes were ablaze with a deep anger upon the sight of you.

“You,” she hissed, rushing over to you, about to presumably smack you across the face till a frail voice spoke from the opening of the tent.

“Mitsuki, behave yourself,” an older lady the spitting image of Mitsuki hobbled in. She was frail and thin, but still was proud as she stood tall. The queen mother had to lean heavily on her cane as she made her way over to you, and Bakugou got out of his seat to allow his grandmother to sit.

You remained quiet, your gaze flicking between the two women. This was the most crucial part, to convince the royal family that you were not what they perceived you to be. An infiltrator, someone that was going to come in and wipe out their family line. Someone who was going to take revenge for what they did to your family.

“Now, child,” the queen mother spoke, clearing her throat as she folded her hands together, “what did you do that made my grandson fly you all the way back here, and away from your home?”

“Mother, don’t you know who this is?” Mitsuki hissed, “look at her eyes.”

“I’m well aware,” the queen mother responded curtly, “however, I trust Katuski’s judgment, if she was a threat she wouldn’t be here now would she?”

Mitsuki kept her mouth shut, but she still was glaring at you with such intense hatred that you had a hard time holding eye contact with her.

“Speak,” the queen mother said, gesturing at you with her hand to talk.

“I was in the area, and saw prince Bakugou get attacked, his dragon was injured and I helped him. He told me to come back with him, presumably because Kirishima needs another dose of antidote in the morning to remove the silver from his system,” you explained, keeping your voice even.

“And how did you obtain that dragon out there?” the queen mother asked.

“I found an egg when I was traveling away from home. It looked to be dead, so I thought I could sell it along the trade line by the coast far south,” you began, remembering the lines you rehearsed for years, “but to my surprise it hatched, so I kept it-”

“You have no right to own a dragon,” Mitsuki hissed, “not after what your family did to mine, what your grandfather did to my siblings.”

A muscle in your jaw twitched as you looked at Mitsuki, she had her hand on the hilt of her axe, clearly ready to yank it out and cleave you in two. “It wouldn’t have hatched if I didn’t have a right to it-”

“You bratty bit-”

“Mitsuki!” The queen mother said, her voice straining as she looked at her daughter with wide eyes, “this young woman just saved your son’s dragon, I know you know the weight that carries. We only get one dragon our whole lives, and if Katsuki’s died, he wouldn’t be able to take the throne.”

Mitsuki scoffed, but backed off, knowing her mother was right. “I know, but that still doesn’t mean I trust her, and neither should you mother, or you Katsuki. I know her kind, her mother and I used to be friends. I have seen the evil that grows in her blackened heart, and no doubt she passed it to her daughter.”

With that, Mitsuki turned on her heel and left, clearly through with speaking and looking at you.

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. The air in the tent seemed to drop about five degrees too. It was rumored that the Bakugou’s had an affinity for fire too, which would explain how Mitsuki could raise the temperature of the air around her when she was mad.

You quickly glanced at Bakugou, who you had a feeling he had a more fiery temper than his mother, and you could only image how much heat he’d give off if he was mad. A small flicker of fear lit in your stomach as you began to think that this mission you were on was way more dangerous than you had thought.

“Look,” the queen mother spoke up, her voice was beginning to sound tired, “I knew your grandfather, he was a greedy man. He would do just about anything to get what he wanted.”

You remained silent, as feelings of doubt started to swirl in your mind.

“However, as much as our family dislikes yours, we are indebted to you. I can’t punish you for the crimes of your grandfather, and I wouldn’t anyway. Finish healing Kirishima and you may stay with us for a while, or leave it’s up to you, but perhaps it’s time that we try to rekindle the once great friendship between our clans.” The queen mother gave you a dry smile, “that doesn’t mean I don’t trust you either, I don’t make the same mistake twice. That’s why Katsuki will be in charge of you for the duration of your stay-”

“What? I don’t wanna fuckin’ babysit,” Bakugou hissed, shooting you a sharp glare.

Your ever growing fear, though you kept it well hidden, had been curbed somewhat. You had gotten in to their inner circle, so with enough patience you could achieve your goal. At the thought of this the scar on your abdomen seemed to burn and a pair of cold orange eyes flashed in your mind.

You couldn’t fail.

“You will. It will be good for her to learn about us and you to learn about them, Katuski,” the queen mother concluded with a nod, “now I think it’s time that I go have my late morning tea.”

You watched as the queen mother hobbled out of Bakugou’s tent, and you let out a sigh. You were relived that no one had picked up on your growing nerves. It would probably good the queen had left or she surely would have sniffed you out. With another sigh you turned your head and to your surprise you saw that Bakugou was already looking at you. His red eyes were narrowed slightly as he let out a huff.

“C’mon, there’s a spare tent on the outskirts of camp you can stay in,” Bakugou finally said as he pushed past you and slipped through the entrance of the tent.

You still for a moment, and then followed him out. The common people seemed to be more relaxed now. They still gave you some sideways glances as you passed, but it was nothing like from when you first arrived.

It was rather odd seeing Bakugou interact with the common folk too. He of course was prickly, but he’d dip his head to a few elders that would hobble past him, or even let some young kids jump at him and hang off is arms before he roughly tossed them off, making them squeal as they ran back to their tents.

You folded your arms over your chest, eyeing him closely. He was tall, much taller than you and built like a warrior. His arms were thick and strong, and tanned by the warm sun. He had a few milky pink scars that ran down his back along with a few tattoos that adorned his bare torso. His hair was golden, bleached by the sun, and spiky. Yet underneath his mane of hair he had a dark undercut, where you saw a set of scars that looked similar to claw marks run along the nape of his neck.

He would be hard to defeat. Someone like him, who was trained from birth to be a warrior, a prince, and a king. Not to mention the sheer amount of scars and battle tattoos he is no doubt a seasoned warrior. Uncertainty seeded in your mind once more as you both came to a stop outside of a gnarly looking tent. If thats what you could call it.

“You’ll stay here,” Bakugou said, his deep voice clipped with annoyance.

“Hardly call this a tent,” you mused, your gaze jumping from the torn fabric near the bottom of the tent and the worn flap that was barely holding it shut.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, choosing not to respond to your comment. “I’ll see you at dawn.” With that he turned his back to you and left. Not once did he turn his head back to glance at you, and you were glad.

—----------------

The next morning you were woken up before dawn. Not by choice, really, but there was a rather unpleasant groaning that started outside your tent about an hour before dawn. As much as you tried to drown out the sound decided to get up to see what was outside of your tent fussing up a storm.

To your surprise it was Bakugou’s dragon, Kirishima.

“I need more of that stuff, please,” Kirishima groaned.

You looked at the dragon shifter in mild shock. Had he crawled all the way across camp to your tent? With a quick glance at his bare torso, your question was answered, he was covered in dirt. “C’mon,” you finally said and let him inside of your tent.

Kirishima let out a grunt as he crawled behind you before collapsing on the straw mat in the center of your tent. He was panting hard and sweat was rolling down his sides.

You quickly lit the single candle in your tent and pulled out your healing pack, rifling through your various herbs till your found the antidote for Kirishima. The second bottle was much more potent than the first one you gave him, which was on purpose. You needed to be brought back to Bakugou’s clan after all.

Kirishima was watching you with glassy eyes as you moved next to his side and hovered over him. He was grinding his teeth so hard it felt like they would snap. He hissed when you ran your fingertips down his chest towards his wound, your hands were ice cold on his hot skin. “Hurry-”

“Patience,” you said sharply, your orange eyes flick between his face and the wound. Kirishima’s wound while, the silver would cure him, it was already infected. Which wasn’t supposed to happen. You poured the antidote into Kirishima’s mouth and watched him sigh as the last of the silver was broken down.

“Thank you,” Kirishima said quietly, letting out a sigh as he let his eyes shut again.

You frowned, watching as he promptly passed out from sheer exhaustion. His face was flushed pink with fever and it spread down his neck to his chest. That was unnerving to you, your knowledge with medicine was limited. You glanced at the open flap of your tent, the sun was about to break over the horizon which mean Bakugou would be here soon. A few moments passed and you grabbed your bag again, glancing at the wound before pulling out some flowers and a small jar of honey.

While you were busying yourself making a paste for Kirishima’s wound you failed to notice Bakugou sauntering up to your tent. He was dressed for a hunt, with his spear slung over his back. To his surprise he saw that you were up already.

You furrowed your brows as you smashed small marigold flowers into a paste with the honey before turning around only to see Bakugou standing in front of your tent.

“What’s wrong with him?” Bakugou asked, moving the flap to the tent opening aside and ducking before walking inside.

“His wound is infected,” you said, glancing up at him before turning your attention to Kirishima, reaching out to place the mush of herbs and flowers on his wound.

“He can see our healer,” Bakugou said gruffly as he grabbed your wrist roughly to stop you from touching Kirishima.

You wiggled your wrist in his tight grasp. His hand easily wrapped around your entire wrist, and you were sure if he wanted to he could snap it in half. “Sure, but it’s not looking great-”

“I’ll let our healer decide that,” Bakugou interrupted, his eyes were narrowed as he quickly dropped your wrist and then bent down to inspect his dragon. Kirishima twitched in his sleep, letting a hand flop towards Bakugou before letting out a grumble. Bakugou lifted his gaze to you for a moment, and then back at Kirishima. Why would Kirishima come to you? He knew where the healer was.

Bakugou grabbed Kirishima’s forearm before slinging him over his shoulders. “I’ll come back for you,” he said before leaving you again.

[farfromstrange]

Helloooo, 💕💕💕💕

I had an idea for a fratt and reader fluff piece. They are stuck in the car on a road trip, Frank is driving (because is his truck), Matt is in the copilot seat and Reader is in the middle seat in the back.

She falls asleep and Matt asks Frank to stop the car. Frank asks him "Why?" and Matt says "Because I want to cuddle with her".

When Matt is in the back, Frank asks him "Ever wonder why she always falls asleep in the car?"

That's it, I leave the rest up to you 😘😘😘

Also I wanted to thank you again for doing my request about the teddy bear, it was the cutest like these two gentlemen 😍😍😍😍

I am so sorry for the wait, darling! I had a lot going on. I've honestly never written for Fratt or Frank before in my life, so this is my first. I tried my best, and I hope I did your request justice <3 I’m so happy the teddy bear request was to your liking, so I hope that it’s the same with this one. Sending you all the hugs and kisses, especially for these gifs!!

Ours | Matt Murdock x Frank Castle x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: You fall asleep in the car and the boys wonder why that always happens.

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

A/n: I have no idea if this is good enough or not, but...I tried? Let me know if you liked it and maybe I'll write more for Frank in the future. I don't know. Also, I have decided not to tag for this because I'm not sure how everyone on my tag list stands with Frank. Since this is a poly ship and not everyone is into that :) Just so you know that I didn’t forget you, I just know not everyone ships Fratt. This is the first fic in that direction I’ve ever written, and I’m a bit shy, but oh well…

The purr of the engine resonates through the cab of Frank's weathered truck as it speeds down the open highway, the asphalt stretching out before them like an endless ribbon. The moon stands high in the sky, the clock showing an even number of 4:00 am. The car is dark except for the light of the controls and the headlights reflecting off the puddles in the road.

At first, the radio had been playing a random 80s rock tune, but as soon as Matt slipped into the driver’s seat, he sneered at Frank, “Turn that off.”

In response, Frank turned up the volume even more. You told him before that it’s your favorite song, and you wanted to hear it.

“Fuck that!” he’d said. “Our girl wants to hear this. You wanna say no to our girl, Red?”

You smiled so innocently from the backseat, Matt could only sigh and cup his ears to try and keep the volume out. With his heightened senses, something as easy as that won’t even remotely work, but he tried.

Frank laughed out loud. “Told ya!” And then he sang along with you to whatever song came after that one, and Matt had to suffer through it.

The first ten minutes of this drive were torture, to say the least.

Matt accepted it for a while, but eventually decided he had enough and turned the radio off entirely, leaving the car in an eerie silence.

Now, you’re driving without music.

The gentle hum of the tires beneath you eventually lulls you into a peaceful daze. One second, you are lecturing Frank on why opening the car door and throwing Matt out of it while he was driving eighty miles per hour wasn’t such a good idea, the next you slowly start dozing off.

It doesn’t take long before the rhythmic vibrations of the car have you drifting off into a quiet slumber. The soft sounds of Matt and Frank's conversation turn into a distant murmur as your head nestles against the backrest. The gentle sway of the vehicle matches the cadence of your breaths, and soon you are lost in dreams.

Frank lifts his eyes off the road for a moment, looking at you through the rearview mirror. You don’t talk much, but every time the three of you come from a mission, the adrenaline runs high in your bloodstream and you become chatty. Ever since you went quiet, Frank has wondered whether or not you’ve fallen asleep, and he gets his proof when he looks at your sleeping form in the back.

Matt notices him shifting and he tilts his head slightly in your direction. The gentle rhythm of your heartbeat resonates in his ear, your breathing even, and your shirt brushes against your chest ever so slightly whenever it lifts to let some more oxygen into your lungs.

“She’s asleep,” he states.

“Yeah,” says Frank. He reaches back and cups your knee. You don’t move. “Dead fucking asleep, I’d say.”

Matt only shoots him a glare, his unfocused eyes landing on the point closest to where his voice is coming from. “Would you mind keeping both your hands on the steering wheel?”

Rolling his eyes, Frank straightens up. He wants to say something smart, but Matt has said more annoying things in the past. And when he looks at him, he can’t be mad because he looks so soft in the moonlight. It hits his dark curls just right, meeting the brown of his eyes and turning them slightly green, maybe even a little golden.

Matt Murdock is golden, Frank does not doubt that. More golden than you? No, but he is golden nonetheless. A golden retriever, you once called him, and you were onto something then.

Frank doesn’t like a lot of people, and while Matt can annoy the shit out of him, there’s something too good about him that makes it impossible for him to hate the man that’s sitting next to him, his red suit hugging his curves just right, the gloves that usually hug his thick fingers placed in his lap as he fidgets.

He’s aware that the relationship between you three is unconventional, but he couldn’t care less.

Matt frowns. “What?” he asks him.

Frank blinks. “Nothing.”

“Do I have something on my face?”

“Not yet,” he retorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I fucking said, Red. Exactly that.”

Once again, Matt only rolls his eyes. He leans back in his seat, head tilting even further to listen to you sleep. You sound so peaceful, your body slack with relaxation. You always sit in the middle so you can talk better to them, or hold his hand in the passenger seat. Whenever you’re alone with Frank, you are the passenger princess, but that changes as soon as Matt is involved. They sit in the front to protect you, that much is true, but Matt also gets sick easily in the back, so he always sits in the front. That doesn’t mean you don’t want to hold his hand every once in a while, so you recline in the backseat, always.

Matt reaches behind himself to cup your other thigh. You shift slightly, bucking into his touch as if seeking his comfort. Your heart skips a beat. With the moonlight hitting your face the same way it does him, Matt is sure you must look ethereal.

“She does,” Frank murmurs beside him.

He shoots him a confused glance, but Frank chuckles and adds, “You tend to think out loud when you’re turning into a needy mess. Ain’t my fault.”

A blush forms on Matt’s cheeks, and he instantly turns his head away. He forgets that Frank sees him better than anyone, probably. Not just in the literal sense but in a very deep, emotional way as well. They are so alike yet so different, and you only seem to tighten the bond they already shared from the beginning. With you, life is easier.

Matt slips his hand from your thigh back into his lap, and a mischievous smile spreads across his face. He leans over to Frank, his voice a low murmur. "Hey, could you do me a favor and pull over?" he asks, his hand already fidgeting with the seatbelt.

Frank's brows come together in confusion, so close they almost touch, and the slightest hint of frustration flickers in his eyes. "Why?" he asks back, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Matt's smile remains. "Because I want to cuddle with her," he confesses.

Frank's lips twitch into a half-smile as he glances at Matt. “You're such a fucking softie, you know that? It’s disgusting.”

Matt shrugs. "Well, she's asleep, and I don't want her to wake up all stiff and uncomfortable."

With a huff, Frank slows down and finds a spot on the side of the road where he can pull over. “You’re lucky your tits make great pillows,” he says as he pulls into the small lot.

He opens his mouth to protest, but one look at his armor makes him shut up. Frank isn’t entirely wrong.

The truck rumbles to a stop on the shoulder of the road, and Matt swiftly unfastens his seatbelt and moves to the backseat. He methodically makes his way forward by using his bare hands to find the door handle and then climbs back into the familiar interior.

Frank watches him through the rearview mirror, admiring how gracefully he moves, all just so he won’t disturb you. “You good back there?” he asks.

Matt nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. You can drive.”

Carefully, he slides in next to you, grabbing the blanket from the seat next to you. You must have been so tired, you forgot to make yourself comfortable. He wraps it around your form, tucking you in. The truck starts moving again, but he won’t let Frank’s driving distract him from taking care of what’s his.

Matt wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, and you snuggle against his chest. The steady beat of his heart creates a soothing melody that harmonizes with the gentle hum of the car's engine.

As Frank resumes driving, his eyes occasionally flickering to the rearview mirror, he can’t help but smile at the sight. He had seen many things in his life, but the simple tenderness of this moment was a reminder of the unexpected bond you have formed over the past few months, and it continues to fasten every single day. Whether it’s sharing a bed, sharing dinner, or taking down a bunch of gang members in an abandoned warehouse far away from your familiar Hell’s Kitchen, you always find a way to come out better together.

After a while, as the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the road, Frank's curiosity gets the better of him. He glances over at Matt, who is running his fingers through the messy strands of your hair, and his voice is gruff but tinged with intrigue when he speaks. “Hey, Red,” Frank says, catching his attention. “Ever wonder why she always falls asleep in the car?”

Matt pouts. "I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Maybe it's the steady rhythm, the feeling of movement. Makes her feel safe like she's being taken care of."

Frank nods thoughtfully, his grip firm on the steering wheel. "Yeah, maybe."

“Or maybe it’s us. She has this thing…” Matt shifts you slightly, and you curl even closer to him in your sleep. He chuckles. “She has this thing where her heartbeat skips whenever one of us is near, and then it slows when one of us touches her.”

“Slow down?” Frank cuts him off, a smirk on his lips. “Man, you sure about that?”

Matt kicks him. “Oh, shut up, Frank!” he says. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

“C’mon, you can’t blame me. I may not have your super senses, but I know her body inside-out. I know that her heartbeat doesn’t slow down when we touch her.”

“You don’t really know her heartbeat then,” his voice is barely above a whisper. He lowers his lips to your forehead. Your heart jumps again as if you know what he’s doing. “Whenever we’re being affectionate with her–not in a sexual way, mind you–she calms down. She’s always so on edge, but when we’re together like this, when we’re talking and driving and everything is a little less heavy, that’s when she sleeps best. I can’t describe it, but it’s…it shows me that she feels safe with us. With you.”

In an instant, Frank shuts his mouth. Matt’s words make sense, but they still hit him hard. He has a hard time believing that anyone would feel safe in his presence, that anyone would love him, but whenever he looks at you, he knows he’s often just overthinking because you do.

You love him, you love Matt, and you love what the three of you have. You feel safe. You come to him when you’re sad, and he can come to you when he feels the same. You open up to him and Matt, no one else. You let your guard down for him. He never thought he would feel this way again, and it’s often overwhelming to even exist with all the pain he’s carrying, but he’s not alone anymore.

“Can’t say I blame her,” Matt adds.

Damn him, Frank thinks. He doesn’t even have to say what he’s thinking; Matt always knows. He hears his heartbeat, he hears his breathing change, and he feels something switch in the atmosphere, and he instantly knows something isn’t right. Frank thinks too much, even though it doesn’t seem that way, and Matt is very susceptible to people thinking too much. And he’s attentive.

Frank huffs, his fists clenching around the steering wheel. “Fifteen minutes, Red,” he says. “I’ll drop you off at your place. Both of you. I think she’ll be more than happy to stay with your annoying ass tonight.”

“We’re all staying at my place,” he sounds so calm back there.

“Can’t. I’m busy.”

“Yes, you can, and no, you’re not. You don’t have a life outside of me and her, and your guns. We both know that.”

Yes, he can. And no, he’s not busy.

Frank shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything else. Matt continues to stroke your hair, his attention both on you and the man in the driver’s seat. A small smile plays on his lips. He’s home right here. With you, with Frank, even if it’s an open road–He’s home wherever you are because that’s where his heart is.

The journey continues through the night, the road unwinding beneath the truck's wheels. The moon remains their silent companion.

Even in your sleep, you seem to sense the harmony of the moment, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you nuzzle closer into Matt's chest.

Frank's eyes flicker to the rearview mirror once more, catching sight of your peaceful face. He can't deny that there is a certain comfort in seeing you this way, your guard down and your worries temporarily silenced by tranquility. It's a rare sight, one that fills him with a sense of contentment he didn't anticipate.

Matt's focus remains on you, his fingers lightly brushing against your hair. He marvels at the vulnerability you exhibit in your sleep.

He tilts his head slightly. "Does she look as peaceful as she sounds?" he asks softly.

Frank grunts in agreement. "Yeah, she does," he says.

Matt smiles. "Good." The miles slip away. The open road ahead holds a unique kind of therapy, and the world outside seems to fade into insignificance, leaving only the here and now.

Matt's fingers trace patterns on your arm as he speaks again, his voice low and steady. "You know, I think that when we're in the car, it's like a sanctuary for her," he says, adding to his previous answer. "The movement, the sounds, they offer a sense of security she rarely finds anywhere else. She said her life wasn't pretty before we came along, and we can argue that it still is far from pretty all we want, but she loves us. That counts for something, Frank."

Frank contemplates, his lips pursing. "Security?" he questions. Of course, he would pick the part he didn’t emphasize.

“Yeah.” Matt sighs, then he nods. “She feels safe with us. It's more than just the physical presence—it's the emotional support we provide. We're her safe haven,” he says.

Frank's eyes flicker to Matt's profile, his lips twitching into a shit-eating grin. “You've thought this through, huh?” He chuckles. “That’s a new one.”

Gone is the doubtful Frank, leaving behind the teasing asshole he likes to be. And Matt eats it up every single time.

He rolls his eyes, something he should get paid for at this point, but the hint of a smile plays at the corners of his lips. "I've had a lot of time to think," says Matt. "I always think, especially about her. And you."

A small chuckle escapes Frank's throat, the sound almost incredulous. He's trying to play off the blush that is threatening to break out. Whenever Matt is being sweet, he does it with such precision, Frank wants to break out into hives. But in a good way.

“I'll be damned, Red,” he says, his voice edging on a mock. “Who knew you could be such a fucking philosopher and shit-eating romantic at the same time?”

Matt's lips turn into a full-fledged grin. "Well, we all have our talents," he says.

"Yeah, I guess we do," Frank agrees, his voice softer than usual, even bordering on a whisper.

As the road stretches ahead, the miles disappearing beneath the truck's wheels, Matt's fingers continue their gentle dance along your skin. His touch is a silent promise that he's always going to be there for you, no matter what, and the sense of safety makes you melt. His touch holds a magic power, and you're too weak to fight it.

Frank's eyes flicker to the road again. He's not one to openly express emotions, but he knows that this connection—the one forged between you, Matt, and himself—is something he wouldn't trade for anything in the world. He finally has a reason to live again, and he'd be damned to let it go. To let you go.

"You think she knows?" His question hangs in the air. He doesn't even have to say what he means for Matt to understand.

Matt's expression softens as he takes in the sight of your peaceful form. "I think she feels it," he answers. "She knows she's cared for. She’s knows we’re here for her. That we love her. Both of us."

It's a simple truth that Frank has come to realize over time—that you've found a home within their unconventional dynamic, and that the sanctuary of the car is just one representation of the security they offer you. You spend most of your time there, anyway.

And so, the miles roll on. With the open road stretching before you, and the soft embrace of sleep enveloping you, you continue your trek, each moment etching your story deeper into the tapestry of your lives.

[sunshine-singer]

Okay so I have an idea for a Mishanks x Reader (poly) - reader washes up on Kuraigana Island after being thrown off her ship ... for reasons... and somehow makes it to Mihawk's castle and collapses at the door

In this particular scenario I imagine Mishanks live there together so I'm not sure if this would be an AU or not yet but whatever

Anyways reader is taken by a fever and the two nurse reader together, and it's all soft and gentle... and then they have to confront reader about why they turned up in the first place

I literally haven't written any fics in years and I have so many assignments due but oh well

Plus I'm super new to One Piece and very nervous (I'm only at Sky Island and watched the Live Action) so not sure if I could do this justice

But yeah lemme know what you guys think from my super undetailed plans haha

[kckt88]

The Fallen Queen.

Summary:

Having fled Kings Landing, Rhaenyra returns to Dragonstone unaware of what awaits her.

Warning(s): Fear, Swearing, Riots, Death.

Word Count: 1564

Author Note: A companion piece to Wedding & Consummation/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/Petitions & Final Tributes/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/Blood & Cheese/A Time for Grief/The Gullet/Harrenhal and the Rivers & The Gods Eye.

But can be read as a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

A day after Daemon and Caraxes had disappeared into the night, the City Watch drove the first nail into Rhaenyra’s coffin. Bartimos Celtigar and his tax collectors were set upon by the guards and common folk alike, torn to shreds in the streets of Kings Landing.

The riots soon began. Smallfolk charged the Red Keep armed with makeshift weapons, hurling insults at the top of their lungs while they raged.

“Maegor with Teats!”

“Rhaenyra the Cruel”

“Long live King Aegon!”

“Justice for Queen Helaena”

“For Prince Aemon and Prince Jaehaerys”

“Fuck the Whore of Dragonstone!”

And then the castle gates fell.

The Queens Guard tried to move her and the children into Maegor’s Holdfast, but Rhaenyra refused. There was no one coming to save her from this siege. Hiding in Maegor’s Holdfast would only leave them trapped. Their only hope now was to escape.

One by one, the Queens Guard left her side, running to the aid of the castle guards who tried desperately to keep the growing swarm of smallfolk from breaking into the Keep itself. And now Harold Westerling, her only remaining Queens Guard, needed to leave her in the care of a solitary household guard because the mob had finally started to overpower their defences.

They would not stop; they were coming for her head.  

“Mother. What do we do?” asked Aegon tugging on her sleeve.

“We wait for our opportunity and then we fly,” said Rhaenyra.

Their window of opportunity would be small. Syrax, and Stormcloud were chained, the castle’s courtyard. There were not enough guards to defend them, and rioters were streaming into the courtyard in droves, all meeting their death in continuous bursts of dragon fire. And still they kept coming.

Once there was a break between the sea of rioters, Rhaenyra would rush her children to the courtyard where they would mount Syrax and make their escape.

They would return to Dragonstone, and after getting Jace from Driftmark they would cross the Narrow Sea. Even there, she had no money, she still had some jewellery left behind on Dragonstone that she could sell. Or, as much as the thought made her whimper, she could sell her father’s crown. It wasn’t truly hers anyway, not when the realm had rejected her as its queen.

It would be enough to start the family’s new life while they transitioned to earning a living as dragon riders.

Assuming Aegon didn’t put a bounty on her head.

Rhaenyra had brief thought that maybe one day her children or grandchildren could reclaim the throne. But she shook off the thought. 

Let Aegon have it. Just let him have it. Let all the misery that comes with it be his.

After a group of rioters had been dispatched by bursts of combined fire from Syrax and Stormcloud.

The courtyard was empty. This was her only chance to save little Aegon and Viserys.

Maternal instincts kicking in, she grabbed one son in each arm and sprinted as fast as her legs would carry her. They made it to the courtyard with minutes to spare, the next wave of rioters within sight as they barrelled towards the courtyard, screaming and shouting.

Syrax roared and flailed her wings as Rhaenyra situated Aegon and Viserys into the saddle first, then climbed up.

They escaped just in the nick of time, as the common folk began throwing debris at them from below as they rose into the sky.

As both dragons disappeared into the clouds, the reign of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen had come to an end.

Rubbing Syrax’s nose in gratitude, Rhaenyra helped her children off her dragon’s back and then hugged them close to her chest. In time, she would process her losses one by one. In time, she would mourn them all: Her father, Visenya, Lucerys, and the love of the kingdom that she thought would be hers.

In time, she would feel comfortable and safe enough to grieve. And in time, she would recover. She had no choice. Aegon and Viserys needed her.

“Are we safe now, mother?” asked Aegon in a tiny voice, tears streaming down his cheeks.

She couldn’t answer him. She could not tell him another lie, not after everything. Nor could she tell him the truth and inflict another heartache upon him, and so she just hugged him harder.

“We’re waiting for your father to come and join us, then we will go to Driftmark get your brother and then we’ll fly across the narrow sea as a family” whispered Rhaenyra.

“I want father” cried Viserys.

So did Rhaenyra, she had never been so alone, so truly alone, in her life. There was always someone there with her to command her, to advise her, to nudge her in the right direction. And now that she was the only one left, she was a tree without roots.  

But Rhaenyra didn’t know if Daemon would ever be there for her again.

He’d gone to Harrenhall to face Aemond, but there had been no sight of him since he’d left Kings Landing.

For the time being, though, Viserys and Aegon needed to go inside and lay down in their own beds. They also needed food and water.

In her ignorance, Rhaenyra had failed to tell Syrax to circle the island first to look for potential hazards before landing. Otherwise, she would have seen the golden dragon in time to take the family safely away from Dragonstone.

Rhaenyra scarcely made it inside before a scuffling of feet caught her attention from behind. And when she spun around, a cold finger of dread crept up her spine.

“Welcome home. Sister” said Aegon smiling as Rhaenyra was surrounded by guards.

“A-Aegon” exclaimed Rhaenyra.

“Surprised to see me?” asked Aegon.

“What are you doing here?” snapped Rhaenyra as she moved protectively in front of her two young sons.

“When you invaded Kings Landing, I had to go somewhere and what better place than our ancestral home”.

“Dragonstone is my home” snarled Rhaenyra.

“Technically Dragonstone belongs to the heir and had he been alive, it would belong to my son Jaehaerys” said Aegon.

“I-I had nothing to do with what happened to your son”.

“Thing is, Jacaerys already dropped you in it. He told us everything. You were involved in the plot to murder my son, but you were kind enough to want to spare your grandchildren, even though you believed it was Aemond who killed Lucerys” said Aegon.

“Aemond did kill Luke,” shouted Rhaenyra.

“No, he didn’t. If you wish to know who really killed your sweet boy, I suggest you look a little closer to home”.

“What are you-“

“-It was Daemon who killed him” said Aegon.

“N-No it wasn’t your lying” exclaimed Rhaenyra.

“Afraid not. A raven from your daughter arrived just before you did. Daemon confessed to his crime, just before Aemond killed him” replied Aegon.

“D-Daemon’s dead?”

“Perished in a dragon battle above the Gods Eye” said Aegon.

“I-I do not wish for any more bloodshed. Please brother. You can have the throne; I will not fight you” urged Rhaenyra.

“Any more bloodshed? My sons are dead. My wife is dead. My nephew is dead. My grandsire is dead” yelled Aegon.

“I will leave Westeros. I will take Aegon and Viserys and fly across the narrow sea. You will never see or hear from me again” said Rhaenyra desperately.

“You will always be a challenge, simply by breathing”.

“No. I will never seek to claim the Iron Throne again” exclaimed Rhaenyra.

“How the mighty have fallen. You are nothing without your kinslaying husband” spat Aegon.

“Aegon. Please” muttered Rhaenyra nervously.

“Do you even feel one ounce of remorse for what’s happened?”

“Of course, I do. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret what happened to Aemon and your son” replied Rhaenyra.

“What about your daughter? All she wanted was for you too love her and yet you never showed her one ounce of it” snarled Aegon.

“I-I tried to. But I just couldn’t” muttered Rhaenyra.

“What did she ever do to deserve that?”

“She didn’t deserve any of it.” said Rhaenyra.

“No, she didn’t. None of us deserved it” snapped Aegon.

“Please just let me and my sons go. I will never trouble you again” begged Rhaenyra.

“I cannot let you go” muttered Aegon.

“MOTHER” sobbed Aegon as he and Viserys were suddenly ripped away from Rhaenyra.

“NO. DON’T HURT THEM,” shouted Rhaenyra as she was shoved to her knees.

“Do not worry sister. Only you shall pay for your crimes. I am no child killer” said Aegon.

Sunfyre loomed over Aegon, his fangs bared. His roar echoing the fury of his rider.

Rhaenyra closed her eyes, and in the moments before her death she remembered the day she gave birth to the most precious girl in the world. An angel fallen from the heavens, a gift that she’d squandered. How she wished she could see her just one last time and tell her how sorry she was.

“Vaera-” whispered Rhaenyra.

“-Dracarys!” ordered Aegon, his command drowning out Aegon and Viserys screams as his dragon obeyed, engulfing Rhaenyra in his flame.

“MOTHER!” cried Viserys, screaming and thrashing, to get out of Ser Arryk’s grip, but the strength of a four-year-old was nothing to a grown man. Especially when little Aegon said nothing at all, staring on in quiet shock.

[bleachbleachbleach]

[Bleach 071]

IT'S BLORBO FROM MY SHOWS, IT'S BLORBO FROM MY SHOWS!!!! I shout, except it's a shot of a bunch of empty buildings. Rukongai my beloved. <3

This is a great environment shot, for anyone needing to describe Junrinan. You can see the mountains off in the distance, and, if you look in the opposite direction, you immediately see the Seireitei:

Which is pretty bananas in terms of the sharp architectural distinctions between the two. At least until you think about how sharp urban ecotones can be in real life, and then you're like, ah, that tracks.

Before Yoruichi tells us Rukongai's name, we hear it referred to as the "western slums" in the official Gotei warning order, a term Yoruichi then echoes (in the Viz). I think they chose "slum" because it makes the most sense in context; Yoruichi describes Rukongai as the poorest but most free place in Soul Society.

In the Japanese, the term both the Gotei alert and Yoruichi use is 郛外区 (fugaiku), which isn't explicitly a word for slum (and, briefly Googling around, seems to be mostly Bleach-specific). It uses the characters for what Jisho defines as "earthwork enclosure around a castle"* combined with "outside" + "district" which is, ignoring any connotations/context, just the place outside the castle/city. Again, for the purposes of emphasizing the message and specifying the vocabulary, "slum" is efficient and meaning-dense.

*"郛" is not part of the usual kanji one might learn; it's part of a family of kanji that in manga tends to be used for stylistic flare/to connote feelings of the ancient/the literary.

BUT, also consider: If you were an Academy student writing your final paper for Sociology 437: Urban Planning in the Spirit World and Environmental Justice, I feel like there's so much fodder here for fun worldbuilding/history-making:

Does the Gotei ALWAYS officially refer to Rukongai by its geographic designation (fugaiku) rather than by its population (Rukongai, home to wandering souls)? It's an interesting rhetorical choice, given that their job directly concerns those souls, but calling it "the place outside" in official documents/alerts explicitly privileges other information.

Yoruichi says it's "commonly known" as "Rukongai" and uses different quotation/name marks for fugaiku vs. Rukongai, so they're not seen as equivalent names, per se; one might argue that even though it's the Gotei-official term for RUkongai, in actuality it is a way of refusing to name Rukongai, except in terms of its geographic description relative to the Seireitei. It's not a Place, capital P, just something that exists relative to our Place.

Who came up with "Rukongai"? The answer can't just be "Rukongai did" because it's massive and splintered and doesn't appear to have a central governing body. Some ancient Rukongai scribe ghost? The nobles? I'm into both these options. Or maybe it was a mail-in poll.

Was there, historically, an "earthwork enclosure around the castle"? Obviously there's a gate that we're told mostly lives in the sky, but back in the day was there also originally a different, 24/7 wall?

[cloudninetonine]

A Player's Aid: Chapter 11

Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe

A/N:....I'm just sorry OUYDBUDHD but also my tag list got lost, if you could please say if you'd like to be tagged in the comments! (I know I can look at previous chapters but I lost some new names and it would be easier to build from scratch so I have it HDOCDHJ)

Warnings: Foul language, descriptions of gore, violence and mentions of injuries

Enjoy!

The effect was immediate. 

The sound of many boots against concrete was deafening and your vision blurred as Hyrule tugged you along, his grip still tight as you stumbled after the men in the direction of the castle. 

The Hero's instinct is what you deduced, it’s what powered these boys. To jump so readily into action, unafraid of what was to come- these men had a mission to protect the people of Hyrule and you admired everything they did for them. Not even Wind flinched at the scream, didn't hesitate like the others as they raced away from the Sacred Ground, you tumbling along almost unable to keep up with Hyrule's speed (Jesus christ these fuckers were fast-) 

You finally broke through the treeline to see the scene before you- horrid and bone-chilling as it played out. 

A lone adventurer had seemed to be downed, blood running down a deep gash on their arm in rivers as they tried desperately to claw away from the behemoth of a creature, hissing and spitting towards them as it stalked closer, the giant skull on its back just as intimidating as its many eyes and snapping fangs. 

Skulltula were always intimidating enemies in theory. Spiders were already scary, making them the size of a horse with a withering skull on their back, legs similar to knives and pincers dripping with what you could only guess to be venom only made them even more terrifying- you didn’t want to shame the Zelda graphics, but there was no way, from the deepest and darkest depths of hell they could even begin to bring justice to the creature that stood before you all.

"Not a fucking Skulltula…" You whispered in a blood-freezing horror, ducking behind Hyrule when it turned towards your group, seemingly hearing your words. "Christ on the cross, set it alight." 

With another hiss, it dashed in your direction, your whole body locking up only for it to cry out in pain as an arrow landed right in one of its many eyes, the group dashing forward with Hyrule removing something from his pocket and pressing it into your hands: a dagger. 

"Stay here." He held your cheek softly. "I'll be right back." 

He turned towards Wild, situated in front. 

"I've got them." The blonde reassured, sending him a knowing look. "Don't worry." 

With a firm nod, Hyrule ran to the group sword at the ready with a pat on Wild’s shoulder, your eyes wide in awe as you watched him hurl a phantom red projection of his sword right at the gigantic monster, its shrill calls making you cringe.

As its wails pierced the air, you could vaguely see Sky raise the Master Sword with a calculating look on his face, an almost holy light climbing up the length of the sharpened blade until a familiar sound reached your ears and the hero slashed across the air, the sight of a skyward strike cutting through the lengths of grass and slicing one of its many legs clean off its body, the appendage flailing before disintegrating into dust as the monstrous bug got even louder.

Sickening to see this close.

"Stay behind me." It was a soft order but you weren't about to defy him, slightly ducking behind him as he continued to aim at the Skulltula, the men fighting valiantly. "I promise to keep you safe."

You dug your fingers gently into his tunic. "I know you will, no need for promises."

His ears fluttered subtly at the words.

Watching the guys fight up close was much better than watching from afar, you could have only imagined just how amazing the fight from the riverside bokoblin must have been- breathtaking would have been too small a word to use, there wasn't any word the dictionary that could begin to perfectly describe how the boys fought. Calling it a movie scene would have been underrated, no, it was an art piece even with something as pathetic as a Skulltula, these men looked as if they had just been plucked from the Renaissance itself and you almost went breathless as you continued to bear spectacle to the scene.

Their footwork, their swings, the looks on their faces- they were heroes alright, not a doubt in your mind would refute that. Wild's steeled gaze and the way he handled the bow were just so amazing to you, he was a professional of course but there was an energy about him, not the goofy wild man but the hero that bore the Triforce of Courage.

You were in the presence of some of the strongest men in the current world…

Twilight and Warriors had rushed over to the fallen victim while the others had continued with the battle, arm over each shoulder as they had hauled them further away with reassurances of safety, appearing close to your side as they fished into their bags for a potion to deal with their wounds. The gash on their arm was horrible but the apparent one on their side was worse, bleeding profusely and long, your stomach churning at the mere thought while Warriors called for their attention, deeming this “no place to die.”

…You weren’t about to see someone die, were you?

The idea sickened you to the core.

A cry echoed out as Hyrule used a nearby boulder to leap onto the back of the great beast, the shrill shrieks of the horse-sized spider bloodcurdling as the Hero raised his bejewelled sword and thrust it into its head, tainted blood gushing onto the grass below leaving a bloody mess.

Your heartbeat pounded in your own ears as the monster screamed.

A horrid sound, disgusting and gut-wrenching, you felt even more nauseous as you were able to hear the faint sound of a popping squelch as your hero dug the sword deeper and deeper, blood spurting onto his forest green tunic and catching some of the other boys also. 

From your vantage point on that cliff, the destruction of these creatures wasn't something that had gotten to you but seeing this was way worse than your own imagination, no matter how majestic the men looked as they fought, this was still disturbing when the valiant filter was pushed aside. This wasn’t the pg-rated game any more, the one you would play for hours when you were younger, not a care in the world as you gathered the convenient drops- this was real life, these were real living things-

And this was real gore.

You gagged, hiding your face into Wild’s shoulder to force away the morbid curiosity as the other heroes continued to beat down the monster, its shrills engraining into your mind as one of the boys dealt the finishing blow.

(It had been Legend, watching Hyrule flail about as the Skulltula tried to rid him of its back, the man sliding down beneath the monster while digging his weapon into its stomach as he skidded against the grass, opening a mortal wound that had entrails spilling from its underbelly)

The familiar sound of a monster’s corpse poofing away was what brought you back, shyly peaking over Wild’s shoulder as you watched Legend stand, the stains of his tunic a gruesome eyesore that dusted away in the wind along with the smoke of dark magic that was once the Skulltula, Hyrule’s own caked clothes cleaning in a similar fashion until both were free of the thick, murky substance that was monster blood and huffing from the fight. The two looked at one another, conflicting feelings dancing on their faces until they nodded at one another, a sign of acknowledgement in their tense times.

You felt embarrassed at the shaky sigh you released, Wild looking back at you worriedly as you took a step back to compose yourself.

Why were you even scared? It’s not like you contributed to the fight in any way.

“Are you well?”

“Y-Yeah- yeah I’m good.”

His brows furrowed, his hand coming to hold yours. “You can talk to me.”

Your thumb gently danced over his knuckles. “It’s just…scary seeing them up so close.”

Cringing at his soft expression, your free hand moved to rub at the back of your neck. 

“Monsters are a disturbing sight to many, you don’t need to be embarrassed for your reaction.” 

“I know I just don’t like being some sort of damsel- I can’t fight but I’ve got enough sense to know how to protect myself and it just feels ridiculous and sad hiding behind you like some scared kid.”

It wasn’t a fault of yours, of course, especially in the presence of such skilled fighters it made sense but you couldn’t help it- you felt inferior, you felt weak, you hated having to hide behind your friend and you wished that you could at least stand beside him, a partner more of a cowering fool.

Wild hesitated, his mouth pursing in thought when both your attention drew to coughing close by, the presumed random traveller spluttering as the ranch hand and Captain pulled them into a seated position, the group circling her.

“Are you alright?” Twilight asked, a supporting hand on the person’s back. “Are you able to speak?”

“Yes.” The young woman coughed, covering her mouth with her arm, “Yes, thank you, I thought those moments would be my last.”

A shiver run down your back at the thought of something as hideous as a Skulltula being the last thing you saw before your body grew cold and stiff- would it eat you in that state? Could Skulltulas even eat?

“Do you know of what became of the people here?” Straight to the chase, Time leaned down to the level of the woman, face gentle similar to your shared first interaction, a show of support from such a traumatizing moment. “It was filled with many but now it lays barren.”

Her face curled in confusion. “You mean…you’re not here to help us?”

Your stomach dropped.

Help with what?

She continued. “The head of the people sent a bird not two days ago- we were attacked, by these things-”

“The Skulltula?” 

“Yes- they came in every direction, there were so many, we couldn’t run so we held up in the castle-” Warriors rested his hand gently against their shoulder, a soft mutter of ‘breathe’ leaving his mouth as the person panted, her shaky breaths slowing in an effort to calm her racing heart. “There was an opening and I took it when no one had responded then I got caught by that monster- I- I thought you were responding to our call-”

Time’s face had hardened with each word, his scowl like his sharpened sword. His anger was evident, the lingering tension in his shoulders shown even under that heavy chest plate; you knew why, everyone did, it was very much obvious this was the work of the Shadow, predictable and vile, coming for the public like the coward he was to draw out the many heroes for his own gain and entertainment.

This was a trap.

And a very obvious trap.

And he dragged innocent civilians into this mess.

“Can you stand?”

The woman stumbled over herself before nodding, pushing to her full height with the help of the other elders.

“Good- leave to the nearest Inn, we will clear the castle.” 

Your mouth dropped at the words, looking towards the towering Hyrule Castle in horror.

The whole thing!?

“T-The entire castle?! But that’s not possible!”

Not possible for most, but then again these were the Links you were talking about, heroes of the times- if they had fought against Ganon, Demon King and bringer of Darkness, of course, they could fight off a few Skulltula.

A few dozen sounded a bit of a stretch though.

“We’ll be fine.” There was a cocksure attitude to Warrior’s words, his smile confident and eyes sparkling with his fighting pride. “A few giant insects won’t be getting the best of us.”

Oh yes, he did sound very cocky indeed- you wondered if the woman was judging him silently from his tone, god knows you would have had you not known he was a great hero.

She tried to argue more, stumbling over her words and trying to reason however it reached deaf ears her stance slowly falling as the group began to discuss their next plans- Wild was the focal point of this, after all this was his home and he knew it like the back of his hand, planning a rescue mission was going to fall to him. 

You studied her for a moment now that you could- pale skin, black hair and dark eyes, just a regular-looking adventurer who seemed to be caught on the wrong side of things.

Something felt…off though. Maybe it was just your skewered sense, or your simple wary nature after being thrown through a magic portal by a magic shadow.

It felt like one of those scenes in movies: discovering the wounded adventurer, aiding them in their time of need and watching as the hero lets them accompany them on their quest, after all, it’s not a hindrance right? Betrayal would usually follow, disguised by that weak damsel now shown to be their deceitful enemy this whole time, tearing apart the group by the seams and leaving them all to rot with nothing but a prideful cackle.

Yet, that was the work of fiction, this was real life (such a strange thought now that you pondered it) and so nothing like that would happen, right?

“Please, let me at least join you!”

…right?

Your eyes narrowed, watching the expression on her face then shifted to study the rest of the men, sharing uncertain glances with each other.

Did they feel a similar unease or did they simply want to keep this woman safe?

“I don’t think that’s for the best-”

“My family is in there! My friends too! I’m not just gonna sit by while they’re suffering!”

Any persuasion was met with refusal, the woman becoming only angrier with every second until Time let out a sigh, steeling his gaze as he looked down at the woman.

“Your name?”

She stood taller, “Maggie.”

“Do you even know how to handle a weapon that hangs off your hip?” This was a test, you could tell, the complete shift in his personality was a warning of sorts for what was to come- you would reasonably back down from such a hard look and you were positive that was what Time was trying to do. “Fought any monsters? Been in any battles?”

It didn’t work, as shown when Maggie glared right back. “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

“Seems you can’t.” Legend quipped and Time sent him a scolding look, the pink-streaked blonde throwing his hands with a look of surrender. “I’m just saying we saved you.”

She flushed a deep red “I was by myself but if I’m with you guys I should have a chance- strength in numbers.”

Your eyes stayed trained on Time as he listened intently, the others sharing different glances with one another as they waited for their chosen leader to finalise his decision, your shoulders dropping when he sighed in defeat, dragging a hand down his tired face.

“....Maggie, I will be responsible for you if you venture back into this castle with us- so, you must stay close and not stray far, no matter what you see, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, we move now.”

“Old-” Twilight’s mouth snapped shut, eyes averting from the flaming ones of the eldest. “...”

With a sigh, the man backed off, whistling for Epona who perked up happily, trotting back over to the forest. "I'm not taking her in there."

And you couldn't blame him, not with the threat of something like Skulltulas lurking around the castle halls, Epona could be jumped without a second thought- but leaving her alone wasn't an option, someone had to watch her just in case, right? So taking Gilda gently from your hair, you gestured her over.

"It'll be safer for you with her."

She crossed her arms. "(Name), I've been in more fights than you."

"...Gilda please-"

"I'm just teasing! I'll keep an eye on her, you've already got your fairy by your side~"

Had Hyrule been in hearing range you knew he would have swiped at her, so you spared her a chuckle and watched her whizz off after the ranch hand with a shake of the head.

"Should have guessed these fairies were just as cheeky as the fae."

Time glanced back over to Maggie, gesturing her forward once Twilight had returned, adorned with weapon and shield. “I want you to lead us, if you were able to escape then there may be a good chance that it was a blindspot to the monsters.”

You didn’t trust this, not a single bit. Your radar was going haywire, your body pumping the adrenaline into every little crevice within your body, hands shaking as you watched Maggie take the lead, the others slowly but surely following behind her until you were trailing right at the back with your fingers tightly secured around the dagger Hyrule had only given you moments ago.

The traveller had rejoined your side in haste, eyes ahead as his hand came to grab your own protectively, Wild marching on your opposite with a similar protective sense hanging over him.

“He’s got a plan…”

Hyrule muttered more to himself than anyone but Wild wasn’t far behind with his scepticism.

“A dangerous one- thought that was supposed to be my job?” The comedic tilt in his voice did not aid you at all, Wild’s face pinching in worry at your expression. “We’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

You knew they would, they were your heroes and you knew they would do anything to keep you safe.

Yet something told you that it wasn’t going to be that simple.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wouldn’t say you suffered from arachnophobia. Sure, you weren’t a fan of the things, but not in a way to say you had a fear of them. They were certainly freaky looking, eight eyes, eight legs, could produce cobwebs and drunk the blood of flies and other such small insects- but a true fear of them was not what you had, nowhere near. You had seen someone with the phobia, their dropping jaws and the way they raced to the opposite side of the room-

To avoid the tiny money spider that hadn’t even gotten close to them.

That was true fear- that fear would have had them dying right on the spot at the sight before you at this very moment.

The webbing was huge, like sheer curtains decorating the old stone walls of the castle, the few egg sacs a disgusting sight as the men cleared them out, the many Walltula shrieking and spitting fiercely only to die by the steel of the heroes’ blades, monster smoke almost thick enough to choke on.

It was terrifying how quickly the monsters had seemingly taken over, not a place in sight was free of the streams of natural mesh, over the carpets, over the paintings, over the windows and in the doorways- suffocating was the best way to describe it all, especially from the number of times you had walked into the cobwebs, spitting and waving your arms in a horrid frantic boogie to be rid of the texture.

Wind could only laugh so many times.

“Shut the fuck up, Wind.” You had whispered harshly, patting down your tunic once again. “You’re only laughing because you’re too fucking short to get hit by them.”

He waved off your insult with another hushed laugh. “You just look so fucking stupid when you do that.”

You flipped him off, pushing your finger into his face harshly and jerking back when he tried to nip at the skin, calling him another colourful nickname in which he elbowed you painfully in the side.

Fucking hell he was strong for a fourteen-year-old.

"Just around this corner here." Maggie's voice brought you back in, focusing on her head between the many others. 

The feeling still hadn’t gone away, not with you and certainly not with the others- you all knew you were walking right into a trap. The signs were evident to them all, a reason as to why Wind had been sent to the back with you three.

“The old man says as soon as anything sketchy happens he wants us to split!”

“Isn’t that dangerous? What if you guys get hurt?”

“Have some faith, (Name), we’re stronger than you make us out to be!”

You knew that- of course you did! Yet the threat still lay bare to the world. Skulltula were probably surrounding you at that very moment and it was clear that you could all be ambushed at any time, the further you walked into the castle, the deeper and darker it got only certainty grew in your brain that the upcoming fight would be inevitable if you were caught in a small corner.

That had to have crossed the old man’s mind, right? Under the blonde head of hair was a smart man, a calculating one so Time must have had a counteractive plan just up his armoured sleeve. He’d get everyone out of here, maybe with a few bumps and bruises, but you’d all come out of this ordeal alive and well with only a little major life-changing trauma- nothing you hadn’t gone through already.

The thought didn’t help though, not really without some partnering action, the weight on your shoulders only growing with each step you took, each room you passed, each corridor you turned into-

…You recognised this corridor.

Rebuilt and better than ever, with the help of the construction team and two years of passing, the winding path that lead to the Dining Hall was almost unrecognisable, the one you had trekked so many times when scouring the castle as you played. You wanted secrets, you wanted weapons and you wanted Korok seeds, if it meant having to lap the entire behemoth 100 times to get what you wanted you were ready to do it, you had practically memorised the route in game but it seemed the rebuilding of Hyrule Castle alongside the millions of cobwebs and the fact you were currently walking through its corridors had gotten in the way of your near photogenic memory of the place.

The archway to the armoury lay only a few feet ahead, along with the following path towards the library-

“The library’s this way, there should be some patrolling but we can easily get through them if we work together.”

The library….

There was a resounding click in your mind, footsteps stopping before they could meet the stone of the walkway, the dawn finally breaking in your mind.

It didn’t make sense- it didn’t make sense.

These hallways were always full, they were the main paths, why would she go through here when they were clearly the most dangerous routes?

Why did she take this way when she could have gone through-

“The secret passage.”

Pause.

You were staring, waiting, watching for that reaction.

And here it had finally come.

Time had been looking for an opportunity, and that had to be it, a broken piece within the glass that was her facade, once pristine and perfect, now so obviously cracked as Maggie finally paused just a few feet ahead of you all, the Chain having stopped when noticing your further figure.

You had given them all they needed.

“Pardon?”

It was cryptic in a way, horror and thriller running down your spine as your body shook with the adrenaline now running its course through your body as you readied yourself for what was bound to come.

“The secret passage, behind the bookcase.” There wasn’t a way they didn’t know about it, Wild had left it open for fuck’s sake, they had been rebuilding, it had to be common knowledge that Hyrule Castle had a secret passage. “In the library, why didn’t you just go through there?”

“I didn’t know there was one.”

Wild looked at you.

You looked at him.

He shook his head.

Liar- as expected.

“I really fucking doubt that.” The Chain had backed up to you quickly, quietly, aware that one false move would have broken the hypnotic spell your words had cast over them all. You licked your dry lips in an effort to stop the dryness from taking over your mouth. “How could you, as part of the restoration, not know about the secret passage in the library?”

“I’m not part of the team.”

Your voice was shaking. “S-So you just stayed ignorant about the place you were inhabiting for the past year or two? Not a single soul bothered to tell you about the cool secret passage in the library?”

“No.”

You grasped Wild’s hand frantically, terrified tears in your eyes.

“You’re a really bad fucking liar, Maggie.”

You could hear the grin in her voice. “I know.”

Weapons were pulled from sheaths, battle faces pulled sharp as you were quickly yanked once again behind them all, their stances deadly as they waited for something, anything that Maggie- whoever this was was about to bring down on you all.

“Are you with the Shadow?” Time called, a sneer on his face. “Or did you just crawl out from one of its portals like the rest of them?”

She laughed, still refusing to turn around as she did, her voice bouncing off the stones and echoing throughout the area- almost masking the rumbling footsteps that were quickly making their way to your direction, a quick glance back the way you had came showing a Skulltula quickly making its way towards you all- no, many were heading over and a quick glance in the opposite direction showed the same. 

Fuck you were being cornered.

"Link." 

One look and the circle drew tighter.

You were in real danger this time, weren’t you?

“I was just passing through,” Maggie’s voice was quick to change, sinister and cold, curling into this scratchy forced sound as if talking itself was a struggle. "Though I will say that Shadow of yours had an offer too tempting, so I thought why not?"

"And what offer did he give you?"

There was a snap, crack and following pop as Maggie finally turned, your stomach dropping at the body horror of her face expanding to form a snout, skin tearing away to reveal the blue fur beneath and murky gold tint taking over her face.

"The death of the Hero of Courage, of course."

Poof!

The cloud of magic saved you from the horrific scene of the monster’s full transfiguration, dark purple blocking your vision before the sound of flapping wings caught your attention, eyes widening in surprise as you watched the view return to you and replaced what was once Maggie, was a blue bat-like creature also similar to a keese.

"Ache?" You muttered in confusion, backing into Hyrule warily and feeling the man tense beneath you.

Not a common monster, not at all, the eyes of Ganon that hailed all the way from the traveller's timeline- they weren't impossibly hard to beat, well, depending on the Ache of course, a single hit usually was enough to have them out. But that's not what they were for, they weren't exactly fighting monsters, Ache's were pretty much spies for the other foul, grotesque beings, the ones watching for your hero closely so they could snatch him up and use him as a sacrifice for their master: Ganon.

The Ache was here for Hyrule, you knew that and so did Hyrule, so without another thought, you sidestepped to keep him out of its view.

It's the least you could have done.

Even if it was useless in this moment of time.

"I'm not really one for fighting." The creature cackled, hovering a little further away. "So I'll just let them deal with you- no need to worry though, I'll be back soon."

It swooped away into the armoury, just as another group of Skulltula came rounding the arch, their hisses and squeals like nails against a chalkboard.

Shields were up at the ready, swords poised and you, little old you, were in the middle with your dagger at the ready as if you knew the first thing about fighting.

"There's more than anticipated."

"Can we take this many black-blooded?"

"Who's to say they are black-blooded?"

"You think the Shadow wouldn't do that?"

"Enough- stand at the ready, do not break this circle."

The feeling had come back, but then again it hadn't gone away either, crawling up your back, poison seeping into your skin as you glanced around frantically for the feeling.

Something was watching you.

Not the heroes.

You.

Just, you.

And you knew that, because it was the exact same pair of eyes that had stared at you from atop that cliff the other day, menacing, cold and cruel, every dark intention you could think of rolling through your mind space. It wasn't the Chuchu back then, their googly eyes were never that evil, they could elicit a body-numbing reaction, but they could have never brought this kind of primal fear that laid deep into your stomach- not like that night after work had.

Dink was looking straight at you.

But from where? You couldn't see him through the bodies of monsters that the boys were fending off, nor in the Dining Hall, in the shadows of the dark corridor, hell, even the damn ceiling didn't have those red piercing eyes of his.

So where-

Fingers grasped your ankle firmly, nails practically piercing through the fabric and digging into the skin as a deep, breathy chuckle caught your ear through all the noise.

"Got you~"

You didn't have time to scream as you were dragged straight through the portal beneath your feet, catching a glimpse of the others turning in surprise, the feeling of a hand trying to grab yours, a possible scream- before your whole body had disappeared into the absolute black.

It took mere seconds to re-emerge from the inky abyss, spluttering and coughing for stolen breath where your body met the floor violently, cheek meeting the scratchy carpet beneath that tore at your poor, victim skin as you were dragged across the floor, a weird sound echoing through the room before you could take a small glance to see the portal vanish into nothing, leaving a stone wall in its place.

You looked at the area solemnly, wishing it would just open back up to you so you could jump back towards the boys, gut-churning with a violently sick feeling at the thought of looking back.

To make the situation real.

"Awh, are you scared, little guide?"

Yes.

Yes, you were.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Francis Drake Main Story

This is a rough translation. I’ll edit this if I find the time. Expect mistakes.

Would it be a betrayal to carry on this love?

Like the shore of a calm sea, it clung to my heart and shattered my feelings like a raging storm.

(I...)

I tightly grasped the fate entrusted to my hands.

With a snap, colorful fireworks burst against the clear blue sky.

Mitsuki: "Wow! Even the fireworks in the daytime are beautiful."

Napoleon: "Yeah. The weather's good, and there's a lively crowd here again today."

Petals were dancing in the air, and everyone was smiling and having a good time as the mansion's residents visited the venue of the World Expo in Paris.

Leonardo: "Some acquaintances of mine have mentioned that there are people similar to us who have visited multiple times."

Napoleon: "Makes sense. There's so much to see that visiting only once wouldn't do it justice."

Arthur: "Mitsuki, how about coming here alone with me next time? You know, like a date?"

Mitsuki: "Hmm, I'm flattered by the invitation, but I'll think about it."

Theo: "It seems that frivolous writers only focus on flirting when they come to a place like this."

Theo: "Broer, let's take some time to admire the paintings. Hmm? Broer, where are you?"

Vincent: "Theo, over here! Let's try riding the moving walkway!"

(Hehe, it's rare for everyone to go out together. They all seem excited.)

(Hmm?)

I smiled and suddenly saw a couple wearing kimonos pass by me.

(Japan, huh?)

I felt a sense of nostalgia and remembered when I first arrived in this era.

I traveled from Japan to France for a vacation in the 21st century.

During this trip, I slipped through a mysterious door I found at the Louvre Museum and time-slipped to 19th-century Paris, where I met historical figures from different countries and eras who live as vampires at a mansion I arrived at.

Napoleon: "Hey, Mitsuki. Is something wrong?"

Mitsuki: "Sorry, I was just spacing out."

Napoleon: "Geez, you're supposed to enjoy yourself today. If you just sit there, we'll leave you behind."

Mitsuki: "Wait, Napoleon!"

I smiled and hurriedly chased after Napoleon, who laughed wickedly, leaving behind a nostalgic feeling that touched my heart.

A few days later一

Mitsuki: "I'm back! Huh?"

Charles: "Welcome back, Mitsuki! Do you want to take a bath? Eat something? Or me? It's me, right?"

Faust: "Stop being so shameless, Charles."

Among the faces that greeted me when I returned from shopping were Faust and Charles.

They live in an old castle and would occasionally visit like this.

Mitsuki: "Welcome, both of you. What brings you here today?"

Faust: "We accompanied Lord Vlad for some business. I thought I'd also give the butler some medicine."

Sebastian: "Thank you as always, Faust."

At one point, Sebastian fell ill, and Faust prescribed him a special medicine.

Since then, Faust has occasionally checked on his condition, and Sebastian no longer complains of discomfort.

(He said he was just the right test subject for the new drug, but I'm glad Sebastian is feeling better.)

Charles: "I have a souvenir for you, Dazai. The teacher at the orphanage wants you to create a children's story."

Dazai: "Oh dear, I thought you were going to give me some delicious sweets, but it's about work."

Isaac: "Shouldn't you be grateful? Even a flaky person like you can at least be somewhat useful."

Dazai and Charles seemed to run into each other often in town and had become quite friendly.

I even sometimes saw Isaac getting caught up in their shenanigans.

Jean: "I thought it was noisy, but I didn't realize you guys were here."

Mozart: "*sigh* Has this mansion become a gathering place for vampires?"

Shakespeare: "*chuckles* The number of residents and visitors has increased so much. It's completely different from when I lived here."

Jean, Mozart, and Shakespeare came to the dining room.

Mitsuki: "I didn't know you were here, too, Shakespeare. By the way, I heard you have a new play."

Shakespeare: "I'm honored that you remembered. I came here to deliver the tickets."

Shakespeare: "My business here is done. Mitsuki, Vlad, and Comte are asking for you."

Shakespeare: "They have something they want to talk about."

(Talk?)

In the dark, quiet hallway lined with paintings, sculptures, and various antiques from different countries and eras, the sound of footsteps echoed.

The man making those footsteps lightly stroked the handle of the knife hanging at his waist with his fingertips and grinned.

Mitsuki: "Phew. The night breeze feels good."

I stepped out onto the balcony and enjoyed the coolness of the air that soothed my slightly flushed skin after having some alcohol.

The impromptu dinner party that was hastily organized because everyone had gathered together ended when Faust and Charles took Vlad, who had drunk too much wine and collapsed, home.

(Another fun day, thanks to everyone being here.)

As I thought this, I remembered what Comte and Vlad had told me earlier.

------------Flashback------------

Comte: "I've been checking the status of that door, but the other side is still not stable."

Vlad: "The door at my old castle is the same."

Comte: “The hallway appears as it cycles between abnormal and normal, but sometimes the time and space beyond it are distorted. I don't think I can send you back to your original world.”

Vlad: "I'm sorry, Mitsuki. The cause of the anomaly might be us."

Mitsuki: "What do you mean?"

Vlad: "That hallway connects to various eras. The fact that the space is distorted means that distortions are occurring in history and the world."

Their love for this world drove them to revive eternal flowers and transform historical figures into vampires, contradicting the laws of the world.

They explained that this action might be influencing the proper course of history, resulting in a warping of time and space.

Mitsuki: “No, I’m grateful that you’re investigating. But isn’t there danger involved in checking the door?”

Mitsuki: “Please don’t push yourself too hard. It’d hurt me if something were to happen to the two of you.”

Vlad: “Mitsuki.”

(Also...)

Mitsuki: “As I met everyone and spent all those precious days with them, I began to feel like this 19th century is another place I belong.”

Mitsuki: “Even if I can’t return to the 21st century, I think living here might be my destiny.”

(So please don’t worry about me.)

I conveyed this, and both Comte and Vlad nodded as if they understood my feelings.

---------Flashback Ends---------

(I really mean what I said back then.)

(Staying in this world is also one way of living for me.)

I’m fortunate to have food, shelter, and clothing, all thanks to the help of everyone in the mansion. But even considering that gratitude, everyone I’ve met has become incredibly important to me.

(I love this world. It’s a precious place for me, but...)

My feet were naturally heading towards that door.

(The world I used to live in is beyond that door.)

Thoughts of family, friends, and work that had become distant crossed my mind, and a hazy mist spread across my chest.

(If the door’s anomaly doesn’t get fixed, I have no other choice but to choose to live here.)

I do feel that way, but I don’t think it’s right to choose to live here just because there’s no other choice.

(If I keep having these negative thoughts, everyone will worry again.)

I shook my head to dispel the negative thoughts and turned my back to the door.

At that moment, I heard a creaking sound from behind.

(Huh?)

I turned around, and the door, which no one had touched, slowly opened before me.

Mitsuki: “Kyaah!?”

Then something flew out of the gap.

(Was that a bird just now!?)

Although I couldn’t see it clearly, a vivid red bird crossed my field of vision.

I followed it with my eyes, but suddenly my body was forcefully pulled back, and something cold touched my neck.

It was a dull, gleaming knife.

(---!?)

???: “The woman of destiny.”

I heard a whisper up close and felt a hand grab me, along with the presence of someone behind me.

Fear swelled within me at this sudden situation, and I turned around cautiously to meet the gaze of clear aquamarine eyes.

???: “Don’t move. This thing can cut through anything.”

???: “I’m not going to take anything away from you. Where is this place, and who are you?”

Mitsuki: “This is a mansion in 19th-century Paris. I’m Mitsuki, one of the residents.”

Mitsuki: “Who are you?”

I spoke the words in a trembling voice, and the man restraining me stared at me with unreadable eyes.

Drake: "I'm Francis. Francis Drake."

(Francis?)

Even though I heard the name, I had no idea who he was, so I continued to tense up.

Suddenly, the man let out a sigh, easing the tension.

Drake: "You've been trembling this whole time. Well, given the situation, I guess that's understandable."

Drake: "I suddenly ended up in a place like this, so I'm also confused as hell."

Drake: "Don't be too scared, little fawn."

For some reason, he called me that and grinned mischievously.

【 Masterlist ╎ Next Part 】

[adrift-in-thyme]

Congrats on the follower milestone Trin!! :D

For a fic request, maybe some slightly angsty zelink? I don’t care which flavor, or if it’s lu or not, but I love the way you write them so much <3

-Sky Floor

Tysm Peggy!! <3

I cooked up some Hyrule Warriors Zelink cause I can never resist writing them (plus your update of Castletown Wedding gave me all the feels about them). I hope you enjoy!

CW for mild descriptions of injury

——————————-

Another traitor attack.

The news sets Zelda’s blood boiling. It isn’t an unusual occurrence, at least not lately, but it is an infuriating one nonetheless. To think that the people of Hyrule — her people — would turn on their captain in such a way is incomprehensible to her.

He is the man protecting you, she inwardly berates them as she walks across the camp. It takes every royal bone in her body not to storm toward the medical tent. He is the man ensuring your kingdom does not fall into ruin beneath the hands of a maniac. Use your strength to attack her, to defeat her. Not to tear him apart.

But the traitors are not before her. They do not hear. They are undoubtedly miles away by now, running from the soldiers she had sent after them.

She breathes in a deep, steadying breath. The troops she had spared for that task are loyal and strong. She can only hope that that is enough to bring about some small justice. Perhaps, if the traitors are brought to pay for their crimes, others will be less hasty toward such acts of violence going forward.

But that is a thought for the future. Right now, at this moment, the captain is her priority.

The medical tent is before her. She pushes aside the flap.

The medics stand at attention as soon as she enters, dipping into low bows and straightening stiffly. She waves them aside.

“Give us a moment, if you please.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Dutifully, they slip from the tent and Zelda turns her attention to searching for the person she came to see.

Her eyes find him easily even in the soothingly dim lighting. He lies on a bed mat in the center of the large tent, shirtless, bandages criss-crossing his torso. His face is pale, and he is holding what appears to be a small bag of ice to his swollen eye. But when he sees her he grins.

“Hi there, princess.”

“Hello, captain.”

She kneels beside the mat, pointedly ignoring the pain in her chest at the sight of him. His state is even worse up close. Her captain should not look like this — as though rising alone will be too much. Even his eyes, normally so vibrant and bright, are glossy with pain and exhaustion.

“Please tell me you didn’t spare a moment from your busy schedule to check on me,” he murmurs and though he is still smiling, she knows that the statement is a serious one.

“Why should I not? You are the captain of the army and you are injured. That is an important matter to be sure.”

“An important matter, huh?” He shifts, then groans. “Don’t worry over me, Your Highness. I’m alright. Just wasn’t expecting to get jumped while walking through Castle Town in broad daylight.”

Zelda is certain that her blood has begun to boil again.

“We are alone,” she says, moving to rearrange the blankets more comfortably over him. “You can lay aside formalities. To you, I am just Zelda.”

Gently, she moves his hand away from the ice and removes it, inspecting the swollen skin beneath. His eye is completely shut. The wound is no doubt painful. Just like all of the others.

Her fingers brush his cheek as she removes her hand. His breath hitches audibly.

“And to you, ” he murmurs, eye never leaving hers, “I am just Link.”

The slightest smile lifts her lips. “Well, Link, I believe you should know that we will be apprehending the traitors soon. I sent my best men after them.”

Instantly, Link’s expression closes off.

“You didn’t have to do that, Zelda. We need all of our men to give us a fighting chance against Cia.”

“Our men need their leader to give them a fighting chance,” she retorts. “And those who tried to take your life almost deprived them of that.”

She pauses, head bowed.

“And nearly deprived me of a friend.”

Link blinks. He opens his mouth to speak, but Zelda plows on.

“I will not lose you, Link.” She raises her head, fire in her eyes. “This great evil that we fight seeks to tear us all apart. It will succeed if we allow it. So, we must protect one another, no matter the cost. Otherwise, we will never win this war. And — ” She leans forward. “— I refuse to emerge victorious at the cost of your life or your freedom and happiness.”

Link is quiet for a long moment, gazing at her with emotions surging and waning across his ashen face. Then, slowly, he reaches out. Trembling fingers entwine in hers. She clasps her hands around them.

“I can’t lose you either,” he whispers and she swears there are the beginnings of tears amidst that crystal blue. “I won’t.”

He swallows, a slight grin making its way onto his lips. “I’m gonna win this war for you, Zel, I promise. I won’t let Cia destroy our home, or anyone else’s.”

“I know.” She squeezes his hand. “I know, Link. I only ask that you do not destroy yourself while doing so.”

“I’ll do my best.” He smirks. “You and Mask would team up and murder me again me if I got myself killed.”

“Indeed, we would.”

As we should.

“You should sleep now,” she says, gently. “You need your rest.”

As if in response to her words, he yawns. Zelda chuckles.

“I can see that you are as exhausted as I suspected. I will leave you in peace.”

She starts to rise, but his grip on her hand suddenly tightens. A pleading look makes its way onto his face. It is almost out of place upon a visage usually occupied by steadfast determination and infallible confidence. But even her captain is a human. Zelda knows that better than most. And no matter how he tries to hide it, this newest glimpse into his people’s sentiments about him has shaken him.

“Could you…can you please…” His cheeks flush and abruptly, he lets go. Just like that, his face is a mask, once more. “I apologize, princess. Thank you for coming to see me.”

Zelda remains motionless for a few short moments, weighing her options. Then, she makes her decision.

“On second thought, given your injuries, I believe it would be best if I stayed a little while longer.” She settles back down by his side, a small smile on his face. “At least until Mask and Toon arrive.”

It is muted, but she swears something bright enters Link’s gaze before he looks away. A flush is still on his cheeks, an almost embarrassed smile on his face.

“Are you certain? You don’t have to. Truly, I’ll be alright.”

“One can never be too cautious, captain.” Zelda’s smile widens. “After all, did I not just say that we must protect one another?”

Link grins. “Indeed, you did.” He sighs and lets his eyes slip closed. “And you’re right. That’s the only way we’re gonna make it through this.”

“Yes,” Zelda murmurs as his breathing levels out, expression going slack. He looks so vulnerable this way. So human. So much more than merely a hero.

Cia would never understand the complexity of the person she seeks to claim.

He shifts and his bangs drift into his face. Ever so gently, she brushes them aside.

It is true. The only way we will succeed is by staying together.

Link turns into her touch and she smiles, something warm spreading in her chest.

And perhaps, that will not be so hard.